EMOTIONAL DISCOURSE

I'm trapped in a glass case of emotion.
My mind is a vine of confusion and muse distortion. Maybe I'm a little psychotic but I know that despite the despair I exude, I 'm  optimistic, a roving feline, or as Romeo and Juliet, I believe in destiny. Sure they both die at the end but who said a babboon can't enjoy some wind beating against the red anus even when it's red and ugly as fuck.

In the never ending quest to make it, I realised damn it! I'm too serious. Hell, I even make the name serious frown at me like 'seriously?' (He he that's my laughable attempt at modern day lingua). Also, its raining, our houses are flooding. Better wake up with a smile as we scoop these waters in our plates, cups and spoons as we break into a unanimous 'Count your blessings' chorus, washing the water down to a farmer who truth be told looks out of place in Nairobi. He already has enough blessings, but who said you can't stock 'em? Then, go to work where my boss will probably shout at me with some vibes and rhymes that will make Eminem sound silly and uneducated and make Kanye's philosophical rants sound like gibberish a madman would say before disappearing down a hallway into their rooms in a mental institution. Also I think Kanye and Eminem are the best rappers ever, alongside Khaligraph and Kalamashaka crew (Johnny Vigeti, Roba and that third guy whose name I can't remember to recall), and Zaka na Kah and every single member of Ukoo Flani Mau Mau. If you are not here its not personal, its professional.

I bet insanity is taking over me slowly, like how a malignant cancer just fucks you up one Monday morning when you are singing 'Singing in the shower' in the shower. But atleast I get to experience the descent to insanity instead of having it bludgeon me down to the dregs of normalcy one Sunday afternoon as I listen to Esther Wahome on my Hi-Fi, or to Bahati lament in each of his tracks (No hate).

It takes a lot to look at life, and not stare at the harsh reality. No seriously. Fuck reality! I want to live in this blissful world of my dreams, where I am a caveman with intellect and a prisoner with no dilemma. A world where I am the most important cog holding humanity together. A world whereby I'm the go-to guy, without whom the world would be using spoons to fetch water and...wait, we actually do that. I mean, who wants to know that they are insignificant and their presence in the world is only mildly consequential? Not useless, just not entirely as useful as we believe. Seriously, to hell with that. I am the man of men. The reason I was born is because humanity needs me, needs me like a Jay needs a Beyonce, or a Beyonce needs a lemonade (sorry I could not control myself. Just had to use it). Without me, guys would just be stumbling around, being insignificant and shit. Me, I'm the shit... I carry my own tissue paper to wipe other shits* with.

So I woke up today and thought 'Wait a minute. Sitting around and staring at the cold hard facts just depresses me.' So I decided I'm going to avert my eyes from reality and flutter my eyelids at fantasy and daydream. I had a connection with them once but we lost touch (poor them. They must have been so lost without me). My primary school Math teacher was harsh, but my crush was not. She was hot. So I stared at her during Math lessons to lessen the discomfiture of sitting through two whole hours of pure numerical grinds and nothing else. Also I thought she smiled at me once but I'm not sure. It looked like a cross between a grimace and an oh-God-get-me-out-of-here-sneer. But who said a man can't dream. She probably thought she was still a virgin but I took it away from her in my wet dreams. Also I know she liked me she just didn't want to show it. Well keep playing hardball girl, me and my significant self won't be hanging around forever. Take advantage of me while the offer lasts, otherwise you lose me, you lose a very key part of humanity. What is that you say? That I ain't that important? Please refer to previous paragraph because you are reading too hard. As you do that, I will be on my way to Bahamas, or Mathare, depending on how much I'm willing to save.

Anyway, the path to insanity isn't that bad at all, trust me. Despite what movies tell you, there is no axe-murdering. Insane people don't Jason Vorhees the hell out of people. I don't even own an axe to begin with. And a mask, I don't have that too. And also I don't have the name Jason, much as I would wish to. The transition is just a smooth segue. One minute you are er-okay. The next minute, you are flipping birds to everyone. When you are not flipping those birds, then you are holding them captive when someone flips you some. Also, you begin to think you are flying when you are just high, forgetting that being high is different from flying. Also, if I said high, and you thought 'drugs', you are the insane one.
Seriously, being delusional is healthy. Science backs up on me pretty hard. Wait, what? That didn't sound right. I meant to say, Science backs me up pretty hard. Phewks.

From The Confused Musings of Kiraka D. Mugatsia: Thought Chronicles

JULES AND THE MUSICAL LEGACY HE LEFT

Tribute

There is nothing quite as destructive and fascinating as death. Yet there is nothing that puts our mortality into perspective than the death of someone so colossal that they seemed un-human. People who  were born doing their art while the rest of us mere mortals waddled on for another five or six years, throwing tantrums as they became the forces we fawn over and revere in unceasing awe and gape. The sudden passing of Papa Wemba is what has prompted me to pen this article to celebrate an artist that we will marvel and gawk at for decades on end, as we still do Franko and Madilu System.

Papa Wemba collapsed in his chosen battlefield, the stage, early Sunday morning, 24th April 2016, at the FEMUA music festival in Abidjan, Ivory Coast and died on his way to hospital. If ever there was need for proof that death has a sense of dramatic irony, this certainly must have been it.

While I wouldn't want to pander about by claiming to be a 'big fan' of Papa or go in lengths about how his music inspired me blah blah blah, let me say that I grew up listening to the Soukous music or Congolese Rhumba by default, never by choice. My old man is a great fan of such so it was only natural that these were the songs we had to listen to whenever my father happened to prefer the great indoors. Listening to his razor-sharp singing voice, then to the heavy, paternal drawls of Franko Luambo and Madilu System, brought a dawn on me on just why they are revered by the generations of our fathers. 

