The sky was still gray, but the storm had passed. The river’s waterline was slowly receding to its original level, and broken debris had been washed away. The cries of seagulls echoed as they emerged from their shelters. A strong scent of rain, dampness, and mud filled the air, but weak gusts of warm wind from the east felt like gentle fingers caressing the land, offering hope. Leila touched her cheek, savoring the warmth, as she stepped down from the train at the temporary makeshift station near Chaani.
Mombasa’s main train station remained buried in mud, as was much of the vudo. Yet, less than a week after Hurricane Nyambura had ravaged the streets, a team of MAF engineers—aided by local workers—had erected a temporary station and restored the flow of aid and supplies. Raised platforms and auxiliary tracks were hastily installed and by the next day, two cranes loomed over the site, their skeletal frames ready to unload heavy machinery. Teams of facilitators descended on each arriving train like a swarm of ants feasting on a giant’s carcass. Despite the frenzy, they moved with deliberate care to avoid accidents, working around the clock in three shifts. An unspoken friendly competition simmered among them—each crew racing to be the fastest.
It took a brief moment for a short, stocky person in a gray overall to rush to greet her. “Leila! So good to see you in person!”, he exclaimed. She smiled, “Desta. It’s nice to meet you as well”, she gave him a greeting hug. “Please, everyone call me ‘Pops’” he grinned at her. Seeing his outfit, she was grateful she made the decision to opt for attire slightly less formal than what her role might have required but considerably more suitable to lend a hand in some manual labour. As the Kampala’s official emissary in Mombasa’s relief effort, she was ready to provide whatever help she could offer- advice, resources or a helping hand. They chatted while walking towards the freight carriages. “How’s your day?” She asked warmly. “Keepin’ busy”, he said while patting his pockets looking for something. “We’ve got supplies, alright. Everyone on the eastern coast has been incredibly generous and supportive.” he said mind absently. Leila gave Pops smile and tapped her ear. His eyes widened in understanding and he picked the stylus pen that was tucked above his ear. “I guess I’m eager to get back to bi-directional trading and not just receiving”, he sighed. “Of course, no one enjoys being utterly reliant on others”, she said emphatically as he took out a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “We’re a sinkhole in the network right now”, he mumbled. With a flick of his wrist the folded paper unfurled and stiffened to the size of his palm. “Well, I’m sure Mombasa will become the major hub it used to be soon enough” she said warmly. He tried using the pen and as it didn’t work, he shook it a couple of times to recharge its batteries.
With the exception of archival-books that are made from recycled polymers, most writings are done on “slates” that in the past were named after the “electronic-ink” technology used. These, just as thin as “static” papers, were used for any type of writing of short notes, drawing and reading. For anything more comprehensive, a terminal with a physical keyboard was often used. The more popular slate models don’t have connectivity. Slates with connectivity are usually reserved for particular roles that demand it. It’s a feature that often gets raised eyebrows, followed by silent judgement and an urge to justify why one would need such a feature. In this particular case, Pops’ slate didn’t have connectivity but merely by having his and Leila’s slate touching, they were able to copy the manifest of the cargo she brought with her.
“Aha! I see you brought Matooke! We’ll have a feast tonight!” He was about to mention that one of their chefs makes an amazing matooke loaf when he noticed her attention was diverted to a young MAFex walking eagerly towards her. Leila forced her attention back to Pops and apologised, “I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me for one moment”, to which he replied “yes, of course!”. He went back to review the manifest as the young MAFex reached them and Leila and him hugged cheerfully. “Hello Pops, I see you met my sister”, The young man said to him. Pops didn’t particularly remember this MAFex, albeit always believing he has a good knack for faces. On the other hand, he was quite known in the community and figured this is how the MAFex, “Kato” according to his name tag, knew him. “Hello Kato, yes, your wonderful sister was very kind to bring us goods from Kampala.” Pops said gleefully. Kato laughed “Yes, that’s very typical of her”. The three of them laughed. “I’m guessing you have a lot to catch up on, I can take care of the cargo, Leila. Thank you for all your support” Pops suggested and Leila thanked him and promised she’ll come looking for him later.
