Enlightened Anarchy

To me political power is not an end but one of the means of enabling people to better their condition in every department of life. Political power means capacity to regulate national life through national representatives. If national life becomes so perfect as to become self regulated, no representation becomes necessary. There is then a state of enlightened anarchy. In such a state every one is his own ruler. He rules himself in such a manner that he is never a hindrance to his neighbour. In the ideal State, therefore, there is no political power because there is no State. But the ideal is never fully realized in life. Hence the classical statement of Thoreau that that government is best which governs the least.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi; Young India, July 2, 1931

The PiFF Annual Report

The Pay It Forward Foundation Uganda is a little more than a year old. Here's what we've been up and what we hope to get up to this year and many others after.

The PiFF Annual Report

Later this year, we will be officially launching the 'Big Brother Big Sister' mentorship project/program/whatever you wish to call it. Those of you interested in taking part will be able to do so then. I will be in touch with the details in due course.

Otherwise, mahalo.

Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet

Take a moment, everyday, to breathe

Stretch life and limb, and feel

Listen, the bell upon the hill

Chimes and counts the hour of three

Be free.

Swish

Why am I here? Not here on earth but on this blog, like right now. I mean, it's not like I have kb for you or anything, I just felt like letting some words out.

You ever been there feeling restless for no apparent reason? Like there's all this stuff welling up inside that wants to come out and you can't quite figure out how to let it flow? There's a picture in my head, of you and me and I like the hues, strokes and scents. The scenes change, merging one into the other with a subtlety that would put the sun, rising and setting, to shame. And yet you and I remain.

No Fear

 There is a violence in my soul but I know it is borne of fear. I fear not you, nor the sword you raise to cut me down. I fear that you will never know, how much I love you all.

There's Always Porn

The alarm goes off at 06:00, the Rundfunker radio clock is well into its tenth year of service, trusty old Rundfunker.

“Good morning good denizens, if you’re just joining us this is Azazel and Beelzebub on the ‘Fiery Morning Show’ and today’s special guest is JEZEBEL, queen of Babylon. Welcome your highness. Now, there’s something our listeners want to know, how was it with Ahab and what the hell, forgive me, was that vineyard stuff all about?........”

It’s loud, loud enough to jolt her from sleep and dream world. It’s old too, imbued with the memories of the years, the moves across the continent, the piece of junk car, lonely motel rooms, endless highway, and Machine Town of course. She got it in Machine Town, a parting gift from Teri before she went to war, to fight with those like her for a future without her.

It’s a good piece of work too, she can picture the machines gliding on the assembly track, graceful mechanical hands dancing, a resistor here, a capacitor there, all under the watchful eye of the assembly plant manager, man and machine, at their best.

Five more minutes and then she’ll go make breakfast. She reaches out a hand to the bedside table; book, keys, phone, aah, she hits the Rundfunker, pulls the comforter over her head and returns to the world of the machines; man and woman and machine. She drifts.

She wakes ten minutes later, she is trapped. The cave is a dead end, she shouldn’t have run down here but she had to keep moving. After the bridge, she had to run and find a safe place to hide. The bridge, Oh God! It couldn’t be true! But she had seen it with her own eyes.

His foot was stuck. The machines were coming. The timer was running down. His foot was stuck. She screamed at Machine to cut him loose, even if it meant losing the foot but the thing was in a trance, walking slowly back onto the bridge, back to the machines. There was fury in its eyes, red burning fury fixed at the oncoming horde. We’re all going to die, she thought. John grabbed her hand and placed the RAD into her palm.

“Get this back to CENTCOM and give it to Mobius. Only Mobius.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“You don’t have a choice, they’ll be on us in thirty, Machine is not responding to any command, he seems drawn to the horde. Tell Mobius, he owes me, I told him this damn thing would let us down.”

“No. No no no no no. I’m not leaving you here.”

“Go. Now!”

Machine had at this point reached the base of the bridge tower where she and John huddled. John’s back against the railing, struggling to free his foot, and her struggling to pull him loose with no luck

“I can cut it off”

“There’s no time Misty, this is an order. Go. GO NOW!”

Machine stopped, his tall hulk obscuring the light of the oncoming horde, silhouetting his majestic frame against the forest night, he was not Machine anymore, he was something more, a wonder to behold. He leaned down, picked her up and swung her like a discus, all the while screaming at her to “Flex. FLEX. FLEX!” The bridge exploded, a bright orange light illuminated the night, a ringing sound as she sailed through the air, screaming, then darkness.

Kingston 12

"There is a lot of goodie goodie down in a Kingston 12
Don't be no, don't be no little stock on the shelf
Do unto you breda like you do to yu self
Good healthy body value more than wealth
So big up all the massive in Kingston 12
Dem nuh want no lickie lickie in Kingston 12
Dem nuh want no none progressive in Kingston 12
Dem nuh want no lazy body in Kingston 12
A chapter a day keep the devil away
So read your Bible go down on your knees and pray
Ask GOD Almighty guide you day by day
Go down in di ghetto and hear what the people a say"

Ahimsa or The Way of Nonviolence

Plato said long ago, "There always are in the world a few inspired men whose acquaintance is beyond price"

I am reading a book titled "All Men Are Brothers" which is a collection of autobiographical reflections by Mahatma Gandhi. I have started building my code, the principles I hope will take me through my thirties and well into adulthood. 

Ahimsa literally means 'the avoidance of violence - himsa'. It means kindness and non-violence towards all living things including animals; it respects living beings as a unity, the belief that all living things are connected.

I have at my core, a belief that all life is sacred and should be treated as such. When I was younger, and it happened to be one of those occasions that called for the enjoyment of kikoko, I always volunteered to do the honors of execution or slaughter. Of course my primary motive was to secure the liver and heart, which I put on a skewer, roasted for a few minutes and painfully enjoyed as the time lag between getting them off the fire and into my mouth was at best 10 seconds to whoosh some cold air onto the sizzling bits. But oooh, were they yummy! However I recall always being struck by the fact that I was ending a life, that somehow I was playing a very big role and that I needed to accord it as much respect. I would look the chicken in the eye, say a prayer and in very quick sawing motions, sever head from body. The body always writhed, as blood spurted and splattered on the banana leaves. I held tight until the writhing stopped and then got down to the plucking of feathers, dissecting, and cleaning. 

