RIP to the Kenyan Shilling

Death to KES

For the larger part of this year, the Central Bank of Kenya has ignored entreaties that it intervene to stabilise the shilling. Now when it appears that the shilling is in free fall, the CBK has belatedly moved in with a desperate effort to shore up the currency. It proposes selling foreign currency directly to key targeted sectors, starting with oil importers, who would thereby by-pass the rates charged by commercial banks.
                                                             

From Tuesday’s trading alone, it appears the intervention is bearing fruit as the market reported a modest gain in the shilling. However, it is a policy that must be approached with extreme caution, for what it does is to ignore market fundamentals and establish a parallel forex window.

On a simplistic level, that might appear reasonable given that the free market has not spared the shilling from free fall, and has, in fact, been exploited by banks and other speculators to make windfall profits at the expense of the national economy.

Such a solution, however, can be extremely dangerous. It basically means that those so favored can buy dollars at preferential rates from the Central Bank, and release the same to the market at handsome profits.

There are simply no safeguards to ensure that CBK dollars will be sold only to bona fide importers and that each dollar released at special rates will go towards its intended purpose.

Meanwhile the shilling’s crossing the psychological Sh100 to the dollar mark, with analysts projecting the slide to hit Sh110/120 in days, is not something to be ignored. What has set in is a sense of helplessness, with neither the Treasury nor the Central Bank offering any leadership. The message being sent is that the two are equally lost as to the cause of the problem.

The Euro debt crisis has been advanced as the main cause. While this could be partly true, it does not explain why the shilling has today become the world’s worst performing currency.

On Tuesday, for the second time, the CBK accused commercial banks of hoarding dollars in order to push the shilling further downwards, and thus make a killing in forex income.If, indeed, profiteers are exploiting the system in a manner that reeks of economic sabotage and the CBK is helpless, then maybe an enquiry from another organ is called for. If speculators are hoarding dollars for selfish purposes, then the forex trading environment must be reviewed.

Ordinarily, it is within the purview of the Central Bank to regulate the market unless it wants to be in dereliction of duty so that a few may prosper while the country bleeds. Any intervention, however, must not make a bad situation worse.

We have in this country a long history of schemes seemingly implemented to help the economy, but which turn out designed to help powerful political forces loot the public purse. Any programme aimed at stabilizing the shilling, however well-meant, must be rethought if it is so clearly open to abuse. Differential pricing could not work with maize-meal; it won’t work with foreign exchange either. 

Adapted from Daily Nation

TO DIE OR NOT TO DIE: Why Should People really Die?

A fortnight ago i was take ill. No time have I ever undergone mental agony than then. The malady exacerbated to the point of courting delirious hallucinations and delusions.

At one point I saw Archangel Michael riding on a fiery horse coming to my bed side. I was sure someone somewhere had faulted in His calculations.

                            
The song 'If I Die Young' by The Band Perry kept ringing through my ears with each Mike's approach. Some things happen fast yet so slow. Overpowering nostalgic memories at that moment can be detrimental to coherent thinking hence being troubled of spirit.

Dante's 'The Inferno' kept blinking in front of me.

I find myself too young for death's taste. I was not ready yet and found myself crying hysterically. I had so many things to achieve in life. I yet have sired, yet consummated the love i have for a certain lady, for she is yet to know my feelings for her. I am a chronic sinner and that i was sure. I have close friends whom i have not told how much i cherish their support. My book is still in a publishing house and I want to be known as the greatest writer in Kenya and beyond. I have barely started my Forex trading. I babbled all these to the beckoning Angel of Death and sought redemption.

I convinced him to be creative and look further East. Japan has the highest percentage for people my age who commit suicide. Somebody there would have no problem aiding him in his deathly venture. Those who were around at that moment can't help reminding me how 'I had left them'. What with my body's spasmodic fighting and frothing from the mouth.

Why should young people die?

I know, I know the Bible tells me that God has a good reason for everything that happens under the sun. And one of His reasons is so that His grace is manifested to all and sundry.

As for me, John, at my age I have always lived under the guidance of immortality. When that veneer of immense ridiculous hope is roughly ripped off, then i know something somewhere has awry conked out.

