Seasons & Generational Change.
The Agĩkũyũ had four seasons and two harvests in one year.1. Mbura ya njahĩ [The Season of Big Rain] from March to July,2. Magetha ma njahĩ [The season of the big harvest] between July and Early October ,3. Mbura ya Mwere [Short rain season] from October to January,4. Magetha ma Mwere [the season of harvesting millet]
Further, time was recorded through the initiation. Each initiation group was given special name. According to *Professor Godfrey Mũriũki, The individual initiation sets are then grouped into a regiment every nine calendar years. Before a regiment or army set, there was a period in which no initiation of boys took place. This period lasted a total of four and a half calendar years [nine seasons in Gĩkũyũ land, each season referred to as imera] and is referred to as mũhingo, initiation taking place at the start of the fifth year and going on annually for the next nine calendar years. This was the system adopted in Metumi [Mũrang’a]. The regiment or army sets also get special names, some of which seem to have ended up as popular male names.
In Gaki [Nyeri] the system was inversed with initiation taking place annually for four calendar years, which would be followed by a period of nine calendar years in which no initiation of boys took place [mũhingo]. Girls on the other hand were initiated every year. Several regiments then make up a ruling generation.
It was estimated that Ruling generation last an average of 35 years. The names of the initiation and regiment sets vary within Gĩkũyũ land. The ruling generations are however uniform and provide very important chronological data. On top of that, the initiation sets were a way of documenting events within the Gĩkũyũ nation, so, for example, were the occurrence of small pox and syphilis recorded. Girls’ initiation sets were also accorded special names, although there has been little research in this area. Mũriũki only unearths three sets, whose names are, Rũharo [1894], Kibiri/ Ndũrĩrĩ [1895], Kagica [1896], Ndutu/ Nuthi [1897].
All these names are taken from Metumi [Mũrang’a] and Kabete [Kĩambu]. It is strange that professor Mũriũki didn’t do more research in this area because he states that the girls’ initiation took place annually.
Kikuyu Woman with Traditional symbols of power -Muthigi (stick)signifying power to lead and Itimu (Spear)-power to call people to war*Before the overthrow of Wangu wa Makeri women could carry both,
The ruling generations [riika] according to Mũriũki, which he used to trace the history of the Agĩkũyũ to the year 1500 or there abouts.
1. Manjiri 1512 – 46 ± 55
2. Mamba 1547 – 81 ± 50
3. Tene 1582 – 1616 ± 45
4. Agu 1617 – 51 ± 40
5. Manduti 1652 – 86 ± 40
6. Cuma 1687 – 1721 ± 30
7. Ciira 1722 – 56 ± 25
8. Mathathi 1757 – 1791 ± 20
9. Ndemi 1792 – 1826 ± 15
10. Iregi 1827 – 1861 ± 10
11. Maina 1862 – 97 ± 5
12. Mwangi 1898?
Mathew Njoroge Kabetũs list reads,
Tene, Kĩyĩ, Aagu, Ciĩra, Mathathi, Ndemi, Iregi, Maina [Ngotho], Mwangi
Gakaara wa Wanjaũs list reads
Tene, Nemathĩ, Kariraũ, Aagu, Tiru, Cuma, Ciira, Ndemi, Mathathi, Iregi, Maina, Mwangi, Irũngũ, Mwangi wa Mandũti. The last two generations came after 1900.
One of the earliest recorded lists by Mc Gregor reads (list taken from a history of unchanged)
Manjiri, Mandoti, Chiera, Masai, Mathathi, Ndemi, Iregi, Maina, Mwangi, Muirungu. According to Hobley(a historian) each initiation generation, riika, extended over two years. The ruling generation at the arrival of the Europeans was called Maina. It is said that Maina handed over to Mwangi in 1898. Hobley asserts that the following sets were grouped under Maina – Kĩnũthia, Karanja, Njũgũna, Kĩnyanjui, Gathuru and Ng’ang’a. Professor Mũriũki however puts these sets much earlier, namely Karanja and Kĩnũthia belong to the Ciira ruling generation which ruled from the year 1722 to 1756, give or take 25 years according to Mũriũki. Njũgũna, Kĩnyanjui, Ng’ang’a belong to the Mathathi ruling generation that ruled from 1757 to 1791 give or take 20 years according to Mũriũki.
