The Kenyan government, in response, dealt mercilessly with anyone suspected to be associated with the terror group. The disappearance of youths in the coastal region left the people pained, confused and afraid. One could not tell whether a missing son was in police custody or with the terrorists.
To be a graduate in Kenya or any African country is no small feat. To be a graduate and get your first job within a month is almost unbelievable because one needs immense luck to get a job at all after graduation.
Paul Tembo was the lucky individual. Two weeks after graduating with a first-class degree in Mass Communication from the University of Nairobi, he got a job with a well-established media house. He attributed his breakthrough to the fact that he was smart and a committed prayer warrior in his church. His first official assignment was to report on the lives of Islamic students attending madrassa in Lamu. In a heartbeat, he packed a small backpack and booked a train to the coastal city of Mombasa. Once in Mombasa he booked a night bus to Lamu Town, the location of his assignment. At Mombasa, Paul spent his day at the bus station. He thought that if he left the bus station, he would get lost in this new city. At night, the journey started. Paul felt anxious but excited at the adventure.
The smell of palm trees, coconuts and the ocean breeze woke Paul. He stretched and opened the curtains on his window seat on the bus. The views were breath taking. Lamu, being a UNESCO heritage site, did not disappoint. The Swahili architecture and culture were displayed in abundance. It felt like watching a confident woman, well aware of her appeal and delicate beauty.
Aisha Suleiman was getting ready for work. She rolled up her prayer mat and placed it at the corner of their living room. Her parents were still asleep but her sister, Fatima, was in the kitchen. She joined her there to get her cup of Swahili tea and some mahamri, pastry made with flour and coconut milk.
“Hafsa’s wedding is in two weeks,” Aisha said.
“Yes, I am so excited. I even got a new buibui,” gushed Fatima.
“I’ll buy mine this week. I need to leave now. I don’t want to be even later for my classes,” said Aisha as she placed her mug in the sink and went to the sitting room. She picked up her bag, bid Fatima goodbye and rushed out of the house to board a tuk-tuk to Somo Madrassa School.
Aisha was one of the interns teaching at the school. She had just finished her two-year course in Islamic Education and was serving at the school as a requirement to finally graduate. Since she was a child, she wanted to be a teacher. Her dream was becoming a reality and she appreciated the opportunity. Aisha was teaching the dakhil classes, for students at the secondary school level of education.
For teachers in religious institutions in Lamu, these were difficult times. One of their clerics was rumoured to be missing. Some said it was because he was an Al-Shabaab sympathiser. His family reported to local authorities but had gotten no feedback. Aisha was also concerned about the rising incidence of young male Islamic rebels being coerced to join the terrorist movement in neighbouring Somalia. She tried to use her position as a teacher to educate and discourage her students from joining such movements.
Paul got to his hotel room at noon, exhausted and hungry. The room was a canvas for Swahili culture, with its white walls and a Swahili bed in the middle of the room. There was a balcony that had the most beautiful view of Shela Beach. He had been to the coastal city of Mombasa on a school trip but never to Lamu Town. He took a cold shower and changed into comfortable clothes and then went off to the restaurant for a meal. He had not eaten anything in the last fourteen hours.
The staff were slow and this angered Paul. He ordered seafood but by the time it was brought, he had lost his appetite. He called his supervisor in Nairobi and informed him of his arrival. His supervisor asked him to proceed with caution due to recent terrorist attacks in the country. After the call, he ate. During the meal, he got a call from his mother. He smiled as he took the call, knowing what was coming. Mary Tembo prayed for her son throughout the call. Paul, more concerned about sating his hunger, continued eating as she prayed, intermittently responding with an “amen”.
Lamu was a tourist attraction popular with the expat community and foreign tourists. The insecurity in the recent months had made foreign countries issue travel advisories discouraging their citizens from visiting the town. Recently, Al-Shabaab had attacked the coastal town of Mpeketoni, killing and injuring many. The year prior, they launched an attack on Garrissa University and snuffed life out of one hundred and forty students. The Kenyan government, in response, dealt mercilessly with anyone suspected to be associated with the terrorist group. The disappearance of youths in the coastal region left the people pained, confused and afraid. No one could not tell whether their missing children were in police custody or abducted by the terrorist group. There was a public outcry in the region but nothing was done. The prevalence of narcotics greatly contributed to the insecurity.
Paul was well aware of the perilous situation in Lamu Town. He understood the fear in his mother’s voice as she prayed for him. But being young and passionate about his job, he felt no fear. He had a supervisor to impress and he was ready to do whatever was needed to submit a good report.
