Hujambo!

Sometimes I’m amazed how much random stuff comes out of my mouth when I’m walking around Nairobi. I’m terrible at conversational Swahili, but it seems like I always have a quip ready to throw back at someone who shouts at me on the street. Here are some I’ve used recently:

• “Jina langu si John” (my name ain’t John) to the guy who yells, “Johnny!” (I never understood why they call white guys “John”… I heard it might be related to the British troops stationed here. Maybe John is a common name for a white guy?)
• “Hakuna jua” (there’s no sun) to the guy who asks if I wanna buy some sunglasses on an overcast day.
• “Nimeshaziona” (I’ve already seen ‘em) or “Niko nazo kwa nyumba” (I got those in the house) to the guy selling DVDs.
• “Huyu si bibi, ni dada” (she ain’t my girlfriend, she’s my sister) to the guy who asks if I wanna buy roses for the girl I’m walking with.
• “Mimi si mtalii” (I ain’t a tourist) to the guy who says, “Jambo“
• “Si endi mbali” (I ain’t going far) or “Nachukua route 11” (I’m taking route 11… legs) to the guy asking if I want a taxi.

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I had the good fortune to get hit head on in a friend’s car the other day. We were driving down Church Road, right around the corner from my apartment. A car was approaching slowly but sloppily, and a bit into our lane. There wasn’t much we could do but just brace for impact. “Crap!” I now have a unique insight into the ingenuity of Kenyan car mechanics.

Kenyan mechanics work in “garages.” When you car breaks down or needs work, you take it to the garage. This is not the same concept as the garage that sits beside your suburban California house; the garage most Kenyan fundis (handy men) work in are completely outdoors! Notice it bears no semblance at all to the “garage” where your car sleeps at the end of the driveway.
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It’s a terrible feeling to get caught in a lie. Today I told a small fib, then was glad I hadn’t flat out lied when the lady ended up sort of calling my bluff.

I was in San Marcos with a few hours to kill in between meeting some friends, and decided to go walk around Fry’s Electronics. As I was playing with one of the fancy new computers a lady came and introduced herself to me. It was obvious from her introduction that she wanted something. I began to mentally prepare my “let her down easily” strategy, and then she fell right into my trap when she asked, “Are you from around here?” I told her that I live in Kenya, I’m a volunteer, and I’m just home visiting family briefly.
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It’s something I’ve been battling with since I came to Kenya in 2007. This evening I was walking through Uthiru after work and some kids saw me and shouted, “Mzungu!” You’d think I’d be used it by now but alas, even after two years of living in Tala and hearing kids shout that and more at me every day as I walked the two kilometers to the market, it still bothers me. Plenty of well-meaning Kenyans have tried to explain to me that it just means “white person,” but I’m yet to be persuaded; a “mzungu” is a person who comes from the magical country of “zungu.” Huh?

You see, the rules of Swahili say that you prefix the name of a country with an “m” to denote a person who is a native of that country. For example, an “mkenya” is a person from Kenya. An “mtanzania” is a person from Tanzania. I don’t know what a person from America is, because I’ve only heard it like once. I think it’s something like “mamericano,” but that sounds like something you’d order at Starbucks and it’s irrelevant anyways. It’s irrelevant because even if they were yelling “American,” that doesn’t make any sense either. In what universe is it acceptable to yell someone’s country at them as a greeting? Besides, you don’t hear Kenyans yelling “Ugandan!” when a Ugandan dude walks by… they say, “Niaje?!” (what’s up?).

In Kenya, as long as you’re not black or Indian, you’re a mzungu… unless you are Filipino or Japanese (or anything else Asian which is NOT Chinese), in which case you are Jackie Chan and you know karate. Pole sana, guys (so sorry)!

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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