The Painted Donkey that thinks its a Zebra

Self deception is the worst kind of deception. We deceive ourselves regarding one thing or another. The best lies we like to believe are those about ourselves. Sometimes we recognise the lie and sometimes, we don't even know it. I am not sure which is worse.

In the past three or four years,i have played host to short term teams on return visits. Apart from the chance for deepening relationships, it has meant significantly less work and worry. The returnees can eat ugali and sukumawiki using their hands and know the spots to get good Kenyan food in town. I like not having to hold their hands when crossing a road or reassuring them that the matatu drivers who've hemmed us in won't crush us (how can they not when its filled with the number of pale faces cringing in it). Why, they even know the rules of that game. I like those that notice that there are traffic lights on uhuru highway unlike the last time when they had to learn to dodge the three lane traffic. They can navigate around the CBD without guides, know how to shake off pesky cabdrivers, can board the right matatu to westlands, hurligham or githurai and alight at the correct stop as they have been there before. I only have tag along to make sure they are not ripped off.

While my job as host is significantly less stressful, a vague concern has been taking shape at the back of my mind for a while. I could not put my finger it much less put it into words until recently. And even then, it took being stuck in a jam with my family, and co-hosts, from college bible study and a spontaneous discussion on our collective but previously unvoiced concern regarding our American friends. This is a reconstruction of events to illustrate.

Most of the returnees first came during their college years. They, like us, have since graduated and joined the workforce. These single (they are the ones who return) and passionate-about-missions young adults have maintained local contacts and use them (i.e. us) to find out about mission opportunities. Since they cant be here full time, the kind of partnership would be monetary with a short visiting stint every two or three years. In theory, not a bad idea. Its our country and thus we know one or two places each. In fact, we are all plugged into one ministry or another. So why not?

Some of our friends were introduced to a certain ministry by an individual who had been in the fringes of our community for a while. I recall being distinctly uncomfortable about the whole affair. I had no hard evidence but I didn't trust the individual in question at all. Again, its not that I had some glaring character flaw to point at. However, a previous encounter with this person had resulted in my labelling them as a bit shifty. While I did not visit the place, most of the others did. One of the locals recognised a scam and confronted Mr. Shifty. I can only speculate on what went on after that. Our American friends decided to get involved. I was not invited to comment on the idea and as I found out, none of the others were.

Last year, a year and a half later, I heard rumours about it all coming unglued. One person was sent, all the way, to come and try to solve the problem. Although I spent some time with the emissary, I got the distinct impression they were unwilling to talk about whatever was going on. So, again, I held my peace. I found out during our spontaneous conversation that later in the year, two others came on another attempt to solve the issue. This time, they kept their coming quiet and for two weeks, only those fortunate enough to have bumped into them in town knew they were here. All this time, the only ones privy to the details were the Americans and Mr. Shifty. They still continue to work with Mr. Shifty and a splinter group from the ministry.

Another team, led by the same returnees was back this year looking for an opportunity to partner with some ministry here. Again, the local contacts provided them with different alternatives. After touring different places, they took some team time to decide what they would like their church to be involved in. When the time came, they left hopefully having made up their minds. It was this last team that sparked our conversation because again, no one asked for opinions. And again none were offered. Why?

A long term missionary was once venting in my presence about something that her security guard had done. She was furious because he had just looked at her as she struggled to ferry heavy nakumatt bags from her car to the house. "Did you ask him?" I asked. She was surprised. You see, she didn't think he needed to be asked. I felt a bit sorry for her as I explained that by standing there, he was offering to help, he was asking to help, but he wouldn't do it unless he was invited to. He was not going to touch them without her permission. If I am carrying a heavy bag, I choose to either struggle with it or put it down and look for a woman, a perfect stranger, preferably around my age, and ask them to help me. I've yet to be turned down.

