TITLE: Jeneza Kutoka Saurabia
AUTHOR: Kithaka wa Mberia
PUBLISHER: Marimba Publications Limited
REVIEWER: Mbugua Ngunjiri
Kenya appears to be stumbling from one crisis to the other; such is the fatigue from these unfortunate occurrences that the people don’t seem to remember what we went through a month ago.
Still, the crises follow each other like clockwork; it becomes a vicious cycle.
There was a time when the Nation would be gripped with news of untold suffering of women who travelled to work as domestic servants in the Gulf states, more so Saudi Arabia. In extreme cases, our girls would come back in caskets.
Every time such a tragedy occurred, there would be nationwide uproar with heated demands for action. Every time such a thing happened, government officials, including those in the Foreign Affairs Ministry and embassy staff would issue forgettable statements; hollow on action points.
Once the victims are buried, the matter would be conveniently forgotten until another death occurred and the same charade would be re-enacted. In the meantime, desperate girls would flock the agencies that ferry them to work in the same Gulf nations to work under similar if not worse conditions.
This brings us to Jeneza Kutoka Saurabia, a newly released play by Prof Kithaka wa Mberia. When I first laid hands on this book, I was struck by the name Saurabia. And while I knew exactly what the author was referring to, I had to ask. You see, modern-day Kiswahili language practitioners are notorious with ‘inventing’ new ‘vocabulary’ and telling us they are part of the language.
The author assured me that Saurabia was his own artistic creation just like I encountered a country known as Nyake (no prizes for guessing where that is) and a city known as Rukuna. Artists employ such tools so that they can freely talk about issues they consider controversial and for plausible deniability.
In this case Wa Mberia is hiding the truth in plain sight.
The play opens on a sad note with the chief paying a visit to Nyatio’s homestead to tell her that her daughter, Nambi, who went to work in Saurabia is dead. Prior to this, Nyatio had been telling her grandson (Nambi’s son) about how hopeful she is that Nambi will send some money, which would alleviate the biting poverty in the home.
Now, Nambi fits the typical profile of girls who go to seek employment opportunities in the Gulf states. An overwhelming majority of them are jobless single mothers, who want to do good by their children.
All the cases we hear about employers mistreating their servants is borne out of impunity, on the part of employers, and desperation, the part of the servants. These employers know that no matter how badly they treat the servants, the slanted laws lean on their side and that nothing will be done to them. The servants, on the other hand, are so desperate, they will do anything to go to the Gulf states and will tolerate any form of ill-treatment since they need the money since they have nowhere else to turn to.
Back to the story.
After the first scene where we learn of Nambi’s death, the rest of the play, apart from the final scene is based on flashbacks. We see Nambi arrive in Saurabia in the company of a compatriot called Halima. We also learn that Nambi had set out to go to Dubai and not Saurabia.
While at the airport, she calls her agent back at home enquiring what necessitated the change of plan. The agent is curt, ‘there is nothing much I can do, besides, you wanted a job and you have one’. This is the desperation we are talking about. Still, what much else can she do, seeing as the employer has taken hold of her passport.
A casual glance at the terms and conditions – once the girl lands in the gulf – is proof enough that they were written by sadists, keen on mistreating, even enslaving the servants. How else would you explain the idea of the employer confiscating their servants travel documents, simply because they paid money to have the servant?
And the fact that one cannot change employers, no matter how abusive they are, is geared towards enabling those sadistic employers.
Nambi goes to work in a homestead where the woman of the house is openly racist and targets Nambi’s African roots to unleash horrendous racist abuse. She goes a step further to start physically assaulting the servant. As if the racist and physical abuse is not enough, Nambi is not paid a dime the entire period of five months she works in that house.
The husband is somewhat measured compared to the wife but is no better. Anwar, for that is his name, makes sexual passes at Nambi, behind his wife’s back. He is somewhat culpable for what befalls Nambi at the end.
You only need to read to the book to know what transpired.
When news of Nambi’s death is broken to the family at home, it comes with the explanation, from the government, that she took her own life. Hmmm, sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
Seriously though, what sort of training do the people in charge of government communication undergo? I am asking this in reference to the death, in police custody, of Albert Ojwang’.
When Nambi’s body is finally brought home for burial, Nambi’s mother, in a moment of anger, calls for the halting of the ceremony and urges fellow mourners to take the casket and deposit it at government offices, as a way of seeking justice for her daughter. This is after Halima, who is privy to what happened, divulged what might have Transpired.
Nyatio is prevailed upon to let the burial continue with the promise that she will be assisted to pursue justice for her slain daughter once government offices are reopened after the weekend, then curtains close.
That the play should end on that note is symbolic of the way grieving families like that of Nambi and Ojwang’ are given lofty promises during the funeral but after flowers are placed on the grave, that marks the end of that chapter.
