The Gift of Adversity

Among the many privileges of being alive, is that peculiar human ability to look into the past and study the lives of great men and women who have gone before us; to cry over their flaws, admire their strength, laugh at their naivety, rejoice in their victories and yes, identify with their losses. It is a privilege that all who desire to better their lives should engage in from time to time. In my doing so, I have observed a common thread that weaves through the tapestry that is their lives-adversity.

Defined as a difficult and unpleasant situation, adversity is not one those things that we look forward to (like a hot cuppa tea on a rainy day). Yet, it is the one thing, more often than not, that gives the impetus to want to succeed. It is not a pre-requisite for success. It is a necessary ingredient.

I am a first born. Unlike my siblings, I have seen my parents at their worst moments; the times when putting food on the table was more important than what kind was laid, when the roof over their heads was porous to the elements of nature, when their choice of clothing was wanting, when bills drew sighs and when they struggled to give their children the best of education in spite of their meagre earnings. Through these trying periods, never at any one time did my siblings and I get the impression that we had reached a dead end. My parents kept on moving. Sometimes they ran, sometimes they walked briskly. Sometimes they plodded. All in all, they kept surging forth.  In retrospect, I realise that those moments of adversity made them who they are today. They were patient through them. They did not nag and if they did, we never caught them in the act. They embraced adversity and lived to tell the tale.

I compare myself with my parents’ kind, and I find myself wanting. I realise that my attitude along with that of my generation towards adversity is appalling. We nag at the slightest bump on our road to success. We want in a day the things that took our parents a decade to attain. We deem most jobs being below us. We view adversity as a preserve for the less privileged-an experience confined to the slums, Jua kali and wherever it is that people living on less than a dollar a day are to be found.

It is no wonder that the character of those who have “made it” easy, especially in the current crop of the Y generation, is wanting. I have found most to be haughty, condescending, peevish, and whatever other ill adjective the Queen’s language avails. 

I have chosen to take the path less trodden. I will embrace adversity. I will learn from it. I will look at it in the eye and tell it, “You will not win over me. You may seem like you are but you will not. I will prevail. By God’s grace I must prevail” Then I will gloat when I see it turn its back, tail in between its legs and walk away, waiting for another opportune time to visit. And should Providence have before me two gifts of adversity and pleasantry. I will choose the former, for then I shall grow wiser and consequently avoid the trappings of pleasantry that so many of my peers have fallen into.

I am Grateful

Gratitude is a discipline that is seldom practised. In the few occasions that we do, gratitude is usually prompted by near death experiences that jolt us into appreciating life; from the lofty out-of-this-world experiences right down to the mundane routine tasks. However, it has come to my realisation that we are a blessed lot. Hereby, “we” refer to “God’s Children, born not out of human will but God’s”. I am not ignorant of the fact that the sufferings that plague humanity do not pass by us. In fact, it is the dearest of God’s children who seem to go through the most suffering. To the ignorant world, it may seem that the God they love has forsaken them. Yet, it is at such times of suffering that they feel His presence ever near. It is at such times that classic stories such as “foot prints in the sand” are called to memory. It is at such times that scriptures read casually of Emmanuel, “God with Us” come alive. It is at such momentous times in their lives that they exhibit such deep peace that stupefies the world and confounds the wise. At that precise point in time, these children become instruments of immense proportions. They may not know it. Understandably, suffering may cloud their judgment yet their faith remains steadfast. God enables it so. In a paradoxical manner, their sonorous and angelic voices become as soothing as ever, trees of life that bring healing whenever and wherever they sound. Their demeanour attracts the scum of the earth such that these dregs of the society are at home with God’s children yet are pointed to a higher home-one whose architect and builder is God. Their eyes gaze lovingly into those whose laughter betrays an aching heart; eyes glistened with emotion, they offer a shoulder to lean on and a soul that groped in the dark suddenly comes to light. Yes, these heavenly tasks are carried out in utmost humility and in the most self-effacing manner. And yes, these dear suffering souls are the most grateful to their God.

I cannot claim to have suffered. Nay, considering the kind of sufferings other people have gone through, I have no inkling what suffering is all about. However, I can claim I have a lot to be grateful about. That claim is delightfully true...

