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-)
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-)
Pied Crows, Politics and People on the Fringe
Thursday, 9th April 2009
I think they are called Pied Crows. There are two of them. And they have started a mission to steal the dog’s meat and biscuits every morning. They are the size of those dumb Ibis that fly low over rooftops (barely making it!) in Johannesburg. But that’s where the similarity ends. These two crows are seriously clever and quick. And defiant. They squawk a lot in the morning and at night. And like many of the birds hereabouts, they are seriously carnivorous, much to the dog’s dislike.
‘The dog’ – a Shepherd-cross, spotted on the street by Brenda - goes by the name of Moshoeshoe (he of the Mountain Kingdom) – and barks like crazy as they steal her food. The crows just couldn’t give a damn and squawk at Mosh in the same tone as she delivers. She runs outside after them. They just hop away, back turned, and squawk from a distance!
Heckle and Jeckle got a fantastic feast the other night when I tossed the remnants of a black mamba onto the roof, after finding it asleep at night on the hitherto warm rock that forms part of the wall at my bedroom door. The mamba was still a baby (where’s mom, I wonder?!) and was almost stuck to the rock a sheer twelve inches off the floor. How did it get there, I thought sweetly, but then felt almost instinctively compelled to chop in two with the garden shears!
Black mambas are reputed (among others) to be quite capable of biting during the throes of death. I watched, with nervous flutters as a disembodied head bit frantically for about ten minutes after I had chopped this beauty of nature in half (in three, eventually)!
Mosh had been lying directly below the little curled specimen and I worried that she had been bitten – particularly when she showed definite signs of poisoning the next day. Her reaction would have been a bit late, considering, but it turns out I had OD’s her a bit on Frontline flea fluid! She was simply bilious for two days. She recovered admirably on day three, taking my shoes, and dragging all my scattered clothes into the garden, and looking on proudly.
The two Black Kites I mentioned before (Kevin and Bevin?) are still flying low over the roof these days and they are both amazing to watch when they settle into the huge, sparse acacia tree on the next-door property (viewed from the front veranda). We’re talking settling down with a 2 meter wingspan here… There’s a smaller kite that resides near the office that I sometimes watch from the office balcony. This one is continually doing small dives – probably for rats and mice – between the pines in the property next door. From the balcony we watch each other eye-to-eye!
Carnivores everywhere.
Good Friday, April 10, 2009
Later today, in the gardens of Nairobi’s favourite restaurant – The Carnivore – Jamaican reggae artist Morgan Heritage will be performing. I might go see the show. The throng of Nairobi’s huge reggae-fan-base will be there – and given the typical exuberant nature of Kenyans during any holiday - we can expect “fire” at the gig (as the Jamaicans would put it). I’ll unfortunately probably be one of very few mzungu faces at the gardens. Reggae isn’t exactly a ‘mixed’ thing in the present culture of Nairobi. The R170 entrance price might herald a few mzungus though.
Hopefully Morgan can spread a bit of peace and love because this society might just be on the brink of trouble (again) right now…
There has been a spate of resignations from government with recriminations and counter-recriminations that are threatening to split the already-fragile coalition government down the middle. Today’s papers are using Easter symbology (some corny, like the ‘Cross’ roads) to implore the members of all parties to chill out and be careful of what they might foster through their discord.
But, if truth be told, in Nairobi I don’t feel any of the tensions that supposedly exist in this country … There’s just a lot of lurve, and people getting on with things as they normally do. To what extent the politicians’ statements and actions are just political maneuvering and vying for a better place in the order of things to follow, I don’t know. A bit premature maybe.
But change is a coming methinks. Slowly AND surely.
I suppose I will have to go to Kisumu (soon) and see the burnt-out shells of buildings to get some sense of what happened here just over a year ago. There’s a book that’s been published, called Kenya Burning, that has some brilliant press photographs of last year’s post-election violence … some of the contents are pretty hectic, but there’s little we didn’t see in South Africa over the years – across all sides of the multifaceted political divides there. But one thing we did not see was the use of arrows in the struggle. There’s one picture in the book of a man sitting, waiting for medical attention, with an arrow-head immersed deep into his cheekbone. Alongside his photo is a lateral x-ray of his head, showing three inches of what-looks-like bone stuck in his cheek! He survived.
Political resignations have been going on while local students have been demonstrating quite frequently over the past week or two – often over the smallest pretext - clearly displaying their utter frustration at the State at play. A few have been shot (one or two lethally, but it’s not allowed to be real news here). And, again, there are definite rumblings afoot among the youth but, so far, no student ‘leader’ to speak of … Stephen Bantu Biko, uko wapi baba?
I DO get the slightest sense of a government starting – just starting – to lose its iron grip on the public. The people are pissed Mr. President. The cracks are starting to appear…
The GNU (Government of 'National Unity’) is starting to fall apart and all Kofi Annan has so far managed to do is look on, smiling affably, saying everything is doing fine (Kenyans don’t like criticism from outside but it’s expected to come from within. Mostly, much ado about nothing, but this is the stated reason for Kofi’s tepid tone).
There are clear dividing lines being formed for what I fear may become an extended – and very factional - battle for the future leadership of this country. Anti-Kikuyu, and anti-Kibaki, sentiment runs high. But there is factional leadership everywhere. And even many Kikuyus concede that last year’s election was ‘stolen’ from Raila Odinga’s Luo-led ‘Orange Democratic Movement’. Hence, it looks to me like Raila is making moves to re-assert his legitimate place in the government (the position of President, no less).
(I am not going to repeat earlier stuff I said about the ‘stealing’ of the election, the violence that followed, and the lack of political will, and ability, to deal with the aftermath. It’s there in previous blogs and is largely accurate.)
These are all parts of a web that looks like it’s being slowly unspun. The extent to which the ‘Hidden Hand’ I see at work here will be able to control the affairs of the immediate future will indicate the extent to which we might see the current government continue to rule with impunity, with its book of Stock Phrases and Empty Promises. Watch this space for details. I want to write more about the ‘Hidden Hand’ but need some observation and reflection on this subject still.
Enough Politics! Commercial Break:
There are something like 62 radio stations that ply the radio-waves in Nairobi! The Communications Commission of Kenya has trouble allocating frequencies because there are so few frequencies left. All the way from 88 to 106 or so, there’s a station every .3 to .5 Mhz (or whatever it is they measure FM in). Scattered among the East African stations (lots of talk in Swahili, Luo, Kamba, etc. with old-school East African music played) are rock stations, a reggae station, ‘classic’ and 'light' rock stations, R&B stations and various top-twenty ‘black/urban’ music stations. So far I haven’t heard a rap or hip-hop station, those genres being still a little 'rad' for Kenya.
But one thing is for sure; whoever does the (anonymous) late night mix on Capitol is someone to listen for in future. He/she must be sourcing the latest remixes off the Net because it’s one helluva show. If you’re reading this in Nairobi, listen to Capitol after 10pm! You won’t regret it if you like your music a bit on the wild side.
Listening to Nairobi radio stations, unless you have a digital tuner it becomes very difficult to find the station you were listening to yesterday. I skip through stations a lot and there’s some very good radio to be heard. But to find it again is another issue ... I’m surprised at the lack of advertising and I wonder how many of the stations survive. Capitol Radio has quite a bit of advertising (Safaricom, Zain and Coke) while Kiss FM is similarly popular with the agencies. But few of the other stations carry much by way of commercial interference. Even Metro – the very popular local reggae station - carries almost nothing in advertising. I thought it was called ‘commercial radio’ for a reason.
While we are talking advertising, I have to remark on the size of one consumer brand in Kenya. Not being much of a user of their product range, I didn’t realize it at first, but Nivea is absolutely massive in this country. The tendency for black skin to dry out if not regularly moisturized with mafuta (oil of some kind) is what makes this brand so big. Nivea has stand-alone kiosks within many of the supermarkets and Nivea products often enjoy the luxury of two or three facings on the supermarket shelves on their own.
I have previously mentioned the popularity of various ‘sodas’ in Kenya – not least Alvaro and Novida – but I am still surprised to see how many people choose to drink a warm soda from the shelf over a cold one from the check-out fridge! A warm Coke simply doesn’t have much appeal to me! But the one ‘beverage’ that takes them all on is pure bottled water. There are about 30 different brands you can get in Nairobi, hailing from all over the country, and they are mostly very good. My favourite is the extra-oxygenated Aquamist brand. The oxygen bubbles are quite groovy. One of the biggest sellers is the brand of water marketed by the Coca-Cola Company. It is not ‘spring’ water but is labeled ‘purified and balanced’. It is a few Shillings cheaper than other brands and sells very well.
Previously, I have noted the size and penetration of Hindu culture, and people, in Kenya. I was surprised recently to see the results of a staff survey carried out among over three thousand employees of a large Kenyan parastatal. They were asked who the worst employers in Kenya were. First they responded “government” generally, then the “police”, then “Asians”!
A recent friend of mine, a journalist formerly with Deutsche Welle, and an impish Kamba by the name of Peter, says that Kenyan motor dealers always try sell small Suzuki mini-vans to Asians because there is no front-end protection for them … Cruel, yes, but looking around me, I’m beginning to see what his acerbic wit was aiming at.
You seldom see an Asian Kenyan over thirty sitting with anyone other than another Asian. Unusually, I did see a VERY mixed group of young turks the other night at the Nakumatt Ukay, their shiny faces perhaps indicating they had been out ‘chewing’ together. (Maybe it was just moisturizer I was seeing, because their heavy perfume discounted the likelihood that they were serious khat converts.)
But seeing these guys, I wonder if maybe the next generation of Asian Kenyans will be a little different. Their fathers, probably my age and more, follow a 'typical' pattern and walk around (often Sikhs wearing turbans) with a very aloof and possibly superior sense about them. And many of them are obviously very rich. There is an obviously lack of integration - over successive generations spent here - that probably stems from the strength of Hindu culture. This is not a bad thing in itself but there seems to be a certain disdain for black Kenyans that does them no good here.
They live ‘apart’ and are seen ‘apart’. Their condescension toward the local population is subject to ridicule. In their use of Swahili we can see the image of baas-skap.
Asian Kenyans seem to prefer driving Mercedes, as opposed to the UN and NGO preference for big-ass four-wheel-drive vehicles. In Nairobi, I guess the Hindi cruising ground is the inner-city, and the Westlands/Parklands area. They are probably a lot more likely to fly to Kisumu than drive there … I believe the Kisumu Yacht Club is comprised almost exclusively of Asian Kenyans (not many of whom sail, I hear). And I believe many Hindu-owned shops were the target of aggression and looting last year – especially in the West, in Eldoret and Kisumu, and generally across the Luo land near the Lake.
They came here to build a railway. They stayed and built empires …
Yesterday, while editing the minutes of a management meeting, and sipping a wildly expensive cappuccino at the Art Café, I heard a young Asian lass speaking on her mobile to a friend, telling the friend that Cherie (or some such), was going to Paris for the Easter weekend! I’ll say!
But I guess mzungu culture in Nairobi is also quite weird. I went and jammed with a local rock group at their rehearsal the other night. A weird bunch of pretty straight old dudes (like me) playing some quite heavy acid-inspired rock. They play occasionally at a local restaurant (owned by one of four guitarists in the band!) and still have quite a small repertoire of songs – but chosen with taste. Comprised of American, Dutch and Belgian musicians (with a Congolese bass player), their musicianship is quite good.
The American blues-harp player is very good, even though he works in some very senior contract-position with the UN (you should just see the rented house…!). I think that during the jam I gave their resident drummer a bit of a fright (and I didn’t like it at all) but he was somehow a lot less friendly when I finished playing than before I started. But anyway, we jammed some great songs by the likes of Pink Floyd (Breathe), Led Zeppelin, and James Brown (I Feel Good and Sex Machine) and one or two numbers by Spruce Springclean. I’d enjoy playing with them again if there was ever another chance. They are well-equipped and the Belgian guitarist, playing a vintage Fender Telecaster, absolutely ROCKS.
While I was waiting for my turn at the traps I sat on the lounge settee and paged through a coffee-table book on “Kenya: 1927 to 1940”. The book features the most startling array of old photos from Kenya. I am told they were personally collected from the remaining mzungu families, plus archive material, and were painstakingly dated and compiled. The book is beautifully printed (locally) and the pictures have a warm sepia glow that seems to radiate from the page.
What a place this was. It still is, but some fifty plus years ago, Kenya was something else entirely!
There are photos of Kikuyu warriors that, I would venture, would have struck fear into the heart of most Pondo or Zulu warriors of the time. These guys were seriously scary and are often pictured with long headdresses, or dreadlocks, that look like they are heavily coated in ochre (these parts of the pictures seem to glow a little more). With long spears, and standing in formation (even when some Colonist is standing on his farm, trying to act real casual), they are a sight to behold! A picture of majestic clear-and-present danger that left me in awe.
Colonial Kenya: The mzungu bwana kneeling alongside the three lions he just killed. Arrays of two to three hundred tusks lined up outside the Asian General Dealer. The girls on the grass, playing croquet in their pre-war pinafores … that kind of thing … And the WILDEST shots of Africa you’ll ever get to see. But the Kikuyu warriors – in quite a few shots - have left an indelible impression. There’s a shot of a standoff between Maasai and Kikuyu (I think) that depicts 800 to 1000 men on each side, separated by dust ... and posturing. And it wasn’t long ago! I’ll see if I can get a scan of one or two of these pics for later insertion.
And during the week I heard an interview with the head of the new Kenya National Youth Alliance (read KeNYA, aka the ‘new’ Mungiki). It was frightening to listen to and I even got to work late after hearing denial after denial - and the occasional veiled threat - in his utterances to two female Capitol interviewers (who tried valiantly, I must say). There’s something like a Kikuyu Warrior/ Mau-Mau/ Mungiki thing going on here right now. And I’m not sure what it is exactly…
Yet the more I drive around Nairobi, the more aware I am of the fantastic heritage of beautiful houses the Brits left when they split the scene during what is commonly known as the time of Uhuru – the Mau-Mau time – in the late 50’s/early 60’s. Some of the really old houses in Nairobi are often nothing short of spectacular, with the best among them exclusively sporting majestic stone work. A tour of Colonial houses would probably do well among overnight visitors to Nairobi (on their way to a low-flight balloon trip across the Maasai Mara). Many of these houses were the original farm houses - and others have meantime been built between them in their necessary subdivision. Even the latter architecture – 60’s and 70’s - is often quite elegant but more prone to Mediterranean styles than Colonial. Evidence of very serious money is never far away in the suburbs of Nairobi.
There is a charity drive being planned in the marketing industry here to climb Mount Kenya (at roughly 14 000 ft, 2000 ft less than Kili) over an upcoming weekend. I am tempted - perhaps as the start of turning over a new leaf in the health department - to enroll myself and raise funds for Kenyans in need. The e-mail came complete with training instructions and lists of gear one needs to buy - or preferably hire at base camp!
