Posts from an earlier blog
| Preaching a la yahoo! Hi Mr. MS Joe, I wrote the piece you reacted to so eruditely. I do not judge your judgement of my style, it will simply be the trifle remark of the pot on the kettle's blackness. While style itself is elusive, exclusive, very subjective and a matter of ... well, style, it is a writer's responsiblity to target audiences with the appropriate flavour that will capture the emotions and justify his/her purpose. It will ergo be preposterous, to say the least, to engage myself in a futile ranting as defending my style, I will therefore join you in awknowledging the fact that health care is a mammoth concern in these United States we elected as our abode henceforth and that sheer exchanges not backed by any substantial tangible action can only result in impotency. I hereby seize this opportunity to encourage you and the Continental African Community in the search for health care services tailored to the needs of our African population. It is a commendable effort that ambitiously aims a densely multicutural expanse like You tended to slight reaction in favor of proaction, but remeber that the invention of the blanket is the reaction to cold. Granted we do not have to wait for people to die, on the other hand, death should be exploited if preservation of life is the intent. I do concede, however, that prevention is better, hence my reaction. I also chide you on the remark about tribal inclinations. It should have been obvious to your probing intellect that that piece had a selected audience, and that your curiosity was appeased only courtesy of forwarded "bantering à la yahoo" to borrow your terms. There is nothing wrong with a tribal group starting something, nor is anything wrong with naming a law, a day, a road, or anything after a person. Do you acquiesce? It may have seemed to you that there was a limitation on the providers of the services (whom I urged to be catalysts) but there were no precincts on the beneficiaries. It doesn't matter who furnishes the effort, it does matter who benefits and I did express favor of everyone. Now I see I got some brains twitted my friend and that, is an accomplishment. Peace and keep up the good work. "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world -- it's the only thing that ever has." Margaret Mead E. Etah ----- Forwarded Message ---- Hi there, Mr. Ebini: There is no doubt in my mind that you mean well. However, the private pains of death cannot be estimated. They are not general things one throws up in public air and let the sentiments fall where they may. Therefore, for these to be used as catalyst to start "some controversy," with a free-for-all detachment, may have unintended slights. Mired in the banters of those controversies - À la manière de Yahoo, honesty of purpose - the positive outcome you seek - can be terribly marred in tangential issues; impractical impulses and it would just be another countless cross-pollination session. With unintended consequence, brains may not be twitted a little. More exactly, solemnity would be rattled aplenty. When emotions are solicited, passions invoked, another thing to ponder - but did we have to wait for anybody to die for us to jump start this reason? The obviousness of Health Care Services defy the need to be engaged in paralysis of analysis. A significant number of our population cannot afford the rising cost. To add to the health strait, the under-insured or insured cannot navigate the red-tape steps in the public sector. The barriers range from language, documentation, cultural nuances to systemic nonchalance reserved for the working poor, especially African immigrants. On asking, officials speak in broad generalities of services here and there, distribute pamphlets and numbers to call. That is why I sent word to my I sent you the information on the Continental African Health and Social Services forum, which was held on Thursday September 28, 2006 with the Directors of Health and Human Services. Sure enough, the generalities were presented but I nailed the issue on specifics, pointing to the Asian health clinic. Hispanics have many and It is past time for reactions. Trust you can work on the practicalities. Health care requires a continuum of care - hardly just a symbolic day. Another score, I do not think you mean Bami doctors should also declare Siewe Day. Do we have any Bakundu doctor since Elangwe left and who should die for it be declared? Hausa? Got my drift? From the September 28 meeting, surveys and subsequent exchanges, CAC has been inundated with demanded for information and partnerships but the foundational structures must be laid, while doing the best/most with the least. For example, Catholic Charities and its program funded by the . Meanwhile, the programs below are direct responses to documented needs analysis and gap in service. At moment, without adequate facilities, we contend with referrals, calling on behalf of the client/patient to explain their circumstances, filling paper work, etc, while lobbying officials and working with related institutions. Efforts are on volunteer basis until permanent staffing can be afforded. But without a self-determined effort, however small, we are no better than arm-chair critics and elaborate theoreticians. Thanks, MsJoe In a message dated 1/22/2007 12:47:52 P.M. Eastern Standard Time, christmasebini@aol.com writes:
Kingsley died, now what…? Hi there, I am sure the above title got your brain twitted a little. In my defense, I couldn’t find a better title. That said, I hope it does spark off some controversy in the most positive sense of the word. On Friday, January 19, after I signed off from work, I headed home to nurse the cold that had taken abode in my body. I would get about an hour’s rest and then go to the viewing of Dr. Ayuk-Takor’s remains, I said to myself. The sleep thing didn’t work and I abandoned the lazy idea and decided to head for the Jenkins funeral home. Afraid of being late, I didn’t realize I was going to be that early albeit on time. The hall had a somber mien and all was so neatly arranged. Perfect I thought, but then realized how ridiculously useless the whole arrangement should have been to the carcass that greeted me. The once self-termed Mbutuku for crayon laid in state, commanding the respect that was reluctant when he breathed. In one