I'M A KENYAN

This year, 2012, Kenyans will be going to the polls again and many are praying and hoping that a recount of the 2007 post poll violence will not be repeated this year. I thought of what story to share on this until I stumbled on a story my dad had handed down to me when I was in high school.

When I lived in Kibera, I shared my modest crib with Onyango, Kimani, Kipng’eno, Mutisya and Abdi. Abdi and Kimani shared a bed because Abdi was new to the city. The only thing that separated our “bedrooms” was a ‘leso’, an old dirty bed sheet and a black polythene sheet that Mutisya had picked on his way from Industrial Area.

We shared everything and we showered in shifts and on alternate Sundays. Life was way hard, but we were happy. Kimani pushed “mkoko” at Marigiti and in the evening, he would come with a mixture of almost everything that was sold at the market. From it, we made stew. Everyday, it tasted distinctly different and authentic, even though the ingredients remained the same, the quantity varied. Sometimes the “pilipili” or “dania” will be in plenty, hence the taste of the day. We listened to “Kameme” together and “KBC-salamu za hodihodi” together and shared “ushindi” bar soap for washing and “geisha kubwa” for bathing. Played draughts with soda bottle tops over the weekends.

In short, we were more than brothers, and we remained so for 5 years until the elections were called. It was time to part ways. We got new identities- “Jaluo”, “Mkamba”, “kale”, “msapere”, “Walalo” and “Banye.” Identifying ourselves with the rich politicians we shared a language with was the thing- the in thing and not the poor we had been with four years.

The wealthy man from my tribe won the election. I headed back to the same room I had shared for five years with people of my class, albeit with some election posters to deco our crib. “Mheshimiwa” headed for the Hilton hotel to celebrate. That night, ironically and sadly as it may sound, we slept without food.

After a while, things came back to normal- we were back to sharing everything with Abdi, Musyoka, Onyango e.t.c. whenever there was bereavement amongst us, we all attended. Just the poor people.  “Mheshimiwa” was busy on the beach. But when “mheshimiwa” got bereaved, I mourned for him for weeks, even though I won’t be let to go past his iron electric “mbwa kali” gate. When he engaged in corruption, I defended him at all cost. I defended him fiercely just because he spoke my language.

To cut the long story short, I voted for “Mheshimiwa”. He lives big. But life for me, Onyango, Kimani, and Abdi is still the same.

What if we had voted for one of us, regardless of his tribe, could life be different? Identify with your own true tribe. RICH or POOR are the real tribes of Kenya and Africa as a whole.

However, the latter are the majority and are ruled by the minority. Poor people rise up and fight for your rights. Did you know, the only common thing between you and your much cherished “Mheshimiwa” is the language? Nothing else. NOTHING!

But the list of common things you share with Musyoka, Onyango, Abdi and Wanjiku is endless.

Think and educate others.