Of many worlds

Type. Type. Then that annoying red line appears under my British-spelt words. What? That is correct. And it is. But my word processor is set to American English. 

So I change it. And type…type…type. Then that horrid red line again. What? That word is correct. And it is. It’s an American spelling. But I am now using British type setting. Not to mention our education system also styled after the UK and you can see my dilemma.

So I change it back to American. And keep typing till the very end and then proofread with eagle eyes. O the bother!

I love tea. I am addicted to tea and must have my minimum three cups(make that mugs with a capital M) every day. Morning, afternoon, evening and before bedtime…did I say three? Oops! Apparently tea-drinking is very Brit. Quite the capital non-alcoholic beverage. It used to be coffee for me(strong and black thank you), the all-American favorite, ’till I switched and could not really understand why. It was simple natural progression. I think.

When I dress, from the fashion rags to fashion columns in the dailies, I can place myself in the American style casual-smart section. When I was younger I loved plaids, tartans and tweeds. Catch me dead today in anything plaid unless it’s burberry(ahem, or barberry, by that Kenyan; you know- the one that looks like the real one but isn’t?). And you guessed right I shifted from Brit dressing to American style get-up.

When I want to buy anything, I must bargain unless I am in a retail chain store and even then I know when the ‘sales’ are on. I make it a point to know where to get the same items for way less from anything from vegetables to shoes and everything in between. ‘Nyama choma’ and arguing over politics are mandatory for me to take my place among my brethren, the Kenyans.

When my aunt, uncles and cousins come a-knocking, I better switch to the tongue that my mother was raised speaking(Isn’t it ironic how we say our ‘Mother-tongue’ yet in Kenya the child is supposed to take on the Father’s birth language?), before I am considered a “snub-nosed-city-girl” by The Family.

Kiswahili/Sheng mixed with English is the only way to make yourself understood: period. “Si i’m sure you jua what i’m semaing? ” To be able to board and depart from the infamous “mathrees” and eat cheap but filling meals at the local food kiosk, my tongue would be out of place without a smattering of Kiswahili peppered with the right amount of sheng; depending on the service provider. ‘Swa-sheng’ also gets you in with the cashier most places from the mpesa stall to the kiosk in the housing estate and some of the best jokes aka ‘mchongoano’ are expressed this way.

Oh and did I mention the two years or so after high school I spent drilling punctuations and pronunciations in French into my young brain? Parents with a vision, who take their darlings to foreign language specialists to help them ‘secure’ that lucrative six+-figure UN post in T+n years. This section includes the kids sent to schools that are easily recognized by one word, you know the ones, not like others which had to have nicknames so you don’t have to say St. Francis of the Holy Tri-une blah…blah…blah.

From well-meaning parents to the television shows to the silver screen, literature and now the advent of the all-encompassing social media; I am yet to know who or what I truly stem from. You see I’m Kenyan by birth and my tribe is pre-detrmined by my father’s origins, but I watch predominantly American shows, drink tea and write like a Briton, watch local shows and interact with fellow Kenyans who speak and act like both Brits, Americans, Nigerians and Kenyans(sometimes not very well i’m afraid), transact in English and Kiswahili, read and hear a smattering of French and now I’m learning to speak social. Yes social; the online lingo that connects you to your Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Doodle, Netlog and all other social network buddies.

Who am I? I’m a child of many worlds 😉