corner, sat a man of God (could tell by his collar when he raised his head to greet me). I sat in the back seat for a purpose; my cold, took out my palm pilot, my solitary companion and started playing scrabble…and thinking all the while. Up front, beside the coffin, on the left, the piano man was competing with the sound from the loudspeaker and he finally won when the loudspeaker all of a sudden stopped and the piano man’s laborious notes filled the cold room. “Why,” was my first thought. Of course, the question is not why some people die, but why have the recent deaths been so painful? It all started with my classmate, Julie Nkamanyi Siewe, diagnosed with breast cancer after a routine check up a few years ago. This classical example of a fighter put up the best show you would ever imagine. She even found time to return my call from a hospice somewhere out there. Such courage coming from such a frail body could only scour the little admiration that I still had for the human race. She died last summer. In the fall, I got to experience That same autumn, I was presented to a frail man in a suit, the main protagonist of a foreboding tragic narrative that was written for him only. As is the proclivity is with a well-knit story, this main character told his own story and like an Anthony burying Caesar, (not honoring him, remember?). He incited the pathos of the crowd that had flocked to listen to his tale of survival. He even got my restless attention and recalcitrant admiration. A few months later in winter, I decided to participate in the planning of an event that was to honor a kinsman, the satirist pseudonymed (my neologism) AKO-AYA. It was Saturday, the sixth day in January. My daughter and I reached the residence of MECA-DC president, when we, well I was greeted with the news of Dr. Kingsley Ayuk-Takor’s demise. I must have said something in the cliché flavor of “gone to rest”. His death was heavily attended. I saw people I thought I would never see again. They came from When I got home that Saturday at about midday, don’t ask me what happened in-between, I decided to write this piece in honor of the victims of Cancer, Aids and other incurable diseases. In the There is one thing however that will make me look in the direction of the statisticians’ and doctors’ positivism: that you reading this piece get up from your lethargic procrastination and get your self tested. I have my doctor test my prostate (the thought of which causes me to shudder at each visit) and I ask a whole lot of questions. I am a very timid person, but when it comes to health, I do realize that my own best friend is me, and I have a duty to preserve me. Breast cancer or mammogram if that is the term used (you must forgive my deficiency in medical jargon) is a simple screening method that can save your life if any cancer cells are discovered in time before they become malignant. The same goes for colonoscopy, the colon cancer diagnosis. To you the Manyu doctors, and leadership, a special day of screening should be planned in which the public, be they Manyu or not can be invited for free screening. You can call it an awareness day, an Ayuk-Takor…day, etc. The intent should be to save us from the blows at which cancer is a fine adept. I am quite positive that such an idea has already been pursued, discussed and or expounded somewhere. For now I will limit myself to reiterating. The ball is in your court, my brothers and sisters. Get yourself tested; don’t let the people mentioned above die in vain. Sometimes the tests are free. Check out the following sites that I googled for you. http://www.coloncan cerfoundation. org/freescreenin g.htm http://www.umcrf. org/Screenings. html http://www.dhmh. state.md. us/esm/html/ crfppr121201. htm http://www.hopkinsm edicine.org/ press/1994/ NOVEMBER/ 19943.HTM And there are a lot more. March is cancer awareness month. E. Etah Lord Here comes… Lord here comes our warrior in full armor Fresh from war to eschew us (a big favor), From the battles which we pompously have Out of fear or spite, (who will ever know) Named cancer et al…and now with a lethal blow Each is armed as we their poor vassals watch The other fall and shudder at our own dispatch. Lord here comes another wayward warrior. He was like me and them full of spite and error But unlike us, was he full of humanity! I will leave the recipients of his bounty To testify for themselves, for such is their duty. Lord here comes a teacher after a mission. We will thrive when we cease to yield to fear Do you remember how he stood in his fashion To tell us about a disease that was to him no scare. The question is: will we ever learn not to tear? Lord here comes a father and a husband To be missed and remembered only hence. Was he good, was he bad or sat on the fence Does it matter? Does it matter that a child Buries the father when he is most in need? Lord here comes Ayuk Takor Kingsley Not ripe or aged enough to be called elderly Yet, laden with load a few only can bear Brave in the heart that betrayed and failed him He smiled and calmly and in stride said all is well Lord here comes Ayuk Takor Kinsley, your Son Too good for us: grant him Eternal comfort and rest. To you the brother-in-law I never knew E. Etah Tuesday, January 16, 2007 Sooo boring! I revisited an old post of mine, to give me the momentum to create another and realized that this second other I sought to create would be no different form the former. Waoh, what a realisation. What a life: visiting your own vomit. And the ancestors said there were many battles. I see but one: how to avoid waiting. Our lives, as far as I know mine, revolve around one issue only. Anytime you call Peter, Tambe, Hugh or Elvis, they will, if interviewed, tell you the same story over again. You need to know someone only once. Human beings are boring and they don't know it, which is fine for them and bad for their listeners. How then can living with someone for life be accomodated, beats every common sense (not that there ever was any) out of me. Could silence then be the golden solution? Maybe. Maybe we could thrive in silence and only speak when to say "goodbye" or "there is worm in the soup". I have pondered over this and realized that would give room to various interpretations, none of which could ever attain objectivity. Now speaking of objectivity, who the hell