                               

     I am grateful that I once was blind but now I see,

    I am grateful that I once was lost but now am found,

    I am grateful that one day my saviour I will see,

   And to Him  I will be blissfully and eternally bound

   

  I am grateful that one step before me lies,                            

                         I am grateful that it is all I need to see,                             

   

                         I am grateful that in Him, sorrow away flies,                            

                        

                         And my soul rests as the serene sea.                            

                          

                         I am grateful that He keeps my tummy full,                            

                          

                         I am grateful that to this end, He never fails,                            

                         

                         I am grateful that I am grateful,                            

              

                        And when I am not, His grace gently prevails.

Of Beard, Leadership and Integrity

Leadership development has had its fair share of airplay recently. This of course has to do with the fact that most, if not all, of the ills that plague our beloved country can be traced back to poor leadership or total absence of it. It was thus a breath of fresh air when Leadership and Integrity was captured in the new constitution. However, as much as I am a firm believer that this is the way to go, I also believe that too much ambition would inevitably result in ambiguity. I am not a privileged member of the circle that is the learned friends but as a self-declared patriot, I have a say in this matter. And I say rule out any weak spots that are ambiguous. We are already paying the price seeing that none is certain of when the next general elections shall be held. Anyway, here is my bone of contention. I cannot quote it like our learned friends do. So I beg the indulgence of the reader to look up its exact location in the leadership and integrity bill.

(2) A state officer shall possess the following leadership qualities –

(p) Maintenance of personal hygiene and modesty and objectivity in dressing, speaking and writing in public and private life.

13. (1) A State officer shall—

(f) Maintain an appropriate standard of dress and personal hygiene;

There now. Do you see it? How does one go about measuring personal hygiene-objectively measuring personal hygiene? What is the standard of a leader’s personal hygiene? Who determines the appropriateness of a leader’s personal hygiene? Considering that the feminist movement’s ball is garnering immense masses, I feel for my kind; the kind that adorns steely wires on their chins commonly referred to as beard. I have been on the receiving end because of this adornment that I love. “Shave it please” I have often been told. This voice has been lifted higher by the older folks among my kind. I have no idea where or when this idea came forth but it is there among the old folks-and it persists in a most nagging manner to beard lovers such as I. That a leader has to be clean-shaven in order to be considered one. I humour myself atimes and Imagine an aspiring candidate barred from holding office due to “excessive amounts of beard that exhibit ill maintenance of personal hygiene”. A bit far-fetched one might say. However, there are those among us notorious for cheap publicity stunts. Sooner or later they will see this platform and use every ounce of their energy to dance upon it. Consider this…

(5)Any person or the Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission may apply to the High Court for the nullification of any selection or election or appointment which does not meet the requirements of this section

Those two words-any person-is an invitation to that lass or lad seeking attention. The Kenyan populace being hungry for such ludicrous shows, he or she will get that unmerited attention. And this is all because of beard. An advance warning to such is that it has nothing to do with leadership. There are clean shaven men out there who have no inkling about leadership and integrity. On the other hand, there are full grown bearded men out there who are oozing with leadership and integrity. Let us not lose such because of ambiguities in our law. I rest my case!

