Wounded Cake and a Chicken

Only in Kenya. Only in Kenya might you find a wounded cake and a live chicken as part of a grand celebration.

It was Kennedy Baya’s 31st birthday and he was going to celebrate big. He knew we were going to join him. With no ovens, and heat that precludes their survival, cakes exist only in dreams, not to mention their prohibitive cost. Chickens, though not rare, are seldom given as gifts, in this area where hunger runs rampant.

But today we got both. Kennedy had found where to order a cake in Mombasa, the nearest big city. It was picked up by a friend. Dropped at a town along the way. Picked up by another friend and put on the back of a ‘boda-boda’ motorcycle, where a driver would sit on his gas can and stack other things for transport. No wonder it had arrived wounded.

The crowning frosting photo of a white princess was still in tack, enough to make us laugh. (How do white princesses find their way to the bush?) But here it was. With immense pride and aplomb, Kennedy presented me with a bite, “All protocols observed,” as they say, when they have given something or someone the honor they deserve. A bride on her wedding day could not have been happier than I.

And then the chicken arrived. Feet tied. A thank you gift, for the gift of education. No small sacrifice, as the chicken would have made stew for the whole clan. Teammate Heather received it for me. Not chicken as we usually receive it. We laughed – all of us. More family poured in to share the surgery cake. In joy and celebration, we slowly devoured the frosting princess. 

Off to our next assignment, chicken in tow. Don’t you wish you could join?