Initial Impressions

Right now I’m trying to kill time and get acclimated to Kenya before my orientation on the 2^nd of February. So far I’ve familiarized myself somewhat with the immediate surroundings and took a trip to Nakkumaat, which is exactly what you would expect an African Wal-Mart to look like. I was actually very impressed with the quality and selection of the products they had there, everything from washing machines to an aisle labeled “Cat Food and Chicken Feed.” Here are a few random musings I’ve had on different things since I’ve been here.

-Kenyans, overall, are some of the friendliest, warmest, and most generous people I’ve met. When Sara and I were walking around downtown Nairobi with Rachael’s step-brother Benson, random strangers would walk up to us and ask where we where from, how we were doing, and what we were doing in Kenya. Being the jaded, cynical American that I am, I assumed that they wanted a handout or something like that. Instead, with everyone we met, we had a nice short conversation and were wished a nice stay and were off on our way. They were just curious and open towards meeting new people. Kenyan kids are awesome. They’re all very cute and well-behaved. It’s amazing what a little corporal punishment can do. If I were to adopt a kid, I would be very happy with a Kenyan one.

-The little kids all call us “Wazugu,” which means “white person.” Technically, the term for Indians and Pakistanis is “Wahindi,” but I don’t think the kids are clever enough for that one just yet. By the way, “Wabenzi” is the term for a rich person, since they favor Mercedes Benz cars around here. They all ask us “how are you doing?” When we shoot the same question back at them, the answer is always “fine!” Its never “good,” “great,” or “OK.” “Fine.” Every single time. They like to touch us, especially our arm and leg hair since they don’t have any of their own. Whenever we walk through a village, we hear shouts of Wazugu coming from everywhere and kids running out of the woodwork to greet us. It makes me feel like a celebrity.

-Kenyans think that Americans, and especially President Obama (I love writing that), possess magical powers to influence their and their country’s situation. One or two people so far have come to us asking if we can hook them up with jobs, healthcare, and scholarships back in the states. I guess to many people around the world, America still represents the shining light and ideal living situation. I guess I sometimes take being American for granted. Kenyans think we are walking ATM machines and are all well-connected.

I had an experience the other day where after a very fun night of drinking in a local bar and eating at someone’s house, Sara, Martin and I were dragged along to hear a sob-story about this 30-something who was crippled and “needed our help.” We asked what we could do and what exactly it was they wanted from us and were basically told, in so many words, to try to get him access to American jobs and healthcare, something which unfortunately is a dream even for many American citizens these days.

The whole incident made me feel kind of dooped and used, as if all the pleasantries were just a way to butter us up for what was to come. After feeling pissed off for a while, I realized that it’s a cultural thing, and that we may be the only Westerners some of these people meet. To them, we represent an opportunity for hope and salvation, however slim that hope may be.

-Everyone here is exceptionally well-dressed and well-mannered. It was surreal walking around downtown Nairobi and seeing the poor and unemployed wearing pressed suits and ties, especially in the 80 degree weather. Nearly everyone, no matter how wealthy or how destitute, pays attention to looking very presentable at all times. I thought back to home, where seeing a morbidly obese woman waddling around Wal-Mart wearing little more than slippers and a bathrobe is so common that it doesn’t warrant a second glance. People here are very handsome and I saw many people walking along the streets or at bus stops who would have no problems becoming models back in the States. Also, everyone’s English is super proper and formal. It’s cute because in conversation they sometimes slip in old antiquated terms that are vestiges of the Colonial days. I’m really going to miss how much pride people put into manners, appearance, and grammar when I get back home. <*Sigh*>

-Kenyan food so far has been pretty good. I didn’t know what to expect coming in, but this is not what I anticipated the food being like. I came on this trip thinking I might loose a little weight; but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen with the way things are going. Everywhere we go, we are greeted with an avalanche of food and drinks. You’re expected to try all of it; no matter how full you are, not eating or finishing their offering could be interpreted as rude. You guys have now idea how many times I’ve had to force myself through a delicious but massive serving of food, on the verge of popping my jeans but telling myself “one more bite, you can make it, man.” One food I don’t think I’m going to miss is Ugali. Ugali is a staple here and served alongside many meals. Think of grits except with less flavor and a consistency like old play dough. If water were a food, it would be Ugali. It’s a cheap way to fill up your stomach in a place that is facing food shortages and it takes on the flavor or whatever you dip it into or scoop up with it, so I guess I can see its appeal. But for now, seeing that white block on my plate is just another thing for me to finish.

