| Weapon of Hunger |
| HM Books |
| HM Productions Intl. All Rights Reserved |
| copyright 2008 by HM Entertainment Inc. |
The trouble with Africa
Weapon of Hunger by Meja Mwangi
Reviewed by Okech Kendo
SECOND rate critics in their usually cliche-burdened language are
given to describing writers variously as: 'Promising', 'a talent to
watch', 'a dept to originality', and other catalogue of words that tell
next to nothing about the writer and his work.
And these writers are always 'promising' but do not seem to be
getting anywhere and the critics, more often than not claim to know
the story better than the author. . . Sometimes they prescribe
what the writer should have done.
Meja Mwangi — one of Kenya's prolific writers — has been in local
literary circles as a shy novelist, humour though, is hardly
perceptive and never committed to merit acclaim.
But with the publication of Weapon of Hunger, he has gone beyond
promising and graduates into those timeless humanist themes
transcending the confines of his place.
Through fiction, the world described in Weapon of Hunger has a
definite locale in the African continent held at ransom by multitudes
of problems, partly self-inflicted, partly caused by the ravages of
mother nature.
It is a drought-striken, famine-ruled, war-torn, strife-ladden land of
living corpses. Above this ruin, jet bombers roaring bazookas and
guns confront in a chorus of ... masses. These are the
responsibilities of the so called bandits and irresponsible
government manned by hardened soldiers bereft of human
sympathy.
They are killing and starving the people they hope to liberate: It is
the outsiders who see the ruin as they enter villages with relief:
"Doors squawked eerily. Out of their crumbling huts, almost as
though out of their graves, the survivors of the killer famine
crawled out to meet the strangers".
The hungry mill around the relief tracks like vultures around a
carcass. But the war drags on like nothing was happening. People
die of hunger while food rots at Port Sudan. The relief groups are
thought to be American gun-runners and mercenaries.
The rebels and the government of the Peoples Republic of Borku
each has a claim to right: "All I see is one huge army, a small band
of rebels and a multitude of hungry masses caught in cross fire".
In this novel Meja Mwangi brings this genocide to world attention in
a manner that never declines to apathy yet the skill captivates.
Weapon of Hunger is an engrossing piece that takes us to this
dehumanised land of want.
Meja Mwangi goes beyond the narration of known facts. Me creates
a literary plot around the much publicised concord of entertainers
who sensitised the world to this ruin. It was that effort which sired
We Are the World.
Jack Riven leads a horde of volunteers into an adventurous journey
into the dying Africa loaded with food and other relief supplies,
docking at Port Sudan. They strike a deal with Jamar, who they
later learn is a gun-runner and smuggler number one. That marks
the beginning of a painful convoy to Arrakan (which may be Ankara).
Jamar gives 100 lorries. They later discover that some of the lorries
have been given wrong content. Instead of food and blankets, they
find that tome have guns, and hides. And Jamar's drivers are
mostly criminals arrested shortly at a check point.
Incidence of deaths, kidnap, arrests and all sorts of intrigue befall
the convoy as they ride inland determined to save dying people.
They get a tragic run for their affection to this land of hunger and
war.
The point is made: This war as viewed by the distanced yet feeling
eyes of Jack Rivers is pure genocide. It is the mighty confronting
enemies while die people die and starve. The fictional world is a
thinly disguised Ethiopia — where purposeless war has been
dragging for centuries.
Meja Mwangi scores several successes in this novel: creating fiction
out of the African dilemma and helping to sensitise humanity
against the atrocities in countries like Ethiopia, Sudan and
elsewhere. It is a perfect work of imagination in which a Kenyan has
brought his readers to the doors of the tragedy.
Meja Mwangi is also the author of The Cockroach Dance, Bread of
Sorrow, The Return of Shaka, Kill Me Quick, Carcase for Hounds,
Going Down River Road and Bushtrackers.
Weapon of Hunger by Meja Mwangi
Reviewed by Okech Kendo
SECOND rate critics in their usually cliche-burdened language are
given to describing writers variously as: 'Promising', 'a talent to
watch', 'a dept to originality', and other catalogue of words that tell
next to nothing about the writer and his work.
