Food and the politics of identity

Back in the early 2000, I had the honor of spending some time with Kenyan traditionalist group that espoused Gìkùyù religion. It worked perfect as I was a graduate student in Anthropology and was also in a deep journey of self discovery. My ethnicity also happens to be Gìkùyù.

After a long decade in the Diaspora, my longing for home and a clarity of who and whose I was could not be suppressed much longer. I just happened to be reading James Baldwin masterpiece The Fire Next Time. It definitely contributed to my desire to define myself to myself.

Unlike James Baldwin, my fire was unwilling to wait for next time. But in his spirit of self-defination, I was eager to strech mine a bit deeper. In his famouss words. “I am not your Niggar “, I was was attempting to answer the next natural question of to “whose” I was.

Baldwin’s book was a great backdrop to the work I was embarking on. It was my form of coming of age intellectually for a person of African descent living under a culture whole meteoric rise was predicated upon the demise of Africanity.

Baldwin did the heavey lifting for this son of the soil. He had been a preacher and experienced first hand the hypocrisy behind that industry. There was so much I appreciated about Baldwin's journey.

That did not mean that I too had my own lifting to do and there was no escaping that.

I therefore took up an internship at U.N headquarters in Nairobi for three months, with an additional 6 weeks for research. The bulk of my research was spent with adherents of a traditional group was popularly known as Thaai, which is a derivative from the Gìkùyù word thayu, which means peace.

The group would be later pressured into taking a formalized name of Tabernacle of the Living God. The spiritual system the group followed closely mirrored the traditional worship of the Gìkùyù people before the coming of the White man.

The story of the group is very instructive about how modern African governments often suppress traditional spiritual systems as they are fertile ground for fomenting resistance. The group has faced a lot of persecution in the hands of the government. The leader of the group,  Ngonya wa Gakonya was a thorn on the side of the government of the former autocratic president and the regime that followed to the last day. 

During the time period in question, I happened to be reading the Black Jacobins and a few other books about Cointelpro that was conducted by the FBI against the revolutionary groups in the U.S.

What I was not ready for is to realize that the government of Kenya had a similar program against this Gikùyù traditionalists. The group was later dividend and undermined until the leader passed away in 2006 when the group was just a shadow of its hay days. The songs below are songs captured during the funeral of leader. 

The music I heard during the groups meetings at a public roundabout at the edge of Nairobi was the closest thing to the songs and dance of the Gìkùyù before colonialism. There was a lot nuances that one can pick up from the way these people were relating to each other. It is one of the most precious and memorable example I know that demonstrates a functional people who are proud to exercise their culture as a form of  struggle.

The another observation that become quite clear was that there are very blurred lines between politics and spirituality. I have since come to realize that African spirituality is not something that you believe in but more of what you do on a daily basis. Secondly, It is extremely difficult to exercise spirituality in the face of oppression. It is no wonder that our people have fallen for foreign religions that reflect those who had usurped their power to govern themselves.

It should be the priority of Africans to be totally free first and foremost. It is difficult to conceptualize African spirituality in the global injustice we face as a people. Not too far behind in significance, you can't eat slave food and practice African spirituality. Food is the the greatest mark of our vibration and dead vibration produces slaves and so does slave food.

You can never fully colonize or enslave any group of people until you colonize and enslave their food.  Thus, the road to African Spirituality is a wonderful one to travel but it is strewn with struggles for justice, food and freedom.  We have to overcome those struggles before we can fully achieve or arrive at African Spirituality. At the heart of the above struggles is the ability to define one's identity and the food that feed that identity. On the front, the fire to win that battle is now, otherwise there might never be any fire next time. It is easier to proclaim whose were are not, but if the person we donounce continues to feed you ultimately will own you.

An African Anarchist

I have to say that I have had deep suspicion about wishing my friends a happy new year. I wished very few, if any, happy holidays or happy new year this year. Not that I wish anyone any harm, disappointment or sadness. But as I grow old, I am experiencing an overwhelming desire to live an honest life. 

Having done my fair share of living lies, travelling and reading, I have come to the conclusion that as an African man, I have about four major options I can take.

