So we’re just chilling with some friends from bara right here in my village, Ngao, Tana River County. Proper hangout vibes. Sun is shining, stories are flowing — then nature decides to join the conversation.
Someone spots a palm tree in the compound.
“What tree is that?” one asks.
My friend answers like a tour guide on salary:
“It’s a palm tree. Not the coconut one — mnazi. This one is called mkoma. It produces palm wine. Very common around here.”
Simple.
Clear.
Educational.
Or so we thought.
“Mnazi?” one asks again.
“No… not mnazi. Mkoma.”
“So you just go up the tree, pick a fruit, and it already has wine inside?”
At this point, I’m trying to respect the curiosity. I jump in:
“No, no. There are people who actually tap the wine.”
“How?” another asks.
And that’s where I hesitate. Because honestly? I know palm wine exists. I know it has humbled very strong men. But the engineering behind tapping it? Hapo sina copy.
Before I can recover, one of them suddenly says, very proudly:
“Have you never heard the saying mgema akisifiwa tembo hulitia maji?”
“Yes yes,” another agrees quickly, nodding hard — like nodding adds understanding.
Then comes the killer question.
“By the way… what is tembo?”
Silence.
Another one answers confidently:
“Tembo ni elephant.”
Now confusion enters the room fully dressed.
“So elephant anatiwa aje maji?”
Now we are in deep waters.
“Na by the way… anatiwa aje maji?” another one insists.
I collapse.
“PLEASE,” I say between laughter, “tembo hapo ni pombe. Alcohol. Not the animal.”
“Ooooooh.”
The relief.
The embarrassment.
The sudden Swahili awakening.
“Kumbe ulikuwa unatupanga!” one shouts, pointing dramatically at the person who said tembo ni elephant.
And that’s when it hit me: Kiswahili is actually a very dangerous language if you don’t understand context. One word, two meanings — and suddenly you’re imagining elephants being force-fed water because they were praised too much.
For the record:
Tembo = elephant ð
Tembo = traditional alcohol ðķ
Context = life or death
So no, mgema akisifiwa tembo hulitia maji is not about wildlife cruelty.
It simply means that when a brewer or seller of alcohol is praised too much, they get comfortable, proud, or greedy — and start diluting the drink with water, reducing its quality.
Honestly, I didn’t know Kiswahili could be this hard for watu wa bara.
So if you need Kiswahili lessons —
If proverbs confuse you —
If elephants keep appearing in your alcohol conversations —
Hire me.
Very affordable.
Only 1000 per hour.
Discounts available for repeat offenders ð
So welcome to the Coast — the hub of Kiswahili.
And just to be clear for those taking notes: Tana River is part of the former Coast Province.
Yes, I hear it all the time:
“Kwani Tana River pia ni Coast? Na hamna beach?”
LOL.
Yes, it is part of the Coast.
Yes, we have a 71km coastal strip.
And yes — we also have palm wine. Mkoma. ðĪŠ
Class dismissed. ðĐð―ðŦ✨


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