Perspectives on Patriotism

It's hard to be patriotic when living in an ex-English colony, feeling distanced from England, knowing the Kenyan population fought brutally hard for independence. I'm not a usurper here but I certainly can't have the same vehemence in sentiment I have overheard in Kenyans - a true pride in their country. You ask me to recount the lyrics of the English national anthem and I will mumble "God save our gracious Queen" before looking sheepishly at the floor, forgetting the next line.

It’s strange, therefore, that every Monday, without fail, I stretch my lungs, belting out the Kenyan national anthem with force. Here, in all public meetings or performances, including school assemblies, it is compulsory for the national anthem to be played. The powerful words become a hymn, bringing individuals together in a prayer to God, asking him to bless the country. The English translation, often interchanged for the Kiswahili version, has distorted the true sentiment of the piece and so for the purpose of the blog I requested a friend to provide a literal translation of the African verse:

God our strength

Give us blessings

Justice be our shield and guard

Let us dwell in brotherhood, unity and freedom

May we also live through development.

Big abstract nouns abound: brotherhood, unity and justice. The anthem itself is a testament to the fight for freedom, placing hope in the new nation to embrace its independence.  Yet I also like the pragmatism in the final line – an honest aspiration to develop and build a successful country. I have to admit it produces a lackluster response when comparing it to the wish in our (unofficial) national anthem to “Send her [the queen] victorious,/ Happy and glorious”. I feel that in England patriotism often sits hand in hand with royalism – giving an unquestionable support for the monarchy of England – something that I personally cannot sign up for.

These thoughts have been bouncing around my befuddled brain recently, triggered by the spontaneous discovery of a tatty notebook with a poem I wrote in Istanbul nearly two years ago:

Think:

4 lines, intersecting in a middle.

The formation of 8 triangles -

means something.

The stark blue, deep and thoughtful.

Bright white of purity

against the pillarbox red,

"Occasional glimpses in a windscreen
but only when the date allows"

symbolises the obvious.

A sign of racism,

screaming passion, screeching for glory.

Occasional glimpses in a windscreen

but only when the date allows.

Or even better…

A wedding. The special kind.

Will. Kate

Got it yet?

Think:

3 lines, showing off England.

Not there’s, our triangles -

means nothing.

Patriotism, pride, people

in a small,

deluded island.

I’m no longer in the ‘deluded island’ and I rarely see the Union Jack but it’s sad that two years ago the British National flag, seemed to trigger such revulsion. The Kenyan national flag however is displayed with a pride on many occasions – even at the cinema! The last few times I’ve gone, clutching at my popcorn and icecream, I have caught the tinny rendition of the national anthem which pounds out of the surround-sound in the abnormally cold air conditioned space. On the screen a fuzzy portrayal of the Kenyan flag waves in the wind and every viewer stands up in a respectful silence.

The symbolism within the Kenyan flag is powerful. A black stripe, representing the African people, followed by a red which symbolises the blood shed during the fight for liberty, on top of the green at the bottom, indicating the natural resources which lie at the heart of the country’s productivity. Each colour is separated by a white band, reflecting the peace and honesty at the foundation of the country’s creation. The Kenyan emblem in the middle depicts a traditional Masai shield and two spears– a constant reflection of Kenya’s struggle for freedom.

It is a concern, therefore that over the past two weeks, since the announcement of the president-elect, I have heard people voice sentiments of shame in being Kenyan. Friends are worried: either the Kenyan public voted a suspected-criminal into office or the elections lack the legitimacy to reflect the true will of the nation. Neither of these situations are ideal! The freedom and justice, so prevalent in both the national anthem and the flag, are being distorted and people can no longer celebrate their patriotism.

To some extent it makes me thankful. Yes, I cannot embrace the flag-waving, royal-wedding-loving, queen-obsessed frenzy that exudes in some parts of Britain but I can believe in the democracy of the country. The knowledge that politicians are elected fairly and they are (largely) representing Britain in parliament for the right reasons. In Kenya I certainly don’t share these convictions.

I wonder…. which situation is preferable?

