Your gift; your life

There is this high flying, prosperity preaching pastor, who the other day, docked his plane at Entebbe, proceeded to Kampala and spoke to the movers and shakers of this city that is surrounded by seven unromantic hills.

Myles Munroe uttered words that sent shivers to the powers that be. He spoke to the helpless and hopeless in that crowd of be- suited men and women. His words echoed in the hearts of those whose direction seemed blunt. His rhythmical, Baptist style of preaching energized those whose hearts were long dead to the beat of music. He even had the temerity to look into the future and declare that a human being of the fairer sex will, one day rule this country.

Knowing my country- men and women, his words have long sunk into the recess of the Ugandan mind. The stark realities of daily living have taken over. Most of those in his audience, that day, have gone back to answering that monotonous call to work. On the other hand, Myles Munroe is feeding minds around the world and raking in both dollars and souls.

Like any curious soul, my heart danced to the beat of his words. He painted a picture of a world where success means sprinkling skill in the water of talent to create a ground swell of persistence, discipline, grit and panache. A universe that is peopled by individuals who seek to be true to that seed of ability that God planted in every heart.

Of all the string of words that Myles Munroe has strung together, none has set my heart ablaze like these ones; "The bible does not say that a man's education makes room for him, but that his gifts does. Education is not the key to success, it doesn't guarantee anything; it is your gift that is key to success"

I have looked between, under and above these words. I have torn each word to shreds. I have consulted numerous sources for the origins of each word. In sum, each word has touched the cords of my heart and I have come to the simple conclusion that the words are as plain as English words can be; together the meaning is plain to anyone who can read.

The basis of an educational system that assumes that theoretical education is the be-all and end-all of life is one that is doomed to prepare individuals who are no different from workers in the hive of life:  condemned to use their energy and will power to sustain, protect and fatten the queen bee. If you look critically at the Commonwealth structure, you will appreciate what I am yapping about.

Such a system is responsible for the mental genocide that has fashioned the African mind and so twisted it that all we can do is sit by like zombies and drunkenly watch our gifts being used against us. The educational system that we were herded into, has imprisoned our minds. Lawino, that African mind of old, lamented that the books have destroyed the very essence of her man.

There will come time when some mad and deranged African will sit at the root of the educational fountain whose waters spring from the gift of every African. Such an African will unwrap the African gift and the world will be astonished.

In every sphere of life, there will be an African who will be known, not for the number of paper qualifications that he tags to his name, but for the work of his hands, feet and heart.

Africa will be fishing for European and Asian talent and paying them ridiculous amounts of money in the name of entertainment. The world will witness a major shift of power when Africa is the sole veto power at the United Nations. Africa will spread its skill set across the world and have military outposts all over the world to protect African interests.

Walter Rodney wrote a book entitled ' How Europe underdeveloped Africa.' The Africa teeming with individuals whose gifts will marvel the world, will study a book entitled 'How Africa underdeveloped Europe.'

In this time, Africa will send her missionaries to every nook and cranny in Europe to sedate them. The explorers will walk in to pinpoint the location of Europe's mineral wealth. Then we shall send in the military to annihilate the natives and set up an educational structure that will permit Africa to exploit Europe in perpetuity.

I know, you must be urging me to wake up from my cantankerous dream. You must, like Ocol, think that all Africa is made of is deep unfathomable darkness.

Well, you are wrong!!!

There will come a time when a high flying pastor from Africa will dock his planes at Heathrow airport and with prosperity dripping from every pore of his black shinny skin, utter to all and sundry: "The bible does not say that a man's education makes room for him, but that his gifts does. Education is not the key to success, it doesn't guarantee anything; it is your gift that is key to success"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Husband your anger!!!

 

 

Anger in any culture is said to be an emotion that should be hidden under the kitchen pot.  In fact it is blamed for many things that go wrong. In a fit of anger, many people permit themselves to be prisoner to its vile ways; thereby committing acts that would make their parents tremble with rage.

 Is anger really that bad? Is it an emotion that we can all do without? Gather it by its belt and toss it into the lake? Hang it on a tomato tree and speak evil of its children? Is anger that vile?

