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Food for thought

Discussion in 'Jamii Intelligence' started by JS, Jan 25, 2012.

  1. JS

    JS JF-Expert Member

    #1
    Jan 25, 2012
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    Katika pitapita yangu mtandaoni nikakutana na kipisi hichi....ambacho kweli ukikisoma kina ukweli mwingi ndani yake na si Zambia peke yake bali Afrika nzima Tanzania ikiwemo. Nikaona nikelete hapa jamvini wadau mjisomee na kutafakari kilichomo na mustakabali wa nchi yetu.


    You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum! - Written by Field Ruwe




    [​IMG]

    They call the Third World the lazy man's purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture. In this realm people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent-totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavoured, and impoverished. In this demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions, and innovations. Africa is the trailblazer. Some still call it "the dark continent" for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train. And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day.

    "It's amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die," the man next to me said. "Get up and do something about it."
    Brawny, fully bald-headed, with intense, steely eyes, he was as cold as they come. When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year's Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden. I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist.
    "My name is Walter," he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat.
    I told him mine with a precautious smile.
    "Where are you from?" he asked.
    "Zambia."
    "Zambia!" he exclaimed, "Kaunda's country."
    "Yes," I said, "Now Sata's."
    "But of course," he responded. "You just elected King Cobra as your president."
    My face lit up at the mention of Sata's moniker. Walter smiled, and in those cold eyes I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows who shuttle between Africa and the U.S.
    "I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s," he continued. "I wined and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and many other highly intelligent Zambians." He lowered his voice. "I was part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off." He smirked. "Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty called Kalingalinga. From my patio I saw it all-the rich and the poor, the ailing, the dead, and the healthy."
    "Are you still with the IMF?" I asked.
    "I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions. In the next few months my colleagues and I will be in Lusaka to hypnotize the cobra. I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars. We'll be in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a check twenty times greater."
    "No, you won't," I said. "King Cobra is incorruptible. He is …"
    He was laughing. "Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who has not fallen for the carrot and stick."
    Quett Masire's name popped up.
    "Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and the World Bank. It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do."
    At midnight we were airborne. The captain wished us a happy 2012 and urged us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles.
    "Isn't that beautiful," Walter said looking down.
    From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably.
    "That's white man's country," he said. "We came here on Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful nation on earth. We discovered the bulb, and built this aircraft to fly us to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia."
    I grinned. "There is no Lake Zambia."
    He curled his lips into a smug smile. "That's what we call your country. You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake. We come in with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave morsels-crumbs. That's your staple food, crumbs. That corn-meal you eat, that's crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta is crumbs. We the Bwanas (whites) take the cat fish. I am the Bwana and you are the Muntu. I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs. That's what lazy people get-Zambians, Africans, the entire Third World."
    The smile vanished from my face.
    "I see you are getting pissed off," Walter said and lowered his voice. "You are thinking this Bwana is a racist. That's how most Zambians respond when I tell them the truth. They go ballistic. Okay. Let's for a moment put our skin pigmentations, this black and white crap, aside. Tell me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me?"
    "There's no difference."
    "Absolutely none," he exclaimed. "Scientists in the Human Genome Project have proved that. It took them thirteen years to determine the complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits. After they
    were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the same in you and me. We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and black people on this aircraft are the same."
    I gladly nodded.
    "And yet I feel superior," he smiled fatalistically. "Every white person on this plane feels superior to a black person. The white guy who picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you no matter his status or education. I can pick up a nincompoop from the New York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he's a riffraff. Tell me why my angry friend."
    For a moment I was wordless.
    "Please don't blame it on slavery like the African Americans do, or colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization. And don't give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer."
    I was thinking.
    He continued. "Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take offense."
    I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst.
