The following is an actual question given on a University of Nairobi
chemistry mid-term.
The answer by one student was so "profound" that the professor shared it
with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have
the pleasure of enjoying it as well:
Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic
(absorbs heat)?
Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law
(gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some
variant.
P1V1 = P2V2
One student, however, wrote the following:
First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we
need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate
at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a
soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving.
As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different
religions that exist in the world today. Most of these religions state
that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell.
Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not
belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to
Hell.
With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of
souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of
change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order
for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of
Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.
This gives two possibilities:
1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls
enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase
until all Hell breaks loose.
2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in
Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes
over. So which is it?
If we accept the postulate given to me by Julie during my Freshman year
that, "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you," and take
into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two
must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already
frozen over.
The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it
follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore,
extinct......leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a
divine being which explains why, last night, Julie kept shouting Oh my
God."
THIS STUDENT RECEIVED THE ONLY "A+"
Rachel Oduka
Friday, July 16, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Trouble With an Inadequate Education Policy and System
His huge hands held the Certificate of Attendance for the beginners MS Office course close to his massive chest, with a discernible look of shame. The certificate is issued when a course is completed without a passing grade. I am very intuitive. I could almost read the silent thought as rapidly as it ran across his creased brow, like a neon sign fleeting from one end of a billboard to the other: Honey, I am ashamed of myself for letting you down. “I just don’t get computers”, he mouthed. I winced for him. Little is more heartbreaking than a big man diminished by circumstance or having to admit to failure of some kind, before the very eyes of his lady love. I reached out to draw him close to me and whispered the words I knew he desperately needed to hear; you are more than this. It was true. My husband, like me, was strong, loving, capable and always handling responsibilities with a great sense of purpose.
I looked at his latest certificate, one more course he had tried his hand at and failed, and begun to seriously think about this befuddling phenomenon I had grappled with for ages. You didn’t need my Bachelors degree in Education to tell you that he was an intelligent man by all accounts. Yet his grades, from primary to high school, were less than stellar. He never made it to college. Evidently, he didn’t lack comprehension skills, but something happened whenever he sat in a formal classroom environment. Matters inexorably worsened when faced with an examination. It seemed he experienced some kind of internal anguish resulting in mental block. I had noticed an almost frightened glaze in his eyes whenever I tried to assist him with his homework. Here though was the paradox; he understood technical stuff like electrical wiring! Patrick handled our home maintenance himself. Whenever I asked how he had come to learn this or that, invariably, he would say he was taught by so and so.
For years, I never connected the dots. Now staring at his certificate, I suddenly got an epiphany that blew my mind. Patrick understands practical based one-on-one teaching. If you take him by the hand and guide his fingers through the process, he will be a genius at whatever skill. Heck! he may even turn out to be a brilliant surgeon while you are at it! But once you introduce notes, desks, a blackboard and all the rudiments of formal learning, well you simply lose him.
This was a revelation. Previously, the approach I used for his homework was of a classroom teacher; the only way I had been trained to teach formal subjects. I would take out this big text book and then proceed to demonstrate on the computer, using my teaching voice. He couldn’t grasp a thing. This certificate proved the computer course teacher didn’t get through to him either. It occurred to me now that the teaching voice and big book may have been impediments.
Using real documents that he needed; introduction letters and business agreements, I made him do all the typing himself. He labored through with single finger acumen which is all he could manage but finished all just the same. By the time we were done, he had created a folder, edited and saved the documents. More importantly, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He wanted more. And just like that, my Patrick became “computer literate”.
Inconsideration! That is it. That is the trouble with inadequate education policy for learners. Sadly, school children of course bear the brunt, many of them scarred and suffering for life. Like my Patrick. I often narrated this story time and again to anyone who would listen, lamenting on the derision that is my country’s education system; a one-size-fits-all that relies heavily on two annual comprehensive national examinations, as the sole instruments of measurement!
One examination is taken after completing eight years of primary education, for three whole days. Just think, three days in which to demonstrate eight years of learning! The other, lasts for two weeks and is supposed to prove one has acquired knowledge worth their four years of high school! The results are announced by no less than the minister of education. Needless to state, the intensity of the pressure, countrywide, cannot be gainsaid.
I would wax lyrical as I sought to evince to no one in particular just how useless the entire system was, for a large percentage of students who were not academically inclined yet, could perhaps, learn if only someone would find their ‘hook’. Whoever said everyone had to be taught and measured the exact the same way? I opined.
When I first discovered the course, Instructional Design, here in America, I quickly realized it was the answer I had long sought; to teach me how to come up with solutions that could assist “Patricks” everywhere to excel at learning, regardless.
