Friday October 22, 2010.
First Matatu Ride:
I have heard of these large taxi busses before but seeing one and experiencing the ride first hand surely was a learning experience. Patrick and Simon picked me up at my house on Ndemi Road and we walked the five minutes to Ardwins Kohdek (a main road that runs parallel with Ngong Road – East to West through the city). There we waited on the left side of the street for a matatu.
When a matatu arrives, there is a certain way of dealing with the conductors who hang out the side of the car while it is moving and motion for waiting civilians to choose their ride. You must not reach for your money right away. Simply, find a seat and wait to be tapped on the shoulder by the conductor. When asked for payment, one must always assume it is 10Ksh (20Ksh=$0.25) unless it is rush hour in which the price goes up to 20Ksh. Then, wait to be tapped or motioned for money a second time and give the correct change or you will most likely not get the proper change back.
The matatus do not yield for other cars, pedestrians or the brave three that choose to ride bikes. It is a crazy ride; bumps, swerves, potholes, manholes, stop and go traffic and other matatus. As we came up to one stop, two men walked in to sit down and immediately exited without sitting. As we pulled away, a brave twenty-something woman called out the conductor for letting pickpockets into his car. She went on to argue with him that he knew the crew and he should not be mistreating his customers in such a way as to knowingly let them trick freely. There was a five person conversation about it in a language that was half English and half Swahili-I only was able to understand some parts. When we departed, Simon and Patrick filled me in on the common pickpocket tricks and ways to avoid them.
It was my first real experience in the Nairobi I have heard so much about (dubbed the nickname Nai-robbery, by some). I hope I am always alert enough to keep my bag on my lap and pulled close to my body. It would be a shame to have something swiped.
First Rain:
The day of adventure was cut off by very large raindrops that fell for a consecutive six hours (4-10pm). I was downtown with Patrick as the clouds rolled in and we hopped up to a bar for a fresh squeezed juice in attempt to wait out the rain. Taking a matatu or bus from my neighborhood to downtown normally takes 10-15 minutes but traffic was clogged up on the way into town which made Patrick very nervous about the trek home. People say Kenyan’s have a bad habits of closing up their offices and shops when rain falls and rushing to get back to their home or their favorite after work watering hole. We sat on the bus for two and one half hours taking detour after detour.
Luckily, there was a very great radio station playing to keep us all entertained. They played a clip called “busted” in which the radio DJ assists a speculative spouse to uncover the truth about suspected infidelity. Boy oh boy was it painful to hear the DJ pretend to be the HIV+ wife of the boss, whom the wife was cheating with. The cheater admitted to not using protection, indirectly admitting to the affair. The DJ, still in character, put her “doctor” on the phone to discuss her health. Unfortunately, the husband was so upset he could not stay in character and called out his wife in front of millions of listeners. Everyone was stuck in traffic and this radio station is one of the most popular.
Finally, we made it to an intersection that was within walking distance of my home
First Drink in Kenya:
I returned home to an empty house today but was joined by Musombi twenty minutes past my arrival. He had gone to the store and picked up some things for dinner. We sat on the porch while we waited for Lillian to return from work on the other side of the city and engaged in conversation about dogs, politics, education and more. Soon, he brought out a glass flask of Napoleon Brandy. I poured myself a few shots and we raised our glasses in cheers to mark my first drink and six months of getting to know each other. The brandy warmed me up, for sure.
First Ugali Dinner:
Ugali is fine corn flour (maize) that is cooked in boiled water to the consistency of a clay or play dough. Ugali is used as a utensil. First, it is rolled into a ball and then shaped like an eatable spoon to scoop the stewed meat and vegetables. I tried my hardest but it seems it takes practice to keep the Ugali spoon in tact. My plate was full of crumbled pieces that didn’t stay with the rolled masses. The taste is somewhat bland and it leaves a film in your mouth for hours after the meal. But it sure does fill you up. I was very grateful to eat my first dinner with Musombi and Lillian.
