Kenya Diary - Part Three
Monday, June 5, 2006
This morning I made a beeline for the National Social Security Fund buildings to purchase some additional telephone airtime cards, and to also try to find some foot powder. I was, in fact, successful on both counts at the little pharmacy just inside the building (I say “just inside,” but in reality, one goes through a significant security gate, around the large building that fronts on Bishop Road, and then inside a very well concealed entrance from the vantage of the street. Having so quickly taken care of that business, I enjoyed an hour online at the ACK Guesthouse cybercafe.
Today marked my first solo excursion on Nairobi public transit. I was able, after a 25-minute wait, to pick up the Citi Hoppa #126 from the Kenyatta Hospital stop to Rongai, an outer suburb where Maurice stays, and where he had set up for me an interview with Henry DeWhite Onunga, an older Luo man whom I was to interview. Stepping of the bus in Rongai, one is definitely not in Kansas anymore…
In any American context, Rongai is a slum, but in Kenyan reality I would have to characterize it as lower middle class. Slums are really beyond Western imagining here. A fair number of goats wander along the dusty roadside and nibble at what grass and trash they can find. A chaotic jumble of kiosks and tiny storefronts line the main street with hand-painted signs inserted more or less randomly along the road. The sole establishment with any Western polish (and that is minimal) is the Kobil gas station (looks quite a bit like Mobil to me…), where I met Maurice. A woman attendant was sweeping the brick paving with a short whisk broom, which most definitely annoyed the goats.
My interview with Henry Onunga was fascinating, as he had very interesting perspectives on the history of Luo traditional music, the use (or suppression) of this in Christian liturgy, and the changes he’s seen in his lifetime. Of particular interest to me was the fact that he dealt mostly with Seventh Day Adventist missionaries, who had suppressed the use of instruments (traditional or otherwise) in church until very recently. He described various traditional instruments and their manner of playing, and even had a couple cassette recordings which I was able to play on the spot with my portable cassette recorder.
After the interview, we ordered lunch (nyama choma again, but at 1/10 the price paid at Bomas of Kenya), and I went to see Maurice’s place while it was prepared (45 min. to an hour). Maurice’s apartment is entered through a metal outer door closed over a wooden inner door, both padlocked, opening on a central courtyard with three residential buildings and the back of the row of shops forming the four sides (one walks through a tiny alley between shops to reach the courtyard). The courtyard was full of clotheslines with clothing drying, and two small children were playing under the watchful eye of their mother, who was doing more laundry. Maurice has a small sitting room (which was all I saw), perhaps 10’ square, into which is wedged a couch, tiny coffee table, a chair, and a very small table and several stools. He has a small black and white TV which gets only one channel (badly), in spite of the wire extensions he improvised on the ends of the antennae. Still, in the truest spirit of Luo hospitality, he had earlier bought some fresh fruit (a mango, several bananas and some oranges), which he washed in the next room and set out for us to nibble on as we visited. He was insistent that regardless of how short a visit, it is Luo custom to offer food and hospitality to the guest. I enjoyed looking through a photo album of his family members and friends, and several of the photos were taken at his home in Nyanza, where we will go at the end of this week.
We returned to the restaurant for the meal. Now, I should back up a bit and explain how the food is ordered. In the tiny storefront window, there are legs and/or sides of the various animals hanging (mutton in this case). You indicate how much meat you want (the usual increments are ¼ kilo, ½ kilo or 1 kilo), and if you wish to have it mixed with anything (greens and potatoes were on the menu). Then, in front of you, the meat is hacked off with a large knife and weighed. I am certainly no vegetarian, nor did the experience cause me to consider swearing off meat, but we in the West are certainly isolated from this sort of scene – from window to butcher’s block to scale to the fire.
Now, all this while, I was noticing the general level of cleanliness (or, more accurately, lack thereof) and the many flies buzzing around. A small candle had been lit inside the front window, which seemed to be killing many of the flies. At any rate, I simply put e. coli out of my mind for the moment, trusting that the roasting of the meat would kill anything problematic. It is now after 8:00 p.m. and I’m feeling fine, so I think I’ve dodged that bullet. I did take the precaution of drinking only bottled soda with the meal, as I was definitely not about to trust the water supply (and, stupidly, I had not brought any bottled water with me today).
The serving of the meal was actually very nice, in spite of very basic surroundings (an outside courtyard behind the restaurant, where we were closely observed by four cats who were hoping for leftovers). A waiter first came around with a basin which had a bar of soap in it and a pitcher of warm water. The custom is to have the eldest man (Henry in this case) wash first, and then the others. This was repeated after the meal, as nyama choma is traditionally eaten with the hands. The meat was slightly tough, but flavorful, and the greens and potatoes accompanied it well. Served on the side was a large helping of ugali (cornmeal paste). All of us ate from the same large dish, which is also customary.
