Tikwega

Ndaririkana gwitù gwitù atì Kenya 

Ngakengeria maithori tùndu tikwega

Na ndinauga nì kùru tùndù Nìkwega

Nì ciùria ndina ciuria aca njohera

Kaì twarìirwo nì Cia uu? Cia uu tikwega

Twathurana ni kiaiywo Kìaiywo tikwega

Mùingì kùrùrùngana ngana ti Nga'no

Nì ciùria ndìna ciùria ciùria ti nga'no

Nìì Cicero ngìina rùrù rùrù tikwega

Mùtu ùcoke naite faìì Ngima tùthonge

Tùkùmìrīa na turungi rungi tùkome

Ruciù ùmenye nì kuhustle hustle tikwega

Bùrùri warì mwega mwega ici ndeto

Nìciarega mìtheko theko tikwega

Twarìyaga tūkahùna hùna ti nga'no

Tùkaihùria makombì kombì tikwega

Kaì twarìirwo nì Cia uu? Cia uu tikwega

Twathurana ni kiaiywo Kìaiywo tikwega

Mùingì kùrùrùngana ngana ti Nga'no

Nì ciùria ndìna ciùria ciùria ti nga'no

By SamCicero 030323 - 23:32

Shout no Voices

To a friend who is hurting,
A stranger who is stranded,
Adopted deported immigrant.
To a sister turned fore,
A child writhing in pain,
A jobless Youth,
And you Incarcerated conscious convict.
To a mourning husband,
with suicide note at shore
and a laughing, crying jilted lover.
Though the voices have stopped,
Yet in true sense they persists.

End.

02218-02:18
 

Growing up in 80s & 90s

Growing up in 80s & 90s

I grew up in the Eighties and early Nineties. The eighties and Nineties were certainly a goldmine for nostalgic blog material. I spent my teens in those decades playing in the dirt, going to school bare foot and dreaming big.   I can certainly tell you that the TV was way better with none of the “reality” show garbage that we see today.  The music was mature and sweetly sound!

I lived with 5 siblings cramped in corrugated iron semi-permanent rented 10 by 12 feet single room in Nairobi, Kangemi slum. That was what I called home for many years. I had come accustomed to the landlord knocking loudly on our door early in the morning asking for rent. For me it was a morning call time. Another day had broken. Bed time used to be quarrelsome with unfeigned  storged love. We shared one bed with my 5 siblings. The two blankets with my four sisters and my younger brother had punctuated North and South pole holes. For the whole night the blankets were stretched like a tennis court. I slept like a ninja under attack. For some strange reasons I never lacked sleep and I dreamed well in to the night. We had no Radio neither a Television set but love and prayers of our dad and mom kept us warm.  Some of our neighbors that had the two most coveted electronic invention of our times welcomed us to listen soccer & watch “Vitimbi” a popular Kenya local comedy. I loved to watch Kenya marathon runners and football what American greats call Soccer.

Televisions were few in the neighborhood, strictly under lock and key.  I had to contend with listening to Kenya’s Harambee stars play Malawi-Chipolopolo under a tree surrounded by curious overzealous neighbors. First it started with Kandenge na mpira…Kande…na mprira before you knew it …goa..goaaal, and the commentator continued Msikilizaji….The radio commentary and mental visualization was so real and clear than today’s colored flat screens.  That was the time I knew I will grow up to be a mystic radio journalist. No I was wrong.

The black and white television T.V set in our neighborhood was magical. I had sometimes to naturally time the TV wrestling show at 2030 hours at one of our distant relative’s home just in time for meals.  The eyes then will start roving and talk “see him again!”.  At times they delayed to serve dinner until I left. This night I slept hungry. .…..To be continued…..020118-08:22

My Tribe

My Tribe

My tribe is courage amidst the pain and anguish

I am so that we can! a community of faith

Believers in dreams bigger than ourselves

Dreams proportionate to the amazing power of our God

I worry, sometimes I feel like giving up

But my tribe knows no voluntary surrender

Until the warrior forced in a corner to live to fight another day

They prepared me for victory but no one taught me how to handle defeat

Every day is a challenge, a struggle with a chance to proof what I am made of

What am I made of, you ask?

