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Arts Culture Featured Personalities Travel Uncategorized

Adrian, the ‘lion-hearted’ artist

It is long since I last sat down with Adrian Nduma and the Covid restrictions were not helping matters. Being one of the top rated visual artists in Kenya, I have always been amazed by his works; they are so breathtakingly real.

The other day I went for a meeting in Karen and it occurred to me that this would be an ideal opportunity to hook up with Adrian; after all, his studio is situated in nearby Dagoreti Corner. I called him and he told me that he was on his way to Rongai and if I would call him when I was through with my meeting to see where he might be.

After my meeting, I called back and by coincidence, Adrian was in Karen. He asked me to join him at the Talisman Restaurant. When we met up, he put on a horrified face when I told him that it was my first time at the Talisman. “What! Tembea Kenya bana.” I had to defend myself saying that with ‘working from home’ I don’t get out much.

My main reason for meeting with Adrian was basically to touch base, and not necessarily discuss arty things – although you can never avoid that.

Once settled down and with our pots of tea on the table and the initial pleasantries done with, Adrian told me that he had gone to Rongai to supervise a project he is undertaking there. Our talk then drifted to construction, building materials and the rest, but he could not bring himself to discuss exactly what project he was undertaking and I did not press.

Would you, when you are enjoying specially brewed tea and exotic samosas at the Talisman? Me, I decided to enjoy the ambience and the piped music that was filtering through. On the walls, there were some art pieces and Adrian told me that an exhibition was currently ongoing.

The artist, whose works were on exhibition had used mixed media, including pieces of clothing on the canvas. This style reminded me of an artist named Kamicha; I wondered where he is today. He has been missing in action lately. Adrian, too, wasn’t aware of his whereabouts.

The Talisman is also an outlet for Adrian’s works and he has exhibited a number of his works there. Little wonder that he was quite at home there; the staff were passing over to say hi. You could also tell from the personalised service we got there.  He is some sort of a celeb there.

The Talisman has this cool, homely ambience about it. From the entrance, the establishment looks deceptively simple. There is a bright yellow vintage pick-up truck at right at entry, in spic spac condition. Now, this tells you people who patronise this place appreciate the finer things life has to offer.

This immediately manifests itself when you step inside. Well, not many establishments hold active art exhibitions, so that tells you the kind of clientele that frequents there. They are the sophisticated type.

Sophisticated does not necessarily mean wealthy – although you need to be rather well endowed to be able to appreciate FINE art. We have moneyed individuals in this country, whose idea of art is what their kids do with pencils and drawing books in school. I hope this gives you a rough idea of who frequents joints like the Talisman.      

Inevitably, Adrian and I find ourselves talking about his art. He tells me that with the Covid restrictions, he’s mainly been involved with commission works, and which has kept him gainfully occupied.

Since his studio is within his residence, Adrian told me that there are times when inspiration strikes, forcing him to wake up in the dead of the night to work on his paints and brushes, to produce magic on a blank canvas.

“I work best with music playing in the background,” said Adrian, a former banker. And what is his favourite kind of music, I ask. “Well, I like all kinds of music as long it strikes the right chords in me,” he said, adding that he even finds certain genres of vernacular music appealing.

And on that musical note, I seized the opportunity to ask him a question I have always wanted to take up withhim; his uncanny resemblance to Gikuyu Benga artiste Kariuki Kiarutara. He smiled wanly and acknowledged that he has indeed been told of the resemblance a few times. “But looking at Kariuki’s pictures, he doesn’t have a moustache, unlike me,” he protested weakly.

He added that he gets spooked by people who look like him, but he promised to check out Kariuki’s music on Youtube, especially after I told him that his music packs heavy messages and is comparable to the late Joseph Kamaru.

Like all visual artistes worth their salt, Adrian is also an ardent art collector, including his own art. “I collect my art for posterity sake,” he said. “That forms part of my children’s inheritance. Once I feel that a particular piece of art should go into my collection, I simply roll it up and put it aside. It doesn’t get to be viewed.”

And while he has made a name courtesy of his diverse variety of art, the Lion series stands out as perhaps his signature. Before talking about the significance of the lion in his works, Adrian reclines back on his seat, takes a deep breath and with a far-away look, says that he cannot get enough of drawing the lion.

“It is not for nothing that lion is king of the jungle,” he says. “There is a lot of mystery surrounding it. Of all the animals I think it is the lion that comes closest to man, in terms of personality.”    

As our conversation draws to a close, we agree that we should catch up more often.

PS: Did you know that in 2013 Adrian wanted to be the governor of Embu?

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Arts Books Culture Personalities publishing Uncategorized

Chakava, the father of African publishing

Henry Chakava, has been referred to as the father of African publishing for good reason.

He would have easily made a career in the academy but he chose publishing instead. In 1972, he joined the then Heinemann Educational Publishers as an editor. In a span of six years, he had risen to the position of managing director.

In the early nineties he bought the company from its UK owners and named it East African Educational Publishers. However, the most enduring part of his story is how he led his company to publish more than 2,000 tiles of culturally relevant books – which include fiction – the largest by a local publishing house.

He managed this by balancing between publishing school publishing – the bread and butter of local publishing – and publishing for leisure/fiction.

Despite the fact that his employers, Heinemann, were the publishers of the successful African Writers Series, he kept receiving manuscripts which he felt would fit into a new genre of adventure, romance and crime.

He floated the idea to his bosses in the UK but they flatly rejected the idea. He would not take no for an answer and went ahead to start the Spear Series, which became so successful, that Heinemann had to start a series of their own called Heartbeat.

Chakava received the manuscript of My Life in Crime from Kamiti Maximum Prison, where the author, John Kiriamiti, had been imprisoned for robbery with violence. To date, My Life in Crime remains Kenya’s best-selling novel.

