WHY IS RAP SO DUMB THESE DAYS?

I hate Southern rappers these days, I used to lose 8-Ball and MJG, UGK, Dead Prez, even Pimp C, Scarface and above all OutKast. I still love these groups but Rap today is beyond dead, it is mutating into another genre, just a bastard orphan with no direction. Rap is so dumb these days that I tried to get inside the mind of a Rapper, like trying to think on the level of vermin and microbes. The scene I pictured went like this, I wanted to fulfil the ultimate niggerness and live my life according to rhymes, half the stuff they say is just coz it rhymes, not because it makes sense. I sat last night with my friend G-Low during a 3-hr power cut and we sat in the dark with crunk blaring from the i-pod that was slowly lobotomising us.

ROLLING ON DUBS

This means getting big-rimmed wheels, preferably on cars, big cars. 22’s are the best loved, that is 22-inch rims coated in gold and even diamond studs. Chris Rock talks about how rappers put gold rims on everything even their toasters “so when I am toasting I just watch them rims spinning and spinning.” But that is not enough; you have to do more coz rolling on Dubs ain’t enough. So the next level is even better.

ROLLING ON DUBS IN A TUB

Being a rapper one has to customise their car, preferably a Cadillac, the back seats are often dispensable and one can easily install a gold-rimmed or platinum rimmed bathtub to sip Cristal in, but I would be lonely. There is nothing rappers love more than “your girl” all the groupies are too easy and that’s bad for their self esteem however “your girl” can be easily dazzled by the bling just like the “Whatever you Like” video. So we are on to the next level.

ROLLING ON DUBS IN A TUB WHILE I GIVE YOUR GIRL A RUB

AH pure Zen, now one can enjoy the mobile hygiene facilities while pleasuring a losers’ girlfriend. Rappers are always chiding women for dating broke men but then call them groupie hoes. So imagine sitting in a moving tub with a girl, it’s cool until you hit them corners then water is splashing everywhere, all over the silk and Persian foot mats. But eventually one would have to lower the blacked out windows so people could see you, it’s no good to roll on dubs in a tub while I give your girl a rub unless you can see me otherwise it’s just silly. After several hours running up a fuel bill as we circumnavigate the hood, getting dizzy, we would need to go somewhere…

ROLLING ON DUBS IN A TUB WHILE I GIVE YOUR GIRL A RUB THEN I ROCK UP IN THE CLUB

You see it now all them people watching, especially haters, after all that is why we are doing it. The haters provide motivation for the rap industry, kind of like how the Hoover dam lights up Vegas. Haters hang out in clubs so Rappers can be hated on, haters hate people with money who roll around on dubs, in a tub, giving their girl a rub and to top it off, they rock up in the club doing it just to rub in their face. After such a high from doing this you’d think it’s hard to top that, but one can very easily.

ROLLING ON DUBS IN A TUB WHILE I GIVE YOUR GIRL A RUB THEN I ROCK UP IN THE CLUB SIPPING ON BUBS

AH a bit of champagne always raises the level of class, so I take it up a notch by getting some Cristal. So there I am in the tub, with the lights on, champagne on ice, I have made it. This is nirvana, I cannot get any higher than this, even when I get shot or locked up for gun possession I will always remember the day when I rolled on dubs, in a tub, giving your girl a rub, then rocked up I a club, then popped bottles with models as I sip on bubs.

Election08

ELECTION2008

Are we three weeks away from a potential epoch-changing moment? Or is it going to be business as usual? The American election is very important to people of the world; quite often the President of America can have more impact on our lives than our own elected leaders. Quite often it is a far and distant event but now we have an interest, after all one of “Us” could win, frankly Africa is Obama all the way and it will not change. Most of the world is rooting for Obama perhaps as a reaction to the unpopular policies of the Bush administration but our opinion doesn’t matter because we don’t have a vote. Sadly we are all doomed to disappointment because our expectations are too high, the office of the president simply does not have the power to alter American policy at the drop of a dime.

Obama’s run so far has been nothing short of a miracle, 4 years ago he was an unknown State Senator and now he stands on the verge of being elected however getting the nomination was the easy part but the election will be another matter. The Republican Party is a ferocious machine and will not give up power easily; a lead in the polls is nothing because the GOP always brings out the vote. The biggest threat to Obama is the complacency that exists in the Democratic Party and the general low voter turnout among his core support. But Obama has beaten the odds before, he has turned his weaknesses into strengths or non-issues, be it race, age, experience, class and his Pastor.

When I contrast him with McCain I actually see little difference in policy more just personality clashes, for example on foreign policy Obama is more conciliatory as is his temperament while McCain is more macho and postures more. McCain’s main asset has been obsolete due to the focus on the economy so his old Vietnam stories have been left in the cooler. If Obama is contextualised in the prism of civil rights then McCain is defined by the Vietnam War; this represents the split in the 60’s that still defines contemporary American politics. The Democrats had dominated the politics since FDR came to power in 1933-68, apart from the Eisenhower years in the 50’s; however the civil rights movement changed the dynamics of politics because though the democrats were in power the were often clashing with Democratic state governors to repeal Jim Crow laws.

The price of getting the civil right bill was the Democrats losing the South and changed the Democrats from an establishment part to protest party. Since then the Democrats have been in a war of social liberation of what they see as victimised groups; starting with Blacks, Women’s rights, gay rights, anti-nuclear, anti-war, and anti-anything they could disagree with. Liberal Parties all over the world use marginalised groups to bash the establishment and gain a foothold on power. Conservative parties are the opposite, they look after the interest of the power-elite and all those who think they belong to this power-elite and protect the status quo.

McCain represents Conservative values more than Republicans admit, he fought for his country, was a POW, and he generally votes with his party apart from rare occasions. What he thinks are his strengths are actually questionable; he fought in a war that Americans have spent the last 30 years trying to forget. The Vietnam war was pointless, immoral, murderous and provides little glory to those who fought in it after all America lost and lost badly. While most who served were naïve boys from Smalltown America, McCain was in his 30’s and took part in one of the most cruel bombings of innocent people including children (ironic considering his pro-life status) and while I deplore his torture he wouldn’t get a Hero’s welcome at my house. McCain still thinks like a fighter-pilot who has only a split second to think; he must have chosen Sarah Palin in one of those fits.

On the Democrat side they just have to sit tight and get their vote out, luckily for them the economic crisis has taken the bulk of the news coverage and McCain has to get personal to get any attention, the flip-side to this is that if elected the democrats have a huge mess to fix. For Obama the hardest part was looking the part; it is not good enough to have the skills you have to show them, so Obama has been looking regal often standing in profile and looking nonchalant. Now he has to convince the people that he isn’t just half-white he’s half-white trash, a disingenuous comment but a fact that matters because the biggest marginalised community is lower-class whites in deepest America.

I support Obama but if I was to look thoroughly at his social policies I would be closer to McCain; I am Anti-Gay marriage, anti-abortion, anti-protectionist, anti-affirmative action, pro-market and on all major issue we might clash but on international policy we need a more thoughtful pro-active response. Bush’s presidency was defined by 9-11, the problem was Al-Qaeda could only be defeated by a covert intelligence war but the American people demanded something visual and he was obliged to attack Iraq and this has destroyed Americas standing in the global community while dividing America itself. McCain comes from a different generation where machismo ruled the day; his main argument against talking to Iran is that America would lose face, pure machismo.

On social issues such as Gay-marriage I know that Obama cannot “ram it down the throat of America” as detractors say, these issues will be decided on a state-level. Most issues are already decided and Obama won’t change as much as he likes to think, McCain will be another Auto-pilot presidency as the Bush-Cheney administration has been. The Republicans have lost all their trump-cards; the Economy is in a dire way, the Iraq-war though it is now settling is a non-issue and their constant focus on pleasing the Religious right has alienated their core base which is Libertarians and fiscal conservatives. The Democrats do not have it in the bag, they must stop trying to please the fragmented parts of its base be it Blacks, Gays, Blue-collar workers, Latinos, women’s groups, unions, and even lobbyists.

As an African I have high hopes in the symbolism of a President of part-African descent, it will fix an anomaly that has meant all presidents being Whiter than White Anglo-Saxon Protestant (Except Jefferson and Coolidge who some Indian blood and the only Irish Guy got shot) never an Italian, Pollack, Jew, Russian or the multitude of ethnicities that make up America. You can call me a cynic because I don’t expect my life to change that much, foreign aid to Africa won’t increase, American markets will still be protected from cheaper competition, America will still subsidise uncompetitive industries, and visas to America will still be near impossible to get hold of. The present election is for a poisoned chalice because the American economy will be in recession for most of the next term; whoever wins will be a like “one-termer” but the change will be palpable for some. All I want is a change of tone, America can have a dialogue with the world without being wimps, the world can’t hear you when bombing them. Your values are our values, we aren’t your enemy we might talk strange languages and dress funny but beneath we are all the same. May the best man win, and I hope it’s the Black Guy.

IT'S OVER!!!

Exodus is no more, this was meant to be a log of my return to Rwanda and my transition is over, so nomore posts but we have moved on and I am starting an online paper which I hope you will support. so join us at www.lebizz.wordpress.com see you there

MEDIA IN RWANDA

One of the first things that strikes you about Africa is that it has a long way to go in fostering media as a force for good in society, people all want to use it for their own ends. The extremes are government media and anti-government media both want to manipulate the situation, silence the other side and at best smear their opponent. Rwanda is a different country to most of the world, this is the only country where the media killed, they were an instrumental pillar of the genocidal regime in spreading hate, mobilizing killers and maintaining the momentum of the killings which lead to a million dead. Therefore the present government is deeply suspicious of privately owned mass-media, with good reason I would say but this has its own problems. The government of Rwanda has one of the best reputations of all the African countries but this glowing image is slowly being tarnished by its caustic relations with private media.


