Joys of Life in Boarding School

Feels almost like yesterday though it was many years ago, too many to mention. My first day in boarding school as I joined First Form in high school… I was so thrilled and every aspect was exciting to me, including sleeping in the dormitories with all the other girls. So excited was I that when my aunt who taught in the school invited me to spend that first night in her house in the staff quarters, I declined the offer. Later as the novelty wore off I was to beat myself and wish I had accepted that invite.

Within a month homesickness had set in with a vengeance. I missed the familiarity of home, missed my siblings, missed the fact that in my days at primary school I went home every evening. But now I was miles away from home and the end of a school day meant only more school with excited girls everywhere in the dorms, Preps in the evening, and the bookworms who read long after lights-off inside their blankets with the use of a flashlight (no one was allowed to read after lights out, naturally).

I remember writing home with all my complaints about boarding school, among them that the food wasn’t enough and that I wanted to be taken to the boarding school 3 miles from home so I could be visiting home each weekend. Of course the food was enough but our school was not on a mission to fatten us, and, being in a good Provincial school, my parents were not going to indulge my whims and take me to what was commonly known as a Harambee school. (A Harambee school was one where students who had not passed very well were admitted, while in a government school students who had passed well in their exams got the first chance of direct admission). A Provincial school was second only to a National one, both in academics and standards.

Eventually we all adjusted, and soon I was a natural in the independence of boarding school, and being in this environment where a thousand girls spent the most part of the year was beginning to be real fun. You have to understand most of us were only 13 plus or minus one when we joined form one so homesickness was normal in the first term. But soon we all learned to love our new home.

Barring the fact that this was a girls’ school and the only male figures were members of staff, it was a great school. Education was the priority here and shenanigans had little place. Discipline was nearly never an issue, and I’m sure our teachers had a fun time educating us and engaging us in lively, intelligent discussions in class. In an environment of mutual respect and purpose like this, relationships between students and staff were quite cordial. I don’t remember there ever being an issue that necessitated riots or the kind of horrific experiences going on in some schools today, where students have taken to burning down the schools their parents have paid so much to build, and even burning their fellow students to death in the process. Whatever one says, I don’t understand such animal behaviour; it can never be justified and must NOT happen. Someone needs to do something because students are supposed to be busy learning and developing into productive citizens, not plotting the destruction of lives and property. This is archaic to an astonishing degree.

Of course, like in any large group, there were a few rotten eggs who gave teachers a headache. Not in class though; there you would never suspect any monkey business. Nay: This was the group that sneaked out of school over the weekend and went to the nearby Muranga town for Disco (that’s what it was called then) and whatever else they did at that hour. Catching them was always a feat, they had so perfected their art, but eventually one or two would get caught and get an instant suspension, which became an expulsion for repeat offenders.

And then there was that curious practice where the school nurse would examine all the girls whenever we came back to school from holidays, checking for any bulging stomachs. Either out of sheer luck or some kind of tip-off, occasionally she discovered one, and that really would be the end of school for the student. At least this school. See, my school had no policy to host expectant students, and if one was found to be so they would have to leave and, either come back after delivery or hopefully join another school. (I’m not sure anyone did come back in the four years I was there, but I did hear rumours that some of the girls who joined our school from other schools were themselves already mothers who had been sent away from their first school for the same reasons.) Well, such is the case with girls, you can expect at least five will go this way in the course of four years.

The closest we ever came to any kind of protest was when the Education Ministry suddenly announced that school would close after Easter holidays. We were incensed! This had hitherto not happened. We were so used to spending Easter holidays at home and now that was being taken away from us! The news came towards evening, during Prep time. And the whole school exploded. We shouted, we complained; we left our classrooms and sat or stood outside, talking animatedly and expressing our anger and frustration at the injustice of it all. Soon the teacher on duty came around to see what was happening, and being the good girls we otherwise were we scrambled for our classrooms – but it was already too late. He wanted the prefects to write down the names of all who had been outside or had been making noise. Well, several of us owned up, and we couldn’t have anticipated just how seriously the teacher on duty took this noisy display. He made us kneel on gravel outside the staff room for the whole period of Preps. (Mark you those who never owned up got away scot-free. So much for do gooders!) The teacher could not believe the group now kneeling before him. He called out our names one by one, pausing for effect, determined to shame us out of ever considering such behaviour again. By the time he let us go, we could barely stand. We had been kneeling for over an hour, and little pieces of ballast were etched deep into our knees. We moaned our way out of there and decided any kind of protest was just not worth it around here.

School trips made for the most exciting part of boarding school. A chance to see the outside world, a chance for adventure, a chance to ride in the school bus with our teachers. In a girls’ school we particularly loved our male teachers. What, you are shocked now? It was sheer nature, sheer biology. They reminded us of our brothers, our fathers, and of course our friends who we only saw during the holidays. In a sea of females, any male sight was deeply refreshing. Not for any weird reason, just that it brought normalcy to a rather abnormal existence. At home I had brothers with whom I’d lived all my life, now suddenly girls everywhere. Girls in class, girls in the field, girls in the dorm, girls in chapel. One more girly face and I wanted to scream. This was where the male teachers and other staff came in. They broke the monotony, and reminded us the world was still as it should be.

