Patriot's Diary # 12: It's in the roots

Today I attended a meeting that I honestly had no intention of attending. It was my best friend who convinced me to. I left that meeting with so much; part of which gives me a reason to celebrate my country.


One of my friends said something and I thought deeply about it. He mentioned tradition. I thought of my family instantaneously. From our naming systems, our food, our relationships with the elderly, how to farm, cook meals and even funeral ‘feasts’; there is a cultural system in which all Kenyans are born into. I don’t appreciate everything about our traditional practices. There are some traditions I consider outdated and just crude. But there are some things that I admire and wouldn’t change for the world.



I am from the Luo community; we are known to name our children the most preposterous and agonizing names known to human existence. Some children are, as you may have guessed, called Senator after now President Obama. So you’ll finda child’s first name is Senator Barrack Obama, then you’ll have a middle name and the surname. Ridiculous I know. It embarrasses me at times, but it makes life all the more hilarious.



In my family all the children have two English names, a Luo name and our paternal grandfather’s name, which is not unusual. Not in the case of my family, but normally the first born girl is named after her paternal grandmother, first son after the paternal grandfather and so on. It is a naming system that serves to preserve the family lineage. I was named after my maternal great grandmother. I have been told great stories about her. She was an amazing woman with a big heart and an adorer of her grandchildren.



My mother is a great story teller, an ability that was passed on to her from her parents and grandparents. I have heard amazing tales of my great grandmother,she was a woman who grew up illiterate; was educated in a mission church as an adult, was a great business woman, great cook and nurture. Her life's tale fascinates me, I think of what it would have been like living during her time. Would I have beena s bold beautiful and strong as she was? Mygreat grandfather fought for the British in World War one. He was a man with a great sense of humor, loved to have fun and would walk like Charlie Chaplin to entertain his grand children.



Some stories seem ridiculous like my grandfather wrestling a leopard. Maybe it’s true maybe it’s not. But one thing I am sure of, is that the Africans of his time were stronger, had a bigger build and healthier. My genes tell me so; I am 5’9” and the shortest in my family.



I wonder at times if any one in my family’s history was what I would call ‘an African sellout' . One who sold his neighbours for spices or sugar, into slavery? It is something I think I will find out. It is a question that lingers in my mind a lot. It saddens me what became of the African American, Caribbean and other Africans lost in the slave trade. Their entire ancestry was brutally stripped from them.


That realization makes me appreciate my fortune; knowing where I come from, my ancestry. It is tangible, through my name I know who I am, where I am from and what traditions I need to pass on to my children, children’s children and my children’s’ children’s’ children. Be it a name, how to cook a traditional meal, how to dress, how to respect their elders, adulthood or even take care of a home. I have a duty to ensure the longevity of my heritage, my tradition.



The world we live in may see this as ‘not being with it’. But the question we should all ask ourselves is why should we loose who we are for a fad that will be gone tomorrow? Who I am isn’t just a name. When you call me, you are acknowledging that I am not just another random person, but a representative of a rich tradition, part of rich African history and story to celebrate for ages.
I am grateful each and every breathing day that I am part of such great ancestry, swhich makes this country so great!