God does not misspeak!

There happened to be this poor guy, whose name I will not mention because I never got to know it. His wife heavy with their first child fell sick, and the man did not have money to hire a taxi to take her to the hospital because in her condition she could not ride in a matatu. It was in the 1970s. He went to his boss and explained the case. His kind boss wrote him a cheque of Shs.150. The man looked at the cheque and the only words he must have seen written on it (other than the amount) were 'bank' and Kenyatta Avenue, Nairobi.

He walked from the Industrial Area, over the Railway Bridge near Kenya Polytechnic and soon found himself on Kenyatta Avenue. He saw a bank and entered. There were many people in the queue and he had to wait for almost 45 minutes before he could be served. But on presenting the cheque, and his kipande to prove that he was the real owner of the cheque, the young cashier said that he was in the wrong bank (Barclays), and pointing across the street, she told him: "You see that bank across the road? That is where you will get paid." He looked in the direction she had pointed, and he saw Kenya Commercial Bank.

Thanking the cashier profusely, he walked towards the right bank, and the next thing everybody in the bank heard was a very loud bang as the man walked into those glass windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Momentarily people thought there was a bank robbery and some even dived for cover. The man fell heavily and it took the security man to pull him up and showed him the door. The security guard later told the manager that those 'glass walls' would kill people because they used to be cleaned daily making them appear as if there were not there, but they were there (not borrowing from Alex Haley's Roots). The following week the manager put some flower boxes by those glass windows, to avoid further mishaps.

Our man got paid at Kenya Commercial, but initially he had thought the girl at Barclays had misspoken or that he was seeing a mirage, where money was there, yet it was not there when he needed it. I recently suffered a similar fate when I thought I had clinched a publishing deal. It coincided with the Valentines' Day and I thought it was my best ever gift, after I had complained I felt like a man in a desert where I kept on seeing mirages instead of water. The man making offer told me not to worry as it was in the desert that the boy Ishmael and his mother Hagar saw a well. The attached message said: "His (God's) ways are not our ways". That brightened my day, but soon after finding the well, and as I rushed to drink from it, I hit an imaginary glass barrier around the well with a thunderous bang such that my head felt like it had been detached from the shoulders. I was warned: "Hold your horses. Not yet!" He had misspoken.

That soured my life until last week Friday which happened to be my birthday, when I received two personal birthday wishes, and two on-line birthday wishes from persons I do not know. (In a world of over six billion human beings, I could only be recognised by four - 4 - people!) Of the personal birthday wishes, the first came from a lady who I will not comprise her integrity by mentioning her name because apart from being a senior manager in one of the most successful financial institutions in the entire Eastern Caribbean, she is also a pastor in her church. Here is a person, who though not close to me, allowed herself to be used by God as a vessel to pass on His blessings to me. The next person was Jobjow, who apart from sending me an e-card in the form of an animated cartoon; he also sent me a package of goodies. I won't elaborate, so as to save him from being overwhelmed by fan mail from persons wanting him to know their birthdates. Jobjow you truly are a blessing – endelea hivyo hivyo.

A few days before my birthday, I had checked on the new videos Jobjow had posted, and lo and behold, one literally swept me off the floor, both by its melody and lyrics. Hagari (Hagar) by Sarah Mwangi.

This is a song with words of hope; lyrics that tell you God sees your suffering and never fails to deliver on His promises. God heard the cries of the man whose wife was sick. He heard the cries of Hagar's son in the desert. He heard my cries after I could not drink from a well I had been told about. He hears the cries of all of us any time we cry upon Him. We only fail to get His blessings because we never cry out for them. Sarah Mwangi's Hagari has pacified me for the pain I experienced. Jobjow could not have posted the video at a better time.

Let me not be carried away by my own joy. I am aware that I had taken an unauthorized sabbatical from my duties, but Jobjow being the good man he is, has accepted me back on the job, without any conditions attached. Here I am reviewing some of the songs he has posted on the Angaza Family Radio's website. There are so many new and good songs that I did not know where to start, until Sarah Mwangi's Hagari hit me like the force of angels coming to take us to our heavenly abode. I still do not know where (and how) Jobjow gets these videos. The only thing I will say is that he gets some of the best our Gospel artists are able to churn out.

Hagari is a title that does not explicitly point out to the greatness of the song. If I were Sarah Mwangi's song writer, I would have gone for a more potent and eye-catching title; one that would tell anyone seeing it that she is about to preach the best God has in store for us. I do not need to suggest any now because the video is already out. Listening to its melody, it tells me that she has been able to fuse two genres to bring out one of the most powerful contemporary Gospel songs to have come out of Kenya. Those who are well versed with Kikuyu genres will without doubt not miss the classic mũthĩrĩgũ beats in the song. She sways in calculated synchronisation to the beats. So do the choreographed backups by the young dancers. They could have, however, polished their act. She then introduces the keyboard, whose powerful and enchanting rhythm brings in the next genre that has been the living pillar with our East African contemporary Gospel artists.

