KOIGI.

WITNESS NO. 1

Macaria and Wamwathani, his friend, were walking down a street in the capital city of a new Kenya. This city looked like Nairobi, the capital of old Kenya, but it had no slums, was much bigger, much cleaner, more prosperous, had happier people, and had no presence of the menacing Kenya Gestapo Services. Macaria had just come into this city from the old Kenya. Macaria's friend, Wamwathani, was looking for a job and had just done an interview for one. Though unemployed, he looked happy, well fed, well clothed, wore good shoes and had no anxieties which accompanied unemployment in the old Kenya.
Macaria asked Wamwathani why he did not look worried despite his lack of work.
"Why?", Wamwathani asked in turn.
"Well", Macaria said, "you can't be without work and have no worries. What will you eat? Where will you get money for house rent, transportation, clothes and medicine, if you are sick? And how will you manage to keep your children at school? In the old Kenya, I know, if you were without work, you were also a beggar. And beggars are very worried people."
Wamwathani chuckled and for a moment didn't answer Macaria's questions. Then he said, matter-of-factness, "Here, everybody eats, is clothed, has a house, goes to school and gets medical attention. Not because one has work, but because one is a human being. People without work and people with work have the same human needs. And basic needs are met for everybody whether or not one is without work, too old to work, too sick to work or afflicted by any other disability."
"How is that?" Macaria asked in amazement.
"Our government guarantees social security to everybody."
"Is the government so rich?'
"It is not richer than the government of old Kenya. It just distributes the national cake more equitably and therefore takes better care of the people."
"But how do you manage to get a government that is as good as this?'
"The government here is freely elected on the understanding that, if people pay taxes, they must get social security."
"But it can take taxes and deny people social security?'
"That is unthinkable here. We are not angels. But we are no longer slaves of selfishness and corruption. In any case, if the government were to do that, people here would withhold their taxes and civil obedience. And no government can survive without those two. Here, old Kenya and her problems are completely forgotten."
As if to substantiate Wamwathani's statement, there immediately appeared before them a man who looked exactly like Wamwathani, but hungry, haggard, poorly clothed and desperate. He walked barefoot with swollen feet.
"Who is this in front of us? He looks exactly like you?" Macaria asked Wamwathani.
"This is myself in the old Kenya. I was looking for work just as I am doing today. But see how different I look. I could not hear if you called me."
Then Wamwathani called his old self, but "he" did not hear. "He" was completely lost in thought and anxiety and so busy negotiating his passage between so many other people who looked equally hungry, haggard and poor.
"That was old Kenya for me. When looking for work, I did not know what I would eat or where I would sleep next. I depended on my brother and friends for food and shelter. My brother had a family and a two-room city council house which was not big enough for all of us."

* * *

Farther down the street, Macaria and Wamwathani met a man in front of a shop who was collecting waste food from a dustbin. Macaria wondered whether this man was normal and whether in new Kenya, mad people ate from dustbins as in the old Kenya. Before Wamwathani could answer Macaria's question, to his utter astonishment, Macaria noticed that the man eating from the dustbin was a half-beast. The body of this strange creature was divided into two equal parts. The forepart was human and the hind part was that of a pig. Macaria looked askance at Wamwathani. He had never seen, heard or even dreamt about pigmen.
"How can it be?" he asked.
"They are many here", Wamwathani answered.
"But how?"
"These are beings who are half-human and half-beast. They talk like human beings, but live and eat like pigs."
"How did they come to be so?"
"These are people who forfeited their humanity in the old Kenya. People who were human in body, but beastly in spirit. Inhuman people who tortured and killed in the Mpori Torture Centre. People who were struggling for food, freedom and justice. These were the cruel people of Kenya Gestapo Services - KGS - in the old Kenya. These were the corrupt and dictatorial politicians in the old Kenya. These were the corrupt and cruel judges who failed innocent people in the old Kenya. These were the brutal soldiers who were set against masses who rioted in demand for freedom in the old Kenya. These were the exploiting employers who starved their employees in the old Kenya. There are thousands of them here. They have their living quarters about five miles from here. They sleep there at night and come to the city every morning to look for food. They know the reasons for being the way they are, but having lost humanity in the old Kenya, they cannot regain it here. By living like pigs, they are paying dearly for their cruelty against people in the old Kenya. In the new Kenya, they are asexual and do not reproduce themselves. Once all of them are dead, new Kenya will not have any more of them again. It will be a Kenya where everybody will be fully human and without suffering. People here wish pigmen did not exist. But for now, they are deemed necessary. Cruel people must suffer punishment for their inhumanity in the old Kenya, and their suffering is expected to help people here eschew inhumanity to avoid a similar fate in another world.
Macaria was astounded, but also gladdened by what Wamwathani told him. It had always puzzled him that God could allow some people to inflict so much suffering upon others and then let them get away with it. It was consoling to know that those who escaped punishment in the old Kenya would not escape it in the new Kenya.
"Can I meet and talk to one of these pigmen?" Macaria asked Wamwathani.
"Why not?"
They kept walking down the street until they came to another dustbin where there were two more pigmen. They stopped and Wamwathani greeted.
"Hallo. How is the day?"
"Miserable as always", said the pigmen.
"At least the weather is good", Wamwathani said.
"True, but waste food is terribly rotten. People should throw away a little better food", the pigmen complained.
"By the way, my friend is new here and he was wondering whether you would mind telling him what you were in the old Kenya", Wamwathani told the pigmen.
"Of course, I don't mind", said one of the pigman, "I was a jailer in Jehanam Maximum Security Prison. I was in charge of political prisoners. I am the one who starved them. I authorized their beatings and kept prison doctors away from them when they were sick. To me, it was a lot of fun kicking into their ribs and private parts. Their screams were music to me. I wish I was different, but it is too late now."
"What about your friend here?" Wamwathani asked motioning towards the other pigman.
"In the old Kenya", the other pigman said, "I was President Mpori who imagined himself God. I took pride in making people my own slaves. I denied them rights and freedom and had my Gestapo torture and kill those who resisted my dictatorship in a torture centre which I had named after myself - Mpori Torture Centre or MTC for short. Then I never imagined that I would ever die. I thought my power of life and death over Kenyan people would last for ever and ever. Now, I know better. But as my friend here says, it is too late."
"You have human hands and a human head, why don't you grow food for yourselves instead of eating rubbish?"
"We have half the nature of a pig and half the nature of man. We talk like human beings, but eat like pigs. That is our punishment."
After leaving the two pigmen, Macaria and Wamwathani went into a café. They had tea together and then parted. 

* * *

On the way to his new home, Macaria met some two fellows who were his friends in the old Kenya. They were coming from a cinema in the company of many other people who looked quite happy. They told him about the film they had just seen and asked him to go and see it. "You will love it", they told him. After reaching home, Macaria took a shower, put on his overcoat because it was bit chilly and went to the cinema.
The film he went to see was about the transformation of a big farm from misuse and disuse in the old Kenya to fantastic development in the new Kenya. In the old Kenya, the farm had belonged to a government cabinet minister who was called Honourable Fisi.
Fisi joined the nationalist struggle for independence in the 1930s. He became a member of the nationalist party, Kenya African Union, in the 1940s and organized for the Mau Mau in the early 1950s. Fisi was so committed to the struggle for independence that when his wife discovered, but refused to join his activities of oathing people in support of the Mau Mau Movement, he had her killed and buried in their own house. Her body was never discovered. Nevertheless, because colonial authorities suspected him of Mau Mau activities, they still arrested and detained him without trial for ten years.
Fisi was detained at the notorious Manyani Prison where many people continued to be detained without trial in the old Kenya. For the ten years that he was kept at Manyani Prison, Fisi was physically assaulted countless times by colonial askaris. In fact, all his teeth were knocked out in prison. He was starved throughout his time in detention. Many times he suffered from diseases which went untreated until he got well without treatment. He did hard labour of breaking hard rock into gravel in a quarry which had been opened up near the prison. And as if all that was not enough, he was also forced to carry on his head a basin which overflowed with human excreta that spilt all over his face and body.
But Fisi was of a powerful and resilient build. He survived detention and joined king Mzoi's government after independence as the minister for land. As the minister for land, Fisi grew to be as greedy for land as a hyena is for bones. He grabbed five big former settler farms for himself including one which was 112 thousand acres.
In the old Kenya, this farm of 112 thousand acres was never used because the minister was too busy doing business and government work in Nairobi. Moreover, he lived in Nairobi and only went to the farm occasionally on some weekends. Though largely unutilized, patches of Fisi's farm were cultivated by squatters who were allowed to do so in exchange for votes during elections. The condition of the squatters' stay on the farm was quite simple. If they voted for Fisi, they stayed. If they didn't vote for Fisi, they were thrown out. In the meantime, most of the farm was left unused as pasture for wild animals.
The squatters in Fisi's farm were poor people. They were ill-fed, wore tattered clothes, lived in terrible shacks and had no school for their children. They had no access to a dispensary and many of their children died from diseases which could easily have been cured. For Fisi, independence had come to mean too much land, too much money, too much power and too much food. For squatters, independence meant more landlessness, more poverty, more oppression and more hunger.
In the new Kenya, Fisi's farm was not owned by him alone. And Fisi was no longer a minister. Having misused power in the old Kenya, people in the new Kenya did not give him power at all. In any case, his farm was now owned by him together with his squatters and many other landless people who had also fought for land, freedom and independence.
In the beginning of the film, one could see many poor men and women standing in a line to get their individual plots of land in Fisi's farm. Progressively, it was shown how apart from these individual plots, most of the farm was farmed collectively by all the new farmers. Money earned from the farm was then used in running a school, a bus, a shopping centre, a small dispensary and a very modern village for all the farms. Happy farmers' children could be seen playing in the school's playfield. In the new farm, all roads and open spaces in the shopping centre, in front of the school buildings, in the village and in front of the dispensary were all tarmacked and clean.
Elsewhere in the film, it was explained that in the new Kenya, it was democratic and clean leadership that had made the transformation of the minister's farm possible. It was also shown that in the new Kenya, people never fought over leadership because, while in the old Kenya leadership meant extra privileges, in the new Kenya, it only meant extra responsibilities. Without privileges, people had no greed for leadership. And without greed, there was no corruption and fighting for leadership. In the new Kenya, individuals led people not because they fought for leadership, but because they were asked to lead. While watching this film, Macaria could not help remembering how fiercely people fought for leadership in the old Kenya and how tenaciously they held on to power once they acquired it - some unto death. But in the new Kenya, no one dreamt of holding on to power for more than ten years, let alone for life. The burden of prolonged leadership was unbearable to people in the new Kenya because it meant sacrificing many personal conveniences. Oh, how different! Arising from lack of privileges and freedom to exploit, politics in the new Kenya were hardly antagonistic or polarised and corruption, rigging and cut-throat political competition were unheard of during elections.
In the new Kenya, leaders were not gods as in the old Kenya, but ordinary human beings. They could be seen walking unguarded in streets, ate in ordinary hotels with ordinary people, rode buses and trains with everybody else and observed laws and traffic rules like everybody else.
Apart from transforming farms, people in the new Kenya had also built big industries which they owned and managed themselves. To develop industry, they had to borrow capital and technology from other countries, but they were now self-reliant. In the film, foreigners could be seen in the new Kenya, not as masters, but visitors.
When the "film" was over, Macaria woke up. Not in a cinema, but in bed at their Halahala home in Nairobi. He had been dreaming. Dreaming the dream of change and freedom. The dream of freedom had also been the dream of his parents and the dream of his young father and namesake who had died fighting for freedom.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 2

Macaria's namesake was his father's younger brother. The nationalist agitation for independence in the late 1940s found him young and unmarried. He was drawn into the vortex of nationalism as one is caught in a whirlpool. He could therefore not extricate himself from the demands of nationalism and neither did he want to. Nationalism had become his religion and purpose of life.
But then, not everybody believed that the British colonial government could and had to go. In the older Macaria's family, everybody except their father had taken the oath that bound people to support the fight for independence. As a brave and militant youth, Macaria had the warrior's oath that had recruited him into the Mau Mau army. But his father was opposed to all this. Though not opposed to independence and African self-rule as such, he thought the British army was too strong to fight. He was a political coward and did all he could to stop his son from joining the Mau Mau army.
"You people are just fleas trying to fight an elephant. You will be crushed like lice", the father had told the son.
"But white people die just like us and we are more than them", the son said.
"My son, do not be like the inexperienced young bull on heat which approaches the cow from the head when making (Ndegwa nini Thaicaga na mutwe). The British are stronger than you. They have guns, bombs, planes, big lorries and huge armies. Look at their strong stone houses and tell me who has power to uproot them. Who has power to drive "nyakeru" (white people) out of this country? You people are day-dreaming when you talk of defeating the British. You better talk, but not fight."
"But our leaders have been talking for many years and nothing has ever come out of these talks. Now the British have finally jailed all our leaders. What are we supposed to do? Surrender?"
"Son, 'truth is stronger than weapons' (Kihooko kiunaga uta mugeete). If you try talking, you might win. If you resort to arms, you will all be killed."
"Our people say that 'one who will not heed the truth cannot fail to heed blows' (ndungirega kihoote 'norege njuguma). After all, the British are wrong and we are right. After all, if what our people say is true that at any home fear is the retainer of poverty (guoya uturagia ukta mucit), then as long as we do not fight the British, we shall never be anything but poor and slaves."
"My son, in the world of today, 'might is right'."
"But we can't live as slaves in our own country. It is better to die fighting than surrender to British might."
"A living dog is better than a dead lion."
"Shall we be dogs in our own country because of cowardice?"
"Better that than death. But if you want to die, just make sure that you die alone."
The son was not convinced by the father's argument against fighting. So, secretly, he joined the Mau Mau army and went to the forest to fight. When the father learnt of it, he shook with anger and fear. Fear that colonial authorities might identify him with the activities of his son. To avoid this deadly association with the son, the father was compelled to move himself closer to the colonial authorities by denouncing more and more openly the activities of Mau Mau.
After two years of fighting, the son got shot in the leg and was secretly brought home for food and medical treatment. He was hidden in a groove at the base of several thick banana plants that grew together near his mother's hut. And every day, he was secretly fed and his wound was cleaned and dressed there. Then one morning, disaster struck. His father heard something move near the banana plants and was curious to know what it was. Moving close, he was shocked to see that it was the son who was lying there.
"So it is you", the father said, half asking and half just stating a fact while shaking his head.
"Yes, it is me", the son replied with a half smile. 
"What are you doing here?" There was now a lot of menace in his voice. "You left home without my permission. You cannot come back without my permission."
"I only came back because I am sick. Please let me stay until I am well. It will only take a few more days."
"Let you stay? Do you want to have us all killed?"
"Then let me go back to the forest."
"Let you go and leave our houses being set on fire? It is your own fault that you came back. I must call the chief and his askaris."
"Please don't. I will remove myself from here.".
The father did not answer. He was running to tell the chief that his son who was a "terrorist" was hiding at home. His wives ran after him asking him not to tell the chief about the son. He refused to stop and listen. When it was clear that nothing would stop him from seeing the chief, the women quickly turned back hoping to remove the son from home before the chief came. But it was too late. Moments after their getting home, the chief arrived with his askaris.
For the chief, Macaria was a prime catch. Already in his mind, he was calculating what he was going to do. "I will shoot him myself to make sure that I get all the credit of shooting a terrorist. I will have him decapitated. Then I will take the head personally to the white DO (Divisional Officer). I will get my cash for killing a terrorist. Additionally, I am sure, the death of this terrorist will make the whiteman so happy that he will immediately make me a senior chief. My luck is so good that I can only compare it to that of Wacu when a hawk dropped meat to her in the shamba (C•akorire Wacu Mugunda). And the father of this son, I must thank him somehow. Without him, I would get neither the cash nor the promotion." His train of thought then suddenly stopped. He realised he was smiling when he should have been dead serious.
"What is this terrorist doing here? Have you come home to kill my people, you murderer and enemy of government?"
Macaria did not answer. He just looked at him.
"Surrender and come out of hiding", the chief shouted.
"I will never surrender, but I am willing to come out. I am a freedom fighter and not a terrorist or murderer."
"Shut up! Who are you to talk back to me?"
"I am a freedom fighter."
"Drag him out of here", the chief ordered his askaris.
Macaria was then brought out of his groove. He was placed before the chief. The chief slapped him hard, spat on him and hissed at him like a snake.
"Confess, you terrorist! Confess or I kill you!"
"I have nothing to confess and I am ready to die."
"Then say your last prayers!" said the chief as he grabbed a gun from one of his askaris. The chief's action now set the women wailing and crying aloud while beseeching the chief to spare their son.
"Please spare him. He is also your son. Please spare him."
"I have no son who is a terrorist."
"We beseech you upon the breasts which suckled thee. Please spare him."
"Let him confess then", the chief insisted.
"I have nothing to confess and I am ready to die. Please mothers do not amuse this killer by crying for me", Macaria said, now no longer afraid to die. As if aware that he would now die, Macaria reached the ground with his hand, scooped a handful of sacred soil, raised his hand and said again "Die for land and freedom. Long live Mau Mau. Long live Kenya."
Immediately a hail of bullets hit him and he collapsed on the ground and died.
His body was then dragged on the ground by askaris and taken to the chief's camp. There the chief did as he had planned to do with it.
At home crying and mourning continued for many days. In the forest, fellow freedom fighters bitterly mourned Macaria for many days. They had lost a comrade and the country a great son. To immortalize him, freedom fighters sang a song which clearly depicted his betrayal by the father.

"Macaria, Macaria, Macaria
You ask me not to betray you
You ask me not to betray you
And leave our house, being set on fire."

After the death of the son, the father led a terrible life. He was always in fear that freedom fighters might come to him at night to avenge their dead comrade. They never did, but the old man was dogged by fear to his death.
Thereafter, it was said that Macaria died a very angry man. Angry because of betrayal. Because of his anger, even his spirit became very difficult to propitiate. So every time his brother and sisters named their baby boys after him, the boys would not live. It was even said that Macaria died determined never to return to his father's home or to any of his family. But his brother and sisters loved him and never gave up trying to have him in their homes. Disappointed many times, they did everything they could to appease his angry spirit. Finally, one boy who was named after him by his older brother, Kihooto, decided to stay and therefore survived. That boy was called Macaria wa Kihooto. Wondering why Macaria had finally agreed to stay, many said he had been waiting for his father to die first. Others who heard the name of the boy and noticed its literal meaning - Searcher of Justice - said Macaria had come back to continue his struggle for land and freedom after its betrayal upon independence.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 3

Macaria wa Kihooto was born in Mseto District and grew up in a small forest village that was called Kiota Village. His father was employed by the forest department of the colonial government. He had sought and got work there after British settlers had stolen all their ancestral lands in Jadi Province. Required to pay taxes in cash money to the colonial government, Macaria's father had no choice but to get a paid job with the colonial government.
As it turned out, Kiota Village was a prison of exploitation and oppressive violence. As a result, Macaria grew up knowing and bitterly hating exploitation and oppressive violence as his enemies in life. Little wonder then that it was with passion that Macaria always told the story of his early childhood.
"Though I had moments of happiness as a child, our lives in the forest were full of hardships. My father always rose up to go to work at 5 a.m. in the morning. Usually, it was without breakfast. Because he had to walk and work very far from home, he always carried some food to work. My father's work was very hard work. It involved tending, carrying and transplanting young trees in heavy rain all day without protection. It involved going up very high trees to prune them. Many times, pruning involved dangerous accidents of slipping off and falling down from high trees, often times breaking one's limbs. After quitting this hard work at 3 p.m., my father did not return home to rest. He would go to clear with an axe acres of big virgin forest where he was allowed to plant crops for one year and afterwards expected to clean weeds from the young trees which were planted there by the forest department. After work, there was always something to do in the shamba. If there was no clearing, there was weeding or harvesting.
"For all this back-breaking work, forest workers were paid a pittance of 14 shillings a month. This was later increased to 48 shillings by the time of independence. The salary was so inadequate that on it alone, we could never have survived. It was to supplement it that my mother spent all day working in the shamba. And even then, we never had enough money for food at home. Sometimes, father would get so frustrated with his small pay that he would drink it all up when he got it.
"Though father and mother cleared forests where young trees were planted and removed weeds from young trees for three or four years, they were never paid for the work. Their only reward was the few bags of potatoes and maize which they got as a by-product of their hard labour. And that they sold at throw-away prices to the Indian traders who came from Kiu town. At times, when the Indian trader offered too little for the potatoes, workers would simply decide to feed them to the donkeys.
"Because shambas were many miles away from home, parents got home from work after dark. During the day, when parents were away, it was for us kids to cook, draw water, clean the house and fetch leaves for rams which were being fattened in the house. Forest workers and their children were not allowed to drink milk. Though staying far away from towns and cattle-keeping farms, they were not allowed to keep even one cow for milk. 
"Our parents grew the trees which produced the timber which built the best houses in the country. But we lived in terrible shacks that leaked with rain water and let in cold draughts at night. In June, July and August, when there was a lot of rain and cold, water came from the uncemented floor of our hut. And not having a concrete floor also meant that our hut was a breeding ground for fleas and jiggers which fought for our famished blood with lice and bedbugs.
"Despite working so hard they were paid so little that things like tea, meat, bread and bananas were luxuries we saw only once a year during Christmas. That is why Christmas was the happiest day of the year. If they wanted to eat meat before Christmas, boys had to hunt and kill rabbits, duikers, small antelopes, wild pigs and others we called "tuthuni", "itore", "thia" and "mbuhu". Hence in our village every boy had a hunting dog. Apart from hunting, dogs were very useful also in keeping monkeys and baboons away from the crops in the shambas.
"To add insult to the injury of our exploitation in the forest, when it was the season of picking coffee or pyrethrum in the surrounding white settlers' farms, all of us boys and girls together with our mothers were forcibly put into lorries and taken there to pick coffee and pyrethrum for nothing and without food or water.

* * *

"Harsh and violent conditions form harsh and violent minds. When I grew up, the British colonial government was at its most violent and brutal. Hit at and brutalized from every side, brave men and women formed the Mau Mau army and answered government violence with redemptive violence. Those who were not so brave stayed in villages and farms and misdirected their defensive violence from their stronger enemies to weaker ones around them.
"In these times, life in our village was jungle life. At every level, it was dominated by the most powerful.
"At the pinnacle of the pyramid of violence stood the colonial government. It was the best armed, the most violent and could brutalize anybody any way it liked. It was the most feared. Its white officers, black soldiers, policemen and forest guards spoke only the language of violence. Every night, at around nine, armed men came to Kiota to search for freedom fighters. This was when they would beat up our fathers, rape our mothers and sisters, break things in our homes and leave everyone trembling with fear. At the place of work, which was the base of the pyramid of violence, forest workers were beaten by 'Nyaparas' or overseers. 'Nyaparas' in turn got their beating from forest rangers, and white forest officers were free to beat African forest rangers. Back in the village, armed men like the village headman and his askaris beat up unarmed men like my father. I will never forget the terrible scene when a white officer came to our home accompanied by some African askaris. After searching our house, my father was called outside. He was asked about rumours that freedom fighters had come to the village the night before. He said he had not heard and knew nothing about it. On saying this, he was given a very hard slap on the face and commanded to tell the truth.
"Tell the truth! (sema kweli!)"
"I am telling the truth, sir (nasema kweli bwana)."
"The assertion that father was telling the truth was followed by a hard fist in the mouth.
"Tell the truth or I kill you (sema kweli au nitaua wewe)."
"But when father opened his mouth to say "I am telling the truth", only blood and three broken teeth came tumbling out of the mouth. Seeing how he had hurt father, the mzungu did not hit him again. He just walked away with his askaris. Mother and us children stood around when father was being beaten. Very angry, but helpless. While my father was being beaten, two askaris held his hands behind his back and two others kept guard with rifles pointed at him. This was to stop self-defence.  When soldiers did not come to Kiota to beat men and rape women, they took them away to screening camps where all were tortured most brutally, many were killed, some were taken to detention camps and only a few were allowed to return home. My father narrowly escaped death in one of these screening camps. When my younger brother was born, he had gone to the shop very early to buy sugar, milo, bread and other foods for my mother. On the way to the shop, he was arrested by a patrol unit which took him to the nearest and most notorious screening camp that was called "Kwa Nyasigweso". For three days we didn't hear of him. In fact, we thought he had been killed. But just then, he turned up and told us how he was arrested, his money taken and then he was taken to "Kwa Nyasigweso" for torture before he was allowed to come back.
"So brutalized, unarmed men like my father vented their frustrations and tensions on women and on each other. For no apparent reason therefore, many times men fought each other on Saturday and Sunday afternoons when they were at home drinking beer. Stronger men would attack weaker men, and bigger families would attack smaller families. Always, there was fighting at beer drinking parties. And brutal as these fights were, reasons for them were less than trivial.
"When men could not fight other men, they came home to beat their wives. From work, a man would come home angry and sullen. If the wife asked him a question, he would simply start a fight. After pay, a man would come home without money. Asked by the wife for money, he would grab a burning firewood from the fire and begin beating up the wife with it. The burning firewood would send sparks all over her head and there would be smell of burning hair. Afterwards some men would look remorseful and regretful.
"Some men rationalized fights against women by invoking the traditional struggles between men and women. One man with four wives told me that men have always to fight women to  control homes. He told me that since the Agikuyu women lost their power to men, they are always plotting against male rule. "They are a different race of people from men and if we don't keep them down, they will certainly keep us down." To this man, his rule at home was unquestionable, however brutal, and his every fight against women justified. At our home, father would fight mother simply because we boys had been asked to draw water, wash utensils, peel potatoes, cook or do any other chore that was considered women's duty. Beating of women by men was so common in our village that almost every night a woman was heard hollering for help. In fact, people had got so used to these fights that some women accepted them as an unavoidable feature of a married life. A few even went to the extent of seeing them as a sign of a husband's love for the wife. According to these few, husbands beat the wives they loved or cared about. If a husband did not care to beat a wife, it was a sign that he did not give a damn about her and would very easily divorce here. General agreement, however, was that wife beating had nothing to do with love. It was so brutal that most women avoided serious harm only by crying for the help of neighbours. Other women avoided harm by hiding in the bush for a whole night and only came home when the husband had gone away to work.
"But the worst thing about wife-beating was the humiliation women suffered before their own children, village children and neighbours. Whenever a woman was being beaten and was crying for help, a large crowd of village children and neighbours would gather outside the home wherein there was a fight. For village children any such a fight was a free film, and they would laugh their heads off whenever a woman came out of her house running away from a chasing husband. At home, any time mother had been beaten, it was obvious that she did not want to look at us children. No doubt, she felt embarrassed. And for a long time after any fight, mother would not visit neighbours, particularly if she had sustained a black eye. She would keep at home until it disappeared.
"When the Mau Mau war ended and oppressive violence abated, wife beating also abated. But it did not end because violence and discrimination against women did not end even after independence. Unable to beat men, women vented their frustrations on the children in our village. It was not uncommon to see angry mothers beating or abusing children when it was not them they were angry with. Sometimes, a fight between a father and a mother would end up engulfing everybody. Father would beat mother, mother would beat the kids. Sometimes these fights would spill over to other homes. I remember one day I was badly hit and injured in the head by a bigger girl simply because she thought I had laughed at her. As it were, I had not laughed at her at all. She just saw me jumping up and down and assumed I was laughing at her.
"Upto now I don't believe that husbands beat wives purely out of hate. Just as parents do not beat children out of hate. Maybe some husbands and parents do, but certainly not all. But husbands who beat wives believe in the inequality between men and women, and also women believe that use of violence against women is justifiable. The problem, however, is, you cannot beat and enslave those you love and still love them as equal human beings. Where there is inequality, feelings of love are killed and replaced by feelings of dominance and contempt, which are themselves not love. Now, if husbands cannot be expected to love those whom they beat, wives who are beaten cannot also be expected to love husbands who beat them. They can only fear, and justifiably hate those who beat them. Beating of wives and fear of husbands necessarily undermines and kills love and engenders hate between men and women. Everything should be done to rid society of wife-beating because when people have been conditioned to think that the language of the strong to the weak is not dialogue, but violence, the powerful cannot be expected not to be violent to the powerless, the rich not to be violent to the poor and parents not to be violent to the children.

* * *

"Between home and school, the day passed without my getting a beating. Of course as children, we made countless mistakes at home. And for most of them, we were never punished. But when I beat my younger brothers and sisters, parents made sure that it was always an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. When I bit my young brother on the back in a fight, my father made sure that I got the same medicine and the same dose which I had given to my brother."
"Did you bite your young brother on the back?"
"Yes."
"Why did you do that?"
"We were fighting."
"But you are bigger than your brother. How could you bite him?"
"I am sorry, father, I will not bite him again."
"Lie down here and bare your back." I took my shirt off and lay down. "My father then called my brother and told him "bite him where he bit you. And just as hard." Fortunately, by the time brother got to biting me, he was laughing so hard that his teeth could not bite. "Bite him", my father commanded. At last my brother bit, but much more mercifully than I had done.

* * *

"I know my parents did not hate us, but they pinched and smacked us a lot. When they wanted something done, they told us what to do, but never engaged us in a real dialogue or democratic talk. Then that would have been considered weakness, just as not beating a wife was considered weakness of a husband. After all, the Bible makes it quite clear when it says "Spare the rod and spoil the child". To parents their children had no rights apart from being fed, clothed, sheltered and educated. Unfortunately, too much use of the cane made us immune to it. After learning how to endure it, the stick was no longer effective against us. But it still made us cry. However, as soon as one could endure the stick without crying, one was no longer beaten. Not crying when beaten was taken as a sign that one was no longer a child. So, as soon as one stopped crying, beating was given up for dialogue. 
"Though we all knew that if one did not cry when beaten, one would not be beaten again, there was still a problem in being able not to cry when beaten. For a long time, I wanted not to cry when beaten, but I always failed. However, one day when I was beaten for nothing, I was so angry that no tears came to my eyes when I was beaten.
"Another boy had lost his pen and stolen mine. After finding out who had my pen, I had taken it from him. But when the boy returned home and was asked where his pen was, he said it was me who had taken it from him. In the evening, the boy and his mother came home to claim the pen back from me. When asked, I explained how the pen was mine and not his. But as I was explaining, my father came in from the shamba. As he sat down, he looked too calm for my liking. Then he asked me what the problem was. When I explained to him, he just said to me, "Give him the pen." "But father, this pen is mine and I don't have another pen", I said weakly.
"Do as I say", he ordered me with a tone of finality. Then he told my mother to give me money for another pen. I was going out to buy another pen when he asked me to wait until the boy and his mother had left. When they left, he grabbed me by the leg and started beating me with a strap of tough leather. He beat and beat me, but I did not make a sound. He got furious at my silence and beat me more. Still I did not cry. I was too angry to whimper. He suspended my bared back over flames of fire, but still, I did not cry. He gave up and put me down. He let me go to the shop to buy another pen and never beat me again. From then on, my father always treated me as a grown-up and a friend.
"At school, however, I continued to be beaten long after parents had stopped beating me. If I missed to go to church on a Sunday, I was beaten. If I was late at school, I was beaten. If I spoke Gikuyu, my mother tongue, I was beaten. If I missed to go for games, I was beaten. If I failed to do my homework, I was beaten. If I missed the correct answer to a question, I was beaten. If I made noise in class, I was beaten. If I was caught smoking a cigarette, I was beaten. I my shirt missed a button, I was beaten. If my uniform was not clean, I was beaten. If my nails were long and my hair shaggy, I was also beaten. In school, there were so many things to be beaten for that I was beaten every single day of my school life. Sometimes when I knew I would receive many strokes of the cane at once, I wore two pairs of shorts or put a piece of hard leather between my shorts and buttocks.
"Though all beatings made me better, some made me more better than others. One day the whole school rioted because teachers had decided to suspend classes and spend the whole day beating pupils, just because some uncircumcised big boys were friends with some circumcised girls in their class whom some teachers were interested in. By evening, some of us had received more than fifty strokes of the cane each though we had absolutely nothing to do with the said girls. At one beating, I felt so much pain that I vomited. But teachers would not give up. The last straw, however, was when they found one boy with a piece of cigarette and beat him so savagely that when he hollered, the rest of the school felt duty-bound to go to his rescue. When the teachers saw the flood of hundreds of pupils advancing towards them, they fled in fear. And though we never beat any teacher, still some boys were expelled from our school because of this incident. The injustice of it made me very bitter.
"Another time, another boy was given ten cuts of the cane on his bare buttocks and was later expelled from school only because he had demanded his freedom of worship as a Catholic. Religiously, our primary school was under Protestant management. But it had many Catholic pupils. During prayers in the morning, Catholic pupils were not allowed to have their own prayers. Instead, they were forced to participate in the same prayers as Protestant pupils. One morning, we refused to have the same prayers with Protestant pupils. We insisted on saying our prayers separately. When we refused to go into the same classroom with Protestants for prayers, the headmaster got mad and rode his bicycle to Kiu town to fetch the Education Officer. When the white Education Officer came, he was shown the boy who had been caught saying a rosary during Protestant prayers. The boy was caned naked and expelled from our school. But thereafter, he was admitted into a Catholic school in Kiu town. In the meantime however, Protestants were given their freedom to worship separately from Protestant pupils.
"Brutality reared its ugly head again when some of us missed to go to church on Sunday. In class the following Monday, the teacher ruled that each of us who had missed church would get eight strokes of the cane. But the biggest boy in the group was to get sixteen cuts of the cane. The boy was outraged by the injustice of his singular punishment. So, after the teacher had given him eight strokes on the palm, he withdrew the hand forcing the teacher to hit himself with the cane and refused to take any more strokes. Upon refusal, the teacher started kicking his legs with shoes. To protect himself from these kicks, the boy pushed the teacher backwards and made him fall on his back. When he fell, big boys surrounded him, took him by the legs and dragged him out of the classroom with his back on the floor. When they came to the four stone stairs, his head hit upon each stone like a ball until he lay flat on the dusty ground. When other teachers saw the spectacle, they immediately came to his rescue, but the boys had already fled. Because of this incident, some boys were later expelled from school, too.
"It was from incidents like these at school that I learnt that unfair punishment always generates resistance from their victims. I also learnt from them that a lot of things are got only after they are struggled and suffered for. For instance, our freedom of worship.

* * *

"In Kiota village, I also learnt that violence is not only used as a means of instilling discipline, but also as a foundation of dictatorial governments.
"In our village, any group of boys had a leader. Boys of one age would form a group together. Boys of one age from one location or village could form a different group from boys of the same age from another location. Boys in one group did many things together. They played games together. They went hunting together. They organized dancing parties together and so forth. Different groups of boys also organized competitions between one another. For all this to happen, groups of boys had to have leaders.
"For leaders, boys did not pick the most intelligent or fair minded among them, they picked the strongest physically. To determine the strongest, boys organized fights between themselves. Sometimes, we would make a clearing in the forest, and each day all of us would gather there from school. We would make a ring and some would climb trees. The pairs of boys would go into the ring and fight it out while being cheered on by the rest. After each fight, the winner would shake hands with the loser and move on to fight another winner. The overall winner would then be the leader of the group.
"In the government of boys, it is the leader of the group who arbitrates in disputes and uses his physical might to enforce decisions. When we went to hunt, the leader of the group would take more meat than the rest of us. If a group leader visited a boy, whose mother gave him less food than her own son, when the mother was not looking, the host boy would be required to give his plate with more food to the group leader. The plate with the most food as well as the best food was the exclusive privilege of leadership among boys. 
"Just as boys won leadership through might, they were also deposed of through might. A boy ceased to be the leader of a group only if a better fighter emerged and beat him. Boys' leadership has no room for debate and arguments and when I left it, I never thought that I would come across it again. Little did I know then that there are many people who do not outgrow their boyhood. They use might to gain and retain power. They are the dictators we see around the world today.

* * *

"As a victim of violence, I always hated violence. I guess because I was at the receiving end. But perpetrators of violence, did they love violence? Did they enjoy inflicting pain on people? When husbands beat wives, do they enjoy themselves? When police torture suspects, do they enjoy doing it? I still find these questions difficult to answer. However, once when I inflicted violence on an animal which we loved, I discovered that violence inflicted upon weaker beings can also inflict remorse upon its perpetrators. But for this to happen, I guess a perpetrator of violence must have a conscience. But since there is so much violence in the world, it must be that most perpetrators of violence are people without a conscience who enjoy inflicting pain and violence on others. Surely, people with a conscience could not be responsible for all the violence which we see around us today.
"At our home, we had a donkey that had been with us for over 10 years. It was called Toto though I never knew why it was called so. Maybe, it was acquired while it was still young. Toto was so close to us that we could tell its braying from that of any other donkey. It was a wonderful animal that could take a load of firewood or potatoes home alone from very far and not stray on the way. On getting home, it would lie down to allow even a young boy like me then to unload it. Mother loved Toto almost the way she loved us and could not brook anybody beating it. But as it got older, Toto grew weaker, slower and less useful. Worse still, it got into a habit of straying into gardens with young trees where it was caught by forest guards. For each such arrest, my father was charged 7 shillings which was a lot of money then. When he paid this money, it was with hardship and bitterness. So every time Toto strayed, father would beat whoever he thought had let it stray. Sometimes, when we discovered early that Toto had strayed, all of us would be out in the dark looking for it, however late in the night it was. Finally, Toto got too weak and expensive to keep. We were forced to kill it. But without a gun or a poison that could instantly kill Toto, we could only kill it by beating it to death. It was for that purpose that I collected a number of boys and together led Tot to the nearest forest. There we tied Toto to a tree and started beating it. We beat it so hard that it shed tears. But it would not die. We beat it harder and it shed more tears and still we could not kill it. Unable to kill it with clubs and whatever other sticks we had, we were in the end forced to leave it tied to a tree in the forest. We hoped hyenas or a leopard would come and kill it at night. And they did because the following morning, Toto was not there. It had been killed and eaten up.
"Though dead, Toto's crying eyes haunted me for a long time. I felt we had treated it so badly when it had served us so well and I never forgave myself for helping to kill it."

* * *


WITNESS NO. 4

What is this?	-	Giki ni taki
Hakii Huhii	-	Hahii Huhii x 2
That makes me neither go nor sleep	-	Giki nitaki kiagiria 		thit na kiagiria ngomei
What is this?	-	Giki ni taki?
I Hahii Huhii	-	Ihahii Huhii
I will make a fist	-	Ngaruma thano
Hahii Huhii	-	Hahii Huhii x 2
When I unmake it. I will be a man circumcised	Ngirumukia ndi 			mundu murume i
I will make a fist	-	Ngaruma thano
I hanii Huhii	-	I hanii huhii.

Throughout the night, Macaria and his agemates had been dancing to circumcision songs. Singing and dancing had begun in July and would continue until circumcision in August. Since this circumcision ceremony started, Macaria and his friends had danced every single night.
Ever since he was a young boy, Macaria loved the circumcision period more than any other time except Christmas. Dancing was a lot of fun and always there was plenty of food to eat. Moreover, everyone was happy and free with everybody else. During the singing of cirumcision songs, sex talk was no taboo and it excited Macaria a great deal. He heard bigger girls and boys say things they could never have said any other time. The dances were simply great and lasted all night long. The only time Macaria could stay out of home all night and not get into serious trouble with his father was circumcision period. Other times, he never wanted this period to end. But now he was feeling a bit tired. Being his turn to get the knife, Macaria felt anxious and in a hurry to get the whole thing over with. Before, he had looked forward to this time. Now he wanted it over.
Since he turned sixteen, Macaria had wanted to get circumcised, but his father had not allowed him to do so immediately. Macaria thought he had some four good reasons for wanting to get circumcised. Now that he was fully grown up, as a Mugikuyu, only circumcision could give him access to big and beautiful circumcised girls. Macaria also wanted circumcision because he decried the company of bigger circumcised boys since he no longer fitted into the company of younger uncircumcised boys. Macaria's most important reason, however, was that as a Mugikuyu, he would continue to be treated as a "Kihii" (an uncircumcised boy) and never get the respect men got until he got circumcised. Macaria also needed circumcision because he desired to get out of his village and he could not do so before he was circumcised. He wanted to go out on his own and work. For some time now, he had been feeling that he could no longer bear life in Kiota village - endless donkey work, exploitation and senseless violence -. He wanted none of these anymore. So he had approached his father for permission to get circumcised.
"Father, I want to get circumcised."
"Why are you in a hurry?"
"I am now seventeen."
"So? I got circumcised when I was nineteen."
"I also want to get out of here."
"And go where?"
"Wherever I can get work."
"I understand your wanting to get away from the misery of this place, but who will give you work?"
"Why? There must be many people who are willing to employ grown-up men like me."
"Sure, they are there. But what kind of work?"
"Any, father."
"But any kind of work will not save you from the misery of this life here. You see, son, we also hate it here. Hate it very much. But where else can we go? Without land, we cannot be on our own. We have no home. Without an education, even if I got out of here, I would not get a better job. So I stay. I know, life is hard for you here. But getting circumcised and running out of here now, without enough education, will not get you out of this life. It might get you out of this village, but certainly not out of this life. You see, I am not saying that you should not get circumcised now. No. You are now old enough for it. But don't attach too much significance to circumcision today."
"But it will make me a man."
"Partly it will, but not wholly."
"I don't understand, father."
"I know that after circumcision, you will feel more man than you do now. But to live successfully as a man today, you will need more than just circumcision. Life today is not what it used to be before the whiteman came. After all, tribal life is no more. Our tribal secrets are no more. And our tribal education is no more. You see, in the old days, circumcision was a school for imparting education to our children. In circumcision, education was more important than the physical operation. But that education is no more. The tribal society that generated and needed that education is now smashed. So the importance of circumcision has also been greatly undermined in our society today. When we lived apart from other peoples, tribal values, including circumcision, were very important and necessary for life. Today, our society is Kenyan, multi-ethnic and larger than it was before. To survice today, son, you need more than circumcision. Look at the people who are ruling us. The white man. He is not circumcised, but he is more powerful than us. What has made him stronger than us? Certainly, it is not circumcision, which he doesn't have and we have. Most likely, it is his superior education and technology which he has and we don't have. Now, even if we win this war against the whiteman, I doubt whether we will want to go back to our tribal society. Most likely, we will want to keep the Kenyan society with the other Kenyan peoples. And in the event of a larger society, the place of circumcision will be permanently taken by the school of the whiteman. Now, it is the school more than circumcision which will help you to survive in Kenya.
"I know, you are a big boy now. And right now you might feel that you need circumcision to get girls. But soon enough, you will discover that, even after circumcision, you will still need education to get the best girls. Today, girls admire educated men more than they admire circumcised men. You will soon also see that going to high school will bring you more girls than getting circumcised, and passing your school examinations with flying colours will impress more girls than going through circumcision with flying colours.
"My son, these are different times. In the old days, the stronger you were, the better were your chances of leading your age group. During circumcision, the young man and woman who reached the sacred tree first, became the leaders of his or her age groups. Today, sharpening your brain is more necessary for leadership than either circumcision or an athletic ability. To lead Kenyans, education will help you to understand the Kenyan society more than circumcision. For leadership, Kenyans will pick the educated and fair minded, and not the circumcised man.
"Before, circumcision allowed you to participate in the life of the society. Today, it is educational success that will permit you to participate in the life of the society. You will get a good job because you are educated. Unlike before, to be a soldier, you will also need to be educated. And the more educated you will be, the better a soldier you will make. If we want you to help us in future, we must ask you to do better in school. Only if you do well in school, will you be able to get a better job than ourselves. And only then will you get enough money to help us. Similarly, should you want to do more for the society, you must do better in school. To be prosperous today, people cannot be expected to conduct raids and steal cattle from other tribes and countries. They must develop their areas. And to do so, they must advance themselves educationally and technologically.
"Son, this society has killed even our age-group system. Before, people who were circumcised together, stuck together until they died. They shared many activities together. Polygamous men even allowed visiting agemates access to their wives. Today, however, it is people who go to school together who stick together. Classmates have become agemates though on a much smaller scale. Spending many years of school together has become more binding than spending one month together during circumcision.
"I understand you are in a hurry to get out of school. I know they beat you there and you don't like it. But every school has a test of pain and endurance. To be successful in circumcision, you must endure pain of the knife and healing. To be successful in school, you must also endure pain of punishment and hard work. Even when you finish school, there will still be pain to bear in many other situations. Never avoid something you must do because of pain for as our people say "nothing good comes out of an easy situation (gutiri keega kaumaga heega)".
"Get your circumcision. I will organise everything. But don't quit school. Circumcision is not more important for you than school. You need both."
The lecture from the father had somewhat reduced the glamour of circumcision for Macaria. He still felt excited about it, but not as before. Apart from making him sober, the lecture had also made him clear about the new place of circumcision in society.

* * *

Macaria's desire had always been to have a traditional circumcision. But his was not to be a traditional circumcision. By the time he was circumcised, there was very little of traditional circumcision left. To begin with, girls' circumcision had already been phased out. And without girls, traditional circumcision could not be complete because boys and girls were supposed to learn a lot from each other while staying together after the surgical operation. Secondly, colonial hostility to circumcision had forbidden traditional surgeons to circumcise. They only did so secretly. Without traditional surgeons, only doctors and dressers could circumcise in their hospitals and dispensaries. As a result, Macaria was circumcised in a dispensary and not in a traditional homestead after going to bathe in the river very early in the morning.
So, after dancing and singing until about 4 a.m. in the morning, at 5 a.m. Macaria and other boys were led to the dispensary which was three miles away from Kiota village. When they got there, the dispensary was already open. They sat in the waiting room from where they were called in one by one. Macaria was the third to be called in and he felt tense and a little afraid while waiting for his turn to come. He wondered what was going on inside. Five minutes after the first boy was called in, he came out looking very serene in the company of his sponsor. "It can't be so painful", Macaria thought, "if he has come out looking so calm." He wanted to ask the first boy how it was, but the boy would not look at him while he was still uncircumcised. Five minutes later, his turn came and he was called in together with his sponsor. Inside, the dresser asked him, "How do you want to have it done? Traditionally or like a Mswahili?"
"Traditionally", Macaria answered.
"Lie here", the dresser told Macaria pointing to the operating table. As he moved to the table, Macaria felt a chill run down his spine, but he could not show fear. It was a taboo and shameful. When he was on the operating table, the dresser came over with a big needle and gave Macaria an injection of anaesthesia. Being anaesthetised for circumcision was generally despised as cowardice. It meant one could not bear pain like a man. So Macaria felt a bit embarrassed about the injection. He would have preferred to do without it, but he lacked the courage to reject it. When he said he wanted a traditional circumcision, he meant to say that he wanted the dresser to fix a 'ngwati' or tassel to his penis. This tassel business, Macaria suspected might complicate and make his circumcision painful. So, the needle was not entirely unwelcome. A few moments later, the surgical operation was over. Macaria dressed up in his clothes and left the operating room feeling more like a man than when he entered. The only thing his manhood lacked was tradition. In fact, the only traditional things about his circumcision were the songs, the dances and the 'ngwati'. Everything else was far from tradition including what was left of the ceremony.
After the surgical operation, Macaria put on his shirt and trousers and went home together with his sponsor. A few years earlier, putting on his clothes after circumcision would have been unthinkable. Then initiates were dressed in long calico sheets and not in shirts and trousers. Second, Macaria would not now have gone straight home to stay alone. All initiates would have gone to stay together for at least one week. There, they would have received a lot of traditional instructions.
When convalescing, Macaria was taught nothing traditional. Instead, he read his books and discussed his educational career with his sponsor, who was also his teacher at school. Since no girls were circumcised together with him, Macaria had none of the old traditional sex education. In fact, the only circumcised girls he saw while convalescing were a few who came to visit his sisters, but would secretly sneak into his hut. In the absence of his sponsor, the girls would torture Macaria with lewd stories about how much they desired to have sex with him. The idea was to arouse his healing but not fully recovered male organ into an erection that would make it crack, bleed and give him terrible pain. This was their way of punishing him for having desired them before he was circumcised.
Having agreed with his father that he needed both circumcision and education, Macaria now told his sponsor that he wanted to further his education after circumcision and completion of primary school. At this point, his sponsor, who was also a good Catholic, advised him to do so through priesthood. The idea appealed to Macaria. Priests looked like very highly educated and happy people who lived well on earth and were guaranteed salvation in heaven. What more could Macaria ask for? 