We recently had a number of incidents which highlighted the rift between government and media. The best example was the “Umuvugizi” debacle; the paper produced a spurious article about the president where they compared him to Hitler, this was a calculated step to bait the government and sadly the government took the bait. So Bizumuremyi disappeared fearing for his life and so tarnished the lustre of this government’s image. I was appalled by the article but it raised a serious issue “Should we only give freedom of speech to people we agree with?” Other issues were where does freedom of speech end and incitement begin? Before all those questions are answered we have to address another issue, “Is it possible to criticize a government without negative consequences or physical harm befalling you?” Rwanda has a number of issues holding it back from developing a free and fair media which all agree is vital for development of democracy.


Firstly I would like to state that there is almost no such thing a free and fair media, for social, economic or political reasons the media is held back. Even in Europe media outlets have a stance or bias in some way, they are often owned or allied to a particular group or point of view. For example in the UK; The Telegraph is Conservative while The Guardian is Socialist, so you already know their angle before they start but that said they “give the devil his due” as in they give credit where it is due. These outlets have identified a section of society that agrees with their views and caters for this section providing specialised news and opinions. In Rwanda I will use the example of Umuseso; the bête noir of Rwandan media as they inspire both exasperation and a grudging admiration among the public. If umuseso and its leader Charles Kabonero were wise they would have been a multi-million dollar business by now but because they come from a background of pamphleteering and agitating, they couldn’t see the big picture. Umuseso speaks the language of the street; it is visceral, unflinching, and not bothered with detail or sources. They just spew whatever will get the biggest response and whatever will further their persecution complex.


Their writers or journalists are not formally trained so they do not know how to file a story, to quote sources for every fact no matter how self-evident and to generally play the game of courtship that is media i.e. knowing how to keep on basic good terms with people in case you need them one day. They burn every bridge as they go along, bite every hand that could potentially feed them and get up the noses of everyone. Umuseso fills a vacuum that has been left void by the State media; there is a saying that “he who pays the piper calls the tune” and the source of funding dictates the type of medium. There are 3 types of funding for media

Private funding – this is where a private citizen bankrolls a media outlet making it immune from bankruptcy, the outlet is subject to his/her whims like Rupert Murdoch at Newscorp.

Public funding – this is where a government funds the outlet, the New Times of Rwanda or the BBC are examples of this. This means the outlet is subject to government pressure, even the BBC saw this first hand during the start of the Iraq war when the Director-general had to resign due to anti-government bias.

Sales and advertising – this is the best source of income for a paper; it makes it responsive and accountable to its readership. It is the most honest appraisal of a newspaper but it is also the most dangerous as most newspaper barely make a profit.


In the absence of a vibrant private sector the government often has to step in to fund media, apart from Radio which is profitable but print, television and internet quite often have government funding. These government funded media are a good example why the state should not fund media; they are banal, uninspiring and crass. Starting with the New Times; there is never a hint of news to be found, just what the government wants you to hear, Rwanda is undergoing tremendous change at the moment but none of it is being documented because the outlets are run by bloated yes-men/women out to save their jobs. A typical story is “Minister lauds cooperatives” or “Minister calls for gender equality” I agree with these issues but there are better ways to address this. Media goes through an evolution as the public becomes more media-literate but Rwanda is stuck in a time-warp where media is concerned. When you have the opium of the masses that is TVR, you see the full extent of this malaise; the production values are so poor that the average laptop can make better programming than their output. The news is a dull roll call of the various conferences and symposia held in Kigali, a hurricane could hit Kigali and it wouldn’t get a mention.


What all this says is the government doesn’t want to explore the full potential of media as a means of changing lives for the better, it instead sees just the most immediate rewards. TVR should have its budget quadrupled or it should shut down because it doesn’t perform any valuable purpose. That sounds like idiocy in a country without enough schools and hospitals; why should we invest in TV? TV is a unique medium; it emerged in the post-war years as American GI’s were coming home and marrying, it grew with the aspirations and needs of the baby-boom society. No other medium has done more to promote consumerism and the modern lifestyle than TV. Radio cannot fully promote modern values which are more visual than audible. Seeing a car on TV makes you aspirational, hearing a car doesn’t, what Rwanda is suffering from is lack of ideas, lack of dreams, lack of knowhow. That is to say the high ambitions of the government are not matched by the subsistence lifestyle of the masses. It is one thing to turn on GTV and see white people living the modern lifestyle and another to see your own countrymen living that lifestyle. Most middle-class people live in gated communities far from the lower-classes and their only interaction is from their bubble of their air-condition 4x4 hence lower classes see the 4x4 and high wall as the only indicators of wealth.


I am fed up with screaming from the outside, I want to do something about it and have decided to write my own online magazine. It will most likely land me in hot water and will ultimately involve imprisonment and torture but that is a small sacrifice to end the banal crass garbage that passes for media here. I believe that in the long run a language for dialogue will be devised for the government and media to interact without friction. The problem is when you have to criticize individuals with power, quite often middle-ranking government officials who are leaching funds through corruption and don’t want to lose their pie. This government is bye and large; honest, committed, forward-thinking and hard-working but there is an element of corruption starting to creep into view. The gigantic 4x4’s and ludicrously huge houses are monument to this, but the question is can you criticize a part with offending the whole? A lot of these people are my extended family so it would be betrayal of sorts but the lie cannot outlive the truth and the truth will out.

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ER(HO)NEST?

Our President Paul Kagame is a focussed modern African leader; low on rhetoric but seriously goal-orientated and seeing development as just a series of steps and goals along the way. Even though we receive a lot of aid, it is strictly for individually costed projects and he says he wants Rwanda off assistance within 5-10 years. It is a noble thought and shows ambition, it is true that seeing how rich Africa is in potential, we should be giving aid to the West and not in our present standing. I never understood what he meant till this week, Mum was around and we went around visiting relatives or “dishing out free money” as I like to call it. She can only afford to visit every 3 to 4 years, otherwise she’d be bankrupt; she causes waves of epidemics in our extended family, when medical practitioners hear of her impending arrival they clear wards for the emergencies. No one is spared; everyone suddenly contracts a plethora of symptoms, from Infections (inzoka) Congenital (Gifu) Degenerative (rubag’impande) indeed the variety is impressive.


I realised countries are like people or vice versa; we agree that national stereotypes are wrong and lead to discrimination. But on another level a national psyche is a fact of record, while character might differ from person to person, your physical situation dictates your outlook on life. For example Arabs and Israelis; the fact that one side is interred in camps like animals while the other justifiably fears for its existence. Two wrongs making a right; therefore each side has a given point of view due to their particular situation. Rich countries have a certain point of view; they want to help but on their terms and these terms will benefit them first. In many ways we are a manifestation of our national quandaries; for example when I was sitting in a car the other day and a person was begging. He had the customary posture, bent over double, head tilted, mouth agape; he must have been first in begging school. I say this because he was fully able, no disability, no nothing; I asked what was wrong with him (because I like to know what I am paying for) be it blindness, crippleness, old age, but he was fully fit and begging. He could have been fetching water or working fields, anything to pay the bills.


I come from a pretty financially secure family but at university I had to wash dishes for a bit of money, in England this was standard. But in Africa there is a dilemma; we need cash to solve our problems but what will actually save us is a change of mindset. I met a physically disabled manager the other day while able-bodied people beg, it is all in the mind; a cripple is only a cripple if he thinks he is. This manager had an assistant to do the things he couldn’t, I am not saying we are cripples but we need to see our selves as victors in daily life. So our mindset needs to change but this is hard, it is like receiving aid - we are addicted to it, because if it was cut then we’d go into convulsions. The West sends money that causes so many problems, as many problems as they try to save. It is mostly repatriated back, foreign expats benefit, local needs are never fully understood; for example if an NGO decides to put up a school when a clinic is more important.


Aid is like national heroin or morphine in a medical sense; we take it to ease the pain of poverty but it kills us slowly. Every addict or nation starts the same “I’ll just take it for a while, then I’ll get my affairs in line then I’ll get off.” but aid is like Hotel California ‘you can check out anytime you like but you can never leave’. It makes governments unaccountable as the masses don’t generate the GDP. I saw this first hand when I was asked to pitch a concept for a video for the celebration of 100 years of Kigali, I ran a standard bid about “celebrating the people of Kigali” with a typical vox-pop i.e. talking to various residents blah blah. I was swiftly warned that stop immediately and to focus on praising officials and aid-donors, that illustrates the scenario very well. In Europe the people would be the focus, not dull grey officials and bloated donors. Democracy will never develop in Africa as long as we are dependent on the West; as long as we are financially enslaved we will never be free. For no matter who I elect, they will never be able to overcome the global barriers to my true freedom, the best I can hope for I a leader who understands this and wants to make the best of a bad situation.


So we people are like our nations, and my extended family is a reflection of this; the global struggle is played out in our interaction. As a person who lived in Europe I am known as a Muzungu or white-man; so I play the part of the West and they are the poor Africans. We Africans have a saying “if you climb the wall then through a rope for others to follow” as refugees my mothers’ generation went from semi-naked cattle-herders to modern metropolitans through family ties. In those days the village would pay for a child to study so they could help them back and thus a system was born. It is hard because even though I am a tough-love kinda guy I have to indulge the ridiculous behaviour of relatives. I pay for “medical expenses” when I know the person is just going to drink the money away. I pay for “school fees” when I know it is for blowing on hookers, I pay for “Food for the kids” when I know he is going to buy more flashy clothes and leave his kids in rags. All because he will one day be telling the truth and his child will really have cancer and they’ll say I didn’t help him, so you give money in case. Walking around town is like an assault course, one wrong move can land you in brokenness. I had 50,000 and thought I was set for a week or two as I walked along Matteus avoiding one relative but bumped into another relation who had a well-rehearsed story and promptly relieved me of the cash so swiftly I was impressed.


