Happy New Year

Hey

You have been a great part of the family and here at Angaza Family Radio we wish you A great new year.
May this new year bring many opportunities your way, to explore every joy of life and may your resolutions for the days ahead stay firm, turning all your dreams into reality and all your efforts into great achievements.
Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right.

Liljow

http://www.angazafamilyradio.org

All new radio - more coming soon

Hey all
Have you Checked out our newly launched radio site, http://www.angazafamilyradio.org
Hope you all have been doing fine. More work is in progress and for all who would wish to be part of the radio family, and blessing souls you are all invited to register and share with the world. Everyone can know enjoy the music, we now have a kisii gospel page, african gospel, acapella and our kids are not forgotten. Its just a beggining, lets keep checking. Sermons are in progress.

Blessings to you all

Jobjow
AFR

A real blessing here at AFR more blessings more power

Hey all

Here at Angaza Family Radio we are taking care of your spiritual growth.
Checkout all newly added messages from our own Ev Mukangara.
http://www.angazafamilyradio.org/sermons/mukangara.html
The messages are Pre recorded at crusades and Mornning star Radio Broadcast, TZ
every Friday.
Also be blessed by messages by our own Reuben Kigame. keep checking more messages
and Fish FM broadcasts coming soon. Work in progress.

Dont for get you are in the right place for 24 Hrs Christian swahili, African, Gospel Music station

For all your inspiration needs. Did I forget Videos. You can enjoy and be blessed by a whole collection
of Gospel videos.

Much blessings and Pass the message. Its all about Jesus.

Job

 

A wise person says something when  He has something to say;

 A fool says something because He has to say something.

JOB

To see God face-to-face you must be wide awake

I regularly visit Trinidad, the Caribbean's economic hub. The USA, or President Bush to be precise, announced last week that Trinidad would no longer be eligible to receive financial aid as he considered it a rich country. It has oil and being the economic hub of the Caribbean, one can term it to be not a very poor country. But even in this supposedly rich county, just like we have it in other rich countries, not everyone owns a car. Many people in Trinidad own cars, but more do not. However, this is a special country that places the interest of its not so rich people very high on the agenda.

The rich stretch out in their cars as they go to work, parading some of the latest models, while those who cannot afford to own cars have to fight for space either on the government provided public buses, or the privately owned matatus. However in Trinidad they do not call them matatus. They call them maxi taxis. They are so called because salon cars (four passengers) are also allowed to operate as matatus. These are called communal taxis. Then there are those one-passenger taxis which charge high rates and only operate from designated areas.

Trinidad has some of the worst traffic jams that I have known. These traffic jams are caused not by bad driving as is the case with Nairobi, but due to the fact that there are too many vehicles on the roads. The result is that a lot of people wake up too early to go to work so as to avoid the jams. My Trini (that is what we call the people of Trinidad) friend, Allan Christopher, is always in his office by 6:30 am. But what about the poor people who have to use the maxi taxis? No problem, as the government has set aside a road which is called the 'priority bus route' meaning that only maxi taxis can use it, and a few privileged vehicles which must have special passes to use it. Other motorists have to fight out for space on the other overcrowded roads.

When I am in Trinidad I prefer to use the maxi taxis for they will take you to your destination on time and you will never get late due to traffic jams. People without cars only get late to work if they have overslept. What I have noted is that all the maxi taxis have similar signs posted on the inside, reminding passengers not to smoke, eat or drink while on the maxi taxis. I felt that was a well-thought polite message, until I saw one which had an addition. Apart from the reminder not to smoke, eat or drink, it had a fourth one – not to sleep.

That kind of interested me and since I was in the front seat, I asked the driver why he felt that people should not sleep on his maxi taxi. He said to me: "Some people sleep on the bus and when you get to their destination, they are still asleep and they end up going to my final destination. When they wake up at the final destination, they refuse to pay the extra amount incurred by the excess journey, and then they demand to be taken back to their destination at no charge. I lose twice and that is why every passenger must be fully awake."

