Today is Sunday. The day of worship.The day we seek to make peace with our maker. Today, billions of faithfuls world over will flock churches, to sing, worship and pray.
Sunday is also the day when most people, especially we followers of the Carpenter from Nazareth, take time to relax, reflect and meditate about our personal life. How far we have come from, our current status and our future.
Whether this introspection and soul searching tends to happen on Sunday, the same day when the most intrinsic of all human practices, worshipping of the Almighty, happens, is by default or by design, I don’t know.
And in that spirit of “calling ourselves for a meeting” on Sunday, we also tend to find time to interact with and bond with our families. That’s why Sunday is considered a family day. It’s the day when even the most rogue of all family men and women bring their families together and spend some time with them. No wonder, even entertainment joints, which hawk the most lethal of intoxicants during the other six days of the week, tend to organize family fun days on Sunday.
Sunday is simply the family day.
Therefore, today being a Sunday, I wish to leave it all and focus on family stuff.
Today, I want to abandon the political rants which dominate all The Chronicles spaces and for once, behave like a human being.
Today, I want to behave and pen down something from deep in my heart, not just as a human being, not just as a Kenyan, but as a young person, born and brought up in one of the small and silent villages in the forgotten corners of our republic.
Today, I write as a young person who, after my basic education, just like millions of other Kenyan youths, left the village for the big city, Nairobi, with nothing but a bag of clothes and dreams, to try and find a path in life.
Today, I will talk to our parents in the village.
Today, I will pen down a short open letter to my parents in Difathas and millions of other parents in villages across the country, with sons and daughters in Nairobi.
As you envisaged when you let us venture in this famous town, we have remained true to the cause. We are still trying our best to make sure we bring home the ultimate treasure.
We are forever grateful for the solid upbringing you gave us. It’s that upbringing, founded on morals and virtues, which has kept us going.
However, dear parents,
This town is not what one would imagine it is. This town is not the land of milk and honey people at the village think it is. This town is not like our beloved village where all souls care for each other. This town defies the Ubuntu philosophy from deep it’s core. This town is a damn rough place. This town is perhaps the epitome of cruel capitalism. In this town, it is every man for himself and God for us all.
In this town, no one is your brother or sister. In this town, you can sleep hungry while your next door neighbour is frying meat. In this town, no one cares about the other. And I can’t blame people here because I am sure they too are trying to survive because here, it’s a food chain; your either eat or you be eaten. No two ways.
This town is not the place where you walk to some place and collect a load of cash like fellow villagers think. The hustle here is real. Very real. Even worse, there are so many of us yet so few opportunities. We literally fight for them. Some are lucky. And for those who are not lucky, they sleep hungry a day or two then ask themselves, what is there to lose if they followed the other route? What is there to lose if you did drugs, tried crime or ventured into prostitution? After all, you are have nothing in the first place.
But because you brought us well, we have resisted the temptation and remained true to the cause. At least, for the eight years I have been here, I have remained true to the cause. I know many of my friends who have remained true too. But I also know many others who have lost it and I can’t entirely blame them.
One of the invaluable lessons that no one ever taught us was that this town has its owners. The people who own everything around. And it is the very same people we go looking for opportunities from. Yet, these ones are ruthless capitalists who only think about themselves. They use you at the minimal cost possible. And when you become inquisitive, they show you the door.
There is also another evil clique called landlords. Those whose houses we live in. These ones love money than even themselves. They will knock at your door very early morning at the end of the month and if you don’t pay them, they will throw all your stuff out not caring where you will go to. You might succeed to talk to them about your situation but they won’t listen for very long. Eventually, they will auction your little wealth, a gas cooker, a bed and probably a small TV. And they don’t care.
A few of us, me included, by the grace of God, have succeeded in securing a hustle. We have kick started a career. This we did by taking risks into the unknown. And then God intervened. But we are not there yet. At the moment, it’s a real hustle. We have to run all over day and night. We have to look for that extra coin. The days we spend doing overnight scouting, working, are way more than the ones we have a peaceful sleep. Actually, I have not had proper sleep for a long long time.
Therefore, dear parents,
On this Sunday, as you head to church, remember to pray for us. Just pray for us. A lot of prayers. Do a prayer for us each day you can so that we survive this town.
Finally, dear parents,
When we come home with a small car, or some little shopping for you, or send some little money to take care of stuff back there, or take care of siblings etc etc, always be grateful for it, thank God and pray that more be found. Money is rare in this town. But in case we come home with nothing but in good state and healthy, thank God for it too. At least we survived.
And with that, I go back to hustle.
Mr Chronicles Alvan Kinyua, CGP
The Chronicles Shrine
Nairobi City County
26th August 2018