Moving House

Well, it's been real. It's been real.

Blogger has been home for 8 months now but its time for us to part ways. That blogspot thing in the url was driving me nuts! (Random question ... why isn't it thinkersroom.blogger.com?)

I am in the process of moving to a shiny new domain, that is, surprise surprise, thinkersroom.com. Reason i'm telling you now before i complete the transition is that importing everything from blogger is a royal pain in the .. er .. toe and once is quite enough for me. Plus an idea or two would be well received.

I trust you'll follow me to my new digs.

And update your bookmarks, links, sidebars, etc to the new digs!

Thanks or all your support and emails and comments.

M

Botswana Or Burst

Getting to Botswana from Nairobi necessitates getting to Botswana by Kenya Airways, flying over it and landing in Johannesburg. Jo'burg airport could learn a lot from JKIA

• Having natural gas powered trams to ferry passengers to the terminal is not good for passengers' health. They will develop flabby underarms, pot bellies and varicose veins
• Refusing to announce departures and arrivals is not good for passengers either. They have to keep reading from dozens of impossibly large screens, which is bad for their necks and eyes.
• Having large plasma screen TVs in the departure lounge again makes vegetables out of travelers. They should be indulging in quality time with their loved ones.

Once at the terminal, you are greeted by a cheerful gentleman behind the Air Botswana desk who issues you with your boarding pass. You then proceed to explore the airport and almost immediately find a colossal eatery. In the list of Things To Do In The Lifetime Of M I can cross out drink fresh strawberry juice. A sandwich made with impossibly fresh bread, with bacon that belonged to a pig that was quite possibly half an hour previously happily eating his swill.

At the boarding gate my old friend who issued the boarding pass greeted me with a cheerful grin. He had exchanged his suit coat for a sleeveless luminous green jacket. He opened the gate and ushered us to the shuttle to take us to the plane.



The first impression once gets of this particular craft is remarkably like that one gets at the concours d'elegance. This is chiefly because the craft possessed two large propellers and had only one entrance. I waited all of one minute for Orville and his brother Wilbur to appear at the top of the stairs, goggles over their eyes and leather caps on their head, waving us aboard.

Climbing up the stairs and hitting my forehead hard on the doorframe was but a couple of seconds' work. As airlines go Air Botswana is a cheerful little airline with cheerful little planes. You either have a window seat or an aisle seat. I would not recommend a window seat just where the propellers are. When that sucker starts spinning you get every impression that should it lose its moorings it will slice you like .. er .. something that has been sliced.

At the front of the plane (there is only one class btw) is the door that opens into the cockpit and you can see the pilot. To my surprise it was not our old friend from Jo’burg.

The stewardesses sit at the very front, and their seats face backwards This allows them to sit, and cross their impossibly long legs. Air Botswana stewardesses do not wear stockings. A quick straw poll I conducted concluded that an in flight movie come a distant second. The flight becomes immediately more interesting when one winks at you and you return the favour.

Sir Seretse Khama airport falls in line with Air Botswana in being a cheerful little airport. You are cleared within minutes and proceed to wait for your baggage.

Half an hour later it hits you with startling suddenness that Air Botswana seem to have lost your luggage and all your worldly possessions are either in your attaché case or you are standing inside them.

AOB

If you received some email from SMS.AC about me treat it with the contempt it deserves for it was an error. Moral: If you're the type to click next next next be wary of what you might be commiting yourself to!>

AO AOB

Due to the proliferation of spam comments I receive I regret to say that I must now force you to register so that you can post comments. I don't need any software, I don't need any financial advice and I don't need anything enlarged, so I'd rather not spend my time deleting such offers.

Maroon 5 - She Will Be Loved

Heads Up - Missing In Action

I'm off out of the country again. This time I'm not stepping across the border, but will be crossing several borders. Unlike some people who we will not name (like Chris Murungaru), the Government where I'm going does not object to my "conduct, character and associations" and will let me in.

I've spent the entire week applying for a passport (hence the silence). To pry a passport out of the cheap, unwilling fingers of the Kenyan government requires 30 working days if you are lucky. Seeing as I had just under a week, molehills and mountains had to be moved, oceans parted and multitudes had to be fed with five loaves and two fish, a tale for another day. Fascinating fact: Even if you're dying the best they can do is one week!

Suffice it to say if I see an indefatigable car labelled KACA indefatigably pulling up at the office gates I will surreptitiously effect a silent, ninja-like exit from my office window and lower myself to the ground with my shoelaces because they undoubtedly would be anxious to have a word with me over the events of the week.

In my back pocket is a shiny new passport I secured in exactly 22 hours and 34 minutes. The yellow fever vaccine has left me feeling like I have ran two marathons back to back. I ache in places I didn't know I had.



Anyway, I will be in Gaborone, Botswana for a couple of weeks. If I can convince my camera to work I'll see what I can do when I intentionally get lost in the streets of Gaborone. After life in Kenya's system ya majambazi I dare say I can survive. As for blogging I can't promise anything so try not to get them voodoo effigies of me and drive pins into them!

Flexx - Nyundo

A WTF Moment

When it comes to heartbreaking stories, the news yesterday was on a roll.

The first was of a stepfather who had raped his young stepdaughter. The mother promptly took the matter to court after seeing her daughter to hospital but to her amazement her reception at home was that of an outcast. Her relatives objected to her presence and after failing to convince her to drop the case, threw her out.

While I was trying to swallow the lump of my throat another one came. This time a neighbourhood idler sexually assaulted a small boy. The said small boy was shown on TV walking with great difficulty. As I'm struggling to digest this the bombshell dropped -- the man was to be released on bail and promptly return to his old haunts and his boyz.

The biggest WTF moment was when it was drawn to my attention that when it comes to being an ass, Kenyan law stands head and shoulders above all others. We won't go into assaults before policemen or shooting others and being released after you apologize. Those are chump change compared to this revelation that I heard from a lawyer:

Sexually assaulting a minor is a bailable offence.

The poor boy's mother could not believe it, and very emotionally made it quite plain that if she was not going to get justice, she was going to kill him herself.

Not having gotten to the stage of my life when many little voices address me as "daddy" I cannot pretend to even remotely comprehend what was going through the mother's mind. I cannot even start to imagine it, nor do I want to. But I feel very confident that if I were in her shoes the only action to be taken is just one:

I will personally hunt him down and break his fucking neck.

Screw the law, screw due process and screw his human rights. Anyone who assaults innocent, defenceless children automatically forfeits any human rights he may have had (seeing as he is barely human to begin with).

This by the way extends to any Michael Jackson-esque characters, fully grown men who have other people's children in their beds. You have no business being in bed with other people's children! Much as I am a fan of MJ's music the instant I heard the man took other people's children to bed he was already guilty.

The Nairobi Women's Hospital in Hurlingham, that treats victims of sexual violence needs your help to continue its operations. Some of its sponsors are pulling out and the hospital needs your support to keep treating those of us unfortunate enough to suffer sexual violence. Do what you can to support these selfless people in this very noble cause.

Les Nubians - Makeda

Christopher's Limerick

Duly inspired my Mshairi and Mental, I have to stand up and be counted

There once was a chap named Christopher,
who filled a good deal of a sofa.
Who one day was told,
put your plans on hold
if you want to travel to Britain.

Increase that day did his sweating,
as he sat there sullenly regretting,
saying sadly to himself,
"Oh how I am unlucky,
not to buy a new rubber ducky"

Christopher thought it was a disaster,
that Kenyans were rolling in laughter,
singing "rub-a-dub dub,
you fell in a tub,
and now your body is a bump"

And enter Mwakwere the Minister,
looking disjointed, shifty and sinister,
who created a whole mess,
on the strength of an SMS,
that hostages in Iraq where freed.

He opened his mouth and let loose,
and put his neck straight in a noose,
and left no doubt,
that he really knows nought,
when it comes down to diplomacy.

So Christopher assembled his lawyers,
and said to us all "Look before ya,
I'm really as sure, as I know my manure,
that very soon, I hope, I'll be off to Europe
And run my ministry remotely"

Beverly Craven - Promise Me

Chocolate Teapots

What was Kenya's leadership doing instead of standing shoulder to shoulder with the still tearful, still traumatized Kenyan victims of the August 7 bombing?

Blowing hot air from their considerably large blow holes about some nonsense visa.



NOT ONE government official showed up at the commemoration ceremony.

Public money that will be wasted filing court cases in the defence of large sweaty gentlemen with a penchant for falling in bathrooms and shopping at Harrods I feel would be better spent getting treatment for some of the victims that still bear the trauma today.