* * *


WITNESS NO. 5

When Macaria told his father that he wanted to join the seminary, first he did not know what a seminary was and when he understood what it was, he was non-plussed.
"I wanted to tell you that I want to join the seminary", Macaria told his father.
"Seminary, what is that? Don't you want to go to a secondary school?'
"It is also a secondary school, but for people who want to become priests."
"You mean priests like Father Kennedy?"
"Yes, like Father Kennedy."
"But you are not a white man? How can that be?"
"But Africans also become priests."
"Which Africans?"
"Like Father Maina. He has never been here. He stays in Nyeri."
"But Macaria, is there anything wrong with you? You have not told us."
"No, why father? I am quite fine."
"You mean nothing wrong happened to you during circumcision? I thought if there was, your sponsor would have told us."
"There is nothing wrong, father."
"Do you still desire women?"
"Yes, father", Macaria answered with some embarrassment.
"And you don't want to marry?"
"No. I think I want to be a priest."
"But people say that those who become priests are those who cannot get children. Those whose manhood has been impaired. But your manhood is not impaired, or is it?"
"Father, I just told you. It is not impaired at all. And father, your information is not right that priests have problems with their manhood."
"I have heard it told many times that it is those men who are eunuchs, who become priests. But maybe that is not true. Otherwise, who fathers all those half-caste children, who are found in villages which are near church mission stations, if it is not white priests and brothers?"
"I don't know, father."
"But who else could? Those children are not albinos."
"Father, I don't know."
"Anyway, that only proves that priests are not eunuchs. They are men whose manhood is still intact. So, why don't they want to marry and beget children?"
"There is a church law that forbids it. If one chooses to be a priest, then one cannot marry."
"Maybe white people have no women in their own countries. So those who cannot get women choose to be priests."
"I don't think so, father. I hear there are as many women there as we have here."
"If not so, why then do they come here and father half-caste children?"
"Probably some just become weak like ordinary human beings."
"But it is not proper for priests not to marry and then get half-caste children, whom they don't take care of. Is that good priesthood?"
"No, it is not. But they are human beings and become weak like all of us."
"Why then don't they marry to accommodate their natural weaknesses. If they marry, no one can blame them for getting children. Now men, women, children and God must blame them for getting children whom they do not take care of."
"But father, it is not all of them. It is just one or two who are weak."
"And you want to become one of these one or two who do not marry, but cannot forget women. What will happen if you become a priest and they send you to a country of white people? Will you also not father some half-black, half-white children, whom you will also abandon in villages?'
"But father, I will just stay in our country. I want to be a diocesan and not a missionary priest."
"That will give you a chance to get children without people knowing?"
"That is not what I want to do, father. I just want to serve God. That's all."
"Is getting children not serving God? Who creates those children? Is it not God? What is wrong with getting children?"
"Nothing, father. Only that priests are not allowed to."
"Why are they not allowed to? Is getting children a sin?"
"No, it is not."
"Then why can't a man get children and be a priest?"
"It is the law of the Catholic church."
"And you want to obey a law that only deserves to be broken?"
"It must be obeyed by those who want to be priests."
"But those who want to be priests like you, were they not born themselves? If you had not been born, would you become a priest?"
"No."
"And if men like you avoid to marry and get children, where will tomorrow's priests come from? If the church has no way of getting its own men, who it can make priests, how can it forbid people to marry?"
"Father, one is never forced. You only become a priest, if you want to."
"I know. But it is easier and better for everybody, for men to be priests, marry and get children. Then it would not be so difficult for parents like me and your mother to give consent to one of their children to become a priest. Now you want us to say it is okay for you to become a priest. You want us to say that it is okay if you will never marry. You want us to say that it is okay for you not to perpetuate our family name. You want us to say that it is okay for you to waste the seeds of life which God gave you freely to make use of. Are your seeds of life not like the thousand pounds which were given to a lazy servant by his master? Now, if your master comes back and finds that you did not invest it to bear children or interest, will he not throw you outside in the darkness, where there will be crying and gnashing of teeth? If God wanted you not to marry and have children, he would have made you a eunuch."
"But father, I want to be a priest."
"Be a priest, if you will marry. But don't, if you will not marry."
"But father, life is not just marriage."
"It is. If I did not marry your mother, would you be wanting to be a priest today? Tell me? If you want so much to be a priest, first marry, get a son, whom you will name after me, get a daughter whom you will name after your mother, bring the two grandchildren to me to bring up, and then go and be a priest and let your wife go and be a nun. Nobody will complain if you do that. But we can't give birth to you, name you after my dear brother, bring you up and then let you drive yourself into extinction. Getting you was the most difficult thing. You had so many times refused to live, refused to stay and now you want to extinguish yourself just like a candle? Choose anything else, but not priesthood."
"But father, I am not extinguishing myself. I can continue to live through my good works and through the church."
"That just shows how selfish you are. If you may live through your works and through the church, what about us? Shall we also live through your works? We want you to give birth to us, just as we gave birth to you. Otherwise, you should not even have bothered getting circumcised if you knew that you never wanted to be a real man, if you knew you wanted to waste your manhood as a priest."
"Father, I will not be wasting my manhood. I will be a man and a priest."
"A eunuch and a priest. What is manhood if it is not used?"
"I will use my manhood in priesthood."
"How? By getting illegitimate children?"
"Father, I don't think I can convince you of anything."
"No, you can't. But if you want us to compromise somewhere, do what I asked you to do before. Get married first, give birth to me and to your mother. Then be a priest. Alternatively, change religion. Go to a church that will permit you to marry and be a priest and I will never object. After all, isn't the God of Catholics and Protestants the same God? If they are not the same God and one allows his priests to marry and the other does not, then choose the one who allows his priests to marry. That is the one that I would rather give my son to. But if none of these two options is acceptable to you, then don't ask for my permission to be a priest. I won't grant it."
"Father, will you not allow me to live my life the way I want to?"
"I have no objection to that as long as you are not asking for the freedom to ruin your own life, waste your God-given manhood. As a parent, I have no right to let you do that. And I have no right to feel unconcerned, when you are making a decision which I don't think is good for you."
"But father, my very first parent is God. Our collective parent is God. He is the one who has given us everything we have including my manhood. Is it wrong for me to want to spend my life serving Him who has given us everything?"
For the first time, his father kept quiet. He was not an unreasonable man and had lots of respect for logic.
"Let me tell you this. I do not understand the God of the white man. 'Ngai', our God, could not have asked this of any of us. For us, it was wrong in the eyes of 'Ngai' for any man not to marry and get children to perpetuate his own name, his own family line, his clan and God's own people. But the God of white men seems not to mind this sort of unnatural life. I have even heard from those, who have read His book well, that He had even asked one man called Abraham to sacrifice his own son, Isaak, to him the way we sacrificed animals to 'Ngai'. I understand that He no longer asks for human sacrifices. But you stand before me now to ask me to offer my own son to that same God, the same way Abraham offered his own son Isaak to Him."
"But with one difference, father. You are not going to slaughter and burn me for Him. I will be alive all my life. Only that I will devote my life and energies to His service."
"To me, the difference is different. At the time of Abraham, he intervened to save Isaak. In our case, He will not intervene to save you. Once you finish devoting your life to Him, there will be nothing of you left in this land. That is as good as if you had been slaughtered and burned. Remember that among our people, even men and women, who could not bear children, got others to bear children for them. Just to keep their names alive. And here you are, a completely normal man, wanting to throw his manhood to the dogs and asking his father for permission to do that! Macaria, whom do you take your father for? A fool? Somebody with feelings for his children? No, let's not talk about this anymore."
When Macaria left his father, he thought his father was at the point of tears. He had never seen him like that, even when the white man and his African askaris beat him outside their house. Then he was bitter and strong. This time, he sounded hurt, bitter and weak.
Having failed to get his father to give him permission to join the seminary, Macaria went to his mother to ask for the same permission and her intervention with his father for him. He knew her permission alone would not suffice, and he did not want to say to hell with his father's permission and blessing in taking such an important decision in life. It would simply not do to argue that he was now a grown-up man who was at liberty to do what he wanted with his own life. In a way, Macaria felt that going to the seminary was like marrying. It would leave a sour taste in the mouth, if both parents did not consent to and bless it.
Macaria's mother was slightly different from his father. She was a practicing Catholic who loved to go to mass. Macaria thought she would feel proud to see her own son conducting mass in their own village. She was also very friendly with a family which had a son in a seminary and a daughter in a nunnery. In fact, when the two religious trainees came home to see their parents, either mother went to their home to greet them, or they came home to greet her. Macaria's decision to join the seminary had been greatly influenced by the admirable demeanour of these two young persons, their beautiful clothes and shiny black shoes, and the high esteem in which they were held by the entire village. If being a priest and a nun meant being like these two, then Macaria had no hesitation becoming a priest. Moreover, he was confident that though his father did not care about being the father of a priest, his mother would love to be the mother of a priest. It was with this confidence that Macaria approached his mother.
"Mother, maybe father has by now mentioned to you that I have asked him for permission to join the seminary. I want to be a priest."
"Yes, he mentioned that to me. He even thinks that I am responsible for your decision. That maybe, I have been goading you to it. Did you tell him that?"
"How could I, mother? I have not even mentioned this to you!"
"He thinks I am responsible because I go to mass. But that does not matter. He is very worried about your wanting to be a priest. Do you really want to be a priest, or are you just giving your father a headache for nothing?"
"Mother, I - want - to - be - a - priest," Macaria said slowly and emphatically.
"Though I like priests, I wouldn't want you to be a priest."
"Why, mother?"
"Everybody should not be a priest. There should be some people to marry like your father. I like grandchildren and would like you to have me as a daughter in your home."
"But mother, in our family, it is only me who wants to be a priest. And you have other sons and daughters who will have daughters and sons who will be named after you and father."
"I know. But it is not easy to let one's own son be a priest, who will not marry and have children. Why don't they change the church law which forbids priest to marry and have children. Such good young men just going to waste!"
"They don't go to waste, mother. They are going to serve God."
"Serving God is not a waste. But not marrying is a waste."
"Have you ever told John and Mary so? You sound very happy when they come to see you."
"No, I have never told them so because, I know that is obvious to them. That is why being a priest and a nun is so difficult. It is such a big sacrifice for everybody. Even for the young girls who would have liked to get married to the young priests and for the young men who would have liked to marry the young nuns. It is not as easy as you think for any parent to say yes to a son, who wants to be a priest."
"I know, mother. But you will surely let me go? If I don't, I will be a very unhappy man all my life. I might even never be able to marry and have children."
"Why? When you get a girl who loves you and whom you love, you will forget that you ever wanted to be a priest."
"But I have already fallen in love with priesthood, with the church. I don't want to fall in love with a girl."
"Anyway, I know going to the seminary is many years away from being a priest. If you finish your four years in the minor seminary and another seven in the major seminary and still want to be a priest, we will not stop you from becoming one, or deny you our blessings. But while you are in the seminary, think carefully if you really want to be a priest."
"Have you told father to let me go?"
"Yes. I have told him to let you go. I have also told him that I know you will not be a priest. You are only infatuated with priesthood, and a man does not marry every girl he is infatuated with. But should you be truly in love with priesthood, good luck to you. Only think well about it. While you are in the seminary, there will be plenty of time to think and change your mind. Make good use of that time."
"I have thought about it already. That is what I want to be."
"But we have seen men love and unlove women and women love and unlove men. We have also seen men and women join and later quit priesthood and nunhood. You have to search your heart very carefully. I would hate to have a son who becomes a priest and then quits. Priesthood is not something to join and quit as you like. If you want to join it, you must join to stay. If you don't want to join it, there will be plenty of time for you to reconsider and pull out."
"Father would love to hear that."
"What?"
"Me pulling out."
"And so would I unless you have truly been called by God to serve him for good. I would hate to be disgraced by a son who joined priesthood and quit later."
"But then, I would be able to marry and get a daughter called you.", Macaria said jokingly.
"These are not things to joke about. If you want to marry, don't be a priest. If you want to be a priest, be one for life. But we will let you go to the seminary. While you are there, think well over what you really want to be in life."
"I am so grateful to you, Mum. I am sure without your persuasion, father was never going to let me go to the seminary."
"Don't blame him. He has good reasons which you have not taken into consideration when making your decisions. Remember, we are not rich people at all, and it has not been easy for your father to support you in school. Everybody in this home, we your parents, your brothers and your sisters have all had to sacrifice for you to get where you are. I am a Catholic, but I know that it is we, your parents, and not the Catholic Church, who have been educating you. Now the Church is taking you away when you have some education. You and the Church ought to be grateful to your father for getting you this far. You must not only see his reluctance to let you go. You must understand it. It would be a lie for us to say that we have been educating you to go and work for the Church as a priest. We have been educating you so that you may one day be able to get a well-paid job that can allow you to support yourself, help us to educate your young brothers and sisters and, if possible, buy us a piece of land where we can move to when your father is too old to continue working here. Now you are telling us that you want to be a priest. A priest, who will not be able to educate his brothers and sisters, a priest, who will not be able to buy a piece of land for his parents or build them a little comfortable house to rest in in their old age. For your father, who has sacrificed so much for you, this is not an easy decision. For all of us, who will not be able to expect anything from you, this is not the best decision you have made. So don't be selfish and just think about yourself and your service to God. You must think about us, who brought you into this world, who have been educating you, and who deserve your future assistance. To expect us to laugh and clap hands for you when you tell us that you are going to be a priest is not being fair or very realistic. So as you go to the seminary, have no hard feelings against your father for expressing his misgivings about your joining priesthood. He was doing it for all of us including your brothers and sisters."
Macaria's encounter with his mum was definitely much better than the one with his father. He was grateful to her that she was going to convince his father to let him go to the seminary. But she had also been very frank with him. In some respects, she had been harder with him than his father. And she had also defended his father to the hilt. The more Macaria thought about his mother's words, the more it was clear to him that she was not telling him to go to the seminary and be a priest. She was only giving him more time to think about it. And if at the end of it all, he felt that he could not avoid being a priest, then she was prepared to let him be. But she had let him understand clearly that letting him be a priest was a sacrifice for them. And it was not the easiest sacrifice for them to make.
Next time Macaria saw his father, he was not at all hostile to his joining the seminary. Macaria had no doubt that it was his mother's arguments that had tipped the balance in his favour. But now he knew that, even as they let him go to the seminary, his parents could not be expected to rejoice over it.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 6

When Macaria applied for admission into Wokovu Seminary and was sent an invitation to go for the interview, he was overjoyed and terribly excited. He even told his mother of a dream he had about his admission there.
"Mother, I am sure, I will join the seminary", Macaria said.
"Who told you?" the mother asked.
"I dreamt about it."
"You dreamt? You don't even know whether you have passed your exams yet!"
"I know. But I feel so sure that my dream will come true."
"You are always dreaming."
"But this time, I was in the school itself. And I was so happy! Only the school was not as beautiful as I thought. Some buildings were built of red bricks and beautiful, but others were grass-thatched and ugly. With the grass-thatched houses, I felt disappointed. But I was there."
"Such dreams come to nothing", the mother concluded.
Two weeks later, Macaria left home for the first time to go to Wokovu Seminary for the interview. His father escorted him to the bus station some seven miles away from Kiota village. On the way there, Macaria was touched by the fact that he and his father had talked like old friends. Anyway, after taking his bus, he went to Kiu town. Once in Kiu town, he boarded another bus, which took him up to the place where the seminary was, 140 miles away. He alighted from the bus together with another boy, who was going to the seminary for the same interview. From the road, the seminary was about two miles away and was hidden from their view by a small cluster of very high trees. On the way there, the two boys had a small talk. As they talked, Macaria discovered that his companion had passed his exams much better than himself. He began to get worried that, after all, he might not pass his interview. But suddenly, the small forest ended, and the seminary came into their full view. Macaria could not believe his eyes. Just as in the dream, the school had grass-thatched houses! Unbelievable! He was elated as they walked into the seminary compound. Then they met some boys in beautiful uniforms and asked them the way to the school offices. They were shown and went there directly. There they found a group of other boys, who were also there for the same interview. While there with the other boys, Macaria could not help feeling unsure about admission despite his unbelievable dream. "Maybe all these boys have better marks than me", Macaria  worried himself. Then the mass which was in progress in the church ended, and the Rector of the seminary went where all the boys stood. As a priest, he wore a long white cassock and did not seem to take the interview as seriously as Macaria took it. After all, he was not taking it himself. Father Rector asked every boy his name, what each wanted and collected letters of introduction from each. When he came to Macaria, everything went wrong!
"What is your name?"
"Johnson Macaria."
"Johnson? Are you a Catholic?"
"Yes, Father."
"No Catholics are called Johnson. Where did you get that name?"
"It is my baptism name."
"Who baptised you?'
"Father Dillon."
"Father Dillon called you that?! I don't believe it."
The Rector opened Macaria's letter of introduction right there and started reading it. Macaria felt certain that he had flunked the interview on account of his so-called Protestant name. When Father Rector finished reading the letter, he looked at Macaria rather sternly and asked him, "Do you want to join the seminary?'
"Yes, Father."
"Not with this name," the Rector said shaking his head slowly. Macaria was at a complete loss as to what to say. Father Rector then said, "All of you, follow me." The boys followed him to the office, but since he still had Macaria's letter in his hand, it was Macaria who went into the office with him. He sat and Macaria remained standing. He put on reading glasses, took a pen and bent over the table with a sheet of paper.
"Now, Mr. Macaria, I can't take you here."
"But Father, the name is not my fault. I was given by Father Dillon."
"Maybe, but I can't take you here with a Protestant name." He said that with finality and then started writing. Macaria thought Father Rector was writing back to his parish priest to say that he could not take him. It frightened him, but just then a thought crossed Macaria's mind.
"But Father, can't you give me another name?" He looked up from his writing and asked, "Another name? What name?"
"A Catholic name, Father."
"Is Joseph okay?"
"Yes, Father", Macaria said with alacrity. He knew he was now admitted.
"Then I will call you Joseph Macaria."
"Thanks, Father."
The Rector then took what he was writing, tore it into pieces and threw it into the waste paper basket.
"Can you come back on Wednesday?" he asked Macaria.
"Yes, Father", Macaria said.
"Then go home and get your things. You must be here on Wednesday. Here is a list of what you will need to buy and bring with you."
"Thanks, Father."
As Macaria left the office, it occurred to him that it was somewhat late in the day. Afraid that he might get problems with transport, he turned back to ask Father Rector to let him stay in the school until the following morning when he could easily get a bus to take him home. "After all", he told himself, "I am now admitted and a part of the seminary."
"Father, can you let me stay in the school until tomorrow morning? At this time, I am afraid I might have problems getting a bus home."
"What? Did you hear what I told you? You have to be here on Wednesday. Or should I give your place to somebody else?"
"No, Father. I will go right away."
"Good boy. Now do that."
Macaria hurried out of Father Rector's office feeling somewhat foolish. "Why did I do that?" he asked himself. "I nearly lost what I had nearly missed." He walked past the other boys who were waiting for their turn to go into the office, down the verandah and out of the school compound. He went up to the road and sat there waiting for a bus. It was evening now and Macaria felt hungry. Since morning, he hadn't eaten.
While Macaria sat there waiting for a bus, another boy joined him. He was also coming from the same interview. They talked about the interview, and the boy told Macaria that he had not been admitted to join Form one, but had been promised admission the following year, if he agreed to work in the seminary for one year as a storeman. He had agreed, and so both boys would be returning to the seminary, one as a student and the other as a storeman.
When there was no bus coming for about one hour, the new boy decided to walk home. He did not come from far. But since he was walking along the road, Macaria decided to walk with him hoping to catch a bus on the way. They were walking for another hour when they came to the boy's home. So far, no bus had come their way and Macaria was feeling very apprehensive. Aware that Macaria was tired and hungry, the new boy was kind enough to ask Macaria into their home for a cup of tea. And since Macaria could see any bus coming from the home, he agreed to go in for a moment. When they went in, they drank tea and Macaria was given some boiled green maize to eat on the way home.
When Macaria returned to the road, it was nearly six thirty, and it was beginning to get dark. Rather then sit by the roadside and wait for a bus, he decided to walk along the road. He walked, and walked, and walked, and no bus came. He guessed it was nearly seven thirty when he came to a railway crossing. He knew a railway line meant a railway station somewhere ahead. Not knowing how long it would take him to come to the nearest town by road and feeling more exposed to possible thugs on the open road than on the railway line in the bush, Macaria decided to stop following the road and risk walking on the railway line to the next station. When he got onto the tracks of the railway line, he did not know what kind of country he would be crossing or how long it would take him to the next railway station. All that mattered to him then was getting to the next railway station. So he walked, and walked and walked. Wearing his first shoes in life, his feet began to blister and bleed. They hurt badly, but he could not stop walking. At least not in the middle of the bush. So he walked on, and walked, and walked until after three hours, he at last limped into a small railway station on the line to Kiu town and Nairobi. When he got there, he was so tired that he could easily have dozed off on his feet. He bought a few bananas and sat in a corner to eat them. Then he fell asleep after eating only two. When he was awakened by the kind woman who had sold him bananas, the train to his home was nearly leaving. He picked the rest of his bananas and rushed into the train just before it left. Later, when he had returned to the seminary and had been travelling that way for many times, Macaria found out that the land he had crossed that night was, in fact, a national park with many wild and dangerous animals. Though nothing happened to him, it was Macaria's first realisation that a priest was capable of being as callous as he could be kind.
Macaria entered seminary life with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm to learn and be as close to God as he could be. To be close to God, Macaria was taught that it was necessary to be a good student in class, work hard in sports, in cleaning, and in the school farm, say his prayers whenever and wherever he could and be thoroughly disciplined by being obedient to all school rules.
In class, Macaria always tried to do his best. He tried to do his best because he understood that he could not get along in life without knowledge. He also tried to do his best because he hated taking the last position in class. In school, people were respected according to their performance in class. So it was prestigious to be at the top of the class and very embarrassing to be last in class. In school, it was brain and not brawn that mattered. During his entire stay in the seminary, nothing pleased Macaria more than improving his position in class. Macaria also worked hard in class because good performance always improved his relations with teachers. All teachers liked those students who were bright in class. Lastly, Macaria tried to do well in class because he wanted to avoid expulsion from the seminary. It had dawned upon all seminarians that though other qualities might help to keep one on the seminary, good performance in class was always an extra advantage. In particular, it was absolutely necessary to do well in Bible knowledge and Latin if one wanted to stay in the seminary. In addition, it was suicide not to do well in a subject which was taught by Father Rector. Once, Macaria missed expulsion narrowly just because he had done badly in Father Rector's English class. The Rector had written a question on the blackboard asking whoever was able to answer it to put up his hand.
 "Did you enjoy your holidays?" was the question. Many put up their hands, but it was Macaria who got the near-fatal privilege of answering the deceptively simple question. After Father Rector had pointed at him, Macaria stood up and said, "Yes, I did", for an answer. Before he could sit down, the Rector frowned and said harshly, "Rubbish! Who can correct him?" Another one stood up and correctly said, "Yes, I enjoyed my holidays, Father." Then the Rector wrote another question on the blackboard, "How many times did you play football during the holidays?" This time, Macaria dared not put up his hand. But many others had their hands up. But to Macaria's complete consternation, the Rector left those who had their hands up and asked him to answer the question. When the Rector pointed his finger at him, Macaria stood up shaking and kept quiet. He could smell real trouble.
"Will you answer the question, Joseph?" said the Rector.
"I don't know the answer, Father."
"Are you sure you don't know the answer?" the Rector pursued.
Macaria kept quiet again. Then, menacingly, the Rector said, "I give you three minutes to answer the question", and the nuclear count down began. Three. Two. One. Then the Rector looked at Macaria and said, "Now, will you or will you not answer the question?" Macaria said, "I can guess, Father." "Go and guess outside", the Rector said pointing his finger to the door. Macaria felt as if he had been struck by thunder. Feeling weak and wobbly in the legs, he walked out. Outside, he stood near the window and tried to follow the rest of the lesson from there. When Father Rector noticed him, he opened the door and said to him, "Walk along the road." "Walk along the road" sounded almost like "Pack and go home" to Macaria and shook him terribly. Macaria walked some distance down the road and then stopped. He felt too weak to walk. He turned back, went to a building site and sat on a pile of stones, but could not stay. He went to the church and tried to say a rosary, but he could not concentrate. He went out and luckily met the whole school coming to church. Classes were over. With everybody else he returned to church for Benediction. When they came out of church, one of his teacher friends asked him what had happened. "Father Rector asked a question and told me to answer it. I told him I did not know the answer, but I could guess. Then he ordered me out of class telling me to go and guess outside."
"Have you quarrelled with him before?" the teacher friend asked.
"No, I have not."
"When he asks you about it again, tell him you will not say again that you can guess."
"Thanks, Father."
That advice notwithstanding, Macaria was sure he was going to be expelled. Other students were also sure that he would be sent home. Already some had written and given him letters to post for them in town on his way home. But then he was not sent for during the lunch hour. It was later, when he was in class, that Father Rector knocked at the door of their classroom and asked for him. Macaria left the class and found the Father waiting for him outside.
"Do you have anything to say to redeem yourself?" Father Rector asked Macaria.
"I will not say again that 'I can guess'."
"Go back to class."
As he went back to class, Macaria felt more relieved than he had felt for a long time. From the smile on his face when he returned to class, everybody knew that he had been spared the axe.
To avoid such incidents, Macaria would wake up at four and sometimes at three in the morning to study particular subjects, namely, Latin, Bible knowledge and now English. At the end of that term, Macaria got top marks in English and took the second position in class. Throughout, Macaria was never number one in class. But he was always among the top ten. And that helped to keep his expulsion permanently at bay. 

* * *

If there was anything that Macaria found difficult to observe in the seminary, it was silence. Yet silence was demanded all the time in class, in the dining room, in church and in dormitories. While Macaria agreed that silence was necessary in class, there were times when he simply could not help whispering something to the next boy in class or in the dining hall. When he was too tired to read, Macaria would need to talk to somebody or go to sleep. But sleep was forbidden before bedtime. Either in class or in the dormitory. So the easiest alternative was to talk and get punished. In dormitories, seminarians were required to go to bed in silence and wake up in the morning in silence. In the dining hall, seminarians were required to eat in silence. All in all, eating, reading, working and living in absolute silence irritated Macaria in the seminary just as it came to irritate him later in life when the state demanded it from him.
In the seminary, Macaria also had problems with too much physical work. Except for cooking, all the other manual work was done by boys. They kept the school compound, dormitories, dining hall, the church, Father's house and classrooms clean every day. They cut firewood for the kitchen every day and did all the work in the school shamba - all the planting and weeding. This work was far from easy and every student had to do it. Shunning it was quite a temptation for many including Macaria.
When students were not working or studying, there were games to go to. Macaria did not like games very much and always avoided going to the field. Instead of games, he preferred going to read in the bush. Macaria had successfully avoided going to the games for a long time until he was caught one day. He was coming from the dining hall when he was called by the games master, who obviously knew of Macaria's lack of interest in games.
"Joseph, you don't like games a lot, do you?"
"No, I don't, Father."
"I want you to join my basketball team."
"Father, I don't know how to play basketball."
"I want you to do something more than playing."
"What, Father?" Macaria asked somewhat perplexed.
"I want you to be the basketball team captain from tomorrow."
"But Father, I don't think I can manage that."
"If you can't manage, then prepare to go home tomorrow."
"Okay Father, I will try."
"That's better. I will want to see you at the basketball pitch tomorrow at 3.30 p.m."
"Yes, Father."
However difficult, playing basketball was easier than going home. So every day, Macaria played and managed the basketball team until he developed a liking for the game.
Another primary activity in the seminary was praying. Students woke up at 5.30 each morning and in absolute silence went directly to church where they prayed until about 6.30. At lunchtime, they went back to church for noon prayers. In the evening, before supper, they said the rosary in the church. And at 9.30 p.m. the were back in the church for night prayers. From church, they would go to the dormitories to sleep in absolute silence. Macaria prayed so much in the seminary that altogether, he spent more time praying in the seminary than he has spent praying all his life out of the seminary. In fact, he prayed so much that he wondered whether he was praying for anything at all or just praying out of habit. Sometimes, he thought he prayed aimlessly thereby disturbing God unnecessarily. In fact, when he left the seminary, Macaria was convinced that the Gikuyu people were right when they said that God should not be pestered with unnecessary prayers - "Ngai Ndagiagiagwo". He should be prayed to only when there is a real need.

* * *

In the seminary, Macaria used to stay in a one-storey building that was called Fort Jesus. Called after the old Portuguese Fort in Mombasa that is called Fort Jesus, the dormitory looked just as ancient and uninhabitable as the Portuguese Fort. Fort Jesus in the seminary housed the dining hall on the ground floor and a dormitory on the first storey. On the Eastern side of the dormitory, there was a big cross of open space that had been cut into the stone wall to serve as a ventilation and a window for the dorm and a source of religious inspiration for the poor souls which lived in the dorm. Macaria was living in this dorm when he was awakened very early in the morning of one day in his second year in the seminary. He was asked by his friend to look into the sky outside through the cross. What he saw in the sky awakened the deepest fears in him. He saw a very big object whose head reached far into the centre of the sky and its long hairy tail seemed to touch the earth. The object seemed to be made of fire or some very bright light. Macaria did not know what the object was. He thought it was the sign of the end of the world. Looking like fire, he thought the object was the torch that would light hell fire for burning sinners. Having seen the sign of the end, Macaria concluded that the end of the world had already come and it was just a matter of seconds or minutes before God, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Virgin Mary, Holy angels and all saints appeared in the sky in their full glory. Any moment, Macaria thought trumpets would begin to call the dead back to life. As Macaria thought of all this, he trembled in fear of meeting God when he was not yet ready to meet him. He felt sinful and wondered whether he would have enough time to pray for forgiveness before he came face to face with God. He took his rosary, got into the blankets and began to pray hard. He prayed several rosaries before he fell asleep and dreamt of seeing God, Jesus, Mary and angels in a bright sky all descending upon the world more leisurely than clouds. In the dream, Macaria heard bells and trumpets calling the dead back to life. Suddenly he was awakened by the big church bell that called sleeping students to go to church in the morning. He woke up in a hurry, dressed up, washed his face and rushed to church, still worried about what he had seen at night. When they left the church later, students started talking about the strange object that had appeared in the sky. They talked about it until they went to their morning classes when they were told by their science teacher that what they had seen in the sky was a comet and not the sign of the end of the world. Macaria felt greatly relieved. At least he would now have enough time to make peace with his God. 

* * *

The seminary was not solely a place of saintly beliefs. Other beliefs also managed to intrude into the souls of seminarians. The vicinity of Fort Jesus was not well lighted at night. And when the school generator was switched off after midnight, the whole of the school compound was plunged into total darkness if there was no moonlight. It was when it was dark that witches and witch doctors were said to stalk the compound in search of young souls they could kill and take away. When it was so dark, going to toilets outside the dorm was ill-advised. At least going alone was considered unthinkable. So when boys wanted to go to the toilet, they would wait until they were several and then they would brave the darkness and the lurking witches together. But if it was too dark and the witches were thought to be lurking nearby, boys were very scared of going out. It was one such night when Macaria went down the stairs of the dorm together with other boys on their way to toilet. There were several boys ahead of him. Because they were many, when the lead boy was at the door, Macaria was still at the bottom of the stairs. But this time, the lead boy was a coward. So when he opened the door, he shouted "witch" and closed it very fast. But by the time he bolted the door, the race for the dorm was already on. Macaria had the advantage of being nearest to the stairs. But when he heard "witch", he forgot it was dark and he needed to walk carefully up the stairs. He ran up the stairs without seeing anything at all. Fortunately, he managed to get to the top without stumbling over the steps. When he got to the top, he started running to his bed which was at the other end of the dorm. But this time, he missed the passage between the two rows of beds, ran into the steel Banco beds and stumbled over sleeping bodies. He got up and started running again. He missed the passage again and ran into other beds and fell again. He got up and ran into beds again. He fell over sleeping boys once more before he reached his bed. By the time he tucked himself into blankets, his legs hurt badly and felt wet. He knew he had been injured and his legs were bleeding, but there was no light with which he could examine his legs. He dressed his injuries in an old shirt and slept. In the morning he went to the priest's house for first aid treatment. The priest asked him what had hurt him, and he said it was a witch. The priest smiled knowingly.

* * *

In his desire for a better life and a better world, Macaria always felt impressed by and attracted to the type of life that men and women of the Catholic church - priests and nuns - lead. He could never help admiring the devotion with which these people surrendered their all to the kind of life they had chosen to lead. They seemed to have discovered a clear purpose for living, and living for that purpose seemed to give them a lot of satisfaction. To Macaria, these people lived together and shared everything like children of one mother and one father. They ate together. They worked together. The prayed together. To Macaria only one thing lacked in their lives, and their happiness would be complete - marriage and children. Often Macaria wondered why they did not adopt some children to live with. "But we call priests "Father" and senior nuns "Mother". Maybe they have adopted all Catholic Christians as their children. And being too many and most of them too big, they cannot live with them all. Still grown-ups adopted as children cannot be as pleasurable to have as children. There is always a difference. But maybe they don't miss children as I do, Macaria thought.
To Macaria, the type of life that priests and nuns lead was also the best life for other people. Plus children, of course. But bishops, priests and nuns never made any effort to popularize their kind of life among ordinary people. Why? Macaria wondered. The same life was organised and popularised among early Christians by the Apostles. "The group of believers was one in mind and heart. No one said that any of his belongings was his own, but they all shared with one another everything they had. There was no one in the group who was in need. Those who owned fields or houses would sell them, bring the money received from the sale and turn it over to the Apostles, and the money was distributed to each one according to his need." And in striking the corrupt Ananias and Sapphiria dead for cheating the others, God gave his approval to this kind of life for Christians. "So why is the same life not supported among the people by priests and nuns today? Are priests and nuns selfish in wanting to lead the good life alone? Or are they indifferent to the kind of lives that other people lead - miserable lives that are made unbearable by hunger, poverty, injustices, exploitation, oppression, humiliation and degradation?" Macaria asked himself all that and more questions. But as far as he could see, priests and nuns were worried only about how people would live in heaven, but not how poorly they lived on earth. But to Macaria, saving people from hunger, poverty, injustices, exploitation and humiliation was just as important as saving people from sin. After all, was starving others not a sin? Denying justice to others not a sin? Making others poor not a sin? Exploiting others not a sin? Oppressing others not a sin? Killing those who are powerless not a sin? The devil seemed to have won the earth from God and had turned it into a hell for most people. Was it not the duty of the church to win the world back from the devil and turn it into a heaven for God's people? These were difficult questions, but in the seminary, Macaria had no one to ask. To Macaria, the seminary was not a part of the society. It was a world apart. Therefore, problems of the people, problems of living and problems of governing were never discussed in the seminary. People there were social recluses and to them, the world and its problems did not exist. Throughout the time Macaria was in the seminary, sinful political and economic systems like colonialism, apartheid and dictatorship were never mentioned or discussed, leave alone condemned. Yes, the church did build schools and hospitals and all these helped to alleviate the poverty and the suffering of the people. But why did they not want to get to the root of the problem? How could planters of the seeds of love expect a bountiful harvest if the fields were not cleared of weeds, thorns and stones, which would surely smother and kill plants of love? In a world that killed, starved, exploited and oppressed, where was room for love? No, priests could not be the salt of the world if they kept themselves apart from the people and all their problems.
One time, Macaria and fellow classmates came very close to discussing a political problem with their teachers. A version of the Bible they used in class carried notes which helped to clarify knotty points in the Bible. Below the story of Noah and his three sons, Shem, Japheth and Ham, there were notes which explained that Ham, who had looked at his father naked, was the ancestor of black people who were cursed and condemned to be the slaves of white and Asian peoples, the descendants of Shem and Japheth. Macaria and his fellow classmates asked Father Rector whether what these notes said was true and whether these notes also represented the teaching of the Church. He answered that these notes had to be understood spiritually and not literally, but they were otherwise true.
"Why does the Church then preach to Africans, if they are already cursed and condemned?" one of the boys asked.
"To convert them," Father Rector answered.
"But this curse is irrevocable. We shall always be the hewers of wood and drawers of water for the white and Asian peoples. How can Africans be saved if they are irrevocably cursed?"
"They will be saved in heaven, not here on earth."
"But hasn't God got the power to save them here on earth first?"
"He has, but those are not his intentions."
"What about us? We want to be priests here on earth. How will that be if we are already cursed and condemned to be slaves of white people? Shall we be priests and slaves at the same time?"
The Father began to blush and get furious.
"Who is teaching you these things?"
"We just read them in the bible, Father."
"Then I don't want you reading those kind of things again."
"But Father, they are there in the bible. We are not making them up."
"I don't want to hear this kind of talk in my class again", said the Rector with clear finality. He then got his books and stormed out of class. Hours later, all those bibles were collected from us and burnt in a big heap of old and discarded books. Later, other bibles were given that had no embarrassing notes. But the problem of shunning people's problems persisted. In fact, so much so that it caught up with the small community of the seminary itself. Seminarians led a life that was very much inferior to that of priests who taught them. Understandably, priests were qualified and seminarians were still in the kindergarten of priesthood. But their basic human needs were the same just as the basic needs of parents and children are the same. Although the seminary was a small community, priests and seminarians lived separately and unequally. Leading an inferior sort of life, seminarians had a lot to complain about. Often their food was bad and Macaria wondered whether this was a punishment or a part of priestly training. Macaria never forgot the time when they had to eat "Ugali" and drink "Uji" that smelt of paraffin so strongly that when they belched, they belched paraffin. The flour that was used in cooking that Ugali and Uji had been contaminated with paraffin. But instead of throwing away the contaminated flour, it was used to make Ugali and Uji for students.
Another time, seminarians found cooked rats in the vegetables. The rats had dropped into the cooking pots from the roof of the kitchen. They complained. But instead of having fresh vegetables cooked for them, Father Rector ate those vegetables to prove that there was really nothing wrong with them. Other times, seminarians lacked books in this or that subject. And always too many boys were getting expelled from the seminary for reasons that were never clear. In all this, the first thing that students asked for was a meeting with Father Rector. But meetings between students and Father Rector to discuss student problems were considered bad for discipline and almost never granted. In fact, it  seemed to Macaria as if the ability of students to endure difficult conditions like bad food was seen as proof that students had a calling to priesthood. Equally, if students lacked patience with bad food and other problems and complained about them, that was seen as proof that people complaining were rebels who could not possibly have a calling to priesthood. So it seemed to Macaria as if bad food and other problems were deliberately preserved as a sieve of separating the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. But so preserved, problems always came to a head when students went on a strike. Yet, to Macaria, going on a strike was the most natural thing for people who had been denied a dialogue with authorities and whose problems would not be solved. How else could such people attract the attention of authorities? It always puzzled Macaria that seminary authorities always lacked swiftness and firmness in dealing with student problems, but moved with excessive swiftness and firmness when putting down strikes and expelling student leaders.
It might not have been obvious to everybody, but to Macaria, the Church suffered from too much government and too little democracy. And as part of the Church, seminary administration suffered from the same problem. Therefore, in the seminary, asking uncomfortable questions was always frowned upon and frankness was never rewarded. To survive in such an atmosphere, soon, students discovered that it was necessary to be dishonest and hypocritical, never to speak one's mind and to endure any hardship for the sake of survival. Though lack of honesty and frankness allowed some students to survive in the seminary, it made them moral cowards and bad Catholics.
At the end of each year, many students in Form Two were expelled as unfit for priesthood. Some of those expelled were popular students who looked to fellow-students like perfect candidates for priesthood. Some of these never broke school rules, were never late to church, expressed their desire to be priests openly and worked hard at their studies. So their expulsion was always a riddle to other students. Soon there was a theory in the seminary that maybe such students had been too frank and honest in the confession box. They might have confessed to Father Rector some sins that had disqualified them from priesthood. And not knowing what those sins were, many students became wary of going to confess to their priest-teachers. They would confess only when there was a visiting priest. Afraid of taking risks, Macaria for one chose to keep out of the confession box for good. An maybe that is what saved him from expulsion in the seminary.
To survive in the seminary, absolute obedience was necessary. To Macaria it seemed as if to Church authorities absolute obedience, including blind obedience was an irreproachable virtue and all higher authorities were always right and to be obeyed without question. This seemed to explain why seminary authorities and teachers brooked no criticism either of themselves or any other authorities, including bad governments.
The Church seemed to demand absolute obedience to higher authorities including its own on the grounds that all authorities come from God and Church authorities were more or less infallible. There was one priest who always made a point of reading Romans 13 to seminarians just to make sure that they did not forget why they had to obey teachers.
"Everyone must obey state authorities, because no authority exists without God's permission, and the existing authorities have been put there by God. Whoever opposes the existing authority opposes what God has ordered; and anyone who does so will bring judgement on himself."
This was the quotation that was used to justify all rules and all punishments. As long as God was behind every authority, as long as disobeying authorities was seen as disobedience to God, then any punishment, however cruel, was justified because it was approved by God. "But if existing authorities have been put there by God and whoever opposes the existing authority opposes what God has ordered, does it mean that men must forever suffer under colonialism, apartheid, dictatorship and slave masters, because opposing these authorities is opposing God?" Macaria wondered with disbelief. Macaria could not help feeling that St. Paul was wrong on this issue and that if oppressed people paid heed to him, they would never be free. But if God was for all authority, then He must also be opposed to the freedom and economic well-being of those who are enslaved by those in authority and those who were victims of those in authority. To those in authority, He was a kind God. To the victims of bad authority, He was a cruel God.
But St. Paul was part of the Church. And Macaria had learnt from the priest who taught them science that there were many questions on which the Church had punished people for contradicting its teaching, but had been proven wrong by science. For instance, the Church had punished Galileo and Nicholas Copernicus for contradicting its teaching that the sun moved from East to West and that the earth was flat. But later, it was accepted that the Church was wrong on both points. The earth is round and it moves around the sun. From such an example, it seemed obvious to Macaria that the Church is not infallible. Now, if the Church is not infallible, St. Paul could not be infallible either and his teaching on absolute obedience to all authorities is definitely questionable. Macaria could not see how oppressed people could be expected to continue believing in the God of St. Paul if that God continued to sanction bad authorities and demand people's obedience to them. It seemed obvious that if St. Paul's doctrine was not abandoned, the Church would never be able to defend justice and freedom of the poor and the oppressed. In fact, instead of working for justice and the liberation of the oppressed, if the Church upheld the teaching of St. Paul on state authorities, it would be making itself an obvious accomplice in the oppression of the people by turning Christianity into something that was used for the domestication of the poor and the weak Christians in readiness for oppression and exploitation by the powerful and the rich who controlled state authorities. Because the Church had used St. Paul's doctrine to defend bad state authorities and forbade people's rebellion against them, it had left itself open to charges that it was using religion as an opiate of the poor and the oppressed. If the Church did not abandon St. Paul's teaching, or at least interpret "state authorities" to mean good, or people's, state authorities, Macaria could not see how the charge against the Church could be refuted. If the Church did not abandon this teaching, Macaria saw the possibility of something worse happening on top of the charge that religion was being used as an opiate of the people. Poor and oppressed people would find it impossible to identify themselves with a God who sanctioned the existence of enemy authorities, sanctioned their oppression and opposed their freedom from the rule of such authorities. They would then abandon the God of St. Paul and embrace any other God who stood against bad authorities, oppression of the poor, injustices and defend the freedom and liberation of the poor. 
Anyway, despite the hard phase of his seminary life when he had to wrestle with problems of obeying every single rule in the Seminary law book, Macaria was lucky to survive through second year in Form Two, the year considered most difficult in Seminary life. The eve of the school closing day was both a festive and sad night. Festive because students had music and dancing and ate especially good food - rice, meat and tea. But the night was also sad because it was the night when a lot of Form Two students were expelled from the Seminary and had to say farewell to the rest, who were making merry in celebration of their survival. That night, all seminarians were called into the office of Father Rector one by one. On entering the office, one found Father Rector in his seat of authority and majesty and a huge bundle of sealed envelopes on the table in front of him. For those who were lucky, Father Rector greeted them nicely, gave them their report cards and congratulated them on their good performance and behaviour, wished them good holidays, hoped to see them back the following year and wished them a very good night. For the unlucky ones, Father Rector greeted them rather sadly, told them he was sorry that they would be leaving the Seminary for good, wished them good luck elsewhere and handed them one of the sealed envelopes from the bundle. The sealed envelope was particularly dreaded because, whoever got it, had certainly been expelled. It was like a death warrant although all it carried was a leaving certificate which confirmed that the bearer had been in the Seminary for two years and a recommendation to be assisted wherever next he went. When Macaria went into the Rector's office and emerged out of it without the dreaded envelope, he knew that unless he did something really terrible, his survival in the seminary was now more less guaranteed.
When Macaria returned to start his third year in the Seminary, he found that though his chances of survival in the Seminary were now good, he was beginning to lose a grip on his desire for priesthood. At first, he thought he was going through a temporary depression. But his disinterest persisted and grew stronger. He began to fear that if he could not become a priest, he might never gain his spiritual salvation. After all, he had heard people say that people who quit the Seminary on their own displeased God so much that He cursed them, made them mad and denied them all success in life. When he got into his fourth year, Macaria decided to see one of his priest-friends for advice.
"Father, I need your advice."
"What about, Joseph?"
"I have a problem."
"What problem?"
"Father, I don't feel like wanting to be a priest."
"Why?"
"I just don't feel like being one."
"Are you praying about it?"
"Yes, I am praying for guidance all the time. But my loss of interest continues. Father, what could this mean?"
"Could be, God wants you elsewhere."
"But I will be cursed if I leave the Seminary. People say that such persons are always cursed and made mad by God."
"Nonsense. Who says you will be cursed if you don't become a priest? Are all the people who are not priests mad? If you are losing your interest in priesthood, it is because God is freeing you from that vocation. You made your application to God for admission into priesthood. God is now making his reply. If his reply is negative, remember many are called, but few are chosen. It is not your fault if God does not choose you to be a priest. Maybe he wants you to do something else. Mark you, all work of salvation is not done by priests. Priests only do some of the work."
"Thanks, Father. I was so afraid that I would be destroyed and never gain spiritual salvation."
"But Joseph, all saints were not priests. Heaven is not for priests alone. Whoever told you that you will not gain spiritual salvation if you don't become a priest? You may leave the Seminary and still do a lot of God's work. There is a lot of God's work to be done out of the Church. But continue to pray. You may still recover your interest."
Macaria continued to pray, but he did not recover his interest in priesthood. He felt embarrassed about it. He felt like a cheat. And more so because in his last two years in the Seminary, priests had greatly liberalised and democratised their administration of the Seminary. This denied Macaria a pretext under which he could reject priesthood. The Seminary was moved to new grounds with beautiful buildings and the ugly Fort Jesus was no more. More books were bought. Food was greatly improved. There was no more manual work of fetching and cutting firewood. Students were free to air their grievances every day, when having meals in the dining hall and a students advisory council was popularly elected by students to assist Father Rector in keeping school discipline in touch with student problems and in keeping good relations with teachers. This students advisory council had so much clout that it could even ask teachers to appear before it if it had sufficient evidence against them. And Macaria was a member of this council.
Once reports reached the students council that a certain priest was behaving immorally towards students. When the report first came, it was dismissed as lies, but the student insisted that his report was true. To prove his allegation, he offered to take a friend of his with him next time the Father offered him an outing. So next time he was asked to dress for another trip, he asked the priest to let him bring his friend along. When the two young boys went out for the outing, the priest repeated his adventures with them. When they reported that the priest had done the same things again, the priest was then called before the council. When he appeared, he was nearly in tears.
"Father, we have some allegations that we wish to make known to you. Should we proceed?'
"There is no need for that. I think I know what the allegations are."
"But we need to discuss them with you."
"I am not contesting anything, and I am begging you to let us end the matter here. Those things will not be done again."
"Father, are you saying what has been reported to us is true? We wanted to call the boys as witnesses."
"There is no need for witnesses."
"How do you propose to end this matter, Father?'
"It will not be repeated."
"But the matter is a scandal already, and it will certainly mar your relationship with boys. Your moral standing is already affected. We thought the best solution is for you to leave the Seminary. Of course, you have been an excellent teacher and we will certainly miss you, but what can we do?"
"I will discuss your proposal with Father Rector."
"We are very sorry about this, Father."
"I am grateful we have co-operated in ending the matter."
"Don't mention it, Father."
When the priest left, the council was already feeling sorry that it had raised the matter with him. It was feeling sorry for him. However, in all honesty, if the matter had not been raised, it would have become more of a scandal. Two weeks later, the priest was out of the Seminary.
When Macaria ended his fourth year in the Seminary, he knew he would not be going to the major Seminary. But he was not turning his back on God's work. If he could not be a planter of God's seeds, he wanted to clean and weed in God's garden. Macaria felt certain that if it had been necessary for John the Baptist to prepare the way for Christ, it was also necessary for people today to make the world a better place for the coming of the Kingdom of God. Now that Macaria was not going to be a priest, he wanted to assist in the transformation of the world into a better place for men, women and children of God. And for that task, Macaria felt that life in the seminary had been a good training in two ways. One, it had taught him to doubt that all authorities are put there by God. Two, it had also taught him that Church and State authorities are not always right. They are neither infallible nor unquestionable.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 7

Macaria had been lucky to pass his Form Four examinations very well. So after leaving the seminary, he was easily employed as a teacher in a private secondary school in Kiu town. It was his first job and it excited him a great deal. He felt so happy because he would now have his own money, his own house and be boss over his own life.
Macaria was paid his first salary at the beginning of his first month at work. So with his first salary, he rented a house with a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom and a toilet. For Macaria, this his first house was a palace. It was his first dream come true. He bought a bed, a mattress and beddings to sleep in. Then he bought a new brown sofa set of three. And for his soul food, he bought a radiogramme and records of the latest Gikuyu, Swahili and English pop music. He bought himself two suits, two pairs of shoes, a wrist watch, 3 shirts, 3 pairs of socks and 2 ties and was now all set to begin his new life as a teacher. He then bought a pair of trousers, a pair of shoes, a shirt and a coat for his father and a pair of shoes, a headscarf and a beautiful dress for his mother. To what he had bought for his father and mother, Macaria added a few kilos of sugar and meat and some loaves of bread and went home to see his family. When he arrived, Macaria was received home like a hero. His father slaughtered a goat and they had a big feast together to celebrate his employment. Before returning to Kiu town, Macaria also gave his father money for his brother's school fees. His brother was in Form One in a nearby Catholic High School.

