Maduweke

To my friend
I said
“Death came disguised –
Ill-advised –
In cool apparel
You could see hell
With all its designs
And its coded mines.
The trip to send
Me – to be led –
To the pit
Of the damned
Was almost a hit
But, it was calmed”.

TO YOU, MY BIRTHDAY MATE

If reasons can be found
In the need for months to
Come and go,
Then, I can say,
Chief amongst them
Will be the edge
It endows me with
In the matter
Of counting the days,
Blinking at the stars,
Daring the moon, the sun –
To say to you
“Blessed! It’s your day!”

If reasons can be found
In the dawning of the day
The best of them, dear,
Is that the resplendence
Of the moment
Will only be an image
Of the purity and clarity
Of your heart
And the day will itself
Rejoice that it is the
Chariot of glory
Which announces ‘your day!’.

APRIL’S FOOLS

The last month
Marched and turned
And gave birth
To a day
That yields fools
In numbers

And, the denizens
Of earth’s trickiest regions
Could hide their
Perturbations none
What could be done,
They wondered,
With all these idiots
Tumbling down
The spirals of the planet’s
Productive tubes?

The competition’s been stiff.
Now, April First has come out
With an open midriff.

Expelled by Jared Angira Part Two (Thematic Analysis)

THEMATIC ANALYSIS
Among the various themes addressed by the poem are the following:

THE UNDESIRABLE IMPACT OF FOREIGN INCURSION INTO AFRICA

This is the chief theme of this poem. The poet’s several efforts to evince, with subtlety but extreme effectiveness, the need to make the horror of unwarranted and unsought for intrusion palpable are glowing successes.

The arrival of foreign elements on the shores of Kenya brought with it debilitating economic catastrophe. Several Kenyans were made to feel and experience harrowing changes in their hitherto well-ordered lives. Many aspects of the natives’ existence became subjected to unprepared-for alterations orchestrated by the intruders. Not only were the natives deprived of their traditional means of livelihood, they were also deprived of their connections to their ancestral heritage. The foreigners’ every action was not symptomatic of their interest in, or respect for, the natives’ traditions, culture or customs, especially if these traditions, culture or customs would in no way serve the foreigners’economic interest.

LOSS OF IDENTITY AND ENSTRANGEMENT

The natives had a fulfilling, well-regulated way of inter-relating prior to the coming of foreigners. There was no disillusionment with regard to their understanding of selves, nor was their much occasion to call their standing in the scheme of things to question. Their ways of life were adequately regulated and ordered, and for this reason, they ‘traded in the market competitively  perfect’.

However, the incursion made by the foreigners into the natives’ lives instigated the uprooting of indigenous cultural norms, traditions and civilizations. Gradually, the natives became estranged from their ancestry, cultures and traditions.

Consequently, they experienced a reproachable loss of identity.

THE NATIVES’ PRE-INCURSION SELF-DEPENDABILITY

One note that is struck from the beginning of the poem, and that is reflected subtly in subsequent sections of the poem, is the matter of the natives independence before the unfortunate intrusion of foreigners. The natives were satisfied with their ways of life, and there was harmony in their midst. The coming of foreigners into the natives’ land was accompanied by malicious destabilization of economy and culture.

The poem is a running rendition of the devastation of the natives’ ways of life consequent upon the advent of the foreigners. The natives ‘ribs’ were cut, their ‘cows’ were dried, and the foreigners brought ‘drought’ that ‘planted on the market place, the tree of memory’.

Apparently, none of these misfortunes would have befallen the natives if the foreigners had stayed off their shores since the natives were satisfied and self-sufficient.

Exam Blues (the complete short story)

N5000! Rahmon’s head raced. N5000! Why,
he could make – he quickly calculated – fifty
trips to the eatery, Jesus Embassy, before the
end of the semester, discounting the
additional fives he would have to shell out
for pure water. But N5000!
Now, Rahmon Salami was a wily, wiry,
usually wrought-up creature who didn’t
believe half of every negative thing said about
him. Indeed, he didn’t believe half of every
thing said by anybody about anything, and
the half he believed could easily be attributed
to the quality of his modesty (at least, so he
believed). You would never earn his
acquaintanceship if you told him he had
small nose, huge lips, drooping chin or big
eye-sockets from where he squinted at every
one. But, you could be forgiven. You would
never earn his acquaintanceship if you told
what every body else had observed as the
most remarkable feature of his appearance:
that his left ear was small but his right ear
was big. Plus, you would never be forgiven.
Rahmon knew about propriety. He knew and
perfectly understood the logic behind the
universal postulations in support of righteous
deeds. There was nothing you could tell the
man about the rewards of evil machinations.
He knew every one of them, and these were
the few good points that could be counted in
his favour. Mr. Salami’s intelligence had a
firm grasp on good and evil. Mr. Salami only
could not tell where good stopped and evil
began.