While the language of music is universal, singing in Kikuyu does not stop anyone from grasping Sarah Mwangi's message. It is crystal clear leaving no one with the unfortunate prospects of seeing a mirage. Her lyrics have moved away from the norm where many artists are known to lift verses from the Bible and quote them verbatim without examining the context. She has not just quoted Hagar's predicament in the desert, but has gone further to teach us the lesson God intends for us, while using very simple language. She has compared her thirst for God to an antelope (thwariga) panting for water. No one should accuse her of borrowing from As The Deer Panteth for Water, as we do not have them in Kenya.

Sarah's enactment of the episode for the video is equally powerful, even though the child she has portrayed as Ishmael is rather too young, taking into consideration that before they were forced from Abraham's homestead, he had been circumcised (along with his father) at age 13. Sarah Mwangi has introduced her family (I want to believe so), but they have only managed to slow down the song's cadence, as some are at times out of step and others not looking very serious. However the two young children captured separately (2:24-2:28 and 4:20-4:23) attempting to dance to the beat have come out with flying colours. Video clip mixing is of a high standard, especially with the dropping in of clips where she is singing the refrain mimicking the young Ishmael crying out for water (1:12-1:14 and others). If one listens carefully at the opening of the video, one will hear the sound of water flowing!

The underlying message by Sarah, and that is what makes the song great, is that just as Ishmael's cries were heard in the desert, your cries today have been heard by God. This goes on to confirm that God does not misspeak, and that His promises are true. For her superlative effort, Sarah Mwangi gets four and a half (4 ½) of our green stars. We need more singers like Sarah to communicate God's blessings to us in such a powerful manner.

You tasted Him: He is yummy, why go for Rice?

It saddens me when many people look at my aged face (see picture) and start entertaining ugly thoughts to the effect that I was never a kid. I was and I grew up in a small town in the Rift Valley that was ethnically mixed, in what one would be allowed to refer as being a Kenyan cultural melting pot even though the population was quite small. It is the power of comparatives (or is it called proportions) that is guiding us here.

I attended school, although I used to skip afternoon classes to pick an ancient variety of zambarau we called ndĩrũ that only grew on the river banks, and which turned the tongues purple, hence my low level of educational achievement. In school we had boys and girls from all corners of the vast country that is Kenya and we only referred to them by their one name, but never by their tribes. We did not know our tribes until some people who were paid by the government and were called teachers, taught us that some of us were Luo because we ate kamongo and others were Kikuyu because they ate waru and others were Kalenjin because they drank mursik.

There were many friends and some of their names are still fresh on my mind: There was Kwayera, Mũkundi, Waithĩra, Aronyi, Kipsang, Maloba, Wangũi, Owiti, Mbũgua (no relation to Jobjow), Kubano, Nyaruai, Omondi, Matoke (not the banana), Chepkosgei, Kĩmani (not Pastor Lee), Akinyi, Mwanaisha, Juma, Madaka and of course there was a Kamau. Sometimes we would have two sharing one name and we would differentiate them by calling them Nekesa 'A' and Nekesa 'B'. We were all equal. The only person who was not equal (apart from our teachers) was Miss Emily (she of late memories) because she was a Sunday school teacher and was white. All the rest of us were black.

We are no longer kids. Some of us became teachers, others makanga, farmers, failed politicians, office workers (some as bosses and others as sweepers). Two even became semiprofessional footballers. I know one who became an ATM Dad (a man who only sends money to his kids but doesn't see them). Another became a top cop and another was shot to death in the USA. But when I last checked on them, I was surprised when told that Kwayera had become a Luhya, Akinyi a Luo, Mũkundi a Kikuyu and Kipsang a Kalenjin. What was even worse, they are not talking to each other. Mũkundi who had married Chepkosgei's cousin got crazy orders from two sides simultaneously. His people told him to return his wife to her family, and her family demanded her back. He did not know what to do with the kids (now grownups), who neither belonged to the Kikuyu nor the Kalenjin side as they are the true embodiment of the Kenya we want.

