SCARS OF KENYA’S HISTORY EXPOSED ON STAGE

By Margaretta wa Gacheru (posted 5 June for 7 June 2019)

‘Written on the Body’, by Andia Kisia, directed by Mugambi Nthiga and produced by Sheba Hirst is a tour de force, a production unprecedented for its blazing honesty mixed with searing horror, ironic humor and wit.

It’s a horror derived from a history too many Kenyans forget. That could be why Kisia chose to create a series of unforgettable vignettes that blend poetry and powerful portraits which are often painfully poignant as they depict a past and present that has never before been framed in such a daring and provocative way.

Put simply, her portraits reveal a Kenyan history of oppression and resistance. Putting them all into one play means they are abbreviated, like snap-shot moments in time that reflect a wider truth that you may have to go home and research yourself. But before you do, you’ll have to appreciate the way Andia uses poetry to evoke emotions and embody a whole epoch in a single scene.

Fortunately, her cast is filled with poets who understand the beauty of brevity. They are also such good actors that they easily and credibly switch from one role to another, often playing antithetical characters.

For instance, an actor like Joseph Wairimu can start as an angry ‘slave’, then become a naive school boy being trained by Marianne Nungo (who subsequently becomes a Judge) to slash-and-slaughter fellow Kenyans in the pre-and post-election violence days.

Someone like Elsaphan Njora can shift from being a bored mortician tired of counting dead bodies following the 1982 failed coup to becoming a relentless interrogator of those who resisted the oppressive Moi era of the Eighties and 90s.

One theatre-goer told me he thought the play was too violent. “Why couldn’t there have been a few good things about Kenya in the play?”  he asked. The playwright wasn’t there to answer, but the lay-critic had to admit that every scene reflected actual elements of Kenyan history.

‘Written on the body’ goes all the way back to the Arab slave trade and colonial hut tax times. It takes us into a Mau Mau concentration camp where violence was the order of the day and even into what looked like the basement of Nyayo House where torture was also tragically common place.

Some vignettes might seem difficult to situate in time. But that would be only if the viewer hadn’t been keeping track of the strategies used by powers-that-be to retain place even when it meant violating Kenyan people’s human rights.

For instance, the slave trader (Abu Sense) used the African sycophant (Ngartia Bryan) to interface with the captured Africans who are being bought and sold.

It’s a similar strategy to what the colonizer used by training African home guards to betray their own people and abuse them in countless ways. For instance, there’s one scene in which a ‘gakunia’ (hooded informer) identifies Mau Mau freedom fighters for the Home Guards. The cruelty of the deed is implicit, but so is the cowardice.

The play doesn’t only dwell on the past. Nor are the torture tactics only physical. In more recent times, we meet two women civil servants (Shivishe Shivisi & Mercy Mutisya) out to torture a fellow Kenyan (Akinyi Oluoch) who’s been out of the country for years, but now has come home wanting a Kenyan ID.  The two women amuse themselves by taunting and playing games with the young woman. They insult her with glee and finally refuse her application as they exercise their petty power.

In the Moi era, the courts were often used to process innocents as well as dissidents. In one stance, two university students (Ngartia & Gitura Kamau) have been arrested and charged with treason and espionage. The treasonous deed is reading too long in the university library. The espionage charge derives from the student’s walking past the Libyan embassy and being deemed an agent of a foreign government. A scene like this is spiced with absurdist wit to make one laugh at what one might prefer to think was fiction. But no, episodes such as these actually happen and Kenyans suffer as a consequence.

The portraits of women were mixed, but again, their variety embodies the acuity of Kisia’s eye for seeing the ways of ordinary Kenyans. But the lens through which she views her people is clear-eyed yet unforgiving.

The beauty of ‘Written on the body’ is that it’s a play that leaves its indelible mark on your mind, compelling one to seek a deeper grasp of the country’s present and past.

A REVOLUTION OF THE MIND REQUIRED

By Margaretta wa Gacheru (posted 5 June 2019 for 7 June)

When both Amnesty International and the Kenya Human Rights Commission endorse a play like ‘Deliberate Contempt’ by Hearts of Art, then you know theatre arts aren’t only for entertainment. They can also enlighten, educate and even make their audience want to join the ‘revolution of the mind’ that Mufasa the Poet speaks about at the end of this sequel to ‘Necessary Madness’ (NM1) by Walter Sitati.