The Kenyan Election

Monday 4^th March - All eyes on Kenya. The aftermath of the 2007 vote still hangs above the country like a cloud, ready to pour with rain: ethnic tension, corrupt politicians and chaos. Everyone has long memories and it is hard not to recall the horrific post-election violence that loomed last time when facing the new election head-on. Escaping Mombasa, I decided to head to the peaceful rolling hills of Kisii. Here, I can enjoy my enforced holiday in the comfort of a family home without the fear of living alone in one of the most diverse (and consequently dangerous) cities in Kenya.

The buildup to Election Day in Mombasa verged on the ridiculous. Huge bill boards were strategically placed at busy crossroads showing smug faces, which were looking down with their extreme wealth on ordinary Kenyans. This time was even more elaborate than 2007 – with the new Kenyan constitution (enacted in 2010) everyone is entitled to vote for 6 positions to represent them on both a county and a country level, rather than just the one presidential vote. This gives even more opportunity for politicians to spend their black-money…. It has been predicted that the big names of Kenyan politics spend approximately 1 million dollars per day on their campaign: paid young people with forced cheer pranced around in party trucks; 6 aeroplanes spanned the length and breadth of the country, shuttling endless politicians to their next meeting; anyone willing was given the bright orange or red caps and t-shirts to symbolise the ODM and TNA party respectively. But that is nothing… heaven forbid if you get caught amongst a party parade!

Saturday 23^rd February – Group trip to the South Coast. The dreaded happened. Waiting in line for the ferry across from the island, we stumbled across the ODM party train. The noise smacked our senses first – jubilant voices singing a “go Joho, go Joho” tune accompanied by a cacophony of sounds blaring from several struggling loudspeakers. Next was the visual spectacle – a procession of at least thirty glaring orange cars slowly moved along the road. When one car disappeared, another emerged into view with the persistence of water dripping from a tap. Five minutes later and I was still reeling from the sheer extravagance. Assuming the cars were bought primarily for election purposes, this money could have supported a whole community for months in a country which still registers as 143 in the United Nations Human Development Index, meaning it is "low" in human development. I wonder how this ostentatious display of wealth can generate an affinity towards these politicians in the voters, instead I just felt further estranged.

Monday 25^th February – The Presidential Debate. The estrangement continued with this ceremonial display of rhetoric. Eight presidential aspirants vied for the limelight in a slow-moving battle of cutting jibes and pointed rebuffs. After a long evening of rehearsals for the up-and-coming school production, I escaped the confines of the school compound to watch the debate in a local coffee shop with the Mombasa well-to-do. The word corruption was bandied around amongst the aspirants with a lackadaisical ignorance as if they were as white as snow. This is a sickening realisation given the fact that the front runner (Odinga) has been implicated in rigging the votes in 2007 and his competitor (Kenyatta) is currently indicted by the International Criminal Courts for crimes against humanity during the post-election violence. Their barbed comments were met by a blatant cynicism in the Café Mocha crowd. The middle-class punters reacted with jeers and jokes, unable to believe the bombastic pomp of the politicians. It makes you wonder how people can feel motivated to walk for miles, queue for hours, and face the rigmarole of voting in a country whose politicians mask the hidden truth underneath layers and layers of dishonesty and sleaze.

Monday 4^th March – Return to voting day. People do feel motivated to cast their vote because ultimately Election Day is the time the population can exercise their sovereign right to choose their next president as well as their local and regional leaders. One has to embrace this display of democracy if a country is to progress, even if the potential pool of aspirants is far from ideal.

Yet the hype of intricate party campaigns seemed far removed from the actual mechanics of voting day in the Bobasi constituency in Kisii. Mathews and I wandered through the stunning green tea plantations to the voting station of Nyamagwa Primary School. Surrounded by chattering women in brightly clad outfits, I watched as an outsider looking into the goldfish bowl of rural Kenyan voting. The community hustle appeared too exuberant as the background noise for an event which seals Kenya’s fate for the next five years. Long queues spilled out of the school building, necessitating hours of waiting in searing hot sunshine. Apparently the main burden on the voting process was the presence of illiterate voters – each requiring individual attention by polling personnel to read the name of all candidates for the six positions before they gave their vote and receive the ritualistic ink stain on their little finger to prove it.

