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Reflections

A Fitful Silence

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Electoral misconduct

The signs have been there but in the run-up to the elections we ignore them, no matter how glaring. As the adverts remind us constantly pre-election, we are for peace. And we define peace not as absence of war but as a request to remain silent. I arrive at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in the afternoon of July 30.

When I turn on my phone and data, a screenshot of a tweet announcing the disappearance of Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission official Chris Msando is on the family WhatsApp group. ‘This is going to be bad,’ one family member states. Another responds with an expletive. The one who sent the screenshot continues, ‘Add this to the KDF leaks, the attack on Ruto’s home and the extra1.2 million ballot papers that IEBC has printed and bam. This country may burn come 9th August.’

If texts could whisper, these would be whispered messages. We are, after all, for peace.

After our initial expressions of worry, we focus on the fact that South African Airways has lost my luggage. In the early hours of the 31st, my luggage arrives. Everything is intact and I am happy. But if my personal privileged problems are resolved, the bigger political world is not quite okay. At lunch time, Gatundu Member of Parliament, one Moses Kuria, posts a picture of himself in front of a Land Rover Discovery allegedly belonging to the missing Chris Msando. His post reads: “So this is Chris Msando’s vehicle right now here at Roysambu. The idiot is enjoying sweet time with a woman. And the story was that he is privy to ‘rigging’ and he can’t be found. Verily, verily I say unto you Raila. You will not burn this country. Not when I am alive.” Could Kuria be right? What games are being played? When Msando’s body is found in Kiambu County not long after on the same day, Moses Kuria pulls down his post. Humans may have short memories but the internet, unfortunately for him, never forgets.

If texts could whisper, these would be whispered messages. We are, after all, for peace.

The weekend before the elections, a news item informs us that a non-governmental organization has donated first aid equipment including gloves, stretchers and body bags to Kisumu. The body bags raise questions but when Nyanza regional coordinator, Wilson Njenga, states that there is no ill-will in the body bags and that the police will not act outside the law, the murmurs die down. After all, we are for peace. It is curious though that there are no reports of similar emergency kits being deployed anywhere else in the country. But maybe the media is too focused on Kisumu and this happened elsewhere. It is also curious that none of the media houses give the name of the non-governmental organization that donated the body bags.

In Nairobi on election day, we watch the NTV new bulletin as journalists show us how people are voting peacefully in what international observers announce are ‘free and fair elections.’ At a voting station in Upper Hill, a group of young people are standing on the side. All of them first time voters. They have not been permitted to vote. One of them, Moraa, is interviewed and seems on the brink of tears. They cannot find her name in the system although, she alleges, she registered to vote and double-checked. She has a voter’s card too and speaks of a presiding officer who is very rude and who suggested that our Moraa may have got her voter’s card from River Road.

I do not remember this much security in 2013 elections. The irony of men holding guns to ensure that citizens maintain the peace is not lost on us.

Moraa on NTV appeared as outraged about the fact that she could not vote as she is about the fact that anyone would assume that a young woman of her calibre would get anything from River Road. Days later, her name, shared with a nine-year old in Mathare, will return to haunt us. An hour before voting stations are due to close, I accompany my partner so he can vote. I am curious to see whether there are any lines and have been indoors the whole day. As we enter the gate, a truck full of soldiers arrives. I do not remember this much security in 2013 elections. The irony of men holding guns to ensure that citizens maintain the peace is not lost on us. And yet perhaps it is better if the country is safe and peaceful than sorry. And with that much security, it means for those who manage to vote, unlike Moraa, their votes shall be secure.

Those of us following are on tenterhooks but IEBC is playing catch-up to announcements from the two parties and not setting the narrative as one assumes they should do.

The signs are there but while we await IEBC announcements of the result, we ignore them. After the provisional results are screened on Tuesday night, the Chief Agent for Jubilee Party, Raphael Tuju, announces that they have won but are generous enough to allow the opposition to wait for the official announcement. Not long after, NASA Coalition states in a press conference that there have been irregularities. Both announcements come before sunrise. It is interesting to note that in the NASA press conference, as in all the subsequent ones, the coalition will constantly tell its supporters to remain calm. Those of us following are on tenterhooks but IEBC is playing catch-up to announcements from the two parties and not setting the narrative as one assumes they should do. When IEBC Chair, Wafula Chebukati, finally walks up to the podium at Bomas of Kenya, it is after midday. We are to ignore whatever we saw on screen, he tells those of us following. The proper results are yet to come, we are told. Perhaps it is testament to how unconvincing he is because of the three major local news stations, NTV, Citizen and KTN, only one removes the ‘provisional’ results.

