Friday, February 18, 2011
WIKILEAKING......
We love to gossip. The idea of finding out something about someone behind their backs just keeps the world going. Extra points if the ‘someone’ portrays a completely different image of who they are. So yeah it’s less fun when we find out that Jeff Koinange is a massive egomaniac but much better if we find out that he has a love child with Bishop Margaret Wanjiru. Wink wink. I’m not saying it’s true……..
Thursday, February 03, 2011
I AM NOT MY TRIBE........
Dear Kenya,
My name is Brian O. Koyoo. The O in my name stands for Okinyi which means my first breath was taken early one morning. Despite the O in my name, my mother didn’t go into labour in a boat while fishing in the muddy waters of Lake Victoria. I need a translator when talking to my octogenarian grandmother due to the fact that it takes me forever to translate sentences into my ‘native’ language. I do not plan on marrying multiple women like my ‘ancestors’ or to inherit my brother’s widow. I can tell the difference between ‘ s’ and ‘sh’.
Despite this I am luo. Born into a culture that I appreciate with all its short comings and eccentricities. In some aspects I’m told I am the quintessential luo with my knack for grammatical flourish and an ego to match. My ID points out that I was born in the heart of Nairobi’s Dagoretti Division which I’m told means I have forsaken my lineage. My ID should apparently point out where I come from. Since my father was born in Kasipul Kabondo I am from there despite the fact that I have been bred in the alleys of Eastlands and haven’t been there since his death.
My friends bridge political, social and economic divides. The only thing they have in common is most of them are smart people. Individuals who are able to think for themselves. This would be the generation that would free us from the shackles that our parents placed on us. Never once was I told not to play with that kid or the other because of their ethnic heritage. In fact my dating history has shown an affinity to resist the familiar. Looking around though, I see this promise dying. The dream is being betrayed.
This is not about politics. I do not wake up to have breakfast with the Prime Minister or have a game of tennis with James Orengo during the weekends. Believe it or not, Dennis Oliech isn’t my friend on facebook and I am not in any way related to Barrack Obama. Don’t get me wrong, being luo brings me ridiculous joy especially when I’m trying to piece together sentences to figure out if my mum is dissing me. When I speak I do so as an individual. A luo yes. But a very specific and particular luo. This isn’t an apology for my heritage.
So this goes out to the members of my generation. If this time around you are still blinded by the myopic views of the old guard then this is your wake up call. I am luo. Not better than you. And by no means inferior. So let’s get past this. My point? My arguments and opinions are not informed by some deep rooted need to have luos rule the world. Pinky promise. So now can we move past this and replace every single bit that says luo with Kenyan? It’s not going to change any time soon.
My name is Brian O. Koyoo. The O in my name stands for Okinyi which means my first breath was taken early one morning. Despite the O in my name, my mother didn’t go into labour in a boat while fishing in the muddy waters of Lake Victoria. I need a translator when talking to my octogenarian grandmother due to the fact that it takes me forever to translate sentences into my ‘native’ language. I do not plan on marrying multiple women like my ‘ancestors’ or to inherit my brother’s widow. I can tell the difference between ‘ s’ and ‘sh’.
Despite this I am luo. Born into a culture that I appreciate with all its short comings and eccentricities. In some aspects I’m told I am the quintessential luo with my knack for grammatical flourish and an ego to match. My ID points out that I was born in the heart of Nairobi’s Dagoretti Division which I’m told means I have forsaken my lineage. My ID should apparently point out where I come from. Since my father was born in Kasipul Kabondo I am from there despite the fact that I have been bred in the alleys of Eastlands and haven’t been there since his death.
My friends bridge political, social and economic divides. The only thing they have in common is most of them are smart people. Individuals who are able to think for themselves. This would be the generation that would free us from the shackles that our parents placed on us. Never once was I told not to play with that kid or the other because of their ethnic heritage. In fact my dating history has shown an affinity to resist the familiar. Looking around though, I see this promise dying. The dream is being betrayed.
This is not about politics. I do not wake up to have breakfast with the Prime Minister or have a game of tennis with James Orengo during the weekends. Believe it or not, Dennis Oliech isn’t my friend on facebook and I am not in any way related to Barrack Obama. Don’t get me wrong, being luo brings me ridiculous joy especially when I’m trying to piece together sentences to figure out if my mum is dissing me. When I speak I do so as an individual. A luo yes. But a very specific and particular luo. This isn’t an apology for my heritage.
So this goes out to the members of my generation. If this time around you are still blinded by the myopic views of the old guard then this is your wake up call. I am luo. Not better than you. And by no means inferior. So let’s get past this. My point? My arguments and opinions are not informed by some deep rooted need to have luos rule the world. Pinky promise. So now can we move past this and replace every single bit that says luo with Kenyan? It’s not going to change any time soon.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
HEADLINES IN 2011
The end of the year is typically a time when most people write about how sucky or awesome their year has been while they do a review and plot impossible resolutions. This year we'l do it a little differently. How about we simply get you ready for the best of what 2011 will have to offer.Yes, ladies and gentlemen.I have that kind of power.
These will be the top Kenyan headlines in the coming year. Stay tuned. If you don't believe me then you are probably smarter than you look. If you do then read on;
2011 renamed to 2010 (2.0). After much deliberation by world powers it will be decided by that 2011 just sounded pretty weird as the name of a year. Thus no one would really want to say it hence the whole planet would skip it and simply repeat the previous year.
Raila becomes PM of Ivory Coast
. After being designated as a special mediator to broker a peace deal in the West African state, Agwambo becomes PM in a unity government that doesn't have any Ivorians in the government. Consequently the country becomes a Kenyan county and is renamed 'Bondo Coast'.
