CHAPTER THREE
KHOJAH ISMAILI IDENTITIES, ORIGINS AND THE CONNECTION TO THE "HOMELAND"

With the increasing focus on issues of migration, movement, space, nationalism, ethnicity, minorities, location, transnationalism and post-colonialism, there has been a recent explosion of scholarship and debate surrounding the term "diaspora." Diaspora is now used to describe all types of peoples and communities that have connections to places and spaces which they do not directly and/or singularly inhabit. In this chapter I look at the connection Khojah Ismailis have to India, a place which I assumed to be their homeland. While mapping these links and trajectories is important work, it is also crucial that the theoretical underpinnings of the term continue to be explored, especially the contexts and implications of its evolving definitions. Based on the analysis of my interviews in this chapter and the next one, I engage with these theoretical issues in Chapter Five.

"We don't want one foot in India and the other in Kenya": Khojah Ismailis and the Connection to India

We walk through the Albert Hotel, noticing the polished marble floors and lush potted plants. All the people we pass are "Europeans" as they are called here in Kenya, a term broadly referring to anyone with white skin. Riyaz Uncle has not been here before, so he roughly gestures to an African waiter and, in Swahili, asks him where the swimming pool is. It is an outdoor pool, and the glare of the morning sun reflects off the calm water. Two European women in bathing suits are lying on pool chairs trying to get an even tan on their backs, and reading the cheap novels you buy at airport newsstands. Riyaz Uncle fusses over me, worried that if Firoz does not show up I will be stuck at the hotel without a ride home. He has done a lot for me - introducing me to people from a variety of class backgrounds, and organizing all my transportation around the city. He finally leaves me at a table close to the water, shaded by a large cloth umbrella. I have arranged to meet my informant "pool side" at the Albert Hotel, and he is already ten minutes late. Riyaz Uncle had introduced me to Firoz several days ago when we went to Khojah Mosque, the old jamatkhana in downtown Nairobi. All I know about him is that he is wealthy, has a ten year old son with his second wife, and is a huge cricket fan.

Firoz finally arrives, apologizing for his tardiness in a feigned British-accent. He tries to order me tea or coffee, and again I have to explain (as I have to all other Ismailis in Kenya) that I drink neither. So I order fresh mango juice. Firoz is in his early 60s, has stark white hair and a receding hairline, and looks at me through his thick glasses. He is related to Nanima, and tells me that everyone confuses him with my mother's brother who lives in London, since they look so much alike. Despite his wealth and prominence in the community, Firoz is wearing simple clothes. Our drinks arrive, and he settles back in the over-stuffed chair, ready to answer my questions.

I begin by asking about where his family is from, and he tells me his father's family is from Katiawar. His mother's family is also from India, but "it is harder to remember exactly," he explains, "somewhere that begins with a `K'" he offers, unsure. His paternal grandfather landed in Lamu, on the northern coast of Kenya, and was an Ismaili pioneer. As the dhows of Ismailis arrived at this port, Firoz's grandfather gave them food and shelter. He claims that his grandfather was so strong that he could crush a sopari (betelnut) with his bare hands. He also talks about his father, Ebrahim, who was a part of the Legislative Council (LegCo), the colonial parliament which ruled Kenya before Uhuru (Independence from Britain). Ebrahim served for two terms and died tragically at the age of 48. Firoz tells the story of how his father had not even finished elementary school, and when aspiring for election to LegCo, he wrote to Sultan Mohammed Shah (Aga Khan III) to ask for his blessings. He received a response in which Sultan Mohammed Shah told Ebrahim that every time he stood up to speak, he should think of his Imam. Ebrahim went on to become one of the finest orators and most altruistic members of LegCo, according to his son. As Firoz explains, in traveling all over Kenya, his father:

would get a first-class ticket to travel by train but he would sit in second-class and spend his time in the third class with the Africans, talking to them and seeing how they lived. He was a great campaigner for the downtrodden and underprivileged.

Firoz briefly talks about his mother's family, at least what he can remember. He goes back to his grandfather and father, and I ask him why the Ismailis left India and why they never went back. He refers to Sultan Mohammed Shah's firman in which he advised Ismailis to: "Go to Africa. Burn the boards - we don't want one foot in India and the other in Kenya." While Firoz had visited India as a tourist, he explained that he could not live there since the people are totally different in their approach and business ethics. Here, he explains, "we are more colonized." Among Asians in Kenya, Firoz draws a distinction, explaining that the Ismailis came to East Africa before the Hindu communities, implying that they also have different identities.

Firoz now tells me of his own life. He had intended to pursue a degree in commerce in Belfast in the 1950s, but had changed his plan on advice from Sultan Mohammed Shah. At the time, his elder brother had been working for Aga Khan III and had asked for advice on his behalf. This advice came just before Firoz was scheduled to leave for Northern Ireland, and arrived in the form of a telegram from Cannes to Nairobi. Firoz followed Aga Khan III's suggestion to study accounting in England. Part of the way through his program of study, however, Sultan Mohammed Shah urged all the Ismailis to go back to Kenya and work in their fathers' businesses. Firoz planned to follow this advice but his mother refused, and would not allow him to return unless he was directly ordered by Aga Khan III to do so. Firoz went to Cannes to meet the Imam, and Sultan Mohammed Shah told him that since he was young he should continue his studies in Britain, and return to Kenya upon completion. He followed this advice and in 1957 was the first Muslim Chartered Accountant in East Africa.

Our conversation turns to many different topics and the sun reaches its zenith before Firoz realizes he must get back to the office. As he drives me to Nanima's house, he tells me about my great grandfather, Count Hasan Kassim-Lakha, who was one of the most powerful, wealthy and influential Ismailis in East Africa when Firoz was growing up. He urges me to have Nanima show me photographs of the coronation of Aga Khan IV. Firoz explains that in these pictures from 1957, I will see Count Kassim-Lakha standing in front of a young Aga Khan IV as they walk single-file to the throne of Imamate (leadership) during the coronation ceremony. How can a murid (follower) be standing in front of the Imam at this important ceremony, he asks? Because from all the Ismaili Counts who had come to Geneva, Kassim-Lakha was Aga Khan IV's favorite, and my great grandfather was chosen to lead him to the throne - an unprecedented sign of respect and affection from the Imam.