One of the most common and attractive is to be a dreamer. This option is closely related to the religious path. You believe not in the things as you wish them to be. You take the angle that even though bad things are happening all around you, those conditions are ephemeral.  You see yourself as transcending that reality and on your way to greater things. You get so sucked into the unreal that it affects everything you do. You even demand that others recognize and respect your imagined reality.  It is even possible to feel pity on others who fail to join you in your imagined reality. As more and more people join that imagined reality that benefits just a few, the force that trumps reality over imagined reality tends to be the norm.

The second option is join the dysfunctional, dehumanizing and exploitative system at a small cost of selling your soul. That means that you follow the simple goal of maximizing your profits regardless of what damage you cause to the community,  environment or political system. You attend the recommended school and engage your time in the preferred studies that an exploitative system needs to survive. You are handsomely rewarded, even as your work continues to destabilise mankind. You are now in a position to buy a lot of useless toys that soothes  your conscience for the harm you causes. 

The third option is to be addicted to the substances that the sick system produces to keep the matrix going. From fashion to alcohol , music, to drugs and sports.  All the above are distractions 

The fourth is to fight for what is our true nature: freedom. You learn that there are no  shortcuts in life. Each of the ways above comes at cost. Running away from the truth means running for life. The only sure way is fighting for what is real, whatever the cost.

Please save the praise and worship stories here. I am not looking for a blessing,  you can't write me a check if you have no money in the bank.

 It's for that reason I ask my friends not to wish blessing on me, that comes only from your parents. Any other blessing has to be something tangible. Bless me with a book, money, food or truth. But not by promising me that some higher force will act upon your command and do your bidding to solve my problems.  That higher force must be very mediocre to have allowed me to suffer just because your important self had not showed up  to put the final signature so that my blessings can be released. 

The  above scam has been played on human beings long than I care to remember. A being that loves a cheerful giver, yet that deity owns everything in this world and beyond. I am reminded here of the lord's storehouse with is overflowing with goodies. This not particularly an attractive preposition in light of all the suffering around me. But again, maybe I live in the wrong side of town where the good master just hasn't had time to attend to. 

That deal or arrangement is too one sided. Whichever jury or council that agreed to that arrangement must have been high of some holy shit. Who can sign on to warped deal like that?

I give at least ten percent for what? An SGR rail built by the Chinese is the most expensive project and even that did not cost that much. What I received during my days of tithing was, well, what I already had. I continue to receive it in abundance even after I directed that portion of my income to earthly endeavours. The tithes therefore was just like a goodwill or bribe for a nonexistent business. 

What is worth remembering is that I have to be out of my mind to think that a group of people can be dehumanised for over a thousand years from Arab slavery, to  European slavery, colonialism, neo colonialism and neoliberalism and still be normal. No apologies, no reparations and debriefing. 

If in doubt, read about the Dutch winter Hunger. It explains what starving pregnant Dutch in their third trimester by Nazi soldiers affected the rates of obesity of their children 50 years later. If three months starvation by mothers was enough to change the brains of the children fifty years later, what about Africans?

You can pay 10% of your income to run away from your  demons or you can pay yourself to learn and slay the demons.

This is my reality and yours, it know no new day or blessed day. I matter not if it's your birthday or that of anyone else. 

Accept your reality. I have accepted mine and work according to change what I can. In the meantime,  eat well, free your time and do your best to know what is in your best interest. Those interests  are the causes of war in the world. Jump off the donkey of ignorance, even if you have to fall and bruise your body. I can tell you that it's  far better to walk to Freedom than to ride a stupid donkey to mental slavery. 

And that is what I wish each and everyone not only on this day but every single day.

Awekening to the pain of Caffeine

It was on a Sunday and you might as well call it the day of false prophecy.

