I have always liked,
Defiant Africans,

Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta,
Martin Luther King,

Groovy black men,
******* with attitude,

But they intimidate me,
Black men.

Freedom fighters,
Bar room brawlers,

And I rise from sleep,
Sheened in sweat,

Running away,
Scribbling my number,
On scraps of paper,

On foreheads and trousers,
On outstretched palms,

And I’m breathing heavily,
Feeling stained,

Because,
That one there,

The white man in Navy uniform,
With hair on his *****,

I know him,

-conquistador-

He smells of garlic and grease,
And my black friends call me,
******, *****, *****.

Will he take the lion tooth offered,
Will he make the tribal dance?

-I can teach him to love the earth,
Teach him to plant his feet in, deep-

I ******* from sleep, supported
By thick, colonial, muscle.

I am forging steel,
Industrial iron,

I am engineering a white lover
Beneath the sheets, whilst

Apologising to freedom fighters,
Who call me ******, *****, *****.

Homage to the late poet; Kofi Owonor


By
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)


In one Sunday Nation article, Professor Ali A Mazrui analyzed the inter-politicality of The Jaramogi Odinga family and The Kennedy family by arriving at a difference that the Odinga’s have curse of long life but the Kennedy’s have a curse of early death through violent and untimely  mode of death .Mazrui made these analogies in reference to violent death of John F. Kennedy and the subsenguent Chappaquiddick bridge tragedy.Similarly,the salient difference between a European and American or a Japanese and African writer or African artist is that most of African writers die early in the mid of their lives through violent death but in contrast American and some European writers die peacefully and comfortably in their old age. Early and violent death is the dominant bane, fate and misfortune that now and then besmirch an African writer. This position is in recognition of a fact that my child-hood American popular literature writers in the name of Mario Puzzo author of the God Father and Robert Ludlum an author of several anti soviet spy series like; Borne dentity, Borne Ultimatum and Icarus Agenda plus very many others like The Matlock Paper had just to die recently in their late eighties. The most surprising of all is Phillip Roth whom I read at the age of twelve years while in my primary four.  Now I am forty years and this year 2013 Phillip Roth is still alive and active to the American literary civilization that he has been touted by the Ladbrokes as a probable candidate for Nobel Prize in literature. But sadly enough on 22 September 2013 in Nairobi the black angel of early  death has carried ahead its  foul duty by claiming the life of Africa’s most honorable literary scholar Professor Kofi Owonor during the helter-skelter of Alshabab terrorist lynch of the upscale West Gate Mall in Nairobi.
Actually this essay is meant to be a deep felt homage to the late Kofi Owonor, Killed by Islamic terrorists in Nairobi. However, the essay also goes ahead to decry the violent and early deaths of several other African writers. The deaths which have almost turned Africa into a literary dwarf if not a continent of artistic bovarism. Kofi Owonor, who peacefully and honorably came to attend Story Moja Literary festival to be held in Nairobi, was violently shot by the Islamic fundamentalist terror group known as Al shabab. Whose gunmen lynched the Mall in which was Kofi Owonor and his son. The terrorist were sending out the Muslim catchword on which if one fails to respond then he was known not to be a non- Muslim on to which he is shot or held hostage for ransom.Fatefull enough, Kofi Owonor was not muslim.He was an elder, an Africanist, a scholar, a poet, a realist, a rationalist, a Christian, a religious non-fundamentalist and a literary liberalist. He could not respond with any tincture of religious irrationalism to the question of the terrorist. He was shot dead and his son injured. Too sad. This is actually the time when Christian positivism goes beyond rigidity of other religious affectations in its classic assertiveness that the devil kills the flesh but not the soul. And indeed it is true the devilish terrorist killed Owonor’s flesh but not his literary soul. They are such and similar situations that made Amilcar Cabral to observe in his Unity and Struggle, in a section on Homage to Kwameh Nkrumah to rationalize that the sky is too enormous to be covered by the palm of a sadist nor to be vilified by the spitting of the filthy ones; Truly, like Nkrumah, Kofi Owonor was the sky of African intellect never to be covered by the brute of the cannon from the parrel of a Muslim terrorist.
