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.