The Many-Sided Nairobi: pasta, football, robbery, blankets, wine and rain

“Nairobi Today: The Paradox of a Fragmented City” is a book I stood reading in a bookshop the other day. It says “One must…not seek a unique identity in Nairobi, but rather, several identities.”

Perhaps this is just as true of London or any other big city – these different identities arise from a huge economic and lifestyle gap between those living at the extreme ends of society, who are then thrust into close(r) proximity within the streets, buildings and bustling humanity of a city. But, unlike in London we find ourselves in a position better able to experience the many sides of this city. The gap between ‘have’ and ‘have much less’, is comparatively narrow for us VSOs to cross.

We might be poor this year by our own standards back home, but we’re not poor here by Kenyan standards. We have the money to take taxis, frequent posh bars, and go on (cheap) safari. Perhaps only on rare occasions, but this is still more than can be said for most. And it means we can be chameleons here, reaching up to the “rich” places, but equally ready to buy a street-side chapatti or corn for a few bob.  Maybe I flatter us to assume we can view life in our new city from a unique perspective, but certainly our default lifestyle is not western ex-pat, nor is it on a par with our Kenyan colleagues:

• We earn roughly the same as our Kenyan professional colleagues (probably more than most actually, but in any case, about £160 a month each)
• We have a little money from back home for trips around the country and weekend treats in the city.
• Our training has instilled in us an aim to integrate with the culture, to flex and adapt so that we might fit in.

And so I share a few demonstrations of this many-sided city from one recent Nairobian weekend…

When in Rome…

After a Saturday morning of exhaustingly slow admin (see previous post on Kenyan banking bureaucracy), we decided to treat ourselves to a nice lunch in the city centre. Picking a “middle budget” option fairly at random from the guidebook, we found ourselves utterly freaked out to enter La Trattoria, which turned out to be a pretty darn posh Italian restaurant which would have looked entirely at home anywhere in the UK. Or perhaps Italy. After several weeks of primarily eating goat stew, rice, ugali, beans, greens and chapatti, the total shock of a rich, creamy carbonara sauce left me speechless. Our stomachs were very confused as we sheepishly but gratefully tucked in.

A bitter after-taste from the beautiful game…

Straight from the restaurant, we went to see Kenya play Guinea Bissau in an African Cup of Nations qualifying game. Yes, I mean football. And yes, I know those that know me are currently in shock reading this, as they know that football is, in my humble opinion, one of the world’s great evils. But we’re here for cultural experiences, and weirdly, there’s hardly anything more African than football (even if it’s Everton v Millwall, as we disbelievingly saw in rural Uganda a few years ago). And this was a biggie – a make-or-break game that Kenya had to win.

Helen with flags at the ready, as the teams line up.

 So off we went to Nyayo national stadium with new friend Amol. Picking up Kenya flags on the way in, we knew we were entering a pretty unsafe crowd and that, as the only wazungu not in the VIP area, we would be targets. But all this was forgotten as we took our seats on the concrete steps of the modern-day colosseum, and as we saw an exciting game involving two teams running backwards and forwards, failing to score and generally delivering the kind of prima dona antics that only footballers can. The crowd and the atmosphere were awesome, and we waved our flags enthusiastically. With a 1-1 draw and the clock ticking down, it was strange to see the tension broken as the crowd spotted that black clouds were gathering and, with a torrential downpour and ensuing traffic chaos in the offing, priorities changed and lots of people started to leave. And so it was that we were half out of the stadium, looking back over our shoulders, when Kenya scored in the last minute! Awesome scenes of celebration, and with my arms held aloft, I finally felt like a football fan for the first time in my life.



Amol and I celebrate Kenya's first goal

And then three things happened. 1. Helen got sick from something she’d eaten (maybe the expensive Italian?) and rushed off to find a loo. 2. The downpour started with sheet grey sky and big splodges of rain. And 3. My wallet was stolen. Yep, what a way to go from high to low. It was a physical experience which has stuck with me. I’d been stupid and put my wallet in my back pocket, with no button or zip to protect it. Idiot. I felt it being slipped from my pocket, and immediately whipped round, grabbing the arm I thought I’d felt. But they’re so fast. By then it had been handed off to someone who’d handed it off to someone. I shouted angrily, basically accusing a whole crowd of Kenyans of thievery. Not my finest hour. I had to accept, it had gone. Nothing to be done but head home in torrential rain feeling angry and targeted.

Blankets, wine and middle class Kenya comes out to play…

Next day, swallowing our newly-found fear of the outside world, we headed out to see a whole other Nairobi at Blankets & Wine, a monthly picnic music festival out near Karen. Karen, the suburb of Nairobi named after early white settler Karen Blixen (immortalised in Out of Africa of course), is known as the posh, white area of town. And so it was. Unlike everyone else in attendance at this event, we arrived by matatu and walked the final few hundred metres up a dirt track. We were constantly overtaken by expats in four-by-fours looking really confused that anyone white would be without their own vehicle.

Successfully navigating our way through several sponsors’ tents, experiential marketing and brand-to-hand activity (not phrases we expected to use here), we settled ourselves on a mini-hillside on our blanket.

If we’d been in the UK, this would have struck us as a lovely middle class gathering to listen to music, see and be seen, and drink some nice wine. But after weeks of being volunteers, fitting in, “slumming it” and seeking out “genuine” Kenyan experiences, it was a real culture shock.

Gradually, of course, we adapted to our tough new environment, steeling ourselves to sip cold white wine and eat cheese with the best of them, and enjoying watching the beautiful Kenyan women in fabulous dresses and the funny-looking white people enjoying their picnics.



Struggling to cope, white wine in hand

And then, as if to continue a theme, the heavens opened. We all rushed to huddle under marquees as the organisers desperately urged people not to leave. Resorting to handing out freebies, I was very proud of Helen as she ran up to receive an enormous free bottle of Southern Comfort (don’t ask, it was very exciting at the time…).



Raining

Ironically, that’s when the event really kicked off. Enter legendary South African band Mafikizolo, and to our excitement, they began singing one of their biggest hits, Ndihamba Nawe (‘I choose you’) a song that we recognised from a CD put together for us by a local Ugandan DJ in 2007. And so it was that we were to be found joining a crowd directly in front of the stage, in the pouring rain, barefoot, dancing away to some awesome, cheesy, foot-pounding tunes… (close your eyes to imagine while listening to this).



Annie and Helen enjoying the rain / beer / dancing



Mafikizolo.  Legends.  Plus, they had a dance routine



This post could go on forever, as every day we see new sides of this amazing city. As we go in one day from buying jeans for a few shillings at the enormous Toi street market on the edge of Kibera slum – to visiting the posh Yaya mall just up the road for a coffee, surrounded by white people and designer clothing. Or spending one night drinking beer in our local garage bar in South B (literally a garage during the day) – and then spending another night drinking wine and eating tapas in expat delux ‘Brew Bistro’.

Should it be a source of guilt that we can see and experience all sides? Should we deliberately ignore the posh, the expat, or the tourist experience? Are these things any less a part of the “real” Kenya? It's easy to develop an "us and them" attitude, or some kind of confused reverse snobbery.

But I feel like I want to “suck the marrow out of life” here this year, by seeing and tasting all sides of this fragmented city (and country). Not all sides will be positive, some will be difficult, or painful. But if that means that I experience a mini culture shock on an almost daily basis, then that’s ok by me.

With special thanks to: Amol for inviting us to the football, and his friend John for getting us tickets; Annie, our Blankets & Wine co-conspirator; and Barclays Bank of Kenya, for a shockingly efficient ATM card replacement service.