One fine morning, I reported to work – or should I call it tarmacking, or, better still, some sort of jua kali stuff? – as usual. Like all spirit-filled and tongues-gushing men of God, I held my head high and treated every interjection as the pro-life equivalent of Hallelujah, ingeniously giving it a single respectful beat before speaking again, all the while pretending to have wallowed into a stupefied spiritual trance. I ended up in Madunda, some 400 kilometers away, instead of the heavenly chambers.
My visit to Madunda was inspired by some godforsaken mantra I had strategically learned to chant in the name of a trip to Calvary or is it Damn-A-scars! In this illusions’ birthday party in the heart of a dimly lit fish-boned city, the idea of eradicating poverty was conceived.
After numbing my senses with the mantra that had the power to speak life to a mountain of dry bones, the chant-holism started whispering some wisdom into my trance-self:
“Son of Mighty a.k.a Ole Mighty, he who made the blind see and the lame leap in joy and banjuka vinasty in a myriad of thankful bathos, you got a niche for making money !” The voice reverberated.
“Ole Mighty tell me, didn’t The Mighty trade his life for your ticket to heaven? Didn't you eat shamelessly without vomiting on your benefactor’s shoes, while he bore the brunt of hunger? Weren’t the heavens watching while you graduated with a Bachelor of Anything (B.A) degree? What can you show the world for your toils except a well calculated plot to send Mr Mighty to the next planet minus a heart? ” The inner voice chortled. “Listen carefully” the words were as if from a prophet! “go to Madunda and declare war on the carnival of the lost auditioning in the choir of lost souls” It continued.
Now you know why I landed in Madunda armed with a Bible, holy water and some handouts bearing such writings as ‘Hell will never freeze over if you keep the flame burning’, amazingly ready to convert both young and old, willing and unwilling.
Wednesday happens to be a market day. It’s the day when all the Madundans worth any salt became mobile world banks after trading their wares and shares. To me it was a day to give Caesar what belonged to Caesar, and much was expected in this regard! A harvest was nigh. Sowing wasn't any important; reaping was. And to ease my way to the imminent fortune would I hence preach:
‘God made
Adam bit
Noah arked
Abraham split
Joseph ruled
Jacob fooled
Bush talked
Moses balked
Pharaoh plagued
People walked
Sea divided
Tablets guided
Promise landed
Saul freaked
David peeked
Prophets warned
Jesus born
God walked
Love talked
Anger crucified
Hope died
Love rose
Spirit flamed
Word spread
God remained.’
Like all other Kenyans, Madundans prefer foreigners to locals. That’s why I erected a poster that did not read, ‘Mhubiri wa neno kutoka Nyayo.’ Instead, the poster screamed ‘Mhubiri wa neno kutoka ulaya!’ It was overwhelmingly effective, the poster; the very one capable of sending a sinner to his knees by just clearing my voice. And it lived to outdo its worth, or so I must stress.
The blathering mouths and wagging tongues made sure that the news of my arrival was well spread. In no time, sweat was literally jumping out of my system from counting real money, bearing the portrait of the not so popular ex-state house tenant.
Pocketing the first coin of the new State House occupier proved to be a downturn, not-so-godly project to my poverty eradication, for not much later did people calling themselves intercessory barrier crashers pay me a courtesy call accompanied by Kiganjo graduates.
In a ‘Welcome to Reality’ segment, I found myself staring at a real judge adorned in a head gear made from the hide skin of some Madunda sheep laid on the barbecue stove a while before. I was charged with false indoctrination and robbery without violence, crimes that are hardly popular with the Madundans.
The judge, from over the years' wisdom, seemed to realize that sending me to Kamiti in eternal fleas’ hood was of no tangible value to her mission of crossing the valley of poverty. She – thank heavens she occurred! – ordered me to surrender my ill-acquired fortune to the ‘honourable’ court instead. The enemies of populating hell had once again conspired against my poverty eradicating 20-was-never-to-materialize vision.
©2011 Redscar M. K.
QUILL’S QUALMS®
QUILL’S QUALMS®
Richie Maccs
ReplyDeleteThis is a creative, albeit an extremely humorous piece. Were it not for length, it would have slid into the river that “Catch 21” has been swimming all alone for the past decades. Nonetheless, its briefness is its wealth. “Another Strategized Sleaze” as the creator calls it begins with a-not-so-strange experience on these sides of the planet. Tarmacking is the call, but not jua kali this time round. There is a new business in town, a new hustler’s choice! Armed with a Bible, holy water, and the usual paraphernalia for a crusade money minting session, Mhubiri wa neno kutoka Ulaya pitched tent at Madunda. If innovation is the key to poverty eradication, then the escapades of this Bachelor of Anything (B.A) graduate is an extremity.
“Like all Kenyans, Madundans prefer foreigners to locals”. The piece satires contemporary culture and falsify the belief in foreigner’s superiority. For by aping foreigners and willfully imbibing what they consider to be good lies the death of our cultural roots. Such belief systems also serve as a sieve that the evil exploit to foster their own devilish interests. However, considering the reception of the money-Pastor, despite his obvious deception, one asks where the society stands morally. Doesn’t a commune of ‘good’ people have an innate ability to discern deception, to isolate evil amongst them? Forget about it! There has never been any white in black!
Wait! Looks like there is a resolution to the blackness after all. Kiganjo graduates are not so gullible! “False indoctrination and robbery without violence” is the charge and the punishment; transferring the spoils from a not-so-godly project to the ‘honorable’ court. The system gobbles the ills of the society, and of course it doesn’t become clean by doing so. It becomes a glutton! Too much for poverty reduction! A strategized Sleaze it is. Excellent writing Redscar
Ha!ha!Very funny...you laugh until you realize that you are more or less laughing at yourself and then you feel stupid:) O!And you made fun of the legal wig you philistine!
