The rooftop retirement party and the revelation of my Spirit Animal

It’s been a hectic week volunteering on a literacy programme in Kenya for Kenya Connect. I’ve had little time to process all the wave after wave of experiences which have been crashing upon me: the beauty, the poverty, the authenticity, the creativity, the dedication, and the terrible roads have all joined together to disorientate me. It’s been a packed programme of preparation and school visits. It’s time for staff and volunteers to let their hair down and party, especially since it’s the retirement of Kenya Connect’s Chief Executive Officer, Sharon.

The staff have been incredibly busy all day preparing the rooftop of Kenya Connect’s headquarters into a perfect party venue with mass catering facilities, plentiful cold drinks, and a music system with disco lights. One of our volunteers shows me a photograph of the goat they have selected for sacrifice for tonight’s dinner. I’m definitely experiencing some cultural whiplash.

Here’s our volunteer group with the outgoing and incoming chief executives of Kenya Connect, all dressed up and ready to go to the party. That’s me, bottom right.

There’s a rose to greet each partygoer, with a song in the car park as we arrive. I’m annoyed that my life in England isn’t like this. English people have no songs to sing. What shared singing culture do we have? When we have a party? A special occasion? A wedding? What songs do we all know that we can share in the joy of collective singing? It’s a subject covered by the wonderful Show of Hands in their song Roots, written by Steve Knightley. Here are the first four stanzas of the lyrics, which feature the River Teign and Dartmoor, both very close to my home in Devon:

Roots by Show of Hands

Now it’s been 25 years or more
I’ve roamed this land from shore to shore
From Tyne to Teign, or Severn to Thames
From moor to vale, from peak to fen

Played in cafes, pubs and bars
I’ve stood in the street with my own guitar
But I’d be richer than all the rest
If I had a pound for each request

For ‘Duelling Banjos’, ‘American Pie’
It’s enough to make you cry
‘Rule Britannia’, or ‘Swing low…’
Are they the only songs we English know?

Seed, bark, flower, fruit
They’re never gonna grow without their roots
Branch, stem, shoot
They need roots

I’m convinced that England needs the feeling of having roots in our own music that Kenyan people have.

Kenya Connect provides employment opportunities for Kenyans and the ground floor resources room at the Headquarters is a hive of activity during the day, with Kenyan women using sewing machines to make reusable sanitary pads. They’re a brilliant way of making sure girls stay in school and don’t miss their education. The Wings Poa Reusable Sanitary Pads are made by women from the local Kithito Kya Kyeengai women’s group (I met them here) and students at the Wamunyu Special School (I met them here).

“We learned through surveying girls at two of our participating schools that 85% of the girls missed 3-4 days of school each month.” 

They also make clothes which anyone can commission. I instantly see two materials I love in the store room. One is a heavy waxed black cotton with an intense yellow and blue pattern. Another is a lighter weight black material with white and green patterns. Earlier in the week I asked them to make me simple over-the-head shirts with round necks with a small cut-out ‘v’ at the front of there neck, and wide short sleeves. Other volunteers are having skirts, yoga-mat bags, and button-up shirts made.

Today is the day my shirts are ready. They look amazing. They fit perfectly and there are extras I hadn’t expected. There’s a well-fitted zip on one shoulder, to make sure my XL head can fit through, side vents on the bottom hem for ease of movement, and a bold breast pocket. Perfect. That’s me sorted with glad-rags for the party.

Everything here runs on Kenyan time, which means “whenever people are ready”. Naturally we have to have the formalities. Each of the volunteers are going to have to introduce themselves again. Just like the naming ceremony, where I received my Kamba name, I’m going to be given my Spirit Animal.

I walk to the front and introduce myself to all the staff, with my English name and my Kamba name, and am asked to close my eyes. I’m then handed a beautifully carved wooden animal, which is my spirit animal. I have to guess what it is. I feel the long legs and long tail. There’s a long body. There’s a long neck, but not that long. There are long upright ears. The head is elongated too. All I can think, with my eyes closed, in the dark of this Kenyan night, surrounded by the whole of the Kenyan staff, is, “It’s a horse. It can’t be a horse. What have they given me a horse for? The don’t have horses here”.

They ask me to open my eyes. It’s a Zebra. Of course it is. I’m an idiot.

Patrick explains, “We’ve been watching you all week. You’ve been the last on the bus every day. You always wait and make sure everyone else is safe before you get on. Zebras always stand side-to-side and look opposite ways to make sure everyone is safe. Your spirit animal is the Zebra”.

It’s true. I love how observant they have been.

My Zebra and rose sit on my bedside cabinet back in my tent, with Kenyan dance and pop music still ringing in my ears.

The rule here is strictly “What happens in Wamunyu stays in Wamunyu”, however, for this one experience, I am prepared to make a calculated exception.

I may have had a very, very good time at the party, but I couldn’t possibly tell you.

Thanks to Kenya Connect for the experience and Brian Mateli for the photograph. Next, we’re going on safari.