Negotiating Mombasa

Another very nice aspect of Nairobi is that within a few hours drive or a short, rather inexpensive, flight, you can escape to some very interesting places. A few weekends ago, a group of us – some Italians, a French, a German and a couple of Finns – drove a few hours northwest of Nairobi to Lake Naivasha, home to Kenya’s flower industry. We hiked in Hell’s Gate National Park, saw hippos on Lake Naivasha and flamingoes on Crater Lake, and spent the evening at a campsite called, appropriately, Fisherman’s Camp (although they called the accommodations “cottages”, pouring pots of boiling water on myself for a shower confirmed for me otherwise!). This past weekend I flew to Mombasa on the coast, Kenya’s second largest city and the largest port in East Africa. This time, opting for the other variety of accommodation, I stayed at the Mombasa Serena about 30 km north of Mombasa, a beautiful resort owned by the Aga Khan located right on the Indian Ocean.

On Saturday morning, I explored the old town of Mombasa. Most of the people of Mombasa are Swahili, whose cultural origin stemmed from the intermix of Arabs and Africans. Mombasa was a key town along the Arab trading route, then passed into Portuguese hands throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, then to the sultans of Oman, before coming under British control in the 1870s, at the same time that Britain formally ended the East African slave trade. Most Swahilis are Muslim and, as a result, Mombasa’s mosque-filled streets bustle with woman in full black robes, head scarves and veils and men in long, white tunics and square, embroidered caps.

With my Lonely Planet guide book, I had meticulously outlined the route I wanted to explore and looked forward to leisurely wandering the streets of Mombasa while taking photographs. But, I knew what would happen as soon as my car (loudly marked with the hotel logo) pulled up in front of Fort Jesus – a large fort, on the edge of the old town, built by the Portuguese in 1593 – I just thought I could be insistent enough to thwart it. No less than a dozen “tour guides” attacked, barely allowing me to open the car door. I took a deep breath and told myself to be strong in my resolve to “go it alone.”

In Nairobi, negotiation is a constant part of my daily life – taxis, furniture, fruit, even the stuffed animal I recently purchased for a baby shower – the only fixed prices are the highest ones the sellers can extract from me. There is a Kiswahili word for people like me – “mzungu” – or white person. The term, I believe though, describes more than skin color, but the ridiculous things some of us do (such as donning a matching running outfit and jogging up and down a busy Nairobi road, of which I’m guilty), and also the ease with which we can be charged 4x the rate of local Kenyans. I do not fault them for trying, but the negotiation battle that takes place everyday for everything becomes tiresome.

I tried to ignore the guides, but they were as relentless as I was weak. I ended up with Abdul for 1200 shillings (down from 2500 at the start). “But look here,” I said, while unsuccessfully trying to put the Lonely Planet up to his face, “this is the route I want to follow.” “Akuna matata, I will show you a good tour,” he said over and over, while leading me away from Fort Jesus and old town, to one of Mombasa’s busiest commercial streets, Digo Street. I had to jog to keep up as we darted around people, hopping on and off the sidewalks. At one point, I actually got nudged in the back by a matatu (minibus) trying to get by me on the street! “Where are we going? This is not part of the route I want to take!” I shouted angrily at Abdul. “Akuna matata” he kept saying – making me just as angry at the Lion King movie as him – while moving along pointing out the obvious, shoe stores, t-shirt sellers, jewelry shops, on this crowded street, trying to get me to go inside. “I’m stopping, Adul, not shopping, and going into old town!” At which point, I did, and turned around and walked away.

But Abdul wised-up, wanting his 1200 shillings, and led me back into the old town (but still refused to look at my Lonely Planet). We immediately hit the markets – spice shops, fruit stands, silk sellers, Swahili carvings. I allowed Abdul to bring me into the first spice shop where I bought some overpriced hot curry powder. I then had to explain to Abdul, “I do not want to shop and spend money, so will not go into another store.” “Akuna matata, you can just look.” “No, that is not possible because they will follow me around the store and beg me to buy. I just want to walk and take pictures.” He ignored me and kept trying one store after another - uncle’s, friend’s, sister’s husband’s – but I continued to refuse to enter another store. I’m sure at this point he was beginning to weigh the cost/benefits of that 1200!

