LEGACY

“Legacy” [noun] meaning that which is handed down or remains from a previous generation. I’m going to write two articles today; the first, below, being a ‘response’ to the article in the above link and aimed primarily at my Kenyan brothers and sisters. It will not make for comfortable reading so, if you do choose to continue, take a deep breath and scroll on. The second is posted separately and is on the idea of ‘Ahimsa’. Now, for those of you who did not study in the public universities in Kenya, the conditions described in the above article may seem atrocious, even exaggerated. They are not. In fact, before I did my masters’ degree, they were the only experience of university we had. Not only that, those conditions were almost irrelevant to us. Just the fact that we had made it to ‘campus’ was all that mattered. To pursue a professional course was the icing on the cake, no matter how the course was dispensed. I studied law at the University of Nairobi’s Parklands campus, at the time, the only university in Kenya where you could study law. Let me tell you a little about life on campus. We had alcoholic lecturers – men who could not begin the day without having had a drink; we had sexual predators openly propositioning female students while teaching; we had potholes in the corridors; filthy bathrooms and toilets on co-ed halls of residence where the female students sometimes went in twos, threes or more to avoid harassment from male students. Yet we were the elite. Just under 400 students chosen out of literally tens of thousands of applicants, for our academic excellence. We were the few who had made the grade – passing 13-14 two-hour examination papers sat in just 6 weeks and averaging a B grade, where the highest possible grade A had not been attained and where the highest grade obtained in the land had been an A-. We were the crème de la crème. There was no parallel program [a system originally designed for ‘mature students’, for students who could afford to pay higher fees but did not necessarily have the grades necessary to join the course, etc]. Together with the few students who would join us from India, Australia, Canada and the UK, possibly another 200 or so, we were all the new lawyers that Kenya would get in the year we would be sworn in. Yet, those are the conditions in which we studied. Oh sure, we worked hard and played hard. We had full schedules by day and lots of reading at night and campus life was fun but if it was a bed of roses, someone had clearly forgotten to remove the thorns. During my holidays, I had the extraordinary privilege of working at a top law firm and I remember noticing that they had a 10th edition of Paget’s Law of Banking, a 1989 edition, a subject in which I had an interest. I perused it in my spare time and loved what I read. In my fourth year, I signed up for the banking law option only to find out that the edition that was to form the basis of our lessons was the 4th edition. An edition so long out of print that it was near impossible to purchase, not to mention very costly. Meanwhile, at the university library, the copies of the 4th edition, circa 1945 were in such limited supply, they resided in a special section of the library called ‘the reserve’ and were only available for overnight lending. Such was our desperation to get hold of a copy that students often formed ‘cartels’; chains in which we would pass the book from one student to the other ensuring that it remained within ‘reach’. If you weren’t in the cartel, hey! Tough luck. In my [rather naive] excitement, I said to the banking law lecturer, “There’s a tenth edition out and I think we should be using that version.” His response, “You can use any version you wish, but if you want to pass the banking law exam, you had better study the 4th edition.” And so in the early 1990s, my banking law was based on World War 2 era banking systems and practices. Is it a wonder then that upon graduation, we were severely hampered when competing against colleagues from other jurisdictions? I practiced in Kenya in private practice and then in house for the subsidiary of a French MNC before moving to the UK. When I got to the UK, I was in for a massive shock. Even though I had studied law in a common law country and graduated with respectable grades and an honours degree, my law degree was not transferable into the UK legal system. A Nigerian law degree was, a Ghanaian law degree was, even a Zimbabwe law degree, and a South African degree was, non common law jurisdiction degrees, but not a Kenyan one. Although the Kenyan system could accept a UK law degree, subject to a few conversion exams, mainly family and succession law, legal accounting and ethics; the converse could not happen. Effectively it meant that if you could not get a judge of the High Court of Kenya to countersign that you had attained a certain level of practice that ‘made up’ for your ‘substandard’ law degree, you had to begin studying law again as though you had not done any law at all. Even contract law and torts, the most basic, would have to be restudied. Not even a UK masters’ degree in banking and financial law, was helpful. Suddenly I understood why a classmate, who had obtained a first class degree at the University of Nairobi and had a Masters from Oxford University, was working in a windowless cubicle pushing paper for an insurance company. Why another colleague was a paralegal and a third was redoing her law degree. Why a fourth, though a lecturer at Oxford, would still have to redo her law degree in order to practice in the UK. I wrote to the then secretary of the Law Society of Kenya, the LSK, a former high school mate, and asked that the LSK formally approach the Law Society in the UK and immediately rectify what I saw as a gross anomaly in the reciprocal system. Nothing. At the time, the LSK was either unwilling, unable or not knowledgeable enough about the implication of the non-reciprocity on the competitiveness of Kenyan lawyers on the world market or the impact of having to demand reciprocity on the calibre of education to which law students in Kenya would be exposed. Now I do not say this by way of complaint or condemnation. I understood. This was not something ‘relevant’ or ‘sexy’. It did not affect the daily income of the majority of lawyers; in fact