unjust. He himself, he would never allow himself to be beaten by a white man. This is how he lost many jobs. If the
white man he worked for was abusive, he would tell the man to go to hell and leave to find other work. Once, an
employer tried to cane him, and your grandfather grabbed the man’s cane and thrashed him with it. For this he was
arrested, but when he explained what had happened, the authorities let him off with a fine and a warning.
What your grandfather respected was strength. Discipline. This is why, even though he learned many of the white
man’s ways, he always remained strict about Luo traditions. Respect for elders. Respect for authority. Order and
custom in all his affairs. This is also why he rejected the Christian religion, I think. For a brief time, he converted, and
even changed his name to Johnson. But he could not understand such ideas as mercy towards your enemies, or that this
man Jesus could wash away a man’s sins. To your grandfather, this was foolish sentiment, something to comfort
women. And so he converted to Islam-he thought its practices conformed more closely to his beliefs.
In fact, it was this hardness that caused so many problems between him and Akumu. By the time I came to live with
him, she had already borne Onyango two children. The first was Sarah. Three years later came your father, Barack. I
did not know Akumu well, for she and her children lived with Helima on your grandfather’s compound in Kendu,
while I stayed with him in Nairobi, to help him with his work there. But whenever I accompanied your grandfather to
Kendu, I could see that Akumu was unhappy. Her spirit was rebellious, and she found Onyango too demanding. He
would always complain that she kept a bad house. Even in child rearing, he was strict with her. He told her to keep the
babies in cribs and dress them in fancy clothes that he brought from Nairobi. Whatever the babies touched had to be
even cleaner than before. Helima tried to help Akumu, and cared for the children as if they were her own, but it didn’t
help. Akumu was only a few years older than me, and the pressure on her was great. And perhaps Auma is
right...perhaps she still loved the man she was to have wed before Onyango took her away.
Whatever it was, more than once she tried to leave Onyango. Once after Sarah was born, and again after Barack.
Despite his pride, Onyango followed her both times, for he believed that the children needed their mother. Both times,
Akumu’s family took his side, so she had no choice but to return. Eventually she learned to do what was expected of
her. But she quietly clung to her bitterness.
Life became easier for her when the Second World War came. Your grandfather went overseas as the cook to the
British captain, and I came to live with Akumu and Helima, helping both with the children and their crops. We did not
see Onyango for some time. He traveled widely with the British regiments-to Burma and Ceylon, to Arabia, and also
somewhere in Europe. When he returned three years later, he came with a gramophone and that picture of the woman
he claimed to have married in Burma. The pictures you see on my wall-they are taken from this time.
Onyango was now almost fifty. More and more, he thought of quitting his work for the white man and returning to
farm the land. He saw, though, that the land surrounding Kendu was crowded and overgrazed. So his mind went back
to Alego, the land that his grandfather had abandoned. One day he came to his wives and told us that we should prepare
ourselves to leave for Alego. I was young and adaptable, but the news came as a shock to Helima and Akumu. Both of
their families lived in Kendu, and they had become accustomed to living there. Helima especially feared that she would
be lonely in this new place, for she was almost as old as Onyango and had no children of her own. So she refused to go.
Akumu also refused to go at first, but again her family convinced her that she must follow her husband and care for her
children.
barré
(Barré)
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