came up with that word? Can a human being utter an absolutely objective statement. I could debate you on this forever, so let's drop the topic if you will. Life is so boring. Imagine getting up in the morning doing the same thing: brushing your teeth, turning on the shower or spraying cologne for some, getting dressed, all the while being reminded by the unfaithful, cold mirror that age, or its master, death is drawing nigh. And thence to work, the same boring complaining jackasses in the name of coworkers, bosses, employees, etc. And doing your job, you dream the same dream: how do I get a better job, a raise, an education to escape this sucking inferno, etc. Then home to either the boring partner that you never wanted to live with in the first place, but was the only one available (sorry, I don't mean you, we all know you got married out of love) the same ugly dirty walls, the same clean (exquisitely so),cold living rooms, the same food if any, the same... Damn, life is boring. And all this could only stem out of a bitter soul you think? Yes I am bitter, bitter about my life and yours and knowing that I will hurt you. That's why I will stop here. Tuesday, October 10, 2006 I have stopped to fight!!! I sought not to glide thru life with a golden spoon. There were times I longed for the transient boon That expended by others I saw as the silver lining That gave me the desire for the promising morning. And I checked the mailbox, it was non forthcoming. Kith and kin implored the Lord on Sundays, for me. Something about sparing my existence and let me be, Struggling so I could be pestered by the snail and air And now the electronic messages of doom in homestead. And I checked my accounts and all answered crimson. While great men fought giant ogres like cancer and aids I devoured all the poisonous morsels in the form of baits Thrown by a Who cannot decide if one is in or out. (The ‘Twas yesterday my car broke down again on the highway. I fathomed solace will be borne on the wings of love, So I festooned my adoration for her and pined for Luv. Once again, I was not master of my fate as I lamented And succumbed to an existence sad and foil infested. The demands of the job toll heavily on my sagging shoulder. And I too must bury the dead and their values have risen! To school I must to make it to the now mercantile driven Society that I have impoverished my soul and ego to gain. A haven for others (and me a centripetal sucking terrain). And it is such a rainy day here and all over the world. So it will be with botches of bad news and bills and taxes. But, my daughter, that’s it for me: I’ll take no more taxes. I will to a place where I will not miss to brush my teeth, Perfume my armpit bathe or mistake stupidity for conceit. Bye spectators, today I will fight no more. Lights out. Tuesday, September 5, 2006 Ten reasons to persist For sure life comes at you fast and when all seems lost and giving up is as appealing as lust stay in there and if you cannot, think of these reasons: Your apartment is infested with roaches: so much food someone thinks, being wasted. Your car has broken down again: someone's soles are too sore, but needs to trek for that water. Your basement is flooded with water: what's it like asks someone whose sight has not beheld water for about a year. Your child has failed the SAT or GCE: her last child will lose the battle to hunger in thirty six hours. Your health insurance is exorbitant: their life expectancy is too low to be on the comparison chart. You are heartbroken, your lover left: she is used to it, no lovers will come, not ever. You have too many bills to pay: the only job their frail bodies can bear is digging yet another shallow grave. Despite the effort, you can't lose weight: weight that could give them another lease on life! Your heart is sore your relative is dead: failing memory(?), they don't remember having any relatives at all. Life seems unfair, particularly to you: I agree, why must someone suffer like they do? Why? Yes life is bleak sometimes. I have tread the darkness many times, yet I know my plight is lighter than yours. Courage brother that amazing grace IS for you too! |
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Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Sooo boring!
I revisited an old post of mine, to give me the momentum to create another and realized that this second other I sought to create would be no different form the former.
Waoh, what a realisation. What a life: visiting your own vomit. And the ancestors said there were many battles. I see but one: how to avoid waiting.
Our lives, as far as I know mine, revolve around one issue only. Anytime you call Peter, Tambe, Hugh or Elvis, they will, if interviewed, tell you the same story over again. You need to know someone only once. Human beings are boring and they don't know it, which is fine for them and bad for their listeners.
How then can living with someone for life be accomodated, beats every common sense (not that there ever was any) out of me. Could silence then be the golden solution? Maybe. Maybe we could thrive in silence and only speak when to say "goodbye" or "there is worm in the soup". I have pondered over this and realized that would give room to various interpretations, none of which could ever attain objectivity. Now speaking of objectivity, who the hell came up with that word? Can a human being utter an absolutely objective statement. I could debate you on this forever, so let's drop the topic if you will.
Life is so boring. Imagine getting up in the morning doing the same thing: brushing your teeth, turning on the shower or spraying cologne for some, getting dressed, all the while being reminded by the unfaithful, cold mirror that age, or its master, death is drawing nigh.
And thence to work, the same boring complaining jackasses in the name of coworkers, bosses, employees, etc. And doing your job, you dream the same dream: how do I get a better job, a raise, an education to escape this sucking inferno, etc.
Then home to either the boring partner that you never wanted to live with in the first place, but was the only one available (sorry, I don't mean you, we all know you got married out of love) the same ugly dirty walls, the same clean (exquisitely so),cold living rooms, the same food if any, the same...
Damn, life is boring.
