In my formative years I did not feel the need to be in touch with my culture, the main contributor to this was the fact that I had never actually experienced it fully because my parents moved to a town far away from their traditional homes. We rarely visited my grandparents and when we did it was only for a couple of hours. To me it was almost primitive knowing your mother tongue and I considered people who spoke it too often with contempt.
However all this changed drastically in the year 2011. We were to visit my great aunt who lived in Lokichogio which is approximately 600 Km from my home town. At first I was apprehensive about the journey as the stories going round about insecurity on the road were scary but at times sounded a little farfetched. After further consideration of all the factors, including the fact that I’d miss my best friend’s sleepover, I full on expressed my discomfort. Which, obviously, my parents wanted to hear nothing of.
It was two in the morning when my mother came round to wake us up. My eyes were barely open as I took a quick shower and dressed to the sound of my father starting the car and threatening to leave us, which I would not have minded a single bit. In twenty minutes we were already on our way to Lokichogio. My father played his classic hits and my brother and I were fast asleep at the back of the car we rented. Due to high levels of insecurity we were advised not to travel in a ‘fancy’ car. I woke up to a nightmare that had become our harsh reality. Water was running low and the car engine was starting to overheat from all the strenuous activity it had undergone.