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DIR Return to: Armah-Hutchinson -- High School Humanities
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#Post#: 71--------------------------------------------------
"I am Kenyan"
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: December 25, 2019, 11:06 am
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The Kikuyu teacher was Maitho Wachiru. It was a nice name, and
he was young, but for some reason his forehead wrinkled when he
spoke or smiled. Zia chalked it up to his expressive eyebrows,
which she found endearing. His eyes bored down on her on the
other side of the Skype screen. Kikuyu was part of the reason
her mother was willing to let her go to a co-ed, secular,
boarding school that let kids out onto Central Avenue. Mr.
Wachiru spoke to Zia in rapid-fire Kikuyu. She barely understood
him and had to beg him to slow down. This embarassed her, and
made her feel flattered at the same time. This was the attention
that real academics paid, and she merited this? No, she did not
deserve this. It was way above her.
"Not the way a mother talks to her child eh..." Mr. Wachiru
commented.
"No, you are my teacher, not my mother," Zia replied.
"Very well, may I ask who your people are?"
"I am Kenyan," Zia did not even have to think about that one.
"Yes, but which people?"
"Kenyan, that is all."
"Kenya is a country carved out by British imperialist
colonizers. The people were here before the country."
"Kenya is a proud, prosperous, independent nation and has been
since before I was born."
"Say it in Kikuyu," Mr. Wachiru warned Zia. This was after all
three pm, special language class.
Zia had to think a bit but she could say what she needed in the
language she could barely read or write. It was important to
learn Kikuyu as well as Dholuo and Swahili, so she could speak
both her country's major language. One day she would have an
important job in industry or government. And Kenya was a nation
more than it was a bunch of tribes.
"Your parents must have their people," Mr.Wachiru insisted, and
he was serious about this.
"My mother is Kikuyu, and my father is Luo," responded Zia. "My
name is Swahili. I am Kenyan."
"You are mixed. Did your father convert to Christianity?"
"His mother did," Zia responded.
"It is easier to educate the children abroad that way."
"There are nonreligious schools." Zia struggled to find the word
"nonreligious" in what was her poor relation of a fourth
language.
"And why educate a child abroad in the first place? Are there
not fine schools in Nairobi?"
"There are, but in Nairobi," Zia stuck to her Kikuyu, glad there
was someone with whom she could share the language. "I cannot
come and go as I please. The driver has to take me to school and
back and to the mall and to other places. I have more freedom in
the United States." Zia thought of the ordinary peoples' stores
on Battle Hill. "One day I will eat empenadas," she told herself
in English.
"Did you ever wonder why that is so?"
"Nairobi is not safe."
"Why not?"
"Criminals."
"Tell me about criminals."
Zia realized she was going to struggle for words. "Sometimes
they....steal...women and children, but more often, they just
want money. Some pull your purse from your body. Some just beg.
Their children are ragged and carry diseases."
"There is a word in English: 'the unwashed.' Your parents are
schooling you well. Now, Zia, did you obtain your book?"
Zia had lost valuable lunch time she would have spent with her
roommate waiting in a line at the book issuing office in
Crosby-Magnoni. She held up the book when Mr. Wachiru asked.
"OK, lesson one is your first set of regular verbs. You'll need
to conjugate them and copy the sentences. There is also a
vocabulary lesson. Which do you want to try first?"
"Vocabulary," replied Zia who used the English word. Mr. Wachiru
gave her the Kikuyu word. "Who made Kikuyu into a written
language?" asked Mr. Wachiru, and he had to ask it twice.
"British," responded Zia.
"You know some history. That is good," replied Mr. Wachiru.
"Perhaps you will learn more."
#Post#: 100--------------------------------------------------
Re: "I am Kenyan"
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: January 2, 2020, 1:33 pm
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"Excellent, excellent" Mr.Wachiru told Zia of her work with
vocabulary and irregular verbs. "You'll need a few more batches
of verbs and a better grasp of the past and future tense, before
I can have you translate anything.
"So how is school."
"It goes well. What do you think of the legislation in Uganda
that the Christians promoted."
"What legislation?"
