Father Abraham, a poem

Father Abraham

By Ng'ang'a Mbugua

Having supped with his guests
Abraham invited them to stay on for tea
Unbeknown to him
One was the Angel of the Lord
Who'd taken on flesh and blood.

Idle talk slowly veered to succession
And, as though in passing
The Angel in loin clothes said"
'You are a good man, Abraham
The Lord will make you a father of nations.'

Abraham smiled,
He was, after all, a father figure to many
Who looked up to him for guidance
Whether men servants or their masters.

Sitting in the great outdoors that night
Abraham's guests cast their eyes above
And saw the nigh sky aglow with fancy stars
'Your clan will outnumber those,'
one guest said in jest, taking his cue from the Angel.

That night, as she lay by his side
Sarah, still troubled, said to Abraham
'I will put my maid-servant at your service
And you can have an inheritor.'
Abraham was deep in thought, pondering
Sarah's maid servant was not too bad-looking
She was as supple as a fruit in harvest season
Ripe, ready to yield, inviting
And she glowed in the morning light.

In their first rendezvous
Abraham recalled the days of his youth
When he was not Old Father Abraham
When the world knew him as Abram
A man who rode on the backs of buffalo.

He pressed her right fruit
She let out a muffled sigh
He reached for the left one
Her sigh morphed into a soft groan
The blood in his veins was growing warmer
Seeing that not one bit of the maid servant sagged
'Easy My Lord, easy My Lord,' she wept
But her plaintive cries egged on the ageing man
'My Lord, oh My Lord,' she moaned
But Old Father Abraham was consumed in his own groans
Sarah, passing by, felt a blob well up in her throat.

The next day Abraham ordered his man servants
To bring down Sarah's maid servant's hammock
And erect it close to his tent.

Each night the winds in the plains howled viciously
Rocking Sarah's forlorn tent like a dhow in high sees
Her insomniac nights were punctuated
By her maid servants ecstatic cries
'My Lord you kill me, My Lord you kill me!'

When Ishmael came knocking on the gates of life
It was with a shriek that paled his own mother's
And he found a throne in Old Father Abraham's knees.

'I have been with this man a hundred years,'
Sarah said to herself, her pain growing
'Now a toddler has stolen his heart from me.'
To her maid servant she said:
'You and your colic child must depart at once.'

Abraham's loins had grown used
To the unfettered heat of passion
And with the vengeance of his loss
He turned his rogue passion on Sarah
'You made thy bed woman,' he said with each movement
'Now you must lie in it.'
The hapless Sarah, shocked by his uncommon zeal
Drowned the howling of the night wind
With her own cries from the torture.

'I am pregnant,' she cried to him early one morning
Just as he was reaching out to turn her over
His laughter shocked the beasts of the wild into silence
'Sarah, my Sarah,' he said to her
'Have you ambitions in stand-up comedy?'
Offended, Sarah stormed away from his grasp
Tears welling up in her eyes
'Do you know the difference, Abraham
Between you and Yahweh?'
Abraham was lost in his silence
'You have forsaken me,' she said
Answering her own question.
'Still, I will give you an inheritor.'

That dusk, lost in his own thoughts
Abraham lay in his hammock
Staring at the skies above
'Two stars,' he said to himself with a chuckle
His world was filling up with possibilities
His cattle, his camels, lay like humps in the savannah,
All chewing cud placidly, waiting for the night
He smiled knowing that they, like his man servants
Would get a new master
Flesh of his very flesh.
'His name shall be Isaac,' he said to himself.

@NgangaMbugua

In defence of motivational books

By Ng’ang’a Mbugua

Too often, those who are better off economically, socially and academically under-estimate the value and power of self-confidence, either because they have it and take it as a matter of course or they do not believe that others can be taught to cultivate it.

This is largely why opinion shapers who are perceived as accomplished men and women downplay the importance of motivational books. But they are, to use a popular expression, already in the choir and as far as they are concerned, there is no point in preaching to the already converted.

