KENYA: Has Old Age Lost It's Sheen?

NAIROBI, Kenya (The Standard), September 3, 2006: From the Society page in today's edition Save for the distant yap of a mongrel, it was silent. Sunset was several minutes ago, and a thick blanket of dark covered the tiny hamlet. In the banana plantations, death lingered like the proverbial swords of Domicles. Two ghostly figures armed with clubs steal their way to the house, clobber a lone 75-year-old widow, rob her, leave her for the dead, and flee. In Kilifi, the elderly are besieged. Old age seems synonymous with witchcraft, throwing locals into a lynching frenzy. So horrible was the situation that a local DC begged for civility. Recently in Trans Nzoia, a drunken man killed his 80-year-old mother over a tin of beans. Having been deserted, the poor granny lived with her teenage grandson. Old age, it seems, has lost the golden gleam enjoyed in years gone past. Today, the elderly are a forgotten lot, neglected and relegated to a life of solitude and misery. This disregard reminds me of Boxer in George Orwell's "Animal's Farm." With the intense rat race, majority of the elderly are poor and depend on their kin for survival. This is because education, the media and other sources have replaced the crucial roles of grannies as wisdom imparters and storytellers. Some now view the elderly as a nuisance. Complicating the issue is the mass rural-urban migration which indeed has redefined care for the aged. "This is a defining moment for Africa. We are preoccupied with the search for material things and are completely losing our humanity. It's an unfortunate twist of fate. Unless one is very rich or comes from a wealthy family, most people with average income decide to ignore their aging kin," explains Thomas Kioko social worker. Cuddled in her straw beddings, 90-year-old Wangui Kambo wheezes out her frustration. Caressing her stomach and blessing it for having given forth 15 strong children, she finds it ironical that today she survives on the benevolence of neighbours. She does not know the whereabouts of her children. "True it's very difficult to take care of the aged today. We're always busy, not aware about how our parents are faring," admits Terry Cherono. "They're uncomfortable with the city, yet we can't be upcountry all the time. A while ago we hired a couple to take care of my husband's parents. The caretakers turned tormentors, stealing food and frustrating the old people," she says. Similarly, if a couple has problems with their relationship, to extend care to the aging parents becomes complicated. But even in the city, the elderly are likely to be segregated by one partner even cautioning the children against mingling. This is a strenuous mechanical life, that the freedom of the countryside is cherished and missed. "To me this is a family concern. All members should discuss and take responsibility of their parents. If the worst comes to the worst then, families can contribute and put them in homes for the old." I'd hate it though, to have my mum dumped in such a place," Cherono says. In the sun-baked fields of Kinamba, a far-flung village in Rumuruti, we are welcomed by a cloud of dust. Despite the fact that it is still morning, the sun is very hot perhaps alluding to the hard life of 88-year-old Josephat Ethuro and his wife Helena. They are frail and hopeless. Seated pensively outside their rickety, peeling hut, they seem to wonder where to get their breakfast. Besides them is a lump of ballast they try to crush, sell to the Catholic Church and get some pennies. But they are too weak for the task. Having retired from Sosiani Ranch, they lost their bearings, relatives and children. In the absence of the warmth of a family, they are meek, with Ethuro's toes shyly peeping from old sports shoes. Helena's clothes hang loosely over the shoulder and she speaks with a quiver. Through a translator, Ethuro says he prefers death to the kind of misery he and his wife live in, and then allows streams of tears to freely roll down his cheeks. Though they worked so hard, word has it that they were defrauded of their terminal dues. Today, they literally live from the begging bowl. Sometimes they are forgotten and go without food. Abdi Galgalo a local leader says that there are so many old people abandoned in the ranches who will would die ingloriously. "If someone knows a home for the elderly, they better come for them. This life is dehumanising. It is a sad way of spending old age," Galgalo regrets. Elizabeth, 92, lives in Matasia. With a stoop, she makes unsteady steps, one hand on her back another tightly griping her walking stick that has been polished with the many years of handling. Her gunny bag is just outside the house and she carefully exercises her joints. Her only child left for Mombasa and has never shown up again. "The economic and political influence of a group determines how they're treated. For the elderly, most of them are beggars and might not vote, therefore, they are of little consequence to a capitalist society like ours," Kioko explains. He wishes though that just as we have vibrant movements on the girl child, women and the youth, we should have one for the elderly. Most Kenyans admit to having paid lip service to their aging kin but quickly offer the excuse of economic hardships and even the inevitable cultural dynamics. This seems to be the dilemma of Chris Wafula. His father is about 85 and in need of specialised care. But he finds it tricky. "Even if we want them here in the city, it's impossible. Essentially it's the grandchildren who took care of the aged, but today they're in school. We can't share our home with them, we would need to rent a room for them but unfortunately, we don't have enough money." Caring for the aged is challenging and calls for dedication. Their frail nature needs tender care. At this stage, they are prone to ailments, some would need somebody to bathe, cloth, feed and even change diapers. "Some of these tasks puts off many would be caretakers," Kioko says. Timothy Kimondiu, who lives with his mother, Alice Ndhiwa 92, says when the turn for the children to take responsibility for their parents comes, they should take the responsibility with pride. "When we were young, they stayed with us anywhere, and never abandoned us, poverty not withstanding, why do we forget that so fast?" he quips. "I go to Makueni and see tear jerking scenes. Many people have abandoned their aging parents for towns. There is loneliness and poverty. That is bad of us," he says. Kimondiu argues that it is inhuman to abandon one's parents yet they were responsible for the success of many. "That's selfishness. Those who do this have lost their sense of humanity," he says. Though a busy man, Clement Amare had built an extension in his Karen home to house his parents. "After three weeks, the old man developed home sickness. At times he wanted his "chang'aa," which is illegal - he just decided to go back upcountry," he says. Amare regrets that even when he sends money upcountry for their care, those responsible just squander it and do nothing. "In fact we were contemplating taking them to a home," he says. However, he will have to explore other avenues first as he rightly argues that the elderly need love and compassion. They need to see their children and grandchildren and laugh together, not the seclusion of an artificial home. Kenya, it is estimated has about 2.5 million aged people of over 60 years, a majority being in the countryside. "We need comprehensive policies on the aged as a matter of urgency. With it, society should be sensitised, encouraged and even given incentives to care for the elderly," suggests Kimondiu. There is also an urgent need to revitalise the traditional extended family concept to tame this problem, argues Kimondiu. Deep inside us, he says, Africans are socialist beings disadvantaged by western forces of individualism. Olden days cannot be reversed though, many will go into homecare, but Kimondiu feels that perhaps Africa needs a renaissance. By Erick Wamanji Copyright © MMVI. The Standard Group