SONDELA

He talking of this girl he loves so much. He says this girl has got lovely eyes, that the girl must move closer and hold his hand. He says he will lover her no matter what they say about her. Come closer my love, am yours forever and ever.

Sondela © Ringo Madlingozi

Eyami ndendwa eyami
Ohh ndiyayithanda lentombi

Chorus
Sondela sthandwa sondela
Na’uthando lwami lugqine lonke
Thath’uthando lwami Umqimb’uqalanye

Ehh yami ndendwa ehh yami
Ohh ndiyayithanda lentombi
Amehlo ayo ayandibulala
Ohh ndiyayithanda lentombi
Sondela

Chorus

Noma bengathini ngawe
Ehh ehh bamb’isandla sami
Ngowami lona ngowami

Ohh ndiyam’thanda lomntwana
Amehlo akhe ayandibulala
Ehh ndiyamthanda lomntwana
Ohh sondela

Chorus

Ngeke ndikuphoxe
Hee ntandwa yami
Ukuthula sthandwa sam’
Ngohlala ndingowakho ohh
Kude kude kuyovalwa

Chorus

Ngeke ndikuphoxe
Ngohlala ngikuthanda ngikuthanda
Ungowam’ kude kuyovalwa
Ngeke ndikuphoxe
Hee ntandwa yami
Ngohlala ngingowakho ooh
Kude kuyovalwa

Ungakuphind’uhambe
Sthandwa sami

RULES TO LIVE BY (hilarious)

I got this via email, just thought I should share a few tips to help you get through life with the minimum of stress…

-Circle the stain in permanent pen, so that when you remove the garment from the washing machine you can easily locate the area of the stain and check that it has gone.

-Don’t waste money buying expensive binoculars. Simply stand next to the object you wish to view.

-Always shit at work. Not only will you save money on toilet paper, but you’ll also be getting paid for it.

-Weight watchers. Avoid that devilish temptation to nibble at a chocolate bar in the cupboard or fridge by not buying the fucking thing in the first place, you fat bastard.

-Recreate the fun of a visit to a public swimming pool in your home by filling the bath with cold water, adding two bottles of bleach, then urinating into it, before jumping in.

-Anorexics. When your knees become fatter than your legs, start eating cake again.

-An empty aluminum cigar tube filled with angry wasps makes an inexpensive vibrator.

-Olympic athletes. Disguise the fact that you’ve taken steroids by running a bit slower.

-Smokers. Save on matches and lighters, by simply lighting your next fag from the butt of your last one.

-Vegetarians coming to dinner? Simply serve them a nice bit of steak or veal. Since they’re always going on about how tofu, Quorn, meat substitute etc ‘tastes exactly like the real thing’, they won’t know the difference.

-Invited by vegetarians for dinner? Point out that since you’d no doubt be made aware of their special dietary requirements, tell them about yours, and ask for a nice steak.

-High blood pressure sufferers. Simply cut yourself and bleed for a while, thus reducing the pressure in your veins.

-Heavy smokers. Don’t throw away those filters from the end of your cigarettes. Save them up and within a few years you’ll have enough to insulate your roof.

-Corsa drivers. Attach a lighted sparkler to the roof of your car before starting a long journey. You drive the things like dodgems anyway, so it may as well look like one.

-A mouse trap placed on top of your alarm clock will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep.

-Fool next door into thinking you have more stairs than them by banging your feet twice on each stair.

-At supermarket checkouts a Toblerone box makes a handy ‘Next customer Please’ sign for dyslexic shoppers.

-Girls. Don’t worry about a nice dress for that important first date. All he’s interested in is seeing you naked.

-Putting just the right amount of gin in your goldfish bowl makes the fishes’ eyes bulge and cause them to swim in an amusing manner.

-Avoid parking tickets by leaving your windscreen wipers turned to ‘fast wipe’ whenever you leave your car parked illegally.

-Housewives. I find the best way to get two bottles of washing-up liquid for the price of one is by putting one in your shopping trolley and the other in your coat pocket.

-Don’t invite drug addicts round for a meal on Boxing Day. They may find the offer of cold turkey embarrassing or offensive.

FOUND IT!

I love this song…

“I’ll Be” by Edwin McCain

The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath.
And emeralds from mountains thrust toward the sky
Never revealing their depth.
Tell me that we belong together,
Dress it up with the trappings of love.
I’ll be captivated,
I’ll hang from your lips,
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above.

