Think of nothing else.

It is so rare that I am so frenzied with the thoughts of an individual. When it so happens, as it did happen when I chanced on Eric Thomas, I throw my whole being into the understanding of the thoughts to the point that one can safely say that I am gripped.

Maybe it his electrifying message, delivered in a down to earth manner, or is it the fact that he climbed over the mountains of overwhelming odds. Maybe it is because of his insatiable desire to be better, or is it the fact that he gets hungrier and hungrier every time he touches success.

Maybe the attraction is in his 'representation of the merits of higher education, coupled with his knowledge of the pains of the street, that inspires young people to break bad habits and reach for new levels of personal and spiritual achievement'

Either way, Eric Thomas is a man who fuels individuals to live life to the fullest extent. Like the whispering stream that breaks into the deafening thunder of a dam, he eggs his fellow man out of complacency. He is a man whose casual appearance belies that rumble that roars in his heart.

It was thus with childish excitement that I sauntered into his stimulating world, where simple words resound with clarity and slam the heart with the echo of infinite possibility. Of all the words that he has shepherded, none speaks to me like these: When you want to succeed as bad as you want to breath, then you'll be successful.

From whichever angle I have chosen to look at the fore mentioned words, my heart has and continues to beat to the fresh pulsations of possibility. The words speak to me of the value of laser beam focus in whatever I surrender my passion to. The words speak of a world that is populated by seemingly ordinary people with Olympian drive. The kind of drive that just does not know how to give in.

The human spirit is an amazing animal. She becomes native when faced with an obstacle that threatens the very existence of her dream, desire, aspiration and longing. Like a bullet train, she will bring her full weight to bear and cause that obstacle to, as the Acoli say, go back into her mother's womb.

Regardless of your definition of success, you will only attain it if it means as much to you as your breathing does. You have to stake your whole existence in the pursuit of the objective of your hearts desire. Your mind has to be consumed by it. Your being must get into a state of frenzy, when you think of it. Your feet must twitch with excitement when the thought of attaining success wanders in your brain. 

Your obsession must be utterly complete. It must cause you to be as restless as that leaf at the onset of an African storm. It must cause you to regard sleep as a luxury you can ill afford; to regard sacrifice as the currency you must pay: patience as the rod that will strike gold; drive and determination as the tools with which to turn coal into diamond: blood, sweat and tears as the sweet combination that will unlock that unyielding door to success.

Is success in life that important? Nay, it is absolutely essential. What, pray tell, is the purpose of going through life and applying only a jot of the ocean of talent that lies in you? Why play small, when you can as well play huge? Why eat a tadpole when that gigantic frog is begging you to slay it?

Wrestle that demon on the way to your success. Exterminate that dragon on the path to your dreams. As you go about being that which you were ordained to be, may the proverb of the Spanish ring true in your heart:  If you would be pope, you must think of nothing else.

 

 

A slum was not born in us.

When campaigning to become the first black American president, Rev. Jessie Jackson articulated words that have since reverberated through the hearts of all those in circumstances that tug at their actual core and shake the very ground on which they stand, sit and walk.

In the middle of one of those ghettos that are the under belly of the world's only super power, Rev. Jessie Jackson looked deep into the eyes of his black, desperate, downtrodden and forsaken brothers. Like a sponge imbibing water, he absorbed all that negative vibe and pronounced; you were born in a slum, but a slum was not born in you!!!

Those words anchor all those whose ships are in agitated seas. All those, who are rudderless ships, wandering on the jagged seas, without direction and purpose, all those who seem to be lost and all alone.

That we are human beings, one and all, means that in the course of our lifetime we will be a witness to, a participant of, an originator of, or victim of circumstances that will test us beyond our tolerance level. Being as finite as the next person, we will be tempted to surrender.

As these words flash across your mind, it may be that you are not as financially able as you would prefer to be. Your surroundings do not even accord you the luxury of dreaming of a more exciting world.

It could be that you are, right now, a prisoner of your body. You cannot bring yourself to command and cause your body to exhibit its physical finesse. It could be that you are a captive of 'fine' food and as a result you have triggered body growth that causes you to be a liability to yourself.

It could be that you are out of a job, in spite of your obviously sparkling academic grades. It could be that you are blaming the government, the president, the economy or, dare I say, the mayor of some far-flung town in some far-flung country. It could be that you have elected to dress in the gab of victim hood to elicit pity from a world that would care less if you desire to take that inevitable journey to the west.

It could be a number of countless occurrences; it is imperative that we all wake up to the primary truth; we are the common denominator in all the circumstances that the stars have seen fit to place us in. Whatever happens, we are in control of the die. Regardless of the cards that may be stacked against us, we get to pick the hand to play.

Of course, it is much easier to dance to the intoxicating beat of the sufferer. It is much easier to say that our lives thus far are a prediction of the ages long gone. It is safer to say that what we are is a reflection of the lives that our parents lived; that we are the sighs of the curse on our generation.

It is safer, but not wise. To live such a life is to live in the confines of a straw safety net in the middle of shark infested waters.

