The day I saw the "error" in "terror"

ABU OKARI describes a moment in Nairobi that set his mind rolling on matters of dying for 72 virgins, ethnic profiling and the terrorism question

I couldn’t help admiring the man’s guts.

He approached the matatu slowly. It was parked, waiting for people headed to Nanyuki. We had taken our seats but were waiting outside for it to fill up. The streets were busy and it felt like everybody was travelling at once. And downtown Nairobi is the epicentre on upcountry travel. We were at Tearoom.

His beard was dyed light orange, the hue of the sky when the sun is on its very final moves down the horizon. He wore a fairly decent pair of trousers, a shirt and a half coat that is very liked among the Somali community, at least the ones that I see.

He approached the kange and the driver who stood at the front of the matatu, and had a chat with then.  Then he approached the matatu, a laminated document at heart.

He said his name after a hello. I didn’t get it, I was interested in the story, the details.

 “I am a refugee from Somalia,” he continued, raising his laminated document. “This is from the UNHCR and the Kenyan government, proof of my refugee status. And these here”, he turned the document over, there were black and white photos of ladies in hijab, “are my daughters”.

“We have no eaten in three days because we cannot come out as the government wants to send us back.” He paused, I think for effect.

I wondered where he had done this severally. Although he broke sentences unexpectedly, and picked up from anywhere, he was pretty eloquent and comfortable in his little speech. His English was accented in the way Kenyan comedians like to stereotype the way Somalis speaks, “r” sounds showed up where you never expected them and he sounded as though the speaking was forced, but not anybody.

“If you have anything, maybe a hundred shillings, or fifty shillings to help me buy unga for my family, God will bless you.” He paused. The inside of the matatu was quiet for a while.

Will the reaction of the people in the matatu mirror what I had heard expressed elsewhere? I wondered.

At one point, I willed him to walk away before someone said something nasty.  I looked and waited. Then someone at the back seat thrust his arm forward with a hundred shillings.

I was surprised. But soon, more hands replicated the act, a hundred shillings here, and fifty shillings there. He stuffed them into his pocket.

“Thank you very much.” He said. The “r” in very vibrated and stretched a bit. “Have a happy Easter.” He added before walking away. I was awed by the people’s act. But being in Nairobi, I asked myself whether whatever the guy had said was true.

But it didn’t matter.  Whatever his motive, the outcome of the whole interaction said a lot about our society — that we are a surprising people who cannot be defined by one category. I was sure my Easter weekend was going to be happy, surprising and undefined.

The whole episode got me thinking how the blogosphere scares me, especially when the country breaks into two parts over an issue. Tribalism disguised as politics is one of those keg powder issues, another one that has come up recently is religion. From the moments the first shots are fired, there is no lull, human being after human takes to the blogosphere to express their feelings.

Some of them are ridiculous and callous. Take the recent crackdown on illegal immigrants in Eastleigh and a few other parts of the country. The government said it was looking for terrorists. Others, especially the Somali community and the Muslim community felt they were being targeted and profiled. And they made their thoughts known, the leaders on mainstream media, and the rest on social media.

And this is where the hot mess was. How people exchanged insults! How they spewed forth filth! How they let it be known what they thought of the other! 

Others made light of others beliefs. Of particular interest was the commonly used line that one of the gifts of those people who die for Islam is a gift of 72 virgins in Jannah. Also, the question of being fully Kenyan (sic) or half Kenyan (sic) was widely discussed, but not nicely. 

On several occasions, I asked myself what if some people act on these feelings. I heard stories (unconfirmed) of people alighting form matatus just because someone in Muslim garb boarded it. Then I realized people’s thoughts had moved into feelings, and wondered if this was a common thing. The blogosphere makes it sound like people are about to pounce on each other.

That is why, my heart momentarily stopped when I saw the daring man over the Easter weekend.