The Baragoi Massacre

On Sunday 11 November 2012, forty-two Kenyan police officers, including 12 members of the Samburu tribes’ “home guard”, were gunned down and killed by Turkana cattle rustlers –morans (warriors)- in Suguta Valley, situated in the Baragoi District of Samburu County.

The police contingent, numbering more than 100, was attempting to recover some 450 heads of cattle that had been stolen by the warriors 10 days prior. They were lured into a valley and died in a hail of automatic rifle fire from the ridge above.

One of the injured commented: “They were not so many, but the way they had organised themselves was like they had received information earlier. Most of my colleagues, including our commanders were shot. Some of them survived”. After the massacre, the Turkana morans recovered the dead policemen’s automatic arms, including “the big ones”.

Police Commissioner Mathew Iteere had the sense to admit that it was a strategic fail on the part of the police. “There was an ambush and even the best trained and armed officers anywhere in the world would find it difficult”. Among the Turkana, only four were injured but they went “in the bush to avoid arrest”.

It was described as the biggest ‘massacre’ in Kenya’s post-independence history.

http://www.africareview.com/News/Kenya-police-massacre-death-toll-rises/-/979180/1618480/-/fe5499z/-/index.html

John Munyes, a Turkana MP, denied it was a massacre. He gave the Turkana side of the story: they perceived the intrusion of the police as an act of aggression. And felt compelled to protect their women and children. It was simple self-defence in their opinion. Turkana leaders were later taken to court over their stance but it was later accepted and their cases were dropped. It’s a different world here.

In this part of Kenya, the pastoral lifestyle, in very arid regions, leads to constant conflict over grazing land. Hustling bits of cool moist grass is the way of life for herders on the Baragoi plain and elsewhere. It has been for centuries. But the way of life among morans is different. For centuries, their talk has turned to thievery. Cattle rustling is what morans often do; it’s one way that the tribe survives.

With this kind of age-old tradition, it’s likely that nothing will change anytime soon. These are people who have lived the same way for many centuries and for whom the regular laws of Kenya often don’t apply. They are wont to say they’re “going to Kenya” when they leave their tribal land.

With heavily armed morans, an encroaching force needs to know what it’s doing if it wants to get back what the warriors have taken such trouble to steal! In this case, the police were simply outwitted and outmanoeuvred. Maybe they’d have done better staying out of it all.  

http://www.the-star.co.ke/news/article-98557/baragoi-massacre-untold-story

I personally see no problem with the way of life, only with the choice of weaponry. The knives are still there but the spears and arrows are long gone, replaced by automatic weapons. In fact, the effect of this firepower in some pastoral communities has been such that few men are left. It’s the women who have become herders and they too have turned to the AK for their protection. 

The issue never once came up in news reports nor TV discussions about the massacre, but the important one for me is how the communities got so armed in the first place? Border security is a matter for the armed forces of Kenya, not for Kenya’s communities to enforce. For the rest, these are not war zones. These are Kenyans fighting Kenyans.

If only to protect the communities involved, disarmament  across the entire north and northeast of Kenya should be looked at. It is probably the most important way of reducing the much-hyped problem of ‘insecurity’ in Kenya. The devastation that comes with the AK47 is so much more than what the long range spears can do, or the damage from arrows off a bow. And the police should just stay out and get to controlling the borders of this country.     

A guide to khat/miraa in Kenya (well, Nairobi mainly)

For some travellers, a Nairobi safari wouldn't be complete without at least one night of chewing khat (miraa). Kenya is very civilised in that it's entirely legal to get high on this African cocaine and it's a pastime that a great many Nairobians enjoy over the weekend. Dukas (shops) selling fresh miraa are spread throughout downtown Nairobi and there are quite a few in Westlands too. I used to wonder what the smell at Woodlands Place was. It smelled to me like South African 'biltong'. Like pickled meat. Then I got the smell when I was downtown, as they were unpacking. Then I knew.

 

Miraa has the same active ingredient as the drug cat (cathenone), but in much smaller quantities. A miraa session therefore usually involves a good few hours of ruminating. The active ingredient acts as an aphrodisiac but not exactly a male performance enhancer. But reports vary and I suspect if you can properly focus your mind it might be okay, sexually speaking. But usually you are so far away that sex seems unimportant.

The substance is grown in Meru and Maua mostly and is a cash crop that has made many a millionaire. It comes from an ugly gnarled tree. The crop is precious. They call it green gold.

There are four or so main varieties, and the potency of the miraa plant diminishes rapidly after it has been harvested. If you spend a little time in Nanyuki you may see three-ton pickups loaded with 10 tons of miraa racing through the town, on the way to Wilson Airport in Nairobi. The pick-ups sway under the load and nothing gets in their way. Daily flights from Wilson to Somalia and England put huge amounts of money into the economy of Meru and Maua but you'll never see much evidence of it.

The most common response to a cheek full of well-chewed miraa, or khat, is absolute silence. The chewer gets kinda introspective and seems incapable of saying much – or anything at all - for a few hours at least. The ruminator sits still, with a slightly surprised look spread across his face.

The second response (thankfully, less common) is that the chewer becomes an instant and irrepressible 'story-teller' and waxes non-stop, for hours on end, about his life, its general condition and then, perhaps inevitably, about the inevitability of Kenyan politics.

The two responses are, of course, highly complementary, with one large group sitting hakuna story, listening (feigning a deaf-mute condition), while one or two of their number rambles on in solo mode, stopping only to pop another ground-nut-accompaniment, or piece of sweet Big-G chewing gum into his mouth. These, to alleviate the khat’s bitter flavour.

In downtown Nairobi there is no shortage of miraa sellers (and certainly no shortage of consumers). Every few doors, the full length and breadth of the downtown streets, there is a ‘duka la miraa’ (miraa shop) that usually moonlights also as a general ‘kiosk’ (selling sodas, sigara, maji na mandazi) or a ‘wine and spirit’ merchant, selling lots of Kenya Cane or Kenya King. Particularly on a Friday afternoon, one will see literally hundreds of one-kilo packets of miraa, fresh from Meru, and wrapped neatly in fresh banana leaves, being unloaded from any number of trailers or pick-ups. And the number of buyers well-exceeds the number of packs being unfurled. Chewing miraa is more than a national pastime among the workers of Kenya – it amounts to an obsession.

Competition is stiff between the various miraa shops and their daily custom is dependent, obviously, on the quality of product being sold. Generally the product sells fast, and only here and there you will see an unhappy customer complaining about the low grade of the narcotic being sold, or perhaps moaning that the kilo seems to have mysteriously diminished in volume! For the rest, it’s a matter of buying one’s stash and then finding a decent place to chew.

For many, chewing will start on a Friday afternoon and might end a day-and-a-half later, on Sunday morning. Abstinence from Sunday morning onwards is somewhat forced - or else the chewer is unlikely to get any sleep before work starts on Monday. Miraa is often referred to as ‘African Cocaine’ and it shares many of the properties of its Andean counterpart.

While there are lots of miraa ‘dukas’ (shops), there are far fewer 'chewing taverns', if I may call them that. I mention this because, while miraa chewing is not particularly unacceptable as a social pastime, it is also not condoned as an activity that can be indulged anywhere or everywhere.

Interestingly, in Tanzania, miraa is a strongly prohibited substance, while the smoking of marijuana tends to be tolerated. In Kenya, on the other hand, miraa is completely legal and marijuana smoking tends to be indulged in for fear of death (well, almost).

