, Abstract

. In this piece of writing l have tried to compress the impressions l had while living and working in Africa for three years. The result is a series of sketches organised into four thematic sections. The sketches are designed not only to portray aspects of life in Africa, but also to give a feeling of how a unique experience acted upon my conception of myself and the west.

A Quartet of Sketches From an African Experience Joseph Lurie Department of English M.A. A Quartet of Sketches ~

An African Experience

by Joseph Lurie

Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master of Arts

Department of English

McGill University March 25; 1970

J ~ Joseph Lurie 1970 f CONTENTS

Preface ...... 1 Icitial Bncounters ...... 1 Reflections from African Landscapes ...... 26 Missionaries ...... 56 Culture and Race Motifs ...... 78 Selected Bibliography ...... 103 i

Preface

It was my original intention to keep a journal of my experiences in Africa. But the more l wrote the more apparent it became that my writing did not constitute a chronological record. l found instead that l had a series of vignettes and anecdotes which cou1d be organized into four thematic groups. The sketches are meant to capture the essence of my experiences which not on1y taught me about Africa, but also enabled me to see myse1f and the west in a different light.

New York March 20, 1970 Joseph Lurie Initial Encounters l

Illusions l was to teach secondary school English and History in some rural area of Kenya, and the prospect set my mind aflame with exotic visions. l knew nothing of Kenya, so the visions were partly fanciful, partly the result of sub­ conscious accumulations picked up here and there from the most stereotyped remarks about Africa. 'Kenyatta' and 'Mau Mau' were epithets that spontaneously evoked notions of strange tribal rites. The mere mention of cities such as Mombasa or Nairobi for no apparent reason acted upon my mind like mysterious herbs, and my imagination bubbled away from me in anticipation of the journey. Despite three months of studying the history, culture and language of the area, romantic visions persisted, for academic knowledge rarely captures the imagination until rooted in experience. It is often a deception of life that our observation of a new reality is coloured by what we imagined it to be, so reluctant are we to admit the fallibility of our ideas. l can remember, for example, getting off the plane in Entebbe en"'route to Nairobi, breathing in' the thick African night air, being convinced that that was African air, permeated,

l thought, with the scent of lion. My mind tried to hide 2 shame from myself when months later l learned that there are no lions in that vicinity; and l did not come to recognize until much later, living at a much higher altitude than that of Entebbe, that there is no particular type of air that monopolizes the African atmosphere.

From the plane l walked into a small reception lounge whose wicker chairs and sluggish overhead fans conjured visions of Humphrey Bogart and 'The African Queen'. * The deep black- ness of the bartender's skin convinced me that he was a pure African, that here was no product of intermarriage which Americans tend to think of when they see lighter American

Negroes. l was soon to learn, however, that blackness is not necessarily a standard for racial purity, that those ancient men of Africa, the Bushmen, are broWD; and l was to live among the Kikuyu who, in describing a person they could not name, often referred to him as being 'that very black man' as if to distinguish him from the more usual Kikuyu of lighter hue. This kind of description startles the white man, as the term 'black' has for him lost its literal mean- ing. To many white people, anyone who has African blood is

* The decor of the lounge has changed considerably since my first visite 3 black, but there are those who have tried to be less lin­ guistically inexact by uSing the word 'coloured', though· it could amusingly enough te applied to all of us. Now the American Negro, however light he may be, takes pride in calling himself 'black' to offset the humil­ iation that whites have attached to the word. Yet the men­ tal shack1es of the Negro have yet to be fully broken, for though he now refuses to accept the negative connotation of the word, he does not realize that in his use of 'black' to describe people of African ancestry, he has accepted the initial misnomer promulgated by the white man -- that all Africans are black. At the Nairobi airport in the middle of the night l again sensed lion in the air; and this time, though l had never had the good fortune of smelling a lion at close range, l might not have been mistaken since the Nairobi game park was near-by. Traveling by bus from the airport to Nairobi l strained for a view of game, but was disappointed when, soon after, the appearance of modern highway lighting and neon signs heralded the outskirts of the city. It was three in the morning when l finally got to bed in a comfortable hotel. But my sleep was restless, as l was anxious to expaore the city the next day. 4 The modern buildings, supermarkets, cinemas, fancy shops and well-cared-for parks made me wonder at the ignor­ ance about Africa that was prevalent in North America. This is not to say that wild animals, bush, mud huts, and tradi­ tional people don't existe They do, but it was now clear to me that too few people in America knew of this other Africa which isn't depicted in Tarzan films. l remembered to send a picture post card of Nairobi home to my mother as she was MOSt anxious about my safety. There was a wide assortment of people walking the streets., and l found the turbaned or sari-draped Indians and Pakistanis (here commonly called Asians) the MOSt colour­ fuI. They had initially came to East Africa as labourers to help the British build the railway, but had eventually become a bourgeouis group which virtually controlled busi­ ness throughout East Africa. Their monopoly on trade and often misused commercial acumen are greatly resented by the Africans, so that they are gradually being pushed out of

Kenya by the government. There were also~lot of tourists milling in the streets, Many of whom fidgeted with cameras and wore khaki bush clothing anticipating or returning from a safari; of course there were others who dressed that way because it was comfortable and no doubt gave them the feeling 5 of being in Africa. Then there were the indigenous whites, many of whom owned and worked farms that their grandfathers had developed in the colonial period, and there were Many young expatriates who helped the government with various development projects. Except for government workers and those fortunate enought to get into business, the Africans were poorly dressed, and it vas sad to see so many crippled beggars, in a country that was supposed to be theirs, ob­ sequiously greeting people of other races. A few miles outside of Nairobi are the Ngong Hills, a small cluster of four hills, where Isak Dinesen once lived and wrote her poetic book, Out of Africa. From the distance the hills look like a magnificent solitary wave. The Kikuyus have a very apt explanation for the small summits that gently rise one after the other above the saall valleys between them. According to a legend, the Kikuyus had angered their god, Ngai; in his wrath the deity shot his fist to the earth, his huge knuckles leaving the lovely depressions and rises that l saw silhouetted against the skye It was a beautiful clear day when l hiked in those green hills with a group of teachers. Arriving at the first summit, we looked down into the valley and beheld a jet black buffalo quietly grazing. l was hesitant to continue 6 the journey, but recovered sorne confidence as the beast presently ambled off into some bush. When we reached the spot where the animal had originally appeared we were all quiet and there was a noticeable increase in our pace as we mounted the next summit. To the left, still at a high altitude, were rolling Kikuyu farmlands that looked like a cOllage that ran the gamut of green. There were banana plantations that resembled frightened crowds of people, the closely bunched multitude of their deep green to emerald leaves rising, imploringly, as if panic stricken, to the sky; and set against this confusion were stately rows of grass-green maize and spinach-green coffee here·and there shaded by various varieties of trees and becalmed by puffs of smoke emanating from scattered thatched huts. To the right, far below, were the dry plains of the nomadic Masai specked with dying bush, and groggily aroused from time to time by slowly moving herds of cattle. It was a testament to man's ability to make sense out of nothingness, that in this mass expanse of barrenness there were neatly arranged circular Masai villages where life went on as if ob­ livious to the ubiquitous dry plains that bespoke death. l wore no hat on that day as the coolness in those high hills belied the effect of the sun. Another illusion was 7. thus to be dispelled when the next day l awoke with my face the colour of red pepper: its blistering sting told me that l had encountered the African sun.

An Alien Casual encounters with Africansfor the short period l spent in Nairobi did not teach me much, and at first glance the manner of the educated Africans Vias so western that at least in social terms l hardly felt that l had arrived in a new continent at all. It was not until l left Nairobi for my school that l began to feel as an alien. l rode in the back of a truck along a tarmac road for about eighty miles, drinking in the scenery, all the while straining for a view of I\,~t. Kenya, which was at the time shrouded in clouds. The vegetation was varied, but l was unable to appreciate its potential beauty, for it was the dry season and much of what was to bloom so luxuriantly later now lay dormant as dusty, withered shrub. Àbout an hour and a half after leaving Nairobi, the truck pulled up alongside a small village, its tenuously built kiosks and buildings tilting every which way. This is the only observation l can remember making at the time, so closely did it parallel the distracted state of my mind. It was at this 8 village that l was to board a car for my school six miles away. l made the connection quickly and was both excited and appre­ hensive as we turned into a dusty dirt road bisecting Kikuyu farmlands cluttered here and there by dying maize stalks that brought to mind the patriarchs as they must have appeared when close to death. l was alive with feelings of hesitation and doubt, but my confidence was buoyed by my ability to converse with the other passengers in the car in Swahili, and that l was able to make them laugh set me even more at ease. When l arrived at the school l was at once, struck by the fine buildings, the lévely trees and flowers. l was greeted by the headmaster, a friendly Italian priest, and l was soon to learn that though the school was under government control, it did have substantial mission backing and influence. Again the tension Ï'ose.'in me because of my irrational distaste for crosses and my ingrained dislike of religion. When l settled

in my room another father asked me the predictable question

was l a Catholic? It was asked in such a cheerful way that the question seemed to expect but one answer. l flushed slightly and answered in the negative. His back was to me so that l could not 1mmediately gauge the precise effect of this; yet

he continued, a slight change in intonation now, enquiring 9 as to what my belief was. When l politely answered that l had none, he turned abruptly; there was a brief silence and the meaning of the pause was amplified by the shock that gathered in the Iines and depressions:Of his face. l felt that l was being regarded as an unspeakable heathen, but l managed to pacify h1m somewhat by saying that l had been born a Jew and had under­ gone some religious training. Since l planned to teach at the school for at least two years l wanted to please, but if possible not at the expense of my own convictions, so l blurted out that l considered myself reasonably moral though l Iacked fo~al dogmatic beliefs.

l sensed that th~remark was not quite adequate and, when l was left to myself, ; began an agonizing reappraisal of my circumstances. In teaching English and History was l to be always on the alert as to what l was saying in class? Would l always be looked upon with suspicion? The pressure of the discomfort, the utter loneliness of my position made me want to sleep, but questions kept flooding back to me so that l had to contend with consciousness -- what was l doing? what kind of a man was I? where was l heading? The anxiety was slightly alleviated when l saw the priests later, noting that they continued to be kind and appeared to be forbearing. l determined that l should be equaIIy tolerant, 10 and succeeded in survlving the prayers at me al time, thoughmy tensions prevented me from eating fully -- my embarrassment at thls caused me to say apologetically that l normally had a less than moderate appetite. Later, when l went to bed, my feelings fluctuated be­ tween the fear of failing to carry out my purpose and the strength of sensing that l would manage tolerably by lnvolv­ ing myself deeply in my teaching, by regular communication with the students and personalities of the nearby village. Yet still l lay awake thinking almost desperately of moving into a house of my own and meeting other teachers on the staff.

With these thoughts l draped a MOsquito net about me and shut off the light. My isolation was crystallized by the netting which seemed to hem me in, to restrict my spirit which in the past had soared so often; twice during the night l seemed to have unconsciously rebelled, for when l awoke each time l was no longer covered by the net. The next day l walked to the village, about a mile away, to buy some supplies. l greeted people·.:·in Swahili when­ ever possible. Knowing little about the culture, though~ l smiled and spoke tentatively, not wanting to seem presumptuous by greeting people randomly, but not wanting to offend by being silent. l was heartened when l received a reciprocal smile or 11 'jambo (hello) but discomfort still clung to me, and l felt that many regarded me as an object of curiousity, perhaps suspicion; the more l tried to appear nonchalant, the more acutely l felt the eyes that were upon me. When l had traveled through Turkish villages some months before, people had stared at me, often as if in a trance, and now my strangeness was slmilarly received in the Kenya countryside. But here l found the children's fascination deeper, the farmers' gazes more deeply fixed. Perhaps this was because the physical difference between us was more distinct, perhaps because of the preternatural mystery that so many tribal legends evoke about the white man from a distant land. Yet l am convinced that having lived through a ghastly colonial period, the less-informed people of the countryside looked at me because they found it incredible that a white man would walk for any reasonable distance. Walking to the village, l noted that most of the people looked back at me as if l were a strange creature. l began to feel that another legend was in the making. Even when l bought something as innocuous as a banana,

little children clustered about, wondering at me as if 1. was performing some mystical rite. Though l understood their

fascination, l could not help aSking one boy why he continued 12 to stare at me. He paused and said very simply, 'Because you have come'. And so it was in a rather detached state that l wandered through the village which l was to learn was so typical of others in East Africa. At first l thought of Dodge City, so closely did its physical aspect resemble towns of the old American west. Its dirt road was bordered by two lines of windowless shops that one might liken to general stores. There were Many posts buttressing their overhanging tin roofs, at the same time yroviding support for the odd fellcw who simply watched people come and go. Yet this was as far as the com­ parison went. The shops, which are called dukas,were perhaps twenty to thirty years old and already they were beginning to give way to more modern structures. A bank and a dairy were being built, and two modern gas pumps appeared anachronistically set against those old dUkas,which brought to mind horse-drawn wagons. Just as the structure of the village bespoke change, so did the clothing of the inhabitants. The majority were in western dress, but from time to time men cloaked in blankets and women draped in coloured cloth wandered in from the country­ side, coming as tokens of the pasto My stay in the village was brief as l did not particu- larly enjoy playing the part of a~ranger. so after purchasing sorne items without any difficulty, l returned to the school and my room in the mission house, feeling at the same time the relief and the pain of loneliness. A little later l managed to 1 i i get sorne classical music on the radio, which enabledmyebbing 1 spirit to begin lapping the shore again.

