A white person can walk free after committing crimes in Africa, the privilege of stereotypes

I imagine this will be one of those posts that boils the emotions of my readers.
There have been several reports in the media on chilling accounts of how vulnerable African children are exploited by foreigners.
In Kenya alone, there are defilement accounts by tourist pedophiles in the news here, here, here who commit crimes unchecked in countries with limited law enforcement resources. The most recent case of an American couple, Gregory and Rose Dow(a known sexual offender in the US) who pretending as missionaries, set up an orphanage in which he(Mr. Dow) defiled orphan girls and generally abused the kids. Mr. Dow escaped the law and fled the country when this case was exposed.
There is a recent story from Uganda in which an American With No Medical Training Ran Center For Malnourished Ugandan Kids. 105 Died. The community around the orphanage never suspected what was happening.  How could they think less of the white-savior?

They are almost sure to go unnoticed or at worst get away with it.

Congolese men carrying a white man in the 20th century

African stereotypes of "white people"

There is this weird thing about how Africans have been miseducated to think highly of Europeans(Caucasians or 'white' people) and conversely to think the least or not at all about themselves.  Too many positive stereotypes about Caucasians exist and here is a brief list:

1. They are good people: the white savior complex
2. They have money
3. They are closer to God than all others
4. They are the smartest people on the planet

Let's debunk each of these stereotypes.

History teaches us that white people are not absolutely good people?

The myth that white people are overflowing with goodness is as misplaced as any other. What the white person has learned to do with utmost excellence is to employ mass media propaganda. Let's me take you down memory lane.

Slavery of human beings

The white man must be "good" for using African slaves to get a headstart economically. The only reason for slavery is to benefit(mostly economically) the enslaver and subjugate the enslaved. The transatlantic slave trade was well orchestrated by the Dutch, Portuguese, Spaniards, English e.t.c. These were mainly Christian countries that used certain passages in the Bible to justify enslaving other people(especially Black Africans).

[Slavery] was established by decree of Almighty God ... it is sanctioned in the Bible, in both Testaments, from Genesis to Revelation ... it has existed in all ages, has been found among the people of the highest civilization, and in nations of the highest proficiency in the arts.

— Jefferson Davis, President, Confederate States of America

... the right of holding slaves is clearly established in the Holy Scriptures, both by precept and example.

— Richard Furman, President, South Carolina Baptist Convention

In 1837, Southerners in the Presbyterian denomination joined forces with conservative Northerners in order to drive the antislavery New School Presbyterians out of the denomination. In 1844, the Methodist Episcopal Church split into Northern and Southern wings over the issue of slavery. In 1845, the Baptists in the South formed the Southern Baptist Convention due to disputes with Northern Baptists over slavery and missions.^[26]

The Arabs and the slave trade is a story for another day, Islam has traditionally supported slavery, almost every religion has. 

The foundations of Western European powers were built on the profit of enslaving Africans. These main slaving nations had coasts on the Atlantic Ocean: Spain, Portugal, England, France, the Netherlands, and Denmark. These were the politically and economically dominant states of Western Europe which had colonies and economic interests in the Americas. England is built on the foundation of slavery(cities like Liverpool was a major slave harbor). America and the Americas were the main destination of slaves in the trans-Atlantic slave trade. Needless to say that the USA and the Americas owe their economic power today to the free labor that was extracted out of enslaved Africans.

If you find yourself inclined to be proslavery arguments, here is my advice to you. Go request somebody who is without conscience that you are willing to work for them for free, be flogged/mutilated daily, and be bred like cattle, tell them to use your life/body for any and all their desires.

