I find it unnerving when society confounds intelligence with career. The idea that doctors are smarter than teachers. Or Lawyers more intelligent than bus conductors. I know this is what 8-4-4 teaches, but it is faulty. Who you become is shaped by opportunity & preparedness.
A bus conductor with the lawyer's experiences WOULD make a lawyer. A man with the bus conductor's experiences and limitations WOULD make a bus conductor. This implies that the potential is not immutable. And that there has to be a positive foundation for impact to be realized.
Take me for example, I love and enjoy reading. But when you trace my background, I had the opportunity & preparedness for it. I had a librarian mother, & easy access to the library. So when my introversion needed an escape, it was readily available to me in the form of library.
Now, a child with my character in Kathonzweni might not be able to realize such fascination not because they are any different but because when they sought an escape, there was nothing in their reality to fall back to. No opportunity/preparedness.
Look at politician's/bougeoisie' kids. They are good-time Charlies with opportunity. Now opportunity might come in the form of scholarship, rich parents, but what you become ultimately comes down to how your society prepared you, and its opportunities.
Obama in Kenya would have amounted to little more than a cardboard politician. He acknowledges this in his book & nomination speech: "in no other country on Earth is my story even possible". It is an acknowledgment of the superior hand of opportunity and preparedness.
We are not saying that individual excellence is not a factor. It is. But these must be complemented by opportunity/preparedness. Trace the history of doctors, you'll find that a close relative (father/mother was a doctor). Or politicians. Or musicians. Look at Indians in Kenya.
Or the bus driver, I met yesterday. A man whose greatness is his authenticity. With free education, access to mentorship, he might not have made a doctor, but would have made a rally driver. A Hamilton. A Schumacher. Find out what Schumacher's son does for a living. See my point?
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In the grand scheme of things, wealth & beauty will determine your scale of tolerance. The ugly woman is more tolerant of abuse: the poor man will be his peers' punching bag. It is not right, and I do not know which is worse. But both will suffer.
Counsel must be toned to their realities. If you asked both to value themselves, you'd be speaking braille. They do not understand the language. "Value myself? how?". Value myself on what? The man looks at his pockets, the woman her face, and they decide their fate.
Very few escape that reality. To save the woman, she'll need to be stripped of her mirror, to save the man, he must be given pants without pockets. That he might learn to exist without his pockets. You've heard the term, "know your place", this is what it means.
We must confront the truth, that this generation, too, has failed to mainstream political sanity. We fault politicians because it is convenient, nay popular. Any meaningful change will have to begin from this base: The leaders we pick are the representation of the majority us.
Internalization of this truth is key to remedy. So far, the default African citizenry response has been to change leaders. We don't wish to change somethings about us, so we change the external: we hope to retain our corruption while enjoying the fruits of good leadership. .
That is why every time we came near salvation, it would be sold for pieces of coins. This is who we are. This is what we do at our workplaces, in the bars, in the dingy hotels. Each of us participates in robbing this continent. We are not its victims. We are its abusers.
When my mother was getting married to my old man, she had one demand: She would not marry/live with an alcoholic man. She was saved. So they married, & 3 weeks into the marriage my old man went to a busaa (local brew) joint & drowned a gallon. Came home staggering drunk...
My mother welcomed him. Fed him. Put him in bed. Packed her bags. Left for her father's home very early in the morning. She was not going to live with an alcoholic man. That was that! When my old man awoke, his wife was nowhere to be found...
He searched here, searched there. My mother had left. My old man decided he was going to marry another woman. He went looking but all the women he found had faults. Too lazy. Too dirty. My old man was frustrated.
Even in the hinterland, morality was implausible. There can't be a moral act without a victim. I arrived late and missed my bus. I had to book the only available bus: a decrepit shell. I sat next to the driver as I hoped to catch the hinterland unawares...to see it naked...
I had been informed that the bus was 'express-way'. "We don't pick or drop passengers on the road". So I forked out even more coins. But that was false. As soon as we were out of the city center, the driver stopped at every stage. I was angry but didn't tell my anger
When the bus was full, we set out earnestly. But soon, the driver stopped for a preacher who picked my spot to preach: "you don't know when you'll die. So many people have died. But you are still here..." He mentioned death so many times, I had to pay "tithe". I wanted him gone.
I was tired - tired of my helplessness. I was tired of the fact that every time I tried, I would end up in the same place I'd started. And each time, a little worse than the former. My life was a constant struggle between hope and despair, never happiness.
The city was not motherly. I hated evenings the most. I had not the warmth of a woman, had no job: I had not even a radio to distract me from my wretchedness. It was exhausting that I had to sleep with myself through the night, into another similar night.
I longed for activity. Because even the most mistreated of workers have uncertainties to look forward to. I had nothing. I knew what the next day would look like. And the next, and the next after that. And each was just as miserable as the former. I thought I would die.