We were joined by another Luo man who was only introduced to me as Peter. He was especially keen on politics, and demonstrated a very thorough knowledge of American political events. He was especially complimentary of Senator Barak Obama, who is, as it turns out, Luo and from the same area of South Nyanza that all three (Maurice, Henry and Peter) men call home. Apparently, Obama endeared himself to his ancestral community by coming home to bury his father and honoring tradition in this way, as well as bringing his bride there after their marriage and staying for two weeks. Peter also said that he was paying the school fees for the children of the entire village – something that has not gotten really any press at all in the U.S., and something that I believe gives us an important insight into Obama’s heart and character.
Following the lunch, which lasted a solid hour, Maurice and I went to the cybercafe adjacent to his home so that he could check on an account he set up on an online networking community, and 10 minutes later, it was back across the street to wait for the City Hoppa #126 back to Flora Hostel. After about 15 minutes, one came, and Maurice was kind enough to wait with me the entire time (particularly since he had to make a run into town himself to the bank, and could have taken any one of a dozen matatus that came by while we waited).
As luck would have it, it was the same Citi Hoppa with the same conductor as that morning (I suppose a lone white guy this far away from tourist areas does get noticed), and the conductor remembered me and asked, helpfully, if I had gotten where I was going. I had verified with him that we had reached Rongai that morning before getting off the Citi Hoppa. I assured him that all was well and that I hadn’t gotten lost.
Arriving back at Flora about 2:45 p.m., I made a quick stop at my room and then headed back to the ACK Cybercafe to spend some additional time online, and, for a special reward, I then went to the Fairview Hotel, bought The Nation (the principal newspaper in Nairobi), and read it and some other material while having tea for nearly an hour. Then it was back to Flora about 5:00 p.m. amidst the brisk pedestrian and automobile traffic of rush hour on Bishop Road (but nothing like downtown!).
At dinner I met a professor (Bill) from Concordia University in Moorhead, MN, who had just arrived in Nairobi after several weeks in Tanzania leading a student group on a program promoting AIDS awareness. He is now taking some vacation time in Kenya, grateful to be away for a while from adolescent energy.
And, best of all, tomorrow is my “day off,” which isn’t entirely accurate, as I’ll be reading and writing quite a bit, but there are no scheduled classes or research sessions. Perhaps I’ll be able to connect with Charles – maybe for tea in the afternoon. I’ve been wondering how his day was today. In any case, I am gaining confidence in this strange environment, and I am less apprehensive of the trip to rural South Nyanza than I was even a few days ago. I am certainly never going to be daunted by travel in Europe or North America again.
(8:32 p.m.)
Tuesday, June 6, 2006
12:38 p.m.
Thought for the day: In America, if you are squatting in your shower washing clothes in a plastic basin with a bar of soap, you are angry – probably because your washing machine is broken. In Africa, you are grateful, because you are fortunate enough to have a shower, basin, and soap.
The above occurred to me as I was washing clothes this morning in the manner described. The relative luxury of this was pointed out by my trip to Rongai yesterday, where most of the residents would consider themselves incredibly fortunate to have all of these things. There is much time to think when doing laundry this way, particularly since the distraction of my radio is no more. The already tenuous connection between the antenna and the internal wiring broke today – which was inevitable, given that the antenna was not properly anchored to the body of the radio. It still gets many local stations, but I can no longer pull in Voice of America, which was a real treat for a brief while. The shortwave receiver never seems to have worked particular well. Oh well, a KSh 2,000 learning experience: inspect the goods carefully.
After laundry and my own shower this morning, I went down to visit the supermarket in the NSSF building. Unfortunately, the supermarket was no longer there. Apparently, taking down outdated signs is something that happens only infrequently in Kenya (the signs for the defunct cybercafe at the bottom of the hill on 5th Ngong Ave. and Bishop road that I tried to find just after arriving here are still up as well). I didn’t really need anything specific, but it was irritating. I then went to the pharmacy in that building and purchased some more pre-paid mobile phone time, anticipating that I might not be able to do so all that easily while in the west of the country over the weekend.
I spent about an hour and 15 minutes online at the ACK Guesthouse cybercafe – even reading some news on the CNN web site (things are not improving much in Iraq), where I bumped into Charles. He had a research appointment in town today, and will phone me when he gets back, about 5pm, so that we can meet for tea. I then returned to Flora for lunch, and while waiting for it to be served, I began constructing the outline for my research integration paper. This outline is due tomorrow, and it is a bit disconcerting to construct an outline for a research paper when only about 1/3 of the research has been completed. I suppose there is room for revision, of course, but it is still a challenge. Given the pace of the program, however, I admit that it is necessary to begin moving on the paper this early in the sequence of things.
