The 100th International Women's Day

Nearly 3 months have passed and I am back in the rat race of the London Underground. The sounds that surround the bustle of life in Nairobi and Addis continue to reverberate. Coffee from Yeshi Buna is brewing, filling the kitchen with the rich fragrance that I was enjoying in homes throughout Ethiopia a few weeks ago. Not quite the ceremony it deserves, but the taste brings it all back to the surface...

I was fortunate to take part in a seminar entitled 'Art and the Environment' convened by curator Meskerem Assegued and based on the solo show by artist Elias Sime entitled 'Ants and Ceremicists', which was held simultaneously at the Goethe Institute, British Council, Italian Cultural Institute and Alliance Francaise. The group, brought together writer and critic Pauline Burmann and Vera Tollman, historian Ahmed Zekaria, architect Dawit Benti, curators Claudia Zeiske and Zoma Wallace and writer Juna Wallace. The seminar took us to the new Zoma Contemporary Arts Centre based in the village of Harla: a short drive from Dire Dawa, east of Addis Ababa. We were met by local children, illustrious women and a wise man called Ali Musa, who adopted me and called me 'Iftu' (morning sun in Orominya). We spent a night in a beautiful Harari home and fed wild hyenas in Jegol. The final seminar was held at the British Council in Addis - and collated our thoughts and opened up more questions on the relationship between art and the environment including heritage, community and social responsibility.

Ethiopia needs time, like anywhere else, to understand it and fully appreciate the country and its people. I was struck by the intimacy between men - physically and because of the amount of time they spend in cafes watching the world go by. The hospitality made the experience somewhat familiar even in the most remote village.
I did not take many photographs... pulling a camera out disconnects and I wanted to absorb as much as I can and remember in snippets directly from the memory. The ones I did take seem disappointing now that I am back. Still, some remain on film I am yet to process. All visual hope is not lost and I will post some when they make it to a darkroom soon.

There is a pride in Ethiopia I have never sensed from other Africans I have met. A pride that steeped in history and the sustaining of culture for culture's sake, which invites others, but can at times be taken as arrogance. There are things that don't work. Education that is taught in English and often left to unreasonable chance in terms of course selection at graduate level may not nurture a generation that is passionate about careers they did not necessarily choose. Indifference does not breed change. But there are many claiming ownership in their desired industries. Many of which, Im happy to say, are women.

My experience was enriched by strangers I met in buses and cafes, those in the seminar and many people including and not limited to curators Meskerem Assegued and Konjit Seyoum and artists Elias Sime, Behailu Bezabih, Robel Temesgen, Kebreab Demeke, Helen Zeru, Maedot Getahun and Polly Brannan.

IDP, seeks M, 35-40...

I spent the best part of last weekend at my aunt's in a suburb in Nairobi. A jubilant family get together, which served as a gentle warm up to the festive season's indulgence. Mrs M, as I will call her, works for my aunt... cooking, cleaning and doing all the things that have become tedious for many Kenyan women who can afford the help.

Upon hearing I'm from the UK, a contagious smile grew accross her face. Listing her domestic prowess, executed in the little English she could speak, she asked if I knew any men over there that may be interested in an IDP.

Her story is similar, yet painfully unique to the thousands that lost loved ones during the 2007-8 post-election violence. A reminder of the failure of the government to resettle and relocate citizens who continue to live in camps. Mrs M joked about the fact that, being considerably tall, her feet would stick out of the tent. She keeps herself busy, too busy according to my aunt. She recalled how she was made to watch her husband being killed and fears for her oldest son who remained at the camp.

As I said, many share stories of loss... and yet looking at the political landscape at the moment, nothing much has changed. Last week, victims of the violence were hopeful at the prospect of the ICC breathing justice to Kenya's history of political impunity. The names of 6 prominent figures were listed as suspects who perpetrated the violence. The ICC does not have the power to carry this burden, and last night, MPs made this clear by expressing their solidarity to 'The Hague 6' by supporting a motion by to withdraw Kenya from the Rome Statute. However, Prime Minister Raila Odinga is keen to state that this is not the government's position, affirming that the withdrawl would be an exercise of futility.

Membership to the ICC places obligations on the state and it seems that when Kenya is required to rise to the responsibility tied to this, it fails miserably. This lax attitude to obligations is both international and national as was the case of the Memorandum of Understanding, signed in 2002, which set out provisions that were unclear and remained unfulfilled.
The only people that suffer are hard-working mwananchi like Mrs M.

