A chat with the young-spirited & gifted Mambo Mbotela.

For decades, Leonard Mambo Mbotela has been hosting, “Je huu ni ungwana?”, Kenya’s most famous and longest running radio program relayed on KBC’s Radio Taifa. Among Kenyan personalities, Mambo is in a class of his own. He’s also a TV host, writer, newsreader, sports commentator and musician but only one thing stands out. “Radio paired with my voice is my God-given talent,” he says as soon as I signal the start of what was intended to be a minor interview, but turned out to be bigger than I thought.

Despite his busy schedule, Mambo excitedly gave me an instant “Yes!” when I called for a chance to interview him. I asked him to provide me with some of his old photos, but he couldn’t get hold of any. That’s when I said to him, “Nitakupiga basi na camera yangu.” His reply,“Jameni ukinipiga si utaniumiza!” That warm sense humour isn’t the only thing natural about this man. “Broadcasting runs in my blood”, says the pied piper whose distinct husky voice, wit and eloquence in Swahili, has made fans across the country follow and adore him for years.

It’s a hot Friday, around midday, an hour to a recording of his TV show at the Norfolk hotel. We are right across the road seated at KBC’s restaurant having cold fruit cocktails. He literally shook hands with everyone as we walked down the corridors leading to the restaurant. Undoubtedly a man of the people, his viewpoint on age clashes with the ubiquitous mass celebration of it being “just a number!”

“When you’re young at heart, age is simply nothing. So I don’t talk about my age, “he says with a sneaky gleam. Smartly clad in a lesso-print shirt and perfectly ironed black trousers, he looks good too. As I ask questions, he seems very keen. Indeed, all his answers are straight forward.

Road to Radio

Born in Mombasa’s old Frere town, Mambo studied in Buxton Primary and Kitui High School. After which he immediately started working as a trainee at the East African Standard newspaper. However, his prowess in news reading is self-taught. “In high school, I would cut newspaper clippings, compile news and read them out to my classmates,” he recalls. Among his mentors were veteran broadcasters Steven Kikumu and Job Isaac Mwanto (I am probably too young to have heard of such people, he tells me–true and shameful).

Fuelled by a dream to be the voice behind the mic, Mambo approached the late Simeone Ndesanjo, who was head of radio at KBC (then Voice of Kenya, (VOK)), for a chance to be employed. As Simeone advised Mambo to start off as an announcer, he also made an observation that would later come into full circle, “I can see you have the potential of making a great broadcaster.” That was 1964. The same year Mambo started working at VOK as a freelance reporter.

In a short span of time he gained many fans, prompting VOK to offer him a permanent post as a program assistant. “I was so excited by the promotion. I couldn’t believe it. I even left my job without giving a resignation! Eventually, VOK had to compensate The East African Standard by means of payment for stealing me like that”, says Mambo with a reminiscent flash of that fateful day.

I hadn’t seen him this fired up since the start of the interview.

He then began hosting interactive radio programs, “Salamu za vijana”, “Uhalifu haulipi chochote” and “Nini maoni yako”. Through the shows he highlighted various societal issues while giving listeners a chance to air their grievances as well as share experiences. This would later turn out to be the foundation of a long-lasting “polygamous” marriage between three entities– Mambo, his fans and radio.

No etiquette & embarrassment creates ‘Je huu ni ungwana?’

In 1966, a casual visit to the Panafric hotel turned awful when Mambo and his friends stayed too long without being attended to. One of his friends lost it and started yelling for a waiter. As Mambo narrates the story, he re-lives the experience by also yelling and hitting the table. The man sitting across us at the restaurant flashes across a ‘STFU’ look. “Did you see that reaction?” probes Mambo. “Nobody likes such embarrassing behavior and especially at a prestigious hotel like Panafric. My friend could have just asked politely if not practice patience,” he asks?

That experience marked the inaugural year of “Je huu ni ungwana” and also served as the show’s debut topic. In 2009, 43 years down the line and the show’s ever growing popularity led to a TV show being conceptualized from it—of course with Mambo as the host.

With now close to celebrating fifty years on the airwaves, Black Roses sought the show’s top three recurring cases of etiquette deficiency:

1. Table manners

If you love multi tasking, don’t be caught talking and chewing food at once. Mambo also says that, ignoring side-plates by dumping the remains of food and bones all over the table is an insult to a waiter/host.

2. Disregard for personal space

Mambo shuns men who use queuing at banks/public places as pretence for touching or rubbing against ladies derrières.

3. DTP

“Move bitch get out the way!” Ludacris and many others have fallen prey to disturbing the peace. Shouting haphazardly in public places is crude. “There could be six Marys on the street at any one point, so when you are yelling for Mary, you confuse the other five you’re not calling. If and when you see a friend, just run across to them or call their phones”, he says.

Mambo adds, “I had to teach myself humility because I am a celebrity and a public figure. Everywhere I go people want to shake my hand. I let everyone, especially kids, run to me. Little do people know that God blesses the humble.”

Here Mambo’s thought process seems interrupted.

“Something very important, did you know that I was caught right in the middle of Kenya’s attempted coup?”

This is getting even more interesting.

While Tabuley played, my life nearly came to a stop.

After the coup, law and order was restored but Leonard still had to appear before court to outline his supposed involvement with the masterminds of the rebellion. He was acquitted. He still insists, “I had no prior knowledge of a plan to overthrow the government.”

The year was 1982, the day, August 1^st. On returning home from seeing off his sister at the airport, Mambo heard gunshots at around 4.45 a.m.

He narrates the ordeal to Black Roses …

“At the time, I was head of Swahili/vernacular services at VOK. So, when I heard someone knock my bedroom window I thought it was a colleague who needed the station opened earlier than usual. On stepping out of the house I was met by rebels who asked me if I was ‘Mambo’. I obliged to everything they wanted.”