The driver's narrative brought back some memories of my days as I grew up in the town perched at 6161 feet above the sea level, yet it was on the floor of the Rift Valley. As was like any other day in our action packed schedule, this day we went to the railway station at about 4:00 pm when the upper-class passenger train from Nairobi to Kampala would stop at our station. Passengers in the first and second class, and mostly Indians used to give us Indian foods which we relished as much as our parents detested the habit which they termed as begging. To us, we saw it as receiving and we did not feel ashamed of receiving what had been given to us.

On this particular day, after the train had pulled out of the station, we saw a strange old man standing on the other side of the railway line, which did not have a platform. We gazed in his direction and because of that he asked us whether we knew Kĩmwaki's home (not his real name). Two of Kĩmwaki's sons were with us. They came forward and he said to them that he was their father's friend and that he had come from Maji Mazuri. We chuckled because we knew that the train was going to Maji Mazuri on its way to Kampala and we could not comprehend how he could be coming from a town where the train had not even reached. Having seen our dilemma he said: "I actually came on the morning train from Kampala, but when it arrived here, I was asleep and did not wake up until it arrived in Nakuru. So, I disembarked and had to wait for this one going to Kampala to bring me back. They charged me for travelling from Nakuru to here even though it was not my mistake that I had fallen asleep because the Gacherũ (ticket examiner) should have awoken me."

I therefore do not blame the maxi taxi driver in Trinidad who ensures that his passengers do not sleep. However, Tanzanian songstress and soloist with the New Life Crusade Choir of Tabata, Dar es Salaam, Ms Neema Mwaipopo, looks at life just the way passengers on a matatu, bus or even a train should do to avoid going past their destinations. Others are not as lucky for they even end up sleeping while at the bus stop and so when the matatu arrives, they miss it because they were fast asleep.



Neema is not only a great soloist as she has portrayed her prowess as she guides her members in the song Sipati Picha, but is also the writer of its lyrics. When asked why she chose that title for the song, which she wrote three years ago, she said that she was trying to visualise how things will be when Jesus will come back to take those that are His. She was guided by the Scriptures in Matthew 24:41 where the Bible talks of two women who would be grinding and one would be taken away and the other left behind. Although the scriptures do not state that the one left behind was physically asleep, but we could say that she was indeed spiritually asleep because she had not prepared for Jesus' second coming.

It also reminds me of events that took place in Nairobi about three or so months ago, when the Internal Security Permanent Secretary Cyrus Gituai ended up confessing that the police were outsmarted by the resurgent Mŭngiki gangs who had tipped the public that they would strike at 5:00 am, but ended up striking at 3:00 am causing mayhem in the city and leaving the entire police force flatfooted. The training the police guys undergo prepares them to be on the alert 24 hours, but here they became alert at 5:00 am after Mŭngiki had struck and damage already done.

In the song Sipati Picha, apart from the message Neema Mwaipopo has given in its lyrics, it has a melody that takes the listener to a higher level of enjoyment. Arrangement of the music is also by Neema, and the choir members have executed it in a forceful and elaborate way. There are only two men in the choir, and from their movements, it is good to report that there were only two of them and not more, as they have been completely outclassed by their female folks, so much so that they appear almost (but not quite) flatfooted.

Sipati Picha is very well choreographed and according to Neema, the style is called 'South Style'. Playing the organ is Paul Sagenge who keeps the choir members on their toes from the opening of the song to the end. Neema, who is also the choir teacher, has some body movements that actually 'talk'. She appears very convincing as she says that she looks forward to meeting the Lord face to face. I asked her why there was footage of her in a swimming pool and her answer was: "I was swimming so as to get the picture of the joy that I will experience in heaven. I also love swimming." I, also, guess that it is her way of ensuring that she remains alert as it is hard to fall asleep while in a swimming pool that has cold water. The New Life Crusade Choir, which is made up of members from different denominations is a special choir. Their song Sipati Picha deserves full marks and is therefore awarded our five green stars. Keep it up Neema Mwaipopo – you will never miss the train to heaven and neither will you pass the destination.