Kofi Owonor is not alone neither are we alone. You, my dear reader and I  we are not in any historical nor literary solititude. In Africa God has blessed us with the opportunity of the dead relatives in the name of the living dead. We are not the first and the last to grief. Owonor is not the first and the last to dance with fate. Even Ali A. Mazrui in his literary expositions of 1974 otherwise published as the trial of Christopher Okigbo.A  novella in which Mazrui cursed ideology as an open window into the moving vehicle that let in  a very bad political accident to Nigeria in the name of Biafra war which claimed life of  Christopher Okigbo at the Nzukka battle front. This was one other sad moment at which Africa lost its young literary talent through violent death.
Reading of African literary biographies in all perspectives will not miss to make you attest to this testimony. Both in situ and in diaspora.Admirable African American writers like Malcolm X, and Dr Luther King all died through violent death. Even if in the recent past, the Daughter of Malcolm X revealed to Sahara Reporters, Nigerian Daily, that Louis Farrakhan was behind the assassination of her father, wisdom of the time commands us to know that it was evil politics of that time that made Malcolm X to die the way international politics of today in relation to crookedness which was entertained during the formation of the state of Israel that have made the son of Africa professor Kofi Owonor to die.
An in-depth analysis into the life and times of African writers and artists will show that the number of African cultural masters who die violently is more than the number of those who died normally in their old age. Some bit of listology will show help to adduce the pertinent facts; Patrice Lumumba, Steve Biko, Lucky Dube, Walter Rodney, Tom Mboya, J M Kariuki, Che que Vara, Ken Saro Wiwa, Anjella Chibalonza, and Jacob Luseno all but died through violent death. Lumumba died in a plane crash along with Darg Hammarskjöld only after penning some socialism guidelines. After writing I write what I want, a manifesto for black consciousness Steve Biko was arrested and tortured in the police cells during those days of apartheid in south Africa.Biko died violently while undergoing torture in police cells. Lucky Dube was fatefully shot by a confused ****. Walter Rodney who was persuaded by his student who is now the professor Isa Shivji at Dare salaam University not to go back to his country of Guyana, desisted this voice and went back only to be assassinated in the mid of the rabbles that domineered Guyanese politics those days of 1970’s. This happened when Rodney had written only two major books. How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, being one of them. Tom Mboya was shot by a hired gunman in down-town Nairobi, some one kilometer away from the West Gate Mall, at which Kofi Owonor has been shot. Mboya could have written a lot. Even more than Rudyard Kipling and Quisling. But fate or bad luck had him violently die after he had only written two books; Challenges to Nationhood as well as Freedom and After. Both of them are classically nice reads until today. He had also submitted sessional paper no. 10 to the Kenya government which was a classical thesis on Africanization of scientific socialism.
J M Kariuki, Che and Saro Wiwa are all known for how they violently died. Powers that be and terrorists that be, expedited violent death against these writers. Thus, brothers and sisters in the literary community of Africa and the world as we mourn Kofi Owonor we must also let Africa to unite in spiritual effort to rebuke away the evil spirit that often perpetrate terror of violent death which  especially  claim away lives of African writers.