And so during school trips the males were our heroes. We sang all the way to and fro, we danced so much the teachers feared we might topple the bus. We cheered our male driver on. And he loved it and lapped up every minute. Of course he had to be careful not to lose his job, but he indulged us just a little and kept us happy with a permanent smile and speeds we could live with. The male teachers with us in the bus became our friends during school trips. We sang together, played harmless games, and on the whole had a swell time. Going back to school was a downer knowing the following day all this would be a dream and we would be back to the seriousness of studies.

Our teachers were of impeccable character, and I don’t remember any incident of student abuse. I do know though that at least one of them married a former student as soon as she was done with school – oh well, I’m not here to judge.

Lights-off was a curious idea in my school. At precisely 11pm the night watchman would turn off the lights after giving us a five-minute warning. The ritual was the same night after night. At the first lights out, a barrage of shouts would ring across the dorms scattered over more than an acre of land. The girls would shout his nickname as they begged him rather noisily to leave the lights on a little longer. Which he took light-heartedly enough and indulged us a bit longer, but eventually he too had to think of his job and turn off those lights. The relationships between the students and non-teaching staff was simply cordial, which went a long way into making everyone’s life more fulfilling in this little community. We did have one or two who rubbed us the wrong way though, especially the matron (a woman, of course, probably her only crime.)

My second boarding school where I did my ‘A’ level was girls’ only too, but it was a National school which made it even better than the first. Curiously I don’t ever remember us being subjected to that examination we suffered under the nurse in my ‘O’ Level school. Maybe because the school was in Nairobi and most students were from Nairobi so it would be easier to summon the parents should cases of a bulging tummy arise… Neither did we have lights-out in my second school. We were considered responsible enough to turn off the lights and sleep at the proper time. And it worked just fine for everyone.

Here too discipline was never an issue, and the only form of protest I remember was when the Seniors (‘A’ Level students) decided we were not getting enough privileges and would do a silent protest to drive home the point. So it was decided (by the ring leaders, who curiously included the head girl) that on the material day we should wear the junior school uniform, that is, light blue shirts instead of our white ones. And so it was that during assembly that day, the school looked very dark and gloomy. I hadn’t realised till then how much difference the white shirts made in the school. See, with navy blue skirts and sweaters, you needed something bright to take away the darkness.

To everyone's amazement, the head teacher said absolutely nothing of our protest during assembly, though later on the teacher on duty went around our classes writing down the names of the five or six students who had defied their peers and dressed in white. I envied them their courage! Well, unless they received some silent reward or had something written in their school leaving certificates, this incident was never mentioned or revisited again, and we were all back to our normal lives again the following day. I don’t remember if our grievances were looked into.

My most memorable school trip happened here in my second school. Our Geography teacher decided to take us to Kariandusi to see where diatomite was mined from. We were over the moon! The trip was as exciting as any, but being ‘A’ Levels we were more controlled and there wasn’t as much singing in the bus.

At Kariandusi we met our tour guide whose sole job today was to take us through the tunnels of the mines. One of our teachers flatly refused to go into those tunnels, and I wished I had the same choice. Well, part of me wanted the adventure, while the other part dreaded the idea of being in a narrow, dark tunnel I never been into before, totally reliant on the guiding skills of the guy with the lamp. And so in we went, filing after the guide, our hearts filled with unspoken apprehension.

We hadn’t gone far into the tunnel before we came face to face with every teenage girl’s horror - hundreds and hundreds of bats fluttered before our faces and we began to scream while we covered our faces with our sweaters. The guide had a hard time calming us down but eventually he succeeded as he told us, amusement written all over his face, that we should not scream or we might bring the very light diatomite walls crumbling down on us in the tunnel. Ouch! Whose bright idea was it to take a bunch of teenage girls inside a dark, bat infested, diatomite lined tunnel? We went deathly quiet, with only a few whimpers as we dodged the bats. By now we had established they weren’t the blood-sucking vampires from movies. Still, the sooner we got out of there the better, we didn’t want to stay here long enough to find out.

All in all, the tunnels were a delightful adventure. Besides the thrill of the bats and the scare of collapse, real or imagined, the walls were pure white, and it really looked like an underground palace one would otherwise enjoy in a wider space. Eventually we made it through to the other side of the tunnel and emerged back to light, to the surface, to solid ground and bat free existence. And we all breathed a sigh of relief, at the same time breaking into excited conversation about our short-lived adventure in the tunnel. By and large, we were all glad we went in.

My Nairobi school was not as closed as the Muranga one. Here one could obtain permission to go home over the weekends if need be. Visiting days and outings were more, and we had one or two tricks up our sleeves for that extra break from school. You see, nearby was a Catholic church where practising Catholics in school would often go for confession. No one was denied permission for this purpose. So we quickly aligned ourselves with our Catholic friends and would obtain permission to go confess. (I never said we were saints. God has a lot of work to do on some of us still…) Suffice it to say most of those who went out for ‘confession’ never saw the inside of a confessionally. All we wanted was a walk and an afternoon out, and to walk the Adams Arcade malls where we bought little fairy cakes and other goodies, then walked back to school happy with ourselves and ready to face another week.

Looking back, I’m glad my high school days were spent not only in boarding school, but also in girls only boarding schools. It means discipline issues were rare, and we never had to act up for any boy, which left us free to concentrate on our studies. Also the chance to spend so much time with one’s peers, I think in a big way it really matured us. I see little virtue in taking little children of primary school age to boarding school, but I think high school boarding is an experience not to be missed. Still, in this environment where some students have taken to burning down their schools, I can understand if parents would rather not take their children to any boarding school.

