Over grilled goat meat and Amstel Light, the men banter in a rapid-fire blend of Swahili and English. It's hot, humid and loud on the gravel patio of this Northeast Baltimore bar, where the tables are covered with thatched umbrellas and Kenyan-style Lingala tunes pulse from a nearby TV.
Friday nights at Charlie Brown's are typically reserved for partying. But on this recent night, it's all about politics, as conversation centers on Kenya's most famous son - Barack Obama.
It doesn't matter that Obama was neither born nor raised in Kenya (his father, also named Barack, was from a small village in Kenya's Nyanza province). And whether he wins the race for the presidency is somewhat irrelevant. Among this circle of friends, Obama's nomination alone is cause for celebration, reflection and intense debate.
"In Kenyan culture, they consider Barack their son," said Mike Mugo, a 34-year-old nurse from Baltimore who grew up in Nairobi. "You are a son of Kenya, no matter where you live. And because of that, Kenyans feel immense pride."
"But if he is president, how does it help Kenya?" William Gachiri interjected, playing the self-described devil's advocate.
The exchange reflects a mix of pride, hope and trepidation about Obama's run for president. The pride is easy to articulate - Obama shares their lineage and appears to care deeply about the east African nation. An Obama presidency could boost Kenya's reputation in the U.S. and the world, they hope.
They also acknowledge that their dreams for an Obama presidency might be too lofty. Surely, Obama alone can't end ethnic tensions in Kenya, improve diplomatic relations between the U.S. and the world, and run the most powerful nation, they say.
In neighborhoods straddling Baltimore's northeast border with Baltimore County, Mugo has found a small but tightly knit community of Kenyans of various ethnic groups. About 4,700 Kenyans called Maryland home in 2006, according to the Migration Police Institute. Mugo and others say jokingly that nearly all of them hang out at the patio of Charlie Brown's.
They come for Nyama Choma, which translates to "grilled meat" in Swahili, a hugely popular Kenyan specialty served in heaping piles on styrofoam plates. The smoky scent of goat ribs wafts between the crowded tables of the dimly lit back patio. Meanwhile, in the front room of the bar - popular with a diverse bunch of native Baltimoreans and Kenyans alike - hip-hop music thumps through speakers.
