The Obamas Read online

  We have different gots here, different hills, but it has only one major name, which is Got Ramogi. When Ramogi conquered here and settled, he allowed his sons to take other hills. Then they could help him to see what was happening if the enemies were coming.

  This hilltop is considered to be the ancestral home of both the Kenyan and the Tanzanian Luo; as such, it is a sacred place of pilgrimage for believers in the traditional Luo religion. They come to see features such as Muanda, the sacred tree; Asumbi, the rock of rain; and Rapongi, the whetstone used by Ramogi and his warriors to sharpen their knives. Many rare plants used in traditional medicine can also be found at Got Ramogi. Traditionally the area is guarded and maintained by William Onyango and other direct descendants of Ramogi Ajwang’, but the Kenyan government has also now established a national museum here, which is charged with managing and protecting the Ramogi Hills.

  According to Luo oral history, in his later life Ramogi Ajwang’ decided to leave Got Ramogi and return to his birthplace, Tororo. Ramogi had been a strong and powerful leader, and he left behind in Got Ramogi the greatest gift of all—fifteen sons, who went on to consolidate their hold on the region and to establish a powerful clan. These young warriors spread out in small groups on scouting expeditions to test the region, reporting back about other tribes and natural resources in the area. If an area looked promising, then whole families and subclans would move out and establish new homesteads.

  One of the new settlements in the area was situated just north of Lake Gangu, only a few miles from Got Ramogi and still in the Luo’s sacred spot—that golden triangle wedged between swamp, river, and lake. At Gangu, archeologists have excavated seven trench and wall settlements thought to date from around 1600, firmly in the early decades of Luo settlement in the region.14 Even today, broken shards of earthenware pots may be seen scattered around the site, all dating from the early days of the Luo in Kenya. These settlements were called gundni bur, ancient fortified communities which were built by Ramogi’s ancestors, each with an earthen wall ten to fifteen feet high and about three feet thick. In this respect they resembled the fortifications in Thimlich Ohinga, except that the defensive wall was made of earth, not stone. This wall was surrounded by a ditch six to ten feet deep, and inside the compound were scores if not hundreds of huts, home to large numbers of men, women, and children. The girls and women cultivated the land immediately around the homestead, while the elders and male warriors grazed their herds further away from the homestead. Nearby, overlooking the settlement, a large rock outcrop served as a lookout post for warriors and sentries. These gundni bur were compact settlements, providing an element of security for hundreds of people, together with their stores of foodstuffs and cattle.

  Each of the seven settlements at Gangu likely experienced a series of short-term occupations by different clans, for the arrival of Ramogi Ajwang’ and his descendents was only the beginning of the movement of Luo into the region. From the early sixteenth century to about 1720, scores of families and subclans left the Pubungu area and spread eastward through Uganda and into western Kenya.15 Many of these migrants passed through Got Ramogi on their way to more permanent settlements. Over time, Ramogi Ajwang’s great hill evolved from a defensive medieval fortress to something more resembling Ellis Island, through which generations of immigrants passed on their way to a new life.

  As new people moved into the area, the established groups moved on. This was no great, organized transcontinental migration, but rather a gradual, disjointed drift of families and subclans, moving on when it suited them, and with very little coordination with like-minded Luo. Not until the eighteenth century would the Luo begin to organize themselves into anything resembling an established tribe, as subclans gradually went from a group of disparate families into larger groups who cooperated and felt loyalty toward a common leader.16

  In the early years of the seventeenth century, the Joka-Jok—the clan of Ramogi Ajwang’—were followed by two more distinct waves of Luo people. The main expansion along the northern shore of Winam Gulf occurred between about 1590 and 1790, when the second major group of Luo migrants arrived, the Jok’Owiny.17 Their leader, Owiny the Great, was a venerated warrior and the great-great-grandson of Podho II. The Obama family trace their ancestry through Owiny’s lineage and believe that President Obama is the (11) great-grandson of Owiny.

