Category Archives: violence

Intellect

Intellect?
the faculty to reason objectively(oxford)
To think, to see ahead, objectively, cleverly
Such a little word
Yet so ignored,and we think we are…intellectual.

Intellect?
Is that what will save Kenya from a sunken hole
where some of our African Brothers and sisters have sunk into for many years?
Afraid to come out
even in starlight
yet we seem to enjoy, the smooth slide into darkness
we left intellect at home to sleep
on the queen size oak Lamu bed
in the mansion we live in when we are happy

Intellect?
is that what it’s called when i talk about the FTSE as if I was born in the bourse?
If I rise above the politics
and settle with hoping that politics and economy can be oh so very different?
Am I intellectual?
Or am i just optimistic?
and when I do not know my trivia,
but I follow the resilience of the Kenyan markets after poll violence?
is that intellect
Or I am just being foolish?

When I know, what’s to buy, and what’s to sell
Stocks and shares
that build the world
Bills and Bonds
That rule the world
Then am I intellectual

nonintellectual? Kenya?

Because I read the news everyday
ashamed at the gory details that slash the very economy we sweat- ed to build
press, politics, analysts…. intellectual
hanging dirty linen in public
freedom? non intellect?
to fore see….that without the teargas,
Masai Mara and the white beaches in the South coast
and 10,000 families
would be beaming with white joy
billions in taxes to the tight lipped tax man.
Not to deny, but to choose not to show.
maybe the shilling would strengthening by the day
the NSE would be a smile away

Intellect?

Growing up a lady

I grew up in the countryside
And was raised just like any other child in the village
I remember being woken up very early every morning,
Even if we had nothing to do
Children were not to be lazy
So we had to find things to do
Run in the dewy grasses; play with any of the farm animals that had now become pets
Many times we went to the shamba boys hut
He always lit a fire that we would gather around
He had the sweetest stories
ARNEST was his name…later I learnt in English it pronounced Ernest
He was from Uganda
He told us stories of the cannibals of Uganda
He said never to eat meat in a Ugandan house
And he swore he wasn’t one of them
For these stories, I would pay be young again..
I have a little girl
Nine months and her whole life ahead of her
If I lived in a farm now
Would I let her go for fireplace stories?
In this country at this time
I cannot answer that question
How about hide and seek, up in the trees, and deep in the Napier grass
Together with boys and girls her age
I cannot answer that question
I cannot carry her with me in a sling bag until she is 18
I cannot build a wall around her
I cannot let her be an island
But it scares me to death to let her grow
How do I let her grow?
In this age, this time, these horrors,
But I grew up in the countryside
No TV, no computer games, no movies
Just sheep, goats, maize, rabbits…
And what did they teach us? . Love, just love and more love
That one question I can answer

By Terryanne Chebet