What happened to 'Nathi'?

This is not a post to provide answers to complex questions, but merely an observation  I have made over the years of something that I have been taking for granted and which probably points to what is happening around us as time moves on.

‘Nathi’ or the Cape gooseberry was a fruit back in the day growing wild in many parts of where we lived and even in many places we visited in Kenya. It comprised of a bush growing about 3 feet tall and laden with tiny green husks with the fruit quickly growing inside the husk in size before the husk finally shriveling into a brownish color indicating that the fruit had ripened. Then you plucked the fruit alongside the husk (or just picked it straight from the ground where they often fell after ripening) and then peeled it back and hey presto.

The fruit was about the size of a marble and was yellow/gold in color and extremely sweet. Our childhood days were filled with long days during the school holidays and on weekends spent in the bush foraging for this delicacy and we would often carry armloads of them back home to share with other family members!!

Today I see ‘Nathi’ on sale in various supermarkets but back then it seemed to sprout with every rainy season and within a few weeks was heavy with succulent fruit. It was so virulent that you would stumble upon it while in the bush, walking alongside the road, among the growing maize and beans, in a shrubbery of grass and flowers seemingly because it was also a delicacy much liked by a myriad of birds and other small animals no doubt thus aiding in its dispersion whenever they ate the fruit.

But now, it appears that ‘Nathi’ like many other indigenous plant species can no longer be found growing as virulently and as wildly as it once did. Climate change, the greenhouse effect and the effects of human encroachment on the environment means that the birds and other small animals that disperse the seeds of these wild berries are no longer as prevalent as they used to be meaning that the dispersion and dispersal of the life giving seeds is no longer as wide spread.

Could this be a harbinger of things to come? Could this be the time when the survival of ‘Nathi’ and other wild fruits is pre-disposed to genetic engineering? Could we be going the GMO way in sustaining the once thriving indigenous berries? Are there any truly wild spots left in our country or is ‘Nathi’ doomed to go the way of the dodo?  Is this the curse of our changing lifestyle and changing weather patterns? Of pollution and the greenhouse gas effect such that the diversity and purity required sustaining a healthy population of wild berries no longer exists?

Cape Gooseberry fruit about to ripen

What does this portend for the future of mankind in regards to the biodiversity of our world today?

Does it mean that soon those organisms that rely on plant and animal materials of  plants going into extinction will themselves also face their day of reckoning?

What can be done to reverse this state of affairs so that our world continues to thrive and the delicate balance to sustain an already fragile ecology is maintained??

Destiny in your hand: Please register as a Voter!!

The voter registration exercise before the 2013 Kenyan General Election is scheduled to commence on 1^st November 2012 strictly for a period of 30 days as the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC) are working on very tight timelines as was announced recently by its chairman.

For those who have never registered as voters, the time is around the corner! All you require to register, if the same old rules to identify you apply, is your Kenyan National ID Card or Kenyan Passport. The elections beckon and you do not want to be disenfranchised!  Having voted severally in past elections spanning over 20 years, while some of the candidates that I have voted for in prior elections sometimes win, the reverse is also true. They sometimes lose!

Strictly speaking it is not about whether your candidate wins or loses, whether he is a racehorse or a donkey, it is about the thrill of knowing that you had a choice in the destiny of your country and you took it. Never mind the often used excuse that one person’s vote won’t change a thing and that is why you will not bother to obtain that all important piece of plastic. What if two months to the election date your mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or uncle decided to declare his interest in a seat somewhere and then they went on to lose by one vote because you and your sister who would have voted for them did not vote because you did not have a voters card? That is when the realization of how important that piece of plastic would dawn on you, when the fight has been lost.

Other Kenyans in the diaspora and beyond are fighting for the right to vote from wherever they are so no excuses please! My assumption here is that since the current constitution allows them to vote from wherever they are, the IEBC will need to devise mechanisms to make it possible for diaspora Kenyans to vote. In some countries (not Kenya) it is a punishable offence for a qualifying person not to register as a voter. If I had my way heavy punishment for qualifying voters who do not bother to register would be the case in Kenya too.

