Kenyans, wake up! Your minds are shackled, chained to a colonial legacy that blinds you to your own brilliance. You scoff at your own prophets, dismiss your own thinkers, and trample your own wisdom underfoot, all while groveling at the feet of anything foreign. A Mzungu’s whisper carries more weight than the thunderous truths of your kin. A Black American’s opinion dazzles you, while a Kenyan’s insight is met with a sneer. This is not just a preference – it’s a sickness, a festering wound of mental colonization that demands excision.
Why do you listen only when the voice is not of your descent? Why do you perk up when a foreigner speaks, but turn deaf to the Kenyan beside you? The sad truth is this: your thoughts are not your own. They are echoes of a colonial past, a burden you carry like a yoke, heavy with the weight of centuries. You are still colonized in your minds, worshipping at the altar of foreign validation while your own heritage gathers dust. This is not just a flaw – it’s a betrayal of your identity, a surrender of your sovereignty.
Consider your faith, inherited from missionaries who twisted sacred truths to suit their agenda. The Christianity you cling to, passed down from your parents and grandparents, is a relic of control, not liberation. You bow to idols of stone and wood, call yourself “Gentile,” and imagine Jesus as a white savior – – delusions rooted in a manipulated narrative. The Bible, you claim, is your guide, yet you ignore its descriptions of black skin and woolly hair in Job 30:30, Daniel 9:7, and Revelation 1:14. You refuse to see that this book, stripped to its core, is a history of Africans, of Bantus, of you. It speaks of Abraham’s blessing to all nations, yet you exclude yourself, trapped in a lie that you are somehow lesser.
This is not a gentle nudge – it’s a clarion call to shatter your complacency. Your elders were ensnared in this mindset, but you have no excuse. You must break free, reject the chains, and embrace the truth that your story is central, not peripheral. The Bible’s pages are not about some distant people; they are about your ancestors, your struggles, your resilience. To ignore this is to spit on your own legacy.
And then there’s the travesty of your blind devotion to 66 books, as if divine wisdom could be confined to a curated canon. You’ve been fed a fraction of the truth—66 books out of hundreds, handpicked by those who sought to keep you ignorant. Yet you cling to them, shouting, “If it’s not in the Bible, I won’t believe it!” This is not faith; it’s folly. You’ve been duped, and you revel in your ignorance, refusing to seek the other texts that hold the fuller story. The tale of David, considered a bastard son until his mother’s secret was revealed, lies in those hidden books. Why do you accept a truncated truth when the whole awaits you?
Kenyans, you are not idiots – but you are acting like it. You have brains; use them. Read beyond the sanctioned texts. Verify, question, and seek. The God you claim to follow did not limit truth to 66 books, so why do you? Your hardheadedness mirrors the stubbornness of the biblical Israelites, who suffered enslavement and hardship for their refusal to listen. Do you want to repeat their mistakes, cycling through pain because you won’t think for yourselves?
This is your moment. Be the first in your family to speak truth, to teach your children and kin to see themselves as the Bible’s chosen, not its outcasts. Shock your system, uproot the colonial rot, and embrace your identity with unyielding pride. It doesn’t matter if you’re Bantu, Maasai, Luo, or Latino—if you hear this message and act, you are part of the kingdom. The truth is not bound by borders or bloodlines; it is for those who, like children, believe with open hearts.
So, Kenyans, rise. Cast off the colonial hangover. Stop worshipping foreign voices and start honoring your own. Read, think, and reclaim your narrative. The world is watching, and your liberation begins with you.
