tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-225905082012-01-11T19:58:33.940ZPersonal anecdotes about growing up in rural KenyaΌstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.comBlogger271100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-29937385905544780552011-01-31T22:22:00.000Z2011-01-31T22:22:22.095Z

For a bachelor, I have a surprisingly large collection of cups, mugs, plates, spoons, knives and such household items. All these were acquired with zero effort on my part, in terms of financial commitment, and I can assure you that cutlery is the last thing on my mind when it occasionally lingers into the realms of relieving a supermarket of its wide variety of liabilities. I beg you to allow me

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-79121345852641180452010-07-22T19:27:00.000+01:002010-07-22T19:27:49.601+01:00

The guard sneered at me, “disk, Mista, wapi disk?” What disk? …I don’t know whether it was his look, or the tone in his voice, but whatever it was; it broke me into a cold sweat. Primary School Prefects used to hand out disks called “Monto”, colloquial for monitor, to anyone caught speaking any language other than English in the school compound. If you caught the disk, it was your turn to

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-12416822297304681332010-02-02T08:14:00.003Z2010-02-02T09:42:57.047Z

If you ever paid a visit to my village, you will find everyone dancing about their ways. Naturally, having come a long way, you will pop your ears to release the pressure and tune in to the local frequency but alas! all you will get is static. To put you at ease, there is no music. This is the rhythm of life here, and I would advise you to adopt to it fast. Get a jig into your head and start

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-70973128840653569852010-01-03T13:56:00.003Z2010-08-01T12:58:57.808+01:00

There is this pinewood wall clock I bought at a flea market the other day, Christmas and all, in the hope of adding décor to a vastly blank part of my living room wall. I never bought it for the time, I mean; no one really looks at a living room clock for time anyway, it was a collector’s item, an antique I could easily pass off to my visitors as having been handed down from my grandfather, well,

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-72199956801474531052008-08-09T03:46:00.001+01:002008-08-28T14:34:49.003+01:00

The art of eating, to me, is literally a hand to mouth affair, my eyes having long drifted from their oversight role to the less palatable goings-on, on Kenyan TV. I’ve grown on... arguably in mannerism, but I’ve grown all the same. There was a time when I only had eyes for the plate. But then, that was high school.The school dining hall clears out soon after one. I wash my plate and pile it onto

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-29494667252782971942007-05-14T14:53:00.000+01:002007-05-14T15:09:40.406+01:00

She should be out anytime now. The last lamp had gone out shortly after her father, the burly deputy headmaster made a last lap around the house, a steady beam from his torch carefully sweeping the compound. No shifty shadows behind the trees. He locked the gate and as the dogs did their roving charge around him, retreated back to the house. He was ready to retire. They were ready to take charge.

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-42556241114642954032007-02-28T22:17:00.000Z2007-02-28T11:19:19.506Z

The dusty road winds up to the bus stop. That’s a half an hours walk from home and this morning, I’m seeing my parents off to town. Along the way, I had laid my day’s plans. The fence needed propping up. The compound, tidying.“Son, you will grow up to be a fine young man! I’ll see if I can pick up something for you.”“Thanks Dad!” “and take care of Grand ma!..…”“Sure Mum! Have

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-15532089558162016522006-11-06T13:40:00.000Z2006-11-06T14:30:07.105Z

I stick my head out of the water to find out the cause of the commotion. It is a dust devil. Our village has lots of these miniature twisters dancing across the landscape, dusting everything in their way. This one is sizeable; it piles a lot of litter as it spins through the river, spraying water all round. The cows briefly stampede and then resume drinking. I resume swimming.I take the cows to

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-53554640434886271042006-10-30T11:06:00.000Z2006-10-30T11:12:07.519Z

Tailors are doing good business these days. I can speak for this one. He lives in some up market apartment at Hurlingham. I trudge up the stairs, behind my Sister. She’s into potted plants. She stops to have a long look at some winding weeds at the corridor.” I ring the bell. “It’s open!” I walk in …and freeze.“Why are you so highly strung today?”… My sister had dropped by for the weekend. She

