Hola blog people! So this past weekend was looooooonnnngg because of Easter. On Monday, a good friend "W" invited myself, siblings and their partners over for an afternoon barbecue. There were tons of kids running around while the adults sat around sipping various poisons of choice while W's chef grilled some goat and chicken. The conversation ranged in topic from banking to politics to where to find a good butchery. It was during this time I finally figured out what "Halal" means. When you visit here, you'll pass a lot of fast food restaurants that have that word written below their name or even at the grocery store in the meat department. A lot of the packages have "Halal" written on products ranging from fish to mutton. I asked someon what it meant and they said it's Arabic for "what is lawful" meaning what muslims can eat. It also means that the animals had to be slaughtered in a "Zahibah" manner, in an Isalmic way and the person doing it had to be of the religion. Also at the time of the slaughter, the person must pronounce Allah's name or recite a blessing containing his name. Basically Kosher! I was very impressed by that and relieved that the name did not mean a corporation that had taken charge of all the butcheries in the area. So if you see Halal, it means kosher food.
While taking a food break, I looked up at the huge trees that surrounded W's apartment complex and fixed my eyes on a large brown creature perched way high. At first I thought it was a huge badger that had wound its way all the way up there but upon closer look, I realized it was a very large hawk. I mean this thing was huge and it was watching something else equally high up. Where I live is near the Nairobi Arboretum which is an amazing botanic garden and what that hawk was looking at was a monkey that had just taken a climb out and was walking around. Apparently it's pretty common for the monkeys to get out of the gardens and check out the neighborhood. I never noticed them near by place as the nearest tree to me is an Avocado one of which I and about 20 other residents eye closely waiting for the first signs of ripening fruit. W's place is more wooded so the monkeys had come out for the afternoon. The monkey eyeing the hawk was moving closer and closer while the hawk kept staring. I watched this quite puzzled as I thought monkeys would have been fodder for this large bird but oh no, the monkey leaped toward it and the hawk took off to perch on yet another branch. Then another monkey joined in and started to chase the hawk until it took off. Then the little creatures climbed all the way down where they were joined by two more and began to chase themselves around this garden that was no more than 50 feet away from us for about an hour and then they left. W told me that it was quite common for them to do that and you had to be careful not to leave fruit near your window sills as the little thieves would reach in and pluck what they could.
The afternoon turned into evening, the meat kept coming, drinks kept flowing and I couldn't help but wonder that this is what you have to experience if you come to Kenya. Yes come to see the animals, enjoy the beaches and maybe if you're lucky see me but more than that, you should meet Kenyans and not just just your waiter or housekeeper. The conversation is enlightening, the ambience very warming and there is no language barrier. I suppose this is true of everywhere you travel, if you know someone there then you'll be fortunate to see more than clubs and bars and you'll get to experience family life and conversation. Sorry this is brief, I'm running late and also low on cash so have to limit time online. I will add more to this later.
Oh, people rejoice! I will be starting internship tomorrow...unless someone's pulling an April Fools prank on me. I will refrain from talking about my work as people have been known to get fired because of work references in their blogs. Instead, I'll operate on a five star rating. 5 for an excellent day, 1 for I hate my job. Get it?
Yes Jamie, I'm sorry that you still have to sign on to make a comment, I thought they'd changed that. I'm pretty sure they did, check again.
Laters!
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Monday, March 28, 2005
Kenyan Timing
11 a.m.
"Hi X, what are you doing today?"
"Oh, not much, was going to make some gazpacho, why?"
"My friend is having a big Easter lunch this afternoon. Can I pick you up at one?"
"Umm, yeah sure, that'd be nice. I'll see you in an hour then?"
"Yup, come hungry."
1.30 p.m.
"Hey, it's me X, I thought you said you'd be here half an hour ago."
"Yeah, sorry, we just got out of church. Let me drop the kids off and I'll be right over."
"Ok, see you in fifteen then?"
"Absolutely, hang tight, you hungry yet?"
"Umm, getting there."
"See you in a few then."
2.45 p.m.
"Dude, I've been trying to call you but you've been "mteja"*, where are you?
"Oh man, traffic is killer, sorry I'll be there soon."
"But you live 5 minutes away and it's Sunday."
"The kids, I tell you they're driving me nuts. I'll be there soon."
"I'm starving here, I'm chewing gum and toothpicks because I don't wanna ruin my appetite."
"Sorry, I'll be there in five minutes, I promise."
4.00 p.m.
"Hey X, I'm outside your apartment right now, you ready?"
"@!#$@&%$# up yours!"
Lol, this was slightly similar to my afternoon yesterday. Kenyan timing is notoriously awful. I went for an interview a few weeks back and I showed up ten minutes before my appointment. The secretary looked at me with astonishment and said, "You're extremely early."
I have an acquaintance who is particularly expert at Kenyan time. The conversation above is the usual par every time we make plans. If he says he'll be over at around 5 that evening, I won't even start getting ready until about 8. It's awful I know but that's how it is. If you're trying to conduct business while you're here, I seriously suggest you operate between the hours of 8 and 11 in the morning as come noon, it's every person for themselves. There is a tendency to take unofficial siestas in the form of long lunches and lazy walks back to the office. This ofcourse is not the case for every business but is fairly typical for some that still operate on a very casual front. And as is with friends, when you give a certain time for a pending visit, it's best to add at LEAST an hour to their ETA. Fun stuff, no? Until you're in a hurry, then you'll be hurting.
*Mteja - when you call someone, you don't get a busy signal, you'll get a message, "the person you're trying to reach is not available" "Samahani, mteja unayoita...." Mteja being the unavailable party. It's become more a slang reference, say "Hey, have you seen Dan lately? He's been Mteja." (Unavailable, get it? If not, seek help)
"Hi X, what are you doing today?"
"Oh, not much, was going to make some gazpacho, why?"
"My friend is having a big Easter lunch this afternoon. Can I pick you up at one?"
"Umm, yeah sure, that'd be nice. I'll see you in an hour then?"
"Yup, come hungry."
1.30 p.m.
"Hey, it's me X, I thought you said you'd be here half an hour ago."
"Yeah, sorry, we just got out of church. Let me drop the kids off and I'll be right over."
"Ok, see you in fifteen then?"
"Absolutely, hang tight, you hungry yet?"
"Umm, getting there."
"See you in a few then."
2.45 p.m.
"Dude, I've been trying to call you but you've been "mteja"*, where are you?
"Oh man, traffic is killer, sorry I'll be there soon."
"But you live 5 minutes away and it's Sunday."
"The kids, I tell you they're driving me nuts. I'll be there soon."
"I'm starving here, I'm chewing gum and toothpicks because I don't wanna ruin my appetite."
"Sorry, I'll be there in five minutes, I promise."
4.00 p.m.
"Hey X, I'm outside your apartment right now, you ready?"
"@!#$@&%$# up yours!"
Lol, this was slightly similar to my afternoon yesterday. Kenyan timing is notoriously awful. I went for an interview a few weeks back and I showed up ten minutes before my appointment. The secretary looked at me with astonishment and said, "You're extremely early."
I have an acquaintance who is particularly expert at Kenyan time. The conversation above is the usual par every time we make plans. If he says he'll be over at around 5 that evening, I won't even start getting ready until about 8. It's awful I know but that's how it is. If you're trying to conduct business while you're here, I seriously suggest you operate between the hours of 8 and 11 in the morning as come noon, it's every person for themselves. There is a tendency to take unofficial siestas in the form of long lunches and lazy walks back to the office. This ofcourse is not the case for every business but is fairly typical for some that still operate on a very casual front. And as is with friends, when you give a certain time for a pending visit, it's best to add at LEAST an hour to their ETA. Fun stuff, no? Until you're in a hurry, then you'll be hurting.
*Mteja - when you call someone, you don't get a busy signal, you'll get a message, "the person you're trying to reach is not available" "Samahani, mteja unayoita...." Mteja being the unavailable party. It's become more a slang reference, say "Hey, have you seen Dan lately? He's been Mteja." (Unavailable, get it? If not, seek help)
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Movie Time
So I decided to give myself a treat and go see a movie and I chose to see Hitch at a nearby mall. The tickets cost about the same for a matinee as they would in Woo and the soda and popcorn....way cheaper. I got a medium sprite and popcorn for about $2. Very nice. The movie theater I went to has been around for ages and they offer regular seating or balcony seats for a slightly higher fraction. The problem with the latter seats is that they built them way too high so you feel like you're watching from above rather than directly at the screen, a problem I encountered the last time I was here and watched Gladiator. "On my signal, unleash Hell." Obsessed with that movie to this day.
Anyway, when you buy your ticket at the window, they actually have a seating chart in front of you that they mark, so you can see what's open and what's not. They also have "love seats" for couples, I'm assuming it's seats that don't have the arms in between. So I was assigned my seat, very nice, dead center and not many people around. When you walk in, the place is really dark, such that an usher has to lead you to your seat with a flashlight. Once seated, I looked around, the chairs are very nice and comfortable, the place is spotlessly clean and you won't find gum stuck under your seats or encounter a sticky floor as they wipe the place down after each show. The pre-movie music is the same fare of modern hits, some country (lol) and loads of oldies. Then the screen comes to life and it's a picture of the Kenyan flag waving proudly in the wind and suddenly the national anthem starts. All around me people stood up, I hastily dropped my popcorn and stood as well, trying hard not to smile as I gauged the situation. I didn't know they still did that. I vaguely recall that happening when I saw my big picture, E.T. but I didn't know it was still practised. As soon as it was over, the usher continued to show people to their seats while conversations picked up from where they were dropped. I sat down, still smiling hard and trying not to look like an idiot. It just struck me as incredibly hilarious. Anthems at games, events, yes, at the movies? Slightly strange, no?
So the curtain goes up and the screen jumps right into a preview of Mr. & Mrs. Smith (pause: I'm drooling over Mr. Smith) then 10 other previews follow afterwards. The movie was supposed to start at 1.10 and it did indeed, just the previews anyway, whew no dreaded commercials. At about 1.30, the previews changed to oh no, commercials. Nothing like "Hot Bod!", mostly advertising for pharmacies and LG electronics. The commericals end when the screen is launched into yet another set of previews, 5 this time around. By now I had made a serious dent in the popcorn I'd bought and realized I was out when my fingers scraped the bottom....all before the movie started which it did, at 1.50 p.m. Know I know why so many people were coming in late. Ah well, I'll still get there early to get good seat and the AC is a welcome relief after the humidity and heat that's enveloped this place.
Laters!
Anyway, when you buy your ticket at the window, they actually have a seating chart in front of you that they mark, so you can see what's open and what's not. They also have "love seats" for couples, I'm assuming it's seats that don't have the arms in between. So I was assigned my seat, very nice, dead center and not many people around. When you walk in, the place is really dark, such that an usher has to lead you to your seat with a flashlight. Once seated, I looked around, the chairs are very nice and comfortable, the place is spotlessly clean and you won't find gum stuck under your seats or encounter a sticky floor as they wipe the place down after each show. The pre-movie music is the same fare of modern hits, some country (lol) and loads of oldies. Then the screen comes to life and it's a picture of the Kenyan flag waving proudly in the wind and suddenly the national anthem starts. All around me people stood up, I hastily dropped my popcorn and stood as well, trying hard not to smile as I gauged the situation. I didn't know they still did that. I vaguely recall that happening when I saw my big picture, E.T. but I didn't know it was still practised. As soon as it was over, the usher continued to show people to their seats while conversations picked up from where they were dropped. I sat down, still smiling hard and trying not to look like an idiot. It just struck me as incredibly hilarious. Anthems at games, events, yes, at the movies? Slightly strange, no?
So the curtain goes up and the screen jumps right into a preview of Mr. & Mrs. Smith (pause: I'm drooling over Mr. Smith) then 10 other previews follow afterwards. The movie was supposed to start at 1.10 and it did indeed, just the previews anyway, whew no dreaded commercials. At about 1.30, the previews changed to oh no, commercials. Nothing like "Hot Bod!", mostly advertising for pharmacies and LG electronics. The commericals end when the screen is launched into yet another set of previews, 5 this time around. By now I had made a serious dent in the popcorn I'd bought and realized I was out when my fingers scraped the bottom....all before the movie started which it did, at 1.50 p.m. Know I know why so many people were coming in late. Ah well, I'll still get there early to get good seat and the AC is a welcome relief after the humidity and heat that's enveloped this place.
Laters!
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Artifacts, curios etc.
Housekeeping: It's official, corruption is rampant and blatant in Kenya as evidenced in the daily papers for Thursday March 24th. http://www.eastandard.net/ Interesting, no?
Today I went to the curio market in a semi-upscale area called Westlands. It's sort of like the mega market that is Gikomba as in you walk through stalls to check out the merchandise but it's more enclosed, definitely more quiet, smells better and they sell curios, artifacts, jewelry etc. rather than clothes. This is where you'll find all those touristy things that people will inevitably bring back after being on "safari" in Kenya. There are wooden carvings that range in size from tiny to large carving and they are shaped in the form of masai tribesmen, wild animals, masks, stools etc. Really quite impressive and what's more amazing is that if you will most likely find them being created right before your very eyes.
There's also the soap stone culture from the Kisii people. There area is popular for the natural soft stone (sorry, didn't research the exact name) and they make plates, bowls, spoons etc. that appear ceramic as they are that delicate. Nearly every stall that I passed that featured this craft had the proprietors actually shaping and sanding the stones while continuously dipping them in water as they made the smooth forms of whatever they were intended to be. One popular and lucrative form they use is making chess sets. The boards are cut to a precise standard and each chess piece is made of the same stone and intricately shaped to match the bases and compliment the board. I asked one of the stone makers how long it took him to make one chess set and he said about 3 weeks and he valued it initially at about $20 but was willing to bargain for it.
There is an art to obtaining these pieces though. Every stall you pass will have someone politely calling out to you to come and look at the wares. They will watch your eyes closely and if you stare at one item for more than a second, it's immediately picked up and thrust in your hands. Lol, I had barely made it through the entrance and was immediately besieged by, "Madam, please come in, make yourself comfortable." The jewelry is amazing, bracelets and necklaces made from extremely colorful maasai beads and copperwires, the earrings are also the same and they have wonderful tiny wood carvings on them. The variety is endless and attractive but the bartering makes them much more appreciated.
E.g., I happened to stare at a large bracelet for quite a while and it was immediately wrapped around my wrist with the seller saying, "How much do you want to spend for this?" If you ask them how much, that's usually what the retort is. But it's hard to bargain if you're not sure what price they typically go for so I insisted he name his first and he said 500 shillings. (roughly $7....btw, what the hell is going on with the dollar? It's doing miserably over here) It was a gorgeous bracelet but I wasn't going to spend that much so I said 250. "Madam, look at that beading, the pattern, the delicate artwork. I spend one week doing one of these, I cannot let it go for that low, I beg you, how about 450. I examined it closely and it was beautiful but I tried to validate the purchase in my mind. How often would I wear it and with what and on what occasion? And the more I thought about that, the more hesitant I became and began to view it as an impulse purchase. He recognized this and immediately dropped it to 300 and that was his final offer. I argued with myself for a while and then reluctantly set it down and slowly backed away, all the time he asking me to name my price and he'd let it go even though it would mean a loss for him. I walked on, now being occasionally pursued by more sellers as I had shown interest in some items.
All around me were tourists doing the same and they knew it was expected for them to bargain or as one Italian I overheard put it incorrectly, "barter" for the items. I got lost while in this maze but it's been absolutely stunning today and even though the clouds have threatened occasionally, it's been hot and humid. I stopped by one stall as I saw a similar bracelet to the one I first found but it wasn't as attractive. I asked the seller how much, "How much do you think it is?" he replied? I said 100 and he hissed through his teeth, "Too low, madam, how about 400?" This one was more persistent than the other. He picked up another set of bracelets and put them in my hands and when I tried to hand them back he backed away, hands in the air, "Please choose madam, I know you like them very much." I started to laugh now as he wouldn't take them back until I'd selected one that I liked. Poor man, I put it down when he finally let me and he made me promise I would come back and make his day.
Lol, was very fun and interesting and in a totally safe place that I would feel comfortable taking "wageni" (guests) to. This weekend, I will be checking out another mitumba (second hand) clothing place that's in a more middle class neighborhood.
Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I love writing them. Laters, and happy Easter to all.
Kenyans celebrate Easter starting with Good Friday tomorrow and most shops and government offices will be closed until Tuesday as Easter Monday is also celebrated.
Today I went to the curio market in a semi-upscale area called Westlands. It's sort of like the mega market that is Gikomba as in you walk through stalls to check out the merchandise but it's more enclosed, definitely more quiet, smells better and they sell curios, artifacts, jewelry etc. rather than clothes. This is where you'll find all those touristy things that people will inevitably bring back after being on "safari" in Kenya. There are wooden carvings that range in size from tiny to large carving and they are shaped in the form of masai tribesmen, wild animals, masks, stools etc. Really quite impressive and what's more amazing is that if you will most likely find them being created right before your very eyes.
There's also the soap stone culture from the Kisii people. There area is popular for the natural soft stone (sorry, didn't research the exact name) and they make plates, bowls, spoons etc. that appear ceramic as they are that delicate. Nearly every stall that I passed that featured this craft had the proprietors actually shaping and sanding the stones while continuously dipping them in water as they made the smooth forms of whatever they were intended to be. One popular and lucrative form they use is making chess sets. The boards are cut to a precise standard and each chess piece is made of the same stone and intricately shaped to match the bases and compliment the board. I asked one of the stone makers how long it took him to make one chess set and he said about 3 weeks and he valued it initially at about $20 but was willing to bargain for it.
There is an art to obtaining these pieces though. Every stall you pass will have someone politely calling out to you to come and look at the wares. They will watch your eyes closely and if you stare at one item for more than a second, it's immediately picked up and thrust in your hands. Lol, I had barely made it through the entrance and was immediately besieged by, "Madam, please come in, make yourself comfortable." The jewelry is amazing, bracelets and necklaces made from extremely colorful maasai beads and copperwires, the earrings are also the same and they have wonderful tiny wood carvings on them. The variety is endless and attractive but the bartering makes them much more appreciated.
