Awazi

I had my most extraordinary and surreal experience to date when I spent four days with the family of one of the teachers I've been working with. Charles invited me to stay with his family in Awazi months ago and I'd looked forward to the visit with a mixture of trepidation, aprehension and intrigue. I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that they lived about six hours from Nairobi towards Kisumu (one of the biggest towns in Kenya). Whether they lived in a town or in the countryside, in a mansion or mud hut, I could only guess at.
On the day we were to leave I met Charles early in the morning in the centre of Nairobi where we caught the coach that was to take us to Awazi. It was all very civilised and comfortable but I was comforted to see that we still had a few chickens as fellow passangers so the experience wasn't too 'normal'. The drive to Awazi was long, hot, incredibly bumpy and beautiful. We passed through some stunning scenery including the Rift Valley, lakes Naivasha and Baringo and the tea plantations in Kerichio.
I was a little surprised when Charles informed me that we had arrived at our stop as we didn't seem to be anywhere that resembled a town or village. We alighted none the less and within seconds of our feet touching the ground a swarm of bikes and trolleys were being wheeled at speed towards us by men hoping to carry our bags. Charles seemed to know all the guys and threw our bags onto one of the bikes which I watched disappear into the distance with a slight sense of panic. Charles then escorted me to his home which was a fifteen minute walk away from the main road into the countryside down a dusty track.
His arrival back in Awazi after almost two years certainly caused a real stir. Old women shrieked with joy to see him return, friends slapped him on the back, children ran up to hug him. Charles introduced me to them all and I was rather surprised to discover that every passer by just happened to be a member of his family; an aunt or uncle or cousin or brother. I was soon to learn that when both your Grandfather and your Father has three wives, one's family is pretty extensive. In fact almost everyone living in Awazi (several hundred) was a part of Charles' family.
As I walked beside Charles, people stared at me with real intrigue. They were clearly wondering what on earth Charles was doing bring a white woman home. This is not something that happens every day in these parts. They all seemed to draw the obvious conclusion; I was his wife. This conclusion clearly accounted for the hearty slaps on the back Charles received from friends and uncles who thought that Charles had done really well for himself! A couple of old women stopped to greet us. Although I couldn't understand a word of what they were saying I was touched by their enthusiasm to see us both and assumed that they were saying something hilariously funny as Charles kept disolving into hysterical laughter while attempting to restrain their hands which they waved over us energetically. Only when Charles explained to me that they were trying to perform a traditional wedding blessing did I understand his slightly hysterical laughter. Even more so when he informed them that I wasn't his wife and so they wanted to perform a blessing that would ensure I would become his wife! It soon became clear that everyone assumed Charles was bringing his wife home to meet his family so I quickly took him to one side and begged him to assure me that he had informed his parents that I was not his wife as I wasn't sure I'd handle the embarrasment of breaking up a wedding celbration. I shouldn't have worried. Charles' family were delightful, welcoming, incredibly generous, great fun and I immediately felt at home. His parents didn't speak English or Swahili but their tribal language Luo so Charles acted as translator.
The head of Charles' family is his father Bernard. Charles is the youngest of Bernard's ten children from wife number one. Bernard has three wives in total, all of whom have born him many children (I think he has 23 in total). Bernard's sons all live on the same plot of land (the daughters have married so live on their husband's family land) with their wives and children. There was a real sense of community, love and support amongst the family that I became quite envious of. The way the family lived together, knew everything about each other and shared everything felt natural and made sense to me. I'm not sure my family would be able to tolerate living like that but I think it would be fun!
Their houses were all made out of a mixture of mud and cow dung with either straw or (if you're lucky) sheet iron roofs. Each house has one room which is divided into a living and sleeping area. They were very sparse but comfortable and cool in the day and warm at night. They were incredibly dark as very little natural light comes in and there's no electricity at night so everything has to be done by candles or lanterns. I was given my own home which had a lovely little bed with a mosqito net and a table and chairs. I shared it with Charles' eldest niece Elizabeth (10) who looked after me and became a great friend. The loo was a hole in the floor in a shed in a neighbouring feild and I was given a bowl of warm water to wash with in the evenings. The water was taken to a small shelter that consisted of three poles with some cloth hanging over them. I was thankful for the thick darkness as I felt more than a little exposed but it was a treat bathing under the stars.
On my first morning Charles woke me and informed me that we had been invited for breakfast with his uncle (all meals were eaten with the men as the women served the food and ate together with the children). Charles' uncle was a fascinating man who was able to speak English well and asked me some very challenging questions about the British governement. I tried to answer them as best I could but one question completely confused me and almost made me spit out my tea; 'Are you shaved?'. I looked at him blankly while trying to remain poliet. 'Sorry?'. He repeated. 'Are you shaved?'. Again I stuttered and blinked rapidly trying to work out what he was asking me. 'My wife and I are both shaved' Errr? 'We used to be Catholic but we have been shaved and now just follow Jesus'. Oh 'saved' PHEW.
We had a wonderful breakfast of sweet tea, mandazi (similar to doughnut without the hole or sugar coating) pawpaw and white bread. After many formal thankyous for 'blessing' his home with my presence (!) Charles and I left, I thought, to get ready for a trip into Kisumu. But I was wrong. We had also been invited for breakfast by one of his brothers. So we had more sweet tea and more white bread and more serious conversation. After this we took breakfast with a cousin. A few more cups of white tea and a few more slices of bread later and I was feeling pretty sick. But we weren't finished. We had 5 breakfasts in total. Lunch and supper was a similar affair and after four days I had put on almost a stone and swore I'd only ever eat fruit again. I was so touched by everyone's excessive generosity. The family had very little and were clearly poor and struggling to get by but they made every effort to make me feel comfortable and welcomed. I've never experienced such generosity and I was deeply affected by it.
One real delight was the children who, once they had overcome their shyness and fear of this strange white woman, never left my side. We couldn't communicate but we didn't let this stop us and soon they were all singing jinglebells and 'he's got the whole world in his hands' at the tops of their voices. I managed to further disturb the peace when I bought a large bag of lolly pops that doubled as whistles. I was woken the next morning around 5am by a chorus of whistles outside my door wanting to wake me so I could play. I only had myself to blame. That said, there wasn't much opportunity for a lie in as cows, chickens and goats acted as very reliable alarm clocks either from outside or inside my room!
The whole experience was extraordinary and when I left I really felt as if I was saying goodbye to a new family. During my final breakfast with Charles' parents his father made a speech blessing me, thanking me, hoping that my dreams were fulfilled and hoping that my friendship with Charles would continue to grow! He told me to remember that the sky is the limit. I don't know what hopes they have for me and Charles but I know that I'll be welcomed back regardless. The final thing he said was that I was so different to white people and that I must have an African heart. Of course he was wrong. I'm no different to anyone else. He just had his own assumptions about what white people are like, just as so many white people have their own assumptions about Africans. His surprise that I was so like them just reconfirmed for me what so much of my time out here has taught me. We really are all exactly the same, in everyway, just with a skin colour that best suits the climate we live in.