The Students

~he next day l was sitting beneath a tree on the school compound reading, when the sound of steps in the grass caused me to look up. A boy of about fourteen greeted me and sat down and began to chat. His English was rather broken so that there was a pleasant simplicity about his remarks. Like thousands of teenagers in East Africa he was desperately trying to get into a secondary school. But sadly, owing to the shortage of schools, only about one in ten are successful. In discussing the problem, he said, 'If l cannot get into a school l am nothing.' This alarming statement was followed by a sort of fatalistic laughter that smacked of night­ mare. Apparently he had already been rejected once by the headmaster of our school, and when l asked him what made him think that he would succeed this time, he responded, "1 must, for the Bible says, 'Knock, and the door shall be opened'''. 14 l went on to ask about those who were unable to attend secondary school. He said that some became farmers while others became thieves. At this point l was called away on some duty, and when l turned to wave good-bye, the young fellow was sitting dumbly, his head bowed. What was very striking when school finally did begin was the eagerness of most students to learn. Some perhaps recognized how fortunate they were and so were determined to take the fullest possible advantage of their opportunities. Yet the overwhelming curiousity, particularly of the first- year students, was, l believe, due more to the fact1that class- room material was often so strange that it bèdaine';enthral!l.ing~ " American students take so much for granted because our mass media are so pervasive, while in parts of Africa pictures or discussions of ships, high buildings, escalators, and under- ground trains provoke wonder. There is less need for motivation in Africa than in more developed parts of the world, for it is inherent in the educational situation. It is a Sad thing that easy knowledge has made many North American students complacent ) and has robbed them of the excitement of learning..One can appreciate the drama of the rural African's education from this description of a building of several stories by an African boy after he had visited Nairobi for ,the tirst time: 'What impressed 15 me most was to see that even houses could give birth to other houses. Here and there l saw mother houses withtheir babies on their backs 1. Cultural differences between my students and myself were occasionally frustrating, but in the end such misunder­ standings invariably permitted us to understand ourselves a bit better, to examine more closely what we often took for granted.

My second year English class was (diBCUs:Bïng~ a rather sophisticated story written by a European. Often the students would ask me about a phrase or idea that l had neglected to explore because sometimes l forgot that what is a truth in western culture is not necessarily applicable in Africa. One student, for instance, asked me what the writer had meant when he described a person as being Ithin lipped ' • l began to explain that this physical characteristic generally connoted a certain meanness of character, when suddenly l noticed muffled laughter; then l considered my lips in relation to theirs and l could do nothing but laugh at the irony.

A~~in, when l was teaching the students the meaning of the word lanxious l l was surprised that they only offered

leager l as a definition. But the~I was in a relaxed rural community in Africa where people were not familiar with the 16 other denotation, more generally associated with the word in a psychiatrie couch-ridden society such as mine. In a discussion about superstition, most of the stu- dents assumed that white men certainly had none, for after aIl, weren't they responsible for breaking down the tribal superstitions of the past? The astonishment of the students was great when l spoke of our own absurd superstitions of throw- ing salt over the shoulder, of avoiding ladders and black cats; and they roared with laughter when l spoke of apartment buildings and hotels without a thirteenth floor. While aIl of this was quite stimulating, l was dis- turbed at the extraordinary mission influence upon the students' minds. So much of the boys' lives was èrenched in religion at a time when their minds were most impressionable and their thinking capacity least developed. One day, during a first- year history class, we were discussing the difference between men and animaIs; l was appalled to observe that one of the first differences that occurred to the students was that animaIs, unlike men, cannot pray to God.

A House of My Own

It was with a great sense of relief that l moved from the mission house to a home of my own. l was to live near the 17 village about a mile from the school in a charming wood en house soon to be vacated by an American couple who had worked for two years in the district's co-operative union. The h~use was in a former European resldential area behind the village where imposing trees shaded three or four wooden houses and several more stone structures that one would not find out of place in an American suburb. Before Kenya's independence the area was strictly reserved for whites so that Africans could not even walk there unless they had perm1ts. Now, however, most of the houses were occupied by Afr1can government officials who worked in the modern administrative offices, a five-minute walk . away across alovely field. l enjoyed the Amer1can couple's company, but they were often away working and were soon to leave permanently; there- fore, much of the time l was alone, still not having made any friendships, and feeling that most Africans l met, particularly the teachers, were waiting to see what kind of a man l was. The initial all-pervading desolation began to fade with my involvement at school, yet after l had eaten in the evenings the intense loneliness often returned. My mind wandered from 1 my reading or writing and the wind in the trees seemed to make i i ,1 me more aware of my solit~de. Automatically my mind attempted to compensate by visualizing the day cf my return to America, 18 by anticipating the warm we1come of my parents and friends.

Inward1y l knew that l wou1d bull the who1e experience through, reaping a11 the benefits in the process, but l was disturbed that l was unab1e to shake off thelone1iness that rushed in as the sun vanished each evening. l cou1d remember that in a lone1y moment in America the radio was a1ways a we1come companion, but in an African village a11 fibers in me sensed that the radio voices came from a great distance, and it was this recognition that compounde~ by solitude. It was almost necessary to persuade myse1f that being a10ne was often a rich experience, that there was an egoistic satisfaction in 1istening to the wind, as if l a10ne 1istened whi1e the rest of the wor1d went mad counting money, carry~ng on domestic squabb1es, fighting the dead1y routine of business 1ife, see­ ing psychiatrists. In my mind l had become the strong solitary romantic spitting on the wor1d on1y because it appeared to be hesitant to accept me.

A Visit and a Bus Ride After living for a month in K, l went to visit a friend. He was 10cated about thirty miles east of Nairobi in a f1at, dry area where barrenness was somewhat tempered by the gent1e, b1uish Machakos hi11s in the distance. Jack taught about .. 19 two miles from his village, and l had to admit that his area seemed far more lonely than my little niche in K. The odd bicycle, the lethargy of the cattle, the occasional EHHH of a goat> and the intolerable brightness of the sun refracted by the almond coloured plains depressed me despite the companion­ ship of my friend. He too had experienced great loneliness and though he did a good bit of writing and reading, he often could not but wish that sleep would come and bring the new dayls work. He told me of one horrible evening when his fit­ fuI.. sleep was broken by a bat that descended upon him and clutched at his face, to be removed only with wild motions of panic.

The evening came and brought with it stiff winds, til.~ invigorating chilI in the air breaking the sun-stored tension in me, the wind seeming to arouse the currents of my mind; and so it was in a more relaxed state that we talked away the night, exchanging anecdotes of our initial experiences in Africa, the more unpleasant of which, with the benefit of perspective, became amusing. Jack told me that there had been one night when he had seen a man half-hidden with trQWS and arrows in the bushes, near the school compound. Being alone, he was quite terrified, but was relieved to learn later that the man was simply the night 20 watchman. The priest at the school told us that in spi te of the watchman's rather forbidding aspect, he was decidedly remiss in his duties. Apparently the good officer had now and again been found curled up snugly in the luggage rack on top of the school's Volkswagon, sleeping with hisweapons held softly against his bosom. l left Jack early the next morning, taking an old bsttered bus back to Nairobi where l was to catch a vehicle going in the direction of my school. l greeted the people in the crowded bus and found a wa~ response. In the midst of 1 Africans, l began to lose the sense of colour consciousness so insidiously inculcated in me by American racial problems pe~eating the news media. There in a little corner of Africa, in a ramshackle bus, the wa~th of the people overwhelmed me. Where there had only a few minutes before been a defensive colour consciousness on my part, there was now a marvelous sense of human bonds. Sometimes we are blind to the most basic truths of life simply because they are so obvious; and now l saw that it was the common possession of life itself that created the link which connected us aIl. As l now consider the experience, it seems tragic that the recognition and appre­ ciation of such a fundamental truth is too often so brief -- such is the nature of these grand fundamentals that we take them 21 for granted and permit the petty differences between us to serve as outlets for our hostilities.

The bus trip was delightful. l wondered~ the uncanny ability of the two bus conductors to make a joyous game out of what would otherwise have been a tedious journey. Each time the bus slowed, the conductors~ leaning out from the door~ would gleefully greet the waiting passengers from the distance. There was a wonderful pleasure in their faces as they helped the passengers with their luggage. When aIl was ready~ there were rhythmic whacks on the door, accompanied by enthusiastic

:Twendes' (lLet l s go: in Swahili). The conductors collected money, made out tickets, chatted amiably with the passengers~ and from time to time even sat down to flirt with a pretty girl or affectionately pinch the cheeks of a little baby held tenderly by its mother. No, l had never seen anything like that in New York. } After those dry plains, it was refreshing to return to the thick greenery of the trees near my home in K. As l walked throUgh the village l greeted my students and was amused when one of them addressed me as IFather l •

A Dance When most people who have never been to Africa think 22 about that continent, they have visions no doubt of throbbing night drums and orgiastic dancing. This is one of the stereo­ types about Africa that has a good deal of truth behind it. Yet there is an increasing western influence in the music there, just as western music, ironically, has been influenced by African rhythms. In the past, dances, accompanied by indigenous instru­ ments, were held to celebrate such traditional occurrences as marriage, circumcision or preparation for war, but as such occasions began to lose their meaning following contact with western culture, the reasons for holding the dances, and the music itself, began to change. Now, in many villages of East Africa dances are held a few times a month on the weekends with no other specifie purpose than sheer enjpyment, though a national holiday or the departure or arrival of an important person might occasionally provide a more concrete reason for celebrating. The first time l attended one of these dances l felt uneasy, though encouraged by the presence of a few foreigners who probably felt as l did. When the music, daminated by the sound of electric guitars, began, l chatted with the foreigners and watched the proceedings. l was convinced that the Africans were surprised to see non-Africans present, and l doubted that 23 they expected us ta dance. Yet l was pleasantly surprised to see that there was no overt reaction, aside fram curious glances, when a Dutch fellow began dancing with an African girl. l wanted to get out on the dance floor myself, but felt like a swimmer who continues to test the water with his toe before diving in. l braced myself with a few beers and finally took the floor with an African girl who appeared to be as self-con­ scious as l was. Gradually, however, the music began to monopo­ lize my mood, and l started to feel at home as the Africans grew accustomed to my enthusiasm. When the dance ended, the girl.hurried back to her seat still flustered, but l was heartened by the approving, smiling nods of some of the men. It is not uncommon to see men holding hands in East Africa, and in the same way men are not loatb to dance to­ gether at festivities such as the one l now attended. To the western mind such behaviour arouses thoughts of hamosexuality, but in many traditional cultures such physical contact is not sexual. l am tOld, for example, that there is no word for 'homosexual' in Kikuyu or other Bantu tongues. This physical closeness is merely a demonstration of the affection that people have for one another. After aIl, the African tribe was in reality an extended family where such things as orphans were unknown because each man and waman was considered to be 24 the parent of every child in the tribe; and if a person was not your parent he had to be your brother or sister, or your son or daughter. The extended family has begun to collapse in Many parts of Africa, but the communal feeling that it engendered is still very much present. Even in the fragmented state of western society there are still vestiges of this kind of in­ nocent physical contact. Do we not slap our friends on the back, grasp their arms or even embrace wh en we have cammunicated something very important to one another? Despite this recognition, l was still a prisoner to my own customs, feeling emb$rrassed when one or two fellows persisted in aSking me to dance; the drunken importunity and even the offer of money for my companionship on the floor was disconcerting, but l managed to decline with sorne tact. On the whole, however, the evening was enjoyable, and l noted with some satisfaction that l had made a significant breakthrough in the community. Two of the African teachers on our staff were pleased to see me in attendance, their casual aloofness of a sudden turning to warmth. l felt deep gratitude when one of them sheepishly offered me a beer.

