Dear Daughter,
It is with great pride that I write these words of wisdom however little they might seem. I am so proud that you have blossomed into a beautiful and lovely woman, well educated, having a good job, and living alone, though I do not like this idea of you being independent. A daughter should stay in her father’s house until she is given over to her husband who is then charged with looking and taking care of her. I was very angry when your brother informed me you had moved from his house and you were living alone.
‘What young woman lives alone?’ I asked your father angrily.
I was so scared of what people were going to say about you, I wanted to defend your dignity because I knew even if you have always been hard-headed, you have never been a loose woman, but how could I convince them of that, yet you were living alone. Regardless of how many times I told you of how tricky men are, a woman living alone is like a lone mango tree in the middle of the desert, for all who are hungry to climb and share in the sweetness of its fruits. But my daughter how long would that fruit tree last. As attractive as it seems in the desert, what man wants to remain behind in the desert and take care of it, they would rather look for those in other men’s garden. These men have nothing to lose, you on other hand, will lose your dignity, what man will want to marry a woman living alone. But you would not listen.
Now you say that you are getting married, your father and I are both overjoyed that is why I am writing to you a few words of wisdom, because I want your marriage to last as many years as your father and I have. Getting married is like buying a car, you need to work extra hard to maintain it, you need to fuel it, so as to keep the engine going. That car can only take you as far as you want it to. Your marriage will only last as long as you want to, my daughter.
My daughter, the key to a good marriage is submission, how many times did you see me trying to act as the head of the household? Weren’t your father’s decision final? No matter how stupid a man is you must obey him. I know you are stubborn but if you really love this man then you will submit to him.
Being an educated career woman I am sure you are thinking of hiring a girl to help you around the house. Don’t! My daughter it is an abomination for a strange woman to serve your husband food, wash his clothes, make your bed and even cook his food. Don’t even think about it, lest you will find that since she is doing all these wifely duties she had replaced you, in your matrimonial bed as well.
You do remember what my younger sister and my close confidant, almost made away with your father, yet she had come to help me after giving birth to your younger brother. Remember how your father disappeared for days on end. It ended up with your father having to marry as my co-wife. I am sure you know what that did to the relationship between my sister and I. All this women you keep bringing to your home insisting that they are your friends; you need to let them all go as soon as you are married.
Judy, every single woman’s dream is to get married to a man, it does not matter what kind of man. And they will try and steal him from you if they can. Do not give them a chance.
My daughter, I have known you to be very argumentative, ever since you were born you have always wanted to have an opinion please do not involve in such with your husband, he is the head of the home and everything he says goes. The again your independent woman mentality has to disappear, please never say ‘I am tired,’ or ‘I don’t know’ to your husband especially when he asks you what you are having for supper. Judy you are an African woman and the essence of every African woman is hard work, why should you pretend to be different. When you come home from work, shed off the working woman mentality wrap a leso around your waist and become a wife and a mother. Your feminist views you will find least important in the kitchen.
Lastly, I am a woman, I am growing old, but you have made me happy, especially now that you are getting married. But if the day comes and your husband lays his hand on you and beats you. Do not be alarmed, at times as women we act like children and we need discipline, please do not despise discipline, do not come running back to your father and me. Accept it, go to your bedroom and cry, wipe away your tears and then serve your husband well. Men discipline women, it’s their nature.
I was beaten by your father for over twenty years; it had made me more mature hasn’t it. Back then I behaved like a child and the beatings have made me wiser, truth be told, at times as a woman you cannot help but behave like a child, we gossip, we engage in activities that bring our husbands to shame, and men are cannot understand why we behave the way we. So Judy in the end remember the following: -
• Men are sexual creatures, they cannot stay without sex, my daughter, your man will stray, but no matter how much he strays, he will always come back home to you. I have known your father has had so many women throughout our time together but at the end of the day he always came back home to me. The affairs have hurt me, but at no point have I ever attacked any of the women that he has been dating. Do you remember Halima your friend? You brought her home one day, and she served your father a lot especially during those periods when I was upcountry. You thought she was your friend, right? There are times as a woman the urge just dies out but for men they cannot control it. My daughter did you ever lack in anything while you were living with your father. He gave you everything, as long as you love and respect your man, he will always be there for you and your children.
• Men want a submissive woman, one who will follow and obey them, my daughter, I was a highly educated primary school teacher did I not give up everything when your father was transferred to another district. I followed him with my whole heart. Daughter if your husband wants you to quit your job, he knows what is right for you and would never ask you to do something that would be wrong for you. Then again it is his duty to provide for you and your offspring. So quit your job and stay and home if that is what is required of you.
• Children are the foundation of a marriage; you have always been outspoken in your desire to have one child, but my daughter that is not your decision. If your husband wants ten, let him have them. Then again what is marriage without children anyway? Then what will people say you are doing when you retire to bed. Words have no place in the marriage bed and sleep is only secondary.
• Expect nothing from your husband. I know like every other modern woman you want your husband to treat you like a queen. But that is not the reason why men get married so that they pamper a woman, such a man can only be deemed as weak, daughter men are like children and they need somebody to take care of them as well as help in continuing their lifeline, a woman without children is ridiculed in society, do not wish to be one of them.
• NEVER initiate sex, let the man do this, otherwise they might think that you are a loose woman. Never forget your place.
Daughter did I hear you say that you are not going to change your last name, what did you mean by that? Judy, Jack is marrying you, you are not marrying him, remember that he has even paid dowry for you, do not disgrace us by refusing to accept the name of the man who is your husband.
I have a lot more to say to you my daughter but I hope this will help you in your first year of marriage. These precious gems were passed on to me by my mother and I am passing them to you my daughter, remember it’s only a fool who ignores the counsel of the wise. I wrote this letter because I knew you would listen to anything I say. I hope your marriage will be filled with lots of children and happiness. I will always LOVE YOU my daughter.
From your Mother
PS remember from now on you are no longer part of this family, his mother is now your mother and his family your family. I am only telling you all these because I love you.
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A mother always means best, but is it always the the best that she is passing to her daughter.
I was beaten by your father for over twenty years; it had made me more mature hasn’t it. Back then I behaved like a child and the beatings have made me wiser, truth be told, at times as a woman you cannot help but behave like a child, we gossip, we engage in activities that bring our husbands to shame, and men are cannot understand why we behave the way we. So Judy in the end remember the following: -
· Men are sexual creatures, they cannot stay without sex, my daughter, your man will stray, but no matter how much he strays, he will always come back home to you. I have known your father has had so many women throughout our time together but at the end of the day he always came back home to me. The affairs have hurt me, but at no point have I ever attacked any of the women that he has been dating. Do you remember Halima your friend? You brought her home one day, and she served your father a lot especially during those periods when I was upcountry. You thought she was your friend, right? There are times as a woman the urge just dies out but for men they cannot control it. My daughter did you ever lack in anything while you were living with your father. He gave you everything, as long as you love and respect your man, he will always be there for you and your children.
I was scared… now any normal Kenyan should have heard the following about Turkana, its very hot, insecure (cattle rustling), hunger prone and God forsaken area. Yet the first time round there was my boss advising me to take anti-malaria pills, the second time they were talking about Yellow Fever, yes that was scary but sorry to admit it, I didn’t. Turkana sounded like on scary place full of real snakes that I had seen on TV only. I was not even excited about seeing Lake Turkana. It was one of those jobs that you needed several encouragements to go, the ones that you ask is the money really worth it? What’s the adventure in such a place? I headed out knowing so much yet so little.
