LET TOMORROW COME

Rosemary Okoth

It is never easy to make a radical shift in one's thinking. In many ways, I grew up in a privileged family in rural Kenya. A magistrate's daughter, I had virtually all my needs filled. Rarely did I worry about other people, or about tomorrow. If the British Broadcasting Corporationg told us that all was not well in a certain place...well, the people will take care of it; if not, God would. If the BBC talked of something happening in the neighboring village, my response would have been the same.

Six years later, the protective magistrate is no more. I have completed my political science degree at the University of Nairobi, and I am deep in peace and justice as volunteer research assistant with the Amani People's Theater (APT), courtesy of very sobering experiences in the last two years.

The first radical shift in thinking is simply that I now think of myself as a peace worker. The voices I have heard from different parts of the world-in workshops, refugee camps, villages, and within APT -have made me shift gears!

Indeed, I have no choice but to work for peace and justice.

I joined APT while I was at university about three years after my Dad's death. The truth must be said: I did not join APT out of any deep commitment to peace and justice. College life was tough and I needed some money to keep me going. I learned of APT during joint activities between APT and an organization I belonged to, the Free Traveling Theater of the University of Nairobi. Later, I learned that APT was recruiting "female" facilitators and I enlisted. Even after joining APT, I still was not exactly committed to this "intangible" peace work, though I enjoyed the arts approach to peacebuilding. But a colleague who apparently believes that everyone is called upon to do peace work kept bulldozing me.

Soon after, almost by chance, two events changed my views about the work and myself. In November 1999, I visited and discussed reconciliation processes with the Thesalia community in western Kenya. This community of over 500 families had been displaced from their homes during violent fighting in Kenya just before the general elections of 1992. The second sobering experience was in the Kakuma refugee camp in northern Kenya.

At Thesalia and Kakuma, I came face to face with the reality of war and what violence means and does to humans. I felt guilty that there are people who live in plastic bags, lacking basic human needs. In a fundamental way, they were no longer human. What was tomorrow for them?

In the Kakuma refugee camp, I had insightful discussion with ex-combatants. I cannot forget one image: A former Sudan People's Liberation Army [SPLA] combatant told me that killing someone and feasting on their heart is "no big deal." He graphically narrated to me episodes where he killed quite a number of people using different "easy" methods. Yet in that man's eyes I saw a man in great pain, whose basic need for identity and security was in constant threat. I still grapple with mixed feelings of guilt, helplessness, and anger.

I understood that peace work is not as easy as I had thought.
Indeed it was a reminder that we need to be prepared to take risks if we hope to change the world and ourselves.

The time I spent at the Summer Peacebuilding Institute was quite an enriching experience. The peacebuilding field has been romanticized. I took many things for granted. My anger and frustration was not enough to respond to violent conflicts. I realized some of the dilemmas and struggles that I have to brace myself for as a peace worker. I understood that peace work is not as easy as I had thought. Indeed, it was a reminder that we need to be prepared to take risks if we hope to change the world and ourselves. Being a recipient of a scholarship in honor of Rose Barmasai-who met her death in the process of peacebuilding-I realize that this work could cost my life. Would I be as daring in searching for peace as the late Rose? I believe her spirit will continue guiding us.

I now belong to a bigger world. When I listen to BBC, I have people to connect to. It is no longer the distant Bosnia or Nigeria; neither is it just Nagaland or Sri Lanka; it is now people I have met who are committed to peace in those countries. It was such an inspiration to see people from countries at war or from regions where the nation-state system has criminalized ethnicity. SPI was more than a bazaar of abstract theories but a shrine that challenged our experiences and Let Tomorrow Come, continued from page 2 beliefs and offered space for ideas and convictions to germinate.

The courses enhanced my skills and confidence. In particular the Nonviolence class provided space for deep self-assessment. I am a passionate person. It takes a lot of energy and emotional investment to restrain myself from doing nasty things to those who step on my toe. At the end of the class, I felt I had received a new call.

However, my biggest disappointment in this field has been the hypocrisy that creeps in. It kills my spirit to see peace workers engaged in wrangles over material resources and control. Sometimes I worry how our different perceptions and approaches to peace actually exacerbate conflict. This forces me to take a step back and evaluate myself. In this regard, it was nice to learn sobering ways of analysis that were historically minded and culturally sensitive.

The out-of-class education that took place with other participants at the Hillside Suites was most enriching in helping me evaluate what, why, and how I would like to get involved in peace work. I also cherish all those who have been supportive. When I look back, many people generously provided me the opportunity to ask new questions. I am grateful to all of them. Unlike the days of the magistrate, I can confidently say: Let tomorrow come!

Rosemary Okoth attended SPI 2000. She's continuing her work with Amani Peoples Theatre in Nairobi.