Yellow House

Helllooo. I am in Nairobi, and I find myself unexpectedly relaxed though I spent all of Monday asleep and all of last night awake. And so trying to summon up some clarity I write.. and let me start with transportation.. (look, it was either that or vegetable curry)

This place is a fray. The frequent and convenient matatus in Nairobi wait only until a portion of the last passenger’s body is in the vehicle before setting off at a hair raising pace, making the person hanging onto the vehicle swiftly tumble inwards. Similarly, to end the ride they drop you off in a manner reminiscent of those gangster movies, where they open the door and barely come to a halt before they head off again. Maybe this is why Kenyan’s say “he will pick you” and “he will drop you,” because in truth the whole experience makes you feel like you were plucked into a temporary abyss and then swiftly deposited back to earth. Today I actually saw a full matatu squeeze on 12 small school girls (in the 5 second pause they made at a corner), and suddenly a child passed over two other passengers and plopped into my lap for the duration of the trip. I was completing the journey with my language trainer and this got us debating whether we would prefer the next passenger to be carrying a fish or a chicken. I strongly voted for the fish. I preferred the idea of something slimy, wet and scaly but DEAD to something less pungent, that was scratching and pecking and clucking around a crammed van full of people.

This ride incidentally came at the end of a most enjoyable day. It was a walking tour of Nairobi because someone, somewhere, had deemed it a requirement that I visit on foot every matatu stand in the city and learn which bus was going where. This would be fine if I could remember any of the information imparted. I know Easy Coach goes to Kisumu (and usually leaves on time), and another company leaves from a nearby petrol station and goes to Kitui. But after a day of roaming and bus numbers, I can only guarantee that I would get lost if left to my own devices. In addition to finding the correct vehicle there were complex instructions about what the organization will and will not pay for. Something about reimbursement for a cab but only to go to another part of town, not actually somewhere useful like the place you intend to spend the night. Right. So while I don’t remember much of the transportation drill (it must have flown out the window with yesterday’s KiSwahili vocabulary I have been sifting my brain for), I do recall my entire afternoon session about culture.

I was given a boyfriend lecture today. Ostensibly it was a discussion on differences between Kenya and Western value systems, but really it was a briefing on just how deplorable African men are (as viewed by my trainer who is himself a Kenyan). I have come from a world of corporate diversity trainings. Where an urban hospital which has mostly white staff (not from the lack of trying to create the oft mentioned ‘melting pot’ I might add) brings in an employee who is homosexual, another whom is Latino and a third that is let’s say bi-racial. This team gathers a mid-sized group of other employees together and we take an afternoon to be guided through discussions on tolerance and our experiences and many bullshit activities that aim to make us feel greater love for one an other, or at the very least that our voices have been heard (and I can appreciate that). Now I am not saying they shouldn’t make this feeble attempt at demonstrating their openness to individual differences, I am just saying the course itself was complete crap. My trainer on the other hand had truly been charged to bring about my awareness of differences in culture and diversity and the conversation went something like this:

T: “Alright cultural differences. How about time?”
B: “I anticipate that I will do a lot of waiting, that Kenyans are more laid back about time and things will start when they start.”
T: “Why hide their slovenliness under culture. No. Let me tell you a story …
… and so you see you must start your meetings right on time and say ‘tough you were late’ Or you should start late and then end late, they will hate that, but they will learn. They will know Bea (pronounced "bear" on this one occasion) doesn’t wait. She starts on time.”
B: “huh.”

And on men:

T: “You will get twenty marriage proposals before you are done here”
B: “You know I don’t think I am in the market for a relationship these days.”
T: “Good. You tell them that, and don’t let them buy you drinks or come to your house… (followed by much lecturing about the evil perils of being alone with African men)… In fact when you have a guy friend visiting it would be best if you flaunt all social and cultural norms regarding public displays of affection so everyone in Kisumu thinks you have a man.”
B: “huh.”

Granted these may not have been his words exactly. I summarized, paraphrased even, but you get the gist. I enjoyed the discourse. I am just not sure what to make of the advice.