Random thoughts

Sorry that we haven't posted in a while. Busy! We're about to head toward Kisumu, on Lake Victoria, for four days of up-country visiting. We've long wanted to meet Michael and Risper's family in their country home, and this is the chance.

This picture is from the Wachiras' home.... a harvest of avocadoes from their tree. Two huge gunny sacks were taken to feed Margaret's pigs. Shall we say that avocadoes are not as expensive here as in the US?

This second picture takes some explaining. If you look carefully at the glass bottle, you will see that the top and bottom are sort of frosted. This is what happens when you use and reuse a bottle, and it rattles around next to other bottles. Sodas are ubiquitous in Kenya--you can get a coke anywhere, and I do mean anywhere!--and the bottles are definitely reuseable. It's something small I enjoy.

We'll probably be out of email contact for much of the coming week. Will try to post when we return!

Us Vs. Them

I 

 got back from Eldoret last night, tired but satisfied after three days of interviews. Eldoret is a mid-sized agricultural town in the Rift Valley, the epicenter of post-election violence last year. I am working on a story for Christianity Today.

 

Everybody in Eldoret remembers vividly the eruption that came immediately after the presiding government announced that it had won the December, 2007 election. Within minutes they heard shouting and saw fires burning. People were running everywhere. It is widely believed that the government stole the election, which brought a huge emotional reversal from the euphoria of the election campaign. But the reaction was as much tribal as political, for the two are completely intertwined. This affected Eldoret more than anywhere else because it is such a mixture of different communities. Eldoret was the center of what was once known as the White Highlands—vast tracts of good farmland that British colonists took for themselves. When the British left after independence, much of their land was bought by or given to Kikuyu. The Kikuyu, who are good business people and farmers, have done well there, but they have never been fully accepted by the local Kalenjin people. So the disappointment of the election was interpreted through the belief that the Kikuyu, who have dominated Kenya for much of its history, were unwilling to relinquish power. And that connected to many historical and cultural grievances.

 

The result was that roving gangs of young men attacked Kikuyu families, burned their homes and businesses, and ordered them to leave, never to return. Those who resisted were sometimes killed. (Some other communities were also attacked, but mainly the Kikuyu.) Hundreds died (from both sides) and hundreds of thousands (mostly Kikuyu) became Internally Displaced People (IDPs) living in tented camps for months. People I talked to were still reeling from the memories of violence. And I saw many houses that remain burned-out shells more than a year later. (Here’s one.)

 

As I learned, though, more than a few Christians bravely shielded their neighbors. Many churches became refuges, protecting hundreds or even thousands of frightened people who had lost everything. And almost immediately pastors, who had been (everybody admits) negligent in warning against tribalism, began to meet to pray and take action. This photo is of Pastor Martin Shikuku and his wife at the Glory Baptist Church, where they sheltered 73 people. Her father was killed a few hundred yards from here.

 

Overall, there’s no doubt that church leaders were willingly manipulated by political leaders before the election, which means that they participated in tribal thinking (us versus them) and endorsed politicians (“God’s anointed servant”) along tribal lines. Prominent church leaders have made public apologies for their failure to provide better guidance. It wasn’t so much what they did (though there were some egregious behavior) as what they didn’t do. The church pretty well mirrored society at large. It got sucked into the politicians’ game.

 

There’s a mindset here in which politicians are treated as godfathers, not serving their constituencies so much as becoming their champion. It’s a mindset that politicians use. For example, yesterday the Minister of Agriculture was up for a vote of censure in parliament due to some very questionable dealings he had with the distribution of corn bought by the government on the international market. (There’s famine here, and it’s a very emotional subject.) He’s a Kalenjin, and the Kalenjin in Eldoret interpreted the issue as an assault on them as a community. While I was there I saw groups of men gathered on street corners, talking excitedly about the issue. They stood 100% behind their man, and there were apparently even threats to mistreat people who came from his accuser’s community.

 

It’s very normal to prefer “my people,” whether my ethnicity is involved or something as flimsy as my college affiliation. African tribal identities are deep—communities speak different languages and have significantly different customs. Today there is a lot of intermarriage, and that may erode tribalism’s power for the next generation. For the present, though, ethnic and cultural differences give lots of room for African politicians to manipulate. It reminds me of the way in which white segregationist politicians held the entire American South hostage to a highly self-destructive approach throughout the fifties and sixties by playing off “us versus them.” And the more recent American “culture wars” have some of the same political flavor (though thankfully nobody has gone on a murderous rampage). We all do well to ponder that famous question, “Who is my neighbor?”

