K E N YA | “I felt like I was a slave. Now I feel like I have been born again,” says Amina Kassim, a beaming 51-year-old Makonde woman, who describes what it feels like to have acquired Kenyan nationality and documentation after living as a stateless person for five decades. Happiness and new-found confidence also shine on the faces and through the voices of the 30 other members of the Makonde tribe that UNHCR consulted in Ukunda in the coastal county of Kwale. Julieta Simenya, a 76-yearold, whose cheeks are patterned with distinctive tattoos traditional to Makonde culture, once spent days hiding with her baby in the jungle when the Makonde were being arrested because they lacked national I.D.s. “We are very happy now” she says, “Now we have no fear. Now village chiefs from other tribes acknowledge us, greet us, and even invite us to their meetings!” “It means a lot to be voting as a Kenyan for the first time in 55 years.” The Makonde in Kenya are an ethnic tribe estimated to be around 4,000 in number who trace their origins to northern Mozambique. The consultations with members of the Makonde community, who were recognized as citizens of Kenya in October 2016 after living in the country in a protracted situation of statelessness, examined whether they had experienced any positive changes since being recognized. The community is mostly made up of labourers who were recruited by the British during the colonial period to work on sisal farms and sugar plantations across Kenya’s coastal counties of Kwale and Kilifi and in the hills of Taita Taveta. Other Makonde in Kenya are the descendants of exiled 40 • The Makonde | K E N Y A The Makonde UNHCR STATELESSNESS REPORT 2017 freedom fighters and refugees from the Mozambican civil war. Despite most being resident in Kenya since its independence in December 1963, they were not recognized as citizens or included in any of the population registration databases. A 2009 national census report simply classified them as ‘others’. Tina Eric, a bright 22-year-old Makonde woman, recounts a painful memory: “One of my teachers in school singled me out one day and told the class that I was a Makonde. ‘Those are the ones that eat snakes’ she said. I was ridiculed after that. Even those who I thought were my friends did not fully accept me.” Valerian Korneryu, 59 years old, remembers the days of constant harassment by authorities: “During Moi’s regime, I was threatened at gunpoint by the police. They arrested me in Ukunda and made me take off my shoes. ‘You are not a Kenyan worthy of wearing Kenyan shoes’ they said.” Thomas Nguli, the respected 60-year-old Chairman of the Makonde community, confirms how these discriminatory attitudes, present even at the highest levels of government, degraded and excluded the community, stopping them from being viewed as fellow human beings, deserving of respect: “A certain political leader was asked how he viewed the Makonde and he shamelessly responded to the crowd that he saw us as cannibals – people who ate other people! After that, what hope did we have?” Indeed, for a long time hope for the Makonde was in short supply. Talented artists, the Makonde’s intricate ebony carvings have long been prized as souvenirs by wealthy tourists. But until recently, their lack of citizenship meant that they were frequently cheated of earning a fair income for their labour. “We were the first carvers to sell on the beach” says Thomas Nguli, 60, Kwale County, Kenya. Thomas, “but they would come and arrest us, saying that we did not have a license to access the area. It was a public beach! Still, we paid middlemen who would give us permits, but then they would run and tell the police who would come and confiscate our meagre earnings.” John Hamisi, 48 years old, paid for a fake national I.D. to take a job at a safari camp, but was still paid less than half the 18,000 Kenyan Shilling (170 US Dollars) monthly salary because he was a Makonde. When his fraud was discovered, he was immediately fired. “I felt like committing suicide, because even the little that I was earning was no more.” Without citizenship or identification documents such as national I.D.s or birth certificates, Makonde children were held back from graduating from school or being considered for scholarships. Tina Eric explains how her heartbroken parents let Tina’s brother, a brilliant student, be adopted by a Kenyan family just so that he could go to high school. Makonde adults were excluded from accessing financial services such as micro-loans granted to women’s groups to set up bee-keeping and tailoring businesses or tea-shops. Amina Kassim laments that “before I got my national I.D., I lived a debilitating life. I could not engage in any meaningful business. I traded petty things, like Swahili buns. You don’t need a permit to sell them.” Her friend, 44-year-old Khadija Lucas, agrees, saying “I had no capital. I could not join women’s groups. With an I.D. you can borrow up to 100,000 Kenyan Shillings (1,000 US Dollars) to start a business.” The ability to buy property, access health services or travel documents was also non-existent. And all felt the sharp sting of being unable to buy something as simple and necessary as a mobile phone. 2017 UNHCR STATELESSNESS REPORT • 41