If you buy miraa, you cannot simply stop at any spot to indulge your narcotic fancy. Rather, you have to find a pub or club that allows such, or you have to buy from a shop where there is also place to chew. 

Klub House, aka K1, on Museum Hill, is nice. Good music too. 

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.

Reasons and responsibilities

It started off looking like I was entirely wrong about the Education Ministry’s embezzlement of primary school education funding, and the amount involved was a mere 100 million Shillings (see blog: “In-DFID-ent ..”). I was mortified – nay, slightly embarrassed - that perhaps I had quoted the wrong figure. I mean, 100 million Shillings is only 1.Something million Dollars! That’s a very small thing in Kenyan corruption terms. Hardly worth mentioning actually …

But now the truth is out, and it seems I didn’t mishear the original report from DFID. Yes, the education corruption scandal has seen the theft from Kenya’s kids of a mere 10 billion Shillings (only 133 million US Dollars!). I guess it is not such a small thing …

Of course, Permanent Secretary Karega pleads absolute innocence as the does the (very) Honorable Minister for Education Ongeri. Again asked their views in polled opinion on KTN, a small 83% of Kenyans say the two gents are lying about their innocence. The remaining 17% of SMS’s were probably paid for, to be sent in the Ministry’s favour.

But coming hot on the heels of this scandal comes another:  This time it involves the alleged payment to ‘Big Fish’ of various huge sums of money. This, for the vacation of (illegally ‘invaded’) land in the (now decimated) Mau Forest (land that is being reclaimed for its ecosystemic importance).

Minister of Finance, Uhuru Kenyatta, flatly denies that this payment is being effected.

But can he really be believed? He escaped, unscathed, with a 10 million Shilling ‘typing error’ in his first budget. Actually, there have been two ‘typing errors’ in his recent tenure as Minister of Finance. I cannot even remember the details of the second one. He is also accused of more recent shepherding of a ‘preferential’ tendering process in the supply of 140-something new VW Passat’s to government’s 42 Ministries (the highest number of ministries in the world).  

So I am sure his denial of Mau payments is true.

(Note: ‘Typing errors’ can occur because government is not computerized here. This due to a concerted avoidance of technologies that will permit ‘paper trails’ to be found for any and all transactions).  

But denials, and other jokes aside, I almost get the idea that the Kenya government actually pursues new scandals with great vigour. This, so that the previous scandal simply disappears from the news (as always seems to happen!). No sooner has one scandal hit the streets than another comes up. And the story of the first scandal gets lost forever in yellowed newsprint on Kenya’s kitchen shelves.

It is so easy to do here, and wouldn’t that be an amazing strategy:

Government of Kenya 101:

1.) You shall steal from the people of Kenya

2.) To get away with one huge scandal, simply create another that is even bigger!

3.) Then call on rafiki sana (our good friends), the Kenya Anti-Corruption Commission (sic), to ‘investigate the matter’.

4.) Go back to 1.)

But the point is this, really: One scandal is simply replaced by another. There’s never any follow up of these, from any quarter:

Surely, one could hardly expect honest follow up from this government. They are all in on the act.

And the KACC remains a joke for now.

But it leads me to question seriously the integrity, tenacity and investigative skill of journalists in this fair country too. And do not tell me that journalists are ‘threatened’. That is what is supposed to happen with journalists. Especially in a country that needs the ’winds of change’ (from wherever they blow) so desperately.  Journalists have a social, moral and very ‘civic’ responsibility to pursue these issues with great zeal and energy.  But I don’t see any of this here.

I used to read South Africa’s Weekly Mail (now Mail and Guardian) every week. It was a serious force for change during its early days and remains an important source of the facts in an increasingly corrupt South Africa.

Kenya? Journalists gani?

Journalists win substantial international awards and gain international recognition for serious investigative work. But I am not packing a Kenyan flag for any ceremony just yet …

 Sure, the public have a responsibility to act and agitate as well. But the channels are simply not there. Youth ‘movements’ in Kenya have historically been controlled by The State. But John Githongo says it’s all changing.

I chatted with some senior members of Bunge la Mwananchi (‘The Peoples Parliament’) the other night. They are inspired for sure. And motivated to do something.

But what?

They don’t see ‘avenues’ for expression at all. Hey, where’s the “spirit of adventure” guys? Even my simple suggestion of Kiswahili sticker-slogans - to stick on every matatu - was met with undue surprise. Come on ...

Sheesh, I remember unlawful marches in the streets. I remember baton charges on campus lawns. I saw live rounds being fired at close range. I saw friends knocked from their feet by dogs and water cannons. I remember tear gas tossed at anti-Apartheid concerts. I remember a church, wrapped up like a present, with a bow, on the bleak landscape of District 6. I remember the security police searching my red Datsun (with the letters ‘KGB’ in the number plate). I remember Terror Lekota, in hiding and ‘on the run’, staying at various safe houses in our village.

I remember, too, kitambo sana (a long time ago), when Soweto erupted, and when Steve Biko died. When David Webster was assassinated and when Neil Aggett disappeared from his house. I remember when Tokyo Sexwale was assassinated too. There were others. Sana.

But I also remember, very very well, the day that Madiba got out. And I watched it live on ITV, London. And I remember ‘coming home’ and standing for hours to vote. For the man I most admire today.

Kenya, you are “as mad as hell”. Surely.

But when will you say: “… AND WE’RE NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANY MORE!”

Kenya, anything is possible “for an idea whose time has come” …

Your time has come.

Maybe one day (as I once heard) someone will say “we’re a mile wide and a hundred people deep. Shoot me, and there will be others”.

But, right now, the journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step …

Kenya? Future gani?

Amani na upendo,

B=))

Happy Christmas all.

Sheng Kali

I first discovered the theory of ‘semiotics’ during my post-graduate studies. The discovery was a great boon to my academic career. It let me get away with murder!

Let me explain:

‘Semiotics’ says that all words have two aspects: The first is that they have no precise meaning of their own;  a word is always a ‘metaphor‘. The second is that the ’metaphors’ vary (with place and time).

So, simply, words have no ‘meaning’ of their own. Only the ‘reader’ can create meaning from a word. For example, Chinese means nothing until you learn Chinese. Yes?  The ‘meaning’ of a word therefore exists in the mind of ‘the reader’ not in ‘the word’. 

And, obviously, readers vary.  Therefore, … meanings vary.

My strategic use of these two concepts allowed me to interpret essay topics in a variety of ways and, as long as I skirted the real issues with a bit of semiotic claptrap, there was not much any lecturer could say about it. As I said, I got away with murder. However, I also earned a bad note in my academic record for my troubles. But that’s another story …

Putting this sad academic history aside for a moment, let me regale you with a lovely example of the semiotic thesis in action. It’s an example from Nairobi Sheng – the slang, street Kiswahili of this city - and it (mainly) concerns the term “jua kali”.

The term literally means “hot sun” and can be used as an exclamation of outside temperatures in Nairobi:

“Jua kaaaaaaali!” [as in, “Sheesh, the sun is hot today”].

In this case, the truth of your comment might be affirmed by:

“Saaaaaaaaana!” [very!]

[Accompanied by a little laugh.]

Now the metaphor starts to shift:  Because the local metal foundries and informal furniture factories are usually situated in roadside sheds, and the work is largely done in the hot sun, employment in the informal sector has become known as “jua kali”. If you work in the ‘informal sector’ anywhere, you describe your work as “jua kali” … even if you are forging US Dollars in a dark basement.  Isn’t that cool?

