MEN AND VEHICLES. WHY THIS STRONG BOND?

What is this special relationship between men and vehicles ?

As I look back in my humble village, Kiaritha, I grew up in a set up where the most treasured mode of commuting was walking from one point to the other. Boarding a matatu happened only when it was very necessary and the distance to be covered dictated so. Either way, few were blessed to own bicycles but no one would dare ‘touch’ these bicycles without permission lest things backfired on him/her. The bike was a treasure, owned by very few! My dad was favored to own one called Momo and on Sunday afternoons, he would give it to Zach who would train us on how to ride. This was always a look forward I tell you. A more privileged lot owned motor cycles but these were very few. Owning a motor cycle was just not a usual thing. This meant that owning a motor car was next to impossible! Either way, very, very few had vehicles and that meant once they were passing by the roadside, we would get out and cheer like we were watching Ferrari in Abudhabi . Cars were just not heard of in a very wide area. This made me desire to one day own a vehicle and break this village curse!

Immediately after I graduated from Gsu Training School in 2005, I went for my annual leave which was a moment to ‘shine’ now that I was among the first from my immediate village to join the general service Unit after a long wait. I realized that to boost my ‘image’ more, I needed to upgrade to also not walk from one point but to cruise around  using a personal four wheeled thing to hence I started to scout for an affordable machine.  In this case, I fast settled for a Mini Moris whose owner was Dan a mechanic by profession. Later, after a long wait that took me about two years, I went back to the same guy and persuaded him that he needed to repair his then grounded Mini Moris and sell it to me. I was even ready to advance him some amount just to ensure that this thing was repaired and would just crawl from the garage for road test. I was and still I am a fan of the old school machines hence public noise in case I acquired this thing would not be a bother, moreover, my uncle who once lived abroad and was lecturing at the University of Nairobi used to drive around the city in a Volkswagen beetle.

One sad thing was that I was scouting for a vehicle but was not in possession of a driving, neither did I know how to drive hence I called on a cousin on mine by the name Tony to help me drive this thing from the village to Nairobi so that I would also be cruising in my Morris like the other buddies. Plans were underway to import an engine and a mechanic from Kariobangi who was a Mini Morris specialist was the Lead advisor doubled up as a consultant too. When we got at Dan’s garage, my cousin called me some steps back and warned me that my decision was ill advised and that thing would be a total headache if I bought it. I gave in to his advice not because I was convinced but because I could not drive as I was even ready to tow it to Nairobi so as to stand and be counted as an owner of motor vehicle. I remember one day, a friend of mine by the name Vivian telling me that if I bought a Beatle, she would not dare even accept a lift from me! I thought she was too hard on me but my love for the beetle never fizzled out. Will still own one sometime in the future, the old model to be specific…

Fast forward, 2015 is here. We no longer do a lot of bicycles. Young boys and girls have been left to in the arena especially in the urban areas but we also got grownups cycling just to enjoy themselves, for fitness but also for commuting per se.  We got motor cycles now. A gift from our Chinku brothers from another continent. 

They have turned to be very popular in the village but also in the towns as they have been used and are still being used to ferry us from one point to other at a friendly fee. Ladies have been the greatest customers as they rarely walk very much, may be to avoid dirtying their feet. (This is my personal view, crucify me not for this, we got a new constitution!)We got a new breed of men doing crazy rides especially over the weekend  and will do this with their sports bikes that cause a lot of fanfare especially along Thika road super highway. We got a lower version of men who do bikes but not out of fun but a means to earn a living. Young men have abandoned studies in the village to be employed in the Okada business. 

 Many have also turned to their customers for benefits beyond the cash they pay. I once heard some say that they only enjoy ferrying women as they pay well, are reliable and loyal! I read mischief in their talk but could not get into the debate as the more they talked, the more I heard them share of how they romp in maize fields with some of these customers especially the ones whose husbands migrated to the drinking dens and no longer fulfill their conjugal obligations as expected of them.

