I bought “Ghana Must Go” more for the title as I didn’t know much about the author. I was always amused by the nylon bags so nicknamed. Those bags that you find in every West African home. So I have just completed the book over a two day period just bumming, reading and taking a break from the World Cup. As with many books that I am drawn to, it is difficult for me to provide a proper synopsis of the book without betraying the feelings that the book draws from the recesses of my soul.
The writing style is difficult. It is less the telling of a story and more the peeking into the minds of its characters. It reads a lot like secrets told to a priest in a confession box or thoughts to a therapist. You see, behind the façade, are battle weary children who fight wars not always of their choosing and more often than not are wounded. The book is an explanation of sorts written in stacatto & short sentences. As I read the book, I wondered whether the author was telling her own story. Each time I come across a new book, I google the author and try to understand what drives them. There is so much similarity between Taiye’s own life and that of the characters in the book. Taiye is the daughter of a Ghanaian Doctor (absentee) Father & a Nigerian Mother. Although the book is not an autobiography, it goes without saying that her own experiences influenced her writing of the novel. Perhaps an exorcism of sorts.
Back to the book. Dr Kweku Sai is a successful surgeon - the best at John Hopkins & his wife Folosadé Sai is a drop out lawyer. Dropped out to take care of the family. That reminds me of my parents. Of their story. Of the women who - of necessity - give up their careers so that the men could pursue theirs. The understanding between a couple in love is that one successful career - often the man’s - is good for both and for the family. When such decisions are taken, future eventualities are discounted and people wrongly assume the successful career partner is the brighter & better of the two. Kweku Sai hails from a dirt poor family in Ghana and transcends the usual barriers to become a very successful surgeon . As fate would have it, Dr Sai however loses his job at John Hopkins rather unfairly. He takes the fall for the hospital, for a mistake not of his own making. In the capital vs labour equation, he is dispensable. He cannot take the failure & deserts his family to return to Ghana to continue his practice. Broken dreams. Abandonment. Failure. So Folosadé has to bring up their four children alone. However the abandonment by the father - although understood in the circumstances - affects his children adversely.
Olu follows in the footsteps of his father to become a surgeon but wonders whether, like his father & his grandfather before him, he has might have a penchant for leaving. Not clinging. He loves his girlfriend Ling & marries her in Vegas but worries that he too might at the slightest excuse, up & leave. He fears attachment because he worries that he has that “gene” that will cause him at the slightest challenge to desert the fort. His fears notwithstanding, he is determined to keep the Sai name alive. To be as good a surgeon as his father was. He cannot help it really since his fathers former colleagues always remind him how great a surgeon his father was. Keeping all his hurts to himself, he must be strong for his mother and his family. When his father dies, Folosadé calls him with the news. It falls upon him to tell his siblings and ensure they come home to Ghana. He is the strong one, the first born, the surgeon who followed in his father’s footsteps. The one who appears well adjusted. In many ways, I find my fears in Olu. My fears though are of a different nature. The fear of being attached. For when you get yoked you open yourself to the possibility of rejection.
Taiwo & Kehinde are twins. The middle children. Peas of the same pod. They too suffer from their father’s absence in the hands of a step-uncle. Taiwo - drops out of Yale while Kehinde becomes a successful artist. They both have demons that have never been exorcised and never spoken about. Demons that eat their lives. Kehinde - despite his success - has this demon that causes him to slit his wrists so he can bleed to death. He becomes a recluse. No one thinks much of middle children. Often they are a parentheses, left to their own devices. As a middle child, I understand the complaints of those like me who find themselves without purpose in the big scheme of things!
Sadié is, the last born & mum’s favourite. She wants to be as successful as her siblings. I remember how we always told our last born brother that he could never drop the baton passed down from five siblings before him. The pressure is often unfair & enormous. Sadié too has her demons that lead her to bulimia.
I often puzzle about parents & their children. That within the state of parenthood, it is possible or even needful to love children differently depending on their strengths, weaknesses & characters. The challenge though is that no matter how small the differentiation, the child who is loved differently, senses this. In this home, Dr Sai loves Olu as they are most alike. Folosadé loves Sadié as she is the last born. The twins - Taiwo & Kehinde - love each other unconditionally having shared the same womb. Prima facie, this appears a perfect balance to a successful middle class home of successful immigrants. Taiwo senses that her mother loves Sadié the baby “more” and she resents it to the extent that it affects her relationships within the family & the choices she makes out of it. I remember having a similar discussion with my mother. I badgered her over the years, for as long as I can remember, for a confession that she loved me less. It was not something that an outsider could put a finger upon since my mum & I were such good friends. Initially, she always dismissed me by saying “Oh! but your father loved you” suggesting that they both had taken a rational choice and divided their two daughters between themselves. Recently, four decades later, when I asked her again, she explained that I was the stronger of her two daughters, so she needed to bring some balance into the otherwise precarious situation. So I understand Taiwo and can relate to her insecurities. Unfortunately, I am guilty of the same choices. Of loving my children but loving them differently.
The unexplained absence of the father takes a toll on their lives and inadvertently affects the decisions they each make. They are a family that is not a family! A family that self destructs because the father deserted the family home without explaining why. A family full of secrets and unexpressed grievances. Dr Sai’s desertion is not so much the problem. The crux of the matter is that their is no explanation. The Sai family have a semblance of normalcy but has emotional issues that they need to deal with. Demons that they need to exorcise. That Folosadé single handedly raises four successful children is a testament to her own fortitude. The ability to keep her tears to herself, subordinate her desires and keep her eyes focused on the end game. She was after-all the stronger piece of the Sai puzzle. Folosadé reminds me of the virtuous woman in Proverbs 31. The woman who often goes unnoticed but who is the necessary pillar for success. The woman who keeps her husbands name & lineage alive, his absence not withstanding. It’s worse than death. This perhaps is the story of many families...of things unsaid...of problems unresolved...of historical injustices. In many ways, it is the story of my family as well.
