LETS WAIT FOR BWANA MATUMBO.

It’s time to wake up. It’s too late to sleep. Time is scarce and my dreams are chasing me fast. Let us usher a new day, lets chase away the night and awake to the morning. Let’s join the bird in sweet melody, let our sleep dissipate like morning dew. Let’s smile to the glorious morning sun as we bid farewell to the pleasures of our beds. Let’s warm ourselves with fresh morning tea to chase out the cold and bring in new thoughts. It’s a new day, Nah!

  The ladies love him in the bar, but not his wife. His wife does not love him anymore. She says he comes to her when he is dead and goes to the bottles when he is alive. His wife claims that she is a widow

Who is the old man? Why is he gloomy? Have the years cost him his joys? Has he no children to cheer him or grand children to arouse his joys? Why is the old man alone? Has he no one left? Did his kin forsake him? Did his friends depart? Where is his wife?

He is not an old man, no he isn’t. He is only old in the morning, when the hangover catches him. They say the hangover has no cure. In the evenings he is alive, he shouts and he laughs, he drinks and he stumbles. In the evening he is the king and the bottle is his crown, he drinks and they cheer. The ladies love him in the bar, but not his wife. His wife does not love him anymore. She says he comes to her when he is dead and goes to the bottles when he is alive. His wife claims that she is a widow. What a morning? As life crawls to some of us, it is departed from others only to return to them when the day is over. That’s Mzee Masumbuko; his life is twisted like his hair.

... If you shake him he will not wake up. If you yell at him, he will talk in his sleep and if you pour water on him he shall fart and roll over. There is only one way to wake him up, tell him there is an election, I swear he shall awake like thunder!!....

The ritual of dawn is over, the morning is old now. Sweat should be on our brows and thirst should be in our throats. We should be exhausting our bodies, all to earn a daily ration. Why are they sited like that? Are they not strong men? Do they not have wives? Shouldn’t they have children? Why are they on a stone and laughing like old women at the market?

They are not strong men, they are youth. The youths have no jobs, the youths shall not work. The youth shall chew dry roast maize and whistle at girls. It is the city; there are no Jembes here, just stones and no work. Let the youth sit and chew grains, let them laugh till their mouths dry. Let them wait for Bwana Matumbo. He will come after five years. He was here last time and they feasted and sang, they ate and they danced. Bwana Matumbo brings them Joy. Let them wait for Bwana Matumbo.

Who sleeps in his chair? Who fattens in his sleep? Who snores on his job? When shall he wake up? Somebody wake up Bwana Matumbo, someone tell him the youths are jobless. If you shake him he will not wake up. If you yell at him, he will talk in his sleep and if you pour water on him he shall fart and roll over. There is only one way to wake him up, tell him there is an election, I swear he shall awake like thunder!!

The day is old now; the sun is at its peak. By now people should smell sweaty and their lips should be cracked. The huts should be smoking and the pots should be boiling. It’s time to eat, but it’s the city. In the city they don’t eat, they sleep at Uhuru Park. Food is for the rich, the poor watch them eat. The rich can’t eat without an audience. They need someone to warn them their bellies are full, lest they will burst.