Every day when I walk to the ACK Guesthouse, the NSSF Building or the Fairvew Hotel, I pass immediately in front of the Israeli Embassy on Bishop Road. It is, in fact, directly across from the Fairview. This explains the armed roadblocks on this stretch of the road, of course, and the compound itself is a fairly impressive fortress. A tiny sign with a buzzer/intercom by a door in the compound wall is the only identifying feature. This door has a small awning and a light. Occasionally, I have seen a white man in a khaki vest and baseball cap in the area, speaking intermittently into a microphone, sometimes on one side of the street, sometimes the other. He’s obviously Israeli security. Passing him the other day, I greeted him simply with a nod, which was returned. I didn’t want to offer a verbal greeting, as these guys are generally pretty focused on business.
The compound fence has barbed wire with electrified fencing above that. There is a car entry gate (solid metal), and about eight feet in front of this is a post that retracts into the ground to allow a car to pass. There are video cameras in several places, a semi-spherical mirror just inside the car gate mounted high enough to see it over the wall, and during business hours at least, I generally see at least four Kenyan Army soldiers manning the roadblocks (in addition to at least three or four security guards for the gates of the Fairview across the street and occasionally the Israeli security man).
Clearly, the Al Qaeda attack on the American Embassy in Nairobi some years ago was a catalyst to upgraded security for all foreign missions here, but I imagine that the Israelis had always been somewhat cautious in this environment. I have not visited the American Embassy here, nor the memorial gardens at the site of the old embassy, but I may try to do this before leaving Nairobi. I do feel my blood pressure rise a bit whenever I’m near areas where tourists are likely to gather in the city, particularly since Westerners taking part in the Maryknoll program are not encouraged, as a matter of safety, to frequent such locations.
8:41 p.m.
The outline is finished! Not only was I able to get it done, but I was also able to print out two copies at the ACK Cybercafe. It cost KSh 10 ($0.14) per page, but they threw in two staples for free (wow). It came out to three pages, and I was able to include a fair number of references to quotes I intend to use from five books, so it should be fairly easy to flesh out. As it was then almost 5:00, and Charles was expected back shortly, I hung around and sent a few e-mails. Charles called at 5:20 or so, and when I told him I was in the cybercafe, he came over.
We decided that since he had a rather frustrating day (broken appointments, lots of waiting around in the city center, and ultimately only one interview with a nun at the basilica for about 30 minutes), it was acceptable for us to have a drink at the Fairview in the poolside restaurant. With a double gin and tonic for Charles and a Tusker beer (the local brew, which is really quite good) for me in hand, we processed the last 48 hours or so in preparation for returning to class tomorrow. We also indulged in an appetizer (popcorn shrimp), which seems like such a little thing from a Western perspective, but was rather an extravagance here. The fact that I washed laundry in a plastic bucket this morning made me feel better about indulging.
Given that I am taking a course entitled “African Traditional Religion Interprets the Bible,” I thought a quote from the Bible would be a good way of starting my outline and paper. In the spirit of avoiding the European accretions to the scripture that have so often accompanied missionary activity, I chose the following (Proverbs 30:5-6):
Every word of God proves true;
He is a shield to those who take refuge in Him.
Do not add to his words, lest he rebuke you,
And you become a liar.
The emphasis in the context of my paper, and of the overall theme of the course, is that Africans must themselves interpret what Christianity means to them based on the reading and contemplation of scripture, especially in their own native tongues. The same is true for Christian worship, which includes the use of music that speaks appropriately in an African context. To be sure, there is a wide range of what will be considered appropriate from community to community, but it must speak to their cultural norms and have relevance in their frame of reference.
I did consider another quote, but this seemed a bit too easily read as an attack on all missionary activity (Proverbs 13:17):
A bad messenger plunges men into trouble, but a faithful envoy brings healing.
Of course, it is the definition of “bad messenger” that is problematic. Many Evangelicals would likely say that indigenous interpretations of scripture are deviating from the “true” message (i.e., the Evangelicals’ interpretation), and that the African must be “educated” in the “true” practice of Christianity. Hogwash.
Dinner was punctuated tonight with a blackout of about 10 minutes’ duration, but the staff quickly lit battery-powered fluorescent lights (these were permanently installed in the dining area) and a large kerosene lantern. The timing would have been far worse if this had happened earlier, when food was being prepared!
