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thoughts on the protest that wasn't, but was

Written by Nanjala Nyabola

Monday, 08 December 2008

A few days ago Nanjala Nyabola organized a rally in Nairobi to protest the refusal by mps to be taxed, high food prices and to rise "against the culture of impunity". The protest was an "expression of solidarity between the middle class and the poor". Published here is her account of the protest. I would like to let you know first and foremost that I have recieved messages from a few people asking me how the protest went. I haven't been ignoring your messages, I just really wanted to think before I committed anything to "paper". Often when one reacts on their first instinct things that they want to say never come out the way the intended. I would like to give a message that is measured and above all else, fair.

How did the protest go?

I'm not sure how to answer this question. Nobody else turned up. It was just me but I sat there for the full hour with my sign and then I went to see the optician because I got a nasty migrane from the sun. One one hand, it was miserable that nobody else turned up, particularly the people who had said they would but didn't. On the other hand, just because there wasn't a massive crowd doesn't mean there wasn't a protest. I believe that at the end of the day, I will only be called to account for my own actions, and not the actions of others.

Do you feel like you accomplished anything?

Again, yes and no. No, because I didn't quite have the impact that I intended. No, because people that I thought I could count on let me down rather badly. But yes, because I feel like - and I say this with humilty and not a shred of vanity - I proved to myself that I don't need the approval or the sanctions of other people to do the right thing. I came away from that place feeling, in spite of the migrane, mighty proud of myself, and one extra notch on your self esteem post is never a bad thing.

At the end of the day, I felt like other people not turning up says bad things about Kenya and not neccesarily me, and because of that I wasn't so much upset as I was resigned to the perspective I already had about people, particularly middle class people, in this country. We are lazy, opportunist locusts, but worse, because we have about as much ambition as a bowl of githeri. We don't want to work hard for a good life; we are waiting for mommy and daddy, or someone else out there to hand it to us on a silver platter. We don't want to work for the Kenyan dream, we just want to wait until we have enough money to go and doea on the American Dream, or the European Dream, or anywhere else where people have already put in the hard work and we can go and cash in.

I feel like there is nothing that I can see or witness that will every make me more cynical about the nature of people in Kenya. And this isn't because of this protest; I have felt this for a long time about this country but I guess this was just confirmation. But not the entire nation of Kenya, you must understand.

Earlier this year, I had the immense privilege of working with a commmunity centre in Kibera, teaching secondary English. Most of these kids had never read a poem in their lives but I have never, never in three years of travelling and almost 10 years of volunteering seen a group of kids more excited to have someone explain to them the difference between mood and tone in poetry. They came up to me after class to ask me questions and were willing to come in even on Sunday, to learn more. They were so thirsty to be better people and to break the poverty cycle in their families that they found a way to bring development and fighting AIDS and corruption into a haiku! They made me proud to be a young person in Kenya, and it broke my heart to realise that for all their hard work, they will eventually get screwed by the system, and it would be a miracle if any of them even went to university.

On the other hand, I look at some of the middle class kids I know, people I grew up with, people I went to school with, people I go to church with and I just feel drained. How quickly we forget that parents who love you and sacrifice to pay for school fees are a blessing that we should be grateful for! That a roof over your head, and food on your table is not just an enormous blessing, but it is an even greater responsibility and opportunity for you to do the work of God in someone else's life. We look out on a broken world and all we see is the pimple on our nose. We watch scenes of television of people dying of hunger and rather than get mad at the fact that many of the people who are creating this artificial food shortage are the self same politicians who we elect to protect us, we get mad at the poor reception of our t.v. sets.

The middle class in Kenya is mediocre. Our music is mediocre - with the exception of a handful of bright lights like Eric Wainaina and Jua Cali. Our literature is mediocre, our dancing, our clubs, our artwork, our fashion sense, our lifestyle - its all mediocre. A pale shadow of a cheap counterfiet of the shallow and narcissistic lifestyle of the European and North American middle class. We don't know what it's like to live a life of passion. To feel things with such a great intensity that you fear it may consume your very soul. To want something so badly that you're willing to risk it all just for that one moment of pure intense bliss. To fly straight in the sun, knowing that it may very well scorch you to death, for that one moment when you may burn as bright as that mighty star. We have hearts that beat for money and power and forget that our success and our so called freedom is watered by the blood of the tens of thousands dying of crime, hundreds of thousands dying of HIV/AIDS and millions dying of hunger.

I don't believe in heroes. People who apparently have more gifts and more blessings than everyone else and are somehow better or infallible. I believe that a hero is someone who at the moment when the decision between greatness and mediocrity chose to believe in the power of a dream. A hero is someone who when offered the choice between the self and others, chooses others even at great risk to their own security. I believe that all men and women are made equal, and what distinguishes the hero from the villain, the mediocre from the great, is one simple thing - choice. And I believe that unless the middle class in Kenya stands up and makes the right choice we are forever doomed to continue to be mediocre; a sad and pathetic knock off.

Angry? Not at all. I believe that you only get angry when something that is rightfully yours is taken away from you. I made my decision and I stood by it, and for that I will forever be proud. I believe in God, and I believe that God would not give me this cross if He did not think that I could carry it; He began this good work in me, and He will be faithful to complete it. If I must walk down this road alone, it just means it will take an awfully long time to get there. But I have no reason to believe that the day will not come when poor people in Kenya, and indeed in Africa will have a voice to stand up on a soap box and say "Enough!"