A common Somali who cannot live on camel milk alone

By Peter Kimani

Kenya: One of the adverse consequences of the so-called crackdown on Eastleigh, according to milk traders, is the sale of camel milk. Their customers are reportedly in hiding, in refugee camps, or have simply been deported.

I occasionally enjoy tea made from camel milk at a city eatery, and where my scraggly beard elicits “salaam aleikum” from men who think I’m their fellow brethren. Perhaps I should venture in Eastleigh and see how often I shall be required to identify myself.

This past week, I was required to identify myself several times. It started on Saturday night in Kileleshwa when a man pulled me aside and insisted he knew me; he just couldn’t remember where we had met.

I’m a common man, so I’m to be found in common places, I retorted. The man shook his head, as though to shake off the alcohol fumes that clouded his judgement.

Last Sunday, a young woman intercepted me as I pushed a trolley filled with water at Sarit Centre. “I know you through your brother Njenga?” she gushed, then hesitated at my puzzled gaze. “Are you not from Nakuru?”

I’m a common Somali who cannot live on camel milk alone, so I take doses of alcohol on Saturday and water on Sunday.