Granted, when I joined college at 19, I wasn’t quite as focused even though I chose to study Education; a very noble profession that is more of a calling. I did not feel particularly “called” but loved the idea of standing before young people, imparting, presenting, guiding, helping, creating and motivating. Teaching seemed to be a natural choice. However, I admit I did not take things as seriously as I should have.
Nevertheless, I have since grown up a whole lot and was able to rise in my professional career to the level of Advertising and Marketing Manager, with the main responsibility being training and mentoring sales associates. Prior to that, I was a Consumer Health Educator charged with delivering the Johnson $ Johnson Reproductive Health Education program in schools throughout East Africa. Each group had to be approached with uniquely different strategies in order to deliver exactly the same content. I happen to be imbued with boundless creative juice. It just begins to churn when presented with a challenge. Naturally I loved and excelled at these jobs.
Today, even though I am distanced and bereft of family in America, my newly adopted country, I continue to harbor the desire, 13 years after graduation, to motivate others, but realize I wasn’t cut out for the drudgery and routine of ordinary classroom teaching. I am more at home with dynamism and innovation and I am a powerful presenter. I have also been told I write exceptionally well. My passionate aspiration remains to design, initiate, and facilitate positive outcomes in learning. More than anything else though, I want to do it now in honor of Patrick; a thoughtful, kind, considerate and most generous family man, who was head and shoulders above all men; but who, completely unapologetic and in utter defiance of the age old African macho male generic, forever positioned me,his wife, supremely above all else in his life.
I looked at his latest certificate, one more course he had tried his hand at and failed, and begun to seriously think about this befuddling phenomenon I had grappled with for ages. You didn’t need my Bachelors degree in Education to tell you that he was an intelligent man by all accounts. Yet his grades, from primary to high school, were less than stellar. He never made it to college. Evidently, he didn’t lack comprehension skills, but something happened whenever he sat in a formal classroom environment. Matters inexorably worsened when faced with an examination. It seemed he experienced some kind of internal anguish resulting in mental block. I had noticed an almost frightened glaze in his eyes whenever I tried to assist him with his homework. Here though was the paradox; he understood technical stuff like electrical wiring! Patrick handled our home maintenance himself. Whenever I asked how he had come to learn this or that, invariably, he would say he was taught by so and so.
For years, I never connected the dots. Now staring at his certificate, I suddenly got an epiphany that blew my mind. Patrick understands practical based one-on-one teaching. If you take him by the hand and guide his fingers through the process, he will be a genius at whatever skill. Heck! he may even turn out to be a brilliant surgeon while you are at it! But once you introduce notes, desks, a blackboard and all the rudiments of formal learning, well you simply lose him.
This was a revelation. Previously, the approach I used for his homework was of a classroom teacher; the only way I had been trained to teach formal subjects. I would take out this big text book and then proceed to demonstrate on the computer, using my teaching voice. He couldn’t grasp a thing. This certificate proved the computer course teacher didn’t get through to him either. It occurred to me now that the teaching voice and big book may have been impediments.
Using real documents that he needed; introduction letters and business agreements, I made him do all the typing himself. He labored through with single finger acumen which is all he could manage but finished all just the same. By the time we were done, he had created a folder, edited and saved the documents. More importantly, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He wanted more. And just like that, my Patrick became “computer literate”.
Inconsideration! That is it. That is the trouble with inadequate education policy for learners. Sadly, school children of course bear the brunt, many of them scarred and suffering for life. Like my Patrick. I often narrated this story time and again to anyone who would listen, lamenting on the derision that is my country’s education system; a one-size-fits-all that relies heavily on two annual comprehensive national examinations, as the sole instruments of measurement!
One examination is taken after completing eight years of primary education, for three whole days. Just think, three days in which to demonstrate eight years of learning! The other, lasts for two weeks and is supposed to prove one has acquired knowledge worth their four years of high school! The results are announced by no less than the minister of education. Needless to state, the intensity of the pressure, countrywide, cannot be gainsaid.
I would wax lyrical as I sought to evince to no one in particular just how useless the entire system was, for a large percentage of students who were not academically inclined yet, could perhaps, learn if only someone would find their ‘hook’. Whoever said everyone had to be taught and measured the exact the same way? I opined.
When I first discovered the course, Instructional Design, here in America, I quickly realized it was the answer I had long sought; to teach me how to come up with solutions that could assist “Patricks” everywhere to excel at learning, regardless.
