Wednesday, 24th December 2008
In S.A. the issue of human trafficking is only really evidenced in the posters affixed to the scattered dustbins around Hillbrow and Berea. We don’t see much evidence of it even though some of us are quite aware of what the Nigerians get up to in our country. In Kenya it is quite another story.
Here it is not teenagers sold into prostitution but 10-13 year old girls, abducted from their families – or even sold by their families – to become someone’s sex slave in the middle- or far-east. Last week about 10 young girls (children!) were rescued from a house in one of Nairobi’s outlying suburbs. They had evidently been abducted under the pretext of some-or-other church’s ‘youth programme’, not to be seen again after their initial ‘enrolment’. They were found within a few meters of a house where another group of young girls had been rescued a few months ago. That the little girls were probably all very pretty didn’t help them much, I’m sure. The picture in the paper had their faces blurred out, but you could still see the fine features of most of those pictured.
From the picture, you could see that they had all been kept neat, clean and tidy (the pimp’s version of not damaging the merchandise I guess). It’s frightening and by no means a rare event. And I hope I’m not violating Shami’s trust by telling you that she very narrowly escaped the same fate when she was only eight years old! It was only through her mother’s mobilization of the whole neighbourhood that Shami was found in time. The thought alone horrifies me.
The other issue that bothers me a lot is the incidence of “Female Genital Mutilation” (FGM) in Kenya. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about, FGM, or ‘the cut’, as it is colloquially known is essentially a ‘clitorectomy’. As with male circumcision in Africa broadly, this ritual is considered a rite of passage for women in Kenya. Exactly how widespread it is, I don’t know.
What I DO know is that no less than 260 women-to-be absconded from a village outside Nairobi recently, simply in order to avoid being ‘cut’. They underwent an ‘alternative’ ritual, the Daily Nation reported. Details regarding the nature of this ‘alternative’ are scant. There was no mention of the differences in the paper.
In my humble opinion it is the practice of FGM here that lies at the root of a few social ills, or, at least, some of the more discomfiting aspects of this society. Let’s face it; FGM has to be at the root of female subjugation and subservience. If a woman cannot experience complete sexual satisfaction and has to be dependent on male penetration for such pleasure, it can only lead to a degree of ‘hankering’ after the male species. And this ‘hankering’ is very much in evidence here (sorry that I’ve had to be a bit ‘graphic’ here).
During Citizen TV’s coverage of the year past the other night, one of Kenya’s few woman MP’s was urging women to take more initiative in politics. I couldn’t help but think that FGM must have something to do with the distinct lack of ascendancy by women in this society. Yes? No?
As I said, I don’t know how widespread FGM is but I DO suspect it is more widespread than most of the women will themselves admit. I have heard that many of the women will proudly say they haven’t been ‘cut’ but yet their sexual behaviour belies this claim. And here I'm talking about the rampant sexuality that so many mzungus find attractive about Kenyan women. It's lustful, but not attractive at all.
Yes, the above two aspects of this society bother me A LOT.
On to lighter subjects:
My friend, Dion, from "Woester", tells me I must get yellow fever shots and the same for hepatitis. Without the former I probably won’t get allowed back into S.A. Without the latter I could seriously compromise my liver after visiting remote areas, where hepatitis is virulent (but the local populations are immune). Also, he said not to mess around with malaria. The difference between getting tested and taking meds today versus tomorrow morning, is another two days of illness. He has already lost a couple of friends to the cerebral strain (as I have lost one friend).
Sunday, 28th December 2008
Yo, ho, ho. It’s now a few days later. Dion is in Eldoret and I have been getting cold shivers down my spine since last night. I SMS'd Dion and told him. He phoned immediately and said I should get to the clinic. I have just returned from said clinic with my Kenyan virginity intact. I don’t have malaria but I do have some sort of flu bug. I’ll write a bit and then retire for the day/night (hopefully to sleep it off under my Maasai blanket).
The ‘National Health’ clinic is at the Sarit Centre. After the malaria test (costing Ksh300/R36 and taking ten minutes) I was reversing my car out when I was approached by the lady parking attendant. She told me she had seen me but couldn’t reach me before I disappeared into the centre. I need to pay Ksh150 for parking but Ksh50 will be fine if she doesn’t have to write out the ticket! I gave her Ksh50 for her “Christmas”. As she turned away from the car I saw on the back of her yellow dust coat the big black letters saying “Corruption is Evil”. Awethu Afrika!
Which reminds me, the last time I was at Sarit Centre I was approached by a lady selling pens. I could have one for Ksh200. “You’re mud” I said. “Okay, two for 200”.
“You’re still mud” I said… And so we bargained.
Eventually I was offered four for Ksh50! I was going to take the offer, only to find I didn’t have a Ksh50 note on me. I really must remember to keep change in the car (not only for the street urchins wanting “twenty shillings meestah”).
Yet another trufeek observation: There are two types of vehicle in Nairobi. The first comprise local vehicles. Looming large among these vehicles are Subaru four-wheel-drive sedans and assorted other (mainly small) vehicles. The other type of Nairobi vehicle comprises those driven my members of the U.N. or International Red Cross. These latter vehicles are big, brand new four-wheelers with red number plates, bearing the letters "UN" or "RC" in the number. These vehicles invariably feature large aerial installations on the front or rear bumper. See a big, brand new Toyota Land Cruiser and ten-to-one it’s got a red number plate! (Nairobi local plates are black on yellow like the old “T” plates in Jozi).
Monday, 29th December 2008
I was supposed to receive dollars for my trip to Dar es Salaam but failed to get them in time – mainly due to the fact that our new accountant didn’t get both the required signatures on the company cheque! This money now has to come out of my account (already severely depleted by my need for kush on arrival here). So now I have to convert Ksh62 000 into a mere $800! Say what you like about the US going down the tubes, it still has one helluva strong currency. This month, in error, I was paid in Kenya Shillings. From next month I’m paid in dollars, baby!
But the really great thing for me is that all I have to do is SMS ‘instructions’ to my personal banker (who goes by the name of Peace) and she calls me less than an hour later to say I can come collect! So it’s into the shower now for me and off to the local branch of Stanbic (100m from the office). And I won’t even have to stand in a queue to get served. The kush will be ready for me at an ‘executive banking’ window! One’s life can change radically overnight. You better believe it!
Tuesday, 30th December 2008
While having coffee at the Art Café I happened to ‘bump’ Rachel. On New Years Eve,I am invited to the club Casablanca with all her girlfriends to enjoy an evening of lazing around on the couches and smoking a shisha/hooka pipe or two (containing only tobacco). Not having any alternative plans, I agreed readily.
I don’t know if I will get to write much till after the New Year and my trip to Dar es Salaam.
So to you, and yours, have a great New Year and make this next year the BEST EVER!
As always, amani na mapenzi.
B
Citizen TV Review of the Year, Sunday 28th December 2008
Tonight, a year ago, Kenyans were waiting excitedly for their (already belated) election results. The rest, as they say, is history. There was already violence on the streets by now, erupting from an increasingly frustrated youth. The results of the election were released on 30th December and were immediately disputed. Then all hell broke loose. The subsequent report by S.A.’s Justice Kriegler proved to be a washout and I have heard that the central issue, quite simply, was the fact of Kikuyus (having ‘won’ the election) turning people off their land and setting up their own shamba (home/kraal) in its place, all over Kenya.
Right now, I’m hearing that the I.D.P.’s (1 100 dead at the time and 100’s of thousands displaced) do not have an extra Shilling for Christmas and they are expected to stand out in new Christmas clothes (a black African tradition). Senior Superintendent Mthenge is on the box, having been voted U.N. Kenya Person of the Year for having single-handedly talked a group of rioters down from (further) public violence. Again, that was today, a year ago.
President Kibaki and Prime Minister Raila Odinga are actually, deliberately, from different tribal roots (the letter “K” in your surname tends to denote Kikuyu, the letter “O”, Luo). The biggest political event of the year, between the two, was when they shook hands in September on the stairs of Kenya’s Parliament (or Hall of Shame according to Mueni), with Kofi Anan and Graca Machel (among others) looking on. So far, so good.
And despite President Kibaki’s impassioned plea for moderation, Kenyans are saying they are celebrating in such a way as to make up for lost time because they were unable to celebrate last year (because of post-election violence). And twenty one prison inmates have just been admitted to hospital for unspecified alcohol poisoning.
Woza Kenya!
A Citizen TV interviewer is now talking to three record company execs who are saying how come Kenyan music is recognized in other parts of the world but not in Kenya? Sounds familiar. The youth massive must take control of their future! They are the next generation of leaders! To which the interviewer replies that we mustn’t forget that the current leadership came out of the Moi era when there was a leadership vacuum.
But I sense that the current youth are too disaffected and alienated from political culture to take the political initiative. I may be wrong but it’s more likely the youth will take to the streets right now! Exciting times ahead and I would agree with the one company exec who says that Kenya is poised to take East Africa by storm. The Kenyan pride is there but there may be a lack of self-conscious pride. The difference is like “I am proud of Kenya versus I am proud because I am a Kenyan”. Yes?
Well, we’ll see what happens in the coming months!
B
Right now, I’m hearing that the I.D.P.’s (1 100 dead at the time and 100’s of thousands displaced) do not have an extra Shilling for Christmas and they are expected to stand out in new Christmas clothes (a black African tradition). Senior Superintendent Mthenge is on the box, having been voted U.N. Kenya Person of the Year for having single-handedly talked a group of rioters down from (further) public violence. Again, that was today, a year ago.
President Kibaki and Prime Minister Raila Odinga are actually, deliberately, from different tribal roots (the letter “K” in your surname tends to denote Kikuyu, the letter “O”, Luo). The biggest political event of the year, between the two, was when they shook hands in September on the stairs of Kenya’s Parliament (or Hall of Shame according to Mueni), with Kofi Anan and Graca Machel (among others) looking on. So far, so good.
And despite President Kibaki’s impassioned plea for moderation, Kenyans are saying they are celebrating in such a way as to make up for lost time because they were unable to celebrate last year (because of post-election violence). And twenty one prison inmates have just been admitted to hospital for unspecified alcohol poisoning.
Woza Kenya!
A Citizen TV interviewer is now talking to three record company execs who are saying how come Kenyan music is recognized in other parts of the world but not in Kenya? Sounds familiar. The youth massive must take control of their future! They are the next generation of leaders! To which the interviewer replies that we mustn’t forget that the current leadership came out of the Moi era when there was a leadership vacuum.
But I sense that the current youth are too disaffected and alienated from political culture to take the political initiative. I may be wrong but it’s more likely the youth will take to the streets right now! Exciting times ahead and I would agree with the one company exec who says that Kenya is poised to take East Africa by storm. The Kenyan pride is there but there may be a lack of self-conscious pride. The difference is like “I am proud of Kenya versus I am proud because I am a Kenyan”. Yes?
Well, we’ll see what happens in the coming months!
B
Salaam Mombasa!
Boxing Day 2008, Nairobi.
Everyone’s in Mombasa. As Cape Town is to Jozi, so Mombasa is to Nairobi. And right now, as in Jozi, the streets of Nairobi are empty. Not a jum in sight. Driving is a pleasure. And even on the open road it’s not the usual split-second struggle for survival either. Everything is pretty chilled. Hakuna Mutata.
In the company runaround vehicle that I’m using (a little Suzuki 850cc that goes like the blazes), it now takes me 5 mins to drive to and from the Nakumatt Ukay (open 24/7). Normally, during the business week, you can expect to take at least 15 minutes on either of the routes, to or from (but not necessarily going both ways).
Today I went all the way downtown looking for a particular CD shop (a shop that sells mainly East African product rather than the top-twenty selection at the mall). I found the store (Kassanga Music) closed, with its steel roll-a-door securely locked. But I managed to do the return journey, to and from Westlands, in 15 minutes (including the time it took me to stop the car and take a few of these snaps). If it weren’t for the holidays, this would be a complete fiction. I was even able to pull off the road and take a snap or two without being threatened by matatus or other oncoming traffic. (I have just noticed that the streets in these pics are entirely deserted (an entirely uncommon sight)!)
This ‘roundabout’ is the first of two I take on while driving to town on the Uhuru Highway. This is actually the view of this roundabout as you come out of town (you can see the slightly uphill gradient). The second roundabout is smaller, and leads onto University Way, past the University of Nairobi, and is one of the main routes into ‘uptown’ as well as ‘downtown’ Nairobi. From this second roundabout I can now find my way through most of Nairobi Central.
You can’t see it in the picture, but somewhere in the mass of billboards there is one from S.A. Tourism calling Kenyans (or tourists currently in Kenya?) to Explore the Possibilities of South Africa, featuring a Kenyan woman smiling in front of ‘The Mountain’ (as seen from Blouberg, of course). A few people have commented on it already and it’s a little source of nationalistic pride for me right now.
There is actually a lot of respect here for South Africa, and South Africans. South Africa is recognized as the ‘powerhouse’ in commerce and the arts, and South African music features quite heavily on the microwave media, and on radio. Before his untimely death, Lucky Dube was clearly a hero of the Kenyan people and he is played often on Metro, the local reggae station. And Rebecca Malope, along with other gospel-ites, feature prominently on local TV.
However, parallel with the respect that Kenyans have for S.A., there seems to be a definite ‘suspicion’ of South Africa. I’m sorry to say that I can’t always allay the fear that Kenyans seem to have for what they see as something of a South African ‘mentality’. If one thing is clear; 45 years of home-rule independence has left a mark here that South Africa can only hope to achieve in another 25 years! (And Kenyans REALLY can’t believe that Jacob Zuma is even allowed to stand for President of the country).
The biggest concern that Kenyans seem to have is the xenophobia thing that was very widely reported here. And I think it worries Kenyans because they themselves have experienced ‘xenophobia’ in the form of tribalism, post-elections, at the beginning of the year. They know just how ‘real’ internecine violence actually is, with I-don’t-know-how-many “I.D.P.’s” (Internally Displaced People) yet to be ‘repatriated’ and living in tents (a year later!) all over the country.
But even without the suspicion of South Africa, and despite the cool pic of The Mountain, dude, I can’t imagine S.A. Tourism having much pull here. Yes, the youth are expecting more from their country, but Kenyans on-the-whole, seem pretty satisfied with their lot. And, anyway, who would want to go anywhere else when the President himself goes on holiday to Mombasa (and delivers his Christmas Address from there: dominated by repeated pleas for Kenyans to drink moderately over the season).
The plea/s was/were probably quite necessary because, clearly, Kenyans need little excuse to have a good time. I first saw this mentioned on the Internet and it has proven to be very true. I have been to clubs and pubs, both uptown and downtown. Everywhere, people are having a good time. The drinks are flowing but I have yet to see any form of violence break out. At one place, last week, there was a guy complaining bitterly about the fact that he had left his beer on the shelf and had come back to find it gone. Bitch and moan, bitch and moan. That’s as far as it went and it’s the only local incident of any kind I have seen.
