So it begins [the exhaustive account of all happenings in Africa]…

Authors Note: This is completely separate from the post that I put up but covers some of the same ground because this is the more extensive record I've been keeping on my computer of all things pertaining to Africa and culture shock and wild boars. If this looks too long to you to read the whole thing, just read every third sentence and that will get you about 30% of the information, which will probably be enough to pass the quiz at the end

 

I am sitting in Patrick's family's home is Nairobi writing this, and so far so good. The trip over went surprisingly smooth. I ended up on the same flights as a group of students from Western Washington that are going to Kisumu for a service learning project. I got to sit next to one of them on the plane ride from New York to Brussels. He had been to Kenya and Tanzania last fall for several months for a study abroad project. He casually mentioned some work he would be doing on this trip with his non-profit, and when I pressed him for information, it was indeed his non-profit that he started during his last trip to help support families in Kenya that are taking in orphans. That completely blew me away. Here was a guy my age that was doing something great that was tangibly helping people and he didn't seem to have any more idea about what he was doing than I did. That conversation was great for me because I felt that in a lot of ways he was doing what I aspire to do. He simply saw a need that needed to be filled and had the opportunity to do something about it, and stepped up and served and blessed a lot of people. He also told some stories of cool encounters he had with a lot of Kenyans when he was there and how great it was to get to know them. He helped me out with some basic Swahili and let me borrow his basic "how to learn Swahilii" book for the rest of the plane ride. After that flight the whole group graciously assimilated me into their group, which was great for navigating through the Brussels and Nairobi airports and took out almost all the anxiety I had about traveling alone. One of the great inadequacies I felt, and still definitely feel, is knowing only one language as one of the kids from Western said, "If you know more than two languages, you're multi-lingual. If you know two languages, you're bi-lingual. If you know one language, you're American." I was greatly impressed with other people's ability to switch from language to language so seamlessly. It really inspired me to learn more languages, Swahili or otherwise. Every time someone spoke to me in English I felt like I was being accommodated for, and for the most part that was exactly what was happening. The same thing has been true through my time in Kenya. Other than talking with me everyone speaks in Swahili, and then speaks in English when they want to talk to me. I would so much prefer to be able to just be a part of the Swahili conversations, but in some ways that process is hamstrung since we can communicate in English if we need to so there isn't the necessity to learn the Swahili. I'm still working on it, but frustrated with the lack of progress I've made. There's a huge difference between having taken an online tutorial and feeling like you understand something as simple as greetings and farewells pretty well, only to get into an actual conversation and realize you can't recall any of it or understand it in a practical setting. But I digress. The flight from Brussels to Bujumbura offered some outstanding views of the Alps and what I believe were some of the islands of Greece. After getting my visa and picking up my language at the Nairobi airport and said goodbye to the Western group and was greeted my Miriam, Flo, and Roger. The ride with them back to house did not offer a very true version of Kenyan traffic I would see the next day, but we still did a decent amount of weaving around to avoid potholes and pass big trucks. The whole family and stayed up to greet me when I got to their home and they had a meal prepared for me. The whole family was as good as I had been promised they would be, it was so great to meet them after everything I'd heard about them from Heather, Patrick, and Mom. Patrick's dad made sure to make it clear that this was my home now, and I should treat it as such. There was a genuine feel to their welcome that I could tell they were really excited to meet me and that just made me more excited about the time we'd be able to spend together. After a night of restless battle with the jet lag to try to get some sleep I finally gave up and got up. Flo prepared breakfast for me, bringing it out a tray with a thermos of tea, toast, sugar, and juice, which really kind of embarrassed me. I want to make sure on this trip that I don't refuse hospitality just to try and be polite, but this kind of made me sheepish. While I was sitting there I read through the newspaper. I came at an interesting time for Kenya politically, as changes of the new constitution they enacted last year are starting to take hold. The big issue right now is that politicians, who had previously not had to pay any taxes despite their sizable salaries, were being forced to pay taxes for the first time or risk seizure of their assets, just like any other citizen. This seems to me like something that is a no-brainer, and everyone I've talked to here feels the same way, but it is still a radical change from the way things have been done and, according to a funny commentator on the radio, a great step toward making the country more democratic. Another big thing that is going on is that a new Supreme Court Chief Justice has been appointed, the first to be appointed with a more rigorous selection process, meaning that he was interviewed and approved by Parliament rather than just being appointed by the President (I hesitate to put these current events in here because I'm not sure I've got the facts right, this is just how things appear to me. If Patrick or Kenneth or anyone else more familiar can correct me on any of these particulars please do so). I laughed a little bit thinking about the issues and disagreements in American politics and how big those can be made out to be, and I know I sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture that we have a wonderful government structure that is stable and (at least to some degree) fair