The voting exercise is not one for the faint hearted. It is not a fun exercise. It is not a walk in the park or a lazy day lounging at the beach. It is a tough job requiring a tough spirit! It requires one to wake up at the crack of dawn on voting day and head to the polling station where if you are unlucky you will find many like minded souls like yourself who woke up even earlier than you and now the line snakes a half a kilometer around the block and back. It might be a hot day, it might be a rainy day but either way you have to line up for at least 3 hours as the line makes it tortuous snails pace to the polling clerks and polling booths when they open at 8.00 am OR you may be lucky and be in and out in 10 minutes!

Since this is the first time that we will be voting for at least 6 different candidates – President, senator, governor, member of parliament, councilor and women’s representative - in the same election using the Biometric Voter Registration (BVR) kits that have caused so many challenges to the IEBC recently I am not sure if this will speed up the actual voting process or delay it further, it would be wise to carry a newspaper or a book to read as you while away the hours on election day.

As you approach the polling clerks and booths, the excitement is heightened and then the question that brought you here comes thick and fast. Who do I vote for? You suddenly realize that you have no idea of the senator, MP or the civic candidate or the women’s representative for your constituency who are the lowest in the pecking order (not necessarily in that order). As in the past, I am sure that no campaigning is allowed on the voting day and more specifically within a polling station so no one can answer this question lest they be expelled from the station.

If history is anything to go by, most people vote for the presidential candidate that they want irrespective of party, the MP and finally the councilor allied to the party whose MP they chose. This voting along party lines will almost certainly happen for the gubernatorial, senator and women’s representative seats also.  

This is not necessarily the right thing to do, but again there is no wrong way of voting short of spoiling your ballot paper. Once a ballot paper is marked, there is no turning back, so erasing and indicating another candidate will automatically disqualify that ballot paper from being counted. You do not get a second ballot paper either since these are accountable documents and hence they reason they are included in the final vote tally as spoiled ballots. You then drop your ballot paper into the relevant ballot box (likely scenario six in the next election).  If past practice is anything to go by they will then mark your pinky finger with indelible ink in conclusion of the exercise thus giving you bragging rights for the next two days or until the indelible ink washes off your pinky!

Voting being by secret ballot means that it will be you, the ballot paper, the ballot box and your God who will know how you cast your vote….so do so wisely!!

But first plan to register as a voter before the end of the registration period of 30^th November……and oh yeah tell your sons, daughters, sisters and brothers to register to! The IEBC is also conducting voter education on how to go about the whole exercise, what it will entail and your rights, responsibilities and duties as a voter etc so listen keenly and closely to avoid spoiling your ballot.

I know that I will be at the head of the queue on the opening day of voter registration to avoid the last minute rush that most of us are accustomed to. Will you join me?

How times have changed !!

My daughter's friend flew out of the country recently to begin her university education. This is a girl who has been friends with my daughter since their primary school days and though their respective paths had parted when they went to different high schools, they have remained fast friends over the years. She was accompanied by her mother on her trip in order to assist in admission formalities.

She was going to one of the universities in the UK and when I remarked to my daughter that she was lucky to be an integral part of the digital and information age where the world today is truly a global village given that you can connect with and contact someone virtually anywhere in the world with a computer or a mobile phone, it got me reminiscing about my own experiences flying off to far off lands to study in the university in the 1980's.

Those were the days when local university admission (at the University of Nairobi-UON) was a hit or miss affair since it was based on the number of available university places in a given year and therefore on the pass mark attained by that many number of people. This meant that in some years a mean grade of B- was adequate to get you into the hallowed precincts of the university while in others you were not guaranteed to get admission even with a mean grade approaching B+. This also meant that competition to get admission was fierce more so for the professional courses like engineering, medicine etc where without an A there were no guarantees of admission. Other universities-private or public-were practically non existent at the time.

Suffice is to say that many of us unlucky enough to attain the minimum pass mark for admission to UON found our way to foreign universities mainly in a country a scant 5 hours flying time from Jomo Kenyatta Airport in a famous sub-continent. I was lucky that my parents had some Indian friends in Nairobi and when it became evident that I was headed to India for my further studies, they established contact with them so that I could be met by their extended family members in Bombay. Neither of us having met the other and with no way of exchanging photos or correspondences then, it was decided that I would wear a suit with a white ribbon on the lapel in order to be identified by them. My parents could not accompany me to India to assist in my admission, so there I was at Sahar Airport in Bombay in a warm suit at 11.00 pm at night in tempratures of 34 degrees centigrade being met by total strangers after my first overseas flight whom I couldn't even call even if I wanted to!! Today you exchange pictures through email, Twitter, Facebook etc and the various other social media while you are still miles away and then contact the person meeting you at the airport on phone as you step out of the a plane if you are on international roaming.

