The true Kenyan, everyday Shujaa adorns no flag

By Angela Ambitho

angelaambitho@gmail.com

My heart always skipped a beat. My eyes always held back a tear. My spirit always beamed with pride. In this fleeting moment, I was privileged to live in the most beautiful country in the world; where opportunities abound for anyone who grabbed it. This was how I felt during my nascent schooling years when we hoisted the flag, sang the national anthem and recited the loyalty pledge.

It was the early 80s when the sense of brotherhood was strong. Back then, neighbours walked with ease into each other’s homes to borrow salt. Friends visited one another unannounced. Strangers “pinched the noses” of naughty children to discipline them as they would their own. Inside the Kenya Bus, seats were readily offered to the elderly, expectant and lactating mothers, invalids and the disabled. Any scream for help would receive the attention of a beckoning crowd ready to help.

And when “Onyango the mad man” exposed his nakedness to scare innocent women around GPO, men always came to their rescue. It wasn’t just the recently acquired flag that provided the Kenyan identity but the sense of togetherness and genuine love and empathy for each other that made us uniquely Kenyan.

Turning the clock forward to the nineties, our priorly admired haven of peace became marred in the quagmire of corruption, tribalism and mismanagement. With increased crime followed mistrust; with increased inflation followed selfishness and with increased injustice followed hatred. And the flag existed in name as brotherhood dwindled in shame.

And whilst the dawn of the 21st century offered a temporary reprieve, it only served to bandage the festering wound of discord which eventually burst open in 2007 when brother turned against brother making us question who we were. Luckily catastrophes often precede good tidings. As we turned the clock to 2010 and resoundingly ushered in our new Constitution, we reaffirmed our unity by stating “We the people, proud of our ethnic, cultural and religious diversity, must always reign supreme”.

Indeed as we celebrate our Mashujaa Day, it’s imperative to ask what it means to be proudly Kenyan. Merely wearing regalia branded with the flag and bellowing the anthem in foreign capitals doesn’t make us heroic Kenyans. Neither does advocating or condoning that some men are more equal than others. Never!

The Kenyan Shujaa wakes up every morning despite all odds and uses the sweat of his hands to feed his family and pay taxes.

The true Kenyan adorns no flag and needs not bellow the anthem for show.  He instead wholeheartedly believes that Kenya will one day inspire the world as the country of privilege “where it’s an honour to be a citizen and a gift to raise one’s family, vote, live”. This everyday Kenyan hero unashamedly has the audacity of hope!

The writer is the founder and CEO of Infotrak Research and Consulting