And its not just me. The six of us in the car, evenly split between both sexes, agreed. If no one asks, no one offers. In my opinion, I think its a Nairobi thing-an unwritten rule resulting from a clash of cultures both local and western. A rule that arises when people from collectivist cultures live in a city heavily influence by western individualism. Its an uncertainty about the perception of an offer to another individual; an intrusion or a helping hand. The safe assumption is intrusion thus the seeming indifference.

If volunteering information is hard, it is worse when it has to do with causing another to lose face. I had expressed my misgivings to some of my friends about Mr. Shifty. However, it was only with those I have stronger and more secure ties with; those that know me well. As we spoke, we realised that most of us shared the misgivings, its just that we had not broached the topic in public. When I asked why it was so uncomfortable to say something, the answer was exactly what I had anticipated. There is a vague sense of being intrusive. This time intruding upon a relationship. Fear that one would be perceived as a malicious gossiper (I have no tangible proof of my suspicions) and how that could damage one's own standing among peers and even ones relationships. However, if ones opinion is sought directly, there is an opportunity to divulge information directly (you asked!) and depending on the strength of relationship, the answer could be complete or hints to get you hunting in the right neighbourhood.

The default position we operate from is suspicion. I once explained the general Kenyan attitude to someone like this: everyone is a thief until proven otherwise. It is a hard attitude to shake. On the negative, it casts doubt without good reason. On the positive, it keeps everyone alert. The concern about our collective opinion not being sought had to do with the fact that we know each other much better than they know us. We would know who can be trusted and who cannot. We know how to spot a scam. We see and hear of them every day. If not us, then how about the long term american missionaries? Lord knows this city is full of them. How in the world are they going to be sure they are not being robbed blind from across the Atlantic? Email? Monthly commutes? That seems to be the idea.

Since our friends feel a lot more comfortable and are less dependent, they think they know what they are doing, they will do it on their own and on their own terms. I think its ironic that they want someone to tag along on matatu trips where they could be relieved of ten or fifty shillings but will not ask for assistance on more important matters. I hope the painted donkey goes for a drink soon, its reflection just might reveal the delusion.

Holiday Highlights

For one on break, I have spent precious few days in my own house. Not that am complaining seeing as I have been house bound as a direct result of school. I set out to revive what's left of my pre-seminary friendship network and actually participate in some kind of ministry these last six weeks.

I have always enjoyed playing host to American short term teams. Its not just because its fun (its actually very exhausting) but because I see that as ministry. With three separate teams having left now, I can say I have had plenty of opportunities for service. I met some “old friends” and made new relationships.

For good reason, the repeat offenders were my favourites. I had interesting conversations around my experiences at school and the changes in their lives as they have transitioned from college to workforce. One girl was already trying to arrange how to come back here and participate in a longer programme. Another one was celebrating the complete repayment of those crippling college loans and the opportunity this was giving her to plan for long term missionary work in Africa. In the meantime, she took every opportunity to eat as much Kenyan food as she could get. After having it likened to English food, this was like healing balm. I also spent a bit of time encouraging a brother to start figuring out what to do with his college loans, the viability of a seminary education etc and quit sitting around wringing his hands. I tried to be gentle.

Best of all, was the return of a retired missionary for a couple of days. For one who has lived in East and West Africa 26 years, this was a return home. Finally, I could whine about NEGST to the one person who recommended I attend. As usual there was no sympathy. Some things never change. It was great to watch him interact with his college ministry students now working and looking responsible. His joy of seeing us “all grown up” was obvious. In a conversation I had with him, he said that seeing the people he had invested his life in also discipling others was a testimony of God's work in 'his many children'. One of the crew, now a missionary with the navigators, said that this is what he wants his life to be about. Amen.

