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:

POLICE CORRUPTION: A BUMPY RIDE TO MERU AND BACK WITH MY OLD RETIRED MAN AND SMALL BRO.

Thoronjo is a childhood buddy. We grew up together and shared our youth hood escapades, to date he remains a man that I cherish. I am grateful that I had the honor of accompanying him to Katheri Village in Meru County to pay bride price. His family is special to our family and above all, I remain grateful that he makes sure that though I am not a ‘suits’ man, I am able to put on a relatively fine one as he faithfully helps me choose what to put on and a day with him in Eastleigh has always left my fairly small wardrobe smiling.

Thanks to this great day, I had a life time opportunity to share a ride with my dad and small bro who drove us from Nairobi to Meru and back, may God bless the young man. With our old man sitting at the front of my brothers Toyota 91, I had the honor of sitting at the back all alone. This gave us hours of engaging in a conversation that we have never had in life. From how he Intends to spend his retirement life, to where he will build his retirement home….(now that he does not want to go back to the village), the old man gave us an opportunity to share that which we missed all through our life.

To me, this was a very special occasion remembering that I once wrote this passionate appeal to him https://kaberemartin.blogspot.com/search?q=tell+me+that+you+love+me as a 'means of healing'.
Writing helps me offload baggage and gives me strength to face life once more when I fell like I have taken in too much . I have however restrained myself from publishing, meaning that my desktop has unpublished memoirs of what my last three years in life and more so in my work place have been like. 

Our precious conversation was however not to be going by what was happening on our roads on that day. I love my Job and I forever remain grateful to the  Police service that I joined almost 14 years ago because it gave me and continues to give me the opportunity to be the best out of myself. 

At a young age, the Police service gave me an opportunity to earn a fairly decent and honest living, a life time opportunity to achieve my childhood dream of joining the university and above all exceeding what I thought was possible as I was not only able to  do that but also do a post graduate diploma and an MBA in six years time, all this self sponsored to the last penny. That for me is all I wanted in my early life and I have it. Thanks to the Police service my family has  an opportunity to access a comprehensive medical cover procured to us by the tax payers through GOK, we also have an opportunity to live in one of the most secure environments, with a free house, free water, free electricity and one of the most diverse neighbors as all Kenya is in  the Police Service. The Service has taken me to many counties within Kenya on assignment, Tanzania in East Africa and even outside Africa to eight different states in the United States of America. Am almost sure that this would not have been possible if I never joined the police force back then. 

Thanks to the great service, I have also have an opportunity to work with some of the most amazing career police men and women and also some who have left me with so many unanswered questions in life. The past 14 years have been the most fulfilling ones in my life.

However, Saturday, 01/09/2018 was a fairly tough day for me…

My old man had this opportunity to bring this ugly side of the place I have called home for 14 years now-The Police service. He poured his heart out and I had the privilege of listening to him in one of the most candid conversations we have ever had since I was born. My younger bro, who also has had his fair share of terrible experiences in the hands of my colleagues, had a whole day of speaking his heart. For him, I have been part of this for I have quite often attempted to bail him out of police cells for some of the most stupid things I have ever heard and some of which our system exploits to date to cause misery in the lives of Kenyans but with the whole intention of extorting money from peace loving, jobless, poor and helpless young men and women.

Honestly speaking, what I am sharing here, has the potential of causing me misery in my workplace as truth and objectivity is rarely appreciated, but I choose what is fair to me; to write down and heal, and this time round share. I feel slightly tormented and  harassed all because my whole heart is in the Police service and fair enough, I have always done all I can do to make the Police service a better one than I found it, though a drop in the ocean. 

It all started as we drove along the Thika super highway when we encountered a battery of traffic Police officers who were indiscriminately stopping vehicles in the middle of the highway, some doing it so dangerously with zero care for motorists safety but with one visible motive that even a blind man could see, picking bribes. With that level of boldness, with zero care for who was seeing them and not, my old man threw the first jab. Why do you guys do this? Don’t you care for your country? Why is there even no fear that one can be caught? The questions kept coming my way but had to interrupt him.

I categorically told him that I have never taken a bribe. Not that I am a saint and that I am pointing fingers but that it! I chose the path that is least taken because I know that God gave me this job when opportunities to join the force back then were so rare and wants me to glorify Him with all I do in here and thanks to His grace, I have fought a good fight, I have kept the promise but I pray that I will win the race in the fullness of time.