The Furore of a Kenyan Wedding

The whole village woke up to a sense of excitement that no one could deny. Even the animals knew this was a special day judging from the animal feed and water already piled up near their sheds. A flurry of activities had taken place the previous day as everyone ensured there would be no chores left for the following day.

Today one of the village daughters will be getting married. The family of the bride has been the centre of attention for a while now with numerous meetings and feasts taking place in preparation for the big day. Of course the greatest of the days was when the groom to be, accompanied by family and very close friends, came to bring the bride price. Just in case you’re wondering, the girl’s family calls the shots here in terms of bride price, and all the groom and family can do is negotiate intensely to bring down the usually lofty demands from the bride’s side.

Relatives, close and otherwise, soon begin to flock the girls’ home. Already the bridesmaids are there having spent the night to make sure they are all at the same place on the wedding day – and of course to keep the bride company on her last night at her parents’ as a single girl. The joy and jubilance is unmistakable and contagious. That will be the mood for the day, so everyone had just better get used to it.

Busy stylists help make up the bridal party, and the word royalty comes to mind. This group is the centre of attention today, and the envy of everyone who is not part of the action. The bride, especially, is elevated to a place all her own. Everyone wants to be her, and all are at her service to cater to her every whim. Everyone wants to be associated with her, so any chance to smile at her, hug her, talk to her etc. cannot be missed as it makes one look good. Celebrity for a day - no wonder weddings are so contagious and addictive. Never mind how long the marriage will last, we all simply want a wedding!

Women walk into the compound with song and dance – the day lends itself to such expression. They sing as they cook in the kitchen, they dance as they greet one another, it’s the new walk of gait. Everyone seems to be walking on air today, forget troubles for a day, forget rivalry, jealousy and class today, forget duty for a day. Today we celebrate, tomorrow we climb down from this mountain. It’s a village affair, and a family affair, and a friends’ affair. It’s everyone’s affair, really.

The bride is excited too, but her thoughts are elsewhere. She’s thinking of her groom, how soon will he be here to pick her up for the big ceremony? How quickly can all this end? Don’t get her wrong, she’s ecstatic about today. Dressed like a princess, in pure white, silk, satin, lace, and everything dainty, delicate, fair and fragile. Her hair falls gracefully in soft locks, held up by a queenly tiara. She dons beautiful silver earrings that rest gently on her bare shoulder. So beautiful she can’t wait to be revealed to her groom, and everyone else.

She and her man have spent many sleepless days and nights organizing this wedding. For no matter how much family and friends get involved, in the end the couple has to tie everything together. They didn’t have a wedding planner, only a committee made of close friends and relatives. She’s tired, very tired. And although this day is her thrill, even more exciting is the end of it, when she and her man will say goodbye to the guests and disappear alone for that peaceful and quiet honeymoon.

Soon the family of the groom begin to arrive. The vehicles can be heard from afar, and the spy positioned strategically by the women brings word, ‘they are here’. Upon which the door to the house where the girl is is closed (or even locked), and the women break out into song. (Do men sing, I wonder? I’m sure they do, depending on which side they are, but the excitement of the women is such that the men don’t stand a chance of being either seen or heard).

The groom’s family attempt to alight from the vehicles but a larger group of women blocks the way and demands they go back a mile or so and come back with horns blaring. It’s a command, not a request, and they will obey it if they know what’s good for them. So they comply and soon anyone in a 10mile radius who had not known there was a wedding now knows. The car horns are going non-stop, the groom’s family will not risk antagonizing their soon-to-be in laws.

So amid this noise, and a tag of war as the groom’s side ‘sings’ to be given their bride and the girl’s side ‘sings’ their new demands to release the bride, the groom’s party slowly advances towards the house. You can be sure by the time this mini madness ends, enough money has changed hands for things like ‘women’s sodas, women’s shukas (scarves)’ etc. Again I wonder whether men stand a chance to ask for anything here. It’s a women’s day. I think men had their day during the bride price days of feasting, yeah, I’m sure I’m right.

At times during this ritual you can’t tell who is singing what as both sides compete for airtime. But eventually the Master of Ceremony, or the Best Man depending on the arrangements, prevails on the group of animated women to give it a rest and allow the groom to pick up his bride. And since this is a happy day, with everything else being just theatrical drama albeit with real results and benefits for the singing women, they happily give in and quickly change the song to ‘Welokamu’ (simply welcome), as they invite the groom’s family to come get their bride. And hence the wedding truly begins, though I promise you before that door behind where the bride is is opened or unlocked, that poor groom will have parted with some more cash. Oh well, ‘the pain of a child’ is what he’s paying for. The idea here is that the girl is leaving her parents to become part of the groom’s family. Never mind in this day and age though I think they both leave as few people will settle in their parents compound anymore. There isn’t enough land, and most young Kenyans would rather live in the towns where there is work and modernity. But tradition is tradition and, as long as the girl takes on the man’s name, then it is the girl who leaves while the man remains happily with his family, ha ha.

Finally the crucial door opens and an uncharacteristic silence ensues as everyone waits for the bride to emerge. Then she does and the man is asked whether she’s the one he came for. On saying yes, ululations and more jubilations follow, and after final remarks and prayers are over, now the real jubilation begins. Everyone is on the same side, no one is demanding for anything anymore, and now the real band for the day leads everyone in joyous songs and dance as they all head for whichever vehicles will take them to the wedding ceremony. The ceremony could be anywhere; the local church if the two choose to wed in the country, but more and more often, the ceremony will be in the city or the nearby town, and the bridal party is off for a long or short ride, depending on where the ceremony is.

