By Governer Joel Evans
It is a disease that has consumed my whole being for the several
generations I have lived. I was infected with the disease-causing
pathogen long ago, and to date I have faced challenges to vanquish this
fatalistic enigma. My mental statue has since then believed that this
bizarre ailment has intensively been attributed to my retarded mental
growth. It’s a dreary disease, indeed, Anglophobia – “the fear of
English”.
English remains a complex phenomenon, and a language
meant for the chosen few. On several occasions when these eloquent
masters of the language exhibit their prowess, I encounter a chilly
sensation and my body parts twitch involuntarily. And this is why: I
vividly recall, during the first semester of my first year, when one of
my lecturers dictated the content of a take-away assignment before the
class.
Seated at the very front, I had the privilege of
grasping word-for-word without any twist arising from mishearing. This
was the framing of the query; “Alluding with instructions, elucidate the
psycho-socio-econo-phenomenological parameters of the aggrandizing
poverty levels amidst the vagabonds of the contemporary society –
30marks.” I collapsed intellectually, physically immobilized, and for
once I was emotionless, having understood nothing ! I had to seek a
clear revelation of the jargoned piece from my nearest course mate.
Then came this day I got to follow the parliamentary proceedings. A
minister, in between his response to a colleague, “Mr. Speaker Sir, the
Leader of Government business must terminate his indecorous escapes of
shielding lackadaisical members of the house who tend to be redundant in
reacting to matters of national concern…” I never hesitated to vacate
the vicinity of the TV station since I got drowned in discomposure,
unease and was belittled by the volumes of vocabularies spit.
Our Judiciary also worsens my sickness. As much as I accolade the chief
justice for his efforts in attainment of the autonomy of the Judiciary, I
still cry foul for more reforms which should go beyond the abandoning
of wigs and gowns by judges. The language used in the legal fraternity
should be diluted. Here is a justification for my request; on questing
the US Judicial Portal, the language used proved to be precise and
understandable to the common “mwananchi” unlike the situation in the
Kenyan court-rooms.
“Therein’s, thereof’s, thereabouts, in contravention
of chapter six, infringement of article 132, jeopardizing clause eight,
and so on…” which do nothing but just mystify, perplex and intimidate.
Isn’t access to justice also an inclusion of understandable language to
all.
Then lastly came this spam “sms” that was doing rounds
countrywide; over PLO Lumumba calling the fire station to come to his
rescue as his house was on fire. “Are you the combustion officer? Can
you please gravitate to my domiciliary habitation…” That turned me off
completely!
Apologies to my fellow sick mates who have just rushed for the dictionary before completing the reading of this piece!
Monday, January 14, 2013
WHY I NEED A DATE...
By Stanley Kimuge
I know our relationship has gone through strenuous path. You had promised that we need a break. Simply wait for a further notice. That everything would be fine and I shouldn’t succumb to worry. But I can’t sleep nowadays. You have left me in the dark. This father of noticing has made me lose a lot of weight. I don’t have appetite for food.
I know our relationship has gone through strenuous path. You had promised that we need a break. Simply wait for a further notice. That everything would be fine and I shouldn’t succumb to worry. But I can’t sleep nowadays. You have left me in the dark. This father of noticing has made me lose a lot of weight. I don’t have appetite for food.
That first time I saw you my world came crushing. That’s why I had to
pick you as my first choice. It was tough but I had to settle for you.
Your down-to-earth life made me admire you most. But ever since we took a
break, my parents think I am suspended for all wrong deeds. They think I
was impregnated by you. My father can’t apprehend that notices can be
furthered.
Buried in sadness, I noticed well-built men called jobs. What a coincidence? But don’t mind their similar names. Some have approached me on several occasions. I had to turn down. I promised the other that we can push but no strings attached. He had goodies. I couldn’t resist. He whispered to me that money isn’t a problem.