and democratic. After breakfast I talked some with Patrick's dad about Kenyan politics and what he used to do. He is a wonderful grandfatherly type man who I think is one of the friendliest, most pleasant people I've ever met. I think I could sit around talking with him for days. The whole time I was eating breakfast and talking with Patrick's dad Flo and Junior were washing dishes and cleaning the house. It's a pretty simple home, but they keep it immaculate. I feel try to keep from leaving my stuff around but I still feel like a slob compared to them. They have a much higher standard and priority for keeping things clean and tidy. After Flo and Junior had everything cleaned we went into town. As soon as I left the "estate" (the closed neighborhood the Otienos live in), I heard "mzungu", the Swahili word for white person, all around me. People were jabbering in Swahili all around me, and the only thing I could pick out at this point was "mzungu", which I heard quite a bit. Without a doubt I was an oddity that really couldn't have stuck out much more if I tried. One thing I've noticed is that, although everyone can speak English, it is definitely not the primary language. Almost everything I heard all day that wasn't directed at me was in Swahili, although occasionally it would be an interesting mix with people interspersing English into their conversation when convenient. The traffic was also fascinating to me. First of all, there was a comical mix of vehicles and people on the road. There were cars, the infamous bus taxis called "matatus" (the plural form of "motto" in Swahili) that drive crazier than anybody, motorcycles and bicycles of every shape and size, people pulling carts of produce, and people walking. The other funny aspect of it is that, as far as I can tell, it is jungle law. That is to say, the only rule is the rule of survival. The roughly follow the British convention of driving on the left side of the road, but that is only done when convenient. It actually reminds me of a cross country race: if you see daylight you go for it, and if you have to stick your elbows out to protect your space, then so be it. The chaos of the eclectic mix of vehicles and people, as well as the lack of rules and poor condition of the roads (compared to American roads) made the whole trip an adventure. We walked past the street stalls where produce as well as clothing and other items (including a surprising number of tire shops) were sold to a corner about 10 people were standing in the middle of the side road that was coming into the main road. Apparently this was a stop for the matatus, but there was no sign of any kind, apparently people just know. Apparently all the matatus have their own routes they take and people just know what the routes are, so they form a citywide transportation system. How people know where the matatus are going or where the stops are is a mystery to me, but the system appears to work smoothly. The matatus themselves deserve more description. They are a mish-mash of vans and small buses of all shapes and sizes, and they are usually packed to or past the capacity most Americans would assume the vehicle could hold. Once crammed inside, music is usually blaring loud enough to make conversation at normal volume difficult. Every mtoto has a man, usually in his teens or early twenties that hangs out the door and jumps out at every stop to actively recruit people to get on. When they are doing this they often keep up an auctioneer type line of chatter telling people to hurry up. I loved the hectic nature of the matatus and found them quite entertaining but was fascinated me was that there were old ladies who would get on the matatus as regularly as anyone. I realize that my mom took some matatus when she was here, but the thought of her getting on one of those gives me the giggles. I admired the traffic system because as crazy as it was people didn't seem to get in a lot of accidents or even get as angry with each other as American drivers do. My guess is that when everyone is driving crazy all the time you just expect it to be that way so you avoid a lot of the wrecks and road rage that happen in the United States when someone does something unpredictable or illegal because in Kenya nothing is really unpredictable or illegal. We walked around downtown looking at shops, with Flo and Junior giving me a hard time about being worried of being pick pocketed. I got some of my money changed into schillings, and $60 turned into over 5,000 Kenyan schillings for me. Even here in downtown Nairobi I was dramatically out of place, and didn't see many other white people the whole time we were there, and felt like I was drawing a lot of looks. We stopped by the school where Mama Patrick works and were introduced to some of the teachers there. The school compound was relatively quiet compared to the craziness and traffic of the city around it. Little uniformed kids could be seen running around from time to time, with Mama Patrick yelling at the rogue ones to get back with their class. It was a good connection to for me with so much being new and different to see that young Kenyan schoolchildren behaved much the same as young American schoolchildren. We went to a fast food place serving "chicken and chips" to get some fries for lunch. The fries cost about 150 schillings I think, which is about $1.60. A feature of Kenya I love is pop in glass bottles. Apparently that is just how things I done here, and I love it. I got an orange Fanta in a glass bottle with fries, and let me say that I don't know how many things there are on this earth that are better than Fanta in a glass bottle but there can't be many. After lunch we went for me to get a pair of Bata shoes, a brand of shoes that Patrick told me I should get while there. I got a pair of sweet all-leather shoes for 2200 schillings, which is about $25. I did get sucked in by a store vendor on one purchase. I went to get one of the traditional African shirts my dad got that I really liked, and a man brought me into his shop and showed some designs. After a considerable amount of sorting through I decided on one I really like and we did some bartering. I felt alright about working him down from 1200 schillings to 1000, which means I got the shirt for about $10, and that seemed like a good deal to me for a nice shirt. However, we later saw a similar