“N5000 sounds good to me,” he declared
morosely to the young man standing in front
of him, the man who was giving him the
coupon to the first N5000 he would make in
his life. Happy or sad, Rahmon was always
morose. “But, N10000 would sound even
better.”
The young man’s mouth opened on its own
accord.
“Are you mad?” The young man demanded.
His name was Luke but every body who knew
him on campus – and there couldn’t be ten
of them since he seldom showed his face in
classes – called him Jukebox, or Juke.
“N10000? Do you suppose I’m asking you to
come and write GMAT on my behalf?”

“Look, Paul, think of one thing,” One of
Rahmon’s ways of proving the superior
advancement of his intelligence to that of
others was to call Paul what every body else
called pal.

“What?”

“The risk.” Rahmon scratched his drooping
chin absent-mindedly. “See, GMAT would
even have been better.”
For the second time, Juke’s mouth fell open
but this time, his tongue stuck out too.
“Jesus!” he rasped. Gab! He shook his head
inwardly. To think Gab recommended this
mad man to him!

“Look, Paul,” Rahmon said, totally oblivious
of his suitor’s reactions, “worse thing that
could happen with GMAT is that you could be
arrested…”

“And sitting for an internal exam is worse
than that?” Juke was a picture of incredulity.

Rahmon squinted at him.
“Sure. You could get rusticated. And if you
were to be one down against luck, you could
get expelled. Look, Paul, the police were
bound to release you sooner or later. All you
need is to know what palm to oil. But Paul,
you get sent out of this school and you don’t
get the benefit of a second chance.”
“But at what price? N10000?”

Rahmon scratched his chin once more.
“You are very passionate about this, huh?”
“Passionate?” It was almost as if Juke only
just heard the word for the first time in his
life. Passionate! Can you please look at this
guy?
“Yes, passionate. Look, Paul, there is nothing
to be ashamed of …”
“I’m not ashamed.”
“I haven’t said you are.”
“And my name is not Paul”
“Look, Paul, this is taking rather too much
time. Pay the money now and then sit back
and watch your result roll in.”
“I’m certainly not paying you N10000,” Juke
turned round. “I’ll get somebody else.”

A sudden storm of panic seized and nearly
swept Rahmon off his feet. In that instant, his
left ear actually got smaller and his right got
bigger. Fifty trips to Jesus Embassy…
“And just where are you going?”
He asked strongly, feelingly.
Juke paused.
“What kind of question’s that?” he said “I’m
going to get someone who is ready to do the
job and who isn’t goint to bill my head off.”

“Now, Paul, now, a moment, a moment,”
Rahmon stepped closer to him, squinting at
him irascibly, “I hate being cheated out of my
fee.”
“What cheat? What fee?”
“Look, Paul,. Look…”
“My name is not Paul!”
“I know, Paul. Pay the five. That’s what I
said. Pay the five grand and watch your
result roll in. what’s wrong in that, Paul?”

The paper for which Rahmon Salami was
staking his career was FIN 321, Qualitative
Analysis of Financial Decisions, facilitated by
no less a personage than the illustrious
Professor Willy Iyiemagbor. Professor Willy
had a reputation in University of Lagos, or in
the Faculty of Business Administration where
he held sway as a departmental head: he had
more expulsions to his credit than any other
lecturer in the whole faculty.
Rahmon’s decision, taken rashly and at the
urging of his devastating hunger for those
trips to Jesus Embassy, was a foolish one at
best. He was in his final year. If he got
caught, the four years he’d spent in the
school, the money, the pride and the
influence which his parents now commanded
on their street, all would come to naught.
As Rahmon squeezed himself into a seat in
FBA Room 10, these thoughts cruised round
his mind. As yet, it hadn’t occurred to him
that he had undertaken to commit an offence,
what in the conservative sphere of religion
could be termed as an evil deed. Although, to
be fair, he had an inkling that what he was
about to do could be foolish or else what was
he dreading being caught for? Now, that was
a scary thought, right there. What if he was
caught? What if one of the lecturers suddenly
recognized him as a student of the
department, certainly, but not one that had
any business being in Room 10 at this time?
What then?
Some beads of sweat formed on his huge
upper lip. He came to a decision: he wouldn’t
let that happen.
He sat by the railing. Two seats to his right
(at least a seat was always left unoccupied
between candidates during exams), a scruffy,
sweaty boy – he couldn’t have been more
than a boy, say 17, Rahmon determined –
was chewing frantically on his pen. He
looked worse than nervous.
“Get a hold of yourself, man,” Rahmon
snapped at him.

