We Need Countries of Refuge

Recently it occurred to me the world has neglected one important fact in attempting to ensure peace, security and other millennium goals for all. As we labour to make sure everyone is happy in their countries, we forget there will ALWAYS be people displaced from their own countries.

Now the process of integration to other countries for the displaced is usually quite painful. First they got to cross the border successfully to wherever. Then they got to seek asylum status and so on. And even after all that, they are still refugees.

It is equally painful for the countries hosting the refugees. Adding all those numbers onto the country’s already bulging population; dealing with separating genuine from opportunistic asylum seekers; security threat posed by trouble makers who pose as asylum seekers; and of course, stretching the country’s national resources.

Take the Kenyan example where the country has had to take it so many refugees from Sudan and Somalia among others. The Sudanese had since gone back after recently acquiring independence, but the story is they are now streaming back after things started looking not so rosy back home (or for whatever reason). The Somalis are still with us and will be for a while. It is a known fact that most African refugees are hosted in Africa contrary to the much broadcasted hype that makes people in the West believe all African refugees are in the Western countries.

Kenya is so stretched by the influx of Somali and other refugees that we are heaving under the weight. When we complain and ask for a little help we are reminded of our obligation to human rights. But what about our rights to be relieved of, or assisted in this responsibility?

At a time when Kenya is at war against the Somali militants, you can imagine the security threat emanating from the refugee camps as members of the militia pose as genuine refugees and proceed to plot atrocities on our own soil. Ungratefulness of the highest degree if you ask me, that you would bite the hand that houses, feeds and takes care of your children for you.

So I wonder why the International powers that be have never thought of establishing cities, countries even, of refuge, where those displaced for whatever reason from their own countries can go and live without being harassed, subjected to endless scrutiny, and without being seen to be using up space and resources belonging to others.

In Bible days Israel was asked by God to set up cities of refuge where, if one unintentionally committed crime deserving death like manslaughter, they could run to these cities. If they made it safely there, no one was allowed to follow them in to avenge the crime. However if they ventured out of the city, it was out of God’s hand and that of the law to stop the avenger from striking them.

Now the way I see it we need to set aside specific areas in each continent where refugees can go and stay with the full rights of citizenship, where they can start a new life, work, go to school and lead a normal life without being patronized or threatened with repatriation, or deportation. Once at the point of entry they are certified as genuine refugees, then they adapt the country of refuge as their own, and may live a full life there till such a time as they feel comfortable to return home.

The countries of refuge would be run by an international staff, and supplied for by the international community until such a time as the countries have become self-sustaining through the economic activities of the settlers, and development projects from the international community. There would be no feeling of anyone doing too much as all members of the international community would contribute.

No one, not even the refugee citizens, would ever be allowed to lay claim to these countries of refuge, and there would be no political activity. Just workers, and dwellers, and systems to make sure everyone, everything is taken care of. These areas would remain open for anyone needing refuge from their country.

Granted, land has always been a thorny issue so no country would, should be expected to cede land for this purpose. Instead, the International community (lead the bodies that govern the world like the UN organizations), would make a handsome offer to buy land from any country ready to participate in the creation of countries of refuge. The compensation would have to be equal to the value of the land and all it contains, plus whatever opportunity cost goes with the sale. We don’t have to talk specifics but you get the picture.

So with the creation of countries of refuge, ran independently by international bodies representing all countries of the world, there would be less tension over the refugee issue, and dignity for the refugees.

We need countries of refuge, as international peace has proved to be an illusion. We are humans and so we will always conflict. Conflict comes in cycles, so those who seem forever peaceful today may not always be so.

We need countries of refuge.

Goodbye Honourable

Yesterday Kenya lost a great man. Honourable Michuki will be remembered, among other great things he did, mainly for managing to put order in the notorious Matatu sector. While he was Minister for Transport, he ensured the sector gained much needed discipline, passengers were not harrased, speed governors were installed and speed limits adhered to; safety belts were used, and road accidents reduced dramatically. Sadly much of this relapsed when he moved out of this docket to other ministries.

It was under his watch that we saw the ministry of environment gain new standing and importance as the minister, laser focused as he always is, did his best to clean up the environment, restore the Mau and curb public noise, among other things. Hope this too does not get reversed now that the dear Minister is gone. The least we can do for his memory is to uphold the things he achieved for our nation.

