A Muzungu's Journey

Nyali Beach

Hamjambo!

Ah, what a week it's been - easily one of the most amazing and exhilarating of my life. Everything is so new and surprising, awe-inspiring and confounding. I've traveled over the North Pole, seen things I once only dreamed of seeing, bought my first of many Kenyan beers, and met others from all over the world. I've had so many laughs, and also at times been left totally speechless... from a quiver of good, bad, and challenging experiences.

Considering this, to leave my description at only "a week" would be a terrible understatement. So, with a working modem, some extra time before bed, and data to spare, I think it is time I finally set to work, chronicling a week chock-full of non-conversant thoughts abroad. While I've been staying away as much as possible from my computer and other creature comforts, I think I owe all of you a large little post... so with that, let's begin.

At the airport with Mom and Dad

First, why am I here? I'm working through Duke for the Foundation for Sustainable Development in Mombasa, Kenya (www.fsdinternational.org). I'll be here for 9 weeks, and during my stay I'll be working for a local NGO called Eco-Ethics (www.ecoethics-kenya.org), which promotes environmental sustainability in the greater Mombasa area.

The trip started last Thursday, when I bid my parents and Trent goodbye at Denver International. Ryan is not a morning person, a statement that he has fervently supported since the day he was born. Instead of joining he stayed behind to sleep. No hard feelings – I love him, but given the choice I would've probably done the same. Brotherly love is a little different than the normal sort anyway. He will be headed to Spain in early June, so before leaving the house we said farewell, exchanged some exhausted grins and a “brotherly” hug, and then parted ways.

The drive to the airport was easy, and while my mom has been noticeably apprehensive about the trip since its inception (my jokes of disregarding my own safety with unprompted trips to Northern Kenya and Somalia certainly have not helped), she let me go without too many tears. I've noted after the many times she has seen me off to Durham that she has begun to wear sunglasses at the airport. While I don't give her any flack for it (well alright... a little bit, but all in good humor), I’m sure there’s a couple tears behind those lenses. It's nice to know how much she cares, especially at the times when I'm most vulnerable.

The two and a half hour flight to Los Angeles went very smoothly. I landed at LAX with a six hour layover before my next flight to Dubai. I took the extra time to visit my grandparents, who picked me up at the airport. Doing what grandparents do best, they brought me to lunch and took me to Ralphs to fill what little room I had left in my bags with as many American snacks as I could fit (and then some). I love spending time with all of my grandparents, and given the circumstances of my visit, it was especially nice to have them see me off on my adventure. Nothing like a grandmother to lighten even the most contemplative of moods: “Scott do you still remember how whenever you used to leave Grandpa and me you’d cry and cry and cry? Oh it was so cute!”

Grandma and Grandpa. They've got a knack for great pics

Yes Grandma, I do.

Laughing to myself now, those embarrassing childhood memories come vividly to life again. And hell, if I made it through that I can surely make it through anything – all jokes aside, as a child, those were some real tough times. Wary of change and opposed to any force “rocking the boat”, those few tears were a self-defense mechanism that told everyone: “I like things now. Grandma, make me some waffles again. Take me out of this car. I am TOTALLY not ok with this.” Things are a bit different now, but that same resilience I gained from forcing my hungry, grandma-sick, preschooler self to “grow up” still applies.

The rest of the visit went well. I spent some time at the house in Marina Del Rey, packed my newly acquired army of rations into my suitcase, and then sat down to show them my NGO and homestay placement from FSD. We all got a good laugh when we noticed some disturbing typos – “In Mombasa, Scott’s interests will serve her well…”, “She will be staying with…”

"The Plane Next Door"

They then drove me to the airport and dropped me off. I got through check-in quickly, and sat down to wait at Emirates gate 101. Looking around, I laughed to as I noticed the flight leaving from gate 102 – an Air Tahiti flight departing a few minutes before my own. Half the waiting area were couples on honeymoon and romantic retreat. The other half were the bro-iest surfers I’d ever seen. I assumed they were chasing some swell off the island. Making a double-take on the couples, I presumed (with good reason given the look of all the husbands) that most of them were guys that had probably been faced with the terrible dilemma of coaxing their wives into “romantic” trips to Tahiti, with the hopes of leaving them at the hotel or on the beach while they left to chase that very same swell. For all the ladies, I’m sure there were a couple surf-girls there too.