(This means another visa stamp for Tanzania due to the fact that Queen Elizabeth ‘gave’ Mt.Kili – from Kenya to Tanzania – because a nephew or someone had interests in Tanzania!)
I’m tempted to train, and climb, not least of all because of another picture I saw in that book. It was absolutely amazing … the mzungus skating on the icy surface of a frozen lake, somewhere near the summit of Mt.Kenya.
I wonder of there’s still enough water, and little enough temperature, for there to be such an experience today? I was an avid skater in my misspent youth - and still want to go down Mombasa Road, to the Panari Hotel, and skate at the Sky Rink on its roof. So, to somehow skate – or even feign skating – at the top of a mountain in deepest, darkest Africa, would be fun.
But as long as I’m in Kenya, I wouldn’t want to take any chances by skating on thin ice.
As always, with laughter, peace and love.
B-)
I think they are called Pied Crows. There are two of them. And they have started a mission to steal the dog’s meat and biscuits every morning. They are the size of those dumb Ibis that fly low over rooftops (barely making it!) in Johannesburg. But that’s where the similarity ends. These two crows are seriously clever and quick. And defiant. They squawk a lot in the morning and at night. And like many of the birds hereabouts, they are seriously carnivorous, much to the dog’s dislike.
‘The dog’ – a Shepherd-cross, spotted on the street by Brenda - goes by the name of Moshoeshoe (he of the Mountain Kingdom) – and barks like crazy as they steal her food. The crows just couldn’t give a damn and squawk at Mosh in the same tone as she delivers. She runs outside after them. They just hop away, back turned, and squawk from a distance!
Heckle and Jeckle got a fantastic feast the other night when I tossed the remnants of a black mamba onto the roof, after finding it asleep at night on the hitherto warm rock that forms part of the wall at my bedroom door. The mamba was still a baby (where’s mom, I wonder?!) and was almost stuck to the rock a sheer twelve inches off the floor. How did it get there, I thought sweetly, but then felt almost instinctively compelled to chop in two with the garden shears!
Black mambas are reputed (among others) to be quite capable of biting during the throes of death. I watched, with nervous flutters as a disembodied head bit frantically for about ten minutes after I had chopped this beauty of nature in half (in three, eventually)!
Mosh had been lying directly below the little curled specimen and I worried that she had been bitten – particularly when she showed definite signs of poisoning the next day. Her reaction would have been a bit late, considering, but it turns out I had OD’s her a bit on Frontline flea fluid! She was simply bilious for two days. She recovered admirably on day three, taking my shoes, and dragging all my scattered clothes into the garden, and looking on proudly.
The two Black Kites I mentioned before (Kevin and Bevin?) are still flying low over the roof these days and they are both amazing to watch when they settle into the huge, sparse acacia tree on the next-door property (viewed from the front veranda). We’re talking settling down with a 2 meter wingspan here… There’s a smaller kite that resides near the office that I sometimes watch from the office balcony. This one is continually doing small dives – probably for rats and mice – between the pines in the property next door. From the balcony we watch each other eye-to-eye!
Carnivores everywhere.
Good Friday, April 10, 2009
Later today, in the gardens of Nairobi’s favourite restaurant – The Carnivore – Jamaican reggae artist Morgan Heritage will be performing. I might go see the show. The throng of Nairobi’s huge reggae-fan-base will be there – and given the typical exuberant nature of Kenyans during any holiday - we can expect “fire” at the gig (as the Jamaicans would put it). I’ll unfortunately probably be one of very few mzungu faces at the gardens. Reggae isn’t exactly a ‘mixed’ thing in the present culture of Nairobi. The R170 entrance price might herald a few mzungus though.
Hopefully Morgan can spread a bit of peace and love because this society might just be on the brink of trouble (again) right now…
There has been a spate of resignations from government with recriminations and counter-recriminations that are threatening to split the already-fragile coalition government down the middle. Today’s papers are using Easter symbology (some corny, like the ‘Cross’ roads) to implore the members of all parties to chill out and be careful of what they might foster through their discord.
But, if truth be told, in Nairobi I don’t feel any of the tensions that supposedly exist in this country … There’s just a lot of lurve, and people getting on with things as they normally do. To what extent the politicians’ statements and actions are just political maneuvering and vying for a better place in the order of things to follow, I don’t know. A bit premature maybe.
But change is a coming methinks. Slowly AND surely.
I suppose I will have to go to Kisumu (soon) and see the burnt-out shells of buildings to get some sense of what happened here just over a year ago. There’s a book that’s been published, called Kenya Burning, that has some brilliant press photographs of last year’s post-election violence … some of the contents are pretty hectic, but there’s little we didn’t see in South Africa over the years – across all sides of the multifaceted political divides there. But one thing we did not see was the use of arrows in the struggle. There’s one picture in the book of a man sitting, waiting for medical attention, with an arrow-head immersed deep into his cheekbone. Alongside his photo is a lateral x-ray of his head, showing three inches of what-looks-like bone stuck in his cheek! He survived.
Political resignations have been going on while local students have been demonstrating quite frequently over the past week or two – often over the smallest pretext - clearly displaying their utter frustration at the State at play. A few have been shot (one or two lethally, but it’s not allowed to be real news here). And, again, there are definite rumblings afoot among the youth but, so far, no student ‘leader’ to speak of … Stephen Bantu Biko, uko wapi baba?
I DO get the slightest sense of a government starting – just starting – to lose its iron grip on the public. The people are pissed Mr. President. The cracks are starting to appear…
The GNU (Government of 'National Unity’) is starting to fall apart and all Kofi Annan has so far managed to do is look on, smiling affably, saying everything is doing fine (Kenyans don’t like criticism from outside but it’s expected to come from within. Mostly, much ado about nothing, but this is the stated reason for Kofi’s tepid tone).
There are clear dividing lines being formed for what I fear may become an extended – and very factional - battle for the future leadership of this country. Anti-Kikuyu, and anti-Kibaki, sentiment runs high. But there is factional leadership everywhere. And even many Kikuyus concede that last year’s election was ‘stolen’ from Raila Odinga’s Luo-led ‘Orange Democratic Movement’. Hence, it looks to me like Raila is making moves to re-assert his legitimate place in the government (the position of President, no less).
(I am not going to repeat earlier stuff I said about the ‘stealing’ of the election, the violence that followed, and the lack of political will, and ability, to deal with the aftermath. It’s there in previous blogs and is largely accurate.)
These are all parts of a web that looks like it’s being slowly unspun. The extent to which the ‘Hidden Hand’ I see at work here will be able to control the affairs of the immediate future will indicate the extent to which we might see the current government continue to rule with impunity, with its book of Stock Phrases and Empty Promises. Watch this space for details. I want to write more about the ‘Hidden Hand’ but need some observation and reflection on this subject still.
Enough Politics! Commercial Break:
There are something like 62 radio stations that ply the radio-waves in Nairobi! The Communications Commission of Kenya has trouble allocating frequencies because there are so few frequencies left. All the way from 88 to 106 or so, there’s a station every .3 to .5 Mhz (or whatever it is they measure FM in). Scattered among the East African stations (lots of talk in Swahili, Luo, Kamba, etc. with old-school East African music played) are rock stations, a reggae station, ‘classic’ and 'light' rock stations, R&B stations and various top-twenty ‘black/urban’ music stations. So far I haven’t heard a rap or hip-hop station, those genres being still a little 'rad' for Kenya.
But one thing is for sure; whoever does the (anonymous) late night mix on Capitol is someone to listen for in future. He/she must be sourcing the latest remixes off the Net because it’s one helluva show. If you’re reading this in Nairobi, listen to Capitol after 10pm! You won’t regret it if you like your music a bit on the wild side.
Listening to Nairobi radio stations, unless you have a digital tuner it becomes very difficult to find the station you were listening to yesterday. I skip through stations a lot and there’s some very good radio to be heard. But to find it again is another issue ... I’m surprised at the lack of advertising and I wonder how many of the stations survive. Capitol Radio has quite a bit of advertising (Safaricom, Zain and Coke) while Kiss FM is similarly popular with the agencies. But few of the other stations carry much by way of commercial interference. Even Metro – the very popular local reggae station - carries almost nothing in advertising. I thought it was called ‘commercial radio’ for a reason.
While we are talking advertising, I have to remark on the size of one consumer brand in Kenya. Not being much of a user of their product range, I didn’t realize it at first, but Nivea is absolutely massive in this country. The tendency for black skin to dry out if not regularly moisturized with mafuta (oil of some kind) is what makes this brand so big. Nivea has stand-alone kiosks within many of the supermarkets and Nivea products often enjoy the luxury of two or three facings on the supermarket shelves on their own.
I have previously mentioned the popularity of various ‘sodas’ in Kenya – not least Alvaro and Novida – but I am still surprised to see how many people choose to drink a warm soda from the shelf over a cold one from the check-out fridge! A warm Coke simply doesn’t have much appeal to me! But the one ‘beverage’ that takes them all on is pure bottled water. There are about 30 different brands you can get in Nairobi, hailing from all over the country, and they are mostly very good. My favourite is the extra-oxygenated Aquamist brand. The oxygen bubbles are quite groovy. One of the biggest sellers is the brand of water marketed by the Coca-Cola Company. It is not ‘spring’ water but is labeled ‘purified and balanced’. It is a few Shillings cheaper than other brands and sells very well.
Previously, I have noted the size and penetration of Hindu culture, and people, in Kenya. I was surprised recently to see the results of a staff survey carried out among over three thousand employees of a large Kenyan parastatal. They were asked who the worst employers in Kenya were. First they responded “government” generally, then the “police”, then “Asians”!
A recent friend of mine, a journalist formerly with Deutsche Welle, and an impish Kamba by the name of Peter, says that Kenyan motor dealers always try sell small Suzuki mini-vans to Asians because there is no front-end protection for them … Cruel, yes, but looking around me, I’m beginning to see what his acerbic wit was aiming at.
You seldom see an Asian Kenyan over thirty sitting with anyone other than another Asian. Unusually, I did see a VERY mixed group of young turks the other night at the Nakumatt Ukay, their shiny faces perhaps indicating they had been out ‘chewing’ together. (Maybe it was just moisturizer I was seeing, because their heavy perfume discounted the likelihood that they were serious khat converts.)
But seeing these guys, I wonder if maybe the next generation of Asian Kenyans will be a little different. Their fathers, probably my age and more, follow a 'typical' pattern and walk around (often Sikhs wearing turbans) with a very aloof and possibly superior sense about them. And many of them are obviously very rich. There is an obviously lack of integration - over successive generations spent here - that probably stems from the strength of Hindu culture. This is not a bad thing in itself but there seems to be a certain disdain for black Kenyans that does them no good here.
They live ‘apart’ and are seen ‘apart’. Their condescension toward the local population is subject to ridicule. In their use of Swahili we can see the image of baas-skap.
Asian Kenyans seem to prefer driving Mercedes, as opposed to the UN and NGO preference for big-ass four-wheel-drive vehicles. In Nairobi, I guess the Hindi cruising ground is the inner-city, and the Westlands/Parklands area. They are probably a lot more likely to fly to Kisumu than drive there … I believe the Kisumu Yacht Club is comprised almost exclusively of Asian Kenyans (not many of whom sail, I hear). And I believe many Hindu-owned shops were the target of aggression and looting last year – especially in the West, in Eldoret and Kisumu, and generally across the Luo land near the Lake.
They came here to build a railway. They stayed and built empires …
Yesterday, while editing the minutes of a management meeting, and sipping a wildly expensive cappuccino at the Art Café, I heard a young Asian lass speaking on her mobile to a friend, telling the friend that Cherie (or some such), was going to Paris for the Easter weekend! I’ll say!
But I guess mzungu culture in Nairobi is also quite weird. I went and jammed with a local rock group at their rehearsal the other night. A weird bunch of pretty straight old dudes (like me) playing some quite heavy acid-inspired rock. They play occasionally at a local restaurant (owned by one of four guitarists in the band!) and still have quite a small repertoire of songs – but chosen with taste. Comprised of American, Dutch and Belgian musicians (with a Congolese bass player), their musicianship is quite good.
The American blues-harp player is very good, even though he works in some very senior contract-position with the UN (you should just see the rented house…!). I think that during the jam I gave their resident drummer a bit of a fright (and I didn’t like it at all) but he was somehow a lot less friendly when I finished playing than before I started. But anyway, we jammed some great songs by the likes of Pink Floyd (Breathe), Led Zeppelin, and James Brown (I Feel Good and Sex Machine) and one or two numbers by Spruce Springclean. I’d enjoy playing with them again if there was ever another chance. They are well-equipped and the Belgian guitarist, playing a vintage Fender Telecaster, absolutely ROCKS.
While I was waiting for my turn at the traps I sat on the lounge settee and paged through a coffee-table book on “Kenya: 1927 to 1940”. The book features the most startling array of old photos from Kenya. I am told they were personally collected from the remaining mzungu families, plus archive material, and were painstakingly dated and compiled. The book is beautifully printed (locally) and the pictures have a warm sepia glow that seems to radiate from the page.
What a place this was. It still is, but some fifty plus years ago, Kenya was something else entirely!
There are photos of Kikuyu warriors that, I would venture, would have struck fear into the heart of most Pondo or Zulu warriors of the time. These guys were seriously scary and are often pictured with long headdresses, or dreadlocks, that look like they are heavily coated in ochre (these parts of the pictures seem to glow a little more). With long spears, and standing in formation (even when some Colonist is standing on his farm, trying to act real casual), they are a sight to behold! A picture of majestic clear-and-present danger that left me in awe.
Colonial Kenya: The mzungu bwana kneeling alongside the three lions he just killed. Arrays of two to three hundred tusks lined up outside the Asian General Dealer. The girls on the grass, playing croquet in their pre-war pinafores … that kind of thing … And the WILDEST shots of Africa you’ll ever get to see. But the Kikuyu warriors – in quite a few shots - have left an indelible impression. There’s a shot of a standoff between Maasai and Kikuyu (I think) that depicts 800 to 1000 men on each side, separated by dust ... and posturing. And it wasn’t long ago! I’ll see if I can get a scan of one or two of these pics for later insertion.