I’ll be your crying shoulder,
I’ll be love’s suicide
I’ll be better when I’m older,
I’ll be the greatest fan of your life.

And rain falls angry on the tin roof
As we lie awake in my bed.
You’re my survival, you’re my living proof.
My love is alive — not dead.
Tell me that we belong together.
Dress it up with the trappings of love.
I’ll be captivated,

I’ll hang from your lips,

Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above

ALL I NEED TO KNOW…

… I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN.
Originally by by Robert Fulgham (remixed into a Kenyan Version)

I read this book some years back and it really touched my senses because of it’s simplicity in knowledge. Indeed all things I need to know I learned in nursery. I was going to post the original version until my workmate remixed it into the Kenyan version & I found myself on the floor laughing at how true it is and why Kenyans are the way they are.

1. Share everything
2. Play fair – Life isn’t fair and survival is for the fittest!
3. Don’t hit people – Hit them if they hit you!
4. Put things back where you found them – Not necessarily!
5. Clean up your own mess – Why when someone else can do it? or better yet… if you don’t you’ll be beaten!
6. Don’t take things that aren’t yours – Who says they aren’t yours?
7. Say sorry when you hurt somebody – Totally Odiero
8. Wash your hands before you eat – If water is available
9. Flush – True that!
10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you – Totally Odiero, porridge & Chai ya saa kumi was more like it
11. Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some – True that!
12. Take a nap every afternoon – And you’ll surely remain poor. Wake up early! Work hard!
13. When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together – Totally Odeiro
14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup? The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that – Who says?
15. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the plastic cup – they all die – Hamster ndio nini?
16. And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK. Everything you need to know is in there somewhere – Peter & Jane.

DIARY BY SIMIYU BARASA

When you find yourself talking with several guests of the morbid situation of your country during the wedding of one of your friends, you quickly realize there is something wrong with your country. When your National broadcasters show men being dragged out of public service vehicles and hacked to death by a mob of young men who do not even hide their faces from the police a few metres away, and such scenes are repeated more than the advertisements and commercials, then your country is doomed. When you hear that people are chased from their homes into a church for belonging to a particular tribe, and then followed into the church where women and children are locked inside and then burnt alive, my friends, you are no longer in a country, you are living inside hell on earth.

The Swahili (oh, that language that was supposed to unite us and now has been rendered impotent in its intended super-glue powers) – the Swahili say that when you see your friend being shaved with a razor, start wetting your hair in preparation for your shave too.

I do not intend to go gently into that dark beyond without saying a word of goodbye. Friends, (and those who consider me an enemy because of my tribe or lack of it), being of sane mind and in charge of my mental faculties, I bid you goodbye. I chose to write you an orbituary, which you should read as a love letter to my country that has died in that critical moment when its dreams were giving birth to a beautiful bouncing future.

I know not the hour of my death, for no one knows the hour of their death in this country anymore. That man on Naivasha, who was dragged from the car and his speech as he answered questions betrayed him as belonging to a tribe the highway blockers were hunting down, he did not know his death. I have seen myself trying to run from the mob the way he desperately tried, machetes raining on his back, and yet he ran on, three desperate steps, before his body disintegrated into huge chunks of human flesh and fell down. Upon which they cubed him. I too, my friend, am about to face the same death. My tongue, when I try to speak, shall definitely betray me as a targeted tribesman when the mob does come to me. For I do not belong to any tribe.

My sister, Rozi, called me yesterday trembling with fear. She lives in Western Kenya, on the Eldoret/Kakamega border. They had taken a patient to Moi Referral Hospital Eldoret. On their way back, the ambulance was stopped by youths bearing all forms of crude weapons. They demanded to know which tribes everyone in the ambulance belonged to. The driver was of the local tribe, so he was told to step aside. As the others showed their National Identity cards, my sister realized that all around them were corpses of human beings freshly chopped to death. Her turn came and she said she was Luhya. They told her to speak in Luhya, but my Sister doesn’t know Luhya. “I really can’t speak it because my mother is a Taita!” she pleaded. She had to desperately show a photocopy of my mother’s National Identity card which she had in her purse, a photocopy my mother had given to her the previous week to use as a referee for the bank account she was switching to. That photocopy saved my sister. The only language my sister can speak, apart from English and the National Swahili, is Gikuyu. The tribe the youths were targeting.

