Awekening to the pain of Caffeine

It was on a Sunday and you might as well call it the day of false prophecy.

  I had spent the previous night at my late aunt Emily's house. For those who knew my aunt, they most likely know her for her exemplary work as a coffee farmer. She was a recipient of all types of awards. That made her extremely proud and she patiently give any guest a tour of her small farm. My aunt is no more and the same can be said of the glory of an industry she was so proud of. I was sure to take three photos of some the coffee tree she planted in the mid seventies.  This year the same coffee trees earned one of her son $130 a year from the back breaking work. The only reprieve is that the cost of chemicals fertilizers and herbicides have already been deducted.  

Let us just look at the chemicals aspect of my cousi's "business". Since labour is quite expensive, he opts to go the cheaper way and use  Round Up at the cost of $3 every time he sprays. The person spraying churches $5 a day. The recommended number times to control weeds is 8 timee. That comes to $64 dollars a year.  

The next stage is the application of fertiliser to the coffee trees. My cousin uses $70 on this leg of the long journey .

Coffee has to be pruned twice a year at  a cost of $60 each time. That gives a cost of $120 dollars a year. 

At this stage all that is left is to picking the " beans of Burden". My cousin reports that he spends about $100 on the labour of picking the beans. 

Doing the math for you is almost an abuse of your intelligence.  Instead, allow me to interject with the story of a  phone charger to put things into context.

After leaving my cousin's small coffee farm we realised that there was no power in the house.  Our infinite wisdom guided us to the nearby shopping centre to buy a car charger. You can see a photo of it too. You will be forgiven for wondering what a phone charger has to do with coffee farming.

The honest truth is the this post is about the phone and not coffee farming.  The story of coffee only gives context to story of the charger. 

The charger on the photo costs me $2.00. The charger is made in China, transported here and retails for the above price.

If the Chinese can produce chargers for Kenyans at that cost while we farm at a hefty loss and no government subsidies.  You are kidding yourself if you think that with such a gap you can avoid one of three things: Revolution, Death or Dictatorship. 

There is something you can afford for good measure. Please skip praying for the coffee the next time you drink a cup of coffee that contains Kenyan or African beans. If you do, please send my cousin or any coffee farmer $ 1 for every cup you drink. That would make the false prophecy real and may even delay Death,Revolution or  Dictatorship!

Ours is a false prophecy!

Superstitions and Health

I have write about food, superstitions and negative ethnicity/racial bias without any favor or prejudice.  So I will not be saying I told you so or saying what I have already said before. What I wish I was more loud about is friendship. One of the subtle casualties of injustice and inequality is genuine friendship.  

Colonialism, slavery primed many for believe in nonexistent forces. On the face of it it appears a harmless practice. What I have realized is that in accordance to the Second Law of Thermodynamics,  entropy increases. It is becoming increasingly difficult to find genuine people in any field. 

From community, to business and even in the most hallowed institutions such as court system, international organizations and religious organizations,  there is a severe lack of honesty.

That dishonesty is now affecting families. It might be one of the reasons why marriages are less stable, while depression and a general feeling of apathy being quite prevalent.  

These are obvious outcomes of a capitalistic system that has ran amok. Our lives and institutions now mirror that exploitative system that considers sustainability as a nuisance.

There are obviously many other factors that we can add to the list. I am however fascinated by the fact that many politicians and religious leaders have offered false, nice-sounding, promises that many have fallen for and in the meantime neglected nurturing  time-tested and proven benefits of viable and genuine friendship.  

Save for one drunk and deluded Nigerian preacher I heard promising that he would go to China and deal with the virus, the fire-breathing power brokers are making very economical utterances which simply adds up to nothing but caution.

Here is a wonderful opportunity to be humans to be free again. Community and friendship time is here! Go forth and try it. There is none that is immune to this problem.  The rich and the poor are equal in this matters. You need no more proof than the coronavirus and the over 100,000 deaths of relatively well of whites that is commonly known as the death of despair. Make friends and live, that is if you survive the death of the stupid economy.  It's the economy, stupid.

A Tribute to A Mississippi Queen

If I was to take a few minutes to do a gastrointestinal reflection on what 30 years in the U.S has meant to my food culture, a most appropriate place to start would be in on the Thanksgiving Sunday in 1989 in as border town of South Haven Mississippi, close Memphis, Tennessee.