When he finished his meal, he went back to his room and slept off. He was tired and wanted to be refreshed to start his assignment the next day. Because the heat was overbearing, he left the sliding doors of the balcony open. He woke up in the middle of the night from a bad nightmare. He looked around scared, struggling to reorient himself with his surroundings. He got out of bed and closed the sliding doors. It was better to suffer the heat than risk being attacked by criminals using the balcony.
Paul arrived at Somo Madrassa School early the next morning and sat at the waiting bay. The school administrator had not arrived yet. Paul was surprised at the slow pace of life in Lamu. Schools in Nairobi would be bustling with activity by that time. He found out that nobody is ever in a hurry in Lamu. Lamu people embodied the infamous saying, “There is no hurry in Africa”. An hour later, some teachers arrived and they attended to him. Aisha Suleiman was assigned to help him on his assignment.
Aisha went to the waiting bay to meet the journalist. She stared at the young man she was to be chaperone to. He was tall and lean with a clean-shaven head. He had wide eyes, a pointed nose and pert lips on smooth dark skin. He was standing next to the staircase leading to the classes. She could not help but smile at the way he held his backpack, as if he was scared that he would lose it. She walked up to him, introduced herself and gave Paul a brief history of the school. An hour later, they started the school tour.
Paul was impressed by Aisha’s historical knowledge about the school and Lamu Town. Aisha had lived her entire life in Lamu Town only leaving for Mombasa to attend Uni. Paul gave Aisha details of his assignment and how the current tension and insecurity in the region had informed the decision to research this report.
“One of my students has been missing for two weeks now,” Aisha said.
“What have the parents said about it? The police?”
“Well, disappearances have become fairly regular here. We have informed the police but they are yet to give us any information.”
The school tour gave Paul a better understanding of the importance of Lamu Town for terrorist group recruiters. Terrorist group recruiters had been targeting schools like Aisha’s for recruits. Young males were being brainwashed to join the insurgents. The recruiters targeted the youths attending madrassas as they are easily manipulated by money and religion. They misinformed them about the unfair system of government which is usually evident in the youth’s life and government’s failure and insincerity in meeting their own obligations. This is usually enough to get the young and heady boys, many of them in their teens, to join dissident ranks.
“One of my students, Ali, has been spotted around town with strange looking men. It is thought that he has been recruited. He just stopped coming to school.”
“Isn’t there anything the school can do to stop it?” Paul asked.
“Once the students leave the school premises, our influence on their lives is minimal. We can only talk to their parents about it.”
At lunchtime, Aisha took Paul to the teachers’ dining room. They were served with well cooked chicken biryani with passion juice. Paul had never had chicken biryani but he ate it on Aisha’s recommendation and enjoyed it thoroughly.
“Swahili food has to be the best of African meals. It should actually be added to the wonders of the world,” he exclaimed.
Aisha watched the journalist while he ate. There was something different about him that she really liked. It was encouraging to be able to share her concerns about the students to someone who really cared, or at least acted as if he did. Whenever she talked about these issues at home, her parents and sister just shrugged it off.
“There’s a meeting at the town hall tomorrow afternoon. It’s to discuss the current issue of insecurity in the town. You should join us as it would be useful to give you a clearer picture of the situation,” she said.
“For sure, I’ll be there,” he said, his response muffled by the chicken biryani he was stuffing in his mouth.
In the evening, Paul left the school for the hotel. He had agreed to meet Aisha at the school the next day so that they could go to the town hall together. He had to admit to himself that he enjoyed her company.
The meeting at the town hall was poorly attended. When Paul and Aisha arrived, there were only eight people. The local authorities were represented by a low-ranking policeman whilst the member of parliament sent his secretary to represent him. The lack of concern from government officials was remarkable to Paul. Those they sent to the meeting would not be able to take decisions of any weight. The meeting started two hours late when more people joined in but the turnout was still low. The residents wanted to know the whereabouts of their missing family members. The authorities on the other hand blamed parents for not being more involved in the activities that their children engaged in. The blame trading continued for a while until parties resolved to work together for their mutual benefit. The meeting concluded with a commitment to meet monthly to gauge the progress of their agreement.
After the meeting, Paul and Aisha decided to take a stroll. As they walked the narrow alleys of Lamu Town they ran into Ali in the company of a rough-looking adult. Aisha nudged Paul and pointed to Ali. A young frail boy wearing a baggy shirt and jeans, he looked deeply engrossed in the conversation he was having with his companion.
” Ali! Ali! Can I talk to you?” Aisha called out.