We played games with beetles, my childhood friends and I, we would stick a pin through the thorax or thereabouts, tie a string to it and then let the beetle fly while holding onto the string. After we had been introduced to the marvels of electric lighting, my brothers and I took advantage of the allure of the lights to take pot shots at the geckos that always sauntered close looking for dinner, the lights attracted all sorts of insects in the nighttime. I have never forgotten those moments, writhing bodies, severed tails, malicious laughter and glee, little boys.

Some boys never grow up. The instruments of torture and malice employed in childhood, gradually evolve into the fists of the brute and the animal within is never tamed.

"Man as animal is violent, but as Spirit is nonviolent. The moment he awakes to the Spirit within, he cannot remain violent. Either he progresses towards ahimsa or rushes to his doom."

Happy New Year

It's amazing isn't it? One year goes by and another takes its place, seasons come and go and yet it all seems to stay the same. I've made tons of resolutions not least of which is to take back my body from the snatchers, I think I will emulate the Shinigami this year, or the Samurai. I want to devise a code of conduct that will serve me well through my thirties but I subscribe to various beliefs, some of which are in eternal conflict. So, if you find me variously coloured any day this year or for the rest of my life, do not worry for my sanity, I suspect that deep down is still a very rational me that looks upon my deeds and laughs, cries, shakes his head and ambles off to suck his thumb. It is well, it is happy, it is full of promise and there is a rainbow against the sky. The storms have passed, and the wanderer may walk forth.

So I will walk on the earth, for there lies the path to coloured skies. I will sit beside the calm waters and know the depths of the hidden heart. If must needs, I will soar on the winds and be the master of change. But to home, I shall trudge with a free heart and leave the world at the gates of the stead.

My Boy Builds Coffins

My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails
He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails
He doesn't make tables, dressers or chairs
He can't carve a whistle 'cause he just doesn't care

My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor
Kings and queens them all knocked on his door
Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves
They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please

My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day
But it's not just for work and it isn't for play
He's made one for himself, one for me too
One of these days he'll make one for you
For you, for you, for you

My boy builds coffins for better or worse
Some say it's a blessing, some say it's a curse
He fits them together in sunshine or rain
Each one is unique, no two are the same

My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame
That when each ones been made, he can't see it again
He crafts every one with love and with care
Then it's thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair

My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day
But it's not just for work and it isn't for play
He's made one for himself, one for me too
And one of these days he'll make one for you
For you, for you, for you

....................... Florence and the Machine

Patience

Sabali, Sabali, Sabali, yonkontê
Sabali, Sabali, Sabali, kiye
Ni kêra môgô
Sabali, Sabali, Sabali, yonkontê
Sabali, Sabali, Sabali, kagni
Ni kêra môgô

Huh, we born not knowing, are we born knowing all?
We growing wiser, are we just growing tall?
Can you read thoughts? can you read palms?
Huh, can you predict the future? can you see storms, coming?
The Earth was flat if you went too far you would fall off
Now the Earth is round if the shape change again everybody woulda start laugh
The average man can't prove of most of the things that he chooses to speak of
And still won't research and find out the root of the truth that you seek of
Scholars teach in Universities and claim that they're smart and cunning
Tell them find a cure when we sneeze and that's when their nose start running
And the rich get stitched up, when we get cut
Man a heal dem broken bones in the bush with the wed mud
Can you read signs? can you read stars?
Can you make peace? can you fight war?
Can you milk cows, even though you drive cars? huh
Can you survive, Against All Odds, Now?

......................Damian Marley

Idealogoue 5.5.5 and Make the Children Smile

Be Better

This past weekend was ballistic among many other things. It all begun with the PiFF meet at Kyoto which as always is a great way to start any weekend. The meet was well attended and there was a new face, Brad 'Strobe Light' Strobel of Kampala International Church. After the various activities that take place at 'PiFF meetings', I hooked up with other members of the 'Monday Think Tank: Side B' and we proceeded to the 'High Priestess' home for a reasoning and grounation and other such stuff.

If I was to relay the goings on of the think tank, I would run the risk of becoming persona non grata in the tank, so let it be known that I made my way home at 7:30 am, after breaking my no drinking rule again, no, wait, its December already so am back on the booze. Speaking of which, nothing beats beer, no siree, nothing. I have been informed that it makes for a good power breakfast, but I am yet to experiment.

Anyway, I got home and decided I would get an hour's sleep before I run off to the 'Yellow House' to prepare for the xmas party. No such luck. After flirting with sleep for 30 min, drifting in and out of Morpheus' realm, I got a call from Beqy and decided to abandon the nap.

The xmas party. Last year when the PiFF was starting out, the first activity we did was to help chaperone a kids xmas party.

smile for the camera sweetie

'Make the Children Smile' is a group of young, passionate, mostly cute, vibrant gals and boys who, much like PiFFers, provide support to the Oasis of Life orphanage and each year they organise a christmas party for the children at the orphanage, oh, they do Easter as well and I'm sure Abid can get them to organise an Idd party.They have been kind enough to let the PiFF in on their parties and allow us to add our meagre contributions and it was in this spirit that Saturday found us heading to Kiwatule Recreation Center for the annual, 'Make the Children Smile' (are u tired of reading that phrase yet? bse I'm not done with it :-) ) xmas party.

Before I could head there, I had to send out an email to Strobe Light concerning PiFF activities and the like so that the PiFF can receive support from his church. Over the past year, I have written various documents about the PiFF that sometimes I feel like exploding when someone walks up to me and asks, "So, what's this piffy, piffing, ePiFFany stuff about anyway?" But, as always, I compose myself and launch into how the PiFF is simply an idea and that's what we're in the business of, nothing tangible I say, its all about the stuff in your head.

