Kenya, Will You Marry Me?

17. De Gado has a dream

159 17 De Gado has a dream E boni, you say you are neglected when I speak. Let me tell you about beauty which in life must be a lover of humor and joy. It is hard for me to see unhappy beauty. People who know pain know beauty also. Nothing will allow me to forget Baba shaving and singing; “When I was young, my father said… son I have something to say…. And what he told me I’ll never forget until my dying day….’’ But his Baba, my Grandfather never sang in English. My mother told him to stop showing off and chided him for being too contented with his looks. She would ask, “Who sang that? Your father? Never. He only sang in our Mother Tongue! There is a man called Cliff Richard,” She said. None of us spoke when Mami sang of eyes that laugh from a soul that cries. She knew English well. She could sing, ‘Row, row, row your boat..gaily down the stream! merrily, merrily, merrily! Life is but a dream!” without mixing her ‘r’ and ‘l’sounds. She taught us Mother Tongue and Kiswahili proudly. No language stopped her from being human. In the evenings; she often sang, Macho yanacheka, moyo unalia and after some time, she would switch to; “Are you going to Scarborough Fair?” Yes, Simon G came home by song! She would sing to me. She smiled in true artistic flair, before beginning to tell us stories. Perhaps she thought of our Baba who went and left her so often. Nyakairu and Nyanjiru, I know he thought of the real things that Grandfather would have advised him never to forget- to live for the black peoples’ freedom, for country-only that sadly for some it remained land- and family. We treasured our mornings with Baba. He gave us hope. He had worked at everything to help us move. He, the caddy Grandma En made fun of saying his good figure was not enough for her daughter. Now he lay beneath the ground. In December 1990, Baba denounced 160 Kenya, will you marry me? the detentions of Matiba and Rubia; in our family chats. He welcomed demonstrations against this. He renewed his driving licence in April 1991. He died at Nazareth Private Hospital, before he was back on the road for his family, freedom and country. I have to say the resurrection from anesthesia which a nun who spoke broken Gikuyu in an Italian accent promised me failed! It was not a miracle which was required. Just normal expertise. It was not accessible for Baba. He could not get public hospital treatment. The cold and flower filled countryside stared back at me with hardness. Baba was gone. The hospital was freezing. No emergency machine moved. That is the only winter I will ever know in life. How could I tell the nun that my doll made of a maize cob had risen from its death even if I had not found it? Was the real ‘resurrection’ to remain only in books? Had not Kenyalin returned to us? I wanted to hold Baba again. I wanted to hear him singing. To see him shaving. I wanted to hear him tell us again about the day he left the detention camp. How his body felt when it received freedom to walk. He always loved my debates with him. I wanted today, to hear him respond to my words. Oh, if you belong to the generation I can call Baba, Let me hear you and your words. Let me hear you sing again for my land, Let me hear you tell us never to tire of the struggle. Let me hear you warn the politician! Let me hear you call out dead leadership to life again! Our hospitals and schools, our transport systems, are the best images of you. If we are forced into private places where we still die, We ask why we struggle. Why do we struggle in public only to die with bills in private hospitals? Why do our children feel safer, becoming permanent members of private clubs, without public voices? Why? 161 De Gado has a dream Never learn De Gado, Baba is your ancestor. “They will never learn!” De Gado tells me. “They will never learn! They do not understand what has happened to this nation. Not in their hearts. They see us like films!” They...