I work hard from 8:30 to 5:00 and at times up to 7:00 so that my hard earned money will be deducted for people masquerading as leaders to get their grubby hands on my hard earned cash to waste it on spurious expenses like challenging decisions sovereign states have a right to make rather than improving the lot of our people.

Why oh why are we cursed with these self seeking, utterly selfish Gadarene swine?

I for one would not shed a tear if every one of our MPs emulated the Gadarene swine and run off a cliff. Our leadership, ladies and gentlemen, is a chocolate teapot -- utterly useless!

Michael Andrews - Mad World

Nitwit Incorporated

Recent events in the diplomatic arena have led to some rumination: that of the drawers of what is the Kibaki cabinet few leave any doubt that in the intelligence department it is doubtful they would be smart enough to hit the water if they fell out of a boat.

Chris Murungaru, Njeru Ndwiga, Ali Mwakwere and indeed a good chunk of the August House need to get over themselves as soon as possible and realize that double digit IQs are immediately apparent to external observers, discerning or not -- they have no need to be exhibited repeatedly. If anyone had doubts that MPs misguidedly think a good deal of themselves these doubts ought to be put to rest by recent utterances they make.

• Chris Murungaru swears to defend his "human rights". (Shopping at Tiffany's comes immediately before food, shelter and clothing in the hierarchy).
• Njeru Ndwiga thinks an economy that has a GDP of billions of dollars will throw tantrums at losing the odd coins that Kenyan tenders would provide, and that they would be so incensed that they would ban an insignificant (not literally you understand) cog in the global stage from setting it's (the cog) sweaty foot on it's (the economy) soils. This ban will inexplicably open the doors for floodgates of said tenders. So convinced is he that the British populace is pining and withering away in his absence that he strikes a mortal blow to them by depriving them of his company , daring the Home Office to revoke his visa.
• Ali Mwakwere opens his mouth and leave little doubt that prerequisite qualifications to run the foreign affairs ministry are as welcoming and all encompassing as they can get -- at minimum you must have a pulse and opposable thumbs. Anyone unfamiliar with the term 'oxymoron' needs to listen to this gentleman ask for diplomacy with language that turns the air immediately around him blue for miles. (Credentials to head the Foreign Affairs Ministry can be sourced at Uchumi, Nakumatt or indeed any nearby kiosk)
• Assorted half witted MPs (sadly, the higher quartile in the IQ department of the August House) detect some colonial connotations in the actions. They try (and fail) to explain what is colonial about banning a man from visiting your premises.

Personally i am of the opinion that my house is my sanctuary and I can decide at whim who can and who cannot visit mi casa. What's more, I do not owe any explanations to anyone. And it is ludicrous for you to sue me because i have refused you access to my house!

Gentlemen (and i use the term very loosely) you do not, repeat, DO NOT have a right to a visa, not to the UK, not to the US, not to Papua New Guinea, not to Surinamme. You do not even have the right to visit a shack in the Kibera slums.

Being a cabinet minister may impress your friends, relatives and livestock here but it holds little or no water beyond that, and still far less abroad, especially factoring in that practically a third of the entire August House are also ministers. Being a minister has become like owning a mobile phone -- everyone has one. Beyond your immediate family, friends and admirers (both of them), no one cares whether you are the Minister of Security, the Minister of Transport or the Minister of Livestock with Two or More Feet, so don't be shocked when your crowd of followers shrinks to the security officials at Tiffany's who keep you from abstracting items you would rather not pay for.

Unless your job description changed, or there is a Minister's Exchange Program in operation, your duties are confined to offering services to the people of Kenya. You'll have to try a lot harder to convince us that surreptitious trips to Britain are part and parcel of your duties.

August Jinx
- Dr John Garang RIP
- King Fahd RIP
- Robin Cook RIP

Fela Kuti - Lady

When It Rains ....

The talk of the town is that a certain sweaty gentleman, the sight of whom brings to mind the picture of an large elephant in a small tent, has been banned from setting foot in England or any of its territories. He is not, repeat, NOT to be allowed to set said sweaty foot on any English territory.


Walking, one of the few remaining means of transport available for someone

This has naturally caused the gentleman no small amount of panic. Now the next time he falls in a bathroom he will have to - gasp - visit a less exotic doctor, some of whose clientèle come by - gulp! - public transport! Hands that have touched someone who actually opens the car door for himself will touch his (not inconsiderable) bulk! The horror!

He will have to shop at Deacons rather than at Harrod's. He will have to substitute Raymond's for Savile Row. The agony! And now he will wistfully watch his colleagues as they set off for holidays and medical appointments (funny how many members of the Kibaki Cabinet keep falling in bathrooms!)

Naturally speculation is rife as to what led to the ban. The top reason floated is allegations of corruption. However some of us of us are of the opinion that during a state reception he must have:

• Requested a bewildered string orchestra to play Tanto Metro & Devonte and then tried to dirty dance with the Queen.
• Left unsightly damp stains on the King George and Queen Elizabeth furniture. The bitter underfootmen were heard to loudly question the "pore problem" excuse proferred.
  
• Carried with him Kiraitu Murungi's joke book and brought the house wrath of the gods down
• Unwisely and unmelodiously sang the chorus to Perfect Gentleman when Cherie Blair had just taken to the floor
• Any combination thereof

The traditional British stiff upper lip kept tempers in check but upon learning that the Colossus of Rongai was planning a return foreign office officials moved faster than MPs towards a bundle of public money.

That aside, the entire fiasco has given the Kenyan Electorate ample evidence that the average Cabinet Minister has the intelligence of a carton of biscuits.

"It is because the British have been losing tenders", said one giant among intellectuals, modestly flaunting his double digit IQ, blissfully aware that British firms need Kenyan tenders about as much as Bill Gates needs a loan.

These ladies and gentlemen in charge of devising, articulating and implementing Kenyan policy do not seem to realize that the British GDP in 2004 was about $ 1,750,000,000,000. Those are nine zeros. Kenyan tenders contribute next to nothing!

The minister says that he is a scapegoat. Popular opinion is that he is half right (he is no scape!)

Breaking news: The schmuck wants to sue the UK! Ha ha! Some of us need to ensure that we open the garage door before we start the engine!

Grim News

The reported death of Sudanese Vice President John Garang is no small setback to the peace initiatives in Sudan. Since nature abhors vacuum, I have no doubt that there are a number of individuals who feel strongly that they should be the ones to fill Garang's shoes.


The conspiracy theorist in me is highly sceptical that Garang's death was a mere plane crash. I wager that Museveni will soon find himself answering some difficult questions from all quarters

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
August may not be a jinxed month but it sure is trying!

PIC OF THE DAY


"Do you know how many times I've seen local doctors? Five! And four of those I was sill in diapers!"

Les Nubians - Temperature Rising

I'm Back

Finally, M has returned to Nairobi.

I must confess that when I actually set foot on these hallowed soils for a second there I thought I had boarded the wrong transport and was alighting at the North Pole. After the sunny warmth of Kampala I discovered that it was possible for your goosebumps to get their own goosebumps.

The transition of having my laundry, sheets and other odds and ends done by Shirley to rolling up my own sleeves to do them myself takes some getting used to. Living off your boss's pocket does little to encourage restraint OR initiative :)

A month out of the scene is lots of time for things to have changed. Off the top of my head

• Metro Shuttle is definitely history
• KCB have completed painting one side of their HQ
• Yaya Center have completed renovating their entrance and have done such a good job it was 5 minutes before I found the dang door
• There are about 1 million City Hoppas on the road
• Bank balance. I have not spent any of my last salary ;)
  

Some things, inevitably, do not change. Politicians for instance are nothing remotely like fine wine and do not grow finer with age. They are in fact a lot more like dingy brews that fester and rot with age. They are that much more asinine and halfwitted than they were when I left them.

I have some 450 office emails awaiting me, including pressing and urgent correspondence from the widows of

• Sani Abacha
• Daniel Moi (Despite the fact that she's passed away. Afterlife?)
  
• Joseph Estrada
• Frederick Chiluba
• Jerry Rawlings
• Jacob Zuma
• Mobuto Seseseko
  

These good ladies are in desperate need of my help in accessing certain monies that their husbands spirited away and have reached out to me for some help, offering me a handsome cut of the same. I am flattered and humbled.

Spent the weekend at the theatre cashing in movie offers. (For something my memory is almost elephantine). I'm watching movies everyone and their uncle has already watched, but its all good. Granted I'm watching these movies so late they are practically in the same age group as TCM Movies but hey -- in Kampala there are tons of other things to do than go for a movie! So I watched the 3 of them in a concentrated burst.

