A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 16

 Ukatili - brutality

So the days go by. The long awaited

Rain has come, then sunshine came again.

I come back from my walk. Nobody there, everyone is gone. I am amazed, but do not attach great importance to it.

It doesn't take long before my phone rings. The monster calls.

"We are in the hospital!"

I am scared. "What happened?"

"Skydiver swallowed a five shilling coin!"

I'm not badly amazed. Have to ask again, I think I've misheard, but no, it's true. I have to laugh. Calm the monster and her daughter, tell them that this is not dangerous.

They come home after a few hours. They show me an x-ray. I look at it, have to laugh again. You can see Skydiver's stomach and the five shillings coin in the middle. Looks really funny.

"The doctor said she is very valuable to mom now."

That is nature, what comes in at the top comes out again at the bottom. And so it was.

A few days later. I read by the bed. Don't think anything bad, I hear a terrible noise. Skydiver screams, the monster screams. I storm out of the room, out onto the porch, see the monster skydiver beating. It's not just a slap, it's a heavy blow! I rush to it, push myself in between, shooter skydiver with my body. The monster is mad. I take Skydiver by the hand and take her into the bedroom. The monster follows us, roaring and screaming, at the same time trying to hit Skydiver, but I can prevent that. Skydiver's face is wet with tears.

I reassure Skydiver, tell her that her grandma won't hit her anymore.

In the late afternoon I ask the monster what happened that beat Skydiver like that. I can't believe my ears, what she's telling me is incomprehensible to me.

"I gave her one hundred shillings to buy me airtime. On the way back, she swallowed the airtime credit."

I ask Skydiver why did you put this strip in your mouth? Of course I don't get an answer. It would be too much to ask.

I'm trying to explain this thing to the monster. "It is like that," I begin. "You should really be hit on the head! Sending a three-year-old to go shopping is a tough job! Three-year-olds are not sane, you should be aware of that."

The monster cannot understand. It's annoying, but it is.

Brutality is rampant here.

Another day. Another brutality. This time it's Jigsaw.

I'm lying on the bed, writing. Scream! Suddenly Jigsaw storms into my room. Eyes wide open, full of fear.

"Save me!" She calls.

I realize immediately that it is very serious.

"Come on, go to bed, your mom can't hurt you here!"

The monster rushes in, a thick branch in hand. She charges at Jigsaw, tries to reach her, to hit her. I try to push myself in between. The monster pushes me away, hits Jigsaw. Jigsaw screams, desperately trying to escape the blows. I have to fight the monster. Ain't easy, the monster is strong and I am weak. Finally I manage to take the branch away from her. However, that did not bring the peace that I wished for. Now she is attacking her daughter with her fists. I have to step in again, push her out the door, lock the door, no one can beat her now. Now the work begins. Calm down, Jigsaw and the monster. The monster sits in the living room and breathes like a fire-breathing dragon. Jigsaw moans by my side.

I ask what happened that her mother is so angry. She tells me that her mother sent her shopping and on the way back she lost the change.

"How much is it?"

"50 shillings."

I go to the monster in the living room. Jigsaw trembles in the bedroom, the monster in the living room. I'm also shaking from anger.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" I yell at the monster.

As expected, she cannot understand.

"Are you freaking out about 50 schillings?"

"She lost the money!"

"That can happen. We've all lost around that happens!"

"That's 50 shillings, that's a lot of money!"

"Of course it's uncomfortable, 50 shillings is a lot of money. But the blows aren't worth it. You have to talk, explain, try to understand, brutality is completely wrong. It doesn't help! Makes things worse. If bJigsaw once grown up and has children herself, she will remember these blows. What children need is love and understanding, trust. Where should they turn when they have a problem? They turn to the person they trust. "

Only society, because only it and only it, has caused the existential imbalance that we try to overcome by walking upright. She and only she has robbed us of the world's trust.

We are all children of Christ and our Lord, instruments of his mercy and placed on earth to act as instruments of his grace, to sow the seeds of brotherhood and good works.

Brutality in upbringing is widespread. Brutality is easy. Easy to use. The stronger beats the weaker. This is how we pass it on to our children. They don't learn anything else, they don't see anything else. This is how the brutality is passed on from generation to generation.

I never hit my child, it never occurred to me. Brutality is a sign of weakness. This is now bearing fruit. Perhaps I may briefly mention it here, it has nothing to do with Kenya, but still very informative.