shirt in a shop for 550 schillings, and I realized I needed to throw my idea of what a good deal is, because what I think is a good deal can be a rip off here. I pledged to get a better idea on the price range for anything before buying any other souvenirs to take home. As much as I'm annoyed by that episode, if I'm able to learn that lesson in a situation where I only lost 500 schillings, then that's definitely a lesson worth learning. I have mixed feelings about the whole bartering process. On the one hand, it's very entertaining to me, and makes shopping a lot more recreational (wait, did I just call shopping recreational? Somebody tell Katie Nordlund that I've converted to dark side and I'm ready to become her padawan), but on the other hand, there's a lot of deception and manipulation to it. I think it will get better as I become more familiar with it, but right now I am very uneasy about it, and rightfully so I think. Also I think no matter how familiar I become with the bartering system, I'm at a disadvantage just because I'm white, so shop owners know I have money and I'm an outsider. The sun came out in the afternoon and it got pretty warm, but apparently I was the only one who thought so. Flo thought it was very cold when we left that house and it was about 60 degrees Fahrenheit. The matatus were uncharacteristically absent when we were ready to leave around 4, so we had to wait a while. There were still bus taxis flying all over the place but Flo assured that they were not what we were looking for. I'm still scratching my head about how she knows what vehicle is going where, but for now if she knows, that's good enough for me. I was very tired when we got home, but I was determined not to nap to make sure I could sleep the whole night through and get on a normal sleep schedule. I went out to play soccer in the street with Junior, but he urged me to wait until Saturday when we would play on grass, because there was a good chance of me getting hurt. I differed to him, since I still really didn't know what I was getting into and if I got hurt he would probably get in a lot more trouble than I would. I sat and watched with some young kids not old enough to play. For being a game of street soccer they seemed to me to be better than your average street game in the US. Several kids fell or got knocked down into the gravel and some limped off, but all returned to the game not long after. Junior showed me a scar on his elbow from when he fell a while ago. The scene really fit the picture I had in my mind of the street soccer played in most part of the world. Most of the kids wore extremely beat up old shoes and they played with narrow goals designated by rocks. The little kids next to me giggled and whispered, and eventually said hi, to which I was able to greet them tentatively with "sasa", my go-to Swahili word right now since it's a pretty general purpose greeting. They laughed and were very shy. I tried to hack my way through some Swahili, but really didn't know enough to make very many coherent statements, and as it was I couldn't tell if they didn't respond because they didn't understand or just because they were shy. I suspect both. Eventually I was able to figure out their names and ages, and realized that they could speak more English than they let on, but they were still hesitant to talk to me, but seemed to like sitting next to me. After getting tired of sitting and watching and stumbling my way through basic Swahili phrases I decided I might as well go for a run, since it was getting to the end of the daylight anyway. I talked with Mama Patrick about where I could run and she wanted me to stay on the "estate", which I couldn't argue with since I didn't have any confidence I would be able to get back to the estate if I left and it was crazy traffic outside anyway, and would be getting dark in not too long anyway. Being lost in Nairobi after dark without knowing where I was trying to get back to was not a scenario that I wanted to play out. The problem was that the alternative was to run laps around the estate, which made for about 450 yard laps, which really gets to be a drag if you want to do a 6 mile run. I wasn't really looking forward to it, along with the ridicule I was afraid of incurring being a mzungu running around past everyone's driveways as the came home from work and finished the day. For the first couple laps that was true. All the kids giggled and pointed at me, wondering what the mzungu was doing running laps around their homes. But after a couple laps the kids got up and started running with me and urging me to chase them. Everything I've heard about the overall fitness level of Kenyans was confirmed. These kids, some as young as 4 or 5 and probably none older than 9 or 10 running barefoot could stay ahead of me laughing and screaming for several hundred yards at a pretty fast pace. I would keep running as the kids squealed and cut down side alleys and into driveways until I had narrowed the group to one kid, then grab them when I caught and twirl them over my head. The kids didn't tire out as quickly as I expected, and I ended up getting in a solid 40 minute fartlek workout chasing them around. As I jogged at the end after most of them were pretty tired, a couple of them grabbed my hands and we ran in a big group laughing and holding hands. If it wasn't real it would have been the kind of "kumbaya" moment that I would expect to see on some add to try get you to adopt orphans, but it was probably my coolest experience so far since being here. The kids all wanted to talk to me and chattered at me and each other all at once in a mix of English and Swahili that made it hard to decipher too much of anything. I was happy to be able to connect with them because I want to be as approachable as possible, especially for the children that would be understandably shy about something so strange and different, and I think I got a long way toward that. Another interesting aspect of talking with the kids was the kind of questions they asked. I was asked a couple of times whether I had met Obama, and a couple of times if I would take them back to America with me. I mentioned that to Miriam later and she said that most of what they've heard about America is just that it is a great place with lots of opportunities, so then they fill in the blanks and make it into a kind of utopia.