 

Us vs. Them

I got back from Eldoret last night, tired but satisfied after three days of interviews. Eldoret is a mid-sized agricultural town in the Rift Valley, the epicenter of post-election violence last year. I am working on a story for Christianity Today.

 

Everybody in Eldoret remembers vividly the eruption that came immediately after the presiding government announced that it had won the December, 2007 election. Within minutes they heard shouting and saw fires burning. People were running everywhere. It is widely believed that the government stole the election, which brought a huge emotional reversal from the euphoria of the election campaign. But the reaction was as much tribal as political, for the two are completely intertwined. This affected Eldoret more than anywhere else because it is such a mixture of different communities. Eldoret was the center of what was once known as the White Highlands—vast tracts of good farmland that British colonists took for themselves. When the British left after independence, much of their land was bought by or given to Kikuyu. The Kikuyu, who are good business people and farmers, have done well there, but they have never been fully accepted by the local Kalenjin people. So the disappointment of the election was interpreted through the belief that the Kikuyu, who have dominated Kenya for much of its history, were unwilling to relinquish power. And that connected to many historical and cultural grievances.

 

The result was that roving gangs of young men attacked Kikuyu families, burned their homes and businesses, and ordered them to leave, never to return. Those who resisted were sometimes killed. (Some other communities were also attacked, but mainly the Kikuyu.) Hundreds died (from both sides) and hundreds of thousands (mostly Kikuyu) became Internally Displaced People (IDPs) living in tented camps for months. People I talked to were still reeling from the memories of violence. And I saw many houses that remain burned-out shells more than a year later. (Here’s one.)

 

As I learned, though, more than a few Christians bravely shielded their neighbors. Many churches became refuges, protecting hundreds or even thousands of frightened people who had lost everything. And almost immediately pastors, who had been (everybody admits) negligent in warning against tribalism, began to meet to pray and take action. This photo is of Pastor Martin Shikuku and his wife at the Glory Baptist Church, where they sheltered 73 people. Her father was killed a few hundred yards from here.

 

Overall, there’s no doubt that church leaders were willingly manipulated by political leaders before the election, which means that they participated in tribal thinking (us versus them) and endorsed politicians (“God’s anointed servant”) along tribal lines. Prominent church leaders have made public apologies for their failure to provide better guidance. It wasn’t so much what they did (though there were some egregious behavior) as what they didn’t do. The church pretty well mirrored society at large. It got sucked into the politicians’ game.

 

There’s a mindset here in which politicians are treated as godfathers, not serving their constituencies so much as becoming their champion. It’s a mindset that politicians use. For example, yesterday the Minister of Agriculture was up for a vote of censure in parliament due to some very questionable dealings he had with the distribution of corn bought by the government on the international market. (There’s famine here, and it’s a very emotional subject.) He’s a Kalenjin, and the Kalenjin in Eldoret interpreted the issue as an assault on them as a community. While I was there I saw groups of men gathered on street corners, talking excitedly about the issue. They stood 100% behind their man, and there were apparently even threats to mistreat people who came from his accuser’s community.

 

It’s very normal to prefer “my people,” whether my ethnicity is involved or something as flimsy as my college affiliation. African tribal identities are deep—communities speak different languages and have significantly different customs. Today there is a lot of intermarriage, and that may erode tribalism’s power for the next generation. For the present, though, ethnic and cultural differences give lots of room for African politicians to manipulate. It reminds me of the way in which white segregationist politicians held the entire American South hostage to a highly self-destructive approach throughout the fifties and sixties by playing off “us versus them.” And the more recent American “culture wars” have some of the same political flavor (though thankfully nobody has gone on a murderous rampage). We all do well to ponder that famous question, “Who is my neighbor?”

Disappointment

I heard from the potential agent today that he's not interested in taking on Birmingham. So I have to go back to the beginning of the agent search. Rats. 

Preliminary Observations about Kenya’s Future

I’ve been asking people whether they are hopeful for Kenya. I get divided responses. Some are hopeful because they say the horror of last year’s violence shook everybody deeply, so they will draw back from any repetition. Some, too, are hopeful because they perceive a different spirit in the younger generation, who are much less bound to their own ethnic group and far less willing for politicians to lead them. (Kenyans universally blame their leaders for the country’s plight. In a month reading daily newspapers I have not seen a single favorable word for the current coalition government.)