Granted, when I joined college at 19, I wasn’t quite as focused even though I chose to study Education; a very noble profession that is more of a calling. I did not feel particularly “called” but loved the idea of standing before young people, imparting, presenting, guiding, helping, creating and motivating. Teaching seemed to be a natural choice. However, I admit I did not take things as seriously as I should have.
Nevertheless, I have since grown up a whole lot and was able to rise in my professional career to the level of Advertising and Marketing Manager, with the main responsibility being training and mentoring sales associates. Prior to that, I was a Consumer Health Educator charged with delivering the Johnson $ Johnson Reproductive Health Education program in schools throughout East Africa. Each group had to be approached with uniquely different strategies in order to deliver exactly the same content. I happen to be imbued with boundless creative juice. It just begins to churn when presented with a challenge. Naturally I loved and excelled at these jobs.
Today, even though I am distanced and bereft of family in America, my newly adopted country, I continue to harbor the desire, 13 years after graduation, to motivate others, but realize I wasn’t cut out for the drudgery and routine of ordinary classroom teaching. I am more at home with dynamism and innovation and I am a powerful presenter. I have also been told I write exceptionally well. My passionate aspiration remains to design, initiate, and facilitate positive outcomes in learning. More than anything else though, I want to do it now in honor of Patrick; a thoughtful, kind, considerate and most generous family man, who was head and shoulders above all men; but who, completely unapologetic and in utter defiance of the age old African macho male generic, forever positioned me,his wife, supremely above all else in his life.
Hon. Bishop Margaret Wanjiru: A study in The Power of Unbridled Desire; Unfettered Passion; Unwavering Faith
Mark 11:24
“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours”.
If you have ever lived in Kenya for any length of time, especially in the last ten years or so, you are very likely familiar with a most beautiful and enigmatic, often controversial lady that we shall simply call Margaret Wanjiru or Bishop Wanjiru in reverence. I say simply, because if we were to refer to her in full as we should, this is what we would have to say each time: Hon. Bishop Dr. Margaret Wanjiru, MP for Starehe Constituency and Assistant Minister for Housing. I daresay quite a mouthful.
Margaret Wanjiru has perennially evoked conflicting emotions in almost everyone whose life she has touched. You either shun and taunt her visibility and grandeur or seek and bask in her magnificence and glory. You either hate her guts or admire her gumption. You either envy and deride her obvious success or laud and get inspiration from her life story. This story of Bishop Wanjiru is a masterpiece, a study in the power of desire and faith; one that any serious student of The Law of Attraction and The Secret cannot ignore. Briefly, Margaret Wanjiru rose from the most humble of beginnings. The circumstances she had to endure before achieving her fame and glory were, to say the least, devastating. For starters, she was lured into an early marriage at the behest of a violent, alcoholic and undiagnosed manic-depressive charcoal seller. His name was Kamangu.
With her education cut short in form three, and saddled with the baggage of motherhood at such a tender age, she went through hell, fire and brimstone right here on earth, before finally calling it quits. That story is replicated in thousands of women all over Kenya and Africa. Sadly though, for many of them, her ending is not.
It took tremendous willpower, unbridled desire coupled with unfettered passion and unwavering tenacity to break out; go on a limb; to rediscover, rebuild and extend to the highest heights of personal achievement. She is still on the go. Make no mistake, no matter what you think of her current numerous titles, this ravishing ageless beauty does not appear to be anywhere near her own achievement finish line yet!
For most Kenyans, her success sort of crept up on us. After all, we weren’t really there during her violence-ridden marriage, for instance. We were not even there when she first stepped into the ministry of Jesus. There is however, one particular happening that we watched unfold, at first with great skepticism and then with profound shock as it unraveled right before our eyes. This occurrence is a study in the power of a burning, ardent desire, the first step to acquiring wealth, riches, abundance and practically anything that you want in your life.
At its conclusion, many of us were left speechless, the significance of its potent message not lost on any of us. It couldn’t be, for it was clear as daylight.
This solitary incident in itself teaches the entire lesson that Napoleon Hill in his book Think and Grow Rich, laboriously expounded throughout the entire almost 300 pages of his book. Other greats such as Wallace D. Wattles in The Science of Getting Rich, James Allen, As A Man Thinketh; Robin Sharma, The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari; and David Swartz, The Magic of Thinking Big did the same, as did hundreds of authors and life coaches before and after them. Why, Rhonda Byrne made a movie titled The Secret just to immortalize the concept.
I personally have read more books on the subject than I can recall, and attended countless lectures and seminars, even seeking to be a certified life coach, an engagement that entails plenty of study on this kind of material. I can categorically tell you that nothing I have read tops the poignancy and relevance of this experience, which I, along with millions of Kenyans, witnessed first hand.
