the greensun blog

We need to talk;
Covid is here, my good people and the calls for caution have been pounded into our skulls through all sorts of media ad nauseum.

Africa is watching this thing unravel with a tub of groundnuts under relative confinement and a not so decent set of manners.
I am not the sort of person who is worried that African culture is being eroded by the new safety measures in place. I’m not here to talk about how social distancing is the exact opposite of the concept of African togetherness or how avoidance of handshakes is utterly discourteous in polite African society. I am also fairly certain that I am not the only one who has thought about this.

Random thought 1: juu ni kubwa haimanishi ni nzuri.

Back to the matter:
To be honest, whatever is authentically the African way began slipping away from us a long time ago with the influx of foreigners. And by this, I mean way back when the Arab traders found their way into sub Saharan African. Time went by and we subsequently clung to practises that were harmless enough that the colonial overlords could tolerate. Which is essentially what I think we have inherited. This is not to say that we shouldn’t try and salvage all that our heritage truly is. That is not the case. But I digress. (I tend to digress a lot. Kindly bear with me)

Now:
Africa has drastically changed over the last 2 or 3 decades. Any true son or daughter of this fine dark continent can attest to just how drastic this has been.
For a long time, the west saw this continent as a hub for diseases, civil conflict and plain hopelessness. Perhaps they still do to albeit to a significantly lesser degree. This can be partially attributed to more Africans being involved in the telling of the African narrative.Yes, the power of a narrative is that great.
I wonder if the west sees its own suffering. I know Africa sees the rest of the world suffer in one way or another.

Random thought 2: hata kama roho yangu ni chafu, si bado inakimbiza damu vizuri tu?

Over the centuries, we evolved from natives of the cradle of man living in an almost perfect harmony with the earth to a society of serfs under colonialists immensely apologetic of our own background and beliefs. The colonial aftereffects turned us into a cluster of nations so eager to embrace foreign culture and languages that we aggressively shunned and shamed their own.

Somehow, a wave swept infecting us with something(no pun intended);
We then walked into a period of African renaissance, an age of enlightenment if you may. It was colourfully characterized by Africans creating authentically African content ranging from music, movies and later all other sorts of digital content. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how instrumental the West Africans were during this period(emphasis on the mental).

Their persistence with an overwhelming barrage of arguably subpar movies with questionable scripts and flimsy plots marked the begining of this period. We all recall either being amused, fascinated or irked by their movies.

Recall the atrocious acting and crappy CGI effects with warm nostalgia. Viewers either loved them or hated them. The West Africans didn’t care.They churned out even more badly acted movies with zero plot like a small factory recently contracted by a government agency to produce face masks. They did this without shame.
There is something to admire in this. (I however don’t want to get bogged down explaining the resilience of the human spirit.)

Africa was pregnant and ready to birth the age of consciousness and self acceptance. These works of questionable quality were its labour pains.
Africa turned and heaved to deliver the new age African identity.

Random though 3: some people call it truth simply because they believe it

We were strong.
We were young.
We defied the ways of our elders who were still reeling in the residual effects of colonialism and instead presumably embraced those of our ancestors before them that hadn’t known shackles. We embraced their pride and with it their sense of worth that didn’t come from the tools the colonialists had introduced to subjugate us.
You see, the birth had occured simultaneously with the defecation of the mentality of former western powers.
So this was the pride of free women and men who bore the potential and the collective subconscious knowledge of all our greatest exploits.

Around this time, the idea to slowly shift from economic ties with the west and embrace the east with which we had had no history was being entertained. China stepped into the stage with a raging hard erection, a basket full of money and a seemingly flexible set of ethics. Africa was utterly intrigued…and moist. It’s legs pried open without hesitation.
We thought that we had grown. We thought that we could handle this new interaction.
That we were getting into a union that we could shake off if we ever felt like it. We were mistaken.We all know how that turned out for better or worse. Some would argue that we sold off more than we had wanted and for much less than we had intended to get. By and large, this still seemed better than limping back to the former colonial powers. Pride and all that jazz…

Anyway, the world at large soon discovered just how interlinked we all were with china ( which was initially said to be the epicentre of the contagion) after the outbreak. Significance of commercial ties across the globe were more or less directly correlated with infection rates. Europe can tell you all about that. Any development after this was a reflection of how well individual nations were prepared for the crisis. Now, this is what has become of the world.