Thank you for ensuring Kenyans could sleep easy as you decisively dealt with the menace of criminal gangs that were threatening to turn Kenya into a terror nation. 

And thank you for being a role model for so many of us who struggle to find real virtue in our leaders. You gave us that and we are so grateful.

Goodby honourable Michuki, you were a breath of fresh air. You lived out your years in the service of your country so now Rest In Peace, dear Sir.

The Crop Circles of Ngong

Across the ridge from where I live is a gently undulating grassland that cheers the senses and gives one the feeling that all is well with the world. In stark contrast to the brick and mortar surrounding me, broken occasionally by beautiful trees and live fences, the grassland is undisturbed and its sole purpose seems to be a sight for sore eyes, and a wonder for morning or evening walks.

My view to the open land used to be wider and even more majestic until some developer decided to break away from custom and theme of the area and put up a six floor monstrosity that is not even promising to be beautiful when complete. The result was that half the view I enjoyed to the open fields was instantly blocked, and that of Ngong Hills along with it. Well, enjoy the beauty around you while you still can, it may not last forever.

I can hardly begrudge the developer his pursuit unless I want to start a Western style protest over preservation of skylines and footpaths - which, by the way, is not entirely a bad idea. I’m sure our law has a building code for each area, I’m just not sure what it is for my area so I’ll let it pass.

Before the monstrosity took my silent pleasure away, from my first floor flat I could see the Ngong Hills towering majestically on one side, and the grass fields dancing on the other. The tall, willowy grass swayed gently to the wind forming beautiful patterns that were visible even across the two miles or so from my house.

At first I didn’t realize it was the grass. When it bent to one side it would form a white wave against the rest of the green background; then it would sway the other way and the pattern would follow. In the undefined swirl of the wind, soon the waves acquired magical forms, movements and patterns, and I found myself mesmerized, caught up in wonder, gazing intently trying to figure out what was this phenomenon I was witnessing.

‘Crop circles?’ I wondered, having watched myriad programs attempting to explain the mystery of weird patterns found on corn and other grain fields. ‘Sheep?’ was my next guess but, hard as I looked these simply did not look like sheep. They would have to be so many, moving gently like waves in the ocean. Now goats and sheep may huddle together but they are not known for such daintiness.

Eventually my curiosity took the better of me and I fetched my camcorder from the house. I was going to crack the mystery of this beautiful sight. I put my camera on zoom and there it was… beautiful patterns, circular, wavy and all sorts of shapes, constantly moving, never ending never stopping. It was the grass! It was tall, in an open field, and it swayed almost constantly to the gentle breeze forming a continuous gentle wave that followed the wind wherever it went.

I remember calling my husband to tell him I had cracked the mystery of crop circles. The mystery was not that crops moved, the mystery would be what was the force that led the crops to move and form whatever patterns they created?  In my case it was simply the wind. No mystery, no little men from the sky, no gravity - simply the wind! I’m sure in most other cases of crop circles it was simply the wind.

We were so taken by this sight that my husband and I filmed it for a while. It was wonderful to watch, relaxing, uplifting and at the same time calming the senses.

Later I decided I did not want to watch this magic from afar any more and took a walk into the open fields. It turned out the fields are part of Kenya government property (Livestock Ministry to be precise) though they are left open enough for people to walk through and even picnic if they dare – it’s a bit deserted. The ministry grazes its many cattle across this vastness, which explains why every evening people from Ngong area flock the ranch to buy milk.

This turned out to be the most refreshing walk I ever had. The fields opened up before me, letting out their secret, the mystery fading a little but still deeply captivating. Their beauty was not in the mystery, their beauty was inherent, not to go away unless the grass fields are ravaged. I discovered a gentle valley with little pools of water; a small wooded area occupied one side of the valley, and the gentle ascent to the side so visible from my house now towered before me. And the grass moved, now even more visible… As usual it continued to move to the wind – swaying, dancing, singing, waving, forming heavenly patterns like one just entered the gates of pearl: Crop patterns – not circles, correction!

Now I’m sure the Maasais of Ngong have always known about this phenomenon, having lived in this area for many years. But where I grew up there were no open fields – only farms; and the grass was always short – never tall and willowy. The wind moved only the trees and bushes, never grass. So for me this was, still is, a novelty. And I love it every time!