E.g., I happened to stare at a large bracelet for quite a while and it was immediately wrapped around my wrist with the seller saying, "How much do you want to spend for this?" If you ask them how much, that's usually what the retort is. But it's hard to bargain if you're not sure what price they typically go for so I insisted he name his first and he said 500 shillings. (roughly $7....btw, what the hell is going on with the dollar? It's doing miserably over here) It was a gorgeous bracelet but I wasn't going to spend that much so I said 250. "Madam, look at that beading, the pattern, the delicate artwork. I spend one week doing one of these, I cannot let it go for that low, I beg you, how about 450. I examined it closely and it was beautiful but I tried to validate the purchase in my mind. How often would I wear it and with what and on what occasion? And the more I thought about that, the more hesitant I became and began to view it as an impulse purchase. He recognized this and immediately dropped it to 300 and that was his final offer. I argued with myself for a while and then reluctantly set it down and slowly backed away, all the time he asking me to name my price and he'd let it go even though it would mean a loss for him. I walked on, now being occasionally pursued by more sellers as I had shown interest in some items.
All around me were tourists doing the same and they knew it was expected for them to bargain or as one Italian I overheard put it incorrectly, "barter" for the items. I got lost while in this maze but it's been absolutely stunning today and even though the clouds have threatened occasionally, it's been hot and humid. I stopped by one stall as I saw a similar bracelet to the one I first found but it wasn't as attractive. I asked the seller how much, "How much do you think it is?" he replied? I said 100 and he hissed through his teeth, "Too low, madam, how about 400?" This one was more persistent than the other. He picked up another set of bracelets and put them in my hands and when I tried to hand them back he backed away, hands in the air, "Please choose madam, I know you like them very much." I started to laugh now as he wouldn't take them back until I'd selected one that I liked. Poor man, I put it down when he finally let me and he made me promise I would come back and make his day.
Lol, was very fun and interesting and in a totally safe place that I would feel comfortable taking "wageni" (guests) to. This weekend, I will be checking out another mitumba (second hand) clothing place that's in a more middle class neighborhood.
Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I love writing them. Laters, and happy Easter to all.
Kenyans celebrate Easter starting with Good Friday tomorrow and most shops and government offices will be closed until Tuesday as Easter Monday is also celebrated.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Shopping...well, kinda.
So I went mitumba (second hand clothes) window shopping today. I'd been curious about this industry because it is quite booming. Wholesalers import used clothes from just about everywhere and sell them at different markets all over the country. I went to Gikomba Market which is in a very dodgy part of town and was extremely muddy as it had rained buckets yesterday. To get there, you have to walk into a very questionable part of town and climb into one of the matatus that are idling quietly. As soon as it's full, you crawl out and join the huge traffic jam that you'll be a part of, all the way to the market. We took the scenic route of course and if you looked through all the diesel fumes and dust that clogged the air, you would see mounds of garbage and rotting fruit on the sidewalks or near the brown river running along the road. The journey took a little over ten minutes and we got out at a very muddy intersection.
There are stalls everywhere, open air stalls from which all sorts of merchandise is hanging. Clothes, hats, shoes, pots, pans, buckets etc. Name it and it's available and this was just at the entrance. There's no sign as to where exactly you are and you have to go with someone otherwise you'll get lost. We followed a road that appeared to be the main one and I walked slowly behind my friends, staring at all the clothes hanging everywhere. The sellers themselves would walk down the road holding pants, skirts or belts, trying to get you to come to their stalls. I'd say just down this street there was about a hundred stalls to the left and right of me as far as I could see. I thought this was it but if you looked at the gaps between stalls you realize there's a whole other section behind them. And indeed, we went through one of the stalls and found ourselves in huge open air market. Clothes were piled on stalls that were about two feet high off the ground and there were so many. We stopped at one to look at some baby clothes and I perused some of the items. Some of these clothes were in even better shape than the clothes you'd find at Goodwill. I found so many Baby Gap clothes which I wanted immediately for my nephew but I put them down because my intention was to observe and not purchase. My companion Joan was looking for baby clothes and once she'd settled on about eight outfits, it was time to bargain. The man said each item was 50 shillings (about 60 cents) so everything came out to about 4oo shillings. You are expected to bargain, if you don't and you settle on what they are offering, there will always be someone who is nearby and will realize that you're willing to spend foolishly and they'll lure you to their stall and you won't know you've already earned yourself a markup. She argued with him for a while and settled on 360 and he threw in a bag for her to carry her purchase.
We walked around some more and ventured toward other stalls that had more jeans on display. Ladies, fear not, you can get your bras, slips and knickers here as well after they've been sorted and picked through by hands covered in god knows what and yuck. Gross, is what I was thinking but my snobishness does not clothe those who can't be picky. There were more hawkers selling their wares right on the street and some grabbed my hand and tried to pull me into their stalls to have a look around. They approach you very well but are very persisitent. I made the mistake of looking closely (barely glanced) at a pair of Hilfiger Jeans and the seller pounced on me, "Come madam, you must look, good prices, please come!" he said, trying to pull me towards his clothes. I had to drag myself away only to bump into another one holding a hipster skirt. He practically sized me, "Yes madam, I have your size, normal size yes? Come look at my jeans, matako zita kuwa safi ndani hizi! " (your butt will look good inside these) and then held them up to my waist.
I had wanted to see some formal shirts and we walked through a maze into a much quieter part of this incredibly huge market. I had no idea where we were now and if I lost Joan, I would probably wonder around for hours and then come out on the wrong side of the market. We were led to a stall by a very nice quiet young man. He had shirts lined up against a wall. The label whore that I am stared in wonder at Gap, Atmosphere, Marks & Spencer's, Nine West collections all being sold for abou 280 shillings (< $4). They were clean and some even had the tags from discount stores in the US and England. Very interesting. So we walked on some more and I found more Gap pants, American Eagle... all over the place. As we were leaving, we happened upon a stall that sold bags and sure enough, a gorgeous DKNY bag was right on top of a pile of other bags. I piced it up, checked the interior and it was in great condition. I've decided not to buy knock-offs while I'm here as I'm pretty sure this are items coming in from China and I would feel very guilty about not supporting the local bag makers. I fingered it longingly then put it back and forced myself to walk away only to be surrounded by more hawkers, each one talking at a higher volume than the other.
We got onto another matatu heading back to town and we took a different route from the one we used to get there. Joan told me that the road were going down was notorious for having thieves who would come to the windows of the vans and if it was open, reach in and try and steal your purse, or cell phone or whatever was conveniently close to them. She said they did this in broad day light and even if the bus was full and there were people all around and you were crying out thief, nobody would come to your aid, they would just stare. I immediately shut my window and sat on my purse while she laughed at me and said, "It's not so bad nowadays, it's only at that roundabout up ahead where you have to be careful because they will come from one side, and throw it to someone on the other who'll disappear into a crowd." Around this section were people selling all sorts of vegetables and fruits. There were men pushing carts of pineapples that they would cut and peel and sell individual slices for about 5 shillings, people selling home made ice cream bars, fruit juice bars, all yelling out their prices and showing samples. The stench here though was unbearable and I started to feel nauseous (still are) as the smell of rotting veggies and the fumes from all the trucks and buses passing by created this cloying mixture that you feel settling on your body. Have to go home soon and have clothes washed.
Tomorrow I'll go to the curio market at Westlands to check it out. I've driven by once before and noticed that most of the artifacts are made right then and there whenever there's a lull in the flow of tourists who come through. I'll find out some prices so whenever you're in the area, you'll be able to bargain effectively knowing full well what the real value is.
There are stalls everywhere, open air stalls from which all sorts of merchandise is hanging. Clothes, hats, shoes, pots, pans, buckets etc. Name it and it's available and this was just at the entrance. There's no sign as to where exactly you are and you have to go with someone otherwise you'll get lost. We followed a road that appeared to be the main one and I walked slowly behind my friends, staring at all the clothes hanging everywhere. The sellers themselves would walk down the road holding pants, skirts or belts, trying to get you to come to their stalls. I'd say just down this street there was about a hundred stalls to the left and right of me as far as I could see. I thought this was it but if you looked at the gaps between stalls you realize there's a whole other section behind them. And indeed, we went through one of the stalls and found ourselves in huge open air market. Clothes were piled on stalls that were about two feet high off the ground and there were so many. We stopped at one to look at some baby clothes and I perused some of the items. Some of these clothes were in even better shape than the clothes you'd find at Goodwill. I found so many Baby Gap clothes which I wanted immediately for my nephew but I put them down because my intention was to observe and not purchase. My companion Joan was looking for baby clothes and once she'd settled on about eight outfits, it was time to bargain. The man said each item was 50 shillings (about 60 cents) so everything came out to about 4oo shillings. You are expected to bargain, if you don't and you settle on what they are offering, there will always be someone who is nearby and will realize that you're willing to spend foolishly and they'll lure you to their stall and you won't know you've already earned yourself a markup. She argued with him for a while and settled on 360 and he threw in a bag for her to carry her purchase.
We walked around some more and ventured toward other stalls that had more jeans on display. Ladies, fear not, you can get your bras, slips and knickers here as well after they've been sorted and picked through by hands covered in god knows what and yuck. Gross, is what I was thinking but my snobishness does not clothe those who can't be picky. There were more hawkers selling their wares right on the street and some grabbed my hand and tried to pull me into their stalls to have a look around. They approach you very well but are very persisitent. I made the mistake of looking closely (barely glanced) at a pair of Hilfiger Jeans and the seller pounced on me, "Come madam, you must look, good prices, please come!" he said, trying to pull me towards his clothes. I had to drag myself away only to bump into another one holding a hipster skirt. He practically sized me, "Yes madam, I have your size, normal size yes? Come look at my jeans, matako zita kuwa safi ndani hizi! " (your butt will look good inside these) and then held them up to my waist.
I had wanted to see some formal shirts and we walked through a maze into a much quieter part of this incredibly huge market. I had no idea where we were now and if I lost Joan, I would probably wonder around for hours and then come out on the wrong side of the market. We were led to a stall by a very nice quiet young man. He had shirts lined up against a wall. The label whore that I am stared in wonder at Gap, Atmosphere, Marks & Spencer's, Nine West collections all being sold for abou 280 shillings (< $4). They were clean and some even had the tags from discount stores in the US and England. Very interesting. So we walked on some more and I found more Gap pants, American Eagle... all over the place. As we were leaving, we happened upon a stall that sold bags and sure enough, a gorgeous DKNY bag was right on top of a pile of other bags. I piced it up, checked the interior and it was in great condition. I've decided not to buy knock-offs while I'm here as I'm pretty sure this are items coming in from China and I would feel very guilty about not supporting the local bag makers. I fingered it longingly then put it back and forced myself to walk away only to be surrounded by more hawkers, each one talking at a higher volume than the other.
We got onto another matatu heading back to town and we took a different route from the one we used to get there. Joan told me that the road were going down was notorious for having thieves who would come to the windows of the vans and if it was open, reach in and try and steal your purse, or cell phone or whatever was conveniently close to them. She said they did this in broad day light and even if the bus was full and there were people all around and you were crying out thief, nobody would come to your aid, they would just stare. I immediately shut my window and sat on my purse while she laughed at me and said, "It's not so bad nowadays, it's only at that roundabout up ahead where you have to be careful because they will come from one side, and throw it to someone on the other who'll disappear into a crowd." Around this section were people selling all sorts of vegetables and fruits. There were men pushing carts of pineapples that they would cut and peel and sell individual slices for about 5 shillings, people selling home made ice cream bars, fruit juice bars, all yelling out their prices and showing samples. The stench here though was unbearable and I started to feel nauseous (still are) as the smell of rotting veggies and the fumes from all the trucks and buses passing by created this cloying mixture that you feel settling on your body. Have to go home soon and have clothes washed.
Tomorrow I'll go to the curio market at Westlands to check it out. I've driven by once before and noticed that most of the artifacts are made right then and there whenever there's a lull in the flow of tourists who come through. I'll find out some prices so whenever you're in the area, you'll be able to bargain effectively knowing full well what the real value is.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
"Welcome to Kenya" ID part 3
Housekeeping: I changed the title back to the original as my thoughts really aren’t that nutty and this really is a chronicle of my journey back here. Secondly, I really don’t give a damn who’s looking over my shoulders as I log my entries in crowded cafes all over the city. Besides, most of my friends call me crazy anyway.
Another thing, the hospitality industry is something I’m trying to get an internship in, but a challenge I’m beginning to face in my being here is, how am I supposed to sell Kenya to others if it can’t even sell itself to Kenyans at this point?
Also, this entry is VERY long so save yourself some time, print it out and read it during a coffee break, at lunch, while in a meeting, in court, on the loo or like my darling friend Corinne who reads it on Le Metro on the way to work in Paris, take some time to laugh or cry or shake your head in wonder.
So I woke up Monday morning, determined to make some progress of some sort on getting the ID. I decided I wouldn’t be pessimistic or prematurely discouraged, rather I would be cautiously optimistic and hope I would make some progress. I stopped by the studio where I had my shots taken and explained to them that what was required as I’d been told the last time were two black and white passport photos not cut into individual shots but left as one. She told me it would take an hour so off I went in search of a cyber café to do some e-mail. My fave one’s server was down so I ended up at the one next to the butchery. (remember the one that gets the meat shipments in boxes with Arabic lettering?) I did my correspondence, checked the dismal performance of my bracket (Wisconsin-Milwaukee? Syracuse? Are you kidding me?) I went back to the studio and she handed me an envelope with the photos and I took them out and they were cut. I slowly lowered my face, shook it slightly and then patiently explained to her what I had wanted, uncut photos and she in turn explained patiently that the photos came out inverted when next to each other and not side by side. I asked why she cut them and she asked me why not? If they were going to be used on an ID they would get cut anyway. Can’t argue with that logic as that’s what I’d been thinking every time I read the haphazardly posted requirements, all of which contradicted each other and never explained why the passport shots must come joined at the hip.
She then told me that just around the corner was a photo studio that did Polaroid shots in black and white and it would be possible for me to get them done that way. So I glanced at my watch, about 9.30 and figured I could spend another hour while they got done. I went to the store in question, inquired whether it was possible, they said yes, I asked how much, about 300 shillings ($3.50), how long, 2 hours. I looked at them, said thank you and walked out and caught the next matatu heading toward the government office. At this point I was still calm, so calm that I figured I’d just go there and if they turned me away for lack of proper photos I’d first verify I had all the proper documents etc. I got there, went to father’s office first to get his ID again which he parted with, with much angst. I flew across the highway (6 lanes, divided, pedestrian walk which is a joke, no traffic light) I got into the line for (and I will kindly describe it) the initial processing office. This is located in the actual building but right near the entrance so the line snaked outside to the front and I was about the fifteenth person to join.
It was about 10.30 by now, and sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds. It had rained the previous night and the day had started out sort of chilly so I’d brought along my anorak. I didn’t care if it rained while I stood outside I was going to get something done with the ID. I had a brought a book along with me so I started reading while more people joined the queue. I was lucky this time, no one anxious to cuddle me just yet and baths had been a priority that day. All was going well although the line moved slowly but I had my book. The sun eventually came out and oh yes, because of the bleak forecast on the morning news, I had not bothered to slap on some sunblock or bring my sunglasses so I had no choice but to roast in the heat. I found a tube of lotion in my bag and basted myself, hoping it had some sort of UV protection factor in it. The line shuffled forward slowly, more people rushed to join from the back and I kept reading and tanning. I would look up when the light became too harsh on my pages and check out the progress on various queues that were forming all over the place at various tin doors. I felt sorry for whoever had to use the facilities, as there were none to speak of. I know the men always went behind the tin shack that housed the officers who would usher me along the road to registration. I went back to my book (Birdsong by Faulk), trying to engross myself in it while ignoring the mumblings of my fellow lines folk. This time the queue was more “civilized” (I hate that word but really can’t think of a better replacement right now). I recognized some of the people, as one’s who’d been turned away the Tuesday before because there was no film (I later found out what the film was for).
My queue moved forward slowly, I glanced at my watch and noted it was about noon by now and there were only four people ahead of me. I glanced back and the line had grown considerably. I rummaged through my bags; made sure I had my passports, dad’s ID & my birth certificate and copies of all these documents in order and the damn passport shots. I gave a short prayer, not for eventual success in obtaining the ID but rather to keep the sense of calm and sanity that I had maintained so far. At last! I was at the front of the line and I took out everything once again, made sure it was in order and the door opened and it was action. I walked in; the same man who’d turned me away was there. He smiled and greeted me politely and even shook my hand as I sat down. He asked whether I had everything and I said, “Yes, I think so.” He then asked why he’d sent me away the first time as he perused the documents I lay before him and I said it was for not having the copy of my father’s ID. He saw that I had it and said, “Good, everything looks like it’s in order. Do you have the photos?” I said yes and reached into my folder with trembling fingers to pull out the blatantly cut up shots but he said, “No, I don’t need those, they’re for later.” I sighed and figured I had gotten this far, let’s see how much further I can go. He took out a long yellow form and filled and another short yellow form. They were basically identical, asking my name, parents’ names and address information. The short form was more of a checklist of personal information while the long one was slightly more detailed requiring more background information. He filled out the forms and kept talking to me, asking me why I had come back, how long I intended to stay, what my plans were. He asked me where I was from and I told him where. (Ok folks, quick lesson, a lot Kenyans have two homes, the first one most likely is in the city, in my case, Nairobi and the other home is where your family originated from and most usually have built holiday homes and still have some family in the area). This man was also from my tribe and asked me if I intended to go back to the village. I replied that I did intend to visit at some point and he leered at me and said, “No, a girl like you needs to keep it in the family, eh? (family being tribe) We need to stick together, you should go home and find a nice man.” He chuckled, I forced a fixed smile and tried to change the subject. I asked him where I needed to go next and he wrote down the room number, which I’ll call 2B. No mention of what I had to do there, just to complete the forms and go to that room. It was about 12.30 so I found a desk near the main entrance and started to fill out the forms.
