Last Updated on 16 February 2019 by Gertrude
June 16 and January 19th have familiar spots. They both begin with ”J”. They both begin with sorrow and danger. They remind us of when our children were terrorised in a premise they trust the most. Their abode. Their school!.
They remind us of how children in our society are regarded as unimportant. Â It reminds us of the uncertainty of life; where the ruling class lift their legs in honour. In honour of so-so.
They remind us of the divide between the rich-rich and poor-poor. All these reminds us that we are still in Africa. Trying our level best to recoil and uncoil from terror that is our lives. Terror that has taken our dear mummies and daddies and painfully children away from us.
We cannot say we are doomed. Our dark thicker than thick skins know how to bounce back. Bounce back with serious torn faces but, with zeal, strength and fight. We will relentlessly take what’s ours.
Tear gas us, torch us, take it away. We need the playground. We are innocent children of our mother. Don’t know where to go and how to fight. We are blessed to have social media to help shed light. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have a place to play kati, dance and mbanya. We would be crying for the crowded place we are fighting for, in vain.
Have mercy on us oh you men and women. Hear the cry of disdain, determination and ambition. Just yesterday, imagine, the 19th, our teachers decided it was right to come to school. Yet, you care not that we are suffering and have suffered with no guidance from our striking teachers.
Our counterparts in academies and other better schools are way ahead of us. We must compete with them. How do you expect us to compete with them when we live outside the classroom?. When we have no play place for us?. Because someone somewhere who’s very rich, money loaded has said so. Someone somewhere doesn’t want us to have a break from books.
That someone is so heartless as to bring in men and women of blue clothes to ‘torch’ us. To make us seem small, all due to, ”we want a place for play”. Is it a crime to speak our mind? Who should we blame? Why subject us to such peculiar moments when we are below ten?.
Ladies and gentlemen of the blue clothes, we trusted you. We knew you were coming to our aid. With our fragile hands as we raised the placards to the heavens to hear. No, you came to silence us, with tears, coughs and much anger. Why don’t you want to hear us?
Who are you working for? Why are you working for them? With, for money? ”Utumishi kwa Wote”. Service to all, where does this leave us with no pennies then? Does this slogan, living mantra live up to what you did to us, Â oh, poor little souls wanting to better us?
Can we ask you, who are we? Children of the poor, right? But, then, does the poor mama have a say? That one wrapped in red from head to toe seeking her child because she saw the massacre on television? What is she? Stupid mama mboga or a human being who gave birth to that girl and boy who you teargassed with your deadly made weapons.
Who do we trust? Haven’t you wondered then why there’s so much killings in the country in the name of ”mob justice”. It’s because we lost trust in you. It’s because you don’t want to protect us, you go with a few others. Your inclination to a side makes us feel so so little. You can squash us as quick. We are the crawling ants of the scorch!
We ran, helter skelter not knowing where, when, how, what, who. We saw our faces on television and heard our voices speaking and ranting on radio. Panting for breath that you took away from us. We got scared when the next thing we saw was a cloudy smoke of despair and spite. Who ordered you to do this to us? Why did you take the orders?
Ours will forever remain as, The News Making Headlines’, Â in our little brains. What you have taught us today and forever shall remain is, ‘we are the crawling worthless ants with no voice and mustn’t play’. Because, Â our dearest mama and papa are stupid cobblers and mama mbogas.
We cannot say we loathe you. We can’t, slowly, we will learn to forgive you from the deepest of our hearts. It’s how of pure hearts we are. We forget. But, we will never forget that you taught us something very important.
Your demands can never be met, Â because, Â you are worthless crawling ants!.
The langata massacre. The day a Kenyan school went on fire. The smoke. January 19th. A teargassed Kenyan School. Â Where to cry?
Read and leave a word, not offensive words!