A moment of humor in Mathare

It's always interesting to see how the weirdest pieces of American pop culture infiltrate the world beyond our shores.

Case in point: After he hoisted a couple of them, the children in Mathare decided that my bearded co-worker was Chuck Norris, and proceeded to address him as such for the rest of the visit. Apparently they've been syndicating Walker, Texas Ranger in Kenya...

Field work in Mathere

Mommy B, sorry about this one. You may want to skip it, since it required a judgment call you may not love, but which was work related.

One of my major reasons for coming out to Africa was to get the chance to do some fieldwork and experience firsthand what development work could be like. Given that we had a lull in my project for a day or two, it was time to find a way to get out into the field. I had wanted to go do ag work, but that team was going to be gone 4 days, much too long for my busy schedule. Luckily, our Young Women in Enterprise program was looking for volunteers to help them recruit young girls in the Nairobi slums for their business training classes. Before I could turn around, I – banana republic attire, heels and all– was bound for Mathere, a shanty town just outside the city center.

While Nairobi is notorious for its slums, it is possible to be here and never see them, as most major roads bypass them. Going in with an NGO team is probably the safest way to see what its like.

About two weeks prior to my slum excursion, I had attended a screening of a film called The Kibera Kid, about life in Nairobi’s worst and biggest slum. It was made by an organization called Hot Sun, which was trying to jumpstart a homegrown Nairobi film industry by training kids in the slum. The big takeaway from the film was the permanency of these areas – Kibera is divided into villages, each with its own governance and community, and in some cases, rudimentary infrastructure. The film demystified the slums to some extent, but they still seemed like a no-mans land.

Our day in Mathere started with the team – about 15 Kenyans and 3 Americans – meeting up in a small church and nursery school for a debrief of previous recruitment efforts, an overview of the day, and a prayer for success. Then it was off to the far edge of the slums. The plan for the day was simple – in groups of 2-4, wearing huge logoed t-shirts, we would hand out flyers, collect information, and advertise the program’s information sessions later this week. We would do this in a mix of Swahili and English – most of the girls we were targeting had some education, and many of things we mentioned had no Swahili equivalent.

We entered the slums across from the army base, down a big dirt road. Small kiosks lined the “street” as did small one or two room houses made of corrugated metal. The residents sat outside their houses, preparing food or tending children. My presence attracted stares and little children, who cried “mzungo” (Swahili for foreigner) and greeted me with “Hi! How are you?” Initially, the girls we were trying to recruit were less welcoming. Somewhat blank stares met my stilted English with a little Swahili explanations of “business training, mukatani Thursday na Friday, na ni to secumi, Why Not Grounds.” Soon, however, an elder of slums found us a table, and the girls started to swarm (it probably helped that my partner in this effort was an animated young Kenyan guy). A number of mothers and fathers followed the girls, registering their daughters for the information session as well.

Our path through the village was easier after that, as two of the girls decided to play tour guide, and walk with us, becoming full fledged recruiters by the end of the walk. For the most part, being there was less uncomfortable than I expected – I had my Kenyan partner and our local girl guides with us the entire time, and the white skin and NGO t shirt also helped. A couple of times requests for information became requests for bread and money, which was awkward and not something I could oblige (I had brought nothing with me but a hidden pocket of cash and phone). We spent about 4 hours recruiting before heading back for a debrief and lunch.

The three biggest reminders that this was a slum and not only a friendly, vibrant community were the crowds, the trash, and the children. While the main road we were walking on was quite wide, the alleys between the houses were narrow, and the area densely densely populated given the area’s proximity to the city center. While there was some limited electricity and relatively freely running water, there were also the characteristic streams of sewage and piles of trash everywhere. Flies swarmed everywhere, especially around the kids. While the children were adorable, when you took a second look you realized that this one had a sore or that one was playing with rust nails or a third was being carried by a girl my little sister’s age. This was the big reminder of how stark the poverty was here, and how important our work – giving girls a chance at something more – could be.

Safari like its my birthday

Last year, my birthday involved a case of Prosecco (thanks Mommy and Daddy B), 20 friends, and late night trips to Cleary’s and CityBar. This year, my birthday also involved sparkling wine (thank you, VolCons!) but in a very different setting.

Saturday morning, that important day, dawned at 5:15, as we sleepily packed and piled into the safari van at 6 to stop at Nakumatt and stock up on safari essentials such as biscuits, cashews, water, chocolate and shillings (this is a cash economy, btdubs). Then it was 5 hours of napping on a bumpy dirt road, the worst part of which was outside a cement factory. Ahh, the irony of Kenyan infrastructure.

