Put It In A Book.

‘The best way to hide something from black people is to put it in a book.’ That’s a popular quote that shouldn’t be. It insinuates that black folks don’t like reading, which leads us to live in ignorance (that is not blissful in this case). That lack of a reading culture has contributed to a lot of our woes on this continent.

I remember when we had a national referendum to change our constitution a few years ago. The symbols were fruits, a banana on one hand for the establishment, and an orange for those who opposed the change to the katiba. Of course, that was a political process, so it was accompanied by a lot of noise. The government encouraged us to read the document and make an enlightened decision. That was not appealing to many of us because we generally don’t like reading. It felt like a lot of work for most Kenyans, and the long document with all the legalese didn’t help.

Our 844 system of education made us cram the curriculum to pass exams, not to understand it. That led to very little retention after the exam was over. I remember some Kenyans proudly (but sadly) admitting that they will vote according to what their leaders advise. “Baba or Kibaki has read the document for us and informed us that it is good (or bad), so vote according to what we tell you.” And we followed suit.

I must admit that I am guilty of that too. I didn’t read the document in detail, and honestly speaking, my vote was influenced by opinions around me. When I travel majuu, I find their reading culture quite impressive. Small kids reading a book is a rare sight, though now they are reading (or pretending to) on their mobile devices. We have to find a way of growing a reading culture on our continent. Treasures are hidden in books, and those treasures may just solve some of our problems.

Let me stop my lecture there. I have no moral authority to chastise us because I’m a late bloomer too, as far as reading books goes. I started reading books consistently in my forties. Mummy shark, on the other hand, tears through books like a salad. When we go on holiday, she carries a book as part of her relaxation. On the contrary, our baby sharks and I will be looking for a smart TV with Netflix hehe.

I have gleaned a lot from the books I have read so far. Jackson Biko, in his writing masterclass, told us that we will never run out of stories to write if we read and observe life often. I can now confirm, after almost 10 years of blogging, that he was right. I’m still not reading as much as I should, but the little I’m doing has helped immensely in sharing my musings here, and also in my journey of self-development.

That’s how I ended up spending four days on my first writing retreat last week. I had been toying with the idea of doing a book, but I held back because I didn’t know the WHY of it. Why am I writing a book? After stewing over that thought for almost two years, the answer dropped like a coconut on my head.

I’m writing a book because I want to grow thought leadership on transitions. Once an author, perhaps I will have more authority to speak about transitions and help folks move through seasons of life better. I signed a publishing agreement in January and was supposed to have written 10,000 words by my birthday on 31^st March — I came close at 348 words hehe, but at least I started, ama? My editor got concerned and suggested that I try a writing retreat. I didn’t know such things existed, but I thought I’d give it a try, especially because it would take me away from the usual distractions of maisha.

My pal allowed me to use his cottage up on Elementaita hills, with a bird’s eye view of Lake Elementaita. I hoped that the scenery would connect the Bluetooth between the story in my head and putting it on paper. Despite the baridi up there, the sunny afternoons combined with the amazing views thawed my mind enough for the words to start dropping off onto my writing pad.

I managed just over 8000 words, and I must say it was an experience worth attempting. I felt like my mind had been to the gym and found my instructor in overdrive mode. African storytelling was handed down at the fireplace in the evening while cooking, out grazing, or just chilling. But the fireplaces are scarce now, especially with apartment living, and there are no cows or grazing spaces in which to accompany our elders and hear their thoughts. We have to find another way of passing on our stories lest we die with them. They are useless in the next life.

I now have a new respect for authors. They have dared to tell (and leave) their stories of interacting with life. It takes two to tango, so if the books are written, we then have to pick them and consume their contents. That’s what will make the effort worthwhile.

Having started this book-writing attempt, and after my four-day writing retreat, I have come to respect the work authors put in. It’s not as easy as I thought, yet I’m just at the beginning of this journey. I had hoped it would just be pasting my many blog articles together into a book, but it’s not that easy. Well, I’ve dug in and will give this my best shot. Hopefully, some good Africans will transition through life a bit easier because they read my book. Wish me luck, folks, for this is the year of my bestseller, ama namna gani my friends (as our president often quips) hehe…