You are never down for long:

God has novel plans to lift you

Big town dwellers, especially journalists, like referring small towns as being sleepy. But I wish they would know how much we did not sleep in our 6161 feet above the sea level small town on the floor of the Rift Valley. The residents were and are still vibrant. In the years I was growing up, a young man hit town and life was never the same. His name was Kipruto, but because of our diverse ethnic composition, we called him all manner of names, including Giburuto, Kĩvuruto, and Gip or even Buruto. But we the young ones called him Kip, which sounded cool in those days before the emergency of Sheng.

Kip was like a man caught up in between two worlds. I am not sure we knew his exact age, but suffice is to say that he was older than us, but younger than the grownups. He had a smile fixed on his face that showed off his milky white teeth. His skin was jet-black it was almost navy blue and smooth like that of a baby, and he was fat enough to be nearly overweight. Those days we did not know that a word like 'obese' ever existed. When asked why he was so well rounded (as to suggest fat), he would say that he had just returned from 'Chondoni'. We told him we did not know where that town was situated. He said that Chondoni was not a town, but rather a secluded place where newly circumcised boys spent nearly two months in the bush being fed on the best food the world could offer.

While most of us would normally bathe two days in a week (at 6161 feet above the sea level it can be very cold sometimes), Kip used to bathe twice a day. He would comb his hair in a manner that left it looking like a shiny black skull cap on his head. People talked about Kip. Not in a bad way, but in a manner to want to know more about him. Most of us said he was from Kericho and that he was Kipsigis, but he corrected us and said he was from Kaptumo, near Kapsabet and that he was Nandi.


He fascinated us even more because apart from speaking Kipsigis, Nandi, Elgeiyo and Tugen (little did we then know that they were sister languages belonging to the Kalenjin group), and of course Swahili and English, he could also speak Dholuo, Luhya, Gĩkũyũ, and Kisii. He said that he lived in the midst of tea estates and members of those tribes who worked on the estates were his neighbours and friends and that he learnt their languages.


One day he fell ill and was bedridden. He did not have money to go to the dispensary that we all called 'hospital'. Odongo, his roommate at Fort Jesus where he lived, quickly diagnosed the illness as malaria but could only manage to get some herbs and roots which he boiled and forced Kip to gulp down the resultant concoction. People talked. They said he was sick because he used to bathe twice in a day. Others said it was because he drank mursik, which is fermented milk, mixed with soot from a certain vine. The slightly enlightened ones said it was because Odongo made him eat fish and that Nandi people did not eat fish, while the more enlightened ones blamed Kip's illness on an insect called a mosquito. But no one offered to take Kip to the hospital in Nakuru as his illness was now beyond the scope of the dispensary perched at 6161 feet above the sea level. His name stopped being Kipruto and everyone referred to him as 'Mgonjwa' (the sick one).

Back in town, an Indian who owned the biggest shop and whom we called Kĩhara (I want to believe it is because he did not have hair on his head that we called him so, for I have never known Kĩhara to be an Indian name) called his assistant, named Ngigĩ and said to him: "Ngingi, konda na mita Mgonjwa." Poor Ngigĩ was at first surprised to learn that even Kĩhara had known that Kip was mgonjwa, and then wondered how he was going to bring him all the way from Fort Jesus to town.


In his wisdom, Ngigĩ borrowed a bicycle and pedalled to Fort Jesus where he found the mgonjwa vomiting, but only producing a whitish substance because he had not eaten for four days. He had lost weight. Ngigĩ said to him: "Kĩvuruto, Kĩhara wants to see you. I think he wants to take you to the hospital because he knows that you are sick. He asked me to bring the mgonjwa." He hoisted the sick man on the bicycle and asked him to hold on to him lest he fell off. He pedalled carefully and got to town without spilling his human cargo. But when he reached the entrance of the shop, Kĩhara came out to find out why Ngigĩ had taken such a long time and at that moment Kip lost his grip on Ngigĩ's body and fell in a heap on the ground. Ngigĩ lost control of the bicycle which fell on Kip, and as Ngigĩ tried to stop the bicycle falling on Kip, he got entangled with its wheels and he too fell on Kip.

