Helen's Commute

I was very worried about traveling to work.  The transport system seemed intimidating, unfathomable and is completely undocumented.

But armed with a short initiation, a map and all the confidence I can muster, I’m doing it – I’m commuting.

My journey starts just before 8am, stepping out of my building and waiting only ever a few minutes for the privately-run buses that passes by in front, conductors hanging almost fully out the door.  I signal and the bus bounces energetically onto the dirt pavement, narrowly missing me and slows down to a crawl. 

‘Belle Vue?’ I ask, wanting to get to the ‘stage’ (stop) that is named after the building whose name appears in fat red letters for all to see.  They don’t understand me the first time I say it, with all my French training, ‘Bell-voo?’, so I must use Kenyan English to get by.  ‘BELL-A-VOO??’ I yell and the guy nods this time, letting me onto the bus which never fully stops to let me board.  Wobbling to my seat, I notice that Kenyan ladies try to sit next to other women where they can. 

The conductor always remembers who has paid and who hasn’t and holds out a silent hand for the 10 shilling fare (about 7p).  Once a British colony, Kenyans still use the shorthand I associate with my grandparents, ‘10 bob’.  The bus stops and starts, the conductor hanging out for passengers, calling the destination name to the waiting commuters.  After a few minutes, we’ve reached Belle Vue stage, so I squeeze out and drop onto the road at a run: stopping for passengers to alight would waste valuable time it seems. I walk along the road/pavement/rubble until I reach the highway.  The Mombasa Road is a 6-lane motorway with no barriers, and my first matatu effectively leaves from the hard shoulder.

Matatus are 14-seater minibuses operated privately on straight routes all over town.  It seems if you need to change direction, you change matatu.  There are no timetables, they simply leave the stage when they’re full, and everyone sits and wait for it to fill up. They are everywhere, thousands across the city, each with a very bold driver and an even bolder conductor, yelling the destination name and practically dragging you onto his matatu.

I choose one that’s filling up, and one that looks like it’s on the outside edge of the pack, closest to the road.  The conductor is a salesman in the business of drumming up fares.  I catch only one word in the Swahili he repeats and repeats: ‘Rounda’ meaning my destination stage on a large roundabout near the airport.  I imagine him to be an auctioneer or a fairground owner, Roll-up roll-up people, we are leaving and we’re going to Rrrrroun-DA – get on now or miss it only 20 shillings get on get on…

I’m sitting and waiting for it to fill up, with working people like myself in suits and skirts, with laptop cases and handbags. The seats are tidy and squeezed together, and not all give you enough head space.  If only the back seats are left, you’re forced to stare at your lap for the entire journey.

And then we’re off.  Pulling out abruptly from the hard shoulder onto the motorway is just as scary as it sounds.  Beeps, shouts, and emergency stops are not uncommon, and we do this all the way along the highway, dropping passengers at fancy glass headquarters, dirt tracks, shops and even on the central reservation as we round the corner. I can see and feel the conductor banging the matatu in signal to the driver – the conductor is the real brains of the outfit, and he’s telling the driver when to stop and when to leave. 

At ‘RRRrrroun – DA’ (again Kenyan English is the way to go for me to be understood – roll those Rs) I change matatus for the final stretch.  The roundabout is construction-hell, with ditches and dust and half-buildings and concrete and a part-constructed mall.  China is building roads in Kenya, the political landscape of which we’ll have to explore another time.  But for now - look both ways, avoid the big holes, watch where you step.  

The last matatu takes me only 500 metres, but I wouldn’t want to walk.  The dust from the lorries rolling by and the lack of tarmac would make it a hazardous trek in my work clothes and shoes.  This one drops me at the end of the road they call ‘A-Vee-A-SHON’, as the Aviation School is at the end.  I walk up the road, past Kabansora mill and other industries and into the start of the slum – to the compound owned by Kenya Union of the Blind, home of KUB house.

The whole journey takes around 40 minutes.

My way home is much the same, except at Belle Vue I’m the wrong side of the highway.  It’s quite normal here to cross six lanes of traffic on foot - there are no official crossings, and no one slows down.  I tried being dropped further on, to cross at a flyover, but that involved scrambling up a slope I’d normally harness a rope to climb.  It's not what I'd label pedestrian friendly.  But somehow, it all works.

