The African Atheist

My Moment of ‘Uhuru’ (Freedom)

            Uhuru is a word that, in my first language of Swahili, means freedom; in this personal recollection, I will tell you how I searched for, and found my, Uhuru. I am writing this in real time.

My name is Joel Collins Sati. I was born on June 3, 1993 in Nairobi, Kenya; in a country where after your name and tribe are inquired of, a question about your religion almost always follows. Now one has to understand, Christianity is a huge part of the Kenyan fiber (the opening couplet of our national anthem is ‘O God of all Creation/ Please bless our land and nation’,) so as to not identify with Christianity would be seen as being unpatriotic, but I digress. From as early as I can remember, I was raised in a heavily fundamentalist household and church that characterized secularists, and especially Muslims, as infidels. This opinion was so widespread in our church that burning the Koran was an almost annual event, complete with feast. If one could ever conceive of the perfect young Christian boy, it was I: I was the most attentive student in Sunday school, I triumphed in the verse-reciting contests held in the church’s main campus, and I would throw temper tantrums every time I did not say grace before supper. That young religious zeal continued on in my public education. I would ace the Christian Religious Education Exams that were held every term, and I was top of my class nine terms running. I was easily slated for ten, but one thing came in the way; my move to the United States at the age of nine.

            I’m sure as with all immigrant parents, my mother wanted me to succeed in this foreign land called America. But one thing she did not want me to do, under any circumstances, was assimilate; things would either be the exact same as back home in Kenya, or I was to go back to Kenya, and I didn’t want that. Church was to be every Sunday, English was to be at a minimum and straight A’s was to be standard operating procedure. But even under that sort of authoritarian rule, I couldn’t help but notice that my mother, or any other Kenyan parent for that matter, would not hit their child. Now that was surprising at the age of ten, noting that infamous proverb, trumpeted with metronomic frequency; “Spare the rod lest you spoil the child.” It did not take much research to figure out that corporal punishment was illegal in the States. And because of that bit of research, I feared the rod less and less; furthermore, I experienced the ability of knowledge and truth to set me free from the complacency of faith.

            Although I can now say that moment was the catalyst, I still was a Christian well into my preteen and early teen years; and all that came with that was part of my persona. Again, I was an avid participant in church youth activities, attended bible camps, and was even part-time drummer at my church (even though it was a small church, being a drummer was a big deal.) There was a dark side to this as well. I was a young, homophobic bible-thumper living in the bible-belt state of Georgia who thought Darwin was a dumbass for even thinking that we had anything to do with apes; so much so had my biblical upbringing poisoned me. But I didn’t know how wrong I was, because the people I thought had my best interests told me it was right. Even scarier, in retrospect, was the fact that I could not question anything they said, because doing so was to question the will of god. “Having faith” was a euphemism for shutting up. Now my maternally-coerced Christianity (my father died when I was young) continued when my mother and I made the move to the more liberal state of Maryland at the age of fourteen. At this stage in life, I started to question a lot of things in my life, as most teens are wont to do. Coincidentally, I started to attend church with the adults, and I started to listen to what the pastor said and did—and it shocked me. To paraphrase Christopher Hitchens, all I saw the church as was that it was tantamount to a racket. The pastor would make claims of god calling him to be his servant on Earth, and promising HIM a private jet and a mega-church a lot bigger than the abandoned classroom he was renting in the heart of D.C. Now his aims were ludicrous, but at the time, not enough for me to seriously question my faith. Even still, people who worked doubles to make ends meet (including my mother) gave a good chunk of their paychecks in offerings, tithes, and love gifts. It wouldn’t be such a slap in the face if he wasn’t driving a fifty thousand dollar Lexus. He kept on doing sermons similar to this, so after a time, I would tune them out; until another sermon woke me up.

           

            A week before I was about to leave to visit Georgia in the Summer of 2009, the pastor claimed to have a warning from god; that until ‘crimes’ such as homosexuality and abortion were to be eradicated, that god would unleash his wrath. In this slur-laced invective, he classified the LGBT community as sub-human, hell-bound people who were going to burn for their sin. All of a sudden, I had an epiphany; in the two years that I had lived in Maryland, I had gotten to know members of the LGBT community and what they are about, and I found that they are just like me; my hate for them was unfounded and stupid. Yet here I am in a church, with a pastor who doesn’t even regard my LGBT friends as people. I had had it. I thought I was raised in a religion that preached peace, love, and most of all acceptance; not this BS. From that point on, I took a break from religion, with no intention of looking back. But I wasn’t an Atheist just yet.