That aside, we got the motor vehicles. I bet our society takes an owner of a motor vehicle to be a successful man or woman. Almost every one dreams that one day he/she will own a car. This however needs to be re looked at and may be was the reason why I was so much interested in buying one at that tender age. There are several classes of motor vehicle owners and I will limit myself to private motor vehicles and may be those in the Matatu industry at a glance. We got the rich and affluent owners who are able to buy any type of vehicles, fuel and maintain them with ease and even are chauffeured from one point to the other.  Owning a vehicle to them is not a financial burden; their ‘headache’ may be constant upgrading so as not to be out done by their peers in terms of owning the latest models. This must be surely a happy lot.

 

I will skip others in this class and straight go to the second class that is interesting to look at. They are in constant debt as most log books are still safely kept in the banks as they are purchased through car loans or they are servicing a loan that was used to buy the vehicles they own. These will be seen driving from the first day of the month but as we get mid month, the numbers reduce drastically as the cars are left in the parking lots and their owners return to where they belong, using public means of transport. Saying this can be termed as hate speech as they will say that their cars are their choices as they decide when to drive them and when not to do so. I question this justification though. This is a class that would better live in a rented apartment or house but will spend a million plus shillings to buy a vehicle. Rarely will they think of buying plots even in the outskirts of the city, build there and may be drive in the later years. This is very un fashionable as they would appear backward in front of their peers but may be as a justification, our priorities are different. 

Young ladies and gentlemen will take a car loan and not give a mortgage a glance! These will be seen jamming the roads will learner stickers and accompanied by heavy reggae, rock of other types of music that characterize their lifestyles. Ladies will be seen driving Volkswagen Golfs and Polos whereas men prefer Subarus. Most of these are often parked next to drinking dens if not joints in the estates and will at times double up as lodgings for the obvious! Most will be police station customers on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights and if not very lucky, they are towed to the same Police stations after a drinking spree gone wrong and if the owners are lucky enough, they are left hospitalized for a considerable duration of time. Subaru owners are good culprits of these happenings may be because they rarely know home at high speeds as the slogan goes.

Lastly, there is another class who own vehicles that rarely leave their parking lots not because they do not have fuel but because the mechanic failed to turn up as agreed as he has been angered by the owners in ability to buy the required spare part leave alone paying for it’s fixing. This is a class that owns vehicles that require constant pushing in the morning, that one will often here the fuel attendant ask of kawaida, that is fuel for Ksh 200 Maximum, will always have a towing rope in the boot, on top of the dash board exists spanner number twelve, a very reliable partner of these owners, whose doors rarely open from inside, that rarely have a serviceable spare wheel and so many other funny characteristics.

These are owners that are very often asking passer by people to help them push the vehicles from the middle of the road as they ran out of fuel and will later jump out holding a five litre jerry can hoping to the nearest petrol station. They later open the bonnet and using their mouths will inject fuel to the ‘Kafuraitor’ to  help the car supply the fuel to the necessary areas and they often appear drunk not because of a morning visit to the local but because of constant inhaling if not ‘drinking’ petrol. The love that these men show for these vehicles is second to none, the bond so strong and the attachment so strong too. These owners are always hopeful that the vehicle will one day grow up and manage a whole week running without breaking down.

The wives to these owners are a frustrated lot! All the love that they once enjoyed was snatched from them by these junks leave alone emptying the family bank account without any signs of improvement. Kids can be sent from school for fees, will  stay home for days but these machines cannot spent a night in the bush after the usual breakdown as the owners can use any other means to raise rescue cash but not cash to send kids back to school. These things if well audited have consumed a whole family fortune bit by bit, have led to family break ups and also have made men slaves! Many school fees joing accounts are no longer operational as the man can no longer be trusted especially after marrying a Datsun 1200, a Datsun 120Y, a Mahindra jeep and other classic oldies. 