On the proceeding sixteen hour flight from LAX to Dubai I got a middle seat, which was not ideal. Yet there were some consolations. The first was that it was on an exit row, which gave me some room to stretch and spread out. The second was that I sat next to two very interesting people. The first was a man from Sri Lanka, the other an Australian. While both were friendly, I immediately fell into deep conversation with the Australian, who was just returning from a six month backpacking trip around North America with a friend. The flight, which went right over the North Pole, was absurdly long, but the chance to talk with him about his trip was a welcome pastime.

We landed in Dubai at 7pm local time. I met a few others from the program outside of the flight (Sarah, Steven, and Dan), and from there we went to find our hotel for our overnight layover. After some confusion we met another member of the group (Paul) at the hotel. We then found a taxi and left on a two hour tour of the city guided by our broken English, Palestinian driver Barba, or Barba-Barba as he introduced himself:

Me: “Yo, thanks man, what’s your name?”
Caby: “My name is Barba… Barba”
Dan: “Hey nice to meet you barba-barba.”
Caby: “No. No, my name-a Barba. Just the one Barba. Not two Barba.”

The tallest building in the world

Once we had resolved the issue of the name, he took us everywhere. We saw the Dubai ferries, Open Beach, the Burj Kalifa, the hotel where Agassi and Federer played tennis, and the Atlantis palm frond island complex. The most popular color of car in Dubai is white, and the price - the more expensive the better. The entire city seemed to be a study in absurdity – absurd beauty, absurd expensiveness, absurd function, or just absurd show. The night ended with Barba taking us to a Dubai KFC he liked. I’d love to have a trip back to see Dubai in the daylight.

The next morning we woke up and headed back to Dubai International to board our flight to Nairobi and then Mombasa. The flight to Nairobi took five hours, and the flight to Mombasa, one. Over Nairobi we had an epic view of the lush green expansive planes below. Between the two flights we got out at Nairobi International Airport (named after Jomo Kenyatta, the first president of Kenya), met Arden, Dutch, and Aman, picked up our bags and hustled outside across a parking lot to the Domestic Departures terminal. It had just rained, and my first taste of the thick, humid Kenyan air and smell of wet asphalt brought a warm smile to my face. After checking in we ran out onto the jet-way to board our Kenyan Airways flight. For the first time all trip I slept from takeoff to touchdown. I woke up as we finished our final decent into Mombasa, and caught some great views of the shores, the island city, and the Indian Ocean.

the crew at Dubai, UAE

We landed with a jolt. I had forgotten to secure my things for landing, and so my books, along with a man’s Ipad shot forward and careened through the cabin, which made for a nice wake up call. It worked as a nice icebreaker, and I eventually found out he was a graduate of George Mason, and that he knew a woman from Colorado who worked in a local orphanage.

The Mombasa airport was a quaint, open-air complex. They emptied the plane onto the both the jet-way and the gate into the approaching sunset.

KFC

At the airport we were picked up by FSD, and met the rest of the interns and the site crew (Ciara, Jerusa, and George) who I’ll introduce later. While we waited to leave, our driver, a man named Jackson, gave us a brief history of Mombasa and Kenya, and taught us our first phrases in Kiswhahili. Kenyans, as a note, are probably the most welcoming (Karibu sana!) and friendliest (Rafiki!) people I’ve ever met (you hear Hakuna Matata all the time… and no it’s not the lion king). Jackson described to us that the colors of the Kenyan flag (Black, Red, Green, White) each have special significance. The black is for the people, the red is for the blood that was shed in independence, the green for the plains, and the white for peace. Additionally, as I’ve come to find out over the past week, being a driver in Kenya, especially in Mombasa, is NOT ANYTHING like being a licensed driver in the United States. But more on that later.