But this isn’t about the world. This is about Africa and the fact that we are suddenly not alone in the narrative of tragedy and suffering.
Now, with covid 19, everyone suffers. As such, we are not the prime focus of all global sympathy. This tragedy has equalised us in some ways. There is no running, no safe zones and little advantage. We are forced to all usher in this paradigm shift and let the world that arises from this take shape.

People from the west are constantly asking about Africa and how we got left behind developmentally. Obviously not all of them but a considerable sample talk to us like we owe them some sort of explanation. The truth is that we don’t. To be clear, I’m not speaking out of a bitterness over colonialism or any radical ideology borne in reaction to systems of subjugation.( I don’t have the inclination or time to foster such feelings). I’m just tired of constantly justifying myself to anyone. That and being the subject of scrutiny. I think most of us feel this way. In actuality, the only people we owe an explanation are our kids and our youth in general. They are the ones who will pay for our sins if we don’t fix things. They are also the ones that stand to benefit from our milestones.

Random thought 4 : wanasema wametoka mbali lakini kwani wamefikia wapi?

I’m not of the opinion that this continent should be left alone. We are a global village after all now and that would be taking it too far. Then again, maybe it isn’t. We have seen countries left to fend for themselves with limited trade and travel options with this covid crisis. They have had to devise new ways of getting essential commodities that earlier on they relied on other countries for. As a result, industries have arisen amidst this crisis. To be fair, others have fallen as well but that is how things will always be. This begs the question of how to achieve healthy global relations whilst maintaining true autonomy. That is what we all aim for, I think. This is what thriving truly looks like.

As you may have observed, I didn’t digress that much. I feel good about that.

Signing off,

DAD

A piece on being.

I close my eyes and see sparks fly across the naked inky night. A man wields something and speaks carelessly of victory. A woman says nothing. Then power is lost. Relief is found. Puffed chests sieze so that beats and rythms of life hit a new crescendo. We become demigods in all our glory as a brazen bellow peals through the evening ushering in the labour we desire to endure
Cackles across vibrant fields have men running without definite direction to set a new tone for the wilderness of absurdity that our sins create.

The earth rises as we relegate the sky beneath our feet and mercilessly pound on it trudging like flying abominations speaking divine tongues of harmony framing reality anew. Afresh.
Coloring it with hues never before perceived on the light spectrum and accepting death because what is life without it?

But it is we that death eludes and so our youth itches through our hungry souls and powers virile and fertile loins

The darkness is our life and we see much clearer in it than any blurry light the sun ever pissed out at us.
Our desire bores through our elated pysches and causes an unending inebriation to pump the heart of worship with vigor.

But this worship….is the worship of bare flesh and sweaty skin. Of ripe breasts and throbbing members. Of the melee of debauchery that rises amidst purity and innocence. All the sadness we feel is forgotten in our desperate joy and psychadellic euphoria.

Youth is the source of our life and youth is it’s eternal and decisive end
At the heart of it all, the chocolate girl sensually gyrates.

She stares at me through the wall of bodies and the heat from her eyes make me turn to see this beautiful walking contradiction she is choose me as her mate. As all women have chosen their mates since the beginning of time. I put my seed in her. We are destined for this purpose.
Shivering hands are made firm when nerves turn to steel from the wrecklessness of our animalistic passion and unbridled desire.

At that moment, she is my life and I am hers. And nothing else matters around us. Neither the ravishing senselessness nor voiceless confusion echoing through the obsidian night with no moon of note.

Life is condensed into this moment. And it is to be cherished, nurtured. And I am free to commit the sins of my father so that none of this ever ends.