  Despite their success in suppressing other tribes, the cantankerous Luo frequently squabbled among themselves, and one infamous confrontation occurred within the Jok’Owiny in the middle of the seventeenth century. The dispute arose between the sons of Kisodhi, who was the eldest son of Owiny the Great and (10) great-grandfather to President Obama. At the time of the feud Kisodhi’s family was living at a place called Rengho, very close to Got Ramogi. Kisodhi—who was in many ways a classic example of the powerful and successful Luo warriors who helped consolidate the tribe’s hold on the region—had two wives, Nyaika and Jong’a, and between them they bore him eight sons and an unknown number of daughters. When Kisodhi died, sometime around 1660, his eldest son, Ogelo, naturally assumed that he would take his father’s position as head of the family. But as the extended family gathered at the funeral, a serious confrontation broke out among the eight brothers. The resulting split in the clan lasted for generations. To get the full story, I traveled to Got Ager, the site where Kisodhi’s second son, Ager, had established his fortification.

  At the foot of the steep, wooded ridge I found a single hut, home to Zablon Odhiambo and his wife and three children. Zablon, who claims to be directly descended from Ager himself, acts as keeper of the ancestral home. Together we climbed up to the steep upper slopes of Got Ager, where the view of the flat grazing land, the swamp, and the lake has changed little since Ager lived there 350 years ago. I asked Zablon what he knew about the infamous family dispute:

  It is traditional with the Luo that a family goes into mourning for four days following the death of a male elder. On the fourth day, the family must have their heads shaven as a mark of respect, and to show to others that they are in mourning. I know that when Kisodhi died, he was the father and he had two wives who gave him eight sons. Ogelo was the eldest. When he had been sat down to be shaved, the sisters of his two wives started talking to him. They were saying that because he was sitting down to be shaved, everybody else was going hungry.

  They hadn’t finished [shaving Ogelo] when he stood up to distribute food to all these women. All his brothers became furious at this, because the women were praising Ogelo as the man with a good heart, as it was only him who got up to give people food. Ager, who was Kisodhi’s second son, was leading this onslaught against him.

  Now Ager was a very harsh man, and when Ogelo went off for food, Ager sat down and was shaved. When Ogelo came back, he found that his brother had taken his traditional birthright [of being the first to be shaved], and he was furious.

  Tempers flared and insults were exchanged as different members of the extended family took sides in the dispute. Throughout all this turmoil, the drummer continued his performance at the funeral, seemingly oblivious to the family fracas going on around him. This infuriated Owiny Sigoma, the youngest son of Kisodhi’s second wife, and he drew his spear and killed the ill-fated drummer on the spot:

  People started fighting and Ogelo ran away, taking all the family’s cattle. When Ogelo heard that Ager was after him, he kept going, past Siaya [a town about twenty miles to the east]. The people who went there with him became known as the Jok’Ogelo. That is why the place today is still called K’ogelo, the village where the stepgrandmother to the president, Sarah Obama, still lives.

  In many ways, the altercation at Kisodhi’s funeral is a typical Luo story, combining as it does pride, arrogance, family arguments, and bloodshed. Following the great family confrontation and the challenge to Ogelo’s succession, Kisodhi’s youngest son, Owiny Sigoma, became the undisputed leader of the clan. He was by far the most aggressive and belligerent of the local leaders—it could even be
argued that he was a psychopath. As Owiny Sigoma expanded his territory east, he transferred his power base from his father’s settlement in Rengho to a site he named after himself.

  But this area was already controlled by the Seje people, another Luo clan who claim descent from the followers of Ramogi Ajwang’. They had been settled in the area for a couple of generations under their leader, a ruoth named Seje. Owiny Sigoma was not the type of man to meekly accept the leadership of Seje, and a civil war soon erupted between the two Luo clans. At first Owiny Sigoma was successful, and for a short period he became the undisputed ruler of the whole region. But he ruled by fear, and his repressive leadership style made the interclan rivalry worse than ever. Legend has it that Owiny Sigoma would feed the bodies of his enemies to hyenas, thus denying them a traditional burial and condemning their roving spirits to haunt surviving clan members.

