Bureaucratic Initation

Karen and my parents each sent me a package for my birthday and even though they probably arrived here last week, today was the first chance I had to pick them up. Below are the actual steps that were required of me to pick up my packages, with a few details thrown in.

1. Open the P.O. Box and retrieve yellow package slips (2:20 pm)
2. Take yellow slips to Package Delivery Room.
3. In the delivery room, take slips to Counter 3, show ID, and retrieve packages (I was relieved/excited to see that they were actually there).
4. Take packages and slips to Counter 2. Open everything, including wrapped birthday presents. Itemize package contents and explain why they were sent to you. Explain why your parents sent you plastic water guns. Receive lecture in broken-English on gun violence.* Reseal your packages with tape (minus water guns) and leave them at Counter 2.
5. Proceed with yellow slips to Room 113, the manager's office. Answer a couple of questions about the items so the manager can scribble something on the package slips.
6. Take yellow slips back to Counter 2. The man at Counter 2 translates the scribbles into the amount I owe for customs: 540 Ksh.
7. Take yellow slips to Customs Cashier. Here it is posted, and they tell you, that they do not receive customs payments here, but only at the bank. They take the slips, record some information, and print out billing info for bank.
8. Go to Room 113 to pick up two copies of billing info. (3:20 pm)
9. Proceed to Kenya Co-Operative Bank, two blocks down the street and pay 540 Ksh to Kenya Revenue Authority, windows 10 and 11. Wait in line for 40 mins.
10. Take receipt of payment and two yellow slips back to the Customs Cashier in the Package Delivery Room. Yellow slips are stamped.
11. Take itemized, scribbled, computed, and stamped yellow slips to Counter 2. Man behind Counter 2 proceeds to Room 113 to ask something about the water guns. He then tells me that if the guns were black I would have been in trouble, then stamps the yellow slips.
12. Stand in short line to pay Post Office fees: 70 Ksh per package.
13. Take triple-stamped yellow slips to Counter 3 to pick up packages.
14. Take slips and packages to "the woman scratching her head." Show ID. Explain what is in the packages. Leave yellow slips, take two white receipts.
15. Take receipts and packages to man standing at the exit/entrance to Package Delivery Room. Show ID. He writes down the info in his log book.
16. Take packages and leave! (4:35 pm)
17. Curse your birthday.

These are the documents I have to commemorate my afternoon. Sadly, the two yellow slips were kept in the possession of the Postal Corporation of Kenya.

*Bob and Yoland explained to me that most things that are rejected by customs, if they are not destroyed in front of you, are actually just taken and sold on the street, or given to family members. Thus, the lecture on water guns and violence might have been insincere, which could explain my lack of conviction.

Marsabit

This past week I was able to visit Marsabit--the focus area of my research--for the first time. I spent five days traveling to and looking around the area and plan on returning for a few weeks in July. For a better idea on what Marsabit it like check out the photo album I posted on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2521225&id=2534669&l=47b9d1954a).

Now I'm back in Nairobi babysitting the Kikuyu kids and watching Cartoon Network with them. We just finished watching Chop Socky Chooks. I've been meaning to post a picture of the family, so here they are:

(L to R: Sande, Bob, Simbi, Ledama, and Yoland at Nairobi National Park)

Food!

A few people have asked about the food in Kenya so here it goes. Food was actually one of the things I was slightly anxious about before leaving. I wouldn't say I'm a picky eater, but I'm also not an adventurous eater. I was a little worried that my host family would serve me something a bit too exotic for me--like fermented meat, milk, ...well anything fermented, or slimy meat products, or tapioca pudding. Texture and smell are pretty important to me and I've never had to really push myself to the limits, so I wasn't sure how I would react at the dinner table. Plus I didn't know what my host family would be like; if they would be understanding of the American palette or not. I actually tried to prepare myself before leaving by eating things that taste horrible, like buffalo chicken wraps (I only made it through half of one).

(Quick philosophical interlude: I've been wondering, is forcing food down despite a gag reflex mind over matter or the other way around? Seems obvious at first, but then it's not.)

All that to say, the food here has been great. My first home cooked meal was rice pilau with some amazing sauce (everything has masala in it) and fresh fruit. For breakfast I usually have toast with margarine and a cup of tea. Margarine is big here. I've been told it's because it doesn't have to be refrigerated.

But actually instead of merely describing each meal I'll show you a bit of what I've been eating:


This is a pretty typical home-cooked meal: rice (pilau), stewed meat, and fresh fruit. I love the fruit here, particularly the avocado, mango, and banana salad pictured above. Oranges also look like lemons here, but fortunately taste like oranges.


Here's a fruit stand at a local market. Fruit is so cheap here! Avocados are about three for a dollar.


This is my typical lunch at the Express Bakery and Cafeteria in downtown Nairobi: rice pilau, dengu (a lentil stew), bananas in sauce, some stewed vegetables, and a coke. The bananas are taste and feel more like potatoes. The total for this meal is 250 Ksh, which is less than $3.50. After a couple of misadventures, including one day where I ordered something like liver, I found this place a few blocks away from the archives. Now I'm a regular and the waitress (Beatrice) knows my name.


Mmmm. Despite constantly sticking out I try my best to blend in and act like I am not a tourist. However, taking photographs of my food in public places always seems to attract a few additional glances, so I do it surreptitiously and shamefully.


One day I ordered chicken curry but Beatrice told me that I should order the roast chicken instead. I said ok.


I spent about half an hour using my knife and fork to "carve up" the chicken. After I finished I looked around the room and discovered that the Kenyan way to eat meat (and actually a lot of things) is to just use your hands. That's ok, I'm the blond mzungu who takes pictures of his food and pokes at his chicken with utensils. The roast chicken was good, but after thinking about it I decided Beatrice recommended it because they were all out of curry.


