Essay: Silence

See how nature- trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence...we need silence to be able to touch souls--Mother Teresa of Calcutta

The asses bray, beetles drone, birds twitter, coyotes yelp and bulls bellow. We wake up to screech of brakes, gunshots and sleep with the noise of car horns and rushing humanity. The world has become noisy, its decibel levels ever growing high and our ears can't keep up with them.

Yet even when such absolute tranquility is almost impossible, our minds are also filled with their 'noises': dialogues which can't flow or come to an end, constant monologues with forces of life and our artistic voices, noises of unfinished arguments, noises upon noises of varied thoughts, philosophies, views and perceptions.

Ralph Waldo Emerson writes:

Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of the gods

Mahatma Gandhi opines:

In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth

I agree with them. In silence, we can decipher much from the realities of life. In silence, we can hear the tiniest voices which in ordinary circumstances are shoved away in a din. In silence, our souls get enriched and are able to find Truth as Mahatma Gandhi suggests. Silence sometimes keep us sane.


But the world has turned riotous. We hear four wheelers blowing air horns, fingernails scratching on blackboards, mastication of potato chips and styrofoams rubbing against themselves. We hear of dentist's drill and leaf blowers. We hear of flying aeroplanes.

In such cases, do we retreat to the Gobi and Kalahari Deserts? Do we seek refuge in Central and Uhuru Parks of Nairobi? Do we travel back to our ancestral homes where there is not much noise like in the city? Where do we find tranquility?

Silence is precious. As Henry David Thoreau postulates:

Silence is the universal refuge, the sequel to all dull discourses and all foolish acts, a balm to our every chagrin, as welcome after society as after satiety as after disappointment

Granted, silence is a good thing. It replenishes us. I have heard others say that silence frightens them. I agree with them. It frightens me too. But many a times have I compared my solace in the city and 'the land behind the hills'. While the former ostensibly looks appealing what with the technology it offers, the latter brings me in touch with reality and in 'reflection mode'. All of a sudden, I feel re-energised and receptive. My mind opens up and I think about serious things like why the sun rises and why it dies. Though I might not have answers to them, at the very least I am able to think about fundamental themes in life.










                                                    

Reflection on Sunrise #2

Mornings are symbolic of a birth. It is the womb of unborn promises of a new day. In the silence of the morning, man is brought close to nature and in such serenity and tranquility he can hear his heartbeat, feel the pulse of the morning and glean from the secrets of a brand new day. Man is at his creative best at around this time, buoyed by the rest of an uneventful night sleep.

This pristine set-up of the sunrise might be varied in cities and town but not in the villages. The city robs man of the picturesque rise of sunshine above the hills: moving cars, morning madness, jam headaches, blare of car horns, mad rush, cacophony of human noises. In the village, sunrise is like a sacred ritual: morning rise to milk cows, trip to the river, trip to the abattoir where a goat is slaughtered. But in all this, the noises are those of human whistle, rustle of leaves, chirp of birds, lows of the cows, bleat of goats and generally moderate if not slow and haggard approach to the morning.

Amid all these, such a morning is a harbinger of either good or bad news, good luck or bad luck, blessings or curse. It is shrouded in the mystery of a previous night that was veiled in darkness. Looking at the sun, one can’t help to think about the secrecy that it conceals even in the glare of its rays.

How beautiful a sight it is then as children sit on the ground, head resting on the mud-wall of their hut, to bask in the warmth of such a morning sun? How does it feel taking a steamy cup of tea exchanging pleasantries as the morning wears on? What a sight it is seeing goats and cows leave the homestead to go to pasture and shrub fields, in full confidence whether nature brings them good tidings or ill?

The irony of this is that soon man is consumed in his daily activities, whether in the office or in the field. As his energy dissipates in the labour of his work, the sun in tandem grows unrelenting and stubborn. It is as if it is some conspiracy to pull worst surprise on the enterprising nature of man. One thing I have never understood about the sun is that at one minute it is one of the friendliest buddies to stay close to and the next minute it is one of the fiendliest chap you want to stay away from. 