So the book starts with Dr Kweku Sai dying of a heart attack in Ghana - alone. His family must rally together to inter him and perform his funeral rites. The family is shocked by the untimely death because there are things still to be unravelled. Even though Dr Kweku Sai is remarried to some local girl, it is a marriage of convenience. No plans, no hopes, no expectations & no children. It therefore falls upon Folosadé & her children to undertake his funeral rites as his partner fades unnoticed. It is Folosadé who is referred to as “Dr Sai’s wife” despite the fact that they haven’t seen each other for almost two decades. It is Folosadé who must mourn once again for the departure of her man. The family that has really never spoken about the elephants (there are many) in the room - the absence of a father must make a pilgrimage to Ghana to accord their father - loved but absent - a befitting farewell to the land of his ancestors.
The journey provides opportunities for the Sai children to unburden the hurts buried deep in the recesses of their beings, to exorcise the demons and to become a family once again. In that regard, the book is about the story towards redemption. Redemption that comes too late but at-least it comes.
Nature & Nurture are two sides of the same coin. Twins. The people we become is in part due to nature & in part due to nurture. On the one hand our experiences determine how we react to situations. When you meet an adult you can never truly judge them because it is unlikely that you have walked the journey they have walked or carried the baggage they bare! Dr Sai’s desire to excel is in part due to the fear of failing - of going back to a place of extreme poverty that was untenable - of watching a sister die from a preventable disease. On the other hand though our fates are determined long before we are born. Sai Snr, Dr Sai & Kehinde Sai are artists. It’s in their genes.
So one day hopefully, we all will tell our stories & exorcise our demons.
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Winnie Madikizela-Mandela - 491 Days
On 2nd April 2018, my brother sent me a message about Winnie’s passing. I thought it was one of those April fool jokes but he reminded me that it was 2nd and not 1st. Winnie was shy of her 82nd birthday. Over the next ten days I spent my time reading on Winnie, defending her honour, posting about her, blocking anyone who said anything wrong about her. I followed South Africans talk shows and barely slept. I then learnt of 491 days which I ordered in her honour.
I have always loved Nomzamo Madikizela-Mandela and cut her as much slack as I could. I was drawn to her resilient nature, her sense of style and above all her beauty. But even then I never knew 1/10th of her own part in what is known as “The Steuggle”. The Struugle against the evil that was apartheid but moreso the challenge of partriachy. In publishing this book, she allows us to take a peak into a journal she wrote while in solitary confinement and have access to letters she & Nelson wrote to each other. Plus letters they both wrote while incarcerated. The book is not so much a story telling or white washing of her legacy. Instead through the book she shares verbatim - through those letters - her own correspondence. As I read, I felt that some things were so personal and that I was peeping into someone’s deepest recesses.
Winnie was born a Princess from a royal house of AmamPondo. She was born into a family of teachers and in that regard - as black people stood - she was fortunate. Her grandmother had the privilege of being the first woman in Pondoland to wear shoes while she - Winnie - was the first black Social Worker in South Africa. Seeing this in the context of her time meant she was an achiever. She had the tragedy of being married to Nelson. It was a tragedy because in marrying him she married the struggle. He was already a man under the radar of the South African police and had been charged under the terrorist act & the communist act. In addition he was a man with a previous relationship so she - at a young age - was Step Mother to his children. That too, was a tragedy because Winnie married a man who came with baggage.
The outpouring of love at her funeral was amazing. Two weeks later, I am still listening to the tributes over & over again to get a better glimpse of this enigma. What I liked was that South Africans from all walks of life filled Orlando stadium to capacity to pay tribute to uMama Nomzamo. They understood that we must tell our own stories & celebrate our own heroes. There can never be an excuse for the brutality of Apartheid. A system that was created to dehumanize the black race. As if to add insult to injury, a system that was created to punish people simply for being black. I have read many books on the South African Struggle but none have touched me as much as 491 days. I remember as a young girl watching Sizwe Bansi Is Dead, Cry Freedom & Saraphina. I remember reading Mine Boy. I sang struggle songs without trully understanding what they meant. When Nelson Mandela died, I read “Long Walk To Freedom”.
As I watched Zenani & Zindziswa paying tribute to their mum, I remembered the suffering that they went through during the 491 days their mother was in solitary confinement and their dad on Robben Island. I thought about the prize they had to pay as young children as their mother was in & out of jail. I ponder their life and decide that I can forgive them anything because children cannot be separated from their parents & greater family just to prove a point.
I like the matter of fact way that the book has been written. It is up to the reader to deal with their own feelings. It is a book that should be read widely & studied in depth. It is a book that demonstrates the resilience of one’s spirit amidst so much against them. I could never explain or justify Apartheid...To borrow from Zenani’s tribute “The fight against apartheid was not a picnic”.
Neither Long Walk To Freedom nor 491 days deals with the real issues surrounding the break up of the Mandela marriage. In reading the book and going through the letters, I am still at a loss that that marriage could not have stood the test of time. I would have forgiven Nomzamo anything. In divorcing Winnie - after she had given up so much - my view of Nelson was irrepereably shaken. This book is not in response to the break up of her marriage and neither is it a challenge to Nelson’s legacy. As Zenani said, they were fortunate & proud to have both Winnie & Nelson as parents and their legacies are intertwined.
Hamba Kahle uMama weSizwe. Lala Ngoxolo.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Lola Shoneyin - The Secret Lives Of BABA SEGI's WIVES
This book details the Joys Of Fatherhood. The book was recommended by my friend Muthoni after I waxed lyrical about polygamy and its general acceptance among the luhya people even in this century. I was taken in by the title and quite amused by it for personal reasons that shall remain, ahem, secret for now. Ishola Alao aka Baba Segi has four wives and they have - for self preservation - a devastating secret. Actually this is not quite right...three of the wives have a secret and the fourth was not yet included in their confidence.
