Bozzaya is Kenya, Kenya is Bozzaya

I have been planning to write another little story about my friend Bozzaya and about how I thought he was a perfect metaphor of Kenya. Sure, it’s a little cheesy but it definitely gained some real relevance last week. I wrote about him earlier, he is a reggae artist I met in the Kangemi slums. He is an ‘Ambassador of Change’ trained by my organization NOPE. He is young, passionate, eager for change and willing to spend the time to make a difference. He truly relishes his role as an Ambassador and really believes that he can make a difference in the lives of those he speaks to. Speak with him for five minutes and you wonder how all of this talent and passion have gone to waste in the slums. He tells me that God has blessed him with a voice and that he plans to use it. His potential is truly endless. After his performance at the graduation last week, the chief was so moved by his words that he proclaimed Bozzaya to be the youth delegate of the community. He actually jumped up and down in happiness. The other side of Bozzaya is that he’s poor, rough looking and has had a really sketchy past full of death and drugs. He is ready for a change, to become something of himself in this world; he just needs a little help to get going and it’s slowly starting to happen. For him, like Kenya, a little foreign aid will do for now, but the power to change lies in his own actions. No amount of foreign help or money can make his life that much more different, but it’s a good start if done correctly. (picture: bozzaya performing for the community. Very good..... for a poser)

(bozzaya with a couple of kids... hey kids watch your pockets) I told Bozzaya that I would make copies of his CD for him so that he could sell them at performances and deliver them to radio stations or whatever he liked. He could whip them at cats for all I care, I am just not going to give him any money. He popped in at the office the other day rather un-expected, CD in hand. I told him that I could copy his CD once and then make more copies later that night and deliver them later on in the week. He went on and on about how grateful he was and how he needed my help to be taken seriously at radio stations and yada yada, typical Bozzaya conversation. He told me that he had won a music competition the night before and that the next time I was in Kangemi he would show me his rather large trophy. I returned his CD to him after making a copy and he told me what a good man he thought I was for helping him. From his neck he removed his bead necklace, made of the colours of Kenya, and told me that he wanted me to have it; a very thoughtful and somewhat appropriate gift. I said my goodbyes and wished him well promising him the rest of his CDs by that Friday. I went back to my office and learned 5 minutes later that the little shit took off with someone’s cell phone. That deceitful bastard! What a damn hypocrite and a petty thief.

That’s the end of his career as an Ambassador of Change, and the police are now after him. If caught he will go to jail and stay there until the chief decides he can leave. As I hear it he will be lucky to get out alive, lynching seems to be a popular mob tactic for instilling public deterrents around here. He will maybe get 800 shillings for the phone but will loose out on his meager 200 shilling per week salary for being an Ambassador. He won’t get his CDs, nor will he perform at any more of our events. It’s all up to him now; he won’t get any more help from us: the people willing to help him. The funny thing is that I still think, in some ways, my comparison of him to Kenya is still relevant, maybe even more so; ironic even. (picture is of Bozzaya and the chief..... watch your pockets chief. A little forshadowing i think)