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...