Yet, when many people are starting out on their life journeys, they are often filled with self-doubt and plagued by a lack of confidence despite their burning desire to become achievers. Think of the young man who falls in love but lacks the courage to walk up to the girl of his dreams and express his feelings in words. Think of the days and weeks that this love torments his heart, then one day he hears the song about the country boy who was in love with a Mexican girl, only she did not know it. Emboldened by the lyrics, the boy summons all the courage he can muster, ignores his pounding heart and dry mouth and walks upto the girl, introduces himself and then tells her that he loves her. Motivational books work much the same way.

Take David Waweru’s book, Champion, first printed last year and reprinted this year. The publisher-turned writer, who is the CEO of WordAlive Publishers, narrates how, as a young man from a poor neighbourhood in Nairobi, he yearned to become a champion boxer and how his life circumstances made his dream appear unreachable.  He hailed from a poor family, he was brought up by a single mother who had escaped from an abusive marriage, he knew no one who was a boxer and he had no money with which to buy the equipment he needed for his training. In short, there was no one he could look up to for guidance. Yet, by dint of his determination, he formed a boxing club, approached the city council to give them a training venue and, with a group of other young enthusiasts, approached a trainer recommended to them by the council.

To raise the money they needed to buy equipment and pay the trainer, the group started engaging in odd jobs and businesses, including organising discos during which they sold the snacks they had made themselves. In the end, Waweru and the others worked their way into the championships and despite facing tough opponents, injury and other challenges, he become a champion boxer in the early 1980s.

Fastforward to decades later. How many young men and women are to be found in rural areas or urban slums today, all of them yearning to reach for their dreams but who do not know where to start? How many of these potential champions would get a life-changing experience if, perchance, they were to read Waweru’s book?   

At the time I was reading this book, I was training my one-year-old son to walk. I discovered then that his biggest challenge was not in the legs but the self-doubt in his head. Even when his body was willing and capable, he would not make that step until he was convinced he could. And that was where I came in.

That, generally speaking, is what motivational literature does to all those who look at their circumstances and declare: “I can’t do this. Who am I to accomplish such a feat?”

According to Waweru, behaviour always follows belief.

“Self-belief,” he argues in the book, “can be a greater asset than previous experience: yet many of us allow lack of experience to keep us from trying.”

One of the criticisms leveled against motivational books is that they are overly concerned with teaching only how to accumulate money. In his book, however, Waweru says that for him, making money was not an end in itself. He sees money as a resource that can help those with a dream to achieve their goals. Giving the example of his boxing career, he says that he first ventured into business to raise money to finance his sport, including paying his trainer. He had discovered that without money, he could not facilitate his dream.

“I never focused on getting money for money’s sake,” Waweru says in the book. “For me, it was a tool to reach my aspiration of becoming a champion.”

This is an important lesson especially for those who argue that an obsession with money is all there is to motivational books.

Not so long ago, a friend posted on Facebook a story about how one Sunday, some ducks waddled into the equivalent of their church for a sermon and their preacher went on and on, telling them how God had given them wings and that it was within the power of each duck to soar like an eagle.

“Amen,” the ducks shouted at every stage. But when the sermon was over, each again, waddled back to their homes in the pond.

This story, in short, illustrates a popular view held by critics of motivational literature. As far as they are concerned, the books preach a false gospel by promising more than it can deliver and creating hope where there is none.

Think for a moment about the Wright brothers, Wilbur and Orville, who started off as bicycle repairers in their neighbourhood. What did their neighbours think of them the first time they declared: “We believe we can fly?”

Were they told “of course you can?” or was their declaration greeted with skepticism?

One of the questions that has animated literary debate since the invention of printing is this: What is the role of literature in society? It is a question that formal literary critics, even in Kenya, have grappled with for decades.

