Hilly Ramblings

Hello hello hello,

So, today the temperatures have gone up significantly, and coinciding with that, we all are starting to feel the minor exhaustion of being out of one's own country for two weeks. The looks from people as you pass (and the fact that everyone -- literally, everyone -- is staring at you as you walk by), the little "how are yous" from the children starting to be a bit annoying, and the hawkers in the market -- at least in downtown Nairobi -- starting to wear on your patience.

But ... don't think that that gets to me on more than a surface level! Of course not! Hapana bila shaka. Every little hardship or annoyance here is adding to my experience, and I seriously do always feel like I am learning something.

Anyway, that was your liberal arts disclaimer. Now onto the stuff you actually read this blog for.

This weekend in Nairobi has finally made me feel like I am not just a tourist here. After a week of swahili (and a little not too hard test to go along with it), and a week of history and homestays, the weekend of adventures have been premium.

We started it off with a trip on the public busses -- an experience in and of itself -- into downtown on Friday night. Our trip leader, Alex, who was here on the 2007 trip, led a group of twelve of us down to the inner part of the urban metroplex for some dining that was not African food (as much as we all love it.... our system needed something other than rice, chapati, ugali, spinach, and beans), so after wandering around for a while, we found a medium sized place with good ambience and went on in. They separated the group, which was odd, and put three of us, me included, at a random table with two other local women who were sitting on the other side. Again, I love the communal sense of everything here -- in the States, that would never happen. Could you imagine an uptight little WASP family sitting at a restaurant and having two foreigners placed at their table, and then be expected to have a "normal dining out experience" with them there too. I laugh at visualizing how that situation would play itself out.

The first place we stopped at was listed in our guidebook, and we found it nestled snuggly in this super posh hotel, with prices more expensive than the states. We promptly decided that we would go elsewhere. Seeing other white people here weirds me out, even though the entire group is one too. However, and we don't hold it against them, we know that they are tourists, and that we really aren't (though of course we are to a certain extent), so the dynamic is weird. I seriously could not imagine living in this city as an expat. Even if you have been here for thirty years, like our history teacher has been, you will still -- and will always -- get stared at. Having some Swahili at your command is always good, but it only goes so far. People appreciate it, but sometimes they just laugh too as we struggle.

The three of us that sat at the table with the two locals (Hillary, Lila and I), had a really great conversation with them about what life is like here in the thrum and hustle of East Africa's largest, and for all intents only, metropolitan area. They loved our Swahili, and said that we definitely sounded like white people, and graciously decided to teach us some slang so that we could gain some more street cred. Tough to do here, for sure. They also told us that in Nairobi, you party from sun up to sun down, and then move from club to club all night. Pretty funny, as that wasn't any of the people in our group's vibe. The level of education here in Kenya is very high, and it's served us for our stay very well, allowing us to move around fairly easily with our patched swahili and American English (because, of course, they speak British English here, which has its inherent complications when we're misunderstood in both Swahili and English. Gestures are always enjoyable -- universal language pulling us through).

Ah - and a side note. I could drink mango juice all day. Oh my. It is so incredible here. Nzuri sana. Pretty cheap, and so fresh. It wouldn't surprise me to open up the door to the kitchen of the restaurant and see the people back there squeezing the mangoes themselves.

After a good meal of a mozarello (which I'm pretty sure was a mild cheddar, truth be told), tomato, basil and pesto sandwich, and some of the aforementioned drink of the gods, we headed out to an African bar. Oh yes.

Only white peope in there? Easily. And to make the journey even better, and even more culturally exciting, we were a group of ten girls and one guy. That one guy being, of course, curly haired, non-macho me. But man did the Africans treat me with respect. Before we headed out, some of the girls decided that it would probably be best if we designated me as the one husband and the rest of them as my harem. Yikes. That even feels weird to type. But polygamy is fairly common here, and its sway made the young African men I passed eye me with envy. I think I should soak that up while I'm here, because I'd say back in the states, the women rule the social scene.

Many of us ordered the "beer of East Africa", i.e. Tusker, which is a light 4% lager. Being from Portland, most of the students were accustomed to the mainy microbrewed beers of the city, so the African one wasn't all that great, but still -- was good to get a taste of the locals, and they view that beer with quite some pride too. Spirits here are sketchy to buy -- extremely so, actually -- and some people have recently died in Nairobi because of drinking locally made ones that are actually laced with poisons, and made in some pretty suspect ways (think the moonshiners of Tennesee during prohibition). Still, it was nice to be legally allowed to purchase alcohol here, and show that not all teenages do stupid things when they drink.

After about half an hour at a little table tucked away under the TV, where I was asked by a guy if I had any "secrets" -- mistakenly misinterpretting him with his accent when he really meant "cigarettes" -- we decided to go out onto the dance floor, where a mash of African swahili hip hop and American gansta swelled out over the tile and table amidst the swirling mists of the fog machine. Hilariously, we were the only ones out there for a while. Not only the only white people, but the only ones in a sea of locals. I can't even imagine what they were thinking. And to top off the absurdity of it all, the TVs were playing some discovery channel Safari program that involved lions eating antelope. So we danced to the urban bump of hip hop, and to the views of the Serengheti. Most excellent. It was a premium night. (Any of my Everything is Illuminated fans?)

