His Banner over Me Is Love: The Dreams of an African Woman

Contents

Chapter 1.

Introduction

Chapter 2.

The Return Home.

Chapter 3:

My Father, the British Administrator.

Chapter 4.

The Emergency.

Chapter 5:

My Early Schooling

Chapter 6.

At The Alliance Girls’ High School.

Chapter 7:

University Education

Chapter 8:

Marriage and Work Experiences.

Chapter 9:

The Move to Daystar University.

PART II

Chapter 10:

Things Remembered.

Chapter 11:

Will my Husband Forgive me,

Seventy Times Seven?

Chapter 12: Postscript

Notes on Gikuyu Words used in the Text.

Biblical Refrences

Works Cited

Appendix 1:

National Anthem

Appendix 2:

Kikuyu version of the song.

About the Author

To My Dear Son,

Timothy Wamai Muciiri,

Who taught me to be a mother.

This book is dedicated to our son, Timothy, his generation and all who will come after I have gone to my eternal home.

In it, I hope they will find something interesting from my generation, but most important of all, that they will hear the whispers of their Creator as I tell the story of His working through my life.

May the Lord who led me all my life, also lead you, until that great and wonderful day:

At that time men will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory. And he will send his angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of the heavens."

Mark 13:26-27.

Appreciation

I would like to express my gratitude to the following:

God, without whose miracles I would have nothing to write about.

My husband, Humphrey, who has supported me through thick and thin, for his patience, as I bounced ideas off him and for his encouragement.

I am grateful to all who took time to read the manuscript, especially Mary Ellen Rothrock and Dr. Donna Downs, and for the very constructive feedback I received from them. However, any mistakes still found in the book is entirely my responsibility.

Last, but not least, I thank all who supported me in prayer.

Mary Nyambura Muchiri

March, 2006

Chapter 1.

Introduction

When we get an opportunity we should not:

Laugh, like Sarah, in unbelief; ¹b

Hesitate, like Lot, due to wrong assumptions; ¹c

Lie, like Abraham, in fear; ¹d

But we should be like the man who found hidden treasure

In a field and he bought it. ¹e

This is my opportunity to tell of the faithfulness and love of God in my life. I am the second daughter of Mr. Jimnah Kimori and Mrs. Josephine Wambui Kimori of Kenya, East Africa. The first daughter had died young, and I had taken so long to come that my mother had almost given up the idea of having another baby. Such a situation was tragic among members of her tribe, the Agikuyu. Being childless was worse than having AIDS. You became a social outcast and totally misunderstood. It was as if you had brought the condition on yourself, maybe because you were a witch or because you had failed the spirits of your ancestors in one way or another. Childlessness was one of the major reasons for divorce among the Gikuyu people. As Kenyatta (183) says:

According to the Gikuyu customary law, a husband may divorce his wife on the grounds of (1) barrenness; (2) refusal to render conjugal rights without reason; (3) practicing witchcraft; (4) being a habitual thief; (5) willful desertion; (6) continual gross misconduct.

Barrenness is listed first among all the reasons for divorce. Most couples would have solved such a problem through polygamy. The man would marry a second wife, but there was never a guarantee that the two wives would live a harmonious life together, for as a Gikuyu proverb says, "Two wives are two pots of poison."¹ For Mr. Kimori and his wife, Wambui, that option was not exploited. Fortunately for them, they had me, their second little girl, almost unexpectedly. Unfortunately for me, my mother was so sick that she had to be left in hospital. I had, therefore, to be looked after by a friend of the family. Beatrice, the wife of Harris Thuku, had just had her own baby, Charity Wanjiru, and she suckled both of us until Wambui left the hospital months later. Such was their friendship and the extent to which they shared their lives, despite the fact that it was taboo to suckle another person’s child.

My mother always cried as she told me the story of when she came home from the hospital and I ran away from her. She tried to give me sweet potatoes, but I would still not go near her. She spent a lot of time trying to make friends with me, making sure she did not go away from home until we became friends again. Such things are too far back for me to remember. However, some things I do remember. One is the story of my birthmark. As soon as I was aware of myself, I noticed that one side of my face was darker than the other one. When I asked my mother the reason, she said that I had been burnt by a hot Irish potato while I was still in the womb. One day while she was expecting me, she was very hungry as she worked in the garden. She roasted some potatoes and ate them when they were still hot. As soon as she swallowed, I moved in her stomach and she knew I had been burnt. When I was born with a mark on one of my eye lids, she was sure that was where the potato had landed. I believed that story until I learned in my biology class that a baby is too well protected to be burned. This, however, did not explain where the mark had come from, so it remained a mystery. Some people told me I was going to develop freckles, but instead the mark continued to grow until it covered almost the whole of my left side. When others suggested that I should go to see a dermatologist, I decided I would go if it became painful, but it never did.