Kĩhara looked in trepidation and said: "If you had to kill him, did you have to do it in my presence? You have made me witness an aggravated case of murder." Ngigĩ, now mortified by what had happened, profusely apologised to Kip who was not dead yet. Before he could tell Kĩhara that he had brought the mgonjwa, Kĩhara asked him: "Wapi hii Mgonjwa". Perplexed by the turn of events and wondering why Kĩhara could not see that the mgonjwa had been brought, he told the now agitated Kĩhara "Si mgonjwa ndio huyu?" Kĩhara replied, "Mimi nataka Mgonjwa ile fundi ya nguo."


With that pronouncement, Ngigĩ realised that it was Mũgwanja the tailor that Kĩhara wanted to see and not Kip the mgonjwa (the sick one). But that confusion led Kĩhara to order his driver to take Kip to the Rift Valley Provincial General Hospital in Nakuru, twenty miles away. The sick man was put in the back seat of Kĩhara's car, a Simca (I don't see those cars anymore) whose registration was KCP, but I cannot remember the numerals. The driver was given money to go and pay for the hospital admission, while Kip was given twenty shillings for his pocket money. That was a lot of money because adults used to pay one shilling and twenty cents to travel to Nakuru by train; a mandazi cost only ten cents and a cup of tea was twenty cents. After one and a half weeks, Kip was back in town looking well and flashing his trademark white teeth as he smiled; only that he had lost some weight.



For our review, let us look at Pastor Joan Wairimũ's video, Mungu Amekusudia Kukubariki, where she is ejected from a matatu because she could not afford the required Shs.30.00 for her fare.


The poor woman eats the humble pie and with face down she steps out from the matatu before it speeds off. But in a twist of fate, Wairimũ ends up driving one of the most expensive cars in the world, a Mercedes Benz, and dining at the five-star Safari Park Hotel! I want to believe that is what they call a 'rags to riches' story.



The song's melody is appealing and lyrics are uplifting. There is nothing as assuring to a hungry and needy person when he/she learns that God will take care of their problem coming with the rider that 'kucheleweshwa siyo kunyimwa' which roughly translates to 'delay does not mean denial'. She could never be further from the truth. I commend her highly for taking the act to the slums where she belts out the song with appealing body movements along with the slum dwellers. The video has mixed footage of extremes (in lifestyles) that Kenya is famed for. Her lyrics give slum dwellers the optimism that their time of hardships in the slums will soon be gone.

But while Pastor Wairimũ's message is one of hope, how practical is it? The Bible teaches us of the need to work hard for our daily bread. God promises abundant harvest to those who sow more. Pastor Wairimũ does not send that message across, which would then give those people an illusion that they could just sit there waiting to get those blessings from the Lord. That is her major shortcoming. Also God gives according to one's ability, a simple fact that is ably illustrated by the parable of the talents, where the one with ten made ten, and the one with five made five, and the one who failed to make use of his one, it was taken away from him and given not to the one with five (as simple logic would dictate) but rather to the one with ten. To give slum dwellers the illusion that they too will drive a Mercedes Benz soon, while it is possible, is rather misleading under our prevailing situation.

As a Pastor, Joan Wairimũ should also have taken time to thank God by giving back to Him by way of tithing and assisting those in need. She has instead shown us how to lavishly spend that money. She goes for an extremely expensive car. Buying bottles of wine (I want to assume so because bottles of water are different from what we see in the video) from a supermarket, dining at the Safari Park Hotel instead of cooking a wholesome meal at home. She is doing this while those she involved in the filming of her video continue to earn less than one hundred shillings a day. Yes, her message is good, but is should not have stopped where it did. It is not as holistic as the Lord would wish for it to be according to His teachings as contained in the Bible. She earns three of our green stars.

