A Roadtrip to Kisumu

Saturday, May 29, 2010

On Friday night we celebrated Paul’s birthday with sponge cake and tiny cordial glasses of apple juice. I even shared a tiny piece of cake, because as usual when I decline to eat something, I am strongly urged to eat it anyway and do. After a very very long prayer and some songs in Luo from Paul’s mother, it was suggested that I accompany Mama Vicky on her journey to Kisumu the following day to attend the funeral of one of Paul’s in-laws. Paul was to travel to Tanzania on business and wouldn’t be attending.

On Saturday morning, Mama Vicky, Dan Gamba, Paul’s brother, and I went to the funeral of Dan’s wife’s aunt outside Kisumu, near Lake Victoria in Western Kenya. It was about a 4 hour drive away, across the Western side of the Rift Valley, over the Mau Mountain Range and down past the tea region and the sugar region.

At about 7:30am, Mama Vicky, Dan and I pulled out of the driveway in the Gamba’s large silver Land Cruiser. We headed over to a small community to pick up our driver for the trip, a very pleasant man named Omondi, who is a taxi driver in town and a friend to the Gambas. We drove in several circles looking for various ingredients for our trip, such as gas, air for the tires, but we had a very difficult time finding coolant. After some time, we returned to the house to get some coolant that was in the garage, and as we were about to finally about to leave, Mama Vicky’s sister-in-law and nephew pulled in the driveway, at which we all got back out of the car to greet them. At long last, we hit the road at about 9:30 am. Omondi was a fast but safe driver, and at first the roads were well paved and the ride was comfortable.

I sat in the back seat with Mama Vicky, and heard stories about all the places as we passed. I brought my book, but the scenery was so beautiful I never ever thought of it. In the way that Colorado has big sky, Kenya has big land. Scattered clouds cast moving shadows over the shambas and plains, making it appear even more vast. As we ascended the Mau Mountain Range, leaving the Rift Valley, the trees became larger and Mama Vicky’s stories increased. We passed a clearing where builders were working on an odd looking structure. Mama Vicky tells me that an oil tanker turned over at a roadside village in that location and created a spill. The villagers came to the site of the accident and began filling containers with the oil. One person thoughtlessly lit a cigarette, and the whole scene went up in flames. Hundreds of people were burnt beyond recognition. The structure that was being built was a mass grave, marking the site of the accident. As we continued on our trip, we passed many tractor-trailer accidents, several of them involving oil trucks. At each, we witnessed people walking away from the scene carrying containers of stolen oil. Each time a hush fell over the car, which was finally broken by someone pointing out the desperation that exists in some parts of Kenya, causing people to continue this practice despite the obvious dangers.

As we reached the Mau summit, we passed a small Kikuyu village called Molo, a place that was hard-hit by the 2007-2008 post-election violence in Kenya. Small homes dotted the landscape with no roofs and a cluster of houses in the village center stood bare and with black soot streaking the outer walls, a vivid reminder of the fires that left them so bare. In the time following the election, the Molo community was systemically hacked to death and their town burnt because they were Kikuyu. A bit further down the road we passed a small village of white tents, a camp for the displaced. Scenes like this can be found throughout Kenya, a stern reminder of the strong tribal allegiances that can pull this country apart. Later in the week, as Mama Vicky and I sat watching the news, we spoke about the scene in Molo, and the effect on the community where I live, called Olive Inn. As violence escalated around the country, stories poured in about bodies left along the roads and a strict curfew was enforced by military officers with shoot-to-kill orders for violators. Mama Vicky told me how the residents of Kiamunyi, the neighborhood in which Olive Inn is located, held a meeting to disuss the violence. It is a mixed community, primarily Kikuyu and Luo, which happen to be the two tribes most warring at the time. They agreed to maintain peace, and it was so maintained while chaos erupted all around the country. Many displaced people were sheltered in the Showgrounds, a large meeting site in Kiamunyi, which I pass daily on my way to and from town. As Kenyans look forward, it seems that peace among the tribes is stable but tenous. There is a lot of history that I do not understand completely, and may not ever understand completely. Tribal affiliation is spoken about openly, and it is not rude to ask about what tribe someone it, although usually Kenyans can tell amongst each other.

Kenya is holding a referendum on a new constitution on August 4th, the first real voting since the terrible violence broke out in 2007. The new constitution is very interesting to learn about, and I love talking to Vicky and Nick (two of the 20-somethings that I live with) about controversial stuff. It's a huge topic of conversation, and everyone has something to say about it. The population is so diverse, and the whole process is completely marred in controversy for a bunch of reasons. Nick, Vicky and I get into these conversations about abortion and gay rights (both are illegal now and under the new constitution) and about the role of laws vs. the constitution.

