Babu Ayindo
Traveling with Dana Josephina Ongecha Nyo’Tenda in a “matchbox” matatu [public taxi] in rural western Kenya could be at once hilarious and painful. You see, as soon Dana entered any public taxi, she insisted on greeting everyone in the public taxi. Her signature greeting upon settling down was a mixture of Dho’Luo and Olu’Luhya: “Amosou ni mirembe!” [I greet you in peace!].
Her baritone voice would cut through the silence. The timbre in her voice was equally infectious, infectious enough to draw any reluctant soul into some kind of conversation. A common joke amongst us grandchildren was that Dana must have swallowed some kind of amplifier when she was in her teens.
Now, Dana did not simply stop with casual greetings upon entering a public taxi. For passengers who made the mistake of responding in a manner to suggest all was not well, Dana assured them the way an Apostle would do that God was, indeed, their personal watchman and that He would will help them heal themselves, their animals as well as the land.
Forever uncomfortable with silence in public, this Grandmother of mine would then begin this creative conversation with any passenger that would inevitably lead to an exploration of where the interlocutor came from as well as the family history. For example, Dana would gently inquire whether their home was near this river, that valley or that market. Or, was their home not near this famous woman called Nya’Rabolo on account of her audacity in turning her five-acre entire farm into a banana plantation? Or, were they not related to Ja’Punda, that man famed of being as mean the donkeys he tethered in his home? All the while Dana would listen intently at every name and its connections as if trying to detect the slightest evidence of “wat” [relationship].
So, I became accustomed to Dana turning to me a few minutes of conversations with total strangers in a public taxi to announce delightedly and with a smile that this woman or that man is actually my relative. She would then go through a circuitous explanation of the nature of the relationship. As a child, I had quite some difficulty appreciating some of the torturous narratives of our family tree that connected our roots, stems, branches, leaves and fruits with strange people spread all over the place.
For instance, Dana, would proceed to explain, diligently and with speed, how this man was related to us through a distant Auntie through marriage and how that distant Auntie is connected to some other distant Uncle “of our house” and how, in turn, that distant Uncle’s Grandfather and my own Grandfather Odera K’Ogwande somehow “suckled from the same breast.” And, as a result of which, this stranger we had just met was actually not a stranger after all; Dana would declare that this alien was now officially my own brother [amongst the Luo we have no cousins] and I needed to begin treating him as such – instantly!
As a child, I felt that if Dana did not find any evidence of any relationship, then she would simply invent one. Or, if you were not careful enough, Dana could talk to you until you became relatives!
So, dear reader, one day my Grandmother tried her charm during one of her rare visits to Nairobi, the capital city. I was supposed to accompany Dana to visit with our relatives in Mathare. You see, whenever my Grandparents visited the city, they preferred to stay with my Dad in Posta Mbotela in Nairobi and, inevitably, I acted as their aide-de-camp.
So, on this day, we boarded a Kenya Bus Service bus from Posta Mbotela and headed to the Bus Station in the central business district with the intention of boarding another one from Ambassador stage to drop us at Mlango Kubwa. From Mlango Kubwa we would proceed to meet with one my favorite Aunties who worked at the Kenya Airforce Base in the area then proceed to Mathare later in the afternoon.
Now, as soon as we boarded the bus at Posta Mbotela, my Grandmother greeted everyone in the bus in her a booming tenor voice and a radiant smile. “Jo’Narobi, amosou ni mirembe!” [the people of Nairobi, I greet you in peace!]
Silence in the bus, followed by some mumbles.
“Jo’Narobi, amosou kendo, mirembe uru!” [the people of Nairobi, I greet you again in peace].
Silence in the bus followed by a cocktail of manner less mumbles, chuckles and giggles.
“Jo’Narobi” my Grandmother called out for the third time “bende uwinja? amosou ni mirembe!” [the people of Nairobi, are you really listening to me, I greet you again in peace!]. A few people turned to look at Dana but majority did not heed the gracious ultimatum. Some sat in the bus silently, some smoked, others pretended to read something while others, like the proverbial ostrictch, buried their heads in the sand. In short, everyone ignored my Grandmother Dana Ongecha Nyo’Tenda Omukhana we’Ebusubi. None of them seemed to realize that their general behavior, according to the Dana I knew, was bordering on the criminal.
Some passengers seated right in front of us made things worse. One of them who wore a red shirt mumbled something in Sheng’ to the effect that “inakaa huyu matha saa zake za kuenda Mathare ndizo hizo.” [Looks like the time for this woman to head to Mathare mental health hospital has come].
Dana clicked her tongue in disgust. And I knew the daughter of Ebusubi was not going to take this lying down. For Dana, this was personal. How could a fellow human being not respond to your greetings of blessings and peace? This was the kind of disrespect that Dana would not let go unchallenged. No way. As the bus hurtled past Kaloleni, City Stadium and took the right turn towards Dallas and Marikiti I knew Dana was preparing her verbal phlegm.
As soon as the bus parked at the Bus Station and I whispered to my Grandmother it was time to drop off, she stood up, more as an act of defiance than a motion to alight from the bus. She walked towards the front exit before anyone else could then quickly turned around and addressed, nay, cursed the entire bus except me: “Jo’Narobi, ero itu odinre ka it oyieyo, ubiro tho chooon!” [The people of Nairobi, I see your ears are blocked like those of a mouse, you will all die very early].
Then Dana and I alighted from the bus triumphantly, followed by an assortment of Nairobians, each dashing out of the bus to some destination in the crowded city.
Many years later, and many books later, while reading about the Polish artist, Jerzy Growtosky, I fully appreciated Dana’s action on that bus. Like Dana, Growtosky was worried that people in the city were no longer talking to each other. So, like Dana, Grotowsky observed prophetically: “If cows could dialogue, not all of them would go the slaughterhouse.”
Thu Tinda!
PS: To my sisters and brothers in Fiji Islands, this story is dedicated to you. In particular, I honour the work of Sashi Kiran, Adi Vasulevu Merewalesi, Vosita Lenisaurua and Paulo Baleinakorodawa with prayers that Mother Earth and Father Sky make it possible, during the seasons that I am in this part of the world, to accompany you in your beautiful work of economic empowerment, dialogue, restoration, dignity and healing of our relationships and our land.
dibanjo 