Mau Mau and Historical Memory

Been in the library a few days this week, in between being a junkie at my favorite cyber cafe. I've been leafing through Oginga Odinga's Not Yet Uhuru, a political autobiography of one of Kenya's most prominent nationalists who was 'unbought and unbowed' throughout the long struggle for independence. I was particularly impressed with how Odinga tackled the problem of economic nationalism by forming business cooperatives and even doing contracting and construction. He seemed to realize the practical needs that underlie political promises and revolutionary zeal.
He details land tenure and allocation among the Luo people, his struggles as a teacher with white racism, as well as to the historical development of African Christianity. The rise of independent African congregations like the Israel Uhuru Church, Dini ya Roho and Nomiya Luo Church demonstrated how Africans took the universal message of the gospel and in the words of Bildad Kaggia, removed the 'European abominations' which had polluted the message of Jesus. This Africanization of Christianity also meant (in the case of Odinga) refusing to give his child a European name.
There are some interesting tidbits about the assistance rendered by the young Indian militant Pio Gama Pinto, as well as the role of newspapers in disseminating ideas to the African masses.
Odinga devotes time to considering the period in Kenya's history euphemistically known as 'The Emergency' or 'Mau Mau.' Odinga questions the facile assumptions about what Mau Mau really was, and places it at the center of historical consciousness in the struggle for Kenyan independence. "There was no such thing as Mau Mau. The poor were the Mau Mau and poverty could be stopped but not by bombs and weapons."
Despite the horrific portrayal of Mau Mau in numerous books, magazines, and movies (such as Africa Adieu, villifying Mau Mau as criminals and thugs, as anti-white lunatics, etc.

Odinga reveals the reality of the situation in which British mass arrests and land dispossession forced thousands of members of KAU to flee to the forests and become the Land and Freedom Army. Kenya can no more deny or be made to deny this part of its past than the United States can the Revolutionary War.
Odinga cites some very revealing statistics which ought to put in perspective who were the real 'gangsters': Out of the 2,000 people killed by Mau Mau, only 30 were white. On the other hand, the British detained 90,000 Africans during the same period and killed 11,000! And all this was to defend the interests of a small minority of white settlers who had forcibly dispossessed Africans of the best land in Kenya's most fertile areas.

Those African leaders who took over the reigns of government from the British post-independence did so under the stipulation that Mau Mau and the ideology of land redistribution would not be tolerated. The assumption of independence rested, in part, on assurances to the white settlers that their land and livelihood would be kept safe. Unfortunately this has meant a steady stream of anti-Mau Mau propaganda or at the least silence. Which is really incredible to contemplate that those fighters who paid the highest price for freedom by waging guerilla warfare against an imperial army, should turn out to benefit the least from the subsequent political bargaining carried out by a political class ostensibly representing their interests. I don't think I've seen a more striking example of neo-colonialism in action.

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Whiteness as a Global Phenomenon: Some Observations

And, yet, a certain word, a glance, a guise, will mirror, never show, reflecting not my gaze, but my uncertain question caught inside a shadow of our shifting eyes.


A man's errors are his portals of discovery.
--James Joyce


Joseph Palmi: Let me ask you something... we Italians, we got our families, and we got the church; the Irish, they have the homeland, Jews their tradition; even the niggers, they got their music. What about you people, Mr. Wilson, what do you have?
Edward Wilson: The United States of America. The rest of you are just visiting.

--from The Good Shepherd directed by Robert De Niro

I've had a lot of time over the past few days to think, since I am currently holed up in Mombasa with a dwindling cash supply. I've been thinking a lot about race and racial identity. Even though 'mzungu' calling here seems to have dwindled a bit lately (the kids in the building where I;m living finally know my name), reminders of the ongoing importance of 'whiteskin privilege' are ever present.

Yesterday, I was sitting in the baobab forest on the west side of town, munching on coconut biscuits and litchi juice, when this young man came and sat nearby and struck up a conversation. Turns out he is a new arrival in Mombasa from Kampala, Uganda, recently graduated from highschool and looking to get a job in I.T.
He spoke excitedly of his love for America and California, American television (Prison Break anyone?), and of his ultimate desire to marry an American woman. When I asked why this was so, he replied how much he liked their attitude and their freedom. Apparently though, as I soon clarified, this only applied to American WHITE women, because black women, he had been told, cheated on their men, and if their man found out about it, he would kill you.
Again, it got me thinking about the pervasive attitude I have observed over here of mzunguphilia...I am talking about in casual conversation, as well as the numerous women who have approached me telling me they love white men. Is it money? Yes. Is it self-hatred? This I find to be more complex answer.