Yes, we used to have our own style of skirmishes, and many a times we went home with bloodied noses. Mediation was of the highest order, because we believed in still being friends the next day. When some of us stole Mũkundi's finger-licking lunch, little did we know that he had used newly sprouted bush spinach called terere that causes havoc to your stomach if you are eating it for the first time. Mũkundi went hungry and he cursed those who ate his food. When we went home we were hit by a diarrhea that was worse than a dysentery outbreak. For fear of death, the next day we confessed to Mũkundi, and in his wisdom he exercised a fine art of mediation where he fined each of us fifty cents. Not having money, we paid it in other forms (some of us stole eggs from our homes to pay him). But the moral of the event is that the art of mediation was in existence, perfect and biding even among us kids.

Today I hear all manner of accusation. Kibaki amebaki na (read steal) kura zetu and Odinga is A Liar (spell his first name backwards). As grownups we should look back to the power of mediation we possessed as children instead of sending our kin to early graves. We also know the power of mediation that Jesus wields and that is a fact. Do we need to go down as low as taking Kofi Annan from a retirement that he deserves, taking a graceful lady from the duties of looking after one of Africa's greatest statesman Nelson Mandela, or go the route of accepting President Bush's offer of sending Dr Condoleezza Rice (who does not even know what a tribe is, despite her mastery of the Russian language) to mediate? It will end up being nothing short of an episode that I thought I had forgotten, until now: Eating ugali at State House. Please excuse some of us if we interpret it to mean there is a wali wa pilau party at State House. The American woman has no relation with mchele.

Yusto Onesmo has reminded us, through his song Yesu ni Muweza (Jesus is the enabler) that a lot of our problems could be solved if we look to Jesus' power of mediation. I do not even know where Jobjow got this video from. The young musician, Yusto, is full of energy so much so that in the entire length of the video he is captured doing antics in the name of choreography some of which are unrealistic, but nonetheless help to illustrate his joy. Where he uses karate movements to demonstrate how Jesus shapes us, the video will certainly provide a compelling view to our younger citizens when they sit in front of their TV screens to savor the music. Parents, allow your kids to watch this video and they will end up spending more time in the house.

Coming at a time when Kenyans need the reassurance that peace is achievable, the song's message is music to our ears. Yusto has managed to give us a preview of the great powers that Jesus possesses, not just among human beings but among natural phenomenon including the act of calming a rough sea. But the most telling is when He is able to read the mind of Zakayo, as it shows that He can also read our minds and know what we require and end up giving it to us. That is the healing process we urgently need in Kenya. We need peace in Kenya and no amount of talking under the guise of mediation among the warring sides will bring it until we acknowledge Jesus as Muweza as Justo has rightly put it.

The video has a trailer of about 48 seconds, which I believe is not entirely necessary as it takes away almost a minute of the great song whose melody is quite uplifting. Too much video antics remind me of the puppets they used to show us in Sunday school. It does not appeal very much to have three or four images of him or his singers appear on the screen at the same time. On two occasions he has introduced snippets of footage showing three dwarfs dancing (1:21 – 1:22 and 2:04 – 02:06). If the dwarfs ware part of the singing team, I would have no problem with that. But the way they are dropped in and taken out before the viewer understands why they are appearing in the first place is no different from the way dwarfs have been misused in sideshows at circuses all over the world. But I have no problem with the one dwarf used (3:30 – 3:43) to portray the short man Zakayo.

It is because of the humbling message and its temperamental melody that Yusto Onesmo's song earns four green stars.

Unconditional love Africa edition

A dedication to all suffering African Women

(Dear Reader: Not wanting to be seen as profiling tribal stereotypes I will not mention my characters’ middle or last names. I will refer to them by their first – read Christian – names which are tribal neutral.)

Many years ago (in the last millennium) when my age was less than two score, my father had requested his work colleague who was a bachelor to allow me live with him, because our house was getting too small for the many of us. I cannot even remember how many we were. All I know is that we were indeed many, and that I was the oldest (among the children of course). The new house was made out of mabati but had nice wooden partitions inside that allowed for it to be cool even when the sun was very hot outside.

The wooden partitions also acted as dividers between our room and the neighbour’s room. His name was Alois and his wife was called Margaret (names changed to protect their identity). The wooden partitions could keep the heat out, but certainly not the sound. They were not very good sound proofing material, because every time he chose to beat his wife, and he did that regularly, I would hear every blow land on the poor lady and also the words he used, even though he belonged to another tribe and I did not understand what the words meant. But I heard them. There were these famous two words he would shout “xxxxxx Margaret!” (first word hidden not to reveal his tribe), and I would sit up in bed (he never beat her during the day) expecting to hear blows raining and the woman wailing, “Alois please spare me” (sometimes saying it in Swahili).

