In many ways, I am not qualified to 'comment' on Kenya politics but, surely, as a relatively recent guest in this country, I can ask a few questions ...
The main, over-arching question, for me, concerns the ‘legitimacy of political ascendancy’ in Kenya (if I may be a little verbose). I refer to events that happened some time back already. I have asked this question of a few people but so far haven't got a satisfactory answer. This leads me to wonder more ...
And the exact nature of this question is this:
In Kenya, what gave that group now known as the ‘political class’, their legitimacy? By what birthright, or other credential, were they able to ascend to the thrones of political control? From what I have heard, and from the little I have read, the families that seem now to control the mechanics (and substantial fruits) of the political-economy of Kenya are not descended from the ‘royalty’ in of old. And neither are the descendants of the real ‘freedom fighters’.
The ‘freedom fighters’ that really won independence for Kenya and liberated Kenyans from Colonial rule – the Mau-Mau – are today little more than a group of aged men and women, struggling (on their own) to gain some form of reparation from the old Colonial masters who incarcerated them, and tortured many in despicably inhuman ways. The names of these Mau-Mau fighters are hardly – if at all – known to the Kenyan people today. Their families live in the same poverty as many of their original number do.
And where is the pre- (or post-) independence 'tribal royalty'? Where are the blue-blooded descendants of Kenya’s 40 or so tribes (depending how you count them). Were these ‘kings’, ‘chiefs’, and ‘paramount chiefs’ somehow marginalized, just as Kenya’s freedom fighters were?
Certainly, among the rank-and-file Kenyans I know, there seems to be no knowledge AT ALL of who the members of Kenyan ‘royalty’ are, or were! For example, whatever happened to the families descended from Karen Blixen’s friend, Chief Kinanjui? He was certainly around ... I have seen pictures of him.
Where I come from, everyone knows about the Madiba clan and the 'royalty' status of those descended from the Tembu name. The Sigcau chieftainship, and royal house, is also quite familiar to many, as are many Venda, Sotho and Tswana royal families, running all the way to the great "Rain Queen" herself. The name Zwelithini is recognized as belonging to the legitimate leaders of the Zulu people. And in the cities, even the taxi-driver heir to a chief is commonly recognized and known by the general populace.
Further, those who played a genuine role in the South African liberation struggle have been – and remain - recognized by the State, and often hold significant positions in politics, or perchance in the economy. This applies not only to ‘people of colour’ but even to the waZungu 'freedom fighters', with the late Joe Slovo perhaps being the most prominent example (but not excluding others like Albie Sachs, et.al.).
Yet in Kenya, the 'chiefs' and the 'freedom fighters' seem both to have disappeared from sight! From the little I know, today's ‘political class’ - the ‘ruling elite’ - seem to have come initially from almost nowhere! I stand grossly corrected if I am wrong and I would like to be enlightened if I am, indeed, wrong.
Post-independence history books in Kenya don’t seem to deal with claims to power at all. Maybe for good reason? Am I over-simplifying the situation when I ask whether the 'royalty' and the Mau-Mau were not both perhaps deliberately excluded from claims to power? Both seem to have been submerged by a self-styled bunch of shrewd political operators who emerged quite suddenly ... But from where exactly?
So where did Kamau Wa Ngengi really come from (other than a British-run prison) and what role did he really play in the liberation of Kenya? How did he rise to power in the post-colonial Kenya? And what role did the changing of his name - to Jomo Kenyatta - have in gaining him (perhaps new-found) legitimacy? The new name, alone, would have given him legitimacy that would otherwise have been absent. Was it a very shrewd political ploy? Who exactly might have been behind it? To me at least, these questions are a mystery indeed.
The machinations, allegiances and connivances of Kenyan politics, past and present, are certainly something to behold, but nowhere do I hear claims of proper political legitimacy being made. Least of all do I know of any history texts dealing with this, either. And perhaps this is the most revealing fact of all ...
In South Africa, despite the stooges that were put in place by successive Apartheid regimes, the legitimate heirs to various ‘thrones’ were always known. And the ‘freedom fighters’ - however insignificant any of them might have seemed at the time - remain recognized.
In Kenya, nepotism - taken to a level of an enduring ‘nepotocracy’ - has existed to such an extent that successive generations of certain families have been politically 'empowered' to the total exclusion of others. This continues to be the case - to the extent that the youth, particularly, feel they have 'no right' somehow to be in politics!
How did this all come about? I certainly don't know. And I have yet to hear decent answers from those I would I expect to know. Those who have come through the Kenyan education system - those one would expect to know - certainly don't know. And I'll happily publish a decent answer here. If I can get one ...
With some confusion, amani na mapenzi brethren,
Until later,
B-)
Chewing, travelling and muttering
Mirraa, miraa on the floor
The effects are two …
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 imbiber sits still, with a slightly surprised look spread across his face – a look that South Africans would likely call that of "thinking too much".
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 complimentary, 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 and mandazi) or a ‘wine and spirit’ merchant, selling lots of Kenya Cane or Kenya King (hard-core white spirits, alternatively called cane and gin, but probably closer to a neutral ‘witblitz’ or 'moonshine' than anything else).
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 one-ton 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 (or perhaps a national addiction!).
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 lost some of its 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 (notably among the working classes), 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). Anyway, 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.
Not always though …
One particularly popular downtown miraa seller is on Duruma Road, in the area called "Coast Bus" - the terminus for the luxury buses that ply the route to and from Mombasa and Malindi. Recently, the miraa sold at this duka has tended to be 'halele', comprising long stalks of soft, almost-leafless miraa that is chewed right up to the short, hard piece at halele's-end. Unlike the miraa seller over the road, which sports a chewing ‘space’ - not much more than a simple, rough-hewn corridor - this particular duka la miraa is merely a one-meter-wide sidewalk shop-front.
Having a very popular 'brand', the plentiful patrons have, of late, been lining the sidewalk, sitting on stairs and shop window ledges, chewing pretty much everywhere on the street. This style of chewing would not be tolerated in uptown areas but the patrons can get away with it here. The result is that the sidewalk has, of late, become a carpet of the short end-pieces.
A new friend of mine – an ex-‘Coastarian’ Swahili, devout Muslim and permanent downtown hotel resident - Hakim, tells me the following story:
Coming back from prayers last Friday night at the Jamia Mosque - a rather beautiful building at the centre of Nairobi - he wanted to cross the street to avoid the throng of miraa junkies… Looking right (or was it left?) before stepping off the sidewalk, he failed to notice the thick pile of stalks that were about to be felt (briefly) under his feet. These short, hard sticks of miraa can act somewhat like little ball-bearings …
The next moment, Hakim had his right foot in the street while his left was still on the sidewalk, three steps up (downtown sidewalks vary in their height off street level).
Uncomfortable as his stretched tendons now were, he regained his composure (despite his embarrassment and rage) and stormed to the little wire-fronted window where the miraa was being sold. Here he found a sheepish Somali sitting with a puffy cheekful, a shiny face, and a handful of Hundred Shilling notes in his hand.
Hakim vented his justifiable anger and told the shiny Somali fella that the habits of his halele patrons were particularly uncool and, if the stalk-throwing were to persist, Hakim was going to call the local constabulary to put an end to it all. The Somali was evidently suitably contrite and promised to put a stop to the offensive behaviour of his patrons, by whatever means he could.
The last time I passed this duka, on my way uptown the other night, I saw that the patrons have each been issued with a little cardboard box and it’s now these cartons that litter the sidewalk, rather than the stalks of miraa. Hakim tells me that the patrons have also been issued with strict instructions to use the boxes and there should be “no more miraa on the floor".
Being lighter, and not so easy to throw into the boxes, it is now only the red and yellow Big-G wrappers that litter the sidewalk on a Friday night!
And they are many.
Una enda wapi? (you are going to where?)
Downtown Nairobi is the ‘original’ Nairobi, built between the turn of the last century and the end of the Deco era. The buildings that line the river (that same river that once had Nairobi named ‘place of clear waters’) feature an amazing array of architectural styles, from Arabic, through Hindu, to Colonial and classic Deco, in a hodge-podge of aan-mekaar structures. But it’s the small ‘kiosks’ and variety of dukas that catch ones attention initially and you have to look just a little skyward to get a glimpse of what the former glory of a bygone era might have been. Quite stunning, actually.
But the best part of Bus Station (as it is sometimes called) comprises those features for which it gains its informal name:
The intersection between Accra Road and Duruma Road is known as ‘Coast Bus’ and is the terminus for coaches going (mainly) to Mombasa. Luxury buses, in various states of repair, line the streets. Some of the transport services have buses that leave every hour, on the hour, ten hours a day. Many of the buses are at least partly filled by Muslims, at various levels of fundamentalism, making their pilgrimage back to Mombasa. Some of the pilgrims are dressed entirely in the black abaya (often replete with burka) while others are dressed in long floral dresses, with only the scarf betraying their religious affiliation. Lately - now approaching the European summer - one is seeing more and more backpack-bearing mZungu couples, notable for the slightly dazed – or is it amazed – looks on their faces. (Last week there was a particularly successful music festival at the coast – the first of its kind in Mombasa – which accounted for at least some of the waZungu(pl.)).
The buses are filled quickly by ‘touts’ who are intent on recruiting anyone who happens to be traversing the streets. As you pass by – and particularly if you’re white - you are likely to be asked a very simple question, in a slightly plaintive tone: “Mombasa?”
I got used to supplying a simple reply (in Swahili, to avoid any further harassment):
“Si leo, asante” (not today, thanks),
to which the reply is often:
“Sawa, kesho” (OK, tomorrow).
(Caucasian advisory: In uptown Nairobi, if you’re white, you have to avoid looking regular taxi-cab drivers in the eye or else you’ll spend your day saying “no thanks” to the incessant plea of “Taxi…?”. The Toyota Corollas and Coronas stand everywhere with their drivers predating on your wandering gaze. And, by the way, Nairobi probably has as many Toyotas as Tokyo. In all seriousness, I would hazard a guess that four out of every five vehicles in Nairobi is a Toyota and, incidentally, they are a LOT better made than the ones I have encountered back home).
Just down the road from 'Coast Bus' is the area devoted to journeys to-and-from ‘Kamba-land’, somewhere between the coast and the capitol. And just down the road from this, again, is an area given to buses that ply the route past the Kenyan mountains, via Eldoret, to the lake-side Luo haven of Kisumu, and then on to Kampala.
The energy in this area – night and day – is quite astounding and if ever there’s a hint that the area is ‘dangerous’ to walk at night, this is quickly negated by the fact that there’s so much action on the streets that a mugging will generally be hard to come by. The range and speed of the frenetic to-ing-and-fro-ing gives one the feeling of a perpetual African market. During the day, the only real danger you face is the possibility of being nudged by a matatu. But even that is very rare ... and certainly not a mortal threat.
The restaurants, diners and lay eating houses that line the sidewalks of Coast Bus (mainly) are all strictly halaal and serve mild yellow curries in the Malaysian style. Biryanis and other mild curries are served from impeccably clean kitchens, with plates piled high with pilau or pishoti (basmati) rice and topped with pieces of chicken or beef (perhaps with a chapatti on the side). The prices are very reasonable (being ‘downtown’ Nairobi as opposed to ‘tourist’ Nairobi) and a substantial plate of food will cost you between 150 and 250 Shillings (R17 – R30) - which is very cheap by Nairobi standards.
In these restaurants, before you start eating, you are brought a plastic basin over which you will wash and a waiter will pour water steadily over your hands as you soap and rinse. Taarab music (the music of ‘Coast’ that doesn’t seem to feature anything but an endless verse), and more fundamentally Muslim sounds, come at you gently through the sound system. The place is full of Muslims in a variety of styles. And at 1pm, many of them will be seen rising from their tables to join the throng of worshippers in the makeshift mosque out back,
But there are also Christians and members of the general Kenya populace in hungry attendance, all wanting a full meal for half the price of what they’re used to paying uptown. “Malindi Dishes”, just off River Road, is particularly good, by the way.
Accra Road, running down from the Kenya National Archive to the river, is lined with matatus that do regular long-haul shuttle services. Fares range from Ksh140 (R160) to Ksh280 (R320) for most trips ‘up-country’. These matatus carry both overnight visitors and day trippers into town on a very regular basis. And there are plenty of commuters who travel something like 160km, or more, a day, just to get to their place of work! The more expensive transportation comprises matatus that have been customized to take less than the allotted 14 passengers. They might carry 7 or 10 passengers, with slightly wider seats in fewer rows. These vehicles usually feature the most hideous heavy, over-adorned Arabic-style curtains, perhaps reminiscent of an old tea-room cinema that didn’t change its décor since the 1940’s.
In this part of Nairobi, just about everyone seems to be going somewhere in a hurry, except perhaps the policemen, with their AK47’s, who always seem to be going nowhere slowly. What is really amazing is the mix of people and cultures that one sees down this end of town. Nairobi Muslims, wearing pillar-box hats vie for sidewalk space with women in the latest chic hairstyle, who vie with somewhat belligerent trailer-pushers in broken sneakers and torn jeans, who vie again with abaya-clad women from Coast.
Recently, coming back from visiting Hakim, I was heading uptown again when I was faced with a sight that came straight out of a re-run of Laurence of Arabia:
There were six guys in all. They were heavily laden with traditional-looking backpack-type things and had equipment of various descriptions hanging from every pouch, pocket and Velcro-clasped loop in sight. The two at the back were carrying between them what seemed to be tent poles, narrowly avoiding passing pedestrians - but causing mayhem among the Nairobians that always seem blithely to be crossing ones path.
The truly striking feature of the troupe was the heavy turbans they were all wearing. In a range of beautiful pastel colours, the turbans extended almost beyond the width of their shoulders (almost). A handsome bunch of guys, their facial features and tone of skin showing they were clearly from up-North somewhere. Were they looking for a bus to the Ugandan border, from where they might catch another bus to the Sudan, Niger or Mali? Or perhaps they were going somewhere towards the centre of the Sahara?
I could only guess from their appearance they were Tuareg nomads of some sort, looking for some friendly place to pitch a tent, to cook a meal or perhaps to smoke a shisha (a traditional pipe for smoking tobacco and/or hashish)!
It was a truly wonderful sight to see on a crowded, downtown Nairobi street. And no-one seemed really to notice them at all. They just walked-on-by, with the occasional Nairobian stopping just short of decapitation as he tried a forty-five-degree foray between the two at the back. (In Nairobi you walk as you drive – with a particular eye out for the random, unpredictable movement of the one in front).
But such is the cross-cultural melting pot of Nairobi that the Tuaregs attracted no particular attention! Everyone was just going about their daily business with not much of a thought for the nomads among them.
An extended ninety minutes
I was traveling out of Nairobi along Ngong Road recently when I witnessed a football match in progress, on a particularly lush green field. The standing rules of football had been stretched somewhat and there were easily twenty players, of both genders (as seems to be something of a norm in Kenya), on each side. The field was full, kabisa, with yellow and green jerseys. The game was lively, with a lot of screaming and shouting going on.
I was going to a meeting a few kilometers up from the field, in an area called “Racecourse” (not surprisingly, because that is where Nairobi’s equestrian racecourse is found). My meeting didn’t last very long and quite soon I was on my way back down Ngong Road - back towards town. I thought the football match quite a sight and as I passed, I looked again towards the field where it was being played.
The game had mysteriously stopped … the sidelines were peppered with players, sitting in various groups, talking to each other. Here and there I could see some players sitting on their own, heads bowed in solitary silence. The joviality of the previous scene of the soccer was clearly absent. From the little I could see the mood was definitely disconsolate.
Why the sudden halt? Why the sullen looks of misery on the faces I could see?
I scoured the landscape for clues as to possible causes …
And then I saw ‘it’.
At the far end of the field, some distance away, I made out the red clothed figure of a Maasai herdsman leaning on his staff. All around him were the brown and black shapes of perhaps twenty cows that seemed intent at reducing the lush, long grass to little more than stubble.