References
Ali A. Mazrui; Trial of Christopher Okigbo
Amilcar Cabral; Unity and Struggle

Hookah
It tastes like pink.
But nobody asked you.
****,
A flute plays,
once more with feeling.
You knew den
In your donkey
I dream
Constellations
Oh, it’s a tiara.
It’s not white, it’s clear.
But nobody asked you.

THE GREAT POOL TOURNAMENT



we are here at the Green bay packers football club, for the annual pool competition

and we have a great line up of pool champions from simon o’heary and brendan itato,

they are the players who fought it out in last years final, and this year promises to be a bumper

of a tournament.    


the first match is between samuel patrice and johnny carter, and samuel gets the break which is a beauty

knocking the number 14 in first and then knocked the number 12 in next and his third go, he attempted to

knock the number 9 in but missed by a whisker

and then johnny had his go, and he is on smalls, yep he missed the pocket with the first shot by the skin of his teeth

so samuel lined up with his next shot and knocked the 15v and the number 9 in, and only had 16, 10 and 11 to go

before the black ball, samuel was on a roll, and then samuel knocked the number 10 in, and there was no way he was

going to lose this game, no way, but then he knocked the 16 in and then straight away knocked the 11 in and then he was

on the 8 ball, and if he knocks this one in, the game is won, and the black was right near the hole, which was easy for samuel to sink

and he sank it, and samuel won, and johnny carter was out yet again, and samuel moved onto the next round, where he played the

winner of the other table, who was phillip cutherhead, and this was promising to be a promising match, so the referee tossed the coin

and phillip won and decided to break, and when he did he sent the ***** to 7th heaven, you see phillip beat 17 year old colin hayes,

who was hoping to ****** up the tournament, and when we interviewed colin, man, he was very disappointed but he knew that this year

wasn’t his year, samuel had the second shot, and by geez, he couldn’t have whacked a more perfect shot knocking the number 6 in the left

middle pocket, radical, samuel continued to show style by knocking 4 in right bottom and 3 in left middle and 5 in left middle and 2 in middle right

and 1 in middle left and 7 in middle right and then knocked the 8th in to win this easily.

the next game started with samuel and his opponent harry burns knocking each ball in 1 by 1 and samuel ended up winning this close match by a flukey

knock of the number 13 and the next shot on the 8th meant if you miss this you are going to harry’s  turn so he knocked it in and samuel went to the bar

to rest up till his next game.and watch the match to see his next opponent, and the match was between brendan schultz and simon weather by and brendan

broke and it was a ****** powerful shot and simon was left wondering what hit him, brendan was the third best last year and he was determined to become

2 times better and simon wanted to set a trap for brendan, so to speak, he had some tricks lined up, and brendan wasn’t shy to display these shots in the match

brendan did a trickshot knocking number 14 in middle right and 9 in bottom left and 12 in middle left all at once, which left simon completely speechless,

brendan ended up winning and was waiting for simon to finish his losers interview, so he can talk about that win, simon told the press a pack of wild bulls

couldn’t beat brendan in this match and then he congratulated brendan, brendan was happy to be in the final against samuel to see who comes 1st or 2nd


1.  they played the national; anthem of the USA

2.  Samuel and brendan stood back to back and the referee was standing behind them

3.  10 year old benjamin whaler tossed the coin to see who will break in the tournament final, brendan won and chooses to break

4.  brendan and simon had a arm wrestle in the lead up and on with the GAME in this bumper grand final


brendan broke and by geez he broke a beauty and knocked the 11 ball in and is on bigs, the next shot, brendan scattered all the ***** on

every corner of the table, and samuel had his next shot, and can’t believe he missed everything forcing brendan to have 2 shots, must be nerves

from the other two wins, brendan’s first shot knocked 16 and 5 in, which ruined the 2 shots that samuel gave him, samuel was very excited, he went

straight over to knock the 3 ball in and then knocked the 7 ball in and then nearly knocks the 4 ball in, but didn’t, and after that brendan sank the white ball

which gave samuel 2 shots, let’s hope he doesn’t do what brendan did, samuel concentrated very hard hitting the 3 ball in and then 1 ball in and then

the 6th ball in and then knocked the 2 ball, and without knowing it samuel was looking like winning the tournament, as he was 1 ball away from winning

the tournament, and samuel had his next shot but there was a lot of pressure, he sank the white and gave brendan 2 shots, which made brendan have

to concentrate, because he couldn’t make a mistake because samuel was on the 8 ball, brendan did a trick shot sinking 9 ball into middle left side and 10 ball

into middle right and 15 into right bottom, and then did another trick shot knocking 11 ball in the left middle pocket and 12 ball in the right middle pocket and

13 ball in the right corner pocket and 14 ball in the middle left, and both samuel and brendan were both on the 8th, the next whot brendan missed the right bottom pocket

and samuel had his shot and sank the black right into the top right pocket, which gave sam the tournament and brendan went out of the building refusing to talk to any member

of the press, the next step was



1.  brendan congratulated sam on his great win

2.   sam gets the trophy and says thanks to the crowd for making this all possible

the speech

i didn’t think i would win that last match

brendan was putting on some very good shots

and if it wasn’t for him missing that last shot

i wouldn’t’ have the chance, THANKS EVERYONE

and then sam held the cup over his head, and did a lap of honour around the pool hall, , and then the announcer said samuel, you are the best

