I emerged from the dense forests of Mount Kenya,
my hideout while fighting the British colonists.
It was the sunset of the year 1963 when the Union Jack lowered and
our flag was raised displaying its beautiful stripes of
Red, White, Green and Black
symbolizing Blood, Peace, Pasture and Motherland.
It was a magical moment to savor but also to ponder.
When the song and dance celebrating independence had died down,
it was the dawn of 1964, my year of reckoning.
I looked around my fathers compound and the strip of land
on which it stood.
I looked at my brothers despondent faces, and my uncles too.
I looked at my beautiful, youthful, energetic wife and our five young children,
I was their only hope for a better future
I headed North to the “white highlands”,
the new Settlement Schemes vacated by the British colonists.
The highlands were freezing cold,
my entire body ached and my joints felt stiff as a board,
but the lush fertile land with gently rolling hills lured me in.
I needed to put down roots somewhere,
and my young family needed a place to call home
We packed up whatever little we could carry and headed North,
leaving everything and everybody else behind
relocating my young family to this strange land up North.
We hastily put up shelter and fenced off our new land,
while shivering in the cold, as we broke ground on this virgin land.
We introduced ourselves to our new neighbors,
noticing their Kikuyu accent was different from our own, but,
they were now the only “family” we could count on.
Over the years, their daughter married into my family
and gave me beautiful grandchildren with names like Watetu and Wahito,
I don’t notice their accent anymore, now we are one and the same
I watched my children take their place in society,
speaking the language of the colonial masters with ease,
their careers taking them to places I could never have imagined.
They brought spouses from all over the country,
extending our family name to national status and beyond.
I now cheer my children on, as they guide their own children
to take their place in this society we have build together from scratch.
With hunched shoulders, a bald head, wrinkled face, dimming eyesight
and walking gingerly with my well worn cane,
I can finally sit back and enjoy the sunset without a care in the world. Why?
Because I ran when life demanded I run,
I fought fearlessly when my country desperately needed to drive out the ruthless colonists,
I served when society required my services and
I was a parent when my children needed raising
I am proud of the Nyandarua I see today,
compared to the Nyandarua I stepped into in the 1960s.
I am proud of the strong communities we have built together,
disregarding the Gikuyus we originated from.
It was not easy, but we soldiered on without ever looking backwards.
My neighbors and I had roots in Gikuyu, but our children and grandchildren have their very deep roots planted in Nyandarua just as we had hoped for them.
Nyandarua has its legitimate owners now, and they seem proud to call it HOME
A parent always hopes their children will have a better life than theirs was.
I raised Teachers, Farmers, Engineers, Businessmen, Auto Mechanics, Accountants, Corporate Managers and some proud Housewives.
My children are now providing labor force in every sector of our economy,
and I am proud of each one of them and their contribution to society.
I know I am a huge success not because of anything I own but
because of the well adjusted human beings I raised, who are now standing tall in their respective fields and making a difference in society today and looking into the future with confidence.
My heart swells with pride and gratitude just thinking about them all.
This Pioneer Parent’s time is up and I rest peacefully
knowing that the bold but scary decision I made back in the 1960s, to relocate my family to the freezing highlands of Nyandarua was not in vain
My children and future generations who bear my name or DNA will forever have a home here in Nyandarua. This is HOME.
This is my Nyandarua, Then, Now and Always.
NYANDARUA OUR HOME