“You’ve bulked up since I last saw you”, admired Leila, causing Kato to smile bashfully. “Yes, well… I think it’s the first time I see you with the ear jewel”, Kato mentioned, and Leila smiled bashfully “Yes, I barely notice it’s there”. It was a recording device that public figures ceremoniously wore as part of their aspiration for complete transparency. Any dispute with delegates can be always re-examined with the use of the recording. Failure to provide a recording is extremely rare but when it does, it often leads to immediate resignation of the person.
In truth they were quite caught up already, as they communicated quite regularly. Since Kato left Arua to join MAF five years ago, Leila chose to invest her life in the community by helping administer it. Administration consists mostly of “bureaucrats” who excel in following instructions and procedures but also have a small set of delegates who take proactive responsibility to mitigate the public’s wishes and needs. Leila’s sharp opinionated mind quickly led her to become one of Arua’s delegates. This meant that every person in her tega of several hundred people knew her enough and believed in her capability to take care of their own needs as if they were her own. After two years of faithfully working in the interest of her tega, a vote of trust from her fellow delegates has led her to represent the vudo. Following a successful six-month programme she initiated, led and delivered to introduce 4 new green corridors leading out of Arua, she was invited to join the delegates of Kampala, covering a wider region of influence. It’s been almost four years since she worked for the direct benefits of her hometown, but she would still have almost daily chats with various people of her region of influence, which helped her keep in touch with her constituents. Less than a month later, Hurricane Nyambura hit, and Leila was happy to volunteer as an emissary in the relief efforts. She knew quite a lot about Mombasa from her brother’s correspondence and despite having no equivalent experience with crisis management of such magnitude, her colleagues trusted in her capabilities. Kato and Leila spent their time together as he showed her around the evacuation camp, the ruins of Mombasa and gave her an overview of the current discussions and challenges up ahead.
“As you probably know”, explained Kato, “The hurricane took the lives of a dozen ibus, seven of which were MAFexi in daring rescue operations and the rest were civilians who fought to protect their homes to their last breath”. “Yes, that’s a horrible tragedy”, said Leila sincerely, “but praise it wasn’t more as only a few generations ago these numbers would have reached the thousands”. “Yes, that’s unfathomable”, concurred Kato as they returned to the evacuation camp and headed to the main hall, “We were lucky MAF got involved as soon as it did and we evacuated as many as we could”. “And most buildings were properly built or at least fortified”, Leila said as they entered the room. She didn’t mean to dismiss the massive role MAF had in reducing the number of casualties but felt it would give a false picture to think it was a last minute bravery that saved the day. She learned from the history books that usually “last minute heroism” is an indication for a failure in the preparation stage. “If it wasn’t for the fortification, Mombasa would have been wiped clean”, admitted Kato, “but the truth is that the hurricane was ten times stronger than expected and now most of the vudo is covered with mud and about half of the buildings are now decommissioned or unsuitable for use”. “I see“, said Leila as she began to realise the challenge that was thrusted at the folk of Mombasa.
Most of the people at the evacuation camp worked during the day, helping out in the camp’s upkeep and gradually more and more ventured out to rebuild and fix the broken infrastructures. The vudo delegates would work as well, at their respective fields but they talked to as many people as they could to gather thoughts and opinions and would meet amongst themselves to devise a strategy on going forward. The plans and suggestions would be reassessed and discussed the following day. Everyone knew the sense of urgency was real, but they were extremely cautious not to make regrettable decisions. As Leila walked into the room, the big question that was on everyone’s mind was if and when they should move back to Mombasa.
The room was dim but people could still see each other from the other side of the room. A warm glowing yellow light illuminated the space. The tables were pushed aside and piled up, the chairs were set in rings and a big 3d model of the vudo and its surroundings was placed in the center. It was a massive three square meter panel of five millimetre “pixels” that could be elevated up to fifty centimetres while multiple light projectors provided additional information on the model. It gave an excellent overview and Leila could easily identify the extent of the damage the vudo has suffered. Speakers took their turn standing up and addressing the entire room. Anyone could join the conversation but as the space was limited, it was a known courtesy to let the delegates sit in the inner rings. Everyone was allowed to participate but in order to keep the discussion productive, the audience in the back seats would pass on their comments and questions up the chain and if relevant to everyone, they were answered publicly.