And during the week I heard an interview with the head of the new Kenya National Youth Alliance (read KeNYA, aka the ‘new’ Mungiki). It was frightening to listen to and I even got to work late after hearing denial after denial - and the occasional veiled threat - in his utterances to two female Capitol interviewers (who tried valiantly, I must say). There’s something like a Kikuyu Warrior/ Mau-Mau/ Mungiki thing going on here right now. And I’m not sure what it is exactly…
Yet the more I drive around Nairobi, the more aware I am of the fantastic heritage of beautiful houses the Brits left when they split the scene during what is commonly known as the time of Uhuru – the Mau-Mau time – in the late 50’s/early 60’s. Some of the really old houses in Nairobi are often nothing short of spectacular, with the best among them exclusively sporting majestic stone work. A tour of Colonial houses would probably do well among overnight visitors to Nairobi (on their way to a low-flight balloon trip across the Maasai Mara). Many of these houses were the original farm houses - and others have meantime been built between them in their necessary subdivision. Even the latter architecture – 60’s and 70’s - is often quite elegant but more prone to Mediterranean styles than Colonial. Evidence of very serious money is never far away in the suburbs of Nairobi.
There is a charity drive being planned in the marketing industry here to climb Mount Kenya (at roughly 14 000 ft, 2000 ft less than Kili) over an upcoming weekend. I am tempted - perhaps as the start of turning over a new leaf in the health department - to enroll myself and raise funds for Kenyans in need. The e-mail came complete with training instructions and lists of gear one needs to buy - or preferably hire at base camp!
(This means another visa stamp for Tanzania due to the fact that Queen Elizabeth ‘gave’ Mt.Kili – from Kenya to Tanzania – because a nephew or someone had interests in Tanzania!)
I’m tempted to train, and climb, not least of all because of another picture I saw in that book. It was absolutely amazing … the mzungus skating on the icy surface of a frozen lake, somewhere near the summit of Mt.Kenya.
I wonder of there’s still enough water, and little enough temperature, for there to be such an experience today? I was an avid skater in my misspent youth - and still want to go down Mombasa Road, to the Panari Hotel, and skate at the Sky Rink on its roof. So, to somehow skate – or even feign skating – at the top of a mountain in deepest, darkest Africa, would be fun.
But as long as I’m in Kenya, I wouldn’t want to take any chances by skating on thin ice.
As always, with laughter, peace and love.
B-)
Races and faces from various places (with apologies to Dr.Suess)
In the same way that Johannesburg is the melting pot of southern Africa, Nairobi is the melting pot for the whole East Africa region, being the most highly urbanized city in the region, and also bearing the same ingredients of plentiful crime and poverty that beset Johannesburg.
One regularly sees Somali, Ethiopian and Sudanese men and women plying their trade, or simply walking, on the streets of (particularly downtown) Nairobi. Eastleigh is the unofficial free-trade area for these people and driving in the area is fraught with duelling dusty busses that have just arrived from Mogadishu, Juba, and Addis Ababa. Somali women dressed in black are often refered to, jokingly, as "Isili" (as in 'Eastleigh')...
Ethiopian women (the younger ones) in Nairobi are sometimes seen wearing very long dreadlocks, and generalised legend has it that they are the most beautiful in this part of Africa. I can't say I always agree. There was a lone, fine-featured Ethiopian woman I saw at a club's 'Reggae Night' once. Her dreadlocks had obviously been growing since childhood and were wound around her head in a veritable ‘nest’ of hoops and swirling circles, with the occasional errant lock falling to the middle of her back. With a middle-Eastern, somewhat Judaic ‘look’, and semi-Caucasian skin tone, her hair was clearly a lot ‘softer’ than that of the Bantu-African peoples, and, in her case, had been bleached light brown by the sun.
The people of South Sudan are noticeable for their height and most are probably over six feet tall. The older men seem often to have trouble with their legs, perhaps because of this height. The Sudanese are a Nilotic people and their history runs parallel with the history of the Nile River Valley that starts at Lake Victoria. Many men from South Sudan (and much fewer women) are refugess from the fighting between the Dinka and Nuer tribes that seems to continue unabated, despite a few attempts at peace talks and mediation.
The diversity of what one sees in Nairobi covers all the above, aplenty. It is such that there is an abiding interest in who-is-who-in-the-Nairobi-zoo. Ambiguously-non-Bantu people (like, for example, a Somali woman not dressed in black) will walk past, and the comments will issue forth:
“… Somali…”
“… No, she’s Ethiopian”
“… Not tall enough to be Sudanese …”
“… No, she’s a Luo chick …”
(I jest but it's not that untrue)
One would notice Nairobi’s diversity that much more if it weren’t for the fact that so many people from neighbouring countries are not that distinct from Kenyans: On the whole this applies to the Bantu people of the region. For example, one won’t tell a Tanzanian from a Kenyan (I won’t tell, anyway) until the former starts to speak Swahili. I have noted before that it is a different Swahili, soft and lyrical. As I have noted too, the Ugandans are ‘bigger’ than the average Kenyan, and Ugandans speak Luganda, yet their ‘look’ is not that distinct that one readily sees the difference. Good looking men, on the whole.
It is among the non-Bantu people in this region that the differences are easy to see. The non-Bantu people are mainly ‘Nilotic’ in origin and in Kenya, first up are the Luo people who live (traditionally) on the ‘lake side’. They typically have the fabled ‘eyes of Cleopatra’. In Uganda, just the ‘other side’ of the lake, there are also Luo people. Initially this was surprising to me – and it was explained to me by reference to ‘travel’ - until I realized that the borders between the countries were drawn up by (largely ignorant) Colonists who saw nothing of the ethnic unity that existed across their imposed territoriality. The Luo of Kenya share exactly the same origins as the Luo of Uganda, the only difference today being that they have both undergone genetic changes as a result of their enforced association with other peoples (principally via the limitations imposed by the exigencies of cross-border travel). And in both countries, Luo surnames most often start with the letter “O”.
The Luo are known as 'proud people' and in Kenya, at least, there seems to have been very little deviation from the original genetic pool. They are particularly ‘dark’ in complexion – dark brown - but not quite the same dark colour as the ‘black’ African skin one sees in the west of the African continent. They are big people, and non-Luo women sometimes remark (slightly jealously) on the Luo women’s skin texture. Their skin is often very smooth and soft. The Nilotes of South Sudan (Nuer and Dinka tribes) are quite closely related to the Luo. The Luo, Dinka and Nuer peoples are all known as 'Lake Nilotes' as opposed to 'Plain Nilotes'.
The Plain Nilotes mainly comprise the Kalenjin, from where most of Kenya’s long-distance champions come, and the Maasai.
The Kalenjin, like the Maasai, are a 'warrior nation'. They are noted for smaller eyes and slight frame atop long, thin legs. Daniel Arap Moi, who was Kenya's president for 27 years, is Kalenjin and, at time of writing, 90-something and still very much alive.
Of course, this discussion of people in Kenya would not be complete without mentioning the Maasai. There are various ‘Maasai’ groups, all of which speak minor dialect variations of the Maa language. The Maasai are quite closely related to the Samburu and less so to the Turkana in the north of Kenya.
The Maasai of the Serengeti live on both sides of the Kenya-Tanzania border. On any day, one might find a few of them riding a bus from Arusha, Tanzania, to say, Namanga on the Kenyan side. When the bus is a little distance from the border, someone gets on to check their (usually shabby) travel papers (never a passport). When the bus stops at the border post, they don't get off but just wait for the bus to continue its ride, having already had their papers checked. The Serengeti is still their place and the drawing of arbitrary borders between Tanzania and Kenya never changed much for them.
The Samburu are often quite decorative in their dress. On special occasions (like when Moses the taxi driver came to my house for the first time), Samburu will be seen in full battle dress but also adorned with trinkets, bracelets, chains and talismans all over their person. It is exceptionally beautiful to see and it can be quite humbling to be in a Samburu’s presence.
The Maasai from the Mara seem to be more ‘down-to-earth’. They are pastoralists, famed for their drinking of blood and milk from the live cow. Some research I was exposed to recently cites the fact that the Maasai from Arusha liken the eating of vegetables to ‘being a goat’. It is not something they do with much gusto despite attempts by NGOs to counter rising malnutrition and develop a vegetable-eating habit among Maasai children.
These are bits of rural Kenya and surrounds that are seen in Nairobi. This, of course, says little of the rural Kenya that has remained the same for quite some time now. This is the Kenya that people call the ‘original Africa’… the image that comes to mind when one hears the Swahili word ‘safari’ (to travel). It is the land of lions (‘simba’ in Swahili), elephants, and plenty of giraffe. I have seen very little of this Kenya so far but we can only hope that it stays the way it is, at least until I get a chance to see it all! … Wild animals, warriors, tribes, and chieftainships.
So, what (really) is the point of all this writing? It is to say that Kenya is seriously diverse, and there’s a very high level of tolerance for other people and nations. People from all over Africa are seen regularly in Nairobi. Everyone is just getting on with life, doing their 'thing', whatever that is. Witnessing this is both illuminating and exciting (for me, anyway). The problems facing Kenya (internally) stem from an essential distrust between various of the resident people. That they have different ‘ethnic roots’ - on an 'ancient' scale - probably exacerbates the problems they experience.
It will all be okay in the end... it's all okaynow, really.
Peace and Love, Amani na Upendo, to everyone.
B-)
One regularly sees Somali, Ethiopian and Sudanese men and women plying their trade, or simply walking, on the streets of (particularly downtown) Nairobi. Eastleigh is the unofficial free-trade area for these people and driving in the area is fraught with duelling dusty busses that have just arrived from Mogadishu, Juba, and Addis Ababa. Somali women dressed in black are often refered to, jokingly, as "Isili" (as in 'Eastleigh')...
Ethiopian women (the younger ones) in Nairobi are sometimes seen wearing very long dreadlocks, and generalised legend has it that they are the most beautiful in this part of Africa. I can't say I always agree. There was a lone, fine-featured Ethiopian woman I saw at a club's 'Reggae Night' once. Her dreadlocks had obviously been growing since childhood and were wound around her head in a veritable ‘nest’ of hoops and swirling circles, with the occasional errant lock falling to the middle of her back. With a middle-Eastern, somewhat Judaic ‘look’, and semi-Caucasian skin tone, her hair was clearly a lot ‘softer’ than that of the Bantu-African peoples, and, in her case, had been bleached light brown by the sun.
The people of South Sudan are noticeable for their height and most are probably over six feet tall. The older men seem often to have trouble with their legs, perhaps because of this height. The Sudanese are a Nilotic people and their history runs parallel with the history of the Nile River Valley that starts at Lake Victoria. Many men from South Sudan (and much fewer women) are refugess from the fighting between the Dinka and Nuer tribes that seems to continue unabated, despite a few attempts at peace talks and mediation.
The diversity of what one sees in Nairobi covers all the above, aplenty. It is such that there is an abiding interest in who-is-who-in-the-Nairobi-zoo. Ambiguously-non-Bantu people (like, for example, a Somali woman not dressed in black) will walk past, and the comments will issue forth:
“… Somali…”
“… No, she’s Ethiopian”
“… Not tall enough to be Sudanese …”
“… No, she’s a Luo chick …”
(I jest but it's not that untrue)
One would notice Nairobi’s diversity that much more if it weren’t for the fact that so many people from neighbouring countries are not that distinct from Kenyans: On the whole this applies to the Bantu people of the region. For example, one won’t tell a Tanzanian from a Kenyan (I won’t tell, anyway) until the former starts to speak Swahili. I have noted before that it is a different Swahili, soft and lyrical. As I have noted too, the Ugandans are ‘bigger’ than the average Kenyan, and Ugandans speak Luganda, yet their ‘look’ is not that distinct that one readily sees the difference. Good looking men, on the whole.
It is among the non-Bantu people in this region that the differences are easy to see. The non-Bantu people are mainly ‘Nilotic’ in origin and in Kenya, first up are the Luo people who live (traditionally) on the ‘lake side’. They typically have the fabled ‘eyes of Cleopatra’. In Uganda, just the ‘other side’ of the lake, there are also Luo people. Initially this was surprising to me – and it was explained to me by reference to ‘travel’ - until I realized that the borders between the countries were drawn up by (largely ignorant) Colonists who saw nothing of the ethnic unity that existed across their imposed territoriality. The Luo of Kenya share exactly the same origins as the Luo of Uganda, the only difference today being that they have both undergone genetic changes as a result of their enforced association with other peoples (principally via the limitations imposed by the exigencies of cross-border travel). And in both countries, Luo surnames most often start with the letter “O”.The Luo are known as 'proud people' and in Kenya, at least, there seems to have been very little deviation from the original genetic pool. They are particularly ‘dark’ in complexion – dark brown - but not quite the same dark colour as the ‘black’ African skin one sees in the west of the African continent. They are big people, and non-Luo women sometimes remark (slightly jealously) on the Luo women’s skin texture. Their skin is often very smooth and soft. The Nilotes of South Sudan (Nuer and Dinka tribes) are quite closely related to the Luo. The Luo, Dinka and Nuer peoples are all known as 'Lake Nilotes' as opposed to 'Plain Nilotes'.
The Plain Nilotes mainly comprise the Kalenjin, from where most of Kenya’s long-distance champions come, and the Maasai.
The Kalenjin, like the Maasai, are a 'warrior nation'. They are noted for smaller eyes and slight frame atop long, thin legs. Daniel Arap Moi, who was Kenya's president for 27 years, is Kalenjin and, at time of writing, 90-something and still very much alive.
Of course, this discussion of people in Kenya would not be complete without mentioning the Maasai. There are various ‘Maasai’ groups, all of which speak minor dialect variations of the Maa language. The Maasai are quite closely related to the Samburu and less so to the Turkana in the north of Kenya.
The Maasai of the Serengeti live on both sides of the Kenya-Tanzania border. On any day, one might find a few of them riding a bus from Arusha, Tanzania, to say, Namanga on the Kenyan side. When the bus is a little distance from the border, someone gets on to check their (usually shabby) travel papers (never a passport). When the bus stops at the border post, they don't get off but just wait for the bus to continue its ride, having already had their papers checked. The Serengeti is still their place and the drawing of arbitrary borders between Tanzania and Kenya never changed much for them.
The Samburu are often quite decorative in their dress. On special occasions (like when Moses the taxi driver came to my house for the first time), Samburu will be seen in full battle dress but also adorned with trinkets, bracelets, chains and talismans all over their person. It is exceptionally beautiful to see and it can be quite humbling to be in a Samburu’s presence.
The Maasai from the Mara seem to be more ‘down-to-earth’. They are pastoralists, famed for their drinking of blood and milk from the live cow. Some research I was exposed to recently cites the fact that the Maasai from Arusha liken the eating of vegetables to ‘being a goat’. It is not something they do with much gusto despite attempts by NGOs to counter rising malnutrition and develop a vegetable-eating habit among Maasai children.
These are bits of rural Kenya and surrounds that are seen in Nairobi. This, of course, says little of the rural Kenya that has remained the same for quite some time now. This is the Kenya that people call the ‘original Africa’… the image that comes to mind when one hears the Swahili word ‘safari’ (to travel). It is the land of lions (‘simba’ in Swahili), elephants, and plenty of giraffe. I have seen very little of this Kenya so far but we can only hope that it stays the way it is, at least until I get a chance to see it all! … Wild animals, warriors, tribes, and chieftainships.
