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Being Kenyan and Indian

(Pic: Flickr / teachandlearn)
(Pic: Flickr / teachandlearn)

In January, a group of Langata Primary schoolchildren protesting that their playground had been illegally grabbed, were tear-gassed by police. Nothing like this had happened in our recent memory as Kenyans, and the manner in which it was broadcast to the world helped amplify our outrage. There were loud demands for these land grabbers to be publicly named. I was in the car, sitting in the infamous Nairobi traffic when I heard Charity Ngilu, the cabinet secretary for the Ministry of Land, announce the identity of the alleged land grabbers. They included four brothers named Singh, a name of Southeast Asian/Indian origin. And like thousands of other brown people in the country, I shook my head.

What is the sound of thousands of Indians rolling their eyes?

I remember thinking to myself, did they really have to be Indian? As if suffering through Kamlesh Pattni (the Kenyan Indian tied to the Goldenberg scandal of the 90s, estimated to have cost Kenya the equivalent  of 10% of its annual GDP) wasn’t enough. This was just another nail in the coffin that is the familiar narrative, ‘Indians are thieves and stealing this country’.

Yet for every Pattni there are thousands of Kenyan Indians who work hard to elevate Kenya every day. The Sunny Bindras, Zarina Patels, Farrah Nuranis, Shamit Patels, Nivedita Mukherjees, Shailja Patels, Rasna Warahs, Zahid Rajans.

Predictably, the witty Kenyan Twitter community reacted with breakneck speed, delighting in their discovery of the versatility of the name Singh. A new hashtag was born, which was trending within an hour: #NgiluSinghJokes.

A lot of people raised eyebrows at the identity of the land grabbers, claiming that Ngilu’s naming of the private developers was unconvinSINGH. That the real culprits were being protected.

Others murmured apprehension that this hashtag would go too far and end up ostracising an entire community for the actions of four individuals.  Another hashtag from last year was revived – #KenyanNotIndian – where Kenyans of Indian origin asserted their nationalism. It says something about us as a society when your gut reaction is to distance yourself as far away as possible from a part of your identity for fear that it will be used against you in some way. I suspect this has some visceral effect on an individual, deep inside where memories nestle. I hear the exhaustion of feeling the need to apologise on behalf of an entire skin colour for the actions of a few individuals.

But we don’t see other Kenyan communities apologising for their rogue individuals who have pillaged, eaten and vomited all over the shoes of Kenyans. And yet. The Somali community in Kenya are individually and personally being made to pay a traumatic price for our hypocrisy when it comes to this. Divide and rule. We learned from the Masters.

Like many Somali Kenyans, there is a feeling among the Indian Kenyan community of always having to assert our legitimacy as citizens of this country. But we belong. Yet, if you look at the history books of Kenya, you won’t hear our stories from our mouths. There is so very little that has been written and is being written about the community, by the community. We have largely put our heads down and worked away industriously, but where are our voices when it comes to the narrative of this country? So I am claiming this space. I want my story, my existence to be in the cataloguing of Kenyan history. Because it’s not just mine, it belongs to thousands.

Back to #KenyanNotIndian. Here is the thing. It unsettles me. Doesn’t fit snugly on my skin. If anything it feels like uncomfortable Spanx underwear that you squeeze into to hide the parts of yourself you don’t want to subject to the World’s gaze. Never mind that you can’t breathe and your stomach is spooning your oesophagus, at least your lumps aren’t showing.

I am Kenyan AND Indian. It is quite simple really. I don’t believe the two are mutually exclusive. They sit very comfortably together in me. There is no contradiction and one doesn’t take away from the other. My nationality is Kenyan and my ethnicity is Indian.

What does that mean?

My loyalty, allegiance, heart, patriotism and soul belong to Kenya the country. But I embrace and am proud of my Indian heritage.

What does it actually mean?

I would go to war for Kenya (if I believed in that sort of thing), but if I was hit, my last words would come out in Gujurati.

My blood, sweat and tears belong to Kenya. But the sweat probably smells a little like curry.

What makes me Indian ? I don’t really know the answer to this. I can’t trace my ancestry very far and I don’t have a shags (ancestral home). It makes me feel deeply unsettled. Not knowing my roots. I envy you who have your forefathers buried on soil that has tasted your blood. What’s my lineage? Who were my people? What did they stand for? What was their legacy? What were they known for? When they talked of the Kassams, did they extol us for our virtuous nature or mutter under their breath in disgust?