Fantastic 4
I'm still making up my mind whether I liked it or no. But I liked the exchanges between The Thing and the Human Torch. I especially liked this:

It can only boost revenue by orders of magnitude.

Mr And Mrs Smith

The final shoot-out was impossibly fake but I liked it. Again the exchanges between the two carried the movie. And it is clear why Jennifer Anniston think they do a lot more than pat each other down.

Batman Begins
Being a die-hard fan of the genre, I ate it up like MPs eat up free samosas. Tres cool! And I have GOTS to get me one of these:


GROAN OF THE DAY
Q: How does green grass greet brown grass?
A: Hey!

AOB
All those people who owe me lunch/ice cream/money etc be on notice!

Mashifta - Pesa Pombe Siasa Na Wanawake

Hotel Embarasse

Been shockingly busy -- my sojourn at Uganda is coming to an unwelcome end, so any silences are entirely inadvertent. However it has not stopped me from having interesting experiences.

The other day I was at the hotel restaurant making short work of a fish that not half an hour ago had been merrily swimming in Lake Victoria. That I was concentrating all my faculties on this noble effort was apparent. Rolled up sleeves, discarded fork and knife and wide berth given to me by other guests. I don't see why I should have to wrestle with a fork and knife to eat a fish. It ranks in the same category as eating soup with chopsticks and eating chocolate with a straw.

Anyway, halfway into the fish I hear this:

"M, you don't eat well!"

It was touch and go there between bursting into laughter and swallowing first before prudence prevailed. This is because this concern was not coming from my dear mother, who still doesn't think I eat well. Nor was it coming from an applicant for the post of Mrs M. It was in fact from Shirley, the hotel housekeeper.

It was then that any doubts that I had about being at the hotel for too long were laid to rest. I quickly run through a check list

• I'm on first name terms with the housekeeper and some of her staff
• I have actually had a meal with some of the hotel staff
• They prepare my breakfast in the ridiculously quirky way I like it (fried eggs with no yolk, ensemble of fruit, etc)
• I no longer bother to leave the room when it is being cleaned
• I'm on first name terms with the alternate barmen, Alex and Patrick, firm allies in the war on thirst

In fact on that room cleaning note I remember the last hotel I was in had a particularly fierce looking housekeeper, and I happened to meet her at the door as I rushed out. She took one look at the room and actually wiggled her nose, leaving me in little doubt what she thought of its state. Those matronly eyes and that forbidding look forced me to subsequently clean the room before she came by later to do it!

Anyway, Shirley, the current housekeeper is a whole different kettle of fish. For starters, unlike her predecessors, she is taller than she is broad. She is also not 7 feet tall, and is closer to 5'7. Nor does she grind her teeth as she talks. Her arms are not thicker than most people's waists. In fact, the truth be told, Shirley is what the discerning types would say is worth looking at a second time. And a third.

Another long staying guest at the hotel is a gent from Mauritius. He is shorter than he'd like to be, and his habitual expression is a look of puzzlement. Another is en extremely well constructed Ugandan engineer. This good lady prefers V cut tops with a good deal of V.

Shirley tells me the three of us are referred to as the African Union, the AU.

About two weeks back there was a knock on the door at about 7 in the evening. Shirley has the type of smile that makes you not actually start listening to what she is saying until about 5 seconds later. She had mislaid a room key and would she mind if I looked around?

Not at all, I told her.

She came in, looked, found nothing and departed. However as I let her out my Mauritian friend was just leaving his room.

I have it from reliable sources that the gears in his head were heard clearly across the corridor as they spun wildly and he drew a single conclusion -- Shirley was smoothing a lot more than my sheets and interpreting personal attention and hospitality a bit too liberally.

I can now sympathize still more with people who find themselves saying this sentence

"It's not what it looks like!"

EMBARRASSMENT 101

It's pretty hard to top Ms K or Superflyshi, but reading those reminded me of an incident where if there was an option to disappear off the face of the earth I'd have taken it with energy.

Some time ago I was attending a conference, and a shuttle bus was kindly availed to transport us to the conference centre. So I enter the coach and make my way to the back of the almost filled bus. Sit down at the seat precisely in the middle. A second later a daughter of her father, remarkably easy on the eye also made an entry. Years of discipline and the unwritten male code dictate that you are allowed 3 seconds to look before you cross the border into staring. Anything after 6 seconds is ogling. So I didn't ogle and I didn't stare and after 3 seconds lowered my eyes to my newspaper. She continued to make her way to the seat directly in front of me to my right (I was in the exact middle of the back bench)

Now a habit of mine is crossing my legs when reading. And as fate would have it, with me unwisely looking down at the paper, I subconsciously swung my right leg over my left and in the process smartly kicked her in the bottom as she was lowering herself into the seat.

I looked up sharply, two and two were added and turned out to be four. She looked back unsure of what to think and I looked forward unsure of what to think.

I like to think that I generally land on my feet in terms of crises but at that time the part of the brain dedicated to that job was on a go slow to protest overwork. So I find myself wondering whether to be:

1. Mortified
2. Embarrassed
3. Jocular
4. Suicidal
5. Horrified
6. Amused
7. Any combination thereof

She in turn had a totally blank look on her face. Matters were not helped by the fact that the entire thing has been witnessed by people who were having no problems in deciding how to react.

On that day I believe I performed enough to register that trademark Profuse Apology™. Anyone willing to describe their apologies as profuse must see me first.

It was only a half hour ride but it was certainly the longest I have ever taken.

New Kids On The Blog

Am falling a tad behind but here we go!

• akinyio
• Babi Tales
• dailyflatulence
• Facing Kilima Mbogo
• Gishungwa
• Haidhuru
• Honey Bonnita
• Kari
• Kenya Friend
• Kenyan Prodigal Daughter
• Letter from Lidia
• Low Fidelity
• Marians Blog
• MILONARE
• More to Life
• Need Compass
• Ngoma-cia-kari
• Pillis blogs
• Plus
• Prickypicks
• psykadeelia
• Reloaded Experience
• supaflyshi
• Tribalsol lactriz
• White African
  

AOB

Never have I ever been so ashamed to be a Kenyan. 90 people are massacred as MPs are stuffing their greedy bellies with chicken and samosas in coast as they completely change the constitution draft to suit themselves. The President could not even be bothered to go and console the families of the victims. And now we are being tear gassed for expressing our views?

And as for this guy James Muiruri who thinks MPs (including his MP parent) are the salt of the earth, my friend I will not change a single word of what I wrote about Kenyan MPs. Despite clever shadow boxing around the issue he completely failed to exonerate Kenyan MPs from the morass they have placed themselves. There is nothing abstract or vague about what I said.

As a matter of fact, expect another one real soon.

Between powdered water, a chocolate teapot and a Kenyan MP the latter is head and shoulders above the rest.

Sting - Roxanne

Odds And Ends

#1 - Strange World This!

I'd never have thought it possible but my Anatomy Of A Kenyan MP touched a raw nerve with someone! I kid you not! He defends them, and he says "criticisms levelled against most Kenyan MPs fly across the face of sheer logic and common sense." Of course the first line of his defence, "I happen to be a son of a sitting Member of Parliament" knocks much of the wind out of his sails ...

I'm dying to see how many Kenyans agree with him. Please, let me know.

#2 - More On Uganda

Food
The more of this repast that I consume the more convinced I am that I get a raw deal back in Kenya. For example the streets are festooned with gentlemen and ladies operating enormous charcoal grills that are busy roasting assorted foods, chiefly chicken and skewers of assorted meats. The streets smell delicious, enough to derail a son of the soil and future captain of industry into saying things like
M: Er, Hamis
Hamis: Yes sir?
M: Is that chicken those fellows are roasting?
Hamis: Yes sir.
M: (Thoughtfully) Chicken, you say?
Hamis: Yes sir. It is a delicacy.
M: I'm hungry. (Encouragingly) Are you hungry Hamis? You are? Excellent. Then I suggest we have a short stop here. The car is tired. Besides, we won't be missed for 15 minutes

Names
When it comes to naming their towns, sons and daughters, Ugandans are at the top of the game. Multiple syllables and repetition are the name of the game. Thus we have sections of town called Bugolobi and Kitintale. We also have sons and daughters of Uganda called Sserwadda, Ssentongo and Tumukunde. This is a change for a chap like myself used to Kamaus, Otienos and Mwendes. Pronounciation is not as simple as you'd think, as I discovered quickly

"Ah, Mr Sentongo. Pleased to meet you." I say, rising and offering my hand.
"Ssentongo," says the gentleman with a smile, his sensitive ear effortlessly detecting my omission. "Pleased to meet you sir."