  I had spent the previous night at my late aunt Emily's house. For those who knew my aunt, they most likely know her for her exemplary work as a coffee farmer. She was a recipient of all types of awards. That made her extremely proud and she patiently give any guest a tour of her small farm. My aunt is no more and the same can be said of the glory of an industry she was so proud of. I was sure to take three photos of some the coffee tree she planted in the mid seventies.  This year the same coffee trees earned one of her son $130 a year from the back breaking work. The only reprieve is that the cost of chemicals fertilizers and herbicides have already been deducted.  

Let us just look at the chemicals aspect of my cousi's "business". Since labour is quite expensive, he opts to go the cheaper way and use  Round Up at the cost of $3 every time he sprays. The person spraying churches $5 a day. The recommended number times to control weeds is 8 timee. That comes to $64 dollars a year.  

The next stage is the application of fertiliser to the coffee trees. My cousin uses $70 on this leg of the long journey .

Coffee has to be pruned twice a year at  a cost of $60 each time. That gives a cost of $120 dollars a year. 

At this stage all that is left is to picking the " beans of Burden". My cousin reports that he spends about $100 on the labour of picking the beans. 

Doing the math for you is almost an abuse of your intelligence.  Instead, allow me to interject with the story of a  phone charger to put things into context.

After leaving my cousin's small coffee farm we realised that there was no power in the house.  Our infinite wisdom guided us to the nearby shopping centre to buy a car charger. You can see a photo of it too. You will be forgiven for wondering what a phone charger has to do with coffee farming.

The honest truth is the this post is about the phone and not coffee farming.  The story of coffee only gives context to story of the charger. 

The charger on the photo costs me $2.00. The charger is made in China, transported here and retails for the above price.

If the Chinese can produce chargers for Kenyans at that cost while we farm at a hefty loss and no government subsidies.  You are kidding yourself if you think that with such a gap you can avoid one of three things: Revolution, Death or Dictatorship. 

There is something you can afford for good measure. Please skip praying for the coffee the next time you drink a cup of coffee that contains Kenyan or African beans. If you do, please send my cousin or any coffee farmer $ 1 for every cup you drink. That would make the false prophecy real and may even delay Death,Revolution or  Dictatorship!

Ours is a false prophecy!

Superstitions and Health

I have write about food, superstitions and negative ethnicity/racial bias without any favor or prejudice.  So I will not be saying I told you so or saying what I have already said before. What I wish I was more loud about is friendship. One of the subtle casualties of injustice and inequality is genuine friendship.  

Colonialism, slavery primed many for believe in nonexistent forces. On the face of it it appears a harmless practice. What I have realized is that in accordance to the Second Law of Thermodynamics,  entropy increases. It is becoming increasingly difficult to find genuine people in any field. 

From community, to business and even in the most hallowed institutions such as court system, international organizations and religious organizations,  there is a severe lack of honesty.

That dishonesty is now affecting families. It might be one of the reasons why marriages are less stable, while depression and a general feeling of apathy being quite prevalent.  

These are obvious outcomes of a capitalistic system that has ran amok. Our lives and institutions now mirror that exploitative system that considers sustainability as a nuisance.

There are obviously many other factors that we can add to the list. I am however fascinated by the fact that many politicians and religious leaders have offered false, nice-sounding, promises that many have fallen for and in the meantime neglected nurturing  time-tested and proven benefits of viable and genuine friendship.  

Save for one drunk and deluded Nigerian preacher I heard promising that he would go to China and deal with the virus, the fire-breathing power brokers are making very economical utterances which simply adds up to nothing but caution.

Here is a wonderful opportunity to be humans to be free again. Community and friendship time is here! Go forth and try it. There is none that is immune to this problem.  The rich and the poor are equal in this matters. You need no more proof than the coronavirus and the over 100,000 deaths of relatively well of whites that is commonly known as the death of despair. Make friends and live, that is if you survive the death of the stupid economy.  It's the economy, stupid.

A Tribute to A Mississippi Queen

If I was to take a few minutes to do a gastrointestinal reflection on what 30 years in the U.S has meant to my food culture, a most appropriate place to start would be in on the Thanksgiving Sunday in 1989 in as border town of South Haven Mississippi, close Memphis, Tennessee.