There are no photos in this post as it feels a little unsafe to flash my camera.  But as I get a bit more savvy, I plan to add some.  For now, I'm hoping this paints a little picture of this part of my day.  I imagine my CR-UK colleagues reading this with a smile (yes you, Lisa).  First Capital Connect - all is forgiven??

Special thanks go to: Tito for taking me to work on my first day, the lady on the matatu for guiding me home the first time I was by myself; Ken for knowing all the matatu stages and my fellow commuters for ignoring me when I thought I might be stared at.

Coming soon: Work; exploring our neighbourhood; and - we escape the city…

And then the lights went out...

You know you’re in Kenya when…

1. Power rationing begins, and our apartment is plunged into darkness. It’s front page news today – black-outs across the country at peak hours as Kenya Power try to manage a major shortfall in electricity generation caused by the drought (hydro-power produces a lot of the electricity here); as well as because of broken down generators, rising demand, lack of investment in infrastructure, and the slow pace of energy projects. Mum – you would have been disappointed in me, as we had no candles in the house. But we did find three torches. I’ll buy candles today…

2. The internet is down. Again.

3. Yesterday it rained, so I was urged to leave work early in order to get home. The traffic here grinds to a stand-still when it rains (true story – despite leaving early it took me 2 hours to get home). I thought about mocking Kenyans about this, but then I remembered the recent snow in the UK which caused national havoc (and the hilarity this caused amongst my Canadian friends). It's all a matter of what you're used to, I suppose. I thought rain might be more welcome, given the circumstances, but for folk in Nairobi it seems to be more of an annoyance. I guess they're not the farmers...

And as I go about my day, the voice in my head recites “flexibility adaptability flexibility adaptability flexibility adaptability…”

Our first free day: Helen and Dan seek out fun

On Sunday, having finished our training, survived our first week at work, and worked hard to get everything sorted in our flat,** we decided it was time to have fun.  It’d been a while and we were out of practice but our new friend (feels like an old friend) Monica suggested the perfect solution: Nairobi National Park.  The only national park in the world to border a capital city, this 117 square kilometre area of grasslands and lush gorges is home to some of the animals for which Kenya is famous.  And it’s only a local bus ride away from our flat.  We took a ‘safari walk’ (like very cool zoo) in the morning, and then in the afternoon, headed off into the park for a kind of budget safari, in which Kenyan families and backpackers (and 3 lovely VSOs) are driven through the countryside in a bus.  If the bus itself didn’t scare the wildlife away, it gave us an elevated view of the park’s inhabitants (albeit through grimy windows). 

With apologies to Mike (sorry you couldn't be there), we hereby post a few choice pics…

A very lucky shot in the safari walk... there's glass between us :o)

We nearly missed this lion up a tree





Monica and I bagged the front seat!



The weirdness of being in a national park right by the city

This was so exciting to see

It was so good to relax, explore and have fun.  We even saw Maasai jumping and singing for the tourists, next to a bouncy castle for the kids. And we drank cold beer.

Special thanks go to:  Monica for a fab day out; Mama and Papa Trenchard for buying me a clever compact camera for my birthday which has the zoom of destiny; the park guide who showed us where the Kenya café was after we balked at the colonial, wazungu lodge.

** not to bore you but we now have hot water in our shower, internet, everything unpacked, and dining table and chairs.  Each of these was a bigger achievement than you’ll ever know, so no teasing us, ok?

Dan visits Kariobangi slum

One of Kenya’s biggest challenges is that it is one of the most unequal countries in the world. That’s what they said in our training. I don’t think I really knew what that meant, except that Kenya can simultaneously be the number 1 tourist destination for expensive safaris, and home to some of the world’s biggest slums…

Earlier this week I left the lush surroundings of Gertrude’s Children’s Hospital, where Special Education Professionals rent a small office. Gertrude’s is a state-of-the-art centre of excellence, as big and as high quality as any in the UK. It’s on Muthaiga Road, surrounded by embassies in the posh part of town.

As part of my induction I was taken for a visit to the projects which SEP supports in Kariobangi, a slum area to the north east of the city. SEP focuses on raising awareness and providing support to parents of children with disabilities, particularly in areas of poverty, as well as up-skilling professionals who work with children with disabilities. The projects do amazing work breaking down stigma and improving understanding about disability (a disabled child has traditionally been "cursed" in Kenya, and is likely to be locked up and/or ignored).