Colonialism

If you are African, you may have been taught and even required to write in an exam on the benefits of colonialism. Colonialism was slavery wrapped in colorful words. The white man had scouted Africa and found her to be rich in resources: pristine arable lands, good weather all year round, all forms of minerals in her earth. The scramble for Africa(Berlin conference of 1885) witnessed the white man divide Africa as a baker slices bread. The white man had found a way to build the economy of what we call the first world, Africa was that answer. The white man had developed advanced weaponry as the white tribes had always been in tribal conflicts(history is full of these accounts of conflict). Armed with firepower, he subdued the Africans and created a wedge between the African tribes(read With a prehistoric people, by Routledge). The colonizers were able to subdue the tribes of Africa, erase their cultures(religion, language) and exploit the natural resources(land) while enslaving the subdued Africans as free labor. The only benefit of colonialism is that it enabled Europeans i.e. Belgium, Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Portugal, Spain to become economic powerhouses(no surprises here). "The economics of colonization included: acquisition of land, enforced labor, the introduction of cash crops(often with the neglect of food crops), altering inter-African trading patterns of pre-colonial times, the introduction of indentured laborers from India and the continuation of exploitation of Africa as a source of raw materials for European industry". Vincent Khapoya as quoted on Wikipedia

Some often argue that the colonialists brought civilization(education, medicines) and forget this falsehood when they christen Africa as both the cradle of mankind and cradle of civilization(Kemet - Ancient Black Egypt). While there are certain aspects that Africans could have learned from the encounter with European colonizers, my argument is that legal trade would have had this same impact over time as it does today.

The world wars i.e. European tribal wars

When the European(and Asian) tribes went into war during what is popularly known as the first(July 1914 - Nov 1918) and second world war(1939-1945). The word 'world war' is an actual misnomer since it was a few countries/tribes in spontaneous tribal conflicts. About 20 million and 100 million people were killed in the first and second European tribal conflict respectively. Close to 3% of the world population murdered directly during the battles or through situations such as drought and diseases that came as an immediate result of the wars.
We know good people dialogue to solve conflicts but these "evangelists of civility" were using force as a way to solve tribal feuds.

Neo-colonialism

According to Encyclopedia Britannica,  neo-colonialism is defined as the control of less-developed countries by developed countries through indirect means.
The European colonizers never left their colonies, they remotely hold political and economic sway over their former colonies. France still holds its former colonies in Francophone Africa by their cohones (balls) literally, 14 African Countries Forced by France to Pay Colonial Tax For the Benefits of Slavery and Colonization.

For the rest of "former" colonized countries, there is the economic hitmanship and regime changes that these western powers continue to use as tools to continue their plunder of Africa(and former colonies elsewhere e.g. Latin America). This is well explained by John Perkins in his book "The confessions of an economic hitman".

Do white people have money?

This is both yes and no. While the stereotype can be corroborated with the white peoples' countries economic muscle, there may be a few points worth noting. Not every white person has a net worth equivalent to their country's nevertheless they may have more disposable income as a result of a strong economy. There is pandemic homelessness in countries in the west and peasants in Europe. Often when white tourists visit Africa, it is erroneously assumed they extremely rich while in essence, these white people have had years of saving up for these trips or are enjoying their pensions. This is usually an economic boom for souvenir traders, hotels and tour guides.

Are white people closer to God than others?

Let's start off by saying that there is no confirmation from God, at least not in any form that is documented. Europeans were either pagans(no belief in a supreme being) or polytheists(worshipped many gods) a few centuries back. Christianity was adopted by the Roman empire in AD380 and Europe was Christianized in the middle ages. There is a tendency to associate Europe and the "Western World" with the concept of Christianity and Christendom even though the origins of Christianity is Israel(Middle East). The popular religions: Islam, Judaism, Christianity all have their origin in the middle-east or Asia. There is too much controversy around a 'white Jesus' as advanced by the European missionaries.

There is the story in Genesis 9:25 where Noah was drunk and one of his sons, Ham, saw his nakedness and as a result, Noah cursed Canaan(the son of Ham). The Europeans have advanced that Africans descend from Ham and therefore cursed to be slaves of the Shem and Japheth(Noah's other two sons). There is no evidence of this Hamitic descendency of Africans.  Needless to say that the biblical Hamitic curse stories and other biblical verses were used to justify enslaving Africans in the United States and were a crucial part of the pro-slavery campaign. In South Africa, the Afrikaners(Boers) claim South Africa as their Canaan; the land they were promised based on biblical verses.

