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2021-10-18T15:13:00.001+03:00

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Kenya the Land of the Miraculous!

2018-03-18T20:42:00.000+03:00

My beautiful Nation just breathed a sigh of relief, a week or two ago. You see, it has become so that elections in Kenya are not an event, they are a phenomenal, cataclysmic, stressful, nail-biting affair which also proves catastrophic for some. I wish I could use lighter words, but the emotional strain exerted on Kenyans during the electioneering period, culminating on the election day which for the most part is usually quite peaceful, like most Kenyans are: then comes the explosive vote counting process – yes, things almost always unravel at this point, at least since the 2007 elections.

And once the whirlwind begins during the counting, it can spiral in either direction either to a storm that passes soon enough, or a full blown tornado that threatens to break our beloved Nation apart – never mind that Kenya doesn’t really experience the natural phenomenon called tornado.

The 2017 elections were no different, and in many ways they proved to be more stressful than most (except the 2007 which was a catastrophe we all wish to completely forget). For starters we had two elections, for the first time a Presidential election was nullified – ouch! Second, we had an election boycott by the main opposition – another ouch! Then can the back and forth and heavy, scary words and verbal discourse that sounded terrible and more violent than 2007.

But Kenyans went on their knees. As a matter of fact we were on our knees way before and way after the elections. For those of you who don’t believe in prayer, the case of Kenya should change your position. We prayed vehemently for peace, we prayed for God to fulfill His promises of a peaceful, prosperous Kenya, we prayed for harmony, we prayed to see the end of the unfolding nightmare, we prayed for calm…. And all the time, we believed, and waited patiently for God to manifest his answer to our prayers.

And answer He did. Throughout the whole electioneering period, despite the fact that we still saw some regrettable violence, God intervened and averted a far worse situation.

Now we can stand up and say Hallelujah without fear of contradiction. Our nation is peaceful again, united, facing in the right direction and walking along a path we are all glad to participate in. Like the parting of the Red Sea for the Israelites, are the miracles that God has done for Kenya hitherto, and will continue to do.

Now I know this blog has a three year gap, but this was a momentous event in our Nation’s history that I was determined to document for us and posterity, lest we forget. Lest we forget that we are and always will be brothers. Lest we forget that prayer is our number one go-to for everything. Lest we forget that no matter how grim the situation may seem, how dire, how impossible, how disappointing and how terrifying, nothing fazes God, and nothing is impossible with Him, and nothing is overwhelming to Him. He levels the ground, mountains come down and the valleys are filled up, the rough roads are smoothened up, dry ground appears in the sea and a way is made in the desert, and we cross safely over, on dry level ground. Lest we forget that God is not bound by the systems of men, our best documented and organized systems are utterly useless unless He is in them, and He is able to effect His own rule on mankind, if we shall invite Him to.

I dare say something that would terrify any politician but makes sense to every believer: nations are not ruled from the thrones of Kings, they are ruled from the knees of the saints who intervene day by day for their countries. But if, and when the King also prays, then that really is a breath of fresh air to any nation.

Kenya will remain a united nation and will grow from strength to strength, not because of anything we do, but because we’ve believed what God has said about our Land. So let’s never stop believing.

Thank you God of Kenya, and of the Universe.

Could you Please Dip your Lights?

2014-10-20T10:39:00.002+03:00

Sometimes back Kenyans went wild when our beloved Mr. Joseph said we have peculiar habits. Well... justified we were to rise up in wrath since our peculiarity was sending the service provider smiling all the way to the bank....Recently though I've come to think he was justified though he should not have said it out loud... some things are best discussed behind closed doors..

Now pardon me but when I was taught to drive I was told not to use blazing full lights when there's oncoming traffic as that tends to blinden other drivers, and could lead to all manner of accidents. I've adhered to this rule ever since, but recently my faithfulness to law has been tested beyond enduring limits...

For some reason most Kenyan motorists have decided full lights is the way to go at night. When you flash at them begging then to dip their lights, a few respond but most simply drive on. As a result you are also forced to turn your lights fully on otherwise you will be lucky to see the road and could be driven right off the edge.

The thing is, if we all observed the dip your lights rule, no one would need to flash anyone down. So why is it so hard when it's so common sense, why must we blinden each other making night driving such a grueling task?

I remember once when my husband and I were night driving from a wedding at Nyeri, my sister's wedding actually. We had a number of children in our car, little pretty flower girls. Now the Nyeri road can get quite hilly and curvy at places, and at one of this hilly section we turned the curve only to come face to face with a monstrous truck with full blazing lights.... My husband was driving and for a moment he could see nothing but this flood of speeding light, lost control as we attempted to avoid the truck and the car did a bit of a dance on the road but thankfully remained on the road and stabilized. The truck did not even blink, the driver just drove off. If we had had an accident, no one would have linked it to that mad driver, he would have been long gone...

Peculiar, yes, but also dangerously notorious on the road, not taking much responsibility for the lives of those around us, let alone our own.

We Need Countries of Refuge

2012-03-20T11:16:00.000+03:00

Recently it occurred to me the world has neglected one important fact in attempting to ensure peace, security and other millennium goals for all. As we labour to make sure everyone is happy in their countries, we forget there will ALWAYS be people displaced from their own countries.

Now the process of integration to other countries for the displaced is usually quite painful. First they got to cross the border successfully to wherever. Then they got to seek asylum status and so on. And even after all that, they are still refugees.

It is equally painful for the countries hosting the refugees. Adding all those numbers onto the country’s already bulging population; dealing with separating genuine from opportunistic asylum seekers; security threat posed by trouble makers who pose as asylum seekers; and of course, stretching the country’s national resources.

Take the Kenyan example where the country has had to take it so many refugees from Sudan and Somalia among others. The Sudanese had since gone back after recently acquiring independence, but the story is they are now streaming back after things started looking not so rosy back home (or for whatever reason). The Somalis are still with us and will be for a while. It is a known fact that most African refugees are hosted in Africa contrary to the much broadcasted hype that makes people in the West believe all African refugees are in the Western countries.

Kenya is so stretched by the influx of Somali and other refugees that we are heaving under the weight. When we complain and ask for a little help we are reminded of our obligation to human rights. But what about our rights to be relieved of, or assisted in this responsibility?

At a time when Kenya is at war against the Somali militants, you can imagine the security threat emanating from the refugee camps as members of the militia pose as genuine refugees and proceed to plot atrocities on our own soil. Ungratefulness of the highest degree if you ask me, that you would bite the hand that houses, feeds and takes care of your children for you.

So I wonder why the International powers that be have never thought of establishing cities, countries even, of refuge, where those displaced for whatever reason from their own countries can go and live without being harassed, subjected to endless scrutiny, and without being seen to be using up space and resources belonging to others.

In Bible days Israel was asked by God to set up cities of refuge where, if one unintentionally committed crime deserving death like manslaughter, they could run to these cities. If they made it safely there, no one was allowed to follow them in to avenge the crime. However if they ventured out of the city, it was out of God’s hand and that of the law to stop the avenger from striking them.

Now the way I see it we need to set aside specific areas in each continent where refugees can go and stay with the full rights of citizenship, where they can start a new life, work, go to school and lead a normal life without being patronized or threatened with repatriation, or deportation. Once at the point of entry they are certified as genuine refugees, then they adapt the country of refuge as their own, and may live a full life there till such a time as they feel comfortable to return home.

The countries of refuge would be run by an international staff, and supplied for by the international community until such a time as the countries have become self-sustaining through the economic activities of the settlers, and development projects from the international community. There would be no feeling of anyone doing too much as all members of the international community would contribute.

No one, not even the refugee citizens, would ever be allowed to lay claim to these countries of refuge, and there would be no political activity. Just workers, and dwellers, and systems to make sure everyone, everything is taken care of. These areas would remain open for anyone needing refuge from their country.

Granted, land has always been a thorny issue so no country would, should be expected to cede land for this purpose. Instead, the International community (lead the bodies that govern the world like the UN organizations), would make a handsome offer to buy land from any country ready to participate in the creation of countries of refuge. The compensation would have to be equal to the value of the land and all it contains, plus whatever opportunity cost goes with the sale. We don’t have to talk specifics but you get the picture.

So with the creation of countries of refuge, ran independently by international bodies representing all countries of the world, there would be less tension over the refugee issue, and dignity for the refugees.

We need countries of refuge, as international peace has proved to be an illusion. We are humans and so we will always conflict. Conflict comes in cycles, so those who seem forever peaceful today may not always be so.

We need countries of refuge.

Goodbye Honourable

2012-02-22T12:49:00.000+03:00

Yesterday Kenya lost a great man. Honourable Michuki will be remembered, among other great things he did, mainly for managing to put order in the notorious Matatu sector. While he was Minister for Transport, he ensured the sector gained much needed discipline, passengers were not harrased, speed governors were installed and speed limits adhered to; safety belts were used, and road accidents reduced dramatically. Sadly much of this relapsed when he moved out of this docket to other ministries.

It was under his watch that we saw the ministry of environment gain new standing and importance as the minister, laser focused as he always is, did his best to clean up the environment, restore the Mau and curb public noise, among other things. Hope this too does not get reversed now that the dear Minister is gone. The least we can do for his memory is to uphold the things he achieved for our nation.

Thank you for ensuring Kenyans could sleep easy as you decisively dealt with the menace of criminal gangs that were threatening to turn Kenya into a terror nation.

And thank you for being a role model for so many of us who struggle to find real virtue in our leaders. You gave us that and we are so grateful.

Goodby honourable Michuki, you were a breath of fresh air. You lived out your years in the service of your country so now Rest In Peace, dear Sir.