Rain

That beer marked the end of a difficult beginning for 25 me and it seemed a stroke of destiny that at about the same time the dry period came to an end. The Swahilis call thunder :ngurumo;" In its sound that word gives a feeling of the distant brooding grumble of the skies, a grumble that over and over again rolls head over heels towards you with the energy of surging waves, only to withdraw to sorne remote corner of the universe, sUlking, readying itself for the next onslaught. For the second night the dark skies had brought a heavy rain to the parched earth. The sound of the torrent pounding the ground and the insistent rattle of the tin roof was now and again followed by a pause, a casual drizzle, and it was as if"the gods had taken a deep breath. Then it was possible to hear individual drops as they pattered into puddles, to hear the playful, gurgling movement of newly-formed rivu- lets. There was a barely perceptible breeze, and l sensed the imminence of a chill that was to come as the night moved on. The clean freshness of the air mingled with the breath of the soil. It was as if the rains had linked the heavens and the earth, the marriage signalling the murmurings of new life. Reflections froID African Landscapes 26 First Safari l had been teaching for three months and had begun to develop rapport with my students, feeling at the sarne time that a trust in the local people for me had finally taken root. But it was not until three months had elapsed, when l had an oppor- tunity of getting away from the school, that l began to taste the spirit of the land, to sense epochs of time gone by yet y still present, to experience the shee~ vastness of the terrain. l did much of my traveling with Frank and Jan, two Dutch volunteers who worked in coffee development and who were to live with me for almost two years. It was on a Friday that Frank, Jan and l traveled down from the lush highlands south-east to the dust and withered green of Tsavo Game Reserve. The vegetation there was brittle and contorted, the dry still heat of the land expressing itself in the agony of crippled branches. We arrived late: in the afternoon and planted our tent. Soon after, we went for a short drive in the park, and after many uneventful minutes l gazed up at dark clouds gathering against a litmus pink Skye As l lowered my eyes l was stricken with excitement for the massive snows of Kilimanjaro suddenly seemed to emerge from the dusk like the throbbing of a ~~~tb~ven 27 bass rising distinct and glorious over the thickness of the symphony. There was something ineffably bold about the peak; it seemed unutterably unconquerable despite the fact that so Many had climbed that height. Those people were gone and those who would so briefly conquer it again would also vanish, while the peak would remain proudly watching and forever feeding the land below. Some moments later we caught sight of a large elephant feeding unconcernedly at a nearby bush. Again there was a rush of excitement, for l had never seen an elephant free in its own environment. The silence, the elephant and the mountain rendered the moment so inextricably timeless that l forgot my friends and the car, and losing consciousness of myself seemed l/ momentarily to merge with the land. The next day, when we again drove through the pa-rk, we surprised an elephant which was feeding no more than ten feet from the car. It took a short step backwards, spread its ears and screamed as if in pain. l can still hear that scream, and when l think of it a flash of the history of this land seems v to ripple through me. *

*I realize now that this remark, made some time ago, reveals how much my unconscious mind was influenced by the mass media of the western world which so frequently portray Africa 1 28 Approaching Nairobi early the next evening, we found the road quiet and the tawny spreading plains beautiful. lnky

blue-black clouds here and there blotched a blue-grey sky which met a flush of pink at the horizon. There was a wonder- fuI stillness in the air, accentuated the more by a giraffe

standing quiet~y like a piece of delicate china, while another was bent nudging the leaves of a tree as if caressing a child.

We were aIl moved by the splendour of these moments. Of a sudden Frank shouted joyously, 'l'm living in this world!' We aIl laughed, and then l asked how it could be sa id in Dutch;

as a place of mindless savagery, a continent of darkness and terror. That portrayal is a projection of our own fears at being"confronted with mystery, with our own ignorance. We see a strange man with feathers in hin hair and paint on his body and because we do not understand him, we become insecureand so must disparage him to restore our equanimity. We find his language incomprehensible and so in order to submerge our feel­ ings of inadequacy, we conclude that he is not speaking; a lan­ guage atall~ thathe"is merely grunting or screaming. This is not to say that Ghere was no savagery, no brutal tribal conflict in Africa. There was and is, but probably no~more or less pronounced than our own atrocities -- though ours May appear more sinister because we claim to be civilized. The notion of the noble sav~ge, the happy African uncorrupted by the evils of society, is Just as absurd a view as that of the subhuman African. Like the latter view, it is born of ignor­ ance; i~ assumes mistakenly that the African had no society, that he is fresh from the Garden of Eden. But it ia a1so a reflection of the dreamer's fear of coming to terms with reality, of coming to see that there are in aIl of us ugly drives fixed in our animal past that society and culture May modify and channel but never destroy. 29 and the communion of our joy was reaffirmed as l cried, 'Ik lief in deze wereld!'

MOre Glimpses of Game Why should tourists travel thousands of miles to come to East Afrlca to see game? l think they do so Just as you take your wris~watch off before abandoning yourself to sleep. The industrialized pressure-filled world is the wristwatch, and sleep ls the fulfillment we receive when observing animaIs in a state of freedom. We enjoy watching animaIs as their detachment or their unmitigated instinctiveness transports us away from the rational annoyances in our lives, the shackles of business appointments, the telephone calls and red lights. On the Nile in Uganda's Murchison's Falls Park l found something of this detachment in the obese hippo, lolling in that ancient waterway, his drunken pleasure-drenched eyes at the river's surface, his bulk beneath soaking up the stupor of the Nile's slow-moving currents. He didn't appear to have found the tourist launches puttering up and down the river, so incongruous in that primeval setting, more than a mild annoyance for chasing him occasionally in order to please in­ truders from another world. 30 And then there were the crocodiles which in the heat of the day lay immobile on the banks of the river, their great jaws set in a permanent, rigid yawn revealing teeth that seemed

to be right out of the pleistocene. The sheer immob~lity of these creatures, the feeling of death's presence in life, was clearly having its effect on aIl of us as we peered anxiously from the launch. We wanted action, sorne sign of life that would dis pel the awful conjurings in our deepest recesses evoked by this horrible paralysis of nature. The boatman, hav­ ing sensed the same impatience in thousands of others, moved the boat so as to reassure us. It was as if the life force itself exploded in the blood vessels of these creatures as they sprang forward towards the water and created a splash that washed our tensions away. On another occasion l visited the Nairobi National Park, and on that day took particular interest in the baboons as they nonchalantly walked on the hoods and roofs of the automo­ bile~acting like kings sensing that the land was theirs and that we were mere trespassers.

As l wa tched the love play of the two baboons l was ϥ minded of the similarities and differences between animal and human sexual behaviour. l was watching a male baboon who sat

calmly on his haunches like a Buddha quiet,ly considering the 31 landscape. He was totally unaffected by the playful antics of a female a few yards off. The female came closer and situ­ ated herself so that her behind seductively confronted the male's bored countenance. She continued in this position until aIl hope for a bit of a match seemed lost. She walked off disconsolately while the male continued to meditate upon larger issues. And then when the female had gone a good dis­ tance, it was as if a latent spark had been ignited, for the male suddenly took notice and followed her with purpose. He mounted from behind and with long rhythmical strokes penetrated the playful female. It was the game quality about the event that recalled aIl the machinations of human love play, yet the final act lacked the anxieties and self-consciousness that some­ times qualify the joy of human sex.

Masailand Early in the second year of my stay in Kenya my Dutch friends and l made another journey, this time to the Mara Game Reserve in Masailand. On the way we went through the area around Limuru where endless rows of coffee trees seemed to blanket the land with masses of broccoli. As we passed through those peaceful hills that appeared to have the texture of 32 clouds we came upon tea_pl~ntations which presented a different shade of green. We had come from the brooding green of coffee to a child-like green, lighter than the adolescent green of grasse It was as if in the uppermost leaves of the tea plants l had found the beginnings of greenness, that imperceptible point where one colour ends and another begins.

From the heights of green we wound our way down into the plains of the Rift Valley where we left the tarmac and began our journey to Masailand. Having gone several miles, we noted large herds of cattle that occasionally interrupted the monotony of the plateau. We could often make out among the cattle the tall thin red figure of a Masai rising above the herd, and though in the dis'tance the figure appeared frail, he was clearly in commando It was hot until we reached Narok, another of those typical frontier type towns l have spoken of, that we were able to see the Masai at close hand. When l got out of the car l encountered the same curious yet frigid gaze of people v that l had found when first coming to the little town where my school was located. Aside from the shopkeepers, the Masai wore reddish togas and carried handsome spears that mirrored the thin uprightness of their own bodies. One fellow who was eyeing us fixedly looked curiously incongruous standing beside 33 a modern gas pump. He had lost part of his foot, the stump of his leg supported by a piece of rubber in the shape of a horseshoe~ The deformity touched off visions of lions in my ~' imagination. From Narok we drove tothe game reserve where we were to camp for two nights. We had expected to meet other campers in an organized camp site, but seeing nothing of the kind and finding that it was growing dark, we stopped in a desolate spot for the night. A young Masai man whose head and body were covered with red ochre came up to us and said the few words in

Swahili that he knew. He wanted us to take his picture so that he could receive a shilling. Now we knew that tourists had been here before. After this little ritual we bantered about with gestures, and l was delighted when suddenly he darted his face in front of the carrs sideview mirror, and smiled at himself. Being rather elated in spirit at this point, and noting that we expressed interest in his spear, he vigourously hurled it into the bushes if to show us how it was done in more exigent 'moments. He also had a stick which had a very hard knob-like projection at one end, and he threw this at a fixed p~int as if it were an animal, demonstrating how to gain an advantage over any possible enemy. 34 At this point another car drew up with a man and his two sons, also looking for a camping spot. We agreed to camp together, and l was relieved at the prospect of having other people in the area. We camped near a stream where there were fresh tracks and droppings. The situation was exciting, but not exactly comforting. Dinner over, we walked over to our neighbours! camp. The man and his sons had camped many times before in these circumstances, and so l asked about the danger of camping near big game. The man told us that once he had been chased by an elephant, escaping only because he had dropped his hat while running. Catching the man's scent, the elephant flung the hat into the air and then trampled it. The man wryly concluded his story.by saying that he still had the hat and it still bore the traces of the elephant's fury.

Noting my uneasy laughter, he tried to console m~ by saying that it was a rare exception for a lion to enter a tent during the night. The statement did not have the intended ef­ fect, and the words 'rare exception' took on immense signifi­ canee so that when we returned to our camp we began to feed the fire with a marked enthusiasm, trying to smile away a semi­ frenzy that was rising to the surface of our minds. Despite our precaution, the night was a difficult one for me. The 35 barking o~ zebras in the distance, and the rustlings o~ the bush, sharpened my awareness to the point of preventing sleep altogether. My nervOusness reminded me o~ Frank's anxiety dur­ ing our camping trip to Tsavo. He had slept with a sword, and on that evening there developed a marvelous a~finity between him and his flashlight.

The next morning a group o~ Masai men and women came to pay us a visite They appeared to be curious about us, but their coming was probably motivated more by economic reasons than by curioSlt~·, since they were eager to sell us their spears, shields and ornaments. One fellow in particular had a good sense of salesmanship, for around his face was a beaded strand of leather to which were attached clusters o~ ostrich feathers, neatly arranged. He modeled the accoutrement very weIl, but the excellence of the performance was not for us matched by the quality of the article. After our transactions had been completed, the Masai remained for awhile and showed us how to handle their bows and shoot their arrows. They were very accurate when shooting, but when we tried to imitate their prowess, they laughed at our awkwardness.

Latèr we went ~or a drive through the game park. Wlth the aide o~ a guide, rifle in hand, we drove along weIl beaten 36 dirt tracks, moving through gently sloping hills that were of a golden-brown hue. Here herds of zebra and slow~moving grandpa­ like Wildebeestes, that nodded as they walked along, were a commonplace. At one point we surprised a small herd of gazelle, and these in their terror .responded to our presence with running leaps that propelled them through the air like phantoms, re­ turning to the earth with beating hooves that set them off again. Eventually we went off the track and plodded through high grass in the hope of seeing lions. Our guide, like a human geiger counter, directed us to a pride of lions lying lazily on slabs of rock beneath the shade of a tree. The alèrt twitch­ ing of the cubs' ears stood out against the enormous lassitude of a grown male seemingly accustomed rothe innocuous clicks of cameras. After a short time the male half-heartedly raised his massive head and shoulders, his eyes half closed in sleepy boredom, and then promptly slumped back, relieved to be free of the whole realm of effort. A Turkish phantasy was kindled in me, the cubs assuming the guise of obedient servants, the lionesses transformed into a dutiful harem, and the lion a grand sultan stupefied by debauch.

Later in the afternoon we saw a large buffalo in the distance, so we left the road for a closer look. As the 37 grass was high and the land rocky, we had to make our way care­ fully. In the silence of our minds we wondered h6w the car would escape should the beast become angry. When we stopped about seventy yards from where the bull was quietly grazing, he looked up and stared at us with eyes that spoke the quintes­ sence of black. The gaze became intense, and the irritation more apparent as Frank took pictures. Finally the bull took a short step forward, lowered his head and brandished his mighty horns. Frank quickly lost interest in photography and turned the car around, aIl the while glancing back apprehen­ sively. Every atom of me was tense until we reached the road v/ again. As we drove away watching the animal resume its casual ways, a cork somewhere in me was removed and aIl the tension seemed to vaporize, leaving me relievedly limp. As l think back on this, l smile derisively at the vision of three craven sons of civilization, creeping away in a bug-like machine, from an animal that represented aIl that our sophisticated system had pretended to conquer. Before leaving Masailand we stopped off at an open mar­ ket in Narok where red calicoed Masai either strode about aim­ lessly or sat in the shade of some trees earnestly discussing local affairs. The women, their necks smothered with colourful beads, their shaven heads glistening in the sunlight, chatted 38 excitedly about business. Ne were again objects of curiousity, but it was a ple~sant curiousity this time, for the people laughed at us appreciatively when they saw that we wore beaded Masai arm­ bands and carried traditional milk gourds which we had just purchased.

