Finding Meaning

 …to be disposable means we can never be casual about our ongoing vulnerability

–          Keguro Macharia

This word disposable has refused to leave me. In a washroom at a mall a man blows his nose with a paper towel and throws it in the bin. My mind tells me that disposability is exactly like that. Bodies that can be used for whatever purpose and then tossed without any further thought.

5 suspected gangsters were shot dead.

Law Calvin and HobbesTo be suspected of a crime is worse than to actually commit the crime. To be suspected of a petty crime condemns one to death. It is your duty, as a citizen, not to act in a matter that is suspect. I begin to think about what the penal code that is actually followed looks like:

(Sec 16) Theft – the taking, without consent, goods or monies from an individual of up to 100 million shillings.

(Sec 76) Impunity – wrong. Punishable by death, or jail for life. Everybody in government has impunity*

*exceptions will be made for everybody in government

(Sec 53) Rape – wrong. Punishable by death an afternoon spent cutting grass. The evidence necessary in such cases will not fall short of a million signatures globally.*

*even that is subject to scrutiny by the courts.

(Sec 39) Extra Judicial Killings – (repealed by CS Ole Lenku Sept 14 2013 )

Pop  quiz:

When your struggle against oppression is oppressive what do you do?

Even when people are fighting against the government I have problems agreeing with them. I think of the cleaners who have to clean the streets after some of the public protests. The cleaners who, very much, are the people who protest claim to speak for. I wonder who they prefer. The politician, who gives them handouts, or the protestor who wastes valuable resources (e.g tissue paper).

What are we doing?

I’m still looking at the paper towel in the bin. I want to ask it what it feels like to be disposable. I want to ask it how one goes on after being discarded. I want to know how it sits through the hours of waiting in the dispenser. I will it to answer my questions. As if, somewhere in that overfilled dustbin lies the meaning of life. Is it living, or waiting to die?

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