As I think about this, I realize that so much of Firoz's commentary has focused on the powerful positions held by men in his family. His class status has afforded him constant personal advice from the Aga Khans, and he is very invested in the pioneer and leadership roles played by his grandfather, father and other male kin. The interest in the pioneer spirit, in particular, must affect how Firoz imagines and explains the migration from India. It is possible that he spoke about "burning the boards," a move away from India, since he viewed his own life narrative and status so inextricably tied to the arrival in Kenya. As is clear from the firman quoted by Firoz, Aga Khan III had emphasized the importance of breaking ties with the homeland, and it seems that most of the Ismaili migrants of the late nineteenth century effectively followed this advice, since in my interviews the majority seemed disconnected from India.

The migration from India to East Africa was recounted by some of my informants. These narratives shared an emphasis on the role of Aga Khan III in encouraging and facilitating the movement of people. Unlike other migration narratives which often point to the agency of the people moving or speak about forced movements, this history seems to be one where the people were told to move, and because of their allegiance and faith in Aga Khan III, they did so. Imran told me that: "In religion classes, we learned we were farmers once upon a time and Sultan Mohammed Shah brought people over here [East Africa]." The movement, since it was encouraged by Aga Khan III, was followed by many Ismailis. Because of the power of the Imam and the immense respect his followers have for him, they were happy to obey him. By recommending a move and a break with what was perceived to be Indian tradition, which Ismailis were quick to follow, the Imam was able to "de-Indianize" the Ismailis and create a notion that their past was not worth revisiting. When my informants spoke of Indian tradition, they often meant Hinduism and superstition, oppression of women and frivolous ceremonies. Also in line with Ismaili ideas about modernity, changing practices and looking forward, the move to East Africa was seen as positive and definitive.

Like Firoz, the majority of my interviewees, when asked where they were from originally, answered with their place of birth or that of their parents. Most of my informants explained the migrations of their families within East Africa, from Mombassa and Zanzibar to the mainland. I was looking at these Ismailis through the framework of diaspora, and had assumed they would explain their origins in India, when in reality they were speaking about themselves as East Africans. Part of this comes from my experience growing up in North America, where if someone asks where you are from originally, they want to know your racial background. When I would push further, asking about the places where their families came from, some older Ismailis were able to provide details of the villages or regions in Gujarat where their ancestors were from, but many people were uncertain or completely unaware of their "ancestral homes." Farida, a middle-aged and middle class woman, explains:

I was born in Mombassa. My great, great grandparents... maybe I'd say [they came from] India. I have no idea [from where in India]. We had no contact really. That's what they say, that people came from India to the [East African] coast. I have no contacts in India.

Others I interviewed echoed Farida:

My parents are from Zanzibar. Even my grandparents all from Zanzibar, all born in Zanzibar. Before that... [I am] not remembering - maybe from India? (Zubeda, female, middle age, lower class)

I was born here, my father is from Kisii and my mother from the surrounding area of Marindi. Their parents came from India, from Katiawar. I don't know much about it, about our roots. All his [my father's] brothers came, so no roots to know, to go back to. (Bashir, male, middle age, upper class)

I am from Zanzibar originally: that was where my father was born. Maybe my grandfather came from India - don't know. (Dolat, female, elderly, upper class)

Most of my informants expressed little connection to India, in terms of cultural, physical, familial or economic affinity. Indeed their familial narratives seem to show a clear disengagement from India that is not accompanied by a nostalgic longing for the place. Given the length of residency in East Africa, one might consider this lack of "home" orientation to be natural. However, in Kenya I found that each of the Asian communities had differing levels of interaction with "things Indian." The Gujarati Hindus tended to be more connected in terms of women's dress, language preservation, Hindu beliefs and Indian popular culture. Sikhs, because of their tenuous position in Punjab, and the movement for Khalistan, were profoundly interested in India. Even the Bohras, a Shi'a Muslim sect, were linked to India because their Dai (leader) has a residence there. The Ismailis, in contrast, were much less connected by kin, religious or social ties. If anything, they were concerned with Pakistan because of the number of Ismailis there, development projects based there, as well as the Aga Khan University. We might think about the Ismaili engagement with India as similar to that of Japanese Americans to Japan, especially those that are sansei (third generation) and their descendants.

Interestingly a couple of informants, when talking about where their families came from, made reference to Pakistan. At the time that their relatives left South Asia, there was no state called Pakistan:

When the Ismailis moved to East Africa, Aga Khan III began a vigorous effort to structure the community, so that they would fit into the colonial system, and be politically and economically viable. In the 1930s and 1940s these changes took the form of "de-Indianization", as Aga Khan III felt it was necessary to separate from the "Hindu past" (Esmail 1971: 431) and over several decades issued directives to outlaw "'Indian' customs" (Asani 1994: 20).12 In his memoirs, he states that to have:

Aga Khan III was quite successful in distancing the Ismailis from South Asia. Some of his concrete measures included teaching no South Asian languages at Aga Khan schools, and encouraging women to wear knee-length Western dresses instead of Indian clothes. Because Ismailis did not closely follow a scriptural text, as immigrants in a new land they were particularly dependent on the Imam's advice. This close interaction allowed for significant control and was an ideal time to institute social reforms.

The insistence that women wear Western clothes was one of Aga Khan III's most drastic and contentious reforms. He also pushed for the education of women, and for women's consent and full participation in all marriage ceremonies. All of his reforms, especially those related to gender, were tied to notions of "modernity" and "progress," which were important for the Imam who was living in Europe and had strong ties with the British colonialists in India. I argue elsewhere that Ismaili women were used as sites and gauges for displaying the "modernity" of the Ismaili community (cf. Kassam-Remtulla 1997a). Again it is important to underline that the status of Ismaili women was significantly improved by the social reforms of Aga Khan III, which can be seen in the number of professional and educated Ismaili women in East Africa and elsewhere. However, I would assert that Aga Khan III's reasons for instituting such changes were not simply his desire to improve the status of women, but to further his own and his community's political and economic standing by showing adherence to European values.