I am going to bet my last Ugandan shilling and say that this world would be purposeless without anger. In my view, anger provides that stomach churning excitement that drives men to their very best. It is the sculptor's chisel that fashions character from the rock of life.

I am not talking about that blood curdling anger or that reason sapping anger or that mindless, temper tantrum anger or that which turns a reasonable man into an incorrigible lunatic or that anger that reduced Okonkwo into a suicidal fool.

I am not talking about that Othello anger that coagulates into a jealous fit and melts into a murderous rage or that ambitious anger that caused Lady Macbeth to sow seeds of tyranny into her husband's gullible mind.

I am talking about that anger that boils into a calculated rage; that which crystallizes a murky situation; that which causes you to fashion an idea and husband all your energy into the production of a better existence.

The anger that causes a single man of age to rethink and retool his life is one that must be applauded. If it causes him to find, keep and love the lady of his dreams, it must be embraced. Such an anger should be ingrained in the instructional system of any society for it is the only way that the society will ensure that it is made up of loving families.

In this day and age, somebody should come up with an evolutionary application that enables the living to speak to those who have travelled to the other side. I would love to engage with Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Henry Ford, the Wright Brothers, The Beatles, and Albert Einstein et al.

I would love to know how they handled rejection from a society that was not used to ideas that run contrary to its thinking. I would love to appreciate how they channeled all that negative energy: how they marshalled that river of negativity into a dam of creativity that continues to amaze and astound the world.

 I am yet to find an omelet made without destroying the egg. So is it with a life changing process. In order to build, one must destroy. If one is to jump out of complacency, one must be ready, willing and able to say that enough is enough!!!

Anger at ones current existence, provides that much needed bridge to better circumstances. Satisfaction, at any stage in life, causes human beings to stagnate, regress and rot. Anger, on the other hand, brings that much needed freshness that rejuvenates as it reinvigorates.

 It is Howard Thurman who said, " Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive"  

You cannot come alive when you are simply dancing to the dictates of life. At best you will be dull, uninspiring and unattractive. At worst you will live a forgetful existence.

Anger is the ingredient to an exciting, adventurous, creative and a life well lived. It is the spark of fire that ignites and sets society aflame with wonder. It harnesses the molehill of skill in every living human being and turns it into a mountain of awe.

 

In every seed of anger

Lies a tree of greatness

Harness it

Nourish it

Husband it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Dare the rain.

 

I

t has always been said that the pouring rain should find you on your way home. That way you are assured of a warm cup of hot chocolate, a cold bath and hot food. Life however, is not that predictable.

The pouring rain suddenly gushed out of the sky when I was 16 km into my 100km cycling ride to Zirobwe. For the next 6km I was in the eye of a ferocious down pour.

Let it be known that I had a choice. I could have taken shelter by the numerous shops that flew past me. I could have turned back and headed home. I could have simply hailed any of those empty public vehicles that kept slowing down. I chose to brave the rain and dare her to do her worst.

The rain pelted me. She lashed me.  She tore me to watery shreds. At some point I really felt that I had insulted her grandmother. Each drop of rain felt like a nail being hammered into my Acoli skin. There was this particular one that found its way through my helmet. It slammed onto my skull and reverberated through my body. In that cold, I felt a warm sensation that only spelled of doom and gloom.

It was windy; I now know what it means to ride a paperweight bicycle in the middle of the Ugandan version of a tropical storm. I was in danger of being blown away into the lush green vegetation that seemed to have been painted from Busuukuma, Namulonge to Bugema. I held onto my bicycle for dear life.

When rain is pouring like she was pouring that Thursday noon, the tarmac road ceases to be a friend. Sudden application of the brakes can bring upon you the kind of accident that would cause your mother to shudder in wonderment. I could not ride fast. With each slow stroke of the pedal came a torrent of rain. My shades were misty and all I could do was force my eyes to focus on the tiny pebbles that make up the pedestrian paths of the Zirobwe road.

Ridding down hill was as painful as it was pleasurable. The rush of air was like furious unending slaps on my face. My shoes soaked so much water that they too become a burden. In spite of all that, I smiled through the downhill torture; the steady pace at the valleys was as welcome as welcome can be: until I had to cycle uphill.