Look around you, Kenyan is experiencing self extinct at a dangerous level. The morgues are no longer able to feed self-inflicted cadavers. I took a week's break in Embu to regains strength and shed off some mental fatigue. On the contrary i have been bombarded with news of death in the country on a daily basis. In shaggz, there was a burial or two in a daily basis.

Kenya has experienced the Sinai-Pipeline fire tragedy with shock and sadness it deserves. We even had two days of national mourning for the affected. from baked bodies to roasted livers. People clumsily imbibing toxic acids in the name of brews to their death. At this age and time, it is unfortunate to litter the prime news with such occurrences. Not mentioning the road carnage claiming lives of tens per accident. Unfortunate!

Death is a mystery which everyone must unravel after their last breath. Everyone wants to go to Heaven but nobody wants to die.

"Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come". Julius Caesar Quote (Act II, Scene II).

May death be a natural occurrence and not a desired nemesis. Courting death is, pardon the pun, suicidal. It ravages the souls of those you have left behind and cramps the conscience of the witty. It is unfair, prejudiced and un-forgiven in the eyes of God. We may blame the Government, fate or petty balder-dash but what remains of essence is to try and avoid unnecessary death in any sensible way possible.

The Metamorphosis of Black by Percy Thairu

In the beginning there was Black, and Black was beautiful. Black was heritage and culture. Black was pride and strength. It was articulated by art, attire, food and music. It was perpetuated by traditions, customs and intricate rituals. Black was simplicity but it was also depth. From the outside looking in, it was dark, complex and scary. It was barbaric, uncivilized and downright sinful. In their eyes, Black was so wrong that it needed saving from itself. At this point, Black was like the caterpillar, scorned and misjudged. Yet it knew itself to be unique. The quest for salvation of the Black savage very rapidly escalated to full blown persecution. Black became lesser than the rest of humanity. Black was irredeemable and consequently only good enough for a subservient existence. The slave trade flourished on this premise and whole economies thrived on the blood, sweat and tears of this race. It was a catastrophe. An entire continent was ravaged of its dignity and resources. But Black was resilient.

In captivity, Black was angry and vulnerable, but lost nothing of its resourcefulness. Like the caterpillar gathering strength, Black fed voraciously on the education of its persecutors. The only way to beat them was with their own weapons. Entire generations of Black dedicated their lives to acquiring White wisdom. The Civil Rights Movement was born in the educated minds of their descendants. Black was Booker T. Washington, who taught himself how to read and write using a dictionary while in prison. Black was Martin Luther King, who lost his life in the struggle for liberation. Black was the heroes that pushed for the end of slavery in the West and equal rights for Black people. It was a slow and bloody process, but Black regained a part of its stolen dignity. Back in the ‘dark’ continent, the cradle of Black civilization, leaders arose that drew on the victories of their brothers in the West. They resisted White occupation with every weapon they acquired from them. Black was Nelson Mandela, Jomo Kenyatta, Patrice Lumumba, Kwame Nkrumah and many other heroes of the struggle for Independence in the various parts of Africa. Eventually, the continent was free. But the struggle had just begun.

In order to sustain this freedom, Black had to go into another stage, a dormant stage. Growth and transformation were necessary. Black could no longer be like the crude and malformed caterpillar. It knew there was greatness and even magnificent beauty within it. It spun itself a cocoon and took time to learn, restructure and cleanse itself of the poisons of its past. Black in this phase was seen as unproductive, obsolete. But it still knew itself to be unique. Black then was inspiring like Maya Angelou, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, James Brown, Mariam Makeba, Desmond Tutu and Jesse Jackson.

Finally, Black emerged from its cocoon, transformed. Black is now emancipated and educated. It is sophisticated and powerful. Black like the butterfly has broken out of its state of reverie, its cocoon of inferiority. Black is once again glorious. In politics, Black is Barrack Obama and Ellen Johnson. In music, Black is Michael Jackson and Angelique Kidjo. In media and entertainment, Black is Oprah Winfrey and Will Smith. Black is Wangari Maathai the environmentalist, Usain Bolt the star athlete and Freidah Brown the educator. Black is in the boardrooms, in religion, in sports and in the military. Black is everywhere, shining and soaring even higher.

