Finally, humour has hit our courts. A court has awarded a whopping one shilling to Lilian Omollo as compensation for wrongful dismissal. It has reminded me of something. One day in 2009, I was very broke. I was minding my business under a tree when a friend called me. I jumped up. This guy owed me 30K. I began to calculate how I would use the money. He asked me to meet him at a 3-star hotel the following morning. I borrowed 3k from a reluctant colleague, promising to pay back the following day. Thinking about the 3-star hotel, I picked my dust-covered coat and took it to the laundryman whom I paid 300 bob. In the morning, I bought 200 bob worth of airtime. I shaved the hairy part of my head at 200 bob, got my shoes cleaned at 50 Bob, and to look like someone who goes to 3-star hotels, I bought a newspaper at 50 bob.Then I called a taxi in the tone of a foreign investor and sat in the left back seat. I put my elbow on the window like an experienced debt collector. At the hotel, I waited for the representative of the World Bank for six hours. I was taking coffee at the rate of one sip per hour. The anger I gathered was enough to boil githeri at a backstreet kibanda. Finally, the debtor staggered to the scene. He was talking like the guy who discovered bhang, and he was smelling like the chimney of a brewery. He hugged me tight for ten minutes while shouting in my face, “my buddy! Leo lazima nikulipe!” He collapsed on the couch, searched for his wallet for 30 minutes and then gave me a 200 shilling note.
Posted by Mark M. Chetambe on Thursday, 22 October 2020
And the poet Aslay sings, “unanuka kama choo cha soko.” I have been laughing all morning. Don’t joke with artists: they can cook a shitty insult and embelish it with enough pepper, Royco, garlic and tomatoes to attract a fool’s appetite. They can insult you so effectively that you will buy a rope with your own fuliza money and commit suicide. An artist can talk you into running away from your father’s palace to live with him in a shack in Mukuru kwa Njenga. Don’t step on the toes of artists or any other part of them. Ask David: the lad played the harp so well that his music drove Satan and his army of devils out of King Saul. Artists play with words as effectively as Ronaldinho juggled the ball, or Cassius Clay boxed. Don’t play with artists… they will remind you that in spite of the Versace suits and CK purses, you are just human after all.
Posted by Mark M. Chetambe on Saturday, 17 October 2020
Amidst the gloom of Covid, with lockdowns keeping people frozen indoors, away from economic activity, with so many sick and so many dead, and with the whole world scared, sorrowful and subdued, a young man sits alone in his studio in SA. Kgaogelo Moagi, aka Master KG, creats a gospel song modelled on South African wedding genres. Excited with his creation, he calls a girl named Nomcebo Zikode to sing it. And before they know it, people across the world are dancing to ‘Jerusalema.’ I have seen doctors and hospital workers, lawyers in their priestly regalia, nuns and priests in their robes, pilots and cabin crews, and holidaymakers on beaches- all dancing to the song. Two questions: 1. How does one explain the rapid global influence of this artistic piece? 2. Are there people out here who still think that art and artists are irrelevant to the economy?
Posted by Mark M. Chetambe on Saturday, 3 October 2020