For Kenya .....

“ewe Kenya Nchi yangu,

Ewe Kenya baba Yangu,

Ewe Kenya mama yangu oh,

Sitakuacha milele…….”

Oooh… forgive my manners, Kakai Kilonzo’s ‘Kenya Nchi Yangu’ has been nagging on rotation on my headphones which carried me away, the feeling of patriotism it has been bringing to my brain is too much I have often forgotten common courtesy.

As I strolled through YouTube, one cold mid-morning, my aim was to preview as much football as possible, in a bid to try forgetting how terrible life is with no football season ongoing. The preview is going well, and surprising enough, watching the lads kick the ball around and do some tricks is bringing some fun which makes me forget how chilly it has been for the past week.

Political temperatures are quite high, I can overhear campaign motorcades with screaming P.A. systems at the back of long open trucks, full of screaming and dancing skimpily dressed ‘slay queens’. I look at them through the mist-covered window pane, and pull my hoodie down a few inches.

My head shakes, and I hope they are being given some big chunk of money to risk pneumonia, not believing someone would go through such extremes merely for some political affiliation.

I head back to my youtube, as a Neymar clip fades away. Next up is a clip on Didier Drogba’s awesome goals. I love the clip, but I hate the fact that he wore the blue shirt for Chealsea Fc. Well, I know I would watch the clip with more enthusiasm if his jersey had AIG or AON on the front. My phone buzzes, and distracts my keen watch.

“How’s the going bro..!” It’s a Whatsapp from Galileo.

“Cool cool.. No, very cold..” I reply.

“How is work?” he asks.

“Well, its slow, you know the cliché, everyone awaiting for the aftermath of the elections to chuck out business..! Am just here watching Drogba slot in some easy ones.” I reply.

“Awesome guy, for the Ivorians…!” He says, followed by a biceps emoji.

I much on into Didier Drogba’s clip, then comes up his goal in 2006 World cup, the goal he slotted in as a consolation against Argentina, in between a Crespo opener and a Saviola winner. My mind spins.

 

I rewind back to 2006, Ivory Coast, a country full of wealth had been in civil war for a number of years. The national football team captain, Didier Drogba had made a promise to his nation that he would lead them to the World Cup finals in Germany. They flew through the qualifier matches, skinning opponents on the pitch till they made it top of their group (not so sure), to send them to Germany. He had delivered his promise to his people – Qualification to the World cup.

In Germany, he had a game plan, not only for the field, but also one for his nation. One day in their Locker room, Didier grabbed a microphone, in front of his team mates, they all knelt down, and the captain urged his fellow Citizens who were at war to put down their weapons, since a country with so much wealth did not deserve to be at war. He then went forth and concluded .. “we want to have fun, so stop firing your guns..” to which they all jumped in jubilation.

Their run in the World cup did not last past the group stages (where they finished third and were sent packing), but barely two years later a football match was played in the rebel city, where the two political leaders watched the game hand in hand. Peace had taken over. Peace had won, and football had united people.

Every nation deserves many Drogbas, people who can go out of their way for their nation, and people who can put their happiness aside if it’s an act to bring forth peace.

I intended this post to touch on politics, and some of the reasons I hate politics the name and Politics the deed.

I strongly believe the person who came up with politics in my Country intended it to grow into a healthy peace loving child, the kind of Child who goes to Church every Sunday, or never misses a visit into a Mosque for Sala. He or she must have taken Politics atop the edge of a big rock, like Mufasa did to Simba , and lifted it up to the gods for blessings, and then made a big feast to appease the same gods, in a desperate leap of faith for a good child Politics.

Politics however decided to break away from the intended path, refused to grow into good leadership, but instead brought division and hatred at every stride. Politics grew up believing in the ‘divide and rule’ slogan, bearing forth bastard children, some of them being Hate speech, Tribalism, Division, Death and ignorance. One of Politic’s children named Peace, refused to abide to the ways of his siblings, but was weakened by the others, going for days without food, until his voice was too weak to be heard.

The other day I did a Facebook post on how I hate Politics, and was not ready to take part in mediocrity, then pointing out how I took into football and food and forgot all about the Ticks. One friend commented, and I quote, “Football unites people in ways Politics can never..” I believed her. In fact I jumped up and down in excitement knowing many of us shared my sentiments.

Politics is meant to be an avenue for getting leaders, an avenue through which those intending to get into power reach out to those casting the votes, but it has reached a point where politics has almost zero ties to leadership. It’s all about power. It’s all about who has the more bulging political power to edge out their opponents and they do everything to aid in their quest. In politics, people aren’t afraid of careless talk, no, in fact they seem to compete on who is the better evil at foul talk, with the ‘fouler’ of the pack considered the better politician. Crap!

The streets now look deserted, seems like everyone has travelled to go cuddle in the beautiful country sides,  and fill up their lungs with some fresh air and the simple affluence that flows with the streams in villages. I reminisce the old days I used to cast my vote in the village, the very early morning trip to the polling station, men with heavy jackets and odd looking caps, ladies with cloaks and many layers of Leso’s and vitambaa covering their heads, slay queens on their normal freeze and shine… it used to be such an awesome time. In the city we just line up, complain about a few people skipping lines, cast our votes, take coffee in an abandoned looking kiosk and board a rare matatu back to the hood.

OKEY, SORRY again for my carelessness, the reason why the streets are empty is not the much people have missed the cuddle, and how they love the fresh air of the villages, BUT because they are unsure of the result, more specifically, they are unsure of what will transpire from the elections. They want to be close home, because they know there is safety there. Diversity is beauty, but this thing called politics and these people called politicians make diversity the eyes to see a certain people as undeserving, and as unequal to us. Nobody choses who or where to be born, and nobody should be put to pay for that which they had no hand in.

I know football and food unites people in ways Politics can’t, but this should not be the excuse we use to justify the aftermath of elections, as a people we are bigger than this thingy, we can and should control its power, not the other way round. I find it silly when friends who have been through shit together, sang karaoke terribly together and risked a mass beating by the bouncers and other revelers, friends who have constantly helped each other out of financial constraint, friends who have eaten together and ridden together on road trips, friends who have bonded too much that they can trust on each other to pull up their zipper without digging into soft meat, friends who share screenshots and lunch money – I say I find it silly when these ride or die kind of friends who live shoulder to shoulder in leaky single rooms stop talking to each other or throw words, blows or even crude weapons at each other because they support different millionaires who are fighting for one post which will elevate them from the Millionaire bracket to the Billionaire bracket. Really silly, right ?

No matter the outcome, all I pray for, and all we should pray for as a nation is a Peaceful election, and a Peaceful aftermath. Rwanda did it, so we can too. Kenya ni Moja.