Why you shouldn't confuse our blog with reality

Posted by: Dan (with moral support and editing by Helen)
 

A word on this blog: we're loving writing it. But, it’s a lot like Facebook – which is always filled with witty comment, shiny, happy faces and extraordinary experiences. Rather than “I went to work today”. And aren’t we all glad of that? It would certainly be duller if it were more true. We're aiming for a blog full of carefully crafted, articulate, witty, well-rounded nuggets of cultural observations (ha!). And, yes, also close-ups of lions in the Maasai Mara just to make you all jealous. Don’t get me wrong, we are doing those wonderful things, we are incredibly lucky to visit once-in-a-lifetime places of a weekend here in Kenya. But that, of course, is much less than half the story......

Welcome to a blog post answering the question: "Why don't you talk about work?"

During our "In-Country Training", we were fresh volunteers, all sitting beside our new Kenyan employers. A member of the training team stood up and said, "Do not expect your volunteer to do much in the first three months". What?! We all looked at each other slightly incredulously...

It's four months on, and last weekend I found myself standing in front of a new intake of volunteers, fresh off the plane, jet-lagged and eager, and repeating this same advice. Presentation title: "Practicalities of Working in Kenya". I urged them to spend the first months learning about their organisation, and crucially, building relationships. "Do not", I said, "try to hit the ground running".

.......................................

"But you don't talk about work!", said a UK friend the other day, referring to our blog. And this got me worried. I don't want my friends and family in the UK thinking this blog says it all, that it's an accurate picture of our full experience here. We also have to go to work.

We find it hard to articulate "work" here. Firstly, VSO urges volunteers to be cautious about blogging about their placements. Sage advice - after all, this is a very public space. I've never written a blog before, and it's certainly strange to think that I'm writing for my Mum, my UK friends, fellow volunteers here, and of course, our Kenyan colleagues sometimes read it too. I have no intention of offending anyone with off-hand remarks. It helps that I like my colleagues, and have no real cause for complaint. But I've heard stories of volunteers who have totally screwed things up for themselves by writing insensitively about work.

Secondly, it needs to be couched in terms. “Work” is the absolute obsession of the Western world. We’re all trained to be Type A, workaholic, deliver deliver deliver productivity monkeys. What’s the first question people ask when they meet? “So, what do you do?” Our work is at the heart of our identity, going far deeper than, probably, it should.

It’s not the same here. And I apologise for any grand generalisations here, particularly to any Kenyans who are reading this. I certainly mean no offense, and I don't mean that Kenyans are lazy.

But still, in my experience I think it's true to say that Kenyans are not about work. Mornings and meetings start with a long and lovely round of greetings: Habari? How are you? What news? How is your family? How is your home? Kenyan life much more frequently revolves around (1) family, and (2) Church. I’m starting to think they have a lot more perspective than the British do, and an understanding of Work:Life balance that I envy.

It’s worth remembering that office work is a comparatively new thing here. We’re working with colleagues who are often the first generation to go to university or work in an office rather than in a field or at a road-side stall. They don’t yet have the highly evolved middle class angst and social rituals that British offices do. And sometimes I’m loath to be the representative that suggests that offices are the way to go. I’d sometimes much prefer to be ploughing, hunting or cooking than vexing over office politics. I’m proudly better at making fires and cooking meat than I am at writing project documents or “managing stakeholders”.

And work here can be frustrating. Volunteers can be idealists, recruited to "change the world". But what does that mean? I know even some of our UK acquaintances have struggled with the concept that we're doing office work here. We're not digging wells or handing out food aid. I write emails here, I use flipcharts.

But despite this, things can be very different for a lot of volunteers here. Imagine yourself in an office in the UK:

• you often have no internet, no power, no running water
• the working day is flexible, no-one is watching you, managing you
• your work sometimes has little structure, often no team, and frequently no clear objectives
• 'a productive day at work' can mean chatting with your colleagues, and drinking chai all day.

