ooh, majorly have to go as is dark outside and have to walk home-- only a little bit but best to get home before 8 when you are alone.
having written that, a comment from a friend comes to mind. reading this blog, he asked me if i went out of my way to make my parents nervous. i see his point. but on the other hand, at least they know the worst-- there are not many dangerous escapades being hidden from them (really. i promise.) and anyway, they can't talk.
Ok...i wrote some of this the other day so i will include the beginning and then finish it:
"As this is my second entry in a row, I have to wrap up as I need, ok well want, to go and get some coffee before catching the citi hoppa home. I still have not showered in few days and am feeling a bit grimy. It is ok feeling dirty in middle of maasai land but not in central nairobi where people, as in cities the world over, dress up. I also have a presentation to give tomorrow for the 'Econews Africa' conference organised by the lady I visited at Oxfam here. I had better clean up before that.
After the night bus from Mombasa and after a cheeky serving of oh so good French toast at Java Coffee House, I hopped on a matatu bound for the sleepy town of Kajiado..."
Kajiado is a very very very small town-- a one road town. as i arrived earlier than expected, i had some chai at 'the Central Hotel' (obviously a huge glass-windowed skyscraper establishment...or rather a one roomed cafe with 10 tables and a much needed toilet out the back). What had made me laugh in this town was the comment that greeted me. when i arrived, i had looked up and down the street, trying to find the landmark my friend had recommended as the place to catch the matatu to her camp near the town of Mile 46. noticing my slightly blank and confused expression, a man standing next to a nearby shop asked, "Are you new to the area?"
...Obviously we then had a chat and he told me all about the homeowners association i could join and bingo for the over 40s at the Central Hotel as well as the charming new parents association which would definitely arrange for me and my husband to have a break from screaming toddlers....
Sorry for that tangent, but it just made me chuckle so much to be asked if i was new to the area!!
.....To be continued....
p.s. ok ok call me a hypocrite for breaking the story and not even mentioning how i managed to dance in the middle of a huge circle of hundreds of Maasai within two minutes of arriving at market day in Mile 46.... but it is dark as outside and i want to walk home before it gets darker (which i am not sure is possible). last time i walked home i walked into the support cable of a telephone pole. that was not fun. though very funny to be talking to tiffany and then suddenly bounce backwards... (for those of you in the know, kind of like the time i jumped into that door frame in the mud room at home...though not quite as dramatic. this time i did not end up lying on the floor.)
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
As those of you who have watched television with me well know, I am not a fan of 'to be continued' tales, especially when they are of the X Files variety. So I apologise for breaking my story. I am also sorry because it means I am rather far behind in telling you all the ridiculous things that keep happening.
Upon arriving on Ngomeni Island, we walked up to the couple bandas that stood off the shore-- reed shacks, one for the living area with a couple tents in it and the other for the kitchen. In the kitchen were the fellow guests-- two Spanish girls. As their English was not very good, we ended up having to converse in Spanish and Swahili...interesting for someone who had never heard Swahili until a month ago and has not taken Spanish since 10th grade. Still, we all managed and I tried to look at the bright side of things-- by being left out of many of the conversations, at least I had thinking time...
That evening we took a stroll down the beach...the island is one of those places where you lose a sense of where you are in the world. Apart from the Italian satellite station out at sea, all around was silver water and sand. I ran all the way out the the end of a sand peninsula-- one of those moments when it is entirely necessary to let your grimy hair fall out of its tie and be blown about crazily by the wind of the Indian Ocean. Or at least I thought so.
That night we were treated to fresh shark (ninapenda papa as well as samaki) in a curry sauce that included dried apple mangoes-- a mix i highly recommend for those of you living on islands with mango trees nearby (are there any of you? how do i know you?). Night fell and brought the galaxy back with it...campfire smoke seeped out of the banda as we sipped our ginger chai (another recommended recipe).
The following morning, after a swim in the sea (showers? bah. as i write, water has not touched me outside of my hands and face for 4 and a half days), Tiff and I built a village in the sea. I had just completed the market stalls (what? did you think I meant a mere collection of sandcastles?) when it was time for lunch...fresh crab! with lime and a chili or two for me, apparently making me eligible to be african. not sure that is quite what the citizenship requirements mention but i will be sure to mention it to the immigration officers if I am ever considering trying to get a kenyan passport.
After lunch, we all sailed off in a dhow to visit the mangrove swamps. Sailing on the dhow has been one of the highlights of my whole trip-- it is amazing to be on a sailboat where there is only one sail, no boom, no winches-- simplicity makes you feel so close to the water and wind. the sailors, often quite small and thin, so nimbly seem part of their vessel. I always love watching people who are in tune with their boats-- when people can sail almost by instinct. On the return journey, I was sitting at the stern and ended up piloting the boat back, to the joy of the crew. I was titled 'Captain Wangu' -- my captain, which is one of my proudest nicknames. there is something about someone letting you sail their boat, even for a short while, that creates a little bond between you. when i saw the captain the next day, we were all grins and wished each other goodbye and god bless you. may he sail well, inshallah!
The mangrove swamps were everyone else's favourite part of the day and pretty cool. although my highlight was wading through the boggy mud, beautiful! though i later partially regretted that experience as it led to me having around 30 plus bites just on one foot from the little mosquitoes that live in the mud there. geez, speaking of which, i think i forgot my malaria medicine last night...eek! the coast is rather malarial, as compared to the highlands of Nairobi.
We departed from Mahdi Island the next morning, hoping to make it to the island of Lamu before evening. On the way to the island, we had crossed in a motorboat-- on the way back on our way to catch the bus from Malindi, we crossed in a little canoe, oh so stable! one of those times when you just have to roll wit' it... definitely!
After several hours of bouncing up and down to a ricidulous extent (the baby behind us managed to vomit over about three passengers to give you an idea), our bus to Lamu the first island of the archipelago off the northern coast.
From the top of our hotel, Pole Pole (slowly slowly, aptly named for the spirit of the town), we could see all the roofs of the town. Lamu reminds me a lot of the feeling of the old town in Fez, Morocco. This comparison is probably more due to the fact that I have not been to many old Arabic towns, but the atmosphere was similar-- cats leaping around, donkeys carrying loads, flat roofs, curling alleyways. Lamu however of course has a special twist, being a great example of coastal Swahili culture, with its mix of African, Arabic, and Indian. Along the alleys, the carved doors create a rather grand atmosphere, and at the top of them is the Arabic symbol meaning Allah is the beginning, here is where we start. But don't look up too long as often there is a traffic jam with donkeys wanting to go in the opposite direction from you. Indeed, they are the major mode of transport-- there is only one vehicle on the whole island, which belongs to the district commissioner (our guidebook reported that he has his driver drive it up and down the beach daily to show off). When I was strolling down a path holding banana skins trying to find a bin, someone stopped me at a doorway: "Oh, can I have these to feed my donkey?" Of course I said no that they were mine and there was no way in hell that his scummy donkey was getting them.
That evening we dined at the abode of Ali-Hippy, named so after hanging out with an American hippy in the 70s. He finds tourists on the seafront and invites them to dinner at his house at 7pm sharp. The food was ok (though we had been spoilt on the island to be fair) and we did not drink the highly diluted juice (having been forewarned about his bad record of increasing tourists' use of pit latrines rather substantially) but the whole situation was so ridiculous it was worth it. Imagine, this tubby guy wearing a little skullcap with a keyboard balanced on his short stumpy legs, playing out some simple Swahili tune, accompanied by about 10 members of his family singing such esteemed lyrics like 'Hakuna Matata' and 'Lala Salaama' (sleep well). We were accompanied at the meal by a gap year traveller from Birmingham who recounted a rather gory story of mob justice in Kampala where he had saved a guy from being stoned to death for stealing about $14. So all in all, a rather charming little dinner experience...
We departed the next morning, with Tiffany dashing down the seafront with henna all over her hands and feet. Another bumpy bus ride to Malindi, then a few more hours to Mombasa and we were back at the lovely New People's Hotel, basically my second home whenever I want a peaceful night's sleep. This time our room was right over the road...oh the sound of matatu horns lulling you to sleep!
