Excerpts from Mischa's Journal:
Dr. Mambo and his nephew Elias picked us up in Mombasa early Saturday morning. After stopping at the store to buy sugar and picking up Elias's wife, Ruth, we drove the 50 bumpy kilometers to the Kaloleni area, northwest of Mombasa.
As we neared the compound, set amongst coconut palms and gentle hills, we heard women's voices singing. Pulling the cars into the village's center, we realized the singing was for our arrival. About a dozen women dressed in colorful wraps and head scarves sang a welcoming cheer and tossed rice into the air. It was an emotional scene as the women (Anita's aunts) descended on their long-awaited relative, my wife, whom they only know as "Kadama."
Soon we were situated on the front porch area of the compound's main home. It is made from packed mud walls and a corrugated metal roof. All the women and girls sat on one side, the men and boys on the other. We greeted Anita's elderly uncles who are the leaders of the family. While neither man spoke English, we were able to express our mutual happiness in the reunion and thanked them for having us to their home.
We spent the rest of the day eating a tremendous breakfast (omelets, chapatis, sweet buns and chai), meeting and getting to know more relatives, learning the names of all the children, and taking a walk down to the village's crops. At one point, some coconuts were gathered and a machete was used to open them up so we could drink the water inside.
Just as the sun was at its hottest sodas were distributed to cool us off. We were introduced to a goat and a chicken and encouraged to touch them before they were taken away to be prepared for the meal. Dinner was served under kerosene lamps inside the 2-room house that Dr. Mambo owns. The food was amazing! We feasted on goat stew and roast chicken (of course) with fresh coconut rice and tomato/onion salad.
The rest of the evening was whiled away chatting with the middle-aged men around Mambo's table. We discussed Kenyan politics, current events, culture, Nigerian movies and even pro wrestling.
Later when we said goodnight to everyone most of the women were still chatting away on the porch. I noticed the intense stars and nearly full moon burning above the tall coconut trees. It was surreal...you didn't even need a flashlight to see your way around. The next morning we awoke before dawn, thanked all the relatives and slowly made our way back to Mombasa.
Excerpts from Anita's (Kadama's) Journal:
Saturday, September 9th was one of the best days of my life. On our drive there, Baba's (my father's) words "they are waiting for you" kept repeating in my mind. I felt a nervous excitement and butterflies in my stomach. I kept telling myself not to let my expectations get too high, cautioning myself that in reality things might turn out to be a watered down, subdued version of what I had imagined after over 20 years of anticipation. Little did I know that the experience of meeting my relatives, my clan, finding my roots in the most direct way imaginable would, in fact, exceed my expectations.
As we pulled up we heard the most welcoming sound- the women rejoicing by singing " ahloo la la loo" and swaying their bodies side to side. I felt a great sense of joy and a wave of emotion, as I held back tears of happiness. The women, my aunts, surrounded us. Each of them put out their hands to greet us. My heart swelled. Baba was beaming as he began to introduce us to our family members.
As I became accustomed to my new environment, it occurred to me that the compound/settlement was much smaller than my 9-yr-old brain remembered it. Also I was surprised to learn that almost everyone spoke Swahili in addition to our mother tounge, Chikambe...and that those of my generation (my adult cousins) spoke English fluently.
During the preparation for our dinner feast, the women gathered together to grate coconut for the meal. They enlisted me to try the jagged knife-shaped aparatus. They placed a "kanga" (colored Kenyan cloth) around my waist and begun the verbal rejoicing ritual as I tried to grate the coconut. They kept gazing at me with so much longing saying, "ah, Kadama ... you are home." I felt so at peace, so cherished and so connected to my family and my old, yet new, home.
