Of Scholarship, First Ladies, and God

I am tired of thinking. I am tired of rediscovering new knowledge, coming up with new theories that defy my previously held notions. That’s the problem with scholarship, with academia. You think, you come up with something, but then after some time, it doesn’t hold anymore, and you have to think of something new. After some time, it gets tiring, and you realize that your life is made up of contradictions, of more grey area than black and white. And gradually, all the thinking tires you out, because deep in your heart you knew the answer all along.

Seven months ago, standing in front of her grave, I had the crystal clear understanding of what my life should entail. All the questions of life seem answered in that moment, the moment of bowing down and laying a love wreath of red roses upon her resting place; the moment of burying my last letter into the dark unforgiving earth, a promise to God and to the friend I would never come to know in my adulthood. I looked up to God as a tear dropped down my cheeks, and I knew then that as always, He should remain the center of my life if ever I am to experience peace in my often-tumultuous life.

Fast forward to 2012, and Ida Odinga asks the ICC cases to be held in Kenya. Finally, I thought, someone has thought of the other side; the side that haunts me as a child, a scholar, and an individual who hopes not to judge others. She’ll make a good first lady, someone comments. It’s all about the balance, I say, the balance to empathize with both sides. But not everyone strives to strike this balance, to empathize with everyone. And those who do, end up with an eternal headache, scorn from others, and the curse of being misunderstood, misidentified, and stereotyped.

I’m tired of thinking, of remembering, of wondering. There comes a time in life, when the burdens become too much. But we have a hope, because He said that His yoke is easy, and His burden is light. And so I walk in academia, in scholarship, in the realm of first ladies, and I look to the author and the finisher of my faith. He will bring me safely to the end, I remember. He will never leave me nor forsake me. I remember the peace He has often filled in my heart, and I know that all the questions in life will crystallize in one answer—the answer of His Lordship, of His Son Jesus, and of His Holy Spirit.

I love you Lord, and I ask that your peace that surpasses all understanding guard my HEART and my MIND in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:7)

Your Story

It all started one day when you took your SATs and then you got your admission letter got on a plane and went to study in that far away land. You heard it was the land of milk and honey but you mostly went because you were eager to run away, to let your heart roam free and wild. You went with no inhibitions, carrying your name, your hopes, and the stern warning to uphold your family honor. No pregnancy, no drugs, maybe a white man so you get good-looking kids. And so you went.

You failed your first term. You took biology and chemistry but nothing sounded the same. The accents confused you; you didn’t know that a library is actually a laibry and not a laibraaary or that you should be drinking warrer and not water but still you persevered and you preserved your thick tongue. You learned to switch when you needed to so that your friends back home wouldn’t laugh at the girl pretending to be a foreigner, or the people in your new land single you out as an alien who hadn’t yet mastered their tongue.

But one day you got fed up and decided to assert yourself. You got tired with how they showed your home, how the suffering got more airtime than the innovations. You got pissed when you saw the service trips they all took, to go and give back to the ‘global community’ they were born into. You saw it as a measure to boost their own self-esteem, to assure themselves that they are indeed good people who care deeply about the world. You clicked your tongue and cursed them, and you changed your name.

You logged into your social network accounts and revolutionized your identity. You dropped your baptismal name and took up your ethnic name, so that you had to spell out your name every time someone asked you your name. You didn’t mind that part. The process of reowning your name was important to you. It helped you assert your Kenyanness, your Ugandanness, your Tanzanianness. You knew you were African when you said your name. That you also had a history, and more so a story that they didn’t know, would probably never know. But truth is you were never that African when you were in Africa. You didn’t even assert your nationality so openly, so brazenly, oh so passionately. But the air in that place shaped you, the people chiseled you, the environment transformed you. That nameless thing took hold of you and told you you needed to assert your identity, so that you never once looked back and analyzed yourself, and thought about the changes taking place in you. Like a son of fate you took it in your stride. You grew locks, then got tired and put on an afro. And you smeared coconut and shea butter on yourself. “see my ebony skin’ you seemed to say ‘see my healthy natural hair’ your body screamed ‘look at me! I’m the African queen’

And then you stopped going to church. You were once the youth leader way back when, and you advised people on the way they should go. Kids looked up to you, pastors adored you. In fact, five pastors came to pray for you on your farewell party. ‘take care of babylon’ they said ‘serve the lord, he is with you always’. But then you changed your mind after all, what do those pastors know anyway. They are being brainwashed by those beliefs. Who is God anyway? You asked. An invention to colonize the African mind. Yes, Jesus was not an African anyway, he couldn’t be your hero now. And so you reformed your beliefs, and decided to venerate your ancestors. But then you remembered how funny those Maasai men looked when they came to pray in Jamhuri day celebrations, and you shuddered at the thought of being like them. And so you decided to be an atheist, but you preferred the term child of the universe. More classy, more acceptable, at least your parents wouldn’t freak out at what Ulaya did to you.

