First Impressions of Kenya - 3 weeks worth . . . :)

First Impressions of Kenya

This is a tad delayed as I have actually been here for three weeks. But whilst my job has been important, it has also been time consuming and I have led a boring extracurricular existence. But NO MORE! I have a social agenda, I have been outside the city, I have met all kinds of new people INCLUDING locals. I feel well equipped to pass initial judgment on a city I’ve lived in less than a month.

Kenya is beautiful. The foliage in the city is as fabulous as Zimbabwe. I still think you can grow just about anything and people do. The birds are amazing and I live in a veritable Eden so bird watching is easy from the house (*right). So far though my favorite past time is to sit in the yard at the house and listen to the cacophony and imagine what kind of phantasmagorical creatures could be making these incredibly foreign and mythical sounds . . .

Oh and the FOOOOOOOOOD. In Zimbabwe I was in what I like to call “one off” mode. They don’t have what you’re really looking for at the grocery store 60% of the time so you find the next best thing and go “Meh, sure. I’ll try it. What could it hurt?” Did this with bacon . . . or what I thought was bacon. Came out grey in the pan. Ate it like a champ. Was bedridden for three days.

But in Nairobi this is a thing of the past. I just about cried in public when I found Nature’s Valley maple and brown sugar bars. Om Nom NOM! Channeled Cookie Monster and consumed the entire box in the backseat of the car, unabashed by the sideways glances I got from my Kenyan companions. And I’m living like a college student again so I basically eat pasta twice a day. But I’m just south of Italy so the gnocchi, the pesto, the putanesca . . . all imported and all cheap. I cook like a Sicilian grandmother, Indian restaurateur and down-home grill master rolled into one. . . Or maybe I’m exaggerating. But the selection at the grocery stores here. Que bueno.

 

So far my favorite restaurants are Habesha (Ethiopian and where I learned the difference between rice and teff injera) *Photo Left

Furusato (Japanese - $20 bucks and I had octopus kimchi, tempura udon and a full plate of quality sashimi) *Photo Right

And Hashmi (Indian Barbeque spot with Tikka Masala fries. NO idea why we don’t have these back home. So Portland it’s painful). 

*Below is a photo of the spread at a BBQ I went to last night. My world was void of delicious summer grill burgers. No longer.

 

There is an additional component I’ve found to the dining experience thus far, which I will acknowledge is largely because I’m eating with other expats who work for NGOs. And it’s the security commentary. The discussion around picking a restaurant is as follows:

   “The café is my favorite spot. But the dining area is right on the road. So easy for someone to chuck out a bomb while they drove by. AND it’s owned by an Isreali guy.”

           

 “Yeah, good call. What about _______?”

            

 “Ooh, the place on the top floor of the mall? I hate eating there. That building is strait up. It would all come down in an explosion.”

So we agree to drive to the nyama choma spot nearby . . . But ALAS!

            “Crap guys, there isn’t any parking near the guards and all the streetlights are out. We’ve got to find another place.”

So we drive some more . . .

Then, once we have actually sat down at a restaurant (which, no lie, took two and a half hours one night purely for security reasons) no one can help but review the most recent security breeches.

            “One of ours got carjacked last night”

            “About a month ago one of the women in the office got stabbed three times outside the front gate.”

            “Dude. I heard a Canadian at (XXX NGO) got abducted and I thought it was you!”

            “No, but it was my boss. Kid you not, bro. Abducted on Friday, released Sunday, transported back on Monday. IN the office Tuesday. Bad ASS!”

To which I asked – “So, everyone is ok?”

            “Yeah. Physically everyone is safe . . . Well, except the driver. He took one under the jaw.”

Pause here for a moment with me as I tell you this is very often how it goes. In a kidnapping it is the white, wealthy passengers in the back they want. The ones that represent lots of money from far away places. NOT the deadweight local in the front that grew up 40 miles away. Drivers are killed a lot. Screw Deadliest Catch, that is the most dangerous job I’ve ever seen. And they know it. And they still take the job anyway. And they are happy most days to come to work and incredibly nice to me. Across the board. Even though there is a VERY real possibility they’ll die just because I’m sitting in the back seat and someone (mistakenly) assumes I’m more valuable than they are.