Now, because of the range of occupations associated with the ‘informal sector’, the term has gained overtones of being ‘home-made’ and perhaps a bit suspect. In this sense, one would differentiate the work of someone considered a ‘fundi’ (Kiswahili for ‘expert’) from the work of ‘jua kali’ (in this sense, ‘an amateur’).

[Accompanied by a slight shrug, as in: “Well, you choose who you want to do the job”.]

Ruth’s brother, Steven, showed me his two-year-old USB Flash Drive one day. It was wrapped so severely in insulation tape that it had started to become round. His comment, with the usual dry wit, was that his repairs over the years have been a bit ‘jua kali’.

Over the last few months, Kenya’s hard-core ‘street rap’, called Genge, has been dominated by an artist calling himself  ‘Jua Kali’. His meaning of the term is most likely ‘home-made’, more akin to ‘home-grown’ talent.  Just another addition to the lexicon of the term.

The term ‘kali’, too, has a few meanings in local use. In Sheng, it can mean ‘hot’ as in ‘overt sexuality’. It can mean ‘hot’ as in cha’ngaa (moonshine). It can mean ‘hot’ as in ‘hot tempered’ (as in Somalis).  These uses are all common.  Hard drugs (and strong medicine) are both ’dawa kali’.  But, my sources tell me, if you’re prone to chemical abuse you are likely to earn the moniker of being kidogo “chemi-kali”!  I love it.

And, as always in Kiswahili, it is less about the word itself than how you say it:

“Kaaaaaaaaali ………. !!!

………………..

…………..

…….

“ ………………….Saaaaaaaaaaana!!!”

… is used like the use of “Mambo Mbaya” and the rejoinder, "Sana”, that I rejoiced some time ago (see prior blog). It’s a mutual affirmation of how totally ‘wicked’ the situation is.

Ever beautiful, ever dynamic, the people play with their shared language and make it new. On the streets of Nairobi Kiswahili mutates into a joyous, shared communication, across tribe and ethnicity. The Swahili language takes on a new, urban flava. The flava is Sheng. And when your use of Sheng has ‘an edge’, it’s “Sheng kaaaaali!”.

The language is hip and happening.  From what I know (which is very little), it is a patois that is evolving very fast. Hip mums, trying to stay ‘with it’,  use the terms all messed up when talking to their teenage daughters.

They land up using adjectives where nouns should be!

[accompanied by a slightly embarrassed teenage giggle]

Amani na upendo

B-)

‘John’ the Baptized

As of Sunday 6^th December 2009 he shall be known as ‘John’ Maina Njenga; for he has been ‘born again’ and baptized such at Bishop (and Assistant Minister for Housing) Margaret Wanjiru’s ‘Jesus is Alive Ministries’. Until recently, he was boss of Kenya’s horrific Mungiki sect (see a few previous blogs). Now he says he’s “a fish”. ‘John’ is clearly a changed man.

Bishop Wanjiru took the trouble of telling us on TV that ‘John’ was ‘serious’ about his new self and that the landscape of Kenya was forever changed. I thought this was quite strange because never before have I heard of a newborn being given high-level support regarding the genuineness of his infant status. There she was, smile fixed on her face, eyes darting from side to side, as she made public her statement on ‘John’ the Baptized. John’s brief swim (in what looked like a cattle dip pen) was reportedly followed by a brief swim by a few hundred other Mungiki members (or should I say ex Mungiki members?). Not all were dipped into the flock. Some will have to come back again next week.

Until 40 days ago, Maina Njenga was sitting at King’ong’o maximum-security prison in Nyeri. He was previously at the infamous Kamiti Prison and while at Kamiti he had threatened to ‘name names’. Among those names were reputed to be senior government officials and MP’s responsible for sponsoring Mungiki in certain ‘dirty deeds’. Maina was moved to Nyeri. Everyone thought he had disappeared. As in, permanently disappeared … But no, he was safe in Nyeri.

Then, just as suddenly again, Maina was released from prison. And he was released on the same day that saw the release of Thomas Cholmondeley (pronounced ‘Chomly’), grandson to Lord Delamere (now-deceased), one of the “Happy Valley” (as in “Rift Valley”) group that the book and movie “White Mischief” was based on.  Cholmondeley had been given a term of 8 months after being convicted for the murder of an alleged poacher. This happened on the 57,000 hectare Delamere farming estate, near Naivasha and was his second charge of murder. He served a little less than the allotted 8 months …

It was of course hoped that by releasing Maina and Thomas together on the same day, the peoples’ outcry would surround Cholmondeley’s premature release and no one would notice that Maina had been sprung too. The fact is that there was hardly an outcry about either release. A bit on TV. A front page of the daily papers on the Friday they got out. But no follow up. No analysis pertaining to why they might have been both released on the same day …

So what is one to make of all of this?  

‘Street opinion’ is that Maina's threat to ‘name names’ was met, quite simply, with a very serious threat upon his life.  But he could not die mysteriously in prison. In this case, Mungiki would have made one of their notorious revenge attacks – perhaps in Loresho or Karen – and perhaps one or two of local MPs’ family members would have been found, sans head, in the street (or perhaps with their eyes gouged out). Rather than face this possibility, it is widely believed that the guilty MP’s thought it wiser to organise the release of the Mungiki leader ...  But with an offer he couldn’t exactly refuse. 

The script would go something like this:

“We release you, and you shut up. You go with Margaret and get born again. Then everyone will think it’s legitimate. Or … we send the hit squad (with their AK47’s) to kill you in the street (as has just happened to Mungiki’s second-in-command) and we say we got a tip off that you were about to commit a crime. And you see this pistol …? We will plant it on you after you are dead, to prove that you were up to no good.

Whaddya say Maina?”

[Maina nods in solemn agreement (in what's known as a 'win-win' situation!)]

Upon handing down Thomas Cholmondeley’s sentence, the judge said there could only be “one justice” in Kenya and there should not be favouritism before the law, just because of historical roots, blah blah blah.

Interesting observation really.

Maina was facing something like 28 charges of murder (not sure exactly how many, because we didn’t get to hear the docket read in court). His historical roots are contemplated with terror by a great many people here. There was no way he was going to defend himself successfully against all the cases (even WITH the threatening of witnesses). And murder carries the death sentence in Kenya. 

Very strange too that he was released after serving much less time than old Tommy (who eventually faced only a manslaughter charge). The police didn’t even bother to defend themselves (not that there was any outcry, as I have said).

Let’s face it. They both should have been convicted and should have served very long terms.

Murder aside, if we look in another arena of ‘equal justice’, it is interesting to note that there has NEVER been a successful prosecution of high-level corruption in Kenya (and I don’t think there’s been much by way of indictment either).

And more: Wednesday (December 9^th) is World Anti-Corruption Day. There is a big exhibition today, with displays by the many (and effective!) interested parties. It is being held at ‘Integrity Centre’ (sic), the head office of Kenya’s Anti-Corruption Commission (sic). I am very excited. I really must go.

Footnote: ‘Equality before the law’ is an ideal towards which every society should strive. But the realization of this hope is really a dream (virtually in every society).

The concept is a joke.

In Kenya the joke is truly hilarious. But as President Kibaki would put it, this is simply "Our Kenya".