After organizing ourselves into vans for the drive back, the drivers took their wheels and set off. In Kenya, being at one point a British colony, all cars drive on the left. This is something I’ve had to get used to, especially when crossing streets and commuting. While that change itself can be a little discomforting, the drive and traffic quickly distracted my thoughts.

When we left it was twilight. The sun sets incredibly fast in Mombasa, so in a matter of minutes the skies were dark. We raced through the streets of Magongo, the part of the Kenyan mainland just west of Mombasa, in a fury of controlled chaos. There are literally no enforced traffic laws in Kenya, and so much of driving is a crazy dance of high-speed compromise. Honking is not ever used in frustration, but rather as a safety alert to other cars and pedestrians. As a result, being a driver takes years of certification. This is very evident once you set out on the road. I sat in awe as Jackson threaded our van between converging buses, three-wheeled taxis (called  tuk-tuks), and trucks. Meanwhile, we were passed on all sides by bicycles, tuk-tuks, matatus (mini-buses), and trucks. People cross the street erratically and without warning, adding another danger to navigation. It was, at that point, easily the most exhilarating ride of my life.

As we drove I began to take in the surroundings. Hordes of people were moving around on each side of the road, walking out front of shanties and shops. While the buildings of Magongo were dilapidated and the sidewalks were dirt expanses, I admired the busy frenzy of activity on the streets. That coupled with the exhilaration of the ride left me speechless. In that silence I let the sounds of the city begin to overcome me, and as we crossed the bridge into Mombasa my initial discomfort turned to awe and happiness. I had made it, and the city, even in the dark of night, was beautiful.

Now for some geography. Mombasa lies on an island with multiple access points. The first, a bridge from Magongo to Mombasa is called Kibarini Bridge. On the northern end of town is a bridge to the north coast areas of Nyali and Kongowea called Nyali Bridge. The third is the Lakoni ferry, connecting Mombasa to the south coast area of Lakoni. The city itself has a few main roads those being Moi Avenue, Kenyatta Avenue, and Digo Road. From there, the city is split into multiple districts. Our vans stopped in the Ganjoni district of Mombasa, at a hotel named Jawambe. There we met the rest of our group, bringing our number to fourteen.

Jawambe was a quaint local hotel operated by a funny but spunky old woman who everyone called “Mama Jawambe.” Once there we each were given the keys to our rooms – while some were given doubles to share, I was given a single. The room was nice – a bed, a dresser, as well as a working toilet, shower, and sink. We showered and then went for dinner. Looking back that dinner was hilarious… we each a little too good at heeding the warning of “watching the foods we eat”. We picked delicately at our food, each wary of getting our first bout of food poisoning or diarrhea… or as they call it in Kenya, Kenyan Express. If you yell Kenyan Express, everyone knows what you’re talking about here.

The next morning (Sunday) the site team asked us to meet outside to walk to the FSD office. We woke up for breakfast, went back quickly to our rooms before meeting outside to walk through town. Well… at least that was the plan. The group left me at the hotel… so with the help of Mama Jawambe I got my first ride in a tuk-tuk. Tuk-tuks are small, open-air, three wheeled taxis. Even given their precariously high center of mass, the tuk-tuks still drive insanely fast, whipping around corners, driving on sidewalks, and passing other vehicles into oncoming traffic. With all of these inherent risks, some drivers just don’t find it risky enough – many will jam to music with their headphones on all day as they navigate the streets. That ride was the first of many exhilarating tuk-tuk rides, most of which are bought for only around 100 shillings from any location in Mombasa (a little over a dollar). As a Muzungu, the tribe they call the white people, we sometimes have to deal with getting overcharged… if you know the rates though, they can’t overcharge you, and so bargaining is fairly easy.