Handle with compassion: The enemy is also a child of God

President Mwai Kĩbakĩ, I believe when he was still a dashing minister before the rigors of higher office started wiping hair from his head, was quoted to have said that every market place has a mad person. While not scientifically proven, I want to think he was right. Even my small town in the Rift Valley, perched at 6161 feet above the sea level, when I was growing up it had a mad person. Actually a mad woman. At times we used to feel that she was not mad, because she used to arrive at the market at 11:00 am each day, but Sunday, even though she did not have a watch. But we also thought she was mad because she never used to bathe, and would still come to the market even when it would be raining.

We knew her by her Christian name only, Rakeri (Rachel - although that is not her real name). As children, we were afraid of her, even though she was never known to be violent. She would sing the whole day while collecting sticks and pieces of wood that she would later take home to use for firewood. Women vendors at the market used to give her food, and so she was never hungry. Apart from fearing her, we also hated her because women vendors would give her ripe sweet bananas, but they never gave us any. One day we got fed up, and one of my companions, who I will call Wakaba (also not real name) said he was going to teach Rakeri a lesson, and that we would miss her for a few days if not weeks, and we might be given bananas meant for her.

The plan was simple. Since one could set their watch by the time Rakeri arrived at the market, Wakaba plotted to have nails planted in soft soil in the ground with their sharp ends facing up on the path she used. He got about six nails, which he buried in the ground disguised the scene with the soft soil, and he ran home expecting to hear screams coming from a woman with paining foot or feet since she never wore shoes. He was right, because five minutes before the hour of 11:00 in the morning, he heard very loud screams. But instead of celebrating, he started sweating and nearly collapsed. It was his grandmother screaming. To make the matters worse, she was yelling his name.

He sheepishly walked to where his grandmother was groaning with pain as one of the nails had literally gone through her foot, and he asked her in dismay: "What business brought you here Cũcũ?" The old woman did not take that lying down: "Excuse me young man, are you suggesting that I should not use this path, or are you saying you are the one who planted the nails? They do not have any rust." Wakaba's sight became blurred. A lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him. His insides became jelly, and he had to rush to the toilet to take care of the sudden episode of endesha (diarrhea), while his grandmother was screaming at the top of her voice, this time not because of pain from the nail, but the pain of seeing her grandson running away from her.

Before he bolted the toilet door, he asked me to take some paraffin to his grandmother to use as a disinfectant, as we used to do in those days. I took some paraffin and an old piece of cloth. She had pulled out the nail, and the bleeding had stopped. I wet the piece of cloth with paraffin and she cleaned the punctured skin and tied the wound. As that was happening, Rakeri walked past singing that God is good, and did not even notice us. I could not disagree with her. He was so good to her that she missed danger that was meant for her.

In the West Indies, West Indians, just like their relatives in Africa have very many sayings. They will not finish any short talk without invoking one of them. A popular one is that when you dig a hole (for someone), dig two. They go on to expound and say that when you wish someone bad luck, the same will befall you. The Bible has a similar saying, only that it does not mention two holes. It says that when you dig a hole (for someone) you will fall into it (Psalm 7:15). If I must pick the lesser evil, I would rather go for the Bible option. Look at it this way, if I dig two holes (one meant for me) and the other one for Jobjow, then the two of us will get in and there will be no one to assist us. But if I dig one and instead of Jobjow falling into it, I end up inside there, I will call him and he will rescue me. Of course I will tell him that I had dug the hole to trap a buffalo. Being the good guy he is, Jobjow won't even waste a minute trying to figure out that buffalos do not live in towns. He might even give me money to send me to a hospital for medical checkup.