The journey started on November 16th in the morning, I was looking forward to see the Rift Valley, there’s a point a the journey where you can be able to see the Rift Valley in its majesty and its breathtaking, I don’t think the driver understood that concept or maybe Kenyans don’t realize the beauty that they are endowed with. Passing through so many Kenyans town was amazing and some for a strange reason, also owing to the fact that I think too much reminded me of the post election violence and I failed to see the beauty in the midst of all the smoke. Oh forgive me, did I say I tend to over think and my imagination always gets the best of me. Burnt Forest was beautiful but it reminded me of something that Kenya went through when I was in Riruta Satellite which was relatively calm.
All the violence that I saw during that period was on television, the tension was there still, my friends from different communities as I did not see eye to eye at that point, it felt as if they were saying its ok for my community to be killed in the Rift Valley and I thought I am a Kikuyu, the only difference was that I was born in The Great Constituency (Da-goretti), if the tides changed I might have been among the numbers.
Point being the Post election violence did a lot of damage physiologically as well. Considering that I grew up in a cosmopolitan division, the post election and my University seemed remind me that did not matter. I have never thought about the ‘T’ until those two moments.
It was amazing going through all these places that were in Kenya and I never thought I would be able to get there, I enjoyed the road trip, I saw Nakuru, Naivasha, Burnt Forest, Eldama Ravine, Eldoret among others before stopping over at the all lovely Kitale town for the night.
Kitale Town
In Kitale the likely hood of being hit by a Bicycle is a higher than being hit by vehicles, at the hotel we stayed, their services was amazing, , apparently I passed through all these Kalenjin towns and did not get a tatse of Mursik, I do regret that. I would have preferred that to the ordinary Nyama Choma.
The next day after a boarding a bus at ten in the morning for Lodwar (the town that I thought was in North Eastern) which to my annoyance departed at 12 midday, people just kept moving in and out of the bus, I wanted to ask them if there were thorns on their seats but they were way older than myself so I kept my annoyance to myself. We passed through Kapenguria that was raining heavily before finding myself in Lokichar where all my fears were magnified when I saw a man presumably Turkana walking around with a gun, the small town of Lokichar was surrounded by bushes, my heart went silent with fear, I remembered all the stories about cattle rustlers and I began to wonder about the place we would set up camp, was it safe, was there somebody employed as a security escort. We were supposed to spend the night in Lodwar I wondered if they would be hotels anyway.
As we approached Lodwar at night, I was pleasantly shocked to hear some taxi drivers who asked if I wanted a ride start speaking to each other animatedly in Kikuyu, later on I would learn that Lodwar is a cosmopolitan town, Kenyans and foreigners from all sorts of life converged at the small town, though the municipal councils of all these towns should know that poor urban planning is repeating itself in all of them. There was no street lighting in Kitale and Lodwar. On the other hand it was good to no that where other people see insecurity others saw opportunity. And Lodwar is such a welcoming town.
The next day we drove off tour camp site, about fifty Kilometers from Lodwar and 20KM from Kalokol a small town near one of the many shores of Lake Turkana, and from that time onwards I fell in love with Turkana, the people, the geographical and the fact that everything my pale anthropology professor taught me finally made sense. You see in class they spoke of Koobi Fora whenever we were revising we would ask each other ‘is this place in Tanzania or in Kenya’, but having visited Turkana I will not be forgetting that anytime soon. So why should every Kenyan visit Turkana? Here are my reasons.
• Ever thought of going for a road trip, or are you the sort of person who loves adventure,
Turkana is the place to go. Its over 600KM away, and you get to go through some of the major towns in Kenya which are all part of the Great Rift Valley. You can stop by Kitale for a sleep over, enjoy the cold for one more time, laugh at being Kenya, and enjoy the Nyama Choma and hospitality over a cold soda. See endless bicycles and avoid getting hit by one. And sample the beauty of a nation so beautiful, I guarantee by the time you are through, the words of the National Anthem will ring true. ‘And our homeland of Kenya, heritage of splendor firm may we stand to defend.’
You will get to go through different geographical settings that are beautiful that makes you realize why tourists are crazy about it. Kenya is a small country indeed but every place is just different. The next time round I flew to Lodwar it only took roughly over an hour for temperatures to soar to 38 degrees and my sweat glands to become highly activated. By road the change in gradual and more spectacular, the towns, the forests, the heavy rain in one area and an hour later the dry country side.
The highway towns and their notorious reputations in connections to the truck drivers, amazingly towns like the one below and others like Lokichar have a thriving night economy. Seeing dark grey rain crowds in one town and none in the next for one month making me long for rain and love any one cloud you saw in the sky.
• Adventure, I have heard friends, young and in the corporate world who long for a weekend get away to Naivasha or Mountain climbing in Mount Kenya. Turkana provides something different wherever you go, when I went back to Turkana earlier this year, I visited so many different places courtesy of the field school that I was attending including Lothagam, Kerio Valley, Eliye Springs, Kalodirr, among others. And they are just different geologically speaking.
I climbed a lot of hills, measured the depth, height of the river Turkwel as well as crossing it on several occasions until the rainy season entered and the river transformed from this nice
Beautiful river that my fellow students and I loved to play around with, at times cross and when the geology demanded measure and learn how a seasonal river became perennial, the beautiful dam named after this river and its effects on the river, the garden just next to river and the beautiful vegetables that we had the privilege of consuming one of the evenings.
Small sand dunes on the banks of the river and most amazingly the evidence of the various stages the river had gone through, evidenced by the various depositional materials thousands of years back different in color and texture on the cliffs on one side we could easily tell which direction the river was moving towards.
As well as being a personal favorite for singing out loudly, that small hill near the river was way better than the bathroom, playing in the sand, watching the sunset and crossing for the sake of it, talking to the bright Turkana children who showed us and easier way of going round the hills and to us back home when evening fell.
It also the river I enjoyed playing with the Turkana children, more so the young boys, throwing the small palm like fruit upstream and trying to catch them so that they would not float away.
Or when the rains started, we could hear the Turkwel flowing heavily at night, reminding me of the small river that originated from the gorges that you could hear from kilometers away. More than just being a fun river to watch, it’s actually a source of life because women fetch water for use in this river. And during the rainy season there is also fish. Ultimately this river flows into Lake Turkana.
Lake Turkana
The Turkwel River before the rainy season
Easy to cross and play around with, whose sunset is to die for to this mad raging river?
In Lothagam was where we slept under the open sky full of stars, even the threat of hyenas and hearing scary American stories (culturally speaking they weren’t scary) couldn’t keep me awake under the beautiful romantic evening sky In Lothagam the next picture: Some shade
Geology of Lothagam was different in the places that we visited we geologically different and represented a different time period and formations such as ‘Nawata’ which the Americans pronounced as ‘No water’ with a weng.
Beautiful Lothagam the different colors of the formations can be clearly seen.
