Nairobi, Kenya

When I worked at that airline I decided to take a trip to Africa. We had a brochure from an interline travel agency and, among other trips, they had a few African safari packages. The great thing about working for an airline is the 90% discount on airfare. I had always thought going to Africa was something only rich people could do. Ironically. I would consider myself lucky if I could ever get to Europe, let alone Africa, and this was before I ever got to Europe. With the airline discount and the interline discounts I could go to Africa for about half of any package I could get online. I looked it up. I was going to go to Tanzania and safari across the Serengeti where 1 million wildebeest and a few hundred thousand zebras would be migrating and occasionally providing dinner for a few lions and crocodiles. After the safari I was going to spend a few days at Lake Victoria. This was going to be the trip of a lifetime. While I was pinching pennies and clipping coupons, my employers were buying a few 100 million dollar aircraft and generally flushing money down the toilet. Once I found myself unemployed I used the money I was saving on other luxuries, like food and rent. My safari was not to be.

Five years later I was on a plane to Africa.

The New Year/Spring Festival is the biggest holiday of the year. Americans call it Chinese New Year. Obviously the Chinese do not. It is Christmas, New Year’s Day, Fourth of July, and Columbus Day all rolled into one. Everyone gets time off. Even those people who actually work for a living that you hear about. Unfortunately, it is based on the lunar calendar and not the internationally accepted solar calendar that most of us humans use. Why base your calendar on a satellite that revolves around the Earth? Does the day begin when the moon appears or the sun? Call me biased, but I think the solar calendar makes much more sense. The Earth revolves around the sun once and that is a year. New Year’s Day is January 1st. Always. According to the lunar calendar the year begins at the first new moon of the year. Whenever that is. Since 2004 was a leap year, 2005 (or 94 according to the Chinese calendar) began a week into February. 2-8-2005 = 1-1-94. These people have to be good at math just to figure out what day it is.

The only problem with the 85 breaks per year that my school takes is that I never know when they are going to happen until about a week ahead. This works out for Korea, but simply will not do if I want to plan a trip to Africa. Ordinarily I use Boss Lady’s travel agency to book my airfare and/or hotel, but I was not about to risk this trip on people who have no concept of advance planning. I am more than willing to book everything myself and make sure that all is confirmed long before I set foot on any plane, but that is hard to do when you have no idea when the break will be. During my research, which I almost never do on other trips, I found that most African travel companies recommend booking about four to six months ahead. That was never a possibility with me. I was lucky to find out when the break would be one month ahead. Throughout December I asked Boss Lady daily when the break would be. I know I was annoying her, but if she gave me the dates a week in advance Africa would be lost. Finally, at the end of December, I told her that I had already booked a trip beginning in late January. I had not, but it forced her to pick a date. Usually everyone takes their break at the same time. The school is closed and everyone is happy, especially the children. Because of my preemptive strike Boss Lady and her husband took a week off while the school was open. Then the first week I was gone the school was more or less still open, which meant a Chinese teacher had to take my classes. That is always a hoot. The second week I was gone the school closed and everyone took a break. And the third week I was gone the school was open, but most of my classes were still off. Logistically I am sure it was a nightmare for Boss Lady, the school’s principal, owner and Chinese English teacher, but I would have been perfectly willing to take off whatever time would have been more convenient if only I had been told what that time was. Foreigners are trouble. Everyone knows that.

The main benefit to living here, aside from being paid to live here, is the cheap travel. Asian destinations are cheaper, of course, because they are much closer. But I can go anywhere outside of North and South America for a fraction of the price I would pay from North America. My current trip to Africa would end up costing about the same as the trip I was going to take five years ago, even though it lasted longer and included more destinations and a lot more transportation. It would have been much cheaper, but due to a problem with my return flight from Nairobi I extended my stay and took a detour into South Africa.

