Bleeding from the same wound: when ‘Never Again’ is a fatal option

I am writing this article out of a keen urge to keep pressing for peace, a strong urge to see tolerance and pride in the diversity of this country. I intended to use this blog for matters green, hence Green Background. But my spirit keeps pushing me to matters of this country. Patriotism, peace, politics, values, tolerance…I guess I stay true to my green orientation, with my strongest principle being peace and non violence. You may see me pull away from confrontational situations, shut down debates that sway towards intolerance, respectfully walk away from arguments that refuse to focus on the objectives, even after listening and trying hard to see someone’s pint of view. We all have diverse opinions that should be tolerated unless they call for the dehumanizing of the very nature of our being human. You may see me smile at the tone of insult. It’s all something that I consciously do, in the need to find peace. Human beings all strive to be good; they all have something magical inside of them. That magic is the state of being human. So I look for that humanity. Sometimes going to bed wondering why I did not respond when someone insulted me, wondering why I let myself be misunderstood. Then I meditate a practice I am striving to master. It gives me calm. I feel at peace again, and I remember why I walked away, shut down, smiled…and I am ready to do it again.

Ubuntu: “I am because you are”. Do we ever think of the profound and deep meaning of these words? Loosely translated, it could mean, ‘utu’ in Swahili, meaning the state of being humane or human if you like. The meaning of these interconnected words from two Bantu languages from the South and East of Africa should live within us. To remind us that we are all human and when we stare into each others eyes, we should see the same God, living inside each and every one of us,” I should recognize the God in you as you the one in me”. (Jacqueline Novogratz)

Kenya is approaching the 2013 March general elections with a lot of apprehension. We are all worried that there may be election violence. We know that we vowed “never again”. But never again cannot on its own, be enough. We have to do more than ‘never again’ and as it is, I do not think we are doing much to ensure that we remain intact as a nation post March 2013. It is sad to think about the possibility. It is more than sad; it is heartbreaking to imagine that we could go the inhumane way of 2007/2008. I have been reading stories from the genocide in Rwanda, stories of loss, displacement, pain and suffering. People reliving this 1994 nightmare 19 years gone. As I read, I recall the tough moments we had as a Nation in 2007/2008. Killing and displacing one another for power. Editing out each other and breaking the interconnectedness that we have as human beings. Exposing the weakest chain in our link and breaking the strongest one, diversity. I call it the paradox of similar strength and weakness. But it is the identity of the Kenyan state. 

When a careful and objective history about Kenya’s democratic growth and elections will be written, tribal clashes and disintegration will feature heavily. That history may forever remind Kenyans that their boundless love for their country may have saved this African giant from a possible and destructive civil war. I hope civil war shall not be part of that history for we cannot bear it. The surrounding countries relying on us to send our army to fight terrorism cannot bear it. The refugees who seek solace in the hands of our motherland cannot bear it. The international community working in Nairobi and loving the tropical friendly weather, beautiful beaches and affordable luxuries that they would otherwise not afford in their home countries cannot bear it. Men and women who have fallen in love with the Kenyan blood and found families raising children who bear the great diversity of cross oceanic citizenships, cannot bear it. Kenyans, who work hard to feed their families, who have built the economy of this country, who so passionately gave themselves to the governing of a new and progressive Constitution, setting the stage for indigenous jurisprudence and a new constitutional order, cannot bear it. A second displacement (appreciating the fact that displacement due to tribal clashes has been rife since 1992), a second mass and sexual assault, rape as a weapon of war, armed bandits, murder in cold blood, love turned guile , husband against wife, wife against husband, lover against lover, neighbours against each other. Kenya, we simply cannot afford to bleed from the same wound twice, for we would never heal. “Never again”, would not have meaning a second time. 