“They took me with them to VOK and we got there at 5 a.m. The station had been invaded by other rebels and some unruly students from the University of Nairobi. Amidst the chaos, the morning presenter had fled and left the studio unmanned. One of the rebels jotted a message on a piece of paper and then put a gun to my head asking me to read it out to Kenyans on National radio. It said, ‘From today, the government of Kenya has been overthrown. All prisoners are now free and all police officers are civilians…’ and it went on.”

“After that, followed more disorder that saw the rebels leave me in the studio alone. I decided to run as I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. But not before putting Tabuley’s album on replay, ‘Baby love me’ was the track playing when I fled to a different studio, where I hid under a table.”

“After several hours of praying, I leapt out from underneath the table. Walking along the corridors I had to jump over corpses. The Kenya Armed Forces led by General Mahmoud Mohammed, then deputy commander, had come to the rescue. My first instinct was to get back to the studio and on my way there I encountered an army officer who had a gun pointed at me.”

“He was nearly pulling the trigger, so I immediately raised my hands and shouted, ‘Don’t shoot, I am Mambo Mbotela!’ In shock, the officer quickly put down the gun. ‘I have never seen you in person Mambo. I would have killed my beloved radio personality without knowing. Please forgive me,’ he said.”

“Scared stiff and conflicted, I went back to the mic to revert my previous statement that the government had been overthrown. For Kenyans to believe me, I first had to reassure them that I was the same old Mambo. I am glad they heard my message and more so, trusted me. I stayed at VOK for three days, running the radio station solo. The GSU guards at KBC today were deployed following that incident.”

“The man who had put a gun to my head (to read the coup statement) was rebel leader Hezekiah Ochuka. He was later hanged for treason. I didn’t think I would survive through that day, radio saved my life.”

Contemporary Radio & Longevity

With a fresh and clean luster blind to present-day radio, “Jee huu ni ungwana’s” prolonged existence is one to reckon with. Its driving forces have been Mambo’s research and the bulk of feedback from listeners and viewers. “Modern-day radio is dominated by selfish individuals who only care for fame and money. This has made up personalities disinterested in making the society better,” he says.

“However, Caroline Mutoko is tough, outspoken and cares for edutainment. I like her a lot,” says Mambo who then asks, “How can a DJ from the disco be a radio presenter?”

 His advice on the way forward for contemporary radio is simply, training. Something he says he’s willing to offer to interested persons. “Contentment and arrogance are the main ingredients to cooking immature careers,” he says. So, what’s the secret to longevity? “Be humble and prolific. If you have a show or job, don’t be satisfied there. Start another one.”

Freedom & Heroism

Mambo’s outstanding contribution to the Kenyan broadcasting industry has impacted many lives. “Among my most memorable moments was meeting a fan who changed from being a batterer after he heard me on radio shaming men who beat their wives,” he says.

1984-1990 saw Mambo join the Presidential Press Service under Former President Moi’s regime, a tenure he says gave him the chance to practice journalism extensively in Kenya and the world over.

Among countless accolades, he’s been granted the 1987 Head of State commendation (HSC) and in 1992, the Order of Grand Warrior of Kenya (OGW).

“During Kenyatta and Moi’s era, journalists had no freedom of expression. You must have heard of the torture chambers? You could never draw caricatures of the president like they do now. In terms of variety, for a long time Kenyans had no other choice apart from VOK. I am very happy with the new crop of media institutions and the current press freedom,” says Mambo.

In 2009, Mambo was among a handful of others named ‘Heroes’ by the Kenyan government. However, it is the same system that has left him feeling unappreciated because to him, just naming heroes is not enough.

“The government hasn’t honored me and many others like it should. We need land and jobs as most of us have the required expertise anyway. Joe Kadenge and James Siang’a are veteran footballers who made Kenyan football reach unimaginable heights yet they are now living in poverty. It must be greed on the government’s part. Otherwise, what’s the need of a Dedan Kimathi statue when his family is languishing in poverty?” he poses.

Road after Radio.

Mambo is married and blessed with three children, Jimmy, Aida and George Mbotela. “My kids are all grown up so I have more time and space to concentrate on my jobs,” he says. All work and no play makes Mambo a dull boy. Oh boy! I meant, man. Once every weekend, backed by a live band, he sings Kenyan oldies, better known as ‘Zilizopendwa’ at Vibro Club in Nairobi West area. “My lifestyle is not as tedious as it seems. I’ve been doing this a long time, so every part of it, is me,” he says.

Retirement is unlikely for such a young-spirited and gifted man. In fact, he’s currently planning to start a new show and authoring a new book, both on championing Kiswahili language. His inspiration for both ventures came from the modern disregard for grammatically correct Swahili. “Sheng’ is all over radio!” he exclaims.

It’s enthralling to hear him say that he’s been watching Grapevine (an entertainment show I host), without me asking. I am yet to coerce him into liking and reading my stuff. “You’re good. Soar higher but just don’t compromise yourself for anything, not even favors,” he advices me.

It was an honor to have a candid chat with the icon. I am thankful for that, and my long-finished-cocktail which he paid for. “I would want to start an institute of broadcast training and in my hometown Mombasa even a radio station, Inshallah. When I am gone, I want that to be my legacy,” says Mambo.

Mambo’s self authored book, “Je huu ni ungwana” is available in leading book stores. The radio/ TV show airs Saturdays at 12.45 pm and Wednesdays at 6.30pm respectively.

Why a black man is like chocolate.

Tall, dark and handsome or short, stout and perky, but still dark–whichever form of African they come in, men are like chocolate. Seemingly hard but malleable, sometimes messy, sticky, sweet and rich or not. In many ways both dark chocolate and black men are quite similar.

