Twice in a Lifetime ...

(Submitted to Daily Nation and Standard on Constitution Day but I don't think published)

We queued for hours to vote for Madiba because, after decades of repression, we knew our time had eventually come. We recognized being on the brink of a new age and we knew better times were ahead. The ‘struggle for freedom’ had been won.

It was a privilege for me to experience this in South Africa and I hope to experience the great privilege again, this time in Kenya. But today I can’t urge any Kenyan to vote in any particular direction. It is indeed a matter of personal conscience that should never have been a matter of campaign.

But IF Kenya’s new constitution is passed, it will achieve nothing less than the self-same ‘liberation’ I experienced in South Africa. Kenyans shall be similarly freed from decades of repression. And the nation will stand proud, simply by virtue of being ‘free’.

I think few Kenyans truly appreciate the effect that a simple ‘sense’ of freedom has. Stemming from the rough-shod ride they have had, and the so-called ‘culture of impunity’ all the way, ordinary Kenyans have a deep-rooted pessimism about all aspects of their past, current and future governance ... Many don’t believe that anything will change at all.

Yet in South Africa, just the idea of ‘freedom’ led to many people jumping up and down, complaining about their rights being violated. And when they took it to the highest court, they stood there with mouths wide open as they found their rights were consistently upheld and defended. There quickly grew a knowledge that the change really was ‘for real’ and nothing would be the same again. People seemed to laugh and smile a lot more. And the same will happen here. The courts had better be ready for it.

I venture to say that within two years Kenyans will shake their heads in dismay that things could have been so bad and that things are now so much better. Simply because they feel ‘free’ and are free to act in their own interests. Things fall apart. And other things change radically for the better.

By voting at this stage in the nation’s history, Kenyans have nothing to lose and absolutely everything to gain. And by voting, they will have played a part in the future. Today I still feel proud of the fact that I was a small part of the change that came to South Africa. I urge Kenyans to do the same today – be a part of history and vote!

And really, that which is born of freedom is so much greater than the feeling of darkness and oppression that will remain while the ‘contentious clauses’ are dealt with. Paul Muite said it succinctly the other day: “The liberation of Kenya is not about abortion or Kadhi’s courts”. It is about liberating Kenya from decades of hegemony and the nation is on the brink of achieving this liberation.

Can the country stand another year of darkness just to renegotiate these ‘contentious clauses’. I don’t think so. I know the youth couldn’t stand it. And that is who the document is really intended for - the youth and their children’s children.

That there is an abortion ‘loophole’ I will readily agree. Abortion will be performed under advisement of a trained medical professional - perhaps even a psychologist. It is true that this will essentially legalise abortion. But, dogma aside, I see this as the only humane solution for every population- and poverty-strained nation in Africa. We know that the abortion will happen anyway, perhaps with lethal consequences for mother and child. Is there not perhaps an argument in favour of pragmatic and humane tolerance in the face of dire need?

The churches can certainly rail against abortion anywhere they like. It is their right to do so. But is it their right to impose their beliefs on everyone else? We don’t want to commit a young woman and her child to a life of misery for the sake of partisan beliefs. Destitution and prostitution don’t contribute much to a wholesome and healthy nation. And surely, a healthy nation, with humane treatment of its people,  should be the long-term imperative of any nation state.

I also don’t think the Kadhi’s courts should be mentioned in the new law at all. The courts should simply be protected under a Right of Religion and the right to practice such anywhere in the country (not just in the ‘coastal strip’). The Kadhi’s courts pertain to family matters and don’t affect mainstream law in Kenya at all. Those that abide by them will always do so in accordance with long-standing (pre-Colonial) cultural and religious practices. So, let’s face it, no one else, other than Muslims, need to be concerned with the Kadhi’s courts.   

But, all in all, I believe that on this day good sense will prevail and the katiba will indeed be passed by an overwhelming majority.  I believe Kenyans will vote unerringly with the interests of their fellows, and their children, at heart, and will very gladly usher in a new era. And those that have opposed the new era may well find themselves on the scrap-heap of history. 

Kenya, I wish you every success for the future you deserve. For your future is indeed bright.


Amani na upendo mingi sana.