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-44029824518280030832006-10-23T14:08:00.001+01:002006-10-23T14:19:51.193+01:00

He is spaced out between thoughts. He might well be. He’s 85, but that’s my estimate. His memory lights up at landmarks. The landmarks are wars, the Second World War and the Mau Mau rebellion that started seven years after. The arrest of six suspected conspirators sent thousands into the forests around Central Province in what became the fight to liberate Kenya off colonialism. The bloody

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-89044702952316640272006-10-16T10:24:00.001+01:002006-10-16T10:32:12.350+01:00

I’m running through a maize plantation on the outskirts of Nakuru town, not after a wild animal; in a break from tradition, I’m disappearing from a scene. I pause for a moment to listen… no heavy police boots crushing the fallen leaves. I’m safe. I hadn’t expected him to come after me, but did not want to take any chances. The thought of being arrested and bundled to court had completely nerved

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-45524843017013492072006-10-09T16:19:00.000+01:002006-10-09T16:23:51.282+01:00

The first time I saw the painting, it was on the walls of our village hotel. Since then, I have seen numerous variations of it in rural and urban centres across Kenya. Some introduce fresh characters into the scene; others carry along a short parable but the very first one I saw was bore no written script. Not that it needed to, the message couldn’t have been clearer.The background is strikingly

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1159788876518472912006-10-02T12:27:00.000+01:002006-10-04T15:05:07.486+01:00

My cabin stands near the gate and on most occasions, visitors drop by before proceeding to the main house. Sometimes, I don’t feel like entertaining every passer by, I want to catch up on studies and have some quiet time. A missing padlock was a ringing announcement of my presence, so I replaced it with a ward lock. From then on, only close friends, each with a prearranged knocking signal, were

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1159182096208027412006-09-25T22:01:00.000+01:002006-09-27T14:48:14.390+01:00

You would be well advised to stand clear off the Chief. If his stout figure and swaying nightstick won’t scare you, his sputtering mouth will most certainly drench you into submission. He was at his shop when I finally caught up with him… “Chief Sir, our college was closed after disturbances and I was asked to report to you once a week sir.”… “You know where to report to me, don’t you?” “Yes sir,

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1157974319920627032006-09-11T12:27:00.000+01:002006-09-13T14:00:20.496+01:00

Caution; you may find this post disturbing.We were a dozen or so, former high school classmates piled into a van. Fond memories had kept us reeling with laughter all the way and soon after dawn broke, we rounded off a final bend; a sudden, sullen reality dawning on us. We were on our way to burry our departed classmate. Before us was a network of buildings that make the Nairobi City Mortuary.

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1157368555039729632006-09-04T12:08:00.000+01:002006-09-04T12:15:55.050+01:00

I was already in MY farm, sitting outside MY house sipping some porridge that had been handed to me by MY wife while watching MY kids run around the yard… “are you listening?... do we have an understanding?” dad was pensive. “umm aah yes.” Quickly, I’m back to earth. “I promise, I will.”I spend most of my spare time hanging around the shopping centre, and this has incensed him. I could pick up

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1156761255470549092006-08-28T11:32:00.000+01:002006-08-29T06:35:44.560+01:00

I am a heavy sleeper. Waking me up requires a lot more than a gentle tap on the shoulder. Try frying some eggs in the middle of the night however, and I’ll be at your side in no time. The vigorous shaking and slaps across the face finally get to me and I spring out of bed ready to return the compliment. It was my brother and as usual, patience had gotten the better of him. He had been out for the

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1156155839795586132006-08-21T11:21:00.000+01:002006-08-22T15:35:44.923+01:00

You've seen the motorbike riders. The way they incline at corners, their knee barely rubbing on the surface and then leveling back to full throttle? … Bicycles are by standards higher and a lot slower than motor bikes and to find myself at such an angle, it was a mathematical certainty that I was not going to level. Needless to say, I piled into a shrub, the bike careering further on to rest

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1155552425873597482006-08-14T11:41:00.000+01:002006-08-21T11:28:33.576+01:00

