Patriot's Diary # 13: Kenya, the land of opportunity

My friend told me the other day that Kenya is a land of opportunity. I looked at her a bit baffled and said that I didn't think so. But after today it just popped out and yelled." I am Kenya, Your opportunity.
Most of the time we walk around huffing and puffing about what could be better in this great land, when the answer is pretty simple. Stand up and seize the opportunity.

I had wanted to be a journalist for so long and it just scared me when I got to work in a media house and realized that I could live my dream. I dilly dallied for close to two years. I wanted to make a subtle entry into TV journalism. Yeah I know, how subtle can that be? I was just jittery about all the unknowns and the prophecies of doom. It's not like a meteor would land on me from space in the middle of the shoot. But the truth is, I felt that something of that magnitude would happen.

I was in a comfort zone,seated behind a desk, getting bored by the day. But the first to yell and talk to the TV reporters about lousy stories, cool angles that I thought their stories could take. Whenever I was asked why I hadn't joined the TV news team, all I said was, one day I will. The opportunity was staring me in the face, but I just didn't want to see it.

A good friend and a respected reporter; Abdi Osman, was a great audience to field my ideas and he really encouraged me. So slowly by slowly, more like my best friend was hounding me about it. She's my accountability partner as well, I realized it was time to quit the talk and walk it. That's how Africa's Solution Now came along and slowly by slowly I gained the confidence to do the right thing. Seize the opportunity to live my dream.

Abdi guided me to check out the BBC training website which I did.I did some exercises on the site and was fired up and ready to rock the camera. I spoke to the managing editor and got a camera to shoot my first news story. I prepared a script to get me going and as a guide for the shoot. I rehearsed my sign off in the house, God knows how many times. I was ready.

On the shoot today, as I had been forewarned and learned from the BBC training website, not everything goes according to plan. The shoot was more like a new plan, because most of the things that I had planned went down the toilet. But the beauty of it all is I enjoyed myself. I am in a queue to edit my story now. I am ecstatic and all I can say is BRING IT ON! Kenya's and Africa's stories need to reach out to Africans and build them and that's what's I am going to do.

I don't know how it works in other countries, but from my own experience, it doesn't seem to matter where you live on the globe, if you look at your country, take pride of it with all it's flaws, the opportunity is there, just look at it. I kid you not, I know of a Kenyan who owns a flower farm in Kabul...yes the capital of Afghanistan and has a thriving flower export business.

Opportunity is around you everywhere, look around you, what do you feel in your heart that you want to accomplish? Take the first step, however scary it seems and go for it! Because like your country, my home is a land of opportunity.

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!

Patriot's Diary # 11: It's Kenyan if it's a Bargain

In Kenya everything is about bargaining, whether its fare to commute to a destination, buying a shoe in a store or even buying fruits from a market, everything is a bargain.

The fascinating thing about it is, you can be seated in a matatu (minibus) to the same destination but passengers pay different fares. Because it’s all about how well you manage to convince the conductor, that that's all you can afford. It does not work all the time, but you are never penalized for trying your luck.

Then there is the ‘don’t speak fluently when shopping for second hand wares’ rule. Opening your mouth and speaking English may be a reward in other sectors, but when you are shopping for second hand wares, the language of sale is Kiswahili or Sheng (colloquial Kiswahili). If you speak English it equates having a lot of money or just being clueless about the cost of things. In short a lack of street smarts. I learnt that the hard way. I was talking to someone on the phone in English while I was looking for a pair of jeans. There was a lady who had shopped ahead of me and I overheard her ask the price of a pair of jeans I was eyeing. It was six hundred Kenyan shillings.

Now my megaphone voice gave me away. By the time I got off the phone and asked the price of the same pair of jeans it had gone up by fifty percent. Let’s just say it was a long haggle to get the price down. But like I said, everything’s a bargain! I got MY price.