Professors Mũriũkis list must be given precedence in this area as he conducted extensive research in this area starting 1969, and had the benefit of all earlier literature on the subject as well as doing extensive field work in the areas of Gaki [Nyeri], Metumi [Mũrang’a] and Kabete [Kĩambu]. On top of the ruling generations, he also gives names of the regiments or army sets from 1659 [within a margin of error] and the names of annual initiation sets beginning 1864. The list from Metumi [Mũrang’a] is most complete and differentiated.
Mũriũkis is also the most systematically defined list, so far. Suffice to say that most of the most popular male names in Gĩkũyũ land were names of riikas [initiation sets].
Here is Mũriũkis list of the names of regiment sets in Metumi [Mũrang’a].
These include Kiariĩ [1665 - 1673], Cege [1678 - 1678], Kamau [1704 - 1712], Kĩmani [1717 - 1725], Karanja [1730 - 1738], Kĩnũthia [1743 - 1751], Njũgũna [1756 - 1764], Kĩnyanjui [1769 - 1777] , Ng’ang’a [1781 - 1789], Njoroge [1794 - 1802], Wainaina [1807 - 1815], Kang’ethe [1820 - 1828] Mbugua [1859 – 1867], Njenga or Mbira Itimu [872 – 80], Mutung’u or Mburu [1885 – 1893]
H.E. Lambert who dealt with the riikas extensively has the following list of regiment sets from Gichũgũ and Ndia. It should be remembered that this names were unlike ruling generations not uniform in Gĩkũyũ land. It should also be noted that Ndia and Gachũgũ followed a system where initiation took place every annually for four years and then a period of nine calendar years followed where no initiation of boys took place. This period was referred to as mũhingo.
Karanja [1759 - 1762], Kĩnũthia [1772 - 1775], Ndũrĩrĩ [1785 - 1788], Mũgacho [1798 - 1801] , Njoroge [1811 - 1814], Kang’ethe [1824 - 1827], Gitaũ [ 1837 - 1840], Manyaki [1850 - 1853], Kiambuthi [1863 - 1866], Watuke [1876 - 1879], Ngũgĩ [1889 - 1892], Wakanene [1902 - 1905]
The remarkable thing in this list in comparison to the Metumi one is how some of the same names are used, if a bit off set. Ndia and Gachũgũ are extremely far from Metumi. Gaki on he other hand, as far as my geographical understanding of Gĩkũyũ land is concerned should be much closer to Metumi, yet virtually no names of regiment sets are shared. It should however be noted that Gaki had a strong connection to the Maasai living nearby.
The ruling generation names of Maina and Mwangi are also very popular male Gĩkũyũ names. The theory is also that Waciira is also derived from ciira [case], which is also a very popular name among male Agĩkũyũ. This would call into question, when it was exactly that children started being named after the parents of one parents. Had that system, of naming ones kids after ones parents been there from the beginning, there would be very few male names in circulation. This is however not the case, as there are very many Gĩkũyũ male names. My theory is though that the female names are much less, with the names of the full-nine daughters of Mũmbi being most prevalent.
Gakaara wa Wanjaũ supports this view when he writes in his book, Mĩhĩrĩga ya Aagĩkũyũ page 29.
“Hingo ĩyo ciana cia arũme ciatuagwo marĩĩtwa ma mariika ta Watene, Cuma, Iregi kana Ciira. Nao airĩĩtu magatuuo marĩĩtwa ma mĩhĩrĩga tauria hagwetetwo nah au kabere, o nginya hingo iria maundu maatabariirwo thuuthaini ati ciana ituagwo aciari a mwanake na a muirĩĩtu.”
