Post by adongo23456 on Jul 25, 2012 8:46:27 GMT 3
I arrived at JKIA on July 15 at 11.00 p.m and immediately noticed how the nation has changed. Being a guy who commits a lot of stuff to memory rather a journal I have recorded a few things on my data base upstairs.
I actually started my memory only recording during the harsh Nyayo days when a cop simply walked to me in a restaurant in Nairobi and kept pointing at my table where I was sitting with friends.
I offered the man everything on the table including my food, beer etc but he kept pointing until I saw he was gazing at the dairy I had on the table. He took it and I have never seen it since. I am sure many souls got roasted based on that dairy. They kept me for later and got me fully marinated on April 19, 1987 from my lovely apartment in Mombasa where I was teaching as a lecturer in Mombasa Polytechnic. I know some of you like to poke fun at those horror days but I can assure you it was not a picnic in some park. In any event given another chance I would change nothing except for being more aggressive with the state thugs. That is for later.
As soon as we hit JKIA we noticed some difference with other airports. Yes there are the irritating lines. You are tired like hell having been awake and restless for close to two days. At JKIA the professionalism in most airlines where you are directed everywhere to go is dead. You have to ask airport workers most of whom seem disinterested particularly if you are not white. I found my way to the right place.
Then this guy named Kuria comes up. He asks me. "Are you OK?" I answer "Yes I am OK". " No you are not OK" he retorts to my utter surprise. Then he goes away and I feel relieved. There are about ten lines in front of me and I don't know which one goes where, so I just loiter around. The Kuria guy comes back and looks at my 15 year old son whom he concludes is not a Kenyan by birth, I guess because the chap is a little light skinned. He then gives me a yellow paper and tells me if my son is "mgeni" to fill it and take it to the immigration office. I tell the guy we were given a green form for him to fill and pay $ 50.00 for his visa to enter the republic. He says if I have a Kenyan passport I should not fill the green paper because my son under the new constitution can be given free entrance to Kenya (literally temporary citizenship) as long as he has a father (not sure about mothers) who is Kenyan. Finally me and this Kuria guy are friends.
I go to the immigration office and find a very nice guy who does the paper work for me. He strikes a conversation with the boy who is all ears and eyes trying to absorb the country in one gulp. The guy asks my son why he doesn't speak Kiswahili. The boy tells him it is all my fault because I have failed to teach him the language despite his endless demands to be taught the language. I give a dry smile to all these blame game but the boy doesn't stop there. He goes on to tell everybody in the office how he speaks Tigrinya because his mother, an Eritrean, has diligently taught him the language. Every is up in laughs, obviously at my expense. I live the office in high spirits despite the humiliation.
In a few minutes my good comrade, Atieno, picks us up and we are on Mombasa road heading to her residence in Riverside. Miraculously there is no traffic. Atieno tells me it is because it is Sunday almost at midnight. I pass by the home where I grew up in Golden gates (South B). I did not want to bother my elderly aunt who still lives in the great joint. She is my second mother after my mother physically took me to her when I joined UoN and told her, " I give you this boy". I could write a book about that but I don't have the time. I am a little disturbed by my sheer lack of any excitement for being in Kenya. That is not the way it has been before. I am still battling with that.
When we hit Atieno's joint we marvel at its sheer elegance. Of course there are endless gates and security folks. The young man is astonished by the number of gates even within the house itself. When his mom called the next day he walked out to talk to her and when he came back he confessed he wanted to tell her just how many gates he has to go through to get to his bedroom. He couldn't understand why there are even gates between upstairs and down stairs. I told it means if the thugs invade the house and they are down stairs you still have a chance being upstairs.
Our first take in Nairobi was fun. The entire west lands is under construction. Every road is being reconstructed, meaning you have to use the alternative road In fact Nairobi is a city under construction everywhere. Many of the annoying roundabouts are being blown apart. The one next to Uni towards Chiromo is mercifully gone. The traffic flow is better.