And all this could only stem out of a bitter soul you think? Yes I am bitter, bitter about my life and yours and knowing that I will hurt you.
That's why I will stop here.
12:43 pm est
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
I have stopped to fight!!!
I sought not to glide thru life with a golden spoon.
There were times I longed for the transient boon
That expended by others I saw as the silver lining
That gave me the desire for the promising morning.
And I checked the mailbox, it was non forthcoming.
Kith and kin implored the Lord on Sundays, for me.
Something about sparing my existence and let me be,
Struggling so I could be pestered by the snail and air
And now the electronic messages of doom in homestead.
And I checked my accounts and all answered crimson.
While great men fought giant ogres like cancer and aids
I devoured all the poisonous morsels in the form of baits
Thrown by a
Who cannot decide if one is in or out. (The
‘Twas yesterday my car broke down again on the highway.
I fathomed solace will be borne on the wings of love,
So I festooned my adoration for her and pined for Luv.
Once again, I was not master of my fate as I lamented
And succumbed to an existence sad and foil infested.
The demands of the job toll heavily on my sagging shoulder.
And I too must bury the dead and their values have risen!
To school I must to make it to the now mercantile driven
Society that I have impoverished my soul and ego to gain.
A haven for others (and me a centripetal sucking terrain).
And it is such a rainy day here and all over the world.
So it will be with botches of bad news and bills and taxes.
But, my daughter, that’s it for me: I’ll take no more taxes.
I will to a place where I will not miss to brush my teeth,
Perfume my armpit bathe or mistake stupidity for conceit.
Bye spectators, today I will fight no more. Lights out.
2:13 pm est
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Ten reasons to persist
For sure life comes at you fast and when all seems lost and giving up is as appealing as lust stay in there and if you cannot, think of these reasons:
Your apartment is infested with roaches: so much food someone thinks, being wasted.
Your car has broken down again: someone's soles are too sore, but needs to trek for that water.
Your basement is flooded with water: what's it like asks someone whose sight has not beheld water for about a year.
Your child has failed the SAT or GCE: her last child will lose the battle to hunger in thirty six hours.
Your health insurance is exorbitant: their life expectancy is too low to be on the comparison chart.
You are heartbroken, your lover left: she is used to it, no lovers will come, not ever.
You have too many bills to pay: the only job their frail bodies can bear is digging yet another shallow grave.
Despite the effort, you can't lose weight: weight that could give them another lease on life!
Your heart is sore your relative is dead: failing memory(?), they don't remember having any relatives at all.
Life seems unfair, particularly to you: I agree, why must someone suffer like they do? Why?
Yes life is bleak sometimes. I have tread the darkness many times, yet I know my plight is lighter than yours. Courage brother that amazing grace IS for you too!
6:13 pm est
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Oh Happy Sad Weekend.
A marriage
The break of a friendship or the rebirth.
The death of Errol or the prank of a kith?
A weekend changed it all.
8:10 pm est
Saturday, July 8, 2006
The Invincible smile
I shall not put to test my Lord's way
So I shall his wishes even in dismay
Accept for long did I espouse the trend
To do as humans do in order to blend.
The news hit hard, the waves went wild.
The friend I barely knew (I foolishly thought
So much time 'til greyness we had in plenty)
Was to be no more as to be is known to be.
Julie Siewe, Julie Nkamanyi the news flashed
Fought a good fight against cancer and won.
That's my theory and I am sticking with it.
'Cause I have known that being the ultimate end
Death shall 'kill' only the coward. The brave,
Shall tread with Death and smile with Him as Julie.
You were barely a friend, never a sister or wife to me
I shall never miss you like they did: I'm positive.
But everyone whose path you crossed will miss this
Trite facial expression that dissolves the hardest hearts:
Your smile.
Julie I could write a million words to say a million things
You miserly would use only a smile to say everything.
In your smile you confirmed for me that cancer was
Just an encumberance and not a incurable malady.
That the most one can do in the face of all haplessness
When adversity seems to hit the most hard: smile.
How did you do that?
Never mind: I know what your response will be:
Another smile, another invincible smile.
9:02 pm est
Sunday, June 4, 2006
Dating sucks!
There are some diehard fans of the game who will crucify me if they see this message and read that I term dating a silly dirty game. When you walk this life a while, you tend to realise how ephemeral and how obscene certain situations are: dating in the
Even though I must concede that dating is the solution to loneliness and loneliness sucks absolutely (beside it being born of evil and machiavellic designs) I must also describe this silly fabric of today's stupid routine called life a reflection of our decay today.
I see your thwarted mind already saying that I am just that guy that no one wants to date and who is now lashing his anger at the whole world. So what? And by the way what makes you think that no one wants to date me. I have gone out with a few drunk women who later recalled their former states and called it quits, but that is no reason to think... By the way I owe you no explanations.
I sometimes think of the whole pretense and lie of making oneself pretty good dating material. I think I'll have to hide the truth of my inner motives (let's go home and xxxx and bye bye). Oh the taboo! Instead, I must go thru a phone number, an expensive lunch or dinner, the movies or a concert and after a considerable "safe time" of "courtship", finally pop the question "Am I interesting enough for you to sleep with?"