* * *

Macaria was a shy man. He was particularly shy before women. Standing before students who were almost his own age was therefore not easy. So to overcome this difficulty, Macaria bought a pair of dark sun-glasses which he wore in school in and out of class. When girls in the school saw this, they thought Macaria was trying to look cute. So some of them also started coming to school in sun-glasses. And who could stop them? After all, they were not breaking any school rule. Seeing that there was no effort to stop them wearing sun-glasses in school, the girls got bolder. When Macaria went into class wearing sun-glasses therefore, some of these girls would take sun-glasses out of their bags and wear them also. Macaria knew he was being provoked by these girls. He also knew that boys in class were keenly watching to see what would be his reaction to the girls' insolence. The first time this happened, Macaria knew that if he did not do something about it, he would not be able to handle this particular class discipline-wise. He wrote a question on the blackboard and asked one of the girls in sun-glasses to read it out and answer it. But the girl mischievously said, "I can't read the question. Can you read it for me, please?"
"Why can't you read the question?" Macaria asked trying to control his temper.
"I can't see the blackboard", the girl answered as the whole class chuckled and sniggered. Macaria was now dead serious. he knew this was a battle he had to win, or lose the war.
"Why can't you see the blackboard?"
"I can't see in sun-glasses."
"Take them off, then."
"But you have yours on. Why should I remove mine?" The whole class now burst into laughter. Macaria then said quite calmly:
"You see, some of you here are mistaken. We are not all here to do the same thing. I am here to teach you, earn my money and go home. But you are here to learn from me, study your lessons and pass your examinations. Now, instead of  teaching, some of you want me to start playing with you. And instead of learning, some of you want to start playing with me. Now, if you people want us to start playing, it is all fine with me. After all, I have nothing to lose. I will still get my money at the end of each month and will have no examinations to pass at the end of the term or at the end of the year. I am teaching here because I have already passed my own exams. But after playing with me, bear in mind that you will still need to pass your exams and if you don't pass them, you will never be able to get a job like the one I have. This is a private school and your parents are paying a lot of money to keep you here. Now, if you want to play and waste all that money, it is up to you. When I came in here, I wanted to teach, but since you are ready to play and not to learn, I will leave you to play and come back later when you are ready to take off your sun-glasses and learn." Macaria then took his books and left the class. For the next two days, he went nowhere near that class. When he was supposed to be in that class, Macaria stayed in the office and prepared his teaching lessons. But after three days, a delegation of students was sent to him to apologise.
"We came to say our class is sorry and ask you to come back to our class."
"Are you now ready to learn?"
"Yes, we are."
"But the whole class did not offend me. Are those who offended me sorry for their play in the class?'
"Yes, they are."
"Why can't they come and say sorry themselves. Go and get them to come and say sorry themselves if you want me back in class." They left and came back shortly with the offending girls.
"We are sorry, sir", one of them said.
"You don't want to play in class any more?"
"No sir, we want to learn."
"Okay. I will come to class tomorrow."
"Thank you, sir."
The following day, Macaria went into that class to find none in sun-glasses and everyone all attention. For the whole of that day and thereafter, Macaria did not have any more trouble in that class. But out of class, girls continued to pester him. If he passed a group of girls, they would giggle and someone in the group would say, "I want to play, but not in class." As a young man, Macaria knew that girls hungered for him. But Macaria knew that he could not play with girls in his class and be safe. Any girl he tried to be friends with would end up demanding more than sex from him. They would demand marriage. And Macaria was then not prepared to marry. He wanted to go to the university if he could manage to study for and pass his higher school certificate privately. Knowing there was no way he could abandon a girl student he had put in the family way, Macaria thought it safer not to get entangled with his own students. But the more Macaria tried to avoid the girls, the harder the girls tried to net him. It was as if among girls, there was a contest as to who would conquer him first.
Macaria also avoided girl students in his school because in love affairs between male teachers and girl students, the teacher was always condemned as the exploiter of the student. Already, there was a best seller Gikuyu song called "Ndariya Mwarimu" (Teacher's Darling) which condemned such love affairs as exploitative of girl students. But while in the song, it is the married teacher who entices the girl student, in Macaria's situation, it was the girl students who tried to entrap the unmarried teacher. Be that as it may, if the girl became pregnant and was not married by the teacher, it is the teacher who would take all the blame.

* * *

In school, Macaria taught those subjects which had been his best subjects in school. Those in which he had done best in his exams. He taught Geography, Kiswahili, Bible knowledge, English and History. By and by, his students began to realise that, though young, Macaria was a good teacher. They liked his subjects and Macaria did his best to assist them. As a teacher, Macaria remembered that as a student, he had done best in subjects which were taught by teachers who were also his friends. He knew students liked to work hard at subjects which were taught by their teacher-friends. No student who had a teacher-friend would like to let his friend down by failing his subject. So, slowly but surely, he encouraged measured friendship with his students. He even encouraged them to visit him at home if they needed his assistance outside school hours. Later when his students sat for their exams, Macaria felt proud that most of them did well in his subjects. Their good performance made Macaria happy in the knowledge that his first battle in class over sun-glasses was not fought in vain.

* * *

Though Macaria was no longer afraid of facing students and did not wear sun-glasses any more, he still suffered from shyness. Shyness had been a problem for Macaria since he was very young. As a small boy, Macaria would run away if he came home and found visitors. But one day, Macaria could not run away. Some women visitors had come home when Macaria was alone and sound asleep on the grass outside their house. They sat down on the grass next to him and waited for him to wake up. When Macaria woke up, he opened his eyes and saw women whom he did not know. He knew they were visitors. Too shy to face them, he pretended to go back to sleep. And then "slept", and "slept", and "slept" for many hours. The visitors began to get worried that maybe the boy was not well. They tried to turn him over and wake him up, but the harder they tried, the more Macaria pretended to be dead asleep. Finally, they decided that one of them would go to fetch a medical officer while the other remained with him. After a while, the one who remained behind decided to go to the toilet. Moments later, when she came out of the toilet, Macaria was nowhere to be seen. He had taken off. It was very embarrassing for the visitors when the medical officer came and found no sick bird to treat because it had flown away. Macaria was shy to the point of being ridiculous.
Later in the primary school, Macaria seemed to grow even more shy. He always remembered how he hated school debates. If he knew there would be a debate in his class after lessons, he found it easier to sneak out of school and risk a beating than stay around and risk being called upon to speak. Whenever he was called upon to speak, he got so frightened of his audience that sweat would drip down his armpits in big drops. When he was before an audience, Macaria could neither see, think nor speak clearly. It was as a teacher then that Macaria decided to consciously train himself as a public speaker. In school, he felt he had a chance to do so confidently because he did not have to fear students who were not his superiors in knowledge. Unfortunately for Macaria, there was no debating club in the school where he now taught. So he decided to organise one. But as soon as the club was organised, it became very popular. Popular with most students and popular with most teachers. So while Macaria had expected to be quite comfortable with an audience of about 40 students, he discovered that talking and arguing before an audience of 200 students and teachers was an altogether different thing. But having started the club, Macaria could not just pull out of it. And yet having problems with big audiences of students could be particularly unnerving and embarrassing for Macaria because a teacher was always expected to do everything better than students. Moreover, when students saw a teacher sweating and stumbling over words before them, they could be quite merciless with him - whistling, catcalling, booing and jeering. To make it worse, here were some students who were superbly confident on the stage. When Macaria compared himself with them, he felt quite useless.
To overcome his stage fright, Macaria left no stone unturned. He took a lot of time turning over in his mind whatever was the subject of debate. He would look up every fact and information about it.  And this worked wonders for him. It made the audience supportive and improved his confidence. Macaria always talked better before a supportive audience and whenever he knew what he was talking about. But being informed and having a friendly audience was not enough. He needed to feel at ease with a hostile or disagreeable audience. He needed to be able to think clearly on the stage even when he was not on very familiar grounds. And he wanted to feel confident when he was heckled, interrupted, contradicted or asked a question. To gain this confidence, Macaria had initially found it necessary to take a tot or two of brandy or vodka just before going onto the stage. This gave him the courage to speak, but left his mind muddled up with alcohol. And muddled up he could not think clearly. Alcohol also weakened him physically and made him stagger on the stage. One day, Macaria took one tot too many, got too weak in the legs and nearly staggered himself off the table while talking. So, he dropped taking alcohol as soon as he was confident enough to speak without it. Another necessary aid to confidence which Macaria discovered was the feeling that those who listened to him, were not any better than him. It is very difficult to talk confidently to people one is afraid of. So, a good public speaker must never fear his audience. But Macaria's best booster as a public speaker was more and more practice in public speaking. Speaking publicly as often as possible and to as many different audiences as possible was to turn out to be Macaria's best school for public speaking. Public speaking is like any other skill. Practice improves the skill and lack of practice kills the skill.
Macaria discovered that speaking to a different audience is different and more difficult than speaking to the same audience when he took a team of his school debaters to take part in a joint debate with another school. When they got there, unexpectedly Macaria was asked to say a few words to all the debaters before the commencement of the debate. Caught completely off guard, Macaria found that he had absolutely nothing to say to this larger and unfamiliar audience. Worse still, Macaria must have said very badly whatever nothing he had to say. In fact, up to now, Macaria does not remember what he said at all during the one or two minutes he was before his strange audience. He was so frightened that he came off stage with sweat on is face and he stumbled rather than walked to and from the rostrum.
Despite these set-backs, Macaria continued to improve upon his confidence in public speaking as he lost more and more of his shyness before people, particularly people he had not met before. In fact, by the time he left his teaching job, Macaria was already some kind of a public speaker.
Because of his new well-known prowess in public speaking, Macaria was one day invited by his friends to accompany them to a "Ruracio" (dowry) ceremony as the spokesperson for the boy's side. But although Macaria had learnt the danger of alcohol to somebody who was going to give a speech, he made a mistake of succumbing to the persuasion of his friends that it was improper to go to such an important ceremony while sober. So a decision was made by all of them to get into a bar in town and take a few bottles before proceeding to the ceremony. As soon as they were in the bar, they fell into an argument about a new brand of beer called "Kenya One" that was supposed to be so strong that most beer drinkers could not finish three bottles and remain conscious. Though Macaria was not a good or regular drinker of strong beer, he insisted that he was quite capable of finishing three bottles of "Kenya One". His friends doubted his ability and challenged him to do so if he could. Macaria accepted the challenge, now completely oblivious of the task that was still ahead of them. The three bottles of "Kenya One" were ordered for him and he fell upon them with a determination that convinced his friends that they had not a chance of winning the bet. They all continued to drink until Macaria finished his three "Kenya Ones". But by the time he finished, the bet was already forgotten. So he called for a Pilsner and continued to drink. After finishing his Pilsner, they agreed to go home and prepare themselves to go to the dowry ceremony. They walked a mile or two in the sun before they got to the pert of town where all their homes were. But on the way, they considered themselves thirsty before they got home. So, they stepped into another bar to quench their so-called thirst. When they got in, they ordered some more beers. After finishing one more Pilsner, Macaria excused himself to go to the toilet. When he stood up, he noticed that he was not steady, that he was in fact staggering. Otherwise, he felt very very happy. He staggered into the toilet and.....lost his consciousness!
When Macaria woke up, he thought he had heard some children talk. But his house had no children. So, "Where the hell am I?" Macaria wondered. Then he heard again, "Mama, Mama, the man has woken up, the man has woken up, Mama." He now knew they were talking about him, but he was in somebody else's home. He looked about him. There was smelly vomit on his clothes and in the bed he was sleeping in. "But whose house is this?" he continued to wonder. He saw a child open the door into the room he was in again and look at him. He turned in bed and faced the wall. He covered himself up and pretended he had gone back to sleep. "Mama, Mama, the man has gone back to sleep again", the child said running out of the room. He felt like an animal under observation in a zoo. Macaria wanted to get up and go. But he could not get up in his terrible state and when the mother and the children were looking on. He could not bear the embarrassment. But when the child closed the door, Macaria uncovered his face and raised his eyes to look at a picture that hung on the wall. He saw it was the picture of the brother of his friend. He now knew where he was. He had been to this house before. But he felt terrible. How had he come to this house and what time was it? He looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock at night. "Where are my friends?" his mind asked. He could see they were not around. Then he remembered that they were all to go to a dowry ceremony. He remembered that lastly they were in a bar to take one for the road before going home to dress up for the ceremony. "Did they go without me?" he wondered. He knew he must have been lying there for about 9 hours because it was about one o'clock when they were in the bar. "What happened?" he asked himself. But he remembered nothing between the time he went to the toilet and the time he woke up. He started thinking of how he could get out of where he was without being seen. Then he heard the mother tell the children, "Let's go to bed. It is time to sleep." Moments later, Macaria heard another door open and close. He suspected the woman of the house was giving him an opening to escape unobserved. He quietly got up from the bed, put on his shoes, tiptoed to the door, opened it as quietly as he could, got himself out and quietly closed the door behind him and off into the street he went heading directly for his house. He was lucky nobody he knew saw him in his mess as he went home. When he got home, he took off his dirty clothes, threw them into the bathroom, took a shower and slept.
The following day, his friends came to see him. He was still nursing a terrible hangover. They told him how he had collapsed in the toilet, how they had carried him on their shoulders across town residential areas with a multitude of children following behind them like they were the pied pipers, and how they had put him to bed in the house he woke up in. After leaving him there in a total blackout, they had gone to the dowry ceremony, but being too drunk, they had made a mess of everything there. Because the parents of the girl, whose hand in marriage was being sought, did not drink alcohol at all, letting Macaria's drunk friends into their "Christian" home was barely possible. Beyond that, they found the drunken company of Macaria's friends an intolerable nuisance. Having spoiled the first ceremony, Macaria's friends now planned to go back there again when sober to make amends. On his part, Macaria felt very embarrassed and promised himself never to drink alcohol again. For entertainment, Macaria now spent more time with films, music and girlfriends.
In those days going to films was still cheap. So Macaria went to movies whenever he had no lessons to prepare and whenever he had a drinking urge to kill. Though he had sworn never to drink alcohol again, the thirst for alcohol still haunted him. Whenever he had free time, it was the urge to drink a cold beer that came to him. Whenever he felt thirsty, it was a cold beer that came to his mind. Before he had looked for a cold beer whenever he was thirsty. Now he was surprised that the same thirst could be quenched with a glass of cold water. Whenever he was lonely before, he looked for his drinking friends. And whenever they were together, they always went to drink beer. Now, whenever he felt lonely, he went to visit his girlfriend who worked for a bank in town. They would spend a lot of time listening to music either in her house or in his. And when they were bored with music, they walked to a cinema for a movie.
Most films which they watched were either Western or Asian, and Macaria wondered why so many years after independence, Kenyans had been unable to develop a film industry for making African films that could propagate African values, African morals and African aspirations? So far, he had seen only one African film from West Africa - "Love Brewed In An African Pot". Macaria liked the film and wished there were many more like it. Anyway, most of the Western films they saw were cheap sex stories or Western cold war films against Russia and Communism. There were also many films which had a terrible racial bias against Black people. But most infuriating were those film which had been shot in Kenya, but depicted Africans as half-witted, second rate human being or zombies. He wondered why an African government would allow such films to be made here or shown in the country's cinemas when their express purpose was to denigrate the African. Macaria thought that such films should be shown only if there were others to defend the African image. Macaria was amazed at the power of films to influence the behaviours of young people like himself. When a film had glorified romance, Macaria would leave the cinema literally on fire. When a film had glorified a Karate or Judo fight, on coming out, Macaria and his girlfriend had to keep a safe distance from the young viewers of such a film to avoid getting a Karate chop from them. When a drinking brawl was glorified in a film, there were some viewers who would think it heroic to go and start a drunken brawl in a bar. Fashions, mannerisms, sex habits, accents, life styles and world views were all being copied from these films by young people most unconsciously.
Of all these films, Macaria was attracted most to political films or African American films where racism was fought against. He particularly liked films which starred actors like Sydney Poitier. He also loved films that glorified black beauty like "Cleopatra Jones". But his girlfriend did not care a hoot about politics or racism. In fact, it worried Macaria that his girlfriend was so completely brain-washed that she loved everything white and felt irritated by his particular interest in black actors. To her, being beautiful meant being as white as a white woman. And her image of a real great man was one who most closely resembled one of those white guys she saw in films, like Clint Eastwood. She had even named her son after Clint Eastwood. When it came to reviewing films and Macaria saw how much his girlfriend adored white people, he wondered how long he was going to last as her boyfriend or why he was tolerated at all. Sometimes, he guessed it was only because no white boy had come along yet. So to avoid his girlfriend's denigration of his favourite black actors and her defence of racist white attitudes, Macaria sometimes preferred watching only love films with her. Then they would go in one, come out one, go back one and spend the night one.
But the one film which impressed Macaria most was a film on Britain's Oliver Cromwell. It was a film mainly about the misrule of King Charles One of Britain. In the film, one could see King's soldiers confiscating people's properties as taxes, King's soldiers brutally beating people who resisted the confiscation of their properties and King's soldiers cutting off ears and noses of people who were termed as rebels. King's soldiers could also be seen chasing people into church and beating them there. When parliament complained about this tyranny, the King sent soldiers to go and arrest the complaining members of parliament. The leader of the rebellious members of parliament was Oliver Cromwell. And rather than be arrested, Cromwell and his friends ran away to organise a people's army which fought a war against the King's army and won after 7 years. In 1649, people's victory culminated in the execution of King Charles One. After victory, members of parliament were given immunity against arrest for what they said in parliament. Tragically however, soon after victory, people's parliament became corrupt. In fact, MPs became so corrupt that they began conspiring how to make themselves irremovable. In the film, members of parliament are seen and heard telling each other how they ought to prolong their stay in parliament to avoid the risk of non-election if they went back to the people for an election. In the meantime, they are also heard justifying their corruption with the argument that it was quite normal for them to use parliament to derive maximum  material benefits for themselves. But what struck Macaria as most interesting and remarkable about the conversations of these 17th century British MPs was that they reminded him of Kenyan MPs in the 20th century. He wondered how it could be that 20th century MPs thought about self-aggrandisement along the same lines and in the same words as 17th century British MPs. Macaria wondered whether that meant that the political Kenya is today where Britain was in 1650, or that everywhere corrupt men of today reason in the same way as corrupt men of 300 years ago? Or does it mean both? Though not able to answer those questions directly, Macaria knew that in pursuit of their greed for power and material wealth, Kenyan MPs thought and talked like those 17th century British MPs he had seen in the film. And though the similarity of the 20th century Kenyan MPs with 17th century British MPs depressed him and made him think that the institution of parliament has always been corrupt, he took heart in Cromwell's words and action against those corrupt MPs. He dismissed parliament with words to the effect that an irremovable parliament is a worse tyranny than an irremovable King.

* * *

It did not take Macaria long before he started asking himself whether all he wanted to be in life was an untrained teacher in a private secondary school. He knew he had several options open to him. He could easily move from teaching to another job. He could go to Form Five. Or he could also easily apply for and get a place in a teacher training college. Finally, he settled for a very different sort of option. He decided to keep his untrained teaching job and study privately for his A-level exams. But with a full time job and much fun to forgo, would he really be able to discipline himself and study? Macaria was not sure. He knew it was easier to have fun than to study. He also knew that to study without a job was easier than to study with a full time job. But he also knew that studying for A-level exams in the same subjects he taught at school would make study much easier than studying subjects which were unrelated to his work. To make sure he studied, Macaria knew the first step was to book himself for exams. So immediately he booked himself for January A-level London GCE exams. And having registered himself for the exams, he did not want to fail. The difficult race was now on.
To make sure he got time for study, Macaria became a social hermit and workaholic. As usual, he would be at school at 8 a.m. in the morning. He would remain there teaching until 4 p.m. After four, he would go home. But on the way home, Macaria would stop at a nearby hotel and eat his supper. Reaching home, he would lock his door, draw his curtains to shut out light and indicate that there was nobody at home. He would then go into bed and sleep from about 5 p.m. to midnight. At midnight, he would wake up and read for his A-levels until morning when he would take his breakfast and prepare himself to go to school. This as a daily routine was not an easy job for him. It demanded so much energy that by the time he did his exams, Macaria was physically devastated.
And just before exams, Macaria got into a little problem with the headmaster. Though the examination centre was in another town, nearly 60 miles away from Kiu town, the headmaster would not agree to give Macaria three weeks leave to go and do his exams. He wanted Macaria to go to his exams from Kiu town each morning and report back to school immediately after writing his papers each day. Macaria could not agree with this arrangement for two reasons. He needed time to revise and compose himself before each individual exam and he could not risk travelling to the exam centre each morning from where he lived for fear of failing to reach the exam centre in time. But the headmaster was adamant and would not grant him permission not to be at school during the exam period. In the circumstances, Macaria had no choice. He rebelled as all people do when they are pushed to the wall. Without headmaster's permission, Macaria stopped going to school for the three weeks over which the exams lasted.
After his exams, Macaria returned to school and resumed work. After one week, the month was over. But when Macaria went for his pay, the headmaster would not give him. But his pay was not something Macaria could give up.
"I demand to get paid for the whole of last month."
"You did not work for three weeks. How can you come for pay now?"
"I was doing my exams and I asked for leave."
"You did, but you were not given. It is upon you that you kept away from school without permission."
"I was doing my exams and you know that I was entitled to my exam leave and you know that also."
"But you are not a trained teacher. So you are not entitled to the same benefits and privileges as a trained teacher."
"This is a private school and I was recruited on the same terms as every other teacher. Unless you told me lies."
"If you know this is a private school, how can you demand an exam leave?"
"Are teachers in private schools not expected to read for and pass exams? Are they not to improve themselves academically?"
"In their own time. Not during school time if they want to be paid."
"In the course of the coming month, what am I expected to eat without pay?"
"I can lend you money which you will be expected to pay back by monthly instalments."
"You pay me, or I will not work here again. I can't take a loan of my own money."
"It is up to you."
Macaria left the office and went home. He had no intention of resuming work without pay. After sitting at home in the next two days, students went to him.
"Sir, why are you not coming to teach us? You know we lagged behind a lot in your subjects when you were away?"
"I agree. But I can't teach without food and the headmaster refuses to pay me my salary. Right now I am on a strike until I am paid."
"We will see the headmaster then."
"Good luck to you."
When they left Macaria, students sent a delegation to the headmaster. After his meeting with students, the headmaster called for Macaria.
"Are you trying to incite students to go on a strike with you. Take that loan, start teaching and we will sort out matters later."
"No. I am not taking any loan. I will only accept my own pay which I deserve. And by the way, if I am not paid by tomorrow, I will stop marking any examination papers in my subjects, turn everything in and go away."
The following day, Macaria walked into the headmaster's office with bundles of unmarked exam paper.
"You can't leave these here unmarked! Who will mark them?" the headmaster queried.
"I don't know."
"Okay. I will pay you this one time, but not again if you ever again leave school without permission."
"I needed and deserved my exam leave."
When the headmaster paid him his salary, Macaria noted that the money was paid as "Paid Examination Leave". Immediately, he asked:
"You have all along been saying that I did not deserve a paid examination leave? Now you are paying me in the name of the same examination leave. How come?"
"Let bygones be bygones", the headmaster said with a pleading voice.
"Sure. As long as they owe me nothing", Macaria agreed as they both laughed.
Macaria resumed teaching. And this time, he taught with renewed vigour because he was more relaxed, he had improved his knowledge tremendously in all his subjects and had all the time now to devote to his job. Macaria now had also time for all the other extra curriculum activities like school debate which he had abandoned during his period of study. He had also more time to be with his girlfriend, but had lost a lot of interest in films. Instead of going to movies, he preferred going for public lectures at the Extra Mural University Centre for adult education. These public lectures turned out to be excellent debating fora that were much more interesting and educative than the school debating club. He enjoyed listening to politicians, professors, writers, top policemen, lawyers and people from government ministries who were invited there to give lectures. Progressively, Macaria's interest in these lectures became so consuming that he never missed a single lecture at the centre.
This period of time, however, did not last very long. When his examination results came out, he had passed very well. He applied for a scholarship to go to university abroad and, luckily, he was granted one. When he got his scholarship, he turned in his resignation letter. His chapter as a school teacher closed with a farewell party which turned out a very happy occasion with a very sad and tearful ending.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 8

Macaria's parents could not believe the news of his getting a scholarship to go to a university abroad. There were no more than two other boys from his village who had ever gone abroad for further studies. So to Macaria's parents, this was by all means an extraordinary achievement by their own son. An achievement they wanted to celebrate with all their friends, fellow villagers, relatives and, indeed, everybody if that were possible. When Macaria broke the news to his mother, she tried to conceal her elation, but she did not manage.
"Who told you that you are going? Or is it just one of your dreams?"
"Mother, this is not a dream. I got a letter to prove it."
"Where is the letter? Show it to me."
"But you can't read."
"I can now. I have been going to an adult education (Ngumbar) class."
"Mother, I am not lying to you."
"I know, but show me the letter."
Fortunately, Macaria had the letter with him. He took it out of his pocket and showed it to her. She looked at it for a long time. But she could of course not read it. She was illiterate. Then she called Macaria's younger brother:
"Mbugua, come and read something here for me." Macaria laughed.
"But mother, you said that you can read the letter yourself."
"Yes, I have read it. But there is one word I need your brother to tell me the meaning of."
The brother entered, read and translated the letter to mother. She looked at Macaria and then wept the tears of joy.
"So it is not one of your pipe dreams. Congratulations, my son. But do you have all the money you need? Is your salary enough?"
"It is not enough for this sort of thing, but I don't need any money. They are giving me money for everything."
"Who are they? Can anybody be so kind to another?"
"They are called Americans. I am going to their country, and they help young people who want to go and study in their own country. I guess they help with money because some of those young men will come back to work with their own multinational companies here or because millions of our own people were enslaved there and have been working for them for hundreds of years."
"But when those who are helped now come back and work for them, will they be expected to repay the money they got? Or will they work without pay?"
"No. They will not repay anything. And they will be paid fully for the work they will do."
"Then, they are very kind people."
"They are, mother. But their companies also take a lot from our own country."
"Still, they are kind and we need money."
"Money for what, mother?"
"We must have a party. We must call others to come and be happy with us. A child does not belong to his parents alone. Everybody is happy and proud when one of their own children does something good and memorable. Remember all the teachers who taught you. Remember some of those people from whom we borrowed money for your school fees. Many others, who looked after you when you were so small, you cannot remember. People who helped when you were sick. All these people helped to get you where you are. We must thank them all before you go. Ours will be a thanksgiving party."
But they will want to bring something with them and then we will end up collecting money from them which we do not need at all."
"We shall ask them not to bring anything at all to the party."
From that day on, preparations for the party went into full gear. Macaria's father sold one fattened ram and Macaria raised some two thousand shillings which he had saved over the one year he had been teaching. With that, they bought a lot of sugar and tea and many loaves of bread. Then Macaria brought his radiogramme and records for music.
As Macaria had predicted, village people, family friends and relatives did not come to the party empty-handed. They brought with them what they could give without buying - lots and lots of food. In fact there was so much food at the party that people could not finish eating it.
For lack of enough ground outside Macaria's house, the party was held at the village nursery school near Macaria's home. The ground there is big enough to accommodate a lot of people. And as it turned out, nearly three thousand people came to the party. At about 3 p.m., everybody was already gathered and seated outside the nursery school. Because the sky was heavily overcast and it threatened to rain any time, speeches were to begin earlier than scheduled, else it would not be possible later. Macaria's uncle was the Master of ceremony. An old teacher himself, he was an excellent speaker. He started off with giving a history of his nephew Macaria. What kind of a child he had been. In fact he said some things about Macaria which Macaria never knew about himself.
"When Macaria was small, he looked very different from the way he looks today. He was a very big child. So fat was Macaria that it took him two years before he could stand. And when he stood, it took him another half a year before he could walk. By the time he walked, others who were as old as himself were already running and herding goats. As his uncle, I was worried about him. I thought he was growing to be as slow as a snail both in body and in mind. But when Macaria started to walk, he looked around and saw that he was all alone. All the children of his age were already herding goats. He felt left behind. He knew he had to do a lot of catching up. So when he walked, he ran and was soon herding goats and going to school with his agemates. In school, he started well. He listened in class, did his homework and got high marks in his lessons. In the second class, he nearly got to the top of his class. After that, he started running faster than his legs could carry him. And as it always happens when one does that, he started stumbling and falling. Often he played truant from school. Instead of going to school to learn, he became a little hunter. Too little to hunt animals, he would miss school to hide in the bush and hunt and kill insects. He thought he had time for everything but school, so he neglected it. In fact, he neglected it so much that when he was in the third, fourth and fifth classes, he was always nearly last in class and had the notoriety of being the most delinquent pupil in school. On the prize-giving day, his parents went to school, not to see Macaria given a prize for good performance and exemplary behaviour, but to hear him announced before everybody as the most rebellious and undisciplined boy in school. The only consolation his parents got was that he was not alone. He shared his notoriety with two other boys who were his very good friends. When I came here to visit, I would find Macaria doing everything wrong. I would then catch him and beat him. Sometimes so much so that I feared I might seriously hurt him. But he seemed not to learn. Macaria was not a stupid child, but he was too playful and too active. He wanted to do everything. He did not seem to realise that to learn, he had to forgo too much play. But he wanted to play more and learn less. And that is what he did until his sixth year. Then again, he realised that others of his age were outrunning him in class and in life. He stopped playing and started learning and since then, he has not stopped learning. Now he has done us all proud. Having embarrassed his parents so when he was pulling the tail in class, he has done them proud today by doing his exams so well that he has been given a scholarship to go abroad.
"Let me tell you a short story about Macaria. When he was in class three and had been taught a little English, he decided he knew enough to speak English with a British settler. So one day, Macaria went with other boys to try and buy some skimmed milk at a settler's farm near this forest. This was near the time of independence, when the Forest Department did not so much mind forest workers buying milk from nearby settler farms. When they got there and had all their milk bottles in line on the ground waiting to be filled up with skimmed milk, the settler came from his house to inspect the work at his milk office. When he got where Macaria and others were, he greeted, "Toto habari gani?" (children, how are you?) "We are very fine, sir", Macaria answered eagerly thinking that this was his chance to prove to himself that he was able to speak English with a white man. But the settler was not amused by Macaria's attempt to cross the native line. You know many settlers during the colonial days were fully convinced that though Africans were taught English in schools, they had no business whatsoever speaking English with white people. They thought our speaking English to them made us equal with them. So all the time, they insisted on speaking Kiswahili to every African whether he had learnt English in school or not. But Macaria had learnt his English and he was determined to practice it with them. After all, it was their language, not his. But when he answered the settler in English, the settler threw him a look that would have killed him if looks could kill. But since looks don't kill, Macaria was not discouraged. When the settler asked his African milk clerk, "Toto hawa toka wapi?" (Where are these children form?), Macaria quickly answered, "We are from the forest Kiota Village, sir." The settler looked at Macaria again and said, "Toto kuja hapa" (Child, come up here). Macaria went and boldly stood before him. "Jina yako nani?", the settler asked Macaria.
"My name is Macaria", Macaria would not answer in Kiswahili. "Bloody brat", the settler shrieked throwing Macaria a powerful kick which Macaria just managed to duck. But in ducking, Macaria fell on the settler's beautiful and well-kept flowers. Seeing his flowers messed up, the settler saw red. He came charging at Macaria like a bull. Macaria turned over, but before he could get away, the settler managed to give him a most powerful kick that sent him flying in the air. Fortunately, he landed on his feet. Upon landing, he took off so fast that his feet seemed not to touch the ground at all. His milk was brought home by another boy."
As everybody laughed, Macaria's uncle continued. "There is now a very funny twist in Macaria's life. Before, white people did not want Macaria to speak English to them. Now I am sure, they will not want Macaria to speak Kiswahili to them. They will want him to speak English all the time and forget his native languages. My prayer, however, is that Macaria will not change much. That he will see merit in keeping his native languages of Gikuyu and Kiswahili, when the white man will be trying to make him forget them. Having said that, let me now go back to where I left off.
"As his uncle, I would like to tell Macaria that all of us here wish him well where he is going. We want him to go and succeed in getting his degrees. But he must not forget something which he probably now knows better than me. There can be no success without hard work. They say even geniuses are 1% inspiration and 99% hard work. So don't forget hard work.
"Secondly, you are going to the white man's country and white people think they are better than us. Don't let them teach you how to hate and despise your own people. Before you, we have seen others go abroad. On coming back they thought they had become too good and too clean even to come home and greet their parents. They set themselves up in the city and forbade even their own parents to go and greet them there. If ever you learn to hate your skin colour, if ever you learn to be ashamed of your roots, your people and your parents, you will have learnt to hate and despise yourself. Those white people who will see you despise your own people, will also despise you.
"Thirdly, times in the past, we also gathered to see off others going abroad just like you. In the past, we even gathered to raise funds for those going abroad because we believed that when such people had their education, they would come back to serve us all. But when those people had their education and came back, they settled in the city and never came to say thank you to us, who had raised money for them. Today, I want you, Macaria, to look at all the people who are gathered here this afternoon. All the people you see here are poor people, living in smoky shanties and wearing torn and dirty clothes. But they are your grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters. All of them. They are the ones who have brought you up. They have been your educators. And today, they are your well-wishers. If you didn't have a scholarship, they would willingly have been your financiers. Look at these people well. They are not city people, well-dressed, clean and perfumed and living in beautiful city houses. But they have been the rungs of the ladder which you have climbed to reach where you are. Never ever forget them. And they are not asking you to do much for them. Just be grateful and not look the other way if ever you meet them in the streets. Just greet them, if you can't do more. Their earnest hope, however, is that you may come back and work for them. Come back and be their ladder of going up just as they have been your ladder of your going up.
"Fourth, we have all seen before that when our sons go abroad and get educated, they forget that when they were born, their mothers also gave birth to girls, to young women who need husbands. Today look at all the young women in this meeting who are looking at you admiringly. Many of them want you for a husband. Some of them will wait for you until you come back. Don't disappoint them by coming back with one of those horse-haired ones. I don't know myself, but I hear the horse-haired ones are no better than our own here. So why disappoint your mothers and sisters? The beautiful ones here will wait for you. And don't forget that you have left the beautiful ones going to school also, just in case you might want to use lack of education as an excuse. Last, but not least, don't get lost where you are going. We know many who went and never came back. If you go and don't come back, this happy meeting today will have been a funeral meeting. You may live better, eat better, dress better and drink better where you are going, but never forget that, always, home is best. I know that when things are going well, people forget that bad times come. I believe life is nice in other people's countries if everything is going well. But if bad times come, I believe life can be horrible in foreign lands where you don't have loved ones to look after you. In life, we need homes for both good and bad times. So remember to come home for your own sake, for our own sake and for the sake of your own country. If you go and don't come back, we will have lost a child. If you go and don't come back, your country will have lost a citizen. Go and come back."
After Macaria's uncle, other people spoke, but more or less about the same things. Then suddenly, there was a heavy downpour and everybody ran into the nursery school buildings for cover. The rest of the short speeches were made indoors. After speeches, people ate, drank and danced all night long. In the morning, Macaria returned to town. Two days later, he left for U.S.A.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 9

When Macaria left Kenya, his entire family was at the airport to see him off. On the staircase before he entered the plane, Macaria looked back and, up on the balcony of the airport building, he saw so many hands waiving good-bye to him. It made him happy and it made him sad. Happy, because he certainly had seen joy in the eyes of his people when he shook hands with them outside the departure lounge. And sad, because he had seen so much hope in their eyes that he wondered whether he would ever be able to meet their expectations. They never told him so, but it was obvious that as far as his people were concerned, their son was going abroad to acquire and bring back instruments of their own liberation from the quagmire of poverty and misery.
When Macaria was seated in the plane and the plane was airborne, he felt excited because this was his first flight, but he could not bring himself to forget thoughts about his people. He wondered why they had so much hope in him. His education could only rescue one man and his family from poverty. And at most, it might give its possessor limited means to assist a few people within his immediate family. Beyond that, Macaria saw no justification whatsoever in so many people having so much hope in him. Unless of course, his people were entertaining corrupt thoughts, which had become popular since independence that, when one man from a family got a top job in a company or in a government ministry, it was incumbent upon him to employ as many people from his immediate and extended family, clan and tribe as possible, irrespective of qualifications. This corrupt practice, of course, made many people see economic salvation of many in the education of one. Macaria also wondered whether his people were thinking of educated individuals as people did before independence, when they saw educated sons and daughters as champions of their struggles against colonial powers. In those days, people, as opposed to family, would come together to raise money for the fare, for the tuition and for the maintenance of all who went for education abroad. Education then was seen as an acquisition for collective rather than individual good. This view had, however, lost both credibility and currency because when most of those who had been collectively educated came back, they abandoned collective goals and worked only for their individual good and that of their immediate families. When educated individuals refused to attend to collective goals, the people also learnt how to abandon the collective education of individuals. The notion that education could be acquired for the good of the community was consequently abandoned in favour of the notion that education is the private property of its individual owner and those close to him, who might have helped to pay for it. Macaria hated the mal-practices of tribalism and nepotism in employment and public offices, but he could now see why people who had paid for the education of an individual expected to get more than the public from him. "But can an individual ever be educated by his family alone?", Macaria wondered. Even if school fees were paid by an individual family, schools were collectively built, teachers were collectively paid, and even the economy which yielded jobs to the educated was the fruit of collective labour. Macaria had little doubt that individual efforts only bore fruit within a collective framework. Outside collectivity, individuality was completely sterile. Why then had educated people been so prone to abandon the public after every collective effort to educate them?
Macaria could remember 12th December, 1963, as if it was only yesterday. It was the day of his country's independence. The Great Day of Hope that people had been waiting for for 70 years. Macaria still remembered how the whole country in general and his Kiota village in particular had celebrated the independence they got that day for a whole week, thinking that all hardships of life would henceforth vanish. Macaria could still remember how that day everybody had happiness and hope in their eyes and how people had looked upon their leaders as their great deliverers, as their great saviours. But the following day, most people were disappointed and have since been disappointed with independence. Macaria wondered whether people who looked at him with hope were expecting some kind of second deliverance or liberation from him. And would they not be disappointed with his education as they had been disappointed with that of those who had gone abroad before him? But Macaria knew that even if he disappointed his people again, they would never give up hope. When people have lost everything in life, hope becomes their only reason for living. And his people were great believers in hope. "One whose seeds have not sprouted does not give up planting (utamerithitie ndatigaga kuhanda)". Because Macaria did not want to disappoint the people, he started wondering why those who were educated before him had disappointed the people.
First, it was clear that those who were educated before him were the ones who had treated collectively-paid-for-education as private property which they used solely for private gain and which people could only have access to at a very high price. In turning services of the educated into a highly priced commodity for sale, the educated had disappointed the majority of the people by excluding them from the benefits of education. Then Macaria remembered that when Israelites were conquering and moving into Palestine, before they crossed River Jordan, the tribes of Reuben and Gad had asked Moses to let them settle on the Lands of Jazar and Gilead on the eastern side of River Jordan. Moses had frowned upon this request which he thought selfish. Two out of 12 tribes wanted to settle before others. Moses said he would not let them settle before others unless they swore to God that they would cross the river with other tribes until every other tribe had also found settlement. The two tribes promised: " We will not settle down here until all the people of Israel have received their inheritance. We will build sheep-folds for our flocks and cities for our little ones, but we ourselves will go over armed, ahead of the rest of the people of Israel, until we have brought them safely to their inheritance."
The tribes of Reuben and Gad crossed the Jordan River and fought with the other tribes until everybody had land to settle on and then they re-crossed the Jordan to settle on their own lands. Macaria wondered why Kenyans had been unable to do for eachother what the primitive tribes of Israel had been able to do for eachother so many thousands of years ago - fight together until everybody had land to settle on. As soon as Kenya had her independence, the three tribes of the rich, the powerful and the educated told King Mzoi, the Moses of Kenya, that they wanted to settle before others found land. King Mzoi did not tell them that they could not put down their arms and settle before everybody else had found land on which to settle. Instead, he let them settle first before others had settled. And instead of ordering the conquest of all other settler land for the settlement of the other Kenyan tribes - the poor, the illiterate and the powerless - who were still landless, the rest of the settler land was preserved for purchase by the same tribes which had land already - the rich, the educated and the powerful. This naturally turned out a big disappointment for people who, unable to get land for themselves, had to settle for a very raw deal as squatters and farmhands on the same lands they had fought so hard for and which were now exclusively owned by the three tribes who would not agree to cross the river which separated the rich and the poor to continue the war against landlessness until every Kenyan was finally settled. 
Instead of sleeping, Macaria remembered how people who had lived with others in settler farms had used their positions in government to acquire several of those same farms, overnight making themselves bigger landowners than the settlers had ever been. But in becoming the new settlers, they had not remembered their own fellow squatters and farm hands, people with whom they had fought for that same land together. 
Macaria remembered how people who had lived with others in the poor and dirty low-class African residential areas of town and shanty rural villages had now used their positions in government to acquire and move into houses of their former European bosses and how they sought to keep out those with whom they had lived together by posting fierce dogs ("Mbwa kali") inside the gates of their compounds, and by enclosing their houses with high stone walls which could not be seen through or climbed because they were piked with sharp pieces of broken bottles.
Macaria remembered how people, who had walked barefoot, had now used their positions in government to acquire new, expensive, sleek and chauffeur-driven Mercedes Benzes, Volvos, Peugeot 504s and 505s in which they would not agree to give lifts to their old friends and village-mates for fear of making their cars dirty.
Macaria remembered how people who had been beaten with others by colonial chiefs and askaris had now become torturers and killers of either those they had been beaten with or their children.
Macaria remembered how colonial chiefs and askaris who had robbed, raped, beaten and killed freedom fighters during the struggle for land and freedom had been promoted by the new government and were now using institutions of government administration and armed police and armed forces to terrorise people in the same way they had done before independence.
Yes, Macaria now seemed to understand why people continued to be disappointed after independence. As land became the property of the rich, the powerful and the educated, who were a very small number, the majority of the people whose number continued to grow remained landless. And being landless, they continued to live in emergency villages like squatters, were employed by the rich as cheap farm hands, and others, like Macaria's parents, continued to live and work in the same government forests they had lived in before. For these people independence did not even improve their wages or their working conditions. In most cases, in fact, real wages dropped drastically and living conditions deteriorated after independence. In their big hurry to become millionaires and billionaires, their black employers were a lot more stingy than their white predecessors. On the farms, they would not give their workers parcels of land to cultivate or give them weekly rations of skimmed milk and maize flour as the white settlers had done. Nor did black employers build better hovels for their farm hands.
After independence, unemployment did not reduce, it increased. Leaders attributed this state of affairs solely to the increasing number of people. But Macaria did not find this very convincing. If more numbers automatically led to increased unemployment, then countries of Europe, North America, Japan and China should have had higher unemployment rates than Kenya or Africa. But it was not so. Macaria could not explain this phenomenon very well to himself - he lacked the knowledge to do so - but he knew that in his country, corruption had been on the increase since independence. People who were in charge of the economy were not developing and expanding it to create more employment opportunities. They were stealing from it and taking the loot out of the country into Swiss banks. The managers of the national economy had turned it into a quarry from which they mined gold and took it out of the country. Macaria did not see how such an economy could reduce unemployment. It was bound to increase it.
In Macaria's forest village, the cabbages and potatoes they took to the local market did not begin to fetch better prices after independence. They remained low priced. Elsewhere, he had also heard that prices of tea, coffee, milk, sugar cane, pineapples, maize or whatever else people grew got smaller and smaller in proportion to what the farmer spent for seeds, fertilizers, herbicides, labour and his own upkeep. It had now reached a point where farmers were uprooting unprofitable cash crops for food crops. Common sense told them that "it is better to be poor on a full stomach than to be so on an empty stomach".
Immediately after independence, people were allowed to take their children to government schools without paying school fees and their sick to government hospitals without paying medical fees. But the rich and the powerful did not take their children to government schools where fees were not paid. And they did not take their sick to government hospitals, where fees were not paid. They took their children to high-cost private schools and their sick to high-cost private hospitals. Because they did not use government schools and government hospitals, powerful people in government did not see why the government should continue to pump money into schools and hospitals which they themselves did not use. Slowly, the government began to neglect government hospitals and schools. Government schools began to lack books, buildings, land and trained teachers. And hospitals began to lack drugs, hospital uniforms, food for patients, beddings, operating equipment, x-ray machines, cleaning equipment and even paper on which to write drug prescriptions. Then fees began to be re-introduced in the form of cost-sharing in schools and hospitals. In secondary schools, fees were tripled and quadrupled. And for the first time, fees were introduced in universities.
There was not a single sector of public or private life which was not affected by the sky-rocketing cost of living. As wages remained static or increased very slowly, consumer prices and sales tax went up by leaps and bounds as price controls were taken away, putting poor consumers at the mercy of manufacturers, shop-owners and government sharks. Since independence, everybody had to pay more for sugar, salt, clothes, shoes, tea, coffee, paraffin, rents, fares for buses, matatus and trains, meat, milk, bread and maize flour. The rising cost of living was called the cost of development. But if the rising cost of living meant more hunger, sickness, lack of shelter, bedraggledness and more poverty for more and more people, how could that be defined as development? To Macaria, his country had not been developing, it had been underdeveloping. It had slowly been going under the water and only a little push was needed to make it drown completely.
There was little doubt in Macaria's mind that the government which was installed after independence had not found it difficult to legitimise and perpetuate that exploitation and deprivation of poor people that colonialism had initiated and left behind. And having adopted colonial exploitation, the government could not avoid adopting colonial repression which had made that exploitation possible.
Macaria remembered how people had looked forward to independence thinking that when colonialism was finally gone, they would have a voice in the government, they would be able to meet freely to discuss communal problems, the would find it easier to organise trade unions to fight for higher wages, they would find it easier to stage strikes to put pressure on recalcitrant employers, no one would be tortured in police stations and all arbitrary arrests would end once and for all. Then, no one would have suspected that after independence, people would continue to be detained without trial. That emergency laws would be retained intact in some areas of the country. That the law would be changed to abolish people's freedom of political association. That police would be given powers to keep people in custody without taking them to court for 14 days. That chief's would continue to possess draconian powers of harassing people. That there would be more prisons, and courts would be harsher after independence than before independence.
The tragedy was that after independence, only the colour of the face of masters had changed. Everything else had remained the same and worsened. The picture of what had gone wrong looked very simple and clear to Macaria, whatever the intellectuals said about it in their learned, complicated and often times incomprehensible jargon. 70 years ago, a heavily armed and sweet talking white couple had visited the home of his African parents. This white couple had at first talked nicely and had been welcomed home to eat and rest in accordance with the African traditional hospitality. But once the white guests had eaten and rested, they took their weapons out, killed their hosts and took over the home, children and all. After taking over the home, animals were expropriated and children of the home turned into beasts of burden, hewers of wood and drawers of water. The land was taken over and planted with foreign crops which were not for food, but for sale. Those crops included coffee, tea, cotton, sisal, tobacco and others. The new master of the home was a slave driver and his slaves were the African sons and daughters. He was cruel and callous and made Africans work very hard. He gave them very little food. Whipped them when they slowed at work and killed them when they rebelled. The white master did not allow Africans to meet and discuss their problems or in any way present their grievances to him. Africans were permanently muzzled. But after a long time of suffering, Africans decided to mount a struggle for the recovery of their home, their land and their freedom. For a long time, they organised secretly, but later they took up arms and got into the forests from where they fought until the white couple gave up. In the course of this struggle, many Africans were taken into prisons and detention camps, many were tortured, maimed and killed. Finally, victory was won when the white couple agreed to move out of the home and land which did not belong to them.
After gaining their new access to their home, Africans chose one of their own to be their leader and direct the new management of their home. The home was not given to the African leader to own, but only to manage on behalf of the others. But as soon as he was pronounced leader, the African leader called himself King Mzoi. After taking power, the African leader was expected to marry a new bride, a new mistress of the home, who would help him to completely change everything in the home from what it had been before. He was expected to let the African sons and daughters take over the land of their ancestors and divide it among themselves. If there were some who could not get land and had to work, it was expected that they would be treated much better than they had been treated before.
However, when the leader took over the home, he decided to keep everything as it was with the exception of the governor whom he had replaced. Instead of marrying an African bride, King Mzoi chose to get married to the old, white and expensive wife of the governor, chose to keep all his plantations, foreign crops and big cars, chose to take over all plantations as they were and chose to retain all the old servants - cooks, home guards, farm hands and whip wielders - for the purpose of running everything as it had been run before. King Mzoi now became the black governor and husband of the old, white colonial mistress, who had not changed her tastes at all. Though old and worn out, the colonial mistress was married because she was white and because the African leader wanted her to help him run the African home exactly the way the white governor had run it. In the mind of King Mzoi, only marrying the wife of the former governor, however old and ugly, would make him equal to a white governor. Equally, servants who cooked, drove the car, kept the garden, took children to school, supervised work in the field and those who wielded the whip were all retained to help the African leader preserve the colonial order and keep his African brothers and sisters in line and working in plantations as before and ensure that any funny ideas were driven out of their heads with the whip. The land was to be kept exactly the way it had been, but in the hands of a few party and government people who helped King Mzoi to manage things the way he wanted.
In doing this, King Mzoi had acted completely contrary to the way he had been expected to act, and his brothers and sisters had been right in concluding that they had been betrayed by him. Annoyed and angry, it was natural to expect the people to rebel. This is why servants who wielded the whip had been increased in number and King Mzoi's white in-laws asked to assist in all ways in keeping King Mzoi in power. Fearing that the people might organise a rebellion against King Mzoi, Africans were not allowed to freely assemble, write, think, meet, demonstrate or form political associations. It was a case of political dŽja vu.
The colonial system had been called a dictatorship because it suppressed the freedom of the people, did not respond to the wishes of the people and could not be elected out of power by the people. Yes, the government of King Mzoi had been chosen by the people. But since then, it had fashioned itself after the colonial system against the wishes of the people, was no longer responsive to the wishes of the people and African people were no longer free to vote it out of power. Immediately after independence, detention without trial, which everybody agreed should be abolished, was revived to take care of all those who opposed King Mzoi. The opposition party was banned and its leaders detained in prison without charge or trial. Without an opposition and through fear of detention, parliament was emasculated. After King Mzoi, the government of Emperor Mpori had gone farther and declared Kenya a one-party state. And within the one-party state, elections were rigged against the people, who were suspected of government opposition. Both King Mzoi and Emperor Mpori after him had through political practice declared themselves head of state for life. The constitution had declared them above the law and thus God by giving them powers over life and death of the Kenyan people. The African government was above criticism. When Africans criticized it, they were called "the insatiables (wasiotosheka)", "communists", "agents of imperialism", "people in the pay of foreign masters", and "traitors". When outsiders criticized government violations of human rights, they were called "colonialists", "neo-colonialists", "racists", "imperialists" or "communists". Macaria had little doubt that criticizing God was easier than criticizing African leaders. Having allowed Satan to continue existing and canvassing for followers, Macaria knew for sure that God the Creator was by far more tolerant of opposition than both King Mzoi and Emperor Mpori.
As Macaria travelled in the dark night, he wondered what role he was going to play in the unfolding drama back home. He was now going to the university to acquire knowledge and skills. For what and for whom? he asked himself. He could not be neutral when he returned home. Either he would be for keeping the status quo as it had been inherited intact from colonial days for the benefit and comfort of leaders, or he would be for changing it for the benefit of those who had got nothing after independence. He knew, with his knowledge, he would have an opportunity of benefiting from the status quo. But he had to think of all those whom he had left behind and who looked up to him for assistance in getting out of the quagmire of poverty. He had also to think of his namesake, who had died fighting for land, freedom and justice. Macaria knew his namesake would turn in his grave if he knew that he, Macaria, had turned his back on the struggle for food, freedom and justice for all.
Having decided what side he was on, Macaria was now able to make up his mind as to what he was going to study in the university. He decided to study political science. He knew without a shadow of doubt that in the new struggle, good knowledge of political structures and philosophies, economics and history would help him in understanding what the people needed to do to free themselves from the new bondage of African leaders, their lies and allies.
Yes, Macaria knew that their government called itself many nice sounding names - "Democracy", "African Socialism" and "Guided Democracy". But he also knew that all these names were sweet-sounding dressings over an ugly, rotting and putrefying wound called dictatorship. By the time, the plane landed in New York, Macaria had no doubt whatsoever that the government he had left behind in his country was a dictatorship, pure and simple.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 10