With concerned thoughts …

B-)

Clean Water Exhaustion

Like much of Africa, Kenya has been experiencing severe drought. In areas to the north, like Garissa near the Somali border, and the regions of Samburu and Lake Turkana, even the camels have been dying from dehydration! The recent ‘short rains’ have relieved some of the pressure, but the drought is by no means broken.

In Nairobi, the effect of the drought has been the introduction of water rationing on a well-regulated, now-you-have-it-now-you-don’t basis. One minute you hear water gurgling through the pipes … next minute you’re carrying a bucket of water to flush the loo. Plastics companies have made a fortune through the manufacture and sale of storage tanks that stand everywhere in peoples’ houses. And when it’s been a-gurgling there’s a massive rush for everyone to fill up their tanks. One wonders if the rationing has any effect at all with the amounts that are drawn when there IS water.

Be that as it may, the rationing has heralded some quite discomfiting times. There have been days when some areas have been devoid of the sacred maji for more than two days at a stretch! And water needs treatment with Water Guard to prevent bacterial outbreaks while it stands stagnant in the house. Thankfully, PSI (Population Services International) from the US, sponsors much of the cost of the water treatment and it can be obtained for 20 bob a bottle at most small outlets.

Of course, many Kenyans can’t afford even the 20 bob and have had to suffer as a result. Several (thankfully, small) outbreaks of cholera have been experienced. Maybe 100 people have died. Many of them have been children.

Until recently, the outbreaks have been quite mystifying, affecting only small parts of a particular community or perhaps just one small residential area. But, after a while, the source of these isolated occurrences became clearer.

Let me explain as best I can …

There are three main types of tanker trucks seen in Nairobi. The first is the common-garden petrol tanker that takes petrol, paraffin and other flammable, petro-chemical products from Mombasa all the way through to the Ugandan capitol of Kampala or even Kigali, in Rwanda. Using what are sometimes extremely bad roads, these tankers are prone to capsize. Kenyans are incinerated quite regularly when the liquid cargo catches alight as scores of villagers busily fill their buckets from the tanker’s prostrate hull.

Now, because of the drought, it has become common to see ‘water tankers’ on the roads. These blue-painted behemoths bear the legend ‘Clean Water’, emblazoned in white on their sides. They are charged with delivering maji to houses, hotels, commercial areas and residential ‘estates’. And along Ngong Road, there is something of a Tanker-Stop where 20 or more of these tankers can be seen at any one time, waiting for the call to action.

Then there is the third type of tanker: the ‘exhaust tanker’. Because water-borne sewage systems are uncommon in Nairobi, septic tanks require emptying, and residential estates (what the US calls ‘projects’) have to rely on ‘exhaust tankers’ to come and relieve the build-up of human waste and effluents. Also along Ngong Road, one sees these exhaust tankers parked in their plenty too. Many of them carry the charming legend of ‘Honey Sucker’ emblazoned on the side. These tankers are painted … you guessed it … brown.

But, lo-and-behold, there has been the recent, anomalous emergence of a new style of tanker: ‘the hybrid’. This style of tanker is two-tone. It has a freshly painted blue tank that says, like all the others, ‘Clean Water’. However, the tank itself stands on a chassis and frame that is suspiciously BROWN …!

You work it out!

Ever-keen to make a buck where possible, it seems that many of the tanker owners have resorted to what Kenyans are wont to call ‘unscrupulous’ business practices. It’s amazing what a bucket of blue paint can do for an erstwhile Honey Sucker’s business!

I’m just glad that it wasn’t my child that fell victim to the stuff of the two-tone tanker!

With love.

B-)

Ju-ju visions and near-death experiences

(Note: I have added a ‘blog search’ tool to this page so that if there’s any unexplained terminology – or references to prior blogs - you can find the guilty party easily)


Ju-Ju in a matatu

It was approaching nightfall. I worked my way through the usual hubbub of humans and found a half-filled matatu that was going the same way as me. I took a seat at the back and was blessed with a window that opened halfway. As dusk descended, the small, single-bulb ceiling-light illuminated a dim interior. People climbed in and took their seats. The matatu filled quickly, as usually happens at this time of the evening.

There I was, just chilling out, pondering the congested street next to me and not noticing much else, when the matatu took off. The makanga (conductor) fluttered in the wind for a few seconds before swinging himself inside and sliding the door closed.

With everyone settled inside and his makanga safely indoors, the driver proceeded to set the scene for the rest of the trip. The ceiling light went off and, with the blip-blip of fluorescent technology, a light mounted on the interior side panel came on. Just then, Bob Marley’s “Stir It Up” started up on the powerful sound system.

The blip-blip turned out to be what they call a ‘black-light’ or an ‘ultra-violet’ light. And, lo and behold, stenciled everywhere on the bare paint of the matatu interior, in day-glow paint, were little shining motifs of cannabis sativa leaves – you know, the five-pointed star that signifies Jamaican Ju-Ju.

Amongst the black bodies in the matatu you couldn’t see a thing but for an occasional square of white collar sticking out of a jacket top. There was that usual ‘haze’ that ultra-violet seems to bring with it. With the cannabis plantation in front of me, Bob Marley piped at high volume, and a haze that could have been mistaken for what used to be called a ‘hot-box’ (of ganja smoke), the illusion was entirely convincing.

Images came flooding back to me: of nights at a reggae club called Scratch, in Cape Town in the late seventies. When the Wailers were fresh, and Chris Blackwell’s Island Records (the ‘Island’ being Jamaica) was just starting to boom with Bob’s new boogey …

The scene was complete. A stony (stoned?) silence descended on the matatu’s entranced travelers. The makanga just rocked in his seat, happpppeeeeee. The driver proud he had stage-managed an effect that would have had any seventies student skanking slowly. But, it seems, something was still missing…

The driver leaned imperceptibly forward and with a little twiddle of this left hand he almost blew the entire rear of the matatu onto the road. Clearly, Aston 'Familyman' Barrett’s four-string figures weren’t big enough in the boom of the bass bin in the back. Forgive me for thinking something HAD just been blown onto the road because the rush of air at my legs would have fooled anyone. Shite, he’s not serious, I thought.

Everything slowed to a low frequency trance. When I signaled the conductor that I wanted to alight, it must have taken another fifteen seconds for him to register. He eventually gave the usual smacks to the side of the matatu, signaling the driver. Nothing happened. The makanga had to repeat the action. The message eventually reached the driver’s brain and we slurred to a stop.

I had to walk a kilometer back to where I should have been dropped….

I was still suffering from subwoofer shock when another memory seeped out from the mists of my disorientation: Driving and listening to reggae. Preparing myself properly for a visit with some Rasta brethren in Khayalitsha, Cape Town. Neglecting to turn off at Vanguard Drive on the M2 freeway. Landing up in Bellville, some twenty kilometers further on. And wondering: “was I on the right road in the first place ……….?!”

Sheesh.

Mambo mbaye! …………………….. Sana.

I have a dream …

Like a few other cities on the continent, Nairobi is aspiring to become a world-class African city. But Nairobi, unlike the others, is only hoping to achieve this by 2030! Maybe it IS a realistic timeline but what I find strange is that, to my knowledge, there is no Vision Committee, or similar, that has set any milestones to be reached along the way. Maybe it is hoped that The Vision will somehow miraculously appear. And like other miraculous visions, it will probably take a Vatican investigation – or serious investigation, at least - to establish whether it did in fact happen!

