The Beating Heart

The first time Onkwani saw Kioni will forever be etched on his heart. She was sitting on top of the cargo-filled electric truck with a friend, laughing and chatting. The truck drove slowly into the loading bay as Pops instructed it to reverse. It was a magical moment and Onkwani couldn’t help but stare. Her laugh was captivating, her flowing hair, the twinkle in her eye. Jabari was talking to him but he didn’t pay attention, the entire world just faded away. She noticed him and stuck her tongue out in a playful defiance. It was the same time that Jabari slapped the back of his head that the world flickered back to existence. He blushed as Jabari said “Come, we need to help unload the truck”. The truck was filled with string-tied packages of fabrics and bags filled with fragrant spices. Onkwani’s duty was to unload the truck, make sure everything was registered and accounted for and then send the different parts to their destination in the sadi. His kana pride themselves as being the best facilitators in the sadi. “Best,” of course, was a subjective mix between service quality and speed that allowed all facilitating kani to consider themselves “best” on their own account.

The sadi was the beating heart of the vudo of Mombasa and probably the entire sumi of Kenya, with estimations of several millions of items and goods exchanging hands every day. Produce and resources were transported from everywhere to be redistributed to where they were needed. Its clockwork efficiency was a thing to behold but to its participants it was just their normal day of life. They couldn’t imagine it working in any other way, let alone monetizing it. Everyone involved – from the crafters, the vendors, the facilitators, the distributors and the  beneficiaries, saw their own identity as an integral part of this great mechanism that provided them with anything they needed. Surely they were free-loaders who took more than their actual need but, surprisingly or not, there weren’t so many of them – either because of the societal reciprocation it might lead to but also because of a widespread sense of communal ownership. 

The person who sat next to the driver introduced himself as Sarki, which made Onkwani chuckle quietly. A while back it was very common for the heads of more hierarchical kani to name themselves “Sarki” but it got rebuked since, so for someone to still call himself that it was either old-fashioned or out-of-touch. The two kani introduced their members to one another. Sarki explained that he normally goes to a different loading bay in Mombasa, however his usual facilitating kana has taken the day off. “Yes,” Pops explained, “There was a big celebration last night for having a week without any hurricane in northern America and some folks partied until very late”. North America had disastrous weather continuously for more than a generation. “Ah, that’s understandable, we also celebrated back in Shimoni,” said Sarki. “Anyway,” he continued, “I would have waited but today we’re in a bit of a rush so we figured we might as well make new friends”. Pops laughed and embraced him “Of course! Let’s see how fast we can get you out on the road”.

As the truck was stripped away from its cargo, Sarki handed Pops his “shopping” list and Pops read it out loud, giving his own little snarky commentary at the expense of Sarki’s usual facilitator. He was very respectful but still found small gaps between efficiency and quality that anyone who ever worked with more than one facilitator heard countless times. “Ten kilos of Maravi coffee beans” Pops said and frowned, “Talk to me in days”. Sarki was Surprised with this question “Umm… well, we usually give away about two thirds of it and drink the rest ourselves in about a month before we re-supply”. Pops just nodded and went back to browse the list. Onkwani, still unloading parcels while listening to the conversation, knew that this is how Pops get people’s curiosity. Expectedly, Sarki quickly broke “Why? Do you have anything better to offer?”. Pops looked at him and answered sincerely “Personally we drink Kiruga. I doubt you’ll get ten kilos but if it’s a question of quality…”. Onkwani was always impressed at how Pops knows how to press the right buttons. “Can I taste it?” Sarki asked and Pops answered “I’m afraid I don’t have any here but one of the ibu can take you to meet the vendor?”. Sarki turned impatient “Argh, I could drink Pocari sweat for all I care but hold on”. He turned towards the truck’s popped hood and shouted “Kioni! When you finish tinkering there, take one of the ibu here to check if you like their coffee!”. Onkwani’s heart missed a beat when he heard the name, and trying to keep his cool asked Jabari if he would mind to finish unloading on his own. Jabari chuckled, seeing straight into Onkani’s heart and gave him the blessing he was yearning for.