My friend, I know no tribe. I only know languages. My mother is Taita, my Father is Luhya, and we were raised in Kiambu among the Gikuyu. It has never been important in our family to know which tribe we should belong to, my sisters and brothers have names from both sides of our parents communities. In this chaos, if the hunters of fellow humans were to find us in our house, would they really believe we are brothers and sisters from our names?

If I say am Luhya, the Gikuyu with whom I have lived and now am engaged to one of their daughters would kill me as they have gone on a mission to revenge the deaths of their kinsmen in Western Kenya. If I flee to my parent’s home in Luhyaland, the neighbours will barbecue me alive for I can’t speak their language and of course my mom is from a foreign tribe. Not to forget that the guy who sold us that piece of land where my mom and Dad saved so hard to buy is known to come and insist on grazing his cow on our compound claiming “my cows used to feed here, buying the land doesn’t mean I don’t own it!”

Now in this Nairobi where I stay, I am wary of my neighbours. The guy opposite my flat is a Luo with whom we argued amicably during the pre-election period on which party we supported. Maybe now, given that friendly neighbours have been the ones killing each other, he might remember our political chats over my litres of coffee and come chop me up?
That is why friends, I have decided to write this obituary. I know not my tribe, I have only known myself as Kenyan, and others as fellow Kenyans. In these times, belonging or not belonging means not being dead or being seriously dead. What chances does a person like me have?

My friends have their tribes mates to protect them. The cosmopolitan Nairobi has now been balkanized with residential estates being exclusive reserves of certain tribes. Complete with murderous gangs imported from up-country to protect their own. Mungiki for the Gikuyu, Chingororo for the Gusii, and the Baghdad Boys and Taliban for the Luo. Where, pray I, is the estate Balkanised for those of us of mixed heritage who know not their war cry of their tribal warriors? The only two tribes I can run to don’t have such armies. And claiming my Dad’s Luhya identity, and a Bukusu at that, is problematic in itself. The Gikuyus are hunting them down claiming they voted ODM together with the Luos, and the Luos are hunting them down too claiming they voted for Kibaki together with the Gikuyus. So such is my fate for my father belonging to this tribe that voted 50-50!

My friends, I have prepared myself for my death. I don’t know how it will be, but since as a Film and TV drama person I believe in rehearsals, I have rehearsed all possible scenarios so that when my moment comes, it won’t be so hard to take it. Chekhov’s method acting manuals are no longer needed. I just turn the TV on during news time or read the papers, and from the several images of people who have been killed in various ways, I choose one to dream and perfect that night. I have dreamt of being locked into a church or building with several others and torched alive. I have smelt the petrol fumes as its being splattered through the window onto our bodies and then round the building. I have seen the flash of the matchstick being lit, and smelled my flesh burning to ashes.
I have rehearsed how I will smile when I am dragged out of a public vehicle and hacked to pieces by the marauding youths who pop up in our numerous roads. I want to die smiling bravely, but just like the guys I see on Al Jazeera and other International TV channels, the moment I get to that part where a red eyed bearded man pokes his head into the bus and shouts “everyone wave your ID cards in the air!” I wet myself and start screaming for mercy, instantly easing their work of identifying foreigners for the blades to work on.

I have rehearsed how best to gasp when a barbed arrow strikes my chest. Or a club smashes my brain out of my skull. Or a spiked plank of wood is driven through my mouth. I have died so many times, my friends, that now I must be immune to the real death when it comes.

I used to laugh at tourists buying maps of Nairobi. I bought one recently. It is stuck in the wall of my bedroom where small pencil marks indicate all the escape routes I will try to walk in to get out of town once the mayhem knocks on my door. Unfortunately, to the west are roadblocks where my Luhya name will mean instant death. If I go Mombasa Road I might run into a roadblock where Kamba’s and all coast people are being cubed. To the North I can’t even dare. To the south I might pass, coz I can speak Gikuyu, but my name would be my passport to the grave yard. That map, my friend, directed me to writing this obituary.

Maybe if I was a famous poet I would go down in history alongside Chris Okigbo, the Nigerian poet who went to Biafra seeking to actualize his poetry but found bullets instead. My friends abroad are asking me if I am safe. Maybe if I had been bright of mind like they were I would have faked a bank account statement immediately I cleared my o-levels and fled to the United States to wash toilets in between my degree courses, but no. When they told me America is the land of dreams, I swore to them I am an Africanist, a believer in the African dream. When they filled scholarship forms to get away from this dark continent, I laughed at them. Now my faith in my country has faded faster than the newness of the news year.