I am fragile, tender and strong

I bend like a willow tree and withstand like a fig tree

I am a prophet in to the future

A future in hope that today even though tough will be a better tomorrow

My tribe is her and him and you

Our problems surely not the same,

Told in many languages by different history tellers to look the same

As the poor walk in search of food the rich walk to digest the same

With the smiles that bides us together. Welcome to my tribe.

By Njoroge wa Ngige: 021117-0313

The Diaspora Jonah

The Diaspora Jonah

Its 2017, you have been moving from one state to another looking for a better life. You have avoided driving close to any airport lest you reawaken some former ghosts or the genuine urge to visit motherland Africa bites you. If you are still looking for papers I wish you well from the bottom of my heart.  The only thing you have been good at and consistent with is posting photos of the latest fashion design apparels and near like popular celebrity destinations in the social media. There is nothing wrong with that, I do that all the time especially after midnight. Don’t ask me why but I will tell you anyway, Saves me the headache of calling and starting the same conversation all over again…. what is the time there? 

To be honest I lost the concept of time the moment I landed in America.  I am in this never ending constant rush that rashes all over my life with an extremely rash to make such haste and assumption in life. My orgasm is still in Africa where lions roam freely in the city of Nairobi.  The only thing that seems to have succeeded to stop me is the icy roads and speeding tickets! And is just for a moment, imagine this!  Death is in our distant thought in diaspora cat race mouse game. We seam immortal so we tell our selves chasing the mirage ever elusive dollar sign.

It’s so real we think we can postpone time and die after returning back home in our retirement age under a mugumo tree (Fig tree) telling our diaspora incomprehensible incoherent escapades.  Insomnia and ‘Dementia’ would have so badly caught up with us, such that we shall all but be laughing stalk. God forbid. The moment you land in diaspora one thinks has eternally stopped the hour hand from ticking. Owe unto thee… boys you left  back home are now mature men minting millions of money and trans regional deals transacted via mobile telephony as you wait for your ‘Nyamachoma’ (Goat barbecue) before you lay your fake ‘bling-bling’ on the table for quick local inspection.

In other words the diaspora man has become synonymous with biblical Jonah. First, Jonah as we read in the book of Jonah is angry and argues with Almighty God. Secondly he refuses to go to preach to people of Nineveh as a prophet to ask them repent as God demands. Thirdly this Diaspora man is fleeing from God at every opportunity like Jonah flew. He thinks he will pick his God at the home airport where the diaspora covenant dream was signed and ended. Picture this: before he officially got the Visa this diaspora Jonah invoked the name of God 24/7. Now he is a neo-pseudo atheist of some sort ashamed of saying “Amen” leave alone “Bwana Asifiwe” (praise God). The same like the proverbial Jonah who flees from God’s call and goes far away to distant city called Tarshish. The Diaspora man burrows his head in doubles and endless triples at his job and some unfortunately die on the wheel ever tracking. 

At his point it is imperative we revisit the story of Jonah’s proper in passing as told from the (NIV) for unequivocal gesture of honor.  

Jonah’s Anger at the Lord’s Compassion

Jonah 4: New International Version (NIV) reads:

4 But to Jonah this seemed very wrong, and he became angry. 2 He prayed to the Lord, “Isn’t this what I said, Lord, when I was still at home? That is what I tried to forestall by fleeing to Tarshish. I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity. 3 Now, Lord, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live.”

4 But the Lord replied, “Is it right for you to be angry?”

5 Jonah had gone out and sat down at a place east of the city. There he made himself a shelter, sat in its shade and waited to see what would happen to the city. 6 Then the Lord God provided a leafy plant[a] and made it grow up over Jonah to give shade for his head to ease his discomfort, and Jonah was very happy about the plant. 7 But at dawn the next day God provided a worm, which chewed the plant so that it withered. 8 When the sun rose, God provided a scorching east wind, and the sun blazed on Jonah’s head so that he grew faint. He wanted to die, and said, “It would be better for me to die than to live.”