This year 30 years ago, I attended New Hope Baptist Church in Southaven Mississippi with my newly wedded wife who was two months pregnant with my daughter. After church, we attended a huge family dinner at the in-laws house. Ms. Warren was the matriarch of the house who would make any feminist blush. 

She understood exactly what African Americans had to do to hold the families together. The Sunday dinners was a family tradition that few missed without a genuine excuse good enough for the queen. The time I spent with Mrs. Warren and her family has had a tremendous impact on my thoughts about food and justice. 

The she would tell me stories about share cropping; how they financed their house from a cleaning wage and a garbage driver's wage coz the bank would not loan them any money. To get around the racist laws, the Warrens would buy building material during the week and then the men in the community would come help build the house. Over the weekend That is exactly what I had seen growing up in the village in Kenya.

The lessons from Mrs. Warren were not always verbal. I learned a ton just from observing how she handled business with style. She was a sharp dresser, bling and all , and also very religious.  It was a great honor to introduce her to my father during a visit for my graduation.  I tried to explain to him the role Mrs. Warren and her family had played during the toughest time of my life. Weather he understood or not is besides the point. What is important is my food culture was connected to that of African Americans through not only through blood but through Mrs. Warren. On this day, I made a wonderful meal only fit for Mrs. Warren. Though I no longer keep the church tradition, I do keep the deep lover she showered me with and a crass attitude for good measure.

What I thought was a challenge at the time turned to be refining training from some of the best. Though uneducated, the wisdom and the warm she illuminated with be with me forever.

Kudos for my dinners around Mrs. Warren kitchen table with family.

For the sake of memories, I made a goat dish with stinging nettles,  malabar spinach,  pumpkin leaves, green bananas,  black pepper,  garlic and cumin.

Modern religions as an obstruction to indigenous cultures

Here is a message so many would find hateful simply because they don't know the history of the catholic church or don't care to know. Religion has caused so much hatred as each claim to have the ultimate truth. The truth of the matter is  that best of them is the one we all keep to ourselves and never use it as a means of dividing ourselves for no good reason. It would be great is everyone kept the good news, that supposedly brings salvation to the world but ends up destroying it, to themselves. It's hard enough agreeing on things we can see, leave alone things we can't see and will most likely never see. 

Catholicism historically looks and treats indigenous religions as stupid, backward and useless. It actively fought other denominations as well as other indigenous religions to eliminate competition.  There was all manner of subterfuge to maintain that dominance and no means were considered extreme. To be fair, Catholicism was not alone in using belief to gain political and economic power by peddling lies and ignorance. 

While I don't advocate abusive language,  I think it's quite insincere for those asking the person who posted this article to respect Catholics when the institution has so much blood on it's hands.

When you know the truth and you have the courage to tell that truth, true salvation is born every single. That salvation is called light and it destroys darkness. It's only through the illuminating light of knowledge, truth, love,justice and harmony to life thrives.

I am sending that illuminating energy on this most somber day, a day  whose energy has been usurped by the the forces of darkness. 

I am celebrating this solemn day for I am always amazed that I did finally see the light and I am free of the control of those dark forces. Much gratitude for those who stood guard at the gates of that illuminating light even when it cost them their lives. It's truly better to die than to live in darkness, though darkness is a form of death itself.

 Ignorance out of habit is still ignorance. It doesn't matter if everyone believes it or if my grandmother who was 200 years old believed it.

It matters not if that ignorance was originated by your brother, white people or is made in China. Only truth stands the test of time.

I am therefore not singing and shouting today over temporary joy that will disappear tomorrow. I am learning on a solid rock whose only constance is that it changes always. I stand ready to grasp more light. Religion on the other has one truth that only begrudgingly changes.

Pyramids of the Soul

What a pleasant surprise to hear from an old friend and an Africanist at heart. The Gillenwaters family were great friends from the early 1990s. This is just one of the hundreds of relationships I built in Memphis with African Americans that changed me for life. It's because of these kind of relationships that I strive to be a better African first and then a better human being second. 

I understood our history and struggle to be human better because of what my Kenyan sensibilities could perceive when around that environment.  Other people played some roles but I have to admit that being around the best and the worst of our experience brought a part of me that was too deeply buried within.  Many will not understand and I am fine with that.