On the other hand, many Kenyans express fear that violence will break out again at the next election, because so far the government has so far done almost nothing to change the conditions—no electoral reform, no revised constitution, no accountability for those who organized or encouraged mob violence, no settlement of crucial squabbles about land. Two days ago I interviewed a member of the Kenyan Human Rights Commission who told me that she dreads the next election (in 2012). In talking to communities that experienced violence she was told that they were determined never to let it happen again—which is to say, they plan to defend themselves and are preparing to do so.

Everybody says that the church simply mirrored the problems of the country—that pastors and bishops were caught up in their tribal perspectives. Some announced to their congregations that God had spoken to them and anointed one side or the other to lead Kenya. In one town the pastor’s fellowship had to stop meeting for prayer because they could not agree on how to pray.

However, it wasn’t all failure. When violence erupted it called some Christians to their senses. Many individuals sheltered people from a threatened group, at the risk of their own lives; churches mobilized spontaneously to help people burned out of their homes and businesses; and church leaders immediately realized they had to meet together despite their deep differences.

Right now everything is peaceful. By nature Kenyans are an optimistic people, and like all of us they go about their business without necessarily worrying about the big questions. Different ethnic groups routinely meet, pray, and work together; friendships are common. But there’s a shadow over Kenya, and a sense of uncertainty about the future.

Friends from Home

We feel really comfortable living with our friends here, but it's also true that we are far from home and we love to get emails from friends and family. This week we saw a friend from Santa Rosa, Gary Moline, one of Popie's counseling colleagues. Gary had been roaring over the countryside with a Kenyan pastor he knows; the last two days of his trip he was in Nairobi. We introduced him to our friends the Wachiras and the Okonjis over meals at their home. It was very fun. Gary also very kindly brought Popie some needed contact solution. And a book!

We also got word that our friends Dean and Wendy Hirsch will come for Dick Jan's wedding March 14. They'll only be here a few days, but they will add great excitement to the event (as if any were needed). Dean and Wendy actually introduced us to the Okonjis 30 years ago, so this will be a bit of a reunion.

Can I add that the weather here really is phenomenal? We have had gorgeous, perfect days without exception since we came. Amazing.

Dowry Negotiations

Late Friday afternoon we let ourselves into the Okonji home after a week with the Wachiras, only to find ourselves encountering two white goats in their back yard. These, we remembered immediately, were part of the dowry to be paid for Dick Jan’s bride Daphine. The goats had wreaked havoc, eating all the flowers within reach.

Saturday morning, bright and early, one of the goats was led through the house on its way to be slaughtered. Its companion bleated pitifully but soon settled down to eating more flowers. He was not to be dined on today; he would be led into Daphine’s parents’ house on a new rope as a gift.

The negotiation party was meant to begin at 11:00, and quite a few relatives had gathered, including some who took an all-day or all-night journey from Kisumu. (Obama country.) Due to semi-intentional delays we arrived at the gates about 2:00. This was intended to create a level of anxiety in the substantial gathered crowd. I am not sure I would recommend this tactic to prospective marrying families, and it did provoke some stern scolding. The Okonji troops gathered outside and the women sang and danced, pleading to be let in. After some delay—do they know we are here?—an answering troupe began singing inside. The two groups competed for a while until we were let in. Popie did her job quite well.

The negotiations, as I understand it, were a series of accommodations of traditional practice to urban life. Inside the gates were three large tent awnings shading 150 plastic chairs. One tent was labeled Kisumu, another Makweni (Daphine’s community) and a third Visitors. Popie and I took up seats in the Kisumu tent, and after a substantial snack was served, the “inner core” of negotiators was called into the house. We were included in this inner core. (Throughout, we were treated as members of the Okonji family; it was explained that the third son was named after me.)

After the approximately 15 negotiators had taken up every inch of a small living room, we set to work with two “chairmen,” Michael’s elder brother Marx on our side, and Daphne’s father’s elder brother on the Kamba side. Neither bride nor groom were present, or anyone from their generation; the parents and the bride and groom never said a word. In fact apart from introductions all the talking was done by the two chairman gravely taking turns standing up and addressing the other as Mr Chairman and making short speeches with many rhetorical flourishes. “Mr. Chairman, I would like to say that we are very pleased to be welcomed into this home. Our only concern is that these two young people should be able to love each other and settle into a very happy marriage.”