Upon arrival, Macaria was met at John F. Kennedy Airport by a driver from the office of the education attachŽ at the Kenya U.N. Mission. Straight away, he was driven to meet the education attachŽ. In the waiting room before he was called in, Macaria met some other four young men whose faces he seemed to recognize. His recognition of them surprised Macaria. The young men spoke English with an American accent which meant they must have lived in the U.S. But Macaria had not been in the U.S. before. So where could he have met their familiar faces? As if in answer to his question, one of them greeted.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"How was your flight?"
"Fine. Have we met? I seem to recognize your faces."
"Yes, we met in Nairobi at the time of the interview."
"Oh, yes. When did you come?'
"We have been here for four months. We have been taking a pre-university preparatory course. We are now on our way to the West Coast."
"I see. I just arrived. Do you find this place so terribly hot as I do? I am very very uncomfortable in my clothes here."
Before his question was answered, Macaria was called into the office of the Education attachŽ. When he came out, they were called in. Then he left before the others came out. He was taken to a hotel where he stayed for three days before he was driven to the university by the same driver, who had fetched him from the airport. It was at the hotel that Macaria remembered that the four young men had in fact failed their interviews in Nairobi. Yet they had come to U.S. four months before him and others, who had passed their interviews. But there were others who had passed their interviews, but had not been able to come because it was said that there were no universities which had offered them places. So these had not come. Now that Macaria had seen some who had failed the interviews here, he thought it strange that universities should fail to find places for those who had passed their interviews and find places for those who had failed their interviews. Later Macaria found out that the four young men were in fact sons of permanent secretaries in the government of Kenya, and they had been taking pre-university preparatory courses because they were not fully qualified to join the university right away. Macaria could not help suspecting that those who had failed their interviews, but had come to U.S. had taken the university places of those who had passed their interviews, but had not been allowed to come to U.S. This Macaria thought was a very cruel form of corruption because it completely ruined some persons like one boy, who Macaria knew had passed his exams and interviews very well, who had resigned from a bank job only to be informed at the eleventh hour that he could not go to the U.S. after all!
During the three days he spent in new York, Macaria had a lot of problems getting what Americans said to him in their strange accent. In turn, Americans did not get what Macaria said to them in his accent which must have sounded strange to them. To Macaria, America was a world where no one understood him and he did not understand anybody. Additionally, Macaria did not understand how to use American money - the quarters, the dimes, the nickels and the pennies. They were all very difficult to differentiate in a hurry. To circumvent his difficulties, Macaria did not go to any place where he was required to say anything to an American. Instead of going to hotels, where he would be required to verbally order for food, he went to self-service cafŽs where he picked his food in silence, put all the money he had in the palm of his hand and put the hand forward for the cashier to pick what was due to him. Some cashiers took their due only, but others took more than their due. When taken advantage of by dishonest cashiers, people behind him would laugh and make Macaria feel very embarrassed. When Macaria saw Black Americans, he felt a great temptation to talk to them, confident that they would understand him better than white Americans. Though black like him, they did not understand better than white Americans. When he tried to talk to them, they reacted to his accent exactly like white Americans. Though black like him, they did not understand his accent either and neither did he understand theirs. So Macaria spent his first three days in U.S. just looking around and saying nothing. But very fast his ears were getting used to the American accent. In fact, by the third day, he could understand a few words, but dared not speak.
On the third day, the driver from the Kenya Mission came for him at the hotel. He introduced Macaria to another Kenyan who was already attending school at the same college where Macaria was going - Ithaca College. Both were then driven to a Greyhound bus station from where they took a night bus to Ithaca city. They arrived in Ithaca in the morning and took a taxi to college. Once in college, he went to the administration offices where he registered as a student in political science. Somebody also showed him his room in the dormitory, the school cafeteria, the library and the lecture halls for political science.
In his dorm, Macaria discovered there was a Black American student from Virgin Islands, who was called Kimathi after Kenya's number one freedom fighter, Dedan Kimathi. Macaria instantly became friends with this Black American student who became his friend and guide around the campus and the black student community, around college town where most students lived, around Ithaca city itself and around American political life. Religiously and politically, Kimathi was a member of the black Nation of Islam that was then led by Elijah Mohammed.
Though Macaria's ignorance of things American had embarrassed him, he was soon to learn that many Americans were more ignorant of the world outside U.S. than non-Americans were of U.S. At first, Macaria could not understand how there could be so much ignorance in the midst of so much knowledge. He therefore felt that ignorance was feigned as an excuse of poking silly and racist jokes at him. Later he realised that the ignorance was genuine when he found out that U.S. had tens of millions of people who were illiterate and millions of others who were semi-illiterate.
The first thing which shocked Macaria was Americans' ignorance of world geography.
"Hi", somebody would say to him in a cafeteria.
"Hi", Macaria would reply in is best American accent.
"You are not American?"
"No, I am not. How did you find out?"
"Your accent. Where are you from? The Caribbean?"
"No. I am from Kenya."
"Where is Kenya? Don't tell me...mmm... Latin America?"
"No."
"Mmm, South Africa?"
"No."
"Then it is in... Nairobi."
"No."
"Okay. Tell me."
"Kenya is in Africa. And its capital city is Nairobi."
"And Liberia? Is it far from Kenya?"
"Yes, it is. As far as California is from New York."
Sometimes Americans were not just ignorant about Africa and Africans, they were comically so. What little they knew about Africa, which had been taught to them by Tarzan, made them racist also in their enquiries about Africa. Sometimes their views were so ridiculous that one did not bother to correct them.
"You are from Africa?" someone would ask me.
"Yes."
"In Africa, you sleep in trees?"
"Yes, with lions, buffaloes and elephants."
"And you are all friends?"
"Of course. We belong together."
"You wear skins also?"
"Yes."
"Do animals complain when you kill them for skins and food?"
"Yes, but we are the Kings of the jungle."
"Is your father a King?"
"Yes, and I am a prince."
"Being a prince, how does it feel?"
"Great."
"When you return, will you continue to be a prince?"
"No, I will be a King."
"When you came..."
"Yes?"
"Were you in your skin clothes?"
"Yes."
"And your spear, did you come with it too?"
"Yes."
"And you left them at the airport, right?"
"Yes."
"The clothes you are wearing, you picked them at the airport?"
"Yes."
"And you will leave them there when you go?"
"Yes", I would "confirm" wondering how it was possible for one to be so ignorant. If Africans lived in trees, one wondered where American planes were expected to land in the jungles of Africa. Or did some of these people think that instead of planes landing, Africans were expected to wear wings and fly out of planes and perch themselves on top of their tree homes?
Macaria was at Ithaca when the civil rights movement by Black Americans was at its peak. Ithaca was basically a white city, but even then, it was not untouched by the ripples of the African-American struggle for human dignity and racial equality. For somebody who had come from the politically subdued Kenya, being in the U.S. then was like being in a political whirlwind. But as a young man, it excited Macaria.
As Macaria's guide, Kimathi took Macaria to many drinking and dancing parties for Black American students. Macaria found Americans wonderful dancers and great lovers of their own music which was as great as their love for it. In the campus, Macaria heard a funny myth: that every African - or black - person can dance. Yet, as he observed Black Americans make their beautiful steps, Macaria was often afraid to  step on the floor and dance with them. But maybe, there was some reason for the myth that every black person is a born dancer, because after going to a few of these dancing parties, Macaria overcame his shyness and became a highly spirited dancer of Black American dances as well. But though he tried very hard, Macaria could never attain the Black American fine skilfulness in dancing their own music. And it surprised Macaria that there were so many White Americans, who felt inferior to Black Americans when it came to dancing. There were even some who would not dare dance where Black Americans were. But this difference in dancing ability was not always given a positive interpretation. Some Black Americans felt strongly that their ability to dance better than White Americans was nothing to be proud of. That they could sing and dance so well reminded them of the hundreds of years which they spent sharpening their skills to sing and dance, not for their own entertainment, but for that of the White man. It also reminded them of the fact that it was their exclusion from schools and other intellectual fields which left them with so much time to perfect their dancing and music. In other words, their superiority in music and dance was only the other side of the coin of their underdevelopment in other areas. This was not an argument which one could easily dismiss intellectually. It had great merit. Emotionally however, one could not distance oneself from such great music even if it was the by-product of oppression and enslavement. It was excellent food for the soul. Moreover, black music had also acquired political usage as a weapon of struggle in the civil rights movements. In a country where black colour had been despised and identified as the natural mark of all black people's inferior position in white society, it was no mean feat for black musicians to stand up and shout that "Black is Beautiful" or "I am Black and Proud". There can be little doubt that Black Americans like James Brown, Aretha Franklin and others played an important role in the restoration of black pride and dignity in the U.S.
But cultural pride for Black Americans also meant cultural pride for Africans in the U.S. Though Macaria had suffered social discrimination under colonialism at home, he had never been part of a cultural movement that urged him to look upon his black colour, his African heritage and his African history with pride. On the contrary! After independence, people at home had mistaken Uhuru to mean their total and unrestricted freedom to ape the white man. So young boys and girls at home were doing all they could to bleach their black skins, straighten their hair, walk white and talk white. It was now in the U.S. where Macaria was told for the first time that black is beautiful. For once, Macaria felt proud as a black man and as an African. At the height of the civil rights movement, Black Americans also looked upon Africa with pride as their home continent and not with shame as the Dark Continent. This in turn meant that many Black Americans were happy to see an African. In fact, Africans were so welcome to Black America that everywhere Macaria went, he was always saluted as "Hi Brother" to which he had to reply "Hi Brother" or "Hi Sister". This solidarity did not only make him feel welcome as an African, it made him also feel confident as a human being who was equal with everybody else. It is no fault of Black Americans that most of them are no longer anxious to identify themselves with Africa. Since independence, African leaders - Field Marshal Amin, Emperor Bokassa, Emperor Mpori etc. - have been such dismal failures and terrible dictators that Africa has been more a source of shame and embarrassment than pride and inspiration to Black Americans.
Knowing that white people have always denigrated black beauty, Black Americans felt that it was essential for their cultural liberation to prefer black beauty to white beauty. Before this black cultural re-awakening, many educated blackmen the world over would any time have preferred a white woman to a black woman. Now black people were calling for a reversal of this preference. In other words, black people who were trying to restore their colour and race to equal respect could not be colour-blind in the choice of beauty when there were still cultural prejudices which sought to keep their colour and race down. Macaria learnt this lesson, not from a lecture in political science or black history, but from a black girl at a party.
Macaria had gone to the party with a white girlfriend who was called Karen. It was a general party with both white and black students. After dancing together once, Macaria and his girl had exchanged partners. And as the party progressed, Macaria found himself requesting a black girl he had danced with once to dance with him again. The girl smiled sweetly and then asked, "I have danced with you once. Why are you coming back to me?'
"You are a good dancer, and I am alone."
"I thought you have a white girl. You have been dancing with her a lot. She is your girlfriend, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is."
"So you came to me only when she is not there to dance with you."
"Well, it is good to change dancing partners", Macaria said uncomfortably.
"And you want to change partner with me?"
"Yes. And you are a superb dancer. I want you to teach me how to dance as beautifully as you do."
"Don't give me that jive. I am just somebody you come to when your white girl is not there."
"No, sister, it is not like that."
"What do you mean, it is not like that? African brothers are just like all blackmen - colour-blind. So next time your white girl is busy, don't come to me. Wait for her. I only danced with you now because I did not want to embarrass you."
"But this white girl I am with is not a bad girl at all. She is very understanding."
"Which willing white girl is not understanding to a black man? White girls only need to show you their teeth and you break your legs running to them."
With that provocative remark, music stopped and they stopped their dancing and conversation. When parting, she smiled at him and said, "I hope I have shocked you out of your blindness. I hate brothers who are colour-blind."
Macaria smiled back and walked over to where his white girl was seated. They danced a few more times together, but the party was now coming to an end. Just before they left, somebody asked his girl for a dance. He was left alone, but didn't feel like asking anybody for a dance. Not after his shocking encounter. But as he sat and listened to the music, the black girl came over and sat next to him.
"I didn't come to dance. I came to ask you whether you would like to talk about your colour-blindness."
"Oh yes. I don't mind our continuing the discussion."
"You sound hurt. Are you so soft and delicate?"
"No. I am not hurt. I am just thoughtful."
"Well, here is my number. You may call me if you like."
"I will. When can I call you?"
"Any time, baby." She smiled and walked away looking beautiful and stately like the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra.
When Macaria's girl came back, they left the party and walked back to her dorm hand in hand. Since it was late and he could not enter, Macaria turned to go back to his dorm. As he walked back to his dorm, Macaria was thinking about his encounter with the black girl. No other black girl had talked to him like that either at home or in the U.S. He was still thinking about her when he got into his own room. Though it was late and he was tired, Macaria could not sleep. He kept on thinking about that talk. The black girl had painted him as somebody ignorant. Though Macaria liked to think of himself as somebody who knew what was going on, and one who was interested in the liberation of black people, this girl had literally painted him as an enemy of black women. How could he sleep with such thoughts? They had to talk. So he called her.
"Hallo. It is me here."
"Who is "me here"? Oh, Okay! The blind brother from Africa!"
"Yes. I want to talk because I can't sleep."
"Oh, yah?" she laughed. "I bet your white girl is not there with you. Is she?"
"No, she is not. She is in her dorm."
"Like all black men, you would never have called if she was there with you."
"I guess not. But your accusations, they are so provocative."
"Are they? Don't you think we get provoked when we see a black brother like you walking around with a white girl when there are so many black girls around without men? How can you brothers ever get white people to respect us?"
"But this is a personal matter. It is not political. After all, that girl is so much for the liberation of black people."
"Is she? They all are when they like a black brother. And don't you tell me that your friendship with her is a personal matter. Nothing in this country is a personal matter if it is between a white and a black person. In the deep South, if white folks catch you walking around with a white girl, they will just send the Klan to come and lynch you from a tree or a burning cross. Do you know how many blackmen have been hanged for "raping" white women who loved them? Do you know that almost every black woman in this country has been raped by a white man and no whiteman has ever been lynched for raping a black woman? And you tell me, your walking around the campus with a white girl is a personal matter between you and your girl! If they decided to lynch you for it, would it still be a personal matter or a political question for the entire black community?"
"It would be a political question."
"Would you want black sisters to defend you, to demonstrate against your lynching?'
"Oh, yes."
"Oh, yes!" she mimicked him. "And you are turning your back on us?"
"But Sister, my girl I told you is quite nice. In fact, she supports the freedom of black people."
"They all do, brotherman. Particularly when they like a black brother. But let me tell you, brother from Africa: What you two colour-blind people are calling "freedom of black people" is just the freedom of the two of you to have each other. But as I told you before, relations between whites and blacks in this country are not personal matters between two persons who may or may not love each other. They are always a political question. In this country as in South Africa and as it was in your own country before independence, a love affair between white and black cannot be a personal matter if it is forbidden by politics. And just as white politics forbid whites to marry blacks, it is high time black politics forbade blacks to marry whites. But you don't seem to get what I am telling you. Are you still there?"
"Yes, I am, and listening."
"Then let me know that you are there. You don't stop me from going to bed and then let me talk to you as if I am talking to somebody who is dead. Say something to make me know that you are still there."
"I am still here and listening."
"Do you still want to talk or do you wish to go to bed? We can continue this later, you know."
"But you were saying something. Maybe you can finish it and then we wind up." She laughed. Then Macaria asked:
"Why are you laughing?"
"I am laughing at you."
"Why, have I said something foolish?"
"I am just wondering about you brothers from the continent."
"What about us, Sister?"
"Is this how you operate?"
"I don't understand."
"You get a girl to give you her telephone number. You call her and stop her from going to bed, you get her to talk to you for a full hour and then tell her to wind up when you don't even know her name, and you have not told her yours. If you meet me in college town tomorrow, what will you call me? Sister? Sisters and brothers have names you know. At least in this country they do. Don't they in Africa?"
"They do."
"Then what is your name?"
"Macaria."
"Ma... what? Can you pronounce it slowly for me please. It is hundreds of years since they stopped us talking our African languages."
"Okay. Mer-sher-rea."
"Mer...sher what?"
"Mer-sher-rea. Or maybe you should call me Joseph. It is easier."
"What? I ask you to teach me how to pronounce your name and you begin giving me those nicknames which white people have always given black people in the name of Christianity in order to kill their African names, culture and identity?"
"It is not a nickname. It is also my name."
"Bullshit! Just teach me how to pronounce your African name."
"Mer-sher-rea."
"Mer sher rea. Did I get it right?"
"Yes, you did."
"Mer sher rea. Right?"
"Right, Macaria."
"And mine is Cynthia."
"Cynthia. Cynthia who?"
"Cynthia X."
"X?"
"Yes, X. Something unknown. Maybe you will help me get a good African name in place of X."
"I think I have a good name for you."
"That fast? Is it an African name?"
"Yes, it is."
"What is it?"
"Muthoni."
"Spell it for me."
"M-u-t-h-o-n-i."
"Got it. And how do you pronounce it?"
"Like Moor-thor-nee."
"Moor thor nee. Right?"
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
"It means in-law."
"What in-law? Father-in-law? Mother-in-law? Brother-in-law? Or sister-in-law?"
"Any in-law. Father-in-law, mother-in-law or sister-in-law."
"I am afraid I don't like Moorthornee. I am not your in-law and I don't want to be."
"But a name does not mean what somebody is literally."
"But names have meanings. Right?"
"Right."
"For instance, you won't give me a name which means a dog or ugly, will you?"
"No, I won't."
"Then don't call me in-law. I am not your in-law. Dig it?"
"I have another one, but I am afraid, you will think I am trying to flatter you."
"Flatter me, why? What is it?"
"Mariru."
"Mariru?"
"Right."
"Now spell it for me."
"M-A-R-I-R-U."
"It is different again from the way it is pronounced? Pronounce it again for me."
"Just as you did. Mer-ree-roo."
"Good. I will soon be an African proper. But why are these names not pronounced as they are written?"
"Because we are dealing with two different languages which are not written or spoken the same way."
"Okay. Now what does mer ree roo mean?"
"One who is very beautiful. A great beauty."
"Then it is not a real name, is it?"
"Yes, it is."
"You are only trying to fool me. I want a real name."
"It is a real name, Cynthia. Just like Cynthia."
"And it means 'one who is very beautiful'?"
"Yes."
"Is it a name for men, too?"
"No. Just for women."
"Then I will take it. But if you are trying to make a fool of me, just know that I am an expert in Karate."
"I am not fooling you, Mariru."
"I believe you. Can we wind up now? It is nearly morning."
"Sure."
"Will you find some sleep now?"
"Lots of it."
"Then good morning and don't disappear as brothers do. Call me again."
"I will, and good night." Macaria could not bring himself to say 'good morning'. It sounded so odd.
From that day Macaria became friends with Cynthia, Mariru thought his friendship with Karen also continued to grow. Intellectually, Macaria was in full agreement with Cynthia. Emotionally however, he was still hooked to Karen. And the longer he knew Karen, the more he admired her. As Macaria had told Cynthia, Karen was a very understanding young woman, not to mention that she was a very beautiful one. That she took time to learn Kiswahili and Gikuyu convinced Macaria that if ever he got married to her, she would not turn out a racial and social snob. Karen even took Macaria home for holidays. And though he was not received very warmly as expected, he was tolerated. In fact, Karen's mother went out of her way to make Macaria feel at home very much to the chagrin of the father, who, if he could, would have easily booted Macaria out of his house. Karen encouraged Macaria not to give a damn about what the father thought about their relationship. "He has nothing to do with our relationship. It is none of his business." That as it might be did not get rid of the very uncomfortable problem of a hostile prospective father-in-law who was backed in his hostility by almost a whole society. Yet Macaria wondered what could happen to this world if nobody did anything to bring the races together.
Macaria often wondered why a father, who could never have married his daughter, was so actively opposed to his daughter's friendship with him? Like all young people, he did not understand that fathers worry about daughters as children in whom they have a never dying interest and not as jealous men who want to marry them. But if Macaria was missing the competition of white boys, jealous and more justified so according to him, he did not have long to wait. One day, when Macaria had gone to see Karen in her co-ed dorm, he met with a spectacle which he did not expect at all. He had gone to meet Karen in her room and invite her to go to a movie with him. When they came out of the room, they found a huge crowd of rowdy white boys lined up on both sides of the passage from Karen's room to the stairs. As they walked between the boys, Macaria felt quite shaken, but Karen was not. She walked with her head high and even managed to joke with boys who were booing, jeering and catcalling. At the farthest end of the passage, there was a group of white girls who had come out to watch Karen and her "nigger boyfriend". "Hi Karen", some boy would greet in mockery. "Where to?" another would ask in mock surprise. "What is the guy's name?" and "Where is the boyfriend from?" were some other harassing questions that were shot at Karen. As soon as they were out of the dorm, Macaria asked Karen, "Why were they doing that?" 
"They are just jealous and unused to seeing a white-black relationship."
"But you must have many relationships like ours in this country? After all, U.S. is a multi-racial society."
"Depends on where you come from geographically and class-wise. Very rich people from very conservative parts of this country have not seen many inter-racial friendships."
"But can they beat someone? Or rather, can they lynch?"
"Not here. They are just jealous. Maybe if they are drunk, they might beat someone up. That is all."
"I was rather worried."
"You should not be. They just hate to see a beautiful white girl going over to a black guy. But don't mind them at all. They will either get used to it or go and hang."
"If they don't decide to hang me first."
"No such thing can happen. Not today." 
They forgot the subject and went to the cinema. Later Macaria only went to Karen's dorm if he was together with his friend Kimathi. But Kimathi, like Cynthia, was not for an inter-racial relationship and did not always agree to accompnay Macaria. When Macaria had no escort, he would not go to Karen's dorm. He would ask her over to his place. Then something happened that shattered Macaria's faith in inter-racial marriages.
Macaria's friend from Tanzania was getting married to a white girl and Macaria and Karen were invited to the marriage ceremony as best man and best maid. The marriage had no consent from the girl's father, who decided to boycott the church ceremony. He had probably meant this boycott as a tactic of killing the marriage. When it did not work, he decided to be present at the reception party. Everybody was obviously jubilant over this change of heart on the part of the father until he showed up at the party. To demonstrate his change of heart, he had offered to pay for the entire party, drinks and all. But though his money made a big reception party possible, his attitude at the party completely killed the spirit of the party. He stood apart from everybody else and was all the time biting his lips. If he made any efforts to conceal his anger, his efforts were almost entirely unsuccessful. To him, this was not a marriage, but a funeral for his daughter. He did not even condescend to congratulate the married couple. Macaria could see that his Tanzanian friend was really pained. He would move to where the father-in-law was, but no conversation would take place. During speech time, the mother spoke for the entire family. The father would not say a word or allow himself to be introduced. To Macaria, it was clear that his friend was being treated insultingly. It was clear that this marriage was not seen as a marriage of equals. The white girl was viewed as the senior and superior partner. The marriage of the white girl was seen as a very big favour to the black boy. It was like the black boy had nothing to contribute either to the marriage or to the success of it. Looking at the whole thing, Macaria felt pity for the married couple. He wondered whether anybody would give their marriage a chance to succeed. In fact, he himself felt discouraged about the future prospects of this marriage. So much so that he nearly lacked words to say when he was called upon to speak on behalf of his friend's side. 
"First, let me congratulate Pweza and Mary on the occasion of their marriage today. On behalf of Pweza, let me also thank all those who are here now for it is your presence which has made this occasion such a success. But in congratulating Pweza and Mary, let us also pray for the success of their marriage. Marriage is not a one-day event. It is a lifetime affair that must succeed each day to see old age. Let us not leave this party with the misconceived notion that because Pweza and Mary are now wearing each other's marriage ring, their marriage is a confirmed success. What we are seeing here is an infant marriage. For it to grow, mature and enter old age, Pweza and Mary must make sure that they don't let it die of starvation, cold or disease. Second, marriage is not always a bed of roses. It is not a union of happiness only. It is a union where people are happy together, sick together, rich together and even poor together. In marriage, people need each other more in problems than in good times. Anybody, including enemies can be with you in good times. But in bad times, in sickness and in problems only those who are most devoted will remain with you. If you are sick and your wife or husband is with you, then your marriage is a success. But if in a marriage a spouse deserts the other in problems, then the marriage is a total flop. Marriages succeed not simply because they have been contracted, but because special efforts are made to survive, sustain and preserve them. But if common marriages need special efforts to succeed, a special marriage like the one we have witnessed today, needs special efforts and special prayers. Normal marriages have friends and enemies. Abnormal marriages like this one have abnormal friends and enemies.
I am sure many here are wondering why I am calling this marriage abnormal. I am calling it abnormal because it is not the ordinary thing for people to do. And because it is not the ordinary thing, it is opposed by many. And because it is opposed by many, special efforts are needed to make it work. But what makes an inter-racial marriage particularly trying is not because some white parents oppose it, but because black parents will also oppose it. Before I came here, I remember I was warned very clearly at a big farewell meeting that while I am here, I must not marry a "horse-haired" white girl. I was reminded that at home there are black, educated girls who are waiting for me to come home and marry them. I am sure, Pweza was also given a similar warning before he came here. So here are Pweza and Mary in a very difficult situation. Here in Mary's country, some people think the two should not marry. Ladies and gentlemen, a marriage that finds itself in such a difficult situation must be constantly prayed for because it will find it specially difficult to survive. But I have absolute faith in Pweza and Mary. If they have so far overcome past problems, I am sure they will overcome future ones. The worst is over. They shall overcome."
Macaria's speech was specially directed at one audience - Mary's father. Mainly, Macaria wanted Pweza's father-in-law to understand that Africans did not consider the marriage of their sons and daughters to white girls and boys as a favour at all. In fact, some opposed such marriages as much as he himself did. Two, such a marriage was hardly seen as a gain by Africans. It was seen as a loss in the same way he saw it as a loss. So, if Mary was doing Pweza a favour by marrying him, Pweza was also doing Mary a favour by marrying her.
At a personal level, Macaria saw Pweza's marriage as what his own marriage might be. And he wondered whether he could ever make success out of such a marriage. He was certain that his own parents would not welcome a mixed marriage more than Karen's father. Even if they managed to stick together despite all the racial pressures, it was most likely that he would never have healthy relations with his in-laws and Karen would never have healthy relations with her in-laws if they were suddenly discovered to be hostile. It would be foolhardy to get into such a marriage knowing that parents on both sides are hostile. Macaria was sure that just as he had loved before he met Karen, he would be able to love again if he left Karen. After all, in the African context, a marriage which antagonizes both families, would be a very difficult one to sustain. A marriage should bring a couple closer to both families and not separate it from them. A marriage should merge both individuals and families and not cast a couple apart from both families.  
Weeks later Macaria asked Karen, "What do you think of our friends' marriage?"
"It was a great marriage but for Karen's father. He was something else."
"Maybe, he has changed now, don't you think?"
"He is too much of a racial bigot to change. In any case, even if he were to change now, he has already made an enemy out of his son-in-law. I don't see how confidence and trust could develop between the father and the son-in-law."
"But Mary, I am sure she will always want to visit her home and see her parents, brothers and sisters in the company of her husband."
"But going to such a home with such a hostile father will be extremely humiliating for Pweza," opined Karen.
"If I were him, I would stay behind and let Mary go home alone," said Macaria.
"And why should Mary not be able to take home her husband when everybody else is able to? For Pweza to stay behind is to hand over victory to the father-in-law on a silver platter and Pweza should never do that."
"But think of Pweza. His suffering. Will he ever be able to sit at a table with the family of Mary if the father sits there taciturn, biting his lips and not saying a word to him? I could never take such humiliation twice. And our history of racial discrimination makes such humiliation even more excruciating. It makes it seem as if always it is Pweza who is going where he does not belong, where he is not wanted. Was this not the reason why white people always set up separate residential areas, separate schools, separate hospitals and even separate toilets for themselves? It will be particularly painful for Pweza to be taking racial humiliations from his father-in-law when all black people are telling racial bigots to go to hell with their separate toilets. One even wonders whether marriage to a white girl is enough reason for one to be subjected to perpetual racial humiliation by the girl's father?"
"And would marriage to a black boy be enough reason for a white girl to be subjected to racial rejection by the boy's parents? You were warned against marrying a horse-haired white girl like me?"
"Yes, I was. But they did not mean you in particular. I am sure if they met my Karen, they would simply love you."
"But supposing they don't? What would you do?"
"Just keep you in Nairobi away from them"
"That would be terrible, wouldn't it? We leave U.S. because my father is hostile only to get to your home and find that we are not welcome there, too. I love you very much and I am prepared to go and live on the moon all alone with you. But don't you think that living on the moon alone might get a bit boring after a few years?"
"It certainly will. That's why there aren't many couples living there yet."
"But seriously, darling, if my father remains hostile to you, would you still want to marry me?"
"Yes, I would. But I would not go to your home and be humiliated by him."
"And what would make you change your mind and go?"
"Nothing."
"Not even me?"
"Not even you."

* * *


WITNESS NO. 11

Now that it was obvious that Karen and Macaria would not marry, when they were not together Macaria missed her even more keenly than before. Many times he suffered sharp heartaches when he could not meet her. Yet any meetings between them only made a bad situation worse by giving them longing for a union they could never have. But fate had not entirely deserted them. It came to their rescue when Macaria visited his friend in Florida on a Friday afternoon. Macaria thought staying for a weekend at the sea coast would give his mind some peace and rest. As it were, something better than peace and rest turned up.
His friend from home had a girlfriend also from home living next door to him. For supper his friend had invited his girlfriend and her sister who was visiting U.S. from home. Macaria had not met either of them before and was not so much looking forward to meeting them. His mind was still hooked to Karen. But when the two girls showed up, he was struck by their beauty as if by thunder.
"Mimu, this is my friend Macaria. He is from Ithaca. Macaria, this is my girlfriend Mimu. She is here in Florida with me." The two shook hands saying how pleased they were to meet each other. Macaria was then introduced to the second girl. "Gakenia meet Macaria. Macaria meet Gakenia, Mimu's sister. She is visiting U.S. from home. They shook hands saying to each other, "Pleased to meet you." Macaria however felt really pleased to meet Gakenia. She was such a beauty as he had not met before. She was taller than her sister, not as plump, but not lean, very erect, smiling, not shy, yet not staring and looking very much at peace with herself. Macaria envied her composure. As they went to sit on the sofas where food was served, Macaria asked Gakenia, "Is Gakenia your real name or some nickname."
"It is my real name, why?"
"How could anybody give you such a fitting name?"
"Well, names are supposed to fit their bearers, aren't they?"
"Not literally. And it is rare to find a name that fits its bearer."
"Then count yourself lucky today,"  she said laughing jokingly. But the laughter, it sounded even better than the name "Gakenia".
"But tell me, why did they give you the name "Gakenia"? Are you named after your grandmother or aunt?"
"Mine is a lone name in the family. I am its only bearer."
"You mean it was given just to describe you?"
"Yes."
"Were you so beautiful that they had to call you Gakenia?"
"No. They did not call me Gakenia because I was so beautiful. You know, one does not have much of a shape on the first day when one is named. They called me Gakenia - the little one who pleases - because my parents had been longing for a baby girl for a long, long time, and I was born just when they had given up on ever having a girl. So when I arrived so unexpectedly, I pleased them so much they called me Gakenia - the little pleaser.
"It was an apt name both for your arrival and for your beauty."
"I told you, when they called me Gakenia, they did not know that I would be beautiful. A few days later, when I began to take shape and look beautiful, my grandpa nicknamed me "Keegataki" because he said I was as beautiful as his wife, my grandma. No one had had such a name in our home before. "Keega-taki?" is not even a name, it is a question - "As beautiful as what?"
"I don't know. I have never seen anything or anybody as beautiful as you", Macaria answered making Gakenia feel a bit embarrassed.
"I was not asking you a question. I was only trying to translate my name "keega-taki?" into English. You see the name is for a question form."
"I understand. Still, I have never seen anything as beautiful as you."
"The name was for my infant beauty. Now I am no longer little and beautiful. So, I don't use the nickname any longer. But when I was young, often I used the name to tease boys."
"The name will make anybody tick when it is worn by you. By the way, were your parents and grandparents poets?"
"They never went to school unless you mean traditional poets. Did we have poets and poems in our society?" she asked aloud for her sister and her friend to hear. Her sister said, "Never heard of them." But her boyfriend said, "Darling, they were there. Song makers and singers are poets, and there is a name for poems in our language - "Marebeta". So there must have been poems and poets."
Then Gakenia told her sister, "Macaria is asking whether Mum and Dad and "guka" (grandpa) were poets for calling me "Gakenia" and "Keega-taki". Would you say they were?"
"I think they were." Mimu answered and asked Macaria another question.
"Do you think my sister's names are poetic?"
"They are more than poetic. They are angelic." Macaria said enthusiastically.
"Well, well. Whatever is going on!" and she rushed to the kitchen.
When food was ready, they all helped to bring it to the table. After eating, they washed dishes together before relaxing on the sofas over glasses of wine. When they were sipping the wine, Macaria was surprised at the way he was reacting to this incredible beauty called Gakenia. Surprisingly, he also felt a bit intimidated by her. To feel equal to her, he was taking a glass of wine though he had taken a vow, which he had broken a number of times, not to take beer or wine again since he suffered a mental black-out when he was still at home. When he felt sufficiently confident, he turned to her, "Gakenia, tell me."
"What?"
"When are you going back home. I want to invite you to my place."
"Next Friday."
"What? Have you been here long?"
"Yes. Three weeks now. And I find this place very beautiful. Is where you stay as beautiful as it is here?"
"Yes, it is in summer. But it gets very cold and snowy in winter."
"I wish I had come in winter. Then I would have seen snow."
"Stay, and you will see lots and lots of snow."
"But I can't. I have to go back to school."
"Are you going to the University of Nairobi?"
"No. I am taking a course at Utalii College."
"What course?"
"Hotel Management and Tourism."
"But you can take that here."
"Where? Who will allow a poor girl like me to stay and study here?"
"At my college, there is a school of hotel management and tourism. You can come and study in the same college. What are your qualifications?"
"I had a 1st division in my O'levels and 2 principles and a sub in my A'levels. They would not admit me at the University of Nairobi. So I applied to go to Utalii College and was lucky to be admitted. This is my second year there."
"What do you plan to do after college?"
"Work with the Ministry of Tourism or in a hotel, whichever will pay better."
"Such a dazzling beauty you are."
"What? We were talking about work."
"Oh, yes. But I can't help wondering at your beauty."
"Don't you have beautiful girls here? All the white and black American girls I have seesn around. Or you are simply trying to dress me in a straw turban as they say in Kiswahili - kunivika kilemba cha ukoka?"
"Oh, no. Seriously, I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."
"But you tell every girl that. All boys do to make girls happy."
"No, I don't. And I am not telling you that I am a virgin or without a girlfriend. In fact, right now I have a white girlfriend whom I love, but can't marry."
"Why? I she not beautiful?"
"She is beautiful alright. But not as beautiful as you are. But I can't marry her because there might be complications at both our homes if we marry. People at home warned me not to marry a white girl, and her father does not like her getting married to a black boy. So we are stalemated."
"But you can ignore what your people say to you about such matters. The marriage is yours, not theirs. Where are you from back home?"
"From Mseto District."
"If you listen too much to parents, you may never be able to marry a girl of your own choice. They will tell you a girl from this place is not good and a girl from that place is worse. Then you will only have the grass outside your home to eat. And more often than not, they say it is not very palatable."
"Where are you from yourself?"
"Kabete, where the most unmarriable girls come from."
"Anyway, no one can warn me against marrying anyone."
"But they warned you against marrying a white girl and you listened."
"There was more to it than that."
"I am straying. Where were we?"
"That no one can warn me against marrying you."
"God! We weren't talking about me. And in any case, Macaria, I am already engaged. I really hope that I am not giving you any ideas."
"So what should we talk about?"
"About you for a change. Why did they call you a searcher?"
"Because I am always searching."
"What do you search?"
"Justice, and a good girl to marry."
"And you search for these wherever you go?"
"Yes, wherever I go."
"And have you found any of them?"
"A good girl, yes. Justice, no."
"So when are we coming to your marriage?"
"When you say it is time."
"You aren't saying that I am your good girl?"
"That's what I am saying. That I have found the girl I will marry. Gakenia, I know I am not supposed to be infatuated or rash with girls whom I have only met as casually as I have met you. But what should I do when I meet a girl who is both a Gakenia and a Keega-taki rolled in one? Am I supposed to pretend that I am not looking for a wife? No, I can't do that."
By the time the girls left to go back to their flat, Macaria knew that he was in very deep trouble. He had come to Florida in the hope of forgetting a love affair. On his first night there, he could not sleep because he was deeply embroiled in yet another love. Though the girls had left because it was 1 a.m. and time to sleep, after their departure, Macaria and his friend did not go to bed. They made coffee and sat to talk.
"I am in a worse fix now than before. You should have told me that your sister-in-law is so beautiful. I would not have come. I have now jumped from the frying pan of Karen into the fire of Gakenia. I am right into Gakenia's cobweb of love. And when she goes home next week, I am sure she will leave me wrapped up in that damn thing. We must do something about it."
"Cool off, man. Yours is just initial reaction to great beauty. Moreover you only saw her in poor light at night. She may not look so beautiful when you see her in the light of day."
"I am sure she will glitter in the light of day. And those names of hers, they are like pincers for catching men."
"What names?"
"Gakenia and Keega-taki."
"Did she tell you she is called Keega-taki? I never heard of the name before."
"Yes, she did. Don't you remember when we were asking about poems and poets?"
"I did not get what the whole thing was all about. But names are just labels. Don't be taken in by them."
"But the labels fit her very well, man."
"Too soon to judge that."
"This is your in-law and you must know her better than me. Are you telling me that she is not as beautiful as she looks?"
"No, I could never tell you that because I don't know. I am saying, half a night is not enough to know anybody."
"I am not going by half a night. I am going by everything I have - eyes, ears, heart and my gut feeling. She feels an all-round to me. Beautiful in body, mind and soul."
"You are crazy! You must have said the same of Karen. Anyway, buddy, you came here to relax, not to get involved in another love, another wild-goose chase. This girl is out of reach for you. Didn't she tell you that she is going home next week?"
"She did, and that is what I want us to talk about."
"What do you want to do?"
"Stop her."
"Stop her? You can't be serious! This girl is going to college. And she is someone else's girl, too. Cool off, man. There is no way we could stop her from going home. What for anyway?"
"I have an irreversible crush on this girl and nothing or anybody will stop me from marrying her."
Macaria's friend stood up from where he was, walked over to where Macaria sat, sat on his haunches in front of him, looked him straight in the eyes and said, "For sometime now, we have not met. Are you okay? Are you sure that political science stuff you are reading has not cracked your nut? You told me you are running away from Karen because the two of you cannot get married. You come down here and the same day tell me that you won't let Gakenia return home because you want to marry her. Man, women are women. You can't escape the problems of love by escaping from one woman and running into the grips of another."
"But there is no other way. Only a woman can make you forget another one. Besides, Gakenia is the most beautiful woman I have seen, and it will be easier for me to marry her than it would have been for me to marry Karen. Do I sound so unnatural?"
"Not in your admiration of her beauty, but in your wanting to stop her from going home and in your wanting to marry her. How can you meet and marry her in one day. You have to look at her again. She may be my future sister-in-law, but you are now my friend. I know Gakenia is beautiful and nothing on this earth will stop me from marrying her sister, but it took me time to decide all this. Marriage is not like taking a girl to bed. It is serious business."
"But look, I don't have years to meet Gakenia, I don't have months to know her, and I don't even have a week to talk with her. I have only days to meet her, agree she is beautiful, decide to marry her, propose marriage to her and stop her from going back home next week. Given that I have only one week within which I must make all these decisions, do I still sound hasty? Or would you rather I gave her up because one week could never be enough time?"
"Can't this marriage of yours wait? Is somebody going to kill you if you don't marry now?"
"It is not that I will die if I don't marry Gakenia. It is just that I see no reason of losing a good girl like Gakenia. I might lose her for good if she goes home."
"So what? Have you never heard that "Beautiful girls like Keega-taki will always be there (Keega-taki gatithiriga)?"
"But all Keega-takis are not the same. Some are more beautiful than others. And this particular one is to me the most beautiful." At that, Macaria's friend laughed, stood up and got back to his seat. But before he said anything, Macaria shot another question at him. "Will you help me?"
"With what?"
"Stopping Gakenia from going home."
"You have not even seen her again to confirm your initial impression of her. Stop this silly talk of stopping her. But I will help you meet her again tomorrow. And should you confirm that she is still your most beautiful woman, it will be up to you to see how you may develop a relationship between the two of you."
"I am talking of marrying, not of building a relationship."
"Whatever you do after seeing her tomorrow is your own business. Now let us sleep and we will have lunch together with them if you are ready to cough up a few bucks to buy us something at the beach hotel where we went to last time you were here."
"I could take you to the Hilton if that is the condition of your helping me to meet her again." They laughed and went to sleep.
The following day, they met at the beach hotel for lunch. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, they sat down for drinks before ordering for lunch. Either by design or accident, Macaria now sat next to Mimu and Gakenia next to Macaria's friend. But in the light of a bright summer day, Gakenia looked more of a perfect goddess than a beautiful woman. Macaria was suddenly lost in a reverie of love. "How can anybody in his right senses ask me to take days to decide that this woman is beautiful and that I want her for a wife? Which man would reject her hand if it was offered any time?" Then Mimu startled Macaria by talking to him, "Sorry, we kept you up so late last night."
"I thought you left too early."
"It was 1 a.m. when we left."
"We could have talked till morning and I would not have realised that it was late. How long have you been here?"
"One year now."
"I thought so, because I didn't see you last time I was here."
"I was still in California then."
"You mean you came here from California and not straight from home?"
"Yah. From home, I came to California first three years ago."
"So are you graduating this year?"
"No, next year."
"Then what? Will you go home or do a masters?"
"I will do a masters while I wait for my tortoise-friend here. I don't want to leave him behind alone. In this jungle, he will certainly get eaten up."
"He says he will not enjoy being eaten up by any other jungle creature except you."
"Don't believe him. You men can't resist being eaten up even by hyenas."
"Only when there are no lions, cheetahs, tigers and leopards."
"That's what I am saying. When a cheetah is away, my man can get gobbled up even by a hyena. And you cannot blame the hyena."
"You people should visit me up at Ithaca. It's beautiful there in summer. Just like here."
"I have a summer job now. Maybe in August, if your friend is free."
"I was thinking of next week. The three of you."
"But Gakenia will leave for home next Friday."
"Can't she hang on a little longer?"
"She has to go to school."
"She told me she is taking hotel management and tourism at Utalii College. I was thinking she could enrol for a degree course at our college."
"But there is no time, and it is summer time. Wish we had met you earlier."
"But it is not too late. I am quite sure she could get a place there if she applied."
"You are not disinterested?" Mimu asked smiling slyly.
"Not entirely."
"How come?"
"I fell in love last night."
"You must be joking", Mimu said laughing.
"No, I am not."
"Excuse me, but your being in love will not give Gakenia a place at your college at a week's notice, would it?"
"I was not thinking in terms of a week's notice. I was thinking that your sister should not go back home at once. She should look for a college here. And with her qualifications, that is not impossible at all. At least at our college."
"But she could not cancel her flight next week without admission. It would be counting her chickens before they hatch. And remember, college at home is not like college here. You lose your place if you don't report in the first few days of the term. So you see, it is not possible." 
"I wish I was her guardian. I would make the decision for her to stay. I am sure she could never fail to get a college here."
"Make yourself her guardian and assume all the responsibilities for that."
"I wish she could let me do more than that. I would most willingly assume everything."
"Anyway. I am just joking", Mimu said noting that Macaria had taken her seriously.
"But I am not. Ask her to stay and I will make sure she gets a place at Ithaca College. And since I am on a scholarship myself, me and her could work for her tuition."
"And after that? How will she repay you?"
"She will not repay me. I hope she will let me marry her."
"Excuse me, but you mean let you lay her."
"Not at all. I mean marry her."
"It sounds too good to be true. And it cannot be guaranteed."
"How would you want it guaranteed?"
"Get her a place at college first before you ever touch her. But knowing the Kenyan men, that is not possible."
"I can most willingly guarantee that. In fact, I will guarantee not to touch her before marriage."
Unbelieving, Mimu then shouted at her sister, "Gakenia, hear this. Macaria says he loves you and wants you to stay and go to college here. After that, he wants to marry you and guarantees not to touch you before marriage. Does it ring true?"
"And will he pay my tuition in lieu of dowry?" Gakenia asked instead of answering her sister's question.
"I will pay both tuition and dowry if you agree to stay", Macaria said.
"And marry you?" Gakenia asked Macaria by way of finishing his thoughts.
"Yes", Macaria said boldly, but feeling a bit foolish like one who was being made fun of. Then his friend said seriously, "Since you people have decided to talk about this here, why don't we talk it over while we eat and hope that it will not kill our appetite if Gakenia and Macaria don't agree. May we, Macaria?"
"Yes."
"May we Gakenia?"
"If I said no, your friend would not stop pestering, would he?"
"Probably not."
"Then let's say what has to be said."
"Okay then. Mimu, Macaria here says that he is head over heels in love with Gakenia. He says she is the most beautiful woman he has ever met - maybe with an exception of you. He reckons that if I am going to marry you, he is going to marry Gakenia. But since this can't be if Gakenia goes home next week, he wants her to stay and go to college here. Without mincing words, Macaria wants to marry Gakenia. How does that sound to Gakenia?"
"Flattering, but crazy, cheap and out of question. Tell your friend once and for all that I am already engaged and have a child at home. And a boy at that. I am a mother and as good as married. I am not a spring chicken for him to spring upon", said Gakenia lying about herself to discourage Macaria. 
"Gakenia, I am not looking for a spring chicken. And it is immaterial to me that you are the mother of a boy at home. I would still be madly in love with you and eager to marry you, even if you had three sons. If only you could agree to disengage yourself."
"You don't even know me."
"I know you are as beautiful as a goddess. I know you are a mother of one child. I know you are engaged and I know you are taking a course at Utalii College. If that is all there is for me to know, I still ask you to stay and go to college here and both of us will work for your tuition if you agree to marry me."
"You are despicable the way you think I can marry you because of college. I can only marry out of love and not because of your assistance. And right now, I don't feel any love for you at all."
"Okay. Stay and go to college here even if you don't marry me. I will be quite happy to assist you any way I can."
"You are messing up my appetite and spoiling the last and most important leg of my holiday tour. Let's talk about something else."
"If you say so. But I was not joking or trying to spoil anything for you."
After that, they talked about other things over the rest of their lunch and drinks. After drinks, they drove to a national park to see animals. From the national park, they went to a party by Kenyan students. In the party, his friend stuck to Mimu and Macaria stuck to Gakenia. As Macaria and Gakenia talked and danced together, they understood each other better. Finally, Gakenia was persuaded that Macaria was not so crazy after all, and the idea of staying and going to college was not so bad if it could be made to work. But putting herself and her future in the hands of a man she hardly knew, remained a very big gamble for her. But she consoled herself with the sober thought that most decisions in life are gambles which are taken before their outcome is clear or known. By morning, when they returned home from the party, Gakenia had agreed to visit Macaria at Ithaca for the next three days. While at Ithaca, she would visit the school of hotel management and tourism and decide whether to stay or go home on Friday. When Macaria's friend and Mimu heard this, they were very much surprised. But they understood. The whole thing was quite tempting, though risky.
When Macaria and Gakenia went to Ithaca, they went straight to the school of hotel management and tourism. They took and filled out admission forms for the academic year that was to begin in the Fall. They took the forms back together, explaining that they had plans to get married right away. A telephone call was made to Utalii College to confirm that Gakenia was a second year student there and her academic qualifications were as stated in the admission forms. Admission was promised pending the receipt of the academic documents from Utalii College. It was also agreed that if she was admitted right away, she would have to pay for her tuition while her application for a scholarship was being considered. With the knowledge that Gakenia would stay, Macaria applied for a house in the married quarters and got a one bed-roomed house. He was overjoyed.
When they talked to Florida the following Wednesday, it was to ask Mimu to cancel Gakenia's flight home. In Florida, they could hardly believe their ears when they were told that Gakenia would stay, attend college at Ithaca and get married to Macaria. Two weeks later, Macaria and Gakenia returned to Florida to celebrate their engagement and bring back Gakenia's belongings to Ithaca. That same summer in Ithaca, Gakenia and Macaria got married in a small ceremony which was attended by Mimu and Macaria's friend.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 12