    "You my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy," he said. "When you rest your head on the pillow you don't dream big. You and other so-called African intellectuals are damn lazy, each one of you. It is you, and not those poor starving people, who is the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state."
    "That's not a nice thing to say," I protested.
    He was implacable. "Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy. Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street selling merchandise. I saw them in villages toiling away. I saw women on Kafue Road crushing stones for sell and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian intellectuals? Are the Zambian engineers so imperceptive they cannot invent a simple stone crusher, or a simple water filter to purify well water for those poor villagers? Are you telling me that after thirty-seven years of independence your university school of engineering has not produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for mass use? What is the school there for?"
    I held my breath.
    "Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars quaffing. They were at the Lusaka Golf Club, Lusaka Central Club, Lusaka Playhouse, and Lusaka Flying Club. I saw with my own eyes a bunch of alcoholic graduates. Zambian intellectuals work from eight to five and spend the evening drinking. We don't. We reserve the evening for brainstorming."
    He looked me in the eye.
    "And you flying to Boston and all of you Zambians in the Diaspora are just as lazy and apathetic to your country. You don't care about your country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters are in Mtendere, Chawama, and in villages, all of them living in squalor. Many have died or are dying of neglect by you. They are dying of AIDS because you cannot come up with your own cure. You are here calling yourselves graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your credentials once asked-oh, I have a PhD in this and that-PhD my foot!"
    I was deflated.
    "Wake up you all!" he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby passengers. "You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes, and diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your own factories. All those research findings and dissertation papers you compile should be your country's treasure. Why do you think the Asians are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them."
    He paused. "The Bwana has spoken," he said and grinned. "As long as you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend shall remain inferior, how about that? The Chinese, Japanese, Indians, even Latinos are a notch better. You Africans are at the bottom of the totem pole."
    He tempered his voice. "Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident. Become innovative and make your own stuff for god's sake."
    At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston's Logan International Airport. Walter reached for my hand.
    "I know I was too strong, but I don't give it a damn. I have been to Zambia and have seen too much poverty." He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something. "Here, read this. It was written by a friend."
    He had written only the title: "Lords of Poverty."
    Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling. I watched Walter walk through the airport doors to a waiting car. He had left a huge dust devil twirling in my mind, stirring up sad memories of home. I could see Zambia's literati-the cognoscente, intelligentsia, academics, highbrows, and scholars in the places he had mentioned guzzling and talking irrelevancies. I remembered some who have since passed-how they got the highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest education on the planet. They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a single invention or discovery. I knew some by name and drunk with them at the Lusaka Playhouse and Central Sports.
    Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to nurture creativity and collective orientations. We as a nation lack a workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on a government pay cheque. We believe that development is generated 8-to-5 behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall. Such a working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.
    But the intelligentsia is not solely, or even mainly, to blame. The larger failure is due to political circumstances over which they have had little control. The past governments failed to create an environment of possibility that fosters camaraderie, rewards innovative ideas and encourages resilience. KK, Chiluba, Mwanawasa, and Banda embraced orthodox ideas and therefore failed to offer many opportunities for drawing outside the line.
    I believe King Cobra's reset has been cast in the same faculties as those of his predecessors. If today I told him that we can build our own car, he would throw me out.
    "Naupena? Fuma apa." (Are you mad? Get out of here)
    Knowing well that King Cobra will not embody innovation at Walter's level let's begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader who can succeed him after a term or two. That way we can make our own stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades, and harvesters. Let's dream big and make tractors, cars, and planes, or, like Walter said, forever remain inferior.
    A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one in YOU. Don't be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. Take a moment and think about our country. Our journey from 1964 has been marked by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience. Each one of us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease. The number of graves is catching up with the population. It's time to change our political culture. It's time for Zambian intellectuals to cultivate an active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever. Don't be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the remaining few of your beloved ones.