And one day you met him, and you knew you had been holding on to your honor for too long. What was that honor anyway? It’s important to liberate your mind. After all, you had been wearing miniskirts, and tank tops, and…oh well who cares. So you lost it, and it felt great. And you were free, and now you could live life.

The years went by, and you went home for the mandatory visits. You were born with half a silver spoon in your mouth and it wasn’t too hard to get the flight ticket and so you didn’t understand what the other Africans meant when they lamented that the ticket price was too high. You loved going to Boston to party and meet with other great African minds. There was always an African event going down somewhere. And you went to dance to your Africanness to praise your roots to get wasted on Tusker and Heineken and bounce along to the latest Nigerian hits. And in your intoxicated state, you ranted about your homeland, how the corrupt leaders fleeced all the aid money, and how the poor remained poor. You all swore to be the difference, to go back home and overthrow, take over and bring a change that the common mwananchi could believe in. You spurn your dreams, sewed it together, and set it on the timetable of life. Plan A, Plan B, Plan C and Z.

The years went by once again and you graduated with your political science degree. Unlike the others, you went back home straight away. You lived your promise to change your homeland, and you wouldn’t let the promise of big bucks in Wall Street deter you. You knew what you had to do and you didn’t hesitate to do it.

You entered the Nairobi scene like an old hand, you knew the Java tricks and the Brew Bistro, the cocktails and the fast life and the talk of the new returnees working for American companies earning dollars like the consultants of New York. You partied hard and you worked hard, because no one would stand in the way of your dreams, in the work hard play hard mantra that was your new elixir. You lived in your Parklands apartment, and you drove to work in Westlands in your black Lexus, and you had him visit you every Sunday after your parents had come for their 4 o'clock cup of tea. When they asked you what your pastor preached on Sunday, you mumbled something about the wages of sin. It’s so easy after all, Jesus died for your sins. Twist the salvation story fifty-two times a year and they would never have a clue that you didn’t know the shape of the pews, the politics of the pastors moving churches, the faces of the children in the playground.

But yours was never meant to be a long life, and the end came suddenly, on Waiyaki way, on Sunday night, when Ben or was it Patrick told you to drop him home coz he had a late night and he couldn’t stay up with you (you had your Mondays free after all). And you agreed because he said his car was in the garage and you were his baby after all, and he told you he loved you and you were sure he would put a ring on your finger and you would run in the next elections as a Mrs. So you hoped in your black Lexus and you turned from your apartments into Thika road, down the looping bend to Waiyaki way. But you had a wine glass too many, like you did every Sunday only you forgot that it was 1 am and you should have been in bed, and when you saw the lights you tried to swerve, but you swerved when the metal had crashed into metal, and two blobs of gleaming light shone in your eyes, and you wondered if you were staring into forever. And you wondered about that voice that carried you into the heat of eternity. It wasn’t Patrick’s, it didn’t sound like Ben’s. It sounded like a nursery school rhyme, like the voices from the past calling you back and forth, reminding you that those who call on the name of the Lord would be saved.

And so you screamed His name, and then you were gone.

212012

Happy New Year! It’s 212012 for me. I’ve just turned 21 and it’s almost 2012 and I’ve been toying with the idea of writing two posts, one inspired by my friend Brenda and the other by my 21st birthday, and since I’ve not gotten to writing any of them yet, I have decided to combine both posts into one reflective post about the coming year and turning 21. So here’s my 212012.

