The Artificial Construct of Keeping It Real

Wannabe. Oreo. Coconut. Fake. All of these contumelies will be familiar to anyone who, at some point, has been accused of "acting white." It could be something as simple as preferring heavy metal over hip-hop, or having the "wrong" accent. Whether warranted or not, the insult serves to put the recipient on notice that their behaviour has been interpreted as a form of cultural betrayal. While the situation may be more familiar to black people in the West, the accusation is not limited by geography. Even in Kenya, where we do not suffer the social disadvantages of being a minority, and where the effects of colonial racism have arguably been less devastating than the United States, it is still possible to face the charge of somehow letting the side down through one's behaviour.

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My Classmate the G. I.

I was very rude to an old classmate of mine last Friday. It was not really her fault, but such is the human condition that being the bearer of bad tidings is more likely to get you shot than the actual commission of evil.

In an interesting narrative, Stephen Wanyama tells us how he learned that his friend is now serving in the US Army.

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The Evil Servant

Every Kenyan home with a little bit of money to spare will have at least one house-servant. They are not as a profession, the most respected Kenyans.

"Mum!!! You need to get rid of Sam! He burnt my new top again!!!"

"Stop it Angie, you should learn to get along with Sam..." "But mum..." "Not another word Angie..."

Angie does not hate her house help, she detests him. For all she knows he is the cause of all the problems in her home. Four years after his employment Sam has gone from the deferential, ‘yes, madam' or ‘yes, sir' to a series of ‘waits! ‘not nows!' ‘noes' or sometimes even no answer at all and all this is to his employer Angie's mother. Still he would not utter a defiant word or dither for a second with her father for fathers will not abide such nonsense from anyone.

Charity Kivuli on house servants who turn family members against each other. "Most of the trouble is little issues discussed at home, blurted out to the public and blamed on Angie."

My Kenyan Son, Listen to the Wisdom of Years

My son, I am now an old woman,I feel the ancestors beckoning to me,My heart is punctured and frayed,My body: old and frail. In the years I have been around, I've learnt so much 'bout the world, I feel the time is ripe, To share with you my arsenal. In recent months, I've been watching you, Watching you keenly; watching with eyes of steel, My eyes have not slumbered in my watch, My guard has not dropped in my sentry. My son, I am afraid of what I see; I am afraid of what I dream; I am afraid of what I see in your eyes; I am afraid of your zest and vim. My son, I am afraid, The more I think of what you are doing, The more I age past my age, The more people comment on how old I look.

Interesting narration by Richard Mbuthia, as an old woman advises her grandson on social issues.