hair, and I had to help him bathe for a very long time, just where you are now sitting. And from that day on, I saw that
he was now an old man.
Barack was away at the time and only learned about this detention later. He had taken the district examination, and
had been admitted to Maseno Mission School, some fifty miles south, near the equator. This should have been a great
honor for Barack, because few Africans were allowed to get secondary education, and only the best students got into
Maseno, but your father’s rebellious nature caused the school much grief. He would sneak girls into his dormitory, for
he could always talk very sweetly to girls and promise them all that they dreamed. He and his friends would raid nearby
farms for chickens and yams, because they did not like the dormitory food. The teachers at the school overlooked many
of these infractions, for they saw how smart he was. But eventually Barack went too far with his mischief and was
finally expelled.
Onyango was so furious when he found out, he beat Barack with a stick until Barack’s back was bleeding. But Barack
refused to run or cry out, or even explain himself to his father. Finally, Onyango told Barack, “If you cannot behave
properly in my compound, I have no use for you here!” The following week, Onyango told Barack that he had arranged
for him to travel to the coast, where he would work as a clerk. “You will learn the value of education now,” the old
man said. “I will see how you enjoy yourself, earning your own meals.”
Barack had no choice but to obey his father. He went to Mombasa and took the job, in the office of an Arab merchant.
But after a short time, he had an argument with the Arab and left without collecting his pay. He found another clerk’s
job, but it paid much less. He was too proud to ask his father for help or admit that he had been wrong. Nevertheless,
word got back to Onyango, and when Barack came home for a visit, his father shouted to him that he would amount to
nothing. Barack tried to tell Onyango that the new job paid much better than the one Onyango had arranged. He said
that he was earning one hundred and fifty shillings every month. So Onyango said, “Let me see your wage book, if you
are such a wealthy man.” And when Barack said nothing, Onyango knew that his son had lied. He went into his hut and
told Barack to go away because he had brought shame on his father.
Barack moved to Nairobi and found a job working as a clerk for the railway. But he was bored, and he became
distracted by the politics of the country. The Kikuyu had begun their warfare in the forests. Everywhere there were
rallies calling for Kenyatta’s release from prison. Barack began to attend political meetings after work and came to
know some of the KANU leadership. At one of these meetings, the police came, and Barack was arrested for violating
the meeting law. He was jailed, and sent word to his father that he needed money for bail. But Onyango refused to give
Barack the money he’d asked for, and told me that his son needed to learn his lesson well.
Because he was not a leader in KANU, Barack was released after a few days. But there was no happiness in his
release, for he had begun to think that perhaps what his father had said was true-that he would amount to nothing. He
was a man of twenty and what did he have? He had been fired from his railway job. He was estranged from his father,
without money or prospects. And he now had a wife and a child. He had met Kezia when he was only eighteen. She
lived in Kendu with her family then. He was struck by her beauty, and after a brief courtship he decided that he would
marry her. To do so, he knew that his father would have to help him with the dowry payment, and so he asked me to
intercede on his behalf. At first Onyango resisted, and Sarah, who had moved back to Alego after her first husband
died, also disapproved. She told your grandfather that Kezia only wanted to live off the family’s wealth. But I told
barré
(Barré)
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