In the restaurant below New People's we spied the Spanish girls from the island. We went to say hello, thinking they maybe were picking up some miraa (legal herb which is chewed as a stimulant). They informed us that there had been a police raid on the island the day after we left and they had spent most of the previous night at the police station. The police had rocked up the island in motorboats wielding machine guns and demanding to search the premises. Mahdi had somehow managed to escape and was hiding at his village, where all the elders would protect him, a hero of the village as he is. The girls looked somewhat peeved and said that the police had claimed that Mahdi was illegally operating his tourist venture without a license.
Mahdi was supposed to meet us that same day to take us shopping but after hearing of the raid we were unsure that he would come to Mombasa. We were so traumatised by all of this that we, ahem, went to eat lunch. Ah, I still smile when I think of the meal-- we went to the Singh restaurant down from the Sikh temple-- glorious Punjabi food! And even though we felt absolutely full of cofta and dahl and aloo(potato)-filled chapatis, we still made space for dessert. I had the most amazing kulfi-- Indian ice cream made of pistachios. My Lord, I was in heaven.
Ahem, anyway, yes the serious story. Mahdi walked into the restaurant during our meal. We were very glad to see him, obviously. He told us that the most likely explanation for the police raid was that they had been hired by a guy in Watamu, a nearby town. Married to an Italian (who dominate the tourist trade in that area), he had been threatening Mahdi and telling him to vacate the island repeatedly, even though the island is communally owned by the village-- and additionally cannot really be owned by an individual. It cannot be surveyed because much of it disappears at high tide.
The situation made me think again about the problems of a state which is detached from the communities which it is meant to serve. The police are often not seen as a source of protection and secuity but rather a dangerous weapon to be used by those who hire them. The state has not grown from the people but exists as a strangely detached body. This is what I think lies at the core of so many of the challenges facing Kenya today.
As it stands, I think Mahdi will be ok. As will his ecotourism project. In fact, (parents, don't read the next sentences), he has almost convinced me to come back and work at setting up the project next year. He needs someone to help him survey the village and its people and to come up with a proposal to submit to a lawyer. I could stay and eat for minimal cost...and learn Swahili....and swim in the sea...and learn to sail a dhow... who could resist? It would be a great opportunity for field research as well as learning about the ecotourism business...
Upon arriving on Ngomeni Island, we walked up to the couple bandas that stood off the shore-- reed shacks, one for the living area with a couple tents in it and the other for the kitchen. In the kitchen were the fellow guests-- two Spanish girls. As their English was not very good, we ended up having to converse in Spanish and Swahili...interesting for someone who had never heard Swahili until a month ago and has not taken Spanish since 10th grade. Still, we all managed and I tried to look at the bright side of things-- by being left out of many of the conversations, at least I had thinking time...
That evening we took a stroll down the beach...the island is one of those places where you lose a sense of where you are in the world. Apart from the Italian satellite station out at sea, all around was silver water and sand. I ran all the way out the the end of a sand peninsula-- one of those moments when it is entirely necessary to let your grimy hair fall out of its tie and be blown about crazily by the wind of the Indian Ocean. Or at least I thought so.
That night we were treated to fresh shark (ninapenda papa as well as samaki) in a curry sauce that included dried apple mangoes-- a mix i highly recommend for those of you living on islands with mango trees nearby (are there any of you? how do i know you?). Night fell and brought the galaxy back with it...campfire smoke seeped out of the banda as we sipped our ginger chai (another recommended recipe).
The following morning, after a swim in the sea (showers? bah. as i write, water has not touched me outside of my hands and face for 4 and a half days), Tiff and I built a village in the sea. I had just completed the market stalls (what? did you think I meant a mere collection of sandcastles?) when it was time for lunch...fresh crab! with lime and a chili or two for me, apparently making me eligible to be african. not sure that is quite what the citizenship requirements mention but i will be sure to mention it to the immigration officers if I am ever considering trying to get a kenyan passport.
After lunch, we all sailed off in a dhow to visit the mangrove swamps. Sailing on the dhow has been one of the highlights of my whole trip-- it is amazing to be on a sailboat where there is only one sail, no boom, no winches-- simplicity makes you feel so close to the water and wind. the sailors, often quite small and thin, so nimbly seem part of their vessel. I always love watching people who are in tune with their boats-- when people can sail almost by instinct. On the return journey, I was sitting at the stern and ended up piloting the boat back, to the joy of the crew. I was titled 'Captain Wangu' -- my captain, which is one of my proudest nicknames. there is something about someone letting you sail their boat, even for a short while, that creates a little bond between you. when i saw the captain the next day, we were all grins and wished each other goodbye and god bless you. may he sail well, inshallah!
The mangrove swamps were everyone else's favourite part of the day and pretty cool. although my highlight was wading through the boggy mud, beautiful! though i later partially regretted that experience as it led to me having around 30 plus bites just on one foot from the little mosquitoes that live in the mud there. geez, speaking of which, i think i forgot my malaria medicine last night...eek! the coast is rather malarial, as compared to the highlands of Nairobi.
We departed from Mahdi Island the next morning, hoping to make it to the island of Lamu before evening. On the way to the island, we had crossed in a motorboat-- on the way back on our way to catch the bus from Malindi, we crossed in a little canoe, oh so stable! one of those times when you just have to roll wit' it... definitely!
After several hours of bouncing up and down to a ricidulous extent (the baby behind us managed to vomit over about three passengers to give you an idea), our bus to Lamu the first island of the archipelago off the northern coast.
From the top of our hotel, Pole Pole (slowly slowly, aptly named for the spirit of the town), we could see all the roofs of the town. Lamu reminds me a lot of the feeling of the old town in Fez, Morocco. This comparison is probably more due to the fact that I have not been to many old Arabic towns, but the atmosphere was similar-- cats leaping around, donkeys carrying loads, flat roofs, curling alleyways. Lamu however of course has a special twist, being a great example of coastal Swahili culture, with its mix of African, Arabic, and Indian. Along the alleys, the carved doors create a rather grand atmosphere, and at the top of them is the Arabic symbol meaning Allah is the beginning, here is where we start. But don't look up too long as often there is a traffic jam with donkeys wanting to go in the opposite direction from you. Indeed, they are the major mode of transport-- there is only one vehicle on the whole island, which belongs to the district commissioner (our guidebook reported that he has his driver drive it up and down the beach daily to show off). When I was strolling down a path holding banana skins trying to find a bin, someone stopped me at a doorway: "Oh, can I have these to feed my donkey?" Of course I said no that they were mine and there was no way in hell that his scummy donkey was getting them.
That evening we dined at the abode of Ali-Hippy, named so after hanging out with an American hippy in the 70s. He finds tourists on the seafront and invites them to dinner at his house at 7pm sharp. The food was ok (though we had been spoilt on the island to be fair) and we did not drink the highly diluted juice (having been forewarned about his bad record of increasing tourists' use of pit latrines rather substantially) but the whole situation was so ridiculous it was worth it. Imagine, this tubby guy wearing a little skullcap with a keyboard balanced on his short stumpy legs, playing out some simple Swahili tune, accompanied by about 10 members of his family singing such esteemed lyrics like 'Hakuna Matata' and 'Lala Salaama' (sleep well). We were accompanied at the meal by a gap year traveller from Birmingham who recounted a rather gory story of mob justice in Kampala where he had saved a guy from being stoned to death for stealing about $14. So all in all, a rather charming little dinner experience...
We departed the next morning, with Tiffany dashing down the seafront with henna all over her hands and feet. Another bumpy bus ride to Malindi, then a few more hours to Mombasa and we were back at the lovely New People's Hotel, basically my second home whenever I want a peaceful night's sleep. This time our room was right over the road...oh the sound of matatu horns lulling you to sleep!