A few years ago, I went to India for the first time. It was like going back to the Motherland. Aside from the bizarre sensation of being surrounded by brown people, and for the first time not being the minority, it felt rather comforting. I was curious to see if I would feel a tugging. A belonging. And I did a little. It was in the Indian sensibility. An intangible something I couldn’t put my finger on. Yet, it was clear we didn’t belong. Everywhere we went, Indians asked us where we came from, which was entirely discombobulating.

But I speak Gujurati (very badly). I cook chicken curry (not very well). I dance to Indian music (terribly). I wear punjabi suits (as often as I can) and the ultimate test; I live in a mad huge household spilling at the seams with family who are always in each other’s armpits.

I mellow out my father’s fiery chicken curry with mounds of Ugali. When I want music that will squeeze my insides I listen to Nyadundo and Nusrat. My favourite sari is made from an emerald green kikoy. My family enthusiastically infuse Sauti Sol’s Lipala dance with Bhangra moves.

What makes me Kenyan? I don’t really know the answer to this either. I was born here. Surely that in itself is enough. I have been known to use my mouth to point out directions. My language is peppered with Kenyanisms. Wololololo. Ngai. Ati. Kumbe. Kwani. In fact, half the time, I am not sure whether the word I am saying is Kiswahili or Gujurati, they feel so interwoven. Which is only fair, considering Kenya stole chapatis. Ultimately, I am only as peculiar as the next Kenyan.

And the question in itself is a loaded one. I am no less Kenyan than the Bukusu who would have been Ugandan had the Queen sneezed when she was tracing the borders of East Africa.

I love being Kenyan. The camaraderie, our ridiculous sense of humour…and personal space. The sense that we are in this together. And what an enormous privilege it is to be afforded the opportunity to participate in the shaping of your country. Don’t take this lightly. To be able to make a meaningful impact on the country you will pass down to your children is not something every citizen of the world has.

So here is my challenge to anyone who feels the understandable visceral need to assert your Kenyan-ness. Let it not be a reaction to a perceived threat. If you give a shit, and frankly none of us has the luxury not to anymore, then make your voice heard and your actions felt. Participate in the shaping of society. Actively. Jostle for space. Don’t hold yourself at a distance. Get involved. Participate. Building yourself is not enough. It is time to build the Kenya you want your children to inherit.

Irungu Hougton recently declared that there are legacies to be grabbed. Don’t be left behind. As he said, “If you can’t do something great, do something small in a great way.”

Let us reshape the narrative of what being #KenyanAndIndian means.

Aleya Kassam is a Kenyan writer and performer. She blogs at www.chanyado.wordpress.com. Connect with her on Twitter: @aleyakassam

Swings and roundabouts: Powering rural Ghana through play

Kids on the electricity-generating
Kids on the electricity-generating ‘merry-go-round’ at Pediatorkope Basic School. (Pic: Flickr/ctrilogy)

The southeastern island of Pediatorkope is one of rural Ghana’s poorest places, with most people living from farming mussels on the Volta River.

But despite being cut off from the national grid, Pediatorkope is relatively well-off compared to the capital Accra and the rest of the country when it comes to power.

How? It uses the natural energy of children to generate enough electricity to power lanterns every time they use specially adapted roundabouts.

When children play on the equipment at the Pediatorkope Basic School, their effort turns a turbine connected to a rechargeable battery that powers LED lanterns.

The children use the lanterns at home, bringing them back to the school when they need recharging, teacher Gerson Kuadegbeku told AFP. “So it is helping the students to learn.”

Kuadegbeku said the scheme – the brainchild of US-based charity Empower Playgrounds Incorporated – has been a success, allowing children to study at home, when previously it was impossible for lack of electricity.

“Formerly the performance of the children in the school was very low,” he told AFP.

Energy crisis

Ghana is in the throes of a crippling energy crisis, which is slowing down economic activity and raising fears about its effect on the emerging economy’s overall development.

Most homes receive electricity for 12 hours but can then be without power for the next 24.

The government, criticised for failing to maintain economic growth after the country began commercial oil production in 2010, recently signed new contracts with external power suppliers.

While Ghanaians wait for those new facilities to begin producing power, demand for generators is increasing.

Some businesses have threatened to leave the country for places with more regular supply. Others said they are being forced to downsize their workforce.

The main opposition New Patriotic Party (NPP) and its supporters last month took to the streets, claiming that President John Dramani Mahama has crippled business by not resolving the problem.

“If you are running a factory and you have to power a generator before you can produce, then there’s a real problem,” said Isaac Osei, an opposition member of parliament.

Power through play

If the situation is acute in cities such as Accra, then it is even worse in rural areas, with schoolchildren among the hardest hit by the lack of electricity.