Like I said it required some biographical information but I had no idea the extent of what was needed. They wanted my name, family names, my constituency, district, division, my location, sub location, my tribe, clan and sub-group, my family clan name, village, sub-village and sub-sub village location. All this being asked of someone who has never voted in this country and on top of that, despite the fact I was born and raised in Nairobi before I left for the home of the brave, I was told by “keep it in the family guy” that my own info was not required and that it was my father’s information that was essential (Again, I pity the kid that’s an orphan.) Suddenly I was scrambling for my phone, texting my brother and asking him, what constituency I belonged to and the sub groups that I was part of and he had no clue. I looked at the back of my dad’s ID and thank goodness most of that info was listed there. So I hurriedly filled in everything but I had left some spaces blank and just hoped I’d get a kind soul to help me out. I went back outside and to my dismay, the queue for 2B resembled the chaos that was apparent the prior week. So I stood off a little ways away from the pack while I tried to figure out everything that was required. I stood wilting in the heat, hoping some sort of semblance would overcome the pack in front of me as they pushed and clawed their way to the front, all the while agitating the officials inside who would periodically appear to yell at them, urging them to get into two lines. Then the officials started picking people at random from the back so my heart soared thinking, my strategy to distance myself might pay off but alas, I’m short so it took a while. Finally one of them, and I’ll call him A. Hole came out with a bunch of white forms and started handing them out to people once he glanced at their documents. I decided to join the pack and pushed my way forward and thrust my papers in his face. He looked at them and said, “Kuja saa nane.” Come at 2 o’clock. So I sighed, gathered my things and walked towards dad’s office.
It was one already and I was thinking I would have to get another matatu and go into town to get a bite to eat as the places around that area looked fairly dodgy. I went to return the ID, which was received like a long lost child and as luck would have it, my father was on his way out to lunch with his grad researcher and invited me along. Pleasant lunch, I recounted what had happened so far, he called me impatient and said, “Welcome to Kenya, deal with it” (Patience is a virtue I have apparently struggled with from childhood. I don’t deny that as a somewhat true assessment but over here, it’s inefficiency and incompetence that have driven me to further lack it). Chat, chat, ok, almost two o’clock, so I head back to his office and collect all my things as I wasn’t sure whether I would be done early enough to come back and fetch them. I run across the highway of madness and find myself back at 2B. Again, people are packing themselves around the door, A. Hole coming out to yell and wag his finger at people calling them idiots. I got into what I hoped looked like the correct line but you couldn’t really see into the shack eh…office to know where you’re supposed to be. I tried to read but gave up shortly when my Right to Space was revoked and a grandma parked herself on my ass. This lady was right on me, almost climbing on top of me in an attempt to somehow absorb herself into my body if it meant she’d get closer to the door. I stood firm, trying to stick out elbows as I pretended to read, planting my feet firmly, slightly apart as though bracing myself for impact. Did this deter her? Oh no, in fact she was determined to use my now solid stature as a leaning post while trying to look forward between the crook of my jutting elbow.
I looked heavenward and squinted immediately as the sun was now out in full force. A. Hole came out again to yell and pick people at random. All in all, I gathered there were three men and a woman in this room. There was A. Hole (take a big guess as to what that means) who received the registration payments of about 50shillings (about 75¢), then there was Newt (this guy was on a power trip of epic mileage and would tell people that he wasn’t going to help them that day just because) & Newbie (because he was the only one who hadn’t picked up on the true nature of government officials in Kenya…yet) At about 3, I’d just about had it. A. Hole had come out and in between his rants and raves had asked who needed to pay for their registration. I pushed my way to the front and into the shack. There were about desks scattered all around, mountains of application forms piled in filing trays, and a Polaroid camera set up in the one of the corners. I eyed it suspiciously while fishing for change from my purse. I pulled out 50 shillings in coins as I thought convenience is what this man wanted. I had a hundred shilling note tucked away somewhere but jingled the coins anyway. A burly civilian dressed officer pointed me into a corner right next to the A. Hole’s desk and I waited patiently for my turn. When it came up, I put my paperwork on the table and he turned one page and said, “You need the Chief’s signature and I don’t want change, only notes.” I took out the hundred and he looked at me again, “I don’t give change.” He then scrunched my papers together and shoved them in my direction.
I walked out, looking at the queue that was now growing, tears prickling my eyes in frustration. I seriously thought about leaving at this point but there was no way I was going to come and burn again the following day. I went back into the main building and found a secretary and asked her where his office was. She pointed me to a closed door and I knocked on it and went in without waiting for an answer. Not being rude, I just realized I needed to start being a bit of a bully if I wanted to get anywhere. There was a man in there reading some files and I asked him where the Chief was and he said that he’d be coming in the next half hour. (The Chief is the administrator of a location and apparently he has to sign off on all documents) I waited for all of five minutes and then went to one of the nearby dodgy food places and changed the hundred shilling note into fifties so I could use the change for my matatu fare.
I went back to stand at the chief’s door and was joined later by this woman. I asked her whether she was waiting for the chief, she nodded yes. We stared at a couple of officers coming and going through the doors and one went into a restricted room and came out carrying a pistol rather carelessly by his side. I gathered my things and held them tightly in case the gun went off. He actually started to load it standing a few feet away from me while talking and laughing with his colleagues, pointing the gun in my general direction while he loaded the clip. I held my breath and inched away until he walked away with them and went into a separate office. I started chatting with lady and found out that she’d actually tried to get her replacement ID from another office and had to come to this one as she’d been asked for 200 shillings “to hasten her application”, by a government officer, money she couldn’t obviously afford. She said, she wasn’t sure this office would be any different but she had no choice but to try. We chatted for a bit and watched this woman whom I will politely assess as a call girl come through and she marched straight to me and asked where people got their ID cards. I pointed her in the direction of the first long queue I’d gone through three times in a row. She marched straight through the door ignoring the people who’d been standing and waiting for a long time. A short while later, she came out with the same yellow forms I’d sweated for the whole morning and off to room 2 B where she once again jumped the line.
I was now livid at this point but tried to stay calm and not become the hysterical, angry and frustrated mess that were my inner emotions. I gathered my paperwork, went back to the 2 B and badgered my way through. By this time the people in line had assumed I was making some progress so they let me through without much fuss. A. Hole was talking softly and laughing gently with the “pro” while I stood behind her and his eyes fell on me and he told me to wait outside. So I did, simmering slowly and in about 5 minutes, she came out holding an original receipt for her ID card, which he told her to come back for at the end of the week. I went in and put my paperwork on the desk, standing next to him (no such animals as chairs). I gave him the money, which he threw into a drawer that was filled with incredibly with notes of all denominations so I know he’d been giving change left and right.
I bit my lip and kept quiet, not wanting to aggravate him in anyway. He was putting coded numbers next to all the tribe, location etc. information that was on the yellow sheets, I’m assuming for census information. He then laughed and hit my arm with his pen (more playful not to hurt), “What’s wrong with you? Do you not know your sub-location and family name?” I had asked my dad what the family name was and he told me but A. Hole scratched it right out and did a variation of my last name. Then he hit me again, “Where have you been, why don’t you have a card? How do you not know these things?” The affidavit was right there but I had to explain why I’d been out of the country and perhaps that’s why I didn’t know a sub-village from a sub-location and etc. info a city kid has no clue about. “You are wasting my time you know that?” he said, pointing the pen at me at this point. I kept quiet, staring at a mark on his desk. He kept badgering me and poking me and then he started to speak to me in my tribal language….a language I have not spoken in complete sentences oh, my entire life as nobody ever spoke it with regularity at home. I told him quietly that I didn’t understand what he was saying. He stared at me incredulously and started to whale on me, “What do you mean you don’t speak the language? What if you are working in that region and you can’t communicate with the people? What if your husband (he assuming I’d marry into the tribe) is posted in that area and you can’t speak the language, eh?” At this point I wanted to ask what I worked in an area where that was not the primary language. I mumbled something about being out of the country, staring straight ahead fighting not to let a tear out of my eyes. He shook his head and went back to writing saying, “Usini letea maneno mjinga.” Which means, “Don’t bring me stupid stories” or “Don’t bring me stories stupid”, depending on his connotation and I will safely assume he meant both.
At this point I was so close to crying but there have been very few men worth my tears and A. Hole was not going to join that club so I bit down and focused on my determination to get this over and done with. Over and over my awesome brother’s words kept rolling in my head, “Just write it down in your blog, you’ll feel better.” So I concentrated on what the little shit was doing. He then made me put my left thumb on a flat ink-rolled block and then smeared the print on the yellow receipt paper, which he handed me. Then he called out for the next person. I asked him where I should go and he pointed me in the vague direction of two desks. One manned by Newbie and the other by a very bored lady. I went to Newbie who looked at my paper work and at first glance asked me why I didn’t have a Christian name. This is a question I’m commonly asked as to why I don’t have a Christian name like Joan, Sally or Cathy. I told him that it’s just the way I was named. He then asked me whether I was “saved”. I kept quiet at first, still stuck in the land of the free, I was/still operating on a separate church and state mentality. I wanted to tell him, “Isn’t that illegal you asking me that?” and then I remembered where I was so I shut up. “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?” I gave a little smile and said, “Why do you ask?” “Do you love the Lord?” he persisted. I realized I was going to have to answer this man or this was my stop for the day. I started to open my mouth and he laughed and then pointed me to the bored lady. I walked over to her, still in shock and she gave me a white form to fill out, with my name, address, d.o.b and signature. It had space for all my fingerprints and a four-finger palm print followed by individual thumb print boxes. I left the shack and went back to the Chief’s office to see if he’d returned and but he was still MIA.
It was about a quarter to four by now and the offices closed at five. I filled out the form and went back to 2 B. (by the way, there is a 2 A, not sure what happens there.) I walked back to Newbie’s desk and he took out yet another form, which I had to fill out with the same particulars as before but this one contained the actual ID card info and typeset. I was getting more encouraged because Newbie was actually telling me exactly what to do and talking quietly at the same time. He even didn’t chase me out of the office and just pointed me to a less busy part of his desk to finish the application. I think he’d overheard A. Hole berating me and may have been showing me some kindness.
Newt and A. Hole were chatting now quite loudly about the people still waiting outside and looking for a cut-off person for the day as it was four now. They would keep yelling at people telling them to move away or they’d close the doors and then they would single out individuals and laugh about them. Newbie called out to Newt who I know gathered as the photographer and told him that I was ready for my close-up. By the way, I’m not crying racism or favoritism but I did notice something disturbing. A Hindu man showed up with his daughter at about 3 while I was in line and I watched them be personally escorted through all the checkpoints such that she was done before I was. At first I thought he was a celebrity or something and asked but no one knew him but there were mumbles that money had indeed exchanged hands at some point to facilitate the hasty processing. I walked over to Newt and he asked me to sit and then almost shyly asked if I had any passport photos. I took out the ones I’d just done that morning, not really giving a damn whether I’d be sent away, I’d come this far already. He looked at them and threw them on the desk and said, “Poor quality, I’ll take my own.” I shuffled back to the stool, sat down and blinked away the thought of how much money I’d pissed on taking eight b/w passport shots as they were useless now. Could I get a refund? Before I sat down, he took all my fingerprints: Each finger three times on three different parts of all the different documents I’d managed during this odyssey. Then he took my shots, told me to wait and so I went to the dodgy restaurant and got myself a much-needed drink as I was dying of thirst. The idiot that I was of course didn’t carry bottled water or any liquid of some sort.
I walked back into the office and my shots were ready! This was the first thing that had been done quickly all this time, even faster than taking the now redundant photos. I stood next to the bored lady as she glued the pictures on the form. She tore out the precious receipt that I would need to pick up the ID later on. She then asked me for the now forgotten Chief’s signature. I told her he wasn’t there and she told me to just check in case he was back and if not she’d put it with all the other applications waiting for his signature. She pointed to a teetering pile that had now collected in a tray. I told her, I’d check and off I went to look for him. There were a couple of officers standing there and one was wearing a plain short-sleeved khaki suit. I went up to him and asked, “Is the Chief here?” He scowled at me, snatched my papers and walked into the office. It hit me that this was the guy, a bright shining civil servant, back to work at quarter to five, just back from a lunch he took at one. As I followed him, I caught the distinct whiff/odor/eau de booze coming from his body. He sat down heavily in his chair and glared at me with blood shot eyes then signed my documents. He had been drinking; at almost five in the afternoon on a Monday, a government official responsible for signing all the documents that come through the busy shacks where national IDs are issued was intoxicated.
He shoved the papers my way and I took them quickly and hurried back to the shack where the cut-off point had been marked. I found Bored Lady and gave them to her and said, I found him. She looked at me in shock, “You did?” I nodded and she turned to where he’d signed and she said, “yes, you did.” As though in wonder. I asked her when I should come get ID and she seemed in a daze as though finding the man was next to impossible which I’m beginning to gather is quite a feat. She mumbled something I couldn’t hear and I asked, “2 months?” as she’d told the person ahead of me. She nodded, “yes, come in two months.” It wasn’t until I sat down to think about it that I realize the 2 month mark must be for the people who didn’t succeed in getting his signature the first time around so I’m going to be brave and check back in 2 weeks.
I will also add, these workers must be overworked, underpaid and definitely under appreciated hence their behavior and dismal work ethics but it doesn’t necessitate treating people like animals and being blatantly mean. This is just one aspect of government here but imagine all the other sectors like Agriculture, Labor, Security, Foreign Office and what everyday people probably have to go through. On my way home, a friend of mine was on the same matatu and I was telling her about my day and she confessed that she’s never gotten her six-year-old daughter’s birth certificate. When she first went to get it, she’d been taken on the run around for two weeks and when she finally got the appropriate paperwork she was told brusquely that the certificate was lost because she took too long and she would have to start from scratch. Unless she wanted to grease some wheels by shelling out some TKK – Toa Kitu Kidogo (give a little something) or Chai ya Wazee (‘tea’ for the old men, tea being alcohol).
There is much corruption in Kenya and it’s blatant and it comes from the top and the trickle effect through the system is a source of much trial, angst and despair of the average to poor Kenyan. Honestly, the ministers are operating in the air up there and cannot see what’s going on at ground level with the ordinary folks and something’s brewing. People can only take so much. There's so much distrust about public officials as they are full of empty promises and this administration is beginning to look like a bit of a bad joke. I can only imagine Newbie, Newt and A. Hole as being just as frustrated with their jobs and having to process documents for people who make so much more money than they do and dealing with having to work in that office all day and not being paid much or enough. I wouldn't go as far as abuse people but I would be frustrated as well.
I'm much better now than I was before. All I have to look forward to know is trying to get my driver's license and I don't drive stick. Oh I wasted the opportunities to learn from an excellent driver (New Yorker's don't count) and I may regret that once I start.
Later darls.
Another thing, the hospitality industry is something I’m trying to get an internship in, but a challenge I’m beginning to face in my being here is, how am I supposed to sell Kenya to others if it can’t even sell itself to Kenyans at this point?
Also, this entry is VERY long so save yourself some time, print it out and read it during a coffee break, at lunch, while in a meeting, in court, on the loo or like my darling friend Corinne who reads it on Le Metro on the way to work in Paris, take some time to laugh or cry or shake your head in wonder.
So I woke up Monday morning, determined to make some progress of some sort on getting the ID. I decided I wouldn’t be pessimistic or prematurely discouraged, rather I would be cautiously optimistic and hope I would make some progress. I stopped by the studio where I had my shots taken and explained to them that what was required as I’d been told the last time were two black and white passport photos not cut into individual shots but left as one. She told me it would take an hour so off I went in search of a cyber café to do some e-mail. My fave one’s server was down so I ended up at the one next to the butchery. (remember the one that gets the meat shipments in boxes with Arabic lettering?) I did my correspondence, checked the dismal performance of my bracket (Wisconsin-Milwaukee? Syracuse? Are you kidding me?) I went back to the studio and she handed me an envelope with the photos and I took them out and they were cut. I slowly lowered my face, shook it slightly and then patiently explained to her what I had wanted, uncut photos and she in turn explained patiently that the photos came out inverted when next to each other and not side by side. I asked why she cut them and she asked me why not? If they were going to be used on an ID they would get cut anyway. Can’t argue with that logic as that’s what I’d been thinking every time I read the haphazardly posted requirements, all of which contradicted each other and never explained why the passport shots must come joined at the hip.
She then told me that just around the corner was a photo studio that did Polaroid shots in black and white and it would be possible for me to get them done that way. So I glanced at my watch, about 9.30 and figured I could spend another hour while they got done. I went to the store in question, inquired whether it was possible, they said yes, I asked how much, about 300 shillings ($3.50), how long, 2 hours. I looked at them, said thank you and walked out and caught the next matatu heading toward the government office. At this point I was still calm, so calm that I figured I’d just go there and if they turned me away for lack of proper photos I’d first verify I had all the proper documents etc. I got there, went to father’s office first to get his ID again which he parted with, with much angst. I flew across the highway (6 lanes, divided, pedestrian walk which is a joke, no traffic light) I got into the line for (and I will kindly describe it) the initial processing office. This is located in the actual building but right near the entrance so the line snaked outside to the front and I was about the fifteenth person to join.
It was about 10.30 by now, and sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds. It had rained the previous night and the day had started out sort of chilly so I’d brought along my anorak. I didn’t care if it rained while I stood outside I was going to get something done with the ID. I had a brought a book along with me so I started reading while more people joined the queue. I was lucky this time, no one anxious to cuddle me just yet and baths had been a priority that day. All was going well although the line moved slowly but I had my book. The sun eventually came out and oh yes, because of the bleak forecast on the morning news, I had not bothered to slap on some sunblock or bring my sunglasses so I had no choice but to roast in the heat. I found a tube of lotion in my bag and basted myself, hoping it had some sort of UV protection factor in it. The line shuffled forward slowly, more people rushed to join from the back and I kept reading and tanning. I would look up when the light became too harsh on my pages and check out the progress on various queues that were forming all over the place at various tin doors. I felt sorry for whoever had to use the facilities, as there were none to speak of. I know the men always went behind the tin shack that housed the officers who would usher me along the road to registration. I went back to my book (Birdsong by Faulk), trying to engross myself in it while ignoring the mumblings of my fellow lines folk. This time the queue was more “civilized” (I hate that word but really can’t think of a better replacement right now). I recognized some of the people, as one’s who’d been turned away the Tuesday before because there was no film (I later found out what the film was for).