I have even bargained my way to a cheaper price for roast maize (corn) on the side of the road. There was a guy who sold half a cob to me at 7 shillings and I only had 5 shillings in coins and I got it!

There’s the bargaining and then there is the Kenyan culture of entitlement to free things. It’s free, it’ll be given to you, but when the supplies run out its chaos. When I was a sales promotion person; aka the annoying sales person in a store who convinces you to buy commodities you don’t care about.

There was one promotion I did where we walked around with huge bags stuffed with close to 1000 samples of FREE toothpaste. I know a sample is free, but I need to drum in my point. The mission was to get consumers sampling the new brand of toothpaste. Initially people were skeptical about what we were giving out. So we’d walk up to individuals on the busy street and hand them a single box and tell them that it’s a new sample. Some said no, others just thought we were giving them empty boxes and that there was a catch.

Slowly people began warming up to it and we became the center of attention in Nairobi's CBD. Soon enough we were swamped from all ends; people yanking on the bag straps, others reaching out and wrestling each other to get closer. It’s all for the love of free. People were shouting to get my attention, a couple of winks from gentlemen. People called me ‘Aunty’, ‘siste’, others exclaiming out loud ‘Aki aunty pia mimi’ (aunty, sister, aunty me too). It was scary, but I stood my ground and waltzed off from the scene with my empty bag; my mission was accomplished.

I think the classic sign of the love for free is the late night calls when we all know Safaricom, Kenya’s largest Mobile telephone provider, slips up. I would be called at 3am to let me know of the ‘free’ calling period. I too would exploit it to just call and tell the other person that they can call for free. People would call all night and call all the random people in their phone book just to utilize the ‘free’ window. Well that’s changed now. When that happens and you do call, the next time you top up your phone credit, it is charged, so free does not exists, well at least in that context.

Unbelievable or not, that is just the tip of the iceberg. If you really want to know more and really experience a good bargain? Kenya’s the place to be. I love this country!

Patriot's Diary # 10: It's not food, it's a ritual

After a long day of eating myself senseless and being absolutely clueless of

what to write, I realized that my pride and joy of Kenya was resting in my belly! Patriotism is a personal routine, a ritual if I may, that leads me to a shrine of edible delights; food.

In Kenya there is a meal for all occasions. You can go cultural, fast food, cultural fusion, snacks or street food. It’s in your face, at your disposal. But one thing that any visitor to this country will be exposed to is our undying love for our meat! (Right: Ugali & Nyamachoma)

If you are thinking of a party, hang out or just a trip out of town it has to start with Ugali na nyama choma (maize meal dish with barbequed beef) and then there’s the healthy helping of Kachumbari (mixture of finely diced onions, tomatoes, coriander and chili). Then there is mshikaki, beef skewers and for the beer lovers, Tusker Milele. As many say it’s the world’s best beer don’t be deceived by what you hear or see in the ads.

For a cultural meal, you are spoiled rotten. If you want something from the coastal area, you can eat anything from crocodile, octopus, sharks or any sea like delicacy.

But the highlight is Pilau, a rice meal made with various spices; cardamom, cumin, cloves, cinnamon and other amazing ingredients and at times some people mix the Pilau with, yes you guessed it, meat. Oh! And the Biryani; another rice based meal which is a palate seducing mixture of spices and meat of your choice though prepared differently from Pilau. You will notice that a lot of coastal food has a lot of Arabic influence, but either way, it’s deliciously Kenyan. (Right: Pilau)

Central Kenya is the home of mash up heaven from Githeri; a mixture of maize, beans, potatoes and carrots, Mukimo; mashed potatoes and maize(corn) mixed with pumpkin leaves for the perfect finish, mutura (roasted and stuffed intestine) the Kenyan kebab; it sounds gross but it is delicious with some salt and Kachumbari, it goes down so well.