I was in South Africa. Had an accident, a woman caught me in the car. Hip was broken. The hospital wasn't exactly good, as birds were nesting in the room. The date for the operation could not be found out, in maybe 2 weeks, it could be longer, I was told. In short, it didn't look good, I felt like I was going to die. So I said goodbye to my child. "I come and I care for you!"

That was the reaction. My child is a doctor. After all, my child set heaven and hell in motion, I was transferred to a much better hospital, and the next day I had an operation.

My child saved my life.

You can only do this with love, not with a beating. Children do not forget!

I also think I can remember that these words are in the Bible: "Let the children come to me, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven ..." 

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 15

 Maisha - life

I go to the river, alone, that feels good. It's a nice walk, a lot of people greet me, the farmers wave in the fields, the children cling to me, I have to play with them.

For my special friends, I pocketed sweets that only the little ones get.

There's a little boy in front of the river, he's waiting for me. When he sees me he starts running. We greet each other, he's waiting for the candy, with big eyes. I give it to him, he shakes my hand and walks on.

I am at the river, sit down, look at the water, hear the rustling and Hermann Hesse comes to mind again. Life is like a river! What do I expect from life? A Kenyan would say, money. I am old, have experienced, participated and also been through a lot. Money does mean something, but only in the sense that I can buy my food. I think what do I really want? Love is surely the most important thing. I wish that I can love someone and that I will be loved too. Everything else comes by itself. But love also has its pitfalls.

Verily, we are to remain united even in silence from God's thoughts. But we leave space between our get-togethers. We let the wind and the sky dance between us. We love one another, but we don't make love a fetter. The lovers rather create a weaving sea between the shores of our souls. We fill each other's goblet, but we don't drink from one goblet. We give each other our bread, but we do not eat the same loaf. We sing and dance together and we are happy, but we also let each of us be alone. Just as the strings of a lute are alone, they also tremble with the same music. Give your hearts to one another, but not in the other's custody. Because only the hand of life can hold your heart. And we stand together, but not too close

These are the thoughts that go through my head. Are they bad, are they good, normal, or weird? I dont know! It is my feelings that I write down here. No more and no less! Did I find this in Kenya? Sometimes I think: yes, as soon as I have thought that, I begin to have doubts. Doubt eats me up. So, me, in the middle of it all, who seems to despair of everything, who buys madness, who goes nuts because of love, freedom and general constraints. It's maddening. I'm in a foreign country, the situation is even more difficult.

I doubt. On the one hand, I believe with sufficient clarity where home ceases to be home as soon as it is not at the same time fatherland. Kenya is not my home because it is not my homeland. It could become my home if the love I have perhaps found is big enough to give me a home.

There is something else that bothers me. The monster goes shopping sometimes, which is not a bad thing. It is a bit annoying that she says: "I'll get tomatoes!" The market is not far. About twenty minutes there and back. If she were to buy tomatoes, there would be a shop around the corner. She goes away, doesn't come back for a long time. I'm sitting on the porch, basking in the sun, wondering what to make of it. The neighbour's little girl comes to me and sits down next to me. She cannot speak English, I cannot speak Swahili. But what is it. She's telling me something, seriously, then I tell her something. We have a great chat. She comes back after four hours.

"That took a long time!" I state soberly. 

"I met someone, we talked." 

I don't ask any more, I'm sure I won't get any real answer, not even one that I can believe.

She has to go to meetings more often. "It doesn't take long, maybe two hours," she says. She leaves at 8 am, comes back at 4 or 5 pm. The excuse always stays the same, it took longer.

Women are certainly the greatest thing that has been created. They are the first ones who plowed the earth when God made it. They are the ones who made the food. They are the ones who look after the men when they are little boys, when they are young men, and when they are old and about to die. They are always there. But they are just women, and nobody sees them. Goethe put it a little differently: "They (the women) spin and weave, heavenly gifts into earthly life." I have that in mind. This is how it is and how it should be! We have to honor women more!

In the morning, at breakfast, the skydiver comes, takes my teabag, holds it in the hot water. Jigsaw cannot tolerate that. She tears the teabag out of her hand and holds it in my cup herself. Skydiver is crying. I can't see that. I take Skydiver in my hands, comfort her. Jigsaw looks angry, Skydiver stops crying. I give her another task and tell her that this task is much more difficult. Skydiver is happy.