Heat melts chocolate. Similarly, any man will practically melt if and when heated up the right way by a lady (preferably a hot one). Various research findings including one done by BBC have cited a sizeable reduction of stress levels following the activity of melting chocolate in the mouth. It’s said that that even beats kissing at reducing stress levels! Good thing, those who don’t fancy chocolate like me can still indulge and benefit from frogs-to-princes induced activities.

A look at plain chocolate or a plain man can either evoke love or dislike (hate is a strong word for skin-choc lovers). Like mud is a naked bar–basic and unattractive. But off the paper and into biting, chances of stumbling upon all types of life’s goodness from wine, nuts, fruits, to any thinkable sweet thing that might fit in, are very high. A man’s nudity, heart, strength or all might turn him into a striking god, a transformation from a dressed-down dull, null and void creature. In summary, to discover what a man/chocolate is made of, you simply have to trust, taste, nibble, and then delve in.

That’s reason why ‘the world’ has blindly ostracized the dark skin of African countries like Sudan as charcoal-ish while brandished that of successful Africans who have become world stars like Mr. Kimora, formerly Djimon Hounsou as a show of light in Hollywood, Nollywood and even classics like ‘Boyz in Da Hood’. Remember the time when youthful/ non-shirtless Cuba Gooding Jr. and Morris Chestnut were synonymous to unopened attractive chocolate covers? Sigh.

I don’t like the non-human version of chocolate so I don’t have the moral/ gastronomical authority of writing on chocolate addiction. However, I have heard of theories and testimonials on how black men can be as addictive as chocolate. White princess Coco reaffirmed the famous quote while speaking on her black ghetto prince Ice-T, “Once you go black, you never go back.”

Most African eyes are veiled and can’t see past the black-fuss. Why should they? Everything in Africa is practically dark anyway, from the streets, people’s deeds, soil and of course the men and women. Black skin however still remains a phenomenon abroad and especially in Europe. Thanks to that, we still have racism and looming sickness in the 21^st century. The latter prompting white women mostly tourists to flood Africa in search of curing the dreaded and deadly ‘jungle fever’ disease, as theorized by my sidekick Chim.

‘Jungle fever’ is a curable ailment that only affects white-skinned women, most times leaving them restless, horny and in need of dark African men (the ones in torn-tattered washed out pants, never-washed Converse and unkempt dreads are usually tastier like extra toppings on the pizza). Black injection in little or large doses is highly recommended, and in all forms.

And true to that prescription–the cured lot usually comprise white women married to black men, or who are with black men parading at African music festivals, weed smoking parties, African traditional ceremonies, crowded markets and slum areas or simply between sheets or somewhere in the streets. This is art, culture and a lifestyle that will never be unraveled, just like the world’s obsession with chocolate.

Chocolate isn’t my thing but when given to me, for pleasure or as a gift; I have no choice but to devour it, a process that takes me days, even weeks to complete. I am glad it takes me just a split second to come up with this thought process. Over a simple conversation while snacking, a friend said to me, ‘Come to think of it, men are like chocolate’. The sound of that statement was sweet enough to make me blog. Did I expound on the topic? I don’t know. But I am certain that it doesn’t matter whether it, she or he is black or white. Just go ahead and enjoy it, and yourself!

Winyo croons of ‘Benga Blues’

Best things in life are free. 98% of that statement is true, see in 2009 I had never heard of Rateng’ band. So a ‘free of charge’ sign on their concert cum album launch poster was what bought me in. At the end of the night I got myself the band’s debut album, ‘Thumology’. Little did i know that simply tucking it into my bag was the start of what would become my insatiable love for their music and certainly a voracious one for the band’s then composer and lead vocalist’s music–Winyo.

Over two years later and he still sounds crispy-good. Now an accomplished singer/songwriter and guitarist, Winyo has had successful international tours and recognition as the only Kenyan & two-time finalist in the Radio France Internationale (RFI) Discoveries Music Awards.

‘Benga Blues’ is Winyo’s solo debut–an album oozing a rich display of his love for Benga. Singing in Luo, Swahili and Kikuyu, you will additionally hear loads of the bass guitar fused in acoustic sounds of Taarab, R&B and Jazz. I am lucky to have gotten a sneak copy of the album from Winyo last year. Trust me, it’s great, smooth and relaxing–my mum loves it! I haven’t seen us jointly enjoy an album like this–well since Sauti Sol, Whitney, Billy Ocean and Skeeter Davis. To all those who don’t comprehend much of Luo, chill out. If you can jam to the likes of Diogal and Lokua Kanza, trust me Winyo is right for you.

1. Odongo 3.24

Upbeat and beautiful acoustic opening to the album. This is a confessional song to a beloved called Odongo. Winyo takes the persona of a woman in love with this man to an obsessive extent of always singing songs of him. Even while brewing tea and fetching water by the river.

2. Nakupenda 6.32

Definitely a favourite. The bare mix of shakers, acoustic drums and piano in verse one creates for an alluring intro. This is again a song to a darling saying, “Look inside you, when you realize that I love you–you will love me back.” Some serious mind-fucking-love right there.

3. Gari Teri 7.00 ( The car will take you)

This is real Benga, also a killer cover to Rateng’ Band’s original. All the guitars seem to be outdoing themselves in this one. Love Winyo’s incessant chants, ‘Romna romna baby’ in Luo means ‘receive me baby.’ This is a wise song dedicated to all ladies, single or hitched. It cautions that one day you will get into a car and leave your home to another one–marriage. Never forget that a home must be built under the foundation of respect and humility, even in the face of shortcomings. The song’s two climaxes render it very danceable at a live gig. Saliva would go all ape on this one–hell i would dance and shout to this on top of a roof top!