And these writers are always 'promising' but do not seem to be
getting anywhere and the critics, more often than not claim to know
the story better than the author. . . Sometimes they prescribe
what the writer should have done.
Meja Mwangi — one of Kenya's prolific writers — has been in local
literary circles as a shy novelist, humour though, is hardly
perceptive and never committed to merit acclaim.
But with the publication of Weapon of Hunger, he has gone beyond
promising and graduates into those timeless humanist themes
transcending the confines of his place.
Through fiction, the world described in Weapon of Hunger has a
definite locale in the African continent held at ransom by multitudes
of problems, partly self-inflicted, partly caused by the ravages of
mother nature.
It is a drought-striken, famine-ruled, war-torn, strife-ladden land of
living corpses. Above this ruin, jet bombers roaring bazookas and
guns confront in a chorus of ... masses. These are the
responsibilities of the so called bandits and irresponsible
government manned by hardened soldiers bereft of human
sympathy.
They are killing and starving the people they hope to liberate: It is
the outsiders who see the ruin as they enter villages with relief:
"Doors squawked eerily. Out of their crumbling huts, almost as
though out of their graves, the survivors of the killer famine
crawled out to meet the strangers".
The hungry mill around the relief tracks like vultures around a
carcass. But the war drags on like nothing was happening. People
die of hunger while food rots at Port Sudan. The relief groups are
thought to be American gun-runners and mercenaries.
The rebels and the government of the Peoples Republic of Borku
each has a claim to right: "All I see is one huge army, a small band
of rebels and a multitude of hungry masses caught in cross fire".
In this novel Meja Mwangi brings this genocide to world attention in
a manner that never declines to apathy yet the skill captivates.
Weapon of Hunger is an engrossing piece that takes us to this
dehumanised land of want.
Meja Mwangi goes beyond the narration of known facts. Me creates
a literary plot around the much publicised concord of entertainers
who sensitised the world to this ruin. It was that effort which sired
We Are the World.
Jack Riven leads a horde of volunteers into an adventurous journey
into the dying Africa loaded with food and other relief supplies,
docking at Port Sudan. They strike a deal with Jamar, who they
later learn is a gun-runner and smuggler number one. That marks
the beginning of a painful convoy to Arrakan (which may be Ankara).
Jamar gives 100 lorries. They later discover that some of the lorries
have been given wrong content. Instead of food and blankets, they
find that tome have guns, and hides. And Jamar's drivers are
mostly criminals arrested shortly at a check point.
Incidence of deaths, kidnap, arrests and all sorts of intrigue befall
the convoy as they ride inland determined to save dying people.
They get a tragic run for their affection to this land of hunger and
war.
The point is made: This war as viewed by the distanced yet feeling
eyes of Jack Rivers is pure genocide. It is the mighty confronting
enemies while die people die and starve. The fictional world is a
thinly disguised Ethiopia — where purposeless war has been
dragging for centuries.
Meja Mwangi scores several successes in this novel: creating fiction
out of the African dilemma and helping to sensitise humanity
against the atrocities in countries like Ethiopia, Sudan and
elsewhere. It is a perfect work of imagination in which a Kenyan has
brought his readers to the doors of the tragedy.
Meja Mwangi is also the author of The Cockroach Dance, Bread of
Sorrow, The Return of Shaka, Kill Me Quick, Carcase for Hounds,
Going Down River Road and Bushtrackers.
no country for a woman
The settlement materialised like a chameleon out of the
bush ahead. As they got closer it turned into a dust-
blown frontier town. It comprised of ten buildings, the
largest of which was the police post, distinguishable from
the rest by the flags flying in its courtyard and a landrover
marked POLISI.
A few dozen meters from the police post was the road
block, a simple affair comprising of a pole barrier with a
couple of sand bunkers on either side of the road.
