weekend adventures and first milestone at work!

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Salama! Haribu?

Hello! How are you?

I'm guessing that perhaps I didn't successfully publish my first entry...hopefully I will do better this time!

I must first pay tribute to my father and my friend, Barb. Barb, first, for insisting that I bring an iPod. She nearly sent me to Africa of all places with her iPod, but then realized she was to take holiday also. Good save, Mark! I purchased my very own, a nano. Probably to the frustration of my family, I spent oodles of time loading it with my favorite tunes and some Swahili language CD's (asante sana Caroline!). Second, Barb sent me with four wonderful mix CD's. The first set of beats got me through the first leg of my journey to Detroit, all grooving, no crying. While washing my laundry by hand in a wash basin I rocked out to the second CD of beats. One hour: two pairs of workout pants, one pair of socks, two undies and one shirt...one hour. Third, Bel Canto. If you have not already read this book, rush out and purchase it NOW. Then, save it until you really deserve a truly great read. The city of Iowa City read it together in a city-wide book club my fourth year of medical school. I devoured and savored this perfectly crafted song of a novel, fell in love with the translator, cried when he...well, I can't ruin it for you!...and just like I used to do when I was a real, normal person, I finished the book two days later. Ahhh....

To my father for purchasing this book for me in Connecticut before I left. Asante sana, Dad. I miss you!

So you know I'm staying in a Catholic hostel. I am not sure they really know about me or what I'm here doing...somehow my mentor here coordinated this room for me. The room is quite nice, I have my own bathroom/shower/bed/desk/light and just over my bed rests a crucified Jesus. The rate includes three meals a day, cooked by this delightful man, Raphael, who is teaching me Swahili. He laughs at me because I squawked a bit when he serves Western style food. Well, for nearly the same rent as I'm paying in Seattle per day, I'd like some food I can't get at home! Sukuma wiki ( literally "stretch the week") is braised spinach and is a Kenyan staple. I'm in heaven. Nearly everyplace you pass on the road where people stay, from hotels to homes to hostels to regular flats to very substandard housing, is guarded by security and gated. So, I hand my room keys to the security guard on my way to work in the morning and head out!

Nairobi is a huge bustling hive of a city. The city center is very urban, like what we would recognize as urban. Very quickly however, the city appears more suburban, with few sidewalks, more foliage, but the functions of the buildings are still very urban. Along the roadsides are rocky dirt paths and lots of trash. The roads are full of cars, buses, and these rockets of vehicles called matatus. Matatus are minivans loaded with 14 people on these seats that are too small for V with an additional person manning the sliding door hollering at everyone walking or standing on the side of the road to see if they want a ride. The routes are not published. There are no schedules. These apparently used to be menaces to the public safety until regulations were passed limiting the number of people inside to 14. Sounds like the law passed limiting our work hours to 80. Great job!

Many people walk and walk everywhere along those rocky dirt paths...for long distances...in really nice clothes and very nice shoes. High heels, sandals, you name it. Everyone dresses very well here. VERY unlike Seattle...or Oberlin for that matter! For those of you worried I'd fall for a hot Kenyan man you needn't worry any longer. I have no chance. Kenyan women are gorgeous. Not only gorgeous but always dressed impeccably. And they walk along these dirty, nasty, dusty, rocky paths wearing high heels, or sandals, fancy clothes and somehow still look amazing. Their hair is always done. With my short hair, dansko clogs, sunburned nose and day glow skin, I have no chance. None. AND I don't go out after dark. Like I said...no chance.

Well, of my many notable adventures this weekend, for JNa's sake, I'll be brief and only describe one. I intended to trek out to Karen, a Nairobi suburb located to the south and west to see the Karen Blixen museum for my friend, VS. Karen is too far to walk, even for me. After I headed into the city center in search of a Kenyan lunch, I made my way past two fast talking advocates for the local markets to the bus stop. Just to be sure I had the right one, I let one bus to what I thought was my destination pass. Then I hopped aboard, paid my 30 Ksh, crammed myself in a seat, endured some stares, made a child laugh and away we went. As you leave Nairobi things get fancier. As things get fancier, you see more white people. Karen is a hub of expats apparently. We headed out on the Ngong road, which is the road I take to work, far past where I'd gone before. I actually made it to Karen and managed to get off the bus at the right spot. The bus dropped me at a big crossroads with lots of little shop shacks, and in sight of a big fancy shopping complex with the requisite white people out front. No signs to the Blixen museum anywhere. Nothing in the guide book suggesting that you need additional transportation besides the bus. Some may have called...I just ventured forth! Well, I asked a matatu driver if he knew the way, and even though I know he may have just said he knew in order to get me on board and get my fare, I decided to trust in the good heartedness of Kenyans and get aboard. Well, he didn't lead me astray, just way past where I wanted to go! He laughed when I gave him a hard time for missing my stop and asked for some of my fare (20 Ksh) back! Well, I found the Karen Blixen museum. I got excited, took a couple of pictures of the outside and geared myself up for a nice visit. At the door, the man asked me for 800 Ksh. The guidebook had said 200 Ksh for a nonresident, I brought 600, he said well that's not enough. Apparently at official museums, we look down on bargaining as he didn't laugh one bit when I suggested a deal. So, I walked a bit, hopped a matatu back to Karen and rode the bus back to my hostel...all in the journey! I"ll have to go back again so see the museum. And VS, not one word about calling first!!!

Lots of love, all. Til next time!

Em

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