A casual walk in estates occupied by most civil servants reveals much of what am saying. There are so many stalled Ex Gks, Ex Un, Ex Kenya Power, Ex Army, Ex Posta and Ex Jirani laying there in sad states. Rotting and creating ugly scenes but dare say so and you may end up losing a whole set of teeth as the owners see nothing like what you may be seeing if you are blessed enough to see the misery there in.  The owners are usually in the false hope that one day, they will grow up and at least craw from the parking lots. The most shocking thing is that some own more than one but none of these is mobile and incase another is on sale, someone will still take a loan, buy it and tow it to the parking lot, start watering it with hope that it will germinate one day, grow and bear fruits and he is counted to be in procession of three log books!

My constant pity goes to an interesting lot that buy old Psv Matatus that barely make a trip without breaking down, the tires busting or being arrested and detained by our ‘Friendly’ traffic cops. These have worn out tires, are always in the welder’s park, the driver has several phone numbers so as to call the mechanic once their valuable services are needed but that lastly end up hanging on four stones, the owners are left servicing loans and if not very lucky are left taking stress management pills if not classes. This is all in an effort to be counted as a motor vehicle owner. Sure enough, the biggest percentage of these are men but a good number of women are often found in the mix.

My question is, is there a motor vehicle curse or are most people’s priorities wrong? Well I appreciate that most people have been able to make money from the Ex Gks, Salvage Insurance auctioned vehicles and other have graduated from the last class above to owning serviceable vehicles but the numbers may not be very significant compared to those whose families have been shattered by emergence of second wives namely junks. A joke goes around that if a man has not been able to convince a woman to render him her ears, he only needs to stand next to a motor vehicle and behave in a manner likely to suggest that he is the owner and things immediately fall into place faster than expected. Whether that it true or not, I leave it to you! 

I have observed that once most of my male friends bought their vehicles, women officially became passengers with benefits and slowly forgot their wives and children and married alcohol. I guess am jealous...? Right...?

FATHER, JUST TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME, THAT IS ALL I WANT FROM YOU.

I LOVE YOU SON / DAUGHTER

 Is it a taboo for fathers to tell their children that they love them verbally? 

Has your dad ever told you that he loves you verbally either as you face him or via the phone?

Have you ever called him and told him that you love him and what did he say in response..?

I decided to dare do the same. I have frequently called my dad who I love so much and told him that I love him. So far so good, he has never told me that he loves me! From his tone, I guess he smiles, blushes* and only ends up telling me thank you. He won’t tell me that he loves me even if I tell him that I love him. He simply smiles and says thank you every time I hit the ‘TRY AGAIN’ button. This does not mean that I doubt his love for me but the question begs, is it a taboo to say so or is it un African or is the past to blame for this predicament?

Let me take a flash back on how I and most of my friends that I visited or who I have shared time with in the past have described this man. The father, the Lion, the King of the Jungle. Kiaritha is my lovely village, a place that I treasure. Guess it may be more or less a replica of what most rural set ups are like or were like for those who have either gotten better or worse. Being born and growing up in this part of the nation must have been a divine plan. Hatched by my maker even before I was formed in my mum’s womb. For this divine plan to be a reality, He also went ahead and prepared mum and dad and to me more real, my mother and father. For the nine months, I must have been just an expectation but later I became a reality. My maker decided that my manger would be divinely placed in Mathari Hospital in Nyeri and after that I be ferried back to Kiaritha Village where I would unfold my puny hands in readiness to grab both the blessings and the troubles of this world.

Looking back, my research shows that men of that time were brought up to believe that they were like  lions and once they roared, all animals in the jungle should have  realized that the King of the Jungle was around and must be prepared for the worst. 

I guess they were fashioned to roar when hungry and cause fracas after feeding. This could and can be explained by the fact that they demanded for absolutely everything despite the fact that much of what they asked for was not their provision but the mere fact that they were lions*, they had unrestricted rights to everything.