It should be remembered that Chakava is also Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s publisher. For Chakava, publishing Ngugi was a challenge, a risk and reward.  Challenge in the sense that as a committed writer, he expects the publisher to share his vision. And for that he has given Chakava all the due respect.

Another challenge had to do with distribution of his works following Heinemann’s take over by East African Educational Publishers. Without the network of distributing the works abroad, Chakava had the daunting task of distributing them.

The risk came from the fact that Ngugi, in the 70s, was deemed as anti-government, controversial and a rebel. And that came with a stigma. And isolation. And the reward came because Ngugi’s books were intellectually and commercially rewarding as a recognised name.  

When, in 1980 word spread that Chakava was about to publish Ngugi’s book, Caitani Mutharabaini, (Devil on the Cross) written in detention, he started receiving threatening phone calls. When the aggrieved parties – suspected to be government agents – saw that he was unrelenting, they decided to move their dastardly action to the next level; assassination. Chakava was waylaid as he was about to enter his Lavington home, by thugs armed with all manner of crude weapons. He was only saved by headlights of an oncoming vehicle. The thugs dispersed but not before a machete, aimed at his head, almost severed his small finger.

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Books Culture Personalities publishing Releases Reviews

Nyanchwani’s tough love Memos to men

Title: 50 Memos to Men

Author: Silas Nyanchwani

Publisher: Gram Books

Price: sh1250

Reviewer: Mbugua Ngunjiri

Growing up in the village, you would occasionally overhear grown-ups say things like: “Huyu mtoto ni mwerevu kuliko miaka yake.” This was often in reference to youngsters perceived to be intelligent beyond their years.

Now that I am a certified elder, the above notion crosses my mind every time I read a post – mostly on Facebook – authored by Silas Nyanchwani. That is why whenever he makes an announcement to the effect that he has a book out, I want read what he has written.

His first offering Sexorcised, had some sections that left me blushing. While I can’t remember the last time I read a novel in the erotica genre, Nyanchwani proved that we have some hidden talent amongst us, wah!

But I digress.

I am here to talk, or rather, to write about 50 Memos to Men – his latest book – and I have been wondering to myself, where does the author get wisdom to talk about relationships so authoritatively? Isn’t this a case of mtoto kuwa mwerevu kuliko miaka yake?

Anyone who doesn’t know Nyanchwani, getting the chance to read Memos, would most likely assume that this the product of a greying man, with grey, bushy eyebrows, given to wearing frumpy sweaters, peering above horn-rimmed spectacles, balanced on the bridge of their nose.

First of all, how long has Nyanchwani been in the marriage institution, if at all he is married, for him to be dispensing such wisdom? Just the other day, Nyanchwani and I worked at The Nairobian, when the tabloid was flying off newsstands. Then, he was writing a column, whose content always rubbed the female gender the wrong way. Such was the controversy.

So where did he learn these things?

Then and now, I always marvelled at how, this quiet, soft-spoken young man courts controversy so effortlessly, like the time he attacked Mukimo – one of my favourite dishes – so badly, I think I trolled him on Facebook. Awachane na Mukimo kabisa.

Again I digress.

After I finished reading Memos, I got away with the feeling that this can only be the product of careful observation of human behaviour. Everything he writes resonates deeply and ticks all the right boxes. We all have our fair share of relationships, hence reading the book is like walking into a room full of familiar faces. Whatever is written here, resonates so deeply at a personal level.

Talking about familiarity, well familiar faces come with different memories, not all of them good. Some can be downright traumatic like when one suffers a painful heartbreak (character development?) So, what is the advice for men who have suffered break-ups? “…once she tells you it is over, bro, don’t ever beg…nothing you will ever do will win her back,” says the book, adding. “When a woman breaks up with you, 99 per cent of the time, she has a backup plan.” Savage.

One thing I enjoy about Nyanchwani’s writing is that he gives it to you straight, like bitter, but effective medicine. Call it tough love, but Memos is not about babysitting grown men, who think the world waits for them to make up their minds. The kind of advice dispensed in this book is a bit like the child that rans to its father, eyes bawled up, from an altercation in the playground, only for the parent to give them a proper hiding; to man them up. Hakuna kubembeleza.

Nyanchwani has this unique ability to bring out, on paper, the things you only think about in the deep recesses of the mind; making it look so easy, yet packing them with so much sense. That, to me, is the sign of a good writer.

It is rather obvious why most women get exasperated by his writing; he almost always gives men ‘bad’ advice. Listen to this “…unless she is your mother or sister, don’t even give a woman money…my stingiest friends get laid more, or even get paid for their cabling services…trust me, men who treat women better hardly get anything good in return.” Hmm…

Isn’t it funny how he pummels women’s sensibilities, yet they keep coming for more. Well, that is what eloquent, persuasive writing does for you.

Still, his is not the blind, see-no-evil hear-no-evil, embrace of men. He calls them out when they do stupid things that hurt good women. Such men are afforded the worst contempt in the book. As a man, you do not want to be caught on the wrong side of his pen.

I have seen a number of social media personalities crown themselves the title ‘Men’s President’, but most are trash talking, bottom feeding online busybodies with nary in the way of brains. To me, Nyanchwani, with his smooth cerebral writing is more deserving of that title.

When I opened the book’s cover, I feared it would come out as the glue that did the binding appeared to have spilled over, however, after handling it for a number of times, the gluing seems to be just fine. And yes, I like the cover design; very creative.

Now, apart from a few typos here and there, which can be smoothened by a good editor, this is a book I highly recommend. I learnt a lot.

About being the tallest writer in Africa – I am short, so this cuts to the quick – I wonder, whom between Nyanchwani and Clifford Oluoch is shorter.