I can never get enough of all this beauty bursting right before my eyes. It always all seems like I was born specifically to enjoy all this amazing flow at a time such as this.
A time with no world wars one, two, and even the three that I all missed. A time with no cold wars or Spanish flu. A time with no Hitlers or Nazis with brutal force against the world and more against the Jews. A time in Africa when in a small country at the far East quaked colonialism and utter dehumanisation. When loyalties earned you hate rather than favour and love among your kinsfolk.
So here I am today and looking up above, I am lost in the beauty and drowned in utmost gratefulness at all that is at my disposal. And yes, it is almost but not impossible for me to get enough of the clouds that constantly gather above my head. The beauty in which they collect in waves in a thick grey is overwhelming as the wind almost always guides them to the same spot above my balcony.
See I cannot even bring myself to get enough or even miss this rhythmic sway of the bluegum trees as the wind swings them into a seductive dance of grace. Foul me if I yet miss the sweet cold breeze upon my cheek and tip of my almost round nose. Yes, that would be an oh so sorrowful error my dear treader.
The remission of the coastal beach breeze, hot and salty against my nostrils is brought to birth right here in this nostalgic fete that today’s elements play across my heart.
Yet in a moment as ecstatic as this; when the cars across the road flicker through in yellow, white and red light jingle, when the sun races fast down the Western horizon and the apartment lights flick on, my heart almost comes to a halt when this beautiful weakening flow takes me back to a moment in time so distasteful yet which must tap through my trails with PePa.
He is caught in the regular evening traffic, so ironical we have even deemed it regular and a part of us we must always race with it and even live with it. More like bedmates you may call it.
So my friend here from Dendi creations, in an attempt to let time not eat the best of him through traffic decides to engage his heart in the ruminations of the day. In the wake and drift of his mind, his eyes, unfortunately, tend not to miss the play that unfolds right before him.
Protruding muscles across his lean arms and a river of sweat across his brow were a thing of awe. The setting sun did much to radiate his glistening bare chest as he heaved his way in a race against time and through the heavy jammed traffic. His athletic legs draped in tattered shorts paced in a co-ordinated pace along the tarmac road as his heavy-lad cart had no option but to follow through in his pull.
A yellow-striped green commuter bus drives fast closeby as the tout swings dangerously through the open door. It is almost as if life has always been too boring for these touts that they chose to play flirt games with danger or even tempt death at how untouchable they are.
In most unpleasant reports, however, have such flirtations been met with an angered and famished death who so easily took their daring souls with her. I mean, how do you swing and even crouch low off a huge commuter bus moving at a death provoking speed along a narrow alley or busy highway and expect to get away with it unscathed let alone alive? `
So this death-flirting citizen swinging off the bus, on seeing the cart tracker, shouts abusively at the hard-working citizen trying to make a penny or two for his beautiful loving family waiting at home.” Hey there, get your poverty out of the way!” translated in Swahili as,” Wee bwana, toa umaskini kwa barabara”. Meanwhile, the commuter bus driver honks loudly at him to get off the road, whereto? both my friend and I have no idea of.
Okay, on hearing these words am taken aback as I, for once lose the meaning of poverty and miss the distinction between poverty and riches or wealth if it counts. But to take the meaning more literally again, between these two, the cart tracker and the swinging tout, I thought the cart tracker was richer than the tout, I mean if maths didn’t depart from my fingertips so long ago.
The truth, however, if you asked me is that non of these two are poor in whatsoever way if they are honest with their work and work for the best interests as supposed. My senses break at this point as right beofore my friend’s eyes plays the very act of why we fail as human beings for we have but lost the sense of being. We have brought distinctions among ourselves and lost all reason or sense of living.
Africa kills her sun, I guess is what plays right before his eyes. The death of a citizen by a citizen and for the citizen. Instead of uplifting and encouraging one another and deeply realising that we all need each other and are equals from the start, we have discriminated against one another. Yet we are the same people who will go up in riots through the streets when a fair-skinned human has a go at a dark-skinned human. I mean, didn’t we hand them the rifle in our discriminatory hearts and acts already? Why then do we riot when they bring out our initial inhibitions openly?
In this movie called Adu, this one policeman says that the problem with humans and Africans for that matter is that when they see the west erect a wall, all they see is that the west is selfish and wants to prevent them from crossing over. A worse bit is that they see the barricador as hiding treasure and better opportunities on the other end yet the truth is that, the barricador knows, that he has problems of his own he needs to solve within his walls and you too need to stay on your end of the wall and solve your own problems.
The question, however, is that how will the African solve his own problems when he already hates himself and his neighbour so much so that he deems him more inferior when the truth is that there is no distinction between them. We can’t preach water and drink wine I guess, not that wine is bad but if drank alone then what is the pleasure in that?
Returning to our tout loose tongue and cart tracker, the movie has not seen its end yet till the cart tracker now with bloodshot eyes and using his left hand to wipe away the flooding sweat across his face looks up; having been forced to squeeze himself to the end of the road and now with one cartwheel railing over the pedestrian walk, he is angered and staring threateningly at the commuter bus driver asks him a most humiliating question, ”Unapigia mama yako horn?” to mean,” Are you hooting at your mother?”
Well, well, well. I won’t be the judge of no persons at this very point but the name mother has so been used variably as a mother still remains supreme despite all odds. The same name coming in handy as the most humiliating insult anyone could ever use on another. The same insult has been seen to bring down even the greatest rulers of all time. I think it prodes right at the core of the animal within us and leaves us all as baseless animals, right? Such were my friend’s sentiments and yet if asked, I am stuck at the derogative nature of the insult and lack of respect for mother’s supremacy.
Yet still, the same name, mother, is seen within us when we are at the end of our wits, huh? When we see darkness come upon our lives we will always call unto our mothers first. Take for example the most current happening in the US when a man was kneed down to death he could all but call for his mother for help.
My friend, however, with so much concern, still wonders what deeply motivated the cart tracker to think that the deepest language he could ever use to restore calm and re-assert himself as an equal road user needed to have a woman’s name in it?
Morals maybe? I for one will honestly not be able to get the correct answer to that sincere concern, what of you my dear treader?
Yet still, what have we done to our morals and self-esteem but flushed it down the drain quick? Why have we taken the words,” Love your neighbour as yourself,” and misinterpreted it for lack of love at all since we don’t even know who our neighbour is? The ball remains in your court I guess.
As narrated through the eyes of Dendi creations partner with the help of PePa through the sketches of life.
PePa: The Sketches Of Life.