KTN.

The others maintain them as we have seen them since Tuesday night. Some 8 million plus for the incumbent versus 6 million plus for his closest runner up. The pressure on IEBC is increased a day later. After running a few errands, partner and I join a friend who is a journalist with an international media house for lunch at one of the local hotels in the CBD. After lunch, we go into the media centre. She has told us that there is to be a presser we do not want to miss. We are curious and so we join her at their media centre. Around 5 in the afternoon, NASA Coalition come on to make a shocking announcement. They demand that the IEBC announce their Presidential candidate as the winner of the elections as soon as possible. According to them their candidate has 8 million plus win against 6 million plus for the incumbent. NTV cuts the conference less than five minutes in. They show us more advertisements of what they seem to feel is most important at this time. A peace that passeth understanding of issues above us like Forms 34As and 34Bs. Citizen, on the other hand, decides to focus on comedic relief for their watchers. If NASA Coalition are jokers, they have something that will give us more amusement: the Twitter sensation that is the Githeriman.

Citizen, on the other hand, decides to focus on comedic relief for their watchers. If NASA Coalition are jokers, they have something that will give us more amusement: the Twitter sensation that is the Githeriman.

Only KTN airs the full conference and questions afterwards.

On 11 August, it is KTN too that shall be the only television station to show a parallel NASA tallying centre and show economist David Ndii walking the watchers through as we await announcements of Presidential results that many of us already know. It is KTN, too, that shall tell us about the barricade that has been put around Kibera. Later that night, Chairman Chebukati announces President Uhuru Kenyatta and his deputy. William Ruto, as the winners of the 2017 elections. Although the opposition has walked out from Bomas and refuse to acknowledge him as a winner, Mr Kenyatta gives a conciliatory message of unity, peace and gratitude to his worthy opponents who fought a fair fight. That is the last we shall hear from the head of state until Tuesday.

And authorities shall deny there being any unrests and that information on any deaths is ‘fake news’. For the average person, it shall be difficult to discern what is true and what is false.

The morning after announcements of the results, social media shall tell us of shootings and killings in Luo Nyanza, in Mathare, in Kibera, in Kawangware, in Baba Dogo. KTN shall show Senator James Orengo holding live bullets from the Kenya Defence Forces, allegedly found in Kibera. He will tell us that 100 lives have been lost, ten of them children. International media houses like Al-Jazeera shall write about three fatalities and several injured. And authorities shall deny there being any unrests and that information on any deaths is ‘fake news’. For the average person, it shall be difficult to discern what is true and what is false.

When young Stephanie Moraa is fatally shot while on a balcony in Mathare, the story shall change. We shall be told that a stray bullet got her, as police were chasing some hooligans who attempted to loot and destroy property. No-one shall properly explain why live bullets are being used at all. There are those on social media who shall latch on to this to justify any killings. When those who would justify the lives lost are asked whether those implicated in Eurobond scandal, in land grabs, in maize scandals, in National Youth Service scandals and in Health scandals were placed in front of firing squads and shot, there shall be no response.

Friendships cultivated over many years will be lost in the click of a mouse as long-held but deeply-hidden ethnic stereotypes are exposed because of support for one or another presidential candidate.

In Kenya, as indeed in many countries on this continent and in the world, suspected petty theft is more deadly than grand looting. Raila must say something to stop his hooligans from provoking the police, one side will say. Raila is not the commander-in-chief who is sending his militia to kill people, the other side will say. Friendships cultivated over many years will be lost in the click of a mouse as long-held but deeply-hidden ethnic stereotypes are exposed because of support for one or another presidential candidate.