When we were in England we used to always send money to my Mum’s family and even though my step-father is English he understood that when he married an African woman he had to support her family too. He is always perplexed when my Mum asks him to send money to “my second cousins brother-in-laws neighbours’ wife’s’ grandfather” but he just shrugs and sends. So my mother sends them money all the time, to the point that they are dependent, it is ridiculous; she sends money for food when they are sitting on several acres of unused fertile land. She sends money for milk when they own cows and there is also school fees and pocket money. She decided to pay a surprise visit Uganda and found them living in splendour; the horrors that follow are gruesome. My uncle with polio is a full-time drunk; buying a jerry can of liquor a day, having a selection or harem of the finest prostitutes in the area. The three oldest kids were not even in school even though they had been claiming school fees for the last three idle years. The kids had been buying report cards, the sheet read A in math but a senior 4 student didn’t know 3 x 4. The actual fees were 50,000 each but they claimed it was 500,000 and none of them had ever been truthful. So nearly £8,000 a year was wasted and not just our money, my aunties sent money as well so they had a combined income higher than our own.


Uganda is such a nation; its soul is so corroded with the filth of corruption that it has totally consumed my family. When my Mum was there she said it was in a boom but with 60% of the budget from Aid, I said all those big cars are tax-payers money. My family had become an illustration of our wider dilemma; those kids had no incentive to succeed, what ever they did their rich Auntie in England would always give them money. When he should have been learning 3x4 he didn’t have the need to remember; my Mum tells me of stories of when she was bare-foot with ragged clothes in school but miles ahead of the rich kids, now those rich kids are nowhere. They lived like they had a money tree that flowered once a month or whenever you wanted it; money with no accountability makes you an emotional cripple. Our African nations are the same, getting bloated on foreign aid till we forget the work ethic, getting our daily injection of heroin to keep us dazed in our poverty.


Nigeria receives aid though it is the 7th largest petroleum producer; Angola receives aid though it gets $40 billion from oil alone, not counting diamonds and gold. These are the healthy boys begging for money, still in the poverty mindset though they are now rich. I would love if the government sold off its fleet of 4x4’s; it is immoral to give gas-guzzlers to minor government officials in such a poor country. It makes me nauseous to see the obscene SUV’s, but any citizen wishing to complain about this wouldn’t have any moral authority because it isn’t taxes but foreign money. Much like my uncle lost moral authority in his family because he wasn’t providing, his kids needed nothing from him and because he had polio it made him a triple cripple; physically, emotionally and financially. This drove him to drink more and sleep around so he wouldn’t feel emasculated; so he’d get drunk and ravish the most expensive hookers and just for a moment forget he was a cripple but when he’d try to stand up then he was reminded of his true state.


I was furious with my mother for still giving them money after this, because she couldn’t deny her flesh and blood even if they were lying and cheating her. So she gives money hoping that at least some of it will go to good “throw enough money at the problem and it will be solved.” This is like Africans who want more aid and see solutions as coming from outside. When George visited Ghana the BBC interviewed locals, one said “He should fix the roads and the sewerage.” What was their own president for? You realise what the problem that Africans see themselves as semi-autonomous colonies and our presidents are just like district commissioners with no power. We need a revolution; not one where we go crazy and overthrow governments but a revolution in thinking. We are the problem but we are the solution as well, not America, not the EU, not the UN. The fact is that we would have been doing better if we were still colonised but Freedom is worth more the financial benefits. When will Africans realise their power? The reason the West gives us Aid to maintain the status quo, the world trade rules create the poverty we see and no amount of aid will change the situation.



My music - mp3 most played chart

She said – The Pharcyde
Sometimes – Nice and Smooth
Rumours – Timex social club
Slow down – Brand Nubian
Deep cover – Dr. Dre and Snoop
Angela – Saian Supa crew
Friends – Whodini
Get lifted (green-eyed mix) – Keith Murray
Maniac – Mike Sembello
Umi says – Mos def

AND THEN THERE WAS DUBAI

There is no sentence or string of words that can adequately describe the wonders in the desert of the United Arab Emirates. I have picked up the awful habit of calling it Dubai even though I was going to Sharjah, it was the easier thing to just call it Dubai or in Kinyarwanda “idubayi”. I just can’t sleep on planes, firstly my back seizes up and twists into a knot, and no matter how many times I fly I can never get used to the sensation. I tell myself that “This is a 767, prized for its safety and comfort backed up with twin booster turbine engines, the plane can even fly on one, or even glide to the nearest airport.” So I wretch on take-off and just as I am controlling my nausea they serve airline food, never mind that it ain’t tasty they spare your taste-buds by serving extra small portions that can barely fill your mouth, even anorexics complained they had nothing to through up, or was it bulimics?


The airport is like off Star-Trek, we docked at 0100hrs and the enormity struck us, we got on a bus and drove like 10 minutes to get to the terminal. When we got there it was obvious what a hub Dubai is, there were around 50 lines of travellers waiting to get through immigration. The natives of UAE were the most ungracious hosts at first glance; they grunted and groaned their orders as we were kraaled into manageable lines. I wondered what they were called, Emiraters, Emirian, Emirese, Emirants? I later found out they were called Emirati; they make up 17-20% of the population and lord it over their minions from the Indian subcontinent. The people there were every race on Earth, all races, proverbial colours, I was just waiting for Cardassians, Ferenghi and Klingons but they were on the next plane. The heat is inexplicable, at first I was in the temperature-controlled bubble of the terminal; they grunted that I should go down to do an eye-scan. I drifted through the process until I got into the car park when a gust of dry heat blasted my face. No wonder the Arabs waited for the invention of aircon before they set out to conquer the world.


Back into the bubble and the air-conned taxi, if wondered if it was as hot as I just felt? Or it was a trick of the mind, the taxi raced to Sharjah via a concrete jungle as there wasn’t a gap between the twin-cities. The hotel didn’t get my reservation, and their computer system was down and I didn’t get to bed till around 4 – 5AM. When I awoke from my staggered slumber as the aircon hummed and shuddered, I had to drink around 4 cans of soda as I was dehydrated as a husk. I stepped out and felt the blast again, up my nose, in my ears, my throat, my eyes and into my brain. I lost my bearings in the cacophony of sights and sounds; I say that because UAE is loud, both visually and sonically. I am an avid fan of architecture I have watched the Dubai-Sharjah miracle from afar as the scale is astounding. I partly went to see what I had referred to as “Architectural Porn” by “Porn” I mean the shameless exploitative exposure of a given subject.


I remember the Marks & Spencer advert which had “Food Porn” as the food was draped in sexual metaphors, as chocolate cream dripped down lusciously down a banana éclair. The same applies to Dubai, the big oil money, with little taste; you haven’t seen a building boom till you go to the Emirates, miles upon miles of impressive buildings. I had to say I was instantly disappointed by the porn on sight, I had dreamed of great architecture but found none, I realised that London is beautiful, Vienna is beautiful, Manhattan is amazing, as is Rome, Berlin, Rio, Calcutta, Angkor, Cape Town, St. Petersburg but the Dubai–Sharjah complex is a Lego-city. Endless staccato blocks stifled in narrow gridlines with little regard for form and place.


There are subtle rules of architecture - utility, durability and aesthetic beauty are the oldest but modern rules are about the “relation to space” both internal and external, it is here where you realise the root cause of the banality of design. The best architecture conquers physical limitations and blends in with its given environment; it expresses cultural thought and challenges traditions. The space is flat and clear with no obstacles in the way hence the need to conquer scale, do it and do it big! Sharjah is an overgrown dormitory town that has grown from the Dubai population overspill. The blocks are Soviet-lite concrete monstrosities with little grace. The space is a desert that is why the heat is jarring, if I was standing on a sand-dune then it would make sense but standing in an urban metropolis confuses you. The squares were filled with tasteless monuments with literal metaphors that slap you in the face. A globe and a hand with sword thrusting; I wondered what that meant.


I asked the concierge where to go and there was one reply “MEGA-MALL!” At least I knew what I was getting; post-modernity with shake and fries. I was ushered into a taxi and without consultation the Porter sent the taxi to the mall, the few seconds I stood in the sun were excruciating and I was truly happy to enter the mall, the cool air descended. I could have been anywhere, a mall is a mall is a mall; I had been plunged back into the modern world I had missed in Rwanda. It is one thing to be immersed constantly in Post-modernity but you can miss it and some of its original charm returns. I needed something familiar, something chickeny, something Kentuckyish, there was only one place to go, yup Burger King. So my KFC went down well, now I was too lazy to window shop. I walked aimlessly around the mall with all the familiar shops that were the same but with a twist, everything had glitter on it.


The British have an avid aversion to all that glitters; they coined “Bling” as an insult, but the Arabs love the glitter, gold, and tinsel of bling. Bling here is an ideology, a paradigm, an ethos; you see the new money, new buildings, new everything. It hit me that it was Vegas without the glamour, gambling, and sex. Like a naked man just wants clothes without even seeing whether they match, buildings are just covering the naked landscape, and nothing appears older than 10 or 20 years old. Occasionally you see an old mosque that pops up anachronistically like a sore thumb. I might have picked the disease of British reserve and I was disgusted but respectful much like when you see a fat kid eating 53 pies in 3 minutes at an eating competition. I respect them for building all that but I asked why, why and why again.