This year 30 years ago, I attended New Hope Baptist Church in Southaven Mississippi with my newly wedded wife who was two months pregnant with my daughter. After church, we attended a huge family dinner at the in-laws house. Ms. Warren was the matriarch of the house who would make any feminist blush. 

She understood exactly what African Americans had to do to hold the families together. The Sunday dinners was a family tradition that few missed without a genuine excuse good enough for the queen. The time I spent with Mrs. Warren and her family has had a tremendous impact on my thoughts about food and justice. 

The she would tell me stories about share cropping; how they financed their house from a cleaning wage and a garbage driver's wage coz the bank would not loan them any money. To get around the racist laws, the Warrens would buy building material during the week and then the men in the community would come help build the house. Over the weekend That is exactly what I had seen growing up in the village in Kenya.

The lessons from Mrs. Warren were not always verbal. I learned a ton just from observing how she handled business with style. She was a sharp dresser, bling and all , and also very religious.  It was a great honor to introduce her to my father during a visit for my graduation.  I tried to explain to him the role Mrs. Warren and her family had played during the toughest time of my life. Weather he understood or not is besides the point. What is important is my food culture was connected to that of African Americans through not only through blood but through Mrs. Warren. On this day, I made a wonderful meal only fit for Mrs. Warren. Though I no longer keep the church tradition, I do keep the deep lover she showered me with and a crass attitude for good measure.

What I thought was a challenge at the time turned to be refining training from some of the best. Though uneducated, the wisdom and the warm she illuminated with be with me forever.

Kudos for my dinners around Mrs. Warren kitchen table with family.

For the sake of memories, I made a goat dish with stinging nettles,  malabar spinach,  pumpkin leaves, green bananas,  black pepper,  garlic and cumin.

Modern religions as an obstruction to indigenous cultures

Here is a message so many would find hateful simply because they don't know the history of the catholic church or don't care to know. Religion has caused so much hatred as each claim to have the ultimate truth. The truth of the matter is  that best of them is the one we all keep to ourselves and never use it as a means of dividing ourselves for no good reason. It would be great is everyone kept the good news, that supposedly brings salvation to the world but ends up destroying it, to themselves. It's hard enough agreeing on things we can see, leave alone things we can't see and will most likely never see. 

Catholicism historically looks and treats indigenous religions as stupid, backward and useless. It actively fought other denominations as well as other indigenous religions to eliminate competition.  There was all manner of subterfuge to maintain that dominance and no means were considered extreme. To be fair, Catholicism was not alone in using belief to gain political and economic power by peddling lies and ignorance. 

While I don't advocate abusive language,  I think it's quite insincere for those asking the person who posted this article to respect Catholics when the institution has so much blood on it's hands.

When you know the truth and you have the courage to tell that truth, true salvation is born every single. That salvation is called light and it destroys darkness. It's only through the illuminating light of knowledge, truth, love,justice and harmony to life thrives.

I am sending that illuminating energy on this most somber day, a day  whose energy has been usurped by the the forces of darkness. 

I am celebrating this solemn day for I am always amazed that I did finally see the light and I am free of the control of those dark forces. Much gratitude for those who stood guard at the gates of that illuminating light even when it cost them their lives. It's truly better to die than to live in darkness, though darkness is a form of death itself.

 Ignorance out of habit is still ignorance. It doesn't matter if everyone believes it or if my grandmother who was 200 years old believed it.

It matters not if that ignorance was originated by your brother, white people or is made in China. Only truth stands the test of time.

I am therefore not singing and shouting today over temporary joy that will disappear tomorrow. I am learning on a solid rock whose only constance is that it changes always. I stand ready to grasp more light. Religion on the other has one truth that only begrudgingly changes.

Pyramids of the Soul

What a pleasant surprise to hear from an old friend and an Africanist at heart. The Gillenwaters family were great friends from the early 1990s. This is just one of the hundreds of relationships I built in Memphis with African Americans that changed me for life. It's because of these kind of relationships that I strive to be a better African first and then a better human being second. 

I understood our history and struggle to be human better because of what my Kenyan sensibilities could perceive when around that environment.  Other people played some roles but I have to admit that being around the best and the worst of our experience brought a part of me that was too deeply buried within.  Many will not understand and I am fine with that.