When we are in the eye of the storm and our circumstances seem to be getting the upper hand, we must seek solace in the words of Rev. Jessie Jackson.

 Our circumstances draw power from the power that we give them. The occurrences in and around us are only as huge as we permit them to be. We are the molehills that look like mountains.

Regardless of what we are facing, we have, in our DNA, an inbuilt ability to turn each and any circumstance to our advantage. We may grovel in the mud today, but we can shine like that corrugated iron sheet under the African sun. We can ride the strongest wave that life has to offer, safe in the knowledge that it will come to pass.

Our circumstances are not a reflection of the life that we are meant to live. Our conditions cannot spell our future. Our situations are only a reflection of our thoughts thus far. We may be curtailed now, but we cannot be imprisoned forever. We may have been born in a slum, but a slum was not born in us.

 

 

It is safe!

The youth, it has been said, are the fountain from which a new generation will sprout and lead the society into the Promised Land, wherever that land is. In many instances, the youth have been referred to as the modern Joshua who takes the baton from Moses and points the way to that misty future full of promise.

If you care to look at the broad spectrum of Africa, you will shudder at the Moses types from whom the youth must fashion a future. They are a motley mix of marauding Moses types who seem to have been molded in the wood of selfishness and fed into the fire of kleptomania. I am sure that Kwame Nkrumah is shuddering with Ghanaian rage and wondering if he lived in vain.

As with all days, there is always light after dark, and it is indeed darkest before dawn. Africa's finest hour seems to stem from its darkest moments. The bright light that is shinning through the cloud over Kenya has brought new meaning to the phrase; there is light at the end of the tunnel. 

There is this sweet, fifty year old lady who shares the food that is placed before the man they call Uhuru Kenyatta. The other day she dreamt of running a marathon. Then she runs a half marathon and before the excitement of that marathon had died down, she had completed eight-hours of non-stop running in the London Marathon.

While it is noble that she was doing it to  'raise money for the provision of 47 mobile clinics, through her 'Beyond Zero' charity that seeks to prevent early child deaths and improve maternal healthcare', it does not take the brain of an ugali chef to figure that she had better options before her. She could have passed around that huge begging bowl to the Chinese and all those counties would have had state of the art clinics before you said sukumawiki.

All she needed to do, dare I say, was to whisper sweet nothings into the ears of the most powerful man in Kenya.  That man would then summon all the powers invested in him and cause clinics to sprout wherever she deemed fit. Or better still, she could have evoked her membership to the first ladies of Africa and nudged their maternal instincts and thereby cause money to flow into the accounts of 'Beyond Zero'

Of all the options that were laid at her table, she chooses to run a marathon. A marathon!!!! Let it be known to one and all that running a marathon is not kuku business. I have run a marathon…. a half marathon. All that pounding on the road plays tricks on the mind and body and it is not a thing for the chicken hearted.

She put her body on the line for the sake of unfortunate mothers that are spread out in the far-flung corners of Kenya. Therein lies the light that shines through this decision, that I am sure was made when blood flashed through her brain. Therein lies that sacrificial spirit that Africa needs to progress beyond the pit of egotism that we are mired in.

Therein lies the stuff of which a modern day Moses is structured; the stuff that causes an individual to lift others up; to light up the face of a poor community; to give dignity to the process of populating this fair earth: to give of oneself in ways that is as challenging as it is tormenting; to gallivant all over London when one could easily muster the financial might of the Kenyan taxpayer in the pursuit of jewellery at Harrods.

Therein lies the magma like heat that can fashion an exemplary baton. The kind of baton that is as solid as it is legendary; the kind of baton that the modern day Joshua will firmly hold, lift up and declare to the world; the future is safe with us!

 

 

  

 

A dog without teeth

I will be the second last Ugandan to stand on corrugated iron sheets and declare, to all and sundry that education has no value in the life of a human being. In addition to being a socializing and engaging tool, education is the means by which the human ability can be mined into a treasure trove with infinite possibilities.

Monumental things can happen to the human potential when you marry the words education and system, and create education system. Suddenly that potential is measured by a particular set of beliefs, ideas, and customs. Sets of beliefs, ideas and customs, that are structured in far away lands.

We may have all the 'trappings' of a free people but our minds have been entombed by the empowering influences that float on the clouds from the west. We may have thrown off the dehumanising shackles of slavery, but we may never be able get a hold of that key that will free us from the prison that Bob Marley called mental slavery.

When I presented this issue to my conscience, my conscience pointed out that I seem to have carved out a dark hole and that I was intent on filling it up with more dirt. My conscience urged me to look on the bright side and that I should speak to my muse.

So, I spoke to my muse and we agreed on the type of educational system that would egg out the Ugandan potential and cause it to grow and bloom in the winds of the world.

We agreed, my muse and I, that our country should stop engaging in the unproductive pursuit of gathering students into laboratories in the vain hope that they will become scientists. Our education system should be based on our strengths and, as far as we were concerned, Uganda is blessed with agricultural potential.