Let me digress and focus on the number four for a minute. The number four has special significance in spiritual terms. Four is symbolic of earthly completeness. Four is the number of the great elements: earth, air, fire, and water. All people will come from all four corners of the earth to enjoy the kingdom of God. Four in the scriptures portrays universal observation, worship and adoration as in Revelation 4:6-8. “Around the throne, and on each side of the throne, are four living creatures, full of eyes in front and behind: the first living creature like a lion, the second living creature like an ox, the third living creature with a face like a human face, and the fourth living creature like a flying eagle.” So I guess, in marrying a fourth wife, Ishola Alao attains a state of completion. He becomes a total man.
The first was selected for him by his mother; the second was given to him in payment by a sharecropper farmer for a bad harvest; the third offered herself to him for refuge. Only the fourth did he court, seduce and chose. She was the object of his desire. It is impossible - as one reads the book - to hate Baba Segi for the state of polygamy. He was a fair man who loved his wives equally to the extent that one can love women equally. That love notwithstanding, he sometimes visits a brothel to seek advice from the brothel owner on challenges in his household and samples some of the available flesh. In fact as one turns the pages, one tends to like Mr Alao & somewhat pity him. His wives are not bad either...they are simply pragmatic, chasing away their own demons, protecting their interests and following their dreams. As it is said, never judge a person unless you have walked in the same shoes that he/she has walked.
The first was selected for him by his mother; the second was given to him in payment by a sharecropper farmer for a bad harvest; the third offered herself to him for refuge. Only the fourth did he court, seduce and chose. She was the object of his desire. It is impossible - as one reads the book - to hate Baba Segi for the state of polygamy. He was a fair man who loved his wives equally to the extent that one can love women equally. That love notwithstanding, he sometimes visits a brothel to seek advice from the brothel owner on challenges in his household and samples some of the available flesh. In fact as one turns the pages, one tends to like Mr Alao & somewhat pity him. His wives are not bad either...they are simply pragmatic, chasing away their own demons, protecting their interests and following their dreams. As it is said, never judge a person unless you have walked in the same shoes that he/she has walked.
For a man, it is important that his manhood is protected - whatever it takes. So the women in this harem will go to great lengths to protect Baba Segi's manhood and will keep their shame to themselves.
Iya Segi - "The fat frog" - gets married to Ishola Alao. Their marriage is an arrangement by their respective mothers. Her's a scorned woman & His a widow. She soon discovers that their daily intercourse will not produce a child. As many women of her generation would have done, she decides to help her husband. After all he is an only child and it is incumbent upon her to ensure that his lineage continues. So she bears him two children - Segi & Akin - from their driver who has no say in this matter. He has a family of his own & serves his master with loyalty. I guess haters would say that she was promiscuous but yet only the wearer of the shoe knows where it pinches.
Iya Segi - "The fat frog" - gets married to Ishola Alao. Their marriage is an arrangement by their respective mothers. Her's a scorned woman & His a widow. She soon discovers that their daily intercourse will not produce a child. As many women of her generation would have done, she decides to help her husband. After all he is an only child and it is incumbent upon her to ensure that his lineage continues. So she bears him two children - Segi & Akin - from their driver who has no say in this matter. He has a family of his own & serves his master with loyalty. I guess haters would say that she was promiscuous but yet only the wearer of the shoe knows where it pinches.
Iya Tope - "The pygmy goat" has no say in this marriage. She was born into a polygamous home and was given as a peace offering to Ishola. At the age of 23 when there was no other suitor in sight, her marriage to Baba Segi - a self made man - provided a relief from the monotony of the village, Her three daughters are sired by the meat seller. Her Wednesday sessions with the butcher give her more pleasure than those with her husband and spare her the shame of barrenness. The meat seller makes her whimper, sing and howl which is more than she can ask of Baba Segi.
Iya Femi - she of two colours - had big dreams. As a child, she wanted so much but fate robbed her of her parents in a freak accident. She was passed on to her uncle who - as the inheritor - passed her off as a maid to a family in Ibadan. Her opportunity knocked when she bumped into Ishola Alao. As wife number 3, Mama Segi teaches her the secret of Alao's children. She bears two pedigree sons in the Alao household by Tunde. . Tunde - her former boss's son - was her first love and it made perfect sense that he provided the much needed seed.
Much to the chagrin of her mother, Bolanle join's the queue as Mrs Alao the fourth. A university graduate, this is not the life her mother had dreamt for her. She enters - zombie like - into a hostile home where, try as she might, there is no acceptance of her. In my view, this book is more the story of Bolanle than it is the story of Baba Segi. Bolanle's entrance into the Alao household destroys the existent tranquillity & equilibrium of the home. Unaware of the solutions available to her, she is unable to bear children for Baba Segi. Her visit to the doctor (as opposed to a medicine man) to resolve her barren state opens up the Pandora's box which almost destroys the Alao home. In the end, she exorcises her own demons and finds peace with herself.
In her own defense, Iya Segi insists that Baba Segi remembers the old adage that "Whosoever bulleth my cow, the calf is mine". For it takes more than shedding of seed to be a father. Before we label this situation an African affair, we must recall that in many royal households, it has been rumoured that there was often disinterest in conjugal activities and yet to secure the kingdom heirs were needed. The crown - in some instances - passed to heirs who did not biologically belong to the man on the throne. I must also remind the reader that Dr Johanssen Oduor Kenya's Chief Government Pathologist, said that there was really no need to waste DNA analysis on supposed fathers as those samples were less reliable. Dr Oduor rejected samples from fathers explaining that:- “The only person you are certain of is the mother, unless the child was swapped at the hospital. And there is the factor of men raising children they have not sired, which is not isolated in Kenya. It happens the world over.”
The moral of the book is that Fatherhood is a complex state.