Loita Loita is another Masai area south-east of the Mara. From Kenya it can be reached only by ta king a rarely used road that cuts across monotonous plains until it reaches the Loita hills where it bumps its way up to a lovely stretch of fer­ tile land thatrises and falls, leaving long rOlling hills, suggesting in parts the first swellings of pregnancy. l drove with an American friend through this area about a year and a half after my first visit to Masailand. We had heard that nestled somewhere back in those hills there was a small guest house which in the colonial period had been the head~uarters of a government official. After driving along in rather open country, we came upon a lightly wooded area and proceeded slowly along a narrow road in the middle of which there was tall bushy grass that brushed against the bot tom of the car. In that very sti·ll setting we were surprised to come 39 upon two police officers dressed in khaki who stood by the side of the road signalling for us to stop. l imagined that the y would ask to see our travel permit and wondered why they chose such a lonely spot to make such checks. They did check our permit but were in that particular area for another reason. They had been chasing a poacher and were returning to their headquarters carrying bows and poisoned arrows which they had captured. We gave them a lift and were pleased to learn that our destination was theirs since the police headquarters was not far from the old colonial residence. When we arrived we were surprised by the appearance of the guest house, for it was the type of dwelling that one might find in the English countryside, its heavily thatched roof, heavy stone structure and spacious porch providing a marked contrast to the simple small circular dwellings of the police a distance away. The architecture at that moment gave me a sense of the detached arrogance that was at one time so much a part of colonial history. The caretaker, a tall, rangy good-humoured Kipsigis tribesman, let us in and brought water and firewood after we had paid a nominal fee for the night. He insisted, almost as if it were a ritual, that we sign the guest book in which were to be seen the names and titles of government workers and travelers like ourselves. Then we prepared sorne food for dinner 40 and spent the rest of the evening playing chess next to a de­ pressingly dim gas lamp. The next morning we continued along the road. on which we had come, driving towards the Tanzania border. On the way a thick-set Masai eIder cloaked in a magnificent blanket stopped us. He didn't speak Swahili, but a young boy who could told us that the old man wanted a lift to the next Masai manyatta. At first it was quit~ frustrating to have this uncommunicative man in our car as there was so much that we wanted to ask him but couldn't. However, a point of contact was made when he began pointing to animaIs in the bush which our untrained eyes had difficulty locating.

'tole went on in this manner until the old man indicated that he wanted to get out. There were a few young Masai men nearby, and when we told them that we were interested in seeing sorne spears they invited us to their manyatta where the eIder was also going. We drove off the road, leaving the car in the Middle of a field, and went to the village on foot. A warm welcome awaited the old man, who was greeted\~armlylfirst, be­ fore the younger Masai or ourselves were received. The old women aIl kissed him on the cheek and the children ran up to him bowing their heads to receive the palm of his hand, a kind of blessing, as l supposed. 41 The rest of us were then warmly welcomed as we entered the village, which on the outside was protected and partially hidden by piled branches. These were meant to guard the cattle against hungry lions which during the night sometimes sought to attack them though they were kept at the very centre of the village. The houses that surrounded the cattle borna were elongated and very low to the ground, so that on entering one had to stoop. We were invited into one of these houses and found it very dark but very clean. It was divided into compartments.

We were then led to one where we were told to sit on a bed whose mattress was made of tightly-pulled hide. It was com~ fortable, and we spent the rest of our time there chatting with our hosts and drinking traditional beer made from honey.

We were told that the village was preparing for circumcision ceremonies that would initiate the young into adult society; and later we were introduced to a group of wizened old women sewing costumes and preparing beadwork for the event. They were playing an important role in bringing their young ones into a society of grownups. This brought to mind the old people of my own society who are frequently discarded by their children and placed in dreary old-age homes or politely set aside to groan in creaky chairs in distant corners of living- rdoms as mere appendages of the pasto 42

The gulf between my own society and this African one was again brought powerfully home to me when l later offered

to let one of the young Masai men steer our car. We were only

going five or ten miles per hour, but the movement of the car

to the right or left at the slightest touch of the wheel sent

the driver into such spasms of excitement that l began to grasp

the meaning of power madness and understood why people coming

from an industrialized society so often have little humility.

Too much is achieved by the mere pressing of a button to allow

us to appreciate our limitations.

When we left the village l wanted to leave some token

of our stay, and so l searched in my pockets and searched in· the

car for something that the Masai would find meaningful. l

could find nothing of value, but l did find in a magazine sorne

pictures that they might have liked. l chose a full-page pic­

ture of a cow, because cattle to the Masai are their most

valuable possessions, providing life with their milk and blood,

and also establishing status in terms of their numbers. The

old women to whom l gave the picture was very pleased. l like

to think that she hung it somewhere and that it held far more

significance for her than the papier-mach~ sàtisfaction that

is occasioned in Americans by photos of Humphrey Bogart, W. C.

Fields or Elvis Presley. 43 Teita

The Teita Hills are east of Masailand, five ta six thousand feet above sea level~ and one hundred miles from the

Kenya coast. It was the rainy season during my visit ta Teita and sa the vegetation was lush and sprawling in variety, slump­ ing banana plants~ upright coffee trees and arching palms creating such a multitude of trees that one felt as if on the verge of a rain forest.

The roads wind treacherously up, down and around the hills~ and on clear days the view of the undulating sea of plains below is stark and dramatic compared ta the rolling ri ch fullness of the hills above spattered with mushroorn-like huts and touched here and there by a tuft of mist.

Women walk up and down the roads with heavy loads balanced casually on their heads~ at the same time carrying children wrapped in brightly-coloured cloth on their backs.

As in Kikuyu areas, the Teita children begin tending herds of cattle and goats at the age of six or seven, and boys and girls of the same age carry their smaller brothers and sisters on their backs. It is necessary for babies ta be car­ ried about by young children~ since mothers must care for the just born~ while aIder children work in the fields with their

fathers. ~he six and ~eyen-y~ar-old children have a seriousness 44 in their faces that reflects their responsibilities. How dif­ ferent from our own ri ch and middle class children, cranky and always whining for toys and love!

Despite the jaundiced eyes, the dirt and clinging in­ fections, the people of Teita laugh and seem to live life with a verve that seems to be sustained by the sheer burst of life everywhere -- in the streams of children and the thickness of the vegetation that blankets that beautiful land.

My days in Teita were very happy, and aIl of my pleasure and love were suddenly crystallized when l saw a grizzled eIder kneeling at the side of the road. In one hand he held a walk­ ing stick, while his other hand supported a beautiful bare- foot child whose hand rested on the old man's knee.

At the Coast

About an hour's ride north of Mombasa is Kilifi, a small village on the Kenya coast, resembling in some ways a tourist resort. Here is an exclusive holiday club where visitors lounge in the barroom or by the pool listening to rock music. The club overlooks an ocean inlet dotted with bobbing fishing boats, streaked occasionally by a water skier or lulled by small sailing vessela leaning languidly with the wind. 45 In the village itself the two main shops carry an assortment of ice creams, sodas, films, tourist hats and sun lotions. Here a person might easily forget that he is in

Africa were it not for the almost inconspicuous tree-hollowed canoes whispering along the inlet and manned by slim, straw­ hatted Africans who muse over their fishing gear and watch the tides; or the bare-breasted women moving noiselessly through the village, a clay pot or basket swaying sexually above their v heads. One night l was fortunate enough to get away from the tourist side of Africa, to get a little closer to the world of those silent fishermen, those women who moved as shadows.

It was on a Sunday night when the local tribe, the Giriama, had an ngoma (drumming and dancing session) in a corner of the village. Two groups of drummers and dancers were preparing for a competition. In the fading evening light we watched the drummers place the tops of their instruments in the flickering flames of a small fire; the y tapped the drums now and again, and noted the increasing richness of the tones as the leather tightened.

After this preliminary tuning, a group of five drummers straddled their drums and began beating infectious rhythms. 46

Gradually people began to gather about the two competing groups.

As the night grew deeper, the drumming became more intense, so intense that l felt my very diaphragm quiver in rhythmic reac­ tion to the explosive, synchronized pounding.

When this had gone on for some time, l and a few other white people present were asked as guests to sit on the edge of the inside of the circle since the dancing was soon to begin.

A medicine man in an ordinary undershirt, a traditional cloth

(kikoi) wrapped around his bottom, and wearing a feathered hat, began to sprinkle a liquid round about him. The pointef this,

50 l was told, was to attract a large group of observers to that circle, since those dancers and drummers who attracted the greatest number of people would be considered the victors.

The dancing began with a group of small girls ranging from five to twelve years of age who entered the circle, moving like human counterparts of the music, though their faces be­ trayed no expression, as if the body alone were speaking. The movement of the feet, along with the slow up and down movement of the hips guided by the hands, matched the more deliberate drumming. When the drums broke into an orgiastic flurry, the girls stiffened their legs and shook their cloth-covered but­ tocks, not with the free swinging motions of sorne of our dances, but with a controlled yet hectic tension, something akin to the 47 shuddering of a powerful motor. Looking at one of the older girls, l began to understand the Lolita fascination, my eyes fastened to the budding firmness of her breasts. There was a narcotic quality about that night. l looked up at the dancers and beyond, the smoke of fires creat­ ing a wispy curtain for the full Moon which imbued the ngoma with phantasy. As time passed, a group of young men joined in to dance with the girls. Later each man danced separately, summersault­ ing, falling on his haunches and kicking, the climax of each motion ta king on meaning with the simultaneous blast of the drums. One of the dancers directed his dancing at particular individuals, at one point approaching me with outstretched arms quivering, his face pockmarked with sweat, his legs working with the frenzied tension that one associates with the coming of orgasm; and when the pace was almost unbearable he paused, feinted at me with his head and withdrew, his eyes fixed on me. When he turned to perform for another person l was for the first time aware of my own perspiration. In that moment l experienced a total fulfillment of the kind that poets speak of, the kind that is so precious because so temporary, the kind that follows absolute involve­ ment. l considered myself very fortunate when a friend later 48 told me that he had to walk away from the dance because it made him too aware of his own western inhibitions.

Going North A couple of hundred miles north of Kilifi is Lamu, a Swahili town on an island bearing the same name, which edges the Kenya coast not very far south of Somalia. Arriving by a small plane on an island adjacent to Lamu, three other passen­ gers and myself made our way to the bay and took a small boat across the channel to Lamu. The houses facing the bay are two storied, nineteenth century porticoed structures, the once clean whites and yellows of the buildings now greyed and browned by time, subdued by the equatorial sun. l was directed to a makeshift hostel overlooking the bay where trading dhows from Somalia and Arabia slipped in and out as they do in ports aIl along the East African coast. The hostel was owned by a Swahili named Abdullah who appeared to be in a state of semi-retirement. He spoke with nostalgia of past days when he had been a rich man who traded in ivory and experienced the excitement of carrying his wares to the east. Now it was merely a matter of living his life out in this quiet corner of Africa, no longer the busy hub of merchants that it once had veen. 49 Like many Swahilis, he had Semitic features, the re­ suIt of hundreds of years of Arab-African mixing, a process that has also produced a synthesis of Moslem; and African cul­ tures and the Swahili language. But the Swahilis dislike being called Africans, a feeling probably inherited from the first Arabs who came to East Africa'looking upon the Africans as slaves. l slept on the second floor of Abdullah's house, out on the patio. During the night l listened to the irregu­ lar rhythm of the bay's waters breathing in and out às if in a troubled sleep. During the day l would watch Swahili men dressed in simple white robes (kanzus) and Swahili women draped and veiled in black, walking along the bay or going about their business in an unhurried relaxed manner that seemed in harmony with the peaceful, bobbing waters of the baye l too would walk along the bay out towards the ocean where huge sand dunes that are said to have buried an old city stand facing the sea. Archeologists have an interest in the area, but their work is frustrated by ocean winds that soon cover any digging with new sand, so nature here seems determined to keep history' s secrets hidden from merl. There had, however, been much archeological work done on Patae, an Island a few miles north of Lamu. Back in the 50 sixteenth and seventeenth centuries it had been an important trading center, at intervals dominating the Kenya coast both commercially and militarily. l went to Patae with some Scandanavians who were in­ terested in ruins. We rented a small motor boat that"passed between islands strangled by mangroves, the eerieness of the tangled, choking plants relieved when an old dhow would appear at the end of the channel, its grand full-bellied white sails like light at the end of a tunnel. But the oppressive atmosphere returned when we arrived at Patae, for here the people were listless, unlike the friendly people of Lamu who even in the more gloomy winding streets of the village warmly greeted foreigners with caribou

(the Swahili word for welcome). The sullen silence of the Patae people, their suspicious eyes peeking at us from dark doorways, was perhaps a residue of fear and resentment against time from a people living in dire poverty yet surrounded by ruins of a glorious past, the tombs of sultans sullied by time, half-buried by weeds. We were shown through the ruins by a self-appointed guide, an old silent limping man who, when he did make some perfunctory remark, revealed grotesquely chipped teeth, deeply stained by tobacco. The sinister quality of his appearance 51 was heightened by the fact that most of his remarks made refer­ ence to the fee he was to receive when our tour was over. We cou1d make out the wa11s of the old city and enjoyed rummaging through the rubb1e of old palaces and mosques where we saw thousands of bits of chipped china brought here from the east hundreds of years ago. In the midst of the waste were hea1thy green tobacco plants which, set against the ruins, gave a sense of 1ife and death mocking each other. We asked our guide if there was any place we cou1d buy local crafts. He brought us to a sma11 out1ying house and introduced us to two Swahili women. They to1d us, however, that very 1itt1e was being produced and that most of the silver and brass work of bygone days had been snapped up by other foreigners. But then one of the women pointed to a si1ver ank1e bracelet on her 1eg. l was shaken by this, feeling how terrible the poverty must be that would permit a woman like this to se11 such an exquisite piece of persona1 jewe1ry in this manner. l said to my Scandanavian friends that we were committing rape; and inward1y l felt that buying the bracelet wou1d be another step in the historica1 process that had robbed the is1and of her build­ ings and art.

