In the wake of what can only be described as one of my country’s darkest moments I have found that being a Kenyan abroad has generated a series of deeply troubling questions from non-Kenyans such as:

Oh you are Kenyan? So what tribe are you/What ethnic group do you belong to?

Or

You are from Kenya? So are you Kikuyu or Luo?

On the surface it is easy to view these questions as innocent enquiries from a non-Kenyan who wants to know more about where I am from. Given the manner in which ethnic differences crept into the dispute over the government’s claim to power I know all to well that these questions are anything but innocent.

The first question, in my view is a personal question and should have no place in a discussion between people who barely know each other. Furthermore it rests on the assumption that there is a simple response. For instance, there are many Kenyans who do not belong to one ethnic group or tribe and the question suggests that a single tribe response is the desired answer.

In the case of the second question, it is equally personal but it is more offensive than the first because it reduces my country to a two-tribe nation. It ignores the existence of every other Kenyan who does not fall into either the Kikuyu or Luo ethnic group. It also assumes that one can not fit neatly into both ethnic groups.

That said, what really angers me about both questions is that most people who ask will then use whatever response I give as a basis to project their own limited knowledge of the political and ethnic situation in Kenya.

When I opt to answer these sorts of questions I simply state ‘Kikuyu.’ Each time I have done so my response has been met with statements like:

You must be happy with the result then

or

Ah! It is your man/brother who is in power

even this:

You guys really rigged this election

In single sentence a person has taken my cultural/ethnic identity and formed an opinion about my political allegiance, placed blame upon me for the outcome of the election and worst of all suggested that despite the fact that my country is in turmoil…I am pleased.

The most frustrating part for me is, I am still not sure who/what I should be angry at:

Should I be angry at those individuals who believe that I, who can not speak a word of Kikuyu, would place such importance on my ethnic identity to the extent that I would not only stake my right to vote upon it but forsake my national identity because of it?

Is it fair to direct my anger at the Western media who oftentimes spoke of and wrote about Kenya and Rwanda in one breath/sentence thereby blurring the distinction between a nation disappointed in the outcome of a flawed election and a group of people who value ethnicity more than nationality?

What about those who willingly took part in the destruction of our people, our country, our lives and our homes, maybe I should be angry at them?

Perhaps those who made a mockery of our democratic right to be governed by the leaders we elect, who betrayed the trust we placed in our electoral system…maybe this should be the root of my anger?

I am not content with directing my anger, in equal measure, at all of the above because it is not that simple. I am not content with being angry because it is not productive.

I will have to work something out because when people who can not find Kenya on a map, who do not know the difference and distance between Ghana and Kenya, who can’t accept that we too can fly from our country to over 40 destinations worldwide on Kenya Airways…. when these people start telling me about my ethnic identity and what it means…I get really angry…

On June 1st 2006 Kenyans everywhere will be celebrating Madaraka Day. Madaraka Day commemorates the day that Kenya attained internal self-rule following an important milestone on the road to independence. To mark this event I have joined my fellow Kenyan Blog Webring (KBW) members as we blog in unison under the banner ‘Kenyan Bloggers’ Day’.
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I have always admired the work of Dennis Hwang. He is the man behind the Google Holiday Doodles. I had so much faith in their holiday logos to the extent that I did not consider a day a holiday unless Google had doodled it.

Today, the day Kenya attained internal self-rule, I expected Google Kenya to be all doodled out in black, green and red. But alas, there was no Madaraka Day Doodle!

So in the true Madaraka spirit, I decided to use the freedom that comes with having access to the Internet to create and share my own Google Doodle!

Happy Madaraka Day.

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Credit:

• Dr Mich – who refuses to get a blog but seems to enjoy helping me on mine – worked with me on this Mockoogle Logo.

In many instances, national treasures are better off outside their countries of origin – better cared for, receiving more attention, and more accessible.

Hensher does note that;

• These items are in fact stolen treasures; and
• Sudan is a war torn country.

Unfortunately, Hensher’s acknowledgment of these two facts make it even more difficult for me to accept his argument.

Having never witnessed a war first hand I may be wrong (but I doubt it) in my assumption that most Africans, when faced with death, would opt to save lives at the expense of a monument. Certainly as an African woman, who values human life above all else, I would make sure that my family members, neighbours and friends were safe before I searched for any heirlooms.