“…can’t do it on their own, especially if they still need to worry about day-to-day maintenance”, a woman said as Leila entered the room. Leila saw Pops sitting in the front row nodding at her. She nodded back and quietly sat in the back next to the wall. The woman sat down, concluding her remarks.
Pops stood up. “Yes, as Wanjiru mentioned, there’s a lot of work ahead of us and I would like to think that no one here expects to simply throw the responsibility on one bolo or another, that’s not gonna work. However, I would like to remind us that the vital services that Mombasa normally provides – namely, our medicine industry and our cultured meat, let alone the sadi, are temporarily on hold.” he explained. Leila noticed concerned glances being exchanged across the room. “We have reserves for the time being and we can set up temporary facilities, but it’s an issue. These are vital services to other communities, communities that came to our aid in our time of need.” Murmurs floated in the room again. Leila spotted a few glances in her direction. “Moving workforce from these industries in favour of housing”, concluded Wanjiru, “means that other communities would be strained as well”.
Another woman, sitting across the room from Pops stood up and everyone quieted down. “I understand the sense of urgency all too well that isn’t affecting just us but other communities that rely on us”, she started saying. It was a good practice they kept whereas each speaker acknowledged the previous one, to confirm they were understood and heard. The woman, who later Leila learned was called Amani, continued “But we should also take into account the unexpected magnitude of the hurricane. There’s no point for us rushing for a quick solution only to be wiped away in the next hurricane”.
Wanjiru stood up again, “Yes, another hurricane is a real concern. One hurricane was traumatising enough and understandably many are still recovering and require patience and care. Going through yet another hurricane might be a bit too much for some”.
A person stood up a few chairs away from pops. He was wearing blue work overall and had grease smeared across his forehead. His hair was smooshed as if he recently took off a hat he wore all day. Later on, Leila learned his name is Eliud Mwamba and he’s an engineer. “Yes, no one wants to go through another hurricane. My heart aches at the thought of my home, with all the memories it held, is no more. I’m not sure I’m ready to face that. That’s why I would suggest that we won’t go back to Mombasa island, rather than build a new vudo on the mainland”.
A ruckus thundered through the room as everyone was surprised by the suggestion. The sentiments were mixed. The idea of not returning to Mombasa astounded most of people in the room and Eliud had to explain the advantages: “Mombasa was originally built centuries ago and although we slowly upgraded most of the building over time, now a chance to widen the streets and move sadi east as we wanted for years”. The last comment evoked some murmurs as this was an unsettled issue that lingered for years. Despite having a majority of people who agreed that shifting the sadi eastward would be more efficient, it was clear to all that the effort of doing so renders the idea unfeasible. “Additionally”, Eliud continued, “We can build a more durable weather-resistant infrastructure with the latest growstone technology”. This caused some eyebrows to raise as the latest version of growstone was quite new and not yet widely accepted. Mainly it meant it would be more challenging to obtain the yeast.
Growstone worked like baking bread, but instead of using flour, crushed stones dust was used in a mixture of water, organic material (usually refuse) and special yeast that would turn it into a dough. After a couple days of sun-baking in a mold, the newly formed stone would be taken out of the mold and was ready to use. “Molded” stone was the most popular building material for the past few decades as it was re-usable, cheap to make and extremely eco-friendly. A new version of growstone came out a few years earlier that cracks could easily be fixed by applying some dough on it and letting it dry as it merged to the existing stone. The latest version, the one that Eliud suggested switching to, had self-healing properties, making maintenance even cheaper and easier. It’s been less than a year and therefore less common and moreover – the new type yeast, nicknamed “”, wasn’t as readily available as the old version yeast.