After a bit the demands were set on the table, the chairman reading very meticulously from a list. First, as a sort of entry ticket, three goats had to be produced—one male, that we would eat together, and two female that must be seen by the negotiators. It was understood that the male had already been slaughtered, but there would be careful checking to see that an entire goat had been brought. The two females, additionally, could be compensated for at a price of 5,000 shillings each.

Our chairman responded: we had brought the male goat and one live female goat—it was brought to the doorway and accepted as legitimate—and we would purchase one goat. The cash was produced and counted.

Then the main list was produced. We should bring two blankets, double-bed size, two pairs of plain bedsheets, double-bed size, ten pairs of lesos (the colorful cloth African women wear around their waists), a bag of sugar (fifty pounds?), a debe of honey (a debe is maybe five gallons), ten cows, ten goats, and an appreciation for the mother for all she had gone through in raising Daphine. Due to urban circumstances it was agreed we could substitute money in some cases. The honey was being valued at 10,000 shillings, as was the appreciation for the mother. The cows were 30,000, the goats 3,000.

We set to work. Most of these items we had known about in advance, and so purchased and brought with us; but the money items had to be negotiated. It takes about 80 shillings to make a dollar, so you can see that the total sums are not huge, but nevertheless both sides had to convene discussions of their menfolk to talk strategy. Since the cows and goats were tokens, we were able to graciously accept the demands (“We love the girl, and we have no problem accepting that we should bring ten cows.”) and then bargain over their price. (“In the current economic crash, we are finding that these are very expensive cows; we would rather purchase cows that cost 15,000 shillings.”) Also, it was worked out that we would make a substantial down payment—three cows at 20,000, three goats at 3,000) with a promise to pay the rest throughout the lifetime of the marriage. Everybody was happy.

The rest of the event, which went until dark, was mostly eating, singing and speechmaking. Parts were the equivalent of our bridal showers, with kitchen gifts lavished on the bride. The most fun was a game in which Jan, the groom, was supposed to choose his bride from a lineup of girls. The first group was covered up to various degrees—see the picture. Jan determined, after looking them over carefully, that none of them was Daphine. Then a second lineup was produced, dressed identically, of identical height, and completely covered. This provoked great hilarity. Jan took his time and found his bride, I don’t know how. I suspect there was rigging.

We were impressed by the impact of the actual event. It served to signal that two families were thoroughly involved in the marriage, that this was not just a decision involving two young people. It introduced the two families to each other through play and feasting and semi-serious negotiation. In this case, where two different cultures are meeting, it reminded them of their differences (for the negotiations differ by community) as well as their commonalities. We had a great time, and were very honored to be included.

Here's Risper with her soon to be daughter in law dressed up in kitchen gifts.

On the Slopes of Mt. Kenya

We had a scare this week. We took three days with the Wachiras to go up the slopes of Mt. Kenya to stay in a hunting lodge built for King George in 1908 (forgive the previous incorrect information), and then to visit Wachira’s ancestral home not too far out of the forest. Unfortunately both of us got violently ill the first night—diarrhea, chills, fatigue—which in Popie’s case turned into a strong pain in both her knees. For the next two days she could barely walk. What scared us was the thought that she might have an infection in her artificial joints, which is extremely serious. We couldn’t get in touch with any medical help until we came off the mountain.

Once we got back to Nairobi we got advice from Popie’s brother Hank that it was almost certainly not an infection. Even more comforting, Popie’s knee rapidly stopped hurting.

Even with these health woes, we had a wonderful time. The lodge was lovely and amazingly peaceful—here’s a photo--and we would like to go back another time just to lounge, read books and take hikes.

On our last day we visited Wachira’s mother and met a lot of his relatives—three brothers and their families live just a stone’s throw from his mother. The country is verdant tea-growing hills with small farms. We saw ox carts and donkey carts and women carrying huge loads of wood from the forest. We saw tea being picked and rice being dried in the sun. We bought mangoes and pineapples in the market—beautiful mangoes for three cents each. We filled up our eyes! It’s impossible to convey the full experience but these photos should give you some clues.

The Wachiras are on the right, standing next to his mother, a very lively woman who was saved from alcoholism a decade or so ago. The other women are the Wachiras' sisters-in-law.

