Kate In Kenya: 10/10/10

Nairobi Gallery and nightlife

Friday, after class let out at 12:45, we went to town to see a photography exhibit at the Nairobi Gallery. On the way we stopped for Ethiopian at Club Soundd. It was good for the crazy cheap price, and had delicious potatos that were sort of like french fries but in more of a potato form. I've never had them at any Ethiopian place, but Kenyans are fairly obsessed with potatoes, so they must be catering to their customer.

We left Maria at a coffeeshop, and went to the exhibit. Later, I got a text from Maria saying her waitress said some guy asked her for her number. Kenyan men are something else, but it can be hilarious sometimes. Almost all sign are handpainted in city center, often faded, crumbling, cracked. The ticketbooth we went to for our tickets into the museum was a dark booth with idle men surrounding it. It didn't really look in operation at all, and there were no other people at the museum, so we were wary of giving them money, but they had tickets so we did. One of the idle men held out his hand when we walked up, so I took it, and he says, "Look! I'm with a mzungu!" and everyone laughed. Typical, but funny. I prefer it when they make a joke to when they just point and say "mzungu" or yell it repeatedly to get my attention. They succeed, of course, because people say it enough that it does practically become your name, but I'd rather it not.

The museum is next to the Nyayo House where they used to torture detainees and political prisoners under Moi, which is ironically named after Moi's supposed philosophy of peace, love, and unity. It's still a government building.

The museum was small with an interesting layout. You walked down a hallway into an atrium with maybe eight doors covered by black curtains. Every single door and window was covered by a black curtain, but some of the doors were closed, so you'd push aside the curtain and not actually be able to go through. Inside the rooms behind the curtains it was dark with more curtain-covered windows and doors to fool you. It was like a dream.

Each room had one or two projectors scrolling photos by one of seven Kenyan photographers, meant to show different perspectives on the country. There were a few photographers I really loved. One did a collection called "Nairobi Nightlife" which contrasted the vibrant singers and danceclubs in Nairobi with the poor warming themselves by fires by the side of the road, and children sleeping on the street.

This is the advertisement used for the exhibit, and another one of my favorite photographers from it. He took photos of Nairobians wearing glasses handmade by a local artist from recycled materials. There were beautiful high fashion sort of photos, and photos of regular people, and smiling people, and old people, etc.

The third that I loved was called "Colors and curves," and was very artistically done with partial pictures highlighting the curves and geometry of the human form holding a child, buying groceries, etc, and the diversity of colors.

There was another called "Concrete Crystals" in which the photographer used an algorithm to expose the complex and beautiful geometric shapes of Nairobi architecture.

After the gallery, I went to Sarit Center for coffee and to get some work done on my laptop with the free wireless. Dennis joined me when he got off work, and announced that we would be going to town. So, exhausted, I had another cup of coffee.

It's really annoying when people come over, because they're not allowed in after 9:30 pm unless you've gotten permission beforehand, and they make them put down a ton of information on a sign in sheet, and leave their id with the security guards. It's awkward, because they pretty much only make Africans leave their id. They don't know all of our faces. They just assume we live there when we walk up to the gate and let us in because you're white. You can get away with a ton here by being white.

The guards also sleep every single night, so you have to have your cabdriver wait and honk while you knock and literally yell at them over the gate.

Anyway, we ended up going to Simmers. It's outdoors under tents in city center, which was very pleasant. The music was a live Congolese band, I think, and there were great dancers. I was the only mzungu. I've been told that's where all the prostitutes who cater to African men go, but there are prostitutes everywhere you go here.

Then we went to another place... but I don't remember what it was called. It was upstairs with great dancing, great African music. I think I was the only mzungu there, but Dennis says he saw some Italians.

All in all, another great Nairobi night.

Kwani? Open Mic

Tuesday we went to the Kwani? Open Mic at Club Soundd. Kwani? is sheng for 'So what?' It's the literary magazine at which Courtney interns as a marketer, and which shares the lot where we have our office. We met our friends from the Nation. We were worried about Maria, because she got there late and her phone ran out of batteries, and it's dangerous to walk places alone at night. The most dangerous time of night is supposed to be around 7, when it's just gotten dark and lights may not have all been turned on yet, and people may be out pretending to be commutors, looking to prey on commutors. This is a worrisome fact, considering how that's the time Megan, David, and I are usually commuting home from school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but we're careful and try to time things properly, and take a cab if it's getting to be that time. We are always racing the sun. Once, early on, we decided to walk home from Jevanje, which was a mistake. We speedwalked/ practically jogged about 4 miles. We've learned our lesson now, though.
Anyway, Maria eventually showed up and relieved our worry. Apparently, she got a security guard to walk her 6 blocks to the place.

We met up with our friends from The Daily Nation, and for the third time ran into Andrew (our original Daily Nation connection, seen on far left) completely unplanned and randomly. Sadly, I think he flew home to Seattle Wednesday.

Samora, to my left, usually speaks at open mic, but he didn't Tuesday. He says he will next time.