Dubai is a city that is designed to be seen by car; I walked to try and see it by foot and was on the verge of a stroke after 30 minutes. I sat in a taxi as I took the design slide- show with buildings that are designed to be seen fleetingly, on closer inspection they vary in inspiration and true beauty. It is like Miss World; at first you a blinded that they all look hot but an hour later “Miss Norway’s eyes are too close together plus she’s too blonde, Miss Burma looks creepy and what’s with Miss Sao Tome and Principe?” Back to the mall and a bucket of Seven-up, the Majority were Modernists. One myth is that American-style consumerism is incompatible with dictatorship but UAE and China bucks this myth.


I tried to maintain decorum while laughing at a woman trying to eat her KFC while her veil was over her face, it was like a cruel game, her husband was equally amused but steadfast in his belief that the veil was necessary to maintain modesty. The Emirati are like a shadowy presence maintaining a sinister presence in all government institutions, they exude a level of disdain that informs you of their status. The rest are seemingly Indian or Pakistani with the odd Philipino thrown in, imported wholesale from the indo-Gangetic plains and far-flung islands. They were so at home I was addressed in Tamil several times; they thought my dark skin meant I was one of them. Usually pointing at something with the price was all the customer service I needed, 100, 250, 600. Numbers are all you need; even writing down the number was enough.


Leaving to go back to the hotel I caught a taxi and gave him the card with directions, I then realised he was illiterate, well not literate in English or even Greco-Roman letters. Before I could look down on him I realised he read Sanskrit and Hindu text, he led me on a merry-go-round tour of the city with added entertainment free. Before we left he took it on himself to offer advice, he saw an obese, hairy, chain smoking lout on the street, he shouted at him, something like “You fat bastard, lose some weight!” I was sure he knew him but he assured me he didn’t. “See? Is stupid man! Is fat is stupid, is big problem. No good, you see?” I agreed it wasn’t healthy but I didn’t see the need to chastise him. The gregarious Bear of a taxi-man swerved and swung around the chicanes and lights and lanes. Cost me twice as much as he swore he knew the Square but wound up at the wrong place.


As you drive into the industrial areas of Sharjah, you can see the old city that is buried under all the Perspex; dusty windy outposts that betray the fact that this is a sprawling desert. As ever the heat pummels your head; I went to visit various yards dealing in heavy machinery, each stop was like landing in an oasis where I was offered cold water and cool aircon. The way back was in a packed bus with a mass of Indians and Pakistanis, the ram-packed nature of the bus cut out the aircon and we were stifled. The front of the bus is always reserved for women; women are such a rarity in UAE where there are 2.7 men for every woman, this is due to the high migrant-worker population. The few remaining women are firmly ensconced at home, only intrepid Philipina and daring Indian women venture out and when they do they get the plum seat upfront, sometimes a man is unceremonious bundled off the bus for the comfort of a lady.


Surfing the web is a precarious pursuit, it is one of the IT hubs but the web is so slow, this is due to the filtering and blocking of sites, when one ventures off the beaten path you get a sign saying “This site is not compatible with the religious, cultural and Political views of UAE.” That said, you see how it is at a crossroads of Western and Arabic culture, women on TV are dressed a friskily as ladette slappers out on the town, made-up to excess like drag-queens, teenage girls giggle round the mall. You just wonder where this place is headed, after all we Africans aspire to this. Rapid development is good but you see that social and cultural development should go hand in hand. Right now the Arabs of UAE can buy anything, even art and culture, Abu Dhabi has bought into the Louvre and displays all the finest paintings of Western antiquity but without understanding or processing their deep meanings, it doesn’t challenge their thinking but they are just objects that rich men should have. That sums up UAE it is like the MTV cribs of a country, even a rapper with too much money would find it tasteless. I think in due time they will develop a subtlety and modesty more compatible with Islamic culture but for now any man talking sense is drowned out by the loud sound of “Bling, bling, bling!”

OBAMA-BAMA-BAMA WINS

A JALUO PREZZO

Last night I was packing and nervous about my Dubai trip; I packed but kept fretting that I had missed something. I went to bed around 11 but didn’t sleep till 1 and I set my alarm for 4 in the morning in order to hear the results from the US primaries, it wasn’t a surprise that Obama won but more surprising was Hillary’s reaction, she still couldn’t bring herself to give in and congratulate the man. Last night was the beginning of a new era in politics, not brought on by Obama but by Hillary. The world of politics has been devoid of colour since the death of communism when diametrically opposed views disappeared and what we were left with were shades of grey. So Hillary has started a new revolution in politics; in years to come they will be teaching the principles of “denialism” or “delusionism” as the doctrine is called. It is a simple concept; to totally deny reality and live in a bubble with all your voters in an ignorant world of total bliss unaware of basic facts of life. It is like Napoleon claiming to have kicked Wellington’s ass at Waterloo or When Hitler was stuck in the bunker commanding imaginary legions, if only leaders of the past had known of this tactic. We would have heard of George Foreman’s thumping victory in the “Rumble in the Jungle” when he fractured Ali’s knuckles with his jaw and kissed the ground in celebration.


Communism would be claiming a victory over the West and say that they let them think they had won. I saw the seeds of this denialism sprouting in UK when new labour was in first in power; they had many of the top operatives who came from a PR background and regardless of their political leaning they could always dress a pigs ear to look like silk.

Here are some examples

More people with cancer waiting for treatment – Better diagnosis
More people unemployed – this creates a more competitive job market
More children expelled from school – Better discipline is being imposed
More soldiers dying in Iraq – They are dying for a just cause
More obese kids – this shows more disposable income to spend on food
More terrorism attempts/attacks – shows we are winning the war on terror

Gordon Brown is suffering now because he doesn’t have the bullshitting skills of Tony Blair, if only he had Hillary’s campaign manager. What Obama has done is awesome, a BBC reporter said he had wheezed over the line but we have to remember that he has defeated a two-headed beast called Billary – yeah you get two for the price of one with the Clintons as we have seen. Beating the Clintons was unthinkable when he started, they were the toughest political opponents that he could have wished for so beating McCain will be a cakewalk compared to this. The mud that has been smeared, the taunts, the Pastor, and all this from his own side. And now they are just meant to kiss and make up like nothing happened, the sense of entitlement that the Clintons exude is nauseating. First they thought they deserved it just because of their name, then they were offended that they would actually have to campaign for it, then they rested on their laurels as Obama gained momentum, then they invoked racism saying that “Racists vote too and we can’t forget them as well” finally they said “the rules is wrong, change em.”


Obama has been a genius in how he executed his campaign; he just had to get the nomination so he couldn’t afford to spell out much policy, instead he was a blank canvass for voters to project their hopes on to. He was basically a salesman for hope; I looked at his website and it read “powered by hope”, that was a bit too much for my liking but it made a point. Chris Rock said you can’t talk a woman into having sex with you but you can talk her out of it, the same applies to voters voting for you. All he had to do was stick to the message and hope that no scandal would come out to wreck his chances. When this campaign started I wondered what chance either candidate had “A nigger or a bitch?” most bigots wouldn’t know where to start. I argued with my cousin (who was voting with her uterus) that the fact that Obama was equipped with a penis and Y-chromosome stood him in good stead, I think America is ready for a woman president but Hillary is not just any woman, she is the Anti-Christ to many Americans.


Obama cannot allow a dual-presidency by giving Hillary the VP, she will undermine him every chance she gets. He has to strike out on his own path and not give into blackmail, so what he needs now is policy and plenty of it, he cannot fear to offend voters but just be truthful. He cannot bask in the glory of his victory however glorious it is, it was momentous but he cannot just lose and be happy that he was the first Black man to lose an election. The significance of Obama should be fleeting, Blacks are happy that he won the nomination stating that he would be a role for young Blacks. Yes he will, but he will not make up for the absent fathers and poor parenting that young Blacks receive, maybe he could improve funding for schools and social services. History moves so relentlessly the day after he gets elected it will be “So we got a black president, what next?”

SPOPRWA

SPOPRWA LINGUISTIC GUIDE

SPOPRWA was formed in the 90’s when a collective of pro-active orientated paradigmers met to promote pro-active paradigms. So the Stakeholders for a Pro-active Orientated Paradigm in Rwanda (SPOPRWA) was formed by Emile Babu, Minega Isibo, Rama Isibo, and Oscar Kabbatende; with broad-based ambitions to foster dialogue and build capacity. Their organisation has grown rapidly to become one of the biggest capacity-builders and dialogue fosterers in the East and central African region. Rwanda is a nation on a language crossroads with English, French, Kinyarwanda, Swahili and a street mixture of all languages. Today when applying for a job in Rwanda you have to be multi-lingual, a minimum of 3 languages are expected and you have to be fluent enough to write reports in said language. So Rwandans have a striking quickness to just change tongue at any time; I can basically understand so many languages since I came to Rwanda, Lingala, Kikongo, Kirundi, Luganda, Runyankore, Rutoro, Rikiga. None of these are purely Rwandan but are spoken by the people who brought it back with them from exile, so even though were are one people we have so many cultures. If you don’t speak any of the major languages then you are unemployable; unless you speak Spoprwese, this cuts through all communication problems. Sometimes you see the most incompetent managers in charge of state companies simply because they speak fluent Spoprese, which is the original language of which Spoprwese is a dialect. Just like French has the Academy Francais, we have Spoprwa to protect that dialect and codify the syntax.


