Stereotype

When the government announced a crackdown on illegal immigrants in Kenya, who are suspected of being behind the wave of terror activities in the country of late, all eyes turned on Eastleigh, the ‘Little Mogadishu’ located on the outskirts of Nairobi that is believed to be the epicentre of lawlessness and wayward religious indoctrination.

And here, as anyone would expect, they found hundreds of people who either did not have valid identification documents, or were in the country illegally.

Stereotyping

Most of them were Somalis who had somehow sneaked into the capital either from refugee camps in the north, or directly from their war-torn nation. And then the stereotyping and finger-pointing started.

Soon this degenerated into an us-against-them derby, and I, Osman Mohammed Osman, became guilty by birth, blameworthy, censurable and untrustworthy for having the ‘wrong’ ethnic identity.

But why me? Why us? What have I done to be lumped together with the swash-bucklers who shot a bullet into the head of a toddler?

I did not emigrate to this beautiful nation, friends! I was born here 20 years ago in a small maternity hospital in Thika town, now part of Kiambu County, to an army officer who has gallantly fought for this nation for about 30 years now.

Over the years, I have watched my father serve his country with diligence and dedication, and I think that some of the passion I have for this land is borne of the patriotism the good man planted in me early in life.

Back in the 1980s, my father made a decision that affected, for the better, the trajectories of many who looked up to him for guidance and love.

The son of a pastoralist farmer in the harsh Kenyan north, he grew up tending to the camels and goats of his father, my grandfather, and many expected that he would follow in the footsteps of all that had gone before him and acquire a flock of his own.