Mama Obama
“Are you really Dutch?”. Jonathan could hardly believe it. He thought I was so much more enterprising than the other Dutch people he had met. Every weekend I came up with something and we went out together. One weekend we were among the tea pickers in Kericho, then we spotted Colobus monkeys in the Kakamenga rainforest. Another time we drove to the sugar factory to walk nine holes in Mumias with a half-paralyzed caddy. And at the market in Pokot we bought traditional medicine from a “colleague” in a market full of people with picturesque clothes and necklaces, who was sitting on the ground with some roots, twigs and leaves. Jonathan thought it was wonderful. “Because of you I am getting to know my country,” he claimed. The fact that the trips provided him with extra income was a bonus. After all, he had to support his family of eight children and two grandchildren. For a day of driving he earned 500 shillings. For an overnight stay he got 2000 shillings for sleeping and eating. Felista, his youngest daughter of three, regularly came to us to beg for cola. He rented the house next to the doctor’s house of a general. It was a pitch-dark, sparsely furnished house, which I was allowed to enter once to examine his wife when she had problems in early pregnancy.
“Do you know where Mama Obama lives?”, I asked Jonathan one day. No, he had never heard of it. I had read in a book about a Dutch woman who had visited Mama Obama. Jonathan asked within his network. Kogelo, that had to be it. It was a few hours away from Mundika. He now knew how to drive. On our free Sunday we set off. He turned on music in the car. You often heard: “Praise the Lord. Hallelujah”. Jonathan was a member of the Pentecostal Church. Kenya has an incredible number of religious communities, more than any other country in the world. We turned off past Ugunja. The road full of holes and bumps was mockingly called the Obama Highway by Jonathan. Past Siaya we had to search for a while on the dirt roads, but Jonathan used his instincts and after a few questions we reached Kogelo. Compared to nearby villages, Kogelo looked prosperous. Work was underway on a new main street. They probably hoped that Barack Obama would come by again.
Past the bar with the sign “Kogelo Yes we can” we turned past the Senator Obama Secondary School. It was the only school I had seen in Kenya with two floors. The last bends were shown to us by a young man in a Barcelona shirt. We let him get in with us, also to be able to translate if necessary because we did not know whether Mama Obama spoke anything other than Luo. A little later we were in front of Mama Obama’s house. It was surrounded by a large fence and a man in uniform was standing guard. A sign said when Mama Obama would hold an audience. Unfortunately, Sunday was not on it. That was a bummer. Jonathan started talking to the uniformed man. I could not understand him. A little later the man walked towards Mama Obama’s house. Jonathan told me that the man came from the region around Busia. That broke the ice – as far as you can speak of that on the Equator – and the guard went to ask if Mama Obama had time for us. After a while he came back through the big garden and opened the gate for us. Mama Obama was kind enough to receive us. He took us to a huge mango tree in front of the house. There we were allowed to sit on some rickety chairs, which were arranged in a semi-circle. In front of the circle were two white garden chairs. We sat patiently waiting with a view of the luxurious house by Kenyan standards. We waited tensely. A rough voice sounded from the house. A soft breeze drove away the worst of the heat. After about twenty minutes a plump, small woman came swinging out of the house. She was followed by a slender young man, who introduced himself as Nelson Ochieng, the step-grandson and also personal assistant of Sarah Obama. They sat down on the garden chairs under the mango tree. Sarah was curious where we came from and what we did. She was very surprised when I told her that I lived at the bottom of what used to be a sea. She knew the Netherlands because of the tomato cultivation and because of “Hague”. That is where the suspects of the violence after the elections in 2007/2008 stood trial before the International Criminal Court. Sarah was the second wife of President Barack Obama’s grandfather. She was not Barack Senior’s mother. So she is the step-grandmother of the American president. Nelson told us that Barack Junior’s father and grandfather were buried next to the house. We had already noticed the two graves. We were allowed to take a look. Barack Senior’s grave was covered with bathroom tiles. Barack Hussein Obama, died in a car crash in 1889. In 1988, Barack Junior had come to visit his father’s grave. His father, whom he had hardly ever met in person.
On the property, a house is ready for Barack Senior’s eldest son. But I don’t think Junior will ever move in here. In the early nineties, Junior returned to Mama Obama with his fiancée Michelle. Sarah proudly pointed out the window behind which they had slept. Junior also came to visit before the presidential elections to ask Sarah for permission. At least that’s what she claimed. World politics would depend on a grandmother in the interior of Kenya. They had been sitting here under the mango tree for a meeting. Sarah had been a guest at the presidential inauguration. We asked about her role in the Kogelo community and we heard about the Sarah Obama Foundation, which cared for 103 orphans. Sarah hoped that these children would grow up to be doctors, lawyers, engineers and teachers. She also promoted innovations in agriculture and livestock farming. Next to her plot was a stable, in which cows are kept, which remain in the stable. A unique situation in Kenya. I told Sarah that she was born the same year as my mother. She laughed and said that was why we were allowed to visit. She was like a mother to me. We were allowed to donate some money to the Foundation. Then we said our goodbyes and left Mama Obama under the mango tree. We drove back to tiny Munika on the Obama Highway.