So we contented ourselves with the few pieces of pot­

tery and china that we had picked up from the ruins and walked 52 back to the sea. The tide was out, making it necessary to walk about a mile over slimy sand to get to our boat. Crawling by the hundreds over that sand were hideous one-armed crabs whose deformity reflected the very place we were leaving.

Shortly after my experience in Patae, l sailed south on a cattle freighter towards Mombasa. The ship dipped forward and rose with the waves. It was like riding some giant horse galloping in slow motion away from a disturbing dream.

Mount Kenya

Whenever l returned from a journey to the village in which l was teaching l felt drawn as if by sorne mystical lode­ star to Mount Kenya, which stood about twenty miles away from

our house, and which had become in its massive strength an

important part of my life in the three years that l had been

in Kenya. Many times l literally sat for hours watching it,

admiring its beauty and feeling the impact of its power upon

my consciousness. Many Kikuyus wondered at the sense of beauty that

the mountain inspired in me. Old colonialists pointed to this

kind of reaction as evidence of the Africans' lack of aesthetic

sense -- another rationalization of the cOlonialists' superior 53 view of themselves. But Many Kikuyus don't calI the mountain beautiful,simply because they have grown up with it, and for them there is no ugliness in the surrounding countryside to make it necessary to calI the mountain beautiful. But the mountain's vast shoulders do spread out against the sky and the venerable cragginess of its peaks so dominate the landscape that it has inspired awe, if not beauty, among the local people. It was always regarded as the dwelling place of the old Kikuyu god, Ngai, and it has evoked legends as aIl mysteries do. In the past Many thought that the snow on the peaks was a hot substance coming from within the mountain. Witch doctors even claimed to have gone up among the sacred peaks, to gather samples of the strange white substance for use as medicine. Being a native of modern cities, l was particularly struck by the mountain's majesty. l was born and brought up in New York, where on streets of Manhattan one must look ver­ tically up to have any sense of the sky at aIl, the ugly build­ ings, having taken nature and infinity out of our normal, every­ day lives. In Kenya that mountain made me reverent, restored strength in me; a glance in its direction like taking a deep breath, and the height of its summit lifted me above the drab 54 level of existence to which l had been accustomed. Mount Kenya is difficult to describe because though there is an awe-inspiring permanence about it and ah unchang­ ing presence of power which is sensed ev en when the mountain is invisible on dreary grey days, there is yet much that is

elusive about it. The movement of the sun and clouds creates ever-changing patterns of light and dark which give the moun­ tain a semblance of changing personalities grasped momentarily and then lost forever. l sat down one afternoon about four o'clock and watched the flux of its being. At that time the base was visible, mottled by shadows, its muscular sides rising as gen­ tle slopes towards the mountain's peaks, ensconsed in clauds. As the day grew darker, the clauds began to lift, a few wisps still hiding the major peak. It was as if sorne majestic un­

veiling were at hand. And then impercepti~;y the clouds sank, until it seemed that the peaks were rising. Between the two jagged points appeared a small valley, from which white snow now splashed forth, running frantically down the summit's sides like a waterfall in the SkYe As the sun was about to set, the mountain turned dark blue, as if aIl the sky's blue was in a moment absorbed and

gathered tagether to rest for the night. When the sun at last 1 55 fell below the horizon, the mountain became granite grey, cOld,

indifferent. The fading of the blue was like the closing of a fantastic door that means to separate you from life. The night came; and as on other clear nights, the mountain was soon a mass of blackness inert beneath the stars. Missionaries 56 Father Cimesi Of the three priests who were teaching at the school l at first had found only Father Cimesi agreeable. He was jolly and seemed to be more of a man than the two others, who tended to be ascetic and irritated me with their high-pitched, stac­ cato laughter. His face was finely chiseled, boasting a definitive chin and a strong nose. In his youth, so he told me, he had been a fine soccer player, but age was now showing itself in thinning hair and a rotund belly that was inappro­ priate to a frame that in all other respects remained firmly built. For all his good humour, Father Cimesi periodically made morose references to the fact that he had begun to wither away. This almost compulsive concern was often contradicted by a smiling stoicism which l soon learned was merely his way of lying to himself. He talked vigourously and touched upon myriad subjects, but once remarked that in fact he had said nothing, that he talked because there was nothing else to do~ l remember one day in particular when he took me for a ride in the countryside, discoursing extensively on the terrain, the crops and the people. Much of what he said was interesting to me, but l began to sense that he found himself boring, as though his words melted into the void his spirit had 57 become.

Father Cimesi liked to tell wittY stories, and though l found some of them amusing, there were others that were w1th­ out colour or cleverness. At these latter l made a tactful effort to laugh, not so much to sat1sfy him as to avoid the inevitable discomfort of greeting his witticisms with silence. Yet sometimes my laughter was not suff1cient, and once Father Cimesi angrily demanded to know why l did not credit h1m with being a wonderful humourist. Whatever comment l offered in answer, it was clear that a wound had been revealed. Wit for him was like a flimsy bandage wh1ch for the moment had lost its adhesiveness. Here then was a m1ssionary who often gave the impres­ sion of one without a mission, a drifter, a lost soul; and l began to suspect that he didn't like being in Africa, that for him the whole affair was an annoying burden. The more l spoke with him, the more aware l became of his bitterness, his frustrations f1nding their vent in disparaging remarks about Africans. He said they were d1rty, infer10r, ungrateful. One day Father Cimesi had to pick up a heavy trunk which was to be delivered to ',the g1rls ' mission school in the village and he 1nvited me to come along~'for the ride. When we arrived at the school with the trunk l offered to help take 58 it from the car to one of the schoo1 buildings. l was not so much appa11ed at his refus al as l was at his insistence that two young girls do the job. He smi1ed encouraging1y as the girls strugg1ed with the trunk. Just as they managed to lift it, he smacked one of them on the back in apparent good humour, but beneath his smi1e were clenched teeth and his eyes gleamed with p1easure. Though in pain, the girl smi1ed back as if to suggest that this was only good, hea1thy joking on the part of an officer of God.

A Sacred Irony l noted that in certain parts of the area in which l was stationed there were a good number offlies, and l asked Father Cimesi whether they wou1d remain in the cooler season. He quickly and rather cynical1y remarked that wherever there was an African, there would be f1ies. l was sickened by the remark, but took grim satisfaction in noting that there were plenty of flies right there at the nuns' mission where we were talking, and l recalled that just seconds before Father Cimesi had made that remark a fly had 1anded on the cross hanging from one of the nuns' necks, and proceeded to loiter on the body of the Saviour. 59 Censorship A few months later Fathp.r Cimesi returned to Italy, and another priest, Father Gordini, more tolerant and understand­ ing, arrived in his stead. Very soon after Father Gordini started his duties, he began ta work very bard at reorganizing the school library. He was gratefûl for the books and maga­ zines that l had donated, but when l continued in this vain ' he apologetically remarked that l would probably not receive the donated literature back in good order. l tried to assure him that it aIl represented a gift to the school, but he finally came to the point, explaining that though the maga­ zines l offered were generally available everywhere, and while he was against such practices, the headmaster had instructed him to eut out pages that were morally objectionable. The incident recalled an earlier episode when Father Cimesi reacted to my donation of a Zola novel in a half-whisper, saying, 'He' s !Zola/ against . us, you knaw! .• And .so l began to understand why the headmaster had seemed pained when some time before l had offered to organize a correspondence between my students and students of ether countries. He was simply afraid that such an exchange of ideas would expose his little flock ta evil influences. Fortunately,

the other teachers ,supported the idea enthusiastically and 60 the headmaster was too embarrassed to argue the point. Much to my dismay, l began to be affected by the repressive atmosphere of the school. During a debate in class where the oppos1ng sides argued the merits of polygamy and monogamy, l found myself nervously glancing through the win­ dows and worrying whether the mere discussion of polygamy might be interpreted by a passing priest as being dangerous. While l did not want to risk offending the headmaster, for fear that it might compromise my chances of initiating new ideas for the school, neither did l wish to dilute my own principles, which l felt were appropriate to a government institution, though administered by a priest. So the debate continued, though l am ashamed to admit that on another occasion l prohibited a debate on birth control. The fact that l encouraged the students to discuss the matter privately did little to assuage my conscience. When the topic of polygamy was first introduced, only one student had the courage to say that he favoured it. Yet when the debate was over, and the students noted that l appeared to be impartial, one half of the class expressed an opinion in favour of polygamy. l was satisfied at least that the students were now able to feel less cramped in their thinking and expression. 61 Attitudes Towards Sex It was during the Victorian period that Europeans first came to Africa in any significant numbers. No doubt it was this historical fact that was largely responsible for promulgating the myth of the African's peculiar savagery. To the Victorian mind, which was sensitive to table legs and most alarmed by dresses which left ankles exposed, bare-breasted African women and men whose wind-blown cloaks often revealed their 'private' parts must have presented an insufferable image. The missionary coming to Africa with this Victorian mentality had his own prejudices against the body, and to this day the more squeamish members of the clergy have made their biases in this matter an issue. Students, for example, are still very much afraid of being candid in letters to their lovers, for it is weIl known that priests and reverends in charge of schools tend to pry, sometimes, no doubt, with a view to satisfying their own imaginations. The priest who was initially headmaster of our school went so far as to try to prevent students from holding cas~al conversations with females in the village, probably not so much because he was convinced that such a discussion was evil as because the proximity of the two sexes made him feel the

edge of his own frustration. 62 The sarne headmaster was alarmed when the Biology teacher at that time posted a picture 01'1 the~.notice board of a Russian woman athlete in shorts. Next to the photo was an article discussing the charge that Russian women were being given male hormones in order to improve their athletic per­ formance in thë Olympics. It was a very apt bit of news since the teacher had at that time been discussing hormones in class, but the shorts proved to be too much for our principal, and so the clippings were removed. There were even times when objectionable portions of films shown to students were censored right before their eyes, a priest's forbidding finger placed over the projector lens. l found it amusing that the pr1est's moral discrimination did not catch the obvious symbolism in one particular film where a woman in a bikini placed the long nozzle of agas pump deep into the fuel tank of a car. An Americ.an girl who was teaching at a mission school in western Kenya told me of a lecture given by a nun about menstruation. The nun was discoursing about the evils of Tampax because its use was analogous to the sexual act. There was a sardonic smile on my face as l listened to this anecdote, and l mused that the next logical absurdity would be to condemn cleaning oneself at the toilet, for by ecclesiastical analogy 63 this might imply masturbation. While this story startled me, another tale with a similar theme, told to me by a former student at a mission school, gave me a bristling close view of fanaticism's core. The story went that in some mission schools girls were not per­ mitted to sleep on their backs, nor. boys on their bellies, for according to the salacious minds of those in charge this in­ advertantly would provoke desirous thoughts. In at l.east one girl's school such an unmistakably suggestive posture would sametimes anger the nuns to the point of depriving the girls of their blankets for the night. l deemed it fortunate that the good ladies in white did:not know about various sexual positions for if they had, sleep for the girls might weIl have been precluded altogether. l am told, however, that this once common feature of school life is now on the wane. That concern with sleeping postures seems to be lessening is not to say that the missionary has became any less sensitive to sexual suggestion. Before Kenyan independence, tribal dancing was condemned outright as being lewd. The fact that one does not hear such blatant denunciations today ià not due to any liberalization of the missionary mind, but to the government's concern with preserving what is left of a very much emasculated culture. So the missionary is reluctant to speak 64 out on this matter, but still finds ways of releasing his own sexual tensions. l have.heard, for example, of a girl at a mission school who complained to a nun about serious stomach trouble. The nun rebuked her, saying that the pain was due to excessive notice that the girl took of men. The girl's com­ plaints and the nun's admonitions continued until the girl was taken to a hospital, where it was found_that amoeba had destroyed her stomach and intestines. The girl died shortly afterwards. It is told that the nun cried remorsefully for a week. Though missionaries have succeeded in giving some Africans a 'dirty' view of sex, thereby creating perverted desires, there have been many who have managed to shrug off a supposed moral teaching whose source is rooted firmly in the filth of'pur~ minds. An African teacher at our school, David Karungi, told me about his student days in a Cathol1c seminary. The only reason that he had attended such a school was that in pre-independence days there was such a paucity of schools and such a thirst for education that a person could not afford to be choosy about the school to which he went. Karungi was asked to leave the seminary after two years, one of the contributing factors being that he persisted in reading books which were forbidden to him. Yet while still a student he clearly knew how to use clerical tactics for his own benefit. In one particular case, for instance, David was to be beaten for a slight offence, but in order to avoid the punishment he implied deceitfully to a priest that if he was beaten, he would, according to the custam of his people, have to have a waman so as to regain his manhood. There was no punishment.

