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I wanted to share with you one of those routines in life, my journey to work.
I am fortunate in that I can walk to work and in Nairobi and I would really not want it any other way. Rush hours anywhere else in the world pale into insignificance in comparison to the traffic chaos that there is Nairobi, and I live on one of the worst roads - Ngong Road. Having a car is apparently very liberating so my friends with them say and I am in fact going to test the theory by leasing a friend of mines car while she is travelling - so I am sure there will be more on that in another update. But I am guessing that it is likely to be the case and it will be liberating - with no public transport to speak of, so the only other option being matatus and buses that are hot, over crowded, falling apart, dangerously driven and a crime hot spot where you need your wits about you all the time (but can be fun and are very cheap even at the mzungu rip off price); or the alternative of a taxis, a topic we expats frequently discuss in terms of finding a reliable taxi driver that is cheap, on time and available 24/7. Taxis here are not the cheapest, cheaper than London that's for sure but as you need one as soon as it gets dark, my weekly taxi bill is probably between 2000-3000 shillings (£14-£21) which here feels quite a lot. When I speak to and observe 'middle class' Kenyans, it is really not the done thing to walk - you would if you can afford it get a bus, but clearly much better is to have your own car then why would you ever walk? The green agenda just does not come into it and walking is not really seen as a fitness thing; it is a means to get somewhere only if you have no other alternative. So as ever, I am a bit odd!
Therefore my fellow walkers are typically those walking very fast and no doubt much longer distances than me, in clean but often shabby clothing trying to get to their poorly paid jobs. Or much slower paced people have a good gossip in Sheng - the Swahili Nairobi slang that intersperses seamlessly with English. The other thing I find amusing is I wear by Birkenstocks to and from work (or even scruffier walking sandals when it rains). My Birks are now very dusty, well worn in and I of course change into my work shoes as soon as I get into the office. (If it's been raining this may also mean a quick wash of the legs and feet as I am splattered with red mud). The ladies I pass on the street who do walk (even if it is just from the nearest stage (bus stop)) very often wear heals, and if they do change their footwear when they get to the office, it is to put on their more comfortable shoes for office use. I have no idea what they make of me! This is a fashion city after all and how you look is pretty important to many.
I usually leave my place at around 8 in the morning. Locking my door and then the metal gate as I leave my entrance at the back of the building and head around to the front gate, avoiding the sticky muddy puddles if it rained in the night. Passing the ascari's hut - just a wooden falling apart very small open shelter about the same size as the ones the guards have outside Buckingham palace or downing street, but nowhere near as smart. The day ascari will have come on duty around 6am for his 12 hour shift and who seems to be always there - 7 days a week (does he ever have a day off?). He opens the gate with a smile, I always say good morning - and he says fine! (For some reason in the evening I use Kiswahili - Habari? (what news - a literal translation) as a greeting, and he says Mzuri (fine)).
I then head a very short way up the small, extremely potholed dirt lane to join the main road. I try and avoid the broken pavements as much as possible, so cut through a car sales plot next door where they are usually just beginning to drive their big 4x4 cars out of the secure parking lot (surrounded by a big electrified fencing and gate), through a petrol station forecourt and then I hit the disintegrated pavement separated from the road with regular interval blocks to stops the matatus driving along the pavements, but it doesn't stop the motorcycles or bikes beeping behind you to get out the way.
Walking to work is slightly downhill which means the old knackered buses fight to get up the hill bellowing out great clouds of black toxic fumes. - a healthy morning walk then! The rainy season is much worse where the fumes appear to loiter and by the time I got to work my throat is parched and my eyes stinging. I try and remember to wear a scarf to cover my mouth for the worst of it. I think it is made worse by the fact that the rain means you have to stick to the pavements rather than the muddy tracks carved out adjacent to the road.
