Kenya’s Nubians, once rewarded by the British for their loyalty, have no place in modern Africa.
SEVEN-NINE-YEAR-OLD ramadhan, a resident of the Kibera district of Nairobi, sets his coffee down and with a finger searches through an empty-looking pack of cigarettes. There is one left. He takes out a lighter, pauses to think, then spares the cigarette, saving it for later.
“We were settled here in 1878 by the British,” he says sternly. “We did not grab anyone’s land. They [Kenyans] tell us to go back to Sudan. Even today, they call us foreigners. My father was born here. He died here. I was born here. My son was born here and we will die and be buried here as well.”
Ramadhan is a Nubian. The Nubians are believed to be the first human civilization on earth. Rich with gold, ebony, ivory and copper, their kingdom stretched more than one 1,600km along the Nile before it was annexed by Egypt in 1520 BC. Egyptian pharaohs and kings hired the Nubian warriors to serve in their armies. So did the British in the 19th century – and therein lies a modern tragedy akin to that of the Gurkhas and Hmong.
In the 1850s, British imperialists discovered the fighting prowess of the Nubians in current-day Sudan and conscripted a group to fight in their campaign to open up East Africa. The Nubians fought alongside Winston Churchill at the famous Battle of Omdurman in 1898. In 1902, they were formed into a military unit called the King’s African Rifles, fighting for the British during World War One and World War Two. When not in battle, the Nubians were instrumental in building the Uganda Railway and in developing Kenya and what would become the city of Nairobi.
To prevent the Nubians from returning to their ancestral homeland, the British gave them over 1,600 hectares of land to settle on. The Nubians called the track of land Kibra or “Land of Forest.” For demobilized soldiers of the Kings African Rifles, Kibra was their retirement policy. This was the new Nubian homeland, their future.
“The British would give you a plot number and would say, ‘That’s your place. This is your identity,’” Ramadhan says. “But now, all I can do is say to myself, ‘Where did this land go?’”
Things changed drastically after Kenyan independence in 1964. Thousands of people moved from rural villages to Nairobi for economic and political reasons and Kibra was the place they were encouraged to settle in. In 1955 the total population of the Nubian village was 3,000. By 1980 there were some 250,000 people (mostly of Kikuyu, Luo and Luhya tribes). Nubian claims of land ownership and title deed went unrecognized. Trees disappeared. Sewage and trash turned the streams into small veins of toxic black liquid. The name Kibra was changed to Kibera. Once the majority, the Nubians became a voiceless minority.Now, living beyond the walls of Ramadhan’s home in Kibera are one million people from a dozen different tribes crammed into a 4sq km piece of land outside Nairobi. It is the largest and one of the most notorious slums in Africa. All one million are considered squatters, including Ramadhan and 60,000 other Nubians who are descendents of the original soldiers and the original inhabitants of the land.
On Kenya’s census, Nubians are thrown into the vague category of “Other Africans,” a stew of unknowns who don’t receive even the smallest piece of Kenya’s national cake. Nubian youth must go through a process called “vetting,” which forces them to prove their connection to Kenya once they turn 18. As a result, they face great challenges in obtaining National ID cards.
“Most of us have a high school education but it is worthless. Half of Nubian youth here are denied ID cards,” says 27-year-old Adam. It is a Saturday and he and a group of Nubian youth are collecting garbage in Kibera to make money. None of them can find jobs. “Without an ID card you can’t do anything in Kenya,” Adam says. “If you are from any other tribe, you get an ID in a few days, no questions asked. If you are a Nubian, you have to stand in front of a bunch of men who don’t know you or your family. They ask you for all sorts of documents that are next to impossible for us to provide, like the birth certificate of our great-grandparents.”
An ID card is essential for everything in Kenya, from securing even the lowest paying daily labor job to opening a bank account, getting a driver’s license to operating a cab. An ID is even necessary to walk in the front door of most office buildings. Employment, freedom to travel, obtaining higher education, working for the government or the military, are all elements of modern-day society that are denied the Nubians.
Abu, 30, approaches the group. Abu’s been denied an ID on several occasions and like many Nubians has given up hope. “Whatever I do, I’ll never get it,” he says. “I’ve got two children. Because I don’t have an ID, they won’t get an ID. If Kenya doesn’t want me, then Kenya won’t want them either.”This year is a crucial one for the Nubians. Kenya will hold its 10-year census. Having the Nubian community recognized with other tribes on the census would abolish a huge hurdle in their recognition as Kenyan citizens, and it would set a precedent that would bring the Nubians to more equal terms with the other tribes.
Also, in 2009, Kenya will start to issue its new, third generation National ID card. Old generation ID cards will need to be replaced. Nubians feel this will either subject them to more discrimination or, if addressed, will provide them with more opportunities.
Lastly, the Kenyan constitution is supposed to be re-evaluated in 2009. Currently small interest groups are not permitted to hold seats in parliament. Minority rights groups are trying to add a provision that designates a small number of seats in parliament to minority groups. Without being formally recognized as a unique tribe in Kenya, the Nubians would be excluded from such provisions and continue to have no political representation.
While many Nubians, especially the younger generation, feel success in any one of these would have a significant impact on their future, some like Ramadhan feel it is too late to change the course that history and modern-day Africa has set for the Nubians.
Ramadhan lights his last cigarette. The mid-day sun is at its strongest. A pigeon swoops down from a tree to perch itself underneath the corrugated metal eve above the doorway. Its wings flap and hit against the metal as it adjusts and balances itself to the cramped space.