B-)

The Valentines Day Massacre …


Saturday last, the 13th February, was a momentous day for Kenya, whatever ultimately transpires ….

Concrete action was taken against eight senior-government officials suspected of corruption and mismanagement of public funds. This, for the first time. They were removed from office.

Support for the move is overwhelming. But tensions are high, despite the enduring ‘good nature’ that usually prevails:

The suspension of two Ministers – Education (see prior blog) and Agriculture - executed by the Prime Minister, have been nullified by the President.

The people are as mad as hell and maybe they are getting ready to do something about it... There's talk of mass action during the coming week.

B-)

It leaves me speechless, but I write anyway …



The United States Ambassador to Kenya, Mr. Michael Ranneberger, announced yesterday that the US is also suspending its educational support for Kenya, along with the UK, until there are some answers on the ever-hovering (drifting?) education scandal (see prior blog).

The US initiative is going to cost Kenya’s primary school children roughly seven million dollars (532 Million Shillings) in further absent schoolbooks and texts. This must be counted along with the 1.2 Billion Kenya Shillings that has already been suspended by DFID in the UK.

He said (and I don’t quote) that the monies will not be forthcoming until there is a proper audit of the billions in primary education funds (from DFID, the US and the Kenya taxpayer) that have gone missing. He added that the US grant monies would not be made available until the perpetrators have not only been fired but are sitting behind bars for their criminal behaviour. Cheers, I say. It’s about time.

Meantime, the education minister is still in his job (despite overwhelming support for him being at least suspended) and is prancing around town, smiling and making jokes – most notably with Uhuru Kenyatta (he of the multiple ‘typing errors’) – and, would you believe, saying that Kenya will actually be fine without the funding.  He also said that the actual amount in question is slightly less than 100 Million Shillings. A small thing he says …

Dear Honourable Minister, is this supposed to exonerate (or at least minimize) your likely guilt in the matter?

A forensic audit of the education budget has been performed (at least, we are told so), but the results of this are not being released for some undisclosed reason.

Of course, Kenya’s intrepid journalists have not followed any of this up.

Someone said last night on the news that it is going to be very hard to get to the bottom of things when all the files that are necessary to establishing guilt in the matter are still in the hands of the implicated parties (or have already been ‘lost’ somewhere).

Words fail me. (Remember, nothing has so far been computerized in Kenya’s government circles, for reasons I have already blog-mentioned).

The obvious misappropriation of these education funds – and the lack of any legal follow-up - leaves me with a very serious question as to the role of the police in this country. Traffic wardens, mainly, and thugs, secondarily ….

Why do I say this?

Yesterday it was reported that a school principal has been accused of raping a 14 year old pupil at his ‘upcountry’ school.  This is his fourth or fifth ‘alleged’ incident of ‘defilement’. He even admits he has a sex problem. The issue of arrest and prosecution for rape has not appeared anywhere in the press or TV news.

Instead, a question was asked of TV viewers last night as whether they thought the education authorities would be adequately able to deal with the issue. 85% of text messages coming into the TV station said “No”!  I genuinely, truly, utterly and completely can’t believe the involvement of the police in the matter is entirely absent…. Clearly, rape and paedophilia are not criminal offences in Kenya …

And another story about the police (or lack thereof) … A woman from some outlying area on Sunday asked a few members of the Administration Police (the main thugs in Kenya) to ‘discipline’ her 32 year old son who was tending to be a little rude to her. She paid them Ksh500 for their forthcoming effort (but it was ostensibly to pay for taxi fare 100m up the road).

By the next morning the young man was found in handcuffs, dead on the floor of a police holding cell. His mum is obviously mortified. But I guess, in a way, she got what was coming to her for her initial request.

There has been NO – I mean NO – suggestion of an investigation into the matter. The police are just let off the hook (what hook?) via a statement saying that it was simply a matter of ‘sudden death’. No postmortem. No inquest. Not even the pretense of an 'investigation'. Certainly no arrests. And, thanks to those same intrepid journalists mentioned above, no further reportage.

If there is anything that is going to have me leave this beautiful country, it’s this kind of thing. It’s actually beyond comprehension that millions can be openly stolen, children raped, young men mercilessly killed – all without any mention being made of investigations or police follow-up. And the people of Kenya just take it ... 