Most women, my mum included were supposed to do all the donkey work in coffee plantations, maize fields and other farm related activities up to harvesting but had almost no say when it was time to sell and enjoy the fruits of their labor. When coffee was sold and time to get paid was on, the lions could collect all the dues and use them without consulting their wives. The little children who were also involved in ‘Child labor’ were also victims of these kind of fathers. Some drunk it all, married a second or third wife while others had side hustles,  ‘mipango ya kando’ whereas others could not explain how this money ‘evaporated’ from pay table before ‘arriving’ home to those  who helped make it. Mothers had no right to ask either as this would attract several blows….(For women (wives), I here that in some cultures, if not beaten often, it means that they are not loved!  An archaic school of thought I believe…

This ‘roaring’ was extended to cows too as the feeding was done by Mothers and children, Milking by fathers…(For accountability purpose…….),and delivering it to households and dairies was done by children, mothers or fathers but the delivery card had to be cross checked after delivery to ensure that the bottles ‘never broke’ along the way and the product spilled on the ground….(Guess tree top bottled were the unit of measure by then….) Any accidental spilling of the milk would attract punitive measures that would include thorough canning and a night without food accompanied by a trip to school without breakfast and lunch too…..All this was a fathers way to discipline a kid that ‘he loves’ and a mothers that he ;loves too…..In many families, tea without milk was the order of the morning s the milk was hardly enough to sell and make some tea in house. Love, the hard way I tell you….

Back in the house, there was a special seat that no one would dare sit on when the Lion was around. There was also a special plate, kettle, mug, corner and other privileges given to the King of the jungle. All of these were all treated with fear as no one would dare violate them. They were automatic and there was no debate about it. No one had the guts to tamper with them and question their validity, not even the lioness. The mandate of the lioness ended with child bearing. There was also that special bike that was the common mode of transport. No one dared to touch it lest the fury of the lion be released at will. This was the life.

One would rarely see the fathers during parents’ meetings in schools as Lionesses were the most dominant here. May be because the cubs were as foolish as them hence had to shoulder the burden of curing the disease called foolishness whose hospital was a place called school. Here, there were other lions namely the headmaster and the deputy where the deputy was the in charge of discipline. He canned, abused and punished without mercy. Seeing him from a distance also resulted to one scattering for his or her safety both in school and even when out of school. He was a ‘respected’ man, not a feared one!

Back home again, most mothers were not supposed to engage in formal employment as this would be a sign that the lion is not in control and mother in law, (from the fathers side  of course) was supposed to be vigilant so as to early enough detect any sign of ‘growing horns’ exhibited by the mothers and immediately would recommend punitive measures that would include a second wife as the control gear. Matters were made worse if children born out of these marriages were only female and no sign of males but the worst case scenario was when there were no children brought forth. The mother in law, the chief justice to be precise would immediately shop for a replacement and recommend to the son. The unproductive partner would either be reduced to a laughing stock and most times sent away for her inability to bring forth children. A fathers/husbands way of expressing love I bet….

Still at home, kids could not ask for anything from the lion without asking the intermediary, the lioness to intervene as this would violate the chain of command.  Once the petition is presented, the lion often said that there was nothing to offer and this was not to be questioned but later would give but at it’s own time and in a measure that it deemed right. The foolish* cubs belonged to their mothers until the foolishness was fully extracted from them in a hospital called school. This was evident when the exam results evidently proved that the Lion’s genes were the dominant ones as passing exams and going to the university was a prestigious thing. No one would speak before a lion whose cub had performed well in exams as this was an outright sign that it was as wise as the Lion…(Forget not that the lion was rarely involved in matters education…. Fear, dictatorship, and commanding were the obvious styles of ruling and this was taken as normal. Women were treated just like their children and basically has to survive in such a set up. The Kiaritha way of expressing love…..

The word Love was a very scarce one that only surfaced when matters boyfriends and girl friends were discussed and this was not to be heard by the parents especially the lion. This could have been a taboo that went beyond not being practiced leave alone being mentioned. Mothers may have expressed the same through actions but not via the word of mouth. Rarely did I hear a mother or a father tell the children that they love them.  All I may have heard was a ‘good night son’ from my mum, may be a synonym for ’I love you, sleep well’ by the standards of the time and in my village to be precise.

