My Kigeugeu blog last year has received the highest hits of all my blogs. People have been searching the meaning of Kigeugeu from far and wide. Thanks to Jaguar, for capturing the hearts and minds of the high and mighty and the common man with his song. Many people who are not averse with Kiswahili have been trying to understand why the song became such a hit.
Mr. Bhafadhil, a Mombasa politician captured the meaning of Kigeugeu very well- in reference to former president Daniel Moi. In many opposition and mageuzi rallies he graced, he would be brief and to the point, Moi is a kigeugeu. He spoke in crisp Kiswahili about how Moi was kigeugeu like human hair.
Human hair has different names depending on where it is on the body. He would outline his speech in a record one minute and by the end of it he would leave people in stitches. Wheh hair is on the head, it is nywele, on the chin ndevu, bring it down to thechest it is malaika, eye lashes are called kope, then he would conclude, when it grows in the pubic area it is called...... then walk away from the podium and leave the people to finish of the statement amidst an uproar of laughter.
This could be the best definition of kigeugeu I can put up as an appreciation for the many people who have been looking for its meaning. In other words it refers to an untrustworthy fellow who cannot be relied upon. He will change like a chameleon.
For your information, Bhafadhil defected back to KANU and he is still a member of the party to date. He has even filed a case in court in defence of the party. He is now a Moi supporter, is he a kigeugeu, the jury is out, the verdict is yours......
Arise Kenya Arise....
Friday, January 20, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
The Road to Naya...and why I loved the late Okatch Biggy
I have been accused of putting up to a personality I am not. I chose not to answer to the allegations because I have been me for over thirty years and only God knows me better than me. I am an extrovert with melancholic tendencies, so I am keen on what is going around and will never miss an opportunity to speak about it.
I went to high school where I was the only Luo in the class at the time when Okatch Biggy was catching the airwaves. I was nicknamed Okatch Biggy without me having the slightest idea of who he was. Upon finishing high school, I lived in Kisumu and bumped into his music. I liked the beat but the dholuo was too technical for me. When someone explained to me, I realized he was such a poet.
I liked the late benga maestro for several reasons. One, he made dholuo sound cool and poetic that I had to upgrade it above my fluent luhya. Secondly, he sang about my rural home- Uyoma Naya often, praising the daughters of this beautiful land for very good reasons, he knew why. Last but not least, he made me know that I can call myself Jarawila, an extension of Owila, the other name of Uyoma the doyen of my people.
I go to the village to visit my parents at least once every year. This time I took a night bus, my attempt to get a daytime bus back also failed so I was not able to see the changes between Kericho and Naivasha. I always cherish my time in Kisumu, this time round I noted that children speak Kiswahili as they play. This is a town where even the Indians and Europeans living in the city and had to work with the locals had to learn dholuo. Someone grabs my newspaper and goes straight to look for Raila, aka Jakom aka Baba. Raila is a Luo bubble that embodies the aspirations of a whole community, I pray it will not burst soon, because every bubble must burst at some point.
I took a matatu christened a girl baibby from Kisumu to Naya, the southern end tip of Siaya County. I have never been able to capture the market centres along the road on the Seme (Kisumu Rural) part of the road. I know the names but I always fail to place a name correctly to a market. Along this stretch, a lady boarded the van and immediately said 'good morning' to everyone. That is rare in Nairobi where people keep to themselves upon boarding a matatu. Then a tout entered and started talking about a Mr. Sunday who was burried on Christmas eve. People seemed to know the deceased and they started to inquire details of his death and burial. It can only happen in a village matatu.
We took the turn from the Bondo road into the Ndori-Lwanda K'otieno road. I remembered bumping into a 1972 bet between my mom and dad. If this road would have been tarmacked by 1980 my father was to give her one hundred shillings. I doubt if he did it because the tarmacking was complete more than two decades later in 2008. Going down this road used to be a torture you only undertook if you must.
I pass Kalandin in Asembo Bay, a corruption of Kiswahili word Kilindini (habour) and laugh at the ingenuity. After a short drive we pass Asembo and enter Uyoma at Aram market. I see a aplatial home to the right at a place called Ranalo, sounds familiar? Yes, that is Mr. Osewe's humble abode, him of Ranalo Foods better known as Koswe.
Nothing much has changed until I get to my home of Naya. My geology tells me that the place was once an island cut out by a fault line that had been filled up at wi-omino, dont ask me what that means. I get home and what meets me is the usual bunter, gonywa, gonya- untie in dholuo a phrase used to ask for hand outs. They kept asking me to untie them, and I said to myself the person who tied the up should come and untie them.