The post election violence of 2007/2008 may have driven this country towards an unprecedented state of togetherness; the passing of the Constitution of Kenya 2010. The general election of the year 2002 may actually have been the greatest form of togetherness as a people. We changed a 24 year regime that did not work for us as a country. We, the Kenyan people, did it. We can embrace this togetherness again. We have done it in politics and in policy. We have crossed the dual carriage way of politics and policy and we have found commonalities in both. Now is the time to focus on our humanity. On the things that unite us and shed those that divide us. We must focus on our unique state as a country. Embrace our divergent political choices with a nod of the head and a giving of the ear. We must listen to one another and accept the divergent political choices, for that is the definition of democracy. We must however never kill or maim, or assault, or vandalize for the exercise of these choices. Rather, we must learn to accept the will of the majority. Whatever the choice of the majority may be we must hold our heads high, adjust to the outcome of the general elections and together, as a nation forge forward. We are 50 years of age as an independent state; our youthful years as a country are behind us. We must be hard on ourselves and demand the best from ourselves, from each other. Indeed may we dwell in unity, peace and liberty and nature will hear us, and plenty shall be found within our borders. 

In the Constitution we passed, together, as a people, we included the NATIONAL VALUES AND PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNANCE thus; patriotism, national unity, sharing and devolution of power, the rule of law, democracy and participation of the people; human dignity, equity, social justice, inclusiveness, equality, human rights, non-discrimination and protection of the marginalised; good governance, integrity, transparency and accountability; and sustainable development. These are the values we chose to bind us to the state of our Kenyan citizenship. We must hold onto these values and principles for we are called by this sacred document to be these things. We must not abdicate our political duties. We must strive to ensure that we have the best, even if the best is recognized by our solitary selves. For from these principles we shall raise a generation of Kenyans who in the addition of their solitudes will forge an army of men and women dedicated to the progression and survival of their nation state.

We must not also lose sight of the gains we have made. Laying the ground for electoral justice is the new mantra of the Kenyan judiciary guaranteeing expeditious and fair hearing of all electoral disputes. We have an option for justice. We should not walk in fear, for those are things we shed with the blood in 2007/08. We decided to strengthen the institutions and started with the judiciary and we can all attest to the dedication and reform of our Kenyan judiciary, of its capacity to handle electoral disputes for by dint of the Constitution, it bears the sovereignty of the people and indeed, it is the only arm of government that has its two feet on the ground before the election and even after, until we have the other two firmly established, ready to preserve this sovereignty. With this in mind, quoting Winston Churchill in one of his greatest speeches; “I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. At any rate, that is what we are going to try to do”.

For our mother’s sake

Live not beneath the illusion of the sun,

Behold the fullness of the moon, the uniformity of the night

Really?

I love the glare the sun sets upon my eyes,

For that glare is reproduced to illuminate my path in the night

What glare?

Do you mean the blindness set upon your eyes by your naked stare upon the sun

Do you mean the squinted look developed by looking too closely in the dark

Close, but not close enough…

For your identity, you do not know…mumbling…..

State/nationality…escapism!

Steer clear of that hard-burnt river,

Soaking the power of your eyes in a hot flame of deception

Flee that clear edged ridge,

Vast with no valleys within the reach of the strength of your eyes.

Did you say Oaria…did you say Karia…. did you say Makhia….

Do you mean these be your names

Which valley? which land? which food?

Maize?, fish? Sugarcane?

Give me the dark…give me a clue..for the blade of my metal..

That which soaks in the hard burnt river needs to glow

Stare, stare at the identity of your name,

At its valley of origin, the food of your ancestors, the trade of your people

No..that cannot be..it cannot be.

Undefined? Boundless?

You cannot be without root..

It cannot be that you say Kenya.

It cannot be

Where? Call your mother..no..she cannot know…

she should not know

Call your father..missing?

Call your grandfather…., freedom?

Anyone..ask your mother….. then

For we have no option but to ask..her…in order to know

Blind, but she stares at the sun and I see the boundless circle around her eyes

Dumb, but I see the smile on her lips

Paralysed, but with her shaky fingers she rounds a circle

Fullness, whole, complete, de-fragmented

I know,

The identity is Kenya.

One Nation, One People.