So, what (really) is the point of all this writing? It is to say that Kenya is seriously diverse, and there’s a very high level of tolerance for other people and nations. People from all over Africa are seen regularly in Nairobi. Everyone is just getting on with life, doing their 'thing', whatever that is. Witnessing this is both illuminating and exciting (for me, anyway). The problems facing Kenya (internally) stem from an essential distrust between various of the resident people. That they have different ‘ethnic roots’ - on an 'ancient' scale - probably exacerbates the problems they experience.
It will all be okay in the end... it's all okaynow, really.
Peace and Love, Amani na Upendo, to everyone.
B-)
Alive with possibilities ...
Brenda is a self-proclaimed “reggae-chick”. This means she has a date downtown on a Wednesday night, with the throng of Nairobi’s reggae lovers. She starts getting herself ready at around 10 on a Wednesday. Then I know she’s going down to Madhouse for a few hours, even if I’m not going.
On Wednesday night we were both at Reggae Night. I didn’t dance because I’m getting a bit bored with hearing much the same music week-after-week (there’s obviously no new reggae coming into Nairobi). But I relaxed, and enjoyed the old tracks anyway. Brenda danced a few lacklustre times, being similarly bored.
I just lounged, and watched the passing parade (listening to regular features of Lucky Dube tracks). We got there early, and we left much earlier than usual …
But a little before this …
There I was, chilling, doing a bit of a slouch on the couch, making a backrest of Brenda’s long limbs, when I heard her exclaim something in rapid, unintelligible Swahili.
I caught only the last word.
It was ….. “... Maasai!”
I looked in the general direction of her pointed exclamation and saw ‘it’ …
Long bare legs, very thin, and skin the colour of ash. He wore beaded bracelets around both ankles. His feet were bare but for a pair of hand-made Maasai ‘treads’. He was wearing one of those knitted caps, worn in Jamaica, shaped like a top-hat. He sported a black regulation-style vest, Maasai-midi-blanket and a long cream jacket modestly covering his calves. His face reminded me of the meerkat in The Lion King, small and round. His thick dreadlocks were spiraling out of control from under the hat.
He stood around for a minute and went to dance almost immediately. Facing me, I could see thick rows of Maasai beads, in multiple arrays around his neck. At the bottom of one necklace was a small gourd of sorts.
Brenda saw it first and exclaimed, slightly under her breath:
“Maasai Rasta Ju-Ju Man !!! ..... HeHeeeeeeeeeeyyy, Baba!”
The real deal folks. And dancing with the coolest, nonchalant style I have seen in a while.
The Madhouse dancefloor was being pounded with amorphous low frequencies. Everyone was rocking with the Maasai. He started taking the coat off - revealing the vest, and even more beaded necklaces. He kind of let the coat hang on his elbows, seemingly wondering if he should reveal all.
Brenda and I stood transfixed at this apparition before us. She has never seen anything like it in Nairobi. And certainly neither have I (my best so far is the Maasai in Ngong town using his mobile – picture at bottom of previous blog)
But I think the Maasai Rasta Ju-Ju Man got a bit self-conscious from the stares engulfing him. He quickly replaced the jacket and left the dancefloor, not to be seen again.
Where else but in Kenya? Just one of the reasons why I love this place so much.
All I can say right now is "Yes, weekend!"
Have a good one, all.
B-)
On Wednesday night we were both at Reggae Night. I didn’t dance because I’m getting a bit bored with hearing much the same music week-after-week (there’s obviously no new reggae coming into Nairobi). But I relaxed, and enjoyed the old tracks anyway. Brenda danced a few lacklustre times, being similarly bored.
I just lounged, and watched the passing parade (listening to regular features of Lucky Dube tracks). We got there early, and we left much earlier than usual …
But a little before this …
There I was, chilling, doing a bit of a slouch on the couch, making a backrest of Brenda’s long limbs, when I heard her exclaim something in rapid, unintelligible Swahili.
I caught only the last word.
It was ….. “... Maasai!”
I looked in the general direction of her pointed exclamation and saw ‘it’ …
Long bare legs, very thin, and skin the colour of ash. He wore beaded bracelets around both ankles. His feet were bare but for a pair of hand-made Maasai ‘treads’. He was wearing one of those knitted caps, worn in Jamaica, shaped like a top-hat. He sported a black regulation-style vest, Maasai-midi-blanket and a long cream jacket modestly covering his calves. His face reminded me of the meerkat in The Lion King, small and round. His thick dreadlocks were spiraling out of control from under the hat.
He stood around for a minute and went to dance almost immediately. Facing me, I could see thick rows of Maasai beads, in multiple arrays around his neck. At the bottom of one necklace was a small gourd of sorts.
Brenda saw it first and exclaimed, slightly under her breath:
“Maasai Rasta Ju-Ju Man !!! ..... HeHeeeeeeeeeeyyy, Baba!”
The real deal folks. And dancing with the coolest, nonchalant style I have seen in a while.
The Madhouse dancefloor was being pounded with amorphous low frequencies. Everyone was rocking with the Maasai. He started taking the coat off - revealing the vest, and even more beaded necklaces. He kind of let the coat hang on his elbows, seemingly wondering if he should reveal all.
Brenda and I stood transfixed at this apparition before us. She has never seen anything like it in Nairobi. And certainly neither have I (my best so far is the Maasai in Ngong town using his mobile – picture at bottom of previous blog)
But I think the Maasai Rasta Ju-Ju Man got a bit self-conscious from the stares engulfing him. He quickly replaced the jacket and left the dancefloor, not to be seen again.
Where else but in Kenya? Just one of the reasons why I love this place so much.
All I can say right now is "Yes, weekend!"
Have a good one, all.
B-)
Tale of Two Cities (and then another one...)
Kampala, Uganda: Sunday, 1st March to Wednesday, 4th March 2009>
Before you get to Lake Victoria, the distinct bank of clouds lining land’s end warns you that you’re about to encounter ‘weather’. The jet moves from equatorial summer to rainforest-rain in a matter of seconds and suddenly starts to dip and drop. But as quickly as it started, it ends. Then it starts briefly again. And so on, for the 600 plus kilometers from Nairobi, across the greatest lake, to Kampala. The seatbelt bell goes ‘ping’ and ‘pong’ as the plane encounters repeated patches of equatorial squall.
Flying across Lake Victoria, I was awed by the sheer size and volume. It is HUGE and even from the plane – at 32 000 feet - one has some difficulty seeing the one end from the other! What are obviously large fishing vessels appear as pinpricks.
A massive murky grey-green lakescape below. Polluted to hell I hear, replete with festering water-hyacinth.
Descending to ‘lake-level’, about to land at Entebbe was very beautiful though. With a little skrik (fright), it reminded me of landing at JFK, with the water’s edge just shy of the runway’s end. Except that here it’s the equatorial jungle and not a concrete jungle that borders on the runway. Again, as with Dar es Salaam, the tall palms are everywhere, but the vegetation is a lot more dense, and obviously wetter.
Our Boeing 737-300 had landed next to a very long, bright-white plane with the letters UN painted in sans-serif blue on the side. There were lots of people on the runway as we entered the airport building and I stopped to see Ban Ki-Moon come down the stairs with his entourage (fresh from a trip to Rwanda and moving on to Tanzania), being greeted by senior officials of the Ugandan government. Security seemed quite lax.
The sign at Entebbe airport says “Welcome to the Pearl of Africa”, the moniker given to Uganda by Winston Churchill. Entebbe used to be the capitol city of Uganda and remains the home of President Museveni, with State House (recently renovated and painted) sitting white-and-brightly proud on the hill as you leave the small, beautiful ‘town’ of Entebbe .
It is 42 kms from Entebbe to Kampala and you travel down a well tarred road running past hundreds of little stalls (many of them MTN “Yello” and many of them Zain mauve), with what seem like thousands of Indian and Chinese motorcycles plying the road in both directions. I was to find that the motorcycle, or “bora-bora”, is the favoured form of transport for those wanting to get from one end of Kampala to the other - through increasingly congested streets.
Traffic on the streets of Kampala is nearing what one has to endure in Nairobi. But unlike in Nairobi, the matatus here (what Ugandans call ‘tatus’) are very well behaved. They are uniformly painted white, with blue chevrons around the midline, and are markedly more roadworthy than those in Nairobi. And, what’s more, you don’t get threatened with a view of the vanishing road when you pull out alongside them. They actually pull to the side and let you pass! Vehicles are right-hand drive as in Nairobi and South Africa.
As you near Kampala you see the first of the high-rise buildings, between two hills. With the country having experienced between 6% and 7% growth, year-on-year, for the last ten years, many of the buildings are quite new and often feature striking modern architecture. My cab driver, a Muslim in a predominantly Christian (and strongly Catholic) country, tells me it is a city built on seven hills. Jaime says Kampala should be twin to Lisbon, the original City of Seven Hills. Both cities are surely beautiful.
Driving in a regulation-white heavy Toyota sedan, we approached Kampala quite fast. As we caught sight of the two most prominent hills of the city, I could see outlines of modern buildings through a thick haze. The cab driver remarked casually that it was raining in the city but by the time we got there, just a few minutes later, the rain had already stopped! It had obviously been a torrent because the roads were absolutely flooded (as in 8 inches of water)! I was surprised to see that everyone had been caught a little unawares.
I asked about the rainy season (on the Equator you don’t ask about winter or summer, you just ask whether there is one or two rainy seasons) and the driver simply said,
“It’s changed! It’s changed!”
By February, Kampala is usually entering its driest spell. But these days it rains throughout the “dry season” and there’s something of a drought through the “rainy season”. This is just one of the problems that the local farmers face in the absence of accurate equipment with which to predict weather! They have been planting at the wrong time. Be that as it may, their crops of coffee and (to a lesser extent) tea have not suffered substantially and Uganda remains responsible for a substantial drop in Kenya’s international coffee business. Uganda prides itself on a strong dark coffee that I suspect is often used as filler for more ‘refined’ brands and blends.
Still in the taxi, I ask the driver the inevitable question about personal safety in Kampala. He tells me that you can walk anywhere in Kampala, any time of night or day, and you will be safe. It didn’t take long for this to be demonstrated as I watched the entire day-shift of the Imperial Royale’s waitresses start their walk home from the hotel in the dark. And after going to the nearby Garden City Mall twice (to get a replacement SIM for the iPhone I had stolen in Nairobi on Saturday) I had still not seen a single policeman! In Uganda, law and order is very much in evidence, without the intrusion of a machine-gun-toting force (more on this subject much later). Quite literally, the only policemen and women I saw in Kampala were those directing traffic!
The hotel was ultra-modern and very competent in its delivery of ‘conference facilities’. The trade mission of which I was part contained a good measure of heavyweight German industrialists looking for investments in East Africa. Their reception was likewise ‘heavyweight’ on both days, with EU representatives, ministers, investment boards and industrialists sharing lengthy round table discussions.
After some introductory presentations from the World Bank and IMF, I had the honour of meeting grandson-of-Jah, Tigist/Michael Selassie, who, while working for the World Bank in Uganda, still considers Ethiopia to be very much his home. Michael is big, and certainly ‘regal’, but he looks far less like his diminutive Ethiopian grandfather than one would expect! He’s more like a big Kenyan Luo than anyone I have seen from Ethiopia. He is TALL and carries nothing of the accent one usually hears among Ethiopians. By contrast, his colleague, also from Ethiopia, is heavily accented with the “ghghghghgh’s” and slightly Italianesque sounds that characterize the Ethiopian accent.
Sessions, more sessions, and questions and answers ensued in each day’s programme. Much of the content was not of great benefit to me in terms of me seeking existing companies to work with. However, through some fancy footwork with local commerce bodies, I managed to meet the right businesspeople and will soon be able to reach most of the organizations that are doing either social or market research in Uganda.
After Monday’s sessions, and after a cocktail party held in our honor at the EU residence, I went to check out the local club scene in Kampala (what did you think I would do?). Being Monday night, most of the clubs were closed. But on Kampala Road I saw a place that was very much open, with large, big-ass four-wheel-drive vehicles lining the street and parked on the island that divides the two sides of the road.
The club, The High Table, was full to the brim with a lot of ‘hip-and-happening’ youths, wearing the perfunctory hip-hop pants, baseball-styled caps and large baggy shirts bearing various rap and hip-hop legends, slogans and phrases. At around 10pm, the DJ stopped doing his thing and in the silence, from the veranda, I could see something of a gathering forming inside.
What I didn’t know was that this was ‘Performance Night’ and I was about to have the honour of seeing all the most popular Ugandan rap, hip-hop and dancehall performers in full swing (in a protracted three hour session!). My conversation-mate got me to come inside and led me to the edge of the dancefloor / stage area, whereupon we were both brought seats, in a VIP kinda way. I was a little embarrassed being the only white cat in the place and being treated so ‘exceptionally’.
Anyway, the performance started, and for the next hour those artists considered ‘stars’ in Uganda were pointed out to me as they performed. The rap, hip-hop, and dancehall crew all performed to back-tracks in various stages of completion. Some of crew mimed their songs, while others sang the vocal lines without their own backing. There were quite a few (Tanzanian) Bongo Flava songs in the mix but the lyrics were done largely in Buganda (the local lingo). Many of the artists were surprisingly good. But I must say that I still think Swahili is far better suited to rap and hip-hop – even dancehall. In Uganda, Swahili is only really spoken in the east, where the country meets Kenya. While there was a smattering of Swahili in the lyrics on Monday night, these lyrics seemed mainly to be in ‘lip service’ to the (Tanzanian) rhythmic and melodic origins of many of the songs.
Being the only mzungu in attendance at The High Table, I quickly struck up conversation with many of the locals, all very interested in where I was from and what I was doing there. The vibe was generally very ‘cool’ with something of an American-flavoured male fashion show parading before me. There are obviously some serious fashion shops in Kampala that have cornered the couture culture of these youths, but the ‘moves’ and general behaviour of the youngsters were really quite conservative.
Notably, there were few couples dancing together at the club. The scene reminded me of the dancehall sessions I used to attend in Gugulethu, Cape Town, where the Rasta sistas and the bruthas would dance in two distinct groups. Then, as now … there, as here … I guess it is largely an African ‘cultural’ thing that endures. But the whole picture was surprisingly conservative relative to what I am used to seeing in Nairobi. Thankfully, the night was entirely free of the usual attempts at hitting on me (sexually and financially) that I usually experience in Nairobi.
The apparent moral rectitude of the country – and Kampala in particular - is different from Nairobi to the point that Brenda proclaims:
“You can’t even tell the shermutos (prostitutes) from the clubbers in Kampala!”