The boy turned to look at Rahmon and
mumbled ‘sorry’. Rahmon shook his head
and looked at his watch. He was nervous too
but he wasn’t about to become a shot of a
rolling nervous ball over it. When would they
bring the paper for Mary’s sake?

They brought the paper for the sake of the
students at10:00 amprompt. The moment
Rahmon got his, he delved into it. To every
‘Psst!’ of the boy, summoning him for
assistance, Rahmon could not afford the
generosity to give him even a cranky squint.

“Photocard, please.”
Rahmon continued writing furiously,
completely disregarding the palm which the
invigilator, a lecturer from another
department, thrust in his direction. He looked
at the question and wrote some more.
“Photocard!” the lecturer bawled with forced
authority and hurt dignity.
Rahmon gave him the card with crooked arm,
thus forcing the lecturer to stretch painfully,
almost tumbling across the boy and the
empty seat to get it.

The lecturer was totally mad with annoyance.
He stood there glaring at the ugly head of
Rahmon, but for all his effort, he only
managed to win utter indifference from him.
There were a few titters in the room, adding
to the lecturer’s embarrassment and fury.
Damn it all, the lecturer said to himself and
snatched a glance at the card. He should
toss the card on the floor. That would teach
the impudent, ugly, little sod to disrespect a
lecturer in the future.

Actually, the lecturer almost suited his action
to his thought before he unceremoniously
realized that there was something odd in the
whole affair. This time, he took a long look at
the card and a longer one at the supposed
bearer of the picture in the card. The lecturer,
Doctor Adelami, just could not help it: his
whole face contorted into a wide smirk.
“Luke James!” he called. Rahmon continued
writing. He had forgotten his name. He had
forgotten that in that room, he had swapped
Rahmon for Luke. “Luke James, or is that not
your name?”

Something, call it intuition if you like, warned
Rahmon that he was indeed the one
addressed, and he squinted at the lecturer
with a combination of ill temper, anger and
fear.

“Yes?”
Doctor Adelami had his fill of Rahmon’s
features, subconsciously compared it to the
smiling face staring up at him from the photo
card and told himself quite satisfactorily that
here at his disposal was an examination
cheat.

The lecturer wriggled round the boy (who was
again chewing on the end of his pen
frantically), round the empty seat and
grabbed Rahmon’s question paper and
answer booklet with his left hand where he
had the photo card while at the same time
grabbing the collar of Rahmon’s shirt with
his right. All these he accomplished in less
than five seconds.

“What, sir, is the meaning of this?” Rahmon
queried biliously.
“The meaning of this,” the doctor said,
yanking up the student without warning, “is
that you are about to see first hand what
respect examination cheats command around
here. Step out, my friend.”
“Examination cheats? Nonsense!”
But Rahmon, who at that moment felt
nothing at all like the Doctor’s friend, did
step out.

One hour later, he was in a mini-conference
with three lecturers: Doctor Adelami, Prof.
Rakia and Prof. Willy.
The demeanour of each of the lecturers was at
variance with the others’. Dr. Adelami was
smug. Prof. Iyiemagbor was furious and sad.
Prof. Rakia was both disgusted and bored.
Rahmon looked on with unhidden
indignation.

Iyiemagbor held the photo card a mile away
from the foot-thick lens of his spectacles. He
looked from it to Rahmon’s face and back to
it.
“Why did you do this?” He asked Rahmon.
“Why did you do this in my course?”
It was obvious to all that Willy was not as
much pained that Rahmon had violated the
School’s examination rule as he was that he
could do so in his own course.
“Do sir?” Rahmon wondered. “With all due
respect, but do what? As far as I can see, I
wasn’t allowed to finish my paper. I don’t
think you can sit there accusing me of doing
what you’ve not allowed me to do fully.”
“Oh, you see,” Dr. Adelami literally jumped in
barely concealed glee, “you see, sir,
he’s admitting it. He’s admitting to
examination malpractice!”
“Of course, I admit it.”
“You admit it?” Willy was almost in tears.
“You admit to being caught performing an
act of examination malpractice in my
course?”
Rahmon shook his head.
“You got it wrong sir,” he told the three of
them. “I admit that there was an examination
malpractice. Yes. He,” nodding in the general
direction of the Doctor, “didn’t allow me to
finish my paper. If that’s not an examination
malpractice, sir, then, I’ll like to be
enlightened on the theme.”

