Gunshots In Kapedo! Poem by alexander opicho

There are now gunshots in Kapedo,
Everyplace in engulfed in nothing else
But gunshots and gun smokes, gun thunder,
They began just like the Bargoi Massacre,
With killing of harmless policemen
On regular patrol, for civility,
You killed them
When they are in the prime of their careers,
Then my dear brothers you killed them,
The twenty and one policemen,
You took off with the government guns
What a primitive crime?
To steal and hide within
The domain of your predator,
Your folly has now opened the can of worms
A Pandora box, ceaseless fire!
Bullets and sandbags are raining on you,
All over in Kapedo, is bloodshed,
Curfews and military operations,
Hunger, starvation and thirst,
O! No, social isolation,
Reign on you with no ruth,
And forlornly you stand in askance,
With no food, goat meat nor animal blood,
Your women are nor raped,
As you look on,
Your elders get flogged,
They moan like desert swine,
Kapedo is now moaning in a groan,
Like a motherless child,

Which way Kapedo? Which way!
As cattle rustling is no longer a culture
The culture venerated in the times before,
As struggle to marry to a virgin,
It is now criminal
Punishable by military operation,
Burning houses and elderly lynch,
Don't try,

Throw down your loincloths,
Throw away your rusted guns,
Dumped on you by wily traders,
Take up pens and books,
Run to school you Pokots in Kapedo
Before it is sunset,
Take your neighbours along;
Turkana, samburu and Tugen,
Let them throw away arrows and bows,
Given unto them by crude culture,
Let them also come to school,
Let them come and read Shakespeare,
Binyavanga Wainaina and Chimamanda,
Their age mates already floating the crests
Of literacy, oracy, intellectualism and profits of peace,

Put down guns and plant trees,
Plant sorghum along the river banks of Turkwel,
Plant millet and maize,
Irrigate them to thrive,
Harvest them
Grind them into flour,
And make posho, pound Ugali
Eat it with seasoned goat meat,

Ignore your elders and the political leaders,
Calling you to be armed for ethnic reasons,
That you rustle cattle on their behalf,
Ignore your expensive virgin ladies,
They are expensive for no reason,
Three hundred goats per one,
In a traditional dowry ceremony,
Go to school and marry from there,
Girls in college are beautiful
They smell good with perfume of Nivea,
They don't smell sweat of a pastoralist girl,
They know how to make love,
And they are cheap in dowry cost,
Dowry for them is chipsy,
Dowry for a college girl is not big
It is only five Irish potatoes, five waruus,
Come to school Kapedo and all pastoralists,
Come to school and stop your bush life.


Lodwar, Kenya.