and Age in Kenyatta’s Kenya
Illustrations
FIGURES
1.1. African child sitting in front of house
3.1. Nairobi
3.2. Group of natives and rickshaw, Nairobi
5.1. Kabete Approved School dormitories
5.2. Kabete Approved School workshops
6.1. Kenya’s Dagoretti Center for Kikuyu orphans
7.1. Wamumu detainees raise the Union Jack
7.2. Wamumu Approved School, Kenya
7.3. Wamumu detainees on parade
7.4. Kenya’s youth clubs
7.5. Community development
7.6. Needlework at a youth club
7.7. Boxing lessons at a youth club
Acknowledgments
AS I WROTE ABOUT HOW young Kenyan men and the colonial state came of age, I could not help but think about the life of this book and the folks who helped me write it along the way. The idea for this book was born at St. Antony’s College, Oxford, as I worked through my MPhil degree in history. Oxford still feels like my second home. I met the love of my life, learned a lot about being a historian of Africa, and made many friends, including Dave Anderson, Daniel Branch, Kevin Dumouchelle, and Richard Waller, who shaped this project from the very start.
After Oxford, my book idea and I traveled to Princeton, where we grew up spoiled by the supervision of Bob Tignor and Emmanuel Kreike, as well as the financial support of the Department of History. They gave me just enough freedom to feel rebellious. During my three-hour dissertation defense, I could not help but wonder aloud if anyone else felt like this was a kind of intellectual initiation ceremony. Long since graduation, Bob and Emmanuel have continued to read my work and offer me sound advice.
None of the research I did while at Princeton would have been possible, though, without the eighty or so men who agreed to sit with me for hours thinking about their pasts. And I would never have met those men without the help of John Gitau Kariuki and Henry Kissinger Adera. I thank them for their patience and their willingness to endure endless matatu journeys, translate terrible sometimes totally inappropriate questions, and tolerate my taste for White Cap baridi. I owe a similar debt to the staff of the Kenya National Archives. Peterson Kithuka, Evanson Kiiru, and Richard Ambani have fostered generations of historians of Kenya—our work is so much better for the time you have invested in us. My trips to Kenya would not have been half as much fun without the companionship of some incredible people: Robert Blunt, Leigh Gardner, Will Jackson, Michelle Osborn, Robert Pringle—and many others.
For the past six years, my book and I have been nurtured in the comfort of the University of Notre Dame, first as a visiting fellow of the Kellogg Institute for International Studies and then as an assistant professor in the Department of History. Surrounded by generous colleagues, I have had ample opportunity to focus on finishing this book. They have spent considerable time reading drafts and encouraging my ideas. I cannot thank them enough, especially Ted Beatty, Catherine Cangany, John Deak, Karen Graubart, Patrick Griffin, Thomas Kselman, Rebecca McKenna, and Sebastian Rosato. I also want to thank my fellow Notre Dame Africanists, whose energy and friendship inspire me every day: Jaimie Bleck, Catherine Bolten, Mariana Candido, Yacine Daddi Addoun, and Paul Kollman, as well as Erin McDonnell and Terry McDonnell.
Geraldine Mukumbi, Damek Mitchell, and Kate Squiers, three of my students at Notre Dame, did a lot of research for me, compiling and coding data and sifting through newspapers. Only occasionally did they complain about the monotony of the work. I would also like to express my gratitude to Alex Coccia, Py Killen, and Bright Gyamfi for their support and friendship as I found my footing as a teacher, mentor, and historian. As they continue their studies at Oxford, Yale, and Northwestern, I can only hope I have encouraged them in much the same way the many people mentioned here have encouraged me.
I have amassed many debts raising this book, but none of them have been financial. This is in no small part because of the rich financial resources of Notre Dame. I would like to thank the Kellogg Institute for International Studies for supporting a semester of leave, as well as the Institute for Scholarship in the Liberal Arts for funding my manuscript workshop, image reproduction costs, and indexing. Matthew Sisk and the Center for Digital Scholarship at the Hesburgh Library assisted with mapmaking. I would also like to thank William Roger Louis, who invited me to participate in the Decolonization Seminar at the National History Center in Washington, DC. That summer was truly inspiring. I learned an incredible amount from my fellow “seminarians,” as well as Dane Kennedy, Philippa Levine, Jason Parker, and Marilyn Young.
There are a few people, though, whose friendship and influence on my work require a little more than passing notice. Jim Brennan, Matt Carotenuto, John Lonsdale, Kate Luongo, Julie MacArthur, Sloan Mahone, George-Paul Meiu, Kenda Mutongi, Tim Parsons, China Scherz, and Luise White have all shared drinks and ideas with me. Without the help of Sara Bellows-Blakely, chapter 5 of this book would not exist. I spent a few wonderful years living in Chicago, writing up the dissertation and getting to know Emily Lynn Osborn. Emily became a fast friend, tireless advocate, and coconspirator. She has read this manuscript more than most and kept me on the straight-and-narrow tenure track. Special thanks go to Brett Shadle and Meredith McKittrick, who read a very juvenile draft of this book and offered me constructive feedback. But this book has matured fastest under the scrutiny of the editors, dare I say the elders, at Ohio University Press. Gill Berchowitz, Jean Allman, Allen Isaacman, and Derek Peterson have patiently pushed me further than anyone, and I am immensely grateful. And to all the wonderful people I have worked with at Ohio University Press—Omar Aziz, Nancy Basmajian, Beth Pratt, Samara Rafert, Charles Sutherland, Sally Welch, Heather Roberts Stanfiel, and especially Deborah Wiseman—my thanks for making this book a reality.
But none of these folks had to put up with me like my wife, Abi. She endured the long absences for research, writing mood swings, and endless drafts handed to her to edit, as well as the anxieties of the job market, teaching, and finishing a first book. My work would not be what it is without her constant critique. I owe no greater debt than to Abi, who has graced my life and my work with her brilliance, good humor, and love.
I would like to dedicate this book, written by a young man about young men, to five generations of women who have had an immeasurable influence on me. This book is for my grandmothers, Jean and Florence; my mothers, Patricia and Vanessa; my wife, Abi; my sister, Cara; and my daughter, Ruby.