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Wairi's song
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Leading the Night 151 in the sun he foretold the coming of many aeroplanes. Now the young man searched Rei’s eyes deeply. “It is not our mistake, but it is our fault. You and I did not kill our people, but we both did. We all have blood on our hands!” Watu boomed. “We have to deal with it,” Rei said bravely. He knew he had no way out. “I do not know if they will let me live longer and I also do not know if I can live longer with this, is the end the same?” Watu urged Rei to go back to his land before the sun- in the way it burnt Kenya as it shone in empires- broke his skin and he became a bleeding well. “In your land, the sun will be kinder and gentler,” Watu said. “I will return there.” “When you are safely back home, write to me, if you wish to. My e-mail is batum@the crossroads.com. I have not said we cannot talk. We never do that, it is untraditional. I still believe in my origins and our sharp sight and I have it right. We have more than one seer today!” “I revere you. I bow down and honestly confess that I know that. Namaste!” He said, holding his hands together and bowing. “Thank you,” Watu said and left without looking back. Wairi’s song In a shack at the Mathare slums, Wairi wished that she were a matatu. Whenever she wished she was something, sometimes a river, other times a rainbow, sometimes a cow or an aeroplane, many feelings would come to her. She would sing her song in a muzzled monotone. She put these words into that sad tone as she hummed: ‘If I were a matatu, I would color myself whatever color I wished, I would tell everyone just how I felt with my music. I would have a 152 Leading the Night licence and roam this country on the roads. I would manoeuvre myself how I want and get what I want. I would run away from here at breakneck speed and no cop would catch me. I would be washed and driven by people chosen for me by someone who thinks I have no power since am a thing, but I know I do the power I have. I know a matatu has power to resist. Power to resist the hands on the wheel and to choose its own destination. I wish I were a matatu driven by somebody. If I were such a matatu, he would drive me, he would turn me in this or that direction on a code we have agreed to. If he disobeyed I would soon break down and become a wreck. If I were a matatu, I would have: breaks, clutch pads, accelerator, diesel, seats and even safety belts. Maybe, if I were a matatu I could choose what kind of pads to wear and how long to be accelerated. Maybe I could choose my type of diesel. Maybe my seats too would be my choice and my safety belts. I would have power to break with all these if I wished to. I would when I became a matatu that is driven properly, choose to have passengers whom I like or dislike. I would be taking them, not where they think they are going, but where actually only I know where they will end up. Sometimes I would choose to take them to what they might call hot hell, when they think am the one who is about to meet my end and be dumped in garage. I would surprise them as they see me live to see many other years. When am the angry matatu, I could choose to hit sleek and cool vehicles, and see them towed to their makers. I would be taking passengers and cars not where they think they are going but where I decide to take them. As for my riders, they would never stop coming to me and going to come again as they would need me their own money to earn. I know they are dancing with hope, always looking for me. Ha! I wish I were a matatu, Wairi sighed. If I were a matatu, I would be a happy matatu, getting myself thick tyres and using my exhaust to push pain out of myself to someone else. I would smile when carrying children. Listen to...