Lake Turkana is also adventurous in its own right, its crazy devilish winds almost carried my tents away, you could literally feel it being swayed side ways and every other way. Meaning most nights I was awake, earlier this year we slept in rooms but in those nights, when the crazy winds were blowing its simply crazy, during the day it’s the sand storms that carry day, when I stayed in a tent I had sand in it everyday. The fisher men have to wait until its calm so that they venture out, so when a boat ride was suggested I was excited at first, growing up my parents took me one too many times to Uhuru Park, so I wasn’t scared when we were going to Central Island on Lake Turkana, yes fellow ignorant Kenyans that Lake that marks the end of Kenya on the maps is a very big lake with three islands, I visited one which has three crater Lakes.
Central Island
approachingCentral Island
The boat ride to the beautiful island was scary to say the least, going across the waves, most of us including the most experienced swimmers among us held on for their dear lives, at some point I thought it was fun, I had a life jacket anyway, that was until on the ride back too much water got into our boat and seated at the back I realized the situation was not good because the captain for lack of a better word was in panic mode but we made it anyway.
• Tourism, most people think that there is nothing to see in Turkana, but there’s too much to be seen, ever heard of cultural tourism added to all of the above sceneries that you can see. Also Turkana is the best place for honey moon that quiet place that newlyweds in the world, longing for that feeling that they are the only people in the world. TURKANA is waiting for you, while Mombasa is too crowded and by plane it takes roughly over and hour.
Sunrise at Turkana Basin Institute
I never knew that I could love nature so much but each time I saw the sunrise I ran to get a closer look. Then again you can sleep under the open sky anywhere in Turkana and nobody will ask you. Most parts of Turkana are safe and it’s only when you get closer to the border of Turkana and other districts than you might experience insecurity.
As far as cultural tourism goes, the Turkana culture is amazing and original, a wedding ceremony goes for close to a week and just watching them in their Mohawk and traditional wear, it will make you think about other pastrol communities and how forgotten these cultures are and the potential that they hold not only to the people but to an entire nation.
One swim in this Lake and you become addicted.
At a wedding in Turkana, my good friends Kasha and Meadow enjoy themselves, in the same wedding I saw a camel go down literally. Camel and donkey meat are delicacies, the donkeys are some of the laziest in the world. They do no work at all.
The nights in Turkana are filled by song and dance, the young people both men and women gather around at a dancing ground and they sing and dance the night away. And its not a disco, its African, a tradition that most ethnic communities in Kenya have done away with.
In some places you might see hyenas which I am very scared off; they do after all have very powerful jaws for breaking bones. On other side of the Lake there is a National Park called Sibiloi.
The legend of this cliff is amazing apparently it a ‘jini that swallows goats’ whole.
• Education, for all the geology, anthropology, archaeology, history and ecology students Turkana is the place. They don’t say east Africa is the cradle of mankind for no good reason. Without Turkana and the fossils that it has provided we wouldn’t even come close. So many people are into evolution yet ignore the place that it all cam from.
Namaratunga Fossil
Namaratunga is a site that dates to the middle Holocene that is around 3000-4000 years ago, for anthropologists the people have an interesting account of the mass burial ground. Among the fossils found would include the Turkana boy (Homo erectus), most of Turkana is evidenced by extant Lakes, and is littered with artefacts such as pot sherds and egg shell beads.
Also for the ecology students I had the chance of learning about invasive species such as the Prosopis (Mathenge) and its harmful effects. We did a lot bird watching, in Kenya we have over 2000 different bird species. In Turkana there was the Somali crow a very black bird in a very hot place.
• A quiet time, I love being quiet, a place where I can be alone, talk to myself, think, no wonder I love such places as Turkana I can sing loudly and not have a care in the world.
Me being quiet.
It’s the perfect get away, its peaceful, no rude people shoving around like in the streets of Nairobi.
As a writer and Anthropologist I found Turkana a place full of stories and a culture that is unexplored. And I hope over the next few weeks I hope to bring that into light, it was inspirational as much as it was fun. I get to learn about their people and their unexplored beauty, the high levels of poverty made me realize that Turkana has long being dependant on foreign aid, but if Kenyans played a part, it wouldn’t need aid. We saw what simple irrigation can do a small piece of land without altering the land, because while the men graze when can dig. Truth be told most vegetables we had were from around Turkana not Nairobi or even Kitale.
The ultimate truth, the beauty of a place not being in what you hear or see on the TV but on visiting and realizing the beauty yourself.
A stroll on the lovely crater lake on central Island Lake Turkana
Last year I got an opportunity to work as a field assistant for a researcher from one of the universities abroad in Turkana, Kenya, I wasn’t excited. Unlike when I had received a scholarship to attend a field school in Tanzania that August, I suppose the only joy was that it was my first paying job in the field. Well, for Tanzania I was looking forward to the chance of being a foreigner, it was my first time outside Kenya, I relished the cultural experiences, and being an anthropologist I actually meant that. Tanzania did not disappoint, it was beautiful, I loved staying in a tent for six weeks, walking around the river bed alone, the one hour trek to a hill and then climbing it for another hour, getting to the top dead tired but one look at the scenery and it was breath taking. The terraces up the hill and the Stone circles that we excavated that were built around five hundred years ago, it was marvelous because I asked myself what were they thinking (the people that lived five hundred years ago), where did they go?. The evidence of their existence the potsherds, some beads, an iron arrow head and trying to decipher what it all meant.
Mountainside view
The dinners under the open sky each night for six weeks, as well breakfast it was amazing, the evening sky was serene in every sense of the word, romantic should be the word. Watching the sun rise was amazing, and Engaruka was not as hot as I expected it to be. Meeting people from different countries in the world was a phenomenon experience. The cultural diversity meant I added an Irish man, Welsh and two English men to the people that I knew. Amazingly I learnt in England your accent varies depending on where you are from. The Liverpool accent is very different from the London accent. The Yorkshire accent was the most interesting one, especially if you have read the ‘secret garden.’ The Tanzanian’s did not disappoint, I mean you ask for directions and they end up taking you to the place.
A lesson for Kenya would be in countries like Wales and Ireland, the languages Welsh and Irish have survived the test of time, meaning they are not about to be classified dead any time soon. Yet in Kenya we are busy, talking from an anthropological sense killing innocent languages. Most languages in Kenya are in danger of becoming extinct, and the fact that a good number of children living in urban areas cannot speak or understand their mother tongue.
The way to the archaeological site
An archeological trench dug by my colleagues.
In the photo below my colleague Steve works on a trench at the bottom of the terrace. On site it was work, off site it was great learning that Tanzanians’ rarely talk about politics even when it’s a month away to the general election.
In movies when people speak of going away to find themselves maybe they should go to such places, unlike the noisy Nairobi life it offers a serene environment, quiet and simply amazing.
Lastly I got to sample a national park in Tanzania, at first I was scared that it would be very expensive until I saw the notice: -
EAST AFRICANS: 1500 Tshs
Roughly around eighty three Kenya shillings, and the park was well maintained, and there were animals every where.
Most importantly I learnt the truth about the Tanzanian people, I stayed with around fifteen students from the University of Dares Salaam, and the secret to being united is not in hiding your ethnic identity. If you ask a Tanzanian what their ethnic group is the answer is never ‘Tanzanian’ they answer ‘Sukuma, Jita, Chagga,’ among others. Worth noting Tanzania has over a hundred and twenty ethnic groups. In every region just as in Kenya there is a specific ethnic group that lives there.