As the sun dies in the West, it is a befitting Elegy to the travails of the sun in the life of man, of its radiance, glory, incandescence, of its beautiful lessons, of its inconsistencies of being one time fiery and next time fully spent and of its last glory in its warm glow.

Reflection on Sunrise #1

There is no beauty that parallels the glory of the Morning Sunrise. As the warm shafts of the sun lick the caps of hills and mountains, the birth of a new day is heralded. Much earlier, the darkness of dusk and silhouette of nothingness progresses to the chirp of birds and crows of cocks. As the lights of a new day engulf the expanse of nature, confidence is restored. Predators retreat, preys run about to celebrate yet another triumph over death, evil hatched in the darkness of the night takes refuge in unlit woodworks and ledges.

As one watches the sun rising in the East, one can’t help but marvel at the ironies of nature. Darkness gives way to light, coldness gives way to warmth, and the dominance of the stars and the moon are soon relegated by the iridescent rays of the morning sun. The artificial neon lights designed by man are soon dwarfed by the natural light, all-night-long bonfires die at dawn and candles blown off.

To add to this beauty, animals and man in full spleandour wake up as if to bear testimony to this marvel. Soft music from radio, cow-bells, the whistle of the herdsman, troop to the well or the river by women, all these are the accoutrements of the morning glory. 

As dawn quickly fades, the morning music of Amka Kumekucha by Maroon Commandos will filter into my ears. Uvivu ni adui mkubwa wa ujenzi wa taifa, kamata jembe na panga uende shamba/ Hata wewe karani amka kumekucha/…. Uvivu ni kiini haswa kisababishajo njaa…When I hear this song, sleep deserts me, all over sudden some feeling of hidden potentials of a new day attacks my spirit and soon I am awake.

I bolt from the bed with a revived spirit to carry me through the day. In the next hours that lie before me, I know all that I need are the right ingredients: time consciousness, right attitude, determination, unity of purpose. Mornings don’t discriminate, they are not tribal, they are not racist, they visit upon man equally. Mornings can’t be split, they are whole and in this wholesomeness man is reminded an important aspect of life in selflessness and achievement of one’s full potentials. 

The sun never spares its spleandour, it just shines as the day progresses. In fact, its rays progress from feeble, bask-friendly to the scorching, sultry, burning itself up, exhausting much heat it possesses as if to make man learn that the sun also means business. Conversely, could such scorching heat also portend another hidden message that the sun bears too? That of intolerance, show-off, a competition in the galaxy? Could such also reflect on man’s excesses given ability in position of service? Could the habit of the sun reveal how man’s self-same talent could bring about fellow man’s triumph or ruination? What shall we say of how the sun creeps into wall cracks of people’s houses without invitation? If man wants to sleep in the dark, pray, what right does the sun have to shine its light and disturb such a man’s privacy? Could we also glean mankind’s nature here too?

What Passes Through The Head of a Mad Man?

I met a mad man today. Dirty, disheveled, rugged. He walked around naked, collecting dirt and talking to himself. I saw this mad man and I felt pity for him. But a curiosity gripped me. What passes through the mind of this lunatic? For he is a calm man, walking alone, talking. He troubles no one. What goes through his mind?

Does he wonder about the scorching sun? Does he wonder about the misery of other fellow men who are also gripped in their madness too? Does he console himself in the solitary world where he is not worried about his nudity and people’s thoughts about him?

Does a mad man wonder about the indifference he sees when he is denied food and warmth? Is he incensed by his loneliness? Does he miss love, affection? Does he think about tomorrow? Does he think back on how his day has been? Does he actually get irritated by the smell in garbage mounds and dustbins? Does he dream of bigger garbage mounds and dustbins? Is he jealous when he meets other mad men in the same marketplace? Does he remember what he used to be, his sanity, his lucid intervals?

What actually passes through the head of a mad man? Is he scared of his life when he witnesses an accident?  What does he think of us? The ones who are really mad? Does he accept that he is mad? What keeps him going? Is he an optimist or a pessimist?

