HOW ARE YOU DEALING WITH YOUR KIKUYU BOYFRIEND?

“I am not getting such questions because over here it doesn’t matter if the woman I am dating is Kikuyu, Luo, Luhya or Pokot.” I key-in furgigasport-online 24h-bottle senzamai ovyescarpe diegodellapalma ovyeshop harmonte-blaine mandarinaducksaldi relaxdaysstore akuschuhe blundstoneoutlet coralblueoutlet ynotborse relaxdaysonline tatacalzature iously on my phone’s keypad in reply to the WhatsApp text that irks me to the core.

See, Kenya just wound up an election that has revealed a very ugly side of its people. An election that has proven the fact that Kenyans never learn. I honestly thought 2007 would teach us a good lesson. Boy, I was wrong. People still loathe each other 10 years later. We still assess each other based on where they come from as well their accents.

I had never been a victim of tribal marginalization before. Mostly because I had not been intimately involved with people who are not ‘my people’. My people in this case referring to members of my ethnic group, the Kikuyu. Most of my friends are from different ethnicity, but not once had we ever fallen out courtesy of our political differences. We always managed to stick within the realms of rational thinking that is the true Kenyan spirit; Umoja na Undugu.

But you know what they say. Every dog has its day. And mine was here at a time I did not need it really.

Anyway, here is the woman I intend to settle with and start a family sooner than later –hopefully- getting grilled over affairs (I’d love to believe are) of the heart! It’s not like we choose who to love now. Or do we? But simply because her beautiful soul settled for a tall skinny guy from Central Kenya, the interrogation room becomes her new joint! Jesus!

Your Kikuyu boyfriend?

“Who’s asking?” I shoot back once more. This time eager to find out what’s really happening.

“My friends” comes the instantaneous reply.

“So much for them being Your People huh?” This one I lace with disgust hinting on a conversation we had earlier on. I am yet to discern where people who claim to be intellectuals summon the valour to say some things from. I’d love to possess such gonads (minus the folly)

“Oh well”, her reply. A moment to cool off I take.

“They’ll chase you away with me.” She adds amid my breather. One glance at the message on my phone and that prominent vein that runs down my forehead pops up. Eager to make an appearance.

Wait what? You got to be kidding me.

“Chase me away from a home I have built with my own hands? Let a nigga try me.” Quoting Dej Loaf keeps me surprisingly sane at this point.

The former conversation

Earlier on, we had debated about the current situation of the state like any other politically conscious couple; a decision I shall regret having for a very long time. We had kicked of perfectly fine, assessing leaders vying for different electorate positions across the nation and poring over the performance sheet of the incumbents.

But things started going south when we got to the presidential position.

“… Anyway watu wakae kwao…” being the text that sent us spiralling into a conversation that revealed a pretty horrid perspective. If I had let it slide, I would have averted a lot of damage. But I did not. I chose to walk into the bat cave with my head held high. Wrong move!

“This is caveman mentality. The watu wetu notion is hogwash. Utter bunkum!” I retor.

“If I feel safe among my people why not stay amongst them???” the multiple question marks indicating agitation.

“Who told you they are your people?” I ask, still in disbelief.

“…they are my people in our house (because) they speak my language…” comes the rejoinder.

“If not speaking your language will prevent others from dining with you, then a language loses its heritage. Languages are meant to show diversity. Create an identity even. Not tear people apart!”

“My wish is that a time will come when my kids will not have to go home to cast their vote because that’s where they feel safe. I want those buggers to roam freely in Kenya without fear of judgement or resentment because before anything else, they were born Kenyans” I add.

“Mimi na mtoto wangu tutarudi tu kwetu” she replies, plainly. It is at that point I discover what I just uncovered.

THE NAKED TRUTH

Truth be told, this is not an isolated case. I had always heard of how people were not allowed to marry outside their tribe for the silliest and flimsiest of reasons. Cases of people being chased away from their matrimonial home because their middle names ‘betray’ them.

And it is a sad state of affairs!

That despite everything, we still allow the monster that is tribalism to whisper in our ear, lay us on its bed and do us a good one!

It is unfortunate that at this point in time the people who are supposed to spearhead the pursuit for peace, love and unity are the ones spewing hatred and tribal vile on the streets. What happened to #WeAreOne ?

WHAT HURTS MOST?

It’s not the stones.

It’s not the insults.

Neither is it being on the receiving end of so much venom uncalled for venom, mainly over a condition that one has absolutely no control over.

What hurts most is the fact that people you have lived with for the longest time ever are the ones baying for your blood or downfall at the very least.

The fact that the woman you have given your heart to is comfortable paying audience to people who ask,” How are you dealing with your Kikuyu boyfriend?” That hurts.

If you'd love to leave an anonymous message of how these elections have affected you,
kindly do so HERE and I shall share them here in a dedicated post.