Not everybody believes in the creation story and there is also the controversial evolution from Apes theory which conveniently advances Europeans as the most evolved and superior race. Racial superiority is disputed by genetic research and there is a great debate here by Dr. Frances Welsing debated Dr. William Shockley(a white supremacist propagandist). The stereotype that white people are closer to God has no foundation. If the Israelites or the Arabs made the same claim to be close to God, then few would contest since most religions have an origin from their region.

Are white people the smartest people on the planet?

Not necessarily true. No need to waste time explaining this unless by public demand.

Conclusion

White people are only stereotypically "good" people, however, in reality, they are like all other groupings of people: a mixture of both good and bad.
While the majority of white people seem to have money, not all of them are wealthy. It can be said that the foundation of their "moneyness" has an element of historical privilege or exploitation of others.
The closer to God stereotype is sheer nonsense and is based on supremacist illusions of white people used to advance exploitation through servitude.

These stereotypes have made Africans susceptible to being exploited by "white" people and time to challenge these stereotypes is ripe.

A villager in the city: on the wrong side of the law

April 1999, during the first school holidays after joining form one in a national secondary school in Nairobi, I decided the village was going to miss their hero. I would pitch camp with my cousins; I would stay at my father's elder brother home in Nairobi. My Baba Mkubwa had two sons and three daughters; my cousins. I will tell you about how these Nairobi people would stir up the village whenever they visited during the December holidays some other time.

I had to hide my poor report card from my father
I had performed dismally in the first term exams, I was ranked fourth in my class of 32(thirty-two) students.  I was the fourth from the dumb bottom; precisely twenty-eight out of the thirty-two students. I had never been anything but position one to three during my primary school days.  My father was like the man-eaters of Tsavo when inspecting his children's report cards. You either maintained a top-three position or improved your marks. I thought of visiting river-road(downtown Nairobi) to create a new report card to earn a peaceful pass back to the village. I struggled with the moral aspect of faking a report card and suddenly I had an epiphany. I could just spend my holidays at my 'Baba Mkubwa's house. This would also save me from farm work: my parents operated a small labor camp. April is the time Tetuians weed(how do you say 'palilia' in English?) the maize crop. The exercise involves a fork jembe and one has to dig around each maize plant meticulously without ruining the crop and uproot all the weeds choking the plants. Then there are the zero grazed cows that require feeding, watering and grooming. You would spend time searching for grass in the forests to the ever-hungry herbivores. Ferrying manure(cow dung plus compost) in sacks to the farm was the most back-breaking task. While you would drag the sacks down the slopes, it's the trek back up the ridges that would take out the energy out of you. There was never a moment to idle back in the village: leisure time was not in the village vocabulary.

The plan
When the bugles were blown and the flag brought down, the April school holidays had started in earnest. I had my 'A-Point' bag with the best selection of my clothes stuffed in. I boarded a Matatu '4B' destined for Makadara area of Nairobi. This would be my second time to visit my cousins, who then resided at Hamza. The matatu weaves its way through Gikomba- the most crowded market on the planet then through Huruma slums, Maringo, Ofafa Jericho and the prowling slums seem to end abruptly at Ofafa Jericho border with Buru Buru. Makadara is part of the slum but the residents seem to deny this fact.  Most of the houses are semi-permanent built with mud walls or iron sheets with a concrete floor. There are open sewer trenches between the houses and the first lesson visitors learn is to skip those trenches. At night one has to use intuition to avoid the sewer trenches in the dimly lit streets full of muggers. I arrived unannounced as is the trend back in the village. We don't bother to inform our kith and kin that we have plans to visit, we just arrive. And when we arrive, we don't announce that we have come to pitch camp for God knows how long. It is taboo for the hosts to enquire of our itinerary; the hosts are left to pray and hope that we shall leave at some point in time, hopefully soon.