"Let's have another Tusker folks ...."

And as for the role of the police in Kenya ? … I really have no idea other than the obvious one: Thugs, keeping the real criminals in power ....   


B-)

Now, The fully un-Kenyan experience


I’m sitting at Dorman’s coffee shop at the Karen Nakumatt (supermarket), waiting for a friend. Karen (named after Karen Blixen’s niece) is home to the Kenya Cowboy (the ‘KC’), the white, trans-generational Kenyans who rear horses, drive Land Rovers, and who live on farms. We’re talking seriously expensive (expansive?) properties here …

I’m nervous. There’s hardly a black face to be seen.

Sorry, the waitron is black ….

I liken the experience to sitting somewhere between a coffee shop in Hoedspruit, on the border of the Kruger game park, and one at Century City, near Belleville, Cape Town. Everywhere around me are white faces. Some of the guys are wearing, like, serious safari gear (along with Australian bush-leather hats). Some of them are dressed a bit more regular (beach-casual actually), as in, flip-flops, T-shirts and baggy khaki trousers. Others are dressed ‘smart-casual’. But, hey, that’s OK, it’s the accents that are making the scene what it is … South African Mall-inesque.

Behind me is a white South African talking insurance to another white lady seated beside him. He sounds like he used to live in Pretoria, or perhaps he once worked for SAA but got tired of the gay scene in Rome. In front of me is a Brit, and another South African whose face I seem to remember from somewhere (like Leadership magazine).

Seated just next to me is YET ANOTHER South African who works for a wireless Internet service provider. We met before, but I don’t think he would remember …

Sheesh, I feel like I could just step outside and onto the beach at Blauuwberg …

Feeling outnumbered and outsmarted by the Big White Bucks that surround me, I wait expectantly for Shibero to arrive. Only a few minutes late, I see her (very 60’s) lanky black form appear. I’m relieved. We depart Dorman’s, jump into her stenciled car (CATS: Childrens’ Art and Theatre School) and head for a rustic place up the road to have some breakfast.

Breakfast is very pleasant. The service meanders at just the right pace as the staff set up for a wedding on the lawn.

But behind me are seated two white guys. The one has an accent I again seem to recognize. He notices me and my accent too. He doesn’t say anything. Such is the population of expatriate South Africans here that I’m just another guy …

The bottom line: Clearly, South Africans are making some kind of contribution to the Kenyan economy. But it just seems a pity to me that all the SA white folk seem to prefer living in white enclaves like Karen. (Not my idea of living in Kenya at all)

I mean, coming to Karen, in Kenya, must be like moving from Kenilworth to Knoppieslaagte.

Kom mense, wat gaan aan met jille? (basically, “wassup wichu?”)

I’ll write some more once my biltong has dried a bit …

B-)

The fully Kenyan experience


Nearly three decades ago, my ‘ex’ gave me a kikoi of hers. Beating all odds, the kikoi has managed to stay with me, through many phases of life. It has narrowly escaped battery acid, and consistently avoided oil paint. It has been prey only to one blotch of indelible marking ink (plus there’s a tear I need to fix). It is now monochromatic pink with one dark stripe.

It’s something I always take when I go on holiday. It works well as a wrap, as a towel, and as a sun resistant screen for my bald/ing head .  So, of course, it followed me to Mombasa.

As is my wont, I wrapped the kikoi round my voluminous frame before heading for the beach. Replete with Hawaiian shirt (but no sunglasses), I started the long stroll from Yama’s side of Mombasa beach towards the main bathing area (Kenyatta Beach, or Pirate Beach).

Not a thought was given to the fact that the kikoi had originally come from Kenya three decades ago (and it shows)!

So there I was, minding my own business, strolling ever so slowly down the steadily-narrowing beach … (the tidal effect is very marked in Mombasa).

The first thing I noticed was that I was NOT being approached by any of the curio vendors, and sellers of miscellaneous tourist gear, that line the beach. If nothing else, there was a nod. But the second thing I noticed – I couldn’t avoid it – were the calls that were coming at me from everywhere.

“Mambo, rafiki …”


“Sema?”


“Sasa?”


“Habari yako, baba ….?”

