Mama Hope Magic: Machiegni Kisumo
Written by Vincent Mwangi, Mama Hope Staff Member
The first time I went to Kisumu, Kenya was back in 2006. I was a standard seven pupil, and we were on a class trip to Kakamega, with a stop over in Nyanza Province, where Kisumu is. I remember on the first day of our trip when our school bus broke down in Kisumu. We had to be bundled up in a thirty seater minivan. How almost eighty kids fit in that vehicle, only God knows. I remember seeing Kisumu’s Ahero river, because we had learned about it’s famous irrigation scheme in social studies. But we did not get to eat any fish, which is something you shouldn’t leave Kisumu without having.
Last year in July, my internship with Mama Hope brought me back to Kisumu. I was really excited about this opportunity — not only because I had always wanted to work directly with communities, like Mama Hope does, but also because I was going to live in a new city. The latter was filled with mixed feelings because I wasn’t sure how this new city was going to treat me. I was returning to Kisumu not as the little ‘baby-faced’ shy boy, but as an adult.
A lot had changed twelve years later. After the 2002 election of Kibaki brought the end of the 24 year Moi dictatorship and the country’s first democratically elected president, things were looking up for Kenya. We had been deemed the “most optimistic people in the world”. Now, I never drank the maziwa ya nyayo (the president’s milk) and I wouldn’t call myself a Nyayo nor a Kibaki supporter, because I was only seven years old at the time. What I do know is that my childhood was spent in a united Kenya that was developing in the right direction.
All this would change during the 2007/8 elections, a year that will forever remain in our historical records. When brothers turned against brothers, sisters against sisters, brothers against sisters — and the outcome? Because of tribal divisions, close to a thousand people lost their lives, and nearly a hundred thousand were displaced within the month. Were it not for the international community’s intervention, things would have escalated to worse. With this, I came to know that tribe meant something else. I was only thirteen years old. And in the consequent elections of both 2013 and 2017, the violence returned.
I had been proud of being born in a generation that did not have a negative tribal blemish. At least that was to the best of my knowledge, as per my city friends. My peers did not like being called by their second names, which indicate the tribe you’re from. They preferred people calling them by their first names, which are Christian in most cases. I saw this both in primary and secondary school, because I attended city schools. But all this changed when I finished high school and joined the real world, where tribalism was common. This is what contributed to my insecurities around tribal conversations. It was also a reason for my mixed feelings towards the move to Kisumu, being a Gikuyu in a Luo region.
I had read stories of Mama Hope’s partners during my research of the internship. I particularly remember being moved by Sister Anastasia’s story. I remember her hug when she arrived at the Mama Hope partner conference in Arusha, Tanzania; her story of her struggle with the Catholic church had still been fresh in my mind. I remember having a great conversation with David Omondi, another partner, when I was being oriented to Mama Hope. Getting to know more about their work and their passion really moved me. I knew right away that these were my people. We had a lot in common — to see good happen in our communities, in our Kenya, in our Africa, and in our globe. And when September 5th came, and it was time to move to Kisumu, this is what I carried with me. That we’re all human beings, united by a common thing: humanity.
The first day in Kisumu, we drove past the Kondele overpass, and the memories of the 2017 elections came back to me. This is the spot that the media continually showed: teargas being thrown, gun shots, stone throwing, water cannons, screams and people running for their lives. These are the images that were used to describe how things were in Kisumu during the elections. But I wasn’t going to let this be a stumbling block to my stay here. I was aplomb. Focused on the moment rather than the past or the future. I was so eager to see what this new city had in store.
When we finally got to the bus stop, I got off the matatu and the heat greeted me, although it was raining. When we got to the flat, I remember seeing a little girl watch me from the first floor as I dragged my huge suitcase into the house to begin the next six months of my life.
I cannot regret my move to Kisumu. It has shaped a lot about who I am currently, personally and professionally. During my stay, I got to visit Mama Hope partner’s work and get a better understanding of what they do. I remember visiting the Rescue Centre at Our Lady of Perpetual Support (OLPS) where the children entertained us, and I reciprocated by singing to them the songs we used to sing while we were kids in Nairobi. I still remember a certain dholuo song they sang to us, a song I normally find myself humming subconsciously. I was in awe of the happiness in those little boys and girls, the smiles that brightened up their faces. Every time I looked at them, I had hope for the future of my country.
I also visited Akili Girls School, and I remember being captivated by the words on the walls near the administration block that read, “Who run the world? Girls.” A visit to Tropical Focus was also great — they showed us the school performance records of the children who had passed through, some who had gone on to university. This reminded me of a theme we had back in high school when I was in Form Two, “a year of no excuse.” That despite our challenges, we should not use them as excuses to our failures. Rather, we should use them as stepping stones to our destinies. I saw the resilience that drove our partners, and how they were determined to see the good in their community. I saw hope and dedication to the work that they do.
I also got to know myself better. This was like a self retreat. I became kinder to my body, physically and mentally. It was a period of growth and healthier practices. I spent less time online, and more time cooking and creating new friendships.
I will miss Kisumu: the estate I was living in, the cleanliness of the city, and all the people in it. I will miss my neighbor’s daughter, the one who was watching me on my first day in Kisumu as I dragged my suitcase into the house. Her name is Amani. She kept calling me Nani all the time, despite me telling her my name every now and then. I will also miss another neighbor boy who used to call me osiepa, my vegetable guy, my shopkeeper, and of course, the ladies at the hotel I used to eat at before I started cooking for myself. My landlady, whom we never met in person but trusted me with her property. All these people and many more defined my stay in Kisumu from day to day. They reminded me that we should always strive to look at our similarities rather than our differences. We are all brothers and sisters because we are united together by humanity. If we all looked at things from this perspective, the world would be a happy place. And this time round, I did not leave Kisumu without eating fish.