I became a born tao; finally I belonged to some clique
The first week of camping at my cousins was blissful, no reading, no assignments, no school sweeping/cleaning duties. We spent most of the time loitering the streets, returning to have our meals and for lodging at my Baba Mkubwa's house. We spent my remaining pocket money eating Mandazi Pasua. Mandazi pasua is a delicacy in which you split one edge of an Andazi to create a pocket into which potato chips/french fries are stashed and ketchup is poured generously to complete the package. For some mysterious reason, anecdotal evidence shows that the tastiest foods are street foods. Those who have never been at the shorter financial end of life and have never tasted foods cooked in those shacks have no idea what they are missing. Those expensive hotels cook expensive foods, not necessarily the tastiest but I digress. In the informal settlements, boys have something called a 'base'. A base is a place where a gang of boys hangs out and do usually absolutely nothing., talk about girls, their exploits whether real or imagined. We called our base 'freemantobase' which was just the linked version of the phrase 'free man to base' that we had picked from the movie Escape from Sobibor. I finally belonged to some clique; let's just say the barrier to entry were fairly low or non-existent. Remember my struggles fitting in during the school term? Our base was like all bases located behind the kiosks that lined up the road. A base required some concealment for a reason that wasn't apparent to me initially.

The incident
We would hang at the 'freemantobase' whenever we were not busy loitering the streets of Hamza. One day afternoon, we were four of us at the base: my cousin namesake, and two of his friends. We were in the middle of a juicy story when all the three bolted out after shouting a warning 'masanse'. I
barely understood what 'masanse' meant but I clearly knew there was something that warranted running away.

I was naive and decided to stay put while the three boys disappeared into the alleys. I couldn't see the reason to run, there was no imminent danger nearby and I knew beyond doubt that  I had done nothing wrong. After a few confusing seconds, I decided to walk from the base towards the street to inspect what was eating the other. Just as I was walking the five or so steps to the road past the kiosks, I was grabbed from behind by my waistline and hoisted up like a flag.  I thought I was being mugged, my only solace was that I knew my pockets were absolutely empty. "Kichana unacharibu kutoroga?", the police officer hoisting me upside down like a bat asked in the police accent of those days. It then dawned on me that 'masanse' are police officers. I was visibly shaken and I replied that I was not running from anyone. "Mbona wenzako wametoroka? mnavuta bangi?", his colleague asked me. "Hapana, mi mimi mimi sijui mbona wametoroka", I replied as the officer hoisting me allowed my feet partly back to the ground. At this point I was tiptoeing since the police man was still hoisting me by my trouser's waistline. Remember am only fourteen(14) years old and tiny as an atom, I may have weighed slightly above twenty kilos same as a mature goat.

The Mama Mbogas started to lament "mbona wanashika kijana mdogo wa shule? hawa watu wanasumbua sana". The patrol police are the worst kind of police to encounter. They are foot soldiers who are supposed to stroll around ensuring order. When they arrest you, they simply want you to pay them. They are as hungry as hyenas. Should you not have money, you will trek as part of their squad until they handover to the next duo. This could mean you trek the entire day or night with them and they may still deliver you to their base police station.

The village hero is being frogmatched along the roads in Hamza as if he is the common chicken thief. My cousin, my namesake had deserted me or rather procured my predicament. Male cousins are to be loathed forever, they are unreliable and can land you in trouble. No one had ever hinted to me that we should run from police even during the day(during the night that is common knowledge that you should run) on this side of the country. I had begged the police to release me, I had narrated the truth of why I had come to stay at my cousins. I even repented and promised to never come back even if my grades were outright 'E's. These law enforcers couldn't hear any of that, the fact that I was penniless wasn't helping. No one listens to a penniless man notwithstanding how intelligent or wise the man may be. I had forthwith retired to my fate: I would be in the same cell with robbers, murderers and all scum of society. I would sleep on a cold cement floor, sh*t in a bucket and be infested with lice. I had heard of tales of how small boys are abused by sodomists in those cells. I was scared like hell, I prayed to the God of Jacob, Isaac, and Abimelech to create a miracle for my release.