What do you imagine when you hear the word “slum”? I think I expected something like scenes from ‘The Constant Gardener’, and I wasn’t far wrong (Constant Gardener was filmed in Kibera slum, the biggest in Nairobi – also where Lenny Henry and co recently spent time for Comic Relief). Kariobangi is vast. As far as the eye can see is dusty “roads”, metal shacks, endless stalls along the roads selling fruit, corn, shoes, clothes – anything and everything. Crazy motorbike taxis nearly mow you down wherever you are. It’s filthy – rubbish everywhere, stinking streams of water and sewage. You soon realize that every tiny shack can contain many families. Children wave at the white man and shout “How are you?” without really knowing what it means. I wish I had photos, but I wasn’t allowed to take my camera, bag, watch or anything else valuable. I wouldn’t have kept it for long.

First up we threaded our way through the “streets” to a small hall/room/shack used as a chapel and also used for SEP’s Early Intervention project. Here we met a local social worker and several SEP Intern Members – these are newly qualified occupational therapists, physiotherapists and counselors. Together with the more experienced SEP members, they form a unique multi-disciplinary approach. Mothers brought in their babies, toddlers and children and sat with them on mats on the floor. The professionals then sat with them to assess the children, starting with a prayer, songs and story-time. They showed the parents techniques for constructive play, increasing their child’s mobility, providing stimulation. The children had a range of conditions – cerebral palsy, speech and language problems, developmental delay, autism. I was given a warm welcome and the parents laughed as I practiced my appalling Swahili on them.

Next, to “Light and Hope”, in another part of the slum, where funding from the Israeli Embassy has paid for a small plot of land and the construction of the nearest thing to a building I’ve seen. I’m shown round what is, under the circumstances, an impressive facility with two small classrooms, a therapy room, and play area. They provide education, therapy and crucially, food. I’m quickly surrounded and jumped on by about 30 primary-aged children. They’re gorgeous, smelly and fun, and I’m soon covered in porridge, drool and dust as I play with them. It seems a mzungu with a beard and a big smile goes down well…

I head back to the office feeling pretty motivated to help SEP, and have a good conversation about how seeing projects like that make me wish I was a therapist/doctor/teacher so I could make more of a direct “difference”. But they remind me that developing strategy, structure and policies means building capacity and enabling the organization to reach more children, in more effective ways. Let’s hope I can help…

On a separate note, an interesting week in the news in East Africa this week:
* The birth of South Sudan – a huge event with big regional implications.
* The drought and famine increasingly affecting the whole region – a very complex situation about weather, conflict, instability, refugees, politics and economics.
* Times are a changing – as four East African leaders near retirement (including Kenya’s President Kibaki, stepping down for next year’s general election).

South B, Nairobi

And then on Sunday, we moved in.

But first was shopping.  What do you need when you start from scratch?  We spent three hours in a department store, spending our ‘soft-furnishing allowance’. We bought a mattress, a quilt, a stove, plates, cups, buckets, a mop. Splashed out on a kettle and a non-stick pan – because easy access to food and tea is non-negotiable.

Then the guys from the store loaded it into a VSO pick-up truck and we drove round to our new building in the area called ‘South B’.  Unlike some of the other volunteers, we’re being housed in a lively Kenyan neighbourhood, with hardly any other wagunzus (foreigners, white people).  It looks a little scary at first but we’ve been either welcomed or ignored, and either is fine.

Helen and all our newly bought stuff in the VSO truck (matress on the back)!

Dan and Meshack in our new, empty apartment

All our new purchases, and everything we’d brought to the UK was lugged up to the top floor (5^th floor - no lifts – sorry Jacob) and dumped into our bare flat. 

So, at 6pm on Sunday night we set to work arranging, and cleaning, and unpacking, and fixing, and cleaning, and finding and cooking and cleaning and cleaning and cleaning.

Moving in the night before we started work was a challenge.  Finding clean clothes, planning our new commutes across the city, learning to lock our front door (operating a padlock with one hand) and remembering our names was all a little too much for the very tired Helen and Dan…

Our new flat reminds me of the Alcatraz tour we took last year in San Francisco.  Let’s call it ‘institutional’.  But it’s very spacious, newly painted, very safe (the guards sit at the locked gate 24 hours a day) and has a fantastic view.  We can see the city skyline from our window, and you can’t miss the famous Kenyatta International Conference Centre with its flying-saucer roof.  We can also see schools, roads, office blocks and our local slum.  And from the roof of the building you can see across the city in the other direction and all the way out to the beautiful Ngong hills Southwest of town.  It’s a sight to see.

