Bricks, Cakes & MPs

Give you one guess where I am writing this? Got it in one…dans le noir. Reflecting upon the almost clockwork frequency of electricity outages in our manor, I can only conclude that it is actually part of some orchestrated power rationing. It’s just too regular.

So to set the scene: Stage left; James is chopping beef, lamp on head, Stage right; Matthew sits writing blog, lamp on head. Centre stage; two cups of tea and a plate of assorted biscuits indiscernible in the dark.

- Well this is a fine how-dee-doo, isn’t James? I can’t make out my ginger nuts from my bourbon creams!

You know, there are restaurants in Paris and I dare say London and elsewhere where this kind of setting is their very selling point; and furthermore to which punters flock in droves to pay for the privilege of sitting in the dark and eating. Sitting here now at home in the dark fumbling with my ginger nuts it strikes me as the very pinnacle of absurdity.

And so another weekend draws to an end. And as sure as Monday follows Sunday, Monday will follow Sunday. How were your respective weekends? As weekends in my life go, it was quite extraordinary…as weekends in Kenya go, it was routine.

Before I begin I want to pause for a second to dwell on this. I’ll try and explain. The thought has struck me often these past weeks that things in Kenya just seem to happen. I mean, if we’re honest with each other (and I’d like to think we are) we’d probably admit that the events that I have shared with you over these past 5+ weeks are very different than those we encounter where we live. Like Mr. Bump in the Mr. Men stories, for something to happen, you just walk around. Maybe it is just that life takes place on a different plain here; or owing to the circumstances of existence, it is much more fragile; or maybe it is just contextual – everything is actually normal and it is only me that is surprised as I am so out of water? Whatever it is, things just seem to happen. And Saturday was no exception.

After a very leisurely morning, I eventually made it out of the apt just after 10h00 to join the carpenter. Saturday was the day for making doors for the rabbit hutch and Benson and I had agreed to meet at 10h30 to strategise over a brew. All bid decisions take place over a brew. Our discussion went something like this:

- Wimwega Benson!
- Nikwega mono Matthew!
- So today we are making doors, right?
- Yes, with wood.
- Great!

Satisfied we were on the same page, we got on with cutting the wood to make doors. I stayed with Benson until I was completely sure that he could cope without me, and just after 11h00 I made my way over to the boys dorm construction site to meet Matthew the mason.

If you have been following closely you will recall that last time Matthew and I got together, we had paid a visit to Jane to decide what should be done about her house (we had agreed to rebuild). So on Saturday we were off to meet a man about some bricks.

Our first stop was Matthew’s home to say hello to his wife and children and have a cuppa. As we sipped our tea Matthew explained that owing to the poor infrastructure and consequent difficulty moving things around here, brick factories have a tendency to be located where the raw material is. This, Matthew continued, was going to make our journey a little more complicated than normal. He was spot on.

From the school we took a mutatu for about a mile to the next stop in the direction of Murang’a Town where we alighted. There we interrupted the driver of a waiting motorbike from his slumbers and engaged him to take us the 3 miles or so into the hills to the brick factory. All 3 of us clambered aboard and not unlike the police motorcycle display team, we set off. We rolled down the hills with the engine off, then at the bottom he’d fire it up, kick it into gear and Matthew and I would try not to fall off. Every now and then we were too much for the bike; on a particularly steep hill one of us would have to get off…it must be all the mangos.

I knew we were getting close as the universal green became increasingly perforated by miniature red quarries. The brick “factories” we visited were no more than cottage industries; small open cast mines run by local families who have cleft away the side of the hill upon which they live to excavate the earth beneath their feet.

We descended into the first quarry; a series of interconnected pits and trenches dug into the hill with a piles of various sized bricks stacked every 10 metres or so. All this surrounding a small cluster of tin roofed buildings that served as the nerve centre of the facility, the highest of all being the furnace and chimney. Matthew looked at the bricks then picked a couple up. Weighing them in his hands he made some derisory noises. Clearly not happy with the size or quality of the bricks (not shiny enough), we continued to the neighbouring quarry. Although a much smaller operation, the bricks were according to Matthew of superior quality; we of course did not tell them this.

And so the discussion moved to price. Keen to play our cards close to our chest, Matthew and I retreated out of earshot to the lip of the quarry. Now Matthew still is still under the impression I speak fluent Kikuyu so most of what he proceeded to tell me I did not get; fearing the complete break down of our working relationship if I explain the truth, I am now guilty of maintaining the pretence. Sometimes it is just too late to say! I decided the best thing to do was keep quiet and leave Matthew to do the talking. And I think that is exactly what Matthew was asking of me. This not only got us a large bricks for the price of the small should we decide to go ahead (8KES / brick) but further reinforced the illusion of my Kikuyu proficiency.