it was arguably the preserve of a few "elite" lawyers. It is the natural reaction based on our view of ourselves as Kenyans and our place in the world. Meanwhile, I found out what exams I would have to take in order to be accepted as a solicitor in the UK and got on with the business of life. Now the story I am telling you about is a historical event, from five/six years ago. I do not know the current position, but I will wager you that not much has changed in the intervening period. I have since heard of the experiences of local Kenyan firms as they vie for international business. Even the 'elite' Kenyan firms IF successful, are rarely appointed lead counsel in negotiations. Invariably, they are subordinated to UK, US or other firms. The lawyers in Kenya cry discrimination, even racism when they unsuccessfully vie for contracts with work with multinational corporations; foreign aid bodies, intergovernmental organisations. The Kenyan lawyer will argue that she is just as good, just as qualified as the UK lawyer and in many cases, more experienced as she has appeared before the High Court of Appeal in Kenya years before her UK contemporary. Well, the paperwork begs to differ. And who in their right mind will entrust millions of dollars worth of contracts to an unknown, provincial lawyer, qualified and recognised only in some corner of Eastern Africa under a system that even the ‘mother jurisdiction’ does not acknowledge? And if you think that only foreign bodies entrust such work to foreign trained/based lawyers, think again. The Kenyan Government, Kenyan public bodies, parastatals etc will often hire UK based law firms to negotiate and conclude contracts for them, rather than their own. Why? Even they know the quality of the training given to local lawyers. By the way, this is not a gripe. I am hoping that by telling you my story, you will appreciate the full impact of the mediocrity we accept, the narrow-minded provincial focus that we dwell on. The effect not just nationally, but internationally. Of course I am telling you only about the field of law, but that is because it is the field in which I am qualified and have experience. I am sure that the architects, engineers, doctors, accountants etc have their own stories to tell. From qualified accountants having to re-sit accounting exams, qualified medical doctors with years of experience being admitted only as residents; the story is replicated in one form or other across the professional board. But what is the upshot of this tale? Twofold. One, if we are to change anything, we need to change our own view about what we are. By “what”, I mean, a radical redefinition of who we are, our place in society, our place in the country, our place in the world. A redefinition of our responsibility, our duty, our contribution, our footprint in the world. In Kenya, somehow we manage to convince ourselves that we are a very important nation, “internationally recognised” for our unique special qualities, qualities we find ourselves at odds to define but are sure others recognise immediately they hear the word, “Kenya”. [Island of peace in an ocean of turmoil, I think Moi was fond of calling Kenya]. Paradoxically, we then subscribe to a view that because we are so important, the ‘Western nations’ will treat us and ours' specially and, in relation to violence, will not let us come to civil war. Already, you can see the flaw in our story. We expect an external people not only to define us and recognise our positive qualities, but also to save us from ourselves, yet we do not ask, why? What’s in it for them? How do we pay back for this ‘salvation’? Even in the major religions, the ‘exchange’ for salvation, whoever your personally preferred saviour, is a life of wholehearted dedication to Him [usually a ‘Him’]. In other words if in religion, salvation is in exchange for your life, what are we expected to ‘pay’ these ‘saviours’ who will ensure that we only kill a few of ourselves? Why do we expect special dispensation despite our own mediocrity, on account only of our geographical origin and, lately, because some guy fathered a child who he never brought up, and who, with no contribution from his father, became the president of an important nation? I’m not being a ‘hater’. I’m just saying... NEWSFLASH. Ain’t nobody from some place out there gonna come and rescue us from ourselves. We have to do it. We can do it. The only question is one of will. The will to do it. For as long as we do not recognise the power within us; the power to guide our own destiny, to claim and hold our place in the body that is this world, we will continue to accept substandard services, substandard education, substandard goods in exchange for hard earned money. We will allow ourselves to be increasingly sidelined in the world. We will ignore the impact of our least-common denominator, laissez-faire, ostrich attitude, and reap generously of the fruit of our inaction. Mind you, I don't expect anyone 'out there' to recognise us and our professionals on equal footing, just because we say they should. Kizuri chajiuzi, kibaya chajitembeza. Enough said. Two. We expect that if we complain for long enough, but take no action, that somehow, the people we are complaining about will get it into their heads to ‘do the right thing’ and give us what we want, locally and internationally. In fact, on the local scene, we even praise our 'illustrious old foggies aka leaders' to their faces, and then complain when they are gone, least we seem impolite. It is the 'done' thing, no matter how disgraceful, dishonest or immoral they are. Let me ask you something. Why are the old foggies always harping on about the youth and yet not giving them a ‘chance’? I’d argue that it is because they recognise the power and potency that is contained within the human psyche in the period between 15 – 45 years of age. Of that, the 18 to 45 year olds have the resources, intellectual, energetic, health and the social connections to make the calls, take the actions that bring about changes. This is the period when we believe we can change the world, and have the energy to do so. And therein lies the reason why the ‘chance’ is and will never be given. If we take over, we create a new world. A world designed for the future and not for the past. The old foggies aren’t