It's a matter of good manners to get these names right, especially when writing them down. Misspelling Ssali and Ssimwogerere is ssomething that you sshould sstrive to avvoid. Plain good manners.

Mosquitoes
Unlike their counterparts across the border, Ugandan mosquitoes are the very picture of drive and industry. They punch in at six thirty in the evening and spend half an hour of chatting with the lads over the previous night's day's adventures. At seven sharp they set to work. It is irrelevant whether you are in a noisy public place like a restaurant -- they are not shy about their work and will commence operations with gusto, biting for all they are worth. Waving your hands does not distract them. In fact they will welcome the draught that will cool them from their industry.
Sleeping without a mosquito net crosses the border between bravado and foolishness. The mosquitoes will pick your locks, jimmy the windows and get into your room and will have their way with you, and you will invariably spend the next couple of days acquainting with yourself with the ceramic of your loo as you suffer the throes of chronic malaria.

Shoutouts
"Hi, this is Bob from Kampala. I want to send a shoutout to my father, and I want you to play for me a song as a special dedication to him - Sexual Healing"

Boy George - Karma Chameleon

The Terror Era

[EDIT #2]

The so called "war on terror" is not only not working, it is falling flat on its face and taking us down with it.

I must confess that I was quite taken aback to read about the London bombings on the CNN and BBC websites. Where oh where would we be without technology? A personal twist was brought into it because I know people who are there, and hearing it from them was indeed sobering.

It brought back unwelcome memories of the day a bomb went off in Nairobi, in 1998.



I recall at the time I was nowhere near the central business district, that hosted the former US embassy. I was in fact a couple of odd dozen miles away but despite the distance was still able to hear the explosion. A colleague dismissed it as "damn kids and their fireworks!" and the matter dropped.

An hour or so later as we were boarding the bus to take us into town the conductor informed us that we were not, as a matter of fact, going into town, but bypassing it altogether. Our resulting reaction left that gent in no doubt he was deeply unpopular. When he was able to get a word in edgewise, something to the effect as there having been a bomb blast in the CBD, we assured him that we questioned not only his intelligence, but his senses of sight and hearing.

Some ten minutes later we were passing outside the hospital in Hurlingham it became apparent that something was very wrong. There were dozens of people standing outside the hospital, bandaged with suits and dresses covered with dust and blood.

Someone thought to turn on the radio and it was a grim statement indeed that we heard:

"The Ministry Of Health calls on all medical staff, whether on training, on leave or in retirement to report to the nearest hospital to help."

By the time I got home all the bits and pieces had come in.

There had been an explosion at the US embassy. As curious Kenyans gathered to find out what was happening an even bigger explosion had occurred. An indeterminate number of people had died.

Of course I wasted no time in making my way to the CBD.

I can still remember the feeling of acute shock as I walked towards the site. The explosion had shattered the glass of countless buildings and the pavement was littered with broken glass. I remember the crunching of the glass under my shoes. From the looks of things I was not alone in my shock.

By and large we are a lucky country. We have not had civil wars, so when it comes to violence at such scale we were, and I dare say still are, clueless. Losing a life in an accident is a big deal, but losing dozens of lives to deliberate acts by unknown people?

The site itself .. words cannot express. It had been cordoned off but we could see it from a short distance away. The combined efforts of the army, police, fire services and ambulance were completely unable to cope with the carnage and the wounded. There were dead bodes lying in the rubble. There were wounded people lying on the pavements and the roads.

And Kenyans, as they are wont to do, rose to the occasion and volunteered their private cars and vans and pick-ups and buses to help out.

What I remember most was a man sitting on the pavement with his head in his hands, asking again and again about his wife. I sat down next to him for over fifteen minutes and could not think of a single word to say.

The toll stood at around 200.

Ruminations

No matter how low you set the bar, the human being always manages to find a way to slither under. 3 years later I listened in real time to news of the planes flying into the World Trade Center and I watched in shock as a 747 banked and flew into the side of a building.

The toll? Thousands, including a deeply personal loss I still feel today.

And then there was the Spain bombings. And Bali. And now the London explosions.

I can just imagine the people, still a bit jubilant at getting the Olympics going about their business to find themselves real victims of terrorism. As I am writing this - 37 dead, 700 injured.

I have wondered for a long time just what can drive people to do some of these things to each other. I recall unwittingly watching the video of the unfortunate Nick Berg as he knelt there in bewilderment as someone read a statement in a language he could not understand behind him and the next thing the poor man knew his head was being taken off with a knife. He could not understand what was happening until it was too late.

Needless to say it was weeks before I got a good night's sleep.

Among us are people who have no qualms about shooting us, blowing us up and beheading us. Beheading us! With a knife!

Among us are people who will go into a Beslan school with hundreds of children and shoot them. Grown men and women ready to shoot innocent little children.

All these incidents beggar the question:

Just what is it that would drive a human being to do this to his fellow human being?

But the more you think about it the more you realize it is not as simple as that.

Now you ask yourself:

Just what is it that would drive a human being to do this to innocent people?

But the more you think about it the question changes yet more subtly:

Just what is it that would drive a human being to feel passionately enough about something to do this to innocent people?

In the papers and in the news we keep reading and hearing about suicide bombers. Think deeply about the concept.

A suicide bomber.

A suicide bomber is going to blow himself up. A suicide bomber is fully aware that he is going to die. He has no doubts about it. There is no 'if'. There is no 'perhaps'. There is no getting away, no escape. If he succeeds he will die. If he is intercepted as he tries to perform his act he will die. There are no two ways about it.

But he will wrap explosives around his middle and go into the midst of his fellows and blow himself up.

And he is so convinced, so driven by his beliefs that he does not hesitate.

Now ask yourself -- what can make you feel so passionately, so deeply, so totally in something that you'd give your life, that you'd blow yourself up?

It's very easy to say that you will die for your faith, or for your loved ones. Or die for your beliefs. It is quite easy to say indeed. It is quite another to walk your talk.

It's not that there are one or two suicide bombers. They have been dozens and dozens, in Israel and in Iraq. As recently as a couple of days ago one donned a police uniform, walked into a mess and blew himself up in Iraq.

There is no short supply of these people who feel this passionately about whatever it is their misguided cause is. They are lining up to blow themselves up. They have been there for years.

It is naive in the extreme to introduce religious connotations into this, and this is the slant that the world seems to have gripped with both hands, inadvertently or otherwise.

The unfortunate thing is that human beings have this tendency to fear things they do not understand, and fear is a very powerful force. Fearful people in large enough numbers are a recipe for disaster.

Sad fact: people do not understand Islam at all, and this has contributed immensely to the problem.

Consider this for instance: Osama Bin Laden and his comrades in arms have declared themselves openly as being staunch Muslims on TV. Now, what would have been the effect had they turned out to be Bible thumping, cross carrying Christians? What if he appeared and after a couple of Our Fathers got to his latest declaration?

I don't know about you but personally I am convinced the world would have no problem with dismissing him and his associates as a deranged and isolated bunch of crazies.

But since they claim to be Muslims, for some reason the world has a problem divorcing them from Islam at large.

Of course we don't like to acknowledge this, which is why after we condemn the terrorists we always add that ubiquitous trailer "... we realize that Islam is a religion of peace, and that these are isolated militants."

Without a doubt that last addendum would not be there had they been Christians.

Even if they are Islam, I find that perpetually referring to them as 'Islamic Extremists' is doing little to help, besides subtly drawing an association between the two.

And what is the result? Muslims who have nothing remotely to do with Osama Bin Laden are increasingly finding themselves on the defensive. I have lost count of the number of frustrated Muslims I have run into who always find themselves having to explain their faith is one of peace to an increasingly sceptical audience.

Shortly after the 911 events a number of Muslims were assaulted. People who "look like" Muslims inexplicably have a rough time at airports.

It is just a matter of time before this misguided impression causes a real problem -- where the Muslims are living in fear, and like I have said before fear in a large enough number of people is a disaster waiting to happen.

I am not a Muslim by the way. I am a Catholic, and extremely unlikely to defect. I say Hail Mary's when I'm scared out of my pants. I always carry some sort of cross or the other on me. Every two weeks or so I spend a couple of minutes raising the eyebrows of my priest with my antics of the past fortnight.

I grew up as a wee schoolboy knowing that they were funny people who went to Church on Fridays and their girls could not decide between wearing dresses or trousers and therefore decided to enjoy the best of both worlds and indulge in both. That was as far as my prepubescent knowledge went.

Of course age, experience and knowledge make you wiser. I made some good friends in high school and university who are Muslims. We have had lengthy (and spirited) discussions of religion past and present. I have read the Koran. I know a lot more about the faith than I used to.