Adelami could have slapped Rahmon on the
spot if he was standing within a foot of him.
His hand itched; rage tore at him from every
point of his physique. The tautness of his
sinews bore testament to how much he felt
riled. What unpardonable insolence!
He took a step toward Rahmon.
“Could you,” he began, “possibly be
insinuating that you were not impersonating
somebody in that examination hall today?”

Rahmon looked at him as if he could not
believe that a lecturer with a doctorate
degree could be that stupid. The contempt
the two professors saw in Rahmon’s look
made them wonder if perhaps Adelami could
be guilty of a little idiocy.

“Could you,” Rahmon returned with
remarkable condescension, “be insinuating
that a man could possibly impersonate
himself?”

For an instant, even Doctor Adelami doubted
his own good judgement.
Prof. Rakia stirred from his boredom and
asked Willy to let him have one more look at
the picture. He wanted to be sure which
stand to take.
Here was the face in the photo card, truly, all
well-rounded, good-looking and fair
complexioned. Here was the fellow claiming
to be in the picture, well, disproportionately-
featured, ugly even beyond revulsion and,
well, dark as they come. Here was the crux of
the issue: how did one account for this
glaring lack of symmetry?

He cleared his throat and the other three men
in the room turned to him as one. Prof. Rakia
tried to fix his gaze on Rahmon’s face but
because he was not aware of the discrepancy
of nature that registered scorn on Rahmon’s
face as a permanent fixture of his
countenance whenever he felt a flicker of
hope where there ought to be none, Prof.
Rakia could not succeed.

“Young man,” the Professor said, shifting his
eyes from Rahmon to Adelami, “there’s a
problem here. There are some things here
that certainly don’t agree. For instance, this
man in the picture,” he held the card up for
the benefit of the room, “is obviously fair-
skinned while you’re of darker tan.”
Rahmon would not have it.

“That can be explained,” he said. “The change
in complexion is as a result of my experiment
with some facial creams.”
“That’s nonsense!” Doctor Adelami bellowed.
“There’s no cream yet that changes a man
from being light-skinned to dark-skinned!”

When Rahmon turned the compliment of his
abominable squint to the Doctor, the two
Professors could see that Adelami needed
rescuing.
Willy took on the role of a life-saver.
“Explain to us,” he said, “how you achieved
this feat.”
“I never said I was originally fair-skinned,” he
moaned. “I changed my complexion from
dark to light using a bleaching cream. That
was when I took that passport. When I
stopped using the cream, I went back to
dark. Easy.”
“In the space of what time?” Rakia wondered.
“Two weeks.”
“Remarkable!”

There remained the question of the difference
in features. Rahmon explained to them with
increasing note of irascibility that their
knowledge of photography – which obviously
needed sharpening up – was an unbelievable
lesson in coarseness. If they could only take
the time – the time – to observe that a good
placing of the camera, maneuverability of
lighting and apt positioning of the object to
be captured could work a miracle in
photography that no plastic surgery could
work in real life, all would be well.
“Interesting!” was the only observation Prof.
Rakia made.

Juke was waiting anxiously for news beside
the porter’s lodge when Rahmon strolled out
casually from the FBA building. Rahmon’s
composure alone was enough to give Juke a
reason to believe all had gone well. Juke,
however, would like to be sure. He was on
him at once.
“How did it go?” He asked.
“Fine,” casually.
“How fine then?”
“Oh, very fine.”
Juke could not hold his relief.
“Thank God!”
“Can I have my balance now?” Rahmon
showed him his palm.
“Balance?” Juke was surprised. “But, you
were unable to finish the paper.?”
“It will be finished.”
“When?”
“After the Exam Malpractice Panel sitting.”
Juke was completely thunderstruck.
“You are still going to appear before the
School’s Exam Malpractice Panel?”
“No,” Rahmon told him calmly, “you are.”

