Still Alive...

I’ve been in Africa for a week, and I think I’ve gotten a pretty decent “lay of the land”. While I’m admittedly not slumming it on my trip, I’ve still been pleasantly surprised by the relative comforts and ease of getting stuff done around here. That’s obviously helped by the fact that I’ve had Shashank as my native tour guide for most of the trip (more on that later).

After arriving on Wednesday, the first couple of days were spent largely roaming, eating, drinking, and generally getting settled. It’s easy to forgot you’re in Kenya when you have one of Shashank’s several cabbie friends pick us up at the airport (Shashank seriously knows like every cabbie in the city it seems), take us to Shashank’s guarded apartment complex, and Shashank is driving us around in his ancient yet running Land Cruiser (not-so-affectionately nicknamed “The Beast” by Bhargavi). Then, you’re hit with a dose of reality when the mall where we had lunch has security guards in full army-style camouflage gear, carrying rifles in case anyone decides he wants to rob the local video store or grocer or fresh-from-the-U.S. tourist.

On Thursday, while Shashank was hard at work, I decided to explore downtown Nairobi, as I really had nothing better to do. I learned quickly that Shashank wasn’t joking when he said there isn’t much in Nairobi. The main street in downtown is basically littered with a bunch of small fast food places, electronics/cellphone stores, and other random retailers. Many of which, of course, are owned, or at least run, by Indians. After walking around for about an hour, desperately seeking some photo-ops, I explored a couple of the local parks, where the most interesting thing I found was probably the incredibly high soda vendor-to-civilian ratios.

Thursday night, I had the BEST $11 steak meal (complete with sides, salad, and drinks) that I’ve ever had in my life. Outback shmoutback.

We spent the weekend in Mombassa, which is on the Kenyan coast. As Shashank described it, it’s the “Cancun of Kenya”. While I’ve never actually been to Cancun, I hope all the spring-breakers who go there every year see more hot, young, horny 18-21 year-old girls than I did in Mombassa. Mombassa, at least at this time of year (it’s technically winter), seems to cater to a slightly older crowd – think more beach time and water sports and less booze cruises. In our efforts to get drunk, we hit up pretty much every non-hotel bar that was open in the area. On Friday night at Forty Thieves, we were having a good time drinking Jack Daniels, shooting pool, and debating whether the black girl (it’s not African-American in Kenya, FYI, so I’m not being un-PC) with the white tourist was a prostitute or not, when some drunken white Kenyan stumbled up to us and called all Americans twats. Thank you President Bush. On Saturday night, we hung around at the Tandoori Bar and Restaurant (seriously) for a bit, saw that it wasn’t picking up, then headed to Shakattack (not Shark Attack, despite the proximity to the beach), where the place was just as empty. At least there was a big screen showing a boxing match, and we were approached by a prostitute, which always makes for an interesting story. All we bought her was coffee, since I know you’re all wondering. Overall, despite the lack of good nightlife, we had a good time, enjoying the great weather, amazing food, and cheap beer. We even played some tennis and volleyball to stay somewhat active in preparation for our Kili trip. No, we didn’t have gay sex, thanks for asking.

No sooner than we had unpacked after arriving back in Nairobi did my trip, and Shashank’s life, take a somewhat dramatic turn for the worst. Shashank’s boss called from DC, and informed him that he had to go to Amman, Jordan to cover the ongoing violence in the Middle East. We celebrated by watching Superman Returns. Let’s all pray that low-tech Hezbollah missiles aren’t Shashank’s kryptonite.

Monday was spent experiencing the frustrations of a third-world country. Shashank had to book his tickets to Amman, and I had to pay for my ticket to Zanzibar, an island off the coast of Tanzania where I am going this weekend (by myself now – thanks Shashank and Bhargavi). Unfortunately, the Kenyan Airways system wasn’t accepting credit cards when we went in the morning, so we decided to have lunch and come back later to pay. When we came back, Shashank’s travel agent Rhoda was at lunch, and her understudy explained that she “did not have the confidence” to issue the tickets herself. Despite Shashank’s pleading for her to at least give it a shot, the lazy/stupid woman’s lack of confidence conquered all and she told us to come back at 2 when Rhoda would be back from lunch. After killing as much time as possible buying completely unnecessary stuff at the grocery store, we returned only to discover that the Kenyan Airways system was STILL not accepting credit cards. Off to the bank to hit the ATM and pull out about $800 in cash between the two of us, then back to the travel agent for the 4th time to finally get our tickets. After those exhausting efforts, we deserved and treated ourselves to some Scotch, a delicious Indian meal, and a shot of Grey Goose before sending Shashank off to the airport. Hope to see you again someday buddy.