The Crop Circles of Ngong

2012-01-28T14:47:00.000+03:00

Across the ridge from where I live is a gently undulating grassland that cheers the senses and gives one the feeling that all is well with the world. In stark contrast to the brick and mortar surrounding me, broken occasionally by beautiful trees and live fences, the grassland is undisturbed and its sole purpose seems to be a sight for sore eyes, and a wonder for morning or evening walks.

My view to the open land used to be wider and even more majestic until some developer decided to break away from custom and theme of the area and put up a six floor monstrosity that is not even promising to be beautiful when complete. The result was that half the view I enjoyed to the open fields was instantly blocked, and that of Ngong Hills along with it. Well, enjoy the beauty around you while you still can, it may not last forever.

I can hardly begrudge the developer his pursuit unless I want to start a Western style protest over preservation of skylines and footpaths - which, by the way, is not entirely a bad idea. I’m sure our law has a building code for each area, I’m just not sure what it is for my area so I’ll let it pass.

Before the monstrosity took my silent pleasure away, from my first floor flat I could see the Ngong Hills towering majestically on one side, and the grass fields dancing on the other. The tall, willowy grass swayed gently to the wind forming beautiful patterns that were visible even across the two miles or so from my house.

At first I didn’t realize it was the grass. When it bent to one side it would form a white wave against the rest of the green background; then it would sway the other way and the pattern would follow. In the undefined swirl of the wind, soon the waves acquired magical forms, movements and patterns, and I found myself mesmerized, caught up in wonder, gazing intently trying to figure out what was this phenomenon I was witnessing.

‘Crop circles?’ I wondered, having watched myriad programs attempting to explain the mystery of weird patterns found on corn and other grain fields. ‘Sheep?’ was my next guess but, hard as I looked these simply did not look like sheep. They would have to be so many, moving gently like waves in the ocean. Now goats and sheep may huddle together but they are not known for such daintiness.

Eventually my curiosity took the better of me and I fetched my camcorder from the house. I was going to crack the mystery of this beautiful sight. I put my camera on zoom and there it was… beautiful patterns, circular, wavy and all sorts of shapes, constantly moving, never ending never stopping. It was the grass! It was tall, in an open field, and it swayed almost constantly to the gentle breeze forming a continuous gentle wave that followed the wind wherever it went.

I remember calling my husband to tell him I had cracked the mystery of crop circles. The mystery was not that crops moved, the mystery would be what was the force that led the crops to move and form whatever patterns they created? In my case it was simply the wind. No mystery, no little men from the sky, no gravity - simply the wind! I’m sure in most other cases of crop circles it was simply the wind.

We were so taken by this sight that my husband and I filmed it for a while. It was wonderful to watch, relaxing, uplifting and at the same time calming the senses.

Later I decided I did not want to watch this magic from afar any more and took a walk into the open fields. It turned out the fields are part of Kenya government property (Livestock Ministry to be precise) though they are left open enough for people to walk through and even picnic if they dare – it’s a bit deserted. The ministry grazes its many cattle across this vastness, which explains why every evening people from Ngong area flock the ranch to buy milk.

This turned out to be the most refreshing walk I ever had. The fields opened up before me, letting out their secret, the mystery fading a little but still deeply captivating. Their beauty was not in the mystery, their beauty was inherent, not to go away unless the grass fields are ravaged. I discovered a gentle valley with little pools of water; a small wooded area occupied one side of the valley, and the gentle ascent to the side so visible from my house now towered before me. And the grass moved, now even more visible… As usual it continued to move to the wind – swaying, dancing, singing, waving, forming heavenly patterns like one just entered the gates of pearl: Crop patterns – not circles, correction!

Now I’m sure the Maasais of Ngong have always known about this phenomenon, having lived in this area for many years. But where I grew up there were no open fields – only farms; and the grass was always short – never tall and willowy. The wind moved only the trees and bushes, never grass. So for me this was, still is, a novelty. And I love it every time!

Oh the Pain of Kenya

2012-01-24T18:35:00.003+03:00

Yesterday the reality of the Hague hit home for the first time for many Kenyans. However anyone who had carefully been following the Hague proceedings would have told them that there would be confirmations of charges for some, if not all of the suspects. It's a new reality in my country, that now we are being tried by the International Court for crimes against humanity. A crying shame for a country whose banner since inception has been Peace. A crying shame that Kenyans let their guard down and were caught napping, ending up in the Hague, causing our beloved nation untold embarrassment. Because, if any nation deserved to be portrayed to the world in this way, Kenya definitely was not it. And, because, if only we had behaved ourselves maturely at the last general election, this would never have happened. And because we failed to realize just how putting ourselves at the mercy of the outside world can be a painful experience.

Anyway, it has now happened and all we can do is watch and wait for the long, burdensome trials that we must forbear - so much shall we be daily bombarded with the proceedings by our broadcasting houses. And this we can't escape seeing as it's a national affair that touches all of us whether we like it or not, whether we care or not.

Seeing as Kenya has gone through this injustice of international humiliation, having already born the scars of post election violence, we shall bear our cross as a nation, and pray that the guilty will be punished while the innocent are acquitted: And pray that this painful experience will somehow lead to the healing, and maturing of our nation: And pray that we shall never again see election or post election violence, nor indeed the inside of the Hague or wherever else such a court may be constituted.

God bless, heal, and strengthen Kenya

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Back to School the Kenyan Way

2012-01-21T10:47:00.001+03:00

Two weeks ago I had the rare privilege of seeing my 9 year old nephew back to school. He was moving on to class four and mighty excited about it. Well, me, not so much. Among the list of items he had to bring was a dictionary, an atlas, a Good News Bible, Kamusi (Swahili dictionary), a ruler and a geometrical set.

Now the list is not so much the issue as is the fact that my boy had just graduated from class three and barely learnt to take care of his pencils. To be honest we’ve had to get him a new pencil, rubber, and sharpener every other day ever since I can remember. He has a way of misplacing even his items of clothing, putting jitters in us all night as we wonder whether the new track suit we just purchased will be found safe and sound somewhere in school the following morning.

So you can understand my apprehension when this same little ‘not-so-careful’ boy has to daily be entrusted with textbooks whose value runs into thousands of Kenya shillings. Lots of questions run through my mind like, why does a class four child NEED all these books? I sure don’t remember owning an atlas or a dictionary till I was in class six. And I’m pretty sure I turned out alright. No wonder the never ending hue and cry about revising the Kenyan education system.

That however is the tip of the iceberg. By some stroke of fate he needed to change schools. Fate did I say? Hmmm, let's review that. His school had made it clear it was phasing out the primary school over an eight year period or sooner if need be. The sooner turned it to be a manic suddenly that left all parents and guardians baffled. A week into his first term of the year, I dropped him to school in the morning but, when I went to pick him up in the evening I was casually informed that the school had CLOSED and he was not to report the following morning - figure that! I had a mind to sue but couldn't muster the strength for the long, probably futile, court battle, but I digress....

His new school seemed even more determined to make a tiny scholar out of him. On his second day back from school my little nephew groaned his way up the stairs to our flat, his school bag weighing him down, threatening to roll him back down the stairs. His new school had blessed him with all of eight or so textbooks (did I mention he is in class four?), not counting the ones we had bought earlier. Besides, I was informed, we needed to buy him SIXTEEN exercise books – that’s right, sixteen!

‘How are you expected to carry all that?’ I asked my little boy and he gave me a little smile in desperation. I felt his pain. Each morning after that as I watched him drag his bag to the school bus I would ask him, ‘Are you sure you need all those books today?’ I’ve asked him to get me the school timetable so I can decide what books he carries to school and which ones he doesn’t.

His new school seems to be aware of this mammoth task and has now issued him with a lockable desk (whew!) so he can leave some of the books behind. Now all I have to worry about is whether or not he will lose the keys (that I am as sure as day going to have to fasten somewhere around his neck,) and find himself unable to access his books for that day.

I am for education as much as, if not more than, the next person. But I am not convinced class four pupils need more than twenty textbooks and exercise books. Neither am I convinced it is healthy for them to carry to and from school bags that look like a back-packing expedition.

I think the academic competition in our country amongst schools has reached dangerous levels and is threatening to stunt the physical, emotional and even mental growth of our children. There is a time and place for lots of books and study, but lower primary just isn’t it. Amongst all the homework schools need to factor in play time for children. I hate to break it to you but this too is an important part of human development. Those schools that have done away with Physical Exercise lessons in their timetables, as well as games in the name of academic excellence need to reinstate this crucial part of a child’s development.

We must pace the education of our children. We really must be careful to give them only what they can reasonably handle at every stage of their studies, that way they will be better prepared and motivated for the next stage. I am no advocate for the silver spoon for kids, but our education system has gone too far, and the competition for top slots in National Exam results has become unhealthy, to put it mildly.

Let’s go back to the days when education was primarily for the benefit of our kids, not that of school heads, management, owners and teachers. Then maybe our children will enjoy going to school a little more than they do now.

The Universe Sings Harmony

2012-01-10T20:53:00.000+03:00

Harmony is when everything moves at out-of-this-world speeds, yet everything is so well coordinated, and relativity so perfect, that individual entities on these spiraling bodies are convinced they are standing still or moving at a slow or comfortable speed. Such is us on the planet, our planet on the universe, and the little microscopic or nearly-microscopic creatures on us. The universe equals harmony. Even the otherwise terrifying sounds of thunder and ocean storms are tuned to sound musical; even the hotter-than-a-furnace rays of the sun are tempered to feel cozy on the skin; even the rain falls to the rhythm of life. Even the mighty snow turns our world into one huge Christmas card.

The universe equals harmony. So peaceful, so quiet, while all along we know it’s moving at manic speeds, pulsating and making horrific sounds that, thankfully, are millions of light years away, or deeply buried in the crusts of the planets so we never have to hear them. We’re oblivious of the fire roaring and blazing in the belly of our planet, and steamy rocks all around us beyond our atmosphere, waiting for a chance to cast one of their deadly fireworks our way. Oblivious of the huge abyss surrounding us that is the sea. Oblivious of the water below water above, fire below fire above.

