Patriot's Diary # 8: My Country, My inheritance

It’s been quite sometime, just thinking honestly and genuinely as to why I adore my country. I was reading an American bloggers entry who was talking about his love for his country. Most of what he said left me thinking, big deal. Then I thought to myself, my country is my inheritance. It is the one thing that no one has the right or ability to take away from me. Why you ask? Because of the memories and the sentimental value attached to my experiences in Kenya; good and bad. I can choose to inherit the bad or the good. (Right: Central Park in Nairobi's CBD)

The pages of your life’s story have been drafted in this country. Even if you haven’t been here all your life, there is always something that happened, was said, you witnessed or just made you tear in laughter that pieces the story of your life together.

Life is made of memories; where else would you like those memories to be made than in Kenya. No one can take away the love, hate, vulnerability, humor, stupidity that you have experienced. It is the richness of these thoughts and the entitlement to the moment and location of their occurrences that make this country your prized possession.

There is a place that I will never forget. I was once really depressed and had absolutely no clue who to talk to and what to say, I remember going to Central Park in the heart of the central Business District of Nairobi and crying. I remember it had rained the night before and I had carried a book with me , which I never did read.

It was a chilly morning, the air was crisp and every breath of it made me feel that everything was going to be ok. I sat on the damp concrete bench and watched droves of people walk through the park hand-in-hand. Children laughing and screaming but some how I seemed drowned by my thoughts of misery. I watched people take an occasional stop to take pictures. In my self absorbed state, I began noticing that there was a lot of red around me.

Women adorned in red dresses, men carrying red roses and walking around with the typical cheesy cards with love hearts. All I remember thinking was what all the fuss was about. It was then that I came too from the trance of misery, and realised I was in a hot spot for couples on Valentines Day! All I thought was here we go again. I chose to sit around and watch the couples for comical relief, which did fulfill my expectations. What started out as a place to cry, turned into a therapeutic experience for me.

I laughed at the scenery, the shady poses and in my head I imagined what the couples were saying to each other. I created characters for each of them, allocating a certain voice from their appearance and body language.

Thinking about it now, makes me laugh, I can see and hear the characters speak. It was comically similar to a smash of Latino telenovas and Nollywood drama. No other place can offer me a memory such as that and it’s for that reason that I treasure Central park, it’s Nairobi’s sweet Haven. It’s this memory among many that keep me going, it’s what makes life more intriguing.

My memories are my inheritance and for that reason, the land in which these memories are made, to me, is an heirloom worth treasuring.

(Left: Nyayo monument in Central Park)