Brenda Wairimu (Subira), Tirath Padam (Taufiq), Ali Mwangola (Adam Hussein), Zenat Ali Omar (Young Subira), Nice Githing (Mwana), Inya Shee (Older Noor), Susan Kadide (Bibi), Abubakar Mwenda (Ali), Fatu Hassan (Fatima), Director, Sippy Chadha, Produced by Vibeke Muasya, Sippy Chadha; DOP, Talib Rasmussen, DFF; Executive Producer, PervinderSingh Chadha; Associate Producer Karan Chadha; © 2018
The relationship between father and daughter is a mystery unknown to humankind. Ask a three-year-old daughter in a household who she’ll want to marry when she grows up. She’ll nominate her father. No one knows why so. But I believe it’s because they wake up every morning to this macho guy smooshing up their mamas in bed. Indeed, they look upon us, the fathers, as husbands, with suspicion and jealousy. My daughter and I were pretty close, to the point of making her mother jealous.
That little girl of mine grew up and went to college. Thirteen years ago, like yesterday, one who threw up on my chest when she ran a fever, went to college, graduated, came home to share the good news with me, and held her hand to hug me. I repulsed. Why did I refuse to hug my daughter back? To confess, I have a queer feeling about hugging. My mother never embraced me, nor did my beloved grandmother. Unless she placed me once on her lap when I won an English essay scholarship to secondary school, I could still remember that. Physical embraces to this day are looked upon as an intrusion of another man’s privacy. Call me timid. I won’t mind.
Seeing Subira (Brenda Wairimu) and her father, Ali Abui (Abubakar Mwenda), wade in the river displays a bond between dad and daughter that one could envy. Not having hugged my daughter, leaving her standing with open hands, waiting for my hug, is a mortal guilt I committed. To me, as an artist, the open hand of my daughter to hug me is a hand frozen in time. It will ever remain engraved in my literary mind.
‘Subira’ is an original Egyptian female name meaning ‘Patient.’ And as the story and significant player could portray, this is a drama about patience in a little Swahili fishing coastal town, Lamu, in Kenya. Subira had a childhood friend, Noor (Inya Shee). ‘Noor’ itself signifies light in Arabic. Just as Subira represents ‘patient,’ Noor represents ‘light.’ They have both grown to womanhood and remain friends. Soon, their relationship shall sour when Noor is dropped in marriage to the wealthy son of Abu from Nairobi in favor of Subira.
Subira witnesses the accidental death of her only friend and father at the waterfront. Subira’s father had promised his daughter he would teach her swimming but never got to do so as he got killed. She has grown to love water and swimming after her father’s death. Her mother managed to bring her up to womanhood at a young age. Her only prayer was for God to place a man, a husband, in the life of her Subira. See how Fatima (Fatu Hassan) danced, seeing Subira’s blood of womanhood in the dress.
The undergarment of this romantic narrative is shrouded in a stringent Islamic artistic practice–Madrassa. Subira as a movie could be exotic and esoteric, considering its high-end cultural tradition, which is not open to most Africa, where wedding ceremonies are conducted in the mosque, supremely led by the Imam.
Taufiq (Tirath Padam), a wealthy only son of a textile merchant from Nairobi, arrives in town looking for a wife. Taufiq’s mother had died a few years ago and wished her only son to marry from the village of Lamu, where she hailed from. His dad, Adam Hussain (Ali Muangola), wants his son to marry a childhood friend of Subira called Noor. Toufiq won’t accept his dad’s choice of a wife–Noor. Instead, Toufiq sees poor, innocent, and humble Subira from the top of the terrace and falls in love with her.
Toufiq, “Abu, it’s a girl on the terrace.”
Abu, “What girl, and what terrace?”
“She’s a neighbor. Also from Lamu.”
“You telling me you came all this way for nothing?”
“ Abu, you’re not listening. It’s the other girl I want to marry; that’s all I am saying.”
“Who’s this other girl? Where did you meet her?”
“I met her on the terrace. I told you that.” Toufiq, to Abu sternly, “Look, if it is a daughter-in-law you want, it is Subira I will marry.”
Abu, in Toufiq’s face, “Son, you are making a big mistake.”
Toufiq, Stern, “Finally. There’ll be no grandchildren, no marriage, no nothing.”
“From the evils of ourselves and the sins of our deeds. To Toufiq, (sic) whom God guides is not misleading. Toufiq Ya Mohammed. Today you are marrying Subira Warda Ali Abui. Do you agree?…”
“Congratulation!”
Toufiq takes his wife to Nairobi even though his Abu couldn’t approve of her. Subira can’t figure out how this magical marriage happens. To her, it is like a dream, but she warms up to it. From a fishing village in Lamu, she now finds herself in a wealthy Nairobi affluent community where she could get confused about what she orders in a restaurant. But Subira, among this bliss, misses the life with her dead father, who never had a chance to teach her to swim, and she longed for it. A chance meeting with a public swimmer teacher, who volunteers to teach her, ends up in a family scandal, especially when Toufiq’s father hasn’t overwhelmingly taken to her. And she runs home to her mother, leaving Toufiq angry but simultaneously hungry for the love of his life.
I take away one scene from this movie to my grave. Subira’s father is lying in the state before burial. She comes for the last time to touch her father’s forehead before put away. An elder couldn’t let her. I may not have my Subira to touch my forehead before they put me in my grave. Throughout the movie, the thought of her father is in the lyrics of Like a River Runs(sic) water. The scene where Ali and his daughter pray on the beach together. They raised their hands to the Almighty and said, “Allahu Akbar!” I once met a born-again Christian in a store, and we fell into talking. She asked me about my marital religious setup. I told her, “Me, Muslim. Wife, Christian.” “Wrong. Always marry your creed. Your marriage won’t work.” Thinking of it now, she was right. The bond between Ali and Subira cements their creed.
The bedrock of the marriage between Toufiq and Subira is shrouded in religious ethics. Abu Adam Hussein convinces by a friend in the mosque to give Toufiq, and Subira nurtures the relationship by themselves. Something changes in his attitude when he finds that Subira can sow when she asks him if there is any sowing machine in the house. Adam’s wife, Toufiq’s mother, sewed when she was alive. To see his son’s wife take after her mother-in-law gladdens his once-unapproved relationship. We see Abu’s genuine smile and gratitude after eating the food Subira “cooked by her two hands” and serving him. Toufiq never regrets his choice to marry the poor humble girl from Lamu. All it takes is patience!
Brenda Wairimu may not have garnered many acting credits, young as she is. She brightens the screen with her honest acting nuances and approach to the craft. Besides her Tv appearances, she made her silver screen debut in 2018 with Subira. Though up and coming, she could compare to powerful Kenyan actress Lupita Nyong’o. Her co-starring actor, Tirath Padam, is natural and hasn’t garnered any credit in acting on the silver screen until Subira. He works like a pro, though. His acting makes the character and Toufiq come alive. I love Subira; it touches close to my heart. Subira’s mother, Fatima, commented, “I was never the mother you wanted.” That goes for most of us parents.