age of ignorance and innocence

The truth about a child's mind is that it can never be objective. Children don't rationalize much because well they don't know how to do it, that's a good thing because the judgment of an unbridled heart has no equal.

I remember when i was young  i had this fuzzy and romantic ideas about the white man, the white race, anything whit followed by person was glorified and edified my, partly because my grandfather did so to, he was a philosopher in his own right when inebriated and a reclusive person when sober, he had this crazy analogy of comparing the prowess of a white man with that of a lion and i don't even know whose philosophy that came from my dad to edified the what man though not in the colossal and magnanimous way that my grandpa used to, so in my formative years i had developed this awe-awe ideas about the white man, that was until i had an experience with a white one a lady to be exact.

That was an opportunity accorded to me by local town, a town blessed with altitude probably the highest town in Kenya on the slopes of the Aberdares, Kenya has a huge reserve in talent especially in middle and long distance athletics and this soldiers of athletics as we aptly referred to them when we were young always came still do come to train my home town. They always had scribes following them white journalists with expensive cameras and so, yester versions of Sarah Cabonero. So there was this white journalist we used to follow her every time we went to the stadium for the love of the light flashes that came of her cameras, one day she had enough, we all lined up for photo, and boom went the dynamite, we looked like celebrities we were been photographed. our boyish desires were getting over us we borrowed the camera we photographed her she was in an African Kanga she was saw pissed at us, the stadium came to a standstill, the soldiers of running stopped running they trouped towards us they lined as like common Al Qaeda operatives in Guantanmao, all this time the lady was hissing tirelessly in an incomprehensible European dialect. The price we had to pay metal spikes on balls for photographing  a white lady in an African Kanga.

this post is dedicated to anti-ethnocentrism and is to be continued.