There's this nice coffee shop in Kigowa, 'The Haven' its called, its not bad at all, nice muffins and there's an internet cafe next door with a hot spot, so you can enjoy a cup of chai while surfing the internets. I decided to stop by and send the email. The internets is big, everytime I log on, I get carried away. Ooh, there's this site, theurf.com, I found the link on uginsomniac's blog, it's malarious, hilarious stuff. Have you been to urbanlegendkampala.com? Baz, Streets, Sleek and Erique doing their thing, its brilliant. Hey, what do you guys think about WikiLeaks? I think its an amazing achievement that would never have been possible but for willing people and the internets. Interestingly, the man behind the idea is now facing sexual offence charges which of course have nothing to do with WikiLeaks. Hmmph! I think an idea is hard to kill, if not impossible, and it won't be too long before something better than WikiLeaks comes along, also, once information is out on the internets, it's a wrap! You might as well shut down a gazillion websites but it's always out there somewhere, being peddled by those who excel at it, those who push the boundaries of human knowledge.

While I was sending the email, I received two calls, the first from Beqy informing me that I was late and that they would have to leave without me, I told her I would find her at the party later and proceeded to order some food. You know, fat frog and all. Then I got a call from one of my clients, the big guy could not access his email and the world had come to a stop, someone had to come and fix it, eh eh. Knowing how important email is to business, coupled with a bit of cajoling from my business partner, I decided to go and sort out said problem. But I was in Ntinda, the party was in Kiwatule and the client in Bugolobi.

I had previously agreed to hook up with Becca of 'The House on Friendship Road' on my way to the party so I headed to her place. Becca, Carlo and Darlyne are roomies and I have been spending a lot of time at their hewis[house]. They made me watch Glee! Its this series where everyone keeps breaking out in song. I found Carlo who was in the midst of sending a message via facebook, she was totally engrossed, facebook yaja! I called Becca and she was in Muyenga, doing Yoga, she would be back in 30min. Darlyne was out there somewhere, no doubt up to some interesting stuff, she does many interesting things that one. Anyway, I put one foot in a hammock and the other in Zion and decided to take a nap. No such luck, so I just lay in the hammock and looked at the sky, trees, listened to the birds, I thought I could hear the damn grass grow. Grating of metal, the gate was opening, Becca was back, 45min, not too bad. I should pick a leaf.

After she'd taken a shower, dressed up and what not (which amazingly didn't take too long), we headed to Bugolobi so that I could hook up the client. IT tech support is interesting, among many things, it requires a calm reflective mind, a willingness to learn and the ability to handle the unexpected. Thankfully, this job took 10 minutes to accomplish and another 20 to answer the client's questions, there are always questions, mob of them.

Paul, you bastard! I can see you :-)

We left Bugos and headed to Kiwatule and the xmas party. It was great, there was face painting, nice bus[food], happy kids, cute girls, fleeting butterflies, friends, PiFFers and interesting strangers. The snaps are on facebook. The bus was so nice, there were seconds and thirds, for the kids I mean. Compliments to the chef. Some kb, a kickabout, a doughnut and much more and then I had to prepare for a 5min presentation I was scheduled to make at the inaugural Idealogue 5.5.5 event.

So, there's these guys, they call themselves 'Speakers Without Borders', mbu they're in the business of banging unrestricted kb, Ssewa would say "syuuu! you're sloping, splash! splash!" but that was a long time ago. Speakers Without Borders, Xter Inc, Kitenge Spaces, The WorkZine and Emaline Graphics got together and arranged a kimeza and called it Idealogue 5.5.5. The idea was to have 6 presenters each make 5min presentations of ideas, concepts, things that they wanted to put out there, 5min for feedback and then I guess the conversation would carry on in other forms and on other forums. The PiFF was invited to take part and yours truly was oba chosen to make the presentation. Yours truly did not have the presentation ready by 4pm and the event was starting at 5pm.

The Scouts have a motto, 'Be Prepared' and if its the only claim you ever lay to being a scout, do it and always 'Be Prepared'.

4:30pm or thereabouts and I sat down with Eunice, Becca and Davinah to finalise the presentation. We had previously flirted with a few concepts, the best of which was to have 5 PiFFers each talk for one minute and tell a simple story about paying it forward, however this was deemed impractical due to the time available for preparations and other such things, so we decided to go with a classic powerpoint slide thingy. One hour later and we bundled ourselves into Becca's auto and headed to Workers' House for my first public presentation.

It went well, I was nervous at the beginning, sweated a little bit but I think and I'm told it was great! Yay! I banged all my kb and even had time to play for guys a Marley kids song, 'The Mission' which I thought summed up the PiFf idea.

"Haile Selassie say a one respect for every man
No care the race, no care the color nor di religion
So make a decision fi bun di division
Cause each and every human being fi trod pon di mission"

The Idealogue 5.5.5. was a success, though some of us broke the rules, we had more than 5 slides, we didn't have any pictures and in fact Davis, one of the organizers and he of the unbordered kb, had me panicking to fit some pics into the PiFF presentation. I did, and one of them prompted a question from the audience.

Dinner was served by Becca after the event, i.e., I had a nice dinner with Becca and then it was off to home to see my housemate and me landlord, i.e. pay my rent. My landlord was supposed to have locked up his hewis that night at 11pm if we hadn't come up with his gees, thankfully my housemate kept him at bay and I managed to come up with gees from my end of the world. I need a break from my landlord though, he once had the audacity to tell me that he was 'sponsoring my stay in Kampala', I wanted to throttle him but I had to smile nicely and tell him I was sorry his rent was late. Sheesh!

Having had that burden off my shoulders, I finally made it to the 'Yellow House' and found everyone else blasting. I duly joined in the celebrations and capped the night at about 1am.

Sunday morning and I was up at 6am for the MTN marathon. Becca, Carlo and Darlyne picked me up and we headed to Kololo. Huff puff muff and 1:13:21 seconds after some arbitrary start time, Franis Amuriat ambled over the finish line, begging for a pail of water.

So, I didn't register for the marathon and the Barefoot Power Firefly team had an extra number and chip which I put on and became Francis Amuriat from Amuriat.

It was pretty much winddown from there. Spliff, hammock, music, snatches of despicable me, sleep, drooling, long walk home with Richard and the weekend was over.

