Being a Luo is not an easy thing. Our experiences range from the mildly disturbing to the downright absurd.
As a people, we have made being us fun, flamboyant and sexy even. But the day-to-day of being a Luo can really have you questioning people's mental capacity and home training.
Over the last week or so, many have unburdened themselves on social media. The confessions from a place of wanting absolution, I feel, should have been between one's God and themselves. Because I did not feel better about knowing that there was active, systematic and intentional hate towards a tribe based on nonsense.
Adults saying that they have 'finally' gotten over their 'fear' and 'suspicion' of Luos. That oh, kumbe they do not practice witchcraft. How are you just realising that witchcraft is not unique to one group of people?
Making things that do not concern you an issue. Oh, they inherit wives. First of all, did anyone try to inherit you? Second, do you know there are so many African tribes that have this practice? We did not wake up in the Eighties and think we could torment other tribes by inheriting our own women. Oh, they have too many traditions. What are you even saying? You do know that even in religion, you observe and practice traditions, customs and rituals, yes?
All African tribes have practices that have been or are being phased out. FGM is one of them. The Luo did not practice this, yet you do not see us demonising other tribes that used to practise this. Anyway, my point is that it is not cute. Those who think you are making things better by being ‘honest’ about what you ‘used’ to believe. It is disturbing, and I have problems with your kind of human being.
But you know what this period has done for me? It has given me the angle to speak on what has been weighing on my heart all my life. It is easy to decide whether people are peaceful or even stupid because they are silent. Then one day, when they explode, everyone wonders what went wrong, and no one bothers to acknowledge the years of pain and taunting.
Growing up Luo meant hearing and trying not to internalise a lot of ignorant remarks. And sadly, it did not stop in childhood.
I remember sitting on my father’s knee as a child, listening to his conversations with his peers. Those conversations would haunt me for years because I thought they will never happen to me. But for years, I have watched and experienced tribalism. Sometimes subtle.
This is when friends pretended they did not know they were saying hurtful things: “You mean that is your child? How come she is so brown? Luos are black.” “You know he was ugly, a Luo you know how they look, but not like you, you at least you look good even though you are dark.” “What do you mean there are Luos in Ethiopia? The way Ethiopians are good-looking?” “She can't be Luo, she is too light.”
To the obvious ones where you work in an office where the majority speak one language, and they have the audacity to speak it even in meetings where everyone else is present. There have been cases of people being denied access to opportunities because of their last names.
My first real encounter with tribalism was in my formative school years. This particular teacher referred to me as ‘mjaruo’. Of course, it did not hit me; I was maybe five or six. When my parents came for the parents-teachers meeting, this stupid woman did not even know my name because she called me ‘mjaruo’, which she now could not do in my parents’ presence. I will not write down what dressing down my very Luo father put her through. But I never forgot.
Someone said that we could erase tribalism by embracing Kenya as one tribe. Listen, you cannot right wrongs by taking away my culture. It is what makes me who I am. It is what adds to the quilt of Kenya and Africa as a whole.
We need people who stop thinking they are better than others. Acknowledging that we all deserve to be here and letting people take up their space. Knowing that we are all members of this society and each of us must cooperate.
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