What happened to working hard for what you want?
This was not to be an ordinary Saturday. I had three meetings scheduled for the day. The first was to be a conference organised by my church, second on my diary would be a ‘training on online marketing’ and the third would be a friend’s wedding committee.
Leaving CITAM Valley road at about noon, I proceeded to the training somewhere in the CBD. For a start I had my suspicions about this venture that promised those interested of an opportunity to earn thousands on a weekly basis. I knew there was something fishy about it. Walking into the room I couldn’t help but notice a TV mounted on an old cupboard in the corner of the hall on the fourth floor of the building. It was playing a video cassette of the late Myles Munroe’s teaching on “The Principles of an Eagle” (sic!).
Just by observing, I could notice those who had followed instructions issued earlier that all attendants must come with a pen and a notebook. Most of them were busy taking notes from the teaching. I wasn’t. Not because I didn’t have either of the two but because I had watched this sermon before. By being inside all of us had at least complied with the fundamental requirement of parting with Ksh.200 meant to be the seminar fee.
The training session began a bit late than they had earlier communicated but before that a lady in a blue top and a black trouser had already issued the house rules. To usher in the first speaker, she requested us to clap numerically until he gets to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, please let us clap for this might man in this field. One! Two! Three… Karibu sana Mr…” I felt like a zombie while clapping. It was as though all my reasoning had been robbed off me.
As the ‘mighty man’ spoke through the microphone I decided to look around the room. Seated at the front of the room were those who were attending the training for the first time. I was among this lot. Behind us were those who had invited us. I couldn’t spot the one who had invited me. I felt as though I had been sold.
This venture, as he politely spoke was a revolutionary idea meant to solve the problem of unemployment in Kenya and Africa. He had to look the part you know. A successful business man and as such he was clad in a navy blue suit with a red lapel flower. The room was dark and the lights were switched on only when he wanted to highlight something of significance on the white board. His power point presentation looked like something worked out in a hurry and in a dungeon.
After him came along a man with a funny name and a suit to match the name whom we welcomed with the same cultic clap. He was the ‘master of money making’
It was while in this training that I realised the damage reading had done to me. Just the idea that I could see past the lie that was being preached stressed me out. The person seated next to me only worsened my predicament with his stinking breathe. He suffocated me every time he looked my way to voice his amazement at this ‘revolutionary venture’.
I wondered if I was the only person with the ability to question what was being screwed ruthlessly in our heads. Nothing of what the man with a funny name added up yet no one seemed bothered. It was as though the darkness in the room was symbolic. It was depressing as a matter of fact being in this place.
With the same cultic clap, the man with a funny name invited us to clap for the success stories of the venture as he welcomed them on stage share their stories. This was the last nail on the coffin. Each of the people invited to share their stories spoke as though they read from the same script. As though they had been indoctrinated to speaking in the same manner. I wondered why no one seemed bothered that this play had turned us into the joke. I could see past the mask they wore. All was too perfect to be true. The Muslims were trained with a Muslim lady and they also had a platform for empowering ladies who would experience difficulties after joining the scheme.
After his presentation the curtains of the room were opened. The light from the windows momentarily blinded my eyes. It was as though a transfiguration had happened and I got to see hopelessness personified. So many young men and women who were greedy and stupid enough not to see past the facade voluntarily enrolled.
So many questions bombed my mind as I furiously walked out of the room. Greed had consumed reason and the by product was gullibility. In a way I felt as though I had wasted my time and money in this ‘training’ but thinking about it later I realised and thanked God that I had learnt something very profound and also got to see the faces of hopelessness. I came to realise that it is the high time we as a society reevaluated our morals and teach the young that short cuts lead no where. We need to mentor them into appreciating their hard earned money rather than being fleeced by schemes that promise to make them rich twenty somethings. Our young people need to be taught from an earlier age the value of thinking twice and questioning everything. They should be taught the value of reading good books. Reading is an antidote to ignorance and subsequently hopelessness. The fatality and the tragedy at the same time is that all our moral compasses as a society have been lost. We can no longer figure out, as Chinua Achebe said, where the rain started beating us. The youth have no models to emulate since those that have been and are being celebrated in our society are goons and ratchets. The moral figures have been assassinated, lynched, mauled and buried into forgetfulness. This is deeply hurting our society and though we do not see it now I deeply regret the future we have created. If there’s something to be done it must be done now. In the mean time beware of the schemes that promise you easy cash; they will fleece you instead. Question everything and fight ignorance. Work hard for what you want, it will grant you the satisfaction and moral authority to be a voice of reason and respect among your peers and the younger generation both now and in the future.
Sam Dennis 