Mekatilili wa Menza resurrects
Word of my plight had reached my female cousins. The eldest daughter of my Baba Mkubwa was two years older than myself, the second one was my agemate and the lastborn daughter was two years younger than myself. In essence these three ladies were more or less my age and physical stature. They swung into action and pursued the two police and their suspect - yours truly. They caught up with us before we got to Hamza town centre and unequivocally demanded my immediate release. The police men called their bluff "wacheni vihere here, tutashika nyinyi mkaozee jela! nyang'au nyinyi!". The eldest cousin, Wamuyu is cut from the same fabric as Mekatilili wa Menza, she was burning with rage. She told the police "sisi hata hatuogopi risasi wacha huto tucells twenyu! Lazima muachilie cousin yetu". The police sternly warned my cousins not to interfere with their work or they would be arrested as well. Wamuyu went on to tell the police that she was going to report them on how they collect bribes to some authority; I can't remember which one she quoted.  At this point the heated argument had attracted a crowd and the crowd was siding with the afflicted. I could hear some people in the crowd mumble "hawa polisi wametuzoea sana, wanatusumbua na hizi hongo na hawashibi".

My escape from Sobibor
I think the only reason the policemen released me was fear of the emotions Mekatilili wa Menza had already stirred in that crowd. I was escorted away by my three female cousins: I was relieved but knew this news would ripple my entire village. The village would know I had been arrested on suspicions of either being in possession of bhang, selling or using it. When I reached the house, the idiot was there laughing hysterically, "wewe ni fala na uko na ushamba sana! Wah! unangojea makarao badala ya kuhepa". In conclusion, I ceased my membership at the 'freemantobase' and lay low to pass the remaining time to school opening. I started hanging out with my female cousins, washing utensils and doing house chores. The risks involved in hanging with them were manageable.

A villager in the city: verbal calisthenics

The year is 1999, this was my first year since joining a national secondary school(boys only) in Nairobi. I was among the top students from Nyeri, the creme de la creme from an unknown village in the ancient Tetu kraal, Nyeri. My first term in high school was typical for all teenage boys. You meet boys your age(well a few are much older and definitely bigger) and they come from all walks of life and drawn from all parts of Kenya. Young teenage boys starting to find their path in life to adulthood. It's a dynamic group and this allows one to meet and mingle with agemates from all the tribes of Kenya or for some to regroup into your own tribe. This grandson of house Mumbi was not your ordinary tribal creature but a budding statesman. The village did not send me to the top school to advance tribal cultures and to act small.

At this age, the prime social desire is to fit into that crowd or segments of it, pretend to have style if you are from the village-like yours truly. There is always someone who is the head of the group, either the strongest, most handsome, one from the richest family or simply the loudest or most charismatic one. I was among the tiniest monkeys in my class, my mother had fed me on a strictly vegeterian diet of githeri(maize with traces of beans), kales and all those root tubers (ndumas, ngwachis, ikwas, miangas) with the occasional chapatis with rosemary spiced meat stew in December. My mother was not stingy  Tetuian but a woman who has fought this world to place a meal for her ever-hungry four children. I shuffled from clique to clique seeking one to fit in, that's how I ended up like Cain wondering about and barely fitting in.

Did I fit in?

There were options well removed from my reach; I couldn't cluster with the rich boys for richness like pregnancy is oft difficult to hide or claim to have; let's just say my social-climbing skills were dwarfed by my village attributes. I was one of the sponsored 'poor' students. I was also tiny in stature and statistically(just made this one up) no tiny person has aspirations to remain ever so tiny. The option of hanging with the vertically challenged(the tiny clique aka atoms) was out of the question, I wanted to hang with the alpha dogs or at least the big dogs.

