Kitale, Kenya

Summer, 2008

DO NOT STONE THE SNAKES!

The sign is quite clear. Barasa, however, is not convinced. Rereading the sign aloud does nothing to deter him. He bends down. Picks up a pebble. My mind wanders. The sign's wording is so odd. Yet here, in Western Kenya, where missionaries spent decades preaching the gospel from King James Bibles, it does not seem out of place. Biblical terms pop up in this part of Africa with surprising frequency. And “stone” is so rarely used as a verb anymore it seems... Barasa bumps my elbow shaking me from my idle thoughts. A sly wink. He is going to stone the snakes.

Kitale holds one of Kenya's National Museums. It is based on the collection of Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Stoneham, the sort of scientific and academic generalist that British colonialism seemed to breed. A historian, entomologist, botanist, zoologist, and anthropologist; his collection contained eclectic mix of historical and cultural items. Most striking though is a complete menagerie-- pinned through, stuffed and fermented. Gorgeous tropical butterflies crumble around their pins, glass eyed wildebeest glare down from the walls and unidentifiable amphibians soak in cloudy formaldehyde. Outside the walls is a small zoo with animals still alive. Their lethargy however appears to inspire frequent stoning attempts.

Barasa picks up the tiny piece of gravel. He hisses at the black mamba but it doesn't stir. A swift, subtle toss of the stone. It hits. The blow from the pebble causes the most dangerous snake in Africa to barely stir. The snake pit remains as boring as it was. From nowhere a museum askari (guard) appears. The tall man in a black uniform gently takes Barasa's hand and holds it in his own. His look is that of a parent affectionately chastising a child. Calmly, still gingerly holding Barasas hand, he reads the sign aloud. He looks at Barasa “sawa, sawa?” (ok?). Barasa sheepishly nods, and off the askari goes.

As usual my thoughts wander. I imagine an American security guard holding a complete strangers hand while admonishing them. My mouth curls up. Barsasa is confused by my smile. Ignoring his confusion I say “sawa sawa” and we head off to the monkey trail.