The new faces took turns being eager to learn, annoying, clueless, loud, scared and bewildered. One team had their first fight delayed and consequently missed all the connecting flights after that. It took them 72 hours to get to Nairobi having had to fly to Jo'burg to get a Nairobi connection. And of course, they had not seen their luggage since check-in at the first airport. Those that finally got their luggage back waited 24hours after their arrival. It must have been the exhaustion levels that led to someone mistaking the miniature Imperial Lather on his bed for a bar of chocolate. Happy travels! This one took ages to move from point A to B. It felt like one had to drag them to just get them to get into a van. Another team impressed me with their eagerness to learn. Many picked up Swahili words fast, took time to seek out our opinions and listened. As usual tailgating, which could be classified as a Nairobi sport, and aggressive driving transformed them into wide eyed, white knuckled passengers for our collective entertainment.

For the last few weeks, I have traversed town to get people to different places on foot and in cabs just for them to decide the previous place had a better deal. One person asked me if I was ok taking them to the other side of town (Westlands) to get a trinket. When I replied in the affirmative he asked if I was sure. Honestly, we had been around town for hours and he wanted to leave at rush hour? I was exhausted and still had to get home quite a distance away. “If you are not ok with this, just tell us.” I know he meant it. It wasn't ok, but I couldn't say so. Why? I took the advice of my western teachers and friends on how to deal with an ethnocentric American missionary. The resulting agony and soul searching, on my part, has taken weeks to sort out. Why?

Several experiences have led me to ask good questions about me, my culture and mission. I will unpack them in a series of entries for the sake of conversation but mostly as a thinking process.

Wedding Bells

My friends Joe and Pipa get married today. Its supposed to be the happiest day of their lives and I am supposed to be happy for them.

Except that Joe does not know what Pipa's middle name, her favourite colour or what her pet peeves are. In fact he does not care. Why should he? Joe needs a wife in short order. The piles of dirty clothing need sorting, washing and ironing. That kitchen is brimming with dirty dishes and crawlies of all sorts. It needs through cleaning. Whatever Pipa's favourite colour or her middle name be, it has nothing to do with the job at hand.

Pipa on the other hand does not know who Joe is despite the fact that they have been neighbours for years. She was minding her own business before the recent events. You see, Pipa lost her job a few days ago and bills are piling up. She needs a secure income and Joe was offering marriage. So why not? Why not indeed.

Maybe the memory of the fortnightly feminine screams from Joe's flat would have stopped another but not Pipa. She had seen the black eyes and the bruises at the communal tap before. In fact, she saw one just like that two weeks ago on another woman. Its the tax man come to collect she reckons. Pipa wants to have a roof over her head and Joe is paying. There is enough time to know each other and an environment for Joe to change after the wedding.

Everyone is cheering. Pipa now bears a gold band and I a purple pinkie. She is not smiling. Neither am I.

Celibacy: Curse, Choice, Gift or all three?

Now, in this post, I will be breaking rules I set up on subjects I will post here (criteria being impersonal/ responsive posts) and on the subjects I can talk about with Christians.

Celibacy is one of those topics that I rarely talk about with people and especially Christians. Why? Once bitten, twice shy. The last time I discussed this subject, the response was a stinging criticism of my character. Celibacy, I was told, is the preserve of a select few Christians, starring Paul, while the rest are expected by God to get married and raise children. That one should even consider this shows their latent spiritual pride (just who do you think you are? Girl, you are not that special) and or their selfishness (You want to live for yourself. What kind of christian are you?). At this point, I will kindly ask that if the reader holds the above opinions and has no room to listen to stop reading. Now.

Is celibacy a curse, a choice, a gift, any of these or all of these? Recently, I have had to revisit this conversation courtesy of discussions with three very different girlfriends (and age-mates).

Tabitha is very sure that she wants to be married. Like many christian girls, she has fallen prey to professional daters. This is the breed of eligible christian bachelors who date for sport. They will call often, take one out for dates, say just enough to keep one hoping and string them along without actually making any commitment until the next interesting girl comes along. Recently, she said, she was tired and just wanted to get a man and get married. So she asked me, of all people, how she should go about getting someone who is not playing games. A girl in that position in the dating scene is setting herself up for sure. There's a lot of people out there waiting to take advantage of girls just like her. I had a harebrained idea to sort this one out (but that would be a post in itself). Therefore, marriage for her seems to be a choice. Right? Wrong?