And sometimes, it's all roses to the kissing time and you then realise that it is either you give them kissing lessons, an awkward thing to do, or settle for less or no kissing.
Woe betide you if you fall on the occasional nympho who will exhaust the man out of you before you finally concede like a cowardly dog with it's tail between its legs that this bite is too big to chew. There you are no longer the superman you thought you were. Now debunked, your new fight is to seek the redress of your confortable beliefs.
Then you finally fall on the phone number of the "one" who shows interest in you en attendant Mr. Right who eventually after a short ride-and now made jealous (by you)-he comes to claim his possession. You will beat about the bush, wrack your brain and you will never know why it's him and not you.
And then you will go back to the only poor girl who finds you interesting and is ready to give it up all for you. When you are done making love to her, you know why you have not been with her before today and off you go again in search for new pursuits and frustrations.
Good-luck playa!
9:56 pm est
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
"Big Mami" Thank You
She carries a "kenja" on her head and heads for Mudeka.
There, she'll trade in oil and fish and thence to Okoyong,
Her pride will go to increase the kindergarten aye bee see.
And on her back, her grandson rubs the stubborn nose.
No, wait a minute, that's not her. She has a stethoscope.
I don't know well for maybe 'twas an infant's selfish scope.
She healed and sealed their faith in this witchcraft or medicine.
Some would say serendipity or recovery: 'twas a happy scene!
In Small Mamfe, she was no small woman, albeit petite.
With command and mastery they learned and did not dispute,
The authority in arithmetic, geography, hygiene or rural science.
Grumbling and defiance: but in the end was formed an alliance
The hugs n kisses: mere addictions we greedily yearned for.
As we hustled and bustled about the kitchen and the parlor.
The aroma of a freshly done meal numbs our olfactory senses.
We can't wait to settle to a decent meal the Lord blesses.
Somewhere in the cold of the western world, she drags
Her car seat/baby carrier every where her tides beckon
Fetches in the hidden cranies where only the brave brags
The life now thrust at her as a woman and also an icon.
Taken for granted because forever present and silent:
She plays the dumb skipper, always steering the ship
To a safe quay; while some missed the apprenticeship
And now must grapple with their own quiet torment.
"Big Mami" I can't stop the tears when I think of you,
Nor can I stop to uselessly ask "Why did I ever grow up?"
To my grandmother Christina Ebob Enow (or "my chick") and also to all those mothers from whose kindness I sucked.
Thanks.
Elvis Etah
11:56 am est
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
HOW MUCH IS ENOUGH TEARS
Divorce, the malovelent spirit of the west, caught with glee by the others that rub shoulders with them (the west) has become so perennial that rare cases of successful marriages have left the general public with not only jealousy, but some kind of majestuous contempt. How curious! How could people stay together that long! Some couples have used spite as an incentive and have stuck together not to give the other the pleasure of leaving (dying) first. Some stayed for the children, others the routine and yet a good number stayed for the reason that I would stay: love.
There would be no such thing as a nasty divorce if there were no feelings. And even in the event the feelings are extant, they usually cannot resist the great artistry of the master of erosion called Time. Then, any sequels of a dead love or feeling become an obstinacy that can be dealt with in solitary confinement after all else has failed by the recalcitrant party.
This man, recently a victim of the western way or modern way of life (someone needs to foot the blame), could have had it easy had he not been involved with this little girl. He was her father and as true as it is that fathers are attached to their daughters, the reverse is also true. I watched as the burden that was his, and mine ('cause he is my very good friend) was laid on him as the little girl refused to let go his hand.
He too didn't want to let go: either the tears that he thought I wouldn't notice (men don't cry) or the little girl's tiny fingers that she used to clutch two of his as if otherwise she would be set adrift and drown.
For a while, they stood there, daughter and father none knowing exactly how the other felt and I guessing that there was no need for the message was obvious. Then came the questions: why? What went wrong? Is it asking too much for this little girl to see daddy and mummy under the same roof?
The man breaks the silence:
- I will pick her up on Saturday he says.
- How will I get the money this month? Please don't be late like the last time. Remember what the judge said.
- I am sorry about the last time. I promise it will not happen again. Let's go he says and walks out.
Later I drove and offered no words. None were necessary. Then I drifted into my own thoughts and when I turned to look his way, I noticed his fist was still clenched where her fingers had been. I wonder where he wet his fingers though. It wasn't raining.
9:52 pm est
Monday, April 3, 2006
Getting everyone to agree
Of course, the francophones will call it "un coup de genie": I got everyone who cares about me to hate me and say it explicitly or imply so. I know you reading this certainly want me to call names, but how can I knowing how close my Cameroonian community is.
I am also sure you think this is an open close case of self mortification. Bastardly smart you... Okay you got me, I can explain: I was abused by my kith and kin and I am an innocent prey in the hands of family hawks whose timing in demands is beyond perfection.
Can't they all see I can only pay one debtor at the time.
How I got to owing everybody that matters to me, only God can understand: a dying friend, the IRS, my daughter, mother, ex-wife and the whole bunch of others who think I am a lazy a-hole who takes comfort in watching others suffer. What a world: the world of the African, eternal underachiever, shunned by his own community, never given the respect that he thinks he deserves. It is a real world though if you are african and live in the
7:35 pm est
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Pour être assez bon...