It’s a freaking bummer. But I’m getting used to the added flavor of high security risk on the sundae that is world travel for a non-profit. In fact just last week someone got car jacked right outside my house so I got a second night guard and a dog. Her name is Garisa. She is a very sweet, healthy german shepherd that, regardless of the hour, stands at attention whenever I come home. Like a little furry soldier. But if I make an obvious move toward her, all her sharp points go soft and she patiently awaits affection and pets. Most nights I think very seriously about asking if Garisa can come inside and sleep in my room. . . .which would ENTIRELY defeat the purpose. So I hold it together.

Guards are a crap shoot though. Some of them are great, a lot of them aren’t. Which I can’t fault them for because they get paid for shit working 12 hours sitting in someone’s yard. But some are downright bad, prone to bribes, or will conveniently disappear for a few hours during the night or delay a shift handover so their brother-in-law’s buddy he met in the bar two nights ago can jump your fence and raid your house, steal your stuff and leave you bloody.

Dogs, however, much less prone to bribery. No affection for anyone’s brother-in-law . . . and someone coming over the wall is a bad guy is a bad guy is a bad guy and they will do their job without prejudice. Get dogs, people. Big, slobbering, territorial love muffins. Feed them well and encourage barking. Leave your shock collars, muzzles and cats at home before you move to Kenya. They will do you no good here.

The security fodder is, I will tell you, in direct conflict with my overall experience with Kenyans by the way. Most everyone is incredibly friendly. The cab company answers my calls by name now.

“Allison! We come to you to pick you now? Where shall we take you today?”

I’ve been going to the coffee shop nearby for about a week and they’ve already memorized my order. A block from my house is one of the larger Nairobi slums. I know I stand out because their kids STARE (I’ve been told it’s for no other reason than my height. It was apparently the same as in Egypt. Go freaking figure.) But everyone is always polite and friendly.

I’m trying to learn to be more observant of the security risk here, because I know it’s real. And there is some downright Y2K-fallout-shelter-in-the-Ozarks paranoia among some of the expats. Which so far I find just hilarious. My wallet is certainly at risk. Someone tries to rip me off daily which is exhausting. A 12 year old girl walked up to me on her way home from school the other day, stuck her hand out, cocked her hip and looked at me like “I’m waiting, bitch.” I imagine she is much more accustomed to easily manipulated tourists who haven’t had my years of experience navigating homeless meth addicts. Most Portlanders have a short list of phrases:

“No, I don’t have any change today.”

“I only have a card, sorry.”

“You’ve asked me for money ‘because you’re stranded and need a bus ticket home’ seven times already this month. Come up with a better story, or leave me the hell alone.” (Am I right? Could he at least change the story up every few days? So I could at least PRETEND he’s not using it for a Big Mac and a 40oz?)

The last time I gave money to someone back home on the street, it was a girl who’d written “Need money for tampons!” on a cardboard sign. That’s a cause I can believe in.

12 year old girl in a nice neighborhood with new shoes? Please. I rolled my eyes and told her to go home.

Now, the street kids downtown who carry a handful of their own shit around and threaten to smear you with it if you don’t pay out? That’s motivating. (True story bro)

And I kid you not, there is a road here in Nairobi where someone is always standing in the middle of the road holding puppies, and another is always selling bunnies. You could drive to the super market and for $10 pick up a puppy and a bunny. I have never seen that before. But I am sorely TEMPTED. In two minutes I could go from not having a bunny or a puppy to having BOTH! I could have a fluffy ball of white adorable cuddling in my lap. And yet, I drive by every time. My lap, adorable free.

 

But beyond the barrage of threats to my wallet, I find Nairobi to be easy. The risk is real. So is the familiarity of a big city full of people who need your money. And turnabout is fair play. The "video store" nearby is a closet where they burn illegal downloads and pirated movies for you for 50 cents each (*left)

More to come – I adventure out of the city again this weekend.