Today is Thursday and I still feel like I need a week of sleep.

You're Gonna Leave

Uhh! Which way from here
I’m caught up in the pages of my mind
And it’s not so clear
But it seems the hurt is way too much this time
Cause I see a vain look in your eyes
Tell me, do you see the same, same look in mine
Sandpaper kisses, papercut bliss
Don’t know what this is, but it all leads to this
You’re gonna leave, her
You have deceived, her
Ooh just a girl

Now here I go again
She said I’ll break her heart again
She plays the fool again
She said I’ll break the rules again
Though I disagree
She thinks she knows me more than me
It’s so hard to see
What this voice keeps telling me
Ooh just a girl with featherweight curls
To expose all she knows you play like tease
Just a girl with featherweight curls
To expose all she knows you play like tease
You’re gonna leave, her
You have deceived, her
Ooh just a girl

Written by Stephen Marley, Martina Topley-Bird, Nick Bird, Steve Crittall and Alex McGowan

Banana Muffin

Is this the best muffin in the world or what? Yuuummmm!

Missing Time

The first time it happened, I was in S.4. It was the beginning of the school term and my friends and I had gone to engage in the opening term ritual.


On the first day of the school term, it was a custom for the more daring students to catch the next taxi back to Kampala after being deposited by their unsuspecting parents at the school. The point of this was to, well, boys will always be boys, so we would go and explore the city and have fun because, hell, there was nothing better to do at school. So, after saying bye to mommy and daddy and promising to do very well in class this term, and a suitable timeframe to give the parents a head start, I jumped on a taxi and headed back to Kla, thrilled at breaking the rules.


Lots of alcohol, pool games, meanderings and whatnot, I found myself in a bar near the old taxi park. It was much like any bar near the park, tall wooden stools, plastic chairs, pool table in the centre of the room, watched from above by a television that seemed to pick up a very clear STV signal.


"That TV is very clear" I remarked after losing a game of pool and it's the last thing I remember from that night. I hazily remember too, scurrying under the barbwire fence back into school but it might have been a dream. I woke the next day and on attempting to open my eyes found that I had zero vision in my right eye. I raised my hand and gently felt the contours of my face, the topology was changed, a few bumps here and there obscured all vision from the eye. I tried to recall the events of the previous night and drew a blank after the remark about the TV. I was still drunk and knew it would take at least a few days before I was right again. I tried to piece the missing hours and gave up after a tale of dogs and mad men in Nakivubo was relayed by my companions. It was the first time I had a blackout, it would not be the last.


Alcohol is nice, period, but like all things, if taken to the extremes, then disaster most likely follows. I believe that all human beings use something; you know, to dull the pain of reality, remove the inhibitions, that little voice that keeps saying you'll regret this in the morning. Some use people, substances, activities, and the list goes on and on. Alcohol is the only substance I have so far come across that gives me 'missing time'. Every time it happens, I wonder what the hell I do and say bse I can't remember anything. I allegedly once proposed to a girl.

As much as I want to escape the madness in my head, I don't like the idea that I be running around without any mental checks. I mean, it might spell disaster for the planet. I figured out early on what my threshold was and how many beers it would take to get me there. I also discovered that after the first few good pints, it becomes a job, sipping shit because you want to stay in that ka heightened state but knowing that you've probably just sped past that point when you're actually having a blast and the next stop is shitface town. So drinking became an art, figuring out how to prolong the euphoria and what to do when you've bypassed it by 10pm on a Friday night.

 I used to have a simple rule about alcohol. No drinking was to be done if I was sad. I've broken this rule a million times in the past 18 months with devastating results. The last time I had a severe case of missing time was the Idd before last, I cozied up to a bottle of 'Absolut Death' and true to form I died. I woke up in the Bubbles' loo and I couldn't remember entering the place. I walked out, grabbed a baji home and swore off the sauce until further notice. I have since broken that rule twice more. Next year, I will not touch a drop, I think.

That being said. This christmas will see me do a couple of beers, for old time's sake.

Hey Baby

I’ll be gone a while away from you and I hope you overstand,
that I’ve got to do what I must do to be a better man.
Coz if I was just to act a fool, do nothing with myself,
then all my blessings would be cursed, my world would crumble in.
It’s a joy when I sit down and think, of the good times that we have,
and what we do to make it through, when the good turns to the bad.
Well I hope you’ll find it in your heart and know these words are true,
and please don’t fuss because I must go do what I must do.

Hey baby don’t you worry, even though the road is rocky, I’ll be coming home to you again.
Coz if you thought that I was lost, I had to bear my cross, now I’m free from all these chains.

Well a time, a space, a different place, how perfect we might be
Coz I would be the wind that blows, you’d be that willow tree
And I could never bear the thought of you not by my side
So I would be the warmth of day you’d be the cool of night
And every day I pray to Jah that one day you will see
And overstand the fact I must fulfil my destiny
And I hope you find it in your heart and know my words are true
And please don’t cry you know that I must do what I must do

Hey baby don’t you worry, even though the road is rocky, I’ll be coming home to you again.
Coz if you thought that I was lost, I had to bear my cross, now I’m free from all these chains.

Well and it’s not easy
Jah knows how I try, I try
So don’t you get weary
Jah knows how I try, I try

Life is one big road
With lots of signs and turns and twists and curves
Even though the road is rocky,
My main thing’s to rock and keep it rockin’
From city to city, backyard to yard
And we be seeing the sights
Standing under the lights
and the spot is hot, it’s cold and lonely at night
And I’m ‘feenin’ and I’m dreaming and I’m holding you tight
But hold on, every single road I roll on
Comes to an end and I’m back home again
So baby please don’t cry
There’s no valley low, and there’s no mountain high
And our love don’t die with the passage of time
It just grows more and just keep strong
And even though I’m gone, I am never too far
You’re the light through the dark shining right through my heart
So my journey must start

Hey baby don’t you worry, even though the road is rocky, I’ll be coming home to you again.
Coz if you thought that I was lost, I had to bear my cross, now I’m free from all these chains.

