PurelyEloquent

I am aware that continuously writing of the struggles of Kenya is both tedious and overwhelming. So I do try and insert so humor when I can. However, this is one of the most eloquent articles I have ever read and it bears publishing all over the planet. Though it pertains to displaced people in Kenya, no one could fail to see the relevance in most countries and in most politicians anywhere in the world. Please take a minute to read this. It comes from today's Nation.

NEWS

New crown won’t glitter till we settle IDPs

Story by BURI EDWARD
Publication Date: 3/30/2008

Kenya seems to be back to business as usual, but we are mistaken – there is business unusual. That there are fellow citizens still living in the unhomely camps whose hope of accessing their homes is like a candle in the wind is something we cannot wish away.

That they are stranded with no sure plans of what to do or where to go disturbs any sober mind. These are our brothers and sisters, a majority of whom are innocent victims of our greed and hatred.

In the rhetoric of the majority of our leaders, love is a rare word and when love is mentioned, it is political love. Political love is at its height when the people are being wooed for votes. It is a kind of love characterised by leaders masquerading as “men of the people” while they really seek to be “mean to the people.”

They fake emotions that appear as a deep attachment to the people and their issues. They enact a plastic care, promising a never-happening revolution in the standards and quality of life. Naturally, the revolution happens in theirs.

Political love endears people strictly to the extent that there is power to be gained. People are the tool, the staircase to power and more power. After the desired power is pocketed, people can be conveniently discarded to be recycled at a later date.

Political love manages the loyalty of the conquered by releasing to them strategic tokens. These tokens appear in the name of development projects and donations. Their core intention is less to better the lives of the constituents but more to favourably manipulate the constituents’ endorsement for the next round the politician will need a dose of more power. Political love is an orchestra of deceptive power-hunting tunes.

The displaced and homeless people are victims of political love. To the politicians, they are now of little value since they were simply a step in the process of gaining power. They were the tools used to forge power. Now with power already gained, the “tools” can be ignored.

What is there to be gained by draining energies towards them? They are secondary. The primary concern of the triumphant winner is charting the path for building their wealth. The parliamentarian’s favourite book right now is ‘‘How to Build an Empire in Five Years.’’

A passionate write-up on ‘‘Building The Post-election Violence Victims a Home’’ is a luxurious distraction. On a good day, the homeless will get some bales of maize flour and some blankets from the empire’s charity kitty. Surely, do we expect God the giver of life and rain to overlook this immorality?

Should the internally displaced persons mutate their expectations of being supported by the government from a possibility to an illusion? Should they take an indefinite deferment of their hope as the modus operandi?

Should they start to conceive the camps that shelter them now as their new “ancestral” homeland from which they can map their future ventures? All along, we have viewed the displaced persons as people with mouths to eat, so we give them lots of food. But they are people with mouths to speak as well. Shall we let them have our food and deny them our ears?

As they narrate the heartrending, news-making horror they have experienced and the trauma they are undergoing, should we not publicise their daring dreams as well? Surely, they are not to remain helpless and desperate so that we can run to them when we need to exercise our sense of sorry. We have sympathy for them, but we must also give them our empathy.

It seems the further we advance in our political union, the more we are forgetting the status of the displaced. The more peace increases and facilitates our daily businesses, the less our awareness of the “peacelessness” of those living in the reality of losing a home and family with little or no possibility of having it back

The political situation is changing for the better, and this is changing our compassion for the worse. Our eyes are now tuned on our prosperity and any thought of the displaced is an unnecessary and entangling weight.

While the sharing of cabinet posts is a critical demonstration of the sincerity of our political union, the resettling of the internally displaced souls is the true litmus test for the sincerity of our repentance. One may ask, “What repentance?” It is repentance for our active and passive participation in the sacrifice of innocent blood at the altar of our political ambitions and greed for control.

