Tom Mboya Ndiege

Tom Mboya, son of Ndiege From the craggy islands of Rusinga --the craddle of his progenitors He sprouts like avens in the loamy knoll And out to the urbs he sets off his journey A parlous journey to his martyrdom Look him; brilliant young man Valiantly he stands up Loaded with the spirit of flag-waving The hue and cry of freedom is fervid And he, son of Ndiege, arises With gusty astuteness And loud he shouts out For the freedom of the oppressed He can't settle Until the oppressed is freed Until equity and efficiency is mounted Young, but brave Little schooled, but quick-witted Yet he circumnavigate the world Hunting The sovereignty; The dynamism of the down-and-out He energises With no personal benefit Yes, With no personal benefit! For independence, he thirsted For equity with prosperity, he longed For ignorance, poverty and disease, He sought exemption But they got independence alone! Now back home, son of Ndiege stands On that soapbox, viewing hundred thousand Agog under that scorching sun Ready to drink in his wisdom And to his people he smiles free Like a sun opening the gloomy morning His eyes dazzling with joy His cheekbones broad in mien His swarthy skin gleams with love Up in his hand waves the fly whisk And close to the microphone he steps With great fortitude--radiant face of change The hundred thousand is energetic Now son of Ndiege opens his mouth to talk His alluring voice--wow! 'Tis a voice of an indulged young man Crisp. Full of confident and passion To hundred thousand he cries: "Tired for freedom?" The hundred thousand shriek, "No!" And to hundred thousand son of Ndiege cries Not for independence; that we had Not for a republic; that we had either But to a sense of nationhood The affluence of commoners Out of public mood Petty men sees thunder in him But son of Ndiege only grins His dreams slant to the nobodies Petty men dry-gulch him For nothing but the sake of their posture But son of Ndiege only grins Then one sunny afternoon When the whiff of oppression was retiring And the cheer of freedom, of equity and fairness Was pervading the countryside Son of Ndiege was bumped off That silly iron tool pumped through his flesh Down he lied writhing silently Scarlet river flowing from the gate of his martyrdom Diffusing into thirsty, torrid earth Connecting him to his progenitors Son of Ndiege wasn't seen again And his freedom; his cry for freedom Never stopped... Never won!