Unfinished Business

I thought I would be writing this article from my space. This is because I had decided to move out i.e. leave my parents’ home. Well, it did not happen. This was my second attempt at doing so. The first ended in a conversation with the Old man that I can only describe politely as condescending. Any attempt to try and explain why I am moving out was met with the harshest of stares. Perhaps some elaboration is in order. I am the first born. I believe I have mentioned this before; there is this unwritten rule among the Kalenjins that the first born son is the father’s right hand man. He is the one who runs errands at the father’s whims. Do not mind that the young man has a mind of his own and ambitions to pursue. This is momentarily shelved when carrying out orders from father. Needless to say, that first attempt at securing my niche in this beautiful planet was peremptorily shattered. I did not harbour any hard feelings. I did not have a job and the thought of coming back to my parents asking them too bail me out repulsed me. Furthermore, the Old man had built a two-bedroom house for the boys- complete with a spacious bathroom and kitchen. I am sure he envisaged my wanting to try my wings out there after graduation. He was also in the process of expanding his farming enterprises. After thinking hard and long, he tied me down by building quarters nearby. “Why go out to rent when he has a two-bedroom house all to himself?” he must have mused. I held my horses. At my second attempt, I still did not have a job. However, I had enough money to sustain me for three months comfortably or four if lived in frugality. I figured this period would be enough to seek and find some sustainable employment. There was lots of tension at home. I still wanted to move out but not without the blessings of my parents. I held my horses. It was later on that it dawned on me why all my efforts have been hitting a brick wall. Some time back, I had confided in a friend about my plans for the aforementioned quarters. I wanted to it to be a harbour for the weary traveller, weary at heart and body. I had read of Dr. Francis Schaeffer, the director of L’Abri fellowship in Huemoz, Switzerland. His story moved me. Many nights were spent at his home engaging in discourse on spiritual truths. His guests were from different faiths, endowments, races and nationalities. This seeking of spiritual truth combined with the clean air of mountainous Switzerland, contributed immensely to the sound health-spiritually and physically-of L’Abri visitors. I thought of the ideal location of Eldoret, how convenient it would be to hold those nights of discussion with truth seekers as Dr. Francis held at L’Abri. Now I figure the reason why I wanted to move out was to be at par with my peers. Most of them are out there leaving a mark in their workplaces. I can brood over my situation, play the blame game, and risk developing ulcers over circumstances external to me...or I can pose for a moment, figure out what is it that holds me back, and upon realising that I have an unfulfilled promise to my heavenly Father, go ahead and deliver. I choose the latter; it is what any prudent child of God would do.

Of Letters and Conversations

Dear Reader, A wave of nostalgia came over me the other day. In an effort to find a remedy, I rummaged my room looking for letters of old. I could not find any. I thought of the many letters written to me: letters of hope, encouragement, love and yes, even infatuation. All of them gone-their treasured contents now dependant on my erratic memory. It was then that it dawned on me what the advent of instant communication had robbed me-the art of letter writing. The only letters I now write are job applications, and the only ones I now receive are bank statements. I reminisced of my high school days. The highly anticipated moment when the information prefect would call out the names of those who had letters sent to them. I recalled the silence and the cold stares that met the one who dared upset that silence. I recalled the brief loud cheer when one’s name was called more than once. Oh, the thrill of it. He was the lucky one who won the bragging rights of the day. I recalled of the time when I almost gave up on my education. It was the encouraging letter from my father that gave me the much needed strength to hang in there- just a little bit longer. It was in those days that I said what I meant and I meant what I said. When I wrote, “I miss you”, I really did. Now, I say the same and a flush of guilt comes over me. How do I miss someone who is just a call, sms, update, or a tweet away? I have tried but my heart cannot be easily deceived. It demands absence for it to truly “miss”. There is truth in the old adage “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” In the same nostalgic mood, I recalled of the rich conversations we had around the dining table. How we teased each other and prattled on and on about the events of the day. How we dreamily projected into the future and built castles in the air. How we lingered on the table long after we had finished our meals. It was during this time that our dear parents moulded us while we were still malleable. Then slowly, almost pathologically, the conversations reduced to inquiries. There arrived a guest at our own invitation. It refused to leave. It took centre-stage in our lives and awed by its antics, we allowed it. It was bossy and did not allow conversations to revolve around anything else except what it had to say. It’s rare absence occasioned by power blackouts left us in a limbo. We stared at the ceiling, at some inanimate object, and then at each other. We coughed intermittently desperately trying to break the long spell of awkward silences. We then mumbled a few incoherent words, only to be met with one-word rejoinders that were (for lack of a better word) simply idiotic. Oh, TV! How I lament your coming. You have robbed me off the art of conversing; how to draw water from the deep well of another’s and drinking of life’s lessons from therein. How I wish I could take you by your cord and throw you into the sea of forgetfulness. Indeed, how I wish. I now find myself in the valley of decision. Before me are two great mountains that I should climb while my heart still pounds in my breast- that of letter writing and conversing. I will not tire of the trips to and fro the post office. I will invest in a chest box and store my treasures therein. In my abode, we will take our meals around the dining table as it ought to be. Then, when I am advanced in years and that wave of nostalgia comes over me, I shall reach for my chest box, head for the front porch, and relish every word therein. When friends wonder how our children and grandchildren are so very…agreeable, my loved one and I shall recall of the many nights we spent around the dining table; deeply engrossed in conversation, rich meaningful conversations. Yours truly, Evans Toroitich