Many of the villagers will not be going anywhere, of course. You can hardly transport all of them to wherever. They are content to have witnessed the ceremony of getting the girl out of the house, and they’ll go back to their homes and carry on with the day. If on the other hand the wedding is nearby, most will walk there and this day will be dedicated solely to this wedding.

And so begins another wedding in Kenya, and another marriage. The ceremony will be uncomplicated, taking on much of the white wedding version, but the reception will be characterised with much food, more singing and dancing, and a lot of gifts for the new couple. This will be a grand event and nothing, no one will be changing that any time soon.

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My Expectation as a Kenyan

With the coming of the New Constitution, Kenyans have lofty expectations. And rightly so given how much this Constitution was touted as being the best thing to happen to Kenya. We were made to understand all our woes, political, social and economical, would vanish with the coming of the new law. And not just by our leaders – America and the EU swore by it and made beautiful promises to Kenya should we go ahead and pass this law at the referendum. Well, it seemed to mean that much to them all for some reason…

It makes sense therefore that we, as a country, have very high hopes pegged on this new law. It’s already here and all that remains is for the relevant committees to thrash out the implementation process, Parliament to pass necessary laws and we begin to relish the juice from this magical fruit of progress.

I’ve no doubt my expectations are much the same as those of most Kenyans. In the Counties that I call home, I expect that major roads will henceforth be tarmacked, especially the dusty road that passes right outside my rural home. I expect the road from Kaharati to Kangari, which was once beautifully and fully tarmacked but has since been left to disintegrate, will be tarmacked once again. I’m not sure what the people served by this road did to their politicians but since the days of the former regime when the road began to develop potholes, it has been neglected to the present day, until now, where there once was a modern road, there is only dust and rock as the only way to use the road now is by removing the top layer to try and level out the multi-cratered road.

Despite the fact that the area has always had an MP, and has one now, and despite the fact that restoring the country’s roads is a priority of the current government, this major road serving an area rich in tea and coffee has been left to literally return to dust and ashes. I would have thought that given the massive cost of building roads, we would maintain the ones we already have so as to avoid having to build them again from scratch – but it’s too late now for the Kaharati/Kangari road. Any work on the bigger segment of this road will now have to begin from scratch.

No doubt this will be a major factor in deciding who gets the seat come the next General Elections, as it was in the last one. We can’t wait forever for a road that has been a nightmare for over 10 years now. Hopefully eventually someone will see reason.

I expect too that the road I use daily to work, Ngong Road from Show Grounds all the way to Ngong Town Centre, will be repaired too. Permanently this time, not those half-hearted attempts at covering up potholes which get washed out almost immediately at the slightest hint of rain. Such a disgrace for a road that leads to such an important destination as Ngong Hills.

The outcry on the lips of many parents and teachers is the congestion in Primary school classes and the deteriorating standards of education. I hope to see the Counties employ enough teachers to fill the gap, and build more schools if need be to accommodate all children of school going age. Basic education is now a right, not a privilege, and resources for the same must be adequately provided.

Rural electrification has already been rolled out by the government with a certain degree of success. The County must ensure this is effectively completed and that water and electricity are now part and parcel of every household in their area of jurisdiction.

Health centres need to not only be available and accessible to all Kenyans, but they must also be well equipped with staff, medicine and relevant equipment. The days of ‘a semblance of order’ are gone. We now need ‘real order’, we need real services leading to better quality of life.

Simply put, infrastructure will play a crucial role in the development of each County across the country. Those responsible for the vast resources government is directing to Counties must put these to good and efficient use, providing not only basic necessities, but also investing in development projects and mechanisms.

None of us is expecting hand outs (hopefully), we know we need to work for our individual and national progress. But there are those services, as well as an enabling environment, that the authorities must provide for us to be able to achieve. Roads, water, power, health, Sanitation, education, food, shelter, are top on this list. We must cater for these somehow, ensuring affordable food, health and housing, ensuring ease of transport, and providing the apparatus that stir on development like water, education, power and communication systems. Employment will be readily available if these conditions are present.

Out of the wealth of Counties we hope to see all members of the region benefit. We wish not to see public funds and wealth disappear into individual or corporate pockets. There must be tangible benefits to the community for development projects undertaken in the area like mining, agriculture, tourism, fishing etc. And, for all it’s worth, jobs and positions must be given on merit, not nepotism, favouritism or tribalism.

As the central government implements its end of expectations to make sure the country as a whole flourishes in all areas, sectors and systems, we wish to see the Counties reproduce this in their region so that sooner rather than later the whole country will develop equally and move at supersonic speed towards Vision 2030.

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The Words of a Leader...

In our young democracy I’ve had the privilege of being around during the reign of all three of our Presidents so far (well, that’s one way I know I’m growing old). The words of a leader, I’ve come to learn, accomplish a lot, sometimes moving mountains literally. Which is why leaders ought to harness and use this God-given influence for the good of the nations they lead.

As young as I was in the days of our first President, Mzee Kenyatta, I remember with clarity his call to Kenyans; two calls as a matter of fact. One was the call for young people to go back to the farms and do agriculture as a means of employment and development. He hated idlers and the sight of many young people roaming the city streets in search for white collar jobs while fertile, agricultural land lay untilled upcountry was unbearable; so he rallied Kenyans back to the land, with the resultant boost in agricultural produce, especially the cash crops. ‘Turudi Mashambani’ was the phrase in Swahili.

