Nairobi is a layer-cake of a city. Embassies, NGOs and the UN all congregate in these hills. These hills host State House, Parliament, McMillian Memorial Library, businesses small and large. These hills host Kibera and Deep Sea. Stratification, it seems, is inevitable. Tight knit circles form around markers of class such as expensive schools or golf courses. These circles will have their members shift, as families move from post to post. The circle itself is immortal. It is bloody, bold and resolute. It laughs to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born shall ever harm it.
The air of normalcy ascribed to June 25th in these circles should be unnerving. However, when fantastical tales about “hooligans” ripping the serene city apart abound, perhaps detached normalcy is the best. Both narratives are vanishingly rare. Silence seems to be the true normal. It seems as though the circle simply forgets a certain type of event. An “urban only” event. A “CBD exclusive”. It is not of the circle; therefore the circle does not care. The circle has no emotion, the circle is not of people, how can we expect it to feel? The circle is simply born out of the world it inhabits. It has been two years since June 25th. I have not heard talk of it in the circle for the past year.
Blaming the circle dwellers for their amnesiac tendencies would be unfair. What is there to forget if you experienced nothing? The words of a TV news presenter perhaps? The message of a confused grandfather worried for your safety? Such things are easily forgotten when school’s out, the sun is shining in your exotic destination of choice, and homework is but an afterthought. There are movies to watch in Florence and parties to be had in Tbilisi. Who is to say it is unnatural to never notice June 25th, and consequently forget all about it?
Some, despite their constant urge to get out of the country, tell me they feel a special connection to Kenya. There is a love for the culture of Shukas and Giraffes and Karen Blixen, maybe even Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o on a good day. Some circlers will notice in the moment. There will be a song, and maybe a dance, but rarely outside the house. It may never leave the small metal and glass cages with bitten apples engraved on it. The tongue will wag about democratic values, the rights of protestors, maybe even subversive ideas such as “revolution”. Oftentimes even this is too far. The words of others shall be used to convey the ideas of the self. The graphic in Kiswahili will be translated and restated. These special few will never forget. In fact, their refusal to forget will be a point of such pride that their experience of vast and beautiful Kenya will find its way onto the mahogany desk of an Ivy League. The danger was on every street corner. They felt the “revolution of the people” in their bones. They even felt the “strength of collective effort and teamwork”, in line with mission statements of universities around the world. In some ways, it would be better if they forgot like the rest of the circle. I too forgot. What are my individual values or thoughts against the power of the circle?
The circle’s power will always rest in its ability to mask and block. It is an eerie sight to see, circlers discussing the very soul of a country as foreign to them as one they have never stepped foot in. Statements such as “political instability disrupts supply chains” and “elections are neither free nor fair” will be bandied around with equal emphasis when discussing the various “failures of African democracy”.
Of course, public-facing work would never be so bold. There, you will find a focus on “tribalism”. Again, I hesitate to blame the circle for failings in such matters. There will rarely be a circler who is learning, let alone conversant, in Kiswahili. How can we expect a circler to see beyond such shallow critiques? I certainly don’t. I too cannot read or speak Kiswahili or Gikuyu or Sheng or any of the many languages in which Kenyan political discourse is conducted. The only solace I could possibly give myself is my formal study in rudimentary Kenyan history. Perhaps I could find pride in knowing what “mandamano” is, or knowing which statue is of Dedan Kimathi and which is of Jomo Kenyatta. There should be no pride in such bare minimums.
The circle’s manifestations are unfortunately not restricted to backhanded critiques of “African democracy” as distinct from “true democracy”, or to the various detached “acts of protest”. If that were the case, the circle would almost be benign. No, its ability to wholly mask the soul and humanity of a people could not be restricted to that. It allows for the application of distinct standards. The “riot” will be a scene to avoid when the labour movement of the “true homeland” is to be celebrated. The “unruly mob” will be despised for choking up the roads on the way to work while the “organised strike” back home will be cheered on. The circle is an entity that confirms that you are living as an expat rather than an immigrant.
I cannot meaningfully comment on the significance of June 25th. It is best that I cannot: my statements would have been confidently incorrect if I could muster any. I speak of the circle and try to explain why the circle adopts silence in Kenya and megaphones outside of it. June 25th comes around once more. I can only hope that the circle does not remember, for nothing good can come from Macbeth’s memory.