If Jesus Was to be born in Kenya #2

1 O’clock news K.B.C. News on 25th December:

Taarifa ya kuzaliwa kwa Yesu hapa nchini yazua hali ya sintofahamu na mshikemshike kwa viongozi na raia. Tulipokuwa tunachapisha habari hizi ili kuwaletea, ilikuwa bado haijabainika kwa kweli ikiwa mtoto huyo ni Yesu au la. Serikali imeamuru mtoto huyo afanyiwe uchunguzi wa DNA ili kubaini ikiwa DNA yake ni ile iliyoko kwenye biblia.

Translation:
News trickling in in our newsdesk have it that the birth of Jesus continue to elicit confusion and jittery feeling to the leadership and Kenyans as a whole. By the time we were going to press, it had not been confirmed whether this baby is the real Jesus. The Government has swung into action and directed that the child should undergo a DNA test.

One random citizen asked on this will say that Mary is an attention-seeking woman. He will point out that this is another version of the Deya Saga but with a female character in place.

By around 2 P.m. of 25th, curious Kenyans will rush to the place where Mary Mother of Jesus is said to be. Characteristic of our Government Spokesman, he will suggest the Moktar Daddah Street to be Jesus Street and a national monument to be erected. While generously saying ‘Najivunia kuwa Mkenya, Najivunia Yesu kuzaliwa Kenya’, he will call upon the President to declare Jesus Street a tourist attraction.

Visitors will flock Kenya. Ads will be placed on the telly. Sample this:

Apart from the wildebeest migration and the Maasai, Jesus Street is now open to members of the public which is our Bethlehem. Come visit and see where Mary Mother of Jesus actually delivered Jesus.
Kenyans who are business-savvy will line up the Moktar Daddah Street with every religious item that is worth selling: crosses, rosaries, bibles, t-shirts with religious writings, holy water, holy oils, holy piece of handkerchief that Mary Mother of Jesus actually used to wipe her brow, the soil upon which Mary sat on before delivering Jesus, the shawl that actually tied up Jesus.

Somewhere in the pages of the Classifieds one businessman will place the ad that the City Inspectorate Van that carried Mary and Jesus is up for sale at 45 Million.

And somewhere in a village, the news will spread of this development. One man, intoxicated by liquor, will spring to his feet, take a swig and declare:

Joseph, Son of Arimathea, comes from our Clan, the big buffalo clan of the Suk. His great great grandfather could take 12 gourds of sour milk while standing. Arimathea was a great man. This Joseph is our son although his blood got mixed a little to make him a carpenter but he still remains a great warrior in his blood. He could kill an antelope with only one arrow. He once tore a lion’s mouth into two.
See, friends, the Suk come from the eye of the sun, k’ongasis. We come from Israel, the land where our great grandfather, Arimathea, hails from….

The growth of the baby Jesus will be monitored closely by the Establishment. Inside State House, the cronies of the president will whisper:

Your Excellency, my breath is not worthy of your ears but allow me to say this. This child who is said to be a king is growing up fast and is gathering a huge following. He is not calling any political rally, he is only 12 but he is on every one’s lips. Direct the arrest of Joseph and Mary before things run out of hand.

There will be opposition even among religious leaders. It will not be uncommon to hear a religious scholar intone: I have studied Theology for 17 years now and based on that this is not Jesus but another ordinary baby and ordinary distressed woman trying to bring up an extra-ordinary story. Jesus? Which Jesus?

Then Lorot Son of the Hills will approach Jesus Son of Man and say: Jesus, I am Lorot Son of the Hills, you were born in the streets and I was born on the way. This is Kenya. There are some positions you might easily fit in like the Governor, Senator or the President. And if you get it, don’t forget me Jesus. I will be your campaign manager, for free. I will write your speeches, weave moving political poetry, mobilize Kenyans to follow you. It will be a door-to-door campaign. We need to create a Fund, Jesus, for our political rallies. You see, these parables things won’t work without something small. You will make it. You are the news, Jesus.

But Jesus will look at me graciously and say: Verily, verily I tell you Lorot Son of the Hills, the Son of Man never came to this world to seek the glory of man. I am Prince of Peace, the Anointed One, a Wonderful Counselor. I seek spiritual kingdom, not a political leadership…

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year my readers.