Whoever I spoke to, whenever I mentioned I was from South Africa, there was huge interest. But when I added that I was based in Nairobi, I would get a slightly disdainful look. The view that Kampala youths have of Kenya, and Nairobi specifically, is rather dim. I gather from my conversations with many that Kenya is perceived to lack a degree of moral and ethical backbone. This view, if I am to judge from what I saw of Kampala, is probably justified…
Ugandans are proud of the lack of crime in Kampala, and the essential honesty of their brothers. For example, each time I called a cab from the hotel reception, I asked the reception staff what I should expect to pay for the trip. I rode in numerous cabs and not once was I asked to pay any more than that which was quoted! (The Ugandan Shilling is such that you are quoted large numbers like 10 000 or 20 000 for a trip – so I suppose it IS easier to arrive at fare-equity/parity, but still). Contrast this to Nairobi where the cab drivers will make a particular effort to get (ridiculously) more from mzungu passengers - all of whom are initially seen to be tourists and primed for ‘the take’!
Despite the huge currency numbers one is dealing in, the cost of using meter-taxis in Uganda is cheap enough to warrant one not buying a car! And the traffic jams – bad, but not as bad as Nairobi – is another motivation to keep you from having a car of your own. You can at least do some work in a cab.
On the streets of Kampala, there are thousands of Indian- (mainly) and Chinese-manufactured motorcycles that act as taxis to the working public. They take the public of Kampala home, weaving efficiently through the traffic. One regularly sees women being carried side-saddle, with neither driver nor passenger wearing a helmet. The 'bora-boras' are not regulated at all. But the motorbike has obviously evolved into a relatively safe and effective means of getting Kampala’s working public home. I didn’t see any accidents and the bikes do not ride at all fast.
Early Monday evening we attended a cocktail party in our honour at the home of the European Union’s Head of Delegation to Uganda, at 7 Hill Lane, on the Kololo hill. Kololo is home to Kampala’s grand Embassy residences. The properties are huge. By contrast to others, the EU residence is quite plain (50’s architecture), but is similarly large. With a large grassed ‘patio’ area, elevated forty feet or so above the already elevated Hill Lane on which it stands, the property looks onto one of Kampala’s seven main hills in the middle distance. The environment is really very beautiful - and this beauty is repeated all across the hilly surrounds of Kampala!
The roads are very good in the city, the downtown markets are obviously thriving, the streets are congested, the clothes cost about half of what they do in Nairobi, the infrastructure and architecture are both highly modern and seemingly effective, and the Ugandan people have a sweet semi-Colonial sing-song when speaking English.
And whereas it requires numerous licenses to open a business in Kenya, in Uganda it essentially requires none! One of my 'conversants' at the club told me that you simply open the business by moving in to your premises. Somewhere along the line, a license is legally obtained. Small businesses are not required to pay tax for seven whole years! And this, folks, must have a LOT to do with the fantastic economic growth that Uganda has witnessed over the last decade! As is the African style, the ‘dual-economy’ thrives in Uganda. Here, the rich are getting richer but the poor seem to be doing OK, actually.
Business is booming in Kampala’s mainstream consumer market. Long deco-style balconies festoon the air above the pavement and there is no shortage of thriving businesses serving the needs of Kampala’s public.
And, very fortunately, as one of my fellow missionaries commented:
“You can only starve in Uganda if you’re allergic to bananas”. They are everywhere.
I took a cab 15 kms, from Kampala to the edge of the Lake. The wind was strong and gusty. There were defunct barges rotting in the water and small fishing boats plying the water’s edge. Things were predictably slow. Everyone was just hanging out. Men were fixing fishing nets and chatting while their women were looking at an usual catch from the last trip on the water ...
Interestingly, there are a lot of Ugandans who share surnames and skin tones with the Luo who live across the lake in Kenya. For example, Brenda shares her surname with one of the senior members of the Ugandan Investment Authority! (and they share their considerable height too). The similarity, and the sharing of names, evidently stems from cross-border travel in pre-Colonial times, many, many years ago. But the ‘exotic’, Nilotic eyes of the Luo are less in evidence here (but there are Nilotic people in Uganda).
The more diversity I experience in these parts of the world, the more I sense that cultural differences are contained more in the eyes than anywhere else. The soul of a people is in their eyes. So what would this blog be if I didn’t comment on the Ugandan women? And their eyes.
The first point to make is that the Ugandan people, generally, are a lot heavier than Kenyans. Their legs are bigger, but among women certainly, their hands are often similarly small. As I have hinted above, the defining feature of Ugandan women lies in their eyes. Ugandan women’s eyes tend to be much larger, rounder, and are slightly ‘protruding’ and heavy-lidded in many instances. The ‘look’ is unusual and not immediately as attractive (to me, at least) as the centuries of cross-African-Arabia that characterizes many Kenyan women.
Can I risk saying that the Ugandan ‘look’ grew on me quite quickly, however. Many of the women in Uganda are distinctly ‘big-boned’, and large breasted, in an attractive, African way! Frankie is a Ugandan woman who was home for a short visit from the UK, where she works as a high-care nurse. She’s a bit derisive of Uganda’s post-Colonial, Catholic conservatism and had a laugh at the stares we got as we danced.
Driving out to Entebbe again, after conferencing for three days in Kampala, it was again raining, but lightly this time. Everyone in Entebbe was still going about his or her business, riding up and down on 125cc Bajaj motorcycles. It started to rain quite hard as we boarded our plane.
Kigali, Rwanda: Wednesday, 4th March to Saturday, 7th March 2009
The flight from Kampala to Kigali normally takes 50 minutes or so, unless you are flying in a LITTLE jet with two Rolls Royce engines both the size of those found on a BIG jet! In this case the flight takes 25 minutes! And what a rush it was flying in the manner of the rich and famous!
I have always enjoyed flying in jet aircraft, but I doubt I will get another ride like this anytime soon. The plane had been brought on board because there were only 28 of us on the flight to Kigali, and even with the anticipated high speed, this plane was going to cost Rwandair a fraction of what a 737 would. Gleaming in the rain on the runway, the plane reminded me of a huge phallus with enlarged testicles.
Just being aboard this luxury strato-cruiseliner was thrilling enough but as you’d know it’s the take off that really does it for jet-freaks like me. The pilot had not even lined the phallus up with the lines on the runway before he was giving it his all to achieve eventual escape velocity. Yipppeeee!
Turning directly onto runway 2, the engines were already full thrust and the pilot let the brakes go as we straightened out … Sucked into your seat, the planes nose flips up and the city shrinks quickly below. Wooosh!
What a flight it was: clear skies, no turbulence, and a view of the jungle that stretched to the horizon… All this, plus a pilot who obviously enjoyed the maneuverability and sheer tempo of his zippy charge. I’ll leave out the thrilling detail but for the landing at Kigali:
The pilot put the jet into a steep right turn that sucked you into your seat so you couldn’t sit upright. I could see the runway clearly, looking down to my right. He then seemed to slur, or ‘twist’, the plane onto the runway and came in at a speed I have encountered only once before (excruciatingly, when I was an unwilling participant in an ‘auto-pilot’ test, aboard a brand new airbus A320, landing at Cape Town International in ‘96).
But even at the speed we were going, the touchdown was ‘padded’ and the reverse thrust of the engines was another rush, again. Eish.
Kigali airport is small, neat, and impeccably clean. The staff manning their points at customs and immigration are efficient and friendly. Signage is in French and Rwandese with little English in sight.
As our pilot came past, after we had checked through immigration, I thanked him for an immensely enjoyable experience on his plane. He smiled warmly, and said in an incredibly slow, thick French-African accent:
“When there are no police around, I like to drive a leeeetle dangereuse”, laughing heartily.
I laughed too, thinking that there might be some weird compensation thing going on between his slow verbal drawl and the sheer gusto of his flight…
We bussed to the five-star Serena Hotel, in sparkling Kigali (by now in darkness).
Rwanda has done everything it can possibly do to make this country something of an African paragon of honesty and good governance. Its President, Paul Kagame, is about as ‘hands-on’, and reputably ‘clean’, as one can get. Recently, as part of the widespread attempt to clean up the inner city, he took his own vehicle and drove himself around town to locate the centres of noise and disturbance that inner city dwellers had recently complained about. After locating the problem places, he went at 2am to wake both his Chief of Police, as well as his Minister of Justice. He brought them to his home and proceeded to question them as to what was to be done. I presume they had a plan because within two days the problem spots were gone!
Similarly there has been a drive to remove from the inner city slum dwellings that were perceived to be scarring Kigali’s main hill. There are huge tracts of neatly fenced prime land that have been cleared of their shanty dwellers. Cleared, yes, but not before their residents had been extensively polled as to where they would like to be settled. The clearing of shanty towns then went ahead without incident as the people moved willingly to better places of residence. The result of such an approach is that there is no sign of poverty or urban decay in the city. There are no beggars and there’s absolutely no crime to speak of.
Paul Kagame also went recently on a trip to the rural areas, across what is Africa’s most densely populated country – between 9 and 11 million people spread over a jungle smaller than Swaziland. He met the rank and file of Rwanda in one-on-one meetings with anyone who wanted to have a say. One old lady evidently spoke to him about the problems she was having with the local chief and that this had been a problem for her for many years. She had been promised various concessions and none of these had materialized. Evidently, right there and then, the chief was called to respond directly to the woman’s issues, in the company of the president. The chief evidently had nothing to say and by Presidential Decree was unceremoniously removed from his post there and then to thunderous applause.
There is a ban on bicycles in Kigali city, not because they are not wanted per se, but because the government wants to avoid any problems stemming from bicycles being used as taxis. Rather, Kigali has a well regulated ‘bora-bora’ business where motorbike riders are equipped with helmets for themselves and their passengers and they wear colour coded jackets with their ‘zone’ emblazoned on the front and back. There are thousands of these ‘bora-boras’, driving well, and in disciplined fashion, all over the city (driving on the Franco-right-hand-side). You cannot take a street photograph without getting at least one of the ‘bora-boras’ in the picture. You are also not allowed to walk barefoot in town. This I believe is to discourage recent Rwandan immigrants to Kigali from buying a few beers rather than a pair of shoes when they come to town!
Having met a few of Rwanda’s government ministers I am amazed at how young and progressive they are. Clearly a bright bunch of guys, they are strongly and ardently in support of their leader’s straight and direct legislative line. Yet despite the slightly propagandistic stance of the ministers and their deputies about the modern appeal of Kigali as a business hub, I am told there are serious problems with the bureaucracy and that new business start-ups battle to overcome the inertia that besets the civil service. Business takes a lot longer to establish in Rwanda than is claimed, perhaps. And someone I met at our sponsored supper, who heads an agency in Rwanda, is a lot less optimistic about things turning out as everyone hopes …
Rwanda’s stated objective is to make the country an African I.T. hub. I wasn’t able to get a strong justification for this end from anyone I spoke to, and I certainly had enough problems with the hotel Internet service for this objective to seem slightly whimsical right now. But perhaps if the Rwandans achieve their aim of putting a laptop into every schoolchild’s hands, we may yet see something noteworthy coming from Rwanda in the African-IT rush. The influence of French culture in Rwandan society is certainly evident and I would venture to say that the Rwandese will have gained certain intellectual benefits from the prior use of the tongue (the official language is now English of course).
There certainly is a clear and present ‘class’ to the more affluent Rwandese I saw at the hotel. I did not see many Rwandese of this ilk and I have a feeling that the affluent stick to themselves and don’t flash their wealth around town much. But evidence of wealth there is. Lots of Mercedes. And Kigali is expensive, even compared to Nairobi.
I initially thought there was something of a gentle-ness among the Rwandan people. I guessed it could only have something to do with the Hutu-Tutsi genocide of 1994. I reflected on the fact that while I was standing in a long queue, getting ready to vote for freedom, people were being mercilessly butchered by their own compatriots in this small jungle nation.
And it took me another two full days to ponder if the Rwandan people might not be suffering from a post-traumatic stress disorder (of the ‘societal’ kind) …
On Friday I took my perfunctory ‘walkabout’ and rode around town on the back of a Rwandan ‘bora-bora’ We passed the high bridge from which Tutsi parents were forced by their Hutu fellows to drop their infant children into the water below … I didn’t take a photo. I passed “Hotel Rwanda” on the hill, nondescript and unidentified for its place in the nation’s recent history.
What is it with us humans that we can turn on our fellow nationals with rampant, unfettered violence? On a somewhat smaller scale, but potentially the same, the same happened in Kenya just over a year ago. It happened, kabisa (thoroughly), in Rwanda 15 years ago. And the scars of Rwanda are evident in the people. If there is a gentleness among the people, it can only be for fear of starting something like that again but, if truth be told, it looks to me like the people are suffering the effects of shock.
I had a drink with a Rwandan woman at the Kigali Serena on Tuesday night. She lost every single member of her family in the genocide. She says she was lucky. Then, after a few seconds, she says maybe she wasn’t so lucky for the pain and hardship she went through afterwards.
Then she adds, looking at the ground, with the shimmer of a tear in her eye:
“I still have dreams about my baby … ”
If not just the shock of experiencing genocide, what of the survivor-guilt that many Rwandese must surely carry?
Ernest, a Rwandan in Rwanda - but only as part of the German mission – and now resident in Hamburg, tells me that if I were to ask around about the entire destruction of families, just among those who work at the hotel, I would go into shock myself!
But somehow, I wasn’t really shocked.
I am not going to repeat the atrocities that Ernest told me about. While he talked, an image of Marlon Brando came to me, from Apocalypse Now, saying:
“The Horror … The Horror”
There is no ready smiling in Rwanda. Don’t get me wrong, the Rwandese are friendly, but there is some ‘juice’ missing behind the smile. I have already waxed lyrical about the ‘vibe’ of the Kenyan people, but this type of ‘vibe’ is entirely absent here in Kigali. When I checked out the hotel I flirted with the receptionist who was fixedly working at her monitor. At the end of my obviously-flirtatious promise to come back to fetch her, I got a wan smile. And Christine told me, in absolute earnest:
“If you ever come back to Rwanda I will be here and waiting for you”
Ernest surprised me with the revelation that the Hutu/Tutsi thing was not based on a history of tribal roots at all, but one of class structures only. Hutus and Tutsis are not members of different tribes, or language or religious groups! There are no differences in language or culture between the so-called Tutsis and the Hutus. Rather, the classification of Tutsi means “high class” and nothing else. In 1959 or so (why then, I don’t know), if you owned 10 or more cattle you were classified “Tutsi” and automatically became a member of the ruling class. If you owned fewer cows than that, you were a Hutu.
This situation persisted peacefully for some time until the Tutsis started taking the class thing a little too far. They started to create their own schools, hospitals and other institutions, all of which were closed to anyone but their own (and with the usual, inevitable social problems that followed). Eventually the more “oppressed” class, the Hutus, got a bit pissed off and a few among them started agitating for change. The rest, as they say, was hysteria …
Ernest shakes his head and says, wisely:
“In Africa it doesn’t take much to start a fire ... The spark that ignites may be small, but the fire rages quickly.”
