Media related sources have often elevated terrorism to a religious level, and even assigned it to a Islam, while in higher levels of elitism it is entirely a political affair. It is another battle of resources with barely any religious foundations. It is not the first time religion has been used to bridge gap of logic and often as a sheep skin to cover foxes. Christianity is no exception in terms of negative exploitation. It has been used by ‘pastors’ to generate money at the expense of the congregation or even propagate cults.
The big difference is that media personnel take very different perspectives when reporting crimes that are tied to religion. When it is a crime involving a conman masquerading as a Christian pastor or prophet, focus is normally on the ‘false prophet’ who is normally demonized and disowned from Christianity. In the case of terrorism however, we are misled to believe that it is Islam oriented and every news item is laced with implied blames on Islamic beliefs.
Whether it is Islam as a religion that doesn’t come out strongly to denounce terrorism, or it is the media that is too prejudiced to listen, it is hard to tell. It is important to try to look into the reason why the media ties the religion of Islam to terrorism. It raises the old and live question as to whether the media sets agenda for society or simply reports what society is already saying. The media takes hints from society about what to report on and how.
Before blaming the media, it is important to look into the height of our own prejudice as a society. We ought to liberate ourselves from the misunderstandings of religion and view terrorism as a crime. Isolating terrorism from Islam and garnering universal forces against it shall boost our strength.
Terrorism has so far taken the advantage of dividing us by religion, race or ethnicity. The association of terrorism with Islam, Arabs or Somalis divides the world hence reducing the -would be- mass forces to counter terrorism.
Security is a serious concern that touches on all the aspects of human survival. We should therefore unite to guard ourselves and our friends. Muslims as well as everyone has the task of dissociating themselves from terrorism. Non-Muslims should also cease the prejudice of associating terrorism to Islam.
I am in a matatu, listening to those sad tunes that my boys, my crew, my peers would judge to be girlish, old or gay. It is probably “Do I Cross your Mind” by Dolly Parton or worse a gay musician’s song, say Adam Lambert’s. I feel the scenes and trees passing past me, at the same speed at which thoughts are sinking deep into nostalgia. All life fears arise like vapour from warm earth. The Owl City tune is syncing with my thoughts in a way that makes me a stranger to myself. Utopic feelings begin to fill me like tidal waves of love. The noblest memories I have, which by my standards are those of perfect love, or the peak of a party, come before my eyes like fairy tales, but even clearer. I begin to realize how the best of moments passed me by, in my stark oblivion, as if I were somebody else. Sometimes it even feels like our memories extend to beyond the years of our birth. Thoughts of life and death, and Para cosmic existence reign and ferry us to our fairy tales. The multiverse, a parallel universe, the microverse and infinity. How far it can go. Wait a minute, the matatu breaks and I jerk off my seat, I and my lost soul.
The normal life resumes back on and I feel my eye for a probable tear, which is quite embarrassing because anytime I could meet one the guys in my crew, and boy, would he heckle me! I have to suddenly switch focus from soul “feelings,” from being myself to being fun, or cool. I am not complaining, we switch on and off things to balance life. I suddenly switch my playlist to Hip-hop or Trance to give the impression of a cool, social and normal campus guy. As I continue chatting away with my friends, and listening to the music we all like (which is obviously not Justin Bieber, or Taylor Swift) the cheer sets me to another level. It is hilarious making fun of or “roasting” the usual joke punch bag, our friend has never made a comeback. I once asked a friend of mine who is a pure non-alcoholic if mango and apple juice make him equally high. The answer of course was roars of laughter from the ‘crew’. Never mind it is a purely contextual joke. However I also told one of my friends who comes from a dry area he is used to dry spells. I have a friend who is a basketballer, a dancer, a ladies man, but still masturdates.
I realise we get our fulfilled laughs from friends, and even though they may roast us when we listen to old, emotional or vernacular music, they too sometimes do that. Just check their playlists.