Back in 2008 I stayed with a Tanzanian family for a couple of days, later on they told us that they were like foreigners in that region since its predominantly Chagga and they were from the Haya ethnic group, both man and wife. But in Tanzania it did not matter where you are from you could won land anywhere in the country. The beauty of Tanzania is that they embraced diversity. Argument being Kenya is made up of forty two ethnic groups, our tribes as people call them don’t divide us, politics does.
The tents we stayed in.
The food was different, the hotel culture was different, a little bit slow for my usual Kenyan self but the food was amazingly different, tasty and cheap. Chapati is more of a breakfast meal and the warmth and hospitality of the people reminded me of the African Spirit.
The touts were definitely nicer and patient, but it had to come to an end, one month later in October 2010, I got a chance to be a field assistant in Turkana, Kenya, and my expectations were not the same. I was actually scared…
Complexity of Culture
They say ‘one man’s meat…well that old saying seems to apply to culture in the very same. Anthropologically speaking cultures are so similar yet different in equal measure.
Culture is best described as that ‘complex whole…’ complex I suppose because it varies from one society to the next. All societies in the world have culture; culture is universal, shared and very specific, making it all the more attractive to an anthropologist. For instance the raging debate among some Christians about female and male dressing, if they were to study the bible in its cultural context they would realize that both sexes wore long flowing robes cut differently to suit each. One of my lecturers in campus told an interesting story of how the British forced the Zulu men to construct the railway to their annoyance, owing to the fact such hard tasks in their society was actually done by women. Yet the British must have been thinking such hard should only be done by men, in Western societies gender roles varied the ones in Traditional African Societies, different kinds if thinking thanks to the socialization process.
• The Mohawk is style that most Kenyans think originate from Northern Africa, forgetting that it might be authentic Kenyan, more typical of the pastoralists’ society. Among the Turkana it’s a special reserve for the women, young and old. Asking around some say it’s for aesthetic purposes, other say that some styles are a marker for young girls who have been betrothed or as they put it ‘booked’ by other parents for their sons, some styles they said were a sign of witchcraft and touching a child’s head would result in sickness. A young white male we were with in Turkana had a Mohawk, whenever the Turkana saw him they would start giggling and at times laughing. I bet you can guess why.
A typical Turkana Mohawk.
• Now that’s the Turkana, the Maasai who are the better known pastoralist society have the Mohawk as well but only the young men adorn the hairstyle, this I have observed in Tanzania as well, among the Maasai living there.
• Its funny how in Nairobi and some parts of the Rift Valley women in the past have been stripped naked for dressing ‘immorally.’ The word ‘immoral’ is not black and white as is defined in the dictionary. The Turkana women can easily get away with walking around bare-chested. But if you try and lift a little Turkana girl up, they hold on to their skirts tightly to avoid showing what they consider private. After staying in Turkana for a while you realize that what’s sexual in one community is not for the other. While people in other parts of Kenya protest women showing just a little cleavage, in Turkana showing both is natural, but just a little bit of thigh and you may be easily branded an ‘immoral person.’
• Funny enough the City Council of Nairobi outlaws the selling of donkey and camel meat, in Turkana these are delicacies. One of the local Turkana people asked if I wanted to see the butchery so as to verify their claims, I didn’t. But my fellow field school students and I did see a butchered camel at a wedding ceremony. Some say that donkeys are kept for dowry purposes, camels and donkeys do not carry heavy loads around, leaving women to carry fifty kilogram sacks of charcoal at times for over twenty kilometers to town centers such as Kalokol among others. The only time the two animals carry heavy loads is when the family is moving from their Manyatta in search of new lands. On a normal day the donkeys and camels are busy moving around grazing and at times for the camels browsing am sure the donkeys from Limuru would be envious.
• ‘Mutumia’ if you are a Kikuyu basically means wife, at times it used to refer to women in general. But if you are a Kamba it means ‘Husband’ or ‘man’. Funnily enough in Kikuyu the word means one who is quiet, as opposed to ‘Muthuri’ which means ‘one who chooses.’
• ‘Tata’ in the kikuyu language means aunt, yet in Kisii it means ‘father.’
• In the Maasai and Turkana communities it is the women who build houses, in other societies in Kenya it is men who build. It’s not that men have abandoned their duties or they have nothing to do but carry their Ekichoro’s (traditional stool) and sleep under trees in the village centre, they had duties such as herding which have been lost with time. Though in times of need these men do sell their livestock so that they feed their families.
A Turkana Manyatta homestead
So at times when two cultures fight, more so in a modern society like Kenya, they are fighting over what they don’t understand. Ultimately one’s man meat should NEVER be another man’s poison, culturally speaking anyway.
Pictures courtesy of Turkana Basin Institute Students class of 2011
And there was Kenyan Swahili, there are some words which will always confuse me and maybe funny while at it:-
Nasikitika Nasitikika
Kukanganyana Kukanyangana
Mimba Miba
Lewa Elewa
Lowa Lewa
I had an American ask me after a turbulent ride to the Central Island, Lake Turkana what ‘I am drenched’ in Kiswahili is and a guy jumped in “ Niko na maji.”(I am with water). I laughed. Then I gave my own answer, slowly and unsure. “Nimelewa.” I thought twice about that, ‘Nimelewa’ is I am drunk, and then thought about it for a minute, water, sea water definitely has never made any person drunk. “Nimelowa.”
I remember all these because I am in a field school and there are some Americans who we are trying to teach some Swahili words, in exchange of learning new exciting languages such as Spanish (America is a very diverse country, remember cousin Barry). But the last thing you want to do is teach Swahili when there is a Tanzanian involved because they will be out prove that Kenyan Swahili is the worst kind in the whole world, hence making Swahili look like a foreign language in the process. For instance we (all Kenyans) know that a Leso is what we (women) tie around our waists or wrap ourselves, with some writings on it. In Tanzania, a Leso is a handkerchief, whilst we must all admit that our Swahili is not the best in the world, A leso in Kenya will never be a handkerchief, I thought that was kitambaa cha kutolea makamasi (I doubt we have one word for that) and a Kikoi which by all means is Kenyan is not a male garment, and Kanga being any kind of fabric, in general terms other than a Leso, though I stand corrected.
So who is fooling who, are they not both dialects of the same language, or is the Tanzania version way superior to the Kenyan one? If ‘Bibi’ in Kenya is wife and Tanzania it is grandmother, is the former one wrong and the latter right. Is ‘Mwakani’ within the year or is it in the coming year as the Tanzanians insist, does anyone have to be wrong?
I am not writing about the bad Swahili that we use every other day, the point of emphasis is on basic words that are Swahili in the very sense but seems to mean different things to different Swahili speakers. It should be basic knowledge Zanzibarians speak different Swahili than the Tanzanians. Does it mean that the Tanzanian Swahili is incorrect when compared to it? And speaking of Kenya is bad Swahili just another of the language many dialects. Is Swahili itself as a result of intermarriage between the Coastal Bantus and the Arabs? I am sure they did not sit one day and decide that they needed to write a new language, it developed over time. Forget about sheng that has been around for decades and since we are never young forever it tends to die with a generation, think about Kenyan Swahili. That might actually be a genuine dialect.
• Bad Swahili phrases that I have heard and might use a lot
Nasikia njaa or niko na njaa, I must admit I use that a lot.