Now Black is you and I, bearing the torch our forefathers heavily labored to restore. Black is unstoppable. Black like the butterfly has wings and can fly. Black is no longer a symbol of oppression and humiliation. It is strength, elegance and brilliance. It is looking upwards and outwards. Black overcame fetters and shackles and Black can overcome HIV/AIDS, poverty, illiteracy, corruption and all other dark clouds in our blue skies. Black has only just begun its ascension. It can and will be much more. Black can be more influential in corporate, diplomatic and political circles. Black can expand its horizons in the field of sports. Black is capable of innovations in business, technology, entertainment and medical fields Black has opportunities and is overflowing with creativity. It is infinite potentiality. Its only obstacles are in its mind. 

In the spirit of Ghandi’s “Be the change you desire to see”, I am embracing my Black identity. I choose to educate and empower myself and others. I will use my talents to express myself authentically and to inspire others to rise to their greatest potential. I will strive for diligence over complacency, achievement over mediocrity. You see, Black was never about a skin colour. It is a distinctive and beautiful identity. We knew this all along and now it is time to let everyone else see it.

I am Black and gifted, I will be all I can be.

FIVE STAGES OF HEALING: When That Time Comes

When i buried my grandfather years ago, the mood was defined by copious amount of tears shed. I mourned too because everyone around was sad, yet the pain of burying a loved one was un-felt for i was young and shy of such knowledge and feelings.

I first watched 'The Passion of Christ' the moment it hit the local big screens. I was older then, but emotionally immature, hence my indignation by the emotional outpouring of audiences in the theater. I remember an embarrassing episode where a lady openly wailed and sought salvation before the movie was over to my chagrin.

At a friend's crib a month ago i came across the movie. A queer curiosity, something i rarely have, saw me re-watch it. And watch i did, this time blindly for bales of tears had clogged my eyes. The movie depicted the emotional last journey of Jesus Christ to Golgotha where he was crucified. Apparently my emotions were catching up with my old age.

So when Frankie died on my lap last week, I was emotionally drained. I underwent the five stages of healing which, come to think of it, are important stages of healing.

The first stage was DENIAL:

ME: Why is he closing his eyes?
DAD: *Feeling the pulse* John we have to talk...
ME: ...
MOM: Son, the kitty has been dead for over an hour...
ME: *Closing the eyes*
DAD: John, we have to bury the cat before rigor mortis commences.
ME: He is not just a cat, he is Frankie!
ME: *Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation*
ME: See? Frankie is not dead. He is alive. FRANKIE IS ALIVE!

It is hard to accept one's demise. I had raised Frankie since he was born till it fattened like Garfield. To imagine that a pal that i was so attached to had left this world was a torment too hard to envisage.

Then came Anger:

I was devastated. And i was angry. So i was devastated-ly angry!. I cursed, i raved, i employed expletives. What, i wanted to know, did the vet do to Frankie? The way he had looked at me, forlornly. after injecting Frankie was an admission of guilt in itself. A wrong dose? No way Frankie would be buried without post-mortem to establish the cause of his death. Somebody would cool his heels behind the bars for (un)intentional manslaughter!!!

I started Bargaining:

God, Dear God, why Frankie of all cats? Why not that neighbour's cat that brays instead of miaow-ing? Why not the many cats that roams the streets nights and days? Why Lord, why? You have the power to bring him back, don't you. Frankie was not just an ordinary cat, he was a cat's cat. He pooped diligently in his poop-pottie, drank milk without sugar and wouldn't even lay its paw on a rat.He was always with me when reading the Bible, so he knew a thing or two about you. Why did it have to be Frankie?

Depression crept in...

I became completely devastated and shattered. I started reminiscing on the small favors Frankie did to me without appreciating him. Or was I the cause of his death? The time i pushed him in a bucket of water...or wait, when I admonished his inability to catch a limping mouse because of his fat ass? I used to take Frankie for granted. Could i have prevented his demise? Nights became unbearable  with silent weepings and days would find me curled under the blankets in anguish.