Freely translated it means“In those days the male children were given the names of the riika [initiation set] like Watene, Cuma, Iregi or Ciira. Girls were on the other hand named after the clans that were named earlier until such a time as it was decided to name the children after the parents of the man and the woman.”From this statement it is not clear whether the girls were named ad-hoc after any clan, no matter what clan the parents belonged to. Naming them after the specific clan that the parents belonged to would have severely restricted naming options.
This would strangely mean that the female names are the oldest in Gĩkũyũ land, further confirming its matrilineal descent. As far as male names are concerned, there is of course the chicken and the egg question, of when a name specifically appeared but some names are tied to events that happened during the initiation. For example Wainaina refers to those who shivered during circumcision. Kũinaina [to shake or to shiver].
There was a very important ceremony known as Ituĩka in which the old guard would hand over the reigns of government to the next generation. This was to avoid dictatorship. Kenyatta relates of how once in the land of the Agĩkũyũ, there ruled a despotic King called Gĩkũyũ, grandson of the elder daughter [Wanjirũ according to Leakey] of the original Gĩkũyũ of Gĩkũyũ and Mũmbi fame. After he was deposed of, it was decided that the government should be democratic, which is how the Ituĩka came to be. This legend of course calls into question when it was exactly that the matrilineal rule set in. The last Ituĩka ceremony where the riika of Maina handed over power to the Mwangi generation, took place in 1898-9 [Hobley]. The next one was supposed to be held in 1925 – 1928 [Kenyatta] but was thwarted by the colonial imperialist government. And one by one Gĩkũyũ institutions crumbled
*Muriuki, Godfrey 1974. History of the Kikuyu 1500 – 1900. (Oxford U Press)
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We Will Not Shield or Protect Officials
Kenya‘s prime minister, Raila Odinga, said his government “will not shield or protect” senior officials if they are indicted by the international criminal court for crimes against humanity committed during last year’s post-election violence.In an interview with the Guardian, Odinga voiced support for the Hague-based court whose prosecutor, Luis Moreno-Ocampo, said last week he would pursue a unilateral investigation into the 2008 bloodletting in which at least 1,133 people were killed.
The main suspects include several cabinet ministers, including some from Odinga’s party, who are accused of organising and financing ethnic-based attacks.Odinga’s remarks describing himself as holding “identical” views to Ocampo on the urgent need for justice to prevent future politically-inspired violence put him at odds with powerful ministers on both sides of the coalition, who are desperately seeking to derail the international process.
When parliament reopens they are expected to try to push through a bill creating a special local tribunal, in an attempt to weaken Ocampo’s case when he requests authorisation next month from the ICC’s pre-trial chamber to proceed with investigations. After meeting Ocampo in Nairobi last week, Odinga and Mwai Kibaki, the president, whose widely discredited election win kicked off the violence, released a statement saying they would co-operate with the court. But Odinga has gone further.
“We said that we will not shield or protect people found to have committed crimes against humanity,” he said. “That is what we told Ocampo.”
The ICC’s intervention is a tricky issue for both Kenyan leaders, who want to avoid alienating allies in their respective parties named by the government-funded Kenyan National Commission on Human Rights for allegedly orchestrating the violence. In Odinga’s case, it is ministers from the Rift valley region, who offered crucial election support to his Orange Democratic Movement party, who have the most to fear. The area saw the worst of the violence, as Kalenjin gangs attacked Kikuyu civilians from Kibaki’s party.
Some of the most senior Kalenjin MPs say the Rift valley bloodshed was a spontaneous reaction by Odinga supporters, who thought he had been cheated of victory. But Odinga rejected this, pointing to similar ethnic attacks around elections in the 1990s.”There had been conflict and clashes in some parts of the Rift Valley even before the election. During campaigns, there were fires [attacks] in Molo and Burnt Forest and so on. These were things that had nothing to do with the post-election protests. .. They need to be separated [from genuine protests],” he said. In Kibaki’s party, panic over Ocampo’s move is strongest among some senior MPs from his home region in Central province, who are accused of sponsoring Kikuyu gangs to attack opposition supporters. As part of a peace deal last year, Kibaki and Odinga agreed to establish a local tribunal to try those responsible for the violence. But when they presented a bill to parliament to facilitate this it was rejected.
