The cremation of the remains of Kibra MP Hon. Ken Odhiambo Okoth contrary to the Luo culture elicited public debate reminiscent of the S.M Otieno case in the late 80s, where the widow, Wambui Otieno battled in court with Umira Kager clan over where to bury the body of the then renowned lawyer. Wambui had wanted to bury her husband at their Upper Matasia home while the lawyer’s clan insisted he had to be buried in his ancestral home in accordance with Luo culture. The wishes of the clan carried the day.
Whereas the cremation of the Hon. Okoth’s remains was contested, it is the pronouncement by a splinter group of the Luo Council of Elders led by Nyandigo Ongadi that drew public opprobrium and approbation almost in equal measure. These elders demanded the inheritance of Okoth’s widow, Monica Okoth, by one of the late legislator’s brothers in line with Luo culture. Social media went ablaze with mixed reactions; those that opposed it caricatured wife inheritance as primitive, immoral and irreligious while those who supported the call felt the practice is an important component of Luo culture to be preserved. Mainstream media joined the bandwagon with sensationalized reporting of the matter that bordered on a mischaracterization of the practice of wife inheritance.
For starters, wife inheritance – also known as levirate marriage, is a customary practice that entails that upon the death of a husband, his brother or a male relative equivalent to a paternal cousin assumes the role of the deceased man by stepping in as the new head of the deceased’s home. The term “levirate” comes from Latin word “levir” which means a husband’s brother. The brother or the paternal cousin of the deceased thus becomes a wife inheritor; the two cohabit and culturally validate the arrangement through consummation which usually happens in the widow’s house. In some situations, the widow has the liberty to identify the man to inherit her from within the clan, while in other cases the widow has little or no power to decide who inherits her thus must remain acquiescent to the voice of the wise elders who make the decision. It is assumed the directive is in the interest of the common good and therefore has a utilitarian function of preserving the name of the deceased, especially if he died without having children. This explains why the Luo elders demanded ex cathedra that Hon. Okoth’s widow must be inherited. Whether this demand was justifiable in the prevailing context is a totally different matter.
For starters, wife inheritance – also known as levirate marriage, is a customary practice that entails that upon the death of a husband, his brother or a male relative equivalent to a paternal cousin assumes the role of the deceased man by stepping in as the new head of the deceased’s home.
The social media reactions relayed the disturbing misrepresentation that has for long perpetuated the narrative that African cultures were or are in some way defective and backward and many Africans have obsequiously submitted to a superior foreign culture. Australian social critic A.A. Philips coined a term for it – cultural cringe, the collective inferiority complex that makes the natives of a country dismiss their culture as inferior to other cultures. The West has largely become the source of our cultural validation. Cultural cringe impairs our ability to question, without feeling inferior, some of our practices, including wife inheritance, from a lived experience that is only unique to ourselves.
It is this inferiority that somehow makes a society peddle falsehoods, fallacies and exaggerations about aspects of its own culture. Therefore, when the debate on wife inheritance heightened on social media, it wasn’t surprising that some views were outrageous and bordered on bastardization of the cultural practice in question. These views are representational of the effects of the cultural servitude we were conscripted to by the West.
Wife Inheritance in the Bible
Wife inheritance, like any other “controversial” aspects of African cultures, is characterised as non-religious and satanic. However, wife inheritance is not exclusive to African traditional or non-religious for that matter. It escapes the critics that the practice is recorded in the Christian bible existing among Hebrews and Jews. Religion was and still is a function of the culture that creates it.
Deuteronomy 25:5-10, for instance, commands a brother to marry the widow of his childless brother to perpetuate the name of the deceased brother. Some of the examples from the Bible are the marriage of Boaz to the Moabite widow Ruth (Ruth 4:9) and the marriage of Onan to Tamar, Er’s widow (Genesis 38:6-10).
The West has largely become the source of our cultural validation. Cultural cringe impairs our ability to question, without feeling inferior, some of our practices, including wife inheritance, from a lived experience that is only unique to ourselves.
Wife inheritance was for centuries practiced among the Nilotic Luo peoples of Western Kenya, Northern Uganda and the Mara region of Tanzania as part of the metaphysics of their cultures. Like other practices, it echoed the unwritten laws of the ancestors who acted as the interceders to the gods. The Luo of Kenya for a long time termed the practice “tero” or “lako” to mean the rite of inheriting a widow. Wife inheritance also obtains among other Nilotic groups such as the Dinka, Nuer, Atuot and Anywaak of South Sudan and Ethiopia.
The practice was also common among Bantu tribes of East Africa such as the Abaluhya (Maragoli, Bukusu and Samia) and Abagusii of Kenya and the Bagwere people of Uganda. It was strongly present among Southern Bantus of Zimbabwe and Mozambique and South Eastern Bantus of Malawi. All these tribes in their separate ways regarded wife inheritance as an institution of widow care chiefly established to protect the widow and children of the deceased.
In Malawi, for instance, the Sena people practise kulowa kufa in which a widow is married to another man or brother of the deceased husband to protect the name of the deceased and care for the widow and children.
In West Africa, wife inheritance was practised by the Igbo, Yoruba and Hausa-Fulani of Nigeria and the practice is still common in rural areas. Customary laws of the three tribes require that upon the death of her husband, a widow must be inherited by a male relative of the late husband. In Yoruba culture, if a polygamous man died, his youngest wife would be inherited by the eldest son of the deceased man. This arrangement was also common among the Luhya of Kenya even though the practice has principally been abandoned, unlike among Yoruba people where it is supposedly still in force. To a non-Yoruba, this would look like institutionalized incest, a practice that was fairly common among European royal blood lines only that in the latter, marriages happened between first cousins.