9 But God said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the plant?”

“It is,” he said. “And I’m so angry I wish I were dead.”

10 But the Lord said, “You have been concerned about this plant, though you did not tend it or make it grow. It sprang up overnight and died overnight. 11 And should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left—and also many animals?”

As the story unfolds we know Jonah eventually hid in the ship not wanting to go to Nineveh, was swallowed by a fish, stayed in the stomach of the fish for three days (how long have you been in Diaspora meandering?)  Then was vomited ‘deported’ to the nearest correct home address of motherland Nineveh.

My humble conclusion here is that; we cannot run away from God. Whether you are here legally or illegally, the government already knows.  If God wants to use you in Diaspora you must heed his call before he delivers you at the door step of your ‘enemies’. Its God wish not ours. We are here for a greater purpose than just chasing the dollar. We must go back to Nineveh to realign our vision and character as God ones intended.

By Njoroge wa Ngige 011717-0212

4 Reasons: Why horrible Pastors make you poor!

4 Reasons:

Why horrible Pastors make you poor!

I miss the days when Sundays was looked with awe and not lost in reveries.  When Sunday was all smiles and genuine Christian laughter. I miss the days when going to church was cool and part of cultural fabric interwoven in our DNA. The days when you looked forward to spiritual reawakening and genine confession of sins. I miss the days when going to church was not out of fear, showoff  or dreaded frustration of one day having descent burial or  dignified diaspora send off .  I miss the days when going to church you were shy of approaching the Holy of holies (The Tabernacle) the Alter or facing God with dry blood shot eyes and defilement of purity of heart. In my interaction within and outside the church I have come to this four basic conclusions why we have so many horrible pastors that leave us far much poorer spiritually and financially broke every Sunday we attend “their church”.

1.     Building their “Little” Kingdom – You will be tricked to believe you are genuinely helping advance building Gods Kingdom. In essence they are shamelessly building their earthly mansions, golf courses and expanding private run ways. Before the tithe, they will whip your emotions with fear of not giving.  They will quote conveniently an array of memorized scriptures from the Holy Bible just to make you give dreadfully (fear of not going to Hell) as opposed to cheerfully.  

The will indeed invoke the name of God of Exodus how He will rain brimstone of fire in your wallet and business lightning’s tsunamis after waves endeavors if you don’t give.  They will in conjunction with the choir, the clumsy choirmaster and the worship team conspires to induce you with a crescendo of ‘psychedelic’ angelic music characterized by a profound sense of intensified false sensory perception of a “Cheerful giver”.

Your fellow Christian in the same pew will make sure they see whether you dip in the bowl of life in their sinful hawkish eye.  They will watch you with awe! With a feel good attitudinal smile like a slow puncture in winter. Woe unto you if the church you attend must make single file to the holy Dias to “graciously give”. In the end they will summarize their prosperity gospel with “you are poor because you don’t give”. 

This is indeed a distorted theology since we cannot bribe God. Even though we are co-copters in the kingdom of God (Meaning you have to do something on your part) however, God cannot abandon you in the hour of need. But remember, He, the God almighty abandoned his beloved son Jesus in the hour of need on the cross for the sake of you and me. On our part we are adopted sons and daughters and God does not expect all of us to behave the same.  That’s why He (God) provides the sacrament of forgiveness freely i-regardless of your fake pastor. Known as Toba’ from where I come from.   

Now, There was this West African Pastor that I once attended ‘his’ church. (not ‘Ours’ remember),  whenever a church denotes your pastors name more than that of Jesus Christ, the reason something is terribly wrong. (Now you ask why you haven’t seen me in your pastor’s church of late—because I anonymously attend Catholic mass daily without qualms, show off or quakes not because I agree with all Catholicism but because of sanctity of faith). The West African pastor, His Church was in Hamburg, Germany, “Soul’s paradise’ of some sort if you ask them. I was 21 years Kenyan  old in Germany- Europe (don’t ask how old I am now, just know I am your old uncle, a sage aging gracefully in the land of free in faith, you right! like the damn old wine).

