As we bury Masinde Muliro's widow, we should shun those who want us to forget our history

NAIROBI: If they should ask you where the rain started beating us, tell them it was in the house. It began soon after we entered the house. Yet, it was not as if we had not expected the huge downpour. Nor were we unconcerned. I am reminded of the rain of State because today, Saturday October 10th, we lay to rest Mama Marcia Muliro, in Sibanga Village, Cherang’ani.

Mama Marcia was the wife to the late Henry Pius Masinde Muliro. I recognise that the name might not mean anything to some. Less still is the possibility that they would know Mama Marcia. She was a self-effacing lady. She stayed away from our prying eyes and pens, even when Muliro lived. She only surfaced for a few days after her husband’s strange demise in August 1992. He collapsed at the airport, after a trip abroad. They said many things about his death. We will probably never know the truth. Mama Marcia went back into her quiet world after the burial. Her own burial today is an opportunity to fuss and forget.

There is tantalising beauty and bliss in humble ignorance. Those who want us to remember disturb the temporary tranquility of ignorance. Our minds are like the limbs of a leper. Even if they should catch fire, we will have no idea that we are burning. If someone should tell us we are burning, we might even wonder what is wrong with him. We are lulled in mental leprosy. We wish to remain and die there. That is why memory is vilified. Hence, we have heard that we should refrain from reflecting on the story of Kenya, even as we bury a long suffering lady who quietly stood by one of the rare icons in our tainted history. We have been told not to talk politics at her burial.

In 1986 David Goldsworthy published a book titled Tom Mboya: The Man Kenya Wanted to Forget. Was the tragedy of the Mboya story, however, only a metaphor for Kenya’s mental leprosy? The Kung’u Karumba story has not been told. We mention Pio Gama Pinto only in passing, as we do J M Kariuki.

Robert Ouko disturbs us, as does Bishop Alex Muge. Jean Marie Seroney is forgotten, as are Chelagat Mutai and George Anyona. Martin Shikuku, J D Kali, Wasonga Sijeyo, Dennis Akumu, and Clement Lubembe – they mean nothing to the new Kenyan nation. Grace Onyango, Phoebe Asiyo and Jael Mbogo are still in this life, but comfortably forgotten.

Few know why Nairobi has streets with names like Wabera and Muindi Mbingu; or why a whole swathe of estates bears the name Ofafa. What does Mbotela Estate in Nairobi mean to us? Mayor Margaret Kenyatta of Nairobi is forgotten. And so, today, it is easy for a villain to be a hero and a hero is cast as a villain. And the villains tell us, “We don’t want to hear history.”

I have profound respect for people’s rights and freedoms. I even respect someone’s right and freedom to remain ignorant. The constitutional right to know must be counterpoised with the right to be ignorant – and even daft. Yet the same Constitution has said that your rights and freedoms can only be enjoyed to the extent that they do not injure other people’s rights and freedoms.

Someone’s enjoyment of his empty head could injure other people’s rights and freedoms. Because of ignorance, Africans allow politicians to mess up their countries. Isn’t there a case for protecting people from the emptiness in some other people’s heads? Should we not make it compulsory for everyone to know our story? Knowing our history ought to be obligatory national duty. Accordingly, Kenya’s history should be a compulsory examinable subject in high school and university.

That aside, the passing on of Mama Marcia reminds us of our fallen heroes – patriots who had a dream for Kenya. These people dreamt of a land of equal opportunity; where justice would be our shield and defender. They thought that our hearts would be strong and true to service and our homeland a heritage of splendour. We would dwell in unity, peace and liberty.

Masinde Muliro was one of them and, no doubt, Mama Marcia stood by him. In the lead up to independence, he was in the same league with Ronald Ngala, Daniel arap Moi, John Keen, Jean Marie Seroney and Martin Shikuku - among others – in Kadu. They were afraid of the tyranny of numbers in Kanu. They feared that these numbers could become oppressive. That they could generate unequal access to opportunities in the country.

Someone, however, persuaded these people that all would be well. There would be no tyranny of numbers in independent Kenya. Instead, in one accord, we would all be united, in a common bond. We would build (this) our nation together. The glory of Kenya and the fruit of our labour would fill every heart with thanksgiving.

It did not come to pass, however. The national leadership at the very top looked at each dream in our national anthem very carefully. They consciously set about negating it, in practice. And now we have an omnivorous class of leaders with restless appetite, at the national and county levels. They are perfecting what tyranny of numbers began doing soon after we entered the house of freedom.

People like Masinde Muliro became marginalised for speaking out for Kenya. Unlike his political peers at the time of his death in 1992, Muliro was a poor man. Jomo Kenyatta sacked him from Cabinet for obeying his conscience after the murder of J M Kariuki. The post Kenyatta State stole from him one election after the other. They destroyed his modest business in Kitale and veritably pauperised him. Still, to the very end, he believed in the Kenyan Dream. As we pay our last respects to Masinde Muliro’s widow, we should shun those who want us to forget our history. As the Catholic book of Ecclesiasticus has taught us:

“Now let us praise famous men, and our fathers that begat us. The Lord hath wrought great glory by them through his great power from the beginning; men such as did bear rule in their kingdoms. Men renowned for their power, giving counsels by their understanding and declaring prophecies. Leaders of people by their counsels and by their knowledge of learning for the people, wise and eloquent in their instruction.” (Ecclesiasticus 44: 1 – 3).

Henry Pius Masinde Muliro was one such a man. We must speak about him and other patriots. We must remember the postponed Kenyan Dream. And so go well, Mama Marcia. We will come to you, someday. And may it be a proud day for us, that we may also be praised for keeping the dream alive. Amen.