It brought me back to a reflection about race and white identity that was published in the Liberator Magazine about "Positive White Identity". That article was my attempt to piece together all the disparate parts of my experience into some coherent philosophy for moving forward and living wholistically in world where the standard for what is right, as much as whites don't want to admit it, is still based on what powerful white men think.

My article was interpreted by some as an unequivocal stance against identifying as white, as if the identity itself was the virus and not the privilege, power, and arrogance that rides shotgun. Yet I was not trying to call whiteness the enemy so that every white would feel guilty when that identifying word was used. I wrote provocatively because I wanted to use the emotions of that word to spark a deeper probing of identity in general for people like me, family members, friends, and others who may have struggled with these questions and issues.

My own probing began in highschool with history, primarily American history, and looking at how the edifice of white supremacy in America was built and sustained from the first European settlement all the way through the Black Power movement. When I moved South for the first time, the ongoing reality of this system and its effects hit home in a powerful way.

Many years later, after a visit to South Africa, I began to understand how the system that whites built in America had been duplicated in other parts of the world where European migrants settled. Reading Cedric Robinson's Black Marxism made me aware of how the intellectual lineage of European thought was grounded in an attempt to universalize the mix of dynamism and fratricidal warfare that characterized intra-European relations (the specific heritage of European development through history) as a pattern for global development. To some extent this became a self-fulfilling prophecy, as the effects and after effects of European expansion and colonialization still reverberate through our modern political order.

At the same time that the historical link of whiteness and power was entering my understanding, my consciousness was penetrated by a second, more profound realization at the deepest levels. This was stimulated by going to school in majority black envirornments at Howard and Lincoln. Already radicalized going into these experiences, I was unprepared for how much I actually enjoyed the respect and affirmation I received for being (more often than not) the only white in most every situation. I didn't keep quiet or censor my views, but I did find that I was forced to grapple with viewpoints that were far from the rainbow view of diversity-for-personal-enhancement that I had been spoon fed by my public education.

More than being respected, I found I desired to be totally accepted by blacks. Since I increasingly did not find myself comfortable in the lily-white envirornments of armchair leftists, I gravitated towards black culture, and I saw my move as a cultural, as well as a political stance. If I wasn't going to be white (at least in spirit) then I would try to be black (at least in spirit). I felt I was solving two problems with this move. First, I was confronting my own segregated heritage and the cultural and social divide along racial lines that is absolutely real in America, Obama notwithstanding. Second, I believed I was dealing in an active way with the 'white guilt' that seems to overtake 'liberal' whites who attempt to confront race. (I used to observe despairingly the extent to which these whites let their guilt virtually paralyze their ability to analyze independently in discussions of race; it was as if their logical circuits shut down, and they put themselves down as the de facto oppressor.)

However, my growing adaptation culturally--deepening friendships, serious working relationships, dating, and even the ability to master linguistic cues in Black English--was not without its problems. Some blacks found my 'passing' into black culture less than authentic and actually quite pathetic. Those who disliked me likely did so for one of three reasons (that I either overheard or was told directly) 1) Genuine suspicion--ie, this guy has got to be a spook or 2)Belief that I was basically an interloper snooping where I didn't and couldn't belong. (commonly held by the 'conscious' crowd) or 3) Envy--ie, how could this white guy be so successful at a school for 'us'?

At the same time, I think my immersion raised concern among my family that I had really lost my foundation and didn't know who I was. I am quite sure other whites had even more unkind thoughts: Who the hell is this 'wigger' and what does he think he's doing? But there were many whites, who even if a bit quizzical, admired what I was doing. For my own part , I (uncharitably)found their admiration evidence of their unwillingness (or, more likely, inability) to do what I was doing.

I got so accomplished at being racially ambigous that black women customers at the Silver Spring Kinkos where I worked would frequently ask what race I was or comment how I must just be lightskinned. My personal favorite was, "Are you related to my cousin in Newark? Because you look just like him." This phenomenon even occured internationally. Two years ago, in Tanzania, an elderly man asked me, "Are you mixed with Negro?"