and we will see you next year

GOODBYE

She went to Russia as a student
To study fashionable nuclear technology
At the communist Patrice Lumumba University
At the center of ideologue creating city of Moscow,
She went there an accomplished total ******
No African eye had ever seen her naked bossom
She came from the western region of Africa
A girl so couth in all the platforms of life;
In manners, dress and ****** appetite,
With only education as the prime focus of her heart;
To bag a science degree in her African leather wallet
Under her arm pit, sandwiching culture and discipline.
But communist racism turned her into an ape *****,
All the tricks of European racism were employed on her,
The young girl lost her seed of self-worthwhile sensibilities,
She conceded that perhaps she was a daughter of zinjanthropus,
In the land of dignified civilisation of the Russian humanity
Where communism struggles to achieve universal Godliness
As ***** blackness strives to achieve universal communism,
In this negative personality feat, my dear daughter goofed,
A poor girl of Africa joined communist *** workers market,
And hence the door was opened to communist loutishness,
Comrades came in arms and went out, to collectivize her love
Making her ****** rights state property, subjected to proletariat dictatorship,
Only to suffer the bane of the time on her complain of woman rights,
She was declared as an African ******* in Moscow,
Suffering from incorrigible explosive African anger,
***** irascibility never seen any where in mother Russia
Only capable to be corrected in Siberian prison .

The last time we met it was raining
and the stampede of raindrops on the roof
must have made it hard for you to hear.
I had wanted to tell you about my mother
how I wasn’t yet five feet tall
when she was six feet under.
Lover, listen.
Incurable illnesses cannot recognize
the plumpness of an over ripe nectarine
from the plumpness of a woman’s breast.
And the last time we met I don’t think you heard me say
that my name is Amelia
because you kept moaning Sarah.
Now, lover.
I understand the impossibility of moving on
but I’ve run out of excuses to make.
There’s no Lauren or Patrice
just me in these sheets.
Lover, please.
Pick me.

Then I went to city park
to feed breadcrumbs to pretty larks.
I brought my niece Elise
and my nephew Patrice.
Well we stayed 'til after dark.
My brother's wife, she called me,
so I waived the dollar-nine fee.
She wants her kids.
So I closed my lids,
and I told her that that won't be.
Sorry, I'm taking them now, they're mine.
I'm not wantin' to listen to her whine,
so I hung up the phone,
let out a moan,
said it's time to go, it's after nine.
The children asked when they're going home.
"Well, we're hittin' the road, going to roam."
After 77 miles of driving,
they both got to crying'
and I told 'em to SHUT THEIR ******' MOUTHS.
I pulled over the car at Oregon Shortine,
took the W. Michigan Cross to Madison
merged to Blancheflower Ave.
Wait!

I said stay right ******' there.
I opened the trunk.
And with a THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
I bashed out their brains on the seats.




How are you, my friends?
I miss you, I was hanging out with some unsavory joggers,
and they always wanted to see some buffalo.



So I cleaned the seats.


I love a machine, I love a machine. I love a machine. How can this be, how can I feel so eruditely unclean? Is this the ends to my ill-gotten means? So how are you?


Then I left them lying there, across from the Lebanon Computer Cafe.
So I left them-


Advise me...


It was after all getting late.


My life is a net, my life is a net. I swirl and unfurl and stone the design, I curse myself, my heartstring facsimile. I played piano to forget, but my mind needs 89 keys to remember how to do that, and all I had was 88.


So I went to bed.

It was tea time.

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is "Piron Number Five"

One, two, three, four, five, everybody in the shop on the south side
At the Chocolate shop around the corner.
The piron boys say they want some milk and dark but I really don't wanna..
Sugar-rush like I had last week.
I be the only employee cause the bros is cheap.
I like ganache, patrice, and fruit de mer.
The day it continue, and the chocolate getting sweeter
So what can I do? I really beg you MP (Mister Piron)
To me spitin’ is just like a sport.
Anything fly, it's all good let me dump it.
Oh ComEd wants a building permit..



A little bit of Aimee in my life,
A little bit of Ryan by my side.
A little bit of Weeme’s what I need,
A little bit of Jimmys what I see.
A little bit of cold packs for the sun,
Cuz we all know chocolate won't last long.
A little bit of Starbucks here I am,
A little bit of Piron makes me your man!
Piron number five.