Ali looked at his teacher and back to the man by his side. The man shook his head, took Ali’s hand and in slow sure steps they walked away from them. Aisha felt embarrassed and sad at the occurrence. She looked at them until they disappeared down the adjacent alleyway.
“Paul, have you been to Shela Beach since you arrived?” Aisha asked to change the subject.
“Not yet. I have been too afraid to go anywhere alone,” he answered.
“Well then, you’re in luck. Let’s go to the beach. It helps me clear my mind,” she said as she flagged down a tuk-tuk. They boarded it and off they went to the beach.
Shela Beach was always a sight to behold. Its white sands and vast blue waters seduced swimmers and beach goers alike. It was no wonder it was a favourite for tourists. Paul was no different. He took in the magnificence of the beach and then closed his eyes, as though he was taking a snapshot to be saved forever in his mind. The palm trees at the shores offered shade for them to sit and enjoy the view. Some experiences in life are unforgettable, this was one of those. They bought coconut juice from a local beach vendor and enjoyed it in silence. There was a family playing at the shores of the beach: two young Muslim parents and their two boys. Paul envied them. The father would wade with each boy to safe a distance in the ocean and help them float back to shore. The child would come back to his mother at the shore beaming with joy.
“Family is really important. It’s at the core of the fight against radicalisation of the youths,” Aisha noted, interrupting his thoughts.
“They look so happy. Is life always this languid in Lamu?”
“We have our moments. We are generally a happy people but these terrorists are threatening to disrupt life as we know it. Tell you what, Ali’s sister is getting married this weekend. You might get good pictures for your report at the wedding, and a better sense of Lamu people.”
“I have never attended a Swahili wedding before. I’d love to be there. Do I need an invitation?”
“This is as formal an invitation as you will get. I’ll give you directions. When you get there just tell the guards that you are a representative of Somo Madrassa School. You’ll be allowed to come in.”
The waves were gentle that evening. They watched as beach boys tried to get the attention of tourists in a bid to make some extra cash. Young boys of school-going age spent their days on the shores of Shela Beach. There were only two expectations for them: to either get the love and attention of a foreign tourist or get recruited in a terrorist group.
Aisha and Paul left the beach when it started getting dark. Aisha then took Paul to enjoy mshikaki, barbecued beef prepared street style. They parted ways after that, planning to meet again at the wedding.
Hafsa’s wedding started quite early on Saturday morning. The women’s skin was decorated with henna as they were adorned in gold. They sang the praises of the bride and groom and danced to Swahili benga music, the excitement in the atmosphere infectious. Paul spotted Aisha amid the ladies. He waved at her and she waved back, smiling. Khadija, her friend noticed this and gave Paul a spiteful look.
“Is that the journalist you have been talking about?”
“Yes, I invited him to the wedding,” Aisha answered, as she continued singing and dancing to the wedding songs. Khadija was uneasy; she did not like Aisha’s relationship with the strange journalist. He was clearly not a believer. Such a relationship could not be encouraged. She made up her mind to look into the issue.
Ali was present at the wedding. He was in the company of three strange men who constantly talked to young boys and men at the wedding. Paul noticed the way the men would move from one person to the other and have seemingly serious conversations with them in whispers.
The wedding was an entire day’s affair. A sumptuous banquet of Swahili food had been prepared and everyone ate and drank to their fill. They ate the food amidst laughter and songs as friends and family of the couple made speeches at the wedding. From the corner of his eye, Paul saw Ali exit the wedding with not just the three strange men but with five boys in tow. He found it strange but noted it in his writing pad. More importantly, he felt a familiar tugging at his heart as he watched Aisha sing and dance the whole day. He was quite taken by her and he knew that he had to explore his feelings for her. Paul left the venue early in the evening but got to know from Aisha that the wedding continued well into the night.
When Paul asked Aisha to be his girlfriend, she thought it was a joke. She pulled on the ends of her braids so hard that her head ached. Aisha was nervous and uncertain. She knew she liked Paul a lot but he was not a Muslim. She said yes and almost bit her tongue. They agreed to keep the relationship private until they were ready to face their families. They would meet in the evenings after classes and whenever else circumstances permitted.
The last time they were at the beach, Paul and Aisha decided to start an evening mentorship session there. They would talk to the youths on the dangers of joining terrorist movements and about the proper channels to air their grievances. They noticed the police used to come sniffing around their meetings. Clearly, they wanted to know the reason for their congregations. Once the police were satisfied there was nothing untoward happening, they let them be. Sometimes Paul would buy coconut juice for the youths and this made the evening meetings quite popular.
