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Duganafi Gaenana Falaeh: R.I.P
Sunday, 06 June 2010 12:29
In this edition of Duganafi Gaenana Falaeh, Mr. Peters mourns the loss of gunned down lives in UK this week, roots for Musa Saidykhan, dangerous pets, dance-shy men, British
weather and…his dad’s appeal.Please read on…
R.I.P…
The whole country in is shock at the shooting to death of twelve random people and the wounding of twenty five more by a demented gun man who wrapped it up by turning the gun on himself. Eerily enough, the guy did tell friends ‘there will be a rampage tomorrow’ but who would have thought this is what he had meant?
Whatever must have been eating away at taxi driver Derrick Bird’s twisted mind, be it woman trouble or whatever, got the better of him as he armed himself with two shot guns, got in his taxi and went on a random shooting spree in sleepy, picturesque Cumbria and ended the lives of people whose only ‘crime’ was being ‘in the way.’
Out here, we are so used to having such beamed in from the US that, when it happened in our midst, it knocked the stuffing off us.
A dozen people, among them a couple in their late 60’s, had their very existence bulleted out of them.
It could have been me walking down the road, your mum getting the groceries or your grandma putting the cat out.
I look at the whole sad situation and realized or re-realized this: no-one is in control of their destiny but God. As a small time fiction writer, I have dreams of being on a shelf. That dream would have been blown away were I in Cumbria this week. I don’t know what tomorrow holds so I leave it in His hands.
Sadly, this madness can’t be curbed. Anyone frozen enough can tot a rifle, get on a train and pop at defenseless, innocent commuters.
We just pray God continues to look over us and thank Him for small mercies, like waking up and making it back home safely daily. Join me in grieving with the families of the dead…till we meet again.
$2m? I would ask for $5m!
If you look at the tortured close-up photos of Musa Saidykhan and not shudder or want those responsible brought to justice, you need to see your GP right away as there is nothing ticking behind your chest.
The poor guy’s back looked like an old map folded for along time and unfolded. To think such was inflicted on him by fellow countrymen kills that cliché we so fond of saying when we in denial. ‘This is unGambian!’
Well, what has been tagged unGambian has now Gambianed itself to perfection ever since a government minister was incinerated in his government-issued vehicle in some village called Njamburr, some fifteen years ago. To date, his killers haven’t been hauled before a court of law. Throw in Deyda’s murder and Ebrima Manneh’s disappearance and these ‘Gambian activities’ are now as Gambian as ‘kobo bu laka.’
Saidykhan, whose only problem was being a journalist, was arrested and tortured so severely he blacked out; he testified his bits were electrocuted to the point he has a problem with it today.
I may sound naïve but how can one look at one’s fellow man and carry out such an inhumane act? Do they have to be drugged out to do so or is it part of the ‘job description’?
Whatever the case, I hope the ECOWAS Court in Abuja flings the book at the Gambian government and make them cough up $4m for poor Saidykhan. The guy may never father another child again and he will forever be mentally scarred and traumatized by the gruesome ordeal he was taken through. Whilst they are on it, they might as well produce ‘Chief’ Manneh and, oh yeah, start an investigation into Deyda Hydara’s murder.
Jammeh and all his cronies should hang their head in shame.
When will they ever learn?
I read in The Metro of a guy who was jailed because his pit bull mauled his nephew to death. In as much as I mourn the loss of a young life, surely the family can’t tell me they didn’t see this one coming. They could do much worse than invest in a rattle snake and leave it to glide about. These are killer dogs, for Christ sake. On average, there are roughly ten or so stories a year that makes the news of a pit bull or rottweiler mauling some poor baby to death. What I noticed among them is this gory, unsettling sentence: ‘the dog shook the baby like a rag doll.’
But, no, people won’t learn. They try to pet these dogs and the outcome is almost always the same.