Rwanda is a nation in the throes of rapid development like a Larvae bursting out of its cocoon; the media is not that watchable or readable be it private or government. TVR is particularly poor, but with their budget it is understandable, but even with their low budget; which should make them imaginative, the opposite is true. They don’t make many programs and the ones they do make lack any vision or thought, like lobotomised monkeys had a creative meeting and threw shit at each other. If we had $20m to spare then we would have a world-class TV station but we don’t have enough hospitals and schools so we can’t justify a big station. That doesn’t excuse the shoddy standards on TVR, even simple time-keeping is too much for them. The 7:30 news comes on whenever they feel like it. The news on TVR is the reason why spoprwa was formed, they wouldn’t dare show any actual news lest it has bad consequences. They instead aim for safer ground, such a seminars and conferences; the life of a TVR reporter is not that complicated, wake up, brush teeth, go to Serena and then Novotel and see what conferences are going on, take 1 minute of footage with everyone looking as serious as they can, preferably taking notes and then back to the wife and kids via a cheap bar.

These seminars are the lifeblood of Spoprwa activity between New Times and TVR we have a veritable goldmine of Spoprwese. Looking at one now, “the workshop mainly dealt on the findings of an assessment on the prospects of mainstreaming gender in local government.” The journalist Joseph Mudingu deserves a gold medal for giving us that one. In a country where such language is a great advantage, Spoprwa is king, I can sit for hours and not understand a word. “We want to increase capacity, by initiating local-based initiatives which sensitise stakeholders in new pro-active paradigms.” The prevalence of NGO’s who are involved in joint projects with government departments has meant that this language has penetrated all levels of society. So we are going to ask for your help in compiling a Spoprwa dictionary in order to standardise the language. So I will start with a few words and you guys can expand it

Awareness – This is the state of being aware, awareness comes as a result of sensitisation. Once the masses are sensitised then they are aware, thus creating awareness.

Based – This is a suffix that can be placed on a word to make the speaker sound intelligent, Gender-based, Development-based, environment-based

Capacity-building – This is what happens as a result of sensitisation and awareness, capacity-building is the aim of most NGO’s, nobody ever mentions what the capacity is for because it isn’t important.

Developmental – This refers to anything in the process of development, it also refers to the mental state that development induces.

Efficiency – This needs to be increase in order to built capacity

Framework – This is necessary in order to create benchmarks to judge efficiency

Gender-based – This refers mostly projects or initiatives aimed at women

Holistic

Initiatives

Knowledge-based

THE MEANING OF LIFE AND OTHER TRIVIAL MATTERS

The other day I had a blast from the past; I was just checking Facebook as I always do, for that friendship request from the longest of long-lost friends that usually never comes when I actually saw the said request I was looking for. I have had few friends as close as Junior; we came of age together at University, both young, black and handsome, cocky and sure. We were simpatico, pilot and wingman, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid, Lone Ranger and Tonto, a great double act to rank among the best of them. We used to play Championship Manager on the Commodore for days and days till I would have to stop, to shave. Being youngsters we fell out over such a trivial matter that defies explanation. I always wondered in the back of my mind what happened to him after we parted, we’ll I found out he is happy in London, running his music store, has a 5 year old daughter, and is generally happy DJing on the side.

We used to listen to music for days on end; I have no doubt that 1996-97 was one of the greatest eras of history of music, simply because Hip-hop was emerging out of the underground. It was the zenith just before it spiralled downwards on the coat tails of Puff Daddy and the like. Tupac had just died, Biggie soon after, a raft of great albums came out in quick succession before the bling-bling era. I remembered those days as I listened to Jeru and Lost boys; I was so sure of the world, so sure of how life would turn out. I wrote a note to future myself, it was simple – “Keep it real!” That expression had a profound meaning to me; it was a call to hold on to my core values, never to forget who I am. But the Earth shifts below you; you want to “keep it real” but you soon lose focus of what “it” is and what “real” is.


This week I stand on the verge of two new eras, one numerical and one developmental era. I have been sliding into my customary pre-birthday blues as I am facing 32 in a matter of days; this leads me be morose, navel-gazing, I hear the words of my father screaming in my head “You are 32 and you still haven’t done nothing!” he was saying that since I was 27 and now 5 years later I am in the same situation. The other momentous event is the start of my business in a few weeks; this might be the answer to the “You are 32 and you still haven’t done nothing!” dilemma. My path in life has not been clear or easily navigable, for a number of reasons some my fault and others beyond my control have led me to where I am today. When I look at youngsters on a clear path I feel a great sense of envy but trepidation at the surprises in store. Life is what happens when you are making plans; nothing can prepare you for what is going to happen.


If I could write a letter to my “young self” same as I wrote to my future self, it would be a waste of time as I never listen to advice especially when it is my own and when it is good for me. But for everyone else I have a few words of wisdom about life in general.


Have faith - I am a Christian but even a Muslim, Hindu, or Buddhist with a balanced and deeply felt faith can have peace beyond measure.


Count your blessing and give thanks – there is no such thing as being depressed, just being ungratefulness. Even if you are chemically depressed giving thanks for what blessings you have can help you out of it or at least make you feel a bit better.


Know what you want – always know what you want and expect from life, there is nothing worse than not knowing what you want, you will simply drift in life and not have control.


Set goals – set little goals and a programme to achieve them. Make it a day at a time, always re-evaluate your goals and programme, and do not see this as a failure or copping out but being flexible.


Life is not a race – your friends are on different paths, when you see friends in other stages of development you can feel left behind or a failure. Sometimes people will be ahead of you and other times behind, you don’t know what is going to happen so you don’t know if you are behind or ahead.


Happiness is a choice – my father is the best example of this, he lives in a bubble of self-imposed happiness. He never hangs out with negative people, never feels sorry for himself and makes a conscious decision to be happy.


Perspective – Always keep a sense of perspective, everything is momentary, and nothing is forever. Just like happiness doesn’t last so does pain just be ready for the transition.


Help others – all great religions have the ethos of helping the less fortunate; it helps you focus less on yourself, count your blessings and feel good about life. This is hard sometimes as most people in need just want a quick fix and not a systemic change in their life.


Work hard – I love “Forrest Gump” I will force my kids to watch that movie and I’ll say “Look kids, even though he was slightly retarded; he did everything to the best of his ability, in Vietnam, Ping-pong, running, shrimp-fishing or whatever it was.” Always be able to look back and say “I did my best.”


Enjoy yourself – This is the last rule but most modern people see it as the first. Life is about enjoying the rewards of hard-work, so when you work hard always enjoy yourself.



But all this is going to be forgotten by me as soon as I log off the computer; just like doctors can’t cure themselves I cannot remember to do all this in my daily life. The biggest irony of life is that no prophet is able to foresee his own life path or even death, I cannot advise myself as wisely as I advise others. However it is nonetheless true that if you follow these rules then you’ll be fine, it’s all in the mind; you can be in jail but mentally free or free but mentally imprisoned. To quote Black Sheep “The choice is yours.”


NOTE BY THE AUTHOR (1 hour later)

Yup ironically fate threw a curve ball at me, a slight background to this story is. I have been looking for a house of my own for like 7 months and I have been like Goldilocks “It’s too big” “Too small” “Too expensive” “too cheap” “Too Icky” “Too Yucky” “Too This” “Too that”. But recently I got a smallish but cosy two-bedroom house bachelor pad type-thing, I was happy; if I was in Happyland I would have been the King of Happyland. People said it was too small but I liked it, “She’s just right for me.” I said; I don’t need that space. If I got a bigger house then I’d have to have servants; instead of shopping round Curry’s and B & Q African couples shop for a dishwasher that can also cook food, mow the lawn, clean the house, go down the corner shop for you, that is why Bosch, Zanussi, Hotpoint do not sell in Africa.


So I am there and I got my little pad, I haven’t yet got a bed because I was meant to collect it weeks ago but it is gathering dust in the furniture shop coz I was too lazy to get it. So I convinced myself that I was happy sleeping on the mattress and didn’t need that wardrobe just yet. So I go out and come back to find all of my little house is flooded, my clothes are under a deluge of water, my mattress is soaked deep, my electrical stuff soaked, thank God I had my laptop. I then realise I am standing in the middle of a live electrical pool of water as the socket adaptor is live and sparking in the water, thankfully my boots were water-tight or I’d have be shocked to death. I switched of the main electric fuse. I took stock; all my suits ruined, leather jacket ruined, vital papers soaked. So I go to work and move my wet clothes to a dry room to tackle tomorrow, I remember pouring 12 buckets of water out of my room. Another 8 from the living room and the rest I pushed down the shower.


Just as I was feeling shit about life and starting to feel sorry for myself I snapped out of it and I went through all the blessings I have and how lucky I am. I wrote the early part of this story and was my sanctimonious best. Just as I finished that story and was happy that I had faced a little adversity and came out of it well and ever better; I learned a lesson. Yeah just get your head down and deal with it; if everybody woke up tomorrow and just dealt with their problems the world would be a better place, right? Wrong; I realised minutes later that I was stupid, as it rained even harder and my house is flooded again. I might as well not have bothered; now I look like Andre 3000 in “Miss Jackson” juggling buckets and pots as I replace and empty them. But at least OutKast had cute dancing animals, I have drowning roaches. I have renamed it a water feature and will always swim to the toilet, I’ll get a canoe to get around the house or even an inflatable tube or Jet Ski to sip cocktails from like it is Jamaica. So forget everything I said earlier; life is just cruel, you have to laugh. If it was some other sucker it would have been even funnier, you’ll see the funny side better than I.

ALL MOD-CONS

NO CHAW IS ONE-ONE

English is the best language when it comes to variety; the French impose strict burdens on its speakers to restrict pigeonisation or the general bastardisation or their delicate tongue. English is like linux or some program that you adapt for yourself, hence when I was in Uganda as a kid I had the following conversation when I was headboy at school, the scene was the lunch canteen and I was dishing out the lunch.