His second call was ‘Harambee’, meaning as a nation we needed to work together in unity to achieve our goals. And thus the practice of holding fundraisings or ‘harambees’ as they were called in aid of noble courses like buildings schools, hospitals, raising school fees for those in need etc, became our way of life. The idea was that together we could manage what we couldn’t as individuals. Used properly, it worked wonders. But even a good thing can be misused which is what eventually happened and ‘harambees’ (fundraisings) have been all but banned in the current system.

Our second President Moi rallied Kenyans to plant trees. Just as well because trees were disappearing at a scary pace, and areas which had earlier been covered in green were now bare and brown, and one could see for miles for lack of plant cover. The President sent forth a word ‘Ukikata moja, panda mbili’, i.e., if you cut down one tree, plant two. Soon every government initiative was geared towards tree planting, and tree nurseries were established everywhere. Institutions of all definitions joined the fray. School children received seedlings and each of them planted a tree, for whose growth they were responsible. Farmers and anyone else who so wished received seedlings too, and every government official planted a tree in almost every public function they attended.

The results were spectacular. Eventually homes and buildings which had earlier stood out in the glaring sunshine like sore thumbs began to disappear behind green foliage as the trees matured and converged to restore the green cover. Once again the spirit of ‘harambee’ from the first President had met with the call to plant trees from the second President and the result was total environmental and climatic transformation. The rain began to fall more regularly again, and in some parts of the country highlands the climate changed so much that farmers who had previously planted coffee were told they could now plant tea as the region was now cool enough for tea to thrive. One could now be forgiven for thinking this was a forest area, when in fact it was a well populated area where trees hid many homes from view, providing shade, breeze and much needed moisture.

We no doubt have a long way to go before we restore 10% of our land to forest, but that call from the former President went a long way into that direction and prevented an even worse disaster than we have been experiencing often in way of drought.

The current President Kibaki has a call of his own; free primary education, and free tuition for secondary and tertiary institutions. Let’s just say he has succeeded in providing free primary education, and as a result all parents are required to send their children of this age to school. When he first expressed this desire and intention, many thought in couldn’t be done in a developing nation. But President Kibaki was determined and made it his business to see that the project took off. And even though it is not without its challenges (which good thing hasn’t?), primary education is now free and available to all Kenyan children, and consequently it’s now compulsory. As a result we no longer see many children on the streets during term time, and the government has a right to demand that all children be taken to school.

Provision of basic education is a big deterrent to crime and a catalyst for development as pupils soak up knowledge and thirst for more, pursuing the dreams they develop in the process. No doubt some day soon education will be totally free all the way to Secondary at least; and that because President Kibaki dared to not only believe it could be done, but rallied Kenyans around this noble course.

With the words of a leader being so powerful and influential, then we hope to see more and more leaders rally behind worthy courses that bring our country closer and closer to self dependency, courses that bring us closer to development and courses that unify us as one nation and one people. And, on the same note, shun calls that divide us and that are retrogressive.

Dreams

My dream throughout childhood was to live a good life. A good life, in my definition, was to be in the city for starters, in a good house and driving a good car (or simply driving). Needless to say my dream grew in size and grandeur as I got older, till eventually it included such fantasies as owning a private jet, producing movies, living the life with the best of the best up there, (oh well, a girl is allowed to dream, right?)

Surely there’s nothing wrong with dreaming is there, as long as I keep both my feet on the ground in case the stool underneath topples…? ha ha. For, believe me, dreams are delicate things, with a mind of their own, and they seem to enjoy playing hide and seek with you, as if trying to see just how much you value them, how much you believe in them, how deep your love for them goes. No wonder they only come true for those with an iron will to endure against insurmountable odds, those who prove worthy and able to press on when every ounce of strength is gone, when everything and everyone else is screaming ‘give up!’.

But you know what they say - aim for the stars and you might just hit the moon. So despite the craziness of my dreams, in the process of striving for heaven I’ve been able to soar to a happy height, and I’m sure will soar much further in my lifetime. We’ll just have to see how far I get.

You can imagine how it was for me then, growing up in the countryside while all the time harbouring these dreams. Yet I’m sure millions of other Kenyan children did too. At a very tender age, probably 7yrs or thereabouts, I had a clear plan of attaining my dream. See, I hated work (labour) with a passion, and ‘lazy’ was a word I heard a lot in reference to me. So quite often I would declare for all to hear, ‘When I grow up I’ll marry a Mzungu (a white) and I’ll never have to work again.’ How silly I was. But my family just laughed me off as if to say, ‘dream on baby.’

Eventually I grew wise enough to know my ‘get filthy rich’ formula had to be all mine without being hinged on anyone else, white, black or yellow. Of course I hoped to meet a life partner who had vision so we could stir one another on to achievement, but not so he could be the answer to my dream.

Needless to say then, while I loved my childhood upbringing and had many happy moments, every so often an overwhelming urge to escape the country life engulfed me, and I knew I would, as soon as I was done schooling and had a job. Boarding school was fun though 'coz it was like a little town and there my dream would be highly fanned into flame. The movies, the music, the countless books I read only served to convince me my life was out there, far, far from the dusty, dark and quiet countryside where I was raised. I was in boarding all my high school life, and in a Nairobi school for ‘A’ Level.

