The Rumbling

The Rumbling

Poetry Ape

Sam Mwaka-karama

Luke warm - Tender - loving - Friendly. Are the virtues what all want

That morning warmth, the tender malleable nature in a luke-warm bath

 The friendliness of the whispering gossiper on the Fm window sill

The easy lyrical words of rumor mongery, poetic ballad serenade – you are agog…

Fascinated by the soothing warmth and lure – somnolent in the soapy gossip and rumor

Comfy in unending steamy warmth of success – lulled by the haunting opera!

Home love comfort – you shall not want – sardonic smile melt your heart!

Basking in the foam and heat of a personal sauna - with a loved one somewhere, anywhere…

 In the vastness of the inner sanctum of your sprawl – life was great!

When you tuck in shirt to designer trousers – you are demi !

You, you and nobody else it was who made it

You worked it out personally with the best architect in town

You gave it the personal touch – with the interior décor guys - brought your secret desire to life!

No! Hell No - not anything you were not forgetting, a vintage fireplace included

That you now confidently stand elongated at the back of beyond

Not a former life! Be off you silly-little gnome of a thought! What former life!

It was nobody else’s dream, but your personal one… and you did hatch that egg!

Yes it was on the fast track, only for a while… but then came the Crooke’s scare!

Disbanded the groupie, when guys and dolls began falling like thorn trees felled!

Mowed-down by the angry hands of the tree feller

Groupie had scampered desperately – friends became suspicious foes

The invisible moth of the anthill gnawed away in the veins of the unknown victims

Chaany! Then Chaany! You only knew when a friend had crushed down cold!

Then came the hysteria of who has it! Who is next on the death raw? And who gave it to who!

Dark suddenly it had become very – people on the streets trudging face-down

Sometimes you ran into someone you thought you knew… looking bad now and, veered off pointedly

You looked. And then looked! The silent quickened step of the type that went to oblivion…

Then came the time too, when counseling and discussions – gave hope to the next generation infected

The participants survived, gained confidence and peripherally lived

Now you were cold – because you thought and worried your personal warmth away

The invisible moth of the anthill gnawed away in the veins of the unknown victims

Comfort, if only you knew how far you went – if only you knew! If only you knew.

But now it is too late – for no one pays a visit anymore – the trauma rules

And the Bob Wade Fm is vain – for the stigma is freeman now – your vein is now yours**

     

  

Running and the Spiritual setup Dilema

Running and the Spiritual setup - Dilemma

Aping your Poetry

Sam Mwaka-karama

The runner’s dilemma was the innocence – the free will

The free spirited livingness that carried the runner on his way

The runner was spiritually picked!

The colonial master didn’t know the running man – he was of the village!

There were no sports training to determine his picking…

But the runner was picked for his task – he was designated

And the runner performed…

Every day the runner was the daily - tasked with his responsibility

Barefoot, in a loincloth, held a long thin javelin

Crack tipped at the top – javelin clip-held a letter

At the crack of dawn it was flag-off

And the runner picked-up his rhythm and the beat was-on

Chap-chap, chap-chap, chap-chap

And then the song came to mind and heart…

Okwanyo gudu Lumule diki-dwogo/

Wange rii ki yoo/

Wange ki yo do – kel alyeka anen/

Aliye-ker

  

Chap-chap, chap-chap, chap-chap, chap-chap

Sweat popped-out and ran down the face, neck and chest

Sweat streamed - down the back

The old song in mind and heart, tap-tap-tapped the rhythm…

Colonial authority had a Khaki short quickly replace the loincloth

Olel! Was the recognized runner – the herald messenger

The harbinger of communication

Between Governor’s Gondocor in Nimule and Gulu…

Anglo Egyptian colonialism extended to Acholi and Lango in Nothern Uganda

 Teso and Karamoja in Eastern Uganda

The scant road dug; Gulu to Nimule, by the Luroni Men conscripted

Road workers of the PWD pida – cheered the runner on his way

The workers sung for him as he jogged past waving…

They praised the strong road runner for doing us proud

and meeting the challenge…

They sang even as he was long gone; down the valley

Up the hill and round the bend – they sung…

Okwanyo gudu Lumule diki-dwogo/

Wange rii ki yoo/

Wange ki yo do – kel alyeka anen/

Aliye-ker

 Olel – was a short man of quick small movement of the body

Walked in short quick-steps, talked in short quick manner

The runner was a nonstop restless man…

But was never a breathless man

Olel – in Acholi was also the nickname of Rabbit the Hare

The Fable Rabbit that is known in folktales World wide

Olel – the colonial runner died in absolute obscurity!