So, friends, some of us never really thought that our tribe was that important. Simply because we were from the tribes that make up Kenya. Some of us have lived in every province of this once great nation and learnt the local languages, drank the local brews, danced the local songs-so well that the locals even gave us the names of their tribes to fondly call us by. I have been called Kamau, Mwanganyi, Wambua, and even Bayelsa in Nigeria. (I should have known, when Dudun told me that Bayelsa is the troublesome state of Nigeria where the Delta is, that it was a premonition of the war in my country.)

I have nowhere to go. No tribe to run to. No tribes men to protect me. Except the grave. Which is what my fellow country men are intent on sending all those who don’t belong to their tribe. Goodbye, friends.. Seeing that all fast food restaurants have a notice ‘pay in advance’, let me take the cue and say Goodbye in advance. When you see a pulp of human flesh in the tarmac with youths dancing round it waving their bloody matchetes, look closely. That ear might be mine. That grinning upper lip might be mine. I loved you, my fellow countrymen. I loved without thinking of your parental lineage. I loved Kenya. But look what this country has done to me: sodomised my sense of humanity and pride.

INSPIRING A NATION

(IRB.COM) Wednesday 30 January 2008

Benjamin Ayimba has set his players the target of another Cup quarterfinal in Wellington. It would be a huge understatement to say that Kenya’s preparations for the New Zealand and USA legs of the IRB Sevens World Series have been far from ideal.

Political unrest has brought violence across significant sections of the African country, destabilizing the team and forcing coach Benjamin Ayimba and Manager Oscar Osir to improvise training, sometimes by text message or email. Not that Ayimba’s expectations have been lowered by the experience. On the contrary, he is still be demanding that his players attain their goal of reaching the Cup quarter finals in every event this season – a feat they have so far managed in Dubai and George before Christmas.

“It has been difficult to prepare, especially given that the first few sessions in the beginning of the year were difficult because we couldn’t get players over at the same time,” Ayimba told irbsevens.com.

REASON TO SMILE

“It was quite challenging, but things cooled down a little bit and players could get their way through. I think the players and ourselves decided we were going to try and use the safest routes to training and try as much as possible to keep it very short and sharp.

“Right now we represent every Kenyan there is. It is our duty now to try and make Kenya a country that people smile about rather than frown when they hear what is going on.

“For us that is a big challenge too because amidst everything you have to perform well, so that everyone can actually get a smile on their face.”

Their strong form so far this season means that the Kenyans are ranked above both France and Australia in pool C, while even South Africa will afford them maximum respect after three second half tries almost scored a remarkable victory in their Dubai quarter final, Kenya eventually going down 17-15.

“It is something [Cup quarter-final target] that helps us chase our goals if we set such high standards. Sometimes we can achieve them consistently and I think to the players it is much more pressure and everything is always geared to chasing that [target].
“In Sevens things can go whichever way anytime you are on a roll.

We are looking always to upset anyone who thinks they are very comfortable up there. All respect to everyone who is playing, but we will come out to try to do our best to achieve what no other Kenyan side has achieved.”

PEACE & JUSTICE

by Samson

No justice, no peace or so the refrain goes. A young man is shot dead by police in full view of the media as a politician arrives in a luxury car to commiserate with those who have lost family members, No justice, no peace.

Women and children are roasted to death in a church as MP’s issue press statements from 5 star hotels, No justice, no peace.

Kenyans are refugees, just imagine that, REFUGEES! In their own country as their leaders stuff their greedy faces at “party retreats” to chart the way forward.

A fourteen-year-old boy stays awake all night at a camp to protect his family members from panga wielding youth while an MP wails that his security detail has been withdrawn, No justice, no peace.

A man is pulled out of an Akamba bus and hacked to death because he is “the enemy” as his MP shakes hands with an “enemy” politician in parliament, No justice, no peace.

The Rift Valley is in flames as the peoples elected representatives issue statements from the safety of Nairobi hotel rooms asking “the government” to stop the violence, No justice, no peace.

No justice, no peace. Well you know what? I agree entirely. I believe there can be no peace without justice. If injustice means MP’s earning a million shillings while their constituents starve then I agree, No justice, no peace. If injustice is a few people owning most of the land while the vast majority squat in their own country then I agree, No justice, no peace. If injustice means that a few areas in the country get most of the development budget while the rest go wanting then I agree, No justice, no peace. If injustice is politicians hobnobbing in swanky hotels as they exhort the rest of the wanainchi to fight amongst each other, then I agree, No justice, no peace. If injustice means politicians live peacefully as neighbours in Karen and Runda while telling us to murder our neighbours then I agree, No peace no justice. If injustice means that the people who set this country on fire have passports for them and their families to leave at their convenience while the rest of us burn, then I wholeheartedly agree, No justice, no peace.