It might have sounded sensible but Amani was shaken. She stood up as the commotion quieted down and asked in an alarming voice, hoping she simply misunderstood or misheard “Do you wish to reclaim a piece of land the size of Mombasa island from somewhere else?”. Eliud answered calmly but reassuringly, “Yes, Chaani is my favourite option as nature hasn’t fully reclaimed the old airport area so moving wild flora and fauna shouldn’t be too difficult. Acknowledging nature’s primal right over the land wasn’t new and Eliud has considered it, but he argued his idea was still feasible. “In fact”, he argued, “displacing all the wild animals should take roughly as much as it would take to dig away all the mud from the old vudo”. He glanced at Pops who had his mouth open and then shut it. It was clear he was about the object to the idea arguing about time frames but Eliud has answered that preemptively.
Pops noticed Eliud’s glance, smiled at him but then asked “What about our sea port?”. Eliud looked agitated. He had considered that but didn’t think it to be a critical concern. “We can build a new port at Chaani”. Pops fixed his robe, as if about to sit down, symbolising he has the winning argument, “Not only will it be more costly to the boat to navigate around the island to reach Chaani, we should also consider that Chaani is much higher than the island. Have you considered how to lift up all the cargo?”
Eliud was about to answer. A moment of hesitation gave Leila the impression that he didn’t factor that concern. It was sensible, no one is expected to think of everything, and this is why they solved complex problems through communal conversations. He argued that the numbers need to be validated but he believes that the overall efficiency of Chaani will be better than what can be established on the island.
“Moving to Chaani will remove their people from their homes”, said Wanjiru in a calm voice. “Indeed”, she continued, “some of us might be petrified to go back and see our homes ruined, but this doesn’t mean we’re ready to turn our back on them”. Leila noticed Pops moves with uneasiness in his chair. He had something to say about that. Wanjiru concluded by saying that “Healing takes time, and rebuilding one’s home is detrimental to the healing process”.
Pops churned his thoughts and chose his words carefully before finally standing up, “I have a suggestion, that is probably even more controversial than Eliud’s new vudo idea”. Eliud chuckled at this. He may not have thought of it first but in hindsight he admitted his idea was indeed challenging to swallow. “I believe we should consider mass-production”. The room was stunned into silence. This was unheard of. Pops explained, “I’m aware of the disadvantages, but I’m also acutely aware it means everyone will have a home in fifth of the time”. “You mean a house”, Wanjiru said. It looked like it took all her might to stop the rage that was boiling inside of her by the mere suggestion.
Just before the hurricane hit, every person in Mombasa had a home. As the population size was mostly stable, most of the folk inherited their homes from someone dear and the home served as a living memory. But homes were also extremely modular so it was incredibly easy to make adjustments, disassemble and build something new to fit one’s purpose. Tenements were built by the bolo and each kana would fashion their own home to their needs. Home was an incredibly personal concept and the idea of mass-produced identical houses felt almost like sacrilege.
Wanjiru was struggling to stomach that idea. “Pops, I understand your need for urgency and I appreciate your intention but this is not a good idea”, she said. She inhaled deeply and exhaled between gritted teeth. “Yes, people lost their homes but we are in an evacuation camp. No one here is forced to sleep without a roof over their head”, she continued. “Moving from a temporary housing to a more permanent solution will only drive the hopes of ever having a home again further away. This doesn’t expedite the solution, it only delays it”.
“We’re not forcing anyone to do anything”, Pops tried to protest. “People who aren’t ready to go back to Mombasa can stay in the camp for the time being, they can also help re-securing the riverbanks and flood gates. They can move to the vudo when they’re ready or we can figure out an alternative solution when we figure out everything else”.
“I’m also concerned that mass-production methods are very often not environment-friendly”, added Amani solemnly. She felt bad for being a naysayer in the discussion.
People were shaking their heads in disagreement. Pops’ suggestion would not pass. Leile could see the concern and frustration in his eye. They all knew it wasn’t a good idea but those were scarce at the moment. Eliud stood up, “Perhaps it would be a good time to take a little break and gather our thoughts. I understand the objections against building in a new site or using mass-production but I worry that the timescale required to rebuild our vudo one home after the other is simply not feasible”. It was a harsh truth, but they knew it to be true.
