I won’t lie to you (said in my best Uncle Bryn voice) there have been times when I have found it pretty hard, particularly in the first few days.
Getting used to Nairobi takes some doing but not as long as I thought initially, probably because of the fantastic welcome I have been given and the friendliness of the people here. After the first day at the office I was beginning to think ‘what have I let myself in for?’ With only one computer in the office, no phone that I could use and very little information to go on it all seemed a bit daunting.
That night after some very welcome texts from people all over the place to cheer me up or take the piss (both equally welcome) I decided to follow one of my favourite phrases (thanks Hon Sec) and take a fuck it tablet and get on with it. I’ve made a decision to come and I owe it to a lot of people to make it work.
Now I’ve settled in I can see this will probably be the most challenging and rewarding thing I have done and there is a chance to make a real difference.
Saturday was a day of extremes, in the morning I went to the Gymkhana Club where the national side are playing a visiting team from Baroda in India. The Baroda side includes superstar Yusuf Pathan who plays for India and makes a fortune from his IPL contract no doubt. We met in NZ when India toured there a year ago and we are introduced, he says he remembers me, yeah right, of course you do!
That morning before the game starts there is a minutes silence in honour of the mother of one of our players who died suddenly overnight. An hour later I meet with one of the guys from the office who tells me his sister in law died yesterday giving birth. Kyalo drives me to a primary schools tournament for kids from some of the poorest slum areas of Nairobi. On the way we pass a distraught crowd surrounding a young woman in tears who is holding what looks like a dead baby in her arms. Life seems very fragile here.
If ever you needed something to lift the spirits the primary schools tournament was ideal. Played on a scrubby field with balls bouncing everywhere and whatever kit these kids could get their hands on being gratefully accepted it was great to see. These kids have next to nothing, many didn’t have shoes and were dressed in not much better than rags but they were loving every minute of it.
Huge smiles on their faces, desperate to do well, it was also comforting to see that they behaved just like any other kids with a fair amount of bat throwing, arguing the toss with the umpires and getting stuck into anyone who dropped a catch! The best moment was when a girls team from a really deprived area, who have only been playing the game for two weeks, won their first match. The smiles were great to see and the whole experience was pretty humbling even for a cynical old git like me!
That night I am invited to dinner at an Indian family’s house along with a few people involved in cricket including some of the visiting Indian team. We entered a private estate where the properties were enormous. There is extreme wealth here as well as extreme poverty. It was a really good night with a ridiculous amount of drink put away. The daughter of the host is due to get married the following week and I am invited, I protest that it is a family event but they insist I come and I am very grateful. They then tell me there will be around 2500 guests and suddenly I don’t feel so special!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Settling in
After spending the first couple of nights in the Hilton Nairobi I moved into my apartment.
The Hilton wasn’t like any other Hilton I have stayed in. As you drive in your car is checked for explosive devices and as you enter the lobby you walk through a metal detector and your bags are scanned. Sleep tight after that!
The first night I decided to venture to the bar for a beer and something to eat. The bar seems to be inhabited by a number of Kenyan women sat at tables on their own wearing too much perfume and too few clothes. As I walked to the bar I seemed to prick their interest and a couple made eye contact and smiled coyly – either I’ve still got it or they are looking for a way out, don’t answer that one!
The apartment is a nice enough place in a decent area with gated security. The main drawback is there is no outside space unlike most of the complexes in the area that seem to have a pool and gardens, don’t worry I am already eyeing up a few alternatives. The first night I realised there was no need to set the alarm as the kind bloke from the local mosque wails out the call to prayer at 5am every morning, nice!
One of the first tasks was to go to the local supermarket, Nakumart. Now I was expecting something pretty grim to be honest having gone to live in New Zealand for a couple of years with high expectations and been greeted by Pak n Save, expectations of the Kenya equivalent were pretty low.
Much to my surprise the supermarket is in a very flash, modern shopping centre, has everything you could want and is far better than anything I saw in NZ (sorry Kiwi pals!). I was accompanied by Brian and Kyalo and as soon as we got there was not allowed to push the trolley – this was either because they felt they had to do this menial task or they are like my kids who always want to push the trolley and argue over it, I am hoping it was the latter but expect it was the former. I’m not particularly comfortable with the whole idea of having staff do stuff for you (I also have a maid) but here it is the way and if you don’t take on staff you are seen as not helping the local economy by providing work for those willing to do it. It still doesn’t sit all that well with me.