I do miss having hot water, a fridge, and peace and quiet but we’re doing our best to arrange for things to be fixed up. Pole pole they say here, ‘slowly’ we will build our lives.  But it has to start somewhere.

Special thanks go to: Meshack for arranging the flat, and waiting til the paint was dry before moving us in; Tito for ‘showing us the ropes’ and Alice and Eddie for welcoming us to the neighbourhood, enthusing about South B and for arming us ready for the big shop – you guys really gave us a fighting chance in Tusky’s…

Tune in next time for: commuting in Nairobi, and - Helen and Dan start work.

'Interacting'

Or, how working with Kenyan colleagues is different, and also the same…

In which Helen inflicts a long blog post on you all (forgive me)

We had four great, interesting, overwhelming days with all our new friends, the other VSO newbies. Hanging out together, we look like the UN.

We learned that:

Number 1: Conjugating irregular verbs in Swahili can be fun!

Number 2: Nairobi city centre is big, busy and bonkers.

Number 3: Malaria medication should not be taken on an empty stomach; you’ll only throw it back up. (Actually, we’ve stopped taking the doxycycline as the doc says there’s no need in Nairobi, only when we leave the city. Thank goodness).

Number 4: Organising a jailbreak from our guest house and go for a curry was a brilliant idea, but not when visiting dignitaries are in town. Angela Merkel added a good few hours to our evening as the taxis ground to a complete halt in endless traffic.

Number 5: Hiandies (spg?) in Westlands really is the finest curry in town.

Now, since Wednesday, our training sessions have been held in a new, vast room here at the PCEA guest house as we’ve been joined by our ‘partners’: our employers. These are the people from the Kenyan organisations we’ll be working for, and many of them have come from all over Kenya. Mrs Ngiri from Garissa in the East had travelled for 10 hours to be at the training. Apparently, that’s not far.

Our new volunteer friends are being 'posted' all over Kenya...

Mine had only come from round the corner. Francis, from the Kenya Union of the Blind is a very friendly, visually impaired guy who heads up the youth and technology programmes at the KUB. He’s incredibly charismatic, and I feel relieved, and excited about starting work on Monday.

The atmosphere feels very different with all our employers in the room. Reality sinks in, as together we hold facilitated sessions on things like Ways of Working, Monitoring and Evaluation and Corruption.

I’ve found that working with Kenyan colleagues is the same, with some differences. Based on my very limited experiences so far…

• Kenyans dress smartly: pressed suits and shined shoes
• Requests are made for prayers to start and end each day-long session. So far we’ve had prayers in both English, and Swahili
• Flipcharts and post-its and plastic folders are universal workshop-fodder. But here they are all called paper… ’Big Paper’ ‘Little Paper’, ‘Transparent Paper’
• In smaller break-out sessions, the first thing that happens is that a ‘secretary’ and ‘chair’ must be selected so that someone will scribe, and someone else will lead. This seems very important. It felt initially quite odd and bureaucratic but makes a lot of sense.
• Spoken English sounds very formal to my ears, like an old-fashioned play where everything is spoken in complete sentences, I can almost hear the punctuation: ‘I would like to contribute a point please: We must ensure that the provision of resources is equal in all cases, otherwise this can lead to unrest and instability’
• It’s also common practice to let everyone finish what they’re saying before adding your point. Democracy is the new cool way of working here in Kenya, since the first multi-party elections were only held recently, in 2002. So, now even in the workplace, it’s important for everyone to have a voice. Things take longer, but I’m finding it refreshing to be allowed to finish my point…
• Disagreements are never voiced directly; everyone finds more subtle ways to state their opposing view. No-one ever says No or I disagree. An air of positivity, respect and friendliness always remains. Again, refreshing, but I can see how this quickly becomes frustrating.
• In Kenyan English, there’s lots of ‘interacting’. ‘We’re not starting yet, please continue interacting with each other’ ‘I‘m going now, but we’ll interact later in the week’
• No-one is put off by noise outside the room. The music from the restaurant can clearly be heard, but no one asks for it to be turned down.
• Likewise mobile phones, and car alarms are tolerated as if they cannot be heard
• Some delegates don’t hide if they are bored by the training… laptops are opened, and even magazines flipped through in plenary sessions by those who aren’t finding the presentation interesting – and no offense is taken.
• Ice breakers, entertainment or energisers seem common and entered into enthusiastically. Singing was popular, we sang the okey kokey before the afternoon sessions began (well, it was the boogie-woogie… but you get the idea). Can you imagine that happening at CR-UK?!?
• The same technology faff happens here – projectors, laptops and PowerPoint really choose their moment to misbehave.
• Just like in the UK, tea breaks are very important!