At the age of four, like most little girls of my age, I had many strange dreams. Sometimes I would dream that a huge giant with two mouths, one at the back, was chasing me and I could not move. I would try to scream but no voice would come out of my mouth. Then suddenly I would wake up, eyes red and full of tears, and find there was nothing. With a great sigh of relief, I would relate the dream to my mother who told me that all children had such dreams that resulted from the stories they were told about giants ² who always had two mouths. The stories were supposed to frighten the children so that they would not make a habit of entertaining strangers in the absence of adults.

One such story is that of the "Men Eaters" (Cagnolo 228-230).

Ten Kikuyu girls decided one day to go on a long journey to avoid being troubled by the boys who annoyed and insulted them every time they missed a dance. With a good supply of food, they started the journey.. One of them had a little brother: he by no means wished to abandon her, and joined the party.

The journey lasted one month, after which they found themselves in the middle of a large plain, where a big hut had been built. There they met a man-eater whom they believed to be a respectable man. He was very rich and he slaughtered ten goats that the girls might eat their fill. In the evening he showed them a large bed for the night. The little boy was satisfied to sleep by the door.

At midnight the man-eater sharpened a knife with which he wished to behead the girls so as to devour them. The noise awakened the boy who cried: Mother, what do you want that you have got up at midnight? The man-eater was surprised and responded: My son, are you hungry that you have not gone to sleep? The boy said, Yes, mother.

The man-eater killed a goat, roasted it and gave it to the boy that he might eat and sleep. The boy refused to eat it alone, but shared it with the girls, so as not to be overpowered by sleep. So they lived together several months, and the girls got enormously fat. One day the man-eater went to call other man-eaters, friends of his in the neighborhood and said to them: Come to my house the day after tomorrow, with knives, water and firewood, because I have a big goat to slaughter.

The girls and the boy had gone to enjoy the morning sunshine. A fly rested on the face of one of the girls, as if it would speak to her. The girl got vexed and wished to drive it away, but it came back and said: I want some blood from you, but if you refuse, I will not tell you what I have come to tell you, and if you meet bad luck, it will be your fault. The boy persuaded her sister to prick her finger. The fly sucked at the drop of blood, and then it spoke and said: Your destiny has been decided; the day after tomorrow all of you are to be devoured by the man-eaters. Do this: go quickly into the forest, cut boughs and much tall grass, and with these wrap your bodies. Thus they did and the boy masked all the girls. They looked like bundles of green grass walking about.

The man-eaters who had been invited met them on their way and, surprised at the strange procession, they called out, Even the grass walks today; it will be a great feast. They did not pay much heed to them and they went their way. The man-eater and the master of the house, arrived at the hut the night before the appointment and saw with regret that the girls had run away, and many of his things had disappeared. He became frightened, thinking that his friends would think he had fooled them and kill him. So, he dug a big hole in the place occupied by the fire; he worked at it all the day long and at night he lay in it, covering the opening with a large piece of a broken clay pot.

The guests came and found the house deserted. They searched everywhere and found nothing but skulls and bones which the man-eater had left over from his feasts. During the search a skull rolled down from the fire place and broke the piece of pot which covered the hole. They found the man-eater, killed him and roasted him for their feast.

Meanwhile the girls and the boy reached home safely, thanks to the fly. Their relatives welcomed them happily, because they thought they would never see them again. So do not do to others what you do not wish to be done to you.

Another characteristic dream of mine was that I was crossing a river walking on a single beam³, when I would fall into the river below. I would then try to hold onto any plant on the side of the river and it would cut off. In despair, I would cry for help, but I would be unable to finish the word for take me out, mũtindute and I would continue shouting, Mutindu…mutindu… mutindu… but the words would refuse to come out! I would continue until only the first syllable could be heard, as follows, Mutindu…Muti…Mu… and just when I was about to drown, I would wake up as usual. Again I would relate the story to my mother, and she would tell me that the dream was the result of my fear of crossing rivers.

One day I had a different kind of dream, one I had never dreamed before. I saw myself running in front of my father, trying to catch up with my mother, who was carrying a big basket on her back, with many things in it. ⁴ After passing my mother a little, I stopped and waited for my father, who lifted me up and placed me on his shoulders. After some time I was put down again and encouraged to run ahead of my mother, after which I would be given a ripe banana. ⁵ Just as I peeled the banana to start eating it, I woke up and found myself with nothing. Thinking that was a dream like all the others, I did not bother to tell my mother about it because I knew what would be the answer to my question, All children have such dreams.

However, this latter dream became so persistent that I finally decided to tell my mother about it. To my great surprise, my mother seemed to take special interest and asked me more details about the dream. I told her everything with great enthusiasm. My mother then told me that what I had told her was an exact description of what had happened to me when I was about two years old. I was, in fact, describing the family’s journey from a place called Maragwa, where the three of us got off the train from Naivasha, to our home in Murang’a. This raised my curiosity and I wanted to know all about the journey. Why had we gone to Naivasha? Who were our friends there? Why did we come back? Were we going to return to Naivasha? I asked these questions over and over until my mother and father answered some of them.

Chapter 2.

The Return Home.

