I Went To A Festival and I Wrote

“The anonymous walk unnoticed into the kingdom of heaven.” Someone, once.

Nairobi has become weird again. Weird in that, everyone is an intellectual until their intellect is brought to bear, and then the haters emerge. I happened to attend the Nairobi Film Festival last week and I say happened because when I woke up on Wednesday, I didn’t know I would be heading to Prestige Plaza and hobnob with Nairobi’s elite in film. And by elite, I mean Kenyans who put in work to create something of their own hands. A slow news weekend produced some emphatically dumb tweets not that long ago regarding the film festival and I am compelled to lay out the case for why it’s amazing that we have a Nairobi Film Festival while I take a jab at a movie I haven’t watched because why would a Kenyan pander to the identity politicking Left to get an Oscar nod?

[Disclaimer: IMDb stats have me watching more TV shows and less movies from 2006 onward, for perspective]

First Piece of Evidence: SupaModo

This film kicked of the Fest for me. Everyone was gushing about this movie. I watched it as well, and though some parts were relatable as a movie – I was wholly lost on what the big deal was about. Touting to be a Kenyan movie, this superhero may be a movie for a generation to which I do not belong. Which is why it is important for these types of film have a screening home.

Second Piece of Evidence: New Moon

After the screening that I attended of this film, there was a Q&A and a fraternising of sorts for moviegoers by the organisers where the director, a Ms. Phillipa, had the opportunity to be asked the most banal of questions regarding her 7 year project that she “never thought would ever be screened in Kenya”. It was a moving piece of art hitting multiple uncomfortable notes that would naturally stir conversations if not at the very least self-reflection (and possible future screenings). One of the movie-goers in the Q&A admitted that she had always wondered what hairstyles are prevalent among hijabis and for more on that: go watch the film!

Third Piece of Evidence: Shorts, Shorts and Shots!

Dresscode: shorts. Event: Screening of Short films. Afterparty: Shots! A brilliant bit of brainwork by the organisers of the filmfest who upon the film screenings completion invited the seated audience to accompany the directors, organisers, cast and crew alike to a mixer set up for us. Freebies for attendees and fun behind-the-scenes conversations was my evening.

Fourth Piece of Evidence: Kenyan film consumption.

There are no statistics here because the self-evident…is. While quoting epic movie lines is a thing among film nerds, I cannot quote a single Kenyan movie line, let alone name a Kenyan movie for every finger on my hand. This is a business people, and not just on the consumption side. The art industry enjoys some sense of immunity against questioning the motivations of say a certain project, however, without the sex scenes in Spartacus, viewership would be more or less a drop-off throughout the seasons. Take Hollywood as an example, without the MCU, there wouldn’t be funding for vanity projects like Shape of Water. Without something that the audiences want to see and talk about, the mediocrity being peddled as art in Kenya shall remain simply that – mediocre, but at additional risk of no butts on seats.

Fifth Piece of Evidence: The Looming Tower

A fascinating TV series around Al Qaeda and the bombing of September 11, starring Jeff Daniels (of The Newsroom fame) whose first episode culminates in the Nairobi bombing of 98? Why aren’t we taking control of our own narratives? I understand that the government of an LEDC has bigger things than to fund films for psych-warfare (eg US DoD role in Top Gun and American Sniper) but I do think we have some smart people in the Kenyan film board who can do more for the industry than slap a ban on a film to create buzz. That’s basic marketing. The reason we are seeing more films shot in the Far East is because they have tax-incentives for people shooting there. And I can go on and on.

Closing Statements

With the kind of international attention Kenya has received, from Uncle Barry to Eddy Gathegi to Nyongo’s daughter to Rafiki getting a standing ovation at Cannes (for being a Kenyan lesbian version of Romeo and Juliet, or did I not say spoiler alert?), the marketing of Kenyan potential has been done. Why do we insist on embarrassing ourselves with the kind of subpar material we put out in film, on the stage and now on streaming sites. The film industry in particular needs the support of film fanatics attending events like Nairobi Film Festival at the very least, fanfare at the most. Our mentality that copywriters can double as scriptwriters is pocket-pinching bullshit. Stage actors and film actors are not the same thing. The #ifikiewazazi photographers cannot frame a shot, which is why they shoot titillation, as opposed to capturing art. This is the time to do better. For a people without hope deserve worthy distractions.

One last thing, I’d avidly read Potash’s blog over a decade ago. Down to the last punctuation he put up, all those many years ago, developing a voice. The first time I watched Nairobi Half Life all I saw was Potash, without knowing of his involvement in it until the credits rolled. Beauty requires pain, and the fostering of artistic voices is something that Kenyatta University has proven quite capable of (not an endorsement worth much from here but hey). Let us support those who make something worthwhile, especially platforms for entertainment, and make sure that they create something that a Malaysian (for instance) would associate with. For the Kenyan experience is worth capturing and retelling in books and blogs and everything in between, but especially in film.

-Exuent Pyro-

Finally, A Love Letter.

I always hated In Between.

