Plight of the Gifted in Africa

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Africa spells a lot of names in the global history. Perhaps its hypothetical invisibility in prehistoric bed rest is what most transpired to the continent’s widely spread denotation: dark.

Surely as current times disclose, the Dark Continent has more light to its alleged darkness which could have been an infantry conclusive idiom to a people whose language they found to be way below the ‘primates’  league. 

Yes there is a lot of darkness in Africa, and yet in the shadows of darkness we see riches. We see a lot of colours in darkness. Reflections from objects, shadows, contours, all these are representative of just what to expect in darkness.

With over 200 million in youth population (world’s largest youth population in a continent), one can only imagine the synergy that is inclusive of this darkness. But if you thought that these 200 million are in ‘darkness’ then you are wrong. What these African people see is a future as bright as the sun rays that grace their mornings every day of the year.

There is this part that we however overwrite. We, every one of us, seems to turn a blind eye on what is and can be the turning point in Africa’s history. And yet the treasure lies right in our eyes and we do nothing about it. It is innovation at stake here.

With such initiatives as the Chandaria Business Innovation and Incubation Centre, some of us are beginning to understand what the gifted need. Considering there are countries in constant hunt for persons showing remarkable skills in intelligence, Kenya can only as a country accept what predicaments fate has for us if we continually and adamantly create barricades against our own gifted souls. Insecurity could be just the least of what is expected.

It is time our visual art, both literary and fine art spoke of us at the mountaintops, time we accepted ourselves for who we are rather than what history has always thought and brought us to be. The answer lies within ourselves. The Pyramids of Egypt and the Great Zimbabwe could have signed us but for all that is good Africa cannot continually dwell on her past glories.

Could we just for a minute or so pause our daily routine and for a moment think of what is there but is literally lacking in our overall design? Could the government look back to see what happened to an earlier proposal of having some schools in the country specifically for the gifted?

We might think that sieving our young with the ultimate test of examination is a big step that always leads us to having the best of them- the gifted. One doesn’t need to be a genius to notice the mighty overflow of wasted talent that goes back to the walls of our dilapidating towns. Small wonder our young, some of them probably gifted, are lost to the death pangs of illicit brews.

Enough said, none done. We are facing one of the most sophisticated ages of civilization in human history. Whether or not our art and literature as a continent, Africa, shall be a subject in this history rests on the sole factual reasoning and revolutionary ideas—products of upholding and constantly nurturing our own gifted minds.  

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Africa Sees Project

Africa Sees

She senses the scent. The scent of nourishment; sweet delicious meat and the carnivore in her is wildly out of her way. The scent is so close, she can feel it. Perhaps it is right at her claws, why is she not seeing it. Perhaps it is a bit far, but that is still close. Her dark eyes jump here and there. She looks up in the acacias and cacti as if the prey can actually hide in sticks and thorns. She clearly underestimates her quest. And the prey looks at the bitch that senses her presence and prays that the bitch doesn’t set her eyes on him.

The vicinity is clear but it is dark with fire burns.There are charred acacia logs here and there. Lynched carcasses lie unfathomably on the earth that once had bushes that hid them selfishly from whatever they were meant to hide from. The grass is black, its green having been sucked up in flames and left beige and grey in its suckers. You might actually see a baobab, its fatness is never wrong, but it will be dead. All the way down the seasonal stream, mukuri, and up the once vast pastures of the sheep and goats, tetu wa mburi, the fire has had its territory under strict control. 

The prey prays that he is not seen by the owner of the bitch. He is earnest in this second prayer for he knows that the owner of the bitch is the worst bitch. The owner is not exactly a bitch per se but in this context he, the prey, decides to refer to the owner as a bitch too. Like her bitch, she is also looking around appetizingly to find the prey. She knows there has to be one. A hare? An antelope? An antelope is a big one, perhaps a baby gazelle? She’ll eventually settle for a minute hare hiding inconceivably in the dark protrudes of black and beige grass that clearly is betraying him. 

Truly the owner of the bitch now sees the hopeless thing hiding right at her toes. What distance is it? Just one stride, yes. And the thing is right there, having folded itself so tightly you think it is a piece of shit; a piece of woolen paper, or just shit with fur. The owner of the bitch first wonders 1) how the hare managed to hide its long ears and 2) why its snout is not blinking. Maybe it’s already dead. But even if it is, verification is needed. She can’t touch her with her own hands. And her bitch is still wondering where this scent-full prey is. Besides she actually has a rungu she can use to scare the hare away so that the bitch sees it. The goats and cows are gone, she can’t think about them especially right now; at this moment.

Or she can use the rungu to knock the cowardly thing on its head and give it to the bitch. Yes. The rungu is up in the air and she hopes dexterity works in her favor this time. The timing is wrong. The hare seizes it and slips away.

“Betty!!” the owner of the bitch is angry with excitement and disappointment. 

She is disappointed in herself and excited in her bitch, Betty. Betty takes on the chase. You silly slut, she seems to say as she sprints and pants her tongue off over the black soil and grass.

 “Saa! Saa!” the owner of Betty urges her on.

The hare buys expensively more time to live on the planet by making revolving movements. After three such chases around an imaginary circle Betty is almost lost of breath and the rungu is still up in the air, having not found a perfect time to knock the hare.
 ‘What if I throw it, and I hit Betty instead’ she is thinking to herself. She is in an alien tension, it feels like an alien mission on earth, chasing an alien. 

Here hare has been starving with nothing green to his diet. It was a mistake for him to be on this side of the jungle where there has been a bush fire and there is no food, you see. It is a further mistake playing hide-and-seek which later turns out to be run and run in a cycle. Like the way history is said to repeat itself. Eventually unless she escapes miraculously she is going to make Betty dinner.

The owner decides to slightly join in the beautiful chasing story developing. Then the rapture happens. It is rapture because it strikes her how fast and horrible the end of the hare has been. Betty has nearly swallowed him in her mouth and somehow her teeth have literally torn the furry skin of the hare. It almost looks as if it was a gown he had worn and his nakedness is now revealed red and steaming. 

Even when he is caught in Betty’s jaws, the hare now naked without the skin, tries to slip away. Betty bites him strongly on the neck and the owner knows he is dead. Betty feels it and she gracefully puts the deserving meal on a patch of black grass and sits down, having her front limbs next to the dead hare, just in case.

She then pants profusely this time pouring a lot of saliva and she looks like a ticking bomb almost exploding. She doesn’t look at the prey, she looks at her owner. The owner wants to go to the bitch and the bitch slightly pulls the dead stripped hare towards herself. ‘This is my meal’ she seems to say ‘no invitations’.

Betty doesn’t look at her owner anymore and the owner decides to follow her goats and cows, they must have reached home by now. As she turns back, she likes Betty’s zeal and the confidence that bitch has mustered. She sees her bitch as the king of the jungle. Betty’s a dog that knows what she wants. She sees.