foolish. They recognise the radical changes that they brought about when they were young and see clearly that if they allow the youth to take over, equally radical changes can be expected. Changes that would close the door to opportunistic looting. Changes that would allow history books to be opened and the truth about their actions in colonial times to be exposed. Changes that will challenge the acquisition of land by unlawful, unjust or immoral means and the demand for a redress of the land issue. Changes that will require that our land is not a dumping site for toxic waste, a testing ground for new drugs. Changes that will require that everyone pay taxes, that the taxes are accounted for and that the services which people pay for, are provided. Changes that will ensure that the law courts are exactly that – law courts, not burial grounds for justice, where cases long forgotten gather dust while accused persons not out on bail linger for years in remand. Changes that will recognise all Kenyans as Kenyans despite ethnic background; where Somalis are not viewed as refugees/shiftas/terrorists/foreigners simply by virtue of ethnicity; where Turkana are not a forgotten people in some little know part of the country; where women in Tana district can fetch water without the perpetual risk of crocodiles or even worse, poisoning due to agricultural chemical run-off from further upstream – residue from the produce of export horticultural foods and flowers while people in Ukambani starve for lack of food. Do you think that this is in their interest? Do you not think them very clever in fact, to hold onto power until death do them part, for if they do not, their deeds in the dark will be exposed to light and their nefarious actions undone. Why would they do what amounts to suicide? Why would they drop the smokescreen and let us see and experience in truth, that which they recognise us to have? The power to chart our course. NEWS FLASH. Ain’t nobody gonna hand the reins to us. They don’t hold the reins. We do! And every election, we give them back to the old foggies under the guise of ‘wise leadership’ and ‘respecting our elders’. We are told and believe that “women will never vote in other women” and some female old foggies are suitably paraded insulting the few brave visionaries we have as examples. Yet we do not question, ‘What is this person defending?’ We accept that the “youth are not ready for leadership. They are too... [kamilisha] immature/young/materialistic/foolish/naive...” and we fall for it hook, line and sinker without recognising the age, status and position of the speaker. We hear it said, and then repeat amongst ourselves, ‘The Luo/Luhya/Kikuyu/Kalenjin/Pokomo/Somali will never vote for a Kikuyu/Luo/Luyha/Turkana/Somali...’ even though we have in the past. Even though many of us have intermarried, have grown up with, and count amongst our closest childhood friends people from the very ethnic group we are supposed to hate. Dada na Ndugu, amkeni!!! We have been hoodwinked. We have been bamboozled. We’ve been fed the Rohypnol for ages. We have got to wake up. Our failure is not in inaction. Our failure is in not recognising our power. The power we already have. The power to control our destiny so that when graduates from the universities and colleges vie for international jobs, we recognise ourselves as capable and can market ourselves as professional. So that we carry ourselves as competent and we do not accept whether individually or institutionally, to be recognised as less. So that we no longer 'tarmac' for years for lack of jobs or have to undersell ourselves, vying for positions of receptionist even though we hold MBAs. So that we no longer resort to fighting in Somalia, kidnapping children for ransom, robbing others at gunpoint etc. for a living. So that we do not lose hundreds, thousands of young men and women to drugs, illicit brews, hit squad killings, gangs. So where do we begin? Well, we already have. We just have not recognised it. The few young MPs who made it through are the harbingers. The last election was not the war. It was a skirmish. With more candidates standing, with more of us voting, we, you and I, Yaani wewe unayesoma hii, na mimi niandikaye, we can, in one election, turn this country around in such a way that we close the door on the foggies forever. Knowing and accepting that one day, when we are blessed to be foggies, we shall have the grace to get up off those seats and allow our children and grandchildren, to do the very same. This is our time to act. This is our chance to be the saviours we are looking for. I often tell the story of how I once went to a talk by Waagari Maathai in the time when Moi was on her case like white on rice. She gave a talk about planting trees and about stopping the building of the Times tower, and about Freedom Corner. When it was question time, I put up my hand and asked her, knowing she had kids around my age and like my mum, was a single mum, “Why do you do this?” Her answer, “Because I never want my children to ask me, ‘Mami, where were you, what were you doing, when you guys were ruining our country’!” I sat down completely dumbfounded, then I turned to my own mum and asked her, “Mami, what are you doing while you guys ruin Kenya.” Her reply, “I’m brought you here so you can meet Waagari and know, you can make a difference.” Now, all the calls to action in the world will not make a difference. It is action that will. We often complain that there is no one to vote for, that we do not have choices. Well, look again. In Westlands alone, I hear that Pastor Gowi Odera, formerly of Nairobi Baptist and Nairobi Chapel, has decided to stand as has Jimmy Gathu. [No, they have not appointed me campaign manager.] I am sure that you may or will soon hear of other young men and women of integrity who are standing in other constituencies. They have answered the call to stand up. It’s up to you and me to make sure they go in. And once in, that they continue to hear from us so they never forget that whatever little they do, however frustratingly small, every little thing turns the country that is Kenya around, shapes the destinies of 40 million people inside and outside the country and ultimately, influences the world we live in. After all, is this not our legacy? (c) Renee Ngamau