March 18, 2010
Posted in Daystar University at 1:20 pm by com436
Urbanus Kissiu
It was on my maiden visit to the infamous Dandora residential area in Nairobi that the reality of this hazardous enterprise of urbanization morass hit me. I had only seen television footage and newspaper reportage, but the problem remained only a remote concern to me, just like most other Kenyans who are not directly affected by it.
For the last thirty years that the dump site has been in existence, livelihoods have been sustained and destinies shaped by its unwelcome benevolence to individuals and families. The site is like a cruel step mother who is also generous enough to serve unpalatable crumbs of bread from yesterday’s breakfast, but also knows how to nag with a dreary promise of her tortuous hospitality.
The naïve and ignorant young boys and girls I met around this obnoxious phenomenon appeared so engrossed with survival that when I stopped to enquire about what they were doing, they displayed an informed sense of awareness of the motherly significance of the garbage heap.
The dumpsite sits there stoically imposing itself like the biblical tree of life, with its inherent capacity to open the eyes of a human being. The people in Dandora, I suppose, given the option in the next elections, would rather vote for the retention of the site than for a new member of parliament. It’s there for them during economic hardships; they see it everyday and rely on it (the submarine MP only shows up after every five years), it has given them an identity and a reputation for inability to be chocked by the toxic gaseous emissions from the mega trash bin.
The morbid presence of the dumpsite has survived the din of political gainsaying and the intonation of environmental activism. Any efforts to clean up or move it have turned to a seesaw game, with scruples and political convenience keeping all other forces up on the opposite end. It is an informal form of investment, whose shareholders are varied, and their livelihoods emanate from it. The City Council of Nairobi has repeatedly stated its intentions to fix the situation, but has always beaten a hasty retreat when jingle of the keys to the coffers awakens the city fathers.
The contactors who collect garbage know too well that the recycling of garbage would shove them out of business, and who wants to see them turned to economic zombies when recyclers take the reins. The politician is careful not to bite the hand that feeds him, so he prefers the votes to having a healthy but disgruntled electorate. The pressure groups, like the Safer Nairobi group, are sure to play the god-figure to sanctify the area of the fumes from the rich man’s kitchen, but what do they have to give to the Dandora boys and girls in exchange? A clean environment alone would nourish and flourish the people, provide a learning atmosphere where the pangs of hunger will be endured with obstinate positivism.
If the industrial production process, well ordered as any one would imagine still produces toxic waste, what more will the recycling excrete? I am not a naysayer, but when all is said and done, there will be waste to dispose. I see a mass exodus from Dandora to Ruai in pursuit of the mother of life. This is almost a guarantee unless the warriors of taking the dumpsite from Dandora embark on a gradual and deliberate attempt to take the dumpsite from the people’s lives. It has become a psychological attachment for them; if they knew any other way to skirt around the manacles of penury they surely would the loudest in the ‘kill the step mother’ bandwagon. Whoever must relocate this sore that oozes life-sustaining seepage ought to as well take it from the lives of these boys and girls.
—ends—
Permalink
March 30, 2009
Posted in Social scene at 1:33 pm by xpress436
BY TERRY OJIAMBO
I can’t imagine,
being in the midst of a riot that is being executed by gruesome men and women who are out to destroy property and claim lives. Kenyan civilians can sometimes be overly indulged in trying to make a sincere point to the public. The violence makes the whole idea loose the gist guys.
committing any crime in my life. Seeing on television the wretched prison situations in whichever country, be it sanitation or social deviance by the prisoners, which is not where I want to belong. I hope that I will never commit crime, be it as huge as murder or as diminutive as stepping on grass on a “DO NOT STEP ON THIS GRASS” zone.
getting my way into a bus by pushing people. Whether one will say that it can be rough or otherwise. I don’t know what otherwise would be, but I know that either way, pushing has to be rough. How about, we all waited for our turn by queuing. It is more reasonable and we will avoid giving pick pockets a chance of their lives.
taking advantage of the opportunity given by God and my parents to be in school. In layman’s language, it is referred to as taking mad chances with your precious life. How about loosing the ‘know it all attitude’ and getting a real grasp of reality. Let us think of it as a chance that many do not have and they would love to.
being a politician. (Reference; mostly Kenyan, maybe African). I would simply cry.