In the restaurant below New People's we spied the Spanish girls from the island. We went to say hello, thinking they maybe were picking up some miraa (legal herb which is chewed as a stimulant). They informed us that there had been a police raid on the island the day after we left and they had spent most of the previous night at the police station. The police had rocked up the island in motorboats wielding machine guns and demanding to search the premises. Mahdi had somehow managed to escape and was hiding at his village, where all the elders would protect him, a hero of the village as he is. The girls looked somewhat peeved and said that the police had claimed that Mahdi was illegally operating his tourist venture without a license.
Mahdi was supposed to meet us that same day to take us shopping but after hearing of the raid we were unsure that he would come to Mombasa. We were so traumatised by all of this that we, ahem, went to eat lunch. Ah, I still smile when I think of the meal-- we went to the Singh restaurant down from the Sikh temple-- glorious Punjabi food! And even though we felt absolutely full of cofta and dahl and aloo(potato)-filled chapatis, we still made space for dessert. I had the most amazing kulfi-- Indian ice cream made of pistachios. My Lord, I was in heaven.
Ahem, anyway, yes the serious story. Mahdi walked into the restaurant during our meal. We were very glad to see him, obviously. He told us that the most likely explanation for the police raid was that they had been hired by a guy in Watamu, a nearby town. Married to an Italian (who dominate the tourist trade in that area), he had been threatening Mahdi and telling him to vacate the island repeatedly, even though the island is communally owned by the village-- and additionally cannot really be owned by an individual. It cannot be surveyed because much of it disappears at high tide.
The situation made me think again about the problems of a state which is detached from the communities which it is meant to serve. The police are often not seen as a source of protection and secuity but rather a dangerous weapon to be used by those who hire them. The state has not grown from the people but exists as a strangely detached body. This is what I think lies at the core of so many of the challenges facing Kenya today.
As it stands, I think Mahdi will be ok. As will his ecotourism project. In fact, (parents, don't read the next sentences), he has almost convinced me to come back and work at setting up the project next year. He needs someone to help him survey the village and its people and to come up with a proposal to submit to a lawyer. I could stay and eat for minimal cost...and learn Swahili....and swim in the sea...and learn to sail a dhow... who could resist? It would be a great opportunity for field research as well as learning about the ecotourism business...
Friday, July 21, 2006
following strange men onto islands. and not getting arrested.
so the coast--- i love it so much!! the people, the culture, the architecture, the beaches, the food-- ninapenda samaki!
that means 'i love fish', one of my best swahili sentences. I know a very random selection of words. I can ask for rope and shrimp (they are the same word, confusing if you want to tie up a bundle of shrimp with some rope), say the basic greetings/thanks/etc, and ask for music, medicine, the chemists, fried dough balls, potatos, roasted meat. oh, and say that i like horses and please can i have some firewood? oooh-- and that i like blood.
we took the night bus from nairobi a week ago. when we arrived at the bus depot in the east of nairobi (the part that the lonely planet describes as dodgy), i jumped out of the car to ask about our bus-- they informed me that there was a problem with the bus we had booked. but then a guy that i had talked to the day before explained we would just be given seats on another company's bus-- and said, oh emma, so sorry so sorry-- i could not believe he remembered my name. i mean granted i did not see too many mzungus around but still. i think it was because my name has led to a conversation about whether i was muslim and then about how i should come at 5pm the next day to chat and have chai until the bus left at 9!
The reason we were late and rushing around that night is that we had gone with Shiro and her theatre group to perform at Precious Blood Kilungu Secondary School-- and yes, i was in the cast. As the random white woman who works at the church and delivers medicine to a woman who has been beaten by her husband. The woman-- named Ahoya, a well known British name-- has strange opinions on wife abuse and I was really unsure about the message of the whole scene.
That all went well, I knew my lines, caused some stirring among the audience...but then at the end of the play...I had gone backstage from my seat in the audience where I had been since my scene had ended to find the book i had forgotten there. I ended up passing by the stage around curtain call and was basically pushed on stage. I thought, ok, line up, i can do curtain call, shouldn't be too complicated. then when i got on stage, to my horror i saw, ahhhh, they are in a line. ah, and they are doing a dance...ok....yeah, so totally danced on stage to a dance i did not know. Then, after bowing, the leader of the group said, "Ok, now we start with introductions..." and looked at me.
Er, introductions? "What do I say?" I whispered. "Your name"...so i said, "Hi I'm Emma," not knowing that everyone after me would basically say a little speech about themselves to raucous applause.
Oh well, everyone has to rack up a few embarrassing moments in their life. I just hate that i had to reinforce the impression that mzungus can't dance...
Yes, so the coast-- we arrived in Mombasa last week and spent our first morning resting. We stayed in the New People's Hotel, quite possibly the loudest guesthouse I have ever encountered...not only is it right by the bus station where the horns just keep on hooting, and by the mosque with the electronic prayers blasting out, but it also has a very echoing courtyard in the middle where whoever was doing the washing up and laundry was really just having a field day. I was not quite sure how they were making so much noise but it really sounded like they were taking a saucepan and bashing it against a wall periodically...
We made our way to the old town of Mombasa, where the streets narrow, trying to find Island Dishes for a feast of biryani and curries. People would occasionally point us in the right direction, until a torrential rainstorm stopped us and we waited under a balcony. Then we met Ramzy, a very friendly guy who found us a bench upon which to watch the rain. When the drops were lighter, Ramzy took us to Island Dishes, actually leaving his phone number with us in case we needed help. That first encounter with coastal friendliness may have biased me from the very beginning but I have felt so welcomed here. Maybe it is partly being away from the intensity of Nairobi. You don't realise how tiring and stressful that is until you leave.
While we sat at Island Dishes, sipping our tamarind juice, a guy with dreads and a bandaged finger sat down next to us. He ordered some food and proceeded to chat to us as he ate, spewing rice while he talked (Tiff insists that I mention this-- I must admit, it was quite impressive how messy an eater he was).
Mohammed Mahdi is in the process of setting up an ecotourism venture in his village. During a relationship he had with a Peace Corps volunteer, he began inviting guests to come and camp on an island by his village of Ngomeni, wanting to preserve some of the coast for a gentler type of tourism than that found in the huge hotels and resorts that dot the coast around here (strangely enough, very dominated by Italians-- people here actually know quite a bit of the language even). Apart from camping on the island, people can tour the mangrove swamps around the island, sail on a dhow, enjoy fresh crab, and just generally chill on a rather private beach.
Mahdi told us all of this-- he had a flyer typed out and a phone number-- and an website address. Tiff and I at first sighed. Nairobi makes you suspicious of everyone. people are always claiming to know you, getting upset if you don't 'remember them'... Being approached by a random man telling you he will take you to his island smacks of a scam in major way...
So we decided to go. Actually he made it hard for us to refuse, offering to show us round Mombasa the rest of the day for free and saying we would not have to pay until we arrived at Mahdi Island. Still, we were worried...imagining arriving on the island, then being abandoned there, losing all our bags...
Actually Mahdi was amazing-- he walked us all around the city. We ended up listening to prayers in a Sikh temple. I love how this city has so many religions and temples crowded into it. It gives me hope. We had walked past multiple mosques and churches, visited one of the Hindu temples, and now sat on rugs listening to the words of the Sikh Gurus.
We met Mahdi again at 7 in the morning and went with him to the Gede Ruins, the remains of a Swahili city-state from the 14th century. Stuck out in a rather rural area, the ruins do not appear in many historical records and are a bit of a mystery. And a sense of mystery did hang in the air -- baobabs in the midst of the crumbling walls, ancient plumbing and cooling systems more advanced than much of what you see in come cities today, and monkeys rustling in the treetops. i did have to laugh though-- the rooms have been titled to reflect what was found there: the Room of the Iron Lantern, the Room of the Scissors, the Room of the Cowrie Shells...oh, and "We think this room was a barbershop because we found scissors here."
"How many pairs?"
"Oh, just one."
"Ah ok. Yeah I guess it is a small city and maybe people did not need to cut their hair very often. Would suck if the scissors broke though."
After Gede....a matatu from Malindi (read Italian resort town, complete with Italian supermarket) to Ngomeni and then a boat across the water to Mahdi Island.