The legislation was weak, human rights activists say, and Odinga said some MPs – and most Kenyans – had serious concerns that a domestic court would not be independent. But he said politicians involved in the violence had also helped to quash the bill, fearing that a local tribunal would move faster then the ICC.”They thought it would take 50 years before it [the ICC] reached the Kenyan trial. To them the ICC was like a parking place – put it [the case] there and park it there,” he said.Ocampo has said he will seek to bring cases against two to four people, perhaps as soon as next year, in order to prevent further violence during the next election. His decision to move quickly is broadly supported among Kenyans fed up with decades of high-level impunity. Odinga said he shared the concern about further violence in 2012, when he is almost certain to run for president again.
“My position is informed by what we have been through since the introduction of multipartyism … We had these clashes in 1992, then again in 1997 and 2002. This is happening because nothing has been done to stop it. My position is identical to that of Mr Ocampo,” he said.He said the police needed to be held to account for supporting the Kikuyu militias, but refused to be drawn on whether any of his party leaders might eventually be indicted by the ICC.”The mere fact that names have been floated is not sufficient evidence that people are culpable,” he said.
Civil society groups have criticised Odinga and Kibaki for refusing Ocampo’s request to grant him permission to investigate, which would have avoided the prosecutor have to seeking authority from the pre-trial chamber. But Odinga said that granting a referral would have been tantamount to admitting Kenya was a failed state. He insisted that lower-level perpetrators could still face justice domestically.”We told him [Ocampo] that we have not given up on the local process and have embarked on a very major reform of the judiciary and the police to try the bulk of the culprits locally.”
‘Save Darfur’ Movement:The pornography of western racism & deceit
The international community is presently engaged in a high-stakes game of poker with the government of Sudan. At stake is the legitimacy of the International Criminal Court, the permanent sitting tribunal whose purpose is to punish those that commit the worst crimes against humanity. Also hanging in the balance are the lives of 2.5 million Darfurian refugees who have been driven from their homes by a scorched earth counter-insurgency campaign launched by the Sudanese government in response to rebel attacks in the region in 2003.Both sides in this international stand-off have already demonstrated a willingness to sacrifice those lives for the sake of the principles they support. The Sudanese government has thrown out 13 international aid groups who provide the food and medicine necessary to sustain those refugees, under the pretext that they gathered evidence for the ICC against Sudan’s president, Omar al Bashir. The ICC prosecutor Luis Moreno-Ocampo went ahead with the indictment in full knowledge that this was the likely consequence. He claims to be acting in the interest of justice alone, without reference to the political or humanitarian situation – and no one disputes that by arming and abetting mounted Arab proxies (later dubbed “devils on horseback” in the press) to put down a rebellion with indiscriminate violence against civilians, al Bashir violated the spirit and letter of international law (as have many rulers before him). We have a struggle for primacy between the two principles – national sovereignty and international law – that seems likely to define global politics for the rest of this century.
Providing an accurate account of these principles, and the intricate politics in which they are embedded, involves wading through self-serving and overwrought claims from both sides while weighing two genuine and incommensurable claims to legitimacy. In his new book, Saviors and Survivors: Darfur, Politics and the War on Terror, the distinguished Africa scholar Mahmood Mamdani does his readers the considerable service of laying waste to many of the dangerous and self-serving illusions of one side of this argument. But he erects a mirror edifice of illusions in its place; getting the story straight requires disentangling the true from the misleading in Mamdani’s account.On one side, there are the claims of universal justice that the ICC purports to represent. The ICC is the institutional face of a growing movement seeking to make real the promise of “Never Again” inscribed into the Convention on Genocide of 1948. The ICC indictment of al Bashir was the first against a sitting head of state, and it was hailed in editorial pages across America as a great progressive advance for global justice. Even those who worried about the consequences of the indictment still placed hope in its deterrent value. The goal was to worry the minds of subsequent heads of state tempted to use mass rape and murder as a counter-insurgency tactic.