I won't pretend to know Islam, or even half of it but I know for a fact that the gulf between what the Osamas are doing and what I know of the faith is unbreachable.

Just like the Muslims, Christians have their own rotten apples. The things Christians have done to each other in the name of religion are a study of terrorism, from witch hunts to inquisitions and right down to the latest bit of bother between Christians in Northern Ireland. Christians have been clubbing, crucifying, beheading, drawing, quartering and burning each other at stakes for thousands of years.

Protestants and Catholics have been merrily beating, shooting and bombing each other for years in Northern Ireland. It was a rare fortnight indeed that a news announcement as to the latest explosion in Belfast did not make the news.

And I remember after each of these announcements Protestants and Catholics outside Northern Ireland have had no problem concluding that those are a bunch of crazy misguided yahoos and go on to meet at the tee for a rousing game of golf or at the club for a stiff drink and some roasted meat. Can you think of anywhere where Protestants and Catholics did not get along?

It has never been necessary to add a qualifying statement at the end. This is undoubtedly creating another problem.

Just yesterday some Hindu Militants engaged the police in a shoot-out for hours before being silenced.

It has never been necessary to add a qualifying statement at the end.

It is creepy how terrorism and Islam always seem to end up in the same sentence.

My point? Organized religion is a convenient scapegoat for the many atrocities man commits. Man has spent millennia looking for scapegoats for antics, right from blaming snakes for appropriated apples right down to religion to killing others. Osama Bin Laden and his ilk have no problem appropriating Islam for their own use, violating almost all its basic tenets in the process. With all our experience and all the information at our disposal we should be wise enough to divorce the two.

There is something deeper driving these terrorists and we need to find out.

Diseases & Symptoms

"War on Terror" will be an utterly meaningless statement until we find the root of this problem.

Yes, we can speak passionately against terrorists on TV. We can create commissions and committees, declare war, send in Navy SEALs, commandos and special forces to fight terror. We can condemn the terrorists at every opportunity until we are blue in the face. We can form Departments Of Homeland security and unite the workings of the FBI, the CIA, the NSA and the police. We can increase threat levels. We can install cameras and issue ID cards.

The grim reality is that at the end of the day we cannot watch every inch of every border, We cannot read the minds of those flying into airports every day. You cannot watch all those suspicious looking people in the bus with us. unfortunate truth is that at the end of the day we are extremely vulnerable. The terrorists only have to succeed once whereas the security forces must have a 100% record of success, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

The odds cannot be more stacked against them.

Don't get me wrong -- I am not saying we should not be on the lookout and we should not actively seek these people out from wherever they are. We should. We have no choice but to. But despite our best efforts, and even if we succeed 100%, I fear we will remain precisely where we are now. Here's why.

I watched Tony Blair, Condoleezza Rice and Vladimir Putin all grimly saying that they are going to "fight terror".

I found myself asking, just what does this mean? What is it to 'fight terror'?

To find all the terrorists that we can and shoot them?

I'm afraid this will achieve little, if anything: it will be a stop gap measure and a short lived solution at best. If anything, it will exacerbate things. If you intercept a bomber, suicide or otherwise, and shoot him in the head, and go on to parade on TV about your latest victory, in a house somewhere a young man will see his father has been shot dead by "them" and steel himself to complete his father's work.

Ask the Israelis. They've been shooting and arresting suicide bombers for years and years. Things are slowly starting to turn around when someone realized

"Hey, getting rid of these guys is just not working. We need to address why they are willing to kill us, and themselves in the process."

Those suicide bombers and terrorists who succeed gain a larger than life status to their fellow believers. They gain respect. They become heroes. And somebody somewhere becomes inspired. Those who don't still drive yet others to take their place.

A scary and obscene corruption Tertullian's words: "The blood of martyrs is the seed of Christians".

Finding them and bringing them to justice is not fighting terror. It is fighting terrorists. It is not treating a disease -- it is treating symptoms.

We need to delve deep into these people and find out just what it is that is driving them and then maybe we might have an idea of how to if not solve the problem outright, at least ideas on how to approach the undoubtedly long journey that curing the root causes is. Once we do that the symptoms have no choice but to die out as well.

What I do know is that the CIA, the FBI, MI-6, MI-5, special forces, commandos, police and Navy SEALs are not going to deliver this world for the looming threat of terrorism. They've been trying for 40 years now, from Baader Meinhoff Gangs to Red Army Factions right down to Al Qaedas.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is just not working. All we are doing is marking time at best, and slipping backwards at worst.

We have to find out what the disease is and treat that, and not the symptoms. We need to actively ignore the smoke and mist and hone in on the real issues. Then can we have a hope of removing this looming threat from our sights.

The time we have to do this, I fear, is not much.

It takes seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours, maybe days to change minds. But it takes a lifetime to change mentalities.

We may be too late to stop the Osama Bin Laden and his ilk but we had better start right away nipping his successors in the bud.

Right away.

Our prayers are with the victims and their families. God will comfort you.

More discussions: explosions, london, london explosions, terrorism

Simon & Garfunkel - Scarborough Fair

Get Real: Global Politics 101 & Live 8

[Edit #2]

I fully expected my last post, Live Aid? Please! to stir some interest, and it didn't disappoint. Responses in terms of posts and actual emails have been coming in thick and fast. The post has been linked to by several websites and blogs, both personal and institutional, and those have sprouted their own discussions.

Which is good.

It is impossible to respond to everyone in person and so I shall first post a monster post and you can pick out your responses. If you were thinking of just reading this before taking a trip to the men's room to get rid of those 5 cups of coffee, I suggest you go first.

Now, the responses can be broadly categorized as follows:
- The School Of Like Minds agreed entirely with me
- The Band Of Hope thought I was too cynical and should give Bob, Live 8 and Tony Blair a chance
- Dissenting Disciples who disagreed with me in entirety
- The Sanctimonious Schmuck Squad who could not believe my black behind could dare question the good work that was being done in my benefit
- The Cretin Clique who were sure I was a lazy, good for nothing buffoon, wholly ignorant of world affairs and the way things work, content to sit on said black behind and point fingers, wondering what I was doing instead of clicking my fingers every 3 seconds to fight poverty. These are the people who claim to be authorities in Africa by watching CNN, BBC and listening to Akon. They wanted Bob Geldof canonized at the first opportunity and I had jolly well better be grateful for all that was being done for my poor backward self. Well gentlemen, if you are waiting for my gratitude get yourselves a good long book. I suggest War And Peace.
- The Keyboard Kommandos who did not even bother to read the entire post but jumped on their keyboards intent on proving they have opposable thumbs. To these I can say this:
(1) Kindly read the ENTIRE post. My solutions (by no means exhaustive) are peppered throughout. It's not a Puss In Boots type story with the moral neatly at the end.
(2) Even if I had not suggested any (which is not the case), howling self righteously about problems without solutions is a half baked notion that speaks volumes of life experience amassed purely by a regular diet of television talk shows. Consider you are in the garage and the gardener runs in shouting "Your baby has fallen in the pool". Does a sane mind retort: "Don't me the baby fell in the pool! Offer solutions!"?
- The Arrogant Abels who equate my statement "Who can spell Geldof" with a chronic case of Worldly Ignorance. Apparently, knowledge of world affairs is tied to which (in)famous people you know. To these sterling intellects let me just say the point I was trying to make missed you in its entirety.

And oh, one more thing. I am not European or American. I am not writing these thoughts from a comfortable chair in London or New York or Dublin. I am writing these thoughts from a comfortable chair in Africa. I am a full blooded African. I was born in Africa, I studied in Africa, I work in Africa and I live in Africa, Kenya to be precise.

That said and done, I deeply believe in free expression which covers everything from saying what's on your mind. As for the latter four gaggle of individuals you are also fully entitled to making an ass of yourself. Watching CNN occasionally and listening to Akon does not make you an authority on African affairs.

Now, to answer to the copious feedback I shall do it in the form of a narrative that is partially true and partially fictitious that will illustrate the grim reality of this world.

The Way The World Works

Preamble #1

Kundu
Smack in Central Africa there exists a country called Kundu. (An episode of West Wing had something to the effect that Military planes got permission to fly over Kenyan Airspace to get to Angola, a geographic inaccuracy which was so laughable the name stuck).

People
Kundu is composed of three major tribes, the Kuku, the Unu and the Dudu, numbering 30 million. An amalgamation of the three tribes' names led to the naming of the country. This was done by the British, who colonized the country briefly. The national bird is the Chicken. The Kundu are peculiar in that they get by with using only one name in lieu of the traditional forename and surname. The chief spoken language is English.