5. Nya Chula 7.07

There is a place called Chula so Nya Chula is a lady who hails from this region. This is a song about Nya Chula, a village woman who could not quench her heart’s thirst for money and dreams of moving to Nairobi. Winyo takes the persona of her husband, he sings cajoling her to relax and sit still right next to him. For if she does their home could make babies. Is Winyo a story-teller or what? Really love the part where he sings, “Ngima mi dwaro ohinga” (I can’t sustain the kind of life you want to live). This song is a caution that if and when two people decide to settle down together, their lifestyle demands should merge into one. The song’s climax has a Lingala beat. I can already picture Wanjeri, Marcus and I seriously getting down to this one on the dance floor!

6. Kimani 4.36

If my Kikuyu didn’t fail me, this is a song about a gentleman called Kimani. It’s a cheer-up song urging Kim to keep his head up despite life’s ups and downs, for there will be a better day. Shall I also award this as the first afro-acoustic fantastic Kikuyu song? Not taking any no’s.

8. Yaona Yoo 6.14 (Open way for me)

This is a very beautiful song–my best in the album actually. Not too sure if it’s the shakers fused in the acoustic guitar and soft drums or Winyo’s butterscotch-voice … Everything in this one just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. The song is a dedication to the one who got away saying, ‘I can tell you a secret, everything you do even in laze still pleases me so I sing through your way, stupidly hoping that you will let me through’. Deep stuff and a special song to the ones we never got over.

10. Gikalo 5.27 (They will pass)

My mum particularly loves this one, I think because she has witnessed all these kind of dramas in shagz. This song has stories of a typical village. Brothers fighting over land, women undressing in protest in the open—a taboo, mean gossiping and talk. In the song Winyo takes the persona of the society’s mirror that marvels at how friendships can turn into rivalry. Most of us can attest to this and the un-related fact that Winyo is a rock sitting gracefully on the Kenyan contemporary Benga scene.

With 13 tracks ‘Benga Blues’ is an outstanding album worth your money, time and life’s lessons kitty. It teaches on virtues like humility, kindness, patience and temperance.

The album was released in Europe last year. A Kenyan release is expected sometime this year. I will certainly be there tagging alongside mother. For more info visit www.ketebulmusic.org

BONUS: Read on Ten Mins With Winyo, a feature I filed for ARISE Magazine. And a throwback track–Ukoo Flani MM feat. Winyo 

The musical world of Mutinda

George Mutinda’s songwriting skills have won him a global award. That however doesn’t change much of the humble man– who will talk about such big things only if you ask him. It’s late afternoon on a hot Saturday. I am meeting Mutinda at the French cultural center’s splendid jardin where I am interviewing him for one of my TV shows. Before the start he kindly asks to sing for me. Who can say no to that?

Equipped with only his guitar and voice, he’s got a super power to make a 3-min song sound like it lasted a mere 30 seconds. “Is it over?”, I ask. He laughs and starts to play another one. I can’t really comprehend how he is not mad at me for keeping him waiting for an hour. I also can’t comprehend how I can feel this song’s reminiscent echo despite the fact that I cant understand it’s words sang in Kamba, Mutinda’s native language.

He is singing a song titled ‘Vala vandu’. It means, that place. “It’s about familiar strangers. It could be a person in your country or from any other place in the world. Sometimes you have just an instance with someone and the effect they leave on you usually lasts forever. That’s it. Most times when you look back you realize that you never got the chance to thank them for the inspiration they left you. That’s what this song is about,” he explains and I conclude that this guy is some-kind-of-deep.

He is soft-spoken. When he sings though, there is a certain strength and passion to it. “In Kenya my songs are termed as afro-acoustic. Beyond borders it’s called world music. I like that a lot because world music are songs inspired by African traditional folk. It’s basically music for the ears of a global audience. Most times you can tell of a song’s roots, be it from west or South Africa,” says Mutinda.

The singer/guitarist has toured among other places the Schengen countries and USA, all in pursuit of exporting his African sound. “All my concerts were sold out but I was shocked to make a revelation that people out there don’t know much about the East Africa sound. We need to spread it out more,” he asserts. Is there a unified East African sound? Mutinda says, “The East African sound is diverse, we have many colours that should be spread across the world. Striving to have one sound is like a horse without a tail.” Oh this is a wise guy. Among his local musical influences are KK Kilonzo, Eric Wainaina, Suzzana Owiyo, Abbi and Winyo though his overall inspiration comes from every single one of his daily life’s encounters, he tells me.

In 2005 Mutinda emerged as the top male artist in the inaugural Spotlight on Kenyan Music Competition. In 2009 he performed at the Sauti Za Busara festival in Zanzibar. The same year ’Matopeni’, his debut album was released. The album is very cool, definitely not for the hot heads. The ten tracks are a mix of jazzy rhythms, afro- acoustic sounds with some contemporary vibes, all sang in Kiswahili and Kamba. In 2011 his song ‘Simama’ won in the world music category for best song in the prestigious International Songwriting Competition (ISC) held in USA.

“There was a call for entries and i applied just for the kicks. There were over 15,000 entries from all over Africa so it’s unbelievable that my song made it through into the final sixteen and eventually to the top!”, he exclaims with a satisfactory shine. “That’s huge! Was there a prize?” I excitedly ask him. “There is always a prize,” he calmly informs me. I am happy for Mutinda though when it comes to hoisting our Kenyan flag on the world map I am ashamed that not as many Kenyans know much on people of such caliber. ”The world appreciates art more than Kenya does. Maybe my style appealing more to the world than in Kenya has made me the prophet who is not recognized in his home. Artists also need credibility at home. Athletes run for Kenya and so do we but through music,” he says. Je suis d’accord.

Mutinda also co-founded acoustic nights, a bi-monthly event that gives a live music platform to Kenyan musicians. The event is held at Sippers restaurant. He also performs at Tapas in Village market on a bi-monthly basis. His plans for 2012 is to have more of his live music performances recorded citing a need to maintain the freshness.

