And there was Kenyan Swahili, there are some words which will always confuse me and maybe funny while at it:-
Nasikitika Nasitikika
Kukanganyana Kukanyangana
Mimba Miba
Lewa Elewa
Lowa Lewa
I had an American ask me after a turbulent ride to the Central Island, Lake Turkana what ‘I am drenched’ in Kiswahili is and a guy jumped in “ Niko na maji.”(I am with water). I laughed. Then I gave my own answer, slowly and unsure. “Nimelewa.” I thought twice about that, ‘Nimelewa’ is I am drunk, and then thought about it for a minute, water, sea water definitely has never made any person drunk. “Nimelowa.”
I remember all these because I am in a field school and there are some Americans who we are trying to teach some Swahili words, in exchange of learning new exciting languages such as Spanish (America is a very diverse country, remember cousin Barry). But the last thing you want to do is teach Swahili when there is a Tanzanian involved because they will be out prove that Kenyan Swahili is the worst kind in the whole world, hence making Swahili look like a foreign language in the process. For instance we (all Kenyans) know that a Leso is what we (women) tie around our waists or wrap ourselves, with some writings on it. In Tanzania, a Leso is a handkerchief, whilst we must all admit that our Swahili is not the best in the world, A leso in Kenya will never be a handkerchief, I thought that was kitambaa cha kutolea makamasi (I doubt we have one word for that) and a Kikoi which by all means is Kenyan is not a male garment, and Kanga being any kind of fabric, in general terms other than a Leso, though I stand corrected.
So who is fooling who, are they not both dialects of the same language, or is the Tanzania version way superior to the Kenyan one? If ‘Bibi’ in Kenya is wife and Tanzania it is grandmother, is the former one wrong and the latter right. Is ‘Mwakani’ within the year or is it in the coming year as the Tanzanians insist, does anyone have to be wrong?
I am not writing about the bad Swahili that we use every other day, the point of emphasis is on basic words that are Swahili in the very sense but seems to mean different things to different Swahili speakers. It should be basic knowledge Zanzibarians speak different Swahili than the Tanzanians. Does it mean that the Tanzanian Swahili is incorrect when compared to it? And speaking of Kenya is bad Swahili just another of the language many dialects. Is Swahili itself as a result of intermarriage between the Coastal Bantus and the Arabs? I am sure they did not sit one day and decide that they needed to write a new language, it developed over time. Forget about sheng that has been around for decades and since we are never young forever it tends to die with a generation, think about Kenyan Swahili. That might actually be a genuine dialect.
• Bad Swahili phrases that I have heard and might use a lot
Nasikia njaa or niko na njaa, I must admit I use that a lot.
Niko kwa nyumba, You can only be ndani ya nyumba
• Notice how words in certain languages lack a one word translation in other languages, for instance there is no English word for Ugali and Mukimo, in the same way valentines would be siku ya wapendanao translated from English to Swahili.
• Also notice how hymns loose meaning when they are translated from English to Swahili. There might be a consolation in Blessed assurance (Ndio dhamana). The verses are spot on: -
Ndio dhamana Yesu wangu
(Blessed assurance Jesus is mine)
Hunipa furaha ya mbingu
(Oh what a foretaste of glory divine)
Heir of salvation
Mrithi wa wokovu wake…
But the chorus…
This my story this is my song
(Habari njema raha yangu)
In short the translation would be Good news oh my heart. Close enough, hymns like ‘Come thou font of.” The Swahili translation is totally different from the English one and depending on which one you are used to then one doesn’t make sense.
• The thing about our national language, it has translations for various countries from their original form to Swahili but leaves out others, was that under the assumption that Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda while Russia is ‘Urusi, Portugal is Ureno, Mozambique is Msumbiji.
Then Swahili time is so different from the English time. “Set the alarm at 9:30 while in actual sense they meant 3:30 in the morning, my Tanzanian friend does that all the time. Saa moja should be one o’clock, not seven in the morning. I am not complaining neither are most Kenyans since you get used to time in many different languages. For most Bantu languages this is not even a problem for instance in Kikuyu, thaa mugwanja is one o’clock though mugwanja is seven in Kikuyu.
Lastly, is Friday the last day of the week in Swahili since Saturday is Jumamosi the first day of the week, mosi means one after all.