There was this day that he came home at about 8:30 pm and the next thing I heard the famous ‘xxxxxx Margaret!’ I sat up, my heart pounding like it wanted to exit the rib cage. But before I could even hear the pounding, the woman said in Swahili (probably she wanted me to understand what she was telling him): “Alois you are not even drunk.” While I did not understand what he said in his language, I want to believe he asked her: “What do you mean I am not drunk?” She said in reply: “You do not have any money and you do not even smell alcohol. Do not pretend to be drunk.”

That must have been a tactical error on her part because he beat her so bad that she ran outside, something that she never did. She used to take her blows like the good African wife she was. After I made sure that the beating was over and I could only hear her whimpering close to my window, I pushed my head out the window and even before I could offer my apologies, she said: “Masai (she could not pronounce my name as Mathai), today Alois has killed me.” I almost fell off the window but thank God it did not happen because I would have landed on her hurting body. Before I could think what to tell her, she said: “This time Alois has gone too far and I will certainly send radi (lightning) to him. He must die.”

My sympathies now turned to the jolly man who was best known as Bwana wa Margaret, and quickly back to me. I knew that if the lightning came, the house would go up in flames and my library of three books, my closet with four shirts, two kipande surualis, one long pant, a pair of underwear and a pair of shoes (and no socks) would be consumed in the process. I had to stop it. I sneaked out the door (she could not see me because she was by the window) and dashed the nearly two kilometers to the police station, not to report about the lightning that would come crashing from the heavens but to report that a man had killed his wife (that is what she told me, if the dead could speak!). The inspector sent out two constables, a man and a woman, with the instruction, “Lete hiyo Alois hapa. Ni lazima alale ndani.”

My heart started beating regularly. But it started racing again after I saw what happened next. When the police officers arrived at her house, she asked them what they wanted. They said that they had come to arrest Alois. She told them not her Alois. She was blocking the door with her body and the policeman tried to push his face towards her, but before he could say what he intended to say, she swung a clenched fist which landed squarely on his nose that so much blood came out you would have thought six chickens had been slaughtered simultaneously. The lady police officer tried to rush in to stop Margaret from hitting her male colleague a second time but in the confusion she hit the veranda post sending her kofia to the ground and she too started bleeding.

The police officers gathered their courage and arrested Margaret whom they took to the police station. Alois did not bother to protect his wife from arrest. I believe he was saying to himself, ‘good riddance I wish she is locked for many years.’ I followed them closely and I did hear the police woman tell Margaret in Swahili because they belonged to different tribes, “You have downed government crown on the ground! Woman, you will be jailed for so many years you will die before the sentence is over and your people will come to collect your bones.”

Now that worried me and I started regretting having called the police. But my worries were laid to rest when at the police station the inspector asked them: “I asked you to bring Alois, what are you doing all bleeding and arresting a defenseless woman?” They hesitated, but the police woman gathered courage before her male counterpart and said: “Afande, this woman has beaten us and even removed my kofia and threw the crown on the dirty ground. She should be jailed.”

The inspector could not believe what he heard and in reply told them, in a thundering voice that could have been heard miles away: “Take that woman home!” Now the male policeman found his voice and said, “Sir, it would be desirable if she walked home on her own. It is not very late and nobody will attack her.”

That happened in the last millennium. I might have added some chumvi but the essence of the story has not changed (nisameheni and do not let Jobjow know for he might sack me). Come to this millennium and whom do we find? Rose Muhando. I do not even know her tribe because she is from Tanzania. The people in Tanzania, unlike those from Kenya, are so cohesive, that I tend to think they have only one tribe. So I call them Watanzania, Rose Muhando’s tribe.

Jobjow has posted a terrific video, Nipe Uvumilivu, which depicts a heartbroken Rose, with four children all smeared with a lot of dust on their faces and body, singing about her problems.

Not just singing, but also being beaten by her very own ‘Alois’. What she sings about reflects her true life as she is the mother of three children and their father/s walked out on her. My Swahili appears to have taken the back seat since I relocated to the Caribbean because I do not seem to fully grasp the meaning of a word she has used, ‘walionizalisha’. It can be translated to mean the fathers of her children or the midwives who attended to her. Someone educate me, and please don’t recommend Jobjow as he cannot even pronounce that word, him being a true Kenyan.

Why do I compare Rose with Margaret? Only in December last year that this same Rose was quoted in an interview saying that she wants to get married. That she does not mind getting married to a nice man. Please Rose, do not beat your pastor when he tells you not to get married to so and so, because Pastor knows better.

Rose’s Nipe Uvumilivu (Give me Endurance/Perseverance) is a song that has a nice, simple and slow melody and is rendered prayerful. Its ‘temperature’ is right all through other than one point where she shatters the peace by raising her voice above the song’s tempo (6:50 – 6:52). The kids portrayed have conducted themselves like real actors, so much so, I am left wondering whether the opening scene had the kid fall accidentally or as part of the script.