Grappling with academia, and fitting in a society that is gradually and inexorably gearing towards le paraitre is a very challenging piece of cake to say the least. All ends are sweet and the bite will give instant gratification if the portion is soft. Dryer sections will take some time and saliva, but we'll eventually get there, and the taste is usually ... Well let's just say good.
These are the choices we are faced with sometimes surreptitioulsly in life. You all know I drive a mercedes-benz, right? Well now you do. I am amazed at how many people judge me by the car I drive. Certain qualities that I did not possess now are heightened, not because I am worth it like in the commercial, but because I "look it". My persuasions that the bank owns the car that I drive have yielded very limited results. Nice car! I hear all the time to which sometimes as a favor is never kept it is always returned I would add "you have a nicely preserved one too..." or something along those lines.
Our new life in these
So I invite these guys to my house and of course they prepare their sights for one of those lavish/slavish houses that I drive by swallowing my saliva and wishing everyday that God would grant me the luck to win the lottery and live in one. Hear my friends "you can live in one too. All it takes is hard work!" Listen to me friends, I babysit the american kid everyday in the guise of education, how much harder should I work?
So evidently and I think pleasantly too, they are surprised that I live in a dirty apartment...with a 23' tv set and a sofa+loveseat that my mother helped me to buy because she was scared to believe me when I said that I did'nt mind sitting on the bare floor.
I like these friends, they are genuine. The others, and that includes of course my mother, are ashamed of me. My mother who I can't leave out of this because she can't leave out of her conversations is too concerned about what "people think", despite my assurances that "people" is a guy or girl with issues of her/his own and that her life is not worth a line in their conversations. No not my mum. She is absolutely schizophrenic when it comes to what people think. Recently, I have quite unexpectedly found fortune, albeit a minimal amount, but decent enough to buy you a coffee table set in my mother's phobia for the imagination of "People". I need to invite more friends over to my "empty" apartment.
Immersed in this chimera of pleasing people, we have drifted into total oblivion of who we really are to be concerned with what people think we should be. In me they have a heady one. Guys laugh at my dressing! How revealing! How interesting! My pants are too tight! But I got a reason guys. I hold my daughters hands in one hand and my wife's in the other: which one will I use to constantly adjust my dropping pants smartass?
I love life, not as we are told it should be, but as it is: a game. In this game, you have to be trop bon pour l'être assez.
12:49 am est
Wednesday, February 1, 2006
Feeling groovy
Still around and feeling good. Got up this morning and for some reason, just felt like kissing everyone, ok, not everyone, but you know what I mean. This is partly as a result of finding a purpose. Each time something exciting happens in my life, I always feel important and useful. Yesterday, I decided I was going to work on a website for my division, Manyu, situated in the South West
I have also remarked that my joy and drive in life come from simple things like this and nothing suits and pleases me more than something that is done with feeling and passion. I can be obstinately passionate if you have not realised. Just ask the women who have known me. So let'sa see how much passion I put into this idea.
Some friends have also encouraged me to write to CBS or FOX about the ideas that I have. Imagine that! How can I explain to this people who for some reason owe loyalty to my inexistent literary genius that ... well that some ideas are good after a beer or two to boost your ego and importance and that you should not be reminded about them in the morning or in sober conversations? So much for grandeur.
What is wrong with marriages today? A friend of mine just called me and explained his woes. It was a one-sided story and I was not fooled by his proclaimed innocence, but still, what do we want? When we look at our partners do we say "I can't believe she/he and I are together. I still love her/him so" or do we say "I know I can do better?" I think the answer lies in these two sentences. Which one do you repeat to yourself constantly?
Well I still feel gooooooood! And that is a fact!
7:34 am est
Friday, January 27, 2006
MY TINY LITTLE CUBICLE
PRELUDE
Are you afraid of death? Have you thought about yours? I, think like the average ndividual, have given some thought to my death as can be surmised from my poem below. What has caused me to publish this is because my mother and my wife (ex?) have pervaded my ears with ideas of death, my death. No, they did not say I was going to die. I concluded. My wife said, after an accident I had that a "seer", or a prophetess told her that this accident was just a warning of a worse to come. In the next one, there will be death or dismemberment. Of course I am a reasonable man and so I scoff these prophecies. Then last week, my mother dreamt that I was wedding. Later on, my sister added that those dreams mean death. And my mother to add: her "banya" dreamt that she wedded their husband and later on, he died. I am driving about 90MPH. My speed drops all of a sudden and she adds that she also dreamt that her uncle appeared to her in a dream and that also means someone is going to die. OK, I think now even a reasonable man like myself can sometimes be plagued by some of these... predictions(?)
So, in case this is my last posting, I must tell you who read this that I am not the least afraid and have looked at this whole experience from a different perspective. Maybe those of us living may cling to life because we have a lot to gain, preserve, etc. As far as I am concerned, life is a series of unfortunate events interspaced with a few spasms of pleasure. It is ephemeral waiting. Waiting for tomorrow, to go to the grocery store, to go to college, to pick up that check, to have sex, to get married, to divorce, to drink...