On any given day, cycling uphill is a test of endurance. On this particular day, that uphill ride was a test of a word that is yet to be invented. My lungs will tell you that they were forced to dance to unique beats of air. My thigh and my feet will swear that the generation of propulsion power is not kids play. My shoulder will just shrug and say this is what I was built for.

My heart beat so furiously that at one point I feared it would burst. My fingers were screaming in protest, as they had to grip the handlebars with all the mojo that they had. Once I got to the top of the hill, there was no sigh of relief to enjoy. There was another downhill to endure.

After that unforgettable 6km, the sun shone with all her glory.  I peddled with village greed; I gathered all my strength and channeled it to my reluctant legs; I needed to soak in all the heat from her, before she shied away into the clouds.

I did get to a Zirobwe that was as dry as dry can be. In my excitement I elected to ride 5km into the village that is Zirobwe. The pure innocence that flows from each homestead along the path was a joy to behold. There was this child swinging from a goat rope tied to a Jackfruit tree. The smile on her face was priceless. She swung like she owned the wind through which she sliced.

 As I rode back home, I was smiling from ear to ear as I thought about the grass thatched huts; the long abounded homes; the mosque next to a church; the happy go lucky children playing by the roadside; I did thank my lucky stars that I dared the rain to do her worst.

 Oh yes! I did get my warm cup of hot chocolate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Conquer the other you.

 

 

I

 was talking to myself the other day. No, I am not going out of my mind; it is the other me who, in my estimation, has lost his marbles. The other day I was having this silent conversation with him when he suddenly screamed, impossible!!!

I had toyed with the idea of beating Usain Bolt at his own game. The other me was furious. He frantically danced like a potato leaf in the wind; his face was a picture of pain. Thank God he is an African, other wise, I would have seen the pink version of me.

 When he had calmed down, he fronted a couple of reasons why, in his view, I cannot run the 100 meter dash in less than 9 seconds; I am not a Jamaican; my body has, over the years, accumulated layers that are more of a liability than an asset; I do not have the access to the training facilities to make me the fastest man on earth; I am a Ugandan, whatever that meant.

True, I told him, I am not a Jamaican. I am a human being and surely I can train myself to be as good if not better than the man they call the lightening bolt. The other me sneered and said that I should stop day-dreaming. I have known you all your life; you do not have the dedication and the relentless obsession of a Jamaican sprinter. O.K., I responded, rather meekly. You do have a point.

Sounding triumphant, he went on to argue; you do not have access to a nutritionist, a physiotherapist, a physiologist, and all those 'ists' that are needed to turn your body into an efficient running machine. Wow, I had no idea that all that was necessary. The other me chuckled and laughed derisively at my ignorance. My confidence was crumbling by the second.

Your body,… he paused for effect, your body is no where near what is required to get onto that starting line up, let alone beat the fastest man this world will know in a long time. In fact you need a couple of life times to get in shape; unfortunately you have only one lifetime. I needed to put up a resistance.

I will work hard. I will give it all I have got. All you have got? The other me interrupted, you have nothing and nothing does come from nothing. You do not know me, I persisted. I know you, he said. You are no different from those Africans whose hopes light up in the dark of night only to be dashed when the light of reality knocks at their doors. Now my confidence was utterly destroyed.

You do not have the facilities, the structure, the financing to mould you into a world class-beating athlete. On top of that you are a Ugandan. What do you mean by that, I asked?

As a Ugandan, you are incapable of the rigorous and never ending discipline that comes with world-class behaviour. Go into any village in your country and you will find your peers looking to the stars for help and sustenance. Show me any Ugandan with internal drive and I will show you a Kenyan. Now that got me intrigued.

Why do you claim to know me so well, I retorted, my confidence kicking into shape. I am in your head, he said. You mean you are a part of me? Yes, I am. Well, I do not see why I should keep harbouring you with all your negativity. You sap all my energy and I cannot function well with you negating my every thought. I am going to fire you from my head. You cannot do that. I realised the fear in his voice. I went for the jugular.