I feel very safe walking, usually with my laptop in my bag and think nothing of it. I was told that if anything was to happen to me such as an attempted mugging in daylight, now things have improved in Nairobi, the locals would more likely lynch whoever was trying to steal from me and there would be no accounting what would happen to them if the police did not get there first. This is both a good thing and a real problem where there is regularly guilt assigned and severe punishment handed out by anyone on the street with no proof or judicial system.
As I go down the hill, I pass the Chinese Embassy. An impressive white modern building set quite close to the road but with a big garden fenced off, and big gates guarded by armed smartly dressed guards who actually look half a sleep most of the time. Then I pass the China Centre I am guessing named due to its proximity to the embassy - it seems to contain a bank and few other outlets and offices. Outside are usually a few taxis. In my first few months here they would spot the 'mzungu' walking and shout at me "taxi taxi" - but I think now they realize this mzungu is walking and never seems to need a ride. There are always lots of taxis just hanging around for hours at a time, so strange that they are not that competitively priced. There is often a driving school vehicle parked up or just about to leave. This is not a car as you and I would have learnt to drive in (those do exist here), but typically it's a pick up truck with a roofed back with two long seats facing each other. As far as I can work out, when you sign up for a lesson, you with your fellow class mates sit in the back of the truck and you take it in turn to have a spin behind the wheel. My understanding is that to get your driving license here you just need to be able to drive a few hundred meters on a road….that explains a lot.
Further along, I pass a host of plants growing in old containers and plastic at the side of the road - a basic nursery/garden centre I guess which seem to stretch along many of the busy roads in Nairobi, often with some brightly painted pots with dusty plants in them, but I have rarely seen anyone stopping to buy anything. Usually at this point, I pass my first man urinating - usually there are more as I get closer to work. Someone once said to me Africa was one big urinal - with men just stopping anywhere to go.
At the bottom of the hill , I hit a large roundabout. Just before it I pass a huge Baptist church on the other side of the road - churches are everywhere in Kenya and I have been told if you want to make money you either become a politician or go into the church. The churches own a lot of land and often have a few businesses. Attendance is very good - 80% of Kenyans go to church. Again I am seen a bit odd as I don't. I was at a regional church meeting (for work where I was presenting about Fairtrade) and just before I was on stage, there was a presentation on how to invest your money in shares and sales pitch for a new share deal coming up - not something I would have envisaged being on a church agenda.
The roundabout does have traffic lights and is extremely busy - the traffic lights are even sometimes on and working but they are totally ignored. In fact the whole thing about the roundabout is that it's an obstruction that slows you down a bit but really it is all about just getting across it however you can, there is no give way to anyone and you try and avoid slowing down unless you really have to. Fortunately in the morning, the police are out to help keep the traffic moving and do a reasonable job at it. I guess it keeps the police employed but I fail to see why the traffic lights can't be used to do their job? The police with usually a walky talky in one hand, a stick in another or a notebook used to book people for any minor offense they can find (realistically the book is not used and they just request a fine up front and into their pocket to avoid going into the offense book) - direct the traffic at the junction where I cross. This makes it relatively safe to cross, although when they choose to allow the traffic to go, they do not care who might be in the middle of the road crossing at that time, so I have become an expert at working out the body language to try and predict when they are about to wave the traffic through. Waving the traffic through often brings a smile to my face; the British policeman standing up right, with exaggerated under arm big movements to wave traffic ahead is definitely not what you see. Here, it often involves an arm straight out, with a slight bend of the wrist, hands pointing downwards and a very quick fluttering of the hand- like a fast fluttering stroking action!
Where I wait to cross the road is by one of the city morgues. It took me a while to realize what the smell was when I passed there. At first I naively thought it was an area of bad drains, not the bad refrigeration and lack of embalming that it clearly is. Outside there are sellers of flower wreaths, string and tarpaulin. Parked in the car park are buses and matatus, some just privately hired (you know this by the branches stuffed in the front grill), others that are dedicated funeral vehicles. The coffins are strapped to the roof in most cases, and the mourners use the bus to go up country to where the person was usually from - that is if they have the money to pay for it. There are usually lots of people hanging around, and on busy days, emotions are clear to see and sometimes whaling can be heard - Kenyans are not afraid to show how they are feeling in a dramatic way - some tribes more than others. So usually a sobering wait to cross the road.