As a member of the Ismaili community myself, before going to Kenya I had a sense that there was a lack of connection to India. As a child I remember my parents talking about East Africa, and they always spoke about the Ismailis as distinct - more Westernized and more egalitarian than the Hindus. Even growing up in Canada I felt a distance between myself and peers whose parents were from India. Not only had I not been to India like them, but we had no relatives there, and many of the things they spoke about including language, Hinduism, geography, even their food, were foreign to me. It seemed we, as Ismailis, did not have the same connection to South Asia as others, and because of this, I was always quick to explain that my family was from East Africa and not India. By distancing myself from India, I hoped to prevent having my Indian cultural authenticity scrutinized. I felt, however, that while the link to South Asia was not apparent to me growing up in Canada, it might be there on a symbolic or "deeper" level, especially in East Africa, since they were only one migration away from India, rather than the two migrations that my nuclear family had experienced. The dominant dichotomy in discourses of migration assumes a connection to a homeland, and if this is lacking, presumes that the community must be assimilated into the "new" society. What my research showed was that Ismaili identities seemed to exist in the interstices and borders of these polarities, and sometimes resided in places other than India and East Africa - some of which were imagined places or spaces, and did not rely upon historical accuracy or an image of the homeland to be meaningful.

From being in Kenya, it was apparent to me that the Ismailis were unique within the larger Asian community. My Hindu friends were able to spot Ismailis at a gathering where there were many Asians, simply based on womens' dress styles. In public Ismaili women wore only Western clothes including pants, whereas all other Asian women wore saris (long, wrapped piece of fabric) or salvar kameezes (long tunic with loose pants). I was struck that most Ismaili teenagers and young adults spoke English almost exclusively and had minimal proficiency in Kutchi and Gujarati, whereas most Hindus of my age spoke their mother tongue fluently. I was told that at many non-Ismaili Asian schools, learning an Asian language was a requirement. The Westernization effort of Aga Khan III was probably the most important reason that there was a lack of connection to India. However, there are other related explanations which include ideas about the role of religious, racial and linguistic minorities, located both at "home" and in diaspora, in the nation. Further evidence of the lack of Ismaili engagement with South Asia was clear from my analysis of the discourse surrounding recent Ismaili immigrants.

"Rockets" and the Othering of Recent Ismaili Immigrants

I was with some Asian friends at a nightclub on the coast of Kenya, just north of the port town of Mombassa. While we were waiting for some others, I heard two men from our group point to someone in the bar, and loudly whisper "rockets" before chuckling to themselves. I asked them who they were talking about, and they directed my gaze to a table of older Asian men who seemed to be surveying the women in the club. They explained that they called these men, obviously recent immigrants from India or Pakistan, "rockets." When I asked why, the whole group erupted into laughter. Apparently, men directly from South Asia had a reputation for being lascivious, and so these young people I was with had dubbed them "rockets" because they were always ready to "shoot": to seduce women, to have sex. After this night, my friends brought up the term at every possible opportunity, writing the words in the sand on the beach, and constantly pointing out "rockets" as we passed them. I was intrigued by their ability to visually identify recent immigrants, which I was generally unable to do. I also found this conversation about the "rockets" provided me with interesting clues about how Asians in Kenya viewed South Asia, from their vantage point as third and fourth generation Kenyans. It also highlights the ways in which recent immigrants are viewed as threats to Asian Kenyan women - how as working class men they are seen as hyper masculine and sexualized. On a listserve that I subscribe to, I got a message written by someone identified only as "concerned Asian Kenyan", that reflected on the recent immigrants.13 The woman who e-mailed the list had visited Kenya after a three year absence and said:

Like many Asian Kenyans, this woman was outraged by the recent immigrants and their exploitation of young women. Part of this outrage, I would argue, is due to the way that these "rockets" negatively reflect on middle class Asians who have been resident in East Africa for several generations.

My Ismaili informants were largely the descendants of immigrants that had come to East Africa many decades ago, almost all of whom were third or subsequent generation. While the majority of Ismailis came to East Africa before World War I, there has been a constant stream of immigrants (except when the British outlawed Indian immigration between the World Wars) from South Asia. Although no exact figures are available, it seems that over the last decade many new immigrants, largely from the working class, have come from India and Pakistan in search of better economic opportunities. I noticed during my interviews that the East African Ismailis made a strong distinction between themselves and these more recent immigrants, even those who were also Ismaili. This was important for the East African Ismailis since they were generally middle class - in contrast to the working class recent immigrants. One of my informants explained that the East Africans were more sophisticated because of the influence of British colonialism. This class-based sentiment echoes that of many immigrant groups worldwide who denounce newer immigrants from their place of origin, for example both Mexican and Asian immigrants in the United States. Like "rockets" these newer immigrants are labeled differently - as Mexicanos instead of Chicanos and FOBs (Fresh of the Boat) instead of Asian Americans.

I was interested in what my informants had to say about these recent immigrants. It provided me with a more concrete way to have them talk about South Asia, instead of asking an abstract question such as, "What do you think of India or Pakistan?" Much of what they said provided insight into their thoughts on South Asia. However, since the majority of these recent immigrants are working class, the views my informants held fundamentally had to do with both differences of nationality and class. The Ismaili community in Nairobi was very invested in upholding its class status. Aga Khan IV was admired for his wealth and sophistication, and most Ismailis aimed to be like him in their spiritual and material lives. This role model added to the pressure to succeed personally, but also within the Asian community and in comparison to Black Africans. It almost seemed that the minority of Ismailis who had stayed in East Africa had to be successful to justify continuing to live in Nairobi. Furthermore, many recent immigrants had been caught for illegal activities including drug dealing, working illegally, permit fraud and coerced child entertainment. For these reasons, middle class Ismailis and other Asians wanted to keep maximum distance from the "rockets." That there was a class distinction between East African Ismailis and the recent immigrants was apparent:

Most of my informants concentrated their commentaries of recent immigrants on the working class because, as Bashir points out, middle class immigrants were able to assimilate more easily.

Even my informants from lower socioeconomic backgrounds separated themselves from the recent immigrants. These included Sheela and Navroz, a mother and son who were trying to hold on to their middle class status. Sheela's husband had died from a heart attack a few years earlier, and she was trying to support her two sons with help from her sister who was living with them in their modest home. Navroz was much older than his eight-year old brother Jamil, and was studying engineering in the United States. We had met in the United States, through a mutual acquaintance, and when I told him I was coming to do fieldwork in Kenya, he had been very enthusiastic. I had called him soon after I arrived in Nairobi, and met up with him at jamatkhana. He was very helpful in introducing me to people I might interview. He also volunteered to speak to me himself, and since making connections to the community was difficult at the beginning, Navroz and his mother were among my first interviewees.