Such is the power of harmony, the power of unity.

We all know what happens when, every so often, the unity is disturbed; but for the most part, we sing one song on the universe.

The stars sing to the moon, the moon waves to the sun, and the earth bows to all of them, while all salute the Master who makes them all sing as one. It’s indeed a beautiful world…

Maddening Years of Haste

2012-01-07T12:13:00.005+03:00

And it was January and it was December, another year.

I remember precisely when it was when the years started spinning out of control. The year was 1980, and I was in class four (yeah, old, I know…) Before then I guess I had no sense of the calendar though I knew it existed. Happy days (some not so happy) simply merged into more happy days, and Christmas and New Year seemed like wonderful holidays that came and went once in a lo……ng while. Besides, these two holidays were really fun, what with all the night events, singing, visitors, peace, safety…

But class four changed all that. I guess I grew up... My little brain suddenly snapped and I understood the concept of time, the calendar, the inevitable and now hasty progression from January to December, the meaning of a year. Things that before got their meaning from events such as school opening day, exams, closing day, holidays etc, were now represented by a number or a word on the calendar. And all of a sudden a year was not so long any more.

I remember it so clearly because it was such a monumental development. My school year in class four seemed to speed past on an unkind mission to usher me into the world of time and rush madness. Hitherto I had been a happy-go-lucky child and my seniors were the custodian of my time. But now my time had acquired an identity, and it was all mine, and it was slipping very quickly through my fingers, through that hour glass.

Well, the upside was that I was hurtling through primary school, a place I very much wanted to leave behind and move on to high school. The down side was that I had been initiated into a club of those who understood time and its hasty mission to turn us all into worrying adults and eventually past tense (funny ha ha!) And now I have the years to prove it. That little girl of class four is no more just a few short years later; in her place is an adult reluctantly moving on to middle age and struggling to gracefully surrender the things of youth.

I’m sure you are older than I was in class four and so I don’t need to tell you the years have gained new momentum ever since, each new year moving even faster than the last. Sometimes I am convinced the Deity speeds up the time without us ever realizing it; that He makes our clocks seem to move normally while in fact we jump hours, even days forward at a time. Then in the end we are left wondering, ‘where did all the time go? Or ‘oh look at the time!?’, While all along He looks down on us and smiles, drawing us ever faster and closer to the end of time.

So as we embrace and plan the New Year, let’s just remember to adjust our pace because you don’t need me to tell you it will move even faster than the last one and we don’t wanna be caught flatfooted. .. You got to increase your speed if you want to move in harmony with the universe and the world of time, because believe me, it’s not moving at your pace. You just gotta keep up…

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It's A Kenyan Christmas!

2011-12-19T18:37:00.004+03:00

Christmas, the celebration of the birth of our Lord, is here again. It is a season many, and Christians in particular, await in anticipation as it marks the beginning of something truly fundamental to the Christian faith. Besides the joys of all the beautiful Christmas carols, dramas, dinners and festivals; Christmas trees, shiny, beautiful ornaments, Christmas lights and the many Father Christmases, there is all the food, drinks, get-togethers, family dos and lots of love and friendliness in the air.

It seems like nothing can go wrong during Christmas. Even the weather is different over this period. After all the wetness of the season, the rain seems to halt or pause its mission, the sun comes on bright in the now clean and crispy environment. Everything is fine with the world.

It’s tradition for nearly everyone in Kenya to go back to wherever we call ‘home’ during Christmas. The cities, Nairobi being no exception, become ghost towns, deserted, free of traffic, devoid of life. Usually home means to grandparents’ home for the young, to parents home for the not so young. In other words we congregate in the home of the oldest surviving members of the immediate family; it is usual to straddle both the home of one’s parents as well as that of one’s in-laws. It’s a juggling game that must be done this way for the desired effect to be achieved as this is Christmas and everyone is in a jolly and friendly mood.

As much as many, not just in Kenya but all over the world have shunned the practice of faith, yet all seem content to celebrate this most important of all Christian holidays (besides Easter, which holds a place of equal importance, if not more.) Advent, as Christians call it, is a celebration of the fact that God the Father sent His only begotten Son to the world so that He would not only bring the Good News, but also BE the Good News by later dying and rising again to bring salvation to the whole world (Easter). So these two holidays are inseparable in their mission and value as they are the whole foundation of the Christian faith.

We will not go into the down-side of Christmas where the businesses have commercialized everything to do with Christmas to the point of airing Christmas sales Ads that are nothing short of sacrilegious. It is a crying shame that one would lure people to a sale tied to a religious festival through advertisements that corrupt the core values of that very religion. I think to celebrate a religious festival everyone should at least do the bare minimum to respect that religion, or otherwise stay away from any associations with it altogether.

And so it’s another busy season for traffic up-country in Kenya, as most of us head back to the cradle. The few who will remain behind will enjoy much quieter cities, and probably just as boring; not to mention the unending, repeated Christmas movies on TV.

Hopefully this time the drivers, both private and public, will be careful on the roads so Christmas can remain a joyful season, not a period of mourning or tragic memories for anyone.

And hopefully, in the spirit of giving that comes with Christmas, our leaders and administrators will show benevolence to Kenyans and realize how ridiculous it is for us to buy a kilo of sugar at Ksh200, a litre of petrol at Ksh120, and a gas cylinder at Ksh4800. That they will realize the meaning of ‘basic commodities’, and ensure that these are not only accessible, but also affordable to all Kenyans. In their hectic dash towards the next general elections, we pray that our leaders will not forget us entirely, leaving us to the mercy of greedy and merciless corporates, industrialists and business persons.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Tribute to a Heroine - Lest we forget

2011-12-05T16:49:00.001+03:00

The world stopped

Hearts throbbed

Thousands sobbed

Nature wailed

For the light had gone out

A stunned silence

A muted whisper

A bewildered stammer

An unbelieving stutter

Why so sudden?

Why in your prime?

Why without goodbye?

Why without warning?

You never aged,

Ever so vigorous,

Ever so enthused,

Ever so focused

But the heavenly clock stopped

‘Come home’ the Deity said

You have done enough

It’s time to rest in peace

Your voice, your work, have been heard

Daughter it’s time to rest

Wangari

The silence at your departure

Continues yet

But your work assumes a new life

Taken by hearts young and old

Hearts that felt your work

And want to keep it alive

Wangari Maathai, A Life So Well Lived - Great Loss for Kenya and the Environment

2011-09-26T16:43:00.000+03:00

It fills me with great sadness to have to write this, but it would be criminal not to pay tribute to one of the greatest Kenyan heroines. Yesterday we lost a piece of ourselves as a country. Today Kenya bleeds because our beloved Wangari Maathai, the heroine of the Greenbelt Movement, tree planting, saving the environment and all other things green, is gone. In our hearts and our nation she has left a void we can’t help but feel, and we pray that we will all rise up to fill that void.

Our forests, the wild, nature, will feel her loss. As much as we hope another leader like Wangari will arise and take on her mantle, I pray rather that in each of us her spirit will live and we will continue the work, taking care of our environment, bleeding and raising our voices when the environment is threatened; one at a time, everywhere, greening Kenya in each and every way possible, tending our natural resources like a delicate infant that must be allowed to mature and thrive so it can fulfill its destiny. It’s the least we can do in memory of such a beloved, hard working, tireless, sacrificial national heroine.

For most of us her demise was so sudden, so unexpected, and therefore that much harder to take. But our Nobel Laureate has done her work thoroughly and exhaustively. She surpassed all and went thousands of extra miles because she did it as a passion, was ahead of her time and labored to take us all along with her in the cause to save the environment. She has fought the good fight, kept the faith and finished the race. It is now our turn, if for no other reason, at least to honour her toil, her love for our nation, her devotion.

Rest in peace, our dearest lady.

Kenya and the Hague Dilemma

2011-09-21T11:26:00.004+03:00

I find it difficult to make any comments or form an opinion about the Kenyan trials going on at the Hague at the moment. The reason for my dilemma is simple really: When Parliament was given a chance to form a Local Tribunal and spare us the shame and humiliation of being paraded before the whole world, it failed, thus our current predicament. Many of them who, at the time thought they were getting back at the Executive for all sorts of grievances, now find that was a miscalculation as they could never have guessed who exactly would wind up in the Hague. Granted, others are simply elated at the way things are.

Second, one can't help but wonder whether true justice could ever be carried out in our courts for the big fish. Much as we want to believe otherwise, so far the practice has been that the rich, the mighty, the connected, are always acquitted, without fail. Even with a change of guard at key Institutions the practice hasn't yet changed. I guess we'll just have to wait and see, but at the moment we have no idea which direction our Justice is headed.

Of course one also wonders whether our fellow Kenyans will get justice at the Hague. We sure hope so, but there is a little nagging worry that this unbidden desire to 'make an example' of Kenya could strain justice. Why make an example of Kenya, a country that has hitherto behaved itself so well? Why not go for the real rogue nations in 'making an example', and treat Kenyans with greater kindness instead? I'm not suggesting the guilty go unpunished, just that there are other, less harsh, less humiliating ways for a model nation like ours.

And of course one can't help but feel other culprits of Post Election violence, who should also have been in the Hague, were left out of the List. And the big question is why, why, why?

So I watch the proceedings on TV with little interest, often wishing they could simply be reported instead of being beamed live, all the time wishing I could be left to watch the normal line-up of TV programmes. But it's obvious we'll continue to be confronted with the Hague trials, a scourge we can't seem to escape.

Our Post Election victims were deeply wronged by what happened to them, and they must get justice and compensation for their woes. But I can't help but feel Kenya as a nation (not individuals) was wronged too by the way in which this whole Hague issue was discussed and executed.