Zia realized she did not have a word for it in English. "It is
legislation punishing -- I don't have a word for it in Kikuyu --
L-G-B-T-Q people. It makes it illegal to ask for your rights."
"Are you one of those people?"
"They are not those people. They are like you and me. What they
do in private is private but it's not all private because
sometimes they want to marry their partners and sometimes they
want to invite their dates to parties and sometimes parents
throw out a child who loves their own gender."
"You received quite an education in Britain."
"I went to school in a convent."
"And you read the papers and listened to the BBC. I get it. Let
me think of a polite phrase for what you want, for men and for
women right..."
"Of course."
"'one who loves their own.' You can say that."
"She repeated it."
"Now what brought all this on if I may ask?"
"There is a boy at my church who plays the piano and who paints
his nails in the French manner, white at the tips."
"Jesus Christ."
"Yes, I met him at church. I don't know who he loves, but a boy
like that can be bullied and ridiculed."
"I should say so."
"It's not right."
"No, it's not. What do your parents think of this church?"
"My mother would like me to find another church."
"That is very wise, Zia."
"It won't feel as good as praying with classmates."
"You need to remember how a lot of people back home feel, even
if Kenya is not Uganda and none of us would like to
throw...those who love their own...in gaol."
"A lot of people back home are...backward and ignorant. That
doesn't mean I have to share their ignorance."
"I think it would be good if you listen to your mother."
"OK," Zia responded. Sunday was far away, and she'd get out of
it somehow, she told herself. Mr.Wachiru was practical, and he
probably wasn't gay himself, and he'd been brought up very
conservatively. Zia could get that. And yet, she did not like to
think of Mr. Wachiru as an "older person." He was young. He had
not grown up being driven around to protect him from unwashed
bandits.
"I can understand how people in Kenya think rights for those who
love their own are part of what rich people from the United
State and Europe might force on us, but the original laws
against those who love their own were British."
"Kenyans would not waste their time with the laws or repealing
them," Mr. Wachiru answered.
#Post#: 138--------------------------------------------------
Re: "I am Kenyan"
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: January 17, 2020, 2:45 pm
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"So how's your new church, Zia?" Mr Wachiru's words knocked the
rancid memory of the disgusting lunch out of her mind.
"There is no new church," Zia struggled to remember her Kikuyu.
"I'm disobeying my mother." ("I hope I got the tense on that
right," Zia thought.)
"Wow, and what does she think."
"I told her church went well."
"You liked then."
"I told half the truth. I did not tell the other part."
"Tell me Zia," asked Mr. Wachiru. "Why do you like the boy who
paints his nails?"
"He sings well. He sings beautifully."
"And what if he prefers his own."
"That doesn't change his voice."
"All right, I will do for you what your mother is too far away
to handle. Zia, I want you to start reading the papers. If you
can find them in Kikuyu all the better. If you find them in
English, I need you to translate two five hundred word articles
to Kikuyu."
"What kinds of articles do you want."
"Government, politics, or business."
"Are rights for those who love their own off limits?"
"Should you find such articles, the answer is 'no.' You may
include them, but there is a lot else that happens."
"Zia," Mr. Wachiru asked. "Did you ever wonder why your parents
sent you abroad in sixth grade?"
"So I could get around without having to be chauffeured. I could
come and go to town, when they gave us passes."
"You don't think there was more."
"It is easier to get around when you don't have to worry about
very poor people, who could take what you have."
"You don't think there is more than that..."
"Not really. I think some of it is a habit from colonial
times???"
"Perhaps... Tell me Zia, did you read the papers from home when
you were in England."
"We didn't have that much internet access. Here I have to have a
laptop connected to the net."
"Then you can start to become informed, and one more thing.
Reading The Nation is OK, but pick out some other newspapers as
well."
"OK," Zia answered.
"Now let's go over those work sheets shall we..."
#Post#: 142--------------------------------------------------
Re: "I am Kenyan"
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: January 31, 2020, 10:53 am
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Zia felt tongue tied. "Mr. Wachiru," she began. Kikuyu was fine
for when her mother yelled at her and ordinary day to day
conversation, but this was not the words she was used to using
in the language. "The newspapers were terrible?"
On the Skype screen Mr. Wachiru blinked. "Why so Zia?" His
Kikuyu felt oddly formal.