Another group of American teens and twenty-somethings arrived either this morning or last night (there were at breakfast). They are yet another mission group on their way to do something. I don’t mean to be callous, but I’m not sure how much of the culture such a group can absorb. They stay together in a pack, interacting little with people outside the group. Then again, understanding the culture is not, I suspect, their agenda. They have come to “do good,” and will build something or volunteer – and these are not bad things, I suppose. But somehow, Americans (especially this age group) are without a doubt the loudest people in the room. This last observation has been consistent throughout my stay here thus far.
Classes resume tomorrow, and I believe I’m ready. I’m well along on reading, the outline is completed, my laundry is done and my shirts are ironed.
Medical note: My digestive system seems not to have emerged entirely unscathed from my nyama choma experience in Rongai yesterday. Immodium appears to be doing the trick.
(9:15 p.m.)
Wednesday, June 7, 2006
It was truly a pleasure to return to class today. In an environment that avoids many Western distractions, it is amazing how one’s mind becomes eager for the engagement of the classroom, the contact with fellow students, and, in all honestly, the sanctuary that an academic setting such as Tangaza College provides. It is no wonder that students in Africa apply themselves to their studies! I confess that I wish my own students in America had a few less distractions and a bit more thirst for knowledge. Clearly, we just have too many toys.
After returning from Tangaza College, my fellow student (and next-door neighbor in Flora Hostel), Stembridge and I took a walk to the ATM in the NSSF building, and then I treated him to tea at the Fairview Hotel. I figured this was the easiest way to illustrate a typical Western experience. Stembridge is from southern Zambia (his native tribe and language is Tonga), and is a 28-year-old Christian Brother (not De LaSalle) who has taken first vows, but not yet perpetual vows. We had a marvelous conversation, which we continued on the walk back to Flora. He came to my room and we went through the photo library I’ve amassed so far on this journey (some 120 photos).
At dinner, we sat with a man from Tanzania – the coastal area near Zanzibar. He provided some very interesting opinions of the Kenyan dialect of Kiswahili, as he is from the area where the language originated. It is definitely different here, he assured us (I have no doubt that it is). We also discussed the difficulties of Westerners coming to an African environment, that is those Westerners who do not remain inside the “tourist bubble” of arranged tours, expensive European-style hotels, and taxi cabs. In Kiswahili, white Westerners are often referred to as “yai,” which means “egg.” This refers to both a white color, and to the fact that we are perceived as fragile. It’s actually a very apt description.
I also had another brief conversation with the young Eritrean De LaSalle Brother, Geru Andu, who gave to me his demo CD. Taking into account that the limited technical resources available to him, one can forgive the somewhat antiquated MIDI and drum machine sounds of the various tracks. It is certainly conceived as popular music – a sort of Eritrean Christian rock, if you will. However, past that there is real substance in what he is doing. I was particularly fond of a track called “Amen Kberely,” which has an interesting polyrhythmic texture, with contrary accents to the overall triple meter set up by a pattern of repeated syncopations. This polyrhythmic texture “resolves” to a purely triple meter in the refrain. I only wish I had a translation for the texts (and I also don’t know which language it is, though the titles are in both Latin and Amharic script, so I’m guessing that it is Amharic, Tigrinya, or one of the others that would use that script). I will have to find some time to sit down with Br. Geru and learn more about this recording and ask for some translations. He is presently seeking some assistance in producing a quantity of the CDs, as the master is finished, and I will try to find some resources when I return to the U.S.
I am definitely going to have to ship books home to the United States from here. I have now collected some 10 books on African culture, theology, ethnography, and research methodology. These will be invaluable as I write my paper, and I am sure that they will be excellent references to have at home, but I am already well over any reasonable airline luggage weight limits at this point, considering my menagerie of carved animals and other souvenirs. I did find a shipping service in the NSSF building, but have not asked about prices yet. I’ll try to do that tomorrow perhaps, depending upon when we return from Tangaza.
I also withdrew money from an ATM today to fund the trip to South Nyanza over the weekend. Maurice suggested that I bring KSh 10,000 to be safe. I’m bringing KSh 15,000. One never knows what might come up, and this is definitely a cash economy – almost entirely so outside Nairobi (and most places in Nairobi as well). In fact, the only place I’ve actually used a credit card outside an ATM so far is at the Fairview Hotel.
All in all, it was not as eventful a day as others have been, but the stability of the schedule and brief retreat to the “bubble” of the Fairview made it fairly pleasant. I suppose I’m storing up that sense of comfort as I approach the unknown of this weekend trip.
(8:51 p.m.)