Are those her kids? She has three but the video shows four, or were they borrowed to act? The ‘Alois’ in the video appears to enjoy his role as the man who knows how to discipline his woman. Watch him spring a gaiety (3:00 – 3:24) after he would have clobbered members of his defenseless tribe. See him do overtime – I wonder who is paying him (6:34 – 6:46). The footage of the woman bringing in farm harvest to the homestead reminds me of the many African women who have broken their back to feed their families. They are always there to make their husbands feel like true human beings. Kazi bila mshahara.

Rose Muhando has done justice with this song, which I will implore Jobjow to dedicate to all the suffering women in the world and Africa in particular. She gets four and a half of our green stars.

Jesus does not get lost in translation

It does not hurt to state the fact. Kenyans are a very enterprising people but I am today hiding my face in shame after someone (of course not an African) said that I looked so ugly I had to be a Kenyan. My review today has nothing to do the doctrine of forgiveness which our country badly needs. It has to do with our entrepreneurial spirit that sometimes, unfortunately, makes us weird copycats.

Quick to come to mind is this youth group from a church near Nakuru, that had heard a song over VOK (I do not remember whether those days if it was not KBC) radio and while they did not fully understand its lyrics, they felt compelled to believe that they understood them enough to re-launch that song in Swahili and possibly beat all the youth groups in their Division if not District. The song was so sweet and so was the message.

Their music writer, after listening to the lyrics, came out with super lyrics. They did not change the melody because it was the melody that took them over the hills (before they headed down the lake in shame). The lyrics they wrote for the new song went something close to this:

Wee Mkombozi, utukomboe …
sisi watu wa Bahati, utukomboe
Wee Mkombozi, utukomboe …..
sisi watu wa Bahati, utukomboe

Their melodious voices went through to the heavens until one of their own who lived in Nairobi walked into the church hall looking like a man who had seen a deadly snake. Before they could ask him what was wrong with him, he asked what was wrong with them. They all laughed. He composed himself and asked: “How can you possibly sing a chang’aa song in church?” The singing came to a grinding halt (ouch!) and in unison they asked: “What do you mean chang’aa song? This is talking about Jesus, Mkombozi.”

The man from Nairobi shook his head and explained to his brothers and sisters that from DJs on Voice of Kenya Radio, he had learnt that the song was originally sung by South African diva, Yvonne Chaka Chaka, and its title was Umqombothi, named so after a potent South African brew reputed to be stronger than the illicit chang’aa everyone knew killed those that chose to drink it.

They could not believe what they heard, and never having seen their fellow villager who worked and lived in Nairobi as serious as he appeared, the truth sunk in and a few tried to vomit. But nobody had said to them that they couldn’t vomit what they didn’t drink in the first place. What they needed was a prayer for cleansing performed by their pastor, but they were afraid to tell him the truth in the first place. A supposedly novel song died before it could live.

Emmy Kosgei is a budding Kenyan Gospel artiste from the vast Rift Valley, I am sure not very far from Nakuru. Many prefer to call her a Kalenjin Gospel artiste, which is quite unfair as it narrows her scope. She is a national figure and should be given her accolades as it befits her super effort, since music is a universal language. One of her songs from the Album Katau Banda has been hitting the airwaves giving her a large following, among them our very own Jobjow who has posted a video of the song Nguno on the Angaza Family Radio website. Sometimes (not necessarily all the times) Jobjow knows how to bring a breath of fresh air into our tormented lives. Asante Jobjow.

Emmy will have to excuse me because as much as I love the melody of her song Nguno, I do not understand the lyrics and therefore I cannot discuss the song’s subject matter and what she is talking about. She sings in Kalenjin. However, one word comes out clearly and it is “Jesus”. You can call His name in any language, but no one will suffer the disappointment of being told that they got it wrong. Jesus does not get lost in translation.



Everyone who watches this video will agree with me that it is one of the best choreographed songs that Jobjow has on the website. Video mixing brings up the song’s tempo in a superlative manner, especially the synchronised dancing put up by her backup girls, and the church congregation. The most rousing part is when the backup girls perform on the platform in the church and their shadows appear on the ceiling as they undertake the purposeful and well coordinated dance movements (05:20 – 05:24).