Studying language is interesting because language is the museum of culture, it reminds us that we are not Americans that is why snow is not a word in most African languages, its arbitrary and makes sense to its speakers only. For instance ‘Ngui’ the Americans may not know that it’s a four legged creature that they call ‘dog’ unless I or you told it to them. Neither are Americans Italians no wonder they don’t have an English word for Pizza.
My American friend, who is fluent in Spanish, when I write down the word Jose, short name for Joseph he pronounced it as Hoze, Making languages so interesting to learn because it’s all about culture.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The posh date
The Posh Date by Mary Muthoni Kariuki
And it was valentine. Unlike all the other valentines that had managed to pass her by, all the red flowers, chocolates and red dresses, maybe some cheap wine but finally it was her turn to celebrate what was an ‘otherwise’ lonely festivity, for all the women who didn’t have a man to cling on. Anita smiled at what seemed to the one thousandth time at her reflection, the pretty little strapless short red dress that she was wearing, and let out a wide grin from ear to ear, her lightish brown face actually glowed from the overhead electric bulb.
“Perfect.” Wairimu who had a leso wrapped around her waist, standing next to her sister seemed delighted. “Now all you need are my black heels, my fake…” she stopped with a wide grin on her face. “Very fake diamond earrings, where do they mine diamond in Kenya? She asked.
Anita cleared her throat. “Nimo can we get back to business, I need all the help in the world.”
There was a sense of urgency in her voice, as she gave her sister a wide stare.
Wairimu feigned surprise, it was her younger sister’s big day and she wanted to make sure every single detail of it was a complete success. “Have fun, remember money is not your problem, and enjoy every single minute of it.” She handed her sister her black purse next to the twelve red rose stems and a box of really expensive chocolates, on the king-sized bed which they had shared ever since they were little. “Sawa?”
“Sawa.” Anita smiled trying to rub of some of the red lipstick on her lips.
The bumpy road seemed not to affect Anita’s well choreographed movement as she made her way to the bus stop, it seemed like all eyes were upon her every step with desire or envy, perhaps both. She swung her hips as she walked as though dancing to the sensual beats of the midnight African drums, but on her first valentine it didn’t matter, it felt great to celebrate a holiday that had seemed so far away from her grasp, that was until she met Mark only a couple of weeks earlier, he happened to be the guy seated next to her as she travelled back home on a very noisy matatu that didn’t seem to defer him from making his move. His father was a Commercial Attaché, and though she did not know what actually that entailed, it actually sounded posh just the way Wairimu had taught her. Mark was now working for a firm that belonged to his father, apparently his Mercedes Benz had only been stolen a couple of days earlier but he had already ordered for a Lexus which would be arriving in a couple of months because it was being shipped to Kenya.
No sooner had Anita gotten into town than had she boarded a Taxi to the luxurious restaurant, at a glance the little polished wooden hotel didn’t seem at all that sophisticated but Anita seemed to have changed her mind the minute she had stepped in with Mark walking over to meet him, the clear windows that revealed the hilly terrain with a picturesque view of the sunset, they had spent the first half of the evening debating on whether it was actually real or painted, only to end up racing outside to see it for themselves.
Mark was hoping to spend less that after spending a considerable amount of money on twelve stems of roses only, though he had spent like half an hour trying to explain to the florist that he was entitled to more than just a box of chocolate and flowers, He felt his pocket as he played around with his beautiful date, it wasn’t as much as he had anticipated.
“Oh.” Anita seemed to remember as soon as they had sat down again and also after noticing and angry short taxi driver walking into the hotel “I owe 2000 for the taxi.” She said it as innocently as a dove. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his sit under no circumstances ha he encouraged his new girlfriend to use a taxi, though he had suggested he would refund her transport. “Here you go.” He feigned a smile, really forcing himself to withhold the question of how a short distance from the city centre could actually have cost him such an outrageous amount of money.
“Let order something to eat.” He suddenly felt the urge to finish off the date as quickly as he could, but Anita did not seem to notice as she readily took the menu and quickly perused through it. “I’ll have this.” She pointed out to the waiter, tried to read it loudly a couple of times only to come to the realization that she might actually be embarrassing her posh date.
The name of the dish sounded sophisticated and too hard to pronounce, that had a reason as to why she had wanted to sample it.
Mark took the menu unsure of what his date had just ordered, as he nervously felt his pocket. “What did you order?” He asked trying to sound as casual and pleasant as he could. The last thing he wanted was to ‘chonga viazi.’