On the other hand, at one of Nairobi’s main spots, a night or two ago (whenever I was there) there was a Christian Somali couple (who speak a Swahili variant), drunk as Lords, having a marital tiff outside the club. The passing police saw the commotion and stopped, climbing slowly out of their old teal Land Rover. For about five minutes they just watched the scene unfolding, outside and inside the taxi that the couple had hired. When things looked like they were getting worse between the two, the cops started to intervene. The long and the short of it is that the cops landed up slowly ushering them both (with extreme care and caution) into the Land Rover. She, by far the worse for wear, got to sit in the dog box in the back. He got to sit as a passenger. The doorman at the club told me they were being taken to the station to take it easy for a while….
It was evidently the bombing of the US Embassy in ’98 that really got the local police force armed to the hilt and word has it that they are on high alert right now – expecting a possible – but unspecified - terrorist attack. But despite their threat of clear and present danger if you fuck with them, most of the time they seem fairly chilled.
Here the police are Maintaining peace: without it there can be no future.
The club I was at during the Somali incident, Madhouse, caters mainly for locals and features a wide mix of music genres in the night’s offering. The pop-dance material of Beyonce, Madonna or Cher drives the audience wild but it’s the Tanzanian Bongo Flava - or Arabic-inspired - tracks that create a frenzy! And I have to admit that East Africa’s indigenous sounds are talking to me. More and more. So much so that yesterday (27th December) I went downtown to find some Bongo compilation CD’s. No CD’s to be found, but for Ksh150 (less than R20 at today’s exchange rate) you can get a pirated DVD featuring a mix of videos of all the current chart-toppers.
The downtown streets are lined by only two types of shops. The first being shops selling mobile phones and electronic goods (run by Indians or Pakistanis). The other being shops that sell pirated music (run by black Kenyans)! Here and there one does find what we call a spaza shop on the downtown streets (also run by locals). In downtown Nairobi these shops will sell lots of different (often Indian) snack foods, along with some fresh fruit and the occasional stash of miraa (khat). (The Indian influence here is so strong that many Kenyans think samoosas are a Kenyan invention!) You don’t see it often, but chewing miraa downtown is more socially acceptable than in Westlands, as evidenced by this brand new sign outside the mall. (And it’s evidently the chilled folk of Meru, at the base of Mt.Kenya, that are famed for their “chewing”).
The biggest difference between Kenya and that place I call home, is that this is a highly literate society (despite the bad grammar on the sign). I get no less than three English language dailies delivered to my desk every morning (and that excludes the Nairobi Star). There’s the popular Standard – akin to where The Star or Argus are today – using popular English, but without colloquialisms. Then there’s the Daily Nation, which I consider to be good press. If I can only get to one paper during the day, this is my choice. There is also the Business Daily, printed on heavy Financial-Times-type paper and covering business in the whole East African region. Lastly, there’s also The East African, a Sunday weekly that reaches me on a Monday. All of S.A.’s big fashion fortnightlies and monthlies are on the supermarket shelves here, as are many of our stores to be found in the malls (Mr.Price, Standard Bank (Stanbic), Safaricom (MTN)). But Tusker Beer will beat any of SAB’s brands, any day. Often consumed warm by locals, I think it’s the only beer I have ever actually enjoyed!
Christmas Eve was spent at Jane’s place where she held her annual Christmas Eve party for friends and selected clients. Catered largely by her two sons (both of some culinary bent), we had a great spread of traditional Christmas fare, and a layout of sweets that defied choice.
As I left, I was presented with my Christmas gift from Jane. I nearly collapsed with joy at the combination Maasai blanket and Maasai carving (paperweight?) presented to me. With Jane being a Scotswoman, there’s something of the genes in her choice of blanket. But both artifacts will be treasured!
At the party I got to know my fellow Research Director (for Francophone West Africa), Jaime Laia; Jaime is from Portugal, speaks English, Portuguese, Spanish and French. His girlfriend, Melissa, works for the U.N. and speaks no less than six languages (but not Swahili, I gather). But most interesting for me was to find out that Jaime was a professional musician about five years ago! He owns an American Stratocaster guitar, a Gibson Les Paul guitar and has an array of classic guitar amps. Once we got talking, the joke quickly circulated that Jane has just lost both her new Directors (Jaime only started in March) to professional music.
So what will happen now? Apart from Jaime and I as potential band members, there’s Scott (educated at St. John’s, Johannesburg), Jane’s eldest boy, who can sing (I heard him privately belting out some Seal at the party)! Never mind Jane herself, who was singing with the Bob Marley CD in her car, all the way to Naivasha a few weeks ago. (Jane checks in at work around 10.00am, twice a week, after she’s been to her Latin dance class). If I get to work before 9.30, there’s almost no-one there! But they all work late to make up the time. Flexi-time has another meaning here.
But having been here for nearly a month now, I am probably slightly qualified to comment on the weather: it is incredibly invariant, with warm, but not hot, days, and pleasantly cool evenings. I actually couldn’t imagine a more perfect clime. One is tempted to wake up and say “Oh no, not another fucking beautiful day!” The sky almost always looks full of bulky clouds but it doesn’t move to rain. Not till ‘rainy season’ anyway.
Amani na mapenzi
B
Everyone’s in Mombasa. As Cape Town is to Jozi, so Mombasa is to Nairobi. And right now, as in Jozi, the streets of Nairobi are empty. Not a jum in sight. Driving is a pleasure. And even on the open road it’s not the usual split-second struggle for survival either. Everything is pretty chilled. Hakuna Mutata.
In the company runaround vehicle that I’m using (a little Suzuki 850cc that goes like the blazes), it now takes me 5 mins to drive to and from the Nakumatt Ukay (open 24/7). Normally, during the business week, you can expect to take at least 15 minutes on either of the routes, to or from (but not necessarily going both ways). Today I went all the way downtown looking for a particular CD shop (a shop that sells mainly East African product rather than the top-twenty selection at the mall). I found the store (Kassanga Music) closed, with its steel roll-a-door securely locked. But I managed to do the return journey, to and from Westlands, in 15 minutes (including the time it took me to stop the car and take a few of these snaps). If it weren’t for the holidays, this would be a complete fiction. I was even able to pull off the road and take a snap or two without being threatened by matatus or other oncoming traffic. (I have just noticed that the streets in these pics are entirely deserted (an entirely uncommon sight)!)
This ‘roundabout’ is the first of two I take on while driving to town on the Uhuru Highway. This is actually the view of this roundabout as you come out of town (you can see the slightly uphill gradient). The second roundabout is smaller, and leads onto University Way, past the University of Nairobi, and is one of the main routes into ‘uptown’ as well as ‘downtown’ Nairobi. From this second roundabout I can now find my way through most of Nairobi Central.You can’t see it in the picture, but somewhere in the mass of billboards there is one from S.A. Tourism calling Kenyans (or tourists currently in Kenya?) to Explore the Possibilities of South Africa, featuring a Kenyan woman smiling in front of ‘The Mountain’ (as seen from Blouberg, of course). A few people have commented on it already and it’s a little source of nationalistic pride for me right now.
There is actually a lot of respect here for South Africa, and South Africans. South Africa is recognized as the ‘powerhouse’ in commerce and the arts, and South African music features quite heavily on the microwave media, and on radio. Before his untimely death, Lucky Dube was clearly a hero of the Kenyan people and he is played often on Metro, the local reggae station. And Rebecca Malope, along with other gospel-ites, feature prominently on local TV.
However, parallel with the respect that Kenyans have for S.A., there seems to be a definite ‘suspicion’ of South Africa. I’m sorry to say that I can’t always allay the fear that Kenyans seem to have for what they see as something of a South African ‘mentality’. If one thing is clear; 45 years of home-rule independence has left a mark here that South Africa can only hope to achieve in another 25 years! (And Kenyans REALLY can’t believe that Jacob Zuma is even allowed to stand for President of the country).
The biggest concern that Kenyans seem to have is the xenophobia thing that was very widely reported here. And I think it worries Kenyans because they themselves have experienced ‘xenophobia’ in the form of tribalism, post-elections, at the beginning of the year. They know just how ‘real’ internecine violence actually is, with I-don’t-know-how-many “I.D.P.’s” (Internally Displaced People) yet to be ‘repatriated’ and living in tents (a year later!) all over the country.
But even without the suspicion of South Africa, and despite the cool pic of The Mountain, dude, I can’t imagine S.A. Tourism having much pull here. Yes, the youth are expecting more from their country, but Kenyans on-the-whole, seem pretty satisfied with their lot. And, anyway, who would want to go anywhere else when the President himself goes on holiday to Mombasa (and delivers his Christmas Address from there: dominated by repeated pleas for Kenyans to drink moderately over the season).
The plea/s was/were probably quite necessary because, clearly, Kenyans need little excuse to have a good time. I first saw this mentioned on the Internet and it has proven to be very true. I have been to clubs and pubs, both uptown and downtown. Everywhere, people are having a good time. The drinks are flowing but I have yet to see any form of violence break out. At one place, last week, there was a guy complaining bitterly about the fact that he had left his beer on the shelf and had come back to find it gone. Bitch and moan, bitch and moan. That’s as far as it went and it’s the only local incident of any kind I have seen.
On the other hand, at one of Nairobi’s main spots, a night or two ago (whenever I was there) there was a Christian Somali couple (who speak a Swahili variant), drunk as Lords, having a marital tiff outside the club. The passing police saw the commotion and stopped, climbing slowly out of their old teal Land Rover. For about five minutes they just watched the scene unfolding, outside and inside the taxi that the couple had hired. When things looked like they were getting worse between the two, the cops started to intervene. The long and the short of it is that the cops landed up slowly ushering them both (with extreme care and caution) into the Land Rover. She, by far the worse for wear, got to sit in the dog box in the back. He got to sit as a passenger. The doorman at the club told me they were being taken to the station to take it easy for a while….
It was evidently the bombing of the US Embassy in ’98 that really got the local police force armed to the hilt and word has it that they are on high alert right now – expecting a possible – but unspecified - terrorist attack. But despite their threat of clear and present danger if you fuck with them, most of the time they seem fairly chilled.
Here the police are Maintaining peace: without it there can be no future.The club I was at during the Somali incident, Madhouse, caters mainly for locals and features a wide mix of music genres in the night’s offering. The pop-dance material of Beyonce, Madonna or Cher drives the audience wild but it’s the Tanzanian Bongo Flava - or Arabic-inspired - tracks that create a frenzy! And I have to admit that East Africa’s indigenous sounds are talking to me. More and more. So much so that yesterday (27th December) I went downtown to find some Bongo compilation CD’s. No CD’s to be found, but for Ksh150 (less than R20 at today’s exchange rate) you can get a pirated DVD featuring a mix of videos of all the current chart-toppers.
The downtown streets are lined by only two types of shops. The first being shops selling mobile phones and electronic goods (run by Indians or Pakistanis). The other being shops that sell pirated music (run by black Kenyans)! Here and there one does find what we call a spaza shop on the downtown streets (also run by locals). In downtown Nairobi these shops will sell lots of different (often Indian) snack foods, along with some fresh fruit and the occasional stash of miraa (khat). (The Indian influence here is so strong that many Kenyans think samoosas are a Kenyan invention!) You don’t see it often, but chewing miraa downtown is more socially acceptable than in Westlands, as evidenced by this brand new sign outside the mall. (And it’s evidently the chilled folk of Meru, at the base of Mt.Kenya, that are famed for their “chewing”).
The biggest difference between Kenya and that place I call home, is that this is a highly literate society (despite the bad grammar on the sign). I get no less than three English language dailies delivered to my desk every morning (and that excludes the Nairobi Star). There’s the popular Standard – akin to where The Star or Argus are today – using popular English, but without colloquialisms. Then there’s the Daily Nation, which I consider to be good press. If I can only get to one paper during the day, this is my choice. There is also the Business Daily, printed on heavy Financial-Times-type paper and covering business in the whole East African region. Lastly, there’s also The East African, a Sunday weekly that reaches me on a Monday. All of S.A.’s big fashion fortnightlies and monthlies are on the supermarket shelves here, as are many of our stores to be found in the malls (Mr.Price, Standard Bank (Stanbic), Safaricom (MTN)). But Tusker Beer will beat any of SAB’s brands, any day. Often consumed warm by locals, I think it’s the only beer I have ever actually enjoyed! 
Christmas Eve was spent at Jane’s place where she held her annual Christmas Eve party for friends and selected clients. Catered largely by her two sons (both of some culinary bent), we had a great spread of traditional Christmas fare, and a layout of sweets that defied choice. As I left, I was presented with my Christmas gift from Jane. I nearly collapsed with joy at the combination Maasai blanket and Maasai carving (paperweight?) presented to me. With Jane being a Scotswoman, there’s something of the genes in her choice of blanket. But both artifacts will be treasured!
At the party I got to know my fellow Research Director (for Francophone West Africa), Jaime Laia; Jaime is from Portugal, speaks English, Portuguese, Spanish and French. His girlfriend, Melissa, works for the U.N. and speaks no less than six languages (but not Swahili, I gather). But most interesting for me was to find out that Jaime was a professional musician about five years ago! He owns an American Stratocaster guitar, a Gibson Les Paul guitar and has an array of classic guitar amps. Once we got talking, the joke quickly circulated that Jane has just lost both her new Directors (Jaime only started in March) to professional music. So what will happen now? Apart from Jaime and I as potential band members, there’s Scott (educated at St. John’s, Johannesburg), Jane’s eldest boy, who can sing (I heard him privately belting out some Seal at the party)! Never mind Jane herself, who was singing with the Bob Marley CD in her car, all the way to Naivasha a few weeks ago. (Jane checks in at work around 10.00am, twice a week, after she’s been to her Latin dance class). If I get to work before 9.30, there’s almost no-one there! But they all work late to make up the time. Flexi-time has another meaning here.
But having been here for nearly a month now, I am probably slightly qualified to comment on the weather: it is incredibly invariant, with warm, but not hot, days, and pleasantly cool evenings. I actually couldn’t imagine a more perfect clime. One is tempted to wake up and say “Oh no, not another fucking beautiful day!” The sky almost always looks full of bulky clouds but it doesn’t move to rain. Not till ‘rainy season’ anyway.
Amani na mapenzi
B
Some More Regular Stuff
There are very few Internet services here with any kind of ‘cap’. Internet here is ubiquitous. You go to a mall (and there are a few!) and you usually find there’s two or three unlimited wireless access points. If the wireless signal is hosted by the coffee shop, all you have to do is get their access key and away you go! (Thereafter, the access key gets remembered by your computer and you don’t need to re-enter it). And just like the popularity of the Internet, is the popularity of the Blackberry or similar, with lots of people sipping coffee and surfing the net from wherever they are sitting.
