Atieno was my friend ever since he was completing his
DPhil in Oxford in the 1960s. In letters
I used to call him 'ruoth'; he used to call me 'wuod ajuoga'. In the days of e-mail we were always asking
each other questions about the facts and ideas of Kenya's history. It is terrible to think that I can never
again turn to him for advice. Atieno was
a man with whom one could immediately feel at home. If we had not seen each other for a year or
more we could pick up a conversation where we had left off. We shared a love of song, having both been
school choristers. One of Atieno's
proudest memories was of being in the Alliance High School choir on the night
of Kenya's independence. The last time
we met, at the Great Gate of my Cambridge college, Trinity, we greeted each
other with the song 'In an English country garden'. Our most dramatic sing-song was at midnight,
in a Rift Valley thunderstorm, when, with Jane and lost on Pamela Scott's
Deloraine or Derorini estate, we shouted 'Tufunge Safari' back at the
thunderclaps -- before Atieno disappeared down an ant-bear hole. One of my most embarrassing moments in Kenya
was, when staying with Atieno's mother at Ndere, I offered to help her hoe a
field. After only five minutes with a
jembe I had to stop, exhausted, much to the amusement of the elderly Luo ladies
who were watching.
But it is as
an historian of Kenya that Atieno must be remembered by Kenyans. All aspects and periods of Kenya's history
interested him. He was equally
knowledgeable about white settler politics between the wars, the rise and fall
of Kenya's black peasantries, the causes and character of post-colonial
authoritarianism, the life and death and burial of Kenya's ruling elites, the
ordinary men and women of Siaya, his spiritual home. The trilogy of books he
co-authored with David William Cohen, on the historical anthropology of Siaya,
on the burial of 'S M' Otieno and the death of Robert Ouko, the man who knew
too much, will remain for ever classics of modern Kenyan history. The book we produced together, Mau Mau and
Nationhood did its bit to expose to reasoned argument the most controversial
period of Kenya's past.
Atieno's
sort of history frightened oppressive rulers.
But he himself refused to be intimidated. He paid heavily for his honesty with his
awful ordeal in Nyayo House and then his long years of exile from Kenya. He knew how to explain the corruptions of
power, but never to excuse them. He
could go straight to the heart of a political problem and give exploitation,
ruthlessness and suffering their proper names.
He could give a voice as much to grave-diggers as to cabinet
ministers. He knew which historical lies
benefited what dishonest political purposes.
He could write with equal sympathy for the poor of any ethnic
group. He could celebrate the daily
entertainments of people whom the elite would think to be disreputable. He had no time for any hypocrisy. But he also had a marvellous eye for the odd
or unexpected detail that could bring the past alive. He loved Kenya, especially its young, and
never ceased to enjoy their energetic ingenuity, while condemning the
circumstances that caused them to devise such adventurous means of
survival. He was a patriot. He wrote patriotic, which is to say critical,
history. Kenya can ill afford to lose
him. The loss to his family and to his
friends is also a loss to his country.
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