I stay a couple narrow blocks from the Indian Ocean. Our house is clay—one of many multi-story conglomerations of breathable, breezy rooms and balconies. My mtaa, my neighborhood, is part of “Old Town” Mombasa . Old Town surrounds Fort Jesus, the medieval-era Portugese stronghold, currently home to goats and homemade soccer balls.
Many of these streets are too skinny for cars. Skinny people in Kofias, Khangas, and more fashionable, less easy to describe, Muslim getups speak a fast, tonal Swahili. They often exemplify what many African historians see as a distinct, longstanding, culture that exists apart the East African interior (For nerds: Frederick Cooper, Slaves to Squatters, and Jon Glassman, “Sorting Out the Tribes.”).
Contemporary Kenyans on the coast and in the mainland seem versed in a set of characteristics that apply to coastal folk. Visiting Nairobi in 2008, some impromptu oral historians attributed coastal land displacement to former President Jomo Kenyatta’s cleverness. Kenyatta allegedly convinced the “very lazy” coastal Waswahili to give government Kikuyu their land in exchange for pilau, a rice dish.
Tonight, on the Kenyan comedy program “Churchill,” a stand-up comedian, hilariously dressed in short pants a lå Cosmo Kramer, proposed instituting a cultural exchange program in Kenya for animals. He discussed contrasts between Roosters and Hens from the Rift Valley and Mombasa, respectively.
Imitating a hen from Rift Valley, he dashed back and forth across the stage, evoking the imagery of Kenya’s superstar distance runners, most of whom come from Rift mountains. His Mombasa rooster slowly strutted, cocking its hips, unable to catch Rift Hen.
Rift valley rooster vigorously screams “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO,” while Mombasa rooster nonchalantly mutters, “coup, coup.”
Those working in the Mombasa restaurant where this show played were howling and wiping their eyes from laughter.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Jet Lag Memoir
The exhilarating feeling of Return.
Sights: shantyshack bars with dirty, partially lit signs and poorly dressed men sitting outside, smiling with bad posture. Wandering goats and children. So many places qualify as killer “dive bars,” based on Portlander, “Hipster” criterion. [pointless hand gestures ] It’s all so, like, spontaneous, so random…totally digging the artsy vibes. The street kids are, like, so creative. Burning tires to use the metals for cash. So raw. Totally be down to trip on glue with them.
Smells: Ocean, garbage, burning tires. The welcoming sense of déjà vu fades quickly here.
Sounds: Islamic chants in hypnotically melodic Swahili from mosque softly amplified throughout Oldtown, 2am. Lullabies seeping into upstairs bedrooms.
Nostalgia: makes my insides feel warm and fuzzy. Ludicrous to feel this way? I, a white American, getting “back to my roots” here? Surely it’s absurd to walk around, surrounded by black Africans I don’t know, and feel at home. I should be the mgeni here, the stranger, a consummate outsider. But what is an outsider? To be socially alienated, hopelessly distinct? Such feelings don’t exactly dissolve when living in the U.S. In academics, one’s analytical framework, daily thinking habits, diverge from the majority of Americans. I guess if you don’t mind being the center of attention, and like to fancy yourself as independent and original, then far-off, exotized travel is the thing for you. Of course, if it were tourist season, all pretense of novelty would be shattered.
Sights: shantyshack bars with dirty, partially lit signs and poorly dressed men sitting outside, smiling with bad posture. Wandering goats and children. So many places qualify as killer “dive bars,” based on Portlander, “Hipster” criterion. [pointless hand gestures ] It’s all so, like, spontaneous, so random…totally digging the artsy vibes. The street kids are, like, so creative. Burning tires to use the metals for cash. So raw. Totally be down to trip on glue with them.
Smells: Ocean, garbage, burning tires. The welcoming sense of déjà vu fades quickly here.
Sounds: Islamic chants in hypnotically melodic Swahili from mosque softly amplified throughout Oldtown, 2am. Lullabies seeping into upstairs bedrooms.
Nostalgia: makes my insides feel warm and fuzzy. Ludicrous to feel this way? I, a white American, getting “back to my roots” here? Surely it’s absurd to walk around, surrounded by black Africans I don’t know, and feel at home. I should be the mgeni here, the stranger, a consummate outsider. But what is an outsider? To be socially alienated, hopelessly distinct? Such feelings don’t exactly dissolve when living in the U.S. In academics, one’s analytical framework, daily thinking habits, diverge from the majority of Americans. I guess if you don’t mind being the center of attention, and like to fancy yourself as independent and original, then far-off, exotized travel is the thing for you. Of course, if it were tourist season, all pretense of novelty would be shattered.
"Black Swan" is a Great Airplane Movie
Washington D.C.-Amsterdam – FUA (fat ugly American) passenger quotient was significantly lower than that of Portland-Washington. Though I must continue circulating the statistic that Oregon has the lowest obesity of rate of any U.S. state. (I must also echo Mark Twain’s sentiment that citing statistics is stealthier, more sophisticated way of lying).
Best outfit in Europe – girl wearing religious headscarf with fabric covering most of her body. But nevertheless visible: a black t-shirt with pink letters that spell, “Duh, Winning.”
Four tiny pieces of chicken, measly portion of fries, iced tea in a cup designed to restrict one’s drink to soda: 11.50 in U.S. money at Amsterdam airport. And to think the papers say they are running OUT of money in Greece, Ireland, and soon, the rest of EU Europe.
Best outfit in Europe – girl wearing religious headscarf with fabric covering most of her body. But nevertheless visible: a black t-shirt with pink letters that spell, “Duh, Winning.”
Four tiny pieces of chicken, measly portion of fries, iced tea in a cup designed to restrict one’s drink to soda: 11.50 in U.S. money at Amsterdam airport. And to think the papers say they are running OUT of money in Greece, Ireland, and soon, the rest of EU Europe.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Modest Re-Launch of the Flying Matatu
After a three-year hiatus in the United States, I'm teeming with anticipation, trepidation, and needlessly flowery articulation as I prep for a return to the Other Side of Africa: Mombasa. My multi-day flight itinerary is set to begin tomorrow morning.
I am taking a summer swahili class through a Yale abroad program and summer FLAS scholarship. I don't think it will be like the Mombasa scene in 'Inception.' Although my time/space perception will probably again get shifted a little bit. Jet lag and laid-back Swahili Muslim vibes do that to a mzungu. I figure the transition will instead resemble more of an "Eat, Pray, Love" delusion, but with academics and poor folks involved.
Hard to say at this point how often I'll write here. Or what I'll write about. Please don't hesitate to offer questions, prompts, or disses in the comments section. Also got dat email: leifjacksonbullock@gmail.com.
Peace yall
I am taking a summer swahili class through a Yale abroad program and summer FLAS scholarship. I don't think it will be like the Mombasa scene in 'Inception.' Although my time/space perception will probably again get shifted a little bit. Jet lag and laid-back Swahili Muslim vibes do that to a mzungu. I figure the transition will instead resemble more of an "Eat, Pray, Love" delusion, but with academics and poor folks involved.
Hard to say at this point how often I'll write here. Or what I'll write about. Please don't hesitate to offer questions, prompts, or disses in the comments section. Also got dat email: leifjacksonbullock@gmail.com.
Peace yall
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)