To Be Kenyan Is To Be These! Poem by Merlin Mwaura

To be Kenyan is to be these…
I went to a local primary school,
Used the same bag for seven years,
It was pure leather from K.M.C. products.
I drunk K.C.C. milk thanks to a political strategist,
Who I have come to both ridicule and praise.
I didn’t think much of my future,
My dad did much of that for me…
Time he stopped doing that,
Like I’ll stop cowering from wondering,
If the system continues to fail so bad…
Then more of us will die,
From secret assassinations,
When another group emerge harness disorient youth.

I am glad I got what I have,
Straps of sandals on clean feet,
Articulate in my matters and affairs,
I take little to a fool’s whim.
Why should 2012 be any different?
Same mongers seat on the throne.
Shame politics still tribal,
Jesters and my future employers.
Because I might as well be their recruit.
Or else I live doing examinations in lecture rooms.
Till I have every degree that makes a C.V.
So that am accepted clean into the running of things.
But true is that,
How many get in clean,
Dirty business dealing with kids,
Even charity and N.G.Os seem a little hood wink,
Why do we have so many things need protecting from?
More ladies driving on our roads,
Congratulations to them, who know how the world goes round…
Same as it did back in the day.
It is the smart ones that have it going good.
That is food for thought in our books,
Before another magazine define how unromantic we are,
The Adams apple will rumble right,
Cause an evening fall down,
Because it needs a boss.

Laughing at the same ranting,
How advanced we are going to be,
Talk about the Kenya we want,
What we don’t want is more talk.
All good things come to an end.
At least make as many people get taste of it.
Before we have a repeat of December ‘07.
Let’s enjoy the peace we are having,
And not take it for granted that we live like this.

Youth will make love with condoms,
Disregard that A.I.Ds. exists,
Until there are no more virgins to conquer,
Till our morals waste away at Carnivore,
Over and over again on a local tune,
The new heat wave taking over us in our millions.
Because I get the feeling no one believes in love anymore,
Like we have take away at everything,
No more home cooked meals,
Take away at clubs joints.
Taken away by the western plague.
Playing marbles with everything,
Tapping fingers on our desks,
Hatching new conquest and ways to make ourselves,
Today’s talk and press release.

Wait till am done with this formality,
Get my degree…
Pay back my dues to my mother,
When I get this talent working for all
For the good and entertainment of all.
When I get it right in the manner of things,
How to proceed with an extra cautious foot,
Because I am about to roar,
On a pillar and call out a crowd,
My small crowd, the ears I get to…
The minds I touch and move,
As my blood moves and penetrates.
There is nothing as lively,
Until we start sipping into the system,
Until the great tools of year gone,
By Greeks and Romans,
By the Chinese in the yellow river valley,
By Kwame Nkurumah,
By my History teacher,
My geography teacher who I imagined wrote notes,
Of deep and intrinsic thought.
How is that we start legacy?
Is it not like these…?
To be Kenyan is to be these.