The centre of the earth seems to beat like a barrel. Like the heartbeat of home. The celestial rhythm of survival awakens our spirit and a new song pumps citric fresh notes into our collective memory as the darkness dissipates into a clear horizon
We shiver in the morning breeze shamefully as we awaken. We are not brazen anymore. The dancing has stopped.

The once crammed moshpit clears as the old is replaced by new droves of pulsating flesh and bone yearning the aroma of vibrance. And we sit in the light and watch as the wheel turns and ponder fondly on when it was us

By Dima Adam Dima, copyright 2019

A poem by Dima Adam Dima

Copyright 2019

Forget the pain that tore us apart, or the fortune that brought us together
Forget the snakes that would pit us against one another
Forget my deception and the shame of my betrayal,
Forget the anger & resentment I harbored for it neither kept me warm nor you fed,
Forget the rough road we grew up walking on and all the misleading signs that we heeded against the right ones we ignored,
Forget my childish ways and my misguided sins, all of them committed in pursuit of intensity, denying me clarity,
Forget my hubris, my selfishness and ultimate redemption that ripped through you, for I was a book and its end was sad,
Forget the toil now submerged in a pool of sabotage,
Forget how our voices meant nothing to the cruel city that placed us at its mercy,
Forget the denial, the foolishness and the naivety, so that you can forgive me as I forgive myself,
Forget the hearts that tired and fell waiting for the final sleep, and we all gave in on our promise and gave up on each other
Forget that we are things of flesh and bone, so if we do not bleed then we cannot die,
Forget the solitude I desired, to be severed by blood,
It’s hard to cry when you dance, it’s hard to remember the toil with full stomachs and it’s hard to give gratitude when you receive delicacies adorning chains,
Because the rain pours on our flesh to nourish our souls & we are fools to not see this every moment we breathe
Because the pain is ephemeral, a distant memory and a rejected reality,
Today we stand in front of it backs turned vulnerable but uncaring,
May the world bring what it will, it shall be as it shall, if it wasn’t so, it wouldn’t be at all
The heat courses over us and we know its value from the way it burnt us to the way it kept us warm
And a child within echoes cries of joy to the world and I know I am satisfied
Filled beyond measure, I am satisfied

It means cool waters
I can still picture it clear as day
The glowing bright lights in the darkness over that city
They used to call it city in the sun
But in the distance and enveloping darkness, I see it burn
The intense hot and flickering sparks illuminate and lend it a dirty yellow glow
I left Nairobi 3 years ago, I’m not sure if Id like to go back…
…yet…
…or at all.
To see those erect phallic object try to reach heavenwards to grab a piece of the frowning sky
Where fancily dressed women and men go to justify their days and existence
They keep changing each day, you know always taking newer catchier, more western sounding names
A city of spin that twirled us around before it fucked us…or made love to us
The only father to most
malevolent deity all Nairobians
We used to believe in the Nairobi way
I mean the mandatory sarcasm and indifference, the exaggerated ambition and the learned apathy
We worshipped by the holy scriptures of the almighty thousand shilling note,
It gave us warmth, reassurance
It lent us validation for a while,
And because of our piety Nairobi would reach down, with his sly smile and pat us on the back.
We turned into programmed supersoldiers all marching obediently to this new faith’s cadence
Each moment shedding the self and core to embrace whatever was on the media in its stead
Nairobi ushered in a generation of children raised infront of analogue TV sets tuned clearly to cartoons that brazenly flaunted bare flesh and swore for effect and humour
That land where I saw every child, man or woman cockily twang an opinion wearing the mask of reality
There, everything is permitted and the only saints we know are the wealthy for they have uncovered the hidden truth we should all endeavour to seek and find
And who was I to blaspheme
What were my insensible words against the cult of the mighty Nairobi
I was just a man, less perhaps
I was nothing…all alone in that world that was cold and bright with only hard pavements to break my fall

3 years ago, I left that city not knowing if it would ever take me back
Now I just wonder how I had ever thought those waters to be cool.

