The First of June was Madaraka day. It was a day to celebrate Kenya and being Kenyan. It was a time for us to revel in our Kenyanhood and Kenyanness.

And just like everyone else I was then, and I still am now proud to call Kenya Home and Motherland. Many of my friends question this, what with my stinging critique and wholesome derision of the Government. What I tell them is my love for my country has nothing to do with Government.

And just like everyone else I sat down and watched the first few minutes of the festivities. However this was where we parted ways with everyone else. Most people watched with pride as teachers, soldiers, firemen, policemen and even girl guides and boy scouts marched past the presidential dias. Me? I viewed it with acute resentment.

And at a given signal, each and everyone of the marchers would look to the right and salute the dias.

The straw that broke the camel’s back. I viewed this as a slap in the face — a mockery of the hard working people that ARE Kenya.

All of us have at one time or another have participated in a parade. It may have been at those ubiquitous national day celebrations or it may have been at school. Remember if you will standing under that hot sun, in the sweltering heat, waiting as endless speeches were read. Allow me to draw your attention to one fact — that there are a group of people WATCHING the parade, nestled comfortably under tents with cold drinks in hand.

This invariably was the school administration. At the very front were the headmaster and his deputies. Behind them were the other teachers. Behind those were the support staff. And finally the lucky parents who could fit in the tents. The other parents would sit on benches usually occupied by riotously shouting boys singing unbelievably dirty rugby cheering songs, or on seats brought from the classroom.

Similar parallels can be observed in history. Look at the conquering Romans under the leadership of men like Hadrian, Augustus, Trajan and Domitian. Over aggressive expansion programs, or while securing their borders, they build stadiums, collosseums and ampitheates. OUTSIDE their garissons — for the locals.

These stadiums were designed along George Bush -esque lines — to shock and awe the dominion. Of grand construction. Villagers and soldiers would parade and march before interesting activities like gladiators fighting to the death. The subdued would watch all this opulence and strength and discipline and the urge to resist would be silenced. They would hear from the lips of the Romans just how much better life was under them.

And then there would be the fights to the death of the gladiators, and for innovative emperors like Domitian, conquests between women and dwarfs.

And all the while the emperors and centurions and other officials would sit on an elevated, shady pavilion, safely out of the reach of those pesky villagers and mere soldiers. These pesky elements would then provide the entertainment, be it song and dance or butchering each other while blindfolded and tied together.

And some 2000 years later here I am watching the exact same thing, identical to a T.

There is a presidential dias, where the president and the upper echelons of his cabinet seat. Behind them are lesser cabinet ministers. Behind those are other officials and diplomas. This segment is barricaded. They sit on seats emblazoned with the coat of arms. They are shaded from the sun. They are provided with bottled water and snacks.

And below them sit the common man, on the hard stone of Nyayo Stadium. Completely exposed to the elements, cheering and whistling. With their sons and daughters on their shoulders, celebrating wildly but deep inside not exactly sure what they are celebrating.

And then on the stadium tracks themselves, the “soldiers and villagers”. Army officers, policemen, farmers, civil servants, firemen, boy scouts, girl guides, brownies — who have been preparing for a whole week and are now proudly marching under the approving eye of those under the presidential dias.

I don’t know about you but strikes me as a very clever subtle reinforcement of the class divide between the ruler and the ruled. A stark reinforcement of the ruler and the serf.

For a moment there the gulf of 90 AD and 2006 AD was breached and there was absolutely no difference between Mwai Kibaki addressing Kenyans and Hadrian addressing Jews.

And after the serfs have marched past, the ruler takes to the podium and very eloquently proceeds to elaborate just how he, the ruler, has made life easier for the ruled. How much better life is under him than it was before. How much they owe their better life to his benevolence. The ruler will even have the temerity to take credit for things that the ruled have done themselves.

And finally the ruler will step of the hot sun and settle in his comfortable chair, where he will be handed a cold drink. Then he will watch the ‘entertainment’ by the locals. Whether this is sword fighting or gladiators or songs or poetry or comic skits is a moot point.

Those in the dias will laugh, and those performing will take it to be a testament to their talents. I don’t blame the performers. It is generally difficult to know when someone is laughing with you or at you from a distance.

Were any of Kibaki’s grandchildren marching in that sun? Or any of Awori’s doing traditional dances? Were any of Michuki’s children marching in their full uniform? Were any of Karume’s children playing instruments in the army band? Were any of Odinga’s & Uhuru’s children performing traditional dances to amuse the masses?

If you were there did you enter or leave using the same entrance as your MP? Did you park in the same parking? Were you escorted to your seat?

Was it just me who was insulted some occasion back when the government benevolently hiked the minimum wage by a few token thousand shillings, the same government that has no qualms about awarding itself handsome pay hikes and then backdating them to the tunes of millions of shillings?

The same government that can rationalize meetings in Mombasa because the MPs “don’t want to be harassed by their constituents” © John Koech?

And these people sit from shaded podiums making a mockery of the industry, drive, determination and passion of the Kenyan man and woman who breaks his back with toil to keep the in their opulence.

Mwai Kibaki and Moody Awori and everyone who took a mike proudly declared

Najivunia
kuwa
Mkenya

A laughable attempt at solidarity with the common Kenyan. With a million shilling plus in monies you don’t even earn, a chronic myopia to the realities on the ground, i doubt they know the first thing about life as the common Kenyan.

It is the ability to square your shoulders and rather walk 20 kilometers to work that refuse to give in to matatu cartels. It is the ability to wake up, get dressed and go to work, even though your own government has no qualms sending masked, armed goons to harass, beat and racially insult you. It is the ability to overlook the blatant bribes to buy our votes at referenda and cast our lot with whatever we feel we want.

It is the ability to take the government to tasks on its actions and no longer tolerate the all knowing, all powerful mentality of government. The ability to demand and expect people who have stolen our hard earned money to go to jail.

It is the ability to smile and say hello to total strangers we meet in the course of our day. The ability to laugh at ourselves when we go wrong, pick up and move on. The ability to help our friends in need when we can.

The ability to roll our eyes and laugh when yet another task force or committee is set up to chase its own tail.

And above all, despite our hardships, the ability to be able to smile at the end of the day, wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

Yes sir, I am proud to be a Kenyan.

But you’ll excuse me if I refuse to watch crass displays designed to put me in my place and stifle my spirit and independence.

AOB
This post should have gone up on Madaraka day … but stuff happenend

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