Most of the day was devoted to orientation to the idea of sustainable development and asset based community development. We spent the time with our site team leaders, Ciara, Jerusa, and George. George Agarn is the head of the FSD site of Mombasa. He is from Western Kenya, but has been living in Mombasa for many years. He is soft spoken, friendly, insightful, and smiles all the time. He is also very well respected in Mombasa for his charitable work that has extended over at least the last 20 years. Jerusa and Ciara are his assistants – Jerusa is similarly soft-spoken and friendly, and Ciara, who hails from Ireland, is as well, but also carries with her a fantastic Irish accent, and friendly irish chuckle. Just generally - people in Kenya are the friendliest in the world. Not sure if I've already said that, but, hell, I'll say it a million times. They really are.
The FSD office lies on the second floor of a large office building at the intersection of some major streets along Moi Avenue, and was about a 20 minute walk from our hotel.

For lunch we all set off for a fantastic restaurant, which had the best shwarma I’ve ever had, then later in the day I met my host father. After a great conversation we parted ways – I had a long orientation week ahead of me, and I wouldn’t be staying with my family till Friday night. Afterwards I walked with others to the nearby Mombasa Sports Park, a grass field that provided a venue for the local soccer matches. The park is protected by cement walls, and an electric fence on top. All spectators enter through a doorway guarded by a makeshift door, part of a corrugated tin roof. As we watched the game we saw one player flop. Dutch and I started laughing, and turning to the side, we saw a group of Kenyan teenagers laughing with us. “Flop?” we asked. “Yes, Flop,” they laughed. Our consensus gave us all a smile.

The next day we began Swahili classes with Mama Anna, a jubilant little woman whose brightly colored outfits seemed to always match her glowing personality. She also operates a safari company. It seems like everyone operates or knows someone who operates a safari company in Mombasa…

These lessons continued throughout the week, and were one of my favorite parts of orientation. Swahili is the language of choice on the coasts of Kenya, and while many know or understand English, everyone prefers to speak Kiswahili. Mama Anna provided great instruction and humor at each class. After this we had tea, lunch, and then left on a city tour with her and one of her safari drivers, John. On the trip we rode our first matatu, visited Fort Jesus, a Portuguese and Arabic fort with a dark history in slavery, Mombasa old town, as well as the Lakoni ferry. Slowly we were becoming more and more comfortable with the city and its people.

A quick note on public transportation. Besides tuk-tuks, there are boda-bodas (motorcycles... not safe), buses, and matatus. While all have definitely seen their fair share of miles, the whole system is surprisingly efficient. Buses mainly operate between cities, shuttling passengers from Nairobi to Mombasa, for example. Tuk-tuks were described above. Matatus are the cheapest form of transportation. They are larger fourteen-seat vans that operate on predetermined routes around the city. The car is run by a driver and also what I would call a fare-man, who spots customers and collects fares from the riders. A normal ride is normally around 20-30 shillings (25 cents or so).

Matatus are brightly colored, and artistically stylized, with brightly colored leather seats and painted bodywork. Additionally, each one has a different sound-track, the most popular being reggae (which is huge in kenya) or 90's pop. This blend of art gives matatus incredible diversity - each one is it's own environment, its own experience. Although daunting at first, if you know where you are going, they are a great way to get around, and a great way to meet other members of the community.

That night I used the internet café next door, and met Jacque, one of the operators. His little cousin was playing on online game called ATV destroyer, so after finishing some emails (and working on this), I played with him. Kids here are just like kids back home, and eventually he grew frustrated. I was a little better so he had me finish the game for him while he blasted his headphones, and totally absorbed in the game, he began providing sound effects as the ATV bounced through the course. However, he always pronounced front flip and back flip wrong, much to my amusement: “Ya! Front Flipe!” “Back Flipe!”

In general the kids in Mombasa love the Muzungu: Just throw out Kiswahili slang like “Mambo” (Yo, how ya doin?) and the return is always “Poa” (I’m Cool.). It’s cool to see them smile after seeing you actually know slang… it’s the equivalent of an adult saying “Sup Bro?”