An article appearing in National Geographic magazine in 2010 titled “The Risks and Rewards of Royal Incest” delved into the reality of inbreeding among royals like the Bourbons of France, Hawaiian royals, Hohenzollerns of Prussia and the British royal family. In the British royal family, Princess Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha married her maternal first cousin Duke Kirill Vladimirovich of Russia then later married her paternal first cousin Duke of Hesse, in line with the wishes of her grandmother Queen Victoria who happens to be a great-great grandmother to Queen Elizabeth II. Incestuous marriages led to the end of the Spanish Hapsburg royal family with the death of King Charles II in 1700. King Charles II, popularly known as El Hechizado or the Hexed (Bewitched), was practically a sickly king with serious mental and physical health disabilities as a result of centuries of inbreeding.
Ironically, while the colonialists were quick to label African practices and tribes as retrogressive, inbreeding among European royals was labeled more as a health risk than as a retrogressive practice.
Communalism or Patriarchy
It is pure ignorance to claim that wife inheritance as culturally practised by various African and even Asian tribes, like Hunnish tribes of Central Asia and Pashtuns of Afghanistan, was retrogression. Just as inbreeding sought to keep the royalty within families, wife inheritance sought continuity of one’s bloodline. The caring for widows and continuation of the bloodline of a deceased man is guided by an underlying philosophy and is part of a governance structure of a society.
In the Luo community, two things stand out which are common in most communities that practised wife inheritance and African communities in general; the first is patriarchy. The directive by the Luo Council of Elders to Hon. Okoth’s family demonstrated the extent to which elders created social and political order and defined the economic structures including control of property. Among the Luo community, elders were revered as the decision makers on most cultural affairs; they monopolized wisdom and guided their people and protected the interests of their people first. Whereas the community was patriarchal, widows (and married women) inherit land rights by virtue of marriage and farm land nearly in the same manner as matriarchal African societies like the Owambo people of Namibia or the Serer people of Senegal.
Just as inbreeding sought to keep the royalty within families, wife inheritance sought continuity of one’s bloodline. The caring for widows and continuation of the bloodline of a deceased man is guided by an underlying philosophy and is part of a governance structure of a society.
With the corruption of the institution of wife inheritance, there has been increased hostility towards widows. In the 90s, wife inheritors among the Luo of Kenya became popularly known as “terrorists” – a pun curved out of the word “tero” (the practise of wife inheritance), and which symbolized a casual bravado by male relations who had abused and corrupted the hitherto cultural institution of caring for the widow’s welfare and the family of the deceased.
As a result of this, wife inheritance has been treated as one of the legacies of patriarchal dictatorship among the Luo community and feminist scholars have launched their campaigns against the practice from that viewpoint.
Secondly, the Luo community – like most African communities, had very strong clan structures that influenced how communalism was interpreted. For Luos, communalism inspired a unique social welfare system that transcended the living world to the ancestral. Communalism not only guided kinship and relations but also how the living viewed and related to the “living dead” and the ancestors. Life was a shared experience driven by cultural truths that inspired collective consciousness for the other. It is this cultural organization that partly inspired the institution of widow care among Luos. When you married a woman, she became a daughter of the community in the same way her husband was a son of the community.
Racism the Root of Cultural Colonialism
While advancing their Western patriarchal values, the West significantly disrupted African communal systems. This agenda was driven by the patronizing colonial view of Africa, as a cultural space inferior to Western culture. Western scholars went to the great extent of intellectualizing this racist ideology. German scholar GWF Hegel (1770-1831) without ever traveling to Africa, fascinatingly described that Africa (South of Sahara) was “Africa proper”, “a land of childhood…enveloped in the dark mantle of night”, and without any relevance to world history because Sub-Saharan Africa was characterized as having neither a history nor civilization. According to Hegel, Africa had no history because to have history is to have reason – a capacity deficient among Africans. These radical views influenced the growth of the racial ideology that bedeviled Africa and Africans across continents and devalued the significance of our cultures in the eyes of the world.
Through deliberate restructuring of African cultures to adhere to the modern (read European/American) dictates of civilization, some African cultural practices like wife inheritance were declared immoral, and as a result have been targeted on the grounds that they are immoral and backward. Thanks to neo-liberalism – the “new world order”, the rise of secular democracy has significantly re-organized the socio-political and economic structures of African societies as it tramples upon any cultural considerations. Religion and colonialism enhanced the slavery narrative that Africans were inferior. Religion, particularly the Judeo-Christian religion, established an anti-culture evangelization project to overthrow cultural practices conveniently labeled Satanic. More specifically the Christian ethics of Protestant tradition is partly responsible for the capitalist economic (dis)order due to its emphasis on individual achievement and the religious adulation of the same; Max Weber extensively speaks about this in his book The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism.
Colonialism, on the other hand, reinvented African societies by dismantling and destroying the existing socio-cultural structures then supplanted them with a new set of cultural ideologies. The result was a disintegration of communal structures which has contributed to abandonment of our communal values. The individualistic-cum-capitalist Western culture invaded our communalism and consequently post-independent African societies have since been atomized as people seek individual survival and happiness over communal welfare and social values. This atomization was enhanced in the 1960s and 1970s with the abandonment of the idea of common land ownership, among other things, and later in the 1980s and 1990s people began to migrate, like everywhere else, from rural to urban centres away from their communities.
Cultural Gigolos and HIV Prevalence
Social critics have portrayed wife inheritance as a form of subjugation of women but this must be viewed within the context of wife inheritance as practised today which continues to defy the relevant cultural expectations of the community. In fact, it is contested that what is practised today cannot pass for wife inheritance as it is contrary to the very idea of widow care. This is because the corrupted version has become synonymous with plundering of the wealth and property of the widows.
Under this corrupt regime of wife inheritance, in place of responsible brothers-in-law are “professional” wife inheritors who gallivant from one funeral to the next in search of bereaved and vulnerable widows. This crop of men mostly are opportunistic individuals not only without the means to take care of themselves let alone the widows they intend to inherit but also devoid of a reasonable sense of direction that adulthood affords normal human beings. They abandon their marriages – if they have any, to become “cultural gigolos”. In the process, they infect or re-infect the widows with HIV, or get infected or re-infected, before they move on to their next victim.
Colonialism, on the other hand, reinvented African societies by dismantling and destroying the existing socio-cultural structures then supplanted them with a new set of cultural ideologies.