Out of the loading bay and into the busy street was quite a sudden overwhelming change for Kioni. “Oh wow,” she exclaimed “I’m not used to this”. The street was crammed with people brushing shoulders with one another and a cacophony of dozens of voices shouting, laughing and chatting. There were no cars but the ten meters wide streets were packed with stalls, stands and carts slowly trudging in the slow mindless flow of people ploughing through. Vines growing on and between the buildings provided shade from the day’s zenith sun and birds were chirping between the branches. Kioni was about to step forward when a cat ran past her. She shrieked and jumped back laughing in surprise. Onkwani, took her hand and dragged her with him in the flow, “No worries, just don’t let go”. She was slightly older than him but her surprise gave him a confidence boost. He felt he could be someone that she could trust and it made him feel good. They navigated through a few streets, alleys and avenues and eventually reached a cafe in front of a fountain where children splashed around and a musical band played folklore music. “This isn’t the vendor”, Onkwani explained, “but they make it really good”. If Kioni was doubtful she didn’t show it. Onkwani asked the barista to prepare their coffee and handed her a small cup of black coffee. She tasted it and quickly laughed “It tastes just like Maravi”. Onkwani smiled, “That’s because it is Maravi. Now try this”. He handed her another cup and she tasted it. “Oh, ok, I understand now”. She gave a piercing look and he felt his ears getting red. He then took her to the vendor who was happy to see him and meet her.  They stood in a small room that was open towards the street. The room had a strong smell of coffee from dozens of canvas bags that stacked up to hide the walls.  A creaking old ceiling fan was hanging above them. “How much do you need?” the vendor asked her and she replied it’s for about 20 people for one month. The vendor thought about it for and then ran around the bags, talking to himself, counting and having imaginary arguments back and forth. “I can give you 8 kilos. It’s not much, I know but this as much as I can spare,” he said apologetically. “Let’s make five kilos of Kiruga and five Maravi, that should be ok?” she suggested and the vendor jumped on the offer “Yes! That works better. if you like next month I’ll try to get more, yes?”. She shook his hand.

Walking back to the loading bay, Onkwani mustered the courage to ask her where she was from. “Oh, I’m actually from Mtwapa. I was apprenticed to become a mechanic in Nairobi and as part of my training I joined a delivery caravan for a year. I got eight more months left”. “Oh, and will you go back to Nairobi after?” he asked her, his mind was constructing countless future possibilities in which he would see her again, hold her hand again. “I’m not sure yet,” she answered, completely oblivious to his anxiety, “nomadic life is kinda interesting and I get to see places, so I might keep it a while longer”. They kept chatting for the rest of the morning. He showed her the rest of the market, secretly hoping she’ll fall in love with Mombasa and decide to stay there when she finishes her apprenticeship.  When they finally returned to the docking area she thanked him for showing her around and gave him a kiss on the cheek. When his ears turned red she just laughed “Oh, I just wanted to see them do that,” he blushed but laughed too.

They kept in touch, exchanging messages every few days. Their lives kept them busy but it filled Onkwani with excitement every time he checked his inbox in hopes a message would wait for him. He never replied straight away, reading her message, her stories and her questions several times, formulating what he was going to say and writing drafts in his mind before eventually committing them down. His heart leaped up when she wrote she’ll be visiting Mombasa soon. He couldn’t wait to see her again, to spend time with her, to hold her hand, perhaps even kiss her. He wasn’t a virgin, but as patriarchy lost ground and sex was now considered less of a matter of ownership or a declaration of love, his mind wasn’t focused on that. Or at least it wasn’t a goal.

