I am accused of
unconsidered optimism from time to time. Today, I am relieved about the
possibility of peace across the country. With a huge side order of
disgust, I allow myself some relief in this handshake that two old
friends could have made weeks ago and saved a thousand lives; but which
they found inconvenient; until now.
Who are You? Who am I?
This threadbare security blanket has been exposed.
We live on the knife-edge of denial.
But who are you?
Who am I to be so untenably presumptuous? I realize that I have spent
the last couple of months trying as hard as possible to tease and coax
John's micro-economy back into place. Praying that the insane ones who
live across the way would soon stop their discontent.
But when I
thought about it, I realized how much of a prison this life of mine is.
I am besieged by my unfair way of life. I live in denial of the
colonial guilt of my generation. I watch for the abyss to open up, my
vigilance aimed at getting my loved ones out of harm's way in the event
of a raid by the insane ones.
When I watched
that mob for the hundredth time, from the comfort of my TV-warmed
living room, I saw something I had not seen before. I saw a glimpse of
the freedom that comes from having nothing to lose. The primal mighty
"YAWP!!" as Mr. Keating called it in Dead Poets' Society . Yes,
these boys wreaked havoc, and yes they were truly abused for political
gains which we celebrate today as a victory for peace. And now we will
beat them up and lock them away and hang a couple of them for their
crimes. They raped women and kicked us rather hard in our soft regions
(our pockets). They stole, and burned and displaced. But I adhere to
the pre-election adage "...laumu mwanasiasa ..."; hold it against the politician. All this is another story.
I just want to
talk about the mob itself. Like sardines herded by sharks from below,
gulls and pelicans from above, and dolphins from the lateral, these
boys were more an indication of our times and our silent crimes than it
is an indication of how nasty politicians can be. Consider that mob
justice is also an outlet for frustration and impotence experienced at
a certain level of our society. Make no mistake, we may insist that we
shook off European colonialism (sounds like a bad joke, eh?), but we
now live in a class society that we neither want to take responsibility
for, nor want to change. The current state of things suits too many
people just fine. (Oh, yes, I do include 1000 dead and possibly half a
million displaced... call it collateral damage. "kazi iendelee!!").
Nice round numbers that allow us to (dare I say it?) glory in the fact
that at last, "something is happening in our country". Its fine that
these barbaric things happen. Ever seen someone get out of his Mercedes
to stop a mob killing a pick-pocket?
Inaction is action. It is the act of directly condoning. It is not the indifferent stance of an observer. There are no observers in the world.
"Who is my neighbour?"
"He who is not for me is against me." (Ok, so I attended a couple of classes).
As I said, it is untenable. Eldoret affected my family directly in horrible ways. But who am I to be fighting now
to smooth over things? When I discussed this with friends, I found
myself insisting that we need a period of pretence. By pretence I meant
a smoothing over period, where the violence is artificially kept at
bay, pending the lengthier healing process. I believed it to be my way
of saying that the Government's silence (though a brilliant political
manoeuvre) was heartless in that it accepted the losses as collateral
damage. To a man, my friends all agreed that even a short-term solution
needed forethought into the longer term strategy. Short-sightedness
would possibly make things worse. It aids my gestalt to look at
discussions and ask myself what was in it for me personally to hold a
particular view. Upon later, cooler consideration, I realised that
"peace" had one value point: it would make it easier for me to get on
with work, where I could still employ compliant Kikuyus and Luos
(Kitchen Totos with degrees). And then the spice, as they say, would
still flow.
My question
returns: how did I/we come to justify the injustice we live out? Our
churches cannot be said to have moved too far from the position that
the poor should take consolation in the riches of the life to come. The
guy with the "yawp" needs to be addressed. But do we dare educate him?
What if he truly discovered that he can run this country? Are you
content with his ignorance? With his low self esteem, which prevents
him from running for office and "socialising" our state? With his
convenient nurtured belief that only a wealthy person can manage his
most important decisions? Tourists just Looove Kenya; so friendly; such
warm welcome. In the meantime we choke down our frustrations, and wait
for the day and the victim when we can let out that primal scream.
Power sharing? Are you not disgusted
that what we are now going to call peace has cost you so much; and
ended in a handshake that will add nothing to the lives of those most
vulnerable? Are you not done reading my sermonising with no solutions
suggested?
Well, I do
suggest a solution. I think we can give up our lives for one another.
It's all very well to say love will solve our issues. Mr. Moi suggested
it, and we all know how much he loved the children; but thousands of
men are raping their wives/daughters/neighbours every night. Thousands
of women are living in fear, and cannot count on their men for
protection. Men are emasculated into violence. What do I suggest? What
else: lets at least pretend not
to be a colonial-style, class-structured, bigoted, Misogynistic people.
Its not really working for America, but what's our higher option:
Pretend that we can go to church and become better neighbours from
tomorrow onwards? We all are that politician. Otherwise none of us is a
Kenyan. We all have to be saved. Otherwise none of us will be. Our
national Soul is still on the line. And yet I live like I can save my
own and those of my nearest and dearest, and the devil can have the
rest.
That is our
denial: that this affects "out there" in the slum, in Parliament, at
the women's hospital. That this will be over with the band aid of a
power sharing deal. Do you really think that its enough to give a
frayed blanket and a sack of beans? Well, guess what displaced people
do best? Clue: watch the crime rate in Nairobi suburbs the next few
months.
What do you
suggest? And who are the insane ones in this picture? Maybe just one
person. But I make no apologies for it. But how about this: How about
if every person within these borders was to say "Kenya, all Kenyans,
and all they care about are my concern"? How about that?
As Robert Frost wrote once, "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."
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Uhinga, like some guy who can't even pronounce the word keeps saying: Will it save us, the pretense, or destroy us?
Soon enough, if we let it, the pretence, moves into hypocrisy, and then someday not very far away, the young men will go back to the streets, with different faces, and even more anger. Who will we call insane, then?