So what happened?
Well, about a year before she contested and won the Starehe Constituency parliamentary seat, Bishop Wanjiru was embroiled in a controversy that gripped a nation otherwise bored by an endless thoroughfare of political news. It was as fresh as it was juicy, as rich as it was scandalous. The media fed on it like ravenous hawks discovering an unattended carcass.
Briefly, she had announced her engagement and impending wedding to some obscure pastor said to hail from South Africa. At first someone tried to stir up a stink by sneaking in information involving him in some shady past deals in South Africa, just to muddy the waters. Yet that was not to be the juicy marrow of the tale. Before you could bat an eyelid… Who appears on the scene? Hold it…wait for it…none other than Kamangu, her vitriolic ex husband! Did I say scene? I meant live TV! Watched by millions on all channels, minor and major, Kamangu publicly contested the planned wedding and insisted Wanjiru was still his wife and mother of three or is it four (?) sons (memory fails me). The questions came fast and furious; in pubs, around office water coolers, inside office kitchens, during Women’s Group meetings, at Girls’ Night In/Out Sessions..., name it. Where had he been all these years then? Did he even know what they had been eating or if they went to school and how?
Well, never mind your many questions. The next day, Bishop Wanjiru turned up in as many media outlets as she could to publicly deny any knowledge of the man with “jigger infested hands and feet”. The demon had been awakened. You could tell the mighty queen of ministry was rankled to the core, positively galled and exceedingly disgusted beyond measure.
Not to be outdone, Kamangu made a comeback. This time he was flanked by an acerbic group of vengeful looking men who introduced themselves by the dubious title, Maendeleo Ya Wanaume (Men’s Development Group?). Whoever heard of such a thing? We were willing to bet it had hastily been hashed out and registered in the last 24 hours specifically for this Kamangu/Wanjiru saga! Hmmm... but wait…they were not done. Pretty soon, they even began to don Kamangu in different Armanis and Guccis daily. The man was reclaiming an internationally important Bishop as his wife for heaven’s sake! Gone were the charcoal and chang’aa (illicit alcoholic brew) smelling clothes and in came topflight designer regalia. Were they bought or borrowed from “exhibition stalls” vendors?
We will never know but the look was complete with Ray Ban shades and a gold Rolex, fake or otherwise. The metamorphosis was so absolute it was comical. Its message however, was unmistakable: Kamangu had arrived and the fight was on. It was not a cute one. Rather, it was more like the …no holds barred….take no prisoners…..I sting like a bee kind. Listening to Margaret Wanjiru, it was clear that Jesus had completely been flung through the window. This was no time for “turn the other cheek” or other similar soft tactics.
As Kenya watched the spectacle unfold, things went from scandalous to downright bizarre. At one point, the good Bishop paraded her two (I seem to recall now they were two!) sons and made them declare that they were not the scions of “that man”! The astonishing moment of that cataclysmic action instantly churned the stomachs of our collective African propriety, our sense of decorum. We froze in stunned disbelief, silently wondering as we watched the debacle unfurl; why were they bearing ill wind upon themselves? Didn’t they know it was a curse to deny one’s own father in public? Where would they get “manyasi” to drink, that would be strong enough to drown the destined ruin of the curse? Ironically, both young men and especially the elder son were spitting images of “that man”! Sometimes, God has a wicked sense of humor!
Meanwhile Maendeleo Ya Wanaume and Kamangu filed their case in court demanding amongst other thing, immediate restoration of all sexual rights and privileges! Are you coiling in revulsion yet? Elsewhere the country was divided right down the middle – for and against the two parties. By now it was clear that the Bishop’s wedding would naturally have to be put on hold. It was either that or the groom simply couldn’t face up to the national scandal-ridden heat and preferred to slink back into obscurity.
Not so with Bishop Wanjiru. Amidst all the controversy, she declared her support for the Orange Democratic Party and Raila Odinga for President and promptly announced her candidacy for the Starehe constituency parliamentary seat. She vowed to contest … and win.
She did. Decisively.
Bishop Wanjiru the Form Three Dropout went on to add yet another feather to her cap of titles when she further accepted the position of Assistant Minister for Housing. That is your first lesson in this study of the Power of Unbridled Desire, Unfettered Passion and Unwavering Faith:
“Thoughts Become Things”
Enough said.
Still, that is not the incident that gripped the nation and sent us into a spin, reeling in amazement. The story continues...