The piece of art here reminds me of my deep hustle that would see me through hell if I needed. It is not simply art, but has a types of relationships and hands that finally came out to be what has been occupying my friend's wall for over a quarter of a century.  My oldest daughter probably has her fingerprints in the back of the art, being that she was always the loyal assistant.

 I was an art dealer in my first year of college and did some brisk business. What I didn't realize is that the experience was my introduction to anthropology and food activism. Many of my art negotiations took place in kitchen tables, barber shops and hair salons. 

My college friends were also like family in a mighty way. The professors were like guardians, uncles and aunts.  If you have never lived outside your home country, attending college and raising a daughter at the same time, just don't even try to imagine. I was also out of status and therefore undocumented for a while. Yet all these was just a passing cloud. It is for such reasons that I owe more than I can ever give. 

I would sell a piece of art, then visit the customers house to see their decor and then frame the piece to fit their decor. This same experience comes out in my approach to food and my love for people. Being in the kitchen of so many wonderful people's home made me feel less lonely. It also made me feel more secure knowing police officers, public officials, professional and most important intellectuals.

Memphis might be the city of the dead but it gave me princely life, love and light. More fire, black fire!

My Meeting With Prof. Ngugí Wa Thiong’o

Njathi wa Kabui

Back in 2004, I visited California for the first time. It just so happened that it was around election time.  The voting was actually taking place on the day following our arrival. This was a very special trip on various levels. Some of the reasons were planned and others not anticipated at all. 


Yet, the trip was memorable for various reasons. I have obviously revisited the trip in my solitude from time to time, and maybe it's to admit that as we age, we see things quite differently than we did during our young days. The laws of sustainable dictates that we share our expertise with the next generation to ensure that our culture becomes more efficient, effective and endearing.


My trip to California marked the first time I met my own "elder" scholar, the one and only Ngugì Wa Thiong'o. Elder Ngùgì was teaching at UC Davis and we were visiting our friends a few counties over. I had to pull all kinds of moves to make it to the meeting. Mugo Muchiri was extremely helpful in guiding me through the process. I met him then for the first time and our friendship is a remnant of that era. I also remember taking a taxi for the first time for the final leg of the trip there. 


I can't tell you how excited I was even at the thought of meeting a man who had influenced my intellectual development in ways I could never recount.


When I arrived on campus, I actually ran from where I was dropped off to his office. It wasn't hard to find, but once there, it was hard to leave.


I was a bit surprised about his height, but that was nothing compared to the lovely conversation. He is a true African intellectual.  From his hair to his shirt, everything matched the image I always had of great thinkers of history.


From our conversation that lasted about an hour and a half, I mostly remember of classic statement that he made. Ngugi looked at me straight in the face and told me, in a parable sort of way, and in impeccable Gìkùyù “ Tùciaraga tùgongithia ciene". That essentially means that we give birth and suckle other peoples children, which means that our babies ultimately starve or are demented.  


Shortly after, the polite Ngùgì called the Cab for me, and following our final exchange of niceties,  we parted ways.


I thought a lot about our conversation and even about the meeting itself. My head was spinning. I therefore hardly noticed when we arrived at my destination. I was going to a kenyan house where a group of fellow Kenyans held a weekly Bible study meeting.  The preacher would give me a ride back to our host as he lived in the same neighborhood. 


I knocked on the door and a young lady called me by both of my names. She continued to inform me that they had been expecting me. I was ushered in and offered a seat on one of the few empty spaces on the couch  following the introduction. The Bible class was going on. The Bible verse they were reading was about the false promise. A corrupt idiot by the name of Laban worked Jacob, his future son-in-law, for seven years and reneged on his promise to offer his second daughter in marriage. We all know the story and how seven years contract or indenture turned into 14 years. Jacob ended up marrying the two sisters.


I had already gotten over the Christianity gaze by then and I might have as well stayed outside. I had declined an opportunity to do a formal PhD and instead decided to do a 4 year independent study. I was suspicious that none of the PhD programs I had considered would answer my most fundamental question: why is Africans the world over in chains and how can they be free? I felt as though I would feel jilted at the end of my PhD program the same way Laban had done to Jacob. 