A poem by Dima Adam Dima copyright © 2019

The night sky parted and her skirt fluttered on the heavy breeze upon green gazebo perched in the sky with half naked patrons paying homage to thundering drums and guitars bleating like dying sheep on a godless pagan festival
I reached forward because it was inconceivable to draw back
Victory had written itself on her form and I would crash into this lustful woman
Swim in warm yellow thighs and gasp for air in masochistic frenzy
She was my ailment
She was my cure

A poem by Dima Adam Dima adapted from Spectrum

copyright © 2019

Gengetone is obviously vulgar. It is raw, uncensored, direct and demeaning to some. And yet, it is the tool that carries salvation for the modern man.

Gengetone defn: a music genre and mode of artistic expression that celebrates youth and the debauchery therein. It doubles up as a subculture that highlights the importance of carnal pleasures vis a vis the emotion it evokes within the listener as well as the singer. Usually characterized by heavy beats and raunchy lyrics. Gyrating backsides are not optional.

Here is an example

The average Kenyan man has since childhood been contracting this disease called ‘gentelman’ at a slower but sure rate. I dare say it has come with more deadly consequences than the infamous coronavirus(I refuse to capitalize its first letter, I shall not give it that respect). Even men raised in the most ghetto-esque and hard environments have fallen victim to this debilitating condition.

Since time immemorial, the man has embraced a controlled level of aggression. This aggression has led to his success and the rise of modern civilization as we know it. Societies have grown and thrived on the basis of such demeanor. It is now entrenched within our psyches to expect men to have a sense of authoritativeness and certainty in the things they do and say. If you don’t believe me, read a book on evolutionary psychology. The finer details will be elaborated on therein.

The concept of gentleman was introduced to regulate aggression and rightfully so. Back in the day, men were explorers, warriors and conquerors with limited governing laws to regulate them. Encouraging them to become gentlemen was to minimize the chances of them from taking it too far and turning into trespassing spies, murderers and thieving grabbers. It was meant to maintain order in society. Embracing this title meant that a man embraced a social contract to respect his fellow men and women. Currently, the word gentleman means something different. It means something less desirable.

Gentleman (modern day defn): the weakest form of a male human lifeform. Akin to a beautiful machine gun on display that has no bullets to fire…but is very wellpolished.

Gentleman is thus a serious disease.

2 great tragedies occured once upon a time(obviously at different times).

The 1st fall of man:

Read your bible…

The 2nd fall of man:

Now, the plight of the boychild (as has been discussed time and time again) began during an age when a large number of boys were raised by single mothers who had been bested by their more intelligent male counterparts. I blame the aftereffects of colonialism for this terrible situation.

In bitter response to circumstances, these single mothers resolved to sing the classic hit track called “men are dogs” by some unknown one hit wonder lady. They sang it to their then impressionable sons and taught them all the lyrics. In doing so they planted in these boys a desire to be nothing like their irresponsible fathers who had caused much untold pain for their mothers. I suspect that this was not in a bid to make the world a better place but to punish the son for the sins of the father. The world ushered into it the unabashed toxic female who is usually mistaken for being strong and/or liberated. But that’s a story for another day.

These boys grew into well mannered, responsible men. Most were polite. Most did not desire to cause harm. If they had been taught that men are dogs then they would resist the desire to use their teeth. They struggled to hide their innate natures. And thus rose the modern gentleman I spoke about earlier. He was housebroken and completely devoid of the things that make a man manly and effectual. Or at the very least interesting.

*Sidenote 1: the rnb artiste Ne-yo dedicated an entire album full of dirges to this fatal medical condition.

This man was neutered and constantly apologizing for wrongs he had never even committed. He even heightened the pitch of his voice so that noone could feel threatened by his true rumbling bellow. He held back when he swung or did not swing at all at the world when it came at him. He took his beatings without a peep. ‘Thank you’ and ‘please’ fell out of his mouth so often, the politeness could cloy anybody listening to death. He constantly felt guilty for being so powerful in a world that in real sense belonged to him. Patriachy was a dirty word and for him to be just or acceptable, he was to want no part of it. So he agreed to bow his head low. He agreed to eat ugali with a fork and knife instead of his hands like a proper African man should. He agreed to not take the things that were truly and rightfully his.