I have always been a renegade, my mother simply thought I was naughty and stubborn to her discipline. Deep down I knew that I couldn't be bottled up to a few traits of any group and initially I desired to mesh with just anyone clique I choose to. This meant camouflaging to fit into the group dynamics: oftentimes staying quiet about one's experiences but agreeing to stories and pretending to relate to them, at times this required acting a strange character to fit in. This proved to drain too much effort and was contrary to my natural instinct to take the path of least effort to achieve useful outcomes.

A tiny stumbling block, oops!

There was also a small problem: my pronunciation of English words. I was taught English in my mother tongue; sometimes directly or just English in a vernacular accent. Nyeri Kikuyu's are proud of their language and will corrupt all others to expedite pronunciation. Syllables with letters 'R' and 'L' are often indistinguishable when pronounced by a native Nyeri Kikuyu. There is also the sounds 'ch' and 'sh' which my Nyeri colleagues don't waste time distinguishing one from the other. One could argue that they don't care that such differences exist, but reality is, life for them has never revolved about the proper pronunciation of the syllables of the English language.

Any time I opened my mouth to speak(I have never been known to be a truly quiet person) I was prone to revealing the inadequacies of Mrs. Waciuri's English lessons. The clique boys would burst out in laughter even when serious matters were under discussion and I was pulling my end of the discussion. I would know immediately that my fitting into these cliques would be no mean feat. 

Some second former and housemate called Mayavi(from Kileleshwa or Lavington) while pointing out my problem one day once told me, "you guy you are shrubbing". I asked in response, "what do you mean I am 'shlubbing'?". Mayavi would then quip, "you guy, I mean shrrrubingggg!". In my mind, the only "shlub"[shrub] I knew was a form of vegetation that semi-arid areas like the Nyika plateau are famous for. You can imagine the five minutes we spent(wasted for Mayavi's case) in this discussion with the hapless Mayavi pointing out the pronunciation problem that I was suffering from.
When Mayavi finally gave up helping me pronounce those 'R's, I never ceased to reflect on this strange diagnosis. This was a strange pronunciation disease that was conspicuous to all around me but hidden from me.  The word 'shlubbing'[shrubbing] was the strangest word I had heard that day. How do you turn a noun into a 'present participle'? Up until then, I had only encountered verbs to which you could add the 'ing' ending to refer to actions that are still happening e.g. I am reading. Wameshiire, my primary school headmaster had taught us all those English things with a swinging cane in his muscled hand to drive them well into our heads. I knew all those crazy latin stuff: gerunds, past participle, present participle, diphthongs but I was still 'shlubbing' and was not well cut for the elite cliques.

I took a talking recess to reflect on this strange disease. I reduced my talking to a necessary minimum and instead took the time to listen to how other people were pronouncing words especially those I know are laced with 'R's. I wanted to badly fit in and my heavy Nyeri tongue was becoming a stumbling block.