It made me very happy to not be considered white, I must say. At first, I felt like some kind of pioneer, or maybe a new hero, someone like the few whites I idolized--John Brown, Bob Zellner, Heather Booth. I was motivated by the idealistic feeling of a higher calling to do something no one else was willing to or capable of doing. I was that 'special white boy.' I was 'different than the rest.' And maybe I was, indeed am. No one can take the experience I have had from me.
But the inescapable fact, despite my abilities, my openmindedness, my ability to break down cultural barriers, despite the acceptance I have gained, is that I am no closer to being 'non-white'. At the end of the day, I have privilege and power I didn't ask for, benefits I have not earned, simply because of my skin color and my passport.

Indeed, the immersion into majority-black-envirornments actually helped me avoid dealing with the fundamental issue of who I am. In a way, as long as I was the only white, and I was down enough to hang around, I could enjoy myself and not have to think about a more fundamental problem: who the hell is Nate Mathews? That question only popped up when other whites came around, and I was forced to interact with them on some interpersonal level. Maybe that's why I found myself often a little suspicious at other whites and their motives for being where I was.

At the root of a lot of my suspicion, as well as white guilt, as well as the pervasive fear in the American body politic, is a lack of knowledge about who WE truly are? What collective identity do white people (now many generations removed from European descent) have other than living in the most powerful nation on earth? As a colleague put it, if America were to fall, what would 'whites' really have? What cultural foundation do we have to stand on? Where are our roots? Who the hell are we?

Now this is a question I found that African Americans (that is the descendants of those Africans brought to America to be enslaved) had to grapple with historically, and did so on a collective level by drawing on their remembrances of West African culture and tradition and attempting to extend that in an unfamiliar context. However, white Americans, by virtue of their political position, have not had to do this to any great extent. This is because of the relative economic position and illusory security offered by whiteness (in the form of land benefits, better jobs, family wealth, etc). Yet it is something that we must do, if we imagine a future beyond the United States as a people. I am reminded of that immortal quote from James Joyce, "Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race." I hope I am too modest to claim to be forging the uncreated conscience of my race, but G-d willing, my experience can offer some food for thought on how whites can both look at themselves critically and take action as REAL participants in the struggle for justice, not mere sideline contributors driven by latent guilt or a need for identification with the other. May the 'battles behind my forehead' be something worthwhile to someone, somewhere.

P.S. You know, as close as 6 months ago, I could not have written this post. I was still working so hard to be accepted. But thanks to some great conversations with people like DH, NP, and TN, I have been able to see the importance of admitting to myself certain things I did not want to see for a long time.

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Revolution, Nostalgia, and Heroism

Today, the phrase African socialism seems to espouse the view that the traditional African society was a classless society. imbued with the spirit of humanism and to express a nostalgia for that spirit. such a conception of socialism makes a fetish of the communal African society.
-Kwame Nkrumah

I like this quote for many reasons. First, because it shuns that unfortunate tendency of some writers to make pre-colonial Africa a place of perfect equality, a virtual paradise before the injection of evil which inevitably came from outside the unspoiled African envirornment.
The truth is this: Africa is the place of humankind's most ancient habitation, and as such we expect to find and do, the remains of the earliest civilizations as well as evidence of their decline and fall. This is the natural cycle of all human accomplishment throughout recorded history, and we place Africa outside history if we look to its past as if all Africans were kings and queens.
This also relates to a tendency I've noticed to deify revolutionary leaders, as if they possessed the truth for all times and places. Yet to make them heroes is to rob them of their relevance; they and thousands of others rose to prominence by making the powerful uneasy, by offering the stark unvarnished truth forged by their experience. They offered no claims to universalism and for the most part no ideologically ‘correct’ analysis applicable across time and space. They spoke from the specificity of their historical community and experience. They were usually hated by liberals. And yet, in each of them, one finds a current of humanism (and I mean that term in the best sense of faith in human capacity) and a generosity of spirit appropriate to the true revolutionary. One is reminded that Che once famously said, “a true revolutionary is inspired by feelings of love.” Unfortunately, in their haste to recycle the various arguments of these legends, some of their admirers have forgotten this basis.
For radicals, especially in America, there is a crucial gap between ideology and practice. While the great writings of Fanon, Malcolm X, Ho Chi Minh, and Steve Biko (to name a few) emerge from the crucible of the struggle, the radicalism of our generation is often simply recycled analysis, offered by pseudo-academics who have spent their whole life in school up till now, and who possess virtually no experience in the kind of political organizing or guerilla warfare of the previously mentioned writers. They are all theory, no practice.
My point is that borrowed ideologies, even from such luminaries as Malcolm X, rarely can respond flexibly to the challenges of actual lived experience. This will help prevent rhetorical hypocricy. For example, not long ago, I listened to a local DC filmmaker stir a crowd up by emphasizing how whites were trying to prevent his films being made, and how blacks needed to support each other. He went on to sharply criticize those Africans living in America who did nothing for Africa. Later, a friend related to me how this same filmmaker uses mostly white production companies! He brought to mind Fanon’s observation that there are many (mostly among the so-called ‘conscious’ crowd) who are “violent in their words and reformist in their attitudes.” Me, I am unabashedly a reformist. Reform should not be understood as a theoretical ideal rooted in a particular ideology (i.e. Western liberalism) but as the will to change certain aspects of society without destroying the whole society itself. Just because you favor reform doesn't mean you share the intellectual foundations of everyone else who wants reform. To be a revolutionary requires immense courage, indeed, I think it requires one to possess an incredible intensity bordering on the fanatical. This is not to discount revolutionaries, but to underscore Sekou Sundiata's words: "Revolution. You wouldn't use that word if you knew what it means/its dirty, its bloody, it overturns things."
Sadly, those who claim to be revolutionaries often use this ideology as the barest cover for their own personal ambitions. I've been utterly amazed at the childish posturing and exaggeration that passes for historical analysis at some of the 'revolutionary' meetings and gatherings I've attended; I'm even more incredulous that those who go around pumping up 'revolution' are actually arrogant about it. Sorry, this is unrelated to travel, but I had to rant for a second.