The greenery that makes up this country has caused and continues to cause the chosen people of God to question the logic of planting them in a desert and making them feel blessed. To this day, according to sources close to my muse, they are intent on transferring our soils to their land. It is called modern day soil slavery.

Agriculture should make a comeback in the classrooms that are dotted all over this land. On second thoughts, the classrooms of this fair land should be planted in every farm, garden and backyard in every village, town, city and slum. That way, the children of this land will be able evoke the spirits of the soil and engage them in a money making dance.  A dance that is as everlasting as the word itself.

 Food is the one thing that will continually sustain man until the end of time. I know that the good book says that man should not live on bread alone, but a satisfied man is much harder to tempt.

Once we focus on agriculture, this world will stand up and acknowledge this tiny country as a world power. We may be small, but we can produce a food explosion of biblical proportions.

Picture this, if you will. In the next so many years, Uganda is declared a world power and is the only country that has veto power in the United Nations. It is the only country that will be able to deploy anywhere on earth, at very short notice, a fully equipped army that can solve the food problems that will beset nations.

Uganda will then dictate and spread agricultural democracy to every nook and cranny in the world. We shall set up dictators whose sole task will be to channel their resources to feed our agricultural might.  We shall imprison the minds of their young. We shall sell the idea that a white-collar job is ungodly. Our premise will be that dirt is part and parcel of humanity and especially that Ugandan dirt and mud is as blessed as blessed can be.

Wishful thinking? Yes, I know. You can bet your last shilling that this will, nay, this cannot happen. As a people and a country, we have readily bought the idea that we are inept. That, the land on which we walk and toil is only as good as it can be sold to accord us an opportunity to slave in the so-called capitals of the world.

In their wisdom, the Acoli, say, God gives bones to dogs without teeth. This refers to the epic madness of a man who is blessed and yet cannot mine his blessings. Methinks, Uganda is a classic example of a dog without teeth.

 

 

Playing golf at 8am.

There comes a time in the life of a human being when the mind is in a perpetual state of war. This is especially so when a human being is a parent; when that human being begins to ask the relevance of an education system that is structured to dance to the dictates of a colonial power even at a time when Africa is independent, whatever that means.

So it has been with me. It is especially painful in my case because I have spent the better part of my life in the service of a Ugandan education system that was designed in the industrial age and is hell bent on producing workers for industries that have long ceased to exist, or so I think.

What triggered this state of war was a pedestrian event. I was driving along Acacia avenue, just by the Golf club and there was this slight traffic jam whose cause was a string of golfers crossing over the busy road on a zebra crossing that was designed for them. It was 8 am. 8 am!!! A time when any right thinking Ugandan is at an office desk. A time when dutiful citizens are working diligently to egg out a living from an unforgiving economy.

A time when schools across the country are in session and the teachers are bellowing and drumming regurgitated notes into children who have been torn out of sleep. A time when the market women at Nakasero, Nakawa, Kalerewe and Luzira markets have settled into the business of selling their wares. A time when the lady of the night is in deep sleep, that has been occasioned by a fruitful night. A night, that has enabled her to secure fees for her horde of children.

There was something very wrong with that picture. As I sat at the steering wheel, waiting on the golfers to saunter across the road, it hit me like a ton of cassava chips. The difference between them and the majority of us is like that between night and day. The difference lies in the type education that we permitted to permeate our minds.

 Education is known to shape the thinking of any human being. The way we all turn out to be is largely as a result of the education that we received or continue to receive. My thinking, and dare I say, the thinking of any sensible individual is that while the rest of us are subjecting our minds to an educational system that is based on the idea that money is the root of all evil, those golfers at that seemingly productive hour subjected their minds and continue to subject their minds and the minds of all that are close and dear to them, to the Ecclesiastical idea that: A party gives laughter, and wine gives happiness, but money gives everything.

This difference in educational philosophy gives rise to the colonial mentality that seeks to produce worker bees whose exclusive purpose is to toil so as to fatten the queen bee. The Ecclesiastical idea, arguments life itself:  life is to be enjoyed. It is meant to be an adventure, where one finds solace in the pursuit of any thing that engages the heart in the perpetual dance of excitement.

A human being cannot enjoy life, when willingly kept under lock and key from 8 am to 5 pm. It is impossible to contribute meaningfully to an existence, when all one is, is a cog in an industrial machine that perpetuates the rat race. It is a given that even when you win eight gold medals at the winter rat Olympics, you will still be a rat.

It is my honest submission that we should study money; the history of money, the geography of money, the physicality of money, the science of money, the literature of money, the economics of money, the mathematics of money, the English of money…the everything of money.

Our children should know the power of money. They should know how to harness it. They should be able to put it in the line of fire instead of swelling with the mistaken belief that the more one works, the more one earns. They should be able to multiply it a trillion fold. They should be able to be of effective service to themselves and to their kith and kin.

Then, and only then, will we be able to be at peace with ourselves, in the knowledge that our money is hard at work for us: that we can engage in more meaningful engagements like playing golf at 8am.