If Jesus was to be born in Kenya #1

And so it came to pass that baby Jesus was born in Kenya. Mary Mother of Jesus was in great pains and was looking around for a place but the response she was getting was ‘vyumba vyote vimejaa’ ‘all houses are full’. Ironically, where Joseph and Mary went were surrounded by perimeter walls and written mbwa kali, bibi mkali. There was general consensus that such a king was part of political witch hunt, a well-calculated plan to deceive Kenyans in order to take reins of leadership. A commission of Inquiry was thus formed: A Commission of Inquiry into the Circumstances of the Birth of Jesus. Questions were floated, like the need for many Baby Jesuses to be born to have a regional balance and that the date of its birth be subjected to a Referendum.

In Parliament, one angry and distraught MP rose up to speak:

“Mr. Speaker, there is an important national matter. It is about a baby named Jesus born less than 48 hours ago at Pumwani. Word is going round that he is King. Mr. Speaker, I find this a comic relief between the issues of the Hague Six and Implementation Committees of the Constitution. What baffles my mind is that the country somehow believes this make-believe story, Mr. Speaker.  Mr. Speaker, I seek your indulgence on this matter. This is hogwash. Let this nonsense be stopped, Mr. Speaker.”

As this voice drones off in the August House, baby Jesus and Mother Mary are braving the sharp, searing glances of passersby and receiving coins thrown meters away. But the City Council askaris haul them into their white stuffy  wire-meshed  City Inspectorate Van. The askari will tell Mary Mother of Jesus: Jitetee Mama, hii mambo tumalizie hapa. Uko na ngapi? Offence yako ni serious kwa by-laws za kanjo. Kwanza, pretending to be the mother of Jesus. Second, littering the city. Causing distraction. Fine yenyewe si less than 10 k. Ongea Mama, ongea.

But Mary Mother of Jesus will say something like: God you will not be mocked, I glorify you. The kanjo will say something to the effect that he can’t be threatened by those calling upon the name of God for no reason.

Meanwhile, a Press Conference will be called by one disturbed politician who will look into the camera and while pointing into the skies say:

Can’t you see this is a plot by the international community? Can’t you see that this Jew Baby has been made to be delivered here to impose on us their leadership? No. We are a Sovereign State….We have had enough of our own internal tensions during the post-election violence. We don’t want foreign ones, the ones we have here are enough…

One consoling thing is that all this will be forgotten by the beginning of the year 2011. There will be no more captivating headlines like ‘Baby Jesus Born in Kenya: Fact or Fiction?’ The findings of the Commission of Inquiry, like others, will gather dust in bookshelves and soon Kenyans will think of other more important things like County Government Structures, Who will be who 2012 or who is the father of Ocampo and whether he has a Luo lineage.

In Capital Talk, Joseph and Mary will be interviewed by Jeff Koinange. Vintage Jeff will introduce the show:

What a show, what guests! Joseph and Mary. Yes. You heard it right. Joseph and Mary of our Bibles are on the bench tonight. Good grief! It is smokiiiiiiinnnn. Now Joseph, how does it feel getting the attention while, let’s face it, you are a carpenter? I mean you are the one trending, you are taking twitter, facebook  by storm, you are the hottest topic In the news, man….

If Jesus was to be born in Kenya #1

And so it came to pass that baby Jesus was born in Kenya. Mary Mother of Jesus was in great pains and was looking around for a place but the response she was getting was ‘vyumba vyote vimejaa’ ‘all houses are full’. Ironically, where Joseph and Mary went were surrounded by perimeter walls and written mbwa kali, bibi mkali. There was general consensus that such a king was part of political witch hunt, a well-calculated plan to deceive Kenyans in order to take reins of leadership. A commission of Inquiry was thus formed: A Commission of Inquiry into the Circumstances of the Birth of Jesus. Questions were floated, like the need for many Baby Jesuses to be born to have a regional balance and that the date of its birth be subjected to a Referendum.