“We are being ruled in our own homeland and there is nothing we can do about it,” Ramadhan says. “We are being squeezed into extinction.”
“We were settled here in 1878 by the British,” he says sternly. “We did not grab anyone’s land. They [Kenyans] tell us to go back to Sudan. Even today, they call us foreigners. My father was born here. He died here. I was born here. My son was born here and we will die and be buried here as well.”
Ramadhan is a Nubian. The Nubians are believed to be the first human civilization on earth. Rich with gold, ebony, ivory and copper, their kingdom stretched more than one 1,600km along the Nile before it was annexed by Egypt in 1520 BC. Egyptian pharaohs and kings hired the Nubian warriors to serve in their armies. So did the British in the 19th century – and therein lies a modern tragedy akin to that of the Gurkhas and Hmong.
In the 1850s, British imperialists discovered the fighting prowess of the Nubians in current-day Sudan and conscripted a group to fight in their campaign to open up East Africa. The Nubians fought alongside Winston Churchill at the famous Battle of Omdurman in 1898. In 1902, they were formed into a military unit called the King’s African Rifles, fighting for the British during World War One and World War Two. When not in battle, the Nubians were instrumental in building the Uganda Railway and in developing Kenya and what would become the city of Nairobi.
To prevent the Nubians from returning to their ancestral homeland, the British gave them over 1,600 hectares of land to settle on. The Nubians called the track of land Kibra or “Land of Forest.” For demobilized soldiers of the Kings African Rifles, Kibra was their retirement policy. This was the new Nubian homeland, their future.
“The British would give you a plot number and would say, ‘That’s your place. This is your identity,’” Ramadhan says. “But now, all I can do is say to myself, ‘Where did this land go?’”
Things changed drastically after Kenyan independence in 1964. Thousands of people moved from rural villages to Nairobi for economic and political reasons and Kibra was the place they were encouraged to settle in. In 1955 the total population of the Nubian village was 3,000. By 1980 there were some 250,000 people (mostly of Kikuyu, Luo and Luhya tribes). Nubian claims of land ownership and title deed went unrecognized. Trees disappeared. Sewage and trash turned the streams into small veins of toxic black liquid. The name Kibra was changed to Kibera. Once the majority, the Nubians became a voiceless minority.Now, living beyond the walls of Ramadhan’s home in Kibera are one million people from a dozen different tribes crammed into a 4sq km piece of land outside Nairobi. It is the largest and one of the most notorious slums in Africa. All one million are considered squatters, including Ramadhan and 60,000 other Nubians who are descendents of the original soldiers and the original inhabitants of the land.
On Kenya’s census, Nubians are thrown into the vague category of “Other Africans,” a stew of unknowns who don’t receive even the smallest piece of Kenya’s national cake. Nubian youth must go through a process called “vetting,” which forces them to prove their connection to Kenya once they turn 18. As a result, they face great challenges in obtaining National ID cards.
“Most of us have a high school education but it is worthless. Half of Nubian youth here are denied ID cards,” says 27-year-old Adam. It is a Saturday and he and a group of Nubian youth are collecting garbage in Kibera to make money. None of them can find jobs. “Without an ID card you can’t do anything in Kenya,” Adam says. “If you are from any other tribe, you get an ID in a few days, no questions asked. If you are a Nubian, you have to stand in front of a bunch of men who don’t know you or your family. They ask you for all sorts of documents that are next to impossible for us to provide, like the birth certificate of our great-grandparents.”
An ID card is essential for everything in Kenya, from securing even the lowest paying daily labor job to opening a bank account, getting a driver’s license to operating a cab. An ID is even necessary to walk in the front door of most office buildings. Employment, freedom to travel, obtaining higher education, working for the government or the military, are all elements of modern-day society that are denied the Nubians.
Abu, 30, approaches the group. Abu’s been denied an ID on several occasions and like many Nubians has given up hope. “Whatever I do, I’ll never get it,” he says. “I’ve got two children. Because I don’t have an ID, they won’t get an ID. If Kenya doesn’t want me, then Kenya won’t want them either.”This year is a crucial one for the Nubians. Kenya will hold its 10-year census. Having the Nubian community recognized with other tribes on the census would abolish a huge hurdle in their recognition as Kenyan citizens, and it would set a precedent that would bring the Nubians to more equal terms with the other tribes.
Also, in 2009, Kenya will start to issue its new, third generation National ID card. Old generation ID cards will need to be replaced. Nubians feel this will either subject them to more discrimination or, if addressed, will provide them with more opportunities.
Lastly, the Kenyan constitution is supposed to be re-evaluated in 2009. Currently small interest groups are not permitted to hold seats in parliament. Minority rights groups are trying to add a provision that designates a small number of seats in parliament to minority groups. Without being formally recognized as a unique tribe in Kenya, the Nubians would be excluded from such provisions and continue to have no political representation.
While many Nubians, especially the younger generation, feel success in any one of these would have a significant impact on their future, some like Ramadhan feel it is too late to change the course that history and modern-day Africa has set for the Nubians.
Ramadhan lights his last cigarette. The mid-day sun is at its strongest. A pigeon swoops down from a tree to perch itself underneath the corrugated metal eve above the doorway. Its wings flap and hit against the metal as it adjusts and balances itself to the cramped space.
“We are being ruled in our own homeland and there is nothing we can do about it,” Ramadhan says. “We are being squeezed into extinction.”
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