I only needed the basic survival rations, loo roll, cornflakes, beer etc. but had a good look around to familiarise myself with what I could get and what I need to put on my wish list to be sent over in emergency parcels from home!
On the way around Kyalo told me about his family who live around 50 miles away in a remote rural area. He gets to go back once a month to see his wife and children if he is lucky and sends just about everything he earns to support his extended family in their village. He earns next to nothing when you compare it to what I or any other expat will be earning, works any hours you ask and does any task you need doing, all with a smile and as though he is delighted you need him around.
After we have finished shopping I buy Kyalo and Brian a coke and an ice cream in a pathetic attempt to make myself feel better, they are chuffed to bits but it doesn’t work for me.
I loved the people I met in New Zealand and made friends with people who I hope will remain friends for life. They are open and direct and really good company. The people here in Kenya are just as open but have a real warmth to them and are incredibly friendly. Many of them lead bloody hard lives and you can understand why crime is high as so many people have so little, but the overwhelming feeling I have got since I’ve been here is they all seem pretty happy with their lot, it’s just the way it is for them and they get on with it and make the most of it.
The Hilton wasn’t like any other Hilton I have stayed in. As you drive in your car is checked for explosive devices and as you enter the lobby you walk through a metal detector and your bags are scanned. Sleep tight after that!
The first night I decided to venture to the bar for a beer and something to eat. The bar seems to be inhabited by a number of Kenyan women sat at tables on their own wearing too much perfume and too few clothes. As I walked to the bar I seemed to prick their interest and a couple made eye contact and smiled coyly – either I’ve still got it or they are looking for a way out, don’t answer that one!
The apartment is a nice enough place in a decent area with gated security. The main drawback is there is no outside space unlike most of the complexes in the area that seem to have a pool and gardens, don’t worry I am already eyeing up a few alternatives. The first night I realised there was no need to set the alarm as the kind bloke from the local mosque wails out the call to prayer at 5am every morning, nice!
One of the first tasks was to go to the local supermarket, Nakumart. Now I was expecting something pretty grim to be honest having gone to live in New Zealand for a couple of years with high expectations and been greeted by Pak n Save, expectations of the Kenya equivalent were pretty low.
Much to my surprise the supermarket is in a very flash, modern shopping centre, has everything you could want and is far better than anything I saw in NZ (sorry Kiwi pals!). I was accompanied by Brian and Kyalo and as soon as we got there was not allowed to push the trolley – this was either because they felt they had to do this menial task or they are like my kids who always want to push the trolley and argue over it, I am hoping it was the latter but expect it was the former. I’m not particularly comfortable with the whole idea of having staff do stuff for you (I also have a maid) but here it is the way and if you don’t take on staff you are seen as not helping the local economy by providing work for those willing to do it. It still doesn’t sit all that well with me.
I only needed the basic survival rations, loo roll, cornflakes, beer etc. but had a good look around to familiarise myself with what I could get and what I need to put on my wish list to be sent over in emergency parcels from home!
On the way around Kyalo told me about his family who live around 50 miles away in a remote rural area. He gets to go back once a month to see his wife and children if he is lucky and sends just about everything he earns to support his extended family in their village. He earns next to nothing when you compare it to what I or any other expat will be earning, works any hours you ask and does any task you need doing, all with a smile and as though he is delighted you need him around.
After we have finished shopping I buy Kyalo and Brian a coke and an ice cream in a pathetic attempt to make myself feel better, they are chuffed to bits but it doesn’t work for me.
I loved the people I met in New Zealand and made friends with people who I hope will remain friends for life. They are open and direct and really good company. The people here in Kenya are just as open but have a real warmth to them and are incredibly friendly. Many of them lead bloody hard lives and you can understand why crime is high as so many people have so little, but the overwhelming feeling I have got since I’ve been here is they all seem pretty happy with their lot, it’s just the way it is for them and they get on with it and make the most of it.
Getting lost and getting away with it!
Once I conquered my fear of driving myself anywhere I decided to take the bull by the horns and send Brian the driver back to ferrying tourists around the game parks.
Armed with my new (well 12 year old) Nissan Wingroad I decided to drive myself to work. Now there is no point in driving a decent car in Nairobi for all the reasons previously mentioned – matatus, potholes, general chaos but I have seen some very flash Mercedes, BMW’s and Audis that look relatively unscathed. They are either extremely good at picking their way through the traffic or the local body shops have got some regular customers. The trusty Wingroad is fine for me.
After locking the door once I was inside, you never travel with unlocked doors or windows open more than an inch, I set off confident I could remember the way to work.