Well, we all get a chance, many chances in fact, to learn by experience. Hope this hurtful and painful experience has taught us all, our leaders especially, a lesson we will never forget, and that we will never repeat the mistakes of yesterday.

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Oh the Pain of Kenya

Our Athletes, Our Champions, Our Heroes

2011-09-06T11:20:00.001+03:00

We congratulate and thank our amazing athletes who always do us so proud and keep the Kenyan flag flying high around the world. We thank them for ensuring Kenya remains a shining star despite all that threatens to tarnish its image. We thank them for presenting to the world, the true Kenyan spirit, the true Kenyan nationality. We thank them for making us believe in ourselves, and for nurturing our optimism. You are an epitome of all that is good and beautiful about our beloved nation. Please keep it up, we are counting on you... and are firmly behind you...

Another Sad, Sad Day for Kenya

2011-08-27T10:40:00.001+03:00

Exasperation – that’s the feeling one gets at the end of the one year mandatory period for the implementation of the New Constitution. Yesterday our beloved President gave a speech congratulating our legislators for passing the necessary bills in time to beat the 27^th August deadline. But did they really deserve that commendation? Mhh, now let’s see….

Our MPs had 365 days to pass the bills necessary to put our Constitution into effect; but, as usual, theatrics took centre stage almost as soon as the referendum had passed. Side shows ensured the implementation of the New Constitution was conveniently locked away in the closet. What with the debate on whether or not the Ocampo Six should go to the Hague, what with the round of campaigns on how to help these ‘our sons’, ‘our brothers’ and all the other ‘ours’ escape the Ocampo whip.. Plus all the early campaigns for the 2012 Presidency, who will merge with who, who will dethrone who… Then there was the never ending debate on whether or not, and when, the MPs should pay tax (never mind taxation was entrenched in this same New Constitution): Not to forget the incredibly long period of time spent on infighting within political parties, some of which have now all but split up…

It was no wonder then, that a week to the 1^st Anniversary of the promulgation of the New Constitution, legislators were rushing to pass necessary bills; not all bills, just a few selected ones needed to get by. So Kenyan, so African – hakuna matata – take your time, tomorrow is another day!

So why should we congratulate them for burning the midnight oil doing in a day or two what they should have done in 365 days? But then maybe this was the plan all along. The plan so they could do what they did within those two days – mutilate the very Constitution Kenyans had worked and died for. A Constitution that was in the making for 20 some years, a Constitution for which Kenyans died, a Constitution which received a nod at the referendum at the behest of these same politicians - was mutilated as we all watched.

Practically anything in those bills that interfered with the comfort, pockets and convenience of our politicians, was scrapped. No party hopping – scrapped! Requirement to have a university degree – scrapped! No more than 2/3rds of the same gender – scrapped. Vetting – no no!

Now I know legislators are there to pass laws, but is it prudent to lead Kenyans to believe that we now have a Constitution that safeguards our rights, streamlines the behavior of our leaders, and ensures progress for this nation, only for these to be taken out of our hands as we watch, without as much as a single consultation? After consulting so much during the formulation of the New Constitution and pretending to care, how could our leaders now betray us so much, undoing the very Constitution we had believed was going to change this country? How could they undo the Constitution before it even really came into force?

Does anything really change in Kenya? We thought this Constitution guaranteed basic human rights, but our fellow Kenyans in Turkana and its surroundings starved as we watched, with several dying… and now we realize anything in that Constitution can be amended without a second thought, to suit our politicians, not Kenyans.

What really has changed in this country? So we charged and took a few big fish to court on corruption charges, but soon they were all but cleared of the same. Is any big fish ever guilty in this country?

When church leaders pleaded with the leaders to revisit contentious issues in the New Constitution and amend them, they were categorically told the Constitution had been passed by majority of Kenyans at the referendum and was cast in stone, and so nothing could be amended. But, in a single day or two, our ‘honourable’ politicians have proceeded to amend anything in the formulated bills that they didn’t like, without as much as a second glance at the Kenyans who passed the Constitution, despite the public outcry.

So then maybe this was the plan all along, to delay the passing of crucial bills until the last minute when they can be hurriedly amended and passed without any chance for anyone to cry out, or anyone to go to court. No wonder then they concluded in the middle of the night before anyone could get a court order against bills which had not been scrutinized by the committee for the implementation of the Constitution.

So no, Mr. President; I love my President and make no secret about it – but on this occasion he is wrong. He is wrong to congratulate this bunch or expect us to do so. I am deeply aggrieved and so, I’m sure, are many of my fellow Kenyans. We have been let down by our leaders; many times before have they let us down, but this time round they’ve simply brought us down, insulted us and proceeded to trample all over us. The word Parliamentary Dictatorship scaringly comes to mind…

The rushing, the mutilating of those crucial bills is a national shame, and a scourge on a document we would otherwise have been very proud to have and to implement, our New Constitution.

This brings to mind the words of one of our many ‘prophets’ (pardon me but I can’t always tell a true one from a false one) who told us all from the Bench that we would be disappointed in regard to this New Constitution. I’m sure quite a few skeptics laughed him to scorn, but not many are laughing now. For we’ve already been quite disappointed with the behavior of our leaders, but this, this that happened this week, goes right down into our guts… disappointed, disregarded, held in contempt, betrayed, yet again lorded over… God I pray that it will not always be so, that someday soon we will indeed get the freedom which we, obviously, must continue to fight for…

African Juxtaposition

2011-08-22T13:00:00.002+03:00

The juxtaposition that is Kenya, and indeed most of Africa, is a characteristic of all economies on the no man’s land between technological advancement and a backward existence. It is a sorry yet necessary stage as nations fight to cross the divide that removes them from ‘developing’ nations and puts them, hopefully forever, in the group of the ‘developed.’ Who would think a simple difference in the ending of an otherwise similar word, could signify so much. Develop –ing versus Develop – ed; a deep gorge divides them, you need years to cross and, from the look of things, some may never cross.

It’s a state where, for most nations, the gap between the haves and have nots is usually just as deep as that between developed and undeveloped (again, such a small difference). It’s where some live in rat infested, sewage flooded neighbourhoods while others float around in kingly and queenly mansions. Some ride chariots while others ride donkeys; for some there’s a dress for every occasion while others have one dress for all occasions.

Fellow countrymen do not recognize each other. The haves cannot believe or understand how anyone can be so poor, while the have-nots marvel at the sight of such riches and luxuries the other side enjoys. Every conceivable modern comfort is available to those who can afford it, while most others are still stuck in the dark ages from their humble, temporary or semi-permanent dwellings, to the simple stone age implements which pass for technology and help ease their labours a little. So the rich goes to bed happy and refreshed after riding his farm tractor around for an hour or so cultivating his massive farmland, while the poor sleeps with nearly broken back after spending all day with hoe, jembe or panga tilling his little half acre of subsistence farm.

In between is the interaction that joins the two worlds together, occasionally causing them to brush against each other, making the Forward to remember yester years and the Backward to long for a better future, thereby birthing ambition.

Technology meets primitive farm appliances as mama takes a break from tilling the land with hoe, jembe or panga in order to answer a call on her mobile phone from her son in Nairobi or abroad somewhere. Later that evening she passes by the local shop to collect money sent to her by her children through M-Pesa (mobile phone money transfer).

Young adults looking for work pour into cyber cafes to surf the net after a hard day’s job helping mama in the farm, or just roaming the City streets hoping to make productive acquaintances.

Seven star estates border slum areas, potholed roads exit from modern motorways, sprawling modern farmland neighbours poor, subsistence agriculture; hoes and jembes compete with advanced farm machinery in crop production. Well equipped, national and international, public and private schools fight it out with barely equipped shanty schools in national exams; five star hospitals coexist with make-believe clinics run by unqualified, self professed medics.

Expansive grasslands teeming with wildlife parallel well built cities or agricultural zones; scorched out desert lands meet with greened out fertile regions. Hills and mountains quickly give way to flattened plains, and land eventually melts into the expansive Indian Ocean, or Lake Victoria, or any of the other several inland lakes in Kenya.

Little, well fed spoilt kids see African images of malnourished or starving children in need of international aid on TV and ask, ‘that’s supposed to be us? We are supposed to look like that and get donor aid?’ While little, cold and shivering children in tattered clothes watch their neighbors driven to school in huge fuel guzzlers and go, ‘you mean it’s possible to live like that? That’s someone’s car? That’s a house for one family? Schools like those exist in Kenya?’

Beautiful, blue chip multinationals carve their niche alongside jua kali (informal sector) artisans and street vendors; working class masses in suits and white collars compete for a bus ride alongside contractual workers headed for industrial area, not assured of a job for the day. An even larger group makes it on foot either from Eastlands or Kibera headed for the same Industrial area.

Universities spew out talent and skills by the thousands every year, while a few other thousands drop out of school for lack of fees. Several starry eyed graduates get new jobs while yet more others are laid off in a ‘restructuring’ process. Banks issuing huge loans to lucky employees for cars, houses and all sorts of assets fight it out with informal community groups painstakingly saving their money little by little in chamas (societies), hoping to get a small loan to help out in the little business of selling sukuma wiki (greens).

Some rear horses while others rear chicken and rabbits. Some give their German Shepherds and poodles a bath in the tub while others chase their flea infested beasts as far away as possible from their semi-permanent shelters.

Eventually a country must cross no-man’s land and emerge on the other side. Many have already done so and we call them ‘developed’, a term well earned as it’s difficult to attain. No man’s land is no place of permanence. It’s a limbo that signifies pain for a large segment of the population as modernity disrupts whatever comfort they may earlier have enjoyed in their simple existence, while yet they are unable to afford the luxuries that same modernity should otherwise bring them.

