Why Africa?

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“But why Africa? What made you go there?”

I get this question in a variety of forms whenever I talk about my African backpacking adventure or the work I’m doing now. The first part of the answer is easy. In 2006, one of my best friends from UVA was finishing up her Peace Corps service in Lesotho (an independent country located within South Africa, south of Swaziland). At the time, I was teaching English in Brazil. My friend called and asked what my plans were after I left. When I hesitated, she proposed, “Why not meet me here and then let’s backpack Africa together?” Why not indeed. So in July of that year, I bought a one-way plane ticket to Johannesburg, South Africa. Nearly six months later, I would fly home from Cairo.

The second part of my answer to “Why Africa?” is that I could never picture the place. Media images from the continent focused on violence, poverty, corruption, and disease—oh, or lions and zebras. But what about the people? What about the culture? What about the history? Not that Africa is one homogeneous setting—far from it. My travels were limited to the south, east, and northeast. Africa is the second-largest continent, home to hundreds of different ethnic groups and languages and cultures. But I didn’t know all that before I visited.

I wanted to go and see for myself as much of the continent as I could. Most of what I learned was through conversations and experience—by seeing, tasting, touching, smelling, and hearing the countries that I visited. When I met the General in Kenya, in October 2006, he told me he had just spent a month in my country earlier that year. “I’d long been wanting to go and see a developed country,” he said. “I thought to go to Britain, but my friend said, ‘Come and see the glory of America.’ So I said I’ll go there. I didn’t bother to go because of politics or anything. I wanted to see the people themselves, inside. And the way of the place and how they live and where they get their food.”

I asked him what he thought of the people. “They are good. You are very democratic in that country. People there work and eat. That’s what I tell people here—the Americans work and eat.” The General’s reasons to go to America were similar to mine for going to Africa. “I like mixing with other people because I learn a lot,” agreed the General. “If you want to say anything concerning people—stay with them, live with them, it is the only right way of understanding if they are good or bad.” He told me many times, “Nkirote, I like the way you are learning. You are getting your history from the people who can tell an event from memory, and that is good.”

I think a lot of Americans are embarrassed to admit how little they know about African countries. James Olney, in his classic study of African autobiographies, observed that “Africa and the West go on meeting one another all the time and at all sorts of contact points—political, cultural, economic, educational, literary—and, as many people have observed, they go on not understanding one another very well.”

In Zimbabwe, a 19-year-old student asked me, “Oh, you’re from America? My friend and I would like to ask you a few questions about your country.” I said that I would be happy to answer them if I could. “The first question is about day-to-day life in America. We would like to know how often—day-to-day—do you see someone like 50 Cents?”

I thought for a moment. “The rapper?” I said. They nodded enthusiastically. “Uh, never.” They were disappointed and turned to each other to discuss how I must not get out much (which, as per my attendance at Monday Night Bingo, is a legitimate concern). American shows like Cribs, WWE, and Tyra Banks have been exported to Africa. Some people thought I lived next door to Beyonce. In Zambia, a hostel owner asked me, “I met someone from your country recently—his name was Justin, from Colorado. Do you know him?”

On occasions when I was with my Kenyan family, and we happened to pass another white person, I was asked to “greet my sister,” or brother, or whatever the case may have been. By virtue of sharing a skin color with someone else in their country, I must awkwardly acknowledge our camaraderie (even if we don’t speak the same language).

In America, when I tell people that I’m writing the biography of an Independence leader from Kenya, here are a few sample responses that I’ve received (seriously):

“I bet you found some good running partners while you were there.” (While Kenyan runners can come from any ethnic group, most will tell you the best marathoners are the Kalenjin, who live in the western Rift Valley. When I went running in my village, some people shouted after me, “Mzungu, why are you running?” I would say, “I’m just exercising.” Then, their follow-up concern, “Is somebody chasing you?” Where I lived, running for the sake of running was not common.)

“Does he know Obama’s family?” (Obama’s father came from the Luo people, in Western Kenya. The General lives in Meru, in Kenya’s Eastern Province, to the east of Mt. Kenya. The General does not personally know the Obama family.)

“Kenya—now tell me, I think we passed there the other day—is that in Tennessee?” (I don’t think so. Although there is an Italy, Texas, pronounced, “eye-tally.” Maybe I should look into this further before I judge . . . Just checked. There is no Kenya, Tennessee. Judgment confirmed.)

“Did you have to worry about lions?” (Most all lions are now contained in the national parks. I have never seen a lion in Africa.)

“Did you go on safari?” (Yes because “safari” is a Swahili word that just means “a journey.” It has no relation to wild animals, khaki, or Land Rovers. But Western tour operators have re-branded the word to encompass all these things. Juju Jesca, the General’s wife, saw her first elephant with me, when we traveled to the Samburu National Park together. She’s 80-years-old.)

“The Mau Mau, huh? I think I read an anthropology book about that. I hear they were cannibals.” (That’s not right.)

“I have a friend from Nigeria—is that close to Kenya?” (They are on the opposite coasts. Nigeria is in West Africa, Kenya’s in the east.)

Now some people might roll their eyes at these types of questions, not even knowing where to start. But I actually appreciate them, because they’re honest, and they provide me with an opportunity to share my experience and what I know about the place (so keep them coming and keep an open mind).

The General told me about the time his friend, a Kenyan businessman, attended a conference in Mauritius. The General recalled, “He was sitting next to a fellow from a developed country, and the fellow asked him, ‘I have heard that in Kenya, people live in tree huts. Is it true that in your country, everyone lives in the forest, on top of trees?’

“The Kenyan gentleman, my friend, said, ‘True! That is quite true, more than obvious. And it is from a tree that I boarded the airplane which brought me here. We have wonderful trees with airports. And even your ambassador lives in a tree, where his embassy is.’ The other fellow looked at him, and he didn’t speak anymore because he knew how he was answered.”

Yes, Dr. Olney—Africa and the West don’t seem to understand one another. But I find it helps to distinguish between ignorance and apathy. Ignorant people don’t know much about a topic because they haven’t had an opportunity to learn about it. Apathetic people, I believe, have deliberately chosen not to learn because they have no interest in challenging their pre-existing beliefs (= most racists). I was ignorant about Africa. I think a lot of Westerners are ignorant because they haven’t found an appealing way to learn about it, and, if they read newspaper articles, reporters usually confirm their belief system—that Africa’s riddled with genocide, AIDS, military dictatorships, rape, drought, or famine. (I realize that I’m being pretty generous with the ignorant/apathetic divide, but I do think many people are willing and curious to learn; they don’t know how or where to start.)

James Olney suggested African autobiographies as a tool for learning about the continent. He noted, “For the non-African reader, autobiography offers a way of getting inside a world that is inevitably very different from his own.” Autobiographies can teach many lessons, but “the point is that. . .we can hope, given enough human sympathy and imagination, to understand that other environment which was originally foreign and incomprehensible.” What emerges from a person’s life story is “not merely his political or religious or other sensibilities, but his totality as a man [or woman].”

Of course The General History Project’s mission is to preserve oral and cultural histories in developing countries. The General’s story is unfailingly interesting, complicated, and enlightening—and it’s getting preserved. While his life experiences are his alone, the lessons he has to teach extend to colonial struggles and their aftermath across Africa, Asia, and the Americas too.

But I’m also hoping that if I can do justice to the General’s life story, Westerners (and students of African history around the world) will have an opportunity to get to know an old Kenyan man, my adopted juju (grandfather), the General. They can start learning from him, from us, from there.

Here’s hoping I can just get it done . . .

Sending good thoughts – Laura Lee Huttenbach / Nkirote :)