This morning I made a beeline for the National Social Security Fund buildings to purchase some additional telephone airtime cards, and to also try to find some foot powder. I was, in fact, successful on both counts at the little pharmacy just inside the building (I say “just inside,” but in reality, one goes through a significant security gate, around the large building that fronts on Bishop Road, and then inside a very well concealed entrance from the vantage of the street. Having so quickly taken care of that business, I enjoyed an hour online at the ACK Guesthouse cybercafe.
Today marked my first solo excursion on Nairobi public transit. I was able, after a 25-minute wait, to pick up the Citi Hoppa #126 from the Kenyatta Hospital stop to Rongai, an outer suburb where Maurice stays, and where he had set up for me an interview with Henry DeWhite Onunga, an older Luo man whom I was to interview. Stepping of the bus in Rongai, one is definitely not in Kansas anymore…
In any American context, Rongai is a slum, but in Kenyan reality I would have to characterize it as lower middle class. Slums are really beyond Western imagining here. A fair number of goats wander along the dusty roadside and nibble at what grass and trash they can find. A chaotic jumble of kiosks and tiny storefronts line the main street with hand-painted signs inserted more or less randomly along the road. The sole establishment with any Western polish (and that is minimal) is the Kobil gas station (looks quite a bit like Mobil to me…), where I met Maurice. A woman attendant was sweeping the brick paving with a short whisk broom, which most definitely annoyed the goats.
My interview with Henry Onunga was fascinating, as he had very interesting perspectives on the history of Luo traditional music, the use (or suppression) of this in Christian liturgy, and the changes he’s seen in his lifetime. Of particular interest to me was the fact that he dealt mostly with Seventh Day Adventist missionaries, who had suppressed the use of instruments (traditional or otherwise) in church until very recently. He described various traditional instruments and their manner of playing, and even had a couple cassette recordings which I was able to play on the spot with my portable cassette recorder.
After the interview, we ordered lunch (nyama choma again, but at 1/10 the price paid at Bomas of Kenya), and I went to see Maurice’s place while it was prepared (45 min. to an hour). Maurice’s apartment is entered through a metal outer door closed over a wooden inner door, both padlocked, opening on a central courtyard with three residential buildings and the back of the row of shops forming the four sides (one walks through a tiny alley between shops to reach the courtyard). The courtyard was full of clotheslines with clothing drying, and two small children were playing under the watchful eye of their mother, who was doing more laundry. Maurice has a small sitting room (which was all I saw), perhaps 10’ square, into which is wedged a couch, tiny coffee table, a chair, and a very small table and several stools. He has a small black and white TV which gets only one channel (badly), in spite of the wire extensions he improvised on the ends of the antennae. Still, in the truest spirit of Luo hospitality, he had earlier bought some fresh fruit (a mango, several bananas and some oranges), which he washed in the next room and set out for us to nibble on as we visited. He was insistent that regardless of how short a visit, it is Luo custom to offer food and hospitality to the guest. I enjoyed looking through a photo album of his family members and friends, and several of the photos were taken at his home in Nyanza, where we will go at the end of this week.
We returned to the restaurant for the meal. Now, I should back up a bit and explain how the food is ordered. In the tiny storefront window, there are legs and/or sides of the various animals hanging (mutton in this case). You indicate how much meat you want (the usual increments are ¼ kilo, ½ kilo or 1 kilo), and if you wish to have it mixed with anything (greens and potatoes were on the menu). Then, in front of you, the meat is hacked off with a large knife and weighed. I am certainly no vegetarian, nor did the experience cause me to consider swearing off meat, but we in the West are certainly isolated from this sort of scene – from window to butcher’s block to scale to the fire.
Now, all this while, I was noticing the general level of cleanliness (or, more accurately, lack thereof) and the many flies buzzing around. A small candle had been lit inside the front window, which seemed to be killing many of the flies. At any rate, I simply put e. coli out of my mind for the moment, trusting that the roasting of the meat would kill anything problematic. It is now after 8:00 p.m. and I’m feeling fine, so I think I’ve dodged that bullet. I did take the precaution of drinking only bottled soda with the meal, as I was definitely not about to trust the water supply (and, stupidly, I had not brought any bottled water with me today).
The serving of the meal was actually very nice, in spite of very basic surroundings (an outside courtyard behind the restaurant, where we were closely observed by four cats who were hoping for leftovers). A waiter first came around with a basin which had a bar of soap in it and a pitcher of warm water. The custom is to have the eldest man (Henry in this case) wash first, and then the others. This was repeated after the meal, as nyama choma is traditionally eaten with the hands. The meat was slightly tough, but flavorful, and the greens and potatoes accompanied it well. Served on the side was a large helping of ugali (cornmeal paste). All of us ate from the same large dish, which is also customary.