We spoke quite a bit about factors that might impede the realization of Rwanda’s goals.
(An article I read in the weekly East African newspaper said that Tutsis and Hutus were peacefully living side-by-side in the ‘new’ Rwanda. Now I can see how this can be.)
I guess my impressions of Kigali, at least, are somehow encapsulated in what I didn’t see, rather than what I did see.
The one thing you don’t see is the city’s main graveyard …
With the headstone-uniformity that one would expect from a war - or perhaps, genocide - it stretches over an area that is far larger than a football field! My ‘bora-bora’ driver couldn’t tell me what was being planned for the graveyard but plans are obviously afoot to remove the memory! The sight of it was frankly chilling, especially because it lies behind a shiny metal fascia of galvanized corrugate, shielding it from view.
I found the holocaust memorial more moving than I care to talk about.
If we ignore the potential effects of a post traumatic ‘problem’ among the people and pretend it’s not there … The potential for overregulation of Rwandan society is obvious. Thus far it is unfolding as a relatively benign means of social control - in what may well be classed as a ‘benign dictatorship’.
My worry is that this control may ultimately lead to the society never being able to experience a positive outflow of energy – an energy that may heal - an outflow that the society seems to sorely need. There seem to be very deep scars that the people carry. The scars I talk of are evidenced in the complete lack of “joie de vivre”. To me at least, it looks as if there’s something bubbling underneath and something that political measures should not really seek to control.
The Rwandese are certainly friendly, but to this I cannot add the usual rejoinder of ‘warm’. The only time I saw real laughter - ‘from the heart’ - was among young taxi drivers only (who would have been just too young to remember). At the hotel I heard only quiet conversation and wooden postures.
The Rwandese certainly cannot be blamed for their state of mind and the stress of their past is clearly somewhere there, beneath the cloak of relative material comfort and amidst the strident attempts to instill a ‘super-normality’ on the whole society. But really how normal can a society be where entire families have been wiped out in a matter of days and months, by people who were erstwhile friends and neighbours…?
Kenya, there’s a lesson for you in Rwanda ...
We flew out of Kigali International Airport in a brand new Kenya Airways Boeing 737-800 replete with TV screens and Pixar-like animations of emergency flight instructions (in Swahili and English). Once we had crossed the lake, we flew directly over the extremely dry Tanzanian part of the Maasai Mara, as we headed directly to Nairobi, Kenya.
We landed at Kenyatta Airport and I was smiling, happy to be back on Kenyan soil.
Kuwa na amani (peace be with you), everyone.
B-)
While I was out …
On Wednesday, while in Rwanda, two Kenyan activists were assassinated in broad daylight, shot through the window of the car they were sharing on the trip back to the office. A bystander, and eyewitness to the scene, was shot through the leg. He was the only person who might positively identify the uniformed men who wielded the weapons. He was taken by the police to a ‘nearby hospital’. I haven’t heard any news of the witness since then.
The dual assassination led to student riots on Thursday, through the streets of Nairobi.
One of the students got shot dead. The riot was quelled with tear gas and a few live rounds. From the next day, through Sunday, police in Land Rovers were stationed at the single exit that marks the main street of student residences in the city. The vice-chancellors of both Kenyatta and Moi universities threatened students with expulsion if they continued to riot. Prime Minister Raila Odinga was later played widely on radio with an announcement – addressed to both the students and vice-chancellors - to the effect that "nothing of the sort" would happen. Silence from the Kibaki camp.
Is there just a glimmer of recognition from government that the Kenyan people – most notably the youth - are very deeply unhappy and frustrated?
Strategically, if you recognize the anger and frustration of the youth, it’s useful to let them blow off a little steam every now and then. Let them make just enough noise to keeps them quiet. Is this what happened? Was this the idea?
But let’s backtrack just a little, to the reason for the assassination …
The killing of the activists had something to do with their providing evidence to Prof Philip Alston, the EU’s Special Investigator who visited Kenya week before last. His mission was to investigate – among other things – the ‘extra-judicial killing’ of members of the ‘Mungiki’ gang … And the slain activists had been talking to him about these killings.
Background: Like there’s this ‘gang’ in Kenya – what Brenda calls ‘a sect’ – called the Mungiki. Their precise origin is not known but they rose during the Moi era. They are not to be confused with the Mau-Mau. The Mau were freedom fighters and heroes of the Kenyan people for their role in Kenyan liberation. By contrast, the Mungiki are just a sect of bloodthirsty (quite literally, I have heard) thugs who are behind the more rampant aspects of crime in Kenya. They have also been suspected of working for the Kenyan government during ‘special operations’ (like last year’s stolen-election-insurrection) and senior Mungiki leaders are even rumoured to work in government itself.
When the ‘post-election violence’ erupted in Kenya last year, Mungiki were charged with the task of identifying the regime’s opponents … a regime that was very intent on holding on to power, and still is. Mungiki inquisitors painted crosses on the gates of the primary suspects while Mungiki foot soldiers came round later and beat or killed occupants of the branded households. A black cross or a red one.
(Brenda’s family home was branded with a red cross, as opposed to the black one on most fences. But the family – nay, the whole of Ngong Town – was saved by the Maasai, within whose territory Ngong lies. In this case, the Maasai told the Mungiki in no uncertain terms that this was Maasai land, to the effect that ‘those who live on this land are guests of the Maasai. If you have a problem with a guest, you have a problem with the Maasai') ... Ahem ...
Needless to say, the Mungiki declined to take the matter any further and Ngong was spared the attentions of the Mungiki. But they’re around and enjoy quite mythical status in Nairobi. Mungiki members are believed to pay 1 Shilling a day into the Mungiki ‘state coffers’. Authoritative word says Mungiki has 2 million members. You do the math ...
Mungiki do act as guns for hire – armed, aiding and abetting anyone – but they are, on the whole, a self-serving bunch of gangsters who sometimes wear khaki shorts, animal hide and Bata Safari Boots. They wear scarves with Kenya colours but for the fact that the white stripe is removed. They are seldom seen in public, ‘dressed’. This, because the police have an open license to shoot Mungiki on sight.
A month or two ago (before I really knew who they were), we saw them walking downtown, fully dressed and looking the picture of scrawny wickedness. I only noticed them in the rearview mirror, and this only after Brenda and Erica had almost jumped under the dashboard and back seat respectively, exclaiming:
“Heh-Heyyyeeee, …. Mungiki … kabi-sssssss-aaaaaaa!” (Mungiki … fu-llll-yyyy)
Mungiki are often replete with dreadlocks, which maybe answers my query (in an earlier blog) about reasons for the youth not wearing dreads in Kenya. It probably also accounts for some local confusion between Mungiki and Mau-Mau - who also wore locks. In this society you don’t want to wear locks for fear of being seen as Mungiki ...! You could get easily shot if somehow you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or any combination thereof.
My biggest shock, as I became aware of Kenyan realpolitik – and which I haven’t really blogged before – is the lack of rule-of-law. I have skirted around the issue in these blogs but it really is the cornerstone of oppression in Kenya society. When you can get easily shot, under any pretext, you are not about to stand up too quickly. When I see the ‘Mungiki pretext’ as an excuse for state-sponsired murder, I get an entirely different - and far more harsh - view than that I held before. It’s a scenario all-too-familiar to South Africans. But the so-called ‘extra-judicial killings’ are much easier to commit here because of the clear and present danger posed by Mungiki.
When I first arrived in Kenya, there were daily reports of these so-called ‘extra-judicial killings’. There is less news of it now but time was, very recently, when every day there would be a report of “police gunning down suspected thugs”. I asked about it of someone whose views I respect. I was shocked and dismayed at the ‘suspected’ part of what I was hearing. All she could add, with a resigned shrug, was the fact that “you’re not sure which ones are the thugs”. Today, I think I’m beginning to understand what she meant and this is why it has taken me so long to deal with it in words.
In a recent chat I had with a guest speaker at the East Africa Association – a serious government opponent, and author of a tome on Kenyan corruption - I reflected on the role of the youth in the SA revolution and asked him about ‘youth-initiatives’ in Kenya. He said there were many, growing in number and size. I said I hadn’t heard of many – almost any – but then I’m not ‘on the ground’ in the Kenyan underground. He said we should talk further. There was a crowd around. I got his mobile number but we have yet to speak since I returned from Rwanda. And there is little chance he didn’t speak with Alston as well …
Meantime, Prime Minister Raila Odinga, basically the only opposition-member in Kibaki’s ruling regime, is a lone voice in a barren wilderness of public dissent. Go Raila!, but ultimately I fear for your life (although many are saying you have been co-opted, kabisa).
If given the chance, all I would ask Kenyans, of each and every description – in ‘opposition’, in government, in the police and at the heart of civil society itself – is the following:
Is this the Kenya you want for your children?
Are corruption and oppression, and lessons on how to thieve from your brothers and sisters the values you want to instill in your children? Answer this question, Kenya, and you may have a basis for unifying all sides against the issues you face…
Rejoinder
Amidst all of this I want to finally, finally attest to the indomitable spirit of the Kenyan people…
There are up to ten million people in Kenya’s northern regions that are facing the prospect of starvation. This, as a result of drought plus government ineptitude and corruption (there was a recent – as yet unresolved - ‘maize scandal’ involving multi-millions).
Since yesterday 6am, till today 6am there has been a charity drive to collect food for starving Kenyans. I was at the Uchumi supermarket at Sarit Centre yesterday evening and couldn’t believe the trolley loads of maize-meal that were being bought by individuals and being taken directly to the collection point. I was a bit skaam (embarassed) with my five kilos of maize-meal. I added the unga (maize flour) to the one-or-two-hundred trolleys of food already standing there! And while some were buying food to donate (and many of those at the supermarket were there for that reason only), other Kenyans were taking the trouble to go out and donate money to a fund through Safaricom’s mPesa (money-transfer) service. By midnight, Kshs2.5 million had already been raised and over three hundred metric tons of food has been collected!
South Africa, if only you were as warm-hearted and giving as the Kenya people!
Again I have to say, despite the troubles the Kenyan people face, they have a spirit of love and forgiveness that is HUGE. I care what happens among these lovely people but I worry (kabisa) about what’s happening in that country I call home.
Peace and love,
B-)
Before you get to Lake Victoria, the distinct bank of clouds lining land’s end warns you that you’re about to encounter ‘weather’. The jet moves from equatorial summer to rainforest-rain in a matter of seconds and suddenly starts to dip and drop. But as quickly as it started, it ends. Then it starts briefly again. And so on, for the 600 plus kilometers from Nairobi, across the greatest lake, to Kampala. The seatbelt bell goes ‘ping’ and ‘pong’ as the plane encounters repeated patches of equatorial squall.Flying across Lake Victoria, I was awed by the sheer size and volume. It is HUGE and even from the plane – at 32 000 feet - one has some difficulty seeing the one end from the other! What are obviously large fishing vessels appear as pinpricks.
A massive murky grey-green lakescape below. Polluted to hell I hear, replete with festering water-hyacinth.
Descending to ‘lake-level’, about to land at Entebbe was very beautiful though. With a little skrik (fright), it reminded me of landing at JFK, with the water’s edge just shy of the runway’s end. Except that here it’s the equatorial jungle and not a concrete jungle that borders on the runway. Again, as with Dar es Salaam, the tall palms are everywhere, but the vegetation is a lot more dense, and obviously wetter.
Our Boeing 737-300 had landed next to a very long, bright-white plane with the letters UN painted in sans-serif blue on the side. There were lots of people on the runway as we entered the airport building and I stopped to see Ban Ki-Moon come down the stairs with his entourage (fresh from a trip to Rwanda and moving on to Tanzania), being greeted by senior officials of the Ugandan government. Security seemed quite lax.
The sign at Entebbe airport says “Welcome to the Pearl of Africa”, the moniker given to Uganda by Winston Churchill. Entebbe used to be the capitol city of Uganda and remains the home of President Museveni, with State House (recently renovated and painted) sitting white-and-brightly proud on the hill as you leave the small, beautiful ‘town’ of Entebbe .
It is 42 kms from Entebbe to Kampala and you travel down a well tarred road running past hundreds of little stalls (many of them MTN “Yello” and many of them Zain mauve), with what seem like thousands of Indian and Chinese motorcycles plying the road in both directions. I was to find that the motorcycle, or “bora-bora”, is the favoured form of transport for those wanting to get from one end of Kampala to the other - through increasingly congested streets.Traffic on the streets of Kampala is nearing what one has to endure in Nairobi. But unlike in Nairobi, the matatus here (what Ugandans call ‘tatus’) are very well behaved. They are uniformly painted white, with blue chevrons around the midline, and are markedly more roadworthy than those in Nairobi. And, what’s more, you don’t get threatened with a view of the vanishing road when you pull out alongside them. They actually pull to the side and let you pass! Vehicles are right-hand drive as in Nairobi and South Africa.
As you near Kampala you see the first of the high-rise buildings, between two hills. With the country having experienced between 6% and 7% growth, year-on-year, for the last ten years, many of the buildings are quite new and often feature striking modern architecture. My cab driver, a Muslim in a predominantly Christian (and strongly Catholic) country, tells me it is a city built on seven hills. Jaime says Kampala should be twin to Lisbon, the original City of Seven Hills. Both cities are surely beautiful.
Driving in a regulation-white heavy Toyota sedan, we approached Kampala quite fast. As we caught sight of the two most prominent hills of the city, I could see outlines of modern buildings through a thick haze. The cab driver remarked casually that it was raining in the city but by the time we got there, just a few minutes later, the rain had already stopped! It had obviously been a torrent because the roads were absolutely flooded (as in 8 inches of water)! I was surprised to see that everyone had been caught a little unawares.
I asked about the rainy season (on the Equator you don’t ask about winter or summer, you just ask whether there is one or two rainy seasons) and the driver simply said,
“It’s changed! It’s changed!”
By February, Kampala is usually entering its driest spell. But these days it rains throughout the “dry season” and there’s something of a drought through the “rainy season”. This is just one of the problems that the local farmers face in the absence of accurate equipment with which to predict weather! They have been planting at the wrong time. Be that as it may, their crops of coffee and (to a lesser extent) tea have not suffered substantially and Uganda remains responsible for a substantial drop in Kenya’s international coffee business. Uganda prides itself on a strong dark coffee that I suspect is often used as filler for more ‘refined’ brands and blends.Still in the taxi, I ask the driver the inevitable question about personal safety in Kampala. He tells me that you can walk anywhere in Kampala, any time of night or day, and you will be safe. It didn’t take long for this to be demonstrated as I watched the entire day-shift of the Imperial Royale’s waitresses start their walk home from the hotel in the dark. And after going to the nearby Garden City Mall twice (to get a replacement SIM for the iPhone I had stolen in Nairobi on Saturday) I had still not seen a single policeman! In Uganda, law and order is very much in evidence, without the intrusion of a machine-gun-toting force (more on this subject much later). Quite literally, the only policemen and women I saw in Kampala were those directing traffic!