For the herder, the situation was one of relaxed ease. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry and neither were his languid ruminants. He was chilled in the extreme, leaning his chin on his staff and looking on. For the now-semi-retired football players the mood was not quite the same. Relative to the herder there was an almost palpable being severely pissed off.
But in Ngong it’s the “Maasai Rules” that govern most things, not just the conduct of football. And if it be that the cows are hungry for lush green grass and they find your pitch, you have simply no choice but to suspend play until the cows are done with their temporary role as groundsmen.
In Nairobi, goats are seen to wander around almost any place in their slightly skittish mode. But cows – they’re another thing completely.
I was just passing by, so I didn’t see, but I would venture a guess that it may have been quite some time before play in this particular game got to resume.
End piece
It’s the range of people, doing different things, and the cross of cultures from all over East Africa, that gives Nairobi a very particular flavour. From the Maasai couple I saw the other day, fully adorned from head to toe in beadwork, headdresses, necklaces, and earrings - set against red-and-purple swathes of Maasai blanketry (with their child dressed in jeans and t-shirt) - to the Tuareg nomads I have described above, Nairobi is very definitely the cultural melting pot of East Africa.
People are passing through Nairobi at an amazing rate, with amazing frequency; some just staying long enough to walk from the Kampala bus terminus to a ‘Coast Bus’; others perhaps staying long enough to try and find their fortune in this notably ‘hard’ and unforgiving city. The refugees; they are many, and growing. Those from the Sudan and Somalia seem to be finding their place here, while others might be struggling to do the same.
People pass through and people stay; each with his or her particular ‘mission’, undisclosed to the next person. You just have to sit in a ‘local’, downtown restaurant (one with street frontage) for a half hour to witness the sheer range and magnitude of visitation to this exciting city … It is ‘cosmopolitan’, in an African sense, beyond anything you will see elsewhere. And, for me at least, it’s an ongoing case of “watch. And learn”.
As ALWAYS, brothers and sisters, peace and love to you all.
Amani na mapenzi,
B-)
The effects are two …
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 imbiber sits still, with a slightly surprised look spread across his face – a look that South Africans would likely call that of "thinking too much".
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 complimentary, 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 and mandazi) or a ‘wine and spirit’ merchant, selling lots of Kenya Cane or Kenya King (hard-core white spirits, alternatively called cane and gin, but probably closer to a neutral ‘witblitz’ or 'moonshine' than anything else).
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 one-ton 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 (or perhaps a national addiction!).
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 lost some of its 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 (notably among the working classes), 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). Anyway, 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.
Not always though …
One particularly popular downtown miraa seller is on Duruma Road, in the area called "Coast Bus" - the terminus for the luxury buses that ply the route to and from Mombasa and Malindi. Recently, the miraa sold at this duka has tended to be 'halele', comprising long stalks of soft, almost-leafless miraa that is chewed right up to the short, hard piece at halele's-end. Unlike the miraa seller over the road, which sports a chewing ‘space’ - not much more than a simple, rough-hewn corridor - this particular duka la miraa is merely a one-meter-wide sidewalk shop-front.
Having a very popular 'brand', the plentiful patrons have, of late, been lining the sidewalk, sitting on stairs and shop window ledges, chewing pretty much everywhere on the street. This style of chewing would not be tolerated in uptown areas but the patrons can get away with it here. The result is that the sidewalk has, of late, become a carpet of the short end-pieces.
A new friend of mine – an ex-‘Coastarian’ Swahili, devout Muslim and permanent downtown hotel resident - Hakim, tells me the following story:
Coming back from prayers last Friday night at the Jamia Mosque - a rather beautiful building at the centre of Nairobi - he wanted to cross the street to avoid the throng of miraa junkies… Looking right (or was it left?) before stepping off the sidewalk, he failed to notice the thick pile of stalks that were about to be felt (briefly) under his feet. These short, hard sticks of miraa can act somewhat like little ball-bearings …
The next moment, Hakim had his right foot in the street while his left was still on the sidewalk, three steps up (downtown sidewalks vary in their height off street level).
Uncomfortable as his stretched tendons now were, he regained his composure (despite his embarrassment and rage) and stormed to the little wire-fronted window where the miraa was being sold. Here he found a sheepish Somali sitting with a puffy cheekful, a shiny face, and a handful of Hundred Shilling notes in his hand.
Hakim vented his justifiable anger and told the shiny Somali fella that the habits of his halele patrons were particularly uncool and, if the stalk-throwing were to persist, Hakim was going to call the local constabulary to put an end to it all. The Somali was evidently suitably contrite and promised to put a stop to the offensive behaviour of his patrons, by whatever means he could.
The last time I passed this duka, on my way uptown the other night, I saw that the patrons have each been issued with a little cardboard box and it’s now these cartons that litter the sidewalk, rather than the stalks of miraa. Hakim tells me that the patrons have also been issued with strict instructions to use the boxes and there should be “no more miraa on the floor".
Being lighter, and not so easy to throw into the boxes, it is now only the red and yellow Big-G wrappers that litter the sidewalk on a Friday night!
And they are many.
Una enda wapi? (you are going to where?)
Downtown Nairobi is the ‘original’ Nairobi, built between the turn of the last century and the end of the Deco era. The buildings that line the river (that same river that once had Nairobi named ‘place of clear waters’) feature an amazing array of architectural styles, from Arabic, through Hindu, to Colonial and classic Deco, in a hodge-podge of aan-mekaar structures. But it’s the small ‘kiosks’ and variety of dukas that catch ones attention initially and you have to look just a little skyward to get a glimpse of what the former glory of a bygone era might have been. Quite stunning, actually.
But the best part of Bus Station (as it is sometimes called) comprises those features for which it gains its informal name:
The intersection between Accra Road and Duruma Road is known as ‘Coast Bus’ and is the terminus for coaches going (mainly) to Mombasa. Luxury buses, in various states of repair, line the streets. Some of the transport services have buses that leave every hour, on the hour, ten hours a day. Many of the buses are at least partly filled by Muslims, at various levels of fundamentalism, making their pilgrimage back to Mombasa. Some of the pilgrims are dressed entirely in the black abaya (often replete with burka) while others are dressed in long floral dresses, with only the scarf betraying their religious affiliation. Lately - now approaching the European summer - one is seeing more and more backpack-bearing mZungu couples, notable for the slightly dazed – or is it amazed – looks on their faces. (Last week there was a particularly successful music festival at the coast – the first of its kind in Mombasa – which accounted for at least some of the waZungu(pl.)).
The buses are filled quickly by ‘touts’ who are intent on recruiting anyone who happens to be traversing the streets. As you pass by – and particularly if you’re white - you are likely to be asked a very simple question, in a slightly plaintive tone: “Mombasa?”
I got used to supplying a simple reply (in Swahili, to avoid any further harassment):
“Si leo, asante” (not today, thanks),
to which the reply is often:
“Sawa, kesho” (OK, tomorrow).
(Caucasian advisory: In uptown Nairobi, if you’re white, you have to avoid looking regular taxi-cab drivers in the eye or else you’ll spend your day saying “no thanks” to the incessant plea of “Taxi…?”. The Toyota Corollas and Coronas stand everywhere with their drivers predating on your wandering gaze. And, by the way, Nairobi probably has as many Toyotas as Tokyo. In all seriousness, I would hazard a guess that four out of every five vehicles in Nairobi is a Toyota and, incidentally, they are a LOT better made than the ones I have encountered back home).
Just down the road from 'Coast Bus' is the area devoted to journeys to-and-from ‘Kamba-land’, somewhere between the coast and the capitol. And just down the road from this, again, is an area given to buses that ply the route past the Kenyan mountains, via Eldoret, to the lake-side Luo haven of Kisumu, and then on to Kampala.
The energy in this area – night and day – is quite astounding and if ever there’s a hint that the area is ‘dangerous’ to walk at night, this is quickly negated by the fact that there’s so much action on the streets that a mugging will generally be hard to come by. The range and speed of the frenetic to-ing-and-fro-ing gives one the feeling of a perpetual African market. During the day, the only real danger you face is the possibility of being nudged by a matatu. But even that is very rare ... and certainly not a mortal threat.
The restaurants, diners and lay eating houses that line the sidewalks of Coast Bus (mainly) are all strictly halaal and serve mild yellow curries in the Malaysian style. Biryanis and other mild curries are served from impeccably clean kitchens, with plates piled high with pilau or pishoti (basmati) rice and topped with pieces of chicken or beef (perhaps with a chapatti on the side). The prices are very reasonable (being ‘downtown’ Nairobi as opposed to ‘tourist’ Nairobi) and a substantial plate of food will cost you between 150 and 250 Shillings (R17 – R30) - which is very cheap by Nairobi standards.
In these restaurants, before you start eating, you are brought a plastic basin over which you will wash and a waiter will pour water steadily over your hands as you soap and rinse. Taarab music (the music of ‘Coast’ that doesn’t seem to feature anything but an endless verse), and more fundamentally Muslim sounds, come at you gently through the sound system. The place is full of Muslims in a variety of styles. And at 1pm, many of them will be seen rising from their tables to join the throng of worshippers in the makeshift mosque out back,
But there are also Christians and members of the general Kenya populace in hungry attendance, all wanting a full meal for half the price of what they’re used to paying uptown. “Malindi Dishes”, just off River Road, is particularly good, by the way.
Accra Road, running down from the Kenya National Archive to the river, is lined with matatus that do regular long-haul shuttle services. Fares range from Ksh140 (R160) to Ksh280 (R320) for most trips ‘up-country’. These matatus carry both overnight visitors and day trippers into town on a very regular basis. And there are plenty of commuters who travel something like 160km, or more, a day, just to get to their place of work! The more expensive transportation comprises matatus that have been customized to take less than the allotted 14 passengers. They might carry 7 or 10 passengers, with slightly wider seats in fewer rows. These vehicles usually feature the most hideous heavy, over-adorned Arabic-style curtains, perhaps reminiscent of an old tea-room cinema that didn’t change its décor since the 1940’s.
In this part of Nairobi, just about everyone seems to be going somewhere in a hurry, except perhaps the policemen, with their AK47’s, who always seem to be going nowhere slowly. What is really amazing is the mix of people and cultures that one sees down this end of town. Nairobi Muslims, wearing pillar-box hats vie for sidewalk space with women in the latest chic hairstyle, who vie with somewhat belligerent trailer-pushers in broken sneakers and torn jeans, who vie again with abaya-clad women from Coast.
Recently, coming back from visiting Hakim, I was heading uptown again when I was faced with a sight that came straight out of a re-run of Laurence of Arabia:
There were six guys in all. They were heavily laden with traditional-looking backpack-type things and had equipment of various descriptions hanging from every pouch, pocket and Velcro-clasped loop in sight. The two at the back were carrying between them what seemed to be tent poles, narrowly avoiding passing pedestrians - but causing mayhem among the Nairobians that always seem blithely to be crossing ones path.
The truly striking feature of the troupe was the heavy turbans they were all wearing. In a range of beautiful pastel colours, the turbans extended almost beyond the width of their shoulders (almost). A handsome bunch of guys, their facial features and tone of skin showing they were clearly from up-North somewhere. Were they looking for a bus to the Ugandan border, from where they might catch another bus to the Sudan, Niger or Mali? Or perhaps they were going somewhere towards the centre of the Sahara?
I could only guess from their appearance they were Tuareg nomads of some sort, looking for some friendly place to pitch a tent, to cook a meal or perhaps to smoke a shisha (a traditional pipe for smoking tobacco and/or hashish)!
It was a truly wonderful sight to see on a crowded, downtown Nairobi street. And no-one seemed really to notice them at all. They just walked-on-by, with the occasional Nairobian stopping just short of decapitation as he tried a forty-five-degree foray between the two at the back. (In Nairobi you walk as you drive – with a particular eye out for the random, unpredictable movement of the one in front).
But such is the cross-cultural melting pot of Nairobi that the Tuaregs attracted no particular attention! Everyone was just going about their daily business with not much of a thought for the nomads among them.
An extended ninety minutes
I was traveling out of Nairobi along Ngong Road recently when I witnessed a football match in progress, on a particularly lush green field. The standing rules of football had been stretched somewhat and there were easily twenty players, of both genders (as seems to be something of a norm in Kenya), on each side. The field was full, kabisa, with yellow and green jerseys. The game was lively, with a lot of screaming and shouting going on.
I was going to a meeting a few kilometers up from the field, in an area called “Racecourse” (not surprisingly, because that is where Nairobi’s equestrian racecourse is found). My meeting didn’t last very long and quite soon I was on my way back down Ngong Road - back towards town. I thought the football match quite a sight and as I passed, I looked again towards the field where it was being played.
The game had mysteriously stopped … the sidelines were peppered with players, sitting in various groups, talking to each other. Here and there I could see some players sitting on their own, heads bowed in solitary silence. The joviality of the previous scene of the soccer was clearly absent. From the little I could see the mood was definitely disconsolate.
Why the sudden halt? Why the sullen looks of misery on the faces I could see?
I scoured the landscape for clues as to possible causes …
And then I saw ‘it’.
At the far end of the field, some distance away, I made out the red clothed figure of a Maasai herdsman leaning on his staff. All around him were the brown and black shapes of perhaps twenty cows that seemed intent at reducing the lush, long grass to little more than stubble.
For the herder, the situation was one of relaxed ease. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry and neither were his languid ruminants. He was chilled in the extreme, leaning his chin on his staff and looking on. For the now-semi-retired football players the mood was not quite the same. Relative to the herder there was an almost palpable being severely pissed off.
But in Ngong it’s the “Maasai Rules” that govern most things, not just the conduct of football. And if it be that the cows are hungry for lush green grass and they find your pitch, you have simply no choice but to suspend play until the cows are done with their temporary role as groundsmen.
In Nairobi, goats are seen to wander around almost any place in their slightly skittish mode. But cows – they’re another thing completely.
I was just passing by, so I didn’t see, but I would venture a guess that it may have been quite some time before play in this particular game got to resume.
End piece
It’s the range of people, doing different things, and the cross of cultures from all over East Africa, that gives Nairobi a very particular flavour. From the Maasai couple I saw the other day, fully adorned from head to toe in beadwork, headdresses, necklaces, and earrings - set against red-and-purple swathes of Maasai blanketry (with their child dressed in jeans and t-shirt) - to the Tuareg nomads I have described above, Nairobi is very definitely the cultural melting pot of East Africa.
People are passing through Nairobi at an amazing rate, with amazing frequency; some just staying long enough to walk from the Kampala bus terminus to a ‘Coast Bus’; others perhaps staying long enough to try and find their fortune in this notably ‘hard’ and unforgiving city. The refugees; they are many, and growing. Those from the Sudan and Somalia seem to be finding their place here, while others might be struggling to do the same.
People pass through and people stay; each with his or her particular ‘mission’, undisclosed to the next person. You just have to sit in a ‘local’, downtown restaurant (one with street frontage) for a half hour to witness the sheer range and magnitude of visitation to this exciting city … It is ‘cosmopolitan’, in an African sense, beyond anything you will see elsewhere. And, for me at least, it’s an ongoing case of “watch. And learn”.
As ALWAYS, brothers and sisters, peace and love to you all.
Amani na mapenzi,
B-)
Cross Sections and Glimpses of Kenyan life
Preface
Although not all of this blog deals with issues allied to what I say in this 'preface', I feel I have to write a little background introduction this edition. This is because the preface somehow 'qualifies' this blog, and many of the previous ones. It is something of a disclaimer for some of the earlier stuff I said ... But is also very much the canvas upon which life in Kenya is painted. It is the stuff of the struggle for daily existence that marks life in Kenya – and in Nairobi particularly – and the stuff of exactly what needs to change here: It concerns the huge disparity that exists between the Kenya ‘that is’ versus the Kenya that ‘could be’.
