Let Us Visit a Diaspora Kenyan Home

Since you may not have read or seen the comedic play, “Home is where your clothes are” by Anthony Marriot and Bob Grant, let me give you a brief synopsis. The story revolves around one Major Alan Buxton and his pragmatic methods, albeit crooked, of solving his money problems.

A fellow known as Ronald runs off with Major’s wife. It is then an Aha! moment comes to Major’s mind; he would solve his debt problems by letting out the basement of his wifes house to two different tenants, simultaneously! Tenant one, Jill, who works in Brussels, only uses the house on weekends, while Philip, tenant number two, a barrister, lives there during the week. Major would simply swap over their belongings at the beginning and end of each week and everything runs smoothly. Brilliant, right?

That is until Jill is unexpectedly given a week off work, just as Philip returns to the house after his weekend out of town. Further complications to the plot arise with the arrival of Elizabeth and Ronald, especially when Elizabeth lets the flat again. The Majors ingenuity is stretched to the maximum, but only after a wild confusion of mistaken identities, very awkward confrontations and crazy misunderstandings. It all ends happily for the Major and the assorted tenants!

I bring to mind this story to tell the story of the Diaspora Kenyan and his home. Well, his life is almost as comedic. He has let for himself an apartment, which he rarely spends time in. He has for himself cable TV and Internet connection, which for the most part remains unused, even though they leave a good dent in his pocket every month.

The Diaspora has a very nice and well-furnished kitchen, a fully stocked fridge and freezer, and a bar. Of the three, the most used is the bar. The rest might as well be decorations, because he is never there to enjoy home cooked meals.

After a 16-hour shift, his tired body staggers into the living room and picks a bottle of Corona, or Budweiser, or whatever tempts his thirsty throat. He then takes a sip or two. The next thing he realizes is that it is 11AM the following morning. Our man fell dead asleep, for the fourth time this week, in the couch. His queen-sized bed feels like an abandoned first wife, yearning to be utilized by its owner to no avail.

His busy schedule at work and school keeps our man away from his abode. He would rather do Major and let out his apartment to whoever has an opposite work schedule. Otherwise he pays for an apartment he uses only half of the time.

As we speak, a number of roommates could as well be living in different planets. Their schedules have made meeting in the house as rare as snow in Wajir.

This clash of schedules has not spared Diaspora spouses either. Many are the times the fridge wall, thanks to sticky notes, becomes the only means of communication between man and his wife. But WhatsApp and smartphones have come to aid in the process. However, the fridge wall is still king.

The old man back in the village has been pestering our man for ages now. The major issue has been why the only boy in the nine villages that form the sub-county to have crossed the pond has not constructed a descent house for himself.

To end the old man’s nagging, a few years ago, our man consulted his architect friend in Nairobi. The two came up with a nice drawing of a one storied, five bedroomed house. After three years and five Millis in Kenya Shillings, the shining house is standing proud in the old man’s compound. Never mind that the Diaspora Kenyan has no plans of relocating soon.

Be that as it may, the shining house that our man built in the village is now an important landmark for the sub county. Young boys and girls in the nine villages that make up the sub county are nowadays told by their parents, “Soma ujenge nyumba kama ile.”

Even as it stands shining and bright, his mother has turned the Diaspora’s house in the village into a temporary storeroom. Different farm produce has found a house, depending on the season. The happiest from the project are the old man’s goats, who use the courtyard for shade during the sunny and hot Kenyan afternoons.

If he was like Major in our story, he would let out his village mansion to the local school headmaster, but he will not hear none of it. Before long, the shiny and bright house will be a derelict in line with the theory of use and disuse

Back in his apartment, the Diaspora has acquired the habit of buying and hoarding stuff. Every beginning of the season is buying time. The many holidays in the calendar also come with sales and discounts in many consumer goods stores. Clothes, electronics, knick-knacks, and thingymajigs litter his house. He has been promising himself to donate at least 12 pairs of sneakers and numerous jeans pants to declutter his closet for the last few moons. But he is yet to get around it.

Junk mail is another of the Diaspora’s trouble. Over the years, he has accumulated over a ton of the stuff. Sometimes a genuine bill is hidden deep in the pile of letters until our man receives a call from the credit card company calls to ask why he has not paid up the last four months!

The Diaspora has also learnt the art of ducking. Especially calls that have a +254 prefix. I will not belabor on this point further. However, it is WhatsApp that is letting the cat out of the basket. You see, the stupid App keeps a record of when the user was last seen. It also comes with two checkmarks to indicate that a message has been read. Kwa hivyo our man cannot pretend not to have read the message about the fundraiser for the local primary school organized by the alumni. Our man happens to be the most illustrious of all that have passed through the primary school.

We end where be began, probably with a quote by one Ted Williams. Never make your home a place. Instead, make a home for yourself inside your own head. You’ll find that you need to furnish it— memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other things. That way your home will go with you wherever you journey.

By Mzee Moja