As we were walking out of the bar, I was stopped by both of the guards that stood ourside of tthe place, and they pulled me in with hushed voices, hands on my back, saying, "Hey hey hey, let us buy you drink here, just three of us. You come in and we talk a bit." Nice gesture? Hahaha. It was nice, but you all know what they were getting at. As soon as they would have sat me down, they would have asked, "so, how much for one of your attractive American women?" I'm sure I would have demanded at least 200 cows. Probably more. Nairobi is a sketchy place to be if you have only X chromosomes, and I'm personally really glad that simply my male presence -- which wouldn't get me far in the States -- is enough to keep everyone from being hassled.

We all then tried to hail a taxi, and fit all eight of us in one single car (four people from the group had split off earlier, and took their own cab back). Alex haggled with the drivers in Swahili, driving the price down to where it should have been, while her and I watched all the others pile into the back seat. Can you picture six people in a the three person bench in a back on a civic? The windows were flesh color, with speckles where I believe I saw hair, shirts, and maybe even a shoe. Alex sat on my lap in the front seat. However, they made us get out -- the car was riding down on the wheels they said -- and we had to hunt down another one. Sadness. That would have been an awesome ride.

We finally found two that would work for us, and heading up to our little section of town, which is about half and hour out. The taxi driver got lost, drove us into some creepy area of town, and then had to consult with his other driver as to where we were. Figures that we got the drivers that had just moved to Nairobi too. But, after some time, we made it, all safely back to their own house.

I made it back to mine, and the outside gate was locked up, even though I made sure to tell my family I would be back at 11 or so, so with no options left, and me stnading for longer and longer in a dark alley, I decided to hop the ten foot wall. Great success, other than the tricky and strategically planted thorn bush next to the wall that decided to maul my right arm. For the next day, people kept asking, did you get into a fight with a cat? And then I had to explain the emvarrasing story of how, no, it was a bush. So it goes...

The next day was nothing short of incredible. A group of thirteen of us went up hiking in the Ngong Hills (see picture on the side), which is south of Nairobi up in the hills where many of the old British farms were (and where a huge expat community still lives), and where now the Massai herders that come into the city herd their increasingly gauntly looking cattle around. We went with three host siblings of some of my fellow students, and they were incredible guides and very very funny. They were originally scared of what we might think -- if we would be exhausted and angry at having to do so much hiking -- but soon found out that it's what our group wanted to do best.

We started our jouney with rides on matatus, the crazy decked out vans that roam the city, and the one that we ended up in was the uber Jesus-loving red and green vinyl decked-out machine that decided to grace us with a wonderful song about how "abortion is a crime." Needless to say, the song made all of us very uncomfortable. The religiousness of the area is started to weird us out just a little bit, especially when we get, "do you love God" questions asked to us all along the steets. For the most part, people aren't obnoxious about it, but it still just feels so weird here. I can't get over that fact. And no matter how much cultural immersion I get myself into, I don't think I'll ever understand Jehovah Witnesses. My host mother was trying to tell me why they don't delebrate holidays, and while I really really appreciated her willingness to talk to me about it all, and her openness to my own beliefs, I still just don't understand why they would abstain from celebratory occasions. But I'm rambling now....

The Ngong hills were spectacular, and the views from the tops of the hills -- which are sort of captured in the picture I've posted on the side -- were so uplifting and made all of us so excited to get out on safari and on the road. Jagged mountains, plains strecthing into more ranges, green undulating hills, ooohhh man. And, we saw a colubus monkey too. Pretty sweet.

We played some frisbee on top, and then a fun little game involving chucking a hacky-sack ball with all your might at other people. Ate good food, got some nice sun burn (though my New Mexico tan is holding out for me), and enjoyed a day outside of the city, which we all really needed.

Anton and I had plans to go down to a nightclub later in the evening, but unfortunately I had to bail on him. Super tired, and the idea of heading on down there when it was so late and when I had no energy just sounded like trouble. We were going to go down with his host brother and some of his host brother's friends, who we all met, but at the last minute we decided against it. Funny side note again -- Edward, Anton's host brother, took the water bottle that I was holding (I sadly had to buy a bottled one...) after I had finished it and said, "here, let me take care of that." He then dropped the bottle on the ground and said that there's no law in Kenya against that, so the streets are littered with garbage. Most of it is burned, but a lot of it isn't. Anton and I had to hold back our natural instinct to pick up the bottle, and both felt bad afterwards. It's no fault of Edwards, just a cultural norm that we are not used too. By the way, for more accounts of these stories, check out Anton's blog at: antongabrielson.wordpress.com.

Today, Anton and I went down into town, ate some greasy food (which we were sorry for), then went on a search for yogurt because we thought it would help our greaded up stomachs (it didn't, by any means), and then decided that we should take the bumpy bus ride back up. The bus didn't drop us off where it was supposed to, so we had to navigate our way back to where we were staying on our own, which was good fun. Lots of dust and exhaust in the eyes as we wandered back. Also, I failed to mention that I was called Jesus yesterday by a passerby, which I thought I should share :) We also went to the market today, and were heckled like crazy to buy touristy trinkets. It was bad news. People sadly just don't seem to realize that white travelers are much more likely to buy good if they are given just a little bit of breathing room. It's one "cultural experience" that I really just can't appreciate. Sadly, I see the desperation behind some of their eyes, and I realize we must reek of money, but still. It's unfortunate for everyone involved.

More class tomorrow -- one more week -- and then we are off to Mombassa! So very excited to get to the coast, see beautiful water, and get a change of scenery. I know that two weeks will be about all of Nairobi that we'll be able to handle. Snorkeling, learning about Islam, getting to wear man skirts -- good times for all.

That's all for now! As always, thanks for reading, and I'm sure you'll hear again from me soon.

Peace, love and happiness,

Zach