I am a big bathroom singing star. And lately i have been considering taking my career to the next level — songwriting! So i want in on Mutinda’s secret even though he knows not of my secret dreams He actually thinks about it to an extent of pulling a few strands of his dreads. “The secret to songwriting is patience and a captivation to thyself. If your song doesn’t resonate with you then it’s not worth any audience,” his advice to all the bathroom and outside-the-bathroom dreamers.

Mutinda is a self-taught musician. He started singing and playing traditional stringed instruments way before his teens. With his first salary he bought himself his first guitar. The rest is history.

BONUS: In the video of ‘Simama’, Mutinda featured the Pamoja Dance Group, an integrated mix of dancers with and without physical disabilities. If that wasn’t beautiful, then i don’t know jack about beauty. For more info check Mutinda’s website

6 responses to Lord Egerton’s castle Reply

Kimani Mburu stumbled upon my post on the Lord Egerton’s castle. He sent back by far the longest reply I have ever received. I loved his mind, life policy and interpretation of the whole Egerton saga so I asked him if I could blog his reply as a new post, he agreed Below is Mburu’s castle encounter, a reply to my post. After a slight edit this is black roses FIRST GUEST POST. In the end are six responses from me to him. 

Wonderful read Anyix.

My cousin Kim, my brother Múgo and I visited our late grandfather Kímani at the KARI Research Institute in Njoro sometime in the late 90′s. I must have been around twelve, Kim was even younger. On the second day of our visit, our teenage aunties Shiro and Hiúko took us on a tour to Egerton Castle. The castle we saw was quite different from what you describe …

It was decrepit and in a terrible state of neglect but we were understandably excited. It was overgrown with weeds and there was no one about, save for a boy of about thirteen who showed us around. The flower beds and gardens were unkempt. The lawn was still impressive though. The rooms were filthy and long-deserted, begging for a coat of paint. I remember the ball room with the broken piano. I tried to push the piano around on its rusted casters. I marveled at the strength of whoever it was that moved it there (probably Mister Robert).

There were so many bathrooms with heavy metallic bath tubs and ornate taps and things. Some doors were locked too. In the manner of children, we settled quickly into a game of hide and seek. I guarantee you, that was my childhood’s best game ever. We hid in every corner, to emerge upon discovery, gloriously draped in cobwebs. There is no corner we did not visit, we even went up among the trusses in the roof, and the space there was cavernous and dark, save for arrows of light shooting down from holes in the shingles. We could even see clusters (hordes, flocks, herds, bunches) of bats dangling from the roof beams, oblivious to our presence.

We marveled at everything with childish wonderment. I remember the grand sweeping staircase at the entrance, with the lions (they couldn’t have been sphinxes, their noses were intact) standing on guard. I may not have been very perceptive then, but I recall being impressed by one; the sizes of the rooms. And two; the richness of the fittings, odds and ends. The doors were also exceptionally heavy, and the creaked suitably, like you’d expect them to in an old house.

We got separated several times, and all the shouting and hollering would not help, for the sound would just bounce and echo through the empty halls, that was great! For all its spooky appearance at the time, Egerton Castle was far from scary. Coming at a time when we read The Famous Five, The Secret Seven (and thought Enid Blyton was a man), Hardy Boy’s and all. This was a most thrilling adventure that found itself in many compositions and inshas, without a need for too many embellishments.

I can’t remember many of the details you mention here as time has dimmed my memory. And as kids, we obviously spied things through a different lens. We did not have the benefit of a thoroughly versed guide like yours, so I must say the history in your post makes for an interesting read. It is amazing what the men of the British empire could achieve (for all their ills). It’s also a shameful testament, at least to the Kenya of the 90′s that such a wonderful, rich piece of history would lie in ruin. It is a relief to learn that it has been restored. And can they fix the piano too?

From your short account Egerton was an impressive man. These men of olden days always strike me as having been men of profound strength, character and resilience. I imagine that Egerton’s standards and expectations on companionship were the primary cause of his solitude. I admire that. Most men of yore were all round impressive. They fought and died in wars and lived at a time when life was ‘nasty, brutish and short’ (Hobbes). They were men of grit. Men of higher ideals. Thinkers onto themselves. Unlike us today, hedonism among these men’s priorities.

We can safely deduce that despite his obvious wealth, he was not an avaricious man, given that he was before living comfortably in a thatched house. Your characterisation of ‘poor’ Egerton and his ‘shattered’ search for love is so characteristically effeminate I imagine it would bother any woman to see a successful man so unencumbered by the pedestrian preoccupation with companionship. To me, i think he was a man who lived his life to the fullest. His resumé says it all; Frontiersman, farmer, aviator, film maker, photographer, lover of music, educationalist and a man of wealth. This does not strike me as a man who can have ‘his spirit broken’ by a departing Austrian Fräulein. In fact this is the kind of man who can win a woman over if he set his mind to it. Presented with the shoes of his life, I would gladly give up the false security of home and hearth, for this bush-jacket-with-many-pockets life. But it is okay to romanticize. It lends a certain poignant quality to the story. I still think it is probably not true. What if Lord Egerton had settled with the Austrian Fräulein in his thatch house? Would there be a castle to write about?

This man was cast from the same mould as two other Englishmen. Dr. William Geoffrey Griffin, OGH, MBS, OBE and Sir. Wilfred Patrick Thesiger, CBE, DSO,FRAS, FRGS (OMG?). Both these men shunned the matrimonial way in life and dedicated themselves to greater causes. Had they chosen otherwise, I doubt they would have so much alphabet after their names. These men may not have borne offspring, but their names will endure longer than their peers’, even longer after their bones turn to dust.