On our first ride we go to West lands mall and end up at the West Gate Nakumatt. Everywhere you have folks frisking you with those big "sticks" that keep ringing alarm all over. My son comments that he has gone through more security checks in one morning in Nairobi than he did in all the airports in two days.
We reach a point where you simply raise your arms as soon as you approach. Kizito our funny buddy tells us the one thing to note is that the security personnel have no capacity to handle any possible trouble makers which means if you were ever to show up with a bomb in any of these places the security fellas would dash for dear life.
Reminds of the last time I was in Nairobi and thugs invaded a bank where I was. I was shocked to see cops throw their afande hats as far as they could to avoid being identified by the thugs. I ended up in a muddy ditch after being wrestled to the ground by my friend who kept shouting at me to lie down as I foolishly kept running. Later he told me to just drop down whenever I hear gunshots. He was telling me this as if it should be a daily drill. I left Nairobi very first that time. I wasn't going to practice lying down amid gunshots. Things are better now in that department even though three chaps got shot just next to Atieno's house on Riverside and two of them were ex-cops. One was found with a police communication equipment.
On my second day in Nairobi we went to buy a cell phone. I had carried this complicated cell phone given to my son by his mom which turned out to be a satellite phone only usable in North America.
We first went to Ngong Hills Hotel at a round 11.00 a.m. I was told it is owned by some Kibaki buddy and it is a pretty cool joint. My friend Githuku a documentary filmmaker and poet was going for an audition with Mojo Production stationed at the hotel. We hang out there for a bit and headed downtown to get the phone. It was a nightmare. The traffic down past Serena Hotel was fine but once we hit downtown it was crazy traffic. The young man could not believe the mingling between vehicles and folks walking the streets. He thought people were walking into vehicles and vehicles charging into people. I told him it was survival between humans and machines, Nairobi style.
When we reached where we were going we could not find any parking. We went for underground parking and they checked the vehicle for the 100th time with those machines. Down in the parking lot we went round and round in a convoy of vehicles looking for a parking spot. There was none. Finally we came outside and the park attendant asked for 50 bob. Githuku told her we never found any parking but she insisted we spent over 5 minutes down there and have to pay. We figured paying 50 bob for an expensive loitering in the parking lot was cheaper than a heated argument with a parking attendant. Off we went.
In the streets it was the same thing. Nowhere to park. Finally Githuku who seems to know everybody in the streets simply handed his vehicle to some chap in the streets to go round and round as we went to purchase the cell phone. My friends were determined not to buy the fake Chinese cell phones which apparently have invaded the market and will soon be cut off. So we ask this lady if the Nokia we were trying to buy was original. She retorted "we only sell original" and grabbed the phone and rudely put it back. We kind of laughed at the marvelous customer service skills in display here.
Eventually we bought the phone and reclaimed the vehicle from the street fellows. By the time we got back home it was past 4.00 p.m. Something which could have taken just about an hour took 3-4 hours because of traffic and lack of parking spots. If this is the daily experience of Nairobians you can imagine how much time is wasted every single day just running around.
Two more things we did end up in an Eritrean Restaurant near Mlango Kubwaa. It was rickety outside but it is beautiful inside and the food is as good an Eritrean cuisine. That joint is great. Then guess what. Just as we finish our mean a team of top cops judging by their inspector type uniform come in with Nairobi City staff. It seems like they are there to hustle the owner to check his license and his list of employees. Githuku being underground filmmaker of shots seizes the chance to film the whole episode under cover using our camera/video equipment. We are nervous like hell in case Githuku is busted. We got out alright.
The other thing was how the young man almost got us in trouble at the West Gate Nakumatt mall when he show a bunch of cops walking around with AK 47 machines holding them as if they are shopping bags. He couldn't suppress his urge to laugh at the spectacle.
