Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Bringing sense to the airwaves



Bringing sense to the airwaves
T
he timing of the morning shows is itself ill. As far as I am concerned, morning should be dedicated to information. Read the newspaper, check the diary, going to work and building the nation.
BY MUSYOKA NGUI
            Listening to local FM stations in the morning can be embarrassing to the family today. One wonders why the presenters flout basic professional codes of conduct and ethics. Then again where is the enforcer of the journalistic ethics? Is it a toothless dog that only barks without biting?

On May 20 2014 the Media Council of Kenya (MCK) released a report detailing the conduct of FM stations tilted Free Speech or Cheap Talk? The report unearthed shocking revelations about our local radio broadcasters.

Among other findings which the respondents voiced complaints include blatant disregard of professional ethics, poor quality of moderation by show hosts, inappropriate topical discussions and generally uncontrolled interaction from callers.

54 per cent of the respondents admitted obscenity existed because of uncontrolled interaction of callers. 58 per cent said that the discussions were not constructive, developmental or serious enough to inform policy issues in the society. 55 per cent of the respondents contend that the shows were loaded with racial, religious and ethnic stereotypes and were disrespectful of sexual orientation, disability, physical appearance and social status.

40 per cent were not aware that they could lodge complaints with the MCK touching on professionalism and ethics. The MCK is yet to do enough civic education to sensitize Kenyans on its mandate.

Instructively, most commercial radio stations dwelled on controversial topics bordering on emotions, sensationalism and borrowed heavily from entertainment, lifestyle and relationships.

That the morning radio hosts condone obscenity to run in their programmes shows the level of rot in our social moral fabric. Our society is decomposing. We have justified cheating as cool and okay. We think the only insane person in the traffic jam is the one who is following the traffic rules. The morally upright youth are shunned for practicing sexual purity. The result? High levels of corruption and sexually transmitted diseases. A society without a conscience. We don’t feel guilty of our sins. We are evil.

The rates of divorce are on the rise because the casual cheating has crossed over to the bedroom. Family units are falling apart, effectively demolishing the base of the Kenyan society. And morning radio show hosts are to blame for a large part of this moral decadence.

We have become a nation of liars. We are fake. Our religious leaders have not helped much. They occasionally get caught pants down with the flock in very compromising positions. Remember the Embu case? Sure, none of us is holier than thou but we should have a standard. In our case, anything goes. That is our bane; mediocrity.

Constitutionally, no one should be discriminated but the morning shows are loaded with innuendoes of segmenting our society tribally, religiously and regionally. Is the media making us hate each other? Is it time we scrap the morning shows?

The timing of the morning shows is itself ill. As far as I am concerned, morning should be dedicated to information. Read the newspaper, check the diary, go to work and build the nation. Then after hours you can come home and have entertainment. Preferably, after 10pm the breakfast type conversation can be unleashed to couples who at such time need intimate atmosphere and light humor to wind down day’s stress and fatigue.

But tell me why on earth do the radio stations torment little children and their shy parents with sex talk as they go to school and work. How the hell are your previous night’s sexual escapades going to solve the traffic snarl ups the kids and parents get caught up in the morning?

Mark you 61 per cent of the respondents told MCK that the discussions influence listeners’ general perceptions and thinking. This shows the media is very powerful-especially the radio which has thus far the highest level of penetration in the society.  The radio broadcasters are abusing the power they wield.

The media should set agenda and inform discussions in the society by giving accurate and reliable researched based information. But when the callers and show hosts resort to trivial and non- issues we have missed the point. The media lacks sense.  Journalists of morning shows do not make sense of the events that surround their work.

No wonder 78 per cent of the respondents believed that the callers were paid to express sensational sentiments and whip up emotive debates. Again, 48 per cent of the respondents said that some comments on talk shows were unverified and false. This calls into question the credibility of the FM radio stations. The fact that a paltry 24 per cent appreciated the discussion on morning radio breakfast shows that the radio lacked sense and reliable information to advice public and private policy issues. On that score, the traditional role of the mass media to inform is dealt a death blow.

Despite hiring quacks who masquerade as comedians, the radio managers have not managed to tickle the funny bone of the listener. Only 31 per cent of the respondents liked the radio humor.  The unprofessional quacks not only degrade the quality of radio journalism but also insult majority of Kenyan professional journalists who enjoy respect in Africa and the world at large.

It is important that the practicing journalists read and understand the professional codes of conduct for journalism and endeavor to uphold high moral ground for the society. The Fourth Estate is the conscience of the society. The mass media are light and the remaining moral compass of the society.
The writer is a student of Bachelors of Arts Degree in Communication and Media at Chuka University and an attaché at Kenya News Agency Kitui Bureau. He blogs at musyokangui.blogspot.com
Email your thoughts to musyokangui02@gmail.com


Monday, June 2, 2014

At grandpa’s funeral, no politics please



At grandpa’s funeral, no politics please
P
icture this; some faceless retard mobilizes like minded opportunists to block the requiem mass from going on. They demanded they be given additional five goats or one bull.
BY MUSYOKA NGUI
“Hello, where are you?”
“I am at Kitui. On my way outa here…”
“Before you go, one more thing, do this…..”
Yes…..
“Go to the County Assembly and get the booklets from Kelvin. They are ready.”
“Ok.”