A few months later, Bishop Wanjiru bought prime airtime on KTN the popular Kenyan TV station and begun airing a motivational series of sermons. Every Monday night after the news, you could flip through all the channels as much as you liked and still come back to Bishop Wanjiru. She was the only interesting thing to watch on Monday night TV. So you sat up and listened. I remember the sequence of events clearly. For two consecutive Mondays, she spoke about seeking the anointing from God that breaks the yoke of bad luck, witchcraft, the evil designs of your fellow human beings for you, the wicked machinations of jealous colleagues and bosses etc.
She waxed evangelical about how God wants us to achieve the greatest pinnacle of success no matter what challenges we face, but He only satisfies our desires according to our faith. This means that if your faith is small, you will achieve little and vice versa. Her own life was a living testament of this certainty. If you are a student of The Secret and The Law of Attraction you know that this is true even without the biblical references. It is summed up in this principle of The Law of Attraction:
“Think Victory and Succeed
Think Failure and Fail”
Then came Monday the 6th of October 2008. On this night she would challenge us to start a journey with her and declare to God what we wanted to achieve. We were to write it down and collectively give God a period of seven days. In just seven days, everyone who had watched her that night and acted according to her instructions would have their desires translated into reality according to their faith. “Seven days!... seven days!”, she severally pounded on, fervently punctuating her message with great passion and zeal at every step. You could tell she really believed in this power and formula. Her voice resonated. Her point was clear. You have to want something really bad, think about it, pray about it, passionately desire it and want it with fire in your belly. Napoleon Hill suggests that you need to feel this desire at powerful levels akin to those of sexual desire and love. Then you need to believe with all your mind and with all your might that in Jesus’ name, you have received it; and you WILL.
I do not know if any of the millions of people listening carried out her instructions or wrote down anything. I do not even know if any of the viewers ever joined her, in her impassioned and spirit filled prayer at the end of the highly emotive TV sermon. What I can tell you for certain is that the very next day, on the night of October 7th 2008, the announcement blared all over the media; Kamangu had been pronounced dead at about 7pm, at the Kenyatta National Hospital (Ward 7?). He had had one glass too many of the illicit brew that he had imbibed all his life and in the end succumbed to its ravages on his now burnt out liver.
And as morbid as that sounds, beyond the horror of that single stroke of circumstance propelling the chilling announcement, even as the dubious Maendeleo Ya Wanaume group resolutely matched to the funeral and brazenly displayed their “sour grapes” attitude, wringing their hands like angry cartoons, yet refusing to capitulate on the inevitable outcome; even as they mouthed and hurled all manner of insults directed at the absent Bishop; even as they declared affirmations to the contrary; one fact stood tall, its significance impossible to ignore: Honorable Bishop Dr. Margaret Wanjiru, MP for Starehe and Assistant Minister for Housing, was officially and irrefutably…wait for it… single!…She was free!
Case closed.
“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours”.
If you have ever lived in Kenya for any length of time, especially in the last ten years or so, you are very likely familiar with a most beautiful and enigmatic, often controversial lady that we shall simply call Margaret Wanjiru or Bishop Wanjiru in reverence. I say simply, because if we were to refer to her in full as we should, this is what we would have to say each time: Hon. Bishop Dr. Margaret Wanjiru, MP for Starehe Constituency and Assistant Minister for Housing. I daresay quite a mouthful.
Margaret Wanjiru has perennially evoked conflicting emotions in almost everyone whose life she has touched. You either shun and taunt her visibility and grandeur or seek and bask in her magnificence and glory. You either hate her guts or admire her gumption. You either envy and deride her obvious success or laud and get inspiration from her life story. This story of Bishop Wanjiru is a masterpiece, a study in the power of desire and faith; one that any serious student of The Law of Attraction and The Secret cannot ignore. Briefly, Margaret Wanjiru rose from the most humble of beginnings. The circumstances she had to endure before achieving her fame and glory were, to say the least, devastating. For starters, she was lured into an early marriage at the behest of a violent, alcoholic and undiagnosed manic-depressive charcoal seller. His name was Kamangu.
With her education cut short in form three, and saddled with the baggage of motherhood at such a tender age, she went through hell, fire and brimstone right here on earth, before finally calling it quits. That story is replicated in thousands of women all over Kenya and Africa. Sadly though, for many of them, her ending is not.
It took tremendous willpower, unbridled desire coupled with unfettered passion and unwavering tenacity to break out; go on a limb; to rediscover, rebuild and extend to the highest heights of personal achievement. She is still on the go. Make no mistake, no matter what you think of her current numerous titles, this ravishing ageless beauty does not appear to be anywhere near her own achievement finish line yet!