Stir up and down and move it all around.
Shake your head to the sound, don’t let chocolate hit the ground.
Take one batch left and temper till its  right.
One kettle to the front and one to the side.
Glove up your hands once and Glove em up twice
And if it look like this then you're doing it right.

I do all to make chocolate like MP knew
Cause you got 2 son and you can't get to wide
You and me gonna increase that money supply
Piron number five.

“Africa will write its own history and it will be, to the north and the south of the Sahara, a history of glory and dignity.”   ~Patrice Lumumba

When I dream of beauty,                                                          ­       I dream of nothing less than phenomenal;                                                     A­ woman so beautiful you would never question why diamonds exist.
Her eyes are bright and promising like gold, embedded with vibrant iridescent gems and pearls;                                                          ­        She is a woman of grace, intelligence and wonder.    
                                                     ­                      Her mesmerising curves have been known to stop a man’s heart.
Kings and queens have died her freedom and deliverance;                                                     ­ Men are drawn to her green lush wavy hair.                                                            ­          Her beauty is so potent yet the same men.          dared to harm her…                                                                  This woman got scorned, kicked, bruised, used, abused and re- used;                                                                 She didn’t deserve any of it;                                                              ­             She deserved more than their ***** looks.
The struggles were survived but now she longs for far more than basic survival,                        
She craves success and respect…                                                         ­     She has the potential to break every limit and walk on the sky;                                       She could discover a completely new universe.
All her compelling neighbours believe her to be powerless.                                                       They say she is nothing but a carrier of AIDS… they don’t see her beauty.                                                           They just call her names and make fun of her!
They labelled her wrong!
 The truth is that AIDS is real and alive in the flesh, running through her veins like Trojan Horse and killing her people slowly.                                                          ­        

AIDS is real but so is success!
Her story could end differently;                                                     ­     She could have a happy ending!                                                          ­       This beautiful woman can rise, I’m sure she can, Sure as the sun rises every morning and the stars come out to play every night…                                                             This woman will rise; she is like the underdog in every good story…                                                              She is a woman so great Cinderella looks like an amateur.
This woman, this land will rise and that is my promise!                                                         ­     Our blessed land her beautiful people will rise!                                                            ­       Africa will rise and for this epic reason, I will always believe in infinite possibility.

We all been told to speak for yourself.
Cause, we can't speak for anyone else.

So Ellen loves Sheila.
Brenda loves Patrice.
Sure many claim they offended.
Many in life gets offended by this or that.

I just know.
I can't speak for God.
I can't speak for Jesus.

From any perspective, we can claim anything.
What against God's word?
What would Jesus do?
Many of us has , a mind your own business view.

We can address all scriptural chapters to anyone.
Point out things, we want to be acceptable.
I just can't speak for God.

In certain ways, he wants us to become better people.
Even if it's dealing with things, we don't understand.
Like cheaters staying with one another in marriages.

Then stating they don't like same *** marriages.

We taught to love.
Then requires to talk about the norms.
That Paul should be with Pat.
John should be with Eve.

All because of the  God first human creation.

if i ever wanted to start over, where would i go:
- i return to the balcony on patrice lumumba street,
on the third floor, i see two ruins around our souls,
modern talking, brother louie is playing,
i wrap myself around your fingers like slimy playdough,
we go home, i see the apple tree in the cemetery, we pick apples:
- let me kiss you on your lips, let me kiss, - we are friends too,
i try to remember what i was looking for among the crosses and owls,
your mother was taking the cheese pies out of the hearth,
it's getting dark, we've put everything together,  waiting for her to fall asleep,
everything that happens, the tray falls and the bread shovel falls from the nail,
deadly silence on the village road, since then
we meet every ten years across the road
speechless, i look at you, you look at me,
father vasile sprinkles holy water, sanctifies the graves.

Patrice Lamumba was in
South Armagh, Bandit
Country seeking advice
from The IRA on how to
get rid of Chubby Belgians
from the Congo the same
year that Down played
Offaly in the All Ireland
final, but unfortunately,
Lamumba back Down!