GET OUT OF NAIROBI BUANA! TOKA HAPA WEWE

Whenever I have in the past travelled out of the country and Nairobi for extended periods of time, I have sometimes experienced severe bouts of homesickness. Symptoms of homesickness in my case have often included an inexplicable appetite for eating chicken where available daily; brunch, lunch, 4 o’clock, dinner without any accompaniments.

In reaction my sense of patriotism has peaked- miles away from home . It has been a reflex grieving avenue, sensations overwhelm, especially if winter slams your black skin that is used to the heat of the tropics with the dipping temperatures and snow.

You find yourself proclaiming that Kenya is the best place in the whole wide world, and you crave for a one way ticket back home.

Your system gets allergic to new surroundings far away from the familiar and you become somewhat lethargic.

You are glued to the computer’s monitor streaming Citizen, NTV and KTN to get a feel of the going’s on back at home.

The loneliness of being away from Nairobi bites. You become hopelessly mellowed- involuntarily evolve into a self proclaimed cultural ambassador( Oh the damage that homesickness does ), I get the proclivity to say good things about Kenya- often exaggerations, forgetting about corruption, political shenanigans, Chickengate, Westgate, Mumias-gate corruption scandals ( little wonder Kenyan fancy ‘Gated’ communities) .

When you are away from home, among strangers- it dawns on you that Kenya is a paradise, you realize the many things you took for granted. There’s only one place to call home for the majority of us.

You ignore the intolerance, snobbish, rat-race Nairobi living bedevilling +254 and sell a different Kenya packaged in your head as a reincarnation of the Garden of Eden.

‘So everybody in Kenya runs?’ This pretty Bangladeshi lady once asked me as we made brief acquaintance at some airport.

‘Yes madam, everything in Kenya runs even our snails and chameleons!’ Was the response.

‘Oh really, they run backwards, no?’ Was the clever repartee I could not think fast enough to counter.

‘ Okay you win, My name is Sagala, Bwana Sagala.’

I offered my hand, and to date we remain friends.

I have been a prolific ambassador for Kenya, especially on the fascination for our athletes worldwide. Never mind losing numerous racing dares because out there the world thinks all Kenyans win races.

On and on, when away I sputter to whoever cares to listen about the delicious African cuisine that is Kenyan, Kenyan food, Kenyan women, the beautiful landscapes, our hospitality, our tea…

I adorn all that Maasai Market paraphernalia in my possession, from the necklaces, rings, wrist bands and the tee-shirts emblazoned ‘Nairobi’, a miniature Kenyan flag and listen to my collection of older Kenyan music of the 60’s and 70’s. That dirge by David Amunga ‘Going back to Africa’ stirs a sense of melancholy. Those lines…..

I’m going back my home (sic)
My home in Africa
My people are crying for me
So let me go back home

Amunga moans.

It’s usually the last song I play before I sleep, when no one is around- lest I cry. See, it is a taboo to see a grown Luhya man like me, when I am at my most vulnerable in the brink of tears. When my time away from home is done, I travel back – that sense of exhilaration when the in-flight attendant announces landing in ten minutes is sometimes inexplicable- the plane hits the runway, taxis to a halt and you are swallowed back in the belly of Nairobi.

In a few weeks the excitement of being back home fizzles out, and I begin noticing the obscene traffic, filth and grime and other assorted ills; annoying radio hosts with fake accents…. well least one can do is wait for the next travel opportunity to be re-converted into certified patriot or join politics and push for change. A more practical solution would be to get out of Nairobi Buana!

You will only discover that Nairobi really is not the IT once you step out.
There is more to Nairobi than being in Nairobi, infact if you must appreciate Nairobi for what it’s not, you must travel to other parts of the country.

There is an almost obscene addiction to Nairobi that assaults many a city dweller making them averse to any possibility of moving out of this city. I call it the Chipo Mwitu Syndrome. For the uninitiated, Chipo Mwitu is potatoes pretending to be French fries, popular in the estates, especially Eastlands.