She smiled cheekily. “It’s a surprise.” She whispered leaning forward. “Order your own.”
It sounded queer for a man to want to order the same meal as she had the thought scared her a bit. He pretended to smile back but he could feel a lump in throat, as he turned to look away. “A glass of wine please.” He almost chocked on his words.
He hoped it did not amount to the price of gold, though in the face of defeat he was still determined to walk away with his head held high.
“Not that hungry.” She leaned forward towards him.
But not even the cleavage of a young untouched woman seemed to arouse the man in him, as he nodded rather too quickly, wishing his nightmare would come to an end soon. He feared that the restaurant was not as cheap as his friend had suggested, and now it was like he was in the middle of a bad dream.
“Thanks for the chocolate and the flowers.”She remembered.
He just agreed with her not knowing what she had said to him. And the food did not help him identify what sort of dish it was, the only thing he could tell it was that it was meat dish, one that he was definitely not familiar with. His mood changed from bad to worse as Anita spoke about her inability to find a job and how she would have liked to work at a firm like his father’s. The only time he seemed to jolt back to reality was when waiter had placed their bill on the table. He quickly took and gave it a quick glance letting out a surprised gasp.
Anita pretended not to notice as she took the last spoonful of her chocolate sundae. “Can I call the taxi driver to come and pick me up its getting kind of late?” She stared through the dark window.
“I thought you were spending the night at my place.” He toyed with her as he stared at the remaining three crispy notes in his wallet. She did not reply. “You can call the taxi but I am planning a surprise for you tomorrow in my house while planning everything I forgot my wallet that has all my credit cards.”
Anita hoped that he at least had money to pay for their dinner. “You pay it and tomorrow I will give you double.”
She thought about it for a while, it actually sounded good, she shrugged and called him. “Plus I need to go to the salon.” She said in matter of fact kind of way, with an air of entitlement.
“Sure.” Mark smiled holding her hand for the first time in the evening. “Anything for my baby.” He kissed her hand gently causing her to blush.
‘Blush’ he associated not with his charm but the allure of money, lots of it which seemed to drive the woman right in front of his eyes mad. For a minute he felt like a drained out ATM machine, yet the high maintenance woman was trying to squeeze everything she could from him.
Mark waited patiently for Anita’s taxi ride to arrive before he began walking towards the direction of the stage in the dark. “I will call you as soon as I get home.” He had promised as he gave her a rather awkward hug. The waiter and not returned his change of fifty shillings probably tipping himself to Mark’s dismay. He had waited long and hard for it, as Anita asked for transport money from town to her estate.
No sooner had the Taxi pulled away than Mark started on his long walk home.
“He never called back.” Anita placed down her phone a couple for days later, after being unable to get a hold of him.
“Maybe he lost his phone.” Wairimu suggested, before sitting up quickly on the sofa. “I thought you wanted him for maintenance.”
“I wish he would have lost it after refunding me my 2000.”She said rather disappointed. “And of course I liked him.”
“Oh.” Wairimu almost burst out laughing. “Never clean sweep a man you like.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
Anita just rolled her eyes and fell back on the sofa.
“Yeah.” Wairimu rolled her eyes. “Next time if you only live in a nearby neighborhood use public means and you don’t pay such an amount unless you are traveling out of Kenya.”
Wairimu gently touched her sisters ponytailed black long hair. “And ‘taxi money’ is not taxi money.”
“Next time.” Anita closed her eyes wishing for only a moment she would stop thinking about man. “ Oh well, I must have learnt from the…”
“Best!”
“Nooo, worst!”
THE END
And it was valentine. Unlike all the other valentines that had managed to pass her by, all the red flowers, chocolates and red dresses, maybe some cheap wine but finally it was her turn to celebrate what was an ‘otherwise’ lonely festivity, for all the women who didn’t have a man to cling on. Anita smiled at what seemed to the one thousandth time at her reflection, the pretty little strapless short red dress that she was wearing, and let out a wide grin from ear to ear, her lightish brown face actually glowed from the overhead electric bulb.
“Perfect.” Wairimu who had a leso wrapped around her waist, standing next to her sister seemed delighted. “Now all you need are my black heels, my fake…” she stopped with a wide grin on her face. “Very fake diamond earrings, where do they mine diamond in Kenya? She asked.
Anita cleared her throat. “Nimo can we get back to business, I need all the help in the world.”
