Masaai Market

Each morning I try to get a run in. Since I am not allowed to leave the compound I end up running in circles inside the fence. I think the guards think I’m trying to be Kenyan or something and laugh at me. Anyways, this morning on my run all of a sudden all of the landscapers dropped their tools and ran to the fence. At first I was really confused then I was scared something was happening I didn’t know about. Turns out there was a parade coming down the street. I stopped for a few minutes to watch the band play then continued my run. I never thought they would have things such as parades in such a place where the communities do not seem very westernized. I was wrong.

Today, I went into Nairobi with Karen. We had lunch at a local fast food place. The place was busting with people and workers shooing people through the line. I ordered chips, also known as fries, and asked Karen for the grape Fanta I saw sitting on the shelf. She was really confused what I wanted because there is no such thing as grape Fanta in Kenya. I pointed at the purple one, “Black Whirl”, I think she referred to it as. We headed upstairs to eat. The Fanta didn’t taste like grape. I poured my fries out onto the plastic sack the restaurant provided and began to eat. After a few bites I looked up to find furry little friends staring at me. Outside of the window, sat stray cats picking scraps off of chicken bones people had thrown onto the roof. There were bars on the windows but the cats were so close, I was sure they were going to come in and join us. As we ate, Karen and I talked about the differences between fast food places in Kenya and those in America. Not only does Kenya not have as many “chain” restaurants as America, but they also have servers, in the sense you never have to pick up your table. I found this interesting. Maybe another way to employ more people?

After lunch we walked to the Masaai Market. This market is held every Saturday. I think it’s a big tourist attraction where locals can sell their crafts. The area is fenced in and rows of blankets are lined with different vendors. I told Karen I wanted to walk around once before we started bartering. Almost immediately, people were practically on top of me, trying to sell their various items. My skin color easily gives way to my tourist identity. I would often ignore the people practically breathing down my neck saying, “Look at my banana paper painting!” or “I can give you a special price on this key chain.” Other times I would just say, “That looks very nice,” and turn around. I would have Karen ask in Swahili how much items were. If she was asking there was a better chance at her getting the items cheaper, except that presented the problem of me having no idea of what was being said. Everything always has to be translated for Stephanie, Karen has learned.

While walking around a young girl came up to me begging for money for food. Knowing I’m not supposed to give the children money I did everything I could to ignore the girl and evade eye contact. She persisted, standing very close to me. The sights of the hungry and those begging for food never fail to make me think. I continued looking around the market and the girl followed. Eventually she walked away, empty handed. I guess the work I do here will just have to make up for the money I couldn’t give the girl. Another man in the market came up to me and touched my arm. He told me I had a very nice skin color. Being so visible here has shed a new light on differences and standing out. Now, more than ever, I can empathize with those who are stared at for their differences. If you have never experienced it, take my word: No one likes to be stared at. Soon Sarah joined in the fun, and together we watched a tourist get asked to trade something for her headband. She responded in an excited, “That sounds like a fun game!” Sarah and I turned around laughing.

Karen bartered for everything for me. I knew if I would have tried I’d give in to high prices way too easily. I found it funny how the same items would be totally different prices from different people. For instance, scarves from one place were 200 shillings and the same scarf a few vendors over was 600. We scouted every vendor out before purchasing. Karen was also really good through demanding a price. If the vendor wouldn’t take her price she would put the item down and begin to walk away. Within second the vendor would come running after us, finally accepting the price. The Masaai Market was a great place to get a lot of souvenirs for family and friends.

While walking to the Masaai Market Karen and I passed an ice cream place. I told Karen how I hadn’t had ice cream in a while and that sounded really good. After the market, Sarah and Karen took me to the cheapest ice cream place they knew of. When walking in, I immediately told them it was sketchy. We were on the third floor and the windows looked as if they were about the drop from their hinges. Sarah just told me this was not a place to go alone. The ice cream tasted similar to American soft serve, just a little heavier. We paid 50 shillings for each “scoop”. The “scoop” was about a third the size of an American scoop, probably why we paid so little for it.

I have decided I really like the city on the weekends. The streets aren’t as crowded with people and cars, less of a chance for me to get run over for forgetting Kenyan cars never stop for people, I suppose. On our way back to icipe I stopped at a local fruit stand and bought an avocado and tangerines. The tangerines were green but tasted fine. I learned in America our tangerines are artificially colored orange to make them more appealing to the consumer. Check it out the next time you unpeel a tangerine. The inside skin will have an orange tint. My friends were very gracious to gather together to Skype me so I ended up missing dinner. I attempted to peel and eat an avocado by hand. I only made it halfway through. The produce in Kenya always tastes so fresh and good, coming straight from the farms.