Even


“Niaje?”

(The last being the most informal greeting of the lot and not often accorded a man of my advanced years!).

I realized to my dismay that I was being taken as Kenyan - despite my colour - simply because of an old faded kikoi. Somewhat mistakenly, there was the notion that here was (mzungu!) ‘one of us’.  And that I replied in Kiswahili simply cemented the illusion. 

The looks that traced their way behind me - almost every time - were looking for the “Point-Tee”, the child of mixed race (a “.5” or “Pointy”), that was supposed to be following me …

The Kalenjin kikoi seller immediately asked me the whereabouts of my “Kenyan wife”. The beautiful Kikuyu model-wife asked if I lived in Nairobi. I talked with the (rather good) Kamba painter about local careers in art.  The Swahili fisherman wanted to sell me live King prawns “to cook at home”. The (probably) Luhya beach massage “therapist” …   she just nodded and smiled …   (there are ‘massage huts’ that line the beach every 500m or so).

The kids mostly greeted me with …  “MZuuuuuuuuuuuN … GU!”

But there was rapturous laughter, and much falling about, when I replied along the lines of

“Sasa, nini mbaya na wewe?!” (so now, what’s wrong with you?!).

Wherever I went, the banter was amazing. I smiled, as only an mzungu in a strange land can. Broadly. The entire 7.5 km experience was quite amazing.

I mention all this just to say one thing: If you escape the “hustle” that is so much a part of this economically-disenabled country, you find a ‘soul’ or ‘spirit’ (‘roho’ or ‘pepo’  in Kiswahili) inside of Kenya ‘s people that is very beautiful. There is a warmth (just see the smiles) among all the Kenyans I encounter.  A joy. An ability to laugh at circumstance, and themselves.

And if I could be so accepted and respected, wholly and completely, by the regular folk on the beach …  because I was simply wearing a national fabric and I spoke a little Kiswahili  …  Just imagine ….

If anything, this hints at something I feel quite strongly:  That Kenya must ignore the bogey that’s called ‘tribalism’. Kenyans are proud of their diverse nationhood. And they readily embrace other Kenyans, whoever they might be, or wherever from. I’ve seen it in action many, many times, expressed through the (shared) medium of Kiswahili. And I experienced it ‘live’ myself.

If tribalism in Kenya doesn’t show its face ‘on the street’ (and certainly not ‘on the beach’), why should it show anywhere else? Unless, of course, it’s a notion that is manufactured, and ‘used’, by the political elite … as I have said before, for their own nefarious ends … 

In some senses, it is exactly the love, forgiveness, and broad tolerance of humanity that’s holding mwananchi (the citizens, the nation) of Kenya back from true freedom!   But rather this than something else. But ‘something else’ just seems SO remote in this land of love and essential unity. 

Basically, the post-election violence was something planned in advance by those same people I mention above, for those same nefarious ends.  

Don’t anyone be fooled; that’s not Kenya! 

Certainly not the Kenya I come to know …

As always, amani na upendo,


B-)

Mombasa Raha, Round Two


It’s taken me a while to write.

I didn’t get to Zanzibar. Too expensive.

I did Mombasa Raha, Round Two, instead.

I was having a ‘pre-New Years eve’ drink in Nairobi central when I was struck by the thought that I actually didn’t want to be amongst the seed and debauchery of Nairobi for New Year. So I boarded a bus for Mombasa.

There’s a saying along the lines of “What goes on in Mombasa, stays in Mombasa”.

I’ll stick to that pledge and venture just a small insight into my second experience of this coastal paradise … These are mainly bits I wrote along the way …

But first, an Introduction:

The road was empty and we got into Mombasa too early for the TSS Swahili diner to be open (see prior blog). There had been a power blackout in Mombasa since the day before, so nothing was going to open before dawn anyway. So, as the sky greyed from black, I settled for getting a Tuk-Tuk northwards and went looking for accommodation. After an hour it was clear:

Hakuna nyumbani, kabisa.  No rooms available, anywhere.

I sauntered on the beach in the early morning light. It seemed the circus was in town again (see prior Mombasa blog).

