HOW MUM DROVE ME INTO AIDS

HOW MUM DROVE ME INTO AIDS:

Dear ma,

Let me begin by thanking you for carrying me in your womb, but had I known the pain my birth would subsequently cost me, I would have preferred to have been stillborn.

Mum, do you remember when I asked you about my fees for college, and you came out clean of your “sacrifice” for us to survive on this world?

I did not know that you led a double life. That behind the façade of a saint mum, you were actually a prostitute. Probably that’s why you sent me to a boarding school way earlier.

I glibly took it that you were a long suffering saint incapable of any wrong doing. And when you became sick, it was there I came face to face with the reality of your job as drunk, irresponsible and philandering men who had paid you earlier in advance started demanding their pay back.

If you can’t beat them, join them! You had sacrificed for me and now I took it upon me the same calling and tie the same shoes as you urged me on. Bills had to be paid and food to be bought. I had to make a choice. I became a twilight girl, a whore, a prostitute, a sex worker, an object of desire, disgusting at face value yet pleasant at secret expeditions.

It was my unregretful choice- my answer. I had to rationalize the disgusting behavior of bringing home different men every other night and having lusty leg lifts on my creaky bed. Mum, I had to put up with the loud shrieks and moans of ecstasy, followed by fights and foul language.

As I lie on my creaky bed at the general hospital; I know that I don’t deserve any mercy from you. A stone throw away from my bed, I see you mum-so weak, sad and mourning, but how I wish I could whisper in your ear and let you know that you should wipe away your tears.

I know the whole world will judge us as they already have started. The other night I over heard the nurses talking of how disgusting it was to work at that ward. Mum, AIDS was the hazard in our occupation and as they say, every occupation has its own hazards. Mum, my heart rejoices knowing as much as you sacrificed for me, I did sacrifice back for you and to me that indeed is love!

Mum, we die as unsung heroes and not a disgrace. Isn’t it better to die than live and be contaminated by our corrupt society?

I love you ma!

LEADERSDHIP LESSONS FROM THE 2010 WORLD CUP:

LEADERSDHIP LESSONS FROM THE 2010 WORLD CUP:

The World Cup came to Africa and the cup returned back to Europe, Spain to be exact. But during that season of madness, I learnt a lot of lessons that I am certain Africa as a continent was suppose to grasp but we failed to. That is why I paint these pages today to share with the leaders of tomorrow what we were suppose to have learnt yesterday in South Africa.

I learnt that in any institution, we should learn the lesson on entrusting leadership in some individuals based not in ability but collective euphoria. Brazil’s Dunga and Argentina’s Maradona led probably the 2 best squads on earth and the two were probably the most inexperienced managers at the World Cup.

coach Dunga

Maradona got the job because of his cult-like worship, following his playing days’ exploits- some of them which were drugs-inspired. At the bonanza, he was more of a comedian than a manger and probably all that Argentina achieved was courtesy of his players’ talents.

coach Mardona

We have got planners and executors. This is a lesson the professional world needs to know and appreciate the individual abilities of every employee. Maradona and Dunga were good executors no doubt, who rose to become good planners.

In many organizations, there are so many wrong people given the right job and vice versa. It is a crazy continent we live in. God help us all!

THE SOILED DOVE

THE SOILED DOVE:

A few heads turn, 3 or 4 men let out whistles as I pass and a dozen or so women cast acidic looks my way. I7 years old, of a bubbly nature and my hobbies are akin to those of every other teenager in the vicinity. I like to belong. So naturally I have a boyfriend.

He is responsible for this- the bulge in my stomach, growing slowly and surely. He walked away, being allergic to such responsibilities.

I am a source of shame to my dad-the poor old clergyman. Mum acts normal and cries when she needs to. Those who know me laugh and murmur as I pass.

Is it so bad that I decided to keep the baby? Would you rather I killed it in some dark back alley clinic to save face, so that my dad could at least smile at me again?

Bear your burden, I hear you say- and I will. All 6 kilos on the outside and a ton or so more in my heart, because the doc says I have twins growing in me. But as I do, my heart bleeds and pleads for all soiled doves in my world and my continent of Africa, whether they dived in the mud or were forced to swim in it.

I wish, for once, someone would stand and look at us differently. Like the she-roes we are; bent lilies about to bud again, for choosing the dreaded path too many-yet deep down our souls the right path, for keeping our babies.

for africa by africa: I'M A KENYAN

for africa by africa: I'M A KENYAN: This year, 2012, Kenyans will be going to the polls again and many are praying and hoping that a recount of the 2007 post poll violen...

I'M A KENYAN

This year, 2012, Kenyans will be going to the polls again and many are praying and hoping that a recount of the 2007 post poll violence will not be repeated this year. I thought of what story to share on this until I stumbled on a story my dad had handed down to me when I was in high school.