For Macaria, marriage brought to an end a hectic bachelor life of daily partying with all the drinking and womanizing that it entailed. Thereafter Macaria had a lot more time for more important activities. Immediately he became a member of the African Students Association in college whose president was a Zambian friend of his, who was called Mzalendo Aka. This association had members from all over the continent and held monthly meetings where African dishes from the different African countries were served for dinner and discussions were held on the different African problems. Sometimes, African documentary films were used for discussions. Most members of this association were people who however did not concern themselves with very critical issues. They acted as people who were already members of their governments back home. And many were in fact civil servants on study leave to complete university courses on government scholarships. As civil servants, they never criticized their governments back home. For exposure to wider issues, Macaria had to join other university associations which tackled more political questions.
Though U.S. is a country where some racial groups like American Indians, African Americans and Chicanoes are discriminated against, it is also a land of democracy where people enjoy freedoms of expression, press, assembly, association, criticism and conscience. There is no doubt that oppressed minorities had been denied even these basic democratic freedoms. But it is easier for oppressed minorities to fight for the recovery of their basic freedoms in a land of democracy than in a land of dictatorship. Macaria found it ironical that it was in U.S. that he first demonstrated against apartheid in South Africa and Portuguese colonialism in Angola, Mozambique, Sao Tome and Guinea Bissau, and not in Kenya, his own country in Africa. He wondered why it was other people outside Africa who were more active in the struggles against apartheid and colonialism in Africa and not Africans in the so-called free Africa, who should have been leading such struggles. At college, Macaria also joined student demonstrations against their own university administrations for investing university funds in companies like Gulf Oil and General Motors which in turn did business with apartheid South Africa, colonial Portugal and Portuguese colonies. These demonstrations continued until the university agreed to withdraw or sell its shares from those companies. One such demonstration turned sour when demonstrating students stormed a meeting of the University Senate and held its president hostage after allowing everyone else to leave. The president was held until he agreed to sign documents which denounced Portuguese colonialism and South African apartheid and supported the withdrawal of university money from companies which did trade with South Africa and Portugal. While Macaria and other demonstrators were blocking the entrance into the building where the president of the University Senate was held hostage, soldiers of the National Guard arrived to break the demonstration. Three rows of students were blocking the entrance. When the National Guard arrived, it ordered all the students to disperse, but students would not move. The Guard was then ordered to shoot the students. Macaria was then in the front row and he felt pangs of terror bite deep into the wall of his stomach, when he saw soldiers forming themselves into an extended line in front of students, holding and pointing their guns at them. But no sooner had soldiers received their orders than another line of white students only was formed in front of Macaria's row to act as a buffer between soldiers and any black students who were suspected to be the  soldiers' first target. When the nearly all white National Guard realised that it would only kill white students if it shot, its resolve to shoot melted. Because of this dramatic show of solidarity between white and black demonstrators, the National Guard was forced to negotiate a peaceful withdrawal of demonstrators under terms which allowed demonstrators to achieve their goal of forcing the university to disinvest from companies which supported colonialism and apartheid economically. It was while negotiations with the National Guard were taking place that the president of the University Senate succumbed and agreed to sign the papers which condemned apartheid and colonialism and supported the withdrawal of university money from colonial business ventures. 
The only thing which embarrassed Macaria about this great demonstration was the most conspicuous absence of African students from it. Only four African students attended this demonstration - Macaria, Aka, Mkunya, another Kenyan student, and Mwari, a woman student from the then unfree Zimbabwe. It was a bitterly cold and snowy winter day and it was Mzalendo Aka in his speech on behalf of Africans, who wondered aloud what logic there could be which allowed African students to sit in their warm rooms, eating, drinking, studying and mating, when white and black students from the rest of the world were busy freezing and putting their lives in the line of the National Guard for the freedom of their African mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and children. But the prevailing logic of the African elite told African students to eat and be warm, and not to sacrifice for their oppressed ones.
Though American soldiers were getting thoroughly beaten in Vietnam, Macaria had no doubt that finally American soldiers were withdrawn from Vietnam because of American opposition to that war at home. That opposition was, however, motivated by the Americans' desire to avoid deaths in the battle field. Students were at the forefront of that opposition. On the campus, Macaria saw demonstrations almost daily against the war in Vietnam. He saw meetings where students were openly urged to reject being drafted into the army and register themselves as conscientious objectors. He saw a big meeting where Jane Fonda, the American actress, taught students songs against the war in Vietnam. But the die against the war was cast when the National Guard shot and killed some students who were demonstrating against the Vietnam war at Kent State University. After these killings, the whole of U.S. rose up to oppose the war and without the people's support, the government was not longer able to wage the war. That students and other citizens could stand unarmed and oppose victoriously a war which the government was fighting in another country was a great lesson in democracy to Macaria.
After seeing all these demonstrations, Macaria began to wonder why dictatorial African regimes could not be criticized and demonstrated against when they were in the wrong. If there was justification in demonstrating against democratic governments, there was even greater justification in demonstrating against dictatorial regimes. Macaria then began to go to Washington D.C. on Africa Day each year to demonstrate against old colonialism, apartheid, neo-colonialism and African dictatorship in Africa. On that day, there were so many black people - African Americans, African students and Blacks from the Caribbean - that if two people separated among the black mass, it was very difficult for them to come together again.
In these Africa Day demonstrations, enemies of African people were no longer defined along colour lines. White Botha of apartheid South Africa was condemned together with black Idi Amin of Uganda and black Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia was chanted down together with the white Caetano of colonial Portugal while neo-colonial right-wing dictators of independent Africa, like Emperor Bokassa, King Mzoi, Siad Barre and Nguesso were all roundly condemned with equal vehemence as white colonials before them. Chanting "Down With Botha", "Haile Selassie To The Zoo", "Down With King Mzoi", "Down With Bokassa", "Down With Portuguese Colonialism" and "Down With U.S. Imperialism", Macaria and other demonstrators jogged and walked up and down streets of Washington until they were hoarse and could walk no more. There is little doubt that Macaria and most other demonstrators associated African problems of colonialism, apartheid and right-wing dictatorships with the conquest of Africa by Western imperialism and capitalism. And as they condemned Western imperialism and capitalism, support was chanted for socialism, socialist countries and socialist support for the struggle of liberation in Africa. It always puzzled Macaria that bastions of Western democracy like U.S., Britain, France and West Germany supported right-wing dictatorships and not democracy in Africa. They seemed so frightened of communism spreading in Africa that African right-wing one-party dictators, who are some of the worst enemies of democracy, were defended by the West as Western allies in Africa. Multi-party democracy was condemned as a hand-maid of communism. Western democracies fought against socialism and democracy in Africa in the name of freedom and democracy. In turn, advocates of socialism in Africa began to fight multi-party democracy as an instrument of Western imperialism and capitalism. So, as advocates of capitalism fought with advocates of socialism, democracy was abandoned, and one-party dictatorship embraced by ideological friends and foes alike. And that is how all Africa became a victim of one-party dictatorship both from the right and from the left.

* * *

As an African student of political science, Macaria was required to write a paper on "Contemporary African Political Thought" and another one on "Africa's Most Prominent Leaders". Among other things, he was required to study the political philosophies of Tom Mboya and Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana. It was for the purpose of listening to the recorded speeches of Tom Mboya and Nkrumah that Macaria visited the university's audio-library. He had not been there before. When Macaria got to the library, he asked the librarian to give him cassettes of speeches by Tom Mboya and Kwame Nkrumah. He got the cassettes he wanted, a pair of ear-phones and a table to sit at and listen. He was busy listening to Tom Mboya, when he saw an African American girl sitting at an opposite table weeping as she listened to some speech. Apparently what she was listening to was affecting her emotions too much because, suddenly, Macaria saw her take her ear-phones off in a rage, take her bag, move over to the counter, drop the ear-phones and then leave in a huff. The speech Macaria was listening to was formal and dull, and he was looking for an excuse to stop listening to it. Macaria wondered what the girl had been listening to. Was it something that was exclusively for a female audience or was it something which he could also listen to? He stopped playing his cassette and approached the librarian.
"Hi."
"Hi. Can I help you?"
"Yes. There was a black girl here who just left and was seated at that table."
"Yes."
"May I listen to whatever she was listening to?"
"Malcolm X?"
"Was that the cassette she had?"
"Yes."
"May I have it, please?"
"Of course. Here it is."
"Thank you."
Macaria took the cassette over to his table and started listening to it. Malcolm X was making a speech which was highly captivating from the way he kept his audience enthralled. The way the audience was chanting its agreement with Malcolm X left little doubt that some of them were in tears. He sounded so convincing and so involved himself that one listening could not help being carried away. After listening to one speech, he asked for another one, and another one and continued listening until the library was closed. Later Macaria sought out Malcolm X's autobiography and read it. He was amazed by what problems Malcolm X, his family and his black race had suffered as the underdogs of the American society and was saddened by the certain destruction which awaited all those who dared challenge the injustices of that society. Macaria also read about Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and was truly overwhelmed by his incredibly brilliant oratory and his absolute courage as a prophet of freedom, justice and equality. Though Malcolm X and King advocated different means of reaching their common goal, the two were so alike in their determination to see their people free and in their readiness to die for the freedom of their people. What the two black freedom fighters had in common far outweighed their differences. And the more Macaria got to know these two individuals, the more he was convinced that both were heroes for all black people wherever they are in the world. But Macaria learnt more political lessons from Malcolm X than from Rev. King. This was because Malcolm was more political than King.
From Malcolm's speeches, Macaria learnt that in political struggles which are ever present in life, everything is important and nothing should be ignored, taken for granted or taken at face value. Macaria also learnt from Malcolm X that in the life of every people, every race and every community, possession and use of political power is what determines the collective fate of each people, race or community and the individual fate of every person. To the extent, therefore, that possession of political power is such an important activity for man, whatever else man does is often made to serve the all important purpose of getting and keeping political power. According to Malcolm X, the history of a people, a race or a community as it is taught in schools and universities and written in popular literature and newspapers is an instrument of political power used for the benefit of those in power and to the detriment of those who are without power. Religion and the world outlook which it teaches and promotes must also be seen in terms of whose interests it is out to work for and whose interests it is out to undermine. No religion and no God is politically neutral. According to Malcolm X, it is suicidal for somebody to follow a religion and a God who is hostile to one's survival and well-being. According to Malcolm X, we must also read the press most guardedly. All press is an instrument of some political interest or other. It is always pushing one political line as opposed to another, one political argument as opposed to another and always in the interests of one as opposed to another. Malcolm X was particularly wary of that press which is owned by those in power because it always pushes for the political oppression and destruction of their political enemies. In the service of that goal, Malcolm pointed out that it is not unusual for the press to paint criminals as victims and victims as criminals of a particular situation. Even such innocuous things like names and languages which spell out our identities are not politically neutral. In history, conquered peoples have always been made to carry the names and speak the languages of their conquerors. To the extent that they acquiesce in carrying names and speaking languages of their conquerors, they approve and perpetuate their own conquest. To the extent that they refuse to carry names and speak languages of their conquerors, they disapprove and help to end their own conquest sooner. Macaria thought all these were theoretical questions without any relevance to real life until he was one day confronted by his friend Kimathi.
Macaria was in class reading a letter he had just received from a friend at home. His friend, Kimathi, who was sitting next to him, happened to glance at the letter and was very surprised to see that the letter was written in the English language.
"What language is that letter written in?" he asked.
"English, of course."
"Is it by an American or an English person whom you know back home?"
"No. It is from a friend."
"British?"
"Kenyan."
"And your Kenyan friend writes you letters in English? I thought you told me that you people got your independence in 1963. But you are still using the white man's language to write letters to each other? So you are really no better than us black people here."
"Of course, we are. We have our African languages and we speak them at home. You here have lost your knowledge of any African languages. How can you say we are the same?"
"But seriously, can you write in your African languages?"
"Yes, we can."
"Why then don't you write in them? Don't you see that you will soon lose your knowledge of African languages if you don't write in them? Or are you people still ashamed of using your own languages? Don't you see that anybody will think you are a British colony if you still use their language. Maybe, it would be different if you didn't have a language. But you say you have so many. Why don't you use one of them to communicate between yourselves? My friend, if you cannot use your own languages, you are not yet free. At least not freer than we are."
"Say what you will, but we are independent."
Macaria said that only to save face. In reality he knew Kimathi was right. Using somebody else's language and names announces not one's independence, but one's dependence.
Malcolm X also impressed Macaria greatly in the way he linked the control of economy to the freedom of a people. To Malcolm X, if people do not control their own economy, they cannot claim to be free. Poor and hungry people cannot be free people. Though politics are controlled by those who control the economy, to control the economy, one must have political power. So, to Malcolm X, for a community to be truly free and independent, people need to control both the economy and the politics of their community. From all this, it was easy for Macaria to deduct that for his country to be truly independent, it was necessary to have its national economy in the hands of the nationals. Secondly, each person would be truly free, if no one was economically dependent upon another for survival and livelihood.
Malcolm X was a great admirer of the Mau Mau and Chinese revolutions. In one of his speeches which was called "By any means necessary", Malcolm argued that people could earn their freedom only if they were ready to defend their own beings by any means necessary. Malcolm X was adept at using history to illustrate that only those who have been willing to bleed for their freedom have been able to attain freedom, and loss of freedom always means exposure of man to fatal dangers of exploitation and oppression. Malcolm X had no doubt that oppressed people can never be given their freedom by their own oppressors. They must be ready to fight for it themselves. Every person has an inborn responsibility to defend oneself. According to Malcolm X, self defence is the first contract that one enters into in life, but with oneself. So it is a breach of this first contract in life for an oppressed or exploited person to refuse to fight for his own freedom.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 13

Macaria and Gakenia had now finished their studies in U.S. Gakenia had a 1st degree in Business Administration specialising in the management of tourism, and Macaria had a masters degree in Political Science. For the last six months, both had been working in the U.S. trying to raise money for their settlement at home - while waiting for replies to their applications for work back home. Macaria was teaching at the African Studies Centre and Gakenia had a job at a tourist travel agency in down town, Ithaca. At their present jobs, both were making more money than they could ever make if they worked at home. But now both had two job offers at home. Macaria had been offered two government jobs, one as a lecturer at Kenya Institute of Administration (KIA) and the other as a Senior Divisional Officer (DO1) if he agreed to take a six months' DO's training course at Embakasi. His wife had been offered a teaching job at Utalii College and another job as a Tourist Officer at the Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife with good prospects of ending up as a tourist attachŽ at Kenyan embassies either in Bonn, London or Washington. She knew people with a degree in the management of tourism were very few in Kenya and her chances of being a tourist attachŽ were therefore quite high. This was her second best job offer if they did not stay and work in U.S. Macaria wanted to go home, but had however not picked his choice of work and did not like the tourist job for Gakenia because he did not like any job which would take her out of the country again. On the other hand, Gakenia wanted to stay in the U.S. and work.
"Darling, let's stay here and work. Our prospects are much better here than at home."
"What prospects?"
"Earning more money, having things we need in life, and raising and educating our children in the best possible conditions and schools."
"That's quite a tall order, my darling."
"What is tall about what I have said? That is what all people need in life."
"I am not disputing that. I am just wondering whether here in America is our right place to get and do those things."
"Well, the best place for me is the place where they can be done most successfully. Take money for example. Aren't we earning more money here than we could ever earn at home?"
"Yes, we care."
"Is U.S. then not the best place for us to stay and earn money?"
"Only if we think earning money is all we have to do in life."
"But we shall need money for whatever else we will need to do in life?"
"True. To buy a house, we shall need money. To buy a car, we shall need money. To raise children and send them to the best schools, we shall need money. Even to buy a piece of land and settle our parents at home, we shall need money. But there are also things one can never do from here even if one had a lot of money."
"Like what?"
"Well, with my education, I want to assist my country overcome her problems. I don't want to spend all my life making money. I want to do something more."
"But sending dollars home, building a house at home and educating our children here will be assisting our country to overcome her problems?"
"Yes, it will. But the children we raise and educate here, what will they be? Americans or Kenyans?"
"Kenyans, of course."
"Born, bred and educated here, they will be more American than Kenyan. And I can't bear the thought that my own children might choose to live here and be Americans forever."
"But why do you fear that they might choose to remain here and be Americans? They will be Kenyans like us."
"But if we who have been here for only a few years want to work and live here, what about those, who will be born here, brought up here and educated here? They will be no more Kenyan or African than the black Americans we see here."
"So that is your main fear, losing your children to America if you work and live here?"
"Just one of the fears. I also don't want to get lost here myself while choosing American money and American goodies. You have never gone home. Do you think such people will ever go home? They will die here and they will be lost forever to their parents and country."
"They will be sent home for burial."
"Kenya should not be a graveyard for those who reject her in life. If I choose to live in America, I should be buried in America. People should be burieth where they liveth."
"Anyway, you need not die here. You make money here and then go home."
"True. But the risk is still there. After all, how can I be sure of safety if I choose to follow the same path which others walked when they got lost? I want to go home, for my own sake and that of my children."
"What of their education? Don't you think our children could get better education here than at home?"
"I am sure they could. But they will be well-educated children who may not be our own. They will not be Kenyans, but Americans. I think it is better to try and help our country in building and developing good schools where our children can be properly educated and be themselves rather than be so totally dependent on American schools. But if that fails totally, then it is better to send them here when they are already grown up and their identity as Kenyans is well formed than to raise and educate them here. Have you never seen what lengths others go to to preserve the national identity of their children when they are working and living in Kenya? That school, International School of Kenya (ISK) and the Swedish School are schools which give Swedish children Swedish education, language and culture as the other one gives American children American education and culture. Foreigners and their children in Kenya do not want to become Kenyans. Kenyans and their children abroad should also never want to become American, British or Scandinavian. If they can, Kenyans should start their schools here. But since they can't, they should go home after finishing the education which they came to acquire here."
'You are talking like a real Kenyan cultural missionary."
"I think there is nothing wrong in being a missionary for my own country."
"So what should I call you now? Father Macaria? Anyway, where do we go from here?"
"You go to Utalii College and I'll go into politics."
"Into politics? Are your crazy?"
"Why?"
"First I will not go to Utalii College. I want to go to the Ministry of Tourism."
"As long as you promise not to come back here as a tourist attachŽ."
"I promise. But you, what politics are you talking about? Is politics a job? And don't you want to do a real job? You have two job offers, why can't you be a DO?"
"I don't like what I will be doing as a DO. Bossing people around, rigging elections and getting bribes for services disguised as harambee contributions."
"Mmmm. As a political leader will you not be bossing people around and rigging elections and eating bribes? For whom are elections rigged? Not politicians?"
"I know they are rigged for politicians. Still, being a politician is preferable to being a DO."
"Why? You are just being that West African bird which Ayi Kwei Armah talks about in his book "The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born - The Chichidodo". It loves to eat maggots which feed on shit, but hates shit."
"But dear, I am not aspiring to be a politician who'll have elections rigged for him, no! I want to be a politician who will depend on people's votes to win elections and one who will not be able to boss people around because he will be dependent upon their votes for his political survival."
"Then teach at the KIA first."
"I don't want to teach DOs."
"Maybe you can teach them not to boss people around, not to eat bribes and not to rig elections."
"They are taught all that. Afterwards, they are sanctioned and forced by our political system and leaders to boss people around, rig elections and take bribes in an effort to get rich like everybody else. The problem is not in the lack of teaching. The problem is in the corruption which corrupts them when they go out."
"But in teaching ethics at KIA, you will not be doing the country any harm."
"Nor will I be doing anything productive or useful. Merely wasting time. I want to go out there and take corruption by the horns."
"Well, show corruption that you have horns and it will also take you by the horns. Do you have big enough horns to break those of corruption? Consider that."
"My aim will be to fight corruption and my hope will be to win and not to lose that war."
"But first you must eat and survive. So, you must work."
"Sure, but I will not work as a DO or as a lecturer at KIA. I will try and be a member of parliament first. There will be general elections next year, and I want to contest those elections."
"But an election campaign needs lots and lots of money. Where will you get money if you don't want to work first?"
"But none of the jobs they are offering me can earn me enough money for conducting a campaign that is based on money. So I intend to do a campaign without money. I will just talk to people and ask them to vote for me. After all, I still remember what the people told me at my farewell party - "Come back and be their ladder of going up as they have been your ladder of going up". During the campaign, I will tell those same people that for me to be their ladder of going up, they must vote for me to be their MP. And in fact, the best way of getting people to benefit from my education is doing the sort of job that will most directly help to change and improve their living conditions. Imagine, if I was an MP representing Mashaka constituency in parliament. I will fight for our people to get better wages and better houses. I will fight for them to have water brought to their homes. I will fight for the landless people to be given land. I will fight for the unemployed to get work. I will fight for our hospitals and dispensaries to have drugs. I will fight for prices of maize flour, sugar, bread, meat and milk to be lowered and controlled to allow poor people to eat."
"You make yourself sound like Jesus feeding the hungry, healing the sick and freeing the oppressed. But you are not Jesus, so I still think you will need money to go to parliament. Our people have been corrupted into thinking that those who buy them "busaa", "changaa" or "tuskers" should be the ones to see the inside of parliament."
"But suppose people reject your reasoning and ask you for money, what will you do?"
"I will tell them, I have no money to give them."
"And if they withhold their support until you give them money?"
"Then I will simply have to do without their support and votes. They will elect their rich man into parliament and I will go my own way and do something else."
"Aren't you then wasting your time and little money contesting an election which you will never win?"
"Let us not pre-judge people. We have not been there yet. And even if I try and lose because people are what you say they are, I will have learnt another lesson in political science, useful enough for me to write my Ph.d thesis on. It will not be a waste of time and money at all."
"In that case, you are just going home to do research in elections for your Ph.d thesis."
"Not at all. I have finished my formal education. But should the worse come to the worst in the elections, a Ph.d thesis would be something I could turn my electoral loss into. You know, in life, one never stops learning. Darling, I am going home to start my real life. But I have no illusions. It will be a life of ups and downs, laughs and tears, successes and failures, happy moments and sad times. I will be happy to win elections. But if I fail, my attempt will not have been in vain. I guess what I am trying to say is, failures are a part of life and though success is always what all of us want, fear of failure should never stop us from trying anything we consider worthy doing."
"I think I should order you to go and guess outside."
"Too late, darling."
"But it is funny."
"What is funny?"
"Your metamorphosis. From missionary to Jesus to philosopher."
"To hell with your sarcasm. I am trying to understand my path of life and why I am charting it."
"Okay, let's not fight, darling. I am just testing whether you understand what you are trying to do. Remember your life is mine too. You are my husband and the father of my unborn children. Don't I have a right to question what you do if it necessarily affects me?"
"You certainly do."
"Then tell me how we shall survive with you out of work?"
"On your meagre pay and what money we will have saved before we go home."
"Though we don't have kids yet, that will not be much money for two to survive on. And I had no plans to put off getting kids again."
"I agree, it will not be much money. But if the vast majority of our people can survive on less, we should certainly be able to on your pay."
"And the kids, when do we start?"
"Any time you choose, but preferably after elections. You know it is you who has been postponing this all the time."
"Only because you will never carry anybody in your stomach."
"What you carry in your stomach, I carry in my loins."
"Nonsense. You know that is not what I am talking about."
"Still, we could get a child and make do with what we have."
"That is not my idea of raising a family."
"Okay, I don't mind having it your way."
"Finally darling, tell me this. You don't like KANU. Who will sponsor you for elections?"
"KANU, of course. It is the only party and no independent candidates are allowed."
Gakenia chuckled and then asked, "So you have not forgotten that you have to join and become a life member of KANU before they can sponsor you for elections?"
"Of course, I have not. And that is the most difficult part for me."
"Because of the implications, right? Bad example. Legitimization of KANU, its one-party parliament and the one-party dictatorship. What are you going to tell your friends?"
"I will have a lot of problems. I cannot rationalise it to myself, leave alone to others. In fact, I am beginning to wonder whether politics must be what they say it is - a dirty game. A dirty game that is only for those who are morally dishonest. Can I join KANU and the one-party politics and remain honest to myself? If I join KANU, it is not because I am KANU at heart. If I become a part of the one-party politics, it is not because I believe in it. If ever I say "Harambee Juu!" or "Nyayo Juu!" it will not be because I believe in it. It is only because I have no choice. The price of joining one-party politics is very high for me. I will have to surrender being honest in politics. I will be saying "KANU Juu" when I mean "KANU Chini", "Harambee Juu" when I mean "Harambee Chini" and "Nyayo Juu" when I mean "Nyayo Chini". In our lectures, they did not teach us, but I have now found out that the one-party politics is the greatest enemy and destroyer of political honesty. To me, the choice looks rather simple and grim. Either I surrender my political honesty to be able to survive within the system and to some extent struggle against it or keep all my political honesty and become an open rebel who must stay out of or leave the country as a refugee. I have to stay here in America because I fear that there is nothing I can do back home in the way of changing things. I hate going home to do jobs which I don't like to do and consequently drowning myself in alcohol as a means of dissolving my frustrations and  having to surrender my political honesty in order to join KANU and have access to its parliamentary platform which I hope to use for the purpose of changing things from within. Or is choosing between all these seemingly equally evil, difficult and impossible options what they call politics, the art of the possible. Goddammit! give me a beer, darling, or this thing is going to drive me crazy."
Gakenia obliged and gave Macaria a can of beer. And as he drank, he found his thoughts trailing back to the same thing which he was trying to forget. After giving Macaria beer, Gakenia had gone to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Now Macaria followed her there.
"Sometimes I feel horrible. I feel like some of those European explorers like Christopher Columbus, Vasco da Gama and others who ventured into the unknown risking all kinds of dangers including death for a vague hope that they might discover something they desperately desired to have. Here I am, I know what I want, but I don't know exactly how to get it. I know where I want to go, but the way to get there is turning into a maze. Sometimes, I am afraid that if I don't get lost getting in, I will get lost getting out. And all these problems are because of the one party state. Imagine how easy it would be if there were other parties! I would simply go home, join another party and begin to sell my ideas to people. Now, the selling of ideas is forbidden, the free market of ideas is closed and here I am raking my brains to get a way of selling my ideas in a forbidden and closed market."
"If you can't beat them, join them."
"That is not what I want. I don't want to join them because that I can't at heart. My interest is in being able to function politically. My interest is in reaching parliament and using it to campaign for changes."
"But, darling..."
"Yes."
"You want to go to the one-party parliament to undermine the one-party state. To campaign for political changes, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Then with all your political science, you are very naive. These people will never give you the knife with which you may stab them."
"You mean, they will never let me win elections and go to parliament?"
"Yes."
"How will they stop me?"
"Do what you did not want to go and do as a DO."
"You mean rig elections against me?"
"Why not? If they have rigged against others, why can't they rig against you?"
"They don't know what I want to go and do in parliament and they want some few dissenting voices in parliament to prove to the world that their one-party dictatorship is democratic."
"As long as it is them allowing you to go and dissent, it is because your dissent will be to their advantage and not harmful to them at all."
"But how far I will go in my dissent, they will never know."
"They don't need to know that. They suspect all young, bearded and educated men to be "radicals" and "subversives"."
"I will shave my beard."
"Better shave your youth and brains as well. They prefer illiterates and seniles in their parliament."

* * *


WITNESS NO. 14

Two months after their return home, Gakenia was firmly established in her new job as a Tourist Officer 1. With some of the money they saved while in U.S., they bought an old ramshackle Toyota car which Gakenia drove to and from work each day and a hire-purchase maisonette at Halahala Estate which was their new home.
Immediately after arrival, they visited Macaria's and Gakenia's parents. At both homes, their homecoming was an occasion of great rejoicing. Parents were so happy to see their son and daughter safely back home that they wept with joy. It was as if they had never believed that they would see their children again. Safe homecoming was celebrated together with academic success and a happy marriage. But goats and sheep had little cause to celebrate because so many of them were slaughtered for meat that was eaten together with other foods like cooked rice, "Irio", "Nduma" and "Ikwa". To cap it all, so much "Muratina" beer was made and drunk that if it had been poured down in one place, it could have made a stream.
But some parents and relatives were not all laughter and glee. Some complained that Gakenia and Macaria should have had children. Those who complained felt that two years of marriage should have resulted in children already. That Gakenia's and Macaria's marriage had no children made them fear several things. Some who knew nothing of modern methods of contraception felt certain that lack of children meant that either the wife or the husband was sterile. Of course, those in Macaria's family suspected Gakenia and those in Gakenia's family suspected Macaria. Others feared that Macaria and Gakenia might turn out a couple like many other Western educated couples who were considered so selfish that they preferred personal comforts and keeping girlish shape to having children. Those who suspected the last possibility failed to see any logic in a woman refusing to get children for fear of losing shape. After all, how could keeping girlish shape be a reason for not getting children if God had endowed a couple with fertility? Weren't children and joys of motherhood not enough reward for loss of shape?
Yes, lack of children was openly lamented. But reasons for it were jealously guarded from reaching the ears of both Macaria and Gakenia. The irony of it all, however, is that, as childlessness was being mourned, Gakenia was already half a month pregnant with their first son. Six years later, they were lucky again to get their second son. The discovery of Gakenia's pregnancy was very effective in arresting wagging tongues, but not before quite interesting things had been said. And that was not the end of the war over children. After their second son, mothers thought that Macaria and Gakenia had deliberately refused to get girls because they did not want to have both their mothers in the family. Sometimes, they even thought that there was a conspiracy between the couple and fathers to frustrate mothers. So, much as Gakenia and Macaria wanted to keep the number of their children at two, the pestering of mothers was already forcing them to think of getting two more children whom they hoped would be girls.
After all the feasting, parents and relatives were eager to know what work would the couple do, particularly Macaria. They were told Gakenia would be working with the Ministry of Tourism, dealing with foreign guests. To them that seemed quite an appropriate job for a woman. When they were told that Macaria had been invited by the government to work as a DO, they were also overjoyed. They all knew who a DO was and understood his job to be the most appropriate job for a man who needed powers to rescue others like them from poverty. Yes, they knew a DO was the most powerful man in their division. And after DO, they knew a man became a DC, the boss of a whole district. To them, Macaria could not be luckier. They too could not be luckier. If Macaria became a DC, they knew he would have powers to give them land in a settlement scheme. They knew he would have powers to bulldoze land buying companies to give them land, they knew he would have powers to get his brothers, sisters, relatives and friends hired to work in government offices. They knew he would have powers to give them plots of land in towns and trading centres. They knew he would also have powers to give them licences to do any business they wanted in town. It therefore came to them as a big shock and disappointment when Macaria told them that though he had been offered the job as a DO, he did not intend to work as a DO. He told them that though his degree allowed him to be a DO, a man whose job is to keep things as they are, however inhuman, it also allowed him to be a progressive politician whose job is to work for useful changes in his society. Between the two jobs, Macaria told his people, that he preferred to be a progressive politician. Specifically, he told them that he wanted to contest in parliamentary elections and be a member of parliament representing his home area, Mashaka constituency, in parliament. Macaria told his people that as an MP, he could help a lot more people than he could as a DO. As an MP, he told his people that he could help to change laws which kept people at his home area, and in the whole country as a whole, downtrodden, and also help to introduce new laws which would bring about and safeguard people's welfare. He further explained to his people that to help them as a DO, he would need to be corrupt. He would need to cheat and rob others to help those who were close to him. As a progressive MP, however, through progressive changes, he would be in a position to help those close to him at the same time as he helped those not close to him. As a progressive law-maker, he could help all without cheating and robbing one to help another. Macaria explained that the best help he could give his people could be in changing the socio-economic conditions which had led to their neglect and impoverishment. He knew, yes, if he became a DO or a DC, he might be able to help his family without changing conditions which kept everybody downtrodden, but that would be extending to them personal charity that would last only as long as he himself lasted as a DO or DC. Macaria explained to his family that any help which he extended to those close to him at the expense of others whom he was also expected to serve was in the long run harmful to everybody. Favours extended to his loved ones by him would justify discrimination against them by somebody else.
Though what Macaria said sounded reasonable, many in his family thought that those who had paid for his education were more entitled to the immediate benefits of that education than others. Others felt convinced that benefits from the corruption of a DO or a DC were more reliable, more certain and sooner to get than benefits from the changes which might come from the work of an MP. Others even sneered that Macaria's business was to look after himself and family and not to be a Jesus who tried to save everybody. Others felt it would be foolhardy for Macaria to turn down a DO's job at hand for an MP's job which was by no means easy for Macaria to get. 
Those who argued against Macaria's choice of politics said that it was easier for a camel to go through the eyes of a needle than for a man who was as young, as poor and as unknown as Macaria to go to parliament. They cited that all the people who went to parliament were rich people who spent millions of shillings to get elected. They said people were no longer elected for their politics or ideas, but for their money. They pointed out to Macaria that in election campaigns, millions of shillings were spent buying people beer, printing posters, buying campaign cars, making harambee contributions whose only aim was to convince voters that richer is better, and bribe party and government officials into sanctioning and executing rigging of elections. According to these people, the only way Macaria could hope to get into parliament was to get rich and secure the backing of government and party leaders first. Because of this, some even proposed that being a DO and a DC would have been a perfect stepping stone to parliament. It would have allowed Macaria to make quick money and useful contacts in government administration among the same officials who might later rig elections for him.
In urging Macaria to join the race for wealth, Macaria's family forgot only one thing. That if one gets to power through wealth, one must use the same wealth to retain power. But to get and retain power through wealth means looking for more and more wealth all the time. And since accumulating wealth and helping the poor are poor bedfellows in countries where wealth is generated not from increased economic production, but from participation in greater corruption and unbridled exploitation of the poor, it was myopic for people to expect Macaria to seek wealth as a stepping stone to parliament to fight for the interests of the poor. In a stratified society, the most logical thing is that politicians from poor classes would go to parliament to fight for the interests of the poor and rich politicians would go to parliament to safeguard the interests of the rich. Unfortunately, however, there are many poor politicians who use parliament not as a platform from which they could fight for the improvement of the lot of the poor, but as a means of reaching greener pastures for themselves and earning entry into the ranks of the rich. And much as Macaria deplored a situation where real interests of the poor were left almost unrepresented in parliament, he was quite aware that everybody in society expected one who went to parliament to start with feathering his own nest before thinking of other people's nests. Despite this, he knew what the right thing to do was. It was to use parliament for the good of all and more so the poor and the weak who could not survive without government protection and assistance. In thinking about all this, Macaria wondered why his people could not think like the American John F. Kennedy when he said that "If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich." 
If there was a time when entry into politics was greeted by people with joy, praise and envy, that time was long gone in Kenya. When Macaria mentioned his intention to join politics first, it was Matenjagwo, the old Mau Mau veteran, who was also his friend, who called him aside and told him, out of the hearing of other people, that joining politics in Kenya had become as dangerous as entering a battlefield which was seeded with anti-personnel mines which could blow up anyone who dared walk there into instant death. "My young friend, this country is completely changed since you left. Politics are no longer what they used to be - interesting, exciting, crowd-pulling and liberating. They are now something completely dangerous to engage in. You know I have been into politics all my life. I spent all my youth in the jungles of our country fighting for freedom and the independence of this country. I am sure I have told you before that we freedom fighters did not go to the forests to fight because we thought living or fighting in forests was easy, no! Being in the forest was very very difficult for us. We suffered bitter cold. We suffered hunger and went for days without food. We were all the time sick and without drugs. Heavy rains poured daily upon us making us as wet as fish. We left our wives and children behind without food and protection. When we left to go and fight, our houses were razed to the ground by homeguards and our small pieces of land were stolen from us by chiefs, homeguards and loyalists. You know what happened to us when we fell into the hands of the British Army and their African quislings. They tortured us savagely. The castrated us. They decapitated us. They cut ears from our heads and arms from our bodies as proof that they had actually killed us. They gouged our eyes out. They knocked teeth out of our mouths. They put us in their prisons where they whipped us and made us do hard labour. Then the independence we had been fighting for came, and the most shocking thing happened. Those who had been fighting against independence grabbed it as their own, and the fight against us, who had been fighting for it, continued almost as before. After independence, we did not get the land or the freedom we had been fighting for. We were not allowed into the government or into the army after independence. Even our political organisation Mau Mau remained a banned organisation after independence. The plots of land which were grabbed from us by homeguards, chiefs and loyalists while we were in the forests and in the detention camps were not restored to us. And despite everything which we lost and sacrificed during the struggle for independence, the post-independence government made no effort whatsoever to put us on an equal economic footing with everybody else. As a result of all this, we have always lagged behind others economically and always felt as if we sacrificed and suffered for nothing, and that, maybe, we patriots had been fools in suffering for the country and traitors wise in betraying the country. I agree with you one hundred per cent that the struggle for food, freedom and justice is far from over. But I ask you now, are you prepared to be betrayed as we were, are you prepared to suffer and sacrifice for nothing as we did, or is there anything you young people will do to stop things going wrong as they did before? There is nothing I would hate to see more than you plunging into the shark-infested waters of politics now, only to emerge later torn into pieces, bleeding, in rags, poverty-stricken, without family, deserted, abandoned and betrayed. Nothing, absolutely nothing will hurt me more than this. Only those who have been betrayed can fully understand the pain of betrayal. I who has been betrayed would hate to see my son betrayed as I was. And you are my son, Macaria.
"Macaria, you have heard some of those who suffered with us, but were found a place at the feasting table after independence, say that they suffered without bitterness. Those who suffered and sacrificed for independence, but got nothing for their suffering, would be telling a lie if they said that they suffered without bitterness. But bitterness came after betrayal, not before. If there is the desired result at the end of suffering, there may not be bitterness. But if at the end of suffering, the result is negative, there will certainly be disappointment and bitterness. Macaria, just ask yourself what some of us felt when J.M. Kariuki, a fellow freedom fighter, was found brutally murdered. He was one of us. He had suffered like us. When he was found a place at the feasting table, he did not forget his comrades who had suffered with him. He continued to speak for them. He fought against their betrayal. And for that, he was murdered by the enemies of the weak and the poor. Though an old man, I wept like a child when I attended his funeral at Kanyamwi, his farm home at Gilgil. Looking at his mutilated dead body sent chills down my spine. They told us at the funeral that fingers were cut from his hands when he was still alive. Twelve bullets had been pumped into one side of his live body and another twelve bullets into the other side of the body. His mouth had many teeth missing, knocked out before he was killed. His face was not recognizable at the funeral because it had suffered total deformation when it was doused with sulphuric acid. His male organ had been cut from the body and put into his coat pocket. We knew the brutal assassination of J.M. was a symbolic second assassination of Mau Mau and the spirit of freedom and justice in this country. We knew that when they cut his male organ, it was the manhood of Mau Mau which they sought to kill. When they burned his face with sulphuric acid, it was the beautiful face of Mau Mau which they sought to deform. Macaria, that day when J.M. died, I felt dead with him. But what hurt me most was being reminded by Kiroori Mutoku, that old freedom fighter, that "The independence which J.M. had suffered so much for in prison, was the very poison which had killed him". Kiroori Mutoku reminded people how J.M. was beaten, whipped and near killed many times at Manyani prison for fighting for independence. It was therefore bitter irony that the independence which J.M. was ready to die for was the enemy that had killed him and not colonialism, the enemy J.M. was ready to die fighting against. Let me tell you here and now that this independence which killed J.M. who had fought for it, will not hesitate to kill you, the son of J.M. - Macaria, everybody, who spoke at J.M's funeral painted a very gloomy picture of this independence. There was Alphonse Akuku, the brother of the late Tom Mboya, who reminded everybody at the funeral of all the other people whom this independence had murdered in its desperate effort to silence the voices of freedom and justice. Pio Gama Pinto, J. Tom Mboya, Ronald Ngala and Kungu Karumba. Mark you, these are just the well-known people. There are countless others whose deaths were not considered newsworthy either by our newspapers or national radio. Yes, this independence has gone sour. For us, who fought that our children might see happier days than ourselves, it was a very sad thing being told by Shikuku that requirements of survival in this country are the exact opposite of what we expected them to be after independence and what they are in other countries. Yes, Shikuku was right when he said that to survive in this country, one must never tell the truth. Telling lies is much safer. One must be a yes-man and never ask questions. Questions provoke trouble. One must be corrupt and forget honest living. Honesty makes the corrupt and the powerful see red and invites destruction. Lastly, one must eschew the deadly crime of thinking and be happy to live like a fool. As a fool, one may be allowed some measure of freedom. Not so if one is an open thinker. In our country, the home of thinkers is in prison or in the grave. J.M. was killed because he strayed from this prescribed path of safety. He dared tell the truth. He fought corruption. He asked questions. And he refused to let others think for him.
"Macaria, you know I hate cowards and I do not want to make you a coward. On the other hand, if you choose to travel on a particular path, I think it is necessary for you to know what lies ahead of you. If you are now choosing to travel the J.M. road, which is the same road which we travelled during the struggle for independence, you must brace yourself for a lot of problems.
"At the J.M. funeral, Mwai Kibaki told us that even if it takes one hundred years, people of this country would one day be told who killed J.M. Since then, instead of people being told who killed J.M., more people have been made to suffer for their honest and truthful politics. Immediately after the death of J.M., parliament and the  public were silenced through the detentions of MPs like Anyona, Shikuku, Seroney and other outspoken critics like Ngugi wa Thiong'o.
"When President Mpori became leader of this country, things did not get better, they got worse. Those who tried to travel the J.M. road like the so-called seven sisters - Abuya Abuya, Mashengu wa Mwachofi, James Orengo, Lawrence Sifuna, Koigi wa Wamwere, Chibule wa Tsuma and Onyango Midika - were either jailed, detained, driven into exile or rigged out of parliament. Of the group, the two who survived politically are the only ones who turned coat."
Matenjagwo concluded by telling Macaria that he was convinced that leaders of their country had become so selfish and so insensitive to the needs of their people that it was not possible that they worshipped the true God any more. "The God whom these leaders worship is not God, but Baal. Baal is the God of all dictatorships including the one-party dictatorship. For propitiation, Baal demands human sacrifices. And the more humans are sacrificed to him, the more he demands. He is insatiable. It was for him that Tom Mboya was killed, J.M. was killed and Ochuka and company were killed." Since then, Matenjagwo's list had been made longer by names of Peter Karanja, the Wajir Massacre, Robert Ouko, victims of saba-saba multi-party riots in 1990, Bishop Muge, Bernard Githinji, Kiragu and others. Matenjagwo concluded by telling Macaria, "We know you mean well for us. But we fear the dangers for you. Should you decide to proceed, do so with lots of caution."
Matenjagwo had shown Macaria how dangerous politics had become in his country. And apart from danger, Macaria had yet another problem to contend with if he wanted to go to parliament - being unknown. How would people know somebody who had never been into public limelight and who did not carry a name which reminded people of something like "Kenyatta", "Odinga", "Mboya" or "Ngala"? Macaria knew that his country did not have a Hyde Park, and available platforms were few and jealously guarded by those in leadership already. He was not a party leader, not a government leader, not a company leader, not anybody at all in terms of a platform. How would people ever get to know him and his ideas?
At college, Macaria had taken a course in journalism. He knew that now he needed that course to rescue him from the jaws of obscurity. When Macaria returned from his home village, the first thing he did in Nairobi was to visit the offices of Sunday News. Upon arrival, he asked to see the editor-in-chief. After introducing himself, Macaria was asked the usual "What can I do for you, please?"
"I want to ask you to let me write for your paper."
"You mean, you want us to employ you as a reporter?"
"Not quite. I don't want a full time job as a reporter. I want to occasionally contribute feature articles as a freelancer."
"Can you write? Do you have anything you have written before?"
"I have taken a course in journalism. But I have not written anything yet, because I just finished college."
"What did you take at college?"
"A masters in political science."
"And a course in journalism?"
"Yes."
"And why do you want to freelance?"
"It is better for me. I am doing something else somewhere, but I would like to share my observations with your readers if you allow me."
"Very interesting. Okay, write what you want to share with our readers and let me see. Keep whatever you write reasonably short."
"I will."
Macaria returned to his home village as a journalist and a camera-man. He took pictures of shacks his people lived in. He went to work camps and took pictures of forest workers at work and the food they ate. He interviewed retired forest workers in the village. He interviewed and took pictures of women in the shambas. He talked to union leaders and got detailed information about salaries, terms of employment and conditions of work. He sat down and wrote his first feature article ever in a newspaper. In the article, Macaria showed how miserably lowly workers were paid. 48 shillings a month! How workers' wives were made to weed for young trees without pay. How forest workers and their families cleared huge tracks of virgin forests for afforestation without any pay at all. How workers lived in leaking and broken down shacks when the trees they grew produced the timber which made beautiful mansions for others. How workers ate terrible food at work and had no protective uniforms when they worked for long hours in rain. How workers were hardly compensated when they fell off high trees when pruning them. How workers' grown-up children were not allowed to live with their parents though they had nowhere else to go. How workers' children never drank milk because no cows were allowed in the forests and workers had neither the money nor nearby places where they could buy milk. How the Civil Servants Union exploited forest workers by deducting union dues from their meagre pay without fighting for them to be paid and treated better than subordinate staff who were not entitled to the minimum wage and pension. How retired workers who had worked for over thirty years were paid no retirement benefits. Finally, how forest workers in Kenya were treated worse than forest workers in Uganda and Tanzania. Macaria wrote about everything he saw in his forest village. He left out nothing except that which he could not see or which had not yet happened. For instance, had Macaria then known that ten years later, President Mpori would order that forest villages be burnt down and workers and their families driven out of there, carrying their belongings on their heads like refugees, he certainly would have written about it in his article. 
When the feature article on forest workers was published in the Sunday News, there was an immediate angry reply from the government and a panicky reaction from the Union. Macaria was called a communist by a government spokesman and asked to go and live in Uganda or Tanzania if he didn't like the way things were run in Kenya. Despite their ravings, people in the government knew that some basic changes were long overdue in forest areas. So soon after the article appeared, forest workers began to get the then minimum wage of about 300 shillings a month. Nothing else was done, but forest workers were also allowed to keep some milk cows at a fee of 5 shillings a cow per month. The news of Macaria's article and forest workers all over the republic getting pay hikes and permission to keep milk cows spread like wild fire.
Next, Macaria wrote another feature article in response to a presidential directive which ordered all robbers with violence to be hanged. In his article, Macaria asked several questions and tried to answer them. Was death the best cure to robbery with violence? Was robbery without violence better than robbery with violence? Did robbery without violence also involve violence? Which was more harmful, robbery with violence or robbery without violence? Who were the likely victims of the presidential directive? In answer to the first question, Macaria condemned use of death for purposes of curing crime.
"It does not work," he wrote. "To start with, killing robbers with violence who have not killed is infinitely unjust. What justice is there in killing somebody, who has only frightened another with a toy pistol or only scratched another with a pin? Killing people who have not killed is worse than jungle justice. Punishment should not be harsher than the crime which is committed, otherwise it becomes worse than the crime itself.
"Killing robbers does not get to the root of the problem. People do not rob with violence because they do not fear death. Everybody fears death. They rob with violence because they are desperate. Now, killing robbers with violence will not get rid of economic desperation which gives cause to robbery with violence. And as long as it does not get rid of that economic desperation, it will not discourage robbery with violence. There will still be people who will commit robbery with violence as a form of suicide not caring what happens to them because, if they are caught and killed, they will have nothing to lose except their pain of hunger and misery.
"Even if robbers with violence have killed, killing them solves neither the problem of robbery with violence nor does it bring back to life those who are already dead. Killing to pay for a life is exceedingly primitive. It does not increase the number of people living or increase the amount of life there is in the world. In fact, it decreases the number of people living and the amount of human life there is on earth. To pay for a killed life, it is even better to enslave a killer than to kill him. Enslaving a killer is cruel also, but it makes more sense than killing. Old African justice which forced the killer's family to pay a living individual to the family whose member had been killed made a lot more sense than killing everybody who has killed another.
"People who have killed when robbing should be punished in a manner that makes them live and suffer and not die as an example to others that robbing with violence does not pay. Secondly, the killer should pay for his crime in a manner which results in some material compensation to the victim of robbery or his people. Thirdly, society should not throw up its hands on robbers with violence or people who have killed unless it wants to admit that it is incapable of solving economic desperation for many or rehabilitating those who have taken to robbery or killing as a means of survival. Mainly, society should punish people in a manner which rehabilitates rather than destroys them.
"Poor people who resort to robbery with violence only do so because they are unable to steal using office as big people do. If poor people had a choice, they would prefer to rob with a pen rather than with a knife or a gun. But they have no offices or positions which could permit them to rob with a pen. So they rob with what is available to them - a knife. But looking at the two types of robbers, one wonders what really is the logic of condemning one to death and excusing the other from death. The robber of the pen is less desperate than the robber of the knife because in most cases, he will already be an employed person. So his robbery is less understandable or excusable. The robber of the pen is more often than not the bigger robber. He steals a lot more in value than the robber of the knife. In fact, more often than not, it is the robber of the pen who gives birth to the robber of the knife. Poor desperate people are born out of conditions which have been created by corrupt government and company leaders who have impoverished millions through their corruption which is no less than robbery without violence. So in terms of quality as well as quantity, robbery without violence is worse than robbery with violence. So if logic alone were the criterion of judging robbery, robbery without violence would not be judged as better than robbery with violence. However, makers of  laws and presidential directives will not make judgements, laws or directives which are against themselves. Law and directive makers are people who, if investigated, will be found to have engaged in corruption or robbery without violence. So they will be a lot more soft in passing judgement against themselves and their own form of robbery.
"In the final analysis, the reason for passing this presidential directive is not to end robbery with violence. It is to provide protection to robbers who use pens to rob a lower class of robbers which uses knives to rob. In fact, robbing and killing is a vicious circle. Those in power use pens to rob and impoverish millions without power. Some of the impoverished millions without power then use knives and guns to rob the pen-robbers. Pen-robbers then use their greater violence or power to destroy knife-robbers.
"In this country, there are examples of many land buying companies which have collected a lot of money from poor people promising to buy them land. Leaders of these companies have then stolen money from these companies to enrich themselves leaving the companies bankrupt and their members without land, poor and desperate." Macaria then concluded his article with a question that raised eyebrows in many a powerful quarter, "If the rich cannot hang for robbing the poor, why should the poor hang for robbing the rich?"
After many articles like these two, Macaria and his ideas were now well known. From then on, Macaria had both very good friends and very good enemies among the people. The sitting MP and others who had an eye on the same seat, were already getting suspicious about the journalist-"upstart", who had no scruples about washing their dirty linen in public. To scare him into silence, those with influence in government had begun sending policemen to visit his home and search it for anything which could help them to lock him up in prison. But Macaria did not get scared nor did he stop writing.
But Macaria did not get his best publicity from newspapers. He got it from Tumbo arap Tamaa, his best known and most powerful political enemy. This his political enemy was a brother-in-law of President Mpori. He was also the chairman of KANU in Mseto district. In addition, he was also the chairman of a large land-buying company with thousands of members and hundreds of cars. As an in-law to the president, Arap Tamaa stood above the law like president Mpori. He could do or say anything against anybody and nobody could touch him. And as the chairman of the party and the land-buying company, he could hold a meeting any time anywhere in the district and attack anybody. Tumbo Arap Tamaa was already feeling somewhat uneasy about issues Macaria was raising in newspapers. He felt criticized by Macaria's write-ups and not being a writer himself, he could not reply in kind. But he was a verbose and venomous speaker and loved speaking and attacking his political enemies, and in particular "upstarts" like Macaria. So he held many meetings all over Mashaka constituency attacking and calling Macaria all kind of names. "A communist" who thought Kenya was a country which could be ruled by poor people. "A hand to mouth young beggar" who would never be allowed to go to parliament and misrepresent the interests of the rich. "A political upstart" who had no right to seek leadership before he had rescued himself and his parents from the poverty of forest workers. "A poor political toddler" who did not even have a piece of land or a house of his own. In his public rallies, Tumbo Arap Tamaa loved to ask rhetorically, "Who in the government or in the party could allow an irresponsible journalist who washed dirty linen in newspapers to go and wash more dirty linen in parliament?" He would then state that Kenya was not a country which could permit young men like Macaria to go and misrule it from parliament when old men like Arap Tamaa were still alive. As far as Tumbo Arap Tamaa was concerned, according to African traditions, leadership was the exclusive preserve of old people and any young man who aspired to leadership when there were still old men around was ungrateful, rebellious and deserving to be killed. Arap Tamaa always liked to compare such a young man to a son, who tries to take over his father's wives while the father was still alive. The way to deal with such a young man was not to have him go to parliament, but to give him that death which is suffered by a young animal which refuses to suckle its mother - "Gekurega nyina nogukua gakuaga". 
All the people who listened to these attacks at least got to know that there was somebody like Macaria who was trying to be an MP. That his ideas about life were causing shivers among the rich. That he was a young man from the poor stock. That what he wrote antagonised him with leaders who were very unpopular themselves. But even among the poor, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So these attacks did not only earn Macaria lots of free publicity, they also earned him a lot of support from poor folks who felt that Macaria's victory would also be their own victory and his defeat would mean their own children's exclusion from leadership.
But all this was long before the campaign was officially announced. This meant that though many had heard about Macaria from newspapers and about his enemies, very few knew him personally. And Macaria could not travel and meet people in his home area without risking immediate arrest for unlicenced and unlawful meetings with people. For Macaria, meeting people was possible only during the campaign.