It sounds wonderful, yes? Frustrating maybe, but a very easy year. But it's difficult. And we've flown a long way to share skills, create change, improve things. You start to even miss bureaucracy...

Bureaucracy is what happens when relationships break down

For many Kenyans, talking and relationships are far more important than producing a document to deadline, sending an email or perfecting a powerpoint presentation. Speed is not of the essence, and Kenyans enjoy reminding us that they have their own sense of time.

Our new work-mates act very differently from our previous colleagues. Often they'll agree with everything you say, even when they disagree fundamentally and have no intention of following through. Our Swahili teacher says "Kenyans are not honest", which doesn't mean they're liars, but in Swahili, there's almost no way of articulating negativity. The answer to any question is "nzuri" or "sawa sawa" (variations on "good" and "fine"). Our Kenyan acquaintances will say "nzuri" even when the truth is that they haven't slept, a family member is in hospital, or they're in a foul mood. Translated into a work setting, and it becomes a real struggle to get honest, constructive feedback and criticism. My training sessions are "brilliant", "very good" and "excellent". Which is nice, but it's hard to tell how true...

What else? It's common for volunteers to complain "my colleagues share all their gossip in Swahili", "they agree to meet you but never turn up", or "I've produced the work they've asked for, but it's shelved, seemingly forgotten". Again there are many reasons behind these behaviours and none of them is spite or insult, but it can be hard not to take it personally. It takes time for all us VSO volunteers to learn what its all about, some things were never covered in our training, and we'll never understand the way everything works.

We Westerners struggle with that, particularly in the emotional bubble of a year's volunteering. It can lead some volunteers to question the whole concept of “development work”, as it feels dysfunctional against our UK benchmark. Although I can think of one or two UK organisations I’ve worked at who were just as dysfunctional as any we see here. And I guess if our placements here were perfectly functioning and ordered, then we wouldn’t be in the developing world, a nation in progress - and these organizations wouldn’t need us?

These are not yet fully-formed thoughts, so apologies if they are crude, unclear or touch a nerve with anyone. But I wanted to try to explain, to some extent, why we don't "talk about work" that much on our blog. At least you can take away from this long, rambly philosophizing that this experience is weird. And hard to explain. And confusing.

Sure, it was always going to be weird because of the matatus, the weather, the language – the Kenyan-ness of it all. But I didn’t quite expect our emotional reactions and wild mood swings because of these work challenges. Working in Kenya has slowly, slowly, unraveled and taken apart our work ethics; questioned why we work the way we do, how we live our lives, and how we see ourselves. So how do we put this all back together again? And how will we have changed?


It certainly bakes the noodle, so to speak.

Our first visitor

Posted by: Helen

My big brother Matt lives and works in Dubai, so we’re much closer to him now we’ve moved to Kenya.  During the recent national holidays in the UAE celebrating the muslim festival of Eid al-Adha, he visited us for a 6-day holiday.  As our first visitor, we’ve given him the honour of his own blog post.  

Disclaimer: the same courtesy may be extended to other visitors but cannot be guaranteed...

We thought it might be interesting for people back home to hear his thoughts on Kenya and on our lives here in Nairobi.  How was his trip?  What has surprised him? Does he think we’ve changed?  Read on to find out...

So, Matt, how has your trip been?

Fantastic, thank you!

You’d actually been to Nairobi once before, yes?

Yes but only briefly.  On the way back from Tanzania, we were supposed to change planes but Kenya Airways was on strike so we stayed overnight.  I only really saw the inside of the airport – and my hotel room.

So how does Kenya compare to other African countries you’ve visited?

In terms of development, I’d say it’s about halfway on the index.  Egypt and South Africa are much more developed but Kenya seems more developed than Zambia.  Certainly Nairobi has more infrastructure than Lusaka (Zambia’s capital).

How did you find Nairobi this time around?

I like it much more than my first one-night visit!  My impressions are of a diverse city – in culture and economics; I saw a man pulling a cart down the road laden with old tires, using his own strength, and behind him, a guy driving a shiny BMW.  It’s clear that different areas of city are inhabited by different types of people; places for ex-pats, places for wealthy Kenyans, and slums for those who have much less.  My impression was that the city seems quite safe, and that crime is there not because of hate but because many residents simply need the money.  I think you need to be streetwise here, but I found no problems.

