I am not yet willing to give up on the concept of tribe.
I am unwilling to grant that colonizers were right in their claims that
tribe was a limited concept that had no place in the modern world. I am
unwilling to accept their definitions that my history and heritage are small
and uninteresting, lacking in depth and complexity, beauty and joy.
I am not yet willing to give up on the concept of tribe.
Tribe lets my friend say, "my name means one born at night," and my other friend
to say, "I belong to the people who shape metal," and yet another friend to
say, "I bring rain in the dry seasons." Tribe marks the changing of
generations, Maina to Irungu, Kamau to Peter.
Tribe celebrates how we have lived, how we have loved, how we have suffered,
how we have mourned. We are the descendants of Gatego, the generation riddled
with syphilis and Ngige, the generation decimated by locusts. To say these
names is to claim that our stories are not yet done. We are not yet done. We
are here.
I am unwilling to relinquish tribe.
To say tribe is to recognize the diversity of who we are. To say that women
from that ridge discipline their men. Men from that hill are bowlegged.
Children from that place run like the wind. To say that people from that place
make the best ũcũrũ (porridge), from
that other place the best mũratina (an
alcoholic drink), from that other place the best mũtura (a dish made from stuffed animal intestines).
To say tribe is to say people from that place talk fast, they sing their
language. And people from that other place are tall. And people from that other
place are dark. And people from that place like the dark taste of burnt beans.
And people from that place like the iron-rich veins of green weeds.
I am unwilling to relinquish tribe.
There's too much left to discover, too much left to explore, too much
potential to be realized. The past remains an untapped ore, myth, a rich vein,
the present a fertile, fallow field. Songs remain to be sung, stories written,
dramas acted.
We have much creating to do.
Tribe is not simply an inheritance, but untapped potential. It is the
material we can work on, work with, transform and translate.
For me, tribe is Wamũyũ, Gikuyu's tenth daughter, mother of an illegitimate
child, founder of a hospitable clan. Wamũyũ, who embodies the mystery, wonder
and potential of intimate hospitality. Wamũyũ, whose unnamed and unnameable
lover fractures any sense of insularity, Wamũyũ, whose intimate welcome
illustrates the best of tribal hospitality, tribal love, tribal openness.
For me, tribe is Wangũ wa Makeri, the leader who dared to dance nude in the
moonlight. Wangũ, who let the moon's rays caress her, her people's eyes embrace
her. Wangũ, who understood that leadership meant being vulnerable and taking
risks that might compromise her leadership.
Against all logic, against all sense, I am in love with the concept of
tribe.
It is, like all love, fraught with complications and
ambivalence. At times I want to scream at what seem to be the limitations of
tribal identification, the ways I am called upon to perform tribe: to sing,
dance, or act in a certain way. I chafe at the constrictions that ask me to
speak my language to gain certain favours. I worry that my positions are taken
for granted, that my identity may be said to dictate my politics.
I am often seduced by the invitation to identify myself as
national, international, or cosmopolitan. I am tempted by the idea that I can
and should transcend tribe. I am compelled by the idea that I would be a better
person if my allegiances were less local, less idiosyncratic, less wedded to
nine clans that face Mount Kenya. But I believe in this
love. I believe in its potential. I want to see where it leads.
_______________________________________________
Keguro Macharia is a member of the coalition of Concerned
Kenyan Writers.
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