Turning 21 really shouldn’t be a big deal, but since it’s a life-altering moment where I school, I might as well make a big deal about it. It’s my birthday, I’m turning 21 years old, though most people claim that I’m more mature than my years, and I get asked a lot these days about where I work, how it feels almost being 30 etc. (I’ve now resolved to laugh very loudly at this or take it as a complement, though I’m not sure my family thinks I am that mature, but that’s not the story here…)

So I’m turning 21, and it’s turning 2012. It’s my 212012. What do I hope for? I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions. I make so many that I either never keep or always forget, and I hence end up making resolutions throughout the whole year. But since ni mwaka mpya, mwamko mpya, mambo mapya, umri mpya, I might as well get on with it.

1. Here’s to continue being my BEST.

Last week, my friend Brenda mentioned how her children would be lucky because she was going to be the BEST mother. I couldn’t agree more. Brenda’s children are going to be one lucky bunch! Incidentally, Brenda reminded me what it means to be one’s best. Like her, I have always believed in being my best at all times, but mostly just in school. Brenda has challenged me to aspire to be my best, the BEST in all other aspects of my life. So here’s to working on being the best sister, daughter, friend, student, Sunday school teacher, colleague, employee, child of God. Here’s to being the BEST Miriam.

2. Here’s to submitting my WRITING to get published.

The first person to encourage me to write was my father…then my professors…then my younger sister…and now my friends. I started this blog to try and make some baby steps into the world of writing, and now, I hope to start crawling in 212012!

3. Here’s to ENJOYING EACH DAY. No more postponing fun!

Mr. Ayiro told me this past holiday to enjoy each day and not to postpone my fun. So here’s to not mourning my childhood or dreaming up my future too much. Here’s to not complaining about my current stage in life. Here’s to living each day, enjoying each day, and rocking my life!

4. Here’s to learning how to WAIT.

Thank you my amazing friends and family who continually keep up with the super impatient crazy me, answer my late night phone and skype calls and give me not very good advice, sometimes…hehe. But you’ll be happy to learn that I am now new and improved like the Harpic Suzanne Owiyo is advertising…LOL…yes, email or call for more details. :)

5. Finally, here’s to faithfully RUNNING MY RACE.

Rant alert! I get this a lot from society, that since I was good at high school, I should be studying something novel, like computational physics I suppose. I’m studying anthropology society, because I want to understand social problems and I want to come up with my own God-inspired innovative ways of tackling them. I’m NOT sorry if you think I’m not putting my brain to good use (maybe I just want to sleep), or not doing something useful for Africa. (God knows many of your doctors, engineers, and economists are holed up in this diaspora). Anyway, I got good grades in those ‘hard’ sciency subjects only because I ALWAYS put in my BEST effort, and my best just turned out to be one of the best. I don’t enjoy, still don’t, maths, physics and chemistry. But I’m being my best every day, and I’m doing it for God, sorry not you, it’s all about my Maker. I’m running the race He’s set out for ME. This time 212012, and for all time, I’m working not to compare myself, I’m not looking out to see who’s in the next lane, who’s doing A or B or C. Some run fast, some run slow…but we all get to our OWN prize at the end, and I personally just want God to be my great reward, not some earthly legacy that moths can destroy. Raundi hii, I’m running my race. And that’s it.

As usual, the overall resolution of my life and motto of this blog, thanks to Peter Ayiro, remains kwa hii life, usikawai panic!

Have a Happy New Year everyone and may God richly bless you!

Walking in a dark world…

Walking into Heathrow Airport, I was faced once again with one of my least favorite developments in airport security: the seemingly numerous full body security checks. This now normal routine, a result of the increased terrorist activities in this world, also reflected the current happenings back home in Kenya—the now normal security checks before getting into malls, buildings, and now even churches. After getting myself checked and while walking into the transit area, one thought came to my mind to reassure me.

Even as the days of this world grow darker, His grace grows even stronger, His light ever more guiding. 

Just as David must have felt writing the 23rd psalm, echoing how his Lord walked with him in the shadow of the valley of the dead, I experienced the same calm assurance; the same unwavering conviction. In that short walk, I knew that even as before, I never walk alone. I have a wandering heart, and often, the feet of my heart yearn to walk. Even then, I am hidden under the shadow of God’s wings, enveloped in the arms of Christ, and guided by His Holy Spirit. Resting in Him, even as the days of this earth grow ever darker, I know I will walk with Him even to the end of the age. But in the mean time, I will face whatever the world throws at me, using each opportunity to cause God’s name to be glorified, be it through co-operating, smiling at the security officers, saying ‘how do you do?’, you name it. Let your light shine before men, even and especially, when walking in a dark world.