The Irony of Celebrating Peace

Peace!

 Being the country-side girl I am, from rural Eastern Kenya, I grew up not knowing either war or fear. As most of you may agree, growing up in the country-side is always fun due to the peace that reigns in those regions, well, at least most of the regions in Kenya, because as we know some parts of the country can be very volatile due to ethnic clashes among others. 

Growing up in the country-side is fun, the only fear you experience is that of darkness, chameleons, millipedes, and centipedes…well, this is not real fear because, for me, it would end as soon as I held the millipede by the neck and strangled it to death. But I feared chameleons, their ugly and bulging eyes that threatened to pop out of their sockets every time they saw me, coupled with their constant colour change especially when they stepped on the bark of a tree or on the soil. But did you know chameleons can be gorgeous, yes they can be very pretty, just like a bouquet of well assorted flowers; imagine a chameleon that steps on a bunch of yellow, pink, blue, and green flowers! You don’t want to know how such a chameleon can be colourful. That notwithstanding, I dread chameleons; do you remember the story about this old chameleon that stuck on a very beautiful girl’s head and refused to go away as it held on to the girl’s long and curly hair? Well I guess you know that when a chameleon sticks on your dark, long, and wavy hair, your uncle will have to shave it off. Now you know why as a young girl, growing up in the countryside, I feared chameleons. I also hated the fact that Cain disappeared into the darkness after disagreeing with God; hence, every day when darkness set in, I feared walking in the dark to avoid meeting with the gigantic and black Cain because I believed that he could strike me with his long sword! 

Darkness, chameleons, and millipedes aside, life was peaceful in the country-side. I knew not a word like war, terror, and militia to name but a few.  I knew not Mungiki, Alshabaab, Boko Haram, Alqaeda, and other threats to peace. Guns only became real to me as we sat for the Kenya Certificate of Primary Education examinations; I remember this day with nostalgia, not just because it was the day that marked the beginning of the person I am in terms of being a learned friend, but because it was also the first time I got to hold a gun. The policemen who had been deployed to our examination centre were very friendly; would you believe that they not only allowed us to touch the guns but also take photos with them holding the guns…ooh, how sweet memories flood my thoughts every time I hold my small, green, tattered album to see the photos I took those days!  Believe it or not, before this first encounter with guns, I only knew that guns existed in movies. Being the strict parent he is my dad would never allow us to watch movies, believe me when I tell you that we even had to watch TV with a pen and paper in our hands, just so we could write any vocabularies to use in those English essays. Surely dad, it did not have to be that serious…anyway I came out of it just fine…and watch this pace as I rewrite history. 

The world I lived in was a peace haven; so peaceful was it that the reality of clashes and election violence seemed like mere stories. The year 2007 came and I was old enough to feel the tension in the country. The reality of how dangerous this was going to be dawned on me when we got a new neighbor who had relocated from Eldoret. The country was burning, day in day out television channels showed demolished houses, many of which were razed down by fire. The sight of mass exodus as people ran away from the volatile regions, leaving behind everything they had worked to achieve for years, made me realize just how precious peace is. The effect was no different when I reported back to school in 2008 and found out that the only students who had reported back to school were from Meru region.  

No sooner had I gotten over the trauma of neighbors hacking each other to death, the word terrorism sneaked into my dictionary of life. People were being killed through improvised grenades in Wajir and Nairobi. The president could not stand to watch his citizens being killed like chicken and as a result Operation Linda Nchi was born; the KDF was determined to secure our country from what now had become a regular assault by Alshabaab. What followed after KDF’s entry into Somalia was a series of attacks and sacrifice of the lives of innocent men, women, and children. To this day, we live in deep fear; the other day our nation was on high alert as news spread like wild fire that there was a threat to attack major malls in Nairobi and Mombasa. I remember clearly on 9.21 when I decided to stay indoors after I received a security alert message via Whatsapp! Around the same time, our leaders and youths were preparing to celebrate the International day of Peace. I am very sure that majority of our leaders had actually been invited to various events to deliver keynote speeches on this day of peace. 

