Tim Miner's Musings

As a gardener, one learns the hate for weeds faster than the love for their ugly fruits and vegetables. A farmer naturally dislikes weeds; they sap up all water and nutrients from the farm, scramble and choke ‘good’ plants. Worse still, they run down all his time and energy invested on the farm. The farmer knows the future of his venture is secure when his garden blossoms and brings forth fruit.   Like a ritual, he wakes  early everyday and walks round his farm to ‘ visit’ the fruits, whistling happy tunes and watch them grow into maturity. Everybody likes to see the yields of their labour double, dazzle. Fruits bring forth joy and some sense of security. Then harvesting beckons. The farmer summons up his farmhands and heads to the farm to glean his fruits and his vegetables. Fruits of all colours and tastes flood our markets. Vegetables drape the grocer’s shelves – camp green – the colour of life. The farmer is happy for the sales from his produce have been quite impressive. 

I know Nairobi traffic snarl-ups can be nerve-wracking to sit in. The blaring car horns deafening. The car fumes choking.  Walking through masses of people who seem to be in some unexplained hurry nauseating; whether in the sweltering tropical heat or whenever clouds laden with rain threatening to tear down. Looking up at the skyscrapers lining up the streets does not help you either, it’s dizzying. The raising dust in the streets hitting hard into your eyes. In between jostling for space with vehicular traffic on narrow roads (risking a limb) with gaping manholes flowing with not so clean water, O Pedestrian, you are looking for some escape. No sidewalk for you Pedestrian, no sidewalk. Blame it on the poor city road planners and builders. In all this madness, filth and noise where do you retreat to? So sometimes you take refuge under some tall buildings and wipe off the dust and sweat from your brow and to cool off. Then walk up the reception past the security guards of a great o

As a pastime, GOD from His place on high watches the earth spin on its moil And goes, Waiiit! What's that maen?! Taking off His binoculars. And sees coloured wavy paths and plumes of smoke spiralling from its Rickety chimney. Oops! WHO BORE THAT!? Surprised. Sometimes He has to look harder at the blackness of that plume of smoke and wonder what's burning. Come on Earthlings, I didn't ask for a holocaust if ever, He smirks. Sometimes, He has to shout down to man, STOP! STOP IT! STOP! Who hears, who listens? Who stops? Not that man doesn't hear but will he stop? Why the ozone layer's depleting, depleted. Conserve your home man, Recycle, reuse, reinvent.