The drunken chief: alcohol, power and the birth of the State in Samburu District, Northern Kenya

Abstract

Introduction"I am Kenyan. You are American. We are together in the war against terror! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!" We met him as we reached the top of the steep escarpment rising from the seasonal Milgis River, after several days at a friend's settlement a few hours walk away through the semi-desert bush. In his mid 30s, he was dressed in dark slacks, and an untucked white button shirt, in contrast to the handful of other men, wrapped in tartan blankets, who were loitering about the trading centre where we had parked our car. Also, unlike the others there, he was unfamiliar with us, having been away for many years working in the Kenyan Navy, and even now spending a lot of time away from home. He had the wild, bloodshot eyes characteristic of men inebriated on changaa, the locally brewed liquor, and he reeked strongly of spirits. With an air of authority he led me to the side of the centre's only shop to privately and officially ascertain our business in such a remote area, though regularly reassuring me of his intentions with his mantric assertion of our mutual interests: "I am Kenyan. You are American. We are together in the war against terror!" punctuated by his mildly diabolical laugh: "Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!" Never mind how nonsensical this pronouncement seemed to be, how many worlds away al Qaeda or the U.S. military was from this remote pastoral area; it was, in a changaa-driven logic, a timely reassurance of our shared interest and mutual cosmopolitan sensibility. As I explained our presence he assured me with other things we had in common. For instance, we were both scientists, me being an anthropologist, and him having studied engineering in college. Perhaps I would be interested in obtaining some land, like the British woman, Helen, who runs camel safaris for tourists not too far from here? If so, he implied conspiratorially, he could help. At present, it was no matter if our research permits aren't handy, he wouldn't need to see them now. When we began to drive off he flagged down the car, saying goodbye with one more round of "I am Kenyan. You are American. We are together in the war against terror! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!" He was the only man speaking English at the trading centre, and was the only one dressed in Western clothes. He was also the only one who was drunk. He was the Chief.

Inscribing Identity and Agency on the Landscape: Of Pathways, Places, and the Transition of the Public Sphere in East Pokot, Kenya

“…Small dams where people converge during the dry season are attractive points for setting up brewing places. Alcohol is usually produced by women (see Holtzman 2005). While in the past men met at the kokwö on a more or less daily basis, the kapkumin is now visited almost as regularly in many areas.…”