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Shooting mental images

There was an article in the paper, about a Canadian film maker that lost his right eye as a teenager and now wants to insert a wireless video camera into his prosthetic eye.

No pun intended, but one sees where he’s coming from.

I mean, take a walk down the street and you’ll see dozens of things you wish you could capture with a lens and keep in your mind for posterity (I wonder if the wireless video camera in the Canadian man’s prosthetic eye specialises in mental images).

The other night, a scuffle broke out in the street, careening dangerously into a gory situation. A camera in the eye would have been able to capture the following:

–          The blurry motion of the spanner as the matatu driver rammed it over and over into the passenger’s skull

–          The tidemarks of anger stretched over the matatu driver’s face, like electricity cables beneath his skin

–          The spectators gathering around. These were divided into three:

  1. The people who hurled lustful eyes at the injured man’s back pocket where his wallet and cell phone were wedged
  2. The people that offered lots of useless sympathy and then melted into thin air when real help was needed
  3. The people that weren’t there but should have been there, like the cops and the man’s friends who wanted money sent to them first before they could move a muscle to their friend’s aid.

–          The montage of pain on the concrete as droplets of blood dribbled from the man’s jaws, bounced on the pavement and splattered across the dusty soles of shoes

–          A Nairobi street’s pre-sleeping routine: first it takes off its shoes, takes off its stifling clothes, chases the vehicles off its roads, washes itself in the muddy puddles, oils its concrete skin from the excrement of trucks and trailers, then snuggles next to the drunkards and the glue-sniffing homeless people.

–          Most importantly, the camera would have been able to capture the concern in Mercy Murugi’s face as she ran to the injured man, checked his legs for broken bones, dabbed his bleeding face with pocket tissues, took out her phone to call his relatives and rushed him to the Nairobi Women’s Hospital.

–          The camera might have been able to catch the irony when, the next day, the injured man called Mercy Murugi to ask her if she had stolen his cell phone!





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Kibera Film School is a 9 month, full day, intensive course, that is open to youth aged between 18-25 years. More information here -

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