My Guards

That’s Sylvester (top pic), our day guard. He arrives at 6:00 a.m. and leaves at 6:00 p.m. All day long he sits outside the little green guard box behind our big iron gate, in front of our big house. I suppose he protects my brand new washing machine and Cristina’s brand new oven, because we don’t have much else in that house. We’ve been worried about him feeling bored. We asked him if he wanted the newspaper, something to read. No, that’s ok, he said. Then, we asked him if he wanted to make a little extra money by doing yard work for us. Of course, he did. But he did not want to wear the blue apron that Cristina bought to protect his uniform, even though the men at the Nakumatt grocery store told Cristina a man would wear it – it’s blue after all. So, there’s Sylvester, cutting our grass with a machete. Small patches at a time, he whacks away at the grass. Most grass in Kenya is cut in this manner, we are not the only ones without a lawn mower. But, we think he cut it way too short this first time, as we can see the dirt. ****

I took that picture of Sylvester a few Saturdays ago, right after I locked myself out of my house at 9:00 a.m. I had gone out to pay Sylvester for two weeks of yard work. Cristina had already left to go hiking in the Ngong Hills just outside of Nairobi. (I couldn’t go hiking as I had a baby shower to attend that afternoon- something I never expected to do in Nairobi!) Sylvester could not reach his security company on the phone. I told him to push the panic button he wears around his neck, I was in a hurry. Cristina and I also have our own panic buttons, but we don’t wear them.

So Sylvester pushed the panic button. This will be interesting, I thought. Amazingly, the reaction time was quick; five minutes and up to the front gate rushed a truck with 4 more guards and a car with 2 diplomatic police carrying AK-47s. Ok, good, certainly these men will find a way to get me into my house, I assumed. Incorrectly. 45 minutes later, they had walked around and around the house, staring at the dozens of locks, tugging on all the bars covering the windows and doors but, nope, no way to get in this house, they told me. That should make my security-obsessed housemate, Cristina, happy, I thought, but I need in the house…shower, baby gift, money, cell phone. Try not to cry yet, I told myself. And don’t be bitchy, I also told myself, it’s not their fault after all.

Can you call a locksmith then, I asked the 7 men standing in my driveway? They all looked around at each other with shrugged shoulders, puzzled by my request. There has got to be someone in Nairobi who can get into this house, right, I pleaded, now about to cry? Ok, they finally decided to place a few calls and after another 15 minutes, found someone. Thank you! How long? 20 minutes.

One hour later, with 5 more phone calls placed and plenty of pacing done, I walked up to the truck where all 7 of them were sitting, piled into the front and in the back bed, each reading the Daily Nation newspaper. You all might as well go if you don’t have a solution to this, I told them, why are you just sitting here? Whoops, I meant not to be bitchy. They tried to track the locksmith down again. He’s almost here, they told me, again.

12:00 struck. One hour to the baby shower. I walked around to the front window of my house. Through the window I could see my keys lying on the dining room table. Look, I said to Sylvester, my keys are so close, but so far. As I stood there staring longingly at them, Sylvester did the sensible thing and tried the window. Miraculously, it slid open. I wonder if Cristina knew that window was unlocked, I thought? My keys teased me from 10 feet away, with nothing between us but iron bars. Again, Sylvester proved sensible and chopped a very long tree branch down, tied wire to it, and after a few attempts, managed to hook my keys and carefully pull them out the house! All the other security guards and police clapped and slapped Sylvester on the back. I felt really proud of him and also glad that I had provided him some morning entertainment. He then went back to cutting the grass. ****

And, that’s Joseph (bottom pic), our night guard. He arrives at 6:00 p.m. and leaves at 6:00 a.m. His job is worse, but he has company. That’s Uli with him. Uli arrives at 6:30 p.m. and leaves at 5:30 a.m. All night long Joseph and Uli sit outside the little green guard box behind our big iron gate, in front of our big house. Poor Joseph though, has to get up – and I mean wake up – every hour and walk to the side of our house a few hundred meters away to push a button notifying the security company that he is awake. The button is on my side of the house, so I usually get up every hour as well, as I hear Joseph and Uli stomping through the grass below my window. Then the entire neighborhood gets to wake up at 5:30 every morning to a dog concert. Every dog wakes and howls, bidding Uli good-bye. Until later that day. ****

Cristina and I will watch Sylvester and Joseph from the windows, usually sitting in the chair we bought them, in front of the little green guard box, staring out at our big iron gate. It makes us uncomfortable, them simply sitting there. They don’t eat all shift long. We don’t understand why they don’t bring some food. If I had that job I’d eat all day long, I say, out of boredom. We offer them coffee and fruit and biscuits. Cristina has to be one of the kindest people I’ve met in Nairobi. She is very sweet to the guards and to Ruth, our housekeeper. She recently bought Ruth a beautiful piece of fabric from Mozambique. Ruth turned it into a beautiful long skirt.

Cristina worries about Ruth, though. She thinks Ruth is engaged in “inappropriate relations” with Sylvester. This is a common occurrence between the house help and guards in Nairobi, we are told, and Cristina picked up on it immediately. Without delay, she talked to Ruth about it. If you must, ok, but just not in our house, she told her, instead use the servant’s quarters. (As nice as he is, still, Sylvester should not come in our house.) Cristina is Italian, up-front and blunt; these things do not bother her. I, a prudish American, blush every time Cristina talks about it; I’m so glad I was not present for her talk with Ruth. Ruth is 30 and seems naïve. Be careful Ruth, Cristina continues, warning, you know, these guards are just bored, they have nothing else to do, so don’t anything from them. I don’t want you to get hurt.

Cristina has become a little obsessed with this, though, and will call Sylvester during the day and ask him to pass the phone to Ruth while counting the footsteps it takes him to reach her. You wouldn’t believe it, she exclaimed to me one day last week, he basically just handed the phone to her! Another conversation with Ruth then occurred; also, this time, with Sylvester. I wouldn’t do that, Sylvester told her, he’s a Christian. Yeah, Cristina said to him, and you are also a man. I blush again. She warned them both that one would be fired if she finds out anything happens in the house. I hope they get the message, because I like both Ruth and Sylvester. ****

Uh-oh… As I write this, upstairs in my bedroom sitting on the one piece of furniture I have in my bedroom, a bed, Cristina and one of her Italian friends come into the house. I hear commotion. Her friend has accidentally pushed our panic button in the kitchen, thinking it’s a light switch. Here come the guards…