For most Kenyans, her success sort of crept up on us. After all, we weren’t really there during her violence-ridden marriage, for instance. We were not even there when she first stepped into the ministry of Jesus. There is however, one particular happening that we watched unfold, at first with great skepticism and then with profound shock as it unraveled right before our eyes. This occurrence is a study in the power of a burning, ardent desire, the first step to acquiring wealth, riches, abundance and practically anything that you want in your life.
At its conclusion, many of us were left speechless, the significance of its potent message not lost on any of us. It couldn’t be, for it was clear as daylight.
This solitary incident in itself teaches the entire lesson that Napoleon Hill in his book Think and Grow Rich, laboriously expounded throughout the entire almost 300 pages of his book. Other greats such as Wallace D. Wattles in The Science of Getting Rich, James Allen, As A Man Thinketh; Robin Sharma, The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari; and David Swartz, The Magic of Thinking Big did the same, as did hundreds of authors and life coaches before and after them. Why, Rhonda Byrne made a movie titled The Secret just to immortalize the concept.
I personally have read more books on the subject than I can recall, and attended countless lectures and seminars, even seeking to be a certified life coach, an engagement that entails plenty of study on this kind of material. I can categorically tell you that nothing I have read tops the poignancy and relevance of this experience, which I, along with millions of Kenyans, witnessed first hand.
So what happened?
Well, about a year before she contested and won the Starehe Constituency parliamentary seat, Bishop Wanjiru was embroiled in a controversy that gripped a nation otherwise bored by an endless thoroughfare of political news. It was as fresh as it was juicy, as rich as it was scandalous. The media fed on it like ravenous hawks discovering an unattended carcass.
Briefly, she had announced her engagement and impending wedding to some obscure pastor said to hail from South Africa. At first someone tried to stir up a stink by sneaking in information involving him in some shady past deals in South Africa, just to muddy the waters. Yet that was not to be the juicy marrow of the tale. Before you could bat an eyelid… Who appears on the scene? Hold it…wait for it…none other than Kamangu, her vitriolic ex husband! Did I say scene? I meant live TV! Watched by millions on all channels, minor and major, Kamangu publicly contested the planned wedding and insisted Wanjiru was still his wife and mother of three or is it four (?) sons (memory fails me). The questions came fast and furious; in pubs, around office water coolers, inside office kitchens, during Women’s Group meetings, at Girls’ Night In/Out Sessions..., name it. Where had he been all these years then? Did he even know what they had been eating or if they went to school and how?
Well, never mind your many questions. The next day, Bishop Wanjiru turned up in as many media outlets as she could to publicly deny any knowledge of the man with “jigger infested hands and feet”. The demon had been awakened. You could tell the mighty queen of ministry was rankled to the core, positively galled and exceedingly disgusted beyond measure.
Not to be outdone, Kamangu made a comeback. This time he was flanked by an acerbic group of vengeful looking men who introduced themselves by the dubious title, Maendeleo Ya Wanaume (Men’s Development Group?). Whoever heard of such a thing? We were willing to bet it had hastily been hashed out and registered in the last 24 hours specifically for this Kamangu/Wanjiru saga! Hmmm... but wait…they were not done. Pretty soon, they even began to don Kamangu in different Armanis and Guccis daily. The man was reclaiming an internationally important Bishop as his wife for heaven’s sake! Gone were the charcoal and chang’aa (illicit alcoholic brew) smelling clothes and in came topflight designer regalia. Were they bought or borrowed from “exhibition stalls” vendors?
We will never know but the look was complete with Ray Ban shades and a gold Rolex, fake or otherwise. The metamorphosis was so absolute it was comical. Its message however, was unmistakable: Kamangu had arrived and the fight was on. It was not a cute one. Rather, it was more like the …no holds barred….take no prisoners…..I sting like a bee kind. Listening to Margaret Wanjiru, it was clear that Jesus had completely been flung through the window. This was no time for “turn the other cheek” or other similar soft tactics.
As Kenya watched the spectacle unfold, things went from scandalous to downright bizarre. At one point, the good Bishop paraded her two (I seem to recall now they were two!) sons and made them declare that they were not the scions of “that man”! The astonishing moment of that cataclysmic action instantly churned the stomachs of our collective African propriety, our sense of decorum. We froze in stunned disbelief, silently wondering as we watched the debacle unfurl; why were they bearing ill wind upon themselves? Didn’t they know it was a curse to deny one’s own father in public? Where would they get “manyasi” to drink, that would be strong enough to drown the destined ruin of the curse? Ironically, both young men and especially the elder son were spitting images of “that man”! Sometimes, God has a wicked sense of humor!