This cultural sleaze can be attributed to weak communal structures, coupled with poverty and ignorance, which have enabled people to exploit cultural loopholes to their own immoral benefit. A clan like Uyoma along the shores of Lake Victoria, Siaya County, has witnessed all sorts of “terrorists”; most if not all cases do not meet the widow care threshold. Men come from across the lake as far as Uganda in search of greener pasture only to retire as serial wife inheritors in this or that village.
Studies show that societies where wife inheritance is practised have recorded high HIV prevalence, whether or not practices align with cultural requirements. A 2018 Government of Kenya HIV/AIDS prevalence report showed that counties in Nyanza region of Kenya where wife inheritance (safe to say the corrupted version since the institution of widow care has since died) is still rife recorded a prevalence rate ranging from 7.7% to 21.7% which was way above the national prevalence rate of 4.9%. In 2004, a UNDP report dubbed “Human Development Report for Nigeria. HIV and AIDS: A Challenge to Sustainable Human Development” found that the practice of wife inheritance was one of the leading causes of HIV in Nigeria. In 2006, Women UN Report Network observed there was high HIV rates in Mzimba District, Malawi North due to chokolo (wife inheritance). HIV/AIDS prevalence rates are high in other cultures where this practice is still rife including the Congo, Zimbabwe, Ghana, Nigeria, Cameroon, Uganda and Tanzania.
The only thing that these studies don’t tell us is that the institution of widow inheritance has since been overthrown and what reigns is the corrupted version of wife inheritance. Whereas some stakeholders have registered reservations about the veracity of statistics, it is vital that we assess from a cultural point of the utilitarian value of widow care from a health risk perspective now that what is left of it is an imitation of the institution.
Under this corrupt regime of wife inheritance, in place of responsible brothers-in-law are “professional” wife inheritors who gallivant from one funeral to the next in search of bereaved and vulnerable widows.
In my view, the health risk arising from the corruption of the practice would be the only sound argument against the traditional institution of widow care; and we lose nothing really because the institution has largely been abandoned and, in its place, an unfortunate debauched practice installed. I would, and actually have advocated the end to wife inheritance on grounds that as it is practised today, it has increased HIV prevalence; but I wouldn’t push for its ban on the flimsy premise that it is antithetical to Western cultures and the Judeo-Christian omni-God, or because it doesn’t fit within the philosophy of radical feminists.
On utilitarian grounds therefore, the Luo community and other communities that practised wife inheritance, should assess the challenges the institution has gone through in light of the needs, safety and security of widows at a time where HIV prevalence is growing. It is my proposition that our communities can replace widow care with widow empowerment initiated by a communal support system that involves the support of government under a National Safety Net Program which I believe would go a long way in enabling young widows with little or no income to become independent. Both county and national governments can work with clan elders to build priorities around supporting poor and uneducated widows as a strategy of combating HIV prevalence. Widows should then be free to choose to whom they get remarried to without being victimized or discriminated by the late husband’s relatives or even by fellow women. It must not be lost on us that a majority of widows in our communities are semi-literate and struggle to eke out a living increasing their sense of vulnerability and unlike Monica Okoth, their individual plight may never generate social media debate in their defense and or in defense of culture.
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Taita Taveta: The Land of Dietary Contrasts
Low investments in the agricultural sector, inadequate rainfall, reduced crop yields, lack of water for irrigation, land scarcity, and poverty are among the challenges that affect food production in Taita Taveta, rendering the county food insecure.
The Taita occupy the three sub-counties of Mwatate, Voi and Wundanyi in Taita Taveta County. They are thought to have migrated northwards through present day Tanzania to settle around Taita Hills, the northernmost part of the Eastern Arc Mountains. Taveta, the other sub-county within Taita Taveta County, is occupied by the Taveta-speaking people, and borders Tanzania to the South. Taita Taveta is a melting pot of ethnicities although the Taita and the Taveta are the majority. The county covers an area of approximately 17,100 square kilometres, with 62 per cent of the land taken up by the Tsavo East and Tsavo West National Parks. The rest of the land is occupied by ranches, private estates, and human settlements. Landlessness is acute in the county owing to poverty, displacement, evictions and the limited amount of land available for human activity.
The varied topography of Taita Taveta County—the upper zones which include the Sagalla, Mwambirwa and Taita Hills, the lowlands or plains of Voi and Mwatate and the volcanic foothills of Taveta—affect climatic conditions, water availability, and the viability of the land for agricultural purposes. Due its topography, most of the underground water in the county is to be found in the springs in Taveta and around Lakes Chala and Jipe. Higher rainfall is experienced in the highland areas where the forest cover provides a good catchment area. The plains are mostly semi-arid, experiencing very low rainfall. Three rivers—Lumi, Voi and Tsavo—traverse the county and the largest spring, Mzima Springs, is in Voi sub-county. The temperatures average 17°C in the high altitude areas and 30°C in the lowlands. Rainfall is in two cycles annually: the long rains between March and May and the short rains between October and December.
Like other Kenyans, the Taita eat ugali—the Swahili name for a stiff porridge made with maize meal that they call mswara—with an accompaniment of green leafy vegetables such as sukuma wiki (collard greens) spinach, cabbage, mnavu ghwa soko (cowpea leaves), mwapa (cassava leaves), pumpkin leaves, or foraged wild varieties such as mnyunya (wild lettuce), mgagani (Cleome gynandra), mwapa (cassava leaves), mchicha (amaranth leaves), ndunda (black nightshade), etc. Ugali flour is made from dried maize traditionally pounded with a mortar and pestle, then further ground either by hand or machine. Pounded maize is also used to make another Taita favourite called pure (a mix of pounded maize and beans). The maize chaff is traditionally used for making mbangara, the local beer. The Taita used to eat game meat when hunting was legal, or farmed livestock such as cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, ducks, pigs, etc. The meat was either dried on rocks (mdanda) or smoked over a wood-burning stove. Nowadays, most eat their meat fresh.