The day she arrived, her kana went back to their former facilitators. It was expected as they’ve been working with them for years and were mostly satisfied with their service. But Kioni managed to find the time to come see him and he was elated. He was planning to take her out to eat in his favorite place, but she surprised him by asking if they could go to a music show instead. He was dumbfounded and barely managed to say yes. She explained that when Sarki told the facilitators that they went to Pop’s last time, not only they praised Pop’s for his excellent service as a facilitator they only mentioned that Jabari was a musician and just happened to play a show this evening. Of course Onkwani knew about his show, and he was torn between wanting to support Jabari and his desire to see Keoni but Jabari played quite often and Onkwani figured he’d manage one night on his own. Well, now he could feed two birds with one scone, he tried to cheer himself up, but wasn’t fully convinced.

As capital-gain became less of driving-force, the music industry slowly devolved. There were still plenty of musicians. In fact, there were even more people who could play music, as more people had the leisure time to learn and participate in music-related activities, but a “musician” would be considered as someone who created their own original music. “Jammin’,” or improvised music would be a popular recreational activity but the debate never settles if one can be a musician and not a “jammer” or the other way around. Music shows often had one musician or more to lead the event with players who know the tune and more often than not jammers, which would make the event interactive and unique. Music is still recorded and distributed but on a considerably smaller scale as free live local music is very common and often more attractive.

Jabari was actually quite a famous musician in Mombasa and whenever he would put on a show, as in schedule a venue and announce he’ll be playing his music, it would draw out a fairly decent crowd of several hundreds people. Normally in such events the musician or the band would sit in the middle, circled by jammers’ who would normally amplify the experience and beyond that sitting or standing and dancing were the rest of the audience. Onkwani and Kioni weren’t jammers but they got spots nearby. Kioni was mesmerized. It felt at first the Kioni wasn’t used to Jabari’s industrialized music but either she picked it up quickly or she was a natural dancer. They danced together and although Onkwani couldn’t play a musical instrument to save his life, he was a decent dancer and he felt they truly connected through the dance and the music.

Industrialized Music had a meaning far removed from the twenty first century’s music industry. To put it bluntly, it’s a mere genre characterized by particular instruments and traditional rhythms that might give association to a factory to someone who has never actually been to a twenty-first century’s factory. It wasn’t somber per-se, but it resonated with the mechanical and repetitive nature of industrial processes, evoking a sense of raw power and unrelenting motion. The rhythms were often harsh and driving, yet they carried an underlying energy that could be both hypnotic and strangely captivating, reflecting a world shaped by machinery without fully understanding its true complexity.

The end of the show was quite cathartic and sharing the experience Onkwani wanted to kiss Kioni but stopped himself as he felt her mind was elsewhere. She was euphoric. “This was amazing,” she was jumping up and down. “Thank you for bringing me here”, she said while hugging him and he felt a tinge of disappointment sink in. It wasn’t him that made her so happy, it was Jabari and his music. He was jealous. Walking back from the show, their minds were elsewhere.  As she was jabbering about the show, he played with the thought of learning to play a musical instrument as well and perhaps even becoming a musician himself. “It’s a good thing,” he tried to convince himself. His feelings towards Kioni made him want to become a better person. “Isn’t that what love was all about?” he asked himself.

He wasn’t sure whether to tell her he asked Jabari to teach him how to play. He contemplated on keeping it a secret until he could at least follow a basic tune without messing up. They kept their messages but the anxiety in him just kept growing. It was silly, he knew it. She was lovely as always  but it was him that yearned for affirmation and for her to tell him he was “good enough” for her, whatever that means. He wasn’t even sure what it meant as he simply wanted them to be together, in some deeper sense than he could explain.