An hour later I found myself completely lost in the arse end of Nairobi, which is not a terribly attractive or safe place to be, without a clue where I was or which direction I should head.
Fortunately the day before I collected my shiny new i phone which has a map function on it. One press of the screen and I appear as a flashing blue dot in the middle of deepest, darkest Nairobi and after typing in the address of the office get step by step directions to get me out of trouble and where I should be – how clever is that?!
I will now quite happily endorse any Apple product FOC after being saved by my phone!
Armed with my new (well 12 year old) Nissan Wingroad I decided to drive myself to work. Now there is no point in driving a decent car in Nairobi for all the reasons previously mentioned – matatus, potholes, general chaos but I have seen some very flash Mercedes, BMW’s and Audis that look relatively unscathed. They are either extremely good at picking their way through the traffic or the local body shops have got some regular customers. The trusty Wingroad is fine for me.
After locking the door once I was inside, you never travel with unlocked doors or windows open more than an inch, I set off confident I could remember the way to work.
An hour later I found myself completely lost in the arse end of Nairobi, which is not a terribly attractive or safe place to be, without a clue where I was or which direction I should head.
Fortunately the day before I collected my shiny new i phone which has a map function on it. One press of the screen and I appear as a flashing blue dot in the middle of deepest, darkest Nairobi and after typing in the address of the office get step by step directions to get me out of trouble and where I should be – how clever is that?!
I will now quite happily endorse any Apple product FOC after being saved by my phone!
First Impressions
Nairobi is not the prettiest place in the world. Having not spent much time in Africa I probably should have thought a bit more about what to expect but sometimes it’s best to jump in and hope for the best (for those of you who know me well you will now have realised I am too lazy to do any proper research into anything so this is my default setting).
It’s dirty, hectic, chaotic, intimidating, colourful, vibrant, confusing but definitely not dull.
It’s not helped by the fact that just about every major road is being rebuilt by the Chinese at the moment. The net result is complete meltdown on the roads, it takes ages to get anywhere and the traffic is like nothing else I have ever seen.
Try to imagine a two lane road, littered with potholes the size of moon craters, with six or seven randomly arranged lanes of traffic, often going in alternate directions all squeezing for space. It is further complicated by the dozens of people who risk life and limb to pick their way on foot through the traffic selling the most bizarre array of goods you can imagine. I have been offered the chance to buy beautiful roses that look completely out of place with their splash of colour amid the choking fumes and billowing dust (get me being all poetic), toy helicopters, fluffy white rabbits, skirts, t-shirts, watches, puppies, small children, TV Aerials, jump leads, Manchester United shirts (authentic of course), bags of green stuff (that’s as good as I can describe it, not sure whether you planted it, cooked it or smoked it to be honest), fruit, kittens, mobile phones and DVD’s including the new Toy Story film (they must have a special licence deal here) amongst other things – the ultimate drive through retail experience.
At rush hour, which seems to last from around 6am until 9pm, you will often find police standing at what could loosely be described as junctions. There is obviously no Swahili translation for give way because it is a free for all and you have to take your life in your hands and just go for it. Fortunately there seems to be no Swahili equivalent for road rage either as everyone seems pretty accepting that you can be cut up from any direction at any time and it is perfectly reasonable to nudge you out of the way or be driving down your lane in the opposite direction. Brake lights are required not to be functioning before you are allowed on the road and indicating also seems to be actively discouraged. The police seem to stand there and let it all happen around them, to be honest I’m not sure they could do much about it anyway!
I was terrified when I first got here and that was being a passenger driven by the expert Brian who has grown up driving around here. I’ve never been anywhere where it is so hard to get your bearings or sense of direction. Probably because most of the time you move at walking (that’s being generous) pace and don’t really get to follow where you are going.
The situation on the roads is made infinitely worse by the thousands of small minibuses called matatu that are everywhere and the mode of transport for those who aren’t walking or running (people seem to run everywhere) in between the lines of traffic. Matatu drivers must be selected at birth and given a lifetime of training in how to banish fear, squeeze a minibus through a gap you wouldn’t get a bike through and become experts at Tetris. Tetris (the computer game where you fit random shapes together in a confined space for all you old farts) can be the only grounding for how they cram so many people into such a small vehicle. Painted on the side, if you can see through the thick dust, they say they can carry 14 people (no stipulation on how much livestock you can squeeze in as well but the allowance seems pretty generous, I have seen a calf in one, really). Unless there is a little known tribe in Kenya where people have six heads I don’t think they are sticking to the rules.