Through the unfettered and insatiable greed of the ‘political class’ in Kenya, the people of Kenya have been robbed of their birthrights; they lack access to healthy environments – to land and clean water - but particularly lack access to the opportunities for employment that would make Kenya somewhat different from what we see today. If the Billions and Billions of Shillings that have been stolen from the Kenyan people had gone where they should have, believe me, Kenya would be an African success story of note. The treasure trove has been raped and pillaged; blithely stolen from the people over three ‘eras’ of Kenyan governance. The people of this land have been systematically impoverished to the bone by their own leadership!
The fact of the above having happened tints – and taints – every aspect of life in Kenya; from the lack of maize meal to feed the nation, to the lack of running water, to the lack of employment opportunities, to the prostitution that is an ever-present feature of the Nairobi landscape.
The political economy has got to such a point that there is this sullen, pathetic mood that engulfs all discussions about politics. Every single (regular) person I speak to says the same thing: that this government has to GO and GO SOON. Kenyans might not want their current government but a proud and patriotic people they certainly are. Flags, stickers and shirts bearing Kenya's colours and/or flag are seen everywhere. As Brenda put it beautifully a while ago:
“I am very proud to be Kenyan but I’m not so proud of Kenya”
The Kenyan people have really had enough but essentially have no avenues of legitimate dissent with which to secure the future they want. But the good news is that since I arrived in this beautiful country there has developed a significant body of people calling for change. From everywhere they are coming. And coming fast. There’s a lot of change-talk on the go and it bodes well for the future of this nation.
There’s a new constitution in the making and the very good news is that the level of input from ordinary Kenyans was such that the rather short deadline for submissions had to be extended by some weeks. And to me at least, the political leadership is not looking quite as smug and self-satisfied as it was when I arrived. In fact, methinks, it’s looking a little unsettled.
The scene I described on Jamhuri (independence) Day – December 12 – last year would not happen now because, quite simply, there would be just so many people making a noise in the stadium that there would not enough security to (man)handle them all. Recently, President Kibaki and Prime Minister Odinga were both pelted with stones as they attempted to address a rally. They cancelled their further appearances for the day. This goes to show - demonstratively, if I may use the term - the mood that is starting to (visibly) prevail in Kenya.
Change … she is coming to Kenya. I see it everywhere. Despite increasingly weak attempts by Government at curtailing the tide, the tide is clearly rising on the dry, dark and dusty horizon that is the Kenya of old. There’s a new Uhuru (freedom) in the air. And I relish the thought of what might soon be happening here.
Kwa Malaya na Malaika (Of Prostitutes and Angels)
I have perhaps intimated such, but I haven’t actually said it so far: Prostitution is RIFE in Nairobi.
The scenario: You go out for a drink, get approached by a lovely young girl and perhaps asked to buy her a drink. You find out after a bit of chat that she’s (euphemistically) “looking for money in town”. You might also find out (if you’re bothered enough to ask) that she’s a Masters graduate from the University of Nairobi, has been unsuccessfully looking for a job since she graduated, and is a single mum with one child at home. Lacking any social support and facilities for feeding her child, she has come to rely on “fresh ones” (new arrivals to Nairobi) at Simmers, or any number of similar bars, to sleep with and make perhaps two thousand Shillings (R240) for the night (if she’s lucky).
You find these girls plying their somewhat dubious trade at every one of the multitudinous nightspots in this city. In fact, it’s pretty hard NOT to meet a working girl in greater Nairobi at night. But, because of the social situation that has created this trade, I cannot really malign these girls as 'malaya' (prostitutes). I will say there’s only one class of girl in Nairobi that I could call truly ‘malaya’: these are girls who are out-and-out prostitutes – perhaps ‘born’ to this ancient ‘profession’. They ply their trade on Koinange Street, ever watchful of the City Council truck that circles the area looking for violators of the city by-laws (but which is really looking for girls who are carrying enough cash to pay a bribe of five or six hundred Shillings – a bribe that will allow them to be released around the corner). With these girls, do what you will, but as Erica put it the other night:
“You can take the chick out of K Street, but you can’t take K Street out the chick”
These are the real ‘prostitutes’ in Nairobi – the malaya – but for the rest, many are (perhaps ‘fallen’) angels – malaika - instead. These girls are usually quite good-looking and certainly well-dressed enough to get into any of the pubs or clubs. But as Brenda put it, most of them are trying a little too hard to “look expensive”, with fake jewelry, fake gold chains, and more. Those from the slums will often overdo it A LOT with the bling (but more so with the short skirt).
Many of the fallen angels are simply looking for husbands. Yes, they will sleep with a guy for a few thousand Shillings. They might even sleep with a guy for free if he looks like a good future prospect. These girls are looking for a breadwinner to support their fragile existences and tenuous realities. They are looking for someone just to look after them financially. It happens quite a lot they these girls do, indeed, find husbands. But a friend of mine recently noted that seldom do these marriages ‘work’ beyond a month or two! The expectations of husband and wife seem to differ markedly after the wedding day!
You find many of these girls in the trendier and expensive clubs ‘uptown’. And a great many of them have found 'luck' to a certain, limited extent. They might, for example, be able to tell you about Massio from Napoli, or Frank from Bonn, who is their 'husband' but who, for some inexplicable reason, is no longer on the scene. If pressured into an explanation they will tell you “he went back to his wife" (!). There are a lot of European businessmen who “marry” Nairobi chicks and keep them as mistresses (and sometimes take them on their African travels).
But if there is a range of ‘prostitution’ to be found in Nairobi, blame not the girls … Blame this utterly corrupt government for stealing everything that should have gone to the people and enriching themselves beyond compare while leaving the people battling for their daily bread in the way that’s best suited to each!
Corruption in Every Corner
Last night on NTV - the more liberal of the TV stations - there were no less than four new items concerning the wholesale corruption that is the national government’s obsession.
There was an item saying that at least 87% of the transactions completed by the Kenyan national water company in Nairobi are fraudulent (figures by Transparency International from a 'customer survey')! The total value of the embezzlement is staggering, in the region of a few Billion Shillings. Most of the ”water corruption” concerns water supplies that are diverted away from where they are supposed to go and given rather to someone who can afford to pay the bribe (and who prefers not to pay for the water).
Then the next item is on an outbreak of cholera in Nairobi that has, in one week, claimed 81 lives. Sadly, no connection is made between the fact of water company corruption and this water-borne disease. The fact that the corruption means there is no running water, most of the time, in most of Nairobi’s slums does not get connected in the news with the fact of the cholera outbreak. And the fact of there being black pools of dirty stagnant water lying everywhere in the slums does not get connected with the fact of malaria-bearing mosquitoes raising hell (and seriously raising body temperatures) in those same slums.
Then there’s the head of the electricity company saying that he simply can’t be called corrupt “yesterday, today and every day”. I ask, why not, if you are? And so far, Billions of Shillings have gone missing from the coffers of the electricity utility in Kenya.
Then there is a fourth item, concerning the National Youth Fund and the fact that 1.5 Billion Shillings (that's like over 15 Million Dollars) is unaccounted for and there’s no paper trail to the private accounts into which the money was channeled. No wonder the youth are so lost. The total endowment to the youth fund was 2.5 Billion Shillings – so they have lost more than half of what is due for youth development projects. Of course, the money has been stolen by exactly those people entrusted with developing the youth – so what hope can one hold? Hence the comments I made a while ago about the alienation and estrangement of the youth in Kenya. More than tragic.
Then there’s a brief follow-up on a ‘typing error’ that Uhuru Kenyatta (the new Minister of Finance and son of the late Jomo) claims to be the reason for the 10 Billion Shilling discrepancy between ‘what is’ and what ‘should be’ with the Supplementary Budget. Never mind that the ‘typing error’ was seen by no less than five sets of eyes before getting to Parliament. The 'follow-up' comprises a statement from a Parliamentary Select Committee’ (very ‘select’, actually) which states, quite blandly, that it has examined the matter in detail (in one day, mind you) and is confident that no corruption has taken place. End of story.
Revelations like this (and the lack of investigation that follows) are so commonplace that the people of Kenya simply talk through the 'politics' on TV. They are left utterly sickened by what they see, unable to do anything, and frustrated to the hilt as a result. They would rather – seem almost determined to – blah blah blah through the politics than actually hear what is going on....
And, by way of an aside, it strikes me that Uhuru Kenyatta looks strikingly similar to Jeff Koinange (son of the Koinange after whom K Street is named). Jeff is a news presenter on the K24 television station. Jeff’s mom used to be Jomo Kenyatta’s personal assistant ... There's a theory that a close association between two people can make them start looking the same. But this doesn't usually apply to their kids too. Strange, but it seems to have happened this time.
Maisha Ghetto (Ghetto Life)
I have had recent occasion to travel into the heartland of one of Nairobi’s slums. Dandora is something of a Luo stronghold and houses perhaps a few hundred thousand people, in one- and two-roomed apartments, and in single room units that might hold two or three family members at a time. The housing is made of brick but such is the water and light situation in Nairobi that it might be two days before there is any water running in the place – while the electricity (stima) is often off for 3 to 6 hours at a time, on a regular basis.
Dandora is about 20kms south of Nairobi, out near Kenyatta International Airport. The trip from Dandora to town (‘tao’ as it is called) takes roughly 50 minutes when the jum is over and can take upwards of two hours when Thika Road is in a state of jum (which is every single rush hour to a greater or lesser extent. It is one of the worst routes in Nairobi).
Despite the slight sense of dusty desolation, Dandora does have a certain slum ‘charm’ about it. From the matatu terminus, walking to my friend Angela’s place, you pass a few hundred small, rickety wooden stalls, selling all types of vegetables, clothing, kitchen utensils, and the like – quite simply anything that the local economy (independent and self-supporting as it is) needs and uses. You can buy avocado pears for (ZAR) 50c, mandazi (fried breads shaped like samoosas) for about R1 and freshly cooked chapattis for the same. The streetside cooking starts at around 5am when the sky is still dark and the first commuters are making their way to the terminus (and others are coming back from the clubs).
Just like the time I spent in Khayalitsha, Cape Town, some time ago, my presence in Dandora is always something of a novelty, but, as with Khayalitsha, I get nothing but welcome greetings by all and sundry (especially the kids) who seem to know but one English expression (and aren’t always sure of what response to expect). Everywhere around me I hear:
“Howareyou … howareyou … howareyou”
I reply:
“Niko nzuri sana, na habari yako?” (I am very good, and how are you?)
Nothing but stunned faces. Maybe one voice exclaims:
"Mzungu, kusema kiSwahili!" (you speak Swahili!)
I smile, as only an mzungu in a strange land can.
There’s really not much money in Dandora and all-and-sundry come to Angela's place - at all hours of the day - asking for 10 or 20 Bob (R1.20 or R2.40) to buy a small portion of maize meal, for example, (to make ugali) to feed a child or two.
Most of the time, the water (maji) in Dandora is a trickle if it is running at all. This water is used for washing clothes, and general ablutions, but is certainly not fit for human consumption. Drinking water is brought on ‘trailers’ and sold in 25litre drums for around 50 or 60 Bob (R6-R8), depending on the seller. Angela is lucky enough to have tailoring work at a Muindi (Hindu run) sweatshop and earns a meager Ksh4000 (about R500) a month. On this she manages to live and still provide for others!
These ‘trailers’ I mention are a constant sight in Nairobi. They are two-wheeled contraptions that look something like the Durban rickshaw but carry loads a helluva lot heavier than two skinny tourists! (16 drums of water @ 25 kilos each = 400 kilograms!). Some of the trailers made from welded steel but it’s far more common in the slums to see one that resembles a makeshift stretcher - or the initial makings of an Indian funeral pyre on its way to the Ganges; long sections of straight tree branches are strapped together by bits of inner-tube rubber, barely balanced on the two car wheels (incl. tyres) that were once on someone’s car. The trailers are quite a sight, vying for bits of road with matatus, trucks and buses (and are largely given way until they are securely on the road’s verge). They carry virtually anything but in the slums are used most often to carry fresh water around the place. If you have a large load of shopping, they will carry it home for you for 10 or 20 Bob (a Rand or two).
There has been recent talk of the possibility of banning them from the streets but I can’t see this happening as it will put thousands out of work. And anyway, they provide a service for a great many Nairobians. But they CAN be a bit of a hassle on the streets when one is attempting to pass.
Football on the Broke Side of Life
Watching Kenya's "Harambee Stars" playing football against Nigeria on TV the other night was like watching "The Giants" versus "The Midgets Who Work Out". The Kenyans simply towered above the Nigerians (but Nigeria still won by 2 goals to 0). Against Mozambique’s Mambas, it was a bit more like "The Giants" versus the "Regular Guys" and this time Kenya won by 2 goals to 1. The Kenyan football team comprises something like three-quarters Luo players and the three prominent forwards are all over 1.93m tall (that's like 6ft 7in!). The guys are seriously BIG and Mozambique cottoned on to a strategy to use against them - just a little too late: they did their best to run the Luo guys down and tire them out. It didn't work - perhaps because it was too late ... But when one of the forward Harambee Stars got the ball it was like watching a power play from the History Books of Football with Big Guys. The Luo forwards just powered their way to the goal line but failed miserably to finish well - kicking the ball meters over the cross bar.
Some work is clearly needed with the football team. Another Luo pro footballer – one I met recently in Umoja ‘township’ (another Luo stronghold) - told me it has to do with the pathetic pay that the Kenyan team is getting. He said that many of the better Kenyan players are playing elsewhere. He himself is playing in Angola and is earning three times what members of the national team are earning here. When I asked him if he had what it takes to make the Harambee team, he simply smiled and told me he was playing pro for them 6 years ago (name withheld).
If there are problems in Kenyan football, this is not so for Kenyan rugby. The Kenya "Super Seven" team is playing admirably well - knocking South Africa's Sevens team for a loop, the second time in a row the other night. And lo-and-behold there was footage on TV of a women's "Sevens" rugby team the other night, powering their way to victory over some team that clearly didn't know what had hit them.
I'm not so sure about the future of Kenya in the football arena but one thing is for sure - watch what Kenya does in rugby! I think there might be some surprises to come and I see quite a few Springbok rugby jerseys around town. And it’s not South Africans wearing them! Kenyans are starting to love rugby!
Buses from Everywhere
I sit in the smoking section at Simmers around 8pm and watch the buses streaming in. From everywhere they come around this time; from "Coast", from LuoLand (Lake Victoria region) and from every small village in the greater Kenya. They time their arrival so that they miss the Greater Jum. And so on this Thursday night it seems that everyone in Kenya is on the move somewhere. These are luxury buses on the whole. Perhaps not air-conditioned any longer but certainly carrying the equipment that would have had them air-conditioned in the past. Big Volvo and Mercedes wagons streaming down Kenyatta Avenue in a seemingly endless convoy of heavy duty transport. They are on their way ‘downtown’, below River Road; to the area they call "Coast Bus", or somewhere near that. They come down the road but I don’t see any going up. Tomorrow, some time, these same buses will be seen coming up Kenyatta Avenue. This has to be the place of the greatest cross-flux of people in East Africa. Downtown, on every night of the week you will see hundreds of buses and matatus, coming from every conceivable corner of this country (as well as from Uganda, Tanzania, Ethiopia and Somalia). And somehow the vehicles give Nairobi some weird charm. On Moi Avenue, around 6pm, the light is a pink-tinted hue that is gorgeous and the streets are absolutely packed with people weaving their way around the transport-infested roads. And on the sidewalks, you see concentrated pockets of illicit hawking and haggling, selling products of every conceivable description.
Some guy, looking like Father Xmas with a knapsack on his back, will suddenly appear from nowhere and will set up a cardboard stand (with cardboard sheets that also seem to come from nowhere) and might proceed to lay out, and sell, women's shoes for around Ksh200 a pair (R24). The merchandise sells like the proverbial hotcakes but within a few minutes an imperceptible call goes out, and as quick as he set up, he, and all the other hawkers around him, are gone, disappearing into the crowd as fast as they arrived ... followed only by two City Council employees in bright yellow jackets. What happens in downtown Nairobi between 6pm and 8pm is a sight to behold and is when this city seems to come alive and thrive.
