Wednesday, 28th January 2009
For the last two days I have been bothered by an e-mail I received from a close and loyal friend of mine, my ex-bass player, Nick. Nick has done a lot of work for ad agencies in Uganda and travels to this part of the world quite regularly. He accused me of being a little too glib in my criticism of Kenya, considering where South Africa had gone of late, and particularly seeing as I was a “newcomer to Kenya”. Kenya deserved more respect, he said.
I reacted harshly at first. Then I re-read some of my writing. The potential of being ‘read’ like this has bothered me from the start of my political diatribes. And I can see now that Nick was completely rational in seeing some of my later ranting (this year) as instructions to Kenya from a more ‘enlightened being’. Obviously, these pieces were never meant like that… Kenya, I am sorry for sounding in any way arrogant and bettter informed ... or whatever.
If truth be told, in my writing I have had to constantly downplay my adoration of this country and what I feel for its people (within such a short space of time!). This, for fear of being seen as some kinda weird sycophant. Kenya is an indescribably amazing country with blessedly beautiful people. I am secretly SO jealous of what Kenyans have got here (and you know, Kenyans, that I’m not alone in this ‘expat love’ of your country).
Your nation is very special. And this is before you close the gap between what is and what could be! Let me keep quiet about what could and should be. You can sort that out without the help of me. Kenyans, your spirit is so huge that somehow you triumph over your State-domination. How? I really can’t exclude my weird-freaky-ass-mystical take on it and say there’s just a multiplex “vibe” in Kenya. A vibe that, to me at least, can’t be denied. So much more than a “Hakuna Whatsitsface” attitude …
Closing advert: To become free, a lot of South Africans, of every description, put a lot of energy into hastening the end of Apartheid (in my case, through music and live performance). My children enjoy the fruits of a free (albeit violent) country today. That’s important to me. Kenya, if you are to become free, don’t leave it too long. The time really is NOW. Like it’s never been before. (And my view is vindicated by what I hear and read - increasingly - every day).
Kenyans, if there is no change, what legacy are you going to leave for your kids? You have to secure your basic freedoms now.
With a single stone, an ‘avalanche’ will start. Right here, right now.
Amani na Mapenzi
B-)
6.15am, Thursday 29th January 2009
I have been waking up very early of late. Never before have I survived on such little sleep. I’m making it through a pretty hectic day with about 5Hrs sleep on average. The UN Environmental Programme’s esteemed Jenny Clover (she of the TV set in her car) says it’s because I’m happy. I think she’s right. But at least some of the reason for my early waking this is the big sound of bird calls coming from the miniature forest that flourishes over the road from the apartment block. I can hear they are small birds, but the range of different calls is absolutely amazing and in the early morning light their music echoes across the small valley, in the absence of vehicle noise. The sound is really quite beautiful so early in the day.
At least some of the reason for my early rise is also the fact that I have to get to work at about 7.30 today to change the costing of a proposal we wrote yesterday, and send it to client before 9am…
I think there’s a spider in my bed somewhere. I have woken up with huge welts all over my body! I wake up to the sound of Kiss FM, having taken to sleeping with the radio on, playing ‘black’ R&B through the night. I like the music so much more than the white rock thing I’m used to from SA.
It’s now just past 6am and Thika Road is ALREADY jum-pucked according to Caroline Mutoko on Kiss FM. They have what they call ‘butterfly’ cameras on all the main routes and give the radio-listening Nairobi public regular traffic updates during the hilarious drive-time show. The Chinese have been widening and resurfacing Mombasa Road. Usually they stop work at 6am but today it seems they are working a bit later and causing a serious jum. Can you believe that already there are enough Nairobese on the roads – trying to avoid the later jum – to create a trufeek jum at a quarter past six on a Thursday!
Yesterday there was a serious fire at the Nakumatt Downtown. I saw the smoke from 10kms away while at the office. Many thousand Nairobese crowded the scene to watch the (much too late) attempts to extinguish the fire – the fire department, just around the corner, took over an hour to respond to the fire call, evidently. The TV footage showed the public having to be dispersed with tear gas as they crowded the scene and flooded all over the entrance to the Stanley (as in Livingstone) Hotel. (A hotel with prints of the most stunning woordcuts and paintings all over the walls).
