Friends

It's one of the most painful experiences as a parent for me, when your child comes home, distressed, at friendships moving on, loved ones breaking up with them, upset and harsh words on the playground.  It's part of growing up. It happened on our UK playground too. And certainly for FirstBorn, the pains and manoeuverings got more manageable as she got older and recognised she'd been round this block before.

SecondBorn found our transition to Kenya particularly difficult. It took him over two terms to relax enough to find a friend, who then moved to Ghana at the end of the year. So we, and he, were very relieved that this second year is happier, and that he has made friends whom he wants to invite home.  But last week he came home from school in floods of tears. 'When are we going back to UK? When are we going home again?'  One group of his friends, all from a homogenous racial group, have decided they no longer want him to play with them. 'You can't play with us anymore because you aren't from our racial group.'

It's difficult on lots of levels.  In our tiny UK village school, inclusion was a central tenet on the playground, in the curriculum, and in the beliefs of the parents and staff who chose the school. But the school, an oversubscribed church school in a predominantly white area, was far from diverse. Yes, our children's friends had skins of different colours, but the value systems and backgrounds we shared, having chosen and been selected into the school, were very similar. In Britain, as a parent, we had a common understanding on what was acceptable and appropriate.  Yes, there were hiccups, but the teaching staff would talk of their beliefs and how they sought to apply them, they would model what they professed, and parents would get involved on behalf of the children of others if they saw something out of kilter.  It was a loving, closeknit community.

Here in Kenya, life is deeply stratified. Barriers, guards, electric fences and protectionism are part of daily life of the privileged.  Some children are picked up from school by bodyguards.  Others are predominantly parented by nannies, who fear for their job security if they discipline as needed.  Even expat liberals talk only of what we can do to support a chosen few - the partnered orphanage, the charity for the vulnerable - rather than of wholesale inclusion. Yes, we chat to a far more diverse group of people than in UK, but looking round the playground, given the choice, the different 'tribes' keep largely to themselves. White Kenyan Mums in one bit of the playground, African nannies in another, African drivers here hanging out with the icecream man, Kenyan Asian mums on that bench there, and the expat mums - of all skintones - sitting on the steps of the cafeteria.  It's not about race I don't think, its about shared experience, and with whom you feel most at home. And yes, I admit, all but a handful of my parent friends here, of all races, have spent time out of Kenya, mainly in UK.

One expat mum with children at another school told me of her preteen daughter's efforts over 18 months to break into the friendship groups. After her repeated invitations to playdates being turned down, the mother eventually collared another mother, and asked for an explanation. 'It's nothing personal, but we know you're passing through Kenya, not here for the long haul. We choose our children's friends for them.'

My best friend at sixth form came from Botswana. She related with relish how studying for A levels would raise her bride price in cows when she went home. I remember how horrified she was one day, when, true 1980s liberal, I said 'but we're all the same, aren't we?' 'No we aren't,' she was clear ' our differences really matter.'  And they did. I learned the stories of her friends who had left school to join the armed struggle against apartheid in South Africa, how to plait cornrows, to speak odd phrases in Ndebele, to dance wild Setswana dances. My world is a wider, richer, more nuanced world thanks to her.

Does it matter for SecondBorn that his friends tell him he can't play with them because of his race?  Well it does, bitterly, but does it matter more than it did in UK, when a friend would say he couldn't play today because he wasn't good enough at football?  In my culture it's unacceptable to give race as a reason for withholding friendship. But I live in Kenya, and in Kenya divides are all around. How far can I impose my values, my desire for a nice, kind, inclusive & tactful society on others?  Especially when its their country.

I wish for my son as good as I was given, and better. I wish for him friends who share their heritage wholeheartedly.  I wish for him the understanding that friends are chosen for their spirit and what we enjoy doing together, not for their background, station or future potential.  I wish for him the experience that good friends can be found and made anywhere, and that friends from different backgrounds have insights to share, not blackballs to endure.