Habitual approaches to consuming food in Taita are no different from those of other communities around the country. For the Taita, breakfast and the evening meal are centred around family, but lunch is consumed individually wherever the family members are, which could be at work, home, or school. The packed lunch will most likely be the remains of the previous evening’s meal. However, those who can afford it eat this meal in restaurants and cafés.
Gender, feasts and memories
There is a gendered dynamic in Taita homes as food preparation falls to the womenfolk, and the knowledge is passed down the generations from grandmother to mother to daughter. However, many Taita men also know how to cook and in fact, my sister and I learnt how to cook mswara from our dad. Women’s labour is not limited to food preparation; women are involved in the entire food production chain, from cultivation, harvesting, processing, storage, transportation, buying and selling, and finally, preparation.
Food is central to celebrations in Taita. The community comes together to prepare food for communal functions such as funerals, weddings, and other festivities. Women do most of this communal labour although of late those with means pay for outside catering. Meals to celebrate religious holidays such as Easter, Christmas or Eid are made within the family, with sharing in mind. In our Christian household for instance, whenever an animal is slaughtered for such celebrations, it is done by a Muslim in a halal manner, enabling us to share and celebrate with our Muslim kin and friends.
No celebratory Taita meal is complete without pilau, chapati, kuku fry, maharagwe ya nazi, mbuzi fry, choma, kimanga and mbangara. Oh, and tea, litres and litres of tea. As is the case with many other ethnic groups in Kenya, the Taita food culture has been influenced by the culinary traditions of other Kenyan communities, introducing a demand for new foods that were previously not part of the traditional diet.
Food, land and devolution
Rain-fed subsistence agriculture is the main economic activity in Taita Taveta County, with farmers growing maize, beans, sorghum, cowpeas, pigeon peas, green grams and vegetables for their own consumption and selling the surplus. Livestock farming is either on communal or government ranches, or by small-scale farmers rearing animals in their homesteads or bomas in the plains (kireti). Agricultural labour is provided by the farmers’ families and hired full-time or part-time labourers.
The 2013 devolution of agricultural functions to the county level prompted the County Government of Taita Taveta to work together with farmers, the County Assembly of Taita Taveta, traders, Agro-NGOs and consumers to ensure the county’s food security. According to the county’s budget estimates for 2019-2020, approximately KSh800 million was earmarked for the agricultural, water, and ecology sectors, as well as agribusiness development. Some of the allocated funds came from development partners such as the World Bank, the European Union, and Sweden. This money was intended to improve the agricultural food supply chain starting with production, i.e. development of water infrastructure for irrigation, access to seeds, agricultural extension services, etc., to enable farmers produce the food. To ensure that this produce gets to markets, investments in infrastructure like feeder roads and actual markets were planned for. Investments in the areas of agri-business were meant to supplement farmers or individuals in establishing value addition businesses. As Taita’s main economic activity is subsistence agriculture, the county government hoped that this investment would improve farmers livelihoods thereby increasing their purchasing power.
As is the case with many other ethnic groups in Kenya, the Taita food culture has been influenced by the culinary traditions of other Kenyan communities.
However, a look at the 2020 County Budget Review and Outlook Paper, which reviews the county government’s actual fiscal performance for 2019-2020, shows that out of a budget of KSh4.73 billion, KSh3.96 billion or 84 per cent of the budget, was used for recurrent expenditure, leaving about KSh77 million for all county projects, a far cry from the budgeted KSh800 million for the agricultural and water sectors alone.
Besides the low levels of expenditure for agricultural projects, a myriad of other factors including low rainfall, reduced crop yields, lack of water for irrigation, environmental and climatic factors, land scarcity, and poverty affect food production and accessibility, rendering Taita Taveta food insecure. This food insecurity is felt the most in the drier Taita region and for decades now Taveta has been Taita’s key food supplier. Taveta is able to supply the Taita region for two reasons: its topography and its location.
Sitting on the volcanic foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, Taveta has fertile soils and, more importantly, it has both aboveground and underground water that can be used for irrigation. With water from Lake Chala and from Njoro Springs, Taveta has been able to irrigate up to 53 per cent of its potentially irrigable acreage, compared to Taita where only 14 per cent of land is under irrigation. In addition, Taveta has more smallholder irrigation schemes per square kilometre—4 per cent, compared to Taita’s 0.55 per cent.
The second reason why Taveta is important as a source of food supply for the Taita region is its location. Taveta borders Tanzania to the South and has a thriving border economy with the country that has been enhanced following the opening of the Taveta-Holili one-stop border post. In addition, the new Taveta market has increased Taveta’s access to agricultural produce—such as maize, beans, vegetables, fruits and rice—from the Northern Kilimanjaro region. To the west, Taveta also has access to food markets in the Kenyan interior via the Loitokitok Sub-County of Kajiado County.
This food insecurity is felt the most in the drier Taita region and for decades now Taveta has been Taita’s key food supplier.
The county government of Taita Taveta is trying to promote a move towards commercialisation of farming as evidenced by the mandates of both its departments of Agriculture, Livestock, Irrigation & Fisheries and Water, Environment & Sanitation. These departments have drawn up strategies that include increasing the acreage under irrigation, developing irrigation infrastructure, mechanising farming, encouraging the formation of cooperatives in the agricultural sector, supporting value addition agri-businesses, etc., to improve farming output and the agricultural supply chain. The government is also supported by development partners in this commercialization push, either through direct funding or expertise. Livestock farming, fish farming, macadamia farming, bee keeping, rice farming, and groundnut farming, are some of the areas being encouraged and supported.
There are a few major private agro-estates and ranches, such as Lualenyi Ranch and Teita Estate, and a few county government ranches that produce milk and beef for sale outside the county.
Farms, food markets and seed culture
Apart from the climate challenges, land scarcity, deforestation and low rainfall that are creating food insecurity, the cost of farm inputs is another challenge for Taita farmers.