Because of the lack of an Internet cap, I’ve been listening to BBC 1Xtra – the BBC’s so-called ‘black’ music station - all day long. The live stream is 90% reliable and in the morning I listen to the morning drive show, which is hilarious (11.00am here is 8.00am there). And there’s not an ad within earshot! If you don’t want to listen live, you can listen to all of yesterday’s programming – whether it’s soul, R&B, dancehall, garage, UK hard core, or whatever else they offer.
One of BBC 1Xtra’s best is the Africa offering which covers Africa East, West and South and at least keeps me in touch with what the boys back home are doing. I just heard a Shaggy remix of one of the kwaito tracks I was hearing coming down the Rockey road from the taxis (that Cajun-type number featuring the accordion, if any of you know it). There’s some very cool stuff coming out of Tanzania tho’ – going by the name of Bongo Flava. There’s a Bongo Flava track that Shamim translated for me after I heard the mention of South Africa (Souze Ufreeeeka) in the lyric. It’s about a girl who goes to South Africa and gets rich but when she comes back to East Africa, she’s poor again (end of story!). As we know, our homeland has a special place in the hearts of Africans - as the place where you can make money (if you survive the xenophobia, of course). And I have already mentioned that Swahili rap-hop thing I heard the other day (which is being played more and more on the local airwaves).
I went clubbing downtown last night with Elizabeth, the promotions lady from Nakumatt. First I had to pick her up from the district of Karen (named not after Karen Blixen herself but evidently after her niece – or something like that – of Out of Africa fame - “I vunce hat a farm on de Serengeti”). This is the ‘suburb’ of Nairobi (although it’s quite far out to the West) where the giraffe roam free. Coming back to town, after collecting her, we got stopped at a roadblock. I had failed to bring my International Driver’s Permit and she wasn’t wearing her seat belt (while I was, would you believe!) The cop flashed me in the eyes and started talking to me in Swahili (probably seeing the corporate logo on the side of the car and thinking I was that much local). Elizabeth took over and it was at least ten minutes of haggling about the size of the bribe before we were out of there (there’s only ONE Africa, folks, and it’s the same). He was telling her that I was mZungu so I must have money. There was a further assumption, Elizabeth told me, that she was a prostitute – so even more so that there was money available.
Anyway, she handled it nicely, if just a little petulantly, and we got away with Kshs500 (and not the Kshs3000/R400 he was initially asking). Her attitude did worry me a bit and she railed me for the next ten minutes about how much she hates this bribery thing. I just had to assure her that it was the African way – one that I already knew quite well. The difference is that our guys go for high turnover rather than high margin. In the ten minutes this cop took to get R200 off me, our guys would have stopped 5 cars at R100 each. Ode to the differences in business practices!
Once we got to town, Elizabeth and I club-hopped, with Elizabeth very intent on showing me the local club scene. Well, we wouldn’t call them clubs as much as pubs. Not a dancefloor in sight – and the DJ hidden behind some glass-paneled booth in the corner. But there are lots of people in attendance (probably 300-400 on average) sitting and drinking – and undeniably having a very good time. A popular track comes on, and everyone is immediately on their feet and dancing next to the table, in between the chairs, bumpin’ an’ grindin’, and constantly being hustled out the way by waiters and ‘snack’ salesmen (selling samoosas, kebabs and hot dog sausages). But tolerance is very much in evidence. The kebabs go by the name of nyama choma (as opposed to nyama shisa) and are also cooked outside on the pavement, just like at home.
Excuse the pun, but downtown Nairobi (on Moi Avenue) positively cooks. Here I’m talking about hundreds, if not thousands, of guys and girls on the streets – they too going from club to club to find the hottest spot for the night. And very few of these clubs charge entrance. If they do, you get a drink poured into the bargain. Lots of prostitutes walking the streets too. The clubs are often called quite exotic names like Ibiza (pronounced with a “z” rather than the Greek “th” sound) or St.Tropez (pronounced, again, with a “z” on the end, rather than being silent). But, hey, this is Nairobi, not Monaco, and we can forgive the slightly lesser global literacy!
Eventually we settled down at Maagi’s which was playing a mix of my favourite hard-core ragga and dancehall tracks. I was a bit self-conscious at first, being the only mZungu there, but what the hell, I too got up and danced. No-one noticed a thing I’m pleased to say. At about 1.00am I dropped Elizabeth and her friend Mary at the matatu rank where they caught a No.46 home. I offered to take them home in the car but Mary assured me I would get highjacked where they were going (no further details supplied).
Talking of matatus, before coming here I read on the Internet that the government had cracked down on them, requiring all to conform to white, with luminous stripes. Not a chance, folks! Watching from the balcony of one club last night, I have never seen such a garish display of taxis and buses this side of Bombay (not that I’ve ever been to Mumbai, but you know what I mean). Purple, orange, green and red, some with a chequerboard of flashing disco lights, paraded the street below. Some are like the taxis we know from Jozi. Others are like big, decorated American school buses. And many of them carry names like Obama, or Fabulous, or even Dangerous, emblazoned on the sides and windscreens!
And for the first time, last night I made it back from downtown Nairobi to Westlands without a single wrong turn! I wasn’t so lucky yesterday though (ironically, in the day time). Coming back from dropping Shamim, I again got horribly lost – this time in the lush green Embassy suburbs – and must have driven something like 60kms trying to find my way out. I knew I wasn’t far from home because Westlands, like the areas I was driving in, rests well above the city. But with the trees and forests surrounding me, and the occasional office block, I sure as hell wasn’t able to see where I was supposed to be. Eventually I found the Uhuru Highway and saw the new Safaricom (MTN) building, realizing I was now about 10Kms north of where I was supposed to be. But the highway got me home safely! But there was the usual truf eek jum in Westlands and it took me twenty minutes or so to cover the 200m from the highway to the apartments where I stay,
It’s getting quite hazardous walking down to the mall these days. The street urchins now recognize me and as soon as I head out, I’ve got two-or-three six-or-seven year olds following me, all saying “Meestah, meestah, a few shillings meestah”. I don’t mind at all but for the fact that I seldom have coins on me: They’re worth so little I prefer not to carry them. I’ll have to make a special place in my pocket for coins (spaah kush) when I walk down to Westgate. And walking is way better because, for instance, right now there’s a truf eek jum all the way from here to Nairobi central (about 10 kms). And, as I’ve said a jum is a jum like we never see in Mzansi. The radio stations cover the traffic situation quite closely and as soon as there’s a jum in one area, everyone diverts to create another jum somewhere else!
And while we’re talking about jums, after a client meeting I attended with one my of my team on Thursday, we stopped for some good Kenyan coffee at an Italian Ristorante in town, waiting to be collected by our driver. We were talking about the concept of work, and jobs, in general. Suddenly, in the middle of the conversation, she seemingly changed the subject and asked me if I’d ever been sucked! I had to refrain from answering, thinking she might be about to make some kind of indecent proposal. I just wasn’t sure what to say! Eventually, she said: “at least if you work for government you’ll never get sucked”. OK, I get it; you mean “fired”… “sacked”… “dismissed”….! I had to tell her that I had only been sucked once. More on the beautiful Kenyan accent some other time!
And as for Kenyan coffee, it took me a few days to work out why the hell I couldn’t sleep at night – even when dead tired. It was Mueni who asked, quite simply, how much coffee I drink. After telling her I’ve cut down to four or five cups, day or night, she simply laughed, saying “and you want to know why you can’t sleep?!” Quite simply, Kenyan coffee is so kick-ass strong even I can’t have more than one small teaspoon per cup. And you can’t get ANY coffee here that is mixed with chicory (like Ricoffy). So now it’s no more coffee for me after 6pm! Bring on the Chai Tea rather!
Coffee used to be the leading export crop here but it has been overtaken by horticulture at number one (remember me telling you about the flowers from Lake Naivasha), tea at number two, with coffee in third place. The Ugandans have made big inroads to the international coffee market and have stolen quite a bit of Kenya’s trade in that area.
From coffee, to two-wheeled transportation….
There are a lot of locals who ride bicycles around. And every bicycle has a little ‘platform’ welded on the back so that the rider can (precariously) transport his nearest and dearest to wherever they are going. And it’s not unusual to see a whole household being transported on a bicycle (including the kitchen sink!). Sometimes you get a major horticultural display coming towards you – looking like a camouflaged army unit on exercises - with the rider and consort both totally obscured by bouncing leaves and branches.
I hear, but haven’t seen, that the Chinese have sponsored a whole wing at Nairobi’s biggest hospital – the Aga Khan Hospital - for the benefit of those unlucky souls who have bought a Chinese motorbike and have had the lack of sense to take it on the roads here during the day (and, of course, having a license doesn’t seem to be much of a requirement here). There is evidently also something of a large informal steel sculpture outside the new wing – comprising the wrecked bikes themselves! The Westgate Nakumatt has quite a bit of floor space devoted to Chinese motor cycles and you can get a moped-style one for Kshs15 000 – that’s about R2000! Must say that I am tempted, despite my own little mishap in June (and the shoulder is STILL hurting me at times). Riding a bike here would be the ultimate rush. But, actually, the jums are so bad I’d probably be fine most times (apart from the drivers who take to the dusty sidewalks at a moment’s notice). And, of course, the jums are the motivation behind finding an alternative means of daytime transport.
Just briefly some more about driving here: traffic lights mean absolutely nothing! I am being completely serious about this. Only if there is a traffic cop at a roundabout (traffic circle) do the drivers pay the remotest heed to the traffic light. And occasionally, in town, drivers seem to pay some attention. I haven’t yet got the discreet, informal code as to which ones you obey and which you disregard completely but I suspect it has something to do with the perceived danger inherent in your negligence, or otherwise. You just GO, GO, GO and hope like hell that the oncoming traffic has seen you (which invariably, and Thank God, it usually has).
Friday night was Rachel’s party, and I’m proud to say I found my way over there (almost entirely by accident but) without a single wrong turn! And, yes, as I suspected, it was almost entirely attended by expatriates, with a small smattering of black faces in the 30-strong group. (I mean, the white mentality here is such that the folk call their townhouse ‘complexes’ compounds – like they’re there to keep the restless natives out. Anyway.) And here I learnt that Chantal is actually Charlene, and like the other Charlene we know, this one is also from South Africa – as were many of the guests. Charlene, the wispy blonde … bimbo. But, I’ll say that Rachel can cook. What a spread – all created in her own kitchen with the help of the staff. Exotic Moroccan fare (her dad is Moroccan), with lots of South African wines. I did meet two people who were great. The one – Shakila (“if there was an ‘r’ in it I would be a singer”) – and the other, Dion Gaigher from Tshwane/Pretoria.
Shakila works for Barclays in Kenya now, but has worked – would you believe - with the bass player from my Geezer band (the one I had with Dax) who has been working for an agency in Uganda for some time. A very perceptive woman she is, immediately asking if Nick didn’t perhaps have a slight obsessive-compulsive disorder! Boy, was she on the money with that one! I just had to correct the word slight. Somehow, she knocked over his alphabetized CD collection and got into a lot of trouble.
And Dion is hilarious. A self-confessed (Catholic!) boereseun, from “Woester”, he is involved with training Kenyans to install mobile telephone base-stations. He loves the country as much as I am learning to, and spends much of his time in far-flung areas. Nyeri is the latest area to get cellular and you must just see the ad for Orange Telecom in the paper… It features a full-page colour photograph of a snow-capped Mount Kenya (the view from Nyeri), and simply says “Hello, Nyeri” with the corporate logo at the bottom. Gawd, what a sight it is. I should be able to get to see Nyeri soon enough.
Note that cellular telephony is HUGE in this part of the world. My major client, Zain Telecoms, has operations in Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Mauritius, Malawi, Zambia, Niger, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Gabon and a few other places besides. And incidentally, my company does work in all those places, with moi responsible for ‘Anglophone’ – mainly East – Africa, and another team in charge of ‘Francophone’ – mainly West - Africa. My only problem with Zain is their choice a corporate colour – a garish cherise/purple – that is emblazoned on every shack that sells pre-paid airtime (that’s roughly every third shack), from here to Somalia. It stands out horribly and is so un-African. But I believe Zain are headquartered in the Middle East, so that might explain some of it!
And, yes, I managed to escape the party, intact, at 1.00am.
(I also met Loren Bosch (and his very pregnant wife), who is setting up iBurst Africa, and who tells me that iBurst back home is in quite big shit, what with network overload and huge billing problems. So don’t move just yet, guys!)
I’m coming to the end of this little missive, battling as I am to concentrate, what with the generator throbbing a few meters away from me. Once again we are victim to the lack of maintenance by Kenya Power. The good news is that my unhealthy provisions have come to an end, and when my salary cheque clears on Monday or Tuesday I’m gonna buy me a whole lot of fruit! This, in honour of the ever-expanding waistline!
Zapiro was just on Al Jazeera, with footage from the 702 interview where he confronted our President-to-Be (or not-to-be?) on the impending court case regarding the Rape of Freedoms. The ANC’s assault on press freedom is very similar to what is happening here right now too. But, thankfully, there seems to be some backing down by President Kibaki – encouraged, I hear, by the words of a far more reasonable Prime Minister Odinga. And it’s interesting to note that the Prime Minister gets referred to in the press often by his first name – Raila – as opposed to the President, who is simply Kibaki. Something like Madiba versus Mbeki….
Till next time.
Amani na mapenzi folks.
B
Because of the lack of an Internet cap, I’ve been listening to BBC 1Xtra – the BBC’s so-called ‘black’ music station - all day long. The live stream is 90% reliable and in the morning I listen to the morning drive show, which is hilarious (11.00am here is 8.00am there). And there’s not an ad within earshot! If you don’t want to listen live, you can listen to all of yesterday’s programming – whether it’s soul, R&B, dancehall, garage, UK hard core, or whatever else they offer.
One of BBC 1Xtra’s best is the Africa offering which covers Africa East, West and South and at least keeps me in touch with what the boys back home are doing. I just heard a Shaggy remix of one of the kwaito tracks I was hearing coming down the Rockey road from the taxis (that Cajun-type number featuring the accordion, if any of you know it). There’s some very cool stuff coming out of Tanzania tho’ – going by the name of Bongo Flava. There’s a Bongo Flava track that Shamim translated for me after I heard the mention of South Africa (Souze Ufreeeeka) in the lyric. It’s about a girl who goes to South Africa and gets rich but when she comes back to East Africa, she’s poor again (end of story!). As we know, our homeland has a special place in the hearts of Africans - as the place where you can make money (if you survive the xenophobia, of course). And I have already mentioned that Swahili rap-hop thing I heard the other day (which is being played more and more on the local airwaves).
