Silas Nyanchwani@nyanchwani
You know, it just hit me that we do have literary traditions here in Kenya, shaped by geography, culture, and environment (physical, social, and political). There is a way Luos write. A way Luhyas writes. A way Kikuyus write.
These three form the most distinct literary traditions. Kisiis fall under this Western belt.
To the East, the Coastal people have a vibrant literary tradition. As a Literature student at the University of Nairobi, we camped in Kwale County for a week, where various washairis and malengas offered us stories, poems, and songs. I thoroughly enjoyed that trip.
Because of our complicated relationship with Swahili, especially us BARA guys, we don’t really pay attention to the coast. We just love their diction, idiolect, and style of conversation. Coastal folks have especially mastered the art of the insult. Swahili poetry is also very distinct and formulaic, but it somehow never stuck with us after high school, like a Shakespearean sonnet would or did.
So, somehow, we get fewer and fewer books from coastal people. They are not very big on the print side of things, save for Sarah Haluwa, whose book Sinners is such a delight, though very Kenyan, very Nairobian. Although I could be wrong, Sarah’s tone of voice and laidback humor, which is punchy, are very coastal.
Coastal people have the advantage of access to the Indian Ocean, which should be the source of many stories, historical, mythical, sci-fi, and all that. I am sure among them, the Mijikenda, Arabs, and Swahili have a lot of sea/ocean tales, but we may never get to know the best of them.
Speaking of big water bodies, I do believe Lake Victoria, and following the Nile, did help the Luo community to be, perhaps, the best storytellers in the country. And we just lost the best storyteller. We can list all the best writers in the country, even here online, and Luo Nyanza will take the crown. And the Luo people have a unique way of telling stories. Whether in music, a book, or spoken language, the Luo language flows; it is too lyrical. I have a counterfactual history theory of Kenya, where the capital city is Kisumu, and the Luo are the dominant tribe in Nairobi at the beginning, and like Uganda, which picked on Luganda, we pick Dholuo as our national language, and everyone is happy.
But back to writing. Luos are the masters of reflective writing. Luo poets like our national poet Adipo Sidang make you pause and reflect. In his elegy to Raila, he asked, "By what name shall we call you to awaken you so your voice may come alive and calm our pain?"
When Oyoo Mboya and Odhiambo Kaumah drop a poem, it goes viral, not just because of the poetry but also because of the depth and emotions their poems elicit in us. In fact, they made poetry sexy again. Luos essayists also reveal something about the Luo psyche.
Achieng Otieno, even when we disagree, has made me pause and think a lot. Gabriel Oguda’s satire and sarcasm stand out. And when addressing weighty issues, nobody comes close. Jackson Biko has run one of the most-read websites in the country, and some of the blogs are haunting; they leave a lasting memory in your mind long after you read them. And then, there is the legendary Oyunga Pala, who, back in the day, kept us hooked with his Man Talk column in the Saturday Magazine. He is back with the long-overdue book, where he makes us reflect on sorrow and strength. I am yet to receive my copy, as the one sent is still perambulating somewhere in Bungoma.
I can go back to Grace Ogot. That sensational collection of her first short stories, Land Without Thunder, from 1968, still shocks me. Tekayo could only have come from the imagination of a Luo. Majorie Olude Macgoye may have been a mzungu, but her poetry and prose were greatly influenced by her marriage to a Luo. And then there is the Cane Prize Winner, Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor, who, perhaps, has written two of the most consequential novels in the country.
What makes Luos more reflective? Could the historic marginalization and state violence towards them have played a role? Probably so., or it could also be something cultural.
Luhyas also have their own unique voice. Luhya writers are the most organic, with minimal historic encumberances. A modern Luhya writer writes freely about any topic, because, save for the colonial disruption, someone did mention that Luhyas are the oldest Bantus in the region (or is it country), and having lived here longer, their culture is strong and intact. Thus, Eddy Ashioya shines with anything he trains his pen on. He can even turn his yawning into a 1,000-word hilarious essay. Mbanacho Brian, with his subversive humor, and though her output has slowed down, my niece Ivy Aseka remains the best female writer I have ever edited. She is witty, and whatever you do, don’t be at the end of her targeted zinger. Luhyas are very experimental. Kwamchetsi Makokha remains the best satirist Kenya has ever produced.
Luhyas have a very rich vocabulary, probably drawn from their many dialects, subtribes, and intermarriages that vastly expand their brain capacity. They are also the best linguists, and dating a Luhya is scary because nothing prepares you for a partner who speaks fluent Swahili and perfect grammar. Luhya humor is delicious. Ted Malanda and the writers above make our days, along with many others I have not listed. Even Luhya comedians are crazily witty, original, and they don't even have to try too hard.
Kikuyus own Kenyan humor and have produced the greatest Kenyan humorist of all time, the late Wahome Mutahi. Having access to Mzungu education exposed the Kikuyus earlier than most Kenyans, and by the 1920s, they already had newspapers. As the recipient of the worst colonial trauma, the output of Kikuyu literature leans heavily on the historical, inescapably so. Having first interacted with city life (outside Mombasa), Kikuyus have also covered city life. Meja Mwangi, Charles Mangua, John Kiriamiti, and Binyavanga Wainaina. There are so many Kikuyu writers than you would unpack in a paragraph.
But coming online, the most hilarious writers are probably Kikuyus. There used to be a kid called Ole Weru. There is a way Wandia Wandia can make you laugh to tears with five simple paragraphs. Mwangi Kibathi hanikaliangi normal. CK Njuguna is an inspiration. I want to be more careless as I grow older. Colonial trauma and Moi terrorizing the Kikuyu may have made them funnier as a way of dealing with their pain.
Kiuks are very good at observational humor. They can manipulate their language however they want, and Sheng is essentially their product. Kikuyu direct translations are also amusing. Away from the humor, when you think about Ngugi wa Thiong’o and Micere Mugo, their generation, history, colonial trauma, and subsequent exile define their works. The next generation wrote about the excesses of the Moi regime and their isolation. But also, at the height of Spear Books, many Kikuyus published novels, ranging from crime novels to prison literature to adventure. All of it was inspired by their lived experiences, and the proximity to the city offered them enough material. Eric Rugara Miyamoto-Muswahili could tell me how language and culture shape Kikuyu prose.
Over to Northern Kenya, I don’t know much about Somalis, but is it Nurudin Farrah, or did someone tell me that Somali is a beautiful language, full of poetry, and the reason that some of the best writing from the region has emerged from Somali?
There is a lot to unpack, but it is worth exploring how geography, language, and culture shape our interactions. Lastly, you do realize that Luos have retained their traditions that define things like marriage and death, and Luhyas, too. We saw how elders chanted incantations, bulls delivered, and all the attendant things that we have been learning. Such a deep respect for culture will always reflect in a person’s artistic productions.