ReplyDeleteTrue Lord Richie of The Grand Debate: but for the length, it (the story) would pass for some appreciable fraction of a Picaresque novel (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Picaresque_novel). It is admirable how you married various elements of the story with what/where we actually (and passively) call home: Kenya. The story by multiple definitions was set in the present-day Kenya; the jua kali stuff, the Madunda (an almost-extinct town in western Kenya), the hustle and related issues ... . It, the story, was meant to be more satirical than humorous. Kenyans prefer foreigners to locals. Kenyans will cheat to earn. Many Kenyas are too naïve to detect mischief, especially in those from whom they least expect (but really mostly indulge in) mass cheating. The Kenyan security personnel act best in their favor. The legal system is an aged chameleon. All these, all such and much more inspire such a strategic sleaze. Thank you for the informed analysis.
ReplyDeleteYes, laugh and laugh at your very self, dear Miss Akhatenje. As for the legal wig, little did the Pelasgian in me add salt into Lake Magadi. :)
ReplyDeleteThis is a creative, albeit an extremely humorous piece. Were it not for length, it would have slid into the river that “Catch 21” has been swimming all alone for the past decades. Nonetheless, its briefness is its wealth. “Another Strategized Sleaze” as the creator calls it begins with a-not-so-strange experience on these sides of the planet. Tarmacking is the call, but not jua kali this time round. There is a new business in town, a new hustler’s choice! Armed with a Bible, holy water, and the usual paraphernalia for a crusade money minting session, Mhubiri wa neno kutoka Ulaya pitched tent at Madunda. If innovation is the key to poverty eradication, then the escapades of this Bachelor of Anything (B.A) graduate is an extremity.
ReplyDelete“Like all Kenyans, Madundans prefer foreigners to locals”. The piece satires contemporary culture and falsify the belief in foreigner’s superiority. For by aping foreigners and willfully imbibing what they consider to be good lies the death of our cultural roots. Such belief systems also serve as a sieve that the evil exploit to foster their own devilish interests. However, considering the reception of the money-Pastor, despite his obvious deception, one asks where the society stands morally. Doesn’t a commune of ‘good’ people have an innate ability to discern deception, to isolate evil amongst them? Forget about it! There has never been any white in black!
Wait! Looks like there is a resolution to the blackness after all. Kiganjo graduates are not so gullible! “False indoctrination and robbery without violence” is the charge and the punishment; transferring the spoils from a not-so-godly project to the ‘honorable’ court. The system gobbles the ills of the society, and of course it doesn’t become clean by doing so. It becomes a glutton! Too much for poverty reduction! A strategized Sleaze it is. Excellent writing Redscar
Great work. Keep writing, and posting!
ReplyDeleteoh, I am still in stitches. You are gifted in all things literature
ReplyDelete@Richie Maccs __
ReplyDeleteTrue Lord Richie: but for the length, it (the story) would pass for some appreciable fraction of a Picaresque novel (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Picaresque_novel). It is admirable how you married various elements of the story with what/where we actually (and passively) call home: Kenya. The story by multiple definitions was set in the present-day Kenya; the jua kali stuff, the Madunda (an almost-extinct town in western Kenya), the hustle and related issues ... . It, the story, was meant to be more satirical than humorous. Kenyans prefer foreigners to locals. Kenyans will cheat to earn. Many Kenyas are too naïve to detect mischief, especially in those from whom they least expect (but really mostly indulge in) mass cheating. The Kenyan security personnel act best in their favor. The legal system is an aged chameleon. All these, all such and much more inspire such a strategic sleaze. Thank you for the analysis.
@Kinyanjui Kombani __
Thank you sir. I'll do nothing less than you asked of me.
@Julz Amare Poeta __
I wish I were (as good). Anyway, tread carefully. ;)
This is way better than some of the third-rate stuff I see on Crazy Monday. Oh, and I thoroughly loved the quips there. Nice illsutration.
ReplyDeleteIsn't life about wit? Don't they say opportunity comes once, and that if it does (come), it is best to make the best out of it? Perhaps our character knew as much or, as cliché holds, better. And to think that the humour - if there is any - was triflingly intended! Thank you Sir Kevin Orato the Duke of Nairobisphere. :)
ReplyDeleteThe sarcastic take best captured the opportunism of the local folk here. It's actually funny what people get up to in order to earn their daily meal, ridiculous as it always is. Oh, i doubt the humour was triflingly intended! Ha! Ha!
ReplyDeleteReincarnations of Charles Darwin & Jean-Baptiste Lamarck should visit Kenya and see how effective the theory of 'Natural Selection: Survival of the Fittest' is, at least in this part of the world. The related adaptations are marvelous, I dare say.
ReplyDeleteEine klassische pikareske Geschichte. - Schön, dass das Genre nicht in Vergessenheit gerät.
ReplyDeleteDanke Sir Alexander Eichener. Ich muss zugeben, dass mein Deutsch sehr unreif, wenn nicht nicht vorhanden ist. Ich bin froh, dass Sie denken, dass das Stück (oder die Geschichte) jeden abenteuerlich.
ReplyDelete"Pikaresk" hat zwar mit (erlebten und erzählten) Abenteuern zu tun; aber der andere deutsche Ausdruck - den ich nicht mag - ist "Schelmengeschichte". It is a transnational genre, athough the name points to Spain (16th century).
ReplyDeletehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Picaresque_novel