I ask that this message go unanswered and unspoken only, if that’s OK, please keep on.

So Chester Bennington died yesterday. I spent the whole day listening to old Linkin Park, because that was something my identity was based on. It also happened to be something we shared in common.

I heard you got married.

Rather, I saw it happen on Facebook. Of course I was told by friends about it, because I was past that, but everyone else knew something I didn’t. Everyone knew there was the possibility of this. This email, unsent as it shall be. Read, as it must, by everyone who isn’t me…nor you.

I am tremendously happy for you. Beyond words. Because that is how much my love is for you still, and always. I doubt anyone can comfortably live with me, knowing how much I love you to date. This is the love that made you uncomfortable, I realise now, in the wake of the passing of our friend Chester.

I am happy for you, and I want you to know that without my saying it. And I want you to know that I get In Between, finally, after all these years. And that Chester is at peace because of the love you let yourself feel.

Finally.

Why I Am Not Voting

There was a post once, regarding Kenya getting fucked over and our false war in Som… yeah…, that place, written a while ago. It linked certain at-the-time-recent diplomatic assignments into Kenya with said, seemingly at the time, pointless war. Pointless, other than the oil then recently discovered, and the water soon after.

Remember how in 2007/2008 PEV, apparently Kenyans killed themselves and there’s no one to blame? Apparently.

Intermission: Please watch below video. I’ll fail you if you don’t!

As Kenya faces having to pick between it’s own version of Clinton Vs Trump, I remember that that man up there fucked Iraq (and the World really) for their oil. And the fucking starts with a false war. And we have oil. And we have leaders with questionable backgrounds both, who may or may not be indebted to the West and it’s counter-intelligence background Diplomats currently residing. (Sidenote: Current dude Nic Hailey has strategy in his background true, but that Turner dude had Cheney-type tendencies)

I do not feel sorry for not voting, I feel sorry for the thousands who died with no one to be blamed. And I feel sorry for the thousands that followed.

Of Rebellious Kids & their Elitist Parents – what comes next?

Obviously that title refers to Conservatives and Democrats.

In reading the prologue to Thus Spoke Zarathustra recently, I recognised a flaw in intelligence. Enshrined within the hubris bestowed together with intelligence is the inability to realise the growth of mentors. Juxtaposing his goal with the symbolism of nature, Nietzsche asserts right from the get go of his book that he MUST descend into the underworld through reflection and it is but natural for him to bring Light unto the world.

I have been fixated by the Left-Right divide since the events of 11/09/2001. As a child of elitist Democrats with a Conservative world-view fostered by their own Right-leaning Capitalism that grew into a deeply elitist, apologetic Left stance; I obviously became a Conservative who sometimes goes the Liberal way. Make sense? If not then just move on, this post is not for you, because that’s all I’m going to be talking about henceforth.

I think I’ll go with the Red today, with a Yellow tie

How to spot a conservative? The media always refers to them as a ‘populist’, especially derogatorily. In Kenya, that has almost always been the title used to describe Raila Odinga, despite whom he was competing. The rule of thumb with society is for it to survive, we must keep pace with the fastest among us. A society is hobbled by it’s populace and that is it’s nature. Were there to be movements that push ahead, beyond what the society is doing, that movement at first faces resistance, then a sustained tolerance and finally either complete apathy (if the movement is not small enough) or this movement faces a complete rejection and this creates two societies; progressives and conservatives. And conservative societies are the mainstay of Populist Leaders. And progressive societies are the mainstay of Marxists.

I have been fascinated by feminism since this “3rd wave” of feminism reared it’s head, until the day it landed on our shores like a giant octo-mum at Normandie, and I got severely repulsed by it’s form. Like all the crazy ideologies modern-day feminism has birthed (multigenderism, child gender reassignments etc), feminism in Kenya did not brook any argument. The conspiracy theorists came at me online and I shut down my social media accounts for a couple of weeks, the feminists came at me personally and had me branded. TKO. Despite my argument (above) that feminism is simply a tool for the postmodernist agenda, forewarning this moment, my logic was air-horned at and my words tarnished by a reputation they built about me. Which, all’s fair in love and war right? The moment? The moment before the rebellious child tries to oust their elitist parents. The moment before Raila goes to oust Kenyatta, again. Just like their fathers. These kids.

I have been fascinated by how Conservatism is a reaction to Liberalism which is a reaction to Conservatism and so forth. I choose to analogise Conservative kids and their obvious rebellion against their Liberal elitist parents because that is the period Kenya is at. Fight the system et cetera et cetera. Forget not that the whole world is going through this same phase it seems, save France with their Macron(y). It is fascinating that it took a Kenyan in Mali or Ghana or somewhere for a piece about Raila’s almost definite best chance of riding on a rebellious wave right into State House was done by The Standard Digital, yet, we all sense what is coming. Kenya’s online scene is becoming ever more fragmented as Sportpesa hustlaz on telegram channels and n3rd fora on i2p and KoT which was such a positive force and taken over by rumor-mongers and femnazis and Toi market thrifters and of course the natural result is trollers and shitposters and Kekians in Kenya. #KekiansInKenya and now you want to ask why kids are shooting themselves with their father’s guns, hacking every ip address they can find and essentially fueling the Greek Fire?!

