A journey through the school of life

If the freedom fighters did not fight to their last breaths, we would not be moving freely even when the economy is so bad.

I am sure I’m not the only one who grew up with stories from the 20th century (being a 21st century young adult) stories that make me thank God that I was born after the invention of shoes and telephones and vehicles and incredible farming machinery. I’m sure I wouldn’t have survived that era but we don’t see a silver lining unless there is a dark cloud.

In the first adult century, people were more focused on survival than any other things. Waking up not because you heard the beautiful melody of birds (as many of those novels deceive us) but because you needed to milk the cows take the milk to KCC and be in school right on time. A slight delay and your whole day is messed up. If you wake up late, your mother or father milks the cow and you receive a harsh beating, you get to school late 15 strokes await you and 100 more for the sum in math that you missed, for the English word you mispronounced, for the nails you failed to clean properly after you left the farm yesterday evening in the home science class and many more that I shiver at when stories are told.

Once you were born you became an automatic survivor. Most of your childhood is spent under that one mango tree as your mother and siblings toil in the farm whilst your father finds that new project in the nearby town. By the age of four you know how to cook ugali since it is a daily meal 360 /365 days of the year. You admire your siblings or neighbors as they go to school since your right hand cannot yet allow you to touch your left ear. That automatically becomes your ticket to the shamba. You toil the 100 acres with lively melodies and stories that made long days shorter. Each day you try and try until you hand finally touches the tip of your ear. Excitedly, you tell your parents that you are ready but you have to wait till the next academic year. 

You only know the New Year is approaching once your mother begins preparing chapati dough and you realize it's Christmas. The only day you can rest enough, be full and forget about githeri and ugali and steamed sukumawiki.

Once you join school, you realize it is nothing close to the bed of roses you dreamt of. With the oversized shirt, the patched dress whose color is no longer recognizable, the baggy shorts tied by a string at the waist you make your journey every day. The more blisters you had, the better survivor you were. With a dream that you have a trip to Nairobi to see story buildings, big city lights and to eat chips you are motivated to study. The grammar in class sounds like Greek since the mzungu in class speaks through his nose but regardless learning must go on and if you are lucky enough you walk your way through to the college.

Most of us cannot comprehend the meaning of the words scribbled above since we know nothing of the sort. At the age of four you walk (if lucky driven) to class in a new pair of uniform from head to toe. Curious and ready for this new chapter after playing kalongolongo for three years. Eight months in class four at home for the holidays is the routine. No shamba just the tablet, the smartphone and the television to admire and dream of being like the movie stars on tv.

There is so much time in our hands that once we become teenagers and our minds open up to the realization of change you start drowning in the change. The escape is either peer pressure, parties, drugs and sex to feel like you fit in and to drown it all or to hold the thought within. Since most of the time our parents are working to ensure we get the best to avoid the life they had, we have no one to turn to. Most are even shy to talk about negative behavior in their children since it was a taboo. Having grown up in environments where survival was the key, they fail to realize the changes and silently most of us dive into our own worlds. We give birth to anxiety when we can’t handle, depression when no one can listen to you.

The new generation where kupiga luku makes more sense than the plate of food. where not in attending a bash makes you uncool, being in a long term relationship is ambiguous but one night stands are okay. Where having HIV is better than being pregnant and many more.

They say a problem shared is a problem half solved but sharing in itself is part of the problem. Just as they say an empty debes make the loudest noise. So much free time with everything provided gives room for the mind to think of suicide, depression and start reflecting on past events that you wish you could cringe. I'm not saying that we should go back to the shamba all day (iyo ata mimi siwezi I won’t lie) but finding positive activities to do lessens the chances of a negative mind.

Parent too need to realize that this is a different generation and things are different. They should embrace their kids and be more open with them. Watch them bloom into something lovely despite the many challenges. If you work 24/7(which is impossible) once in a while take a break and be with them. That way it is possible to see the various changes and to adopt to the right ones.

Otherwise, parents will keep raising kids who desire hugs and can’t get them from their parents and children who walk out of the room when the father walk in due to fear. It is only possible if both generations work together.