Here’s my confession! And I really hope I’m not a dimwit

I have a confession to make – I cannot read maps! I am not talking about, say, the world map, I am talking about the kind of maps that you find on the back of every wedding invitation card nowadays.

A map is supposed to make it easy for you to find a place but, unfortunately, the effort that goes into drawing it is wasted on me because, no matter how much I stare at it from every angle, I am simply unable to decipher it. In fact, the few times I have tried to unravel one of those sketches, I have ended up with a throbbing headache.

I once tried to interpret one, but soon realised that the straightforward-looking neat directions on the shiny card were a completely different reality from that on the ground. Laugh all you want, but before it hit me that I was hopelessly lost, I was on my way to Ruai, yet the function was in the vicinity of Kiambu.

After that debacle, I stopped bothering with maps; I don’t even glance at them. Instead, I normally call the host to get more specific instructions, preferably starting from outside my gate, step-by-detailed-step to the venue’s doorstep. If I ever call you to ask for directions, kindly be as detailed as possible. I will give you an example of the kind of directions that my brain would be capable of digesting.

Here you go: “Drive up the first tarmac road on your right, five metres ahead, you will see a one-storey stone house on your left – the roof has been constructed using maroon iron sheets – ignore it and drive on. After a few seconds, you will spot a Coca-Cola kiosk on your right, with two wooden benches placed outside – keep driving.

Take the first left hand turn, a dirt road lined with trees on either side. Count two houses on your right (they have black gates) up ahead is a transformer on your right.

Go past it and drive on until you spot an open field, with cows grazing, don’t stop, keep moving on until you see a blue medium-sized gate on your left – just after that gate is a white one. That is where I live – hoot or bang on the gate hard because the doorbell is not working at the moment.”

TOO MUCH INFORMATION

I know this is too much information, especially if you’re texting, but I have come to realise that nothing short of this would work with me, and since I am in confession mode, I might as well let it out that I also get disoriented once in a while in town. I might know where a certain building is, but for the life of me, I sometimes forget which street to take to get me there.

The result is going round in circles, until I finally spot the building, only to realise that it was two streets away from where I had been standing as I tried to get my perspective.

That is why I never cease to be impressed when I spot tourists in the city centre holding maps, wearing serene looks, which I assume signify that the confusion they are holding in their hands is serving them mighty well. I have a feeling that if I looked at the map of Nairobi, I would go dizzy just looking at all those multi-coloured crooked lines, which are supposed to symbolise something.

It gets worse — I need to go somewhere at least twice (using the same road, thank you very much) to stamp the directions in my memory. I also get frustrated when confronted with graphs and tables and percentages. Why, for instance, would you write something like, “According to latest research, 65.7 per cent of women in Kenya are single.” How on earth are you supposed to visualise 65.7 per cent? Why not come up with a round figure like 80,000?

I like to think that I am an intelligent person, so I really hope that my inability to read maps and tell the difference between east and west does not mean that I am a dimwit. If you find maps intimidating like me, please e-mail me — misery loves company.

FEEDBACK

You are the one who chooses for your children the language in which they will communicate to you. I chose Gikuyu. I wired my son’s brain to speak to me only in Gikuyu and now it is automatic.

Michael

It is interesting that all my three boys are fluent Gikuyu and Swahili speakers and also do good English. Not forgetting that we live in an urban area.

Peter

I suggest we let things take their course. Our society is so dynamic and fast moving towards integration.

David

Children brought up in urban areas will always have a challenge communicating in vernacular due to being stereotyped by their peers. In playgroups, words like shao and mshamba are commonly used to tease children who use vernacular words as they interact. Worse still is merciless teasing for “shrubbing”.

Sammy

We have a problem of children not being able to communicate with their grandparents. I feel for them when those folk tales that made us who we are remain foreign to them.

Mwangi

When a child is taught in their home language, learning becomes enjoyable, and the achievement of learning outcomes is improved. This is why, for example, nursery school children in Germany are taught in German. It is only in Kenya that parents view a foreign language as the in-thing in early childhood development education.

Timothy

Your article is a wake-up call to all of us. We should appreciate our first language.

Tony

I know some jobs that insist you must know some local dialects. That is when our kids start feeling the heat. Another thing: mums have a very important part to play in this mother tongue issue!

Joseph

Language carries civilisation and the knowledge of that civilisation with it. Take, for example, the Gikuyu idiom muigua uthekagirira cong’e. True, the pot calls the kettle black, but the imagery of a thorn prick on a path shoeless is totally different. Someone who does not know their language has lost their identity and, without identity, your anchor is gone.

Kariuki