Climate
Kundu has a warm wet tropical climate that is excellent for agriculture. Among the things it grows are foodstuffs, flowers, pyrethrum, cocoa and cotton

Minerals
The Kundu are blessed with diamond deposits and oil wells

Economy
The bastion of Kundu's economy is the export of the following
- Oil
- Diamonds
- Flowers
- Cotton
- Beef
- Pyrethrum
- Cocoa

Recent History
In the cold war era, some 10 years after their independence, General Felya, a deeply communist leader toppled the popular government in a bloody coup, and to ensure they didn't return the favour, toppled their heads from their necks, installing himself as President, Fountain Of Honour and Imperial Good Guy™. He immediately declared Kundu a Communist nation and ordered the removal of the words 'my' and 'him' from the local Dictionaries and Thesauri. Chairman Mao and Josef Stalin called him personally to congratulate him them on their new political dispensation.

Preamble #2

Great States
Shorty after America declared independence, three leading officers of the British army, Major Minor, Major Major and Major Stake unanimously came to the conclusion that it would be unwise for them to return to Britain. Their hesitation was understandable after a letter from the King, requesting the specifics as to the circumferences of their necks and asking conversationally if they had any next of kin. By the same token, George Washington was very keen to meet with them and remove their heads with a blunt blade. And so midway between Britain and America they formed a new country the Great States.

People
The population of the Great States is approximately 500 million. 200 million in the State of Stake, 50 million in the state of Minor and 250 million in the state of Major. The people speak English, but have taken liberties in pronunciation and spelling. Those who have heard a Greatan say "Nuclear" will know what I mean.

Climate
Due to its size (it is an entire continent) , Great States enjoys the spectrum of weather.

Minerals
Great States, hereafter called GS enjoys deposits of gold and oil. The gold deposits have been all but exhausted. With the oil, wells have been dug and plants have been built but the oil is not actively extracted.

Economy
GS has one of the biggest economies in the world, remarkably similar to those of other leading economies. Listed in order of contribution these are
- Bullshit
- Electronics
- Pharmaceuticals
- Motor vehicles
- Services
- Assorted farm produce

Recent History
As one of the participants in the cold war, and the warm war before it, GS's capitalist disposition put it at loggerheads with China and USSR. The communists' activity deeply concerned the GS leaders and so they fought tooth and nail, hammer and thong, peaches and cream to counter the effects of the communists.

Of late attacks on it by terrorists, militants and assorted yahoos has left GS in no doubt that though it was big and powerful, it was about as popular as the guy who does quality control for electric chairs in death row.

Are we together? Excellent

Chapter One: The Way The World Worked - 1950-1980

Shortly after General Felya took over Kundu and made it communist, concern grew in GS. "How dare they!" the president at the time, Raygun, said indignantly. "We cannot cannot cannot stand by and let this happen!"

And so the 103.45 infantry battalion was told by its Commander In Chief to avail its best men to train freedom fighters to liberate the country.

"What freedom fighters?" A bewildered Major asked as he cleaned his rifle.

"Dunno!" His commanding officer replied, equally bewildered.

Two months later a certain Sergeant Attarms, Harvard educated, came to the light as a freedom fighter passionately opposed to General Felya and his communist government. The battalion parachuted in its men, in the still of the night, while shepherds watched, rendezvoused with Sergeant Attarms and within 6 months had trained Attarm's army.

For a long time after that, and even now, some people still believe that there is a certain animal in Kundu that sounds precisely like a machine gun. In a few years General Felya realized that fate has a sadistic sense of humour and succumbed to a fatal case of chronic bayonet. Elections were held and invariably the people voted in their beloved liberator sergeant.

The ink had not yet dried on the election tally when a delegation of magnates from the GS bearing gifts of Gold, Frankfurters and Cuban Cigars landed and sought an audience with President Attarms. The President was happy to meet friends of his good friend Raygun.

"Any friend of my friend .. Ha ha! .. is my friend!" Attarms said clapping them in a comradely fashion on the back. Two days later Special Oil sunk its first oil wells, Croak A Cola opened its first bottling plants, Softy (No relation to Wimpy) opened its first fast food store, McAvelli's opened its own first food store. Henrietta opened a diamond mine and a whole bevy of GS industries set up shop.

A year later a thought struck Raygun and after an exhausting evening of chewing tobacco he asked his Minister for Defence: "By the way, do we still send military hardware to Kundu?", to which he was informed "Well, Felya may have failed -- ha ha! -- but his followers are still there. The new government needs arms to protect its people."

Two years later increasing reports of torture chambers and members of the opposition shooting themselves in the head before setting themselves on fire, making use of elevators to get to the roofs of tall buildings and jumping from their rooftops caused some concern in the leadership of GS.

"Well," Raygun observed philosophically, unaware that his copyright material was to be later infringed by F D Roosevelt, "He may be a sonofabitch, but he's OUR sonofabitch."

Back in Kundu, it became extremely unwise to pass a photo of the President For Life and Imperial Majesty without bowing at least 45 degrees and not more than 90 degrees. Speaking of the president in any way other than devoted fervour was tantamount to treason and was punishable by spot execution. His birthday was a national holiday. He was a passionate believer in Nike's logo and he Just Did It, objections of husbands and boyfriends notwithstanding.

"But why don't we just remove him?" The unwary would ask.

The wiser would mince no words.

"What part of 'I am henceforth president for life' didn't you understand? 90% of the budget goes to the army, nitwit. You try and remove him!"

And so for 25 years the Kundunese made as much progress on the path of development as a glacier going uphill. There's something about AK-47s, AR-14 Carbines and men in jungle green all over the place that just kill the spirit of initiative and development. It was thought, and understandably so, a brain was best without a bullet in it. Those who think nothing can stop a brilliant mind have clearly never beheld the effects of a sharp machete on the same.

"But don't these guns rust or something? How do they replace them?"

"Which part of '90% of the budget goes to the army' didn't you understand, nitwit?"

"Surely the Western world can help us! We can't vote him out and we can't remove him because he has all the guns."

"And just who, pray tell, do you think supplied the guns?"

And so life went on. Dissent was silenced not by debate but by bullet. And Special Oil, Croak A Cola, Softy, McAvelli and others happily wired billions and billions back home.

But God is a merciful God. Five years later either a lightning strike or a cruise missile (opinion is still divided) struck the President's barracks and ignited the fuel depot. The former was speculated by the presence of a large number of Soviet Gentlemen spotted drinking comradely Vodka in the presidential dining hall.

President Attarm's well known horse hair wig was found some 30 kilometers from the barracks. President Attarm was not found immediately below his charred headpiece. Kundu was free.

Chapter Two: The Way The World Works - 1980-2000

The new President of Kundu, Dude, got to work with zest. Painfully aware of how bad leadership cost the country, he set to work laying out institutions and procedures. The only people to carry guns were the police. All soldiers were to remain at their barracks until further notice. Looking at the statements of accounts he discovered that they were so deeply in the red they were able to see the other side of the spectrum.

"Crikey!" He observed to his finance minister. "I've never seen so many zeroes after a negative sign!"

His consternation deepened after he observed the contracts being enjoyed by companies owned by the late Felya's good friends.

"5 dollars for a 100 year lease? Zero taxes? Zero duties? Zero mining fees? Over my dead body!"

Within the hour panicked calls rung at the Pink House, the residence of the GS president and a day later a powerful delegation landed at Kundu's capital, Cluck.

President Dude quickly discovered precisely what being between a rock and a hard place meant.

"Look, if you want to have your zillion dollar debt waived, and money to build schools and hospitals, just leave these contracts as they are, capische?" The Greatan Minister for Trade was a keen follower of the Godfather trilogy and was willing to demonstrate it.

"We'll give you a hundred thousand bucks to build roads. However please find in this slip of paper the contractors, engineers, surveyors etc you should use ... what's that? They all seem to be GS firms? Why what a coincidence! Anyway, just sign here and we'll be on our way.

Unable to enjoy the benefits of his country's diamonds and oil, the president and his advisors brainstormed.

"Well, it looks like we are somewhat at the loose end," the president observed to his cabinet.

The cabinet, and to be precise the Minister For Education, expressed itself at length and in great detail. That they had a lot to say, and a firm grasp of the language became quickly apparent. The air turned blue for miles around the state house. The secretary taking minutes resigned her commission five minutes into the meeting, on grounds that her duties were incompatible with her Christian upbringing.

"But there's not much we can do about it."

His sentiments were unwittingly to be echoed some years later at a series of cabinet meetings in Iraq when the sensitive subject of Iraqi oil wells arose.

"All right," the president said philosophically, "We can concentrate on agriculture. As Ice Cube says, 'you can do it, put your back into it'."