Chipo mwitu is prepared by versatile traders, costing much less – sometimes prepared with over-recycled cooking oil to the brink of being black, in big karais out there in the open, ‘flavoured’ by gusts of dust- you know they may not be good for you but take them every other day anyway. Nairobi is so chipo mwitu at times. You don’t like it but are compelled to be in it. People curse and complain of the difficulties of this city, the shamba ya mawe it sis but they will not move out, never, they lack the courage- it’s like Nairobi casts a spell.

Every year, new souls are attracted to the illusions of the city and become sojourners, expectant to alight at the final destination, Nairobi. While the city has its own conveniences, I dare say there’s more to Nairobi than being in Nairobi, let us move out and depopulate the city. Get out of Nairobi buana!

Nairobi is severely constipating, belching and farting. It is an overfed baby struggling to breath- new entrants are suffocating the system. The city is bloated. If I was a policy maker in this country, I would make it mandatory for everyone in Nairobi to atleast work outside this city for a month every two years. Since I would be the one calling the shots, I would bully employers into toeing the line. Indeed Nairobi may have its conveniences, but the challenges herein are epic, some out and about time provides relief.

Where to go?

Travel around work elsewhere, it’s your pick from the 47 counties- you are spoilt for choice

Kakamega

There is the least action packed amongst many, lush, panoramic town of Kakamega where funerals elicit excitement and fanfare, there’s the throbbing Isukuti drums that cast a spell on your feet and your body co-operates by dancing, bulls gore at each other to the cheer of locals and mortals demolish unbelievable mounds of obusuma. This is maize pulp that my Zambian friend Patricia calls Nchima. Indeed an audit needs to be carried out in terms of the tonnes of maize flour Kakamegans demolish. This is the community that is least sensitive and responsive to the animal rights of chicken, and many an innocent fowl have succumbed; so much that probably the famous crying stone found in the area Ikhonga Murwi is incensed and for the first time in its mystical history, it is no longer spewing water. Lunjes close business and go home to cool their heels around the hearth at the slightest hint of rain. At Kakamega bus stage, these bodabodas believe they are superhuman, I swear- if you pay the guy some modest sum he can somehow tie a grown elephant on a bicycle and take it where you want to have it moved. Living in working in Kakamega, can be fun if you are creative.
Kisumu

There is the heat of Kisumu that forces you to retreat along the shores of lake Victoria, the popular eatery that is Luang’ni ( I’m told it means a housefly ) where if you are allergic to fish like me- you can’t help tormenting and testing your allergy by ordering Samaki Kubwa fry and dealing with the consequences, rashes and all, later.
“ Kisumu boasts of an upgrade of evolution- there are Homo Sapiens, Homo Habilis, Home Erectus and the ultimate upgrade that is Homo Luopean. This includes president Obama.” My friend Odhis told me once.

Then there are the many corners Obunga, Nyalenda, Mamboleo and Kondele with the services of a livid Jaluo Jeuri boda boda operative. Live in Kisumu, be a member of the Sailors club and spend evenings at Kiboko Bay or Hippo point bonding with Lake Victoria my friend. Move your body to soothing Rhumba sounds at Club Signature or go to the hospital, Russia and check out the professional mourners. If you are inclined by nature, spend an afternoon at the impala sanctuary. But I find Kisumu being very expensive compared to other main towns.
Nakuru

A two and a half hour drive from Nairobi is not bad at all, considering the time wasted in Nairobi traffic, one can comfortably live in Nakuru ( Ok if you own a house ) and work in Nairobi- very ambitious though- but the day speed trains land in Kenya, movement will be a cruise. In my earlier days, I hit on this pretty lady from the town- strange thing was he always smiled and laughed with a firmly shut mouth- took me time to get to the bone of the matter kumbe in parts of Nakuru I’m told you may have to limit your intake of water lest fluoride wages a Hiroshima like chemical war with your teeth, staining the white and transforming it into a stubborn brown,
Nakuru is a very practical town, slightly less expensive- too many hotels and the national park. I won’t mention the number of churches on every street corner. If you fancy presidential treatment, spoil yourself at the Graceland Hotel, Capital Hill- very beautiful place. Live in Nakuru for a year, I promise you will give Nairobi a swerve for some time.