I am also happy with the idea of never having to grow old, never having people to talk to me like to a child. Having had control(?) over my destiny so far. Dying young, attractive, useful and ... penniless.
I am not apprehensive for I have seen less courageous people to it. My friend Judith Arung, my stepfather, my cousin Joe and all those dear departed ones.
Here's a poem I wrote in 1999 when I was a teacher in Eyumojock.
In my tiny little cubicle,
I shall have fun so
Oh how I shall have fun!
When I see the windchasers,
After relics speed to:
Medals, viagra, boudoirs,
Paraphernalia, stamps, cannabis,
Kalanishkovs, pills, DV lottery,
Wall street, IP(planetary)BM...
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!...
Oh how I shall have fun!
Even when the water surrounding my bones,
Shall flow exposing my harder parts.
But, I shall flinch when mom throws the soil
On my smaller cubicle.
Farewell mum, I now float with the flow.
I shall not be bored.
I say, I shall NOT be bored.
There will be wars to watch,
The pope, the wanderers, the sons of ...
Bill the lecher at his works again, Isreal and neighbors,
Another civil war in
...
Say what a program.
I shall have fun, I say!
Oh how I shall have fun.
In my tiny little cubible.
I will see you soon.
And you weep for me?
Eyumojock, 2/28 and 3/2/1999
9:27 pm est
Wednesday, January 4, 2006
The Making of a Killer
http://nl.newsbank.com/nojavascript.html
Around the world, suckers and soccer moms, priests, rapists and murderers are made on a daily basis. As a man plucks life out of another, let's examine a phenomenon: the making of a murderer.
In this endeavour, I will limit myself to personal experiences lived and/or heard. In the event where outside verifiable sources are used, I will awknowledge them. This posting is by no means a scientific analysis, nor does it stem from empirical travail, far from that it is an attempt by an individual to understand why someones chooses the option of becoming a murderer.
We know how babies are made. Or do we? How minds and mindsets are made is still a mystery at least to simple folks like yours sincerely. The copmlexity of the human mind has led to the destruction of temples, the batrayal of peoples, the creation of world wars, the wonderful sounds of music, the
It did not start with Cain, it will not end with the driveby in
There are many motives to murder, the oldest being survival of the fittest. This means that the death of the other being is a threat to the survival of another and in this case any means employed by the surviving party to protract its existence is justified. Machiavelian? The term survival here can be broadended to include simply enjoying the pleasures of life (a mother murders a baby because it is a potential threat to her "future" enjoyment). This is not a new or geographically bound phenomenon. Am I wrong? Another example could be war. A powerful atomic/nuclear-weapons-possessed neighbour could be a threat to a subject's existence hence the need to seek normalcy could result in war, normalcy construed here as being a relatively peaceful and conducive environment for all kinds of growth. In the same light, it will be "normal" for a child to murder the parents (or at least think of them as an emcumberance) to enjoy the inheritance that their(parents') good health jeopardizes.
Jealousy. Literally, a jealous attitude or disposition. Jealous, fearful or wary of being supplanted; apprehensive of losing affection or position, resentful or bitter in rivalry; envious. (the American heritage college dictionary) Hmm very interesting. A word to describe how we feel when that other person gets a promotion, when a neighbour buys a new luxury car, when the son of autrui succeeds while ours trails. As a human being, it will be inhuman not to be jealous. If you have never been jealous, it is my pleasure to meet you, Mr. or Mrs. Liar.
But still, how does a such a trite and perennial disposition like jealousy wrought a mature man's mind to mastermind murder? It is not hard to fathom if you can trace the machinations of Iago in Shakespeare's Othello. Jealousy, dual fold jealousy: the success of Othello as a general; the love of Desdemona disturb Iago to the point of perplexity and insomnia and it becomes his self-appointed agenda to destroy and be evened "wife for wife". The result is a fascinating piece of artistry (murder and suicide) as the gullible Othello finally asks "how shall I kill her...?"
Hitherto, killing restored the honour of cuckolded husbands while betrayed wives cried themselves to death or took the heed "get thee to the nunnery". While times have changed and it is no longer the proclivity to kill for honour, the fact still remains that honour, as elusive and nonsensical as it may sound to some is "the immediate jewel of the soul" for others to concur with Cassio in the aforementioned drama.
Interlude: A: My dear friend, before I die, I have a confession
to make.
B: What is it?
A: I was the one who robbed our company.
B: I know.
A: I also slept with your wife.
B: I know. I also have a confession.
A: What is it?
B: I gave you the poison that is killing you...
Love is a wonderful feeling, be it reciprocated or unreciprocated. I can hear you echo unreciprocated? Yes, that's what I said. Don't you feel flattered to be loved by someone whom you do not love? It is wonderful to be in love.
But then, imagine the opposite of elation, jubilation, ecstacy. Imagine perpetual turmoil, the subtle rantings of base men on your manhood constanntly whispering in your sanity; la risee de tous; the headline of every conversation on infidelity. Imagine the loved partner who swore to you everlasting love and fidelity now panting like a gay dog trying to cool down in the arms of another. Would you kill? Imagine that the secrets of your love chamber, the deep confessions of a partner to a partner only are shared with an imposed and jubilant rival. Imagine a hand, not yours, countouring the curves of your loved one. Imagine the sweat ... the smell... Would you kill?