Western Kenya is home of fish and chicken, not just any chicken but what my friends and I call roadrunner. It is the typical domestically reared chicken, which is normally pretty tough so you need to tenderize it first, but it is delicious. Then there’s fish. I was told growing up that if I ate the fish brain (never seen it all these years) I’d be very smart. Still waiting…to see the fish brain that is. The next time you’re in Western Kenya, make sure you grab some fresh deep fried tilapia with ugali and sukuma wiki (maize meal dish and khales) and eat it by the lake side….to die for!

Northern Kenya, you’ll also be exposed to some great delicacies of fish. Travel around with the nomads and have a gulp of camel milk, or a ‘milkshake’ of blood and milk common amongst nomadic Kenyan communities, or better still try chasing the game for a fresh meal of , yep, you guessed it, roast meat!

There is one household delicacy that Kenyans give credit to our Indian community for and that is the Chapati. It is a ‘Kenyanized’ version of the Indian Nan. The Chapati can be eaten with anything from tea, green grams, chicken, kales, beef, you name it. If you visit down town eating places (better known as vibandas) you’ll get Chapati madondo, which is just Chapati and beans, which will have you singing to the roof with delight!

There’s so much more, from millet porridge, traditional milk like mursik (fermented milk mixed with charcoal), sweet potatoes, and arrow roots. Cultural vegetables like managu, mto, murenda and osuga are a favourite at cultural resturants. Snack heaven delicacies like samosas (deep fried dough pockets filled with any thing from meat, veggies to green grams), mahamri, mandazi, these are all deep fried pastries, njugu karanga (groundnuts) you name it.

The list doesn’t end, try street food, where you can get anything from a regular fruit or a peeled and sliced pineapple, sliced water melons, peeled mangoes on the go, sliced and diced sugar cane, to refresh you on a hot day or just try out some roasted or boiled maize or hey, maybe a boiled egg (fondly called Boiro) with Kachumbari.

Then there’s fast food. The one word synonymous with Kenyan fast food, and I know my country men agree, Kenchic. It is chicken with a crispy and juicy halo. You can get it at supermarkets but the place to soak your gab with Kenchic Chicken’s finesse is at the fast food outlets. The Kenchic slogan says, for those who are kuku about chicken.

Believe me, it is angelically tender, every bite, warms your mouth, and tickles your teeth as it slides to the back of your throat. It leaves your cheeks and chin shiny and soaking up the taste. It’s almost like an out of body experience. Divine is the only English word that comes close to describing it. Oh! Wow! I think it’s time for some Kenchic. You have not had Nairobi fast food until you have had Kenchic chicken. (Left: Kenchic Chicken)

Well as I head out to Kenchic it’s pretty clear, the list of Kenyan delicacies is endless. Whether you want to eat healthy, spoil yourself with street food or just choke your arteries with cholesterol. It’s all here in my home, Kenya.

Patriot's Diary # 9: The little things that count

With every waking day, life is full of uncertainty. I am grateful that there is order in Kenya. Hear me out first before you shoot me. I can wake up in the morning and go about my business without worrying about being clubbed to death at my door step, or hijacked on my way to work. My point is; I have freedom. I am not walking around in fear of an invasion or bomb attack. I am free, I am living and I am alive. That is something that I can celebrate each and every day.

It’s what I can call the small victories in life that we never stop to celebrate, true, not everything is a bed of Roses but by appreciating the fact that you can exist in the first place is worth popping a champagne bottle. It’s from celebrating being alive each day and being free to do so, that you open up to other things.

I had an interesting experience this morning on my way to work. I was in a matatu (minibus) and they wanted to avoid the cops for one reason or another. I refused to alight and requested that all the passengers get a reimbursement, the driver refused and started rambling on. I cut him short and told him in Kiswahili, Nikuheshimiana (Let’s respect one another here), he cut me short before I finished my statement responding, Mimi usiniheshimu (Do not respect me).

I was really shocked. In my lifetime I have never heard someone ardently demand for NO respect. Then he went on to defend his stand saying that he was a meager matatu (minibus) driver. I tapped his shoulder and told him that he is a human being and a driver doing his job and for that reason I respect him and that he should see it as something good. He then proceeded to drop us at the designated stage.