Finally, we wandered. We passed through narrow alleyways that open into enclosed courtyards ringed by Portuguese homes with layers of intricately carved wooden balconies; went up to glaring white mosques, where I could see, through the open windows, many young boys being taught a Saturday religious lesson; and took pictures of many ornately carved, Lamu-style, wooden doors. Abdul told me I would not have been safe, and could not have taken all my pictures, without him. Maybe that was true, but as a tour guide – pointing out to me “pussy cats smelling spices” and “houses ka-PUT” – I found him a bit useless. However, did I really have a choice???

Living in Nairobi and Owning a Washing Machine

I find living in Nairobi to be great – fun – fascinating - and also peculiar. I am laughing a lot (in a positive way) over the cultural differences, and mishaps that occur as a result, and am bemused by the lifestyle that those of us here working for development groups, or the UN, or some other aid agency, live.

Kenya has two official languages, English and Kiswahili, but many people speak Kiswahili more fluently. I constantly bump up against communication difficulties, usually because I’m too wordy, unclear and fast-speaking. It often leads to amusing and confusing interactions. For instance, if I get in the car and tell the driver, “I need to go downtown to the Treasury, but first stop off at the Village Market so I can use the ATM. Then I will need you to wait for me at the Treasury during my meeting, which might last 1 hour, but maybe more, so can you please wait and then bring me back and drop me off in the Westlands area?” I get a blank stare, 10 seconds of silence and then “So you want to go to Westlands now?”

My multi-phrased questions also do not work. Again I ask the driver, “Will you wait for me here in the parking garage or out on the street?” To which he responds “Yes.” Or, I ask, “You have arrived 30 minutes early, do you want to leave and come back or wait?” To which he answers, “You’re welcome.”

You are right in thinking that most of this is my problem, and I am just as confusing in the U.S., but here, the number of times a day I have conversations such as these, and the utter confusion it always breeds, is much exaggerated. What is more, because the Kenyan people are so nice and polite, I believe, they answer you as if they understand, instead of telling you they do not…I begin KiSwahili lessons this Thursday.

And, I am abysmal with pronouncing names. There are many Onyangos and Anyangos. Lots of Mwamburis, Wambuis, Wangaris and Mtambuis. A few weeks ago, a funny thing happened when arranging a meeting with a professor who wrote a report on Kisumu. I’ll say his name is George Otieno. After I left several unreturned messages with Mr. Otieno, I received a phone call from a George Atieno, in the Ministry of Planning, calling to request a meeting with me. I thought it was Otieno, from Kisumu, since I did not know Atieno, from Nairobi, and because I could not hear the difference in pronunciation of these two common surnames.

We arranged to meet in Nairobi and the day before I called to confirm. “You’ll be in Nairobi and not Kisumu tomorrow?” I asked, “Because a colleague is meeting with you in Kisumu today, so I want to make sure you, in fact, will be in Nairobi tomorrow.” 10 seconds of silence. “Yes” he answered, even though he surely wondered what I meant. The next day, I and the Columbia grad students marched into George Atieno’s office at the Ministry of Planning in Nairobi, prepared to talk about George Otieno’s Kisumu report. After introductions, I start, “we read your investment report and would like to discuss it with you.” Silence and a blank stare ensues. “What report?” he says. We laugh, thinking he is teasing, so I push the report his way, “this one,” I respond. “That is not me,” he says, none too cheerfully. More silence and I look down at the business card he handed me and, indeed, discover he is not Otieno. The silence continued for what seemed like hours as I sat there and thought, “well, then, who are you and now how do I get us all out of your office???” But it turned out that Mr. Atieno was someone I needed to meet in the national government after all.

