Leaving soon, so post here your snail mail addresses for postcards.
Also, I'm going to be traveling overland to South Africa at the end of this trip. More details to follow!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Nitaenda to the West
It's been a very long time--I'm not sure if anybody is checking this anymore. I've been to Tanzania. Lushoto in the Usambara mountains, the most beautiful place I've been, I think, ever. I went to Mombasa last week, stayed with a Dutch man who owns a resort called Melrose Place, home to Europeans of the over-60 set and their "local partners." Saw a strange side of expat life, and felt the entire weekend like I wasn't in Kenya, or maybe was in Kenya, maybe a little too much in Kenya.
Just a warning. On Sunday, I'm going to my internship in Ukwala. I'm two hours outside of Kisumu and almost in Uganda. I've been told that the closest internet cafe is in Kisumu, so communication will most likely be minimal, if at all. Internet has been so unreliable in Nairobi, and it's only going to get worse. A friend made a joke the other day--she told me that I might as well say goodbye and I love you to everyone I know. So, so there.
I've been wondering how much I need communication. Yesterday, I was in Nakumatt Junction (how many posts have I mentioned Nakumatt? It's a huge part of life here). The Junction is shopping oasis for foreigners and wealthy Kenyans. It has a coffee shop with Heinz ketchup on the tables, a movie theater showing Benjamin Button and Revolutionary Road, and a little Apple kiosk where you can stock up on ipods that (probably) haven't been stolen. The Nakumatt in the place is suitably posh, like Market District to the Lawrenceville Jiggle. I walked in, and I had an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I wanted to talk to someone, maybe anyone, really, talk so I didn't have to put on a face. But I didn't have any airtime, and the feeling wore down. Instead of the bobby pins I was looking for, I found aisles of weave.
I've also bought a bike. It's a quirky Marin mountain bike. The shifting is a little off, the front tube is a Presta valve and the back is a Schraeder, and it's probably hot property from Europe, but it's mine and it handles the crappy roads in Nairobi like a dream. We'll see how it handles Ukwala.
Yesterday I biked along Ngong Road to the Lenana Forest Center, looking for a bike shop where I can pick up a little pump, some tire levers, and a few spares. The place had moved, so I called a friend who I thought might know where they were. While I waited for him to call back, I sat at a roadside kiosk and had a Fanta Orange--no baridi, so I had a warm one. There are roadside kiosks everywhere here, mostly fire-engine red and Coca-cola, with low, red and white picket fences enclosing enough territory for the kiosk itself, a table and a few chairs. I put on my don't talk to me face, sat at a table where I was joined by two high school boys, and sipped, was stared at. It's a place where you don't see a lot of white people, in an area with a lot of furniture workshops. I watched a man plane some wood for a bed frame. I could hear some metal work going on. Welding here is done out in the open. You might see someone wearing a mask, but probably not.
Quickly, an askari is a guard. Every apartment complex is guarded by high walls, many topped with barbed wire, electric wire, broken glass, or a combination of the three. Each complex has a guard. In some areas, like Jamhuri, where there are more houses than apartments, estates will be closed off, one from another with guarded gates. You learn who lives where by the gates, and which gates are safe at night and which aren't.
Kitu kidogo means something small. It's what you give a police officer when they stop your taxi driver. Also known as chai, or tea.
My feelings have been very confusing recently. I think I'm sad about leaving Nairobi and my host family. I'm apprehensive about this internship--the word underqualified is probably most suited. I've just found out that Matibabu has a VCT center, Voluntary Counselling and Testing, meaning, if I wanted, I could learn how to break it to people that they have AIDS. I could also end up working in their lab, or doing community development in the field.
I've also been wondering about coming back here. Leaving Nairobi is like a practice for the big game. What happens when I get home, look around me at a confusing summer followed by a quick last semester, and ask, "what next?"
I don't know. Maybe I've been eating too much sugar, not enough sukuma wiki.
Just a warning. On Sunday, I'm going to my internship in Ukwala. I'm two hours outside of Kisumu and almost in Uganda. I've been told that the closest internet cafe is in Kisumu, so communication will most likely be minimal, if at all. Internet has been so unreliable in Nairobi, and it's only going to get worse. A friend made a joke the other day--she told me that I might as well say goodbye and I love you to everyone I know. So, so there.
I've been wondering how much I need communication. Yesterday, I was in Nakumatt Junction (how many posts have I mentioned Nakumatt? It's a huge part of life here). The Junction is shopping oasis for foreigners and wealthy Kenyans. It has a coffee shop with Heinz ketchup on the tables, a movie theater showing Benjamin Button and Revolutionary Road, and a little Apple kiosk where you can stock up on ipods that (probably) haven't been stolen. The Nakumatt in the place is suitably posh, like Market District to the Lawrenceville Jiggle. I walked in, and I had an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I wanted to talk to someone, maybe anyone, really, talk so I didn't have to put on a face. But I didn't have any airtime, and the feeling wore down. Instead of the bobby pins I was looking for, I found aisles of weave.
I've also bought a bike. It's a quirky Marin mountain bike. The shifting is a little off, the front tube is a Presta valve and the back is a Schraeder, and it's probably hot property from Europe, but it's mine and it handles the crappy roads in Nairobi like a dream. We'll see how it handles Ukwala.
Yesterday I biked along Ngong Road to the Lenana Forest Center, looking for a bike shop where I can pick up a little pump, some tire levers, and a few spares. The place had moved, so I called a friend who I thought might know where they were. While I waited for him to call back, I sat at a roadside kiosk and had a Fanta Orange--no baridi, so I had a warm one. There are roadside kiosks everywhere here, mostly fire-engine red and Coca-cola, with low, red and white picket fences enclosing enough territory for the kiosk itself, a table and a few chairs. I put on my don't talk to me face, sat at a table where I was joined by two high school boys, and sipped, was stared at. It's a place where you don't see a lot of white people, in an area with a lot of furniture workshops. I watched a man plane some wood for a bed frame. I could hear some metal work going on. Welding here is done out in the open. You might see someone wearing a mask, but probably not.
Quickly, an askari is a guard. Every apartment complex is guarded by high walls, many topped with barbed wire, electric wire, broken glass, or a combination of the three. Each complex has a guard. In some areas, like Jamhuri, where there are more houses than apartments, estates will be closed off, one from another with guarded gates. You learn who lives where by the gates, and which gates are safe at night and which aren't.
Kitu kidogo means something small. It's what you give a police officer when they stop your taxi driver. Also known as chai, or tea.
My feelings have been very confusing recently. I think I'm sad about leaving Nairobi and my host family. I'm apprehensive about this internship--the word underqualified is probably most suited. I've just found out that Matibabu has a VCT center, Voluntary Counselling and Testing, meaning, if I wanted, I could learn how to break it to people that they have AIDS. I could also end up working in their lab, or doing community development in the field.
I've also been wondering about coming back here. Leaving Nairobi is like a practice for the big game. What happens when I get home, look around me at a confusing summer followed by a quick last semester, and ask, "what next?"
I don't know. Maybe I've been eating too much sugar, not enough sukuma wiki.
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