Baba Soni heads back to Jamhuri

By PETER GAITHO
Published March 7, 2010

“By the grace of the owner of ostriches, I have completed my relocation plans, and will depart on Sunday,” said Baba Soni, to friends and relatives who met at his condor in Billerica, Mass. Finally the curtain of his 25 years living and working in United States was falling. I was busy trying to read the faces of those gathered in the small, but well furnished living room. I managed to categorize the audience into three.

Category one asked, albeit silently, “are you crazy to go back to that corrupt, crime ridden, jigger infested, potholed, matatu cultured, dusty and poor apology of a country? Please, give me a break!” I could read this by the way they looked at Baba Soni, and rolled their eyes, and when they spoke, the disdain in their voice was unmistakable. They also assumed a fake Boston ascent by calling me “Pee-ra” even though I am “Pee-ta.” Occasionally, the Nyeri ascent betrayed them, and they would say, “watch” when they meant “wash.”

There are Diaspora Kenyans who believe that Kenya is a perfect embodiment of hell on earth. When they boarded their flights to America, it was akin to the descendants of Jacob leaving Misri to the Promised Land. To them, Kenya is a geographical misnomer. Well, yours truly will not judge anyone.

Each Diaspora Kenyan is a story to be told. Some years ago, especially during the Nyayo era, life was unbearable in Jamhuri. It mattered most who knew you in high places, to access the national cake. Those who made it out of the country have unpleasant memories. A lot of water has since passed under the bridge. There is a silver lining in the Kenyan cloud at the moment.

The other category were those whose hearts were wailing. Each one was saying, “I wish I was in your shoes, Baba Soni. How I would love to smell nyama choma in Kia Maiko market again, or ride in the noisy but beautiful Buru Buru Matatus?” For them, every day in America brings more agony to their lives. The American dream they were chasing ended in a terrible nightmare.

For example, Sarah Wendo came to the USA as a student 12 years ago, now she is wanted by the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services for extending her stay illegally. Sarah would love to go back to Kenya, but she has no college degree, and hustles from one part time job to another, working under pseudonyms.

Since coming to America, Sarah’s dear father passed on followed in a quick succession by her mother. Because of her status, Sarah did not attend the funerals. The 5-year-old daughter she left behind is completing high school, and all Sarah has are pictures of her fast growing daughter. Sadly, prospects of legalizing her stay diminish by the day.

Many of Baba Soni’s guests crossed the Atlantic as visitors to weddings, graduations, seminars, what have you. The six months visitors visa was extended to a couple of years. One can say of America like Mombasa; Kuingia Marekani ni vigumu, kutota ni vigumu zaidi [coming to America is hard, leaving is harder].

In the third category were Baba Soni’s two sons and daughter. Finally they will have the fully paid condor to themselves. Despite having Green Cards, and therefore eligible for American citizenship, Baba Soni and his wife long decided that America was not for them, under what Baba Soni called a long-term “exit plan.”

“I am not planning to spend my last day in a nursing home,” Baba Soni once told me when I enquired why he wanted so badly to go back home. “I want to be surrounded by mooing cows, cockling chicken, barking dogs, and bleating goats. Kuna maisha nyumbani bwana [there is ‘life’ at home],” he would say. And what is life by Baba Soni’s standards? “Kenya is paradise, our weather is the best. Socially, we are miles ahead of any society.”

“But what about service provisions like good hospitals, smooth roads, efficient government services plus all the good amenities available here?” I asked.

“To tell you the truth, I do not give a hoot about all that. I wish we measured our development like the Kingdom of Bhutan.” Baba Soni became philosophical. Apparently in Bhutan, they do not measure their growth in Gross Domestic Product. “They measure their development in terms of Gross Domestic Happiness,” he explained.

“Did you know Kibera residents are happier than their more affluent neighbors?” I did not know that. “Whatever little investment and property I have acquired, is enough to see me through retirement,” Baba Soni said.

As for me, all I thought as I enjoyed the company of Wakenya was in agreement with Shakespeare: “All the world’s a stage, and all men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”

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