My queue moved forward slowly, I glanced at my watch and noted it was about noon by now and there were only four people ahead of me. I glanced back and the line had grown considerably. I rummaged through my bags; made sure I had my passports, dad’s ID & my birth certificate and copies of all these documents in order and the damn passport shots. I gave a short prayer, not for eventual success in obtaining the ID but rather to keep the sense of calm and sanity that I had maintained so far. At last! I was at the front of the line and I took out everything once again, made sure it was in order and the door opened and it was action. I walked in; the same man who’d turned me away was there. He smiled and greeted me politely and even shook my hand as I sat down. He asked whether I had everything and I said, “Yes, I think so.” He then asked why he’d sent me away the first time as he perused the documents I lay before him and I said it was for not having the copy of my father’s ID. He saw that I had it and said, “Good, everything looks like it’s in order. Do you have the photos?” I said yes and reached into my folder with trembling fingers to pull out the blatantly cut up shots but he said, “No, I don’t need those, they’re for later.” I sighed and figured I had gotten this far, let’s see how much further I can go. He took out a long yellow form and filled and another short yellow form. They were basically identical, asking my name, parents’ names and address information. The short form was more of a checklist of personal information while the long one was slightly more detailed requiring more background information. He filled out the forms and kept talking to me, asking me why I had come back, how long I intended to stay, what my plans were. He asked me where I was from and I told him where. (Ok folks, quick lesson, a lot Kenyans have two homes, the first one most likely is in the city, in my case, Nairobi and the other home is where your family originated from and most usually have built holiday homes and still have some family in the area). This man was also from my tribe and asked me if I intended to go back to the village. I replied that I did intend to visit at some point and he leered at me and said, “No, a girl like you needs to keep it in the family, eh? (family being tribe) We need to stick together, you should go home and find a nice man.” He chuckled, I forced a fixed smile and tried to change the subject. I asked him where I needed to go next and he wrote down the room number, which I’ll call 2B. No mention of what I had to do there, just to complete the forms and go to that room. It was about 12.30 so I found a desk near the main entrance and started to fill out the forms.
Like I said it required some biographical information but I had no idea the extent of what was needed. They wanted my name, family names, my constituency, district, division, my location, sub location, my tribe, clan and sub-group, my family clan name, village, sub-village and sub-sub village location. All this being asked of someone who has never voted in this country and on top of that, despite the fact I was born and raised in Nairobi before I left for the home of the brave, I was told by “keep it in the family guy” that my own info was not required and that it was my father’s information that was essential (Again, I pity the kid that’s an orphan.) Suddenly I was scrambling for my phone, texting my brother and asking him, what constituency I belonged to and the sub groups that I was part of and he had no clue. I looked at the back of my dad’s ID and thank goodness most of that info was listed there. So I hurriedly filled in everything but I had left some spaces blank and just hoped I’d get a kind soul to help me out. I went back outside and to my dismay, the queue for 2B resembled the chaos that was apparent the prior week. So I stood off a little ways away from the pack while I tried to figure out everything that was required. I stood wilting in the heat, hoping some sort of semblance would overcome the pack in front of me as they pushed and clawed their way to the front, all the while agitating the officials inside who would periodically appear to yell at them, urging them to get into two lines. Then the officials started picking people at random from the back so my heart soared thinking, my strategy to distance myself might pay off but alas, I’m short so it took a while. Finally one of them, and I’ll call him A. Hole came out with a bunch of white forms and started handing them out to people once he glanced at their documents. I decided to join the pack and pushed my way forward and thrust my papers in his face. He looked at them and said, “Kuja saa nane.” Come at 2 o’clock. So I sighed, gathered my things and walked towards dad’s office.
It was one already and I was thinking I would have to get another matatu and go into town to get a bite to eat as the places around that area looked fairly dodgy. I went to return the ID, which was received like a long lost child and as luck would have it, my father was on his way out to lunch with his grad researcher and invited me along. Pleasant lunch, I recounted what had happened so far, he called me impatient and said, “Welcome to Kenya, deal with it” (Patience is a virtue I have apparently struggled with from childhood. I don’t deny that as a somewhat true assessment but over here, it’s inefficiency and incompetence that have driven me to further lack it). Chat, chat, ok, almost two o’clock, so I head back to his office and collect all my things as I wasn’t sure whether I would be done early enough to come back and fetch them. I run across the highway of madness and find myself back at 2B. Again, people are packing themselves around the door, A. Hole coming out to yell and wag his finger at people calling them idiots. I got into what I hoped looked like the correct line but you couldn’t really see into the shack eh…office to know where you’re supposed to be. I tried to read but gave up shortly when my Right to Space was revoked and a grandma parked herself on my ass. This lady was right on me, almost climbing on top of me in an attempt to somehow absorb herself into my body if it meant she’d get closer to the door. I stood firm, trying to stick out elbows as I pretended to read, planting my feet firmly, slightly apart as though bracing myself for impact. Did this deter her? Oh no, in fact she was determined to use my now solid stature as a leaning post while trying to look forward between the crook of my jutting elbow.
I looked heavenward and squinted immediately as the sun was now out in full force. A. Hole came out again to yell and pick people at random. All in all, I gathered there were three men and a woman in this room. There was A. Hole (take a big guess as to what that means) who received the registration payments of about 50shillings (about 75¢), then there was Newt (this guy was on a power trip of epic mileage and would tell people that he wasn’t going to help them that day just because) & Newbie (because he was the only one who hadn’t picked up on the true nature of government officials in Kenya…yet) At about 3, I’d just about had it. A. Hole had come out and in between his rants and raves had asked who needed to pay for their registration. I pushed my way to the front and into the shack. There were about desks scattered all around, mountains of application forms piled in filing trays, and a Polaroid camera set up in the one of the corners. I eyed it suspiciously while fishing for change from my purse. I pulled out 50 shillings in coins as I thought convenience is what this man wanted. I had a hundred shilling note tucked away somewhere but jingled the coins anyway. A burly civilian dressed officer pointed me into a corner right next to the A. Hole’s desk and I waited patiently for my turn. When it came up, I put my paperwork on the table and he turned one page and said, “You need the Chief’s signature and I don’t want change, only notes.” I took out the hundred and he looked at me again, “I don’t give change.” He then scrunched my papers together and shoved them in my direction.
I walked out, looking at the queue that was now growing, tears prickling my eyes in frustration. I seriously thought about leaving at this point but there was no way I was going to come and burn again the following day. I went back into the main building and found a secretary and asked her where his office was. She pointed me to a closed door and I knocked on it and went in without waiting for an answer. Not being rude, I just realized I needed to start being a bit of a bully if I wanted to get anywhere. There was a man in there reading some files and I asked him where the Chief was and he said that he’d be coming in the next half hour. (The Chief is the administrator of a location and apparently he has to sign off on all documents) I waited for all of five minutes and then went to one of the nearby dodgy food places and changed the hundred shilling note into fifties so I could use the change for my matatu fare.
I went back to stand at the chief’s door and was joined later by this woman. I asked her whether she was waiting for the chief, she nodded yes. We stared at a couple of officers coming and going through the doors and one went into a restricted room and came out carrying a pistol rather carelessly by his side. I gathered my things and held them tightly in case the gun went off. He actually started to load it standing a few feet away from me while talking and laughing with his colleagues, pointing the gun in my general direction while he loaded the clip. I held my breath and inched away until he walked away with them and went into a separate office. I started chatting with lady and found out that she’d actually tried to get her replacement ID from another office and had to come to this one as she’d been asked for 200 shillings “to hasten her application”, by a government officer, money she couldn’t obviously afford. She said, she wasn’t sure this office would be any different but she had no choice but to try. We chatted for a bit and watched this woman whom I will politely assess as a call girl come through and she marched straight to me and asked where people got their ID cards. I pointed her in the direction of the first long queue I’d gone through three times in a row. She marched straight through the door ignoring the people who’d been standing and waiting for a long time. A short while later, she came out with the same yellow forms I’d sweated for the whole morning and off to room 2 B where she once again jumped the line.
I was now livid at this point but tried to stay calm and not become the hysterical, angry and frustrated mess that were my inner emotions. I gathered my paperwork, went back to the 2 B and badgered my way through. By this time the people in line had assumed I was making some progress so they let me through without much fuss. A. Hole was talking softly and laughing gently with the “pro” while I stood behind her and his eyes fell on me and he told me to wait outside. So I did, simmering slowly and in about 5 minutes, she came out holding an original receipt for her ID card, which he told her to come back for at the end of the week. I went in and put my paperwork on the desk, standing next to him (no such animals as chairs). I gave him the money, which he threw into a drawer that was filled with incredibly with notes of all denominations so I know he’d been giving change left and right.
I bit my lip and kept quiet, not wanting to aggravate him in anyway. He was putting coded numbers next to all the tribe, location etc. information that was on the yellow sheets, I’m assuming for census information. He then laughed and hit my arm with his pen (more playful not to hurt), “What’s wrong with you? Do you not know your sub-location and family name?” I had asked my dad what the family name was and he told me but A. Hole scratched it right out and did a variation of my last name. Then he hit me again, “Where have you been, why don’t you have a card? How do you not know these things?” The affidavit was right there but I had to explain why I’d been out of the country and perhaps that’s why I didn’t know a sub-village from a sub-location and etc. info a city kid has no clue about. “You are wasting my time you know that?” he said, pointing the pen at me at this point. I kept quiet, staring at a mark on his desk. He kept badgering me and poking me and then he started to speak to me in my tribal language….a language I have not spoken in complete sentences oh, my entire life as nobody ever spoke it with regularity at home. I told him quietly that I didn’t understand what he was saying. He stared at me incredulously and started to whale on me, “What do you mean you don’t speak the language? What if you are working in that region and you can’t communicate with the people? What if your husband (he assuming I’d marry into the tribe) is posted in that area and you can’t speak the language, eh?” At this point I wanted to ask what I worked in an area where that was not the primary language. I mumbled something about being out of the country, staring straight ahead fighting not to let a tear out of my eyes. He shook his head and went back to writing saying, “Usini letea maneno mjinga.” Which means, “Don’t bring me stupid stories” or “Don’t bring me stories stupid”, depending on his connotation and I will safely assume he meant both.
At this point I was so close to crying but there have been very few men worth my tears and A. Hole was not going to join that club so I bit down and focused on my determination to get this over and done with. Over and over my awesome brother’s words kept rolling in my head, “Just write it down in your blog, you’ll feel better.” So I concentrated on what the little shit was doing. He then made me put my left thumb on a flat ink-rolled block and then smeared the print on the yellow receipt paper, which he handed me. Then he called out for the next person. I asked him where I should go and he pointed me in the vague direction of two desks. One manned by Newbie and the other by a very bored lady. I went to Newbie who looked at my paper work and at first glance asked me why I didn’t have a Christian name. This is a question I’m commonly asked as to why I don’t have a Christian name like Joan, Sally or Cathy. I told him that it’s just the way I was named. He then asked me whether I was “saved”. I kept quiet at first, still stuck in the land of the free, I was/still operating on a separate church and state mentality. I wanted to tell him, “Isn’t that illegal you asking me that?” and then I remembered where I was so I shut up. “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?” I gave a little smile and said, “Why do you ask?” “Do you love the Lord?” he persisted. I realized I was going to have to answer this man or this was my stop for the day. I started to open my mouth and he laughed and then pointed me to the bored lady. I walked over to her, still in shock and she gave me a white form to fill out, with my name, address, d.o.b and signature. It had space for all my fingerprints and a four-finger palm print followed by individual thumb print boxes. I left the shack and went back to the Chief’s office to see if he’d returned and but he was still MIA.
It was about a quarter to four by now and the offices closed at five. I filled out the form and went back to 2 B. (by the way, there is a 2 A, not sure what happens there.) I walked back to Newbie’s desk and he took out yet another form, which I had to fill out with the same particulars as before but this one contained the actual ID card info and typeset. I was getting more encouraged because Newbie was actually telling me exactly what to do and talking quietly at the same time. He even didn’t chase me out of the office and just pointed me to a less busy part of his desk to finish the application. I think he’d overheard A. Hole berating me and may have been showing me some kindness.
Newt and A. Hole were chatting now quite loudly about the people still waiting outside and looking for a cut-off person for the day as it was four now. They would keep yelling at people telling them to move away or they’d close the doors and then they would single out individuals and laugh about them. Newbie called out to Newt who I know gathered as the photographer and told him that I was ready for my close-up. By the way, I’m not crying racism or favoritism but I did notice something disturbing. A Hindu man showed up with his daughter at about 3 while I was in line and I watched them be personally escorted through all the checkpoints such that she was done before I was. At first I thought he was a celebrity or something and asked but no one knew him but there were mumbles that money had indeed exchanged hands at some point to facilitate the hasty processing. I walked over to Newt and he asked me to sit and then almost shyly asked if I had any passport photos. I took out the ones I’d just done that morning, not really giving a damn whether I’d be sent away, I’d come this far already. He looked at them and threw them on the desk and said, “Poor quality, I’ll take my own.” I shuffled back to the stool, sat down and blinked away the thought of how much money I’d pissed on taking eight b/w passport shots as they were useless now. Could I get a refund? Before I sat down, he took all my fingerprints: Each finger three times on three different parts of all the different documents I’d managed during this odyssey. Then he took my shots, told me to wait and so I went to the dodgy restaurant and got myself a much-needed drink as I was dying of thirst. The idiot that I was of course didn’t carry bottled water or any liquid of some sort.
I walked back into the office and my shots were ready! This was the first thing that had been done quickly all this time, even faster than taking the now redundant photos. I stood next to the bored lady as she glued the pictures on the form. She tore out the precious receipt that I would need to pick up the ID later on. She then asked me for the now forgotten Chief’s signature. I told her he wasn’t there and she told me to just check in case he was back and if not she’d put it with all the other applications waiting for his signature. She pointed to a teetering pile that had now collected in a tray. I told her, I’d check and off I went to look for him. There were a couple of officers standing there and one was wearing a plain short-sleeved khaki suit. I went up to him and asked, “Is the Chief here?” He scowled at me, snatched my papers and walked into the office. It hit me that this was the guy, a bright shining civil servant, back to work at quarter to five, just back from a lunch he took at one. As I followed him, I caught the distinct whiff/odor/eau de booze coming from his body. He sat down heavily in his chair and glared at me with blood shot eyes then signed my documents. He had been drinking; at almost five in the afternoon on a Monday, a government official responsible for signing all the documents that come through the busy shacks where national IDs are issued was intoxicated.
He shoved the papers my way and I took them quickly and hurried back to the shack where the cut-off point had been marked. I found Bored Lady and gave them to her and said, I found him. She looked at me in shock, “You did?” I nodded and she turned to where he’d signed and she said, “yes, you did.” As though in wonder. I asked her when I should come get ID and she seemed in a daze as though finding the man was next to impossible which I’m beginning to gather is quite a feat. She mumbled something I couldn’t hear and I asked, “2 months?” as she’d told the person ahead of me. She nodded, “yes, come in two months.” It wasn’t until I sat down to think about it that I realize the 2 month mark must be for the people who didn’t succeed in getting his signature the first time around so I’m going to be brave and check back in 2 weeks.
I will also add, these workers must be overworked, underpaid and definitely under appreciated hence their behavior and dismal work ethics but it doesn’t necessitate treating people like animals and being blatantly mean. This is just one aspect of government here but imagine all the other sectors like Agriculture, Labor, Security, Foreign Office and what everyday people probably have to go through. On my way home, a friend of mine was on the same matatu and I was telling her about my day and she confessed that she’s never gotten her six-year-old daughter’s birth certificate. When she first went to get it, she’d been taken on the run around for two weeks and when she finally got the appropriate paperwork she was told brusquely that the certificate was lost because she took too long and she would have to start from scratch. Unless she wanted to grease some wheels by shelling out some TKK – Toa Kitu Kidogo (give a little something) or Chai ya Wazee (‘tea’ for the old men, tea being alcohol).
There is much corruption in Kenya and it’s blatant and it comes from the top and the trickle effect through the system is a source of much trial, angst and despair of the average to poor Kenyan. Honestly, the ministers are operating in the air up there and cannot see what’s going on at ground level with the ordinary folks and something’s brewing. People can only take so much. There's so much distrust about public officials as they are full of empty promises and this administration is beginning to look like a bit of a bad joke. I can only imagine Newbie, Newt and A. Hole as being just as frustrated with their jobs and having to process documents for people who make so much more money than they do and dealing with having to work in that office all day and not being paid much or enough. I wouldn't go as far as abuse people but I would be frustrated as well.
I'm much better now than I was before. All I have to look forward to know is trying to get my driver's license and I don't drive stick. Oh I wasted the opportunities to learn from an excellent driver (New Yorker's don't count) and I may regret that once I start.
Later darls.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
First, would really like to apologize for the language. I was on a roll yesterday and in my haste forgot to censor myself so please forgive me. I went home last night, upset but relieved that I'd gotten everything off my chest. Had a pleasant evening and when I went to bedI decided not to dwell on my misfortunes so slept with a clear mind. Woke up very early because my niece had decided to steal her mother's phone and called me about 4 times in the span of two minutes; each time I answered she'd giggle and hang up. Urghh! Ashley Simpson pop-up ad on computer! Whew, gone. Oh great, now Yahoo! is down. Oh, thank you to my wonderful amazing fluffy sister who posted my blog yesterday. For some reason I couldn't get onto the website and I tried from 3 different cafes so I e.mailed it to her and she did it. I do adore her but I think she misses me more as a tax dependant.
So anyway, got up, had a lurvly cuppa, went and bought the newspaper and first thing I saw was the attack in North-Western Kenya on the Somali border. Apparently it has been going on for a while. Check out www.eastandard.net which is the Daily Standard dated March 16th . The pictures are absolutely horrific. I was reading the paper in a matatu and gagged when I read the story. The woman on the front who's lying on a hospital bed with a bandaged arm and chest; her name is Fatuma Abdullahi, 23. "She sustained multiple gun wounds on her abdomen and had her breast chopped off." No words to describe that. Apparently it's been an ongoing arguement between two tribes about land. Awful, awful.
So today I've decided to commit random acts of kindness as I'll feel better about myself and the world in general and so far I'm in a pretty buoyant mood so it's working. I strongly encourage y'all to try it. I'm running errands around town and I have to go grocery shopping in a bit. Going to go to my cousin's salon. Very sad, she said they haven't had a client for days, people are broke, can't afford to look good anymore. I think I'll get a manicure and try con someone to come with me.
Parliament starts again today. They were on holiday or something. I wonder what the main topic will be, oh I know. "We deserve a raise for all the hard work we've done!" Motion passed, instant salary hikes, the gap continues to grow. Honestly, some of the politicians here live on an entirely different planet. They want raises, mileage allowances, money, money, money. Lol, if you read about the fake currency ring that was busted last week, four ministers were the biggest victims of an elaborate WEST African scam. I'll try get the particulars about it as it is an interesting story.
