Respect is Not Slavery

There is a Swahili proverb that says, “Heshima si utumwa” meaning respect is not respect. My father taught me about respect in an uncommon way.

I was admitted to the University of Nairobi in early September 1981.When I received the admission forms, I noticed that I was required to get a signature from a government officer from my community. The official was to confirm that the admission forms were filled and signed by the right person. It was not a problem for me to get an officer because my father knew the magistrate.

After filling out the forms, my father took me to the magistrate’s office. When permitted to enter his office, I led as my father followed. There were two seats across the table from the magistrate. I took one seat after handing my admission forms to him. My dad faced the magistrate, bowed to him, then proceeded to sit down. We were not inside the courtroom, so I figured there was no need to bow.

The magistrate exchanged brief greetings with my father and went through my forms without looking at me or saying anything. After signing my forms, he handed them to me, again without a word. I thanked him and stood up to leave.

My father, who was sitting near the door, also stood up. But, instead of leaving the office, he turned to me, held my neck and bent it. I got the message. I had to bow. He bowed, too, and we left the office. I was humiliated. I felt angry. I wondered why I didn’t do it before I was forced to. BUT I LEARNED A VERY IMPORTANT LESSON.

Joe Marshall, the retired CEO/President of Idaho Power demonstrated respect in way I can’t describe with words. I was hired as a Riparian Ecologist by Idaho Power in 1992 when Mr. Marshall was the president. Just to put our positions in perspectives, using a chain of command system, a message from either of us would have to go through five steps.

However, out of curiosity and a desire to learn from my elders and leaders, something I have done over the years, I called Joe’s secretary and asked her to set up a lunch meeting with him. The next phone call was from Mr. Marshall himself asking if we could meet at the Red Lion-Downtown. In that lunch hour and another one later, not only did I learn about his background, relationship with his wife and children, but also how they cared for their ailing parents in their sunset days.

When I completed the first draft of the East African Folktales book, I gave Mr. Marshall a copy to read and requested him to make a comment. Two weeks later, he took the pains of bringing it to me from his ninth floor office to mine that was on the first floor.

Bewildered by his presence in my disorganized office, Joe surprised me with his level of comfort. He took a chair and spent a substantial amount of time encouraging me and appreciating my heritage. He mentioned that it took him longer to get back to me because he shared the folktales and their morals with his sons and their families. His last words as he left my messy office were, “Vincent, keep writing. There is so much we can learn from Africa.”