This trio of Englishmen, Egerton, Griffin and Thesiger were all accomplished outdoors-men. Griffin spent many years surveying the Kenyan wild and a few years as a soldier. He was a big game hunter and a scoutmaster. Thesiger was a world-renowned explorer, an honorary Game warden in Turkana for many years, a decorated soldier too. I think such an intimate connection with nature inured such men against the need to travel other well beaten paths.

The lesson I take away from Egerton’s saga is to define and chart the course of my life the best way I know how, and to take ‘The Road Less Travelled’ (Frost). It is also very possible that Egerton just discovered very early on that ‘bitches be crazy’ and did the smart thing. In another time, in this place, I will endeavour for a life that will take me away from the concrete jungle, down a road less travelled, to a place of solitude, like Egerton’s Ngata Farm and castle, like Griffin’s sojourns across the Kenyan wild, like Thesiger’s Abbysinia, Arabia, Sudan and Turkana. To a bucolic place, with cows and trees. A faithful dog and a butler, a Man Friday of sorts, a kind of My Man Jeeves. I am sure Egerton had a butler.

All this is if life allows me. For a life of solitude is not of necessity a bad thing. There ought to be such a thing as hermetic splendour.

It’s more than a decade since that late evening walk we took from the castle back to Njoro. We were very happy. My bro Múgo is now married, same as aunt Hiúko. We are all much older. I have since grown distant from my aunties. That’s what growing up does to people. Your post brought back a cache of sweet childhood memories, the closest we ever come to time travel.

A mystery into Lord Egerton’s castle …

From Molo, it’s a scenic 30 minutes drive that my family and I enjoy. We arrive at ‘the place where the suitor missed the target’. Not my words but the tag line on the brochure I pick at the gate on my way into the Lord Egerton castle. I am wowed at my first sight of a castle; grandiose and whimsical. In a split second I imagine seeing a beautiful damsel in distress with flowing hair peeping from the medieval sight of the parapet, wishful thinking. This magnificent 53 room castle lying a few meters off the Nakuru- Eldoret highway about fifteen kilometers from Nakuru town was built by Lord Maurice Egerton Tatton, the fourth and last Baron Egerton of Tatton  (1874 – 1958).

Robert Onyiego is a bubbly elderly man in his 80′s. He was the castle’s manager and also the favourite of Egerton’s mere ten Luo servants, he tells me. “Lord Egerton loved a Luo man’s work ethic and we did not ask him any questions,” says Robert who two decades later has become the castle’s caretaker and tour guide.

Lord Egerton was a smart man. An aviator, photographer and filmmaker who loved architecture. He was among the first white settlers to conquer the Kenyan white highlands. He finally settled in Ngata farm where he owned an extensive farm and prairies that stretched all the way from Rongai to Nakuru. If you were a man owning such acres of land in the first quarter of the 20th century, you wouldn’t only be stinking rich but freaking eligible! If you owned that kind of land now, ditto and at any one time I can bet that any sane woman would fall for that package, i am wrong.

Lord Egerton was a strange man. He was meticulous to the letter, possibly a tyrant and above all, lonely. Like most of us, he wanted nothing but love. Robert looks grim as he narrates perhaps the only true and modern East African bitter-sweet-fairy-cum-love tale. An Austrian woman came to Kenya from overseas to visit Egerton, her fiancée. At that time Egerton was living in a thatch-like six bed roomed dwelling that echoed his love for African culture. To the lady not only were his quarters unimpressive, but they reflected on his entire bid to marry her. “I can’t live in a house the size of a plane!” she said. Marriage talks failed flat on Lord Egerton. The lady went back to London and soon got married to another man.

Egerton’s spirit was broken, enough to build a wall inside his heart, and a castle surrounding his existence. “Contrary to popular theory that after being jilted by his lover, Egerton built the castle to re-impress her; he actually build the castle to appease only one thing, his solitude,” says Robert. Among the things banned from the castle’s ward was live chicken and dogs because his former lover had compared his house to a chicken’s hut and a dogs kennel. However, Egerton’s Achilles heel was women. “He gave us orders never to mention even the word ‘female’ in his castle and its extensive 100 acre ward. Accompanying one to the castle was unfathomable,” says Robert.

Thanks to Egerton’s absence, I walk freely up the flight of stairs leading into the castle. On the left of its ground floor is a dilapidated yet classic ball room that closely resembles the one from the Titanic, yup. Now empty and only home to a broken piano and the architectural prowess, Robert shows us a corner near a large window where Egerton would sit under a golden curtain as orchestras and seasoned musicians from abroad played him symphonies. “He loved music so he invited artists from far and wide. This floor had coloured carpets with gold plating and the shelves by the windows all had clocks and cutlery made of gold,” reminisces Robert.

The walk through the 4 storey castle feels like a time travel into chivalry. The man had mastered his delectable traits, I can tell by the large wine cellar situated in the basement. The castle has many bathrooms which all had electrical machines to warm the towel and dry the hair; at least four to himself, the rest for male kids, guests and the ladies, despite the irony that no woman took a shower in there during his tenure. There’s a large safe, two food stores; one was for imported foods and the other for local products. “The kitchen had a mini slaughter-house. The chef would have to shower and perfume himself before cooking Lord a meal. A doctor would drive from Nakuru twice a day to come inspect his food,” says Robert.

It also surprises me that all the rooms are numbered. Lord Egerton’s bedroom door number is 20 and locked. “It still has some of his personal effects, “Robert explains. “All 53 rooms were numbered because we had a lot of businesses running around here, it was easier that way to avoid getting lost,” he adds.

The love story goes on as narrated by Robert. Together with Egerton’s close links they tried to find him another woman so that one day she would inherit his vast property, a realistic but sad reason if you ask me. They found him an American black woman. Still wary of his feelings Egerton went into a thorough background check on her. He found that she had been married with kids in Australia. Poor Egerton, his last hope shattered.