Land is lost to new developments; pastoralists no longer have enough pasture as they can’t roam around wherever they wish any more. Dams drown out farmland. New and modern settlements eat into agricultural land. Traditional, nutritious foods are replaced with quickly growing, mass produced GMOs full of unresolved debate. Flower farms and irrigation schemes nearly dry out beautiful lakes and rivers as they channel the water to their red, green and white gold. Beautiful rivers turn filthy as industries wantonly empty their waste into them.

The masses, left with little or no alternative, their simple livelihoods now all but destroyed, turn to their new financial masters for jobs and casual labour, where they are mercilessly exploited with wages that can hardly buy them food, let alone any other necessities.

No-man’s land is no place to linger for a self-respecting society. It’s a place we must strive to quickly get out of, bridging the gap between the rich and the poor, and swelling our middle class in the process. We must quickly move to ensure all basic needs are available in decent form to all our citizens so we can cross this all-important barrier and have a sense of uniformity, where no Kenyan child goes to bed hungry, is unable to access decent housing, education or medical care. Policies must not only be put in place but also be implemented to ensure the haves come down from their high towers and the have nots rise from the ashes - and we all truly meet in the middle, a place we can all happily call Kenya, and ourselves, Kenyans!

Like Sheep Without a Shepherd

2011-08-18T13:59:00.001+03:00

In case you’re wondering, I’m not obsessed with livestock or wildlife. I just happen to live at the foot of Ngong Hills, neighbouring the Maasai and all their livestock. In fact, they used to occupy this area until Nairobi City expanded, pushing them farther up the hills.

So as you can imagine, every so often (quite often to be honest), the Maasai eye the greened estates full of drainage water and can’t help bringing their animals that way for a treat… Sometimes the dry season means the grasslands and the river beds dry out, necessitating this move to where water and green can still be found. In our case this becomes the neighbouring estates, Karen and Langata included. In fact, if not stopped, they would go all the way to the City centre!

Now just as we made to take the sudden dip that signifies our home stretch, we noticed this white truck stalled diagonally across the road. No vehicle, except the cyclists, was going to fit in the small space left on the road. So we sighed (it was raining heavily) and moved back onto the main road heading for the next alternative exit road. This particular one was quite rocky, having recently been redone and no one seemed to think it essential to beat and smooth out the rocks. Still it would have to do.

We hadn’t gone far before we noticed the large herd ahead. In the midst of the heavy downpour, two young lads clad in simple rainproof coats led the livestock along the road – and I mean ALONG the road. They didn’t even turn as we approached. It seemed we were going to have to trail behind the cattle for the 300 metres or so. But my husband and I were not buying that idea so we hooted for the lads to drive the livestock onto the roadside. I mean they didn’t need to be all over the road, did they?

One of the lads came to our rescue and started nudging the animals forward and out of the road. But then, as fate would have it, the cattle in front decided to pull a fast one and dashed sideways into a compound with a partly abandoned building-under-construction. They were after all here to look for green grass, weren’t they? And this looked like a perfect spot. So they tore into the compound and into the building. Poor lad, fancy having to drive cows and bulls out of several rooms in an abandoned building… Sounds like a scene from one of those dark treasure hunt stories!

Meanwhile here we were, hoping to be rescued so we can proceed with our journey. The lad was too busy thinking about his cattle to even remember us, let alone care. (You need to understand you can’t separate a Maasai from his livestock!) So my husband busied himself behind the wheel trying to nudge the animals along. Some of the sheep had long followed after the cows and the shepherd into the compound, but many more sheep remained on the road, now seemingly paralyzed. They stood still, immovable and immobile, not even pretending to see the car that attempted to drive through a few centimeters behind them!

He hooted, my poor man, but to no avail. If you know anything about sheep, their folly borders on sheer stubbornness. I knew little about sheep till I moved to Ngong, but now I’ve observed them so much I’ve enough material for a serialization…

My husband had a solution for the sheep… push them a little (with the car!), and they will move - men! In the meantime I pleaded and begged as he proceeded to do just that, ‘Stop please, don’t. Don’t push them, look, there’s a little kid under its mama. You’ve got to stop that…’ On and on I went as I imagined the pretty little kids running under the car and….ouch! Never mind the wrath of the lads should we actually run over any of the animals…

By now the sheep had crowded and formed themselves into a line right down the middle of the road for a distance of about fifty metres. And they were standstill, going nowhere..! Fancy having to drive through that… There was not enough space on either side to dodge them – we needed help or we too would be herding cattle for a while here.

‘Just a little,’ my husband insisted and pushed a few more centimeters. Behind us, the second lad stood in the rain, as immobilized as the sheep. He had long abandoned all effort to shepherd the animals still on the road, neither was he helping his friend back in the abandoned building. By now I had had enough. Looking behind through the rear window, I gestured crazily at him to come and get the animals out of the road. Thankfully he understood and did come to help. The poor lad was drenched in rain and I think he had lost all the will to fight or help. But he did respond to my furious waving and gesturing.

Somehow he succeeded in nudging the animals to one side just enough for us to pass, and soon the chaos and animal jam was behind us. I couldn’t see the first lad anywhere, God only knows how long it took him to herd all his cattle out of that building.

What had started out as one obstacle in way of a stalled truck had grown into several obstacles along our route home. Sometimes life is like that. Just when you think you have everything figured out, things fall apart… Our solutions soon develop unforeseen problems of their own - none more so than sheep without a shepherd…!

In the Name of Health - SuperFoods

2011-08-09T16:30:00.003+03:00

Now I know everything God made may be considered a super food – barring the list of food items He did not recommend for His chosen Biblical race, the Israelites. For those of you who are wondering, such delicacies as lobsters and crabs did not make God’s list of super foods… He did use a curious identification method for ‘clean’ and ‘unclean’ foods such as divided hooves and chewing cud, (clean) marine life with fins and scales (clean), insects that fly and swarm (unclean) etc, but bottomline, if it scavenged, was carnivorous, dead, or generally looked ugly…, it was unclean. If it was well tamed, beautiful and had no dodgy habits… clean.

You’ll be glad to know that, contrary to all the debate, He never quite forbid wine in its entirety except for those specially chosen saints like the Nazirites… oh, and the Bishops! So do watch out. But before you go get your crate of the stuff, neither did He encourage it. What with such sayings like ‘give wine to the perishing…’ ouch! What He did clearly say, over and over, is that drunkenness is a sin that will land you in hell…. So go figure…! Wine bibbing for the God-conscious is a delicate balancing act so intricate as to be left well alone, for the most part…enough said.

So then some of today’s ‘super foods’ would never have found their way into God’s list, rather languishing in the list of the ‘forbidden’. Luckily for today’s generation God did give reprieve when He said to Peter up on the roof, ‘don’t call unclean what God has made clean.’ Thus declaring all foods clean. Still, go easy on that ‘all foods clean thing’. Clean spiritually may not necessarily mean clean for your health or stomach, what with all that fat, alcohol, toxins, cholesterol, sugars, salts… I think what God did here was to give us a choice as to what to eat, rather than a clean bill of health on all foods. So to exercise wisdom and caution, as opposed to following a set of rules…

Now back to our super foods… If you’ve consulted the internet lately you’ll have discovered that list of super foods is growing daily; strawberries, nuts, tomatoes, avocadoes, fish, salmon, olives, spinach and all leaves green, carrots, red meat, red wine, bananas, pumpkins and their seeds, melons and their seeds, sweet potatoes, eggs, milk, chocolate, cacao, herbs, spices, whole grains, whole cereals, have I forgotten something? I’m sure I’ve forgotten something… You get the picture though. Almost everything God made is in there really.

So why not break it all down and say, any naturally produced food (as opposed to processed and man-made stuff), anything growing naturally in the farm, bushes, pens or grasslands; anything swimming in the ocean that is neither oil nor plastic; anything flying in the air that is no craft or meteor; all these eaten in moderation, are super foods! Mark you even healthy stuff if overdone will stuff your midriff, unless it’s all green or yellow.

Kenya has not been left behind in the super-food craze. Our thing here is mainly to go back to traditional foods which we long abandoned and forgot in our craving for the West’s processed, fine, sugary and fancy looking stuff. Yeah, we even borrowed their crops and forgot our good old millet, sorghum, cassava, yams, sweet potatoes, arrow roots and the like, (in the process borrowing their diseases too). Plus all our original greens that we’re now made to understand are full of iron, antioxidants and all the other goodness we’ve learnt to swear by.

It seems nowadays all it needs is to grow on its own in a farm, and suddenly it can cure cancer, common cold, asthma, ulcers and all manner of ailments; even HIV Aids!

Now I’m all for natural foods - I too have realized fatigue seems to disappear if we go healthy and natural, but I also know their role is mainly health maintenance and prevention of opportunistic ailments. But once the ailment catches on, for all practical purposes it’s time for some medical attention. Otherwise if food could cure all maladies simply because it was natural, then our ancestors would have lived longer and escaped all the horrible plagues that took so many of them away. What with all their foods having being all natural!

The other day I attempted to explain this to a friend by use of a strange metaphor. I went on and on about how eating healthy can be compared to maintaining peace in a country and ensuring cohesion so that no violence or aggression breaks out, internally or externally. But once aggression strikes, despite all efforts at peace, then it’s time to bring out those trained to handle aggression, the forces that be. Nice words will not do it. You first quell the aggression, then discuss the peace. You could do both at the same time, but you must confront the aggression.

At the end of that comparison my friend incredulously asked me, ‘Are we still talking about garlic?!’ for believe me, all along we had been discussing the health benefits of garlic, another super, super, super food, incidentally…

Still, like in all things, war and disease included, prevention is better than cure, health better than medication, peace better than confrontation. So thumbs up to all foods natural – healthy super-foods, whatever their definition…

The extreme of this theory – that of eating everything as raw or as near raw as possible, meat and milk included - is just dodgy. Really, we improved on our ancestors by cooking our food so as to kill suspect micro-organisms in there that caused disease and untold suffering. Why go backwards in the name of new research? It’s just a vicious circle that will take us back to the days of microbes and other microscopic monsters.