More later, good day though.
So anyway, got up, had a lurvly cuppa, went and bought the newspaper and first thing I saw was the attack in North-Western Kenya on the Somali border. Apparently it has been going on for a while. Check out www.eastandard.net which is the Daily Standard dated March 16th . The pictures are absolutely horrific. I was reading the paper in a matatu and gagged when I read the story. The woman on the front who's lying on a hospital bed with a bandaged arm and chest; her name is Fatuma Abdullahi, 23. "She sustained multiple gun wounds on her abdomen and had her breast chopped off." No words to describe that. Apparently it's been an ongoing arguement between two tribes about land. Awful, awful.
So today I've decided to commit random acts of kindness as I'll feel better about myself and the world in general and so far I'm in a pretty buoyant mood so it's working. I strongly encourage y'all to try it. I'm running errands around town and I have to go grocery shopping in a bit. Going to go to my cousin's salon. Very sad, she said they haven't had a client for days, people are broke, can't afford to look good anymore. I think I'll get a manicure and try con someone to come with me.
Parliament starts again today. They were on holiday or something. I wonder what the main topic will be, oh I know. "We deserve a raise for all the hard work we've done!" Motion passed, instant salary hikes, the gap continues to grow. Honestly, some of the politicians here live on an entirely different planet. They want raises, mileage allowances, money, money, money. Lol, if you read about the fake currency ring that was busted last week, four ministers were the biggest victims of an elaborate WEST African scam. I'll try get the particulars about it as it is an interesting story.
More later, good day though.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Before ID Part 2
The Tragedy that is obtaining a Kenyan ID card.
So day one went like this, spend x amount of shillings on passport size photos and since they are required by just about everyone including the guy selling you the dodgy meat, there goes at least 3 beers and some change. And it's not getting any cooler so these are necessary items for bare existence in this heat. So off to the District Officer's office, a term I use loosely as the structure although nice and new looking from the outside resembles the hallways of a city toilet. I shall refrain from calling out this location until the next time I'm truly pissed off....which will be really soon. So anyway, there's the main building and what appears to be a four room shack on the outside with and a mini kiosk that no doubt charges outrageous prices. So when you get there, there is absolutely no indication as to which door you are supposed to head for. There are posters that tell you the requirements for a national ID. Your birth certificate (original and copy), a parent's national ID (original and copy, I pity the fool that's an orphan) and/ or your birth certificate.....again, your school leaving certificate (high school diploma) and your parent's ID. You with me on this? Nowhere on this sheet does it mention you have to obtain an affidavit to explain why you have not been in the country since you were 17. Thanks to a diligent sibling, I obtained that before I made the great trek to the place that is an example of the government functioning at the absolute minimum effort required.
So I managed to flag down a self-important looking guard (not sure whether they're military or rent-a-cops) and he pointed me in the direction of a door marked which was in the shack attached to the main building. So I jump in line and it was as though people were waiting for me to show up because five other people immediately lined up behind me on a queue that had no more than 2 people. I shrugged my shoulders while discreetly rearranging my numerous documents which had grown in number in the folder that was securely if not practically attached to my body. By the way I was now carrying,
-2 passports, old and new
-2 photocopies of old and new passports
-Birth certificate (copy and original)
-8 passport sized photos (3 beers)
-Dad's ID (pried from unwilling fingers...now I know why)
-3 copies of an affidavit from my Kenyan attorney (I have more than one...and no job, no ID...sigh)
-500Ksh to register for the ID (the board was extremely vague about the fee so I carried more than this and in loose change as I didn't want to get caught in the "Hakuna change, rudi kesho!" trap. "There's no change, come back tomorrow." Very popular term here, substitute "change" for forms, film, boss, pens, beer etc. and change "kesho" (tomorrow) into weeks, months, years, decades.
While I was arranging my stuff, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to face this frightened teenager who asked, "Is this the line for the receipt or for fingerprinting?" I looked behind her and realized all the people who'd jumped in line behind me were staring at me intently like I knew. It was at that moment I confirmed that I was indeed in deep shit. So no one knew where we were supposed to be. I did the Kenyan dance of indecision and jumped to another queue (5A) which was much shorter and therefore I was guaranteed a swift kick in the butt in the right direction when I asked "Is this where I apply for my national ID." I was s told to stand outside the main building in a queue that ended at what appeared to be a permanently shut door with the title, District Registrar.
Hmm, promising, I thought. At least I was in a line that had been pointed out to me by a civil servant and not a dodgy looking guard/cop/still not sure what, chewing miraa (legal drug just looks like a twig). As I stood there, a heavily perfumed girl stood beside me, actually, practically on top of me. Ah yes, the Kenyan concept of space....non-existent, "what is this space you speak of?” I'd forgotten about it especially with matatus being better regulated and there was no overcrowding. Well, a queue manages to make for that. This girl was on the verge of climbing me; if somebody leaned forward, that signified a giant step had been taken so she felt the right to move close to me that we shared an intimacy I haven't experienced in weeks. I did the whole put your hands on your hips to stick your elbows way out so I was shoving right back into her and then I realized I was practically rubbing her and she still didn't move! So I did a little sideways step but planted a leg directly in front of her to discourage further fondling. The line barely moved as one person entered the office and an idiot cut in line (sent directly from 5C having by passed A & B therefore achieving the 'ignore all the minions and cut in line' status) The little bitch behind me cut in front of me and I said, "Wtf are you doing? Are you cutting?" And she mumbled that the line had moved forward, "To where?" I pointed? She kept quiet but didn't budge so I turned around and said, "Puhleaze, you cut me and I'll cut you." Rude yes, effective, absolutely not. She kept her distance for all of two seconds and we were back to being lovers. URGHHHHH
So while my new best friend and I shuffled forward and more people cut in line, I finally reached the nirvana that is the registrar's door and I was summoned in by a very dodgy looking man. "Good afternoon," I said, smiling warmly, batting eye-lashes. A little flattery gets you everywhere, I figured I'd go the helpless female route, didn't want to show the man I was pissed off and ready to do battle. He smiled back and asked for my documents. I fumbled through; reading out loud all the paper work I had gave up and just dumped everything on his desk. He picked up one of the passports, said my name and said, "But you do not look Kenyan....where are you from?" "Ummm, Nairobi, I've been out of the country, there's my affidavit" He then asked for my birth certificate, I gave hi the original, he shook his head and said, "I don't want this one, the copy please?" So I passed it to him still talking (I wasn't sure what I was saying, just pleasantly surprised that it was going really fast. Then he asked for my father's ID, I gave it to him and he shook his head again, "no, the copy please.”Ahem, sorry what?" (Refer to list of contents) "I need the copy of his ID." Which I didn't have of course. Then he asked me whether I had the passport photos, I said yes, he said color, I nodded eagerly, he smiled and said, "Black and white please, uncut." My face dropped and I started to gather my things and then he said I should come back next week and I asked in my oh-so-ignorant-thinking-I'm-still-in-the-land-of-the-free way, "Why can't I come tomorrow? I'll be here tomorrow." He looked shocked then said, ok.
So off I went, back to my dad's and dropped off all the documents you really don't want to be carrying around Nairobi i.e. all of them and he fell onto his ID card like it had just been issued. So off I went to town, did some e.mailing, back home, watched my nephew drool, Sopranos and then bedtime.
This morning I woke up with the optimism of a foreigner in Kenya and went off to do the black and white photos. The place I got the color shots done wanted 3 beers and some change again and they would only give me four pics and it would take two hours. I glanced at my watch, was approaching 10 a.m and decided to hunt for another place. Sure enough I found a quiet studio that would only cost me one an half beers 150 shillings and take one hour so I sat down, took the shot and wandered off in such of an ATM. As soon as my shots were done (by the way if you're skin is dark, black and white shots will define you as a beauty or a beast and let me tell you, I will kill the first m.f who asks me for my ID...when..ever I get it) Off I went, back to Dad's office, got his ID, ran across six lanes of death wish traffic and found myself outside the door again. The queue was the same; my lover wasn't there so she must have lucked out the day before. There were a couple of desperate looking youth....much like the idiot who stole that woman's money the other day but I saw my miraa chewing cop/guard/still have no clue what he is guy standing in the shade swinging his baton so wasn't too worried.
The line cutters were rabid today though and all over the place but I'd smartened up and brought a book so I ignored them and immersed myself in the thoroughly engrossing bestseller Malibu, by Pat Booth. Laugh and point now but it distracted me very well. So there I was for about an hour, being patient about standing next to a very smelly men's toilet and tightly locked women's and inching closer. Oh yeah, I'd managed to find another lover, not as obnoxious as the first but almost as needy. There were only two people in front of me and I was beginning to sigh with hope as my card suddenly seemed attainable. The only thing that worried me was that most of the people had passport photos that were uncut i.e., two pictures together instead of cut into individual shots. But they only use one picture on the ID card so while I was pondering this, the same dodgy looking guy came out and said, "All first time applicants come back on Monday, we're out of film."
Say what? Film for what? Was I going on camera? WTF! And half the line silently left. I walked out behind them, pulling down my sunglasses as if to protect from the glaring sun but was really to hide the deluge of tears that were already prickling behind my eyes. I couldn't believe it but as my friend J who I'm beginning to dislike says, "Welcome to Kenya" As I once again crossed six lanes of hell I whipped out my phone and started calling everyone to vent. I called Brother 2, “Calm down, we’ll try again on Monday.” Click, I hung up. I called Brother 1, “He he he, welcome to Kenya, this how things work…”Slam, I hung up. I got to dad’s office, went up and he wasn’t in thank God. I sat down and had a very angry cry while I sent him a text explaining yet another failure. I sent a text to yet another lawyer (I have no job, no house, no ID card but I have lawyers like I’m Trump) saying, “I want to sue the government on grounds of severe disorganization and gross incompetence.” To which he replied, “Pray tell why? I’m in Bangkok where the government almost always works and for the Rugby World Cup, Are you well?” “You’re Fired!” I screamed at my phone. Kidding, I did fire him though he just doesn’t know it yet.
I’m livid. This whole process is just indicative of how fucking frustrating it is to live here. I’m the one who wants to get into the hospitality industry; while training here, touting the qualities of Kenya not just as a place to visit but the vast possibilities about investing in it and the future Kenya has in a global market yet I’m having a hard time even liking the place because the government treats it’s own people like SHIT. I just want the ID card; do they want me to sacrifice a cow or something? URGHHHHH!! I can’t carry my passport around in this city. It’s the only ID I have and God forbid I lose it and have to go through the hell of replacing it.
Oh, to add to my misery today, I tried to publish this blog and the host site quit on me so it’s in blog purgatory somewhere. Oh well, I think one day I HOPE I will read this and laugh at my naiveté and shake my head but for now I’ll just be pessimistic. If I expect the worst, when it does happen, I’ll be prepared for it. Don’t forget folks, I still don’t have a Kenyan driving license. SOB.
Lol. I think I’ll drink eight passport photos tonight that should set me straight.
So day one went like this, spend x amount of shillings on passport size photos and since they are required by just about everyone including the guy selling you the dodgy meat, there goes at least 3 beers and some change. And it's not getting any cooler so these are necessary items for bare existence in this heat. So off to the District Officer's office, a term I use loosely as the structure although nice and new looking from the outside resembles the hallways of a city toilet. I shall refrain from calling out this location until the next time I'm truly pissed off....which will be really soon. So anyway, there's the main building and what appears to be a four room shack on the outside with and a mini kiosk that no doubt charges outrageous prices. So when you get there, there is absolutely no indication as to which door you are supposed to head for. There are posters that tell you the requirements for a national ID. Your birth certificate (original and copy), a parent's national ID (original and copy, I pity the fool that's an orphan) and/ or your birth certificate.....again, your school leaving certificate (high school diploma) and your parent's ID. You with me on this? Nowhere on this sheet does it mention you have to obtain an affidavit to explain why you have not been in the country since you were 17. Thanks to a diligent sibling, I obtained that before I made the great trek to the place that is an example of the government functioning at the absolute minimum effort required.
So I managed to flag down a self-important looking guard (not sure whether they're military or rent-a-cops) and he pointed me in the direction of a door marked which was in the shack attached to the main building. So I jump in line and it was as though people were waiting for me to show up because five other people immediately lined up behind me on a queue that had no more than 2 people. I shrugged my shoulders while discreetly rearranging my numerous documents which had grown in number in the folder that was securely if not practically attached to my body. By the way I was now carrying,
-2 passports, old and new
-2 photocopies of old and new passports
-Birth certificate (copy and original)
-8 passport sized photos (3 beers)
-Dad's ID (pried from unwilling fingers...now I know why)
-3 copies of an affidavit from my Kenyan attorney (I have more than one...and no job, no ID...sigh)
-500Ksh to register for the ID (the board was extremely vague about the fee so I carried more than this and in loose change as I didn't want to get caught in the "Hakuna change, rudi kesho!" trap. "There's no change, come back tomorrow." Very popular term here, substitute "change" for forms, film, boss, pens, beer etc. and change "kesho" (tomorrow) into weeks, months, years, decades.
While I was arranging my stuff, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to face this frightened teenager who asked, "Is this the line for the receipt or for fingerprinting?" I looked behind her and realized all the people who'd jumped in line behind me were staring at me intently like I knew. It was at that moment I confirmed that I was indeed in deep shit. So no one knew where we were supposed to be. I did the Kenyan dance of indecision and jumped to another queue (5A) which was much shorter and therefore I was guaranteed a swift kick in the butt in the right direction when I asked "Is this where I apply for my national ID." I was s told to stand outside the main building in a queue that ended at what appeared to be a permanently shut door with the title, District Registrar.
Hmm, promising, I thought. At least I was in a line that had been pointed out to me by a civil servant and not a dodgy looking guard/cop/still not sure what, chewing miraa (legal drug just looks like a twig). As I stood there, a heavily perfumed girl stood beside me, actually, practically on top of me. Ah yes, the Kenyan concept of space....non-existent, "what is this space you speak of?” I'd forgotten about it especially with matatus being better regulated and there was no overcrowding. Well, a queue manages to make for that. This girl was on the verge of climbing me; if somebody leaned forward, that signified a giant step had been taken so she felt the right to move close to me that we shared an intimacy I haven't experienced in weeks. I did the whole put your hands on your hips to stick your elbows way out so I was shoving right back into her and then I realized I was practically rubbing her and she still didn't move! So I did a little sideways step but planted a leg directly in front of her to discourage further fondling. The line barely moved as one person entered the office and an idiot cut in line (sent directly from 5C having by passed A & B therefore achieving the 'ignore all the minions and cut in line' status) The little bitch behind me cut in front of me and I said, "Wtf are you doing? Are you cutting?" And she mumbled that the line had moved forward, "To where?" I pointed? She kept quiet but didn't budge so I turned around and said, "Puhleaze, you cut me and I'll cut you." Rude yes, effective, absolutely not. She kept her distance for all of two seconds and we were back to being lovers. URGHHHHH
So while my new best friend and I shuffled forward and more people cut in line, I finally reached the nirvana that is the registrar's door and I was summoned in by a very dodgy looking man. "Good afternoon," I said, smiling warmly, batting eye-lashes. A little flattery gets you everywhere, I figured I'd go the helpless female route, didn't want to show the man I was pissed off and ready to do battle. He smiled back and asked for my documents. I fumbled through; reading out loud all the paper work I had gave up and just dumped everything on his desk. He picked up one of the passports, said my name and said, "But you do not look Kenyan....where are you from?" "Ummm, Nairobi, I've been out of the country, there's my affidavit" He then asked for my birth certificate, I gave hi the original, he shook his head and said, "I don't want this one, the copy please?" So I passed it to him still talking (I wasn't sure what I was saying, just pleasantly surprised that it was going really fast. Then he asked for my father's ID, I gave it to him and he shook his head again, "no, the copy please.”Ahem, sorry what?" (Refer to list of contents) "I need the copy of his ID." Which I didn't have of course. Then he asked me whether I had the passport photos, I said yes, he said color, I nodded eagerly, he smiled and said, "Black and white please, uncut." My face dropped and I started to gather my things and then he said I should come back next week and I asked in my oh-so-ignorant-thinking-I'm-still-in-the-land-of-the-free way, "Why can't I come tomorrow? I'll be here tomorrow." He looked shocked then said, ok.
So off I went, back to my dad's and dropped off all the documents you really don't want to be carrying around Nairobi i.e. all of them and he fell onto his ID card like it had just been issued. So off I went to town, did some e.mailing, back home, watched my nephew drool, Sopranos and then bedtime.
This morning I woke up with the optimism of a foreigner in Kenya and went off to do the black and white photos. The place I got the color shots done wanted 3 beers and some change again and they would only give me four pics and it would take two hours. I glanced at my watch, was approaching 10 a.m and decided to hunt for another place. Sure enough I found a quiet studio that would only cost me one an half beers 150 shillings and take one hour so I sat down, took the shot and wandered off in such of an ATM. As soon as my shots were done (by the way if you're skin is dark, black and white shots will define you as a beauty or a beast and let me tell you, I will kill the first m.f who asks me for my ID...when..ever I get it) Off I went, back to Dad's office, got his ID, ran across six lanes of death wish traffic and found myself outside the door again. The queue was the same; my lover wasn't there so she must have lucked out the day before. There were a couple of desperate looking youth....much like the idiot who stole that woman's money the other day but I saw my miraa chewing cop/guard/still have no clue what he is guy standing in the shade swinging his baton so wasn't too worried.
The line cutters were rabid today though and all over the place but I'd smartened up and brought a book so I ignored them and immersed myself in the thoroughly engrossing bestseller Malibu, by Pat Booth. Laugh and point now but it distracted me very well. So there I was for about an hour, being patient about standing next to a very smelly men's toilet and tightly locked women's and inching closer. Oh yeah, I'd managed to find another lover, not as obnoxious as the first but almost as needy. There were only two people in front of me and I was beginning to sigh with hope as my card suddenly seemed attainable. The only thing that worried me was that most of the people had passport photos that were uncut i.e., two pictures together instead of cut into individual shots. But they only use one picture on the ID card so while I was pondering this, the same dodgy looking guy came out and said, "All first time applicants come back on Monday, we're out of film."
