You’ve probably heard it in urban circles: “My kids can’t speak Gikuyu!” It’s not said with shame; it’s said with the pride of those who’ve finally “arrived.”
These are the folks who, not so long ago, couldn’t even spell ‘caviar’ or ‘broccoli,’ but are now the self-appointed ambassadors of high society. How did they get here? The major sources of easy money for such folks include lottery, drugs, organized crime, etc. In Kenya, their main source of riches is corruption, wash wash, and pishori—not the cookable type though.
Sociologically, this class is called the nouveau riche (pronounced noo-voh reesh). This derogatory term refers to a character who has unexpectedly come into money. They are rude and tasteless, as opposed to the more refined old money or the down-to-earth peasantry.
Physically, they are identified by their gaudy jewelry, loud tacky suits, fake fur coats, gold teeth, and ostentatious cars with cheap chrome. You see them adorned in bling heavy enough to sink a small boat. Their habits make good fodder for movie and TV tropes.
As for their behavior, they have what is called acquired situational narcissism. This makes them ignore old friends as they try to impress those who are “up there” until their money runs out and poverty reverts them to factory settings.
They are also known for their conspicuous consumption and worship at the temples of capitalism called malls, where they share acres and acres of themselves ‘shopping till they drop.’ They religiously hang out at pricey high-end establishments, hoping that upper-class mannerisms will rub off into their skins. It’s like bats hanging out with swans, begging for acceptance, and hoping they will turn white.
This group also has a sneer for their roots—and anything that smells of poverty. They hate the village they grew up in—together with all its occupants. They even hate on their village chief for no reason.
Lastly, they detest their mother tongue, since it reminds them of who they are. They take pride in the fact that their kids—who go by stock Eurocentric names like Liam Daniels—cannot speak their mother tongue. They flaunt foreign languages like French and German to pass off as nobility. But their native accent, thick as Eastlands sewage, will always betray their roots.
Sadly, these social climbers neither find acceptance in the upper classes where they aspire to be, nor in the lower classes whom they detest. When their easily found money dries up, they end up in lonely cocoons where they blame the system for their woes—as they cry their over-bleached faces off.