Visibly satisfied with the way things had gone, Matthew hailed a passing mutatu and we made our way back to the main road, where we transferred to another one and continued with our journey. After another 10 minutes it was all change again, this time from four wheels back to two.
It is about now that the day takes a slightly surreal turn. At this time I still am under the impression we are visiting brick factories and had just assumed we are on our away to another…get a few quotes, compare suppliers that kind of thing. Little did I know that our brick mission is over and now we are on our way to the grand opening of a local bakery/cake factory…Matthew’s sister’s bakery/cake factory to be precise. It was only when I was presented with a heart shaped Madeira cake by Matthew’s sister and the words ‘welcome to my bakery’ that the penny dropped. Thinking back now the balloons did look a bit incongruous for a brick factory.

Special occasions call for speeches and as this was no exception. So again I spoke some words of thanks and bestowed by best wishes on the operation. I don’t know if it will it be successful, cakes seem to be a expensive luxury in Kenya. But I hope so (it is all I can do here to resist inserting any cake/confectionary related jokes).

As I chit-chatted with Matthew’s sister (not in Kikuyu I hasten to add) she insisted that I cross the road to the local school to greet to the school governors who were currently meeting. Seeing that Matthew was happily munching his way through his second or third cake, it didn’t seem that this would compromise our agenda in any way, so I agreed. The whole cake party moved towards the door (eavesdroppers the lot of em).

Together we crossed the road and entered the grounds of Thuita Primary & Secondary School. Following the direction of the noise we approached the school hall / church. Having been spotted (or forewarned?) the school secretary came rushing out to welcome us. He took me by the hand and ushered me into the hall to make. Expecting a group of maybe a dozen or so governors, I was a little taken a back to see 50+ parents, teachers, governors and members of the clergy turn to examine me. Spotting a seat at the back, I tried made a dash for it, but the secretary had other ideas. The murmur of mũthũngũ (white man) echoed around the room as the secretary led me down the aisle to the front of the room and then onto the small dais where the executive committee of the school were sat. The remainder of cake party had to be content with the back of the room.

The secretary explained that they were currently half way through the agenda and that at the next change of subject would I be so kind introduce myself and tell everyone why I am here and what I am doing (I was hoping he could tell me).

Sneaking a glance at my neighbour’s agenda, I learned that I was attending the Thuita Education Consultative Forum. Most of the proceedings were in Kikuyu but enough English was spoken for me to understand that the meeting was all about the way forward for the school. The recent exams had returned an average grade of ‘D’ at the school which had caused general consternation and much soul searching. Visitor after visitor stood up to voice their opinion on the root cause of the recent poor performance whilst Matthew’s sister distributed cakes to the congregation.

I had sat through an hour of impassioned speeches; most of them more emotional than rational, when a few of the executive members stepped out of the side door, only to come in again at the back in procession led by a new arrival. Not knowing anything about anything, I assumed it was the local vicar. I nodded deferently and the proceedings resumed.

Finally a man in spats got up and talked at length about attitude. He had conducted a SWOT analysis which had only seemed to identify weaknesses. I wrote them down:
. Teachers de-motivated
. Parents’ attitude to education is wanting
. Parents do not attend meetings
. Incompetent committee & board members

You could have heard a pin drop. My notes at this point simply read “will the last one to leave Thuita please turn out the light”.

Seeing as time was getting on and Matthew was making ‘we need to go’ gestures at me from the back of the room, I suggested to the secretary that now be a good time to speak as I would need to leave shortly. The secretary introduced me and I rose to say a few words. As soon as I had recounted what I am doing in Murang’a and where, the questions started. My planned short intro quickly became a full on presentation. I explained that at St. Anna we are in essence going through a similar reflection as Thuita i.e. what is our way forward, what is our road map? For about 30 minutes I detailed our approach, stemming from our core purpose and values to our vision and our strategic intent for each of the pillars of the school – short-term, mid-term and long term. I had a pang of guilt as I talked of some of our impending projects … why St. Anna and not them?

I have been invited back to work with them to help them formalise their own strategy.

As we made our way home, Matthew couldn’t hide his amusement. He laughed for about 10 minutes before he explained to me that the gentleman who had arrived was the local MP.