Sitati already staged the sequel once last month. But each time he addresses the topic of Kenya-styled corruption -- be it on the roads, in the hospitals or among the police, he seems to get more eloquent and his cast more inspired.

The only problem is that as his characters deepen and develop in NM2, one can’t help feeling you needed to see NM1 to understand how each one evolves as the story unfolds.

For instance, the Governor (Benson Ojuwa) displays the full extent of his corruption in NM1. The fact that his daughter Ziki (Azziad Nasenya) dies in a matatu he owns and has instructed Officer Dakarai (Peter Kawa) to let pass, despite its not being roadworthy, isn’t easily understood without having seen NM1.

One also can’t fully understand how the once-happy family of Dakarai has fallen apart due to the split between conscience, cherished by the mum (Veronica Waceke) and daughter Nessa, (Frazier Chilande) and its erosion as experienced by the dad, without seeing NM1.

Nonetheless, it wouldn’t have been advised to stay away from ‘Deliberate Contempt’ just because you’d missed NM1. The Governor is still cynically self-serving, and NM2 has the benefit of Gilbert Lukalia coming in as the Gov’s overbearing but morally upright dad who drains the hubris out of his son.

Both NM1 and NM2 display Ziki’s ‘joie de vivre’. The free-spirited daughter of the Governor dies at the end of NM1. But Sitati brings her back in her best friend Nessa’s dreams in NM2, the after-life handled delicately and quite naturally by the writer.

But the voice of the people that provides the most rousing moments of the play is that of Mufasa, whose powerful words close the show.

The previous version of NM2 saw the Gov and his advocate (Nick Ndeda) manage to corrupt the system so that both Gov and Dakarai get off. This time, Sitati leaves it open-ended with Mufasa’s salient message: change will come when we change.

TITLES TO ATTRACT ATTENTION (then and now)

                                                                               Clavers Odhiambo's Kiko

BY Margaretta wa Gacheru (posted 4 June 2019)

Titles attached to exhibitions of events can be informative or ill-advised. For instance, the exhibition currently at Banana Hill Art Gallery by Nigerian artist Adeshina Ademola is appropriate. ‘Beyond Borders’ makes sense as a lead into a show filled with works by a man who’s defied regional boundaries and come all the way from Lagos just to share his art with art lovers in Nairobi.

                                                                               Adeshina's Symbols of Authority

On the other hand, an exhibition entitled ‘Then and Now’ which is just down the road at Village Market makes one wonder. ‘Then’ refers to past tense, the implication being that two of the four Kenyan artists on show are ‘past tense’ or old news.

But from the look of the works by Alan Githuka and Wanyu Brush, the two senior artists in the show, there’s nothing ‘has-been’ or outdated about the art of these two venerable artists, both of whom harken from Ngecha village in Kiambu county.

                                                                               Alan Githuka's Mother Nature

Indeed, in the 1980s, Ngecha was seen as a major fount of creative expression from which came a vast array of local talents. It featured everyone from Sane Wadu, Sebastian Kiarie, King Dodge Kang’oroti and Chain Muhandi as well as Githuka, Brush and many others. The late Ruth Shaffner had even planned to build an art centre in Ngecha in order to nurture that talent. But somehow it was waylaid and another Centre got established at the National Museum which became Kuona Trust.

Ngecha artists like Brush were disillusioned by that turn of events, especially as Ms. Schaffner died soon after Kuona was formed, based on a blueprint from the Watatu Foundation. So it is heartening to see a show featuring these two Ngecha giants.

Githuka’s landscapes can never fail to please the eyes with his beautiful blend of red-soiled rolling hills and sun-lit azure blue skies, several of which are featured in the VM show. His cityscapes were among the first of many others to reveal Kenya’s perennial problem of overcrowding with his portraits of slum houses stacked in multicolored rows looking tightly packed but tidy all the same.

                                                                               Wanyu Brush's People at Work

Brush is one of Kenya’s first semi-abstract artists. It’s a style he has retained in works like ‘Let’s Rejoice’ and ‘People at work’, pieces that are also part of the Village Market show.