Some would.
The human mind as complex and complicated as it may seem, I believe has a maximum capacity after which it is bound to either crack or vegetate. All closely imprisoned forces render and destroy. I think that line is Thomas Hardy's. It is therefore the individual's task to practice the necessary restraint to stay within the confines of what is termed "acceptable behavior" by society or the conscience which is also society's brainchild.
John DOUGLAS, a best-selling author and former FBI profiler has written that serial killers are made not born. In the same light, all killers are not born they are instead slowly molded by their societies to become that same society's paria. Confessions of known killers range from killing for revenge to satisfaction passing through self-aggrandisement. Killing starts as a joke, a play, an idea, a theory, but it always ends in unimaginable pain and suffering when you are involved. From a distance, it is the other's thing. It is elusive. It happens to others only. It was so until a friend of mine shattered everything for me and left me wandering "could this happen to me"
I have killed many people, some a thousand times. Will I one day have the courage to carry my mind's acts to a higher level? I hope not, because up to now I have proven myself to be a coward. I hope to stay that way.
When one day, I see you, I hope I have the courage to say to you my dear friend (now is not the time for desertion) you did a wonderful act to restore your honor, but it was a useless and senseless act which only a fool can be capable of. I also know that you were a fool then. Fools must pay their dues too.
To the rest of us who watch and yearn for entertainment, here's one. One you played a role in by virtue of being part of society. You could have averted this and spared us this tearful episode, but who's right, whose fault?
Why did you do it my friend? Why did you hurt us?
10:25 pm est
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
A Wreath for
Good tidings I bring from the shores of Optimism.
You have gone where fettered chauvinistic humans
Made and molded on now-apparent Chimera and isms
Have feared to tred for fear of stupid trite commands.
From thence hope has soared and its flames must be
Fed by the intense fire to see it all be a challenge,
Not by the blood-sucking, dust-raising havoc-savvy
Bastards who were fed by fecal waste and revenge.
It must be you who know the hardship in the task
You who must not judge on the slightest grudge
You who know that a feeble step in the right track
Is worth a gazillion steps back to the gorge's edge
And we will all wait patiently to see if anything good
Can come out of
We need to shame some sceptics from the old school,
Who patiently wait for failure on the same old stool.
Go
Nkosi sikeledi
4:25 pm est
3:46 pm est
Who's right whose wrong!
This looks attractive as a title, n'est-ce pas? Most certainly you think you are about to bask into some well-knit precis of life. Or you imagine you are going to read some intellectual cliche, judgement freshly handed down from some supercilious American court or better still, be the judge to some trivial amorous matter? Let me warn you, the language will be sometimes offensive as well as the content, but my opinions n'engage que ceux qui m'ecoutent
Whatever be the case, I am happy to displease you. You see, I have found my new haven in this page, a place where I can finally say without trying (unsuccessfully) to conceal my intentions what I feel about this "waiting setup" called life.
By the way,
Sorry about that interlude. Now back to the title. I have no idea how this business of stripping
I have looked on, forwarded the mail, pacified my conscience and moved on. I have held social debates on the issues, tipped my two cents and moved on. What more could I do? What could you do? I am like you, the life support device for a forlorn clan of beggars called countrymen, nay relatives. I do not insult them, but I do admit my language sometimes suggested the above description. I am sorry, but that's still what you have been reduced to.
And now that all the money is gone into a foreign account for the benfit of so few, the tormentors (what else could they be my brothers and sisters) now tax the untaxable to run their country. For whose good? Hey you don't have to be a sage to know that, if what you want is hair, you must exclude the tortoise from your list of donors.
I even made the mistake of thinking that the catholics really understand the bible. The Jesus Christ the son of God understood the difficulty of building/rebuilding. That is why, eventhough he could, he never destroyed even for illustrative purposes. But you see, being a subsaharan-African-politician-christian does come with certain undecipherable (to the common man) privileges like reducing lifestyles,
creating drunkenness, destroying jobs, creating indebtedness, and even destroying well-built roads! Certainly, these guys are above celestial reproach. For how else could it be. Yet the churches proclaim their might.
They flaunt their riches in downtown DC, or
But, whose fault is it anyway, the ourang-outang who cajoled the female into a sexual escapade or the absentee landlord who stared passively, waiting for the rape to be over to gain back his bruised female. Sons and daughters of baboons you all! Not you. Well if you feel like you are...
Time belongs to the people!
3:46 pm est
My info
I'll post all the basic information about me that I'm comfortable sharing, including things like my background and location.
About this blog
I started this blog to satisfy my desire to express an opinion about current affairs. I don't think silence is golden in certain times and on certain issues. For instance, albeit it is true that killing someone out of jealousy is a "normal" occurence, one should not be exonerated on such basis and people should be advised on other avenues for seeking revenge and or expiation.
Indomptable dans l'esprit.
Yep, that's me!
'Tis good you give him fish, but better (for you!)you teach the lazy man how to go gitit!
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