Among the country, Kenya’s 48 plus tribes, was my Kalenjin. Time saw the budding of harmony and we learned to accommodate and appreciate the differences that, in a way, made who we were.
I strolled to get groceries within Nairobi’s Mbagathi, where varieties from the many we grew from would interact daily. It was common to come across a fellow tribesman, telling one from the traits we shared, however trace—I particularly found it interesting, how we identified with varied ancestries, which never failed to prove our connection.
A man before me assumed a stance; one I automatically and absent-mindedly adapted. It got me thinking, when he looked up, but my train had to slow for his words, which poured out with the pace common to my tribesmen. He smiled my tribe’s smile—those were my people’s teeth, alright. My heart warmed up an identical smile.
I could say hi. But it would spark a conversation that I was not ready for. So, I let my thoughts melt to the feeling of belonging—with my people; how I loved to see us spread out through the world.
The second version for My Countrymen is a poem; I will share it someday. See you tomorrow!
Categories: Short Stories
Benson Langat is a poet, fiction writer, and freelancer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry. Benie is a dad and lives in Nairobi, Kenya.