Traditional seed preservation and sharing methods were cheaper for the farmers as they could swap or sell seeds to each other. Where formerly farming families kept back seed for planting in the next season, this is now impossible given the seed laws that have criminalized sharing, exchanging or selling uncertified and unregistered seeds, creating dependency on seed companies. Having said that, one must acknowledge that due to the lack of water for irrigation and low rainfall, the farmers need to move to other farming technologies that would improve their crop. To resolve this issue, there is ongoing research within the county, undertaken by NGOs and research institutions, to develop drought-resistant seed varieties that can do well under Taita Taveta’s climatic conditions. However, this still does not address the concerns regarding the draconian seed laws which ignore the fact that, according to Greenpeace, up to 90 per cent of seeds planted in Kenya come from informal seed systems on which 80 per cent of smallholder farms rely.
Value addition is another key area that is lacking along the food production chain in Taita Taveta where most of the produce is sold or consumed in its most basic form. The county government is intent on developing capacity for value addition businesses in order to safeguard agricultural produce, create employment opportunities, and avail markets to the farmers. Calls for stalled projects to be completed, such as the Taveta Banana Processing Plant, are frequently heard.
Food production in Taita is also affected by human-wildlife conflict, with cases of marauding elephants from the neighbouring national parks rampaging through farms and destroying crops, baboons harvesting farmers’ crops or big cats making away with livestock being frequently reported. A 2020 study found that most farms in the Taita Hills were raided on a weekly basis by monkeys and, to a lesser extent baboons, and that this posed a serious threat to food security in the area. Local NGOs have embarked on a project to create a forested wildlife corridor along the Voi river, linking the Taita Hills with Tsavo East National Park to keep the primates away from the farms (although the study’s findings that farms close to the forests are raided more frequently may cast some doubt on the utility of this approach if farmers keep encroaching on wildlife areas).
According to Greenpeace, up to 90 per cent of seeds planted in Kenya come from informal seed systems on which 80 per cent of smallholder farms rely.
In addition, frequent clashes between pastoralists and farmers due to land scarcity are another area of concern. According to a 2013 study, Taita Taveta has since pre-colonial times experienced societal disruptions caused by cattle rustling, and persistent droughts that have weakened pre-existing regional networks of interaction, exchange, and crisis management. The establishment of the Tsavo National Park, which alienated traditional land, and land grabs by local elites related to commercial farming and mining opportunities, have further intensified these conflicts, leading to disruption, displacement and loss of life, with the attendant impacts on access to food.
All is not gloom and doom, however. Together with the newly operationalised modern markets in Mwatate and Taveta, the County Government of Taita Taveta has also opened many markets throughout the county, improving access to food, and creating avenues for the people and the county to earn revenues while also bringing improvements to other sectors such as the transport sector. These and other initiatives that the agriculture stakeholders in Taita Taveta are taking should surely turn around the food security situation in the county.
This article is part of The Elephant Food Edition Series done in collaboration with Route to Food Initiative (RTFI). Views expressed in the article are not necessarily those of the RTFI.
Food Culture at the Kenyan Coast
Coastal cuisine is known for being cheap and providing value for money. However, ironically, in the rural areas and informal settlements within the coastal region, a balanced diet is often inaccessible.
For many years the 1420-kilometre-long Kenyan coastline has provided home and sustenance to Arab, Swahili, and Mijikenda societies and boasted food influences from far and wide. These culinary influences have at various stages in history included Chinese, Portuguese, African, Arab, Indian and Italian cuisines. In A history of African Cuisine James McCann defines a cuisine as “a distinct and coherent body of food preparations which is based on one or more starchy staples, a set of spice combinations, complementary tastes, particular textures, iconic rituals, and a locally intelligible repertoire of meats, vegetables and starchy texture … form[ing a] structure of both preparation and presentation”. Swahili cuisine is a blend of Bantu, Indian, Arab, Persian and Portuguese cuisine that Nasra Bwana describes as a diverse and flavourful culmination of inter-community exchange that it is “rooted in lengthy history”.
Swahili cuisine ranges from the simplest to the most intricate of dishes catering to a wide palate. The mix of cultures, ingredients and cooking methods has produced a wide variety of signature foods. Take the case of Italian cuisine in the north coast area of Malindi that was introduced by Italians who came to work at the Broglio Space Centre that served as a spaceport for the launch of both Italian and international satellites between 1967 and 1988. Many went back home after the launches stopped but a few stuck around long enough to introduce their cultures and cuisines to the local communities. Today the town brims with Italian restaurants, pizzerias, delis and gelato shops. Pizza, pasta, lasagna and risotto are the legacy of their continued stay here. Kenyans along the north coast have picked up these foods and incorporated them into the local restaurant dining experience.
Commissioner James Robertson notes in a 1962 report on the Kenyan Coastal Strip Conference that “apart from the period of strong Portuguese influence in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the presence of Europeans as residents is comparatively recent and can be measured in decades. Arabs, Persians and Indians, on the other hand, have been present in the Coastal centres for as long as there is recorded history”. This is reflected in some of the notable dishes that form Swahili cuisine.
Pilau, a very fragrant dish of rice made with a variety of spices including cloves, coriander and black pepper, has its origins in pulao, a similar dish originating in central Asia. Pilau can be eaten on its own or with chapati, urojo (a popular Zanzibari meat stew or spicy soup) and kachumbari (a relish made with onions, chilli peppers and lemon juice). Like chapatti and urojo, Biryani is a popular dish originating from South Asia, specifically India and Pakistan, a legacy of the historic trading links with that region.
Cloves are a typical Swahili spice, often used in pastries, beverages and foods. The prevalence of this particular spice is a nod to the region’s long association with Zanzibar, where a spice trade flourished prior to the arrival of the Portuguese at the end of the fifteenth century. Following their expulsion by the Omanis in 1698, large-scale clove plantations were established, with indigenous Africans used as slave labour, and by the second half of the nineteenth century, the archipelago had become the world’s single largest clove producer. The then Sultan of Oman, Seyyid Said, had at the time moved the capital of his empire to Zanzibar and the Kenyan coast came under his dominion.
Other spices to be found in your typical coastal kitchen are cinnamon, black pepper, cardamom and chilli, seasonings used in pilau, biryani, kahawa chungu, tea or mahamri. Meals are centred on communal dining that brings together extended family, neighbours and guests. The food is served on a sinia, a round shallow plate from which everyone eats with their right hand.
