There was a time when help did not ask which kibara, group, you belonged to.
When Gitithia was one village, I was just a small boy. That was in early 1960s. In fact, I was in my grandmother’s shin. Back then, life was simple, and the ties that bound us were strong. The villagers knew each other well, from Kwa Nathaniel to Gwa Kamori, Gwa Kuria Ng'ati, and all the way to Kwa Ndung'u wa ndiû. It was a place where everyone knew everyone, and you could name every home within the village.
If a villager passed away, it was usually an elder, someone who had lived a long and full life. The entire village would come together to mourn and support the bereaved family. There were people who took it upon themselves to walk through the village, collecting contributions for the funeral. No one needed to be asked; everyone gave what they could, knowing that one day, they too might need the village's support. But then, decades later, came ibara. Ibara were women groups initiative.
At first, they seemed harmless—a new way of organizing the village, a kind of decentralization, perhaps even making things easier. But soon, we saw their true nature. Ibara split our village ties, dividing us into smaller groups. Helping each other became restricted to those within one's own kibara. The unity that had once been our strength began to crumble, as some villagers refused to help those in need simply because they were not part of their kibara.
As time went on, ibara disintegrated further. It became less about the village and more about personal connections—just ten friends helping each other, leaving the rest to fend for themselves. The village that had once been so close-knit, where everyone knew what was happening in each other's lives, became a place of strangers.
Now, the villagers only learnt of important events during church announcements. The sense of community that once defined Gitithia was fading, and replaced by the isolation of small, exclusive circles. And so, as I look back on those days when Gitithia was one village, I can't help but wonder if we will ever regain that sense of unity, or if it has been lost to time, leaving us only with memories of a village that once was.