Flashy limousines

Or are the displaced being dismissed as a necessary sacrifice? Or should the dead not be our concern? Should the traumatised be passed over as an unavoidable occurrence? That we spot the victims of our own errors lying on one side of the road and we resignedly opt to pass on the other side questions the authenticity of our humanness. Tinting the windows on our flashy limousines so that our eyes do not confront the stories told by the destroyed structures and scorched lands is immoral.

A critical jewel in the crown of this forming government will be homing the displaced people. The word “homing” is used here deliberately to point out that resettlement is more than the simplistic telling the people to pack their thin bags and go back to their lands.

Homing here carries the weight of reinstitution -- bringing the persons as close as possible to the pre-election state. Resettlement is more than identifying a peace of land and dumping the homeless there to eke out their survival. It is a work on our hands that must be done intensely and effectively. The other victims are dead, and it seems we are abandoning the living to die.

Abandoning these victims to suffering would be a loud siren that we have learnt nothing at all about the value of community. As we step into the possibilities of the new Kenyan dawn, one key way to demonstrate that we are coming to our senses is attending meticulously to the living.

If our political, economic and religious institutions do not urgently render genuine and active love to these souls, the crown of this new era will never glitter.

Buri Edward is a Nairobi theologian and a religious minister.

SpaceSuckers

There is a phenomenon that has gotten way out of hand;I call it the space sucker. It is impossible to miss them since they exist all over the place. They are in malls, driving cars, walking on the streets, practically everywhere you would like to be, but can't because they are sucking up space. I have different categories which I think you will recognize as all too familiar.

Cell Phone Dum Dum. These folks walk along the street yacking away. They think they are in their own living room. Totally oblivious to anyone around them the saunter, sway, switch directions and in general never see anyone anywhere. They are so intent on their conversation that they will literally walk into you and then give you the evil eye as if you should have warned them. I am not going to put flashing lights on my running suit for inside a mall to avoid the Dum Dum's. I have also decided what's really fun to do is to halt and just as they are about to crash into you yell really loudly, in my best Steve Martin voice "Well excuuuuuse me!" and watch them jump. Scares the crap out of them and give me a smile.

Dual Lollipops sometimes known as Triple Lollipops Ok these folks are amazing. Spring seems to be a fertile breeding ground for them. These lollipops form an impenetrable link spanning an entire sidewalk or the entire space in a mall. They may even hold hands, making one feel like it's Red Rover time and wanting to bust through them Again, deep in conversation, love, or gossip, it makes the lone walker have to take kamakazee tactics to get anywhere. Sometimes I am driven to have to walk into the street to pass them, because they just don't hear me. I've thought about screaming something like "Make way I'm going to be sick" to see what happens. But the problem with that plan is that if you don't hurl pretty quickly they will just get pissy. They have an enormous sense of entitlement, just like the Dum Dum's.

The All Day Sucker I think I hate these folks the most. They carry several weapons to suck space at the same time. They are either driving a car or a stroller. If it's a stroller, then it's usually 2 nannies with double wide strollers or 1 nanny double wide and cell phone. No matter what they suck up entire streets. Frequently they don't speak English and are indignant if you speak your native tongue to them. I've thought about adressing them in Swahili just to see what they would do. It might be more positive. But the greatest menace is the Cell phone SUV driver, the academy award winner of space sucking and definitely the greatest menace to a pedestrian. Not only do they drive hideously huge cars sucking up our natural resources, but they are incessantly on the cell phone, which requires that they make HUGE turns (because they are only using one hand and can't control their monster car too well) making pedestrians jump in terror.

I haven't really totally figured out what to do with space suckers, but I think I'm going to get an air horn and hook it to my belt. Seems to me it will be effective and besides, I like to see space suckers jump.

ToHaveAndHaveNot

I read the Kenyan papers every day. I like to keep up with what Kenyans are reading. A couple of interesting stories I’ve been following are the scandal about the Secondary Exams and the desire to get tourists back.