Now I am in Bondo and that is a full story in its own right. Soon I will be back in Nairobi and then off to Mombasa after taking the young man to Massai mara. For those yearning for pictures, relax. They are coming. I also intend to do the political rounds and I will have some interviews for you folks too.
I actually started my memory only recording during the harsh Nyayo days when a cop simply walked to me in a restaurant in Nairobi and kept pointing at my table where I was sitting with friends.
I offered the man everything on the table including my food, beer etc but he kept pointing until I saw he was gazing at the dairy I had on the table. He took it and I have never seen it since. I am sure many souls got roasted based on that dairy. They kept me for later and got me fully marinated on April 19, 1987 from my lovely apartment in Mombasa where I was teaching as a lecturer in Mombasa Polytechnic. I know some of you like to poke fun at those horror days but I can assure you it was not a picnic in some park. In any event given another chance I would change nothing except for being more aggressive with the state thugs. That is for later.
As soon as we hit JKIA we noticed some difference with other airports. Yes there are the irritating lines. You are tired like hell having been awake and restless for close to two days. At JKIA the professionalism in most airlines where you are directed everywhere to go is dead. You have to ask airport workers most of whom seem disinterested particularly if you are not white. I found my way to the right place.
Then this guy named Kuria comes up. He asks me. "Are you OK?" I answer "Yes I am OK". " No you are not OK" he retorts to my utter surprise. Then he goes away and I feel relieved. There are about ten lines in front of me and I don't know which one goes where, so I just loiter around. The Kuria guy comes back and looks at my 15 year old son whom he concludes is not a Kenyan by birth, I guess because the chap is a little light skinned. He then gives me a yellow paper and tells me if my son is "mgeni" to fill it and take it to the immigration office. I tell the guy we were given a green form for him to fill and pay $ 50.00 for his visa to enter the republic. He says if I have a Kenyan passport I should not fill the green paper because my son under the new constitution can be given free entrance to Kenya (literally temporary citizenship) as long as he has a father (not sure about mothers) who is Kenyan. Finally me and this Kuria guy are friends.
I go to the immigration office and find a very nice guy who does the paper work for me. He strikes a conversation with the boy who is all ears and eyes trying to absorb the country in one gulp. The guy asks my son why he doesn't speak Kiswahili. The boy tells him it is all my fault because I have failed to teach him the language despite his endless demands to be taught the language. I give a dry smile to all these blame game but the boy doesn't stop there. He goes on to tell everybody in the office how he speaks Tigrinya because his mother, an Eritrean, has diligently taught him the language. Every is up in laughs, obviously at my expense. I live the office in high spirits despite the humiliation.
In a few minutes my good comrade, Atieno, picks us up and we are on Mombasa road heading to her residence in Riverside. Miraculously there is no traffic. Atieno tells me it is because it is Sunday almost at midnight. I pass by the home where I grew up in Golden gates (South B). I did not want to bother my elderly aunt who still lives in the great joint. She is my second mother after my mother physically took me to her when I joined UoN and told her, " I give you this boy". I could write a book about that but I don't have the time. I am a little disturbed by my sheer lack of any excitement for being in Kenya. That is not the way it has been before. I am still battling with that.
When we hit Atieno's joint we marvel at its sheer elegance. Of course there are endless gates and security folks. The young man is astonished by the number of gates even within the house itself. When his mom called the next day he walked out to talk to her and when he came back he confessed he wanted to tell her just how many gates he has to go through to get to his bedroom. He couldn't understand why there are even gates between upstairs and down stairs. I told it means if the thugs invade the house and they are down stairs you still have a chance being upstairs.
Our first take in Nairobi was fun. The entire west lands is under construction. Every road is being reconstructed, meaning you have to use the alternative road In fact Nairobi is a city under construction everywhere. Many of the annoying roundabouts are being blown apart. The one next to Uni towards Chiromo is mercifully gone. The traffic flow is better.