That is the phone conversation between me and dad moments before I left Kitui town for my grandpa’s burial. The burly security guards at the county headquarters were now used to my visiting and they asked if I wanted to see Kelvin. Here, they identify staffers by the cars they drive. Yule wa Subaru? I nodded in affirmative.

My cousin Kelvin was at hand to receive me but regretted that grandpa’s burial booklets were not ready. Understandably, they were sent late, explaining the delay. Anyway, he emailed one Ma3D at Mwingi to design them ASAP so that I pass by pick them for the event next day.

After an hour and half I was at Mwingi at the cybercafé that won the tender to design my grandfather’s Burial Programme and Eulogy (BPE). However, I had to endure hours of waiting since the designer said the photos were not copying, others not willing to be pasted, some got lost blahblah!

It was getting late. The four page document proved hard to prepare. The designer had to contend with my ultimatums.
D0n’t put grandpa’s photo that way. Remove that colour. Put more wreaths. And I am getting late.The designer retorted: Kwani Mazishi ni leo na wewe? Me: You just do your work. Si I’ve paid you. Mind you I know how to do it but I don’t wanna go through piecing together granddad’s life history. It’s painful.

From May 22nd when he passed away we were determined to give him a befitting send off. After all, he was the only surviving first grandfather left but now departed. And when Saturday May 31st arrived the atmosphere was somber. I joined my big clan to celebrate the 75 years grandpa had lived.

We checked everything. The food, the papers, the guests and the vehicles. Everything was ready. At 1120 am we hit the road. This was going to be the last journey of Musyoka. The entourage was huge.

There is something with death. The mystery surrounding it aside.  Uncle Nyayo said: Today you will see how the ground swallows human body. Death does not prepare us for the departure of a loved one. I remember January grandpa jokedly requested us to visit him “before I die”. His now blind wife told me that there are many forthcoming goodies. They wanted to sell their land as they had bought another elsewhere. The children were jostling for shares of the spoils. Soon after the land was sold, grandpa fell ill. He lost appetite. He grew weak and was admitted briefly.

Our visit never was. Somehow we shelved the plan for August. The big godfather hat we wanted to take grandfather is at home. It remains a next time.

The funeral did not attract wailing and ululations for various reasons. One, grandpa was the only remaining patriarch of his time who embraced monogamy at an age where polygamy was culturally cool. He had only one wife Rhoda Kasyoka. Together they had eight children, five sons and three daughters. They are survived by many grandchildren and great grandchildren. Barclays would say that is what it means to prosper.

His name will survive. Like Jay Z song Forever Young, his name shall be passed from and to generations. There was a host of glowing tributes dedicated to Musyoka. His wife was unafraid to tell God to receive him at a place he had prepared himself. I did not read hypocrisy of mweke mahali pema peponi. Granddad did good good enough not to require our intervention for God to receive him.

His name is a brand. He’s a label. That explains why various descendants have stuck to his full identify of Titus Musyoka. Even at a time when it is cool to have Facebook-like pseudo names for anonymity and crime purposes, granddad’s has remained pure.

When his body delayed and the sun’s rays headed for the inevitable sunset, Musyoka had already rested. Like mighty pillars my fellow grandchildren stood behind me as I read the eulogy. I got the translation right. The script was in English but the audience was Kamba. The strong flanking gave me enough confidence to read the genealogy. I learned the local language substitutes for son- in law, father in-law, uncle and brother.

The cameras were clicking away as it were. The microphone boomed. The speakers reverberated. The event was filed. No corruption.

Talking of corruption, we the genuine grandchildren had to step in to deliver and dignified and respectful burial for granddad. The drama behind the scenes had to be checked. The fake party crashers were identified and shamed. Picture this; some faceless retard mobilizes like minded opportunists to block the requiem mass from going on. They demanded they be given additional five goats or one bull.

We the immediate grandchildren forcefully resisted these unrealistic demands with an unequal and opposite reaction force Newton discovered in his law of motion.

Effectively, we won. The two goats were set free from joining the already dead of equal number. The protesters (ironically they are the ones who untied the goats hoping to be offered a better option) argued because they were denied their “right” to eat they will not throw the symbolic soil that will lay grandpa to rest.

Like mighty soldiers we entered the house and traditionally rotated the casket to face head forward before taking it out.

Kwani grandpa ate what? Si  ni mzito sana.! Some said it is the wood that made the casket. Others said it is his weight. We don’t know and may never know. The pall bearers walked meditatively, contemplating every step. I had been taking photos.  I put the camera down and took out my handkerchief, blew my nose.

The clergy said it was time to view the body. I was among the first to take a glimpse. Shocked! He was darker than he was in life. Do undertakers apply shoe polish on the dead?

Finally the casket rolled down the grave. It was devastating. Sad. Musyoka’s last journey was brave. Every time the casket neared the floor, the gravity was pulling him harder to rest in peace. The ancestors were clapping, dancing and singing a welcome song.

In contrast, the other world closed a black chapter of grief and opened a white one of hope. Grandpa, we shall live your legacy. Smile down at us and pray for us that we may live a ripe old age as you did. May your soul rest in eternal peace!



The writer is a student of Bachelors of Arts Degree in Communication and Media at Chuka University and an intern at KNA Kitui Bureau. He blogs at musyokangui.blogspot.com
Email your thoughts to musyokangui02@gmail.com