Niko kwa nyumba, You can only be ndani ya nyumba
• Notice how words in certain languages lack a one word translation in other languages, for instance there is no English word for Ugali and Mukimo, in the same way valentines would be siku ya wapendanao translated from English to Swahili.
• Also notice how hymns loose meaning when they are translated from English to Swahili. There might be a consolation in Blessed assurance (Ndio dhamana). The verses are spot on: -
Ndio dhamana Yesu wangu
(Blessed assurance Jesus is mine)
Hunipa furaha ya mbingu
(Oh what a foretaste of glory divine)
Heir of salvation
Mrithi wa wokovu wake…
But the chorus…
This my story this is my song
(Habari njema raha yangu)
In short the translation would be Good news oh my heart. Close enough, hymns like ‘Come thou font of.” The Swahili translation is totally different from the English one and depending on which one you are used to then one doesn’t make sense.
• The thing about our national language, it has translations for various countries from their original form to Swahili but leaves out others, was that under the assumption that Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda while Russia is ‘Urusi, Portugal is Ureno, Mozambique is Msumbiji.
Then Swahili time is so different from the English time. “Set the alarm at 9:30 while in actual sense they meant 3:30 in the morning, my Tanzanian friend does that all the time. Saa moja should be one o’clock, not seven in the morning. I am not complaining neither are most Kenyans since you get used to time in many different languages. For most Bantu languages this is not even a problem for instance in Kikuyu, thaa mugwanja is one o’clock though mugwanja is seven in Kikuyu.
Lastly, is Friday the last day of the week in Swahili since Saturday is Jumamosi the first day of the week, mosi means one after all.
Studying language is interesting because language is the museum of culture, it reminds us that we are not Americans that is why snow is not a word in most African languages, its arbitrary and makes sense to its speakers only. For instance ‘Ngui’ the Americans may not know that it’s a four legged creature that they call ‘dog’ unless I or you told it to them. Neither are Americans Italians no wonder they don’t have an English word for Pizza.
My American friend, who is fluent in Spanish, when I write down the word Jose, short name for Joseph he pronounced it as Hoze, Making languages so interesting to learn because it’s all about culture.
The Posh Date by Mary Muthoni Kariuki
And it was valentine. Unlike all the other valentines that had managed to pass her by, all the red flowers, chocolates and red dresses, maybe some cheap wine but finally it was her turn to celebrate what was an ‘otherwise’ lonely festivity, for all the women who didn’t have a man to cling on. Anita smiled at what seemed to the one thousandth time at her reflection, the pretty little strapless short red dress that she was wearing, and let out a wide grin from ear to ear, her lightish brown face actually glowed from the overhead electric bulb.
“Perfect.” Wairimu who had a leso wrapped around her waist, standing next to her sister seemed delighted. “Now all you need are my black heels, my fake…” she stopped with a wide grin on her face. “Very fake diamond earrings, where do they mine diamond in Kenya? She asked.
Anita cleared her throat. “Nimo can we get back to business, I need all the help in the world.”
There was a sense of urgency in her voice, as she gave her sister a wide stare.
Wairimu feigned surprise, it was her younger sister’s big day and she wanted to make sure every single detail of it was a complete success. “Have fun, remember money is not your problem, and enjoy every single minute of it.” She handed her sister her black purse next to the twelve red rose stems and a box of really expensive chocolates, on the king-sized bed which they had shared ever since they were little. “Sawa?”
“Sawa.” Anita smiled trying to rub of some of the red lipstick on her lips.
The bumpy road seemed not to affect Anita’s well choreographed movement as she made her way to the bus stop, it seemed like all eyes were upon her every step with desire or envy, perhaps both. She swung her hips as she walked as though dancing to the sensual beats of the midnight African drums, but on her first valentine it didn’t matter, it felt great to celebrate a holiday that had seemed so far away from her grasp, that was until she met Mark only a couple of weeks earlier, he happened to be the guy seated next to her as she travelled back home on a very noisy matatu that didn’t seem to defer him from making his move. His father was a Commercial Attaché, and though she did not know what actually that entailed, it actually sounded posh just the way Wairimu had taught her. Mark was now working for a firm that belonged to his father, apparently his Mercedes Benz had only been stolen a couple of days earlier but he had already ordered for a Lexus which would be arriving in a couple of months because it was being shipped to Kenya.
No sooner had Anita gotten into town than had she boarded a Taxi to the luxurious restaurant, at a glance the little polished wooden hotel didn’t seem at all that sophisticated but Anita seemed to have changed her mind the minute she had stepped in with Mark walking over to meet him, the clear windows that revealed the hilly terrain with a picturesque view of the sunset, they had spent the first half of the evening debating on whether it was actually real or painted, only to end up racing outside to see it for themselves.
Mark was hoping to spend less that after spending a considerable amount of money on twelve stems of roses only, though he had spent like half an hour trying to explain to the florist that he was entitled to more than just a box of chocolate and flowers, He felt his pocket as he played around with his beautiful date, it wasn’t as much as he had anticipated.
“Oh.” Anita seemed to remember as soon as they had sat down again and also after noticing and angry short taxi driver walking into the hotel “I owe 2000 for the taxi.” She said it as innocently as a dove. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his sit under no circumstances ha he encouraged his new girlfriend to use a taxi, though he had suggested he would refund her transport. “Here you go.” He feigned a smile, really forcing himself to withhold the question of how a short distance from the city centre could actually have cost him such an outrageous amount of money.
“Let order something to eat.” He suddenly felt the urge to finish off the date as quickly as he could, but Anita did not seem to notice as she readily took the menu and quickly perused through it. “I’ll have this.” She pointed out to the waiter, tried to read it loudly a couple of times only to come to the realization that she might actually be embarrassing her posh date.
The name of the dish sounded sophisticated and too hard to pronounce, that had a reason as to why she had wanted to sample it.
Mark took the menu unsure of what his date had just ordered, as he nervously felt his pocket. “What did you order?” He asked trying to sound as casual and pleasant as he could. The last thing he wanted was to ‘chonga viazi.’
She smiled cheekily. “It’s a surprise.” She whispered leaning forward. “Order your own.”
It sounded queer for a man to want to order the same meal as she had the thought scared her a bit. He pretended to smile back but he could feel a lump in throat, as he turned to look away. “A glass of wine please.” He almost chocked on his words.
He hoped it did not amount to the price of gold, though in the face of defeat he was still determined to walk away with his head held high.
“Not that hungry.” She leaned forward towards him.
But not even the cleavage of a young untouched woman seemed to arouse the man in him, as he nodded rather too quickly, wishing his nightmare would come to an end soon. He feared that the restaurant was not as cheap as his friend had suggested, and now it was like he was in the middle of a bad dream.
“Thanks for the chocolate and the flowers.”She remembered.
He just agreed with her not knowing what she had said to him. And the food did not help him identify what sort of dish it was, the only thing he could tell it was that it was meat dish, one that he was definitely not familiar with. His mood changed from bad to worse as Anita spoke about her inability to find a job and how she would have liked to work at a firm like his father’s. The only time he seemed to jolt back to reality was when waiter had placed their bill on the table. He quickly took and gave it a quick glance letting out a surprised gasp.
Anita pretended not to notice as she took the last spoonful of her chocolate sundae. “Can I call the taxi driver to come and pick me up its getting kind of late?” She stared through the dark window.