For sure, Githuka and Brush come from an earlier era and generation than Clavers Odhiambo and Richard Kuria. But all four them ought to be seen as operating in the ‘now’. All are present tense. In fact, Kuria has been around a bit longer than Clavers, but they both are playing active roles in Kenya’s art scene currently.

Both men paint portraits of Kenyans although Kuria’s repertoire, which invariably includes chunks of black vinyl disks, (what used to be called ‘45’ records) also has an inclination comparable to what many genius matatu artists once had, which is to paint international celebrities, particularly soul, reggae and hip hop artistes, like Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley.

                                                                            Richard Kuria's Lafayette Afro

Clavers, on the other hand, has already become something of a star in his own right. His hyper-realistic style captures audiences’ attention with immediacy. They normally have to ask: is it a photography or a painting? It’s a fair question since his art takes a literal approach to representation. Be his subjects young or old, fat or thin, he manages to represent every imperfection, smile line, wrinkle or pensive gaze, mastering skin hues, receding hair lines and any other quirky point.

                                                                                     Clavers Odhiambo's Echoes 1

There are some critics who question the value of hyper-realism, or super-realism, which they will say can be easily replaced with a photograph, an item some say they normally ‘plagiarize’. But then when the art form has reached the level of being deemed an international art movement, one would rather ask, why isn’t Clavers Odhiambo already included among the rest? For his attention to detail, perspective and focus are extraordinary. His subjects literally seem to come alive on his canvas as his art suggests he has a shared intimacy with them.

In contrast, the subjects of Adeshina Ademola’s paintings feel more mechanized and geometric. His most interesting works (for me) are his abstract jigsaw puzzle paintings, including ‘Symbols of Authority’ and ‘Sayings of the Elders’. However, his ‘One Commandment’ feels almost like a stained- glass window illumined with rich crimson, gold, green and turquoise light. Take a trip up to Banana Hill and see for yourself.

                                                                            Richard Kuria's Vinyl on board

MAYA ANGELOU TRIBUTE INSPIRES YOUTH IN MAKADARA

By Margaretta wa Gacheru (posted 29 May 2019 for 31 May)

When Angela Wachuka and Wanjiru Koinange founded the Book Bunk in 2017, it wasn’t just to rehabilitate all three Kenyan national libraries: the main one being McMillan and the two branches in Kaloleni and Makadara. It was also to advance what’s been described as a ‘reading revolution’ in Kenya.

The job of renovating all three dilapidated structures is a major task which Wachuka and Wanjiru have relished. It’s by no means done, but interesting young people in reading and utilizing the libraries could be an even more challenging feat.

That’s why it was refreshing to see so many young people at the “Tribute to Maya Angelou” performance at the Makadara Library Branch last Saturday.

Many were seated around the large reading room that had been converted into performance space by the mother-daughter team of artists, actress Mumbi Kaigwa and musician Mo Pearson.

Others relaxed on the floor right in front of the two women who had brought with them a whole lot of indigenous African instruments that the youth would get their chance to play.

Mo also brought her acoustic guitar and Mumbi brought her talent as a lover of poetry, particular Maya Angelou’s.

The award-winning African American poet, singer, memoirist and civil rights activist died almost exactly five years ago, on May 28^th, 2014 at the age of 86. But because she left so much powerful poetry behind (which she often performed), her memory will never die. Not if performers like Mumbi and Mo have anything to do with it!

Mumbi performed several of Maya’s best-known poems, including ‘As I rise’, ‘Hold fast to dreams’ and ‘Phenomenal Woman’ among others. And Mo sang her own original songs which were partially inspired by Maya.

How their performances fit into the Book Bunk agenda was by bringing alive words that would otherwise be left of the written page. What’s more, children in the audience were invited up to perform with the musical instruments as Mumbi dramatized Maya’s moving words. That interactive element made their performance even more meaningful to the young teens who were the main age-group in the hall.

Mo’s singing was too brief, but it was beautiful and definitely sent electric changes through the audience who easily identified with Mo who’d just graduated from university a relatively short time ago.

