It is difficult to identify the main factor that attracted migrant men to the No Mercy Gym. At its most prosaic, the gym, just like the investment group HoMiSiKi, helped members economically by providing another safety net in case of unforeseen costs caused by deaths or diseases. As a space for male sociality, the gym, like jo-pap’s base, enabled male migrants to leave their houses, where they ran the risk of becoming depressed. In an environment where men felt threatened by a discourse that pegged their usefulness to their ability to fulfil the role of the economic provider, the No Mercy Gym was a place of mental refuge. Tucked into the corner of a primary school and secluded from Pipeline’s noise and the expectations of the outside world, the gym offered solace to migrant men, some of whom even came to lift weights for two hours before and two hours after work. Visiting the gym was, therefore, not only ‘an aspect of the negotiation of urban free time’ (Quayson 2014: 199) for unemployed male migrants but also a way in which employed men avoided spending time in their houses. As weightlifting was also mentally taxing, working out in the gym not only reduced migrant men’s experience of pressure but also related somatic symptoms such as insomnia. ‘When you train, you are exhausted, then you go home, and you eat and sleep, the stress is over’, as a member of the No Mercy Gym summarized it.
By acknowledging Carl’s authority and following his simple but strict training routine, gym members furthermore experienced and validated an alternative form of masculinity based on discipline and physical strength. Taking his advice to eat a healthy and protein-rich diet and to strictly adhere to the training timetable helped to transform members of the No Mercy Gym into stoic and humble men who appreciated hard work and consciously avoided engaging in what they considered female activities, such as rumour-mongering. Aware of circulating stereotypes that portrayed muscular men as aggressive and dumb, most members of the No Mercy Gym aspired to become what one member called ‘cool gentlemen’ who pursue their goals calmly and without being ‘interested in a lot of stories’. In contrast to spending time in pap, which was a space for male wastefulness and adventures, going to the No Mercy Gym thus provided moral orientation and the opportunity to learn how to discipline oneself and others.
Like the boxing gym in southern Chicago studied by Loïc Wacquant, the No Mercy Gym was a ‘sanctuary’, ‘a school of morality’, and a ‘vector of a debanalization of everyday life’ (2004: 14–15). Its members relied on their own criteria of masculinity that they positioned alongside the narrative of the male breadwinner. In contrast to the migrant man’s economic trajectory that was carefully observed by his intimate others, who were mostly female, his progress in the gym was predominantly evaluated by other male gym members. In the gym, men alone decided what counted as truly masculine. By lifting heavy weights and psyching each other, members of the No Mercy Gym thus consolidated an alternative narrative of what it meant to be a successful man in contemporary urban Kenya. Instead of relying on a male migrant’s economic success as the prime indicator of his masculinity, gym members highlighted his physical strength, the size of his body, and his willingness to embrace and persevere through the hardships of working out in the gym. However, as the next chapter illustrates, some Kenyan men tried to redefine masculinity by taking the opposite approach. Instead of perfecting and increasing the size of their external surfaces, they searched for their true masculinity in the depth of their emotional and mental set-up.