Changing to a regular taxi, I rescued Hasua from the goings-on of an all-night stint at Bob’s. Reclined on the back seat of the taxi, Hasua got us lost a few times. The driver was getting pissed at the “right, no left, sorry right” routine emanating from the rear.  

I eventually had to resign myself to an apartment on the beach front at Bamburi Beach. I say ‘resigned’ because the place was quite spectacular but cost a lot more than I wanted to spend.  Hasua says I should have got her to make a booking.  Nice thought, sweetie, but you were in no condition to book anything for anyone.

Mombasa is infectious.

After spending two days on the beach, I wrote this bit on Saturday 2nd January:

I suspected at some point that I would have trouble leaving Mombasa. Right now I am trying to work out the latest time I can leave and still make the office on Monday without being too stressed from a journey by bus (in the coming-home jam) and not having to lay out too much for a plane ticket.

Earlier I had written:

I see why the whole of economically-enabled Kenya comes to Mombasa for the holidays: there’s a chilled out, coastal groove to the place that is hugely appealing. Whether one is cruising the ‘local’ market that lines the street between Shanzu and Mtwapa, or pretending to be rich at the Severin bar (where a rum & Coke costs Ksh350/R35) you can’t help but get affected by the slightly ‘heady’ heedlessness of Mombasa. It’s a pretty relaxed atmosphere. The people are chilled to the bone, joyous. And even the Muslim chicks are doing 'sensuous'. Seriously ….

Bamburi beach turned out to be the greatest discovery of my second Mombasa experience.

I have discovered Yama's, a boma-style bar-on-the-beach, that sits at the end of a 7.5 km walk from Mombasa’s main ‘north’ beach. The place is run by Costa (yes, a Greek émigré) and his brother Spiro.  During the bar’s working day, Costa plays DJ. He selects from a vast range of music stored on two laptops. Good speakers, and ample wattage to feed the beach with fine, undistorted sound, Costa keeps the groove going  for his hip patrons. The music is clear, whether you are in the bar, playing pool, eating, socializing at the low tables, or just chilling on the beach. The place rocks.


I have been staying at the apartments next door. When I got back from the utterly boring Zain  (Kenya’s ‘second’ mobile network) New Year party, held on the beach, I could hear Bob Marley doing the late night rounds at the party being held next door. I was too tired to respond appropriately. I regret it because it must have been a great party!  It went on till late. Instead, I suffered a boring beach party hosted by Zain (and charged for) where the rising Spring tide (did you see the moon?) had everyone eventually dancing up to their knees as the water lapped the wall of El Covo.  That was at least a laugh …

Costa has a great collection of contemporary ‘world music’. I am spending hours here, listening. Nursing only a single Guinness and cold Coke. Occasionally typing a line of blog …

He is playing a lot of Salsa today. Here and there someone just gets up to dance in the shade of the wide thatched roof. Feet are tapping, shoulders dipping, just a bit. Here and there, we hear Fela Kuti, or Brenda Fassie (who he calls Africa’s Janis Joplin). But mostly, it’s Cuban.

On Sunday, before leaving, I wrote:

I’m now sitting at the bar, 20 meters wide, that faces onto the beach at Yama's. Costa has permanently colonized a section of the beach and in front of me there’s an ample supply of beach chairs, recliners, tables and umbrellas - the whole beach ‘thing’ (including a great soundtrack) - to any people who are happy to eat and drink at his establishment. And the people are only too happy, too.

It’s now around 6 o’ clock. Since 5 or so, the beach has been getting very busy. Everyone is beautifully dressed. There are literally hundreds of kids around, either in bathing gear or in Sunday finery .

The kids in the water are playing on a rickety old dhow-catamaran that floats about ten metres off the beach. Other kids are taking camel rides. I see the occasional camera-flash go off in the evening dusk.

Women are dressed in beautiful Swahili fabric, kikois, Muslim conservatory. The colours, the kids; the entire scene is quite blessed ....

The sun has gone down now. The beach is still packed. The camel isn’t working any more. Mothers are dancing all over Yama’s with babies on their hips. Older kids are dancing among themselves. People are singing the lyrics of the bongo coming through the speakers. 

I could spend a lot more time here but I have to go now.

The taxi’s waiting …


(And that’s all I got to write in Mombasa. Imagine!)