Before I let you go, please take time and understand that you could dig as many holes as it may please you, but you can only succeed in falling in one – you won't be able to come out of that one to fall in the next. The reason is because God also loves the other guy. But He does not hate you. You are the one who is in the business of disobeying Him by hating the people He loves.

With a name like Peace, it then comes as no surprise when she exhorts us to pray for our enemies. Evangelist Peace Mulu has a video under the title Ombea Adui Yako in which she has put on the table very serious issues that we take for granted. When people make it their business to talk evil about you, plotting against you and deciding what will happen to you, they are then not the friends you need. Peace Mulu has good counsel for you – pray for them. God has many good things in store for you, and she advises that no amount of badmouthing (including going to wagangas) will help them as God will continue dishing out blessings to you without stopping.



The song's refrain is however not very encouraging. She says that you should pray for your enemies to live long enough for them to see God's blessings coming your way. There is nothing wrong with that. But Evangelist Peace should preach what God commands us to do and that is to pray for our enemies for them to turn from their bad ways and join us. Her lyrics do not address to that. She simply requests that they live long, not to be saved, but to see how you have been blessed. That can be counterproductive in our efforts to win more souls for the Lord as the enemy will feel that God does not love him. We might send the wrong signal to our enemies.

To make music videos more appealing, all manner of footage is added. Some of it is relevant to the song's message and some leaves the viewer rather puzzled. The Masai of Kenya and Tanzania have been known to be a very aggressive people. So much so that we misunderstand them. I know that they are aggressive to lions that kill their cattle. It is lions that fear the Masai. I also know that they defend their animals so much that they cannot stand cattle rustlers. If you are not a cattle rustler, you have no reason to fear a Masai, as they are some of the most respectful people in the world. My sister is married to a cool Masai man, who smiles even to strangers, so much so that a number of people have asked if there is anything wrong with him. The footage of Masai morans wielding their rungus in Peace Mulu's video might make some people assume that they are the enemies she is singing about. But please note that I have not said that is what she intended. While Peace Mulu's song has an appealing melody and its message is noble, its presentation could catch some viewers on the wrong footing. We give her three of our green stars for her effort.

After unceasing prayers the Kenyan train is back in motion

It is a well known fact that boys play hard, sometimes with consequences that leave entire communities awestruck. This brings back to memory my glorious school days in the peaceful Rift Valley where I grew up in a town perched up 6161 feet above the sea level. Yet they said I lived in a valley. Mbũgua (no relation to Jobjow) and Madaka were two boys who although in the same class with us, were much older. One afternoon, when all others were busy with extra-curriculum activities, the two went by the railway line that goes to Uganda. Before long a goods train on its way to Uganda stopped where it never was supposed to stop. We saw Mbũgua and Madaka scampering for cover and hiding in a class that was not even theirs.

Just like the train, the entire school came to a standstill. We saw a man running into the school compound asking to be shown the headmaster's office. He did not need to be shown as the headmaster came out to find out what was happening. The man said that he was the train driver and that he had been stoned by two schoolboys. The headmaster demanded to know who the boys were, but most of us who had seen Mbũgua and Madaka running away from the railway line said nothing. However, the innocent boys and girls of standard two, in whose class the two boys had taken shelter, reported that it was Mbũgua and Madaka who had done it and that they were hiding in the classroom.

Soon the train moved off, and the two boys were whisked to the local police station. They were immediately transferred to Nakuru as my home town did not have Railway Police who were supposed to handle such an issue. Three days later they were arraigned in a court where they faced a mean looking magistrate. Their parents came along. The train driver who had allegedly been stoned was also present. A wire-thin policeman, whose uniform was threatening to fall off his body, was prosecuting. He told the magistrate that the boys had thrown a huge stone that hit the driver of a goods train and that the driver, in a lot of pain, had to stop the train at an unscheduled place. He showed the court a large stone that must have been two pounds or thereabouts. He said that the boys had committed a crime aimed at causing grievous harm on the train driver. He actually called it attempted murder.