The old man narrated to me his ordeal along Jogoo road where he used to live in the government quarters. He told me of matatus with modified exhaust systems, loud music and flickering lights that used to cause them sleepless nights, the ever unruly Kayole bound matatus and Embasava matatus where one  hit my mum and Makongeni Traffic  base officer who was assigned the case took us round and round till we gave up, the lives that have been lost on this road due to impunity and dreams that have been shattered as we walk in blue uniforms and white caps in the name of enforcing traffic law but there is nothing to smile about on our roads, at least according to him. He told me of this slightly huge brown lady cop who reigns terror along Jogoo road, who was once almost caught by EACC officers but escaped and still rules the road despite her case having being highlighted severally in the media. He also spoke of how his vehicle was hit by a drunk motorist who Buruburu cops let go without even charging him from drunk driving leaving mzee with the nightmare of chasing an insurance company where  he gave up along the way only to repair his car at his own cost. The drunk motorist purchased his way out of a corrupt system and uckily enough, I had a firsthand experience of the Makongeni case and the Buruburu one. 

My brother Interrupted mzee with his ordeal in the hands of Athi River Traffic cops. He narrated how one cop swore that if my brother was set free without paying un receipted three thousand shillings for a traffic offense, then he would doubt whether he was fully circumcised. He went further to share how lorries and pickups that he and some of his friends run are forced out of business because of the shameless extortion cartels that rule our roads in the name of traffic law enforcement, how boda boda guys and vehicle owners that are familiar to him have been forced to pay ‘releasing fees’ for their cycles and vehicles even after going through a court system that can be described as a journey to hell and back. He had more on how we are quick to tow vehicles that can be pushed from the road to avoid obstruction only to pay exorbitant towing fees that he believes that we usually have a fair share of.

Both mzee and the young man had more and more to share now that every road block that we passed through clearly exhibited zero signs of law enforcement but a clear  shameless corrupt enterprise that cares no more of safety on our roads but that has a desire to make more and more, drive nice vehicles, buy expensive beer , build houses that we rarely enjoy living in. Honestly speaking, the two gave me more personal encounters in the hand of traffic and regular cops and even those of their friends and all I can say is that I felt their misery and pain too.

I also let them know that even we officers suffer from such impunity. I reminded them of the day I was hit by a Githurai bound bus that was on th wrong and a traffic cop just denied me justice after a chit chat with the bus crew and informed them that on Monday 3/09/2018, I had a case at Milimani Law courts to face another monster who was a creation of our system. Here is a link to what he does. https://www.nation.co.ke/news/Con-men-run--Safaricom--racket-under-the-nose-of-police/1056-3987292-sn4qkuz/index.html

This is my story and that of others as captured by Capital News. https://www.capitalfm.co.ke/news/2018/01/wary-city-racketeers-posing-like-promoters/ 

After all is said and done I chose to speak my heart rather than do a mere PR exercise now that these two are “harmless to me.” I know in the Police service we have law abiding cops but a good number of us have serious integrity issues that we continue to deny with all manner of justifications. On matters traffic law that I have a passion for, I am always looking forward to the return of the Michuki laws that we dumped ages ago! I always advocate for compliance but again even the most compliant can never enjoy the fruits of compliance in such a system hence bribing takes first precedence. 

Two, there is this funny line of thought that ‘POLICE ARE CORRUPT BECAUSE WE COME FROM A CORRUPT SOCIETY’ which I personally do not subscribe to. My two cents have always been- The society has never been to Kenya Police College- Kiganjo, GSU training school and Administration Police training college where part of training is usually called ‘kutoa uraia’ where the ‘society is corrupt’ element should then have been removed. The society though can enforce citizen arrest has not been entrusted with law enforcement resources to a tune of billions and has never taken oath of office, to remain true to what is envisioned in every progressive piece of legislation that exists in Kenya. The society is helpless, is always at the mercy of law enforcers who can trump up charges, detain past 24 hrs, charge one for nonexistent offenses and in stupid times we have been accused of ‘planting bhangi’ in pockets and vehicles just to charge the occupants for pocessing the same whereas the reality is that some have never even seen how marijuana looks like. We have officers whose unlawful actions have led to job losses, death of individuals, careers, shattered dreams and above all,  number one slot in corruption perception index. The only thing is that traffic cops are more visible and bold, the beat/station cops are no better!