In Parliament, one angry and distraught MP rose up to speak:

“Mr. Speaker, there is an important national matter. It is about a baby named Jesus born less than 48 hours ago at Pumwani. Word is going round that he is King. Mr. Speaker, I find this a comic relief between the issues of the Hague Six and Implementation Committees of the Constitution. What baffles my mind is that the country somehow believes this make-believe story, Mr. Speaker.  Mr. Speaker, I seek your indulgence on this matter. This is hogwash. Let this nonsense be stopped, Mr. Speaker.”

As this voice drones off in the August House, baby Jesus and Mother Mary are braving the sharp, searing glances of passersby and receiving coins thrown meters away. But the City Council askaris haul them into their white stuffy  wire-meshed  City Inspectorate Van. The askari will tell Mary Mother of Jesus: Jitetee Mama, hii mambo tumalizie hapa. Uko na ngapi? Offence yako ni serious kwa by-laws za kanjo. Kwanza, pretending to be the mother of Jesus. Second, littering the city. Causing distraction. Fine yenyewe si less than 10 k. Ongea Mama, ongea.

But Mary Mother of Jesus will say something like: God you will not be mocked, I glorify you. The kanjo will say something to the effect that he can’t be threatened by those calling upon the name of God for no reason.

Meanwhile, a Press Conference will be called by one disturbed politician who will look into the camera and while pointing into the skies say:

Can’t you see this is a plot by the international community? Can’t you see that this Jew Baby has been made to be delivered here to impose on us their leadership? No. We are a Sovereign State….We have had enough of our own internal tensions during the post-election violence. We don’t want foreign ones, the ones we have here are enough…

One consoling thing is that all this will be forgotten by the beginning of the year 2011. There will be no more captivating headlines like ‘Baby Jesus Born in Kenya: Fact or Fiction?’ The findings of the Commission of Inquiry, like others, will gather dust in bookshelves and soon Kenyans will think of other more important things like County Government Structures, Who will be who 2012 or who is the father of Ocampo and whether he has a Luo lineage.

In Capital Talk, Joseph and Mary will be interviewed by Jeff Koinange. Vintage Jeff will introduce the show:

What a show, what guests! Joseph and Mary. Yes. You heard it right. Joseph and Mary of our Bibles are on the bench tonight. Good grief! It is smokiiiiiiinnnn. Now Joseph, how does it feel getting the attention while, let’s face it, you are a carpenter? I mean you are the one trending, you are taking twitter, facebook  by storm, you are the hottest topic In the news, man….

One Day Court Diary: True Story

Monday 6th September 2010.

IT HAPPENED!

Here, Lorot Son of the Hills honestly narrates his ordeal at the hands of the police. He breaks down a catalogue of events that happened to him right from the time he was taken to Milimani Police Station, held up in custody for a couple of hours at the Basement Cells of the Nairobi Law Courts, through to how he was arraigned in court....

4.40 a.m. Lorot Son of the Hills wakes up, takes a shower and hits the road.

7.00 a.m. Boards another Matatu in Nairobi City Centre.

7.15 a.m. Four policemen stop the Nissan. Two occupy the seats next to the driver. Two occupy the seats next to where the conductor seats.

7.20 a.m. Things are looking bad. The policemen tell us that we boarded the Matatu in an undesignated stage. Lorot Son of the Hills keeps cool.  I don’t even bother to fasten my seatbelt. WE ARE HEADED TO MILIMANI POLICE STATION!

7.31 a.m. We are headed to Milimani Police Station. At the Haile Sellasie Roundabout, one passenger I can only describe as a Muakorino does some acrobatics and jumps through the window—to freedom. Another does the same and is almost hit by car.

7.52 a.m I update my Facebook status to read: My morn has started on a wrong note. Many of my fans and friends take it as one of my creative shots. I don’t want to cause panic with a note like: I have been arrested. I am being taken to the cells.

8.17 a.m. We are inside Milimani Police Station. I am cool. I Facebook, read updates here and there. Somebody’s update that day reads: Woken up to a bright new day and a spirit to carry me through the week. I feel offended. I listen to Classic 105, Mwalimu King’ang’i is cracking jokes about Chang’aa guys drinking in front of the police and their home deliveries issue. I am in my own world.

