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…