As always, amani na upendo,

B-)

ps: there will be one or two more blogs about Mombasa, soon!

Genge’s got the gangsta edge, but it doesn’t question the system



Published in The East African, Sunday, January 3, 2010

When I first arrived in Kenya, in late 2008 from South Africa, I didn’t know my “bongo” from my “mambo.” I thought, “They are both styles of music”... Sindio? But I learned the difference quickly, through my love of music and radio. So there I was, endlessly fine-tuning the wireless to the myriad stations that congest Nairobi’s airwaves.

I started listening to Classic FM and Kiss FM, morning and evening, and Capital late at night. I got good politics from Caroline Mutoko and a laugh or two from Larry Asego both of Kiss FM. I heard some fantastic late night mixes on Capital and I thought that Nairobi’s dedicated reggae station, Metro FM was way cool too.

The first “bongo flava” track I ever heard was Ali Kiba’s “Macmugo.” I loved the simple beauty of the song, and the poetic sound of the Tanzanian Kiswahili. The fact that I could discern “South Africa” within the lyrics increased my love for the song too … I downloaded the ringtone.

Since then, I have picked up Kiswahili, kidogo, and have enjoyed Bongo flava coming at me from everywhere: In restaurants, bars and clubs, blaring from matatus and kicking from kiosks. It is light, joyous music. It is sweet, and speaks of love and romance; yearnings of the heart. It is both witness and testimony to the fabled “good heart” of the East African people.

Until now, East Africa has enjoyed the sole franchise on Bongo. The songs have been done exclusively in Kiswahili and the productions have been strictly East African. But there are some new kids on the Bongo block...

Nigerian musicians are suddenly doing Bongo. And they’re doing it better than the Tanzanians. Their sound is much cooler than Tanzanian and Kenyan Bongo. They have raised the bar. Their videos have moved away from the ghetto and into the bling — quite refreshing after the endless singing scenes set in Dar es Salaam. This is something East Africa needs to watch out for in both senses, and with the Nigerians doing Bongo in English, they are inviting all of Anglophone West Africa to “buy Bongo.” That is one large market.

So, East African musicians probably need to listen to Bongo flava from Nigeria if they want to see bigger sales in future (and dealing with piracy will probably help a bit too).

But Bongo tunes from Tanzania are in a class of their own. There’s something soft in Tanzanian Kiswahili that the Kenyan version and Kenyan English fail to match. But then, there is something strong in Nairobi Sheng (slang) that the Tanzanian tongue and English fail to match as well...

If Bongo speaks to the heart, Kenya’s Genge music speaks the mind of a disenchanted youth ...

The sound of Genge, sung in Nairobi Sheng, is superbly suited to this hard, unforgiving city. Bongo is soft. Genge is hard. Very hard. And Genge is the genre with which Nairobi may yet make its mark on African music. Genge is Nairobi, just like gangsta came from East Central LA. These are not coincidences. They are the realities from which “ghetto” creativity stems.

So I have recently taken to a diet of Ghetto Radio and late-night Capital. And I have heard some startling music, made right here in Nairobi. I understand Kiswahili enough now to discern the lyrics, but it’s the sheer power of the Genge rhyming slang — whether you understand it or not — that is so potent.

Genge is clever. It is witty. It is irreverent. One song rhymes the virtues of Nairobi’s take-away chickens (read “chicks”). Another, the hazards of Nairobi streets. The genre is edgy, and is looking hard at local life. I mean, Jua Cali is HOT. The first time I heard him, I stopped in my tracks. All I could say was:

“Mambo mbaaaaaaaaaya!” (Slang for ‘This is cool’).

But so far, even with Genge’s realism, not much of it seriously questions the social order. So here’s a trend I would like to see: Genge lyrics that address real issues facing Kenya. There will be some important listening next year if Genge stops skirting and deals overtly with corruption, poverty, unemployment and a despised government. Surely, this is some of what “urban” genres should be about. And even if radio avoids any conflagration, we know that Nairobi’s music pirates will disseminate the message, haraka sana!

Coming from a background of “resistance music” in South Africa, I know what a powerful force for change music can be. Nothing can resist a force whose time has come. And Kenya’s time has come. One way of making the necessary changes known can be through Genge.