It is shoddy and demeaning to be part of that ironical flock. It is too interesting how one can make promises that they don’t even mean. I would be extremely scared to wake up and find myself being part of the Kenyan government.
being gone forever. I’ll be so sad wherever I’ll be. I can’t imagine not being able to buy some ice cream when my throat becomes excessively dry due to the block of cement on top of me and besides me. How annoying that I’ll always be silent even when angered by my colleagues down there. I won’t even be able to slap those annoying insects that will help my flesh fade away faster.
Can you imagine? Please stop because it will crack you up.
By Terry ojiambo
Permalink
March 14, 2009
Posted in Social scene at 10:28 am by xpress436
One thing that I have come to learn while growing up is that men need time to be real men. When I say be real men, I don’t mean when we act all macho; lifting objects that weigh five times our actual body weight or when we pound down on each other. I mean when we sit down and discuss things, important or otherwise. I personally admire women because they can be women whenever, wherever, however. There could be two women seated in a room of a hundred silent men and they could carry on a conversation of, “aki my boyfriend is so sweet,” or “what on earth will I cook for my boyfriend tonight, you know it’s our two week anniversary,” with no concern or intimidation of the men who you would perceive not to be interested in what the women were talking about. One man would probably turn to the man seated next to him and in a low tone murmur, “Women.” The other man would nod in agreement and that would be that. It is not that men have nothing to talk about; it’s just that we can’t do it in front of women.
When I was a kid, my father, before he came home from work, always made a stop at his favourite local pub and had a few drinks with his mates. I later came to find out that what encouraged him to do so was not that he did not like us but he needed to be in a place where he would be a ’real man.’ Like father like son I soon followed suit but soon realized that even though I felt at home at the locals with my male buddies, I could hardly recollect half of the previous night the following morning. It was a sad day when I said goodbye to that part of my life because I knew there was little chance that I would get a place where I could be the ‘real me.’
That was until I walked into Daystar University and discovered a local eating joint off-campus called Mkombozi Cafe (also known as Mailu’s, after the owner). It is a three roomed structure crafted with mabati and wood and has an area of about 4 × 6 metres. One of the rooms is of course the kitchen and regardless of Mkombozi’s relatively small size, it has a sitting capacity of 50 men. I say men because 99.9% of Mailu’s clientele are men and even that minute percentage of female customers have more masculine traits than feminine, thus are considered one of the ‘boys.’
Mailu’s is that place where we men can be. We talk about football, politics, the infamous Daystar administration, Njuguna’s (head of security) Cobra Squad tactics, where to get a nice hair cut, who is the hottest chic on campus, how to go grow massive abs and develop a six pack and so much more intelligent manly stuff. I remember one time, I was having lunch there and Mailu squeezed up to me and congratulated me for one of my outstanding presentation in class and even paid for my lunch. Don’t ask me how he found out.
Mailu’s wife, whom we call Mathe (mother), takes very good care of us. She treats us like our own mother’s would; adds you soup when you think that your food is a bit dry, gives us pieces of advice once in a while and even lets us eat there on credit, which reminds me that I owe her for yesterdays lunch.
With the population of men in Daystar slowly diminishing, and women increasing by the day, Mailu’s is the only good place that lets men be men, which for all of us in this community is important. You wouldn’t want a man who has no place to go to get a dose of ‘just being a man.’ running loose in the society. Like my grandmother once told me, “It’s the small things in our society that hold it together.” Can I please get three MANLY cheers for Mailu’s!
Permalink
February 18, 2009
Posted in Daystar University, Uncategorized tagged Kefa Kariuki at 7:56 am by xpress436
Characteristics of a good opinion
• It should consider the audience i.e. relevant to the audience intended.