About two weeks later, Onkwani was at the train station to deliver supplies when a young man carrying a MAF conscription bag asked him where he might find something to eat. Onkwani quickly measured the man and estimated him to be slightly younger than him, and judging by the bag and the haircut, he assumed the person had recently been recruited to the MAF. “The best food is at the heart of the sadi. Would you like me to show you the way?”. The person was a bit embarrassed, afraid to be of nuisance. He was hesitant but Onkwani was with his normal cheerful mood, “Come!,” he grabbed the person by the hand and walked with him through the flows and currents of the busy market streets. Like Kioni, the man was also overwhelmed by the hubbub and Onkwani took him by hand, helping navigate through the swarm of people. He introduced himself and asked for the person’s story as they walked. His name was Kato and as Onkwani guessed, he was on his way to the MAF base. “Is there anywhere to get a haircut here?” asked Kato and Onkwani laughed. “Of course”, he said, “but you probably don’t want to look too eager on your first day. Don’t worry, you’ll get an opportunity to get the standard haircut at the base”. This put Kato at ease. Kato told him he was from Arua. Onkwani had never been there but he knew it was smaller than Mombasa. “I’m not sure how big the sadi is in Arua, but here it’s so big it has a spatial challenge,” Okwani said. “Oh?” Kato inquired in curiosity. “Yes, because the sadi is so big, there’s a difference if something is in the center or on the outskirts, or if a particular producer is near one supplier or another”. “I get it,” said Kato “So the things in the middle would be the less critical things?”. “Well, that too. But also the more important things, or for that matter -”, Onkwani said as he spread his arms towards the two-hundred meter in diameter plaza that appeared in front of them “the best food”. The rest of the sadi felt like clouds passing by in comparison to the chaotic plaza. Piano and strings were playing from one of the corners and some of the men were singing along. The smells of about dozen different kitchens all cooking together was intoxicating. Tables of different shapes and sizes, big and small, long and round were scattered between them. “What’s so special about this food compared to the food stands we passed on our way here?” asked Kato and Oknawi explained – “Most food everywhere is local and seasonal as that’s the most available. Imported food, and most importantly spices and grown-tissues, are more likely to find their way here in quantities big enough to produce a decent dish for a big crowds”.

Agriculture, as it was manifested in the beginning of the twenty first century, as it evolved over ten thousands of years of domesticating and harnessing nature to serve humanity’s needs, is now considered deplorable. The industrialization and intensification of farming practices, driven by the pursuit of higher yields and economic gain, have led to insurmountable environmental degradation, and loss of biodiversity. Capitalism has stripped away any regards about animal welfare. Game, beef, pork and poultry have been intentionally named so to disassociate from their living animal-source. If humans were a mere resource in capitalism, animals were reduced to the raw-material of a product. The promise that agriculture and industrialism will eventually free mankind of toil has long been disproven. Instead, Agroecology has taken a strong hold and now covers most if not all produce. Nurtured and tended forests, orchards, gardens and polyculture fields provide humanity all the food it needs. The physical labor might be the same, if anyone ever bothered to measure, but as people tend to the plants that will feed them they do so with love and care which doesn’t feel as chore to most of them. The excess produce is then shared with other people in a symbiotic relationship that keeps everyone nurtured. As for meat – it is now extremely uncommon but most people won’t call themselves vegans as they would still eat meat-tissues grown artificially.

A round cheery old lady called Okwani and rushed to hug him, “Ah, my boy! It’s so good to see you again, come and let me get you a proper dish. Who’s your friend here?”. Onkawi introduced the lady to Kato and she sat them both at one of the long tables. They didn’t have to wait long before a bowl filled with a stew-looking dish was planted in front of each of them. “What’s this?” said Kato, raising a spoon with a small braised square grown-tissue. “Aha! I’m guessing you’ve never tried that,” said Onkawi “That’s grown-tissue. It’s like a fungus, it’s essentially protein”. When Kato tried it he couldn’t help himself talking with his mouth full, “This is amazing!” and Onkawi laughed, but then stopped all of a sudden when he noticed at a round table not far from them Jabari and Kioni having a meal together. Kato looked in that direction and asked “Is everything alright? Do you know them?”.