We stopped to pick up food to give to the family of the deceased at the funeral at a roadside hut. When I exited the car, a boy of about 15 was helping to load the goods into the back. He started giggling uncontrollably when he saw me. I am not sure if it was humorous or nervousness, but it was friendly in nature. I just smiled. When we got back in the car, Dan told me that we were approaching “tea land”. I got very excited, as I have developed a strong addiction to Kenyan tea. It is served 2-3 times daily. The water is boiled with the milk, and then the tea is added with masala (spices, often including ginger, which is my favorite) and it is cooked until it is ready. I haven’t figured out the trick to is, but apparently when it is cooked sufficiently, you cannot taste the tea leaves anymore.

As we approached the tea region, I would point out unfamiliar plants, asking, “Is that tea?” Finally Dan turned around from the front seat and said, “you will know when we are there.” And I did. The landscape of the tea region is breathtaking and beautiful and utterly different from any part of Kenya I have seen yet. The fields are impeccably groomed by hand and I imagine you could putt a golf ball perfectly along the tops of the low bushes. There are perfectly straight pathways between the fields for the workers to walk so as not to disrupt the plants. Young trees are interspersed in the fields, the fuel for the furnace of the neighboring tea processing plants. The tea plants grow on the mountainsides, so from the road you look down on these perfect fields, and in many can see colorfully dressed workers diligently picking leaves and tossing them over their heads into sacks on their backs. Further below there are small tic-tac houses that are all identical – the lodging for the tea workers. It is idyllic and I wanted to stop to take a photo, but I thought it might be inappropriate as we were already running late to the funeral. I will definitely request a stop next time.

Shortly after this we passed through Kisumu City, which was big and I didn’t see much of it. I saw Lake Victoria from a distance, and the mountains of Uganda beyond that. We passed out of Kisumu City and bit poorly paved roads, and eventually turned onto a very bumpy dirt road. Cars and tour busses lined the path, and more were parked in clearings along the way. We pulled into the family’s compound, and I could hear voices coming from large speakers, speaking in Luo. There were hundreds of people in the lawn, sitting on plastic chairs. Paul, Mama Vicky and I stood for a moment, and someone came and took our picture, without asking, and I assumed it was because a muzungu had arrived. I thought it was a little rude, but ignored it. Shortly, Dan’s wife, Pauline, came to fetch us and walked us up the main isle, in front of the bishop who was just beginning his sermon to a seat under one of the several large white tents that would have been befitting any large wedding.

It was fascinating to see the whole ceremony. The local Bishop delivered the service in Kiswahili, Luo (a tribal language that I only understand minimally) and English, but he was very good. In the car on the way home, Pauline told me that he knew he was speaking to a very diverse audience, so he had intentionally focused his speech on how being a good person is the most important thing, and less on the particularities of Catholicism. I thought that was really progressive, as here people tend to fall out of their chairs with shock when I say that I don't attend church at home. Some people are more open-minded than others.

Once the Catholic service was over, the service was taken over by the many present politicians. It seems Mama Sara, the woman who passed, was very influential and wealthy. Her 9 children included 2 District Chiefs, several professors and the Vice Chancellor of Nairobi University. The politicians went on and on about the upcoming referendum vote on the proposed constitution. There is endless discussion about the new constitution, and I enjoy learning about it, and everyone has an opinion that they are willing to share. Still, I thought it improper to use a funeral as a way to reach a large influential constituency. Pauline must have agreed, and we got up from our prominent seats, crossed directly behind the speaker and went to have some lunch.

Dan, Mama Vicky, Pauline and I left shortly thereafter to return to Nakuru. The ride back took about 6 hours on account of several more accidents and some rain. I think all-in-all we passed about 8 overturned tractor-trailers on our trip. It was remarkable. The only really notable part of our ride home was when we were flagged over by some police. Dan and Omondi seemed initially nervous, but when they began speaking to the officer, their tone lightened. The officer shone his light in our car and was surprised to find 3 women in the backseat. When he seemed satisfied, we carried on and I asked what had happened as everyone in the car burst out laughing. Apparently the officers were overtaken by another car in the dark, which proceeded to drive them off the road, rob them of everything including their guns. They were embarrassed and only looking for tips.

When we arrived home, everyone was here, including much extended family. I was about to fall asleep, when we were called to an enormous dinner. I slept like a rock, in bed with Vicky to accommodate all the extra people in the house.