So where did we take you? (testing him here..)

We went to Embakasi, where you work at the KUB, and saw your building and had lunch in the tin shack opposite.  We went to Bus Station several times!  Erm... Gracehouse Hotel where you were involved in training new volunteers and I came along.  Then on our trip - Lake Naivasha, Hell’s Gate National Park and we climbed a mountain.  Mlangu?  No, Mount Longanot.

And who did you meet?

Many people!  All your colleagues including your office-mate Irene and your boss, Jackson. Plus Johnson who tapped me for Dubai-related business ideas.  Your askaris (security guards) at your building, your VSO neighbours Allys and Eddie when we had beers in South B dinner at yours.  Erm...  your friends Marc and Veronica, and Amol who came with us to Carnivore restaurant, and I saw my Kenyan friends from Dubai who were also home for Eid!  I met VSO staff at the training whose names I can’t remember, also the new volunteers including a nice British guy called Simon.  Joel, your taxi driver.  Oh, and John the boat captain who took us out on the lake.

What are the biggest differences you see between Kenya and the UK?

The reaction to foreigners is different – they shout: Mzungu! at white people which feels strange.  But like the UK, they are very welcoming to foreigners, I also felt very welcome. The traffic is much more crazy, there is a feeling of everything being much less organised, a feeling of chaos. 

I think in the UK people can isolate their families and are very private, whereas here children are raised by the whole community and people are much more in each other’s space.

Describe Kenya in 3 words.

Green.  Wild.  Can I have more than 3 words?  Energetic yet relaxed.

What was your highlight of Kenya?

Cycling through Hell’s Gate National Park, and getting really close to the zebras!

Is there anything you didn’t like so much?

Hmm, probably being holed up in the matatu on the way home from Naivasha.  I was stuck in a seat with no leg room.  And – I didn’t like that there wasn’t enough time with you guys, I only had 5 full days!

You stayed with us in South B, what do you think of our neighbourhood?

Vibrant!  For a residential area, it’s surprisingly commercial, there are businesses just everywhere – fruit sellers on the side of the road, a garage that becomes a bar at night... It’s a place where folks are just getting on with their lives.

Has anything here surprised you?

I would imagine that less shocks me these days, because I’ve travelled and live abroad, but the gross inequality here still hits me.  What else? It’s more physical here, Kenyan don’t seem to need as much personal space as we do!  It’s surprised me how Kenyans just get on with things without complaint: if the matatu is full, the lady just squeezes in backwards and perches between the seats.  And if the tout can’t reach to get money from all passengers, people just pass the coins forwards, and the change backwards.  In the UK, people would be outraged, but here they think, ‘This is how it is, I’m going with it.’

Also there were many more links to Arabic culture than I realised.  Living in the Middle East, I could guess correctly around language and customs, despite knowing nothing about Kenya before I came (the Swahili language and culture, was massively influenced by the Arab traders who first arrived on the Kenyan coast in the 7^th century, particularly from Oman).

How do you think this experience is changing us?

Well, for the better!  I’m her brother so I can say this: I can imagine Helen in the past complaining a lot more, squashed into a matatu or being made to wait around.  She handles those things with much better humour now.  Once you’ve done this year, you guys can go anywhere and do anything; something frustrating happens but you’ll no longer find it stressful , and you stop thinking ‘I can’t do this!’  It’s those qualities that VSO selected you on - flexibility, patience – but magnified: you are more accepting, more chilled; you can choose how to react.  I think it will help back in the UK too, you’ll be more effective because you’re more in control.  So really it’s less about Helen and Dan changing the world, and more about the world changing you.

You read this blog before you arrived.  How do you think the blog reflects the reality of life here?