My reading had led me to understand what role religion played in our exploitation and also as an obstruction to our true liberation. Our conversation with elder Ngùgì wa Thiong'o was like a honey brew. It was causing my head to be light. 


Out of politeness I opted to seat around and simply be quiet.  Nobody seemed to notice my silence. The discussion went on as expected and was finally concluded. I sat there patiently, even as the others closed their eyes and prayed together. I uttered not a word. Not even an Amen.


With the Bible study over, the host offered the guests some tea and Mandazi. The TV was turned on as everybody wanted to get an update of the elections. John Kelley and George Bush were the two contenders.  

It quickly occured to me that the group was mostly in support of George Bush. His belief in Jesus was a major reason stated.

At some point the host noticed that I had said nothing. She wondered out loud if I was a supporter of Kelley as I did not seem all too excited with the news that showed Bush ahead.

In response, I told the middle aged woman that Africans have an eternal marriage of inconvenience with the West. Jacob was lucky he worked for 14 years for his bride. We have been living under the White gaze beginning with the fall of Egypt to the Romans, from 31 BC. The fall of Egypt marked the beginning of the fall of Africa. Now the Asians and Arabs have joined the fray in search of the Black Gold. 

I don't agree with Magesha Ngwiri's recent article where he argued that we are children of two worlds. Which World is hospitable to the Africans? If my grandmother in my village died while waiting for Jesus to come back, you know that the White Gaze is a serious matter. 

Africans know first hand that BLM doesn't mean anything to the Afrian leaders and power brokers. Most Africans don't know either of the two worlds Ngwiri was talking about. You can't be bilingual if you are not proficient in any single language. 

Study how Whites gained power and how Asians have changed their status relative to the west.  We don't have to copy anyone, but we can't avoid the work of a statecraft.  We don't have a double considering as W.E.B Dubois once said almost a hundred years ago in his book "Souls of Black Folk ''. What we have instead is a false consciousness.  Only a false consciousness can tolerate the delay of our struggle for true liberation. Only a people with a false consciousness would keep hoping for free liberation without a cost.

Tom Mwiraria was the last person I would have expected to call a clarion call first articulated by the real "elder" to many of us. How are we to grow up and fight for our own liberation if we continue to believe in contracts signed by dishonest powerful global elites that keep feeding us lies, both literally and figuratively?

Africans are not any special from any other group of people, liberation struggles and revolutions are not beauty contests. It wasn't easy as Maximilien Robespierre found in France found out, or Toussaint Louverture quickly found out in Haiti and so did Oliver Cromwell find out the getting rid of the crown in England wasn't necessarily a solution. Ironically,  Englad did so badly after the revolutionaries beheaded king Charles I that they had to reinstate the monarchy. 

I am beginning to suspect that some Africans seem to think we can adjust and conform to injustice and cultural domination.

James Baldwin once stated that " I am not your Neggar". Whatever or whatever you are willing to sacrifice your liberty for, that is what or who owns you. 

The revolution belongs to those who dream of tomorrow and those who appreciate that understanding that our lives are a sum total of all the battles that have been won and lost before. That same same rule of yesterday and today will apply to the next generation following yours.

Dream if you fancy, or study closely and understand the pains and fears that motivate those who dominate you. They shed a lot of blood to get to where they are ,and by extension,  to where we are. 

Socrates lived a simple but principled life. Few know who the wealthy people were in Athens at that time. Yet, this deadbeat father and not exactly the most handsome guy has the honor of dividing a discipline as glorious as philosophy.  All philosophers are classified as either pre or post Socratic.

I returned from a memorable vacation in California and the only thing that I am found worthy of writing from the whole trip was not all the fun things that I did with my friends but a meeting with this most ardent critic of all manner of injustices from linguistic oppression to human rights. Here is a man that I can honestly say has been living justly.. I live under the gaze of such souls.

Survival: THE SONG OF THE OPPRESSED

When i was about 11 years old, my older brother came home one Saturday evening with a small evelop. We were lucky enough to have owned a turntable. My brother turned it on and from the envelop, he produced a single vinyl record which he continued to play. That was the first time i heard song "Survival". I was instantly hooked and there is no telling how many times we played that record in the house.