The uneducated in Kenya pose further issues due to their engrained tribal biases. A common belief held by Kisii elders is that all Luos (Odinga’s tribe) are ‘children’ as they have not been circumcised - therefore denying ODM the Gusii-vote. Yet even more frightening is the presence of TNA party members who were apparently paying villagers (who are known to be ODM subscribers) 1,000 ksh to hand in their voting card, and as a consequence revoke their right to vote. The natural need for money amongst Kenya’s poor therefore becomes a bargaining tool used to exploit and rig the vote.  This appears to be a throw-back to the malpractice of 2007 and a worrying sign against the legitimacy of the results announced this week.

Friday 9^th March – Results day.  The last four days have been torturous. We have been constantly waiting for the presidential results to be called: checking facebook on the phone at 3 o’clock in the morning, visiting a local restaurant to watch results come in live on television, streaming results through the radio wherever possible. Still, at 2.55pm on Friday 9^th March, no candidate has been confirmed. What is more frustrating is the piecemeal announcement of numbers constituency-by-constituency which gives you little flavour of the wider national picture. There has been debacle after debacle within the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC). Firstly, people were queuing up until midnight of election day (even once the line is officially closed at 5pm) and some failed to clock their vote before the deadline ended. Secondly, the incredibly expensive biometric data voting tools malfunctioned and were declared useless. Thirdly, the technologically advanced system of vote transmission from rural areas to Nairobi was said to “lack reliability” (rumour has it that TNA hacked in and were electronically rigging the votes) and as a consequence everything is delayed because now results are being announced through manually collated results. Fourthly, there have been a huge number of rejected votes which cannot be counted due to simple errors of placing them in the wrong box or putting a tick in an undesignated place on the ballot.  Sceptics are also querying the huge voter turnout in the Rift Valley and Central Province (Kenyatta strongholds), arguing it is near impossible to get 100% of registered people voting.  However the frustration felt by these challenges has been replaced by despair in the Moywaywa household as Uhuru Kenyatta seems to be lengthening his lead.

It seems likely that this time tomorrow the population of Kenya will be resigning themselves to an Uhuru Kenyatta victory, or in the best case scenario a run-off (second voting session) which will extend into April. The son of Kenya’s first president, Uhuru is part of one of the richest families in East Africa. Rumour states that he owns more land than the whole of Nyanza province put together and as a consequence seems disenfranchised from the average Kenyan. Yet he and his running mate (Ruto) hold the block vote of the Kikuyu and Kalenjin tribes and as a consequence a huge chunk of the electorate. Their up-and-coming ICC trial will see them forced to yo-yo between The Hague and Africa, defending their reputation while “running the country by Skype” (Kenyatta, Presidential Debate 18^th February). Yet even more scary is the likely economic sanctions which will be imposed by the West, an unknown effect of the election which will gradually place its strangling fingers on Kenya’s poor.

Kofi Annan stated that “The elections must be peaceful, free and fair” (Daily Nation, 3^rd March). What’s the verdict? Peaceful – largely, sporadic outbreaks of violence occurred in Mombasa, Garissa and Mandera but not to the extent of the 2007 elections. Free – unlikely, when some people’s votes have been bought, denied or rejected. Fair – who knows? I have no doubt critics will be delving into the IEBC shambles over the following days and I imagine the integrity of the 2013 elections will be debated for many years to come.

    

Words are power

Words are power. Wrapped up in squiggles, incomprehensible to some, words can entrap, empower and enlighten. Often, I do not appreciate the influence of an English teacher; you can open up an infinite world of wonder or close people’s hearts to appreciating the miracle of language.

Today I found myself as the student – surprised - being bowled over by the force of a collection of letters on a page. Lunchtime had hit. My rumbling stomach had been satiated with chicken and fried potatoes (the best day at the school canteen) and I was sat, cocooned in my classroom, desperately attempting to catch the breeze as it drifted from the whirring fan and open windows. Thoughts were already jumping to 80 minutes ahead where I had a diminished Literature class of two students, as the others had escaped my clutches to play hockey in the searing sun.  I flicked through our poetry anthology, hoping to have an epiphany that would translate the two students’ resigned boredom to excitement – how could I get them to embrace a lesson of ‘exploring the beauties of the English word’?