Lucy, a girl I've known and I could say grown up with wrote me an email that made me pause. I could paraphrase her questions they would be something like this: I always thought that marriage would come at some point but now (in her late twenties and an attorney of the high court) I still have no prospects. Is something wrong with me or am I just plain stupid-maybe I should rope and hog-tie some man? What if I am just not interested in being married? Is that weird, wrong? With everyone around us getting married and having kids, it feel like something has to be done. Its getting scary.

Marriage is expected in african societies. Another friend's mother said that no matter what Oprah has achieved financially, professionally etc, as long as she is not been married and has no children, she's a failure. I think that Lucy and I have grown up with this assumption in mind. I think her concern on being single is an expression of the desire to be married but also a product of societal pressure. It is no wonder then that one wonders if it is weird or wrong to even consider the single life. I understand that. Community continuity is paramount.

Evangelical Anglican Nun

Now, Lucy is Catholic and she could always opt to be a nun. The doesn't mean it would be easy. Mike, a cousin who is more like my elder brother went to Rome to train for the priesthood. Though brought up catholic, my relatives, subscribing to the same, gave my cousin an awful time. How could he deny his mother grandchildren? He should get a job and take care of his family and not waste the money used to take him to school. When that didn't work, someone informed him that he would not be alive if his mother had joined a convent. Given the time he took and the earnestness with which he explained his motives to me, I think that I was probably the only one who bothered to listen. And I, a protestant to boot, was probably the most supportive person he had spoken to. Go figure.

Since I am not catholic, am wondering: Does the protestant tradition have a place for celibacy? The senior pastor of a mega church I attend in Nairobi once asked all the singles to stand up so that he could pray for them!! By the way, being a “youthful church”, 60% of the congregation was standing. Some wonderful older women have made it their business to pray for my “hunk of burnin' love” to wake up and smell the coffee. And they are not all african. Joy, a friend of mine has a very low opinion of catholic monastic communities in general. You can imagine her surprise when I told her that the Anglican communion actually has monastic communities all over the world. She didn't know that even though she has been an Anglican all her life. See, I don't think her “protestant” faith has the capacity for that. Not surprising seeing as my older-ladies-prayer-warrior-team and pastor don't seem to think singleness is an option.

Evangelical Anglican Nuns in an Anglican Church

And why in the world would you want to be one? Its a curse! Why, the brides to be are cautioned to keep a distance from their, former, single girlfriends. They could steal their husbands the moment they turn their backs! Behold the reason I hate weddings. Behind the smiling and dancing are silent tears of single women who recognize death when they see it; death of relationships. New couples gradate from the youth group, singles, young professionals or whatever they are referred to in the given church to the young couples' fellowship. Here, they make new friends who understand them and can relate to their present status. So what happens if you remain single till forty, sixty? You are barred from couples fellowship of course but how do you relate to the 18year-olds in the singles group? Um, you are certified grandma. Of course, they drop out long before then. To what, I have no idea. In many ways, its a curse.

When I've heard this issue discussed, celibacy has been explained based on 1Corinthians 7 (like good biblical christians) as a gift; a spiritual gift. This therefore means that it is limited to a select few. By implication, it means that people have to be “called” (whatever that means) to this state. Matthew 19:12 is another passage that features in such discussions. Here, there seems to be three types of “eunuchs”; those born that way, those made so by men and those who make themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom. Uh, I know that it ends with the fact that not all can sustain that lifestyle but it seems to me that one can actually choose to stay single and that would be fine as long as their motivation has to do with “kingdom business”? Now, was my cousin Mike called or did he choose the single life? If one calls that calling, then the catholic and orthodox traditions seem to have “favour” in the celibacy gift area don't you think? Somehow, the protestant tradition, especially the Pentecostals, seem to be missing out on this gift. On the other hand, did Mike choose to be single for the sake of the kingdom/church?