The hotel was ultra-modern and very competent in its delivery of ‘conference facilities’. The trade mission of which I was part contained a good measure of heavyweight German industrialists looking for investments in East Africa. Their reception was likewise ‘heavyweight’ on both days, with EU representatives, ministers, investment boards and industrialists sharing lengthy round table discussions.
After some introductory presentations from the World Bank and IMF, I had the honour of meeting grandson-of-Jah, Tigist/Michael Selassie, who, while working for the World Bank in Uganda, still considers Ethiopia to be very much his home. Michael is big, and certainly ‘regal’, but he looks far less like his diminutive Ethiopian grandfather than one would expect! He’s more like a big Kenyan Luo than anyone I have seen from Ethiopia. He is TALL and carries nothing of the accent one usually hears among Ethiopians. By contrast, his colleague, also from Ethiopia, is heavily accented with the “ghghghghgh’s” and slightly Italianesque sounds that characterize the Ethiopian accent.
Sessions, more sessions, and questions and answers ensued in each day’s programme. Much of the content was not of great benefit to me in terms of me seeking existing companies to work with. However, through some fancy footwork with local commerce bodies, I managed to meet the right businesspeople and will soon be able to reach most of the organizations that are doing either social or market research in Uganda.
After Monday’s sessions, and after a cocktail party held in our honor at the EU residence, I went to check out the local club scene in Kampala (what did you think I would do?). Being Monday night, most of the clubs were closed. But on Kampala Road I saw a place that was very much open, with large, big-ass four-wheel-drive vehicles lining the street and parked on the island that divides the two sides of the road.
The club, The High Table, was full to the brim with a lot of ‘hip-and-happening’ youths, wearing the perfunctory hip-hop pants, baseball-styled caps and large baggy shirts bearing various rap and hip-hop legends, slogans and phrases. At around 10pm, the DJ stopped doing his thing and in the silence, from the veranda, I could see something of a gathering forming inside.
What I didn’t know was that this was ‘Performance Night’ and I was about to have the honour of seeing all the most popular Ugandan rap, hip-hop and dancehall performers in full swing (in a protracted three hour session!). My conversation-mate got me to come inside and led me to the edge of the dancefloor / stage area, whereupon we were both brought seats, in a VIP kinda way. I was a little embarrassed being the only white cat in the place and being treated so ‘exceptionally’.
Anyway, the performance started, and for the next hour those artists considered ‘stars’ in Uganda were pointed out to me as they performed. The rap, hip-hop, and dancehall crew all performed to back-tracks in various stages of completion. Some of crew mimed their songs, while others sang the vocal lines without their own backing. There were quite a few (Tanzanian) Bongo Flava songs in the mix but the lyrics were done largely in Buganda (the local lingo). Many of the artists were surprisingly good. But I must say that I still think Swahili is far better suited to rap and hip-hop – even dancehall. In Uganda, Swahili is only really spoken in the east, where the country meets Kenya. While there was a smattering of Swahili in the lyrics on Monday night, these lyrics seemed mainly to be in ‘lip service’ to the (Tanzanian) rhythmic and melodic origins of many of the songs.Being the only mzungu in attendance at The High Table, I quickly struck up conversation with many of the locals, all very interested in where I was from and what I was doing there. The vibe was generally very ‘cool’ with something of an American-flavoured male fashion show parading before me. There are obviously some serious fashion shops in Kampala that have cornered the couture culture of these youths, but the ‘moves’ and general behaviour of the youngsters were really quite conservative.
Notably, there were few couples dancing together at the club. The scene reminded me of the dancehall sessions I used to attend in Gugulethu, Cape Town, where the Rasta sistas and the bruthas would dance in two distinct groups. Then, as now … there, as here … I guess it is largely an African ‘cultural’ thing that endures. But the whole picture was surprisingly conservative relative to what I am used to seeing in Nairobi. Thankfully, the night was entirely free of the usual attempts at hitting on me (sexually and financially) that I usually experience in Nairobi.
The apparent moral rectitude of the country – and Kampala in particular - is different from Nairobi to the point that Brenda proclaims:
“You can’t even tell the shermutos (prostitutes) from the clubbers in Kampala!”
Whoever I spoke to, whenever I mentioned I was from South Africa, there was huge interest. But when I added that I was based in Nairobi, I would get a slightly disdainful look. The view that Kampala youths have of Kenya, and Nairobi specifically, is rather dim. I gather from my conversations with many that Kenya is perceived to lack a degree of moral and ethical backbone. This view, if I am to judge from what I saw of Kampala, is probably justified…
Ugandans are proud of the lack of crime in Kampala, and the essential honesty of their brothers. For example, each time I called a cab from the hotel reception, I asked the reception staff what I should expect to pay for the trip. I rode in numerous cabs and not once was I asked to pay any more than that which was quoted! (The Ugandan Shilling is such that you are quoted large numbers like 10 000 or 20 000 for a trip – so I suppose it IS easier to arrive at fare-equity/parity, but still). Contrast this to Nairobi where the cab drivers will make a particular effort to get (ridiculously) more from mzungu passengers - all of whom are initially seen to be tourists and primed for ‘the take’! Despite the huge currency numbers one is dealing in, the cost of using meter-taxis in Uganda is cheap enough to warrant one not buying a car! And the traffic jams – bad, but not as bad as Nairobi – is another motivation to keep you from having a car of your own. You can at least do some work in a cab.
On the streets of Kampala, there are thousands of Indian- (mainly) and Chinese-manufactured motorcycles that act as taxis to the working public. They take the public of Kampala home, weaving efficiently through the traffic. One regularly sees women being carried side-saddle, with neither driver nor passenger wearing a helmet. The 'bora-boras' are not regulated at all. But the motorbike has obviously evolved into a relatively safe and effective means of getting Kampala’s working public home. I didn’t see any accidents and the bikes do not ride at all fast.
Early Monday evening we attended a cocktail party in our honour at the home of the European Union’s Head of Delegation to Uganda, at 7 Hill Lane, on the Kololo hill. Kololo is home to Kampala’s grand Embassy residences. The properties are huge. By contrast to others, the EU residence is quite plain (50’s architecture), but is similarly large. With a large grassed ‘patio’ area, elevated forty feet or so above the already elevated Hill Lane on which it stands, the property looks onto one of Kampala’s seven main hills in the middle distance. The environment is really very beautiful - and this beauty is repeated all across the hilly surrounds of Kampala!
The roads are very good in the city, the downtown markets are obviously thriving, the streets are congested, the clothes cost about half of what they do in Nairobi, the infrastructure and architecture are both highly modern and seemingly effective, and the Ugandan people have a sweet semi-Colonial sing-song when speaking English. And whereas it requires numerous licenses to open a business in Kenya, in Uganda it essentially requires none! One of my 'conversants' at the club told me that you simply open the business by moving in to your premises. Somewhere along the line, a license is legally obtained. Small businesses are not required to pay tax for seven whole years! And this, folks, must have a LOT to do with the fantastic economic growth that Uganda has witnessed over the last decade! As is the African style, the ‘dual-economy’ thrives in Uganda. Here, the rich are getting richer but the poor seem to be doing OK, actually.
Business is booming in Kampala’s mainstream consumer market. Long deco-style balconies festoon the air above the pavement and there is no shortage of thriving businesses serving the needs of Kampala’s public.
And, very fortunately, as one of my fellow missionaries commented:
“You can only starve in Uganda if you’re allergic to bananas”. They are everywhere.
I took a cab 15 kms, from Kampala to the edge of the Lake. The wind was strong and gusty. There were defunct barges rotting in the water and small fishing boats plying the water’s edge. Things were predictably slow. Everyone was just hanging out. Men were fixing fishing nets and chatting while their women were looking at an usual catch from the last trip on the water ...Interestingly, there are a lot of Ugandans who share surnames and skin tones with the Luo who live across the lake in Kenya. For example, Brenda shares her surname with one of the senior members of the Ugandan Investment Authority! (and they share their considerable height too). The similarity, and the sharing of names, evidently stems from cross-border travel in pre-Colonial times, many, many years ago. But the ‘exotic’, Nilotic eyes of the Luo are less in evidence here (but there are Nilotic people in Uganda).
The more diversity I experience in these parts of the world, the more I sense that cultural differences are contained more in the eyes than anywhere else. The soul of a people is in their eyes. So what would this blog be if I didn’t comment on the Ugandan women? And their eyes.
The first point to make is that the Ugandan people, generally, are a lot heavier than Kenyans. Their legs are bigger, but among women certainly, their hands are often similarly small. As I have hinted above, the defining feature of Ugandan women lies in their eyes. Ugandan women’s eyes tend to be much larger, rounder, and are slightly ‘protruding’ and heavy-lidded in many instances. The ‘look’ is unusual and not immediately as attractive (to me, at least) as the centuries of cross-African-Arabia that characterizes many Kenyan women.
Can I risk saying that the Ugandan ‘look’ grew on me quite quickly, however. Many of the women in Uganda are distinctly ‘big-boned’, and large breasted, in an attractive, African way! Frankie is a Ugandan woman who was home for a short visit from the UK, where she works as a high-care nurse. She’s a bit derisive of Uganda’s post-Colonial, Catholic conservatism and had a laugh at the stares we got as we danced.
Driving out to Entebbe again, after conferencing for three days in Kampala, it was again raining, but lightly this time. Everyone in Entebbe was still going about his or her business, riding up and down on 125cc Bajaj motorcycles. It started to rain quite hard as we boarded our plane.
Kigali, Rwanda: Wednesday, 4th March to Saturday, 7th March 2009
The flight from Kampala to Kigali normally takes 50 minutes or so, unless you are flying in a LITTLE jet with two Rolls Royce engines both the size of those found on a BIG jet! In this case the flight takes 25 minutes! And what a rush it was flying in the manner of the rich and famous! I have always enjoyed flying in jet aircraft, but I doubt I will get another ride like this anytime soon. The plane had been brought on board because there were only 28 of us on the flight to Kigali, and even with the anticipated high speed, this plane was going to cost Rwandair a fraction of what a 737 would. Gleaming in the rain on the runway, the plane reminded me of a huge phallus with enlarged testicles.
Just being aboard this luxury strato-cruiseliner was thrilling enough but as you’d know it’s the take off that really does it for jet-freaks like me. The pilot had not even lined the phallus up with the lines on the runway before he was giving it his all to achieve eventual escape velocity. Yipppeeee!
Turning directly onto runway 2, the engines were already full thrust and the pilot let the brakes go as we straightened out … Sucked into your seat, the planes nose flips up and the city shrinks quickly below. Wooosh!
What a flight it was: clear skies, no turbulence, and a view of the jungle that stretched to the horizon… All this, plus a pilot who obviously enjoyed the maneuverability and sheer tempo of his zippy charge. I’ll leave out the thrilling detail but for the landing at Kigali:
The pilot put the jet into a steep right turn that sucked you into your seat so you couldn’t sit upright. I could see the runway clearly, looking down to my right. He then seemed to slur, or ‘twist’, the plane onto the runway and came in at a speed I have encountered only once before (excruciatingly, when I was an unwilling participant in an ‘auto-pilot’ test, aboard a brand new airbus A320, landing at Cape Town International in ‘96).
But even at the speed we were going, the touchdown was ‘padded’ and the reverse thrust of the engines was another rush, again. Eish.
Kigali airport is small, neat, and impeccably clean. The staff manning their points at customs and immigration are efficient and friendly. Signage is in French and Rwandese with little English in sight.
As our pilot came past, after we had checked through immigration, I thanked him for an immensely enjoyable experience on his plane. He smiled warmly, and said in an incredibly slow, thick French-African accent:
“When there are no police around, I like to drive a leeeetle dangereuse”, laughing heartily.
I laughed too, thinking that there might be some weird compensation thing going on between his slow verbal drawl and the sheer gusto of his flight…
We bussed to the five-star Serena Hotel, in sparkling Kigali (by now in darkness).
Rwanda has done everything it can possibly do to make this country something of an African paragon of honesty and good governance. Its President, Paul Kagame, is about as ‘hands-on’, and reputably ‘clean’, as one can get. Recently, as part of the widespread attempt to clean up the inner city, he took his own vehicle and drove himself around town to locate the centres of noise and disturbance that inner city dwellers had recently complained about. After locating the problem places, he went at 2am to wake both his Chief of Police, as well as his Minister of Justice. He brought them to his home and proceeded to question them as to what was to be done. I presume they had a plan because within two days the problem spots were gone!
Similarly there has been a drive to remove from the inner city slum dwellings that were perceived to be scarring Kigali’s main hill. There are huge tracts of neatly fenced prime land that have been cleared of their shanty dwellers. Cleared, yes, but not before their residents had been extensively polled as to where they would like to be settled. The clearing of shanty towns then went ahead without incident as the people moved willingly to better places of residence. The result of such an approach is that there is no sign of poverty or urban decay in the city. There are no beggars and there’s absolutely no crime to speak of. Paul Kagame also went recently on a trip to the rural areas, across what is Africa’s most densely populated country – between 9 and 11 million people spread over a jungle smaller than Swaziland. He met the rank and file of Rwanda in one-on-one meetings with anyone who wanted to have a say. One old lady evidently spoke to him about the problems she was having with the local chief and that this had been a problem for her for many years. She had been promised various concessions and none of these had materialized. Evidently, right there and then, the chief was called to respond directly to the woman’s issues, in the company of the president. The chief evidently had nothing to say and by Presidential Decree was unceremoniously removed from his post there and then to thunderous applause.
There is a ban on bicycles in Kigali city, not because they are not wanted per se, but because the government wants to avoid any problems stemming from bicycles being used as taxis. Rather, Kigali has a well regulated ‘bora-bora’ business where motorbike riders are equipped with helmets for themselves and their passengers and they wear colour coded jackets with their ‘zone’ emblazoned on the front and back. There are thousands of these ‘bora-boras’, driving well, and in disciplined fashion, all over the city (driving on the Franco-right-hand-side). You cannot take a street photograph without getting at least one of the ‘bora-boras’ in the picture. You are also not allowed to walk barefoot in town. This I believe is to discourage recent Rwandan immigrants to Kigali from buying a few beers rather than a pair of shoes when they come to town!
