Maama Golparii's Cure for Eczema

Every parent and caregiver has gone to extraordinary measures to protect their child from injury, illness and other forms of harm.

Our eldest, who's now 15, suffered from severe eczema as a child. We tried all kinds of ailments and the treatment that worked  most effectively was kyogero, the traditional herbal mixture that is boiled from mainly the barks of specialized trees. 

My husband and I , reluctant at first, used it and marvelled at the positive results. Sustaining this method was difficult and as time went on, we stopped using it. Gradually, the severity of the eczema reduced. Occasionally, as a teenager she will react to certain harsh elements.

In 2010, crossing over to her second birthday, my husband and I booked a Mash Poa bus to Nairobi, to visit relatives, before heading to Mombasa. What a treat!

Mombasa in 2010.

Fort Jesus, camels and oceans, singing paths, stories of pirates, heat and freshly squeezed juice at every corner.

And Mama Golparii.

It was at Fort Jesus when a tour guide, upon observing the young tourist couple with their toddler taking walking across the Fort, offered to share the history of the place. He was more captivating than the history lessons in primary. 

He went on to tell us that as a tour guide, he had learned several languages namely German, French and Italian. Yes-all that from his job as a tour guide. Impressive! 

The Fort, a UNESCO World Heritage site,  is located in Mombasa City on the coast of Kenya. Designed by Giovanni Battista Cairati, it was built by the Portuguese in 1593-1596 to protect the port of Mombasa. (https://museums.or.ke/fort-jesus-mombasa/)

This observant tour guide then, upon noticing how our two year old was itching and fidgety, offered to take us to Mama Golparii, the lady who heals all skin ailments.

Skeptical, we thanked him for his service, paid his exhorbitant fee of 2,000 Ksh per person and boarded our tuk tuk back to the guest house.

That first night, a in a room where the mosquitoes teased the mosquito net like an accountant teases employees with their salaries, threatening to come close, disappearing and then attacking. Our first night in Mombasa was unpleasant, and the next day we opted for finer lodging.

Our eldest bore the bring of it.

The next morning, over a scrumptious breakfast which for the life of me I am unable to recall, we went back to Fort Jesus. After the night we had had, we welcomed the idea of Mama Golparii's healing powers.

The tour guide, saw us instantly and in a casual demeanour, told us he would take us to the lady of healing powers.

We went winding down Old Mombasa, in an out of old buildings closely packed together, along the winding paths with closely kept stories. We followed him with no other choice since we had no idea of our way back. It was solemn. It was foreboding.

"Here we are," he said.

He called for her and as part of her welcoming committee, five or so cats leaped out of the front door before the presence of a maternal looking pleasant faced woman came out.

She and the guide spoke in Kiswahili and then she greeted us.

She was warm and had a broken tooth, visible every time she spoke or laughed. 

Afterwards, she explained at length how she uses natural medicine from the trees and herbs to cure all types of skin conditions from boils, sores, acne and more. 

And yes, she had just the right ointment for our daughter's eczema.

Going back indoors, she returned with various sizes of jars with a creamy mixture, that looked like odii, the sim sim paste from Northern Uganda.

We offered to buy enough supplies worth 2,000 Ksh, thanking her profusely and hoping that she did not notice how we just wanted to get out of there fast. Winding back through the dark corridors, mysterious alleyways and whispering buildings, we finally boarded a tuk tuk back, this time to a much better guest house.

That was not after paying our guide 1,000 Ksh for his services.

It was upon return to Nairobi, at my aunt's that we noticed something a little rather 'off' with the medicine. Our daughter's skin was drying up like a deserted leaf. 

My aunt watched her niece struggle to walk and expressed shock when she learned of our little medical tourism adventures. That was the end of Mama Golparii's ointment.

It may have worked for other people. For us, that was not so. 

I remain curious to know if she is still there in Mombasa. She made our trip memorable.

.......

 

Book Review of FINE BOYS, by Eghosa Imasuen, reviewed by Beverley N N

 

This novel is for a guy’s guy.

Imagine a group of college boys taking turns at retelling heartfelt conversations about their family life, parents’ bizarre marriages, sibling rivalry, failed relationships, girls out of their league and the rivalry between deadly gangs within their neighbourhoods.

A fast paced novel with such convincing dialogue that portrayed each character so vividly that the scenes came

to life. The imagination and thought behind the telling of this novel is impressive.