.....
To be continued. I am quite tired of being in this internet cafe and have some bag shopping to do. Just wanted to say that there is more of the story to come...at the moment Mahdi is hiding from the police...
ps don't worry though, we are fine and dandy, looking forward to a lovely experience on a night bus to Nairobi tonight!! Woohooo.....
that means 'i love fish', one of my best swahili sentences. I know a very random selection of words. I can ask for rope and shrimp (they are the same word, confusing if you want to tie up a bundle of shrimp with some rope), say the basic greetings/thanks/etc, and ask for music, medicine, the chemists, fried dough balls, potatos, roasted meat. oh, and say that i like horses and please can i have some firewood? oooh-- and that i like blood.
we took the night bus from nairobi a week ago. when we arrived at the bus depot in the east of nairobi (the part that the lonely planet describes as dodgy), i jumped out of the car to ask about our bus-- they informed me that there was a problem with the bus we had booked. but then a guy that i had talked to the day before explained we would just be given seats on another company's bus-- and said, oh emma, so sorry so sorry-- i could not believe he remembered my name. i mean granted i did not see too many mzungus around but still. i think it was because my name has led to a conversation about whether i was muslim and then about how i should come at 5pm the next day to chat and have chai until the bus left at 9!
The reason we were late and rushing around that night is that we had gone with Shiro and her theatre group to perform at Precious Blood Kilungu Secondary School-- and yes, i was in the cast. As the random white woman who works at the church and delivers medicine to a woman who has been beaten by her husband. The woman-- named Ahoya, a well known British name-- has strange opinions on wife abuse and I was really unsure about the message of the whole scene.
That all went well, I knew my lines, caused some stirring among the audience...but then at the end of the play...I had gone backstage from my seat in the audience where I had been since my scene had ended to find the book i had forgotten there. I ended up passing by the stage around curtain call and was basically pushed on stage. I thought, ok, line up, i can do curtain call, shouldn't be too complicated. then when i got on stage, to my horror i saw, ahhhh, they are in a line. ah, and they are doing a dance...ok....yeah, so totally danced on stage to a dance i did not know. Then, after bowing, the leader of the group said, "Ok, now we start with introductions..." and looked at me.
Er, introductions? "What do I say?" I whispered. "Your name"...so i said, "Hi I'm Emma," not knowing that everyone after me would basically say a little speech about themselves to raucous applause.
Oh well, everyone has to rack up a few embarrassing moments in their life. I just hate that i had to reinforce the impression that mzungus can't dance...
Yes, so the coast-- we arrived in Mombasa last week and spent our first morning resting. We stayed in the New People's Hotel, quite possibly the loudest guesthouse I have ever encountered...not only is it right by the bus station where the horns just keep on hooting, and by the mosque with the electronic prayers blasting out, but it also has a very echoing courtyard in the middle where whoever was doing the washing up and laundry was really just having a field day. I was not quite sure how they were making so much noise but it really sounded like they were taking a saucepan and bashing it against a wall periodically...
We made our way to the old town of Mombasa, where the streets narrow, trying to find Island Dishes for a feast of biryani and curries. People would occasionally point us in the right direction, until a torrential rainstorm stopped us and we waited under a balcony. Then we met Ramzy, a very friendly guy who found us a bench upon which to watch the rain. When the drops were lighter, Ramzy took us to Island Dishes, actually leaving his phone number with us in case we needed help. That first encounter with coastal friendliness may have biased me from the very beginning but I have felt so welcomed here. Maybe it is partly being away from the intensity of Nairobi. You don't realise how tiring and stressful that is until you leave.
While we sat at Island Dishes, sipping our tamarind juice, a guy with dreads and a bandaged finger sat down next to us. He ordered some food and proceeded to chat to us as he ate, spewing rice while he talked (Tiff insists that I mention this-- I must admit, it was quite impressive how messy an eater he was).
Mohammed Mahdi is in the process of setting up an ecotourism venture in his village. During a relationship he had with a Peace Corps volunteer, he began inviting guests to come and camp on an island by his village of Ngomeni, wanting to preserve some of the coast for a gentler type of tourism than that found in the huge hotels and resorts that dot the coast around here (strangely enough, very dominated by Italians-- people here actually know quite a bit of the language even). Apart from camping on the island, people can tour the mangrove swamps around the island, sail on a dhow, enjoy fresh crab, and just generally chill on a rather private beach.
Mahdi told us all of this-- he had a flyer typed out and a phone number-- and an website address. Tiff and I at first sighed. Nairobi makes you suspicious of everyone. people are always claiming to know you, getting upset if you don't 'remember them'... Being approached by a random man telling you he will take you to his island smacks of a scam in major way...
So we decided to go. Actually he made it hard for us to refuse, offering to show us round Mombasa the rest of the day for free and saying we would not have to pay until we arrived at Mahdi Island. Still, we were worried...imagining arriving on the island, then being abandoned there, losing all our bags...
Actually Mahdi was amazing-- he walked us all around the city. We ended up listening to prayers in a Sikh temple. I love how this city has so many religions and temples crowded into it. It gives me hope. We had walked past multiple mosques and churches, visited one of the Hindu temples, and now sat on rugs listening to the words of the Sikh Gurus.
We met Mahdi again at 7 in the morning and went with him to the Gede Ruins, the remains of a Swahili city-state from the 14th century. Stuck out in a rather rural area, the ruins do not appear in many historical records and are a bit of a mystery. And a sense of mystery did hang in the air -- baobabs in the midst of the crumbling walls, ancient plumbing and cooling systems more advanced than much of what you see in come cities today, and monkeys rustling in the treetops. i did have to laugh though-- the rooms have been titled to reflect what was found there: the Room of the Iron Lantern, the Room of the Scissors, the Room of the Cowrie Shells...oh, and "We think this room was a barbershop because we found scissors here."
"How many pairs?"
"Oh, just one."
"Ah ok. Yeah I guess it is a small city and maybe people did not need to cut their hair very often. Would suck if the scissors broke though."
After Gede....a matatu from Malindi (read Italian resort town, complete with Italian supermarket) to Ngomeni and then a boat across the water to Mahdi Island.
.....
To be continued. I am quite tired of being in this internet cafe and have some bag shopping to do. Just wanted to say that there is more of the story to come...at the moment Mahdi is hiding from the police...
ps don't worry though, we are fine and dandy, looking forward to a lovely experience on a night bus to Nairobi tonight!! Woohooo.....
in the news
Before I start this entry I just want to say that I feel really disgusted right now. Tiffany has a cousin who lives in Beirut and who has been writing everyday to update her relatives on the war and what is happening to them. I feel like leaving this internet cafe and throwing up around the corner.
I try to keep a relative distance from speaking on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict because I don't know enough about it-- though to be honest I know more than most. But sometimes I just think that half the world-- or rather more like a fifth-- is completely blinding itself to the fact that so many people live such wretched lives because of Israel's military policy. Yes, countries do have a right to defend themselves and yes, Hezbollah is a group which uses violence and other illegal means, but this does not mean we should turn a blind eye to the rampant bombing of residential areas carried out by the Israeli armed forces.
One thing that you learn when travelling is that information is an incredibly precious commodity-- and so many people are incredibly ignorant. I remember a conversation I had with Ike Okonta at Oxford. Ike is a scholar and journalist from the Niger Delta region of Nigeria-- he authored a book with a lawyer who defended Ken Saro-Wiwa, the activist who founded MOSOP (Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People) and who Abacha has executed along with 8 others-- while Shell stood by with its head barely in the sand, its eyes eagerly peaking out at the mounds of oil lying below the surface of the mangrove swamps in the region. Ike and I were talking about racism, and he told me it is all about experience, all about what people know. It is true. Racism is due to ignorance. Having knowledge and listening to people is what solves such problems. Ignorance also expains other things-- how people in countries like the US will not know about the hundreds of Lebanese citizens being wounded and dying and therefore listen to their president patter about in his office and wimper about countries having to defend themselves (by starting a war that will only strengthen Hezbollah's support and weaken the government???).