On Tuesday the 14 of August, a young man who has been helping out with the injured in Kibera and Mathare shall come through to pick up clothes, food and bedding for those victimized over the weekend. We shall ask him for the veracity of the attacks. Have lives indeed been lost beyond the young Moraa? Have there been injuries? He shall tell us of bullets in the walls of schools and women calling for help from underneath their beds. He shall tell us of young men dragged from their houses by uniformed yet dreadlocked men. In the midst of telling us, he shall receive a phone call and put a finger to his mouth. When he gets off the phone with his shoulders slumped, he shall tell us six-month old Samantha Pendo, clubbed by a policeman in Kisumu a few days before, has just died.

He shall tell us of bullets in the walls of schools and women calling for help from underneath their beds. He shall tell us of young men dragged from their houses by uniformed yet dreadlocked men.

On Tuesday, the 14 of August too, the President-elect shall speak. The leader of the opposition shall speak. They shall both talk of citizens’ right to protest. They shall both talk about remaining calm. And we will think of Stephanie Moraa, Samantha Pendo and all those who lost their lives or got injured over the last few days. We will then realize the warnings were all there but we did not speak up loudly enough because we thought silence meant peace. And we will wonder whether those who died will rest in peace if we at least work to get them some justice.

By Zukiswa Wanner
Zukiswa  Wanner is the 2015 winner of South African Literary Award’s  K.Sello Duiker Award for her fourth novel, London-Cape Town Joburg. She is currently a columnist for the Mail & Guardian (South Africa), has been a columnist for the pan-African magazine New African and Saturday Nation in Kenya. 

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Zukiswa  Wanner is the 2015 winner of South African Literary Award’s  K.Sello Duiker Award for her fourth novel, London-Cape Town Joburg. She is currently a columnist for the Mail & Guardian (South Africa), has been a columnist for the pan-African magazine New African and Saturday Nation in Kenya. 

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Hatred and Self Loathing: Naipaul’s colonial shame

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Hatred and Self Loathing: Naipaul’s colonial shame
Photo: Faizul Latif Chowdhury

In his memoir, A Writer’s People: Ways of Looking and Feeling, published in 2007, V.S. Naipaul, who died last month at the age of 85, described the suffocation of being born and raised on a small Caribbean island that was racially divided. He writes of living in a place where “the living half-cultures or quarter-cultures of colonial Europe and immigrant Asia knew almost nothing of one another” and where “a transported Africa was the presence all around us, like the sea”. This sense of being trapped on an island with other races with vastly different cultures partly explains what led the young Naipaul to leave Trinidad for good and make a home in another much bigger island nation, England.

But adopting England and Englishness did not obliterate the writer’s inner conflicts about his identity. Being a Trinidadian Indian had left the young writer with a deep sense of inferiority, a kind of “colonial shame” that would define much of his writing in later years. Naipaul, whose Indian grandparents came to the Caribbean as indentured plantation labourers in the late 1800s, was ambivalent both about his birthplace Trinidad and his Indian roots. Both identities were the source of a lot of pain and shame. His grandparents had been slaves; and while they were not chained or beaten or forced to work for free like African slaves, they were made to feel inferior.

Interestingly, unlike many post-colonial writers whose writing is informed by their traumatic colonial experiences, and who actively seek to distance themselves from stereotypical colonial narratives of colonised people, Naipaul reinforced the thoughts and perceptions of the British colonialist. You could say that he was the Charles Njonjo of post-colonial literature – deeply contemptuous of his own people and forever looking towards Britain.

There are two ways in which colonised people who have been transplanted – either forcibly or voluntarily – in foreign lands cope with their new surroundings. They either retreat into themselves by becoming inward-looking or clannish (thereby reasserting an identity that they feel has been damaged or diminished by colonialism) or by underplaying or obliterating their own identity and emulating the identity of the coloniser. Both coping mechanisms are symptoms of a deep inferiority complex that even post-colonial states have to this day been unable to erase. The Western world is only too happy to indulge both types of people – either by exocitising them or co-opting them.

In a post-colonial world, co-option becomes a necessary tool to silence the former colonisers’ most vocal critics. This explains why after rebuking the Western media for infantilising and stereotyping Africans, the Kenyan writer Binyavanga Wainaina, who wrote the satirical essay “How to Write About Africa” (which went viral), was courted by the same Western media and for a while became the darling of the English-speaking literary crowd. Many such authors end up living in the very West they so condemn in their writings, our very own Ngugi wa Thiong’o being among them. Writers, especially from Asia and Africa, in trying to be aggressively and consciously post-colonial – or deliberately anti-colonial, as Ngugi was – still yearn to be anointed by the very West they claim to resist. Being nominated for the Caine, Booker or Nobel Prize is considered to be ultimate recognition that one has indeed been accepted into the white literary world.