So you can imagine my stress when after Sixth Form I went back home awaiting either college or a job, and in the process one of my few friends got me a ‘job’ in a local secondary school – oi! It’s not like I could say no; my parents were over the moon that I now had a job, and, with nowhere else to go I kinda had to take it, all the time plotting how I must leave for Nairobi. I had to find a way to convince dad it was okay for me to live with him in the city while I looked for a job; That wasn’t going to be easy at all. I knew my older sister, already working in Nairobi, could not sustain me, so I had to be very bold or very clever to worm my way into father’s little house.

The daily walk to the school where I now taught was the longest journey of my life. Never mind everything else, this was one of those little community project schools where they seemed to send all the kids who had failed. And it was a far cry from the schools I had attended, or the life I had led, watched and read about for the previous 6 years. The word juxtaposition came to mind, like my dreams were playing a cruel joke on me yet again.

With every passing day the journey grew longer and longer, the road dustier and dustier, my step slower and slower, until eventually I disentangled myself from my current reality, my current plight. My mind was made up. I had reached that point of no return I usually attain when I finally have a breakthrough of vision. Which reminds me of that commercial by Honda that went something like ‘Hate something, change something, make something better’. I loved that commercial because it said exactly what goes through my mind when I reach critical point. I hate the feeling of being trapped, and for better or worse, I’ll do everything possible to free myself. (Mark you I couldn’t do any of it without infinite help from heaven, I’m not the master of my own fate nor captain of my soul, God is). Of course Honda was speaking about its near-magical transformation of the diesel engine.

I remember the words of my friend when I finally told her I was quitting. ‘People who don’t want to be teachers end up becoming frustrated teachers,’ she said. Oh dear… I was appalled. And that was when I knew I was definitely in the wrong place, in the company of people whose dreams not only for themselves but for me as well were horrific to say the least. Somehow they thought they knew who I was and what I wanted in life, and were not afraid to voice it. And I realised then I had to get out and be in the company of people of like mind – always a good idea if you want to achieve anything. I needed to be with people who dared to believe there was more to life.

It’s not teaching that I had issues with, though. Teaching is a noble and fulfilling profession if your heart is in it. It was rather the environment of where I was supposed to be teaching. Simply not inspiring, and not along the highway to my destiny: It was more like a painful detour. The highway to our dreams definitely passes by many stop-overs and drive throughs, but remember the destination. Sometimes we get so tired along the way and decide to settle before the end, or fall in love with some beautiful place along the way. But we must avoid detours, they are likely to be irrelevant. Occasionally God calls us home before the final entrance. But so what? He’s boss, and you never been to a better place than heaven, the ultimate dream – for those headed there….

And so it was that I left the countryside and never looked back. Don’t get me wrong, I do go home often to visit, and I rather enjoy the country scenery and clean air. It will always be my home. But I’m not gonna make it my permanent place of residence – no, no way. If my relationship with the countryside is that of visitor, we will have a long and enduring love. But should I find myself trapped there with nowhere to go…. the love will quickly turn into loathing.

Now, about my dreams. By now you’ve figured the fundamental one was happily fulfilled, I’m snugly settled in my city apartment with all the modern conveniences that make us so addicted to this lifestyle. I have a long way to go though before I even scratch the surface of my ‘out of this world’ dreams. But hey, guess what, I’m reaching heights I never would have hoped to see had I not aimed for the farthest star. And I’m sure so are you, my fellow dreamer….

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Do We Really Always get the Leaders we Deserve?

I muse a lot; I muse about things I hear said over and over again as my mind turns them every which way trying to see the validity or otherwise of such claims. It’s a good habit. It helps me explore all possible sides of an argument and, whereas there is probably a grain of truth in each one, I go with the most valid, the one that holds the most weight. Isn’t that what life is all about, relevance? Why go on and on believing things that are either not true, or have such minor effect on the order of things as to be considered irrelevant?

So I find myself thinking about the phrase, ‘People get the leaders they deserve’, and that ‘It’s all up to the people. If you don’t want something all you have to do is refuse or reject it and, voila! You are winners’. Of course this in the context of national issues and democracy, though it no doubt applies to other areas.

We must have been doing it wrong then during the fifteen or so years we as a country heaved and sighed and demonstrated and agitated under an oppressive regime. Every day in Kenya then was a mass action day. Places like Kamukunji and Uhuru Park became synonymous with political meetings demanding change. I tell you, if it really was up to the people, we would definitely have removed that regime in the first multi-party elections in 1992. But was it?

After spending the better part of 10 years demanding change and a multi-party democracy, it was finally here. But what did the opposition leaders do, those who had led the masses in perpetual protests? They all wanted to be President, and we ended up with at least 7 presidential candidates. Fat chance of beating the incumbent with that kind of division….

You can imagine the disappointment on at least 70% of Kenyans who had voted for the opposition: A divided opposition who only managed to scatter votes every which way and hand victory over to the regime of the day. We were mortified, bewildered. How could we have lost? We put so much into this, we were so sure the opposition had this? And how would we endure another 5 years under the same regime, now even angrier at the expression of discontent the populace had shown? Would the powers of the day now round up all those who were vocal against them, or deny services to the protesting masses?

And they did. Some of the dear persons who led that first revolt are dead, and others will never recover their health, except by a miracle: So badly did they suffer under intelligence personnel of the day. As for services, what services? We gave up on that years earlier. It’s like that government had taken Kenya on one mission only, to undo whatever good had been done for this nation economically, socially, democratically and every other system. Agriculture and education in some areas ground to a halt. State corporations were looted and closed down, roads disintegrated and honestly, we took unimaginable steps backwards.