Brotherly Love One of .the MOst striking features at the school was the almost complete lack of social contact between the priests and the lay staff. The African teachers found this insulting, often complaining that they were practically never informed • about various school events and procedures. The Africans sus- pected that this tactic was designed to keep them from partici- pating in any of the responsibilities of running the school, and perhaps subconsciously it reminded them of the colonial days when pictures hung in missions depicted angels as white and devils as black. After l had been telling one of the African teachers

about some of my own unpleasant experiences with missionaries, he began to speak of his own knowledge of their behaviour. He told me that there had once been an American priest at the school who had tried to do some of the things l had been interested

in. He too had brought books and magazines, trying to let light 66 into the cloister. But apparently he had been too liberal for the headmaster's liking, and there were 600n serious arguments about their differing approache6 to education. The disputes became so serious that the American Father found it impossible to eat in the house shared by aIl the priests. Instead, he

preferred dining with an African staff member. Here~ then, was a curious irony, for it was the breakdown of Christian brother­ hood among the priests that enabled at least one of them to become the friend of an African, to bridge what had been a scandalous gap. But that priest had gone and for three years we laymen sat in the staff office during breaks while the priests piously took tea somewhere else •

.... A Holl Testament Though it is the missionary's business to work with the local people, the fact remains that soèially he is often; segre­ gated. After work is over for the day, he becomes something of a hermit, perhaps because he feels more comfortable with his 'own people', a pec uliar parochialism forr' a Chr is tian. Frequently, however, this social withdrawal is a symptom of the missionary's feeling of superiority, a reflection of his dis­ parâgtng view of the everyday life of the African. 67 In 1933 a book ca11ed The Akikuyu by"Father Cagno10 was pub1ishéd in Kenya, and its principal aim was to portray the customs of the Kikuyu people. It is, however, striking because of its ignorance and because of what it tells us about the mentality of Many missionaries. The fo11owing extrac~wi11 serve as illustrations of the kind of contempt shown for Africans by many who preach the importance of love:

The boori$h~atmosphere, the rough 1ife, the scanty clothing, the miserab1e housing lac king a11 hygienic and aesthetic com­ forts, as we11 as the sharing of the hut with domestic anima1s, combined with genera1 ignorance smother any delicate or kind1y feelings of affectioï for one another which are common amongst a civilized society. Among civi1ized peoples it is not done to be1ch in front of others. Amongst the Akikuyu it is a fine accomplishment which rather than annoying therest, arouses envy, because he who belches certain1y has a full stomach. Wlth this belief the Akikuyu belch as loud1y as possible. When one, not unusua11y, comes across a real expert one might imagine oneself at the zoo.2

That the African is associated with animaIs is by no means uncommon. Africans who had the misfortune of being 'educated' by the missionaries, particular1y during the co1o- nia1 period, bitter1y recall being ca11ed monkeys. Today one does not usually hear such epithets, thoughtconversations with

1 Father Cagno10, The Akikuyu (Nyeri, Kenya, 1933~, p. 203. 2Cagno1o, p. 206. 68 missionaries of Father Cagnolo's sort will disclose the same attitude, however discreetly veiled. Since the missionary came to uplift people whom he regarded as heathens, his automatic assumption was that anything which did not conform to the manners and customs of Europe was ~.s1!ib·human. What Father Cagnolo failed to understand was that belching is a signal of apprecaà- tion that indicates to the cook or host that one is satisfied, that a dut Y has been weIl fulfilled. To credit the Kikuyu with feelings of appreciation is simply not in order for Father Cagnolo, since he believes that such sentiments have never been developed among them: The Kikuyu language is rich in greetings according to age, class and personal status; it lacks words to express affection or gratitude for favour or help. If you give a person a gift or help him in any way, he will probably turn his back on you and leave you without a word. Occasionally he May smile, or if he is feeling particularly benign he may say: 'Ni wega' -- that is good.3 --

The attitude expressed here is a familiar one to the African for he has been told over and over again that he is ·an ingrate, that he fails to say 'thank you'. The mere fact that

there is no literaI counterpart for 'thank you' in some African , languages doessnot necessarily Mean that African systems of manners are undeveloped. It is clear that in societies which

3Cagnolo, p. 209. 69 were traditionally communal it was an obligation to give, and an expression such as 'thank you' was superfluous. When l asked an African about this, he brightened at my suggestion, confirming the truth of it and added that to the African 'thank you' was embarrassing or meaningless. There are certain things that just do not need to be said. To observe that a people has no concept of gratitude or ingratitude is not to observe at all. Among the Meru, a tribe closely related to the Kikuyu, l have heard it said that if you invite a man to a goat or cow feast and he does not honour the invitation, the cow or goat will be broUght to his home and left there as a reminder of his ingratitude. What is more shocking about Father Cagnolo's remarks is that he says that the Kikuyu may say :ni wega" when a favour has been done. The truth is that the Kikuyu does say

'ni wega', that s~ch an expression does in its own way confirm a favour and is pleasantly refresh~ for its simplicity, lack­ ing the obsequiousness of the 'thank you' that the colonialists tried to teach the African. But Father Cagnolo seems almost bent on ignoring anything in the Kikuyu custom that is praise- worthy. He feels perfectly free to disparage their lack of generosity;, affections and manners, and yet fails to see the contradiction when at the same time he translates Kikuyu proverbial 70 lore: 'One good turn deserves another', 'Help one another', 'A miser gets his reward'. Father Cagnolo's failure to recognize Kikuyu virtue even when its counterpart is in his own custom is revealed in this passage: They make a fetish of hospitality: if one has unexpected visitors during a meal, or even if one is Just nibbling a potato, one shares it with everyone. One does not ask for food; one's presence is ~noUgh for they have a saying that 'It is one's eyes that ask'. Father Cagnolo then chooses to characterize negatively with the word 'fetish' this very Christian spirit of eating. The tragedy of aIl of this is that the missionary has succeeded in making Many Africans ashamed of the fine things in their traditional life. The African, whose mentality has in this way been corrupted, is weIl satirized by the Ugandan poet, Okello Oculi: AlI of them in the Exclusive Club Are allergie to my village simplicity, To my crude pride in myself and my nativity, Because the y are aIl anxious to tell, to Shout out to their former despisers Who gave them verbal pride Called Independence, That they are not primitive, And do not sleep in huts or on trees, And do not eat with their fingers But with iron and Metal things, Each one eating from a separate plate For fear of others' greed and appetite. 5

4cagnolO, pp. 205-206. 50kello Oculi, Orphan (Nairobi, 1968 ), pp. 55-56. 71 Fortunately the less educated as well as the educated African who has had the power to resist his education, are not comp1etely poisoned by the so-ca11ed superiority of western manners. For two years my African guests and l m1sunderstood each other, for when any African visited me for a chat, my immediate response was to ask if he would 1ike tea or something in particu1ar to eat. On1y during my third year in Kenya did

l begin to rea1ize why men.seemed confused by my question, why women in their shyness often did not even answer me. The pro- priety of my own custom made me insensitive to the fact that the more communal the society, the less necessary it is to ad- vertise onels generosity. When a guest arrives one is expected to bring refreshments without comment, and it is the dut Y of the guest to eat. Even if he has eaten short1y before, he is obliged to eat something, however litt1e, as a token of his appreciation, to indicate that he does not scorn your food. How many times, then, have land others of western mentality in- sulted the African with our 'No, thank you'! Our often weIl meaning politeness merely perpetuates the African's idea that

the white man disparages him and his ways. How strange ! have appeared to Africans when l refused to take their 1ast cigarette! They a1ways insisted that l do so, for at that moment l was the one who was in need, and the spirit of sharing dictates that 72 he who is in need must be attended to first. It is peculiar that Father Cagnolo should be so fastidi- ous about the African's so-called ingratitude when it is the missionary's task to work without thanks, as indicated by Father Cagnolo's own description of the Consolata Missionaries: •••• a handful of deeply religious Italian souls, who at the calI of Christ, and touched by the miseries of their neighbors, no matter of what colour and nationality, left their beloved fatherland, perhaps the most beautiful and charming country of Europe, to devote themsel~~~ with a complete self-abnega­ tion -- with no other reward but that promised by the Divine Saviour -- t0 the salvation, education and civiliza­ tion of this people. 6 The early missionaries no doubt laboured under great hardships, but today's missionary, generally speaking, lives a luxurious life in houses with comforts thattar surpass the amenities of bis brother, the ordinary African. Yet l find it difficult to congratulate even the early missionary, Father Cagnolo, on his self-abnegation, since he does it so weIl him- self; nor can l admire the selflessness of his task. Eternal life is not a bad reward.

Concluding Remarks

Father Ca~~olo's comments are not uncommon among

6 Cagnolo, p. 267. 73 missionaries though fortunately there are those who have worked in Africa, and have deeply impressed Africans with their sincerity, sensitivity and devotion. Missionaries of Father Cimesi's and Cagnolo's sort stand out as somewhat grotesque figures not because they are unusually evil, but because their profession suggests that we expect more from them. And yet it may be that Christianity's demands upon its leaders are un­ realistic, that even the best of us cannot hope to live accord­ ing to the noble ideals that religion espouses. If that isn't true, why then are we so struck when we do come across a priest or minis ter whose behaviour is. truly Christian? Christianity has largely rooted out tribal religions in Kenya but has failed in many cases to replace them adequately. The education that missionaries brought tended to root out superstition, ;thau~ the behaviour of many missionaries pre­ vented some people from ta king the new religion seriously. So for agood number of Africans there is now a vacuum, a great uncertainty, a spiritual chasm not unlike that of our western world. That chasm in both worlds is being filled by slèek automobiles and chrome radios. There is of coùrse another extreme. Those Africans who could not face the void left by the destruction of their own religions grasped and clung to

Christianity as a drowning man in a rushing stream grasps a 74 jutting branch from the shore. The tenacity of that grasp has produced the fanatic. There was and is a certain arrogance among missionaries, which is inevitable, because.;their entire philosophy assures them that they are the bearers of the 'truth'. Someone once said that the most dangerous people are those who are convinced that they are right. And so the religious man's sense of mis­ sion has bred in him féelings' that run from a rank intolerance in some to a cold haughtiness in others, while among the benign there is an unctuous paternalism whose smile reminds the African of the fangs of fanaticism.

The point is that aIl of these"attitudes are incompat­ ible with Christianity, and the African knows it. He also knows that the wonderful material help given by the missionaries is frequently motivated primarily by a desire to proselytize. A Catholic Brother told me that the Kenya government had per­ mitted him to work in the north-east semi-desert region of Kenya on the condition that he didn't interfere with the Moslem reli­ gion of the indigenous tribes. He didn't appear to object to this condition; he was extremely enthusiastic about developing a schoel for orphans, bringing the dry land to life with fruits, vegetables and flowers; and he was clearly committed to bringing

out the potential that he saw in the eyes of his students. The 75 Brother said that his primary concern as a Christian was to help his fellow man live a better life; the matter of conver- sion was secondary. He believed, however, that the boys would eventually become Christians when they were able to make a mature judgement as to 'who did more for them', the Moslems or the Christians. My growing respect for the man was in a moment staggered by the implication that he was in the business of buying souls. But perhaps here l make the very mistake which Christian leaders have made -- that of demanding too much. How Many people find anything compélling about 'virtue is its own reward'? That Christianity has been a failure in Kenya to a significant extent can be attributed to its insistence on the paramount importance of conversion. Nowhere did l find this more apparent than in the north-western part of Kenya, a semi- desert area where little development has taken place. There 1 in that forbidding land, beneath the cruel sun, the nomadic Turkana wander and graze their goats and cameIs, thinking that Kenya is a distant country to the south. The torpor of the days is roused as the sun sets and enlivened by the soft wind blowing off Lake Rudolph, and by the chanting of the Turkana people.

The land is fIat, and so the sky at night is vast, billions of stars throbbing light, and for the first time one understands why the ancients believed that the stars made music. There was a fingernail moon one night and it bespoke a new beginning. There in that dry land there was to be a new beginning for the Turkana people. The missionaries had only recently arrived, an event which gave me the sensation of hav­ ing journeyed a hundred years back into time when missionarles first began their 'civillzing' efforts in Africa.