The novels of the extremely talented Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, whose writing describes a middle class Nigeria where families throw garden parties and borrow books from public libraries, are also in a sense a call to the West to accept Africans as “normal” people with middle class desires and Western tastes. Both Adichie and Wainaina have gained acceptance in the white literary world that was used to reducing Africans to exotic savages or blood-thirsty guerrillas – “natives” who served as colourful backdrops to white “saviours”. But unlike Naipaul, whose contempt for his own people was apparent in much of his writing, these writers have no qualms about both accepting and celebrating their African identity and questioning white privilege.

Sir Vidiadhar Surajprasad Naipaul was, on the other hand, deeply conflicted about his Trinidadian and Indian identities. In An Area of Darkness (1964), he said this of his ancestral land: “India had not worked its magic on me. It remained the land of my childhood, an area of darkness…” Naipaul failed to connect the dots between colonialism and the state of former colonies like India, whose experiences of colonialism had stunted or distorted their development. In this sense, his books are apolitical. In most of his writings, he sought to distance himself from the so-called Third World. He was particularly contemptuous of India, which he described as having “no autonomous intellectual life”. In India: A Wounded Civilization (1977), he described the home of his ancestors as “a very strange land” with bizarre customs and rituals and where people were steeped in ignorance. Many Indians, he stated in his memoir, can’t wait to leave the subcontinent, “to shake India off, shake off what they see as the retarded native element in dhotis and caste-marks, temple-goers…bad at English”.

Needless to say, his books on India were not well received; Indian critics wondered how he could have traversed that huge and diverse country without once tasting or feeling its rich culture and ancient heritage. Naipaul, who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2001, also looked down on Indian writers, who he claimed did not have a global vision and could only write about “their own families and their places of work”. He did not spare Indian readers either, who he called “hard and materialistic”, people who only discuss a writer when he or she has won a literary prize.

His books on the Muslim world were similarly criticised by Muslim authors who accused him of perpetuating stereotypes about their religion. Others accused him of being a racist. The late Chinua Achebe called Naipaul “a new purveyor of old comforting myths”. Which is not to say that Naipaul was not a prolific and talented writer. His huge body of work are a testament to his literary skills and relentless curiosity about the world. In a recent tribute to the author, Ngugi wa Thiong’o referred to Naipaul as a brilliant “writer’s writer”, one “who holds a mirror of imagination unto society to capture a certain view of reality”.

Naipaul was also deeply flawed as a human being. He had misogynistic tendencies. He viewed female writers as inferior. In a 2011 interview, he stated: “I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me because women have a narrow view of the world”. He once beat up a lover so badly that she was unable to appear in public for several days. He was also known to have constantly humiliated his first wife Patricia Hale. (Naipaul married three times; his third wife Nadira, who he stayed with him till his death, was raised in Mombasa.) Naipaul did not spare his friend the writer Paul Theroux either, with whom he fell out, and who ended up writing a diatribe against his mentor called Sir Vidia’s Shadow.

I first read V.S Naipaul when I was in my 20s. I remember being enthralled by A Bend in the River (1979) the story of an Indian trader who ends up in a remote African township in a region that has an eerie resemblance to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Through this book I got a glimpse of what life might have been like for the early dukawallahs who set up shop in Africa’s interior as Europeans set out to colonise the land. How did they cope in such harsh and alien environments?

But I couldn’t help thinking that Naipaul had very little respect for the sad but comical characters he created in many of his books. The opening line in A Bend in the River reflects the contempt he held for his main character: “The world is what it is; men who are nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it.” He condemned many of his characters for being Indian, for continuing to live small lives in Trinidad, for being unworldly or unsophisticated. One rarely found him getting into the skin of his characters to learn more about what made them tick. Many appeared like caricatures of “natives” etched by some bored colonial administrator’s wife in a tea estate in Assam. As Manan Kapoor commented in an article in The Wire on 12 August 2018:

“Naipaul only observed his subjects from a distance and often lacked self-awareness. In reality, he never touched his subjects with his bare hands, only with a stick, as if he was trying to poke them to generate a reaction which he surprisingly did. James A. Michener wrote, ‘If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay home,’ and it stands true for Naipaul.”