Remember that day when we got engaged at the jab office? The joy and hope thrilled my heart. You vowed that you will stand on your shoulders. You promised that our four year contractual marriage will be smooth. But I still feel disturbed. That day you accused your parents for intrusion. They said that there was no bed space. I must admit it sent me into disarray!
Do I have to lay fault on your “old men”? Someone narrated to me that there are rooms in your house which can comfortably capacitate our family. There are visitors who don’t need exiles. They set time tables in which she can rotate. Up and down.
My elder brother in form four is suffering from kwashiorkor disease. He says you usually give more than he could chew. I heard he complained that you coerced him to languish in confusion. When he tried to contemplate what was happening, the chef accosted him with un-ripe food. For now, he spends much time in sick bed. The doctor advised him to visit the Much Talked Lab (MTL) regularly . He fears being rejected by potential wives called employees.
You don’t pop by Facebook like I used to grab. You no longer update your relationship status. It doesn’t even read that you are engaged to me. Just complicated. My heart palpitates in anger when I have glimpse of your profile pictures. They are just first and fourth year ladies’.
I just hope that our friendship will not limp. I pray that a cure will be found. I also want to forgive whoever allowed this mess. Those, who passed this unfortunate double wife intake to pass this test, will surely pay. I blame them for making you have a crush on that fresh girl.
The voice is an ever faithful second year girl from Hakuna Reply na Shida Day School (HRSD) wanting to know when she will be back!
The writer is a publishing and media studies student.
Buried in sadness, I noticed well-built men called jobs. What a coincidence? But don’t mind their similar names. Some have approached me on several occasions. I had to turn down. I promised the other that we can push but no strings attached. He had goodies. I couldn’t resist. He whispered to me that money isn’t a problem.
Remember that day when we got engaged at the jab office? The joy and hope thrilled my heart. You vowed that you will stand on your shoulders. You promised that our four year contractual marriage will be smooth. But I still feel disturbed. That day you accused your parents for intrusion. They said that there was no bed space. I must admit it sent me into disarray!
Do I have to lay fault on your “old men”? Someone narrated to me that there are rooms in your house which can comfortably capacitate our family. There are visitors who don’t need exiles. They set time tables in which she can rotate. Up and down.
My elder brother in form four is suffering from kwashiorkor disease. He says you usually give more than he could chew. I heard he complained that you coerced him to languish in confusion. When he tried to contemplate what was happening, the chef accosted him with un-ripe food. For now, he spends much time in sick bed. The doctor advised him to visit the Much Talked Lab (MTL) regularly . He fears being rejected by potential wives called employees.
You don’t pop by Facebook like I used to grab. You no longer update your relationship status. It doesn’t even read that you are engaged to me. Just complicated. My heart palpitates in anger when I have glimpse of your profile pictures. They are just first and fourth year ladies’.
I just hope that our friendship will not limp. I pray that a cure will be found. I also want to forgive whoever allowed this mess. Those, who passed this unfortunate double wife intake to pass this test, will surely pay. I blame them for making you have a crush on that fresh girl.
The voice is an ever faithful second year girl from Hakuna Reply na Shida Day School (HRSD) wanting to know when she will be back!
The writer is a publishing and media studies student.
I WANT MY HOLIDAY BACK!
By William Dekker
Buzzzzzz! I feel like two thousand and thirteen bees are buzzing in the entire territory of my head! So here I am once again. It’s neither a New Semester, nor an Academic year but just a shift in the realm of the Global Calendar, a New Year, 2013. No difference to it, same shaggy hair, same old shoes, unchanged Hostel room and same Moi University with the same “Administration”. Come on, I had to mention the “admin” thing, you know why better than I do. Chaos, it is!
Just as soon as I board the MU shuttle at the Eldoret bus stage, thoughts of horrific scenes start to take control of me. And for about 36km to “Main” I am deeply engulfed in a sea of nightmares. Perhaps the confusion that awaits is enough to instantly make one mad. Oh my, the Hostel accommodation disaster, academic calendar programming catastrophe, the “further notices” calamity among other usual downbeats . . . all are in store for me. No pains, after all am in an eye sore-certified institution. Long live Moi . . . oops!"