The vast majority are painted with slogans like ‘Jesus is the only way’ or ‘God guides us all’ or similar. These are either a corporate message the owners subscribe to and the drivers don’t give a monkeys about or the drivers manage to park their religious leanings and Christian beliefs as soon as they start their engines.
There seems to be no set route they follow or where they will stop to pick up passengers, quite often they don’t bother to stop and the sliding door on the side will open and the would be passenger runs alongside and dives in when he gets close enough. These guys run pretty quickly and 20mph doesn’t seem a problem to catch up the bus and jump into a confined space with about 18 people, half a dozen chickens and a goat already inside.
Anything that won’t fit inside is lashed on top of the roof, including the odd passenger. I have narrowly escaped being decapitated by a plastic garden chair that fell off the top of a speeding matatu and bounced over the top of our car.
Having said all this it is amazing how quickly you adjust. I have been driving here less than a week and would now consider myself one of the worst drivers in the world in terms of obeying the rules of the road and consideration of fellow travellers, it’s the only way to get around – my Dad will be so proud that the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree!
It’s dirty, hectic, chaotic, intimidating, colourful, vibrant, confusing but definitely not dull.
It’s not helped by the fact that just about every major road is being rebuilt by the Chinese at the moment. The net result is complete meltdown on the roads, it takes ages to get anywhere and the traffic is like nothing else I have ever seen.
Try to imagine a two lane road, littered with potholes the size of moon craters, with six or seven randomly arranged lanes of traffic, often going in alternate directions all squeezing for space. It is further complicated by the dozens of people who risk life and limb to pick their way on foot through the traffic selling the most bizarre array of goods you can imagine. I have been offered the chance to buy beautiful roses that look completely out of place with their splash of colour amid the choking fumes and billowing dust (get me being all poetic), toy helicopters, fluffy white rabbits, skirts, t-shirts, watches, puppies, small children, TV Aerials, jump leads, Manchester United shirts (authentic of course), bags of green stuff (that’s as good as I can describe it, not sure whether you planted it, cooked it or smoked it to be honest), fruit, kittens, mobile phones and DVD’s including the new Toy Story film (they must have a special licence deal here) amongst other things – the ultimate drive through retail experience.
At rush hour, which seems to last from around 6am until 9pm, you will often find police standing at what could loosely be described as junctions. There is obviously no Swahili translation for give way because it is a free for all and you have to take your life in your hands and just go for it. Fortunately there seems to be no Swahili equivalent for road rage either as everyone seems pretty accepting that you can be cut up from any direction at any time and it is perfectly reasonable to nudge you out of the way or be driving down your lane in the opposite direction. Brake lights are required not to be functioning before you are allowed on the road and indicating also seems to be actively discouraged. The police seem to stand there and let it all happen around them, to be honest I’m not sure they could do much about it anyway!
I was terrified when I first got here and that was being a passenger driven by the expert Brian who has grown up driving around here. I’ve never been anywhere where it is so hard to get your bearings or sense of direction. Probably because most of the time you move at walking (that’s being generous) pace and don’t really get to follow where you are going.
The situation on the roads is made infinitely worse by the thousands of small minibuses called matatu that are everywhere and the mode of transport for those who aren’t walking or running (people seem to run everywhere) in between the lines of traffic. Matatu drivers must be selected at birth and given a lifetime of training in how to banish fear, squeeze a minibus through a gap you wouldn’t get a bike through and become experts at Tetris. Tetris (the computer game where you fit random shapes together in a confined space for all you old farts) can be the only grounding for how they cram so many people into such a small vehicle. Painted on the side, if you can see through the thick dust, they say they can carry 14 people (no stipulation on how much livestock you can squeeze in as well but the allowance seems pretty generous, I have seen a calf in one, really). Unless there is a little known tribe in Kenya where people have six heads I don’t think they are sticking to the rules.
The vast majority are painted with slogans like ‘Jesus is the only way’ or ‘God guides us all’ or similar. These are either a corporate message the owners subscribe to and the drivers don’t give a monkeys about or the drivers manage to park their religious leanings and Christian beliefs as soon as they start their engines.
There seems to be no set route they follow or where they will stop to pick up passengers, quite often they don’t bother to stop and the sliding door on the side will open and the would be passenger runs alongside and dives in when he gets close enough. These guys run pretty quickly and 20mph doesn’t seem a problem to catch up the bus and jump into a confined space with about 18 people, half a dozen chickens and a goat already inside.