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Mamba Village+The Lingam Cave

Took a day-trip to Nyali to poke around on the beach and got completely sunburned. I swear I am well on track for skin cancer! Anyway, hiked a little south to see this beautiful cave/temple which houses several natural lingams and a rock that allegedly looks like Lord Ganesh. Its a very lovely place, and I got into a stimulating discussion of monotheism with the African caretaker of the cave. Finishing, I had to climb back down the way I had climbed up, and then hike back over sharp coral with the tide coming in--not the most pleasant experience. Ended up in the afternoon at Mamba Village, an absolutely sick place which I nevertheless found completely fascinating. Mamba is Swahili for crocodile, and as you can see from the pictures, they keep literally tens of thousands of crocodiles for farming purposes. Most are slaughtered between the ages of 3 and 7, for their skin and meat. Everywhere you look in the various pens and pools, there are crocodiles with jaws, noses, arms, and legs bitten off.
At 5:00, like some twisted psychological experiment, they ring the bell and bring a bucket of meat to the main pool to feed the adult crocs. Since crocodiles can take one meal a month and be fine, the feeders deliberately space out the feedings so they can show this spectacle every day to eager visitors. Dangling the meat above the water, the feeders taunt the crocs to jump and grab it, and, as you can see the crocs do not disappoint. I was revolted and entranced at the same time.

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Liberation, Theology, and the Abrahamic Religions

"We must go beyond giving a piece of bread to the little ones who knock on our doors...Saying 'yes' to them may make us feel good but does not solve the problem. one finds business people spending huge amounts on charity and it makes them feel very good. Nobody asks how come they have so much money...We must understand that if we choose solidarity with the poor that our option has a political character in so far as it means attacking structures and making decisions to take concrete actions to help specific classes."
quoted in Qu'ran, Liberation, and Pluralism