Once again I left home in the rain. The end of January is much colder than anything I had previously experienced in my tiny farm village. The eternally long summer is so hot and so humid that it is hard to believe it gets this cold in winter. I was told it was going to be even colder in February. Fortunately, I would be out of the continent most of February. Just to get to the airport I had to wear several layers of the closest things to winter clothing I have and my largest, heaviest coat. I knew it was summer where I was headed, and it would be hot. I knew I would have to carry around all these heavy clothes, but the trip to the airport would have been disastrous without them.

Unless you are coming from Europe or the Middle East it is hard to find a direct flight into Africa. The best I could do was Hong Kong to Bangkok to Nairobi. The flight from Hong Kong to Bangkok was full of Asians and, as far as I could tell, one white person, myself included. To me this is normal. As soon as we landed in Bangkok all the Asians got off the plane and were replaced by Africans. This was new to me, but if you have a problem with Africans, do not go to Africa. Watching the different people of different cultures was interesting. As the Asians left they took more luggage than they should have been allowed to bring into the cabin and all of their shopping bags. When the Africans boarded they brought on more luggage than they should have been allowed and all of their shopping bags. In Hong Kong the Asians took forever to load all of their bags into the overhead bins and scrambled around looking for more room. In Bangkok the Africans took forever to load all of their bags into the overhead bins and moved people’s things around looking for more room. No matter where people are from, whatever their background and culture, there is one universal truth that encompasses all of mankind. People love their crap.

Most of today’s commercial aircraft have at least some form of entertainment system. The problem is that whenever any member of the crew makes an announcement it overrides the music I am trying to listen to or the Adam Sandler movie I am not really watching. Within the English-speaking world this is not so bad since English is the language of international aviation. However, in other territories all announcements must be made in English and whatever language the locals speak. On the way back from Japan the crew interrupted that Adam Sandler movie where Drew Barrymore has amnesia with several announcements in English (the language of international aviation), Japanese (the departure point language), and Chinese (the arrival point language). The English announcements were short and to the point. The Japanese translations lasted about the same amount of time. The Chinese versions always took about as long as it takes me to clean the lizard shit out of my bedroom window gutters. The Chinese are nothing if not verbose.

I still have no idea how the movie ends.

To Nairobi all the announcements were made in English (the language of international aviation), Chinese (the departure point language), Thai (the transfer point language), and Swahili (the arrival point language). “Flight crews, prepare for final check” took about half an hour. When we flew over the Equator they did not bother to let us know, which was fine with me since that announcement would have taken the rest of the flight, but the in-flight navigation console told me. I looked out the window and was unimpressed. The tops of equatorial clouds look about the same as the tops of any other clouds.
  
Since everything arrived early it only took 26 hours from my front door to Nairobi’s airport. That is not bad for a 200km road trip from my tiny village to the airport and 8000km worth of flying. I was expecting to get off the plane to a tidal wave of intense heat. It was five o’clock in the morning so it was more of a dull ripple.

Nairobi market
Nairobi is the “City Under the Sun”
I do not know many cities that are not under the sun
But this close to the Equator it is pretty hot

I spent a little less than two days in Nairobi. I saw all of it. The fact that it is the largest city in the nation tells you just how small the cities are in Kenya. Nairobi’s City Centre takes a good ten minutes to walk through at a leisurely pace. No matter how long it takes for some horrid affliction to siphon away my memories one day I will always look back on Nairobi as a beggar’s paradise. In my first hour of wandering the City Centre at least a dozen beggars approached me. The basic strategy of the basic Nairobi beggar is not to ask for spare change or try to make the target feel guilty. They simply approach people with their hand held out. No dialogue is needed. It gets sad when you see parents send their children out to do their work. One small child no more than four years old approached me while I was walking. He never said a word, but his hand was out, just waiting for the inevitable manna from heaven. I kept walking and he followed me. After about a block I wondered just how long he was planning on following me. It seemed endless. I almost gave him money for perseverance alone, but I knew he would just give it to his mother. He earned it, not her. I was a little impressed that he could keep up with me. I was in no hurry, but I do walk somewhat faster than most four-year-olds. Some time later my safari guide told me that the children will try to give people nearby the impression that their mark is their father, the goal being to embarrass the target into giving up the money. I do not think this strategy works on white tourists. But it was nice to learn that I was not being singled out because I was obviously a white tourist. The beggars attack the locals, too.