We were joined by another Luo man who was only introduced to me as Peter. He was especially keen on politics, and demonstrated a very thorough knowledge of American political events. He was especially complimentary of Senator Barak Obama, who is, as it turns out, Luo and from the same area of South Nyanza that all three (Maurice, Henry and Peter) men call home. Apparently, Obama endeared himself to his ancestral community by coming home to bury his father and honoring tradition in this way, as well as bringing his bride there after their marriage and staying for two weeks. Peter also said that he was paying the school fees for the children of the entire village – something that has not gotten really any press at all in the U.S., and something that I believe gives us an important insight into Obama’s heart and character.
Following the lunch, which lasted a solid hour, Maurice and I went to the cybercafe adjacent to his home so that he could check on an account he set up on an online networking community, and 10 minutes later, it was back across the street to wait for the City Hoppa #126 back to Flora Hostel. After about 15 minutes, one came, and Maurice was kind enough to wait with me the entire time (particularly since he had to make a run into town himself to the bank, and could have taken any one of a dozen matatus that came by while we waited).
As luck would have it, it was the same Citi Hoppa with the same conductor as that morning (I suppose a lone white guy this far away from tourist areas does get noticed), and the conductor remembered me and asked, helpfully, if I had gotten where I was going. I had verified with him that we had reached Rongai that morning before getting off the Citi Hoppa. I assured him that all was well and that I hadn’t gotten lost.
Arriving back at Flora about 2:45 p.m., I made a quick stop at my room and then headed back to the ACK Cybercafe to spend some additional time online, and, for a special reward, I then went to the Fairview Hotel, bought The Nation (the principal newspaper in Nairobi), and read it and some other material while having tea for nearly an hour. Then it was back to Flora about 5:00 p.m. amidst the brisk pedestrian and automobile traffic of rush hour on Bishop Road (but nothing like downtown!).
At dinner I met a professor (Bill) from Concordia University in Moorhead, MN, who had just arrived in Nairobi after several weeks in Tanzania leading a student group on a program promoting AIDS awareness. He is now taking some vacation time in Kenya, grateful to be away for a while from adolescent energy.
And, best of all, tomorrow is my “day off,” which isn’t entirely accurate, as I’ll be reading and writing quite a bit, but there are no scheduled classes or research sessions. Perhaps I’ll be able to connect with Charles – maybe for tea in the afternoon. I’ve been wondering how his day was today. In any case, I am gaining confidence in this strange environment, and I am less apprehensive of the trip to rural South Nyanza than I was even a few days ago. I am certainly never going to be daunted by travel in Europe or North America again.
(8:32 p.m.)
Tuesday, June 6, 2006
12:38 p.m.
Thought for the day: In America, if you are squatting in your shower washing clothes in a plastic basin with a bar of soap, you are angry – probably because your washing machine is broken. In Africa, you are grateful, because you are fortunate enough to have a shower, basin, and soap.
The above occurred to me as I was washing clothes this morning in the manner described. The relative luxury of this was pointed out by my trip to Rongai yesterday, where most of the residents would consider themselves incredibly fortunate to have all of these things. There is much time to think when doing laundry this way, particularly since the distraction of my radio is no more. The already tenuous connection between the antenna and the internal wiring broke today – which was inevitable, given that the antenna was not properly anchored to the body of the radio. It still gets many local stations, but I can no longer pull in Voice of America, which was a real treat for a brief while. The shortwave receiver never seems to have worked particular well. Oh well, a KSh 2,000 learning experience: inspect the goods carefully.
After laundry and my own shower this morning, I went down to visit the supermarket in the NSSF building. Unfortunately, the supermarket was no longer there. Apparently, taking down outdated signs is something that happens only infrequently in Kenya (the signs for the defunct cybercafe at the bottom of the hill on 5th Ngong Ave. and Bishop road that I tried to find just after arriving here are still up as well). I didn’t really need anything specific, but it was irritating. I then went to the pharmacy in that building and purchased some more pre-paid mobile phone time, anticipating that I might not be able to do so all that easily while in the west of the country over the weekend.
I spent about an hour and 15 minutes online at the ACK Guesthouse cybercafe – even reading some news on the CNN web site (things are not improving much in Iraq), where I bumped into Charles. He had a research appointment in town today, and will phone me when he gets back, about 5pm, so that we can meet for tea. I then returned to Flora for lunch, and while waiting for it to be served, I began constructing the outline for my research integration paper. This outline is due tomorrow, and it is a bit disconcerting to construct an outline for a research paper when only about 1/3 of the research has been completed. I suppose there is room for revision, of course, but it is still a challenge. Given the pace of the program, however, I admit that it is necessary to begin moving on the paper this early in the sequence of things.