Here I would like to add that I am willing and able to win from life what can be won from it, without fear or remorse. 

As I said, I've been through a lot. Not long ago a friend wrote to me. He said: "I admire you! Everything has happened to you in your life! And you don't give up. I'm already shedding my pants when I'm supposed to get on a plane." Fear is a bad companion.

The only defense the weak have is to allow the bird of prey to be a bird of prey. The human lambs - the weak - weave a web of social relationships and moral judgments around the strong body, tightening it with doubts and remorse.

Despise the weak not because they are weak, but because they are righteous. Instead of admitting: "I'm scared", the lamb bleats: "I have a soul."

And so the soul has perhaps been the best substitute for faith on earth up to now because it made it possible for the majority of mortals, the weak and depressed of every kind, that sublime self-deception to interpret weakness itself as freedom.

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 12

 Mto - The river

Somehow the river has become important, at least for me. There I could let off steam, give free rein to my thoughts. Because in the loneliness, as where everyone is turned back on himself, there it shows what he has in himself: there the drip in the purple sighs under the irremovable burden of his miserable individuality; while the highly gifted populates and animates the most desolate environment with his thoughts. In the plant are children, they become attentive, would like to know where I go. It is already noticeable, I go away every day, in the morning, then come back at noon. "Where are you going?" they ask me. "I go to the river," I answer. It didn't take long, just a few days, on weekends, they all went. The mothers are happy, finally they can relax a little. Only I have a problem, I have to watch out and it's not easy, who can watch out for some wild creatures, direct them? And me without experience! Off we go. Five children, two boys and three girls. One girl belongs to the Divine, the other girl is her granddaughter. We go the way we already know. Past the first church. The children see me again, leave everything, run out of the church, surround me, greet me. I shake hands with them all. We continue walking. A child finds a dead snake, that causes excitement! Of course, what else. The children don't walk along the path, they climb up the slope, jump down. It is a wild clamor. Some run ahead, others sneak behind. The big girl soon has enough. "How much farther is it?" she asks. "Not far." I've completely forgotten that I'm a mzungu, used to walking. After a few steps, she asks the same question. "We'll be there soon," I reply. And ask a stupid question, "Why?" "I can't go on," she answers with a sour face. "I am out of blood!" I laughed then. "So young and already out of blood!" The boys laugh at her. Finally, she moves on. The little girl is tired, I have to carry her. Smiling or even grinning, she sits on my shoulders. We reach the river, everyone is thrilled! I can say what I want, no one listens to me. The big girl gives the orders, the children follow her. With me they have absorbent cotton in their ears. They romp around, I can only try to avoid the worst, but that is not tolerated by the big girl. "We can take care of ourselves, we don't need you" She is upset and yells at me. I have to be careful that nothing happens. The river, or stream, is not deep, but the current is strong. If a child falls in there, it looks bad. Everyone stomps around in the water. I can only say : "Don't go there, it's slippery.... There's mud all over the place..." Whatever I say, nobody listens to me. They are all wet, their feet full of mud. They have to clean themselves first. "We're going home now," the tall one orders. We start walking home. "You guys are tired?," I ask. Of course, everyone is ko. "I know a shortcut, it's a shorter walk. Shall we go that one?" All are in favor. It's a slightly different path, we go a different way. A boy starts to cry. "What's wrong?" I ask him. He tells me something, don't understand it,need an interpreter, the big one has to help, she is in charge. "He says he wants to go home." "We are going home." "This is not the way!" How right he is. "Trust me, this way leads back, it's just shorter, we'll get back faster." Finally he stops crying. We keep walking. Nobody believes me that this way really leads back. But they do go, pants full, not daring to turn around to go the long way. I have to carry the little one, she is heavy and I am weak! I sweat, I run out of air, but she doesn't go, I can do what I want.

I wonder what the children learn at school. Somehow it seems strange to me. When I look at the children, at what is happening, I can only say that something is not quite as it should be. For a long time now, in the eyes of the parents and the children, the school has been nothing more than a machine for producing certificates, that is, positions. Maybe that's the problem. I also learned that the schools in Kenya seem to be run by a wide variety of churches. If that is true, then the church has suzerainty over education. Is that desirable? I can't imagine it is. The education of the young was more of a headache for him (Napoleon). Although he wanted to give religion a place, he did not think of leaving schooling to the churches, it was essential to form not believers but subjects, not theologians but people of the time. (Napoleon)