On Monday, the prof asked us to name ways in which we worship God. After a long hilarious exercise we were done listing quite weird ideas covering various traditions. I can tell you, celibacy was not on that blackboard. What do you expect? Most people are married and the single are considered an oddity. However, I later listened to a fascinating episode of Heart and Soul on BBC where a priest said that although he struggled sexually, “he offered this to God as a kind of sacrifice if you will”. [While we could go on and point the failings of the catholic priests in this regard, I would prefer to look at their belief at its best. We have some sordid stories about our married pastors/priests.] I think worship just about covers that explanation. Its interesting how their view of celibacy is not the lack of family and children but about a giving of self to God and others in an unreserved manner. Hmnn. I kind of think that this is what Paul was getting at.


From a protestant viewpoint then, oh ye biblical christians, can I choose this way of life (ps. isn't that what gay christians are told to do? Choose?), if its a gift, why are we seemingly stripped of it in our churches or so condemning of it? Can one know they have the gift?

Relax, am not anti-marriage or anything. Just so you know, its limbo i have a problem with.

African Fashion: Implications for African Christian Women

Turkana Woman





Daasanach girls

Define African..no Points

Everyone has a pet hate, a sore spot, whatever you want to call it. Today, our mwalimu in Systematic Theology argued for a position allowing women in church leadership to a room full of African men. Hats off! It helps that it was a he though. This is one of those touchy subjects for me but i rarely get into public arguments. However, today was the exception to the rule. My engagement with the class discussion had something to do with my convictions but was largely driven by another similar irritant from another context.

One of my more conservative classmates expressed that the college could be more African than it is. Now I could say that NEGST is a very different environment from the normal Kenyan school. Its so different that i would call it an island of sorts. Not surprising really because of the diversity here and the education system being American. Anyway, when said individual was pressed to get what their idea of change would be, reference was made to the women's dress here being very unafrican. This of course refers to the ladies who cavort around college in trousers.The role model for the misguided African women where modest dress is concerned is a European..um..i mean British friend who wears beautiful long west african style skirts(kitenge). The irony in that is amazing.

Now i have nothing against floor sweeping skirts. I actually like them in the rare times that they are not tripping me up or being ripped off behind me while i get off a City Hoppa courtesy of an overeager passenger stepping on it behind me. Believe me, it is hard to maintain some kind of dignity with a gaping hole somewhere in the rear. I have no problem covering up even my hair if the social conventions of a place demand that. I don't go to my home church wearing trousers and avoid wearing them in my rural neighbourhood. BUT, ladies and gentlemen, this is Nairobi!

However, a more fundamental question is, what is african dressing? Does such a thing exist? I wouldn't say it does. What I would say however is that if I were to be authentically dressed in suitable Gikuyu regalia, the mũthuru, the effect would be to die for. The women on campus would probably wail, grab a leso/khanga/kikoy and run in my direction. And no, it will not be a celebration of style. The leso would not be laid on the ground to honour me. No, they would throw it around me and rush me away shaking their heads in shame and a tongue lashing would follow thereafter. If you've never been told off by an older african woman, at least of my ethnic group, I've got advice for you: avoid it at all costs. The men, i don't think i need to go there. And here is the thing, the Agikuyu had some clothes on!



So what is it that the conservatives call "african dress"? I think it lies somewhere between missionary and poisonwood bible. And as a result, just so you know, I had to look up the name of the skirt online and in Kenyatta's Facing Mt Kenya to get the details right...

Self Defence

In reference to the comment by Kelly, i would like to say the following. I do not think that there is any possibility that one will view the culture they go into as better than their own. Our country or culture is the best in the world. However, though one might criticise the place or culture they are in comparative to their own, its not the criticism i have a problem with. It is the careless way that it is done. If the criticism is likely to be heard by, or in this case read, by those one is going to minister to or with, one should consider whether the freedom of speech and expression is worth the price of the offence it is likely to cause.