Follow link for a commercial break

Imagine a wild beast trapped in this modern zoo forced to wear pink T-shirts and pink khakis just because they are trendy and politically correct. He had agreed to be pathetic so as not to offend others.

Meanwhile the girlchild managed to garner sympathy as being the victim of the boys’ cruelty. She was painted as this saintly creature that was the only hope for a prosperous Africa to emerge. Affirmative action became the operant word for an entire generation as she was showered with copious amounts of goodies while the boy was neglected to fend for himself. She was praised for her vulnerability.I recall growing up and being appalled whenever I’d watch TV. Even mainstream media was brave enough to endorse fallacious ideas in the name of sociopolitical agenda.
Ludicrous fantasy stories in the name of social theory were narrated to make her appear larger than life. Things like how females are naturally nurturers and so are immune to corruption, selfishness or greed.

*Sidenote 2: I wonder what positive impact the political post of ‘women rep’ has had in our country so far. Anyway, let us all keep wondering together.

Soon, she gained considerable ground over her male counterpart although, let’s not forget, it is still a man’s world.
As they gained a solid education and started climbing up the food chain, they began to drive big cars and get promoted to senior positions.
They soon singled out the ‘broke boy’ as the most undesirable being they could imagine. They denigrated him whilst secretly discontent that there weren’t enough successful males that were actually interested in them(romantically and not just carnally. I feel as though this distinction needs to be made). The result was that many settled for older, wrinklier and less demanding men who had had ample time in years to accumulate wealth. The ‘sponsor’ became a powerful entity in this fast-changing social landscape.

Sponsor defn: a rich man, usually significantly older who contracts a sponsee to trade companionship for financial benefit.
He characteristically has a potbelly, grey hair, a nice car and a family at home. Penchant for viagra is a common feature.

NB. I caution you dear readers against insulting the sponsor. Mid life crisis is a serious matter.

Sponsee defn: can easily be inferred from the above definition. Most often young economically challenged female with expensive taste and high tolerance for saggy old gonads. This psychological disposition generally results from absentee fathers.

*Sidenote 3: I think we can now all agree how crucial a father is to a child’s upbringing.

The sponsor tends to have excess cash in his pockets. This is used to aid young girls who lack the industriousness to fend for themselves as well as eager professional females striving to climb the corporate ladder (Strangely enough, most of these girls are self proclaimed feminists who nevertheless utilise their coetal liaisons to advance their careers. Not judging though. Hiyo ni maisha).

*Sidenote 4: No, I won’t define the term ‘feminist’.

*Sidenote 5: There is such a thing as people frequently overpaying for a commodity to the point that its affects the market price. Let us remember though, that in spite of this, the intrinsic value remains the same.

The market price then rose…
The stage was set for the new urban Africa where younger men with much lower financial powers just could not compete in the dating scene.
See song in the link below for further information

Back to Gengetone…
As a genre or subgenre of artistic expression, it couldn’t have emerged at a more crucial time.
We have defined this phenomenon clearly.
However, what is this gengetone all about?Well, gengetone pumps melodious bowdy notes into ears for sure. But what it really facilitates is the glorification of machismo and encourages men to conquer as they did before the 2nd fall of man.

It evokes within the primal man a desire to burst out of his skin and roar without fear of censorship.
But more than that, it tells men that there is nothing wrong with this conquest. It does so by completely disregarding the status quo and all this tedious decorum. It encourages men to take pride in their manhood and aggression.The message becomes clear that their virility and intense libido is worth celebrating whether or not their finances are limited.
The link below elaborates further on this

Suddently, it is ok to drink your keg, chew your miraa and make merry with pocket friendly hard liquor. Many young men have found these guilty pleasures harder and harder to enjoy these days. When a Gengetone artist sings about it, castigation is off the table. There is only youthful bliss which is a stage that most normally functioning humans of this era will pass through.