She sees me, she speaks to me, she feels me

I think her blind, I think her dumb, I think her paralysed

I am her blindness

I am her lost speech

I am her paralysis

But I stare, harder

I listen, harder

I feel, with my heart

I hear her voice, I see through her vision, I feel, through her touch

I know, I want nothing to do with that metal, soaked in the hard-burnt river

For my mother’s voice speaks, for her nerves feel, her ears hear

And I know, you are my brother, I can do you no harm

For our mother’s sake

Lost in "So long a letter"

Mariama Ba, the great Senegalese writer in her books, “ so long a letter” and “the scarlet song” focuses majorly on the plight of women, their place in society, love, life, politics, friendships, career and in marriage.

Her main character Ramatoulaye in so long a letter is in a polygamous marriage, with a co-wife who is the age of her daughter. She suffers the loss of a husband and endures the ridicule of society who visit her home after his death in the spirit of togetherness. During this period of mourning, she is allowed to wash on Fridays and wear the accepted mourning regalia for the rest of the week. Despite the fact that she is a 'modern' woman, she is unable to escape the traditions or avoid the critical eye of the society. Ramatoulaye recalls her dedication to her husband, thirty years of marriage and twelve births. Yet when the opportunity arises, her husband blinks not an eye at the opportunity to marry a much younger wife and squander their hard earned money on her. Rama, looks on. She does not protest.

Her best friend Aissatou protests the possibility of a co-wife and leaves her husband. With a steel will to succeed, she takes her sons and leaves Mawdo, her husband. Mariama Ba, shows, in her epistolary novel, two parallel decisions, made by women who are so alike and who are in similar circumstances. One choses the path of domination. The other of independence. 

Meddling in-laws, cause Mawdo to marry a younger wife. Mawdo's mother, believing herself to descend from a royal clan cannot stand her son's marriage to a blacksmith's daughter (Aissatou). She sets out on her own and grooms her own choice, from her own lineage, to take Aissatou's place and restore favour to the family. Mawdo, accepts, not out of love, but out of deference to his mother and his community. The girl he marries becomes a lamb slaughtered at the altar of affluence. Rama fails to understand how a man like Mawdo swears his love for his wife Aissatou, yet every year, his younger wife's womb fills up with a child. She does not understand this complexity in men. To claim love for one and sleep with another to fulfill honour, to bow to society to gain respect.

Rama worries about a society that cares too much of family and does too little to keep it safe and sanctified. She writes to Aissatou;

“The success of the family is born of a couple's harmony, as the harmony of multiple instruments creates a pleasant symphony. The nation is made up of all the families, rich or poor, united or separated, aware or unaware. The success of a nation therefore depends inevitably on the family”.

Her daughter, Aissatou's namesake gets pregnant. She sees the pain of the little girl, holds her and swears as a mother to protect her. Mariama Ba in Rama's letter takes us into the world of a school going boy, who is the father to the unborn child. He swears to stick to his unborn baby's mother. Suddenly, he understands more about his girlfriend than her own mother. This revelation adds to the characters in life and the unique personalities of men, who are largely portrayed as the traitors in relationships but in this young girl's life, the man takes part in her battle, becomes her victor and her strength to go through her pregnancy.

Rama's eldest daughter disengages with the father and does not know how to treat him. Her husband is another supportive character in this book. But she is too aggressive and outgoing. Her mother worries that this trait may come to do her harm. Alas! it saves the day.

This book delves into the harsh realities of every day life. Love, relationships, betrayal, death and family. In-laws who do not think you are good enough. A society that calls for docility in women, a virtue that is taught by Mawdo's mother to Mawdo's younger wife. Strength in a woman's character is spat upon. Women are born to support their husbands, not themselves is what the society in this book advocates. It also takes us into the lives of women who are liberated but who, like Rama, make harsh decisions to keep intact the institution of marriage. A belief too deeply etched it cannot make sense to a woman as strong as Rama. Her strength as a working mother and her struggle as a single parent, born of desertion by her husband reflects the lives of most women in a society foolish enough to disregard its women.