Public Service Vehicles (PSV’s)
If Johannesburg streets seem jammed with taxis and other ‘public service vehicles’ (PSV’s), the streets of Nairobi take this to a whole nutha level. The matatu is the sole means of transport for literally millions of Nairobians and greater Kenyans and these largely diesel-powered vehicles ply their trade from around 5am to around 9.30pm every day of the week. Like the minibus taxis in Cape Town, the Nairobi matatu has a ‘conductor’ who is entrusted with taking the fares from all on board. They have a way of carrying notes between their fingers that works as an African abacus and it's amazing to watch a conductor keep track of who has paid what, what change they should get, and when (which if often a lot later than the passenger is expecting, mind you). Sometimes the conductor ‘extorts’ money from passengers – like when it’s raining, or very late at night - when the hapless victims on board are asked to pay sometimes astronomical fares … The logic behind the variable fare on a matatu is that, because of the rain, for example, traffic is much slower yet there is a need to generate the same daily income (from far fewer trips). Late at night, of course, the matatu is helping you stay out of trouble ... and for this benefit you have to pay! I suppose you can’t blame them, but the variable rate takes a little getting used to.
The matatu conductor is somewhat akin to the Soweto ‘train surfer’, taking voluntary risks that anyone else would be likely to shy away from in the extreme. Three smacks to the side of a matatu means the driver must stop; while two smacks means he can go. The two smacks are often dished out to the matatu’s body while the last passenger is still embarking; leaving the conductor with the relished responsibility of running alongside the vehicle as it quickly gathers speed and swinging himself on board with amazing dexterity. I have seen that it is something of a personal accomplishment for the conductors (unseen by anyone, really) to achieve this feat at high speed while still managing to escape any loss to bodily integrity. Often the matatu will be well down the road by time the sliding door is closed. And the opening and closing of the door is the job of the conductor! This turf should not be poached.
Legislation demands that the matatu carries 14 passengers and not the 16 that is common in Jozi. It was not so long ago that the matatus were required to fit safety belts and it is still common to find a matatu with discarded belts hanging from each and every seat in the vehicle. This piece of legislation is no longer enforced (along with a great many other by-laws in Nairobi) but time was when it was stringently adhered to and prosecuted when lacking.
Matatu’s are required to run one route and one route only and this is still enforced today. All matatus will bear a legend on the side indicating the route being driven. For example, a matatu that rides Dandora to Town might show, in fancy script on the side: ‘Tao’ (meaning ‘town’) and ‘Dando’ or simply ‘D’ (meaning Dandora). It is route 42 when gong to town and route 32 when going to Dandora.
Just like in Jozi, Nairobi matatus are stopped regularly by the police. And just as it is in the City of Gold, the police here do very little to actually inspect the vehicle … Rather, their attention is directed to the 100 Shilling note that forms the permanent ‘extra page’ in the matatu driver’s license booklet.
Matatu Deluxe
CNN showed a mini-documentary on the subject of Kenyan matatus the other night. And a worthy subject it surely is, because if there is anything that rates as a contemporary cultural ‘icon’ that identifies Nairobi – and Kenya as a whole – as different from any other area in East Africa, it is the matatu.
There are two basic styles of matatu. The first is what most people call a “Nissan” (even though most of them are now Toyotas) and it is the type we are used to in South Africa. (Even the “Meru Nissan Service” that I see picking passengers downtown, in Accra Street, seems to run only diesel Toyotas!) The “Nissan” of course it is that vehicle we used to call the Zola – the minibus taxi. Most of them in Kenya are diesel vehicles.
The Nissan aside, there are then the hundreds and thousands of large Isuzu trucks that have been converted into 40-seater buses by some or other local body works. These matatus are used for the more remote routes in Kenya – and in Nairobi too – and, unlike the "Nissans", are the most amazing vehicles to behold.
The CNN documentary briefly intimated (correctly) that there is great competition between the owner-drivers of most bus-matatus. Once purchased, the buses are immediately taken to any of the numerous paint shops around town. The shops employ young, specialized airbrush artists whose job it is to decorate the bus in the fashion of the owner’s wont. As the CNN documentary amply demonstrated, the matatu is an art-form in and of itself. There are many bearing slogans and portraits of famous people – Osama, Obama and Madiba being perhaps the most popular - with a host of lesser mortals in tow, like Ice Cube, Tupac and Rihanna. Many of the buses – particularly those that ride the long haul routes – feature strings of running ‘disco-lights’outside; down the window frames and across the bumpers (in garish reds, purples, blues and greens).
The best ‘decoration’ I have seen executed on a matatu of this type was one I saw recently. It featured brand new strings of the lights - everywhere it was possible to string such lights - but also featured two wide-screen TVs. The first was mounted up-front as is the norm. But the second was mounted in the back window of the matatu, facing OUTWARDS, so that anyone driving behind could enjoy the videos being shown inside! This is certainly a new take on combating driver fatigue while surely keeping the vehicle in tow safe on the road!
The competition between matatus is fierce. Rather than catch the first available ride, many younger people will wait a few minutes until the low-frequency, omni-directional sound of the ‘Boom-Boom’ is heard. The ‘Boom-Boom’ is that matatu that has an expensive sound system - with emphasis on the sub-woofer frequencies - and is often showing a string of the latest reggae-dancehall, soul or ‘R&B’ video mixes on the monitor up-front. The creators of these pirate video mixes have cottoned on to the fact that the matatu is their greatest means of promotion and they give the latest material to the matatus for free. The VCD’s that these VJ’s produce - entirely bila (without) paying any royalties - feature all the latest club tracks and an annoyingly frequent display of the contact details of the pirate that produced the mix. Any of the mixes can be bought downtown for around 60 to 100 Shillings (R8-R12) but most will feature constant video ‘glitches’ that make viewing a little difficult at times.
Pesa Pesa Everywhere (without a dot for most)
I wasn’t registered as an M-Pesa user until I had the need to send small amounts of money (and receive same back) to various parts of Nairobi. ‘Pesa’ is Swahili for money and M-Pesa is the electronic means of money transfer that is used throughout Kenya, compliments of mobile operator, Safaricom. It is absolutely brilliant and revolutionary, to the point where Michael Joseph - a South African who heads up Safaricom - recently addressed the World Economic Forum in Cape Town on the uses and conveniences of the system. And it is really fantastic. Its one really exceptional application has been to facilitate money transfer to people in impoverished communities in remote areas where there are no banks (and never will be any). By using the local M-Pesa agent, organizations like Oxford Policy Management, via charities within Britain, have been able to save the lives of literally hundreds (if not thousands) of orphans and vulnerable children (OVC’s) in the remotest, arid and drought-stricken regions of the country.
You load pesa into your M-Pesa account (or someone else sends money to you!) and you can then send it, convert it to airtime, pay an increasing number of utility bills and private accounts, or draw it yourself whenever and wherever you like - at crazy hours and throughout the length and breadth of Kenya. If the Kenya banking system is a little antiquated and slow it takes a little use of M-Pesa to wonder why you bother to use a bank at all. For most Kenyans, the need for a bank account – and the costs associated – are drastically reduced, and literally every ten meters in Nairobi, you will find an M-Pesa agent to give you the cash you require. Quite a few of the local casinos are running the M-Pesa service 24/7, for obvious reasons. So it’s 24/7 banking, immediate money transfer and receipt, for a nominal fee, anywhere in Kenya. Quite a feat to pull off, Mr. Joseph, quite a feat indeed.
After registering, I was using the service extensively within days. I didn’t have enough cash one night to pay for a taxi (and was distinctly bila pesa). There was no working ATM in sight so I simply M-Pesa’d the balance of what I owed to Alex, the driver. He can draw the small Ksh200 payment whenever he likes. The M-Pesa service costs 25 Shillings each time (R3) a time so it’s better not to draw less than 200Shillings, else it seems you’re paying more than you’re getting (almost).
There is a daily limit on M-Pesa transactions of Ksh30 000 (nearly R4 000) to minimize the use of the service for money laundering … but with the vast majority of Kenyans scrambling around for less than 200 Shillings a day, this is hardly an issue for most (and there are not a lot of Nigerians here anyway)! The clincher for me in the M-Pesa story is that patrons at the notorious Simmer’s drinking hole have even been known to pay the waiter through M-Pesa when bila pesa and too drunk to get to an ATM.
The People in the Mix
It has been some weeks now since I met President Kibaki’s speech writer. Chain smoking in the ‘smoking zone’ of my favourite club, and wearing a suit that was very clearly Armani, or similar, he introduced himself as a ‘journalist’. Only after some haranguing by myself over exactly what type of journalist (journalist gani?) did he concede the identity of his employer. I asked him, given the state of play in Kenya currently, what did he feel about his job.
“Very privileged and honoured actually”
So, I said, “this means you are a true Company Man”
“Very definitely!” he replied.
It’s not exactly like me, but I gave up after the second response. The guy is obviously very bright but I think his naivety outshone his intellect. Just the guy for the job I guess! And as for the suit … THIS guy is obviously eating well!
Just the other night I met two of the Karua kids – also at my favourite club. For the uninitiated, Martha Karua was, until recently, Justice and Constitutional Affairs Minister and a long standing member of President Kibaki’s cabinet, but resigned over differences of opinion concerning the pace and nature of reform in Kenya. She has been widely touted as one of the next Presidential hopefuls (but, with any luck, someone younger and perhaps less tainted will beat her to it).
The kids’ security detail was left outside while the two played inside.
A daughter and one of two twin sons, they were a lot of fun (if a little obnoxious at times). He, a film-maker/director and she some kind of stage and/or dance producer (recently back from London), they engaged me on all things South African … but generally failed to hear what I had to say. What is it with the privileged class of kids in Kenya that they don’t listen to any voices but their own? This is not the first time it has happened to me in conversation with members of 'the elite' here.
She (name forgotten) was pretty “high” (as they put alcohol inebriation in Nairobese) but gave us a little taste of what her vocal chords are capable of. She did a drunken take on a few Miriam Makeba songs, doing a rendition of Miriam Makeba’s “Malaika” (in Swahili) that was nothing short of spectacular (even given the missing lyrics). She’s one big chick and can sing, with a large, wide mouth that the best US gospel singers would be proud of. She actually looks quite a bit like her mum (but not so for the brother).
While we were sitting chatting, shouting and screaming in the smoking zone, I landed up chatting to a young man dressed in the latest hip-hop gear. I had seen him at the club some days before and had been quite impressed by his 'style' (whatever that means!). We got talking and it turned out he ("M-Zee", or something like that) is a recorded Tanzanian bongo/hip-hop/rap artist looking for a video producer in Kenya. Of course, having just met the director to my right hand side, I "hooked them up"...
The best part was watching M-Zee talking 'pure' Swahili to the Director, while the latter squinted purposefully, with every intention of understanding what the hell the young guy was saying! A lot of the conversation had to be repeated by M-Zee so he could make himself understood. But what a beautiful speaking voice the youngster has ... Later, I heard that they have indeed made a plan to get some shooting done!
But, with the K-Kids, I eventually got tired of being asked something and then having to fight over the next sentence to get a reply in … So I left them later, as they danced to the extended-play Michael Jackson tunes on the Madhouse floor. They were having a lot of fun.
The last person of note that I have met recently is Hasua. Hasua is mSwahili asili (an original Swahili) from Mombasa who lives in Old Town, the stone-masoned residential relic of Mombasa that dates from the 11th Century. She’s a Muslim who, on her home turf, is seen wearing only the traditional; black, replete with burka at times ... Or so she tells me, because when I met her she was wearing a very low cut black top, earrings in every conceivable place on her ears and nose, and a pair of tight-fitting, really funky jeans (her Nairobi attire!). She speaks fluent Arabic and ‘pure’ Swahili that many Nairobese have trouble understanding fully. Walking in town with her is an interesting experience because there's a weird kind of reverence for the Swahili. She stands out in her skin tone and her heavy-lidded Arabic eyes. Nairobians stare, just a little. And one of the bouncers at Madhouse, upon seeing us walking together, took me aside and quite earnestly said:
"Now, this one you must look after ... mSwahili are special people of our Nation"
(I told him we were only good friends)
And she has the most amazing story …
Her husband went to Ireland for reasons unbeknown to anyone. After spending a month or two there he was brutally stabbed to death by a woman and her two daughters, in some kind of devious plot where they lured him to his death. The three women all got convicted. The 'mother' is 55 yeas old and got only a few years in prison, while the first daughter got 15 years and the second daughter got Life!
Even before she told me, I had an image of Truman Capote's “In Cold Blood” in my mind. Then Hasua said that the story is the subject of a book already and that film rights are currently being sought. She was asked to submit family photographs to the book’s author but Hasua said that without any offer of money she was not prepared to help the author. She still wants to sell her own side of the story (perhaps with parts untold to me) but meantime she is waiting patiently for a rather good compensatory payout from the Irish authorities (and being enabled through Interpol and the British Embassy in Nairobi - the reason she was here!).
End Bit
With this last bit of seemingly fictional truth, or truth more startling than fiction, I come to the end of this rather lengthy ramble. There’s so much more I have to say, really ...
I mean, I could talk about the diversity of this country's population and the jet-black beauty of the Luo chicks that you see in town, walking down the street like it's a catwalk. I could talk about the stereotypes of all the tribes that seem, time and again, to prove themselves at least partly correct. I could talk more about a nation that's on the brink of being re-birthed.
... but I guess it will have to wait until all of you out there have a few extra hours to waste.
To all and sundry, as always, amani na mapenzi (sana)
B-)
Although not all of this blog deals with issues allied to what I say in this 'preface', I feel I have to write a little background introduction this edition. This is because the preface somehow 'qualifies' this blog, and many of the previous ones. It is something of a disclaimer for some of the earlier stuff I said ... But is also very much the canvas upon which life in Kenya is painted. It is the stuff of the struggle for daily existence that marks life in Kenya – and in Nairobi particularly – and the stuff of exactly what needs to change here: It concerns the huge disparity that exists between the Kenya ‘that is’ versus the Kenya that ‘could be’.
Through the unfettered and insatiable greed of the ‘political class’ in Kenya, the people of Kenya have been robbed of their birthrights; they lack access to healthy environments – to land and clean water - but particularly lack access to the opportunities for employment that would make Kenya somewhat different from what we see today. If the Billions and Billions of Shillings that have been stolen from the Kenyan people had gone where they should have, believe me, Kenya would be an African success story of note. The treasure trove has been raped and pillaged; blithely stolen from the people over three ‘eras’ of Kenyan governance. The people of this land have been systematically impoverished to the bone by their own leadership!
The fact of the above having happened tints – and taints – every aspect of life in Kenya; from the lack of maize meal to feed the nation, to the lack of running water, to the lack of employment opportunities, to the prostitution that is an ever-present feature of the Nairobi landscape.
The political economy has got to such a point that there is this sullen, pathetic mood that engulfs all discussions about politics. Every single (regular) person I speak to says the same thing: that this government has to GO and GO SOON. Kenyans might not want their current government but a proud and patriotic people they certainly are. Flags, stickers and shirts bearing Kenya's colours and/or flag are seen everywhere. As Brenda put it beautifully a while ago:
“I am very proud to be Kenyan but I’m not so proud of Kenya”
The Kenyan people have really had enough but essentially have no avenues of legitimate dissent with which to secure the future they want. But the good news is that since I arrived in this beautiful country there has developed a significant body of people calling for change. From everywhere they are coming. And coming fast. There’s a lot of change-talk on the go and it bodes well for the future of this nation.
There’s a new constitution in the making and the very good news is that the level of input from ordinary Kenyans was such that the rather short deadline for submissions had to be extended by some weeks. And to me at least, the political leadership is not looking quite as smug and self-satisfied as it was when I arrived. In fact, methinks, it’s looking a little unsettled.
The scene I described on Jamhuri (independence) Day – December 12 – last year would not happen now because, quite simply, there would be just so many people making a noise in the stadium that there would not enough security to (man)handle them all. Recently, President Kibaki and Prime Minister Odinga were both pelted with stones as they attempted to address a rally. They cancelled their further appearances for the day. This goes to show - demonstratively, if I may use the term - the mood that is starting to (visibly) prevail in Kenya.