There were jazz singers in between poets, and some of the poets were accompanied by beatboxers, a drummer, or a saxophone. One woman I really liked sang and rapped about breaking all the rules of being a woman and doing everything men do on the streets, basically breaking all the Nairobi gender norms. A lot of the poetry and music was in Swahili, but Samora did artful translations for me. The feature poet presented three poems, one of which was a sort of rap about God.

Afterwards, we went to Nakumatt, walked James and Samora to their matatus home where they negotiated for our taxis. Taxi negotiation here is quite a process. If you're mzungu and don't know Kiwahili, they'll always try and charge you 400 for a 200 ride, and you'll have to negotiate HARD to get it down to 250. A Swahili speaker will exchange quite a few sentences, complete with justifications and reasoning and hand gestures, and get it down to 200. Or, the less senior cab driver standing next to the one they've been negotiating with will take you for 200, once the senior cab driver walks away and concedes the business to him.

City center at night is quiet and peaceful and beautiful. It's so nice to be there without the crowds of people pressing in on you and harrassing you. Christmas lights blink, strung along windows and signs. There are lots of advertisements and lights that would have been modern and futuristic in the early 90s. At 9 pm, the main streets are as bright as they are during the day, and there are lots of professional business-type people walking around. You don't walk on any side streets. Later than that, we couldn't walk anywhere alone, but you're fine if you're with a male Nairobian or two.

I got in a friendly sort of argument about beggars with one of the guys. We passed a couple rather aggressive beggar women, who one of the guys told "you're not getting a single cent." They say they're thieves, and that if it had been the two of us girls by ourselves, there's no way they would have let us pass with our stuff still in our possession. I'm sure that's true. My basic argument, which I think he ended up condeding, was that they didn't choose their situation, and aren't necessarily bad people because of it. Of course, you shouldn't give to beggars because it's supposed to make more of a difference to give to non-profits that help them.

The dynamics of poverty in relation to crime and violence and race are so complex here, and present moral dilemmas for us every day. The police shoot to kill when a man steals a single pineapple from a factory farm with hundreds of thousands, and that's regular procedure. If someone steals your laptop, you resist the natural urge to yell, because it's better not to have a laptop than to see a man killed, even indirectly, because of you. At 2 AM, a tiny child with huge eyes comes up to the cab, hands outheld, the cab driver rolls up his window saying, "They're students. No money," and he continues to stand there, an inch from the window, until we roll away. Regularly we pass an albino woman with an umbrella and a black child. We regularly pass a blind man holding the elbow of a child as if he's being guided, who I suspect may not actually be blind at all and may actually be exploiting the child, as is so common here. We regularly pass a ten year old who once followed me blocks begging for money, stroking my arm, calling me a beautiful angel, and asking to spend the night with me. It's terrible to see a child sitting alone on a sidewalk bundled against a wall, eyes wide open, in the middle of a chilly night where it's not even safe to walk alone, and not be able to do anything about it.

Bridge Between two Beauties

The Two Beauties being The Nairobi National Park and Kitengala Glass Factory.

The bridge being this!

We saw these on the drive to Masai Lodge.

First, we ordered our lunch at Masai Lodge since, for some reason, it usually takes hours for them to make. That warthog was chilling there when we ordered, and was still there when we came back to eat, hours later.

We had been told we would be going on a 'nature walk...'

and it was absolutely beautiful...

but I wore a skirt...

and it was definitely NOT a nature walk. It was a totally amazing hike, and I loved it, the skirt was just an unnecessary challenge. Luckily, I was wearing the perfect shoes for it (love you, Vibram FiveFingers).

We had to stand on and hold on to roots to cross this section. SO much fun!

This is Victor, our amazing Kenyan codirector. He's so heartbreakingly good with every child we meet, and is amazing with his own, as you can see. It was so funny watching him scoop her up from rock to rock.

I'm trying to use Victor as my inspiration when I interact with street children. He basically fathers them, talking to them and putting his hands on their shoulders, when they peddle their goods or beg for money. So I've been trying to talk to them, like the children they are, and say, "shouldn't you be in school?" or, once, when Safaricom was having one of their truckconcerts/ partytrucks, I asked him why he didn't go dance. (I can't remember the proper name for the party trucks, but businesses, especially Safaricom, blast music, sometimes live, on opensided trucks and stop at shopping centers and such for people to dance and, basically, party)

It surprises people here, throws them off guard, and lightens them up when you speak to them like regular people. It's actually one of the best ways to get them to leave you alone, and actually have a bit of a teasing, pleasant conversation, instead of being haggled at (ie followed down the street with a product you don't want aggressively thrown in your face). Also, now that I'm learning and using more Kiswahili, people like and respect you more, realize you're not a safaritourist, and don't try to charge you 10,000 shilling for things that should cost 400.

Okay, back to the oasis that is Nairobi National Park.

These are the totally awesome rock hyraxes. To me they're similar to groundhogs, but with the insane ability to limberly leap and scurry across clifffaces from rock to rock.