During one of those hot afternoons when you want to take things easy, take a nap, lay under some shade and do absolutely 'nada'.  This phenomenon had been explained by the teacher of Biology as follows: that after lunch, the blood departs from the head(no one knows whether the head was left empty or not) to the stomach to absorb nutrients and this was the reason why one felt dizzy after lunch. A thoroughly superstitious man just like my grandfather if you ask me but I digress.  I sat by virtue of my first name, second row from the front. I was balancing my eyelids to stay awake, in front was Arnold the boy from Meru who was ever asleep in class. Nobody in my class had observed Arnold awake whenever a teacher was in class. He was the chief sloth that afternoon snoring like nobody's business. Miraculously; Arnold was sharp like a Somali sword. Teachers would ask a question while he was snoring and shout him awake to answer. The son of the Njuri Ncheke; first of his name would answer them better than all the woke students: with precision and accuracy like Ben Carson the great Neurosurgeon. On this sunny afternoon somewhere around March, the gods conspired to lighten up their boring afternoon with my verbal shortcomings. An old Scottish lady called Sister Francis; our teacher of literature picked on me to read a passage from Things fall apart by Chinua Achebe. She could and should have picked someone from the front row, even Arnold or from the sleeping backbenchers but her finger pointed squarely at the boy from Nyeri. The one who was first in his village to wear shoes. Suddenly, all the half-asleep students were as attentive as you can imagine, they knew a good laugh was in the offing. I looked around pretending that the teacher had pointed at some other student behind me, feigning that it was one of the Chris duos. I could see the other students faces lit up but tense with anticipation of a good laugh, I knew that I was done. The good Sister confirmed my worst fears, "I mean you, Benson", she said rather calmly. My eyes must have popped out and I was gripped in the kind of fear that you can touch, see, smell and hear. I saw my little remaining dignity pass away before my own eyes as the prospect of swords of words with points of  'R's, 'L's, 'Ch's and 'Sh's carving away at the iotas of a little speaking confidence remaining in me.

It couldn't get worse, or could it?

I cleared my throat a dozen times as the ever-patient Sister Francis motioned me to read the first paragraph of the first chapter. There I was scared beyond imagination, my mouth ran dry, my tongue contracted like a slug in salt. I froze and looked like a petrified cat and the sister kept encouraging me to read.  My classmates were at the precipice of tension and I was denying them their moment. I summoned the last ebbs of my courage and decided in mind let 'these morons have their laugh, after all, they had waited long enough and I have reached the tipping point of my fear of embarrassment'. I felt the villager who was hitherto well camouflaged would now be revealed stark naked for all to see and judgment and a sentence to be made. I knew that without a doubt I would have to cluster with the villagers' cliques henceforth.

First chapter of Things Fall apart by Chinua Achebe

I finally found my tongue and started reading "Things fall apat by Shinua Ashembe".  The imps in that class burst out laughing in a thunder, some(the dramatic ones) fell down to the floor in fits of laughter with legs up in the air. I felt the lighting of embarrassment strike me viciously but soon afterward a sigh of relief. I had paid my dues, I could now be me, a villager from some unknown village in Tetu, Nyeri. I felt like 'wakagukuu' who had broken off his cocoon to be a truly magnificent butterfly.

The laughter would have gone on for much longer, the teacher; Sister Francis brought the imps back to sanity and admonished them towards good behavior. She had a hard time since she was the gentlest of souls you can ever meet. I thought she would then move the reading to the next person, oh boy! was I wrong! I had to read the entire paragraph as the imps continued in their rituals of fitful laughter, they even joined the chorus as I clobbered and slaughtered the English language. They helped along as I rolled the 'R's into 'L's and vice versa, the orchestra 'sh'aad the 'ch'aas and 'ch'aad the 'sh'aas. The village hero was laying naked in embarassment. I was Amalinze the cat, the hitherto great wrestler who Okonkwo(the imps) had finally thrown to the ground. The cat(yours truly) had slipped and landed on its back.  I painfully related with this paragraph, not with the victorious Okonkwos but with the vanquished Amalinzes.

"wild for seven days and seven nights" that's how long I felt that ritual lasted, the climax when the voices in the opera reach the pitch that shatters glass. My dreams of fitting into all cliques of my choice shattered.

Did this Cloud have a silver lining?

Sister Francis, visibly pink with rage banged the chalk duster on the table and...




ndumas - arrow roots, ngwachis - sweet potatoes, ikwas-yams, miangas-cassavas
Wakagukuu - its the pupa stage of a butterfly's metamorphosis, this stage succeeds the destructive caterpillar stage. The caterpillar encloses itself in some cocoon and stays inert as the development continues to develop a butterfly which has to break out of the cocoon to complete the cycle.