“Where is Wanjiku? Is she even in Kenya? Might Wanjiku be in the Diaspora? If so, what would she see there or how would she see Kenya from there?”
- Wambui Mwangi
- Wambui Mwangi
All Wanjiku¹ Wants
“Your assignment for the coming fortnight: come up with a three-minute presentation while reciting a text in a foreign language that you may or may not understand. Your text can be a poem, a short story, a word or a phrase repeated over and over again, the list is endless.”
The dance teacher looked at her class that came from diverse backgrounds and continued, “I want you to make me forget that you are reciting a text in a language I probably do not understand, but by the end of your performance I want to have understood that text. Bonne chance!”
I decided to use the Kiswahili text of the inside front cover of the Kenyan passport in which the President of the Republic of Kenya requires and requests in his Name that the bearer of the passport be “allowed to pass freely without let or hindrance” and “to afford him or her every assistance and protection of which he or she may stand in need.”
Hati hii ni ya kuwaomba na kuwasihi, kwa Jina la Rais wa Jamhuri ya Kenya, wote wanaohusika, kwa kusudi wamruhusu mwenyewe hati hii kwendelea bila shida ama kizuizi; tena kumsaidia na kumhifadhi kwa kadiri anavyohitaji.
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Just when Kenyans finally made up their minds to stop bashing each other’s heads in April 2008, four long months after the rigged presidential election results, Thailand’s innards, which had been rumbling rather quietly for a while now, started growling. The country was going through her own political crisis, the second in a span of two years; the people’s visceral needs were not being met.
On the 25th of November 2008, anti-government protestors blockaded Bangkok’s main international airport, as well as the road leading to the airport. The Airports of Thailand was forced to suspend all inbound and outbound flights to Suvarnabhumi Airport, leaving hundreds of thousands of passengers stranded, among them ten thousand French nationals. The closure of the airport lasted for eight days with flights resuming on the 4th of December.
Television footage showed irate French citizens berating the French government for dragging its feet in getting them back home. Additional footage showed more French citizens storming one airline’s office, so scaring the personnel that one of them, utterly distressed, did not report to work the following day.
On the whole, the French, as well as their other Western neighbours, can count on their governments to come to their aid in time of trouble. Is not that one of the reasons why they have elections? To elect leaders who will look out for their interests?
The good citizens in the West know very well that they cannot always count on the airline or tour operator that flew them into the foreign country that they find themselves in. Some airlines and tour operators are so averse to spending money that one could not be blamed for thinking that these establishments have a huge porcupine wrapped snuggly round their wallets; every time they reach out for their wallets, the avaricious airlines/tour operators scream in pain and hastily withdraw their fingers.
After all, it is too expensive and a bit problematic feeding and lodging all these angry passengers.
Take for example the French. Will they expect to have a gourmet meal, now that their gastronomic prowess has been recognized and honoured by UNESCO as an “intangible cultural heritage,” at a meeting held in Nairobi, Kenya? If not, will they go on strike while chanting that good food is a vital part of their cultural heritage and identity?
Will the Italians expect their pasta to be prepared al dente, just the way mamma makes it back home? Will the Germans want to have sauerbraten with a good German beer? Will the Spanish expect to be served tapas while the airline/tour operator personnel dance flamenco?
Will Kenyans expect to have their nyama choma, ugali and a good Kenyan beer? They can always sit next to the Germans for that we-have-something-in-common beer-bonding experience. The English will be easy to please with bangers and mash … and a good Irish beer.
And the Greeks? No, they are all back home, what with their economy having gone AWOL. But just as well they are not there. They would probably organise a marathon in the terminal. On second thoughts, it would probably be an excellent idea, just to keep the French busy and make them forget that they want to strike. Of course Kenyans would win the marathon for all Kenyans are excellent runners, aren’t they?
Can you see how complicated the feeding logistics are? We will not even go into these finicky passengers’ accommodation.
Even if the feeding and accommodation costs were not a thorny issue, the airline or tour operator cannot make that final call. They have to consult the Head Office. This is also known as passing the buck. Due to the eight-hour time difference, they will receive a reply from Head Office twenty-four hours later, do the math, stating that the urgent matter is being looked into.