The piece of art here reminds me of my deep hustle that would see me through hell if I needed. It is not simply art, but has a types of relationships and hands that finally came out to be what has been occupying my friend's wall for over a quarter of a century.  My oldest daughter probably has her fingerprints in the back of the art, being that she was always the loyal assistant.

 I was an art dealer in my first year of college and did some brisk business. What I didn't realize is that the experience was my introduction to anthropology and food activism. Many of my art negotiations took place in kitchen tables, barber shops and hair salons. 

My college friends were also like family in a mighty way. The professors were like guardians, uncles and aunts.  If you have never lived outside your home country, attending college and raising a daughter at the same time, just don't even try to imagine. I was also out of status and therefore undocumented for a while. Yet all these was just a passing cloud. It is for such reasons that I owe more than I can ever give. 

I would sell a piece of art, then visit the customers house to see their decor and then frame the piece to fit their decor. This same experience comes out in my approach to food and my love for people. Being in the kitchen of so many wonderful people's home made me feel less lonely. It also made me feel more secure knowing police officers, public officials, professional and most important intellectuals.

Memphis might be the city of the dead but it gave me princely life, love and light. More fire, black fire!

My Meeting With Prof. Ngugí Wa Thiong’o

Njathi wa Kabui

Back in 2004, I visited California for the first time. It just so happened that it was around election time.  The voting was actually taking place on the day following our arrival. This was a very special trip on various levels. Some of the reasons were planned and others not anticipated at all. 

Yet, the trip was memorable for various reasons. I have obviously revisited the trip in my solitude from time to time, and maybe it's to admit that as we age, we see things quite differently than we did during our young days. The laws of sustainable dictates that we share our expertise with the next generation to ensure that our culture becomes more efficient, effective and endearing.

My trip to California marked the first time I met my own "elder" scholar, the one and only Ngugì Wa Thiong'o. Elder Ngùgì was teaching at UC Davis and we were visiting our friends a few counties over. I had to pull all kinds of moves to make it to the meeting. Mugo Muchiri was extremely helpful in guiding me through the process. I met him then for the first time and our friendship is a remnant of that era. I also remember taking a taxi for the first time for the final leg of the trip there. 

I can't tell you how excited I was even at the thought of meeting a man who had influenced my intellectual development in ways I could never recount.

When I arrived on campus, I actually ran from where I was dropped off to his office. It wasn't hard to find, but once there, it was hard to leave.

I was a bit surprised about his height, but that was nothing compared to the lovely conversation. He is a true African intellectual.  From his hair to his shirt, everything matched the image I always had of great thinkers of history.

From our conversation that lasted about an hour and a half, I mostly remember of classic statement that he made. Ngugi looked at me straight in the face and told me, in a parable sort of way, and in impeccable Gìkùyù “ Tùciaraga tùgongithia ciene". That essentially means that we give birth and suckle other peoples children, which means that our babies ultimately starve or are demented.  

Shortly after, the polite Ngùgì called the Cab for me, and following our final exchange of niceties,  we parted ways.

I thought a lot about our conversation and even about the meeting itself. My head was spinning. I therefore hardly noticed when we arrived at my destination. I was going to a kenyan house where a group of fellow Kenyans held a weekly Bible study meeting.  The preacher would give me a ride back to our host as he lived in the same neighborhood. 

I knocked on the door and a young lady called me by both of my names. She continued to inform me that they had been expecting me. I was ushered in and offered a seat on one of the few empty spaces on the couch  following the introduction. The Bible class was going on. The Bible verse they were reading was about the false promise. A corrupt idiot by the name of Laban worked Jacob, his future son-in-law, for seven years and reneged on his promise to offer his second daughter in marriage. We all know the story and how seven years contract or indenture turned into 14 years. Jacob ended up marrying the two sisters.