The then Sultan of Oman, Seyyid Said, had at the time moved the capital of his empire to Zanzibar and the Kenyan coast came under his dominion.
Kahawa chungu is very similar to Arabic coffee but has a strong clove and black pepper aroma. It is usually served without sugar hence its name chungu which means bitter. Mahamri and mandazi are pastries that look similar but taste different. While mahamri are made with flour, yeast, cardamom and coconut milk, mandazi are made using either flour and yeast or baking powder but no spices are added.
Coconuts are a local crop that is used in most dishes; while coconut water is used to quench thirst (madafu), coconut milk is used to prepare mbaazi, mahamri, beans, rice and fish. Sea food is also an integral part of the food culture here because it is easily available.
In the past, interaction between the coastal strip and the Kenyan hinterland was limited by terrain. Robertson writes, “Until the construction of the railway line in modem times, the dry, unfriendly stretch of scrub land starting from twenty to thirty miles inland insulated the Coastal Belt from contact with the African interior more effectively than the oceans separated it from Asia and Europe, and it was undoubtedly for that reason that the slave trade routes and the early exploration of the hinterland started from Zanzibar through what is now Tanganyika and not from Mombasa.” However, modern Swahili cuisine is today dependent on produce from the rest of the country. In his PhD thesis Positioning The Gastronomic Identity Of Kenya’s Coastal Strip, Dr Anthony Pepela notes that most of the strip’s signature foods “relied on materials from other regions which were procured from the local market. [Chefs] consented that they could not do without these ingredients in preparation of their dishes. They only had a small fraction of ingredients sourced from the local farmers which created the distinction”.
Street food—from snacks to complete meals—is popular in Lamu, Mombasa, and Diani. Street food vendors cater to different clienteles, with some specialising in pastries and sweets such as mahamri, dates, halwa, ubuyu kashata and achari while others sell fast foods like French fries, viazi karai, samosas and mishkaki. Whole meals such as chapati maharagwe biryani are also sold on the street. Beverages include sugar cane juice and tamarind juice (ukwaju).
While the preparation of meals in the home is largely a female affair, both men and women prepare and sell food in the restaurants and on the streets. However, women are the custodians of recipes in families and even in spaces that are visibly male. They are often the glue that holds the business together, either as partners or as aides, with some cooking at home the food that the men sell on the streets, or helping in advertising it online.
Huda, a food vendor in the Sunpark area of Malindi, wakes up early every morning to prepare breakfast dishes for her customers. Early in the morning, as soon as Muslim prayer of fajr is over, Huda and her husband both head to her kitchen where duties are divided: he prepares the dough and she does the frying. After their children have had their breakfast and left for school, Huda sets out tables on the street in front of her house and starts serving customers while her husband remains in the kitchen cooking the rest of the food. Customers buy takeaway breakfasts or sit quietly sipping their spiced tea. Mahamri and mbaazi are top sellers that sometimes have to be booked in advance as they quickly run out.
To make mahamri, dough is mixed with cardamom, yeast, sugar and coconut milk, then allowed to rise before frying the pastry. This has to be done at least an hour before customers start streaming in, says Huda. Breakfast is served until around 9 a.m. by which time most of the items on the menu have been sold out. The lunch menu is biryani, pilau, and accompaniments which are usually prepared early in the morning or the night before depending on the workload. The best seller on the lunch menu is biryani kuku (chicken biryani) and ukwaju juice, with kachumbari as an accompaniment.
The popularity of street food at the coast is due to the influence of communal dining while the practice of eating outdoors is greatly influenced by the environment and the coastal weather; it is easier to keep cool during meal times and also to accommodate a large number of guests. There is also a high degree of customer trust in the integrity of food vendors, which means that you can stop anywhere in Mombasa, Malindi or Lamu to purchase food. Unlike in cities like Nairobi, sea food at the coast is fresh while access to the ocean also means that unlike the case with Lake Victoria, there is a wide variety of fish. This, however, does not mean that seafood is cheaper at the coast. In 2021, fish was more expensive in Mombasa than in Nairobi because of the availability of cheaper imports in the capital city.
By observation, the population of the Kenyan coast is less segregated socially, which means that, regardless of class, everyone eats more or less the same thing. Trust in the safety and quality of the ingredients used to prepare meals also undergirds outdoor dining and the popularity and accessibility of quality Swahili food explains why fast-food restaurants find it harder to penetrate markets within the coastal region than in mainland Kenya.
Swahili cuisine offers the diversity that lacks in many modern fast-food restaurants/franchises. While fast-food franchises offer competition, it is not enough to put street vendors out of business en masse. For franchises to survive at the Kenyan coast they have to incorporate local cuisines as has been done elsewhere, such as on the Indian subcontinent. Dr Pepela’s study found that although the perception of hygiene in an establishment could drive a preference for fast foods, particularly among those reluctant to try new foods, the majority of international and local tourists visiting the coast prefer the local cuisine.
By observation, the population of the Kenyan coast is less segregated socially, which means that, regardless of class, everyone eats more or less the same thing.
Because of the integral part that local foods play in the lifestyle and culture of the community, coastal communities have been able to hold on to and transmit knowledge of Swahili cuisine in spite of modernization. It is a normal and highly encouraged practice for many local Mijikenda, Swahili, Arab or Indian households in neighbourhoods such as in Mombasa’s Old Town to live in extended families under one roof or in close proximity. This allows knowledge in the form of recipes to be passed on from one generation to next. Because women are the guardians of culture and tradition in these communities, knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation within the confines of the kitchen, with recipes often passed down from mother to daughter.
Food preparation is group work, with specific persons taking up the menus that they are best skilled at. Younger men and women, and those yet to master certain recipes, get to learn from those with the experience and expertise. Proximity to vendors and markets such as Mwembe Tayari is another reason why the street food culture has flourished, especially for consumers who want to take away food to eat at home.
