My Foster Parents, Where are you? - Back to my roots by #thegirlfrommbeere

Until recently I felt very learned when using the words Haves and Have Nots, in my mother tongue direct translation for this would be I felt very front or I was seeing myself very much. But English, Why? Why did you make my life so difficult?. Do you remember Mrs. Kiura’s effort in class 4 to teach me how to pronounce the word Such in Vain? Do you know that was the first teacher who ever believed in me? Do you also know that was the only opportunity I had to visit Embu town for an interschool competition? 

Anyway, after reading the book Factfunelss recently, The authors fixed me to the corner about using what I thought was my big English. They (the Rosling's) whispered to me, Mbandi, See the world differently. There is something we call Level 1, Level 2, Level 3, and Level 4. Pay attention, don’t be ignorant, read, travel the world. What?. It is amazing how reading enlightens me.  Yes, the world with all its imperfections is in a much better state than we might think.

I had no option than to hold a meeting with Eunice, a similar meeting to the one held by dowry negotiators behind the tent when the yet to be inlaws become stubborn. That moment they call the groom to be and say, Listen Ngari, these people are asking for 2 million, Wanjira (the bride to be) can't cost 100,000. You might need to make another decision if they insist.  The good thing about these meetings, they always have a good solution and aririririrriti, we have a wedding. Phew! Time to share a Tusker Beer.

I started writing this article before I met the authors of Factfulness so please allow me (tafadhali naomba) to be my old self, to be the tiny girl who could not pronounce the word such. The girl who thought speaking English sounded like shogoroshogoroshogoro. By now you know Mbeere and rwamuringa village. Do you know Gatumbiri? No? Yes? Like always I visit with a basket full of kiravu Mangoes, let me tell you about Gatumbiri Primary School. Back in the 80s, I was enrolled for my nursery class under a beautiful tree. It is here I spent 6 years learning the queen's language in vain. No amount of monitor punishment helped us (if you know monito, you are old). To the best of my knowledge, all we could say was Oh Dear God. See this, I talk, No talk, catch monito, Teacher Mbogo talk, Good Morning Mr. Kaumbuthu (talk of Mr. Kaumbuthu, he spent 3 hours teaching us in class five how to pronounce the words bath, and birth and clearly he was also struggling). It was sad, a mess, a big mess. Life was not fair but we were happy kids.

Welcome Plan International or andu ma plani as we called them. They were to get us to Canaan so we were told, to the promised land, one that probably had good roads, houses, electricity and all. Dear PI of the 1980s, What exactly was that project you had in mbeere land? The one I and my villagers were enrolled and became foster children to some foreigners? That project where you took us photos looking very poor? That project the foster child was not meant to wear shoes in the photos? The one where we took pictures behind the falling thatched huts? You still don't get it? In that project, we used to exchange letters with our English-speaking Foster parents and we could not read them because we were behind schedule with English? Still not clear? Poor child of mbungu wa ndongongi wa kangaru! For the project, you would write our names at the back of the black and white photos with reference number #155 xxxx? Well, it's many years back. 

My foster mother was a nurse from a country I can't remember well. I could not pronounce Such, be sure the Netherlands was a punishment. The problem was that she wrote the letters in English and Mbandi daughter of Ireri was totally challenged with greek. Do you wonder then how we communicated? Mr. Ireri was my savior. The letters waited until his return from the city. He would translate and reply to them for me. My work was simple. Copy the letters in my crooked handwriting and give the teachers who would then forward it to the project team at PI. Dad would tell my foster mother about our cows, and goats. The kamagu hill and my brothers and sisters. God bless my father. I can imagine the sad face my foster mother had staring at that photo of my veins so clear on the photos.

This was the routine for all the foster children. Communication was a big problem. What did I get from that project? My foster parent's English letters and colored photos. What did I give? Many of my shoeless photos looking sad and poor. I am convinced this was meant to prove the need for more donations.  YES! we were poor, yes we had worn-out clothes but we also had slippers and tailored clothes for wearing on Sunday and Christmas,  The big question, arent we meant to take photos looking our best? No! Not for this project. We were to portray poor children from Mbeere.  Poverty was written all over our faces. Poverty-stricken children must have been the headline. Some of our neighbors got some water tanks. If my foster parents sent me something, I will never know. I don't know how the program worked. My family got nothing. My efforts later in life to visit the PI Embu offices to find out more were fruitless.  

How did we get selected to join the program? Simple process. If your parents were deemed poor, automatic registration. If your parents were deemed rich oh unto you. No photos, No letters, No cards, no feeling ahead. The PI team had the final right to hire and fire the children. I was fired after joining the Boarding school and replaced with my brother. More proof, we belonged to the have nots. I don't know what my foster parents were told. I no longer received communication yet at this point I had started speaking English with a lot of the word Mwana ii.

Just like the Camels of Samburu County, I will be embarking on a long journey to find my foster parent. Long because, I made this attempt before. In the process of excitement to boast to the rich kids (who did not qualify to join the program) about the photos and letters I received, I lost them. I only have a few of the photos of me the foster child looking very malnourished. She must witness the 360 degrees change to the shoeless tiny girl she wrote letters to and saw in those wanting photos. I must write a letter to her in English.