LEGEND of UNGA!!!
And they came flocking onto him like followers. There was no indifference between them and swam of bees buzzing through open fields. Their indistinct chatters resounded like murmurs of audience watching thespians perform. He watched them in awe as they came fiddling towards him. He was exasperated. Overwhelmed. He saw their faces, the expression and void in their souls. They yearned for him. He felt pity not. In his stomach an urge burnt, it rummaged in his stream. The feeling wasn’t subtle. They were happy. Sad at the same time, miserable even.
Before being released, ages ago. He sat on the cold, resting his back on the rough wall in the prison cell. Hands and limbs cuffed. Nothing mattered to him. For in solitude depression grew. His dark days. In shackles there’s nothing much you can do, not even dream. But this wasn’t his fate.
“Free unga! Free Unga! Free Unga!”
Freedom chants made their way through a pinhole opening of his cell. Onto his earlobes they nestled. And his teeth tightened, he abrased his forehead against the walls. Tried to unshackle himself. He recalls the chants.
“Free unga! Free Unga! Free Unga! ”
And now he saw them for what they truly were. The desperate. They needed no hero. Just someone to lead them out of their miseries. He painfully shut off his lids, tears brew but he swallowed them bitterly. The fight was far from over. He knew.
“How could they let my people suffer!?”
He monologued. As they brooded before him, from far, he saw the plain fields dissipated. It was green no more. This wasn’t how he left things behind. He clenched his fist. In a show of solidarity he raised his arms. Then spoke vehemently but softly; his voice commanded the wind and gave strength to the weak.
“Free at last! Free at last! Free at last!…..”
They rejoiced upon hearing his voice. It was a show of being alive. They shook fives. They embraced. For once in a long time it didn’t matter where you’re from or what your second or third name was. This was a celebration. The independence day. That feeling. I wish you could see their faces elated. But he wasn’t done yet.
“……..We are not yet free, comrades. They took our souls and dipped them in a sludge, thinking we wouldn’t clutch on hope for better days. Here’s the news. They thought wrong……”
They listened to him. He addressed them. Using his tone, facial expressions and hands to illustrate his speech. They held every words in their heart; change loomed in the serene atmosphere that stood still.
“….. Remember our forefathers…. David Rubia, Ronald Ngala, Tom Mboya, Robert Ouko, Dedan Kimathi, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Mzee Jomo Kenyatta……”
He reminded them of their forefathers. The price they had to pay to be free. He was as them. His last words were, “….. uzalendo wa taifa”. Change was surely looming. But then it was just abstract. Their hearts found relief. Sleeves folded, they had to build the nation. They mourned not for those lost in hunger and starvation. Forger ahead was the say. Unga foresaw an utopia, but he never lived to see it. That was decades ago. Even though he was gone, his words still echoed along the streets, “umoja ni nguvu, utengano ni udhaifu!”
Now, the economy begun thriving. Climate was favourable and fields were green once again. The market wasn’t free till infant industries became competitive to the outside world. Agriculture boomed. Tourism flourished. Culture was syphoned from one end to the end. Wealth was evenly distributed. There were no long qeues at petrol station. Inflation was monitored. Currency mattered in the international market. Dreams became possible in this nation. Names mattered not anymore.
The moment when Unga was released, there were no brawls on diner table. Social Crime reduced eventually with time. Even though he wasn’t around to witness, in his grave he smiled. He gave strength to the people. Reminded them that power was the people for the people. They wouldn’t dare forget. ‘Cause if they did, they would fall back. or maybe they already did.
Heart_Art_Poetics
Phill Ibsen
(Master Of Descriptions)
2017
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