The Grander Ambition

Of all the human ambitions, none is grander than knowing God. On January 7th 1855, C.H. Spurgeon, at a tender age of twenty years said, “There is something exceedingly improving to the mind in a contemplation of the Divinity. It is a subject so vast, that all our thoughts are lost in its immensity; so deep that our pride is drowned in its infinity.” A century and a half later, his words ring truer than ever before. Looking back in history, the men and women who have shaped the events of this world have had to grapple with the concept of a higher being. Some may have not liked it, the notion that their lives were beyond their control was loathsome. Didn’t Stalin in his death bed shake his fist towards the heavens in anger towards God? Didn’t Hitler, filled with hatred for God, seek to annihilate the Jews in what he deemed as “the last solution”? On the other hand, some embraced this inadequacy, realising that they are but finite mortal beings whose timings and occurrences in their dear lives are in the hands of God. They went ahead and made great strides in their endeavours. One has to only mention the names Lincoln, Wilberforce, Luther, Luther King, Shakespeare, Bunyan, Dante, Dickens...and their faith comes to the fore. Hence, judging from history, it is a safe to assume that greatness is borne out of knowing God, or at least making an effort to know God. It is therefore an oxymoron of sorts, to pursue greatness in whichever arena, without God in the frontline. It is a futile attempt that can only end in anarchy, tyranny, insanity, fleeting glory or worse- premature and empty death of the pursuant. This premise, without doubt, flies straight in the face of atheists, humanists, naturalists, existentialists and all other “ists”. They believe that life revolves around them, that they are the centre of the universe. This is why the Ten Commandments are too much for Ted Turner, the humanist with a Capital H. He would rather have the ten voluntary suggestions. How absurd! Then we have Richard Dawkins, the evolution biologist who finds the idea of God utterly repulsive. Any individual with an inkling of mortal fear would shudder at his godless writings. I believe Malcolm Muggeridge must have had persons such as Dawkins and Turner in mind when he soberly uttered, “We have educated ourselves into imbecility!” It is not my intention to belittle the human intelligence. Neither is it my intention to pour cold water on human ambition. However, it is my intention to elucidate the vanity of ambition- intelligent or not-without Deity. It is like a ship without a rudder. Nay, it is like a rudderless ship without a captain and its crew members ignorant on the use of a light tower. It does not need a rocket scientist to tell that such a ship shall crash in the hidden rocks; land on hostile shores; never come to port or if by the mercies of God it does, then in utter ruins, loss of life or injury to its crew members. It is only a fool who would board such a ship at the harbour and gaily wave to loved ones upon its departure. I pray, dear reader, that you are not such a person and do not intend on becoming one.

My Fears

I once alleged I would write on the fears of a man. I never did. The responses obtained were enough to ascertain the sensitivity of the subject. Nonetheless, it is a subject worth exploring and this endeavour is most profitable if done at a personal level. I need not add that at my 28th birthday, it is an apt enough time to do so.


I worry - where I should be-what should I be -when I should be-how should I be...Sometimes, I take a long hard look at myself and cry out, “ what a wretched being I am!”; a mere mortal, a blind worm writhing its way through the earth. Then other times, I envision myself journeying on the road less travelled. I look up yonder and see the rays of the morn sun peeping over the brow of the hill. Somehow, even though I may not see what lies beyond the hill, my feet keep going. The hope that tomorrow I will wake up a better man lingers in mine heart and this I would not let go. This, I cannot let go.


Ambition, a good thing it is but a dose too much and it becomes a burden; the kind that leads to fires in the stomach, otherwise known as ulcers- the ambitious man’s disease. “Great expectations make frustrated men”, I believe Achebe once quipped. I have my moments of frustration. My ambition then cannot be contained by my present circumstances. Somehow, I am led to believe that its time has not yet come. The most annoying thing is that it burns within me-a raging fire that consumes my very being. The most exquisite of foods looses taste and turns to gravel in mine mouth. Sleep eludes me like the Kenyan shilling. It is in these moments that I consider settling for less. At least then, I would save my body from ill-health and my mind from insanity. Then again, I walk into the future and hate what I have become. The thought of looking into my wife and children’s eyes, turn away and wish I was living a different life haunts me. Hence, with this hindsight, I choose to live with gravel in my mouth and sore eyes.