I quickly schooled myself on the new craze and the prophet of that genre called Reggae. Brother Nesta was a brilliant musician and organizer. Together with the Wailers band, Bob produce some of the most recognizable melodic songs outside the European and American music. He propelled a genre of music that few would most likely have hardly recognized before Bob. Along with the music, he domesticated weed and a religion that is synonymous with Ganja. There are adherents of the Rasta religion in just about every country.

Yet, there are many others who are not affiliated with the Rasta but do apply many principles of that movement in their lives. Levity, as they call it is a practical and revolutionary way of living in harmony with nature. I would be remiss if I did not mention their cuisine that the movement introduced to many. The cuisine called Ital is available in most major cities, at least here in many places with a significant presence of Rasta brothers.

For me, Bob Marley was like an entry point into Fella Kuti. Those two might brothers formed the foundation that revolutionary African American thought would be nurtured. The three factors offered me the best mirror or eyes to resurrect an African Consciousness. Malcolm X, Amos Wilson and Hubert Harrison were similarly great thinkers whose message was easily digestible following my previous interaction with Reggae. Reggae is a vibe even the politicians of today can't stop. The one train it stopped for was the one of status quo and

So today I will play Ambush in the Night in commemoration of Brother Nesta's honest work. We have to come out of this cultural or political "night " and into the daylight of justice. Remember this words from "Survival" in light of the current crisis: Scientific atrocity Atomic misphilosophy Nuclear misenergy. We are now moving from I&I to I & Covit. Rassss!

A Season for a New South

During the month of August, 2012, Teli Shabu and I entertained a sizeable group for a dinner at Granite Farms. Teli had been entertaining our guests on his melodic Kora for a number of years already. It was the most appropriate dinner sounds I have ever heard. 

Yet the sound of the Kora is not even half of the story.  The Kora has such an engaging origin in Guinea,  West Africa, that it can only be matched by it's evolutionary journey to the modern stages of the most influential international music played by African musicians.  The Kora has 21 fishing strings connected to a guard and an wooden rod that makes the whole instrument looking like an odd shaped laddle covered with goat skin. 

The Kora has more than just light connections to food in its engineering, in any case, I had decided to make it a central part of my dinners and lectures. Teli's story was just as long. It obviously started in Africa, through the Transatlantic slave trade routes, then back to Africa where he leared the stories and the playing of the Kora and finally right back to the U.S.

How the instrument was invented is shrouded in more mystery than most instruments.  Two families came up with a similar story to each of their families about how each had came into the possession of the instrument.  For the longest time, those were the only the two families that could produce the kora instruments as well as the players. Those two skills was a highly guarded family secret. A few other families later joined the ranks of Koran dynasties and they all dominate the mellodic music to this day.

For all the instruments and musicians I could have engaged that night, none would have been more fitting than a kora.  I had a deep urge to give a talk that would reflect my on my experience of living in the South for over two decades. The Kora itself had evolved in West Africa as an instrument of historians or keepers of the village memory. The Kora players are known as griots.

Those kora players would serenade every important social gathering that were important to the community.  Then, just like now, the Kora player was a major attraction, not just for it's eclectic sound of griot but also for the amazing history that was all memorized in the Kora players head going back hundreds of years back. 

On that night, I was planning to take a deep and honest look at history of the place I had come to call home longer than I had lived in Africa as a turning point in my work. For that point, I wanted to talk about the of South with a view of finding a way to create a better society in a bid to correct some the damages that left all transatlantic cultures deeply wounded. The three cultures I am referring to are Africans, Southern Whites and African America that came out of the interactions between the first two cultures.

I had been active in community organizing for almost 5 years before joing culinary school.  I felt especially honored that my friends whom I had been working with around issues of food justice were present. Others showed up for the first time and a few have remained friends ever since. 

 Roxanne L London and Maya Corneille, for example, continued to be major supporters in my learning and growth. Many others supported my efforts through their organizations. A representative of Burts office in Durham,  the largest sustainable body products in the U.S , was present. 

Maya Corneille, a professor of psychology at A&T University at the time, was a major advisor and strategist.  She also doubled up as a s'ues chef along a group of two Durhamites ladies: Andrea Horn and Bree Davis.  Devin D. Brown was mostly the only male in the Durham team. Devin was like the coach. He was the one who put the Durham group together. Where Devin went, we followed. He was and still is a kindred spirit. The group kept vigil like Cassandra in Divine Comedy during the most difficult years my work. 