After a pretty crappy lunch I was heading toward a mosque when I was approached by a man who said that he was going to study at UC Davis soon. He said that he wanted to ask me questions about the educational system in the United States and whether there was a lot of discrimination. I do not know if he recognized my accent or merely assumed that I was American, but I was just waiting for the mention of money. He kept talking, and I was there to absorb the culture, so I talked back. You can learn a lot about a place from the people who live there. Especially the random strangers who approach you on the street. He suggested we sit down in a little café and since he had not mentioned money and I really had no plans I agreed. He was very polite and friendly and asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I told him that I had just eaten a pretty crappy lunch and he suggested that I at least get a drink since it would be considered rude to sit in the café and not get anything. I told him he should get something and that I was not going to. He offered to show me the site of the US Embassy bombing once we were done talking about education in the US.

In the café he told me that he and two of his friends, who were currently incapacitated with diarrhea (thanks for that information), had escaped from the troubles of Uganda and that their visas to Kenya were going to expire tomorrow. He went on about how he was a teacher and had to flee without any of his possessions or legal documents. He said that he met a missionary in Kenya who was going to send him and his friends to Mozambique, where they could get visas to Europe or some other safe haven. He described some of the atrocities in Uganda and how his life would be in great danger if he were forced to return. I was sympathetic to his alleged plight and agreed that the situation in Uganda was not very attractive, but I pointed out how I have very little influence on the government or people of that country. Finally he got to the point. He needed money for his safe journey to Mozambique. I knew it was coming, but I was so disappointed when it did. He told his story so well, but there were too many glaring flaws to ever have the chance of drawing me in. If he was going to be deported and sent back to his imminent death tomorrow why was he wasting time talking to people on the street about education systems in other countries? If he had to leave without his legal papers how did he get a visa to Kenya in the first place? How would he get one in Mozambique? And why is Mozambique a better departure point to Europe than Kenya? If his plan was to escape to Europe why did he initially tell me he was going to study at UC Davis? I have driven past UC Davis. It is not in Europe. It occurred to me later that his insistence on my ordering food at the café was most likely an attempt to see what kind of money I had on me.

Once it became obvious that I was not going to give him any money he remained polite and offered to show me to the Embassy. He seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of me and after we had walked far enough I told him that I was not really that interested in it anyway. He pointed down a street and told me that it was just down there. If I kept walking a little farther I would see it. Then he disappeared. While walking down the street I thought that he had deserved the money simply for telling such a good story. No more than two minutes later a man in a cheap suit approached me and asked me how I knew the man to whom I was just talking. By this time I had become accustomed to strangers asking me questions in the street and I had no doubt that this man also wanted some free cash from the foreigner ATM. I told him that I knew the previous man the same way I knew him. He was yet another person begging for money. The new man said he was not a beggar and showed me a laminated identification card and told me that he was with the secret service. The man I had been talking to was a terrorist. I immediately liked this angle, but wondered how it could possibly end with me giving him any money. When I was told that the first man was a terrorist I told the second man to go get him. He said that they already had. That seemed a little fast. Someone I was just talking to was arrested no more than a block from me and I neither heard nor saw any commotion whatsoever?

