Exodus into our Respective Cocoons

The British have now decided that they don’t want to be a part of the European Union. They are becoming more and more withdrawn into themselves. What was once the mighty British Empire; has dwindled to become an increasingly inconsequential country. They have lost most of their colonies and even the countries which remain under Her Majesty the Queen such as Australia, Canada, and New Zealand, are (for all means and purposes) independent and autonomous. The USA has become the baby who outgrew and overshadowed the parent.

Brexit may be sensational and scary in terms of the expected impact on the world economy and politics. However, it is an indicator of a growing trend in the world where countries and communities are breaking up their unions and opting to go it alone in all spheres of life. What appeared to be news when the USSR broke up now feels rather commonplace when countries leave their respective unions.

Strength in Unity

All through our growing up and learning, we were taught that unity is strength. We were made to memorize such mantras as “If you walk alone, you may be faster but if you walk with others, you will go further” (or something to that effect). Our country’s long running motto of Harambee teaches us to combine our efforts to achieve anything that we want to. Our chama movement gave rise to cooperatives which have enabled ordinary people to achieve extraordinary things.

The Turnaround

I am not sure exactly when it happened but what I know now is that the philosophy of life in the world today is, “Every man for himself, and God for us all”. The sense of togetherness nurtured by our forefathers has been replaced by intense greed and selfishness. Wives are killing their husbands to inherit wealth accumulated together as a team. Children are killing their parents so as to remain with whatever property the family owns. Nobody wants to share anymore. Everything is now designed to favour lone rangers and all unions and associations are breaking up.

Devolution

I remember as a small boy listening to the former President Moi warning Kenyans against majimbo, which is Swahili for devolution. He told us that this is what would break up Kenya as a country. Nobody took heed and now we have the majimbo that we were warned about. It is hard to tell whether the benefits of devolution outweigh the shortcomings and vice versa but, it’s obvious that majimbo is here to stay. The kind of problems it has created tells me that Mzee Moi may have been right after all.

East African Community

My driving license is a small red booklet with seven pages. It is bulky to carry and does not fit well in my shirt pocket without bulging and protruding in an unsightly manner. Every year when I renew it, I have to stick an extra paper on page three meaning that it continues swelling in proportion to my driving experience. For a professional driver like me, it works in the same way that a university graduate has to wear heavy and oversize gowns emblazoned with all kinds of bright coloured paraphernalia during the ceremony where he is given the power to read (sic).

There is something on my driving license whose meaning I could not tell until I asked my dad. Between the words ‘Republic of Kenya’ and ‘Driving License’, there is an oval shape with the abbreviation ‘EAK’. This, my dad told me, stood for East Africa Kenya. The license was designed at a time when the three East African countries of Kenya Uganda and Tanzania were joined at the hip. They did everything communally. Ugandan licenses were written “EAU” while Tanzanian ones had the abbreviation “EAT”.

Listening to some reviews recently, it turns out that the three countries are not so fond of each other anymore. In fact, it is reported that Uganda went so far as refusing to endorse the expensive and highly publicised Standard Gauge railway that Kenya was building to serve the two countries. Apparently, Uganda now claims to have made its own similar deal with Tanzania at the exclusion of Kenya. This is the Kenya that once stood as the big brother of the community, but is now operating like an orphan in the region. So much for taking big loans to build the railway and some big roads in the spirit of good neighbourliness.

Tribal Affiliations

As at the time of Kenya’s independence, there were probably less than ten graduates in government. However, the leaders then were able to hold the country together in a way that amazed even our former colonial rulers. Today, the vast majority of leaders at all levels of government are graduates or well educated professional in various fields. They are however (in this 21^st Century A.D.) responsible for creating one of the most tribally polarised countries in the region. At a time when most children and youth cannot speak in their mother tongue if their lives depended on it, every individual is painfully aware of their tribal affiliation and is ready to die or kill for it.

We are the unfortunate generation that has given itself the task of taking human kind back to prehistoric times when only the physically or numerically strong survive. There is a bigger exodus than that which happened during the time of Moses in the bible. It is the frantic exodus of people hastily retreating into their family, clan, tribal, community, and country cocoons. You know what they say, “If you can’t beat them, join them”. Make sure you know the direction and distance of your cocoon because you never know when you might need to make a hasty retreat into it.

