The Kenya I Live in

THE KENYA I LIVE IN

The long awaited National Census had taken place and the enumerator had asked us the thorny question: which tribe do you come from? I leave my sit and head to our bedroom. The fact that I cannot get away from this tag make me sad. I should tell you why…..

Two days after the 2007 General Elections, I was in our shamba when suddenly, I was sought by my husband of six years and from the look on his face I knew something was amiss. He hurriedly told me that I had to leave and in answer to my puzzled expression he explained that he was from a tribal meeting and his tribes mate had said that they did not want ‘madoadoa’ in the community. And since I was not a pure breed from the tribe, I had to leave.

“Baba watoto, where will I go to? Are you coming with us? What will …….”

I was cut short as suddenly a group of machete wielding men came charging towards us. These were not strangers, that is Nyang’au my neighbor’s son. Isn’t that Kafiri the Pastor at our local church? Oh my God, is not that Ngumi the teacher and him Nisaidie who I gave food to, more often than I could remember. Clearly, these were not the men I knew. They must be possessed. All there thoughts passed through my mind so fast that I did not see my ‘loving’ husband removing his machete from its holder.

“Mama uko na dakika sitini kutoka hapa. Na uwachukue watoto hao wako. Lazima uende. Raundi hii si mchezo. Mliiba kura. Lazima mtalipa. Haya moja, mbili, tatu ….. enda”.

My husband and I had taken six years to build out home and here I was being told to vacate it in sixty minutes. I entered the house and the first thing I noticed was our wedding picture. We were so happy; I remembered that day with nostalgia. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. He carried me to our reception and he repeated the vows during our honeymoon period. We loved each other a lot.

“What are still doing here?”

I snapped out of my reverie. It was my ‘loving’ husband.

“The men...