(Note: less than two weeks after I sent this Kenya exploded.)

General William E. Ward
Vice Admiral Robert T. Moeller
Ambassador Mary Carlin Yates
AFRICOM

Dear Ambassador Yates, General Ward and Admiral Moeller,

Permission to speak frankly as you three are in deep doo doo.

You learned nothing from Lebanon?  The militia was part of a female social
organization the power of which surprised both the CIA and Mossad.  The
greater war for Africa looms.  First we had the stupidity of Admiral
Timothy J. Keating with his almost ‘nuke terrorist’ exercise in
Charleston, S.C.   I posted letter to him on Internet prior (over 14,000
readers first week) and the exercise that would have ‘given too much away’
called off.  See http://www.midcoast.com/~michael1/webnukeletter.htm

But you go into deeper shit.   “Coastal” meetings have taken place that
starts the process of Africa working together as “…one country…”.   It
will: but not in that fashion.  That is the ‘outside’.   As Mao understood
prior to his ‘long march’ the interior is far more important.  You
continue to ‘play sides against each other’.  It did not work in ‘many
groups / religions’ Lebanon and it will not work in Africa.  Africa will
collect from the ‘inside’.  It will not be ‘ordered’.  No, (at least
visible), ‘central command’. Who will you be fighting then?  Terrorists?

Are a group of guys who shoot soldiers in the back when there is no
declared war terrorists?  Of course they are.  It happened.  They met
later in a barn frightened that the ‘government’ would come after them and
hang them for treason.  But a rider pulls up and informs them that a
revolution is afoot.  Ethan Allen names his group the Green Mountain Boys
and continues.

You did right when you set up a ‘CIA’ listening post in Gulu (Christian
Science Monitor).  But you didn’t listen.   You wish to prosecute Joseph
Kony.  He was caught between the old Black Jewish sects of Ethiopia,
Christians and Muslims.  The Lords Revolution Army was: “One God, Ten
Commandments or we shoot you.”  Seems nonsensical until you realize that
it is a common denominator that you dare not go past.  So even if UN
captures and hangs him after peace declared, so what?  It was not that
specific philosophy but the general concept that spread to Lebanon.  As it
will now spread (from inside out) in Africa.  That seed is sown: the
ground fertile.

Admiral Moeller,
You learned nothing from General Van Riper?  First you ‘overlook’ the
sinking of the H.M.S Sheffield because ‘only other navies (secretly our
‘friends’)’ could do such.  And you held that view even after ‘surprise
Soviet naval maneuvers’ of 1984.  Missiles better than that French missile
can now be hid in the sand on the seabed.  Woods Hole Oceanagraphic
‘Hydrods’ can only detect metal to 3 meters.  You even used ‘platoons’ of
dolphins off the Gunsten Hall.  But you had to keep bringing in animal
trainers because of ‘dolphin boredom’.  You sent down divers over every
point you saw a trawler stop in the Golf.  Think that is enough?  Attack
on Cole and whatever was in Aqaba was inept compared to what is coming. 
John Lehman made a big point about loosing surface ships as “…sometimes
necessary…” citing Midway.  How many do you think you could afford to
loose in this day and age, sir?  You nixed the Land Attack DD 21 in favor
of “Littorals’.  All four are out of San Diego because of Malacca.  Before
you tried to protect that 1200 miles of shoreline with rubber boats and
fifty caliber.  Think this is better?  You can bury effective missiles in
the sand with launchers made from nothing but liquid vinyl and sawdust. 
About anything else you would need can be picked up at Toys-R-Us.  Those
Littorals are now only targets.

General Ward,
Sir, there is one thing you will never do here.  You will never be able to
‘define the battlefield’.   A non-military for intel?  More shades of
Rummy, sir?
What is being shown as ‘prime target’?  If Algeria example, it will be the
UN.
Of course.  See ‘play’ at link above.

Ambassador Yates,
Ahmadinejad states recently that he is holding another unspecified card
re: nukes.  What do you imagine this is?  See also play at link above.

