Extremes Sitting One Next To Another: Kenya’s Diversity As Exclusion As Well Its Strength and Opportunity

October 28th, 2009 by Simona Novinec

I have never really been interested in observing the sky. It was a friend of mine who made me aware that having stars above our heads is something to appreciate. Living in a city might make the latter invisible, either due to all smog or the lights. In Kenya, I rather don’t see them because I am far in between the four walls if not in bed by the time they appear on the sky. However, just as is the Kenyan time “different”, as pointed out by VICDA at the introduction, is its sky every single day. Either being on my way to or from school or the Engine where buying water and catching the matatu, I cannot stop looking at those two extremes on the blue sky, sitting one next to another. Whatever the temperature, there is always an angry black cloud among dense deep white clouds of many different shapes. I am not very familiar with the evaporation and condensation processes, but ‘Kenyan’ clouds must be a consequence of interactions with some very specific geographical features. The sun is shining strongly while it at the same time always looks it would rain sooner or later. It usually doesn’t. Kenyans keep praying for rain. It has only rained few times since I’ve been in Kenya, mostly during the night. It rains today though, on our way from school.

I am standing in front of the Ndiiani Primary School, talking to teacher Peter. “Habari ja wekend?” (How was your weekend?), he asks me in sweng, slang that blends colloquial English language with Swahili. We discuss the Slovenian political system. Discussion develops further. His guess on Slovenian population is 50 mio. “Close, but not,” I say laughing. Afterwards he explains about water shortages in Kenya. He adds few more words into my ‘head’ vocabulary of his mother tongue, the latter being the Kikuyu. This is the country’s largest tribal group. “Kwaherini” (goodbye), I say, while greeting teacher Magishi, coming from Lukhuya tribe, by “rifaki” and then … my vocabulary is suddenly empty. I address the rest by “Salama.”

Although 99% of the population is African, Kenya is divided into 44 distinct ethnic groups that developed largely along linguistic lines. Each tribal group has its own mother tongue which is foreign to all other tribes. Saying ‘Muraembe’ (Jambo in Swahili) to Ms. Magashi is using a foreign language to all other teachers. However, I stick to learning Swahili, the national language of Kenya.

Tribes are still the most important aspect of the Kenyan’s identity. Everything belongs to the community, everything belongs to the church. I suddenly feel very distinct to everything and everyone here. I feel I am loosing my trust, loosing my power to choose, I feel like stopping being myself. Too naive earlier or just recently locked among so many different tribal diversities and animosities?

Hardly expected weekend is here. To put it differently, it’s time for a shower and a proper nap. We go to the Nairobi city for the weekend. Before catching the matatu and experiencing another crazy drive with about 12 to 14 other passengers in a van for 8, I and Rebecca get our plaits done. 4 girls finish my hair in about 5 hrs. Their fingers are so quick that I cannot follow. My head becomes heavy. However, is seems the braids, as the Kenyans call them, might be easier to handle while not being able to wash our hair very often.

We meet Rosy, her brother and few friends for a dinner in the city. Rosy Apiyo comes from the Luo community, Kenya’s third largest group. Rosy is a Christian name, while Apiyo tells us she is the first born twin. Single born are given their name by the time of the day being born as well as according to their gender. Gorrety’s, Rosy’s sister’s middle name, for example, is Antieno, since being born between 6 and 12PM. This is how the Luo tribal group chooses the middle name for the newborns.

We taste quite few traditional Kenyan cuisines including “Ugali” (maize porridge, very similar to Slovenian polenta), “Sukuma wiki” (stewed spinach), and “Garedi” (maize and beans). I feel sorry for not joining Rosy and co. at the club after a nice supper, but while being there in my minds, my legs dictate the way directly into the bed. We stay at a very cosy backpackers place. As soon as I am aware of many white faces all around and the running water after a long time, I fall into a deep sleep.