George Thompson, the project manager at Empower Playgrounds Inc., said the system was helping to improve the chances of rural children continuing their education beyond junior school.

“So far we’re in 42 schools and what we do is that any school that has… junior high, we assess them by their final year examinations,” he said.

“It has really brought improvement in the lives of these children’s education.

“All that we expect from the community is to ensure that when the kids bring these lanterns home, they (use them) to do their home studies.”

Small price to pay

A separate scheme using solar power is also running on the island, where residents pay 500 cedis (about $150) to buy a battery, which is recharged by the sun via roof panels at a “charging station”.

Local man Humphrey Teye Ayeh said he decided to enrol because of the increasing cost of kerosene previously used to provide light.

The sustainable energy system – which can be used to power electrical devices such as mobile phones – has got people more connected, he said.

For Thompson, the decision to come to Pediatorkope made sense because it would take time for the island to get onto the national grid.

“We thought it wise to come to this island and ensure that the people in this community also have a little life here,” he said.

“Our objective is not to make any money or profit from this but we need to get the system, the centre sustainable or the project sustainable, so we ask them to pay 500 Ghana cedis to be hooked up to the system and then each time they bring the battery for recharge, they pay five cedis for that.”

From the slums to the silver screen: Uganda’s chess prodigy

Phiona Mutesi plays a game of chess with her colleagues at the chess academy in Kibuye, Kampala. (Pic: AFP)
Phiona Mutesi plays a game of chess with her colleagues at the chess academy in Kibuye, Kampala. (Pic: AFP)

Phiona Mutesi happened upon chess as a famished nine-year-old foraging for food in the sprawling and impoverished slums of the Ugandan capital.

“I was very hungry,” said Mutesi, aged about 18.

Now a chess champion who competes internationally, her tale of triumph over adversity is being turned into a Hollywood epic with Oscar-winning Kenyan actress Lupita Nyong’o tipped to play her mother.

“My dad had died, and after the age of three we started struggling to get food to eat, my mum was not working,” Mutesi told AFP. They lived on one meal a day.

She was forced to drop out of school aged six when her mother could not pay the fees.

“You can’t just wake up and say ‘today’: you have to plan first.”

One day, Mutesi discovered a chess program held in a church in the Katwe slum districts in Kampala. Potential players were enticed with a free cup of porridge, and Mutesi began organising her days around this.

“It was so interesting,” she recalled of her introduction to pawns, rooks, bishops, knights and kings in 2005. “But I didn’t go there for chess, I went just to get a meal.”

As she returned week after week, something unexpected happened that would transform Mutesi’s life.

‘Incredible impact’
The young girl developed a talent for chess, which was only introduced in Uganda in the 1970s by foreign doctors and was still seen as a game played by the rich. And her talent turned into a passion.

“I like chess because it involves planning,” said Mutesi. “If you don’t plan, you will end up with your life so bad.”

The film, entitled Queen of Katwe, is based on a book of the same name about Mutesi by American writer Tim Crothers. It is to be shot in Uganda and South Africa, directed by Mira Nair. Filming will reportedly begin in late March.

Coach and mentor Robert Katende, of the Sports Outreach Ministry, remembers Mutesi wearing “dirty torn clothes” when he met her a decade ago.

“She was really desperate for survival,” said Katende, who is building a chess academy to accommodate 150 students outside Kampala.

Two years into the game, Mutesi became Uganda’s national women’s junior champion, defending her title the next year.

“Phiona Mutesi has flourished,” Vianney Luggya, president of the Uganda Chess Federation, told AFP. “She made history in the schools’ competition by becoming the first girl to compete in the boys’ category. It was certainly surprising.”

By the time she participated in her first international competition, Africa’s International Children’s Chess Tournament in South Sudan in 2009, Mutesi still had not read a book.

 ‘Believe in yourself’
“It was really wonderful because it was my first time abroad,” she said. “It was my first time to sleep in a hotel. We came back with a trophy.”

Since then Mutesi has competed in chess Olympiads in Russia’s Siberia, in Turkey – after which she was given the Woman Candidate Master ranking by FIDE, the World Chess Federation – and in Norway last year.

The teenager, who has two more years of high school left, hopes to go to the next Olympiad in 2016 in Azerbaijan.

Overseas, Mutesi has also played against her hero, Russian former world champion and Grandmaster Garry Kasparov, and inspired school students in the US to start a tournament in her name.

Back home, her fame has had “an incredible impact”, said Luggya.

