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?