She touches a little on parliament and calls it the “house of men”.....it shows the disparities. Rama declines the hand of a member of parliament, her first boyfriend in her youth, on the account of his wife. She declines to allow his wife feel her pain of polygamy. She refuses to marry for duty. She still believes in love. She reveals that she stayed with Modou, the husband who deserted her, for love. She indicates that “love is the flavour of life, and that the salt of life is also love”. Love pushes her to stay in a polygamous marriage, to honour her husband in life and in death. Love also makes her suffer. But that she has hope within her, is how she concludes.

Mariama Ba, in her brilliant epistolary style of narration, meaning that the entire narration is through a letter, also connects the depths of friendship. Disconnected by the fastness of life, and still supporting each other through thick situations. Aissatou and Rama are of one blood through friendship. Rama notes that; “friendship has splendours that love knows not. It grows stronger when crossed whereas obstacles kill love. Friendship resists time, which wearies & severe couples. It has heights to unknown love”.

This novel does not speak of any one society. It speaks, in various contexts, of the plight of women in all societies. It moves beyond the blue skies of Senegal into the green horizons of Kenya. It connects experiences in a beautiful way. It speaks to those who have shared a husband or a boyfriend with another woman, those who have been rejected by their in-laws before being given a chance, those who are used by men to satisfy their need to feel younger, those who got pregnant at a time other than their intended and made it through, those lost in traditions that take them 1000 years back, those who have friends who give them splendor, those who use charms to fight the straying traits in their men, those who are aggressive but forced to hold their thoughts for fear of single-hood and castigation, those in marriages that do not work but stay on...perhaps for love.., those who, at the end of their time will lament, “ I have lived, so long a life!”. It is harsh. But it is real.

“How many modern women have suffered in silence without daring to acknowledge to themselves the regret of having never lived these moments? Like me! To have come from a place, to have grown in that place, and not having gone through the rituals and practices such as the ascending values which govern a whole life or a whole death ” pg 75-76.

This book is a MUST read....buy a copy, be the first to write your own summary on http://vowinitiative.org/ and I shall send you a copy of her next book, “Scarlet Song”

A TRAIN-ed Attitude

Professor Ngugi wa Thiong’o in his childhood memoir, “Dreams in a time of war” recounts the railway line as a phenomenon, a journey by train being the only thing that almost challenged his commitment to school.

I remember the first time I saw a train. Behind the lower field of Nyandarua High School in a small town called Rurii. Traversing the land of a mzee called Gachomba, leading to a place called Pasenga on the other side. My brother in his characteristic several steps ahead of me, had already crossed the railway and was waiting on the other side.  As I was about to cross, I saw a mole lying across the railway line. ‘The train is coming” shouted P, my brother.  I could not cross to the other side. I wanted to run back home, but I so wanted to see this marvel described by P ever so passionately. P, who was also my playmate growing up, had taken me to the railway line to witness the marvel of the train. He could tell that the train was about by putting his ears to the rails and listening for sound. But I could not move past the dead mole. He crossed over. Despite the constant warnings he had heard, that the rail had magnetic forces, created by the approach of the train which could glue a child to the railway line. I am guessing it was an adults’ way of keeping children away from the rail. With the train within a visible distance now, he picked me up and carried me across. This recollection came to me in November last year while taking the train home from work together with my friend Rachael. If you like, Rakeri..;-).

Those who have been to Nairobi know the horrors of traffic. I had accustomed myself to the pains by always having two or three unread books in my bag, if only to kill the frustration of two hours on the road covering a distance of less than 11 km from town to where I live. Then I discovered the train. My first reaction was..nooo!!!  way too crowded and unsafe for me. I am dressed in a suit for crying out loud. They are gonna tell I am from another planet…(really???!!, this is me getting embarrassed at the admission of my totally unfounded, egotistic and silly thoughts, they? they? ). I reversed my attitude. I decided to take the train home. We left the main railway station at 5:45 pm, the fixed departure time for the Kikuyu bound commuter train and by 6:20 pm, I was home.

