Something I love (and hate) about Kenya

The public transport.

There are number of positives about the Kenyan system of intra-city transport. First of all, you never have to wait. In contrast to the Canadian system where if you miss a bus you are left standing in the wind, snow, and cold for half an hour, here there is almost always a matatu (minibus) ready and waiting when you arrive at the stop. And if not, you never need to wait more than a minute or two before one pulls up and offers you a ride. This also proves to be the case with the bodaboda (motorcycles used as taxis) on the coast. One of my favorite moments occured when I got off the matatu at the last stop, still a couple kilometers from where I stayed. As the matatu came to a complete stop, a bodaboda driver wearing a white and pink winter jacket (in the tropical coastal climate) saw me through the window and wasting no time ran up, flung his arms open wide, and exclaimed "I am here!!" I broke into a fit of giggles and happily accepted his offer for a lift. How could I say no, really? Where else do you get service like that?

Secondly, it is quite cheap. On the coast I can get a ride to the second village down for a mere 40 cents. In Nairobi, I can get from the outskirts to dowtown for 30. You just need to pay attention to how much everyone else on the matatu is paying and be ready to demand your change when the conductor (the guy who takes your money and opens the door) tries to rip you off. In the case of the bodaboda, you are also able to haggle a price that is even lower than the one first suggested.

Ruthless driving is a characteristic of most matatus. I haven't quite decided if this is a postive or negative. They don't hesitate to drive on sidewalks, cut of lories and motorbikes, or take completely new routes if they think it will get us there faster. In some cases, perhaps it actually does. In most cases, I think it just angers other drivers for the sake of moving one or two carlengths before coming to a standstill in the traffic jam once again.

I've been told that the law enforcement has vastly improved when it comes to matatus and traffic safety. At least in Nairobi. In the big city, drivers are adherent to the rule that each seat must only contain one person. On the coast, where traffic police were few and far between, the drivers and conductors make sure to cram in as many people in order to squeeze out maximum profit. Often there are 5 on a seat meant for 3 plus 3 or 4 additional people standing half in/half out and hanging on to the door frame for dear life. If you're really unlucky, one of the people you're crammed up against might be a woman on her way to a market with a bucket of large fish, the tails dangerously close to slapping you in the face.

The commute in Nairobi has downsides of its own. Namely the constant traffic jams present regardless of the place, day, or time. A couple of days ago, I was stuck in an even worse jam than usual in a stifling bus with windows that refused to open. We had moved about 1km in an hour, breathing in excessive exhaust fumes the whole time. At about that time, the two women in front of me started singing an extremely repetitive, annoying song something like 99 bottles of beer on the wall. They got down to 1 green bottle hanging on the wall, started counting back up again, and I decided I might go crazy if I sat there any longer. So I got off the bus and walked down the highway into downtown.

Overall, I quite enjoy my daily commutes to wherever it is I might be going. There is hardly a day where something amusing (or at least amusing in retrospect) doesn't happen.

Lions and Cheetahs and Buffalo, Oh my!

I realized just how lucky I am today when I heard that the temperature at home is about -25C. At the same time, I was watching lions try to chase down a warthog on the plains of the Maasai Mara National Park. My weekend getaway has included staying at a hillside lodge with an amazing landscape view and watching a huge diversity of wildlife, including cheetahs, hyenas, elephants, jackals, wildebeest, antelope, buffalo, giraffe, and topi.

Apologies that the last entry was added just about forever ago. I got to the point that there were just so many things to say that I didn’t know where to start. Perhaps I’ll jump back to about a week ago. You’ll have to ask me about the events of the missing month when I return home.

Last Saturday was bittersweet, as I had to bid farewell to the Watha community (see last entry) who I had been working with over the last two months. In that short amount of time, I began to develop friendships with many of these people and gained many treasured and valuable experiences. In addition to all that I learned in regards to my research, I was also taught how to greet others in the Watha language, to navigate the complex web of family relationships (figuring out who to call grandmother/grandfather, mother/father, aunt/uncle, sister/brother, etc.) to pound maize into flour, to properly eat ugali (the Kenyan staple made of maize flour) with my hands, to make makuti (the local material used to build thatched roofing), to ward off mosquitos by burning the sap of a specific tree, and to ride on the back of a motorbike wearing a skirt – just to name a few.

We had a farwell/wind-up party to celebrate the work that had been done and the relationships that had been formed. And of course a party just wouldn’t be a party if there was no goat to be slaughtered. Lucky for me, the actual slaughtering is a male role and I only had to help in preparing the meat for cooking. After sharing the meal of goat, ugali, and sukuma wiki (boiled kale), numerous people shared short speeches. It was apparent that there was a high degree of mutual appreciation for the time we had spent together. I shared my appreciation for being so quickly and unreservedly welcomed into their community as a member of the family (the younger children and teenagers had even begun to address me as Batho - the respectful term for an older sister). They expressed their appreciation for the time I took to get to know them and for the way in which I shared my life with them (sharing family photos, telling stories about my home and culture), a common courtesy that a few foreign researchers have disregarded in the past. I am truly thankful for the experiences I have gained over the past few months.

Part of an amazing Watha family - Bao (father), amalo (grandfather), and Godana (my brother/research assistant/translator)

I have been thinking a lot about the Watha people and their place in the social fabrics of Kenya. From conversations with them, it seems that only recently have they began emerging as a proud culture that wants its unique heritage to be known. In the past, they have tended to integrate and assimilate with the surrounding communties and cultures. They admitted a past reluctance to be obviously 'Watha' and the tendancy to adopt the surrounding languages and religions. This may be in part due to some of the practices (using derogatory terms for hunter/gatherers) and beliefs (you will be destined to a life of poverty if you marry a Watha) of other communties. In the recent past, however, they have expressed a desire to be known for who they are. They no longer want to be grouped as 'other' on the census; they no longer want to be shy in using their own language in the presence of others; they want to share their vast knowledge about the forest and their traditional uses of the plants and animals found there. A traditional Watha dance. The movements mimic the courtship display of a forest bird.

This desire to be known as a distinct tribe also comes at a unique period in the broader Kenyan cultural context. Following the post-election violence in 2008, tribalism was identified as one of the root causes of the horrific clashes that occured at that time. Tribal allegiance has also been used to facilitate corruption and inequality in the distribution of wealth and development within the country. Since the post-election violence, there has been a push for citizens to be united as 'Kenyan,' rather than to continue to maintain such strong tribal bonds. Starting with about my generation and younger, a slight shift in this direction is becoming vaguely apparent. I have met a few who identify themsleves first as Kenyan and do not speak their 'mother tongue', but only the widely spoken Kiswahili and English. Even in the Watha community, some of the small children are no longer being taught the Watha language. I asked a small boy "Mankanke oni (what is your name)?" I was surprised when my translator explained that he does not understand the language of his people.

I find this concurrent desire to express individual culture, while at the same time moving towards a culturally united Kenya to be a very interesting contrast. There are so many beautifully rich and unique cultures (more than 42) within the colonial defined borders of this country and it would be tragic if any of them were lost. Finding a way to strike a balance between preserving culture and seeking a new Kenyan identity will be a huge challenge in the future of the country and its people, the Watha included.

I will end my ramblings there for now. I will try to provide more regular updates in my last few weeks now that I am back in Nairobi and have reliable internet once again.