Eldoret

I never get it how men don double breasted suits, complete with a tie with sports shoes. This has been my dilemma here. Eldoret is an interesting town, I have lived here for some time, in the last check- I can with some degree of conviction declare that the most Vitz’s in Kenya ( Yes that diminutive car) are in Eldoret- you see them in every corner. There are just too many students, clubs and supermarkets- the food is cheap. Eldoret is a good option for relocating.

These days the thin Uganda Road is bloated with traffic, making for obscene traffic jams, but the houses are cheap to rent by Nairobi standards. The hotels have this annoying thing called ‘ Githeri special’, you would imagine it emits the aroma of nyama choma, and tastes like mbinguni. Only to realize its githeri served with two pieces of meat. From Ronald Ngala to Oloo street, you notice Eldy really is slow paced- there are the mean looking campus guys doing biashara and the gorgeous young women flaunting curves.

Then there’s Tony my cab guy; “ Hii town inakuaga kama love potion, ikikuingia kwa damu utazikwa hapa!” He says. Let him give you a ride and Eldoret with soak into you. I particularly like the rainy season. All the good stuff is either at West Market if you fancy second hand stuff, or walk into Zion Mall.

Mombasa, Kericho and the others

I have never fancied Mombasa, but have spent some time getting fascinated by the ferry at Likoni; if that is what it will take to have you out of Nairobi for once. Get the next Modern Coast.

The best roast chicken I’ve eaten my entire life was in Kericho; go here if you prefer a quiet life, also Nandi Hills and Kapsabet. If you like scenic outposts look for a job in Elgeyo Marakwet, Kabarnet or Meru and Chuka. Alfred Mutua is doing some decent work in Machakos- maybe it can be fun hanging out at the Machakos People’s Park….I could write on and on about other parts of Kenya, wait….Lodwar and Turkana are not bad for the courageous; but whatever you do, give Nairobi a break at some point. Feel free to add your shagz here, only if you don’t consider Nairobi as shagz.

Get out of Nairobi buana! Hii Nairobi si ya nani….ask that guy from North Eastern

Commuter symptoms

There are two types of people in Nairobi- those who own a Toyota Vitz and those who don’t; what drives these two is an even larger following of those who bitterly complain about the ‘miniature’ car that is the Toyota Vitz and those who don’t.

For those who may not be familiar with the car; it really is a tiny vehicle that can be conveniently carried in a shopping bag as a wedding gift, and be popped out to hit the Thika Superhighway after the wedding.

Problem is majority of the folk who complain about the small car don’t even own a broken bicycle; they peddle their travel plans haggling with bus conductors in public transport. Those who don’t complain probably have enough problems servicing their own cars to bother about public opinion regarding the tiny vehicle.

‘Siwes endesha Vitz’, I cannot drive that car- ‘hata nipewe bure’. They say as they wear off the soles of their weather beaten shoes dreaming about owning a car some day.

These is the battalion of Nairobi commuters, they own cars, only in their thoughts- the majority of the population who thrive on the rat-race that is living in this city of impresarios and fashionistas who are constantly dreaming the life rather than living the dream.

Welcome to the world of public transport commuters in this city; On weekdays- they sport dashing looks, sharp suits and whiffs of cheap and almost expensive colognes for the men and elaborate dressing with a condescending waft of all manner of perfumes for the women.

Then there is the forest of weaves, acre upon acre of the hairy stuff emitting an array of smells depending on the age and the hygiene of the wearer. All these cram in buses and matatus.

The psychology of the Nairobi commuter is influenced and determined by the time of day, day of the month, the weather and the state of traffic- then there are those peculiar commuter habits.
In the morning everyone is almost upbeat, evenings are the opposite- at the end of the month people dish out the highest denomination notes and terrorize bus conductors. Rain petrifies fake and real hair women who seek refuge in matatus. Don’t all these traffic snarl ups make all of us mad?