I went clubbing downtown last night with Elizabeth, the promotions lady from Nakumatt. First I had to pick her up from the district of Karen (named not after Karen Blixen herself but evidently after her niece – or something like that – of Out of Africa fame - “I vunce hat a farm on de Serengeti”). This is the ‘suburb’ of Nairobi (although it’s quite far out to the West) where the giraffe roam free. Coming back to town, after collecting her, we got stopped at a roadblock. I had failed to bring my International Driver’s Permit and she wasn’t wearing her seat belt (while I was, would you believe!) The cop flashed me in the eyes and started talking to me in Swahili (probably seeing the corporate logo on the side of the car and thinking I was that much local). Elizabeth took over and it was at least ten minutes of haggling about the size of the bribe before we were out of there (there’s only ONE Africa, folks, and it’s the same). He was telling her that I was mZungu so I must have money. There was a further assumption, Elizabeth told me, that she was a prostitute – so even more so that there was money available.
Anyway, she handled it nicely, if just a little petulantly, and we got away with Kshs500 (and not the Kshs3000/R400 he was initially asking). Her attitude did worry me a bit and she railed me for the next ten minutes about how much she hates this bribery thing. I just had to assure her that it was the African way – one that I already knew quite well. The difference is that our guys go for high turnover rather than high margin. In the ten minutes this cop took to get R200 off me, our guys would have stopped 5 cars at R100 each. Ode to the differences in business practices!
Once we got to town, Elizabeth and I club-hopped, with Elizabeth very intent on showing me the local club scene. Well, we wouldn’t call them clubs as much as pubs. Not a dancefloor in sight – and the DJ hidden behind some glass-paneled booth in the corner. But there are lots of people in attendance (probably 300-400 on average) sitting and drinking – and undeniably having a very good time. A popular track comes on, and everyone is immediately on their feet and dancing next to the table, in between the chairs, bumpin’ an’ grindin’, and constantly being hustled out the way by waiters and ‘snack’ salesmen (selling samoosas, kebabs and hot dog sausages). But tolerance is very much in evidence. The kebabs go by the name of nyama choma (as opposed to nyama shisa) and are also cooked outside on the pavement, just like at home.
Excuse the pun, but downtown Nairobi (on Moi Avenue) positively cooks. Here I’m talking about hundreds, if not thousands, of guys and girls on the streets – they too going from club to club to find the hottest spot for the night. And very few of these clubs charge entrance. If they do, you get a drink poured into the bargain. Lots of prostitutes walking the streets too. The clubs are often called quite exotic names like Ibiza (pronounced with a “z” rather than the Greek “th” sound) or St.Tropez (pronounced, again, with a “z” on the end, rather than being silent). But, hey, this is Nairobi, not Monaco, and we can forgive the slightly lesser global literacy!
Eventually we settled down at Maagi’s which was playing a mix of my favourite hard-core ragga and dancehall tracks. I was a bit self-conscious at first, being the only mZungu there, but what the hell, I too got up and danced. No-one noticed a thing I’m pleased to say. At about 1.00am I dropped Elizabeth and her friend Mary at the matatu rank where they caught a No.46 home. I offered to take them home in the car but Mary assured me I would get highjacked where they were going (no further details supplied).
Talking of matatus, before coming here I read on the Internet that the government had cracked down on them, requiring all to conform to white, with luminous stripes. Not a chance, folks! Watching from the balcony of one club last night, I have never seen such a garish display of taxis and buses this side of Bombay (not that I’ve ever been to Mumbai, but you know what I mean). Purple, orange, green and red, some with a chequerboard of flashing disco lights, paraded the street below. Some are like the taxis we know from Jozi. Others are like big, decorated American school buses. And many of them carry names like Obama, or Fabulous, or even Dangerous, emblazoned on the sides and windscreens!
And for the first time, last night I made it back from downtown Nairobi to Westlands without a single wrong turn! I wasn’t so lucky yesterday though (ironically, in the day time). Coming back from dropping Shamim, I again got horribly lost – this time in the lush green Embassy suburbs – and must have driven something like 60kms trying to find my way out. I knew I wasn’t far from home because Westlands, like the areas I was driving in, rests well above the city. But with the trees and forests surrounding me, and the occasional office block, I sure as hell wasn’t able to see where I was supposed to be. Eventually I found the Uhuru Highway and saw the new Safaricom (MTN) building, realizing I was now about 10Kms north of where I was supposed to be. But the highway got me home safely! But there was the usual truf eek jum in Westlands and it took me twenty minutes or so to cover the 200m from the highway to the apartments where I stay,
It’s getting quite hazardous walking down to the mall these days. The street urchins now recognize me and as soon as I head out, I’ve got two-or-three six-or-seven year olds following me, all saying “Meestah, meestah, a few shillings meestah”. I don’t mind at all but for the fact that I seldom have coins on me: They’re worth so little I prefer not to carry them. I’ll have to make a special place in my pocket for coins (spaah kush) when I walk down to Westgate. And walking is way better because, for instance, right now there’s a truf eek jum all the way from here to Nairobi central (about 10 kms). And, as I’ve said a jum is a jum like we never see in Mzansi. The radio stations cover the traffic situation quite closely and as soon as there’s a jum in one area, everyone diverts to create another jum somewhere else!
And while we’re talking about jums, after a client meeting I attended with one my of my team on Thursday, we stopped for some good Kenyan coffee at an Italian Ristorante in town, waiting to be collected by our driver. We were talking about the concept of work, and jobs, in general. Suddenly, in the middle of the conversation, she seemingly changed the subject and asked me if I’d ever been sucked! I had to refrain from answering, thinking she might be about to make some kind of indecent proposal. I just wasn’t sure what to say! Eventually, she said: “at least if you work for government you’ll never get sucked”. OK, I get it; you mean “fired”… “sacked”… “dismissed”….! I had to tell her that I had only been sucked once. More on the beautiful Kenyan accent some other time!
And as for Kenyan coffee, it took me a few days to work out why the hell I couldn’t sleep at night – even when dead tired. It was Mueni who asked, quite simply, how much coffee I drink. After telling her I’ve cut down to four or five cups, day or night, she simply laughed, saying “and you want to know why you can’t sleep?!” Quite simply, Kenyan coffee is so kick-ass strong even I can’t have more than one small teaspoon per cup. And you can’t get ANY coffee here that is mixed with chicory (like Ricoffy). So now it’s no more coffee for me after 6pm! Bring on the Chai Tea rather!
Coffee used to be the leading export crop here but it has been overtaken by horticulture at number one (remember me telling you about the flowers from Lake Naivasha), tea at number two, with coffee in third place. The Ugandans have made big inroads to the international coffee market and have stolen quite a bit of Kenya’s trade in that area.
From coffee, to two-wheeled transportation….
There are a lot of locals who ride bicycles around. And every bicycle has a little ‘platform’ welded on the back so that the rider can (precariously) transport his nearest and dearest to wherever they are going. And it’s not unusual to see a whole household being transported on a bicycle (including the kitchen sink!). Sometimes you get a major horticultural display coming towards you – looking like a camouflaged army unit on exercises - with the rider and consort both totally obscured by bouncing leaves and branches.
I hear, but haven’t seen, that the Chinese have sponsored a whole wing at Nairobi’s biggest hospital – the Aga Khan Hospital - for the benefit of those unlucky souls who have bought a Chinese motorbike and have had the lack of sense to take it on the roads here during the day (and, of course, having a license doesn’t seem to be much of a requirement here). There is evidently also something of a large informal steel sculpture outside the new wing – comprising the wrecked bikes themselves! The Westgate Nakumatt has quite a bit of floor space devoted to Chinese motor cycles and you can get a moped-style one for Kshs15 000 – that’s about R2000! Must say that I am tempted, despite my own little mishap in June (and the shoulder is STILL hurting me at times). Riding a bike here would be the ultimate rush. But, actually, the jums are so bad I’d probably be fine most times (apart from the drivers who take to the dusty sidewalks at a moment’s notice). And, of course, the jums are the motivation behind finding an alternative means of daytime transport.
Just briefly some more about driving here: traffic lights mean absolutely nothing! I am being completely serious about this. Only if there is a traffic cop at a roundabout (traffic circle) do the drivers pay the remotest heed to the traffic light. And occasionally, in town, drivers seem to pay some attention. I haven’t yet got the discreet, informal code as to which ones you obey and which you disregard completely but I suspect it has something to do with the perceived danger inherent in your negligence, or otherwise. You just GO, GO, GO and hope like hell that the oncoming traffic has seen you (which invariably, and Thank God, it usually has).
Friday night was Rachel’s party, and I’m proud to say I found my way over there (almost entirely by accident but) without a single wrong turn! And, yes, as I suspected, it was almost entirely attended by expatriates, with a small smattering of black faces in the 30-strong group. (I mean, the white mentality here is such that the folk call their townhouse ‘complexes’ compounds – like they’re there to keep the restless natives out. Anyway.) And here I learnt that Chantal is actually Charlene, and like the other Charlene we know, this one is also from South Africa – as were many of the guests. Charlene, the wispy blonde … bimbo. But, I’ll say that Rachel can cook. What a spread – all created in her own kitchen with the help of the staff. Exotic Moroccan fare (her dad is Moroccan), with lots of South African wines. I did meet two people who were great. The one – Shakila (“if there was an ‘r’ in it I would be a singer”) – and the other, Dion Gaigher from Tshwane/Pretoria.
Shakila works for Barclays in Kenya now, but has worked – would you believe - with the bass player from my Geezer band (the one I had with Dax) who has been working for an agency in Uganda for some time. A very perceptive woman she is, immediately asking if Nick didn’t perhaps have a slight obsessive-compulsive disorder! Boy, was she on the money with that one! I just had to correct the word slight. Somehow, she knocked over his alphabetized CD collection and got into a lot of trouble.
And Dion is hilarious. A self-confessed (Catholic!) boereseun, from “Woester”, he is involved with training Kenyans to install mobile telephone base-stations. He loves the country as much as I am learning to, and spends much of his time in far-flung areas. Nyeri is the latest area to get cellular and you must just see the ad for Orange Telecom in the paper… It features a full-page colour photograph of a snow-capped Mount Kenya (the view from Nyeri), and simply says “Hello, Nyeri” with the corporate logo at the bottom. Gawd, what a sight it is. I should be able to get to see Nyeri soon enough.
Note that cellular telephony is HUGE in this part of the world. My major client, Zain Telecoms, has operations in Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Mauritius, Malawi, Zambia, Niger, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Gabon and a few other places besides. And incidentally, my company does work in all those places, with moi responsible for ‘Anglophone’ – mainly East – Africa, and another team in charge of ‘Francophone’ – mainly West - Africa. My only problem with Zain is their choice a corporate colour – a garish cherise/purple – that is emblazoned on every shack that sells pre-paid airtime (that’s roughly every third shack), from here to Somalia. It stands out horribly and is so un-African. But I believe Zain are headquartered in the Middle East, so that might explain some of it!
And, yes, I managed to escape the party, intact, at 1.00am.
(I also met Loren Bosch (and his very pregnant wife), who is setting up iBurst Africa, and who tells me that iBurst back home is in quite big shit, what with network overload and huge billing problems. So don’t move just yet, guys!)
I’m coming to the end of this little missive, battling as I am to concentrate, what with the generator throbbing a few meters away from me. Once again we are victim to the lack of maintenance by Kenya Power. The good news is that my unhealthy provisions have come to an end, and when my salary cheque clears on Monday or Tuesday I’m gonna buy me a whole lot of fruit! This, in honour of the ever-expanding waistline!
Zapiro was just on Al Jazeera, with footage from the 702 interview where he confronted our President-to-Be (or not-to-be?) on the impending court case regarding the Rape of Freedoms. The ANC’s assault on press freedom is very similar to what is happening here right now too. But, thankfully, there seems to be some backing down by President Kibaki – encouraged, I hear, by the words of a far more reasonable Prime Minister Odinga. And it’s interesting to note that the Prime Minister gets referred to in the press often by his first name – Raila – as opposed to the President, who is simply Kibaki. Something like Madiba versus Mbeki….
Till next time.
Amani na mapenzi folks.
B
Boys and Girls on the Art Cafe Porch
In the context of African cities, Nairobi is pretty cool. Sitting on the open veranda of the Art Café, sipping the ‘house red’ and simply observing, I could be in Paris, Milan or Clifton (or Nairobi!). Next to me is a table of gay boys (note that homosexuality is illegal in Kenya) and what look like models – all talking at the top of the decibel range and daahling the odds for all to hear. From the one white boy (wearing Madonna-style rosary hanging to his crotch) comes what has to be the classic nouveau Kenyan saying, spoken to his black partner…
“Well, daahling, just wake up and smell the coffee!”
Pretending not to be listening – although there’s no-one within twenty meters who can’t be listening – I almost fall off my chair laughing. Just then, a strapping black girl (say 6ft2in with broad shoulders and big arms), impeccably dressed in a low-cut, black, off-the-shoulder, bare-backed Valentino-type number joins the table. The same white boy announces simultaneously to everyone, and no-one in particular…
“And SHE’s just been to Cape Town!”
“Oh WOW”, echoes everyone around the table.
I want to butt in and proudly proclaim my birthplace. But I refrain.
Needing to look nonchalant and not the eavesdropper that I am just then, I pick up my confounded Blackberry (smartphone or stupidphone?) and call Shamim who, by now, has let me know that she has around ten potential suitors who call her all day, every day, and it pisses her off. But, hey, we-can-stay-friends, etc. (she even keeps two separate SIM cards so as to avoid some of them and I guess I’m privileged to know both numbers). The presence of suitors was a fact she could hardly hide for much longer, given that her phone doesn’t stop ringing when we’re together…
But I’m cool with the ‘friend’ thing. She is absolutely gorgeous (I mean, as in drop-dead gorgeous), but as I might have intimated, she’s a lot younger than me – and clearly (to me at least) has a lot to do and discover in this wide world of ours. Actually, she’s probably too young in the sense that there are a lot of ageing mZungus around – often sporting three-ply rugs on their heads – who hang out with young Kenyan chicks (who, it is said, can drain them of any and all financial resources quicker than you can say “jackpot!”).
I don’t want to be seen in this category and certainly don’t want to be in this category. It’s not the case with Shamim (she is a lady of her own financial means) but it probably looks that way from the outside. Anyway, staying friends is good and there’s little doubt we’ll still ‘see’ each other fairly often – at least often enough for both of us to have a good time in each other’s company – without ‘pushing it’. I really like her. She’s got class and sophistication and will one day go far in the burgeoning world of media, travel and tourism – all subjects she is actually passionate about.
But I digress. So I’m on the phone, being cool on the porch of the Art Cafe. Who should come past just then, recognize me, and gesticulate wildly to come over when I’m finished talking, but Rachel – the J.A.P. who wants to take me to Sudan for some work with the U.N. (or is that mainly a pretext for some entirely other intentions..?) I indicate my assent and talk for another ten minutes before dropping the call and sauntering over to Rachel’s table. We do the cheek-touching European greeting thing (over here it’s three cheek touches – right-left-right) and she introduces me to her house-mate (Chantal is it?), a wispy blonde number who she’s sitting with. Chantal (?) greets me but continues playing with her phone, distractedly.