The next day after Swahili and orientation I left to meet my work placement for the summer. I’ll be working at Eco-Ethics, a local organization that specializes in environmental sustainability and education. My supervisor is a soft-spoken and friendly man. I met a few of the others in the office, and then sat down to have a conversation with him. After speaking a little more in depth about the organization, we started talking about Kenyan and American politics, and then began to talk about the incentives that surround environmental issues. I can’t wait to start work this next Monday.

On Wednesday we set out on a huge scavenger hunt of the city that took us all around the main island and then to Nyali and Kongowea. We broke up into smaller groups. Along the way several locals helped us, a man in a matatu, another man named Moses who gave us a “free” tour of Fort Jesus who then demanded money afterwards, and then Dennis a young kid who helped guide us through the Kongowea market on the North Shore. This day was great… I’d write more but I’ll save it for another time.

Culture Shock discussion at Jahazi

On Thursday we finished our Swahili classes for the week. Later in the day we had a seminar on “Culture shock” at a local African coffee shop called Jahazi in Old Town. We all found it funny that “Culture Shock” was given a specific time of the week (2pm Thursday), but it was a great discussion. Things are certainly different here, but the pace of life is almost so knew and busy that it hasn’t really hit me yet. Afterwards we split up. A group of us took a Nyali Beach Matatu to the north shore, and then walked out to the beaches. The views are incredible, and I’ll do my best to post pictures. Imagine though, the softest and quietest white sand beach you can, coupled with clear, blue water the temperature of a warm bubble bath. That would be Nyali.

After taking a Matatu back to the island, it began to get dark. While many took a tuk tuk back from where the Matatu dropped us off, I decided to walk back, and Paul and Anuj joined. The streets are most crowded at twilight, and it was new and challenging to thread through the crowds. At one point a child asked me for some food – many children ask you for things, but it’s usually money, which I don’t like to hand out. However, I happened to have an extra mango in my bag, so I gave him a mango, and then a couple sips of my water.

Friday, yesterday, we had the last of our orientation. June 1^st is independence day in Kenya, and at tea time we caught the parade that passed right past our office building. Later in the day we moved in with our host families.  I’m staying with a couple who has two married daughters, both living in the western part of Kenya. One of their daughters, Phoebe, who lives in Nairobi, is a good friend of Jerusa’s and has been visiting for the week. I’m living in port housing on the second floor of a complex called High Tower, a building adjacent to the ports on the western part of the island of Mombasa. It is a spacious 3 bedroom flat with working electricity and running water, one of the better placements amenity-wise in our group. I went to the market with my host father Abel to buy fruits, vegetables, and grains for dinner.

We also bought a chicken. At the market, chickens are selected live, and then killed and butchered right on the spot.

Before dinner my host mother Joyce returned home, and after an hour or so, dinner was served. Guests are treated extremely well in African households, and this was no different. I ate my fill and then some… but it was so good it didn’t matter.

Alright, so that basically brings me to where I am now. While I can’t possibly capture everything that’s going on out here, I hope this helps. The experience so far has been amazing, and I’ve grown so much since I left home last Thursday. I’m looking forward to continuing to challenge myself here as well. For assimilating, I’m considering joining a local soccer club to meet some kids my age. George says he has a few people he can get me in contact with, so I’ll probably look in to it soon. Regardless, things still seem so new here, and I can’t wait to see what lies ahead. As much as I enjoyed exploring the city with the other interns, it is certainly time to go at it alone. Walking in groups attracts a lot of attention, and there’s no way you can possibly hope to relate with the people if you seem merely but tourists. Hopefully my time as the lone Muzungu will bring me some new experiences. At the least, it will certainly force me to be more attentive and friendly.

So anyway, if you’ve got questions, feel free to leave a comment and I’ll answer it in my next post.

Thanks for reading. Till next time,

Scotty