Often there are people handing out leaflets among the stationary cars. The other day there were very trendy youths on speed skates/in line skates very proficient at swerving in and out of the cars handing mobile phone leaflets for the latest smart phone looking like typical urban trendy youths from anywhere in the world- not what you would conjure up as a traditional African image.
On the other side of the roundabout, there is a reasonably paved walk way with huge bill boards over looking it. Often advertising campaigns familiar from a few years ago - dirt is good and coke zero the recent big introduction here, not to mention always one about the germ killing effect of a soap. This is a path to an entrance to one of the many hospitals that concentrate in Upper Hill - the area where work is. At the entrance to the driveway to the hospital, there are usually fruit vendors cutting up pineapples and mangoes and putting in plastic bags, sugar cane vendors stripping cane and chopping up for you to chew and hot dog sellers, well more just the sausage - sold from small carts which are some how kept warm and looking seriously dodgy. Sometimes there are buckets of eggs for sale - hard boiled with what appears to be a small bag of what is either chilli or tomato - the latter I think sold with them. This all happens at the entrance but it is also close to a main stage for buses, some that go more long distance rather than just the local ones. Here the conductors shout and wave their hands saying what I am led to believe is the destination and price but I cannot even make out a single word. There are even hand signals for prices and if the bus is full - all a bit disorientating with music blaring out, smoke puffing from the exhausts and people standing around with great big sacks of things to take out of Nairobi. I pass all this by and cross the entrance and then if it has not been raining walk along a dirt waste land strip rather than try and cross the main road.
Walking along the street, you rarely make eye contact with anyone or get a smile. As usually I am the only mzungu around, I do often get stared at but with no accompanying smile even if I initiate it. But I have learnt not to be offended by this and it is just how it is. Also there appears no awareness of your fellow walkers, with people just ambling in the middle of the path with absolutely no consciousness that you are trying to pass. Or sometimes might just barge right past you - this is just the way it is. But the other day, while coming home I was waiting at the roundabout for ages to cross next to a young woman, when we crossed we both were walking quite fast next to each other and she started chatting said I looked young because I clearly walked like her for exercise (so my new bff!) , she couldn't believe I was in my 40s - she had just left uni as working at one of the hospitals and walked this way three times a week for exercise! She couldn't believe I did it everyday - it's only a 20 mins walk.
This waste land strip I walk through, is definitely one big urinal if you get too close to the hedge - some days very strong smelling (another reason why a scarf can be handy). Frequently it also seems to be the stopping place for matatus on their break - parked off the road, engines often still running (maybe they won't start again if you switch them off?), sometimes some sort of mechanics going on under seats, and drivers and conductors milling around. So I make my way through the maze of buses and walk a few hundred meters to opposite my building. I then have to try and cross the road. No police to help me here. I just have to go for it and hope for the best. My view is if I avoid stepping in front of matatu and buses, or the fancy blacked out Mercedes cars that think they rule the road, and just walk in front of normal cars looking out for motorbikes and cyclists - as long as I can see the whites of the drivers eyes I figure I am ok!
At work, past the security gates, with bags quickly metal detected by the female ascari with her hand held metal detector that always beeps and ignored you are waved through (what would a grenade sound like when metal detected I often wonder as that is what they are looking for), and I am in my building for another day. That took just over 20 mins; and please don't worry I am not going to describe my way home!
- comments
Steph Always great to hear about your life in Nairobi - I really got a taste for your walk to work, and er, a bit of a sense of smell too. Boys will be boys....Elliot doing much of the same here at the moment too.