Of a Kenyan, lies, truths and mirrors
Self Editor’s Note: Once in a while Our Man in America’s work gets a tear-jerking response, which makes the sleepless nights he spends writing without pay worthy.
WHILE receiving an award in Boston from the Kenyan community recently, the great Prof. Ali Mazrui said that he had received numerous honors for his work. But the one Kenyans bestowed upon him that July night was the greatest, he said, because it came from his people, meaning that they had accepted him.
No, I haven’t received any award from my people, despite the large amount of money I have selflessly sent home over the years to feed kids and put them through school. You are not the only one doing it, so shut up, Our Man. But a recent response to something I wrote about that university called the Institution of Marriage got me a little teary. It was a comment on Kenya Imagine, an opinion, commentary and analysis Web site that gives my people a place to vent. Kenya Imagine often reprints memoirs and commentary from Our Man in America.
“I always laugh when I read your articles….then I read them again and realise that I am laughing at myself. Your articles are like a mirror on our society,” wrote one Jaya Wardene.
If you’ve been reading Our Man in America — as you should — you know that at times (all the times, really) I can be an egomaniacal bastard. I think that every story — even ones that are written in languages I don’t understand and aren’t about me — should revolve around me. But today, I’m going to spare you the agony of telling you about how I’m going to celebrate for the sweet comment my paisan left.
I’m going to tell you about mirrors.
A few weeks ago I went to this museum in San Francisco called the Exploratorium. They have models explaining almost every scientific concept on earth. But what moved me were two mirrors. They were placed at an angle — 60 degrees, I think, in front of a small desk against a wall. The mirror on the left showed how you see yourself in the everyday mirror — that bathroom mirror that loves you so much that it lies to you every day that you’re pretty. Or that you are applying deodorant (if you wear any) with your left hand when in fact it is the right hand that is glazing your hairy left armpit.
On the right hand side was the mirror that gives the image of how others see you. They call it the cylindrical mirror. Whoever put the mirror there warns that that true image of how others see you can be very uncomfortable to stare at.
They weren’t lying.
I looked at myself in the eyes, but looked away immediately. I had seen the eyes of a dog caught stealing. Is this what people see when they look at my eyes? Could this be why some folks look and act scared when they see this big, black man approaching? What’s with this freaking goatee thing I did in front of that damn bathroom mirror of lies? And could this recession-mandated, self-styled, stupid haircut be the reason every woman I have tried to court wants to be “just friends?”
I’d love to get a mirror that’s candid and truthful. But I’m still in love with that mirror that lies to me every morning that I’m good looking. Like an obsessively controlling spouse, that stupid bitch follows me to every toilet and urinal I visit, day and night. In fact I’m so much in love with this mirror that I think it stalks, lies and abuses me because it loves me.
At least this lying mirror doesn’t hit me. I have, however, thought about punching it with my fist when this freaking economic deprecession depresses me. But the thought of what the mirror would do to my hand — and the fact that I have no adequate health care — restrains me. And ken-ya imagine what my landlord would do if he found out that I’m abusing my mirror? He would call the cops. Cops usually respond faster when a man abuses his mirror, or sink, or door, than they do when he abuses a wife.
They call it “damage to property,” which makes me wonder if we should demand that men pay a bride price. That way when that jerk across the street is beating his wife I can call the Oakland Police Department and say he is committing the anti-capitalism crime of “damage to property.” Just like a mirror doesn’t have to file charges for me to go jail, his battered wife wouldn’t need to talk for the cops to prosecute.
I get riled up sometimes and often end up entangled in a narrative that others might say should wait another day. But screw them. Domestic violence is happening as I finish this sentence, so why should I wait for another day?
Like a battered wife, I have neither the courage, nor the support I need to replace my bathroom mirror with one that is, loving, honest and truthful. The system is against me. I need a permit from those ordinance-making, parking-ticket-issuing jerks at City Hall, and permission from my slumlord (my refrigerator is still missing a shelf, jerk) to bring in the truthful mirror I deserve in my life. Then I have to deal with the fact that the mirror that loves me and lies to me would still stalk me to toilets outside my home.
I’m screwed.
This narrative is going nowhere, so let’s me get to the end of it. I believe that — like me — most artists have in some way experienced the horror and the dilemma of the mirror. Like most psychologically troubled human beings (most creative people are) we hate to suffer alone. That’s why — through satire, humor, storytelling, painting, poems, music, etc. — we bombard, our dear audience, with the cylindrical mirror.
We work night and day — often unpaid — because we want you to see how ridiculous and scary you look through the lens of those around you.
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This is fascinating to me. How do they know that’s the way everybody else sees you? I’ve never once seen a dog caught stealing… or you looking like one for that matter. Francisca Ortega(Quote) (Reply)
Frankie, you’ve never seen a dog caught stealing because U.S. dogs have everything — better health care, chauffeurs and even someone to pick up their crap — and therefore lack the urge to steal. And because you’ve never seen the eyes of a dog caught stealing you might not know that that is what you see in my eyes. Edwin(Quote) (Reply)
what you do with the water here, pour it like silver, flatten it like sky. showing the face behind the staring eye…fantastic! nezua(Quote) (Reply)