Education in Kenya is only partially free. Primary schools don’t charge admission, but to go to a really good one, with say books and windows, parents must pay fees. And often the fees are more than a parent makes in a year. All children must wear uniforms as well, and this is also not covered by the “free education”. You can tell the wealthy kids because they have snappy uniforms and have a couple sets of them. The poorest kids, like the ones from our program, have one tattered uniform and never any shoes. But the real deal on education over there is the exams that happen at the end of primary school (KPCE) and the end of secondary school (KCSE). These are one-shot deals. Kids study for months, and from the scores on these tests their futures are decided. Furthermore there is great competition between the schools to have the highest scorers. So of course, there is cheating. And now it’s gotten so out of hand for secondary school that results are being recalled, kids who thought they got fantastic scores and were preparing to go to X school now are not sure. There’s even a huge national scandal and investigation.

It’s the all or nothing attitude that is hard for Americans to understand. Schools are free for most of the kids here, and the pricey private schools let the kids take the tests a few times before they accept them or turn them down. Heavens knows how many times a kid can take an SAT score before it counts. For Kenyan kids it’s one shot and it decides where they will either go to secondary school or if they will go to University.

The other story I’m following is the push for tourism. Bear in mind that I also talked to Charles this week that informed me we lost the head of our Business Review Board. Seems he fled with his wife who was of a different tribe. Not safe to stay in Nambale it seems. He was reluctant to tell me; again it’s that economy of truth.

So it seems that Naomi Campbell is touring Kenya: Malindi to be exact. That’s a lovely resort town with beautiful beaches. She was touring with an entire entourage and a couple of MP’s. You’ll be pleased to know that she feels it’s quite safe in Kenya and that it’s just like it always was. Yeah, and who’s going to shoot her up with a bunch of body guard and MP’s to say nothing of the fact that she’s not the enemy. Funny how rich folks view the world, and the super rich are the best cuz they come with all kinds of folks with them. They also don’t tend to go where there is violence unless they planned it and have tons of guards around them. Except if you’re Hillary Clinton….oh yeah that was a misstatement, she wasn’t really shot at in Bosnia.

I’m returning to Kenya in May. I’m thinking that much of the killing has settled down. But I’m not stupid; it’s still not safe. No country is safe when there is so much poverty, disease, hunger, and imbalance of power. Go over there from a wealthy nation and just being there is a risk. Why shouldn’t it be? I’ve got more stuff than they do and if they could sell my stuff they could feed their family. Duh! I’ve gotten robbed before, no big deal. Besides my homeowner’s insurance took care of it. See, that’s how our world works. The have’s get reimbursed and the have-nots have not.

Happy Spring

MyFamilyArePsychiatricLemmings

Ok,I'm off to the motherland tomorrow for a wedding.
And after that it is time for the annual physical with my hopelessly young
primary care doctor. Every year we go through the same thing about the hormones I take (given by my older and wiser gyn guy). I know when I see her, she will once again ask me if I am aware of the risks, and once again I will reiterate that I come from a
long line of psychiatric lemmings and the hormones plus the anti-depressants keep me from jumping of a cliff. She just doesn't seem to get that. Though she is fascinated by the family history. I do hope I'm around when she goes through menopause.

Suicide in my family is an art form and hasn't skipped a generation is so many that I can't count that high. Great grandaddy hung himself, so my grandmother used to say we don't talk about rope in our family. Grandmother did a poor job of overdosing and took 4 days to die. See we're psychiatric lemmings and I used to be really embarrassed about it. Frankly I've been looking at cliffs since I was 11.

If you've ever seen the movie "Cookie's Fortune" you can meet my entire family and I mean the entire family. The reason they made that movie is because southerners definitely tend to have psychiatric lemmings in their family, we just lie about it. However our more quirky relatives who don't kill themselves we invite to family parties and talk about after they leave.