Taken on its own terms, in narrow isolation, this is a worthy and unassailable mission. But nothing exists in narrow isolation, least of all moral purity and universal justice. Such claims exist in a real world of actual politics amid complicated histories, which many Darfur activists have made it their business to elide – portraying the conflict in Darfur as what Mamdani dubs “a morality tale unfolding in a world populated by villains and victims who never trade places and so can always and easily be told apart”.On the other side are the rights of sovereign governments to govern themselves without outside interference, which the Sudanese government and the Arab nations that have rallied to its side purport to defend. Sovereignty has been, since the Peace of Westphalia in 1648, the currency of the international system, and, as Mamdani reminds us, a privilege hard-won by postcolonial states only recently.
In the wake of the American misadventure in Iraq, the weird confluence of moralistic rhetoric and bellicose policy that characterised Bush’s foreign policy, the complicity of so many ostensibly liberal hawks caught up in the Iraq War fervour, and a history of one-sided enforcement of humanitarian rules, it should surprise no one that the leaders and intellectuals of formerly colonised states are wary of the claims to universal justice emanating from what Mamdani dubs the “new humanitarian order”. At this week’s Arab Summit in Doha, Arab leaders, many of them signatories to the ICC, (which the United States has refused to sign) lined up in unanimous support of al Bashir.
The human rights lobby views this emphasis on sovereignty as the first and last resort of butchers who employ anti-colonialist rhetoric to defend their crimes. Weary of the grubby compromises of diplomats and corporations willing to do business with tyrants and criminals, one faction of the human rights community calls for armed western intervention to defend helpless victims of state violence everywhere. The Save Darfur movement, an aggressive and media-savvy coalition “whose scale recalls the anti-war movement of the late 1960s and 1970s”, rose up with the intention to turn Darfur into a test case for western action to halt what it called a genocide in progress.
Mamdani devotes the first section of his book to assailing the credibility of Save Darfur. He accuses them of inflating the scale of the killing, obfuscating the reality of a “civil war” and “cycle of insurgency and counter-insurgency” that it called genocide, bombarding viewers and readers with “a pornography of violence” that removed the conflict from its political context, sustaining an impression of ongoing genocide long after the claim was plausible, portraying the conflict in racialised terms as a genocide conducted by Arabs against Africans and ceaselessly advocating for hard-line policies more likely to harm than to the help the victims they intended to save. On each of these counts, Mamdani assembles a more or less devastating case. Save Darfur publicised a figure for the number of deaths – 400,000 – that was twice as high as reliable estimates (Mamdani cites a study commissioned by the US Government Accountablity Office to this effect) and escalated its rhetoric at precisely the moment – January 2005 – when the scale of killing fell dramatically. Save Darfur have continued to clamour for aggressive action despite a humanitarian crisis that was largely stabilised due to the cooperation of the Sudanese government with aid agencies that had reduced the mortality rate to between 100 and 200 month in Darfur – “below emergency levels”, according to World Health Organisation.
Most important for Mamdani’s purpose, though, is the Save Darfur Coalition’s emphasis on the race of the perpetrators and victims: “The central claim is that perpetrators and victims in Darfur belong to two different racial groups, Arab and African and that the Arab perpetrator is evil.” Mamdani is not content to say, as he does, that Save Darfur are committed to policies that will do harm. He intends to demonstrate that they are part of a more insidious agenda written into the War on Terror. To strip Darfur of its politics serves a political project of its own, and Mamdani makes it his mission to reveal its workings – what he sees as the foundation of a post-Cold War order in which American clients and proxies act with impunity while rogue states are subject to violent discipline at the hands of the international community, with America at its head. It is a politics notable for denying that it is a politics at all and, as Mamdani narrates it, one that portends a bleak future for the inhabitants of the developing world.
In the long historical section that makes up the centre of the book, Mamdani traces the centuries-long intermingling of Arab and African identities in Darfur, and their reciprocal permeability. He also shows how these identities were politicised under the “indirect” rule practised by British colonial administrators that pursued a policy of “re-tribalisation” of the various groups that shared Darfur by assigning homelands to certain groups and denying them to others.