I think the powers that be are hoping that by fixing a few roads (that should have been fixed decades ago) and promoting the growth of the IT sector, it’s going to be spontaneous combustion. Never mind that unemployment is so rampant that the government doesn’t actually measure the statistic, or that the Kenya Power and Lighting Company can only provide power on two or three days a week, or that the roads in Industrial Area are still so bad that it is costing millions a month just in vehicle repair and upkeep for those that ply the route. Never mind all of that, the Vision is coming!

A very good piece of airbrush art I saw on the back of a bus the other day expressed the Vision perfectly and succinctly: Just like you say that someone has “20:20 vision”, the legend at the top of the picture said “Vision 20:30”. And below it was a depiction of one very cross-eyed cat staring blankly out. Pole, mwananchi, (sorry, citizens) but I had to laugh at the aptness of the image.

Anyway, it seems to me that the vision is just another obfuscation of the REAL facts that need to be looked at in the city, and in the country as a whole. Forget becoming a world-class African city … Just give the people jobs. But I’ll probably never get to see Vision 2030 anyway. But then I suspect a lot of others won’t either!

(Talking of 20:30 vision, I have been wondering whether it is just my imagination or do I see more Luo wearing spectacles than any other of the Kenyan peoples? Is there something in the Nilotic eye structure that predisposes the Luo more towards eye problems? It’s a small and totally insignificant observation but I’d still be interested to know if there’s anything in it. Perhaps one of the numerous Kenyan opticians that read this blog can answer my query…?)

Baton charged

Still talking of sight, a hilarious one in town is watching what the policemen get up to sometimes – particularly in the pursuit of orderly traffic flow … Firstly, though, I tend to think that half the traffic problems experienced in this city arise from the fact that none of the policemen have ever driven a car, and probably never will. The result is that they do not understand the sheer frustration that arises from sitting completely stationery in traffic for fifteen minutes before being given the go-ahead to move. Secondly, they also don’t understand that when you allow too great a flow of traffic in one direction you ‘clog the artery’ and actually CREATE a traffic jam rather than alleviate it.

This ineptitude of some aside, what is really funny is what you sometimes see following an obvious contravention of a policeman’s directions …

Policemen on the traffic beat carry wooden or rubber batons. When I first got here I wondered how come the wooden ones were so worn out at the end. The human head is generally soft enough not to inflict damage upon a baton, so I was left wondering. Some of the rubber batons too, I noticed, are actually ‘frayed’ at the ends. It took a little downtown observation, on Moi Avenue particularly, to see the reasons behind the degenerated condition of the Nairobi policeman’s baton.

Imagine the scene: A matatu driver doesn’t see the figure of a policeman behind the bulk of a bus in front of him. He drives a little too far over the intersection and blocks the path of vehicles now coming from his right side. The policeman, nerves shot from directing the completely reckless procession of public service vehicles (PSV’s) and private vehicles alike, blows his top.

The policeman strides with obvious malicious intent towards the driver of the matatu. He raises his baton. He serves two or three firm blows – not to the driver - but to the side of the matatu! The driver sees it coming and lunges to his left in mock avoidance of the blows - blows that will obviously not strike him.

This little pantomime done, everything returns to normal: The policeman has vented his (usually justifiable) frustration and returns to his post somewhere amidst the congested throng. And the driver has accepted his punishment with enough feigned fear to appease the policeman. Peace has been restored at the cost of a dent and a sliver of wood.

Thus, Nairobi policemens' batons become as frayed as the nerves of the policemen who wield them!

A brush with death

This little piece of levity aside, some mention has to be made of more serious traffic contraventions on the part of matatu drivers. Heading out of town on Thika Road the other evening, around 8pm, traffic was as thick as usual for that time – maybe a little more so. In the first half hour of our journey we traveled roughly 200 meters - from the taxi rank to the first traffic roundabout heading out of town – amidst the compressed convergence of competing cars. Anyone can imagine what this does to the psychological state of a driver, particularly seeing as he is now driving in a haze of exhaust fumes that looks like The Moors in a Hammer Films horror flick.

Coming to the first part of Thika Road itself, the driver sees a steady stream of tail lights dotted from here to eternity. Patience blown completely, and with a will to get home before midnight, the matatu driver decides that everyone’s life is worth as little as his makanga values his own life (he who willingly risks his life and limb a great many times a day.) So what does the driver do?

Instead of going AROUND the roundabout and joining the traffic at the far end, he chooses instead to make a sharp right turn (what we sometimes call a hairpin turn), directly into the face of the oncoming traffic circling the roundabout. With reggae blasting through the sound system, the one-drop rhythm is now punctuated with the sound of car hooters and screeching tyres, plus the gasps and exclamations of the passengers.

I now go into replay mode: my childhood experience of driving ‘Dodge-em’ cars on the Durban beachfront! Who will yield first?

The matatu driver is doing the macho thing and calling everyone’s bluff, driving sans deviation in the left lane (the lane that is actually the RIGHT lane for vehicles coming towards us!) He’s going like the blazes and clearly intends to intrude into the gap he sees forming between a bus and another matatu, roughly a kilometer up the road …

I can make light of it now but it wasn’t a comfortable experience. Cars swerving right and left, hooters sounding, passengers praying. And the matatu making a straight line – the shortest possible distance – between the gap and the impending demise of us all!

A kilometer up the road, he hardly touches his brakes before mounting the paving stones of the island that separates the two left hand lanes from the right. The island itself is not actually an island but is more an unremitting collection of dongas, each one big enough to fit a prostate cow. He proceeds to bounce us all mercilessly across the divide. I smack my head on the metal ridge above me.

Apart from my cry of pain, there was an audible exhalation of relief from us all as the bus calmly gives way to the intruder from outside. Our driver carries on as if nothing has happened.

But he puts a gospel CD on the player.

The downtown shopaholic

Shopping on the streets of downtown Nairobi never ceases to amaze me. Not only are there some great little shops tucked away in the strangest of places but the strangest of things are sold in tucked away places.

Firstly, you can buy the most amazing selection of Chinese DVD’s for Ksh150 a time (R18). Whether you want the complete works of Arnie the Terminator, or every Charlie Chaplin movie ever made, you will find it on Tom Mboya Street. Especially interesting are the collections that no-one else wants. The complete collection of Bond movies features every movie, from “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” to “Quantum of Solace”. Every one! What I hope to find again is the complete collection of Viet Nam movies that includes “Apocalypse Now”, “Full Metal Jacket”, and even “Forrest Gump”!

On the downtown streets, the most common shop is a little kiosk, not much bigger than a broom cupboard that sells anything from cellphones to ‘bling’ watches. Increasingly, the cellphones are Chinese knock-offs of Nokias and Blackberry’s and, by all accounts, they work fine. They just break down easily! The best bling watch I saw had a dollar sign so big on the face that you couldn’t see the hands! And every fourth kiosk is an M-Pesa agent, as I have noted before.

Slightly more uptown there are the ‘tourist’ shops that sell Maasai blankets, kikois, kangas and kitengis, and the perfunctory array of wooden wildlife sculptures. But if you want to see the most amazing array of African fabrics you have to go to the Mombasa Rest House (a name from former times) and climb the thirty steps to the first floor. At the top of the stairs you will find two rooms, 3m X 3m, where every inch of the walls and the floor too, is covered by the most colourful array of fabrics you will ever see. On the few tables set in front of the fabrics you will find contemporary ‘inyangas’ (herbalists) who will mix up a concoction of cosmetics for a woman’s every need. The prices of everything are half of what you’ll spend uptown.