Their family went to jamatkhana every morning and evening, and had invited me for a late dinner after they came back from services. Since I could not drive a stick-shift, and would not have dared to on the pot-holed roads of Nairobi, Riyaz Uncle was always driving me to my evening interviews. When I had day-time interviews, I would go to work early in the morning with my uncle, and then his business driver would drop me off and pick me up from the homes of my informants. Since this interview was late in the evening, Riyaz Uncle dropped me off and came inside for a few minutes to figure out the plan for the night. Navroz offered to drop me home after the interviews, but Riyaz Uncle said he would come and pick me up when I was done at 10 pm.

Sheela said we would eat dinner first, and then I could interview her since she was tired, and Navroz and I could talk after that. The table had been set, and was much more fancy than I had expected. When Navroz had told me over the phone that I must come for dinner, I had expected to join his family for their regular meal. As Sheela and her sister disappeared into the kitchen, I realized they had made a special meal for me, and that was when I began to panic. I had not told them I was a vegetarian, since I did not want them to cook something special for me, and I did not want to presume or imply that they should cook something for me. I realized that I had made things worse by not saying anything. I decided to wait for the food to arrive before saying something, in case it was vegetarian. Before the entree, they served one of my favorite dishes, sev, sweet vermicelli cooked in sugar and butter, and garnished with almonds, pistachios, cardamom and saffron.

Soon after, the ayah came out with the kuku paka (chicken in coconut sauce), a popular Ismaili dish, and I knew I would soon be in hot water. In the few moments that it took her to walk from the kitchen to the table, several thoughts ran through my mind. I thought of an anthropologist in a far away country. I pictured her participating in a sacred rite, and eating the insects or monkey brain, despite her disgust. This was part of being in the field, a rite of passage as it were. I did not want to offend Sheela and Navroz, so I considered closing my eyes, and having some chicken. On the other hand, it had been six years since I touched meat - maybe I would vomit if I ate a large portion after so long. I heard that once you become a vegetarian, your body stops producing enzymes to break down certain proteins.

Sheela placed the dish in the center of the table, and I looked at her smiling face. "Oh no," I cried, "I forgot to tell you that I don't eat meat." I could see Sheela's tired eyes. She worked all day and was a single parent. While she did have an ayah , she had the worries of her two sons - one was young, and the other was studying in the United States. With no partner, all these factors must have been difficult to manage emotionally and financially. She did not need me sitting here, at her dinner table, telling her that the meal she made for me was inedible. I immediately regretted what I said, and wished I had just picked at the chicken, like a real anthropologist. By moving the chicken around on my plate, I might have convinced her that I was eating it or that I was feeling a little sick. Sheela and her sister apologized, and chided Navroz for not asking about my dietary preferences. This made me feel even worse, since I knew that I was the one at fault. I protested that there was enough other food, which there was, but Sheela and her sister insisted on getting something else.

While she was in the kitchen, I chatted with Navroz and Jamil, and got a better look at the house. It was simple and clean. On the main wall, above the television set, was a photograph of Aga Khan IV and Begum, when they were still happily married. There was a second story and I imagined there to be three small bedrooms - one for Sheela, one for her sister, and the third for the sons. I was also looking for a photograph of Navroz's father, but could not see one. When they came back with pasta and soup, which ended up being too much food, we had a chance to talk informally. I felt horrible for the rest of the meal, still not sure I had done the right thing by saying I was a vegetarian.

They were asking me about my impressions of Kenya, when the younger son Jamil loudly asked why I was not eating the chicken. His mother explained to him that I was a vegetarian. He was sitting next to me, so he turned and asked, "But Navroz told me you are an Ismaili." At first I did not understand why he was saying this, and I thought he was commenting on my lack of religious devotion. How did he know, I wondered. Maybe Navroz had told them about me before I came? Jamil kept asking his mother, and in between apologizing to me, she explained that I was still an Ismaili - and that not all Ismailis ate meat. "But I thought only Hindus are vegetarians," Jamil said. Then it began to fall into place. In Jamil's mind, all Muslims were meat eaters and all Hindus were vegetarians, and based on my dietary habits, he had concluded that I must be a Hindu. This was eventually cleared up, or Jamil was persuaded to stop asking difficult questions. I was happy when dinner ended - I wanted to forget about my vegetarian faux pas.

I interviewed Sheela first. She was wearing a modest business outfit - not exactly a suit - more like a dress with a blazer. She had not even had a chance to change her clothes to go to jamatkhana, and had probably rushed back to make kuku paka for a vegetarian dinner guest. From our conversation over dinner, I could tell that their family had been comfortably middle class before Sheela's husband died. After that, money must have been in short supply since Navroz's education was extraordinarily expensive, especially by Kenyan standards. I knew he was on a big scholarship, but even the little expenses which Sheela incurred including phone bills and pocket money must have been relatively costly. Given this shift - moving from middle to lower middle class - I wondered what Sheela would say about newer immigrants who were also struggling to survive.

Sheela told me about Diamond Plaza, often called Little Bombay because it is the place in Nairobi which most resembles Bombay. She explained that you can buy small snacks like you see in Indian movies: puris (fried bread) and chapatis (wheat bread). They sell the food found in Bombay. Saris and jewelry, you can buy it over there. The property is owned by Ismailis, and they have little shops, shacks, owned mostly by Hindus. Some are newer immigrants. The new Indians are different from the ones here. What Sheela said about Diamond Plaza was corroborated by her son in a separate interview. He explained that it was all lower class Indian businesses, run down dukans (small stores), men chewing paan (small, leaf-wrapped snack that often contains the stimulant sopari), speaking in Gujarati and waiting for calls from India. He explained that if you imagine India, this is it. This is the only place in Kenya where you will find 99% Indians. The mall is in Westlands, a predominantly Asian area. The MP (member of parliament) before the last one was an Ismaili. He was elected because of the concentration of Asians. Many are poor and are here illegally - that is why there is tension between Africans and Asians - the illegal immigrants from India. Indian restaurants have young Indian girls as prostitutes. There has been a lot of criticism of the Asian community. People have been saying that these men don't represent us - there is a separation.