............................................................................................................  Stephen Marley

Call of the Rastafari

Mommy! mommy! mommy! I want to be a rastafari when I grow up!

I have a friend who keeps a blog subtitled "On the Road to Zion" which I hadn't visited in a while until a few minutes ago. She finally made her move into the style and fashion world, way to go Xiona, I'm rooting for you all the way.

I've been listening to Damian Marley these past few months and I can't believe I had never explored his music. First off, I'm a reggae fan, its always been uplifting music for me, I mean, who doesn't listen to Bob Marley's Three Little Birds and feel, you know irie?

Isaac, my philosopher and rastafari friend, had mentioned that most people have never explored the Marley kids' music and that he thought they were that much better than daddy, so I made a mental note to explore. I came across the Bruno Mars song with Damian Marley and the intro was enough to make me want to hear more and also finally try to learn this patois stuff.

Patois, according to Wikipedia, is any language that is considered nonstandard, although the term is not formally defined in linguistics, which is basically saying "it's some shit we don't quite understand". It sounds funky though, I mean, have you heard a guy speaking this stuff? It has a harmony to it that makes you want to sway, raise your hands to the sky and say hell yeah!

Anyway, I went and got Damien's albums by way of bittorrent, sorry Damian, and proceeded to sample dem tracks.

Damian 'Jr Gong' Marley was born July 21 1978. He was two years old when his father Bob Marley died and he is the only child born to Marley and Cindy Breakspeare, Miss World 1976. Damian's nickname Junior Gong is derived from his father's nickname of Tuff Gong. Marley has been performing since the age of 13. He shares, along with most of his family, a full-time career in music.

His first album was 'Mr Marley' which is rightly titled as it features many tracks from his dad's recordings and was released in 1996. I was then religiously losing mi religion. It leans more towards the traditional reggae style his father and others after popularised and was not a critical or commercial success. I particularly like 'Kingston 12', 'Me Name Jr Gong' and 'One cup of coffee' which has the following lines

'I brought the money like your lawyer said to do
Ain't nothing funny, babe I am still in love with you
Said I am leaving you tomorrow
I'll cause you no more sorrow
One cup of coffee then I'll go

Lord I say Susie Susie Susie mind you loose mi
Know mi love you bad yet you want to abuse mi
Try to treat you right but this affair confuse mi
Girl don't complain cause a you come fi choose mi
Mi sey Susie do, mind you loose mi
Though me love you bad and you want to abuse mi
Try treat you right but this a pure confuse mi
Gal no complain cause a you come fi loose mi'



Damian's next album was Halfway Tree which combines dancehall and hiphop styles to produce an amazing modern sound. The production (not that I know much about such stuff), done by his bro Stephen Marley,  is amazing. The drums and hooks on this thing are off the shizzy, seriously! but the oustanding aspect is the lyrics and Damian's delivery. Its like listening to a prophet in biblical times.

'Di youths dem saying justice ah weh dem really need overall
Di way dem deal wid mankind.... All mi gyal start ball
Justice ah weh di youths dem need overall
Di way dem deal wid mankind

She nah go cry fi no guy inna nah 3 piece suit
Nor no pretty bwoy inna nuh crisp Nike boot
She nuh ball fi nah dapper
She nuh cry fi nah doop
She shed those lonely tears
For di little ghetto youths weh balling

Stary stary X-News and Gleaner
Foot might be dirty but his heart is much cleaner
And those politicians fightin down sensimillia
Get up every day dem want fi run this arena

Extra, extra.... read all about it
Ghetto youths in need and there is no doubt about it
If baby want feed and can't do without it
Big 45 goin to scout it'

My best song on this album is 'Catch a Fire'. It's got an amazing array of drums, vocals are superb and the lyrics, wooo hooo! Its an angry oppressed youth anthem, albeit with some misplaced ideas but breathtaking nonetheless. It makes me jump up and shout and shout and shout!

'We nuh want no Babylon government
Weh ah burn down ganja man tent
And den ah come wid dem one bag ah tax argument
When we can't pay light bill and rent
Mi sight dem ah lead ghetto youths
Every which part dem went
And ah pure wrong corner dem bent
So next time, dem pass thru you and your crew
Don't give dem no encouragement'

Now, there's this song titled 'Give Dem Some Way' that has the longest nonstop spit and fire verse of lyrics I've ever heard. Its downright genius! Its damn amazing, long and delivered in one burst of rhyme and flow that makes you wonder how good the guy's lungs are! It's got a ballistic beat and a nice flute to spice up the melody, you just have to sample it to know what I'm talking  about. Here's the bit that kills me, after spitting all those words of revolution and power to the people, he goes "...Weh nuh rise till the revolution unfold" He he he..bide your time niggas, bide your time.

'You say that you love me, oh what happened to the love?' goes the hook up with Eve. Eve is the shit, the real deal when it comes to the female rap genre and I'm a lifelong fan. Except for catch a fire, this is the best collabo on the album. It brings out the blend of hip hop and dancehall in a most engaging manner.I mean, you feel powerless but to answer the girl's question and tell her, 'what happened to the love'. But wait, here's a sampling of Damian's lyrics

'What about di youths dem
Weh love fi breed off the girls
And still nah care for da youth dem
Wahapn to the boots dem
And hear wah mek go worse
Nuff a dem did have and nah use dem
Fire fi di bait who love using the girls
So friend can congratulate dem
Rasta nah rate dem
When dem abusing di girls
Gun shot for bwoy weh ah rape dem'

The album is overall a portrait of Damian's different worlds, his mother's more affluent uptown world and his father's roots in the ghettos of Kingston. Damian like all the Marley kids grew up as much in Rita Marley's household as in his mothers, infact Rita's household is considered the family HQ for all the Marleys. Bob had 8 kids outside his marriage to Rita (stray stray guy).

Welcome to Jamrock is Damian's most popular and successful album to date. Again, co-produced with his brother Stephen, it is his true coming of age as a musician. The combination of dancehall and hip hop started on Halfway Tree, like a good wine,  truly matures to produce such gems as 'Beautiful' ft Bobby Brown.