Food festivals have become an annual affair; the Lamu Food Festival and the Mombasa Food Festival bring together food lovers and food vendors with the aim of cultivating the interest in the region’s food cultures and developing the local food economy. The events lean on the organic 24-hour economy—especially around the entertainment industry—that has enabled the street food culture to flourish and compete favourably with mainstream fast-food franchises or restaurants.
Digital media has expanded the interest in Swahili culture and cuisine, with pages like @lifeinmombasa (twitter and Instagram) showcasing it through photography. Vlogger @Swahiligal (twitter, YouTube and Instagram) showcases Lamu through videos and photos and organizes visits to the coastal town, enabling visitors from the mainland and from outside Kenya to get a taste of Lamu.
The increase in online chefs and food bloggers has also brought the cuisine to a wider audience. Chef Ali Mandhry has a page providing a step-by-step guide on how to make even the most intricate Swahili dishes. @shobanes says his aim is to make cooking Swahili food as simple as possible and uses slang to reach a much younger and urban audience. YouTube is the platform of choice that both professional and novice cooks use to share recipes with a much larger audience.
Coastal cuisine is known for being cheap and providing value for money. However, ironically, in the rural areas and informal settlements within the coastal region, a balanced diet is often inaccessible, especially when the rains fail. In 2020, local health officials warned of a surge in cases of malnutrition in children under five, with around 90 children diagnosed with severe malnutrition in Mombasa town alone. In 2021, health officials raised the alarm about nutritional deficiency in Kilifi where they estimated that 148,000 people were facing possible starvation, with this number rising to 200,000 in 2022. Kilifi is a paradox in that while the street food is very cheap in urban areas like Malindi, Watamu and Kilifi town, the county also has a 90 per cent malnutrition rate in babies under two years.
The increase in online chefs and food bloggers has also brought the cuisine to a wider audience.
Acute poverty and lack of access to food in some areas has led to reliance on wild fruits. Residents of the Bofu Magarini area have been known to eat cactus and many homes restrict themselves to one meal a day. Children are constantly fed unsweetened maize porridge leading to nutritional deficiencies like pellagra in infants and pre-schoolers. While street food offers pocket-friendly balanced meals, it turns out that it isn’t truly pocket friendly for everyone, especially those without a regular income.
The construction of new roads, ports, dams and irrigation schemes by both county and national governments, and the influx of Kenyans from upcountry, will likely have an impact on and enrich the variety of Swahili foods and their methods of preparation, just as interaction with the outside world has always done. It has given us a rich food history such that many towns around the country are now opening restaurants specialising in Swahili dishes to bring these food varieties to other counties. Still, it is important to continue to document the cuisine, the recipes, the history and culture that have evolved over the many years of interactions between the Kenyan coast and the rest of the world.
This article is part of The Elephant Food Edition Series done in collaboration with Route to Food Initiative (RTFI). Views expressed in the article are not necessarily those of the RTFI.
The Emblems of Food Aid in West Pokot
In the eight decades since drought was first recorded in the 1940s, food scarcity still afflicts the region, creating a demographic of the satisfied poor who count on relief food to supplement their production.
Up until the advent of devolution in 2013, several regions of West Pokot including Kacheliba, Alale, Kongelai, Lelan, and Sigor, had one thing in common: the bags of yellow maize that would arrive promptly from the National Cereals and Produce Board (NCPB) storage facilities about two months into the planting season, or when the stores of the previous season’s harvest began to diminish.
Food aid from donors, development partners, state agencies and well-wishers had over many decades become crucial to the residents of these regions despite the significant pockets of onion, maize and beans farming.
While food scarcity affected the better part of the region all the way north to neighbouring counties, it tended to be more pronounced in these areas where underdevelopment had left the populations mired in a continuous struggle for food. So neglected were certain parts of the region that, for example, the electrification of Chepareria Town under the NARC government was greeted with relief and jubilation.
Market days in places like Ortum, Orwa, Kerelwa, Kanyarkwat, Chepunyai, and Morpus were a hive of activity, with barter trade taking place between farmers from the outlying hills where furrow irrigation fed the hillside farms that produced onions, cassava, millet, maize and beans.
Still, for decades, the imported yellow maize continued to occupy a central place in the diets of a population scarred by decades of political marginalization. Yellow maize provided relief to food-deprived households, especially during the drier months and just before the harvest season. The relief food also benefited isolated herders who would move with their cattle through towns like Sigor, Orwa, and Sebit in search of pasture.
The locally manufactured hand-operated maize mill was a rare sign of self-sustenance in a region that before devolution offered little opportunity for advancement. Milling maize into flour using grinding stones was more common—a tedious and time consuming chore often left to the womenfolk.
The first major drought during which food aid was provided to the region occurred in the early 1940s and changed the colonial administration’s policy towards the North Rift region. The drought prompted the colonial government to push pastoralists into the cash economy; locals were forced to sell their herds of cows, goats and sheep to the colonial administration in exchange for jobs and cash.
The locally manufactured hand-operated maize mill was a rare sign of self-sustenance in a region that before devolution offered little opportunity for advancement.
In the mid-1980s, catholic missions and Scandinavian donors stepped in to try and alleviate the perennial food scarcity caused by drought and insecurity, inadvertently laying the grounds for high reliance on food aid. The poorer families among the Pokot would camp at food distribution centres, at church missions and at the offices of non-governmental organisations waiting for food donations.
President Daniel Arap Moi’s frayed diplomatic relations with donors in the 1980s, the structural adjustment programmes imposed by the International Monetary Fund in 1990s and their impact on the economy, as well as the area’s agricultural systems, further negatively impacted the fortunes of many households in the lower economic ranks. In the 40 years since the food aid framework was put in place, food aid continues to occupy a significant place in the region’s socio-political and dietary conversation.
The available data exploring the rainfall patterns, food security and land use, as well as vegetation cover in West Pokot between 1980 and 2011 shows that rainfall has been erratic. Farmers report declining rainfall, rising temperatures and a shortened growing season that has lowered food production. A meteorological mapping of the region over the last few decades confirms the farmers’ observations, leading to notable changes in policy responses such as increased stocking, crop diversification, crop area expansion, but also a reliance on food aid.