Information-- being in other places, talking to people, reading the newspapers, you realise the extent to which this world is structured around the hegemonous power of the elite in the west-- and the elite the world over. This is not surprising-- power and money have always structured the world. But what you realise is that the life is incredibly unfair and causes incredibly anger. If you sit quietly on your porch wondering why Hezbollah guerrillas would kidnap Israeli soldiers, go and do your research.
----------------------------------------
Ok. I think I need a new entry now.
I try to keep a relative distance from speaking on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict because I don't know enough about it-- though to be honest I know more than most. But sometimes I just think that half the world-- or rather more like a fifth-- is completely blinding itself to the fact that so many people live such wretched lives because of Israel's military policy. Yes, countries do have a right to defend themselves and yes, Hezbollah is a group which uses violence and other illegal means, but this does not mean we should turn a blind eye to the rampant bombing of residential areas carried out by the Israeli armed forces.
One thing that you learn when travelling is that information is an incredibly precious commodity-- and so many people are incredibly ignorant. I remember a conversation I had with Ike Okonta at Oxford. Ike is a scholar and journalist from the Niger Delta region of Nigeria-- he authored a book with a lawyer who defended Ken Saro-Wiwa, the activist who founded MOSOP (Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People) and who Abacha has executed along with 8 others-- while Shell stood by with its head barely in the sand, its eyes eagerly peaking out at the mounds of oil lying below the surface of the mangrove swamps in the region. Ike and I were talking about racism, and he told me it is all about experience, all about what people know. It is true. Racism is due to ignorance. Having knowledge and listening to people is what solves such problems. Ignorance also expains other things-- how people in countries like the US will not know about the hundreds of Lebanese citizens being wounded and dying and therefore listen to their president patter about in his office and wimper about countries having to defend themselves (by starting a war that will only strengthen Hezbollah's support and weaken the government???).
Information-- being in other places, talking to people, reading the newspapers, you realise the extent to which this world is structured around the hegemonous power of the elite in the west-- and the elite the world over. This is not surprising-- power and money have always structured the world. But what you realise is that the life is incredibly unfair and causes incredibly anger. If you sit quietly on your porch wondering why Hezbollah guerrillas would kidnap Israeli soldiers, go and do your research.
----------------------------------------
Ok. I think I need a new entry now.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
kenyan soap opera stars
yes, so what does a girl to celebrate here in Nairobi when she gets some good news?
well, she spends the night in a karaoke bar and then heads to a reggae club to dance the night away with a kenyan soap opera star who goes by the name of 6Pack.
Right.
Actors are the same the world over I have decided. Egos crowding the room, pick-up lines dripping with syrup, and the most shallow deep statements I have ever heard. No, that is harsh. But the melodrama is the same, the swagger is the same...
One of our friends here in Kenya runs a touring theatre company that performs set books for the secondary schools-- I have mentioned her before. Last night we went out and randomly met multitudes of the acting circles of Kenya, oh yes, the smooth cool operators of this country. Two of them accompanied us to a club called Madhouse which is often overrun with prostitutes... And geez, some of the men hanging round there have the most leering eyes I have ever seen. Actually, in particular the approaching-middle-aged white men near the entrance were most clearly there for one thing and one thing only. No mystery about it.
But, it was fun and having missed dancing for a while, I enjoyed the dance floor even if it meant having to laugh off the romantic sugar-spun comments of my casting director, soap opera actor companion. He was quite a gentleman it must be said however in his defense.
I got home at half four and then woke up to let my friend in at 6...finally getting back to sleep half an hour later, I then woke up at half 8 to go a meeting at OXFAM with their trade coordinator. I managed to stay awake and concentrate and also to arrive there by matatu and with the help of Paul, a friendly Citi Hoppa (local bus system) route manager. After a brief stop at home to rehash the fun and annoyances of last night, it was back to Adams Centre to meet with someone from Christian Aid. I really enjoyed our discussion as he was talking about the proposed structure of the TJN for Africa. We then moved on to discuss the politics of the state in Africa, the effects and causes of the patronage system, and the changing dynamics of the aid industry. He also happened to be reading the same book as me-- Emma's War so that helped fill our two hour lunch meeting.
You know, I am beginning to get a little freaked out about all the coincidences. I randomly saw Emma's War in a bookshop in DC over a year ago and finally bought it to read after my exams. It tells the story of a British aid worker that falls in love with a Sudanese guerrilla leader. She studied art at a college in Oxford (maybe at Brooks, can't remember) and her parents grew up and were married in India. The author of the book works for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and also speaks of Carol Berger, a journalist who came to speak at St. Anne's last year. Since I have started reading it, I have seen it at bookstores here, found it at the book launch I went to, convinced my Finnish friend to buy it, been asked if I in fact also plan to marry a Sudanese warlord (me and the main character apparently have the same nose), and now found that my Christian Aid friend is also reading it. Weird.
Anyway, I think that is most of the coincidences and news. Oh apart from the fact that I was asked a while ago to run a nursery school in Kampala for 6 months. The main reason I was asked, the Ugandan guy bluntly told me was that parents would think a school run by a white person would be a good one. Hmmm. How do I feel about this?
Wil be heading to the coast this weekend...bring on the sunshine. Hoping we can go on an overnight dhow trip...
xx
well, she spends the night in a karaoke bar and then heads to a reggae club to dance the night away with a kenyan soap opera star who goes by the name of 6Pack.
Right.
Actors are the same the world over I have decided. Egos crowding the room, pick-up lines dripping with syrup, and the most shallow deep statements I have ever heard. No, that is harsh. But the melodrama is the same, the swagger is the same...
One of our friends here in Kenya runs a touring theatre company that performs set books for the secondary schools-- I have mentioned her before. Last night we went out and randomly met multitudes of the acting circles of Kenya, oh yes, the smooth cool operators of this country. Two of them accompanied us to a club called Madhouse which is often overrun with prostitutes... And geez, some of the men hanging round there have the most leering eyes I have ever seen. Actually, in particular the approaching-middle-aged white men near the entrance were most clearly there for one thing and one thing only. No mystery about it.
But, it was fun and having missed dancing for a while, I enjoyed the dance floor even if it meant having to laugh off the romantic sugar-spun comments of my casting director, soap opera actor companion. He was quite a gentleman it must be said however in his defense.
I got home at half four and then woke up to let my friend in at 6...finally getting back to sleep half an hour later, I then woke up at half 8 to go a meeting at OXFAM with their trade coordinator. I managed to stay awake and concentrate and also to arrive there by matatu and with the help of Paul, a friendly Citi Hoppa (local bus system) route manager. After a brief stop at home to rehash the fun and annoyances of last night, it was back to Adams Centre to meet with someone from Christian Aid. I really enjoyed our discussion as he was talking about the proposed structure of the TJN for Africa. We then moved on to discuss the politics of the state in Africa, the effects and causes of the patronage system, and the changing dynamics of the aid industry. He also happened to be reading the same book as me-- Emma's War so that helped fill our two hour lunch meeting.
You know, I am beginning to get a little freaked out about all the coincidences. I randomly saw Emma's War in a bookshop in DC over a year ago and finally bought it to read after my exams. It tells the story of a British aid worker that falls in love with a Sudanese guerrilla leader. She studied art at a college in Oxford (maybe at Brooks, can't remember) and her parents grew up and were married in India. The author of the book works for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and also speaks of Carol Berger, a journalist who came to speak at St. Anne's last year. Since I have started reading it, I have seen it at bookstores here, found it at the book launch I went to, convinced my Finnish friend to buy it, been asked if I in fact also plan to marry a Sudanese warlord (me and the main character apparently have the same nose), and now found that my Christian Aid friend is also reading it. Weird.
Anyway, I think that is most of the coincidences and news. Oh apart from the fact that I was asked a while ago to run a nursery school in Kampala for 6 months. The main reason I was asked, the Ugandan guy bluntly told me was that parents would think a school run by a white person would be a good one. Hmmm. How do I feel about this?