First person narrations for these types of novels work well. The beginning with the interaction between

narrator Ewean, a boy in his formative teen years, his father and the colonial figure of an oil executive. 

That triangle is a powerful pivot into this intricate novel of a boy caught between family, university life, ambition and politics. Amidst all of this navigation and complexity, Ewean is able to learn how much power he has within self-control, how powerful gang affiliated structures are and how deep the political waters of Nigeria actually run.

In all of this, the main character is a reflection of any adult that has studied in a typical university in Africa. There are unwritten rules, constant need for validation and representation, a heightened sense of belonging and the creation of new and cemented identities through academia and friendships.

The on and off relationship between Ewean’s parents is an honest account of a boy’s strong emotional turmoil in the face of this. Often, boys and young men in certain African cultures are warned against showing emotion and this vulnerability, sometimes subtle and sometimes overt, that we see along the novel is refreshing and authentic.

Eghosa’s second novel, FINE BOYS, is a tale that is entertaining as it endears a reader towards real life situations of a university student catching up on missed opportunities, learning how ambition and politics are closely tied.

There is deep sadness in the novel, just like in life. It is the political fractions that continuously ruffle the journey of an average Nigerian student and the tragedy that befalls in unprecedented.

This powerful injection of emotions is one of the many reasons why you must purchase the novel, published by Farafina Books and available on amazon, for purchase.

Reviewed by Beverley N Nsengiyunva, who met Eghosa in Nigeria in 2014 and had the pleasure of receiving an

autographed copy of the novel.

Satisfying A Hungry Photographer

How many takes for a photographer's satisfaction? 

How many body twists and turns before a photographer tells you that s/he has found the perfect shot, where your eyes carried the right mischief and laughter?

How many times before you learn to smile without inhaling and exhaling deeply?

Is there such a thing as a natural smile?

What is an authentic laugh? Belly laughter? How about men who laugh at women for their misogynistic taste?

How about women who laugh at other women, because their laughter hides their lack of self-esteem? 

Photo by Victor Ehikhamenor, Nigeria 2014.

I want a photographer who will catch me with a million different smiles and styles, from the time I wake up, sometimes certain of my day, vigorous, radiant and full of conviction, at 3am, 4am and any other am.

I want a photographer who will catch me when I wake up unsure, the uncertainty stretching for an hour. How different do I look during both of those times? I want a photographer to tell me that there is no difference in my smile when I am happy or forlorn, that a smile is not the curving of lips but the beating of a heart.

I want a photographer to tell us the truth about when they actually see when they take photos, that most people do not like surprise parties and that brides detest the layers of makeup on their wedding day.

I want a photographer to tell us the truth that the self indulgent person always placing themselves in the middle of photos is terribly insecure and that the reason they are always the last to leave a party is because they are afraid to return home. 

I want a photographer to tell us that in class photographs, the teacher selects whom they will stand next to, because some of the students are sociopathic and even the school counsellor is at their wit's end. The parents choose to pray about it, while leaving their children to the care of nannies, teachers and grandparents.

I want a photographer to tell us that the moment after the photograph, the obvious relief and eagerness to carry on with the day, is the moment that the real photo should be taken.

Beverley N Nsengiyunva, 2023.

I Remain UnFlappable; Poetry Is It

 

I continue to marvel at how poetry permeates every pore in the eco-system. I continue to experience unrivalled gladness at the unexpectedness of poetry.

I remain unflappable.

In mid-October this year 2023, Mahiri Books, Uganda's leading online bookstore, approached me with a proposal to expand my territory with a short video clip of me reading a poem from my second poetry collection, 'Dress me in Disobedience.'

To of my favourite poems in the collection are 'Bujumbura' and 'In The Restaurant.' Bujumbura uses Lake Tanganyika as a metaphor to describe the lifestyle I observed, and the after effects of political decisions, like a boomerang. 

It was previously published in Wasafiri Magazine in 2015.

In The Restaurant,' is one of my first erotic poems, written in 2006. It was part of my official declaration that I was a poet. Previously published in 'Drumvoices Revue,' in 2007, the validation gave me next level confidence.

I have been asked countless times by journalists worldwide to speak about my poetry journey, which I usually start with 

'At the age of six, I was drawn to the musicality of words and wanted to be a part of that creation. My father bought me lots of books to read and as a child, my school encouraged reading and writing, which I excelled at.'

It is true that childhood does influence our decisions as adults.