Politics became our one preoccupation in the nation as we knew it had everything to do with what we were suffering. Even little children understood the issues they had no business being concerned about. Well, oppress people at your own risk. Man will always stand up for survival. Even if he seems unconcerned now, should he at one time feel pushed to a corner and reckon he has lost all and has nothing left to lose, he will stand up and fight. It’s called the fear curve (fear tends to follow the law of diminishing returns.) The more you instil fear, eventually the bolder the victim becomes, once you’ve taken away all dignity, all you can take, and nothing is left for the victim.

Mark you, it had been largely assumed that, on repealing Section 2a of the Constitution and introducing multi-party democracy, the incumbent, who had already misruled for 14 years, would not seek re-election. How naïve we were! According to him, with the coming of the amendments, it was as if he had never been President and that this was now a new law under which he could vie. Sigh again…

So it was that he won, not just in 1992, but also in 1997 as the law allowed the President to rule for two terms. As you have well figured out by now, the opposition had not yet learnt its lesson and fielded multiple presidential candidates again in 1997, to their and our loss as a country.

My question then in this whole drama is, did we get the leaders we deserved? Did we not speak out amid tear-gas and police harassment? Thankfully, at this time Kenyans had not yet learnt violence. Had we gone about change then the way some people did in 2007/2008, I doubt we would have a country to talk about today. Kenya had always been a peaceful nation, and to be honest even poll/post poll violence in certain parts of the country were introduced by that former regime at the height of mass demands for change. And it was largely from the supporters of the regime.

In 2007/2008 however it was very unfortunate to see leaders transform peaceful Kenyans into killers of brethren just to push for positions. After going through so much to rout the former oppressive regime, why would we resort to violence at a time when the country’s economy was growing at 7%, roads were smooth again and more were being rebuilt, state corporations were up and running, and education was free for Primary schools? Beats me. It appears to me if there was a point to be made, there were better ways of doing it, and Kenya did not deserve the display of anger, malice and violence we were subjected to – to the extent of undoing the very economy we pretended to be so concerned about.

Back to my question, why did it take 15 or so years for us to finally rout an oppressive regime, despite most of the country being united in this course? Simple really, in my opinion. It was until 2002, when the opposition got the point and decided to unite against the incumbent, that we finally won over that regime and Kenya turned a corner. Bye bye to the days of oppressive politics, bye bye to the days of gagging the media, bye to the days of sycophancy. Kenyans breathed again, the economy began to grow and infrastructure got the attention it deserved.

Despite the good intentions of the average man, it was not until the LEADERS did the right thing and united that we actually got the change we craved.

Policy is everything. A fact the West learned the hard way in the last few years. For a while they had gone around happily borrowing for all sorts of reasons; holidays, weddings, parties – but mostly housing. The mortgage industry was booming. All seemed to be heaven until boom! Without warning the economies, the stock markets, the banks, private companies, CEOs, tycoons, collapsed. (Some are in jail, a few took their lives, and others will simply never recover). The habits of a lifetime, aided by government policy, had come home to roost, and the brood was horrid to look at.

Suddenly people who had never cared about politics, some hardly knew who their President was (what with all life’s luxuries and conveniences at the swipe of a card) were on the streets demonstrating, and wanted to vote! They wanted a change, they needed a change! And change they got. Young people who had hitherto never read anything that was not a tabloid or was not about the latest celebrity to go to jail for drunken driving, were now moving about distributing leaflets in support of their candidate of change. And this was repeated in many Western countries. Mh, how refreshing….

So how much of this was about the people, and how much about the leaders? So far so good, but at the end of the day, the general belief is that things will get better because we now have new leaders. Never mind that most of the economic stimulus packages have gone to these very banks, private companies and tycoons. The populace, those who lost houses, those who couldn’t pay their credit cards and those who lost their jobs, have gotten pretty little in return; hence the next round of protests on austerity measures.

The popular UK comedy ‘Yes Minister’ and ‘Yes Prime Minister’ captures this all too well. In it it becomes clear that leaders will barely do anything unless it earns them votes, and senior civil servants will block anything that threatens the permanency of their offices, or that demands they do some actual work. Now I know this is a Satire, but I’ve lived long enough to confirm that most of what is in the series is true in any government or country. Case in point, ‘The Empty Hospital,’ (hospital without patients) an episode in ‘Yes Minister’.

In developed and more mature democracies (relatively, absolute democracy is a figment of your imagination), by and large leaders are indeed voted in by the people. However look carefully and you’ll see you only elect those whom leaders tell you they are worth electing. For instance, how involved are you in party nominations? Is it an open ballot then? By the time the common man is allowed to vote, choices have more or less been made for you, and you only have three or so candidates to choose from.

Developing democracies on the other hand are more complex. Not only does the system mean they too choose only from a handful of appointees, but leaders go about dishing out money or goodies to influence votes, or intimidating their opponents. To the extent that voters allow themselves to be bought or intimidated, then we could say they get the leaders they deserve. But a third scenario is at play here, where some leaders somehow steal votes, i.e., rigging. In that case, how are the people to blame? When you send hooligans to scatter or scare genuine voters, then go ahead and somehow steal votes, how are the voters to blame?

