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-)