    Field Ruwe is a US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an M.A. in History.
     
  2. m

    moshingi JF-Expert Member

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    Jan 25, 2012
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    I hate people who treats blacks African as underdogs to whites.
    We did have our technologies before their invasions,
    We did have our philosophers before their invasions,
    We did have our religions before their invasions,
    We did have our kingdoms(States) before their invasion,

    What they just did, were underdeveloped the continent, looted our physical wealth and intellectual properties
    making us to think that, they are better than we are(we were)
    They gave opportunity to those (our brother & sisters) who conceded their way of life,
    those who accepted to be inferior to them...abandoned our culture, allowed them to
    our wealth...
    Unfortunately these brothers and sisters of ours' are who we called "Elites".
    We thought they knows much while in fact they are traitors, now they are being used
    to insults us.
    "SHAME OF THEM...!!!"
     
  3. Roulette

    Roulette JF-Expert Member

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    Jan 25, 2012
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    Chukua hatua.
     
  4. Lizzy

    Lizzy JF-Expert Member

    #4
    Jan 26, 2012
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    Ukweli unaouma!!

    Tunaonekana na kuchukuliwa vile ambavyo tuko, ikifika siku na sisi tukajituma,tukajishughulisha na kutumia akili zetu kujiendeleza na kuwa wabunifu to the maximum tutaheshimiwa bila hata kutaka.
     
  5. M

    Meander Member

    #5
    Jan 26, 2012
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    Thanks JS for sharing this article.

    Honestly I am not offended by Mr. Walter' s hard talk. It is a wake up call indeed to me and to the majority of africans especially those in south of the Sahara.

    Should somebody discuss more about african underdevelopment? Yes we use out of the continent imported cars, but what about imported shoes, sandals, pants, razorblades, pins, stationery, furniture, fertilizer, LPG gas, toothpicks, toys,towels, socks, handkerchiefs, medicine,beers, juices........the list is endless!
     
  6. Straddler

    Straddler JF-Expert Member

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    A Freemasonic rambling.... Shame on Field Ruwe for being so naive. Ditn't he realize that he was seating next to one of the most active Freemasons?
     
  7. mayenga

    mayenga JF-Expert Member

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    Declare the source plz!
     
  8. Michelle

    Michelle JF-Expert Member

    #8
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    The larger failure is due to political circumstances over which they have had little control. The past governments failed to create an environment of possibility that fosters camaraderie, rewards innovative ideas and encourages resilience.

    "Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident. Become innovative and make your own stuff for god's sake."


    Ukweli tupu huu.....tunasaidiwa kuwaza,kutengeneza sera,regulations na hata institutions na IMF na World Bank...siku zote wanatengeneza kitu chenye maslahi kwao kuliko kwetu sisi Waafrika....Tuamke na kupambana na aina hii ya ukoloni!
     
  9. M

    Miranda Member

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    Jan 26, 2012
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    Ukweli ni Kuwa wa-Africa wengi wasoma kufaulu mtihani na si kupata ujuzi....mpaka stick za meno zatoka Taiwan. Hii maneno inauma, ukweli halisi Ku-mfupa
     
  10. Nkwesa Makambo

    Nkwesa Makambo JF-Expert Member

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    Jan 30, 2012
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    Are you OK ? why blame the past while laziness is our motto ? kiswahili tunaona ni lugha ya kishamba,bado tulaumu wakoloni,mikataba fake kwa rushwa ya ma GX 100 tukiacha mali ya mamilioni ya dollar ikiibiwa,bado tulaumu ukoloni,uongozi unaotegemea maendeleo kwa misaada ya wazungu badala ya kujenga miundombinu na molali kwa wanachi kuwa wabunifu na kujitegemea,bado tulaumu wakoloni,uongozi mbovu wa nchi usiojali wala kuwa na huruma na rasilimali za nchi na wanachi wake,bado tulaumu wakoloni,kutumia sheria za kikoloni kufifisha uwezo wa wananchi kuwa wabunifu,bado tulaumu wakoloni,kukosa viapumbele wa malengo na maono ya TAIFA,bado tulaumu wakoloni ? Sikubali asilani,ujinga wetu,uzembe wetu ndiyo tunu yetu na ndiyo stahili kwa mateso haya tupitiayo kama taifa.
     
