CLAUDIA'S TALES
22-08-2019 by Claudia Peli
Some time ago in Malindi was made the census.
I thought it was only about Africans, but someone came to knock on my door.
When I opened the door, I saw a smiling, tiny woman on the landing, who showed me an ID card and had a large white file under her arm.
"Jambo! I'm here for the census." He tells me cordially.
"But I'm not African." Quiet object.
"I see it, but we understand that you are resident. So I have to ask you some questions. It'll only take a few minutes."
He assures me.
We sit in the living room; she tells me her name is Janet, who is a teacher at an elementary school and is proud to have been chosen for this important mission.
I tell her my name is Claudia, who has been living in Kenya for over six years and I feel lucky to live in such a beautiful land.
Janet smiles smugly, then looks around.
"What a big house! Where are the others?"
"What others? I live alone."
"Alone in all this space? We live in seven people in two rooms."
"You're a bit of a wretch, aren't you?"
"Emmm... sometimes yes."
Then he notices the photographs of my grandchildren and asks me if they are my children.
"No, they're my sister's, I don't have any children."
I don't understand if her expression is disappointing or displeasing. He looks at the date of birth on my ID card and shakes his head; then adds in a confidential tone that she already has five, and not to worry, that God will send them to me soon if I have faith.
I laugh, but I hold back so as not to offend you.
Yes, I live in a country where women my age are already grandmothers...
"Shall we start with the questions?" I encourage you, so as not to waste time.
Janet opens the folder and points to the pencil.
"First question: are you married?"
"No, I'm single."
Well, this time his face is really sorry, almost worried.
"A woman needs a man to take care of her..."
Strict statement.
"Janet, I take good care of myself, believe me. European women are not like African women in Malindi: they are more emancipated, more independent, really. They are also fine on their own.
I'll explain.
Janet raises both eyebrows, perplexed.
You can see she doesn't agree. For her, a woman is always a woman and she MUST need a man.
How strange these wazungu, she's definitely thinking, while she puts a tick on a box.
"Do we go on with the questions?"
"Sure. Luxury goods: do you own a refrigerator?"
"Sure! And who doesn't have a refrigerator these days?"
"I don't have it. None of my neighbors do." She wanders me around.
Maybe I should feel silly about what I just said on impulse and maybe even ashamed to have a dishwasher and a washing machine?
On the other hand, in Italy we take for granted things that are still considered luxury here.
Let's move on to the questions about animals. He tells me.
Yes, it's better.
"How many goats do you have?
I don't think I understand it very well and I ask you to repeat it.
"No goats."
"And chickens?"
"Hakuna."
"Who's watching the cows?" "Who's watching the cows?"
"No, I don't even have those."
"You have a shamba, how big is it? And who grows it?" "You have a shamba, how big?
"I only have one condominium garden. And a basil plant on the terrace. I'm sorry Janet, but to me it seems like questions asked especially for you Kenyan citizens, don't you think?"
"Emmm, maybe so, but I have to do my job."
He justifies himself by raising his back.
"Sure, sure. Let's continue. I encourage you and resign myself, because it is clear that you have taken your mission very seriously.
"Did you build this house or did you buy it already made?"
"But no ... I bought it like that, I'm not an engineer myself!" I'm kidding.
"My husband isn't an engineer either, he drives the matatu. But he made our little house." He proclaims himself proud.
"Let's hope it's just a ground floor, huh?" I'll say it again, but Janet didn't understand my joke and looks at me strangely.
Pole pole we get to the last question.
"Do you have television?" He asks me and is already putting the tick on the yes box, without waiting for my answer.
"No, I don't."
She looks at me in amazement and then looks around, and she doesn't see any TV.
"But how? All the wazungus have TV..."
She's incredulous. There, I threw her off guard.
"Maybe so... but not all Africans do, right?"
"I do, I do." She tells me happy and satisfied.
"Really?"
"Sure. We got together, four families, and bought it: used, at the old market. You know, men want to see football matches in the evening."
"Come on... even the Italian men!"
Well, in the end we found one thing in common: football.
We smile cheerfully.
When we finish, I offer you a coke and then I take you back to the door.
Janet shakes my hand and hopes to find a good man to keep me company in this lonely house. For a moment, I'm afraid her brother, her cousin, or her brother-in-law wants to propose me.
No, you don't, you better put your briefcase under your arm and your badge on your blouse.
And "pole pole" starts down the stairs. He has other wazungu to go to the census.
Lakini hakuna haraka.
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