The Art Brothers

Image courtesy of Osborne Macharia 

Nothing prepares you for the death of a loved one; they can be ill for months, or even years. Picture this, you are a young boy growing in Kawangware- an informal settlement in the heart of Nairobi Town-you witness your mother waste away. Every day, she glides into oblivion. Then one day, you find her dead in bed. You don’t realize that she dead, you think that she is sleeping because lately that is all she does.

This is how it happened, one day, Pank (his friends call him Pope because they think he is too innocent), went out playing with Bombe, Kajua and Smarta- all who lost their parents in similar circumstance. They met in school and something attracted him to them. Kajua is Mr money bags. Bombe, Mr Big Guy-they call him bouncer because no one messes with them when he is around. And Smarta is Mr Smart guy. He always gets them out of trouble. Pank is just Pank. The youngest of the three and they feel they have a duty to protect him. He feels secure and a sense of belonging when he’s with them. Something strange seems to identify him with them. Though at the moment their realities are different, he feels strangely close to them. Maybe it is the destiny they will soon share.

When he got home in the evening, it was dark. And since he knows his way around, he did not need to light the candle. I mean what is there to navigate around in a one roomed house? Earlier, Kajua had bought them some mandazis (their only meal that night) from the tea guy who walks round the estate selling tea with a huge tea urn suspended on his wrist. He admires that guy because of his strong hands and the way he is sociable. When he grows up, he wants to be like him. Strong, respected and very rich-in his view. When he got home, he found his mother sleeping, nothing unusual. But unlike other days, the place felt strange. Like there are ghosts hanging around. He ignored it and slipped into bed and slept. He didn’t cover himself. His mother had rolled their only blanket around herself. She must have been freezing. Nowadays, she shivers a lot out of the cold since there’s no flesh to insulate him. When you are poor, your dignity is taken away, you share a bed with your mother until you are too grown to.

His mother had been dead for hours.

In the morning, though he was on school holiday, he woke up earlier than usual. He felt some strange feeling of emptiness overwhelm him. The hollowness only death leaves. His mother was still asleep. Again, very strange. He touched her forehead. It was cold. Ice cold. Right then, he jumped out of bed and rushed out to Bombe’s who lives a few blocks from him.

“Bombe, Bombe, amka!” He called him desperately.

Bombe took forever to wake up. Last night they had an operation which saw him get home two hours ago. Him, Kajua and Smarta.

“Pank, nini mbaya?” Bombe asked.

“Nimeamka nikapata madhe amekuwa mbaridi sana,come ucheki.”

His heart sunk. He knew what that meant. It was a familiar story. Quickly, he changed from his strange clothing and dashed out. When he entered Pank’s house. He was met by a strange smell, the smell of death. When he got to the bed where Pank’s mother was sleeping. He started crying. Pank was confused, he had never seen Bombe show any sign of weakness. But the same thing happened to him two years earlier. Then, too young to comprehend death, he touched his mother’s forehead and felt the same. Now, he knows they have another ‘brother.’ They have to take care of Pank. They are now four brothers, brothers who share common destiny. Brother brought together by death.

“Nini mbaya Bro?” Pank asked innocently.

“Iza, brathe, madhe ameukata.” He catches himself saying those words. It was the same words his neighbor told him. The only words he could think of. The only way he knows. Gentleness is a foreign concept. When the streets feed you, it does it the hard way. You toughen up. You shoot straight from the hip.

Pank started crying. He knows his life will never be the same again. His father died before the mom. And now his only family is gone. Bombe hugs him. They have never hugged. They always fist bump. But today he knows Pank needs the hug. As a big brother, that is all he can do.

The burial is a neighbor’s affair. It is in Langata Cemetry. The four boys are the pallbearers. They now they have to stick together. Pank cannot believe that he will never see the mother again. With very vague understanding of who God is, he knows that Smarta, Bombe and Kajua are his only hope. That evening, they buy mandazi, talk for long hours and they sleep at Jonny’s. This will be their new home.