The second man seemed pretty serious. The way a secret service agent would, as far as I know. He told me that I could get into serious trouble talking to terrorists and asked me where I was going. I told him that I should not be talking to him since maybe he was a terrorist and I could get into serious trouble talking to terrorists. He did not seem to like that. In hindsight if he had actually been a secret service agent then the way I was talking to him would not have been the best course of action. He became even more serious and told me that he was only trying to help the president. I assumed he meant Kenya’s president, but he kept that fairly vague. He wanted to know how I knew the first man, what we talked about, and where I was now going. I told him that just like everybody else who approached me the first man was just someone who wanted money. I did not tell him about the Uganda story. I did not want this guy to steal it. This second guy did not seem to like my attitude and suggested that I come with him for further questioning. I told him that unless he arrested me, I was going to go to the old US Embassy. He told me that the Embassy was no longer there and that if I wanted to go to the new Embassy he could get me a taxi. Offering to get me a taxi seemed a little strange just seconds after threatening to arrest me, but this guy was starting to annoy me anyway. I told him that I was going back to my hotel and that if he had any problem with that he could come and see me there. Of course, I never told him which hotel. As I was walking away I hoped I would see the first guy, but never did. I have no idea if they were a team or if the second guy merely follows the first guy around. Either way, the first guy’s story seemed better for soliciting money. I am not sure how the second guy expected to get anything.

I really was going back to the hotel, but made a few stops along the way. If any government agents or terrorists were watching me they never made their presence known. This quickly became one of those situations where it would have been much better if someone were with me. This would be a great story if I had a witness.

I never did see the old US Embassy. And it is nowhere near where the beggars told me it was.

Jomo Kenyatta Ave
Also known as the Handout Highway, Beggar’s Blvd
or Just Give Me Some Money Already Lane

Not long before dusk of my first day in Nairobi I was walking around the City Centre with my camera. Some would say that is dangerous, but I am a rebel. Not the kind of rebel who leads armed conflicts against established governments but the kind who scoops ice cream from the edge of the carton rather than the center. Generally I try not to look like a tourist. I have been to many places that I know nothing about where people have asked me for directions. I can go practically anywhere in Europe and North America and someone will ask me how to get somewhere. I have found that in Asia and Africa people assume I am a tourist anyway. For some reason I do not seem to blend in well.  

If you are a white person walking around downtown Nairobi with a camera every beggar will immediately track your sent. At least they took turns. As soon as one gave up and walked away another took his place. It seemed almost organized. A small group of people doing absolutely nothing told me that I could take their picture if I bought them dinner. I told them that I would take their picture if they bought me dinner. They were confused and probably thought I misunderstood their offer. Seconds later a man approached me and asked if I recognized him. I had seen roughly 42,368 beggars by this point. I was not about to recognize one over another. He said he worked at the hotel and was the front desk clerk who checked me in. Ok. So what? He suggested that I did not recognize him because I was tired when I checked in. True, I was. I am sure every white tourist is tired after the agonizing flights to Africa. He said he was on his way to the hotel with food for tonight’s dinner, but his car had broken down. I told him I did not have any money and he said that he did not want money, just help moving his car. I pointed out that there was no way in hell I was going to break my back pushing some stranger’s car. He said that I must have misunderstood. He did not want help moving his car. He needed money for gas. How could I misunderstand that. When he said he did not want any money but wanted help moving his car that meant he did not want help moving his car but wanted money. Either way I knew he was a beggar long before he said a word. I was staying at a large, European style hotel. Their front desk staff does not wander the streets gathering food for the kitchen. One would assume the kitchen is stocked in a more orderly fashion.

What annoyed me about this particular confrontation was that this guy mentioned my hotel by name. I was going to trip him up by pretending not to know where the hotel was and ask for directions, but he told me the name of the hotel before I could. Either that was a very lucky guess or this guy did his homework. Back at the hotel I told the front desk manager about my encounter, expecting him to say that Nairobi is full of beggars and they will say anything to get money. He did, but he also called the security manager, who told me that he would stay at the hotel until the person who works the front desk in the morning hours (when I checked in) came back for his next shift. At 8:30 that night I got a call from the security manager asking me to come downstairs to see if the front desk person was indeed my beggar. He wanted to make sure that his staff was not doing that sort of thing. It was someone else, of course, but we both agreed that my beggar was probably hanging around outside the hotel and watching people. This, the security manager pledged, was something he would deal with accordingly. Many managers would have simply given me some patronizing speech to get rid of me as soon as possible. I was just surprised he took the time to at least go through the motions.

That was the end of day one.



Nairobi at dusk