Kwach Abonyo Poet Elegy

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!

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