By the time I get to “Karibu Umefika”, am seriously regretting why I had to travel all the way to this place (today). “Kwani hapa ni High School ntapatiwa pano niki-extend?” Frakaz pap! I make my first stoppage to my “home away from home” and guzzle “2,013” bottles of KEG just to synchronize my head with the new environment here. I tell you the moment you face your day one in this Campus head-on you are bound to suffer. At least I got to “warm boot” myself with a few tots of beer. Now I will have adopted and refreshed my system.
The hostel environment proves not to be conducive as per my expectations. First, I have no coil . . . famine ahead! Secondly, I did a shopping of less than 500/- . . . IDP ahead! Lastly, my roommate has made an “exile” timetable in advance . . .its pirating reloaded!
The usual accommodative neighbors are all wearing the “sura ya kazi” look, meaning this time round my antics for timing meal-times won’t work that efficiently. Apparently, I still don’t have alternative “B” now that I can’t afford a mess-budget for the remaining two months.
It dawns to me that I had received my two-semester HELB loan in advance over the Christmas holiday, and extravagantly spent it in the village (in advance). So here I am broke and broken, pocket-wrecked and miserable! Those who assisted me to passionately feast on the money are nowhere in my vicinity. No one is willing, or rather even capable of loaning me no matter the grounds. After all, “kila mtu ako-broke hii Januarrrr.” Such are the times that you opt for IEBC vacancies to reload your financial status.
Or I should rather go back home and hunt for the politicians “untie-ment ” money. It’s a season for the voter to “earn”, get paid for attending campaigns. So what am I doing in Moi, when the environment off-campus seems to be more conducive than this? I just need that holiday back. Nikikaa hapa, ntakonda!
Buzzzzzz! I feel like two thousand and thirteen bees are buzzing in the entire territory of my head! So here I am once again. It’s neither a New Semester, nor an Academic year but just a shift in the realm of the Global Calendar, a New Year, 2013. No difference to it, same shaggy hair, same old shoes, unchanged Hostel room and same Moi University with the same “Administration”. Come on, I had to mention the “admin” thing, you know why better than I do. Chaos, it is!
Just as soon as I board the MU shuttle at the Eldoret bus stage, thoughts of horrific scenes start to take control of me. And for about 36km to “Main” I am deeply engulfed in a sea of nightmares. Perhaps the confusion that awaits is enough to instantly make one mad. Oh my, the Hostel accommodation disaster, academic calendar programming catastrophe, the “further notices” calamity among other usual downbeats . . . all are in store for me. No pains, after all am in an eye sore-certified institution. Long live Moi . . . oops!"
By the time I get to “Karibu Umefika”, am seriously regretting why I had to travel all the way to this place (today). “Kwani hapa ni High School ntapatiwa pano niki-extend?” Frakaz pap! I make my first stoppage to my “home away from home” and guzzle “2,013” bottles of KEG just to synchronize my head with the new environment here. I tell you the moment you face your day one in this Campus head-on you are bound to suffer. At least I got to “warm boot” myself with a few tots of beer. Now I will have adopted and refreshed my system.
The hostel environment proves not to be conducive as per my expectations. First, I have no coil . . . famine ahead! Secondly, I did a shopping of less than 500/- . . . IDP ahead! Lastly, my roommate has made an “exile” timetable in advance . . .its pirating reloaded!
The usual accommodative neighbors are all wearing the “sura ya kazi” look, meaning this time round my antics for timing meal-times won’t work that efficiently. Apparently, I still don’t have alternative “B” now that I can’t afford a mess-budget for the remaining two months.
It dawns to me that I had received my two-semester HELB loan in advance over the Christmas holiday, and extravagantly spent it in the village (in advance). So here I am broke and broken, pocket-wrecked and miserable! Those who assisted me to passionately feast on the money are nowhere in my vicinity. No one is willing, or rather even capable of loaning me no matter the grounds. After all, “kila mtu ako-broke hii Januarrrr.” Such are the times that you opt for IEBC vacancies to reload your financial status.