Say what? Film for what? Was I going on camera? WTF! And half the line silently left. I walked out behind them, pulling down my sunglasses as if to protect from the glaring sun but was really to hide the deluge of tears that were already prickling behind my eyes. I couldn't believe it but as my friend J who I'm beginning to dislike says, "Welcome to Kenya" As I once again crossed six lanes of hell I whipped out my phone and started calling everyone to vent. I called Brother 2, “Calm down, we’ll try again on Monday.” Click, I hung up. I called Brother 1, “He he he, welcome to Kenya, this how things work…”Slam, I hung up. I got to dad’s office, went up and he wasn’t in thank God. I sat down and had a very angry cry while I sent him a text explaining yet another failure. I sent a text to yet another lawyer (I have no job, no house, no ID card but I have lawyers like I’m Trump) saying, “I want to sue the government on grounds of severe disorganization and gross incompetence.” To which he replied, “Pray tell why? I’m in Bangkok where the government almost always works and for the Rugby World Cup, Are you well?” “You’re Fired!” I screamed at my phone. Kidding, I did fire him though he just doesn’t know it yet.
I’m livid. This whole process is just indicative of how fucking frustrating it is to live here. I’m the one who wants to get into the hospitality industry; while training here, touting the qualities of Kenya not just as a place to visit but the vast possibilities about investing in it and the future Kenya has in a global market yet I’m having a hard time even liking the place because the government treats it’s own people like SHIT. I just want the ID card; do they want me to sacrifice a cow or something? URGHHHHH!! I can’t carry my passport around in this city. It’s the only ID I have and God forbid I lose it and have to go through the hell of replacing it.
Oh, to add to my misery today, I tried to publish this blog and the host site quit on me so it’s in blog purgatory somewhere. Oh well, I think one day I HOPE I will read this and laugh at my naiveté and shake my head but for now I’ll just be pessimistic. If I expect the worst, when it does happen, I’ll be prepared for it. Don’t forget folks, I still don’t have a Kenyan driving license. SOB.
Lol. I think I’ll drink eight passport photos tonight that should set me straight.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Before ID....after to follow, lol
Hola party people. Yet another hot Monday morning here in NBI but it actually rained last night so the killer rays are coming through some cloud cover. Today I tackle the national ID having finally pinned father figure down at his office as I needed his ID card to obtain my own. Have just taken passport pictures....again. Let me tell you something, my picture is littered all over this country as pretty much everything you do and need entails your passport photo to accompany it. So I'm waiting for the one-hour photo place to develop it. Urghh, I need business suits and stuff. I hate dressing up; I think one of the reasons I'm set on being my own boss is so that I can wear whatever I want, whenever I want....ok, I will dress up when the situation calls for it. Maybe when I can afford the super awesome things I shouldn't even be looking at I'll dress up more and more.
Sad sight of the weekend: There is extensive construction going on in and around my apartment. The owners are expanding continuously, the suburb becoming a city overnight. Well the crews for some reason come in through the main entrance making so much noise at 7 a.m. and stream out at about 6. This chaps are paid by the hour and can work up to seven days a week. Well to feed them, a couple of women actually set up camp outside the complex and prepare daily fare for the workers and I gathered that they are paid at the end of the week. I had gone to do some grocery shopping at a nearby center and on my way back I passed the same crew that I'd seen before arguing with these poor ladies about the price of a week's lunch. It was getting dark and the men were still arguing with one lady who was not having any of their shit. Suddenly, one stupid boy (had to be early 20s) grabbed the bag in which she'd been placing their money and jogged a short distance from her. I think initially he was trying to make change from what he'd given her but she pursued him yelling, "If you're not coming back on Monday then take it all" He kept moving away and then appeared to change his mind and grabbed all the cash, dropped her bag and started to run away. As he ran past me, I thought of tripping him and dropping all my groceries but there were at least 30 workers behind him egging him on and I knew I'd be in a world of trouble. She pursued him, yelling and shaking her fist and some of the other men started to follow, laughing. I just walked faster into my compound shaking my head and feeling sad, angry and guilty at the same time.
sigh, the world can be ugly at times.
More later, I'm off to do errands. I'm carrying my passports which I LOATHE to have in this public but is necessary.
Sad sight of the weekend: There is extensive construction going on in and around my apartment. The owners are expanding continuously, the suburb becoming a city overnight. Well the crews for some reason come in through the main entrance making so much noise at 7 a.m. and stream out at about 6. This chaps are paid by the hour and can work up to seven days a week. Well to feed them, a couple of women actually set up camp outside the complex and prepare daily fare for the workers and I gathered that they are paid at the end of the week. I had gone to do some grocery shopping at a nearby center and on my way back I passed the same crew that I'd seen before arguing with these poor ladies about the price of a week's lunch. It was getting dark and the men were still arguing with one lady who was not having any of their shit. Suddenly, one stupid boy (had to be early 20s) grabbed the bag in which she'd been placing their money and jogged a short distance from her. I think initially he was trying to make change from what he'd given her but she pursued him yelling, "If you're not coming back on Monday then take it all" He kept moving away and then appeared to change his mind and grabbed all the cash, dropped her bag and started to run away. As he ran past me, I thought of tripping him and dropping all my groceries but there were at least 30 workers behind him egging him on and I knew I'd be in a world of trouble. She pursued him, yelling and shaking her fist and some of the other men started to follow, laughing. I just walked faster into my compound shaking my head and feeling sad, angry and guilty at the same time.
sigh, the world can be ugly at times.
More later, I'm off to do errands. I'm carrying my passports which I LOATHE to have in this public but is necessary.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Tourism Fair
Darlings! As I write this, I'm listening to the Gold Collection of The A - Z Encyclopedia of Jazz and sipping a much needed chilled Tusker....from my own fridge. It's a warm evening, open pit fires from various house gatherings throwing sparks and contrasts in the shadows, the piano lounge singer belting out Elvis's "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You", filtering in from the restaurant across the ways, curtains blowing gently in tune, Malcom in the Middle on the telly downstairs...damn, lost the ambiance.
The fair was today! I tried so hard not to be the first one there so I did some sightseeing along the way to the exhibition, checking out the exorbitant prices of crafts and various items at the oh so snobby stores; items that you will very easily find at the open-air Maasai Market on Tuesdays and Saturdays. You can bargain the heck out of everything at the markets and most likely you'll be dealing with a very stubborn maasai lady who will argue her case through an interpreter and finally settle for a price that suits you both while spitting on the ground exclaiming, "You are robbing me blind but you look like someone who will treasure these things I make so I will part with it!" I'm going this Saturday and I'm sooo excited! Oh, check out http://www.kikoy.com/ about the wraps for both men and ladies but I forbid you to buy anything there. You just have to come here and check out the expansive collections and see how kikoys are utilized in their natural environment before you will truly appreciate them and I guarantee you'll be hooked.
So I finally made my way to the fair and was greeted at the entrance by the hosts of the exhibition, The Going Out Guide folks who produce a magazine every month, mainly inflight material for Kenya Airways. It covers various activities, restaurant and hotel reviews in the area and offers specials to the domestic and international tourist as well as provide health and safety guidelines. Nice and comprehensive but often comes out slightly later in the month that's featured. Still a good guide book. I walked in and was greeted by a smiling bui-bui (hijab, typical Muslim woman dress) hostess of the Indian Ocean Beach Club. Her booth was almost infront of the entrance and they had done it up exactly like their lobby in Mombasa so it looked very inviting. I immediately started beaming and felt like a 28 yr old shopping for a vacation.....which I am....ok, not 28, really more 23 no! 21 at heart but you should have seen my face. I was stoked for lack of a better word. I want to be in this industry in whatever capacity I can wedge my way in because I know how I feel when it comes to traveling, holidays, finding a great deal and having a great time away from home, stress, angst etc. Just being away from the norm and feeling pure joy, exhilaration, a surge of energy and an anticipation of the unknown and wanting to expound the experience to the absolute fullest...to the point of exhaustion, fulfillment and satisfaction of achieving something enormously significant and wanting a new vacation immediately it's over just to recover. Lol, make sense? I hope so.
So I started walking around, immediately bombarded with offers, promotions and special rates. Most if not all the hotels, travel agencies, airlines were offering discounts from a 10% minimum upto 30% for booking right then and there at the exhibition fair. The fair goes on until March 13th so there was no rush to get there on Day 1 but y'all know me. Besides I wanted to gather as much information as possible today and then spend the following day analyzing and doing further research as to what would best fit me and in doing this reshape my resume to figure out what aspect of this industry I would be a perfect fit in. So I walked around, sat down on many beach chairs, lay back on a couple of deck chairs, greeted by true Maasai warriors, tasted sweet swahili treats from the Tamarind Restaurant, presented with packages and logos, my favorite one being from the Leopard Beach Hotel "Where Leopards Meet Lobsters" and finding ridiculously cheap deals that have to have a humongous catch somewhere. E.g. Fly to Cairo from Nairobi, roundtrip, 5 nights stay, half-board, a dinner cruise on the last night, daily excursions etc. all for $490. Now I checked and a ticket to Cairo costs about $350 - $400 so I'm a little suspicious about the accommodations and extras they're advertising especially if a regular ticket costs that much. Oh well, nothing to lose, might as well check it out....I'll send someone first.
These are a few of the places I found that I need your picks as I'm confused and in love with all of them.
http://www.serenahotels.com/ - Serena Mountain Village (Tanzania) & Zanzibar Serena Inn
http://www.leopardbeachhotel.com/ - Revamped on an up-market scale. (place used to be fugly)
http://www.neptunehotels.com/ - Paradise Village, amazing rates but something iffy about it
http://www.kililibaharini.com/ - FAVE!!!! Check out the suites and other images....I want this one
http://www.royalreserve.com/ - fully furnished 1-2 bdrm apartments, self-contained....4 p.m checkout!
http://www.turtlebay.co.ke/ - All inclusive, meals, drinks, rooms & a marine park, awesome rates
I haven't even gotten to the rock climbing, mountain hiking, safari driving excursions that are also being offered. More on that.
Back again. Eco-tours are gaining ground in Kenya especially camps and tours organized by the community locals and develop a more self-sustained culture that's not too commercial if not at all. Check out the Masai mara at http://www.basecampexplorer.com/ They are a group that has eco-camps in Spitsbergen, Svalbard, The White Sea, Russia and Masai Mara, Kenya. Very interesting actually. Seems like you interact more with nature and the locals and your fellow company is just as interested in the environment and not what time the Manager's Special kicks off. their rates are actually reasonable.
So I did a comparison chart and I'm going to see how I can attach it to this blog. I'm honestly the worst blogger every. I have links that go nowhere. Lol, anyway, long day today, going to see my Nairobi attorney (I have them everywhere) to get some paperwork, apartment to relax and back to the fair. I did have one very nice gentleman call this morning and he gave me an additional discount on an air package $245, Whitesands hotel, airfare, 2 nights, half-board, airport transfers etc. Not bad eh? But it can go lower! Lol, more later loves! Thanks to the FEW that do respond, you're not on a legendary list.
Oh, how could I forget. If you're thinking of contributing to charities in Kenya actually anywhere for that matter, DO YOUR RESEARCH! Yesterday an agency calling itself the International Relief Agency of Kenya completely vanished with millions of goods and shillings that they had been collecting for a couple of months from various folks. They had established a well stocked office, invited potential donors over, solicited funds, promised them a grand party to reveal where the money was going to be utilized and on the day of said festivities, the offices were found emptied, thieves gone, goods and money vanished. Very sad. But jerks like that get caught easily.
The fair was today! I tried so hard not to be the first one there so I did some sightseeing along the way to the exhibition, checking out the exorbitant prices of crafts and various items at the oh so snobby stores; items that you will very easily find at the open-air Maasai Market on Tuesdays and Saturdays. You can bargain the heck out of everything at the markets and most likely you'll be dealing with a very stubborn maasai lady who will argue her case through an interpreter and finally settle for a price that suits you both while spitting on the ground exclaiming, "You are robbing me blind but you look like someone who will treasure these things I make so I will part with it!" I'm going this Saturday and I'm sooo excited! Oh, check out http://www.kikoy.com/ about the wraps for both men and ladies but I forbid you to buy anything there. You just have to come here and check out the expansive collections and see how kikoys are utilized in their natural environment before you will truly appreciate them and I guarantee you'll be hooked.
So I finally made my way to the fair and was greeted at the entrance by the hosts of the exhibition, The Going Out Guide folks who produce a magazine every month, mainly inflight material for Kenya Airways. It covers various activities, restaurant and hotel reviews in the area and offers specials to the domestic and international tourist as well as provide health and safety guidelines. Nice and comprehensive but often comes out slightly later in the month that's featured. Still a good guide book. I walked in and was greeted by a smiling bui-bui (hijab, typical Muslim woman dress) hostess of the Indian Ocean Beach Club. Her booth was almost infront of the entrance and they had done it up exactly like their lobby in Mombasa so it looked very inviting. I immediately started beaming and felt like a 28 yr old shopping for a vacation.....which I am....ok, not 28, really more 23 no! 21 at heart but you should have seen my face. I was stoked for lack of a better word. I want to be in this industry in whatever capacity I can wedge my way in because I know how I feel when it comes to traveling, holidays, finding a great deal and having a great time away from home, stress, angst etc. Just being away from the norm and feeling pure joy, exhilaration, a surge of energy and an anticipation of the unknown and wanting to expound the experience to the absolute fullest...to the point of exhaustion, fulfillment and satisfaction of achieving something enormously significant and wanting a new vacation immediately it's over just to recover. Lol, make sense? I hope so.
So I started walking around, immediately bombarded with offers, promotions and special rates. Most if not all the hotels, travel agencies, airlines were offering discounts from a 10% minimum upto 30% for booking right then and there at the exhibition fair. The fair goes on until March 13th so there was no rush to get there on Day 1 but y'all know me. Besides I wanted to gather as much information as possible today and then spend the following day analyzing and doing further research as to what would best fit me and in doing this reshape my resume to figure out what aspect of this industry I would be a perfect fit in. So I walked around, sat down on many beach chairs, lay back on a couple of deck chairs, greeted by true Maasai warriors, tasted sweet swahili treats from the Tamarind Restaurant, presented with packages and logos, my favorite one being from the Leopard Beach Hotel "Where Leopards Meet Lobsters" and finding ridiculously cheap deals that have to have a humongous catch somewhere. E.g. Fly to Cairo from Nairobi, roundtrip, 5 nights stay, half-board, a dinner cruise on the last night, daily excursions etc. all for $490. Now I checked and a ticket to Cairo costs about $350 - $400 so I'm a little suspicious about the accommodations and extras they're advertising especially if a regular ticket costs that much. Oh well, nothing to lose, might as well check it out....I'll send someone first.
These are a few of the places I found that I need your picks as I'm confused and in love with all of them.
http://www.serenahotels.com/ - Serena Mountain Village (Tanzania) & Zanzibar Serena Inn
http://www.leopardbeachhotel.com/ - Revamped on an up-market scale. (place used to be fugly)
http://www.neptunehotels.com/ - Paradise Village, amazing rates but something iffy about it
http://www.kililibaharini.com/ - FAVE!!!! Check out the suites and other images....I want this one
http://www.royalreserve.com/ - fully furnished 1-2 bdrm apartments, self-contained....4 p.m checkout!
http://www.turtlebay.co.ke/ - All inclusive, meals, drinks, rooms & a marine park, awesome rates
I haven't even gotten to the rock climbing, mountain hiking, safari driving excursions that are also being offered. More on that.
Back again. Eco-tours are gaining ground in Kenya especially camps and tours organized by the community locals and develop a more self-sustained culture that's not too commercial if not at all. Check out the Masai mara at http://www.basecampexplorer.com/ They are a group that has eco-camps in Spitsbergen, Svalbard, The White Sea, Russia and Masai Mara, Kenya. Very interesting actually. Seems like you interact more with nature and the locals and your fellow company is just as interested in the environment and not what time the Manager's Special kicks off. their rates are actually reasonable.
So I did a comparison chart and I'm going to see how I can attach it to this blog. I'm honestly the worst blogger every. I have links that go nowhere. Lol, anyway, long day today, going to see my Nairobi attorney (I have them everywhere) to get some paperwork, apartment to relax and back to the fair. I did have one very nice gentleman call this morning and he gave me an additional discount on an air package $245, Whitesands hotel, airfare, 2 nights, half-board, airport transfers etc. Not bad eh? But it can go lower! Lol, more later loves! Thanks to the FEW that do respond, you're not on a legendary list.
Oh, how could I forget. If you're thinking of contributing to charities in Kenya actually anywhere for that matter, DO YOUR RESEARCH! Yesterday an agency calling itself the International Relief Agency of Kenya completely vanished with millions of goods and shillings that they had been collecting for a couple of months from various folks. They had established a well stocked office, invited potential donors over, solicited funds, promised them a grand party to reveal where the money was going to be utilized and on the day of said festivities, the offices were found emptied, thieves gone, goods and money vanished. Very sad. But jerks like that get caught easily.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Rhino Charge
So I had a great weekend. I found yet another huge shopping mall, this one more stereotypical of what you'd expect. The only thing is the walkways in front of the stores is extremely narrow. Also, the clothing stores look "busy" as the merchandise looks clattered. In most you can't tell where men clothes end and women's begin, same for shoe arrangements. Oh, and the sales people will follow you everywhere. Doesn't matter how nicely dressed you are, there will be someone right by your side, practically hugging you as you make your way around the store checking out the goods. Their intention I know is to help you find something and you will need them as the size charts are practically Mandarin. e.g., my shoe size 8, here 6, dresses are done sometimes in centimetres and not inches and the clothing they have on display will have varied measurements based on their countries of origin. "My Space" is an alien concept and it will take time to the concept of the severe lack of it.
The mall had an amazing food court; chinese, indian, typical fast food etc. Then I found a lounge/bar called Zebra, tucked away in the corner. It's hidden by huge pieces of complementing fabric that hang from the ceiling to the floor and the colors within remind me of a very warm summer evening by an outdoor fire. Very nice place and they were showing soccer games, woo hoo! The menu looked great didn't try anything and they also have the shisha pipes. (I'm not sure when that became increasingly popular because they are everywhere) Kenyans are ingenious by design and use of available resources. The bar had utilized a large piece of Mabati - sheet metal that would have been scrapped a long time ago. Instead they beat it flat, welded three racks of shelves, drilled symmetrical holes all across the bottom (about 4 x 8) in three seperate panels and fixed a light source behind the holes. Then they took it and stuck it on a wall and voila, you have a raw bar wall, strong enough to hold all their booze, the rivets and welded parts clearly visible and not hidden, the light coming through the holes, throwing a soft glow on the bar....beautiful piece, all made by the Jua Kali industry.