The backup girls have a choreography regime that blends in with change of key as evidenced on two occasions 05:37 – 05:40 and 05:45 – 05:49. The children in pink dresses and shirts stomping the ground in bare feet raising hot dust into the air as they execute well coordinated movements are a marvel to watch. However a number of times when Emmy appears 100%, one cannot help but note that the mouthing of the words is not consistent with the lyrics in the background. One does not need to understand the language to make that observation. A perfect example is 01:14 – 01:24. A couple that appears several times (among them 00:59 – 01:04) only helps to throw off the song’s fast and well harmonised tempo.

Hats off to Emmy. Kongoi missing! Whether you understand the lyrics or not, overall Nguno is an inspirational and a must-watch song. It easily makes four green stars in our non-scientific rating.

Kenyans Wanted Alive on Arrival

If music be the solution to our troubled country, then let it play:

They lived as lively neighbours since they can't remember when. One used to deliver a concoction he called mursik which chased ugali down the throat. The other used to choma on his coals something he called mutura and his friends said it was the perfect appetizer. The next gentleman used to dry some creatures from the lake that he called omena and when fried it was the best relish to go with ugali. In essence each needed the other and they made the model Kenya we have been proud of.

But the recent spate of madness has claimed the life of the producer of mursik, and ugali is no longer going smoothly down the throat. The creator of mutura is six feet underground and the exotically produced form of sausage that they would eat as an appetiser before a heavy meal is no longer on the menu. The guy who used to capture omena from the lake is reported to have succumbed to a stray bullet that everyone is disputing who fired it, as his friends are complaining that ugali is lacking its dawa (omena).

Is this not the worst form of "you never miss water until the well runs dry", or "you never miss milk until your prize heifer succumbs to East Coast Fever"? What wrong did these three hypothetical characters commit for them to lose their dear lives? Did they have to die first for us to realise that they should not have died in the first place? Where are the priorities of the people who would have consciously or subconsciously instigated the mayhem our country is experiencing? When they went to parliament to elect the speaker, I sat down glued to a TV to watch live as the opposing MPs went for each other's necks. But alas, I was thoroughly disappointed (so much so that I forgot to drink water as my doctor has ordered to imbibe eight glasses a day) for they ended up hugging, back slapping each other and with ferocious high-fives.

This was done in the safety of Bunge, while the ordinary mwananchi was either getting interred, interring, nursing terrible wounds, or involuntarily shedding tears after being tear-gassed. Our very own Elder Shem Onditi is still recovering from the trauma he went through in Kisumu, the city made famous by the easy availability of omena, ngege, kamongo and mbuta. He was cornered and they treated him worse than a fisherman who would have accidentally cut the fishing nets of his neighbour allowing for fish to escape. His true and only makosa was that he had travelled to the place he calls home: the land of his 'borning' as they would say in the Caribbean. The grapevine has it that he intends to write a book about his great escape that was facilitated by the Lord. I am trying to beg him to make me his editor and the title I will give his book will be "Wanted Alive on Arrival". Elder Onditi, please tazama upande niliko na unipe hiyo job ya kuhariri hicho kitabu.

Jobjow of Angaza Family Radio has posted two very important music videos on the list, which have squarely addressed the problems that have been brought about by the mayhem that Kenya has experienced since the end of last year. While I am not going to review them for rating, I will nonetheless want to mention them and encourage our readers to listen to the messages. Forget the hybrid genre used in one of the songs and listen to the powerful message of hope and reconciliation which will be understood by all including the deaf.

The first one is Wakenya Pamoja For Peace by an assembly of over 30 Kenyan Artistes, among them church pastors. It is a prayer which among its many implorations requires of Kenyans to light the fire of love and peace. It asks Kenyans to give love a chance by loving, lifting and building each other in peace while bemoaning the beauty of Kenya that is at stake. It is produced by Robert Kamanzi and word out of Kenya is that it is being played over and over by nearly all the radio stations in the land.

One of the artistes, Roy Smith Mwatia, in an interview with BBC Radio from Nairobi said that it took them a day to write and perform it. He has uttered the most inspiring words in recent times, some of which I have immortalised in the heading of this review: "(The song) is medication and as long as it is going to help in the peace process, then let it play. If music be the solution to our troubled country, then let it play." The song looks at the one Kenya that we know while asking its people to be patriots for the love of country. They end by holding hands with the passionate message "let us be one." It is a song I would recommend to all lovers of peace.

Eric Wainaina (of Nchi ya Kitu Kidogo fame) has rendered the second song posted by Jobjow, Daima, Song for Peace – an NTV Production.

It is a powerful rendition which is aptly illustrated by equally powerful footage of images of Kenya, opening with scenes from an interdenominational prayer meeting, a peaceful Nairobi that is followed by telling images of the destruction caused by the mayhem in the country as the singer's words cut through with a message asking Kenyans to join (hands) to build the country telling them that he "lives and believes in Kenya."