Earlier, just before leaving the office (at 6.00 pm), I received an e-mail inviting me to a party at Rachel’s place on Friday night. In the mail, she invited anyone interested in coming to the party to return-mail for directions. She had obviously left the office when I returned her mail, asking for same, because she was obviously thrilled that I had replied in the affirmative.
“Will you have a car?” she asks.
“Yes”, I say.
“Well, leave it at home and catch a taxi”
“Why”, I ask.
“Because you’re hopefully not going to be in any condition to drive home”
Sounds like a contemporary take on White Mischief – which it increasingly seems this place is very much about – but I’m left wondering if she means what she said, or is it rather that she hopes I won’t be in any condition to go home! I do suspect some motives above and beyond the call of duty, and beyond her insistence that the party will be a “great place to network”. I just hope I don’t get cornered in a situation I can’t diplomatically get out of (and thereby get to ruin a budding friendship and a possibly profitable business relationship).
Rachel is quite attractive (in an Ashkenazi kind of way) but evidence of the good life she leads in Nairobi is well-evidenced around her waistline. And she’s about as loud as the gay boys 10 meters behind me (who I can still hear dillying, dallying and daahling at their table). But I’m looking forward to the party. It will give me a chance to meet some of the more pale-complexioned (mainly expatriate) folk of Nairobi. Network se moer.
But let me not be too critical of waistlines right now because I have noted a slight ballooning of my own in the last short while! At the end of the day’s work, there is a definite ingrained red stripe around my waist from one particular pair of pants that I wear quite often. And these pants didn’t leave this type of mark two weeks ago, when I got here!
So tonight I decided I’m going to have to revise my diet and favour the abundant and extremely inexpensive fruit that’s everywhere. Fruitarian by day and carnivore by night (sometimes, anyway). Sounds a bit like Count Dracula.
But talking of meats (which are plentiful), I haven’t yet had the chance to sample the fish produce, although, I was told today that there’s Red Snapper from Lake Victoria that is mind-blowing. Soon, for sure (or, as Shamim would put it, seemingly in reference to a piece of angling equipment, “fur reel”. Get it? For sure, for real or “fur reel”).
Anyway, from fish, to a bit more of my mongering… The little taste of café society that’s to be had down the road is quite appealing in that there’s no shortage of beautiful people to be seen, and be seen by. The glances are hardly furtive and, at the risk of being totally boring, the women are beautiful. So it is altogether pleasant just sitting there, looking round.
And I must admit, while sitting at the café, I did flirt with my favourite female maitre-D who, oh-so coquettishly told me that it was good to see me back there. I feigned my slight objection at the fact that she hadn’t noticed that I had indeed already been back – just that afternoon in fact - having been treated to a birthday lunch by my colleague, Mueni. Did she blush at the fact of not having seen me there? I think so, but I’m not sure. There was the ever-so-brief touch on the arm before she disappeared again into the porch-ridden throng. She – whose name I don’t yet know - is one of Kenya’s black, Swahili-speaking women with absolutely straight hair - hair which she proudly wears in a long pony-tail, down her black-shirted back.
Gawd, that’s enough of my current obsession with women and beauty in Nairobi!
Anyway, guys and girls (or guys of both genders, if you prefer) I am totally obliterated from a day of proposal-writing that was preceded by little sleep. I thrashed around in bed, thinking about my proposal and unable to write it. I must have had two hours of sleep, at best, but would have got my proposal finished had it not been for the fact that I left the laptop charger in the office (and I only got my set of office keys today). The laptop battery ran out an hour after I started working at home. So I had to think about the proposal without being able to just do it. So I’m going to sleep now (9.30pm)…
Ostensibly, I was at the Art Café because I had had to go to Nakumatt – to buy loo paper and sugar only – and, of course, I only dropped by the café to have a glass of wine before retiring for the night. True, I guess, but there are attractions at the mall that might somehow force me to go to Nakumatt, even with nothing to buy!
But I didn’t finish at Nakumatt this evening before buying a tin of Kenyan Chai Tea. Chai is granulated instant tea that has a very nutty taste. It’s consumed in an almost-all-milk mix, with lots of sugar. And is absolutely delicious… But on the label you are instructed to use it like you would instant coffee. However, there seems to be a local tradition as I’ve described: Lots of milk and sugar. It’s a taste you could never get from hanging a teabag (or even five teabags) in a cup – for however long. And it’s a taste that is quite addictive.
So, for now, it’s ciao, Chai and arrividerci (or some such spelling).
From Nairobi, as always…
Amani na upendo (peace and love) to you all!
Brian
“Well, daahling, just wake up and smell the coffee!”
Pretending not to be listening – although there’s no-one within twenty meters who can’t be listening – I almost fall off my chair laughing. Just then, a strapping black girl (say 6ft2in with broad shoulders and big arms), impeccably dressed in a low-cut, black, off-the-shoulder, bare-backed Valentino-type number joins the table. The same white boy announces simultaneously to everyone, and no-one in particular…
“And SHE’s just been to Cape Town!”
“Oh WOW”, echoes everyone around the table.
I want to butt in and proudly proclaim my birthplace. But I refrain.
Needing to look nonchalant and not the eavesdropper that I am just then, I pick up my confounded Blackberry (smartphone or stupidphone?) and call Shamim who, by now, has let me know that she has around ten potential suitors who call her all day, every day, and it pisses her off. But, hey, we-can-stay-friends, etc. (she even keeps two separate SIM cards so as to avoid some of them and I guess I’m privileged to know both numbers). The presence of suitors was a fact she could hardly hide for much longer, given that her phone doesn’t stop ringing when we’re together…
But I’m cool with the ‘friend’ thing. She is absolutely gorgeous (I mean, as in drop-dead gorgeous), but as I might have intimated, she’s a lot younger than me – and clearly (to me at least) has a lot to do and discover in this wide world of ours. Actually, she’s probably too young in the sense that there are a lot of ageing mZungus around – often sporting three-ply rugs on their heads – who hang out with young Kenyan chicks (who, it is said, can drain them of any and all financial resources quicker than you can say “jackpot!”).
I don’t want to be seen in this category and certainly don’t want to be in this category. It’s not the case with Shamim (she is a lady of her own financial means) but it probably looks that way from the outside. Anyway, staying friends is good and there’s little doubt we’ll still ‘see’ each other fairly often – at least often enough for both of us to have a good time in each other’s company – without ‘pushing it’. I really like her. She’s got class and sophistication and will one day go far in the burgeoning world of media, travel and tourism – all subjects she is actually passionate about.
But I digress. So I’m on the phone, being cool on the porch of the Art Cafe. Who should come past just then, recognize me, and gesticulate wildly to come over when I’m finished talking, but Rachel – the J.A.P. who wants to take me to Sudan for some work with the U.N. (or is that mainly a pretext for some entirely other intentions..?) I indicate my assent and talk for another ten minutes before dropping the call and sauntering over to Rachel’s table. We do the cheek-touching European greeting thing (over here it’s three cheek touches – right-left-right) and she introduces me to her house-mate (Chantal is it?), a wispy blonde number who she’s sitting with. Chantal (?) greets me but continues playing with her phone, distractedly.
Earlier, just before leaving the office (at 6.00 pm), I received an e-mail inviting me to a party at Rachel’s place on Friday night. In the mail, she invited anyone interested in coming to the party to return-mail for directions. She had obviously left the office when I returned her mail, asking for same, because she was obviously thrilled that I had replied in the affirmative.
“Will you have a car?” she asks.
“Yes”, I say.
“Well, leave it at home and catch a taxi”
“Why”, I ask.
“Because you’re hopefully not going to be in any condition to drive home”
Sounds like a contemporary take on White Mischief – which it increasingly seems this place is very much about – but I’m left wondering if she means what she said, or is it rather that she hopes I won’t be in any condition to go home! I do suspect some motives above and beyond the call of duty, and beyond her insistence that the party will be a “great place to network”. I just hope I don’t get cornered in a situation I can’t diplomatically get out of (and thereby get to ruin a budding friendship and a possibly profitable business relationship).
Rachel is quite attractive (in an Ashkenazi kind of way) but evidence of the good life she leads in Nairobi is well-evidenced around her waistline. And she’s about as loud as the gay boys 10 meters behind me (who I can still hear dillying, dallying and daahling at their table). But I’m looking forward to the party. It will give me a chance to meet some of the more pale-complexioned (mainly expatriate) folk of Nairobi. Network se moer.
But let me not be too critical of waistlines right now because I have noted a slight ballooning of my own in the last short while! At the end of the day’s work, there is a definite ingrained red stripe around my waist from one particular pair of pants that I wear quite often. And these pants didn’t leave this type of mark two weeks ago, when I got here!
So tonight I decided I’m going to have to revise my diet and favour the abundant and extremely inexpensive fruit that’s everywhere. Fruitarian by day and carnivore by night (sometimes, anyway). Sounds a bit like Count Dracula.
But talking of meats (which are plentiful), I haven’t yet had the chance to sample the fish produce, although, I was told today that there’s Red Snapper from Lake Victoria that is mind-blowing. Soon, for sure (or, as Shamim would put it, seemingly in reference to a piece of angling equipment, “fur reel”. Get it? For sure, for real or “fur reel”).
Anyway, from fish, to a bit more of my mongering… The little taste of café society that’s to be had down the road is quite appealing in that there’s no shortage of beautiful people to be seen, and be seen by. The glances are hardly furtive and, at the risk of being totally boring, the women are beautiful. So it is altogether pleasant just sitting there, looking round.
And I must admit, while sitting at the café, I did flirt with my favourite female maitre-D who, oh-so coquettishly told me that it was good to see me back there. I feigned my slight objection at the fact that she hadn’t noticed that I had indeed already been back – just that afternoon in fact - having been treated to a birthday lunch by my colleague, Mueni. Did she blush at the fact of not having seen me there? I think so, but I’m not sure. There was the ever-so-brief touch on the arm before she disappeared again into the porch-ridden throng. She – whose name I don’t yet know - is one of Kenya’s black, Swahili-speaking women with absolutely straight hair - hair which she proudly wears in a long pony-tail, down her black-shirted back.
Gawd, that’s enough of my current obsession with women and beauty in Nairobi!
Anyway, guys and girls (or guys of both genders, if you prefer) I am totally obliterated from a day of proposal-writing that was preceded by little sleep. I thrashed around in bed, thinking about my proposal and unable to write it. I must have had two hours of sleep, at best, but would have got my proposal finished had it not been for the fact that I left the laptop charger in the office (and I only got my set of office keys today). The laptop battery ran out an hour after I started working at home. So I had to think about the proposal without being able to just do it. So I’m going to sleep now (9.30pm)…
Ostensibly, I was at the Art Café because I had had to go to Nakumatt – to buy loo paper and sugar only – and, of course, I only dropped by the café to have a glass of wine before retiring for the night. True, I guess, but there are attractions at the mall that might somehow force me to go to Nakumatt, even with nothing to buy!
But I didn’t finish at Nakumatt this evening before buying a tin of Kenyan Chai Tea. Chai is granulated instant tea that has a very nutty taste. It’s consumed in an almost-all-milk mix, with lots of sugar. And is absolutely delicious… But on the label you are instructed to use it like you would instant coffee. However, there seems to be a local tradition as I’ve described: Lots of milk and sugar. It’s a taste you could never get from hanging a teabag (or even five teabags) in a cup – for however long. And it’s a taste that is quite addictive.
So, for now, it’s ciao, Chai and arrividerci (or some such spelling).
From Nairobi, as always…
Amani na upendo (peace and love) to you all!
Brian
Traffic, Trafficking and an Unhappy State of the Nation
So, me dears, I’m getting to do a lot of my shopping at the new, luxury Westgate Mall. It’s something like Sandton City times two, but because space here is hardly a problem, there is a lot more room to move. And, surprisingly there are a lot of speciality brand shops. There’s a dedicated Levis store, a Converse store, a Swatch store, and more. A lot of the products in the supermarkets are the same as in SA. This, particularly as far as the multinational brands are concerned. Both Lever Brothers’ brands and Colgate brands have a very strong presence on the household products and toiletries shelves. But it’s not Baker’s, but Proctor & Gamble’s, biscuits that are big, and there are very few biscuit brands here that I know. Kelloggs is huge and there is every brand of cereal we know (and a few we don’t know). But there is very little to be found by way of muesli and so-called ‘health’ cereals. I have searched a few times now but have been unable to find any kind of fish-paste and no Black Cat. Damn. Where I can’t find OMO, I can always rely on Toss (!), the detergent that’s gentle on the hands. Dairy products are, naturally, produced locally. And I mean naturally. A lot of the local natural products are organic and there is an organic market here somewhere that I haven’t got to yet. There’s a lot of pride in local dairy and because of the multicultural tones of Nairobi, there are Indian speciality cheeses, English cheeses, Italian cheeses and other types of cheese whose names I can’t begin to spell or pronounce. Similarly, in the meat deli sections of the supermarkets, there’s an amazingly wide variety of cold cuts. These products all seem to be produced in the vicinity and my current cheesy favourite is called Seriously Cheddar and there’s Bulgarian (of all places!) salami that is kick-ass.
I won’t go into great detail about this, but I had to take a young lady home this morning, to the southern district of Nairobi CBD. Her name is Shamim and she is studying for a commerce degree in Travel and Tourism at Nairobi University. She stays in an apartment block just off campus, on the south side of Nairobi. Getting her there was easy, with her suburb lying just on the outskirts of the city. But, without her guidance, coming back wasn’t as easy. The South (actual name of the suburb) apartment blocks obscure a view of the city buildings and so I took a wrong turn somewhere, finding myself suddenly on a single lane, one-way road to hell. Jammed in by matatus of every shape and size, driving like the proverbial bats outa hell, I was forced to just go with the flow, as it were. As soon as I had a chance to stop and turn, I did so, only to take another wrong turn. Quite quickly, and without any warning, I found myself in the district of Ngara. Now, for those of you who know me reasonably well, you will know that I spent some time in Gugulethu, as well as Khayalitsha, in my not-too-distant past. For a white South African, staying in a ‘black’ township can be a bit unsettling at first, but fine, actually. But let me just say that those two SA townships are heaven in comparison to what I saw in Ngara. To give you some idea, Ngara is one of the townships in Nairobi where the UN does a lot of its work. The people are desperately poor and there is NO drainage or water facilities. That is, there is no running water in Ngara and there are no toilets. Need I say more? And the road I found myself on was near-impassable, being rutted and potholed to the extent of needing to drive slower than walking pace. A little apprehensive maybe, but I didn’t feel scared or threatened. I drove with the window open and was greeted quite frequently, even if a little quizzically, by local folk, with a smile, and a “Jambo mZungu” (get the similarity to our own mLungu). But, despite the pitiful state of our ‘informal’ townships – our shack settlements - we don’t know this level of destitution and desperation. But, again, the people seem happy as they can possibly be and there’s a helluva lot going on in the streets. One thing IS for sure, if I had a guide, this would be the place I would look to buy local goods – particularly kikois. And incidentally, the most popular fabric design – although not strictly a kikoi – features the face of the US President Elect, along with the legend Hongera (Congrats) Barack Obama. With a smile I noted that a few of these fabrics feature the additional legend, in smaller type, Product of Kenya. The Kenyans are very obviously, very proud that the most-powerful-man-in-the-world-to-be is a local boy!