There was a sense of urgency in her voice, as she gave her sister a wide stare.
Wairimu feigned surprise, it was her younger sister’s big day and she wanted to make sure every single detail of it was a complete success. “Have fun, remember money is not your problem, and enjoy every single minute of it.” She handed her sister her black purse next to the twelve red rose stems and a box of really expensive chocolates, on the king-sized bed which they had shared ever since they were little. “Sawa?”
“Sawa.” Anita smiled trying to rub of some of the red lipstick on her lips.
The bumpy road seemed not to affect Anita’s well choreographed movement as she made her way to the bus stop, it seemed like all eyes were upon her every step with desire or envy, perhaps both. She swung her hips as she walked as though dancing to the sensual beats of the midnight African drums, but on her first valentine it didn’t matter, it felt great to celebrate a holiday that had seemed so far away from her grasp, that was until she met Mark only a couple of weeks earlier, he happened to be the guy seated next to her as she travelled back home on a very noisy matatu that didn’t seem to defer him from making his move. His father was a Commercial Attaché, and though she did not know what actually that entailed, it actually sounded posh just the way Wairimu had taught her. Mark was now working for a firm that belonged to his father, apparently his Mercedes Benz had only been stolen a couple of days earlier but he had already ordered for a Lexus which would be arriving in a couple of months because it was being shipped to Kenya.
No sooner had Anita gotten into town than had she boarded a Taxi to the luxurious restaurant, at a glance the little polished wooden hotel didn’t seem at all that sophisticated but Anita seemed to have changed her mind the minute she had stepped in with Mark walking over to meet him, the clear windows that revealed the hilly terrain with a picturesque view of the sunset, they had spent the first half of the evening debating on whether it was actually real or painted, only to end up racing outside to see it for themselves.
Mark was hoping to spend less that after spending a considerable amount of money on twelve stems of roses only, though he had spent like half an hour trying to explain to the florist that he was entitled to more than just a box of chocolate and flowers, He felt his pocket as he played around with his beautiful date, it wasn’t as much as he had anticipated.
“Oh.” Anita seemed to remember as soon as they had sat down again and also after noticing and angry short taxi driver walking into the hotel “I owe 2000 for the taxi.” She said it as innocently as a dove. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his sit under no circumstances ha he encouraged his new girlfriend to use a taxi, though he had suggested he would refund her transport. “Here you go.” He feigned a smile, really forcing himself to withhold the question of how a short distance from the city centre could actually have cost him such an outrageous amount of money.
“Let order something to eat.” He suddenly felt the urge to finish off the date as quickly as he could, but Anita did not seem to notice as she readily took the menu and quickly perused through it. “I’ll have this.” She pointed out to the waiter, tried to read it loudly a couple of times only to come to the realization that she might actually be embarrassing her posh date.
The name of the dish sounded sophisticated and too hard to pronounce, that had a reason as to why she had wanted to sample it.
Mark took the menu unsure of what his date had just ordered, as he nervously felt his pocket. “What did you order?” He asked trying to sound as casual and pleasant as he could. The last thing he wanted was to ‘chonga viazi.’
She smiled cheekily. “It’s a surprise.” She whispered leaning forward. “Order your own.”
It sounded queer for a man to want to order the same meal as she had the thought scared her a bit. He pretended to smile back but he could feel a lump in throat, as he turned to look away. “A glass of wine please.” He almost chocked on his words.
He hoped it did not amount to the price of gold, though in the face of defeat he was still determined to walk away with his head held high.
“Not that hungry.” She leaned forward towards him.
But not even the cleavage of a young untouched woman seemed to arouse the man in him, as he nodded rather too quickly, wishing his nightmare would come to an end soon. He feared that the restaurant was not as cheap as his friend had suggested, and now it was like he was in the middle of a bad dream.
“Thanks for the chocolate and the flowers.”She remembered.
He just agreed with her not knowing what she had said to him. And the food did not help him identify what sort of dish it was, the only thing he could tell it was that it was meat dish, one that he was definitely not familiar with. His mood changed from bad to worse as Anita spoke about her inability to find a job and how she would have liked to work at a firm like his father’s. The only time he seemed to jolt back to reality was when waiter had placed their bill on the table. He quickly took and gave it a quick glance letting out a surprised gasp.
Anita pretended not to notice as she took the last spoonful of her chocolate sundae. “Can I call the taxi driver to come and pick me up its getting kind of late?” She stared through the dark window.