The luxurious castle was built between 1930 and 1940. “It’s stones and zinc tiles were shipped from Europe and Asia, the builders specifically 100 Red Indians from America,” says Robert.

It’s the castle where Lord Egerton lived in loneliness or found fortress (heck- who really knows?) with his servants till 1958 when he succumbed to what Robert described as lung complications. This was after having flown twenty five doctors into the country to fix him. It’s sad that they couldn’t even save his life. He was buried in Nakuru. All his gold and movable wealth was sent to his family in London. His last surviving sibling died the same year as him. The castle is now an art just two decades shy of a century in age, also a tourist attraction of international repute. It is now under the stewardship of the Egerton University which Lord Egerton himself also established.

I am curious if Lord would turn in his grave if he knew that women were today visiting his castle let alone getting married on its picturesque lawn. “I haven’t thought much about that as Lord is long gone,” Robert is taken aback. “I miss his lifestyle, he bought us many gifts; I remember he got me a motor bike, three suits and ties,” says Mzee Onyiego who is now putting on a ragged trench coat and a hideous hat.

I learn that if anyone looks down on you, you should go on and prove them wrong by building yourself a castle! Well, metaphorically It’s about making the best out of every situation. But for it to be at the expense of your closure is wanting … I am still mystified after my safari into the Lord’s castle of love.

Of his colour, music & paint …

I am in love with an artist. He is colour before my eyes. In front of his, I am fallen manna. I am a gift that sits pretty. I am the muse that lifts his spirits. He is needy of a piece of art- me; so yes, I am amused. He is never petty but keen on me- his inspiration. See I feel at peace when he stares into my eyes in adoration. It’s as if I am naked in a garden of exploration. Not of Eden but of a lake of plenty. Not water but of hefty love.

I am in love with an artist. He is music to my ears. And to his, I am the intrinsic song that never ends. As I play his well written notes, he finds joy in my deep well of hidden lyrics. See, he is seasoned in his field, I can tell by the sound of his melody, soothing. It’s as if I am bound by his entirety, cooling. In reality it feels like a beautiful rhapsody that only he can mould and uphold.

I am in love with an artist. To me, he is a painter. To him, I am the canvas. On some nights he puts the brush down and recites me a verse. His might- lies in colours so he uses them sparingly, no rush. They are not made of oil but love, sometimes I blush.  Oh … He is patient, so whatever time he never gives hurriedly. I am his precondition so I never leave undoubtedly. We are some kind of addition to art. Inside my heart it feels like we are an ocean connected by emotions. Silent, peaceful and deep.

How I fell in love with Paa Ya Paa …

It’s not only an art centre but at its centre is tranquility. The sun is blazing on the late afternoon when I arrive at the Paa Ya Paa on a motorbike that saves me the walk from the junction off Kiambu road. The silence is convivial, the birds are singing and the banana trees are flaunting their leaves.

Paa Ya Paa’s co-founder and director Mzee Elimo Njau receives me like his daughter. He hugs and welcomes me to a seat at the patio whose spectacle is unusual. On the floor is a lineup of little wooden sculptors of crocodiles and men. The women are carrying pots and the men are holding rungus. In between the assemble are three black cats standing and that mutual intimacy makes them all seem alive. Oblivious to the heat, Mzee brings me tea and sweet bananas. “It’s herbal and good for you, everything around here is authentic,” he tells me. The tea is really sweet, devoid of milk, I can taste lemon grass, honey, ginger and everything-nice.

When Philda Njau, Mzee’s wife of American decent who is also the international arts program coordinator at Paa Ya Paa arrives, she leads me to the main gallery. “Sit and have your tea here, look at the art pieces,” she warmly invites me.  I slowly walk around. Pure serenity. I already dread departure time even before the start of the interview. At the fore front of the gallery is a mural of Jesus surrounded by the 12 disciples. Among numerous art depictions I see Maina Gikonyo’s portrait of Dedan Kimathi, some graffiti and Chandvi Shah’s painting of beautiful butterflies lost in colour. I marvel at Louis Duval’s painting of a woman cooking from an African pot. In 1997 the Paa Ya Paa art centre was destroyed by an inferno in an electrical freak accident. Dubbed ‘In Love With Africa’, this is the gallery’s debut exhibition since it’s notable renovation. Mzee and Philda join me at the grandiose glass table, Philda bringing me chocolate brownies and soda. I am still drinking my tea. I am spoilt.

At the heart of the gallery is a roofless partition with a eucalyptus tree rooted in the middle. “Colonialists brought in the eucalyptus tree from Australia because it needed water and so the Kenyan soil fed it. It’s years later and to date the trees and soil have never quarreled. Just like the tree, art is sacred. At Paa Ya Paa we reflect the African personality regardless of colonialism, tribalism, traditions and civilization,” says Mzee.

Founded in 1965, Paa Ya Paa is the oldest indigenous art gallery in Kenya. It’s a modern-day miracle that in just 14 years, the centre re-built on its status despite the loss of art work collected over many decades. “Art is not a building but an indigenous spirit which brings to life the omnipotence of God as He is the spirit that never dies. It’s what saved us,” says Elimo an accomplished painter, sculptor and muralist.

The adjacent gallery has the sign ‘In Love With Africa’ at the entrance. Inside are portraits of African presidents by Boyd Oyier. At the front is Kibacia Gatu’s beautifully beaded collage of Wangari Maathai labeled ’The African mother.’ This room exalts African personalities.

The ruin section of Paa Ya Paa is out of this world! Take my word when I say that the fire artistically burned down the gallery. The wall, floor and doors debris are striking, especially when accessorized with the art pieces. “After the renovation, we wanted to hold a meaningful exhibition. Africa came to mind and when we called out, over 50 artists with over 140 art pieces answered,” says Philda Njau with a satisfactory beam.