Pretty accurate, I reckon the blog rings true.  I think at the start you may have overemphasised certain aspects because you were writing from emotional reactions – the colours you painted were so much brighter when it was all new.  And yes, some of what you write sounds naive to me, but the honesty makes it a really successful blog.

What aspect of life here should we blog about next?  What’s missing?

Maybe something to do with the war propaganda in the newspapers you were both talking about (how Kenya’s ‘war on terror’ in Somalia is reported here).  Or, more about the trips you take?  What about the struggle I’ve seen you both having this week with your work; the frustrations you feel when forced to work in a Kenyan way, which is very different to what you’re used to?  I know you’d have to change names to protect the real people involved!

Finally, what are your top tips for our other friends and family who are coming to see us?


Be flexible.  Drop your expectations of western-world things like organisation, cleanliness and punctuality.  But, raise your expectations of what you’ll experience, because you’ll have a great time.  Don’t come with a list of ‘musts’ and stress about it.  Things are unpredictable here but you won’t have failed because even a few cool things here will make for an awesome trip.

........

I can’t really describe the joy of having a visit from a familiar face after the past few months, but safe to say it was just.... awesome.  Big thanks to Matt for being our first visitor, and fitting so well into a week in our lives; it sounds like he had a lot of fun too.

It was great to see you bro – hoping to see you in 2012, somewhere in the world....

Obama, football and God

OR: My favourite Kenyan signs

'Signage' - not the sexiest subject for a blog post? Think again my friends. Signs in Kenya are AWESOME. Varying from the informative to the darn-right surreal, they are always entertaining during the many journeys I've spent stuck in traffic wishing I had something to read.

I hereby bequeath to you all my favourite signs so far. If you enjoy this, don't worry, there's plenty more to come...

NB/ If the slideshow's running too fast, just click pause. Or, click on the slideshow itself to get a bigger version.

Unspeakable things

A blog comes in handy when you have a subject that’s difficult to talk about out loud.

I knew there was poverty in Kenya, I knew that urban deprivation affected Nairobi in massive, permanent, well-documented ways.  But the real-life sights and sounds of people who have nothing today and won’t have anything tomorrow have... affected me.  Despite knowing, I was still unprepared.

In 2006, I was chatting with a Ghanaian guy about the trip Dan and I were planning to Uganda the following year, when he said, ‘On your first trip to Africa, you will be shocked by some of the poverty on the streets, you won’t believe your eyes.’  These words stayed with me as we spent a wonderful fortnight visiting our friend Albert.  We saw poverty in Uganda, but nothing that changed the way I saw the world.  Perhaps Albert shielded us, but whatever the reason, I had to come to Nairobi to be truly shocked.

Fellow volunteer Aurelia wrote a great piece on the hardship she’s seen and how when you see extreme poverty, it amost feels like you’re viewing it through a screen, or from a far distance – so removed is the life you see from your own.

But I can’t hide from it anymore.  I see things that shock me – sometimes I stare, or maybe I turn away.  But whatever my reaction, I’ve not been talking about it, not even with Dan.  I want to share what I’ve seen, because I’ve been hiding from it.  It’s time to face facts.

Things I know vs. Things I’ve seen

I knew there was poverty in Kenya. The Nairobi city centre after dark is loud, dirty, crowded and feels full of dangers.  We catch our bus from a part of town where the only other white people we see are each other.  Striding along at top speed, I see a bundle of rags outside a lively bar and assume it’s bedding ready for someone to sleep in, a frequent sight of homelessness in London.  But it’s not just bedding, it’s a small girl fast asleep on the pavement despite the urban chaos all around.

I knew there would be beggars. In the same area, a young woman sits on the pavement, beating an empty plastic container like a drum to accompanying her tuneless singing.  She sings strongly, I can clearly hear her as we approach, but the desperation is clear.  As we pass I see she is sitting amongst blankets, wrapped tight over her – wait - no - there are children. A small girl with her head in her mother’s lap, and a baby too, strapped to the front of the young woman.  It’s dark, it’s late and she’s begging for change.