  Eventually his people tired of Sigoma’s dictatorial style and rose up against him. Owiny Sigoma and his close entourage escaped from the region in order to regroup. When Sigoma returned to Alego, he attempted to impose his ruthless rule again on the local population, but he was challenged by the Ugenya people and a full-scale war broke out again between opposing Luo clans. This time Owiny Sigoma’s warriors deserted him and he was killed on the battlefield, speared through the chest by an opponent. His death finally brought a measure of peace to the region.

  Meanwhile, President Obama’s (9) great-grandfather Ogelo, after fleeing the family dispute at his father’s funeral, had settled on a low hill called Nyang’oma, overlooking the Yala River. In time, the village became known as Nyang’oma K’ogelo, and today the village of K’ogelo is recognized as the ancestral home of President Obama’s family.

  At the same time, the Luo continued to migrate into Nyanza from eastern Uganda. Sometime between 1760 and 1820, a third major group called the Jok’Omolo, under the leadership of Rading Omolo, started to move into western Alego. This new wave of migration caused a rapid increase in population, and in little more than two hundred years or so after the arrival of the first Luo people, the area north of the Winam Gulf became overpopulated. This problem was further compounded by a severe drought and famine in most parts of northern Nyanza during the early and middle parts of the eighteenth century.18 Between 1750 and 1800 the feuding among the Luo became so acute that the clan structure began to disintegrate, and many of the subclans adopted the same solution as their ancestors several generations before: they packed their bags and moved on. This time the Luo moved across the Winam Gulf into south Nyanza, which was still a relatively underpopulated part of western Kenya.

  In the Obama family, Obong’o, who was (3) great-grandfather to President Obama, left his ancestral home in K’ogelo and established a homestead in Kendu Bay, on the southern shores of Winam Gulf. Obong’o’s original settlement was on the shore of Winam Gulf; later, his people moved to a new site a little inland, and it was either Obong’o’s son or his grandson (both named Obama) who gave their name to the new settlement. Obong’o was probably born around 1802 and he is thought to have left K’ogelo before he was even married. Charles Oluoch, who showed me around K’obama, explained to me how his ancestor took the drastic step of leaving the ancestral home in K’ogelo for south Nyanza:

  At that time there was a lot of wrangling, and there were various people fighting within the family. The K’ogelo people were many now, and they came looking for land. Some people thought it would be easier to come this side [of the Gulf], because this particular place, there were not many people.

  Obong’o crossed to this side when he was around thirty years old. I heard he came before he was married. It was very hard to carry your family to go to a foreign land. And he came and found that the place was good, so he decided to find a family and settle.

  There was forest everywhere, wild animals. The Kalenjins were up there in the mountains. They used to just come down, maybe to bring their cows to drink water sometimes when it was dry. But most of the time this land was not inhabited.

  Late in his life, after he had established a family and three sons in Kendu Bay, Obong’o returned to his family compound in K’ogelo, where he died sometime during the second half of the nineteenth century.

  Obong’o had at least three sons: Obama, Opiyo, and Aguk. All three were born in Kendu Bay, and they stayed to establish the Obama presence there. It was Obong’o’s second son, Opiyo, who would become the ancestor of the Obamas of Kendu Bay, and the great-great-grandfather of the president of the United States.

  *Numbers in parentheses are used throughout as shorthand where there are large generational gaps; (3) great-grandfather signifies great-great-great-grandfather, and so on.

