Saturday, 20 June 2015

A Review of Rodgers Ogada's Poem: ''Kites for Diapers'' http://t.co/KmnQvlEth8.

INTRODUCTION:

Rodgers Ogada is a gifted poet. His approach to societal issues and craftmanship are worthwhile. A feat seen only in artists who are serious with and know how best to do what they do. His poetry is primarily immersed in the societal systems, structures and classes; and their effects on entities operating under them. Moreover, his command of language and vast understanding of human experiences-- which is the main concern of poetry-- offers his poetry relevance, clarity and easy access.

REVIEW:

The poem 'Kites from Diapers' is an account of a prisoner's experience in prison. He shares a cell with two friends, Ayienga and Mutua (stanza1 &7). Of the two, Ayienga is the most troublesome.
In stanza1, the speaker says that Ayienga plans to make a kite from the roll of diapers in their cell (line 1). He has extracted strings from the edges of his blankets for the purpose (line 3&4). After making the kite, the speaker says, Ayienga is going to squeeze it through the window (to fly outside perhaps), line 6.
Breaching prison regularities and virtues (solecism) is the order of the day in prison cells. (stanza2, line1). This is evident in Ayienga's activities. The speaker fears this; due to askaris' (wardens') brutality. He is scared, should Ayienga's activities be discovered, they would be in trouble. Moreover, he does not want to be an excuse (alibi), line 4-- to be blamed on Ayienga's behalf. He says he only wants to finish his term. (line 6).

Further, Ayienga draws caricatures on walls of the cell. (stanza3, line2&3) with the metal he has twisted off his bed-mesh. And his carictures taunt restraints in the cell (fetters) (line 3). Sometimes, late in the day, the speaker says that Ayienga narrates how his (or their) comrade was shot at the Freedom Square when he was arrested and his gun disassembled (line 3, 4&5). This tells us that Ayienga could probably be a freedom fighter or activist. Thence he is a political prisoner.

In stanza4, we are told that he had received a letter from his girlfriend threatening to end (squelch) their relationship. (line 1&2). He weeps (line 3). He had been confused, thus disposing it off (inebriation) (line 5) and cursed her orgasms-- she exihibited while with him before (line 6).

For the time they have been together (they were separated yesterday), the speaker says Ayienga complains alot while asleep. This is a nuisance to other inmates (stanza5, line2). He laments how rehabs (institutions or people) mishandle him (line3). He is not joining them at the workshop (line4); for the seats they make (he opines) would only cushion stench of users and enrich constables (by selling) as well (line5&6).

In stanza6, the speaker is disturbed by bugs (line1). A gesture of filthy prison conditions. Ayienga was taken away (yesterday) because of making the kite (line2).

In stanza7, the speaker talks about his cellmate, Mutua. He had been a dedicated practitioner at Nyayo (hospital perhaps) (line1). But working with scapels is scary; he has refused to go back, saying things are better in the cell (line2,3,4). When his friends are asleep, there is solitude. Radios and Tvs outside have dissected throats-- there is little or no noise (line6).

MY STANDPOINTS:

In this poem, Ogada captures the reality of what transpires in prison cells. Wardens are brutal (stanza2, line2) and inmates are worked up (exploited) to enrich the authorities in the pretext of rehabilitation. Moreover, he successfully presents the contrast between the life in chains and being free, as for the case of Mutua.

However, the title of the poem seems not to encompass the whole experience. It seems odd, miserly and therefore, irrelevant. A kite is a light frame covered with some thin material to be flown in the wind; Diapers are simply pieces of cloth or absorbent material folded and worn as underpants by a baby not yet toilet-trained.

So relating 'kites from diapers' to what the speaker and other inmates experience is very limiting. Perhaps a different title would do.

Signed:
Lirango Lienjofu
[Thigh of an Elephant]

The Age of Loving is Passed

... We loved when and those we could. When and those we couldn't, we often let them go. What defeats you falls off your mouth. And because our forebears did not inject wisdom into our craniums for nothing, we could not afford to be like the gecko that spat a caterpillar-- when it couldn't swallow.