One thing I realized about myself during the course of reading Farid Esack's Qur'an, Liberation, and Pluralism: An Islamic Perspective of Interreligious Solidarity Against Oppression.: I cannot support any religion, no matter how orthodox, that does not have as its absolute center, support for the struggle of the poor and oppressed against their oppression. If that sounds like apostasy, then I think its an indication of how much theology these days, be it Islamic or Christian, is majoring in utter trivialities and consistently failing to address itself to the overarching needs of our world. It seems as if I am constantly reading or coming across apologetics which seek to 'prove' scientifically that the Qur'an is correct, or that Jesus was really the 'Son of God' or that modernity cannot explain the 'wonders' of creation. Which is all well and good up to a point. Yet I notice in this preoccupation a defensive position which religion has adopted against secularism and modernity and in consequence, ceded the great source of its prophetic power. Religion has the ability like no other instrument to mobilize the masses, yet the problem is that the conception of religion put forth is that of purely personal piety. I utterly reject this pie-in-the-sky approach. Its not that I don't believe in an afterlife or in the power of Allah. But I am just tired of seeing it used to justify words, actions, and policies that are directly opposed to the mandate of a JUST GOD!
Growing up as a Christian, and encountering liberation theology for the first time at the age of 21, I was deeply impressed but also deeply worried for the implication it held of relativism and undermining the authority of the Scripture. Since then, my perspective on this issue has changed radically, and I find myself drawn to its expression through the work of Farid Esack.
Esack has done for Islam what James Cone did for Christianity: give it a radical wake-up call and force it to confront the message of liberation inherent in the text of the Qur'an.
In studying the evolution of the Islamic community in the early days, one finds that the Prophet(SAW) was gathering followers from all walks of society and life and calling them to an order that transcended tribal, racial and previous religious classification. At its core, the message of Islam is no different than what Jesus came to do. Remember that Jesus said he came to fulfill the law, and that he preached from the Torah in order to call for the reform of the old order which was hierarchical and collaborationist, and had forgotten the basic 'spirit' of Judaism. Similarly in Eastern religion, the Buddha and other acknowledged spiritual masters often began their quest for truth not out of a desire to 'create' a new religion, but to reform the old one (often corrupt varieties of Hinduism). All this is not to say that Islam or Christianity are not legitimate religions in their own right. But it does go to illustrate how we generally think about religion: religion is something you 'have'. Thus, if I walk around Mombasa and go to pray in the masjid and someone asks my name, many people will not believe I am a Muslim because I have a 'Christian' name. Of course, when pushed they will admit that, "kwa hakika, dini ndani ya moyo yako." (In truth, religion is in your heart) It goes to show that religion functions dually: as a cultural marker in everyday usage, but also on a more philosophical level as a purification of the soul.Because true religion is a purification of the inner self, it follows that it will be reflected in how we live it.
This deeper reality is in line with how Jainism, one of the world's oldest religions, perceives religion, a reality also reflected in the Quran; knowledge of the truth has risen and fallen cyclically throughout history. Thus, with each new generation, new prophets have arisen in order to communicate this truth to the people, typically in the form of religion. And the Prophet (SAW), Jesus, Buddha, any great spiritual teacher would cry in disbelief and outrage if they saw the trivialities and worthless theological fiddling their followers engage in the name of 'religion'. Religion is not a immovable fortress to be guarded and hoarded. It is something so much more holy than can be expressed in words, something so much more radical than the status quo would like it to be, and something immeasurably powerful beyond imagination. I find its highest expression in the world today to be the struggle for justice, for how can we claim to 'submit to Allah', to 'be like Jesus', how can we claim a 'Christ-centered life' or to be following the way of the Prophet (Sunnah) if we are not living some kind of radical witness to the power and corruption of this world? And does not the power and corruption of this world find its most evil expression in the immoral pillage of Iraq by the US government, the tremendous and growing gap between rich and poor, the food policies of the the G8 (especially America) which have catastrophic effects on the ability of farmers worldwide to sell their produce at a fair price, the persecution and violence perpetrated outrageously against women worldwide by so-called 'Islamic' countries, and a host of other injustices, many of them far more local than what I have named.
I find myself so angry sometimes at the complacency in regards to this issue. And it leads me to define religion as this: 'an active response to the will of God with regard to justice and right conduct on every level of existence.' I acknowledge the relevance of religion as something you 'have' (i.e. culture, language, membership in a socio-ethnic group) but I prefer the first definition. What do you think? And remember, I am just an amateur scholar! I don't read Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, Aramaic, or any of the original languages of the books the religions I discussed find holy. But I contend that one doesn't have to in order to grasp the BASIC ESSENCE OF ALL RELIGION. RELIGION IS ONE. GOD IS ONE. Peace be upon those who follow right guidance. And God knows best.