“I thought you were spending the night at my place.” He toyed with her as he stared at the remaining three crispy notes in his wallet. She did not reply. “You can call the taxi but I am planning a surprise for you tomorrow in my house while planning everything I forgot my wallet that has all my credit cards.”
Anita hoped that he at least had money to pay for their dinner. “You pay it and tomorrow I will give you double.”
She thought about it for a while, it actually sounded good, she shrugged and called him. “Plus I need to go to the salon.” She said in matter of fact kind of way, with an air of entitlement.
“Sure.” Mark smiled holding her hand for the first time in the evening. “Anything for my baby.” He kissed her hand gently causing her to blush.
‘Blush’ he associated not with his charm but the allure of money, lots of it which seemed to drive the woman right in front of his eyes mad. For a minute he felt like a drained out ATM machine, yet the high maintenance woman was trying to squeeze everything she could from him.
Mark waited patiently for Anita’s taxi ride to arrive before he began walking towards the direction of the stage in the dark. “I will call you as soon as I get home.” He had promised as he gave her a rather awkward hug. The waiter and not returned his change of fifty shillings probably tipping himself to Mark’s dismay. He had waited long and hard for it, as Anita asked for transport money from town to her estate.
No sooner had the Taxi pulled away than Mark started on his long walk home.
“He never called back.” Anita placed down her phone a couple for days later, after being unable to get a hold of him.
“Maybe he lost his phone.” Wairimu suggested, before sitting up quickly on the sofa. “I thought you wanted him for maintenance.”
“I wish he would have lost it after refunding me my 2000.”She said rather disappointed. “And of course I liked him.”
“Oh.” Wairimu almost burst out laughing. “Never clean sweep a man you like.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
Anita just rolled her eyes and fell back on the sofa.
“Yeah.” Wairimu rolled her eyes. “Next time if you only live in a nearby neighborhood use public means and you don’t pay such an amount unless you are traveling out of Kenya.”
Wairimu gently touched her sisters ponytailed black long hair. “And ‘taxi money’ is not taxi money.”
“Next time.” Anita closed her eyes wishing for only a moment she would stop thinking about man. “ Oh well, I must have learnt from the…”
“Best!”
“Nooo, worst!”
THE END
Maybe my geography is wrong but they say that Kenya is arid and semi arid, guess they were talking about Turkana, the land of many hills, ridges, valleys, a very big lake which usually sits at the very top of the Kenyan map off course, speaking of the Kenyan map if you get Turkana, its feels like you are at the very end of what seems to be a very big but small country, it depends anyway if you are travelling by road or air. Though by road its way more interesting especially since you get to experience climatic changes, in Kitale and Kapenguria its actually raining and cool and as you approach Lokichar the heat and dry country is still evident. Yes I have said it, Kenya is not as big and vast as I expected, and oh yes Turkana seems like thousands of kilometers from Nairobi, and it actually seems to me like half of Kenya is Turkana, the sun here seems to be very different from the all friendly sun in the city that actually doesn’t get past annoying. In Turkana opening a blanket shop is actually not a very wise idea because nobody ever uses them while in Nairobi I have two plus the numerous bed sheets and bed covers that keep me warm in the dead of the night when the Nairobi cold bites. The big question of the day should be? Why did I carry my sweater? I am so not using it.
Whenever the pretty weather forecast women of KBC are busy forecasting the unpredictable weather and they always insist that in Lodwar they will be highs of 39 degrees and lows of 37 degrees, if the 28 in Nairobi when it’s most sunny bothers me, what would I do in 39? Drink like 4 litres of water in a day, wake up in the middle of the night to drink some more water, sleep with as little clothing as I can and still sweat as soon as I try to sleep, invest in a lot of shorts (loose fitting) and sun dresses(morality is debated here, men in Nairobi complain about the way women dress in Nairobi, they should visit Turkana and see how they women clad), wear sun glasses even if I normally don’t do shades in Nairobi, always carry a bottle of water with me for survival reasons as opposed to the weird reasons that most people in Nairobi do it for, if I am in the heart of Turkana as I am now a GPS always comes in handy because getting lost is easy because of all the ridges in their hundreds that all look so similar and off course with the possibility of water running out, and manyattas a rare phenomenon, a GPS is a very good equipment to have, the Turkana themselves SEEM TO KNOW the terrain really well.
I guess if is stayed here longer a Mohawk seems to be the way to go because maintaining hair in this hot almost like desert is a lot of work, the sand gets into my hair and if I let it down, my neck becomes too hot and sweaty, for the Turkana it must be all about the water scarcity for me its all about the sand, and though it comes off as easily, I am an African woman and washing hair every other day is a lot of work plus God did give us hair so that we could wash it every day, it is a sin, a BIG one. I wouldn’t mind cutting it all off because it gets so hot and weaves, or plaiting my hair of even letting it all down, just makes me all sweaty, but I am yet to think of such an extreme.
Then again I am in Rome, and I should dress as the Turkana women do, right? Where a skirt is all that matters, and the upper body is not as sexual as we all make it out to be. The exaggeration that the men in all the other parts of Kenya have adapted in the gospel according to men, that women should cover up as much as possible. I am convinced that covering is more of a missionary and colonial idea that it is African; we are in the tropics, meaning we enjoy a little bit more sun than everyone else.
I guess a fan is basic is most hotel and motel rooms in Lodwar while hot water is a must in most showers, its natural, it must be only Turkana that after an hour of carrying your water around it actually becomes hot, too hot and you still drink it and enjoy it to the last drop while longing for a glass of really cold water.
Well while in Nairobi we have problems with fifty cents coins in Turkana they mostly don’t accept the one shillings coin, but apparently still stork sweets and chewing gums for one shillings, its even worse in the cybers where all they have a five shilling coin to give you back for change.
Most of the items in Lodwar are very expensive at times costing twice as much as they in the former green city in the sun. Reason being transporting them to Lodwar from the rest of the country is very expensive. Funny enough the newspaper arrives at around 12.30pm every day via the fly 540 planes.
Nothing sets Lodwar apart from most towns in Kenya, apart from the lack of street lighting, and evidence that its growing and all that but if the fortune of this town were to change, then all that would come to hunt it because it is a poorly planned town, and the municipal council of Lodwar needs to be fired and replaced with professionals who actually know what they are doing.
The 300ml bottle of soda doesn’t exist in Lodwar at all, hope Coca cola company are actually reading this, I prefer my sodas rather small because struggling to finish a half litre of soda every now and then, doesn’t seem pretty sensible to me.
I actually agree with a book written by non-Kenyans as a guide to the country that Kikuyus have a tendency to pop out everywhere. Imagine arriving in Lodwar at 7pm, having not the slightest idea of who happens to be living in Lodwar and not knowing that Lodwar is actually in Turkana having always assumed that Lodwar is actually a town in North Eastern province and not the rift valley, and now somehow still unsure, as you wait for your means of transport to your hotel room, the all familiar sound pleasantly fills your eyes. “Mwangi!”and the conservation between three taxi men starts and end in Kikuyu, and there and then you realize that somehow you are still Kenya and it feels good.
