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

AMKENI NDUGU ZETU…TUWE TAYARI KUILINDA

Terrorism: we can whine all we want but until we learn to play our part, I see no end to our whining except perfection of the whining skills. I am a lady and like most do, I sometimes carry the ‘see you on Monday’ handbag; it was, probably, given this name because it literally fits all the personal effects and clothes to last a lady of my caliber for a whole weekend! In fact, some comedians say that we ladies carry bottles of soda in these bags, besides our effects. The bags are self-contained; at this age where kidnapping among other evils is rampant, who knows, they can even be used to carry kidnapped babies not to mention an improvised grenade! But guess what? I have walked into malls, hotels, churches and many other places with a smile on my face. I would forgive the security guards if they said that ‘I do not look like a criminal’…or do you think I look like one? As a result, they all let me pass through their gates without the slightest worry of what I may be carrying. One day I joked with a guard, “Don’t you think I could be carrying a grenade?”I got a silly chuckle and ‘huwezi kuwa alshabaab’.

Well, it seems that a majority of us have not yet woken up to the realization that our country is wrestling with a faceless foe. The days when Alshabaab was identified with religion, shape of the head, and texture of the hair…are long gone. Kid me not that Alshabaab are from a specific religion or race. They are our own brothers and sisters, only that they are void of value for human life. They are our siblings who have lost hope in their own lives and the result is destroying the lives of other innocent ones. To them, killing you and me, sometimes even sacrificing themselves as suicide bombers could not be easier. They are frustrated young men and women who have succumbed to the difficulties of life and allowed themselves to be brainwashed by the radicals.

 I hereby put across my plea to us, sons and daughters of our motherland Kenya; it seems to me that we have become experts in this ‘euphoria’…when today dawns we claim to be one.  In fact, there comes an Alshabaab attack and we all gather in solidarity to donate blood to the victims. Another day dawns and shock on me when the nation’s security docket announces that we should adopt the Nyumba Kumi Initiative; due to our forgetfulness, we rubbish it! Woe unto us for the day we realize that our good brother is actually a criminal, that the boyfriend  I had for 5 years is a WANTED, that the neighbor who recently moved into the apartment next door is a ‘Sacramento Spirit’ or ‘Countryman’ manufacturer! I could go on and on…for the list of evils that are swallowing the lives of our countrymen is endless. They have reported severally that billions of shillings have been stolen by ghosts, other times we’ve heard that ghost workers were paid; the ghost rhetoric continues and may be, just maybe, someone expects us to think that it is these ghosts that boom and shoot at our people.

I say unto you, our motherland’s intelligence and security institutions remain just that if we do not join in the war and offer every support that we can. It is neither a one-man nor a single institution’s fight. The responsibility of raising an alarm, if we notice something sinister, is bestowed on us, we who don the skin of patriotism. We who proudly declare that our Land is Kenya have a pricey duty to guard our nation…notice bribe is small. The powerful slogans are but for a season and the blame game only helps to build higher walls, yet the criminal is already inside. Isn’t it ironical that even our religious leaders would ask for gun licenses? Does a four-wheeled car give the solution to bad roads?

My cry:

“Amkeni ndugu zetu ,  Tufanye sote bidii ,

Nasi tujitoe kwa nguvu ,Nchi yetu ya Kenya ,

Tunayoipenda,Tuwe tayari kuilinda.

Let’s live up to the phrases of our national anthem!

An Article by Sarah Makena

Co-founder of Ukabila Zi Society

Champion of 'My Sister's Keeper Project'