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Saturday October 23, 2010
In the small world that I have found myself in, I have been recommended by two US friends to participate in the same Saturday program for children. One of my acquaintances from the U of M, Paul Walters, did an internship two summers ago and Patrick, my knowledgeable tour guide, now interns with the same program.
The program finds sponsors for children who have been orphaned because of AIDS or whose mothers are too sick to care for them, due to AIDS. The sponsors, mostly from the US, provide money for the school, uniforms, some food and other necessities of life. On Saturdays, they run an all day program in which children read, check out books, use sports equipment to burn up energy, receive a larger than normal lunch and meet with one of six case workers to discuss problems, concerns or exciting details of their simple lives.
I quickly accepted Patrick’s invitation to join him for the Saturday program. The group leader, Ketunzi, put Patrick on the spot and “encouraged” him to introduce his guest in Swahili. The 150+ children circled around the two of us and they giggled together at Patrick’s silly accent (impressive, if you ask me). I then said hello (in English, of course) and pointed to my Minnesota (pronounced “Min-a-soda”) shirt to have them say where I am from. They repeated it over and over with their silly accents, “Min-e-sO-Tah,” Minnesota, Minnesota!! The rest of the day, children walked up to me to read my shirt aloud and ran away in laughing fits with their friends.
I had an incredible time at the Saturday program. The staff and volunteers were so accepting of my participation and treated me just as one of their veterans. The children were so delightful, as well. They were happy to have another Mozungu to climb on and watch my skin turn colors as they poked, slapped, pinched and squeezed my arms. (Have you ever noticed how our skin color changes? I was intrigued myself as they called my skin green. I thought red more than anything but they saw green.)
I have always worked with children and find great value in them. They are honest and without reservation when it comes to matters of culture. I have learned many Swahili phrases from them and am beginning to understand their circumstances at home. Throughout my psychology education at the U of M we were reminded of one important thing; life circumstances are always behind a person’s actions, thoughts and beliefs in the world. Someone who works with or interacts with others must try to remember and learn before where a person comes from before they can understand the person. I was invited and really look forward to committing to the Saturday program throughout the duration of my stay.
Patrick and I walked home because he wanted to show me what the roadside markets had to offer. There were shoe repairmen, custom furniture makers, watering holes, car washes and rim shops, and much more. He showed me Nakumat Junction which is an upscale mall with upscale goods and upscale prices. We walked through the supermarket and purchased fresh passion fruits. He cracked one open as soon as we exited and my taste buds jumped as high as the girl who was on the harnessed trampoline attraction outside. It was so fresh, so sugary and so tasty. If packages did not take three weeks to make it to the US then I would by the entire stock and send them to you. 10 passion fruits (the size of a lime) cost me $1.00. All of the fresh fruits and vegetables are so cheap and so fresh and so GOOD. In fact, most things here are extremely cheap.
Kenya is not the hot, dirty, uncivilized place people (I did, as well) may think it is. It is enjoyable during the day and sometimes hot with the direct sun. Too hot for my pale face yesterday – as the song says: WEAR SUNSCREEN! Mornings and evenings cool down to the 60s. It has rained the last two days, poured in fact which has made the mud run through the drainless streets and walking paths. I have been given the nickname “Nafula” which translates to “of the rain.” Lillian, my host mother, says I brought the rain with me from the US. Patrick says Africans believe each drop of water is a blessing from God so Nafula is a precious nickname. (I am not sure if you have noticed or not but Patrick has given me such valuable navigation, culture and survival tips for living in Nairobi – I do not know how I will ever thank him)
I live in the safest part of town and Patrick who is five minutes walk from my street is in the most privileged part of this side. We have been blessed to live comfortably with running water, working toilets, nice neighbors, security at our apartment’s gates and other luxuries some are not as fortunate to receive. I feel really good here, safe in fact. I receive smiles and salutations from many as I walk through the city – people are so nice and so accepting. I think the US could learn some manners from what I have seen so far from the city of Nairobi.
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