Simon's Nairobi Diary - Archive 8

7 November 2005 8:15pm

I was talking with some of the other foreigners here after chapel last week, and they remarked that we should have a mzungu party. Mzungu means 'european' but it really is just a blanket term for having the white skin. So Sunday was the mzungu party. We ordered pizza and had coca cola and ice cream. We threw our coats on the bed and talked about a lot of subjects that we had been previously unable to converse about.

I thought it was interesting how this party let everybody just talk how they did two months ago when they were in the states. We could talk about how the icecream costs about 'five bucks' and thankgiving is coming up. We could just be. Its wierd, because I've typically been leery about the whole 'minority' club thing.

We planned a picnic for two weeks from now. Hmmm. Picnic in December. Wierd.

4 November 2005 5:23pm

Two months since that KLM thing landed on this Kenyan soil and I stepped into the noise and the distance. Two months that have felt like 10 days.

I am beginning to see this creator. Understanding is beginning to arrive like a sunrise and its traces of dew, only a molecule thick, which begin to cover the surface of my cognition. Occasionally it coalesces into a bead, running felt but unseen, until it drips off my chin and hits my knee. For an instant I am aware of the cleft of rock surrounding my comprehension. In the fleeting moment, and initiated almost on a whim, I have the awareness to look behind me and see the back of the One who has just passed me by.

Though my inborne structure of logic and aptitude immediately suffocate the moment into excuses and reality, in my spirit remains an aftertaste of it all. And I am left sitting at that wooden desk with an inaudible whisper, barely eeking through my human confines, of what I have heard fiercely exhaled over his shoulder.

3 November 2005 7:45pm

In the tree outside my block, the crazy owls were back again. Samuel lives near Kakamega Rainforest in west Kenya, and he laughed when I initially asked him if they were Jaguars. They sound like a cross between a velociraptor and indigestion James Earl Jones.

As I stepped outside my gate a huge three inch black beetle was shuffling along like beetles do. I kicked it over, maybe for fun, and it fell heavily on its back. Unable to right itself, and me feeling guilty maybe for disturbing the harmonic march of the wild, I helped it out. It did a thick clumsy flop and went back to shuffling along. Right then a moth landed on my upper lip. I felt like I was on the cover of Silence of the Lambs. I huffed it off and ran quickly along so as to avoid any other African insect anomolies.

It is night time here, and noon back home. I hope it will always be wierd to think that. As I walked over from my room the stars were out and one of the planets was burning white especially close. I was just standing there with a craned neck thinking, 'Where is the big dipper? Oh yeah... southern hemisphere. Well shucks.'

2 November 2005 6:11

Apparently I missed Halloween. They don't celebrate it here. I suppose I could have dressed like a hobgoblin and ran around campus, but it probably would have only resulted in getting jacked in the throat by some guard's baton. They don't celebrate Thanksgiving either, but a bunch of us foreign folks are getting together for it.

On a different note, I have not really felt the culture shock thus far. I believe it is because of two factors: 1) This place is very western still. Coca cola, collered shirts, and internet abound. 2) I'm too lazy too see the difference of color. Some foreigners really see the skin color thing. They really see themselves as white and really see themselves surrounded by black. And this can lead people to feel isolated and different, since it has to be continuously dealt with. I think I'm just too fazed out for all of it, which is a bad thing as much as a good thing, since it is to blame for my eternal messy room and occaisional forgotten assignment. But anyways, it somewhat aids me here, and the result is that the brown skin is not even being processed in regards to my cultural comfort and solidarity.

1 NOVEMBER! 2005 8:07pm

I found the roach nest, bought some spray labeled "DOOM!" in crazy ten inch letters, and sprayed into the nook. I should have taken more time to mentally prepare, because it was such a massive scuttling of pestilance that I shouted and jumped back. I knew I hit the right spot though, because they came out dragging out their egg pods. When my father and me would shoot cowbirds off the feeder, he would always encourage hitting the females because it would have a greater impact upon the population. It would cause the number of delicate field birds (IE: indigo bunting) to increase, since less cow birds were available to terrorize their nests. Hitting the roach breeding grounds with DOOM! was that same satisfaction as hitting female cow birds.

31 October 2005 8:01pm

Gabriel met us at the police station outside Kibera, we bribed the police to allow us to use their parking lot, and we entered the slum. Never in my life have I seen such a boggling labyrinth of man and trash. 1,000,000 people under a canopy of rusted aluminum siding. Gabriel led us throughout its paths, most too small for a car to drive through. We twisted and turned in no obvious direction, and within minutes I was hopelessly disoriented. The criss-crossed paths were padded by shreds of plastic bags, showcasing Kibera's prominent depravity even in the medium of its boulevard. Grey flotsam and refuse plugged the nearby drainage ditches. Yet, the amount of trash had its equal in the amount of eyes. Population was the walk's dominating characteristic. Glancing left and right brought to my attention an endless supply of people who followed our passage with the turning of their necks. Small children were everywhere, a constant stream of shrill "Howa yoo?" - tiny fingers outstretched. Sad to see some of them playing in the ditches. As were were led farther up and farther in, the buildings lost their concrete and were reduced to mud, our journey becoming a walk away from prosperity itself.

"Here it is," he motioned. I was unable to see what he meant. Only his ducking down and following movement brought the doorway to my attention. We entered the grounds of the church, and the aluminum gate/door was bolted behind us. My eyes rested on a simple building surrounded by dirt swept clean. Children skipped rope and people chatted and loitered in this area, this vestibule of tranquility. The service began, marked by its tambourine and drum. The syncopation of the rhythm, vacancy of English, and the dance of the people showcased a faith set free from the influences of the West, though I had to ignore the suit the pastor wore. Aged women with missing front teeth swayed to their salvation, a Swahili song of 'thank you' to their Hope and Reason. The people sung with graspable ardor and the children danced without hindrance and I was brought into the presence of the Maker, the creator of the mountains in obvious attendance within the 'ugly' walls of this room. I joined in the dance in the front row, with a bank account and knowledge in spades, yet edified by a two-bit assembly within the largest stain of poverty on the continent. The message was Hebrews 12:26-28, holding our faith in That whom cannot be shaken, and I gained such understanding into this verse that it was as if I had read it for the very first time.

29 October 2005 10:30pm

Two things realized today. 1) My right foot sweats more than my left. B) I'm used to driving on the left hand side of the road, shifting with the left hand, blinkering with my right.

Still very hot here, even hotter than Augustus Gloop - when he got stuck in Willie's pipes after falling into the chocolate waterfall. I wish I had a chocolate waterfall. Hot here to the point that the lizards were getting all riled up and began invading the classrooms: