Dreams from my Grandfather

Dreams from my Grandfather.
‘A man without knowledge of his roots and origin, is a slave’ a Quote from one Hollywood blockbusters.

When I grow old I want to be like my grandfather! Warts and all, there’s a symphony to his slow walk, an almost grace and measured intent in its pace.

I want to have a wife that I have been with for five decades, who can know when I am thirsty from another room, a seat on which we have deliberated a great many things, decades of mastery of its weakness, crevices, weak and strong points. I want to have that wardrobe with old clothes that tell tales from way back when they were first worn. Perhaps the most important thing I envy of my Grandfather is his insight, not intellect, not intelligence but shere wisdom, nine decades on this earth has quite an impact. His sharp memory is something to marvel at, coming from a generation that misplaces their phones ten times a day, I sit in awe of his recollection of the 30s, 40s,50s all through to date, not with bitterness of the downward trends nor disasters but with lucid interpretation, at times with laughs. I listen deep into the night as I furnish myself with kikuyu vocabulary as I reconstruct the past as a hit classic movie.

I learn of himself as a young boy born to a large family deep rooted in traditional beliefs that would be ruled as occult today. An old man, his father survived by several wives, with his seat too, with which they share decades long relationship too, it seems to be a generational trait that I wouldn’t want to pass by. Grandpa says his father dressed in robes like the maasai, cut his earlobes thick and long and was accompanied by a walking stick from as far back as he could recall. Grand dad, tells me of what a big deal it was to them when the missionaries introduced clothes, starting with the inner-wears, the young boys of then, him and his agemates, had a great laugh at their parents who wouldn’t hear of such bodily restrictions.

It must have been a great society, plagued by its own misfortunes nonetheless but they had found a balance; such as when the patriach announced that the area they had settled in had been visited by evil spirits owing to the double deaths of his new borns directing them all to relocate to lands that ‘Ngai’ would soon offer. Poetic and beautifully certain that their deity would provide such.

It was a time of simplicity and faith, and plenty was there to eat and man only took what he could eat. A time when visitors were welcomed as blessing and sent off with more blessings. Same way the white man was first welcomed into that society..

Colonization is such a hot topic, which I suppose he derived from his aged father, the anti-colonizatuon struggle though which he lived through. To him and his age mates it was not only noble but a bellum sacrum (holy war) of sorts to return their land to their lineage. To them it was a necessary evil to reclaim a land entrusted to them by their forefathers, to hand it over to their children. After all how would it go down when you lost the only item that was entrusted to you by your fathers in trust to pass it down to your children?
My childhood holidays was spent at his feet as he regaled us with tales of battles & the guerrilla tactics they engaged in, for fun to most of his young agemates. From running from white settlers you knew were bad news, climbing up trees & sitting very still evading a hot pursuit from a white policeman on horseback. He spoke of the Mau Mau worriors who had taken oaths to live in the forest and fight the imperialists to their deaths, he spoke of the religious beliefs that reigned then: the implicit beleive in ‘Mwene-Nyaga’ the age-old belief that when they died with a fistful of soil from their land, they would claim it in life and in death!

That if they bled on their land as they engaged in the nobel fight for their same, they would forever be linked to their forefathers who lived for/from and buried in the same land.
He spoke of how scary these ninjas were, a sight to fear! Some had seen/caused too much death in the second world war and could re-integrate into the society. Inspiring fear in the settlers and locals the same.

He spoke of how his village gave support to the fighters in terms of food, animals to feast, or giving them alabis when pursued by the loathed askaris, hiding them in their houses whenever it suited them.
It was a time Kenya was being formed! A loyalty never articulated in words but action. A pulsating movement in one unchanging direction, Our Land! My brother had a flare for the dramatic and for that my old man laid bare the crude weapons that were popular at the time, the pangas, daggers and improvised guns, it was a crazy time to live and this old man stomached it all.

Perhaps the most informative stories he let out on me were the ones of social movement, riots, labour and student strikes that plagued Nairobi town. If it wasn’t the railway workers campaigning against poor pay, it was the students in the famous University crying foul, if not the political leaders challenging the status quo it was hush hush tales of a guerrilla warfare that had claimed some more lives. Among these movements, he admits, The Kenyan dream was born!

The dream of what this nation would be, he explains that they had seen the benefits of formal education, the benefits of money and had witnessed the children of the wealthy and those with wealth live exemplary lives, drive huge imported cars and enjoy great services. They wished tbe same for the new Kenya, ready to sacrifice it all for that! And that’s how the freedom movement was ushered in, how it was fought and how it took over!

He looks at me deep in the eye and confesses that those dreams and aspirations were never achieved! Those dreams and aspirations were trampled on by the powers that took over and corrupted the plan, those that laid seige to democracy using tools that were unknown to those who helped establish the nation. They used their mighty pens and paper to redistribute the land, their police boots to extinguish dissenters and activists their metal prisons to lock down revolutionaries. The freedom fighters were outmatched! In me my grandfather sees a generation that can counter this movement, this impunity and install the truest dream that is Kenya.

So when he looks at me, into me and concurs that this phone-wielding, English-speaking, fashion-conscious young man is the final product that is equipped to deliver freedom.

“You are the only one who can….. Because you know how it works, we were outmatched!”