Another incident that I recall vividly was the horrendous expense and unreliability of international calls. In my case I called home only once about a month after I landed in India for the whole time that I was there though others called their parents more frequently for their own reasons. You had to book the call through the international telephone operator often a good half an hour before you were sure that your folks would be at home and able to answer your call so that when the connection was made they would be at home and available to speak to you. 

You could barely hear or understand the person on the other end of the line, so bad was the connection, even if you raised you voice and there were ghostly noises and raised and lowered volumes as the call progressed, often cutting off altogether, and you could only hope that your plea for money had been heard and not lost in the garbled world of the nascent international communication space then. Often these calls were reverse or collect calls meaning that the person you were calling picked up the expensive tab of receiving that phone call. The mobile phone changed all that 10 years later with instant contact on a person to person basis.

The telegram was then the quickest means of communication but there was an unwritten rule that telegrams were only sent or received in cases of an extreme emergency involving a financial crisis, a fatality or something akin to that in its seriousness. Ordinary humdrum day to day issues were never conveyed on telegram lest the recipient of the missive misunderstood it to represent a tragedy and keeled over dead with a heart attack even before reading the same. Obviously the fax (now almost obsolete) and email were things we never dreamed would be invented to make our lives and communication easier a scant 10 years or so later.

Another bone of contention was foreign exchange approvals and international money transfer services. I can only guess at the agony my father had to go through to get my quarterly foreign exchange approval so that he could then apply for the bankers draft in Indian Rupees that he then sent to me by registered post which often took upto 10 days to be delivered to my doorstep. After the deposit to my bank account, it often took another 14 days to clear through the Indian banking system. Today from the comfort of your living room you are able to debit your account and send funds instantly through internet banking to virtually anywhere in the world in minutes or thorough Western Union and Moneygram and a host of other money transfer agents and services something unheard of during my days as a university student.

So there you have it, my daughter will be able to communicate to her friend daily if she so wishes on Facebook, Twitter and What's up. For more personal written messages she may send her an email or for the juiciest gossip a phone call will cost her 10 bob for 3 minutes, about the cost of two bananas. Her father can send her money directly to her bank account, or pay up her credit card bill so that she can access funds at the ATM, or even send her a birthday gift of some cash through Western Union.

With the human ingenuity at work and the absolute embracing of the modern technologies that we see today, it is obvious that times have changed.

I wonder what it will be like in another 30 years??

What kind of role models are we!!

In my formative days in post-independence Kenya I distinctly remember lessons on how to cross a road. It went something like ‘look right, look left, look right again and if clear cross’. Another was to always walk on the path alongside the road and not on the road and another still was to respect motorized traffic whether while on foot, riding a bicycle or whatever. Any deviation from any of these expected rules witnessed by your parents or any other responsible adult was met with harsh words or a clout across your head. I can’t recall if it was one of the lessons in urban schools or if one of the traffic policemen came in to give this sage advice to the young impressionable minds of the day….but it did happen!!

I am just wondering if these lessons are still instilled in the young Kenyans children of today and just what sort of role models we are as adults for our children. The reason that I ask this is because I am disturbed and perturbed by the number of adults (mainly men) walking and cycling on the roads competing for space with motorized vehicles doing their best to get run over even where the pedestrian paths exist and are free of pedestrian traffic. This phenomenon (or is it foolishness) is mainly seen in the urban and peri-urban areas of Kenya’s towns and cities.

What gets into the minds of our men folk to risk life and limb to appear invincible and macho walking on the road while courting death or permanent disability often talking on their phones, listening to thier phone radios and many times walking two or three abreast? Do they think that a vehicle has a mind of its own and will automatically swerve or stop if it ‘sees’ a human being in front of it? Don’t they realize that a brush with a car doing 30 kilometers per hour will almost certainly result in injury if not death? Don’t they also know that the impact of a vehicle doing 40 km/h destroys a human body far more gruesomely then a bullet from a gun? Almost certainly they do not because those who have been victims of road accidents are either six feet under or maimed and paralyzed by their ordeal and unable to narrate their story to those dicing with death.