Living in Nairobi, Kenya can at times be a nerving experience. On every turn, every side street, someone waits, quietly observing, waiting for the opportune moment to relieve you of your possessions. A seemingly innocent woman asks for directions only to lead you into a trap, an ambulance chaser scours the streets, making a living out of misfortunes. The odds are heavily against you especially,

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1154341832512122702006-07-31T11:20:00.000+01:002008-07-09T08:29:23.227+01:00

I’m wondering what Uncle Sam would want anyone for in the town of Nakuru, 150km northwest of Nairobi and the 4th largest in Kenya. It’s Easter Sunday afternoon and I’m in a mini-bus at the main bus park on my way to visit an old friend. The bus stop is littered with posters and banners advertising Christian crusades. “Christ’s redeemed church invites you to a rally”, “End Times revival crusade.”

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1153718718654399672006-07-24T06:19:00.000+01:002006-08-17T10:59:50.633+01:00

Congratulations to CNN on the “Eye on Africa” special all last week. Jim Clancy's frank discussion in the "The new South Africa" and a rising black middle class in “Inside Africa” was an eye opener. I was amazed to see plasma screens in Ethiopia's rural schools and Nigeria's "Nallywood's" answer to Hollywood showed that we are hot on the heels of the west. Well, lets for one moment assume that we

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1153112917556502142006-07-17T06:02:00.000+01:002006-08-17T11:07:35.103+01:00

I had sneaked out of Nairobi for a weekend visit to my grandfathers. I loved sitting late into the night over a bonfire listening to his tales about his exploits against the British during the Mau Mau rebellion in the 1950’s. (Look it up). One evening however, was quite different. I learnt something about him probably nobody else, perhaps with the exception of his parents, who had been dead

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1150105677352292862006-06-27T15:45:00.000+01:002006-08-17T11:08:56.636+01:00

I probably don’t know what to make of it now but I don’t think I would find myself anchored to a tree branch eight metres off the ground late in the night all in the hope of pruning wayward branches. It wasn’t a hobby, if anything; the timing would have been awful. It’s the Fifa World Cup final in USA, 1994. Brazil is taking on Italy and the match is well underway. This time around, thanks to my

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1145020602665341652006-04-14T14:06:00.000+01:002006-08-17T11:12:39.656+01:00

I’m standing next to a muddy road at 5am in the morning. I’m not just standing there, I’m freezing. I ran the full two miles to this junction where the rally cars had been expected an hour ago. I’d been woken up by the sharp revving sound of what I assumed to be the leading car and I did not even take the liberty to dress up. I’m still in the shorts and T-shirt I’d slept in. I’m standing next to

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1144054562695820282006-04-03T09:48:00.000+01:002006-04-06T13:25:45.680+01:00

I watched with detached interest the arrival of our highly successful athletes from the commonwealth games in Melbourne, Australia. For years now, we have made effort at all the major sporting disciplines but with the exception of the Rugby, Women’s Volleyball and maybe the odd skier at the winter Olympics in Turino, Italy; Kenya is pretty much a cut and dried runner’s country and pictures of

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1142848305769470312006-03-20T09:48:00.000Z2006-04-06T13:11:53.900+01:00

I’m seated in this movie theatre in the city of Nairobi, its one of those South African state of the art “Nu Metro” theatres that have sprang up so rapidly in shopping malls across the suburbs over the last 5 years or so. I’m seated next to a pretty girl, fizzy drink and pop corn at hand, sharing laughs over the antics of an undercover transvestite cop, a couple of sizes too large in Big Momma’s

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22590508.post-1142238516104725492006-03-13T08:27:00.000Z2006-04-06T13:15:26.430+01:00

Once, I had a dog. Itsy B, a Basenji type I named after that song... itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini…? Yeah. It was brown with white patches all over, or the other way round. I shortened the name for one reason only. Oh! you’ve guessed it already... didn’t want my parents to find out I’d ever heard of that last word. I’d bought him for around 2 dollars at a local market, and

Όstalgiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15378077388389800866noreply@blogger.com0