This is chicken biriani, which is basically a spicy curry. This plate, along with most of the good food in Kenya comes from the coast, where the influence of Arab (slave) traders was more pronounced.

I don't have a picture of THE Kenyan food staple, which is ugali. Ugali is a mixture of maize flower and water that looks and feels like mashed potatoes. You basically use your hand to roll it into a (golf) ball, then flatten it a bit and use it to scoop up stewed meat, vegetables etc. Try imagining a spoon, a tortilla, and mashed potatoes all rolled into one. We haven't had ugali much, which is why I don't have any pictures. We do eat lots of chipati, which is like a thick tortilla, or Indian fry bread. It's amazing and my goal is to learn how to make it. If you're in Nashville in September you're invited for some chipati, dengu, and fruit salad.

Well I guess that's it. Rest assured that I am eating well in Kenya! (And I didn't even tell you about my experiences here with Japanese, Korean, and Ethiopian food.)

A Saturday in Nairobi

I woke up this morning to the sound of the Kikuyu family stirring about the house. Mostly I heard the voices of Simbi and Ledama, the two youngest children, followed by their parents’ hushing and an explanation that I was still sleeping in the next room. Simbi is five and Ledama is nine, and I don’t think they yet understand why I or any person would want to sleep in until 8am. I remember being that age and waking up to watch cartoons at 6am. Sometimes I’d wake up too early and find that programming hadn’t begun, so I’d just watch the color bar (photo) screen.


After lying in bed for ten minutes I slipped out of my bed, tied up my mosquito net, and made myself presentable. The breakfast table, just like the dinner table, is usually full of energy at the Kikuyu house. I’m planning on describing my host family in more detail in a future post, but for now I’ll give names and say that they are amazing and have been very generous to me. Bob and Yoland are the parents and their three children are Sande (boy, 12), Ledama (boy, 9), and Simbi (girl, 5). So at minimum there are six of us at the table, but very often, like this morning, there are additional guests at the table. The toaster is also a constant companion at breakfast, and toast with margarine and a cup of tea (chai) has been my typical breakfast. This morning we also had scrambled eggs and cold beans.

I was considering going to the archives for half the day but Bob invited me to attend a short meeting with him and to see a different part of Nairobi. The meeting was in Mathare, a slum area of the city and Bob knew I was interested in seeing what the slums were like. We actually live about a hundred yards from Kibera, Nairobi’s most notorious slum, but I’ve been advised to not walk through the slum without a local, which hasn’t happened yet. The meeting was in order to go over the legal process of establishing a trust for what I think is called the Kenya Children’s Project. KCP was started about 3 years ago by Adam, an American friend I have met here in Nairobi. Adam has helped organize and find funding to start a small school within the slums for about 120 kids who are around 6 to 9 years old. The school is completely run by Kenyans, requires a very small fee from the family of each child, and is supposed to be self-sustaining in the near future. Again, I’m a little loose on the details, but I think the plan is to use donor money to purchase some apartments here in the city and then use the money generated from renting the properties to completely fund the school. Eventually I found myself sitting in a small church within Mathare listening to a few pastors (Bob is a pastor), a bishop, a lawyer, a UN worker, a church worker, and Adam discuss the legal document that would form the trust. I understood a small amount of what they were discussing, but also felt free to let my mind wander. The meeting wrapped up and the bishop had someone bring sodas for each of us. I passed over Coke and Fanta and chose Bitter Lemon, which tasted a little like unsweetened grapefruit juice.

Bob and I left Mathare around noon and because of traffic took a detour through Parklands and other more upscale neighborhoods on the north side of the city. We drove past a few embassies (Saudi Arabia is the only one I can remember right now), past the Prime Minister’s estate, and past the U.S. Ambassador’s residence. We had plans to meet Adam and another American named Adam at a Korean-run restaurant called Hong’s. It took awhile for everyone in our party to arrive, but eventually I ordered a zucchini pizza and a mango shake. The second Adam helps run a faith-motivated (not faith-based) NGO in Colorado that helps fund community based organizations and income generating projects in Kenya. We spent part of lunch finding out exactly what that means, but also hearing entertaining stories about health and digestion issues experienced by Americans in Kenya. Fortunately I didn’t yet have anything to contribute.

At about four o’clock Bob and I headed home and I spent the next hour hand-washing all of my underwear. My laundry is actually done for me by the house help, but one of the interesting things about Kenya is that everyone has to wash their own underwear (or…). Basically it is because almost all clothing is hand washed, and I’ve been told Kenyan’s just think it’s kinda gross to wash someone else’s underwear. I guess I agree. So I filled up a couple of large bowls with water in my shower, used a bit of bath soap, and scrubbed, rung, rinsed and rinsed again. I currently have a baker’s dozen of clean underwear drying in my rafters.


After toiling on the Sabbath I sat down to watch some World Cup qualifying football (soccer). It was England v. Kazakhstan, so not the most compelling match, but still relaxing. One of the great things about the Kikuyu’s house is that they have satellite TV with a serious sports package. I’ve been learning a lot about football, rugby, and cricket. I keep trying to say “that was a wicked googly,” but it never seems to fit.

Because of the time difference, the weekends are the only times I get to talk to Karen, so after a low key dinner of leftovers I was able to spend some time gchatting with my girlfriend. Internet is not the greatest here, and I have to pay by the megabyte, but people tell me it has improved immensely over the past few years and become much more affordable, so I shouldn’t complain.

To close the day I wash up, let down my mosquito net, and read a chapter or two of Pride and Prejudice before turning the light out. It’s a girls’ book I know, but that Mr. Darcy…