Mutahi Ngunyi may be a tribalist, but he's not alone.
So the other day Mutahi Ngunyi called all Luos and Luhyas a poverty stricken lot and sent #KOT a.k.a Kenyans on Twitter on a frenzy. Mad. Rattled. #KOT was up in arms against him, one of the finest Kenyan mind, an intellectual, don of the university (just what is wrong with some of these educated characters treating the brain like some kind of beauty spot? I pity his students. But that’s another story for another day.)
Guys went on overdrive to bisect the tweets across all angles; some said that his views are stand alone. Not representative.
Momentarily after seeing the tweet, I wanted to be in denial about it. I wanted say that he was talking on his own accord, which I partly believe, except that I happen to remember that I have heard pretty much the same remarks from so many people I personally ─ or not so personally ─ know, to know his remarks are largely representative of a large chunk of our society.
We all castigate other groups in our spaces; public and private. Famous people just rubberstamp it more. They give it an oomph!
C’mon!
When I packed all my earthly belongings to Meru a few years ago (not like there was anything of value) to start a new job I was torn into two. Part of me was thrilled. The other was scared to death and here’s why.
I was excited to go and work in an exotic place. This would be my one chance to meet new people and explore a new place.
But my heart also sank a little. We, as a nation, had just come from a bloody post-election violence, bearing tribal marks all over it, and even though it was close to 5 years later, wounds of that election had not truly healed. (So far I’ve never looked back, but I’m not blind to some obvious realities like the venom spat around during and after the 2013 elections, so spare me that ‘we are a peaceful people sermon’. I know better.)
The bloody 2007 violence happened while I was just a first year student in Moi University, Eldoret so when I say it was ‘bloody’; I mean it was bloody; from a point of experience. People were tribally profiled. People were killed. More were displaced. More were raped. More were physically tortured, psychologically, emotionally and financially and some of these heinous things happened to people I personally know.
A college mate was airlifted to Nairobi after a group of people armed to the teeth with machetes and rungus attacked their Hawaii home in Eldoret. His family fled to Eldoret airstrip and they boarded a chopper for Nairobi― his first time he ever was in a plane.
How ironical to fly when there’s a disaster, many fly for comfort.
His father lost his wealth. His family lost a place they had called home for years, leaving them at the mercy of well-wishers and relatives in Nairobi who had since moved on in their lives. If they were to truly go back to their shags in Nyahururu― assuming that the attackers wanted them to― where exactly in Nyahururu would they go? It had been over 30 years since their parents had been to Nyahururu.
It started with calling people names. You are kikuyu, therefore you don’t belong here; thief! You are Luhya, go back to the hellhole you came from; you glutton, tea drinking whatever! You are Luo, go back to your land and eat fish, braggart! You are Kalenjin, disappear! Stuff like that. Kenyans were up in arms against each other. These people were no strangers to each other!
We are now happy to have that violence behind us, but we well know that anything could trigger it back. Name calling….stereotyping…. insults camouflaged as jokes― name it!
Anything!
And I mean absolutely anything. What we are as a country is like the post-war Japan. The war is truly over, bombings are no more but we might be living with its consequences for a very long time. Anything can trigger those painful emotions back ─sights, sounds, smells─ into a full blown catastrophe.
We as Kenyans know that, or maybe we don’t. We sometimes forget very fast, selective amnesia we call it?
We shouldn’t assume that we have truly survived the nightmare of tribalism and the lingering possibility of a full blown violence in the near future! Fat from it. I think with the way we are behaving, we could be at the hallmark of something worse that whatever we saw in 2007.
When corruption is prosecuted, don’t we all demand for tribal representation in the prosecutions? I know. Haven’t we taken to defend corruption lords based on their last names rhyming with ours?
Let’s step a bit out of the political circles, shall we?
Twitter has been a buzz lately with one hash tag a after another of ‘comic jokes’ about certain tribes. For those who missed the show try to Google this: #luhyatings #kambatings etc, etc.
You’ll see. From Luhyas love for tea to their grand appetites to Kambas’ prowess in the bedroom― as if it’s a bad thing― to countless other things to Kikuyu and their stealing habits.
Mean things I swear!
Blanket castigation of entire groups! I have never been more concerned. Not concerned with just the surface humor, but the unintended consequences that these negative sentiments carry with them.
With all due respect to our differences as a people, I beg to ask, are we really that different? Don’t we all eat? Just like Lunjes?
The other day in the company of some Kalenjin guys (with me as the only Lunje) I got to hear every possible Lunje joke that has ever existed. From the gluttony to the tea drinking parties to the pictures of the 3 building-stone covered ugali pot to the shouts against Indomie noodles at a party! You know. This one really caught my attention; about this Luhya man who goes to a store to buy ugali flour and finds it out of stock. He then tells the store attendant to give him six loaves of bread, twenty eggs and something else. He then remarks angrily that he will sleep hungry that night as he leaves the store!
Really?
I mean really?
I don’t know about the kind of Luhyas that you guys interact with but this ‘joke’, this story, whereas its intention is to elicit humor, the core of it describes a collection of gluttons by the name Luhyas.
That ‘joke’ is as malicious and contemptuous as it can get and I personally choose to treat like it is.
By the time the evening ended, I was done with those guys and their crappy jokes.
Time and again I make the mistake of assuming that just because something is obvious to me, it is as obvious to someone else. Like this one time I’m talking to this Meru-ian that I revere. The conversation is going on very well until ―out of the blue― he throws in some remark ‘oh, Luhyas are very happy people Catherine. I once went to Malava, Kakamega for a wedding ceremony and everyone was so happy. So happy.’
Hallo! It was a wedding!
Is it just me or that statement strike you as incredibly odd?
I mean duh! Happy, what the hell is happy? Who the hell is happy?
People, do you get the contempt and simplicity in that statement?
People, do you get the shallowness in it?
Who the hell is happy? Anyone can be happy or sad; it isn’t a group thing, am I right?
That statement whether standing on its own or in any context reminds me of how the West has been perceiving Africa for a long, long time.
Sad, isn’t it? That we are doing this to each other?
Some things aren’t just as obvious are they?
Kenyans, Mutahi Ngunyi isn’t alone. We’re all collectively guilty here. Let’s keep fanning up the fire with our tribal jokes. Let’s keep on castigating entire groups of people; our brothers. Let’s keep on with the name calling. What will happen next is this― we will get all burnt just like in 2007. Don’t say you didn’t see it coming.
Catherine Amayi is a Scientist and a Writer
@catherine_amayi