After my little sojourn into Ngara, I eventually found my way onto Moi Avenue and then onto Haile Selassi Drive, starting up the Uhuru Highway that takes one out to Westlands, where I work and presently reside. In the same way that, as a kid on the Durban Beachfront, I used to love the Dodgem cars, hell, I just love driving here. It’s a hoot, if you’ll excuse the pun. Total free-for-all. As I have said before, it’s not for the faint hearted. But then I’ve never exactly been faint hearted myself. But beware, you DO need to drive well. It really is K-R-Azey. But fun. Anyway, there I was screaming up the Uhuru highway and suddenly before me there is this traffic hold-up ahead. From 100kph to 0 in a matter of 3 seconds, traffic converging like uncooked spaghetti going down the hole in the zinc. Screeeeeeech on all sides. Twenty five minutes later, as my ankle is starting to really cramp up from incessant working of the clutch, I arrive at a sign saying Road Works Ahead. Then, in a matter of a few seconds we’re all hell-bent on destruction again, heading up the steep, tropical tree-lined highway. But not before passing through the eye of a needle, in what would normally be the emergency lane (but which is treated like any other unmarked lane in Nairobi) as road workers desperately try and fill a pothole the size of a compact car (but only half as deep). But seriously, I have hit this pothole a few times already this weekend as Shamim and I got to see a bit of the city lights on Thursday and Friday night. At night, when there isn’t the usual traffic jam (or, as Shamim puts it, trufeek jum), you don’t see the hole until it’s too late. So too, for most of the huge potholes in the roads here. Normally, in daytime, you see the matatus’ brake lights (if they have any) to warn you of what they alone know lies ahead. Normally, (if you’re half-way concentrating, that is) you get to brake in time. When not, it seems that you’ve just dropped the entire suspension into the hole. But, again, I have to say, I love driving here. If only for the rush.
Note: A few things you need to know on the roads: If a matatu – or anyone else for that matter - flashes his lights at you, it usually means he’s going to turn directly in front of you. If there’s a hoot from behind it usually means another lane is going to be spontaneously created next to you (when there is clearly only space for one lane!). If a hand is raised in the sky, from a vehicle in a side road, it means “coming through, whatever happens”! Yeah, well, you get used to it quite quickly. You have to.
Another thing: the informal street vendors are very quick to pick up on a trufeek jum. Within minutes of a hold-up, whether by accident or intent, they’re out there with their goods – ranging from a bunch of bananas for 60Kshs (80c) to copies of the latest National Geographic (would you believe!) – at the normal list price of a few dollars.
Yesterday’s goings-on in Nairobi were illuminating, to say the very least. Yesterday (Friday 12th December) was a public holiday – Jamhuri Day – marking Kenya’s 45th year of independence from Colonial rule. A large rally was held in the local stadium (whose name I don’t know) where State President Kibaki held forth on the future of the country. Shamim was flicking through the DStv channels and suddenly stopped. I looked up from my struggles with my new company Blackberry phone (browser?) to see live coverage of the stadium, where five or six security policemen in suits, were battling to extract a man, also dressed in a suit and armed with a bundle of loose papers (with the uniformed policemen behind the securities armed with AK’s - at the ready). The guy they were extricating was shouting something that we couldn’t hear, while the security guys were trying to hustle him out. One of the securities was battling in vain to cover his mouth as he shouted. The camera switched to a picture of the President, wearing a faint, unamused smile, looking on. Then, as the camera tracked around the stadium it was an obvious sight of clear disillusionment and bitterness among the people. It became apparent after a very short while that this was no celebration of festivity and joyous freedom. These people were mainly attending to express their dissatisfaction at the state of the nation. The President started his speech with a question in Swahili (and translated by Shamim) to the effect of “What are we going to do?” Maybe he was referring to the guy being forcibly removed. I’m not sure. But quite quickly the camera focused on a member of the audience with a pink T-Shirt on, advertising a new cellphone tariff structure called Vuka! (Go!) and he was repeatedly flicking at the Vuka logo. Quite quickly, everyone around him started shouting the same… “Vuka…Vuka…Vuka…!” (By way of an aside, the Vuka cellphone tariff is 8 Kenyan Shillings – Kshs – per minute across all networks. Guys, that’s less than 1c a minute!). But back to politics…! The stadium scene presented clear echoes of a time back home where this type of demonstration would not have been out-of-place. And there are two features of the recent political landscape here that underline the bitterness we were seeing on the screen. First is the passage of a recent bill through parliament that allows the State to close any media operator, by decree, for not towing the accepted line. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? The second concerns a debate as to whether MP’s should pay tax or not. Obviously, the rank and file population want MP’s to pay tax. MP’s are refusing and are defying a judicial ruling in this regard….. And there are a few journalists languishing in jail this weekend (denied bail for the bail-able offence of Incitement to Public Disorder at the stadium).
The Po-Lease here, by the way, are very much apparatniks and are quite feared. It’s not uncommon to see reports in the press (a very good press, by the way) of suspected robbers being gunned down after having been followed for an hour or two (no actual evidence led!). Jane tells me that it’s often in dispute as to who the robbers actually are – the guys in uniform, or the other guys – and evidence is often planted after the event, so to speak. Don’t fuck widdem ‘cos the Po-Lease carry machine guns! But, don’t get me wrong, there is not a sense of living in a Po-Lease State.
As I’ve been writing this, I have, for some reason unknown even to myself, had the local Kenyan TV station showing on the box (maybe it’s been on this station since we watched the stadium mess yesterday). I obviously haven’t been actually watching but the sound has been quite easy on the ear, featuring music videos of the East African praise music. The last video – watched as I made a cup of coffee – was actually quite hilarious. As is usually the case, the videos feature a bunch of guys – and then, separately, girls – shot on low-band (probably VHS), dancing in someone’s garden, dressed in fancy suits that are probably worn in church, but, more probably, commissioned specifically for the video. This particular one featured this self-same dancing but then it suddenly stops as an intercut appears – from an old black-and-white bible film – showing Jesus being seriously hammered onto the cross. Then the music starts again – and I wish I could say, without missing a beat. But it’s at least a full bar gets lost in the intercut. How the standards of music videos can be said to differ between cultures and musical interests!
And also yesterday, just before seeing the Kibaki debacle on this same station, I watched a short doccie on the rehabilitation of orphaned gorilla babies in Rwanda (a sure sign, I’d say, that I must get to the chimp orphanage in Uganda and the gorilla orphanage in Rwanda when I get to the two countries in March). The doccie had some very graphic footage of what poachers get to do to the parent gorillas (a la Sigourney Weaver/Dianne Fossey’s "Gorillas in the Mist"). It is absolutely brutal and tragic what happens in the jungle but when I saw the babies in their rehabilitation camp, I laughed and cried at the same time. They are SO like human babies it is uncanny. Wearing Pampers in the smallest size, two of the baby gorillas were playing with each other on the arm of one of the camp ‘wardens’. They were pulling each other’s hair and then ducking behind the back of the keeper. Like human babies, as soon as the one was invisible to the other, it was as if he/she didn’t ever exist. Then suddenly they stopped playing the game, looked at each other, leant forward, touching their foreheads together and then, I swear, they kissed and smiled! Priceless charm. I have to get there and play with them a bit – and human contact early on is encouraged! Only later, when they are taught to beat their chests and have a shot at (usually male) dominance, do the keepers start to remove them from the human realm.
My younger son, Ben, asked me for an idea of what it looks like here ‘cos he couldn’t picture where I was… If you know the Natal midlands or areas like Kloof in Kwazulu, you’ll have a good idea. Thick vegetation is everywhere (there’s a forest just next door here), mainly of subtropical varieties. Around every second corner is some or other guy selling potted plants of every shape and size. The climate is such that one doesn’t have to water the plants much. Nairobi is in the ‘highlands’, meaning that you don’t get equatorial heat and humidity but get a morning dew, and a freshness from Mount Kenya, about 100kms away. The days are warm, not particularly hot, but the evenings get pretty cool. Main streets are tarred (with potholes that keep everyone veering from side to side!) but just as you get off the main road, there is often a dirt road of orange soil. Little roads wind up, down and around hillocks, lined by banana palms, ferns and papaya trees. It really is quite beautiful.
I’ve been seeing a lot of coverage on Al Jazeera of Zim, the cholera epidemic and the mounting calls for Mugabe to vuka. Morgan’s on the box now, hiding out in Botswana and obviously denying Mugabe’s claim that there is NO cholera in Zimbabwe. I’m grateful for the coverage here of the Southern African Scene. I’m loving it here, but let’s face it, home is always home and it’s good to be kept in touch (any other news to tell me, guys?)
The really bad news here is that human trafficking – for the sex trade – has been on the rapid increase in Mombasa and numerous girls have already disappeared from Nairobi over the last few weeks (and it happens all the time). As I told you all last time, I’m not being allowed to drive to Mombasa (by the boss, Jane). But I do plan to get there soon – by hook or crook, but probably by train - when the railway line re-opens (when, nobody knows). But from all accounts, with the city dating from no less than the 1100’s it’s got to be a great place to see.
One last bit of news. Shamim and I took the opportunity, amid the relative traffic-ease of the holiday, to have a look at a few of the suburbs nearby, to try find me a place to live. Just around the corner and up the hill is an area, high up, overlooking the city, that is absolutely stunning. Narrow dirt roads and jungle are everywhere, with old colonial houses tucked away behind old fences. The relative isolation of some of the houses necessitates full-time security (Nairobi is also known as Nai-robbery) but I am told, this security luxury comes at a very affordable price – about one US$ a day! I will call some of the agents on Monday to try find a place I can afford. And having driven around a lot over the last few days I realize I must go for an unfurnished place (furnished can cost more than US$1000 a month!). Unfurnished, because there are so many carpenters working on the side of the road, selling beds for $20 or less, and cupboards for much the same (noting that there’s also no shortage of wood around the local jungles). Of course, these guys also make chairs, tables, and pretty much whatever else you might need to furnish a house….
So, that’s all for now.
In the meantime guys, Peace and Love (Amani na Mapenzi) from the land of the incessant trufeek jum!
(Just went to the local (24 Hr!) Nakumatt supermarket to buy some cheap smokes (yes, I’m still smoking – but not at work in the day!). The local hip-hop/R&B station – Kiss FM - was still on the radio. This, after Shamim tuned off the reggae station this morning (she’s strictly a Beyonce type gal). Kiss were playing a set of Swahili hip-hop. The language is so damn poetic it just WORKS for hip hop and rap. I stopped to write the words of the chorus down (for one very well produced song) that sound something like this (with all due apologies to Swahili speaking people, wherever they may be):
Kasawa sasa sena
Mzuri mapenga sana
Fuck it, I don’t know what it means (yet) - and my translator is spending the day studying for a supp of an exam she flunked - but isn’t it just bootiful?)
Once again, peace and love brothers and sisters!
PS, one for the guys: The women here generally have absolutely GREAT legs, and they know it. Need I say any more about the fashions that follow this knowledge of theirs? Guess not. (and may the foot-fetishists know that the pedicure business does well here too – as does the nail varnish business and the Italian high-heeled stiletto business!)The hairstyles are, of course, quite sophisticated too. When I commented to Shamim on one set of extensions she disdainfully told me that they were “not extensions but pretensions”. Anyway, I at least thought the big hair looked pretty cool…. And I told her that jealousy is unbecoming for a lady of her class… Reply: “Hmmmph”
Later!
B
I won’t go into great detail about this, but I had to take a young lady home this morning, to the southern district of Nairobi CBD. Her name is Shamim and she is studying for a commerce degree in Travel and Tourism at Nairobi University. She stays in an apartment block just off campus, on the south side of Nairobi. Getting her there was easy, with her suburb lying just on the outskirts of the city. But, without her guidance, coming back wasn’t as easy. The South (actual name of the suburb) apartment blocks obscure a view of the city buildings and so I took a wrong turn somewhere, finding myself suddenly on a single lane, one-way road to hell. Jammed in by matatus of every shape and size, driving like the proverbial bats outa hell, I was forced to just go with the flow, as it were. As soon as I had a chance to stop and turn, I did so, only to take another wrong turn. Quite quickly, and without any warning, I found myself in the district of Ngara. Now, for those of you who know me reasonably well, you will know that I spent some time in Gugulethu, as well as Khayalitsha, in my not-too-distant past. For a white South African, staying in a ‘black’ township can be a bit unsettling at first, but fine, actually. But let me just say that those two SA townships are heaven in comparison to what I saw in Ngara. To give you some idea, Ngara is one of the townships in Nairobi where the UN does a lot of its work. The people are desperately poor and there is NO drainage or water facilities. That is, there is no running water in Ngara and there are no toilets. Need I say more? And the road I found myself on was near-impassable, being rutted and potholed to the extent of needing to drive slower than walking pace. A little apprehensive maybe, but I didn’t feel scared or threatened. I drove with the window open and was greeted quite frequently, even if a little quizzically, by local folk, with a smile, and a “Jambo mZungu” (get the similarity to our own mLungu). But, despite the pitiful state of our ‘informal’ townships – our shack settlements - we don’t know this level of destitution and desperation. But, again, the people seem happy as they can possibly be and there’s a helluva lot going on in the streets. One thing IS for sure, if I had a guide, this would be the place I would look to buy local goods – particularly kikois. And incidentally, the most popular fabric design – although not strictly a kikoi – features the face of the US President Elect, along with the legend Hongera (Congrats) Barack Obama. With a smile I noted that a few of these fabrics feature the additional legend, in smaller type, Product of Kenya. The Kenyans are very obviously, very proud that the most-powerful-man-in-the-world-to-be is a local boy!
