Not Every Luo Loves the Lake

When people refer to the Kenyan Luo community as ‘People of the Lake,’ my clan, JoKamreri, do not know what the hell you’re talking about.

I take in the expansive Lake Victoria. The sky is azure and so is the water, vast, stretching as far as my eyes can see. The cool breeze, carrying the smell of fish and weeds of the lake soothes our skins against the seething heat of the midday sun. And I watch, mesmerized, as the waters fold into giant waves that race towards the shore like benevolent monsters, crushing hard against the rocks and splattering water all over us. The waves sound like the world catching its breath over and over again. 

We let out ecstatic boyish squeals when the cold water touches our young skins. Then one after another, my cousins unclamp from the now damp clothes and jump into the water, headfirst, as naturally as they breathe air. It’s beautiful, how they do it. The tricks they do in the water are amazing and look easy; like diving and popping up a kilometre away. Or floating on water like Newton’s physics means nothing. I can do that, I think. 

Soon, I’m the only one left standing on the shore looking like Lot’s wife, so I undress and follow into the water. Mid-air, upon my jump, I hear the familiar voice of Min Jii, my mother, calling, ‘Aton okinyal goyo abal, idhii nimo!’ Loosely translates to ‘Aton, you cannot swim, you’re going to sink!’