These will be the top Kenyan headlines in the coming year. Stay tuned. If you don't believe me then you are probably smarter than you look. If you do then read on;
2011 renamed to 2010 (2.0). After much deliberation by world powers it will be decided by that 2011 just sounded pretty weird as the name of a year. Thus no one would really want to say it hence the whole planet would skip it and simply repeat the previous year.
Raila becomes PM of Ivory Coast
. After being designated as a special mediator to broker a peace deal in the West African state, Agwambo becomes PM in a unity government that doesn't have any Ivorians in the government. Consequently the country becomes a Kenyan county and is renamed 'Bondo Coast'.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
THE TRIBE HAS SPOKEN.....
Yeah it’s that time of the year again. Actually yeah I doubt we have ever seen this kind of situation before. Yeah cross makers are burning the midnight oil while they try to fulfill the demand for ministers who want to carry them. Yes it’s the festive season when Kenyans go crazy as they march to either call for the sacking of ministers or in support of others who are ‘obviously’ being sought due to their ethnic background. It is the era where witch hunts are not just limited to the land of the Abagussi.Parliament’s turned into a veritable reality show where you watch and laugh at the land of alliances and back-stabbing. Cabinet has an uncanny resemblance to the Survivor’s ‘Tribal Council.’ I can’t count the number of times in which I have imagined that host walk up to a minister. Cue the crazy shifty eyes as each minister looks around trying to figure out their fate. And those immortal words as he smothers the flame the minister bears. The tribe has spoken. I’m thinking Jimmy Gathu can reprise his ‘epukana na ukimwi’ role with a more scary political one where he stares at the political class and in the same scary tone goes ‘Waziri epukana na story za wazimu’.
Saturday, November 06, 2010
WHAT IF? KENYAN HELL!
People keep talking about their own personal hells. Little things in their lives that drive them batty. Those noisy neighbours, annoying little brothers(oh if you only knew) and jams make the list. But then I started thinking. What if hell was also based on country? What if we went to hell as per nationality? What then would the Kenyan version of hell look like? Here's my take.(of course you wanna know)So I know you're expecting fire and brimstone but of course that's not the case. Kenyans aren't exactly known for conforming. In keeping with our current crises someone will have messed with all the sulphur and so the fierce heat that hell is known for will be reduced to a toasty warmth. In keeping with tradition, some big cats in hell will have taken up all the prime sulphur fields and settled their people thus holding everyone else hostage.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
LUDICROUS LINGUISTICS
We are a melting pot of cultures and languages. Within our borders lies a conflagration that has melted all these cultures into a single unintelligible mess. The very expression of this is the desecration of the English language. While this may sound haughty and pretentious, it is nonetheless a reaction to the complete loss of linguistic rules that has become known as Kenyan English. Even with the accents and travel time clocked by much of the population it is still very disheartening to know how butchered the language is and how it makes communication almost impossible.
We are a nation of runners and yet most of those runners can’t say athlete. When did we agree to say earth-let-iii. I can’t imagine the conversations at the embassies when these guys get their visas.
“Why do you need the visa sir?”
“I am an earth-let-iii.”
“Excuse me sir.”
“I learn (run).”
“So you are a student?”
“No. I am a learner. An earth-let-iii.”
I think it usually boils down to them having to mime movements to get the blasted documents. OK so you might cite the influence of their mother tongue and maybe you are right. But our generation can hardly speak their native tongue yet they are joining in the bandwagon. Theirs is worse since it is an educated foolishness. Every sentence is preceded by a ‘Si’ which would make a foreigner think we came up with our own version of Spanglish. Then there are those who speak of other “stuffs’ or better still the ones who can’t get enough of themselves when they say ‘Me, I……..’
Then there are the ones who have decided to ‘literally’ kill the word literally. Walk into a party and hear the Kenyan Paris Hilton speak of how she ‘literally’ died when her boyfriend got her another ugly mut. It is explicitly Kenyan to have heroes and ‘sheroes’ and where fatal accidents don’t kill you. It is only in Kenya where sachet rhymes with carpet and where reserve is any place out of the capital. News stations can’t decide whether ‘cache’ sounds like catch, touché or cash. It’s all so troubling. The cream of the crop for me is the group which can’t decide whether they are talking about a guy or girl. ‘He’ and ‘she’ are exchanged so regularly that you’d think there were forty characters rather than one.
We are a nation of runners and yet most of those runners can’t say athlete. When did we agree to say earth-let-iii. I can’t imagine the conversations at the embassies when these guys get their visas.
“Why do you need the visa sir?”
“I am an earth-let-iii.”
“Excuse me sir.”
“I learn (run).”
“So you are a student?”
“No. I am a learner. An earth-let-iii.”
I think it usually boils down to them having to mime movements to get the blasted documents. OK so you might cite the influence of their mother tongue and maybe you are right. But our generation can hardly speak their native tongue yet they are joining in the bandwagon. Theirs is worse since it is an educated foolishness. Every sentence is preceded by a ‘Si’ which would make a foreigner think we came up with our own version of Spanglish. Then there are those who speak of other “stuffs’ or better still the ones who can’t get enough of themselves when they say ‘Me, I……..’
Then there are the ones who have decided to ‘literally’ kill the word literally. Walk into a party and hear the Kenyan Paris Hilton speak of how she ‘literally’ died when her boyfriend got her another ugly mut. It is explicitly Kenyan to have heroes and ‘sheroes’ and where fatal accidents don’t kill you. It is only in Kenya where sachet rhymes with carpet and where reserve is any place out of the capital. News stations can’t decide whether ‘cache’ sounds like catch, touché or cash. It’s all so troubling. The cream of the crop for me is the group which can’t decide whether they are talking about a guy or girl. ‘He’ and ‘she’ are exchanged so regularly that you’d think there were forty characters rather than one.
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