The ‘Otonglo’ boy from Highee follows in others’ footsteps, telling our story

By PETER KIMANI

Daniel Owira, the new kid on the block, has brought many memories flooding back in, the most immediate being my school days at Nairobi’s Highway Secondary many, many moons ago.

Now they call it Highee; during our time it was Highie. From these linguistic truncations, one can tell the analogue from the digital by deducing the musicality in both coinages – and decide which one computer is generated.

Talking of music, John Obong’o, the veteran KBC broadcaster famous for the evergreen Sundowner programme, is yet another Highway old boy.

When I asked him when he graduated, John chuckled, lifting his lean shoulders, shaking his head as he did so. It was so long ago, he said, he couldn’t even remember.

I must have been flustered to hear that, wondering what happens to men as they age, but now I can’t remember my own year of graduation from Highie.

Next to KBC, and also involved in the creative arts, is another Highway old boy. His name is Aghan Odero, the director of the Kenya Cultural Centre that runs the Kenya National Theatre. He is also a very fine storyteller.

I have no idea which year he left Highway, but it was certainly after John Obong’o and definitely before me. If you detect a shift in my tenor, it is because I know something for sure about Otonglo, which means ten cents in Luo.  A composition evoking the same title, Baba Otonglo was released in 1984 by John Owino. It was a hypnotic benga beat accompanied by a sonorous allegorical narrative explaining why bajeti ya nyumba (house budget) was in a permanent state of disarray.

The man of the house, Owino sang, could not get things right for the simple reason he did not bear the requisite skills to manage the budget.

The authorities got alarmed, fearing that then Baba of the nation, the man from Sacho, would mistake the song for belittling him, so the records on the market were confiscated. The production and sale of Baba Otonglo went underground – until its recent resurrection by the boy from Highee.

The narrative from Highee’s boy bears striking similarities to that of the original Otonglo: they both address social-economic upheavals that the denizens face when economy is mismanaged by those at the helm.

Watching the performance from the boy from Highee, Prezzo UK found the narrative riveting, and remained on the edge of his seat, quite literally, throughout the show.

The First Lady Madge did not particularly find the show funny, perhaps she does not understand thisOtonglo business, but she took cue from Prezzo and chuckled at calculated intervals.

It is this chain reaction, no doubt, that has led many others to lend a hand to the boy from Highee. In one swift stroke, his fees arrears at Highee have been cleared by well-wishers. Prezzo invited him to the State House and offered him education through to university.

I’m curious about the primary school that produced the boy from Highee. It’s somewhere in Fuata Nyayo slums near South B. I’m even more curious about the boys and girls who are stuck there, waiting for their talents to be discovered.

But I’m hardly surprised Highee got the boy from Fuata Nyayo slums. They got many of us from different corners of the city, and country, and prepared us for a life of telling stories on different platforms.

For that, salute to Highway teachers, and the boys for keeping fire burning.

Atwoli ‘army’ is swift to  anger and swifter to act 

If you see my friend Bonnie Mwangi, tell him I send a message of solidarity and commiseration. Tell him I fully associate with his efforts to talk down Cotu boss Francis Atwoli.

When I saw the pictures of Bonnie being carried juu juu (airborne) by men in dark suits, I initially thought it was a team-building stunt, the sort where you test your trust in those below you to keep you out of harm’s way.

It’s only when I saw the expression on Bonnie’s face that I knew the men in suits were in a team-building exercise that did not include Bonnie. He was the exercise.

Five men were pictured taking him away from Uhuru Park, where Atwoli was delivering his May Day speech. Bonnie was protesting because Atwoli spoke out of the two sides of his mouth about MPs’ salaries.

Had Bonnie been taking pictures, which is what he does for a living, he would have noticed Atwoli drives a limo that changes colour like a chameleon in different terrains, which explains a lot of things about Atwoli.

When you see Bonnie, please tell him pole for me. I can only imagine how it feels after being tossed juu juu by men in dark suits, and whom Atwoli calls his jeshi (army).

I wonder if this jeshi thing was a manner of speech, or if Atwoli commands a private army unit. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

If you see Bonnie please tell him I send my greetings. I hope that he survived the jeshi stunt without breaking a bone.

Prezzo launched Konza City this week, and described the milestone as a “game-changer.” That’s what he called our military success in Somalia,

The Brits must stick to their  ‘essential contact’ mantra

The British High Commissioner Chris Turner called on Prezzo UK this week at the State House. I wonder if the visit was “essential,” considering Britain and other Europe powers promised to observe such protocol.

As the Brits must know, Prezzo UK is busy running the affairs of the State, like constituting a Cabinet and getting workers’ pay reviewed. He could do without less distraction at this crucial time.

As a matter of fact, Prezzo confessed to working overnight on certain occasions to beat deadlines. Moreover, there are neighbours who arrive unannounced; there is even that Otonglo boy I heard came calling this week.

Considering our next national day is only a month away, Turner & Co should be encouraged to deliver their salaams when Prezzo next goes to the stadium.

This should not be seen as discouraging social interactions like having friends for children’s birthdays. We are only holding the Brits to their own dictate of making only essential contact with the government.

That should be borne by word and deed. As we say back home, a wise man has many ways of getting the message.

The message they are sending right now is different from one they spelt out.