On our first ride we go to West lands mall and end up at the West Gate Nakumatt. Everywhere you have folks frisking you with those big "sticks" that keep ringing alarm all over. My son comments that he has gone through more security checks in one morning in Nairobi than he did in all the airports in two days.
We reach a point where you simply raise your arms as soon as you approach. Kizito our funny buddy tells us the one thing to note is that the security personnel have no capacity to handle any possible trouble makers which means if you were ever to show up with a bomb in any of these places the security fellas would dash for dear life.
Reminds of the last time I was in Nairobi and thugs invaded a bank where I was. I was shocked to see cops throw their afande hats as far as they could to avoid being identified by the thugs. I ended up in a muddy ditch after being wrestled to the ground by my friend who kept shouting at me to lie down as I foolishly kept running. Later he told me to just drop down whenever I hear gunshots. He was telling me this as if it should be a daily drill. I left Nairobi very first that time. I wasn't going to practice lying down amid gunshots. Things are better now in that department even though three chaps got shot just next to Atieno's house on Riverside and two of them were ex-cops. One was found with a police communication equipment.
On my second day in Nairobi we went to buy a cell phone. I had carried this complicated cell phone given to my son by his mom which turned out to be a satellite phone only usable in North America.
We first went to Ngong Hills Hotel at a round 11.00 a.m. I was told it is owned by some Kibaki buddy and it is a pretty cool joint. My friend Githuku a documentary filmmaker and poet was going for an audition with Mojo Production stationed at the hotel. We hang out there for a bit and headed downtown to get the phone. It was a nightmare. The traffic down past Serena Hotel was fine but once we hit downtown it was crazy traffic. The young man could not believe the mingling between vehicles and folks walking the streets. He thought people were walking into vehicles and vehicles charging into people. I told him it was survival between humans and machines, Nairobi style.
When we reached where we were going we could not find any parking. We went for underground parking and they checked the vehicle for the 100th time with those machines. Down in the parking lot we went round and round in a convoy of vehicles looking for a parking spot. There was none. Finally we came outside and the park attendant asked for 50 bob. Githuku told her we never found any parking but she insisted we spent over 5 minutes down there and have to pay. We figured paying 50 bob for an expensive loitering in the parking lot was cheaper than a heated argument with a parking attendant. Off we went.
In the streets it was the same thing. Nowhere to park. Finally Githuku who seems to know everybody in the streets simply handed his vehicle to some chap in the streets to go round and round as we went to purchase the cell phone. My friends were determined not to buy the fake Chinese cell phones which apparently have invaded the market and will soon be cut off. So we ask this lady if the Nokia we were trying to buy was original. She retorted "we only sell original" and grabbed the phone and rudely put it back. We kind of laughed at the marvelous customer service skills in display here.
Eventually we bought the phone and reclaimed the vehicle from the street fellows. By the time we got back home it was past 4.00 p.m. Something which could have taken just about an hour took 3-4 hours because of traffic and lack of parking spots. If this is the daily experience of Nairobians you can imagine how much time is wasted every single day just running around.
Two more things we did end up in an Eritrean Restaurant near Mlango Kubwaa. It was rickety outside but it is beautiful inside and the food is as good an Eritrean cuisine. That joint is great. Then guess what. Just as we finish our mean a team of top cops judging by their inspector type uniform come in with Nairobi City staff. It seems like they are there to hustle the owner to check his license and his list of employees. Githuku being underground filmmaker of shots seizes the chance to film the whole episode under cover using our camera/video equipment. We are nervous like hell in case Githuku is busted. We got out alright.
The other thing was how the young man almost got us in trouble at the West Gate Nakumatt mall when he show a bunch of cops walking around with AK 47 machines holding them as if they are shopping bags. He couldn't suppress his urge to laugh at the spectacle.
Now I am in Bondo and that is a full story in its own right. Soon I will be back in Nairobi and then off to Mombasa after taking the young man to Massai mara. For those yearning for pictures, relax. They are coming. I also intend to do the political rounds and I will have some interviews for you folks too.
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