ATAMU VILLAGE, Kenya — Rain pounds the earth and the jungle in this small cluster of grass huts with tough love. The sun peeks through these heavy coastal clouds as if to check in on things for a moment, then disappears again. Birds chatter constantly, baboons bark at each other over ripening apple mangos, coconut palms dance with ocean breezes, sweetened by the scent of frangipelli blossoms. It's 80 degrees. Welcome to winter on the east coast of Africa.
Plots of maize
My fiancee, Janet, an anthropology professor, discusses the day's plans with her six students. They are here to live like natives for a while and to distribute humanitarian goods to the people. Having lived like a native my whole life, I've just come along to eat.
It's morning in this village of the Sanye people. It's last night, sometime, in the Rocky Mountain West. Women in brightly colored sarongs prepare breakfast over small fires scattered among the huts, while men tend to the goats, chickens, and to their plots of maize. The surrounding jungle is bursting with colors, scents, and sounds as the sky opens now and the sun pours down on this happy village, only 90 miles south of the Equator.
I definitely am not in Kansas anymore.
It seems impossible that a place as idyllic as this can exist in the world ... at least in the world I know a half a world away.
And, it seems impossible that a place like this exists only a few hundred miles from Kenya's capital city, Nairobi.
Rifles on arrival
Nairobi (or Nightmare-robi, as I call it) held images of excitement and adventure in my boyhood imaginings.
Just arriving at Nairobi's Jomo Kenyatta International Airport is an adventure. Dimly lit and decaying, it is anything but a welcoming and friendly first impression to black Africa's finest city. A nice man in a crisp uniform and black boots did offer me a wave, however, while his free hand rested comfortably on the AK-47 looped over his shoulder.
While Kenya grapples with famine, drought, serious economic problems and a corrupt political system, the city of “Nai-Robbery“ has become home to millions of refugees from throughout the surrounding region. People who don't have hope or money are mainly concerned with extracting same from those who do. Like American tourists. Enter many sour-faced men in uniforms with automatic rifles.
Kenya must at least keep up the appearance of providing security.
Refugee city
Today, the city has a population of between 2.5 and 3 million people, representing over 40 different East African tribes. Downtown, colonial buildings huddle in disrepair under sharp, pristine skyscrapers that cast long shadows over the chaos and decay in the streets. Walking down the crowding streets means keeping your wits if you want to keep your wallet and your person intact.
Slums are many, widespread, vast and soulless. One in particular that we drove through, named Keribe, consists of several square miles of small, corrugated tin and mud shelters, each one “houses” up to as many as seven people. This particular slum is home to 1.2 million people.
On the upside, our guides in Nairobi were also able to show us the beauty and the richness of the city. Pentecostal pastor, Boniface Adoyo, a big, wonderful man with a deep, rich voice — and a heart to match — and John Boud, a Mormon businessman with boundless generosity, spent much time and energy providing us with places to stay and to see. The National Museum of Kenya was a treat in particular, with hundreds of watercolor portraits of Kenya's native people by Joy Adamson (remember “Born Free”?) on display.
But after several days of Nairobi's sights, sounds and insanity, we all gladly jumped on a bush bomber for a one-hour flight to Malindi, followed by a half-hour drive into the forested Debaso region, and to the small village of the Sanye.
Ugali feast
Here, the “big man” of the village, Nelson Bashura, has opened his home, his heart and his peoples' lives to us. We dine on fresh pineapple, mangos, bananas, rice cooked in coconut milk, and “ugali” (cornmeal porridge baked into a hot, starchy cake), all eaten with the hands (just like on the Rez, Baby!). Fresh fish and chicken, red beans and Kenyan beef stew, round out the menu. “No mad cows here,” Nelson boasts, “no British beef!”
This is the land of “hakuna matata” (no problem, relax, take it easy), where the people greet you with wide, beautiful smiles, and a friendly “jambo!” (hello), “karibu” (welcome), and “habari” (how are you?).
Of course, I answer with a hearty, “I'm fine, when do we eat?”
Next on the agenda is a ride into town on a “matatu,” a kind of mini-bus/taxi that safely seats seven or eight, but normally is packed with many more. Drivers may be high on any number of local drugs, and/or may not have slept for days, which reminds me, it's time for my mid-morning nap. The sun is out, but you can actually hear the rain approaching in the jungle, and the coconut palms are swaying, hypnotically, in the wind.
These are the only sounds. No phone. No TV. No computer. No problem.
Do you hate me yet?
Hakuna Matata.
Copyright © The Billings Gazette, a division of Lee Enterprises.
John Potter, an Ojibwe from Wisconsin, is a gifted artist, illustrator and writer. After more than 20 years as an editorial artist and columnist with the Billings Gazette (Billings, Mont.), he now spends his full time and energy on his oils, painting the landscapes of the West that he loves the most. His work can be seen online at www.lonewolfgallery.com.