One of my male cousins definitely won the award for both steadfastness and creativity. He really won the Oscar for suicide. He tried first in college (he went to H----d which just goes to show you H------d educates but it doesn't cure). He was asked to leave that august institution. Then he went to another fine university, went to law school but was planning his out from the get go. So when he moved to NY city to pursue his career he moved to a high rise from which he flung himself out the window. Unfortunately he did it with such vigor and he only did it from the 3rd floor that the
other buildings broke his fall. After an excruciating recovery and a good deal of therapy he got back to work. Now it takes a lemming to know a lemming and I kept telling my family he would do it again, but it's that rope thing. So sure enough 5 years later, he got a much higher condo and finished the deed.

Now I am a recovering lemming. Don't get me wrong, I like looking over the side of the roof on my 6 story building when I get a little spunky, but I take this great medication that helps me back away from the ledge. So here's the real bind. Female lemmings do not like to be fat or even remotely overweight. Anti-depressants and being 60 tend to do that. (That itself is a hideously funny joke. Why would they create a drug that would help with depression but make you gain weight if you're a woman or lose your erection if you're a man? Aren't you depressed enough to be taking the medication that you don't need to add to your troubles? Another blog I promise) So this lemming had to make the decision: Cliff? Weight? Cliff? Weight? Cliff? Weight? ok so I went for the weight, but I swear if my primary care doc makes one mention of the 15 lbs I've gained this year, I'm gonna shove her off the cliff and make her an honorary lemming.

Well, gang I'm off to celebrate the wedding. The site is on a cliff, but I don't want to jump anymore.I'll just enjoy the view.

HittingHome

I allowed myself the idea for a couple of days that things were improving in Kenya. The "economics of truth" that my friends employ when sending me emails or talking to me on the phone I understand. They so want me to come home. And indeed I will. Yes I have my visa for Uganda and then I can buy a Kenya visa at the border. But the Rift remains a dangerous place, a place of anger and hatred simmering and boiling over leaving people terrified or worse dead. You know you've hit the big time when the Washington Post devotes 3 pages to it.

It hurts actually. I have friends in all the tribes. Would my kikuyu friends really want to kill my Luhya and Luo friends? And the jokes each tells about the other, do they really mean it. Evidently the answer is yes. The inequalities and the land grabbing have been endured long enough for people to develop an anger so acute that it doesn't look like there's any turning back.

One of my Kenyan sisters will never trust the Kikuyus again. And some of my kikuyu friends fear the Luhyas and won't go into their lands. I could tell you more, but the Washington Post has done a bang up job so I figure you should read it from them. It's all sadly true. There is no exaggeration here. Trust me I know.


By Stephanie McCrummen
Washington Post Foreign Service
Thursday, March 13, 2008; Page A01

NAKURU, Kenya -- A week after Kenya's warring political leaders signed a power-sharing agreement, Marian Wambui arrived at a camp for displaced people here, her house having been burned to the ground just two days earlier.


As President Mwai Kibaki and opposition leader Raila Odinga celebrated in Nairobi, the mother of two was wondering where in the unfamiliar sprawl she might put the two plastic bags of belongings that were all she had left in the world.

Wambui stood in the sun, facing the details of her new life: a registration tent and a light blue meal card. A long line led to workers adding fresh names to a list already 16,000 long -- mostly people from Kibaki's Kikuyu ethnic group who had been chased from their homes in this western Rift Valley region and were now living in rows of white tents in a dusty field.

"I was expecting peace, but now I don't see any peace," said Wambui, 34, who is Kikuyu, adding that she had thought she would be safe once the agreement was signed. "When I heard people talk about that deal, I was very happy," she said. "It doesn't mean anything to me now."

Kenya's volatile Rift Valley is a landscape of uprooted lives these days. Bitterness lingers, along with an almost triumphant mood among the local people who have driven out Kikuyus they perceive as privileged and arrogant.

In the town Wambui fled, young men leaning in barbershop and barroom doorways said her house had been burned in a fit of reckless jubilation after Odinga signed the deal, which one local leader described as "a cease-fire," not a settlement.

Others said flatly that if their Kikuyu neighbors return, as Kibaki has urged them to do, they will be attacked, suggesting how easily the country might slip back into the ethnic violence that killed at least 1,000 people and displaced 600,000 after the disputed Dec. 27 presidential election.