Every day when I walk to the ACK Guesthouse, the NSSF Building or the Fairvew Hotel, I pass immediately in front of the Israeli Embassy on Bishop Road. It is, in fact, directly across from the Fairview. This explains the armed roadblocks on this stretch of the road, of course, and the compound itself is a fairly impressive fortress. A tiny sign with a buzzer/intercom by a door in the compound wall is the only identifying feature. This door has a small awning and a light. Occasionally, I have seen a white man in a khaki vest and baseball cap in the area, speaking intermittently into a microphone, sometimes on one side of the street, sometimes the other. He’s obviously Israeli security. Passing him the other day, I greeted him simply with a nod, which was returned. I didn’t want to offer a verbal greeting, as these guys are generally pretty focused on business.
The compound fence has barbed wire with electrified fencing above that. There is a car entry gate (solid metal), and about eight feet in front of this is a post that retracts into the ground to allow a car to pass. There are video cameras in several places, a semi-spherical mirror just inside the car gate mounted high enough to see it over the wall, and during business hours at least, I generally see at least four Kenyan Army soldiers manning the roadblocks (in addition to at least three or four security guards for the gates of the Fairview across the street and occasionally the Israeli security man).
Clearly, the Al Qaeda attack on the American Embassy in Nairobi some years ago was a catalyst to upgraded security for all foreign missions here, but I imagine that the Israelis had always been somewhat cautious in this environment. I have not visited the American Embassy here, nor the memorial gardens at the site of the old embassy, but I may try to do this before leaving Nairobi. I do feel my blood pressure rise a bit whenever I’m near areas where tourists are likely to gather in the city, particularly since Westerners taking part in the Maryknoll program are not encouraged, as a matter of safety, to frequent such locations.
8:41 p.m.
The outline is finished! Not only was I able to get it done, but I was also able to print out two copies at the ACK Cybercafe. It cost KSh 10 ($0.14) per page, but they threw in two staples for free (wow). It came out to three pages, and I was able to include a fair number of references to quotes I intend to use from five books, so it should be fairly easy to flesh out. As it was then almost 5:00, and Charles was expected back shortly, I hung around and sent a few e-mails. Charles called at 5:20 or so, and when I told him I was in the cybercafe, he came over.
We decided that since he had a rather frustrating day (broken appointments, lots of waiting around in the city center, and ultimately only one interview with a nun at the basilica for about 30 minutes), it was acceptable for us to have a drink at the Fairview in the poolside restaurant. With a double gin and tonic for Charles and a Tusker beer (the local brew, which is really quite good) for me in hand, we processed the last 48 hours or so in preparation for returning to class tomorrow. We also indulged in an appetizer (popcorn shrimp), which seems like such a little thing from a Western perspective, but was rather an extravagance here. The fact that I washed laundry in a plastic bucket this morning made me feel better about indulging.
Given that I am taking a course entitled “African Traditional Religion Interprets the Bible,” I thought a quote from the Bible would be a good way of starting my outline and paper. In the spirit of avoiding the European accretions to the scripture that have so often accompanied missionary activity, I chose the following (Proverbs 30:5-6):
Every word of God proves true;
He is a shield to those who take refuge in Him.
Do not add to his words, lest he rebuke you,
And you become a liar.
The emphasis in the context of my paper, and of the overall theme of the course, is that Africans must themselves interpret what Christianity means to them based on the reading and contemplation of scripture, especially in their own native tongues. The same is true for Christian worship, which includes the use of music that speaks appropriately in an African context. To be sure, there is a wide range of what will be considered appropriate from community to community, but it must speak to their cultural norms and have relevance in their frame of reference.
I did consider another quote, but this seemed a bit too easily read as an attack on all missionary activity (Proverbs 13:17):
A bad messenger plunges men into trouble, but a faithful envoy brings healing.
Of course, it is the definition of “bad messenger” that is problematic. Many Evangelicals would likely say that indigenous interpretations of scripture are deviating from the “true” message (i.e., the Evangelicals’ interpretation), and that the African must be “educated” in the “true” practice of Christianity. Hogwash.
Dinner was punctuated tonight with a blackout of about 10 minutes’ duration, but the staff quickly lit battery-powered fluorescent lights (these were permanently installed in the dining area) and a large kerosene lantern. The timing would have been far worse if this had happened earlier, when food was being prepared!