I never forgot the dream about the journey home. I would always listen with interest when my father or mother spoke about it. Over the years I came to learn that the journey had marked a very important stage of life in our family. My father had left home as a young boy but had come back with a wife, Wambui, and one child, Nyambura. They had no land or house, so they depended on the good will of their neighbors and relatives. Wambui, like Ruth in the Bible, would wake up each morning and ask the one who had housed them whether there was any work she wanted done in her garden. She would then take her little daughter, and a roasted banana and milk for her lunch and go to work as early as possible. At lunch time, she would chew the banana and feed it to the baby using her index finger, as was the custom. She would then use an ordinary bottle for the milk since baby bottles did not exist then. She would work the whole day without expecting any payment, except some food and a place for her family to sleep in.

The relatives had initially wondered whether Wambui would stay long in Murang’a, having come from Kiambu, the district nearest to Nairobi, the capital city of Kenya. It was rumored that she had been a street girl, as all Kiambu women were supposed to be, and so she was not expected to work in the garden for long. To the great surprise of everyone, she worked even harder than most of the local girls. Though tall, light skinned and very beautiful, she would even get sweet potato vines, for her host’s goats! ⁶ Others like her would have avoided such a dirty chore. The main difference between her and the other women was her cleanliness. She had only two dresses at any one time but she would use one for all her work, washing it at night and using the fire to dry it for the next day, so that she had the other one spotless for Sunday. She could not understand how one went to church with a dress full of stains from the sweet potato vines!

Another noticeable difference was her freedom from superstition. For example, her young daughter was very healthy and, according to Gikuyu culture, she should have been kept covered all the time in case someone with an evil eye cast a spell on her.⁷ Wambui did not bother covering her daughter but left her to play freely, to the great amazement and worry of her hosts. Even later on when she had obtained her own garden, she surprised people because she never believed that a person with an evil eye would make her bananas fall, and they never fell. Her free attitude was associated with her early contact with Christian missionaries who had come to her area and built a church known as The Church of the Torch at Thogoto Mission, near where she had been born and brought up.⁸

She named me after her mother, Nyambura, according to the Gikuyu naming system. The personal names among the girls are those of the nine clans. These, according to a popular creation myth, were given by the mother and father of the tribe, Gikuyu and Mumbi, to their nine daughters. Since they did not have any sons, they prayed and Ngai (God, the divider) brought to them nine handsome young men who married the daughters.⁹ These nine families were the parents of all the clans of the Kikuyu people.

Custom demands that the first girl be named after the mother of the husband and the second after the mother of the wife. The first boy is named after the father of the husband and the second the father of the wife. After that brothers and sisters are named. However, when a girl child dies, the one born immediately after is named Njoki (the one who has come back) and a boy Kariũki (the one who has risen/ come back to life). If that one dies, an animal or other funny name is used to frighten death from taking him or her away again. As Cagnoro (66) explains, if death of children persists, There is only one remedy for this: to move elsewhere.

If in spite of these precautions two or three more children die, besides moving the hut, as already mentioned, further measures must be taken in connection with the birth of a child. A few days after its birth, the midwife carries it in her arms out into the road, and rolls it naked in the dust, soiling it like a dirty rag. The mother then comes along with a small bag containing four kinds of grains and asks the midwife to sell her the child for this grain. According to custom, the midwife then lays the child in the mother’s arms, naming it, as she does so, Karyoki (sic) for Kariũki (restored to life). If it is a girl child, she will call it Mogore (sic) for Mũgũre (bought) or Wanjera (sic) for Wanjĩra (of the road) (Cagnoro 66).

Everyone, including women, retains his or her clan name even after marriage, but children take on their father’s clan name, so I am a of the Ambui clan of the Maina Family.¹⁰ Each clan was identified as having some peculiar characteristics such as the ability to pray for rain for the Ambura/Ethaga, while others were thought to be generous and some envious.

Women in Murang’a were particularly surprised by this strange woman whom they came to refer to as The woman who eats meat in the presence of men. This was never done by Gikuyu women of that area, and they could not understand what was wrong with her husband, who did not seem to mind. However, they learned to accept her, mainly because of her hard work and the fact that she taught them new methods of farming, such as the use of manure, which raised their crop yields very substantially. She attributed her love of meat to the fact that her father, Kiarie, (my grandfather whom I never saw) loved her so much that he could not eat anything without sharing it with her. Meat was the most liked food among men of his age. Meat- eating parties,¹¹ were frequent among elders, who would invite young warriors, ¹² to discuss war plans.

Wambui related her story to Smoker (121) as follows:

Josephine is my baptismal name. We were church people. I had been baptized and loved God. When we moved to Murang’a, I would go with my baby and visit all our neighbor ladies to chat, help them with their work, and speak of the Lord. I knew what the saved people said, and on December 24, 1946, I broke down, confessed my sins and knew I had been washed clean by the Lord Jesus. I hurried to tell brother (in the Lord) John Kanguru (sic, Kangoro) and Hagar. They rejoiced and so did all the fellowship folk, who received me gladly.

I always loved Jimna, but now I loved him more than