My challenge is, pick your phone, call your father tell him that you love him and wait for a similar response. Go to your kids tonight, look straight into their eyes and tell them that you love them if you  have not be telling them. But before this, what is the meaning of ‘I LOVE YOU?’…..

God Commands us to love. Some may argue that actions speak louder than words whereas others may say that love is blind and dumb.

 Onward:

I CHOOSE TO CRY FOR KIARITHA, MY LOVELY VILLAGE.

I choose to speak out rather than bury my head in the sand and assume that all is well....

I cry for Kiaritha....

Yesterday in the evening, I found myself  facing a young  stubborn drunk man from our village who was really hard on me. His complaint was that I owe him some debt. When I incurred the debt was not clear but after a lot of his insistence that I need to honor my part of the bargain, I was able to know that now that am in formal employment, I am supposed to buy a lot of beer every time I visit the village like other men and women do once they visit the same village but I have ignorantly failed to live to his and others expectations. This young man went ahead and did an analysis of the beer buying patterns of other village mates and to him, I am very mean hence he proposed that I need to change lest I lose relevance amongst my village mates and also those who know me.

This encounter provoked me to write this piece as I have in the past restrained myself from doing this for a quite considerable length of time. My mind took me back some years after I left the village on 28/12/2004 for GSU Training school for initial police training course. I also remembered Retired major General Hussein Ali saying that he never went on leave not even in a single year when he was at the helm of the police service. What he was doing there to a point of not going on leave, I leave it to analysts but I realized that am no better than him since I joined University in September 2008.  I spent not even a single week in the village when I was on off duty and during my annual leave as I was busy studying and when not studying trying to fix semester fees deficits that I always had during my studies.This journey ended well....

After six years in the University and now for the first time in Ten years, I have continuously been in the village for a second week and frankly speaking, the personal experience is amazing now that am having my time free from the hustles of the city and from books that marked the last six years of my life. This joy ends when I leave my home stead to a walk in the village as the first encounter with my village mates is characterized by a demand for some coins either to buy a bottle of Njuki Special, a cheap liquor that is the order of the day or to smoke Marijuana that is currently being practically hawked by very young men here with no intervention  from those in authority as they are also beneficiaries of these drug selling cartels.

Someone may be quick to ask me why I am concerned about others whereas I have a stable job and I thank God I have been able to access higher education amidst struggles here and there.  Hold your horses dear friend, one sole reason is that there is an emerging or existing but now maturing trend in the village where there are small gods from almost every sector, in different colors and in varying tastes. The first god that is properly worshiped is a politician who has perfected in the art of giving out handouts to the old men, women and even the young men and women in the village. Once they are sported, every age group immediately gets in groups of tens ready for handouts both in the election period and also out of election period.

 This joke has gone further to see our Current MP build what was supposed to be dispensaries just before the last election year that up to date have never been operational but continue to get dilapidated with no one showing interest on the same. There are so many theories explaining the situation but I chose not to buy into any of them. No theory can justify misuse of public resources in the name of devolution and poor planning for selfish political gains! Here is a case sample of the dispensary.

 Next to this dispensary is a water tank that is supposed to be fed from an underground well that was also built at the cost of the taxpayer. It’s state is sorry and no one seems to care. Just have a look at it below.

The handout joke has been decentralized and in return it has given in to a second class of gods. These are successful  business men (According to the standards of the world) who sit at very vantage positions in the churches and call the shots not only in the church but also in almost all functions as the flex their financial muscle on request. Their ego is always massaged in church, harambees, funerals and other events as they must be given an opportunity to speak and if not, their presence must always be recognized using the public address system. These are out of reach from the common mwananchi but are easily accessed by a group of sycophants who are either politically connected to those in power or are political brokers to a point of even politicizing church leadership! This is an example of all our leaders can do for ease of transport.....