The moral of the book is that Fatherhood is a complex state.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Ayobami Adebayo - Stay with me
One of my dad's patients suffered from pseudocyesis. I never understood it then but I remember the whispers at the clinic. A lady who exhibited all signs of pregnancy yet she was not pregnant. Pseudocyesis is the appearance of clinical or subclinical signs and symptoms associated with pregnancy when the organism is not actually pregnant.
Yediji really wanted to bear children that her body responded to this desire. At twelve months her tummy was still extended and her menses had long stopped. Society expected Yediji to procreate and not having children was a failure on her part. Something that made her half woman and drove her mother in law crazy. No one bothered to ask if perchance the failure was her husband's.
It was this desire not to fail in the duty for which she was married that led her to the mountain of jaw dropping miracles with a white goat in search of a miracle. Now this I can relate to. The unreasonable things we do at the behest of advice from well meaning and not so well meaning people. It is this desire and desperation that leads us to Bishop Kanyari, Bishop Deya and other new age 'bishops' It is this mocking by others that led Hannah to the temple to seek respite from God who had "blocked her womb".
In most marriages impotence is blamed on women although it equally applies to women and men. Gynaecology abounds to help women overcome barriers to conception. My dad's clinic was filled to the brim with women seeking fertility help. Now I am not sure what 'logy’ is available to men but that is a story of another day. I remember the many women who came to dad's clinic early in the morning after having intercourse with their husbands. The extraction of the sperm, the trips to the laboratory and the reports. I will never forget the couple who came and had to go during lunch break to undertake sexual intercourse in a lodging just so my dad could extract the sperm. At the time, I always assumed sex was a night time activity. Surely knowing the reason for the intercourse may simply not allow the pregnancy to take place. Surely there had to be a better way. . That said, why should blame be apportioned? Should there be condemnation when it is God in his wisdom who decides to give children or not.
I learnt a new word - Abiku - children. When Yediji falls pregnant her fate is that her children would be Abiku. Although she has demonstrated that she is able to fall pregnant afterall, what is the point of bearing children only to lose them. As I recall, the Igbo call these children Ogbanje. Children whose main job is to terrorize their long suffering mothers. The child who comes and goes from whenst they came, causing their parents so much grief & heartache. Olamide brings much happiness and then goes, only to come back as Sesan who also goes. Then returns as Rotimi. Rotimi (Stay with me) taunts her mother with crisis after crisis, until Yediji is unable to cope. She has no energy for another loss. I know about sickle cell and the devastation thereof because it abounds in our bloodline.
This ultimately is a story about love brewed in the African pot! That Akin loved his wife unconditionally is in no doubt. It was this love that led him to request his brother Dotun to impregnate her - not once but three times - so as to spare her from the ridicule of barrenness. To allow Yediji to experience the joys of motherhood. It was this love that led him to love the children borne to Yediji as though they were his own. For fatherhood is not about sperm donation...Yet this love was not near enough to share his condition with her or inform his mother - as he had with his brother - that it was he and not Yediji who had a problem with conception. It was this love - even after Yediji left - that led him to love Rotimi unconditionally and bring her up through the different sickle cell crises. When his father dies, he looks up Yediji to come and sit by his side. She was afterall the wife of his youth. His best friend.
This is a story of broken dreams, unreasonable expectations & secrets that break up families. About the crossroads between the traditional Yoruba culture and western civilization and the women caught in between.
This is an unputdownable book in the genre of Achebe & Chimamanda. A story that leaves you seeking for more. A story in many ways of triumph & resilience. The story of Rotimi - who agreed to remain. Who answered to her name "Stay with me". Who understood that she could not continue to go away. Who realized that her mother unable to pick the pieces of her broken heart.
Yediji really wanted to bear children that her body responded to this desire. At twelve months her tummy was still extended and her menses had long stopped. Society expected Yediji to procreate and not having children was a failure on her part. Something that made her half woman and drove her mother in law crazy. No one bothered to ask if perchance the failure was her husband's.
It was this desire not to fail in the duty for which she was married that led her to the mountain of jaw dropping miracles with a white goat in search of a miracle. Now this I can relate to. The unreasonable things we do at the behest of advice from well meaning and not so well meaning people. It is this desire and desperation that leads us to Bishop Kanyari, Bishop Deya and other new age 'bishops' It is this mocking by others that led Hannah to the temple to seek respite from God who had "blocked her womb".
In most marriages impotence is blamed on women although it equally applies to women and men. Gynaecology abounds to help women overcome barriers to conception. My dad's clinic was filled to the brim with women seeking fertility help. Now I am not sure what 'logy’ is available to men but that is a story of another day. I remember the many women who came to dad's clinic early in the morning after having intercourse with their husbands. The extraction of the sperm, the trips to the laboratory and the reports. I will never forget the couple who came and had to go during lunch break to undertake sexual intercourse in a lodging just so my dad could extract the sperm. At the time, I always assumed sex was a night time activity. Surely knowing the reason for the intercourse may simply not allow the pregnancy to take place. Surely there had to be a better way. . That said, why should blame be apportioned? Should there be condemnation when it is God in his wisdom who decides to give children or not.
I learnt a new word - Abiku - children. When Yediji falls pregnant her fate is that her children would be Abiku. Although she has demonstrated that she is able to fall pregnant afterall, what is the point of bearing children only to lose them. As I recall, the Igbo call these children Ogbanje. Children whose main job is to terrorize their long suffering mothers. The child who comes and goes from whenst they came, causing their parents so much grief & heartache. Olamide brings much happiness and then goes, only to come back as Sesan who also goes. Then returns as Rotimi. Rotimi (Stay with me) taunts her mother with crisis after crisis, until Yediji is unable to cope. She has no energy for another loss. I know about sickle cell and the devastation thereof because it abounds in our bloodline.
