Now onto more pertinent topics. Here are the five most important things I've learned in the past 100 hours:
1. Mosquito nets are NOT a suggestion.
My homebase for the next four months is a 5-acre compound in Karen, a wealthy neighborhood outside Nairobi. The best way to describe it is the love child of an all-inclusive resort and summer camp. The 22 of us live in the main building (known as the Study Center, which is ironic because we don't actually study there) in bedrooms filled with 2 bunk beds. Staff members like Wairimu also live at the compound with their families. They each have cosy little cottages tucked away at the opposite end of the estate. Luckily for us, the kitchen is located in the Study Center. Isaiah, our chef, prepares breakfast, lunch, and dinner for us each day. I'm also getting used to the daily tea at 4, which I definitely don't hate. The chai tea here puts Starbucks to shame. In fact, the $4 American beverage might as well stick its tail between its legs and crawl back to the over-sweetened hole where it came from.
Study Center in Karen
Each bunk bed is equipped with a mosquito net. Having been to Costa Rica before, I considered myself a mosquito net expert on our first night here. I delicately draped it over my bed and carefully crawled underneath before finally resting my head after two days without sleep. I don't know whether it was due to the extreme jet lag or the fact that I was in an entirely new environment, but when I awoke the next morning I nearly had a panic attack when I realized I was trapped beneath the thick netting. For any observer, it was surely a sight to be seen. I was clawing at this shield like a cat that's just been thrown into a bucket of water. Moral of the story: I'm not an expert in tropical climate accommodations and mosquito nets, though at times suffocating, are necessary for those seeking to keep their legs from looking like a 13-year-old's pubescent face. Unfortunately for my bunkmate Julia who sleeps on the bottom bunk, the netting doesn't quite reach all the way to the floor and there's a significant hole in the area covering her bed. She woke up this morning with a bug bite on her eyelid claiming that she's now defected. Poor Julia. "First world problems in a third world country".
My bed
2. There is no delicate way to consume a passion fruit.
Isaiah likes to keep fresh fruit on the table for us throughout the day. It's freshly picked and absolutely delicious. The daily assortment includes watermelon, mango, bananas, papaya, and (my new favorite) passion fruit. These puss-like treats are the size of ping pong balls and are filled with a tart gel and crunchy seeds. In order to break its skin, you can either cut it in half or squeeze it until the pressure breaks it open. Apparently the natives wouldn't dream of using a knife. So in an attempt to avoid looking even more touristy than we already do, everyone in our group squeezes them open. Well...that's led to stained shirts, burning eyes, and sticky EVERYTHING. Unfortunately these sweet treasures are too good to pass up just because they cause a mess. If I ever find out a clean way to open them, I'll be sure to mention it here.
3. If a nice man in a suit approaches you on the streets of Nairobi, don't accept the help he offers you unless you're willing to pay for his services.
On Sunday we were put into groups of five and sent off on our own to explore the city of Nairobi and its public transportation system. We walked about 1/2 mile from our compound to a bus stop where we were specifically told to wait for the Citi Hoppa (Note: This is not a typo. It's actually referred to as the Citi Hoppa, not the City Hopper). It took about 20 minutes for our bus to arrive. During that time, however, we were entertained by the plethora of other modes of public transportation that solicited our business. There were other buses that stopped before us. Each was equipped with a young man who would hang out the bus door while the car was still in motion. He would walk toward us, slapping his fistful of shillings against his hand, asking us to get on. With our Kiswahili still a bit rusty, all we could answer was "La, asante" (No, thank you). We eventually learned that we had to drop the "asante" because these men weren't getting the hint. These other buses weren't even the worst of the bunch. The matatus were the vehicles we had to keep an eye out for. These vans meant to hold 14 people like to squeeze 30 passengers inside. They can be cheaper than buses, but they will also rip you off if you're not careful. They rarely obey traffic laws (i.e. like today when I saw at least a dozen driving on the wrong side of the road, heading toward oncoming traffic). They're cesspools for infectious diseases and are involved in the highest number of vehicle-related fatalities each year. Needless to say, we passed these rides up easily.
Our itinerary for the day had us heading to two locations. We were instructed to stop for lunch at the Junction, a local mall with shops and restaurants that will come in handy during the semester. After lunch, we were to take the Citi Hoppa into the heart of Nairobi and navigate our way to the United Kenya Club where we'll be taking our classes this semester. We reached the Junction without a problem and had a leisurely lunch at a cafe. Wairimu had given us each an allowance of 1000 shillings for the day (equivalent to a little more than 10 US dollars). When the check came, all we had to pay with were 100-shilling bills. When the waiter came over he laughed when he recognized the gigantic stack of 100-shilling bills meant to pay for our 3500 shilling meal. It was the equivalent of paying for a $50 meal in $1 bills. It was both humorous and embarrassing for all parties involved (see #5).