I knew there were slums.  I look at the tin roofs of the slum shacks far below our living room window.  The rain hammers so hard we have to raise our voices to speak indoors.  I wonder how loud it is inside those shacks, and how much rain gets in?  I look back at our flat and wonder how many people we could fit in this safe, dry space.  How many families, how many children?

I knew there is no safety net for people with disability. Walking from the roundabout through the mud to my office, I pass a man with legs too emaciated to hold his weight.  He sits on the mud, moving backwards, dragging himself along like a baby learning to walk: bottom first then picking up his legs to follow.  He is alone, in the mud.  I wonder where is he going, and why.  Passing back in the opposite direction a few hours later, I see he has moved 100 metres down the path.

.............

The shock I’ve felt has made me feel naive, I know I’m very new to the developing world and had no exposure to homelessness back in the UK.  But I’m not ashamed to admit these sights make me feel... helpless – and shitty for hardening myself to this reality.  Take beggars, for example; as volunteers, we say no, we put on a stern face and we stride away, because -

Don't the parents of street children send them out to beg?  If everyone stopped giving, the parents would be more motivated to feed all their children, right?   

Some hotels ask guests not to give to the children who beg, because all you’re doing is keeping them from school.  The more you give, the less likely they are to get an education.  

Have you heard that the beggar outside the Yaya Centre makes 2000 shillings per day? (That’s twice the salary I’m paid here in Kenya)

This is what we hear, this is what we tell ourselves, but what’s the truth?  What’s the right thing to do?

Through my work at Kenya Union of the Blind (KUB), I am strengthening an organisation so it can better serve those who are blind and partially sighted.  Our members live in an inaccessible society, often denied education, or the chance to gain skills to earn a living.  With few choices, many Kenyans with visual impairment are forced to beg.  These people have nothing today but through the work of the KUB (educational grants, and microfinance programmes, for example) they might now have something tomorrow.  So I’m doing enough, right?  I firmly believe we are not here to share money, or food, or our flat – we’re here to share skills.  But still, the sight of Dan sternly saying ‘Hapana!’ (No) to a gang of hungry-looking seven-year-olds... affects me.

I know this isn’t groundbreaking stuff: western woman shocked by the harrowing poverty she sees – feels helpless and guilty.  But, maybe I’m here to tell you that this is a cliché for good reason.  It’s exactly how it feels.

We came to Kenya to experience the reality and get ‘under the skin’ of somewhere very different. The complexity of issues like poverty, disability, and the rights of women to control their own reproductive health astound me; I haven’t scratched the surface. And a child begging gives us yet another example of how the reality of a developing society is far from black-and-white.


This much I do know: no judgements can be made by living far away, by 'knowing' about the situation from a removed position.  We had to come here to experience how this feels and begin to understand these situations that seem so simple at first glance.

The rains, they have come (anyone got a spare ark?)

I write this sitting by the window of our apartment, during a power cut, with a torrential downpour currently in progress...

Our fellow volunteer Tara had a conversation with a Kenyan colleague back in August in which she asked “when will the rains come?”, and he replied “on the 15th October”. At the time, we all thought this was just another example of a uniquely Kenyan style of communication. But it turns out her colleague was pretty much bang on the money. The rains came on the 14th October.


Kenya has two rainy seasons. The “short rains” - that’s now – in October-November. And the “long rains” – around April-June.

Needless to say, the arrival of the rains is great news for Kenya. They failed to show up last year, which is one reason why Kenya, and the region more generally, is suffering one of its worst ever famines (food security was only just beginning to improve after the last prolonged drought that lasted from 2007 to 2009). So this is a major reason for celebration. Of course, in a country which has mountains, desert, rainforest, savannah and coastline, the weather can be pretty erratic, so we only hope it rains where the farmers and thirsty people need it to.

But the idea of the rainy season being pinpointed to a specific day is quite a weird thing for us soggy Brits. I remember seeking advice from volunteers in Kenya before we left the UK, and one memorable response was “right now, I’m dressing for all four seasons every morning”.