I had already gotten over the Christianity gaze by then and I might have as well stayed outside. I had declined an opportunity to do a formal PhD and instead decided to do a 4 year independent study. I was suspicious that none of the PhD programs I had considered would answer my most fundamental question: why is Africans the world over in chains and how can they be free? I felt as though I would feel jilted at the end of my PhD program the same way Laban had done to Jacob. 

My reading had led me to understand what role religion played in our exploitation and also as an obstruction to our true liberation. Our conversation with elder Ngùgì wa Thiong'o was like a honey brew. It was causing my head to be light. 

Out of politeness I opted to seat around and simply be quiet.  Nobody seemed to notice my silence. The discussion went on as expected and was finally concluded. I sat there patiently, even as the others closed their eyes and prayed together. I uttered not a word. Not even an Amen.

With the Bible study over, the host offered the guests some tea and Mandazi. The TV was turned on as everybody wanted to get an update of the elections. John Kelley and George Bush were the two contenders.  

It quickly occured to me that the group was mostly in support of George Bush. His belief in Jesus was a major reason stated.

At some point the host noticed that I had said nothing. She wondered out loud if I was a supporter of Kelley as I did not seem all too excited with the news that showed Bush ahead.

In response, I told the middle aged woman that Africans have an eternal marriage of inconvenience with the West. Jacob was lucky he worked for 14 years for his bride. We have been living under the White gaze beginning with the fall of Egypt to the Romans, from 31 BC. The fall of Egypt marked the beginning of the fall of Africa. Now the Asians and Arabs have joined the fray in search of the Black Gold. 

I don't agree with Magesha Ngwiri's recent article where he argued that we are children of two worlds. Which World is hospitable to the Africans? If my grandmother in my village died while waiting for Jesus to come back, you know that the White Gaze is a serious matter. 

Africans know first hand that BLM doesn't mean anything to the Afrian leaders and power brokers. Most Africans don't know either of the two worlds Ngwiri was talking about. You can't be bilingual if you are not proficient in any single language. 

Study how Whites gained power and how Asians have changed their status relative to the west.  We don't have to copy anyone, but we can't avoid the work of a statecraft.  We don't have a double considering as W.E.B Dubois once said almost a hundred years ago in his book "Souls of Black Folk ''. What we have instead is a false consciousness.  Only a false consciousness can tolerate the delay of our struggle for true liberation. Only a people with a false consciousness would keep hoping for free liberation without a cost.

Tom Mwiraria was the last person I would have expected to call a clarion call first articulated by the real "elder" to many of us. How are we to grow up and fight for our own liberation if we continue to believe in contracts signed by dishonest powerful global elites that keep feeding us lies, both literally and figuratively?

Africans are not any special from any other group of people, liberation struggles and revolutions are not beauty contests. It wasn't easy as Maximilien Robespierre found in France found out, or Toussaint Louverture quickly found out in Haiti and so did Oliver Cromwell find out the getting rid of the crown in England wasn't necessarily a solution. Ironically,  Englad did so badly after the revolutionaries beheaded king Charles I that they had to reinstate the monarchy. 

I am beginning to suspect that some Africans seem to think we can adjust and conform to injustice and cultural domination.

James Baldwin once stated that " I am not your Neggar". Whatever or whatever you are willing to sacrifice your liberty for, that is what or who owns you. 

The revolution belongs to those who dream of tomorrow and those who appreciate that understanding that our lives are a sum total of all the battles that have been won and lost before. That same same rule of yesterday and today will apply to the next generation following yours.

Dream if you fancy, or study closely and understand the pains and fears that motivate those who dominate you. They shed a lot of blood to get to where they are ,and by extension,  to where we are. 

Socrates lived a simple but principled life. Few know who the wealthy people were in Athens at that time. Yet, this deadbeat father and not exactly the most handsome guy has the honor of dividing a discipline as glorious as philosophy.  All philosophers are classified as either pre or post Socratic.

I returned from a memorable vacation in California and the only thing that I am found worthy of writing from the whole trip was not all the fun things that I did with my friends but a meeting with this most ardent critic of all manner of injustices from linguistic oppression to human rights. Here is a man that I can honestly say has been living justly.. I live under the gaze of such souls.