(Too much Love) The Un-Love Letter

It’s that time of the year again where an invisible flying baby, goes around shooting arrows at people causing them to buy gifts, snacks and junk-food for each other; while the affinity to colour red grows exponentially. It is as they say, the month of Love. It so happens that we (my country folk) love a lot of things. We love our random plots, we love our language, we love our organization and disorganization, we love our women and men and love hating on them, we love talking about love, but also importantly we love love love politics.

Imagine being on a restaurant or bar and at 7pm the music is paused to tune on the TV for news just to see nini iko kwa siasa leo (what’s in politics today)? We love the games and tricks and politicking that our politicians do all year round without fail. We fret and curse at these antics but still stop some talented Dj with “mad skills” to tune in to a show of political circus, only to go back to cursing and fretting at how wrong these men and women are

But before I digress too much, this February it’s not just the month of love but a countdown to the general elections. A time where we get to show some love to our Country and un-love to politicians and put in anew, more like a pageant of sorts to pick the fairest of the pack.  This time we’ve got to show some real love for our country, because we cannot dare not to.  We cannot afford to; because as it happened in history to Martin Niemöller our version will be;

First they came for those at jobless corner, but I did not speak out because I was in the office.

Then they came for those breezing at the park and I did not speak out for I had better things to chat about

Then they came for those in the market, bus-stops and jua-kali sheds, and I did not speak out for I was detached from “those guys”

And when they came to the nominations, I did not speak out because I did not “feel them” or the process

Now they’ve come to me at the ballot and I’m stuck with indecision because none of them is worth their salt;  and there’s no one to speak out for me as I’m forced to make a choice

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s