So, I’m in Africa…

I’ve been meaning to write a blog about random Africa things for some time now. One of our comments posed some great questions that I have been meaning to answer for a long time, but I guess I’ve just put off the general info—this is how we live—blog for a long time. So here we go…

If I were to describe Africa in one word I would probably use the word: dichotomy. Everywhere I look, I see glaring opposites and the far extremes. Africa seems so alive…so vibrant and colorful…But, at the same time, never before have I seen so much death, so much pain, and so much despair. The dichotomy of life and death. So much life and so much death. I see a struggle between the age-old traditions of tribalism and the groans of development. Nairobi is a modern city…complete with modern conveniences and appliances. I’ve eaten the Kenyan version of fast food many times—fried dough in a triangle shape filled with meat, onions, and sometimes peppers. It’s called a samosa.

This place seems so ancient and comfortable in those age-old traditions. The culture is beautiful and definitely colorful; however, I see Kenya striving to develop culturally, politically, and economically. Therefore, daily I see the dichotomy and the struggle of a culture of tribalism that is testing its feet in the water of capitalism, democracy, and development. (I have many questions about whether or not the type of development that the West is seeking to impose on Africa is actually beneficial…not the medical and hygiene development, but the capitalistic and democratic development. But that’s a story for another blog).

Dichotomy…that’s my word for now. Even now, I know it’s changing and will probably continue to develop and change as I continue to learn and observe.

Hmm… here we go with the random my favorite things, my observations, and general info on our daily lives. To start with a funny example of a Kenyanism, look up to the last paragraph at how I started that sentence—“even now.” Of course Kenyans have accents, but the girls and I think it is hilarious how Kenyans always start with “even.” Even me, I will vote for this candidate. Even me, I want you to come with me. Even this one, she likes this musician. Even that one, he plays football. All the time. I think it’s hilarious and we always joke about it amongst ourselves… until the day when I actually said it without thinking. We were talking to a Swiss lady who is married to a Kenyan and I actually said, “Even me, I want to do_______.” Wow, the girls thought it was hysterical and I still here about it “even now.” Ha. So that’s my Kenyanism to start with.

Dishwashing, showers, and clothes washing…
I see more of the dichotomy of Africa with the complete schism between the ways of life. While at the YWAM base two months ago, we washed clothes in buckets, took showers with buckets, and washed dishes with buckets. Whoever is making green, blue, and orange plastic buckets is making a killing. When washing clothes, you use two buckets—one for rinsing and one for washing. My Kenyan buddy, Cliff, showed me how to grasp the end of a piece of clothing in your palm and take the other edge in your other hand. Then, briskly rub the end of the item against the part in the palm (actually on your wrist) and squeegee out all the soap and water as you move up the sleeve or pant leg. It definitely took some getting used to. The general tendency for westerners is to just put all the clothes in the bucket and then swish them around and around…then just rinse them. And the Kenyans laugh really hard at us because clothes don’t get clean that way and you can’t ever get all the soap out. When I first started to do it the Kenyan way, Cliff always laughed hysterically at my clumsy attempt to do it like a Kenyan. He says I’m better now. So that’s clothes washing.

Since that time, I’ve done everything from a washer and dryer to just a washer back to the buckets and even not washing at all. So I see the spectrum depending on where I am and with whom I’m living.

Back when I was in Boy Scouts, on campouts we washed dishes with a three bucket system… which is what we do here. The first bucket can be cold and is filled with a soapy lather to just scrub everything. The second bucket is the rinse bucket with hot water. The third is the bleach bucket and is pretty hot. Yep, it’s pretty sketchy.

Public Transportation
Oh, the matatu. Imagine a Nissan 14 passenger van…absolutely no leg-room. The outside is government regulated and must be some color with a yellow stripe around the middle. The outside must be pretty plain. But the inside—hmm, any creative license is acceptable. Subwoofers, music video screens, all kinds of music at full blast. Everything from playboy stickers to soccer player posters to R&B and Hip Hop posters. I am continually amazed at how cheap the matatus are. We have traveled for 2½ hours on three dollars a person. The matatus are the public service vehicle but the government doesn’t regulate the prices and the lack of a competent police lets the matatu drivers and conductors do whatever they want. There is always a driver and a conductor. The conductor sits next to the sliding door and advertises, harangues, and pretty much yells at everyone to get in and go with this matatu because it is SOOO much better than the newer, nicer looking one next to it. Oh, and this one time I actually heard a guy advertise the matatu we were riding in by saying in Swahili, “Come ride with me… Ride with white people.” So Jill, Bethany, and I are the new matatu advertising campaign. We’ve had some funny stories with matatus. One time, they actually crammed 23 people in a 14 passenger matatu. Another time, they crammed a rather large lady in the back seat with me and she pretty much exiled me away from MY seat. Then Jill and Bethany sat in each other’s laps and I eventually ended up sitting on top of the seats, banging my head on the ceiling frequently. It is actually physically impossible for me to fit my long legs in between the seats so I had to get up on the seats so that I didn’t have to stand in the seats. Then this Akamba lady starts yelling at me and cackling because I was on top of the seat. That was pretty annoying actually.

The annoying part of matatus is the fact I’m white. So we get ripped off quite often. Normally they charge mzungus (white people) double what they do the Kenyans. Oftentimes, we’ll talk them down and because we are beginning to carry ourselves like we know what we’re doing, they are beginning to know ahead of time that I’m not going to pay the crazy price. There have been a few times when the Kenyans around me will yell or gripe at the guy for overcharging us. If that happens, they usually charge us the normal price. It’s pretty frustrating that they charge us extra just because we’re white and they think we have more money. Reverse prejudice or something.

Ok, that’s enough random Kenyan observations for now, but I’ll keep answering questions and giving observations in the next couple of days… Bye for now.

lovewill

Food for thought:

“The real authority does not reside in the biblical text itself, in the ink on paper, which is always open to misinterpretation—sometimes, history tells us, horrific and dangerous misinterpretation. Instead, the real authority lies in God, who is there behind the text or beyond it or above it. In other words, the authority is not in what I say the text says but in what God says the text says.”
-Brian McLaren- New Kind of Christian