ab incunabulis

I stared fixedly at the droplets of water that coalesced into shallow streams beneath my feet. The blistering heat had given way into torrential rain that, tearing into the tent’s roof, caused a continuous pour marrying itself into the murmur of activity. The cold that descended was dreadful. I shivered underneath the thin fabric that covered my arms, cursing under my breath for failing to bring a sweater. Hours had drifted by without seeing anyone approach our tent except for the few curious souls that, upon espying ‘LAWYERS’ handwritten on a now wet piece of paper teetering above us, would dart in for a handshake and small talk. This was a Legal aid-Medical clinic and ninety nine percent of the people in Homabay County were there for the Medical rather than the Legal.
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Remembering the River

It has been so long since I last posted. School happens and one drowns in it. I find myself swimming in the tides of Mark Twain as he trained to be a professional cab pilot. It is difficult, he wrote, (painstakingly paraphrasing here) for one to see the swell of the river with each rising tide and breathe the same romanticism that led him to it, when one is a professional. The tenuous study and great amount of lingua to be learnt somehow averts one from the passion that drove him thereto in the first place. It is the most strenuous of attitudes, to constantly remind one of the beauty they once saw, such that beautiful colourings and ebbs and rises of the waters are marvelled at instead of being blanketed by worry, of a foreshadowed storm at sea. Continue reading

An Impetus to African Nationalism

‘Each generation must discover its mission, fulfil it or betray it, in relative opacity.’ -Frantz Fanon

We are born in a generation that has failed to recognise its objective in an ever changing and dynamic society. However, these words, uttered by a sick and tired Frantz Fannon as Africa clambered for independence remind us every day that we are fighting the same battles. The battle is to identify the battle ground. The battle ground then was in the field of active colonisation. The price, was the land. However, in this soliloquy, we read into the fact that the battle ground is an ever changing phenomenon. We are not actively fighting to get our land back anymore but we are embattled in bitter tensions to win our minds back. In the book The Wretched of the Earth, though seeming like an overview on the effects of colonisation on the African people, Frantz Fanon analyses the psychiatric and psychologic dehumanising effects of colonisation upon the individual man and woman, and the nation. Continue reading