Another group of American teens and twenty-somethings arrived either this morning or last night (there were at breakfast). They are yet another mission group on their way to do something. I don’t mean to be callous, but I’m not sure how much of the culture such a group can absorb. They stay together in a pack, interacting little with people outside the group. Then again, understanding the culture is not, I suspect, their agenda. They have come to “do good,” and will build something or volunteer – and these are not bad things, I suppose. But somehow, Americans (especially this age group) are without a doubt the loudest people in the room. This last observation has been consistent throughout my stay here thus far.
Classes resume tomorrow, and I believe I’m ready. I’m well along on reading, the outline is completed, my laundry is done and my shirts are ironed.
Medical note: My digestive system seems not to have emerged entirely unscathed from my nyama choma experience in Rongai yesterday. Immodium appears to be doing the trick.
(9:15 p.m.)
Wednesday, June 7, 2006
It was truly a pleasure to return to class today. In an environment that avoids many Western distractions, it is amazing how one’s mind becomes eager for the engagement of the classroom, the contact with fellow students, and, in all honestly, the sanctuary that an academic setting such as Tangaza College provides. It is no wonder that students in Africa apply themselves to their studies! I confess that I wish my own students in America had a few less distractions and a bit more thirst for knowledge. Clearly, we just have too many toys.
After returning from Tangaza College, my fellow student (and next-door neighbor in Flora Hostel), Stembridge and I took a walk to the ATM in the NSSF building, and then I treated him to tea at the Fairview Hotel. I figured this was the easiest way to illustrate a typical Western experience. Stembridge is from southern Zambia (his native tribe and language is Tonga), and is a 28-year-old Christian Brother (not De LaSalle) who has taken first vows, but not yet perpetual vows. We had a marvelous conversation, which we continued on the walk back to Flora. He came to my room and we went through the photo library I’ve amassed so far on this journey (some 120 photos).
At dinner, we sat with a man from Tanzania – the coastal area near Zanzibar. He provided some very interesting opinions of the Kenyan dialect of Kiswahili, as he is from the area where the language originated. It is definitely different here, he assured us (I have no doubt that it is). We also discussed the difficulties of Westerners coming to an African environment, that is those Westerners who do not remain inside the “tourist bubble” of arranged tours, expensive European-style hotels, and taxi cabs. In Kiswahili, white Westerners are often referred to as “yai,” which means “egg.” This refers to both a white color, and to the fact that we are perceived as fragile. It’s actually a very apt description.
I also had another brief conversation with the young Eritrean De LaSalle Brother, Geru Andu, who gave to me his demo CD. Taking into account that the limited technical resources available to him, one can forgive the somewhat antiquated MIDI and drum machine sounds of the various tracks. It is certainly conceived as popular music – a sort of Eritrean Christian rock, if you will. However, past that there is real substance in what he is doing. I was particularly fond of a track called “Amen Kberely,” which has an interesting polyrhythmic texture, with contrary accents to the overall triple meter set up by a pattern of repeated syncopations. This polyrhythmic texture “resolves” to a purely triple meter in the refrain. I only wish I had a translation for the texts (and I also don’t know which language it is, though the titles are in both Latin and Amharic script, so I’m guessing that it is Amharic, Tigrinya, or one of the others that would use that script). I will have to find some time to sit down with Br. Geru and learn more about this recording and ask for some translations. He is presently seeking some assistance in producing a quantity of the CDs, as the master is finished, and I will try to find some resources when I return to the U.S.
I am definitely going to have to ship books home to the United States from here. I have now collected some 10 books on African culture, theology, ethnography, and research methodology. These will be invaluable as I write my paper, and I am sure that they will be excellent references to have at home, but I am already well over any reasonable airline luggage weight limits at this point, considering my menagerie of carved animals and other souvenirs. I did find a shipping service in the NSSF building, but have not asked about prices yet. I’ll try to do that tomorrow perhaps, depending upon when we return from Tangaza.
I also withdrew money from an ATM today to fund the trip to South Nyanza over the weekend. Maurice suggested that I bring KSh 10,000 to be safe. I’m bringing KSh 15,000. One never knows what might come up, and this is definitely a cash economy – almost entirely so outside Nairobi (and most places in Nairobi as well). In fact, the only place I’ve actually used a credit card outside an ATM so far is at the Fairview Hotel.
All in all, it was not as eventful a day as others have been, but the stability of the schedule and brief retreat to the “bubble” of the Fairview made it fairly pleasant. I suppose I’m storing up that sense of comfort as I approach the unknown of this weekend trip.
(8:51 p.m.)
posted by Patrick O'Shea | 8:49 AM
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