Our politicians in their boundless arrogance believe that the violence rocking the country today is because of a stolen electoral process. They shout, No justice, no peace and tell each other “the people” are behind them. Lets get one thing straight, only a blind person or a willfully stupid one can believe that neighbors of long standing can pick up pangas and hack each other to death because of a stolen election. Only someone mired in self-deceit would think that the horrors and atrocities being committed in the country are because of a flawed electoral process. What have politicians ever done for any of us that we would commit murder just because a group of them stole the elections? No justice no peace indeed.

DON’T FORWARD THIS

by Samson

Most likely you are reading this e-mail from the comfort of your office or home or at Java as you sip a coffee or even from abroad. I could be wrong but in all likelihood most of us swapping these aggrieved e- mails have food in our fridges and money in our pockets even as we send all sorts of rhetoric about stolen elections, demands for the president to step down, police brutality and calls for mass action.

Should we assume that all of us reading and forwarding these mails will leave our cushy jobs and go out onto the street and brave teargas and live bullets? Will we leave our sleek cars at home or forgo our daily cabs and javs and go out and fight for democracy on the streets? Are we willing to forgo our salaries and weekend drinks in the pursuit of justice? Are these intellectual discussions of ours even reaching the average slum dweller or rural farmer who are the ones bearing the brunt of job losses and extra judicial police killings and ethnic cleansing? Did the youth who was shot dead in Kisumu belong to a mailing list?

We watch all of this on our televisions and laugh at the demonstrator who expertly flees the cops and shake our heads sadly as we see another shot dead for making faces. Then we sip our beer and send each other texts filled with rumor and innuendo and ethnic hatred as we prepare for work the next day.

It is easy to pontificate about justice and mass action from behind a keyboard or from the peaceful leafy suburbs, it is quite another to experience it on the streets.

I watched a movie about Rwanda yesterday called “Sometimes in April” and it struck me that after a while there were no good and bad guys in that country, it was just ordinary people who listened to their leaders and went mad and started to kill their own countrymen. Now the victims and the victors have to live with everything they did and everything that happened to them. I hope we have the courage and will do the same and stand by everything we say.

I don’t have the answers my brothers and sisters. Maybe mass action is the way to go; perhaps fresh elections and a new/old crop of leaders will be our salvation. Maybe sticking to our guns, dismissing mediation and pretending elections were free and fair will bring us peace. Maybe justice is more important than peace or peace more important than justice, I just don’t know.

But what I fervently hope is that all those who have died and are yet to die are dying for something more important than politics. I hope they are dying for economic empowerment and not ethnic cleansing, I hope they are demonstrating for access to national resources and not to secure power for politicians. I hope they are burning for a true social change not just to swap political faces. I sincerely hope that the ten-year-old boy shot dead by police gave his life for a worthy cause that will comfort his mother. I hope those of us on both sides of the divide lighting fires in this nation will still be here when it burns down. Let us hope.

2003 PREDICTIONS COME TRUE?

This article was written by Mutahi Ngunyi in the Sunday Nation, Dec 2003

* Why our second liberation is yet to be completed *

By MUTAHI NGUNYI

This week I want to give a suggestion to President Mwai Kibaki: He should fire his speechwriter! If we lived in a ”banana republic,” these people would have actually been charged with sabotage. What they gave the President to read on Jamhuri Day was flat and
shoddy.

In fact, his speech on this day sounded like recycled material from the Madaraka Day and Kenyatta Day addresses. And what is worrying is that his speechwriters did not even seem to notice the repetitions. The question we should ask here is why?

The answer to this is simple: Maybe they also slept through the speeches! The long and short of things is therefore that someone is being negligent.

Let us now turn to the fact that the President has finally put his portrait on our currency. In my view, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. In fact, there would be nothing wrong if he put a family portrait on one of the currency notes.

What we must understand here is that President Kibaki is a human being. He has urges and excesses. To deny him some things is therefore ridiculous. It is like placing a pot full of honey in front of a little boy and expecting him not to dip his finger into the stuff! In other words, our new President is cuddling in the warmth and comfort of the institutions that shaped former President Daniel arap Moi. And, if this is the case, why should we be surprised if he ”hatched” into a dictator?