There are those who argue that literature is an attempt to grasp at a higher truth. This, however, spawns another question, which is as pertinent to literature as it is to religion, philosophy and politics: Is there one Truth or are there multiplicities of truths?

Every writer, reader and literary critic must seek their own answers to these two important questions. The point, however, is that just as there are those who grasp the ultimate truth(s) through fiction or poetry, there are, too, those for whom motivational literature offers the path of enlightenment. The path to knowledge taken by each is as valid as that taken by the other.

In Champion, Waweru offers insights from his own life. Besides his ambition to become a boxer, he also wanted to become a writer, largely because he enjoyed reading. But he discovered that he could have a greater influence as a publisher because he would bring out the ideas of diverse people rather than just his own. Now he has gone and written, offering inspiring lessons that offer insights on how to become achievers in life, in sport and in business. And all are grounded in real life experiences.

A shorter version of this story was first published in the Saturday Nation on August 30

Here's how you end up buying a book for the price of two lollipops

By Ng’ang’a Mbugua

Part of the reason why Kenyans are paying a pretty penny for basic goods and services has to do with the fact that the middle class has not been innovative in its investment decisions. The first, and sometimes only investment option that most of the people with a disposable income or access to bank loans can consider is buying land. Rather than develop it or use it as a factor of production, they will give it time to appreciate after which they will sell it off at a profit, without adding any value to it by way of development. In fact, the major selling point for land these days is proximity to a bypass, electricity lines and such other social services provided for by the government.

Of course, those who invest this way will make money in the medium and long term but for the economy to grow, and for the cost of goods such as bread, confectionary, fruits and vegetables to significantly go down, there needs to be greater investment in food production and processing, and these are the areas in which the middle class ideally ought to invest more in.

Consider for instance, the cost of watching the UK Premier League matches per person per month. For the middle class, the price is steepest at Sh7,400 per person in the form of a monthly DStv subscription. For the poor, the cost is much lower because they can watch the matches in a bar at the price of a beer or a soda or a video studio for as little as Sh10 per match.

The decision by the middle class to pay such a heavy to watch the UK Premier League is partly inspired by the collapse of Kenyan football on the one hand and the undeniable desire for quality entertainment on the other. Yet, these are both investment opportunities that would have significant returns for those who would summon the courage to start such a venture.

If only 50,000 DStv subscribers were to set aside half what they pay as subscription, in a year or two they would raise sufficient money to build a respectable 40,000-capacity stadium on any of the many parcels of land they own in the city and its outskirts, say in Rongai, Naivasha, Kiambu or Kitengela. In another year or two, they would have a sufficient funds to start a serious football club that would attract young talented players from schools and invariably, from poor neighbourhoods where football talent thrives. And to recoup their investment, they only need to approach the rich to advertise their products, companies and services on the T-shirts of the players and strategically in the stadium. In less than ten years, they will have recouped their investment, created jobs on a reasonable scale and changed the culture of Kenyans by getting them back in stadiums where they can spend their disposable incomes on services like food and beverages and entertainment for their children.

I remember growing up in the 1980s and 1990s, one could buy ten sweets for only a shilling or two pieces of Big G, four pieces of Pussy Cat and three pieces of Goody Goody. The other day, my four year old son picked a small packet of sugar-free Orbit chewing for which I paid, ahem, Sh70. That means that for each of the ten pellets in the packet, I was paying Sh7. A few months earlier, he had picked one lollipop at a Chandarana supermarket and I paid, eh, Sh150. My book, Terrorists of the Aberdare, retails at Sh300; which means that the price of two lollipops or four Orbit chewing gums is equivalent to the cover price of a novella.

Manufacturers have learnt that the middle class will pay any prices for goods and services, so they do not even need a pricing model. Such slap a price of your choice on your product and you will still get takers.

