A month after we arrived in Kenya, in a long, cold, wet, winter holiday, the children and I discovered Mzuri Madness, half price cinema tickets at the daytime shows on a Monday. Plus free hotdogs. Amidst the stress and disorientation of arrival it was an escapist treat, as good as a trip to the spa or a massage, had we known where they were to be found at that stage. Bliss. Until in week two we introduced a mate who'd grown up in Kenya to them. Buried under cardboard trays full of popcorn, hot dogs and mustard, she suddenly digs me in the ribs, urgently. 'Get up, get up'. 'Uggh?' And explains that the loud music now playing is the national anthem. That it's the law to stand for the national anthem, on pain, she hisses loudly, of possible imprisonment. That we need to stand up now to show respect, even though we are the only people in the deserted 2pm cinema.
And so, we've adapted. First, Secondborn and I now always get up, respectfully, in the deserted cinema, even though the alarmed expressions of another mzungu family behind us a few weeks ago, suggested they thought we'd recently been released into the community. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
It matters. I remember the controversy when John Redwood, recently appointed Conservative Secretary of State for Wales, was spotted on camera pretending to mouth the words to the Welsh national anthem, Mae Hen Wlad Fn Nhadau. An English Conservative minister appointed to a country where only a tiny minority of the elected representatives were Conservative, who hadn't even bothered to learn the words of the anthem in the native tongue, - it spoke volumes of lack of understanding and cultural tact. His successor, William Hague, was taught the words on his second day in post by a key civil servant, later to become his wife. Lets not make that mistake again.
On our induction visit to Kenya we visited many schools, liked several. But blacklisted the frontrunner because touring the classrooms accompanied by the headteacher, we progressed into a classroom, where a class of middle school children were singing lustily 'Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves.' There could be good reasons to learn it. They might be analysing the hymns of empire. Might be exploring historical notions embedded within it. Might just like the tune. But as we backed hastily out, the head coughed once, and glided over any embarrassment. Failed to address it. Didn't give any explanation. And left us with the unaddressed misconception that this was the kind of thing they taught there, hymns which harked back to the days of empire, without supporting the children to consider how this might now be viewed differently, nowadays, in Kenya. (At our first choice school on the other hand, the children have been given in-depth understanding of how empire can be perceived by the oppressed. Eight year old SecondBorn's list of spelling a few months ago included the words Mau Mau, empire, coloniser, independence struggle, oppression. His Kenyan nationalist teacher has given him a sense of African consciousness. He comes home discussing the Sudanese referendum, the revolution in Egypt, asking who in his family he can interview about their experiences during the Kenyan fight for independence. And learning from his classmates, some of whose grandparents were interned and are now the great and the good of independent Kenya.)
In the meantime, since the Kenyan national anthem is sung at each school concert, carol service - and all those cinema shows - I've learned the words, in Swahili and in English. Sang today, in the regional Chamber Music Festival, surrounded by parents from another school. And realised, with surprise, that I and the Kenyan dad next to me were the only ones to know the words of the twenty around us. It's only a small gesture. It doesn't take long. But I think it matters to show respect for a country, its values, its aspirations, - and I'm proud that First and SecondBorn are nearly word perfect.
Ee Mungu nguvu yetu
Ilete baraka kwetu
Haki iwe ngao na mlinzi
Natukae na undugu
Amani na uhuru
Raha tupate na ustawi.
O God of all creation
Bless this our land and nation
Justice be our shield and defender
May we dwell in unity
Peace and liberty
Plenty be found within our borders.
And so, we've adapted. First, Secondborn and I now always get up, respectfully, in the deserted cinema, even though the alarmed expressions of another mzungu family behind us a few weeks ago, suggested they thought we'd recently been released into the community. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
It matters. I remember the controversy when John Redwood, recently appointed Conservative Secretary of State for Wales, was spotted on camera pretending to mouth the words to the Welsh national anthem, Mae Hen Wlad Fn Nhadau. An English Conservative minister appointed to a country where only a tiny minority of the elected representatives were Conservative, who hadn't even bothered to learn the words of the anthem in the native tongue, - it spoke volumes of lack of understanding and cultural tact. His successor, William Hague, was taught the words on his second day in post by a key civil servant, later to become his wife. Lets not make that mistake again.
On our induction visit to Kenya we visited many schools, liked several. But blacklisted the frontrunner because touring the classrooms accompanied by the headteacher, we progressed into a classroom, where a class of middle school children were singing lustily 'Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves.' There could be good reasons to learn it. They might be analysing the hymns of empire. Might be exploring historical notions embedded within it. Might just like the tune. But as we backed hastily out, the head coughed once, and glided over any embarrassment. Failed to address it. Didn't give any explanation. And left us with the unaddressed misconception that this was the kind of thing they taught there, hymns which harked back to the days of empire, without supporting the children to consider how this might now be viewed differently, nowadays, in Kenya. (At our first choice school on the other hand, the children have been given in-depth understanding of how empire can be perceived by the oppressed. Eight year old SecondBorn's list of spelling a few months ago included the words Mau Mau, empire, coloniser, independence struggle, oppression. His Kenyan nationalist teacher has given him a sense of African consciousness. He comes home discussing the Sudanese referendum, the revolution in Egypt, asking who in his family he can interview about their experiences during the Kenyan fight for independence. And learning from his classmates, some of whose grandparents were interned and are now the great and the good of independent Kenya.)
In the meantime, since the Kenyan national anthem is sung at each school concert, carol service - and all those cinema shows - I've learned the words, in Swahili and in English. Sang today, in the regional Chamber Music Festival, surrounded by parents from another school. And realised, with surprise, that I and the Kenyan dad next to me were the only ones to know the words of the twenty around us. It's only a small gesture. It doesn't take long. But I think it matters to show respect for a country, its values, its aspirations, - and I'm proud that First and SecondBorn are nearly word perfect.
Ee Mungu nguvu yetu
Ilete baraka kwetu
Haki iwe ngao na mlinzi
Natukae na undugu
Amani na uhuru
Raha tupate na ustawi.
O God of all creation
Bless this our land and nation
Justice be our shield and defender
May we dwell in unity
Peace and liberty
Plenty be found within our borders.
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