At the same time, those with sordid pasts, histories and herstories that they would rather leave behind in the darkness of decades gone, do not have to be defined by their past. Certain memories leave us hapless.

At 47, I am still redefining my career and taking on new skills, tasks, rewriting my ambitions and setting super ambitious goals, and watching myself as I surpass them, elevating myself to advanced goals.

Poetry is a space for me to be as imaginative as God when He created the world. How is that not miraculous?

Poetry is a time for me to declare all of my goals for the next 60 years. How is that not miraculous?

I write in honour of poets worldwide, of those who participate in poetry and those who publish and market poetry in various forms.

Thank you!

Bless!

Bev

Should Protocol Bring Pain or Pleasure?

In 2014, First lady of South Africa, Grace Machel, visited Uganda upon the invitation of a network of business women. The ceremony was officiated at Sheraton Hotel and I was given the distinct pleasure of hosting said event.

Dressed in an African print dress, and after several planning meetings, I was fully prepared.

The room was well lit, adorned with business products from leading Ugandan women like Ukonika of Bella wines and lots of small businesses with their ware on display.

Festive. Dressed in economic seriousness. I liked it.

I had not taken into account the issue of protocol, though. Bring the First Lady, there was a significant delay due to protocols, where she had to include a visit to The State House, which was followed by security detail.

The business community, not anxious at all, displayed their products to guests and made a few purchases. I, on the other hand, was pacing.

As more and more security and high ranking officials walked into the rom, I knew that the event was about to officially start. On the programme, was the leading of National anthems, which is never a problem except now we had to sing both the Uganda national anthem and the South Africa one. The sound team was ready with both.

Protocol. Protocol.

Which anthem should come first?

One official dressed in camouflage introduced himself to me as the Head of Protocol and told me that the anthem of the visiting dignitary is always led first.

Another person from the organising team told me that on every occasion, the anthem of the hosting country always precedes any other. And there I was, confused.

Graca Machel walked in, with style, and a dignified gait. She was taller than I thought and resplendent in her suit.

I stared at her for a half minute too long, before holding the microphone and announcing that we would begin by singing the South Africa national anthem.

Even before the drums, trumpets nd vuvuzelas had a chance to make their sound, Grace Machel waved her hands in the air.

"No, No, please. It is always the anthem of the host country that begins."

And that was my lesson on protocol. When it comes to over the top tasks like leading national anthems, inviting people to dinner or for photographs, delegate those to the organising team or to members in charge of protocol. As an emcee, we should take care of the more important speaking tasks.

Bless!

Bev

Book Review of Unbowed, a Memoir by Wangari Maathai

I have had many lengthy, heated and endearing conversations with my Kenyan friends over 'Unbowed,' a memoir by Professor Wangari Maathai, a Kenyan social, environmental and political activist. (May she continue to rest in peace).

On visiting Kenya, I have held literary discussions in some of the areas she designated for conservation and the arts and I have walked across Nairobi, marvelling at the green spaces under her efforts.

Last year in 2022, while delivering a creative presentation for feminists under Oxfam's climate change two-day conference, I met young feminists who worked at Prof. Wangari Maathai's Green Belt Movement in Kenya, and we discussed further the extraordinary nature of the first African woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize, 2004.

In this photo, we appreciate how every effort we make towards environmental protection and conservation, will serve our children and grandchildren well.

'Unbowed,' Wangari Maathai's memoir is such an intricate and well-woven story about her life. It is filled with statements, declarations and strong beliefs about her personal life and her unwavering commitment towards environmental and political transformation.

My fascination stemmed from her traditional birth in a mud-walled house in a small village in Ihithe, in the Central Highlands. Wangari's description of her home area is vivid and breathtaking. She speaks of fresh air and a reader can almost taste the crispy freshness. The abundance into which she was born, formed her appreciation for environmental conservation.

In her ideal quest, little did she know that the political machines would work strongly against her, causing unbearable stress on her life, work and family. She then joined the political platform to create further impact towards her cause, leaving more devastation in her wake and at the same time, giving her international platforms that she would never have deemed possible.

Her name, Wangari, is Kikuyu for 'Of the leopard,' How apt! Her mother told Wangari growing up, that if she ever saw a leopard's talk, that she should not step on it but tell the leopard that she was one of them.

From a modest beginning in life where boys were encouraged to go to school over girls, Wangari sailed through formal education with such brilliance, writing on slabs at the start, creating ripples as she gained formal knowledge and deeper understanding of the world.