Personally, I was invited to attend the celebrations in one of Kenya’s public universities, which was organized by emerging leaders of the country. But even so, despite the invitation, I was reluctant to attend the celebrations. I felt there was nothing to celebrate; so many people were dying in the world over, with the recent example of war-torn Gaza and Ebola-struck West Africa.  I stand to be corrected if I am wrong by saying that majority of us do not know peace. How would I have peace, of mind and heart, when there are no jobs yet the cost of living keeps on sky-rocketing here in Kenya? How can a woman in Awasi celebrate peace if she has to trade her body for water? How can needy university students celebrate peace if they have to take to the streets in demonstrations for their Helb loans to be disbursed? Tell me; how I can celebrate peace if I go to the matatu stage and find our ma-three charging double the fare, from sh. 70 to sh. 150? Isn’t it ironical that we keep on celebrating the International Day of Peace world over, yet we barely experience the peace itself? 

I know I sound like a pathetic and hopeless citizen, but even so, I won’t deny it. Every day I get frustrated by the challenges that deny me the joy of having some peace. Believe me, I am not at all against this day of peace celebrations; however, there’s a disturbing concern that refuses to let go off my heart. The concern of what we achieve by spending lots of money and hours in celebrating a mere day instead of channeling those resources towards the building of peace itself. Our brothers and sisters, our children and grandchildren, have become so intolerant to diversity. But how would they learn about peace yet there is nothing like that in our schools’ curriculum? 

Dialogue after dialogue, conference after conference, celebrations after celebrations yet we never come up with tangible solutions. I challenge us all to work towards attaining that peace that we so much want to celebrate. They say peace is a state of the mind, and I challenge you to help your brother achieve it through your own little way. I look forward to a day when I shall walk in the dark without fearing to be attacked, a day I shall look at my neighbor from a different tribe without suspicion, a day I shall go to shop in a mall without thinking about a repeat of the scene at Westgate Terror attack…this day, I shall walk in the streets and declare that I am celebrating peace! 

Peace to you all!

An article by Sarah Makena

Co-founder Ukabila Zi Society

Just when shall we lose our tribal cocoons?

Tribal Cocoon

It’s been a long time, over 2 months since I penned an article. If it were a homecoming, I am sure you could have sung one of those ‘hodi…karibu’ songs from your place. What I do not know is where to start or what to say before what. A lot has happened; the much hyped SabaSaba rally  came and went, the presidential escort BMW was stolen and recovered…somewhere deep in Uganda, and the highlight of the series of dramas happening in Kenya was when Baba wa Taifa, Nyayo if you like, mkulima nambari moja, mwalimu nambari moja etc, turned 90. The irony of nature’s rewarding ability or do we call it nature’s forgiving heart? Oh, how I missed updating you on all these happenings! Anyway, I am back.
 

I thought that I had preached enough about the venom that is tribalism, before taking my well-deserved leave from writing. What grabs my attention and refuses to let go, is just how unconsciously and carelessly we keep spewing this poison. The cocoons that we conveniently run in to when we realize we have nothing else to be proud of but our sir names. It’s until the day Red Cross shall stop its services in Mandera, that we shall realize there’s a problem. Luckily, Abass does not give up that easily; however, we pushed him way far this time round. Sadly the Mandera killings do not seem to surprise anyone any more. It may be a matter of national concern, but we have seriously not thought about the misery of our brothers at the far north. 

In the Northern Kenya, two tribes do not seem to realize that there exists a word like peace in the dictionary of life. Needless to say, inter-clan clashes have become the norm; and if you are born in this part of Kenya, then you have to be literally born with a bullet in your palm, if not a gun. The thought of suffering women and children pierces my already troubled heart. Every so often, I read from the bible of Ukabila Zi Society, which preaches against negative ethnicity, and yes, it dawns on me just how unreal and impractical the verses could be. Well, this is my feeling because I still do not seem to understand why two tribes in the most remote part of Kenya could be fighting. These people do not seem to realize just how trivial an ideal it is to keep on holding on to their tribes. 

Exit Mandera clashes, enter Awasi women’s story! It’s a heart-breaking story of these women’s daily struggle to find water amidst the fear of being attacked and sexually harassed. For a moment, I thought that we would jam all the communication lines, media and other available channels as we called upon the Awasi leaders to account for their leadership responsibilities. Sadly, this was not to be…once again, I was disappointed as fellow Kenyans took the easier route, that of sliding back to their tribal cocoons! Easily as it has become, they called Julie all sort of names accusing her of hating on their tribe. As we were busy insulting this lady, who thought it best to highlight the plight of Awasi women, we forgot that she was just but a reporter, reporting the plight of these women as they had spoken to her, as usual we stoned the messenger!  For some, Julie had attacked a “tribe.” We failed miserably to stand up for our sisters in Awasi who exchange their bodies for water; instead, we sought to smear mud on Julie who has no water problems…very sad!