After my little sojourn into Ngara, I eventually found my way onto Moi Avenue and then onto Haile Selassi Drive, starting up the Uhuru Highway that takes one out to Westlands, where I work and presently reside. In the same way that, as a kid on the Durban Beachfront, I used to love the Dodgem cars, hell, I just love driving here. It’s a hoot, if you’ll excuse the pun. Total free-for-all. As I have said before, it’s not for the faint hearted. But then I’ve never exactly been faint hearted myself. But beware, you DO need to drive well. It really is K-R-Azey. But fun. Anyway, there I was screaming up the Uhuru highway and suddenly before me there is this traffic hold-up ahead. From 100kph to 0 in a matter of 3 seconds, traffic converging like uncooked spaghetti going down the hole in the zinc. Screeeeeeech on all sides. Twenty five minutes later, as my ankle is starting to really cramp up from incessant working of the clutch, I arrive at a sign saying Road Works Ahead. Then, in a matter of a few seconds we’re all hell-bent on destruction again, heading up the steep, tropical tree-lined highway. But not before passing through the eye of a needle, in what would normally be the emergency lane (but which is treated like any other unmarked lane in Nairobi) as road workers desperately try and fill a pothole the size of a compact car (but only half as deep). But seriously, I have hit this pothole a few times already this weekend as Shamim and I got to see a bit of the city lights on Thursday and Friday night. At night, when there isn’t the usual traffic jam (or, as Shamim puts it, trufeek jum), you don’t see the hole until it’s too late. So too, for most of the huge potholes in the roads here. Normally, in daytime, you see the matatus’ brake lights (if they have any) to warn you of what they alone know lies ahead. Normally, (if you’re half-way concentrating, that is) you get to brake in time. When not, it seems that you’ve just dropped the entire suspension into the hole. But, again, I have to say, I love driving here. If only for the rush.
Note: A few things you need to know on the roads: If a matatu – or anyone else for that matter - flashes his lights at you, it usually means he’s going to turn directly in front of you. If there’s a hoot from behind it usually means another lane is going to be spontaneously created next to you (when there is clearly only space for one lane!). If a hand is raised in the sky, from a vehicle in a side road, it means “coming through, whatever happens”! Yeah, well, you get used to it quite quickly. You have to.
Another thing: the informal street vendors are very quick to pick up on a trufeek jum. Within minutes of a hold-up, whether by accident or intent, they’re out there with their goods – ranging from a bunch of bananas for 60Kshs (80c) to copies of the latest National Geographic (would you believe!) – at the normal list price of a few dollars.
Yesterday’s goings-on in Nairobi were illuminating, to say the very least. Yesterday (Friday 12th December) was a public holiday – Jamhuri Day – marking Kenya’s 45th year of independence from Colonial rule. A large rally was held in the local stadium (whose name I don’t know) where State President Kibaki held forth on the future of the country. Shamim was flicking through the DStv channels and suddenly stopped. I looked up from my struggles with my new company Blackberry phone (browser?) to see live coverage of the stadium, where five or six security policemen in suits, were battling to extract a man, also dressed in a suit and armed with a bundle of loose papers (with the uniformed policemen behind the securities armed with AK’s - at the ready). The guy they were extricating was shouting something that we couldn’t hear, while the security guys were trying to hustle him out. One of the securities was battling in vain to cover his mouth as he shouted. The camera switched to a picture of the President, wearing a faint, unamused smile, looking on. Then, as the camera tracked around the stadium it was an obvious sight of clear disillusionment and bitterness among the people. It became apparent after a very short while that this was no celebration of festivity and joyous freedom. These people were mainly attending to express their dissatisfaction at the state of the nation. The President started his speech with a question in Swahili (and translated by Shamim) to the effect of “What are we going to do?” Maybe he was referring to the guy being forcibly removed. I’m not sure. But quite quickly the camera focused on a member of the audience with a pink T-Shirt on, advertising a new cellphone tariff structure called Vuka! (Go!) and he was repeatedly flicking at the Vuka logo. Quite quickly, everyone around him started shouting the same… “Vuka…Vuka…Vuka…!” (By way of an aside, the Vuka cellphone tariff is 8 Kenyan Shillings – Kshs – per minute across all networks. Guys, that’s less than 1c a minute!). But back to politics…! The stadium scene presented clear echoes of a time back home where this type of demonstration would not have been out-of-place. And there are two features of the recent political landscape here that underline the bitterness we were seeing on the screen. First is the passage of a recent bill through parliament that allows the State to close any media operator, by decree, for not towing the accepted line. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? The second concerns a debate as to whether MP’s should pay tax or not. Obviously, the rank and file population want MP’s to pay tax. MP’s are refusing and are defying a judicial ruling in this regard….. And there are a few journalists languishing in jail this weekend (denied bail for the bail-able offence of Incitement to Public Disorder at the stadium).
The Po-Lease here, by the way, are very much apparatniks and are quite feared. It’s not uncommon to see reports in the press (a very good press, by the way) of suspected robbers being gunned down after having been followed for an hour or two (no actual evidence led!). Jane tells me that it’s often in dispute as to who the robbers actually are – the guys in uniform, or the other guys – and evidence is often planted after the event, so to speak. Don’t fuck widdem ‘cos the Po-Lease carry machine guns! But, don’t get me wrong, there is not a sense of living in a Po-Lease State.
As I’ve been writing this, I have, for some reason unknown even to myself, had the local Kenyan TV station showing on the box (maybe it’s been on this station since we watched the stadium mess yesterday). I obviously haven’t been actually watching but the sound has been quite easy on the ear, featuring music videos of the East African praise music. The last video – watched as I made a cup of coffee – was actually quite hilarious. As is usually the case, the videos feature a bunch of guys – and then, separately, girls – shot on low-band (probably VHS), dancing in someone’s garden, dressed in fancy suits that are probably worn in church, but, more probably, commissioned specifically for the video. This particular one featured this self-same dancing but then it suddenly stops as an intercut appears – from an old black-and-white bible film – showing Jesus being seriously hammered onto the cross. Then the music starts again – and I wish I could say, without missing a beat. But it’s at least a full bar gets lost in the intercut. How the standards of music videos can be said to differ between cultures and musical interests!
And also yesterday, just before seeing the Kibaki debacle on this same station, I watched a short doccie on the rehabilitation of orphaned gorilla babies in Rwanda (a sure sign, I’d say, that I must get to the chimp orphanage in Uganda and the gorilla orphanage in Rwanda when I get to the two countries in March). The doccie had some very graphic footage of what poachers get to do to the parent gorillas (a la Sigourney Weaver/Dianne Fossey’s "Gorillas in the Mist"). It is absolutely brutal and tragic what happens in the jungle but when I saw the babies in their rehabilitation camp, I laughed and cried at the same time. They are SO like human babies it is uncanny. Wearing Pampers in the smallest size, two of the baby gorillas were playing with each other on the arm of one of the camp ‘wardens’. They were pulling each other’s hair and then ducking behind the back of the keeper. Like human babies, as soon as the one was invisible to the other, it was as if he/she didn’t ever exist. Then suddenly they stopped playing the game, looked at each other, leant forward, touching their foreheads together and then, I swear, they kissed and smiled! Priceless charm. I have to get there and play with them a bit – and human contact early on is encouraged! Only later, when they are taught to beat their chests and have a shot at (usually male) dominance, do the keepers start to remove them from the human realm.
My younger son, Ben, asked me for an idea of what it looks like here ‘cos he couldn’t picture where I was… If you know the Natal midlands or areas like Kloof in Kwazulu, you’ll have a good idea. Thick vegetation is everywhere (there’s a forest just next door here), mainly of subtropical varieties. Around every second corner is some or other guy selling potted plants of every shape and size. The climate is such that one doesn’t have to water the plants much. Nairobi is in the ‘highlands’, meaning that you don’t get equatorial heat and humidity but get a morning dew, and a freshness from Mount Kenya, about 100kms away. The days are warm, not particularly hot, but the evenings get pretty cool. Main streets are tarred (with potholes that keep everyone veering from side to side!) but just as you get off the main road, there is often a dirt road of orange soil. Little roads wind up, down and around hillocks, lined by banana palms, ferns and papaya trees. It really is quite beautiful.
I’ve been seeing a lot of coverage on Al Jazeera of Zim, the cholera epidemic and the mounting calls for Mugabe to vuka. Morgan’s on the box now, hiding out in Botswana and obviously denying Mugabe’s claim that there is NO cholera in Zimbabwe. I’m grateful for the coverage here of the Southern African Scene. I’m loving it here, but let’s face it, home is always home and it’s good to be kept in touch (any other news to tell me, guys?)
The really bad news here is that human trafficking – for the sex trade – has been on the rapid increase in Mombasa and numerous girls have already disappeared from Nairobi over the last few weeks (and it happens all the time). As I told you all last time, I’m not being allowed to drive to Mombasa (by the boss, Jane). But I do plan to get there soon – by hook or crook, but probably by train - when the railway line re-opens (when, nobody knows). But from all accounts, with the city dating from no less than the 1100’s it’s got to be a great place to see.
One last bit of news. Shamim and I took the opportunity, amid the relative traffic-ease of the holiday, to have a look at a few of the suburbs nearby, to try find me a place to live. Just around the corner and up the hill is an area, high up, overlooking the city, that is absolutely stunning. Narrow dirt roads and jungle are everywhere, with old colonial houses tucked away behind old fences. The relative isolation of some of the houses necessitates full-time security (Nairobi is also known as Nai-robbery) but I am told, this security luxury comes at a very affordable price – about one US$ a day! I will call some of the agents on Monday to try find a place I can afford. And having driven around a lot over the last few days I realize I must go for an unfurnished place (furnished can cost more than US$1000 a month!). Unfurnished, because there are so many carpenters working on the side of the road, selling beds for $20 or less, and cupboards for much the same (noting that there’s also no shortage of wood around the local jungles). Of course, these guys also make chairs, tables, and pretty much whatever else you might need to furnish a house….
So, that’s all for now.
In the meantime guys, Peace and Love (Amani na Mapenzi) from the land of the incessant trufeek jum!
(Just went to the local (24 Hr!) Nakumatt supermarket to buy some cheap smokes (yes, I’m still smoking – but not at work in the day!). The local hip-hop/R&B station – Kiss FM - was still on the radio. This, after Shamim tuned off the reggae station this morning (she’s strictly a Beyonce type gal). Kiss were playing a set of Swahili hip-hop. The language is so damn poetic it just WORKS for hip hop and rap. I stopped to write the words of the chorus down (for one very well produced song) that sound something like this (with all due apologies to Swahili speaking people, wherever they may be):
Kasawa sasa sena
Mzuri mapenga sana
Fuck it, I don’t know what it means (yet) - and my translator is spending the day studying for a supp of an exam she flunked - but isn’t it just bootiful?)
Once again, peace and love brothers and sisters!
PS, one for the guys: The women here generally have absolutely GREAT legs, and they know it. Need I say any more about the fashions that follow this knowledge of theirs? Guess not. (and may the foot-fetishists know that the pedicure business does well here too – as does the nail varnish business and the Italian high-heeled stiletto business!)The hairstyles are, of course, quite sophisticated too. When I commented to Shamim on one set of extensions she disdainfully told me that they were “not extensions but pretensions”. Anyway, I at least thought the big hair looked pretty cool…. And I told her that jealousy is unbecoming for a lady of her class… Reply: “Hmmmph”
Later!
B
The Second Week in Nairobi
So there I am, having breakfast, sitting on the (ground floor) balcony of the ArtCafe (no less!), at the new Westgate Mall (dahling). I see this bobbing bald black head out the corner of my eye. The head attracts my attention, being visibly that much higher than all the other heads passing on the pavement. I turn slightly in my seat to get a better view. And there I see a Maasai warrior in full regalia – spear and knobkerrie held together behind his shield - walking with his buddy who is in a suit! The warrior is wearing the traditional swathe of red fabric, layer-upon-layer, and is chatting animatedly in Swahili to his chommie…
The contrasts of this place astound me! Anyway, need I say more than that it was a stunning sight? The Maasai are a majestic tribe of tall, fine-boned, almost elegant people. And to see such, in full kit, in the streets of Nairobi, was quite special.
While sitting on the balcony, the local semi-rock station (Classic FM) is being piped through the speakers and the patrons are being fed a diet of The Police, the Stones and the Doors, ending with Pet Clark’s "These Boots Are Made for Walking". What a mix! But the last track has the entire contingent of waitrons bopping and singing “…and one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over YOU!” So cool. That’s it for Kenyan coffee shops.
I got issued a four-week visa on entry to Kenya – we South Africans being lucky in that we are one of the few countries that get issued visas on entry – but it is going to expire in three weeks time, while our offices are closed for Christmas.
Lo-and-behold, if the boss (I'll call her Jane from now on) doesn’t call me into her office to tell me that I will have to go to Dar Es Salaam on 4th January, to beat the expiry of the visa (which I had forgotten about!). I am, of course, going to meet the staff at our Dar Es office - but not before I’ve had a chance to get to the beach for the day (bra!). I’m hopefully going to be booked into one-or-other beach hotel (if there’s a room available during high-season time). I will get to spend a few days just “getting to know the place” as Jane put it. I guess I’ll just have to suffer through the experience, pretending to enjoy myself.
Sorry guys, I really don’t mean to sound glib. It’s just that I can’t fully believe what’s going on in my life right now (and in the foreseeable future) – to the point where I battle to take it seriously. But serious it is. And I must say that I have worked far harder in the last week than I did in seven months at my last job!
This weekend will be the first one where I’ll have a vehicle. Not yet the company car, but a company car, I’ll at least have transport for this long weekend (tomorrow is a holiday here - but no-one can tell me what holiday it is!). I told Jane I was thinking of driving down to Mombasa. She looks at me, straight faced and says “no, you will not be driving to Mombasa…” I get a bit of a fright and wait expectantly for the rest of the obvious admonition.
She continues, “If you want to go to Mombasa, ask Mueni (our office assistant) to organize you a flight. You shouldn't drive on that road. It’s 400kms but will take you 12 hours. The Mombasa-Kampala railway is closed – no-one knows why – so you have to deal with every truck travelling from the port to here. Sorry, but I don't think you should drive”.
I say, “Jane, it’s not a problem, there’s plenty for me to see in Nairobi”.
She says, “Yes, that’s a better idea”.
So I guess I won’t be going to Mombasa this weekend and will have to suffer staying in Nairobi. Maybe it’ll be the Maasai Mara this weekend instead, where I can stock up on giraffe, elephant and the occasional lion-kill... I can’t tell you how much I love this place already.
Apart from my Dar Es trip I have also just been booked as part of a trade mission that is going to Uganda and Rwanda in March. It’s a seven day trip, consisting mainly of briefings on the economic, social and political systems, etc, etc. but it should also be great. I’d love to get to the Chimp orphanage we saw recently on TV in SA. And the Rwandan Silverback Gorillas (a la Gorillas in the Mist) would be great too.
What do they say about “be careful what you wish for…”?
Truth is, I couldn’t have dreamt up – never mind wished for – what has been given to me from the HP source. I walk to work every day smiling, thinking how far this already is from a life I left a mere week ago. And I thank the source on a daily basis.
Love and Peace.
B
The contrasts of this place astound me! Anyway, need I say more than that it was a stunning sight? The Maasai are a majestic tribe of tall, fine-boned, almost elegant people. And to see such, in full kit, in the streets of Nairobi, was quite special.
While sitting on the balcony, the local semi-rock station (Classic FM) is being piped through the speakers and the patrons are being fed a diet of The Police, the Stones and the Doors, ending with Pet Clark’s "These Boots Are Made for Walking". What a mix! But the last track has the entire contingent of waitrons bopping and singing “…and one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over YOU!” So cool. That’s it for Kenyan coffee shops.