At a dinner with Rosy

I finally meet Marianne, the Australian volunteer, on Sunday. We visit the Langata Giraffe Centre. It’s a very small area with 5 giraffes, Daisy, the tallest one, being other four’s mum. We enjoy observing and hand-feeding them. Kissing Daisy, the Rothschild’s (one of the three Giraffe species living in Africa) is a surprise and quite an experience. It not only sounds, but actually is grouse. However, grouse has become very relative these days. Thinking about it in the matatu on the way back home, I start laughing. Where to find a balance? I was pealing and even disinfecting every fresh fruit and vegetable when arriving to Kenya, while kissing a giraffe the very next moment. Extremes really do accompany each other, huh!?!

Langata Giraffe Centre

I wake up tired in the Monday morning. A new week hasn’t even started yet. Afraid of new challenges probably. I enter 6A class for English. No teacher’s table or chair, but a stick on the floor in front of the board. There is always space, time and reason for those pieces of wood in the classrooms. I don’t mind being without a sit and desk, but I do not need the latter either. By the time children notice what I have been up to, I get rid of it. It is rare that having no windows is useful. The stick flies through one of the crevices as a paper plane when I was younger. We continue our discussion on trees, preservation of forests and protection of environment. We explain compound adjectives and the ring belts. A sound equal to the cow’s belt, given by a boy with a ring outside the classrooms, is announcing the end of hour. My lost of the time feeling is telling me how much I am enjoying.

Taitsu, a boy hiding under the desk the other day, comes to me asking for a help with mathematics. As soon as I can realize what I have just heart, we arrange some exercises for tomorrow break time. I am happy. I feel he really wants to improve. He has done a great job with only few mistakes by the board today. And his ask for help sounds genuine. Not only an excuse for a conversation. In fact, asking for help with different subjects is usually only an introduction into a discussion on a child’s passport and wish to travel into “our” countries. The latter is one of the discussions and topics I am now ignorant to. This makes me feel I am ignoring a child which seemed impossible and terrible only two weeks ago. It is now, however, a part of my daily life.

When free of my own classes I join children at their PE classes. We play football, handball or some clap games on the Ndiiani field, as I call it, in front of the school. We do some arts and crafts during the free time or when teachers do not appear in the class. The latter is a rule rather than an exception. Not my business though. I am focused on my promise to the children, the latter being to do some extra activities out of the regular classes. A nice relaxation and break from the regular class work.

I am sitting on the chair under the tree, finishing the library cards. A group of children approaches. They want paintings on their arms. We draw some flowers and hearts. I enjoy the science class after the lunch break. We make few experiments to illustrate mass, volume, density, expansion and contraction of different states of matters. Focused on our discussion on density which seems to be the greatest hurdle, we don’t hear the bell, we forget about time. They ask for homework before we leave. I am trying to hide being stunned and quickly make up few questions.

This is the beginning of today’s rain. Out of nothing. I meet Bec at the lower primary located on the left of the Ndiiani field and we walk home. It’s hot and dry, one of my lips is bleeding. We walk clumsily. “Look there,” says Rebecca and by the time I react, it’s raining heavily. We don’t really mind, we laugh and walk barefoot down the Kahawa Sukuri Ave which has just been tarred all the way from the Engine where the road begins, down to the Ndiiani PS which is just on the opposite site of Kahawa district. We turned left at the muddy Kui River. Our feet are spotty dirty, but just as the ground, they get dry again by the time we reach the house. The sun is back, like after every rain. And so is my hope and optimism. “Hakuna matata!,” I say, pulling down my totally dripping and heavy jeans.

Black cloud on the clear sky, a child who knows everything sitting to the one that doesn’t speak English, an orphan without a shelter next to the rich child visiting the private school, kissing a giraffe after pilling an apple, dry after walking in the rain, sleeping under the mosquito net while receiving quite few bites as soon as getting out of the bed every morning … these is what I understand under the “Kenyan time is different.” A belief that everything is possible is back. Whatever the mood, my focus remain the kids in the classroom. This was my choice, my alone. There is a saying on the head teacher’s door that “Our greatest power is the power to choose.” We can never loose the latter. This is what brought me to Kenya, this is what makes me stay and enjoy my work.