The expansion of universities in Kenya over the past two decades has led to the emergence of what we might call university towns. These towns are characterised by a multiplicity of grocery stores, butcheries, cybercafés, stationery shops, pubs and other small-scale businesses whose wares are often tailored to suit the lifestyles of young learners.
Nowadays, I am told that beyond the mushrooming of hostels, there are posho mills and mutura stands. Indeed, others come to the neighbourhood to eke out a living by selling small chicken parts — necks, legs, gizzards and other cuts that the original slaughters deemed beneath their economic status — to passers-by. These items offer students a semblance of a delicacy within the confines of their mainly shoe-string budgets.
The student fraternity, along with the burgeoning support communities it attracts, laps up these services with gusto, creating a robust economic ecosystem. These university suburbs are also marked by a unique lifestyle curated to fit not only the financial realities of the students but also their aspirations for a better life.
This quest to "cross the border" to a better life has spawned all sorts of love affairs, often driven by cash and lust. And, needless to say, many of these affairs leave those seeking genuine love feeling abused, dumped, betrayed and heartbroken.
In the amorphous world of these easy-come, easy-go relationships, lovers are picked up and dropped at the drop of a hat. Everything is suspended between the unyielding human quest for survival and the hope for a better tomorrow.
Amid this daily rat race for both survival and higher education, tens, if not hundreds, fall victim to what has come to be termed "character development." In case you missed the Gen-Z lingua franca memo, the term ‘character development’ describes a course in the “university of hard knocks” where sexual predators and narcissists package themselves as proverbial knights in shining armour, sweep unsuspecting young women off their feet before robbing them of their innocence and sense of trust. After the “gold rush”, the pests disappear into the dark alleys of sprawling low-end estates, from whence they scheme to pounce on their next prey.
It is in this kind of university town that Prof Egara Kabaji’s latest novel, Shad ows of Love , is set. The story revolves around Mwende, a bright 23-year-old student at Masinde Muliro University in Kakamega, western Kenya. The plot unfolds primarily from Mwende’s perspective, complemented by a third-person omniscient narrator who delves into the thoughts, actions, and past events of the characters' lives.
The author deftly shifts the plot from Mwende’s chequered love life to philosophical musings that leave critical questions bubbling in the reader’s mind. Is there such a thing as true love? Do long-distance relationships work? Can real love triumph over powerful modern forces like money? Is it possible to forgive your partner despite smoking-gun evidence of infidelity? And why is it that a young woman subjected to violence or saddled with a hefty hospital bill often stands alone, yet the slightest whiff of dowry transforms her into a proudly claimed asset of an entire clan?
One of the most refreshing aspects of Shadows of Love is its relatability, both in terms of language use and the images explored. The characters and their lifestyles mirror our reality. A reality where there is the ubiquitous young lecturer using his youthful looks and newfound cash to run a bevy of girls, all convinced he is single. Major recent events, including the Covid-19 restrictions and the pain they wrought on families, resonate deeply. The author’s use of colloquial terms like mali safi (clean property) to describe attractive people confirms this as a story firmly grounded in our times.
The language used blurs the line between targeting university graduates and a general readership, making the 224-page novel, published by Kakamega-based InterCEN Publishers, accessible to all. But hey, don’t be fooled by the deceptively simple title and thematic focus on love, betrayal, and human suffering. The story immerses the reader in an ideological and intellectual exploration of long-held societal norms, including the parental role in young people’s love lives. The author seems to suggest that perhaps it’s time to peel our norms like onions and decide what we must carry into the future and what must be jettisoned to the waste–paper basket of history.
Against the backdrop of love in a country rocked by economic, social and cultural challenges, the novel raises broader questions. Have we, as a society, failed to create a legal, social and conceptual framework to protect our people and imbue citizenship and a sense of pride and belonging in them? Why do we tolerate a culture where everything goes at the mention of money and other forms of quick gratification?
Still on the thematic attributes of the work, the author critiques Kenya’s conceptualisation as a nation. Through the world of the novel, even the national blueprint, Vision 2030, is not spared. Why does it focus on the economic, political and social pillars but conspicuously lacks a cultural pillar? This absence, the author seems to suggest, symbolises our collective failure to craft a spiritual prototype of a patriotic Kenya. As a result, young people are like candles in a raging wind; at the mercy of voracious pseudo-religious leaders, fake witch doctors, and other predators lurking in the shadows to ruin their lives.
Perhaps I should have begun by declaring my personal bias: over two decades ago, I sat in Prof. Kabaji’s class, where he taught, among other things, psychoanalysis as a literary theory. So, instead of simply enjoying the twists and turns of this tale, I found myself searching for signs of what Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, called the "collective unconscious".
And, instead of being egged onto the edge of my seat by the cliffhangers towards the end of each chapter, I found myself looking for the universal archetypes and symbols ably expounded by Carl Jung, the father of psychoanalytic literary theory.
Jung taught us that great narratives tap into universal symbols and archetypes, making them engaging because they reflect not just the characters’ lives but also our shared human experience.
With more than 30 titles under his belt, Prof Kabaji is one of Kenya’s most prolific writers. Earlier this year, he was named one of the country’s most notable authors. His novel, Mourning Glory, took the second slot in the 2021 Jomo Kenyatta Prize for Literature. His recent recognition by the Pan African Writers Association as Esteemed Patron of the Arts in Africa is equally well-deserved, methinks.
