'The sun'll come out tomorrow
so you gotta hang on till tomorrow
come what may
tomorrow tomorrow I love ya tomorrow
you're always a day away.'
It's getting to be a middle-aged maudlin habit for me. I roll along to one of our children's tea-time concerts expecting a press-ganged conscript parental teatime torture, and end up being unexpectedly moved, - tearful even - with the beauty and musicality of pint-sized singers.
Today it was a ten year old girl singing Tomorrow from Annie which started me off. But also watching our kids, now aged ten, sing together arms around each other in a more relaxed, caring, cohesive community than yesteryear.
It feels that all of Kenya is waiting, bated breath, for the upcoming elections in March and April. Waiting, not in the sense of UK elections, in a politicised but take it or leave it way. But here its an active preoccupation, like being heavily pregnant, an additional reality which is ever with us. The last elections were followed by significant violence, killings, thousands of people fled in terror, - many still displaced - several of my students lost homes, siblings, parents, friends, many witnessed violence, sheltered friends at risk of their own lives, saw houses being burnt out.
The upcoming elections overshadow all manner of decisions. Buying plastic sheeting recently for our leaking roof in the rains I asked how sales were going.
'Oh no one is buying sheeting this year because of the elections.'
They are four months off, sheeting isn't that expensive, but people are saving cash they might need to tide them over rather than investing in a home they might need to leave. I warn my students to give their personal email on their college application, not the business one, in case they decide to relocate to their village for safety. Hotels are planning to send their staff home on unpaid leave. International schools have moved their holidays to span the election period so no one runs the risk of being caught in the wrong area. Expats wonder what to do with their kids if the schools are shut, mid-term. for two months and we are on lockdown. How much junk modelling could a family bear? And for those with less protection, or vivid memories of last time, well it is an active preoccupation and choices made could really matter.
So it is all the more powerful today to watch kids with all manner of surnames which betray their ethnic and tribal origins, standing arms around shoulders. Shahs next to Kariukis, Scotts by Njuguna, singing together. May this tangible united community of privileged kids be a reality which holds for the most vulnerable, like my students' families, too.
'The sun'll come out tomorrow
so you gotta hang on till tomorrow
come what may
tomorrow tomorrow I love ya tomorrow
you're always a day away.'
so you gotta hang on till tomorrow
come what may
tomorrow tomorrow I love ya tomorrow
you're always a day away.'
It's getting to be a middle-aged maudlin habit for me. I roll along to one of our children's tea-time concerts expecting a press-ganged conscript parental teatime torture, and end up being unexpectedly moved, - tearful even - with the beauty and musicality of pint-sized singers.
Today it was a ten year old girl singing Tomorrow from Annie which started me off. But also watching our kids, now aged ten, sing together arms around each other in a more relaxed, caring, cohesive community than yesteryear.
It feels that all of Kenya is waiting, bated breath, for the upcoming elections in March and April. Waiting, not in the sense of UK elections, in a politicised but take it or leave it way. But here its an active preoccupation, like being heavily pregnant, an additional reality which is ever with us. The last elections were followed by significant violence, killings, thousands of people fled in terror, - many still displaced - several of my students lost homes, siblings, parents, friends, many witnessed violence, sheltered friends at risk of their own lives, saw houses being burnt out.
The upcoming elections overshadow all manner of decisions. Buying plastic sheeting recently for our leaking roof in the rains I asked how sales were going.
'Oh no one is buying sheeting this year because of the elections.'
They are four months off, sheeting isn't that expensive, but people are saving cash they might need to tide them over rather than investing in a home they might need to leave. I warn my students to give their personal email on their college application, not the business one, in case they decide to relocate to their village for safety. Hotels are planning to send their staff home on unpaid leave. International schools have moved their holidays to span the election period so no one runs the risk of being caught in the wrong area. Expats wonder what to do with their kids if the schools are shut, mid-term. for two months and we are on lockdown. How much junk modelling could a family bear? And for those with less protection, or vivid memories of last time, well it is an active preoccupation and choices made could really matter.
So it is all the more powerful today to watch kids with all manner of surnames which betray their ethnic and tribal origins, standing arms around shoulders. Shahs next to Kariukis, Scotts by Njuguna, singing together. May this tangible united community of privileged kids be a reality which holds for the most vulnerable, like my students' families, too.
'The sun'll come out tomorrow
so you gotta hang on till tomorrow
come what may
tomorrow tomorrow I love ya tomorrow
you're always a day away.'
Your images so help one understand a painful, threatening situation. Thank you.
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