  11. i

    ibange JF-Expert Member

    #11
    Feb 10, 2012
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    Hii article nimeipata kutoka kwa rafiki yangu, naomba uisome kwa makini na tuijadili kwa makini. Ni hoja ya kisiasa zaidi naomba Mod usiihamishe
    >
    > Here it is:
    >
    > They call the Third World the lazy man’s purview; the sluggishly
    > slothful and languorous prefecture. In this realm people are sleepy,
    > dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent—totally penniless,
    > needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored, and impoverished. In this
    > demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions,
    > and innovations. Africa is the trailblazer. Some still call it “the dark
    > continent” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of
    > hope, but an approaching train. And because countless keep waiting in the
    > way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the
    > day.
    > “It’s amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the
    > man next to me said. “Get up and do something about it.”
    > Brawny, fully bald-headed, with intense, steely eyes, he was as cold as
    > they come. When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s
    > Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I
    > was angst-ridden. I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic
    > skin-heads, most of who are racist.
    > “My name is Walter,” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my
    > seat.
    > I told him mine with a precautious smile.
    > “Where are you from?” he asked.
    > “Zambia.”
    > “Zambia!” he exclaimed, “Kaunda’s country.”
    > “Yes,” I said, “Now Sata’s.”
    > “But of course,” he responded. “You just elected King Cobra as your
    > president.”
    > My face lit up at the mention of Sata’s moniker. Walter smiled, and in
    > those cold eyes I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows
    > who shuttle between Africa and the U.S.
    > “I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s,” he continued. “I wined
    > and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and
    > many other highly intelligent Zambians.” He lowered his voice. “I was
    > part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off.” He smirked.
    > “Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty
    > called Kalingalinga. From my patio I saw it all—the rich and the poor,
    > the ailing, the dead, and the healthy.”
    > “Are you still with the IMF?” I asked.
    > “I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions. In the
    > next few months my colleagues and I will be in Lusaka to hypnotize the
    > cobra. I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your
    > government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars. We’ll be
    > in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a
    > check twenty times greater.”
    > “No, you won’t,” I said. “King Cobra is incorruptible. He is
    > …”
    > He was laughing. “Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who
    > has not fallen for the carrot and stick.”
    > Quett Masire’s name popped up.
    > “Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and
    > the World Bank. It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do.”
    > At midnight we were airborne. The captain wished us a happy 2012 and urged
    > us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles.
    > “Isn’t that beautiful,” Walter said looking down.
    > From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably.
    > “That’s white man’s country,” he said. “We came here on
    > Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful
    > nation on earth. We discovered the bulb, and built this aircraft to fly us
    > to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia.”
    > I grinned. “There is no Lake Zambia.”
    > He curled his lips into a smug smile. “That’s what we call your
    > country. You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake. We come in
    > with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave
    > morsels—crumbs. That’s your staple food, crumbs. That corn-meal you
    > eat, that’s crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta is crumbs.
    > We the Bwanas (whites) take the cat fish. I am the Bwana and you are the
    > Muntu. I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs. That’s
    > what lazy people get—Zambians, Africans, the entire Third World.”
    > The smile vanished from my face.
    > “I see you are getting pissed off,” Walter said and lowered his voice.
    > “You are thinking this Bwana is a racist. That’s how most Zambians
    > respond when I tell them the truth. They go ballistic. Okay. Let’s for a
    > moment put our skin pigmentations, this black and white crap, aside. Tell
    > me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me?”
    > “There’s no difference.”
    > “Absolutely none,” he exclaimed. “Scientists in the Human Genome
    > Project have proved that. It took them thirteen years to determine the
    > complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits. After they
    > were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the
    > same in you and me. We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and
    > black people on this aircraft are the same.”
    > I gladly nodded.
    > “And yet I feel superior,” he smiled fatalistically. “Every white
    > person on this plane feels superior to a black person. The white guy who
    > picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you
    > no matter his status or education. I can pick up a nincompoop from the New
    > York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding
    > around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he’s a riffraff. Tell me
    > why my angry friend.”
    > For a moment I was wordless.
    > “Please don’t blame it on slavery like the African Americans do, or
    > colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization.
    > And don’t give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer.”
    > I was thinking.
    > He continued. “Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take
    > offense.”
    > I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst.
    > “You my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy,” he said.
    > “When you rest your head on the pillow you don’t dream big. You and
    > other so-called African intellectuals are damn lazy, each one of you. It
    > is you, and not those poor starving people, who is the reason Africa is in
    > such a deplorable state.”
    > “That’s not a nice thing to say,” I protested.