8.45 a.m Lorot Son of the Hills gets information that fine payable might be 10,000 or 5,000 or less. But he stubbornly believes that hawa mapolisi wanataka kitu kidogo. He is terribly wrong.

8.54 a.m. Things are looking bad now. We are hauled into Maria ( that prison lorry) and the info is that we are being taken to the Nairobi Law Courts. Instead of frowning, I find myself smiling. This is unthinkable. Lorot Son of the Hills in the dock, not at the bar!

9.21 a.m. Maria stops at the Backyard of Nairobi Law Courts. Lorot Son of the Hills steps out and with more than 20 others is led at the basement cells. This is unreal. We are arranged in two files.

10.30 a.m While inside the cell, I further update my status to read: This is just crazy. I will write about it when it will be over. Take heart son of the hills. The room is semi-dark but comfortable. I hear narrations of one driver who has been in the business for the last 23 years. He tells us about a Traffic Policeman called Sang who could tell a driver to take himself to a police station. It is now clear that we will be arraigned in court today. I tell myself: Lorot Son of the Hills, today you will be true or false….
 
10.49 a.m. A police with a garrulous voice commands that those who want to pee can go to the loo. He issues instructions on what we are supposed to do, the dos and donts. He says ukiwa kortini uzime simu. Then he says: Ukiulizwa kama una malilio usiseme hauna, sema shida zako vile korti inaweza kukuhurumia. This is vioja mahakamani and I don’t like what I am being instructed to do.

10.55 a.m. We are arranged in two files along the corridor. My name is called. I smile to the police officer and joke to him about those houses near Central Police Station which were demolished. He calls me ‘Rorot’ instead of ‘Lorot’. I forgive him for his tongue does not know what it is saying. Then it happens. Lorot Son of the Hills is handcuffed! I never saw this coming! I thought petty offenders like me who board vehicles at undesignated stages should walk with policemen like pals. What will people think? That I am Onyancha or something. I laugh at this ridiculous development.

11.08 a.m. Walking into the Traffic Court No. 7, I think like a lawyer. So far I have not been roughed up by policemen. That is encouraging, at least from the dented image of the police. I am charged for my offence on the same day. That is a plus to the judicial system. I can plead guilty to the offence or not guilty. If I plead guilty I will have to pay 10,000 shillings fine and be released the same day. If I plead not guilty I will secure a bail of 5,000 shillings for temporary freedom and come for mention and hearing. If I have no money to pay (either 5,000 or 10,000) between now and the next two hours, I will be locked in a police cell. This is not a Birthday message. But I maintain my cool nerve.

11.14 a.m. Inside Traffic Court No. 7 of Nairobi Law Courts. I was here sometimes last year as a law student in judicial attachment. The encouraging bit is that this is not Chief Magistrate Court where I was and is so busy. Law students on attachment, faces that I dread most are not there. Thank God for small mercies. I make a call to friends to come and rescue me.

11.30 a.m. The Magistrate will be here anytime. Lorot Son of the Hills, this is the moment. You were here for two months observing people in the dock. Now it is your turn to be observed. I love every minute of all this drama. I have made up my mind, I will be released today. I will walk outside that door and like Martin Luther King Junior I will scream: Free at last, free at last, Almighty God I am free at last that is if I don’t get arrested again for breach of public order.

11.30 am- 4.00 p.m. The magistrate goes through the ritual of calling names upon which the offenders will either plead guilty or not guilty. Most plead guilty including me.
4.30 p.m. A friend comes to my rescue and pays 10,000 shillings as fine. Upon payment,  Lorot Son of the Hills is let free. My feet lead me straight to the nearest food outlet I can lay my eyes on. I never took my breakfast and lunch was hard to come by in the courtroom. I tell myself that I will continue to be a law-abiding citizen. I love law even when it inconveniences me. Without law, I have no profession!

9.24 p.m. I update my status to read “ Am still debating in my mind whether I should make public today's high-profile drama...”. I am confused on whether I should inform my friends and fans on what happened. But my fingers are itching to record every bit of what happened today. I know that the question is not whether or not I will eventually write about it but when.

Exit Monday 6th September 2010. PHEW!