I am beyond the point of anger on this issue(refer to previous post). Am at a point of disbelief at the apparent carelessness online. In case someone thought i was just mad in my previous post and made things up, i thought id copy another development linked on facebook. Its a shopping list...I'll let you read it as it is...

So many have asked us to tell them what we need, so here it is:
Full Mattress
Twin Mattress
2 Dressers
Coffee Table
End Tables
IKEA Gift Card (we've picked out some things here and feel like the shipping in flat boxes can save us room)
Washer/Dryer
Video Camera
Printer
MacBook
Trampoline
Tools (saws, hammers, nail gun, screw guns, router, screwdrivers)
Raegan wants a telescope for his birthday and won't let me not put it in this list
Curtains (Red, Brown, Yellow, Green, Purple) lined would be great
Sheets
Blankets
Throws (Blankets)
Wal-Mart Gift Cards (for the little things that you can't think of till two days before)

Thank You. Remember you can pray for this list!!

I rest my case

Attention: Field to Missionary

I once had an enlightening discussion with one of my mentors about the problem of modern communication and its effect on missionaries' performance on the field. The issue according to this western career missionary was that the present crop of missionaries never leave home courtesy of the internet and mobile phone. Today, I want to discuss another problem on modern communication, the missionary and the "field"; potential sabotage.

A ministry I worked with is going through a transition and a couple from the west is coming here to head the ministry. The husband whom I will refer to as Mr. MK is an mk (missionary kid). After decades living in his “country of origin”, he came back to Kenya on several mission trips while exploring the possibility of a long term missionary career. In the last visit, the following posts were put up;

"FINALLY! Internet Connection of a normal speed. Hello world! Sat in Nairobi traffic for 2 hours today....to go 2 miles. Almost hit a Zebra on the way here. Family was forced out of the car yesterday because a monkey got in it. KENYA...What an adventure."

"Coming Home tommorow... can't wait for traffic laws that actually are obeyed!"

I don't know why but I expected better from one who lived/ studied here early on in life and after a few short term trips.

His lovely bride put this statement up for our collective consideration:

"Great Trip. I am well, but looking so forward to normal food. Will write more, my trip was such a blessing. Short internet opportunity. More later."

I was in for more. An article (since removed thank God!) was put up last night by his wife. It was an update on their last visit to all their friends as well as an invitation to support their ministry in “Africa”. Can I just say that I hate it when people say that. There are like 52 countries in africa and they like have NAMES!?

Now that thats off my chest, allow me to enlighten you with some of the contents of the post. While this is not entirely a direct quotation, it reproduces the ideas put forward.

vision: there is this orphanage started by these europeans who just built and abandoned it. I would like to get more teams and money from home in order to help. Every time we have gone for short term trips,their store was empty and we stocked it. I dont know what they eat rest of time.

Pray for the kids;
that God will help them to process the level of poverty they will witness and especially because they will not have the things they are used to having

Pray for me;
I am going to have to leave the kids at school and am afraid for their safety
I am afraid that i will be stopped by police with machine guns threatening jail if i dont bribe them
I will have to get used to dogs barking at night at people obviously bent on mischief

Allow me to mention that the children in question are all of five and three and the school could be ranked with the likes of braeburn and ISK. By the way, the location of their home would be the equivalent of Karen. Um, i am pretty sure our police carry a kalashnikov. Just thought I'd throw that in there.

Pray for finances: we will be going around speaking in an effort to raise support and will have to return twice a year to do the same.

oh yes:

I have to buy and pack everything I need for 10 years in a crate. Its 10 by 20ft and will cost $6,000 to transport. We'll be packing furniture, washer/dryer, mattress, etc.

Wow, i know its the third world and everything but the last time i checked, we like have shopping malls and actually they stock mattresses. Vocabulary to consider; Nakumatt. Oh dear but there is a problem with that:

pray for us because i dont know if i can trust the milk we buy in those pouches. I dont know if it was delivered by donkey.

Pray for us because we will have to live out of suitcases for a few weeks with lounge chairs for furniture.