Girls were in plenty. Unlike today, women really bore women. No self-respecting man could afford to fuck a chicken, sheep or cow. We to them wrote thousands of letters. Though our rudimentary education at the time could not enable us write intelligent ones, we successfully managed to pass the message across. Once I wrote:
''... Nanjala, darling of men: when I think of you, I don't eat. When I think of you, I don't sleep. Snatcher of my appetite and sleep, release me... ''.

And girls loved us. They tore and bit each other over us. We exchanged fists and rendered ourselves toothless over them. No self-respecting woman with two breasts would open thighs for a dog. There was love. We loved with great hate.

It would take ages to see a girl's underwear. Where would you get her? They were watched. But today they walk swinging buttocks outside some belt-cum-skirts! Oh man, you see the real thing! Then, it only took a real man to go for his girl at night-- khuatula. She would tie a string on her toe then leave it hanging outside... You would pull it, then get her out for some hours in your simba. This is when and how boys-- those who could erect and ejaculate-- became fathers. They were thrashed. They were fined. Village headmen and chiefs really worked and earned handsomely.They (boys) married immediately. If I didn't marry at that time, man, I will never!

I had no simba. So I once invited myself to my girl's home. She slept in the kitchen with her sister. All would have gone well had her sister not complained of hunger. I served her too; generosity is a virtue God gave me in abundance. It seemed the honey was getting sweeter and fewer. They scrambled for it. And the lion of the home sensed that there was another lion in the compound. He took a matchet. He would have send me to hell or heaven had I not worn a stool as a cap. I used my sixth sense. The matchet ate the stool fiercely once he knocked the door open. I don't know what happened to Nafuna and her hungry sister. The running I did was enough to break a record Usain Bolt has and will never break.

Seasons then came and passed. Ages came and passed.

We shed off innocence as time plunged us into the unfathomable future. Civilization, with its madness, came to stay. We stopped waiting for girls on village paths, at the wells or posho mills. We stopped hovering near their compounds, whistling familiar tunes, and asking for water to drink when it was too cold. We stopped writing stupid letters. We stopped praising our lovers. Griots and poets no longer married easily by climbing on trees to sing poems to women they admired and adored-- on their return from wells or farms. Women stopped bearing women and men. Man, there are no wives today. Woman, there are no husbands today. We matured. See?

Haven't Facebook and Twitter done us good? You get a woman today, meet her tomorrow and wed the following day. Then realize that you are unfit for each other's consumption the day after. You fight, busy fight; and before you could divorce, you have killed her already or she has killed you.

Who dies to have sex? Who is dying to taste this forbidden fruit in marriage? It used to be damn expensive once upon a time. Today, sex is for free; love is expensive. Very expensive. Damn! Who likes expensive things anyway? The era of inadequacy forbids that. Even men of God are eating it with big spoons. Whoever has no penis or Eden, let them come out and stop them. Me, I can't. I swear by the last coin in my pocket!
Who has time to beg a woman? Rules of Seduction have undergone massive changes. Some women refuse to be confined to the societal ethics and ethos. They seduce men. This is really sweet. Isn't it, friend? If you see nothing in it, then I have no doubt your head is not well wired. See a psychiatrist. I think a psychologist can also do.

And not all relationships lead into marriage. We only want to cool our gnawing thirst. What is marriage if not a thing the society imposes on us? Once you are in, you can't look outside.

Love is saturated. Its ghost exists where money is. We have decolonized our hearts, no more deep engagements. No more honeying, baibing and darling. No more hide and seek.

''... So Nekesa, I have no sweet words
Left to soften your heart rigid
All got poisoned
Whilst singing dirges for my fallen compatriots
and my ailing nation...
Take me in
or let me try next door
The age of loving is passed... ''

(c) wafula p'khisa
--Thigh of an Elephant--