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Ordinary People with an Extraordinary Heart ESSAY BY BOB SEKO METHODIST UNIVERSITY jerooba@yahoo.com Long before the Government Spokesman, Dr. Alfred Mutua popularized the slogan, I am proud to be Kenyan, I had always had this sense of patriotism to my country. Let me illustrate this with my own story, way back in 1994. I was just about to take a corner, but considering the two mile distance I was yet to cover, I considered resting for a while. I had barely sat for five minutes when Joyce and her sister, Mary, our neighbours who were heading back to school, approached me. Can we tell him? Joyce whispered to Mary. I quickly checked my fly and realized it was okay. You tell him, Mary urged her sister. Joyce approached me and studied my face for a while before mumbling out, Your mum is dead, with that they both walked away.

My mum had been bed-ridden for days and her health had deteriorated for many days and I always prayed for her. However those were not the thoughts that occupied my mind then. For a nine-year-old, my thoughts were what was one supposed to do? The only thing that came to my mind was people cry when a loved one dies. So I started wailing, hoping so much that tears would swell on my eyes and luckily they did. With renewed strength I walked faster sobbing loudly. As I pushed the gate to the main house, I noticed a huge number of relatives and neighbours having swarmed our compound. As I tried to make my way around, everyone tried to hold me and they constantly whispered to each other Poor boy, he does not understand. They were right, I did not understand that she was gone forever.

As though that was not enough setback, my dad passed on six months later in a grisly road accident.

I come from a family of six and we were now orphaned, our firstborn had just joined secondary school while our lastborn had barely started schooling, being the second last born I was three years into primary school. Sometimes when calamity strikes the people who are supposed to shoulder your burdens became your biggest nightmares. Relatives wanted to sell the piece of

land that was our inheritance then use it to pay for our school fees. Of course being a bunch of sots, when the first quarter was sold, little went to paying our school fees.

I was neither involved in the affairs of complaining about our predicament nor in trying to solve them. I could only hear them in the fireplace in the night when such matters were being discussed. A void was created in my life and I found the gap being filled by my friends who would always show me means to survive. I would attend school on rare occasions and most of the times, I could spend it with street urchins. They showed me how to pickpocket, how pick up odd jobs and how to enter certain restricted entertainment spots. It felt good being with people that seems to understand you.

Lucky for me, my elder siblings started sensing foul play with our relatives demands and utilization of our only priced inheritance. They therefore approached a group of church elders about our plight. A number of church people decided that they would foster each of us by absorbing us in their families. There are people who are truly heaven sent. A good example were my new parents. They took me as one of their sons and showed me that I was welcome in the family. It was not just lip service but they went ahead to demonstrate that I was just like the other children. I could call them mum and dad without a problem and they could always tell everyone that I was their son. Even more, they enrolled me in the same school as their other children and went ahead to provide all the material needed. Even when I erred as I am wont to, they were not afraid to reach for the rod.

If I say it was smooth sailing after that, I would be lying. One thing though that I can say is that with each new struggle I saw my parents fight over it and overcome it. They were people who believed that problems could be solved, that mountains were to be climbed and obstacles removed. They saw me through primary school and secondary school. And they never tired as they saw me through college too.

Now, all I can see is success. People who we are not related by blood but who stood up to help their neighbours who are in need are the one who have aided us. I am in my final year in an illustrious course in engineering, while our last born is now a second year in the same university. The rest of my siblings have completed their education and I cannot be any more proud than being a Kenyan.

Why do I share this story? So that you can sympathise with me? Far from it, for in any case there are many Kenyans who have gone through worse scenarios. What I want to say is that Kenyan story, the story of one people, one spirit. Let me exemplify this further by a quote of President Obamas victory speech, he stated that his story has that hasnt made him the most conventional candidate. For it is a story that has seared into his genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts -. It is that spirit that sees so many Kenyans already overburdened with trying to put food on their table, but willing to give a helping hand. This ranges from attending Harambees to raise funds for school fees, showing up in large numbers at funerals and weddings. The spirit that sees Kenyans flock Red Cross offices with food donations whenever there is a famine. Of course at times this spirit extends to ugly scenarios such as mob justice in the streets of Nairobi or chants of haki yetu, haki yetu its our right at Kibera as they reach to pull the railway line. The spirit also extends to hope. The hope that one day our national football team, Harambee Stars, would trounce over the Super Eagles of Nigeria and other African Teams and take us to the world cup, the hope that one day we will get a new constitution and the hope that one day politicians will just get it right and stop playing mind games with everyone.

Even in the evenings whenever I see Kenyans congregate around their neighbours TVs to watch our Athletes conquer the rest of the world, I feel proud to be Kenya. For me the sense of pride is that of belonging. The idea that I know someone got my back. For indeed its Kenyan to share the little that you have with your neighbour.