This is Wachira's mother's home. It's in a beautiful setting, with shining fields of tea on steep hillsides.

Here's the kitchen where our lunch was cooked.
Wachira, pictured here with a mathematics class, is chairman of the Thumaita East Girls School, a high school he is working hard to improve. As always, he is extremely optimistic.
Here I stand with Wachira in front of the new house he is building, which will serve as a second home.
This gives you a dim idea what tea looks like. Margaret and Wachira own this; their relatives take care of it. That's Margaret in the background.
We saw many women carrying huge loads of firewood out of the forest on their backs. Popie is playing at lifting this; it's really heavy. The rules don't allow them to use their oxcarts to haul wood; you can only take what you can carry, and you have to use downed logs.

Mt. Kenya Safari

We had a scare this week. We took three days with the Wachiras to go up the slopes of Mt. Kenya to stay in a hunting lodge built for King George in 1908 (forgive the previous incorrect information), and then to visit Wachira’s ancestral home not too far out of the forest. Unfortunately both of us got violently ill the first night—diarrhea, chills, fatigue—which in Popie’s case turned into a strong pain in both her knees. For the next two days she could barely walk. What scared us was the thought that she might have an infection in her artificial joints, which is extremely serious. We couldn’t get in touch with any medical help until we came off the mountain.

Once we got back to Nairobi we got advice from Popie’s brother Hank that it was almost certainly not an infection. Even more comforting, Popie’s knee rapidly stopped hurting.

Even with these health woes, we had a wonderful time. The lodge was lovely and amazingly peaceful—here’s a photo--and we would like to go back another time just to lounge, read books and take hikes.

On our last day we visited Wachira’s mother and met a lot of his relatives—three brothers and their families live just a stone’s throw from his mother. The country is verdant tea-growing hills with small farms. We saw ox carts and donkey carts and women carrying huge loads of wood from the forest. We saw tea being picked and rice being dried in the sun. We bought mangoes and pineapples in the market—beautiful mangoes for three cents each. We filled up our eyes! It’s impossible to convey the full experience but these photos should give you some clues.

To the Mountain

This morning we are off to Kirinyaga, Wachira’s homeland on the slopes of Mt. Kenya. We’ll be staying in an old hunting lodge built in 1904 (?) for King George; there’s no electricity but I’m hoping for hot water. We’ll visit Wachira’s family on their farm, and get a little R&R.

We had a good weekend, staying overnight with John and Emi Gichinga, our oldest friends in Kenya. We attended their wedding shortly after we arrived in Nairobi in 1978. Here’s a picture of them along with the Okonjis—Tim Okonji (my namesake), Risper and Michael, John and Emi. They’re standing in front of the Okonjis’ house. John recently retired after 24 years as pastor of Nairobi Baptist Church. He’s working with World Relief now and is very involved with church leaders across Kenya trying to bring reconciliation between the tribes. We had a long and very lively conversation regarding the question I raised, “Are you hopeful?” Emi is a therapist. We have known them for 30 years and there’s an ease between us that is very fun. They are eccentric—aren’t we all—and regularly do verbal battle with each other. We are the kind of old friends who actually think they are funny. I don’t know if they think we are funny, but we definitely enjoy each other’s company.

Last Thursday Popie went with Risper on a diplomatic mission to visit son Jan’s about-to-be mother-in-law. The purpose of the visit was to discuss plans for this coming Saturday’s family meeting. There are many, many details to go over—the cultural protocol is quite strict on what gifts should be made, where people should go, what events take place in what order. Since this marriage involves Luos and Kambas, there is a lot of information to pass on. The three women spent a very pleasant four hours getting these details down. Yesterday Popie helped Risper pass them on to her family members who had come for tea. This photo shows them discussing it—two of Risper’s brothers with wives plus one of Risper’s sisters. Risper’s father is polygamous so there are some large numbers of siblings, nieces and nephews involved. I doubt we will sort all this out but we will try.

The Saturday meeting actually combines two traditional events—the negotiation of bride price, and the “Mother’s Day” which involved the man’s family coming to the woman’s family home and putting on a party for her mom. Popie is practicing her dancing, as the first order of events involves the women of the man’s home singing outside the gates, seeking entrance, while the women of the woman’s home sing back refusing their request until they relent and let everyone inside. I will try to get some pictures.