“It is one-one. So everyone can get some.” I said
“Eeeh Whati? Si you more it?”

Moring; that was a legitimate word, the act of giving more, after moring you had mored. I forgot my Ugandan English when I was in England, I gravitated towards the local dialect “broad bucks” spoken by all the old boys in the area, this lingo was slowly giving way to “mockney” or the mock cockney accent. Mockney was spoken by kids ashamed of their middle-class roots so they imitated the language of the street which is the cockney rhyming slang. This has its roots in East London when the dirty industries were located down river and out of sight; tanning of leather, fishmongers and processors, generally anything which stank. Hence undesirables found themselves in the East, they then developed their own code in order to talk freely among themselves. This code was ever-changing such as battle-cruiser for boozer or skin and blister for sister, it is kinda like sheng in Nairobi, I was fluent in 85 but when I came back in 91, all the codes had changed.


One of the easiest ice-breakers is the opposite sex, when high-level delegates meet for a tense session of negotiation they can break the ice by conversating about the days when they were young and had loads of hair and chutzpah. When sheer audacity and naivety would get them through; you know you are of a certain age when you are reminiscing about some girl several years ago and not some girl last night. There I was trying to fit in with the boys; men can go from astro-physics to talking about “chow” in seconds and when they do then you better be ready. One of the greatest obstacles to women’s advancement is the unspoken alliance among men to keep them down. Even though I consider myself a supporter of women’s right, at least for pragmatic reasons, but I can easily slip into a tirade about their faults and I would have an instant audience that agreed with me.


So as I said I was trying to fit in with the boys and the conversation wound its way inevitably to “chow” which is slang for food but a euphemism for ….. yes sex. All the boys were regaling us with their stories and the story turned to me and I had to oblige. “There was this time in Uni when I had this one-one chow.” I ventured.
“Rama, now you’re talking bullshit, you are misusing grammar. No chow is one-one, chow is by its very nature: mob, unless that is some fake chow, you Guy.” They put me in my place and I decided to stick to my regular English as spoken by Englishmen. To explain the conversation would need a blackboard and a full period.


So the language changes but the topics are the same as are the people, I had intensely deep conversations with my houseboy in Kinyarwanda; about inflation and growth, about free-trade and protectionism, about love and life. We all need a common language that will bring us together as humans but in so doing we would lose our cultures that make us unique. Even if we all spoke the same language it wouldn’t end conflict, so many warring factions speak the same tongue and have the same culture and yet they still fight. So common language and culture can tear as apart, Joy Division had a seminal hit with “Love will tear us apart” and all over the world there are examples of this in action.

ALL MOD-CONS

For all our differences, we ultimately have more in common than what sets us apart, I was moving house this week into my perfect little bachelor pad. It was really hard to find, it took some wrangling, wheeling and dealing but I got there. Estate agents are rightly despised all over the world because they are the same all over the world. They always give the impression that the houses are mansions when they are dumps, two weeks ago I was informed of this plush four-bedroom house that was worthy of an emperor, I was told the standard line “if you don’t take it then you will lose because 500 people all want it.” I asked to for an inspection but they said I had to rent it without viewing.


I took the word of an estate agent and gave up my house search, and then I went and saw it, to call it a dump would be a compliment. It had no endearing qualities, rusty iron sheets; raw untreated logs holding up the said iron sheets, luminous green wall paint, and the walls were as crooked as if a drunkard bricklayer had smoked some crack as he built it. Then the icing on the cake, no toilet just a latrine outside, and no bathroom, one just waited till it was dark and stood on the cement and hoped that peeping toms were otherwise occupied. My jaw dropped, it was all mine for $250 a month, which is a lot in Rwanda where most live on a dollar a day. The estate agent was still audacious enough to keep the pressure up to get me to secure it with 6 months rent upfront and a deposit of $1,000.


That is the problem with Rwanda, the cheek of people is amazing; they are all looking for a free lunch. Another house I saw was half built and they wanted 8 months rent to complete the structure, all I had to do was pay up and wait 4-5 months for the walls and roof to be put up and then another 4 months for the interior to be finished, in other words “build my house for me and I’ll let you live there for free.” I soon found out about a small but tidy 2-bedroom flat so I raced to secure it, as ever it had just been taken but minutes ago but the landlord asked me to leave my number, “Why leave me number if it is taken?” I took it as a sign that it was still there.


So I moved in on Monday, ending months of misery as I was nomad in various houses of those obliged to house me. I went out to buy my utensils at the cheapest Chinese shop in town and now I proudly own the finest Chinese kitsch, making my house a fire hazard to boot. It is overall a good neighbourhood but in Rwanda there is feast and famine together; I had no curtains so my living room was light up like a TV and I was entertaining gossiping passers-by. A clutch of kids stood sentry outside my door, I tactfully ignored them but soon I had to ask what they wanted. “A blessing” they said, so I asked them to come close as I would pray for them, “No! We want money or at least sweets.” I warned them that I would take them home to report them to their parents, but their parents would be even bigger beggars than their kids.

Blessing? How could kids who could barely talk be so cheeky? Now these kids are asking kindly but soon they won’t be so polite, they will be armed and dangerous with anger and guns.

Lions and Jackals

LIONS AND JACKALS

“They follow me because I am a lion and they are my Jackals” Henry VIII in ‘A Man for All Seasons’

This line is too often quoted by my mother as she starred in a play with an all-female cast; she can instantly break into long monologues stored deep in the recesses of her psyche but this line sticks out. This line underlines the perversity and addiction of power, the symbiosis between the Ruler and the ruled, the King and court, the President and the Parliament. It can be read in many ways so it is open to interpretation; I always see it as it was meant to be seen. The story of the play is about Henry and his best friend Thomas More who was also his biggest rival and objected to him splitting away from the Catholic Church. More was a serious threat to Henry so he was duly tortured and dispatched by followers of Henry who wanted to maintain the status quo. I have read so many books on power that I could found an Academy of Megalomaniacal Studies; there are many schools of thought which advocate different approaches from the Art of War, to The Prince, Das Capital, and the dreaded Mein Kampf. After reading all those books you will come to the same conclusion that power can be summed up in the saying above.

Jackals have small jaws and cannot hunt animals larger than rats but they band together and follow lions and commandeer the left-overs. Like Hyenas perform a sanitary function of clearing rotting shells, so do jackals but they are chained to the fortunes of the Lions. When the lions starve, so do they, when the lions gorge, so do they. Africans come from oral cultures that were informed by Spirits and nature that were held in a fearful balance by the protection of ancestors. Western thought has redefined our consciousness but that ancient culture is rooted deep in our sub-conscious and cannot be expunged. Socrates or Aristotle would debate in depth about various nuances but an analogy from nature cuts through all the pedantics. So the Jackals this week were the ZANU-PF leaders who saw their lion savaged in the polls; at first they went through shock, then denial, then bargaining, then anger and eventually reverted to the Neanderthal brutes that they were. The Army chiefs of staff were the most vehement disciples holding Mugabe in power; knowing they couldn’t survive without their Lion.


The Zimbabwe crisis resurrects all the polemics of history such as colonisation vs. globalisation and the question of WHY IS AFRICA SO MESSED UP? On the time-online site I found a man called Arthur from Bath who said “It all went wrong when we abolished slavery.” The news gave a forum for airing the usual racist attitudes towards Africa, using bad headlines to beat us. Forget the fact that Africa has 53 nations, only 6 have wars so 90% are peaceful, Africa has 7% growth annually, its middle-classes are growing at a faster rate than China. Yet there is a remnant of the reaction to colonialism, ZANU-PF is still the bawdy vaudeville act complete with stupid niggers rolling their eyes, tap-dancing their anti-colonial routine while reinforcing every stereotype of Africans as negatively as they can. Last week I attended a talk given by Andrew Mwenda; a journalist notorious in Uganda for opposing and exposing the government. He talked of the media bias displayed in the Western press towards Africa as they perpetuate the image of AIDS, coups, wars, famine, environmental damage and plain awfulness that exists in Africa.

How does a Zimbabwe occur? Is it just our innate stupidity or is it a deliberate act. I met a Zimbabwean at a birthday party and talked at length about it; he was ambivalent, respecting Bob for the liberation effort while decrying that he had outstayed his welcome. That is the paradox of Mugabe; he did the right thing in the wrong way for the wrong reasons at the wrong time. 160,000% inflation, starving billionaires, political oppression and yet the Zimbabweans still endure this man. The scar of history is easy to pick open whenever a leader wishes to, in African history the white man is the villain and seen as responsible for all the ills in society or more precisely the scapegoat for all our misdemeanours. All regimes begin with such hope and idealism, then they encounter opposition, then they react to counter this opposition, they crush it, and then become obsessed with their own survival.


Yoweri Museveni is the best case to highlight this; he came to power with an idealistic programme to abolish tribalism, educate his people and develop his country. Soon he was using tribalism to divide and rule his people; he was plundering and sacrificed development for personal gain. “Power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely” goes the saying. In NO AFRICAN COUNTRY is there true democracy and rule of law, none what so ever. Democracy is at odds with traditional African thinking, where power is centralised in the hands of an “elected King” as the Monty Python joke goes, you don’t vote for Kings. This means that power is solidified around the president meaning he cannot leave the seat because power is addictive and the jackals won’t let him leave. Kwame Nkurumah had this situation in the 60’s; after independence he began to crush all opposition and became more Stalinist therefore squandering the goodwill he earned in the 50’s. The lion just sits back and lies in the sun all day, the females hunt, he gets the lions share, his only purpose is when a rival lion comes to take over then he must defend his pride.