Senior management will hold an exceptional meeting to set up a special committee to look into the urgent matter. The special committee will hold a sempiternal meeting. After endless cups of coffee, water and hearty lunches to fortify these good people in their urgent deliberations, the special committee will issue a Memorandum of Understanding which will have to be urgently ratified by the CEO in person, only that he has been called away on another urgent matter…. See why the French mistook the airline office in Thailand for the Bastille? And it is true: a camel is a horse designed by a committee.
The French government was criticized for her disorganization in getting her citizens home. Think about it. If the French government—a member of NATO, G6, G8, G8+5, G20, Gee, what mind-bogglers!—runs a country that introduced the world to, among many other things, penicillin, motion pictures, bullet trains, that microchip in your credit card, the Olympic Games, and frogs legs, can be a bit disorganized in getting her people home, would Kenya be able to do one better?
A lone Kenyan called Wanjiku is stranded in a foreign airport in a faraway land. Let us see how we can get her back home.
When Wanjiku applied for her passport, she remembered filling in the following in section 8 of the “Application for a Kenya Passport” Form PP.1 (Revised 2006):
I (Emigrant/ Parent/ Guardian) …………………………….. of P.O. Box ………………………………… and I.D Number …………………………….. hereby agree to bind myself to pay the Government any charges and expenses (including expenses of repatriation from overseas of the Emigrant and Dependants, if any) which may be incurred by the Government of Kenya in respect of myself.
What a fine way of scaring Kenyans into staying home to help to build the nation. Not very reassuring, is it? If you cannot pay back the Kenya government, you. Are. On. Your. Own.
When Wanjiku signed the application, she never thought that this part of the declaration would ever apply. She needed a passport and this one bit was not going to stand in her way. Why worry, she reasoned to herself, about something that might never happen?
Now that she is stranded, the sun does not shine as bright. At the back of her mind lurks a few nagging questions: can I really count on the Name of my president? Will he really care that I am caught up in something bigger than myself? Can I count on his representatives? If yes, what about the flawed elections of 2007? And the violence that followed hard on the heels of the rigged results?
So what is Wanjiku to do in a foreign land, far away from home? The Something-has-hit-the-fan Law says that when you find yourself in such a situation, you will also find yourself very, very low on funds. You have just about gotten rid of all your foreign currency, save for the loose change that cannot even buy you a cup of coffee. The jingling change is already memorabilia. Your credit card? Don’t even dream about it. Your account is barely hanging in there.
In any case, you can only withdraw only so much per week and you have already withdrawn that amount. If only you could be able to hawk the souvenirs in your possession to the other tourists who just happen to have bought the same souvenirs for their loved ones, and whose pockets are also jingling with memorabilia. Besides, you had a travelling budget which did not take into account a totally unexpected prolonged stay far away from home.
The overhead TV monitors have black screens, Wanjiku notes. They have all been shut down. There is no news filtering in. There have been no announcements. Wanjiku has no computer access so she has no idea what is really going on. Despite all the noise, the frustration and the chaos, she is not worried for her safely. The protestors are friendly, sharing their food and water the first couple of days. One of them even gives her a hand clapper as a gift as he apologises for the inconvenience and attempts to explain their motivation for the blockade.
The first night, Wanjiku slept fitfully on her two suitcases, her hand-bag serving as a pillow. The second and third nights, she chose to sleep, if you could call it that, on the security conveyor belt. She is so lonely for home. All the travellers are lonely for home.
It is now the fourth day. Tempers are starting to fray as conditions at the airport deteriorate. Toilet facilities are a nightmare, restaurants have practically run out of food. This morning, Wanjiku heard that one of the first-class lounges still had food and drink. She managed to get a sandwich and a small bottle of mineral water before everything ran out. There is now a rumour circulating that power will be turned off. The protestors are noisier than ever. Hot, tired and clammy babies are crying louder than ever. There are hot, dirty and sweaty bodies everywhere.
The airport staff is not very helpful in the midst of all the pandemonium. They are probably more stressed than the passengers themselves, wondering what will happen to their country. So far, the police and the army have shown restraint; a military takeover cannot possibly resolve the current tensions facing the Thai mwananchi.
Wanjiku is so exhausted and so lonely for the familiar. She slightly envies the European tourists around her. Travelling with a burgundy-coloured EU passport can be a breeze, she thinks to herself. She gets the impression that sometimes all that an EU passport-holder has to do is to wave their passport at the border police on duty who, with an impassive flick of his hand, lets them walk through. And off they head, with a determined step, towards the exit to stake the baggage carousel. In addition, in the Schengen Area, EU travellers have their own queue which advances at the speed of light, while your queue with a variety of passports that represent a third of the colours of the rainbow moves at a … is there an animal slower than a snail?