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WITNESS NO. 15
 
Macaria could not register as a candidate in the elections before he became a KANU life member, and that he had already done by paying 3,000 shillings. Of course, if there was an opposition party that advocated ideas which were closer to his, Macaria would never have become a member leave alone a life member of KANU. Macaria did not even believe in the notion of life membership to a party or anything else except marriage. A once very healthy party might grow moribund. How would one then bind oneself to such a party for life? One's political philosophy might also change necessitating a change in party affiliation. In the circumstances, what would life-membership to a party mean? Life imprisonment to a party? Macaria even guessed that architects of party life membership did not themselves believe in it. They knew it was rubbish. Then why did they come up with it? Maybe as a means of keeping all the poor who could not afford 3,000 shilling for party membership out of elections and elective offices and as a means of raising funds from people who sought elective offices.
Buying party life-membership was not enough to qualify Macaria as a candidate in parliamentary elections. He was required to purchase permission or clearance of party leadership to stand in elections for another 1,000 shillings and a pledge of loyalty not to the country or the constitution of the country, but to President Mpori who was also the head of state. Though the president was the head of state, parliament did not exist for presidency. Therefore, it did not make sense for the would-be-law-makers to swear their loyalty to the president instead of the country and the constitution. Though Macaria knew this and felt strongly about it, he knew it was not the time for him to express his feelings about it. So he paid the 1,000 shillings, signed his loyalty forms and obtained his clearance certificate. After getting his clearance certificate from the party, Macaria learnt that many party-cleared candidates from all over the country were going to see President Mpori either at state house or at his private residence to privately pledge personal loyalty to him and in turn get his private presidential clearance and guarantee against rigging. It was said that those who privately pledged their personal loyalty to the president and secured his commitment for support were labelled "President's men" ("Anu a munene") and their "election" to parliament was as good as guaranteed. This presidential guarantee was said to have two very important aspects to it. If a "President's man" was popular with the people, the president would give him an insurance against rigging by instructing DOs, DCs and PCs not to interfere with his election at all. But if a "President's man"  was unpopular or hated by people, the president would ensure his election by ordering DOs, DCs and PCs to rig elections for him. Despite this knowledge, when Macaria was asked whether he liked to go and pay a courtesy call to the president, he immediately dismissed the visit as something he would not undertake believing it to be part of an undemocratic conspiracy by president Mpori to enmesh parliament in a web of personal control through most devious means. When he went home, he told Gakenia about it.
"Today was a day of unmitigated success for me."
"You don't mean they nominated you minister of tourism even before elections? I would have to tender my resignation immediately because I won't stand a husband for a boss at my place of work. Such wholesale male domination is not tolerable."
"Stop your feminism. I got my party clearance to stand for elections and had an invitation to visit the president in connection with the same."
"Good. That is early introduction into the corridors of power."
"But I did not go. I decided against it."
"Why?"
"They want me to go and pledge my personal loyalty to him personally. I don't like the idea."
"Then you don't like the idea of your own election. These guys are setting the rules of the game and you must play by those rules or quit the game. You must know these guys are paranoid and are not about to take chances with anybody who wants to go to parliament. They will screen and double-screen everybody. They will sieve and double-sieve everybody. By inviting you to state house, these guys are giving you a test. And you are telling me that you refused to take that test! Having refused to take the test, you must know that you flunked it and having flunked it, you must forget about parliament. Refusing to take a test is naturally flunking it. Don't they teach you that in political science?"
"You just want to spoil my sweet success. You are jealous, darling."
"Am I? I thought I was only trying to tell you that if you refused to go and visit the president to re-assure him that you are a good man, my dear husband, today you had a most unmitigated failure. They will never let you see the inside of parliament."
The last hurdle now was to present his nomination papers to the DC, who is the returning officer for elections in a district. On the surface of things, nomination is the easiest part of the election game. For the people who know the way the election game is played in Kenya, it is the trickiest part. If any candidate fails to present his nomination papers to the DC by 12 noon of the set date, one gets automatically disqualified from the election race. If any one candidate can therefore manage to prevent rival candidates from presenting their nomination papers to the returning officer, making himself the only candidate to do so, he will get "elected" into parliament unopposed and without the bother of an election campaign.
Macaria knew that all kinds of tricks were used to stop rival candidates from presenting their nomination papers. Police were hired by rich and powerful candidates to arrest rival candidates and lock them up till after 12 noon of the nomination day. If it was known that a candidate could not drive his own car, his driver could be paid a lot of money not to drive him to the office of the returning officer, and to abandon him at the eleventh hour when no other driver could be found to drive him there. Thugs are also hired to beat a candidate into unconsciousness that is calculated to last until after noon of the nomination day or to abduct a candidate and take him into a forest where rescue is impossible if one is tied to a tree and abandoned there. To guard against this possibility, Macaria knew it was necessary for him to be in the company of friends all the time. Despite this knowledge, Macaria escaped most narrowly from two attempts to capture him, one by police and the other by thugs who were hired by his main rival, Tumbo Arap Tamaa. The thugs came to him disguised as supporters. In fact, they were led by one Wajuda, whom Macaria knew as one of his ardent supporters. And it was this Wajuda, who approached Macaria in his election office. 
"Hallo, Mheshimiwa?" Wajuda saluted Macaria as if he was already an MP. MPs are addressed as "Honourable" or "Mheshimiwa" in Kiswahili.
"Fine", Macaria answered. "How are things?"
"Not bad. But you should not be sitting in the office on a day like this. The campaign is already on, unless you don't want us to win. Let's go to the countryside. There are voters, who are eager to see you and whom I would like to introduce you to."
"Sure. But we can wait until Sunday after the nomination."
Macaria looked at his wrist watch and then added, "After all, it is a bit late. And with the drizzle and the cold outside, let's rest today and go there on Sunday."
"Rest and wait? That is the language of a loser. You should have told us this earlier. Then we could have backed another horse which is more interested in winning."
"In any case, Wajuda, we don't have a car and I'm all alone in the office."
"I have a car we can use. Why don't you lock the office since others have their own keys to the office?"
"Did you say you have a car?"
"Yes."
"But Wajuda, you have no car and you don't have money to hire one. Where did you get one?"
"From a friend. A well-wisher."
"Who is that with a car to give out?"
"Don't worry. You will know later. Pack a few campaign posters and let's go."
Macaria got convinced, collected a few campaign posters, put on his green, heavy military jacket, picked his walking stick which had a narrow and long Maasai sword inside, locked the office and left with Wajuda. On the way down the stairs, he met one of the friends who always accompanied him. On seeing him, Macaria felt relieved and asked him to come with him.
"Njoroge, get your jacket, we go to the countryside together. Our friend here has a car we can make good use of." But Wajuda did not like the idea of Njoroge coming along. "We are many in the car, all your supporters", he said. "Njoroge can look after the office while we are gone. I am sure there will be people who will come looking for you. Let Njoroge handle those." Again Macaria was won over.
"Okay. I will see you later", he told Njoroge.
Macaria and Wajuda then went where the car was. It was a big car. A nine-seater, four-wheel-drive, Japanese Land Cruiser. In it were packed eight big men, probably all six-footers. When they saw Macaria, they sat upright and looked at him curiously, but not friendly. Macaria smelt danger. Something in him told him that these men were not his supporters. Instinctively, he did not jump into the car. Instead, he pulled back and called Wajuda aside.
"I forgot something in the office. Let me go and fetch it. You wait for me here."
"Is it important?"
"Yes, it is very important", Macaria was now on his way back to the office. As soon as he was in the office, he felt relieved. Right away, he knew he had been in danger with those people in the car. When Njoroge saw Macaria, he asked, "Did you forget something?"
"Yes, my life. I felt dead out there. So I came back for it."
"Did they do something?"
"No. But I don't like their looks. And that car they got. It cannot be on a goodwill mission for us."
"But Wajuda is our supporter, isn't he?"
"He has been, but I don't feel safe with that gang of his."
"How many are they?"
"Nine altogether."
"Have you seen the others before?"
"No."
"Give me the posters. I will go with them. You stay here."
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"I'll be quite safe, don't worry."
"Okay", and Njoroge left.
Thirty minutes later he came back.
"The fellows are up to no good. They have refused to go without you."
"Did they say that?"
"Not in so many words, but they did. Because you won't go, they are now drinking beer. They even bought me a bottle."
"What do you think they wanted?"
"To abduct and stop you from presenting your nomination papers tomorrow."
"I felt the same. Do you reckon the danger is over?"
"It is not. These guys know where we live. It will be unsafe for you to sleep there tonight. If Muceru agrees, put up at his house tonight."
"It makes sense. What do you think those guys would have done with me?"
"Taken you to a big forest, tied you firmly to a big tree and left you there for hyenas to make a feast of you." We laughed. Then Njoroge said, "Let's see whether Muceru is at home. I don't like it here."
They locked the office and went up to Muceru's house. He was at home and Macaria slept there. In the morning, they went to their office, picked Macaria's papers and went to the DC's office to present them. It was at the DC's office where they learnt that Kenya Gestapo Services had kept a night long vigil at the house where Macaria and Njoroge slept. They wanted to arrest and lock up Macaria on a dubious charge of theft that was never pursued after the nomination.
After nomination, the three candidates, who were contesting the same seat as Macaria, were to cast lots for campaign symbols. Macaria got the symbol of a bee, his main rival, Tumbo arap Tamaa, got a lion and the third candidate got a cow. Election symbols are very powerful weapons or means of political campaigning depending on how well one is able to give positive interpretation to the symbol.
Tumbo arap Tamaa was very happy with his symbol. He felt that Lion suited him excellently. Getting the Lion he said meant that he would certainly and most easily win the election since a Bee and a Cow were no match for the lion. Moreover in real life, being so close to the president, arap Tamaa felt that he had the powers of a Lion at least in comparison to the powerlessness of the other two candidates. Allegorically, he said he was the King of the Jungle and if Mashaka constituency was the said jungle, then no other animal had a right to go to parliament before the Lion did. In fact, it was insolence and suicide for any other animal to compete for the same parliamentary seat with the Lion. As soon as he got his symbol, Mr. Tumbo arap Tamaa began to say that the symbol of the Lion was the right one for him because even his eyes, and his hair, and his powerful build, and his voice, and his manner of walking were all like those of a lion. When saying this, he would try and make his eyes look like those of a lion, he would try and make his voice roar like that of a lion, and he would try and assume the gait of a lion. In fact, he got so convinced that he was a lion that his lion-talk became his only campaign message topped with a little threat that the lion would be the MP for Mashaka constituency whether people liked it or not, whether people voted for it or not.
Symbol talk was not just illustrative of deeper political philosophies, it was also very entertaining both to the crowds and to the candidates. Macaria liked being called "Nyuki!", "Nyuki!", "Nyuki!" (Bee, Bee, Bee) whenever he passed people. Tumbo arap Tamaa liked to be called "Simba!", "Simba!", "Simba!" (Lion, Lion, Lion). But the third candidate did not like being called "Ng'ombe!", "Ng'ombe!", "Ng'ombe!" (Cow, Cow, Cow). And despite Macaria's sure knowledge that the president's brother-in-law would have grabbed any opportunity to destroy him, he loved to egg him on on the platform asking people to confirm that everything about him was like that of a lion.
"Macho yangu ni kama ya Si...?" Arap Tamaa would ask his supporters, and they would chant their answer back to him, "Simba".
"Na nywele yangu ni kama ya Si...?" he would ask his supporters again, and they would chant their answer back to him again, "Simba".
"Na Ushujaa wangu ni kama wa Si...?" he would insist and his supporters would oblige him again, "Simba".
"My eyes are like those of a Li...?" - "Lion".
"My hair is like that of a Li...?" - "Lion".
"And my bravery is like that of a Li...?" - "Lion".
One day however, Arap Tamaa's enthusiasm carried him too far when he told his supporters, "Na meno yangu ni kama ya Si...?" - "And my sharp teeth are like those of a Li...?" and everybody thundered back "Simbaaa" - "Lionee". By the time Arap Tamaa realised his mistake, everybody was crying with laughter.
The third candidate was also pleased with his symbol. He felt that the symbol indicated his indispensability to the welfare of the people. "All of us", he would say, "depend on milk for our livelihood. Our children depend on cows for their health growth and our farmers depend on the cow's milk for their well-being and wealth. And milk is not the only thing people depend on a cow for. Most of the meat we eat is also given us by a cow. For this reason, you must send the cow to parliament." No one could help laughing at the joke of sending a cow to parliament to represent people. When a cow was accused of stupidity, the cow-candidate was quick to point out that, "A cow is not stupid. She is only peaceful. And peace is what we all need." Then someone from the crowd would charge, "What about docility? If a cow can allow herself to be exploited and killed for milk and meat, how will she be able to defend us?" The cow-candidate would struggle to answer, "Only one who is exploited and killed for milk and meat can understand why there should be no exploitation. Only a cow can end exploitation in our Mashaka constituency." Not convinced, someone else from the crowd would shoot a couple of other difficult question, "If you are against exploitation, will you then let us have your milk? Can you protect us against the attacks of the Lion? You will only run away." Confronted with such charges and questions, the cow-candidate would almost collapse on the platform.
But Macaria and his bee! Defending it was a sweet song to him. "I am small, but not a weakling, a coward or anybody to be slighted by anybody. The lion says we are easy meat to him. Let him try a mouthful of me if he will not spit me out. I can attack and chase away any marauder who comes to attack my people. The lion, the elephant or even the buffalo. However big, they are all nothing to me. No one will attack my people and get away with it. My sting is feared by everybody. No one can be a better defender of the people than me.
"But if my sting is painful, my honey is sweet. In fact, nothing is sweeter than my honey. And most nutritious at that. The lion will attack you for meat, but I take absolutely nothing from the people. I don't need your meat as the lion does, and I don't need to kill you for anything. In fact, it is people who need my honey for food. The lion wants to lead you so he may have easier access to you when he wants to kill you. But I don't know why on earth the cow wants to lead you. Though I know no reason why anybody should fear me, I have many reasons why you should vote for me. One, I will give you my honey, the sweetest and the healthiest food you can have. Two, I will protect you against lions and all your other enemies. Three, I will not eat or kill you for my food as a lion will. In fact, I am the one who will give you food. Four, I am not a coward like a cow and I don't attack anybody except in self-defence. Five, I am little, but tough and fearless. Not even a lion will challenge me to a fight. 
Six, I am not bossy or boastful.
Seven, in this constituency, our real enemies are the man-eaters - lions, jackals, cheetahs, hyenas and foxes. They kill people for their own food and rule them by the force of their sharp teeth and long claws. The rule of lions is always oppressive because the justice of man-eaters is always against man and those other animals they eat. With my painful stings, I will protect you against them all. The lion claims that he can be our protector. But can he, and from whom? Can a lion, because he is courageous and powerful, be given a herd of sheep or cattle or goats to take to the pastures? Will he not kill and eat them all? To a lion, people's meat is nicer than a sheep's meat. Yet lions may protect people against other man-eaters. But not so that people may not be eaten, but so that lions may be the only ones to eat people. Lions cannot protect people against their own teeth.
Man-eaters must not be allowed to lead and should not be let loose among people. They should be sent to national parks for their own safety and to be seen by tourists. Lions must not be sent to parliament to terrorise, intimidate and kill law-makers.
If you vote for the lion, you will vote for the oppressive philosophy of might is right - the philosophy of dictators. If you vote for the lion, you will be telling the lion to go on killing and eating you.
Cows are our friends because we drink their milk and eat their meat, but they are too cowed to protect us from lions. They are not fit to lead us. Yes, those who lead must not exploit. But they must also have the courage and the means to protect those they lead against marauding man-eaters like lions. So, don't vote for the cow either. Parliament is not a stable for cows and law-makers must do more than just moo.
Finally, let me say that, if I let you have my honey, it will just be enough for you to eat, make medicine with and make some Muratina beer with. I will not allow you honey to make too much beer, otherwise you will certainly ruin yourselves and your children.
Vote for a bee. Vote for my sweet honey. And vote for my sure protection."
The more Macaria talked of being a bee, the more he felt like a bee, just like arap Tamaa felt like a lion. He wanted his representation of the people in parliament to be as sweet to people as a bee's honey is and his attacks against exploiters to be as painful to them as a bee's stings would be to lions. As a bee, Macaria felt protective even towards the cow. But he also felt that his bee-talk did frighten the lion who continued to get hostile to him. Sometimes, even the cow looked frightened of the small bee. 

* * *

A few days into the campaign, very early one morning at about 4 a.m., Tumbo arap Tamaa led his supporters, who were mainly KANU Youth Wingers, to a certain trading centre where one of Macaria's most vocal supporters had a shop. The supporter was roused from sleep, badly beaten and his family thrown out of their house into the cold. Both the house and the shop were then set aflame. Tumbo arap Tamaa and his supporters stood by to stop anybody from putting out the fire before the house and the shop were razed to the ground. When everything was burnt down to ashes, Tumbo and his thugs left the scene of their crime singing and threatening that there was nobody or any force which could stop Tumbo arap Tamaa from going to parliament. 
Later in the day, Macaria's supporter reported the burning of his house and shop to the police giving them the names of all the arsonists. When KGS heard that Tumbo arap Tamaa was there, they refused to act on the report saying that no police had powers to arrest the president's brother-in-law.
A few days later, Macaria held a campaign meeting at the same trading centre and scathingly attacked Arap Tamaa and his supporters for burning down somebody's house and shop. He said the same Arap Tamaa had earlier sent his supporters to uproot the crops of another of Macaria's supporters. These crimes of burning down houses and uprooting crops were traditionally only associated with witchcraft, and their perpetrators were regarded as witches and witch doctors. Such evil people were traditionally wrapped up with dry grass, put into an empty beehive, set alight, rolled down a steep hill or escarpment and left to burn to death. Macaria said it was deplorable today that most evil people were above the law and could not be punished simply because they were related to the president. Macaria said it was most regrettable that arsonists who should be receiving punishment for their crimes now dared come to people for votes to go to parliament. Macaria further regretted the fact that the most evil people in the country could commit any crime and get away with it because the police dared not arrest them. Macaria said that incidents like these showed crystal clear that Arap Tamaa was a criminal and his election into parliament could only fuel thuggery and crime in the constituency against ordinary people and particularly those who did not share is political views.
Two days later, the same police who could not touch those who burnt down other people's houses and shops came to Macaria and arrested him. He was taken to a police station and locked up for four days before he was taken to court. The idea was to lock him up for the entirety of the campaign period, but after some highly placed people in government were seen by some of Macaria's friends, he was produced in court on the fourth day. When he was brought to court, he was charged with the offence of addressing a meeting in a manner and in words which could have caused a breach of peace. Macaria found the charge impossible to understand. To start with, his so-called manner and words had caused no breach of peace. Secondly, his so-called manner and words were themselves just complaints against not a possible, but a real, visible and tangible breach of peace. Yet, rather than charge Arap Tamaa with arson, it was Macaria, who complained against Tamaa's crimes, who was charged with the crime of breaking peace by complaining against and causing annoyance to Tumbo Arap Tamaa! It was when in court that Macaria remembered Malcolm X. Criminals can be cast as victims and victims cast as criminals. When the charge was read out to him, Macaria pleaded not guilty and was remanded in prison for the next two weeks. His lawyer argued well and convincingly that the charge and the two weeks remand period had only one objective - denying his client his constitutional right to campaign for and be elected into parliament by keeping him in prison for as long as the campaign lasted. The magistrate however, a certain Mr. Mhindi Mlafi, seemed all set to keep Macaria in prison for as long as he was told to do so by the power that be. Macaria was later sent to prison to commence his two weeks' remand period.
After spending four days in prison, Macaria was brought back to court and set free after the state had withdrawn its case against him. Macaria's forcible removal from the campaign trail must have seemed too obvious a stratagem that was contrived to give the president's brother-in-law too easy a victory in the election. Macaria did not know then but in the last minute that rigging of the election had been settled for as a better means of putting Tumbo Arap Tamaa into parliament than keeping Macaria in prison for the entire duration of the campaign period. Hence his release.
After his release, Macaria was right back into the campaign. He travelled a lot to meet and talk to people. As he did so, he found many obstacles in his way. Not having a personal vehicle, he had to rely a lot on public transport and that was not so reliable since public vehicles travelled only at times and to places where they could get passengers. So often he was stranded in far off places for hours and sometimes for days on end. This difficulty many times tempted Macaria to ask Gakenia to lend him her ramshackle Toyota, but always decided against it when he remembered that Gakenia was mostly alone and heavy with her first pregnancy. In many places, Macaria's main difficulty was in convincing people that a poor young man like him had the ability to represent people well in parliament. But Macaria had no problems whatsoever in all places where people had heard about his writing in the Sunday News and how those writings had helped forest workers to get a pay hike and permission to keep milk cows. But the farther Macaria moved from the forest area, the fewer people he met who had heard about him. In fact, when he visited workers in sisal estates, they just laughed him off as a big joke. And in one sisal village, a workman was quite frank with him.
"Look here, young man. You want our votes. But we don't know who or what you are. We have never seen you. And we have never heard of you. Now, how do we then vote for you. Or will you also buy our votes? It is only sellers and buyers who don't need to know one another before they sell and buy." 
"No. I can't afford to buy your votes."
"Then how do we vote for you? You have never been here before and we know you don't know anything about our problems. In parliament, how will you speak about problems you don't know anything about?"
"I am saying I am born in this constituency, if not in this particular area. If you elect me, I will have more reason to come back and familiarise myself with your problems. As it is, I know your salaries are inadequate, you are living in poorly built huts and don't even have dispensaries to treat your sick. Now, if you elect me, I will know more about your problems than I know now."
"You see, young man, I will be cheating you if I tell you that workers here will vote for you. But since you don't sound like a bad man, I will give you a secret that might help you. The most popular man here is a catholic priest who is called Father Shufaa wa Maria. He is always here with us. When these factories have closed down and we have no food, he is the one who brings us food. When our wives and children are sick, it is him who takes them to the big hospital in town. He is also a doctor and treats many of us here when we are sick. When our villages are flooded, it is only him from outside who comes to see us. Now, if you talk to Father Shufaa wa Maria and he agrees to support you, everybody here will also support you. So rather than waste time talking to me, just go to him and have a talk. And whatever happens, come back and tell me."
"I will and thanks a lot."
Macaria shook hands with the workman and left for the Church where Father wa Maria lived and worked. Macaria was in the company of his friend Njoroge. When they got to the priest's house, they knocked.
"Come in", somebody said from inside and held the door open for them. When they entered, they introduced themselves to the priest who had opened the door for them.
"Hallo Father. My name is Macaria. My friend here is Njoroge."
"Hallo Macaria. Hallo Njoroge. I am Father Karanja", the priest said while shaking hands with them. Then he motioned them to the seats.
"Take seats please."
"Thanks", they said as they sat down.
"Now, can I help you?" Father Karanja said after sitting down also.
"Yes. We wanted to see Father Shufaa wa Maria. But maybe he is not in."
"He is in alright. Just got in moments before you from a safari. Let me tell him you are here. He will see you in a moment. But does anyone care for a beer, please?"
"Just a soda", Macaria said.
"And you?" Father Karanja asked Njoroge.
"Same for me, thanks."
Then Father Karanja went into the kitchen and came back followed by a cook with two sodas and glasses. Putting them on the table, the cook offered, "Please help yourselves."
"Thanks", said Macaria and Njoroge together. Then Father Karanja got up and said, "I'll now call Father Shufaa for you."
Both said "Thanks Father" and proceeded to pour themselves soda in the glasses. Moments later, another young priest entered the living room smiling broadly.
"Hallo. I am Father Shufaa was Maria", said the newly entered priest shaking hands with both Macaria and Njoroge who replied one after the other "Hallo. I am Macaria" and "Hallo, I am Njoroge."
"Pleased to meet you both,"  Father Shufaa said as he sat down.
"Pleased to meet you, Father", Macaria and Njoroge said as they also sat down.
"Now, let me see", Father Shufaa said peering at them rather closely, "I don't think we have met before."
"No, we haven't."
"Then you are not from around here."
"No, we are not. But we are not from very far. We are from Kiota Forest village."
"Okay, that's quite a distance. Did you come through Kiu Town?"
"We took a short-cut from Kiota to this place."
"I see. What can I do for you now. I am sure you don't want me to go and help one of your wives to deliver a baby. Not that I so strongly mind, but since people here got to know that I am both a priest and a doctor, I have been delivering more babies than I have been saying mass. For a change, I hope you people want to go and conduct a marriage ceremony or say mass for you. Anything, but not another delivery."
"Well," Macaria said, "it looks like we are here to ask you to help us deliver yet another baby. This time however, it is a political and not a human baby. Father, I really don't know where I am to begin our story, but I am a candidate in the forthcoming parliamentary elections. A few hours ago, I stopped at one of the sisal villages near here to solicit support from the workers. They said they have never seen me before and doubt if I know about their problems well enough to represent them in parliament. They said the only person whom they trust to know about their problems, and the only one whom they would agree to vote for is you. But you are not standing for elections. So they can't give you their votes. When I asked them to vote for me, they repeated that the only person they will vote for is you. And in your absence, any other person whom you may tell them to vote for."
"Really, did they tell you that?"
"Yes, they did."
"And how many registered voters are there in the sisal estates?"
"Over ten thousand."
"Then I think I should add MP to my titles. Don't you think?" he said somewhat amused by the thought.
"But Father, you just said that you are already one title too many. If you add MP to priest and doctor, you might end up losing sight of your original title."
"You are absolutely right. One man one job is what all of us need in the interests of economic justice. Yes, you were saying that workers told you to come and see me."
"Yes. One worker told me as a secret that should you give me your support, most if not all of them will agree to vote for me. At first, I thought it ridiculous that I should come to a priest for political support. Honestly, I never before thought that a priest could have so much political clout. But on second thought, I changed my mind and decided to come and ask for your individual vote and support among the workers."
"But tell me, why did you not think that a priest may have political clout?"
"Well, I thought politics and religion don't mix."
"But they do, don't they? After all, is politics not built upon social influence? If I wanted to be a politician, I would not ignore priests, pastors and bishops. They are people with quite a lot of religious and therefore social influence. Sure, today is not like middle ages when Popes used to crown and dethrone Kings and Queens, but religious leaders still do wield quite a lot of influence, some for good and some for ill. So your change of mind was not so ill-advised though I am not as influential as you might think I am. But you look quite young. Why do you want to be a politician? I thought politics in Kenya are for old and wealthy people who have everything else except power?"
"My interest in politics is different. I am going into politics because I need a platform from which I could fight for some changes, I believe in. Outside politics, I feel voiceless and therefore helpless."
"And powerless, of course."
"Yes. Powerless to bring about changes."
"So you must admit that you are also after power."
"Yes, but not on my own behalf, and in any case, not the same power which old and rich men need to crown their human greed and preserve the status quo."
"So what will you do with power if people elect you their president?"
"I will use power to fight abuses of power."
"Have you ever heard that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely? If you accept power, how will you avoid being corrupt?"
"A leader's own efforts are not enough to avoid being corrupt. People themselves must never surrender absolute power to leaders because once they do, they will make Gods out of their own leaders. And with God's power and human weaknesses, all men and women are bound to get corrupt. Too much power will make any man malfunction, the same way any small car will malfunction with the power of a truck. Now, if people can avoid losing all their power to a leader, they will more than 99 per cent have helped the leader to remain uncorrupt. On the other hand, a leader must avoid corruption by avoiding the perverse desire to be God over his fellow human beings. If people avoid loss of their own power to leaders and leaders avoid the desire to be God through accumulation of too much power, corruption of leaders might be avoided."
"Anyway, let me say that it is good that you have mentioned abuses of power because I see it as the root cause of our problems. Whether people here elect you to parliament or not, they are not without lots of good will for their leaders. All people who have come here before you seeking these workers' votes for leadership have all promised to lift them from this hell and take them to heaven once they become their MPs. But once MPs, none of these people has agreed to look back, leave alone come back to lift these workers from the hell they live in. Once they are given power, or what you called a voice earlier, they abuse that power by using it for completely different purposes from those which it was meant to serve. Look at all the national leaders. Before independence, they all came here to promise these workers heaven after Uhuru. They got votes and their party won. But like people who were afraid to turn into pillars of poverty, they never looked back at this place. Then the second president and his lot came, and they too promised heaven. They got their votes and won, but none looked back upon these people. There was even somebody who went to parliament from our sisal estates here. He used to be a mechanic, but once elected, he too never looked back. Union leaders have also come here for votes, but once in office, they too are never seen again. The only thing we hear about people we elect is that they have become big men with big farms, big houses, big cars and big stomachs. And of course, we see them here whenever workers go on a strike. Like fire extinguishers, they come back to put the fire out. If they are unable to put the fire out, they go back and send Kenya Gestapo Services to come and arrest workers' leaders as subversives. Leaders in this country have squandered the good of the people they lead. This is why people are afraid even to listen to you. All politicians and Union leaders sound like conmen here. And the sweeter they talk, the more workers are afraid of them. I hope you can see what kind of problems you are up against?"
"Father, you must help me get over this mountain of distrust."
"But at my own peril. If I speak for you and you get elected, but refuse to come or look back, I stand the risk of looking like the accomplice of a conman. Can you see that?"
"Yes, I can. But I am promising that I will come back. I am promising that I am not a conman."
"Trouble is, conmen sound more genuine than genuine people. So, if you con me, I am sure people will understand."
"Father, I am not a conman and I hate political conmen."
"At least you do not sound like one of those who come here to tell us that they will be our next MP whether we like it or not, whether we vote for them or don't. People should not be fooled with bogus elections if some certain persons have already been selected to be their MPs by a government which has enough disregard for people as to rig elections. Secondly, if we vote for you, we want to vote for you because we believe in you and not because you have given us anything. But if we don't ask for anything now, it is because we shall want to ask for your full attention later. We are like a girl who wants to fall in love with you. We ask not a cent for our love. But only because we are more selfish and shall not want to share you with anybody else. We know that girls who are paid for their love never get married. So if we vote for you, it is because we want a marriage with you and not a quick affair. So choose now. Can you afford a marriage with us? Are you politically married or engaged to somebody else? If so, tell us."
"I am not married and I am not engaged. I want a permanent affair and a marriage with you."
"If so, you must promise to take us for your wedded wife for good and for ill."
"I promise."
"Not yet. You have to hear what sort of a girl we are first. We are a girl with lots of problems and shall nag at you till all our problems are solved. We might even ask you to risk your own freedom and physical security to get us what we want. So you have to seriously consider whether it is us you want to marry or somebody else. We are a girl who is very jealous and very poor, a girl who wants to live well like everybody else and a girl who is mercilessly demanding. You see, you still have time to leave us alone and approach some other girl who is likely to give you less trouble. Or are you still interested?"
"Yes, I am." 
"Okay. Hear our litany of problems. We are paid very low wages for very hard work. Both our MP and workers' union have abandoned us and we are totally at the mercy or mercilessness of the sisal plantation owners. We are terribly oppressed and exploited by a system of piecemeal work called "Kiporo" - yesterday's work that must be done today, before today's work is begun - whole abolition we shall like you to fight for. When factories close down and they do for many reaons, we are kept without pay or food for many months. We are never allowed to grow food for ourselves though there is plenty of unused land here. We have no dispensary and get no transport to hospital when we are sick. The place we live in gets flooded with rainy water making us need higher grounds for our houses. People who have been employed here for twenty and thirty years are employed as casuals who are not entitled to any leave or any other benefits including pension. When people lose their eyes while at work or die from work-related accidents, nobody is paid anything as compensation. We will want you to fight for the solution to all these problems if you are still interested in a political marriage with us. Are you?"
"Yes, I am."
"In the old days, there were women who were said to have "a red thigh" (Kiero gitune). Marrying such a woman was considered dangerous because husbands of such women always died. Now Macaria, watch out because sisal plantation workers might turn out a woman with "a red thigh" for you. Fighting for them has always been and will always be very dangerous, because problems of plantation workers are the same in big sisal, coffee, pineapple and tea plantations. Consequently, when you fight against sisal plantation owners, you threaten big and powerful coffee and tea plantation owners who treat their workers no better. When you threaten interests of big coffee and tea plantation owners, who are powerful men in government, such people will use their access to state power to destroy you. Fighting for us will also make the leadership of Plantation Workers Union another powerful enemy for you. We know PWU is today in the pockets of powerful plantation owners who use union leaders to pacify workers against their own interests. We also know that PWU's leaders regard plantations as their exclusive territory where no one else should trespass. Now, when you start fighting for us, union leaders will see you as somebody who wants to undermine their influence with workers. For that, they will join forces with plantation owners to destroy you. Ten years ago, there was an MP from the Coast who also represented in parliament a sisal growing constituency. When he fought for workers in his constituency, he also fought for us here because problems of sisal workers are the same wherever you go in this country. He was very popular here, though no one had ever seen him. When he fought for us, he threatened powerful sharks in government who rigged him out of parliament and later put him into prison on a bogus treason charge.
And whenever we have had good union representatives, they have also been destroyed in the same way. Arraigned before courts on trumped up charges and then sent to prison for many years. Are you still interested in marrying a woman with 'a red thigh'?"
"Yes, I am."
"Finally, I will tell you something that is likely to disappoint you people, keen as you look to go to parliament. Most, if not all workers here have no faith in a one-party parliament which you are campaigning to join. We know no parliament can be effective without an opposition. Now, the parliament you are trying to join is entirely controlled by one party. We know, no voice can be heard or taken seriously in that parliament unless it is the voice of KANU. But KANU which controls parliament does not speak for plantation workers or any other group of poor people. In fact, people who own cash crop plantations in this country are the same people who control the party, the government and the parliament as well. Here all of us believe that our problems in this country will be solved when everybody will be given a voice in parliament. But most people will not have a voice in parliament unless everybody is free to join a party of one's own choice and go to parliament to represent interests other than those of men who own plantations, businesses, party and government. We know you will speak for us, but you will never convince that parliament to do anything for us. Here all of us are believers in a system of more than one party. And to express that belief, I like saluting people with the two-finger-victory sign. For that however, Kenya Gestapo Services once arrested and locked me up in a dirty and damp police cell for a whole day. They released me when the Bishop asked the KGS higher-ups to order for my release. Now are you in this one-party you could join?"
"Because there is no other party, I can join. If there was an opposition party, with my kind of views, I would not be contesting this election on the KANU ticket."
"Otherwise, you are still interested in our marriage?" 
"Yes, I am."
"I told you we are a difficult girl to marry. Yes, we are. Before we accept you for marriage, we must also ask you to belong to our God. Right now, we don't know who your God is. We know right now people have several Gods in this country. Some worship money. Others worship fear. And still more others worship the president. But most people in this country are polytheists who worship all the three and other Gods together. We don't know who your God is. But in case he is one of the three, marriage with us is not possible. We worship neither of the three Gods which we consider enemies of the God we worship. Our God is at war with money, fear and presidents to the extent that they want to be God and worshipped. Our God is the God of all that is good. He is the God of Freedom, the God of Justice and the God of Equality. Our God is the God who frees the poor and the weak from oppression, exploitation and degradation. He is the God who is against all evil - hunger, disease, poverty, oppression, exploitation, injustice, detention and all forms of political dictatorship. As we worship the true God, we fight the false Gods of money, fear and power. That is why, if you are to accept us in marriage, then you must also accept our God."
"Father, your God is my God."
"In that case, we have said enough. Say this after me and then leave everything to me: 'I, Macaria, take thee sisal workers, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till another election do us part; and thereto I plight thee my troth'." Macaria repeated the same words and after that they went home.
For a week, Macaria did his election campaign outside the sisal estates. But he had to have a campaign rally there. Two days before the campaign rally, some of his supporters went around sisal estates to pin his campaign posters on walls of shops, schools, butcheries and other public buildings. When they returned, they reported very good reception and support. However, Macaria wanted to confirm everything for himself. But when he held his campaign rally there, the support he got was so overwhelming that he had absolutely nothing to say to the meeting. When he shouted his campaign symbol "Nyuki", there was a roaring reply from the public - "Bunge" (Parliament).
"Nyuki wapi?" - "Bunge."
"Nyuki wapi?" - "Bunge."
It was clear to Macaria that definitely Father Shujaa wa Maria had kept his word, his part of the bargain. Macaria's worry now was whether he would be able to keep his part of the bargain if he went to parliament. But failure was not possible after such a hearty demonstration of freely given support by people who were hungry, but had rejected offers of money in order to support one whom they had faith in. As they had put their faith and support in him, he would never let them down. And as he left the meeting amidst shouts of "Nyuki Juu", "Nyuki Juu", Macaria knew all the votes in the sisal estates were his. His only worry now was, if all the votes were his, where would the others get their votes from.

* * *

On the last day of the campaign, all candidates did a final tour of the constituency, mainly to give their supporters a final word of courage and for some to tell their final lie against their opponents. For Macaria, this final tour was one not out of choice - because he lacked cars and fuel -, but out of necessity because he had to tell voters that he was still in the race and that it was not true that he had quit the race in favour of Tumbo arap Tamaa. Arap Tamaa and his motorcade of more than 200 cars had been telling people in all the trading centres that Macaria had stepped down for him and the race was now between "Simba" and "Ng'ombe". When Macaria's supporters heard this, they suspected foul play and badly wanted Macaria to come and confirm or refute these reports. Arap Tamaa told the lie about Macaria stepping down for him in the hearing of the D.C., who was the returning officer of the elections, two government ministers, party leaders from the whole district and party headquarters and also people from state house. All these people did not only concur with the lie, they also urged people to vote for "Simba" since "Simba" was the "President's man" in Mashaka constituency.
As Tumbo arap Tamaa embarked on his grand tour of lies, he had anticipated that Macaria would follow in his trail to refute his lies. To save his lies from exposure, Arap Tamaa had made contingency plans with Kenya Gestapo Services who were always at his beck and call for Macaria to be intercepted. But of course, Macaria did not know this until his motorcade of three old cars arrived at one trading centre where there was a market and a lot of people, most of them supporters of Macaria. When they saw Macaria in one of the cars, people surrounded the cars and started asking, "Is it true?", "Is it true?", "Is it true?" When Macaria came out of the car, he was bombarded with the same question, "Is it true?"
"No, it is not true. It is a lie", he told them.
As soon as he said so, one of his most enthusiastic supporters started calling everybody in the market to come where Macaria was and hear the truth - "It is a lie, I am still in the race." Then another supporter brought a big table from a nearby hotel and Macaria was quickly hoisted upon it. "Tell them the truth." Macaria knew that if he spoke one word from the table, he would be accused of addressing an "illegal" meeting. So he tried to come down the table, but his supporters would literally not let him. "Tell them the truth", "Tell them the truth", they insisted. What could Macaria do? After all, he was refuting a vital campaign lie and in the name of democracy and free elections, his supporters surely had a right to know the truth. "It is not true", he said as he raised his voice to reach everybody. "I am still in the race. Tumbo Arap Tamaa is telling a lie. "Nyuki" is still in the..." Nobody heard the last word - "race". It was drowned in the deafening and sharp wail of the police sirens as they summoned police to don their riot gear and charge into action against Macaria's so-called illegal meeting, just as Macaria had feared. Macaria saw them coming. Some in police uniforms and most in civilian clothes, but all carrying shields and "rungus" (big truncheons). As they came towards people, they looked like persons who had gone completely berserk. They charged against people without warning or ordering them to disperse. But as the beasts came towards him, Macaria could see men, women and children fleeing in all directions, crying with bleeding smashed heads, split lips, broken teeth, broken hands and all manner of other bloody injuries. Macaria could clearly see that their real target was himself. To stop his escape, they had blocked the road with their landrover. So Macaria and his close supporters just got into their car and wound up the glass windows. When the riot police reached his car, they started banging the windows with "rungus" while shouting, "Fungua, toka nje", "Fungua, toka nje." (Open, come out. Open, come out.). But Macaria did neither. He just sat tight in the car. When they saw that Macaria was not going to open the windows or come out, the police swept the small car off the ground and carried it to the police station a few yards away. When the car was put down, a police inspector came out to meet them. When Macaria saw the police inspector, he opened the door and came out to confront him, "Why are you attacking us? Is this your final trick with Arap Tamaa against a free campaign and election?" He did not condescend to answer. Instead, he barked an order to his askaris - "Lock them up." Macaria and his friends were locked up in a cell until 1 a.m. When they were released, they drove back to Kiu town in a hurry. They had to be in town before 3 a.m. for a pre-dawn meeting with election agents. But when Macaria arrived in town at half past 3 a.m., none of his agents was at the meeting place. They were all in Central Police Station, arrested by Kenya Gestapo Services. It was then clear to Macaria that the attack upon supporters, his own arrest and now the arrest of his election agents was all part of a bigger and well orchestrated government plan to defeat free and fair elections. Macaria then drove to the police station to ask for the release of his election agents, but they were not released. Macaria and his friends then drove back to their small house. They could not sleep because it was nearly 5 a.m. now. They had a scanty breakfast and then set out to witness queuing in an election which Macaria knew to be rigged already.
The same night Macaria was being arrested by KGS, the "cow"-candidate must have been subjected to a lot of threats and intimidation because by the morning of the polling day, there were banner-headlines for "Ng'ombe" in the newspapers which announced his last minute withdrawal from the race. Throughout the polling day, "Ng'ombe" did not appear anywhere in the constituency.
In the name of African traditions, secret ballot had been abolished two years back by KANU. To vote in each polling station, people had to queue up behind their favourite candidates, or their portraits, and be counted by a D.O. All D.O.s had then to take all the vote counts from the different polling stations to the D.C. to do a final count and announce the winners and losers. In all the stations which Macaria visited, those who lined up behind his picture were so many, and the line so long that it was embarrassing for anyone to go and line up behind Tumbo arap Tamaa. But all party leaders and government chiefs lined up behind Tumbo arap Tamaa in an effort to intimidate people into lining up behind him also. Party leaders had even stood before people and told them that if they defied the president and refused to vote for Tumbo Arap Tamaa, they would see what none of them had seen before. In some places, defiant voters were threatened that if Tumbo Arap Tamaa lost, they would be put into a nearby volcanic crater and the crater would then be blown up with high explosives. In yet other polling stations, those who lined up behind "Nyuki" were branded as "subversives" and threatened with detention without trial, denial of medical services in government hospitals, denial of business licences and expulsion of their children from schools. In the face of all these threats, many people just refused to vote and went home. But the most incredible thing is that quite a lot of people also stayed and lined up behind "Nyuki". When Macaria saw this, he felt so touched that tears just rolled down his face. People were defying impossible odds to give him victory. Though distressed by earlier arrests, Macaria was now feeling confident that despite everything, he was bound to win this election. Support was so overwhelming that no one - not even a mad man - could ignore it. But Macaria was wrong. There were people who were madder than mad men. Tumbo Arap Tamaa, the D.C. and party leaders had no qualms whatsoever in ignoring people's support for Macaria.
From all the polling stations, Tumbo Arap Tamaa garnered 974 votes. Macaria had a bountiful harvest of 10,346 votes. When people went to the counting hall, they found the place completely surrounded by riot police. To Macaria, this was a sign that elections would be rigged. The riot police were there in expectation of and in order to quell public protests.
The D.C. started by announcing Macaria's votes, "Macaria wa Kihooto whose symbol is "Nyuki" has 10,346 votes." All people clapped their hands heartily for Macaria as the already known winner of elections. They knew Tumbo arap Tamaa had far fewer votes - a mere 974 votes. So when the sting in the tail of rigging shot out nobody whosoever was expecting it. And it was so unbelievably bold and painful that everybody was stunned into utter disbelief. "Tumbo Arap Tamaa whose symbol is "Simba" has 24,822 votes." There was a deep silence. Then the D.C. announced that according to the vote count just announced, Tumbo Arap Tamaa was the winner and the new member of parliament for Mashaka constituency.
After the announcement of the false victory, Tumbo Arap Tamaa stood up erect despite his usual paunchy stoop, shot his hands up in the air and shouted jubilantly "Simba!" Everybody apart from a few people around him stared at him as if he were a ghost or the apparition of a monster. Then those few around him began to congratulate him by shaking hands. Macaria wondered whether he should not play gentleman and congratulate him as well. As he tried to move towards the small group with whom Tumbo Arap Tamaa stood, Gakenia who stood by him, jerked his hand and asked him, "Where are you going?"
"To congratulate him."
"Him who?"
"Arap Tamaa."
"Congratulate a thief for rigging your election?"
"Well, I just thought that one should not seem too unhappy."
"And you do that by shaking hands with a thief before your very supporters who are now crying? Will you shake hands with a thief and also with your supporters who are also the victims of that rigging? Then what does your handshake mean? No, you must be out of your mind. This is no time for you to play games at being nice."
"My dear, calm down", Macaria pleaded with Gakenia.
Some people had already begun to stare at them, but Gakenia was not one to be cowed by stares.
"And play the calm wife of the calm victim? Election victory "my dear" is not your individual property, which you can surrender to these people in return for your psychological peace or physical security. Worry about your disappointed supporters and leave these morons to their buffoonery. Let's get out of here."
Macaria did not resist. Gakenia's whole being and voice had an authority he had not seen or felt before. He knew one thing though: his failure to "congratulate" Tumbo Arap Tamaa would be taken by them as a refusal to concede defeat and a declaration of political war. As they went out, there was commotion as all Macaria's supporters streamed out of the hall with them. Some booing, some crying, some mumbling disappointment to each other. Some just bowing their heads low. But others like one middle-aged woman near Macaria were taking their party cards out of their bags and tearing them to pieces. As she tore her party-membership card to pieces, this particular woman said something that made Macaria realise just how bitter voters were with election-rigging. "I will never vote again as long as this president, this party and this government are in power. They are incurable cheats." The force and the implications of that resolution awakened Macaria from his stupor. He wanted to say something to the woman, but just then they came to the door and everybody was brought to a complete stop by the spectacle of police force which confronted them outside the hall. Nobody had made any trouble, but riot police looked all set to charge at them. "What arrogance!", Macaria thought. "Are these people going to top robbing people with beating them?" Just then, Macaria saw Father wa Maria coming towards the hall beaming with unexplainable satisfaction and his hands outstretched to greet everybody. As the Father came between the people and the riot police, the latter stopped their advance towards the people. The Father greeted Macaria and Gakenia and then said: "I know everything. But congratulations nevertheless. Victory is ours. They will have more problems trying to tame, harness and have a honeymoon with a woman who has given her heart, mind and body to another man. They have her body, but not her heart and mind. Go home and don't forget "Nothing treads cannot be trapped" (Ng'enda thi ndiagaga mutegi). 