Then my uncle (we say dad) from Suba told me the miembe legend as we passed near the once revered shrine. This is a python that lived in a bush near the lake. People would put coins in an earthen dish next to it when viewing it, the snake showed up when the rainy season was beackoning. My dad immediately said he never came to see it, may be he was afraid but he could not admit.
The story is like the famous omieri of Nyakach. Until one drunk man who must have wondered what was the fascination with a snake went and broke the dish and walked away with the coins, may be to drink some more. Things went bananas for him, his wife left him and he roamed the paths of Naya absent minded but not mad. Miembe the habinger of rain for Naya was never seen again.
It was a good trip, catching up and getting caught by the updates as well. I came back to the city to await my next trip. I just pray I will be able to be an agent for a major social transformation in this area. I love the lake, this time I did not cross the gulf to Suba land, but had my Suba relatives came to visit. That is my annual pilgrimage.
Introvert or extrovert, that does not matter, I am just me.
I went to high school where I was the only Luo in the class at the time when Okatch Biggy was catching the airwaves. I was nicknamed Okatch Biggy without me having the slightest idea of who he was. Upon finishing high school, I lived in Kisumu and bumped into his music. I liked the beat but the dholuo was too technical for me. When someone explained to me, I realized he was such a poet.
I liked the late benga maestro for several reasons. One, he made dholuo sound cool and poetic that I had to upgrade it above my fluent luhya. Secondly, he sang about my rural home- Uyoma Naya often, praising the daughters of this beautiful land for very good reasons, he knew why. Last but not least, he made me know that I can call myself Jarawila, an extension of Owila, the other name of Uyoma the doyen of my people.
I go to the village to visit my parents at least once every year. This time I took a night bus, my attempt to get a daytime bus back also failed so I was not able to see the changes between Kericho and Naivasha. I always cherish my time in Kisumu, this time round I noted that children speak Kiswahili as they play. This is a town where even the Indians and Europeans living in the city and had to work with the locals had to learn dholuo. Someone grabs my newspaper and goes straight to look for Raila, aka Jakom aka Baba. Raila is a Luo bubble that embodies the aspirations of a whole community, I pray it will not burst soon, because every bubble must burst at some point.
I took a matatu christened a girl baibby from Kisumu to Naya, the southern end tip of Siaya County. I have never been able to capture the market centres along the road on the Seme (Kisumu Rural) part of the road. I know the names but I always fail to place a name correctly to a market. Along this stretch, a lady boarded the van and immediately said 'good morning' to everyone. That is rare in Nairobi where people keep to themselves upon boarding a matatu. Then a tout entered and started talking about a Mr. Sunday who was burried on Christmas eve. People seemed to know the deceased and they started to inquire details of his death and burial. It can only happen in a village matatu.
We took the turn from the Bondo road into the Ndori-Lwanda K'otieno road. I remembered bumping into a 1972 bet between my mom and dad. If this road would have been tarmacked by 1980 my father was to give her one hundred shillings. I doubt if he did it because the tarmacking was complete more than two decades later in 2008. Going down this road used to be a torture you only undertook if you must.
I pass Kalandin in Asembo Bay, a corruption of Kiswahili word Kilindini (habour) and laugh at the ingenuity. After a short drive we pass Asembo and enter Uyoma at Aram market. I see a aplatial home to the right at a place called Ranalo, sounds familiar? Yes, that is Mr. Osewe's humble abode, him of Ranalo Foods better known as Koswe.
Nothing much has changed until I get to my home of Naya. My geology tells me that the place was once an island cut out by a fault line that had been filled up at wi-omino, dont ask me what that means. I get home and what meets me is the usual bunter, gonywa, gonya- untie in dholuo a phrase used to ask for hand outs. They kept asking me to untie them, and I said to myself the person who tied the up should come and untie them.
Then my uncle (we say dad) from Suba told me the miembe legend as we passed near the once revered shrine. This is a python that lived in a bush near the lake. People would put coins in an earthen dish next to it when viewing it, the snake showed up when the rainy season was beackoning. My dad immediately said he never came to see it, may be he was afraid but he could not admit.
The story is like the famous omieri of Nyakach. Until one drunk man who must have wondered what was the fascination with a snake went and broke the dish and walked away with the coins, may be to drink some more. Things went bananas for him, his wife left him and he roamed the paths of Naya absent minded but not mad. Miembe the habinger of rain for Naya was never seen again.
It was a good trip, catching up and getting caught by the updates as well. I came back to the city to await my next trip. I just pray I will be able to be an agent for a major social transformation in this area. I love the lake, this time I did not cross the gulf to Suba land, but had my Suba relatives came to visit. That is my annual pilgrimage.
Introvert or extrovert, that does not matter, I am just me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)