Our journey into the city went a little less swimmingly. Our fatal flaw was that we didn't know exactly where to get off the bus, so we ended up disembarking about a mile from where we were supposed to get off. There we were, in an entirely new city packed with 3 million people, and we had no idea where to go. Stupid Americans. We decided that the best method to reaching our final destination was to "go with our gut" and pretty much aimlessly walk around the city, hoping that we'd find the school. We knew it was behind a church, so we looked for any place of worship in sight. Little did we know that Nairobi is FILLED with churches, mosques, and (who would have thunk it) synagogues! See Mom, there are Jews in Africa. Wairimu had warned us about not going too far south because that area is unsafe. Well, guess which group has the worst sense of direction and can't tell north from south?! We knew we had gone the wrong way when we were briskly walking out of alleyways avoiding young children begging for money, prostitutes offering us a "good time", suspicious men with wandering hands, and dead rats on every corner. Many people were quick to help us, but we had been warned not to accept their help. There are lots of con men in the city who will come off as selfless natives to tourists. In reality, they want your money and they know how to connive you into giving in to them. A seemingly nice young fellow, perhaps in his thirties, dressed to the nines in a suit and gold watch approached us with a smile. "Oh, you must be lost. Please, let me help you. Where are you trying to go?" Stupid Americans. "We're looking for the United Kenya Club." He pointed us in the right direction and we were off. Obviously he was being genuine. He let us go without asking for anything at all. Stupid Americans. He just happened to run into us five minutes later and told us about all of the wonderful opportunities he could offer us in the city. He asked where we were staying and what our phone numbers and emails were. Not-so-stupid Americans. We requested that he give us his information instead and that we would make an effort to get in touch with him. When he responded that he just happened to forget his business cards at home that day, we replied "Pole sana. Kwaheri" (Very sorry. Bye.) and we were off once again. We were supposed to meet the rest of our group at UKC by 2pm, but by 2:30 (after walking around for over an hour) we were still very much lost and had to call our program's bus driver to come pick us up. Ergo, I still have no idea how to get to school.
4. Do not, under any circumstance, attempt to operate a motor vehicle...leave it to the professionals.
This is probably true for most foreign countries. As visitors, we are unaware of traffic laws and driving etiquette. That being said, Nairobi is in a whole other league. Not only do they drive on the left side of the road, but the roads themselves are as narrow as the one-way streets in the U.S. Our bus is constantly at a tilt because Njao (our driver) has to veer off onto the walking path to avoid getting into an accident. There is no such thing as personal space in Kenya and driving is no exception. People literally ride on each other's bumpers. Bikers and motorcyclists dodge in-between the foot of space between each car and zoom down the road. Pedestrians casually walk in front of moving cars as well. Where as I would desperately run for my life across the street, the natives here move at a calm pace and don't break a sweat as they make it to the other side of the road just in time. It's unbelievable! Oh yeah, and on top of everything, matatus like to drive on the wrong side of the road (see above).
Matatu
5. Native Kiswahili speakers will always laugh when you do something stupid, so learn to laugh along with them (even though they're probably laughing at you).
We started Kiswahili classes yesterday at a local language center in Karen. I'm in a class of 6 other SLU students who also took one semester of the language prior to this program. Our teacher Jaquen is the best! He's extremely enthusiastic and very patient with us. Of course, every once in a while he fails to mask his emotions and can't help but break out in laughter when we say something that makes no sense at all, like "I drank banana juice with Barack Obama". He also likes to make jokes and snide remarks in Kiswahili, and laughs even harder when only half the class understands.
Today we took a tour of the private hospital in Nairobi, known to treat all of the educated and wealthy elite in the city. Everyone who's anyone goes there: ambassadors, government officials, and business tycoons. It was truly a scene and a useful experience for when I inevitably contract some sort of malicious stomach virus. Tomorrow is another day of Kiswahili classes and preparation for our week-long rural home stay in Meru. It seems a bit odd to me that we've spent the last 2 days intensively studying a language that people in Meru DON'T EVEN SPEAK! They have their own local dialect that I know not a single word of. Oh well, it shall be an adventure. That's all for now. Stay classy America. Kwaheri ya kuonana!
