Kenya's peculiar trait is that we are impostors without impostor syndrome. Every Kenyan seems to be struggling to portray themselves as something they are not.
Former Safaricom CEO Michael Joseph once earned the ire of Kenyans when he said that they have peculiar calling habits. This was in response to complaints that the network would get jammed on Friday afternoons and some weekends. He was forced to apologise, but it was a candid, off-the-cuff observation. I've come to realise that Kenya's peculiar trait is that we are impostors without impostor syndrome. We try too hard to be who we are not, thereby missing the joys of being authentic Kenyans.
Most of the so-called "middle class" Nairobians feel at home eating at makeshift eateries in back alleys during lunchtime but will imbibe the finest cocktails in the evening. We can code-switch in an instant, revealing different facets of ourselves. Kenyans, especially Nairobians, are aspirational yet still caught up in the hangover of where we are coming from.
This comes to mind whenever I travel around Nairobi. We've constructed excellent roads but failed to incorporate proper matatu stages into the designs. Waiyaki Way, Mombasa Road, and Outering Road are prime examples. The Westlands matatu stages on both sides of the highway are a clear testament to this oversight. While the majority of Nairobi residents rely on matatus to get around, these modes of transport are glaringly overlooked in our infrastructural planning.
It seems that, although we use matatus, we all believe we don't belong there. The popular spots where people like to wait for matatus are well-known, yet designers ignore this input. It's as though we all expect to own private cars soon. Any matatu termini that have been constructed often seem like afterthoughts. Taj Mall, for example, had to be demolished to create space for matatus at the North Airport Road-Outering Road junction. We've never fully accepted our reality-every Kenyan is striving to portray themselves as something they are not.
I once asked an engineer why good neighbourhoods like Kileleshwa are being transformed into high-rise estates. My question was why developers can't build these blocks of flats in open areas like Ruaka or Rongai while preserving the appeal of older estates. His answer was simple: there's a market for those apartments. Everyone wants to live in these upmarket estates on a Buruburu Estate budget.
As a walking nation, pedestrian paths are often an afterthought. Many times, it seems as though they weren't even designed for actual use-you'll often find motorbikes and matatus parked on these walkways.
Recently, a friend of mine attended court and shared photos of jerrycans of traditionally distilled and fermented alcohol. I wondered why we still spend government time and resources fighting what we call "illicit alcohol." If this is what people can afford, why expect or force them to drink what is out of their reach?
We've made significant strides in education and economic growth compared to our neighbours, but we're not out of the woods yet. Despite this, we remain unhappy because we believe we don't belong where we are. It often takes a sigh and a "wueh" to start a conversation with a stranger in Kenya, and most of the time, it's followed by complaints and criticism.
This dissatisfaction leads Kenyans to believe that every desire is a potential right. For instance, we criticise Ferdinand Omanyala for failing to win a 100-metre sprint without acknowledging the challenges he overcame to compete at elite levels. It's as though Omanyala owes us a victory in a race we never imagined participating in.
There's even a joke that we tried so hard to speak like Americans that, when we realised we couldn't match up, we adopted a Nigerian accent instead. Meanwhile, anyone speaking in a local accent is branded a "mshamba" or considered unsophisticated.
We've never codified sheng into a standard Nairobi pidgin, constantly shifting it in an endless attempt to sound more streetwise. This perpetual discontent drives many of us, especially the youth, into depression as we strive to meet the expectations of people who are equally dissatisfied with their own lives.
Consider the CHAN tournament that was initially set for February but had to be postponed to August because Kenya needed more time to complete renovations and revitalise facilities. We are a great sporting nation, globally renowned for middle- and long-distance races in athletics. We've also made our mark in rugby, cricket, and volleyball. However, we lack decent facilities to host tournaments.
Rather than focusing on what we excel at, we try to impress Africa and the world with what we are not. And when we fall short, we expect preferential treatment. Ever wondered why we always wait until the eleventh hour to rush for something that's been available for ages? We want to be special, even when it's unnecessary.
This is why you'll often hear, "He's not my type," when someone is rejecting advances or ending a relationship. Everyone overestimates themselves in a "fake-it-till-you-make-it" stunt.
Let's start the "Authentic Kenyan Since 1963" movement and embrace who we truly are.