The housing situation for those of us living and working temporarily in Nairobi is a bit insane, and everyone is obsessed by it – discussing locations, size of gardens, number of bedrooms and the best place to buy furniture. Most live in oversized homes that rent rather cheaply, but come completely empty, with nothing but walls and floors. Last Tuesday I moved into my house with a friend working at the United Nations Environmental Program, Cristina, a fun half-Italian / half-English woman. Our house is ridiculously large for two people who have only a few suitcases – it has 2 floors, 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a large kitchen, sitting room and dining room, plus a 2 room-2 bathroom “servant’s quarters” in the back. We have had to purchase beds, tables, a refrigerator, oven, and even a washing machine – my very first one, something I never thought I’d buy in Kenya!

Understandably, everyone here is also consumed by their personal security. At the main gate to the 5-house compound where we live, we have a 24-hour guard –Samuel or Joel – and a guard dog. At the gate to our house, we also have a 24-hour guard – Sylvester or Joseph – and a guard dog. But the guard situation is more amusing than protective. Their main role is to push an alarm if we come under attack, and then run for their lives. They are required to push a button every hour to assure the security company that they are awake, still allowing them plenty of time to sleep during the remaining 59 minutes. Several times already I have pulled up to our gate and had to honk the car horn many times to wake the guard (and the dog) to come open the gate for us! But, you can’t NOT have a guard - as everyone does - so do we. We also have an alarm system, with panic buttons in every room that alert the diplomatic police when pushed; a safe haven upstairs where we are to hide while waiting for the police; and more bars, locks and padlocks than Fort Knox leaving me unable to imagine anyone getting in. It is a very strange way to live, and one to which I find a little hard to adjust!

(Pictured: The street kiosks right outside the gates to my house, where I can buy fresh fruits and vegetables, flowers, eggs, cell phone cards, you name it; My house, off Peponi Rd, Nairobi)

Kisumu, Kenya

I want to tell you a little more about Kenya’s Millennium City, Kisumu (pictured, looking out of Imperial Hotel across to Lake Victoria). I spent a week there shortly after I arrived in Kenya and will head back again for a day trip this Friday, February 2nd, along with members of the Ministry for Planning and National Development here in Nairobi, to attend Millennium City planning meetings with the Kisumu Municipal Council.

Kisumu is the 3rd largest city in Kenya, with a population estimated to be around 500,000. It lies on Lake Victoria, the 2nd largest fresh water lake in the world and the source of the Nile, and shares this lake with Uganda and Tanzania. It developed as a railway and port hub in 1901 and its economy thrived due the opportunities provided by the Lake and the fertile agricultural hinterland surroungind it, land that produces (or did) an abundance of cotton, rice and sugar. But, Kisumu’s economy collapsed along with the national decline in the 1980s and 1990s and, as a result, industries closed, sugar production collapsed, cotton could not compete with imports and the railways and roads deteriorated. Today, Kisumu is one of the poorest cities in Kenya.

There is so much potential in Kisumu, but many problems that must be overcome, here are some statistics, which I find staggering:

--48% of the people in Kisumu live below the poverty line (compared to 29% nationally.

--It has the highest incidence of food poverty, with 53.4% of the population below the food poverty line (compared to 8.4% in Nairobi).

--The official unemployment rate is 30%, but 52% of the working population is engaged in informal sector activities (e.g., transport, petty sales, repairs) and make a monthly wage of around $40-50.

--60% of the population live in slums, with high densities, in only temporary or semi-permanent structures, and with a shortage of basic services like electricity, water and sanitation.

--Only 40% of the Kisumu population have access to piped water.

--Sanitation is also a huge problem, as only 20% of the waste in Kisumu is collected and the city has only 10% sewerage coverage.

--And, as you would probably expect, there is a high incidence of HIV/AIDs (at 15%), malaria and water-borne diseases in Kisumu. The Municipal Council itself loses on average 38-40 persons per year to HIV/AIDs.

There is a lot of work beginning in Kisumu, on these and many other problems faced by this city and its people, including work by the Millennium Cities Initiative. And, I really believe, a lot of potential. Tomorrow, we will all meet to form the task force in Kisumu that will help us with infrastructure and investment assessments, as we prepare to bring investors to the city later this year.