Wil be heading to the coast this weekend...bring on the sunshine. Hoping we can go on an overnight dhow trip...
xx
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
the price of life
I am sitting in the computer lab at the University of Nairobi after being shown around by some of the librarians I met at the conference-- I was in the archives section earlier-- it was so cool! They have all the old newspapers from earlier this century, diaries from settlers, and old photo albums from around 1913! They have photos of the Uganda Railway when it was new and also photos of Kikuyu in their dress before western clothing became ubiquitous. One of the photos was captioned 'a native beauty'; many of the settlers were wearing the classic round white hats and the soldiers uniforms were to be frank rather ridiculous.
I am here for a meeting with the dean of students and the head of the department of sociology to discuss plans for a conference in to be held with the university in January. They were very pleasant and even took me for a cup of tea in the SCR-- and mandazi (fried triangular lumps of dough...mmm!).
Yesterday is what I really want to write about-- one crazy day. We were planning to meet our friend Shiro (Mercy's sister) in town to ride the bus to Kilungu to go and meet teachers at a secondary school up there in the highlands. Shiro runs a theatre groups which goes round schools performing the set books they read for their exams-- both English and Kiswahili. Most secondary schools here seem to be boarding and are out in rural areas-- talk about sending your children away for a while to an isolated area where they can't cause too much trouble! The area we were going to was beautiful and very rural, in the area of the Kamba people.
She told us to take a taxi to the Salvation Army. Which we did, being dropped near Nakumatt Lifestyle, a big store tending towards the Walmart/Asda idea of we sell everything you could possibly want so you will never have to go into another store in your life meaning we will gradually steal the markets from other stores which may be more specialised...
Anyway, we call her and are informed that actually there is another Salvation Army, near an area of town called Commercial...we ask at a store how to take a matatu there. Instead we are informed we should take a taxi. When we say we don't want a taxi but rather want to take a matatu, we are told to walk. We are given a sketched map and make our way to downtown.
Soon, we are directed east of Tom Mboya Street, which sticks in my mind as the area which the Lonely Planet guide describes as the rough area of town which has a nasty reputation for robberies and which is best avoided...but no problem, ok, we make our way down the street looking for 'Jack and Jill' which at the time I imagined was a seedy bar but turns out to be a supermarket later on!
We eventually, after turning a corner and trying to look like we do know what we are doing and are not just two lost mzungus, we find the larger, better Salvation Army where our friend is waiting. Our slight irritation melted away-- after all, at least I know my way around Nairobi a bit better now...
We board the bus and wait while the luggage and sacks of maize are loaded onto the roof, being hassled by men convinced that we do really need to buy at least six fake Rolex watches. I had been looking all around-- that part of town was happening, people everywhere, little shops on every section of wall, colours, smells, sounds, enough to keep you occupied in staring out the window. I turned away for a second to look inside the bus and then Tiff asked, "What's happening over there?"
I turned to look and there was a crowd gathering. I could not really tell what was happening in the middle of the crowd but I gradually realised that there was some kind of argument going on-- I could see a lady dressed in a lime green suit looking rather upset about something and yelling at someone shorter than the surrounding crowd of mainly men, many of whom where grinning.
Then the woman seemed to start hitting whoever she was arguing with. And it became more and more apparent that the crowd was gathering round an argument that increasingly turned not into a fight but a beating. Another shorter lady in red was being hit by the other lady-- who was swinging her handbag high in the air, really going after her victim. The surrounding crowd at first seemed to do nothing but then began to push the beaten woman back into the circle, almost holding her to receive the blows. At one point she fell, her jacket was ripped off her, she looked scared and dazed.
We were sitting in the bus watching. Some people were clicking and murmuring but most were watching. People in the crowd were doing the same or actively pushing the beaten women. Mob justice? Theft? An affair?
The crowd gradually moved the woman off to one side and finally a policeman appeared and seemed to stop the beating.
I was disturbed. It was all very raw. I am not used to violence enforced by a crowd of people. I expect someone to stop it, someone to say there is another way. But no one did.
Later that day, returning to Nairobi in the dark, we saw another mob gathered on the side of the street, beating someone I was told. This was quite near the centre of town, which is generally safer and calmer.
We had just driven through what Shiro informed me was the worst area of town. She giggled as she told us-- told us it was probably more dangerous for her to be with us. Though I argued it could make her safer as we would definitely be a more attractive target. We had even just seen a mugging just a little up the road from our matatu.
After telling us all this about the 'worst' area of town, she said, "Ah, lets get another matatu here so we won't have to walk too far. Let's get out now."
"Er, I thought you said this was the bad part of town? But ok, let's get out here."
We hopped out and walked a few yards to another bigger matutu driving down the road. The vehicle then crawled its way up the street through the dark (streetlights? bah.)-- the door was open and I thought surely, if this area is so bad, someone would just see me from the wide open door and jump in.
Luckily my imagination was more active than any potential muggers and we arrived fine in the centre of town. We had our visit to Kenchic inn for grease and salt and then went home...what a day. On the way to the worst area of town, going through the 'worse' (ie not the worst yet) area of town, our matatu has swerved violently...a man was lying in the road with his bike, obviously having been knocked over by a previous vehicle. He was just lying there-- did no one see him?
Life seemed very cheap yesterday-- lives very fragile and easily crumpled up and thrown away. Rules did not seem to apply, because they could not be taken seriously, surviving required other codes of action-- or maybe just action, without a code.
It is so easy to take order for granted, so easy to take security for granted.
I am here for a meeting with the dean of students and the head of the department of sociology to discuss plans for a conference in to be held with the university in January. They were very pleasant and even took me for a cup of tea in the SCR-- and mandazi (fried triangular lumps of dough...mmm!).
Yesterday is what I really want to write about-- one crazy day. We were planning to meet our friend Shiro (Mercy's sister) in town to ride the bus to Kilungu to go and meet teachers at a secondary school up there in the highlands. Shiro runs a theatre groups which goes round schools performing the set books they read for their exams-- both English and Kiswahili. Most secondary schools here seem to be boarding and are out in rural areas-- talk about sending your children away for a while to an isolated area where they can't cause too much trouble! The area we were going to was beautiful and very rural, in the area of the Kamba people.
She told us to take a taxi to the Salvation Army. Which we did, being dropped near Nakumatt Lifestyle, a big store tending towards the Walmart/Asda idea of we sell everything you could possibly want so you will never have to go into another store in your life meaning we will gradually steal the markets from other stores which may be more specialised...
Anyway, we call her and are informed that actually there is another Salvation Army, near an area of town called Commercial...we ask at a store how to take a matatu there. Instead we are informed we should take a taxi. When we say we don't want a taxi but rather want to take a matatu, we are told to walk. We are given a sketched map and make our way to downtown.
Soon, we are directed east of Tom Mboya Street, which sticks in my mind as the area which the Lonely Planet guide describes as the rough area of town which has a nasty reputation for robberies and which is best avoided...but no problem, ok, we make our way down the street looking for 'Jack and Jill' which at the time I imagined was a seedy bar but turns out to be a supermarket later on!
We eventually, after turning a corner and trying to look like we do know what we are doing and are not just two lost mzungus, we find the larger, better Salvation Army where our friend is waiting. Our slight irritation melted away-- after all, at least I know my way around Nairobi a bit better now...
We board the bus and wait while the luggage and sacks of maize are loaded onto the roof, being hassled by men convinced that we do really need to buy at least six fake Rolex watches. I had been looking all around-- that part of town was happening, people everywhere, little shops on every section of wall, colours, smells, sounds, enough to keep you occupied in staring out the window. I turned away for a second to look inside the bus and then Tiff asked, "What's happening over there?"
I turned to look and there was a crowd gathering. I could not really tell what was happening in the middle of the crowd but I gradually realised that there was some kind of argument going on-- I could see a lady dressed in a lime green suit looking rather upset about something and yelling at someone shorter than the surrounding crowd of mainly men, many of whom where grinning.
