Only Africans Can Help Africa

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What is all this noise I hear about Ebola eventually wiping out half of Sub-Saharan Africans? Has bribery, corruption and negligence not already done that? The hypocrisy is just unbearable for me. I was born in Africa, I have seen the evil effects of corruption, in fact I have lived the consequence and I tell you that corruption and bribery has killed more people in Africa than Ebola and HIV combined. Only that Ebola takes, about 21 days whereas corrupting takes a longer time and often death counts are not documented.

The higher animals lie in Jacuzzis and drink champagne every morning. But they are trying to tell us not to eat bush meat, not to have sex and even to avoid getting close with friends. These are the only things left for the enjoyment of the rural masses. Now fear nothing my brothers and sisters. We shall soon find a cure for Ebola – I have already sensed it.

But what of our other brothers of the human family who are dying slowly in prisons, in mines, in war zones, in stuffy factories etc because of circumstances beyond their control. Is that also not about the same death? what about the little children who suffer malnutrition, mothers who die of childbirth complications and fathers who not only die this day but every other day out of penury. Why are we ignoring that? Corruption and bribery is as much an emergency as Ebola. The 3000 troops of the United States Africa Command to be sent to Liberia is not only good for controlling and possibly eliminating the Ebola virus but also good for treating corrupt politicians who more or less are like viruses.

Every minute, perhaps second, some greedy-son-of-a-bitch somewhere is pocketing funds meant for the development of rural communities. But alas! There is hope in reality, in as much as everything – good or bad – happens for a reason. An aid to African people can only penetrate through local self-help projects and recognized non-governmental organisations. A frontal assistance through central governments will fail utterly in reaching the masses.

Monies will always disappear into deep strange pockets and no one will be arrested, even in the face of documented evidence. I always wonder why International aid agencies are not trying other strategies to help solve African problems at the roots. Moreover, let a son or a daughter of a politician be infected with the Ebola virus and you will see how swift actions will be taken without any international assistance. Honestly speaking, all these prove that either we are not capable, or we are capable but lack the willpower of handling our own affairs.

The vast majority of people – ordinary citizens of most west African countries are only as good as cattle to their governments. The “cattle farmer” saves them from Ebola, Cholera, Malaria, HIV, whatever, only to reattach the yoke and resume his ride. Indeed, these people  need not only be freed completely from diseases but also bad policies and African vampire-politicians. Bottom line is that only Africans can truly help Africa.


Time And Chance

One is ill, does not mean he dieth soon.

One is strong and healthy does not mean he liveth long.


Life is but a mystery – evil men liveth long.

Whereas a good man dieth in his goodness.


Thou must not be good over much.

Give to the poor and needy only if thy heart is moved.


For to be good, is to be good for thy own joy.

Time and chance happens to us all.


“Thus Spake Zarathustra” By Nietzsche


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Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra kneeling beside him.

“What art thou doing there?” said he at last, “I knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he draggeth me to hell: wilt thou prevent him?”

“On mine honour, my friend,” answered Zarathustra, “there is nothing of all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any more!”

The man looked up distrustfully.

“If thou speakest the truth,” said he, “I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare.”

“Not at all,” said Zarathustra, “thou hast made danger thy calling; therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands.”

When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude. Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in gloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the ground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it became night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose Zarathustra and said to his heart:

“Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a man he hath caught, but a corpse. Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be fateful to it.

I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman, the lightning out of the dark cloud–man. But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their sense. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse. Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, thou cold and stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee with mine own hands.”

When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon his shoulders and set out on his way.