The Busia Police Commissioner (August 13, 2006)
After a very long day at work, Anthony, Owen and I walked over to Chauma for a quick approximation of dinner. As our ugali, sukuma and omelette arrived, we found ourselves with more beers than we had ordered. This is not rare since every now and again the staff at Chauma slips us additional beers with the hopes that a higher tab will result in better tips. "Jackie," Owen called to our waitress, "we didn't order these, please take them back." Jackie explained that these were on the house and that they had been bought for us. We looked around the restaurant, trying to discern who our mysterious benefactor was.
A very drunk man raised his glass and said, "Karibuni, wazungu! We are so happy to have you white people in our country." Inwardly I rolled my eyes, anticipating another monologue on the generosity and wonderousness of white people, come to save local Kenyans. Anthony and Owen politely bantered with the man and his table of guests when he finally said, "You know, I am an important man to know in Busia." Now we were all on alert; generally this is a phrase that means we have run into a government official or that we'll be asked for a bribe - not that the two are mutually exclusive (or inclusive, for that matter).
Turns out our benefactor was the Commanding Officer (CO) for the Busia Police, the equivalent of a U.S. Police Commissioner. I was remarkably and uncharacteristically silent, but the conversation was predominantly downhill from here. After about 5 minutes, the CO professed that he was entirely grateful to all the white people who come to help Kenyans out of their poverty. This is not unusual - I've heard this explanation several times from many different people in Busia, but nonetheless I find myself angry every time I hear it. I want to shake people and ask them why they are so willing to embrace and elevate people whose countries have either furthered or perpetuated the colonization of African countries, be it economic, cultural, or formal. Another story for another time, though.
At any rate, the CO proceeded to offer Anthony and Owen two "fresh" women, each, as a sign of his thanks [in case you are wondering, "fresh" indicates someone's virginity and there are a number of ways that people check for this, all of which are bull, in my opinion]. At this point, Owen and Anthony bantered with him, clearly joking with each other, but pretending they were serious with the CO. They began to bargain for different offers, and Owen was adamant that, given his girlfriend in the U.S., he would pass altogether. The CO tried to entice him further by ensuring that the offered women were "cut" (i.e. circumcised). At this point Owen found he could no longer joke and was very serious with the CO in turning him down, and further, condemning FGM. The CO retorted with, "You wazungu, I know you don't like this cutting, but it is really for the best. Otherwise women get too hot [i.e. aroused], and they cannot be controlled. If you cut them, then they lie there, and it is much more pleasurable for the man."
At this point we tried to figure out how to extricate ourselves without causing offense. The CO is certainly not someone to have as an enemy (especially given our history of incidents), but at the same time I found my stomach knotting up tighter and tighter. Anthony continued to banter, asking for ridiculous things and bargaining for more women - mostly as a joke, but also as a way to avoid answering the CO's requests. In the process of bargaining, the CO finally came up with a new bargain in exchange for his generosity -- me. I swear, you cannot make this stuff up.
Very rarely in my life do I find myself so digusted with a human being that I stop seeing them as human, but this was one of those moments. Throughout the conversation I had found myself repulsed and silently seething over the entire exchange, but it was also late at night, and I was not about to walk home by myself in the rain. I wanted to tell the others to just shut up and leave; certainly this table of police officers were too drunk to remember the details of our conversation anyway, and we were beyond the point of offense. Instead, my tablemates began to entertain a conversation on bargaining over the exchange rate of me (classified as "mixed" race for the purposes of this exchange) against Kenyan sex workers. Afterwards, as we walked home Anthony told me to lighten up and that the Busia police commissioner was not someone to be rude to. This was one of many times where I felt ready to punch him, both for assuming that I didn't know what was on the line, but also for being told to basically shut up.
It's hard to sum up my feelings on this experience because so many thoughts were rushing through my head. First, I was saddened and appalled by the fact that the entire conversation happened. It was a shocking reminder that, despite programs and constitutional amendments, gender equality is lip-service for many power holders in our area. Further, it was my first experience discussing issues of FGM, sexism, etc., with someone so blatantly and openly. There was no pretense, no covering up -- reality was defined by positionality and power. Finally, I was uncontrollably angry, but unlike my normal catty self in the U.S., I felt that confronting the issue would have been inappropriate. I don't think I've reconciled my feelings about the event with my personal views or politics, nor do I think the actions of my coworkers reflect their personal politics. What turned out to be a light-hearted evening quickly became disheartening.
