KENDO: The man the town called ‘Mbwa Kali’

A former civil servant, who retired after nearly hitting the apex of the ministry, thought it a city-exit consolation to export high-end Nairobi manners to the village. The man erected a ‘Mbwa Kali’ signage on his gate. The bold writing could be read 15 metres away.

The man lived in Westlands for the 18 years he was a chauffeur-driven senior government officer. He lived in a security-protected residence in the leafy side of Nairobi. The gated community erected steel barriers that came with warnings to intruders.

Caveats varied from ‘Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted’, ‘No Unauthorised Persons Beyond This Barrier’, to images of Mbwa Kali next to rungu-wielding uniformed security guards. Guard dogs occasionally mauled trespassers in the neighbourhood.

The signs targeted inhabitants of a city that survives in the throes of class clashes. A world of them versus us – of huge mansions surrounded by working-class tenements.

The returnee was Mbwa Kali to his village market neighbours. His spouse was Mbwa Kali’s wife. Their children were Mbwa Kali’s children. The casual worker who trimmed their fence was ‘Mbwa Kali’s man.

The public service vehicle stage in front of Mbwa Kali’s town-village home became Mbwa Kali bus stop. The signage was removed, or wore out with fading paint, after Mbwa Kali relocated to his inherited land.

The PSV stage, however, still carries the name of the man who lived there. Touts and passengers know when travellers say their destination is Mbwa Kali.

Mbwa Kali could not relocate his official Nairobi residence to the village, but he exported an aspect of the past to the market centre. This was his way of coping with the future. This was his layover – a transit station to his future life among his rural kin.

The retired civil servant bought a 50 by 100-meter plot next to the Migori-Homa Bay road. He built a halfway retirement home in one of the municipalities in Migori county.

The five-bedroom bungalow, with servant quarters, replicated the design of his former city aboard. It was a good house by the standards of the village market 20 years ago. But it wasn’t the city house. Times had changed, as they do for many.

A lot has changed for the former senior government officer, but one aspect of his rural life reminds the town Mbwa Kali once lived in the neighbourhood.

Mbwa Kali is a metaphor for this unequal society. The sign, wherever it sings, is a reminder of social strata. 

The silent message behind the Mbwa Kali moniker was always that, this man was not one of us.  Although he lived among us, he was not one of us. It’s the paradox of the ‘One Kenya, One People’ sloganeering.

Two incidents, from last week, send a message about the irony of One Kenya, One People.

A friend from Vineyard Haven, Massachusetts, sent a surprise shopping voucher for needy villagers whose children he supports. His thinking was that he is paying for the education of the children, but their guardians also have a life to live. 

The benefactor came to the village in November last year. He saw the other side of Kenya – away from the gated leafy suburbs of the metropolis. 

The beneficiaries shed tears of gratitude when the shopping basket, worth about Sh5,000 was delivered. Forget the one two-kg tin of beans and maize a government minister, riding in a helicopter, delivered to the village in March.

Their message to their US benefactor was emotive: “We are grateful. We say a big thank you. We are praying for you so that you can continue touching the lives of the less fortunate. We are happy with the maize meal as part of the shopping. It is becoming impossible for us to afford even one two-kg tin of maize.”

There is the other side of Kenya, where income, expenditure and asset value tell the story of a country of terrifying social inequalities. In this other Kenya, some families claim Sh2.5 million as their average monthly expenditure. The other one isn’t sure of their next meal, which is lower than ‘madondo’.

Expenditure items for the rich include Sh60,000 per child for ‘age-appropriate’ toys, and Sh1 million for celebrating the birthday of one child. Their child-minders are governesses, not the middle-class maid or house-help. 

In the other Kenya, which is known to many of the 45 million of us, the poor shed tears of gratitude when a stranger sends them a shopping basket for a household of six. Kenyans are truly blessed differently. 

The US philanthropist believes, like some of us do from experience, that education can make a difference. Supporting education can ensure the possibility of at least one responsible child who may change the fortunes of the family, the extended family, and the clan. 

Kenya is in dire need of changemakers to bridge barriers of social class.