This ultimately is a story about love brewed in the African pot! That Akin loved his wife unconditionally is in no doubt. It was this love that led him to request his brother Dotun to impregnate her - not once but three times - so as to spare her from the ridicule of barrenness. To allow Yediji to experience the joys of motherhood. It was this love that led him to love the children borne to Yediji as though they were his own. For fatherhood is not about sperm donation...Yet this love was not near enough to share his condition with her or inform his mother - as he had with his brother - that it was he and not Yediji who had a problem with conception. It was this love - even after Yediji left - that led him to love Rotimi unconditionally and bring her up through the different sickle cell crises. When his father dies, he looks up Yediji to come and sit by his side. She was afterall the wife of his youth. His best friend.
This is a story of broken dreams, unreasonable expectations & secrets that break up families. About the crossroads between the traditional Yoruba culture and western civilization and the women caught in between.
This is an unputdownable book in the genre of Achebe & Chimamanda. A story that leaves you seeking for more. A story in many ways of triumph & resilience. The story of Rotimi - who agreed to remain. Who answered to her name "Stay with me". Who understood that she could not continue to go away. Who realized that her mother unable to pick the pieces of her broken heart.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Yaa Gyasi - Homegoing
This is one of those books that is "unputdownable". It was listed by Essence as one of those must read books by African writers. I must say that Yaa Gyasi did not disappoint. Homegoing starts with an Akan proverb:- "The family is like the forest: if you are outside it is dense; if you are inside you see that each tree has its own position." This book is about a family - two trees from the same Matriach - spanning seven generations through slavery, segregation, abolition, colonialism, broken dreams, everyday things and perhaps triumphs. It is actually many short stories all woven into one.
Some things struck me.
Yaw - one of the characters -tells his students "When you study history, you must always ask yourself, Whose story am I missing? Whose voice is suppressed so that this voice could come forth? Once you have figured that out, you must find that story too. From there you begin to get a clearer, yet still imperfect story". This might sound philosophical but it really has been the way I have viewed life i.e. that the story of the hunt (told from the hunters perspective)glorifies the bravery of the hunter while suppressing the courage of the hunted So for example when we study Lake Victoria, Lake Turkana, Lake Albert, Victoria falls, we must always ask ourselves if there were other names before then. It is not even just about history. When I listen to CNN repeat a narrative over and over again, I need to ask myself whose story is being suppressed in order that that particular CNN story is heard over ; over again and ultimately etched into my mind as the only true story. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie likes to remind us, there is danger (untruthfullness) in a one-sided story.
Ekua tells her son that Evil begets evil. This reminds me of the verse in the Bible that the sins of the father are visited upon the sons upto the 7th generation. Christians have spoken of generational curses. Of things that happen in our lives which are a result of things that happened long ago - things that we know not off but nonetheless follow the bloodline. How can he who was born in the 7th generation understand and know what happened in the first generation that continues to affect his life? How can Marjorie comprehend her dread for fire and Marcus his fear for water bodies? Why does Ekua dream vividly about an ancestor she never knew? This is a spiritual dilemma but one which cannot be wished away. Sometimes we find answers with the fetish priest while at other times with Allah or YWHW. What the author doesn't tell us - since it's not in her place to tell is how to break the power of these things upon us.
The book is generally a sad book. It lacks the usual romance of tales that makes us forget about the vicissitudes of life. However it is also a story of resilience. Maame's two bloodlines of the family survive to the 7th generation. From Asante to Stanford. All growing apart through two distinct lines and meeting up at Stanford. Like most female writers, the women in the lines are stronger than the men. The male characters in the book are "weaker" than their female counterparts. I guess this is because Yaa might have a feminist streak in her. Or perhaps because the Ghanaian in her is generally used to strong characters like the Yaa Asentewaa. Yaa tells the story of the Queen mother - Yaa Asantewaa- with pride. As the men were all too afraid to fight the white man, it was Yaa Asantewaa who said if the men wouldn't fight, then the women would. It was she who led the men to war.
It is rather difficult to love the depiction of the white man in the book as these depictions are not flattering. Be it the Government officers, Slavers or Missionaries. The role of the missionary has been discussed at length by the African elite and writers. The jury is still out as to whether the missionaries were a tool of subjugation used by the slave master or whether they were propelled by an intrinsic desire to save the souls of the natives. Perhaps both are true. In the USA, where part of the story is cast, the slave owners, the segregationists, the miners or even the students are depicted negatively. You cannot but loath their characters. Is this the victim mentality of the African or just that there are many things that have never truly been discussed? I remember having rasied an issue at the workplace on the treatment of a colleague and being asked - in response - whether my concern was fuelled by a victim mentality. I was taken aback as I had never considered myself a victim but never pursued the matter further. The "abolition" of slave trade is discussed in the book with cynicism. The writer ponders whether the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade was triggered by humane insticts or that the slaver had come up with another way to enslave people. The book holds that slavery was no longer a beneficial enterprise given that monopoly capital could get a better deal by having the same people work in the coal mines of Alabama at very poor wages or as convicts without having to be responsible for their well being. It goes without saying that being a slave master was expensive and created a moral dilemna. Ultimately one could achieve the same or even better bottom line with free men. One could enslave people with heroin and create a dependency from which there was no return. Criminalise heroin and get the same convicts working in the mines as cheap labour. It was the same difference really. Cocoa - farmed at source - became a better commodity for economic benefit than dealing in people.
Lastly, what I like is the comment by Amani Zulema. Wishing for something like Marcus Garvey is sometimes unhelpful. This is your now... you better get used to it. Pining for a different situation is unnecessary because oftentimes we cannot alter the cards that we have been dealt. We just play them the best we can. Is this resignation to one's fate fatalistic or simply being realistic? . It reminds me of Chinua Achebe'
Some things struck me.
