The village and how it molded me

Every memory is a subjective vision of the past. All of us recall our childhoods with a blend of joy, growth, perhaps events that make our hearts jump with joy or may be sorrow and regrets, nostalgic feelings and everything in between. I recall my childhood with nostalgic pleasure balanced with pain. I grew up both in the deep gutter slums of west Nairobi and also in a small rural village in central Kenya before leaving for United States. I have to admit that one may be tempted to begin a Kenyan story by painting out lions, elephants and gazelles or perhaps the beautiful tropical equatorial weather that I think about when my car freezes in New England biting winter. But all these does not begin to describe where I grew up, why I have been changed for ever and why I chose to write about my story.


Firstly, deep in my roots , I am multicultural , being surrounded by multiculturalism, growing up in two different kinds of environments and knowing them well, knowing the tribal customs, traditions and related stuff. When I write about my journey on this blog, I don’t even have to think about it, Whatever comes to me, comes to me and I write it. And I think, God gives gifts to everyone. And that’s just me expressing myself in the way that I’ve been gifted by my surroundings. So This background about me is a way of expressing who I am and it’s only right if I’m being real to me while sharing my story with you.

Here is a vivid description of the village I call my childhood home. It’s a village ruled by strong, exotic natural beauty and vibrant tribal culture. Punctuated with traditions as old as the tribe that taught me my first language. Here is a place where electricity never arrived, people there still believe in curses that befell people if they deviate from the cultural norms and ethical morals, there is still the talk of bride-price and its meaning to the marriage institution, while you are here you are not spared the “tic-tac” sound of women grinding corn with pestles that ring out in the mornings like church bells, women working the field and singing in unison as they bare their backs under the African sun. It’s a village where the rains provoke children to bathe in the dirt paths and ridges and the most coveted fashion trend is fabric with illustrations of Western cell phones. It’s also a place where AIDS threatens and poverty is constant, where women suffer the indignities of patriarchal customs, where children work like adults while still managing to dream,

But do not let the description above deceive you. Amidst all the chaos and uncertainty people have found happiness and gift of life to dream and dream big; and then again you will see people walking around talking on their cell phones while driving cows to the watering hole! You will also catch young boys dancing away around a radio cassette to rap music and embracing the whole culture of hip-hop African style. You might get Impressed by this raw talent. I tell you it’s funny. It’s really fun to watch this unique blending of traditional and modern life, so much so that at times the lifestyles blur into something that you cannot see anywhere else in the world. And I am not kidding.

My village is a true microcosm of Kenya’s beauty, dignity, variety and culture. Its like a small cultural spot if you like. You can watch the children laugh, learn, and grow. It is here also that you are guaranteed to run into quite intelligent children who have dreams and aspirations like anyone else and most want to be pilots, doctors and even presidents, usually the only modern role models they are exposed to. Out of passion, struggle, determination and a love for life despite the material adversity the people of my village still stands.

Now back to me, well, I lived in a small mud hut where we shared it with my 6 other siblings. I am a first born of seven siblings. The hardships and gross struggles growing up are the reason why I believe there is strength in adversity, considering how my life turned out. When I look at the difference between where I grew up and today being a successful partner business owner and a founder of a charity foundation, I just have lots of faith and love for life. The desire to get out of the dingy slums paved way for my choice of jobs and what I now do. I cherish the gifts that mostly had no wrapping paper; like believing in oneself and diligently working towards your dream. The many strangers I depended on for food and shelter and all sustenance bore influence in how I think of humanity. I learned there is kindness amidst the chaos and brutality depicted by conventional media. My appreciation of other people's challenges, and the relationship I have built with my business partners, colleagues and friends is based on what I went through as a child. I am a kind and generous person as a lot was given to me. How can I not be? How can I not give back after all has been given to me?

I learned to appreciate every single gift of life. I am always reminded of how far I have come and that’s why I do not sweat small stuff. I want you to picture this scenario gathered from my village home. You picture the beauty of this woman. She is a mother of seven kids. Today, its early morning hours and she sprinkles water from a squat earthenware jar across the mud floor and begin to sweep the wet dirt floor with a brush of long grasses bound tightly together. She is singing as she sweeps her house away. Soon she will begin the long trek of 6 miles back and forth with the weight of water jars on her back every morning for she loves her family. But she still is singing. She has learned to appreciate and live with the exact amount available to her. She sees her wealth within the context of the word “enough”. Its women like the one I have described above that I learned gratitude either for my work, my friends, my family and my relationship. That woman is my mom.

My lesson from this scenario begins with a question. Is she a lesser love giver to her children than my friend Gracie's son who won’t sleep unless his favorite toy is fixed? What will happen when Gracie’s son meet a child from the background described above 20 yrs later? How do we prepare them to merge their realities? That’s for you to think about.

In the end, my childhood experience has taught me that miracles are as you create them. Poverty is relative. I have learned that thoughts become things and we create our own reality. Despite whatever the adversities, life is always rich if you choose to see it as such. Join me on more stories of my life…..