• It should show coherence and clarity.
• It should be captivating or interesting.
• It should be written in a conversational tone.
• Grammar, spelling and punctuation should be correct.
• The piece should have a sense of direction.
• It should be complete.
• It should be easy to read.
• It should show a considerable amount of background knowledge on an issue.
Role of opinion writing
• Make the reader think about an issue.
• Acts as the voice of the people i.e. show the people’s thoughts on an issue.
• Forces people to confront reality.
• Acts as the yardstick of what the writer thinks.
Permalink
February 15, 2009
Posted in Social scene, Uncategorized at 3:14 pm by xpress436
Until recently, I thought relationships were all about love and understanding. Love and understanding, two words that seem to make everything else make sense. If I love you, then I understand you. If it were that simple then I think our politicians would listen to the people more. My simple mind allows me to assume that if I run for leadership over a certain post, then that means I have some level of love for the people I intend to show the way or at least understand their situation well enough to want to do whatever I can for them. Look at it this way, I treat my woman wrongly, then she will leave me or at least kick me out of the house regardless of whose name the title deed bares. Why the do I continue to live with this person who keeps on disappointing me, treating me like a stranger when I, in fact, put him where he is and made him who he is?
The average politician today is a true reflection of an adulterous, lying, greedy and self-centered man who would rather see his family starve (or burn) to death, than spend more time with them. The politician today wakes up every morning, goes to the bathroom, prepares for the day, goes to the kitchen, takes all the food he can get, prepares a hearty meal for himself, leaving almost nothing left for the family and goes off to work. The money he gets there he puts in an off shore account somewhere, yet his family lives in a palatial villa that looks beautiful from the outside but once you come inside, its occupants are dressed in tatters, emaciated and longing for anything that would make them live like the man of the house.
Another thing with this type of relationship is that the wife here has no say at all. Whatever means she has to air her views is thwarted by ridiculous laws the politician throws while at the dinner table, eating form his wife and children’s plate. Communication, an integral part of any relationship still exists in this family. The politician frequently calls his friends from work for the family meetings wrapped in silly names such as: The Family We Want or Family Fusion 2030. He allows the family members to speak their mind but does not allow himself to let the information sink in his mind. God forbid the children throw tantrums in the house; the whip made of an old gas pipe makes them produce tears that will be a grim reminder that he is the boss.
This relationship like any other has its ups and downs. Sometimes the family gets tired of the politician and asks for a divorce. At times however, the relationship may have stressed the family for many years, up to 24, leaving the wife no choice other than kicking the politician out of the house. The wife gets the next best man, the man who will give her the impression that things will be much better next time through sweet words and endless gifts. Once the wife accepts him, the family lives in a honey-moon state for a few months until reality hits them that this man, like any other politician is cut out of the same cloth. The memory of past relationships in this particular relationship is not as painful as the reality that over 70% of other families in the estate are treated much better than you. Other families in the leafy parts of the estate have better looking houses, bigger families and happier relationships than the one in picture. At least the woman drives a car almost as big as the one her man is driving. In this relationship, walking alone is a blessing. Sometimes neighbors make fun and call this family the Walking Family.
In this relationship, equality is a myth. The man and the woman’s lifestyles are so far apart that one would imagine Uncle Scrooge visiting a widow and her children. If I know anything about relationships is that they should not be miserable situations dictated by one party. Relationships are founded on love and understanding, ore-requisites for sacrifice and compromise. In this case, mister politician has no time to listen and understand his people. The sad thing is that this woman keeps on taking him back, or ends up choosing a politician that at the end of the day will prove to be the most useless man ever. I choose to pick my relationships wisely. Especially in 2012 when spouse will be hanging around wooing me with wise words and promises. There is nothing uninteresting about being single. This relationship shows me that it’s better a house run by children than a useless man. Kariuki Ngunjiri (Kefa)
Permalink
Vile tuna feel 