 I remember very well I was driven against my will by my Hawk eyed revival Pentecostal filled Aunt Elizabeth who drove me 40 miles in cold winter to give to the shadow way fictitious paperless pastor the ordained Sabbath ‘tithe’. Yes, you are right again, he was deported in the summer of the following year.  I am glad you are following this story; I can see you nodding your head as if to acknowledge it’s as if I am in your mind. It’s like video, cinema, movie unfolding right before us.  Most of us are reserved not to rattle the feathers lest we are viewed indifferent.” Un-Conforming “Christians if you like.

Back to our original story. The congregation kept giving the deutsche marks as they were once known before the advent of Euro. The dude (Fake Pastor) was building a palatial house with a swimming pool on top as the roof in his ancestral home in Nigeria.  He made his fortune out of our own ignorance. I don’t blame him, but all in God’s name. Now as write this I fondly remembered many will come in my Name. It was too late. I had been faithfully constitutionally coned before the fall of the Berlin wall.  

Now to more pertinent pressing question. When last did you receive annual or half year audited financial report as a cheerful giver in your church? Please I beg, do not answer this rhetorical question, kindly continue giving cheerfully but remember faith without reason is dead.

2.     The Glue – Your pastor if you ask him tomorrow thinks he is the one making you go to church. Most Horrible pastors assume you need them more than you need God.  They take the role of God and remove him in your daily life as they remotely control your decisions and sanity.  Some of them also think you have never had foundational faith, especially if you are a diaspora from Africa living abroad.  They forgot that your God has always guided you across the Atlantic Ocean, the Sahara desert and the Mediterranean Sea, even before you met them in their giving give prosperity sermons.

3.     The Building VS Body of Christ- the expansionist pastor thinks a mega big church translates in fortunes. Now you have a big church in form of a building so what next? People must give to sustain the rising cost of maintaining the building as opposed to maintaining their souls.  Need I go further you ask?

4.     Pride & Selfishness: There is a general consensus while writing this blog that your pastor hates the Pastor next door. Yes you heard me right. You don’t want to think of your pastors a human being with shortcomings like you and me. Pastors are not immune to self-destructive attitudes.   There is an arrogance that assumes their way of doing church business is the right way. The reason why they are afraid of forming and molding other upcoming junior pastors lest they take over to poison their “followers’ to form a true church. They cockily consciously don’t perpetuate leadership in their congregation they preach fear and personality cult worship.  Now you know where your pastor’s church is.

By NJoroge wa Ngige – 120116-0400hrs

From these Dusty roads, we Rose!

From these Dusty roads, we Rose!

I miss the roar of the equator tropical sun,

I miss the social pavements of Nairobi

I miss the juicy joints of Nyamachoma

Kept the pangs of hunger at bay

The dusty roads of Kawangware

The meandering seasonal rivers of Kangemi

Where I used to clean-shine my only pair of shoes

The never ending stream of hawkers

Hip-hopping jump the open gutters with the daily sludge

And the dreaded city Kanju in hot pursuit

The hate-love between Muthii and Konda,

The blurring honks of the latest Nganya,

The new Kenyan anthem.

See, when I was 12, I used to buy Mahindi choma by the road side

When I was 18, I drunk Supu and Mutura at Hakanyua

I wanted to be a monk at 21, but I was swept by innocent love

My body mimicked lightning, the natural thunderstorms of clumsiness

And I was swallowed by the eye of the storm.

A prophetic profound storm,

From these dusty roads we rose,

Having walked on foot half of our lives,

So let me ride my limousine in tranquility,

For we all have stories, This is my story,

This and that happened, this and that is no more.

By Njoroge wa ngige 111116-15:30