Navroz explains some of the reasoning behind the distinction that has been made between settled and recent immigrants. When the Asians in Kenya are in such a precarious political situation to begin with, they cannot afford to have these recent immigrants denigrating their name. East African Asians must be hoping that as long as they make as little noise as possible, and remain law-abiding citizens, they will not provide more fuel for anti-Asian fire. Navroz further points out the class differences between the two groups. He explains that the recent immigrants are different from the well established Asians. Older Asians are in a higher income bracket. Recent immigrants are men who can't find jobs in India. They are classified differently, very low. They are struggling to make ends meet, working illegally, often without or with fake permits. They'll go to other Asian businesspeople and ask for a job and say they have no money. They seek adventure in a new land of opportunities - hopes are for quick money.

The class position and supposed criminal associations of these newer immigrants pose a threat, whether real or imagined, to middle class East African Asians. Even people like Sheela and Navroz, who are also struggling to make ends meet, distance themselves from the direct South Asians because of their different social and educational statuses. Like these recent immigrants, Sheela's ancestors came to East Africa searching for opportunities. The early immigrants of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, many of whom came with few resources and skills, are now considered to be pioneers and heroes. Ironically, these newer immigrants may one day be looked upon with the same pride, but for now they are relegated to the lowest status within the Asian and Kenyan hierarchies. Like Sheela and Navroz, the majority of the Ismailis I spoke to felt that the recent immigrants were backward, unhygienic and less sophisticated than the established Ismailis. Even those people I interviewed who were themselves working class, felt they were different - somehow more modern and sophisticated than these recent immigrants. Again, the discourse of "modernity" which usually means Westernization, plays a central role in the hierarchy and dynamics of the Ismaili community.

Due to the fact that there was such a clear class difference, the sole meeting place for these groups was the jamatkhana, where everyone's wealth was on display. There was a class difference among the three jamatkhanas in Nairobi, largely because of their spatial location in the city. However, this was still a site of different class interaction, and much of what my informants said about the recent immigrants was related to how they were perceived in the jamatkhanas. I asked them how they could physically identify a recent immigrant. They responded:

It is clear from these quotes that not only are these immigrants considered backward, but there is also the idea that the Kenyan Ismailis are "sophisticated," "modern," "American" and "Western." In addition to dress, several informants referred to the speech of recent immigrants as "pure," and one suggested that their "tongue is a bit HEAVY because of their language." These ideas about modernity are interesting and point to the ways in which these immigrants are perceived as representatives of a culture or nation which is not as modernized as Kenya.

While the majority of the Ismailis I interviewed had negative things to say about these immigrants, a few were sympathetic, positive and understood the marginalization these immigrants face:

In Kenya, assistance is provided for these immigrants, and other poor Ismailis, through several social service committees. However, many of my informants, as Imran points out, were unaware of the problems these immigrants faced, and the majority made very little effort to interact socially with them. Since my research began with studying notions of homeland and ethnic identity among East African Ismailis, I spoke primarily to third and fourth generation Asians. My time in Kenya was limited, and I was not able to speak to many recent immigrants. I believe that had I spoken to these Pakistanis and Indians, they would have expressed gratitude for the help they have received in East Africa, but would have also felt rejected, alienated and displeased with the elitist and paternalistic attitudes of the resident Ismailis.

Some of my interviewees, in speaking about the recent immigrants, provided further insight into why they felt Kenya to be more advanced than India. Many of them talked about British colonialism and its legacy. Sheela explained that the new Indians are different from the ones in Kenya. We are a bit more Western from our schooling, because we were colonized. Even though India was also colonized, it was different because there they didn't meet Whites as much because of the vastness of the country. In Kenya we had more interaction with Whites; for example, they were our teachers. Here Sheela's use of the word Western implies that it is a positive attribute.

In thinking about attitudes towards the recent immigrants, one line from my field notes sticks out in my mind. I was interviewing Ismail, a lower class man in his mid-70s. He explained that, "we learned a lot under the British." This comment epitomizes a colonial mentality, where the subjects of European rule internalize the values of their rulers. Ismail believes that the British taught Kenyans how to be civilized. He has bought into the discourse of liberation which the British used to justify colonialism. Ismail was telling me about the new Indian and Pakistani immigrants, and said that, "Sometimes I don't agree with their manners. When they want to get into a bus, they just push in, just like the Africans. When we were under the British, we came under discipline, the queue system, no cheating, and form filling." In this explanation, he maps out a racial hierarchy by portraying the British as civilized, and the recent immigrants and Africans as uncivilized. He locates himself between these extremes, and projects the British system as desirable. Interestingly, Ismail compares Africans to recent South Asian immigrants, which highlights the ways in which the articulation of otherness to recent immigrants continues a legacy of Asians separating themselves from Blacks. The Asian experience in East Africa has been profoundly shaped by occupying and maintaining a middle position. Since achieving European status is unlikely, Asians are careful not to fall into the African category. The criminal acts of recent immigrants threaten this position, which is why middle class Asians have been so outraged. It is interesting to see how issues of class are cross-cut and influenced by race and nationality.

These attitudes may have been influenced by the years that Ismail worked as a clerk for the government. While he and his wife Zubeda are now on community welfare, he is a very well-read and knowledgeable person - he quotes Karl Marx, reads the National Geographic, and is aware of current affairs. They live in a small and clean apartment, in a complex built by the Ismaili community for people with little money. The building was only four years old, and their apartment looked much nicer than what they could have afforded without support from the community. Their apartment complex was part of a project that began in 1955, in which building societies were formed in all East African Ismaili centers. Their goal was to achieve Aga Khan III's wish that every Ismaili family own a house or condominium by 1960. The Imam saw this as "an index of his community's faith and commitment to the future of East Africa" (Amiji 1982: 180). Unlike other lower class people I spoke to, Ismail and Zubeda are very content with their housing, and are very grateful to the Ismaili community for their apartment. It had been difficult to locate a poor Ismaili family for me to interview, and the local Social Welfare Board had suggested this couple. When I had come around 8 pm, their daughter was just leaving to go to a youth meeting. She looked about twenty, and when the white-haired Ismail had referred to her as his daughter I became confused. I learned that his wife Zubeda was twenty years his junior, and had been the daughter of a prominent Count. I wondered how their marriage had come about given the large age difference, and the likely class difference as well. I never did figure it out.