“The number of lady players participating in national chess championships has doubled,” he said, adding that each of the 26 schools set to compete in Uganda’s annual championships in April will have girls and boys teams.

Uganda’s female players have also been spurred on by the success of Ivy Amoko, who became east Africa’s first FIDE Master last year.

A recent week-long chess clinic, involving Mutesi, attracted more than 200 participants, most of them female, from Kampala slums and surrounding communities.

British-Nigerian actor David Oyelowo – nominated for a  Gold Globe Award for his portrayal of Martin Luther King in the 2014 drama “Selma” -is also set to star in Queen of Katwe.

Luggya hopes the film will “open doors” for all players in Uganda, saying: “I think Ugandans realise that it is a brain game that can enhance their potential in all other aspects of life.”

Though the country now has east Africa’s only International Master, Elijah Emojong, and the region’s biggest number of titled players, Uganda still struggles with kit and trainers – normally volunteers – plus sponsorship for overseas titles.

Mutesi is aware this may hold her back ultimately.

But while her goal is to rise to Grandmaster, she also hopes to become a paediatrician and open a home for children, especially girls facing the same predicament she overcame.

“Girls are always under-looked, even in chess,” said Mutesi. “But I don’t think there’s any reason why a girl cannot beat a boy. It comes from believing in yourself.”

Black, successful and single

(Pic: Reuters)
(Pic: Reuters)

I’ve gotten used to being invisible.

At night I go out almost as pretty as I may appear in pictures and as I watch people drinking, flirting, exchanging numbers and agreeing to meet up soon, I feel a strange loss of corporeality when my self-possessed smiles and quick rejoinders are met with nervous laughter and clumsy goodbyes as men begin to look through and beyond me.

At something simpler, intrinsically sexier and over my shoulder.

For me this is nothing new.

I’m a 29-year-old black woman and I’ve never been asked out on a date or for my number in any way that would suggest the slightest view towards twin tombstones.

My black and white male friends tell me it’s because I’m too intimidating when reduced to a bullet point list.

I’m passably pretty. I have a great job. I’m affable, educated and articulate. I live in a swank apartment, my sexual reputation is squeaky clean and I’ve recently taken a shine to flying across the world to eat, explore and be mute in monasteries.

Even more repulsive is the fact that I speak a little too well, white, meaningfully and much.   Couple this with the ability to afford my own hair, home and gambols across the globe and the reality is that while I’m obviously “a catch,” I’m also the least desirable fish in the sea.

To many white men who date black women, women like me are a little too white.

We’re great for pulling up with at parties and talking to until the wee hours but as a fleeting fancy once told me: White men want their black women ‘black’.

They want them with ‘political hair’, ostensibly insatiable pussies and with just enough Africa in their accent to remind the rabble that they’re profoundly progressive.

Then, of course, there’s the sex. And the hypersexualisation that precedes it.

Reduced to forbidden fruit, blowjob lips, bouncy buttocks and thick thighs in film, literature and life, many black women are approached by white men with largely erotic expectation who will generally skip what appears to be an open mind above closed legs.

After all, what’s the point of dating a black woman if you can’t talk about her stereotype-supporting abandon in bed? If you can’t salaciously suggest that she’s a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets to all your high-fiving friends who know her kinky hair mirroring kinky ways will never meet your mother?

To plenty of black men, black women like me are whole other bag of bad news.

Many have grown up in households were men rule the roost and women work at cooking, cleaning or killing time at a job  that pays just enough for them to remain compliant.

So black women like me – black women with our own money, our mouths and our minds – we’re erudite abominations. We’re traitors of tradition and pariahs of our place which is no further than somewhere far below a man by the simple virtue of him being one.

Lucky for them, there are black women in abundance.

Women who like being kept in clothing and under the thumb and these women will do until they don’t. Until they demand one too many weaves and shopping sprees, the feeling of being used becomes mutual and jaded black men dismiss assorted black women as being gold-diggers by nature, if not harpies and whores.

The irony is that while they complain, cuss and call us all names, most black men would never date black women like me.

Not when we’re unperturbed by the threat of unpaid bills and unkempt weaves so we’ll be swift to leave liars, beaters or cheats.

When we don’t sleep around and they can’t call us sluts because the pot is only as free as the kettle.

When we maintain ourselves just as highly as we please and speak up and out about double standards, patriarchy and the misogyny inherent in ‘our place’.

When they insist that we deserve better, swear they’re unworthy and they can never see their way to stepping up to the challenge.

When we’re not angry, slutty or anything else allegedly innate in being female and black and walk a strange and steadfast line as neither Sapphire nor Jezebel.