And when the rains come here, they really come. Areas formerly known as “roads” and “pavements” are swiftly transformed into vast ponds and rivers of muddy brown water. Drains and sewers quickly overflow, adding a certain frisson as I trudge towards the city centre. The many pot-holes fill up to become seemingly bottomless lakes which matatus drown in. Kenyans look distinctly unamused. Because, of course, this is Nairobi. While pastoralists in rural communities are busy praising the Almighty for bringing water, the “townies” here just find it an inconvenience.

Traffic 'swims' through the city centre.

This morning I spotted a street cleaner lady sporting 'bin-liner chic' - she'd created an impressively well-tailored head scarf.

And no wonder, because pretty much everything grinds to a halt. Naturally, that means the already horrendous traffic gets worse. Drivers around Nairobi haven’t really grasped the concept of safe driving. On a normal day they jostle and jolt through traffic jams, inches apart, and speed towards the next jam before slamming on the brakes at the last minute. Add rain to this equation, and inches become millimetres and crashes become frequent. 

View from my office window - doesn't really do justice to the torrent.

Other things that cease to function when it rains include: work (leave early, or you might not get home); football games (only exciting when the sun is out – if it rains, just leave the stadium, no matter if its your country playing for their lives); and selling stuff (there’s no point – everyone’s too busy hiding from the rain to buy anything). We discovered this last weekend that even the notoriously desperate and enthusiastic hawkers who surround tourists when they attempt to take a photo of themselves at the equator, can’t really be bothered to hassle when the rain comes. It’s drier in the gift shop shacks, so they stay there while us crazy Brits take happy snaps in our waterproofs, enjoying the irony of equatorial drizzle.

Crazy Brit at equator - note waterproof round waist, lack of hassling hawkers, and ominous rainclouds overhead.
(The flasks at Helen's feet are for showing tourists the amazing 'water trick' - when you pour water down the plughole it changes direction on either side of the equator, apparently.)

Helen: Erm - I think I have to butt in here, Jones – you know NOTHING about rain and mud! 

Although I’ve mentioned this before several times, the mud where I work is EPIC.  Dan’s journeys through the city centre and out to the posh area where he works take place on pavements and tarmac roads. I never thought I would ever write in glowing praise of tarmac, but without it, in Embakasi: 10 minute walks take 4 times longer; cars break down; businesses suffer; and my visually impaired colleagues who all live close to the office are quite often trapped in their homes ("the white cane does not detect puddles, Helen").

The rain always seems to take people by surprise and everyone and everything is affected. Think of it as snow back in the UK.  Except unlike snow, it happens all the time, it’s sticky, black and it stinks.  Happily splashing through the puddles in my new wellies (Kenyans prefer the US-version: Gum Boots), my colleague warned me to stop.  ‘Why,’ I said, ‘It’s only water!’  ‘No Helen, it’s not!’ she laughed, pointing at the open sewer flowing freely onto the muddy path.

In case anyone is wondering why we’re devoting a blog post to the weather, let me explain that it has an effect on the city, but also on us.  After four months of living in Nairobi, we no longer remark on the many aspects of life which we initially found extraordinary: we are so used to them.  But when the rain comes, everything becomes strange and new again.  We are faced with new challenges, strange behaviour - and Kenya’s poverty springs back into focus.  What we take for granted in the UK is a daily struggle here for many: shelter, food and a livelihood.  The rains bring a sense that life is fragile; it feels that these hard-won basics can be simply washed away.

Here’s a few snaps from life in Embakasi now the rains have come.  The glamour, the glamour...

Urgent Appeal: Join the Campaign Against Celine Dion

Dear Reader,

The situation in Nairobi is becoming critical. My last four commutes on buses and matatus have seen a downward spiral, and things are now becoming unbearable.