Yet with those tensions festering, neither Kibaki nor Odinga has set foot in any camps for the internally displaced or, for that matter, any Rift Valley towns since the campaign season, encouraging instead a kind of national amnesia as a means of healing.

In his first major speech since the crisis began, Kibaki urged Kenyans to "please forget the history of what happened," and Odinga instructed his followers to "forget the differences caused by the election."

But here in Nakuru and the dozens of other camps that dot the countryside, people said they could not easily forget the neighbors who chased them with machetes, killed their husbands or wives and destroyed farms and businesses that had taken decades to build.

"I'm strongly convinced that what's done cannot be undone," said a Kikuyu father of five who had just arrived at a camp for displaced people in the Rift Valley town of Naivasha and was afraid to give his name. "What I've seen, what I've heard, I think I'd be cheating to say I'm comfortable now. Where shall I go? Will I be able to resume my normal life?"

The man's new home is a roadside camp consisting of thousands of tents, where enough people arrive daily to convince others that it is not yet safe to return home.

GoFigure

Go Figure
I was walking down the street today and the Trash Nazi walked past me. We had a battle a few years ago. I live in the city and we have to put our trash out on Tuesday or Friday mornings. Now I have a bad back and walking 6 flights of stairs with a heavy bag of cat nah nah is not easy. So I tried to take it across the street and leave it in the opposing alley. The Trash Nazi, who had been quite friendly to me before, became apoplectic. Since I was not breaking a law (I called the city) I continued to do it for a while, but his screaming was not worth it. I ultimately sucked it up and took it down or waited for my cleaning folks to do it. That was 4 years ago.

Last year, when I saw the Trash Nazi planting his garden, I decided to go over and try to make peace. I apologized for my previous behavior and reminded him that we had been friends. He launched into his trash speech though it was no longer necessary since I wasn't using his alley but I said I understood. I reminded him we had been friends and he agreed that I had been a model neighbor before and after the trash war. I said I just wanted to be friends again. More sputtering from him followed by acquiescence. But see when people are embarrassed that they have treated someone so dreadfully, they can’t stand someone being nice.Ever since I say hi when I see him on the street, but he can't do it. So on this lovely spring day, he couldn’t meet my eyes and quickly avoided me. He won the war and he's still mad!

I also have found amazing acts of random kindness. Last week, I couldn’t find my car keys so I took the extra pair, because as usual I was running late to Church. When I got in the car I found a note explaining that a stranger had found them. He left me his phone number and told me to call. At first I panicked because someone had my keys and could rob my house, but then I got a hold of myself and figured, the guy has the keys to your car, clearly since he unlocked the car, left the note and then locked the car back up. It’s not likely he’s a bad guy. So I called him after church and here’s what he told me.

He had found the keys at the end of the street saw the Accura brand on the keys and walked down the street clicking the alarm till he found the car. Then he wrote the note, left the keys with a friend and disappeared into the day. How incredibly cool is that. So I prefer to leave you with that story, cuz I think the Car Angel is better than the Trash Nazi.

RainbowCondoms

Mamma’s Going Home!
I woke this morning with such a longing for my beloved Kenya. I spoke to Miriam today. She's one of our headteachers. I could hear the rain pounding on the corrugated metal roof. You cannot imagine the noise it makes. I could see the mud rivers flowing in the streets, feel the warm damp on my lips, smell the earth and I knew it was time to go home. I realize no matter what the risks I must go home. I can go through Nairobi or through Kampala. Dear Daniel has said if I must go through Kampala he will meet me there and escort me across the border, since walking across the border is dicey. There is something called No Man’s Land where neither country has ownership and that’s where it can be a bit hairy.Wow! I'm leaving in 8 weeks. Got it confirmed. My heart soars! I'm going home!!!

We are working on our fundraiser and it’s getting pretty exciting. So many incredible people lending their gifts and talents for the children of Nambale makes me know how blessed my life is. One of the folks does content for websites and he has suggested that I include this article I wrote last year.