Kenya's teachers are on strike. I just heard that the average teachers salary is Ksh7000 before tax. They clear Ksh5800 after tax. That’s less than R800 folks (and, as I have said before, Nairobi ain’t cheap!). No wonder they have gone on strike. A few have been arrested and are currently languishing in Nairobi jails. The rest are simply refusing to work. Government says there’s no more money in the fiscus for their needs. One of Kenya's MP’s is, meantime, effecting renovations to his house to the tune of a few million Shillings. And, believe it or not, most parents are fully in support of the strike. They say they would rather pay a bit more in school fees and know that their kids are getting a good education!
Yesterday Kiss took a microphone and tape recorder onto the streets and interviewed some kids, about the State President. The first kid interviewed said “President Kibaki is a bud mun…”, the next said “President Kibaki has to get everything for free…” I guess that gives you some idea of popular (even young) sentiment here!
Caroline has just bought the latest copy of True Love (that same magazine that is published in SA). She is raving on air about the magazine and tells us that there’s an article in the magazine about bachelors who can’t be read. I'm not quite sure what she means. The bachelors are illegible, according to Caroline. I wonder if they are also eligible to find a partner soon, while still eluding one’s ability to read them?
Sunday, 1st February 2009
It has been an event-filled few weeks since I last wrote.
The first bit of news is that I found a house to rent in the greenbelt suburb of Spring Valley (on Spring Hill, really). Less a house than some sort of mansion, the place has an enormous living area, four bedrooms inside and two cottages outside (yet to be ‘done-up’). Entering the place for the first time (following a tip-off from the Maasai 'askari' - security guard - at our offices), I knew I wanted to live here immediately. It is really beautiful. Expensive, yes, but I have found three house-mates who allow me to pay a fairly normal rental on the place. Unfortunately it doesn’t have a pool but the garden makes up for that on its own. And the pair of black kites that are seen continually circling the sky above our roof just add a little extra something. From the sounds of things there are monkeys living close by too.
Spring Valley is home to a lot of those big-ass four-wheel-drive vehicles I have talked about, with red UN, RC and CD (Corps Diplomatique) number plates. The other day, going to work, I also had the big black Mercedes (replete with Kenyan flag) of our neighbour, a Minister of Parliament (ministry unknown), driving behind me. And coming home the other night, I gave a lift to a late-for-duty policeman (replete with Uzzi sub-machine gun) to the road in which said minister lives. Spring Valley Road has security-controlled access, so I guess it is quite safe living here. I certainly feel safe because I have not yet closed the French doors that lead from the ‘master’ bedroom onto the garden. Anyway, as is the style of large Nairobi homes, we have employed our own security in the form of genuine Samburu Maasai ‘warrior’ (those from northern Kenya who look quite a lot like Somalis) who loves listening to reggae on Radio Metro.
And talking of Somalis, I had the honour the other night of meeting Mima – a member of the Somali royal family – and her husband Jon, a Norwegian who is so into, and knowledgable about, alternative technology it’s frightening. Clearly a genius in his own right, Jon has so much to offer Africa … And he’s about to participate in a sort-of Kyoto Protocol meeting being held here in Nairobi from Monday and featuring the environmental heads of 166 countries, or their emissaries (and his company is called Kyoto!). This meeting is being organized by Jaime’s (my fellow research director) girlfriend, Melissa. She promises to send me a summary of proceedings. I’ll try write more about the new global environment agenda as soon as I get the summary from Melli.
Monday, 23rd February 2009.
It’s been nearly a month since I have written. Work has kept me from it.
I am due to fly to Entebbbe, Uganda, this Sunday as part of a week-long Trade Mission to Kampala and Kigali, Rwanda. Through the East Africa Association, I have set up a number of meetings with people who might be interested in research in their part of the world. I will likely be most enthused when I return and promise to write furiously. Can’t wait.
