IN THE WORDS OF MY FATHER

by Isak Koome

This text is extracted from my long time pieces of philosophical ideologies

“My son, I want you to make a champion of revolution. I want you to go out and preach the gospel of oneness to the people of this great nation”. These were the words of my father a couple of years ago. Yes. Be a champion of revolutions. Is this an incitement or is it possibly a way of telling me to loosen from the web?

The dynamism of the present society can only fit those who jog for the jig and get the axe fixed on time. I was born of the archival generations. But does this possibly mean that I should be donated to the National Museums or Archives to be used as a historical point or reference? No. I agree that the world is changing and I will change with it.

It is our turn to loosen from the web of damage cease creasers and invite the whole world to adore our intricate steps as we dance to the rhythm of the Nyatiti. The rhythm that can only make good tunes if propagated by honesty and intellectual capitalism. I wrote again and I want to write this again: we are suffering from a very serious cerebral deficit in our own capacity. The individual capitalism embedded in every intellectually mature individual’s repertoire must – with or without naughty and selfish jingoism – allow sane ideologies flow within our blood streams.

I might be seen like a puppet hired to spread the gospel of destruction against the government of the upcoming generation of leaders that is intended to bring “reforms” to the people like a digital camera displaying its images without any strain. If reforms mean categorically corrupting the deductively reluctant and dreaming minds of sane Kenyans, please count me a coward and reduce my brevity into mere rhetoric to include a mosaic approach of the spiraling leaves in the dry season.

Does revolution call for an assembly of tossed coins facing one direction and failing to recognize that other denominations too have two sides? Is revolution a battle for supremacy to let our self-styled and periodic personal histories – dead as the dodo – ejaculate gawks of creative menopauses? Is it okay to splash the pictures of constructors or lesser mortal barons in sand-winched pastries? Are we in such a hurry in prioritizing speculative details about the cost of a past society in its cheapness?

Opinion may be shaped by idiosyncratic responses to our inability to clear the mountain tops of the snow and are a comparative of statistical heuristics. An argument backed by numbers of words is probably a proliferation of our own emotional concentrations and scientific engagements. Like a river flows without much strain so is the flow of pangs of frustrations and selfishness. Anger is never substituted with emotions and neither is the vice versa a remedy.

The gallery and exhibition of ideas is a free market. The ideas market is just like a stall where men are goods on display and the price more fascinating than the value. We fail to understand that as much as we would like to buy and marry your ideas, do not forget that the power of a corrupt conscience remains with the corrupt and never use the innocence and ignorance of an individual to manipulate his/her wrath. Let us respect ourselves before begging for respect from others.