Hedley Donovan was the best at naval intelligence in WW II.  (Song from
South Pacific, ‘Happy Talk’ was tribute.) Once in Hawaii he had only a
short time to locate Jap fleet.  He puts out simple directive to spies on
every island.  They had to go down to the local bar and report the talk as
either ‘happy’ or ‘serious’, nothing in-between.  With just this he
located fleet at Leyte Gulf.  In the same sense if you want to see what is
‘connecting’ in Africa watch for those ‘army’ Toyota pick-ups that have
the most females with the soldiers (as Lebanon).  But that won’t even do. 
They will think of this also.

I see just what you are doing.  What I think about your present
relationship with Kenya is unprintable.

Perhaps some poetry will express this better.  Poetry follows.

With all respect,
Sincerely,

Michael Donovan
39 Megunticook Street
Camden, ME 04843  Phone 236 6508  Former service # RA12694904

Af Tinkanoo Gulu Go

In the council fires of Gulu, are there minds not set to fool you?
        Do not they see strong minds in saucers?
        In strange lights that feel like alters?
In last twilight smoke and haze, does not the falcon’s flight seem crazed?
        But they heard more talk from Poko, Bakavu and Luingu.
        Hear too talk from Tabora and Kavinda and Lisala.
        And the old men smoke the old pipes.
        And the young men hold new rifles.
        Look to old men through the smoke haze.

Far south in big Kampala, by the green lake, in the white house
        Sits the leader, Museveni, in the mirror he gives long gaze.
        He sees his hands upon his bald head.
        His head shines within the mirror.
And he thinks of the new rebels, for some years ago he was one.
        Knows he well of their strong longings
        Knows being stripped of all belongings
        Knows the fury of machete, and the grenade and the rifle.
        Knows that yearning will not stifle, for not long ago he was one.

Much far north in north Uganda, much more north than even Gulu
        In the reed swamp banks of White Nile
        Kneels the young girl Af Tinkanoo, by the eddies of rush Nile.
        Her black limbs have seen ten summers
        But now they shake and sweat and tremor
In the breeze that move the rushes, Af Tinkanoo cannot smile.
        In her mind are strange short gray men.
        At first she thought them mean men.
        How took her soul for long night while.
        Large black eyes that shone and pierced then
        Seared her soul above the Nile.

Faces more like hippo leather, more like old lizard from the weather
        Pinned her to slab by high mind voo doo
        Move black arms her mind could not do
        And she stiffened tight in terror
        As more needles came to scare her.
She felt crunch her bone and gristle, heard an eerie high-pitched whistle.
        She felt sure that she was dying
        But her mind began untying.
        She knew somewhere she was but sleeping
        But now her wake dream mind was weeping
        As visions came for her safe keeping
        Visions far beyond the Nile.

Now in sunlight by the waters, in the rustling reeds and high grass
        Used her mother’s old black see glass
        To twist her eyes to see the red mark, the red mark behind her ear.
Then her mind in some part dying, then her mind in some part waking
        Said deep within her baking,
        Said in sun hot blaze awaking,
        Said, “Af Tinkanoo, no more tear.”

Feeling mad and sane and stronger, feeling old but much much younger
        Af Tinkanoo slept in sunlight
        Kept sleeping through the twilight
        Sleeping most through half the moonlight
        And waking far before the dawn.
And she woke with the feeling, younger older saner stronger
        Tying sandals and bright colors
        Began her maddened one-one song.

Before dawn she fed new fire, by the hut of her strong Uncle
        Cracked grain in gray pot simmered
        As new dawn through green leaf glimmered
        And she felt the strength of kindred
        As she sang her one-one song.
Soon she saw the smile of Uncle, as he wakened to the cooking
        The sweet smell of cracked grain simmered
        Smile came through beard that he was stroking
        As Af Tinkanoo more fire was stoking
        Sang Uncle, “Af Tinkanoo, ta ta ta.”

Then she insist to follow Uncle, even though he frown say, “Go back.”
        Through the grassy path to arms cache
        Where the men would clean the rifles
        Arm bandoleers and small grenade packs.
And the men would work and chatter, pass the ammo up the ladder
        And blow the bugle, “Taaa Raaa, Ta Ta.”