“I thought you were spending the night at my place.” He toyed with her as he stared at the remaining three crispy notes in his wallet. She did not reply. “You can call the taxi but I am planning a surprise for you tomorrow in my house while planning everything I forgot my wallet that has all my credit cards.”
Anita hoped that he at least had money to pay for their dinner. “You pay it and tomorrow I will give you double.”
She thought about it for a while, it actually sounded good, she shrugged and called him. “Plus I need to go to the salon.” She said in matter of fact kind of way, with an air of entitlement.
“Sure.” Mark smiled holding her hand for the first time in the evening. “Anything for my baby.” He kissed her hand gently causing her to blush.
‘Blush’ he associated not with his charm but the allure of money, lots of it which seemed to drive the woman right in front of his eyes mad. For a minute he felt like a drained out ATM machine, yet the high maintenance woman was trying to squeeze everything she could from him.
Mark waited patiently for Anita’s taxi ride to arrive before he began walking towards the direction of the stage in the dark. “I will call you as soon as I get home.” He had promised as he gave her a rather awkward hug. The waiter and not returned his change of fifty shillings probably tipping himself to Mark’s dismay. He had waited long and hard for it, as Anita asked for transport money from town to her estate.
No sooner had the Taxi pulled away than Mark started on his long walk home.
“He never called back.” Anita placed down her phone a couple for days later, after being unable to get a hold of him.
“Maybe he lost his phone.” Wairimu suggested, before sitting up quickly on the sofa. “I thought you wanted him for maintenance.”
“I wish he would have lost it after refunding me my 2000.”She said rather disappointed. “And of course I liked him.”
“Oh.” Wairimu almost burst out laughing. “Never clean sweep a man you like.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
Anita just rolled her eyes and fell back on the sofa.
“Yeah.” Wairimu rolled her eyes. “Next time if you only live in a nearby neighborhood use public means and you don’t pay such an amount unless you are traveling out of Kenya.”
Wairimu gently touched her sisters ponytailed black long hair. “And ‘taxi money’ is not taxi money.”
“Next time.” Anita closed her eyes wishing for only a moment she would stop thinking about man. “ Oh well, I must have learnt from the…”
“Best!”
“Nooo, worst!”
THE END
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Turkana: the other side of Kenya
Maybe my geography is wrong but they say that Kenya is arid and semi arid, guess they were talking about Turkana, the land of many hills, ridges, valleys, a very big lake which usually sits at the very top of the Kenyan map off course, speaking of the Kenyan map if you get Turkana, its feels like you are at the very end of what seems to be a very big but small country, it depends anyway if you are travelling by road or air. Though by road its way more interesting especially since you get to experience climatic changes, in Kitale and Kapenguria its actually raining and cool and as you approach Lokichar the heat and dry country is still evident. Yes I have said it, Kenya is not as big and vast as I expected, and oh yes Turkana seems like thousands of kilometers from Nairobi, and it actually seems to me like half of Kenya is Turkana, the sun here seems to be very different from the all friendly sun in the city that actually doesn’t get past annoying. In Turkana opening a blanket shop is actually not a very wise idea because nobody ever uses them while in Nairobi I have two plus the numerous bed sheets and bed covers that keep me warm in the dead of the night when the Nairobi cold bites. The big question of the day should be? Why did I carry my sweater? I am so not using it.
Whenever the pretty weather forecast women of KBC are busy forecasting the unpredictable weather and they always insist that in Lodwar they will be highs of 39 degrees and lows of 37 degrees, if the 28 in Nairobi when it’s most sunny bothers me, what would I do in 39? Drink like 4 litres of water in a day, wake up in the middle of the night to drink some more water, sleep with as little clothing as I can and still sweat as soon as I try to sleep, invest in a lot of shorts (loose fitting) and sun dresses(morality is debated here, men in Nairobi complain about the way women dress in Nairobi, they should visit Turkana and see how they women clad), wear sun glasses even if I normally don’t do shades in Nairobi, always carry a bottle of water with me for survival reasons as opposed to the weird reasons that most people in Nairobi do it for, if I am in the heart of Turkana as I am now a GPS always comes in handy because getting lost is easy because of all the ridges in their hundreds that all look so similar and off course with the possibility of water running out, and manyattas a rare phenomenon, a GPS is a very good equipment to have, the Turkana themselves SEEM TO KNOW the terrain really well.