They showed mastery of the art, successful not just in the commerce of it but in the mastery of tools of trade. Wemba is one of the Lingala artists I have grown to enjoy listening to (the others being Franko, Madilu System, and Pepe Kalle (R.I.P all). Whether it's the strong and danceable beats, his high-pitched voice or the beauty of the Lingala language, there is just something about Papa Wemba that made me listen whenever he hit the booth. Those times were few, but I cherish the songs I have listened from Papa with astounding passion.

A legendary journey that started in 1969, with the formation of Zaiko Langa Langa band, Papa Wemba's talent saw the band hit popular heights in the mid-seventies, and in a country that had the likes of the late colossus Franko and his iconic TP OK Jazz Band and the late Tabu Ley Roshereau and his Afrisa band, that is quite something. It needs something special to nestle yourself among greats, and Papa did just that so soon after getting into the music scene, cementing his legacy not long after.

I will forever remember him for the smooth guitar strums of 'Yolele' and 'Show Me The Way', and the soothing, slow tempo of 'Ye Te Oh', on which he featured French singer and actress Ophelie Winter, and for his high-pitched voice. Just as he joined fellow legends in this churned-up stretchy scape of music and fame and became a legend, so has he now joined them in strumming harps in the Heavens. The legend continues, indeed.

Rest in peace Jules Shungu Wembadio Pene Kikumba aka Papa Wemba. We will see you someday.

June 14th, 1949 - April 24th, 2016

Is This The Turn of Kenyan Sports or Just a Fleeting Wonder

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What a terrific fortnight! These are some of those so incredibly great periods that make one don pride of being Kenyan with a wholesome embrace and a matching sheepish and optimistic grin.

From Harambee Starlets' swim through adversity to Women's Afcon to The Rugby Sevens Team, Shujaa, winning a rugby series main title for the first time in 114 tries. In the euphoria that comes with moments like this, it is tempting to get lost in the moment but I choose not to. I'm a cynic that celebrates with a smile and perhaps a five minute jiggle, so, after trying to hold it in, I finally lay it all out. What does the women's football achievement and Shujaa's Singapore Sevens win signify for the respective sports?

Starlets, in current state have no future

Let's start with the Starlets history making appearance in The Women's Continental showpiece to be held in November. The replay at Kasarani was nothing short of spectacular. That they eliminated Algeria, one of Africa's football powerhouses just iced the cake, which yes, we want to have and eat, and maybe even binge on. But a lack of proper structures means that this showing is more likely to be a one-off. Kenya has no proper women's league and no women's youth team. While football administration in Kenyan football has been poor, management in the women's side has been incomparably mediocre, so dismal that it can only be compared to itself, and that's saying something. The current team slept in lodges and cooked for themselves using firewood while in camp ( anyone who has used firewood knows how tolerable they aren't). The players allowances have been delayed more than a few times, the only surprise being when they are actually paid, let alone on time. Meanwhile, their under-performing male counterparts, who slept in five-star hotels and were paid handsomely, conspired to lose their most important games to ensure that they won't make it to the next years event, as has been the case since their last Afcon appearance in 2004. However, we should lay down proper foundations to ensure that this glorious moment is not just left at the mercy of history. Our women have shown that our negligence is not deterrent to their spirit and we should use that to build the sport to world class standard. The spirit is there. The desire to succeed stands us in good stride too. The dream is not far off either. Let's use these to build a reality and make this historic moment a regular event. Hell, maybe it can get our girlfriends interested in the sport. Win - win everyone. Right?

Rugby Sevens has a future
Need I repeat the memorable howl from the commentator, said in typical Mzungu twang fashion: A youu! A youu! (Oyoo). It was a moment that captivated and united  a nation still struggling with ghosts of hostile and negative ethnicity. With the winning of gold a foregone conclusion in long-distance running, this rarefied win in Rugby provided fresh air and opened us up to new possibilities on what our sportspeople could do if just given the right push. It also lent corroboration to the argument that Kenyan coaches are just as good as any other professional coaches from outside the country we so often are guilty of fawning over. We won this title with Benjamin Ayimba, after a gamble with Mike Friday and Paul Treu. Who's the genius now? (No offence to Mike and Paul). And with the like of Oyoo (A you) and Wanyama, there is reason to believe that the future prospects are just as hot as the veterans (No homo). And also, seriously, I believe its about time our local television stations took to airing the Kenya Cup, the rugby fifteen league. That is the belly of our rugby. Watching them will add meat to the bones we are currently wielding in celebration. Can you imagine the pride and arrogance you will exude when talking to a foreigner about our rugby league? Just name dropping players like they are hot ( again, no homo). Okay, might as well stop using hot altogether, sorry.

Meanwhile, the reality of the matter is that a majority of Kenya's populace is footballcentric. Harambee Stars might crawl into a sewer, wallow in the murks and emerge a stinking mess of human regret but will always be revered and forgiven. But hey, can't have your cake and eat it huh? Well, it seems like the football team can keep the cake as the Starlets and Shujaa keep the wins. Also, holy shit! Harambee Stars under 20 (men obviously. Women have no under 20) risks a ban from CAF for fielding ineligible players.
The saga continues ...
But tribute to the Starlets and Shujaa sevens team for their historic milestone. They deserve every incentives and celebration that comes their way. And whatever happens at the women's Afcon in November, there is no doubt that the ladies are champions in more ways than one.