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Rotflmao! I’m still grinning over #KekiansInKenya

Our lethargy in politics is our undoing and perhaps that is why Mr. Igathe has finally decided to take it upon himself, as always, to fix things for a better tomorrow. I remember the first time I met him. Brilliant man, impassioned by clever development strategies and clear-headed policies. Without him, your children would still be writing with those Hero and Youth fountain pens that monopolised 8-4-4 for some time in 90’s.

Our rebellion will cost us this time, but we are but a cog in place. We cannot be, and should not be, blamed for what comes next.

KEK Wills It

The Truth May Just Be Overrated

I think I’m tired of telling the truth. I got so addicted to it, you know? Aided in part by the instinctual over-share gear one engages as soon as they land on their preferred choice of social media. Everyone needs a bit of mystery and when advertisers in their greed for evermore metadata on us whispered flatteries in our ears as they pulsated their fingers on our collective clitorii and getting us all wet on the idea of super targeted marketing and all it’s benefits, we simply bent over and allowed them to have their way with our privacy we lost our individuality and morphed into unpaid, walking billboards for Nike and Apple et cetera.

The truth is, being truthful is boring. Stripped of our exaggerations and half-truths we become intensely boring versions of our already boring selves and I’m not going to take this anymore. A little insincerity where it doesn’t count doesn’t hurt. No wonder tweens don’t even go through the motions of a hook-up these days. It’s all:
“Wanna fuck?”
“Yeah, why not.”
*unzips, pumps, grunts, zips up*
“So next time?”
“No.”
“Ok. Cool.”

Where’s the ingenuity?! Where’s the sass and the life?
Personally? This is the first thing I’ve written in a while and hyperbole notwithstanding, the truth is not creative. The truth is expected. The truth, in some cases, is overrated.

The other side to that coin is that most people don’t want the truth. Most people can’t handle the truth. We use lies and disillusionment to cope and there’s nothing wrong with that. What, I admit to my wife that those jeans make her ass look fat and go through a week masturbating? In that case I want a credit on that wedding per truth-causing fight we go through henceforth. Think about how boring your Facebook feed would look without white lies, or how much money marketing agencies will lose if they billed honestly for services rendered. $3000 for a poster drawn up in two hours on a bootleg version of Photoshop by a BComm dropout?!

I encourage you all to join me in adding a bit (more?) of falsehood in your lives this week. I’m going to stop being so truthful. It’s boring.

When Do You Know Your Life Has Changed?

When you are strong enough to let go of your “friends.”
When you are done crying and think “I’m still here.”
When you stop chasing girls and start chasing dreams.
When you look at children and smile because you want them to know there are kind people in this world.
When you trust your gut over everything.
When you stop thinking about being the Real You and start being the Real You.
When you choose love over fear.
When you give up judging yourself and take up loving yourself.
When you can see both sides of the coin.
When you stop caring about what everyone else thinks and start caring about how proud you are of you.
When you decide what’s important and what isn’t.
When you decide who’s important and who isn’t.
When you decide you’re the most important person in your life.
When you decide to prioritise yourself because you want to prioritise happiness.
When you browse Quora more than Facebook.
When you get up every single morning at 6:30am to write 2,000 words because that’s who you are now.
When you know who you are and show who you are.
When you have the courage to live a life true to you.
When you start being all of who you are.
I know, I know… I kept saying “you.”
I meant “I.”

by Matt Hearnden

Who’s Your Daddy?

When I get older, I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom, just like a wavin’ flag
~K’Naan

Before the above words were watered down to ‘a Coke-flavoured aural addiction‘ and official song for the World Cup, the essence of the track of then little known rap artist K’Naan was about growing up in a poverty-stricken, war-torn society still holding onto the hope of actually being free. Free from the threat of violence, from the burdens of poverty, the hurt of betrayal. Granted K’Naan was more than likely referring to his Somalia but does anyone else notice the parallels between Somalia and Kenya in the context of what the song is about? The threat of violence, the burdens of poverty, the hurt of betrayal? Yes, I acknowledge there are obvious differences when it comes to degrees of severity but the principal remains the same: violence, impoverishment, betrayal.

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RadiKenyalization

Maybe I’m a pessimist.

The 2002 elections in Kenya changed everything for its forgetful citizens. The tyrant Moi was deposed by the anarchy and delirium of a people united against an oppressive rule. Kenyans jeered openly the once deeply feared two-time Chairperson of the now re-branded Organisation of African Unity, mocking his statement “They say ‘Moi must go! Moi must go!’ but soon they shall say ‘Moi must come back.'” Luhya and Nandi, Mijikenda and Kamba, Luo and Borana, Kikuyu and Mbeere, we all sat at the table, equal spoons in hand and waited for the Kenyan cake that we shed sweat and blood for over 24 years and more, to be shared.

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