When I lived in Kibera, I shared my modest crib with Onyango, Kimani, Kipng’eno, Mutisya and Abdi. Abdi and Kimani shared a bed because Abdi was new to the city. The only thing that separated our “bedrooms” was a ‘leso’, an old dirty bed sheet and a black polythene sheet that Mutisya had picked on his way from Industrial Area.

We shared everything and we showered in shifts and on alternate Sundays. Life was way hard, but we were happy. Kimani pushed “mkoko” at Marigiti and in the evening, he would come with a mixture of almost everything that was sold at the market. From it, we made stew. Everyday, it tasted distinctly different and authentic, even though the ingredients remained the same, the quantity varied. Sometimes the “pilipili” or “dania” will be in plenty, hence the taste of the day. We listened to “Kameme” together and “KBC-salamu za hodihodi” together and shared “ushindi” bar soap for washing and “geisha kubwa” for bathing. Played draughts with soda bottle tops over the weekends.

In short, we were more than brothers, and we remained so for 5 years until the elections were called. It was time to part ways. We got new identities- “Jaluo”, “Mkamba”, “kale”, “msapere”, “Walalo” and “Banye.” Identifying ourselves with the rich politicians we shared a language with was the thing- the in thing and not the poor we had been with four years.

The wealthy man from my tribe won the election. I headed back to the same room I had shared for five years with people of my class, albeit with some election posters to deco our crib. “Mheshimiwa” headed for the Hilton hotel to celebrate. That night, ironically and sadly as it may sound, we slept without food.

After a while, things came back to normal- we were back to sharing everything with Abdi, Musyoka, Onyango e.t.c. whenever there was bereavement amongst us, we all attended. Just the poor people.  “Mheshimiwa” was busy on the beach. But when “mheshimiwa” got bereaved, I mourned for him for weeks, even though I won’t be let to go past his iron electric “mbwa kali” gate. When he engaged in corruption, I defended him at all cost. I defended him fiercely just because he spoke my language.

To cut the long story short, I voted for “Mheshimiwa”. He lives big. But life for me, Onyango, Kimani, and Abdi is still the same.

What if we had voted for one of us, regardless of his tribe, could life be different? Identify with your own true tribe. RICH or POOR are the real tribes of Kenya and Africa as a whole.

However, the latter are the majority and are ruled by the minority. Poor people rise up and fight for your rights. Did you know, the only common thing between you and your much cherished “Mheshimiwa” is the language? Nothing else. NOTHING!

But the list of common things you share with Musyoka, Onyango, Abdi and Wanjiku is endless.

Think and educate others.

RYAN'S WELL

RYAN’S WELL:

In a little village in the south of Canada, there is a young boy who went to school one day and his teacher began talking about children in Africa who lacked drinking water.

He was only 6 years old and they said in the classroom that if you raised $ 70, that’s all it would take to create a well in a village in Africa, so that they didn’t have to drink dirty water again.

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Something happened to the spirit of this young man at only 6 years and he went to his parents and told them that he wanted to build a well. It was a powerful idea and nothing is impossible with an idea whose time has come. When an ides has come and it resonates within you, it can’t be stopped.

The boy did extra chores to raise more money apart from his own savings. After sometime, he was able to put together $ 70. And he went to his teacher and they went to this place that had given the information only to discover that it took more that it took more than the 70 bucks. It was a misinformation. It really cost $ 2000.

He said, “then I will do more chores.” Because he knew that this is a friendly world, not one that you give up easily. He got the neighborhood, his friends and parents involved. He managed to raise the 2000 bucks.

His name is Ryan. That is just the beginning of the story. As it turns out, he sent the money to this small village in Uganda where they were able to build the well. Ryan and his mum were invited to Africa to come and speak to the children of that village. He went over there and he began to give talks. People welcomed him there and they were so grateful to this boy who had a vision of bringing clean water. They were so touched by it, that they named the well after him and a day after him too to make it even the more memorable- “Ryan’s day”. They even went on to create a documentary about him called: ‘Ryan’s well’

Today, that boy has raised over 1 million dollars for water and other projects to the villages in Africa that drank dirty water or lacked water. He has gone on to give inspiring lectures of hope worldwide.

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Ryan’s family ended up adopting a child soldier-jimmy from D.R.C. and they have become loving brothers since then. Ryan ahs appeared on Oprah and also featured on Dr. Dwayne Dyer’s inspiration programmes. Infact, Oprah went on to name Ryan among her most inspiring young people. Ryan has taught the world and Africa as a whole that nothing can stop anyone who believes that they can create something, if that idea is within them.

 

For more info kindly visit: www.ryanswell.ca/

for africa by africa: FINDING GOD

for africa by africa: FINDING GOD: FINDING GOD: Well, you know, sometimes God allows things to happen in your life, to make you stronger, and if you are not careful, th...