Mumbi ended their performance by dramatizing one of Maya’s best loved poems, ‘Hold fast to dreams.’ After that she opened the floor, inviting anyone to ask questions or say something in response to their show. This was when things opened up.

Initially, in typical Kenyan style, the room fell silent and nobody said a word until Valentine Omwaka Nyanje, age 13, finally raised her hand, then stood and sounded like she could become Kenya’s next Maya Angelou equivalent.

The standard eight student from St John’s Primary School in Kaloleni didn’t share a poem. Instead, she shared sentiments similar to Maya’s main message which is to believe in yourself. She spoke about the ‘kihere here’ or the passion inside her that was pushing her to do special things with her life. She said everyone had that ‘kihere here’ and ought to listen to it and act upon it.

After she sat down, a number of kids raised their hands and took turns sharing their hopes, dreams and ambitions. Their enthusiastic remarks could have gone on all afternoon if Wanjiru Koinange hadn’t gotten up, thanked everyone for coming and then invited them to have a delicious lunch, courtesy of the Book Bunk.  

The one aspect of the event that might have been slightly better suited to an older audience was an audio-tape of Maya Angelou speaking along with a number of African American poets like Langston Hughes, the champion boxer Mohammed Ali and other civil rights activists, including James Baldwin and Martin Luther King, Jr.

Personally I enjoyed Mumbi’s tape because it was an excellent means of establishing the political and social context within which to place Maya’s life work.

One person who was delighted with both the Book Bunk’s and the Mumbi-Mo initiative was Douglas Kierieni, the retired banker and columnist at Business Daily.

“This is like a dream come true for me,” he said beaming as the children got in line to eat well-cooked green grams, rice and cabbage. “I’ve been appealing in my BD column for someone to revive the libraries, and now it’s happening.”

HOW FARCE CAN FRUSTRATE

(posted 29 May for 31 May 2019)

Not to be too critical (especially as I admire Talenta Yetu), but it must be said that farce is not the equivalent to overacting. And I saw a lot of the latter in their latest production, ‘Our Prophet says he is dead’.

One only needs to study masterful writers of farce like Moliere or Shakespeare to appreciate that a farce is one of the most difficult genres of theatre to write. The farcical elements emerge out of a credible story that becomes incredible out of logical circumstances.

Scripted and directed by Joseph Murunga, the play had a credible plot line, especially for Kenya where we have too many ‘prophets’ who are first class conmen like Prophet Pius Power (Fanuel Mulwa) who wants to ‘die’ and rise again like Jesus Christ with the aid of the doctor who’s agreed to provide the drug that will make him look dead. An antidote will induce the ‘resurrection’ but it must be taken in good time to ensure the nearly fatal drug’s effect is not permanent.

We meet Pius in a hotel room, but wonder why he’d choose that location to ‘die’. Wouldn’t it arouse suspicions? Why was he there? With whom? And when would his body be found?

Then there’s the ‘Doctor’ Kiti (Sybil Mukandutite). She’s got on a white hospital coat. But chewing gum and wearing a short jump suit aren’t exactly a professional’s style. Yet Pius doesn’t detect anything strange. Nor does he recognize Kiti as a girl he’d impregnated 18 years before. It’s his life on the line but he’s apparently so full of himself, he doesn’t realize he could be conned just as easily as he cons others.

But Pius eventually learns that not only Dr. Kiti is cheating him. Even his wife Patricia (Mary Kimani) and most ‘devoted’ parishioner Imanass (Clement Ochieng) are doing so.

None of their tricks are exposed until after Kiti tells Pius ‘a story’. This is where the confusion comes. She says the drug can be risky as she had one case of a conman who accidentally died. Then she goes into the story. But is it a flashback in which Pius dramatizes her ‘conman’? Or is she actually referring to Pius the conman, or is it a farcical dream scenario, a sort of ‘what if’ she drugged Pius but then let him die? But how could a dream include Patricia’s and Imanass reveal their real-life ten-year affair? If a dream, how could Kiti disclose she’s the innocent whom he seduced and who subsequently gave birth to his child?

It’s total confusion which I guess the playwright felt was appropriate for farce. But however absurd a farce can be, there needs to be an underlying logic.