Gengetone video clips have been known to display young fertile girls laciviously shaking youthful hips. Backsides turned to videos by ladies likely enthralled by a rythm. It seems so natural. More natural perhaps than those ladies lazily swaying to rhumba/lingala music in related videos without any sufficient zeal. (Almost as if if they weren’t being paid, they would just casually walk off the set disgusted). Granted, the cameras don’t really focus on their faces and determining anyone’s state of mind from a mere glance is intellectually dishonest. But still, the differences are glaring.In showbiz, the ultimate symbol of sexual dominance has always been a man cockily rapping whilst surrounded by vibrating posteriors. He is unconcerned. He is an alpha male. He is the epitome of manhood. Perhaps he can even go as far as positing that money isn’t the only thing that makes you dangerous, influential or respectable. That youthful impetuousness and ferocity that comes with it is a weapon far sharper than any yet seen.Gengetone has taught boys morphing into men not to buy into the philosophy of others. It invites them to define their own ethos and determine their raison a detré.

I admit, Gengetone can be a bit of a strong flavour. Most are likely to find the ideas conveyed through it as extreme. That is an understandable point of view. However, as an informal psychologist, I recommend a conc dose of medicine to battle this ‘gentleman’ crisis. I emphatically insist that most males who rebuke Gengetone probably suffer from an acute strain of ‘gentleman’ that makes them resistant to remedy.

And of course, I realize that my analysis could be wrong. Just as wrong any other theory, opposing, complimentary, supplementary or otherwise could as well be. I am aware also that Genge rose as the titular genres predecessor and yet here we still are. Perhaps all this will amount to nothing after all. All in all, my take on things is my take on things and I stand by it.

For my parting shot, follow link below

Signing off,

D.A.D.

1. When you are young, you are told that appearances are crucial. TV makes this delusion worse.

2. Look at all you modern people. All these smartphones in your hands and yet noone will admit to watching porn. God is watching you.

3. If you want to punch above your weightclass, ensure that you have a dagger in your back pocket.

4. Nobody taught you how to perform coetus but yet here you are shining at like you have a master’s degree at it.

5. All marriages are arranged. The difference is who arranges them.

6. Most hips bare children. Larger ones just give the impression of a greater ability to do so.

7. Celibate people tend to make the most significant scientific discoveries or artistic creations
*Porn is an art as well as a science

8. You are likely to call a food your favorite if the first time you ate it, you were high.

As it burned and fell out of the sky, the star wove itself into her name
An endless violent fizzle rung to tell the world that she was the thing we had wished for
That this was the blessing heaven sent us after we cried
“Give us magic, that we may know the laughter of a parent, that we may dread its labour, that we may spread ourselves upon this earthly plane
Give me magic, the kind I can hold in my arms and raise and love and protect
That it may wipe our tears and touch our beating hearts to warm them
Give me magic, the kind that knows everything and nothing all at once
The kind that teaches whilst erasing tragedy and agony and plants newer more meaningful pain right at the core of my wounded soul
So that it makes strong my will
This magic with pure dark dancing pupils that loves without holding back
The magic that marches to conquer the world as it did my heart
And makes our joys tearful and tears joyful
Heavens, give us this magic that we may walk on water, cure the sick and heal the blind with it”
She is the scorching fire I lit inside her mother
She is the pounding rain I conjured during ungodly hours, sinfully like a pagan rite
She is the earth that conquers everyone alive and dead every step of the way till they learn to yield
She is not just the herald of love, she is love, its price and the endless flowing breeze that keeps it alive
Now as she sits entitled within my arms I see that it is through her mothers retiscent beauty that God chose to shame me and bless me all at once.