I guess if is stayed here longer a Mohawk seems to be the way to go because maintaining hair in this hot almost like desert is a lot of work, the sand gets into my hair and if I let it down, my neck becomes too hot and sweaty, for the Turkana it must be all about the water scarcity for me its all about the sand, and though it comes off as easily, I am an African woman and washing hair every other day is a lot of work plus God did give us hair so that we could wash it every day, it is a sin, a BIG one. I wouldn’t mind cutting it all off because it gets so hot and weaves, or plaiting my hair of even letting it all down, just makes me all sweaty, but I am yet to think of such an extreme.
Then again I am in Rome, and I should dress as the Turkana women do, right? Where a skirt is all that matters, and the upper body is not as sexual as we all make it out to be. The exaggeration that the men in all the other parts of Kenya have adapted in the gospel according to men, that women should cover up as much as possible. I am convinced that covering is more of a missionary and colonial idea that it is African; we are in the tropics, meaning we enjoy a little bit more sun than everyone else.
I guess a fan is basic is most hotel and motel rooms in Lodwar while hot water is a must in most showers, its natural, it must be only Turkana that after an hour of carrying your water around it actually becomes hot, too hot and you still drink it and enjoy it to the last drop while longing for a glass of really cold water.
Well while in Nairobi we have problems with fifty cents coins in Turkana they mostly don’t accept the one shillings coin, but apparently still stork sweets and chewing gums for one shillings, its even worse in the cybers where all they have a five shilling coin to give you back for change.
Most of the items in Lodwar are very expensive at times costing twice as much as they in the former green city in the sun. Reason being transporting them to Lodwar from the rest of the country is very expensive. Funny enough the newspaper arrives at around 12.30pm every day via the fly 540 planes.
Nothing sets Lodwar apart from most towns in Kenya, apart from the lack of street lighting, and evidence that its growing and all that but if the fortune of this town were to change, then all that would come to hunt it because it is a poorly planned town, and the municipal council of Lodwar needs to be fired and replaced with professionals who actually know what they are doing.
The 300ml bottle of soda doesn’t exist in Lodwar at all, hope Coca cola company are actually reading this, I prefer my sodas rather small because struggling to finish a half litre of soda every now and then, doesn’t seem pretty sensible to me.
I actually agree with a book written by non-Kenyans as a guide to the country that Kikuyus have a tendency to pop out everywhere. Imagine arriving in Lodwar at 7pm, having not the slightest idea of who happens to be living in Lodwar and not knowing that Lodwar is actually in Turkana having always assumed that Lodwar is actually a town in North Eastern province and not the rift valley, and now somehow still unsure, as you wait for your means of transport to your hotel room, the all familiar sound pleasantly fills your eyes. “Mwangi!”and the conservation between three taxi men starts and end in Kikuyu, and there and then you realize that somehow you are still Kenya and it feels good.
Camel and donkey meat is a delicacy is this part of the cuntry, and donkeys actually do not do any work apart from sit pretty and get eaten, I am sure the Turkana would appalled to see the what other Kenyans, I am not naming names do with the poor animals, but at least they don’t eat them, they just steal to other people who eat them unknowingly.
Lastly the Turkana children must be the luckiest in the world, they get a siesta break from 1230om to 330pm because of the heat. Don’t we all wish every other school in Kenya was like that?
What has amazed me so far is the boat ride to Central Island on Lake Turkana, the island is amazing but boat ride makes the storm that Peter and rest of Jesus’ disciples were in seem like a joke, the whole time we were riding on waves, that is not funny especially if water keeps on getting in your boat and you have to frantically keep getting it out as well as the captain of the boat has to keep shuffling positions to maintain balance and prevent the boat from cup sizing. Only to get to the beautiful island swim near the shore of the Lake which should be infested with crocodiles apparently and head back to other side of the island on another scary ride.