I am sure that one of the leading causes of vehicular accidents involving pedestrians is as a result of this foolishness probably borne out of ignorance or a sense that vehicle owners and drivers owe some form of compensation to those that do not drive. Well they certainly owe no one an apology if they drive and this kind of risqué behavior is irresponsible and foolish and should stop!! Drivers more often then not are a mix of careless, drunk, half blind, catatonic, upset, deranged, stressed and harrased people who probably devote 50% of their time driving and the other 50% dealing with other personal issues and many a time may not be able to avoid a pedestrian walking on the road shoulder resulting in an accident.

I am even more disturbed to see that school children in full uniform are now cavorting with death and disaster by walking carelessly and haphazardly on our roads probably in the mistaken belief that society owes them a favor by slowing down whenever they are spotted walking home from school and vice versa. I wonder who taught them that this is how it is done, or is it the ‘monkey see, monkey do’ syndrome that they have inherited from their fathers?

The stupidity gene is no longer recessive and seems to have become a very aggressive one judging from the antics we see on our roads today. I believe many motorists have been forced to apply full emergency brakes when a child dashes across the road as victims of this backward behavior. Worse still is the instinct to blame the driver of the vehicle for the resulting accident and any injuries or fatalities sometimes leading to a severe beating or mobbing of the driver of the vehicle by the congregating mob.

I would beseech our menfolk, if for nothing else, to stop this risky behavior so as to safeguard the lives of our children. Learn to use the pedestrian crossing where available or use the more than ample walking lanes and cycling lanes on the newer roads which have been designed with pedestrians and cyclists in mind.

Disability is not Inability

Sometimes you are shocked out of your comfort zone by something you always took for granted. Something so usual as to be almost unusual!!

You marvel at how able men and women are able to produce all kinds of exhilarating performances, hurl a javelin, a discus or a shot put so far seemingly without effort or concort their bodies and extremities to produce world record breaking dives, gymnastic floor exercises, balance beam performances, asymetrical bars and ring tumble displays of raw talent. Run so long and so fast almost at the limit of human endurance and still manage an interview and a smile when your whole body is fighting to recover and gulping air greedily in response to that super human effort to cross the finishing line a hair's breadth before your opponent. You also wonder at those chaps who seemingly without thinking are able to time and again aim and hit the bulls eye in the archery contest or shatter the clay pigeons in the air pistol and air rifle competitions.

This is the human being at his peak performance, the world beater, the Olympic and world champion forever remembered for the remarkable feats of accomplishments and national heroes in their own countries.

But what about the not so able bodied, those confined to wheel chairs, the unsighted and those who have lost their hearing, or those with varying degrees of disabilities more often then not too deformed and grotesque to the eye. Those who have lost a limb or an arm and who are partially or fully paralysed due to one dibilitating illness or another or through the cruel hand of fate of being at the wrong place at the wrong time, those that we automatically feel sorry for and whisper a prayer to oneself  "there goes me but for the mercy of God".

Having kept awake late at night to watch the Paralympics currently going on in London, I have come to appreciate and respect the men and women who I describe here in above because unlike their able bodied relatives some of their achievements and accomplishments go beyond what you would think was humanly possible given their physical and sometimes mental disabilities.

Men and women on wheelchairs suddenly transformed into agile swimmers once in the water some without even the benefit of arms to propel themselves as they swim seemingly pushed along by sheer determination alone, or the long jumpers who gauge their jumps by a series of calls and noises made by their guides and which calls for pin drop silence in the stadium so that they can hear their guides give the necessary commands, or the blind swimmers whose guides have to pat their heads with a long paddle so that they do not smash their heads against the finishing rails while doing the free style, or the armless back stroke swimmers who have to grip a towel with their teeth at the start so as not to drown, or the archer gripping and aiming his bow with his feet and mouth and with uneering accuracy at the target, or the blind runners and sprinters who have to have an accompanying guide shadowing their every move lest they stumble and hurt themselves on the hard surface of the tartan track........I could go on and on at the level a human being without the benefit of the arms, legs and mental faculties that those of us who are able bodied take for granted can go through to to show that surely disability is not inability.