Then the woman seemed to start hitting whoever she was arguing with. And it became more and more apparent that the crowd was gathering round an argument that increasingly turned not into a fight but a beating. Another shorter lady in red was being hit by the other lady-- who was swinging her handbag high in the air, really going after her victim. The surrounding crowd at first seemed to do nothing but then began to push the beaten woman back into the circle, almost holding her to receive the blows. At one point she fell, her jacket was ripped off her, she looked scared and dazed.
We were sitting in the bus watching. Some people were clicking and murmuring but most were watching. People in the crowd were doing the same or actively pushing the beaten women. Mob justice? Theft? An affair?
The crowd gradually moved the woman off to one side and finally a policeman appeared and seemed to stop the beating.
I was disturbed. It was all very raw. I am not used to violence enforced by a crowd of people. I expect someone to stop it, someone to say there is another way. But no one did.
Later that day, returning to Nairobi in the dark, we saw another mob gathered on the side of the street, beating someone I was told. This was quite near the centre of town, which is generally safer and calmer.
We had just driven through what Shiro informed me was the worst area of town. She giggled as she told us-- told us it was probably more dangerous for her to be with us. Though I argued it could make her safer as we would definitely be a more attractive target. We had even just seen a mugging just a little up the road from our matatu.
After telling us all this about the 'worst' area of town, she said, "Ah, lets get another matatu here so we won't have to walk too far. Let's get out now."
"Er, I thought you said this was the bad part of town? But ok, let's get out here."
We hopped out and walked a few yards to another bigger matutu driving down the road. The vehicle then crawled its way up the street through the dark (streetlights? bah.)-- the door was open and I thought surely, if this area is so bad, someone would just see me from the wide open door and jump in.
Luckily my imagination was more active than any potential muggers and we arrived fine in the centre of town. We had our visit to Kenchic inn for grease and salt and then went home...what a day. On the way to the worst area of town, going through the 'worse' (ie not the worst yet) area of town, our matatu has swerved violently...a man was lying in the road with his bike, obviously having been knocked over by a previous vehicle. He was just lying there-- did no one see him?
Life seemed very cheap yesterday-- lives very fragile and easily crumpled up and thrown away. Rules did not seem to apply, because they could not be taken seriously, surviving required other codes of action-- or maybe just action, without a code.
It is so easy to take order for granted, so easy to take security for granted.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
attack of the baboons
Ah, just having a quiet weekend. Thanks Flora for your e-mail, good to know we are keeping bored receptionists entertained!
It sounds like it is rather steamy in England. Here I am wearing layers and a scarf as it is rather chilly. Nairobi is in the highlands and July is the coolest month. People here have been asking me if I am cold ever since I got here. I can now proudly reply that I now agree that it is cold. Before, the question was reaching ridiculous proportions-- people would ask me if I was not freezing to death when they had just seen me take off my sweater in a rather hot bar.
Tiff returns from Western Province tonight finally (I have missed having a friend around all the time)-- she promises to regale me with tales of bad roads, late buses, liars and late nights...intrigue!! I am as curious as you. We have only texted back and forth a few times and spoken for about 3 minutes as credit is fiendishly expensive here-- about 20 shillings a minute (which is about 15p probably or 27 cents). A lot of people don't have landlines either so phone conversations tend to consists of choppy sentences and no goodbyes.
On Friday I went to Nairobi National Park with Mikael, a Finnish guy I knew from Bamako and met again at the library conference. I was dubious about how much I would see having been told the previous day by my taxi driver Peter that the park was empty. Also, entry fees to national parks rose a week or so ago, meaning that entry for a non-resident is $40! A little steep...And that does not include renting you vehicle. Still, I thought well, you need to splash out once in a while and it would have been rather rude to abandon my friend at the park gate...
As it turns out I was rather impressed by the park. Once you drive in and reach the crest of the hill, you look out over a giant savannah dotted with acacia trees and herds of zebra, impala, and buffalo. We also saw various types of gazelle as well as rock hyraxes, an eland, two types of giraffe, and a cerval, which I was very excited about since cats are generally more shy and rare to show their faces on the side of the road. We were lucky too with the giraffe-- we turned the corner and there they were bang smack in the middle of the road! They gradually sauntered off with their strange gait as we slowly drove up.
And...there were also a few adrenaline-filled moments...at one spot Mikael and I got out of the car to look out over a valley-- a beautiful spot where a river was surrounded by acacias and trees of all the hues of green that can exist-- and to spy on some little rock hyraxes sunning themselves rather nervously. After a few minutes, I turned around only to spy a male baboon approaching. Now, I really don't like baboons. I remember once when I was young, I was in a vehicle with my mum and we saw a troupe of baboons out of the window. She pointed and proceeded to detail how dangerous these animals could be: "They are ferocious-- they can bite you like a dog-- look at their teeth."
Ever since then I have really been a little scared of them. My trip to Botswana had not helped matters-- there on safari I learnt that baboons can tell the difference between human males and females and are not scared of the latter. This thought had returned to me in Western, when Tiff and I visited Kakamega Forest Reserve. A troupe of baboons at one point blocked the path, just as we were returning from a lookout point on the other side of the forest from the rangers' camp. We have a video of our approach, with my voice rather nervously recounting the fact that these terrifying animals are sure to come and take a chunk out of your leg. Luckily our slow approach did not spook them and they slowly retreated into the leafy darkness with their babies.
However, back at the Nairobi Park, things felt different-- it did not help that we had just passed a sign warning us to 'beware of wild baboons.' Sure enough, this rather huge baboon jumped onto our car and stepped onto the roof. Mikael and I were at this point rather nervously staring at the car, wondering how to get back in-- the driver was not inside either, having gone to the toilet.
I have to admit that the bravery in this situation came from the Finn. We stalked up to the car, around to the side, and pondered what to do. After about a second of sizing us up, the baboon started to jump up and down, clearly telling us that we were not in charge. Mikael grabbed the door handle, "Get in, get in." I hesitated for a moment,wondering if the baboon would leap onto my back and rip out my spine before finally leaping into the vehicle, quickly followed by Mikael. We rolled up all the windows and proceeded to sit there as the entire band of baboons clambered onto the car, fought on our windscreen, biting and scratching at each other and sliding down the glass, and made sure they had us surrounded...
Luckily another van drove up at the same time as our driver returned and was able to chase some of the animals off so the driver could enter the car. We then drove off, leaving the baboons feeling triumphant but rather confused as to how their conquered territory could suddenly move away in a cloud of dust and gas...my heart was still beating a little fast.
I don't think I will ever really feel very fond of baboons.
It sounds like it is rather steamy in England. Here I am wearing layers and a scarf as it is rather chilly. Nairobi is in the highlands and July is the coolest month. People here have been asking me if I am cold ever since I got here. I can now proudly reply that I now agree that it is cold. Before, the question was reaching ridiculous proportions-- people would ask me if I was not freezing to death when they had just seen me take off my sweater in a rather hot bar.
Tiff returns from Western Province tonight finally (I have missed having a friend around all the time)-- she promises to regale me with tales of bad roads, late buses, liars and late nights...intrigue!! I am as curious as you. We have only texted back and forth a few times and spoken for about 3 minutes as credit is fiendishly expensive here-- about 20 shillings a minute (which is about 15p probably or 27 cents). A lot of people don't have landlines either so phone conversations tend to consists of choppy sentences and no goodbyes.
On Friday I went to Nairobi National Park with Mikael, a Finnish guy I knew from Bamako and met again at the library conference. I was dubious about how much I would see having been told the previous day by my taxi driver Peter that the park was empty. Also, entry fees to national parks rose a week or so ago, meaning that entry for a non-resident is $40! A little steep...And that does not include renting you vehicle. Still, I thought well, you need to splash out once in a while and it would have been rather rude to abandon my friend at the park gate...
As it turns out I was rather impressed by the park. Once you drive in and reach the crest of the hill, you look out over a giant savannah dotted with acacia trees and herds of zebra, impala, and buffalo. We also saw various types of gazelle as well as rock hyraxes, an eland, two types of giraffe, and a cerval, which I was very excited about since cats are generally more shy and rare to show their faces on the side of the road. We were lucky too with the giraffe-- we turned the corner and there they were bang smack in the middle of the road! They gradually sauntered off with their strange gait as we slowly drove up.
