Tugege Politics: Erasing My People

Tugege Politics: Erasing My People

Kamau, my once loving brother
Kamau, he has become house Negro
I, field Negro, to him turned a Botha
Like Peter, his people, sees them a bother.

Kamau, my once confident brother
Irritates him, mine prosperity that glows
A seed planted, it’s nature is to grow
This new found hate of the self, nurtured.

Kamau, my once proud brother
Has been taught, his people to loathe
Vehement, it is so, you suspect some oath
Lies peddled daily, has become his tutor.

Only that, this hate in his heart, ain’t his
The Master’s venom, through him, the hiss
Blinded, Kamau can’s see, this to be a death kiss
They got a hold on him, permanent the lease.

Still, I understand him, lost as he is
Lies dash around the world, truth stills
History, that eternal teacher of old
Its lessons - poignant, solid, bold.

To conquer a man, alienate him from his culture
Rubbish his traditions, over him, you’ll have power
His blood-brother, you bribe into a collaborator
Deaf-blind, he can’t hear the lightning, see the thunder!

History, it says, to kill a nation, erase their names
Rabbi is Shylock, Nkurunziza – pesky the cockroach
Ahmed Terrorises, permit the drone to approach
It’s my turn now, Kagege - Tugege, now they maim.

Loud the ridicule, Kamau wa Mumbi, rootless
Now I deny my Creator - I’ve become less
Fatherless – a man is nothing, they say
I forget about Gikuyu, night is my day.

Emboldened, they revise, this my history
Alternative facts, the new, strange story
Kenyatta didn’t fight - for the nation’s freedom
Matiba he was missing; Second - the Liberation.

In future, they’ll say, Ngugi wrote terribly
Wangari, her trees – painted even less kindly
Kibaki – he ruined, such a great economy
I’ll stand with them, agree to all – foolishly, heartily!

Divide, rule – as all conquests happen
Martha versus Gachagua, quarrels laden
Mungiki – our youth baptised – the future weaken
Poison with drink – lose the entrepreneurial haven!

Yet, I am of the Mountain – high and proud
I am the Mountain – black and white – the camouflage
He has to strive and heave, to access what I hold – the adage
Yet, my choice is made – bounty for my people for all the ages!

Yet, I am of the valley, lowly and tranquil
Here I retreat, to hear the voice become still
Gikuyu my Father, Mumbi my Creator - I honour
Blessed land of meat, milk and honey – I, the owner!

Strengthened, I embrace all – I am Kagege
They think idiot, I pronounce strength, cunning
I embrace all – proud I am to be Kagege
My days bountiful - sunny is my new morning!

Shape-shifters we are – Proud Tugege
We won’t be ashamed of our choices – Proud Tugege
In this new name emboldened – Proud Tugege
We embrace, they now can’t erase – I am a Proud Kagege!

Comments

My-Once Molly (Praying for a Rainbow),

Dear Molly, I hope you are ok and are keeping safe in these floods. As for me, I am heartbroken. I am in pain. My mind, my body, my spirit aches. I am numb with grief. As is the nation of Kenya. The picture just won’t get out of our minds – the father, trudging stoically, his dead, muddy son slung over his shoulder. It’s a devastating image… the screams, elsewhere, as a boat capsizes, the swollen river swallows a lorry… Izrael has visited the land. Dear Molly, a while back, the nation faced drought. Then, images of dead livestock, emaciated men, women and children, parched, cracked earth, haunted our screens. Elsewhere where there was a glut in food production, the farmers cried for their fellow starving countrymen. They demanded for lorries to traverse the rutted roads and take the produce to their brethren… collectively, we prayed for rain. Dear Molly... will we ever catch a break as Kenya? The Covid-19 pandemic that paralysed lives and livelihoods in 2020 as we recovered from th...

My-Once Molly (thinking of Valentine),

My-Once Molly… the girl who broke my heart, the one who got away, the one who promised me the world and left me to survive alone – typical of our Kenyan politicians… I hope you are good. Now, as February – the month of love – lurks about, I find myself thinking of you. Thing is, my dear Molly, I have new neighbours. A young couple, very much in love like we once were. The young lady, her name is Val… maybe Valentine… I don’t know. This Val, a spirited girl with rich, deep, heaving laughter - almost like yours. Her smile… ah! You should see it. The shine of the morning sun distilling the dew upon cool meadows… I am totally in love with her. Alarmingly, she teases me much and I am getting ideas… Molly, dear, wherever you are, please pray for me… the temptation is too much. If you don’t, the frail creature that I am may fall. This, despite having numerous songs in my playlist to warn me. Invariably, Majengo – that infamous locale – does a dishonourable appearance in most of them… ‘Maj...

My Once-Molly (A Theft),

Hi Molly. How are you? The floods are here and I almost drowned – should have gone for swimming lessons as you often times suggested. Anyways, I now walk with a motorcycle tire’s tube and pump in my backpack. DIY lifesaver gear as instructed by Grade 3 CBC cohort. Dear Molly, as I informed you last time, I shifted. Partly, the floods, partly, change, partly, finances. This Creative Writing journey is taking a bit of time to yield fruits, but I hang on, consoled by the words of one Ernest Hemingway, whose ending was horrible: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Where I shifted to, is a downgrade. ‘Mabati’ rooms – plenty of stories, though as living is communal and one’s business is everyone’s business. Such as the recent theft – a woofer, charger, ‘meko’ gas, a bar of soap, and a bucket of maize flower - that’s how ‘flour’ is pronounced, FIY. Must have been pretty hungry, them thieves. How it unfolded. A bit of commotion early mor...

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