Nairobi: The Second Greatest City After Paris
There is a pothole on Mama Ngina that will never be filled. I know this because a campaigning politician promised to fix it years ago. It cannot be helped, of course, he had to pay his godfathers first. The politics of city in ruin is, at best, entertaining. However, that is not the purpose of this article. Nairobi, as I so recently discovered, despite its hazardous pollution and ensuing clouds of red dust is a meaningful place to be. Indeed, it is a place that not many will chose to live but it is a place that one will chose to return again and again and again.
Nairobi has it all. It is, after all, East Africa’s cosmopolitan capital. A city that you will most probably enter via the matatu (14 seater mini-van taxi) system after a never ending traffic jam. They say, however, that Nairobi’s roads are much better than the ones in Lagos. Unfortunately, I cannot substantiate that claim.
You must learn to be cautious in Nairobi. Because just as you enter the city at the matatu’s main drop off points you will most probably be mugged by a faceless pedestrian. There are many of them on this side of the Sahara.
If you keep left, no matter where you are, you might just find yourself in little Mogadishu. Fleeing the constant chaos of their own capital most Somalis have chosen to relocate and orchestrate what most Nairobians view as “criminal activity”. Fuelling illegal passport rings and other money laundering schemes, Jamia’a Mosque and Shopping Centre is where you will find them sipping a traditional brew and eating better Chappati than you mother could ever make. Indeed, they add an interesting complex to Nairobi life.
Just a corner away from the Somali shopping centre is the Textile Boulevard on Muindi Bingu. It is a rather fitting name as the street was named after a certain Indian named Bingu. All the Shops in the line are owned by Asians. Only tourists shop there, of course, as most locals find that Somalis offer more value for your money and if you are lucky they might just throw in a bouquet of Mira’a (a hazardous drug) to sweeten the deal. The Desi population in Nairobi is proud. Perhaps it is because their ancestors helped build our currently potholed roads and our dilapidated railway lines, one can never tell. However, it is clear that their pride defines the social hierarchies that form Kenyan society as a whole. The Kenyans, or rather the Africans, are always at the bottom.
The latest addition to the Nairobi by-line are the Chinese immigrants that have got formerly protesting University of Nairobi students speaking Mandarin and fighting for Chinese menus to be introduced in University dining halls. If you happen to follow the politics of Chinese foreign direct investment you would understand that this is the understated price we have to pay as a society in order to have a road fixed and a bridge built. They are a generally quiet people, the Chinese, but much nicer than the Desis of Muindi Bingu street.
The rest of Nairobi is a sea of black faces with a handful of mulattoes. We, of course, do not discriminate unless if it is amongst ourselves. Nairobi, depending on where you are from, is a very tribalistic place. The world caught a glimpse of this irrational hate during the post-election violence of two years ago. And so it follows that someone might ask for your surname in a bus queue just to determine your tribe, what follows after that I cannot say but it is usually not that pleasant. Other more experienced thugs, as it were, determine your ancestry just by observing your bone structure. They are mostly right but often confuse Congolese immigrants for Kikuyus leading to unwarranted beatings in alleyways. I cannot say I understand the sentiments of the tribalistic lunatics. I am a mix of two of major tribes in the country with a foreign twang and a Zimbabwean name. Because of this, I often feel safe in Nairobi’s streets.
When Nairobians are not exercising their tribalist philosophies, they are eating chicken and drinking beer. It just so happens that they are exactly five Kenchic Inns, amicably known as Kenya Fried Chicken, within a one mile radius of the infamous idler’s corner. The idler’s corner is a bit of the city where unemployed men come and steal naughty glances at working women passing by. It is directly opposite one of the main matatu drop off points known as Afya Centre and just outside Nairobi’s hallmark Hilton Hotel. There, you most probably buy a five pound meal at a nearby ‘KFC’ and then head down the streets in to one of the city’s 24 hour establishments. Yes, in Nairobi it is socially acceptable to drink during the day.
The city is bustling. There is the never ending battle between motorists, pedestrians, cyclists and livestock. The faster of the group usually wins. The less fortunate find themselves in a long queue at Kenyatta Hospital. Indeed, one must not forget the city’s wildlife not only concentrated in daylight drunkards and wildlife sanctuaries but also in the mugging monkeys just off Koinange street. Depending on who the fool is the loser will invariably become the meat. Again, caution in Nairobi must be stressed as if it is not the faceless or primate muggers attempting to disorient you it may be the ‘sheeping’ phenomenon that seems to fascinate all newcomers to the city. This, of course, takes place when a group of pedestrians run in a single direction without anyone asking why. Often many are lured in to dark corners and their fate I cannot describe.
Although a cross-section of the city is unashamedly a godless bunch, we pride ourselves on consistently electing religious leaders to political office. Our politicians as previously mentioned are a daft bunch seeking only to fill their offshore bank accounts. The members that meet at parliament house are the highest paid in the world it is a wonder how most of them have yet to graduate from high school.
Nairobi is not a terrible place. In fact, it is quite the contrary. It is the only place that I could think of where everybody knows how to read a newspaper. Then again, our politics is a modern Greek tragedy. It is the only town where everybody is equipped with a Bachelor of Arts in Stone Throwing as you might observe during an unofficial strike. It is a place where you can never feel lonely walking through at night. It is a place where everybody would love to know you- if you are important. It is the kind of place where you and your family come first. It is a useless place for a car. It is the only place I know where the policemen are tipped, rather handsomely might I add. You can make a million in Nairobi or even steal one, it is the same thing. It is a place where you can die with some dignity and live with some pride. Where you meet people from everywhere and no where. There are refugees, killers and priests in Nairobi. Yes, there are many things that would bring you back to a city that lies just outside the famous hole in the ground.
But most importantly, the only thing that should bring you back to Nairobi is the fact that it is the kind of place where there is always somebody who knows a good story.
M. Shabaya
October 2010
First Published in the Palatinate Newspaper, Durham University on 2nd November 2010
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