discuss the situation properly. For this is the affairs of elders, not children.” He also wrote to your grandfather Stanley
and said many of these same things.
As you know, your father went ahead with the marriage. He only told Onyango what had happened after you were
born. We are all happy that this marriage took place, because without it we would not have you here with us now. But
your grandfather was very angry at the time, and threatened to have Barack’s visa revoked. And because he had lived
with white people, perhaps Onyango did understand the white people’s customs better than Barack did. For when
Barack finally returned to Kenya, we discovered that you and your mother had stayed behind, just as Onyango had
warned.
Soon after Barack came, a white woman arrived in Kisumu looking for him. At first we thought this must be your
mother, Ann. Barack had to explain that this was a different woman, Ruth. He said that he had met her at Harvard and
that she had followed him to Kenya without his knowledge. Your grandfather didn’t believe this story and thought that
again Barack had disobeyed him. But I wasn’t so sure, for, in fact, Barack did seem reluctant to marry Ruth at first. I’m
not sure what finally swayed him. Maybe he felt Ruth would be better suited to his new life. Or maybe he heard gossip
that Kezia had enjoyed herself too much during his absence, even though I told him that this gossip was not true. Or
maybe he just cared for Ruth more than he liked to admit.
Whatever the reason, I know that once Barack agreed to marry Ruth, she could not accept the idea of his having Kezia
as a second wife. That is how the children went to live with their father and his new wife in Nairobi. When Barack
brought Auma and Roy back to visit, Ruth would refuse to accompany him and would not let Barack bring David or
Mark. Onyango did not discuss this directly with Barack. But he would say to his friends, in such a way that Barack
could hear him, “My son is a big man, but when he comes home his mother must cook for him instead of his wife.”
The others have told you what happened to your father in Nairobi. We saw him rarely, and he would usually stay only
a short time. Whenever he came, he would bring us expensive gifts and money and impress all the people with his big
car and fine clothes. But your grandfather continued to speak harshly to him, as if he were a boy. Onyango was now
very old. He walked with a cane and was almost blind. He could not even bathe without my help, which I think caused
him shame. But age did not soften his temper.
Later, when Barack fell from power, he would try to hide his problems from the old man. He continued to bring gifts
that he could no longer afford, although we noticed that he arrived in a taxi instead of in his own car. Only to me would
he confide his unhappiness and disappointments. I would tell him he was too stubborn in his dealings with the
government. He would talk to me about principles, and I would tell him that his principles weighed heavily on his
children. He would say I didn’t understand, just as his father had said to me. So I stopped giving advice and just
listened.
That is what Barack needed most, I think-someone to listen to him. Even after things had improved again for him, and
he had built this house for us, he remained heavy-hearted. With his children, he behaved just as Onyango had behaved
towards him. He saw that he was pushing them away, but there was nothing he could do. He still liked to boast and
laugh and drink with the men. But his laughter was empty. I remember the last time he visited Onyango before the old
man died. The two of them sat in their chairs, facing each other and eating their food, but no words passed between
them. A few months later, when Onyango finally went to join his ancestors, Barack came home to make all the
barré
(Barré)
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