* * *


WITNESS NO. 16

After the election fiasco, Macaria had no reason to stay in Kiu town again. He bade farewell to everybody there and returned to Nairobi with his wife.
Though he would not admit it to himself, Macaria was suffering from a bout of depression. He was feeling empty and deflated. He felt clear-headed, but could neither comprehend what he read and re-read nor concentrate on anything including conversations. At night, again he felt clear and sleepless, but just below the surface, his mind was lead-heavy and tired. He was in a captivating yet stupefying trance and stared emptily at everything and everybody. When he thought he was asleep, it was a dreamy sheet of sleep that was very thinly separated from wakefulness. He felt asleep and awake at the same time. For instance, every time he slept, he dreamt of a snake trying to lick his nose with its very long tongue. In the sleep, he would see the snake and its tongue so vividly that he would wake up trying to escape from it. Upon waking up, he would tell Gakenia that a snake had been licking his nose. The wife would of course tell him that he was hallucinating and would console him back to sleep. "There is no snake, my dear. Just go back to sleep and forget that bloody election."
"I am not thinking about the election at all", Macaria would plead. On going back to sleep, the snake would now creep back to him from under the bed and lick his nose again. He would again wake up fretfully and start to look for the snake. Of course, the wife would wake up again and try to put him back to sleep. He would go back to sleep and dream his silly dream again, again and again. When he woke up in the morning, he would feel as if he had not slept a wink.
Whenever Gakenia came from work, she would find Macaria in his trance. "Get up and do something like everybody else. Can't you take a blow and stand? And if you are floored by a blow, can't you get up again? Do you think you are the only one who has been knocked down, however unjustly? What kind of a fighter are you? Stop snivelling and get up. If you choose to fight, you must be prepared to get knocked down. Whoever told you that fighting is picnicking?"
"I will be alright, darling. In fact, I am alright. I don't feel anything wrong with me except the snake which comes to lick my nose at night."
"You don't look well to me at all. I suggest you take a beer. It might do you some good."
Gakenia brought out two bottles of beer and two glasses and sat down. She poured the beer into the glasses, took one and gave the other to Macaria.
"Now, tell me. Why did you take this thing so badly?"
"I did not expect them to do what they did."
"You did not expect them to rig?" she laughed and asked the same question again, "You did not expect them to rig your election? No wonder they say 'a woman's word is believed only after it has slept overnight' (Kia mutumia gitikagio kia rara).
"Not that I did not expect them to rig. But not when it was so obvious that Tumbo Arap Tamaa had lost and lost badly."
"Then you had more faith in these people than I thought. Otherwise, what I have all the time known myself is that these people rig elections whenever they expect to lose and not when they are sure to win. After all, this matter is something we have talked about many times before. Personally, I don't see what is there to surprise you at all. Unless you have been thinking that what happens to others cannot happen to you. After all, these people had every reason to want to rig your election. Already, they knew from whatever you said in the campaign and wrote in Sunday News that you are not one of them. That you wanted parliament as a platform of fighting them and undermining their dictatorship and not as a bridge to greener pastures for yourself. After all, these people introduced queuing whose results are not appealable, because such an election is easier to rig than any other. So, though you naturally hoped that they would not rig your election, you should not have been shocked when they decided to rig. It is not for nothing they say that in these matters, while hoping for the best, one should always prepare for the worst. These people are not democratic, have never been and have no intentions to be in future. They don't know how to lose and are politically immoral and reckless enough to do anything to avoid an electoral defeat. If these things hurt us, we should not allow them to break us."
"But losses! They are easier to understand intellectually than to take emotionally."
"But our intellectual understanding should prepare and strengthen our emotions. Otherwise there would be no advantage whatsoever in being able to foresee things intellectually. But the first bruise, the first brush with failure is always the most painful."
"That is as long as I don't stop working at whatever has bruised me."
"Did you intend to stop? Then you should never have started in the first place."
"But other bruises? Maybe I can't take any more pain."
"Other bruises are always less painful than the first one. Moreover, you should be able to bear what others can bear. Don't be a coward. After all, you have already taken the first step to developing a thick skin."
"Maybe I need a thick heart. More than I need a thick skin. With a thick heart, all these problems would never arise."
"To hell with a thick heart. That is for Arap Tamaas, not for my husband. I need a tough but human husband and not a heartless one. How is the beer?"
"Not bad. I think I can do with another one."
"But not a third one. Else you start getting your blackouts."
"I won't take one beer more than I need."
"Neither will I. Have you ever seen med drink?"
"No. In fact, I was wondering whether you drank beer before I met you."
"No, I never drank beer before. And in any case, beer is not healthy when one is heavy. I bought beer today only because a friend at work told me that a beer or two might help one to get over a depression."
"Now, do you think these guys will try to stop me from getting a job as they have stopped so many others from doing either work or business."
"Certainly, if you go asking their government to employ you. As long as they think that you will use your money to prepare yourself for the next campaign, they won't give you a job."
"But I have no such intentions again. It is useless to run for elections which are not free and fair. It is an exercise in futility and a wastage of time and money."
"Right. But for a job, you can't go telling them that you will never again run for elections."
"Never."
"So forget ever getting a job from their government."
"And what do I do if they won't let me do business either?"
"Go to private companies. You should be able to get a job with some."
"I will try Mashariki Industries or Jinamizi Breweries. But I feel very bitter and angry. No one should deny me work and political participation in my own country."
"Sure. Feel as angry as you want, but don't be heartbroken. Every person who has been robbed or denied a birthright has a perfect right to be angry. Not being angry will be condoning a crime. Mark you, I am also very angry. Or do you think I would not have liked to be the wife of an Honourable MP? Or do you think I am less entitled to be a Mrs. MP than Mrs. Arap Tamaa?"
"Of course you are just as entitled."
"Then I also have a right to be angry. There is absolutely nothing wrong with our being angry. You remember that priest friend of yours whom we met outside the counting hall?"
"Yes, I do."
"I think I like him. The way he said victory was ours was just right."
"Though in reality it did not help us much."
"It ought to help because it makes a lot of difference to know that one is the real and rightful victor. You won the actual election. People voted for you overwhelmingly. What you are suffering from is not an electoral defeat, but electoral robbery. If it is painful to be robbed by a few election riggers, imagine how painful it must be to be rejected by thousands and thousands of voters. Sometimes I believe that Arap Tamaa is undergoing much more pain than us. The priest was right to say that Arap Tamaa will have a very painful honeymoon with an electorate which has unreservedly rejected him. You are feeling the pain of a man who has been denied the right to marry a girl who loves him and whom he loves, but Arap Tamaa's pain is the pain of total rejection by a woman he loves, but who totally abhors him. If I were to choose between the two pains, I would choose your pain rather than his."
"You sincerely believe that right now Arap Tamaa has a serious problem?"
"I do."
"But Gakenia, do thiefs have problems eating what they have stolen? To do that, I believe they need a conscience. And certainly people like Arap Tamaa have no conscience. So how could they suffer anything like remorse?"
"Let's look at it this way. If a thief has a conscience and steals something without absolute justification, then he will certainly suffer some remorse. But if he stole with absolute justification, he may not suffer anything. But if a thief has no conscience, he will suffer nothing for what he steals even if his stealing has no justification whatsoever. But what is stolen is important in making one suffer remorse or not. For instance, it is much easier for a conscienceless male thief to steal a banana from somebody than to steal sex from or rape a woman. In stealing a banana, the object of theft is lifeless and is eaten without complaining. In case of rape, the object of rape is a living being that resists being raped throughout. That resistance disturbs the thief so much that some even choose to kill their victims thinking it is easier to rape a dead than a living woman. You have also heard it said in Kiswahili that, if you want to kill a monkey or a baboon, avoid looking him in the eyes (Ukitaka kumwua nyani, usimtazame macho). Now, take Arap Tamaa. He had stolen leadership from you. He wants to impose himself upon the people of Mashaka constituency. But stealing leadership is not like stealing a piece of empty land. If Arap Tamaa had stolen a piece of empty land, he would find it easier to settle on than to impose himself on people as a leader because empty land is uncomplaining and unrejecting. However, if a piece of land is settled, stealing it will be very difficult because its robbed owners will only stop complaining if they are dead. Hence, like rapists, some thiefs of land think it easier to kill victims of their land theft than endure their complaining looks forever. Now, when Tumbo Arap Tamaa imposes himself on Mashaka constituency as MP, people will straight away complain, reject and vomit him out of their stomachs as it were. Arap Tamaa knows Mashaka people have rejected him and will never let him settle as their leader. In fact, he knows that people's rejection of him is so strong that it is violent. So as an imposed MP, he will always go to Mashaka constituency with armed askaris to protect him. Now, if rejection against one is so strong that it is violent, even a conscienceless Arap Tamaa must certainly have problems with it. This is why I say, he too has quite a problem on his hands. And a worse one at that because more people will be rejecting him than those who robbed you of your electoral victory."
"According to you then, rigging is bad both for its victims and its perpetrators?"
"Certainly. And even worse for the country. Stolen leadership must be imposed and supported with the force of guns. In fact, thiefs of leadership are more prone to kill their resisters than even rapists and land thiefs. But however powerful are the guns of imposing it, stolen leadership is something that no stomach can accept or digest. It will always be vomited out. It will always be rejected. And sooner or later, the force of rejecting it is bound to clash violently with the force of imposing it thereby igniting a fire that can easily engulf the whole country in a costly and bloody civil war. This is why it is folly for any country to tolerate or encourage rigging of elections. It is equally foolish for the so-called non-political people to just look on disinterestedly as dangerous games are played around them by a few mad men who take pleasure in setting their political opponents' houses on fire. If a strong wind comes, sparks from the few burning houses can start a countrywide conflagration that could raze to the ground both the houses of the guilty as well as those of the innocent, those of the politically interested as well as those of the politically disinterested. Where do you think all the civil wars in Somalia, Ethiopia, Sudan, Mozambique, Liberia, Nigeria and other African countries started? Imposition of leadership on people by a few mad men and women who started by rigging elections in multi-party states, then moved on to ban opposition parties and create one-party states wherein they also rigged elections and finally ended up banning single-party states and substituting them with civilian and military no-party states which are all governed with the terror of guns. But the road to the tragedy of a civil war always begins with the first step of rigging an election."
"What do we say now? That we won and lost at the same time?"
"That the people of Mashaka constituency won and lost an election. But the struggle continues."
"But how, my dear? We don't have even a single political avenue open to us?"
"As the late Malcolm X would say, 'By any means necessary'."
"You still remember Malcolm X? I never thought you paid any attention to Malcolm X. You were always busy doing something else every time I listened to Malcolm X. You would never condescend to listen to him with me."
"Well, it was your attitude. You were always so goddamn formal about it that it revolted me. It was like Malcolm X did not exist for ordinary people. Like he spoke only for political scientists. But I listened to him when you were not there. And I liked him as a great man. He really was. They should not have killed him."
"They always kill great men, don't they? But seriously, you know these bastards have closed politics to all people who are outside the party and parliament. One can't even join a trade union because politics are banned there as well."
"No one can ban politics everywhere. Since I came, we have been talking politics, haven't we? How can such politics be banned?"
"I know it is hard to rule politics out of people's lives, but they have banned it. If they find you talking politics, they will arrest, detain or imprison you even if you were doing so inside your own home."
"This is why it is terrible to be led by cowards. They see political conspiracies everywhere - in bars, in family parties, in funeral gatherings, in churches, in schools, in people's own cars, in buses, in matatus, everywhere. To survive in a country like this, people must be like sheep, which pasture with jingling bells amidst danger."
"That would be quite risky and reckless, wouldn't it?"
"It would. But what is not risky and reckless? Taking refuge in beer taking and ending up an alcoholic as so many intellectuals have done because they are shit scared of sticking their necks out and facing  political risks? You men bray of having undergone circumcision. But apart from keeping your tails short, it did you no other good. Or do you wish to become a football fanatic and pretend that football is the magic ball which will feed you, clothe you, shelter you, quench your thirst, heal you when sick and finally take you to heaven? I want a man and not a coward for a husband. I would hate a husband who fears the company of other men because he is afraid of "dabbling in politics". I have seen what some such cowards do. They suppress their manhood and then lose themselves in making money, hoping that possession of money can make up for loss of courage and manhood. Unfortunately, it does not. Great appetite comes with money. Obesity comes with great appetite. And manhood disappears with obesity. Many women think courageous and non-obese men are better men sexually. I know what you would become if you decided to take refuge in money-making. First you would have little time for me, because making money would possess you just as jealously as a second wife would. But worse than that, you would become obese and lose your manhood in your over-fattened groin. After losing your manhood, you would begin to pacify me with all kinds of adult toys like a nice car, a nice house, nice clothes and even a small plane. But all these can never become a husband to me."
"But if I went to parliament and became a full time politician, I have a hunch that you were going to get a bit resentful because I was not going to have enough time with you."
"Naturally. I had very little or no time at all with you during the campaign. You were all the time in Kiu and I was always here. And as a human being, sometimes I wondered whether you were campaigning for votes or for love. I have little doubt that many women who admired you as a politician also admired you as a man and would have been quite glad to give you both their votes and love. Otherwise, I had some faith in you and full faith in my own looks. I know you will not easily get a woman who is as beautiful as I am. I also know that you are scared to death of AIDS. So I know that however thirsty you got out there, you would not stray, you would come back to me. But what made it easy for me to endure your absence was the knowledge that after the campaign, we would get more time together. Whether you won or lost, I knew you would come back to our little Halahala home here in Nairobi. After all, parliament is here in Nairobi."
"But with all your beauty, supposing I saw another woman and fell in love with her? What would you have done?"
"Have you forgotten those courses I took in Karate while you were busy going to Washington for demonstrations? I would have looked out for you both and knocked your heads together so hard that you would never again want to come together."
Both laughed and then Macaria pursued, "But seriously, suppose I did?"
"You didn't. So there is nothing for us to be serious about, except what I was telling you - that you should not take refuge in money. Nor should you take refuge in religious fanaticism or in defeatism. If you do, you will make me leave you and I don't want to do that because I love you so."
"But accepting defeat, is it not what is expected of me?"
"Retreat, yes. Surrender, never."
"But the law is on their side, they say."
"I am not asking you to break the law. I am asking you not to break your conscience. After all, what law are you talking about? Law which was made by the Arap Tamaas of the world to keep themselves in power and corruption? If people have a moral obligation to obey good law, they have also a moral obligation to disobey bad law that is made by bad and illegitimate leaders. Tell me, if you have to choose between offending your conscience and offending laws of dictatorship, what will you choose?"
"If there is no punishment, I will choose to break the laws of dictatorship, but now..."
"You would rather offend your conscience. Is that what you want to say?"
"Yes."
"Who told you offending one's conscience is not punishable? Have you never seen guys who have gone crazy and mentally disorientated because of trying to run away from their own conscience? All the intellectuals-turned-alcoholics. Is living in morbid fear which gives one stomach ulcers and hypertension not a punishment? To me, suffering fear-related health problems is worse than going to prison."
"My dear, I have a funny fear. Whatever I do, those people will never leave me alone."
"In that case, do whatever you like."

* * *

After a few days, Macaria overcame his depression. Later he applied and got employment as a sales promotion manager with Jinamizi Breweries in charge of Nairobi area. His stationing in Nairobi turned out a big advantage because he was now able to stay at home every day for the first time since their return from U.S. Though Macaria was given a company house which was bigger than their own house at Halahala estate, they preferred to continue living in their own house. And though he was given a company car, they still kept their old Toyota car. Two cars outside their house made them look richer than they were, but as the Swahili proverb says, one does not throw away one's old praying mat just because of a new one that one has borrowed (Usiache mbachao kwa msala upitao).

* * *

Macaria's recovery from the fiasco of rigged elections was made complete by the birth of their first son. According to their traditions, they called him after Macaria's father, Kihooto, or Justice. So his full name was Kihooto wa Macaria - Justice of the Seeker. When Macaria was born he was called Macaria wa Kihooto - Seeker or Searcher of Justice. Now with the birth of the son, the Seeker had found Justice, not in society where it had been suppressed by rigging, corruption and abuse of power, but reborn in his own home in the person of his son, who could be the new standard bearer of the cause for justice. For a man who had only one month ago been nearly crushed by the yoke of injustice, re-appearance of justice in the flesh and blood of his own son was the greatest gift his wife and God could give him. It meant that justice could never die completely as long as women are giving birth to sons and daughters. And raising his son Kihooto was for Macaria going to mean nurturing and raising justice that would finally free both him and his country from the nightmare of misrule and injustice.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 17

At their Halahala home, the Macarias had very good neighbours. One was the family of Adili who was a teacher at a nearby secondary school, and his wife was also a teacher at Halahala Primary School. The other neighbours were the family of Jitegemee who had a couple of small businesses which he ran together very successfully. He had a coffee shop which was quite popular with customers and a small garage where cars from around Halahala were taken for repairs. But Jitegemee was best known as a rally driver, but one who never managed to complete even once the well-known and wasteful Biashara Safari Rally. Macaria always suspected that Jitegemee's interest in the rally, as that of most African drivers, lay not in driving and winning, but in obtaining factory-made duty-free cars at half their market price and re-selling them at a fantastic profit. That notwithstanding, Macaria, Adili and Jitegemee became very good neighbours and friends and often met together in the evenings to discuss political events as reported in the newspapers, to discuss interesting books which all of them had read, and sometimes simply to socialise over a bottle of beer. Weekends were particularly good days for them because, together they would raise money to buy a case of beer and a goat, would slaughter and roast the goat in the house compound of one of them and would then make a big feast of the meat and the beer together with their families. Though Macaria, Adili and Jitegemee desired to invite their friends to their family parties, they hesitated to do so in fear that they might be accused by Kenya Gestapo Services of convening secret, unlicenced and illegal political meetings.
As a teacher, Adili was a greater reader of books than either Macaria or Jitegemee. And because Macaria and Gakenia had lots and lots of books which they had bought and brought back from U.S., Adili would borrow stacks of these books, keep them in his house and read them there. When he finished reading some, he would return them and take others.
As a former student of political science, Macaria had all kinds of books on all kinds of political subjects in his library. He had books on capitalism, on socialism, on democracy, on Marxism, on religion, on apartheid, on philosophy, on sociology, autobiographies, biographies and on history. In most other countries, his personal library would have been the envy of many. In Kenya however, books and knowledge were officially viewed with suspicion as sources of subversion. Sooner or later therefore, Macaria guessed that as sure as a carcass will attract hounds and vultures, his enviable library was bound to attract Kenya Gestapo Services to him. 
After the General Elections in which Macaria had taken part, there was relative quiet in the country. In fact, things seemed too quiet and too smooth to portend well. When Macaria pointed out this unreal calm to a colleague at work, the colleague assured him that periods of seeming political calm were the most dangerous periods in Kenya. "In this country, political waters always run deepest and are most dangerous where and when they are still. Leaders in this country love political turbulence and hate political calm. They seem to suffer from the feeling that in calm waters, people are always hatching political conspiracies against them. So soon they will disturb the water to stir the fish. They like fishing in troubled waters. So don't worry. After the lull, we are going through now, the storm will certainly come."
Almost as if his colleague had been a seer of the future, soon there was a lot of government condemnation of an underground organisation which called itself KESHO, which was an acronym for Kenya Socialist Organisation, and a Kiswahili word for 'Tomorrow' or 'Future'. By calling itself KESHO, the underground organisation wanted to identify itself as the party of the future in Kenya. Maybe it was because of its defiance, its demand for socialism and its insinuation that KANU was a dead party that KANU government so ruthlessly attacked and condemned it and threatened its members with death. In fact, the government threatened to jail for many years and even to kill anybody who was caught reading pamphlets which the organisation was said to distribute in and around Nairobi calling for the overthrow of KANU government.
 Macaria had no way of finding out whether KESHO existed or not. Many times before, the government had itself created bogus underground organisations, committed crimes against people in the name of those organisations in order to discredit any such organisations should they come up in future, and second, in order to associate certain of its political opponents with such organisations to justify their arrest, detention and destruction. Around the time, when J.M. Kariuki was assassinated, the government had floated a false organisation which it called Maslani Liberation Front - MLF. In an attempt to justify his assassination, J.M. had been vaguely associated with this MLF in whose name a bomb had been planted and exploded at the then OTC bus station in Nairobi killing nearly 70 innocent travellers.
Now, this KESHO might be just another bogus Maslani Liberation Front. But if it was not, Macaria wondered why a government which had banned people's democratic rights of free expression, free press, free association, free assembly and free movement should express surprise at people who had decided to go underground to be able to exercise their democratic rights which they would not surrender. That old man and friend of Macaria, Matenjagwo, had once told Macaria that, "If you muzzle someone's mouth, you should not be surprised or complain if that person farts." The government had gone out of its way to make sure that people could not legally express themselves or associate politically. In blocking legal expression and association, the government should have expected so-called illegal expression and association to come to people as naturally as farting would come to a person who was muzzled. But this was a foolhardy and illogical government that always did the opposite of what logic and common sense dictated. So when people went underground because they could not express and associate themselves legally and openly, instead of logically legalising political expression and association, the government did the exact illogical opposite of threatening, jailing and killing in torture chambers people who responded most naturally to unnatural prohibitions.
It turned out later that KESHO was a real and not a bogus underground political organisation. Macaria knew this when he came home one evening and found two young men visiting him. From introductions, he learnt that one of them was called Mteswa and the other Mhanga. The way they took time to play with the little Kihooto, Macaria judged them to be very pleasant young men who were greatly attracted to justice. After supper, the two young men asked Macaria if it was possible to have a chat with him outside the house. It would have been preferable to take a walk out of the house, but Macaria decided to take a short drive instead. Walking at night was very risky in Kenya because Kenya Gestapo Services always roamed the streets tooting guns and amusing themselves by arresting innocent people, demanding bribes from those who could pay, locking up those who could not pay and killing those who resisted or questioned the arrests as suspected robbers with violence. The KGS was particularly vicious and murderous when they patrolled the streets of nearby sprawling slums where they had been authorized by president Mpori to shoot to kill anybody they saw walking the streets at night. At night, KGS which was led by a Mzungu mercenary and killer called Paddy Show was literally a death squad and Macaria had no particular wish to meet them.
As they drove about Halahala, Mhanga told Macaria, "You don't know us, but we know you. We are also from Mseto district. We had been students at Nairobi University until last year when we were expelled. Now we are hawkers."
"And do you get enough money to survive on?"
"We manage, but it is rough."
Instinctively, Macaria reached his shirt pocket, took out a note of one hundred shillings and gave it to Mhanga. "Please have this."
"Thanks, but some other time. We are quite okay now."
"I can manage quite well without it."
"We know, but another time."
"Okay", Macaria said putting his money back into the pocket.
"Can we now tell you what made us come and see you?" Mhanga asked.
"Yes, please."
"It's about KESHO. Whether you can join it."
"I don't know anything about it except what has been said against it. Does it really exist and are you members of it?"
"Yes, it exists. But we cannot say whether or not we are members."
"What does it stand for?"
"It is a marxist organisation and it wants to establish a workers-led, scientific socialist, classless society under the leadership of KESHO which is the vanguard party of, for and by workers. KESHO wants to replace the present bourgeois dictatorship with the dictatorship of the proletariat."
"Yes, I think I have seen one of KESHO's pamphlets and wondered whether its language was really simple enough for our people. I am of the view that people ought to be addressed in a language which they can easily understand."
"But they must also be taught new political ideas, particularly those which are relevant to their class liberation and consciousness."
"What our people need, can't it be put into simpler language? Jobs, adequate food, justice, enough houses, free and fair elections, equality of opportunities between sexes and people of all tribes, races and religions, control of our national economy, enjoyment of freedoms of expression, worship, association and assembly."
"But some of those freedoms are bourgeois. When change comes, they must be abolished. What our people need is not a plurality of bourgeois parties, but substitution of KANU rule with KESHO rule. What our people need is scientific education and not more religion disguised as freedom of worship."
"I am willing to be flexible. But from my limited experience with the people during the campaign, I think people see their problems more at the level of basic needs than at the level of political ideologies. For instance, I don't think they view religion as one of their problems. They see KANU party as a problem because its government rigs elections, employs Kenya Gestapo Services against them, hikes prices and taxes, and also because it blocks other parties and ideas. To that extent, I am sure people would welcome KESHO and its opposition to KANU. But I don't think they would like KESHO to ban other parties - even KANU - and be the only party. I am sure they would like a democratic alternative to KANU which would allow many parties with different policies to compete for power, with people and their votes as the only judges. Now, if we want to substitute KANU's one party dictatorship with KESHO's one party dictatorship, what will be the difference? Only a change of guards, only a change of masters. I am sure, people want better wages for their work, better prices for their cash crops, cheaper prices for maize flour, bread, milk and clothes, a principal share in the ownership of their economy and social insurance against unemployment and other vagaries of nature like diseases and fire. Having said that, I doubt that people want to substitute individual capitalism with state capitalism and bourgeois dictatorship with proletarian dictatorship. I think our people would like to substitute the undemocratic individual capitalism with social democracy or democratic socialism. I think people want to substitute capitalism with socialism and bourgeois dictatorship with democracy - a government of all the people irrespective of class, race, sex, religion or tribe, by all the people in free and fair elections and for all the people who pay taxes.
"But what I think people want, may not be what they really want. And what you think they want, may also not be what they want. To determine what the people really want and who between you and me is right, people need a voice to say what they themselves really want. They need free and fair elections to say what they want, to express their choice. And having chosen one thing once, people must continue to have regular, free and fair elections either to confirm that one choice or make other choices. That is why our people's struggle for food, clothing, shelter, freedom and justice must incorporate a struggle for the democracy of more than one party, the democracy of free and fair elections. This I think is what KESHO ought to emphasize to people more than harping on the purity of their marxist ideology and its determination to replace KANU as the only party in the country."
"Maybe you could put forward all these views to the party, if you joined it."
"I must know a little more about the party before I join it."
"But an underground organisation cannot release information to people who are not members. It is very risky and dangerous."
"True, but I need some basic information to be able to take such an important decision like joining an underground organisation. I have to know who leads it before I commit my life to it. I have to know basically how the organisation functions. Whether it is internally democratic or not. I don't want to join an organisation today and leave it tomorrow because I don't like the leadership. It is like getting into a bus without any knowledge whether the driver is qualified to drive. It is very risky. Before in this country, leaders have been chosen when nothing important about them was known. Nothing about their history. Nothing about their weaknesses. And nothing about their so-called leadership qualities. When people got to know some horrible traits about these leaders, the leaders were already in power and it was too late to stop them. Hence the tragedy of African leadership today. They come to power under a cloak of secrecy and mystery rather than under the glare of press coverage, exposure and scrutiny. In the choice of an organisation, a thorough knowledge of leaders is mandatory. Not even underground existence can be a reason to overlook it. The direction of any organisation depends upon its leadership. And if an organisation is given a country to run, finally the direction of the country will depend on the leadership of that organisation. It will be irresponsible for me to join an organisation before I am certain that I will be able to stay in it. Joining and leaving an underground organisation is not like joining and leaving an open organisation. I know that if I joined an underground organisation today and tried to leave it tomorrow, I will be a security risk to the security of that organisation. Hence the organisation will be fully entitled to do all in its power to destroy me. So unless I am sure of staying in, the best thing is for me to stay out. On the other hand, I understand that divulging top secret information about the leadership of an underground organisation to a non-member is risky business. So I guess the best thing is for us to give ourselves more time to know and trust each other better."
"Think about it and we will see you again."
"I think that is best."
"Should I drive you home?"
"Drop us at the next bus station."
Macaria dropped Mhanga and Mteswa at the next bus station and returned home.

* * *

That same night, Adili and his wife had a quarrel. Adili's wife was convinced that though their neighbours were nice people, Macaria and Jitegemee were misleading Adili. The wife was particularly convinced that Macaria was bad influence on her husband.
"Why do you hate Macaria so? What wrong has he done?"
"He is misleading you."
"How can he mislead me? I am not a child to be misled by another person."
"False friends mislead others."
"Why do you call Macaria a false friend?"
"Pooh! He always talks about the poor when you are together. He talks like he hates the rich, like he hates wealth, but he is himself a wealthy man. Look at his wife - a big job with the ministry of tourism. Look at himself - a big job with Jinamizi Breweries. He talks poverty, but drives two cars. He preaches water, but drinks wine. What kind of justice is that? Talks about the virtues of poverty to you, but drives two cars when you don't have a bicycle. And you just follow him like a sheep."
"I think you don't understand what Macaria talks about. Macaria never says poverty is good and wealth is bad. He only says it is evil to be rich through the exploitation of others. He condemns both poverty and wealth which creates poverty. He condemns the creation of poverty through corrupt accumulation of wealth."
"But there is no rich man he speaks well of. He says all rich men are exploiters. Yet he is always defending the poor. Trying to show how right they are all the time. Listening to him, one would think being poor and weak is a saintly virtue, a passport to heaven."
"Macaria never says it is right to be poor. He says poor people don't wrong anybody because they have no power to wrong anybody. They are only wronged by the rich and the powerful. What is wrong with that? After all doesn't the Bible say the same thing: "Happy are those who are poor for the kingdom of heaven is theirs". What is wrong with that?"
"What is wrong with it is that it encourages you to be poor. It gives you wrong ideas that it is great and virtuous to be poor. It gives you funny ideas that it is wrong to be rich. So instead of going out like other men of your age and education to look for small businesses like Jitegemee, you just sit here and read useless books about socialism, useless books about democracy, useless books about justice. Do you think we , your family, can eat books, wear books or take a ride in books? You finish school and then go back to books when your agemates are making big money, buying houses and driving cars. When will you grow up? You talk of religion as having been used as an opiate of making people useless. These books you are reading and that beer you drink at Macaria's are worse opiates for you than religion ever was to anybody. Why does he give you beer he should be giving people who are in beer business? He wants to drown you in beer so that you may never catch up with him."
"Why do I have to catch up with him? I just live my own life."
"You see how backward your thinking has become? Instead of wanting to catch up with those who have done better than you, you want to climb down the ladder and be at par with those who have done worse than you because you have been brainwashed into thinking that the poorer one is, the better."
"You are talking rubbish."
"Rubbish, eh! What happened to the money you were trying to save for a matatu? You drank it up, didn't you? Because you don't want to be an exploiter. Right?"
"I told you, you are talking rubbish. I spent that money buying a plot of land and you know that."
"Why a plot of land? Is a matatu not more profitable? Would it not make more money sooner? But you don't want to be seen by Macaria exploiting the poor. So you go and bury your money in a plot of land like a coward."
"I don't want to argue with you."
"Of course not. You have no spirit left for arguing. All you do is agree, agree, agree."
"I am going to bed. You may argue yourself to sleep if you want."
Adili was very disturbed when he went to bed. He was disturbed at his wife's vehemence against Macaria. Disturbed also because she sounded like one who was prepared to do more than just talk.

* * *

The following day, Macaria returned home from work a little late. When he got home at about 7 p.m., he found a crowd outside Adili's home. He parked his car in a hurry because he wanted to go and check what was the matter at his friend's house. But as soon as he was out of his car, his wife held on to him.
"Don't go, darling."
"Why not? What's there?"
"Adili and his wife have been fighting. That is why all those people are there. Free film."
"Why are they fighting, do you know?"
"Adili came home and found his wife burning all his books in a big bon-fire. Don't you see the smoke over there? I think even our books are up in smoke."
"She is a real bitch to do that. What have the books done to her?"
"Search me, dear."
"Did he beat her?"
"Beat her? You male chauvinist. They had a prize fight like two bulls."
"Like a bull and a cow, you mean?"
"Like two bulls. She even floored our good friend Adili."
"And that seems to please you so?"
"Like hell it does. All of you men pretend that no woman can beat you. I tell you, I can't wait for my turn to floor you."
"Be serious. Have they been fighting?"
"Yes, they have. But he managed to put out the bon-fire and save some books. She seemed to be very angry with the books. But don't ask me why because I don't know and I didn't dare go near them. Of late, she has not looked very friendly with us."
"I haven't noticed."
"Do men ever notice anything?"
"Of course, they do."
"What?"
"Great beauty like yours. Let's go inside."

* * *


WITNESS NO. 18

Filled up with so much hatred for Macaria's socialism, democracy, justice and books, all which she accused of deflecting her husband from the path of wealth, Mrs. Adili went to seek solace and refuge in a Baptist church which had a white American pastor who was also a self-styled crusader against communism, socialism, democracy, justice, peace and all books which espoused those beliefs. By this time, Mrs. Adili was fully convinced that anybody or anything which stopped her husband from seeking wealth was satanic. So this particular Sunday, she did not just go to church to pray, she also went there to seek pastor's assistance in having the devil driven out of her home. She went early in order to seek an audience with the pastor before church service began. And she was lucky to find the pastor alone having breakfast. After breakfast, she was led into the quiet of his study.
"Praise the Lord", the pastor said.
"Amen", Adili's wife chanted back.
"Lord Jesus is the holy repository of all our problems."
"Amen."
"He is the wonderful solution to all our problems."
"Amen."
"Even sins which are as red as scarlet are not beyond his saving grace."
"Amen."
"Today is a great Sunday for us. For the Lord brings an important personage to worship under the roof of our humble church. No lesser personage than His Excellency President Mpori. Praise the Lord."
"Amen."
"Now tell me my daughter, what is it that is disturbing you?"
"It is my husband. He has come under the influence of Satan who comes to him through a neighbour who has been giving him evil books to read. These books are about communism, about socialism, about democracy, about justice and about equality. They preach hatred against wealth and rich people. They glorify poverty and have now turned my husband into a disciple of Satan, a disciple of poverty. What shall I do, pastor? My husband no longer thinks about us, his family. He only thinks about his evil books. When he is not reading these books, he is drinking beer and eating goat-meat with his friends in parties where no one else is invited except us families. In these parties, all they talk about is how unjust the government is. How the government rigs elections - just because our neighbour failed to win an election. They are always condemning the government as something that is not freely chosen. The blame the laws of this country as unjust and they say our security services - Kenya Gestapo Services - are cruel, brutal and murderous. Pastor, help me pray to God for my husband. Pray for him so that God may have him released from the clutches of the devil."
"Amen. My daughter, have you ever heard about a communist organisation that is called KESHO?"
"Yes, but not much."
"They also preach against wealth and rich people. Is your husband a member?"
"My husband has become a preacher against the same thing. So I guess he must be a member."
"The books you talked about, are you sure they are about communism, socialism, democracy and justice?"
"Yes, they are. That is all what my husband talks about. Before he read these books, my husband was a completely different man."
"Books like these turn people's heads alright. Are these books at home now?"
"Yes, some are. I tried to burn them, but my husband came home before all of them were destroyed. He saved some and those are still at home."
"You tried to burn them?" the pastor asked beaming.
"Yes, and nearly succeeded in destroying all the devil's works." From the way the pastor looked at her, Adili's wife was now sure that she had won his confidence and trust.
"Praise the Lord", the pastor said in appreciation of Mrs. Adili's effort.
"Amen."
"Amen", Adili's wife chanted back.
"Now tell me this, my daughter", said the pastor, "You know God works through the hands of men?"
"Yes."
"Now, what you have is a very serious and sinister problem. Your husband has become a priest of the devil. He has become a communist and a member of KESHO. We must tell President Mpori this so he can help in arresting the spread of this communist menace. Don't you agree?'
"I agree."
Afterwards, President Mpori and his men came to the small church. Adili's wife thought she was lucky to have come to church that Sunday. When she looked at the pastor, she saw her husband released from the grips of the devil and when she looked at the President, she saw her husband made rich, richer than Macaria and Jitegemee, the two persons who had been misleading Adili from the path of wealth and good life.

* * *

Those who had been to that church before said that that Sunday, the pastor preached with unusual fervour and inspiration. A special bond seems to have developed between the pastor and president Mpori where each inspired the other, one in preaching against communists and the other in jailing and killing political opponents labelled as 'communists". The theme of that Sunday's sermon was "Obedience to the State is obedience to God", and it opened with a quotation from Romans 13:
"Brothers and Sisters. 'Everyone must obey the state authorities, because no authority exists without God's permission, and the existing authorities have been put there by God'.
"Children of God, I have chosen Romans 13 as today's text because of three reasons. First as a welcome to our beloved head of state, His Excellency President Mpori, who has been condescending enough as to agree to come and worship with us today. It is a great privilege. Second, while the gallant captain of our ship of state is here, our church would like through this sermon to reiterate its unequivocal loyalty to the state and the head of state of this country. And third, I chose the text because, today in the morning, I saw an angel of the Lord who told me that though the devil is marshalling all his forces to destroy this state, God will stand by His chosen one, His Prince who is here with us and defend him until danger has blown over. This state will survive any onslaught against it from the devil because it has been put there by God and what God has put there, no devil can remove. Brother and sisters, we must obey this state and have nothing to do with those who are planning any opposition against it because having been put there by God, whoever is leading it now is doing so on behalf of God himself. So any opposition against this president is rebellion against God. To rule on His own behalf, God has personally chosen Mr. Mpori to be the president of this country. This is why our president is not just a Christian, but a born-again-Christian. Some people claim that elections in this country are rigged. But rigged elections cannot be an excuse for us to disobey the state. We must always obey the state even if elections are rigged, even if the government is not popular, because President Mpori does not derive his legitimacy from his popularity with the people, but from his popularity with God only. We know President Mpori is not chosen to be leader by men, but by God. This is why he came on top in a stiff competition for power after the death of King Mzoi. This is why he is still alive and in power. That President Mpori is not dead, but alive and president, means God still approves of his presidency. And what presidency God approves, it is our duty to obey it whether we like it or not.
"Brothers and sisters, 'Whoever opposes the existing authority opposes what God has ordered, and anyone who does so will bring judgement on himself. For the rulers are not to be feared by those who do good, but by those who do evil'.
"Brothers and sisters, if it is God who has ordered this state to be, let no man or woman lift his finger against it or he shall surely be destroyed, not by President Mpori, but by God himself. This morning, the angel of God showed me the people who are planning a rebellion against God by planning to rebel against this state. The arm of the devil in this country is no other than a communist organisation which calls itself KESHO. And because this organisation is planning to oppose God, through its opposition of this state, it must be destroyed completely. The appearance of the angel to me this morning was a miracle of God and a sign that the Lord will not permit the devil to destroy this state. This state is the greatest bastion against communism in the whole of Africa, and God will surely defend it as a way of protecting His people against evil forces of communism. Some selfish people are complaining that this country has no democracy, that this country has no justice, that poor people in this country are starved and oppressed. These accusations are the sweet and tempting voices of the devil who wants to lead the people of the country into communism as Satan used sweet words to lead Eve to sin. If the struggle against communism necessitates our loss of freedom, democracy, justice and even food, let us joyfully accept these sacrifices even as Jesus accepted loss of his own life as the  cost of redeeming us from sin.
"Brothers and sisters, would you like to be unafraid of the man in authority? Then do what is good, and he will praise you. For he is God's servant working for your own good. But if you do evil, be afraid of him because his power to punish is real. He is God's servant and carries out God's wrath on those who do evil. Brothers and sisters, President Mpori, the man in authority, who is here with us today, will never punish you if you do what is good. And what is good is what President Mpori says is good. Do what his laws say. Do what his directives say. Do what his men say. Do what his ministers, his DCs and chiefs say. He will never punish you for that. But if you do evil, this man has God's permission to punish and destroy you. And what is evil is what this man says is evil. What his laws forbid. What his words forbid. What his party, KANU, forbids. What his government forbids. What his party men, PCs, DCs, Chiefs and youth wingers forbid. All that is the evil, you must avoid. But if you decide to disobey him and do evil, then you must be ready to face God's wrath through his avenging angels who are none other than the most efficient police in Africa, Kenya Gestapo Services, and our most efficient jailers who run prisons like Jehanam, Maximum Security Prison. I repeat, the man in authority has God's permission to punish those who disobey him. God's permission to jail them. God's permission to arrest them. God's permission to torture them. God's permission to detain them without trial. God's permission to kill them. God's permission to ruin them. God's permission to destroy their children and their children's children even unto the seventh generation.
"Brothers and sisters, for this reason, you must obey the authorities - not just because of God's wrath, but also as a matter of conscience.
"As Christians, you must always obey and not ask questions. You must always obey in the knowledge that in obeying leaders, you are obeying God and not your fellow men. Always obey and obey everything. You must never complain against the wrath of leaders because doing so is complaining against God's wrath which is a sin that is punishable by God. God's children, St. Paul says, you must obey for fear of God's wrath and also as a matter of conscience. As Christians, your Christian conscience must always tell you to obey authorities. And if any voice in you tells you to disobey authorities, you must know that that is not the voice of your conscience, but that of the devil. Know how to distinguish between conscience and the voice of the devil. The devil always tells you to disobey and to oppose authorities. Conscience always tells you never to disobey and never to oppose authorities. Now also know that if you refuse to obey your conscience, God will certainly destroy you. And God's arm of destruction is President Mpori's iron hand and that of his faithful and efficient askaris.
"Finally, brothers and sisters, we must obey state authorities by paying our taxes to them without complaints. In this regard, St. Paul says: 'This is also the reason that you pay taxes, because the authorities are working for God when they fulfil their duties. Pay then, what you owe them, pay them your personal and property taxes and show respect and honour for them all'.
"Pay your taxes without a murmur. And when I tell you to pay taxes without complaints, I am only reiterating to you what Lord Jesus told us, his followers, to do. Look at this note of 100 Kenya shillings, whose picture is stamped on it? And whose name is this beneath the picture? Is it not the picture of President Mpori? Well then, give to President Mpori what belongs to President Mpori. But too often in this country, one hears people complaining about prices going up. When the price of beer goes up, you complain. When the price of bread, meat, milk, clothes or whatever else goes up, you complain. But prices go up because the government must raise taxes in order to recover its own money from us. When we have money, let us thank President Mpori for it. When that money is taken back from us by President Mpori's government, let us not complain because in paying taxes, we are dutifully returning to Mpori what rightly belongs to him. Long Live President Mpori - Amen."