    > He was implacable. “Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy.
    > Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I
    > saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street selling merchandise. I
    > saw them in villages toiling away. I saw women on Kafue Road crushing
    > stones for sell and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian
    > intellectuals? Are the Zambian engineers so imperceptive they cannot
    > invent a simple stone crusher, or a simple water filter to purify well
    > water for those poor villagers? Are you telling me that after thirty-seven
    > years of independence your university school of engineering has not
    > produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for
    > mass use? What is the school there for?”
    > I held my breath.
    > “Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars
    > quaffing. They were at the Lusaka Golf Club, Lusaka Central Club, Lusaka
    > Playhouse, and Lusaka Flying Club. I saw with my own eyes a bunch of
    > alcoholic graduates. Zambian intellectuals work from eight to five and
    > spend the evening drinking. We don’t. We reserve the evening for
    > brainstorming.”
    > He looked me in the eye.
    > “And you flying to Boston and all of you Zambians in the Diaspora are
    > just as lazy and apathetic to your country. You don’t care about your
    > country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters are in
    > Mtendere, Chawama, and in villages, all of them living in squalor. Many
    > have died or are dying of neglect by you. They are dying of AIDS because
    > you cannot come up with your own cure. You are here calling yourselves
    > graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your
    > credentials once asked—oh, I have a PhD in this and that—PhD my
    > foot!”
    > I was deflated.
    > “Wake up you all!” he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby
    > passengers. “You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes, and
    > diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your
    > own factories. All those research findings and dissertation papers you
    > compile should be your country’s treasure. Why do you think the Asians
    > are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into
    > their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them.”
    > He paused. “The Bwana has spoken,” he said and grinned. “As long as
    > you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend
    > shall remain inferior, how about that? The Chinese, Japanese, Indians,
    > even Latinos are a notch better. You Africans are at the bottom of the
    > totem pole.”
    > He tempered his voice. “Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to
    > feel confident. Become innovative and make your own stuff for god’s
    > sake.”
    > At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston’s Logan International
    > Airport. Walter reached for my hand.
    > “I know I was too strong, but I don’t give it a damn. I have been to
    > Zambia and have seen too much poverty.” He pulled out a piece of paper
    > and scribbled something. “Here, read this. It was written by a
    > friend.”
    > He had written only the title: “Lords of Poverty.”
    > Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling. I watched Walter walk through the
    > airport doors to a waiting car. He had left a huge dust devil twirling in
    > my mind, stirring up sad memories of home. I could see Zambia’s
    > literati—the cognoscente, intelligentsia, academics, highbrows, and
    > scholars in the places he had mentioned guzzling and talking
    > irrelevancies. I remembered some who have since passed—how they got the
    > highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest
    > education on the planet. They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale,
    > Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a
    > single invention or discovery. I knew some by name and drunk with them at
    > the Lusaka Playhouse and Central Sports.
    > Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to
    > nurture creativity and collective orientations. We as a nation lack a
    > workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on
    > a government pay cheque. We believe that development is generated 8-to-5
    > behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall. Such a
    > working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the
    > excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.
    > But the intelligentsia is not solely, or even mainly, to blame. The larger
    > failure is due to political circumstances over which they have had little
    > control. The past governments failed to create an environment of
    > possibility that fosters camaraderie, rewards innovative ideas and
    > encourages resilience. KK, Chiluba, Mwanawasa, and Banda embraced orthodox
    > ideas and therefore failed to offer many opportunities for drawing outside
    > the line.
    > I believe King Cobra’s reset has been cast in the same faculties as
    > those of his predecessors. If today I told him that we can build our own
    > car, he would throw me out.
    > “Naupena? Fuma apa.” (Are you mad? Get out of here)
    > Knowing well that King Cobra will not embody innovation at Walter’s
    > level let’s begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader
    > who can succeed him after a term or two. That way we can make our own
    > stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades, and harvesters.
    > Let’s dream big and make tractors, cars, and planes, or, like Walter
    > said, forever remain inferior.
    > A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially
    > non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold
    > risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one
    > in YOU. Don’t be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. Take a
    > moment and think about our country. Our journey from 1964 has been marked
    > by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience. Each one of
    > us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease. The number of
    > graves is catching up with the population. It’s time to change our
    > political culture. It’s time for Zambian intellectuals to cultivate an
    > active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever.
    > Don’t be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the
    > remaining few of your beloved ones.
    > Field Ruwe is a US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a
    > PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an
    > M.A. in History.
     
