Friday, September 7, 2007

So many gods, so little time

Kenya is a god-loving country, and in Mombasa there are many gods to choose from.



I smiled when the muezzin's call sounded shortly after we had prayed to open our workshop last Thursday. Generations of writers have described the Muslim call to prayer and I won�t attempt to do it justice here. It is evocative and lovely, particularly when it wafts into the room on Indian Ocean breezes.



We held the workshop on the top floor of the Sapphire Hotel on the busy outskirts of central Mombasa. The room provides a nearly 360-degree view of the city skyline. There are small farm plots squeezed against corner kiosks, palm trees brushing laundry-lined apartment units, and everywhere a constant flow of matatus, cars, handcarts, Land Rovers, bicycles, and three-wheeled tuktuks. Mosque_for_web_2



The mosque that called on us to come to Allah is to the north of the hotel. It�s bulbous turquoise tower is bedecked with speakers that are (I learned, somewhat crankily, at dawn the next morning) loud enough to wake the bone-weary.



Eighty percent of Kenyans are Christian, but Islam is the dominant religion here on the coast. Centuries of trade with the middle east brought immigrants and the religion here. But Kenyans also traded with sailors from India. Their gods hang out under another turquoise tower to the south of the hotel.



The Hindu temple welcomes worshippers to celebrate a pantheon of gods, Shiva primary among them. Ganesh_and_folks_for_web_3 Whereas Muslims are not allowed to make any representation God (other than the beautiful script that is carved into wooden lintels throughout the old town), the Hindu temple is a visual overload of religious artwork.



Arriving at the temple, I�m greeted by a rainbow-colored door piece of Shiva, Parvati and Ganesh. Elephant-headed Ganesh and blue-hued Shiva are there again in 5-foot carved glory as I pass through the entrance way.



In the front room gruesome relief paintings lay down basic Hindu tenets.



�People who drink alcohol in his life are taken to hell. There they are forced to drink hot, boiling metal by the hellish people.



�If a person kills or eats animals for food in his life he has to pay for their sinful deeds in hell. They are thrown in a pot of boiling water forcefully.�



IBack_off_for_webn the great room, every wall is carved and lushly painted with more positively motivating stories: devout men and women saved from nasty events by compassionate gods.



Only one percent of Kenyans are Hindu. Given the concentration of East Indian descendents here, I�d guess that a large part of that one percent live here on the coast.



It�s here, really, that Kenya met the rest of the world. Middle eastern traders brought Islam and bought camels. Indian immigrants brought chai and helped build the railroad. One history book says Chinese traders were known to come through this port a few times a year as well. And then, of course, Portuguese colonizers invaded in the early 1500s.



The Portuguese kick-started the trade in slaves in Mombasa, partly out of Fort Jesus. Fort_jesus_for_web_2That cross-shaped walled village still stands over the Mombasa harbor. Later rulers made their additions: a new well from the Omani Arabs and canons from the British. Today it�s a national museum, topped with the flag of independent Kenya.



This is another way in which the Kenyan coast reminds me of New Orleans. It�s a gumbo, or thali plate if you prefer, of cultures. And similar to New Orleans, it seems that by-and-large these cultures co-exist in relative harmony.



Some Kenyan friends tell me there is a little bitterness about the Indian dominance in commerce here. Spice_sales_for_web_2But in the crush of the market on Biashara street, I see kanga-clad women buying from Indian spice dealers, women in burqas buying clusters of magenta lychees from indigenous Kenyans and women in bead-adorned salwar kameez browsing for handbags from a woman wearing a dark headscarf.



And then there�s the fair-haired girl in Ray Bans and blue jeans. To the owner of the Indian restaurant, I am probably just another white tourist in for lunch, until I buy an extra gulab jamun and offer it to his statue of a reclining Ganesh. Burqas_for_web_2



�You believe in Ganesh?� he asks me.



�He�s a good guy.� I say. I'm reticent to start a discussion about weak agnosticism.



But not knowing whether or not God or Gods exist leaves me free to hedge my bets. I�m happy to accept occasional invitations to meeting, church or temple, and to offer dessert to a god with a sweet-tooth.



1 comment:

  1. Hi Honey,
    I love this piece on religion in Mombasa. So eloquently and interestingly written - maybe you should get it freelance published somewhere?
    Thinking of you.
    Tara

    ReplyDelete