            Saying that my mother was disappointed that I stopped going to church is an understatement. I was too old for corporal punishment, and the threat of deportation had long sailed on the boat that was meant for me, but that didn’t stop the constant guilt trips and the threats of god forsaking me. Right before I was to make the decision to become an Atheist, I went to the same church one last time, out of respect I guess. Unsurprisingly, the sermon never wavered in its invective rhetoric. Again, it was one of those “turn back to god” sermons; this time, he briefly railed on the “homosexual infestation” in this country, before leveling a prophecy straight out of left field. He said, with a stern voice, that he had again heard the voice of god. This time, god told him that unless the people repent, and the ministry is strengthened (with money,) that an attack will hit America in three weeks exactly. And I was flabbergasted; if this is how one is supposed to worship a god, I wanted no part of it. This time I was sure. Then and there, in late September 2010, I decided that I am an Atheist. But I hadn’t come out to anyone yet. Later that year, my school decided on a fall play, The Laramie project. It’s about the true story of a student, Matthew Shepard, a gay man killed in the city of Laramie, Wyoming because of his sexual orientation. Before the play’s opening night, we were threatened with protest from the Westboro Baptist Church, but they never appeared; the counter protest might have been too strong. During the intermissions, the cast, which I was a part of, shared stories about our encounters with homophobia in our time. I came clean about my homophobia, and realized that all hate is the same; it was no different from the hate exhibited in tribal and religious skirmishes in Kenya as a result of the controversy surrounding the 2007 elections. I saw that the fire of hate has the gasoline of religion; and I would do my part to extinguish it.

            It took the rest of my senior year of high school and the summer thereafter, before I could even feel comfortable coming out with my Atheism to my sister and relatives. All of my family and all of my Kenyan friends were Christians. The Church was where I could socialize, and maintain my identity as a Kenyan, if not anything else. Coming out as an Atheist would not only mean the loss of many friends, but my excommunication on the grounds that I am a sellout to my country, my people, and what was supposed to be my religion. But I couldn’t let that hold me back; I’d rather live an honest life than lie to keep friends I only saw once a week, at most. Furthermore, what the bible stands for disgusts me, and any Christian, even my mother, could not change that. On Sunday, October 2^nd 2011, I came out as an Atheist to my friends and sister, to test what the overall feeling would be. The results were mixed; some friends were indifferent, and the number who supported my decision was higher than I had expected. Sadly, there were friends who swore off contact with me, and that made me feel sad—for them. It wouldn’t be until the thanksgiving holiday that I told my mother the truth. I love my mother. Ever since my father died, she has worked hard to be the best for my family. Even though my sister had grown and left, my mother was still an influence in her life. And through all that, religion has been by my mother’s side, and she swears by it, through thick and thin. We weren’t the most well off family, and that was exacerbated when she would give a large chunk of her paycheck to the church when, followed up by being served with eviction threats and a suit demanding rent. And she keeps on relying on her faith. There is a saying that states “the truth hurts, but it is the lies that kill;” I had to tell her. I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t doing this purely out of spite, that this was a decision made with the help of research, observation, and pragmatic decision making. So on the afternoon of November 21^st 2011, I came out as an Atheist to my mother. Immediately I felt the weight of the world being lifted off my back. She was disappointed, not to the point of anger, but awfully close. It is said that once someone comes out, that it changes misconceptions that Theists have of Atheism; now I’m nowhere near there yet, in fact I just started, but I am confident that in time, she will accept me. If I had a chance to do it again, I would; because I’d rather be honest than live a lie. For lack of a better aphorism, the truth has set me free.

My biggest piece of motivation that I can give to an Atheist on the verge of coming out was, ironically enough, given to me by a pastor. He said “you have to stand for something; otherwise you’ll fall for anything.” As an Atheist, you have decided on standing on the side on the side of empiricism, of science, and of reason, instead of religion. Instead of having faith, you have decided to make informed decisions based on observing the real world. Most important, you can now value moral actions as moral in themselves, not because a book says so. I know there might be a lot to lose, but you will be lying to those you love keeping it in the shadows; who knows, the reactions might surprise you. Again, one has to stand for something; otherwise they’ll fall for anything. And in standing for reason, one will find his or her own “Uhuru.”

                                                                                                       

-Joel Sati
From: Umoja, Nairobi, Kenya
Resides in: Silver Spring, MD
Twitter: @JoelCSati Facebook: /Joel Sati

Email: joelcollinssati@gmail.com

In the coming weeks I hope to accrue a directory of various Atheist/Humanist/Freethinker organizations that are based in Africa. If you have any entries that ought to be included in this directory, message me.

Follow me on twitter @JoelCSati

I would like to take this time and apologize for the long hiatus I have taken (I had to concentrate on school, which paid off—All A’s!)

Let me start off by saying that being an atheist is the best decision I have made in my life. It has allowed me to value my relationships even more and to devote my Sundays to community work (because helping hands are better than conjoined hands.) Most importantly, it has allowed me to take responsibility for my own actions and appreciate the intrinsic value of everything i do.

The reason this post is titled as such is that living in a religious family is becoming awkward; that in itself is generating an unnatural and unwanted stress. I still get the Sunday guilt trip from Mum, the condescending prayers, and those awkward subtweets which ensue when I make an antireligious tweet. But this ‘awkwardness’ came at a head when I ran into my former pastor, who said he will pray for me, to which I replied “won’t work.”

There have been some great parts to this Atheist experience so far. I have come across a few KENYAN freethinker sites (I will post links later.) I have also found that a longtime friend has also rejected religion. These are encouraging developments, and I am happy that I am living in these times. An intellectual revolution is needed in the continent where humanity finds her roots.

-Joel C. Sati

-In between laptops and wi-fi connections.