Perhaps Naipaul will be remembered for having the courage to be politically incorrect at a time when it was politically incorrect to be so. But I am afraid this attitude was not the result of courage or conviction but a deep sense of self-loathing – a kind of “colonial shame” – that was evident in most of his writing.

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Reflections

No Excuses, Women’s Lives Matter

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No Excuses, Women’s Lives Matter

This ‘Brazen: Reflections’ series was born out of a desire to continue the conversations springing out of the ‘Too Early For Birds: Brazen’ theatre performance in Nairobi in July 2018. TEFB-Brazen was a mix of straight-up scripted theatre, narration, poetry, music and dance that featured the little-known stories of six fearless women in Kenya’s history – freedom fighters like Field Marshall Muthoni wa Kirima, Mekatilili wa Menza and Wangu wa Makeri; democracy activists Philomena Chelagat Mutai and Zarina Patel and even one iconoclastic yet nameless woman warrior who brought down Lwanda Magere, the legendary ‘Man of Stone’ in Kenyan folklore. The story of each hero was narrated by a corresponding mirror character on stage. The ‘Brazen: Reflections’ series seeks to explore the idea of brazenness, what it means in our daily lives, whom the idea of brazenness privileges or erases, and the place that brazenness has in imagining freedom. 

 

On September 5th, 2018, Sharon Otieno’s body was found dumped in a thicket near Kodera forest, Homa Bay county a few days after her abduction. Sharon was a student of Rongo University and was seven months pregnant when she was killed. The autopsy report gave a gruesome and horrifying picture of what she went through before her death – eight stab wounds, one directly to her belly that pierced the baby too.

A few weeks later, on September 21st, the body of Monica Kimani was found in her house, tied up and with a slit on her throat. I read this story just before a suspect was arrested for this murder, when not many people were talking about it, until it was emerged that the suspect was the fiancé of local TV presenter Jacque Maribe. The media, upon realizing this murder was connected to a local prominent person, finally gave it attention, changing the focus of the lens and centering it on Jacque and her fiancé, Joseph “Jowie” Irungu. The case has since had many twists and turns, a major one being on Monday 9th October when Jowie Irungu, the initial suspect and Jacque Maribe were arraigned in court for the murder of Monica.

In the days following Sharon Otieno’s death, as the details started to unravel, as it emerged that she had been in a relationship with Okoth Obado, governor of Migori county where she lived and studied, and where her body was found. Sharon was engaged with the governor in what many immediately labeled as a ‘sugar daddy’ or ‘blesser’ relationship. Pictures of Sharon were published, presented as evidence of the flashy lifestyle she was enjoying from her affair with the married governor. From radio stations to social media platforms, Kenyans had varied opinions about these types of relationships. Many statements were started with “Murder is wrong, but…” as people went on to list the evils of having sugar daddies and enjoying their financial support because in the end you will pay for it with your life. For many, including these prominent women, this was a cautionary tale in which women were supposed to learn that it’s their responsibility to avoid murderous men with money. Whether by coincidence or by design, it was at this time that the BBC released their 3 part documentary on sugar baby/blesser culture in Kenya, telling the stories of 3 women who are engaged in various forms of it. The documentary added another layer in the conversation, with even Al Jazeera holding a panel to discuss this.

In Monica’s case, when it was discovered that the main suspect was engaged to Jacque Maribe, a TV presenter, the story which hadn’t received much airplay before suddenly took center stage with Jacque being the leading act, while the murder became secondary, its importance only that it is connected to high profile people.

Whenever any of these high profile murders happen, the conversation, often guided by mainstream media shapes in the most sensationalist way. If a woman was with a man, then their relationship is suspect and her presence is scrutinized, often with the aim of pathologizing her and giving an excuse of her murder.