Change … she is coming to Kenya. I see it everywhere. Despite increasingly weak attempts by Government at curtailing the tide, the tide is clearly rising on the dry, dark and dusty horizon that is the Kenya of old. There’s a new Uhuru (freedom) in the air. And I relish the thought of what might soon be happening here.
Kwa Malaya na Malaika (Of Prostitutes and Angels)
I have perhaps intimated such, but I haven’t actually said it so far: Prostitution is RIFE in Nairobi.
The scenario: You go out for a drink, get approached by a lovely young girl and perhaps asked to buy her a drink. You find out after a bit of chat that she’s (euphemistically) “looking for money in town”. You might also find out (if you’re bothered enough to ask) that she’s a Masters graduate from the University of Nairobi, has been unsuccessfully looking for a job since she graduated, and is a single mum with one child at home. Lacking any social support and facilities for feeding her child, she has come to rely on “fresh ones” (new arrivals to Nairobi) at Simmers, or any number of similar bars, to sleep with and make perhaps two thousand Shillings (R240) for the night (if she’s lucky).
You find these girls plying their somewhat dubious trade at every one of the multitudinous nightspots in this city. In fact, it’s pretty hard NOT to meet a working girl in greater Nairobi at night. But, because of the social situation that has created this trade, I cannot really malign these girls as 'malaya' (prostitutes). I will say there’s only one class of girl in Nairobi that I could call truly ‘malaya’: these are girls who are out-and-out prostitutes – perhaps ‘born’ to this ancient ‘profession’. They ply their trade on Koinange Street, ever watchful of the City Council truck that circles the area looking for violators of the city by-laws (but which is really looking for girls who are carrying enough cash to pay a bribe of five or six hundred Shillings – a bribe that will allow them to be released around the corner). With these girls, do what you will, but as Erica put it the other night:
“You can take the chick out of K Street, but you can’t take K Street out the chick”
These are the real ‘prostitutes’ in Nairobi – the malaya – but for the rest, many are (perhaps ‘fallen’) angels – malaika - instead. These girls are usually quite good-looking and certainly well-dressed enough to get into any of the pubs or clubs. But as Brenda put it, most of them are trying a little too hard to “look expensive”, with fake jewelry, fake gold chains, and more. Those from the slums will often overdo it A LOT with the bling (but more so with the short skirt).
Many of the fallen angels are simply looking for husbands. Yes, they will sleep with a guy for a few thousand Shillings. They might even sleep with a guy for free if he looks like a good future prospect. These girls are looking for a breadwinner to support their fragile existences and tenuous realities. They are looking for someone just to look after them financially. It happens quite a lot they these girls do, indeed, find husbands. But a friend of mine recently noted that seldom do these marriages ‘work’ beyond a month or two! The expectations of husband and wife seem to differ markedly after the wedding day!
You find many of these girls in the trendier and expensive clubs ‘uptown’. And a great many of them have found 'luck' to a certain, limited extent. They might, for example, be able to tell you about Massio from Napoli, or Frank from Bonn, who is their 'husband' but who, for some inexplicable reason, is no longer on the scene. If pressured into an explanation they will tell you “he went back to his wife" (!). There are a lot of European businessmen who “marry” Nairobi chicks and keep them as mistresses (and sometimes take them on their African travels).
But if there is a range of ‘prostitution’ to be found in Nairobi, blame not the girls … Blame this utterly corrupt government for stealing everything that should have gone to the people and enriching themselves beyond compare while leaving the people battling for their daily bread in the way that’s best suited to each!
Corruption in Every Corner
Last night on NTV - the more liberal of the TV stations - there were no less than four new items concerning the wholesale corruption that is the national government’s obsession.
There was an item saying that at least 87% of the transactions completed by the Kenyan national water company in Nairobi are fraudulent (figures by Transparency International from a 'customer survey')! The total value of the embezzlement is staggering, in the region of a few Billion Shillings. Most of the ”water corruption” concerns water supplies that are diverted away from where they are supposed to go and given rather to someone who can afford to pay the bribe (and who prefers not to pay for the water).
Then the next item is on an outbreak of cholera in Nairobi that has, in one week, claimed 81 lives. Sadly, no connection is made between the fact of water company corruption and this water-borne disease. The fact that the corruption means there is no running water, most of the time, in most of Nairobi’s slums does not get connected in the news with the fact of the cholera outbreak. And the fact of there being black pools of dirty stagnant water lying everywhere in the slums does not get connected with the fact of malaria-bearing mosquitoes raising hell (and seriously raising body temperatures) in those same slums.
Then there’s the head of the electricity company saying that he simply can’t be called corrupt “yesterday, today and every day”. I ask, why not, if you are? And so far, Billions of Shillings have gone missing from the coffers of the electricity utility in Kenya.
Then there is a fourth item, concerning the National Youth Fund and the fact that 1.5 Billion Shillings (that's like over 15 Million Dollars) is unaccounted for and there’s no paper trail to the private accounts into which the money was channeled. No wonder the youth are so lost. The total endowment to the youth fund was 2.5 Billion Shillings – so they have lost more than half of what is due for youth development projects. Of course, the money has been stolen by exactly those people entrusted with developing the youth – so what hope can one hold? Hence the comments I made a while ago about the alienation and estrangement of the youth in Kenya. More than tragic.
Then there’s a brief follow-up on a ‘typing error’ that Uhuru Kenyatta (the new Minister of Finance and son of the late Jomo) claims to be the reason for the 10 Billion Shilling discrepancy between ‘what is’ and what ‘should be’ with the Supplementary Budget. Never mind that the ‘typing error’ was seen by no less than five sets of eyes before getting to Parliament. The 'follow-up' comprises a statement from a Parliamentary Select Committee’ (very ‘select’, actually) which states, quite blandly, that it has examined the matter in detail (in one day, mind you) and is confident that no corruption has taken place. End of story.
Revelations like this (and the lack of investigation that follows) are so commonplace that the people of Kenya simply talk through the 'politics' on TV. They are left utterly sickened by what they see, unable to do anything, and frustrated to the hilt as a result. They would rather – seem almost determined to – blah blah blah through the politics than actually hear what is going on....
And, by way of an aside, it strikes me that Uhuru Kenyatta looks strikingly similar to Jeff Koinange (son of the Koinange after whom K Street is named). Jeff is a news presenter on the K24 television station. Jeff’s mom used to be Jomo Kenyatta’s personal assistant ... There's a theory that a close association between two people can make them start looking the same. But this doesn't usually apply to their kids too. Strange, but it seems to have happened this time.
Maisha Ghetto (Ghetto Life)
I have had recent occasion to travel into the heartland of one of Nairobi’s slums. Dandora is something of a Luo stronghold and houses perhaps a few hundred thousand people, in one- and two-roomed apartments, and in single room units that might hold two or three family members at a time. The housing is made of brick but such is the water and light situation in Nairobi that it might be two days before there is any water running in the place – while the electricity (stima) is often off for 3 to 6 hours at a time, on a regular basis.
Dandora is about 20kms south of Nairobi, out near Kenyatta International Airport. The trip from Dandora to town (‘tao’ as it is called) takes roughly 50 minutes when the jum is over and can take upwards of two hours when Thika Road is in a state of jum (which is every single rush hour to a greater or lesser extent. It is one of the worst routes in Nairobi).
Despite the slight sense of dusty desolation, Dandora does have a certain slum ‘charm’ about it. From the matatu terminus, walking to my friend Angela’s place, you pass a few hundred small, rickety wooden stalls, selling all types of vegetables, clothing, kitchen utensils, and the like – quite simply anything that the local economy (independent and self-supporting as it is) needs and uses. You can buy avocado pears for (ZAR) 50c, mandazi (fried breads shaped like samoosas) for about R1 and freshly cooked chapattis for the same. The streetside cooking starts at around 5am when the sky is still dark and the first commuters are making their way to the terminus (and others are coming back from the clubs).
Just like the time I spent in Khayalitsha, Cape Town, some time ago, my presence in Dandora is always something of a novelty, but, as with Khayalitsha, I get nothing but welcome greetings by all and sundry (especially the kids) who seem to know but one English expression (and aren’t always sure of what response to expect). Everywhere around me I hear:
“Howareyou … howareyou … howareyou”
I reply:
“Niko nzuri sana, na habari yako?” (I am very good, and how are you?)
Nothing but stunned faces. Maybe one voice exclaims:
"Mzungu, kusema kiSwahili!" (you speak Swahili!)
I smile, as only an mzungu in a strange land can.
There’s really not much money in Dandora and all-and-sundry come to Angela's place - at all hours of the day - asking for 10 or 20 Bob (R1.20 or R2.40) to buy a small portion of maize meal, for example, (to make ugali) to feed a child or two.
Most of the time, the water (maji) in Dandora is a trickle if it is running at all. This water is used for washing clothes, and general ablutions, but is certainly not fit for human consumption. Drinking water is brought on ‘trailers’ and sold in 25litre drums for around 50 or 60 Bob (R6-R8), depending on the seller. Angela is lucky enough to have tailoring work at a Muindi (Hindu run) sweatshop and earns a meager Ksh4000 (about R500) a month. On this she manages to live and still provide for others!
These ‘trailers’ I mention are a constant sight in Nairobi. They are two-wheeled contraptions that look something like the Durban rickshaw but carry loads a helluva lot heavier than two skinny tourists! (16 drums of water @ 25 kilos each = 400 kilograms!). Some of the trailers made from welded steel but it’s far more common in the slums to see one that resembles a makeshift stretcher - or the initial makings of an Indian funeral pyre on its way to the Ganges; long sections of straight tree branches are strapped together by bits of inner-tube rubber, barely balanced on the two car wheels (incl. tyres) that were once on someone’s car. The trailers are quite a sight, vying for bits of road with matatus, trucks and buses (and are largely given way until they are securely on the road’s verge). They carry virtually anything but in the slums are used most often to carry fresh water around the place. If you have a large load of shopping, they will carry it home for you for 10 or 20 Bob (a Rand or two).
There has been recent talk of the possibility of banning them from the streets but I can’t see this happening as it will put thousands out of work. And anyway, they provide a service for a great many Nairobians. But they CAN be a bit of a hassle on the streets when one is attempting to pass.
Football on the Broke Side of Life
Watching Kenya's "Harambee Stars" playing football against Nigeria on TV the other night was like watching "The Giants" versus "The Midgets Who Work Out". The Kenyans simply towered above the Nigerians (but Nigeria still won by 2 goals to 0). Against Mozambique’s Mambas, it was a bit more like "The Giants" versus the "Regular Guys" and this time Kenya won by 2 goals to 1. The Kenyan football team comprises something like three-quarters Luo players and the three prominent forwards are all over 1.93m tall (that's like 6ft 7in!). The guys are seriously BIG and Mozambique cottoned on to a strategy to use against them - just a little too late: they did their best to run the Luo guys down and tire them out. It didn't work - perhaps because it was too late ... But when one of the forward Harambee Stars got the ball it was like watching a power play from the History Books of Football with Big Guys. The Luo forwards just powered their way to the goal line but failed miserably to finish well - kicking the ball meters over the cross bar.
Some work is clearly needed with the football team. Another Luo pro footballer – one I met recently in Umoja ‘township’ (another Luo stronghold) - told me it has to do with the pathetic pay that the Kenyan team is getting. He said that many of the better Kenyan players are playing elsewhere. He himself is playing in Angola and is earning three times what members of the national team are earning here. When I asked him if he had what it takes to make the Harambee team, he simply smiled and told me he was playing pro for them 6 years ago (name withheld).
If there are problems in Kenyan football, this is not so for Kenyan rugby. The Kenya "Super Seven" team is playing admirably well - knocking South Africa's Sevens team for a loop, the second time in a row the other night. And lo-and-behold there was footage on TV of a women's "Sevens" rugby team the other night, powering their way to victory over some team that clearly didn't know what had hit them.
I'm not so sure about the future of Kenya in the football arena but one thing is for sure - watch what Kenya does in rugby! I think there might be some surprises to come and I see quite a few Springbok rugby jerseys around town. And it’s not South Africans wearing them! Kenyans are starting to love rugby!
Buses from Everywhere
I sit in the smoking section at Simmers around 8pm and watch the buses streaming in. From everywhere they come around this time; from "Coast", from LuoLand (Lake Victoria region) and from every small village in the greater Kenya. They time their arrival so that they miss the Greater Jum. And so on this Thursday night it seems that everyone in Kenya is on the move somewhere. These are luxury buses on the whole. Perhaps not air-conditioned any longer but certainly carrying the equipment that would have had them air-conditioned in the past. Big Volvo and Mercedes wagons streaming down Kenyatta Avenue in a seemingly endless convoy of heavy duty transport. They are on their way ‘downtown’, below River Road; to the area they call "Coast Bus", or somewhere near that. They come down the road but I don’t see any going up. Tomorrow, some time, these same buses will be seen coming up Kenyatta Avenue. This has to be the place of the greatest cross-flux of people in East Africa. Downtown, on every night of the week you will see hundreds of buses and matatus, coming from every conceivable corner of this country (as well as from Uganda, Tanzania, Ethiopia and Somalia). And somehow the vehicles give Nairobi some weird charm. On Moi Avenue, around 6pm, the light is a pink-tinted hue that is gorgeous and the streets are absolutely packed with people weaving their way around the transport-infested roads. And on the sidewalks, you see concentrated pockets of illicit hawking and haggling, selling products of every conceivable description.
Some guy, looking like Father Xmas with a knapsack on his back, will suddenly appear from nowhere and will set up a cardboard stand (with cardboard sheets that also seem to come from nowhere) and might proceed to lay out, and sell, women's shoes for around Ksh200 a pair (R24). The merchandise sells like the proverbial hotcakes but within a few minutes an imperceptible call goes out, and as quick as he set up, he, and all the other hawkers around him, are gone, disappearing into the crowd as fast as they arrived ... followed only by two City Council employees in bright yellow jackets. What happens in downtown Nairobi between 6pm and 8pm is a sight to behold and is when this city seems to come alive and thrive.
Public Service Vehicles (PSV’s)
If Johannesburg streets seem jammed with taxis and other ‘public service vehicles’ (PSV’s), the streets of Nairobi take this to a whole nutha level. The matatu is the sole means of transport for literally millions of Nairobians and greater Kenyans and these largely diesel-powered vehicles ply their trade from around 5am to around 9.30pm every day of the week. Like the minibus taxis in Cape Town, the Nairobi matatu has a ‘conductor’ who is entrusted with taking the fares from all on board. They have a way of carrying notes between their fingers that works as an African abacus and it's amazing to watch a conductor keep track of who has paid what, what change they should get, and when (which if often a lot later than the passenger is expecting, mind you). Sometimes the conductor ‘extorts’ money from passengers – like when it’s raining, or very late at night - when the hapless victims on board are asked to pay sometimes astronomical fares … The logic behind the variable fare on a matatu is that, because of the rain, for example, traffic is much slower yet there is a need to generate the same daily income (from far fewer trips). Late at night, of course, the matatu is helping you stay out of trouble ... and for this benefit you have to pay! I suppose you can’t blame them, but the variable rate takes a little getting used to.
The matatu conductor is somewhat akin to the Soweto ‘train surfer’, taking voluntary risks that anyone else would be likely to shy away from in the extreme. Three smacks to the side of a matatu means the driver must stop; while two smacks means he can go. The two smacks are often dished out to the matatu’s body while the last passenger is still embarking; leaving the conductor with the relished responsibility of running alongside the vehicle as it quickly gathers speed and swinging himself on board with amazing dexterity. I have seen that it is something of a personal accomplishment for the conductors (unseen by anyone, really) to achieve this feat at high speed while still managing to escape any loss to bodily integrity. Often the matatu will be well down the road by time the sliding door is closed. And the opening and closing of the door is the job of the conductor! This turf should not be poached.
