The second entry in the column Our Homes, Written by Sebastian Elder.
If you were lucky enough to meet Linet, you would first and foremost be struck by her infectious laugh. Most likely over a cup of sweet Chai, a series of joyous chuckles would tumble from her impossibly smooth cheeks - an effervescent tune, rich in warmth and gratitude. I wouldn’t blame you should this take you by surprise. It may seem to burst out of nowhere. But had you the privilege of knowing her even a little while longer, you would be inspired to learn that, instead, this laugh comes from absolutely everywhere.
Linet Kisame was born in Wangulu, a small village in the Western province of Kenya. There she grew up with her mother, grandmother, and a growing entourage of siblings. The infectious cheer Linet exudes through her default demeanor may mislead you into thinking she has lived a life of comfort or simplicity - instead, her triumph, her teaching, her extraordinary power is not just her
outlook on life, but how she has conjured it against a tide of immeasurable hardship. As Linet entered her fifteenth year of life and second of high school, her mother passed away. With her father living hundreds of kilometers away in the capital city of Nairobi, the responsibility of eight siblings fell mostly into her young, grieving hands. The youngest was only two months old. Tragedy would reverberate with devastating force through her already fragmented family; before Linet had completed high school, she lost three of her brothers and sisters.
Many years later, just as in years gone by, she closes her eyes and allows the music to envelop her. The sun pours through the windows, the open doorway, and the gap between the brick wall and the tin roof; a breeze offers some relief from the conglomerating heat. Neither a notion of age nor a trace of her years’ of hard work accompany her as she dances and sings, claps and stomps, personifying a spirit of pure freedom.
A year after finishing high school her father called her to the city to pursue work. Nothing could prepare her for what her abode would entail. Driven only by the will of survival burning deep in her bruised, golden heart, she found herself in Kangemi, a slum on the outskirts of Nairobi.
Sidenote: There is a wicked irony to the colour palette of a Kenyan slum. A shade that rests equidistant between a dark red and a faded gold, this colour dominates from the ground up through to the tops of the corrugated iron homes, desperately bound together in suffocating unity. Iron and aluminium are the reason for this, and they highlight a perverse contradiction; on one hand these elements enrich the soil, defining it as a key ingredient in the Great Rift Valley, the cradle of humankind. On the other, however, when eroded by the air and rain, such homes produce the same notable colour. The result is a juxtaposition otherwise hidden without the context of the colonially corrupted history, manifesting as extreme poverty which poorly reflects the majesty of Kenya’s past.
Even Linet struggles to speak kindly of Kangemi. She lived in a single room which accounted for sleeping, cooking, living, and anything else that a house need offer. The toilets were communal, unhygienic and in all ways “horrible”. Linet recalled her alarm at the number of children dispersed within the dense crowds that filled the streets, out of school and often without basic care. Nonetheless, Linet found her people. One example was her landlord, with whom I gather she found many pleasant moments to sit and exhale, to talk and be.
“I had friends there - the landlord was my friend, his family was my friend… I was always going”
Here she lived for almost eight years before moving to a slightly safer part of the city, where one room would again fulfill the duties of all, including those of her two growing daughters. In all my years of knowing Linet, I never heard anything about a man in her life, and somehow, it never felt quite right nor necessary to ask - she has always been also an independent force, and proud of it at that:
“I don’t fear I am alone. I am a single parent? Never fear.”
Brenda, her eldest daughter, carries the same warmth in her spirit, though has been endowed with far more protection and opportunity thanks to her mother’s unrelenting sacrifices. I still find myself in awe of the way in which Linet reflects on many of her memories; directly open about her adversities, yet always intertwined with bright laughter, as if just baffled at the absurdity of it all.
Sometimes, I imagine that Linet sang before she could speak. The passion for it was imprinted upon her by her Grandmother, and has remained one to which she is entirely loyal, a vessel for exercising her unbounded capacity for compassion. Through her Church and all those who attend it, she has woven a web of souls connected by a pure and simple love, an appreciation for sharing and having somewhere to share to. Stories - be them biblical or quotidian - open proceedings,
which then end with vibrant singing and dancing. In these moments, Linet blissfully loses herself in the catharsis.
Today, Linet lives in a brick house in an area of Nairobi called Kinoo. In spite of returning to the village where she was born almost annually, she seemed happy in calling this place her home, withholding none of her appreciation for its more peaceful and stable existence. Though once again, said appreciation was first and foremost for her neighbours.
“Every morning we say hi to each other - people are happy. The neighbours want to know how you are and I want to know how they are… they are very wonderful people, I love them.”
Love is something which Linet possesses in greater quantities than anyone I have ever known. With it, she moves through life and creates community in her wake. When I asked what that the word ‘home’ meant to her, her answer was as eloquent as it was fitting:
“Home is where I feel safe and comfortable, surrounded by my family and memories.”
Linet’s use of the word ‘family’ is by no means bound by the literal definition. The freedom with which she uses it is a testament to her rare take on the world - a place where we live for others and others for us, where pain is not invisible but conquerable through belief and fortitude. For many, I imagine, Linet herself represents some component of ‘home’. She is embraced in the collective memory of souls past and present, a leader to anyone lucid enough to see that self-determination and strength multiply simply by sharing our voices, and giving honest attention to those of others. Nothing brings me more joy than hearing about the happiness Linet has with respect to where she now lives. But I know that ‘home’ is something she has carried with her forever, as much for herself as for anyone else who may need it.
Thank you for reading. If you have any comments, questions, or even someone you think might be interested in an interview, feel free to get in touch. Also, I encourage anyone interested to watch this short but powerful spotlight about Linet - it was created in 2018 by my wonderfully talented sister, Jasmine:
Email: sebelder03@gmail.com | Instagram: @seb.elder
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