As the convoy approached, a massive, moustachioed
officer stepped onto the road and raised his arm. Noah’s
Ark slowed to a stop. Jack, Eddie and Gail stepped down
to face the police officer. He was dressed in a neat khaki
uniform and carried a small machine gun in addition to the
pistol at his hip. The rest of his men, about two dozen in
all, were armed with various automatic rifles.
“Good morning, officer,” said Jack Rivers.
The big man ignored him as he watched mouth open,
amazed at the size and length of the convoy. It stretched
back as far as the eye could see. Some of the trucks were
only just beginning to stop, others still coming.
“What is this?” asked the officer seriously. “A circus?”
Eddie burst out laughing. Jack and Gail smiled. The man
looked from Eddie to Jack, smiled at Gail, turned to the
men and offered his hand to shake.
“Good morning,” he said. “I am Chief of Police in this
place. Captain Hussein, they call me.”
“Nice to meet you, Captain,” said Eddie shaking hands.
“Is there perhaps coffee in this place?”
“Coffee?” asked Hussein awed by the size of the convoy.
“Oh yes there is coffee, plenty of coffee. But first things
first. Who are you? Where are you going and what do you
carry?”
“Well, Captain,’ said Jack Rivers. “That’s a long question.”
“Good,” said the Captain. “It is tiring being Chief of Police
at this place where nothing happens.”
Turning to his men he said, “The papers, check the
papers,”
His men hastened to do as ordered.
The captain turned to Jack.
“What do you carry?” he asked.
“Famine relief,” said Jack. “For Arrakan.”
The Captain nodded to himself then slowly walked down
the line of trucks. Jack walked with him. Eddie and Gail
tugged along.
“What’s this place?” she asked in a low voice.
“I don’t know,” said Eddie. “It isn’t on any of the maps we
looked at.”
Captain Hussein glanced back at them, then at Jack and
kept walking.
There is much blood in Arrakan,” he said. “Have you been
there?”
“Yes,” said Jack.
At this pace, it would take them all day to get to the tail of
the convoy.
The Captain stopped to look under a truck and on looking
up stared Jack in the eye.
“So you know how far it is?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Jack.
“Why didn’t you go down from Adan?” he asked. “It is
much nearer that way.”
“The port was jammed in Adan,”answered Jack carefuly.
“The ships could not off-load in time and this cargo is
urgently awaited in Arrakan. Many people are dying there
from hunger.”
The Captain nodded. “I have heard.”
He seemed to notice Gail. He scrutinised her and
appeared impressed by her simplicity.
“Who is she?” he asked. “Your wife?”
“No.”
“It is no place for a woman.”
“She is a doctor,” said Jack.
That seemed to settle that. He walked two more trucks
down, peered under the third one and on looking up
asked, “How many lorries?”
“One hundred.”
“One hundred!” he was genuinely impressed. “I have
never seen so many before. Are you Red Cross?”
“Famine Busters,” said Eddie.
The Captain scrutinised him.
“I never heard of you,” he said.
As they approached Gibril’s truck, Gibril ducked out of
sight.
“Gibril?" called the Captain. "When did you come out of
jail?”
“Soon,” said Gibril, keeping out of sight.
The Captain turned to Jack Rivers.
“Now we go back to the post and wait,” he said. “You
want to have coffee?”
Without waiting for an answer, he led the way back along
the convoy to the roadblock. There he issued further
orders to his men in Arabic before leading Jack, Eddie and
Gail to the mud and thatch police post.
READ ON ...
The settlement materialised like a chameleon out of the
bush ahead. As they got closer it turned into a dust-
blown frontier town. It comprised of ten buildings, the
largest of which was the police post, distinguishable from
the rest by the flags flying in its courtyard and a landrover
marked POLISI.
A few dozen meters from the police post was the road
block, a simple affair comprising of a pole barrier with a
couple of sand bunkers on either side of the road.
As the convoy approached, a massive, moustachioed
officer stepped onto the road and raised his arm. Noah’s
Ark slowed to a stop. Jack, Eddie and Gail stepped down
to face the police officer. He was dressed in a neat khaki
uniform and carried a small machine gun in addition to the
pistol at his hip. The rest of his men, about two dozen in
all, were armed with various automatic rifles.