I think it insulting to label us incapable of looking after our own treasures on the grounds that in times of crisis we seek to save our people first. What seems to escape Hensher is that during and after times of war when we fail to label the items in our museum it is not because we do not value them as individual items but because we value our entire history. This history includes the lifeless heirlooms and the people who contributed towards their creation and those who maintain their existence. Irrespective of how valuable these items are; they are worthless without a people, alive, fit and well who can narrate the histories that these artifacts represent.

As for attempting to justify why the West should keep these pilfered goods; what can one say? It is this same warped logic that the colonialists used when they first arrived in Africa. While preaching to us that all are equal in the eyes of the Lord, they forced us to accept that we were inferior to them. Hensher, on the one hand kindly acknowledges that the West has no claim to any of these items but at the same time is forcing me to accept that because he has decided that we are incapable of looking after what is ours, it is in everybody’s interest if they do so on our behalf. We didn’t believe it then and I am certainly not convinced now.

What I would really like to know is where does one draw the line? At present this argument is limited to those items that can be moved but what about those treasures that can not moved? What happens when some Western country decides that we can not care for Mount Kirinyaga and decides to send over some of their people to ensure its maintenance and upkeep? What if they decide that we have incorrectly labeled the mountain and it should in fact be called Mount Kenya?

After several failed attempts at drafting some witty commentary to accompany the images in this post I have opted to stick to the facts and simply recount how I happened across these images.

It was a Wednesday morning, no different from any other. As usual I bought my copy of The Guardian at Lancaster train station. I boarded the train and began my Wednesday morning ritual. I always start with G2, the Guardian supplement, reading from the back to the front. About a month prior to this particular Wednesday, the Wednesday Guardian acquired a level of importance that had previously been reserved for Tim Dowling articles. The change in hierarchy was brought on by my 108 Miles frustration; the Wednesday Guardian with its 40 something pages of job vacancies provided an end to this tiresome journey.

With approximately two hours travel time I was able to identify those jobs I was going to apply for, those I wished I could apply for and those that I thanked God I would never have to consider as a possible career option. In short, I could comfortably read each and every vacancy posted in the Guardian before I reached my destination.

An example of a vacany page can be seen by clicking on the first image in this post. This is page 28 of the Society section and is dated Wednesday 22nd March 2006. At a quick glance it is clear that a few large national public/charity sector organisations are looking to appoint trustees and a chair. All this makes sense, the Guardian afterall is a national paper read by ( I guess) a few (hundred?) thousand people.

What does not make sense is the advert that I have circled in red; this advert is better viewed by clicking on the second image in this post. Actually, the advert itself makes perfect sense. What I don’t understand is why the author/placer of the advert, a Mr Macleod Mfaniswa Tshawe Nonxoloba of Bulwayo, Zimbabwe, opted to use this particular medium for his advert.

Granted the section also allows for Notices but this is a Divorce Summons!

I notice that the wife (or ex-wife) had 18 days to respond. I sincerely hope that Mrs Esnath Nonxoloba (nee Ncube), “whose whereabout are unknown but believed to be in the United Kingdom” has done so. If not, then she is now

• divorced
• the sole owner of whatever moveable property she has in her possession
• no longer owner of No. 5 Balmoral Road, Famona, Bulawayo (Hubby owns it all)

hmmm…Pole Mama! (for a translation see this post)

If you have already nominated, don’t think the fun is over. If anything, it is about to get better and there is still a lot that you can do between now and Monday 10th April 2006 when voting begins.

For example, you can place one of these KayBees buttons on your site to let your readers know about the awards.

Button 1

Button 2

Button 3

For more information the KayBees and how to display any of these buttons on your site please visit the KayBees page over at KenyaUnlimited.

Spread the word, get voting and good luck to everyone!

Just so you know, I read all your comments, accusations and misplaced smilies. Let not my silence lull you into a false sense of security. Be warned, each one of you who partook in the web of deceit, especially those who implied that Chez MJY operates as an undercover cyber café; you shall get your comeuppance in due course.

For now I have semi-urgent request from a woman from Trindad and Tobago who left a comment on my blog and also sent an email asking:

My name is Keisha. I was looking for some information on Kenyan surnames. The name means ‘Child of God’ or ‘Children of God’ and I know it starts with ‘W’. Can you help. I am from Trinidad and Tobago. I know that Kenya is a large country so I don’t know if I have enough information but if you could help I would be grateful.