We are taken to the tranquil of lush green tea farms probably in Kericho and the good times with an army brass band in action and back to scenes Kenyans will be ashamed of for years to come as footage of women in anguish are flashed, some of them in slow motion for effect, then fast rewound to the Mau Mau days where the singer remarks that Kenyans lost their lives and rotted in jails for attempting to break the yokes of colonialism, leaving one to wonder out loud then how come Kenyans are going through a similar experience today when their country is free.

Even as I said that this song was not for rating (awarding of green stars) I would from a contemporary standpoint rate it as being in the same league, but at a much lower rung, with the likes of Elton John's Candle in The Wind (Tribute to Princess Diana). My only concern is that this Kenyan maestro, Eric Wainaina, is not adequately immortalised on this video, so to speak. We only hear his voice but we do not see him. The producers of the video (NTV) should have done better, and to give Eric his jacket.

REVIEW 1: UMEIMBA WIMBO WA SIFA

Heaven is an abode for the living

Even before it happened, our own Jobjow of Angaza Family Radio had informed me of a big fourth birthday bash that was going to be held on Saturday December 15 for the Angaza Sharon SDA Church. He actually did invite me but I used the cold weather as an excuse to stay away, claiming that it would knock me stiff (I live in the Caribbean, where it is hot even when cold). Now that he has uploaded at least two numbers that were performed during the bash, I am accusing him of withholding from me the best part of the sequence – that some of the best singers in the world are members of Angaza Sharon SDA Church’s extended family. And that they were going to be in attendance.

I believe two days after the birthday bash, Jobjow uploaded the two videos from the function, Panapo Matata by the Messengers and Umeimba Wimbo Wa Sifa. These are great videos in the context of spontaneity and unless there is a tie, one is always supposed to be better than the other. Umeimba Wimbo Wa Sifa, by a wide berth, is the song that rises to the top and gives one the feeling of being in heaven. Unfortunately some of our people still associate the act of being in heaven with dying. Excuse me! That is the worst mistake one could make out of what we learnt in Sunday school, because Heaven is not a mortuary. Only persons alive by the blood of Jesus Christ have a title deed for heaven. Pastor Lee Kĩmani can testify to that fact.

Jobjow is an unfortunate man because I had to wake him up in the middle of the night to find out who those beautiful men and women singing with such passion were. He informed me that it was a mass choir made up of His Majesty Choir and Mustard Seed Choir from Delaware; and Messengers Choir and Maranatha Choirs out of New Jersey. They were led by among others Daniel Mbũgua, Richard Mageto and Douglas Sarara, with Samson Kibaso of Kurasini SDA Choir in Tanzania being the original composer. The fact that my tribesman and brother Daniel Mbũgua who did a marvelous job was the conductor of the day, I decided to ask someone else do a review of the song for me not to be accused of bias.

The person who accepted to do the review is 80-year-old Mr Amba Trott a Canadian who now lives in semi-retirement in the island of his mother’s birth, Nevis in the Caribbean. Amba is no ordinary man on the street. He is a professional actor and musician with an experience that goes back to 1942 as a member of the Montreal Negro Theatre Guild in Canada. He is a playwright/director and his best known production is a musical ‘Horatio’ produced in 1987 to commemorate the 200th anniversary of the marriage of Horatio and Fanny Nisbett.

This was his verdict:
“Just had a look at the video you sent. I don't claim to be any expert, but here is my honest impression:
A thoroughly delightful and engaging piece.
A simple but lively melody is carried by a blend of well balanced voices. The lighter altos and sopranos joyously articulating the words with clear enunciation, are well backed up and supported by the deeper lush tones and harmonies of the baritones and basses.
No false starts, discords, or other mishaps are evident. Just a very solid and very pleasing performance overall, right from the basses' opening phrases, to the unified stately and dignified ending by the group. They not only sing well, but they look good and carry themselves well too, albeit some a little more so than others. The choreographed movements are well done and quite effectively adds visual impact through appropriate animation.
The instrumentation very commendably stays unobtrusively in the background, except at the introduction and transition where a key change occurs. This gives the choral group every opportunity to shine and they do not waste a moment of it. In my opinion the group in this piece performs very close to a professional standard.”

Those are the impressions of a man who does not even know that I belong to the same tribe as Daniel Mbũgua. He does not even know what tribes are made of.

I will however want to add one or two comments of my own, because it is not my intention to abdicate all of my duties. At first I thought that the videography was rather wanting, but looking at it more carefully in the context of the circumstances surrounding the performance, Jobjow has been able to capture it in a very unique way thereby encompassing very special sound and visual effects that one would take for granted. Indeed, if the song would be performed in a studio setup, it would not have the same distinctive effects.