Jua Kali literally translated means "Hot Sun". It refers to an industry of tradesmen and skilled artisans who make anything and everything while sitting out in the open air. They tend to move from place to place but in the 80s the governement helped them establish a niche in the main industrial area. They make charcoal stoves, rubber sandals, kitchen knives, pots, pans, etc. etc. More and more businesses are turning to them to use their craft as centerpieces or accents for their own products. A great industry but the market is now awash with even cheaper imitations from a country that shall remain nameless for now.
Anyway, really nice lounge but we were off, to the other end of Nairobi. A suburb called Runda. This is where all the UN, embassies, NGO's and the serious "haves" live. The money here is just plain sick. The drive there was interesting because the scenery changed so abruptly from crowded, dirty apartment buildings almost on the road to expansive, green spacious well protected lawns with huge mansions in the background. When we got to Runda, tons of embassies all over the place, the Canadian one is something of an architectural delight, good to know the UNEP offices were there too. Anyway, we got to Village Market which is a mega....doesn't even qualify as a mall, has a great big grocery store, huge food court area (sushi served here), a miniature golf course, swimming pool, huge slides (the Splash City I lost my hearing to), bowling alley, movie theatre, restaurants and clothing stores. Basically an international zone because you will forget where you are instantly.
I was there for a close friend's birthday party and my brothers had come as well, there were about 30 people in our group. Was a lot of fun reminiscing about growing up in Kenya, a lot of laughter. Then someone mentioned the Rhino Charge. This is a charity event held once a year and it's usually for the continued conservation of the public parks usually in the form of building fences to keep people out and the animals in. There's a registration fee of not more than $300 (I'll need to do more research) and your own vehicle and I think about 4 - people per car. It is limited to sixty vehicles. Registration closes months ahead of time and the sponsors will not tell you where the race will be until about 3 weeks before it starts and it will most likely be at one of the game parks or super remote regions.
Last year's race was a 62km event; a basic get to point B from A in a day with mandatory check point areas. The map will not indicate precise locations, it's basic navigation at it's purest form. Although GPS units are now being used. I got this from their site: "The challenge of the event is for the entrants to reach 10 Guard Posts (Control Posts), whose whereabouts are only revealed to the entrants on the night before, each Post set up in a remote and tricky location. The teams of up to six people set off at dawn with ten hours of difficult driving ahead of them to reach all ten checkpoints by the shortest route possible - testing endurance, engineering and navigational skills. Speed is not a feature of the Charge." Check it out at http://www.kilimanjaro.com/rhinoark/rhinocharge.htm
The winner of the event is the team who manages to complete the course with the least distance recorded as well as the most money raised. The participants are put up in tented camps and the services are not to shabby and since the event is held right before the heavy rains, the terrain is dry and dusty. It sounded like so much fun, I hope to do it sometime in my lifetime. There are awards but the funniest is the Forkawe award which means "where the f*** are we?". It's given to the team who gets lost in the most spectacular of fashions and last year's winner found himself in Tanzania and had to be spirited out before immigration caught wind of the unwilling illegal alien. He'd somehow crossed the border and having no passport or appropriate paper work was dubbed the award champ.
After much laughter, we headed into the mega whatever to a club called Sikiliza meaning "listen" where we watched an amazing jazz perfomance by legendary local Mercy Myra. The girl's voice is rich! What a singer, I didn't know how versatile the music scene had become. The lounge area of the club was okay, lots of tourists, nice lighting, atmosphere but not enough seating. The club area was very hip, better than a lot of the places I've been to in CLE actually but the d.j. hmmm. He would play an amazing set of house music and then abruptly cut it off to put in a Michelle Branch/Vanessa Carlton (can't tell the difference to this day) slooooow song. Then on one set he just let a Kylie Minogue cd play through without mixing. Totally ruined the ambience but was a very nice place, empty as well. Saturday's are best spent at house parties or quiet restaurant evenings, not so much a clubbing night.
Nice drive back home at one in the morning, stopped at a gas station to do car switches. Oh, always travel in a convoy. We were in a three car caravan and all the occupants had to switch at the gas station in order to ensure at least one person is alert because they're not in their own vehicle. Very smart move. Alas, the gas station had a huge food court Pizza Inn/Chicken Inn/Burger Inn.....I think it's the same company, ha ha. Anyway, Kenyan fries at 2 in the morning....delicious. Had to do 100 extra crunches the next day but was totally worth it.
Again, sorry for spelling/grammar errors. The spell check has refused to come up. Oh well, I'll edit later when I have time.
The mall had an amazing food court; chinese, indian, typical fast food etc. Then I found a lounge/bar called Zebra, tucked away in the corner. It's hidden by huge pieces of complementing fabric that hang from the ceiling to the floor and the colors within remind me of a very warm summer evening by an outdoor fire. Very nice place and they were showing soccer games, woo hoo! The menu looked great didn't try anything and they also have the shisha pipes. (I'm not sure when that became increasingly popular because they are everywhere) Kenyans are ingenious by design and use of available resources. The bar had utilized a large piece of Mabati - sheet metal that would have been scrapped a long time ago. Instead they beat it flat, welded three racks of shelves, drilled symmetrical holes all across the bottom (about 4 x 8) in three seperate panels and fixed a light source behind the holes. Then they took it and stuck it on a wall and voila, you have a raw bar wall, strong enough to hold all their booze, the rivets and welded parts clearly visible and not hidden, the light coming through the holes, throwing a soft glow on the bar....beautiful piece, all made by the Jua Kali industry.
Jua Kali literally translated means "Hot Sun". It refers to an industry of tradesmen and skilled artisans who make anything and everything while sitting out in the open air. They tend to move from place to place but in the 80s the governement helped them establish a niche in the main industrial area. They make charcoal stoves, rubber sandals, kitchen knives, pots, pans, etc. etc. More and more businesses are turning to them to use their craft as centerpieces or accents for their own products. A great industry but the market is now awash with even cheaper imitations from a country that shall remain nameless for now.
Anyway, really nice lounge but we were off, to the other end of Nairobi. A suburb called Runda. This is where all the UN, embassies, NGO's and the serious "haves" live. The money here is just plain sick. The drive there was interesting because the scenery changed so abruptly from crowded, dirty apartment buildings almost on the road to expansive, green spacious well protected lawns with huge mansions in the background. When we got to Runda, tons of embassies all over the place, the Canadian one is something of an architectural delight, good to know the UNEP offices were there too. Anyway, we got to Village Market which is a mega....doesn't even qualify as a mall, has a great big grocery store, huge food court area (sushi served here), a miniature golf course, swimming pool, huge slides (the Splash City I lost my hearing to), bowling alley, movie theatre, restaurants and clothing stores. Basically an international zone because you will forget where you are instantly.
I was there for a close friend's birthday party and my brothers had come as well, there were about 30 people in our group. Was a lot of fun reminiscing about growing up in Kenya, a lot of laughter. Then someone mentioned the Rhino Charge. This is a charity event held once a year and it's usually for the continued conservation of the public parks usually in the form of building fences to keep people out and the animals in. There's a registration fee of not more than $300 (I'll need to do more research) and your own vehicle and I think about 4 - people per car. It is limited to sixty vehicles. Registration closes months ahead of time and the sponsors will not tell you where the race will be until about 3 weeks before it starts and it will most likely be at one of the game parks or super remote regions.
Last year's race was a 62km event; a basic get to point B from A in a day with mandatory check point areas. The map will not indicate precise locations, it's basic navigation at it's purest form. Although GPS units are now being used. I got this from their site: "The challenge of the event is for the entrants to reach 10 Guard Posts (Control Posts), whose whereabouts are only revealed to the entrants on the night before, each Post set up in a remote and tricky location. The teams of up to six people set off at dawn with ten hours of difficult driving ahead of them to reach all ten checkpoints by the shortest route possible - testing endurance, engineering and navigational skills. Speed is not a feature of the Charge." Check it out at http://www.kilimanjaro.com/rhinoark/rhinocharge.htm
The winner of the event is the team who manages to complete the course with the least distance recorded as well as the most money raised. The participants are put up in tented camps and the services are not to shabby and since the event is held right before the heavy rains, the terrain is dry and dusty. It sounded like so much fun, I hope to do it sometime in my lifetime. There are awards but the funniest is the Forkawe award which means "where the f*** are we?". It's given to the team who gets lost in the most spectacular of fashions and last year's winner found himself in Tanzania and had to be spirited out before immigration caught wind of the unwilling illegal alien. He'd somehow crossed the border and having no passport or appropriate paper work was dubbed the award champ.
After much laughter, we headed into the mega whatever to a club called Sikiliza meaning "listen" where we watched an amazing jazz perfomance by legendary local Mercy Myra. The girl's voice is rich! What a singer, I didn't know how versatile the music scene had become. The lounge area of the club was okay, lots of tourists, nice lighting, atmosphere but not enough seating. The club area was very hip, better than a lot of the places I've been to in CLE actually but the d.j. hmmm. He would play an amazing set of house music and then abruptly cut it off to put in a Michelle Branch/Vanessa Carlton (can't tell the difference to this day) slooooow song. Then on one set he just let a Kylie Minogue cd play through without mixing. Totally ruined the ambience but was a very nice place, empty as well. Saturday's are best spent at house parties or quiet restaurant evenings, not so much a clubbing night.
Nice drive back home at one in the morning, stopped at a gas station to do car switches. Oh, always travel in a convoy. We were in a three car caravan and all the occupants had to switch at the gas station in order to ensure at least one person is alert because they're not in their own vehicle. Very smart move. Alas, the gas station had a huge food court Pizza Inn/Chicken Inn/Burger Inn.....I think it's the same company, ha ha. Anyway, Kenyan fries at 2 in the morning....delicious. Had to do 100 extra crunches the next day but was totally worth it.
Again, sorry for spelling/grammar errors. The spell check has refused to come up. Oh well, I'll edit later when I have time.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Admissions, fate attention seal vu play.
Oh dear, I'm in love with manicures. I have been able to adequately justify this unnecessary yet essential expense in that I'm supporting someone in a highly competitive beauty industry, in this case my cousin. Lol, ok, the deal is that the manicures cost about Ksh 100 which is just over $1.50 so I'm seriously tempted to have one every week except, oh yeah, no washing machines, dryers, dishwashers and it would be a serious waste of money anyway.
I've began to look at every shilling I spend on something frivolous as a shilling I could have used to buy internet time. It has actually helped me cut back on spending money on useless things. For example, a bottle of beer, Ksh 90 OR an hour and a half on IM with sis and crew back home. Plate of fries that you really didn't need for Ksh 40 OR roundtrip matatu trip. Actually, yesterday this woman carrying a huge sack of not sure what asked me for a "bao" (slang for Ksh.20) so that she could get a matatu home and I looked at the cheese I'd just bought that I really didn't need that left me with no change and had to apologize Puts things in perspective that's for sure.
So yesterday I went for the International Education Exhibition at one of the original malls here, a place called Sarit Center in the suburb Westlands. Well, all I can say is international admissions in the U.S. is in serious trouble. There was not a single U.S. school(s) represented. The only institution close enough would be the United States International University (USIU) which is located in Nairobi and is affiliated with the USIU somewhere in California. Other than that, there was an independent group that helps potential students put together TOFEL, SAT, GMAT etc packages together as well as assisiting with financial aid queries. Other than that, not a single US representative. On the other hand, the Australian campaign has been particularly aggressive when it comes to recruiting. Actually for a month solid, they ran huge colorful ads in both dailies talking about the advantages of studying in Aussie as compared to U.S. At the fair yesterday, they were out in full force, as were regional universities in Africa, some of the local schools, Canada, Switzerland, UK, Germany, Russia and (brace yourselves) Ukraine, Malaysia and Singapore. In most of the info packets they broke down the benefits to studying at their institution and the Canadians went as far as to do a direct comparison with US schools, outlining the disadvantages to studying in the latter. It was an okay fair, I had hoped the school I'm interested in would have been there but sadly they didn't show. My second choice was there and I will be seeing their advisor next week. It was more geared for undergraduates and as a result there were less than 10 post-grad programs being represented.
After the fair, I had a few hours to kill before I met my brother so I took a good walk around this mall. It's only 4 storeys high and not as congested as you would imagine a typical mall to be. It has a movie theatre, currently showing "Bridget Jones; Edge of Reason", "Closer" and "Are We There Yet". There's a really nice food court with an amazing variety. There's a mega store that serves in three sections, Thai, Indian & Italian foods. They even have service staff! so that when you order your food at the counter, they lead you to a table, plop down a reserved sign with your order number and bring your food to you. Right next to them is a dodgy Chinese restaurant (dodgy because there are no pictures of Moo Goo Gai Pan, General Tso's Chicken or Kung Bao Pork or any other menu item and no food out front on display) It does have a couple of boards on display listing the food, no frills, just what they can make like cashew chicken, large vegetarian menu and I've been assured that they actually serves the best Chinese this side of town. It also has the distinction of being the only food court restaurant I know that has beers on tap! Lol, actually the booze is the only thing on display and I don't know if they used that as a marketing ploy....deliberately hiding hot steamy chinese cuisine but proudly displaying ice cold beer to draw weary shoppers or Fair folk.
There's also your typical burger joints which people avoid and instead steer to a restaurant that proudly displays "Kienyeji Foods" (traditional foods) e.g., Ugali - ground corn flour cooked into a hardened paste, sukuma wiki - Kale; the translation literally means push-the-week, kuku karai - stewed chicken, mbuzi - goat, kondoo - sheep etc. Really good food actually but slightly pricey. Actually the prices at this food court are kinda shocking considering you can go downtown and find the same meals of at least half that price. Location and clientele however dictate pricing and it's more for the upper-middle class, lower-upper class who frequent this mall.
There's a huge supermarket below the food court, takes up about half the floor space actually. You can find anything and everything imaginable inlcuding the oh-so-vital must have for your fridge, Hellman's Mayo. I've actually been hesitant about buying this secret ingredient for everything as the small jar will run me about Ksh.300. I've always been snobbish about mayo so I will not buy the other brands so I'm mayo-less for a while. The produce is amazing, the coffee and tea aisles...I could happily live there for a month. Coffee and Tea are Kenya's largest exports. The former beverage dispatched all over the world, the latter sees about 1/4 of its earnings coming from the Pakistani's. Actually there was a huge row between both governments over Pakistan refusing to ship us rice because Kenya had been forced to tack on a 75% tax to all its tea since it joined the East African Commerce.....long story but fascinating. If you have the time, google it. Lol.
And then they're loads of clothes shops. There's a Woolworths store, basically JC Penny, a Secrets, a rip-off of Victoria but this one also sells swimsuits. There's no difference in prices by the way, your eyes will open in amazement at the highway robbery cost of a bra. Some of the stores sell brands I recognize: Nine West, Vuitton, Kenneth Cole etc. but either they are really good knock-offs or the originals because the prices are the same if not more than what you'd find in the real stores. Ah, let's see, oh yeah, there's a Kikoy store. Kikoy (or kikoi) are these really cool print wraps with solid lines in thin or thick patterns, that you will mostly find being worn at the Coast. Actually men wear them a lot as it allows for freedom of movement and is very light and great for dealing with the super hot heat and women love them as they are versatile enough to be used as a top, bottom, shawl etc. (Today's a scorcher by the way, I could see heat waves at 8 a.m.) I'll try find a decent website for y'all to check out what they look like. There's a really nice bookstore called the Text Book Centre. Used to get all my school books there as a kid but they've expanded and developed a whole other section that is specifically for fiction, non-fiction, travel, hobby etc. I think that one is online. There were a few discount clothing stores, travel agencies, cyber cafes (4ksh a minute? I don't think so!), furniture and art stores. All in all, not so bad a place. This weekend I hope to go check out the newest mega mall called the Village Market. It has a Splash City....not sure what it is but everytime you mention it around kids you'll go deaf from the squeals and shrieks.
Have to go now, but more later. Oh, remind me to discuss literature and the Kenyan, especially libraries.
Back again.
I had no idea there was a mini-WTO meeting in Mombasa this week. So proud of Kenyans; there was a huge demonstration outside the resort where the talks were being held and some demonstrators went as far as the little airport that services the South Beach to admonish arriving world ministers and representatives who were coming back from safaris in the Masai Mara. Sadly people were arrested, mainly farmers who are affected by cheap and subsidised agricultural imports, but it seems they may have gotten through as the Canadian rep. echoed their sentiments in the meeting calling for an end to subsidies.
About the libraries. Unfortunately, there are few public libraries. I've been ruined by WCPL and the Cleveland system as a whole. If you want to get a book here, there's a private club not far from town that we've been members for ages, so much so the librarian remembered me. The public can buy membership just to the library so there's is a medium to heavy circulation. The club houses elderly exparts and so the reading room usually has alot of international newspapers, magazines etc. The fiction and non-fiction sections have changed very little. The books are old, some falling to pieces, out-dated editions and generally crowded. Next time I go I'll ask if it's possible to expand and get donated books from the US. Remember the dollar book sales in the basements? The books that didn't sell could very well be used here. I know there's a huge vacant room next to the library....hmm, I'll ask. I know that most if not all the country clubs around the country have their own personal libraries but the collections are mostly colonial material. Lol, would be interesting to find out how many first editions are lounging on the shelves. They appear to be seldom borrowed as you'll usually brush off a layer of dust from whatever you pick. (Ooh, project for me, find out whether there is a main public library. I don't think there is as one of the brothers would have told me about it.)
Kenyans loooooovvvveee to read. Anything and everything is visual fodder here. Non-fiction, brochures, fiction, books, newspapers, everything that has been printed will be read. It's not out of the ordinary to see a couple of people crowded around one newspaper reading it. In the morning while waiting for matatus, you'll usually find a crowd around the many open-air newstands reading while one seller stands on the street waiting for cars to slow in traffic to sell them the dailies that are tucked under his arm. Every morning, with a spicy cup of tea, I read the newspaper, front to back, scanning even the most minor of articles as you'll always learn something interesting.