I often wonder what my task in this life is. I pick an autobiography and take a glimpse into the lives of men who once walked on this earth. Some I love. Some I loathe. Yet in all of them, I see a little bit of me; men unsatisfied with where they are in life; men craving for more endowments; men who seem to live in the future-their present times not worthy of them. Still a few of these men lay their heads on their pillows at night and know peace. Some have their lives ebb away from them, and still they know peace. Better still, very few, at their death beds are able to utter in unbridled conviction, “I have brought you glory on earth by completing the work you gave me to do” and these very few experience true peace- the kind that confounds the minds of men. I do not yet fully know my task in this life. I am not sure whether I will. However, along the narrow way I perceive what it is. Sometimes, it is impressed heavily on me that my mind inquires of nothing else. Sometimes they jump out of the pages of a book as they once did in Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.

“The mill which had worked them down was the mill that grinds young people old; the children had ancient faces and grave voices; and upon them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into every furrow of age, and coming up afresh was the sign, Hunger. It was prevalent everywhere. Hunger was pushed out of the tall houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and lines; Hunger was patched into them with straw and rag and wood and paper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum of firewood that the man sawed off; Hunger stared down from the smokeless chimneys, and started up from the filthy street that had no offal, among its refuse, of anything to eat. Hunger was the inscription on the baker’s shelves, written in every small loaf of his scanty stock of bad bread; at the sausage-shop, in every dead dog preparation that was offered for sale. Hunger rattled its dry bones among the roasting chestnuts in the turned cylinder; Hunger was shred into atomies in every farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil.”


Indeed hunger is that old ogre that robs you off your dignity. God forbid that I sit and do nothing to severe its head from its body and hereafter, hear my Lord utter those dreadful words, “I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat.” God Forbid!


I am a bachelor. That means I have the pleasure of smelling armpits, rotting socks and rugged quarters as company. It also means I can freely break wind and not worry about being sued as some were threatened awhile back in good ‘ol Malawi. However, in due time, this deceptive liberty will be shown the door. My money won’t be mine alone and definitely my quarters too. I fear coming home with nothing to put on the table. I dread to see those inquisitive eyes of my daughter when she discovers daddy’s flaws. Or the look of disappointment in my son’s eyes when it dawns on him that his dad is not the hero he bragged to his friends about. Worst of all, I fear yielding in to the alluring advances of that beautiful lass and consequently, betray Lucy, the love of my life.


Talking about love, it is indeed is a beautiful thing-until it is wounded, then it becomes a source of most gruesome pain. I fear love. Is it any wonder that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? However, as gallant as it may sound, it is not the love of a woman I fear most. It is God’s. Being the apple of His eye is a nice place to be...until you turn your back on Him. That is when the understanding of a loving God also being a jealous God really sinks in. There are some passages in the holy writ that make me shudder. Humour me if you will, and consider the following excerpts of Deuteronomy 28.


“However, if you do not obey the Lord your God...your carcasses will be food for all the birds of the air and the beasts of the earth...you will eat the fruit of the womb, the flesh of the sons and daughters the Lord your God has given you...the Lord will scatter you among the nations...there the Lord will give you an anxious mind, eyes weary with longing, and a despairing heart. You will live in constant suspense, filled with dread both night and day, never sure of your life. In the morning you will say, “if only it were evening!” and in the evening, “if only it were morning!” –because of the terror that will fill your hearts and the sights that your eyes will see.”


I have often caught myself thinking if I wasn’t an object of His love, then should I go wrong, I need not be an object of his jealousy. How utterly foolish! If His wrath towards those He loves are of such proportions then how about to those who have refused to receive His love, the kind He gives freely?


28 years on this earth, this have I learnt. Fear the most Him who loves you the most. Place your fears in His hand, for they are but specks of dust that He will blow away.