Yaw - one of the characters -tells his students "When you study history, you must always ask yourself, Whose story am I missing? Whose voice is suppressed so that this voice could come forth? Once you have figured that out, you must find that story too. From there you begin to get a clearer, yet still imperfect story". This might sound philosophical but it really has been the way I have viewed life i.e. that the story of the hunt (told from the hunters perspective)glorifies the bravery of the hunter while suppressing the courage of the hunted So for example when we study Lake Victoria, Lake Turkana, Lake Albert, Victoria falls, we must always ask ourselves if there were other names before then. It is not even just about history. When I listen to CNN repeat a narrative over and over again, I need to ask myself whose story is being suppressed in order that that particular CNN story is heard over ; over again and ultimately etched into my mind as the only true story. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie likes to remind us, there is danger (untruthfullness) in a one-sided story.
Ekua tells her son that Evil begets evil. This reminds me of the verse in the Bible that the sins of the father are visited upon the sons upto the 7th generation. Christians have spoken of generational curses. Of things that happen in our lives which are a result of things that happened long ago - things that we know not off but nonetheless follow the bloodline. How can he who was born in the 7th generation understand and know what happened in the first generation that continues to affect his life? How can Marjorie comprehend her dread for fire and Marcus his fear for water bodies? Why does Ekua dream vividly about an ancestor she never knew? This is a spiritual dilemma but one which cannot be wished away. Sometimes we find answers with the fetish priest while at other times with Allah or YWHW. What the author doesn't tell us - since it's not in her place to tell is how to break the power of these things upon us.
The book is generally a sad book. It lacks the usual romance of tales that makes us forget about the vicissitudes of life. However it is also a story of resilience. Maame's two bloodlines of the family survive to the 7th generation. From Asante to Stanford. All growing apart through two distinct lines and meeting up at Stanford. Like most female writers, the women in the lines are stronger than the men. The male characters in the book are "weaker" than their female counterparts. I guess this is because Yaa might have a feminist streak in her. Or perhaps because the Ghanaian in her is generally used to strong characters like the Yaa Asentewaa. Yaa tells the story of the Queen mother - Yaa Asantewaa- with pride. As the men were all too afraid to fight the white man, it was Yaa Asantewaa who said if the men wouldn't fight, then the women would. It was she who led the men to war.
It is rather difficult to love the depiction of the white man in the book as these depictions are not flattering. Be it the Government officers, Slavers or Missionaries. The role of the missionary has been discussed at length by the African elite and writers. The jury is still out as to whether the missionaries were a tool of subjugation used by the slave master or whether they were propelled by an intrinsic desire to save the souls of the natives. Perhaps both are true. In the USA, where part of the story is cast, the slave owners, the segregationists, the miners or even the students are depicted negatively. You cannot but loath their characters. Is this the victim mentality of the African or just that there are many things that have never truly been discussed? I remember having rasied an issue at the workplace on the treatment of a colleague and being asked - in response - whether my concern was fuelled by a victim mentality. I was taken aback as I had never considered myself a victim but never pursued the matter further. The "abolition" of slave trade is discussed in the book with cynicism. The writer ponders whether the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade was triggered by humane insticts or that the slaver had come up with another way to enslave people. The book holds that slavery was no longer a beneficial enterprise given that monopoly capital could get a better deal by having the same people work in the coal mines of Alabama at very poor wages or as convicts without having to be responsible for their well being. It goes without saying that being a slave master was expensive and created a moral dilemna. Ultimately one could achieve the same or even better bottom line with free men. One could enslave people with heroin and create a dependency from which there was no return. Criminalise heroin and get the same convicts working in the mines as cheap labour. It was the same difference really. Cocoa - farmed at source - became a better commodity for economic benefit than dealing in people.
Lastly, what I like is the comment by Amani Zulema. Wishing for something like Marcus Garvey is sometimes unhelpful. This is your now... you better get used to it. Pining for a different situation is unnecessary because oftentimes we cannot alter the cards that we have been dealt. We just play them the best we can. Is this resignation to one's fate fatalistic or simply being realistic? . It reminds me of Chinua Achebe'
Saturday, February 27, 2016
JMAW - Of Fate and Other Issues : The Story of Osborne
This past week I have thought a lot about Bernard Otsieno - a primary school teacher at Mumias Central Primary School. It so happens Bernard was my mum's student 'n' years ago when she had moved to shaggs to create a place we could call home aka 'litaala'. Bernard's family is from Marachi (Busia County). His family bought land in Shibinga which was how he ended up as my mum's student.
Fast forward...This lad has fee issues and moves from Bulimbo Primary to Mumias Central Primary at the beginning of class seven. At Central, he hitches rides on trucks each day from Harambee Market where his mum & step dad live. In his penultimate year he decides this is not sustainable as kids get to school early & leave late. The lad then decides to seek for an abode in the school dining hall - without permission. He cannot partake of the lunch & 4 O'clock tea served by the school because his mum has not paid for it...so scavenges from his mates. In the evenings - after prep - he knocks on teachers' doors asking for left over food then returns to sleep in the dining hall on a mattress he smuggled from home - without a blanket or bedsheet. (Mumias is not exactly the desert so he is against the elements). In the morning the lad is in class...determined to learn.
One fateful day, the lad knocks on Mr Otsieno's door and asks the Mrs for some left over food. Mr & Mrs Otsieno who have a kid in the same class as the lad discuss among themselves. They had heard that there was a 'poor' student living in the dining hall. (I am not sure whether the Otsienos are Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Jews, Agnostics or Atheists - 'saved', practicing or lapsed.) They get an epiphany and decide this kid cannot go back to his diggz in the dining hall. Instead, they make space for him in their home where he has breakfast and dinner plus a bed & a study-mate. The headteacher also decrees that henceforth the lad should have lunch & tea 'on the house' together with the other students without having to pay. In the year the lad lives with the Otsienos, his mother visits thrice and his step father never comes to claim the lad. This does not concern the Otsienos much as the lad is polite, humble & works hard at school. They don't even bother to ask his clan which is a big thing in Mumias.