-Corruption is rampant among government officials, but that’s like me telling you that there are fish in the ocean. Sara and I were driving to pick up some new volunteers from the airport in the Favali Helper’s Mutatu. A Mutatu is a minibus that has about 10 seats and is a very popular mode of transport here. Most drivers pimp their Mutatus out to make it unique, and I just saw one today that had a huge picture of Lil’ Wayne on the back with “God is Judge” painted above. We were stopped at a roadblock by a cop with an AK-74 slung over his shoulder. Yes, the AK-74 is a real gun and not a typo. Go ahead, look it up if you don’t believe me. Anyways, the cop shines his flashlight at us and then our laps, sees white skin and no seatbelts, and thinks “Cha-Ching!! Pay dirt!” You could practically see the Shilling sign light up his in eyes and make a cash register sound like in the old cartoons. He starts extorting our driver for a bribe, or “chai” (tea) as they call it around here. Just as he is getting ready to ticket us for not wearing seatbelts, a Mutatu overflowing with 24 passengers - which is the norm here - drives right by us and is totally ignored. It was like the situation was giving us a big middle finger saying “Screw you for being foreign in my country!” In the middle of the argument with the cop, Mike from Favali Helpers just drives off leaving the cop in the dust, realizing there was no point in sticking around. I was halfway expecting a dramatic chase scene or the Mutatu getting riddled with bullets, but then I realized how retarded that would be on the cop’s part and chilled out. Mike apologized for us having to see that and told us a few cops see us as their meal ticket. The corruption, as they’re fond of saying around here, also “goes right up to the top.” Kenya definitely seems to have taken the blueprint of its government from Chicago. Sure, Kenya may be corrupt, but by African standards, it’s the Boy Scout on the block.

So far, I have to say that I’m really glad that I decided to come to Kenya and volunteer over here. I feel more “alive” over here; walking around and weaving through traffic downtown without getting hit, seeing skinned animals hanging from meat hooks in the front windows of butcher shops, bouncing down a dusty road listening to reggae and passing fruit stands and barbershops on the side of the road…Its what I imagined it would be like in my head, and I just can’t WAIT to get started working in the hospital or clinic.

Quickly, I’ve just got one thing I need to get off my chest. To anyone and everyone reading this blog: THANK YOU!! I don’t think you realize how important it is to me that someone is actually reading this thing and, I hope, enjoying it. I mean sure, it’s nice to have a record for posterity, something to show my grandkids how cool and adventurous Grandpa Aamir was back in the day. But the whole reason I started this blog was to share my thoughts and experiences with you guys.

And extra props to people who leave comments. Seeing them makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So please leave a comment, something, anything, it doesn’t even have to pertain to the topic. You could write “I could really go for a pancake right about now,” and I would be happy that I have some affirmation that someone is actually reading this thing. As I go thought my day, I often think to myself “Oooh! I need to remember to write about that in my blog!” I know, I’m a nerd, but I just want to share what’s on my mind with you, the reader. So again, thanks.

In our next installment, our intrepid young hero attends a Kenyan Sunday church service and finds out where he’ll be living and working for the next month. Until next time.

P.S. I’m taking pictures and will post them on here once I get back home and find my USB transfer cable. In the meantime, I’ll try to use stock photos to show you, for example, what a Mutatu looks like so you can better visualize things. Also, realize that I’m not exactly working with the latest and most reliable technology over here, so sometimes my postings might be sporadic. I’ll do my best to post every other day or every three days or so, but like I said, things might come up.

~Aamir "Patrick" Abbas
(Remind me to explain later...)