A poem by Dima Adam Dima adapted from Spectrum: MNJN pamphlet © copyright 2019

Donald Nyach,

One evening with a full tummy, this youngish chocolate bastard tuned in to a panel discussion.
“Are we headed for an economic crisis?” was the question that got my attention. Made me promptly put down that remote.
The distinguished-looking man on TV speaking in a panel of his peers stood out. They were all a cocky bunch loudly speaking into their mics trying to one-up each other. The hosting anchor looked like he had a handle on things though. He was obviously used this sort of erudite bunch. He also clearly had a firm grasp on the subject matter. But I suppose that should be expected.
At the point of introduction, it became clear that each of these guys runs their own individual organizations. They mostly carried the title of consultant which points to the fact they might be too proud to work for anyone other than themselves on a permanent basis.
They were all impeccably dressed and very well-groomed. But their confidence didn’t come from their clothes or outward appearance. They had set themselves apart as specialists in the fields of finance, risk and economics. They knew what it takes to touch the economy and watch it move. And thus a god complex would be an understatement in describing what they exuded.
This distinguished man in particular (whom we will call Daktari) sat at the centre with a self-satisfied grin. The discussion of the day was economics as I inferred earlier: his bread and butter. The layman watching at home was soon assaulted by a barrage of jargon. Fiscal policy, GDP, inflation, bullish/bearish markets and volatility were thrown around by the pundits to emphatically put forward their position on projected market trends. The anchor swooped in to rescue the layman every now and again with magic words like
“Ok, Daktari, in the simplest terms, what does that mean for Kenya in the next year or so…?”
Daktari smiled arrogantly before responding in a vaguely patronising tone with the expected proficiency that qualified him to come on this TV show.
I recall seeing this guy and immediately positing what his career history might have probably looked like; He probably got a 1st class in his undergraduate degree then almost immediately enrolled for a master’s program. This may have been concurrent with him landing a hot job in the city where he got a chance to share a board room meeting with the kings of Nairobi.( Note: He is the only one in the panel that works fulltime for a corporation).
Once your life takes this turn and you play your cards right, you can easily ride the waves of musical chairs the ‘kings’ play into the stratosphere. He obviously did some professional papers just to fill some gaps and make his CV more robust. Daktari has an intimate sexual relationship with the words “upwards social mobility”. His fake accent is how you know for sure how far a man has come up in Kenya. It’s that typical hybrid of American, British and something else that makes for the Kenyan brand. Although the guy probably grew up in Bungoma. He is of course part of that annoyingly obnoxious Nairobi coffee culture as are most posh people. It’s almost an obligatory thing to be these days, like a matching accessory to the atrocious accent.
Daktari is what we call an academic celebrity. That’s actually a thing in most former British colonies moreso in Africa. It happens when a person listens to his/her parents advice to study hard and rise in the world. That person then accumulates papers and certificates and at the same time is able to massively increase their income. As a result, many of the viewers hanging on to every word he has to say are admiring students he has interacted with in the university visits he is regularly invited to. During such visits, young impressionable girls approach him and query the prospects of delving into such and such a career.
“What does it take to be a professional in this field?”
Of course Daktari has the answer. He has all the answers. And that is why he doesn’t bother to take their numbers. He gives them his business cards knowing that the ‘prey’ will come to the ‘predator’. This is a popular branch of what we call networking these days and this senior bachelor has mastered how to effectively play the advantage. Daktari has secured internship positions for so many young attractive campus ladies that it would be unfair to not call this a CSR activity.
That aside. I, on the other hand, could never get the hang of that networking thing. And I mean actual networking. Standing awkwardly in those events attended by corporate guests with my shaggy hair, I never knew what to do with my hands. I wasn’t as eager as most to spark relevant conversations with the guests. I tried to be. It just didn’t work. The ladies always seemed to have an easier time though. And some of the slicker gentlemen. The intricacies of the pageantry were just too overwhelming for a simple man like me. I couldn’t smile, I wasn’t as interested, I seemed more concerned with the food and drinks and most times, I just wanted to go home and read comic books(and yes, I am a fully grown man)
But not Daktari. He seems like back in his day, he was a champion networker. Most times, that sort of charisma doesn’t even need a 1st class degree to land a job.
Presently, the man knows how to court attention. His title of director or senior partner adds to the pomp and lends gravity to his words. So when he says things like ‘passion’, ‘deliver’, the ‘bottom line’ and ‘marketability’, everyone most definitely perks their ear. Impressing such a man could jump-start your carreer.
At this point, one could ask him somthing as impossible as “How did Theresa May sleep last night?”. The mundane nonsense he would spew in retort would have been woven so artfully that it’s made to seem as profound as the Dalai Lama’s words.
Daktari is a brilliant worker. And due to merit, he transitioned into management early. And so Daktari speaks a bit too loudly. He never got a hang of power or the fact that one doesn’t need to be loud to be heard or understood. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been seasoned by time enough at the time of his promotion. He went on to make for an effective leader nonetheless. A leader with a outside voice. Coming up in the world would have been difficult without that trait.
But I think Daktari doesn’t know everything. He seems like he does but he really doesn’t. Everything in his life so far has gone according to plan. And fast.
Sometimes it’s the achievement of our aspirations that causes us to doubt ourselves and not our failures. What do you tell a man that has never failed? What do you tell a man that fears that his lucky streak might soon be up? He himself has questions . He wonders. Also, he has never really taken a break counting aside those obligatory luxury trips abroad to exotic locations that have been well catalogued all over his Instagram page. Everything has been an effort-filled photo op, scheduled and scripted to portray the right image. So during his free time in those large halls with loud music and strong drink, this man makes the mistake of overindulging one day. He gets drunk and says the wrong thing. Something bigoted, too politically charged or sexually inappropriate in polite society (especially in the wake of the ‘me too’ movement) Then his party just goes quiet and everything becomes as awkward as the face you make when you wipe your crack in the loo. Venting can be disastrous.
Back to the interview;
“…and Daktari we are happy to have you over at the studio again…”, The anchor says
Clever guy, this anchor. You massage his ego and this gentleman will open up like a book. Which he does. And because he seems like the alpha, the rest of the panel follow in tow. Even the ones that would probably like to overthrow him from his apparent status.
I can’t help but wonder the kind of pressure such a man is constantly under: working long hours into night, weekends and sometimes carrying his work home. He has a tonne of money in his account but no real social life to speak of. He probably deserves the glory he basks in. Daktari has likely worked hard his whole life. Many might call him arrogant but I think his arrogance is justified by his brilliance and singular focus.
Donald, if I’m being honest, I like hanging out with arrogant people. They are fun. They are usually more sure of the things they want and they motivate you. They make the world seem bigger and more filled with possibility than it actually is. They are the salt of the earth. It these ‘humble’ fuckers I totally can’t stand.