Why, dont you know we still swing around in the trees? You should see where your plane will land....its in the forest complete with lions and everything!..

Now i have played host for western short termers for a while. I have been mentored by and continue to maintain friendships with both short term and long term imperfect missionaries that i love and respect. However, i have say that this is the first time someone has rubbed me the wrong way quite effectively their ignorance and insensitivity.

The fact is that on the friends lists of this couple are the people they will minister with/to. The chances that these people did not read these posts, fast or slow internet, is slim to none courtesy of a little gadget called the mobile phone which (drumrolls please) is used to access facebook. Gasp. Imagine that. Now, I don't know what is worse; that they read the posts and were not offended or that they did and took offence.

In any case, one thing am betting on is that no one will mention it. No one would want to confront them even though they are offended because we would rather not shame them. Instead, people will just put them in the mzungu category. Believe me, that is not a compliment. Worse, if you are a missionary who wants to fit into the culture (not that their expressions signal such intentions), it is the sound of a door slamming shut.

I am praying i never have to work with them because i would be hard pressed to be patient let alone gracious. I know the reason they say they are coming and I believe them but I have a question. Why are they coming?

A Crying Shame

As one inclined to the arts, i am facinated by a good turn of phrase and a story well told. Its a crying shame that the only contact i have these days with my hobby is wading through ninety minutes of some overated film (courtesy of class readings). Somewhere between the unimpressive plot and mediocre acting, however i find a gem to keep.
Is it just me or have movie makers have started using poetry as important turning points or even defining moments for their stories? Take blindside, it did not impress, but the part i liked was the poetry. I admire anyone with the patience and talent to weld a quill like this man does!


The Charge of the Light Brigade
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.


...hmn, a good description of the reason i respect the men and women in uniform.

Perception vs Reality

Last Sunday, I spent time with a friend (whom I will call Suraj). I met him during a mission trip and was drawn to him because he was a young christian passionate about missions and in a desert, anyone who speaks English is a rarity! The other interesting thing was that he was Asian and Christian- a breed I had not encountered before.

I had heard that the missionaries from Chalbi area were in town on furlough so I thought I would see both parties at a go as they attend the same church. It didn't work out that way. Although they had planned to go swimming, a well meaning parishioner decided that the missionary family had to come eat lunch at her home even if they had other plans that include a lot of water they will not be seeing for quite a while. Being African, turning this down or disentangling from lunch after one hour or so is just not going to happen. That meant that Suraj and I were left to our own devices. We left the church and looked for somewhere to eat. When we finally got into a fast food restaurant, we stirred quite a bit of interest. The rest of the patrons (all asian) made a production of being uninterested. A couple that sat nearby tried to listen in on our conversation. Some teenage kids did even better, they plopped right next to us. I think they had an earful of prayers and missions! Serves them right.


Afterwards, we went swimming. When we got into the pool area, the african majority again tried not to look too close. Suraj and I had noticed that the lights of a car in the parking lot were on. The moment we got in, he picked the nearest Asian couple to ask if it was theirs. The poor muhindi did not hear a word, he was staring with a look of undisguised disbelief. His wife had to jab him in the ribs to get him to respond to the question!! Then of course the only seat open at the pool was the one at the furthest end-very removed from the crowd. So we sat and had a great time catching up. His sister, it turned out, is dating an african man and Suraj said he liked him and had plainly told them that he wished them the best. Not so with the parents; they are furious! As we chatted away, the family close by was slipping surreptitious glances at us and talking about ...us...in Kikuyu. For the umpteenth time I overheard people talking in my vernacular being quite sure I do not understand a word.


