Freedom Through Sound

It’s 9.30 a.m. Friday morning. Today, I take a different path than I would normally, one that leads me to a group of individuals that most of society would consider ‘dangerous’. As I arrive at the Nairobi West Prison Facility for Men, the stark sight of inmates clad in striped white-and-black uniforms, engaged in hard labor greets me coldly in the face. Under the hawk-eye gaze of the prison guards, they are tilling tirelessly at the nearby farm. Others diligently prune bougainvillea bushes scattered throughout the grounds. To the inmates, I imagine, this is just normal—a hive of activities in which they are condemned worker bees.

Another bunch of inmates are pruning the hedges of the healthy bush of bougainvillea that’s situated near my destination, the prison’s multi-purpose hall. With an invisible wall made of wire netting, the hall is situated right in the heart of the bustling prison yard. It serves whatever need is thrown on its face, easily transforming from a church to a recreational space to a town hall meet.

Today, it is an artsy space for the training program dubbed, Music Behind Bars, with a group of 15 inmates in attendance—all of them dancing to their own beats as a radio blares. As soon as Kelvin Kiprono (a.k.a. Insect) and I enter the hall, the music and dancing come to a standstill. The men welcome us with a quick kugota. This formality – clenched fists bumping against each other – appears to be the common form of greeting in the prison.

Sporting huge headphones around his neck, the five foot- two-inch tall and twenty-two- year old ‘Insect’ is my guide to Nairobi West Prison. He’s also the facilitator for Music Behind Bars, sponsored by the Kenyan record label Penya Africa. Initiated at Nairobi West Prison about 19 months ago, the program aims to assist inmates in their rehabilitation by using music and poetry to build basic skills such as confidence, public speaking and self-expression. “I believe that prisoners are people too, and my work is to make them feel.

That’s the reason why Penya Africa initiated this project,” says Insect. He stipulates further that a person’s love for art and expression is essential for joining the group. Here, the prisoners affectionately refer to Insect as “teacher”. A budding rapper, he has just released his debut single, Back to Basics. Performing on stage is Insect’s passion, but he is also dedicated to today’s audience of aspiring musicians. After pulling a couple of benches close to form a little circle with Insect in our midst, a prayer is conducted by one of the inmates right before the weekly session starts. And then, the moment I’ve been waiting for: the men, many of them as colorful as their nicknames, begin to pick their instruments.

A musician by profession, the vocals of the towering Mkubwa (Swahili for big) are soft and soulful, beautifully intertwined with his skillful guitar playing. “I was distraught,” he confesses, “to even think about a day without what I love to do, but Music Behind Bars has given me a chance to play the guitar while incarcerated. And to practice my passion: singing.”

As Mkubwa strums the guitar the only rapper in the group, Chinoxx, steps in with his rhyme, “Asubuhi kumekucha, kila moja na birika zao, umepata umekosa haya jua yote ndio maisha” (“It’s dawn and everyone has to carry their kettle. If you fail or succeed in your quest, in the end it’s just life”). Behind this inspirational composition is a man hardcore in appearance, but one who packs a lyrical punch; his streetwise rhyming would make a good hip hop track. Chinoxx is a self-confessed gangster. “I was convicted for robbery. Being banished here must have been God’s plan so I could discover my remedy, which is my talent in rapping,” he says. Chinnox adds that he plans to exploit this new-found talent after doing his time.

“Some inmates who aren’t with this program call us ‘Ma- smarter’ (the know it alls). They criticize us because they can’t handle our level of discipline. Just like any job around here, Music Behind Bars is demanding. Before being sentenced here, I was just a businessman who would never embrace any form of art. Now I am the dance instructor. I can even play a few strings on the guitar,” says the larger-than-life Big Daddy.

Andy and Kamau perform an excerpt from their joint poem titled “Lost Freedom”. “The day I was arrested, my mind never rested. I was breaking the law, now I have to break the bad habit… ” Andy testifies that Music Behind Bars has made him learn what it means to simply appreciate life. “I hated my existence and people because I was framed for fraud. I never committed any crime,” he remarks, teary eyed. “Insect turned the junk in me into a jewel. After several classes I realized that poetry has power to change the world.”

Adds manager Natalie Lukkenaer, who works with Penya Africa’s Founder, Nynke Nauta, “We have decided to reach out to the prisoners for as long as they are in jail. And, if we meet someone with extreme talent, we encourage them to audition at our music school, the Sauti Academy, upon release.”

Penya Africa also runs other initiatives, including Tung’are, a Swahili word that means to shine. Focused on reforming street boys in Kangemi, Insect visits the young group every Wednesday. “Our main focus is to use music to sensitize the boys on the issue of drug abuse,” he says.

It’s encouraging that record labels are now carrying the music torch that much further, embracing boys and men who may have been marginalized by society but are still seeking to express themselves. “I have to admit that my job is quite challenging. However, only one thing has kept me at it -- the few inmates who have called to thank me after their release, or to ask for advice on how to advance on their talents,” concludes Insect with a knowing smile.

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