Legislation demands that the matatu carries 14 passengers and not the 16 that is common in Jozi. It was not so long ago that the matatus were required to fit safety belts and it is still common to find a matatu with discarded belts hanging from each and every seat in the vehicle. This piece of legislation is no longer enforced (along with a great many other by-laws in Nairobi) but time was when it was stringently adhered to and prosecuted when lacking.
Matatu’s are required to run one route and one route only and this is still enforced today. All matatus will bear a legend on the side indicating the route being driven. For example, a matatu that rides Dandora to Town might show, in fancy script on the side: ‘Tao’ (meaning ‘town’) and ‘Dando’ or simply ‘D’ (meaning Dandora). It is route 42 when gong to town and route 32 when going to Dandora.
Just like in Jozi, Nairobi matatus are stopped regularly by the police. And just as it is in the City of Gold, the police here do very little to actually inspect the vehicle … Rather, their attention is directed to the 100 Shilling note that forms the permanent ‘extra page’ in the matatu driver’s license booklet.
Matatu Deluxe
CNN showed a mini-documentary on the subject of Kenyan matatus the other night. And a worthy subject it surely is, because if there is anything that rates as a contemporary cultural ‘icon’ that identifies Nairobi – and Kenya as a whole – as different from any other area in East Africa, it is the matatu.
There are two basic styles of matatu. The first is what most people call a “Nissan” (even though most of them are now Toyotas) and it is the type we are used to in South Africa. (Even the “Meru Nissan Service” that I see picking passengers downtown, in Accra Street, seems to run only diesel Toyotas!) The “Nissan” of course it is that vehicle we used to call the Zola – the minibus taxi. Most of them in Kenya are diesel vehicles.
The Nissan aside, there are then the hundreds and thousands of large Isuzu trucks that have been converted into 40-seater buses by some or other local body works. These matatus are used for the more remote routes in Kenya – and in Nairobi too – and, unlike the "Nissans", are the most amazing vehicles to behold.
The CNN documentary briefly intimated (correctly) that there is great competition between the owner-drivers of most bus-matatus. Once purchased, the buses are immediately taken to any of the numerous paint shops around town. The shops employ young, specialized airbrush artists whose job it is to decorate the bus in the fashion of the owner’s wont. As the CNN documentary amply demonstrated, the matatu is an art-form in and of itself. There are many bearing slogans and portraits of famous people – Osama, Obama and Madiba being perhaps the most popular - with a host of lesser mortals in tow, like Ice Cube, Tupac and Rihanna. Many of the buses – particularly those that ride the long haul routes – feature strings of running ‘disco-lights’outside; down the window frames and across the bumpers (in garish reds, purples, blues and greens).
The best ‘decoration’ I have seen executed on a matatu of this type was one I saw recently. It featured brand new strings of the lights - everywhere it was possible to string such lights - but also featured two wide-screen TVs. The first was mounted up-front as is the norm. But the second was mounted in the back window of the matatu, facing OUTWARDS, so that anyone driving behind could enjoy the videos being shown inside! This is certainly a new take on combating driver fatigue while surely keeping the vehicle in tow safe on the road!
The competition between matatus is fierce. Rather than catch the first available ride, many younger people will wait a few minutes until the low-frequency, omni-directional sound of the ‘Boom-Boom’ is heard. The ‘Boom-Boom’ is that matatu that has an expensive sound system - with emphasis on the sub-woofer frequencies - and is often showing a string of the latest reggae-dancehall, soul or ‘R&B’ video mixes on the monitor up-front. The creators of these pirate video mixes have cottoned on to the fact that the matatu is their greatest means of promotion and they give the latest material to the matatus for free. The VCD’s that these VJ’s produce - entirely bila (without) paying any royalties - feature all the latest club tracks and an annoyingly frequent display of the contact details of the pirate that produced the mix. Any of the mixes can be bought downtown for around 60 to 100 Shillings (R8-R12) but most will feature constant video ‘glitches’ that make viewing a little difficult at times.
Pesa Pesa Everywhere (without a dot for most)
I wasn’t registered as an M-Pesa user until I had the need to send small amounts of money (and receive same back) to various parts of Nairobi. ‘Pesa’ is Swahili for money and M-Pesa is the electronic means of money transfer that is used throughout Kenya, compliments of mobile operator, Safaricom. It is absolutely brilliant and revolutionary, to the point where Michael Joseph - a South African who heads up Safaricom - recently addressed the World Economic Forum in Cape Town on the uses and conveniences of the system. And it is really fantastic. Its one really exceptional application has been to facilitate money transfer to people in impoverished communities in remote areas where there are no banks (and never will be any). By using the local M-Pesa agent, organizations like Oxford Policy Management, via charities within Britain, have been able to save the lives of literally hundreds (if not thousands) of orphans and vulnerable children (OVC’s) in the remotest, arid and drought-stricken regions of the country.
You load pesa into your M-Pesa account (or someone else sends money to you!) and you can then send it, convert it to airtime, pay an increasing number of utility bills and private accounts, or draw it yourself whenever and wherever you like - at crazy hours and throughout the length and breadth of Kenya. If the Kenya banking system is a little antiquated and slow it takes a little use of M-Pesa to wonder why you bother to use a bank at all. For most Kenyans, the need for a bank account – and the costs associated – are drastically reduced, and literally every ten meters in Nairobi, you will find an M-Pesa agent to give you the cash you require. Quite a few of the local casinos are running the M-Pesa service 24/7, for obvious reasons. So it’s 24/7 banking, immediate money transfer and receipt, for a nominal fee, anywhere in Kenya. Quite a feat to pull off, Mr. Joseph, quite a feat indeed.
After registering, I was using the service extensively within days. I didn’t have enough cash one night to pay for a taxi (and was distinctly bila pesa). There was no working ATM in sight so I simply M-Pesa’d the balance of what I owed to Alex, the driver. He can draw the small Ksh200 payment whenever he likes. The M-Pesa service costs 25 Shillings each time (R3) a time so it’s better not to draw less than 200Shillings, else it seems you’re paying more than you’re getting (almost).
There is a daily limit on M-Pesa transactions of Ksh30 000 (nearly R4 000) to minimize the use of the service for money laundering … but with the vast majority of Kenyans scrambling around for less than 200 Shillings a day, this is hardly an issue for most (and there are not a lot of Nigerians here anyway)! The clincher for me in the M-Pesa story is that patrons at the notorious Simmer’s drinking hole have even been known to pay the waiter through M-Pesa when bila pesa and too drunk to get to an ATM.
The People in the Mix
It has been some weeks now since I met President Kibaki’s speech writer. Chain smoking in the ‘smoking zone’ of my favourite club, and wearing a suit that was very clearly Armani, or similar, he introduced himself as a ‘journalist’. Only after some haranguing by myself over exactly what type of journalist (journalist gani?) did he concede the identity of his employer. I asked him, given the state of play in Kenya currently, what did he feel about his job.
“Very privileged and honoured actually”
So, I said, “this means you are a true Company Man”
“Very definitely!” he replied.
It’s not exactly like me, but I gave up after the second response. The guy is obviously very bright but I think his naivety outshone his intellect. Just the guy for the job I guess! And as for the suit … THIS guy is obviously eating well!
Just the other night I met two of the Karua kids – also at my favourite club. For the uninitiated, Martha Karua was, until recently, Justice and Constitutional Affairs Minister and a long standing member of President Kibaki’s cabinet, but resigned over differences of opinion concerning the pace and nature of reform in Kenya. She has been widely touted as one of the next Presidential hopefuls (but, with any luck, someone younger and perhaps less tainted will beat her to it).
The kids’ security detail was left outside while the two played inside.
A daughter and one of two twin sons, they were a lot of fun (if a little obnoxious at times). He, a film-maker/director and she some kind of stage and/or dance producer (recently back from London), they engaged me on all things South African … but generally failed to hear what I had to say. What is it with the privileged class of kids in Kenya that they don’t listen to any voices but their own? This is not the first time it has happened to me in conversation with members of 'the elite' here.
She (name forgotten) was pretty “high” (as they put alcohol inebriation in Nairobese) but gave us a little taste of what her vocal chords are capable of. She did a drunken take on a few Miriam Makeba songs, doing a rendition of Miriam Makeba’s “Malaika” (in Swahili) that was nothing short of spectacular (even given the missing lyrics). She’s one big chick and can sing, with a large, wide mouth that the best US gospel singers would be proud of. She actually looks quite a bit like her mum (but not so for the brother).
While we were sitting chatting, shouting and screaming in the smoking zone, I landed up chatting to a young man dressed in the latest hip-hop gear. I had seen him at the club some days before and had been quite impressed by his 'style' (whatever that means!). We got talking and it turned out he ("M-Zee", or something like that) is a recorded Tanzanian bongo/hip-hop/rap artist looking for a video producer in Kenya. Of course, having just met the director to my right hand side, I "hooked them up"...
The best part was watching M-Zee talking 'pure' Swahili to the Director, while the latter squinted purposefully, with every intention of understanding what the hell the young guy was saying! A lot of the conversation had to be repeated by M-Zee so he could make himself understood. But what a beautiful speaking voice the youngster has ... Later, I heard that they have indeed made a plan to get some shooting done!
But, with the K-Kids, I eventually got tired of being asked something and then having to fight over the next sentence to get a reply in … So I left them later, as they danced to the extended-play Michael Jackson tunes on the Madhouse floor. They were having a lot of fun.
The last person of note that I have met recently is Hasua. Hasua is mSwahili asili (an original Swahili) from Mombasa who lives in Old Town, the stone-masoned residential relic of Mombasa that dates from the 11th Century. She’s a Muslim who, on her home turf, is seen wearing only the traditional; black, replete with burka at times ... Or so she tells me, because when I met her she was wearing a very low cut black top, earrings in every conceivable place on her ears and nose, and a pair of tight-fitting, really funky jeans (her Nairobi attire!). She speaks fluent Arabic and ‘pure’ Swahili that many Nairobese have trouble understanding fully. Walking in town with her is an interesting experience because there's a weird kind of reverence for the Swahili. She stands out in her skin tone and her heavy-lidded Arabic eyes. Nairobians stare, just a little. And one of the bouncers at Madhouse, upon seeing us walking together, took me aside and quite earnestly said:
"Now, this one you must look after ... mSwahili are special people of our Nation"
(I told him we were only good friends)
And she has the most amazing story …
Her husband went to Ireland for reasons unbeknown to anyone. After spending a month or two there he was brutally stabbed to death by a woman and her two daughters, in some kind of devious plot where they lured him to his death. The three women all got convicted. The 'mother' is 55 yeas old and got only a few years in prison, while the first daughter got 15 years and the second daughter got Life!
Even before she told me, I had an image of Truman Capote's “In Cold Blood” in my mind. Then Hasua said that the story is the subject of a book already and that film rights are currently being sought. She was asked to submit family photographs to the book’s author but Hasua said that without any offer of money she was not prepared to help the author. She still wants to sell her own side of the story (perhaps with parts untold to me) but meantime she is waiting patiently for a rather good compensatory payout from the Irish authorities (and being enabled through Interpol and the British Embassy in Nairobi - the reason she was here!).
End Bit
With this last bit of seemingly fictional truth, or truth more startling than fiction, I come to the end of this rather lengthy ramble. There’s so much more I have to say, really ...
I mean, I could talk about the diversity of this country's population and the jet-black beauty of the Luo chicks that you see in town, walking down the street like it's a catwalk. I could talk about the stereotypes of all the tribes that seem, time and again, to prove themselves at least partly correct. I could talk more about a nation that's on the brink of being re-birthed.
... but I guess it will have to wait until all of you out there have a few extra hours to waste.
To all and sundry, as always, amani na mapenzi (sana)
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-)
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-)
Here ... There ... Everywhere
Resistance is mounting. Pimples of dissent are breaking out everywhere.
Last week one-or-other Kenyan women’s group mounted a campaign of denial of conjugal rights to their married men-folk (I kid you not). On the face of it, this was in an attempt to bring pressure to bear on the government and to have the men, now charged with pent-up energy, to demand change, if only in order to regain paradise lost. The call was, of course, the talking point of every radio station, cabbie and street vendor in town. The question on everyone’s lips was whether this applied to unmarried men – or were they allowed to carry on regardless. Talk shows were inundated with voices of indignation, with few, if any, of the callers seriously questioning the logic behind the call.
I wondered about the logic of the call for some time, until I met a serious feminist earlier this week – who was so well-informed she clearly had something to do with the call itself – and who told me quite plainly that there was no serious intent behind the call except to conscientise the men of Kenya that there are gender issues that need consideration too … Essentially she said “How can men have automatic conjugal rights that violate basic human rights”. And I guess she was right.
This place never ceases to amaze me with some of the people I encounter.
Two weeks or so ago, the residents of a few Nairobi ghettos started taking the law into their own hands and resorted to lynching a few (9, I think) Mungiki members who were known extortionists and racketeers in the midst of various ghetto communities. After the lynching, it took a week for Mungiki to react. They reacted true to form and took their usual “two for one”, massacring no less than 20 innocent people. The people were drawn, in the dead of night, to a fire started those same Mungiki members charged with exacting revenge for killings of their own. The events were followed by the usual hue and cry over Mungiki’s actions in Kenya and highlighted the tiredness of the people in having to deal with the Mungiki threat – but to no avail and a conspicuous lack of comment from government.
And last week some time, the State President and some senior MP’s had to flee a stone-throwing mob at a recent political talk-a-thon. They failed to appear at their next gig, obviously expecting the same, and were most likely to have got the same. The pictures of the ‘mob’ in the papers were of a very angry bunch of young people. Yes, kind sirs, the people are pissed off!
Raila Odinga, widely acknowledged – nay, almost universally acknowledged – to have won the last election by a vast majority (but having had it ‘stolen’ by the Kibaki camp) called for a snap election. He was simply put in his place by a government announcement – a government he is supposedly part of – and widespread news coverage to the effect that snap elections are not catered for in the constitution and therefore could not happen.
Funnily enough, corruption and stealing from the electorate are also not covered by the constitution but seem to be very much a part of the current government’s mandate. Raila tries, but his opposition - within the self-same government - is much too smart and wily for him. It’s exactly the same scenario as Mugabe-Morgan. Morgan got himself thoroughly Raila’d! (That is, given a position with title but with little effect!)
Raila also said that because his party dominated the legislature – which it does quite substantially – he should be appointed the Speaker of Parliament to properly handle the business of each day. He was talked down from this position too. He was even talked down from attending a certain inauguration in SA today – even though he was going to do this in his private capacity.
I have said it before – gladly – and I say it again … The days of this particular Kenyan government are coming to an end. Reform is on the political agenda but it seems likely it will take a few years to get from the menu to the table.
Kenyan politics is so fraught with platitudes and assertions of rectitude and justice in all its affairs that it beats me how the Kenyan people continue to stomach it all with relatively straight faces. But talk of significant change there is. Perhaps it will never amount to anything more than talk. For the next few years, the Kenyan people might just be dragged along in the ever-distant hope of a new political order…
Just a quick note about the extent of government corruption and the effect it has had (and still has) on the Kenyan economy …
I blogged a while ago about the fact that Kenyan coffee was amongst the best in the world and that coffee was once Kenya’s single largest foreign income earner. It turns out that it was not just Uganda’s aggressive marketing that lost Kenya its place in world coffee markets. It had much more to do with the fact that the State was paying so little to the growers that many chose to turn their land over to vegetables for local consumption instead! And when the coffee market started to fail, the government wanted to invest enough to resuscitate it, only to find that BILLIONS of Shillings had simply ‘disappeared’ from the coffee co-op’s coffers! And the coffee industry has never, ever recovered. The cost of this to the Kenyan people is inestimable.