The problem, however, is not with the manufacturers. There is no competition for them in the market because the middle class is not investing in these segments. Yet, if we could get only one locally owned confectionary manufacturer, the price of sweets will go down and parents will not have to make the terrible choice of settling for low quality ones that disintegrate in the mouth the moment a child pops them and which pose all manner of health risk because they conform to no known quality standards.

We can give many examples to make the case for alternative investment by the middle class but we can end it with filming. Despite the challenges caused by piracy, there is still a case for the middle class to invest in companies that can be involved in film production. And they do not have to make money only from distribution, which is the pirate’s strongest weapon against creativity.

Movie makers can make their money from surreptitious advertising and endorsements that form part of the action and props in the films they make so that even when their works are pirated, they can still leverage on the extra revenue streams. What is more, soon, local television stations will be looking for more local shows to air and if the middle class does not take a pro-active stop to satisfy this emerging market, the Chinese will come with their own production house and still the thunder from us as the middle class sits back and waits for the value of land to appreciate.

Calling all first time African authors... deadline for top literary prize approaches

By Ng'ang'a Mbugua
Internet Photo
First time creative writers in Africa and their publishers have only five days before the close of submissions for the inaugural Etisalat Prize for Literature, which is open to all writers of African origin wherever they may be in the world.

For one to qualify, one's creative work must have been published in the last twenty four months. It is important to note that this prize is only open to writers whose first full length novel of upto 30,000 words was published in the last two years. That means books published before 2012 do not qualify.
A submitting publisher must also have published at least 10 books. Companies that have fewer books and self-published authors are, therefore, not eligible.
The winner of the prize will receive £15,000, a Samsung Galaxy Note and a Montblanc Meisterstuck (a high-end pen that must be very good for signing autographs, I guess).
Says the organiser of the prize: "In line with our vision of promoting upcoming writers, Etisalat will sponsor a book tour to three African cities. The winning writer will also embark on the Etisalat Fellowship at the University of East Anglia mentored by Professor Giles Foden (author of The Last King of Scotland)".
The fellowship is an opportunity for the winning author to meet publishers and other writers - plus one will get the time and opportunity to pen a subsequent title.
"Shortlisted writers will win a Samsung Galaxy Note and also go on a book tour to two major African cities," says the sponsor.
The sponsor has also pledged to buy 1,000 copies of the winning entry, as well as the shortlisted titles. The books will be donated to various schools, book clubs and libraries in Africa.
For more information, click here