Our destination was Amboseli national park, a beautiful panorama of savannah, desert and swamp rolled into one on Kenya’s southern border with Tanzania. It is renowned as a game park both for the landscape (and the animals it attracts) as well as the clear view of Mt. Kilimanjaro that it affords when the cloud cover drifts away. We got to the park around lunchtime, and spent an hour arguing with the Kenya Wildlife Service for various discounts. Unfortunately, we got the ONLY government employee in Kenya who followed the rules and couldn’t be reasoned with, so nothing came out of it except some very terse interactions with the Maasai women who swarmed the car trying to sell us cheap baubles.

Finally, it was into the park, for a breakneck drive past elephants taking baths and giraffes eating from the Acacia trees. We had to make lunch at our pretty little tented camp, with its neat and clean cabins and bathrooms. We barely made the decent buffet lunch in an open air dining hall filled with tourist groups. Then a brief tanning session by the pool in the middle of the savannah, and back into the van for our evening game drive.

Unlike the Mara, which is huge expanses of land inhabited by herd animals, punctuated with spottings of the big 5, Amboseli is a number of microcosms, each with its own particular creature mix. Because the park is smaller, the concentrations of animals were higher. It was also incredibly dusty, which was a bummer for our clothes but awesome for taking otherworldly photos of giraffes silhouetted against the trees. Amboseli also has a fantastic concentration of elephants, which was definitely the highlight. Big ones, little ones, bathing elephants, elephant herds – AWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Saturday night birthday dinner was lovely, except for the fact we all almost passed out at the table and were all asleep by 9:30 to make our morning wake up call at 6. We missed the sunrise in the park, but were able to grab some great photos of Mt Kilimanjaro and the sky changing colors over our camp. The morning game drives were most remarkable for our mad dash through the desert at the edge of the park – eat my dust, indeed! Standing up in a pop top safari van as you dodge the dust devils and leave a trail of clouds while racing through the sand is a pretty exhilarating ride.

After inhaling enough dust to turn us into dust bunnies, we arrived back in Nairobi to long long hot showers (potentially with our clothes on to get rid of the dirt). Then it was off to Nairobi’s only Lebanese restaurant with a sushi bar, which was surprisingly good, All in all, a satisfying birthday – but I’ll still have to throw birthday 2008 redux party when I’m back stateside in September.

The Accidental (Cultural) Tourist

After a long day of game drives at the Mara, it was back to the campsite for dinner. We were all sitting enjoying our copld tuskers on the stone porch of the main dining area, when our guide came by to tell us to grab our beers and migrate to a clearing, we could could watch dinner being prepared.

Therein followed one of the weirder meals I've had in a while. I;m not sure who asked for this or whether it was part of the package our guide thought we wanted. It had been intimated that dinner would involve a bonfire and goat meat, but none of us realized quite what this would entail.


We all dutifully trotted out with our folding chairs to a pretty clearing where waiting for us were two Masai warriors and a white and brown goat. Disbelievingly, we arranged our chairs in a semi-circle as the Masai prepared the goat for its death. Gently, they tied it up and lay it on a bed of clean branches that would serve as executioner's platformm and butchers block. I didnt watch the kill, but I heard one horrible bleat - and it was over. After we all go over out shock, there was much discussion of why mass-produced meat didn't bother us as the Masai broke down the animal, putting the traditional cuts on fresh spits for roasting over the flame and reserving the rest of the cuts for themselves. At least almost none of the animal went to waste.


We all sat down to dinner after sunset by the fire, ready to try the nyoma choma, or roasted goat. The worst part of the affair was that none of us could stomach the meat - it was tough, chewy, gamey, and came with too much baggage. I think our guide had anticipated this reaction, as there was plenty of other food. After dinner, we let the fire wind down as the hyenas howled in the darkness. Our cousins in carnivory, I guess


***


Sunday morning, the group split with one set of us goingv back into the park to track lion cubs and the other half going to a nearby Masai village to see the cows leaving and watch the sunrise over the hills.


The trip started innocently enough - we spilled out of the van in front of a circle of mud and dung huts in time to see the last cows straggle out of the thorn bush gate. One of the young men of the village came out to talk to use as we stared about wide eyed as the sky started to turn. We asked him questions, and he asked us if we had our cameras - the first intimation that something fishy was going on. Our conversation was interrupted by a cry of "elephant," and we all went running across the middle of the village, dodging cow patties (it also served as the cows' night pasture). In the distance was a herd of dark shapes, and we felt very happy with our decision to forgo the game drive - we still got pachyderms! A few sunrise photos followed.