Onkawi felt his world shattering. A sickening feeling of betrayal left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t know if he was angry more at Kioni who didn’t tell him she was in Mombasa, or the fact she chose not to spend time with him, or at Jabari who was in it as well. He felt he was wronged and owed. The thought she preferred someone else raged him. He didn’t realise he was shaking in anger until Kato put his hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s ok, I got you”, Kato said. Those are the only words Onkawi could make out in the crashendew around him. He looked into Kato’s eyes and heard him say “Take a deep breath, you’re going through a panic attack, just breathe with me”. They took a few breaths together until he eventually managed to calm down. He told Kato his story – “Jabari is from my kana, he’s also an amazing musician. I met Kioni twice when she visited Mombasa and we kept in touch. On her second visit we went to see Jabari play. I was surprised she’s here without telling me and surprised to see them together, is all”. “It sounds like a big deal, you have feelings for her, don’t you?” asked Kato. “Yeah, I do,” admitted Onkawi. “And from the looks of it, we get the impression she doesn’t share those feelings,” Kato asked, trying to assess the situation. “No… Yes… I don’t know” he mumbled. Kato put a calming hand on his shoulder, “You never know, I’m guessing you never confronted her about this. This could be just a simple miscommunication or maybe she got the wrong impression first”. Onkawi sighed “Yes, I guess you’re right”. It gave him some hope that perhaps there was some misunderstanding. Maybe he wasn’t explicit enough, maybe he misread her messages, maybe he missed a message, maybe she was hoping to surprise him.

He was conflicted between confronting her there and then to ease his anxieties or to wait for a better time, but eventually she saw him. She seemed delighted, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil she ran to him, hugged him and kissed him. He noticed that Jabari was still sitting at the table, chatting to the lady who brought him a drink to taste. “The caravan isn’t in Mombasa, I just made an emergency visit to fix a transponder and bumped into Jabari while waiting,” she told him and as he suspiciously turned it around in his head, the story sounded plausible enough. “I actually need to head back, will you walk with me?,” she asked. He was about to say that unfortunately he can’t when Kato approached him “Hey, I better get going. Thank you so much, I’ll find my way out, don’t worry. Peace be upon you!”. Onkwani barely had time to protest before Kato disappeared in the crowd. Kioni said her goodbye to Jabari and was now ready to go with Onkwani to pick up her transponder. He’s been ruminating about what to tell her and eventually just blurted it out.

“You seem shaken, is everything alright?,” she asked him as they walked along. Jealousy is a very problematic feeling as it comes from a sense of deprived ownership or entitlement for something someone else might have. Oftentimes this feeling of deprivation projects unto one’s self image and worth. But was Kioni ever his? Monogamous relationships still existed but grew out of fashion as the attitude towards sex has changed. Now they were the exception and considered something the couple should consent to and not assume it as the default. “You know that I like you a lot. I was surprised to see you with Jabari. I know it doesn’t necessarily mean anything but I felt a strong sense of jealousy,” he confessed. “Oh,” the understanding dawned on her. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I like you too, I enjoy the times we spent together and I’m always looking forward to your messages…”. He felt an iron ball of emotion about to fall down and crush him to smithereens “… but I like Jabari too, it doesn’t contradict.” . “There you have it,” he tried to conceal the physical manifestation of the pain he felt in his heart. She continued “He’s so talented and his music really spoke to me. It felt like it understands me… just like your letters do”.

In its core, jealousy has some sensibility – sharing a limited resource, such as a Kioni’s attention, would ultimately mean that Onkwani will get less of it, but in reality it wasn’t ever really his to claim ownership of. He loved Jabari as if he was his own flesh and blood and he knew to be a good person. If he was to share Kioni’s attention, he would rather it be with Jabari than anyone else. Expecting to have her indefinite undivided attention would’ve been unrealistic and unfair to either of them, he realised as they reached the repair workshop. He hugged her and said “I’m just grateful you’re part of my life”. She smiled and kissed him. “Thank you, I’m happy to have you in my life as well, she replied, and he felt that it was all he could ever hope for.