As you may know from previous blog posts, it is the tradition for buses and matatus in Nairobi to play music at ear-splitting volume. This is not ideal. But now combine the volume with the choice of music, and I simply can’t cope. Please think of me, and all the other innocent commuters (who do not realise the pain they are causing themselves), as you consider the following musical choices…

Day 1: I was not initially worried, more bemused by the strange turn of events when my packed matatu, struggling through the traffic jams across town, started playing The Lion King’s Can You Feel The Love Tonight? Just quite surreal…

Day 2: But events swiftly moved from bizarre to concerning as my bus home the next day played Chaka Khan’s Aint Nobody as we trundled and bumped our way along the half-made roads from Muthaiga.

Day 3: Yesterday morning we reached a new low point, as the bus driver and passengers ignored my pleas to stop torturing me with Chris De Berg’s Lady In Red at 7.30 in the morning. Why? Why me? What have I done to deserve this?

Day 4: Still traumatised from the previous day, this morning I gingerly sat down on my bus and was relieved to hear…nothing. Silence. Bliss. Joy. Then the driver noticed that the aging radio had momentarily conked out, thumped it, and a deep, wailing moan filled my ear drums. Yes, it was Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. Arrgghhh!

Mr Bus Driver – I didn’t come all the way to Kenya to be assaulted with this musical detritus. I know I looked unhappy with the amorphous, tinnitus-inducing R&B you were playing a few weeks ago, but I didn’t mean it. I repent. Please bring the R&B back!

Nairobi traffic...

...And Celine Dion - noone prepared me for this!

Monicah's having a baby!

Posted by:  Helen (despite what it says underneath this post)

Life here in Kenya is so often different to living in the UK, so I find myself asking, what things are the same? What might our friends and family in the UK have in common with our new Kenyan friends?

With so many folk we love back home busy raising young families (you know who you are, you lovely people), I hereby present for you all a post on the universal experiences of love, marriage and starting a family...

INTRODUCING: Monicah!
Here she is at our office for the KUB

My colleague Monicah trained to be a special needs teacher, so she reads Braille despite having no visual impairment. She is currently the receptionist at Kenya Union of the Blind. She and her husband Daudi are having a baby, due in April. Monicah and I sat together in her small and comfy living room one Friday afternoon, ate bean stew and she filled me in on what it’s like to be a mum-to-be in Kenya.

My husband and I both studied at Kenyatta University (Nairobi), but we did not meet for a long time. We knew each other’s families from back home in the village; he knew mine was a good Christian family with educated daughters and I knew his family had a tractor business and I knew his sisters from school. On Valentine’s Day in my third year he called me! Wow! I loved his voice and told my friends, ‘I love this guy’s voice’ but we did not meet for a while after that.

Our first date was in 2008 but I did not think he was the one for me, and I told him that. But we kept seeing each other and he made me laugh so much. We were living close to each other and I started to work at KUB in Embakasi and I would finish work just as he was travelling to a late shift. He works for Safaricom in Customer Care. So we would meet up at the Roundabout, but when that guy was late – I would get so annoyed!  

In 2010 when I was 24, he said he wanted to formalise our relationship, so we arranged introductions to each other’s parents. When Daudi met my parents he brought a friend with him to help with the talking. He said, ‘I’m interested in your daughter – I would like to ask for her hand in marriage’. Then my Dad welcomed him to the family. He asked Daudi, ‘How do you intend to make this marriage official?’ But Daudi did not have an answer ready! His friend said they would confirm at a later date.

I rented a place in the same building as his, and then only 4 months later we couldn’t wait any more - we moved in together last year. Daudi had to pay bride price for me. Do you have bride price in your country? He had to pay a certain number of cows and goats, because now I would be part of his family. He had to pay more for me because I am educated and so will contribute more to his family through my salary. I don’t know how much his family paid for me – the women are not involved in that. Although I think my mother knows.