Wanjiku shakes herself out of her reverie and wonders what she is going to do when she hears a pleasant, clipped English accent behind her. A British diplomat, thank heavens. He seems a bit harried and preoccupied.
It has been a really long week. This is the fourth day that the airport has been closed. Thailand’s second international airport, Don Muang, was also shut down by protestors two days ago. Long-haul international flights and domestic flights into Don Muang are suspended. There are flights leaving from Phuket Airport but these are charter flights or regional flights to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, and Hong Kong. Planes to repatriate European nationals will probably be rerouted to Phuket (862kms from Bangkok) as well as to the airports in Chiang Mai (696kms from the capital) and Korat (256kms). That will mean finding the means to transfer everyone while trying, at the same time, to account for each person, man, woman and child. Must have a complete list of those with food restrictions and health concerns. Must remember to call the Foreign Office and Tourism Minister. And Civil Aviation. Hope Wanda will have an update for me in the next one hour on the outcome of the meeting with the principal tour operators. Why are they so recalcitrant? Glad I am not alone in my corner. A comfort to have EU member states in the same boat. Is there something I have forgotten? The diplomat asks himself. We must get all these people home. We will get them home.
Wanjiku once read somewhere that in countries where Kenya has no diplomatic representation, a Kenyan can turn to the British Embassy or to the British High Commission for help. Does this moment, this particular circumstance, qualify?
She hesitates to approach the diplomat who is looking around him, studying the situation, taking it all in. She would love to know what he is thinking.
What will be her justification in requesting for his help? How will she make herself understood? Does she qualify being evacuated on humanitarian grounds? And what humanitarian grounds would these be? She finds herself incapable of calling upon the name of the president. She is on her own. What will she do? Simply walk up to the diplomat and present her case? What could be the common ground on which to base her arguments?
Our countries have quite a bit of shared history and identity, she might start by saying. My country is a member of the Commonwealth. We drive to the left like your country does. I know all your nursery songs and rhymes.
Wanjiku might at this point hesitate for a second, then she might clear her throat before forging on. Before Kenya’s independence, and I will not put too fine a point on it, Sir, we had schools going by such names as “Duke of York,” “Prince of Wales” or even “Duke of Gloucester,” although today, the names have taken on a local flavor.
Our bunge, that’s “parliament” for you, Sir, is almost similar to yours even though our MPs do not use words such as “floccinaucinihilipilification.” Our judges might have stopped wearing wigs in court (tropical climate, you see) and are no longer addressed as “My Lord” or “My Lady,” but they have kept the robes, just like the Queen’s Counsel.
We drink tea, lots and lots of it, although, I admit that we are also getting a taste for coffee. You see, we grow it. We never knew how good our coffee was until we tasted what we exported. So now we are buying Kenyan coffee to build Kenya. But we still have our four o’clock tea, no fear.
My brother watches all the Man U matches. I sometimes watch them but much prefer watching tennis at Wimbledon. Rugby and cricket are right up our alley.
I remember as a child buying fish and chips wrapped up in a newspaper. I watched Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and understood every word of it despite the Cockney dialogues and accents. I have read most of your classics as well as all the Harry Potters.
I guarantee you that once in transit on British soil, I will not all of a sudden remember that I am a political refugee and ask for asylum. All I want to do is to go back home.
“This is all so complicated,” Wanjiku whispers to herself. She feels so alone. “I do not have to justify why I need to get on a flight out. All I want is to get home.”
She gathers up her courage, stands up and walks up to the diplomat. She has no idea what she will tell him, but of this one thing she is sure, and she repeats it to herself: “I was born free and I have my rights. This man in front of me is endowed with reason and conscience and he will do the right and responsible thing in a spirit of brotherhood.² That is my human right.”
¹ Wanjiku, a feminine Kikuyu name, has come to represent the common man and woman, the mwananchi, in Kenya today.
² Paraphrase, Article 1 of the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
(Weaving alongside W. Mwangi, The Surprise of the Familiar; M. Mohammedali Wanjiku Sends a Postcard Home)
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