Camel and donkey meat is a delicacy is this part of the cuntry, and donkeys actually do not do any work apart from sit pretty and get eaten, I am sure the Turkana would appalled to see the what other Kenyans, I am not naming names do with the poor animals, but at least they don’t eat them, they just steal to other people who eat them unknowingly.
Lastly the Turkana children must be the luckiest in the world, they get a siesta break from 1230om to 330pm because of the heat. Don’t we all wish every other school in Kenya was like that?
What has amazed me so far is the boat ride to Central Island on Lake Turkana, the island is amazing but boat ride makes the storm that Peter and rest of Jesus’ disciples were in seem like a joke, the whole time we were riding on waves, that is not funny especially if water keeps on getting in your boat and you have to frantically keep getting it out as well as the captain of the boat has to keep shuffling positions to maintain balance and prevent the boat from cup sizing. Only to get to the beautiful island swim near the shore of the Lake which should be infested with crocodiles apparently and head back to other side of the island on another scary ride.
Against all Odds
Mary ran towards the door excitedly, and opened it revealing a group of guests that were waiting for her to open the door.
“Come on in,” she ushered them in. “How have you all been?” They all hugged her and proceeded into the well-furnished house. Mary twenty six years of age had been born into a well to do family, her parents had brought her up well, they had instilled good Christian values in her, she attended the best schools and of course landed a well paying job. She was a Christian and valued her faith very much. Her friends looked around at the beautiful apartment they all felt jealous in a way. Mary’s attention turned to Alex, the man she happened to have a huge crush on and they exchanged smiles. She had always hoped that one day the smile would turn into something more.
“Is this a new coffee table?”
Mary’s gaze shifted from Alex and turned to Ciru, one of her best friends, whose hands were running over the smooth table.
“Came in yesterday,” she said proudly. “Looks great doesn’t it,”
Ciru turned to look at her.
“Of course,” was the response. “How much is it worth anyway”
Mary’s focused turned to Alex who was heading her way. Something about him made her weak. She felt attracted to him in every sense of the world. She breathed in nervously her gaze shifted back to Ciru who was still waiting for her response.
“Trust me,” she said jokingly. “A lot,”
Alex stood besides her and smiled. She was the tale of the brainy beautiful woman that every man wanted to bed. She was a successful educated young woman that every man would have liked to have by his side. All her friends were envious of her success and she was proud of her achievements. He could see the pride in her eyes, and from the way she looked at him, she knew it was only a matter of time before she gave in to her desires.
“Let the party begin,” Mary shouted as she pressed the button of her remote control to play the music. Soon every one was dancing, drinks were being passed around, everyone was happy.
“Congratulations, Madam,” Alex teased, only for her to laugh nervously.
“So, how does it feel to actually be called madam boss by the women and men in your office.”
“Well,” she started. “I am getting accustomed to it, but I am sure I will get used to it.”
He smiled and she blushed, that was the effect he had on women.
“We are all proud of you,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she said looking at Ciru who was dancing the night away with her boyfriend. Mary felt proud to have promoted to managing director. As she is being served her drinks she sighs contented, being successful definitely had it up side. All the people in the house had come because of her, because she had done something great with her life. She was proud of herself and as she looked admiringly at Alex she knew he would not be here if she was just any woman.
“Why don’t I show you around,” She offered.
“Lead the way,” he placed his half empty glass on the table nearby and followed her.
A few minutes later they are sitted on her bed talking. Mary and Alex both seemed happy.
“How’s work,” she asked.
“Great,” he said as picked up a magazine that lay on the bed. “But am on leave.”
She turned to look away Alex seized the opportunity and he placed his hand on her thigh, all over sudden she felt weak, everyone knew her as a strong woman but Alex always made her weak, he made her heart to melt away.
“You know, I have always had this deep feelings for you,” He got straight to the point. Mary did not know what to say. She tried to smile and tried to not be nervous she liked him too but she did not want to tell him that she felt the same way too.
“Why don’t we give ourselves a chance and see where all this leads,” he said as he moved closer to kiss her.
A few days later Mary was still in disbelief that she had unprotected sex with a man she hardly knew. As she stared at the computer blankly she tried to convince herself that it was okay, that she could not have contracted any disease from Alex after all, he seemed like a really good man. She had taken some morning after pills just to make sure she would not get pregnant.
She felt bad that she had forgotten her abstinence stand; she had decided not to go to church on Sunday. She could not face her parents and God after what she had done.
One year later Mary went for a routine check up, her doctor called her a few days later so that they could discuss the results. She was not worried until she entered the office and saw the expression on his face.
“Oh my God,” her heart almost missed her beat. “What if I have cancer,” she sat down not knowing what to expect. So many thoughts crossed her mind making her to be scared. She pulled out a chair and sat down. She looked at the doctor impatiently waiting for him to break the news to her. She could see he was struggling to find a way to break the news to her. She studied Doctor Maluto’s young face, he looked worn out and in shock Mary could not help but wonder what could have him so worried.
“I have the results of your annual medical check up,” he began as picked up her file from the corner of the table.
“What could be the problem?” her voice sounded shaky. “Am I going to die” do I have cancer.”
The room was filled with graveyard silence, for Mary the silence was deafening.
“Doctor Maluto,” she sounded desperate, “please do not keep me waiting.”
He breathed in, Mary had always been his model patient, how she had contacted HIV seemed like a puzzle that he never thought he was going to solve.
“Doctor!” her panic stricken voice brought him back to reality.
“Mary,” he looked at her. “ You need to calm down, everything is going to be alright.” He tried to reassure her.
She breathed in and waited for what he had to say in baited breath.
“When is the last time you had sex?”
The question caught her by surprise.
“Almost an year ago,” she shifted in her seat still surprised by the question. “Why”
Doctor Maluto went through her file. “I am sorry break this to you but…”
Mary cut him short. “I cannot be pregnant,” she dropped her handbag. “Doctor the last time I slept with a man was almost an year ago.”
Doctor Maluto understood that she was confused but he had to tell her.
“Mary,” he began, “ I am really sorry to tell you but you are HIV positive.”
Mary heart sunk. There was audible silence for the next few seconds as she tried to come to terms with that condition.
“I have Aids!” she had a zombie like look as she stood up and headed towards the window. “I have Aids! Doctor, how! Where and why.”
Doctor Maluto stood up and followed to the window. He placed his hand on her shoulder gently.
“You don’t have Aids,” He tried to tell, “HIV is the virus that causes Aids but it can be managed if you take good care of your self eat right exercise then you can lead healthy and normal productive life just like the rest of the people.”
“I have Aids,” his words fell on deaf ears. “ I am going to die.”
Doctor Maluto tried to reassure by telling her all there was to know about HIV/Aids its management, also about ARVS but she was not listening. She was in so much shock; Mary just turned and headed for the door. The doctor called after her but it was like if she was in a trance.
The days that followed were filled with tears and regrets; she refused to see any guests. She did not go to work. She cried over what her life was supposed to be, she felt like it was the end of the road for her. She felt like she had betrayed her parents, her friends, herself and God. At some point she went to her medicine cabinet, took out all the drugs that were there and took some water. There were over two hundreds pills that she wanted to swallow and die. But a knock at the door stopped her; she contemplated whether or not to open the door. Eventually she dragged weary and opened it. It was doctor Maluto. She ushered him in, Doctor Maluto was shocked to see that Mary had the same clothes she had worn earlier on the week when he had broken the news to her. He was determined to bring hope into her life.