A very drunk man raised his glass and said, "Karibuni, wazungu! We are so happy to have you white people in our country." Inwardly I rolled my eyes, anticipating another monologue on the generosity and wonderousness of white people, come to save local Kenyans. Anthony and Owen politely bantered with the man and his table of guests when he finally said, "You know, I am an important man to know in Busia." Now we were all on alert; generally this is a phrase that means we have run into a government official or that we'll be asked for a bribe - not that the two are mutually exclusive (or inclusive, for that matter).
Turns out our benefactor was the Commanding Officer (CO) for the Busia Police, the equivalent of a U.S. Police Commissioner. I was remarkably and uncharacteristically silent, but the conversation was predominantly downhill from here. After about 5 minutes, the CO professed that he was entirely grateful to all the white people who come to help Kenyans out of their poverty. This is not unusual - I've heard this explanation several times from many different people in Busia, but nonetheless I find myself angry every time I hear it. I want to shake people and ask them why they are so willing to embrace and elevate people whose countries have either furthered or perpetuated the colonization of African countries, be it economic, cultural, or formal. Another story for another time, though.
At any rate, the CO proceeded to offer Anthony and Owen two "fresh" women, each, as a sign of his thanks [in case you are wondering, "fresh" indicates someone's virginity and there are a number of ways that people check for this, all of which are bull, in my opinion]. At this point, Owen and Anthony bantered with him, clearly joking with each other, but pretending they were serious with the CO. They began to bargain for different offers, and Owen was adamant that, given his girlfriend in the U.S., he would pass altogether. The CO tried to entice him further by ensuring that the offered women were "cut" (i.e. circumcised). At this point Owen found he could no longer joke and was very serious with the CO in turning him down, and further, condemning FGM. The CO retorted with, "You wazungu, I know you don't like this cutting, but it is really for the best. Otherwise women get too hot [i.e. aroused], and they cannot be controlled. If you cut them, then they lie there, and it is much more pleasurable for the man."
At this point we tried to figure out how to extricate ourselves without causing offense. The CO is certainly not someone to have as an enemy (especially given our history of incidents), but at the same time I found my stomach knotting up tighter and tighter. Anthony continued to banter, asking for ridiculous things and bargaining for more women - mostly as a joke, but also as a way to avoid answering the CO's requests. In the process of bargaining, the CO finally came up with a new bargain in exchange for his generosity -- me. I swear, you cannot make this stuff up.
Very rarely in my life do I find myself so digusted with a human being that I stop seeing them as human, but this was one of those moments. Throughout the conversation I had found myself repulsed and silently seething over the entire exchange, but it was also late at night, and I was not about to walk home by myself in the rain. I wanted to tell the others to just shut up and leave; certainly this table of police officers were too drunk to remember the details of our conversation anyway, and we were beyond the point of offense. Instead, my tablemates began to entertain a conversation on bargaining over the exchange rate of me (classified as "mixed" race for the purposes of this exchange) against Kenyan sex workers. Afterwards, as we walked home Anthony told me to lighten up and that the Busia police commissioner was not someone to be rude to. This was one of many times where I felt ready to punch him, both for assuming that I didn't know what was on the line, but also for being told to basically shut up.
It's hard to sum up my feelings on this experience because so many thoughts were rushing through my head. First, I was saddened and appalled by the fact that the entire conversation happened. It was a shocking reminder that, despite programs and constitutional amendments, gender equality is lip-service for many power holders in our area. Further, it was my first experience discussing issues of FGM, sexism, etc., with someone so blatantly and openly. There was no pretense, no covering up -- reality was defined by positionality and power. Finally, I was uncontrollably angry, but unlike my normal catty self in the U.S., I felt that confronting the issue would have been inappropriate. I don't think I've reconciled my feelings about the event with my personal views or politics, nor do I think the actions of my coworkers reflect their personal politics. What turned out to be a light-hearted evening quickly became disheartening.
posted by Camille @ 10:02 PM
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