In the early 1960's there nad been a severe drought in

Turkanalànd~ which shrivelled away the little green that there was, leaving animaIs and men to die of hunger. The mission­ aries came to the area with famine relief and were instrumental in persuading some of the Turkana to become fishermen and settle on the shores of Lake Rudolph. Today fishing is not totally reliable and the rains being still erratic, there is still a need for famine relief. l met an African, a self-procàaimed devout Christian, who worked for a Christian sect in the area. He told me that in order to get the Turkana to attend Sunday services he had to threaten to withhold their rations. He said, however, that he would never actually carry out this threat. Whether this is true or not is irrelevant. What is relevant is that this kind of threatening is the kind of behaviour that makes those who preach the gospel appear as devils, and devils are the 77 last men on earth that traditional Africans wish to follow. The beginning of missionary work in Turkana is a seed which m1ght as weIl be planted in a desert. Perhaps it will produce a plant, but it will be ugly, it will have thorns and its greenneœwill turn sickly yellow. Culture and Race Motifs 78

The Lonely A~rican When the missionaries began to inculcate western ideas in A~rica, an identity crisis was precipitated in the African psyche. Traditional patterns o~ A~rican behaviour were like 1/ roots sunk deeply into the past, but once the germ of the west­ ern mind touched African soil the raots began to rot and the plants they supported began to wilt. The wilting plant, the African caught between two cultures, is perhaps best described by the anthropologist Colin Turnbull when he speaks of 'the lonely

African~ one whose past is becoming a dim memory, his future sill an uncertain haze. l used to see that lonely African in the pers ons of old Kikuyu men as the y stumbled along roadsides, their dis­ tended, empty earlobes hanging limply as if bemoaning the loss of earrings which once had filled them. l often looked through those lobes and felt that their emptiness betokened a dying cul­ ture. Except on national holidays, the earrings are rarely worn in those areas where western influence has been greatest~ Many of the Africans have been convinced that their ancestors had led a savage existence, and so they are hesitant to bear the markings of what they consider to be a shameful pasto

For these old men the only compensations granted by western civilization for their loss is a tattered coat, or 79 perhaps a tin roof or some new medicine which can help the body but cannot heal the wounds of the spirit. By the young Kikuyu, education has come to be regarded as the most important contribution that the west has made to Africa. But nowadays it is an education of book learning which produces unskilled, unemployable people. Whereas the traditional education was aimed at preparing a person for specifie roles in society and at teaching him his relationship to those older and younger than himself, the new secondary education gives academic knowledge preparing a person for lit­ tle else but clever conversation and perhaps a relationship with an IBM card. So the African is disillusioned with his new way of life, and in many cases ashamed of the old one •. He is caught between two styles of living, and the source of his loneliness comes from the fact that he will not know where he is gOing until the two forces wrestle out a new fate for him.

Anecdotes of Conflict The clash between old and new attitudes is frequently expressed in school debates. In one of the better ones a tra­

ditional and modern point of view on capital punishment were being clearly contrasted. A student who called for the abolition

of capital punishment quietly said that in taking the life of 80 a murderer one would have in the ultimate analysis gained nothing. A classmate then counterèd with a more customary approach. With some emotion he sa id that if a man killed his wife and children without appropriately paying with his own life, the value of life would become less meaningfulbecause it could be disposed of without paying a befitting priee. Several times l found myself caught up in this confusion of values. l wondered whether l was contributing to the problem by bringing to bear my western ideas. Usually l resolved my doubts with the thought that the clash between the two cultures was in any case ~nevitable, and l considered l might be of sorne help in emphasizing the good in their heritage as weIl as the good which was in mine. But from time to time l felt an un­ certainty as to what was really good in either. Classroom discussion about language revealed much to me about African culture and the changes it was undergoing. l remember in particular a lesson in which the class was discuss­ ing the meaning of 'surname' and 'given name'. The students and l were equally fascinated by differing approaches to naming children. The Kikuyu system is very complicated, but the basic idea is that children are named after their grandparents so that ancestors will not be forgotten. They are in a sense contin­ ually reborn in sUcceeding generations. Thus, a new father says 81 that his wife has given birth to his 'father' if the firstborn is a boy, or given birth to his 'mother' if it is a girl. The system of naming reflects an integral relationship between past and future, between the dead and the unborn. There are of course similarities in our approach to naming. Many parents still resurrect given names after their own parents though the name of a particular grandparent de­ pends more upon favouritism than any pre-established system in which the firstborn, secondborn,and so on, take their names according to a set pattern. And there are many in our society who choose names simply because they are pleasing. It is this element of whim that indicates a further breakdown of our family bonds, the fragmentation of our most basic relation~ ships. My cl&ss laughed in disbelief when l said that l was unable to remember the given name of one of my grandfathers. However, the Kikuyu system of naming is also deterior­ ating, the on~e familiar procedure being confused with the in­ troduction of Christian names which are bound to obfuscate the African's identification with the pasto In fact, there are sorne young people who resent being called by their traditional

African names, preferring Christian designations which are sup­ posed to carry a certain sanctity. A student told me that he had challenged his girlfriend, Charity, about this. He maintained 82 that she should be proud of her African name, saying that a name does not make a~ ·one either any more or less Christian. She responded by saying that he was terribly backward. The closeness of the Kikuyu famiIy is also reflected in the fact that terms such as 'mother' and 'father' have wide application. Aunts and uncles in the western sense are in many parts of Africa considered equivalent to mothers and fathers. When l first heard people refer to several mothers and fathers l was confused. l thought that either l was not hearing properly or that there was something wrong with the speaker's sanity. Later l began to understand. With the coming of western indi­ vidualism, however, the naming"customs have begun to disinte­ grate. A student wrote in an essay, for example, that he did not like being called 'son' by anyone but his two parents. Being a modernist, he asked, 'How many gave birth to me?' Today's generation is not only Iess intimate with rela­ tives and the dead, it is also having serious conflicts with its parent generation. The main cause of this is the gap created between children and their parents by the present educational system. Education tends to make a student look down on his parents if tney have never been to school. l was invited to a Kikuyu home by one student who cautioned me that his parents 83 were uncivilized. When l asked why he said this he answered,

'They cannot read or write'. Parents who work hard to pay their children's school fees regard such attitudes in their children as mere arrogance. They are therefore reluctant to accept new ideas which come from the school. A student complainèd to me, for example, about his parents' reaction to his suggestion that they should keep goats and chic kens out of the house for health reasons. They accused him of being a white man. Another student went home and told his father that the world is round; the result was an argument in which each ended by condemning the other for harboring incorrect ideas. The student was told that he had been born Just the other day, and he was asked how, being so young, he could presume toiinstruct an eIder. From the examples which my students gave me about culture conflicts there was one which stands out in my mind. A first-year boy had been told in his religion class that fe­ male circumcision was wrong. He went home with this informa­ tion and told his mother, undoubtedly one who had been circum­ cised herself, that the practice should be discontinued. She was so enraged at this that she gave him a severe beating.

The conflict between generations is accented the more because the change in the quality of life today is reflected 84 in the language to such an extent that misunderstanding is un­ avoidable in many cases between the young and the old. The young claim they cannot understand their grandparents, who speak in metaphors and proverbs no longer meaningful to grand­ children who spend most of their time in a school environment very much unrelated to the old traditions. Moreover, English constructions are sometimes translated directly into Kikuyu, and these sound very strange to those whospeak only the old uncorrupted language. The young, when speaking to their parents, often need to use English words because certain con­ cepts in English do not have counterparts in Kikuyu. When this happens the young are accused of insulting their eIders. During my third year in Kenya l took two senior students, MucebiQ and Kabiu, who had lived aIl their lives in the cOQntryside to Nairobi. Cultural conflicts suddenly be­ came apparent as l observed their reactions to the new city. The number of people, the traffic and the large buildings as­ tOQnded them. They were tense as we crossed streets. They kept close to me, remarked at my hurried pace, and clutched at my coat when we crossed busy intersections. Open-mouthed, they stared at window displays, and looked horrified by the priees of such elementary objects as cups and saucers. When they saw a watch for ane hundred dollars, Mucebiu recoiled by 85 saying that a person could buy a bull for that priee. In tour- ist shops they saw items selling for ten times the priee asked for in their villages. In their astonishment they becarne aware of the meaning of exploitation. Their sensitivity to priees, to what they regarded as distorted values, was having a powerful effect upon me. l took them to a modest restaurant, but l took good care that they did not see the bill. l didn't want them to feel l was wast­ ing money for their sake. Yet the disparity between my moderate income and the minimal wages their fathers reeeived gave me the feeling that l had been wasting money aIl rny life. Perhaps their fathers, and Henry David Thoreau, were in the right after aIl, and they did live the true life of simplieity. It struek me as odd that in Nairobi cne bought a bottle of after-shave lotion rather than keep the sarne money for twenty cups of tea which a simple form of life would have afforded for this priee. After lunch we went to an ice cream parlor where l bought Mueebiu and Kabiu their first ice cream cones. When they touched the ice erearn instead of the cones they were startled by the sensation of cold and the peeuliar milky wet­ nesa on their fingers. The quick, fascinated way they pulled baek their hands symbolized in a moment an entire culture's reaction to the innovations of another. And that trivial 86 incident revealed more to me about the difference between my experiences and theirs than a host of conversations, or an abundance of profound reading material. Again the gulf between our backgrounds appeared when l took them for an elevator ride to the top of a twelve-stor~y building. As we looked down at the street below l couldn't at first believe their 'ehs' of surprise were genuine. l had been at the top of the Empire State BUilding too Many times to appreciate the significance of being twelve storeys high for the first time. But their wonder was pure, and so refresh- ing as compared to the programmed calmness in the voie es of v' the astronauts when they landed on the Moon. From Nairobi l took Mucebiu and Kabiu to a desert area- of Kenya where we were to participate in a work camp organized for the purpose of building a primary school. They were excited in traveling and meeting students from other parts of Kenya. But what the male Kenyan students found Most striking of aIl was the aggressive behaviour of two American women. One was a teacher in Kenya, the other a traveler, and both were partici- pating in the camp. To the African male, accustomed as he is to ruling his women, the irritable nagging received from the two western ladies about such things as the proper use of sugar and salt was difficult to tolerate. The whole group discussed 87 the reasons for- the conflict, and though the cultural differ­ ences between two societies were soon understood, the Africans still insisted on being shown more respect by the women. The conflict in the kitchen was minor, however, in comparison with Kabiu 's reaction during a'.dance we held one night. By nature shy, and having had little contact with his own women, Kabiu sat quietly in a corner while the rest of us danced. Seeing this, one of the American women tried to cajole him onto the floor. His nervOus' refusaI merely provoked her to the point of pulling him from his seat so that he was prac­ tically dragged to the centre of activity. There was an in­ credulous fear on his face as he moved perfunctorily to the music, his mind dazed, trying to come to grips with the mean­ ing of this bizarre behaviour. The meaning of Kabiu's experience has been felt by man y African men in their contact with educatèd African women. Once the woman is given a mod1cum of education, she becomes aware of a new power, which makes her unwilling to accept the old subordinate position which her mother took for granted. Like western women, she is now taking on many of the roles traditionally reserved for men. In the west this has contri­ buted to an increase in male insecurity, the word 'emasculation' 88 becoming an all-too-common word in our vocabulary. In Africa the men tend to avoid educated women, and defensively scoff at their academic accomplishments. For a little over a year l lived with Mwari, a young teacher on our staff who had recently returned from completing his studies abroad. He used to speak constantly to me of how wary he was of marriage. His education made him feel the need for an intelligent, well-read girl who might satisfy him in an intellectual way. Yet he was afraid that this sort of girl would make too Many demands upon him. In his memory still lived the vision of African fathers of the past who lived in separate dwellings, to which they called their wives when they wanted them. Now the African husband and wife have begun to live to­ gether, and the western concept of companionship in marriage has created a great uneasiness in the ways of an old continent. Mwari's love for Many of the old ways prompted him to tell me that he was particularly averse to marrying a sophis­ ticated woman. She would probably complain when his parents visited the household, dirtying the floor with their bare feet. Mwari wanted his parents to visit him. He liked this, and if he had to, he would wash the sheets. The spirit of the lonely African's dilemma wes forever crystallized for me in a passage from a student's essey expressing the difficulty of living between two worlds: 'I am like a hyena which at the junction of two roads could smell meat from either way. The hyena let its four legs apart -- two towards one road, two towards the other. The legs split and the hyena died'.

Colonial Scars and Race Consciousness Before independence in 1963, Kenya experienced the kind of apartheid now practised in South Africa. In front of Nairobi's New Stanley Hotel there was a sign, 'No dogs or Africans'. Not until 1947 were Africans considered human enough·~ to drink bottled beer, and then the cri terion for their humanness was probably the few shillings of cash they were beginning to earn. British children demanded to be called Bwana (sir) by African servants. Cash crops could only be grown by white settlers, the fear of competition being ration- alized away by a denigration of African agricultural ability. The African lived througb a period in which everything about his way of life was scorned. He tended to accept that scorn because it came from men who, with their fantastic knowledge about machines, seemed all-knowing. One of the consequences of this is that Africans today

have begun to abandon facial markings and distended earlobes 90 in fact, any kind of scarification that westerners might look upon as indicative of backwardness and savagery. How peculiar that Many western men proudly display tattoos and scars, which signify manliness here, while the same things imply barbarism in Africa! The west has a strange notion that the less technically sophisticated a people, particularly with respect to weapons, the more savage their behaviour. Bows and arrows, spears, clubs and knives provoke images of the most brutal sort of tribal warfare. This is a convenient way of getting away from the truth about atrocities the west has committed. Until fairly recently the portuguese in Angola were in the habit of piercing the lips of malcontents in order to shut them with padlocks. One of history's great ironies is that western man, who used technology to commit war atrocities, marched into Africa glibly announcing the dawn of civilization. Several years after independence, despite a growing sense of pride among the young, there are still more than vestiges of shame in the African's concept of himself, still a bootlicking reverence for the white man. l felt awkward as old Kikuyu men would take their hats off when passing me on the road. l was embarrassed in front of my African colleagues 91 when some relie of colonial brainwashing would hail me as

Bwana Mkubwa~ important man.! was stunned when a student told me that his mother, who lived in a remote area, was distressèd about a white man's visit to her home. Since she believed that aIl of Europe is macadamized, she frette~ over

the necessity for the European to walk on the earth around her home. The same kind of thinking was reflected in a first­ year student's essay in which he noted the most memorable experience of his life: it was when he saw an African riding a motorcycle. And l saw the incipience of the colonial ex­ perience being recreated in a ten-year-old boy's mind when he asked me if white men ever hired white servants. Even among those Africans who have had direct and frequent contact with white men, there is a sense of inadequacy. After l had entertained the African staff members in my home, l wondered why l didn't receive an invitation to their homes. in return. While it is true that invitations of this sort are unnecessary, because one is always welcome in an African home, there was something else involved in this case. My whiteness linked me to the èolonial past, when friendly visits by Europeans to African homes were practically unknown. Two months

after my invitation, one of the teachers in a drunken moment

told me that he wanted me to come to his home, but the statement 92 was qualified by a hesitant, 'Will you come?' l remember meeting a Kenyan who had recently returned fram his studies in America. His conversation was dominated by a great admiration: for America and disdain for illiterate Kenyans. In an attempt to tell me that he had married a white girl he noted that he had met his wife in America. Seeing no change in my expression, he added that he had taught her Kikuyu. Again, not satisfied that l had gotten the point, he sa id that she was American. He was finding it difficult to cope with my unresponsiveness, which he felt indicated my belief that he had married an American black girl. The proof of his equality had to be made clear, so with much bravado he showed me his J wife's photograph and glared at me in defiance.