To survive, they decide to move into one house. That way, they can watch each other’s back. Death has forced them to grow up. They are now small men. They have to win no matter what. They all attend the same school. They have this small code, no matter what happens, they all have to go to school. School and the streets are their only hope. They go to school during the day and patrol the streets at night. They are the Kawangware Defense Forces. They really enjoy the underworld. Not as thieves, but as creatives who use darkness as their canvas and a place to make their contribution to the world. It is their way of fighting stigma. A way of emptying their frustration.

On night, they had an interesting idea. They came up with a logo, printed leaflets and placed them all round their estate,Muslim, Kawangware. In the morning, when people woke up, they were shaken by the leaflets patched on different sections of the estate. They were shocked, some thought it was some devil worshippers who put them out there, others thought that the antichrist had come. They were shocked by how much attention their small project had attracted. The story where all over the news.

When one photographer heard the story, he embarked on a journey to unearth the truth.  To tell their story. A story of hope and determination. A story of four boys united by death but choosing life.

Now, some people take photos, others create. Their art is alive. Their art like their life has a life its own. That’s who Osborne is, his art has life. He is the ArtBishop. When invited to his shoot, you do not sit at his feet, you sit at the tip of his shadow. His feet are too intimidating to sit next you. You sit and watch. You watch with your everything. Your eyes take in the beauty of his work and your nose smells the creativity.

Ever seen someone with a prosthetic? Reminds you of Oscar Pistorius. At his peak, he was a runner like no other. His legs, though artificial, they were (still are) an extension of who he is. This is the same for Osborne with his camera. It rests on his palm the same way one-day old child fits on the palm of the mother. It is like a fairytale. They were meant to be. When he starts shooting, he starts glowing. Whenever he talks, which very rare, his words are weighted and though they have depth, you can barely hear what he is saying when sited across the room, in fact the shutter of his camera is louder than his voice.  If you are an observer, you’d think he is lip-syncing.

They work with Kevo Abbra, a stylist. A genius. A guy who turns even junk into gems.

When you watch the two work, it is a duet playing harmoniously. When they first met and decided to work together. Osborne, told him, ‘I do not know where this will take us, but I have a feeling we are onto something special.’ Since then, they have created a brand, and as the brand grows, so has their friendship. Now, it is almost spiritual. The do not refer each other by their name, they call each other ‘bro.’ Bonded by art. Call them art brothers. When Kevo pulls of a look and Osborne nails a shot. They give each other a hive five. The high five is a sign of approval of each other’s work.

To him, this is not a project, but an opportunity to tell a story. Their story. His story. Our story.

It was also an opportunity to paint a different picture of Kawangware. He likes stories, stories of ordinary people. Such stories embody who he is. A young who dreamt of changing the world. He thought he’d do that by designing the best buildings. Soon enough, he realized that he no building was tall enough to be seen from the world. When he picked a camera, he instantly knew that’s how he would change the world, and now, one shutter at a time, he has put Kenya on the photography map.

But this shoot is not like any other, it is not a project. It is real life story. A story of 4 HIV/AIDS orphaned boys behind Kawangware Defence Force. School kids by day, neighborhood watch police by night, the 4 boys masquerade as members of their school’s home-science club. The boys designed and built their own all-in-one surveillance and communication head units using old Boda Boda (motorcycle taxi) helmets and salvaged electronic parts capable of sending untraceable calls to the area Police.

During school nights, the boys take turns patrolling the dimly lit neighborhoods and alerting Police of imminent danger. Their real identity is still unknown. Little is known about them till now…..

You can check out the final work on Osborne’s Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/p/Bq1Pzs3hbhk/ and Kevo’s page https://www.instagram.com/p/Bq1Q2ixgLPD/

Happy New Year. Cheers to a great year ahead.