Having met a few of Rwanda’s government ministers I am amazed at how young and progressive they are. Clearly a bright bunch of guys, they are strongly and ardently in support of their leader’s straight and direct legislative line. Yet despite the slightly propagandistic stance of the ministers and their deputies about the modern appeal of Kigali as a business hub, I am told there are serious problems with the bureaucracy and that new business start-ups battle to overcome the inertia that besets the civil service. Business takes a lot longer to establish in Rwanda than is claimed, perhaps. And someone I met at our sponsored supper, who heads an agency in Rwanda, is a lot less optimistic about things turning out as everyone hopes …
Rwanda’s stated objective is to make the country an African I.T. hub. I wasn’t able to get a strong justification for this end from anyone I spoke to, and I certainly had enough problems with the hotel Internet service for this objective to seem slightly whimsical right now. But perhaps if the Rwandans achieve their aim of putting a laptop into every schoolchild’s hands, we may yet see something noteworthy coming from Rwanda in the African-IT rush. The influence of French culture in Rwandan society is certainly evident and I would venture to say that the Rwandese will have gained certain intellectual benefits from the prior use of the tongue (the official language is now English of course).There certainly is a clear and present ‘class’ to the more affluent Rwandese I saw at the hotel. I did not see many Rwandese of this ilk and I have a feeling that the affluent stick to themselves and don’t flash their wealth around town much. But evidence of wealth there is. Lots of Mercedes. And Kigali is expensive, even compared to Nairobi.
I initially thought there was something of a gentle-ness among the Rwandan people. I guessed it could only have something to do with the Hutu-Tutsi genocide of 1994. I reflected on the fact that while I was standing in a long queue, getting ready to vote for freedom, people were being mercilessly butchered by their own compatriots in this small jungle nation.
And it took me another two full days to ponder if the Rwandan people might not be suffering from a post-traumatic stress disorder (of the ‘societal’ kind) …
On Friday I took my perfunctory ‘walkabout’ and rode around town on the back of a Rwandan ‘bora-bora’ We passed the high bridge from which Tutsi parents were forced by their Hutu fellows to drop their infant children into the water below … I didn’t take a photo. I passed “Hotel Rwanda” on the hill, nondescript and unidentified for its place in the nation’s recent history.
What is it with us humans that we can turn on our fellow nationals with rampant, unfettered violence? On a somewhat smaller scale, but potentially the same, the same happened in Kenya just over a year ago. It happened, kabisa (thoroughly), in Rwanda 15 years ago. And the scars of Rwanda are evident in the people. If there is a gentleness among the people, it can only be for fear of starting something like that again but, if truth be told, it looks to me like the people are suffering the effects of shock.
I had a drink with a Rwandan woman at the Kigali Serena on Tuesday night. She lost every single member of her family in the genocide. She says she was lucky. Then, after a few seconds, she says maybe she wasn’t so lucky for the pain and hardship she went through afterwards.
Then she adds, looking at the ground, with the shimmer of a tear in her eye:
“I still have dreams about my baby … ”
If not just the shock of experiencing genocide, what of the survivor-guilt that many Rwandese must surely carry?
Ernest, a Rwandan in Rwanda - but only as part of the German mission – and now resident in Hamburg, tells me that if I were to ask around about the entire destruction of families, just among those who work at the hotel, I would go into shock myself!
But somehow, I wasn’t really shocked.
I am not going to repeat the atrocities that Ernest told me about. While he talked, an image of Marlon Brando came to me, from Apocalypse Now, saying:
“The Horror … The Horror”
There is no ready smiling in Rwanda. Don’t get me wrong, the Rwandese are friendly, but there is some ‘juice’ missing behind the smile. I have already waxed lyrical about the ‘vibe’ of the Kenyan people, but this type of ‘vibe’ is entirely absent here in Kigali. When I checked out the hotel I flirted with the receptionist who was fixedly working at her monitor. At the end of my obviously-flirtatious promise to come back to fetch her, I got a wan smile. And Christine told me, in absolute earnest:“If you ever come back to Rwanda I will be here and waiting for you”
Ernest surprised me with the revelation that the Hutu/Tutsi thing was not based on a history of tribal roots at all, but one of class structures only. Hutus and Tutsis are not members of different tribes, or language or religious groups! There are no differences in language or culture between the so-called Tutsis and the Hutus. Rather, the classification of Tutsi means “high class” and nothing else. In 1959 or so (why then, I don’t know), if you owned 10 or more cattle you were classified “Tutsi” and automatically became a member of the ruling class. If you owned fewer cows than that, you were a Hutu.
This situation persisted peacefully for some time until the Tutsis started taking the class thing a little too far. They started to create their own schools, hospitals and other institutions, all of which were closed to anyone but their own (and with the usual, inevitable social problems that followed). Eventually the more “oppressed” class, the Hutus, got a bit pissed off and a few among them started agitating for change. The rest, as they say, was hysteria …
Ernest shakes his head and says, wisely:
“In Africa it doesn’t take much to start a fire ... The spark that ignites may be small, but the fire rages quickly.”
We spoke quite a bit about factors that might impede the realization of Rwanda’s goals.
(An article I read in the weekly East African newspaper said that Tutsis and Hutus were peacefully living side-by-side in the ‘new’ Rwanda. Now I can see how this can be.) I guess my impressions of Kigali, at least, are somehow encapsulated in what I didn’t see, rather than what I did see.
The one thing you don’t see is the city’s main graveyard …
With the headstone-uniformity that one would expect from a war - or perhaps, genocide - it stretches over an area that is far larger than a football field! My ‘bora-bora’ driver couldn’t tell me what was being planned for the graveyard but plans are obviously afoot to remove the memory! The sight of it was frankly chilling, especially because it lies behind a shiny metal fascia of galvanized corrugate, shielding it from view.
I found the holocaust memorial more moving than I care to talk about.
If we ignore the potential effects of a post traumatic ‘problem’ among the people and pretend it’s not there … The potential for overregulation of Rwandan society is obvious. Thus far it is unfolding as a relatively benign means of social control - in what may well be classed as a ‘benign dictatorship’.
My worry is that this control may ultimately lead to the society never being able to experience a positive outflow of energy – an energy that may heal - an outflow that the society seems to sorely need. There seem to be very deep scars that the people carry. The scars I talk of are evidenced in the complete lack of “joie de vivre”. To me at least, it looks as if there’s something bubbling underneath and something that political measures should not really seek to control.
The Rwandese are certainly friendly, but to this I cannot add the usual rejoinder of ‘warm’. The only time I saw real laughter - ‘from the heart’ - was among young taxi drivers only (who would have been just too young to remember). At the hotel I heard only quiet conversation and wooden postures. The Rwandese certainly cannot be blamed for their state of mind and the stress of their past is clearly somewhere there, beneath the cloak of relative material comfort and amidst the strident attempts to instill a ‘super-normality’ on the whole society. But really how normal can a society be where entire families have been wiped out in a matter of days and months, by people who were erstwhile friends and neighbours…?
Kenya, there’s a lesson for you in Rwanda ...
We flew out of Kigali International Airport in a brand new Kenya Airways Boeing 737-800 replete with TV screens and Pixar-like animations of emergency flight instructions (in Swahili and English). Once we had crossed the lake, we flew directly over the extremely dry Tanzanian part of the Maasai Mara, as we headed directly to Nairobi, Kenya.
We landed at Kenyatta Airport and I was smiling, happy to be back on Kenyan soil.
Kuwa na amani (peace be with you), everyone.
B-)
While I was out …
On Wednesday, while in Rwanda, two Kenyan activists were assassinated in broad daylight, shot through the window of the car they were sharing on the trip back to the office. A bystander, and eyewitness to the scene, was shot through the leg. He was the only person who might positively identify the uniformed men who wielded the weapons. He was taken by the police to a ‘nearby hospital’. I haven’t heard any news of the witness since then.
The dual assassination led to student riots on Thursday, through the streets of Nairobi.
One of the students got shot dead. The riot was quelled with tear gas and a few live rounds. From the next day, through Sunday, police in Land Rovers were stationed at the single exit that marks the main street of student residences in the city. The vice-chancellors of both Kenyatta and Moi universities threatened students with expulsion if they continued to riot. Prime Minister Raila Odinga was later played widely on radio with an announcement – addressed to both the students and vice-chancellors - to the effect that "nothing of the sort" would happen. Silence from the Kibaki camp.
Is there just a glimmer of recognition from government that the Kenyan people – most notably the youth - are very deeply unhappy and frustrated?
Strategically, if you recognize the anger and frustration of the youth, it’s useful to let them blow off a little steam every now and then. Let them make just enough noise to keeps them quiet. Is this what happened? Was this the idea?
But let’s backtrack just a little, to the reason for the assassination …
The killing of the activists had something to do with their providing evidence to Prof Philip Alston, the EU’s Special Investigator who visited Kenya week before last. His mission was to investigate – among other things – the ‘extra-judicial killing’ of members of the ‘Mungiki’ gang … And the slain activists had been talking to him about these killings.
Background: Like there’s this ‘gang’ in Kenya – what Brenda calls ‘a sect’ – called the Mungiki. Their precise origin is not known but they rose during the Moi era. They are not to be confused with the Mau-Mau. The Mau were freedom fighters and heroes of the Kenyan people for their role in Kenyan liberation. By contrast, the Mungiki are just a sect of bloodthirsty (quite literally, I have heard) thugs who are behind the more rampant aspects of crime in Kenya. They have also been suspected of working for the Kenyan government during ‘special operations’ (like last year’s stolen-election-insurrection) and senior Mungiki leaders are even rumoured to work in government itself.
When the ‘post-election violence’ erupted in Kenya last year, Mungiki were charged with the task of identifying the regime’s opponents … a regime that was very intent on holding on to power, and still is. Mungiki inquisitors painted crosses on the gates of the primary suspects while Mungiki foot soldiers came round later and beat or killed occupants of the branded households. A black cross or a red one.
(Brenda’s family home was branded with a red cross, as opposed to the black one on most fences. But the family – nay, the whole of Ngong Town – was saved by the Maasai, within whose territory Ngong lies. In this case, the Maasai told the Mungiki in no uncertain terms that this was Maasai land, to the effect that ‘those who live on this land are guests of the Maasai. If you have a problem with a guest, you have a problem with the Maasai') ... Ahem ...
Needless to say, the Mungiki declined to take the matter any further and Ngong was spared the attentions of the Mungiki. But they’re around and enjoy quite mythical status in Nairobi. Mungiki members are believed to pay 1 Shilling a day into the Mungiki ‘state coffers’. Authoritative word says Mungiki has 2 million members. You do the math ...
Mungiki do act as guns for hire – armed, aiding and abetting anyone – but they are, on the whole, a self-serving bunch of gangsters who sometimes wear khaki shorts, animal hide and Bata Safari Boots. They wear scarves with Kenya colours but for the fact that the white stripe is removed. They are seldom seen in public, ‘dressed’. This, because the police have an open license to shoot Mungiki on sight.
A month or two ago (before I really knew who they were), we saw them walking downtown, fully dressed and looking the picture of scrawny wickedness. I only noticed them in the rearview mirror, and this only after Brenda and Erica had almost jumped under the dashboard and back seat respectively, exclaiming:
“Heh-Heyyyeeee, …. Mungiki … kabi-sssssss-aaaaaaa!” (Mungiki … fu-llll-yyyy)
Mungiki are often replete with dreadlocks, which maybe answers my query (in an earlier blog) about reasons for the youth not wearing dreads in Kenya. It probably also accounts for some local confusion between Mungiki and Mau-Mau - who also wore locks. In this society you don’t want to wear locks for fear of being seen as Mungiki ...! You could get easily shot if somehow you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or any combination thereof.
My biggest shock, as I became aware of Kenyan realpolitik – and which I haven’t really blogged before – is the lack of rule-of-law. I have skirted around the issue in these blogs but it really is the cornerstone of oppression in Kenya society. When you can get easily shot, under any pretext, you are not about to stand up too quickly. When I see the ‘Mungiki pretext’ as an excuse for state-sponsired murder, I get an entirely different - and far more harsh - view than that I held before. It’s a scenario all-too-familiar to South Africans. But the so-called ‘extra-judicial killings’ are much easier to commit here because of the clear and present danger posed by Mungiki.
When I first arrived in Kenya, there were daily reports of these so-called ‘extra-judicial killings’. There is less news of it now but time was, very recently, when every day there would be a report of “police gunning down suspected thugs”. I asked about it of someone whose views I respect. I was shocked and dismayed at the ‘suspected’ part of what I was hearing. All she could add, with a resigned shrug, was the fact that “you’re not sure which ones are the thugs”. Today, I think I’m beginning to understand what she meant and this is why it has taken me so long to deal with it in words.
In a recent chat I had with a guest speaker at the East Africa Association – a serious government opponent, and author of a tome on Kenyan corruption - I reflected on the role of the youth in the SA revolution and asked him about ‘youth-initiatives’ in Kenya. He said there were many, growing in number and size. I said I hadn’t heard of many – almost any – but then I’m not ‘on the ground’ in the Kenyan underground. He said we should talk further. There was a crowd around. I got his mobile number but we have yet to speak since I returned from Rwanda. And there is little chance he didn’t speak with Alston as well …
Meantime, Prime Minister Raila Odinga, basically the only opposition-member in Kibaki’s ruling regime, is a lone voice in a barren wilderness of public dissent. Go Raila!, but ultimately I fear for your life (although many are saying you have been co-opted, kabisa).
If given the chance, all I would ask Kenyans, of each and every description – in ‘opposition’, in government, in the police and at the heart of civil society itself – is the following:
Is this the Kenya you want for your children?
Are corruption and oppression, and lessons on how to thieve from your brothers and sisters the values you want to instill in your children? Answer this question, Kenya, and you may have a basis for unifying all sides against the issues you face…
Rejoinder
Amidst all of this I want to finally, finally attest to the indomitable spirit of the Kenyan people…
There are up to ten million people in Kenya’s northern regions that are facing the prospect of starvation. This, as a result of drought plus government ineptitude and corruption (there was a recent – as yet unresolved - ‘maize scandal’ involving multi-millions).
Since yesterday 6am, till today 6am there has been a charity drive to collect food for starving Kenyans. I was at the Uchumi supermarket at Sarit Centre yesterday evening and couldn’t believe the trolley loads of maize-meal that were being bought by individuals and being taken directly to the collection point. I was a bit skaam (embarassed) with my five kilos of maize-meal. I added the unga (maize flour) to the one-or-two-hundred trolleys of food already standing there! And while some were buying food to donate (and many of those at the supermarket were there for that reason only), other Kenyans were taking the trouble to go out and donate money to a fund through Safaricom’s mPesa (money-transfer) service. By midnight, Kshs2.5 million had already been raised and over three hundred metric tons of food has been collected!
South Africa, if only you were as warm-hearted and giving as the Kenya people!
Again I have to say, despite the troubles the Kenyan people face, they have a spirit of love and forgiveness that is HUGE. I care what happens among these lovely people but I worry (kabisa) about what’s happening in that country I call home.
Peace and love,
B-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)