So that’s just a small slice of what we’re learning, and what we’ve done, and who we’ve met. Some volunteers already based in Nairobi are taken us for a drink later tonight, here in the local area – the neighbourhood is called South C. And we’ve just heard we’re going to be placed in a flat in South B so not too far from here. I’m looking forward to it, meeting serving volunteers makes me think we can really do this, and in a few short months we’ll have found our feet.

But for now –

We’re a little overwhelmed, frustrated to be often kept in the dark about placements and accommodation, and sick of being caged in this compound. Also we’re both incredibly tired from information overload, smiling for two solid days, death by PowerPoint, and not always sleeping well or feeling well.

However, it all feels right. And it’s all so interesting. And soon, soon, our new life will start…

Us at the PCEA Guest House, Nairobi

Karibu Kenya! So far, so good

"Karibu”, they say. And we do indeed feel pretty welcome so far. I write this from my room at the hotel we will be at for the next week, doing our VSO ‘In-Country Training’.

Good omens so far:

1. We arrived at Heathrow to find out we had been upgraded to business class due to overbooking! Woohoo! Although the whole experience was so adverse to what we are flying to Kenya to do that it only added to the already immense weirdness we were feeling. Shouldn’t really complain though about flatbeds and posh food (sadly too hungover to appreciate the free drinks). Enjoy the comfort while it lasts, we are told. ````````````````1q

2. We arrive at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport to find ‘Miss Kenya’ (beauty queen) standing waiting in arrivals (limo parked outside). Sadly not waiting for us, but still a sight to see.

3. We safely pass our first test of Kenyan bureaucracy (and our patience) – eventually passing immigration and recovering all of our many bags. We are warmly greeted by the VSO taxi driver, who has been waiting hours for our arrival, and drives us across the city to our hotel at nearly midnight, chatting all the way.

4. We are on our training with 10 other VSOs, all of who seem great – a variety of Brits, Canadians, Americans, an Italian, a Ugandan… all here to do the same crazy thing as us – a great comfort.

5. We find our hotel has this internet connection…May our connectivity continue!

I could probably write for hours, but at the same time think digesting everything and being able to articulate it in a pithy, witty way is still way out of my grasp. So enough for now.

But we are safe, and well, and welcome. We even had our first (of many) Tusker beers, hosting an impromptu party in our room this evening. Karibu indeed.

Ruthlessness, boxes and farewells

Well, it’s official. We’re now unemployed AND homeless. What progress we’ve made in life!

The traumatic experience of packing up our flat, our possessions and our lives is now thankfully mostly behind us. Leaving us feeling very temporary about ourselves as we shift, grateful but bemused, from one home to another, laying our hats and hoping for the best.

Above: Helen takes an unorthodox approach to packing.

Above: Our stuff! All packed into 50 sqft!

It has to be said that this process has not been conducive to sentimentality, as we’ve ruthlessly rifled through our worldly possessions, guided by mantras like “have you seen/worn/used this item in the past year?” and “would you pay to store this?”. The charity shops of St.Albans were simultaneously delighted and terrified. We have now successfully pared down our “stuff” to one 5ft by 10ft storage space, three suitcases, two rucksacks, and two pieces of hand luggage.

Meantime, we’ve been saying our farewells. To Mums and Dads, brothers and sisters, friends and their children, our favourite café, the Guardian newspaper, good quality cheese, and our beautiful car. *Sigh*

Massive thanks are owed to the many who have suffered our stresses, our cluttering up of their homes, and our emptying of their fridges.

And in the midst of all this, we see Kenya and East Africa in the news, as drought and conflict create thousands of refugees and threaten millions with starvation. We wonder if we will make any difference at all. Mmm. Hopefully a little. Watch this space.

Tomorrow we’ll be on a plane. We’ve probably forgotten something. Oh well. Let’s pretend it’ll all work out in the end.