So Kundunese flowers and pyrethrum, of a singularly good quality began to arrive at Amsterdam and Rotterdam.

A Briton farmer took one look at a Kundunese rose and ran howling for his MP.

A week later a new requirement was placed for all flower exports from Africa:
a) Inspection fee (none refundable) to be paid to EU appointed inspector. Criteria of what Inspector is looking for are not mentioned.
b) All African flowers should be sprayed with InsecticideX, which has, among its ingredients, gold fillings.
c) All African flowers must have an odd number of petals

A cabinet meeting was hurriedly called.

The Education Minister has been polishing up his vocabulary. His tirade rattled windows and cracked the large plate glass window overlooking the lawn.

"Well, looks like we're headed for the high jump. This new flower requirement will nip us in the bud, of you'll pardon the expression." President Dude said.

The finance minister raised a harassed and unhappy countenance to his fellows.

"This new regulation just screws us completely. Our annual income will drop to ... let's see -- borrow one, carry one -- five bucks."

"If I can summarize or predicament. We have oil and diamonds that we are quite frankly giving away, so we can't make money out of that. We can't sell our flowers or pyrethrum either. Basically we have a large debt and no income."

"But what about cocoa?" The health minister asked plaintively.

The agriculture minister shook his grey head sadly.

"Since we have lousy infrastructure, it costs us 97 cents to get a unit of cocoa to the market, which is sold for 1 dollar. This would not be a problem were it not for the fact that it costs GS framers 40 cents, AND their government subsidizes them 50 cents per unit."

"Well, as I heard my son tell one of his friends yesterday, 'whichever way the die falls we're screwed'."

Enter Live 8
Now, if you have read that narrative you are in a position to digest the following

PRAGMA ONE: AWARENESS IS NOT A PROBLEM
Africa is not something that was discovered the other day. Africa has been around for millions of years. People have known about it ever since the first ship was built. Africa's problems have been covered from time immemorial, even more during the colonization of the continent by the British, German and French in the infamous "Scramble For Africa". There exist reams and reams of footage, books, newspapers and articles of the continent and its problems from the 30s onwards. Anyone claims not to know Africa's problems, especially after factoring in the ludicrously skewed coverage of Africa is either living in his own world or lying through his teeth.

PRAGMA TWO: WHO WAS TO BLAME
The very African General Felyas and the very foreign Rayguns of this world must take credit for contributing to the state of affairs of Africa in the period of the 60s to the 90s. This is a truth, but at present it is a meaningless truth. So what? The blame game solves precisely no solutions. However the events in the past directly precipitate the events of today and we have to deal with them today.

PRAGMA THREE: DEMOCRACY
Politicians are the same the world over -- your opinion only counts in the run up to the elections, and only to guide them to say the right things. After that you are just an ignorant irritant to them and they'd be very happy if they never heard from you.

President Raygun did not consult his constituents before effecting the actions that he did. In fact he was quite unmoved by the protests.

The concert was ostensibly to force the G8 leaders to act. My friends, the fact that our opposition to the war in Iraq was disregarded in its entirety should speak volumes of the power you have over your politicians and what they think of Democracy!

PRAGMA FOUR: THE BOTTOM LINE
Africa is a gloriously cheap source of minerals, oil, agricultural produce, ore, etc.. That coffee and tea you drink, that chocolate you enjoy shortly before rushing to the gym probably came from a farmer who was paid a couple of cents to Cadbury's who probably make a 10000% markup on it.

Make no mistake about it - in a world where resources are running scarce it is in G8's best interests to retain this state of affairs, no matter how well meaning their populace is. After all, the people snapping their fingers are not the ones balancing budgets.

If you expect President Raygun to give up free oil and free diamonds, and to suddenly let his countrymen's companies be taxed out of their back teeth my friend you have got to be kidding! If he does this it will mean increased prices for his people, and who, pray tell, would want that?

PRAGMA FIVE: VESTED INTERESTS
There are deeply vested interests in keeping Africa precisely where it is. However the demands of the populace have caused some rumination to happen among the G8. It will be political suicide to do nothing. However it would be suicide to do what they are told. The result? Compromise
- Waive Debt? [x]
- Double Aid? [x]
- Donate material support (nets, HIV medicine, etc.) [x]
- Open the markets and enable Africa to stand on its own [HECK NO!]
- Stop plundering, raping and pillaging the continent of its resources [HECK NO!]
- Stop shipping mines, guns and ammunitions to Congos and Sudans and Somalias [HECK NO!]

That's three apiece.

Another example. Some time back, the United States made a lot of furore as they objected to generic Antiretroviral drugs, copies of copyrighted drugs made by their manufacturers. Then there was the little bother of some people sending others poisoned mail. The drug to counter this little bit of additive was copyrighted elsewhere but good old US said quite blatantly that they were going to make their own generic version, copyright or copyleft notwithstanding.

Moral - countries will always act in their own interests first, second and third.

PRAGMA SIX: REAL SOLUTIONS
Utterly pointless to waive Kundu's debt and they are unable to sell their oil, diamonds and flowers to raise the money they need to build schools, hospitals and so forth. They will be back in debt within SIX MONTHS. Waiving debts is completely meaningless on its own!

Granted, a good chunk of African countries have the most mediocre leadership ever to sully the face of this planet. We have fellows who buy themselves 400,000$ colossal cars and a week later are at the IMF gates with hats in hand. I dare say if these schmucks had strong grips attached to their trouser seats and they were bounced down the front steps they'd be forced to live within their means. Aid paid to most countries goes straight into numbered Swiss Accounts.

Civic education is the most glaring omission in most political dispensations in Africa that masquerade as democracy. This we must address both systematically and in public fora like these.

Shovelling aid at these wastrels is just filling their Swiss bank accounts and allowing them to get a 8 door Mercedes instead of 6 door ! It is ludicrous for the West to rant and rave at Museveni at his lack of democracy and yet 60% of the Ugandan budget, most of which is used by the military comes from the very same West!

PRAGMA SEVEN: LIVE AID
The attendants of the concerts no doubt were well intentioned. In fact I was impressed at the turnout. Most of the attendants I believe were genuine, but I fear largely ignorant of the unbelievably murky world of global politics that they live in. But ask yourself -- how many farmers in G8 countries were at that concert snapping their fingers, championing the waiving of subsidies that line their pockets?

So now after P Diddy and Destiny's Child and U2 and Dido have performed people know the G8 agenda. Big wow! So what?

The democracy we have today is nothing like what Plato envisaged. You cannot make Tony Blair or George Bush or Chirac do anything. If you couldn't stop them from going to war, I wonder what you could stop them from doing.

But I can wager that subsidies and other uncompetitive tactics are here to stay. I don't see them sacrificing their farmers and their pocket friendly golden goose on the altar of an African Renaissance.

I can hardly wait for the outcome of the G8 meeting, but I can wager good money that the check-list will be as I have outlined above.

So for those who attended the Live 8 - thanks for the concern and the passion.

PRAGMA EIGHT: BOTTOM LINE
The G8 is not going to shoot itself in the foot to help out the Congolese or the Sudanese or the Somali. Bush and Blair went to war to smoke out alleged weapons. People are being raped, bombed and shot in plain open in Darfur but the pressing urgency that Bush and Blair had seems to have dissipated. In case Bush and Blair missed the Seven O'Clock news, the Darfur crisis has been on for well over two years.

The difference? There is nothing in Darfur that anyone wants, just as there was nothing in Rwanda.

You have a long wait if you thing Tony Blair, George Bush, Jacques Chirac etc are going to dump their farmers and industries in the noble cause of freeing Africa from its shackles.

We will be left to our own devices, problems or not until we have something that they want urgently enough to justify their discomfort. Just ask Iraq.

MORAL
It's good to be optimistic, but then again you should also always have your feet on the ground.

AOB

Here's to Luther. One of the greatest singers of all time.

Ciara - 1,2 Step

Live Aid? Please!

[EDIT]

The latest buzz over G8, Commissions For Africa, Live 8 and all the latest catch phrases leave me decidedly amused. I for one am deeply sceptical that all this fresh hubbub of the latest fashionable buzz words, taking over from "War On Terror", "Globalization" and "Peace Accord" are nothing but unadulterated, politically correct, sanctimonious hot air.

I am frequently puzzled with references in the press to a mysterious "famous rock star" rejoicing under the name Bob Geldof, closely associated with this new set of buzz words. If he is so famous just how many of us would turn and point him out to our brethren if we saw him in the street. How is he famous? Who can spell Geldof? Quick, when did he last release a rock hit?
What's his latest CD called? Name one song this illustrious rock star has done.