Just before the General Elections in 2017, IEBC ICT Manager Chris Msando was found murdered. In the footnote of this story, there is mention of a lady companion who was found a few metres from him. Her name was Carol Ngumbu. On the night of 17th June, 2011, university student Mercy Keino’s body was found on a highway in Nairobi after attending a party in which a former Kiambu Governor William Kabogo was present. In an inquest of her death, he and others were cleared of any wrongdoing that led to her death despite CCTV footage showing her struggling against two men and witnesses claiming that Kabogo had been physically violent towards her that night.

Less than a year after this, 26 year old Careen Chepchumba was found strangled at her apartment in Kilimani, Nairobi on February 2012. She is reported to have had an intimate relationship with former TV personality Louis Otieno. In an inquest of her murder, it was ruled that police bungled the investigations leaving gaps that made it hard for the court to convict anyone.

These are just a few of cases of murdered women who are connected to prominent men. When Sharon was murdered the conversation about sugar daddies reached peak volume, prompting even women politicians to caution girls from the perils of “wanting the easy life” by taking money from men. With Monica’s case, as details emerge giving rise to speculations about what really was Jacque’s involvement in the murder, people are now talking about the lengths women go for men often to their own detriment.

It is enraging to see that in Kenya this violence is treated like the next sensational story, with clickbait headlines and dramatic speculations for the sake of giving media houses clicks so that they can continue selling advertising. In addition to continuing misogynistic representation of women, using their connection to men to shame them even after being murdered, it creates the perception that women are murdered because of their behaviour or their lifestyles, when in reality women are murdered everywhere and by every type of man in all manner of situations.

It is clear that this country still refuses to reckon with its violence against women. The prevalence of intimate partner violence against women in Kenya matches the global statistics, about 40% of women have experienced IPV – this includes sexual and non-fatal physical violence. And when women are murdered by men. Women are killed by their husbands, sometimes together with their children; they’re killed by men they meet online; they’re also killed after a night out; And sometimes women are killed “mistakenly” by the state. This and many, many, other cases of different types of violence that women go through, underscore the gravity of the situation, and build an alarming pattern that should be scrutinized and elicit urgent action. Instead, this kind of violence is still seen as isolated incidents every time they happen.

It is encouraging to see that the cases of Sharon Otieno and Monica Kimani were taken seriously, investigations were carried out quickly, and there have been arrests. This could be a sign that something has changed, but the speed with which Sharon and Monica’s murder has been investigated and suspects charged is the exception and not the rule in how seriously and urgently violence against women is taken in Kenya. This is evident in the way that despite the fact that murders of women continue unabated, as a Twitter user has tried to document in the last year, the media still steers the conversations on these murders with a focus on the famous people they’re attached to.

The safety of women has to be taken seriously and the media plays a crucial role in changing the way we trivialize violence against women. Murder is the escalated and final act of the various forms of violence women face in Kenya, around the country and through all socioeconomic classes. Many of the stories never make it to prime time news and end up being silent yet alarming statistics. Our focus should always and unrelentingly be rooted in the seriousness of the issue and in ways in which we can stop this. It is immoral to continue nurturing the environment that continues trivialize women’s lives, as if their existence is not valued or worth protecting.

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Reflections

Homo Nairobi Mobilae: Walking in the city as a young man

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Homo Nairobi Mobilae: Walking in the city as a young man
Photo: Rodgers Otieno on Unsplash

“Jamaa, si hukubali vitu nyingi sana sababu yaani society inatuforce tukubali.” – Nonini

Once, not long ago, I was sitting on a bench in Central Park. It was the end of Ramadan and there was a certain feeling in the air; The weather was crisp, the grass was green, and the ice cream sellers were happy. The Park was full, crowds of Muslims breathing in the celebration of the end of the fast. A group of young Muslim men were sitting on the grass, drinking soda, talking to each other, being. Two men approached them, leaning down to talk to them. Friends of theirs, also revelling in the joy of Eid al-Fitr, I thought. The man seated on the bench next to me corrected me. Kanjo, he offered.

I looked at him.

He continued. “Ona wamekuja wawili. Mmoja wa kuongea, mwingine wa support. Watauilizia ID. Lakini si ID wanataka.”

My face was blank.

The man, my bench buddy, spoke again. “Watu huweka ID wapi? Kwa wallet.”

Shit.