Zubeda's English was much poorer than her husband's. I posed many of the questions in English, and repeated them in a mixture of Kutchi and Gujarati. She would answer in mixed languages, and this made the interview challenging. We sat in the living room, she in a worn armchair, wearing a large black frock and tinted eyeglasses. Zubeda had frizzy hair and a kind face, and was intent on answering my questions despite our language difficulty. Given the circumstances, the interview was short. I then spoke to Ismail, and we talked for several hours. He had much to tell about his personal life, and expressed his opinion on many important issues. He spoke about the apartment complex they lived in. There were 18 units, and he explained that even these people who were relatively poor in the Ismaili community, were still able to save a little money to buy a car since the flats were available on such modest terms. His family was one of five or six that did not own a car, and it had a major impact on his life. Unlike the majority of my informants, he had not gone to jamatkhana for weeks because they did not have a car and it was too dangerous to walk around at night, especially with growing anti-Asian sentiment as the elections grew close. While each jamatkhana had a bus that would twice daily pick up elderly and disabled Ismailis to take them to pray, Ismail felt that this was too time consuming, so he decided not to attend jamatkhana at all.

At another point in our conversation, Ismail spoke again about the British. He said that in Kenya, Asians had lived and intermingled with the British, and had received a Western education from them. In reality, direct contact between Asians and the British was minimal. While Ismail considered the colonial encounter to be as neutral as "intermingling," he overlooked the cultural and economic domination played out between Africans, Asians and Europeans. It seemed that like many people in the post-colonial world, Ismail and my other informants have, in complex and contradictory ways, internalized the views and values of the colonizers. This comes not only from being under British rule for decades, but is also due to the aggressive Westernization reforms enacted by Aga Khan III to encourage his followers to assimilate into African (British colonial) society (Asani 1994: 18; Kanji 1990: 21; Salvadori 1989: 232, Walji 1980: 99). This was largely a successful reform, and has shaped Ismaili conceptions of modernity, and my informants' ideas that Kenya is more advanced than India because of Britain's more thorough penetrance of Kenya during colonialism. It is clear how negative notions of South Asia are projected onto these working class immigrants, and they are dismissed as backward, dirty and comparable to Blacks.

Other Identities and Identifications Among the Ismailis

The Ismailis do not fit the traditional definition of a diaspora in that they have little connection to what can be considered their homeland. The Westernization reforms instituted by Aga Khan III in the latter half of this century were important in severing ties to India, as was his encouragement of his followers to invest economically and emotionally in East Africa. The influence of Aga Khan III, and the fact that many families migrated as large units, leaving few relatives back in India, made the move to East Africa a fairly decisive one. By analyzing the negative discourse that surrounds recent South Asian immigrants, it is clear that the Ismailis consider their homeland less advanced than Kenya, and have little desire to return or reconnect.

Given the lack of identification with India, it is important to look at the types of identities that are claimed by Ismailis in Kenya. Instead of asking my informants about their identities in a direct manner, I asked them what their preferences were for the racial and religious backgrounds of spouses for themselves, their children or grandchildren. I consider this an effective way to understand how Ismailis map out and define their "community." While it is easy for someone to rhetorically claim certain national or racial identifications, questions about marriage are often the best way to gain an understanding of how people define community - the people who they share culture with and who they feel affiliated with. While this assumes cultural endogamy, the emphasis among Ismailis has been on in-marriage - and marrying outside is seen as a deviation from the ideal. The topic of marriage allowed me to understand the multiple ways in which people self-identified, and also revealed where people drew racial and religious boundaries.

All of the adults that I interviewed said they would prefer that their children marry another Ismaili. Their insistence about this varied greatly, and each of them also recognized that they could not make the decision for their children, and would have to respect the choices their children made. This rhetoric was somewhat surprising to me given the Western and Kenyan public discourse about South Asian parents as highly invested in arranging marriages for their children. I contrasted these attitudes with those held by a Gujarati Hindu family I knew in Nairobi. They had a daughter that was twenty one years old, and was deemed ready for marriage. Her brother explained that his parents might agree to her marrying someone of a different caste, but they would be adamant that the prospective groom be a Gujarati Hindu. He claimed that these attitudes were representative for his community. In contrast, the Ismailis seemed to have accepted that they could not make the marriage decision for their children, which may be related to the Westernization reforms implemented by Aga Khan III and the continued firmans of Aga Khan IV which emphasize tolerance, cultural integration and individuality. In response to the possibility of his children marrying non-Ismailis, Aziz, a middle class, middle aged man explained:

The hierarchy that Aziz maps out above was repeated to me by several people, and is generally accepted by most Ismailis, with a preference for Asian over European over Black. It is interesting to note Aziz's comments as part of the discourse of racial and cultural difference, and the role of religion in ordering these differences. My parents, when I previously asked them a similar question, had an order of preference which closely resembled Aziz's.

Several adults stressed the necessity of conversion for the non-Ismaili spouse. The most adamant proponent of this position was Gulshan, a working class woman with four sons. Gulshan lived in the Mboga Flats, another all-Ismaili housing complex. I had come to work with Riyaz Uncle one morning, and his driver had taken me to Mboga Flats, where we had come the previous day to set up interviews. I fished in my pocket for the small slip of paper with the apartment numbers to make sure I had the correct place, since all the units looked the same. I walked up the driveway and saw a man looking underneath a car. Gulshan's son remembered me from the day before, and took me inside. He looked at me in a way which made me conscious of my class status. Since it was cold in Nairobi, I was dressed in a GAP sweater and Banana Republic jeans, while he wore navy overalls with heavy grease stains on the fronts and sides of his legs. He called for his mom, and Gulshan peeked out from the kitchen, telling me she would be with me shortly. As I looked around her living room, I counted six photographs of Hazar Imam, most of them old and faded.

Gulshan and I were having a good conversation, although she had been interrupted several times by one of her children. While she was gone, I eyed the gray cat sprawled out on her red faux velvet sofa. I know that I had taken up a lot of Gulshan's time, and when she came back, she sat on the arm rest of the sofa, in an ambivalent position between staying and going - ready to respond to anyone who might call her. She smiled, waiting for my next question. I turned to marriage, and her views on who she would like her sons to marry. I asked her how she would react if her son wanted to marry a non-Ismaili:

I wonder if she would have been as comfortable with a daughter marrying outside the community. I suspect not since one "loses" a married daughter to her husband's family. Thus, it is less likely that her husband would convert. Also, the race of the prospective in-law would be very important, and a Black husband or wife would be very contentious. Since none of her sons had been married, I wondered why Gulshan had such strong views on the issue. Later in our conversation Gulshan spoke about how her mother had converted to Ismailism, but had been disappointed, and gone back to Sunni Islam and wearing a veil. This, and an earlier comment about her mother living in a village in rural Kenya, gave me a different understanding of Gulshan's position within the Ismaili community.