Competence vs. loyalty; this is the oldest dilemma which faces leaders. Should one put a smart guy who wants the top job or a loyal idiot who won’t oppose the system? Leaders often opt for the latter; it is easy and simple. “Le’tat cest moi” said Mobutu “I am the State.” One becomes so intertwined with the state that you view yourself as one and the same. In every African country the secret state spies protect the government; they harass and arrest opposition members, the ruling party owns the economy, the Army holds sway, leaders steal with impunity. Some African nations manage to purvey a myth of freedom but it is all lies; because even if the opposition was in power then they would do the same. Our societies are not evolved enough to tolerate criticism, our institutions are not developed enough to protect individual freedoms, our people are not educated enough to know their rights and responsibilities. This makes democracy as we know it an impossibility; we can only hope for benign leaders who steal less, tolerate corruption less, have a grand vision for their nations and torture less than others.


So the Zimbabwe situation is exacerbated by the honour among thieves that is African politics. Why don’t our own leaders speak against Mugabe? Are they hoping that when their time comes that people will remain silent? “Don’t judge lest you yourself be judged” in other words if all African leaders keep quiet then all is well. Mugabe is no fool; he knows how to hang on, he can just simply refuse to acknowledge the result and Zimbabwe will carry on bleeding while we watch. But some good might come out of Mugabe, when the economy picks up then they will no longer be held hostage by white farmers. That is why I said he did the right thing in the wrong way; he confiscated the farms while giving them to his cronies and destroyed the viable farming sector without transferring it smoothly. A radical white Zimbabwean once put it perfectly “He should have just taxed the bastards off the land, like they did in UK. He didn’t have to kill the golden goose.” Africa has only had 18 years of trying to achieve true democracy, it will take time but when it comes it will be a totally different version that is suited to us and our particular needs.

STRIP HEAVEN

STRIP HEAVEN

Every year without fail I saved my £50 ($100) for a new football strip, it was always the most expensive item of clothing I owned; I would never spend $100 on a shirt even if it was Versace. It was usually exactly the same as the previous one but with a minor tweak; a line here, a swirl there, a dash of a new colour on the collar. Sometimes they would change the sponsor; like when Spurs went from Holsten to Hewlett Packard, or when Arsenal went from JVC to SEGA to O2 to Emirates. Every time that happened all fans had to buy a new strip or risk looking like a distinct tit on the terrace or road. I can’t remember when I started supporting Spurs, maybe in 1984 when I watched them win the UEFA Cup and they were the only team I knew the players by heart. I am a cynic all truth be told; I went into football swearing not to support a team but found myself deeply in love with Spurs. In the 80’s they played the best and most open football, we didn’t care what the score was, just if the goal we scored was better than all their four. As a Spurs man I have dedicated myself to a life of misery on the whole but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Most Africans prefer support a big team; Arsenal is bigger than the National team because people cry more after an Arsenal loss than at family funerals. I was once in a kabare’ watching Arsenal lose when the place was deadly silent, not a cough.


As a Spurs fan it is my duty to hate Arsenal and all their fans, in England it is proper apartheid, they stay away from each other, the are called the enemy. It is the beautiful game; Spurs had Danny Blanchflower, Jimmy Greaves, Ossie Ardiles, Glenn Hoddle, Chris Waddle, Paul Gascoigne, Teddy Sheringham, David Ginola, and so many other minor legends that make football great. I remember meeting random Spurs players; even shit players were bathed in this glow of awesomeness. Justin Edinburgh is considered by scientists to be the worst player ever, even worse than Curtis Fleming; the Pele of shit players. I watched Sky TV doing 100 goals of the season sometime in the mid 90’s and Justin Edinburgh was in all but 2 of the clips; he was even in the clips for teams he wasn’t even playing for. Saying that, if he came and sat next to me then I’d be like “Oh shit Justin Edinburgh I’m your biggest fan, can I have your autograph, please? I loved your free-kick against Colchester in the league cup in 1994, you’re one of the greatest left-backs ever, you should have played for England, that Winterburn was overrated.”


It is not that I am a hypocrite; I think Edinburgh is the worst player ever but I am a great fan because I invested so much in him; he won us an FA cup and League cup. What I am saying is there is a Justin Edinburgh for every team, a Justin Edinburgh in all of us. Justin Edinburgh’s are essential to football like small fry and plankton keep whales alive in the food chain; you need that shitty player to make the great player great. Like when Cantona flicked the ball twice over Carlton Palmer; he is still bamboozled to this day and hasn’t been able to close his mouth since. Every year I bought my strip loyally, from HOLSTEN, HEWLETT, back to HOLSTEN, THOMSON, and MANSION. Somewhere I have about 8 or 9 shirts, most people throw their shirts away or give them to Oxfam; these strips somehow end up in Africa, almost every one owns an old football strip. You can be walking down the road and spot a Wycombe Wanderers away strip from the 93-94 season, as a fan of football shirts it is great to see them having such functionality after they are discarded.


I remember walking past some Brazilian fans in London and I spotted a Cruzeiro fan and he was shocked that I knew them; I can pass any test on football strips even if the logos as covered. It is marketing that echoes through the ages the Wycombe shirt had VERCO who I thought went out of business but are still in the minds of random Africans. Cheapo polyester that itches you skin and is extremely flammable, but yours for £50 now, even more to put your player’s name and number on the back. I remember one Xmas when I couldn’t come home to see my brother; so I just sent him a Liverpool shirt with his name on the back; my only shame is that I never saw his face when he got it, I can picture it and to this day it is his best prized posession. When I got my first spurs shirt I treated it like gold; I couldn’t even bring myself to wear it, until next season when I got a new one. And these shirts end up being worn by the poorest people in the country, go to the poorest church and all the men are smart in their old football strips, it is kinda like a suit. So when fans do a carbon footprint report on football strips made cheaply in China, then transported to UK, then to Africa, they will find it is worth it to see these old strips given a place to grow old in dignity. A place where football strips can be treated with care, and loved, some football strips are really traumatised after abuse by previous owners.


It is great as you can see old names like NEC (Everton), Tandy (Liverpool), Sanderson (Sheffield Wednesday), Colmans (Norwich), Labatts (Nottingham Forest), Coors (Chelsea), even a Barnet or Shrewsbury strip can turn up and the wearer will be an unwitting fan. Sometimes it breeds loyalty, Spurs fans are as rare as unicorns in Rwanda; I thought I was all alone but recently I was watching Spurs-Man U at a local pub when I noticed another fan cheering the goal and was shocked. He just decided to support them after buying the shirt. Rwanda is 70% Arsenal (Abasenari), 20% Man U (Menchestre Unatedi) and Liverpool and Chelsea make up 9.9 of the rest. The remaining 0.1 % supports other teams so it is very rare to see someone support a team steadily. It is common to hear “Last year I was Arsenal but now I’m Chelsea, but I also support Manchester and Liverpool.” Africans are fickle, they support who they think will win, not the best team, this extends to politics where African also support whoever is more likely to win or whatever tribe. I love the colour and designs of random strips that brighten the lives of countless Africans as they proudly display loyalty to their shirts that were discarded like rags.

The Sacred and the Profane

“East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet.” Or to para-quote a random Black preacher “Sin is sin is sin.” The Easter weekend made me deeply contemplative about the nature of sin, after all as a Christian I believe Jesus died for my sins on Good Friday and conquered the final frontier, not space but death. I had a deeply ambiguous relationship with God until recently when I became born again, but what does “born again” mean? Death takes many forms; the worst being “living death” like vampires, immortality can be a curse. Millions of people are zombies in a devilish world; like in ‘The matrix’ unaware of their plight. The story of Jesus is always being retold in modern popular culture because people need to hear it. The terminator is the story of the nativity with robots and cyborgs as angels, Superman is another Jesus rip-off, The matrix is another Jesus allegory. So you realise that Jesus was the original Superhero, more multi-dimensional than Zeus or Odin who used lightning and mutation as their main powers, while Jesus had it all; a shape-shifter, healer, faster than a bullet, ability to fly and walk on water. There were other gods before him but they followed our moral code, they didn’t define our own morals. Greek gods were downright evil, selfish, capricious and spiteful.


The Greek and Roman gods did all the things that people did; they fell in love, committed adultery, had gay relationships (Zeus was a bit non-specific), stole, cheated and destroyed lives on a whim. Indeed all they demanded was that you obey them and not commit hubris (this was to take the gods lightly and challenge them in some way) the Sacred and Profane were the same. Christianity was the first religion to set a moral code for behaviour; a religion of absolutes, the sacred and profane are as separate as black and white or night day, but like dawn and dusk there are times when there is a blur. This was brought home to me recently on Friday when a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless but you know who you are) was at our weekly basketball game that we hope to make a tradition. We were tired after some exertion and sought to quench our thirst, beer quenches thirst in a way that soda just can’t, so my friend who had a reputation as the biggest drinker among us, also known as the “party extremist” declined a libation. Much to the surprise of all of us, most of us were too shocked to comment, so he sipped on his Coke while we grudgingly sipped our pints.


I am very partial to Guinness, ever since I was young I was told “Guinness is good for you”, I was always allowed to drink it even as a child as I was given it by my Mum, watered down and mixed with Coke. I never considered Guinness a sin before, but my friend’s eyes were judging me or more precisely I was judging myself. I was saying to myself “Jesus drank wine at the last supper, didn’t he?” Wine can be sacred and profane but only at different times; in Church as a Blessing or in a drunken setting. Ancient people drank wine because water was more likely infected with germs but tea was discovered to be safe because the water was boiled; only then was beer and wine associated with drunkenness. I don’t think Jesus frowned on the odd pint but he didn’t like drunkardness; but where does the line get drawn? That’s why it is better not to drink if you don’t know the limit. The Christian is faced with the tightrope of “being in the this world but not of this world.” To stay focussed when the world around you is telling you do the opposite. It tells you to hate when you want to love, to be selfish, to destroy; it has never been so hard to be a Christian or belong to any belief system. This world is rational, only sees the tangible, and only serves the desires of flesh.

