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Art & CultureWWW.MSINGIAFRIKAMAGAZINE.COM | we tell the true afrikan story 36enjoyed a delicious meal of samaki ya kupaka (succulent fish cooked in a rich coconut sauce) and biryani (a fragrant rice dish full of spices). Most of the time, young boys riding donkeys offered me a free ride through the bustling narrow path of Lamu town. I exchanged %u201cAs-Salaam Alaikum Warahmatullahi Wabarakatuh%u201d greetings with men in kanzu and women in buibui. A phrase that solidifies a sense of Islamic religious affiliation. At cock crow, I enjoyed strolling along the beach tasting kahawa tungu (a robust coffee). During lunchtime, I made my way to the delicious aromas of Mama Rukia%u2019s Swahili dishes. In the evening, I found solace in the nearby mosque for prayers. Then, walked through the dark vichochoro, eventually rounding up my night at Mkunguni (Lamu Square) where we gathered to soak in local and international politics. Mkunguini was an animated assembly with a vitriol push of those who understood politics. The arguments were a reminder of the spirit of Bunge la Wanainchi in Jacaranda, Nairobi.I come across a popular man at Mkunguni known as Sir Mwenzangu. He seems a humble and polite man, but people know him as a malicious and scheming person. He spoke with the confidence of someone well-versed in both local and global politics. It was rumored that he was a deportee for overstaying his visa in a foreign country. Sir Mwenzangu was a man of vitriolic argument, and he was never defeated in any cross-exchanges. He emerged victorious in any altercation. He was too shrewd a man, serving as a senior officer in the county government. Sir Mwenzangu valued my contributions and occasionally mistook me for famous figures like Nuru Okanga and Babu Owino. The man was fond of highlighting my eloquence in public with enthusiastic applause. One day, a stone struck my ear, and within a second, another stone hit my kofia. Everyone took to their heels in different directions. I covered my head under a scattered bench. I saw a shadow of a boy in a kofia disappearing like a rat running towards its hideout. I vividly recall someone constantly interjecting my speech with abusive words like mkafiri! kaongo! kasongo! (a liar outsider). I tried to locate the voice from the crowd, but it was camouflaged by a crowd of Islamic attire. I had energized the crowd in support of the impeachment of a senior officer. In the following meeting, I was cautious of my discussion. I gave more weight to issues that resonated with the crowd, such as opposing LGBTQ rights, condemning divorces, and single parenting. The crowds were at peace with my subject of discussion. I learned that family was a cultural thread of Swahili culture. %u201cAllah Hu Akbar%u201d alarmed the people of the Lamu island for the evening prayer. The man cleared his throat and said, %u201cmatangazo za nikah%u201d (wedding announcement). He announced an upcoming wedding at the mosque and grand wedding reception at Mkunguni. I phoned Mr. Satan to confirm that those teenagers flirting at kichochoro were indeed planning to get married. They had already expressed their intentions to kutangaza nia (propose), and their parents had approved the union. I was excited to gatecrash the nikah event at the mosque and the walimah (wedding reception) at WWW.MSINGIAFRIKAMAGAZINE.COM | we tell the true afrikan story 36