There is more and more that I shared with these great men but to sum it up, I just asked them questions which were inspired by what the president said at Athi river when he led government officials in an exercise where contraband goods were destroyed: do you think that senior police officers do not know what we the juniors do on our roads, stations, posts, patrol bases etc day in day out? Are they any better now that they are not as visible as the foot soldiers? Aren’t they the same folks who deploy us to these places and supervise us as we do all this?, don’t they drive on the same roads and see what we were seeing? Are they not in the same police stations where hundreds of young men are locked up for loitering and failing to give a good account of themselves only to be released at Ksh 1,000 fee that is never receipted?

I humbly requested them not to give me answers to these ‘stupid’ questions, took a deep breath and went mute!

AT LAST, I SLEPT HOME AFTER BEING RELEASED FROM POLICE CELLS, WELCOME TO LIFE IN KIANDIERI HIGH SCHOOL.

(After the west gate mall Attack, sad that it seems we have moved on. The middle class claims #WeAreOne, yes they think so but the sooner they smell the coffee the better, life is not all rosy over here where buying a packet of milk is a struggle.)

Back to my story………(For the first time in a couple of days, I had a night in between the sheets)

The following day, by seven in the morning, ‘well wishers’ had already started flocking our home. All interested in determining where the rain started beating me and offering me a piece of advice and may be encouraging me to embark on a journey to recovery. To me, this was wastage of time. What had ‘eaten me’ and what had become of me by then is something that I have never ever known to date. I wished they would cut their long stories short and leave to go and do more productive work in other sectors of the economy. To me, my fate was sealed; I had accepted and moved on. I thought that all was done and education was no more a thing to think of. Poor me, I guess I had lost hope.

The visitors kept on trooping in. Their message was simple….’Reform and agree to concentrate with your studies, that’s all you can inherit from your parents, they have no land to offer you’. The message was simple and all appeared to read from the same script. I guess my heart was Pharaoh like, I never softened my stand. I thought I was wise and good to go n face life minus any more education!  Things went on till one day, a miracle happened, I was now willing to recollect myself and give education a second shot.

This is what happened…The last time I saw mum crying was at the Police station when she came to visit me accompanied by friends. I was called out and came out from the cells looking so worn out.  She wept uncontrollably but I never gave it so much time. Things were different on this other material day after I was released and now at home; she sat me down and talked to me so passionately. She explained to me how I gave her a hard time during and after birth. She was weeping so hard, the pain was all over her face. Shame and shame was all I had caused her. She simply asked me why I was causing her this pain at my age, tears of pain rolling down her cheeks. This point in time, something special happened, I decided to make a promise that I will change and commit that I will join another school if given a chance.

Little did I know that this was the beginning of another painful struggle. The search for a new school was another frustrating experience. Most of the schools in our district could not admit me after they heard of what had happened in my former school and my involvement in the whole saga. The worst part came after one of our distant relatives, a headmistress at a local day secondary school also denied me an opportunity to re invent myself education wise. It took me with shock and pain. Reality was now with me that I had messed up.

Daddy visited so many schools; none was ready to admit me. Finally, he went to Mwea and one Principal namely Mr Ndegwa was ready to give me a chance, the place was far and remote, the weather unforgiving, no reliable mode of transport, the school was also not known to perform well and was constantly on strike. Students had a history of indiscipline. All who were sent away elsewhere were admitted here, it was no better than staying home, yet another blow back!

Daddy came back and tried to convince mummy that I had no option but join this school. Luckily, she never bought the idea that I was to join this school, she had a plan B. She talked to Mr Gichangi, The principal Kiandieri day mixed secondary and shared my case with him. He was willing   to give me a chance on condition that I told him what had happened without fabricating any part of the story. I was ready to do so. We were given the date to go to this school and have me tell it out. Little did I know that I was going to mess up again even before the interview, leave alone admission.

This is how it happened….

All long after I was released from the police cells; I had never cut my hair. It was long and Afro like. On this material day, I should have been a smart and presentable boy. I had not shaved my hair despite the fact that I knew very well of what was expected of me as a student.  I just took shower and grabbed a blue pair of Trousers; a flare one and a blue shirt that I decided not to tuck in. My mum woke up so sick and was bed ridden hence dad had to accompany me to the School which was approximately seven Kilometers away from our home. We did the whole seven Kilometers on foot, my daddy’s bike could only be useful on our way back, the place was very hilly, there were no Matatus plying this route too!

Tragedy was to strike immediately we got at the school gate. The principal could see us enter the school compound trough one of his office windows. By the time we got to his office, my fate had been sealed in absentia. He could not talk to a thug looking person like me. ……’I have given him a red card! I cannot talk to a boy with that kind of hair, un tacked shirt and a skirt like trouser, let him go back home’…He said.

