By BMJ Muriithi,
It may come as a surprise to many, but it is true that my mother, the one and only Mwari wa Mucheke, is now on Facebook. I must confess that I was also surprised, albeit pleasantly, when I opened my Facebook page the other day and was met by the words; Mwari wa Mucheke would like to be your friend on Facebook.
Not that Facebook or any other social network is a preserve of any particular group of people but those who know my age will definitely understand why my mother’s debut on the popular social site is nothing short of a miracle. For starters, I have been around for a while. If you do not believe I am ancient, ask my enemy Kongo, with whom we faced the knife one chilly morning on the banks of Kanyuambora river.
To give you a clue of how ancient I may be, I have lived and suffered under three Kenyan Presidents! And to think that my mother Mwari wa Mucheke is now sitting in front of a computer asking people to be her friends on Facebook is nothing but a shocker.
Those who know my mother were tongue-tied to learn of this latest development. My good friend Macharia Migwi (whose name literally means “he who looks for arrows”) couldn’t hide his astonishment when I showed him my facebook page. My mother’s age notwithstanding, Migwi was more concerned over something else; he could not understand how Kanyuambora had all of a sudden transformed itself into a dotcom village.
But I don’t blame him. He hails from Kiangunyi, a village where even cellphone signals are considered a luxury. During my recent trip to Kenya, I met him at a Nairobi joint as we thirstily awaited for Mututho hours (the legitimate time to drink alcohol in Kenya). As we cleared our throats with excitement when the clock on the war read 5pm, I furiously enquired why he had not been taking my calls yet he knew so well that I was in the country.
“Buy me a drink and I’ll explain,” said son of Migwi, who exhibited all the characteristics of a broke person, especially considering that it was his last week in Kenya, and he had spent most of his money. After a long sip taken straight from the bottle (he couldn’t wait for the waitress to bring a glass), he cleared his throat for the second time and said, “son of the ridges of Kanyuambora, I know you won’t believe this but it’s not that I have been trying to dodge you.” “Why then?” I enquired.
The man sadly explained that he had just returned to the city and that when I was calling, he was in the village all the while, and that the tree on which he used to climb in order to get at least one bar of Safaricom signal had been cut down. “So the whole Kiangunyi village is mourning,” said the man from Kangema as he put down his empty bottle, while wearing a face that suggested that he could do with another swallow, especially is he is not the one doing the buying.
Back to my mother and Facebook, the old lady seems to be on top of things. My mother is not wasting any time in letting all and sundry know that she is online. And she is not mincing her words. In spite of her modest level of literacy, she writes about everything, including letting me know when salt runs out at home. The other day, instead of shooting me an email, she wrote this on her wall;
“Dear son,
I hope you are fine in Obamaland. I must open with a lot of greetings from everyone here in Kanyuambora. Since I got connected, I feel duty bound to keep you abreast with what is going on in the village. First of all, I must thank you for the money you sent via Western Union. May God bless you abundantly as I pray that you find a house near the Western Union outlet in order to increase your frequency to that very important place. Secondly, your father asked me to inform you that Gaceru, the cow we bought with the money you sent last season, has been blessed with a bouncing baby calf. He (your father) is now drinking a lot of milk and his skin is akin that of a toddler.”
The problem is that since my mother got connected, the whole village has relocated to our homestead in Kanyuambora. My uncle Gachama wa Mucheke for example, has literally pitched his tent there. And he is the know-it-all type. A very opinionated and extremely cantankerous person, my uncle is the type of a person you have to let use your computer if and when he asks for it.
The other day, he snatched the laptop from my mother and without being concerned that the Facebook page was not his, he wrote;
“Son of my sister, we are disappointed with the political leadership in this country. First of all, the people Ocampo has taken to the Hague should be eight if not more. Kibaki and Raila should be leading the pack. And by the way, I wonder why The Hague is not gender sensitive! Anyway, since the summoning of the Ocampo six, the leaders here have been behaving badly. They have been acting like poorly-brought-up children. Kibaki has been in a foul mood, calling people chicken droppings and swearing that his loyalists (Muthaura, Uhuru and Ali) will never be convicted in a foreign land. He has given all manner of reasons but the truth of the matter is that he fears that while there (The Hague), they are most likely going to implicate him, saying they were taking orders from above.
Kalonzo looks confused. Although he doesn’t know why, he is still doing his shuttle diplomacy even long after his plea was rejected. He probably hopes that when time comes, atapita katikati yao. Although he does not like Uhuru because he is not “born again” like him, he knows his political excellence will require the Kikuyu vote, something he knows to be a fallacy without the son of Jomo. He questions the source of Ruto’s immense wealth, which he gained during the Youth for KANU’ 92 Project, while he (Kalonzo) was busy praying. Uhuru, on the other hand, is a disappointment. What you heard from Ranneberger is true; the boy is lazy and drinks too much.
Ruto still thinks that the ICC proceedings will take decades and that before he is convicted, he will probably have died of old age. Tinga (Raila) seems the happiest of all the politicians at the moment. He seems oblivious of the fact that Ruto is very likely to spill the beans at the Hague, saying that he did what he did on behalf of the son of Jaramogi. And although his family has also been mentioned in mega scandals, he behaves as though he is blemishless. The man named Assange could not have come at a better time. Now we know what each one of these politicians thinks of the others.
I know you read newspapers too, but I wanted you to also know what we know. Pass my regards to the son of Obama, and all the Kenyans in the land of opportunities.
Your loving uncle, Gachama wa Mucheke.”
At this rate, I will not be surprised if my mother teams up with her brother, and writes to me in the near future asking me to follow them on tweeter. In the meantime, my friend from Kangema should seek divine intervention so his people may stop living in the Nyayo (signal-less) era. How times have changed!
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