At that point I realized what he was saying. Rule Number One of being a young man in Nairobi: Don’t keep your ID where your money is. Because you don’t want to ever lose both at the same time. Of course, the shadow rule is, Don’t question this colonial mentality of having to walk around with identification documents. Kipande.

Another time, a friend and I are talking about running. This particular friend is an athletic type, obsessed with split times and running regimens and Eliud Kipchoge. He says, “Do you ever, when you are in the CBD, wish that you could run? Just put your bag on the shoulder and pound the pavement up Kimathi Street?” He smiles at the excitement of this thought. I wonder how that would look like, a male six-footer with long shaggy hair, dressed in shorts and sneakers and a hoodie, running up, or down, any street in Nairobi, with a bag on his shoulder. All that needs to happen is for someone, one person, to shout, and that’s the last time one ever runs in the city.

Rule Number Two of being a young man in Nairobi: Never, ever, ever, run in the city. It doesn’t matter how late you are, how much you need to meet Mr or Ms. So-and-So at what time, whether your cardiologist told you running will be good for your heart. To run as a young man on the streets of Nairobi is to confess to a crime, and to be a running criminal on the streets of Nairobi is to run for your life. Caveat: Even brisk walks are suspicious, unless performed while wearing a suit.

Yet another time I am walking in town, heading to meet a friend. It is a Sunday morning, and the streets are void of the usual weekday foot traffic. Walking past Koja Mosque, I walk past a group of police officers and they call me back.

“Kijana, uko na nini kwa bag?”

This is not the first time I have been stopped by police officers on the streets asking about my bag. “Ni vitabu tu.” I open my bag, or they open my bag, and indeed niko na vitabu tu kwa bag. When I was new to the city, I used to walk around with a laptop, or an iPad, or something. This is a rookie mistake of course, because any veteran of the streets of Nairobi will know not to walk with a laptop or an iPad or something in their bag, because doing that leads to another conversation. Kijana uko na nini kwa bag becomes kijana hizi umetoa wapi which becomes tutembee tuongee kidogo.

Another rule of navigating the streets of Nairobi as a young man: Expect that police officers will randomly, or not-so-randomly request for you to open your bag, and you will, despite any inclination to point out that the Constitution does not allow for such impromptu searches of one’s person, open your bag to be searched. Unless you are in a suit. A caveat: Pointing out that such impromptu searches are illegal is a moot point because, “Ati una rights? Me naona una wrongs.”

And so walking the streets of Nairobi becomes an exercise in navigating unspoken rules and nuances that no one ever warned you about. You discover that, suddenly, when you read about two young men, University of Nairobi students on their way to the HELB offices, were shot by the police at Globe roundabout. You realize that on another day, walking down Globe from Ngara that could have been you.

When you hear about young men shot dead by state machinery in Mathare, young men who look like you, and probably dress like you and sound like you, who but for the fate of class could be you, you sit and wonder whether that could have been you. And you decide, because you have the choice, that you will not venture into Mathare. When, some time after the elections, the governor of Nairobi announces a plan to weed out muggers from the city, you realize that, because of how the profiling system of the security machinery of the country works, because of your height and your build and your hair and how you dress, you are seen as a mugger. And so, as long as the security operation to weed out muggers from the city is ongoing, you wear a tie and official shoes and limit the occasions when you walk in the city. You take cabs more than you usually do, because you can. Your friends will comment on the sudden change on your fashion style, and you will say, vaguely, “Ni manguo ndio chafu. So ilibidi.”

Being a young man in Nairobi is the realization that you now have stories you can beat with your young male friends about how people like you were profiled in the city. A friend tells you that, because of his dreadlocks, when he walks down Moi Avenue or Tom Mboya Street or Ronald Ngala or any of the other alleyways and vichochoro that litter the city, cops accuse him of being a Mungiki.

Another friend talks about how he has spent time in the back of Rashid’s Probox. Yule yule Rashid wa vigilante pale Eastleigh. Another friend tells you, how when he was arrested for walking home, a crime also known as loitering, he stayed in the cells for the entire weekend because he didn’t have money on him. You will laugh at this story, at the ridiculousness of it all, because that is the only way to make light of these situations. You laugh, and make memes and share funny tweets and tell yourself, bora uhai. But then what happens when this profiling threatens your uhai?