Don’t even get me started on grass – drinking juice made from all sorts of super-grass to get as near the natural goodness as possible. What is wrong with letting the cow and sheep eat the grass whereupon I eat their flesh and drink their milk thereby taking in whatever nutrients in grass they already stored up for me? But then maybe it’s just me… but I simply don’t think we should be competing with livestock for grass.

Which Way Kenya?

2011-08-04T13:03:00.004+03:00

Four years can fly by quite quickly. Four years ago it was – well, almost – that Kenya held its national elections with the resulting melee. A lot has happened since then, both good and bad. We have a new Constitution, the implementation of which is under much debate, still unconcluded and, quite frankly, not going the way it was supposed to. The necessary bills are yet to be debated and passed in parliament, less than a month to the first anniversary since Promulgation (how quickly time flies!).

Now there’s a reason for this delay. Besides the fact that there wasn’t total agreement about the new Constitution, meaning the implementation of the same is not exactly everybody’s cup of tea, the greatest obstacle is probably the fact that our leaders started campaigning for the next election almost as soon as they were sworn into office in 2008. Now, with the long awaited elections due next year (2012!), campaigns are at fever pitch. Strange when you think we’re nowhere near the officially accepted campaign period.

It’s no wonder then that so much has gone wrong that should have been a walk over. Food and fuel prices, literally the price of all basic commodities, have skyrocketed, Kenyans are dying of hunger, crucial projects have been halted; there’s so much acrimony amongst the parties that little is being done any more in way of governance. Congratulations to those ministries like Tourism and Communications who, despite this climate, are somehow still achieving much in their area. I doubt much is going on in most Constituencies as leaders fight for all sorts of newly-created positions, that is, when they are not wrangling within their own parties.

Like a marriage of convenience, it seems all everyone is waiting for now is for this year to drag past so the marriage can be annulled and fresh elections can give us a clear winner with a homogeneous government, not this mix and mismatch of parties and ideologies. Which means you can expect pretty little to happen in the meantime in way of development or policy formulation.

Thank God for those first two years or so when our leaders needed to prove to us that they were better than their rivals and therefore they worked with quite a bit of energy and together achieved much. With time this was overtaken by perpetual disagreements and corruption scandals which meant the gloves had come off and Kenyans could see all of them for who they really were. Seeing no need then for any more pretence they decided to go full throttle into what they know best, campaigns, wrangling, corruption, sabotage, hence our current predicament. Whatever fruits we have reaped from this group of leaders is then confined to that brief time period, and I thank God for, for all it’s worth, they did give us a new Constitution.

I firmly believe the new Constitution is the main reason God organized for Kenya to have a coalition government. Given the divisions and mood in the country for the last few years, given the constant struggle for power, I doubt any side could have achieved a new Constitution without the other. Hence the grand coalition, in Divine Wisdom.

So Kenyans should consider this a transition period separating our past from our future. And, despite what we may think, our current leaders were the best God could find to manage this transition. Their roles are different and some even dubious, but all necessary in this valley of decision that Kenya now finds herself, confronting both her past and future, and deciding how she wants to proceed.

We have everything we need to build a new country. We have a Constitution and are doing what we can under the circumstances to see it implemented. We have systems and policies and are busy formulating others, we have devolvement, County governments, we have serious infrastructure development and continuing - fibre connectivity and good roads right there on top of the list - we have free basic education, Universities galore, an ever growing middle class, ever expanding foreign investment, an intelligent populace, freedom of expression like we never experienced before…. We have what it takes to put a clear divide between our past and future, and determine to build a new and progressive society and economy both for ourselves and our children for ages to come. This present valley, whatever problems we went through, whatever more we’ll go through, this current transition is the seed on which a new and blessed Kenya will spring. (Not that we are not blessed now but we’ve kind of muddled that with lots of human error, too much human error).

And so we wait with bated breath for a new era, a new dispensation. We urge our leaders on in passing the necessary bills needed to implement the new Constitution (they are the only leaders we have for this). We look forward to a new age where our country will be run through effective and just policies and systems, where we shall all be Kenyans, where regions, tribes, parties, personalities come an invisible second to peace, development, cohesion, justice, equitableness, Nationalism.

We look forward to Kenya as we know it, Kenya as we have always wanted it to be.

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'Bursary' the Mole-Digger

2011-08-04T12:56:00.001+03:00

He had a funny name, which closely resembled ‘bursary’. At the time we said he was nuts, or slightly mental. What we couldn’t have begun to understand was that he had a certain form of mild Autism. I say mild but it was probably much stronger. He could hardly look you in the eye, he fidgeted non-stop when he wasn’t engaged in his favourite task of digging out moles, hardly spoke except when spoken to, and yes, God help you if you cut off even a tiny grain from the ugali (thick porridge)cooked for him.

Before he accepted any job from anyone, his one requirement was that no one shares in his ugali. In other words, once it’s been cooked and shaped Kenyan style, you could not then cut it out of shape. You had to give it to him whole, in that cone-shape.

The trick then, for those who knew, was to cut off whatever portion needed cutting BEFORE shaping it. That way ‘Bursary’ would believe it had not been interfered with. Honestly I think his obsession was with that cone-shape rather than the size of the ugali. True, his portion of ugali could feed five, but the size could vary. What must never vary though, was the shape!

The mole, back to the mole… ‘Bursary’s’ sole job was to dig out moles. Legend had it that moles smelt him and so no matter how deep or troublesome they had been, once ‘Bursary’ set a trap for them they came out whimpering, like some kind of silent hypnosis..

Many a man did their best to excel in this noble farm task, but ‘Bursary’ made them look like boys attempting a man’s job. He ate and drank ‘mole-digging’. When he set to his task, he did not speak, and did not take a rest. He worked tirelessly till the job was done. Likewise when he sat down to his ugali, he went at it till every last grain was gone. A characteristic of his condition, but at the time we thought he simply enjoyed going non-stop.

He never lacked for cash as moles were not in short supply upcountry.

We all liked him, but steered clear out of his way. His stammer sounded entertaining to little children, but he had no time for nonsense and had very little social tolerance. Other than that he was quite harmless.

I wonder how many people labeled mental could have gotten better, or at least been better handled, had their condition been better understood. Like the forgetful old man with Alzheimer’s, or the lady who shook non-stop with Parkinson’s, or the others with all sorts of mental disorders all lumped together as mad… for that was what they were called.

Well, lots of us did have a deep fear of all things mental, what with someone going berserk every once in a while and chasing people around with a panga (sword), or the substance abuser who made it his joy and amusement to terrorize anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path…

With all the improvement in health facilities and awareness, I hope more and more people with mental and other physical disorders are getting better diagnosis, and thus better care than ‘Bursary’ and the others received in days gone by.

Cycle of Famine - the Cry of a Region

2011-08-01T16:12:00.002+03:00

It happens every year, almost without fail... First, there is drought, with the inevitable famine. Then comes torrential rains resulting in floods that sweep people and animals away.. There's an outcry, an outcry to harvest this water.. Why so much waste? We just emerged from drought, someone please save and store this water..

A half-hearted attempt at dam-construction here, a minimal effort at a storage tank there... Silence the public, then down the tools, till next year..

And on and on, till the next drought.

It's heartbreaking to say the least watching Kenyans die of hunger. Heartbreaking because it doesn't have to be so, heartbreaking because every year we go through the cycle, every year we hear the government rhetoric, 'no Kenyan will die of hunger', 'lessons have been learnt', 'this will never happen again': Heartbreaking because so much money is allocated to these causes, taxpayers money (read the common man, what with the political class for so long exempted from tax!) Heartbreaking because the country produces so much food, yet somehow the distribution has never been properly mustered, properly managed. Even the food importation to avert crisis usually ends up being a way for the rich to get even richer...

My heart goes out to fellow Kenyans in the northern region. They have a country, they work hard rearing their cattle, but when they cry out to their government to create an enabling environment both for sustenance and development, it seems to fall on deaf ears.

I hope the new system of devolvement and County government will change things, I hope it will not be another cash cow for the greedy at the expense of the long suffering..

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The Unstoppable Wind of CHANGE

2010-11-06T12:18:00.001+03:00

Change comes so slowly we often miss it. This has been the case throughout the years anywhere on the globe. For what seems like eternity Kenya has fought relentlessly against corruption without much tangible result. One wondered whether we would ever win this war. Attempts from leaders to weed out the vice were half hearted at best, and even when cases were investigated and/or taken to court, little ever came out of it. Hardly did we prosecute, let alone convict any big fish, somehow they always emerged innocent and promptly resumed their duties. And even the few who did not resume had the freedom to go home and enjoy their loot, while working in numerous other establishments in all manner of positions. No one went to jail or paid a fine unless they were really junior officials. How can there be so much corruption, and yet so many innocent people, one wonders?

Now however, with a new face at KACC (Kenya Anti Corruption Commission), a new and ever growing cry from Kenyans, a new Constitution and a new determination, we are beginning to see ruffled feathers at the very top. We are beginning to feel like big fish are not only being caught, but might actually go all the way to the cells and/or hefty fines, as well as returning to the Sovereign State of Kenya all the monies and property they have looted and stashed away in foreign accounts. We see more and more of them actually appearing in court; we see them being forced to resign, under the Constitution, once they are charged in court; we see them ‘stepping aside’ or whatever that means, once cases of corruption are credibly brought against them.