Finally the Acceptance stage;


When i became aware of my parents worrisome facial features because of me. I was trending towards Frankie's grave because i had become wasted in such short period. It comes a point when you realize that God is the holder of both the knife and the yam. He says all His acts are there for His glory to be manifested.

My acceptance was complete when our neighbor came carrying a carton box bearing not less than six new-born kitties. Apparently, Frankie had strayed hence the Frankie-lettes!!!

Life is a pain when it so wants. Being strong in this situations is all that matters. Do you have any other stages of healing?

CAREER CHOICES IN KENYA: What Yu Wanna Be in Future?

Today, as i vamoosed from the nauseating cryptic-feeling government offices, i had a brain-wave. Seriously! Like a vision of Damascus, or marijuana-induced deep thinking that comes with age and experience with life. Either i was rushing with life, or life was way ahead of me.

Like a lady who suddenly realizes her prime is past her and desperation comes knocking, so is my sudden grapple with my future. So John, what you wanna be, an Actuary? Hell no! Coz i can never make it to be one. I barely made it for the course, i am barely graduating out of it and Gawd! I am not ready for the papers. In fact after my undergraduate, i will eschew anything that will be related to that skunk of a course.

So it got me thinking that my age is doubling and my conscience troubling. I whipped out my phone and browsed http://whatiwannabeinkenyaafteranyear.com where i found irresistible offers. I know there are many out there who have no idea of their future and are broiling into self-extinct. Others are looking haggard in their mid-twenties due to wrong career choices, thanks to 8-4-4 system that makes a crap out of your brilliant grey matter.

Yes i can be the next Runyenjes M.P. but I don't think i am ready yet. I am half-way 'How To Lie Between Your Teeth for Dummies' best-selling novel, and unless i have read it and crammed the '101 Ways of Making a Fool of Yourself in Public' will i comfortably vie. Mbarire Cecily, ain't that am afraid you can impeach the highest-earning eloquent civil servant in the country, just that am yet to grow a thick skin. Word!

I Can Be a Computer Wizard.

Yes, a geek or something, so stop laughing. I just realize am good at computers. I blog, i tweet, i facebook and google. In my home county, everyone in my family thinks am a geek. During semester breaks, their faces brightens when i touch our family computer.

Dad: Show us the the Daily Nation on screen.
Me: Uh-Ok.

I punch the keyboard randomly with speed and dread. All the stories are displayed by a touch of button. Which story do you want Dad? Click. I watch his face. I can hear his heart being proud of his son. I edit mom's work and she presents printed forms, not written mind-you, not even type-scrawled. I have shown my kins computer games, skyping and suggested to my mom she should have an e-mail account.

So she calls me weeks ago for an emergency, and John, HURRY! And hurry i did.

Me: Mom are you serious?
Mom: Look at it, it has eaten the brains out of me! It has been showing up every time i put a password. Might be a virus that has attacked my computer! Perhaps a Trojan Horse
Me: Might be, even worse. Say Trojan Mare or Stallion. What is your password?
Mom: sugarpricesarewayabovetheceiling...
Me: MOM!
Mom: You told me that the password should be long for security reasons...
Me: But not that long. I didn't suggest you exhaust your limited lexicon...

No i can't be a computer expert. That's not a career! A radio presenter? Mmmh...i know am daft, but not that daft. Radio presenters are horrifying and discouraging. Fake twangs, masters of relationships while they can't keep theirs, stars in 'Who is Dumb-er Now' Series. If you are not Fhareed Khimani of the XFM's The Rude Awakening Show, then you ain't a radio presenter. Thank you very much.

Or i can be a relationship counselor... ok, in a few years time I Wanna Be a Counselor.

Me: Welcome to Dr. John Phil M'lady, how can i crap on you?
Besieged Lady: My husband is a cow...
Me: Mmmh, that is a very harsh way of describing your husband, unless we talking in terms of his ability to produce enough milk.
BL: I will commit suicide!
Me: And we will miss you dear. How can I contribute in that auspicious venture?

There are many, many other un-tapped options in the Kenyan market, but what we need is a keen eye and opportunistic ideals. With patience and determination you can break into your long-time dream, and i believe you will be a satisfied individual lest you age with woes due to the wrong career choice.