I began to read the following poem:

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, son,

they used to laugh with their hearts

and laugh with their eyes;

but now they only laugh with their teeth,

while their ice-block-cold eyes

search behind my shadow.

There was time indeed

they used to shake hands with their hearts

but that’s gone, son.

Now they shake hands without hearts

while their left hands search

my empty pockets.

‘Feel at home’! ‘Come again’;

they say, and when I come

again and feel

at home, once, twice,

there will be no thrice-

for then I find doors shut on me.

So I have learned many things, son.

I have learned to wear many faces

like dresses- homeface,

officeface, streetface, hostface,

"my teeth like a snake's bare fangs"

cocktailface, with all their conforming smiles

like a fixed portrait smile.

And I have learned, too,

to laugh with only my teeth

and shake hands without my heart.

I have also learned to say, ‘Goodbye’,

when I mean ‘Good-riddance’;

to say ‘Glad to meet you’,

without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been

nice talking to you’, after being bored.

But believe me, son.

I want to be what I used to be

when I was like you. I want

to unlearn all these muting things.

Most of all, I want to relearn

how to laugh, for my laugh in the mirror

shows only my teeth like a snake’s bare fangs!

So show me, son,

how to laugh; show me how

I used to laugh and smile

once upon a time when I was like you.

By Gabriel Okara

Suddenly I was transported away from my humble surroundings in the suburbs of Mombasa and enraptured by the sheer emotion of the poem. Empathy bubbled inside. My flashbacks sped to the forefront of my mind with the force of a hammer, to moments of false smiles and insincere greetings. But most of all I felt an extreme sadness – the sense of loss swarmed forwards. His description of a world where people ‘shake hands without their hearts’ is empty, as they have lost their ability to laugh with their heart. To me, it conjured an image of a dystopia; people are intent to conform, expecting to secure happiness in superficial interactions and society’s acceptance. Yet, I was repelled, clutching to my life here where true smiles proliferate and blossom.

It was then I picked up the textbook, ready to learn the context of the poet’s experience. Apparently Gabriel Okara is an African poet who moved to the West and was writing about his disillusion with the new society he found himself in. Having done the reverse move a year and a half ago – the West to Africa -  I feel in a unique position to comment on these perceptions.

Largely, I feel defiant, wishing to defend my dear ‘ole Britain from these observations of fake communication. One could argue the ‘ice-block-cold eyes’ reflect the English reserve, a hard exterior that shuts out strangers with a fierce push. The poem seems to emphasise the fact that not only does this cold behaviour cause hurt but it also drains the warmth of others, compelling them to conform to the disingenuous politeness. Even I can hold my hands up and admit I occasionally say ‘ ‘Glad to meet you’, without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been nice talking to you’, after being bored.’ Consequently, would it not be hypocritical for me to shield my nation from these spears of discontent…? Maybe, but I’m doing it anyway:

Englishness is strange. Intangible: the intent grumble of people about grey weather, the sarcastic jibe that spills surreptitiously into conversation without warning, the slapstick humour of practical jokes and hidden innuendo. Each has their place within the national psyche. All of these, to me, ring of one thing - sincerity. I do not accept the accusation that we don a ‘fixed portrait smile’ on necessary occasions– in fact the Brits will just choose not to smile - anyone who has ever sat on a London tube can be testament to that fact! Yes, I do admit that Africa exudes warmth in its people (not only in the climate) however, this kindheartedness can be matched by the friendship of Brits, once the shell of reserve has been broken.

"Englishness is strange" - showcased on a London tube

So I am only led to conclude one thing. Gabriel Okara did not migrate to the UK, instead he found himself in the amorphous world of America - I will happily join in with his derision then. Half of me wants to check the truth on Wikipedia, but I’m secretly too scared about what the words might say.  So at this point the professed English-teacher-come-student chooses to reject the next step in her learning and not read the words!