I will do more than that I am going to ignore your every word; your every thought. I will deny you your lifeblood and you will die. Your negativity will suffocate you; you will cease to be; I will bury you in the dung heap!!!! There was no response. The other me was as silent as dead sheep.

Often times, we are our worst enemy. The other you will always build a water -tight case against you every wish. Woe betide you if you succumb. Human strength comes from overcoming the objections that exist in the mind. Feel the fear and do it any way.

May these words from Les Brown move you, as they continually move me, beyond that mountain of fear that the other you has erected:

If you want a thing bad enough to go out and fight for it, to work day and night for it, to give up your time, your peace and your sleep for it…

If all that you dream and scheme is about it, and life seems useless and worthless without it…

If you gladly sweat for it and fret for it and plan for it and lose all your terror of the opposition for it…

If you simply go after that thing you want with all of your capacity, strength and sagacity, faith, hope and confidence and stern pertinacity…

If neither cold, poverty, famine, nor gout, sickness nor pain, of body and brain, can keep you away from the thing that you want…

If dogged and grim you beseech and beset it, with the help of God, you will get it

 

 

 

 

Fall in love with reading.

I used to teach.

As a teacher, one is required to read and to keep reading so as to be immediately relevant to the students and the subject in which one professes to be well grounded.

Reading was infused in my blood the day I gasped for my first breath of air. I grew up in the adventurous world of the Hardy boys:  the heart thudding and pulsating romance of Mills and Boons: the spell binding world of James Hardly Chase: the mysterious universe of Enid Blyton.

In my teenage years, I immersed myself in the spy world of Robert Ludlum: the enticing words coined by Jeffrey Archer: the mouth-watering excitement in Sidney Sheldon's novels: the deadly mix of the African and the emotion of love spelled out in the Pacesetter editions from Macmillan.

As a young adult, I fully appreciated the 'song school' by Okot P' Bitek. I will be forever amazed at his uncanny ability to speak, with deep insight, from the foot- fall of each of his characters. Song of Malaya, is one of those poems that should be a must read for those who profess to speak for the down trodden.

In the larger African world, I revelled in Kikuyu world of Ngugi wa Thiongo. The anti apartheid literature of apartheid South Africa was both blood cuddling and revolutionary. The West African culture and her attempts to resist colonialism are encapsulated in the words that spew out of Chinua Achebe's pen. The rumbling roar of Wole Soyinka keeps echoing in my brain.

The English classics continue to excite me. Shakespeare and his intense grasp of various human emotions leaves me dumbfounded every time my mind has intercourse with his work. Charles Dickens unique ability to describe human conditions leaves me powerless to this day.

Then there was poetry. My imagination was ignited and my engine always vibrates with an excitement that palpitates with the precision of a drumbeat major.

I must redirect my train of thought, lest I get lost in words. The whole purpose of this collection of words is to urge you to marry into the world of books. Like many marriages that are known only to me, this marriage will come with a couple of advantages.

With every book that you read, comes a brand new world. Your narrow world will be enlarged when you commit to the words on the pages. You will explore and understand worlds you never knew, you never knew.

You will become a better you, especially if you engage in the world of self-help books. Human beings are in the constant race to know and be better. The individual, who invests, reads and applies the knowledge in such books, is halfway through the race. Charles W. Elio echoed a profound truth when he said,  "Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counsellors, and the most patient of teachers."

Reading increases the understanding of the rules of life. For one to adapt, adopt and accommodate into society better, one must be aware of the house rules that make up life. To be successful in life, one must know the unique combination that unlocks the door. Reading lays that combination on your plate.

For you to achieve anything in life, you must first do that thing. To be able to do that which is in your power to do, you must first learn it. To learn it, you must first read about it. In essence, reading is the one and only ingredient that will enable you to prepare a banquet of your life.

Books are the richest collection of wealth in the world. The experiences therein are priceless. You can propel yourself any which way, once you succumb to the infinite resource that is available to all that can see.

Reading will boost your imagination in ways that will astound and excite you. You will come into contact with a world that declares that the word impossible is only found in the dictionary of fools.

May Cupid flood you with a torrent of love,

And cause you to succumb,

To the love of reading.