Nairobi at Rush Hour

There’s a stray cat that lives at icipe. At least, I think it’s stray. Last night in the middle of my meal I got up to get a glass of water. When I came back, a nice surprise of a cat eating off my plate was left for me. Needless to say, I was then done with my meal. Pets are nonexistent in Kenya, or else existent to a very small degree. I see dogs roaming around the streets, and the only animals people seem to keep are domesticated ones for food. I would attribute this to the large family size and low income levels. If families can barely afford to put food on the table for all of their children, they definitely can’t be spending money on feeding animals too.

This morning I continued with my final lesson of GIS. Macharia helped me put everything I had learned together in a practical and applicable way, making a map. I explained to Macharia that it would be really awesome to be able to make and include a map in my report to apply and use all of the skills I have learned the past three days. After discussing what I envisioned, he helped me to find the correct free downloads of layers to include. The only problem with free downloads is their inaccuracy and lack of detail. Spending a while looking for what I would need, Macharia told me he would get back to me with the downloads I need to create my map. Macharia has a strong interest in the United States. He never fails to ask me questions about the culture and differences. Macharia continued his questioning on football today, asking me to explain the basics of the game to him. Being not the greatest football expert myself, I attempted at the basics. I hope I understood enough correctly and didn’t teach him wrong. I also inquired about high school in Kenya. Most students go to a unisex boarding school for those four years. Macharia made the experience sound monotonous with the same daily schedule. I am so grateful for the opportunities and fantastic public education I have.

Lindar had wanted to take me into Nairobi to see some of the shops she liked to go to. Needing to go to the bank, we left a little early so I could make it there before closing. We went to the bank inside the Hilton hotel. Obviously most tourists stay there as just about every culture from around the world was represented in the lobby. I gave the bank teller my credit card and asked to withdraw some money. She asked for my passport and I handed over a copy. There was no way I would carry around my real passport in the streets of Nairobi. Pick pocketing is a large problem, and as much as I love Kenya, I do want to make it back to my own country. The teller told me that a copy would not suffice. I had no choice but to try an ATM once again. I had tried one in Kakamega but it didn’t seem to work there. Thankfully, I was able to withdraw some much needed cash. From there, Lindar and I headed to her local salon. Lindar had been convincing me to get my hair braided as all women do in Kenya. I had been considering it, so we went to see if the ladies that braid her hair would charge the same price for mine. Turns out, they would charge me the same price, but they warned me that a lot of my hair would fall out without using fake extensions. I politely said I would consider, when really thinking absolutely not. I want to submerge myself into the African culture. There’s a limit, however.

In Kakamega Lindar had watched me eat some granola bars I had brought from the States. She knows how much I miss that type of food, so she took me to the only shop selling granola bars in Nairobi. I was excited to replenish my stock as I have been rationing the two boxes I carried with me. Turns out the granola bars were almost $5 each. I miss granola bars, but not enough to pay $5 for one. We moved on. Lindar needed some money as well so we stopped at a local grocery store for her to get some. The whole credit/debit card idea has yet to catch on in Kenya. The cell phone companies took advantage of this and have a system where people can withdraw money through them. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it’s a good idea for the cell phone companies. The banks aren’t very happy about it, though.

Being a former model, Lindar knew all the local designers in town. She wanted to take me to one of her favorites to have a dress made. I was unsure on buying a dress, but wanted to see the ladies designs so went. The dresses the designer made were nice. I didn’t want to spend 3,500 shillings on another article of clothing I probably wouldn’t wear very often so passed on ordering the dress. Lindar liked one enough to get it custom made. I have found that a lot of people have their clothes custom made in Kenya. There really aren’t many clothing stores—most clothes are sold by illegal vendors on the street. One Friday, as Sarah was looking at a top, the vendor ripped the top out of her hand and ran—the police were coming. When exiting the designers shop Lindar told me to watch my stuff. Lots of people steal on the street we were crossing. I held on tightly to my purse. The streets of Nairobi are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. People walk shoulder to shoulder and cars are bumper to bumper. That’s Nairobi at rush hour for you.

Lindar took me to her favorite cake place, The Mug. This coffee shop was fairly modern and had a relaxing feeling to it. I ordered banana cake with a mango milk shake. The cake, like others I’ve tried in Kenya, was dry, but still tasty. The milk shake was refreshing. Unlike American milkshakes, the texture was not as thick. I tried Lindar’s red velvet cake which was tasty as well. Next stop were some more souvenir shops. I bought a few small things, scurrying to get souvenirs for everyone back home, trying not to forget anyone. I bought a fabric I really liked hoping I can get the material made into a skirt. We will see if that happens before I leave—doubtful with the speed of Kenyan life. For dinner, we stopped by Pizza Inn to grab some pizzas to go. Lindar was happy to not have to cook for her fiancé tonight. I asked if it was always the women’s role to cook. Lindar explained very few families did it differently—the women do approximately 90 percent of the work in a Kenyan household. Pizza in hand we headed back, passing by a meat market on the way. Fresh cows hung in the windows. The smell was horrible, making me want to walk faster. The small children lurking on the corners always beg for money. Lindar, with the sensitive heart she has, was frustrated when one she gave money to last time asked for some more. She knows their mothers send them and the money probably isn’t used to help them, but her sensitivity seems to get the best of her.

The Pizza Inn pizza was better than Debonairs. Still, nothing compares to the pizza we have in the States. Once again, I ate a whole pizza, a medium this time. Pizza was the perfect ending to an evening in Nairobi.