I admire my friend for withstanding the slings and arrows as they taunted him with the rhetorical question “are you a bitch or a ninja?” I interjected saying “ninjas don’t go to heaven, but bitches do” most people didn’t know what to say but I was backing him up as best I could. He assured them that it was just a temporary solution and he was detoxing but I hoped he was done for good. It is like in The Shawshank Redemption when he runs away but his friends are happy to see him escape. “Run Forrest Run!” is another analogy. In Africa Christians define themselves by what they don’t do “I don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t screw around, don’t swear, don’t do this, don’t do that.” I espouse to a faith that defines itself by what it does. I want to help the poor, live a balanced life, speak no ill, and do no ill, fight against the true evils of this world.


Most of those teetotal Christians never do the positive things in life; the hardest thing is to believe, it is easy to quit drinking, smoking, and all those things, but to trust and believe in God 24-hrs a day is harder. It is like jumping from a plane knowing God will catch you, a literal leap of faith; how many of us could do that? Life is a baby thrown from the sky, it takes your whole life to hit the ground but when you do better hope God is there to catch. I spoke to a prostitute recently and talked for a while before asking the $64,000 question; “why do you do it?” She said she had no choice “I believe in God and I go to church but I can’t get a job, I would starve.” Her faith was there but not enough, man can live on faith alone, without food or water. Mary Magdalene was a lady of the night but Jesus still believed in her ability to change. Circumstances make up 90% of our decision making; what would you do in her situation? What would you do if you didn’t know what you know? If you didn’t have what you have? If you weren’t in your situation.


You will never know because you know what you know, you think what you think and you are in your situation and you can’t change by your own power. Ever since man has been on this Earth his first questions were; what am I doing here? Who made me? What happens when I die? And the biggest one; what is the point of it all? Modern society has bypassed those dilemmas by many diversions.

What am I doing here? You are here to consume products.
Who made me? You weren’t made you were evolved from amoeba – to consume products.
What happens when I die? You just live once and enjoy it as much as possible, with these products,
What is the point of it all? To buy these products that can make you happy.


Most people are too engrossed in their consumerism to take notice of the moral and spiritual void in their life. In UK it was tragic to see people who were just lost and being led like sheep to the slaughter. Being told they were oppressed and needed sexual liberation and if they were to have the right kind of sex then their problems would be gone. Sin is sin is sin; sin is not bad just because God said so, sin hurts people and all the consequences of sin carry on through the ages. Think of a sin; be it gluttony, adultery, drugs, alcoholism and the like, they affect wives, husbands, children, brothers, sisters and friends. I tried to think of a sin that doesn’t affect others and I came to the conclusion that unless you live on a planet alone, then you affect others. We are always trying to re-define what sin is, if we all do something then it is fine, if we are open about it then it is fine. The age of the individual means we define ourselves but in reality we are being defined by those trying to sell us stuff. Saying that; I can’t wait to get the new Apple Mac that is thinner than an anorexic Somali refugee.

Radio Ga-Gaga

RADIO GA-GAH

Rwanda is the most densely populated country in the Milky Way Galaxy, apart from a few wealthy City-States which can handle their situation; Rwanda is struggling under the weight of its growing population. It is cheek to jowl; I recently talked about travelling to the North and seeing the inch by inch farming aimed at mass production. I went to Novotel to use their internet and I met a fascinating Texan woman who had just recently become a mother; she showed me her blue-eyed son called Kwizera or Faith in English. She said “He 100 % Rwandan!” I laughed, She made some joke about “He’ll never be president of America, he was born here, he’ll have to be president of Rwanda one day.” We both stirred in the dream of the Blonde, Blue-eyed President Kwizera. We talked about a lot of things but we were adamant that Rwanda is the best country in the world; I was embarrassed coz I am not as patriotic as this Texan lady, for my own country. Rwanda stirs deep emotions in those who see it for the first time; I imagine the first herders who stumbled on this land high up in the mountains with lush peaks, deep valleys a mile deep. Eventually the herders became Rwandans, as did farmers from Congo; who joined the Pygmy Twa who are the only original Rwandans. Time will see if we have that White president and this shows the progress we are making.


A symptom of such density is sheer proximity to everyone; we number 8.8 million yet somehow all related or close in some way. Kigali is chocker block as the English say; packed like sardines; Rich slum, poor slum, give a dog a bone. I have the best view in Kigali in the photo you see but I just imagine how beautiful those houses in Nyarutarama would be if they had gardens or space. Space defines the edifice; if the White House was stuck in a congested area it wouldn’t look as good, but because it is nestled in the splendour of the White House lawn and the Rose garden it is the pride of USA. A result of this boom is the proliferation of enormous houses, totally inappropriate for the users need. It is common to meet a professional young couple living in a 15-bedroom house with just one kid, a nanny, a cook, gardener, guard, and that’s all. The quality of space is not yet developed; therefore quantity of it is more valuable. In UK you can buy a 3-bedroom house for £350,000 that is more valuable that a mansion in another area. Houses are really looked after and are constantly being renovated, with quality added to increase the sale price.


These humungous houses have a negative effect on the housing industry, the prices of basic products like cement, steel, and sand, all rise because these houses consume so much. In the end the house is impressive but impractical, luxurious but lunatic, a fancy statement but poor investment. Land in rural areas in available just outside town, only 15 minutes from the City centre; if they bought land in one of those areas at a fraction of the price and built on a nice spot with a rushing river, or impressive valley. When I build a house I want to build like my friend Alex Gatete; he built a house with his bare hands for the lady he loved, even though he hadn’t met her yet. “I am building her the best house she’ll ever see. Even if she’s one of those modern chicks, she’ll wanna cook and settle down, just because of the cosy house.” What that little romantic aside says is that people are still old-fashioned. In Kinyarwanda the word for marriage is Kwubaka, people ask you “Wubatse?” Have you built a house? (Kinyarwanda says long things with few word but says short things in long speeches) So to build is to be married, you can get engaged but no married woman is going to move into a rented old house, she wants her own place, planned to her specifications. So she’ll wait for you to build, when the house is nearly ready she’ll go through the formalities of getting pregnant to trap you and speed up the process.


This rush to build causes slums, I define a slum not by the quality of the houses but by whether or not they were built hapzardly. Rwanda copied Belgium in every way, the shoddy electrics, bad plumbing, everything is impractical. That might have been Belgium 30 years ago but nothing changed in Rwanda in 30 years until recently. So you are cheek to cheek; yard to yard, the house has to be as big as the land you have. These houses are expensive to run, hence the domestic economy is one of the biggest employment sectors; cooks, yard boys, gardeners, drivers, nannies, cleaners, guards, dog groomers. The abundance of labour means that you can employ someone just to look after your dog; to the point where it ain’t your dog anymore, it is closer to the Guard, listens to him, and obeys him, you just pay for the food. Your kids can also end up like this brought up by nannies, servants, this leads to negative effects.


You can go to MTN center and see this first hand, on Fridays every underage brat is there on cue. Kids who have been neglected by their rich parents and who have been brought up by servile houseboys. The classic illustration of this was when I first went there; these two runts were fighting hysterically, just grabbing shirts and not swinging, the crowd wanted a good fight but were disappointed. A valiant Guard armed with nothing but bad breath and a pump-action shotgun attempted to calm the situation but these runts knew their social standing; they both descended on the misguided Guard. Knowing these were kids of VIP’s he couldn’t retaliate and stood there as blows rained on him, I was shouting at him that this was a perfect opportunity to use his pump-action shotgun, to no avail.


So everybody has to have servants; the more the better, it is a basic economic weather gage. Pretty much like Scarlet O’Hara and such plantation owners wanted as many servants as possible. A sad result of this is the general noise and acrimony involved; 5 servants average per house, they are shouting, radios blazing, drumming, anything to annoy you. So radio; the bane of my life, locals can’t hear them, if you have 5 Rwandans in a space, then you have 5 radios blaring. A servant would sooner part with his leg than lose his Radio, and he knows it is his God-given right to play it as loud as he can. The servant also helps reduce the average life expectancy of their bosses; some of home haven’t stirred a cup of tea in years and would certainly sprain their wrists. I love to listen to BBC radio as often as I can but Rwandans listen to silly stations. Radio is intertwined with all aspects of life. Radio was integral is fomenting hatred and helped organise the Genocide. The basics include food and batteries, and water. This addiction to radio restricts productivity; servants are handicapped by having one hand, because one has to be holding a radio. It takes two guys to wash a car because each will be holding a radio; it takes two to cook because one has to hold the onion while the other cuts.


Rwanda is a cacophony of shitty radios; China and Taiwan have a lot to answer for, these cheap transistors cause me mental pain. If we stopped listening to Radio or drinking cheap banana beer, then we would be richer no end. The millions of dollars we waste on batteries would be put to good use and our brains would be clear enough actually do something. I used to argue with this houseboy next door, he used to blast his radio from 5am. His radio faced towards me so he would crank it up hear on his side, while it blasted towards me. One day things got out of hand; I went over and spoke to his boss, who was drunk, nonplussed yet issued a stern but half-hearted warning to him. Like a child he only increased the volume and giggled; I must admit I freaked out. (at one point death threats were involved) The poor guy was sacked as a final transgression after impregnating several maids and pissing off the neighbours. Just another episode in this series of life.