Roxanne L London was a warrior per excellence.  She just showed in force and did what needed to be done. One thing that was unique about Roxanne was that she never showed up alone. She was rather quiet but hard to miss or forget. She kept company of strong souls, like Kim Soden and many others.

It was also the first time I talked about a concept I later called Blackism. While I did not call it that at the time, all the energy from the event caused me to take lots of notes about what I observed and felt. It was definitely the most intensive dinner I ever had until that day. I felt as if it was a major turning point and in so many ways it was.  It was also my first dinner to appear in a major magazine too. That meant having three photographer periodically coming in and out of the kitchen. In addition,  Kelly Taylor, my best teacher from culinary school was a guest. But she would periodically pop in and that was quite comforting. 

My friend Meri Hyöky and international photographer showed with a camera after many conversations online.  Meri had deep interests in food and activism.  She captured more of my events during these formative years for free. I obviously couldn't have afforded to pay many of the services that many of those friends graciously offered. 

I was shocked beyond words when a strong-built lady introduced herself as Meri in the steamy kitchen almost halfway int the dinner preparation. I had always thought I had been conversing with a man during our many social media texts. Her Finish name made it hard to identify her gender. This was the beginning of a two years of very productive collaboration. She would later marry her girlfriend a few years later and I am happy for them.  

Teza Tessa Eliza Thraves was also in attendance and she too has deep and strong footprints in my understanding of food in the South in all its complexities. She once invited me along with some young African American student farmers to a weekend workshop in Lynchburg Virginia where Will Allen was conducting a workshop on acquaponics. 

Will would go on to win the McArthur genius award years later. Will also built the garden for Mitchell Obama at the White House. The workshop and conversation at hotel we stayed at was pivotal. 

Teza would later marry her girlfriend in an elaborate wedding.  These souls amongst others taught me tolerance galore. There are so many things that I don't understand and even more that I will never understand.  

What I can say is that of all the problems we as humans have, what two consenting adults do is none of my business.  It shouldn't be the basis of discriminating against them.

Having been born in the Global south and currently living in the American South for last three decades, I can say that I have a fair idea about discrimination.  If I were to point out one common root of discrimination, I would pick false exceptionalism.  Based on that simple but painful examples above, I had to admit that there is nothing exceptional about having a particular sexual orientation.  

In my own evolutionary thinking, I thought it was a White culture. But then my friend and colleague Michael Twitty mentioned that he was gay at a keynote address attended in Durham. 

But the hardest and most entrenched bigotry was that it's a western culture. My late friend Binyavanga Wainaina would later announce that he was gay. The late Binyavanga was one of the most brilliant young Kenyan I knew. What was even more amazing was the fact that he had a rare combination of brilliance and a big heart. 

I knew Binyavanga through food mostly but also through activism and intellectual pursuits. I could understand some of the pains, pressures and imperfections that come with a big heart and big heads in light of oppression.  

Part of Binyavanga's problem was that he was a visionary in a barren land. 

I was not surprised to see him on Times Magazine's 2006 list of the 100 most influential people in the world.

My conclusion at the dinner at Granite Farm was that I wish that White Southerners were indeed a superior group of people. But then the poverty and long racial tension in the region, not to mention the historical losses in the civil war can hardly constitute evidence of such superiority. 

I would dare say that if certain sexual orientation makes people superior, let’s tally all the crimes committed by the worst criminals in each of our lives and see if it correlates with their sexual orientation or any other bigotry. 

While I know of only a few gay men and women, I know of even fewer amongst all groups who are morally off the charts.  The few morally straight or at least trying to be straight do not neatly fall on one side of the sexual divide. 

In the end, let us consider that the opportunity cost of oppressing others in fighting against our own oppression.  That is part of the reasons behind poor Whites supporting leaders who consider and treat them like trash. Hell, they even call them as much. In the same light, Africans will shout BLM and boycott White businesses while getting worse treatment at the hands of their wealthy elites and leaders. 

May we take the que and draw our own battle lines. My own promise is that when I draw my battle lines, I will be both honest and steadfast with myself, regardless of the White Gaze and the Black Haze. Racism in a way is like a negative Kora and Blackism is the damaging tune we all innocently hum to ourselves and hence block out the true Kora and the healing memories it carries.