There is a ‘culture of expectation’ in Kenya that is something of a sickness here. I have only slowly become aware of it. It is known as “halafu” – or “what do you have for me?” There is an expectation here that if you are earning well – or are simply perceived as such – you should ‘give’. Because you are in a better position than someone else means that you are supposed to give beyond the cost of services rendered, if any …
Don’t get me wrong. I am the first to support charity where charity might well be due. But what of people who are actually earning on a daily basis but who just want ‘more’ simply because you are perceived to have more. I can’t really support that. I say, Kenyans, call on your government to create minimum wage laws and to create jobs for you, the people. Don’t expect other, regular people to make up for the blatant shortcomings of your rulers!
Kenya’s Colonial history clearly has something to do with it. Colonialism meant that the rich were seriously rich and the rest were subjugated under the economic yoke. When uhuru (freedom) came, the new black ‘masters’ simply continued in the same vein, perpetuating the self-same order of subjugation and subservience. Today, still, what the ‘average’ Kenyan gets paid is a crime and, in Nairobi, is nothing less than a crime against humanity.
Moving swiftly on: Last week I moved out of the ‘mansion’ in Spring Valley, to share a place in the leafy Nairobi suburb of Gigiri, home to the UN and the US Embassy (now under very serious armed guard and protection since the terrorist attack ten years ago). Jenny said that if I blog her again she WILL kill me, so I can’t say at whose place I am staying!
Spring Valley was just too expensive, given that I had non-deposit-paying tenants and massive electricity bills to foot. I am quite honestly relieved as I sit and view the Karura Forest and the monkeys prancing on the roof next door. The forest is huge and quite spectacular, completely surrounding Gigiri and all its inroads.
Martin, a driver from the office, assisted me with the move, bringing two of his friends and a large diesel pick-up for the task. We had just arrived at the Gigiri house of ‘my friend’ when Martin alerted me to the song playing on the Kikuyu radio station he was tuned to. It was the song that Mungiki sing. Perhaps because of the association alone, the song was nothing less than chilling.
The forest is a favourite spot for the unmarked graves of political dissidents. On Thursday morning I was sitting on the porch doing some work when I heard a lone, high velocity gunshot coming from just a few miles away. I wonder …
I had not seen that day’s Daily Nation but it seems that the gunshot coincided with the publication of 21 photographs and mention of people who have simply ‘disappeared’ over the last few months. The state mechanisms of silent but ruthless oppression ARE in evidence. Dominic, a cab driver I have become well-acquainted with since last week, tells me that those who ARE found bear simple, single-wound bullet holes in the front of the head. There are obviously some experienced executioners around. Enough on that. I have said it … Change is coming and let’s just hope it’s not too slow.
Aside from the absolutely fantastic road that leads from town to Gigiri (paid for by the UN), there’s a lot of road re-surfacing going on in and around Nairobi. And how welcome it is. I have commented on the roads just a little already but it seems that budgets have now been released into the public works fund to do what should have been done a few years ago. The Uhuru highway has been resurfaced from Mombasa Road in the south to just short of Westlands (which is ostensibly in the west, but is kinda in the north). While the tarring is done it creates absolute havoc but what a relief when the road opens the next day! Far fewer small, Japanese compact cars are disappearing, unexplained, on the highway these days!
Living in Gigiri for this short time now has given me one or two insights that cause me to retract at least some of what I have said earlier about Asian (lack of) integration …
I was sitting at the Village Market food court last week, simply watching the crowd, sipping on a cappuccino from Dorman's (“The Coffee Experts”). It was a Saturday afternoon and the place was ‘jum-pucked’. There’s this water feature that surrounds the food court.
Standing next to the meandering water was a lanky Kenyan girl bearing obvious signs of adolescent self-consciousness. Standing next to her was her overweight mzungu friend (who was not the least bit self-conscious). The two were waiting for ‘something to happen’. It was about ten minutes later when something indeed happened. The ‘girls’ were joined by the ‘guys’ …
There were three … The first, a suave Kenyan Asian, sporting a suitably ‘gelled’ hair-aberrant coiffure. The second, a black Kenyan wearing a Dolce & Gabanna T-shirt. The third, an mzungu blondie who was probably the most sloppily dressed individual I have yet to see in Kenya!
Much laughter and fun jostling ensued between them. What was interesting was that the mzungu was flirting with the black chick; the Asian was flirting with the mzungu chick - threatening to throw her into the water - while the black guy just surveyed the crowd looking for something interesting. The latter was doing the right thing in that his good looks meant he could be a little selective. The table of young girls next to me was quite abuzz with the prospect of being noticed.
So, yes folks, there is indeed hope for a more racially integrated Kenya in future. And if it is to be seen anywhere it has to be in Gigiri where the elite and future-King Kenyans are to be found … It was really good to see.
I suppose, in a lot of ways, the honeymoon phase of my Kenya experience is over. I am more aware of the shortfalls of the country, of the problems that abound and of the changes that need to come. But it leaves me no less enamoured with the place. It IS an extremely beautiful country with lovely people – people I feel far closer to than many of the violent, negligent, gun-toting individuals back home …
There are 42 distinct ‘tribes’ spread across Kenya’s wide plains and there has been very little mixing over the years. So far, I have blogged a few details pertaining to a few of the tribes. Not long ago, I blogged about the Maasai and their ‘loan’ of land in Ngong to fellow Kenyans (but not to Mungiki).
I heard very recently that Nairobi is actually a Maa word meaning “place of clear waters” and that Nairobi is actually also Maasai land. This accounts for the fact that Martin and I nearly crashed into a cow crossing the road in Hurlingham the other day. This lone, leading cow was followed shortly by a great many others, and also by a Maasai herder that was taking them walkabout for a bit of grazing.
The Maasai have free grazing rights throughout Nairobi. Some years back, when the government of the day (Moi’s era, I think) tried to limit these grazing rights, the Maasai stated quite baldly that if the State wanted to limit their grazing, the State could quite simply give the Maasai land back! Did I hear the word “Whoa” emanating from Parliament Avenue?
And today, evidently, it is not uncommon for an informal, aspiring Keith Kirsten to lose all his potted stock to a Maasai herder’s hungry husbandry! Vooi tog!
One other bit of local lore ... I said before that the Kamba people are reputed to have ‘magic’. They are also reputed to be ‘lazy’, which is evidently why many Kamba men are gardeners and choose to loll around in the sun, in someone’s back yard! But as far as the magic goes, there is this story about the Kamba wife who was ‘fooling around’ a bit. She had this lover over one night (no doubt while hubby was riding his bicycle around town in the dead of night). They were kinda done with the throes of passion when the errant lover found that he could not ‘disengage’ … He was unable to ‘remove himself’ from his trespass! In time, the impish, round-headed Kamba husband returned home and scrutinized the scene to his satisfaction, issuing what were no doubt sufficient warnings to both parties. Once he was done with his diatribe he removed a cigarette lighter from his pocket and simply clicked it on … and the trespasser was freed of his bondage.
This story is so much a part of local legend that I have heard it separately from a few people already. Legend has it too that Kamba people don’t need to lock their doors at night. No-one dare enter their houses without permission!
You know it’s the rainy season in Kenya when there is constant advertising on radio for free mosquito nets and when all the supermarkets feature prominent promotions for anti-malarial potions and treatments. But the rainy season is truly beautiful, even if a little inconvenient at times … If you are walking in areas where there are no pavements (which are plenty) you have to slush around in the mud and have to beware each and every passing car and truck for fear of getting drenched in mud.
You know it’s rainy season in Kenya when one of your Meru staff gets constant calls from his Dad, imploring him to give up on the academic stuff and come help with the miraa farm. I told said researcher it might not be a bad idea considering the number of people I see chewing miraa (khat) these days! He declined.
I am toying with the idea of developing a ‘Kenya IQ’ test. Here are the first three questions …
Kikuyu is to money as Luo is to…
a) miraa
b) mosquito
c) mirror
Kikuyu is to money as Meru is to...
a) miraa
b) mosquito
c) mirror
Kikuyu is to money as Turkana is to...
a) miraa
b) mosquito
c) mirror
(Correct answers are c, a, b)
I suppose some indication of a country’s ‘spirit’ has to be drawn from the words one learns at the very start of one’s experience in the foreign land. In Kenya it has to do with the words themselves but also with the WAY in which these words are spoken. I have mentioned it before and give it brief mention here again: The Kenyan people speak beautifully, whether in their native tongue – Swahili mainly – or in English. There is music to their speak that is indescribably beautiful. So I won’t try to describe it … Just know it to be true.
The first word you learn in Kenya, because you hear it so often, is “Karibu” (you are welcome) or “Karibu sana” (you are very welcome). Then, quite quickly, you learn to say the appropriate “Thank you” (asante) or asante sana. Early on, you also hear “pole sana” (pronounced pour-lair), meaning “I am sorry” (for you and/or your experience) and the seemingly similar (yet quite distinct) “pole-pole” meaning “slowly”.
The personal pronouns of “you” (wewe) or “me” (mimi) follow quite quickly, as do …
Wapi? Where?
Nini? What?
Lini? When?
Nani? Who?
Gani? Which (type)?
Yakho You (different context to ‘wewe’)
Uko You (another context)
Hapa Here
Hapo There
Aenda I go
Twende We go
Mingi Big
Kubwa Huge
Kidogo Small
Kwa With
Kutoka kwa From
Na And/with/have (and a few other meanings)
Nzuri Good, fine
Poa(poh-ah) Very good, Beautiful, Pretty
Etcetera, etcetera.
And I absolutely love the use of the term “ni-nini” meaning a “what-what” - or what South Africans would call a ‘dingis’. Another expression that I love is “si ndyo?”, meaning “not so?”. Many a statement, on just about any subject, is followed by “si ndyo?” – “wouldn’t you say so, isn’t it true?” It is beautifully self-affirming and a statement to the effect that the orator is certainly being truthful in what he or she is saying.
I was fascinated by how the term “mumbo jumbo” got into English, realising it must indeed have come somewhere from Swahili. Both “Jambo” and “Mambo” are terms of greeting in Swahili, with the latter being the more informal. Eventually I think I have worked it out: I can only assume that the Colonials, being greeted, but not knowing what was being said to them, adopted the term to denote stuff they couldn’t understand …
Pole sana! (I am very sorry for you)
In case you’re interested, a typical start-up conversation in Swahili will go as follows:
“Mambo?” (an informal greeting that, formally, means “what’s news?” but is used as in “Howzit?”)
Your reply might be:
“Poa!” or “poa sana!” or even “poa-poa sana!” (if you are feeling exceptional)
Alternatively, you might reply that you are “not bad”:
“Si mbaye”
Or “bad”:
“mbaye” (although very seldom used!)
On Fridays, particularly, you will be prone to reply:
“Salaama” (at peace) or “Salaama kabisa” (entirely peaceful).
If it is good looking, as it walks away you might want to comment:
“Mrembo sana!” (you’re HOT) and then, possibly, you might add:
“Uko na matako kubwa poa sana” (your ass is huge and quite beautiful!)
(A particularly African compliment of the highest order)
The later comment might be more appropriate if “it” is female …
Needless to say, I love the language. It is quite beautiful, being infused with Arabic that gives it a softness that is quite distinct from the Zulu or Xhosa languages that derive from the same root, Bantu tongue.
The number of words in common usage that derive from Swahili is quite startling. Just three:
Safari Journey/travel
Maluumi Special person
Simba Lion (as in Simba chips)
(there are many more I have come across but can't exactly remember now!)
I have a Swahili dictionary but because I am learning more ‘street’ Swahili (‘Sheng’) from friends, a great many of the words I know are either not in the dictionary are in entirely different usage.
In the dictionary, the word “mrembo” is said to mean ‘a well-dressed person’. On the street it means “HOT” (in the personal sense - as opposed to “moto” (pronounced more-tor) which means ‘warm/hot/fire’ in a slightly less personal way).
Enough Swahili linguistic didactics.
On the weekend after SA’s general Zumalection the SA High Commission hosted a “South Meets East” concert at the Kenya National Museum grounds. The only SA artist on the bill was Lira and she was supported by two Kenyan artists, Eric Wainana and Valerie.
Eric was very good, performing a few tracks in Luo. Brenda came with me and she translated the Luo lyrics - all suitably tongue-in-cheek and infused with political innuendo. But I think Eric should probably stick to Swahili because from people I have spoken to it seems that a lot of Kenyans don’t “get” what he is saying ... The Luo double meanings tend to be understood at face value.
Valerie was OK and I would venture to say that there are a great many Kenyan acts that should rather have been on the bill.
But as for Lira … She was absolutely GREAT. She started the set with a slow, sultry jazz piece and opened her singing with the greeting:
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmbbbo?”
The crowd went absolutely WILD.
Her band was phenomenal and the drummer was so alive and funky he couldn’t stay in his seat. I had seen him in the gathering crowd earlier in the evening, with what looks like his brother (who plays keyboard and sax with the band). They were both dressed in Bosmont Hip-Hop Chic and memories of my friend, and fellow drummer, Ian Herman (ex Tananas, and now playing for Sting I believe), came to mind.
Lira finished her set with the award-winning “iXesha”. After she mentioned the title I was amazed to hear, all around me, Kenyans attempting the Xhosa back-of-the-tongue ‘click’ in the word (and largely failing). Kenyans REALLY LOVE the Xhosa clicking – at least some of the reason for Brenda Fassie’s popularity here.
Lira gave the song its introduction:
“iXesha means Time in Xhosa. And the title of this song really means …
Honey, baby, sweetheart, darling, honey-bunch, gorgeous ……
YOUR TIME IS UP!”
The response from the women in the crowd was nothing short of deafening and Lira had to wait a while before actually starting the song. What eventually followed was fantastic and I must admit to being just a little moved by her swaying, sassy performance (which I have on video).
At the end of the night I think Brenda was a little stunned by what she had seen. All she could say was:
“Wow, you South Africans have some GREAT performers!”
I’ll say.
I am specially fond of the old guy with the understated dance who wears the funky shirts. But I’m not so keen on the guy with the bipolar skull who is getting some kind of special place in SA society today.
Amani na mapenzi brothers and sisters.
B-)
Last week one-or-other Kenyan women’s group mounted a campaign of denial of conjugal rights to their married men-folk (I kid you not). On the face of it, this was in an attempt to bring pressure to bear on the government and to have the men, now charged with pent-up energy, to demand change, if only in order to regain paradise lost. The call was, of course, the talking point of every radio station, cabbie and street vendor in town. The question on everyone’s lips was whether this applied to unmarried men – or were they allowed to carry on regardless. Talk shows were inundated with voices of indignation, with few, if any, of the callers seriously questioning the logic behind the call.
I wondered about the logic of the call for some time, until I met a serious feminist earlier this week – who was so well-informed she clearly had something to do with the call itself – and who told me quite plainly that there was no serious intent behind the call except to conscientise the men of Kenya that there are gender issues that need consideration too … Essentially she said “How can men have automatic conjugal rights that violate basic human rights”. And I guess she was right.
This place never ceases to amaze me with some of the people I encounter.
Two weeks or so ago, the residents of a few Nairobi ghettos started taking the law into their own hands and resorted to lynching a few (9, I think) Mungiki members who were known extortionists and racketeers in the midst of various ghetto communities. After the lynching, it took a week for Mungiki to react. They reacted true to form and took their usual “two for one”, massacring no less than 20 innocent people. The people were drawn, in the dead of night, to a fire started those same Mungiki members charged with exacting revenge for killings of their own. The events were followed by the usual hue and cry over Mungiki’s actions in Kenya and highlighted the tiredness of the people in having to deal with the Mungiki threat – but to no avail and a conspicuous lack of comment from government.
And last week some time, the State President and some senior MP’s had to flee a stone-throwing mob at a recent political talk-a-thon. They failed to appear at their next gig, obviously expecting the same, and were most likely to have got the same. The pictures of the ‘mob’ in the papers were of a very angry bunch of young people. Yes, kind sirs, the people are pissed off!
Raila Odinga, widely acknowledged – nay, almost universally acknowledged – to have won the last election by a vast majority (but having had it ‘stolen’ by the Kibaki camp) called for a snap election. He was simply put in his place by a government announcement – a government he is supposedly part of – and widespread news coverage to the effect that snap elections are not catered for in the constitution and therefore could not happen.