Expelled by Jared Angira

EXPELLED

We had traded in the market competitively perfect
till you came in the boat, and polished goodwill
approval from high order
all pepper differentials, denied flag-bearers

and cut our ribs, dried our cows
the vaccine from the lake
burst the cowshed, the drought you brought
planted on the market place, the tree of memory

I had no safe locket to keep my records
when Sodom burnt and Gomorrah fell
the debtor’s records blared
the creditors tapped my rusty door

My tears flowed to flooded streams
and source the rivulets from my human lake
from my veins, my heart my whole
disposition of the last penny
the last sight of my fishing-net

Everyone avoids my path; I avoid death’s too
pursuit in a dark circus
the floating garden in a gale
plants reject sea water, the sea water rejects me

I have nothing to reject
the broken lines run across my face
The auctioneer will gong his hammer
for the good left behind

CONTENT ANALYSIS

Jared Angira’s Expelled is a loud outcry against the socio-economically destructive intrusion of foreigners into Kenya. It could be argued, perhaps successfully, that the poem is a metaphorical loaded gun, blasting away at the kind of devastating colonialism practised by the Europeans, particularly the British, in East Africa.

In the first stanza, the poet posits that the African natives, represented by the plural personal pronoun in the first person ‘we’, had enjoyed flourishing competition in their commerce prior to the advent of the foreigners. The foreigners ‘came in the boat’, strengthened by ‘goodwill approval from high order’. In other words, the approach of the foreigners and the penetration of the natives by the foreigners, as could be inferred from this documentation, were cleared through after a successful inveigling of the natives.

However, the impression of goodwill initially thrust upon the consciousness of the natives was to be ephemeral. The foreigners came with a purpose that was inimical to the economy of the natives in both its conception and discharge. The natives were dispossessed of their lands and cheated out of their means of sustenance (‘cut our ribs, dried our cows’). The poverty consequently induced was clearly manifested in the marketplace (‘the drought you brought/ planted on the marketplace, the tree of memory’).

The poet-persona, in the third stanza, chronicles his economic devastation as rivalling the hardship probably faced by the survivors of the ruinous episode of Sodom and Gomorrah (namely, Lot and his daughters). He, however, ‘had no safe locket to keep’ his ‘records’. Those who had outstanding obligations to him – which they had no means of satisfying – did not help his deprivations (‘the debtors’ record blared’). Yet, those he owed wanted him to settle his account with them (‘the creditors tapped my rusty door’). The obvious intention of the poet-persona in this stanza is to show the enormity of his woes.

The poet-persona’s loss was of such proportion that he could not stop weeping. His ‘tears flowed in flooded streams and source the rivulets from’ his ‘human lake’. The depth of his dejection, in this stanza, is stunning, and the melancholy of his flow flows effortlessly into the last three lines of the stanza. His ‘veins’, his ‘heart’ and his whole strength have been expended on extricating himself from the quagmire of the emotional and financial despondency engendered by the incursion of the foreigners. Still, nothing could stop or slow his steady slide into penury. His ‘disposition of the last penny’ was not helped by the fact that he had caught ‘the last sight’ of his ‘fishing-net’.

Since he is no longer of much economic benefit to anyone, everyone avoids his ‘path’, and not wanting to die, he avoids ‘death’s too’. This line bespeaks the irony of man’s clinging to a life that brings him nothing but woes.  The entire stanza indicates that the poet-persona is a total reject; and, the last stanza goes on to show that his situation is so terrible that he has nothing to reject. If he has anything remotely noteworthy left, it will not escape the auctioneer as he ‘will gong his hammer for the goods left behind’.

The whole poem is an extended metaphor of the financial hardship, and the economic, cultural and emotional dislocations experienced by the natives after the intrusion of the foreigners.

FOR MY SWEETHEART (not for anybody else’s eyes)

Darling,
To be honest,
I concede the fact
That my mouth
Leaks with pure scorn,
Insults and abuses
But since I’m deleterious
As you kindly put it,
May I call your attention
To what my friends
Say about you?

They say I’m blindly
– not only – in love,
But similarly out of it
Truly, pretty you are NOT
But excuses can be made
For passion, for love
I will not abuse
English Language by calling you a bitch
You are worse
Than whatever dog God
Created with His closest eyes
You are utterly and conclusively
A penis
You mount whatever
You see in trousers
Are you sure
You’ve not grown
One yourself?

As a cretin that wears gown,
Do your folks,
Not me,
The kindest favour of their lives
By stopping your leaning
Towards being a dustbin
I agree that you are worse
Than dirt,
But, for God’s sake,
Sometimes, there’s a need
For a limit

With my purest love,
Mollusco.

Just chilling

Happy new year, people.

Secret admirer

Venus eyes
Angelic gait
Sublime beauty
What more
               Can I say?

Light flashing
Truth revealing
Now I’m thinking

Perfect size
God’s artifact
Someone’s drooling

Unique mould
Quickly sold
And never told

Thus bending
Always watching
Me? Secretly admiring

I appreciate your coming

I appreciate your coming. Working on the Negro speaks of rivers and expelled