News reached Mr Suleiman about his daughter Aisha, the strange man she was hanging around with, and their meetings with the youths on the shores of Shela Beach. He cringed at the thought of his favourite child openly engaging with a non-Muslim man said to be a journalist. The rumours about his daughter doing the rounds in the small town annoyed him. One evening, accompanied by his brother, he went to see for himself what was happening at Shela Beach. They found the meeting with the youths ongoing. Paul was standing close to Aisha as he addressed the youths. In a fit of rage, Mr Suleiman dragged Aisha from the group and ordered her to follow them home. Aisha’s attempt to explain herself fell on deaf ears as the brothers dragged her back home. Mr Suleiman was furious.
It was a strange night in the Suleiman household. There was no precedence for what had happened. Aisha locked herself in her room crying. No one slept that night as Fatima and their mother tried to reconcile father and daughter. A few minutes past midnight, a round of sporadic gunshots was heard. Fear ran down their spines as each of them took cover in their rooms. Aisha finally opened her door after the gunshots ceased. She found her family all awake and in silence. They were all scared. It seemed the insecurity in Lamu Town got worse with each passing day and nobody cared enough to do anything about it. After a while, they retired to their beds.
The next morning, reports of the escape of prisoners from Tewa Prison in Mombasa got to Lamu Town. Three prisoners had escaped the prison in the middle of the night and it was only discovered the following day. The tension in the town was palpable. The next monthly security meetings took place with even fewer attendees than before. Aisha and Paul continued their classes at the beach but took the classes on different days because Aisha knew she was under surveillance. Mr Suleiman had made it known publicly that if Aisha was spotted with the foreign journalist, he should be informed.
One evening shortly after, Paul got a call from his supervisor. They wanted him to return to Nairobi due to the insecurity in Lamu. He was given a week to complete his assignment and leave Lamu Town. Paul was alarmed at the thought of not seeing Aisha ever again if he left Lemu. Attempts to reach out to Aisha had been futile. Seeing her at the school but not being able to talk to her affected him. He decided to write her a note. Even if it was the last thing he would do in Lamu, he would get that letter into Aisha’s hands.
It was a hot sunny day at Somo Madrassa School. Paul got there earlier than usual and strategically waited at the entrance to Aisha’s class. As he had expected, she got there before the students. Aisha did not expect to see Paul but it was a pleasant surprise. He gave her the letter and whispered a few words in her ears before exiting the class before the students arrived.
Aisha opened the letter with shaky hands brought on by a combination of fear and excitement. She read the contents with a shy smile, her dimples deepening with emotion. A short while later, her students started arriving.
“Ali is missing. His parents have informed the police,” one student said.
“With his friendship with those men, it is not surprising,” volunteered another student.
Aisha called the student who broke the news to her side. She wanted to know what had happened to Ali. She gathered that two days had passed since anybody had set their eyes on Ali. After forty-eight hours had elapsed, a missing person’s report was filed at the police station as required by law. The only thing anyone could do then was to wait.
Back in his hotel room, Paul packed his belongings. He wondered whether Aisha would agree to his proposition in the note. He went to the restaurant and ordered chicken biryani. He smiled as he reminisced on the first meal he shared with Aisha. After his meal, he went back to his room, carried his bags, checked out of the hotel and boarded a tuk-tuk to the bus station.
When Paul saw Aisha at the bus station, he almost burst into tears. They were silent for a while. Paul could not believe that she came. She chose him!
“I need to help Lamu. Going to Nairobi will enable me to present our grievances at the Ministry of Internal Security. It’s time to turn our words into action,” she said.
“Well, when I saw you, I thought you came because of love…,” said Paul.
“That too. I am willing to explore what the future holds for us,” she said looking away from him.
They boarded the bus and sat next to each other, Aisha by the window, Paul on the aisle. The bus moved and Aisha felt her stomach churn with fear. As they moved, they passed posters plastered on walls for missing people. Shela Beach looked as peaceful as always with fishermen casting off to try their luck for a good haul. She looked at the town one last time before she closed her eyes and drifted off.
THE END
- The Hijabi Wedding || Dorcas Lungashi - February 12, 2022
An awesome read and great illustrations.
The impressionable young continue to be vulnerable to predators consumed by their selfish interests. Whether they are terrorists, paedophiles, traffickers or murderers.
Meanwhile, the good-hearted are often frustrated when they tread the path of change. Hmmmm……. Love comes with making hard choices which can make or break one.
I commend my first read from Kenya 🥰