Of course, the real test is in what finally happens in these investigations, prosecutions. Will someone actually be found guilty, will someone pay for the crimes committed against hardworking Kenyans, many of whom are wallowing in poverty because someone helped themselves to their hard earned public funds? Is this finally it or yet another higher-level attempt to hoodwink Kenyans and make them believe something is being done against corruption while nothing ultimately changes? We sure hope not. We hope the KACC boss and his team are indeed serious and will go all the way, stopping at nothing, to give Kenya the corruption free breathing space we have craved for so long.

Indeed it is rare to find someone who, in the first place, is not afraid to take on the big wigs in this noble fight. On that front we finally have a breakthrough; the new KACC Director does not seem afraid of any of them, and if he can weather the storm as I’m sure it’s already brewing against him somewhere, he just might be the man who leads this Nation to a new fair and just dispensation.

Curious indeed how cases of corruption in Ministries and government Parastatals are often proved, but somehow the Minister and often the PS or Parastatal boss are almost always innocent of the crimes. Really, give us some credit and let people indeed carry their own cross and pay for either; not sufficiently and efficiently supervising their ministries or departments; not putting in place foolproof policies to prevent fraud; not implementing existing government policies that would otherwise prevent fraud; or being themselves directly or indirectly part and parcel of the fraud in question.

In a new Kenya the Hague is no longer a distant possibility to be kept at bay through numerous attempts to scuttle the ICC process. No; the Hague is so real that those implicated are now yielding themselves, something which, if you know anything about Kenya, is hugely unusual. We prefer to hide as far as possible and hope we don’t get caught. Even behind our tribes and allies if necessary. Now however the ground is so hot on all fronts that they are coming out shouting without much prompting at all. Be that on corruption or the journey to the Hague. At least the message is getting across; in a new Kenya we will not tolerate impunity of any kind, from any person whatsoever. I’m sure we’ll be hearing much more on these issues in the coming days.

Any person who thinks they can play the game like it has always been played is out of touch with the new reality and has been left behind by the Kenyan populace. We gave our leaders the benefit of the doubt for too long, and they effectively took advantage on gigantic proportions. Now we know something we didn’t, and we will not let anyone take it away from us. Names, Parties, Tribes and Alliances mean little henceforth. We want justice and we want it now. We want a country and we want it now. We want a future and we want it now.

Yes, change does come, but not without cost. I don’t think any Kenyan will claim any of this has been easy. It has not been a walk over; blood has been spilt or simply drained over this; many of us have bent their backs to sustain these high profile vices; our economy and environment have deep scars to prove it; and a nation that should long have matured is still languishing at the bottom.

But dawn is here, and once we’ve tasted it we cannot let go. We cannot go backwards to where we came from. And no one will stall this forward march, and that is a simple fact. Hopefully no one will want to for progress is so much better than retrogressing, equitableness better than the deep divide between the haves and have nots, peace so much better than strife, and prosperity for all better than poverty for any Kenyan. A country with a high quality of life is our goal and desire, and at this rate we will get there soon enough.

Joys of Life in Boarding School

2010-10-25T11:44:00.011+03:00

Feels almost like yesterday though it was many years ago, too many to mention. My first day in boarding school as I joined First Form in high school… I was so thrilled and every aspect was exciting to me, including sleeping in the dormitories with all the other girls. So excited was I that when my aunt who taught in the school invited me to spend that first night in her house in the staff quarters, I declined the offer. Later as the novelty wore off I was to beat myself and wish I had accepted that invite.

Within a month homesickness had set in with a vengeance. I missed the familiarity of home, missed my siblings, missed the fact that in my days at primary school I went home every evening. But now I was miles away from home and the end of a school day meant only more school with excited girls everywhere in the dorms, Preps in the evening, and the bookworms who read long after lights-off inside their blankets with the use of a flashlight (no one was allowed to read after lights out, naturally).

I remember writing home with all my complaints about boarding school, among them that the food wasn’t enough and that I wanted to be taken to the boarding school 3 miles from home so I could be visiting home each weekend. Of course the food was enough but our school was not on a mission to fatten us, and, being in a good Provincial school, my parents were not going to indulge my whims and take me to what was commonly known as a Harambee school. (A Harambee school was one where students who had not passed very well were admitted, while in a government school students who had passed well in their exams got the first chance of direct admission). A Provincial school was second only to a National one, both in academics and standards.

Eventually we all adjusted, and soon I was a natural in the independence of boarding school, and being in this environment where a thousand girls spent the most part of the year was beginning to be real fun. You have to understand most of us were only 13 plus or minus one when we joined form one so homesickness was normal in the first term. But soon we all learned to love our new home.

Barring the fact that this was a girls’ school and the only male figures were members of staff, it was a great school. Education was the priority here and shenanigans had little place. Discipline was nearly never an issue, and I’m sure our teachers had a fun time educating us and engaging us in lively, intelligent discussions in class. In an environment of mutual respect and purpose like this, relationships between students and staff were quite cordial. I don’t remember there ever being an issue that necessitated riots or the kind of horrific experiences going on in some schools today, where students have taken to burning down the schools their parents have paid so much to build, and even burning their fellow students to death in the process. Whatever one says, I don’t understand such animal behaviour; it can never be justified and must NOT happen. Someone needs to do something because students are supposed to be busy learning and developing into productive citizens, not plotting the destruction of lives and property. This is archaic to an astonishing degree.

Of course, like in any large group, there were a few rotten eggs who gave teachers a headache. Not in class though; there you would never suspect any monkey business. Nay: This was the group that sneaked out of school over the weekend and went to the nearby Muranga town for Disco (that’s what it was called then) and whatever else they did at that hour. Catching them was always a feat, they had so perfected their art, but eventually one or two would get caught and get an instant suspension, which became an expulsion for repeat offenders.

And then there was that curious practice where the school nurse would examine all the girls whenever we came back to school from holidays, checking for any bulging stomachs. Either out of sheer luck or some kind of tip-off, occasionally she discovered one, and that really would be the end of school for the student. At least this school. See, my school had no policy to host expectant students, and if one was found to be so they would have to leave and, either come back after delivery or hopefully join another school. (I’m not sure anyone did come back in the four years I was there, but I did hear rumours that some of the girls who joined our school from other schools were themselves already mothers who had been sent away from their first school for the same reasons.) Well, such is the case with girls, you can expect at least five will go this way in the course of four years.

The closest we ever came to any kind of protest was when the Education Ministry suddenly announced that school would close after Easter holidays. We were incensed! This had hitherto not happened. We were so used to spending Easter holidays at home and now that was being taken away from us! The news came towards evening, during Prep time. And the whole school exploded. We shouted, we complained; we left our classrooms and sat or stood outside, talking animatedly and expressing our anger and frustration at the injustice of it all. Soon the teacher on duty came around to see what was happening, and being the good girls we otherwise were we scrambled for our classrooms – but it was already too late. He wanted the prefects to write down the names of all who had been outside or had been making noise. Well, several of us owned up, and we couldn’t have anticipated just how seriously the teacher on duty took this noisy display. He made us kneel on gravel outside the staff room for the whole period of Preps. (Mark you those who never owned up got away scot-free. So much for do gooders!) The teacher could not believe the group now kneeling before him. He called out our names one by one, pausing for effect, determined to shame us out of ever considering such behaviour again. By the time he let us go, we could barely stand. We had been kneeling for over an hour, and little pieces of ballast were etched deep into our knees. We moaned our way out of there and decided any kind of protest was just not worth it around here.

School trips made for the most exciting part of boarding school. A chance to see the outside world, a chance for adventure, a chance to ride in the school bus with our teachers. In a girls’ school we particularly loved our male teachers. What, you are shocked now? It was sheer nature, sheer biology. They reminded us of our brothers, our fathers, and of course our friends who we only saw during the holidays. In a sea of females, any male sight was deeply refreshing. Not for any weird reason, just that it brought normalcy to a rather abnormal existence. At home I had brothers with whom I’d lived all my life, now suddenly girls everywhere. Girls in class, girls in the field, girls in the dorm, girls in chapel. One more girly face and I wanted to scream. This was where the male teachers and other staff came in. They broke the monotony, and reminded us the world was still as it should be.

And so during school trips the males were our heroes. We sang all the way to and fro, we danced so much the teachers feared we might topple the bus. We cheered our male driver on. And he loved it and lapped up every minute. Of course he had to be careful not to lose his job, but he indulged us just a little and kept us happy with a permanent smile and speeds we could live with. The male teachers with us in the bus became our friends during school trips. We sang together, played harmless games, and on the whole had a swell time. Going back to school was a downer knowing the following day all this would be a dream and we would be back to the seriousness of studies.

Our teachers were of impeccable character, and I don’t remember any incident of student abuse. I do know though that at least one of them married a former student as soon as she was done with school – oh well, I’m not here to judge.

Lights-off was a curious idea in my school. At precisely 11pm the night watchman would turn off the lights after giving us a five-minute warning. The ritual was the same night after night. At the first lights out, a barrage of shouts would ring across the dorms scattered over more than an acre of land. The girls would shout his nickname as they begged him rather noisily to leave the lights on a little longer. Which he took light-heartedly enough and indulged us a bit longer, but eventually he too had to think of his job and turn off those lights. The relationships between the students and non-teaching staff was simply cordial, which went a long way into making everyone’s life more fulfilling in this little community. We did have one or two who rubbed us the wrong way though, especially the matron (a woman, of course, probably her only crime.)

My second boarding school where I did my ‘A’ level was girls’ only too, but it was a National school which made it even better than the first. Curiously I don’t ever remember us being subjected to that examination we suffered under the nurse in my ‘O’ Level school. Maybe because the school was in Nairobi and most students were from Nairobi so it would be easier to summon the parents should cases of a bulging tummy arise… Neither did we have lights-out in my second school. We were considered responsible enough to turn off the lights and sleep at the proper time. And it worked just fine for everyone.

