FATMA BARAYAN: Why the uproar over muguka

The unruliness of teenage boys is universal, with some having an unfortunate edge to it tending towards a degree of harassment, especially in their interactions with girls.

This is something all girls experience and are warned about by responsible parents and relatives. It sometimes occurs when commuting to school or in mixed schools when the teachers are out of sight.

One boy in the neighbourhood I grew up in defied stereotyped characteristics associated with children who looked older than they are.

Awadh, (not his real name) was big in stature. His walk implied restrained energy; his thick eyebrows brought menace to his face; yet his smile transformed all that to make him a gentle soul.

He was our unsolicited protector as my two friends and I walked to and from school, always four paces behind us, never once talking or acknowledging us. As Muslim girls, we interpreted this as divine intervention.

I later heard from a friend in the old neighbourhood that Awadh, who was also brilliant in class, had completed a diploma in engineering course and was employed in one of the leading automotive franchises based in Mombasa. He was married and settling down to a middle-class lifestyle

Then about a year ago while walking to one of Mombasa’s upmarket cafés overlooking a main road to meet a childhood friend, a filthy man who had been lying on the roadside and would have been mistaken for a pile of garbage, stood up and reached out menacingly to a woman ahead of me startling both her and me.

She walked away in shock as some men rebuked the filthy madman with threats. I crossed the road taking a circuitous route to my destination. I sat next to my friend and recounted my encounter on the street.

Only after I had finished my tirade did she inform me she was well aware of whom I was talking about and that that detestable monster was Awadh our protector, who 12 years ago made commuting to school bearable for both her and me.

Awadh had long lost his job due to his indiscipline and inability to keep a working hour schedule, largely because he had developed an addiction.

Without any means to fund his addiction, he spiralled downwards rapidly, taking household appliances to sell to sustain his consumption. This resulted in his wife divorcing him and taking away their two children. The ever-escalating aggressive consumption of muguka led Awadh to end up as a homeless man living on the streets.

That was the depressing story I heard that afternoon.

Why muguka when miraa consumption has been going on for years in Mombasa? This is what I learnt when I made inquiries:

A kilo of miraa is a batch that one can hold in one hand and retails at approximately Sh800. Habitual users say the consumption of muguka worth Sh150 gets you the same intoxication as a kilo of miraa.

The manner of consumption of the two products is also quite different. Miraa is harvested with its stem as the epidermis or skin of the stem is what is relished most.

Muguka however, which is coarse, is harvested much like tea and consumed by munching one and all. The time therefore taken to consume one kilo of miraa is four times the time it takes to go through an equivalent intoxicating amount of muguka.

In a nutshell, muguka is highly intoxicating and has the same chemical composition as prohibited amphetamines.

The marketing of muguka as a product is brilliant and addresses all core components to enable profitable sales. The unspoken promotion is clear: you get more intoxicated in a shorter time, and for less money.

Muguka has also been positioned as a cash crop essential for the livelihood of farmers, which therefore should be left to the market forces.

Had Awadh and many like him not been victims of such insidious marketing, perhaps his envious family life then would have still been his reality.

Awadh, who I believe is still alive, is about 34 years old. 

Fatma Barayan is a lawyer by profession.