the story of wananchi and wenyenchi
Posted by Social Matters , Thursday, February 20, 2014 11:42 AM
THE
STORY OF ‘MWANANCHI’ AND ‘MWENYENCHI’
For the longest time ever I was
fascinated by the TV commercial that ended with the phrase ‘Nchi ni wewe!’ not just me but my little niece as well, you could
never get a word past talkative little Sherrie until that commercial started
and her big brown eyes lit up as she watches in excitement and anticipation, I
doubt she understands what it all means, but the way the voice of the child
echos ‘nchi ni wewe!’ They do it with
power and finality and so much passion, it always gets to me. I found it so
true, I used to brag that ‘mimi ni
mwenyenchi!’ and correct all the other common wananchi as they commonly
refer to themselves, until my grandfather who should have been among the
wahenga or the wise Englishmen, sold me a different perspective. You see, my
guka, a wise man who only managed to go to school after the struggle for
independence of which he was a part off, a freedom warrior, who will never be
celebrated but the stories of how they hid in forests and caves separated from
their loved ones I will never forget, maybe I should write a memoir in honour
of my grandfather, that way I will force everyone to somehow remember him and
then maybe one day children will read about him in schools and be mesmerized by
his heroism and intrigues in the struggle for independence and proclaim ‘indeed he was true Kenyan hero!’. Whenever I visited that old village, dusty
yet ever green, I can still see the old caves, and that old tree that guka says
hold great stories. Now if only trees could talk, they could help me write the memoir
for my grandfather, not only that, they could help me see the lost story of an
entire generation.
‘There
are two types of Kenyans, mwenyenchi and mwananchi.’ Guka corrected
me.
He was in the city for treatment for his
arthritis, it was really hindering his mobility, and after noticing that we
really loved the television ad he decided to chime in.
‘Guka,’ I thought he
was wrong, maybe he was growing old and though he was educated even though it
was much later in his life. ‘Mwananchi is
a bit offensive, it needs to be struck off the kamusi for good.’ I felt
energized and self belief filled my young heart. ‘We are wenyenchi, we hold the power to change and make this country
better.’
Guka laughed in a cynical manner. ‘Well said, though I’d wish all that energy
that you speak in can be channeled to better use for instance farming.’
Mother laughed, as she woke up from her
slumber, before falling asleep again, she knew, I hated farming with passion.
‘Before
independence my heart was filled with such hope.’ Guka
continued, though he was in his nineties his voice still commanded power. ‘We dreamt of a new Kenya where we were
wenyenchi and not the wananchi…I am still waiting for that day.’ His voice
trailed off, dead but filled with hope, disappointment but never regret.
‘Mwananchi
fought to liberate this nation from colonialism but mwenyenchi is enjoying the
fruits of our struggle, of the blood that we shed, of the lives that were
lost.’
He stopped to see who was listening.
Mother was now fast asleep, father was
now brushing his teeth and would soon ask us to stop what we were doing and
pray. Muthoni was busy watching her favourite soap opera. Guka was a man of
many storied, he is a Njamba nene indeed, after the struggle for independence
was over he enrolled for gumbaro school.
‘Have
you ever appeared on the popular TV news segment of ‘who owns Kenya’?’ Guka asked.
I shook my head no.
‘Then
you are a mwananchi.’
He laughed.
I almost laughed. Guka was watching too
much TV but he was right, wenyenchi are the rich, powerful people who own the
country literally, every once in a while they indulge in a little CSR,
cooperate social responsibility you know for the common mwananchi.
‘Wananchi are the poor masses, the
people classified in voting blocs, the masses that queue for eight hours so
that they can elect their man who at times can be a wenyenchi, wananchi are
rarely voted in, after all they do not have enough money to give handouts to their
fellow wananchi. My friend Ng’ash and I are hustlers in other words ‘wananchi.’ You see that’s the
difference, a mwenyenchi when you ask them how life is, they reply ‘life is good’ but for the wananchi the
response is ‘tunasukumana na maisha,’ or
‘tunahassle.’ God forbid you find a
mwenyenchi riding in a probox or a pick up.
Wananchi line up for hours so that they
can receive meager hand outs from wenyenchi, a kifunga macho that cannot see
them through the next meal, and in exchange for their votes they sign their
death sentence. Wananchi are the people who will foolishly tear each other on
the basis of tribal affiliations, on the basis of ‘our man’ the wenyenchi. Wananchi
are driven around in public service vehicles owned by wenyenchi. Wananchi are
cursed to spend the rest of their lives in queues, at the bank (especially those wananchi banks, you know
them, the one you queue for hours only to be served by a cashier who is rude to
you because you are a mwananchi), at the hospitals, bus stops, elections
queues, it is his fate to stand under the sun for hours.
Being a mwananchi means that your
children are affected by teachers strikes, it also means that when doctor’s go
on strike and your relative is sick, it may be the end of the road for that
person. After a hotly contested elections as the mwananchi fights and kills
fellows like him, wenyenchi calmly leaves the country with his children.’
‘That’s
why they save their money in foreign banks.’ Muthoni chimed in.
Guka and I stopped; shocked that Muthoni
was listening to our conversation.
‘Ok
I am back to watching to TV.’ Her eyes moved quickly back to the
television set.
‘Mwananchi can be likened to a young man
waiting for his parents to die so that he can inherit the land, and at times
parents take a long time before they decide to leave this world at times
leaving the young man in despair since it was all he was living for.’
‘Hint!
Hint!’
Muthoni cut guka off again.
‘What
is your problem?’
I asked her.
‘I
am just saying.’
She responded sarcastically. ‘Happy to be
a girl child.’
‘Wenyenchi
shop in malls.’
Muthoni said jokingly. ‘Wananchi work in
those malls.’ She started laughing. ‘And
I am not talking about you Kimani, you don’t sell anything, you just hand out
pamphlets to wenyenchi as you try to sell products you may never own in your
life.’
I just rolled my eyes.
‘Mwenye
nchi snacks on pizza, M&Ms, Prickles,’ she seemed to be enjoying herself.
‘While mwananchi snacks on sugar canes,
ground nuts za five bob, and KSL’s.’
‘Mwananchi
struggles to secure a student visa to further their education, but Mwenyenchi
and his children enter and leave the country as they wish. For Mwenyenchi he
works less hours but makes more money, while Mwananchi works more for less.’
Guka got up to leave. ‘Mwananchi struggles to make just enough
money to see his children through school, he toils in vain, he acquires degrees
and masters but he never comes close to earning what Mwenyenchi does, his
fortune increases, he is rewarded with jobs that he does not need, he is paid
more than the ordinary mwananchi, yet he works less and does not need the job
anyway.’
‘See.’ Muthoni got up
as the credits went up on her favourite soap. ‘I told you.’
She took her very fat novel and started
walking out of the sitting room. ‘Nchi si
wewe!’
‘That
my grandson is the story of mwananchi and mwenyenchi.’ Guka said as he
walked towards the kitchen. ‘You can try
and bridge the gap, you can decide where you want to be but they will never be
equal, you are either a mwananchi or a mwenyenchi.’
‘Time
for prayer!’ dad
announced as he came back in the living room.
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