Must run now, very hot outside, want to meet Friday traffic. Over here, people take late lunches at 1.30 or 2 and you won't see them until Monday. Lol, weekend has to start sometime.
I've began to look at every shilling I spend on something frivolous as a shilling I could have used to buy internet time. It has actually helped me cut back on spending money on useless things. For example, a bottle of beer, Ksh 90 OR an hour and a half on IM with sis and crew back home. Plate of fries that you really didn't need for Ksh 40 OR roundtrip matatu trip. Actually, yesterday this woman carrying a huge sack of not sure what asked me for a "bao" (slang for Ksh.20) so that she could get a matatu home and I looked at the cheese I'd just bought that I really didn't need that left me with no change and had to apologize Puts things in perspective that's for sure.
So yesterday I went for the International Education Exhibition at one of the original malls here, a place called Sarit Center in the suburb Westlands. Well, all I can say is international admissions in the U.S. is in serious trouble. There was not a single U.S. school(s) represented. The only institution close enough would be the United States International University (USIU) which is located in Nairobi and is affiliated with the USIU somewhere in California. Other than that, there was an independent group that helps potential students put together TOFEL, SAT, GMAT etc packages together as well as assisiting with financial aid queries. Other than that, not a single US representative. On the other hand, the Australian campaign has been particularly aggressive when it comes to recruiting. Actually for a month solid, they ran huge colorful ads in both dailies talking about the advantages of studying in Aussie as compared to U.S. At the fair yesterday, they were out in full force, as were regional universities in Africa, some of the local schools, Canada, Switzerland, UK, Germany, Russia and (brace yourselves) Ukraine, Malaysia and Singapore. In most of the info packets they broke down the benefits to studying at their institution and the Canadians went as far as to do a direct comparison with US schools, outlining the disadvantages to studying in the latter. It was an okay fair, I had hoped the school I'm interested in would have been there but sadly they didn't show. My second choice was there and I will be seeing their advisor next week. It was more geared for undergraduates and as a result there were less than 10 post-grad programs being represented.
After the fair, I had a few hours to kill before I met my brother so I took a good walk around this mall. It's only 4 storeys high and not as congested as you would imagine a typical mall to be. It has a movie theatre, currently showing "Bridget Jones; Edge of Reason", "Closer" and "Are We There Yet". There's a really nice food court with an amazing variety. There's a mega store that serves in three sections, Thai, Indian & Italian foods. They even have service staff! so that when you order your food at the counter, they lead you to a table, plop down a reserved sign with your order number and bring your food to you. Right next to them is a dodgy Chinese restaurant (dodgy because there are no pictures of Moo Goo Gai Pan, General Tso's Chicken or Kung Bao Pork or any other menu item and no food out front on display) It does have a couple of boards on display listing the food, no frills, just what they can make like cashew chicken, large vegetarian menu and I've been assured that they actually serves the best Chinese this side of town. It also has the distinction of being the only food court restaurant I know that has beers on tap! Lol, actually the booze is the only thing on display and I don't know if they used that as a marketing ploy....deliberately hiding hot steamy chinese cuisine but proudly displaying ice cold beer to draw weary shoppers or Fair folk.
There's also your typical burger joints which people avoid and instead steer to a restaurant that proudly displays "Kienyeji Foods" (traditional foods) e.g., Ugali - ground corn flour cooked into a hardened paste, sukuma wiki - Kale; the translation literally means push-the-week, kuku karai - stewed chicken, mbuzi - goat, kondoo - sheep etc. Really good food actually but slightly pricey. Actually the prices at this food court are kinda shocking considering you can go downtown and find the same meals of at least half that price. Location and clientele however dictate pricing and it's more for the upper-middle class, lower-upper class who frequent this mall.
There's a huge supermarket below the food court, takes up about half the floor space actually. You can find anything and everything imaginable inlcuding the oh-so-vital must have for your fridge, Hellman's Mayo. I've actually been hesitant about buying this secret ingredient for everything as the small jar will run me about Ksh.300. I've always been snobbish about mayo so I will not buy the other brands so I'm mayo-less for a while. The produce is amazing, the coffee and tea aisles...I could happily live there for a month. Coffee and Tea are Kenya's largest exports. The former beverage dispatched all over the world, the latter sees about 1/4 of its earnings coming from the Pakistani's. Actually there was a huge row between both governments over Pakistan refusing to ship us rice because Kenya had been forced to tack on a 75% tax to all its tea since it joined the East African Commerce.....long story but fascinating. If you have the time, google it. Lol.
And then they're loads of clothes shops. There's a Woolworths store, basically JC Penny, a Secrets, a rip-off of Victoria but this one also sells swimsuits. There's no difference in prices by the way, your eyes will open in amazement at the highway robbery cost of a bra. Some of the stores sell brands I recognize: Nine West, Vuitton, Kenneth Cole etc. but either they are really good knock-offs or the originals because the prices are the same if not more than what you'd find in the real stores. Ah, let's see, oh yeah, there's a Kikoy store. Kikoy (or kikoi) are these really cool print wraps with solid lines in thin or thick patterns, that you will mostly find being worn at the Coast. Actually men wear them a lot as it allows for freedom of movement and is very light and great for dealing with the super hot heat and women love them as they are versatile enough to be used as a top, bottom, shawl etc. (Today's a scorcher by the way, I could see heat waves at 8 a.m.) I'll try find a decent website for y'all to check out what they look like. There's a really nice bookstore called the Text Book Centre. Used to get all my school books there as a kid but they've expanded and developed a whole other section that is specifically for fiction, non-fiction, travel, hobby etc. I think that one is online. There were a few discount clothing stores, travel agencies, cyber cafes (4ksh a minute? I don't think so!), furniture and art stores. All in all, not so bad a place. This weekend I hope to go check out the newest mega mall called the Village Market. It has a Splash City....not sure what it is but everytime you mention it around kids you'll go deaf from the squeals and shrieks.
Have to go now, but more later. Oh, remind me to discuss literature and the Kenyan, especially libraries.
Back again.
I had no idea there was a mini-WTO meeting in Mombasa this week. So proud of Kenyans; there was a huge demonstration outside the resort where the talks were being held and some demonstrators went as far as the little airport that services the South Beach to admonish arriving world ministers and representatives who were coming back from safaris in the Masai Mara. Sadly people were arrested, mainly farmers who are affected by cheap and subsidised agricultural imports, but it seems they may have gotten through as the Canadian rep. echoed their sentiments in the meeting calling for an end to subsidies.
About the libraries. Unfortunately, there are few public libraries. I've been ruined by WCPL and the Cleveland system as a whole. If you want to get a book here, there's a private club not far from town that we've been members for ages, so much so the librarian remembered me. The public can buy membership just to the library so there's is a medium to heavy circulation. The club houses elderly exparts and so the reading room usually has alot of international newspapers, magazines etc. The fiction and non-fiction sections have changed very little. The books are old, some falling to pieces, out-dated editions and generally crowded. Next time I go I'll ask if it's possible to expand and get donated books from the US. Remember the dollar book sales in the basements? The books that didn't sell could very well be used here. I know there's a huge vacant room next to the library....hmm, I'll ask. I know that most if not all the country clubs around the country have their own personal libraries but the collections are mostly colonial material. Lol, would be interesting to find out how many first editions are lounging on the shelves. They appear to be seldom borrowed as you'll usually brush off a layer of dust from whatever you pick. (Ooh, project for me, find out whether there is a main public library. I don't think there is as one of the brothers would have told me about it.)
Kenyans loooooovvvveee to read. Anything and everything is visual fodder here. Non-fiction, brochures, fiction, books, newspapers, everything that has been printed will be read. It's not out of the ordinary to see a couple of people crowded around one newspaper reading it. In the morning while waiting for matatus, you'll usually find a crowd around the many open-air newstands reading while one seller stands on the street waiting for cars to slow in traffic to sell them the dailies that are tucked under his arm. Every morning, with a spicy cup of tea, I read the newspaper, front to back, scanning even the most minor of articles as you'll always learn something interesting.
Must run now, very hot outside, want to meet Friday traffic. Over here, people take late lunches at 1.30 or 2 and you won't see them until Monday. Lol, weekend has to start sometime.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Would you like fries with your donkey?
Hola pretty people! Hot, hot, hot today which only means it's going to rain heavily this evening. Like clockwork, at rush hour the sky opens up and there's nothing funnier than watching Kenyans run from the rain like it's acid. Lol, you should see us, we're awful. Actually it's to avoid the mud that will swirl under your feet in less than 5 minutes and the drains are awful so pools of water collect at busy intersections and that's when the ancient cars that haven't been out in a while will suddenly be on the road only to stall in the middle of a growing flood. That's why I like to be out of town, the latest 5 p.m. Can't avoid it always but I've been lucky (knocking on noggin) so far.
So I had a late lunch with my two older brothers and a great friend of theirs. I'd been craving fish for ages so I made them move restaurants twice simply because I didn't like what their menus had to offer by way of peche. We finally settled on eldest brother's (B1) choice, an Italian salon on a second floor office building. I ordered a simple breaded tilapia (everything comes with fries) but they threw in some dodgy looking veggies that looked like they'd been boiling for decades before being rescued from the pot. The fish was okay, kinda disappointing but temporarily eased my craving. My beer... could someone invent a portable instant freeze beer holder for me? Fed-Ex, UPS, DHL it immediately. There's only one place I've found where my beer is served at the perfect temp. and it's a place I'll only go to with my brothers or their friends and never by myself. Urghh, anyway, as we discussed the best places to get fish B1 asked my other brother B2 where he got his meat. "At the police station butchery ofcourse." We live really close to a police station which is awesome as I feel super safe. This same station has a bar, not kidding. There are houses here for the officers and some even have their families so the bar started for the off-duty officers. I'm pretty sure the ones on call don't go there during regular hours as the neighborhood has some fairly affluent folks, diplomats and aid workers so they're on their toes.
Anyway, B2 stood by the respectability of this place and the prices were quite reasonable and he swore up and down that the meat is fresh and they will tell you whether it was brought in yesterday. They bring in supplies every morning at 6 or so they claim. B1 and best friend were laughing so hard they were spilling warm beer over the table,
"B1," he says, "you've been eating wilderbeast or some game animal."
"No, no..." Insisted B2, "it really is fresh meat, I've seen them bring in the carcasses in the morning."
More laughter, oh dear, beer running onto floor.
"Carcasses! So you don't get to see the skin which will identify it as dog or donkey."
Best friend said even he wouldn't get meat from there, however tempting the prices or how fresh. At this point I paled because best friend has an iron stomach. I'd cooked what I sincerely hope was beef about two weeks ago, lovingly marinated, sauteed to perfection, herbed liberally and served with super fresh organic veggies.
"B2?" I rasped out, "where did you get that beef from?"
He grinned and said, "the police station, fresh when I bought it."
More laughter, oh lost a warm bottle to the ground.
Needless to say, I do not shop there, never have and never will. Instead I go to the grocery store where the good Lord intended meat to come in double plastic wrap, brand label with a sell-by date. Actually, meat can be reasonably priced here. I can get 4 burger patties for 174/-ksh which is about $2. It's much cheaper to buy a flank steak and have them mince it for you. 2lbs of ground beef will run you about $2.50 total. Chicken is becoming more available in the supermarkets as compared to previous days where it involved chasing a scrawny bird that was kept in an enclosure behind the house. I can get a whole chicken for about $3 - 5 depending on size. Veggies, oh, vegetarians are lucky. The prices are unbelievable. I just bought 2lbs of tomatoes for less than $1, 2lbs of red onions, less than $0.50, eggplant/aubergines $0.50 etc, etc. I don't bother buying potatoes, we get them from our farm upcountry. I have a six month supply, urghh. Most of the veggies are organic. They come straight from farms, dirt still clinging to them and will stay fresh for such a short period because they've been uprooted so that you know there's no preservative to lengthen shelf life. The fruit choices are to die for. Mangoes, papaya, passion fruit, watermelon, custard apple (sweet fleshy pulpy fruit with tons of inedible seeds but half the fun is pulling the flesh off) oranges etc. Amazing selection.
My Vacation: Well, there's been a break in my quest for snow white sand, sparkling azure waters and madafu (coconut cut from the tree, split open and served with a straw right before your eyes). High tourist season is drawing to a close and most of the resorts and hotels are trying to capitalize on last minute travel especially from domestic tourists. There is an exhibition next week at one of the conference centers where all these hotels and different travel agents will show up to try and get clients looking for a deal and if you book your trip right then, you can get up to a 20% discount on full board accommodation. i.e., b/fast, lunch, afternoon tea & dinner, airfare and hotel transfers. So a weekend trip might run you up to $200 only. Can't wait, hope I get a deal, I need a break. But, will be doing none of that until I have bank account. Have settled on one bank. The minimum fees are a killer but it has ATMs all over the place. I'll be sure to include my account & routing numbers for all of y'all once I get it. (You think I'm kidding, ha)
I know my blogs can sound depressing and disheartened but fear not my lovies, my glimpse is infinitely more rosey than what people here see on a daily basis. I'm very lucky, I have my brothers and they always cheer me up when they sense I'm down. And I have all those lovely e-mails to look forward to when I get to my favorite cyber cafe. (only a half-hour trip btw so those of you who have been awful about e.mailing me, feel rotten) That's the whole point of this, so I can vent. Momma, stop worrying. I'm fine, I promise.
Again, sorry for the spelling errors and the language too if it's too graphic.
Lol, on my way here, I passed a billboard advertising cruises to Alaska...at least the beer will be cold.
So I had a late lunch with my two older brothers and a great friend of theirs. I'd been craving fish for ages so I made them move restaurants twice simply because I didn't like what their menus had to offer by way of peche. We finally settled on eldest brother's (B1) choice, an Italian salon on a second floor office building. I ordered a simple breaded tilapia (everything comes with fries) but they threw in some dodgy looking veggies that looked like they'd been boiling for decades before being rescued from the pot. The fish was okay, kinda disappointing but temporarily eased my craving. My beer... could someone invent a portable instant freeze beer holder for me? Fed-Ex, UPS, DHL it immediately. There's only one place I've found where my beer is served at the perfect temp. and it's a place I'll only go to with my brothers or their friends and never by myself. Urghh, anyway, as we discussed the best places to get fish B1 asked my other brother B2 where he got his meat. "At the police station butchery ofcourse." We live really close to a police station which is awesome as I feel super safe. This same station has a bar, not kidding. There are houses here for the officers and some even have their families so the bar started for the off-duty officers. I'm pretty sure the ones on call don't go there during regular hours as the neighborhood has some fairly affluent folks, diplomats and aid workers so they're on their toes.
Anyway, B2 stood by the respectability of this place and the prices were quite reasonable and he swore up and down that the meat is fresh and they will tell you whether it was brought in yesterday. They bring in supplies every morning at 6 or so they claim. B1 and best friend were laughing so hard they were spilling warm beer over the table,
"B1," he says, "you've been eating wilderbeast or some game animal."
"No, no..." Insisted B2, "it really is fresh meat, I've seen them bring in the carcasses in the morning."
More laughter, oh dear, beer running onto floor.
"Carcasses! So you don't get to see the skin which will identify it as dog or donkey."
Best friend said even he wouldn't get meat from there, however tempting the prices or how fresh. At this point I paled because best friend has an iron stomach. I'd cooked what I sincerely hope was beef about two weeks ago, lovingly marinated, sauteed to perfection, herbed liberally and served with super fresh organic veggies.
"B2?" I rasped out, "where did you get that beef from?"
He grinned and said, "the police station, fresh when I bought it."
More laughter, oh lost a warm bottle to the ground.
Needless to say, I do not shop there, never have and never will. Instead I go to the grocery store where the good Lord intended meat to come in double plastic wrap, brand label with a sell-by date. Actually, meat can be reasonably priced here. I can get 4 burger patties for 174/-ksh which is about $2. It's much cheaper to buy a flank steak and have them mince it for you. 2lbs of ground beef will run you about $2.50 total. Chicken is becoming more available in the supermarkets as compared to previous days where it involved chasing a scrawny bird that was kept in an enclosure behind the house. I can get a whole chicken for about $3 - 5 depending on size. Veggies, oh, vegetarians are lucky. The prices are unbelievable. I just bought 2lbs of tomatoes for less than $1, 2lbs of red onions, less than $0.50, eggplant/aubergines $0.50 etc, etc. I don't bother buying potatoes, we get them from our farm upcountry. I have a six month supply, urghh. Most of the veggies are organic. They come straight from farms, dirt still clinging to them and will stay fresh for such a short period because they've been uprooted so that you know there's no preservative to lengthen shelf life. The fruit choices are to die for. Mangoes, papaya, passion fruit, watermelon, custard apple (sweet fleshy pulpy fruit with tons of inedible seeds but half the fun is pulling the flesh off) oranges etc. Amazing selection.
My Vacation: Well, there's been a break in my quest for snow white sand, sparkling azure waters and madafu (coconut cut from the tree, split open and served with a straw right before your eyes). High tourist season is drawing to a close and most of the resorts and hotels are trying to capitalize on last minute travel especially from domestic tourists. There is an exhibition next week at one of the conference centers where all these hotels and different travel agents will show up to try and get clients looking for a deal and if you book your trip right then, you can get up to a 20% discount on full board accommodation. i.e., b/fast, lunch, afternoon tea & dinner, airfare and hotel transfers. So a weekend trip might run you up to $200 only. Can't wait, hope I get a deal, I need a break. But, will be doing none of that until I have bank account. Have settled on one bank. The minimum fees are a killer but it has ATMs all over the place. I'll be sure to include my account & routing numbers for all of y'all once I get it. (You think I'm kidding, ha)
I know my blogs can sound depressing and disheartened but fear not my lovies, my glimpse is infinitely more rosey than what people here see on a daily basis. I'm very lucky, I have my brothers and they always cheer me up when they sense I'm down. And I have all those lovely e-mails to look forward to when I get to my favorite cyber cafe. (only a half-hour trip btw so those of you who have been awful about e.mailing me, feel rotten) That's the whole point of this, so I can vent. Momma, stop worrying. I'm fine, I promise.
Again, sorry for the spelling errors and the language too if it's too graphic.
Lol, on my way here, I passed a billboard advertising cruises to Alaska...at least the beer will be cold.
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