For the last couple of days I’ve been on my own, which hasn’t been too bad. I’ve killed the time watching movies, taking care of some personal crap I have to get done before I get back to the U.S., and getting some desperately needed pre-Kili exercise. Had dinner with some of Shashank’s friends on Tuesday night and it was honestly one of the most, if not the most, interesting dinner of my life. Too hard to try to even explain in written words, outside of summarizing the group - a freelance journalist, a freelance photographer, an HIV-related NGO employee, a musician, a safari company owner (originally from Slovenia), one of his safari drivers (a native Kenyan), and myself. Needless to say, it was more interesting than the typical NY dinners consisting of analysts at Goldman/Accenture/[insert bank or consulting firm or accounting firm here].

In my efforts to keep this blog somewhat educational during my trip, here are some more highlights:

- Everyone here has been AMAZINGLY friendly. While that was to be expected of the hotel staff in Mombassa, I didn’t necessarily expect it to be that way everywhere. Every local that I’ve met – Shashank’s “staff”, waiters at restaurants, cabbies, airline employees, even less-well-off people like fast food workers, have been extremely nice, even though I obviously stick out as a ‘white guy’. In fact, despite how different I look, the locals have rarely stared. I’m not sure if they’re just used to awkward-looking Indian people enough to pay them no mind, but it’s been nice walking around, especially these last couple of days by myself, without everyone burning holes through my skin with dirty looks.

- It was somewhat surprising and admittedly sad to see the contrast between some of the areas I’ve been to. After seeing Nairobi for a couple days, I naively figured that was pretty much what all of Kenya was like. Poor but not “slummy”. Then we saw the areas around Mombassa and it was MUCH worst. Reminded me of the poor areas of India (although I was last there a decade ago). Shoddier buildings, much smaller, run-down houses. The locals just “looked” poorer, if that makes sense. The only reassuring aspect was that we saw what seemed like a lot of schools. Hopefully this means that at least future generations of Kenyans will be more educated and thus have better lives than their ancestors. Also – keep sending your old clothes to goodwill rather than throwing them out. I’ve seen some interesting items, such as a Chris Webber jersey back from his Warriors’ days, as well as a Chicago Bulls 1997 Championship t-shirt, that clearly indicate that somehow American hand-me-downs are getting to needy people.

- Nairobi’s a relatively safe city. Some areas are obviously worst than others – Shashank said to be wary of downtown, for example, but walking around I don’t really feel the need to protect my “valuables” or look over my shoulder. With Shashank gone, I’m not even worried about something happening to me if I went out at night – I’m more worried that I’ll get drunk and not be able to figure out how to get back to his apartment.

- It’s really interesting how connected the expat. journalists all are – besides welcoming Shashank back from Darfur and shipping him off to a warzone, I’ve already met a freelance photographer from Silver Spring, Maryland who recently followed Bill Clinton and his entourage around Eastern/Southern Africa (“extremely sexy” is how she described him), a British journalist who is trying to convince himself that he doesn’t HAVE to go to Congo even though every other Western journalist is there, an American journalist who got his current job at the AP in Addis, Ethiopia when his predecessor was booted out by the government for basically reporting the facts, another British journalist who has an incredible knowledge of American pop culture, and another American journalist who today is meeting with some cult that believes September 12, 2006 will mark the start of some sort of nuclear holocaust.

- Despite what you might think, it’s very easy to eat well here. Food is pretty cheap and, as long as you have some money, very plentiful. In Nairobi alone, I’ve already eaten steak, Indian food, Thai food (good but overpriced), and Swahili food (which bears a striking resemblance to Indian food – though maybe it’s just what we ordered).

- I don’t know if they’re locals or journalists or UN workers or whatever, but the gym where Shashank works out has some really hot Indian girls. I think I’ve seen more cute Indian girls in the few gym trips here than I did in my hundreds of trips to New York Sports Club. Yes, my gym trips have been noticeably longer than usual.

- People here seem to like their beverages at room temperature. Whatever you’re ordering – beer, coke, water - if you want it cold, you better say so. Tusker, the local brew, by the way, is a very good beer. What’s even better is that the standard-size bottle is 16 oz., not 12, and that it generally costs the equivalent of $1-2, even at bars and restaurants.

- Apparently the movie theater and mall are the Indian hotspots. About half the people at the movies and two-thirds at the gym are brownies like myself. Well, not quite like myself. I still stand out with the jeans and Cal hat. While eating lunch at the food court in the mall the other day, I saw a birthday party for some Indian kid, complete with cake and “Happy Birthday to You” singing – yup, right there in the middle of the food court. I also saw a flyer for some Indian party this coming Saturday. Unfortunately I’m gonna be in Zanzibar, but hopefully I’ll have the chance before I leave to add Nairobi to the list of cities where I’ve experienced bad Indian parties with unnecessary violence and 4-1 guy-girl ratios. Or maybe the 4-1 ratios explain all the violence. I never really thought of that.

Tomorrow I’m off to Zanzibar, then Cairo after that. Hope to have more to write soon. Pictures will likely be delayed, unfortunately, until I get back to the U.S.