“Can I offer you anything?” She asked not really sure if she had anything that was edible in her fridge.
“Maybe later,” he said.
He took out several cds, magazines and articles and placed them on the table.
“How are feeling?” he asked.
She shrugged. “ I don’t know, the best way to describe it is that, my feelings are as bad as my condition is.”
Her tone registered hopelessness.
“Mary,” he said, “I know it is not going to be easy, but you can beat it.”
He took one of the articles on the coffee table and for a moment it looked like he was reading it.
“I know that you are feeling really bad and hopeless and you are yet to accept your status, but Mary I have seen a lot of people in Kenya that have been diagnosed with HIV and they have still made it in life.” He tried to reassure her.
She took a pillow and held it tightly.
“But why me,” she broke into tears. “ Doctor I only did it once. Isn’t HIV supposed those who are promiscuous? I am not! I am decent girl; I have worked so hard in life. I only slept with him once why did I get it. I don’t understand.”
Doctor Maluto moved closer to her, he understood her predicament; he knew what she was going through.
“Mary, that’s the misconception that people have,” he enlightened her, “people do not contract HIV by sleeping with many partners, just having sex with one person is enough.”
“Only once ha,” she remarked. She placed the pillow down stood up and headed for the door.
“I thought I had everything, I had a good job, a loving family and great friends,” she said as she looked out the window.
“I thought I knew who I was, I was someone great,” tears continued to flow freely down her face. “ Now I know I am not.”
Doctor Maluto followed her to the window and took hold of her hand. “Anyone can get HIV.”
Mary looked into his eyes as if searching for answers. “How many people with HIV do you know that have made it I life. HIV is a cursed disease.”
He smiled. “My brother was diagnosed with HIV a few years ago, we all thought it was the end of the world.” He pulled her closer. “Five years down the line he is still as strong as ever and he is the CEO of Pata refineries. She seemed not to believe him at first.
“How did he do it?” she asked.
“He first accepted his condition, then he decided he was going to fight the stigma head on. He started taking ARVs and he went on to pursue his dreams.”
She moved closer to him. “My greatest fear is that my parents and friends will reject me.”
She confessed. “What do I do then?”
He smiled at her; Mary remembered when Alex had smiled at her. It had been out of lust but when Doctor Maluto smiled it was because he cared.
“I wont lie to you,” he told her. “Rejection will be there, but eventually they will accept you as long as you accept yourself. But it won’t be easy.”
“Thank you,” she said he wiped of her tears.
He had shown a ray of hope, he told her about counseling, ARV treatment, stigma and how to eat right. When he was about leave Mary could afford to smile.
“Mission Accomplished,” he joked.
“What!” she seemed shocked.
“I made you smile.”
That made her smile even more.
Over the next few days she spent them thinking about what he had said. She was amazed to read the story about a woman who had living with HIV for nineteen years. She went over the materials he had brought her and at the end of she felt as though she could do it. She could accomplish her dreams and she could live her life fully.
She broke the news to her family, they rejected her. Her father disowned her. Her mother felt like killing her. In her work place she was stigmatized, no one wanted to touch the same cup as Mary, but because of friends such as Doctor Maluto she remained strong. Mary found it funny that all her friends including Ciru that had pretended to care were nowhere to be seen.
On one particular Sunday she went to church in the company of Doctor Maluto. Most of the people avoided sitting near her, but it did not bother her.
“Don’t mind them,” he tried to make her feel better.
“Don’t worry,” she smiled. “He already forgave me and loves me just as I am.”
She said pointing upwards. Doctor Maluto stared in amazement. She had changed in such a short time. Mary learned to take her life in strides, one at a time.
“You know,” she said in a matter fact kind of way. “ I know that God wants me to educate the church about HIV. This is the place where everyone should run to and feel safe. As a Christian I am taking my stand against stigmatization of people already with the virus.”
“Count me in.” the doctor said, as he shoved her gently.
Mary spent a lot of her time learning about HIV and Stigma, just as she had worked hard in order to become managing director she was going to fight of the stigma and she was going to get her family back.
“The first time I seriously ever thought about HIV and Aids was when I was diagnosed with the virus.” Mary spoke at a seminar she had organized in her work place concerning HIV and Stigma in the workplace. “ I was ignorant about HIV because I knew I could not get it. I always thought that HIV was for only commercial sex workers and immoral people. I was a good church girl I knew it could not affect me. But what I have come to learn is that the line between staying HIV negative and becoming positive is really thin. HIV knows no professor or drunkard, every one is vulnerable we can all get HIV. All it took for me was just to sleep with a man once and I got it. I have learned a lot since then. Even though Alex has since passed on, I have forgiven him and I hope that he forgave himself too. Today all I want to do is encourage all of you to know your HIV status. If you are negative work on remaining negative if you are positive work on living positively.”
She looked around and saw Doctor Maluto listening to her keenly and a smile lit across her face.
“You know, at the end of the day we are all affected or infected by HIV/Aids. What I have learned from this experience is that I still have my life live and that I am allowed to keen on dreaming. I have decided I am not going to give up on my life. I was born to try and to believe in life no matter the circumstances. So you had better get to seeing my face for a long time to come.’
The room was filled with laughter.
“People with HIV/Aids face a lot of stigma in the world place they are shunned, gossiped about and treated as though they are not human beings,” she went on. “All this is because of the misconception that HIV can be contracted through touching or hugging or sharing food. It does not happen that way. All these are just but misconceptions. My hope is that if you know someone who is HIV positive you need to treat them with love and respect because at the end of the day if were are reduce the rate of HIV transmissions in the country then we the infected and affected must work together. Thank you.”
As she took her seat she hoped that she had gotten the message across. As the sat down the song by Delta Goodrem played in the background.
Born to Try by Delta Goodrem
Doing everything that I believe in
Going by the rules that I've been taught
More understanding of what's around me
And protected from the walls of love
All that you see is me
And all I truly believe
That I was born to try
I've learned to love
Be understanding
And believe in life
But you've got to make choices
Be wrong or right
Sometimes you've got to sacrifice the things you like
But I was born to try
No point in talking what you should have been
And regretting the things that went on
Life's full of mistakes, destinies and fate
Remove the clouds look at the bigger picture
And all that you see is me
And all I truly believe
That I was born to try
I've learned to love
Be understanding
And believe in life
But you've got to make choices
Be wrong or right
Sometimes you've got to sacrifice the things you like
But I was born to try
All that you see is me
All I truly believe
All that you see is me
And all I truly believe
That I was born to try
I've learned to love
Be understanding
And believe in life
But you've got to make choices
Be wrong or right
Sometimes you've got to sacrifice the things you like
But I was born to try
But you've got to make choices
Be wrong or right
Sometimes you've got to sacrifice the things you like
But I was born to try
Against all odds she was going to succeed, she was going to live her life fully. After all Delta Goodrem was right. “I was born to try.” That was exactly what she was going to do try and always believe in life. Her colleagues watched as she made her way to her seat. They gave her a standing ovation as she approached Doctor Malutu he stretched out his hands and pulled closely for a hug. Finally Mary had learnt the ultimate lesson of all, and that was to love, to love herself, to love her family even when they rejected, to love her friends that cared for her and to love a society that had branded her ‘not worthy.’