Moving into this house has been an amazing experience. It has given me a sense of real belonging here and has made me feel that much more comfortable than before (if it’s possible for me to feel more comfortable). Sign of this, perhaps, is that I have got me a lovely ‘girlfriend’. I won’t breach her confidence here, but suffice it to say that Brenda is an amazing woman who I would never have imagined to meet in Kenya. Whatever her soon-to-start contract in Dubai might bring, we have had more fun in a short while than either of us has had in years. She is a part-time model and a rather gifted artist and stylist. She is also a born mimic who has me in stitches with her take on local politicians (and also a few friends of ours). She is really quite special and I suspect (Dubai aside) that we will be together for a while still.
Returning swiftly to my new resident status in Kenya (while still waiting for my permanent resident permit)…
I am increasingly asked, by intrigued Kenyans, about how long I have been here. I am now myself amazed by the fact that I have been here for a mere eleven weeks! I feel like it’s been years already! I feel like I somehow came home and that I am meant to be here. I have numerous local, Kenyan, friends – many of them through Brenda - yet I still get amazed on a daily basis at what I find here. I love this place. It just has SO much going for it.
What is REALLY amazing to me is the fact that I am understanding a great deal of Swahili in daily use. My researchers rattle something off to me and somehow I get the gist of it … They laugh.
Meantime, what other news of Kenya (habari ya Kenya)?
… so much is news that it’s hard to cover it. Brief notes follow:
Shopping in Eastleigh, among thousands of Somalis, Ethiopians and Sudanese. Nothing you can't get for quarter the price you'll pay in town. Every woman wearing a head scarf. Burkas, burkas everywhere, and not a face to see. Brenda warning me that if I take a picture I will get stoned. "But I'm stoned already, baby..." The road through Eastleigh is not a road but a pitted and potholed passageway where busses vie with hand drawn 'trailers' for command of the space.
Going out to Brenda's half-completed house (next to another, very opulent house) in the distant Ngong Hills ... Buying furniture (hand made queen size bed, in mahogany: R800) along Ngong Road on our return. Having supper at Brenda's aunt - owner of a modelling agency - in Kileleshwa. Recognising the differences between Maasai taxi drivers (in regular clothes) versus Kamba drivers versus Luos ... etc. I'm getting to 'see' the differences very clearly. Much laughter in assent when I ask the ethnic question... Buying a puppy - that looks Shepherd but isn't - on Peponi Road. The puppy's name is Moshoeshoe (after the King of the Basotho people) and she lives (of her own choice) under the elephant ear plants in the garden. (And talking of elephants ... a hilarious correction to my earlier assumption about elephants and Nakumatt... Nakumatt is actually derived from "Nakuru Mattress Company" and has absolutely nothing to do with elephants! Thanks, Kairu).
I have recently seen a few live bands that have been pretty good. On Sunday night at Black Diamond I saw a singer who has a voice that would fool the most ardent Marley fan. On the Wednesday before I saw a band at Club Afrique that would scare most pro bands in South Africa (yet they have one gig per week and play to small audiences).
So much more I could talk about ... Later.
Regarding the house mates: Rachel: she of dinner party and South Sudan technology consulting. Sheetal: an Asian Kenyan woman who consults in North Sudan on behalf of her principals in Italy. Then there’s Bob, a well-rounded and informed American with experience in drug and alcohol rehabilitation who is looking for work at an AIDS orphanage or similar (as an unpaid intern if necessary, he says).
Currently, Rachel is in the Sudan. Sheetal is about to embark on the same trade mission as I, and which I mentioned above. And Bob is in Kisumu, having some sort of assessment as a manager for a ‘home’ on the coastal border between Kenya and Tanzania, on Lake Victoria. Brenda and I have just been hanging out at home. I have been going to work and working hard - through lunch and into the night. Hence, so little time to write!
There is so much I want to tell you esteemed readers. But I guess, for now, this will have to do. Back to reviewing some proposals, writing some e-mails, and generally making myself worth Jane’s while…
In closing, here’s a poem I wrote a little while ago:
CAN YOU IMAGINE
Just like the tears of freedom
shed with Madiba,
Wembley Stadium, 1990
I’d still like to be here
(and cry)
when again
I can be a part of Afrika
that proudly says:
“Free at last, we’re Free at last”
KENYA,
CAN YOU
IMAGINE...
Africa!
the world
will shake!
Mapenzi sana
(Lots of love)
B-)
Showing posts with label Nakumatt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nakumatt. Show all posts
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
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