Despite the sense of, inadequacy in African conscious- ness, there is evidence that feelings of subservience are beginning to be replaced by pride. Political independence is being translated into self-assurance. While l was talking to a European traveler in a small restaurant in Lamu, two Africans at an adjacent table carried on a heated argument. The proprietor asked them to be quiet, saying that Europeans did not like noise. One of the Africans rose indignantly, rapped the p8lm of his hand against the table and roared, 'This is my country!' The fire in the man's voice shook me from the 93 uncomfortable pedestal upon which the proprietor's request had placed me. After l had been in Kenya for a year l was sometimes too quick to assume in my relations with Africans that l had transcended cultural and racial barriers. l wanted to be as honest as possible, but found on occasion that my remarks were viewed through a grotesque colonial prisme One time l was drinking honey beer with one of my old Swahili instructors. He had spent many years in America and l felt that l knew him weIl enough to admit that l found the drink somewhat bitter. His face hardened and a cauldron of colonial humiliation spat back at me, 'It's sweet, delicious, marvelous!' l cowered in agreement, but hated myself for having joined the ranks of liberal sycophants. One day, while discussing some of the more striking features of colonial racism, l was startled when a student of mine suggested that l too would have been a colonialist had l lived in Kenya before independence. l self-righteously dis­ missed the idea, but began to consider it more seriously later: l remembered, for example, sorne of my hitch-hiking experiences. On the main roads of Kenya a white man has a better chance of getting a ride than an African. Africans would therefore stand near me on the road, !hoping that my being white would absolve 94 their black skins of suspiciousness. For the Africans l was a means to a ride, and for me the African coloured my whiteness, threatened my chances for a lift. l used to think that racism was merely a carry-over of the animal herding instinct in man. But on the roads of Kenya l realized that fundamentally it is a rationalization for selfishness. When l left America in early 1967, race consciousness at home had reached the unfortunate point where blacks could neither be criticized nor shown respect as individuals. The former was interpreted as race hatred while the latter was construed as unctuous condescension. Such interpretations were often justified, but the unfortunate part of it came when they were not, when racism blotted out the potential for people to appreciate and criticize each other as human beings. l was disappointed to find that the same problem obtained in Kenya. The distortion that race consciousness leads to is aptly illustrated by a story an American black woman living in Kenya told about herself. She had a particular fondnessfor flowers, and so before taking a brief trip to the United States she carefully instructed her cook to take special pains with her garden so that she would find it in good order upon her return. 95 Two weeks later the woman returned to Kenya. She drove up to her Nairobi home late at night and was aghast when the lights of her car revealed a garden without flowers. Utterly enraged, she marched off to the cook's quarters and pounded on his door. After waking him, she bitterly berated him and hysterically concluded that he had taken advantage of her because she was black. That we needn't despair over problems occasioned by race lies in the woman's ability to tell this story about her­ self with a smile.

Crossing Boundaries My most rewarding moments in Kenya came when l was able to cut through the maze of prejudices which history has placed like thorns between blacks and whites, and when l was able for a time to share in the life of the people. l remember one national holiday very weIl. School was out, and l was strolling through the village, when suddenly l came upon a large group of old Kikuyu women dressed in tradi­ tional costumes. They wore purple calicoes adorned with red, yellow and blue beads. From their earlobes and the slits in their upper ears hung various ornaments which.included old shilling pieces. Their smiles were enhanced by fresh yellow 96 flowers which garlanded their shaven heads. One of the women addressed me in Kikuyu which a pass­ ing man translated into Swahili for me. She asked if the en­ tire group might come and have tea at my home. Since most of my acquaintances were young and fairly westernized Kikuyu l was especially delighted by the idea as it would g±ve me a chance to speak with the older, more traditional people. As l didn't have the means to serve fifteen women tea l asked if they would be offended if only five or six came. Everyone was surprisingly agreeable to the suggestion, mainl~ l suspect, ùecause they did not believe that l would accept the idea at aIl. As the five ladies waited for tea l showed thern some of the objects which l had collected from various tribes in Kenya. When they saw the gourds, the tobacco horns, the sisal baskets and the fly whisks which l possessed, their astonish­ ment was followed by laughter and busy chatter, and they clapped when an object particularly pleased them. My interpreter told me that they wanted me to know that l was like their son. For a moment l did feel as if l were a son of the tribe as l poured their tea, adding milk and sugar according to their tastes. When the ladies finished they all said ni wega and rose to go, but their departure was slightly marred when l offered my left hand to one woman, forgetting 97 that this was impoli te. The woman was taken aback, but re­ covered quickly, apparently understanding my ignorance.

Later in the afternoon the women returned wearing skirts made of brittle st~aw. They wanted to do a. short dance for me in appreciation for the tea. Singing and dancing was agreeably accompanied by the rhythmic rattling of their skirts. They left just as abruptly as they had come, having, l suppose, qischarged an ancient duty. Just as satisfying as the very human moments l spent with the older generation were the times when l experienced the trust of my contemporaries. l sat in one of the village:·b.ars one night eating and chatting with two staff members. l was telling them how awkward l had felt when l first began fre­ quenting the village bars because my white skin always occasioned stares. l expressed pleasure now that those stares were generally gone, nct that l no longer felt as a strange intruder. It was fine to be able to feel as any other member of the com­ munit y who wanted a drink or sought companionship in the local pub. The good feeling l had was interrupted as two of the bar girls started helping themselves to some of the goat Meat l was sharing with the teachers. l was annoyed, wondering why 98 they should be taking meat which hadn't been offered to them. l said nothing and felt my irritation turning into ire as they helped themselves to more meat. l relaxed only when Dne of the girls brought their own dinner to the counter. But my relief turned to cold shame when they 1nsisted that l share their food with them. The old communal spirit was still at work, and it awakened me to my own ingrained selfishness. The recognition of my selfishness was like a catharsis which burned a 'little bit of the west out of me. Towards the end of the second year Mwari came to teach

v at our school, but there was no housing available for him. At that time l was living with Jan, Frank having been transferred to another area. We had an extra bedroom, so we asked Mwari to stay with us. The three of us were at first uneasy,and went out of our way to be pleasant. But the strain of our ef- forts always left a residue of tension. After a few weeks, however, we felt freer in our re- marks and went through the business of living together with a growing sense of casualness. l knew that the first barrier of mis trust between Mwari and me had disappeared when he told me that an African associate of his had expressed shock and criti- cism when he heard that Mwari was living with two white men. 99 When Jan left Kenya at the end of 1968, Mwari and l moved to a new staff house at the school where we stayed together for a year. We had wonderful discussions about cultural dif­ ferences, books and work. We were able to talk to each other about blacks and whites, about Africa and cOlonialism, with- out the slightest self-consciousness. But l never mentioned my writing, and always felt guilty that it was the onè thing l had to conceal from him. Africans are quite suspicieus about white men who write about Africa, because so much that has been written has been of a derogatory nature. l flinched mentally when Mwari told me that another teacher had cautioned him te be wary, on the chance that l was writing a book. And l couldn't help feeling that had l told Mwari about my work, it would have soured our friendship. In lonely moments Mwari and l would go te each ether's room to talk. Once he came into my room and Iay next to me on my bed. l was net prepared for this and experienced the terror of feeling that he was attempting a sexual approach. It was like a nightmare experience. l didn't hear what he was saying, and l was sensitive te the slightest physical contact. But when l saw that nothing at aIl was intended l felt less anxieus and began te appreciate this intimate expressi.on of friendship

and trust. This happened several times, but l did not t.~.qtll.y 100 overcome my discomfort until one day l went to his room and surprised myself by lying next to him. It is strange how life's threatening storms on occasion yield its MoSt exquisite rainbows. The night before l left my school, Mwari and l threw a party to which we invited our friends. We had a goat slaugh­ ter for the occasion and bought an ample supply of beer. The feasting and celebration were interrupted every so often by a speech, as alcohol and the oratorical urge got the better of each guest's tongue. In aIl of the orations there was mention of the fact that a black man and white man had successfully lived together. From this l knew that Mwari and l had managed in our own little way to defy a verdict of history.

Return l had taught the same sixty-eight students for three years, experienced the excitement of watching their minds develop, and at-the same time noticed the burgeoning of new forces in my own spirit. While my students were taking their final examination l felt that a phase of my life had come to an- end. l experienced what parents sense when their children become grown up and leave home. 101 And so, instinctively, l looked away, thought of home and read American newspapers more closely. The news was ter­ ribly violent. The killing and hate which l read of seemed to be increasing, while grand speeches of hope, peace and love seemed more and more like echoes on some deserted planet. l wondered whether the state of the world had worsened, or whether quiet evenings in a small African village had merely cast a harsh spotlight on an old story. It was good to see my parents and friends when l ar­ rived home, but l was unsettled by the pace of life in New York. l recoiled at the kind of metallic rudeness which l found in the business world. l stiffened at the sound of subway trains screetching to a stop;.at the revving of truck motors, at the wail of fire engines tearing in the night. AlI the things which for three years l had remembered with dislike about big city life suddenly became a reality again, but a harsher one than that which l had known. Three years spent in the countryside of a strange land had brought me closer to nature, closer to my fellow beings. There was an intimacy about the life l had led in Kenya which now makes it difficult for me to live in a society where generosity and affection are signs of weakness or means to some material end. 102 When traveling on a bus or a train in East Africa it is considered rude to eat alone, so that if a person has food he shares it with those sitting hear him. Two weeks after my return to America l traveled by train from New York to

Philadelphia. l brought a sandwich with me, but my experiences in Africa made me hesitant to eat while the fellow next to me had nothing. Yet l was reluctant to offer him anything either, f&r l knew that this elementary sort of human contact is generally looked upon with suspicion or hostility. Feeling acute hunger, l finally began eating. The aroma of salami reached the stranger, l knew, and gave an edge to my guilt, which was expressed in anxious gulping. l wanted the uncomfortable experience to end as quickly as possible. The hurried chewing, the forced swallowing, and the sweat on my hands told me that in coming home l had in a sense gone away again. 103 Bib1iography

l inc1ude a se1ected 1ist of books about Africa which represented an important part of my experiences. Whether 1iterary, anthropo1ogica1 or historica1, aIl the books gave me a perspective on African 1ife styles and attitudes which he1ped me to assess the meaning of the 1ife l 1ed in a strange land.

Achebe, Chinua, Things Fall Apart. London, 1967. Cagno10, Father, The Akikuyu. Nyeri, Kenya, 1933. Dinesen, Isak, Out of Africa. 2nd Edition. London, 1965.

Shadows on the Grass. New York, 1961. Fanon, Frantz, The Wretched of the Earth, trans1ated by Constance Farrington. New York, 1968. HOb1ey, C. W., Bantu Be1iefs and Magic. 2nd Edition. London, 1967. Jabavu, Noni, Drawn in Co1our. London, 1966. Jahn, Janheinz, Muntu, trans1ated by Marjorie Grene. New york, 1961.

Kariuki, Josiah, Mau ~ Detainee. Middlesex, 1963. Kenyatta, Jomo, Facing Mt. Kenya. New York, 1964.

Nqugi, James, A Grain of Wheat. London, 1968.

The River Between. London, 1965. 104 Ocu1i, Oke110, Orphan. Nairobi, 1968. P'Btek, Okot, Song of Lawino, Nairobi, 1966. Soyinka, W01e, Idanre and Other Poems. London, 1969. Turnbu11, Colin, The Lone1y African. New York, 1963.

The Peop1es of Africa. London, 1966. Were, Gideon, East Africa Through a Thousand Years. London, 1967. -

Van der post, Laurens, The Dark ~ of Africa, London, 1961.

The Heart of the Hunter. Middlesex, 1968.

The Lost Wor1d of the Kalahari, Midd1esex:-r9~ -- ---