As the play ended, I wasn’t sure if Pius really died since he never gets the antidote in the ‘dream’, or he merely collapsed in shock at discovering Kiti has got him to sign away millions to her, Imanass and Patricia? Maybe I’m just thick, but it was hard to tell.

HOW FARCE CAN FRUSTRATE (first draft, written soon after I saw the show)

Not to be too critical (especially as I admire Talenta Yetu), but it must be said that farce is not the equivalent to overacting. And I saw a lot of the latter in their latest production, ‘Our Prophet says he is dead’.

One only needs to study masterful writers of farce like Moliere or Shakespeare to appreciate that a farce is one of the most difficult genres of theatre to write. The farcical elements emerge out of a credible story that becomes incredible out of logical circumstances.

Scripted and directed by Joseph Murunga, the play had a credible plot line, especially for Kenya where we have too many ‘prophets’ who are first class conmen like Prophet Pius Power (Fanuel Mulwa) who wants to ‘die’ and rise again like Jesus Christ with the aid of the doctor who’s agreed to provide the drug that will make him look dead. An antidote will induce the ‘resurrection’ but it must be taken in good time to ensure the nearly fatal drug’s effect is not permanent.

We meet Pius in a hotel room, but wonder why he’d choose that location to ‘die’. Wouldn’t it arouse suspicions? Why was he there? With whom? And when would his body be found?

Then there’s the ‘Doctor’ Kiti (Sybil Mukandutite). She’s got on a white hospital coat. But chewing gum and wearing a short jump suit aren’t exactly a professional’s style. Yet Pius doesn’t detect anything strange. Nor does he recognize Kiti as a girl he’d impregnated 18 years before. It’s his life on the line but he’s apparently so full of himself, he doesn’t realize he could be conned just as easily as he cons others.

But Pius eventually learns that not only Dr. Kiti is cheating him. Even his wife Patricia (Mary Kimani) and most ‘devoted’ parishioner Imanass (Clement Ochieng) are doing so.

None of their tricks are exposed until after Kiti tells Pius ‘a story’. This is where the confusion comes. She says the drug can be risky as she had one case of a conman who accidentally died. Then she goes into the story. But is it a flashback in which Pius dramatizes her ‘conman’? Or is she actually referring to Pius the conman, or is it a farcical dream scenario, a sort of ‘what if’ she drugged Pius but then let him die? But how could a dream include Patricia’s and Imanass reveal their real-life ten-year affair? If a dream, how could Kiti disclose she’s the innocent whom he seduced and who subsequently gave birth to his child?

It’s total confusion which I guess the playwright felt was appropriate for farce. But however absurd a farce can be, there needs to be an underlying logic.

As the play ended, I wasn’t sure if Pius really died since he never gets the antidote in the ‘dream’, or he merely collapsed in shock at discovering Kiti has got him to sign away millions to her, Imanass and Patricia? Maybe I’m just thick, but it was hard to tell.

MARIE COLVIN: JOURNALISM AT THE WAR FRONT

By Margaretta wa Gacheru (posted 28 May 2019)

Anyone who wants to know what it means to be a real journalist needs to watch ‘A Private War’. The US-UK co-production that came out in February directed by Matthew Heineman isn’t an easy film to see. But most Kenyan film-viewers are no long squeamish seeing blood, guts and body parts flying, especially if they’ve watched even a few minutes of ‘Game of Thrones’.  

‘A Private War’ is based on the real-life story of the American war correspondent, Marie Colvin who became a living legend for her daring eye-witness coverage of the fiercest wars, revolutions and uprising of the late 20^th and early 21^st centuries.

She covered war zones everywhere from Tripoli, Gaza, Eritrea and Chechnya to Basra, Cairo and Homs, Syria where she lost her life in 2012. But that was not before she was able to tell the world, both in print and by live video, what she had seen firsthand—starving women and children being bombed by the Republican Army of Bashir Al-Assad, even as he’d tried to claim only rebels were being hit in Homs.

Colvin’s portrayal by Rosemund Pike captures the charisma and reckless courage of the woman that fellow journalist have often written about. One can even see it in the documentary film that was released in 2017 which features her during her last days and wearing her trademark eye-patch.

