Haidhuru

I’ve had this jingle that’s been playing in my mind like those silly Christmas songs at the Mall. Never ending and burrow into the deepest recesses of your mind. Which one you ask?

Idi, Idi, Idi Amin,
Most amazing man, there’s ever been,
He’s the president, the general, the king of the scene,
Idi, Idi, Idi Amin.

Erm… that’s just the chorus. Did I mention that I also know the 5 verses as well- including a bridge that’s sung in a falsetto? No? Ok, for this, I apologize profusely.

OK… So I’m kinda shy that this ode to His Excellency President for Life, Field Marshal Alhaji Dr Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, CBE is in my head. Sheieet, this guy was both brutal and nutty. The CBE in his title refers to “Conqueror of the British Empire”. The guy also proclaimed himself the King of Scotland! Like yeah! There’s this mos def apocryphal story that was doing the rounds when I was in primary school- that Idi Amin once visited the queen and said “Before, I undress you, let me first remove my testicles” (i.e. address you… remove spectacles)…. Hey! It was funny then.

OK, moving right on. So the song got me thinking about the various nut jobs that masquerade as leaders and the direct and costs (invariably negative) that the people they ‘rule’ have to pay.

As an African (yeah yeah yeah enough of the eye rolling), OK, as a Kenyan the scaredest I’ve been was a while back. The year- 1993. The place- Park Inn. My then man and his buddies and I were catching pints at Park Inn. We’d left his car parked outside Stella Awinja Hostel (near the Masonic temple so you know no one was going to steal the damn car!) and at about 4.00 a.m. we decide that we wanted some “alone time”. So naturally his boys are stuck in their pints and big breasted women dancing to Lingala and we decide to gasp! Cut through the park via Serena Hotel to where his car was!!! Drunkeness aka ulevi is a bad, bad thing. Naturally, we meet a couple of hoodlums who’re like “Chota!”. Now, jamaa had something of a fighting thing going on. He looks at these 4 guys and figures- Hey I’m military, they’re civilians and it’s not going down like that. So he’s now in fight mode and he’s like “Run Mutumia, Run!!!”. I’m like “Nooooo! I ain’t leaving you!” and I’m thinking how I can totally handle the ’smaller guy’. Rigggghhhtttt. You know how in movies the bad guys always wait their turn to attack the hero? These guys didn’t get the memo. ‘Cause they’re all all over jamaa and this one jamaa has grabbed me in very inappropriate ways and I cannot.break.his.hold. I start screaming. Wapi? Long story short, his boys very very serendipitiously for some reason decided to check up on us and joined in the melee and we got away (ingalau jamaa got a serious beat down). Of course, I was booted, told “gets to stepping” etc. for not ‘following orders form a senior officer ‘ as apparently, for those of you women who didn’t get the e-mail, if he says “Run!!!!” take off like a Kenyan at a Marathon

So, why lie, I shook for days. Like literally shaking like I had malaria for a coupla days. Many, many showers later, I was able to put it in some context like we were kind of asking for it. Like we know what NOT to do and where not to be at certain times. But it’s unfathomable for me, how it is for people to live in a situation where it’s always “4 a.m. cutting through Uhuru park with no posse” type of daily existence. They that live in countries in the middle of long lasting conflict. Cast your mind back to Saba-Saba riots time and remember during the so called land clashes, how petrified we all were. That living in a heightened state of fear. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for things to go back to normal, scared shitless every time you drove by a gathering of people as the General Service Unit was bound to appear. And this all pales in comparison when you compare it to what our brothers and sisters across the lakes (Turkana and/or Great).

Like what would you do if the only people you could rely on were those in your household? If e.g. there were no ‘boys’ of your jamaa to count on? Where you couldn’t call the cops if you heard anyone breaking in? Where the noise of your neighbor’s house being attacked, made you feel that little bit safer as you were safe for that night- maybe. Where little kids with big ass guns ruled the show? Where gang-rapes were so common vaginal fistulas are no longer an anomaly? With literally nowhere to run? Nowhere to go? What then would you do? Would you step outside your unsafe sanctuaries and try and give succor to others who are far, far, worse off than you are?

Apparently yes. I’ve had the privilege of meeting some uber-amazing women in my duties as a non-profit ho (What? I’ve been around many non-profits and some of them didn’t stay around for dinner!). And of all the people I’ve ever met, this one Mme from Ituri never ceases to be an inspiration. On how you can emerge triumphant from some bottom of the barrel situations on the face of this earth. I met Mme at some briefing here in DC and we got to talking. She works with women in Ituri in the DR Congo. For those of you who might not know, this has pretty much been ground zero in a war that has shown that sometimes depravity is more ingenious than Newton, Euclid and them. But what does she do? She goes around campaigning for women who’ve been gang-raped, shot at, had their kids killed and raped to get more protection, better medical treatment, lambasts the militia responsible for this- in short makes herself a bulls eye for some mofos you don’t even want to encounter ever.

And that just floors me. It humbles me. It makes me realize that miracles didn’t stop with the parting of the red sea. ‘Cause what else would you call the bringing back to a semblance of a normal life of a victim of rape? That the woman can now walk, sit and farm? Bloody miracle innit?

And this woman, and many like her, doesn’t ask for accolades. Or songs to be sung for her. Just that we all remember that there are people- our brothers and sisters who live and are dying in the DR Congo.

3.5 million dead.
Since 1998

So, then what? What can you do? Glad you asked. There are non-profits working in the DRC. Some good, some better. Please check them out. If you can, visit their webpages, check them out and verify for yourself that they’re worthy non-profits and give up lattes for a week and donate! If you can’t, the next time you’re reading about DRC in the Nation, Washington Post or small town herald, don’t by-pass the article. Read it. Till the end. Google the subject. Tell others about it. Ask them to help these people on the ground. Go to the Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International pages. Sign their petitions. Be informed. Help. Talk about it. As Nike say “Just do it!”

Be blessed y’all.