From physical appearance, I could tell that she had African as well as Indian ancestry. I did not bring up the issue of race, and at the beginning of the interview, had assumed that she might have been adopted by an Ismaili family or that both her parents were practicing Ismailis. I figured out that her mother was a Black Kenyan and her father had been born and raised in India before coming to East Africa. I believe her experience as the child of such a couple influenced her views on interfaith and interracial marriage, in that she had seen the mixed marriage of her parents fail, so was especially wary of such unions. Unlike my other informants, she did not mention or allude to a racial hirchy but focused on religious compatibility as the foundation of a strong family. In contrast, other informants felt that conversion would not be the same as marrying someone raised as an Ismaili.

A few people mentioned a preference for Asian Muslim over Hindu, although Sh

eela presents a different viewpoint when speaking about her elder son Navroz:

Like Sheela, many others spoke of Muslims as distinct from Ismailis. However, her son's different viewpoint does indicate a generational and historical shift reflecting the Islamization reforms of the Imam, especially changes in the content of religious education classes. As Sheela mentions, her son has very different ideas about who one should marry. In my interview with Navroz, he explained:

Navroz and Sheela have a difference of opinion, but they speak honestly about their ideas of marriage, and both know where the other stands. On the question of who is acceptable to marry, the majority of youth had ideas similar to their parents. Of the five other youth I spoke to, three said they would only consider marrying Ismailis, one said he would marry anyone and one said he would only marry an Asian.

It seems that these questions about marriage painted fairly clear boundaries of community. Many people considered Ismailism separate from other Muslim and Asian communities and insisted that people should marry only other Ismailis. The assertion of an Ismaili identity may be related to the fact that there are many Black Muslims in East Africa, and that maintaining an Ismaili identity protects a fairly racially homogenous community - thus insisting on an Ismaili spouse may not only be about unique religious practice, but also about race. While this is partially a question of religion, the issue of race is also salient since most of the Ismailis in East Africa are of Asian origin. In Kenya, definitions of race are based on skin color and it is usually very easy to define Africans (Black) and Europeans (White). These racial groups have historically occupied distinct economic positions in Kenya, and while there are elite Africans, these economic differences continue. Thus anti-Black sentiment is both about physical appearance as well as what that appearance signifies in terms of class. In turn, the increasing number of marriages to Europeans is a way for Ismailis to reach for White privilege in East Africa, and is also tied to notions of class. Asians are fairly distinct, although as Navroz explained, "Chinese and Mexican would fall under Asian here - it is another word for brown skin. The term is more about skin color than where you are from [North America]." He went on to say that the people most likely to face mis-identification are Arabs, who are usually called Asians. Arabs in Kenya lack a clear identity largely because as Navroz explains, "some Arabs are light and can pass for European and some are dark and would be identified as African - they span all classifications." They are also concentrated on the coast and a group of them have intermarried with Blacks, and people from this mixed community are known as Swahilis, considered a distinct ethnic group.

On the question of race, Imran insisted that he would marry an Ismaili and that it "wouldn't matter if East African or not, Afghani or not." While this was the only mention of non-Indian Ismailis from my informants, it seems that a Black Ismaili would be much less desirable than a European convert, as marriage decisions in East Africa are significantly mediated by considerations of race. Most of the time, however, this issue is avoided since most Ismailis in Nairobi are of South Asian descent. In the racial economy, the category of "African" is conflated with a Black racial identity. For Ismailis, who have been living in East Africa for several generations and have minimal nationalistic affiliations with India and Pakistan, this narrow definition of African has affected how they relate to the Kenyan nation-state. The majority of my informants held Kenyan passports, and I know some (and suspected others) of having multiple passports especially for the United Kingdom and Canada. Some spoke about their loyalty or feeling of comfort in Kenya:

These feelings for Kenya as "home" are important, but at this level of intensity, were in the minority among my informants. It was my impression that most of the Ismailis were invested in Kenya for the good business opportunities, as Nadira points out.

Several of my middle class informants spoke about moving to Canada to provide a better education and life for their children. My lower class interviewees said that a move away from Kenya would be impossible given their financial situation. Like the lower classes, it seemed several upper class informants did not want to move away from Kenya because they enjoyed many benefits. Probably my most wealthy informant, Shirin who was in her early 60s, had an interesting perspective. When I asked her if she had ever considered moving during the exodus of Ismailis, she said that, "in fact, we were just talking about it yesterday - how we are glad we didn't move with the rest of the Ismailis." She continued:

For Shirin, living in Kenya allows her to lead a relaxing and religious life, something she believes would be more difficult if she moved to Canada. She explained later that if something drastic were to happen, she and her husband would be able to move to Canada or Portugal where they have investments, or to the United Kingdom or the United States. Her class status allows her safety and stability, and so it is easier for her to live in Kenya despite anti-Asian sentiment, since she knows she can easily flee the country for safety. Of course this is not an ideal situation, but for Shirin the quality of life outweighs the racial tensions.

This class position also allows her to claim Kenya as her home. She explains that "I feel very much at home" and recounts an incident that occurred when her children were younger. One day she was at the beach with her daughter and someone speaking in Swahili said to her daughter, "you are muhindi." Her daughter said, "no I'm not, I'm African." Shirin laughs and seems to get satisfaction from recounting this story. She explains that the racial economy in Tanzania, where her family is from, is different from Kenya:

While I don't doubt that Shirin and her family have some close African friends, these people are likely to be of a certain class background. Her attitude on race was complicated when one of her servants brought us drinks mid-way through the interview. Like every servant I saw in Kenya, this woman was Black. She was barefooted, and her hair was tied back in a scarf. She placed the silver tray, the kind you see in ads for British tea, on the carved wood coffee table. The servant asked Shirin what needed to be done in the house, and Shirin spoke to her rapidly and condescendingly in Swahili. While I did not understand what they were saying, it was easy to see the power inequality which defined their relationship. While this interaction can be explained as a class issue, in Kenya as elsewhere, race and class are inextricably linked.

