Back in Nairobberi

Well, Jambo to you all.

It was pretty sad leaving my little community in Nyakach to return to Nairobi for exams, but they all know I'll be back next year, so we had no sobby goodbyes. I left on Saturday with the whole family for Kisumu to attend my sister, Maureen's, wedding. We walked in one big herd of wedding guests to the main road, all dressed up and sweating, me with my big pack. Some of the fellow guests, which was a large part of the community, laughed at me asking why I needed so much just to attend a wedding. I told them about my holiday for the month, and we continued to the waiting bus that rocked and bumped us all to the big city.

Upon entering Kisumu we were driven to the wedding chapel that had all the other guests filing in and Maureen, in gown and ready to begin. Then the bus turned around and left, without letting one of us off.

'Um... was that the right wedding? Where are we going?', I asked my mama.

'Supermarket. We have to get gifts!', she laughed at me.

Okay, we're already an hour late, why not? So, we drive into the center of town and slowly file off the bus. The men find a shaded corner of the parking lot and shell out money to their wives, and then all of us women walk across the street into the store.

Groceries on the bottom floor, crap on the second, we all slowly click, clack up the metal stairs to start our shopping spree. Already feeling rushed, knowing the wedding is beginning any minute, I quickly choose a set of six pieces of plain glassware; nice looking juice glasses.

'That's what you're getting them?', my mother says amused.

'Yes', I impatiently reply, then watch in amazement as all the women meander up and down every aisle in total indecision. I see many easy choices jumping out: knife sets, salt and pepper shakers, small dishes for cooking, but they pass these and pick up gaudy plastic pieces, asking each other's opinions. My mama makes me stay on her tail as she walks along the back wall trying to pick the best plastic wall clock for under 200 Ksh.

'Do you like the one with Jesus in the middle pointing at the time, or that black and gold one?', she asks me.

Trying to hold back the knot of frustration rising in my throat I smile and say, 'That black one is nice.'

So she takes that one and we head downstairs to pick out wrapping paper. I grab a green shaded style with funky flowers on it, and think to myself that Maureen is about to walk down the aisle as her mother is being choosy over what color of paper to buy. THEN, after we all bombard the cashiers, we then bombard the gift wrapper, throwing our gifts and papers his way, suddenly in a rush, putting all the pressure on this one single man. The father of the bride comes up at this time telling mama that we must go, a car for the three of us is waiting. Mama tells me to hurry up, how long am I going to be? A look of shock blasts onto my face as I gesture at the poor man surrounded by tape, papers, and large bowls and thermoses, in the process of wrapping my glassware. Dad looks at mom, mom looks at me. She's not happy. Oh my God, why is this on me? 'You brought us all to this stinkin' market, I'm just doing what you all are doing' I say to myself through clenched teeth. Finally the gift is finished and we're ushered into a small vehicle decorated with yellow ribbons.

When we arrive, the music has begun, Maureen is walking into the church. She is accompanied by her maid of honor as mom and dad take seats in the front row. I meet my other sister for the first time, as she lives in Nairobi now, and she begins introducing me to all her friends.

'Um, shouldn't we be taking our seats?', I ask.

'Oh, you want to see the ceremony? Sure follow me.' The older sister of the bride replies. So I'm brought to a pew and abandoned. I sit smushed between strangers and witness the worst wedding ceremony of my life. No one looks interested in any of it, including the bride and groom. The white pastor makes a point when it's finished to come to me, the only white attendee to tell me that I'm welcome at his and his wife's home for a 'real meal', when I need a 'touch of reality'. I spend the evening at a relatives house and have a great meal with my cousins. The next morning, I'm on a bus to Nairobi.

The entire group of us have been bought a full-ride stay at a great hotel in an upper-class section of Nairobi for our exams. We are assigned rooms with hot powerful showers and televisions with movie channels. We have three free buffet-style meals a day and a well-kept pool at our disposal. Our exams our held in one of the conference rooms, where we spend the second two days discussing our individual internships and discussing reentry issues back into the United States. MSID spares no expense for the final days, congratulations to us, we made it through alive. Two students out of 37 bailed back to the States early, afraid for their lives, not bad. They were able to do their exams online.