Funnily enough, corruption and stealing from the electorate are also not covered by the constitution but seem to be very much a part of the current government’s mandate. Raila tries, but his opposition - within the self-same government - is much too smart and wily for him. It’s exactly the same scenario as Mugabe-Morgan. Morgan got himself thoroughly Raila’d! (That is, given a position with title but with little effect!)
Raila also said that because his party dominated the legislature – which it does quite substantially – he should be appointed the Speaker of Parliament to properly handle the business of each day. He was talked down from this position too. He was even talked down from attending a certain inauguration in SA today – even though he was going to do this in his private capacity.
I have said it before – gladly – and I say it again … The days of this particular Kenyan government are coming to an end. Reform is on the political agenda but it seems likely it will take a few years to get from the menu to the table.
Kenyan politics is so fraught with platitudes and assertions of rectitude and justice in all its affairs that it beats me how the Kenyan people continue to stomach it all with relatively straight faces. But talk of significant change there is. Perhaps it will never amount to anything more than talk. For the next few years, the Kenyan people might just be dragged along in the ever-distant hope of a new political order…
Just a quick note about the extent of government corruption and the effect it has had (and still has) on the Kenyan economy …
I blogged a while ago about the fact that Kenyan coffee was amongst the best in the world and that coffee was once Kenya’s single largest foreign income earner. It turns out that it was not just Uganda’s aggressive marketing that lost Kenya its place in world coffee markets. It had much more to do with the fact that the State was paying so little to the growers that many chose to turn their land over to vegetables for local consumption instead! And when the coffee market started to fail, the government wanted to invest enough to resuscitate it, only to find that BILLIONS of Shillings had simply ‘disappeared’ from the coffee co-op’s coffers! And the coffee industry has never, ever recovered. The cost of this to the Kenyan people is inestimable.
There is a ‘culture of expectation’ in Kenya that is something of a sickness here. I have only slowly become aware of it. It is known as “halafu” – or “what do you have for me?” There is an expectation here that if you are earning well – or are simply perceived as such – you should ‘give’. Because you are in a better position than someone else means that you are supposed to give beyond the cost of services rendered, if any …
Don’t get me wrong. I am the first to support charity where charity might well be due. But what of people who are actually earning on a daily basis but who just want ‘more’ simply because you are perceived to have more. I can’t really support that. I say, Kenyans, call on your government to create minimum wage laws and to create jobs for you, the people. Don’t expect other, regular people to make up for the blatant shortcomings of your rulers!
Kenya’s Colonial history clearly has something to do with it. Colonialism meant that the rich were seriously rich and the rest were subjugated under the economic yoke. When uhuru (freedom) came, the new black ‘masters’ simply continued in the same vein, perpetuating the self-same order of subjugation and subservience. Today, still, what the ‘average’ Kenyan gets paid is a crime and, in Nairobi, is nothing less than a crime against humanity.
Moving swiftly on: Last week I moved out of the ‘mansion’ in Spring Valley, to share a place in the leafy Nairobi suburb of Gigiri, home to the UN and the US Embassy (now under very serious armed guard and protection since the terrorist attack ten years ago). Jenny said that if I blog her again she WILL kill me, so I can’t say at whose place I am staying!
Spring Valley was just too expensive, given that I had non-deposit-paying tenants and massive electricity bills to foot. I am quite honestly relieved as I sit and view the Karura Forest and the monkeys prancing on the roof next door. The forest is huge and quite spectacular, completely surrounding Gigiri and all its inroads.
Martin, a driver from the office, assisted me with the move, bringing two of his friends and a large diesel pick-up for the task. We had just arrived at the Gigiri house of ‘my friend’ when Martin alerted me to the song playing on the Kikuyu radio station he was tuned to. It was the song that Mungiki sing. Perhaps because of the association alone, the song was nothing less than chilling.
The forest is a favourite spot for the unmarked graves of political dissidents. On Thursday morning I was sitting on the porch doing some work when I heard a lone, high velocity gunshot coming from just a few miles away. I wonder …
I had not seen that day’s Daily Nation but it seems that the gunshot coincided with the publication of 21 photographs and mention of people who have simply ‘disappeared’ over the last few months. The state mechanisms of silent but ruthless oppression ARE in evidence. Dominic, a cab driver I have become well-acquainted with since last week, tells me that those who ARE found bear simple, single-wound bullet holes in the front of the head. There are obviously some experienced executioners around. Enough on that. I have said it … Change is coming and let’s just hope it’s not too slow.
Aside from the absolutely fantastic road that leads from town to Gigiri (paid for by the UN), there’s a lot of road re-surfacing going on in and around Nairobi. And how welcome it is. I have commented on the roads just a little already but it seems that budgets have now been released into the public works fund to do what should have been done a few years ago. The Uhuru highway has been resurfaced from Mombasa Road in the south to just short of Westlands (which is ostensibly in the west, but is kinda in the north). While the tarring is done it creates absolute havoc but what a relief when the road opens the next day! Far fewer small, Japanese compact cars are disappearing, unexplained, on the highway these days!
Living in Gigiri for this short time now has given me one or two insights that cause me to retract at least some of what I have said earlier about Asian (lack of) integration …
I was sitting at the Village Market food court last week, simply watching the crowd, sipping on a cappuccino from Dorman's (“The Coffee Experts”). It was a Saturday afternoon and the place was ‘jum-pucked’. There’s this water feature that surrounds the food court.
Standing next to the meandering water was a lanky Kenyan girl bearing obvious signs of adolescent self-consciousness. Standing next to her was her overweight mzungu friend (who was not the least bit self-conscious). The two were waiting for ‘something to happen’. It was about ten minutes later when something indeed happened. The ‘girls’ were joined by the ‘guys’ …
There were three … The first, a suave Kenyan Asian, sporting a suitably ‘gelled’ hair-aberrant coiffure. The second, a black Kenyan wearing a Dolce & Gabanna T-shirt. The third, an mzungu blondie who was probably the most sloppily dressed individual I have yet to see in Kenya!
Much laughter and fun jostling ensued between them. What was interesting was that the mzungu was flirting with the black chick; the Asian was flirting with the mzungu chick - threatening to throw her into the water - while the black guy just surveyed the crowd looking for something interesting. The latter was doing the right thing in that his good looks meant he could be a little selective. The table of young girls next to me was quite abuzz with the prospect of being noticed.
So, yes folks, there is indeed hope for a more racially integrated Kenya in future. And if it is to be seen anywhere it has to be in Gigiri where the elite and future-King Kenyans are to be found … It was really good to see.
I suppose, in a lot of ways, the honeymoon phase of my Kenya experience is over. I am more aware of the shortfalls of the country, of the problems that abound and of the changes that need to come. But it leaves me no less enamoured with the place. It IS an extremely beautiful country with lovely people – people I feel far closer to than many of the violent, negligent, gun-toting individuals back home …
There are 42 distinct ‘tribes’ spread across Kenya’s wide plains and there has been very little mixing over the years. So far, I have blogged a few details pertaining to a few of the tribes. Not long ago, I blogged about the Maasai and their ‘loan’ of land in Ngong to fellow Kenyans (but not to Mungiki).
I heard very recently that Nairobi is actually a Maa word meaning “place of clear waters” and that Nairobi is actually also Maasai land. This accounts for the fact that Martin and I nearly crashed into a cow crossing the road in Hurlingham the other day. This lone, leading cow was followed shortly by a great many others, and also by a Maasai herder that was taking them walkabout for a bit of grazing.
The Maasai have free grazing rights throughout Nairobi. Some years back, when the government of the day (Moi’s era, I think) tried to limit these grazing rights, the Maasai stated quite baldly that if the State wanted to limit their grazing, the State could quite simply give the Maasai land back! Did I hear the word “Whoa” emanating from Parliament Avenue?
And today, evidently, it is not uncommon for an informal, aspiring Keith Kirsten to lose all his potted stock to a Maasai herder’s hungry husbandry! Vooi tog!
One other bit of local lore ... I said before that the Kamba people are reputed to have ‘magic’. They are also reputed to be ‘lazy’, which is evidently why many Kamba men are gardeners and choose to loll around in the sun, in someone’s back yard! But as far as the magic goes, there is this story about the Kamba wife who was ‘fooling around’ a bit. She had this lover over one night (no doubt while hubby was riding his bicycle around town in the dead of night). They were kinda done with the throes of passion when the errant lover found that he could not ‘disengage’ … He was unable to ‘remove himself’ from his trespass! In time, the impish, round-headed Kamba husband returned home and scrutinized the scene to his satisfaction, issuing what were no doubt sufficient warnings to both parties. Once he was done with his diatribe he removed a cigarette lighter from his pocket and simply clicked it on … and the trespasser was freed of his bondage.
This story is so much a part of local legend that I have heard it separately from a few people already. Legend has it too that Kamba people don’t need to lock their doors at night. No-one dare enter their houses without permission!
You know it’s the rainy season in Kenya when there is constant advertising on radio for free mosquito nets and when all the supermarkets feature prominent promotions for anti-malarial potions and treatments. But the rainy season is truly beautiful, even if a little inconvenient at times … If you are walking in areas where there are no pavements (which are plenty) you have to slush around in the mud and have to beware each and every passing car and truck for fear of getting drenched in mud.
You know it’s rainy season in Kenya when one of your Meru staff gets constant calls from his Dad, imploring him to give up on the academic stuff and come help with the miraa farm. I told said researcher it might not be a bad idea considering the number of people I see chewing miraa (khat) these days! He declined.
I am toying with the idea of developing a ‘Kenya IQ’ test. Here are the first three questions …
Kikuyu is to money as Luo is to…
a) miraa
b) mosquito
c) mirror
Kikuyu is to money as Meru is to...
a) miraa
b) mosquito
c) mirror
Kikuyu is to money as Turkana is to...
a) miraa
b) mosquito
c) mirror
(Correct answers are c, a, b)
I suppose some indication of a country’s ‘spirit’ has to be drawn from the words one learns at the very start of one’s experience in the foreign land. In Kenya it has to do with the words themselves but also with the WAY in which these words are spoken. I have mentioned it before and give it brief mention here again: The Kenyan people speak beautifully, whether in their native tongue – Swahili mainly – or in English. There is music to their speak that is indescribably beautiful. So I won’t try to describe it … Just know it to be true.
The first word you learn in Kenya, because you hear it so often, is “Karibu” (you are welcome) or “Karibu sana” (you are very welcome). Then, quite quickly, you learn to say the appropriate “Thank you” (asante) or asante sana. Early on, you also hear “pole sana” (pronounced pour-lair), meaning “I am sorry” (for you and/or your experience) and the seemingly similar (yet quite distinct) “pole-pole” meaning “slowly”.
The personal pronouns of “you” (wewe) or “me” (mimi) follow quite quickly, as do …
Wapi? Where?
Nini? What?
Lini? When?
Nani? Who?
Gani? Which (type)?
Yakho You (different context to ‘wewe’)
Uko You (another context)
Hapa Here
Hapo There
Aenda I go
Twende We go
Mingi Big
Kubwa Huge
Kidogo Small
Kwa With
Kutoka kwa From
Na And/with/have (and a few other meanings)
Nzuri Good, fine
Poa(poh-ah) Very good, Beautiful, Pretty
Etcetera, etcetera.
And I absolutely love the use of the term “ni-nini” meaning a “what-what” - or what South Africans would call a ‘dingis’. Another expression that I love is “si ndyo?”, meaning “not so?”. Many a statement, on just about any subject, is followed by “si ndyo?” – “wouldn’t you say so, isn’t it true?” It is beautifully self-affirming and a statement to the effect that the orator is certainly being truthful in what he or she is saying.
I was fascinated by how the term “mumbo jumbo” got into English, realising it must indeed have come somewhere from Swahili. Both “Jambo” and “Mambo” are terms of greeting in Swahili, with the latter being the more informal. Eventually I think I have worked it out: I can only assume that the Colonials, being greeted, but not knowing what was being said to them, adopted the term to denote stuff they couldn’t understand …
Pole sana! (I am very sorry for you)
In case you’re interested, a typical start-up conversation in Swahili will go as follows:
“Mambo?” (an informal greeting that, formally, means “what’s news?” but is used as in “Howzit?”)
Your reply might be:
“Poa!” or “poa sana!” or even “poa-poa sana!” (if you are feeling exceptional)
Alternatively, you might reply that you are “not bad”:
“Si mbaye”
Or “bad”:
“mbaye” (although very seldom used!)
On Fridays, particularly, you will be prone to reply:
“Salaama” (at peace) or “Salaama kabisa” (entirely peaceful).
If it is good looking, as it walks away you might want to comment:
“Mrembo sana!” (you’re HOT) and then, possibly, you might add:
“Uko na matako kubwa poa sana” (your ass is huge and quite beautiful!)
(A particularly African compliment of the highest order)
The later comment might be more appropriate if “it” is female …
Needless to say, I love the language. It is quite beautiful, being infused with Arabic that gives it a softness that is quite distinct from the Zulu or Xhosa languages that derive from the same root, Bantu tongue.
The number of words in common usage that derive from Swahili is quite startling. Just three:
Safari Journey/travel
Maluumi Special person
Simba Lion (as in Simba chips)
(there are many more I have come across but can't exactly remember now!)
I have a Swahili dictionary but because I am learning more ‘street’ Swahili (‘Sheng’) from friends, a great many of the words I know are either not in the dictionary are in entirely different usage.
In the dictionary, the word “mrembo” is said to mean ‘a well-dressed person’. On the street it means “HOT” (in the personal sense - as opposed to “moto” (pronounced more-tor) which means ‘warm/hot/fire’ in a slightly less personal way).
Enough Swahili linguistic didactics.
On the weekend after SA’s general Zumalection the SA High Commission hosted a “South Meets East” concert at the Kenya National Museum grounds. The only SA artist on the bill was Lira and she was supported by two Kenyan artists, Eric Wainana and Valerie.
Eric was very good, performing a few tracks in Luo. Brenda came with me and she translated the Luo lyrics - all suitably tongue-in-cheek and infused with political innuendo. But I think Eric should probably stick to Swahili because from people I have spoken to it seems that a lot of Kenyans don’t “get” what he is saying ... The Luo double meanings tend to be understood at face value.
Valerie was OK and I would venture to say that there are a great many Kenyan acts that should rather have been on the bill.
But as for Lira … She was absolutely GREAT. She started the set with a slow, sultry jazz piece and opened her singing with the greeting:
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmbbbo?”
The crowd went absolutely WILD.
Her band was phenomenal and the drummer was so alive and funky he couldn’t stay in his seat. I had seen him in the gathering crowd earlier in the evening, with what looks like his brother (who plays keyboard and sax with the band). They were both dressed in Bosmont Hip-Hop Chic and memories of my friend, and fellow drummer, Ian Herman (ex Tananas, and now playing for Sting I believe), came to mind.
Lira finished her set with the award-winning “iXesha”. After she mentioned the title I was amazed to hear, all around me, Kenyans attempting the Xhosa back-of-the-tongue ‘click’ in the word (and largely failing). Kenyans REALLY LOVE the Xhosa clicking – at least some of the reason for Brenda Fassie’s popularity here.
Lira gave the song its introduction:
“iXesha means Time in Xhosa. And the title of this song really means …
Honey, baby, sweetheart, darling, honey-bunch, gorgeous ……
YOUR TIME IS UP!”
The response from the women in the crowd was nothing short of deafening and Lira had to wait a while before actually starting the song. What eventually followed was fantastic and I must admit to being just a little moved by her swaying, sassy performance (which I have on video).
At the end of the night I think Brenda was a little stunned by what she had seen. All she could say was:
“Wow, you South Africans have some GREAT performers!”
I’ll say.
I am specially fond of the old guy with the understated dance who wears the funky shirts. But I’m not so keen on the guy with the bipolar skull who is getting some kind of special place in SA society today.
Amani na mapenzi brothers and sisters.
B-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)