Chui

Chui, Our Lamu Guide

He greets us as we enter the hand-carved mahogany boat. Still bleary-eyed from our long voyage, he is the first resident of Lamu to welcome us to the small Kenyan island. In what appears to be a mismatched blend of traditional and contemporary, he wears a blue and white diamond-patterned ko koi, a red, white, and blue dress shirt, and an olive green military-style cap sits perched on his head. The grey stubble in his beard hints at the many years he has spent on this island.

Chui seems equally at home on the water and land as he strides about the boat, recounting history from his home. He details how this land has a 90% Muslim community and how the tradewinds brought Portuguese, Chinese, and Indian influences seeking to trade for mangrove, charcoal, and spices. The pride and insularity of the community are evident as he refers to these traders as foreigners, even though they have been on the island for hundreds of years.

After we had spent a few days acclimating to the poli-poli, the slow way of life on Lamu, Chui took us out once again. This time, we toured Old Lamu and saw fishers returning with their catch after a night of fishing in Mombasa. With no industry in the village, the boats carried not just fishers but all types of daily items, including a mattress hauled from the loaded ship. The ocean continued to surround the town as builders mixed coral with limestone to create homes that caught the precipitation from the rainy season, cooling the houses and fostering algae, which fed plants that grew outside the homes. We see heavy wooden doors at the entrance to each home, including the floral Zanzibar style, the Lamu style featuring the Kenyan colors of red, white, and black at the top of the door, and the Oman-style, which, although it retains the flowery style, features a square, archless shape.

Once again, dressed in a navy and white Kokoi, his short-sleeve button-up shirt straining to cover his belly, Chui shows us benches built into the entryways of every home. He rests his sandaled feet as he explains that only women and male relatives are allowed to enter the house. If an unrelated woman is inside, all men must wait outside until she leaves. Men, not family members, do not enter the house when women are present. 

Once inside, we see that the entire home is built to protect the family from birth to death. Each alcove features a pole set high up holding a curtain. The curtain is pulled across at night to create a place to sleep. The outer smaller bedrooms are for the children while their parents nestle closer to the interior. The family draws life-sustaining water from a 40-foot well and knows that when the daughter marries, she will bring her husband into the home, just as the family knows that sons will leave and join their future bride's house. The house even contains memories of rooms where new mothers would stay with their newborns for 40 days following the birth of their child to ensure their health and well-being. Within steps of the room fostering new life, was the room designated to bathe the corpse of the newly departed before burial.

Between new and newly ended life, the home fostered nourishing meals created in a rooftop kitchen, allowing the oven smoke to escape and offering a separation from small children who might be tempted to get too close to the stove.

Although family traditions are fading now, the island continues to evolve. As Chui guides us through the shops that line the streets, we see sculptures created from flip-flops brought to the island by modern-day traders and tourists. Craftspeople learn to carve the doors of old from recycled plastic. Through it all, Chui and his land endure and adapt. He wears his traditional koi koi, talks often on his mobile phone, pulled from his cross-body bag, and shines with pride for his home country.