The wares of pavement hawkers have been mentioned here before but what I neglected to say last time is that the sidewalk newspaper sellers have the best books and magazines you will find in Nairobi. Of course, the novels of Danielle Steele and Jackie Collins are bought quickly by the schoolgirls. But those of D.H Lawrence, Joseph Conrad, and Ernie the Hemingway, among many others, seem to lie there forever. Many of these ‘hawkers’ have licenses to sell newspapers of the sidewalk. But they don’t really do that any more. They sell books aplenty. Many of them obtain their stocks from the ‘car boot sale’ that is held at the Village Market every month (bought from departing U.N. employees). And their magazines include back-issues of the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, Mojo and ID (all available for Ksh50-Ksh100 – R7-R12)!

Last, but not least among the shops, are the ‘local’ restaurants you find downtown. As opposed to the Ksh100 you’ll pay for a plate of chips uptown, you’ll get one here for Ksh35. Coffee costs Ksh25 as opposed to Ksh100 plus. But be careful how you order. Coffee is most often consumed black in Kenya (white coffee might cost extra). Tea – or ‘chai’ as it is known here - is often so light in colour you’ll think they forgot the teabag. And, if you’re new to East Africa, avoid the meat dishes! You DON’T want to get what we call ‘stomach’ in Nairobi…

Tragedy in the making?

For the last part of this blog I am taking a suitably grave tone. It’s a little note of alarm:

The entire expanse of land that constitutes the northern reaches of Kenya (perhaps a third of the country’s total land mass) is experiencing an unprecedented drought. Cattle and zebra, in particular, are dying rapidly while the vultures and hyenas are getting fat!

There is already a major food shortage in Kenya and it is estimated that up to 10 million Kenyans in the north face starvation if things don’t get better soon. The food shortage is also not being helped by the hundreds of thousands Somali refugees that are streaming steadily across the border. Cattle are being allowed to die because humans come first. But still, neither cattle nor humans are doing too well.

It has happened before that there has been drought, of course. But this time there seems to be gravity to the situation that is scary. Even camels, the favoured form of transport in the region (after old Series III Land Rovers), are battling under the extreme dry conditions.

As seems to be something of an African malaise, survival after the last drought did not bring any planning with it, and whatever survival plan the government might be putting in place now, I fear it’s going to be too little, too late.

I suspect that Kenya is going to face starvation on an unparalleled level if the coming season of ‘short rains’ don’t bring more than what their name portends …. But I really hope I’m wrong.


With that sober thought it is, as always, peace and love to you all.

Amani na mapenzi.

B-)

The Three “Esses” in Swahili

The response to my “Swahili Primer” in the last blog was absolutely great. All the closet Zulu fans and Xhosa queens came out of the woodwork at the same time. I immediately got questions about Xhosa terms (uQabandini, said with a full-palate click to the front of the mouth and meaning someone who hasn't been to 'school' but still holds strong opinions), and reams of comparisons between Swahili and the dominant local language in South Africa .

Hey guys, I didn’t realize how tsotsi-literate you all are! The only negative response I got was from The Imp, here in Nairobi , who said my blog should carry a disclaimer to the effect that I either accept NO responsibility for my butchering of the Swahili language, or that I accept FULL responsibility for same. Too late now I guess but hey, I’m trying my best.

But what I have realized is that I wrote the Swahili primer at the very end of a writing day and there was a whole lot I left out – some of the most important stuff actually. So here is a little more complete version of Swahili 101 - but is actually only about just three words in Swahili … but three that are absolutely indispensable to know!

First things first, though: The DISCLAIMER … I hereby accept no responsibility whatsoever for any inaccuracies found in this text. This, because I have not just ONE, but TWO Swahili speakers who have checked my opinions and have edited my obvious errors. Having said this, let me blaze away and make a complete Swahili fool of myself, using, as I have, my sub-editors’ remarks as entirely discretionary input …

Of course, I do also have a marginal excuse in noting that Swahili is actually a very ‘hybrid’ language and is infused with Arabic, Portuguese, Persian, a little German, and quite a bit of English. Swahili is a lot less ‘pure’ than the Bantu languages of Zulu and Xhosa found in Mzansi, in the sense that there was little to infuse the Bantu with down there. Of course, the Zulu found on the streets of Jozi is an entirely different matter (which is why I referred to the tsotsi-literacy of some of you!).

Blundering Introduction to the First Edition:

Swahili is one of the most widely spoken of all African languages (probably followed by Zulu and its variants) and is probably accessible to near 100 million people in the East Africa region alone. However, it is the mother tongue to less than 20 million people. It is the regional lingua franca with roots that can be traced back to the first millennium AD! It is found in use throughout East Africa (Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi) but is also spoken to the north - in parts of Somalia and Ethiopia - and as far south as northern Mozambique and Zambia.

The true Swahili people – mSwahilini – are people from “Coast” (province) - as opposed to the coast. The word ‘Swahili’ itself actually derives from the Arabic word for ‘coast’ and the language was originally the main means of communication between the coastal peoples – since the 700's - starting with a few boats landing at Zanzibar.

Today still, the most pure Swahili is considered to be found among the Zanzibaris, thereafter within greater Tanzania, followed quite a way later by the Swahili found in Kenya - with Nairobi Swahili considered to be ‘Sheng’ (Swahili slang) rather than true kiSwahili. I guess Nairobi Swahili is somewhat akin to Jozi isiZulu (hardly the stuff of high literary lexicons and dictionary discourse)! If truth be told (popular Nairobi expression), a journalist can run into trouble with his Tanzanian editor for an over-reliance on Nairobi Swahili!

Interestingly, the Swahili alphabet – formalized in the 1930’s – includes all the letters of the English alphabet except for ‘Q’ and ‘X’ – funnily enough, exactly those letters that are found so commonly in the Xhosa alphabet! Excuse the cultural stereotype, but it seems that the fabled Xhosa penchant for petty pilfering might have played a part here: seeing that mSwahilini were not using the ‘Q’ and the ‘X’ the Xhosa people thought they might look after the letters and place them in safekeeping for the Swahili!


The First ‘S’:

The word “sasa” (transliteration: saa-saa), in true Swahili, means ‘now’, as in “kuja hapa sasa!”, or “come here now!”. But in Nairobi sheng it denotes so much more. The first alternate (short) meaning is closest, I suppose, to the South African use of "Howzit?” and it might well be used when answering a phone call …

The phone rings. You ‘pick it’ (Kenyan for ‘answer it’) and say:

“Sasa?”

The response you are most likely to get is:

“Poa sana ” (transliteration: a ‘breathy’, ‘percussive’ poh-ah saa-na meaning "very good")

And the self-same question follows, again:

“Sasa?”

To which you'll get a:

"Poa-poa sana" if your buddy is really feeling good today.

Another, slightly more correct use of "sasa" is to say "now ... " but in a more 'open' sense.

It's used like:

"Now ... as I was saying"

As a means of re-opening a subject - perhaps a sensitive one - it is spoken softly and has a gentleness and un-intrusive subtlety that is very charming.


The Second “S”:

“Sema” (sair-mah) in proper Swahili means to 'speak' or to 'say something', yet it is used in a very similar way to “Sasa?” It is a more informal greeting than “Mambo?” and it means “What do you have to say?”, or “What’s up?”

