The Tharaka people in Kitui dwell between the Nithi highlands and across the River Tana. An intriguing community with a distinct musical and culinary style. “Ngima” is what they name it; on the opposite side, where the Nile finds its source, the same term signifies life. It’s amusing that they share the majority of the terms with the swimming Nilotes, implying an influence from the Tana. They haven’t embraced the skill of eating fish; now and again, a man comes down to Ciampiu to market this not-so-favorite delicacy. There’s always something fishy about the hullabaloo he creates while at it. He sings and dances, chanting at every possible consumer except me; I’m not sure how he knew I wasn’t pleased with how he butchered the innocent creatures.  Music has a way of getting into everything around here.

Goats seem to be a measure of wealth here, unlike chickens, they are grazed and taken care of by men. Every one of them will always have a signature of the owner’s initials, mostly on the neck, the thighs, or both when the owner is paranoid. The banking system of the Tharaka demands that the sale of goats is left for only emergencies. They prefer eating cabbage daily as they boast of a herd of over 200 goats. In most instances, families are in short supply of cash, and even Mpesa shops aren’t a thing here, I have only interacted with one and the attendant inquired about my profession. This community isn’t used to walking around with large sums of money, your net worth and creditworthiness are measured by your herd. Goats are used as collateral in most if not all cases and men with no goats are regarded as poor according to the doctrines of the central bank of Tharaka.

I  smell foul play, men over here find a way of chickening out of almost everything except land ownership. Keeping poultry is left to the women and children, the men aren’t bothered, maybe only on days when they are served with eggs. This could explain why it’s hard to differentiate the chicken parts once it’s slaughtered, even my favorite, the drumsticks. That sounds like an egg-chicken problem, right? My first interaction with land ownership was when my host dad said, “io kichaka ni  yangu”. To my surprise, he was referring to a large tract of land, it took us thirty minutes to ride to the end. ” Kichaka” is a Swahili word used to refer to a bush, mostly of no value. Ironically, land here,  however in plenty of supply, is highly valued. It dictates the number of flocks you can own and graze. 

Loud music, frequently accompanied by aggressive dance, is the norm. Unlike Nairobi’s nightlife, music here is a community experience. Occasionally, you’ll come across folks playing loud music, even in residential neighborhoods, completely oblivious of NEMA restrictions, maybe because noise pollution does not apply to them. Weekends are sacredly left for serene, parties, and if it’s not a prewedding, it’s a church function that everyone may attend. I have never missed a single one since I moved here, and if you believe it’s due to the cuisine, you’re right. My perfect left foot will always find its way into the closest event, and being a good dancer by heart, I can’t stop nodding to the exquisite beats of Kamba music.