Here too discipline was never an issue, and the only form of protest I remember was when the Seniors (‘A’ Level students) decided we were not getting enough privileges and would do a silent protest to drive home the point. So it was decided (by the ring leaders, who curiously included the head girl) that on the material day we should wear the junior school uniform, that is, light blue shirts instead of our white ones. And so it was that during assembly that day, the school looked very dark and gloomy. I hadn’t realised till then how much difference the white shirts made in the school. See, with navy blue skirts and sweaters, you needed something bright to take away the darkness.

To everyone's amazement, the head teacher said absolutely nothing of our protest during assembly, though later on the teacher on duty went around our classes writing down the names of the five or six students who had defied their peers and dressed in white. I envied them their courage! Well, unless they received some silent reward or had something written in their school leaving certificates, this incident was never mentioned or revisited again, and we were all back to our normal lives again the following day. I don’t remember if our grievances were looked into.

My most memorable school trip happened here in my second school. Our Geography teacher decided to take us to Kariandusi to see where diatomite was mined from. We were over the moon! The trip was as exciting as any, but being ‘A’ Levels we were more controlled and there wasn’t as much singing in the bus.

At Kariandusi we met our tour guide whose sole job today was to take us through the tunnels of the mines. One of our teachers flatly refused to go into those tunnels, and I wished I had the same choice. Well, part of me wanted the adventure, while the other part dreaded the idea of being in a narrow, dark tunnel I never been into before, totally reliant on the guiding skills of the guy with the lamp. And so in we went, filing after the guide, our hearts filled with unspoken apprehension.

We hadn’t gone far into the tunnel before we came face to face with every teenage girl’s horror - hundreds and hundreds of bats fluttered before our faces and we began to scream while we covered our faces with our sweaters. The guide had a hard time calming us down but eventually he succeeded as he told us, amusement written all over his face, that we should not scream or we might bring the very light diatomite walls crumbling down on us in the tunnel. Ouch! Whose bright idea was it to take a bunch of teenage girls inside a dark, bat infested, diatomite lined tunnel? We went deathly quiet, with only a few whimpers as we dodged the bats. By now we had established they weren’t the blood-sucking vampires from movies. Still, the sooner we got out of there the better, we didn’t want to stay here long enough to find out.

All in all, the tunnels were a delightful adventure. Besides the thrill of the bats and the scare of collapse, real or imagined, the walls were pure white, and it really looked like an underground palace one would otherwise enjoy in a wider space. Eventually we made it through to the other side of the tunnel and emerged back to light, to the surface, to solid ground and bat free existence. And we all breathed a sigh of relief, at the same time breaking into excited conversation about our short-lived adventure in the tunnel. By and large, we were all glad we went in.

My Nairobi school was not as closed as the Muranga one. Here one could obtain permission to go home over the weekends if need be. Visiting days and outings were more, and we had one or two tricks up our sleeves for that extra break from school. You see, nearby was a Catholic church where practising Catholics in school would often go for confession. No one was denied permission for this purpose. So we quickly aligned ourselves with our Catholic friends and would obtain permission to go confess. (I never said we were saints. God has a lot of work to do on some of us still…) Suffice it to say most of those who went out for ‘confession’ never saw the inside of a confessionally. All we wanted was a walk and an afternoon out, and to walk the Adams Arcade malls where we bought little fairy cakes and other goodies, then walked back to school happy with ourselves and ready to face another week.

Looking back, I’m glad my high school days were spent not only in boarding school, but also in girls only boarding schools. It means discipline issues were rare, and we never had to act up for any boy, which left us free to concentrate on our studies. Also the chance to spend so much time with one’s peers, I think in a big way it really matured us. I see little virtue in taking little children of primary school age to boarding school, but I think high school boarding is an experience not to be missed. Still, in this environment where some students have taken to burning down their schools, I can understand if parents would rather not take their children to any boarding school.

The Furore of a Kenyan Wedding

2010-10-18T12:20:00.001+03:00

The whole village woke up to a sense of excitement that no one could deny. Even the animals knew this was a special day judging from the animal feed and water already piled up near their sheds. A flurry of activities had taken place the previous day as everyone ensured there would be no chores left for the following day.

Today one of the village daughters will be getting married. The family of the bride has been the centre of attention for a while now with numerous meetings and feasts taking place in preparation for the big day. Of course the greatest of the days was when the groom to be, accompanied by family and very close friends, came to bring the bride price. Just in case you’re wondering, the girl’s family calls the shots here in terms of bride price, and all the groom and family can do is negotiate intensely to bring down the usually lofty demands from the bride’s side.

Relatives, close and otherwise, soon begin to flock the girls’ home. Already the bridesmaids are there having spent the night to make sure they are all at the same place on the wedding day – and of course to keep the bride company on her last night at her parents’ as a single girl. The joy and jubilance is unmistakable and contagious. That will be the mood for the day, so everyone had just better get used to it.

Busy stylists help make up the bridal party, and the word royalty comes to mind. This group is the centre of attention today, and the envy of everyone who is not part of the action. The bride, especially, is elevated to a place all her own. Everyone wants to be her, and all are at her service to cater to her every whim. Everyone wants to be associated with her, so any chance to smile at her, hug her, talk to her etc. cannot be missed as it makes one look good. Celebrity for a day - no wonder weddings are so contagious and addictive. Never mind how long the marriage will last, we all simply want a wedding!

Women walk into the compound with song and dance – the day lends itself to such expression. They sing as they cook in the kitchen, they dance as they greet one another, it’s the new walk of gait. Everyone seems to be walking on air today, forget troubles for a day, forget rivalry, jealousy and class today, forget duty for a day. Today we celebrate, tomorrow we climb down from this mountain. It’s a village affair, and a family affair, and a friends’ affair. It’s everyone’s affair, really.

The bride is excited too, but her thoughts are elsewhere. She’s thinking of her groom, how soon will he be here to pick her up for the big ceremony? How quickly can all this end? Don’t get her wrong, she’s ecstatic about today. Dressed like a princess, in pure white, silk, satin, lace, and everything dainty, delicate, fair and fragile. Her hair falls gracefully in soft locks, held up by a queenly tiara. She dons beautiful silver earrings that rest gently on her bare shoulder. So beautiful she can’t wait to be revealed to her groom, and everyone else.

She and her man have spent many sleepless days and nights organizing this wedding. For no matter how much family and friends get involved, in the end the couple has to tie everything together. They didn’t have a wedding planner, only a committee made of close friends and relatives. She’s tired, very tired. And although this day is her thrill, even more exciting is the end of it, when she and her man will say goodbye to the guests and disappear alone for that peaceful and quiet honeymoon.

Soon the family of the groom begin to arrive. The vehicles can be heard from afar, and the spy positioned strategically by the women brings word, ‘they are here’. Upon which the door to the house where the girl is is closed (or even locked), and the women break out into song. (Do men sing, I wonder? I’m sure they do, depending on which side they are, but the excitement of the women is such that the men don’t stand a chance of being either seen or heard).

The groom’s family attempt to alight from the vehicles but a larger group of women blocks the way and demands they go back a mile or so and come back with horns blaring. It’s a command, not a request, and they will obey it if they know what’s good for them. So they comply and soon anyone in a 10mile radius who had not known there was a wedding now knows. The car horns are going non-stop, the groom’s family will not risk antagonizing their soon-to-be in laws.

So amid this noise, and a tag of war as the groom’s side ‘sings’ to be given their bride and the girl’s side ‘sings’ their new demands to release the bride, the groom’s party slowly advances towards the house. You can be sure by the time this mini madness ends, enough money has changed hands for things like ‘women’s sodas, women’s shukas (scarves)’ etc. Again I wonder whether men stand a chance to ask for anything here. It’s a women’s day. I think men had their day during the bride price days of feasting, yeah, I’m sure I’m right.

At times during this ritual you can’t tell who is singing what as both sides compete for airtime. But eventually the Master of Ceremony, or the Best Man depending on the arrangements, prevails on the group of animated women to give it a rest and allow the groom to pick up his bride. And since this is a happy day, with everything else being just theatrical drama albeit with real results and benefits for the singing women, they happily give in and quickly change the song to ‘Welokamu’ (simply welcome), as they invite the groom’s family to come get their bride. And hence the wedding truly begins, though I promise you before that door behind where the bride is is opened or unlocked, that poor groom will have parted with some more cash. Oh well, ‘the pain of a child’ is what he’s paying for. The idea here is that the girl is leaving her parents to become part of the groom’s family. Never mind in this day and age though I think they both leave as few people will settle in their parents compound anymore. There isn’t enough land, and most young Kenyans would rather live in the towns where there is work and modernity. But tradition is tradition and, as long as the girl takes on the man’s name, then it is the girl who leaves while the man remains happily with his family, ha ha.

Finally the crucial door opens and an uncharacteristic silence ensues as everyone waits for the bride to emerge. Then she does and the man is asked whether she’s the one he came for. On saying yes, ululations and more jubilations follow, and after final remarks and prayers are over, now the real jubilation begins. Everyone is on the same side, no one is demanding for anything anymore, and now the real band for the day leads everyone in joyous songs and dance as they all head for whichever vehicles will take them to the wedding ceremony. The ceremony could be anywhere; the local church if the two choose to wed in the country, but more and more often, the ceremony will be in the city or the nearby town, and the bridal party is off for a long or short ride, depending on where the ceremony is.

Many of the villagers will not be going anywhere, of course. You can hardly transport all of them to wherever. They are content to have witnessed the ceremony of getting the girl out of the house, and they’ll go back to their homes and carry on with the day. If on the other hand the wedding is nearby, most will walk there and this day will be dedicated solely to this wedding.

And so begins another wedding in Kenya, and another marriage. The ceremony will be uncomplicated, taking on much of the white wedding version, but the reception will be characterised with much food, more singing and dancing, and a lot of gifts for the new couple. This will be a grand event and nothing, no one will be changing that any time soon.

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