Some were chosen for the trip south, and her Uncle was among them.
        A risky trip to Gulu, in a pick-up truck that fit ten
        With packs on bumpers, fenders, side steps,
        A trek with risk not taken often.
Af Tinkanoo climbed in truck too, the men laughed for this would not do.
        Tried to move her, she resisted,
        In luggage rack her arms were twisted
        Til they stopped and looked at Uncle
        Who frowned and slung his rifle
        And then sighed, said “She cook for men.”

Af Tinkanoo sang with motor, and she learned to say “Toyota”
        In the dust and on the road ruts
        With her hands on luggage rack rust
        South to Gulu she was shook.
Noon on second day it took, til driver shouted, “Gulu, look!”
        And saw the camps were built part circle
        Round bout Gulu in a hook.

But south in big Kampala, by the big green lake in white house
        Sits old leader, Museveni, in the mirror he sees blue haze.
        He sees gone years in fresh amazement
        Gazed back years to old encampments
He thinks back bloody fire fights, and the comradeship through nights,
        Knew he screaming of the wounded
        Knew he moaning of the dying
        Knew the time that he was buying
        For the children sharing rifles
        Taught them fury of machete, and black grenade and the rifle.

And the faces came before him, in the blue haze, in the white house
        Girls and boys who did the fighting, did the killing, did the dying.
        And he remembered young girl Tinka
        What a fighter!  What an eyeful !
        And he said, “What came of Tinka?”
        Then he remembered.  Did more sighing.
For Tinka turned a woman, and Tinka wounded when with child.
        With AIDs sickness and with leg wound
        Tinka died within the wild.
        But he had heard she had a daughter
        Who was carried down the waters
        Through streams of rushing laughing waters
        To ths safety of White Nile.

Tinka held her child in sickness, Tinka held her child as dying.
        As in mud hut she lay lying.
        Called her brother, “Take her, take her.”
        Her voice a raspy murmur pine.
        “Oh dear brother, take her, take her,
        Just let me smell her one more time.”

As the sun set west of Gulu, sun lit storm clouds west of Gulu
        From far west, far west from Dungu
        Dark clouds would not let sun through
        The men knew soon rain upon them
        And they strengthened tents, retied them.
And the council tent of Gulu, re-lashed re-battened for the storm.
        Round center fire sat beard old men
        Frowns and murmurs through the feathers
        While round and round the wizened elders
        White teeth flashing by the embers
        White teeth, young rifles stood.

Busy women back at cook fires, making sandals from the truck tires
        Saw sure rain would come upon them
        Rushed to cover, keep dry, wood.
As the full moon rose with darkness, a deep blood moon aside Mars
        They sang softly, covered dry wood
        As the rain clouds covered stars.
As the rain came Af Tinkanoo left the women, left the dry wood.
        Thinking not of rain pour, she left colors, left rain hood.
        Af Tinkanoo can’t keep heart still
        In a madness runs to council
        Walks to old men where she stood.

“One, one, one,” tones Af Tinkanoo, “One, one, one,” one finger up.
        Old men pinned in amazement
        Watch the young girl’s “One, one, one.”
More she steps up closer, up close in firelight flashed her face
        But behind then flashed the lighting
        Lit up her small frame with the striking
        As one finger points to space.

“One one one, one all the rivers.  One one one, one all the trees
        One one one, one all the lions.  One one one, one all the leaves.
        One one one, are all our rifles.
        One one one, are all our men.
A-Free-Ka is one one one now. A-Free-Ka is what I am.”
        Stretched out hand of wise Aknanan
        From his seat of antelope
        Wraps Af Tinkanoo in his red robe
        Wipes from girl dirt of hard road
        Wipes the water from black thin arms
        Thinks dark thoughts of her strong all-arms

Down she sits with mortar casings, down she sits with greasy rope.
        Down she sits with wise Aknanan
        Sits with hard words spoke in hope.


> Africa seems to hold to a single notion, that AFRICOM basing would
> always serve as School of the Coups. Therefore an absolute lockout
> has so far been assured by centuries of popular experience guilded
> by the inexplicable US neo-colonial insult to its undeserved mandate
> granted by victims of colonialism during the colonialist collapse
> following World War One. The US was still pandering Hashemite
> monarchs in Iraq and Afghanistan a few short years ago, in the
> manner of replacing Mossadegh in Iran with the shah in 1953.

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