To all those tribal fanatics out there, “Kenya Ni Jina, Nchi Ni Mimi Na Wewe!”

An article by Sarah Makena
Co-founder: Ukabila Zi Society

POINTING YOUR FINGER AT THE GOVERNMENT? FOUR FINGERS POINT AT YOU!

The site of news papers, the internet images is appalling! It shocks my eyes and causes my heart to freeze. The images of lifeless bodies, badly mutilated, some lying in pools of blood, others lying on the soil without any cover; in their birth-suits, which reveal deep and gaping cuts, some on the head, the neck, and God knows where else. I take a look at one lifeless body in the foreground and all I can see are holes…big holes on a human body! Two of the bullet holes are on the stomach and they seem to gaze at me, probably they are seeking permission from me to spill off the contents of this victim’s belly! The more I continue staring at the holes, the more they threaten to spill off the beans and ugali that this victim had just eaten, yesterday, before the cruel attackers came baying for his blood. By now, my heart is angrily racing and I can hear the sounds of thump! Thump! Thump! It’s hard to believe that these despicable acts happened somewhere in Kenya, my beloved motherland, my haven, the place where I fondly call home; where even as I travel to other countries in our continent, I will always remind my friends that I am from Kenya, the land that I have always sworn to love and protect.

For a second, the memories of the love I have for my motherland, the memories of the many occasions during which I have declared that Najivunia Kuwa Mkenya, flood my thoughts. It escapes my mind that these brutal attacks happened in Mpeketoni Kenya, to be specific. This town is almost 700 kilometres from the capital city of our nation. However, the newspaper seems to have brought the Mpeketoni town to the city; thanks to the cameraman because I feel like the incidents happened at my doorstep! I now realize how wrong I am when it dawns on me that Mpeketoni is actually a town in Lamu, one of Kenya’s Islands. My realization is worsened by the fact that I have relatives (blood or not), from my mother’s home, who went to live in Lamu, Mpeketoni, over twenty years ago. Twenty years ago, Lamu had vast and unoccupied lands; hence, due to congestion of the land at home, my relatives, led by my aunt who fondly called me ‘mum’, vacated our land in Meru and went to live in Mpeketoni. It’s so difficult for me to come into terms with the fact that my relatives could actually be victims, maybe the lifeless body lying in a pool of blood in the back ground is that of my cousin Mugendi (translated to mean traveller). A cloud of anger and sadness engulfs me, drops of tears escape my eyes; immediately, I close the newspaper and throw it away into the dustbin, I bite my lower lip and swear that I will never want to see such sites as long as I live.

I have become sick and tired of this bloodshed! The other day, we experienced an attack on the Westgate Mall, which lies at the heart of our country’s capital; despite the fear and heartbreak it caused me after realizing that I only escaped death by a whisker, I penned down a request to all of us, proudly Kenyan, to unite, pray, and protect our country. I did not know, then, that calm would only last for a few months. In just so few a month, it seems that something happened to Nchi yetu ya Kenya, Tunayo ipenda, Tuwe Tayari kuilinda…What happened to the declarations that we always made since our baby school days, those that we recited with the help of our national anthem, to love and protect our motherland? Somebody please tell me, has it just become another line in the most common song in Kenya? Probably, we should amend it, accept and move on…like we all seem to agree! Imagine if you woke up and found that 50 people; your friends, neighbours and their friends, all from one locality have been slain in cold blood. How about if you woke up to go to the nearby kiosk and found 50 bodies lying on the road, lifeless and bearing deep cuts, with dried blood on their foreheads, probably with their tongues stuck out …ouch! Would you ever sit down to eat or would you always be reminded of the incident? The sound of it is unbearable; yet, this is a real experience for someone sitting in Mpeketoni. The mothers have to figure out a whole new way of life, how to feed and educate their children. Their peaceful and calm lives have changed, just like that!  

