Celebrating Future Through Past; A memoir

It’s my birthday!

So surely I should write something… right?

It’s my first post this year and I know you might not take this kindly…but just hold that thought just yet… I might just surprise or better still remind you of that day you turned my age and even better of the day you will be lucky to reach mine.

Well, before I start you might be guessing that there is no bash since who’s got the time to tailor up an article when he should be busy sending E_Vites and finalizing on the reception, drinks, food and of course managing the hysteria of exciting gifts to come from his unending list of friends? Well you are right.

But am not disappointed either, coz I wasn’t that expectant anyway, save for that feeling at the back of my mind that ‘somebody is gotta surprise you this time round!’ Well, as it seems they have kept the surprise for next year (hopefully).

The better thing about all this is that the last 22 of them have been no different. At least I score on consistency! Maybe hope has grown too…and definitely the ‘god of Height’ has been quite generous the last ten years. I recall when I was in form one in a class of 250 I was among the 20 shortest people. Actually I almost missed out in the Class one intake since I failed an ‘important’ requirement those days where my left hand couldn’t touch my right ear! It took some serious convincing from my mother for the headmistress to allow me but I was to be monitored. Thanks mum.

Now I can confidently comment on short people and indeed assert there’s something that just not right with them. I’d say in there thinking but more evidently in their self-esteem. While some might disagree with me, remember, I’ve been there…or better still watch for traits like short-temper and incessant talk and whining. Quite a number though might overcome this…I’d say with therapy, but that would be too cruel, right?

So at five, or six (my memory is quite fuzzy), I remember attending a birthday party for one of my not so distant cousins at Nanyuki barracks, he was turning 8 I think. That was the first I ever attended and it was really well planned and attended. I marveled at the gifts the kid was given… we also brought a gift. Everything was new for me; the storeyed building, staircases, a water closet that I had to be helped to use, a double-decker bed, a mountain bike (I only learnt to ride a regular bike in class 8), the VCR with a color display and the most exciting riding next to the driver on our way back in my uncle’s Hilux Pick-up van.

Now I remember it was in the place that I watched my first episode of Redykulas and I just dint want to leave. (Damn! Mudomo baggy, Kajairo, Kiare John and Nyambane have quite been around!)

That day I dreamt of my own birthday party with all kinds of gifts (the brick game in particular), foods and visitors. All there because of me. Celebrating my life hugging me and saying good things about me and my future. And that was my best birthday party, in that dream, coz when morning came, childhood calls came calling

When February 27^th came early the following year it was my elder sister who accidentally looked at the only Supermatch calendar on our wall just after our noon meal and announced it. Keen not to disappoint me, mother slaughtered one of her cockerels and some wheat flour was bought. I was happy.

You need to hang in there coz it’s my birthday… you gotta listen... I’ll tell you why soon enough.

One day in class four our class teacher asked us a question that all of us must have been asked severally and maybe some still are answering it even past my age. “What would you want to be when you grow up?”

This question always stirred excitement, utopian thinking and hope in the eager children who had just learnt that the multiplication table was the new greeting in upper-primary. Being among the arguably ‘bright’ students in the class I was among the first to be asked.

Others had enthusiastically raised their hands shouting “lawyer” “doctor” “engineer” “pilot” “teacher” and the like. When my turned came, I confidently said “driver!”

The teacher was beside himself with laughter. There  were giggles from my classmates and subtly noticing my unimpressive answer half-whispered “policeman!” this time round the teacher controlled his laughter and tried to explain to me how I needed better aspirations.

Truth of the matter is I had no clue about what these other careers meant or required of me, but neither did my classmates. My choices were guided by what I had already interacted with and grown to admire. For instance travelling to my grandma’s place in rural, rural Meru was always a nightmare in those Face_Me pick-up Matatus that could comfortably carry well-over 25 grown-ups with a very uncomfortable seat facing the door that made sure stretching legs was immoral. But the driver was in comfortable seat taking control of our journey and at his own discretion deciding what speed and where we stopped.

To young me, the driver had incredible power and comfort and to have such control over people was a sensible thing to work towards. Or take the case of the policeman who’s presence in our village caused unease, their powerful LandRover Defender engine roar could be heard from afar and signified some notorious loggers  were about to be apprehended, or even the magnificent guard of honor they displayed on Moi Day that we always watched in our neighbour’s Greatwall TV. Surely I must have thought well.

The legendary Greatwall TV

Years later after becoming exposed to more information and interacting with some kids from urban areas I had what my class four teacher would have called ‘divine intervention’ and decide that I wanted to become a lawyer. That time we even had a Greatwall TV of our own and a VCR with foreign programs and Movies further reinforcing my resolve.

Today am in my final Year at Journalism school and just completed a professional certification in IT. Am actually laughing right now. These things am doing right now, that class four boy who wanted to be a driver could not even have dreamed of. The TV itself was a mystery enough, leave alone a computer that one day in class eight a boy from town told us that it could actually sleep and wake up when time came for it to!

Like I said, it’s my birthday and so I have written… so it’s different. And I guess I could call myself a writer? Well a storyteller maybe?

Maybe next year a day like today, I will tell you what am dreaming right now.

Kindly type a HBD down here since my E_vites didn’t have a venue!