< I think I need to interject. In this highly religious, mainly Christian culture, all the people I’ve met in Kenya feel they need to be married before starting a family. But here, when people talk about being ‘married’, they’ve not always had a ceremony. Joining families together with this kind of transaction, moving in together or simply deciding to call each other husband and wife is very common. Before we arrived in Kenya, I was worried that it might be ‘not done’ for Dan and I to live together here and not be married. But I was wrong; it’s a very Kenyan thing to do. Lots of couples are saving for a wedding, and having their family while they wait - just like Monicah and Daudi. And you can’t get away with a small wedding here; if you invite 300 people, 600 will show up and all expect to be fed. So couples hold ‘wedding meetings’, or harambees (fundraisers) to ask for cash from the community to fund this large event. Alternatively, those who have ‘become married’ might never get around to the actual ceremony. I could easily dedicate an entire post to marriage - polygamy is legal here – but let’s get back to Monicah’s story... >

I found out I was pregnant in June, it had taken a year. I had been really worried and my in-laws were very worried when it did not happen straight away. When I thought I was expecting I went to my Gyno and he did a test. We were so happy, Daudi took me to lunch at a lovely hotel in town, and said, ‘I may not go to work today!’ I told my mother, and she said not to tell anyone else as there are so many things that can happen. I was worried that everyone could tell because my navel looked pregnant, so as I got bigger I never made an announcement but I stopped denying it. Lots of people found out from people I knew, but they had never asked me directly.

The Gyno we pay for gives me a scan every month, and every month I am taking a picture of myself growing and pasting it into a book, along with the results of that month’s check-up. My husband’s sister has taken the camera on a trip and I am saying, it needs to be back before the next check-up so I can take my picture!  

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I’ve been reading magazines to learn about pregnancy and birth. I think my mother is hiding the worst bits from me so I’ve also been talking to my friends and sisters. My doctor gives me good advice, but now I always take my husband for those check-ups. When I went by myself I was told ‘avoid heavy lifting’ and ‘avoid standing for a long time’ - Daudi heard this and thought I was lying just to get out of doing the laundry! We now have a lady who comes to wash the clothes, or sometimes he even does it himself. As I get bigger, my younger sister will come and live with us to help around the house and cook. The lady who comes in will wash the floors, walls, kitchen so I can rest.

Women are given 3 months maternity leave usually, but I am not sure how much KUB will give me. It is normal to stop working 2-3 weeks before the due date your doctor gives you, but I am feeling strong so I don’t plan to take any time off before I deliver. That way I will get 3 months at home with the baby.  

I won’t have a baby shower. Two friends of mine held baby showers and they got too excited, too overwhelmed and then they went to the doctors and the baby was not moving. They both lost their babies. So I am being careful. When my brother was hurt in an accident I waited until I heard he would be OK – I didn’t want to see him and upset myself, it is better for the baby. Instead we’ll have a party when the baby is one month old.

I will expect my husband and his family to drop everything when I call to say I’m having the baby. They’ll want to check the ward has been booked for me. I’m not sure where I’ll have the baby; it depends where my Gyno books me a bed. I hope it will be the Nairobi Women’s hospital. Some hospitals will allow the man to be there for the birth, and I would let him, but if there’s more than one woman in the labour ward, they don’t allow it.

If it is a normal birth, I will be home 2 days later. I’ve never had a baby before so my big sister will come and tell me all about it, how to breast feed. The lady who comes will do the cooking and cleaning. My mother in law can also come to stay. My own mother can visit but she cannot stay over as we are not in the same family anymore. It is just not allowed in our culture; I am part of my husband’s family now.

Once I am back at work, my husband or the lady who comes will need to bring the baby in at lunchtime, for breastfeeding. I’ve already told him he’ll need to do that.

Every month, my doctor checks the baby’s heart beat and does a scan. I had one scare but the baby was OK. When we go this month, we’re finding out if there are two babies. That would be OK; there are twins in my husband’s family. There is a guy making us a baby bed but we’ve told him to stop until we know if the bed is for one or two babies. Daudi does not want to know if they are boys or girls, but I need to know as I’ll be doing most of the shopping. We have to buy furniture, and lotion and all the normal baby things. It is so expensive.

Last month, I was weighed and wrote the number of kgs in the book I update every month. My husband saw it and said ‘You are heavier than a sack of maize!’ so I wrote that down too.  I find it so interesting to be pregnant and I can’t wait for the D-day - I'm counting all this as the favour of God.