The eye-patch was earned in 2001 in Sri Lanka where she was blasted while running across a front line trying to get back into government-controlled territory so she could continue giving authentic accounts of what was really going in at the front, particularly as it affected innocent civilians.

Hit by shrapnel during a bomb blast, she lost her sight in her left eye, a scene powerfully conveyed in the film which doesn’t shy away from revealing the pain and personal suffering she felt in spite of her doing when she felt compelled to do.

Colvin was renowned for her courage, which she would joke might have been more about ‘bravado’ than bravery. But whatever the reasons for her choosing to go straight to the riskiest war zones in the world and remain longer than the rest of her media peers, she narrated news that made her a media celebrity, whether she wanted it or not.

She interviewed guerrilla leaders like the late Yasser Arafat and controversial heads of state like Col. Muammar Gaddafi. But just as easily did she listen to and speak for the widows and orphans whose plight would have been unknown if she hadn’t told their stories in print.

One of the best lessons aspiring journalists can take away from a film like ‘A Private War’ is seeing how Colvin embodied the type of journalism that bears witness to realities on the ground, however violent or life-threatening. She paid the price at 54 years old. But outside the film, the media recently reported that a US District Court Judge just found the Syrian government liable for her death to the tune of USD302 million.

  

STURDY SUCCULENTS SURVIVE DROUGHTS AND DOWNPOURS

                                         Lettuce-like echeveria hybrid grown by Celia Hardy and Barry Cameron

By Margaretta wa Gacheru (posted May 28, 2019)

Succulents are the savior of many a gardener in Kenya who didn’t want to be devastated during the recent drought by the withering of all their other plants.

For succulents are specifically designed to retain water in arid climates, including the drought we just had, and which in some parts of Kenya, people are still suffering from.

“Succulents can go for as long as three weeks without watering,” says Celia Hardy, an award winner at the recent plant and flower show for her lovely display of potted succulent plants.

“So if you forget to water your plants for a week, your succulents will survive,” she adds. “They are also tolerant of heat.”

Succulents come from all over the world, especially from arid environs. They are indigenous to countries like South Africa and Mexico, and there are also home-grown succulents from Kenya.

There were many succulents on display at the plant and flower show. The winning ones were grown by Celia and Barry Cameron, Balinda Ahluwalia, Vishy Talwar and by the Succulenta Society. But even more gardeners entered succulents this year since their other plants hadn’t survived the dry, hot weather.

“Lots of people are buying succulents to have in their homes since they are so easy to look after,” says Celia who admits that even succulents can occasionally whither when the heat is sustained, as it was for the many months when the rains did not come.

“But even when they wither and curl up, once they are watered, they will return to their normal vitality and shape,” she adds.

And she should know since she won a first prize and silver trophy for her amazing table display of succulents. She had everything from a ‘crassula rupestris marnierana’, also known as the ‘Jade necklace’ for its bead-like strings and a ‘crassula ovata’ or ‘Hummel’s sunset’ for its brilliant yellow and lime green leaves to the head-lettuce-like ‘echeveria hybrid’ and the spiky ‘ferro’ cactus.

The ferro cactus was similar to the super-spiky ‘echinocactus grusonii’ which is also known as the ‘mother-in-law’s cushion’. It’s the one that also won Balinder Ahluwalia a prize for its exquisite form and beauty.

“My ‘mother-in-law’s cushion’ is 20 years old, but the Peter Greensmith’s nursery has 40- and 50-year-old ones that grow as tall as half a meter high,” Balinder says.

Noting that succulents like hers require lots of sun, she adds that when there’s a heavy downpour, she’s so protective of her potted plant that she quickly keeps it in the family garage until the rain stops. That’s one of the reasons her succulents thrive, whether there’s drought or downpour.

Celia says succulents run from Sh150 up to Sh15,000. “The ‘pachypodium’ is our most expensive succulent,” she says, adding that she only displayed one-tenth of the succulent varieties that she grows at ‘Plants Galore’ in Roslyn.

There was just one ‘pachypodium’ in the plant show. Vishy Talwar, this year’s show chairman proudly took BD over to see his award-winning tree-like succulent. “It was the only plant I entered in the show this year, so I am delighted that it also won a first prize,” he says.

                                                                                   Celia's Sedum wintonii