* * *

When the sermon was over, the overjoyed president Mpori stepped forward and shook hands firmly with the pastor who felt equally pleased with himself.
"Pastor, that was a fantastic sermon."
"Thanks, Your Excellency. We only try to excel in God's work. Your Excellency, can I have a word with you in my humble house?"
"Sure."
As they walked towards the pastor's house, President Mpori wondered whether anybody in his party and government could speak for him better than this pastor. This pastor was a better presidential spokesman than all his cabinet ministers, than all his PCs and than all his permanent secretaries put together. Right then, he thought that maybe his next lot of cabinet ministers should all be pastors. And why not, if they could speak so well for him. He even thought of how he could change the law and the constitution to allow him to nominate foreigners and particularly the American pastor both into parliament and cabinet. His resolve to do this hardened as his heart-beat increased in the immeasurable pleasure of knowing that the whole of this great sermon was all televised live to the entire nation for all to hear that he was God's chosen one and God's Prince. Just then, they reached the pastor's house.
"Welcome, Your Excellency. Welcome into my humble dwelling."
"Thanks a lot, pastor."
"You may sit here, Sir, while I fetch a daughter of mine whom I would like you to meet. I will be back in a moment."
Moments later, the pastor was back with Mrs. Adili. He immediately introduced her to the President.
"Your Excellency, this is my daughter, Mrs. Adili." For a fraction of a second, president Mpori was taken aback. He was not expecting a black woman and a Mrs. at that. Then Mrs. Adili knelt down before President Mpori and said meekly, "Your Excellency, your most humble servant is pleased to meet you, Sir."
"I am pleased to meet you, too. Sit down."
Mrs. Adili got up and the pastor motioned her to sit down. The pastor then addressed the president: "Your Excellency, I ask you to excuse me for asking you to take a little of your busy time to have a word with this poor girl here." Mrs. Adili felt something cold running down her spine. She was being scaled down fast from "an angel of the Lord" to "my daughter" and now "this poor girl". She wanted to say she was a married woman and not a girl and more than anything else, she hated being referred to as "poor". But she knew this was a meeting of heavy weights who were a lot more powerful than her husband, Adili. She had to tread carefully or lose everything she hoped to gain.
"I see", said President Mpori in reply to the pastor.
"I had a talk with her this morning, and she gave me very important information about her husband and that communist organisation KESHO. I thought you might like to hear the same from the horse's own mouth."
"Sure", he said to the pastor and then continued to address Mrs. Adili.
"What do you know, Mrs. .....what was your name?"
"Mrs. Adili, Your Excellency", said Mrs. Adili feeling angry that her name was already out of the president's memory.
"Yes", the president said.
"Mrs. Adili, Your Excellency", repeated Mrs. Adili somewhat confused.
"I am listening", said the president somewhat impatiently.
"Yes, my husband reads books about communism, about democracy and about justice. He calls wealthy people exploiters, but I want him to be rich so we can have good things in life."
"Does he belong to KESHO? Does he meet people who belong to it?"
"I don't know, Your Excellency. But our neighbours are bad people. They themselves are rich, but they want him to remain poor. They give him books and call him to parties where they drink beer and eat goat-meat. They preach poverty to him when they themselves are making money and getting rich. They are just misleading him. Please help him, Your Excellency."
"In these parties, where they eat meat and drink beer, do they pledge themselves to overthrow the government? Are these parties oath-taking ceremonies?"
"Sir, I don't know. But they say bad things about the government. That it is unjust, it has rigged itself into power, it is unpopular, its leaders are corrupt, it exploits the poor, it is oppressive and it is not democratic."
"What are the names of your neighbours?"
"The worst one is called Macaria wa Kihooto, and the other one is called Jitegemee Upone."
"Do you know where this Macaria comes from?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. He came to Nairobi from Mseto District. He stood for the last general elections in Mashaka constituency, but lost. He says the DC rigged the elections for your brother-in-law."
The president now turned towards the pastor.
"Pastor, thanks a lot for this. Now I know who is behind KESHO. It is this communist boy called Macaria. He lost elections fair and square, but instead of accepting defeat and asking the government to give him a job, he called the government all kinds of names. However, we turned a blind eye to his insults. Now he is oathing and recruiting people for KESHO. Who knows, next time he will be recruiting and sending hawkers and parking boys to Libya for guerilla training. We must destroy him now. As you said in your sermon, now is the time to unleash God's wrath on the enemies of the state. We must move now, pastor. But I must thank our good friend here and then I will have just a word with you before I go."
Reaching into his inner coat pocket, the president produced thirty thousand shilling tied into three bundles of ten thousand shillings each and gave them to Mrs. Adili.
"Mrs. Adili, you are a good girl. Buy yourself something with this. Your information is most useful."
Mrs. Adili took the money, put it into her handbag and left the room.
Inside the room, the pastor and the president shook hands heartily once again.
"That was a beautiful job you did, pastor. Congratulations."
"Don't mention it, Sir. I am always at your service."
"Before I came, my Commissioner of Lands told me that you have applied for two five-acre plots of land, one in Nairobi for the church and another in Mombasa for yourself. I believe the second one is a beach plot."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Both will be authorised for you to have immediately. They are my personal gift to you. A token appreciation for your great sermon today."
"Thanks, Your Excellency."
"Don't mention it. They are both well earned."

* * *

Back at home that Sunday, Macaria and Gakenia sat in front of their TV. They had just finished watching one of Billy Cosby's entertainment programmes when a church service which was being televised live came on the screen. As cameras were focused on President Mpori, it was clear that it was President Mpori in church who was being televised and not a church service which happened to be attended by the president. From the president, cameras trailed back to the pastor and something about this service made Macaria want to watch though he normally hated services which were televised only because the president was in attendance.
The televised service turned out to be more than interesting. It was captivating. Not because it had a great message, but because its message was outrageous. All his life, Macaria had not heard a worse sermon. In the sermon, the pastor had called President Mpori "God's chosen one" and "God's Prince". Macaria looked at his wife and asked, "What does that mean, dear?"
"That God has chosen President Mpori to lead the poor people of Kenya to their doom and destruction. That President Mpori is a man special from the rest of us. That God has given him a high position above the society of Kenyans. That he is Israel and we are the gentiles", Gakenia said sarcastically.
"Oh, God", Macaria said. "What of this - that every state authority has been put there by God. Even a dictatorship? A colonial regime? Or a slave trading state? Are all these God-given?"
"Yes, all states are God-given except communist ones."
"Therefore we have no right to rebel against any regime however oppressive?" Macaria asked again.
"Yes, you have no right to rebel against any bad government unless it is communist", answered Gakenia.
"Darling, this man is a fake. If he is American, has he never read the American Declaration of Independence? Their own constitution allows American people to rebel against any government which becomes a tyranny?" asked Macaria.
"But Kenyans are not Americans. The pastor does not expect Kenyans to make a claim to the same rights as Americans. To him, Kenyans have no right to seek a better government and have therefore no right to rebel against tyranny. And to make sure that they don't ever attempt a rebellion, he goes out of his way to make them believe that rebellion against any state is rebellion against God. And who dare rebel against God?" asked Gakenia.
"This man is crazy. He even wants us to believe his ridiculous allegations that President Mpori is a born-again Christian. Can you believe that?"
"Of course. Even a pastor wants to be closely identified with those who have power. Those who can make him rich. If there were no great Christians like your friend Father Shufaa wa Maria, Reverend Timothy Njoya, Bishop Okullu, Bishop Kairu, Bishop Nding'i Mwana wa Nzeki, Archbishop Manasses Kuria, Bishop Muge and others, I would say that if President Mpori is a born-again Christian, then I have no desire to be a Christian at all. I don't see how I can share the same God with Mpori. After all, who in this country has split the church along tribal lines more than President Mpori in a desperate attempt to divide and rule Christians? And a pastor who should know that best stands in front of TV cameras to tell us that President Mpori is a born-again Christian! God help us! He is even alleging that Mpori's presidency enjoys the approval of God. Which God? Only the God of slave masters could possibly approve of this presidency. And in that case, I don't care because I have nothing to do with such a God", said Gakenia.
"You are not listening. You are only talking. Did you hear what he just said? That just as Jesus lost his life for our salvation, Kenyans should be prepared to lose freedom, democracy, justice, and even food in order to keep communism at bay. For what? Then what would they be fighting communism for if it was not responsible for their loss of freedom, democracy, justice and food? Is a non-communist dictatorship better than a communist dictatorship?" asked Macaria rhetorically.
"You see, as far as some of these Americans are concerned, in the war against communism we are merely cannon fodder. The goodies are for the Americans", said Gakenia.
"God! Did you hear that again?"
"What?"
"That the Gestapo are God's avenging angels", said Macaria horrified. "His reasoning is just flawless. If President Mpori is God, then his Gestapo are the avenging angels. If this bastard were in Southern States, I believe he would be a member of the Ku Klux Klan."
"He probably is already. How can a man who is not a KKK tell people not to complain against unreasonable taxes and sky-rocketing consumer prices? In fact, he must be worse than the Ku Klux Klan because I am sure that members of the KKK complain against too much taxation. Particularly, taxation without representation."
"If Karl Marx had listened to a preacher like this, when he wrote that religion was being used as an opiate for the people, I don't blame him. This man is preaching something worse then opiate. He is preaching death."
"And our tax money is paying for the televisation of this sermon of death", said Gakenia mournfully.

* * *

From the church, Mrs. Adili hurried right back home. She was anxious to get home and count the money President Mpori had given her. When she got home, she found her husband reading a book.
"You are still reading those books of yours?"
"What do you want me to do? Can't you leave me alone?"
She did not answer. She hurried into their bedroom, closed the door behind her, sat on their bed which was still unmade, spread the money on the bedsheets and counted it. Thirty thousand shillings! Lots of money it was to have come from one person as a gift to another. Even the president, she remembered, only earned 28,000 shillings a month. "Where could he have gotten so much money to give me?" Mrs. Adili asked herself. What she forgot was that President Mpori had taken over national treasury as his own personal bank and had made himself the world's fourth richest man with state money.
Though Mrs. Adili liked the money she got, she did not like the sound of "thirty" thousand. Better if it had been twenty, ten or forty. Thirty thousand sounded like thirty pieces of silver. Like blood money. She also didn't like the fact that neither the pastor nor the president had expressed any wish to see her again. She wanted them to help her husband. But they did not say anything about that. It almost looked as if the money she was given was payment for her information. She couldn't help thinking of it that way. But again, it was no good drawing early conclusions. Better wait and see.

* * *

That evening on TV, there was a news item which announced that President Mpori had blamed Kenya Gestapo Services for their laxity on matters affecting state security. Mpori said that he had personally made some very important discoveries relating to matters of state security which showed that KGS was asleep and not working hard enough to preserve state security. Before addressing his Presidential Press Unit, President Mpori had a top-level meeting with officers of KGS where he ordered Operation Herod-Anvil to be launched immediately against KESHO, and all other dissident elements in the country. The operation was partly code-named Herod because President Mpori wanted all young graduates, who had graduated within the last two years, to be unearthed and screened as suspected members of KESHO, the same way Herod had ordered all the two-year-olds to be ferreted out and killed in his desperate search for Jesus. And it was partly code-named Anvil because President Mpori greatly admired Operation Anvil which was launched by British military forces in Kenya thirty-five years earlier when they sought out and arrested all Africans who were suspected of leading and belonging to the Mau Mau Movement. In that same news brief, it was also announced that President Mpori had also bestowed upon the American pastor of the Baptist Church, Mpori Road, Nairobi, the much coveted medal and title of "The Moran of the Golden Heart" in recognition of his great services to the Republic of Kenya.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 19

At about 3.30 in the morning of the following day, Macaria was the first to hear the hard, loud and wild knocks and kicks upon their door. At first, he thought he was dreaming. But the knocks persisted and spread to the glass windows. Then he thought it was thieves and began to shake his wife to wake up, "Gakenia, Gakenia, wake up."
"Mmmm, Mmmm. What are you saying?" Gakenia asked still sleepy.
"We are being raided by thieves."
Just then he heard "Fungua! Fungua (Open! Open!)" and more knocks and kicks.
"But thieves", Macaria thought, "they don't ask people to open for them. They come in with the doors."
Macaria put a pyjamas on and rushed into the living room on his way to the door. But before he came to the door, he heard a lot of noise outside and more "Fungua! Fungua! (Open! Open!)" followed by knocks and kicks on the door.
"Nyinyi nani? (Who are you?)", Macaria asked.
"Polisi! Polisi! KGS! Fungua au tutavunja mlango (Police! Police! KGS! Open or we break the door)."
Before he could answer, he heard the sound of an electric saw and saw sparks of fire. They were sawing down the doors and windows of the house. "Bastards!" he cursed. He was furious that they were ruining their house. "Stop! Stop!" Macaria said "Let me open." But he had not time to open the door. Just then it crashed open and fifty KGS men walked over it as if marching into battle in the house in a single column formation. 
Macaria rushed inside and urged Gakenia to dress up and wrap up Kihooto in blankets against the cold morning draught as sawed up glass windows came tumbling down in pieces. As windows crashed open, some crazy KGS jumped into the bedroom through the windows. Then Macaria confronted the leader of the pack "Is all this necessary?" he said, pointing at the monkeys who were jumping inside through the windows. The officer said nothing.
"So you people have to come into our bedroom and through the windows?" Macaria demanded again.
"Shut up. Is this not where you people hide communist and KESHO books and guns?" said the officer.
"What are you talking about? What guns?"
"Shut your beak." Then the same officer ordered his askaris, "Search this woman before she puts on clothes and that little bundle in the cot that looks like a baby. Those blankets might be hiding communist literature and guns. Quickly unwrap that bundle."
Gakenia was rapidly trying to slip on her dress, but when she saw one zombie askari moving towards the baby, she leapt to the cot like a tigress. Standing in front of the cot, she said, "Animals, stop! Touch Kihooto and I will kill you with my bare hands. Have you no feelings even for children? Or you are all eunuchs? Touch him and you will see." Her eyes seemed to sparkle with white anger. Even the senseless zombie killers had to stop. Then the officer asked Gakenia:
"What is there between those blankets?" pointing at Kihooto.
"Don't ask me foolish questions", Gakenia answered. The officer made as if to move towards Gakenia. Macaria blocked his way, but Gakenia had already taken a Karate posture and was telling Macaria, "Let him touch me. Let the eunuch touch me."
Just then something like the steel butt of a pistol hit Macaria on the head very very hard. He saw stars, staggered as he tried to turn and then collapsed on the floor. Gakenia did not scream at Macaria's collapse and neither did she abandon her fighting posture. She remained cool and ready to fight them all. But suddenly, the officer gave in.
"Woman, you are dreaming. You think you can fight fifty men alone?"
"Touch me, you fools!" and she spat.
"Leave this one alone. She wants to die. Let's search the living room first."
"When they left the bedroom, Gakenia dressed up. By then Macaria had regained some consciousness, but was still dazed. She helped him dress up. Then the officer peeped into the bedroom.
"Do you keep any books here?"
"We don't", Gakenia said.
"Can I look under the beds?"
"What is there to stop you?" The officer gave up.
"Mr. Macaria, we want to take you with us to the police station."
"What for?"
"You are under arrest."
"For what and where are the search and arrest warrants?"
The officer laughed at Macaria's query.
"But this is not U.S. or Sweden. This is Kenya. No such legal rubbish can stop us from searching where we want. And no lack of a warrant can stop us from arresting you."
"So what have you taken from here?"
"You don't have to know. But if it makes you feel better, we have taken all your books, all your letters and all your photo albums. We might later send for the furniture. Everything in this house stinks of subversion. Is the house yours or the  company's?"
"It's ours."
"You and who? Adili and Jitegemee?"
"Me and my wife."
"Somebody said you communists want to share everything including wives, children and houses."
"Can we go if you have finished searching?"
"Yes."
As they left his compound, Macaria saw there were more than ten vehicles parked outside his compound and those of Adili and Jitegemee. He guessed his two friends must also have been arrested. As he entered the police landrover, he remembered the words of yesterday's sermon of death: "Arrest them", "Jail them", "Detain them", "Torture them", "Kill them". Then the vehicles left Halahala estate and somebody put a piece of black cloth over his head and blindfolded him. He saw light again when he was being interrogated inside Mpori Torture Centre (MTC) that was named after President Mpori.

* * *

After the arrest of Macaria, Gakenia obtained leave from work and travelled to Kiota village to inform and confer with Macaria's family about his arrest. She was for the immediate hiring of a lawyer to file a habeus corpus application for the production of her husband in court within the fourteen days beyond which KGS could not hold one in their custody legally. But many in the family argued against such a legal move for fear that if the government  was forced to produce Macaria in court, they might instead choose to detain him without trial. So faced with this majority family opinion, Gakenia was afraid to hire a lawyer for Macaria, for fear of taking the blame if he got detained without trial. So she returned to Nairobi and waited every day for Macaria to come home.
As Gakenia sat almost till morning each night waiting for her husband to come home, Macaria spent equally sleepless nights both from anxiety over his family and painful torture of his body.
From the morning of his arrest, Macaria was kept for a whole week without any food at all and was fed only when he was completely unable to answer questions. One feeding would be followed by another five days of starvation. Macaria was kept naked in a cell which was flooded with cold water up to the level of his ankles. This same cell was also his toilet where he urinated and defecated. In case of getting thirsty, the Gestapo expected him to drink the same soiled water.
When interrogating him, sometimes up to twenty Gestapo would pounce on him and ruthlessly kick at every part of him with boots, while the most brutal of them aimed particularly at his private parts. After getting tired of kicking, they would beat him with whips which were made from car tyres and some tough animal hide. Whenever these whips fell viciously on his back, they would cut into it and remove the skin. But most painful was a whip of very thin and long steel wires which was used to beat the soles of his feet until the lacerations made bled and made it impossible for Macaria to walk again. And in that bleeding state, Macaria would be returned into the water in his cell, to which salt had been added, ostensibly to check against infection, but in truth in order to make the pain of his wounds more excruciating.
And twice, they wrapped his knees in some material which was connected to an electric wire through which they would shock him with electricity. These electric shocks were so severe that when they pierced the heart, they made him collapse. When he recovered consciousness, it would be in front of his torturers.
"What are you hiding from us? Tell us the truth and we will let you live. Keep that truth to yourself and we'll not let you live to do anything with it. We are going to kill you right here."
"But what you are asking me to admit is no truth at all. I don't belong to KESHO."
"Then lie to us and we will let you live."
"But I can't lie and implicate myself and others in things they may not have done?"
"Are you better off dead? Or are you still naive enough to think that we cannot kill you? Or you think people shouting about human rights in Norway, Britain and U.S. will stop us from killing you? Here we don't take orders from Amnesty International, Africa Watch or any of those other human rights organisations which are making noise about us in Europe and U.S. Here we only take orders from president Mpori and right now, his express orders are for us to kill anybody who withholds from us any information which we need for the protection of the state and our only party, KANU. You see, some of you think that if U.S. or Britain don't give us their money or aid, then we will stop killing you people. But we will not stop because if U.S. refuses to give us aid, we can still get it from Japan or  South Africa. So talk now and save yourself."
"I have nothing to say that I have not said already."
"But you have not told us that you are the Chairman of KESHO, that Adili is your secretary and Jitegemee Upone is your treasurer and financier of the movement. We have irrefutable evidence about your activities from sources which are so close to God that they cannot be wrong. Admit you are the officials of KESHO, and tell us who the other members are and we will let you live. Are these not the other members of KESHO - Hassan, Kimathi, Kago, Matenjagwo, Muliro, Angatia, Ngugi, Abdalla, Father Ogola, Bishop Okullu, Father wa Maria, Archbishop Kuria, Matiba, Anyona, Ng'otho, Oyugi, Kariuki, Maina, Mshengu, Micere, Ng'ang'a, Gutto, Mwaura, Gitau, Mureithi, Mteswa, Kuria, Mirugi and Rumba?"
"I don't know even one member of KESHO."
"Do you remember Mrs. Adili making a bon-fire of your books?"
"Yes."
"Why was she doing that?"
"I don't know."
"Do you ever remember organising parties either at your home or in the compounds of Adili and Jitegemee Upone, where you slaughtered goats, ate meat and drank beer?"
"Yes, there is nothing wrong with that?"
"On the surface, no. But your parties were for purposes of administering oaths to people."
"Which people?"
"That's what we want you to tell us."
"They were not."
"Do you ever remember saying that your election was rigged?"
"Yes, I do."
"Do you know who rigged those elections and for who?"
"Yes, they were rigged by the DC, the returning officer and they were rigged for Tumbo arap Tamaa, the brother-in-law of President Mpori."
"Do you remember saying that wealthy people are exploiters."
"Yes, most rich people in this country have gotten rich by being corrupt and by taking illegal short-cuts to wealth at the expense of workers and others who are poor and weak. Yes, I remember saying that."
"To who?"
"To those I discuss politics with."
"Do you ever remember saying that this country has no democracy?"
"Yes."
"Why do you say so?"
"Because a country of one party only cannot possibly be democratic. Because a country with life presidents cannot possibly be democratic. Because a country where elections are rigged with impunity cannot possible be democratic. Because a country where people are not free to read books without being communists cannot possibly be democratic. Because a country where people cannot have social gatherings without being accused of having illegal, oath taking meetings cannot possible be democratic."
"And what is your solution to this problem?"
"People in this country should enjoy their democratic freedom to form opposition parties which can freely compete for power with KANU."
"Would you like KESHO to be registered as a legal party?"
"Yes, KESHO and all other parties that would like to be registered."
"Now, if you say it is okay for KESHO to be registered as a party, how can you continue to deny that you are a member of KESHO."
"Because I am not."
"You don't value your life at all, do you?"
"I do."
"Then why do you want us to kill you? Where are your friends Adili and Jitegemee Upone, do you know?"
"No, I don't."
"They are here with us and they have told us all the truth we are asking you to confirm. They have confessed everything."
"I don't care what they have told you. But all I have told you is the truth, nothing but the truth."
"We have given you two more days to think over this. After that, we will kill you if you don't tell us the truth."
When Macaria returned to his cell with water, he talked to a Gestapo man who sounded somewhat sympathetic. It was from him that he learnt about the fate of his friend Jitegemee Upone.
"Do you know whether some two men called Adili and Jitegemee are here?"
"Yes, they were here. But only Adili is here now."
"Was Jitegemee released?" Macaria asked, almost certain about release.
"No." Silence followed and then, "he was not released."
"Where is he then?"
"He died in hospital."
"What? What did he die of?"
"The officers who tortured him are very cruel. They beat and tortured him with electricity until he was near death. Then they put a red hot iron rod through his knee and tried to feed him on his own flesh which they had cut from his own thighs. Bleeding and putrefaction of his wounds finally killed him."
Macaria nearly collapsed in water. But he felt grateful when he did not collapse because he hated demonstrating any form of physical weakness in the presence of any Gestapo. More than collapsing, he hated shedding tears in front of any Gestapo. So, however much they beat him, he remained dry-eyed. But he was now so grief-stricken for his friend that tears just streamed down his cheeks. Macaria even felt guilty about the death of his friend. Of his two friends, Jitegemee was almost apolitical. In fact, he was just a social friend to Macaria. Yes, they met, and ate and drank together, but one could not really call him political. Macaria felt that, if he had not come to know Jitegemee, Jitegemee would still be alive. And though he knew this kind of thinking was faulty because it shifted blame from the killers to their victims, he felt empty, weak and almost without any more desire to continue living or resisting torture. In any case, now he knew for sure that he was not dealing with people, but murderous animals. He also knew that no one in the country, however apolitical, was or could be safe from the brutality of KGS. The torture machinery of KANU government had become the proverbial rat-trap which caught both the guilty and the innocent (mtego wa panya hunasa waliokuwamo na wasiokuwamo).
Two days later, as promised, Macaria was dragged before KGS interrogators for a final session before he was taken to court or killed. It turned out to be a long lecture from the chief of the interrogating team.
"Last time, Macaria, we told you that this would be our last session with you. We still mean it to be, but we need your co-operation. But we know you young and university educated politicals. You like playing it tough! But whether you do this for honour, ideology, vanity or foolishness, I don't know. However, my advice to you here and now is, don't play it tough, co-operate and we'll not harm you further than we have. But to be able to co-operate, let me disabuse you of a few misconceptions which a lot of you educated people seem to suffer from. First, don't cheat yourself that there is anybody in this world, including God, who can save you from us. Right now, your life is in our hands. It is our property to do what we like with it. Now, depending on the way you deal with us, we can return your life to you or blow it out like the flame of a candle. And while you make this choice, don't fool yourself that even if you die, somebody will come along to avenge your death. No one can do anything to us. Not even God as I told you before. The only one with power to stop us, His Excellency president Mpori, is the one who has given us the green light to do what we like with you. In case you have any illusions that somebody might be able to punish us, let me remind you that some of us tortured and killed many Mau Mau freedom fighters. We were then young askaris. After independence, many who were misguided thought the government of King Mzoi was going to punish us. Instead, all of us got congratulated and promoted. After the departure of the colonials, we continued doing our work of torture for the government of King Mzoi. He also had political enemies from whom he needed information. He also had political enemies whom he wanted put out of his way. And we did all that for him also. When he died, other misguided persons also looked forward to our demise. Instead, we again got more congratulations and promotions. Since President Mpori came to power, we have been doing for him exactly what we did for King Mzoi. And this is why you see us before you today. You see, we are professionals like any other professionals - like you political scientists, like doctors, like lawyers, like farmers and so forth. We do not discriminate whom we serve. Even you, if you came to power. We do not function out of sadism or malice, but the state's necessity for survival. If it were not for the torture which we administer to criminal suspects, no crime in this country could ever be uncovered. People condemn torture, but forget that public and state security are built upon the practice of torture. That is why no king or president can touch us and survive. We are impregnable and hate anybody who denigrates the practice of our profession - torture. We know some of you even dream of a Nuremberg Trial for us one day. Just remember that if there was no Nuremberg Trial for us after independence in this country, there will never be a Nuremberg Trial for us any other time. We are immune from such childish games of revenge. 
"Second, do not cheat yourself that there is any court of law which could save you from us. Courts in this country are not there to give us instructions, they are there to take instructions from us. There is no magistrate or judge in this country who does not know that his employer is President Mpori and that whatever we do or say is on behalf of President Mpori himself. Therefore, any magistrate or judge who does not wish to go begging in the streets without work will not hesitate to take our instructions about who to jail and for how long, who to release and who to remand into prison or back to us. Mark you, courts know that we don't really need them to send anybody to prison. For instance, if we wish, we can use detention without trial to lock you up in prison for many years without having to consult the courts at all. And even the public I am sure is aware of that. That is why they do not challenge us to produce anybody in court through habeus corpus applications. They know we would simply short-circuit such applications with detention. They know they would rather let us keep you here for weeks and months than push us into detaining you without trial for years. Has it not bothered you that your wife and family have not applied for us to produce you in court yet? They probably understand our powers better than you.
"Third, do not cheat yourself that fear of a public scandal will dissuade us from killing you. On this continent of ours, no government depends on public approval to stay in power. To stay in power, African governments rely on the might and loyalty of their armed forces. So if we don't depend on public approval, we do not care about public disapproval. Remember nothing happened when that powerful minister for economic planning, Tom Mboya, and the immensely popular J.M. Kariuki died. So any public knowledge that you have about who died in our hands will cause nothing more than a storm in a tea cup compared to what we have gone through and survived in the past. In any case, in fact, such knowledge might end up making the public more sensible. We are not all that unhappy when people get to know that we have tortured and killed somebody like you in our place here. It makes it easier for us to maintain political stability by striking terror into the hearts of the people. It makes it easier for President Mpori to govern when people know it is easy for them to be killed just like Macaria wa Kihooto was killed. So we really don't mind people knowing that we have killed somebody like you. It helps to preserve law and order. It helps us to preserve Mpori in power. To govern effectively in Kenya, no philosophy is better than the philosophy of torture and terror. Also, for you to survive in this country, don't let your knowledge of other countries' politics mislead you. Do as we tell you here. Play it stubborn and we will knock you down dead like a dog that has been knocked down by a speeding motorist.
"Fourth, don't cheat yourself that it is a bloody shame as the English would say, to surrender politically to those who are mightier than you. They say "If you can't beat them join them". You can't beat us, so join us. Say to us now that you no longer care about justice, democracy, free and fair elections, opposition parties and your comrades, and we will take you home to the waiting hands of your wife. Macaria, did you grow up in town or in the rural areas?"
"In the rural areas", Macaria answered.
"Just like me", said the Gestapo man. "In that case, you know what happens in a boys' group when a boy emerges who can beat everybody else. He becomes the leader of the group. And whoever cannot beat him must accept his leadership. So if among boys no one loses face for rallying behind the new "dume" (fighting bull), why do you think it is a shame for you to join President Mpori's bandwagon?"
"Because I am no longer a small boy, and I don't expect to be led by leaders who think like boys' leaders."
"My dear friend, life is more reality than philosophy. Some of us would rather live realistically than die philosophically. In any case, let me come to my final point. Mpori Torture Centre is not a secret place where the Gestapo illegally torture suspects. It is a government sanctioned torture centre whose stamp of authority and legality is President Mpori's own name which it bears. The whole country and the whole world know what we do here. So when we torture you and if we kill you, our actions are fully authorized."
Looking at his fellow interrogators, the man then said, "Sorry I have taken so long to explain what we had to explain to him." Then, looking at Macaria, he asked, "Have I made myself clear to you?"
"Yes, you have."
"Now then, will you sign this statement admitting that you are a member of KESHO or are you ready to die now?"
"I am ready to sign."
"Good for you. Sign."
Macaria signed the statement and was taken back to his cell.
Later that day at about 4.30 p.m., 15 days after his arrest, Macaria was driven to Nairobi Law Courts in a convoy of three Gestapo unmarked cars. When they arrived and the cars were parked, Macaria was laid on a stretcher and carried into court. He could not walk because the soles of his feet were badly lacerated, his wounds were infected and oozing pus and his feet were badly swollen because of being too long in water. When they got inside the court, Macaria was half-carried by two Gestapo, each on either side of him and made to sit on a bench in the dock. Except for the Chief Magistrate M'hongo Kubuku, State Counsel Katili, Court Clerk and several Gestapo who were dressed smartly in suits, the court was completely empty. Macaria was unrepresented and not even his own wife knew he was appearing in court that day. And being so late in the day, the press was also absent. Macaria's name was then read out by the court clerk.
"Macaria wa Kihooto."
"Present."
"Stand up", the magistrate ordered.
"I can't stand", Macaria said.
"He is sick and momentarily unable to stand, your honour", explained the state counsel. Then the court clerk began to read out the charge to Macaria.
"Macaria wa Kihooto. You are charged with belonging to an unlawful society contrary to section 205 of the Societies Act, Chapter 108 of the Laws of Kenya. Particulars of the offence are that you, Macaria wa Kihooto, on diverse dates between 1978 and 1986 did belong and at all material times remained a member of an unlawful society, that is Kenya Socialist Organisation (KESHO) whose aims and objectives are the unlawful and violent overthrow of the government of the Republic of Kenya as by law established, which offence is, according to section 41 of the Penal Code an aggravated felony. Do you understand the charge and the particulars of the offence?"
To have time to think, Macaria asked, "Can everything be read over to me again?"
With a twinge of annoyance, the clerk was back to reading the whole thing over again. In the meantime, Macaria was busy thinking about this whole charade of the legal process. To him, there was little doubt that this was a kangaroo court proper. There would be no justice. They just wanted him to confess to a crime he had not committed for them to be able to quietly put him into prison for many years without any witnesses who might later complain that justice was never done. Moreover, could belonging to another party ever again qualify as a crime when the whole world - including the communist world and such dyed-in-the-wool dictatorships like the South African apartheid regime - had consented, as one man, that one party rule was no longer supportable, justifiable, moral or defensible? In fact, between advocates of one-party rule and those of multi-party rule, it is the advocates of one party rule who should be appearing in courts charged with obstruction of human progress, freedom, political justice and morality. Given all this, he thought it was morally wrong for him to plead guilty to a crime he had not committed, a crime he never believed to be a crime at all. The fact that he was not allowed to contact a lawyer, and his family was not informed of his appearance, in court tipped the balance against his pleading guilty. If he pleaded guilty, he was certain that he would be conniving in the murder of justice. Feeling like somebody who had fallen under the weight of a heavy cross when he signed the statement at MTC, Macaria was now fully determined to rise up and continue his painful journey on the road to freedom and justice. Just then, the court clerk came to the end of his second reading which he concluded with a question.
"Do you plead guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty", Macaria said with firmness. As if he could not believe his ears, the Chief magistrate M'hongo Kubuku stared at the state prosecutor Katili and, incredulously, Katili in turn stared at the Gestapo man who in turn stared at Macaria with disbelief, disappointment and anger written all over their faces. From their looks, it was obvious that saying "not guilty" had made Macaria a double villain to all these people. Then the magistrate asked Macaria, "Do you wish to change your plea of 'not guilty'?"
"No, your honour."
"In that case, I am remanding you under police custody for the next two weeks."
"Your honour, can you remand me in prison instead? Kenya Gestapo Services tortured me very badly while I was in their custody. I beg you not to take me back to them. Your honour, remand me in prison where I can reach a lawyer and my family."
The Chief Magistrate seemed exceedingly impatient with Macaria.
"I have already written and read my ruling to you. It cannot be changed. As far as your complaints about torture while in police custody are concerned, I see no evidence whatsoever of it."
"Your honour, I cannot stand because my feet and back have been so badly beaten and lacerated that they are now full of rotting wounds. And..."
"Who gave your permission to interrupt me?" M'hongo asked harshly and then continued, "Rotten wounds are no evidence of torture. You might have had rotting wounds before your arrest."
The Gestapo man nodded and smiled. Then the Chief Magistrate continued, "Secondly, there is no evidence here that you were in the hands of Kenya Gestapo Services. The charge sheet here says you were brought here from Kilimani Police Station. That is where I am sending you back to again."
"But I will be taken to MTC and..."
Before Macaria could finish his sentence, he heard the magistrate snap harshly, "Court rises." He stood up and left the court room. Macaria was then left in court alone with the state prosecutor and the Gestapo.
"Well, you seem to like our place. If you wanted to go to prison, you should have pleaded guilty. As things stand now, welcome back to MTC", said one of the Gestapo men.
Macaria felt a cold sweat of terror break out all over his body. As they packed him on the stretcher and took him back to their car, the Gestapo were all in smiles which seemed to spell doom for Macaria.
When they reached MTC, Macaria was accused of treating the Gestapo like children because he had pleaded 'not guilty' in court. About twenty of them set upon beating him again with whips and kicks until he was completely unconscious. When he collapsed, they did not take him to the cell with water. They just let him lie where he was. When he came to the following day, they did not talk to him. They just started beating him. Once more, he collapsed and slipped into unconsciousness. And again, they did not take him away. The third day, he was conscious again. When he looked around, Macaria saw a ring of the Gestapo around him. Then one Gestapo spoke, "Macaria, hear this. We have already killed your friend Jitegemee Upone. He tried to be tough. Now he is dead. For you, the choice is quite simple. 5 years in prison or death. We have already told Chief Magistrate M'hongo to jail you for 5 years and he will jail you for 5 years, no more, no less. Macaria, listen again. You cannot compete with President Mpori. He says you are guilty. You must be guilty. For you, the choice is not between innocence and guilt. It is between death and imprisonment. And lastly, forget having a lawyer because you will not have one. We will never let you. Now are you ready to make your choice?"
"Yes."
"What is it? We don't want you to waste our time for nothing."
Macaria had little doubt now that they were quite prepared to kill him. Under the circumstances, going to prison made more sense than being killed.
"I will plead guilty."
That same afternoon, the Gestapo took Macaria back to an empty court. Some charge was read and the same question was put to him again.
"Are you guilty or not guilty?" asked the magistrate.
"Guilty", answered Macaria in a weak and broken voice.
"Is there anything else you would like to tell the court?"
"No." Macaria saw no need to plead with merciless beasts in so-called mitigation.
"You are sentenced to 5 years imprisonment. The court hopes that the sentence will serve as a deterrent to other young educated and misguided elements in society who might be tempted to commit the same crime", said magistrate M'hongo harshly and with finality like a Greek god.

* * *


WITNESS NO. 20

From court, Macaria was put into a Black Maria and driven to the country's most notorious prison - Jehanam Maximum Security Prison, escorted by two KGS vehicles. On the way to prison, Macaria was gripped by many painful thoughts. He was gripped by thoughts of anxiety over his family. The many years of separation worried him. Then he thought about his own innocence and how it had not been enough to protect him against imprisonment in a country where courts had lost their independence and sense of justice completely and had become a mere extension of Kenya Gestapo Services. The fate of Kenya without a free parliament and an independent judiciary truly worried him. The collapse of an independent judiciary meant the collapse of justice in the country. It was also clear to Macaria that within the short space of 30 years after independence, courts had become worse instruments of terror than they had been during colonial days. Handing down sentences of 5 years, 7 years, 10 years and even 20 years for trivial political offences had become almost the order of the day. During colonial days, a sentence of 7 years was very rare and considered very harsh. Already, Kenya had over 300 prisoners who had been sentenced to die by a judiciary which was neither independent nor fair. And Macaria had no doubts whatsoever that the root cause of all this was a presidency which had become too powerful. In Kenya, president Mpori had become the sole employer, the sole appointer and the sole dismisser of judges and magistrates. Consequently, all court cases in which the president had an interest, were decided by him personally or by agents who acted on his behalf. Through his power of employment, President Mpori controlled both local and expatriate judges and magistrates like puppets. Expatriate judges always lived under perpetual fear of losing their contracts and work permits and local ones lived under a permanent fear of losing work or being prosecuted for corruption which they were allowed to engage in as a reward for their compliance with state demands. Macaria had read a lot about American and European mercenaries coming to Africa to fight for the overthrow of progressive governments for and on behalf of right-wing African dictators. So when he thought of mercenaries, he only saw armed white Mad Mikes. But since he had been thinking about the misuse of expatriate judges by President Mpori, Macaria had no doubt that there are other kinds of mercenaries - including robed and wigged ones - who were employed by African dictators to boost their regimes from inside.
However, President Mpori had struck the final nail into the coffin of an independent judiciary by mounting a campaign of terror and intimidation against practicing lawyers. It was no secret that being most outspoken about human and legal rights, lawyers were a thorn in the flesh of president Mpori and the most loathed and vilified professional group in the country. But as the strongest believer in the power of money, President Mpori always tried to bribe a lawyer with money and work from government ministries and parastatals first before unleashing the whip. However, if money could not make a lawyer tick, then a lawyer would be made the subject of public political attacks, these to be followed by detention without trial or prosecution upon trumped-up charges. If detention without trial or prosecution failed to silence a lawyer, the final alternative was to drive such a lawyer into exile through orchestrated death threats. The idea was to stop all lawyers from talking about human and legal rights and taking up so-called sensitive cases in defence of President Mpori's political opponents. According to President Mpori, any law which can be used for the defence of a political opponent was law that the government should break, disregard and if possible scrap from the law books. Similarly, any lawyer who could defend a political opponent was also an enemy who should be destroyed together with the political opponent.
As the Black Maria came to a stop outside the massive gates of Jehanam prison, Macaria had reached the conclusion that President Mpori's all pervading evil control of everything in the country was a deadly cancer that would certainly destroy the whole country within a very short time. Then the gates were opened for the Black Maria to move inside. Macaria felt like someone who was sliding down into the iron and stone belly of President Mpori. He knew political souls, who were swallowed whole into prison, were treated with all kinds of corrosive digestive juices which broke them down into something that was easier for the system to absorb and what could not be absorbed was finally released at the completion of a sentence as useless excreta. Macaria knew that only a few managed to survive this digestive process and  come out of prison indigested and in one piece. He now wondered whether he himself had enough physical strength and mental will to survive this five year process of physical and mental destruction.
As soon as Macaria was inside he found prison shearers waiting to shave his hair and beards. Macaria kept his hair big and liked to sport a beard. When both his beard and hair were shaved off, he felt empty and cold in the head. Like Samson in the Bible, his strength seemed to vanish with his hair. Before being shaved, he had already changed into a shapeless white prison uniform after his civilian clothes had been taken away. His name had also been taken and replaced by a prison number - 3210. After all the formalities of admission, he was given cell no. 17 in Block E as his prison home. Block E was the place where political prisoners were housed together with prisoners who were mentally sick. The mentally sick slept in the day and hollered all night waking political prisoners from any possible sleep.
Political prisoners were not permitted to work. Instead, they were permanently confined in their cells, but let out to sun for one hour daily in small groups of five. When Macaria was let out the following day, it was together with Adili, Adungosi, a former student leader whom he had read about, and the two young men, Mhanga and Mteswa who had come to see him before at Halahala. Adili had also been jailed for 5 years, 5 days before Macaria. Mhanga and Mteswa had been jailed for 16 years each just a day before Macaria after "confessing" that they belonged to the military wing of KESHO. So Macaria had two reunions. One with Adili, the other with Mteswa and Mhanga. Very funny to have reunions in prison. On the one hand, one is happy to meet acquaintances. On the other hand, one is sad to meet them in prison.

* * *

In Kenya the press was highly manipulated by the state to serve its campaign of terror. The press therefore only wrote what was desirable to the state. For instance, if an accused person pleaded not guilty and had to be returned to MTC for more torture, the press would either not be given such information or if it got it, it would be cautioned not to write it at all and it would oblige. Accordingly, when Macaria and others were brought to court with so-called confessions of guilt, their pleas of guilt, long sentences and pictures on crutches, on stretchers or in wheelchairs would be given banner headlines the following day. This was to announce to people the sure fate that would befall those who attempted opposition against dictatorship, and families would never be told where their jailed ones were taken. It was part of punishing prisoners and their families. So it was through a compliant press that broken and jailed prisoners were put up to people as scarecrows, the invincibility of dictatorship was preached and psychological torture was inflicted upon families which were told their people had been jailed, but not where they were jailed.
Fortunately for Macaria and Adili, because Adili had a cousin who worked in Jehanam Prison, their families did not have to take months pestering a reluctant bureaucracy before knowing where both were jailed. So both were able to get visits from their wives within the very first week of their imprisonment. As in the Robben Island prison of South Africa, prisoners in Jehanam prison have no contact visits with their wives or relatives. They meet in a room where they are separated by a glass partition. Though one cannot have full and clear view of somebody through this glass partition, when Macaria and Gakenia met, it was clear to Macaria that anxiety had made Gakenia lose kilogrammes and kilogrammes of weight. Similarly, it was clear to Gakenia that torture had reduced her once healthy husband into a skeleton on crutches. But mentally both were strong. Macaria was particularly worried that Gakenia would never understand why he had to admit guilt to something he had never done, but she understood and agreed that under the circumstances, what Macaria did was the best thing to do. Gakenia wished it were possible for her to live in prison with her husband. It was better than waiting for him outside. But it was not possible. Instead, she promised that if nothing else, she and their son Kihooto wanted to be Macaria's reason for living and surviving prison. And with them as his beacons, Macaria had no doubt that he would be able to survive prison.

* * *

For Adili, the meeting with his wife was a sad one. With the unfolding of events since she had met President Mpori and the pastor of the Baptist Church, Mpori Road, Nairobi, Mrs. Adili knew that  her information to the two people had been used as a basis and a justification for the arrest, the torture and the jailing of so many including her husband, and also for the brutal murder of Jitegemee Upone. Yes, she had her differences with her husband Adili and their neighbours Macaria and Jitegeme. But what she sought was not their destruction and death. She only sought the separation of her husband from what she considered bad friends. She had faith and confidence that if the pastor and the president had taken time to talk to Adili, he would have been won over. But even that was never tried. Now she had no doubt that she had been wrong to go to the pastor and in talking to the president. She was even more wrong in accepting the president's money. How was she ever going to extricate herself from this monstrous crime of arresting so many, torturing so many, jailing so many, killing so many and ruining so many innocent people? Who or what could ever cleanse her from the guilt of sending her husband to jail? To add insult to injury, the Gestapo had come to their house that morning to bring to her a letter from the office of the president appointing her as the new headmistress of the same secondary school where Adili had been a teacher. It was clear that they were determined to bind her to their bandwagon of torturing, jailing and killing people. She knew perfectly well what her original sin was. She had desired wealth too much. In the process, she had now ruined her own family. As the proverb says, 'Too much love destroys' (Yenda muno jakuura rurira).
When Mrs. Adili met Adili, she was all tears and contrition. There wasn't even the need for Adili to tell her what he had learnt from the Gestapo in MTC. She poured the story of what she had done like something her stomach was retching to vomit. Everything including the 30,000 shillings and her appointment as headmistress. Adili was touched and told her that he had forgiven her everything. However, he asked her to reject her appointment as a headmistress, because it was so obviously meant to humiliate both her and him. He also asked her to return to President Mpori the 30,000 shillings he had given her. She agreed to do so through the American pastor.
When Adili returned from the visit, he told Macaria what had transpired. Macaria was happy about the patching up. He knew an evil system had many ways of destroying people, particularly the unsuspecting ones. Macaria also welcomed the patching up because he knew it would help Mrs. Adili and his wife to reconcile and brave the raging storms of temporary widowhood together. It was therefore with great shock that Adili received and read this short note from Mrs. Adili passed to him by his cousin-warder a week or so later.
"Dearest husband,
By the time you receive and read this letter, I will be gone either to hell or to heaven - whichever God chooses for me. Irrespective of where I go however, I have died a happy person. Happy because you forgave me. I have also died fully loving you because during this crisis, I discovered, albeit belatedly, that you love me more than I ever suspected or deserved to be loved. Only such love could make you forgive me my crime to you, your friends and many others.
As we agreed, this morning I sent a letter to the office of the president and rejected their appointment of me as a headmistress. I also put the 30,000 shillings in an envelope and personally delivered it to the Baptist Church, Mpori Road, Nairobi. The pastor was not in, so I wrote an accompanying letter and left both the letter and the envelope in the care of the secretary of the pastor. In that regard, my conscience is now clear.
But in another regard, my conscience is not clear, and will not be as long as I live and no one living can make it clear. It is the information which I gave to the pastor and President Mpori that led to the arrest, the torture and the killing of Jitegemee Upone. His blood is as much on my hands as it is on the hands of the Gestapo. Unfortunately, he is not alive to forgive me. So I am going where he is to ask for his forgiveness because I cannot live with my conscience.
I have left our beloved little daughter in the care of your mother.
Forgive me for the disappointment and the pain this will cause you. So long, my beloved husband.
Your loving wife,
Esther Adili."
This tragedy nearly killed Adili. To Adili there was no doubt whatsoever that whatever her weaknesses, his wife was a great person. Yes, she had done a great wrong. But she had also willingly paid the highest possible penalty for her wrong. One with a capacity to suffer so much remorse could not be an entirely evil person. In his grief and mourning, Adili was joined by those who were close to him in prison - Macaria, Adungosi, Mhanga and Mteswa. In this time of crisis, the advice of Adungosi who had been there for 5 years and had another 5 years to go was very useful not just to Adili, but also to Macaria and others.
"This imprisonment is directed not just against us, but against our families as well. When they put us here, they also starve our children and force our wives into all kinds of actions they would otherwise never engage in. Look here, my brother, if you were free, most likely you would have had time to talk your wife out of her moral despair. Now you can't reach her and she can't reach you. This is why this tragedy happened. And it happened as an attendant consequence of this imprisonment. Other prisoners have also received shattering news of dead wives, sick wives, dead children, wives who have gone into prostitution and others who have gone crazy. Equally shattering is news received by our families when we fall sick, go crazy or die under the weight of our prison conditions.
"On the surface of things, the aim of a prison in Kenya is to punish individual prisoners. Destroy their body and spirit. Crush their manhood and womanhood. And turn them into zombies who cannot again resist the state. But in destroying the individual, a brutal prison system also destroys the whole society. As an instrument of terror, prison starts by destroying prisoners. But through us as scarecrows, prison also instils fear into the whole society. "If prison can kill or destroy Adungosi, who was so strong, why can't it destroy me?" is what most people ask. But once anybody asks this question, he or she is destroyed. This is why our imprisonment is the imprisonment of the whole society.
"The government of President Mpori is a lying government. It tells the world that its prisons are rehabilitation centres. But our prisons are destruction centres where men and women are brought not for rehabilitation, but for destruction. Jehanam Prison as a destruction centre is no different from Robben Island Prison in South Africa, Dachau or Auschwitz. If they bring you here with a small disease, that disease will kill you here. If they bring you here as a petty thief, you will be a professional robber when you leave. If one is brought here when he is mentally disturbed, he will be released when he is raving mad. Our prisons are factories which produce madness, criminality, homosexuality and death. I know a fellow who two years ago was jailed here for 5 years after being convicted of theft. All the time he was here, he claimed he was innocent and had been jailed only because his father had bribed the magistrate to jail him because he was demanding a piece of land from him. While he was here, he was a bitter man against his father and against the magistrate who had jailed him. In fact, he was so bitter that his mind turned. But just then, his sentence was quashed by an appeal. But one year of imprisonment had made a bitter man mad. When he went home, the first thing he did was to kill his father. He cut his head off, put the head into a basket and covered it with a piece of cloth. He then took a bus to town. When he got to town, he went into a hotel and bought two glasses of tea. When the tea was served, he pulled his father's head from the basket and put it on the table. Then he pushed a glass of hot tea in front of it and asked it to drink, "Drink that. If you are a man, drink that." After a minute, he looked at the head with surprise, "What? You have not yet drunk your tea?" He laughed and then addressed it, "I told you to drink that tea if you are a man. When you sent me to prison, I vowed that one day, I would eat and drink without you eating and drinking. Now drink that if you are a man." When people saw and heard a man talking to the head of a dead man, they screamed and scrambled out of the hotel. The man then packed his head back into the basket, went into the hotel's cash box, took all the money there was and walked outside into the waiting hands of the police. Subsequently, the man was taken to court and jailed again. This time for life. When he was brought here to serve his life sentence, he lost the will to live. After all, he was already mad. Six months after his imprisonment, he died and was buried here. Yes, far from being a rehabilitation centre, this is a mad house and a tomb. Our prisons are "white-washed tombs which look fine on the outside, but are full of dead men's bones and rotten stuff on the inside."
"When this government brings you to prison, it brands you with a permanent mark of criminality. Because of that mark, it will always try to destroy you while you are here, will always deny you work when you are free and will always try to bring you back after release. As people to be destroyed, prisoners here have no rights whatsoever. And though there is a Prisons Act which is in every way good law, nobody here pays any heed to it at all. As a result, prisoners here are treated like dangerous animals and not like human beings with rights at all. The fact that the Prisons Act was in force during colonial days and was only suspended after independence, makes prisons more destructive today than they were during colonial days. In fact, in almost every respect, prison conditions have grown worse since independence.
"Since I have been here, I have seen that prisons in this country are torture centres proper and torture is perpetrated through purposeful denial of everything that one needs for survival. As a prisoner, they use food not to keep you healthy, but alive and suffering. And you are so powerless and unprotected against official abuse that all you can say is "Lord be my shepherd. As I walk through this valley of death, I will not be afraid for you are close beside me, guarding and guiding me all the way." One moment, you will be hungry and longing for food. But when food comes, you will take one look at it, see the brownish slime of rotting greens, see cooked flies, cockroaches, overgrown spiders, centipedes and millipedes, all mixed up in your vegetables and feel like puking. Not to puke, you just push the food away. For ugali, they use sandy and dirty maize flour which is collected from the floor of maize flour mills. You put that ugali in your mouth, you feel the sand gritting against