Oh the Pain of Kenya

Yesterday the reality of the Hague hit home for the first time for many Kenyans. However anyone who had carefully been following the Hague proceedings would have told them that there would be confirmations of charges for some, if not all of the suspects. It's a new reality in my country, that now we are being tried by the International Court for crimes against humanity. A crying shame for a country whose banner since inception has been Peace. A crying shame that Kenyans let their guard down and were caught napping, ending up in the Hague, causing our beloved nation untold embarrassment. Because, if any nation deserved to be portrayed to the world in this way, Kenya definitely was not it. And, because, if only we had behaved ourselves maturely at the last general election, this would never have happened. And because we failed to realize just how putting ourselves at the mercy of the outside world can be a painful experience.

Anyway, it has now happened and all we can do is watch and wait for the long, burdensome trials that we must forbear - so much shall we be daily bombarded with the proceedings by our broadcasting houses. And this we can't escape seeing as it's a national affair that touches all of us whether we like it or not, whether we care or not.

Seeing as Kenya has gone through this injustice of international humiliation, having already born the scars of post election violence, we shall bear our cross as a nation, and pray that the guilty will be punished while the innocent are acquitted: And pray that this painful experience will somehow lead to the healing, and maturing of our nation: And pray that we shall never again see election or post election violence, nor indeed the inside of the Hague or wherever else such a court may be constituted.

God bless, heal, and strengthen Kenya


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Back to School the Kenyan Way

Two weeks ago I had the rare privilege of seeing my 9 year old nephew back to school. He was moving on to class four and mighty excited about it. Well, me, not so much. Among the list of items he had to bring was a dictionary, an atlas, a Good News Bible, Kamusi (Swahili dictionary), a ruler and a geometrical set.

Now the list is not so much the issue as is the fact that my boy had just graduated from class three and barely learnt to take care of his pencils. To be honest we’ve had to get him a new pencil, rubber, and sharpener every other day ever since I can remember. He has a way of misplacing even his items of clothing, putting jitters in us all night as we wonder whether the new track suit we just purchased will be found safe and sound somewhere in school the following morning.

So you can understand my apprehension when this same little ‘not-so-careful’ boy has to daily be entrusted with textbooks whose value runs into thousands of Kenya shillings. Lots of questions run through my mind like, why does a class four child NEED all these books? I sure don’t remember owning an atlas or a dictionary till I was in class six. And I’m pretty sure I turned out alright. No wonder the never ending hue and cry about revising the Kenyan education system.

That however is the tip of the iceberg. By some stroke of fate he needed to change schools. Fate did I say? Hmmm, let's review that. His school had made it clear it was phasing out the primary school over an eight year period or sooner if need be. The sooner turned it to be a manic suddenly that left all parents and guardians baffled. A week into his first term of the year, I dropped him to school in the morning but, when I went to pick him up in the evening I was casually informed that the school had CLOSED and he was not to report the following morning - figure that! I had a mind to sue but couldn't muster the strength for the long, probably futile, court battle, but I digress....

His new school seemed even more determined to make a tiny scholar out of him. On his second day back from school my little nephew groaned his way up the stairs to our flat, his school bag weighing him down, threatening to roll him back down the stairs. His new school had blessed him with all of eight or so textbooks (did I mention he is in class four?), not counting the ones we had bought earlier. Besides, I was informed, we needed to buy him SIXTEEN exercise books – that’s right, sixteen!

‘How are you expected to carry all that?’ I asked my little boy and he gave me a little smile in desperation. I felt his pain. Each morning after that as I watched him drag his bag to the school bus I would ask him, ‘Are you sure you need all those books today?’ I’ve asked him to get me the school timetable so I can decide what books he carries to school and which ones he doesn’t. 

His new school seems to be aware of this mammoth task and has now issued him with a lockable desk (whew!) so he can leave some of the books behind. Now all I have to worry about is whether or not he will lose the keys (that I am as sure as day going to have to fasten somewhere around his neck,) and find himself unable to access his books for that day.

I am for education as much as, if not more than, the next person. But I am not convinced class four pupils need more than twenty textbooks and exercise books. Neither am I convinced it is healthy for them to carry to and from school bags that look like a back-packing expedition. 

I think the academic competition in our country amongst schools has reached dangerous levels and is threatening to stunt the physical, emotional and even mental growth of our children. There is a time and place for lots of books and study, but lower primary just isn’t it. Amongst all the homework schools need to factor in play time for children. I hate to break it to you but this too is an important part of human development. Those schools that have done away with Physical Exercise lessons in their timetables, as well as games in the name of academic excellence need to reinstate this crucial part of a child’s development.