Whenever I go over to Kenya packing is a challenge. I bring so many things I want the people to have, computers or other electronics. The problem is always the customs folks. They usually have to take something or go through all my things. Being the seasoned traveler that I am I’ve got it nailed. And now I give you Rainbow Condoms

This is my last post before I disappear into the mud and
laughter. I have just finished packing my bags. I have
learned over the years how to pack for Kenya since
anything you want someone to truly get you have to
bring them. I am bringing mostly books, but for the
fellow who is my videographer I am bringing him a
good deal of electronics. Computer, external disk drive,
speakers and cameras. Now that's yummy yummy time
for the customs folks. So how do I get around it, why
rainbow condoms of course! Because I am an AIDS
trainer as well, I always carry sacks of condoms and
black penises for demonstration. I don't hide these
things, as a matter of fact I make sure that they are right
on top. Then when they ask if they can open my
suitcase I encourage them to do so, but to be careful
since some of the things I am carrying might embarrass
them. It works every time.
Usually I also announce in my best Swahili that they
should feel free to help themselves because there is
such a terrible epidemic in Kenya.Yeah, works every
time. So let's hear it for rainbow condoms and the joys
of trying to do one's mission while outfoxing the foxes.
I'll write when I get back. Promise.

Harambee

Wow it is so nice to read the Nation and the Standard and not hear horrible news. I'm assuming that you all know that they reached a settlement and that the killing has gone way down. No it hasn't stopped, but at least they have a mediated power sharing. I refuse to be too optimistic since it's going to take time to see how it shakes out. But for my Kenyan friends they have hope that things might return to some semblance of normal.

My friends are mostly Luhyas and Luos so they were badly affected by the hatred and the looting and killing. E now lives in Nairobi and only drives back and forth to her church. She has to leave before dark. Beatrice would like to leave Kari but can't because it's a job and they need the money, her daughter remain terrified.

"R is fine though still scared but we hope things will be okey,we moved to town last week temporary for things to cool, we wish to move away completely but my hands are tied due to finances . we shall wait upon our God for He is good and provides when in need. R her results are out and thank God for good performance she got an A- as mean grade ,we are happy for her but she isnt happy becouse she may not make it for medicine degree since one needs an A, but God can work out miracle for the desire of her heart, or she could go for parallel and could even begin in may , so my sister pray with us for Gods will. we are happy as a country that one step is done to share power for peace in our country and hope other things will sort themselves for onces and for all. We look forward to the Kenya we knew since childhood. "

There is such elegance in my friend's letters that you must just read them sometime.

Now it is time to get busy and start raising more funds. The Peacekeepers are at it again and doing a bang up job of getting our first event off the ground. I love having them over for the planning sessions and feeling the energy. It puzzles me as to why my generation clings so desperately to power, when it is clearly the 30 somethings turn and they are so clearly capable.

I'm sending checks out to the schools this week for scholarships. The children's essays are amazing and we need to reassure the villages we have not bailed. The money for food will wait until they get their records in order. I heard from Charles last week and he sent me 2 gentlemen's names who I can call to help the schools get their accounts in order. They are in Nambale and if I wait till Monday morning it will be evening there. I will be more likely to get them. I am adamant that they must be accountable for their records before more money goes out. It's really hard to get people to change their thinking. They understand the long and detailed accounts they must give the governments, but they balk at our simple accounting.

I met this really cool woman yesterday, with a business background (MM doesn't have that) who really gets sustainability. She was so cogent about profit and the need for the folks to make a profit to be sustainable. She also pointed out that One Village needs to at least make enough money to pay for someone to take over my job one day. As she pointed out no one in their right mind would spend all this time and effort doing this for nothing. I'm not really doing this for nothing, I'm doing it because God asked me. The really cool thing is that Catherine gets that too.

So today, despite the snow and the muck, I'm feeling pretty chipper. We have walked through the valley of the shadow of death and we're still standing. Stay tuned.