  3

  THE LIFE AND DEATH

  OF OPIYO OBAMA

  ADONG AROM GI BAO MA KANERA

  May I grow as tall as the eucalyptus tree in my uncle’s homestead

  SOMETIME AROUND 1830, in a homestead to the south of Winam Gulf in what is now Nyanza in western Kenya, a young woman gave birth to a boy behind her simple mud hut. By tradition, she was probably alone for the birth, but older women were at hand in case she got into difficulty. The baby was the second son of Obong’o, who was by now well established in the Kendu Bay area. Nobody can recall the name of the baby’s mother, nor the names of his sisters, for the Luo are a patrilineal society and women don’t figure in genealogy. Nor does anybody know the exact year the baby was born, least of all the month or the day. Yet we know that young Opiyo was the firstborn of twins,1 for the Luo have a tradition of bestowing on their children names that describe something about their birth. Piyo means “quick,” or in this context, the quicker of two twins to emerge. Opiyo’s family have no record of the name of the second-born twin, who would, by tradition, have been called Odongo if a boy, or Adongo if a girl (dong means “to be left behind”). If the twin was a girl, then her name would not be recorded in the oral history of the family, and if the baby was a boy, we can only assume that he died as an infant.

  Opiyo grew to be a strong and respected leader among the Luo of south Nyanza and his family went on to prosper in their settlement in Kendu Bay. However, his arrival into the world was not greeted with the universal joy usually associated with a newborn son. In Luo society, twins are considered a bad omen for a family. As is customary among the Luo, the local women wailed and cried following the announcement of his birth; this was intended to scare away the evil spirits that had brought about the double birth. His mother’s parents, who lived in a village nearby, were also quickly given the unwelcome news, for it was important that they too know about the calamity that had befallen the family. The new parents also subjected themselves to a variety of rituals that were intended both to protect their children in their vulnerable first few days of life and also to relieve themselves of the taboo and social stigma attached to bringing twins into the world. Obong’o and his wife had to give up their normal clothing, wrapping tree-vines around themselves for several days after the birth. Obong’o’s wife was confined to her hut for several days, and she relieved herself in a large earthenware pot hidden at the rear of her hut. If Opiyo’s younger sibling did in fact die during these early days, then its body would have been callously tossed into the pot as a form of penance. This period of taboo could not be broken until the family performed a special ceremony several days after the birth.

  These complex and elaborate ceremonies surrounding the birth of the twins were only the beginning of a lifetime of rituals for young Opiyo. These traditions are an essential part of Luo life, and to ignore them would leave a person vulnerable to the omnipresent forces of evil—not to mention ostracism by family and neighbors. Although Christianity now exerts a powerful influence on the lives of most Luo, many of these rituals are still as important and relevant today as they were when Opiyo was born, more than 180 years ago.

  Traditionally, a Luo woman marries long before she reaches her twentieth birthday and usually gives birth to her first child within a year of marriage. A
lthough Opiyo was his mother’s second son, she was likely to be still young when she gave birth to him. Opiyo’s father, Obong’o, had three wives, and he spent three or four nights with each woman before directing his attentions to another. He was expected to have sex with one of his women every night, and his wives frequently competed among themselves for his attention.

  Aloyce Achayo, a retired headmaster and a Luo cultural historian, explained the subtle ways in which the wives might have vied for Obong’o’s attention:

  Let’s say that you have four or five wives, and you come back to your homestead at the end of the day. As you are coming in, an astute wife will send her children to help her husband. In this way, the children will bring their father back to their mother’s hut, and so the man will now go to that home first.

  Children are prized in Luo society, and women were expected and encouraged to have many children. It was something of a collective effort: setting aside her rivalry with the others, Obong’o’s first wife, Aoko, would sometimes advise him to sleep with a younger wife if she knew one of them was coming into the fertile stage of her monthly cycle. Like all Luo men, Obong’o slept in a small hut called a duol, and he would creep out after dark to discreetly visit the wife of his choice for the night—always returning to his duol before daybreak.

  After Opiyo was born, his mother cut the umbilical cord with a piece of sharpened corn husk called a muruich and then smeared her newborn son with butter—a tradition that was both symbolic and practical, as the grease reduced the baby’s loss of body heat. Next she dug a shallow pit and buried the placenta within the family compound—another important symbolic gesture to tie the child to the family and the tribe, and an act that was even more significant because he was a male.