When my beloved asked we move to some highlands up North,
I did not waste any time wondering where that was or what awaited us there,
because I had learned to be contented in any situation,
always ready for whatever life threw at us.
Packing up our belongings was easy, we did not have much to begin with.
So, with nothing but hope and faith in our hearts,
we made the longest journey of our lives, to a new life we knew nothing about.
I had never seen such huge tracts of land owned by indigenous people,
and here now was a chunk of beautiful, fertile land with my name on it.
I looked at my beloved and I saw something familiar in his eyes.
He was as scared as I was to start a new life here.
But, there was no turning back now, we were here for the long haul.
My beloved hit the road to bring supplemental income,
as I broke ground on this massive land to make a living.
The highlands were freezing cold, the bone chilling kind of cold,
but I was ready to make a home for my family, no matter what.
I loved the smell of the freshly plowed fields,
and the softness of the grass my children played on.
I was fascinated by the gigantic Eucalyptus trees that swayed in the wind
releasing a cool menthol scent in the air, a scent I had never experienced before.
I knew I was in ‘foreign’ territory without a doubt, but I was ready to adapt.
We introduced ourselves to our new neighbors over creamy cups of tea,
and shared stories of the Gikuyus we came from.
We quickly realized there was a common thread that ran through our backgrounds,
connecting us all to the common purpose that brought us here.
We slowly loosened our grip on the Gikuyus we came from and
poured our heart and soul into building our new community instead.
I voiced my opinion in public forums, representing my family with pride.
I helped my children assimilate in our newly formed communities.
I mustered courage and resilience, virtues I would need on a daily basis
to run a massive farm and raise a bunch of children with an absent husband;
but when my beloved came home, I relinquished all power to him
because even in his absence, he was still the undisputed head of our household.
Like a good Drill Sergeant prepares his troops for combat,
I taught my children hard work, pushing them to their limits,
because I wanted them to succeed wherever the tides of life carried them.
I walked tall beside them on their graduation days and listened with fascination
as they spoke the colonial masters language fluently, a language that had been used to insult, intimidate and humiliate us in our own country.
But now, to hear my children speak the language skillfully and “owning” it,
they had finally taken away its oppressive power and they were now using it to broaden
their horizons, walking through some doors that only the educated could access.
And with that, my job of positioning my children to take over the running of
our country, now and in the future, was finally accomplished, and I was extremely proud!!
I watched my children grow into mature adults;
I accompanied them to their “uthoni” and received their in-laws to our home.
I helped them plan their weddings and
wore whatever color and style of outfit they chose for me without a fuss.
I welcomed their spouses into our family and taught them our family values,
and I proudly watched them become parents, giving me countless grandchildren.
I stood strong for my children when their father took his last breath.
I cried myself to sleep every night, but I never let my children see the tears.
I had to remain strong for them and for our family.
I now know that God prepares us for the future He has in store for us.
I spent my youth alone with the children as my beloved fought in the forest,
and later as he languished in colonial detention for nearly a decade.
Upon relocation to the highlands, he was away on business for weeks at a time;
and now, he had gone on ahead, leaving me behind with the children, yet again!!
I miss my beloved every day, especially when we celebrate family milestones.
But I am comforted to see my children turn into their father;
he would be so proud to see how they have blossomed and thrived,
taking their place in society just like he did during his lifetime.
Each of our children carries a part of him in the way they look, act, laugh, walk and talk
and I see him in the grandchildren too,
giving me a lot of comfort and hope for the future.
My beloved will never be forgotten, his spirit and his legacy lives on.
My Children and grandchildren dot on me like I was their delicate, precious firstborn child,
and I relish their love, attention and generosity every time.
I sit back and enjoy the companionship of my neighbors, church and community.
We reminisce on times gone by, and share the memories of those we loved and lost,
but still hold dear in our hearts and thoughts.
We proudly take stock of how far we have come since our introductions in the 1960s when we were strangers from different Gikuyus; but
now we celebrate our new identity that we acquired together.
We are the Nyandaruans: an identity we are truly proud of,
an identity that is now proudly owned by our children and grandchildren.
We remember the Gikuyus we left behind in our youth many decades ago,
but at the end of every such conversation, we always come to the same conclusion,
eloquently captured in the words of the song “But I wonder could I live there anymore”,
a smooth nostalgic song by the famous country singer Charley Pride. The chorus goes:
“It’s nice to think about it, maybe even visit, But I wonder could I live there anymore”
My life has been full and overflowing, I am blessed beyond measure
and Nyandarua is my HOME, where my descendants can always call HOME.
I am so glad we moved here, and I know my children are proud of their home NYANDARUA.