Meanwhile Maendeleo Ya Wanaume and Kamangu filed their case in court demanding amongst other thing, immediate restoration of all sexual rights and privileges! Are you coiling in revulsion yet? Elsewhere the country was divided right down the middle – for and against the two parties. By now it was clear that the Bishop’s wedding would naturally have to be put on hold. It was either that or the groom simply couldn’t face up to the national scandal-ridden heat and preferred to slink back into obscurity.
Not so with Bishop Wanjiru. Amidst all the controversy, she declared her support for the Orange Democratic Party and Raila Odinga for President and promptly announced her candidacy for the Starehe constituency parliamentary seat. She vowed to contest … and win.
She did. Decisively.
Bishop Wanjiru the Form Three Dropout went on to add yet another feather to her cap of titles when she further accepted the position of Assistant Minister for Housing. That is your first lesson in this study of the Power of Unbridled Desire, Unfettered Passion and Unwavering Faith:
“Thoughts Become Things”
Enough said.
Still, that is not the incident that gripped the nation and sent us into a spin, reeling in amazement. The story continues...
A few months later, Bishop Wanjiru bought prime airtime on KTN the popular Kenyan TV station and begun airing a motivational series of sermons. Every Monday night after the news, you could flip through all the channels as much as you liked and still come back to Bishop Wanjiru. She was the only interesting thing to watch on Monday night TV. So you sat up and listened. I remember the sequence of events clearly. For two consecutive Mondays, she spoke about seeking the anointing from God that breaks the yoke of bad luck, witchcraft, the evil designs of your fellow human beings for you, the wicked machinations of jealous colleagues and bosses etc.
She waxed evangelical about how God wants us to achieve the greatest pinnacle of success no matter what challenges we face, but He only satisfies our desires according to our faith. This means that if your faith is small, you will achieve little and vice versa. Her own life was a living testament of this certainty. If you are a student of The Secret and The Law of Attraction you know that this is true even without the biblical references. It is summed up in this principle of The Law of Attraction:
“Think Victory and Succeed
Think Failure and Fail”
Then came Monday the 6th of October 2008. On this night she would challenge us to start a journey with her and declare to God what we wanted to achieve. We were to write it down and collectively give God a period of seven days. In just seven days, everyone who had watched her that night and acted according to her instructions would have their desires translated into reality according to their faith. “Seven days!... seven days!”, she severally pounded on, fervently punctuating her message with great passion and zeal at every step. You could tell she really believed in this power and formula. Her voice resonated. Her point was clear. You have to want something really bad, think about it, pray about it, passionately desire it and want it with fire in your belly. Napoleon Hill suggests that you need to feel this desire at powerful levels akin to those of sexual desire and love. Then you need to believe with all your mind and with all your might that in Jesus’ name, you have received it; and you WILL.
I do not know if any of the millions of people listening carried out her instructions or wrote down anything. I do not even know if any of the viewers ever joined her, in her impassioned and spirit filled prayer at the end of the highly emotive TV sermon. What I can tell you for certain is that the very next day, on the night of October 7th 2008, the announcement blared all over the media; Kamangu had been pronounced dead at about 7pm, at the Kenyatta National Hospital (Ward 7?). He had had one glass too many of the illicit brew that he had imbibed all his life and in the end succumbed to its ravages on his now burnt out liver.
And as morbid as that sounds, beyond the horror of that single stroke of circumstance propelling the chilling announcement, even as the dubious Maendeleo Ya Wanaume group resolutely matched to the funeral and brazenly displayed their “sour grapes” attitude, wringing their hands like angry cartoons, yet refusing to capitulate on the inevitable outcome; even as they mouthed and hurled all manner of insults directed at the absent Bishop; even as they declared affirmations to the contrary; one fact stood tall, its significance impossible to ignore: Honorable Bishop Dr. Margaret Wanjiru, MP for Starehe and Assistant Minister for Housing, was officially and irrefutably…wait for it… single!…She was free!
Case closed.
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMEN, a poem by Amiri Baraka (1969)
IS AMIRI BARAKA’S POEM, BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMEN ONLY RELEVANT TO THE BLACK CIVIL RIGHTS WAR OF THE ‘60S?
