Have you ever met someone you used to date, or thought you would like to date several years later? And when you look at them all you can think is how relieved you are that it did not happen? From the way they have matured – or failed to grow up – to what they look, sound and act like now – you realise you dodged a bullet. So you send silent thanks to the Almighty for keeping you from falling into that trap.
Last week – I hope – a lot of Kenyans looked at the opposition leader Raila Odinga and felt that same level of relief. I hope you looked at who your President is, and who he could have been, and thanked the Lord for prevailing in the circumstances. Yes, this is going to be about those sugar comments, because as a Kenyan-born Ugandan who currently works in the sugar industry, I have some thoughts on what transpired, and a bit of history with it.
For me it was not just about sugar, but about how Ugandans are perceived and treated by our so-called neighbours, comrades and brothers in the drive to East African unification. It is okay for our peace-keeping troops to be dying in Somalia. It is okay for us to import ten times more from Kenya than they get from us. It is okay for us to be sending our food to South Sudan while they murder our traders. It is okay for us to be the host and, or, dumping ground for refugees from the Congo, Sudan, Kenya and wherever. However, when we need help, or when we genuinely have some surplus to sell to an economy that needs the product, we become that poor village cousin who is dealt with at the gate. We are the punchline to a bad East African joke.
Two things are clear to me – one is that sugar is a political thing, always. The sugar model works, and there is definite money to be made for local farmers. However, there are also always politicians peddling half-truths in order to channel a chunk of that money, and all of the sugarcane goodwill in their own direction. Secondly, no one is serious about his or her personal role in treating each other better as East Africans.
I have shared in an earlier column how the killing of one of my father’s colleagues during Idi Amin’s time forced my parents into exile. Growing up as refugees in Kenya, we were never allowed to forget it. My mother is a conscientious keeper of records, and she has letters filed away from that period. Letters from the Kenyan government telling her employers and my father’s employers to fire them and hire Kenyans. Letters giving my father 24 hours to leave Kenya.
We were not begging or living on welfare. My father was a highly sought after consultant. While my sister and I went to Msongari, my seven brothers were divided between Brookhouse, Strathmore and Lenana. My parents were just trying to raise their family as close to home as possible. But still, we were never allowed to forget we were not meant to be there. “Waganda hao” was flung at us often. On one occasion, my brothers were even suspended from school for alleged non-payment of fees, only for the ‘misplaced’ cheque to be found a week later after much inconvenience to us.
Eventually, my father found work in Saudi Arabia, which was far more welcoming to us than our ‘brothers’ had ever been. The education was not the same, so we children found our way abroad and to our Motherland, and our decade-long Kenyan chapter was thankfully closed. We could choose to hold on to the unpleasantness, but what we cherish are the lifelong friendships and the blessings that came our way even under adversity.
In a twist of irony, the refugee camp in Kiryandongo that has sheltered so many Kenyans for so long lies on the border of some of our family land. I have taught and supervised Kenyan students here. I now work in sugar, where I have interacted with visitors from Mumias Sugar and learnt the sugar issues of Kenya have nothing to do with Uganda.
Now, I could choose to boycott Kenyan products and be hostile to Kenyans living in Uganda as many here are advocating. Or I could choose to cling to Godly wisdom, which dictates that I must sow what I wish to reap. If you want shade for your children, plant a tree now. If you want peace and prosperity for your children, sow unity, truth and open mindedness now. I choose a kinder future for my children, and I pray more Kenyans will do the same.