I celebrate their sheer determination and applaud each one of them unequivocally whenever they climb upon the rostrum to receive their medals because their challenges and stories are what many would consider insurmountable but which they have taken in their stride and decided to live as normal a life as they can, breaking records and pushing themselves to their limits like their able bodied counterparts.

RUSSIAN ROULETTE & THE GAMES KENYAN POLITICIANS PLAY:

If you thought that games were only for children, then think again because many of our politicians and quasi-politicians are very adept at games. Here is a sample of some that they play.

Russian Roulette is a very dangerous game. The game involves emptying a revolver of all it bullets and then inserting just one bullet in the chamber and then spinning the chamber so that when you are playing the game you have no idea where the bullet is in the chamber. After this one by one the players point the gun at their heads, cock it and pull the trigger. Suffice is to say that so long as you hear the click of the trigger on an empty chamber you are still in the game but the minute you hear a deafening roar (if you do), it is almost certainly the last thing you will hear as you dispatch yourself to your maker. It is such a dangerous game that it is only those with a death wish who play the game. Yet it is precisely this game that the members of the Kenyan Cabinet have been playing for many years. As scandal after scandal plagues this coalition government, sooner or later in this deadly Russian roulette that they have continued to play some one will be its next victim. It very early on claimed several victims like Christopher Murungaru, Kiraitu Murungi, David Mwiraria, Moses Wetangula, Mutula Kilonzo and It is also threatening to claim others as the countdown to the next election continues.

Another game is ‘mchongowano’. It has been a perennial political game for eons. It involves looking for a gathering of people (any gathering will do thank you) a church service, a nursery school graduation, the opening of a coffee factory, while protesting to the local OCS about a crime on your constituents - and then proceeding to tell them how your political enemies were born by the side of the road OR how some people are uncircumcised and therefore cannot lead the rest of us OR how some people should learn to appreciate gods gifts to us and should therefore eat anything and everything instead of complaining that the government is not able to feed them.

This game is almost similar to another called ‘hapo zamani za kale’ where all current evils are blamed on an ogre called KANU that ruled ‘hapo zamani za kale’ OR where all tribulation of professors (may god rest their souls in peace) are blamed on the people who killed Robert being the same ones who poisoned me ‘hapo zamani za kale’ etc, etc.

Other games are ‘it wasn’t me’ where when caught in a compromising position, sometimes with pants down (literally), one proceeds to deny vehemently even if the evidence is cast in stone and with a bouncing something or another to prove it.

The newest of the games is “me too”. This one is often played out about 12 months before an election date and involves addressing a crowd preferably in your native constituency, pouring scorn and vitriol on the current leadership and presidency and then declaring yourself as a potential presidential/parliamentary/governor/senator candidate able to change the lives of those (foolhardy!) enough to vote you in 

Another variation is to be anointed as a presidential hopeful by a tribal council while half dressed in some animal skins or robes or by a religious grouping among a crowd of people who have no idea who you are having similarly been anointed by other tribal councils  and religious groupings in the past so as to take care of their interests when elected.  At the rate that this game is being played out, to quote a popular Americanism “They all want to be chiefs so where are the Indians?”

Other games are played by quasi-politicos such as the Government Spokesman that very often involve taking careful aim with a loaded gun and then shooting at your foot. While the results may not always be tragic, they are often messy and painful and there is always a thorough clean up thereafter. This game is called for obvious reasons ‘shoot self in foot’.

Another favourite game is “foot in mouth” which is often played preferably by a quasi-politico masquerading as a trade unionist or by whole cabinet ministers. It involves, taking your own size 13 foot, boots and all, and then proceeding to very deliberately open your size 7 mouth and then stuff foot into mouth. The dexterity involved here is astonishing, but those who are able to accomplish this feat (pun intended) invariably have shortness of breath and are inexplicably and chronically sufferers as they continually repeat the game and to hell with the consequences!!

While games are supposed to be a source of enjoyment and fun, the games our politicians play ceased to be funny a long time ago. Some are downright dangerous while others only seem to show the depth of “anti-intelligence” that our politicians have.