While Asian claims on Kenya may be strategic identities, as an outward sign of loyalty for business or personal reasons, it is also important to examine how difficult it is for Asians to claim an African identity and not be seen as foreigners, even though they have been in East Africa for three or four generations. The Africanization policies after colonialism, the expulsion of Asian Ugandans in the early 1970s, and continued discrimination have made Asians in Kenya wary, and prevented them from becoming too attached to Kenya as they are acutely aware that they are not thought to "belong." Again the politics of race come to the fore, and in Kenya it is clear how citizenship and nationalism are inflected with considerations of race.

Several informants spoke of Kenyan citizenship as crucial to successful business conduct in that it was necessary to have a Kenyan passport to get licenses and permits. As Firoz explains, "When you are a Kenya citizen doors open up. You cannot get a license unless 51% of the licenses are held by citizens." Others thought of it as crucial from a practical standpoint. Sheela explains that loyalty is about "align[ing] yourself," and asks, "where else would we found our homes if we'd been chucked out of here?" The tenuous position of Asians in Kenya was particularly apparent when I was there. It was an election year, and there was significant tension between dictator President Daniel arap Moi who was running for a fifth term, and several opposition parties. Some of the debates between these groups were taking place on the "Asian issue," with opponents claiming that Asians were responsible for the poverty of Kenya. The Asians, as they have done for years, tried to make themselves invisible so as not to increase tensions. The Ismailis canceled a Sunday all-Nairobi festival which celebrates of the ascension of Aga Khan IV to the Imamate. In December of that year, just before the national elections, Ismailis canceled their observance of Aga Khan IV's birthday during evening prayers, and held it during morning prayers at 4 am instead. This unprecedented change was made for security reasons, as traveling to jamatkhana in the evening is dangerous in Nairobi. The people I spoke to were used to such tensions and anti-Asian sentiment. They remembered the expulsion of Asians from Uganda, Africanization policies in East Africa during the 1970s, and the attempted coup d' tat in Nairobi in 1982 in which Asian homes were looted by the army.

These previous events were largely responsible for the Ismaili exodus from East Africa, in which the majority of the community left for North America, Europe and Australia. During my time in Kenya many people spoke about their desires and plans to settle abroad. Several families had children studying abroad, and one family had a house in Vancouver and had previously started to move when they were unexpectedly delayed for several years. Gulshan's son Rizwan is a mechanic, and he also had aspirations to move:

I asked all my informants if they would consider moving to South Asia and/or the West. My middle and upper class informants answered based on how they thought they would fit in culturally and socially to these new environments. Those who were interested in moving looked towards the West rather than to South Asia. Khatun, one of the first working class people I spoke to, said she could not answer questions about moving, since she did not have the financial means to do so. I persisted, and still she was vague about her desire to move. I realized that this was not an excuse from her, but that her class status shaped her outlook in a way that did not allow her to consider the luxury of moving. Other informants spoke of their holidays, businesses and properties abroad, and educating their children in Canada, USA or England. Khatun, who had never been to North America or Europe, could not do the same since these possibilities had never been available to her. She spoke with bitterness about the privilege that middle and upper class Ismailis enjoyed:

Khatun was also resentful that her fellow Ismailis did not help her. Her ex-husband was a Hindu, so she would often approach Hindu communities for financial assistance to send her children to the Aga Khan School. She explained that they supported her, but asked why the wealthy Ismailis did not help her with education costs. She attributed it to selfishness on the part of the privileged, but refused to speak out because she did not want the community name to go down - "because of Hazar Imam I don't say anything." I observed strong inter-class tensions within the Nairobi Ismaili community, in that lower class people felt they deserved more respect for their seva (service to the community), and more financial assistance. The middle and upper class Ismailis felt that lower class people were lazy and asking for too many hand-outs. These tensions were rarely publicly revealed, and the community leaders were insistent on a unified public image. This was facilitated by invoking Aga Khan IV's wishes for a harmonious community, so that disgruntled lower class people like Khatun did not speak out and to tarnish the name of the Imam or his community.

The day I interviewed Khatun she was in a rush to catch a plane to Karachi, where she was going for a short holiday. She had a decent job and was able to afford the relatively inexpensive ticket to Pakistan. While she was able to go on a small trip, Khatun's position as a working class woman did not allow her to think about relocation, especially to the West, which is generally accessible to people with capital, education or marketable skills. To be a transnational subject sometimes requires a financial or educational position which someone like Khatun could not obtain. Had she been a widower, even with dependent children, a migration would have been much more possible and acceptable. This highlights the importance of political economics in shaping ethnic, gender, religious and national identities or identifications. Of course those with wealth are exposed to experiences or ideas which lower class people do not have access to, and thus their consciousness and identities are shaped in unique ways. However, gender plays a central role in determining who can migrate and who cannot. As a lower class woman, it was especially difficult for Khatun to consider a migration since her gender would affect how she would be perceived in the new country, her ability to get a visa, and her capacity to support her family once she was there.

This last section effectively highlights the identities of my informants in Nairobi, which while they are multiple and shifting, are largely focused on being an Ismaili - more powerfully than being Asian, Muslim or Kenyan. While the Ismaili identity clearly incorporates aspects of these identities, the boundaries of the Ismaili community seem to have been drawn fairly explicitly. While conversion to Ismailism is a possibility mentioned by many who may be confronted with children interested in marrying non-Ismailis, other methods of crossing these boundaries are limited. This is largely tied to the tradition of privacy enjoyed by Ismailis, especially in their restricted religious gatherings at jamatkhanas, which prevent outsiders from learning about and becoming close to Ismailis in more casual ways.

While East African Ismailis are unconnected to India for historical reasons based largely on the advice of Aga Khan III, which used notions of progress and modernity to enact reforms, they are definitely focused on their identities as East African Ismailis. These identities are quite specific to Ismailis and do not usually include other Asian or Muslim groups. There are also notions of class and modernity which became apparent when my informants spoke about recent South Asian immigrants. Even the national identity is tenuous, not only because Ismailis do not feel loyal to the Kenyan nation-state, but because they have and continue to be discriminated against and made to feel like outsiders by Black Africans. Both the lack of loyalty and outsider status continue to reinforce each other, and create a situation where Ismailis are linked to the Kenyan nation-state primarily in economic terms. As a minority within Islam, Ismailis have always struggled with their affiliation to the larger Muslim community, and this is something I discuss in greater detail in the next chapter when I speak about the Islamization reforms of the last few decades.