His legacy spiritually squashed – as a girl, mama was his fan.*

Childhood: how you really went!

Flash Poetry

Sam Mwaka-karama

You are gone childhood, leaving me empty.

You really was my driver - my extra pound came from you. 

Childhood you made me happen, you gave me joy,

it was your childhood laughter that won me friends, it was your hope

that made me forget the wrongs and difficulties that poisoned my life.

Childhood, how you really went!

You took away fondness - how I now am lost without you!

Where O! Where

Where do I go childhood, without you - am vacated, am empty, am done.

I crave for just a little more of your innocence... if ever aging could allow

Look O! Look

Look now, am surrounded by all the dreams I had all my life... all the dreams you made me see, they float and speed-by. My dreams are in every Mall and Plaza!

My dreams are on the roads, the highways, on the streets everywhere

How do I breakaway - how do I hop onto the fast lane dreams you made me see

so long ago - just look how my dreams roll by and am here looking.

Just looking O look, childhood

the dreams don't recognize me anymore - sad, how just simply sad!

O childhood - how I wonder what happened to you...

Now I see it all - and it hurt me so!

You had protected me... O! childhood how your innocence took me places

And now you are gone - you are nomore and, how alone you left me!

My dreams are afloat on the wind

at every turn of the road

in the homes and villages - I now see it all so clearly

now that you went - childhood how you really went

O how you took away your childhood love from me *** 

Writer is an Independent Thinker, Author and Blogger

Song of the hunter

Song of the hunter

Flash Poem

Sam Mwaka-karama

The hunter looks-in the water urn himself, to believe

For it is a lie to say; there be not a drop of water.

The vengeful tongue of the sun rake the tall big hunter

No moisture in the air – no saliva – dry throat

There is worldly emptiness – the leaves are down.

Fruit trees barren – no birds to fly the winds

It is still and alarmingly quiet – the day is asleep

In hot broad day light.

The hunter looks-in the water pitcher himself, to believe

One more hill, not a rabbit – not a squirrel

O! Providence how do I return my tortured feet today?

The blade of my spear is plain and bloodless

Is not this my day?

Is not my wife’s pot clean off the vegetable?

What makes my front empty O! You Ancestors!

That my path is rare and unlikely – this day

That my way is thorny this blaze… of an afternoon

Is not the grinding stone of my woman musical?

With what song do I brave it, tonight!

O! With what song do I wet her heart tonight?

The water pitcher falls empty on my waistband

Ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu

This was poverty?  That no animal cross my path this day…

How was this ever, poverty!

What makes my front empty you ancestors?

My ulurugucc… feel heavy and limp!

My spear feels hot and sharp – but alas!

My limps jerky – stiff, dry with no rhythm

Not a rare beat in my step

Ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu

Has not a double-crosser entered my house in my absence?

With what might he have crossed my wake O! You spirits of old…

How do I enter my home kraal without a kill…

How do I stand a bloodless spear at the door of my hut?

What is my well-come-back home – you ancestors?

Where is the skull and tongue - I should roast in the open bonfire tonight?

What is my big story!

O! You ancestors – turn not your faces from me…

That the wind not be perennially wiping to my disfavor

Hear my cry O! You ancestors – that I might run into the unlikely odd!

That in the dying hour, my spear might sink into the warmth…

Ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu ulu

Did not I, make my juge-juge thanks and offer?

That today I must return my feet in lack and shame

What must I do – what must I do?

∞

  

The Great Walking Train

The Great Walking Train

A night mare; one night long ago…

Sam Mwaka-karama

      In the dry harvest season, the village was always lively, happy and buzzed with busy-bee activities. The village women were already on the kraal spreading the fresh harvest millet for the drying hot day.

      We the village kids hardly ever overslept in the dry season – by the early Lakana sunrise we were already seated atop the huge grand old Aliri anthill; where that little part of the anthill we had broken the previous evening protruded out wet fine earth… the Okok ants had over-night sealed the broken part by rebuilding a small mold. It was this fresh earth that we used to roll small round balls for our catapult. That was our routine; early to rise and sweep the kraal clean of all goats overnight droppings – so that our mothers dried and processed the harvests by day.

      The boys from across the Oitino River were already blowing their hands telling us that the birds hunting party had started moving-out and we should hurry hurry hurry! Otoye-toye-toye… wan-do cako-wot’o, wot-wunnu yo-yot otoye-toye-toye!