I responded to her explaining:

We have about 40+ languages in Kenya and I would imagine that a number of them may have names that mean “Child of God”. Would you happen to know which language it is ?

I speak Kikuyu and we do have a quite a few names starting with W partly because the prefix “Wa-” usually means “child of…” In Kikuyu child of God would become Wangai. (Ngai means God). Perhaps this is the name you are looking for?

Keisha responded saying that it was not “Wangai� so I am passing on the query to anyone who can help, especially our multilingual KBW bloggers.

Thanking you muchly.

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DISCLAIMER: In light of the fact that some of my so-called blog family and friends have overactive imaginations I feel the need to expressly state that this is a genuine request and I am not pregnant and/or searching for prospective baby names. Nor is it an attempt to find myself a new surname so as to disassociate myself from my family (though taking into account events as detailed above….the ide has crossed my mind)

Personally, I LOVE Makosi but I am not writing this in her defence. My reason for blogging about this is slightly more selfish. The News Zimbabwe article got me thinking, what if one of the Big Brother UK contestants was a Kenyan?

I am not talking about a Kenyan that I know, or even know of. I am talking about a total stranger. A random Kenyan living in the UK who is successful in his/her application to join the Big Brother UK house. How would I react?

As soon as is announced that contestant number X is Kenyan I will probably be on the phone to Mshairi. After screaming “uuuuuuuuwwwwiiiiiiiiiii!!!â€? my first statement would be, “ I hope he/she is good lookingâ€? quickly followed by “he/she had better not be thick”.

Shallow, I know, but I am being honest with myself.

From the minute the contestant steps out of the limousine I shall analyse and critique every aspect of their clothing, body and body language looking for signs that make him or her an unworthy ambassador. Lord forbid that within their first minutes in the limelight they fail to meet my standards of acceptable ‘Kenyan in Public/Foreign Land/on National TV’ behaviour and I shall undoubtedly ask Mshairi,

“Ngai! Couldn’t they find anyone else to represent us?�

Yes, I shall label this person our ambassador.

In an ideal world I would say that what he/she does is his/her business and he/she should not be lumbered with the undue burden of representing Kenyans. Unfortunately we do not live in an ideal world. For many UK viewers this may be the first time they see a Kenyan person (other than the millions of nameless, faceless barefoot athletes). They will be going in to that house as a minority, if not on racial grounds, certainly on the basis of his/her nationality and as is the case with all minorities, it is usually the behaviour of one person that is used to justify and perpetuate stereotypes. How this person behaves may set the precedent for how the rest of the UK views people from Kenya, me included.

As a blogger I would blog about the first Kenyan in the Big Brother UK house however the News Zimbabwe article has made me rethink the way I would approach this subject.

After reading their harsh criticism of Makosi, be it justified or otherwise I can now honestly say that I would never publicly utter a bad word about a Kenyan Big Brother contestant. By publicly I mean in a forum that is accessed by many who are non-Kenyan. This includes my blog. In fact I would even go one further. If, on any non-Kenyan public forum, I found that our Kenyan was being subjected to criticism or ridicule I would jump to their defence (where possible) especially if it was an attack on their Kenyan identity.

As a Big Brother addict I know the types of personalities they throw into the house. It is usually the loud, the exhibitionist, the self-centred, the annoying, the obnoxious, the arrogant, the eccentric and a whole load more. Our Kenyan would be no different.

Like all Big Brother contestants I expect this Kenyan to annoy me and irritate me. The very nature of the show means that they will do crazy and embarrassing things. These things make great TV. That is the role of a great Big Brother contestant.

In private, on the phone to Mshairi or possibly on those Kenyan forums I would be the first one to bitch and moan if they do something embarrassing. It would, however, be wrong for me to publicly ‘disown’ a contestant because of his/her behaviour because I know that while on the one hand they are an unofficial Kenyan ambassador they are first and foremost a Big Brother UK contestant. They are in it, like everyone else in the house, to win £100,000. That sort of money will make you do crazy things.

I, the ‘normal one’, on the outside, however should not be engaging in public name calling and mudslinging. I should act as any other ‘normal person’ would and be shamelessly patriotic in public, cheering our brother/sister on.

After all, the minute I come out in public as a Kenyan, I too become an unofficial ambassador and if the rest of the UK can’t say a good thing about us I would at least like them to know that when it us against the world, we are unified and we stand by our own.

bars, churches and sport stadia

Church?!?