Signing off,
D.A.D.

You give us too much credit
It wasnt we that spun that great epic
That did that was our rage; blind , simmering and deliciously anxious to damn me to hell
It was true
Yet noone would stand to tell this tale
The epic of calm turned to disaster
Of the witness turned hero
Of the mighty gods over the savannah casting the die of destiny
And of triumph
There is noone to tell such a story because noone has used life for living in far too long
So noone is worthy enough to sing the words
We are filled with shame and the shame wreaks to the discomfort of satan himself
The truth is…
It was we that disturbed the calm
Its was by our envy that the hero was smothered in their cradle
It was our blasphemy that made those gods turn their backs on us
And so how can we deserve triumph?
How can we be given such a boon
My desperate roars would fall on dying ears just as our hearts wrote a beautiful lie to entreat murderers
We were meant to stand behind the great prophets of the new age and walk into a paradise sanctuary
But we thought of ourselves as betters when the divine had yet to ordain us
We grew tired and weak
We doubted destiny
We did not heed the gospel
That epic cannot be told
We rewrote it awhole with our petulance
Now it rings into bleeding eardrums as the erotic melody of damnation
And we cant help but march silently to the tune of our failure

Adapted from Spectrum:MNJNO PAMPHLET by Dima Adam Dima copyright© 2019