Just looking back at that situation, I realize the importance of being able to appreciate respect and the need to give it to others. I am grateful that I am in a country that actually does have people who appreciate the little wins and share it with others. It doesn’t have to be someone iconic, just the average person on the street who will holds a blind persons hand to help them cross the street, or the motorist who opts to give way when there is a clog up in a T-junction.

It’s the little Acts of Random Kindness (ARK) that is what keeps me going and I believe is what other Kenyans so desperately need. I am glad that there are Kenyans, who strive to make others happy, respect them and are willing to compromise for the comfort of others. What I love about performing acts of random kindness is that it’s not just the recipient who feels good about themselves, you also feel good about yourself. That is the country that I live in and I am proud to be part of; the ‘little’ people who make the little differences in this great land.

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)

Patriot's Diary # 7 : Colour's in the Traffic

I can choose to pick out all that is wrong in the Kenyan transport system but I won’t. All I’ll say is that there is room for improvement.

I was in a Bus on Sunday and I was taken by the conductor, he was polite and helped people out of the Bus. I can remember he helped a couple with one of their children; he carried the child from the back of the Bus all the way to the Bus stop outside. Even in asking for fare he was not abrasive. He seemed to provide sanity in the speeding Bus, it was reassuring considering I was really tired and fed up.

I am grateful that I have a Bus or Matatu (minibus) that I can use to commute to various corners of my city and country. Watching Africa Journal and seeing what other people on this continent have to face with limited public transportation yanks at my heart strings, but at the same time helps me appreciate what I have.

I have the privilege of being able to wake up in the morning and choose to travel up country a 500km drive without having to wait days for the next Bus. I know some of my fellow citizens experience that and like I said; there is room for improvement, but I am still grateful that I have the luxury.

Public transportation in Kenya is privately owned, but even though it is an entrepreneurial tool that does need regulation, it provides the average person on the street the ability to move around, carry their wares to sell, help those with huge sums of cash hidden in their socks get to the bank safe and sound. It enables schools the ability to take students for field trips. The system that we have makes it possible for me to get to work in the morning and home in the evening. It’s what makes boarding school bearable for high school students, knowing that outside that school gate they will be able to go home to the loving family and hot meals, when schools close.

Public transportation, as a writer is the basis of my stories. From the annoyed and rabid passenger next to me who doesn’t want to part with a cent. The exhausted driver who has to meet ridiculous sales targets who illegally maneuvers traffic. The conductors encounters with the law. The teenager who’s experiencing commuting for the first time in their life, the drunk who seems to think the seats are a couch, the fruit and vegetable vendor who is on the road at 4am every morning to get their fresh wares, the live chicken, to the kind of music they blast through the speakers and the favourite radio station the driver tune to. There’s so much you can learn and hear from in a matatu (minibus).

Public transportation in Kenya is a tale; it’s a play that unveils new characters with each act and scene as passengers board and alight. I can guarantee you that anyone who has encountered a matatu (minibus), has a tale to tell, good or bad. The jokes the tears, the abuse, human beings are the most fascinating and impossible creations on the face of the earth. Not only are Matatu (minibus) and Buses a never ending play they are a proof of a vibrant pop culture especially in major cities.

The bodies emblazoned with celebrity faces, mostly American artistes, East African Artistes whose music blast through Matatu (minibus) speakers almost as if declaring their rule over the hearts of the populace. The political figures, the late President John Garang, President Obama (this is Kenya remember), Paul Kagame, Kofi Annan and even Osama Bin Laden believe it or not.

The flags and iconic British premier league teams, proof that this is a Football nation, faces of their favorite national and international players; it’s a craze, it’s a colourful scene. I believe that is proof enough that in all the gloom and doom we choose to see in this country, colour is right before us each dawning day as we board into the Bus or matatu (minibus).