The late James Kangwana was among a group of art lovers, writers and artists from allover Africa who founded the gallery whose age is nearly clocking half a century. He is the one who named the centre, Paa Ya Paa; a witty wordplay to mean an antelope rises. Antelopes have long legs and can run fast. In the long stride Paa Ya Paa is taking it easy. Wonder if James knew that one day, the centre would burn down to re-live it’s name.

Mzee and Philda later invited me into their home for dinner. Mzee even suggested that I should sleep over. I felt at home and wanted to; just that I would have no change of clothes for the next morning to work. Only last week Mzee called to ask why they hadn’t heard from me in a while. “You know we love you,” he said

“Kenyans appreciate art. They just don’t know that it’s in daily life. It’s how you arrange your flowers, your clothes, it’s the general order. While it’s true that art is abstract, it lives through your eyes in two forms; the tangible and intangible. At the end, art is about receiving and living. You are as much as an artist just by appreciating a piece of art. Same way you are a composer if you can value the music,” wise words from one of the fathers of East African culture & art Mzee Njau. As my love for Africa got re-acquainted, I fell hard in the acquainting of my love for Paa Ya Paa.

BONUS: AfricanColours ask Elimo Njau four questions

The Painter ..

I am in love with a painter, we met at an art exhibition. A week later he took me to an expedition into his studio. Not literally but he stood by my side. Besides everything, he understood the language of my heart …

I am in love with a painter, he writes not letters. He engraves in wood, even though he is hood, he lights me up. Some people call him crude but even when he is rude, I know who he is, selfless.  They say that he is not enough for me, but they don’t know that less is more …

I am in love with a painter, he is a master of the canvas. More so, He is well versed when it comes to my desires. He inspires me to play with colours, not oil based but of the shades of life. I used to hide but now am out feeling like a priceless piece of art …

The art of Art writing

I had a very very interesting day today! Well, thanks to one Gor Soudan, I got an invite to an art writers workshop at the Kuona Trust offices! Sounds wordy huh? I know, I feel so superior right now LOL nway am kidding… The workshop was facilitated by New York -based writer, editor, curator & art blogger Marina Cashdan, trust me you can go ahead and google her! She is really a super cool woman whose life revolves around art and art and did I say art?

I am no art writer but yes I do write stuff that actually get published   However, that’s not to say that art is not a fascination that has always haunted me, the good kind! I always find pleasure in viewing art pieces/ exhibitions, because every time I see overly artistic/ strange things or a certain abstract art, I marvel at what the artist who created it must have been thinking, what could have inspired them? I marvel at how they find a lot of intensity in the simplest of art, like just a picture of a sunset but a whole load of stories to tell behind it.

I have then concluded that because I have the ability to appreciate art and to write all the same, why not merge the two? Its however not as easy as it may sound because like any other form of writing, art has its inherent rules. You have to know the art, must have seen quite a diverse lot and actually be able to differentiate between the materials used and the different messages probably passed in different forms of art.

In summary, I learnt that art writing is very subjective. You can’t actually state that the art is X or Y. Art can never be black or white. However, you must state that you see it as X or Y. Do you get the difference? As an art writer you must be able to clearly pass the message that it’s not definitive of how you see it, moreover describe the feelings the art invokes in you, relate them to the outside world, learn more about the artist’s profile, where they live, when they were born, what sort of materials they use in their art and why? Merge all that to create a story that’s wholesome. I know it sounds so complicated yet so simple.

I think the biggest challenge for an art writer is to actually be able to communicate through to different audiences whether or not they are art enthusiasts. A lot of art writers have a tendency of making their written pieces an art by itself making the reader get lost in the texts even before looking at the actual art. A good art writer does not engage so much into the art jargon but instead breaks it down for the reader to comprehend and see the art through the writer’s eyes. If by any chance the reader fails to agree with the writer, the better as that would make them actually get out there and go see the art for themselves.

After the session, I felt inspired to actually walk around the Kuona Trust workshops to visit the various artists at their work places & get a gist of what goes on through a writer’s mind & boy wasn’t that a good idea! I literally had a field day! Among other artists,  I met Cyrus Kabiru, a shy but overly talented artist dressed in a funky old grey overall that sort of depicts a scenario of ,”Twende Kazi!” Cyrus refused to tell of his age but one thing that would definitely remain ageless is his eye wear antics that BTW have themes and are just awesome! If I were a musician I would hire all his shades for the funkiest video shoot to ever hail from this side of the Sahara!

As I walk into a different workshop, Yassir Ali, a Sudanese freelance artist is sitting by his messy and artistic table taking a smoke. “Shall I come in?” Of course, he says with a smile so inviting. Having fled from Sudan in 1995, he has since found a home in Kenya. Ali is now married with kids and says that art is more than a career to him. It doesn’t only pay all his bills but satisfies his heart’s love, to paint. Most of his paintings are the Nubian culture inspired. He tells me that creating an art starts with an inspiration, mostly developed from a sketch that he later transforms into a huge mural or otherwise. To see his work, here is: Yassir\’s website

Among the artists who were at the earlier session Mary Collis and her lovely friend whose name I never got said I would be a beautiful piece of art if they drew me   Her friend had actually made a sketch of me from the session, I thought that was very artistic of her. I think they are co painters, wonder if there is such a term.. Nway so we all exchanged contacts and they will contact me for a drawing/painting session, can’t wait! In the mean time, yours truly is the latest addition to the Footnotes E.A project, the only East African arts online publication!  Holla! This year, I am not only taking my print career to another level but also spicing it up by adding art ..

BONUS: Kuona Trust is a non-profit organization founded in 1995 to serve visual arts and has since worked with over 1,500 artists giving them skills and opportunities to advance themselves while at the same time increasing the profiles and role of the visual arts in Kenya.

Thank you Gor Soudan for giving me an opportunity to learn and prove my worth