On my first day, I was drawn into a political debate by some young men who, before luring me into the discussion gave up their seats for us. Later, I would have different gentlemen offer me their seats. Sometimes, I declined, particularly to those who offered 3-4 different times/days. One day, I returned the favour, to the astonishment of most of the people around. My offer was declined, politely. For the first time, I felt challenged by these young men's eloquent and level-headed political expressions. Rachael, who sometimes pretends not to know me when I demand to know why there are different entry points for men and women in a supermarket or when I just get blunt about politics to people taking the tribal political reasoning, was smiling all the way home. Later, she said to me, albeit sarcastically, “see, you belong in the train.” She was right; it had taken no more than 35 minutes to get home. I wasn’t feeling tired and moody as I would previously from all the hours spent in traffic. I had developed a TRAIN-ed attitude. 

This may sound bizarre to some reading this post, but transport by train in Kenya is seen as a preserve of the have-nots. The educated, suited, high-heeled, pointed shoe, I-pad carrying office ranking Kenyans prefer to drive themselves to work or take public road transport or taxis. The government late last year opened up the Syokimau Railway Station and unveiled the Syokimau commuter train to ply between Syokimau and town at a cost of Kshs. 200 per day on a return ticket. I pay Kshs. 35 shillings single way, Kshs.70 (less than a dollar) for a round trip. Now you can tell which train is meant for who.  On the Kikuyu bound train, which I use, half of the commuters alight at Kibera. Only a handful of us proceed further on. Most Ngong Road residents prefer to pay Kshs. 150 (one way) bus fare, plus 2-3 hours in traffic depending on the hour rather than take the train. Reason? Attitude.

Winston Churchill said that attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. I have lived the truth of his wisdom. I save money, I save time and I preserve my energy for a productive day at work. However, a lot of Kenyans waste approximately four hours of their productive lives everyday sitting idle in traffic or having an attitude negative enough to dismiss the idea of commuting by train. Even one that was last replaced 80 years ago, like the one I use. 

The Kenyan railway line started in Kilindini Mombasa in 1986 and reached Kisumu in 1901 through the Kenyan heartland. The railway line gave rise to the native worker who took to residing in towns near railway stations. Devoid of land from which they would grow crops for sale, the railway line became their land. 

 

The railway line on my route cuts through Nyayo Stadium, the rear Madaraka Estate, Kibera, Dagoretti, Satellite and onto Kikuyu. I have made several observations since I started using it. That it is the line that divides the Kibera slums and the middle class estates. When Kibera residents are protesting against the government, they start by trying to ‘uproot’ the railway line. They see it as the line that marks the transition from poverty to wealth. Speaking to Pauline Wanja, founder of “Living in a Shanty Town”, L.I.S.T and an internationally reknown activist about this observation, she confirms it. The railway line first saw the native Africans gain work, by building it and using it for trade. It also saw a lot of them oppressed by the colonisers. The train had three category compartments; the first for Europeans and white folks, the second for Asians and the third for Africans. It was an outright divide, making Africans aware of their inferiority in their own land. History is defined by a single dusk. Each dusking day sets its history and for Kibera residents, the history of this divide is not signified by the compartmentarisation of the train, but by the apparent difference of life on either side of the railway line. 

Kenya may not have a state of the art railway transport. We will get there. But we have trains that ply our routes morning and evening. We do not have to sit in traffic for long hours, especially if living on a route that has a commuter train however unfashionable. The experience draws me closer to the realities of my fellow countrymen. Passing through Kibera everyday gives me a reason to put a lot more effort in my daily work. Not merely to make money but to ensure everybody, even the poor can access justice. I now understand the true import of the term “Wanjiku.” I can afford a car, but I choose not to use one, alone on the driver’s seat, leaving a trail of so many people waiting for transportation by the roadside. Car-pooling is a ‘funny sounding’ concept in our beloved republic.  I choose to jump over this mole of attitude and share the train with so many others. I have not be robbed, I have not been assaulted. I have been treated with dignity and accorded the feminine regard men like to offer women. I have tried reciprocating it ;-). I have been empowered and I have taken the chance to preach peace and tolerance. I have made new friends. Something I never got to do sitting in endless traffic. People I know by name, who I would otherwise never have met, couched down in a bus buried in my books. I am new. I am TRAIN-ed.

By sharing the train with so many others and reducing the number of single person automobiles on the road, I am also reducing my ecological footprint and I am proud of it.