Skip to main content

What good can come out of Kawangware?



https://colorsynq.pixieset.com/diaconateordination-1/p/OTI0NDcyNjM4Nw==-OTc4MjkxMDc/

(Photos/Links Courtesy of Stano)

The man, 70 years plus, stands up to address the crowd, somewhere deep in the village of Obimbo. His face, old-smooth: anti-aging face lotion. His hair, jet-black – dye does wonderfully for one’s political career, forever young. A Young Turk, in Kenyan political parlance. ‘When I was in Alliance…’ Carey Francis is quoted too, to a mild chuckle from the congregated villagers. Alliance being Ivy League for public schooling.

We are gathered in Langata. The day is dreary, grey and drizzly. It’s the midst of July. The Father is quoting scripture, of how the child ought to bring joy to the mother. Of how the child ought to bring pride to the father. Of how the child ought to bury its parents. In the casket lies Nixon, Nick to his friends. His end a brutal one at the hands of an enraged mob. He had nicked a phone at the local open-air market and the traders there had gotten tired of this. Kawangware alumni. Churning out drug users and robbers and women of the night. Will Jesus ever come out of Kawangware?

Another day in Langata. The day is cheerful, sunny. Birds chirp happily about. You can feel the song in the day, full of promise. The venue: Regina Caeli, a Catholic Church domiciled in Karen, Langata. We are here gathered to witness the ordination of Deacon Gideon Kyallo (Charlo)… give him strength to become Father: a father to the boys, to the girls, to the youth, to the people of Kawangware. A beacon of hope and faith and strength. We sing, we breakdance, we recite poetry…

Tupe upendo ewe Mungu
Dunia yote ifaidi upendo
Maisha yetu yajae upendo
Bila upendo yote bure.

Nao upendo uanze nami
Mawazo, maneno yote upendo
Matendo yangu yakiri upendo
Ewe Mungu uanze nami.

Shusha baraka ewe Mungu
Dunia yetu ijae baraka
Maisha yetu yajae baraka
Bila baraka sio kitu.

Unapobariki uanze nami
Mawazo, maneno yajae baraka
Matendo yangu yakiri baraka
Kila baraka nianze mimi.

we give praise and worship, we give thanks.

For good has come out of Kawangware.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

#20BobSanaa

  With a heavy heart, having cried my heart out, I let go. Of these dear books with many a memory. This to support my book launches. Gladden, though, for they are on offer for as low as Kshs 20 – 20bob (exclusive of delivery costs): 1.        Betrayal in The City 320 2.        Paper Doll 320 3.        Royal Scandals 320 4.        Poems from East Africa 320 5.        Mimba Ingali Mimba 220 6.        Half a Day and Other Stories 120 7.        Kitumbua Kimeingia Mchanga 320 8.        Walenisi 420 9.        Horn of My Love 220 10.    Mayai Waziri wa Maradhi 120 11.    Brisinger 520 12.    Cabal 320 13.    The Patriot Game 320 14.    The Resurre...

Remembrances

Soft faces in tender places, I remember Shy lips and high hips, cold, the embers Soft skin and what could have been Echoes of stillness, in my labour, I have seen. Dotted noses and eyes brows, I have kissed In the throes of passion, questions missed Loved etched, sketched and drenched Here now I stand, on the world’s edge. It is a warm, fuzzy August night, as some books say. Mice scurry about, fat cats on their tails’ ends. I guess this is still so in one of your many books. Anyway, them books have squeezed me out of your heart and mind. Surely strange, but to love you in one still world is impossible when you live in so many. I am sure, too, that there is a pretty poem that says what’s in my heart about our situation. Adios. Feverish nights, grey nights, my dreams are possessed Yet, come morning, the old hauntings are to be dispensed The day is come, revealing the world as it is – boring I long for dusk, then I can pirate to adventure – roaring. It is a holiday. I am in ...

Gossip this morning

 I heard this morning, that… The price of unga, is about to go up I heard this morning, that the price of unga, is coming down I heard this morning, that the government, it has banned, unga Perhaps, the speaker meant, burnt Either way, our bellies, they burn Some, of hunger Others, belly full. I heard mid-morning, that, oil, is scarce Or, for cars, the speaker, he mumbled about. I heard mid-morning, that, he has passed us Or, the pastor, is us The messiah, he plays games. I heard in the afternoon, the government, is broke The weather, out of order The war, just In my afternoon, there was no peace. In the evening, I held counsel My ears, blocked with wax My eyes, blinded in tears My tongues, stilled in fury These things, they are not for me Screams of - baby Isak Shrieks of - Fatuma Howls of – Abdi Bombs, play toys Up above, silver streaks The rain, violent For a Utopia, the soldier man.