Guilt has often been a security blanket for mankind. Ironic, isn’t it? Despite its destructive tendencies, we like to hide behind guilt. It becomes or feels easier to deal with bad situations if we blame ourselves for them. ‘I know he loves me. I must have done something to provoke him,’ says a battered wife. ‘It’s all my fault. I’ll be better next time,’ sobs an abused child. ‘I must have done something to provoke him/her,’ laments an abused teenager.

Somehow we think by blaming ourselves we explain the situation enough to satisfy ourselves that we are not worthless or undesirable, just paying for a mistake we made. We want people to value and respect us, and when they don’t, we explain it away. Anything but….

So it is that rather than face the shame and humiliation of having our leaders disrespect and devalue us, we blame ourselves for their mistakes.

I mean think about it. We pay our leaders exorbitantly through massive salaries, luxury cars, expensive medical covers, housing, allowances etc.; so why should we then be still expected to do their job? Isn’t ‘working with minimum supervision’ a prerequisite for any self-respecting worker in places of responsibility? Our leaders are our employees (or so we like to believe). So why do they fail us so often?

If after paying you monies I don’t hope to see in my lifetime I still have to bear blame for your failures, then you are of little value to me as an employee. Which reminds me of a statement made by one prominent member as he dodged responsibility and blamed ‘Kenyans’ for the failures of his ministry. And the question I was dying to ask him was, then why are we paying you? How about you go home seeing as we are all required to bear responsibility for your ministry? That way we save the taxpayer whatever it is we pay for your luxurious lifestyle; I mean if I have to do your job, then I don’t need you, and maybe you should pay me instead.

Man has always needed leaders. You have to understand it is not that many of us can’t rule or even do a better job than those in power, but hardly can we have everyone up there at the same time. So man comes together and chooses representatives, otherwise we would argue forever on simple points if there was no one to make a final decision. Group dynamics, if you’ve ever been involved in one. And so we elect leaders not because they are better than us, or that we are incapable of leading, but so that they may collectively act as representatives of the masses, with consultations where necessary. They are supposed to echo our words, our will, our desires, not their individual or partisan concerns. They are supposed to rule according to our criteria (the Constitution, Memorandums of understanding), they should lead us all to a place we want to go, not drag us kicking and screaming into the abyss. If only our leaders could understand this point?

National leadership differs from employment in the sense that, once we have elected them, thereby employing them, they almost immediately cease to be employees and acquire positions of immense power and authority, and I don’t care which country you are in. We entrust the wealth of a nation into their hands, the armed forces are the preserve of the new Commander-in-Chief, I mean it’s like willingly submitting and accepting to be ‘Ruled Over’, and the prerogative of mercy, justice and kindness lies in the heart of the ‘King’ alone.

No wonder God was so sad when Israel in the ancient days demanded for a King. They felt the reason they were losing in battle and were probably not as advanced as their neighbours was because they had no earthly king. They wanted someone to sing for, boast about, lead them in battle; unfortunately that was not all this person would be. Says Prophet Samuel in 1Samuel 8:11-18 ‘This is what the King who will reign over you will do: He will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, and they will run in front of his chariots…. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers…. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his attendants…. Your menservants and maidservants and the best of your cattle and donkeys he will take for his own use…. When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, and the Lord will not answer you in that day.’ (NIV)

Once they become ‘kings’, unless their hearts are indeed with the people and for the people, they can misuse or abuse power, and it takes a lo…..ng time for the masses to get rid of them. Even if their term of office is limited by law, 5 years or so is a long time to be under an uncaring government.

My argument then is that we don’t always get the leaders we deserve. In all honesty more often than not we get leaders we are coerced into having by other leaders who purport to know exactly what we need.

Second, masses may change things, but at an agonizingly slow pace. An oppressive regime will resist change by hook or crook. And only when they are squeezed into a corner will they consider giving in. Only those who have not had to agitate for change, or those looking for simplistic explanations, will blame the masses for the failures of their leaders. I mean when we so faithfully vote, pay taxes, plant trees, grow tea, coffee, cotton and other crops, go to work daily, take our children to school, do trade and commerce, even heed calls to participate in local tourism and the activities of our Stock Exchange, what more are we, as masses, required to do for the leaders to run the country efficiently? We give them the office, the resources, the breathing space, now can somebody please go to work up there as we are working ourselves to death down here! Can we actually see change, see our country transformed! Can we not be expected to spend time checking on a government that should know its mandate, and is being paid unbelievably well for it! We need to know the people we put in office are productive and competent, otherwise we will do all we can to change them all, no matter how long that takes.

Which brings to mind another group this treatise would not be complete without mentioning. The activists, be that civil rights or whatever the activism is about. Now this is a curious group because it arises in any country without any real effort or organisation and quickly becomes a force not to be ignored but a real thorn in the flesh of the establishment.

The beauty of the activists is that they need no one’s permission to be here, neither do they require any votes to exist. But they quickly establish themselves as the spokespersons of the masses on all sorts of issues, some legitimate, some quirky. Soon there is hardly a day goes by and we don’t see them in the media. Interesting, isn’t it, how it’s possible to acquire leaders and spokespeople you never elected or appointed? But they are here to stay, we know that by now. Once in a while we hear about their wrangles as they fight out for offices in their little but unbelievably vocal circles. Ironic, how so called civil rights activists cannot hold peaceful elections or whatever it is they do to appoint leaders.

Give them time ‘T’, and this group becomes the politician of tomorrow. Seasoned in battle, trained in shrewdness, afraid of no one and nothing. Another politician is born, and the cycle continues…… 

If the masses are to blame for anything, it's that they asked for a King in the first place....


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