I got issued a four-week visa on entry to Kenya – we South Africans being lucky in that we are one of the few countries that get issued visas on entry – but it is going to expire in three weeks time, while our offices are closed for Christmas.
Lo-and-behold, if the boss (I'll call her Jane from now on) doesn’t call me into her office to tell me that I will have to go to Dar Es Salaam on 4th January, to beat the expiry of the visa (which I had forgotten about!). I am, of course, going to meet the staff at our Dar Es office - but not before I’ve had a chance to get to the beach for the day (bra!). I’m hopefully going to be booked into one-or-other beach hotel (if there’s a room available during high-season time). I will get to spend a few days just “getting to know the place” as Jane put it. I guess I’ll just have to suffer through the experience, pretending to enjoy myself.
Sorry guys, I really don’t mean to sound glib. It’s just that I can’t fully believe what’s going on in my life right now (and in the foreseeable future) – to the point where I battle to take it seriously. But serious it is. And I must say that I have worked far harder in the last week than I did in seven months at my last job!
This weekend will be the first one where I’ll have a vehicle. Not yet the company car, but a company car, I’ll at least have transport for this long weekend (tomorrow is a holiday here - but no-one can tell me what holiday it is!). I told Jane I was thinking of driving down to Mombasa. She looks at me, straight faced and says “no, you will not be driving to Mombasa…” I get a bit of a fright and wait expectantly for the rest of the obvious admonition.
She continues, “If you want to go to Mombasa, ask Mueni (our office assistant) to organize you a flight. You shouldn't drive on that road. It’s 400kms but will take you 12 hours. The Mombasa-Kampala railway is closed – no-one knows why – so you have to deal with every truck travelling from the port to here. Sorry, but I don't think you should drive”.
I say, “Jane, it’s not a problem, there’s plenty for me to see in Nairobi”.
She says, “Yes, that’s a better idea”.
So I guess I won’t be going to Mombasa this weekend and will have to suffer staying in Nairobi. Maybe it’ll be the Maasai Mara this weekend instead, where I can stock up on giraffe, elephant and the occasional lion-kill... I can’t tell you how much I love this place already.
Apart from my Dar Es trip I have also just been booked as part of a trade mission that is going to Uganda and Rwanda in March. It’s a seven day trip, consisting mainly of briefings on the economic, social and political systems, etc, etc. but it should also be great. I’d love to get to the Chimp orphanage we saw recently on TV in SA. And the Rwandan Silverback Gorillas (a la Gorillas in the Mist) would be great too.
What do they say about “be careful what you wish for…”?
Truth is, I couldn’t have dreamt up – never mind wished for – what has been given to me from the HP source. I walk to work every day smiling, thinking how far this already is from a life I left a mere week ago. And I thank the source on a daily basis.
Love and Peace.
B
Hello Nairobi: 3-8 December 2008
It's the total madness on the roads that struck me first. Where there are dividing lines between traffic lanes (which are rare) they are treated merely as 'guidelines' as to where the traffic should go. For the rest, it’s a complete free-for-all, with (you guessed it) the minibus taxis (matatus) being the worst offenders. It's common for the vehicle you are driving in (whoever owns it) to have a bump, or at least a scratch, even on both sides – witness to the multitude of near-accidents everyone encounters on a daily basis (acquiring a new scratch or minor ding on the way to work does not count as an accident).
The redeeming feature of drivers here is that they are mostly GOOD. Everyone seems to drive with the 'third eye' on high alert and seems able to avoid collisions with vehicles coming from any direction – especially, it seems, from the left-rear (they drive on the left side); defensive driving is a must.
The main road from the airport is wide but traffic builds at the seemingly incessant line of 'traffic circles' or 'roundabouts' (as they are called here) on the route. Unlike regular roundabouts where the rule is to yield to your right, and enter accordingly, that rule doesn't seem to apply here. Local officials have decided that it's best to have traffic lights controlling the traffic entering and exiting the circles. No one obeys. But at rush hour there are pointsmen controlling the circular traffic and it is common to sit for five to ten minutes (and I mean a real ten minutes) waiting your turn to enter the circle. In
To traverse the fifteen kilometres from Jomo Kenyatta International Airport to my office took over an hour, between 7.30 and 8.30am!
But the traffic is hectic just about any time of night or day. Just like in SA, the congestion stems from a mini-boom that the locals have experienced over the last few years – bringing many more cars onto an already inadequate road system. I am toying with the idea of buying a second-hand Vespa in the New Year, just to get around on during the evenings and weekends. But, I am told, bike is spelled D.E.A.T.H., especially seeing that crash helmets are only somewhat compulsory. In the upmarket suburb where the office is situated, there are few sidewalks and one is often forced to walk in the face of haphazard oncoming traffic. It's common enough to have a near brush with a motorcycle coming the wrong way down a typically congested road. The riders do, at least, give a little toot on the hooter just before they pass – a small (but big enough) warning not to suddenly attempt a crossing.
Apart from the four main TV stations, and the satellite TV option for the rich, radio has a special place inNairobi
But the traffic is hectic just about any time of night or day. Just like in SA, the congestion stems from a mini-boom that the locals have experienced over the last few years – bringing many more cars onto an already inadequate road system. I am toying with the idea of buying a second-hand Vespa in the New Year, just to get around on during the evenings and weekends. But, I am told, bike is spelled D.E.A.T.H., especially seeing that crash helmets are only somewhat compulsory. In the upmarket suburb where the office is situated, there are few sidewalks and one is often forced to walk in the face of haphazard oncoming traffic. It's common enough to have a near brush with a motorcycle coming the wrong way down a typically congested road. The riders do, at least, give a little toot on the hooter just before they pass – a small (but big enough) warning not to suddenly attempt a crossing.
Apart from the four main TV stations, and the satellite TV option for the rich, radio has a special place in
On Saturday there was a reggae festival at Uhuru Park. I didn't go, but got to watch some of it live on TV. With some surprise, I noticed there were very few dreadlocks in evidence among the audience. Wondering why, I was told that the Mau-Mau used to wear dreads as a sign of their complete rejection of the accepted values of the time and today dreadlocks are still a little extreme for conservative Kenyan society. I was later to learn that the Mungiki 'gang', a group of mainly Kikuyu outlaws and extortionists, wore dreadlocks and just prior to my arrival in Kenya, an order had been issued to shoot Mungiki on site. You didn't want to wear dreads and get mistaken for the wrong guy.
On Friday night I attended a formal (black tie) function at the Kenyatta International Convention Centre. Ironically, here in deepest, darkestAfrica , I wore a tux for the first time since my wedding! It was the gala evening for the 'Warrior Awards', given by the Marketing Society of Kenya to companies which have excelled in promoting their products here (the award itself being a stylized – chrome plated! - version of the tall Maasai warrior). The event was long and tiresome (as these events always are) but I was absolutely stunned by the elegance and beauty of the women I saw there and I was entirely unprepared for the lighter, often radiant, skin tones, the far finer features of the women I saw. I was used only to dusty dark skin and broad features.
On Friday night I attended a formal (black tie) function at the Kenyatta International Convention Centre. Ironically, here in deepest, darkest
On Thursday, just hours after alighting my plane from O.R.Tambo, I had a business meeting with 'Rachel Z' – a JAP (Jewish American Princess) – recently settled in Nairobi Sudan Darfur . So we're having a second meeting this week and I will be attending a security briefing from the U.N. High Commission on Refugees week after next. I guess it's Darfur here we come soon.
There are no fewer than four cellphone operators here, with an amazing array of offers and tariff structures. One operator offers a flat-fee cost structure, whether you are calling at peak or off-peak times. Another offers a variable structure but with SMSing costing the equivalent of 5c a time. The dominat operator is Safaricom, of parent company Vodac/Vodacom.
There are no fewer than four cellphone operators here, with an amazing array of offers and tariff structures. One operator offers a flat-fee cost structure, whether you are calling at peak or off-peak times. Another offers a variable structure but with SMSing costing the equivalent of 5c a time. The dominat operator is Safaricom, of parent company Vodac/Vodacom.
All the cell networks are automatically enabled for international dialling – attesting to the extent to which Kenyan has an 'international' feeling about it – and the international connection doesn't cost you that much more than the local one. Currently waiting for my company phone (a Blackberry that turned out to be the most godawful cellphone I have ever owned), I was presented with pre-paid airtime to the value of 1000 Shillings (about R100) to tide me over in the meantime. Lacking many locals I can phone for a chat, I made about ten calls to SA – amounting to more than twenty minutes of call time - and the airtime has only just run out!
Cigarette smoking is considered something of a social evil (which I guess it is) and is banned even in open public spaces. If you want to smoke, do it in your car or in your own home. Don't expect to do it in the street or in any public space, aside from limited and clearly designated smoking areas. I'll have to watch my Quit Smoking by Hypnosis DVD a few more times methinks. I tried in vain to find the cigarette kiosk at the local supermarket. I had to ask if they sold smokes and was directed to a dusty corner of the store where I found a selection of about five brands (Dunhill, Embassy and the huge local brand, Sportsman) next to an assortment of Chinese padlocks, key tags and nail clippers. Nowhere is there an ad or billboard for cigarettes to be seen. Needless to say, smoking is not big inKenya
Cigarette smoking is considered something of a social evil (which I guess it is) and is banned even in open public spaces. If you want to smoke, do it in your car or in your own home. Don't expect to do it in the street or in any public space, aside from limited and clearly designated smoking areas. I'll have to watch my Quit Smoking by Hypnosis DVD a few more times methinks. I tried in vain to find the cigarette kiosk at the local supermarket. I had to ask if they sold smokes and was directed to a dusty corner of the store where I found a selection of about five brands (Dunhill, Embassy and the huge local brand, Sportsman) next to an assortment of Chinese padlocks, key tags and nail clippers. Nowhere is there an ad or billboard for cigarettes to be seen. Needless to say, smoking is not big in
In the local shopping mall – not the new Westgate mall, but in the Sarit Centre – I paid a lot for two samoosas and an espresso (single). Good coffee is everywhere, what with Kenya
Many of the shops, and even the banks, stay open from 8.30am to 8.30pm and there are a number of branches in the Nakumatt chain of supermarkets that stay open 24/7! The area where I am staying (Westlands) is undergoing quite a lot of development and a brand new mall (Westgate) has opened just down the hill from me. The Nakumatt that comprises the principal tenant at the mall is literally a one-stop-shop and sells absolutely everything for the home. Just about the only thing it does not sell is motor cars (but the 24/7 Nakumatt Mega does!).
And speaking of Swahili – or should I say, speaking Swahili – I learnt more of that language in 48 hours than I learnt of Zulu in 48 years! It is a gentle and somewhat poetic language. When someone hears you are not fromKenya you are immediately told "Karibu (Welcome) in Kenya ", to which you reply "Asante (Thanks)", or better still "Asante sana
Many of the shops, and even the banks, stay open from 8.30am to 8.30pm and there are a number of branches in the Nakumatt chain of supermarkets that stay open 24/7! The area where I am staying (Westlands) is undergoing quite a lot of development and a brand new mall (Westgate) has opened just down the hill from me. The Nakumatt that comprises the principal tenant at the mall is literally a one-stop-shop and sells absolutely everything for the home. Just about the only thing it does not sell is motor cars (but the 24/7 Nakumatt Mega does!).
And speaking of Swahili – or should I say, speaking Swahili – I learnt more of that language in 48 hours than I learnt of Zulu in 48 years! It is a gentle and somewhat poetic language. When someone hears you are not from
The natural environment of Nairobi
Despite the position ofNairobi
On Saturday, I took a walk around Westlands and found my way to the local craft 'market' where traditional African goods are sold from within disused shipping containers. The one mistake I made was to be polite and accommodating and found myself consistently having to refuse the invitation to bargain over (mainly) the price of hand made jewellery or Kenyan kikois. But in the process I did get to see some absolutely beautiful kikois. Being something of the 'national dress', kikois are worn as wraps or scarves, and this form of adornment imbues many of the women with a certain flair and sense of local urban street-style. Of course, there are kikois and then there are Maasai shukas. The Masai shuka (blanket, actually) is most often red, sometimes brown or purple, with some form of tartan or striped pattern on it. Stunning.
It's now Sunday evening and I have just returned from a trip toLake Naivasha
Despite the position of
On Saturday, I took a walk around Westlands and found my way to the local craft 'market' where traditional African goods are sold from within disused shipping containers. The one mistake I made was to be polite and accommodating and found myself consistently having to refuse the invitation to bargain over (mainly) the price of hand made jewellery or Kenyan kikois. But in the process I did get to see some absolutely beautiful kikois. Being something of the 'national dress', kikois are worn as wraps or scarves, and this form of adornment imbues many of the women with a certain flair and sense of local urban street-style. Of course, there are kikois and then there are Maasai shukas. The Masai shuka (blanket, actually) is most often red, sometimes brown or purple, with some form of tartan or striped pattern on it. Stunning.
It's now Sunday evening and I have just returned from a trip to
Elsamere once belonged to a married couple called George and Joy Adamson (remember them?). For those who don’t know, the couple used to keep a lioness called Elsa and once upon a time they made a film called Born Free, Kenya's filmic claim to fame. We had lunch in what was their last home in Kenya, on the shores of the lake. On the front lawn stands George's old Land Rover, looking the same as most Land Rovers you see on the road here still. Old George is long dead and gone but his Landie looks as fresh and new as when he bought it. It looks good but doesn't go so well because its wheels are cemented into the ground!
On the way toLake Naivasha , just before heading off the escarpment on which Nairobi stands, we came around a bend in the road and there, suddenly, lay the whole of the Great Rift Valley before us. What a sight! It was a clear day and it seemed like we could see all the way to Somalia and Ethiopia
A lot ofNairobi 's electricity comes from geothermal sources near Naivasha - where the earth's crust is thinner than anywhere else on the globe – and, I am told, one can literally boil an egg in the water that comes out of the hot springs hot springs that feed the lake because Lake Naivasha is not connected to the Great Lakes (Victoria, Albert, Edward) of the Rift Valley. All around the lake are white, plastic greenhouses that grow no less than 80% of the flowers sold in Europe ! The flowers that are cut today are sold the next day in Amsterdam hot springs
The lake has also become increasingly saline over the years, which has led to a problem with water hyacinth. But one man's problem is another man's opportunity: the hyacinth is a favourite of fresh water crayfish (would you believe!) and our lunch featured a good crayfish cocktail, but the taste lacked the 'bite' that the sea provides.
On the way to
A lot of
The lake has also become increasingly saline over the years, which has led to a problem with water hyacinth. But one man's problem is another man's opportunity: the hyacinth is a favourite of fresh water crayfish (would you believe!) and our lunch featured a good crayfish cocktail, but the taste lacked the 'bite' that the sea provides.
Over the way from Lake Naivasha Nairobi
Peace and Love.
Brian
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)