Now, it is waiting time for the rest of us. With each new day, someone else leaves us, back to their waiting families at home. Most students have rushed to the coast to get one final trip in before returning in a week. There are a small number of us still in Nairobi, finishing our papers before we take our holiday (to the utmost glee of our professors). My train leaves Monday night. I'll be meeting up with others already in Mombasa, then head up to the island of Lamu where we will stay on the beach through my birthday. Then we go down to Malindi for a few days, then back to Mombasa where we say our big goodbyes to the rest of the semester students remaining. Then three of us will continue on to Zanzibar, where I will be spending Christmas and the New Year, safely out of Kenya during the already violent elections. My return to Kenya will be after a week into 2008.

The day we left the fancy hotel, I was feeling great, happy to be well-fed and in a city with alcohol. I arranged to meet one friend at a bar, then invited everyone. I dropped my stuff off at home, dumping out my pretty cloth bag from Claire on my bed, and putting in only what I'd need for the night. At the last minute I remembered to also pull out my train ticket tucked into the front pocket, and decided to throw in my camera, since I was going to see some people for the last time. On the matatu ride to the bar, I finally felt a connection to this mad city. Not only have I finally accepted Nairobi and all its daily obstacles, but it has accepted me. The matatu conductor isn't trying to rip me off, and no one is staring at me. I'm just another rider, living my life here in Kenya.

We left the bar early, all a little tired from all the goodbyes. Julia and I walked Katie home, then continued down the well-lit road to our neighborhood. I had bought a bag of freshly-popped popcorn and we were munching away, walking and gabbing about our new-felt comfort and security in Nairobi. And then we were mugged. A group of young men walked by and said hello, but kept going. Then a second group went by and shouted some not so welcome comments our way, but we're used to this and ignored them, not skipping a word in our conversation. The third group was huge. We both saw them coming, but kept up our pace. They spread across the road, there was about 20 of them. As they got close, they rushed us, and we were instantly surrounded. Popcorn flew through the air as I started beating anyone I could.

They didn't hurt us, just wanted our bags, but I was stubborn, and my bag was across my left shoulder, hanging down my right side, hard to get off. I heard Julia's sweet voice above everything else say, 'Just take it', and that's when I realized what was happening. Why in the world was I fighting a mob? I lost my footing at the same time as my bag was finally ripped off me, shoulder strap still hanging over my shoulder, and they were gone. Just two old ladies walked behind them and turned to tsk us, 'Shouldn't be out right now', they said. Thanks. I lost my camera, my phone, my lovely drawstring wallet with minimal money inside, a scarf, a book I was excited to read, and my beautiful bag I got for my last birthday with a 'Prevent Violence Against Women' ribbon pinned to the front. But I'm safe, I'm alive, and I wasn't hurt in the slightest. I'm lucky. They got what they wanted, and Julia and I helped each other make proper decisions from that moment forth, returning to Katie's, calling the program directors who then sent a taxi with my mama inside to safely bring us home.

Lesson learned, don't walk in Nairobi at night, especially near Kibera during election time. We learned the next day that this same mob stole from many that night, and several nights consecutively before that. They come out of Kibera and walk the streets acting as though they are coming from the football pitch, fans returning home, or on their way to a campaign rally. There are many reasons why groups are out right now, so they are taking advantage of these assumptions. They had hit a watchmen two hours before they got us, and he actually saw us get robbed, but stayed hidden. No one can do anything here; how do you rise up against that many? But it is avoidable, and we take taxis home now. And this is also why I'm going to be out of Kenya during the election. Villages are being torched. Tribalism is rampant, and fevers are high. It's crazy time. I'm out.

I considered not sending this, not writing anything about it at all, knowing how it may affect some of my family and friends. But, as a result, I was cutting myself off, and keeping it in. It was scary, it sucked, but it taught me to be even more safe from now on. I feel pretty humiliated, pretty stupid, and really pissed. I lost a lot of great photos, and a little dignity. But this is Africa. This is my experience.

Asante, na kwa herini,

Emily Sara