One does not need to be told that it was performed in front of a live audience because the din of assembled person is well captured, with people walking in front of the camera and others chatting and kids screaming for joy. One woman is clearly heard calling out ‘nanii’. While my friend Amba noted that there are no false starts, I might add but for one guy I observed (check counter frames 1:57 – 2:01) where he is seen waving to someone and he opens his mouth a second or two after the others, whereas before him (1:48 – 1:53) two ladies had been distracted by an activity off camera, but they recovered fast enough to seamlessly rejoin the flow.

Of course we are humans, and one lady is caught trying to suppress the effects of tiredness (3:00 – 3:02). Jobjow is caught in an episode where he sweeps his camera over people’s heads to capture the start of the salute (3:48 – 3:52) and he makes it! But a father is caught trying to direct his son in the salute game (3:55 – 4:03) yet the boy is doing better than the father. Two men are caught looking at a paper which looks to me like a title deed of their shamba in Nyamira (5:29 – 5:32). However the most outstanding part is where (from 6:00 onwards) the ladies have to march with guarded care to avoid trampling the children who are also doing their thing trying to beat their parents.

If the melody of this great song gave me the feel of being in Heaven, then I can say that it has given me the assurance of life. I will be reckless in my awarding it points by giving it the perfect score, which is a five. Five green stars for Umeimba Wimbo Wa Sifa.

Suddenly music is the main event - Introduction to Music review

Agreeing to be the main contributor for this blog was no better than the blind agreeing to lead the sighted. But like Job of the Bible, our Job at Angaza Family Radio has the faith that I could write a thing or two (masquerading as a reviewer) about the videos he has posted on the website. I am taking the plunge from the deep end. If I am unable to float, I will call for help from other readers to bail me out.

What do I know about music? I cannot sing as my throat gave way decades ago when I was still in primary school and my music teacher was forced to pull me by the collar to remove me from the class choir (std 4) with words that still haunt me to this day: “You did not come here to croak like a frog. You either sing or go never to come back.” I never went back.

I still do not sing, even in church. Every time I gather enough breath to sing out one line, I have to skip two lines and join the congregation in the fourth line after I would have pumped some air in my lungs. And age is wrecking havoc with the little singing ability that I posses. My eyesight is playing games with me and as a result when in church, even though holding a hymn book, I end up reading from the hymn book being held by the person in front of me. I have been told that I suffer from what they call long sightedness.

Job (ati he calls himself Jobjow) is however correct on one aspect though. As much as I cannot sing, I can tell a good song. You hit a wrong note and I will certainly pick it. I will therefore be guided by my ability to tell a good tune from a sloppy or an erratic one. My only other major difficulty is that I can only speak and understand three languages in this world. So, it will be very difficult to judge correctly on the lyrics of a good song if it has not been rendered in one of those three languages.

Before I close off for now I will want to briefly comment on choreography of the music presented on the website. That is a tough one, so to speak. I will therefore be guided by a principle I assimilated in August 1985 when Pope John Paul II visited Nairobi for the 43^rd Eucharistic Congress. I was at that time a reporter with the Daily Nation and I was one of the lucky journalists given passes to stand next to the Pope’s dais. Here I saw our local girls dressed in reed skirts going up to where the Pope was seated and dancing with traditional hip swinging movements right in front of his face.

Having grown up knowing how strict Catholics were in the separation of things religious and things traditional, I knew without having to consult Cardinal Maurice Otunga (he of late memories) that the bottom of the barrel had fallen off – and with a heavy thud. Our traditional way of worship had finally been accepted by the Vatican (I am not Catholic, but there is nothing wrong about it). But as much as we find favour in worshiping God using our traditional rhythms and choreography, I am still of the opinion that there is a very thin line between good dancing and the not so good dancing. We will look at the choreography in a mature and unbiased manner.

I am not an impersonator. My picture is here for all to see who I am. My name is written for all to see and identify me with. If my grandmother were to come back from the dead, she would call me by these same names, Mathai Mũnene. If you know me by any other name but the one given here, I challenge you to toboa siri… yaani kama unaweza.

This will be a weekly submission as long as Job continues to provide us with new videos. Rating (one to five stars) will be of a social genre and not scientific. The fact that I have come in with the last showers of rain, I will not concentrate on some of the videos that have been on the list for a long time. I will mostly deal with the new ones, and will encourage our readers to quickly write to me if they disagree with what I write, but to enjoy the music if they agree with what I write.

God giving us strength, please look out for our reviews every Monday.