I did not choose where to be born. I am certain I did not, at the intellectual level. On the spiritual level maybe I did. It therefore goes without saying that I did not have anything to do with whatever part of the planet I made my first, and most likely, only appearance on.
I did not choose my parents, they choose to bring me to life and take the necessary care that goes with bringing me up. They too did not have much of a choice on where they were born; neither did their parents…ad infinitum.
So it galls me to no end that I have to continually justify, explain, refute claims coming from left right and centre regarding the actions of my kin, some whom I have never met, and some with whom I am very ashamed to be associated. That applies as well to my countrymen and kinsmen from my home continent, and others whom a biological accident made similar to me. Like when a fellow is having some trouble with those who have XX and I am called to explain their actions. Sorry am blank there people. What she has done might not be what I would do most likely I could do much worse, knowing you but do not take it out on me.
Take for instance the other day. I have been working closely with a band of people who come from the tribe of Franks. If you search closely they were a tribe before they became a nation. Now the Franks and their neighbouring tribes within their continent have a morbid fascination with tribes and anything tribal. Or maybe I have been attracting the weirdo’s. Still, I like them very much, intensely and I fell in love with their language which they were more than willing to teach me. A phenomenon I find admirable although their reason is more political than anything else. The speakers of other languages with whom I share a common border have neither the time nor the patience to teach another. Might it have something to do with keeping the secrets of the tribe?
I started learning another Kenyan tongue when I was much younger I had made quite some progress till my teacher who was the same age as I was then moved to another town. I have never seen her since. For the record I grew up in the era of making calls in the phone booth, when letters would take a total of two weeks not counting the time it took one to make a trip to the post office, so even the postal addresses we exchanged led to nothing.
Now my Frank colleague on meeting me for the first time drew me aside conspiratorially and asked “What tribe are you?” Slightly puzzled, I asked him why. He told me to have no fear it was just a question, although I came to the conclusion that he wanted to come up with a hypothesis regarding the tribes of
Anyway the point of all this rambling is somewhere else that my tribe does not define me neither does my nationality, color belief. In fact even my genes do not, to a certain extent. So when I disagree with you, it usually is because.
- We share something, you are either my kin; brother, sister, cousin workmate, friend, tribe mate, fellow countrywoman, a visitor in your country etc and it just happens that we are within a kissing distance of each other literally or figuratively.
- We are definitely seeing the same thing but from different viewpoints. I have moments of daftness and can be as obstinate as the rest but I want to be accorded that, without having my tribe brought into question which would propel our argument southwards and into oblivion.
- We are able to communicate our disagreement (hurrah.) In my moments of temporary insanity I imagine an argument with one speaker doing hieroglyphics and the other clicking away in those lovely tongues down south. The result might be a little heavy on the liver or whatever part of your anatomy you consider feeble.
This goes too for the najivunia kuwa mkenya that I see on TV lately. I am proud of my country not only for all that is has to offer to tourist (hah!) but from what it offers me. However, the line of thought that goes sijui where has a rainforest with the smallest mammals known by man…and so that is why I am proud to be Kenyan does not add up. It dies of neglect somewhere between the forest and my pride as a Kenyan national.
I am proud of my country the same way I love my mother’s cooking, or her house because a part of my brain becomes fuzzy when I look at her, when I speak to her, when I visit her. I am at peace because I am certain she loves me and I love her back truly madly deeply. The same goes to my daddy and siblings and friends. Because I am not willing to explore that state of statelessness yet I do love my country, warts and all.
I do not have the same memories when it comes to my country and most of the time I feel helpless watching people wrecking the Mau forest and wondering why electricity and water are being rationed. When I watch people working very hard to finish
There is one thing I am sure of though, there are several countrymen and women who periodically and continuously make my heart swell with pride. Even in the darkest of time when I think about them I feel hopeful and very proud to be Kenyan.