Though they’re quick to lament black women’s so-called superficiality and lack of intellect, most black men would never date black women like me.

Not when we can hold our own in all kinds of conversation as we jump through educational and professional hoops to get beyond our caricatures and our kin.

Not when we aren’t impressed by a string of baby mamas waiting in the wings with children who will only half know their grudging fathers balanced precariously on their infuriated hips.

Not when everything we’ve worked hard at is seen as a minus on some lazy list because most middle-class black men would rather be a part of something limping and loose than take a chance at dating an equal who is willing and able to share their bills, their lives, their torments and their triumphs.

Not when most black men would rather ignore successful black women entirely than be bothered to take an interest in a black damsel who is not in distress.

When, much like them, we want to chase our dreams and pursue our talents as far and as wide as they may take us because we’ve been given an opportunity denied to an African many.

When we’re a little occupied and exhausted because every day is a clash; a fight fraught with defying stereotypes and making the world more accepting of ambitious black women through sheer necessity and precedent. Though, the reward is as pyrrhic as: you’re too good, you’re too talented, walk alone.

Not when they assume our Western-style accomplishments dictate that we don’t date black men but the reality is no man has ever actually asked.

At least not me.

Except one.

Aptly, a man named Courage. A local comedian who grins at me from the stage at a Valentine’s Day-themed comedy show at Jojo’s Music and Arts Café and doesn’t invite me out but asks:

“Martha, why are you still single?”

It’s a good question and just facetious enough to make everybody laugh.

They do.

And I don’t blame them.

On paper, I’m “a catch“.

But my love life’s a joke.

Martha Mukaiwa is a  freelance arts, entertainment and travel writer as well as a weekly columnist living in Windhoek, Namibia in-between short, spirited sojourns in South East Asia. She is an avid coffee drinker, spring cleaner and cinephile with a love for all things hobo and happening. Follow her on Twitter@marth__vader

African Blogger Awards open for entry

(Pic: Reuters)
(Pic: Reuters)

Entries to the 2015 African Blogger Awards are now open to all African bloggers, Instagrammers, Twitter influencers, and YouTubers with the competition expanding this year to include Facebook pages and profiles.

Launched last year, the African Blogger Awards are the only pan-African event that measure online and social influencers’ reach and influence through data analysis.

“The inaugural African Blogger Awards in 2014 set the benchmark for the discovery of truly exceptional African content creators and their unique story-telling approaches. We are looking forward to seeing the progress made by entrants participating in this year’s event for the second time, while discovering new talent across the continent,” says Mike Sharman, co-founder of the African Blogger Awards.

Five overall awards for Africa’s Top Instagrammer, Top Twitter Profile, Top YouTuber, Top Blogger and Best Facebook Page will be awarded to entrants who stand head and shoulders above others in these categories.

An additional 36 sub-categories including; Lifestyle, Travel, Finance, Entertainment, and Technology and Gadgets among many others are also available for a diverse range of bloggers to enter.

“With over 520 entries from 26 countries in 2014, we’re anticipating close to 800 entries from independent publishers communicating to more than 60 million Africans across the continent and beyond,” says Murray Legg, co-founder of the African Blogger Awards.

The Awards also give brands and the marketing industry an objective measurement of the most relevant online and social influencers to include in their campaigns, making sure that they achieve the greatest possible impact for their marketing spend.

There is no cost to enter, but entrants, if they haven’t already, are required to register their blog, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook Page or YouTube profile (or a combination of these properties) on Webfluential (Facebook Page entrants will be required to apply via a Twitter account). This platform scientifically measures the reach, resonance and relevance of social influencers on these platforms with over 1000 active, legitimate followers. Evaluation of each entrant will be managed primarily through Webfluential on the following metrics:

•              Reach measures the size of an influencer’s audience (following) per social media network.

•              Resonance is a measure of how widely the content that an influencer shares reaches outside of their own community.

•              Relevance is a measure of the response from the influencer’s community in the form of likes, comments, retweets.

Any entrants who entered into the 2014 awards will need to update their profiles on Webfluential, as all participants and winners will be measured on the platform’s latest analytical metrics.

Entries for the awards close on 9 April 2015 at midnight GMT+2, and results will be announced on 5 May 2015 via the competition’s Twitter handle, @African_Blogger, from 11h00 GMT+2.

Winners in each category will receive a web banner announcing their achievement that can be personally leveraged through their social networks, and a commemorative trophy.

All bloggers, Instagrammers, Tweeters, Facebookers and YouTubers who are permanent residents of any African country are eligible to enter the African Blogger Awards.

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