White rhino, 2009 at Uganda Wildlife Education Centre.

All animals benefit from a protected environment,

During the time of colonialism, Wangari also realised that colonialism converted many values for example turning Kenya's economy into a cash economy, where trees became opportunities for cash, and started to be sold for timber, elephants for their  ivory and cheetahs for the sale of their skins. 

Before that, Wangari stated, her ancestors lived with the recognition of protecting their environment.

The Green Belt Movement, fighting against such practices, continued to grow and by the mid-1980s there were over two thousand women's groups managing nurseries and planting trees.

Note: The Green Belt Movement (GBM) was founded by Professor Wangari Maathai in 1977 under the auspices of the National Council of Women of Kenya (NCWK) to respond to the needs of rural Kenyan women who reported that their streams were drying up, their food supply was less secure, and they had to walk further and further to get firewood for fuel and fencing. (The Green Belt Movement website)

As she continued to pursue great heights, continued studying and changing lives, her marriage was annulled and her children faced the challenge of a situation of fending for her three children as a divorced woman.

With perseverance and tenacity, in 2004, Wangari Maathai was awarded the coveted Nobel Peace Prize for her contribution to sustainable development, democracy and peace.

In her memoir, we envision relentless pursuit of  ideals, goals and a sustainable life for the future, amidst insurmountable challenges. In her memoir, we learn that truth, justice and humanity are more important than selfish ambition and [political correctness.

Seven years after her award, in 2011, Wangari  succumbed to ovarian cancer.

We read her book and witness the marvellous impact of her work in Kenya and the world.

The copies are available in many bookstores around the world and online.

Reviewed by Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva

What do you do when you're too unwell to speak?

In 2016, I visited Hargeysa Somaliland, for a festival, where I was invited to speak, sell my books and participate in discussions. During my wait at Addis Ababa Airport, in the wee hours of 2am, which is not really 2am at airports, I sat for an hour or so, under the air conditioning and shortly after I was coughing, unable to speak and my throat was sore.

On arrival at the festival, I had to shout to make myself heard, which never helps a sore throat, does it? The hosts bought me strepsils which helped. On the day of my main delivery though, my throat was still sore and my voice croaky like a frog about to turn into a prince. It was still just a frog, though.

What did I do? 

I was well enough to move, eat and communicate with gestures and writing, and so on request for the team to amplify my sound, I spoke. I spoke with passion about poetry in Uganda, about my writing, about the Babishai Niwe Poetry Foundation and all the reasons why Uganda was a must-go-to destination for their insatiable literary appetites.

I was able to speak, with a bit of strain. I plunged forward and made sure that the people at the back of the large conference hall heard me too. 

If you are unwell and have been called to speak, listen to your body. If mobility is strenuous and the medication is particularly strong, making you drowsy, you may always ask for postponement. You may also pre-record the speech.

Another time was in September this year, where I was invited to speak at an online international conference organised by Speaking Woman Toastmasters in Kenya.

Two days before that, I was diagnosed with acute malaria. For the first time in 30 years, I was diagnosed by this female anopheles mosquito ridden infliction. It shocked my system, leaving me weak, dizzy and betrayed.

I generally consider myself healthy, with a robust immune system and here I was, with my wrist strapped to a cannula and a prescription of medicine.

The invitation was sent to me in July, which I was not going to refuse. It was an online conference and scheduled on the second day of medication, I bathed and dressed up sharply and intentionally for this speech. Because I speak quite often, my preparation techniques involve using flash cards and rehearsing my speech mentally.

While I used to practise public speaking daily, I do not do that anymore because my work now involves arduous hours of writing and conducting interviews as well, for research.

By 6pm, I had taken Ribena, a slice of well-cooked and clean roadside chicken from a reputable neighbourhood restaurant, which is helpful during malaria by the way and I was ready to speak. I immediately apologised that I was unable to stand during my speech and explained to them, while also flashing the cannula. 

 Launched into my well-prepared speech, during which I impressed myself. I had mentally pored through the details, the story lines, take-away lessons and the time for questions. I was unflappable and highly pleased with myself. Dressed immaculately, with respect to the occasion, my speech landed in all the right places.

Because of malaria, I had to occasionally dab myself with a face towel and take sips of water. After the questions, I then asked to be excused because I needed to lay down. It worked though. If you are unwell, there are ways to navigate a speech that you must deliver.

Again, listen to your body. Pre-record the speech where possible and always inform the organisers and your team.

Best!

Bev