A Mother’s Love

When I was small boy, I had a dream. It was not one of those grand dreams of becoming a doctor or amassing great wealth. It was to own a particular piece of clothing. We called it kamũbuto ga tũmĩkanda. Loosely translated, it meant a small trouser with straps. It was what today is referred to as dungaree and judging from how popular it is I would not be bragging if I say my superior fashion taste came before its time. Anyhow, I eventually got my dungaree (and I treasured it, although it was pink), thanks to the unrelenting efforts of my beloved mother.

Setting out the plates on the floor, she would serve all of us, each according to his or her size and respective appetite. My big brother and I of course, would ravenously eat half of everything. We never missed a meal in all our lives and when I look at my mother today, I am simply amazed at how she did it.

My mother never let us out of the house without shoes. This was at a time when other kids in our village only wore shoes on Christmas day. At a time when there were no mitumba (second hand clothes), she always ensured we were well dressed in brand new clothes. When mitumba came, we got camera (which is the term used for premium quality mitumba – selected from the bale first before the masses swoop in).

I don’t remember my mother caning me or any of my siblings as a form of discipline. The only thing I recall was a particular pinch which she would inflict on the part of the arm that usually sags in plus size women. The pinch was unique in that its pain would linger for long minutes after it had been delivered. The lack of spanking did not compromise our discipline judging from the impeccable manners inherent in my siblings and I (although in some instances, I turn out to be a black sheep).

One night when I was about ten, I woke up moaning in the middle of the night with a severe stomach ache. My mother rushed in and enquired what the matter was. She then went to the kitchen (which was outdoors in a separate structure) and came back with a piece of cloth soaked in water. She proceeded to dab my belly and within a few minutes, the pain was gone and I went back to slumber land with a smile on my face. I later often used my mother’s method of cooling a tummy ache for many years when I suffered severe acidity.

There was no hospital, dispensary, clinic, or any other form of health care facility in the village where we grew up. The only health centre available to us was in another town where we had to go by bus. It was known by the strange name of njini (I have no idea what it was derived from) but it was here that my mother faithfully took us every time we fell sick. I can remember her lovingly placing me on her lap as the nurse injected me with one of the killer needles of those days. They were so big you could clearly see the hole through which the medicine would flow into your blood stream. I guess they had to be because they were reusable and used to be boiled in water as a way of disinfecting them.

I think my mother did a decent job of bringing us up because we are now all stable with children of our own. She is now retired and has been in relatively good health until a few years ago when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Cancer is a really bad disease because even as you fight it, it fights back. She has been treated locally and also in India where she is currently on her third visit. Her doctors say that her chances of full recovery are good but as a family, we have run really low on the required finances.

It is therefore my humble appeal to all of you friends and well wishers to support us with whatever you are able to so that my mother can be treated and return back home to us. You can use the Mchanga platform below for any contribution. Thank you for your support.

 

The Beauty of Imperfection

I once had a boss who was an expatriate from the UK. When his contract came to an end and he had to leave Kenya, he was depressed. I enquired as to why he was sad and yet he was going back to a country where everything worked perfectly. His response amazed me. “I hate the way everything back home works perfectly. Garbage is collected promptly at the same time on the same day every week without fail. The roads are in perfect condition but if you over speed even once, you get a ticket and your record is indelible,” he retorted. It took the depression of an expatriate for me to be able to look at the problems of our country as blessings.

Thorn in the Flesh

The bible scholars among us can remember the story of Paul when he asked God to remove a thorn from his side. God’s response was unusual because he declined to remove the undefined thorn from his faithful servant. Instead, he told Paul that it would remain in place to remind him that God’s Grace would be sufficient.

Hand Made Clothes

I am reliably informed that there are suits that cost as much as a small car. I am also equally reliably informed that these suits are not sewn by machine. They are cut and stitched entirely by hand. Since it takes very experienced tailors tens of hours to complete a single suit, these suits don’t come cheap. The who’s who in the world of entertainment, business, and politics were these suits. On enquiring why these clothes are more popular than machine-made ones among the affluent, I was told it was because the stitches on machine ones are too perfect and therefore, not beautiful.

Music

I once operated a music studio in Kisumu. I had invested in a Yamaha keyboard but all the youth who came to record there, preferred to use software installed on the computer to produce all the instruments. The software I used then was fruity loops through which you could simulate any instrument and generate perfect notes. I donated the keyboard to my church because nobody used it. After some time, I started getting some benga artistes to record in my studio. Benga is a style of music that is popular in the Kenyan lakeside town and is usually played live in clubs.