  12. i

    ibange JF-Expert Member

    #12
    Feb 10, 2012
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    No comment? Nafikiri hasa tuangalie nafasi ya wanasiasa na wasomi katika kuisogeza Afrika na Tz mbele kama ilivyoelezwa katika article hiyo
     
  13. S

    STRONG GIRL Member

    #13
    Feb 10, 2012
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    Kama ungeibadilisha kwa kiswahili ungepata wachangiaji zaidi, ni ushauli tu
     
  14. i

    ibange JF-Expert Member

    #14
    Feb 10, 2012
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    Watu wanaweza kuchangia kwa kiswahili sio tatizo
     
  15. m

    moshingi JF-Expert Member

    #15
    Feb 10, 2012
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    I hate those people who treats Africans as not perfect human being...
    But unfortunately our own brothers and sisters are acting as vehicle towards
    insulting the continent...(the above essay is a good example!).
    We should all know on how Europe(and even America) underdeveloped Africa...
    colonized the continent...looting its resources...selling ammunition an soliciting for internal wars...
    aligning by the corrupt leaders(who turned to be their puppets) to loot the continent(a good
    example is what happening in Congo-Kinshasa
    ... and Symbion power/Richmond/Downs saga in Tz)...hindering
    its efforts on technological development by importing outdated technology, buying the continent's products
    in lowest price but selling to it in high price..
    Shame on them!!!!
     
  16. MTAZAMO

    MTAZAMO JF-Expert Member

    #16
    Feb 10, 2012
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    natamani ipate tafsiri ya kiswahili alafu iwekwe gazetini!
     
  17. MD25

    MD25 JF-Expert Member

    #17
    Feb 10, 2012
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    Thread kama hii ipo kwenye jukwaa la hoja na habari mchanganyiko kati ya page ya 8-12, utaikuta, ina heading ya 'Kama ni mzalendo, na una moyo mwepesi, usisome hapa'.
    By the way, article ni nzuri!
     
  18. masopakyindi

    masopakyindi JF-Expert Member

    #18
    Feb 10, 2012
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    That's why I loved Nyerere,nobody would talk down to me and yet smile about it.
    It all depends if at all one feels inferior and accepts it.
    Reminds me about 4 years ago in Zuritch ,Switzerland.
    A policeman could not pronounce my name on the passport and he complained audibly"Oh that's difficult to pronounce" he said
    I answered back that he had to go to schoolf to pronounce it, of which his face became red!
    Noting the red face I knew I had hit a bingo, then I told him"your handwriting is goood though" on giving me back my passport.
    "I have also been to school you know " the policeman shot back.
    Adage:mtu akikuzararu, awe wa blue, mweupe, kijani au mhindi, mzarau mara mbili zaidi, for good measure.
    Ukijidharau it is at your own peril.
     
  19. i

    ibange JF-Expert Member

    #19
    Feb 10, 2012
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    But we should admit that there are some scintilla of truth in the article. Think of Tanzania, we got our independence about fifty years ago, why we are not developing? Why on earth our politicians and inellectuals are not doing enough?

    Kuna hotuba ya Nyerere ya miaka ya sabini niliisikiliza anazungumzia alienda Korea, wakati huo walijaribu kutengeneza tractor ila likawa badala ya kwenda mbele likawa linarudi nyuma, taratibu sasa wako mbali sana. Mwalimu akasema nyie wasomi wa Tz tengenezeni hata angalao tractor linalorudi nyuma basi. Ni ukweli, hatupigi hatua, hata vile viwanda vichache tumefunga tunaagiza bidhaa. Kama mzungu akitudharau ni kwa uzembe wetu ila siku tukijitahidi tukawa kama wachina watatuheshimu tu. Ni jukumu letu kuchagua viongozi watakaotupeleka huko, wenye mawazo bora zaidi.

    Wewe unadhani tutaheshimika vipi wakati viongozi wetu hawaamini kama wanaweza kujitegemea kila mara wapo kwenye ndege wanaenda kuomba?
     
  20. B

    Bwanamdogo Member

    #20
    Feb 10, 2012
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    Mimi nakubaliana na jamaa kuhusu uvivu au uzembe wa wasomi na watalaam wetu pamoja na wanasiasa. Ukiangalia kwa sasa Tz tumebakiza wataalam wetu kukimbilia kwenye siasa kisa ndo kuna mishahara minono na marupurupu kibao sidhani kama nchi za wenzetu kama wanasiasa ndo wanalipwa zaidi kuliko watu wanaozalisha. Nadhani ni wakati muafaka kama tunataka kupiga hatua tufanye mabadiliko ili watu waweze kufurahia kufanya shughuli za uzalishaji badala ya siasa. Ukiangalia tuna mainjinia kibao na watalam wengine wa sekta mbalimbali ambao wangeweza kuleta mabadiliko makubwa kwenye maendeleo.
     
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