When he finally plunged into the crowded pool, I pretended to read while I observed. And the suffocating reader can stop and breathe. No, I did not get into the pool. Ok? I kept all my clothes on and while your eyes are closed in intense relief, this writer would appreciate prayers for the healing of hydrophobia. Anyway, after a while, we gave up waiting and decided to leave so he went off to change and I waited for him outside the changing area and we walked out together. On our way to the bus stop I mentioned to Suraj that we had ruffled a quite a few feathers at the pool. He hadn't even noticed. Typical. His first comment was,"Oh yeah, am Indian guy walking with an African woman. I hadn't thought about that. That is strange". From then on, as we walked, we took to looking at the passing cars, in a predominantly Asian neighbourhood, for reactions. We were not disappointed. There were quite a few people who went out of their way to crane their necks either to get a clearer view of this unsightly phenomenon or make sure they weren't imagining things. We were rewarded with some amazingly nasty looks. One woman looked at us so badly I commented on it. Suraj laughed and said that if looks could kill, he'd have keeled over. Maybe its the matching yellow tops that we had both chosen to wear or the fact that we were having a grand time together but based on the reactions, I would conclude that people assumed that Suraj and I were couple. Suffice it to say that it was an entertaining sunday afternoon.


After the laughter, I began to think about the implications of my experience. You see, when a young African lady is seen with an older caucasian man, whether he is a reverend, missionary or maybe even a monk, the immediate assumption is that she is after his money. And no, it is probably not going to be in gift form. The same would be true of a younger african man with an older caucasian woman. What if they are contemporaries? Whoever the african is, they are considered to have graduated to a higher level at the very least financially. White skin is the colour of money.

So, what does it mean when a miro is with a muhindi? To be continued...

Collective Amnesia

Chapel is not one of my favourite things here I have to admit. Yesterday's chapel time however rates among the most interesting ones. However, my interest had nothing to do with the biblical content in song or speech. Nope, my mind came to a screeching halt when the speaker mentioned that he grew up in a farm. A white owned farm. Oh, the rest of the very interesting testimony was sadly lost to me.

I guess for someone who loves stories, heard or written, the snippets I heard about his growing up years were enough to whet my appetite. One that will not be satisfied. Not while I am neck deep in linear logic papers my profs so kindly dole out besides about 1000pages to be read per week. Why its a pleasure.

The reference to the brutality of the colonialist on their labour force is consistent with the stories that my father has told me. As far as I can tell, the speaker and my father are either contemporaries or close to it. The incident about a mauling by dogs was in my opinion the tip of the iceberg as far as the stories he has to tell about his experiences are concerned.

Although others like Ngugi wa Thion'go have written about this period, the bitterness of colonial rule that paints all settlers black is evident. That I cannot stand. The political twist in the narratives, though part of the period, do not interest me. I want to hear personal experiences of Africans and the settlers in that period of time, good or bad in relation to each other.

Why the interest? The phenomenon I call collective amnesia. I did history for eight years of my schooling. Some of the deepest treatment of history were in high school and in college. The teaching about the colonial period had to do with two things; politics and religion. I don't care who formed KADU, KANU, or the trade union movement. The only thing I heard about missionaries was how they “told us to bow and pray and when we opened our eyes, our land was gone.” Sorry but, so what?

Apparently, when Kenyatta took power, he said two things. To the settlers; stay and shut up or get out. To the rest of us; let us forget the past and move on together. And forget we did. The history I learnt was stripped of humanity. All we ever learnt about is dry boring political manoeuvring and posturing that is no different from what we read in the papers today

While at the time re-examining the things that had happened may have been painful and even counter productive, it is interesting that we have buried history and are determined to forget it. Instead of historical knowledge on the colonial times, I have been fed caricatures that may hang on some evidence but I have had no freedom to decide what I think. For example, were all settlers bad by virtue of the fact that they were colonizers/missionaries and the black good by virtue of being the oppressed?

Here is the bad news. As hard as we try to bury a sordid colonial past, for whatever reason, it will come back and bite us at various quarters. The post election violence was just a symptom and I fear not the end. I think its time we stopped ignoring the elephant in the room. So what if there are skeletons? And there are. Ignoring them will not make them disappear.

I think its time we talked.

Now if only I had the time to mosey up the stairs and ask the Daktari to talk away...