Kitui: The Midwest of Kenya

30/05/07

It’s taken me a while just to get this first one up and running, just because of the insane amounts of everything. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to just walk into a totally new place, culture, state of mind, and think I would have the time to sit down and write it down as I watched it.

My first entry will have to be about the people of Kitui. Kitui is a region in Kenya located mostly in the center of the country. It is found on a huge plateau—the biggest plateau in Africa, which stretches from central Kenya to the coast. The central Kitui region is a region of poverty (more poverty than most regions, that is); their poverty stems from the incredible dryness of the region. During the dry seasons, the bush dies off, the trees die off, and the people have to work very hard to survive.

However, the people of Kitui have found means to survive. They have united as a community to form a group called ‘Mital’ (which, of course, means hard work in Kikamba, their native tongue). This group has worked with artisans from larger cities to devise ways to preserve and increase the water in the region. Tree nurseries, ingenious sand dams, and other laborious projects have all been developed and worked on by the people of the community. (Over 200 sand dams, I am told; trust me, it’s a shiest load of work.)

But I didn’t have any idea of these things until after my three day stay was over. My linear mental and physical trip began much differently. For starters, I had to eat supper when I arrived at 9pm at night, although I was already full and ready for bed. I slept hard until 7am, at which point I got up and washed my face, walked around the yard (an acre of land that held a small house for the women, a small house for the men, a kitchen house, a toilet and washroom, a store for the extra food, and of course a stable for the animals) and met the chairmen of the community. (Note: I am partially deaf, and, at times, have a terrible time with accents. Because of this, I could hardly understand anything anyone said, and also, because I wasn’t accustomed to their vernacular, I couldn’t use the right words and therefore, although my hosts spoke English fairly well, they COULD NOT UNDERSTAND ME. What a very interesting and slightly debilitating situation.) After the chairmen and I didn’t talk for a while, he, Nicole and I hit the dusty trail—a dried stream: a road system that connects the homesteads and farms of the Kamba people.

We walked from house to house, meeting different people, all of whom were happy to see their first Mzungu (white person) in Kitui in the last 20 years. I met old, young, and children; and it would be impossible to pick which group were the most receptive, because it was so individually based. But I should note that every place I went, I had a seat in the shade, tea, paw-paw to eat, and sometimes even a full meal (depending on when I last ate, and whether I should be ready for more food, as determined by my guide—none of which I could understand, because this discussion always took place in Kikamba. I ate full meals, on average, five times a day. I’m fat now.).

As I began to have my first inkling of what these people were about—the hard living situations, the hard work of the people, this group called Mital—we reached a destination where I was to meet a man who was learned in the ways of treating illness with trees and herbs. (The people arranged this, because I had inadvertantly let them know that I was interested in herbal medicines. I had no say in the matter—they knew my interest and arranged the meeting.) The man with herbal experience happened to be the brother of the chairmen. His name is Motinda. In another life, he was an American physician, certainly.

The meeting place where we found Motinda happened to be a celebration of a wedding. The chairmen, on any other day, would’ve been presiding over the meeting: but today, he had charged himself with the duty of taking the Mzungus through his land. As a tour guide, escort, welcoming crew. We greeted the wedding party, and sat for a bit. Soon, I saw the chairmen gesture to Motinda, at which point they grabbed their chairs and headed to another shade tree in a field. I followed their lead (I didn’t know yet that I was at a wedding celebration) and took tea and lunch with the chairmen, Motinda, Nicole, and a teacher named Peter. (Note: if you notice a change in my own vernacular, it is because of my acclimation to the African-English here.)

We spoke of many things: my past and education, Nicole (Mwutani being her Kamba-given name, meaning one who is happy) and her previous stay in Kitui, the hard work of the people and Mital, the health practices of the people, global warming, and the fun little differences found between people, which were so clearly seen between Africans and Americans, and also the elements of human nature that unite all people, regardless of their upbringing, culture or socialization. All this was happening in a field in Africa, under a shade tree, taking tea: we spoke of these things: three men I had only just met—I spoke to them like peers, friends, and fellow students. In fact, it was a very academic setting. Afterwards they called me their brother. This was my third day in Africa.

I could write a book about these first couple days in Kitui. But the real beauty of it: I was able to see where people came from. I saw the countryside lifestyle first—the hometown, hillbilly attitudes. Just going to Nairobi, the capitol and hub of East Africa with 5 million people, is very daunting. Seeing the simple life of the people, and how it could grow into a life in Nairobi—it made everything make so much more sense.

I don’t want to stop writing, but I must now. Because I must shit. And then I must go to work. That is why I’m here: to work my ass of for these people and this country. Anything I can give this summer.