It is not the poor mutt’s fault. I mean, these are killer dogs and that’s what they do. You have to drop the lump between your ears to have one in your home along with your one year old kid and hope for the best. Invest in a Chihuahua, I say.
I’m not into pets as, in these hard times, what’s the point of feeding something forever and not get fed in return? I may live with two felines ( yes, I even shock myself there sleeping under the same roof as creatures I was kicking and stoning for fun) but the chances of me investing in pet food are as good as you going to sleep with your money and waking up with, say, Amadou Samba’s and Basiru Jawara’s money in your account.
Faecha len y!
Last weekend, I met this Nigerian man and, when he learnt I was Gambian despite my non-Gambian name, he had this to say.
‘Why do you Gambian men never dance at parties? You come in, stand by the wall and move not a muscle whilst your women do all the dancing.’
Of course, I had to defend my countrymen so I replied that we do this to size the place up before we move in but he argued that ‘you can’t be sizing the place up all evening, ah ah.’
I had no comeback for that and mumbled that we prefer to watch our women dance as they do it better, which he agrees, moving on to demonstrate. Picture a middle aged man with a tummy stretching his shirt in owl-eyed sized glasses and trying to open and close his legs and shake his rear end at the same time you get the picture.
The ‘oga’ wasn’t done yet. He said we are stingy as we don’t shower the musician with money like they do but just drop a £5 note (he said that!) and take our seats.
‘You should stand there and keep giving,’ he said. ‘Show your wealth.’
Well, I ain’t got any wealth myself to share like that but I can tell my Gambian brothers to gyrate at parties.
That, I’m sure, will cover up for the, er, ‘nai’ bit.
Gotta love it!
As I write this in London, we are experiencing the exact weather on any given Friday afternoon in Banjul. Women are loosely dressed, men are in wife beaters and some with no shirt on at all and those with time on their hands are sprawled out in the parks armed with sun lotion and bottles of water hoping to catch a tan and get browned up. People are suddenly friendlier, smiles are returned and I just got a wave back from a lady I wouldn’t have gotten if I had tried it in January.
Better still, this past Tuesday.
It rained all day and what was lip curling about it all, if you can lip curl about it, was it wasn’t even raining or drizzling. It was kind of in between but will still get you drenched but not fast enough.
Come the next day, it was sunny like the previous day never happened.
Hard to believe the clothes that got all soggy on the clothes line just yesterday are dry and good to go today.
The weather gods are having a good guffaw at the expense of the British.
Everyone use all kinds of four lettered words when describing the weather but I tend to disagree. It is not going to change anytime so we just gotta love it when it is gloomy and smile like we are paid to when the sun peeks out. Live by the weather forecast and it’s all good. Even then, it will flip on you like a bad joke. The first item I bought in the UK was a £3.99 jacket in Taunton, Somerset, as I had stepped out in a shirt when it was all sunny and then it changed, giving me a shivering, welcome-to-the-UK wake up call. British weather is like those irksome in-laws: you either love them or put up with them.
At last!
A lack of judges became an availability of one and my dad’s appeal got underway this past Thursday.
Reports say he look well and confident and was seen smiling in court. I’m more relieved about the well bit as he had contracted malaria some weeks ago. I can breathe again…
The appeal has been adjourned for the 17th June and I hope a judge will be available again.
Then again, knowing this judiciary, all I can do is have an open mind and pray…
For criticisms or suggestions, please email me at: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
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Comments
Here in Cumbria..we are all deadly shocked...I was coresponding with Chief Constable Craig Mackay just a couple of weeks ago on a personal matter.Whilst We here..in Quiet Cumbria...appreciate your concerns...May I just highly commend the whole of the Cumbria..task force..the police ..the air ambulance crews...and those tasked to give respite and support to the victims families....
a very difficult job ..done with intelligence and human compassion.
As you know my prayers are with you and your family...and your gentle father.
God Bless You young Femi...Mike Scales.
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