What happened to the quiet country that I once knew? Are we back to the nchi ya kitu kidogo days? Haven’t we lost our patriotism? Did I hear them say that someone slept on their job? Couldn’t something have been done to save us from the ugly incident? Dialogue we sang and forgot that there was an enemy staring at us; the monster grasped the chance and hit us right below the belt, where it hurts most! We failed to guard our borders and let the enemy in with a smile. We watched the World Cup and forgot that a dirty game was playing right outside our doorsteps. Our hunting game almost failed and for a moment we became the hunted! Our country’s security is not negotiable. We are gambling with it and woe unto us because we are losing big time. I pen down this with bitterness because I believe that neither the President nor the security Minister failed us...rather, we failed ourselves! We kept complaining and forgot that guarding the nation is a collective responsibility. Do not be quick to judge me; I have not lifted the blame off our government.  However, remember that as they travel in hammered vehicles, we walk by faith; as they shield themselves with electric fences; we shield our vulnerable selves with walls that are so weak that even jackals can bring them down!

            So what now my fellow countrymen; the time is now for us to take the bull by its horns; a time to play our part by guarding our souls and beautiful motherland; a time to stop the blame game, the finger-pointing yet criminals remain at large. Haven’t we shed enough blood and tears already? Now I say to us countrymen, go ye forth in peace and prayer…love, shield, and protect your brother and nation. Ulinzi unaanza na mimi, ulinzi unaanza na wewe!

BY Sarah Makena,

Co-founder Ukabila ZI

IN THE ‘MOONLIGHT’ AT MOONLIGHT CENTER

 It is one of those Mondays full of blues, when opening your eyes and waking up takes ages, when you curse being an employee and wish you listened to the entrepreneurship lecturer at the University, who always reminded you to aspire being self-employed! Today, I would rather be in bed than work. That must have been a very long weekend, in fact I am still hanging-over from the intense activities and experiences of the weekend; it was one full of emotions and now I realize how it took a toll on me. I need to slow down!

A glimpse in to what happened over the weekend at Moonlight Center. This is an academic center located in one of Kenya’s slums; at Dagorreti to be specific. The Center is named ‘Moonlight’ because, like the moon, it is actually a source of hope and light to the slum’s children, who have been deprived off access to education by the cruel fate of poverty. It is at the center that these boys’ and girls’ hope for a better tomorrow, which can only be shaped through education, is restored. Indeed it is a real ‘moonlight’ since the girls not only get access to education but also get solutions to some of the shameful ‘periods’ of their life that diminish their hope of ever becoming women of substance in our societies. Indeed, periods of  shame threaten the girl education in other schools within Kenya’s slums; however, through the partnership of Moonlight Center and Ukabila Zi Society, in a project dubbed My Sisters’ Keeper, the girls at Moonlight center can comfortably stay and concentrate in class all year round without missing classes due to ‘periods of shame’! 

On this Saturday, Moonlight Center was holding a prayer retreat session. It was a time to reflect on the favors that God has done for me, a time to count my blessings one by one; initially they appeared trivial to me, but when I started comparing the privileges I have had in life with what those students at Moonlight Center and its environs lack, it dawned on me just how mega the blessings were. If you have been to a slum, then you know too well how to appreciate the things that seem rather trivial to us; in fact, you appreciate what many ignore and assume it is normal. I immediately sank in to a thankful mood; I held a moment with my heart to give gratitude to God for His abundant grace and blessings in my life. I had time to thank God for my life and reflect on the favour of God. Later, a time came when we were allowed to mingle and share with the students in an attempt to offer them inspiration and hope that says “The circumstances of our past and of our parents do not determine our future!” I took time to hang out with people who should may be just sit and feel sorry for themselves; but no they smile and have fun, they live as a community with love, peace, and unity. 

These young people would make even the greatest of humans to sit and think about their lives a little more seriously. Probably I do not make sense to you, but relax, by the time you read this to the end; I will definitely have made sense to you! Imagine spending time with a people that have literally nothing to their names, but guess what? These same humans hunger and thirst for education. They are early in the classroom and leave at dusk; as darkness sets in, they have no option but to carry their tattered school bags home since the lanterns only make their eyes to strain the more. Their hope is that they will be able to compete with Starehe and Alliance; despite the fact that the lack of science laboratories seems to dwindle their hopes, they remain tenacious that some day it shall be true. They dare to dream that someday, just maybe, they will surmount their current adversaries to compete with the rest of their peers in the country, the continent, and the world at large. 