 This album is a masterpiece! Period. Hands down, pack your bags and go home.

'Cause them lost inna darkness beyond
And none shall escape except the ones, who
Exodus with no question,
Better put on your khaki uniform
If you-a' driver, leave unnu engine on
If you-a' rider jump pon a unicorn
Lace your shoes if you a pedestrian
Run for the border like a Mexican
Underarm smell green like a Leprechaun
Survival of Jah people'

'For the babies' is a song about, well, babies. Born and unborn. I have a personal experience with abortion and I have to say this song makes me feel very guilty.

'And always do your very best to keep a promise to your babies
And if you can't be good, at least be honest to your babies'

 When I started taking the herb a couple of years ago, we called it 'going to Zion'. See, Zion is the last place where all of humanity's children will gather to celebrate life, like Tank says in the Matrix, 'If this war ended tomorrow, Zion is where the party would be.' Again, according to Wikipedia (thank you Jimmy Wales!),


'In the Rastafari movement, "Zion" stands for a Utopian place of unity, peace and freedom, as opposed to "Babylon", the oppressing and exploiting system of the western world and a place of evil.'

Personally, Zion is akin to Valhalla, the corner office, that place that people refer to when they say we've made IT, the forests of my homeland, etc. So, you can imagine my joy at finding this song (On the road to Zion) and finally, partly, understanding why Xiona's blog is subtitled thus. It has been my anthem for a while, hopefully Xiona doesn't mind me borrowing it, and it showcases  the best of two worlds in Damian and Nas. It is probably the collabo that set the stage for this year's amazing, fantastic, beautiful, breathtaking, "Distant Relatives", Damian's work with the legendary Nas. I must confess that I had never really listened to Nas but after sampling this album. I have to bow down and chant RESPECT!

Sometimes you can lose sight of the things that matter in your world, lose focus and wander around aimless, sad, salty and bitter. This song has been a siren of hope, a call to which I was irresistbly drawn until I saw the light and heard the man say, 'We sparkin' the ions, marching to Zion / You know how Nas be NYC state of mind I'm in.' But again, listen to Damian go on this run

'In this world of calamity
Dirty looks and grudges and jealousy
And police weh abuse dem authority
Media clowns weh nuh know 'bout variety
Boom!

The youngest veteran a go murder dem slow
Ragga muffin sent to call me from the bush bungalow
Unnu watch mek I clear out my voice now Figaro!
Emerge from the darkness with mi big blunt a glow
Mi hammer dem a slam and spectator get low
Some bwoy coulda big like Bam Bam Biggalow
Bust of trigger finger, trigger hand and trigger toe
A two gun mi have mi bust dem inna stereo
Cause


I got to keep on walking on the road to Zion, man
We gots to keeps it burning on the road to Zion, man'

So, I'll see you in Zion and then I'll tell you about Distant Relatives.

Oh, and the best song on this album is 'We're gonna make it'.

"Yeah! Yes mi lion!
Always look on the brighter side of life, you know
Nuh must!

Now
Don't you ever give up
Don't you ever give in
Don't you ever give up
Don't you ever give in
Don't you ever give up
Don't you ever give in
We will have our way some day
Don't you ever 'dutty'
Cause a better you clean
Hail up King Selassie plus
Omega the queen
Don't you ever give up
Don't you ever give in
Cause I...

I know we're gonna make it
It's not too late, No!
We're gonna make it
Yeah
Yes I know
We're gonna make it
It's not too late
We're gonna make it,Yeah"

Below the line: Of the things you would know and measure

Most things you think you know are imaginary, and sometimes friends can be too, like when you’re young and there’s a 60ft alien robot by your side and together, you kick ass.

We are taken with the measurement of things, as a species, without a counting and weighing, we would be adrift and dysfunctional in the world of man.

What does a number mean to you?

One. There is me, I am here.

Two. It takes this much to make the first, most journeys are coloured thus.

Three. The Trinity; there is no spoon, nothing and no one but you.

Four. A full quota for each window in Johari’s house and if a glass be your measure then a full cup of life unto you.

There are many ways to measure and count the things that matter in our lives today. Man, in his incomprehensible urge to weigh his world has coined a magnitude of terms for data that you can pore through to your heart’s content. Today, all it would take to get you the price of a Yak on the Tibetan plateau is a six letter word, Google. Wherever there is a need in nature or human life, there will arise someone or thing to fill it, if the price is right. Google however, cannot tell you the measure of life on the plains, to know this you must journey to the land where the Yak is king, where the air is thin, dry and cold but the grass grows still, where with axe and hammer, we raise our dead to the skies and when the earth moves, we move with the wind and water to heal, the heart of life that yet beats within.

I have been, for one part, trained and educated an economist. One of the pitfalls of this is that one is bound to take a ruler to the world and measure; to what intents and purposes, asks the farmer, why weigh my animals, crops and fields and tell me I needs must more yield? Is this not enough for your soul and spirit? Would you have me build the granaries of the world in my backyard, to feed your fancy whenever it takes you?

Aye, I say, for I too, are in want of a soothing balm, a tonic from the madness of the world, whence I can sit apart and attempt to balance the scales, and seek a measure of equality.

The economist says that you are poor; she would have you be more in the material and that it seems the years will pass you by and you will not be when there is need of you. Why will you not listen, why will you not work, why not till the land and bring forth nature’s gifts that you so richly deserve? In the stead of wealth, you chase after big deals and fleeting dreams and consumed by the need and want that cannot be satisfied, you would rend all in your path.

I, you say, seek to give that which cannot be measured and to take that which is freely given by the earth. The fig feeds millions in the forest, each taking turn when the time is right, but you will reserve your charity for those you deem to deserve, yet the fig takes its due too, blessing or curse.

Here is the line, if you are below, then your life is worth less than enough, says the economist. You are in need of ambition my brother; don’t stop reaching for a higher branch.

The economist in me knows where the line is, and despite being taught to avoid it with the fear of the reaper, I have wandered perilously close these many months past. See, the reaper is my friend, she was with me at the beginning of this tale and I will see her again, when it is wound up. You have nothing to fear, son of man, even if you should wander across many a line, forget not that the world is yours and you are king, and accord the farmer his due and he will let you drink of the life giving streams that run through his fields, says the reaper.

