February 27-March 1

Saturday, I went with Peter, the catechist at Mary Mount Catholic Church, to Kimongo, his village, or to be more accurate, Kimongo 2. Kimongo was settled by squatters in the early 1990’s and eventually, as a community they made a deal with the Lukenya Farming and Cooperative Society to purchase the land they were on. From Peter’s perspective the price was too high, and they are still paying it off. The Lukenya Farming And Cooperative Society is the entity which holds the title to our land, although we bought it from a private party who owns a forty acre parcel which has been subdivided. That arrangement is in part responsible for the delays we have been encountering.

Anyway, Peter lives in Kimongo 2, the second phase of the village, about .5 kilometers from Kimongo 1. I rendezvoused with Peter at the church at 2:00pm where he was working on a new building there. He cleaned up and we began the five kilometer walk to Kimongo. Everything is dry, parched really. We wound our way over some small hills and gullys, large rock outcroppings and barancas, following a winding foot path, Peter pushing his ancient bicycle and me following.

The pictures that follow are sequential, recounting our trip from the church near Daystar, where I live, through Kimongo 1 to Kimongo 2, where I had dinner at Peter’s house, back through Kimongo 1, and back again to Daystar/Lukenya. I’ll try to stay out of the way of the pictures as much as possible.

About half way, in a baranca, under the shade of two small trees, there were some kids sitting, talking and laughing. They got quiet as we approached. Not many mzungu out here normally. Peter, who knows most everyone, especially the children whom he works with teaching catechism and traditional dances. He is largely responsible for the dancing processions during mass. He asked me if we taught our children dances to do at mass. It seemed a little odd and sad to both of us that the answer was no.

We carried on and the children followed about one hundred meters behind. What they considered a safe distance. They were all carrying large irregular bundles or sacks, tied together. Peter told me that they had been out gathering scrap metal. That is, anything metal, in the bush, and were returning home. There is a man who comes through Kimongo and for a few schillings buys the scrap.

We stopped walking and let the children catch up, which they did pretty reluctantly.I asked Peter and then the children if I could take their picture. At first they wanted no part of it, especially thelittle girl in the dress. But that changed quickly and turned to hilarity when they saw their own faces on the small digital screen. Their names are Mwkali, Virginia, Mbithe, Walinya and Muthiani.

A click here and you get a good idea of the bundles, of the scrap metal, the fan casing, etc., and the crystal Lukenya sky, and the reluctant sister behind - see the shoes.

At first she was not at all sure about this whole business.

The reluctant one emerged.

And then she wanted a formal portrait.

This is Muthiani. You’ll see him again.

Her name is Philistia, a click here will show more clearly that she has a braided sisao rope on her forehead attached to two plastic two gallon containers. She was just setting out to get water from a spring in the hills which is five kilometers away.
Sisao are the cactus-like plants you often see in the background. This whole area was once a huge sisao plantation, planted by British farmers for their fibers. You can still see in vast areas the endless rows, now many years later.

Peter at the Community building which is used for Church meetings on Sunday and teaching kids. You’ll see the inside on the way back.

This man is stacking chopped sisao trunks to make charcoal.

After lighting it and getting it going, he covers it with dirt so it will become the charcoal, which virtually everyone cooks with.

Some kids checking out the mzungu in Kimongo 1.

This is the rose factory that Pablo saw from the satellite photos, and thought it was a solar installation. The picture does nothing to communicate how massive this thing is. A few very well-connected people have become fabuluosly wealthy from the proceeds. These complexes suck vast amounts of water from Athi River, their own bore holes (wells) and drain the Kilimanjaro pipeline. The roses don’t know there is a drought. But they are the main reason that Wilson has no water for the acre plot he is working and that Philistia walks five kilometers each way to carry back four gallons of water. But it’s not all bad. The struggling masses in Europe and the United States can keep romance alive with inexpensive roses. There are three rose factories in my view from Lukenya.

Peter on the path between Kimongo 1 and Kimongo 2 and his ancient bicycle. He made the trek for water early this morning on his bike, as usual.

Christine, Peter’s wife, cooking ugali, the corn meal staple. The stick she is holding to stir the pot is exactly like the ones I saw and smelled at the Kigombe carver’s market.

Peter and his daughter and his eighty-four year old mother. Very old for this area. Kenyans have a very interesting relation to age. Virtually no one I’ve asked can immediately give his/her age without some figuring, and then it’s often a close approximation. The guy who usually drives me when I go to Nairobi, who makes his living from his car doesn’t know what year his car is. But Peter was very precise about his mother’s age.

Peter’s compound. The building on the right is the kitchen, where Christine was cooking. It is very hot in there at meal time. Peter’s mother also sleeps in the back section. The building on the left is the family’s living quarters.

This is the bathroom. From the size of the target, I’d say without some practice it would not be a sure thing.

Yours truly at Peter’s. He’s got that Santa Cruz Mystery Spot lean going in this picture. Unfortunately, he didn’t teach me the technique.

Peter’s mother stacking a little fodder.

The family inside, where we ate, ugali, sukuma wike cooked with tomatoe and onion. It was delicious.

We’re now on the way back to Kimongo 1.

Some boys who came running from where they were playing, stopped part way, too shy to come closer, then they tossed their soccer ball to me.

Here are the soccer players. The one holding the ball put on a fine display of soccer skill as we were walking away.

Some guys checking it out.

When we came back into Kimongo 1, there was an outdoor religious kids’ meeting going on. There was a very scratchy loud speaker, and some music and all the kids were dancing like crazy. I tried to take a picture of them from a distance, but as soon as I took out the camera they all left the meeting ran over and mobbed me. The shyness had warn off entirely.

This is the mob. Recognize that toothless grin?

I felt bad disrupting the meeting, so I kept walking and tried to catch the kids dancing at the meeting from behind, but they were too smart for me.

Peter and the alley through the village.

Saturday night bath. But this looks like dry cleaning.

This is the inside of the Community building in Kimongo 1 that Peter was pictured outside of earlier. The slingshot-like thing is a kind of tambourine. It’s made of a forked stick and bottle caps that have been flattened and burned and pierced with a nail and strung on a wire between the forks. It works great.

Sometimes, inspite of what circumstances might seem to dictate, you just wanna wave and pick your nose at the same time.

I can’t remember a collection of eyes this bright.

This magnificent face is worth enlarging.

Peter and Christine and I were walking through the open land between Kimongo 1 and Lukenya. We were a few kilometers from anywhere when we heard singing in the distance. and the saw far off, a group of girls walking on the path toward us. They got quiet as they approached us, stopped singing, started talking quietly. They had just come from church, Peter knew, and when they got close he talked them into showing us the dances they knew. With very little persuasion they cranked it up.

They started singing, and the girl in the red dress put her flip flops on her hands to clap and keep rhythmn.

This is the only time so far I really wish I had a video camera and sound.

Things started heating up here.

These two girls started dancing together face-to-face. Everyone else was singing and or clapping. If you’ve seen the movie RIZE and wondered about the distant roots of Krumping, you may not need to look any further.

They were looking right into each other’s eyes and locked in.

There was a sweet frenzy by this time.

Then it boiled over into a big love fest.

I made it the rest of the way home.

That’s the news from the expanding neighborhood.

Keep on dancing.

David

Posted on March 1st, 2006 by david
Filed under: David's Journal