The answer is an emphatic No! Women everywhere, black or otherwise, have a stake in making the world a better place. We have a duty to do that which we must, to play our part in achieving peace for the entire world. The first and perhaps the only important step, is to make it a more beautiful and safer place for our children. As always, a great education and education policy is the key. Remember, children are the future and if we teach them well…
Labor pains know no race. They are a reality that is timeless and universal. A short study of cultures around the world reveals that traditionally, many roles that involved “getting up and going out to protect the homestead” were left to the man. Today, we cannot afford to do that. There are still many wars to be fought and we all know the pain. Exploitation and greed remain as much a reality today as they did yesterday, both here in
Against this backdrop, I will first attempt to analyze Amiri Baraka’s poem within the context of the early black civil rights movement era for which it was initially written. We can then be able to see just how relevant and universal his call is to women today, in relation to the plight of society in general and that of our children in particular. First, a quick look at his style. We notice that the poem is quite short. The compression only serves to further enhance the loudness of his cry. Indeed so terse is his message that he limits his poem to less than half a page. It is common knowledge that extreme emotion often only invites verbal brevity in expression.
Introduction
In the poem, Beautiful Black Women, Amiri Baraka is recognizing the strength that lies in the beauty of black women. Using poetry, he therefore sets out on the necessary mission of imploring black women to tap into this resource for the good of the entire community; stand up and help the men in the fight for black rights. He wants them to assume their rightful positions as beautiful, superior and strong beings that can help win the civil rights war and end the impunity of the perceived protagonists. “Beautiful Black women, it is still raining...we need you”.
Historical Context
The ‘60s represent a tumultuous time in American Black History. Great events, both sad and happy, are recorded to have occurred in this timeline. For instance, there are hundreds of reports on black riots sparked throughout the country, protesting voter registration rules, segregation and racial discrimination. The summer of 1967 was one such turbulent period. Racial confrontations between police and black men, mostly youth escalated into full scale urban riots in major cities around the country such as
However, several happy events pointed to a not so bleak future. Affirmative Action was instituted in this period. The government abolished racial discrimination in hiring processes for federally funded projects. The Civil Rights Act became law in 1964. In 1969, the year that Amiri Baraka wrote Beautiful Black Women, the Government ordered desegregation in
Clearly things were looking up, right? Not according to Amiri Baraka. Through Beautiful Black Women, he opines that the battle is far from won. “It is still raining in this terrible land”.
Ruby
Who is Ruby Dee? A famous actress who is credited with being the first black female actress to perform lead roles in the American Shakespeare Festival and even won an Obie award, the direct reference to her in the poem is by no means accidental. According to tv.com, “During the 1960s, Dee appeared in such politically charged films as Gone Are the Days and The Incident, which is recognized as helping pave the way for young African-American actors and filmmakers”. (http://www.tv.com/ruby-dee/person/5624/biography.html)
Surely it cannot have been easy as a black woman in that racist
If it is Amiri Baraka’s intention to demonstrate the gravity of the matter using mood, he succeeds in a profound way. As one reads the poem with the frequent mention of rain, imagery that the mood creates is one of being trapped inside “gray cold buildings” looking out the window at the heavy rain beating. One can almost see the lightning and hear the thunderstorms! But what exactly is ‘raining’? It can be said that the word means different things at different points in the poem. Rain is overflow, often in full force. Copious tears are said to ‘rain down’. Great torment befalling a community can be said to ‘rain trouble’ on them. He therefore uses ‘raining’ to demonstrate the magnitude and intensity of the events or actions taking place. He also uses it to perfect the mood of the poem for his purpose of meaning.
What then shall we say?
In conclusion, the poem, Beautiful Black Women is dedicated to beseeching black women to use the strength in their beauty as an asset to the war on racial discrimination. Yet it is more than that. The whole point of Ruby Dee being in the poem, is a call to action for all women regardless of their skin color; not just the erotic and sexy, the successful and business women, the actresses in Hollywood, the empowered elderly; neither the athletes or the models.
“We need you reigning, black queen”, he wails. To reign is to rule, control, and tower over; lead. Black women need to take up the mantle and lead in the fight. He points out their constant nagging to do better and their ability to snort at failure. “We fail them and their lips stick out perpetually at our weakness”.
Women, ladies, don’t just complain, don’t sit at your window and cry out your frustration; stand up and join the war. “Come to us; help us get back what was always ours. Help us women”
A friend loves to tell me of this Jewish saying that God knew He couldn’t be everywhere so he created mothers to help him. This is a call to all women black, white, brown, yellow, pink… stand up together; let us uplift the lot of our children. Our men are not able to do it on their own. The task to ensure they have the correct and adequate education is in our hands. The moment is now.
Amiri Baraka sums it up with a plaintive rallying cry; his pain can clearly be felt in the words, “Will you help us? Will you open your bodysouls, will you lift me up…”?
I almost feel like adding “mama” at the end of that plea.
(Will you...mama)?
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