This backdrop allows Mamdani, in his third and final section, to return to the question with which the book opens. Since Americans are inclined to regard Africa, to the extent that they regard it at all, as a site of “meaningless anarchy – in which men, sometimes women, and increasingly, children, fight without aim or memory,” why has there been “a global publicity boom around the carnage in Darfur”?
The worst conflict since the Second World War, with a death toll of 3.9 million between 1998 and 2004, raged in the Democratic Republic of the Congo; the figure of “excess deaths” caused by the Iraq war likely outstrip the same numbers in Darfur. Yet only Darfur, a conflict in a remote and impoverished region without oil or other significant exportable resources has generated a lavishly funded advocacy organisation. For Mamdani, the answer is embedded in the definition of genocide itself. “Only when extreme violence targets for annihilation a civilian population that is marked off as different ‘on grounds of race, ethnicity, or religion’ is that violence termed genocide,” Mamdani observes:
“Given that colonialism shaped the very nature of modern ‘indirect rule’ and administrative power along ‘tribal’ (or ethnic) lines it is not surprising that both the exercise of power and responses to it tend to take ‘tribal’ forms in these newly independent states. From this point of view, there is little to distinguish mass violence unleashed against civilians in Congo, Northern Uganda, Mozambique, Angola, Darfur, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ivory Coast, and so on. Which one is named ‘genocide’ and which one is not? Most important, who decides?”
The new humanitarian order is, as Mamdani describes it, “a bifurcated system whereby state sovereignty obtains in large parts of the world but is suspended in more and more countries in Africa and the Middle East,” in which subjects exchange their political rights as citizens of sovereign states for the “human” rights possessed by “wards in an open-ended international rescue operation” in a humanitarian “system of trusteeship” administered by an international community that lacks either accountability or responsibility. The world he describes he looks a lot like the world as the Palestinians under the jurisdiction of UNRWA see it, and the vision Mamdani projects of an Africa delivered piecemeal to the good intentions of the international community is a stark one.
A problem with this claim, however, is that the record of American policy in Sudan challenges it. Indeed, proponents of humanitarian intervention in Darfur make a diametrically opposite charge against the American government – that it has subordinated its interest in the cause of human rights to its desire to maintain relations with Sudanese intelligence to aid the War on Terror. Mamdani’s argument also passes over the American response to Sudan’s much longer, more brutal and more complex civil war, a two-decade conflict pitting Christians and animists from the south of the country against the Arab Islamist cabal to the north that controlled the state and the military.It was here that al Bashir pioneered the technique of using proxy war conducted by mounted Arab warriors. And it was this conflict that first aroused activist concern among the evangelical Christian movement at the base of George W Bush’s electoral coalition.
Islamists in Sudan were waging a brutal war against the Christian coreligionists of the single most belligerent electoral constituency in American politics. If the goal of American policy was, as Mamdani alleges, to “slice Africa by demonising one group of Africans, African Arabs”, then surely the Sudanese Civil War was the perfect opportunity to carry out this agenda. But the Bush administration instead expended considerable diplomatic resources cajoling the North and the South to make peace in a negotiated settlement that Mamdani himself acknowledges as Bush’s only foreign policy accomplishment.While there were plenty of hardline advocates for the fantasy of regime change in Sudan, the United States remained effectively committed to the stability of the Bashir regime, as the only guarantor of the peace deal it had signed, through the end of the Bush Administration.And so, when Mamdani describes the “the responsibility to protect” as “a slogan that masks a big power agenda to recolonise Africa”, he is mistaking the fantasies of American activists for the policies of their government. He is also asserting the existence of a hidden nefarious agenda where none exists, and providing a false clarity that is the merely the obverse of the good-and-evil dichotomy of the War on Terror and the humanitarian order that he assails.
This overreaching damages the credibility of Mamdani’s powerful and incisive criticism of the international justice movement. So much of what Mamdani argues is true, and so much of it cuts against the grain of the usual coverage of Darfur in ways that are essential for the broader public to understand. And neither he, nor the rest of us, can afford to squander the opportunity to set the record straight
