Land, love and a romantic ending to a 97-year grudge

An abandoned building at Marigi in Kiambu. [XN Iraki]

Komothai might not be a familiar place to most Kenyans. But Githunguri where the village is located is better known.

Komothai is about 50 kilometres from Nairobi as the crow flies. With lots of Napier grass, bananas, coffee, beans, nduma and ngwaci by river valleys, the place appears farther than 50km. 

To get there, you can use several routes. The shortest is through Kiambu, past Kirigiti, turn left towards Riabai, past Migaa Golf Resort, and through Kambui into Kwamaiko (not that one).

After crossing the Ruiru River and past Marigi, a small town frozen in time and prospects, you will find yourself at Komothai. One of its most famous sons is Arthur Magugu, a former cabinet minister. 

You can get there through Ruiru. Keep driving through vanishing coffee plantations till Kwamaiko or past the GSU camp near Kimbo. Drive through plantations into “reserve” through Nembu, Kibichoi, till Kigumo (not that one), then cross over to Komothai. 

Why does this village matter? 

It’s personal to me. My dad once worked in these plantations, specifically SOCFINAF in the late 1920s. He saw the first plane in 1927 near Marigi while crossing the Ruiru River. It must have been a bigger river than it is today.  

He had travelled from around Thika and was looking for land to buy. Mbarî ya Igi clan did not sell it to him; he was accompanied by his elder brother.

Locals told me this clan was probably adding more land to its stable. One of my dad’s hosts was Arthur Magugu’s father, a chief then. 

Unable to buy land, he returned to the outskirts of Thika. It was clear from my dad’s tone that he would have loved to own land in Komothai. Ten years later, he left for Embu, where land was plenty but arid compared with Komothai.

There, he was a squatter for 26 years. He met my mother and married her. After uhuru, he took his last trip to the north, settling on the eastern edge of the Rift Valley overlooking the Happy Valley and its myriad lakes.  

History is fascinating. Sixty-six years later after 1927, I found myself working at Komothai. That is the trigger that made him share the story of his sojourns. Another 30 years later and 97 years since he visited this place, we were back! That was last weekend. 

Failed to get land

We were not after land. My niece was getting married there. While everyone was transfixed on the bride and bridegroom, I was in a trance. 

My niece got married in the same place where her grandfather had failed to get land 97 years earlier.

Luckily not to the Mbarî ya Igi clan. What a romantic end to a 97-year-old grudge! The sun was setting last Saturday when the wedding ended. The silhouettes of the church cross for Gitombo PCEA and AIPCA churches were breathtaking.

It was at PCEA church where Rev Leah Wanjiku Ndegwa officiated the wedding with her extremely humorous sermon. Visitors from far and wide easily dispersed, and the village went quiet. 

Weddings in the countryside take the whole day and are spectacular with lots of dancing and other entertainment. One fascinating episode was school children dancing to mostly Nigerian music.

I was left agape. When and where do they learn all these dancing skills? Do they put the same effort into schoolwork? 

On the way back to the city, several questions went through my mind. 

One is how my dad would have reacted if he had attended this wedding. He probably would have quipped: “You did not sell us land, we do not revenge, we are good people. We have ‘sold’ you our daughter.”  A hearty handshake would have followed. It would have been more fascinating to meet one of his hosts after 97 years. 

Two is why the Marigî market that my dad so fondly talked about died. I was told it “died with the coffee.” Why is Ruiru River now a trickle? Is this not the best evidence that climatic change is real? 

Three, Komothai lacks the vibrancy of urban areas despite good road networks. Clearly, roads are not sufficient to stimulate economic growth. You need new thinking best brought by immigrants. Would marrying “outsiders” bring this vibrancy? 

Four, the once-thriving coffee estates have given way to palatial homes near Ruiru. The land my dad could not get is now easy to get. Capitalism like love can triumph over traditions.

I bought a piece of land near Ruiru to “revenge” Mbari ya Igi’s failure to sell us land 97 years ago. I wonder whether marrying one of their daughters would have been a sweeter revenge. 

Semi-arid

Five, what would have happened if my dad got land in Komothai 97 years ago? It’s a more fertile and, I must add, beautiful place than Embu.

No wonder selling land even 100 years ago was hard. I would not have written this story. My dad would not have met my mum! 

Six, there is pressure for land in Komothai, and no wonder the population has spilt into drier and semi-arid Ruiru and its environs. The once “neglected” land is now very valuable. The land around Kamakis was probably wild in the 1920s. 

Seven, how much effort do we put into our family histories? How much does it inspire us? We know so much about Zinjanthropus and other prehistory men. We know Nilotes came from Sudan and Bantus from Congo. We know so much about music and movie families, following them religiously. How much do we know about our families, their highs and lows? 

Would family history inspire us to improve on where our grandparents or parents stopped?

How much of your family history do you know? Talk to us.