Whenever the pretty weather forecast women of KBC are busy forecasting the unpredictable weather and they always insist that in Lodwar they will be highs of 39 degrees and lows of 37 degrees, if the 28 in Nairobi when it’s most sunny bothers me, what would I do in 39? Drink like 4 litres of water in a day, wake up in the middle of the night to drink some more water, sleep with as little clothing as I can and still sweat as soon as I try to sleep, invest in a lot of shorts (loose fitting) and sun dresses(morality is debated here, men in Nairobi complain about the way women dress in Nairobi, they should visit Turkana and see how they women clad), wear sun glasses even if I normally don’t do shades in Nairobi, always carry a bottle of water with me for survival reasons as opposed to the weird reasons that most people in Nairobi do it for, if I am in the heart of Turkana as I am now a GPS always comes in handy because getting lost is easy because of all the ridges in their hundreds that all look so similar and off course with the possibility of water running out, and manyattas a rare phenomenon, a GPS is a very good equipment to have, the Turkana themselves SEEM TO KNOW the terrain really well.
I guess if is stayed here longer a Mohawk seems to be the way to go because maintaining hair in this hot almost like desert is a lot of work, the sand gets into my hair and if I let it down, my neck becomes too hot and sweaty, for the Turkana it must be all about the water scarcity for me its all about the sand, and though it comes off as easily, I am an African woman and washing hair every other day is a lot of work plus God did give us hair so that we could wash it every day, it is a sin, a BIG one. I wouldn’t mind cutting it all off because it gets so hot and weaves, or plaiting my hair of even letting it all down, just makes me all sweaty, but I am yet to think of such an extreme.
Then again I am in Rome, and I should dress as the Turkana women do, right? Where a skirt is all that matters, and the upper body is not as sexual as we all make it out to be. The exaggeration that the men in all the other parts of Kenya have adapted in the gospel according to men, that women should cover up as much as possible. I am convinced that covering is more of a missionary and colonial idea that it is African; we are in the tropics, meaning we enjoy a little bit more sun than everyone else.
I guess a fan is basic is most hotel and motel rooms in Lodwar while hot water is a must in most showers, its natural, it must be only Turkana that after an hour of carrying your water around it actually becomes hot, too hot and you still drink it and enjoy it to the last drop while longing for a glass of really cold water.
Well while in Nairobi we have problems with fifty cents coins in Turkana they mostly don’t accept the one shillings coin, but apparently still stork sweets and chewing gums for one shillings, its even worse in the cybers where all they have a five shilling coin to give you back for change.
Most of the items in Lodwar are very expensive at times costing twice as much as they in the former green city in the sun. Reason being transporting them to Lodwar from the rest of the country is very expensive. Funny enough the newspaper arrives at around 12.30pm every day via the fly 540 planes.
Nothing sets Lodwar apart from most towns in Kenya, apart from the lack of street lighting, and evidence that its growing and all that but if the fortune of this town were to change, then all that would come to hunt it because it is a poorly planned town, and the municipal council of Lodwar needs to be fired and replaced with professionals who actually know what they are doing.
The 300ml bottle of soda doesn’t exist in Lodwar at all, hope Coca cola company are actually reading this, I prefer my sodas rather small because struggling to finish a half litre of soda every now and then, doesn’t seem pretty sensible to me.
I actually agree with a book written by non-Kenyans as a guide to the country that Kikuyus have a tendency to pop out everywhere. Imagine arriving in Lodwar at 7pm, having not the slightest idea of who happens to be living in Lodwar and not knowing that Lodwar is actually in Turkana having always assumed that Lodwar is actually a town in North Eastern province and not the rift valley, and now somehow still unsure, as you wait for your means of transport to your hotel room, the all familiar sound pleasantly fills your eyes. “Mwangi!”and the conservation between three taxi men starts and end in Kikuyu, and there and then you realize that somehow you are still Kenya and it feels good.
Camel and donkey meat is a delicacy is this part of the cuntry, and donkeys actually do not do any work apart from sit pretty and get eaten, I am sure the Turkana would appalled to see the what other Kenyans, I am not naming names do with the poor animals, but at least they don’t eat them, they just steal to other people who eat them unknowingly.
Lastly the Turkana children must be the luckiest in the world, they get a siesta break from 1230om to 330pm because of the heat. Don’t we all wish every other school in Kenya was like that?
What has amazed me so far is the boat ride to Central Island on Lake Turkana, the island is amazing but boat ride makes the storm that Peter and rest of Jesus’ disciples were in seem like a joke, the whole time we were riding on waves, that is not funny especially if water keeps on getting in your boat and you have to frantically keep getting it out as well as the captain of the boat has to keep shuffling positions to maintain balance and prevent the boat from cup sizing. Only to get to the beautiful island swim near the shore of the Lake which should be infested with crocodiles apparently and head back to other side of the island on another scary ride.
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