Again, as with “Sasa?”, it essentially boils down to “How are you?” and again, the usual “Poa sana ” - or maybe a more moderate "nzuri sana" - is likely to follow.

“Sema?” has to be distinguished from “(Una) Sema nini?” meaning “You say what?”, which is a more direct question relating to what was just said, or to someone’s opinion of something.

My best was when I asked one of my researchers “Sema nini?”, to which she replied:

“Hakuna story” (“There is no story”).

These days I borrow her phrase when it's appropriate - and it seldom fails to raise a laugh.

By way of a small aside, you have to be careful when using variations of the "Hakuna" story ...

Hakuna matata ("no wurries")
Hakuna matatu ("there is no taxi")
Hakuna matako ("there is no ass")
Hakuna Mutoko ("Kiss FM's Caroline Mutoko is not on air")

Just a little laugh. But now for the ‘clincher’ of the ‘esses’:

The Third “S”:

The third “S” – “Sawa” (saa-waa) - is probably the most commonly used word in the Swahili language. Quite simply, it means “Ok”.

Any conversation will be infused with numerous uses of “sawa” along the way and if an arrangement has been made, the conversation will end with “sawa?” (“Ok?”), followed by the affirmative “sawa-sawa!” (“Ok-Ok!”).

In fact, it often closes a conversation or initiates departure, whether or not there has been any intervening arrangement. It is often just a warm, informal affirmation between friends and also suffices for the more formal “Kwa heri” (“good-bye”), which is seldom used.

The term, and its affirmative reply, are accompanied by many smiles and nods!

As a last rejoinder, I have to mention a rather risqué Bongo-Flava tune that made Tanzainia's Professor Jay famous in East Africa. Sung in Swahili obviously, it does the rounds in the clubs but is heard less often on radio, for reasons you’ll get …

It has a chorus consisting of two very short lines:

“HAPO vipi?” (“How is it THERE?”)
“HAPO sawa!” (“THERE is COOL/OK!”)

The sound of everyone singing it booms above the sound system (with “Sawa” being drawn out and sung as “Saaaaaawaaaaaaaaa!”).

The meaning is clear when the last line is accompanied by vigorous butt-wiggling and coy giggling on the part of the gals. Need I say more?

I have said it before and I shall go forth effusively again: The WAY the language is spoken, its syblent sounds, and the people that speak it, are all beautiful. Sheng commands my respect as a language that is highly dynamic, widely-used and highly descriptive and I’ll end this piece talking about a truly magnificent use of sheng on the streets:

The term “Mambo mbaye” is used in two completely opposite senses, depending entirely on the WAY it is said. Literally, the term means “Bad news”, but when applied to subjects like the quality of music, aesthetics (human or otherwise), or perhaps to the quality of THC, it takes on the same meaning as the term “wicked!” did in the UK some years back.

It takes this meaning only when the emphasis is placed on the second word, “mbaye” (“bad”), to which the affirmative reply might be “mbaye sana”, again with the emphasis on the second word.

What you're saying here is actually, "this is really good shit!"

When the emphasis is placed equally on the two words, it is to be understood more literally, as in “BAD NEWS”. Again, the reply could be “mbaye sana” but both the words will be spoken in a ‘level’ way, agreeing fully (kabisa) with the observation’s originator. A third, even greater agreement will, in fact, be had by the third-and-final inclusion of the agreement, “Kabisa!” ("Fully!"), in the comments.

And here, of course, the reference might be to a female predator trawling for customers at a downtown club. And, in this case, there will REALLY be NO joke contained in the reference at all!

More on this subject later …

Amani na mapenzi.

B-)

Hello Nairobi: 3-8 December 2008

It's the total madness on the roads that struck me first. Where there are dividing lines between traffic lanes (which are rare) they are treated merely as 'guidelines' as to where the traffic should go. For the rest, it’s a complete free-for-all, with (you guessed it) the minibus taxis (matatus) being the worst offenders. It's common for the vehicle you are driving in (whoever owns it) to have a bump, or at least a scratch, even on both sides – witness to the multitude of near-accidents everyone encounters on a daily basis (acquiring a new scratch or minor ding on the way to work does not count as an accident). 

The redeeming feature of drivers here is that they are mostly GOOD. Everyone seems to drive with the 'third eye' on high alert and seems able to avoid collisions with vehicles coming from any direction – especially, it seems, from the left-rear (they drive on the left side); defensive driving is a must.

The main road from the airport is wide but traffic builds at the seemingly incessant line of 'traffic circles' or 'roundabouts' (as they are called here) on the route. Unlike regular roundabouts where the rule is to yield to your right, and enter accordingly, that rule doesn't seem to apply here. Local officials have decided that it's best to have traffic lights controlling the traffic entering and exiting the circles. No one obeys. But at rush hour there are pointsmen controlling the circular traffic and it is common to sit for five to ten minutes (and I mean a real ten minutes) waiting your turn to enter the circle. In South Africa, road rage would definitely take over and the pointsmen would probably get shot! 

To traverse the fifteen kilometres from Jomo Kenyatta International Airport to my office took over an hour, between 7.30 and 8.30am!

But the traffic is hectic just about any time of night or day. Just like in SA, the congestion stems from a mini-boom that the locals have experienced over the last few years – bringing many more cars onto an already inadequate road system. I am toying with the idea of buying a second-hand Vespa in the New Year, just to get around on during the evenings and weekends. But, I am told, bike is spelled D.E.A.T.H., especially seeing that crash helmets are only somewhat compulsory. In the upmarket suburb where the office is situated, there are few sidewalks and one is often forced to walk in the face of haphazard oncoming traffic. It's common enough to have a near brush with a motorcycle coming the wrong way down a typically congested road. The riders do, at least, give a little toot on the hooter just before they pass – a small (but big enough) warning not to suddenly attempt a crossing.

Apart from the four main TV stations, and the satellite TV option for the rich, radio has a special place in Nairobi. There are radio stations individually dedicated to reggae, rock, Soul/RnB, 'classics', rap and hip-hop, all competing for a share of the radio-consumer pie. It's common to hear a matatu pass you with reggae blaring from its overburdened sound system. 

On Saturday there was a reggae festival at Uhuru Park. I didn't go, but got to watch some of it live on TV. With some surprise, I noticed there were very few dreadlocks in evidence among the audience. Wondering why, I was told that the Mau-Mau used to wear dreads as a sign of their complete rejection of the accepted values of the time and today dreadlocks are still a little extreme for conservative Kenyan society. I was later to learn that the Mungiki 'gang', a group of mainly Kikuyu outlaws and extortionists, wore dreadlocks and just prior to my arrival in Kenya, an order had been issued to shoot Mungiki on site. You didn't want to wear dreads and get mistaken for the wrong guy.

On Friday night I attended a formal (black tie) function at the Kenyatta International Convention Centre. Ironically, here in deepest, darkest Africa, I wore a tux for the first time since my wedding! It was the gala evening for the 'Warrior Awards', given by the Marketing Society of Kenya to companies which have excelled in promoting their products here (the award itself being a stylized – chrome plated! - version of the tall Maasai warrior). The event was long and tiresome (as these events always are) but I was absolutely stunned by the elegance and beauty of the women I saw there and I was entirely unprepared for the lighter, often radiant, skin tones, the far finer features of the women I saw. I was used only to dusty dark skin and broad features.