There is no fear in me, I cross the line of my own volition and tell myself that I am changed forever, I will not return I say, not the me that was. The me that would have waited for you, by the well, is gone. I have a pot of water and it must go back to the mother, for she would make life with it. I will look for you, on my next turn and throw of the die; I would have you in my picture, below or above the line.

Everything has a price. No; you will never truly understand this until you learn the wisdom of it in your own time. See, there are things human beings believe are beyond measure, like the love of God. The preacher by the wayside screams with fervent gestures, praying for your soul, certain of its damnation he has taken the mill upon his neck, he will save you, he says, so he screams and shouts at all that you do and yet he is only sound and fury to you, paying the price of an old tale whose light and love would ask that you burn out your heart. I stepped across the line and found many a prophet on the other side. If you would seek to be set up as judge, you must risk the hangman’s noose and be judged first and to be thus, is to open the door of your temple to the world, unafraid of its foundations. It is not an easy price to pay, some do it for money, some for love and others claim there is no measure of man for the things they do, but you are man, only man can measure and judge you.

What does it mean to be poor? I have often thought that it is to lack the will to build a life as you would wish it to be but there are measurements that most people hold as a standard; a roof over your head, food to eat, and a passion to while away the years but most important of all, people to share and love. Every human life should be dignified and respected and where does it start but in your own solitary husk and shell? When you live below the line, you fight for an identity that does not burn like paper; it is a struggle with inner demons that is only necessary for a lack and want of knowledge. You would seek to define yourself by the rolling hills and trees of the lands you come from; you say that to ask you to descend from the trees and share with the world your wit and intellect and view of the universe is to lay a heavy burden upon you, so you would do with speaking fees. Perhaps, the name of father and mother can be worn with pride or you will build from the ground and rise higher than yonder tower in Babel, whatever your concourse, you must find unity in your body, soul and spirit. The longer you wander the paths, the wilder your spirit grows, and you should be wary of it overcoming the soul and body.

I have always looked at the 'gentleman' on the street and known that but for a fortunate turn of events, there is me. Poverty is borne of fear, it is the desperation that tomorrow, there will not be enough, so you would gather all of yourself but never have enough for a day.

So, I shall look upon you on the street without pity or fear, for I am you too, I can be you if life should seek it of me again, but if I should have the power, I will rise and hope that one day, you will rise too and walk back to your home.

Reality Check

Today, I didn't feel like getting out of bed. My alarm went off at seven am as usual, which is set 30min ahead so it was actually six thirty in the morning, I had woken up thirty minutes earlier to go to the loos, feeling the discomforts of an empty stomach, a fortnight of antibiotics and the dull heavy weight of the crumbling walls of that little house that is your world. It's always noiseless, even when you expect to hear a heavy thud and the splintering of wood, when that house that is your world falls. Why? I don't know, life is just that way, it moves, without expectation or heed to be held back for anything. Not even for you and me.

I lie awake and wonder what the hell I should do today. I have to make sure I put up the rugby website by the end of the day, then I have a to do list, carried forward from the last several weeks and months, with each item achieving a different rank and status, starting bottom of the list, making its way up and getting ticked off.

Don't you make lists? Of the many things you want, will, must or should do in life. I do. I find that it helps me to make sense of things. I do it in my head first, after looking at the picture as much as I can, I make a mental note that I will, for my part, add this to it. Sometimes its about starting a relationship afresh, with a new perspective on life as it should be. I once got it into my head that I should write a ten thousand word article, poem, story on something of great import, but that was a list I made sometime ago. I will tick it soon enough and send it off to the funny man, who sometimes just wants to be taken seriously.

So, I lay there, looking at my ceiling, wondering how to go out into the world today and make some money, because that is what my life has come down to. A simple game of numbers. I know it is so much more but I think I have somehow willed myself into this poverty and now it is all I can think about and how to truly escape it. Then I remember that I am just broke, not poor, for poverty is in the mind. It is, for those of you who are happy to be called 'poor in spirit' that cup of poison that renders your vessel inane and even if you should hide inside countless worlds, an empty heart is an empty house.

I read 'A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian' up to the chapter titled 'the triumph of the human spirit'. Valentina has just announced that her baby is Nikolai's, Nadezdha and Vera's eighty-four year old father, whom they have recently rescued from her clutches. The title amuses me, because I am always fascinated by that inner struggle of the human being. Do you think it lasts a lifetime? I have felt some deep and dark places within myself, felt anger against nothing and no one in particular but life itself. Funny thing is, you can't fight it; your own nature, maybe you can master and rule it but life is like a raging river, sometimes the rains make the torrents much more treacherous but you must always look inside yourself and remain true to what you think is just and fair in your world, if you would live by such currency.

My housemate gets up, at about eight-thirty. I hear the sounds of his morning rituals from the depths of Miss Lewycka's fascinating history of farm machines in a foreign land. I tell myself I am so far away, lost in the world of words to feel moved to start my day. He brushes, washes, irons and polishes. He dresses up, most often its a cotton trouser and shirt neatly tucked in over belly. Keys turn, doors open and close, cup, plate knife and fork knock and settle on hard surfaces. The television turns on, matchstick on tinder, puffs of smoke or maybe not today. He wants to quit smoking, he knows he should but he just can't bring himself to. He doesn't let it bother him. It will stop someday, insha Allah. His girlfriend comes by to pick him up at quarter past nine, she stays in Bukoto. They drive off. I have just about finished the chapter.

I think that I should go into town and do and be productive things, make some money, he he he. I have 2,700/=, I need to swallow some medicine, I need to put food in my stomach, I need to bring my business up to scratch, I need to push the PiFF further, I need to plan the next WorkZine issue. I need money. So much to do, so much life to live. Frack it, I say. I am staying in and writing some shit this morning. I will make my way into town later, via Davie's office.