Your average commuter pretends that they are boarding a matatu out of choice, when the truth is out there- they relish the dream of owning a car some day, they really don’t have a choice per se.
I will confess I fall in this category of pushers ever since I disposed of my beloved ‘ Doro ‘ the 1969 made Volkswagen Beetle that stalls when it is supposed to move and moves when it is supposed to stall. I struggle for room in matatus.

These characters, passengers in public transport have interesting habits I chose to document just a few, not exhaustively you may add up .

The iron fisted one: The ‘ Ngapi?’ people

This is that guy or lady who insists on paying the least possible fare; the ‘ Ngapi?’ (How much?) fellow, if it costs say 50 bob to go on the 46 route, the unflinching raia will wait until fares drop to 20 or 10 bob; never mind he got to the bus stage at 5:30 in the evening, and doesn’t mind waiting until 10 pm. Be cautious of this ‘ngapi?’ fellas, they cause civil disorder with the first vehicle that drops prices, the fighting , pushing and shoving for space at the door of the vehicle is a preserve for the seasoned, I tried these ‘ Ngapi?’ business once and ended up having my neck under someone’s armpit in a lock called ‘nyongolo’, the next thing I knew my pockets were empty.

Wa madirisha

Peculiar breed of human beings, they must sit by the window by all means- as though their lives depend on it.

Only problem is they are in a constant state of warfare – if common sense dictates the window should be open, for example it hot or someone has downloaded one of those killer farts with the potency of a nuclear weapon, they insist on having the window closed.

Incase of the reverse- say it is raining for instance they insist on having portion of the window open- so you will find yourself in a constant state of battle for the window latch with these fellows.

The oglers

Flip through a copy of your daily, their eyes are ogling; try to send a random text message on your phone- they even have the audacity to tell you that you have miss-spelt something. The ogler sizes you up and down, sometimes they demand to know where you got that shoe or shirt.

The pickpockets

They size you up before you enter a matatu or bus, very suave and fluent in stealing- seasoned fingers that could stealthily steal your undergarments without touching the trousers you are wearing over them; if you enter an empty matatu, and maybe you are the first passenger and the next one insists on sitting next to you with all the available space notwithstanding; that’ s a siren blaring- same old tricks, they keep dropping things and asking you to pick up for them, they have the brown envelopes and newspapers to cover the experienced fingers as they disposes you of your wealth.

The gizmos and ‘gadget-eers’

Mostly teenagers and campus students though grown-ups are not spared- with all their gadgets, that annoying seepage of hip-hop from ear phones and headsets, then they are texting all the way with foolish giggles, some streaming videos. Not a bad way to survive a traffic jam though.
The preachers
Have a way of making you feel guilty; what with… ‘ Wacha mi nihubiri neon la bwana na wee ukiangalia hiyo sime yako au gazeti- ni wengi wana masimu na magazeti lakini sasa wamelala Lan’ gata’. They preach with fire, and subtly without saying as much demand that you listen.

That hawker by the window

These ones annoy me and really test my patience- they keep banging at the window and shoving things up your face with pleading eyes and gestures- I never buy from these fellas.

The sleepers.

Older men and women are major culprits, though I have noticed lately that this one is catching up with me too fast. The moment they occupy a seat, its like a switch goes off- very fond of converting people’s shoulders into pillows- the worst in these category are the snoring, sleep drooling type; my favorite really are the ones who sleep with mouths open. I never mind occasionally throwing a peanut and testing my target skills.

The flirts and psychos

That guy who positions themselves strategically to hit on women- usually tired or well rehearsed lines. I’ve had the good fortune of being ‘Hit on’ by a woman in a mat in my younger days…but there are the extremes, like every market has its own mad fella, every bus or matatu has its own pervert- deal is when you will be unlucky to sit near or next to them- there is the woman who brushes her boobs deliberately on the male hunk, eeer and the perverts who grope classified body parts.

Whatever your take, you will encounter atleast one of these on any bus ride in Nairobi or around the world