When the boys were called to defend themselves, Madaka told the magistrate that they were by the railway line trying to shoot down some meek birds we called olulu, using a catapult and tiny stones. He said that there was no way such a huge stone could have been thrown by use of a small catapult. He also pointed out that there was no sign of injury on the train driver's face. He then pulled out the handmade catapult from his hind pocket and showed it to the magistrate, who looked at the boy and shook his head furiously. From the way he behaved, everyone in the courtroom thought the boys were going to face very long jail sentences. But when he opened his mouth, the courtroom froze. He gave the train driver a tongue lashing for wasting the court's time, and the resources of East African Railways and Harbours for having stopped a goods train in the bush to harass boys who were playing legitimate and harmless games.

While everyone applauded the magistrate after he ordered the train driver to make sure that in future his train only stopped at railway stations, the father to one of the boys did not take it very kindly. I will not say which father because I do not want to embarrass that particular boy. He stood and shouted at the magistrate: "Wee Jaji, funga huyu mtoto wangu. Yeye anapigaga mama yake" (You Judge, jail my son. He beats his mother). Police officers quickly frog marched the shouting man out, with his feet barely touching the ground. The mother of the boy stood and shouted "Shetani ashindwe!" (Down with the devil). Instead of the policemen taking her out, they held her and told the magistrate that she had called them devils. The magistrate, who had witnessed what transpired, reprimanded the policemen by telling them that the woman was right because the devil who had tried to use the train driver to have her son go to jail for an offence he had not committed had been defeated.

The best news coming out of Kenya is that over the weekend President Mwai Kĩbakĩ and Opposition leader Raila Odinga had finally agreed on the composition of a Grand Coalition where he named Odinga the Prime Minister. It was further good tidings for Kenyans when Prime Minister Odinga went to his official office on Monday (April 14) where, according to a report carried by the Daily Nation, he took his new office with a promise to ensure that the country got back to its feet following the destruction caused by the post-election violence. The cherished Kenyan train, which had been running seamlessly for over 40 years, had been forced to stop at an unscheduled stop. This act that had left hundreds of our country men dead and thousands displaced. Good sense has prevailed and the Prime Minister has promised that no amount of intimidation would stop the Kenyan train. Shetani ameshidwa!

Ev. Nathaniel Nyagol of King's Ministers Melodies in Michigan is a Kenyan who decided to leave the comfort of his adopted home in the US to return to a burning Kenya to ensure that the Kenyan train did not stop for too long. For his deep love of mother country, he ministered by song, as he has done in the past (he is better known for his Gospel track "Piny Orumo" The world is getting finished) and produced a new thought provoking song, Mungu Ongoza Kenya (God Lead Kenya).



In this song, whose video Jobjow has managed to upload on the Angaza website, Ev. Nyagol (just like the magistrate above) is telling Kenyans that their train had stopped where it was not supposed to stop and hence wasting a country's most valuable resource – its people.

The patriot he is, his song opens with a flag of Kenya flaunting in the wind followed by the clips of wildlife, which has put Kenya on the world map, and of great vistas of the country. When he appears 100% he has the backdrop of the towering Kenyatta International Conference Centre. The melody is slow and reassuring while the lyrics are prayerful. He prays for our politicians to look to God the Creator citing that in unity the people would draw the strength needed to build the country. He calls for love among all the Kenyans.

He is gracefully joined by Mrs Nyagol in rendering this skillfully written piece. The footage in the video is spontaneous in nature and he cannot be accused of shying away from things that happened on the ground. There is the powerful and telling footage of Nyagol with displaced people, crying with them and playing with their children. He implores the country's leaders to take action and avoid empty words. The video was put together before the Grand Coalition was agreed upon and I would not be surprised if Kĩbakĩ and Raila had watched it before coming out with the much awaited agreement when they met at the Sagana State Lodge for the final meeting. For having spurred our leaders into putting the Kenyan train back in motion, Ev. Nathaniel Nyagol deserves full marks and takes home five of our green stars.