Early in the week, I am chatting with Robert of Standard Media Group & he tells me about this kid who scored 405 points at his KCPE. Unfortunately, the kid doesn't fit my bill on the basis of gender & constituency. I however ask Robert to send an SMS to 20042 to confirm which school the kid has been admitted to as I do some sleuthing through my friend Constance knowing full well my set requirements. One thing leads to another and I learn that the lad's mother worked for my dad for 8 years in the 90's. I ask my siblings if they remembered her. Hillary, Pauline & Amunga remember her well enough, while Kenneth only vaguely. Sa Elon doesn't recall as too much time has passed. Mum agrees to meet the lad & his mum although she cautions that I have too much on my plate already...I call the Kid and I am impressed with his confidence and command of the Queen's tongue. He wants to be a Surgeon although I wish he had said a Public Financial Management Specialist.
On Friday - as part of the vetting - my mum visits Mr Otsieno at Mumias Central. Mum is amused that Mr Otsieno keeps referring respectfully to her as "Mwalimu" - many years after her retirement. I guess teachers put the fear of God in students... a fear they never quite get over. She chats with another teacher at the school Ms Emily Osundwa -
my kinswoman - to corroborate the information.
Bingo! Thanks to Bernard - who believed in the lad and gave him a home when he needed one - this kid is my choice for 2016. On Wednesday he joins other kids at my dad's alma mater. I am certain my dad would be happy. This one is for him....
Sunday, February 14, 2016
JMAW - Lift Your Eyes To The Hills
One evening a gauntlet was thrown at my feet. I understood that, as I had been challenged to a duel, I had no option but to arise. A couple of days prior, I had been introduced to Ozzy who impressed me by his story of grit and determination. A lad who understood that if you wanted something so badly, there was a chance that you would somehow get it. I planned meticulously and set the ball rolling for Ozzy to take up his place at Maseno School. His is a story of another day...a wonderful story of grace that surpasses all understanding. Today - on a day of worship - I recount the story of Goddie. A story of God's faithfulness and abundance.
When Goddie's name came up, the last thing on our mind, was that a gauntlet would be thrown so dramatically at my feet. Over the next twelve hours, as folks slept, I mused over the best course of action to take. We - the vetting sub committee - had been convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Goddie, whom we had never met, would take up his place at Alliance High School as a freshman within 48 hours, his economic circumstances notwithstanding. The clock was ticking fast and we needed to assure the family that we would pick the bill. By a stroke of ill fortune, Goddie had missed out on scholarships applied for. Meanwhile Goddie was assisting in plastering a neighbour's hut so that perchance he could raise some funds towards his own schooling.
On the fateful day that his name was proposed by the vetting sub committee - we learnt rather belatedly that - we - who had vetted & proposed him for consideration - needed to figure out how to raise the requisite funds that would assure his fees & the logistics around his school shopping. I was reminded of a famous swahili proverb that "mbiu ya mgambo ikipiga kuna jambo".
I must digress and explain a little bit about Alliance High School. AHS (www.alliancehighschool.ac.ke) was established by the Alliance of Protestant Churches in 1926 for native Kenyan children. It was and still is a centre of excellence for some of the best minds that Kenya has ever produced serving both at home and abroad. A stint at Alliance High School could only but change one's fortunes for the better for the networks the school provides are to die for. As an alumni of Alliance Girls High School, I never failed to marvel at the exploits of the lads across the ridge whose school motto was "Strong To Serve". They excelled in sports, music, drama, debating and all manner of curricular & Co curricular activities. We - the girls - could only envy them and mark our territory to ward off forays by girls from other national schools. It was therefore anathema to us that Goddie would forfeit a place coveted by many, a place that he had strived so hard to get.
There were two options; that I would dip further in my savings as I had done for Ozzy & others before him OR that I would crowd fund on his behalf. The thought that we could abandon Goddie at his hour of greatest need never crossed our minds. I thought deeply into the night on why the gauntlet had been thrown at our feet in so unceremonious a manner. At the opportune time, just when I needed an answer, I got an epiphany out of the blues "Lift your eyes to the hills from where cometh your help".
I understood that the best response to the duel would be to crowd fund. We were unfazed by the short notice for we were convinced that the promises of God are 'yeah & amen' and He adds no sorrow to them. We prayed for a miracle of $1000 to cover Goddie's 2016 fee in full, shopping & transport from home to school. On the night of the Iowa Caucases, I wrote Goddie's story on my wall, inboxed different people of goodwill and waited.
Within exactly 24 hours, the $1000 that we needed had been raised from an assortment of friends, family & vetting sub committee members. The excitement was palpable. Folks, despite commitments of their own, stood up to be counted. The funds & pledges came in pounds, dollars, CFA & Kshs and in kind from across the globe...just to ensure that Goddie secured his place. We set the ball rolling for a volunteer to commence with his shopping as he had only another 24 hours to report to school.
In God's abundance, a further $500 was pledged - which if received - will be held in trust for 2017. When we were on the home stretch, we received a further $100 which - in appreciation - we tithed off to another lad for his obligatory school shopping.
Just when we were ready to pat our backs for a task well executed, we realized that we had two more hurdles to clear. As if to test our faith, an uncle weighed in - at the last moment - on the demerits of sending Goddie of to a school in far off Kikuyu and suggested that he re-enrol in a school nearby. Time was of the essense and this item had to be disposed off graciously for the sake of family unity. The second hurdle arose from unlikely quarters with the broader team members querring why we had separately raised funds for Goddie. I understood that God is not one of confusion and so rallied the troupes I had so tenaciously worked with, without being distracted or missing a heart beat. Volunteers assisted with different tasks which included cutting a Banker's cheque for AHS, assisting with the school shopping, donating personal effects, providing suggestions, filling in the school forms, preparing an accounting for all donations and accompanying the lad to school on the due date in style. We understood that we were surrounded by a crowd of witnesses on every side and so we could not fail.
So it came to pass that exactly 48 hours from when we had lifted our eyes to the hills that Goddie started a new adventure among the class of 2016 as an Alliance High School alumni with a whole years' school fees paid, shopping done and a cash surplus of $160. He met other students from Western Kenya who provided a supporting environment and helped him acclamatize in this new school. Goddie had never been away from home and was now - for the first time - in a residential boys school where he could pursue his dreams without encumbrances. Every step of the way, doors were opened and networks created that we believe will come in handy in the next four years.