My interaction with these secondary school students made me to realize just how much we have been focusing on issues of lesser necessity, forgetting the basics that would otherwise go a long way in solving the bigger issues at hand. We rush to fight insecurity by putting in place extravagant measures yet forgetting to solve the cause…we are keen on curing the disease before diagnosing it and coming up with preventive measures. When shall we ever focus on the cause and symptoms? Many children in the slums do not go to high school. The fee is out of their reach and for many; it is what can last them for a lifetime.  You may wonder, then, where such children go to after primary school. Sadly the statistics of child prostitution, drug abuse, and robbery with violence, among other evils, hold the answer. Kid you not be, that these evils do not happen in Kenya; a visit to Kibera, Kenya’s largest slum says it all, I dare you to collect the statistics! 

He, who robs you of your handbag, robs of your money and car at gun-point, your expensive phone, may be just one of those children who we have chosen to ignore. The seemingly unending struggles of the day, with not a streak of light at the end of the tunnel, make them to succumb to the crimes; they have no food on the table but they have to eat! The “srikal saidia” and “Tunaomba srikal aingilie kati” phrases no longer appeal to me. I have a brain and two hands; don’t get me wrong, everyone does, but the difference is how we utilize these vital organs. In the same society, there are those who would really want to utilize their vital organs but need someone to hold their hand, someone to show them how to fish, someone to give them the fishing line…after which, they will go to the waters and fish. This is the case for most of the people in our slums. It is upon us, the haves, to take up collective responsibility as “wenye nchi”. Handouts will just be good for the day; otherwise, the generic problems will keep on growing. Education is a crucial fishing line in life, that’s why I am part of something big!

I am part of #15000KENYANSFORMOONLIGHT.

An Article by Sarah Makena,

Co-founder Ukabila Zi Society,

Champion of My Sister’s Keeper Project.

THE WATSONS GO TO BIRMINGHAM

Thanks to GOTV… there being no Citizen TV, I decided to catch a movie during one cold evening. A young family, living in a small town, had decided to visit their maternal grandmother in Birmingham. The family had never been to Birmingham and the children were exited to finally see their mother’s hometown. Mum was, however, not eager to go to her home town. Had things changed? Was this place secure for her family? There being reports of protests in the small town, was it really a good idea to expose her children? These were the questions that run through the young mother’s mind. Despite the excitement, the family had an eleven hours long journey to travel.

Birmingham was not any small a town. It was the centre of racism. Identity was equated to the color of one’s skin. The racial victimization was rampant in schools, churches, movie theaters, and other places of gathering. Clear boundaries were set, boundaries between blacks and whites, boundaries marked with color…skin color to be precise. The Watsons were not spared from this madness! Gaining access to a high-end restaurant was a nightmare; after all, posh things were meant for the whites while the less attractive things were left for the blacks. One would question this, but doesn’t black represent evil, bad, backward, darkness, and primitivism? The Watsons faced it rough for a mistake not of their own…they could not enter movie theaters, they were black. A classic example that not all consequences are as a result of the choices made!

The nightmares had just begun tormenting what was supposed to be an enjoyable visit to Birmingham by the Watsons. A young Watson had gone to a nearby church for the Sunday school Bible study session. She had left behind the remaining Watsons as they listened to grandma’s stories. Suddenly, the news spread like a bush fire despite the fact that people talked in hushed tones. Some rejoiced, they were happy, but in the midst of this confusion, were the Watsons. The news hit them hard like a snowball, they could not bear it, and they could not believe it. The church had been razed down by a fierce fire lit by some villains. They crossed their fingers; some thumped their chests as they frantically made signs of the cross on their foreheads. 

Who could have been so cruel to burn down young innocent children? Did the young souls even have an idea that there was a beast called racial segregation? Tens of angelic souls were lost to the blazing fumes, not to mention the lives of parents, guardians, and good Samaritans who had rushed to the scene to save their children. Thank goodness! Young Watson had survived the ugly incident, he had escaped by a whisker, the short-call relief had saved his young soul, but he lived to tell the story, of soldiers… white soldiers who torched the church.

My heart froze, it shed tears before they could reach the eyes, they were too much for it to contain.  It dawned on me, then, that racism and tribalism knew not age, gender, profession, and social standing. The color of our skin is not a choice but a chance, the language we speak is socialization.

A message to my fellow countrymen, ‘we never miss the waters until the river runs dry.’ Hate poisons the soul, tribe is all in the mind, and culture is a lifestyle. My brothers, “PEACE!” 

By. Sarah Makena,

Co-founder Ukabila ZI