What to do now. What to do. Hmmh? I boil some water for a shower, take a dump. Contemplate grand designs and simple acts. Kandole opens the back door and comes into the house, he no doubt wants his gees. I owe him a fifty for his cleaning and cooking services. I don't have it. I tell him he will have it soon enough. He washes the dishes; a cup, saucer and some cutlery. We excgange pleasantries, small talk, deaths, burials, rains, people back home. He attempts to boil some water, the extension blows. The power's been messed up lately, load-shedding and whatnot.

I decide to have some form of breakfast. I will buy a chapu and that nice fried cassava; if I keep this up, I will grab Kwashakor and what kind of story will that be? Huh? I put on a pair of jeans and pink PiFF tee shirt. I walk to the shops, purchase my breakfast and walk back home brewing a long tale. Ten thousand words, surely I must have that much garbage somewhere upstairs.

As I walk up the driveway, I find a little girl standing outide the neighbour's house. She's dressed in pink sweatpants, white t-shirt and a pink sweater. White sneakers cover her feet. She's smiling and jumping around like only little children know how. I smile, wave and greet her and then walk to my door. She stares after me, waves and then walks towards me.

"What is your name?" I ask
"Kouka" she replies
"Where is your mother? I mean mummy"
"Mummy has gone to work on her computer."
We chat a little, I tell her I'm called "Kuku" and then I say bye but she won't leave. So I sit on the steps and hear some more about Kaka and a best friend called Nicole Mugisha. Kouka or Koka is three years old and already has a best friend. I need me a best friend, I think.

I manage to coax Kouka back to her Kaka's house and tell her that I'm off to work on my computer as well.

Sometimes I feel like a failure, like I've wasted my chances in life. I have no doubt had the opportunity to be better off than I am today. I have been taught better. Yet, I have not done it. Despite knowing the folly of it, I have lived a carefree life since I discovered the world could be how I chose to see it. Well, there is no such thing as a carefree life, we all have shit we care about. Every man must weigh and measure his world and accord that which he esteems above all else, his undying loyalty.

Life has simple rules. You play with fire, it burns you. Bite the hand that feeds you and you'll go hungry. Amaizi tigakalegama aha gatakalegamaga. Be water.

Helicobacter pylori (HEL-uh-koh-BAK-tur) (py-LOR-eye)

Aaah! This is the nigga up in my biz. Some goddamn bacteria that causes peptic ulcers; that is all a man has to show for almost two years in a self destructive fit, all of course of his own making because we are nothing more than the constructs of our feeble minds. {fcuk society;-) fcuk society} I would like to think that I have been dark places but often I don’t think am that much different from anyone else, sometimes I think I’m just like most people, a little bit lazy some of the time, a little bit nice another time.

I have weighed and measured the things that matter in my world, played God and like most men, have wondered what to do with those that don’t quite measure up. Life is a journey, and I guess within it, a series of journeys to different places with different people. Sometimes you will meet people you would walk forever forward with, oftentimes paths diverge but life for its greater portion is a complex and beautiful tapestry of journeys, perhaps crisscrossing the face of the earth with those you would hold dear to your heart. I have weighed and I have measured; with time, there will be an equal count, for I am sworn to teach, even if there is but one student, myself.

I know there is a kind of love that transcends the self, the kind with which a loyal dog gives its life for its master’s, one man for the fate of a people. I also know the love of another, the kind of love that wraps you up and takes you that much higher with it, til you would fly high above the world and see your true form, naked and untethered. I would feel that love again; when it wills it will visit me perhaps once more. I would that it will not rend me to bits if it should find a want in me, for I am in need of water, this desert burns me so, I would drink of your fountain and soothe my spirit.

I have been taken, by things. Things I think are bigger than me; wants, wills and desires. I will that I would be bigger, so that I would carry that much more. Yet I have seen this before, I would lose myself in a love of the world and forsake my own heart, for I would believe that it cannot be made whole, that it cannot suffice. Who would you say is less? The fool that rounds the world chasing Liberty or he that gives his heart to the lass. I would gladly follow either man any other day than lay there and waste away, but today, today I would lie here and push these buttons and leave be for a little while, for I am weary and in need of respite from the sharp edges of the world.

I have been bound and kept together, even when I felt like letting go, by a motley band of friends; family that I will for my part be forever bound to. I will that I would be worthy of mentioning names but I am afraid that it would only seem vain worship to put them next to such worthless words. I would do more, I shall be more. There is a grand mystery about life, in that it’s more often that you find that which you seek in places you were never looking. I am lucky to know all you damn human beings, even though you suck sometimes.

I will know love in whatever form; be it the kind that would run rivers down your cheeks, be glad that you would know and hold such depths for I like you have waded such icy waters and I am that much better for it. I will break your heart, if you give it to me, for mine is an intellectual love; it would not be bound by this earth and realm. It would seek to know the heart of that which you call God and move unto the beyond. I shall surely break your heart, and I will be sorry for it.

There is nothing. I have felt it; it is a place of levity where the future forks in countless directions. If you will hold such depths in your mind, you would see how much gentler and fairer life is unto you. For you are still here, so you can do right and move on, even today. We should all seek to rise above our selfish base natures; we make countless proclamations of our desires to do so and yet lay claim to these hunting grounds with excuses of being only human. Would you that will you see our true human forms; that you would seek for a man to lay his base nature before you, naked as the day he came forth? I would say you ask too much of any man, yet this man would prostrate his mortal form before you and beg that you show compassion and kindness to the next soul and spirit.

Most often than not, the people who hold the world together are those you least expect. I have walked by a four year old street child who while falling asleep on the curb, holds out his hands high above his head, palms outstretched.
“Alms for the poor. Alms for the poor.”
You cannot honestly tell me that there is dignity there and yet behind those shaking hands are mouths waiting to be fed. Is it right? Is it fair? On yours and my watch while we are still able to, will we? I know that life in its grand mystery provides, and despite our shortcomings as individuals and human beings, the whole silently plods on, forever seeking, to be better, the next time round.

Your world is as it is because those who came before, and you, bound it that way, the future is yours, do as you will but remember the earth and life itself is that much grander than you can ever hope to know, yet you shall surely know something before she comes for you, for everyone gets a lifetime, nothing more, nothing less.