We must pace the education of our children. We really must be careful to give them only what they can reasonably handle at every stage of their studies, that way they will be better prepared and motivated for the next stage. I am no advocate for the silver spoon for kids, but our education system has gone too far, and the competition for top slots in National Exam results has become unhealthy, to put it mildly.

Let’s go back to the days when education was primarily for the benefit of our kids, not that of school heads, management, owners and teachers. Then maybe our children will enjoy going to school a little more than they do now.

The Universe Sings Harmony

Harmony is when everything moves at out-of-this-world speeds, yet everything is so well coordinated, and relativity so perfect, that individual entities on these spiraling bodies are convinced they are standing still or moving at a slow or comfortable speed. Such is us on the planet, our planet on the universe, and the little microscopic or nearly-microscopic creatures on us. The universe equals harmony. Even the otherwise terrifying sounds of thunder and ocean storms are tuned to sound musical; even the hotter-than-a-furnace rays of the sun are tempered to feel cozy on the skin; even the rain falls to the rhythm of life. Even the mighty snow turns our world into one huge Christmas card.

The universe equals harmony. So peaceful, so quiet, while all along we know it’s moving at manic speeds, pulsating and making horrific sounds that, thankfully, are millions of light years away, or deeply buried in the crusts of the planets so we never have to hear them. We’re oblivious of the fire roaring and blazing in the belly of our planet, and steamy rocks all around us beyond our atmosphere, waiting for a chance to cast one of their deadly fireworks our way. Oblivious of the huge abyss surrounding us that is the sea. Oblivious of the water below water above, fire below fire above.

Such is the power of harmony, the power of unity.

We all know what happens when, every so often, the unity is disturbed; but for the most part, we sing one song on the universe.

The stars sing to the moon, the moon waves to the sun, and the earth bows to all of them, while all salute the Master who makes them all sing as one. It’s indeed a beautiful world…

Maddening Years of Haste

And it was January and it was December, another year.

I remember precisely when it was when the years started spinning out of control. The year was 1980, and I was in class four (yeah, old, I know…) Before then I guess I had no sense of the calendar though I knew it existed. Happy days (some not so happy) simply merged into more happy days, and Christmas and New Year seemed like wonderful holidays that came and went once in a lo……ng while. Besides, these two holidays were really fun, what with all the night events, singing, visitors, peace, safety…

But class four changed all that. I guess I grew up... My little brain suddenly snapped and I understood the concept of time, the calendar, the inevitable and now hasty progression from January to December, the meaning of a year. Things that before got their meaning from events such as school opening day, exams, closing day, holidays etc, were now represented by a number or a word on the calendar. And all of a sudden a year was not so long any more.

I remember it so clearly because it was such a monumental development. My school year in class four seemed to speed past on an unkind mission to usher me into the world of time and rush madness. Hitherto I had been a happy-go-lucky child and my seniors were the custodian of my time. But now my time had acquired an identity, and it was all mine, and it was slipping very quickly through my fingers, through that hour glass.

Well, the upside was that I was hurtling through primary school, a place I very much wanted to leave behind and move on to high school. The down side was that I had been initiated into a club of those who understood time and its hasty mission to turn us all into worrying adults and eventually past tense (funny ha ha!) And now I have the years to prove it. That little girl of class four is no more just a few short years later; in her place is an adult reluctantly moving on to middle age and struggling to gracefully surrender the things of youth. 

I’m sure you are older than I was in class four and so I don’t need to tell you the years have gained new momentum ever since, each new year moving even faster than the last. Sometimes I am convinced the Deity speeds up the time without us ever realizing it; that He makes our clocks seem to move normally while in fact we jump hours, even days forward at a time. Then in the end we are left wondering, ‘where did all the time go? Or ‘oh look at the time!?’, While all along He looks down on us and smiles, drawing us ever faster and closer to the end of time.

So as we embrace and plan the New Year, let’s just remember to adjust our pace because you don’t need me to tell you it will move even faster than the last one and we don’t wanna be caught flatfooted. .. You got to increase your speed if you want to move in harmony with the universe and the world of time, because believe me, it’s not moving at your pace. You just gotta keep up…

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