      As the soldier ants strike-out at our fingers, we quickly flick them away and sometimes crush them into the balls we now hurriedly roll. ‘Kwiik, kwiik, kwiik’ – suddenly Okwiik the black birds perched high up the tall majestic Tugu palm trees shriek down at us… and using the dried hard earth balls we had made the previous day – we slug them rapidly. They scatter flying north the direction we were preparing to go. So we hurry to run after them.

      Yelling and scrambling down the anthill, we race after them occasionally sending our earth balls at them; Okwiik are a clumsy flier, but they are freak birds – no village boy ever shot them down – so we merely catapult the slugs at them aimlessly. Sensing the slugs zapping around they quickly scale-up flying higher and higher and eventually out of our reach.

       At the Rocky River convergent point we meet the boys from across – we are friends, age-mates and often fighting foes as well. But this morning we were in good camaraderie friendship we all joked and laughed.

        As we walked away from the villages the bird hunting party effectively began then; every boy was on the look-out for the wild doves Akuri; the tough winged pigeons dried on open fire tasted salty – we all looked out for them. The land was vast as far as the eyes could see and, we just kept going.

        By mid-day I had killed three little birds; some of the bigger boys had already killed one or two Akuri wild doves – the biggest boy among us had killed a spy squirrel; Tilli slugged it clean between the eye and the ear… it was warm and its hind-legs kicked weakly as the big boy picked it up, twisting its neck dead.

       Tilli’s father was my father’s brother – and we the kids from my grandfather’s clan saw him as our head. Now we were one up on the boys from across because our head boy had already made the big kill of the day – now he had two pigeons, one Aliboro and the squirrel.

       The wild and now rowdy birds hunting party walked on and on past even the furthest villages on the far outer fringes towards the wild country side. Many times, a rabbit and other small animals suddenly bolted in a blurry get away – Tilli’s dog Genkumi snatched the streak rabbit in a spectacular chase I was to see for the first time – awesome it was!

        The dry season wild fire had swept the country side clean – so our birds hunting party just went on and on. At length, we had eventually gathered around a group of huge trees in the mid afternoon silently searching for birds in the dense green leaves and slugging at them quietly – it was hot and the birds landed on the trees to rest and cool down… I killed two good size pigeons there. Just then the older boys decided we gather twigs and start a fire. The older boys looked for and found a particular type of tree and broke its twigs; sitting on the ground a boy placed two twigs together and held them firmly by his heels and then used a pencil sized twig that he vigorously rubbed between his palms and presently smoke began to appear at the contact point he firmly grinded… another boy added soft dry grass to this grinded-point and blew his cheeks hard at it till the flames appeared – now everybody picked dry grass and lighted the fire and the roasting of birds and small animals spread-out.

The abominable Walking Train…

       It was suddenly getting dark when we realized the day was gone and if we didn’t hurry back we were getting caught-up by nightfall… it was then that we suddenly began hearing some not so far away strange rhythmic weird  crunching, clanging and hissing noise! Bewildered, we all stopped the roasting and eating and listened craning our necks and cocking our ears – we held our breaths.

      We were gripped! Terror rooted us immobile as the noise coming from over the headland westwards was now louder and louder; and suddenly thick black smoke billowed; chwek-whwek-chwek-whwek-chwek; clang-wrek, clang-werk, clang-wrek, clang-wrek – we scampered running homewards, but the hideous menacing noise moved much faster cutting us off – suddenly as we got onto the headland there it was struggling up valley; a twisty long train hissing white hydro-smoke - like out of two huge nostrils and, black smoke out of the top of its head… the train and coaches all moved on legs the size of a huge man’s chest as it walked its multiple legs in unison, bending at the knees and at its Elephant like large heavy feet.

        Many times in the uneven hillside as it detoured to cut-us off from breaking into a terrified home run one or the other of its many-many massive legs jerked sideways revealing an open between the thigh and the lower leg where a glistening hydraulic shock system appeared briefly and steadied it shortened back and walked on – terrified many of the other kids had already run away but three of us were transfixed staring at the awesome walking train… inside it was weak yellow light and head and shoulders of passengers could be furtively seen.