Like Martin Luther King, we have a dream that Goddie will look back to this period of his life and tell his own story in his own words...he will regale us about a school calling letter that had been but a mockery in disguise. Goddie will perhaps wonder at an unfair system that fails its children and separates them on the basis of their parents' economic status...he will analyse the underlying reasons many bright but needy children miss out on much touted scholarships without a process of recourse. However - when all is said and done - we have a premonition that Goddie will thrive, because some persons unknown to him offered him the Lifeline he so much needed.
Goddie's story will always serve to remind us of Lupita Nyong'o's famous comment as she received the much coveted Oscar that "No matter where one is from, one's dreams are valid".
When Goddie's name came up, the last thing on our mind, was that a gauntlet would be thrown so dramatically at my feet. Over the next twelve hours, as folks slept, I mused over the best course of action to take. We - the vetting sub committee - had been convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Goddie, whom we had never met, would take up his place at Alliance High School as a freshman within 48 hours, his economic circumstances notwithstanding. The clock was ticking fast and we needed to assure the family that we would pick the bill. By a stroke of ill fortune, Goddie had missed out on scholarships applied for. Meanwhile Goddie was assisting in plastering a neighbour's hut so that perchance he could raise some funds towards his own schooling.
On the fateful day that his name was proposed by the vetting sub committee - we learnt rather belatedly that - we - who had vetted & proposed him for consideration - needed to figure out how to raise the requisite funds that would assure his fees & the logistics around his school shopping. I was reminded of a famous swahili proverb that "mbiu ya mgambo ikipiga kuna jambo".
I must digress and explain a little bit about Alliance High School. AHS (www.alliancehighschool.ac.ke) was established by the Alliance of Protestant Churches in 1926 for native Kenyan children. It was and still is a centre of excellence for some of the best minds that Kenya has ever produced serving both at home and abroad. A stint at Alliance High School could only but change one's fortunes for the better for the networks the school provides are to die for. As an alumni of Alliance Girls High School, I never failed to marvel at the exploits of the lads across the ridge whose school motto was "Strong To Serve". They excelled in sports, music, drama, debating and all manner of curricular & Co curricular activities. We - the girls - could only envy them and mark our territory to ward off forays by girls from other national schools. It was therefore anathema to us that Goddie would forfeit a place coveted by many, a place that he had strived so hard to get.
There were two options; that I would dip further in my savings as I had done for Ozzy & others before him OR that I would crowd fund on his behalf. The thought that we could abandon Goddie at his hour of greatest need never crossed our minds. I thought deeply into the night on why the gauntlet had been thrown at our feet in so unceremonious a manner. At the opportune time, just when I needed an answer, I got an epiphany out of the blues "Lift your eyes to the hills from where cometh your help".
I understood that the best response to the duel would be to crowd fund. We were unfazed by the short notice for we were convinced that the promises of God are 'yeah & amen' and He adds no sorrow to them. We prayed for a miracle of $1000 to cover Goddie's 2016 fee in full, shopping & transport from home to school. On the night of the Iowa Caucases, I wrote Goddie's story on my wall, inboxed different people of goodwill and waited.
Within exactly 24 hours, the $1000 that we needed had been raised from an assortment of friends, family & vetting sub committee members. The excitement was palpable. Folks, despite commitments of their own, stood up to be counted. The funds & pledges came in pounds, dollars, CFA & Kshs and in kind from across the globe...just to ensure that Goddie secured his place. We set the ball rolling for a volunteer to commence with his shopping as he had only another 24 hours to report to school.
In God's abundance, a further $500 was pledged - which if received - will be held in trust for 2017. When we were on the home stretch, we received a further $100 which - in appreciation - we tithed off to another lad for his obligatory school shopping.
Just when we were ready to pat our backs for a task well executed, we realized that we had two more hurdles to clear. As if to test our faith, an uncle weighed in - at the last moment - on the demerits of sending Goddie of to a school in far off Kikuyu and suggested that he re-enrol in a school nearby. Time was of the essense and this item had to be disposed off graciously for the sake of family unity. The second hurdle arose from unlikely quarters with the broader team members querring why we had separately raised funds for Goddie. I understood that God is not one of confusion and so rallied the troupes I had so tenaciously worked with, without being distracted or missing a heart beat. Volunteers assisted with different tasks which included cutting a Banker's cheque for AHS, assisting with the school shopping, donating personal effects, providing suggestions, filling in the school forms, preparing an accounting for all donations and accompanying the lad to school on the due date in style. We understood that we were surrounded by a crowd of witnesses on every side and so we could not fail.
So it came to pass that exactly 48 hours from when we had lifted our eyes to the hills that Goddie started a new adventure among the class of 2016 as an Alliance High School alumni with a whole years' school fees paid, shopping done and a cash surplus of $160. He met other students from Western Kenya who provided a supporting environment and helped him acclamatize in this new school. Goddie had never been away from home and was now - for the first time - in a residential boys school where he could pursue his dreams without encumbrances. Every step of the way, doors were opened and networks created that we believe will come in handy in the next four years.
Like Martin Luther King, we have a dream that Goddie will look back to this period of his life and tell his own story in his own words...he will regale us about a school calling letter that had been but a mockery in disguise. Goddie will perhaps wonder at an unfair system that fails its children and separates them on the basis of their parents' economic status...he will analyse the underlying reasons many bright but needy children miss out on much touted scholarships without a process of recourse. However - when all is said and done - we have a premonition that Goddie will thrive, because some persons unknown to him offered him the Lifeline he so much needed.
Goddie's story will always serve to remind us of Lupita Nyong'o's famous comment as she received the much coveted Oscar that "No matter where one is from, one's dreams are valid".
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