Benga musicians cannot accept to use computer-generated instruments. Whenever they came to my studio, they brought their own instruments and players and their music was simply beautiful. There is something special about music produced naturally by people. I understand that it is the imperfect notes that humans are bound to produce that makes natural music so special.

Litigation
Litigation is a big industry employing many people who include lawyers, judges, court clerks, probation officers, and prison warders. The whole industry is founded on the imperfection of people and their inability to comply with the law. I enjoy watching movies and among my favourite genres are court room dramas. It is interesting to watch how people get themselves out of precarious situations in law. I can’t imagine how life would be if nobody broke the law. It is one of the many instances where imperfection gives rise to beauty.

Making Up after Breaking Up

I once heard of a pastor who, when conducting premarital counselling on couples, would ask them if they had ever had a major disagreement. If they had not, he would send them away and tell them to come back when they had had at least one fight. He was basing his teaching on research which shows that people in a relationship become closer when they make up after a fight. Although the pastor’s method was a bit unorthodox, it is true that people who never fight end up in a relatively boring relationship. There is nothing that makes people fonder of each other than a make-up after a break-up.

Management

I aspire to be in management of a very big organisation in future. One thing I have to contend with however, is that managers are in place to deal mainly with problems. If an organisation had no problems and everybody did what they were supposed to do promptly, there would be little or no need for managers. Management is another industry, like law, that thrives on imperfection.

There you have it my fellow Laymen. Go out and live your imperfectly beautiful lives!

 

 

 

Sandak Kichungi – Unifying Kenyan Women

As any writer can attest, writing about women is a risky undertaking. Inasmuch as all my writings are based on personal observations, women are a different ball game altogether. This is because when it comes to women, what you see is not necessarily what you get. Speaking strictly from a man’s point of view, I would say women are complicated. They are so complicated that even they do not seem to completely understand themselves.

I have heard, and also observed, that women are fiercely competitive. However, I am reliably informed, their competition is not always about us men. It is true that women compete with each other but it is not for the purpose of netting any men in particular. Rather, their competition is aimed at outdoing each other as an end in itself. This hypothesis was put in perspective by a colleague’s wife. On being asked why she puts so much effort into looking good and yet she had already ‘netted’ him, she replied, “I am not doing this for you. I do it to prove to other women that I am doing well.”

If you visit a pub or village restaurant, you will find men of all statuses interacting freely. Any two men who interact regularly soon become soulmates. They can spend hours discussing nothing in particular. They can also keep each other’s deep dark secrets. They can do all this without even knowing each other’s second name. Women on the other hand, conduct the kind of vetting that is akin to a senior management job interview. By the time they shake hands the first time, they know enough about each other to put one in jail. However, when all is said and done, women rarely make friends with people who are not in their social class.

There has never been a way in which women can have anything in common across the social classes until now! There is a particular shoe that entered the market a few years ago and it has taken the fashionosphere by storm. It is a plastic shoe of the Sandak brand made by bata and any woman worth her salt (or lack thereof) has a pair. The shoe is locally referred to as Sandak Kichungi which simply means the Sandak sieve. It is so called due to its meshed plastic upper that looks remarkably like a sieve.

The interesting thing about Sandak Kichungi is that it an all-plastic shoe moulded as one piece. It reminds

me of the time I was in primary school. Previously I used to wear rubber shoes because my mother would never agree for me to walk barefoot like other kids. Later in the mid 80s, the Bata shoe company introduced a whole range of plastic shoes. Every style from pumps to brogues was represented. My choice, of course, was sneakers. Each new pair would last me from a few months to one year before it cracked right through.

Sandak shoes in those days were worn by the poor and so were only found in the rural areas of the kind I grew up in. I don't know when the shift happened until now when pairs of the humble kichungi sandaks are to be found in homes of the most affluent members of our society. The kichungi, fashioned from the ballet shoe concept, has transcended all social classes. It has in a very true sense brought the women of this country together. I think it is what would have been needed to complete the look of the now defunct national dress.

For the first time in history, women seem to be ahead of men in unity. I hear some men saying that football brings them together. This is however not entirely true since it only applies to those who support the same team.

As a sign of affection, every man should buy his woman a pair of kichungis. He however needs to keep her happy or else she might decide to use the shoes for their other purpose - as a sieve. If that happens, he shouldn't be surprised if the soup served to him has the peculiar smell of dirty feet.