While I recognise that at present there maybe no written law that bans smoking in Church but surely it is just one of those things that people in Kenya would never do?

Does anyone know of any church in Kenya where smoking takes place?

Having spent so long in England I have become accustomed to racism. I don’t mean this in a general “all whites hate us black folk” way. I am talking about real racism. The kind that sees you waking everyday to the words “Fuck off Paki” spray painted on your front door by the National Front. The same racism that sees the white children calling the only two black girls in the entire Infants School names such as “poo-poo face”. This is the sort of racism that I grew up with. There was so much more, but that is not really important.

What is important, to me at least, is the fact that my parents were strong enough to raise me into the person I am. I know their strength stems from the fact they knew where they were from. They were and still are rooted in their Kenyan identity. By default this identity was passed on to me.

As the years have gone by I have learnt to deal with the racism I face. All through this battle of “black” vs. “white” there was one form of identity based discrimination I never ever thought I would experience. I had not been prepared for this.

By ‘this’ I mean the behaviour of some Kenyans who seek to question and strip me of my right to call myself a Kenyan. I could blog on countless examples but I shall stick to two, or maybe three.

I remember being in Kenya when I was about 15-16. I had a boyfriend, I went clubbing and I wore miniskirts. All this was done with my mother’s knowledge and consent. In between the “oh your mum is so cool” statements made by my ‘friends’ were sayings such as “well proper Kenyan parents would not raise their Kenyan children like that!”

What these people never knew was that my mother raised me the way she was raised by her mother, who is 100% Kenyan. My mother and her sisters were allowed to go clubbing. Boyfriends were allowed so long as they came to the house first and met the parents. Clothes were not censored either. Instead emphasis was placed on how you carried yourself in the clothes you wore.

While the assumption that I am of ill-breeding would annoy me it seems to have been a temporary phase. The form of discrimination I seem to face now annoys me even more.

I usually come across this if I am engaged in a discussion on matters that relate to Kenya/Africa. If I happen to say something that a person disagrees with, most will try and debate the issues. One or two however will remind me that I am not Kenyan/African enough and therefore can not speak about such issues.

This angers me on two levels. Firstly it questions my authenticity/Kenyaness and secondly it attempts to take away my right to air my views.

The other thing that appears to give people the courage to challenge my Kenyan identity is the fact that I am officially sleeping with the enemy but I have already blogged about that.

For a long time I sought to defend/justify my Kenyan identity. Quite often I would be tempted to remind the Kenyans called Francis, Alice or Jane that since both my names are 100% Kenyan I could be more Kenyan than they claim to be. I soon discovered this was not the best way. Why should I have to resort to stripping down someone else’s identity so as to re-assert mine? Instead I decided to focus on what exactly gave a person the right to call themselves Kenyan.

This curiosity played a big part in my decision to include that final question in the Kenyan Blog Meme; ‘I am Kenyan because…’ Nearly all the answers were identical. People just knew they were Kenyan; it was a feeling, not something that could be defined.

At the time I did not have an answer either. I joked that it was because I had no choice. Now, I realise I did have a choice. I could rightfully and legally call myself either English or American. I have chosen to recognise the aspect of that is Kenyan. Not at the expense of my Englishness or Americaness. I am as much Kenyan as I am English.

What makes the Kenyan aspect of me stand out is because I had to work at being Kenyan without even understanding what it meant to be Kenyan. While I was growing up, I couldn’t just step outside and get hit by a does of Kenyan culture. I had to make a conscious effort to learn as much Kiswahili as I could find. I had to actively seek Kenyan friends. Read up on Kenyan history. I am sure there are many things that make a person Kenyan but that’s not my point.

My point is simple. I have given up on clinging on those outward signifiers that are supposed to symbolise my Kenyaness. I have decided to be honest with myself. I am wasting no more time on checking my accent to see if it sounds too English. Forget trying to cram strange slang (sheng) words that I am never going to use. If I ever do decide to learn Kikuyu it shall be because I want to and not so that I can fit in. I will continue to air my views on whatever I choose. I shall no longer be silenced because I am not Kenyan enough. Phrases such as “Wow you are more Kenyan than I thought” shall cease to be considered a compliment.

If the rest of Kenya can base their Kenyaness on a gut feeling, than that too shall be my basis.

I am what I am because I have chosen to be what I am.