No wonder we are the laughing stock of our East African neighbours who maintain that in Kenya we sleep politics, eat politics and breathe politics 24-7-365.

My kids can only play some of these games over my dead body as they insult the intelligence of the common mwananchi and the world at large.

Pseudonyms & the internet: A political perspective

The blogosphere is awash with comments, blogs and suggestions about the forthcoming General Elections here in Kenya in 2013 from a host of armchair politicos scattered across the diaspora as well as right here in Kenya. Many tend to use pseudonyms to cushion themselves from the wrath of those who may preach an alternative gospel to that in their political bibles as well as to have an anonymous identity that they can safely use to expound their views, bigotries and biases without revealing who you are or what tribe you represent.

This use of pseudonyms led to an interesting exchange sometime back when one Kevinah, who described herself as a 17 year old Kenyan in the diaspora born of a mixed marriage between a Kikuyu and a Luyia, was accused of being an uncircumcised Luo man!! Shock on me........when she described herself as mentioned above and then went on to heap decidedly uncomplimentary (and un-seventeen like) abuse on the hapless idiot (no apologies intended) who had commited the 'faux pas'.

This, unfortunately, is replicating itself more and more as people hide their true identities behind a plethora of pseudonyms yet sell their tribal identity by their comments and blogs. Whether Kevinah was or was not whomever they professed to be is debatable because the fact of the matter is you can be anonymous and whomever you want to be on the internet and get away with it because no one has the time or inclination to crash your legend party. In any case anonymity guarantees that people will speak their minds without worrying about the consequences of their actions...........unless Mzalendo Kibunjia and his team begin to take a keen interest in what you have written!

Which brings me, in a rather roundabout manner, to the point. Can someone please let a confused Kenyan male whose origins are in Central Province and who is married to a damsel whose origins are in Eastern Province and who have two gorgeous  daughters (of mixed tribal parentage) know the answer to the following questions?

Does it mean that comments favoring your preferred candidate automatically means that you are from that persons tribe? Does it mean that irrespective of your political preferences tribe is more important than political conviction? Does it also mean that since you are the son or daughter (by default) of one or another tribe in this great country you automatically subscribe to follow an unwritten pact with certain political/tribal personalities? If my wife bears my surname that has nothing to do with her tribe, what political personality is she identified with when she mentions her name?

It is at such times as this that I can safely say that I am ashamed to be a Kenyan. Ashamed because despite our ‘Kenyan-ness’, we tend to quickly gravitate towards one of our own tribe in matters political even if that person has myriad skeletons in their closet, has numerous court cases pending, has faced accusations of theft of public property etc. Ashamed because the name given to me by my parents and that I had no control over identifies me as belonging to a certain tribe and therefore everyone expects me to fall into a certain sorting box and subscribe to certain stereotypical behavior and schools of thought and blindly follow certain political personalities for the sole reason that they belong to my tribe.

If as a Kikuyu I say that I will vote for Uhuru, the Kikuyus shout alleluia, while the rest of the country shouts themselves hoarse saying that I am a tribalist! If as a Kikuyu I say that I will support Raila or Kalonzo, I am termed a sell out and a 'msaliti' of my people but embraced as a nationalist by everyone else. Kwani, must I vote for Uhuru merely because he and I share a tribe – Kikuyu?

Can people not put it through their thick tribally blinkered skulls and skins that in whoever might be my choice of candidate come 2013, I see a visionary who has the capacity to transform this country into something worth being proud of and that gives me hope for my children and grandchildren in the future?

If I choose to support Raila, Mudavadi, Ruto or any of the many alternative candidates that do not belong to my tribe because it is my right to do so, why should my  tribes people cry foul when I say so or ask me to justify my God given right? Ultimately, politics is about making independent individual choices and I take great umbrage with people who suggest that merely because I am from a certain tribe I am under some form of unsigned oath to support a candidate from my tribe.

So in public I will continue to make the right noises and support the 'correct' presidential candidate depending on the circumstances of where I am and who is doing the talking so as not to make enemies merely because of politics. But come D-day, my mind will be made up and the rest will be history and upto me and my God to know if we did the right thing or not within the confines of that polling booth.