        Two engineers sweat drenched were busy in their tiny cabin: the big fat charcoal black one threw hefty logs in the hellfire that cooked and boiled the engine – while his pencil thin colleague hanged out; his face reminded me of the moon crescent; his fore-head was bulging and his thin mouth drawn tight inwards with a long smoking pipe also with pointed chin was firmly bitten by his clenched hard jaw – spittle occasionally streaked out of the side of his mouth, his engineer’s cap pasted at the back of his head and, his hair around it was graying… I realized that he was unseeingly looking around because he obviously did not see us – as the walking train momentarily stopped and; presently one of the doors flung open and a thin lone woman silhouetted out and claimed down the three steps disappearing afoot the massive walking train at the grassy ground. Then the train began moving… now we ran and ran and ran till I suddenly woke-up! O! O! Ohh! A night mare! I was drenched in sweat my heart beating wildly. I nearly died in the abominable scare! ***  

             

Coo-lony i Larakarama

Coo-lony i Larakaraka
George Moggi

In the stray of an eye,
the dragnet of the ample Labenu underlings
of the dancer skewed,
spreading wealth of latere
like the fisherman’s dragnet that caught
River Nile’s best tilapia.
Amuru i dog-nam, ineno Pakwack loka-ca

In the stray of an eye, igayo lamyel ki teng-wangi
The dancer gleamed with a musky oily skin,
digging her heels; now left – now right
with the drummers ullorro-bul
Scattering labenu underlings... te-pene lutaanya!
Awal o kok too-bel ki kiddi

With her thighs; now left - now right
labenu underlings of the dancer
Skewed like the dragnet of the fisherman
Spreading over the gleaming sunset
over the Nile... Amuru, ineno Pakwach loka-ca
Awal kok apyetta – bul-kok lawang dyang...
Coo-lony i larakaraka

When the tilapia danced the spinner
Round and round, again
In a spray of the ovulation of fine caviar...
Spreading wealth of latere
The dancer’s labenu underlings skewed...

As the ovulating tilapia spanned with the male a-drip...
Otigo luwaka cwer dok pig-wang – lirok-ton-tic...
Coo-lony i larakaraka –nye!

Drum-beat talks to you - Bul kok lawang dyang – Oroo dong oyec!
a wealth of hairy... ye-nya peeks-out stark and sweaty
te-pene lutaanya... tongo iri langudde – alanya!
in the stray of an eye – igayo lamyel kit teng wangi...
Coo-lony i larakaraka!

Pien ka ceng do-odonyo – Ce wek dwe dong tucci,
Langala dong rammo boo ki toyo – i dog Nile
As the sunset gleam over the Nile – at Amuru.
Coo-lony i larakaraka
***

Poetic Verses of Acholi...

Poetic Verses of Acholi
By Sam Mwaka-karama

Who so ever understood – that
Belly of world rumbled
So the ancient old said so…
Who so ever understood – that
Tomorrow, tomorrow someday
Tomorrow, tomorrow whole day
Under the pumpkin
Shall be dry.

Who so ever understood – that
Bag of ‘Ataany’ the carrier
Will nowadays walk ‘murodo’
Who so ever understood – that
‘Obwoko’ the emptiness lump in the throat!
Shall strangle grandma,
In the hot sun…
Alone, under the granary.

Who so ever understood – that
Testicle of the evening…
Will ‘ometto-kome’ abandon itself,
That you might step on it!
“Trouble O trouble, why waylay me?”

Who so ever understood –that
‘Cwek-cwek-cwek - trot-trot-trot of the bull-dog,
Spread the rabies
So that castrating the bull-dog,
Defeated the jealous…
Because the garbage dumpy,
Won’t ever belong to all peoples.

Who so ever understood - that
It was really the ‘twighlight’
So that the mother-hen
Pecks and swallows silently…
Gut-gut, gut-gut, gut-gut - was no more,
and the cold chicks will di-di, di-di, and di-di.

Who so ever understood – that
The young rooster cock…
Lost his spurs, that
He might never ever,
Crow at ‘Ayaa’s’…
That had ‘Ayaa’ tasted the saltiness
Of the cock, which was ‘yeng-yeng’…?
She might have eloped with the cock!

Who so ever understood – that
The ‘Lawinos’ of this today,
Will put down the ‘Abiinu’ - pot-of-honey,
So that they now carry…
‘Oderulabolo’ atop their heads.
No wonder the ancient Acholi said it…
Whenever the dead were buried,
They actually went ‘ka pito labolo’…
So that ‘okalo-cwan’gi’ have all gone;
Carrying ‘oderulabolo’ atop their heads.
Walking morning to sunset…
L’labolo ocek-oceki…?
Labolo pud numu
Labolo ocek-oceki…?
Labolo numu-numu
Labolo ocek-oceki…?
Labolo dong ocek…
… rwic-rwic, rwic-rwic, rwic-rwic…
Who so ever understood – that
‘Ceng-a-maki, labolo dok-woo’
Because ancient Acholi said it all…
That you might understand
$$$