Skip to main content

My Once-Molly (Political versus Business Ethics),

 













Dear Molly. How are you? As always, I hope you are well. You know, there is something about you, something that made me inspire for better. Was it that rich smokers’ laughter of yours? The daring twinkle that flashed in your eyes when you were angry? The tight curl in your lips when you were about to lash out?

Anyway, Molly, I continue with my business training. I am now thinking of business as warfare – the honourable kind of warfare; chivalry, observing the rules… not the Machiavellian 48-Laws-of-Power warfare where there is no honour, but only winning. Politics of deceit, our president calls it.

Well, these past couple of days have been chilly… a precursor to June’s biting cold? Anyway, I am more often sad than happy during the cold months of June and July. I totally blame this on Sam Kahiga’s short story, ‘The Last Breath’ – if my memory serves me right. Off the ‘Encounters from Africa’ anthology. There is a way he made June and July sad. Pretty much like you wouldn’t tail a truck, as a motorist, carrying logs – ‘The Final Destination’ movie series.

Molly, I think it’s the loneliness talking. Maybe, I should turn porcupine and hibernate, emerge with the August sun. Thinking of – do porcupines hibernate? A constant supply of coffee would do instead. Then again, coffee isn’t sweet anymore since I stopped talking sugar. A musician friend of mine says it is bad for the voice. Since I intend to record in the near future, I substituted sugar for lemon…

My mind wanders off… As the cold season saunters in, how grievous Gen. Ogolla’s – recently demised - widow hurts. I am now thinking of political assassinations in the country. What would our country be like now if these lives were allowed to realise their full potential? In my own way, I honour them (listen to the message, not the bad singing):

Mashujaa Waliotuacha

Majina mengi – Saitoti, Muge, Muthiora
Rafiki Ojode, walimpooza Matiba
Ouko angezitimiza zetu ndoto
Pio Gama tofauti wa nchi mkondo.

Miaka, miongo, siku zimepita
Na bado hatuna furaha, twalia
Wa taifa mashujaa waliotuacha
Mauti yao kweli ya kutatanisha.

Oscar King’ara mtetezi wa haki
Daktari Mbai fundi wa ugatuzi
Tom Mboya aliyekosa mpinzani
Sifa tele huyu JM Kariuki.

Kimathi kisingizio hawajui kaburi
Vijana wakombozi waliitwa Mungiki
Huruma kosa walioshwa na mauti
Mazimwi yatukulayo hayashibi.

Hayupo Jemedari Francis Ogolla
Maswali mengi nani atatujibu Karumba
Mauaji ya halaiki pale Wagalla
Baby Pendo, Msando mlale salama.

Arwings Kodhek zaidi ya barabara
Masinde, Ngala nani watawajibika
Andungosi Nduthu tusisahau yao majina
Nyekundu ilitapika viwiliwili Mto Yala.

Twawalia waliotutangulia wetu mashujaa
Vifo vyao tatanishi hatujaelewa
Ardhini damu yao bado changa
Bila kwaheri ghafla walizima.

 

(Our Departed Heroes)

We call them – Saitoti, Muge, Muthiora
Our friend Ojode, they paralysed Matiba
Ouko -the fulfilment of our dreams
Pio Gama – the canoe to prosperity.

Years, decades, days – to nothing faded
And still, joyless, we weep
For our heroes departed
Perplexing, their demise.

Oscar King’ara – agitated for our rights
Dr. Mbai – devolution, were we gifted
Tom Mboya – without peer, the man
JM Kariuki – the man at one with the people.

How they taunt us – of Kimathi’s resting place
Mungiki – young freedom fighters labelled
In bloodbath – mercilessly swept away
Without fill, we are easy meal for the ogres.

The General Francis Ogolla, he is no more
Questions abound – who answers Karumba
We remember the Wagalla Massacre
Baby pendo, Msando – sleep in forever power.

More than a city lane – Arwings Kodhek
Masinde, Ngala – whose responsibility
Etched the sweet names – Andungosi, Nduthu
Scarlet, River Yala vomits corpses.

We lament of heroes who went before us
Their deaths, not of the Creator’s making
Their veins emptied, they warm the earth
No goodbyes, their lights switched off.

 

Dear Molly, I have to go now… about the translation? Well, moving from one language to another is always tricky… how to carry along the idioms, the nuances… maybe, a linguist can do better. Anyway, may you always observe ethics in your business dealings.


Yours in business mores,
Sant Mark

Please support my art by buying my book through this link: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/

 Thanks.

 

Dismembered, They Will Be Remembered

What if… would we have more EQUALITY!

Scars that won’t fade

Wounds deep, they still bleed, they still hurt

Their names grace, graze & dance on our lips.






Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Once-Molly (The Job To Be Done),

My dear Molly, how are you? I hope you are good. I am well as well can be, with the flooding, the inflation, and all. Anyway, grapevine (or maybe, I am a stalker) has it that you are nowadays into the beauty business. Very soon, I too will be emulating you. We may be compatible at all, conquer the world together as business icons. My dear Molly, it may interest you to know that I am doing business training – my bank, UBA, and its founder, Tony Elumelu, is that special. Always seeking to empower African entrepreneurs. The excellent thing about the training is that it is very practical to today’s and the coming future business needs. As a matter of course, we also are directed to additional reading to widen our entrepreneurial minds. The Job To Be Done. Clayton M. Christensen. In the words of Johnny Nash, ‘I can see clearly now that the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles on my way…’ What a beauty this is! It is something you should look up, understand what is it you are selling to...
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more