Hujambo!

The monthly rent for my two-bedroom flat in Westlands is 45,000 Kenyan shillings (600 US dollars) per month. Taking into account that the three-bedroom flats cost a considerable amount more, and that everyone’s rental agreements hike their rent by 10% annually, it’s safe to say that the average rent is around 60,000 shillings per month here. With fifteen or so apartments in the complex, whoever owns this place is looking at close to 1,000,000 shillings per month. Why, then, do we pay three askaris (security guards) 4,000 shillings each per month to protect our fancy asses? That’s fifty three dollars!

The security guards work in shifts; one mzee (old man), Musa, works from 6 am to 6 pm, and then two younger guys come for the graveyard shift. They have the mind-numbing job of opening and closing the gate all day, and protecting all of us and our fancy stuff. I doubt there has ever been an incident, but the electric fence ain’t there for looks, man. Inside these walls families live; families with BMWs, big-screen TVs, and children. You’d think those things would be worth more than a couple hundred bucks a month to protect. This is Nairobbery, after all!
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Has anyone seen the movie Sita Sings the Blues? It’s an animated full-length movie which has some interesting ideas behind it; a note from the artist on the official website:

I hereby give Sita Sings the Blues to you. Like all culture, it belongs to you already, but I am making it explicit with a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike License. Please distribute, copy, share, archive, and show Sita Sings the Blues. From the shared culture it came, and back into the shared culture it goes.

How cool is that? This is the exact idea behind the Linux kernel, the Free Software Foundation, and the FLOSS movement in general. Do what you want with it, as long as what you do with it remains under the same freedoms. It’s not a restriction, it’s a lack of restriction.

Download it and pass it on; it’s free.
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It’s easy, it’s healthy, and it’s delicious with a cup of tea or coffee. Another bonus is that you can eat it for breakfast, lunch, or dinner (or in the dark). I dabbled a bit with roasting my own peanuts, but buying peanut butter is definitely much easier. Furthermore, one of my well-organized friends has influenced me to buy plenty of extras for my pantry, so I always have some in stock. I’m not sure why I had to re-learn that skill, but it has paid off big time.

I don’t really like sweets very much and, unless I’m out and about pretending to be fancy, I don’t usually eat dessert after dinner. Having said that, I love the sweetness that toasted brown bread, peanut butter, and honey has. That brings me to my point: toast and peanut butter, washed down with a cup of coffee, is the perfect way to end an evening after eating a few grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.

Good night.

Someone once told me that it was the hot Ukambani sun that made people wander aimlessly around the streets of Tala. It’s funny, but it doesn’t quite explain why we have lots of crazy people in Nairobi (and San Francisco, though. Nairobi estates have these guys who wander around with burlap sacks picking up trash. I haven’t quite figured it out, but for some reason they usually have like three pairs of pants on (a dress code, of sorts?). I even see them walking in pairs sometimes, as if they are roaming the streets as a team. Also, I’m pretty sure they sniff glue, because I can never understand what the hell they are saying.

Today I was walking home down Church Road just after dark and I ran into one who was haphazardly blowing his nose into the air. I was just minding my own business swinging my umbrella and humming and I decided that was gross and I should cross the street. I told myself that was pretty messed up, but rationalized it that I wanted to go buy some eggs and milk at the shop across the street down the way. A few minutes later I was standing at the kiosk when that guy came up behind me and said, “Uncle, nisaidia. Nataka kula ndizi!” (Help me, I want to eat a banana).

I kinda ignored him at first but he was very patient and didn’t really bug me anymore. Everyone else just pretended he wasn’t there. I decided I’d buy him a banana, so I asked the guy at the booth, “Ndizi ni pesa ngapi?” (how much are bananas?). 10 shillings… “Sawa, mpe huyu mlevi moja” (Ok, give that drunk guy one). As I was walking away some dude asked the crazy guy, “Hakuna asante?” (you didn’t say thanks), and the crazy guy yelled a big, formal “thank you” in my direction. I was nervous because I thought was going to run after me and try to thank me in person. haaha.

The word for a drunk person, by the way, is mlevi, which that guy probably wasn’t; the right word probably would have been wazimu (crazy)!!!

You’d think knowing Kenya is in the midst of the long rains I’d carry my umbrella everywhere; alas, another day walking home in the rain without an umbrella. I did have a minor epiphany about umbrellas while sitting in the matatu on the way home, though. I had just run a kilometer through Uthiru to the bus stop in a thick drizzle, trying to get to a matatu before the rain picked up. By now it was raining properly, and some poor suckers who had reached their stops had no choice but to get out and face the elements. We even saw one jamaa (guy) slip and slide down a muddy slope, dropping all the fruits he was carrying. Pole sana (so sorry…).

Strangely there was no rain in Westi (Westlands, in sheng), which I assumed to be my good fortune. I alighted the matatu at ABC place (a few kilometers from my stop) to do some grocery shopping and then walk home, one of my weekly routines. By the time I was done it was raining again, go figure. My groceries and I set off on foot, in the rain. I just kept thinking how funny it must be to see a white guy walking in the dark, in the rain, without an umbrella.

Several people asked me, “Hauna mwavuli?” (you don’t have an umbrella?), and some others even laughed. Plenty of cars drove by and sprayed me, to which I said, “Wewe!” (you!) but thought, “Asshole!” It’s my fault, and I sealed my own fate when I looked out the window that morning at 7 am and, seeing a clear, blue sky, left without my umbrella.

Here’s a novel idea: it’s May, and there’s a high chance of it raining (regardless of the color of the sky in the morning), why don’t I carry my umbrella with me everywhere?