"There was just politics and gossip in them. They are
im-peach-ing (She had to use the English word because she did
not know the right word in Kikuyu.) a senator. The opposition is
gathering votes to run for parliament." She hoped she got the
last word right.
Dr. Wachiru gave her an English cognate for im-peach-ment. He
also said that she could use a synonym, chase him from his
office. Zia felt the blood run to her face.
"So is there something missing?" asked Dr. Wachiru.
"Battle Hill Avenue," Zia resorted to mental shorthand.
"Isn't that in Westchester somewhere?"
"It's an idea. In Nairobi, I need a driver to get around because
the poor are beggars and bandits. I could be kidnapped. In the
United States, I can climb Battle Hill Avenue and even eat in
the restaurants there because there is equality." "Did I get
that word right?" Zia wondered.
"People in this country would not agree with you," answered Mr.
Wachiru. "But why do you think there are no articles about
poverty and inequality in what you read."
"The poor cannot read," Zia answered. "And they do not buy
newspapers ...though there are wall newspapers, but poor people
don't buy stuff the advertisers sell."
"Do you think there is complete freedom of the press in Kenya?"
Zia shook her head. "America is the wild west with that kind of
thing. They even let Nat-zies march in the street."
"OK, you need to find a web forum where people talk....and talk
in your language."
"The opposition will run it."
"Maybe...maybe not.... you won't be going there to talk
politics. Let me give you a couple of URLs."
"Are you on the forum?"
"I mostly just listen."
"Can I tell my mother?"
"As you wish, Zia. As you wish."
#Post#: 158--------------------------------------------------
Re: "I am Kenyan"
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: March 13, 2020, 9:25 am
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"There is a sore on the leader's face," Zia began with Mr.
Wachiru Wednesday afternoon.
"How would you translate that into English?" Mr. Wachiru asked.
"Not literally," Zia began. "It is like the emperor in the story
about the Emperor and his New Clothes. Do you know the story?"
"I did not have your good, English upbringing, Zia."
"OK, two swindlers sew an emperor a magical suit. Only those who
are fit for office and not fools can see it. Everyone
else...sees nothing. The emperor of course does not want to be a
fool so... And the queen...and the court... and I guess they put
it in the wall newspaper or on TV, because when the Emperor
wears the 'new suit' in a parade, only one little boy who
doesn't read yet sees the obvious, and he cries out 'The emperor
doesn't have any clothes.'
"In the Andersen story, everyone comes to their senses, but
that's not how it really happens. Someone would slap the little
boy for making a fool of himself and the parade would go on.
Well the sore is the same way. It's there but nobody who doesn't
want to be a fool sees it, even if they do see it."
"OK....you understand."
"It's a sad thing."
"What's so sad. Where did you read about the sore on the ruler's
face?"
"On the Building New Kenya forum. Everyone has to pay petty
officials for various things."
"Bribes," Mr. Wachiru switched to English.
"Kickbacks," Zia was not sure where she had learned the
expression. "How do we say it in Kikuyu?"
"Feed the dogs," answered Mr. Wachiru. "The dogs are very
hungry."
"Are there big dogs and little ones?" Zia liked this play of
metaphors.
"What do you think?"
"I am not sure."
"You want be honest..."
"I try to be honest."
"Then keep your ears open for the sounds of the honeycreeper.
She will lead you to the bees."
"And the bees honey may be contaminated with in-sect-i-cide,"
Zia needed English again. "How do I say that in Kikuyu."
"Pest-killer," Mr. Wachiru replied.
"What do you do if the honey is poisoned?"
"Maybe it won't be or only a little."
"How much is acceptable?"
"I'll have to see won't I? Anyway, I'm supposed to be learning
Kikuyu. That's what my parents' arranged."
"What language have we been speaking."
"Yes, but reading and writing."
"You've been doing your translations, Zia. Let's make sure you
work on your grammar. You're good with the past tenses, but
let's bolster those irr-reg-ul-ar verbs, shall we..."
"Mr. Wachiru is the snake in the gourd patch," thought Zia to
herself and then realized she was thinking in Kikuyu about
something other than her mother scolding and herself arguing
back.
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