And so you walk the city. Dusman Gozanga walked the city in Meja Mwangi’s The Cockroach Dance and you wonder how different the city’s moods are from the city you walk in. Down Moi Avenue, up Muindu Mbingu, across Ronald Ngala. You experience Nairobbery in the ways everyone does. You learn not to carry heavy bags. You discover that, when, at midnight you are walking from one of the numerous chips dens that litter the city, a street boy will warn you not to venture down a particular street because kuna makarao huko, you will trust this stranger more than the police officers who are supposed to ensure your safety. Utumishi kwa wote is not utumishi to you.

It is important to note, however, that profiling is an important tool in police work. Whenever a crime is committed, police officers will actively take part in both Be On The Lookout (BOLO) profiling and psychological profiling. BOLO profiling is the act of providing a specific description of the suspect of a crime based on eyewitness accounts. For instance, after a robbery, police officers may review CCTV footage and release the following description:

Suspect, a young man, was last seen running away, with brown bag on his back. He was wearing a green hoodie, a black pair of shorts and white sneakers. He has an afro and walks with a slight limp.

Thus, from this description, the police officers will be on the lookout for people who fit this description and seek to bring them in for questioning. On the other hand, because the police officers lack eyewitness accounts and have no idea how the suspect looks like, they will try to construct an image of the suspect from their behaviour during when committing the crime. For instance, if the robbery took place in a store with female employees, and the female employees were sexually assaulted, the conclusion might be that the primary suspect of the robbery is male.

Still, police work is not merely considered with solving crime; it is also concerned with crime prevention. Ergo, predictive profiling. According to Chameleon Associates, a security firm which trains security personnel in various areas of police work, their course in predictive profiling “provides security and law enforcement officers with the tools and skills to effectively assess threats in their operational environments. Trainees come out with the ability to articulate “gut feeling” into clear definitions of Suspicion Indicators and Adversary’s Methods of Operations allowing the organization to avoid liability issues and increase overall threat mitigation capabilities.” For example, a police officer may be aware that drug peddlers in Nairobi are usually young men who dress in loose-fitting hoodies, jackets and jeans, who walk around with bags, have shaggy hair, and walk down Ronald Ngala Street at three in the afternoon. Thus, the police officer will position himself on one end of Ronald Ngala Street and watch out for a young man who fits this description. In most countries, predictive profiling is not frowned upon. Rather, it is considered excellent police work. At the same time, in most countries, such impromptu stop-searches are only legal if the police officer has a search warrant, or they can prove probable cause. Trying telling this to Nairobi security officers. Kijana unaniongelesha ni ka wewe ni nyanyangu, nitakuingisha kwa Mariamu.

When the British colonial government was in power, one of the things that were criminalized was the act of Africans being poor. Thus, loitering and vagrancy became punishable offences as they indicated that the person in question lacked a fixed abode and was therefore a nuisance to the peace. Successive national and local governments inherited these laws and people were profiled on the basis of their class, where indicators of upper classness (the right clothes, the right English, working in an office, etc etc) became the desired while indicators of poverty (loitering, the shabbiness of one’s dressing, the wrong language, etc etc) became the undesirables. Into this reality of their poverty being a crime, young men from Mathare and Kibera and Kawangware and Dandora enter, unaware that their very being, their youngman-ness is a second, bigger crime. You could be unaware of the rules of existing in Nairobi, and you go about your business, and in the evening we hear reports of a young man, a suspected gangster, shot while fleeing arrest.

Still, I walk the city. Homo Nairobi Mobilae. Route 11. I walk the city because I am aware of the biggest rule of being a young man in Nairobi: Thou shall know your Englishes. I walk because, after the initial search in my bag, my English projects that I am not a danger, that despite my bag and my hair and my age and my complexion and my height, my English communicates that I belong in this world, that while I am guilty of being a young man on the streets on Nairobi, at least I am not a poor young man. And I think of the fresh stories I will have to beat to my friends, all the while asking, when I will ever stand up for myself against endless waves of profiling and kijana, uko na nini kwa bag?, When I will ever kataa hiyo, and what does standing up for myself, kukataa hiyo, looks like.

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