Sat next to my 8 year old cousin in her red t-shirt that announced her opposition to the new constitution that passed in August 2010, I am reminded of the fact that politics is everywhere and ingrained in everything that breathes here.

Just today, a 14 year old boy was buried after committing suicide when Deputy Prime Minister Uhuru Kenyatta, a Kikuyu, was announced as one of
'The Hague 6'. On the drive home, my aunt tells me that Luo men are marrying Kikuyu women to secure a vote for Prime Minister Raila Odinga, a Luo, who is tipped to take the presidency in 2012. According to her, Kikuyus will do anything to keep Raila out of the race, even voting for Vice President Musyoka Kalonzo, a Kamba, who is seen by some as the least tribalist of the presidential contenders. He will need all the support he can get being the only representative of the Kalenjin-Kikuyu-Kamba (also unfortunately known as the KKK) coalition who has survived the wrath of Ocampo's list of suspects.

Perhaps Kenya is turning a new page - keen to dislodge politics from tribal affiliations. This may be the case for many youth. I join them in their quest to challenge this affliction. Yet a part of me remains wary. The media is thriving, but still falls under the fate of sensationalism. The current enthusiastic name dropping that is taking place as MPs face investigation into drug traficking is overshadowing the analysis that may shed light on the importance of the demarcation of boundaries that will create constituencies and determine the representation of MPs, allocation of government funds and inevitably determine how far the promise of devolution enshrined in the new constitution will reach.
And as we all know, once we get to the land issue, the tribal issue hastily follows along with it's ugly friend 'entitlement'.

Mr M was murdered because his killers considered him to be the wrong tribe in the land that he owned, worked and enjoyed with his family all his life.

If the voices on the street are anything to go by... he won't be the last.

Borrowed Intimacy

At the blink of an eye, months turned to years.
As days and promises lost their significance.
You came and went with frequency and affection.
Unable to commit to any sense of shared space.

The breathless passion of our content youth.
Explored by bodies innocent of age and anger.
We carried the ability to dream whilst awake.
Prophetic visions and not simply reflections.

I resign myself to nature and the universality of maturity.
The spark easily ignited now takes hours to ignite.
I relinquish its ownership and succumb to reality.
You were never an object to own.

This intimacy should never have been shared, enjoyed or even loved.
I lost myself in you.
And lost you to her.

Morning

Reality flew out of the window and settled on the balcony with a view of the Thames.
All that had made him a fixture in the future disintegrated that very morning.
A fragrant realisation filtered in with the morning light.
The moment had arrived for my eminent departure.

The day he walked into my life...

The day he walked into my life
My step caught an infectious spring
It marked the dawn of a New Day
The dawn of a New World.


I didnt think Id see the day that a 'man of colour' would grace the White House.
Over a week has passed... the headlines have said it all.
But the effects will resonate into our urban and private schools...

As children look on as we become supposedly more equal and the colour barrier fades.

Perhaps its idealism.

A member on a forum, a white American known as YankeeD, stated that he now fears he will be sent to the gas chambers.

This dawn may be a long one. But Im glad Im alive to wake with it.

Fierce blushing

As the earth renews and the autumn leaves fiercely blush a sumptuous crimson...

they will inevitably fall... and disintergrate under our feet.

The proletariat as well as the bourgeoisie.



As with all superpowers.

Nations and States

State and statelessness...

the space in between and that occupied area that surrounds it.

Language forms a way of discovering a landscape.
Giving way to a new way of seeing.

Of being.



Is a nation a group of people, accustomed to the same culture, language, and moral rights and wrongs, and the state, a measure. An institution to which these people conform?

So when the state lets its people down, as it so often does, is it the fault of the people who felt the need to be governed by a body, or merely the "banality of evil" that leads to the atrocities of the past century?

Which position does the 'nation state' take?

What justification can be given to criminal acts commited by refugees in order to have a right as a criminal, because the 'state' they inhabit fail to provide them with rights as a human.

In a multicultural soceity, with faith-based schools existing alongside occupied spaces where the native language has been stripped, where do lessons begin?

'Inhabitants' would prefer not to talk politics, or discuss borders. And as long as one holds the unobtainable permit, or just the right shade of skin colour, which they can opt for, they may pass today.

If they're obviously in the right mood.