Simon's Nairobi Diary - Archive 12

16 December 2005 8:48pm

I remember in 2nd grade when I was at recess and this lonely girl Shavon asked me if I would be her friend if she gave me her box of raisins. I agreed, took her raisins, and left her at the swing. Any chance of friendship was destroyed by my desire to be accepted by the cooler kids. Its not like guilt has followed me since way back then, but it was awful of me and sticks in my mind anyways.

Studied the Swahili all day. Put too much curry in the soup tonight. Ninajua na ninaandika nyingi kila siku.

15 December 2005 6:54pm

walking tall - whiter skin

different - my vision

felt tension - again today

cannot find - words to say

home is far - family too

but He is here - will see me through

hunkers close - in my mire

elevates - sparks desire

son of man - make your home

in my brain - deeper known

faith slips fast - dip and spike

i must cling - childlike

oh my god - thy will done

be my sole - momentum

14 December 2005 7:50pm

I was on a bus today and these three guys were in front of me who began to mess with a girl further up in the bus. At first, they just tapped her shoulders and she turned around, smiled uneasily, and tried to ignore them. The guys laughed among themselves and became more aggressive, pulling on her bra strap through her shirt. She did her best to ignore them, but eventually she stopped the bus and got off. The guys just continued to laugh and yelled something at her as the bus pulled away, and I watched her through the rear window standing solitary, waiting for another matatu.

There is no real police presence in this country. There are police at the government buildings, but really this country is run by private security companies. All of the major stores and banks are portected by uniformed baton-wielding employees. My school here recently had to switch companies, because the last security company stole a number of computers during a power outage at night. That sexually assaulted girl on my bus has no police or judicial system avenue through which to report any sexual assault, especially if she is Muslim. Rape is a problem here in Kenya, not because of its abnormal quantity, but because of its incapacity to be punished.

13 December 2005 7:57pm

The last section of the newly added Mombasa pictures shows the city, and this part of the whole thing was probably the most experiential part. We decided to go to the market in the old section of Mombasa and then, rice and papaya in hand, we took a walk through this section of the city. Soon I was completely surrounded by Muslim culture. All the men and boys wore Arabic dress: light colored clean pants, a long similar colored robe with designs on the lapels. Women dressed head to foot in black, every piece of skin covered. Their heads and necks tightly wrapped, their hands gloved, their faces covered with a veil. Most of the time their faces had only their eyes revealed, but sometimes even the eyes were hidden behind a thick veil. I immediately sensed the stiffness here, the formality, the tension of the tourist within the area. Taking pictures was a delicate process. The few times I undid the camera from its strap on my side the women shouted and me, gesturing towards the ground with their hands. The only good picture I got is the one of the two women that is blurry, since I snapped it hidden near my waist.

My friends all agreed that Mombasa is the safest large city in the entire country. The Islamic rules combine with the harsh penalties in the Muslim courts to make crime obsolete. It’s fascinating to see this strict religion acted out. The eyes of the women I passed (when I could see them) seemed to be unconcerned eyes, but the fact remains that it is the men who were talking in the streets and the women who were walking. It was peace within those 19th century walls, but not the stillness of shalom and goodness. It was the stillness of control, listlessness, and atrophy.

12 December 2005 7:49pm

Never in my life have I had such a full understanding of humidity. We arrived in Mombasa Tuesday morning. I stepped out of the bus into the city, and was greeted instantly by the vapor. Seven in the morning, and we were already dripping as we carried our suitcases to the car. It was the kind of heat that made you want to lay on a concrete floor and remain restricted to involuntary muscle movement. A quick purchase at the grocers and we left for the shoreline. Traveling forty minutes south of Mombasa to the beach, we arrived at our residence for the next five days. The entrance drive into the area brought into view baobab trees and flowered bushes. Covered with an awful gelatinous city sweat, we hastily threw our suitcases on the beds and dove into the Indian Ocean. Never have I seen water so clear. It was almost as if it was air beneath and above. Four days were spent snorkeling in the shallow reefs, reading decent books by NT Wright and George MacDonald, and eating fresh mango and coconut. The only stress encountered was to avoid stepping on the sea urchins, a task three out of the five of us failed at. We woke up some mornings and bought fresh fish from the locals. We stayed up late and told stories about home while chasing the geckos on the cottage walls. We talked the entire time about the Maker of it all: our need for him, our desire to help the world see the goodness of living through him, our confusion about doing anything. I slept in my bathing suit without sheets. We brought back to Nairobi a palpable tranquility and a mild sunburn.

Mombasa pictures added in 'Pictures' on the left.

5 December 2005 7:05pm

Its the holiday season, but this one has been a little different. Billboards and TV are almost nonexistent in my daily vision. Nobody here has Christmas lights up, which has been sort of nice. But what would Christmas be without some Christmas music. Therefore, I recorded on this old laptop a funky version of 'Oh Holy Night' which you can download above. Its not Mariah's 'All I want for Christmas is you', but it should be a good alternative.

I leave in twenty minutes for the coast. Quinton has got friends near the beach who will shack us up for free, and they may just have a surfboard. Needless to say, the next week is dramatically looking up. My bag is packed, my bloodstream is full of antimalarials, and I'm ready to be free from the confines of this campus. Eight hours, and I'll be in Mombasa.

2 December 2005 7:58pm

Crossing cultures has had its wonder and its junk. Upon arrival this place was full of awe and shine, every leaf and bug and wisp of smoke was a detail and it was seen and loved. Now its three months since I've been here, and it is beginning to lose that gloss. I start to see the reality of this land and these people. And its amazing and simple and harsh to realize that my fellow students and professors are the same as everybody else. Though I might be six thousand miles from Michigan, a person remains a person. Differences between here and home are seen and loved, such as the magnificence of Jesus-followers in poverty, but people are still happy/ornery tired/excited impatient/loving. People are still fragile and in need of something outside of the seen senses. I have to work to realize the beauty, because my conscious begins to see the extraordinary as ordinary, and I hate it, but I'll stretch to uncover it. Maybe thats one discovery in the mix of why I came out here: to see the extravagence through the haze of what is ordinary. Seeing the spectacular nature of lillies and sparrows and fishermen might be worth this whole ordeal.