President William Ruto inspects a guard consisting of National Youth Service Recruits on August 26, 2024 at Gilgil Sub County within Nakuru County, during the Kenya National Youth Service Recruits Pass-Out Parade. [FILE/Standard]
My generation had the privilege of going through the National Youth Service (NYS) training before campus.
I can easily identify those who went through NYS – they do not eat food, they “swallow it.” Their use of vulgar language is another sign they went through Gilgil based institution.
We learned to take orders. „Amri ni kubwa kuliko anae itoa” – (the order supersedes the giver). We got an idea why policemen behave the way they do.
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The physical rigour was a test of endurance that has been useful in our lives. We learnt to live without sleep and disdain idleness.
Back to vulgar language. Any sign of sickness or malingering was met with “kufa tujue kwenu,” translated as die, so that we can know your home. We took that as a joke.
But the modern reality is that we end up knowing where our friends come from only after death. How many co-workers, or even buddies ,you have known for years but only know their county or nearest town, not their homes.
The excuse is that we are entitled to our privacy, and meeting in pubs, coffee shops or golf courses and other public places is good enough. Curiously, we build big houses but are unwilling to invite “strangers,” people we have known all our lives!
Urban life
Yet there is something sentimental about visiting the real homes where we grew up, close to nature and innocence.
There is something magical about seeing crops grow, cows, sheep or goats, or smoke from firewood. There is something surreal about roasting maize yourself or milking a cow, or lighting a fire.
That makes us appreciate urban life but not its monotony. The urbanities miss our dual life; we have lived both in the countryside and town. We know the pros and cons of both.
We often forget that despite all the hype about urbanites, they only constitute only 27 per cent of our population, says UN-Habitat. But take too much of airtime, prestige and hubris.
My fear now is that we shall never know where our friends come from. No more kufa tujue kwenu. Cremation is taking root among the elites, mostly urbanites.
And it’s no longer a shame to be buried in a public cemetery. You never know, without elaborate burials that might serve as an incentive to visit each other’s original home, shaggs. Should we retire “kufa tujue kwenu” or not yet? Talk to us.
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President William Ruto inspects a guard consisting of National Youth Service Recruits on August 26, 2024 at Gilgil Sub County within Nakuru County, during the Kenya National Youth Service Recruits Pass-Out Parade.
[FILE/Standard]
My generation had the privilege of going through the National Youth Service (NYS) training before campus.
I can easily identify those who went through NYS – they do not eat food, they “swallow it.” Their use of vulgar language is another sign they went through Gilgil based institution.
We learned to take orders.
„Amri ni kubwa kuliko anae itoa”
– (the order supersedes the giver). We got an idea why policemen behave the way they do.
Follow the The Standard
channel
on WhatsApp
The physical rigour was a test of endurance that has been useful in our lives. We learnt to live without sleep and disdain idleness.
Back to vulgar language. Any sign of sickness or malingering was met with “
kufa tujue kwenu,”
translated as die, so that we can know your home. We took that as a joke.
But the modern reality is that we end up knowing where our friends come from only after death. How many co-workers, or even buddies ,you have known for years but only know their county or nearest town, not their homes.
The excuse is that we are entitled to our privacy, and meeting in pubs, coffee shops or golf courses and other public places is good enough. Curiously, we build big houses but are unwilling to invite “strangers,” people we have known all our lives!
Urban life
Yet there is something sentimental about visiting the real homes where we grew up, close to nature and innocence.
There is something magical about seeing crops grow, cows, sheep or goats, or smoke from firewood. There is something surreal about roasting maize yourself or milking a cow, or lighting a fire.
That makes us appreciate urban life but not its monotony. The urbanities miss our dual life; we have lived both in the countryside and town. We know the pros and cons of both.
We often forget that despite all the hype about urbanites, they only constitute only 27 per cent of our population, says UN-Habitat. But take too much of airtime, prestige and hubris.
My fear now is that we shall never know where our friends come from. No more
kufa tujue kwenu.
Cremation is taking root among the elites, mostly urbanites.
And it’s no longer a shame to be buried in a public cemetery. You never know, without elaborate burials that might serve as an incentive to visit each other’s original home, shaggs. Should we retire “
kufa tujue kwenu”
or not yet? Talk to us.
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By XN Iraki