Our village guide then informed us that our entrance fee to the village allowed us to see inside a hut, to watch a warrior's dance, a woman's dance, and a fire starting demonstration, and visit the gift shop. Startled looks were exchanged - we thought this was just cows and maybe a few blankets for sale.


The inside of the house was pretty interesting - past the baby cow's room to sit by the warm firm and interrupt a family having tea, the little children pouring the hot liquid back and forth between mugs to cool it. Then back outside into the chilly air. The young men started dancing and jumping in a way that suggested total boredom before physically pulling us into photos with them. I was absolutely mortified and the pictures show it. I don;t want people paying to see me dance, but it would almost have been rude to demure, since our guide had paid our fee.

The women followed the men, looking even less enthusiastic about their performance, and I turned even redder for that photo. Finally, a short fire-making demonstration anda quick turn around the village store, and it was mercifully time to go.

We had been warned that a village vist could be touristy, and it was really too bad to find it as farcical as we did. We would have been content just to see the village and talk to people there - no need for the show.

The one cavaet to the village debacle is that Masai do actually live in a traditional way, as evidenced by the number of other villages and people in traditional garb wandering around as we drove out of the vastness of the reserve and back toward semi-civilization (No offense to Nairobi)

Little plane, big view

In Out of Africa, Baroness Blixen speaks of being able to fly over Africa as one of the benefits of being friends with Denys Finch-Hatton (she’s too discreet to mention some of the other perks). In West with the Night, Beryl Markham writes of taking off from the airport in Nairobi as an amazing experience. Having taken off from or landed at Jomo Kenyatta, the spraling, semi-modern airport most memorable for delays and the resulting Tuskers, I respectfully disagree. However, having now had the chance to depart from little Nairobi Wilson airport (at least the AirKenya “terminal” has a roof), I’m coming around to the memoirists’ way of thinking.

This weekend was the group’s trip up to Masai Mara, the biggest game reserve in Kenya and world famous for the wildebeest migration every summer. The plan was to travel up by safai on Friday and drive back on Sunday after 2 days of game drives. I had to make the last minute call to fly up Friday afternoon instead, which turned out to be a great, albeit pricey, decision

Warning: Mommy B, you may want to skip the next paragraph or two. Graphic descriptions of a small plane follows.

AirKenya flies 3 times a day to the various airstrips of the Mara (read: strips of dirt with a fence and a sign) in a little twin otter – 20 seats and no autopilot. After the obligatory mad dash to the airport – Friday traffic in Nairobi is quite unpredictable - I had time aplenty to watch them fuel up the plane from a hose and charge the plane’s battery. Really comforting. At least they gave us water and mints to make it feel somewhat like a real flight.

I was lucky to snag a window seat, which meant I got to spend the next hour staring out at the wide expanse of Kenya. At home, I fly twice a week, and have long since gotten over looking out the window – aisle seats let you get off the plane faster. At 12,000 feet, however, below the clouds, on a sunny July afternoon, it would be criminal not to take advantage of the view.

We took off over Nairobi, then passed over Karen and Langata. The suburbs from the plane seemed a checkerboard of palatial McMansions and country clubs and tin-roofed shanty towns. It was a stark airbourne reminder of the very big divides in this country. Then it was onto the dark red soil of the Rift Valley and the semi-regular pattern of small holder farmers in this lush region. Finally, it was over the savannah, with only the dirt roads breaking the pattern of the tall, dun-colored grass. The clouds cast fascinating shapes below the plane – Chinese dragons, sinous snakes, fluffy pompoms.

As we descended to the first of our four landing strips, trees started to dot the landscape, and underneath them you could see shimmery, shiny patches of light that, to my unbelieving eyes, turned out to be herds of antelope. Coming back out up from the first airstrip, I found myself gripping both sides of the window as we soared over herds of zebras and passed right over a group of elephants – my first animal spotting of the Safari!

After three more stops on my matatu of a plane, I finally landed at Keerokok to be met by two vans full of wonderful, patient people. Then it was off to the park for an evening game drive – elephants, lions, and all the herd beasts our hearts could desire. One pretty sunset over the valley later, it was rattling down the bad park roads and up the dirt trail to our tented camp, for warm food, hot showers and cozy Masai blankets to snuggle under until our 5 AM wake up the next day. The animals are most active at sunrise, which means the visitors must be too!

Today's Moment of Kenyan TV Zen

Another dubbed Filipino soap opera

Father: "Have you met my best friend"

Boyfriend: "What?"