Anything that won’t fit inside is lashed on top of the roof, including the odd passenger. I have narrowly escaped being decapitated by a plastic garden chair that fell off the top of a speeding matatu and bounced over the top of our car.
Having said all this it is amazing how quickly you adjust. I have been driving here less than a week and would now consider myself one of the worst drivers in the world in terms of obeying the rules of the road and consideration of fellow travellers, it’s the only way to get around – my Dad will be so proud that the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree!
Welcome to Kenya
Before leaving Heathrow my instructions on arrival in Nairobi were to look for a small hairy Indian guy called Kalpesh. Not the fullest of briefs but pretty accurate. Kalpesh was indeed small, Indian and looked like he might be more at home roaming the Masai Mara scavenging for carrion (good word, maybe I do have some literary genius).
Now I’m not too sure what clout Kalpesh has at Nairobi Airport but I hope he has a lot of influence because if not security isn’t too flash! Ignoring the queues from two full flights that had just landed, he took me straight to the front of the counter for Kenyan citizens (maybe I’ve been awarded some sort of honorary status already, but I doubt it) and demanded my visa was issued immediately – it was.
In the baggage reclaim area he really showed his class.
The conveyor belt wasn’t going quickly enough for his liking so he climbed aboard the thing and made his way round, throwing off bags he decided were in his way until he ducked into the secure (should be preceded by ‘not very’) area where they load the bags and started shouting at all and sundry to find my luggage. All the while I am left standing smiling nervously at the hundreds of irate fellow passengers looking thoroughly cheesed off at the antics of a mad Indian hobbit, hoping I am not about to be thrown in a Kenyan jail within ten minutes of arriving.
Bags liberated, he came back beaming and informed the lady on the customs desk that there was no need to trouble herself and waltzed straight through while I tagged along. I really do hope he has some sort of authority there because if not they might not let me out after that.
When we got outside I was handed over Kyalo (pronounced Charlo), my errand boy (yes for real) from Cricket Kenya, and Brian (yes for real) the driver.
I was in Kenya, a bit bemused by it all, but there was no turning back now!
Now I’m not too sure what clout Kalpesh has at Nairobi Airport but I hope he has a lot of influence because if not security isn’t too flash! Ignoring the queues from two full flights that had just landed, he took me straight to the front of the counter for Kenyan citizens (maybe I’ve been awarded some sort of honorary status already, but I doubt it) and demanded my visa was issued immediately – it was.
In the baggage reclaim area he really showed his class.
The conveyor belt wasn’t going quickly enough for his liking so he climbed aboard the thing and made his way round, throwing off bags he decided were in his way until he ducked into the secure (should be preceded by ‘not very’) area where they load the bags and started shouting at all and sundry to find my luggage. All the while I am left standing smiling nervously at the hundreds of irate fellow passengers looking thoroughly cheesed off at the antics of a mad Indian hobbit, hoping I am not about to be thrown in a Kenyan jail within ten minutes of arriving.
Bags liberated, he came back beaming and informed the lady on the customs desk that there was no need to trouble herself and waltzed straight through while I tagged along. I really do hope he has some sort of authority there because if not they might not let me out after that.
When we got outside I was handed over Kyalo (pronounced Charlo), my errand boy (yes for real) from Cricket Kenya, and Brian (yes for real) the driver.
I was in Kenya, a bit bemused by it all, but there was no turning back now!
Introduction
To anyone who is bored at work, or has already read the paper while on the loo, or those of my family and friends wherever you are who are that sad they’ve got nothing better to do (you know who you are), I have decided to write a bit of a diary on my time in Kenya.
I can’t bring myself to call it a Blog, primarily because I don’t know what Blog means or stands for (does it mean or stand for anything? Please enlighten me if you know) but it will just be my ramblings that I get around to writing every once in a while. Don’t expect literary genius, I’m only doing it because it’s cheaper than sending postcards, I can’t be arsed to type the same stuff to everyone on a different e-mail and Kenyan TV really is pretty ordinary so I’ve got bugger else to do in the evenings.
Anyway, enjoy.
I can’t bring myself to call it a Blog, primarily because I don’t know what Blog means or stands for (does it mean or stand for anything? Please enlighten me if you know) but it will just be my ramblings that I get around to writing every once in a while. Don’t expect literary genius, I’m only doing it because it’s cheaper than sending postcards, I can’t be arsed to type the same stuff to everyone on a different e-mail and Kenyan TV really is pretty ordinary so I’ve got bugger else to do in the evenings.
Anyway, enjoy.
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