“May I interject”, Leila spoke from the back of the room. She presented herself as the emissary from Kampla and from the encouraging smile on Pops’ face, she felt more confident to slowly walk towards the center of the room, gently touching people’s shoulders to show her empathy, looking into their eyes understandingly and smiling back at them. “It is indeed a hardship you’re dealing with but you don’t have to do it alone. Just like Mombasa supported Arusha at their big fires a decade ago and just like you support the entire African eastern coast with the medicine you provide, Kampala can come to your aid. We will send you teams to help clear the debris and fix the infrastructure so you can focus on building your homes and industries. We can also send you growstone-yeast to accelerate your brick product”. A few other emissaries from neighboring Vudos also volunteered their support.
Everyone cheered, clapped their hands and hugged one another. Wanjiru came to shake Leila’s hands in gratitude. Leila could see the tears of joy in her eyes and felt moved herself. She still had the tasks to ask her Vudo to approve the offering she made on her own initiative, but she felt self-assured they would understand the severity of the situation and would be more than willing to give their support. Not only helping others may return in kind later down the line, but it’s also the right thing to do. Everyone knows that.
Pops quickly did the math in head and after a moment of hesitation announced disheartedly that even with the additional support, they won’t be able to completely evacuate the emergency camp before its buildings start to decompose. “I’m afraid”, he said, “that if there’s an ultimate solution, we haven’t figured it out yet. This means that we need to find a compromise”.
Amani took a deep breath and stood up. “Building a new vudo or mass-producing the houses are actually good ideas”, she said to everyone’s surprise, “they’re just not good for us”. Pops and Eliud looked intently at her, trying to figure out where she was heading with this, “at least not for the long-term solution”. In an instance, the faces of both men shined and they smiled at each other and at Amani. “We can use mass-production to temporarily build a new industrial zone in Chaani…”, Eliud suggested. “…A high-rise, to reduce the ecological footprint”, continued Pops, visibly getting excited. “All while the outside support focuses on clearing debris, restoring the riverbanks, floodgates and other infrastructure”, interjected Leila, getting hyped at the build-up of energy in the room. “And the people of Mombasa can focus on rebuilding their homes”.
The conversation wasn’t easy. There was no miracle waiting to happen or a happy path for everyone to agree upon, except a few steps forwards that required some sacrifices. Over the next few days they agreed that the first step was to revitalise the parts that were not damaged in the hurricane, clear debris and restore infrastructure. With heavy hearts it was agreed that the cultured-meat farm will be deprioritised for the time being and more food will be imported while their efforts will be placed towards restoring, rebuilding and constructing new homes.
On the train back to Kampala, Leila wrote her report. She reflected on the conversations she witnessed in the past few days. She knew she was unfairly judgemental but in her mind the process was too slow. There were too many aspects to consider, she admitted to herself. Too many interests and conflicting views but at least those never stop the perpetual motion of what had to be done. The infrastructure restoration had to be done and clearing of the debris – these were relevant regardless of the final outcome so whilst the discussion continued these tasks were prioritised and she was happy to hear that significant advancements were made in the mere few days she was there. She shared the frustration of those who might argue that a single olori could’ve reached a decision much faster, but she knew it would’ve been most likely an ill-conceived and ill-informed decision. “Too many cooks spoil the broth” and “designed by committee” myths are simple mismanagement follies that are much easier to resolve than having the wrong person make the decisions. Everyone knew that.
As the train moved further away from the hurricane-stricken area, the landscape brightened in lush green colors and broken stumps made way for tall sturdy trees. From scarred earth and puddles of rainwater having nowhere to go in the drenched soil, to dry mud filled with debris, unrooted trees and broken stones and rocks. Single trees stood erect, having survived nature’s blow and around them small bushes taking shelter under the beaten canopies. More and more trees came together and the small patches grew and connected to one another, strengthening each other, becoming more and more. Animals, first small and then bigger, coming out of their hideaways, licking each other’s wounds, elated to see one another, grateful their story hasn’t ended. Meadows turned to woods and to forest, which grew thicker only to be parted by dirt trails and then paved roads and buildings and a train station, telling Leila she got back home.
Utopian Tales 