Father: (pulls out a gun) "Have you met the big boss?"

Boyfriend: "Uhh"

Father: "I understand you knocked up my daughter Daphne and you won;t take responsibility. That won't work. Do you understand?"

Today's Moment of Kenyan TV Zen

Quote from dubbed Filipino soap opera:

"Mother, I know I said I'd never go back to cock fighting, but Adrian needs the money for his operation"

Even better when uttered by a jeans-clad teenage girl sitting on her mother's tombstone..

The Ends of the Earth

The fourth of July is an incredibly American holiday. I can never really remember too well from one year to the next how I celebrate it. I know that in general, it includes good friends, good food, time spent outside, a few drinks, and sleepiness. Despite being across the world, the gang here made darn sure that our very African Fourth felt just like home.

Friday afternoon, we all ran out of work early to get to the airport in order to make our flight…which was 2 hours late (on time for this particular airline). When I start my own low cost African airline, it will send you text messages with delays (L. and I spent some time today at work fleshing out the business plan for this venture). However, as a result, the 9 of us were able to have our Tuskers and bad airport samosas before we boarded. I’m becoming quite a connoisseur of fried dough wrapped around potatoes and peas. (It is also worth noting that my version of Word speaks Yiddish but not Hindi – it suggested shamuses as a replacement for samosas).

Our flight got us safely to Mombasa, where a van from the hotel picked us up. It was time to play the Kenyan version of “are we there yet” – sit in city traffic for over an hour and then drive down bumpy roads for two more. It was actually kind of a cool drive – the sun set as we were going, and the trees on the road morphed into these dark squat shapes that vaguely resembled huge sleeping animals. Tree-spotting – the Kenyan version of cloud-watching.

Our driver had promised food when we arrived at the hotel – soup and grilled fish – but none of us had high hopes. Given our usual success in feeding ourselves while traveling, any food sounded good. But we got reallllllly lucky. Che Shale, the boutique hotel we stayed at, and Kijame, the beach bandas adjacent to it, is an amazing place – all sustainable local materials woven into a breath-taking hotel complex. It’s run by Justin, a third generation Kenyan who has turned the complex – one main lodge, 5 super lux cottages, 5 basic bandas – into a real destination, and Kenya’s first Kite Surfing school.

When we arrived, we collapsed onto the couches in the main building and were whisked away to our respective accommodations. Somehow, I wound up at the budget end of things, Kijame, a perfectly nice tree house (read: hut on sticks) a short walk up the beach. Because this was the budget option, showers and bathrooms were detached and communal, but the comfy beds more than made up for the need to take a lantern to the shower. After settling in, it was time for dinner in our semi private dining room – beautifully laid table, flower center piece, freshly baked bread and chili jam. Dinner was a really nice vegetable soup and freshly prepared local salefish (like flounder). After stuffing our tired faces, we got distracted enroute to the beach bonfire by a platform above the main dining room filled with cushions and cool breezes. After a cocktail in this nest, it was time for bed.
Saturday dawned not too early over a leisurely breakfast of fresh fruit, eggs, toast and coffee. This was followed by a mid day activity of jumping off sand dunes and reading on the big swing on the beach. The only thing interrupting the absolute bliss was the occasional rain showers, which merely meant we moved up to our nest until the showers passed.

The highlight of Saturday was our Happy Birthday USA celebration for the three proud Americans in the gang. Someone stealth organized a birthday cake (with 3 candles) and champagne, and we all sang. I then promptly fell asleep in the nest. All that lazing about had made me tired!

Sunday was distinguished from Saturday only by the lack of papaya on our fruit plates and our mad dash to the airport. Despite the sand roads and being stuck behind a donkey cart pulling logs, we got to tiny Malindi airport just as our plane did, and had just enough time to walk through the tin waiting hut onto the flight and back to Nairobi. As hard as it was to leave paradise, it was nice to be home, and to have hot showers!

Working for the weekend

Work is kicking my tush right now, but it has been pointed out to me by my roommate that I haven't updated in a while(we have a long night ahead of us and are still in procrastination mode). I will write a long, wryly funny post full of observations and in-jokes later, but for now a short report.

Nothing too blogworthy over the week, but the weekend was the closest to paradise I've seen in a while. Take a deserted beach on the Kenyan coast, a super-eco-chic boutique hotel, a tree house for a hotel room, and a birthday cake for America and "Moet" on the fourth of July, and you don't need fireworks. Sun, sand, too many Ian Rankin novels, mojitos, and good friends - ideal!

And we almost missed our flight because we got stuck behind a donkey pulling logs. TIA.