Bob is under the fond impression that if he organizes a concert in Scotland, manna, kebabs and fruit juice will descend from the heavens to fill the bellies of millions of starving Africans. Winged warriors will dispatch dictators and despots into the outer darkness where they can weep and gnash their gold teeth. Farmers will earn dollars from their produce rather than the cents they currently earn.

If a concert in Africa would have me sceptical, words cannot describe just how I fail to see how the remotest benefit a 1 million strong concert in Edinburgh will be derived by a poor fisherman in Lamu. I don't see how one million partygoers will contribute to the filling of stomachs in Darfur, or a reduction of the gunfire. This concert, oddly enough, does not seem to have any African musicians performing aside from the good old token Yossou N'dour, something that will no doubt soon be hastily corrected and laughed off as a "technical oversight".

Eager to chip into the latest mass conscience message are Hollywood's biggest and brightest stars and starlets. Apparently the ilk of Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, George Clooney and their fellows leading ladies and gents were suddenly so overwhelmed by the plight of the poor that they actually wrote letters to the G8 nuclei. I was not party to the correspondence but I suspect most of it went like this:

Dear G8 guys,

Please please please reduce poverty in A free car Afrikka Africka Afrika

Yours,
[Star Name Here]

The Coca Cola company trademarked the distinctive shape of their bottle. So should Tony Blair with his toothy grin. I have no doubt that said grin would be produced even if a passing albatross deposited a considerable load of guano on his head. Realizing that his role of George's unwitting puppy dog was costing him at Downing Street as well as Down His Street, he cottoned on to something that he felt sure would earn him marks far and wide.

And so the Commission For Africa© was born.

Its vision, mission and modus operandi are simplicity in itself -- make poverty and bad governance in Africa disappear by making poverty and bad governance disappear. Some of the presidential members of his board, who will remain unnamed, arrived late having missed their flights from the Continent because of being held up to attend to the pressing business of jailing errant opposition members.

Of course the elections were held and good old Tony got in by the skin of his grinning teeth and now he is on more pressing matters like bans on fox hunting and how best to commemorate the Battle of Trafalgar.

It is laughable for anyone to take these latest initiatives with anything but amusement. The reality of the matter is that these latest buzzwords are a desperate attempt of a world that has grown decidedly weary of Iraq, Afghanistan, wars on terror and Middle East Peace Accords to find another avenue to massage its collective conscience and feel good about itself, basking in the warm glow associated with selfless charity.

Rosy pictures of children in Darfur gratefully accepting food from their benevolent benefactors sends little ecstatic shivers up and down suited forms. The thought of influencing millions of lives using their stardom leaves the constituents of the Hollywood constellation giddy with glee.

Personally I find it laughable watching a knighted man with a good dinner in his belly and the remnants of the said dinner at his elbow addressing the press from a plush, six star hotel in his passionate and very genuine belief that he can strike the blow that will end world poverty.

I find it even more ludicrous to see grinning Prime Ministers, treating us to displays of constellations of 76 assorted incisors, canines, molars, premolars and post molars, shaking hands before flashing bulbs while bemoaning the proliferation of small and large arms in Africa after just coming from superintending loading of consignments of machine pistols, rifles and land mines to Somalia, Sudan and Congo (via DHL of course).

Meaningless concerts and laughable commissions are not going to fight any poverty. Even dubiously benevolent concessions like debt cancellation are meaningless in themselves. It is utterly meaningless to cancel my debt if you do not allow me to earn money. Let us both compete fairly on the International market. Your farmers are already enjoying considerable technological advantages -- they do not need subsidies. Don't wax lyrical about debt relief if without avenues for me earning my own money I shall promptly be in debt again.

The quicker leaders of poor nations that appear begging in 6 door Mercedes limousines are thrown out smartly on their ears the sooner they will learn from the school of hard knocks that they have to live within their means. If they do not their populace should consign them to obscurity at the next elections. And if they have dipped into the till a few years stretching
out at a prison bunk ought to work wonders for the attitudes of those following in their footsteps.

So the concert will be held. Fun will be had. Alcohol will be consumed. People will do what they do on the Discovery channel. Millions will the raised. By the time the morning milk sounds in Irish doorways hangover revellers will have forgotten what the joyous rapture was in aid of. By the time the advertising companies, the equipment providers, the caterers, the security companies, the travel agencies, the hotels and the innumerable NGOs take their cut a few thousand pounds will be left that will be smugly handed over to Oxfam or other such agency, ostensibly to alleviate poverty and hunger in Africa. By the time administrative costs and taxes have been deducted, one medium sized MacDonald burger will be winging its determined was Africa-wise, and another Asia-wise to alleviate world hunger.

No, I am not holding my breath. The solution will not come from Live Aid or from G8. It will come from Africans who will finally refuse to accept the nonsense they are subjected to by their asinine leadership and throw the lot of the useless cretins out.

It will come from Africans who will put their skills and abilities to use for their countries.

It will come from Africans who will refuse to acknowledge the empty gestures from Europe and America, whose only concern is how best to plunder the continent of its resources and people without ruffling too many feathers and upsetting too many of their taxpayers.

It will not, repeat NOT come from Bob Geldof and Tony Blair or any other two faced, ostensibly benevolent big brothers who shed crocodile tears and conveniently ignore the fact that they spend as much on dog food than on their goodwill "aid".

It will not come from Brad Pitt, George Clooney or indeed anyone attention hungry starlette whose only knowledge of Africa is that the people there speak a mysterious language called 'African', live on trees and swing from branch to branch clad in leopard skins while bellowing to each other.

More discussion of live8

The only people who can solve Africa's problems are Africans.

Follow up: Get Real: Global Politics 101 & Live 8

BY THE WAY...
Anyone care to tell me how the proliferation of "Make Poverty History" arm bands, website banners, mugs, pantyhose etc. are meaningfully affecting the price of tomatoes, aside from giving the wearers a nice warm glow?

PIC OF THE DAY

Someone's been eating my porridge!
President Mwai Kibaki suspiciously eyes Secretary General of the Asian and African Legal Consultative Organisation

Gwen Stefani - Hollaback Girl

Conversations With God

Life is a very strange thing. I've spent years and years trying to find out what mine is all about and much as I have made progress, it is almost negligible compared to the broader picture. However, one of my duties here is to know myself, so I do get some small credit for effort. After all,we are not here to wake up, go to work, have a drink with friends and sleep daily, year in year out.

My relationship with God is entirely satisfying because we generally tend to have interesting conversations where I ask him questions and he replies. At times he replies directly and other times he (maddeningly) replies using other means, at his own time.

One conversation we generally have a lot is this one:

M: Dude ... about misfortunes
G: Yes?
M: I know I can't escape without getting some but do mine have to travel in mobs? It's a bit much to get them all at once! Why don't you stagger them a bit?
G: (Pulling the Omnipotent thing) Hmm... Well, think about it this way. I know you but you don't quite know yourself.
M: (Suspiciously) Yes?
G: So how else can I help you know what you're made of
M: (Opening mouth to answer)
G: (Pulling the All Knowing Thing) No, you can't just ask
M: Ah ... ha ha!
G: (Grinning) Besides, I've never heard you asking me to stagger your blessings.
M: Touché!

This month he has clearly been determined for me to make considerable headway because I cannot remember a month where so many things have gone wrong simultaneously. Everything this month has seemed to turn to ashes. Reading from left to right in the credit column:

• One of my best friends, who discovered she has HIV recently and who has been given a hard time by of all people, her hitherto loving family, sent me a cryptic message that weeks ago that leaves me in no doubt that she is contemplating something really really stupid. Besides feeling her pain I'm scared to death of what she'll do in my absence.
  
• Another of my best friends lost her grandfather yesterday and it's killing me that I can't be there.
• Apparently the flat I was eyeing has passed me entirely by virtue of my absence. Getting a flat where I want is next to impossible.
• A and I seem to have hit a rather rough patch.
• Intense migraines that force me to bed at ungodly hours like 7 are making their presence felt
• I'm here to fix a problem that I have been unable to get to manifest itself after a week's plus effort. Maddening does not come close.

I won't ask if things can get any lousier because every time I ask it seems to be taken as a challenge. :)

Still, as long as I'm able to enjoy at the lovely sunset, wake up in the morning and do my thing I'm not quite beaten. Not by a long shot.

M: Dude ...
G: Yes?
M: I can't pretend I'm not feeling all this but you just take the first item from the list and I'll try and handle the rest. I'm sure I can manage.
G: All right. And M?
M: Yes?
G: Well done. We'll make a man out of you yet.

Blessed Union Of Souls - I Believe