Kenya.. sigh

2 weeks now in Nairobi.. I’ve done little but sleep and sleep and wait for unanswered email and phone contacts.. I’ve landed, seemingly, in paradise with a cloud for a bed, a monstrous bathtub and silent nights. The chaos and cacophony of Arua await my return but for now this rest is the panacea. Paradise, though, is deceiving as I surface from days of dreaming and realize how ingrained the Arua life is in me, and how deep is my affection for that life.

My Kenya landlady is what I would aptly describe as a “real broad”, in the old fashioned sense – she’s always got a cigarette within reach, drinks with gusto and swears like a truck driver when she’s not directing all manner of  expat traffic and domestic worker  details, or pounding out a report in between. She does contract work for various agencies and has jetted off to both Switzerland and Brussels within the past 2 weeks. I’d be envious if I didn’t find her shell so hard and her condescension so flummoxing.  Don't get me wrong, she's a good person, we're just not on the same page, I think her gusto and moxy are derived from her long tenure here and exposure to so much have forged that tough shell. She’s an American girl who knows her way around, lives in a palatial, Karen Blixen house with “Out of Africa” grounds and two cottages, one of which I am ensconced in as I write this. I half expect Robert Redford to come striding towards me across the lawn but settle gladly for the 3 big drooly dogs Netty, Letty and Byun.

 First night here she sized me up with a squint, and while there’s a smile on her face, her eyes are flinty and I get the feeling she’s thinking I’m green and naïve and not a right fit for her crowd. Right on all counts, as Nairobi is a slippery fish to grasp for me, but it’s ok because as I start to acclimate here, I find I’m not keen to be a part of this crowd anyways. I’m in another culture shock – white faces everywhere, palatial estates, security monitoring at every gate and monster malls make up my neighborhood. I have to admit I enjoy a good cappuccino but it feels weird – the only Kenyans I make contact with here are either making my bed or serving me something. A far cry from my Uganda home where the playing field is more level.

Nai-robbery as it’s fondly referred to, has got me spooked. I drive a wee car but always make sure the doors are locked, I don’t drive at night and heed the warnings to stay out of certain areas. Alas, I am still stung. Money goes missing from my cottage and my car is hit and run (more like impaled) in my first 10 days. I know better than to leave the money but got seduced by the setting. “Don’t trust anyone!” I’m told.  I always have a hard time with that one. And the car.. well, damn, that one sits on somebody else’s  shoulders, but either way, the African financial hemorrhage does not abate.

What’s wrong with this picture? I’m not sure but I do know it’s not the Africa I came to experience. I’ve been to the UN compound and think I think I have an inkling as to what is wrong with the picture, which I’ve been assured by a few in the know, that I’m not far off the mark. Too many entitled, spoiled and out of touch UN workers whose lives comprise of liaising with one another, spending “assessment” time in the field from the comfort of luxury hotels and air conditioned trucks and partying in all the hot spots and one another’s compounds while they complain about the corruption of the Kenyan government. All that stuff I’ve been reading about the need for UN reform materializes in a very short time – a microcosm. Imagine, these folks get hardship allowances as they clip clop around in high-end designer label clothing and Italian made shoes and frequent restaurants eating $50 meals accompanied by vintage wines. Not to mention the weekend safari excursions and flights to Mombassa and Zanzibar to escape the “horrible” traffic situation (though admittedly the traffic is really, really horrible). No doubt there are good people here too (in fact I know a couple of them) with good minds, intentions and projects; this is not to detract from them, but the system itself is dodgy at best, and seems to me those people are the ones who get lost in the fray.  At any rate,  decision made – I don’t wanna work here. This is not my scene, but I’m glad I’ve been here and seen it. I’ll take the dark and dingy rooms, bucket baths and grassroots work over this any day of the week. Loving the lessons learned though. Sometimes you’ve just gotta  see it to believe it..  and to find out just where it is I belong in this human security / peacebuilding scenario is priceless.