What we have witnessed in the last one year is the degeneration of President Kibaki from a reformer to a ”Toad King”. This process begins with the President becoming insensitive. At this point, he breaks one pledge after another without feeling a thing. And, as he does this, the question in his mind is: Where can you take me? In the case of the MoU for instance, we took him nowhere. The begrudged politicians yapped until the cows came home. Now the President has put his portrait on our currency and we will take him nowhere. The general attitude here is this: If you do not like it, you can sit on a pin!

Numbing his sense to popular voices will definitely degenerate into a state of paranoia. At this point, the President will make one blunder after another. And instead of correcting his mistakes, he will increase his speed in the direction of the wrong. This is where former President Moi was when he introduced ”Project Uhuru” to the country. The crowds booed him, his loyal followers in Kanu abandoned him and even his own people questioned his wisdom. But the more we rejected his ”project”, the more determined he became.

There is a lesson for President Kibaki here. He is increasingly becoming like Mr Moi  during the 2002 elections. He is not yet paranoid, but his insensitivity could develop into ”political blindness”. Who knows how low he will have sunk by the 2007 elections? And this is what worries me.

Consider a hypothetical situation here. What would happen if President Kibaki decided to run for re-election in 2007 and lost? Would he and his men have the grace to hand over power peacefully? From the way they have behaved in the last one-year, I doubt it. And
where would that leave the country? At the risk of sounding crazy, I want to suggest the following: If we thought that Mr. Moi would plunge the country into civil strife, he proved us wrong. Narc is the party to plunge the county into civil strife. You just have to listen to the FM stations and the call-in television programmes to see a pattern. From the name of the caller, you can almost predict what they will say and what side of the divide they will take. In a disputed election, such polarity would certainly take ugly proportions.

But there are two possible ways out of this. The first one has to do with the agenda of the second liberation. This process was meant to achieve two things – to remove Mr. Moi from power and replace him with reform-minded leaders. This was done successfully. However, as we are beginning to realise, Mr. Moi was not the problem. The problem was the institutions he inherited from the Kenyatta. To change the leadership without changing the institutions is like treating cancer with Malaraquin. This is partly why the ”institutional cancer” in the presidency is beginning to affect President Kibaki.

Putting his portrait on our currency and junking the pre-election MoU are just  manifestations of this cancer. This is why the other agenda of the second liberation was institutional reforms. Until this is completed, the second liberation will not have happened. More specifically, this refers to the constitutional review process. And, at this point I would want to address the delegates preparing for Bomas III on January 12, 2004.

It is my hope that you have had time to reflect on the issues at hand in Bomas III. We are also told that the politicians have spent this long break to bribe you. In my view you should take the bribes and use the money to enjoy your Christmas. You must realise at this point that you are involved in politics and that in this game there is no morality. As
such, you should have fun on someone else’s account! However, when it comes to voting, you must reject the ”bribe givers” and vote for the country.

This is important because of the following reasons. If the second liberation had two phases, the first phase of replacing the leadership had to be carried out by 3.1 million voters. Replacing Mr Moi and his cronies was in my view the easy part. The second phase is the tough one. And this is where you come in. You are only 600 people, and the
future of our country depends on you. I have two questions for you at this point. One, as you vote for issues, will you be thinking of your ”tribal chief” or your children? In my view, your tribe is your children. If you make a constitution for your children, you will have made a constitution for Kenya.

Two, consider the question of the Prime Minister’s post. And the question to you is this: If this post had been created before the 2002 elections, do you think President Kibaki would have ”trashed” the MoU? Do you think he would have put his portrait on our currency and retained corrupt ministers in his Cabinet? If the answer to these questions is no, then the cure to the ”institutional cancer” in the presidency is the creation of this post. Do think about it! The second possible way out of civil strife has to do with the Kikuyu.
Now that the presidency has returned to the ”House of Mumbi”, some people from the community are convinced that it is there to stay. In my view, this kind of thinking is retrogressive and could result in ethnic animosity. Kikuyus should come to terms with the possibility that they could lose the presidency in 2007. As such, they should do two things:

One, ”bank” with the other communities. This is important because they cannot survive alone in future. Two, they should disown the Kikuyu ‘’sharks” in the Kibaki government.

Unless they do so, the entire community will be blacklisted simply on account of a few people. In future, a Kikuyu presidential candidate would be rejected because of the misdeeds of isolated people. My submission therefore is: They should not support this regime blindly!

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