Celebrate literary prize winners without bringing on too much cultural baggage

By Ng'ang'a Mbugua
Photo by  David Fleming

There are social and literary critics who have a problem with the fact that the Michael Caine Prize for African Writing is awarded in a very "English upper class" setting that is devoid of anything African. Of course, we are meant to be outraged by such sentiments but ought we? Is it not the prerogative of the host to choose the time and place in which to bequeath his generosity to his guests?
The critics have also argued that by giving the 10,000 pound prize to a short story rather than a full length novel is somehow not right because it sends the impression that probably African writers cannot sustain to write longer works. But is this necessarily the case? Is it not the responsibility of the sponsor of an award to set the criteria for entry?
The short story is an important genre in literature and one of my laments over the years has been that compared to writers like Maxim Gorky, Guy de Maupassant and Nathaniel Hawthorne just to name a few from various cultures, the African short story has not reached its zenith; indeed it is far from it. As such, at least from where I sit, there is no problem whatsoever for a patron to pay his or her attention to the growth of the genre, after all, we take it as a self-evident truth that people put their money where their mouths are.
In fact, judging by the quality of this year's winner, Okwiri Oduor's "My Father's Head", one can only come to the inescapable conclusion that the quality of the winning entries for the Caine Prize has gone up. Which, in all fairness, implies that the prize is doing something to improve the quality of writing in Africa and especially yanking previously unpublished authors from the throes of obscurity. Even if the prize failed to achieve anything else, these two contributions are testament of the positive impact it is having on the literary scene. What those who are unhappy with it ought to do is build on this and start a new prize to fill the gap that has not been filled not just by the Caine and Commonwealth Prizes but also by the smaller ones run in various African countries, including the Jomo Kenyatta and Wahome Mutahi Prizes in Kenya.
What is more intriguing, at least for me, is that those who have a problem with the cultural setting of the award ceremony (of all things) and criteria of the Caine Prize in fact honoured their invitations. It is only after they got there that they found everything the matter with the entire idea. Why not, I wondered, not borrow a leaf from Benjamin Zephania, the British poet with Carribean roots who was once honoured with one of the most coveted titles, the Order of the British Empire (OBE). Zephania declined the honour bestowed by the Queen and he gave a simple reason. As far as he was concerned, this was a recognition given to those who stood for the empire and he did not feel that his contribution was to the empire. Indeed, he felt that all he had stood and fought for negated everything that the empire stood for. Zephania took a position of principle. And it was hard to argue with the decision he had taken, or as we say in Kenya, it was easy to see where he was coming from.
Such a principled argument stands in contrast to the position taken by the critics who have fired me to write this piece and to writers like Helon Habila, who, after winning the inaugural Caine Prize, turns around to criticise its criteria and its other aspects including the judges' choice of themes to reward (post-colonial poverty, war, malaise and other shackles that are standard fare in many African countries). Are these themes not of the authors' own choosing? Or, as the late Nadine Gordimer once said, are authors not chosen by their themes (rather than the other way round?)
The position attributed to Habila, for me, represents both a moral and intellectual conundrum. I can't, no matter how hard I try, figure it out.
And this brings me to the point I have been yearning to drive across. If we choose to celebrate authors who have won one prize or the other, let us, by all means, do so with or without reservation. We reserve that right. However, if there something to discuss in relation to such awards, it should be more on the quality or suitability of the work; the merits, moral and aesthetic vision of the views expressed by the judges and - when this is critical to a holistic analysis - a comparison between the winning work and the shortlisted ones. All these would form the basis of legit criticism and commentary. But to talk about the ambience of the award ceremony, or to take a potshot at the founding principle behind an award after bagging the prize money and running off it with it? Ah!

Ng'ang'a Mbugua is the author of 12 titles and two time winner of the Wahome Mutahi Literary Prize.

Jeff Koinange and Marjorie Oludhe Macgoye to launch books

By Ng'ang'a Mbugua

TV talk show host Jeff Koinange will tomorrow launch his autobiography, Through My African Eyes, on the same day that award-winning novelist Marjorie Oludhe-Macgoye will be launching her latest novel, Rebmann.
Mr Koinange, a former CNN journalist currently hosting the Jeff Koinange Live show on KTN, will be launching his book at the Michael Joseph Centre in Nairobi. The autobiography, published by Footprints Press, will retail at Sh3,000 for the hard copy while the soft copy will be sold for Sh2,500.
Macgoye will launch her book at the All Saints Cathedral from 2pm.
The UK-born author, who won the Jomo Kenyatta Literary Prize in 2007 for her book, A Farm Called Kishinev, is best known for her novel, Coming to Birth, which won the Sinclair Prize for Fiction in London in 1986. Her latest historical novel, published by New Academia Publishing, is based on the life of the German missionary, Johannes Rebmann, who laid for the foundation for the Anglican Church in Kenya, hence the launch at the All Saints Cathedral.
The launch of the two books come only three days after Longhorn Kenya launched the biography of Dr Gikonyo Kiano, who served as a Cabinet minister in both presidents Jomo Kenyatta’s and Daniel arap Moi’s governments. The book, Quest for Liberty, was co-authored by his widow, Ms Jane Kiano and Mr Irungu Thatiah. During the Friday night launch at the Serena Hotel in Nairobi, Ms Kiano said a foundation will be set up to ensure that proceeds from the book are used to support needy children.   The biography retails at Sh2,000.