Why this se­ces­sion talk is too dumb an idea to even en­ter­tain

Daily Nation (Kenya) - - OPINION - mmu­tuma@ke.na­tion­media.c om

When I heard that Homa Bay Town MP Peter Kaluma had taken up the cud­gels in the cause of se­ces­sion, I had a strange wish. I wished that he was one of my favourite law­mak­ers, such as for­mer Ugenya MP David Ochieng, who, I think, the House will miss be­cause he is such an en­gag­ing, gen­uine and clever fel­low. Then I would prob­a­bly have called him and tried to ex­plain, like a fa­ther since he is a young man, what a dumb idea se­ces­sion is.

Mr Kaluma is ex­press­ing elec­toral dis­ap­point­ment by re­act­ing the same way peo­ple like David Mwenje did in

1997 when Pres­i­dent Daniel arap Moi, fairly or un­fairly, wal­loped Mwai Kibaki. They ar­gued that Moi had lost le­git­i­macy be­cause he had stolen his way back into power and that Cen­tral, which they thought was the engine of the coun­try’s econ­omy, would go its way and be­come a spank­ing new coun­try.

Many Kenyans can’t tell the dif­fer­ence between the coun­try and the govern­ment. The govern­ment is tear gas, is ten­der deals, is Kiems, is al­go­rithm. The govern­ment is min­istries, taxes, po­lice­men and judges. The coun­try, how do I ex­plain to my brother what it is? Coun­try is ro­mance.

Let me first sug­gest that he lis­tens to a Coun­try tune from my boy­hood, Kenny Rogers’s Evening Star:

If you never rode West of the Ari­zona border

You can turn the other way but you never get far boy You be liv­ing a lie if you wanna see the won­ders of the age

You must fol­low the evening star

Evening star

Shine a lit­tle Heaven

On a stranger with no dream Where you are

You can see the lone­li­ness I mean and if I gotta fight

I can never play some­body else’s game, I can fol­low the evening star

Starlight, you never need some­body else’s name

If you fol­low the evening star

Have you ever known a sun­set when the sky’s on fire

How you end an­other day boy you’ve been search­ing too far Like the desert I rode on any mem­ory is lost in the rest­less wind

I just lie be­neath the evening star

Evening star

Shine a lit­tle Heaven

On a stranger with no dream Where you are

Have you ever held a wo­man in the Cal­i­for­nia moon­light

Put your money on a good night if you never been there It’s a sight for sore eyes if you wanna see the won­ders of the age

Mak­ing love be­neath the evening star

Some of the in­tel­lec­tu­als fo­ment­ing war and talk­ing about the bleed­ing of peas­ants for the glory of the mag­got elite, are soul­less and stupid peo­ple. They fail to un­der­stand that while the govern­ment is in the head, the coun­try, our beloved coun­try, is in the heart. It is a feast for our senses, a cel­e­bra­tion of our be­ing, an ex­plo­sion of our Negri­tude, the au­then­tic­ity of our race.

I want to ask Mr Kaluma, have you ever seen a sun­set at Ki­mende, when the sky is on fire and the world is laid out at your feet like a car­pet, and you say to your­self, this is my land?

Have you been in the Mara at sun­rise, when a for­est of crea­tures is out feed­ing, and there are mul­ti­tudes upon mul­ti­tudes and you said to your­self: Dear Lord, where did you find the time to make them all?

Have you danced to Benga in the dead of the night in Kisumu, when the hu­mid air, the strob­ing lights and the ex­plo­sive melody frees the soul in ut­ter mad­ness and time slows down to a thick, vis­cous sweet­ness, like a good sin­gle malt, and scrawny of­fice knees rise to the oc­ca­sion to meet the chal­lenge of the dancer with but­tocks like a se­ries of earth­quakes? Have you hung loose in Watamu with your legs so far up in the air they seem to touch the sky, half-awake, half-asleep, with a cool breeze between your toes, si­lence in your ears and a Tusker so cold it has a stone in it and you won­der­ing how bloody won­der­ful it is to be alive?

Have you been to Karama in the early evening when the heavy, cold moun­tain air cas­cades down like sheets of water, where the mélange is short, suc­cu­lent and sol­u­ble in your mouth, driv­ing your heart faster than your VX and your blood pres­sure higher than Nyam­bene, so high that you be­come pre­scient, the first prophet in your clan; you take author­ity over the world’s problems, cure cancer, cure Aids, end poverty, unite and rule Africa, your eyes like orbs?

MUTUMA MATHIU Some of the in­tel­lec­tu­als fo­ment­ing war and talk­ing about the bleed­ing of peas­ants for the glory of the mag­got elite, are soul­less and stupid peo­ple.”

Dis­man­tle

If you dis­man­tle Kenya and cre­ate ban­tus­tans to suit your tran­sient po­lit­i­cal tastes, where shall we ride West of the Ari­zona border? Where shall we find the evening star?

This whole se­ces­sion melo­drama re­minds me of those CU folks in high school who missed the dances with the girls from Ntha­gaiya Girls, who didn’t fall in love with Mrs Githuka, who never went out to steal man­goes, who never swam in the flooded river and who never tried to get drunk on kimere.

Shut up, man! Kenya is fun.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Kenya

© PressReader. All rights reserved.