The third class of gods is that of young men and women who work far from the village, in the neighboring counties, in the capital city or elsewhere. These are the men and women who visit the village from time to time but must ensure that their pockets are well oiled for them to be able to make their presence recognized. They are well known for buying beer, moving like a pride of lions in company of beer thirsty men and boys who they command like military generals in exchange of a glass of Keg or a bottle of a cheap brand called Njuki Special. This is the class that has ‘raised the bar very high’ in that if you work far from  the village and you don’t do like they do, then you are termed as proud, a miser and someone who is not thankful as you don’t subscribe to the standards of your peers. They appear in various ‘tastes and preferences’ too. From the young pot bellied men who are currently driving sporty cars and always moving in motorcades over the weekends as they go out on drinking sprees to the sun glasses wielding ladies in tights, flashy mobile phones and tablets, weaves, heavy make up and ‘a lot’ of stylish walking not forgetting the long ‘Natural’ hair on their heads…(Prosecute me not for being mean  with info… right?

Without exhausting the list of the gods, this has reduced my village to a mere replica of what an ideal village should be like. Young boys and girls rarely go past form two in their secondary school education but call it off at that level to either get engaged in the construction sites, to be boda boda riders and the young girls are reduced to mere sex toys and ‘beauty pageants ‘ as they compete to out do each other in buying the trending fashion (Chinese in nature of course) but highly regarded here. The state is sorry and no sane man and woman can be very comfortable now that his/her children were lucky to go past form four, got to a college or even a University and lastly secured a job in the capital city or elsewhere or even got assisted to set up a business venture.

We have continued to ignore this situation and now, any young man is out asking for what is rightfully his from the father ( Inheritance of course)  and after this very fast dispose it to the lowest bidder. Some have sold their shambas  together with their houses to a point of not even being left with a place  to even get buried as we will eventually die. Won’t we..? What is now hovering over this village and am sure this is a replica of what is happening in other villages is a dark cloud of frustrations, desperation, a youthful workforce that is idle and worn out not out of overworking but over drinking and over smoking marijuana and a new breed of wazee’s who no longer shower, brush their teeth and who are shocked once they see a set of white teeth now that the liquor and smoking long ago tainted their teeth and they accepted it as normal. I however respect if not pity  the women who cook for these men, who share the same beds with them (If they do) These are men who can no longer rise to the occasion as I listen to complains via local Fm stations of men who long ago absconded their marital duties thanks to their ‘new lifestyle’.

I recently experienced a scuffle in my own family when my cousins whose mother long passed on and they were lucky to get a plot as my uncles, aunties and daddie were getting their share from gradpa. All they did amidst resistance from a good number of family members was to dispose it and share the loot. What gave me a slight headache was that where this plot is, there is piped water for irrigation, farming patterns are rarely dictated by the period of the year as all is required is a horse pipe and a sprinkler and one is able to farm all year round. The hard bit is that farming is no longer attractive and cool among the young people hence telling this to them may earn one a proper stoning session for hate speech…. (Will say it though, one dies once and he/she is a forgotten story…..

Below is just an example of what those who have dared to defy the odds are enjoying this January. Am sure they are not finding it difficult to navigate this Month of January like most of other village folks are going through as they look up to the sky waiting for maana to start falling, a visit by a politician or a man/woman from the City cotton for a handout spree. 

This is not  and individual problem and al I call for as a concerned village boy is a sober dialogue on where we went wrong and where we need to fix things and set the ship sailing. Either way, this remains wishful thinking as long as I continue sitting behind my laptop and updating my blog and doing nothing on the ground. May be am already doing something but alone, I can do nothing much…..It starts with me and you. We are created to rule and subdue the world, not to be mere spectators. Lets rise to the occasion and rectify things before we have a ‘Bokom Haram’ that no amount of gun fire and artillery will silence.

I walk away, bare footed, hands in my pocket whistling a song that goes like this…Ewe Kenya Nchi yangu, Ewe Kenya mama yangu ohhhhhh, sitakuacha milele….