Far Oasis ~ Haiku

A caravan's break.
Pepi's hail and rain water.
Far land's talking drums.

Esgiar ~ Haiku

A wall of grey stands.
Poked by lean towers twin us.
Rain's be coming still.

Void and Set Pieces

There'd be things all around
Us. But, only here,
A vase from far Mongolia.
A void to fill in, with
An ancient scimitar.

Here's the thing, tho:
Celestial spaces
Too neat for all the dirt
We'd be settling.
For all the faded memories we'd have.

To reckon with.

Of where we were:
There'd be a rainbow in the deep
Sky. Too neat for all the answers
We fancied.
Too brightly lit for crayon.

As
Music, here:
Two slim bodies slamming.
Snippets of life as a form
Unto itself. Unto one. Another.

Rain-washed stone tools. Fish mongers.

Three plus three verses
For all the (wanton) things
We ever wanted to do
So too vainly. Be
Not quite enough for a stool.

Here, in our time.
Here in this country.
The only moment.
Of glory. In such
A thing of beauty.

As here's my question, brother!

Why nature favours all sea similes (and stuff):
Ocean.
Desert.
Air.
The endless void into which pour all desires.



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PS: Take a look: Images of Void

Rain's Coming, in a Double Time-Warp: Two Renditions of Kothbiro by Ayub Ogada and Regina Carter

Koth Biro, meaning Rain's Coming, is a Dholuo phrase commonly heard in Kenya's lake region, far west of Nairobi, and where ever soccer, involving Gor Mahia, is played; and especially when Gor, also known as K'Ogalo, wins, which is more often than not. Sometimes, too, when there's a political rally, in an urban setting, at which a major issue is (is to be, or has just been) interrogated/expounded by preferred politicians.

The phrase has acquired a proletarian image over the years, with a heavy street presence embodied in sweat-shopped, twig-waving, tireless soccer fans and/or politically driven, super-charged youth, with whom the older folks, and the wary, cannot possibly keep up, and so have to clear the way for. Indeed, the full phrase is "Koth Biro, Yawne Yo" (Rain's coming, clear the path for it). Pronto! It is shouted over and over, in ground-shaking fashion by running crowds which, on particularly emotive occasions, are a raging flood. You don't clear the path for the rain, however heavy the downpour, but for the flood that's sure to follow.

Deep down, though, Koth Biro is a meme of deep-culture, only in recent decades appropriated by urban folks and, through them, the political class. It was, indeed, a cultural rallying-call long before it became as singularly urban and political as it now appears.

That's the background, as I know it. And that's partly why I see the two musical renditions of Koth Biro, presented in two audios here, as co-existing, as a lineage, in a double time-warp.

In the first warp, a song older than he becomes Ayub Ogada's creation, to the vibrating accompaniment of timeless Nyatiti, which is the instrument of his choice, and featuring the Mandingo Kora, that instrument of many legends. There have been several audio versions of Kothbiro. The one presented here was published in 1993 and republished in 2014. There are indications, then, that Kothbiro was composed as early as 1993 (long before Regina Carter's veritable breakout), when AO was 37. It has featured in the soundtracks of several motion pictures since, including the acclaimed 2005 movie, The Constant Gardener.

Read: A Sketch of Ayub Ogada's biography

In Kothbiro, the singing, in the tradition of the other-worldly chant, reminds one of the beguiling power of the truth-sayer. It evokes, too, the mesmerism of the nightfall mumbler and whisperer, always rare in every bygone generation, I suppose, who in our parts it was said was possessed of, was truly with, the "lang'o" – which sporadically broke out. I think I did see one such, once upon a past. Perhaps he, the one I saw, could see, already, and see clearly, the great kor that was sure to come and that was to pass so near by the village – and that was, with time, to bring the whole wide world along with it.

In the second warp, Regina Carter (2010), quietly driven, purposefully turns, and turns with restrained and unapologetic passion, Kothbiro's haunting tune into a 'classical' mode the tradition of which did not know its kind, and which its kind did not know either and yet probably predated by a wide margin. Thus, the precursor is – by reason of this mock, this moot, time-travel – precursed. We, the audience, scattered in a myriad time-zones and temporal 'longitudes', are left happily, hopelessly, trapped in a magical 'circularity'.

All in all, its Flamenco pretensions quickly given up, Regina Carter's Kothbiro settles for the long-haul: a sombre, belaboring, dark-clouded, horizon-grabbing front-running of the very same rain it stresses over – over and over.

1. CLICK HERE FOR THE AUDIO OF Kothbiro audio by Ayub Ogada (1993,2014):

2. CLICK HERE FOR THE AUDIO OF  Kothbiro by Regina Carter (2010):


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PS: You may also wish to watch this tasteful 2013 Andelag version

Light Yearling

Meal on a tin plate.
Blue rain, on my trampoline.
Jokes with my father.

Questions of a Life: Haiku

Will it rain or shine?
Be my baby safe n'yo hands?
Where'd Time go 2 die?

It Was Morning Again: Haiku

I walked in shallow
Thought. ’Twas morning in Chin Ya –
Rain and fire crack.













[Nairobi: Jan 16 & Jan 22, 2005]

Rain

Somebody wondered out "loud" on Twitter the other day why there are so many (African?) tweets about rain. Why shouldn't there be? It's the most natural thing, for all humanity and through all time.

When it rains it rains not only outside and not only over there and not only on but also inside our bodies -- which are at one with the rain, even though the body be cold and weary. We rain in spiritual and material communion with the rain, when it rains -- even though the spirit be wary. When it rains we rain in synchrony with it, and it rains with us.

Which is not to say that there are no horrors!

Rain is, and always has been, nature's most visible promise of continuity -- promise that another time will come, and that it will find you here, and that there will be more of you (and you will be the witness) when that time arrives -- blessing of all blessings.

It is life's most inclusive, and its most generous, insurance scheme: the one which, in the broad scheme of things, always pays and always delivers witnesses -- witnesses to the Light, which there (and thereby) shall continue to be.

So when Ayi Kweyi Armah asked, "Why are we so blest?", the answer he so desperately sought, and which eluded Modin and Solo and even him -- the answer of all answers and all of Two Thousand Seasons -- was: Rain.

Harvest

Dreams & Else Sunday:
Tomatoes und May-on-Nais.
A sudden rain dance!








[Haiku]

Easter Sunday Afternoon

God's grey clouds return,
A constant plane-like rumbling.
Drips, 'blique thing. Ref-rains!



[Haiku]

Tropical Bath [Haiku]

Bow-tie and slippers.
Midnight shower in the rain.
Wrapped by the dark Ness!

Rainy-Day, Street-Corner Rap [Haiku]

Huddling with strangers.
Yet, alone, I, with my cellf.
Ghads, tocks, crap de tay!