Or I should rather go back home and hunt for the politicians “untie-ment ” money. It’s a season for the voter to “earn”, get paid for attending campaigns. So what am I doing in Moi, when the environment off-campus seems to be more conducive than this? I just need that holiday back. Nikikaa hapa, ntakonda!
MATYRS OF IGNORANCE
By Kinyua Njeri
I look forward for March, when die-hard political sycophants and goons will have their hearts sunk !
Wololoow !
I look forward for March, when die-hard political sycophants and goons will have their hearts sunk !
Wololoow !
The political moguls that are now being showered with praise and
sacrifice(some people are even ready to die for them!) will then turn
their backs, as they are used to doing.
The noisy sycophant will be left soar throated while the elected "ANGEL" enjoys the opulence of his belly.
This will include endorsing themselves with Salary increment(a MAN OF THE PEOPLE can't be sustained by a minor six-digit wage. 800k is a mere PEANUT !). 9.3 million shillings will be a normal token for their work.
How can the MEN OF THE PEOPLE be poorer than the people they represent?!!
The sychophant will however have his salary increased by sh.300 after an "enjoyable" taking-to-the streets negotiation. Though he wants 300% increment, the MEN OF THE PEOPLE will mistake that for sh.300.
Ask teachers and nurses, the truth will be dawned!
Ready to offer their living sacrifice to these REFORMERS & PERFORMERS, Kenyans will be ailing and wallowing utterly on hospital beds(if they are lucky enough) or cold, calm and still, in some of the dilapidated morgues. For the great men, a state burial will be held in their honour.
Angels of villainy will be singing lullabies of good riddance to the still corpses of the MARTYRS OF IGNORANCE!
You can be sure of that because the "wise Kenyans" will have offered their bodies and lives to the gods of violence, skirmishes, and "mass action", all to secure their ethnic warlords a place in their country's decision making organ.
It is not until after 3yrs after election that Kenyans will once again regain normalcy, after a sky-rocketing of basic commodities. They once again reunite to sing chants of "UNGA !"
Human Right Activists will once re-rise from their somnolent aestivation with rejuvenated vigour.
It is here that Kenyans will find out how traitors the MEN OF THE PEOPLE were!
The noisy sycophant will be left soar throated while the elected "ANGEL" enjoys the opulence of his belly.
This will include endorsing themselves with Salary increment(a MAN OF THE PEOPLE can't be sustained by a minor six-digit wage. 800k is a mere PEANUT !). 9.3 million shillings will be a normal token for their work.
How can the MEN OF THE PEOPLE be poorer than the people they represent?!!
The sychophant will however have his salary increased by sh.300 after an "enjoyable" taking-to-the streets negotiation. Though he wants 300% increment, the MEN OF THE PEOPLE will mistake that for sh.300.
Ask teachers and nurses, the truth will be dawned!
Ready to offer their living sacrifice to these REFORMERS & PERFORMERS, Kenyans will be ailing and wallowing utterly on hospital beds(if they are lucky enough) or cold, calm and still, in some of the dilapidated morgues. For the great men, a state burial will be held in their honour.
Angels of villainy will be singing lullabies of good riddance to the still corpses of the MARTYRS OF IGNORANCE!
You can be sure of that because the "wise Kenyans" will have offered their bodies and lives to the gods of violence, skirmishes, and "mass action", all to secure their ethnic warlords a place in their country's decision making organ.
It is not until after 3yrs after election that Kenyans will once again regain normalcy, after a sky-rocketing of basic commodities. They once again reunite to sing chants of "UNGA !"
Human Right Activists will once re-rise from their somnolent aestivation with rejuvenated vigour.
It is here that Kenyans will find out how traitors the MEN OF THE PEOPLE were!
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