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I watched a movie last weekend that all men, mostly those with that boyish side that dreams of heroism (alongside plenty of action) should try and catch this weekend at the I Max cinemas. It is called 300 - the Rise of Empire.
Without being a spoiler, it is the epic story of a Greek naval General who kills a would be conqueror called Darius, but does not slay his son Xerxes, to his eternal regret because Xerxes the boy king eventually becomes Xerxes, the man god (only, a lot mad).
There is also a crazy woman in front of the throne ( a rather elaborate mobile one) called Artemia who is hell bent on seeing Athens burn and Greece destroyed, to avenge a childhood of abuse aboard a Greek galley. Her dream has come true. Athens now burns without cash, and the Greek currency has been destroyed, as all goes to financial hell.
Anywhere, there is lots of slashing and burning as naval warfare consumes the land (actually, sea). Farmers, sculptors, poets and even Spartans all join arms, literally, as they face the navies of Artemia.
It is my friend Alexei Serkov who advised I see the movie in the first place.
Being from the Ukraine, I could not help but think of his country losing the Crimea to another old empire on the rise this week, Russia (although a buddy Kivuva did paint a rather dystopian picture where North Eastern secedes to Somalia, Ethiopia takes over the North, Museveni occupies the Western Rift, Western and Nyanza, Mombasa resumes its ‘Pwani si Kenya’ battle cry and joins Zanzibar, and the Maasai, seeing Nairobi alone and under siege, seek alliance across the border with Tanzania Maa, like Mr. Ebo.
On the morning I went to watch this movie, I had spend a hundred bob on two packets of milk, a little bit more on the Sunday papers, scooted to town for three hundred bob, and paid a thousand bob to watch 300, albeit in 3D, always an amazing experience.
For nourishment, information, transport and entertainment, one pays through the nose ( the State gets the rest of it by shoving a large hand in one’s bottom).
And all men should be mighty peeved about a nation where everything is out of control - fuel, school fees, milk ... even the University dons are out of control.
Let’s talk milk for a second (unga is an over-used metaphor). All of society starts with our precious babies. It is nature. Here, let me commend the First Lady for recognising this, even as the State fails to make sure our most innocent citizens have their basic needs met, yet we hear stuff about the Chinese and futuristic railways every livelong day. Milk, every baby’s right.
Cosmetic pay cuts by the fat cats of Cabinet do not impress (I saw a man I once admired, now in Cabinet, walk out of Norfolk last Saturday from lunch, and hoped he thought of the Turkanas, and what they were having for lunch, which should be plenty, considering their Tullow mining rights which he’s custodian of, right sir?)
Inflation in Kenya is of Greek tragedy proportions, and I agree with an article in last The Standard on Sunday that said we could go the Greek way with our economy.
Thirty per cent taxation also makes the blood boil and blood pressure rise to 300 degrees. I mean, why should this government be our first big and ugly baby, with an insatiable appetite on one end, and disgusting unending waste on the other end?
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