She just cut it off, like a loop, excess rope, a worthless appendage. She cut it off like an overgrown, dry toe nail. Despite fear for them, I don’t mean to intimidate Nyeri girls, for as the saying goes, talent (sic) skips a generation. I actually fault Nyeri men more for being on the receiving end a millionth time now. They lost their manhood inside of an animal yesterday, today they found it on the other side of a sharp knife. It is supposed to be inside underwear, well tucked like a gentleman’s
Was she a surgeon, you know, maybe? Was she cutting off some cancer inside it, had she misread a huge lump earlier? Or was that the problem? That it wouldn’t lump? Who knows, the money conflict story could be just a scapegoat. Any day a woman is defiled, it arouses anger countrywide. That is how it should be. When a manhood was chopped, it aroused parodic trauma. Humour carefully injected in memes with pictures of men’s chastity belts became the day’s feed for social media. For sure, ‘’if our forefathers awoke now’’ they shall find some of their male scions void of a manhood. If I were them I would go back and nap just some more.
A society whose woman is supressed is weak; one whose man is cut off is full of woe. Male chauvinism is a vice, but we need a neutral ground in between, not extreme feminism. Not a feminism that views past woman chores as any more difficult than the man life of going to war with other tribes. When you dip a red-hot iron rod into ice, it coils in confusion. Are we there now? Is society coiling in confusion? It is good to remember that Africa in all her dark beauty we embrace every day is a patriarchal society. It is easy to graft her up to look like a western willow, but changing her roots is something different. If you compare how much change we have been forced to undergo in less than a century, it is almost unfair. We don’t need feminists, nor male chauvinists. Africa needs humanitarians that see her men and women through the same eye.
Why I reported to work late? If everyday I woke up to buns,tea and people to order around, I would check in on time every morning. Don’t underestimate the power of office tea and buns. It can make a man rise early. It can be food for thought, enough to kick blankets and brave the morning cold in a heated car.Huh! My boss. Every morning there is a brief meeting, my boss chairs it. He balances his urge to scold us and the urge for tea and buns to time the meeting. We get more scolding when that lady has not yet delivered the buns on his table, as if they were letters from across the seas. The scolding is much less when the aroma of buns hits his nose.He ends the meeting abruptly.
When he enters his office,the thermos flask stands on the table,like an ancient whore, ready to be opened for the millionth time. He opens and pours, savoring the aroma from the steaming tea. The buns lie in a plastic packages (don’t you think they should do something about the environment) They are ready to be opened like ancient whores too. He starts shouting out loud how he didn’t take breakfast owing to his commitment to work. Excuse me, it is commitment to buns.
How his human stomach takes in all the buns must be a threat to the entire bun sorority. He has eaten the bun supply for the next four weeks. He bloats on them,doesn’t he? He goes for lunch, but when we go for lunch, we are not serious. He looks at us in a look that says “You have not eaten enough buns to deserve lunch.” Huh! Sadist, we have eaten no buns since breakfast.
I still wake up late sometimes,I have no policy about drinking or smoking,I struggle,I feel bad about terrible decisions I made earlier, I get nervous even in the presence of the wrong people, I live only up to 10.p.c of what I believe in. Sometimes I feel like crying, when no one has died, say for no good reason at all other than deep thought,fears maybe. My smart moves often disappear when they are most needed,I have later realized jokes were cruel and inconsiderate. I have failed to help a beggar when I meant to. The money was deep in my pockets, and that wasn’t too far. I have laughed at people in situations where I ought to be sorry. What else have I done? I have lied to escape trouble, I have failed to keep promises. I have trashed love from people,it was wrong,my own king’s share of heartbreaks notwithstanding.
Be gentle with yourself dude? Huh? Am not yet done with me. When am done with me, I will be stark naked. I have turned down interactions, I have looked down upon people. Imagine that. Intentionally. I have barely stifled a laugh at the thought of blind people playing football, but have nonetheless read disabled people jokes with all pleasure. I have recklessly plastered sarcasm on people who were being genuine.
I am a commoner. I have used cursed words on undeserving people or in their presence. How long to write? I am a perfect judge of my own. I would be dead if I were to execute my sentence,which I would If the judge would not die along. Now that am naked with all my black spots in the face of sunshine, and my skin rash exposed to rain, does it make me holier or worse? Self haunt is another sin.
I come to appreciate that life is about that. Mistakes. I rise everyday. It is especially the strong idea of right or wrong that kills me. I ought to live and grow, but not shift between right pole and wrong pole. My earlier life has told me that you’re either right or wrong. But no, I’m just growing. Today and tomorrow. Everyday. It is not always about success or failure. It is about me. How do I feel? Am human. And I love it.
Are you a writer?
There’s a reading world where the writers are small gods.
Congratulations. Hail You. Yes, You.