“Good morning, officer,” said Jack Rivers.
The big man ignored him as he watched mouth open,
amazed at the size and length of the convoy. It stretched
back as far as the eye could see. Some of the trucks were
only just beginning to stop, others still coming.
“What is this?” asked the officer seriously. “A circus?”
Eddie burst out laughing. Jack and Gail smiled. The man
looked from Eddie to Jack, smiled at Gail, turned to the
men and offered his hand to shake.
“Good morning,” he said. “I am Chief of Police in this
place. Captain Hussein, they call me.”
“Nice to meet you, Captain,” said Eddie shaking hands.
“Is there perhaps coffee in this place?”
“Coffee?” asked Hussein awed by the size of the convoy.
“Oh yes there is coffee, plenty of coffee. But first things
first. Who are you? Where are you going and what do you
carry?”
“Well, Captain,’ said Jack Rivers. “That’s a long question.”
“Good,” said the Captain. “It is tiring being Chief of Police
at this place where nothing happens.”
Turning to his men he said, “The papers, check the
papers,”
His men hastened to do as ordered.
The captain turned to Jack.
“What do you carry?” he asked.
“Famine relief,” said Jack. “For Arrakan.”
The Captain nodded to himself then slowly walked down
the line of trucks. Jack walked with him. Eddie and Gail
tugged along.
“What’s this place?” she asked in a low voice.
“I don’t know,” said Eddie. “It isn’t on any of the maps we
looked at.”
Captain Hussein glanced back at them, then at Jack and
kept walking.
There is much blood in Arrakan,” he said. “Have you been
there?”
“Yes,” said Jack.
At this pace, it would take them all day to get to the tail of
the convoy.
The Captain stopped to look under a truck and on looking
up stared Jack in the eye.
“So you know how far it is?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Jack.
“Why didn’t you go down from Adan?” he asked. “It is
much nearer that way.”
“The port was jammed in Adan,”answered Jack carefuly.
“The ships could not off-load in time and this cargo is
urgently awaited in Arrakan. Many people are dying there
from hunger.”
The Captain nodded. “I have heard.”
He seemed to notice Gail. He scrutinised her and
appeared impressed by her simplicity.
“Who is she?” he asked. “Your wife?”
“No.”
“It is no place for a woman.”
“She is a doctor,” said Jack.
That seemed to settle that. He walked two more trucks
down, peered under the third one and on looking up
asked, “How many lorries?”
“One hundred.”
“One hundred!” he was genuinely impressed. “I have
never seen so many before. Are you Red Cross?”
“Famine Busters,” said Eddie.
The Captain scrutinised him.
“I never heard of you,” he said.
As they approached Gibril’s truck, Gibril ducked out of
sight.
“Gibril?" called the Captain. "When did you come out of
jail?”
“Soon,” said Gibril, keeping out of sight.
The Captain turned to Jack Rivers.
“Now we go back to the post and wait,” he said. “You
want to have coffee?”
Without waiting for an answer, he led the way back along
the convoy to the roadblock. There he issued further
orders to his men in Arabic before leading Jack, Eddie and
Gail to the mud and thatch police post.
READ ON ...
| Weapon of Hunger is perhaps Meja Mwangi's best book yet. The picture he paints of the relentless quest for modern Africa is grim. What is most depressing, is that there seem to be no solutions. Western philanthropists, such as Jack Rivers, are portrayed in a favourable light as sincere people. All their energies, however, are expended on trying to understand Africa's problems and once they understand them they realise that the problems are beyond them. As for the Africans themselves, they could have provided solutions, but since they are lined up in warring factions, that is impossible. While the two sides fight on to the finish, will million of ordinary people continue to starve to dead? That is the questions which Meja Mwangi asks himself and which he asks the readers of weapon. Lyne Mansure, Weekly Review |
| Weapon of Hunger hm books 2008 ISBN 978-0-9796476-5-9 |
| Weapon of Hunger by Meja Mwangi |
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Weapon of Hunger