And...there were also a few adrenaline-filled moments...at one spot Mikael and I got out of the car to look out over a valley-- a beautiful spot where a river was surrounded by acacias and trees of all the hues of green that can exist-- and to spy on some little rock hyraxes sunning themselves rather nervously. After a few minutes, I turned around only to spy a male baboon approaching. Now, I really don't like baboons. I remember once when I was young, I was in a vehicle with my mum and we saw a troupe of baboons out of the window. She pointed and proceeded to detail how dangerous these animals could be: "They are ferocious-- they can bite you like a dog-- look at their teeth."
Ever since then I have really been a little scared of them. My trip to Botswana had not helped matters-- there on safari I learnt that baboons can tell the difference between human males and females and are not scared of the latter. This thought had returned to me in Western, when Tiff and I visited Kakamega Forest Reserve. A troupe of baboons at one point blocked the path, just as we were returning from a lookout point on the other side of the forest from the rangers' camp. We have a video of our approach, with my voice rather nervously recounting the fact that these terrifying animals are sure to come and take a chunk out of your leg. Luckily our slow approach did not spook them and they slowly retreated into the leafy darkness with their babies.
However, back at the Nairobi Park, things felt different-- it did not help that we had just passed a sign warning us to 'beware of wild baboons.' Sure enough, this rather huge baboon jumped onto our car and stepped onto the roof. Mikael and I were at this point rather nervously staring at the car, wondering how to get back in-- the driver was not inside either, having gone to the toilet.
I have to admit that the bravery in this situation came from the Finn. We stalked up to the car, around to the side, and pondered what to do. After about a second of sizing us up, the baboon started to jump up and down, clearly telling us that we were not in charge. Mikael grabbed the door handle, "Get in, get in." I hesitated for a moment,wondering if the baboon would leap onto my back and rip out my spine before finally leaping into the vehicle, quickly followed by Mikael. We rolled up all the windows and proceeded to sit there as the entire band of baboons clambered onto the car, fought on our windscreen, biting and scratching at each other and sliding down the glass, and made sure they had us surrounded...
Luckily another van drove up at the same time as our driver returned and was able to chase some of the animals off so the driver could enter the car. We then drove off, leaving the baboons feeling triumphant but rather confused as to how their conquered territory could suddenly move away in a cloud of dust and gas...my heart was still beating a little fast.
I don't think I will ever really feel very fond of baboons.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
making friends with librarians
Eek-- ugh, this internet cafe is overpriced-- two dollars an hour instead of one. geez.
Tiff is still in Western Province-- or else on a bus back from there to Nairobi. I at least hope she is coming back as I miss having a friend to travel round Nairobi with. I don't like being the sole centre of attention!
These past few days I have been attending a conference hosted by the Kenya Library Association in conjuntion with NIGD (something that starts with N, something that starts with I-- maybe institute, for global democracy) about how librarians can participate in the World Social Forum and record the information produced during the forum in Nairobi. I was invited as a rep of the Tax Justice Network as a result of an e-mail I sent to the organiser of the conference...in fact on the second day, I gave a presentation on the issues dealt with by TJN and also what our goals are for the Nairobi forum-- including launcing the TJN for Africa. There was a Q&A discussion session after my presentation which was really interesting. Among the audience was someone working in the Ugandan Ministry of Finance for example who shared how their ministry carries out tax education sessions with street hawkers. There were also questions relating to how librarians could help protect information related to public accounts when that was sure to be stepping on some VIP's toes...
In truth it sometimes makes me feel silly discussing some of the issues related to freedom of information with people who have been part of a struggle for increased freedom of information and association in their own countries. I learn as much from their stories. One of the presenters for instance had to go into exile from Kenya during Moi's crackdown in the 1980s as a result of his research in the Mau Mau movement. He actually authored a book which was launched last night. We went along to the book launch downt0wn where we were treated to speeches from a Cuban ambassador (i think), the asst minister for education and others (good speeches tho rather long, esp when after about half an hour or more, the minister said, "and finally....yes, and then in other words..." No. No other words-- you said it already! No more words needed...your point has more than made it across!
It still was fun to chat to people, esp the people I had met at the conference-- now half the people I know in Kenya are librarians! And i have invites to go to tea at various uni libraries around Nairobi. Ah, comme j'adore le chai!
Well, i have to dash downtown now to meet up with friends near the Hilton...hopefully I will find it! I am still not very familiar with downtown having only walked around it half a half a dozen times (er, yes, that would be about 3)!
Still...I will try to write more soon. I have not even mentioned my adventure out west in Nyanza and Western where I ate a most deliciously cooked fish by the shores of Lake Victoria (where people bring their cars and matatus to wash them!)...and watched the end of the Germany v Argentina match in a bar full, chock a block, of men. Needless to say, felt a leeetle out of place. But, I was given a prime seat near the front-- the seats were all in rows facing the tv-- and personally brought a Tusker beer by the barman Adam who had the most hilarious giggle. Adam liked to meet people from countries like mine and was rather anxious to know when we could meet again. still, for walking into such a male-dominated environment, i think i escaped lightly with only one demand for my phone number. plus germany won the match.
bueno...off i go to town. wish me luck.
xx
Tiff is still in Western Province-- or else on a bus back from there to Nairobi. I at least hope she is coming back as I miss having a friend to travel round Nairobi with. I don't like being the sole centre of attention!
These past few days I have been attending a conference hosted by the Kenya Library Association in conjuntion with NIGD (something that starts with N, something that starts with I-- maybe institute, for global democracy) about how librarians can participate in the World Social Forum and record the information produced during the forum in Nairobi. I was invited as a rep of the Tax Justice Network as a result of an e-mail I sent to the organiser of the conference...in fact on the second day, I gave a presentation on the issues dealt with by TJN and also what our goals are for the Nairobi forum-- including launcing the TJN for Africa. There was a Q&A discussion session after my presentation which was really interesting. Among the audience was someone working in the Ugandan Ministry of Finance for example who shared how their ministry carries out tax education sessions with street hawkers. There were also questions relating to how librarians could help protect information related to public accounts when that was sure to be stepping on some VIP's toes...
In truth it sometimes makes me feel silly discussing some of the issues related to freedom of information with people who have been part of a struggle for increased freedom of information and association in their own countries. I learn as much from their stories. One of the presenters for instance had to go into exile from Kenya during Moi's crackdown in the 1980s as a result of his research in the Mau Mau movement. He actually authored a book which was launched last night. We went along to the book launch downt0wn where we were treated to speeches from a Cuban ambassador (i think), the asst minister for education and others (good speeches tho rather long, esp when after about half an hour or more, the minister said, "and finally....yes, and then in other words..." No. No other words-- you said it already! No more words needed...your point has more than made it across!
It still was fun to chat to people, esp the people I had met at the conference-- now half the people I know in Kenya are librarians! And i have invites to go to tea at various uni libraries around Nairobi. Ah, comme j'adore le chai!
Well, i have to dash downtown now to meet up with friends near the Hilton...hopefully I will find it! I am still not very familiar with downtown having only walked around it half a half a dozen times (er, yes, that would be about 3)!
Still...I will try to write more soon. I have not even mentioned my adventure out west in Nyanza and Western where I ate a most deliciously cooked fish by the shores of Lake Victoria (where people bring their cars and matatus to wash them!)...and watched the end of the Germany v Argentina match in a bar full, chock a block, of men. Needless to say, felt a leeetle out of place. But, I was given a prime seat near the front-- the seats were all in rows facing the tv-- and personally brought a Tusker beer by the barman Adam who had the most hilarious giggle. Adam liked to meet people from countries like mine and was rather anxious to know when we could meet again. still, for walking into such a male-dominated environment, i think i escaped lightly with only one demand for my phone number. plus germany won the match.
bueno...off i go to town. wish me luck.
xx
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