A Cry for Obilo.

[tribute to our fallen comrade, Obilo Kobilo].
 27th Nov. 2014.

They say men are traveling scholars;
Guests of the grave,
So we forever wait, for trying ages,
Mother Earth to us receive--
Once fully ripe perhaps...

Oh, lo tieko wa!
Owadwa, before we could sit,
To drink our sweat and blood under a shade,
From our hands,
From our world,
You sooner slipped--
Crossing the Great River yonder...
Why go before us, owadwa? Why?
Wuod lo, at crossroads you've left us,
Troubled.
Disturbed.
Your absence gnaws at our bones,
Giving us no peace...

I want to forget you, ruoth--
Perhaps to rest,
But our past times haunt me, every minute,
Times when all walls knew you by name,
And news-maniacs sighed-- satisfied,
Each time a pen you held;
And I, a toddler, crawled to touch your hem,
To bathe in the glory of your artistic genius.

Now many stories beg to be written.
Who is to write them?
It's Obilo, wuod lo to write them.
But you're gone, owadwa!
Who will edutain us,
Amidst storms of boredom and ignorance?
Who will write about us?
 At least for the world to know we exist.
Ruoth, who will see, hear and write for us?
We lack eyes, ears and the skill...

Tears overwhelm us,
But let no one wipe them.
Do not ask us to stop crying;
Do not console us,
NO!
Our eyes shall swell and redden,
Crying for Obilo,
Wuod lo,
Our beloved comrade.
Rest in Peace papa!

Translations (from dholuo):
*ruoth- chief.
*wuod lo- son of the soil.
*owadwa- brother.
*lo tieko wa- the soil is finishing us

(c)Wafula p'Khisa.
Thigh of an Elephant.