Dad got mad at me; he left me after we were out of the school compound. I had to walk over seven Kilometers to my home alone after day, in a lot of anger left me behind. This was heartbreaking for mum.  I narrated the whole story to her. She was shocked and let down by me again but with love, she advised me to go and shave and get a decent trouser and shirt ready to make another visit to the school. She had to leave her bed despite her sickness just to make sure that I get back to school again. We walked again to the school and this time round, we were given audience.

In the Principals office, I was to give out a detailed account of what happened in exchange of an opportunity to study there. That I did so desperately and never even attempted to cheat. At Last, there was some light at the end of the tunnel. I was given an admission letter and a detailed list of the books that I had to buy. I was not supposed to benefit from any of the books that were used by other students and issued to then only for them to return later. I was to buy mine and carry them home daily. We left the school, went to town, bought all the required materials and the following day, I was ready for school.

I woke up so early, arrived in school on time and took the books and other requirements that were expected of me to the principal’s office. They were inspected so as to establish that I had brought what was expected and luckily, they were okey! This was not enough; I was assigned to Mrs Kariuki, a CRE Teacher and was required to visit her at break time for guidance and counseling. Like Mrs Gitau, my lower primary school teacher, she embraced me with two hands. Gave me motherly advice and always gave me hope that all will be well as long as I was committed to taking a new direction in life.

I was later taken to the classroom. Introduction was done and I was allocated a seat. Ready to learn, I took up the fight. I had a lovely time here at the first day, lovely and welcoming classmates, Loving teachers and all I can say was that I was given a new lease of life. The first week passed away so well and as the second week was coming to an end, I messed up again. This time round, I hit a classmate with a walking stick that I used to scare away dogs now that I was leaving home so early in the morning.

On this material day, a Lady by the name Wanjira, who I later learned was a relative to the principal was taking word round that I was her new boyfriend and this was taking place barely before two weeks were over after I had joined this school. With anger and without a second thought, I hit her hard at the back and she screamed so loudly that she caught the attention of the principal who was standing outside his office. This earned me two weeks suspension and I was to be accompanied by Mum after the two weeks duration elapsed. This was a big blow to all those who were helping me re trace my footsteps but was too late to salvage me from suspension.

Back Home, it was double tragedy, so much had been spent in buying me books, uniform and paying my school fees and before two weeks were gone, I was at home again. Mum had again become a laughing stock. Most of her friends were already celebrating my downfall and asking her why she was struggling with a boy who did not have school in his heart. It was so heartbreaking to her but again, she was a strong woman, she never gave up on me despite these shameful moments that I was taking her through.

Two weeks passed and it was time to report back so as to be disciplined for what I had done. We got to the principal’s office, cased for hours and the verdict was out! I was to uproot a tree stump alone and would not get to class before I was done. I did it amidst struggles and by evening I was done thanks to my friends who assisted me after the principal had left and no teacher was around.  I left and went home so tired and vowed to style up! Yes, I had learned my lesson.

Time passed on fast without major Hick ups. As days passed by, we got into a group with several guys that were namely Karani, a.k.a Ka Master (Who had been sent packing from Kianyaga High School), Stano, Ngari a.k.a Tembo and others not named here. We could drink over the weekend, smoke marijuana, visit each other’s homes and do all sorts of evils , we were ‘lucky’ that we were never caught in the act despite rumors being sent to the principal’s office .We kept it to ourselves and could not discuss the weekend happenings in the presence of other students. This was happening towards the end of third term and we were in form three. We sat for end of term exams and passed, ready to join form four.

The first term in form four was not a bad one, second term not a bad one too but all was not well when we sat for our mock exams. For the first time in secondary school, I scored a D Plus. This was a wake up call to me. My house needed to be put in order, I hatched a plot very fast and trusted that the remaining months would be enough for me to pull a surprise to all who though that I would fail in my KCSE Exams. I went to Kangaita, a village where my Auntie resides, took books, past papers and some revision materials  from a cousin who had sat for her form four the previous year and decided to rage a war on books. I also told mum to buy me five litres of kerosene so as to enable me trans~night in an attempt to recover lost grounds. This she did without so many questions.

I started revising all necessary materials and by the time KCSE exams were on, I was good to go! We sat for the exams and did most of the papers with ease apart from mathematics that to me was hell on earth. Time to part ways with all friends that we had wasted time HAD FINALLY COME…….!