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Miraa

For those pharmacopiacally savvy, miraa is more commonly known in Somalia and Ethiopia as 'qat.' Miraa is a plant with the effect of a mild narcotic. You chew the leaves for a long time in order to relax with friends. Its use is very popular and has a long lineage in Somali culture. It reportedly reduces appetite and heightens alertness. Although banned in many countries (U.A.E., Saudia Arabia, and Oman to my knowledge) miraa is widely available and completely legal in Mombasa. However its use carries certain social stigma (as I was to find out in my attempts to 'score' some) and its use is restricted in many public places like parks and nightclubs.
But first some background. Qat/miraa is illegal in the United States, but in D.C. its available, depending on who you know. I recall walking to a club with some Ethiopian friends and trying it for the first time. The overwhelmingly feeling I had was of chewing bitter, dried leaves. Which is why I had trouble understanding the fuss at one of our monthly ANC meetings when several neighbors stood up to give vehement denunciations of its use and supposed effects. You would have thought we were talking about crack cocaine from the way they described it. (Then again, we are talking about a particular group of DC residents whose tolerance for instant coffee, unleashed dogs, untended lawns, and loud noise is about zero, and whose idea of a good time is remaking the entire neighborhood over with latte-shops, dog-parks, and as few poor, black, or Latino residents as possible.)
Anyway, I went to a pan shop here in Mombasa to inquire about miraa and the guy directed me vaguely in the direction of the shop next-door. With some misgiving, I entered a pharmacy and observed the man behind the counter who looked Somali in appearance and whose wife and children were with him in the shop. My sixth sense should have taken over at this point and induced me to leave the shop, but I foolishly pressed on, asking him if he sold miraa. "Come again?" he said, as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Unauza miraa?" I repeated my question growing more sure that this was a bad idea. The man became visibly upset, "What! Man, use logic! This is a pharmacy, why would I sell miraa?!" As I stumbled for the right words, he continued, "Maybe you want some brown sugar too, huh, some heroin?!" I left the shop rather embarrassed.
My next foray was more successful. For 100 Ksh, I bought a bunch from an official miraa shop up near the bus stations. (Bus drivers reportedly utilize it for their long cross-country and overnight trips). Popping the leaves in my mouth (which were much fresher than the miraa I tryed in DC), I walked as I chewed. The leaves initially numb your mouth and are quite bitter. After two hours, I felt a bit lightheaded but that was all. (I did lack an appetite, but that was more likely due to the HUGE lunch I had at the Gujarati-owned New Chetna all vegetarian restaraunt.)
Overall, the leaf did not induce any Aldous Huxley, "Doors-of-Perception" type experience, and I felt like an idiot.

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Fort Jesus

Source
Fort Jesus is a Portuguese fort built in 1593 by order of King Philip II of Spain ( King Philip I of Portugal ), then ruler of the joint Portuguese and Spanish Kingdoms, located on Mombasa Island to guard the Old Port of Mombasa, Kenya. It was built in the shape of a man (viewed from the air), and was given the name of Jesus, after Shaikh Isa Bin Tarif Al Bin Ali Al Utbi conquered the fort in 1837 after being asked for assistance by Sayyid Saeed Bin Sultan Imam of Muscat [1]. The name Jesus in Arabic means Isa, therefore it means the Fort of Isa ( Isa Bin Tarif ). Isa Bin Tarif , Chief of the Al Bin Ali Al Utbi Tribe , is a desendant of the Original Utub who conquered Bahrain [2]. The Al Bin Ali were a politically important group that moved backwards and forwards between Qatar and Bahrain, they were the original dominant group of Zubara area [3].

Between 1631 and 1875 the fort was won and lost nine times by the nations contesting control of Mombasa. It was declared a historical monument in 1958. Today it houses a museum.

The fort was designed by an Italian architect, Jao Batisto Cairato, who was the Chief Architect for Portuguese possessions in the East. Today, it is one of the finest examples of 16th century Portuguese military architecture, which has been influenced and changed by both the Omani Arabs and the British[4]. The fort quickly became a vital possession for anyone with the intention of controlling Mombasa Island or the surrounding areas of trade. When the British colonised Kenya, they used it as a prison, until 1958, when they converted it into a historical monument. James Kirkman was then assigned to excavate the monument, which he did (with a large use of external historical documents) from 1958 to 1971 [5].

And now my observations
Fort Jesus was one of the few 'tourist attractions' I have visited in East Africa where the majority of the visitors I observed were African. This bespeaks a larger problem with tourism dependency (although tourism is a HUGE revenue generator, this in itself is tied to larger problems of economic inequity and lopsided power relationships). Therefore it was extremely refreshing to see loads of primary and secondary school students touring the grounds and museum, notebooks in hand, to write down and absorb the knowledge presented.

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Arrived In Mombasa

Assaalaam alaikum kutokea Mombasa, Kenya. Nimefika salama. Nimefurahi sana. Ningependa kuwaonyesha vitu vichache kuhusu Mombasa. Kwanza, mji huu alikuwa muhimu sana kwa historia ya pwani ya afrika mashariki. Unakaribisha kujienjoy ukiangalia picha yangu! Mostly I have just been walking around looking at temples and mosques. I have a whole set to follow from Fort Jesus.

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