Dependence on food aid is, however, not uniform across the highland zones; Kapenguria and Lelan have a lower dependency rate than regions like Chepareria or the more food crisis-prone areas like North Pokot and Kacheliba.
Being a semi-arid, food-deficient and food insecure county, West Pokot requires constant climate change impact assessments, the study of local agro-systems and their incorporation into the formulation of modern adaptation strategies.
The droughts that followed in the wake of the failed rains between 1999 and mid-2002 proved to be the worst in the county’s history. Recorded levels of crop failure were at times as high as 97 per cent, animal numbers fell and aid agencies had to step in yet again to address the food crisis.
Deforestation is the unintended consequence of insufficient food production. Small-scale farmers cut down trees and burn charcoal for sale to supplement their meagre incomes. Sacks of charcoal by the roadside are a common sight, targeting commuters on the Orwa-Wakor-Ortum-Chepareria route.
Sigor, where trees covered 19.9Kha in 2000—or roughly 10 per cent of the land mass—had lost 378ha of humid primary forest or 8 per cent of its tree cover by 2020, leading to an overall decrease in vegetation cover of 7.6 per cent over that period. This has had a direct impact on the recorded rainfall within an area that relies on rain-fed subsistence farming.
The droughts that followed in the wake of the failed rains between 1999 and mid-2002 proved to be the worst in the county’s history.
In the eight decades since the 1940s drought, food scarcity still afflicts a significant portion of the population of the region. In March 2020, exactly 80 years after the first recorded drought, the national government sent food aid into the county: 150,000 kilograms of rice, 120,000 kilograms of beans, and 60 cartons of corned beef were given out to 31,000 households affected by drought across the county at a per capita ratio of 6kgs of rice and 4kgs of beans.
The effects of climate change and population growth have forced farmers and pastoralists in parts of the county to move towards diversification of food sources. One example is the Wei Wei Farmers Association that was formed in the late 1980s to implement an irrigation scheme that would sustain year-round farming. The project involves 600 pastoralists who have put 225 hectares of land under irrigation, with a potential of 1,200-2,000 tonnes of produce per cropping season that could bring in KSh100 million annually.
Food production remains a key priority and a challenge for the county’s leaders. The devolution of agriculture in 2013 placed the responsibility of overseeing food systems in the hands of local leaders who are engaging smallholder farmers, reviving ageing agro-projects, and establishing new ones. But ten years after devolution, many households still partly depend on relief food from local aid agencies and state agencies to supplement the production from subsistence farming.
The effects of climate change and population growth have forced farmers and pastoralists in parts of the county to move towards diversification of food sources.
In 2021, humanitarian agencies in the wider North Rift region placed the number of those at risk of starvation at about 250,000. Decades of partial dependence on food aid in the county have produced a demographic that sees little need to pursue development amidst a perennial food crisis and the predictable intervention of non-state actors. Poor farmers and pastoralists have come to expect—and have incorporated—relief food into their requirements as their incomes are not enough to meet their food needs, factoring in the black tax and reliance on donors and well-wishers.
This demographic is referred to as the satisfied poor in a theory that combines learned helplessness, cognitive dissonance and the subjective quality of life to map out instances in which certain persons and regions outsource their food autonomy to aid agencies irrespective of the projected size of their annual harvest.
Developed by Geraldine Olson and Brigitte Schober in 1993, the paradigm attempts to explain the satisfaction paradox—why some people who are objectively deprived nonetheless claim to be satisfied with their quality of life. They concluded that “being unhappy with the living conditions and yet ‘knowing’ that all available coping-strategies will have no positive effect on the situation, creates a cognitive dissonance within the individual that he will try to reduce. This reduction can be achieved either by finally using an effective coping-strategy or by the re-evaluation of the perceived situation with adapted (lowered) standards”.
Thus when the long-term structures that shape access to and affordability of food do not present clear pathways towards self-sustenance, poor households may learn to lean more heavily on the relatively more predictable provision of food by aid agencies, the state and well-wishers despite the fact that such efforts are meant to be temporary stop-gap measures.
In the longer run, this reliance on aid may result in deliberate disengagement by some from the affairs of the community. In fact, in recent years, the county administration has decried the rise in idling as a social malaise in the region.
Still, it should be noted that the structure of aid programming can also induce dependence, particularly in instances where the aid is sporadic and poorly connected to the food sourcing and storage needs of the local communities.
One can laud the sustained efforts to alleviate food insecurity in West Pokot—where 57 out every 100 residents struggle to meet their basic nutritional needs—while remaining cognizant of the need to move beyond aid. The local administration has brought together a collaborative team from across several sectors with the expectation that a wider pool of stakeholders will more ably fight food insecurity in the region.
Initiatives such as the pro-active poverty graduation policy are closely linked to the mission of West Pokot County Integrated Development Plan (CIDP), the overall framework that seeks to transform livelihoods through an equitable and sustainable utilization of resources in order to bring to an end the dependence on food aid.
In the longer run, this reliance on aid may result in deliberate disengagement by some from the affairs of the community.
To deal with the social and psychological underpinnings of the helplessness that is driving dependence on aid, the CIDP has placed the focus on food and nutrition security, and on improving equity in socio-economic opportunities by 2025.
Given the current food scarcity and impending crop failure, state agencies must continue to coordinate with aid agencies and well-wishers in the provision of relief food. However, critical medium and long-term interventions need to be implemented to undo the learned helplessness that decades of food aid have engendered in the minds of the poor.
A broke treasury, near-empty county coffers and failing rains means that in the short run dependence on relief food might actually escalate. However, aid providers must begin to robustly debate how food self-sufficiency might be achieved both in terms of availability, access, affordability and nutritional diversity.
It just maybe the right time to start working towards not just ending food dependency but also phasing out the gunny bags and the many emblems that symbolise the reality of dependency among the local farmers and pastoralists.
This article is part of The Elephant Food Edition Series done in collaboration with Route to Food Initiative (RTFI). Views expressed in the article are not necessarily those of the RTFI.
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