On Thursday, just hours after alighting my plane from O.R.Tambo, I had a business meeting with 'Rachel Z' – a JAP (Jewish American Princess) – recently settled in Nairobi from a U.N. sortie in Kosovo. Rachel wants help with some social research in the Sudan. She has her own consultancy but does a lot of work for the U.N., being particularly interested in the post-war situation in Darfur. So we're having a second meeting this week and I will be attending a security briefing from the U.N. High Commission on Refugees week after next. I guess it's Darfur here we come soon.

There are no fewer than four cellphone operators here, with an amazing array of offers and tariff structures. One operator offers a flat-fee cost structure, whether you are calling at peak or off-peak times. Another offers a variable structure but with SMSing costing the equivalent of 5c a time. The dominat operator is Safaricom, of parent company Vodac/Vodacom. 

All the cell networks are automatically enabled for international dialling – attesting to the extent to which Kenyan has an 'international' feeling about it – and the international connection doesn't cost you that much more than the local one. Currently waiting for my company phone (a Blackberry that turned out to be the most godawful cellphone I have ever owned), I was presented with pre-paid airtime to the value of 1000 Shillings (about R100) to tide me over in the meantime. Lacking many locals I can phone for a chat, I made about ten calls to SA – amounting to more than twenty minutes of call time - and the airtime has only just run out!

Cigarette smoking is considered something of a social evil (which I guess it is) and is banned even in open public spaces. If you want to smoke, do it in your car or in your own home. Don't expect to do it in the street or in any public space, aside from limited and clearly designated smoking areas. I'll have to watch my Quit Smoking by Hypnosis DVD a few more times methinks. I tried in vain to find the cigarette kiosk at the local supermarket. I had to ask if they sold smokes and was directed to a dusty corner of the store where I found a selection of about five brands (Dunhill, Embassy and the huge local brand, Sportsman) next to an assortment of Chinese padlocks, key tags and nail clippers. Nowhere is there an ad or billboard for cigarettes to be seen. Needless to say, smoking is not big in Kenya!

In the local shopping mall – not the new Westgate mall, but in the Sarit Centre – I paid a lot for two samoosas and an espresso (single). Good coffee is everywhere, what with Kenya hitherto being one of the world's major exporters of Arabica coffee. At Sarit there is also quite a lot of Indian food around. There are a lot of Indians around. I assume that most of them are Hindi or similar because the incidence of typical Islamic burkas is quite rare – although I was quite amused to see a Muslim lady, with head and face covered by thick black cloth, shopping for sexy underwear at one of the boutiques in the mall!

Many of the shops, and even the banks, stay open from 8.30am to 8.30pm and there are a number of branches in the Nakumatt chain of supermarkets that stay open 24/7! The area where I am staying (Westlands) is undergoing quite a lot of development and a brand new mall (Westgate) has opened just down the hill from me. The Nakumatt that comprises the principal tenant at the mall is literally a one-stop-shop and sells absolutely everything for the home. Just about the only thing it does not sell is motor cars (but the 24/7 Nakumatt Mega does!).

And speaking of Swahili – or should I say, speaking Swahili – I learnt more of that language in 48 hours than I learnt of Zulu in 48 years! It is a gentle and somewhat poetic language. When someone hears you are not from Kenya you are immediately told "Karibu (Welcome) in Kenya", to which you reply "Asante (Thanks)", or better still "Asante sana (thank you very much)". And, of course, everything is pretty much "Hakuna mutata", chilled and at ease, here in the land of the safari.

The natural environment of Nairobi is quite like the dense foliage found in the sub-tropical areas of Kwazulu/Natal. Dark, loamy soil and jungle-like areas of banana palms and mango trees are sometimes seen in the space between streets. And because everything grows so profusely, a few lots of vacant land in Westland are dedicated to selling seedlings and saplings of every size and description. The whole of the steep hill that separates my apartment block from the Westgate Mall comprises an informal 'garden centre'. The plants need little watering because of the moisture that accompanies the cool evenings.

Despite the position of Nairobi on the equator, the days are temperate because of its altitude. The evenings can be notably cool. Once the sun goes down, a definite chill sets in. The summers are not much different from the winters. And we're so close to the Equator here, I'm not sure which season it actually is! The seasons are defined more by 'rainy seasons' - the short rains and the long rains.

On Saturday, I took a walk around Westlands and found my way to the local craft 'market' where traditional African goods are sold from within disused shipping containers. The one mistake I made was to be polite and accommodating and found myself consistently having to refuse the invitation to bargain over (mainly) the price of hand made jewellery or Kenyan kikois. But in the process I did get to see some absolutely beautiful kikois. Being something of the 'national dress', kikois are worn as wraps or scarves, and this form of adornment imbues many of the women with a certain flair and sense of local urban street-style. Of course, there are kikois and then there are Maasai shukas. The Masai shuka (blanket, actually) is most often red, sometimes brown or purple, with some form of tartan or striped pattern on it. Stunning.

It's now Sunday evening and I have just returned from a trip to Lake Naivasha with Jane (the boss), her mom and her son. She has just bought a five acre plot of land that extends from the dust road down to the water's edge. The lake is host to a few thousand flamingos and a few hundred hippos. She plans, with a few friends, to build five log cabins on the land. The locale is exquisite. Her plot is adjacent to a private game reserve which, in turn, is adjacent to a piece of land called Elsamere.

Elsamere once belonged to a married couple called George and Joy Adamson (remember them?). For those who don’t know, the couple used to keep a lioness called Elsa and once upon a time they made a film called Born Free, Kenya's filmic claim to fame. We had lunch in what was their last home in Kenya, on the shores of the lake. On the front lawn stands George's old Land Rover, looking the same as most Land Rovers you see on the road here still. Old George is long dead and gone but his Landie looks as fresh and new as when he bought it. It looks good but doesn't go so well because its wheels are cemented into the ground!

On the way to Lake Naivasha, just before heading off the escarpment on which Nairobi stands, we came around a bend in the road and there, suddenly, lay the whole of the Great Rift Valley before us. What a sight! It was a clear day and it seemed like we could see all the way to Somalia and Ethiopia in the north! And Jane pointed out the road I need to take when I do the inevitable trip to the Maasai Mara.

A lot of Nairobi's electricity comes from geothermal sources near Naivasha - where the earth's crust is thinner than anywhere else on the globe – and, I am told, one can literally boil an egg in the water that comes out of the hot springs. It's the hot springs that feed the lake because Lake Naivasha is not connected to the Great Lakes (Victoria, Albert, Edward) of the Rift Valley. All around the lake are white, plastic greenhouses that grow no less than 80% of the flowers sold in Europe! The flowers that are cut today are sold the next day in Amsterdam! But the flower business is a bit of a problem because it uses more water than the hot springs can feed into the lake. So the surface area of the lake has been steadily diminishing.

The lake has also become increasingly saline over the years, which has led to a problem with water hyacinth. But one man's problem is another man's opportunity: the hyacinth is a favourite of fresh water crayfish (would you believe!) and our lunch featured a good crayfish cocktail, but the taste lacked the 'bite' that the sea provides.

Over the way from Lake Naivasha is an extinct volcano and scattered around the shores of the lake (and all over the Adamsons' garden) are big black, shiny volcanic rocks, thrown there eons ago, when the volcano was still a hot thing. At the extremes of the Adamsons' front lawn are signs saying 'Wild Animals at Night'. Jane's son, Scott, says the signs are actually meant for Nairobi's drinking holes…… I'll tell you the truth of that next time.

Peace and Love.

Brian