What is their secret?

It has been almost two months since my arrival, a period sometimes filled with amazement and surprise. Over six weeks in Kenya, captured in a handful of arbitrary questions, in arbitrary order.

1. Why is a toilet seat never tightly fit and always moving, if there is a toilet seat at all?
2. Why can the portrait of President Kibaki be found hanging in most buildings, not only in the governmental ones, but also in hotels, restaurants and shops, but is it never hanging straight?
3. Why are the sheets on the beds this thin, in such a way that the mattress is always shining through?
4. Why do the locals scrub and mop their floors centimetre by centimetre on their knees, while scrub brushes and mops with handles are widely available and actually not that expensive?
5. Why are the locals’ shoes always tiptop shining as if they have just been polished, whereas my shoes seem to have attracted all the African dust and mud within five steps outside?
6. Why do Kenyans hang their laundry soaking wet, yet their clothes seem never to lose their model?
7. Why are there traffic lights on the major intersections in Nairobi, when everybody is ignoring them on a large scale?
8. Why does bread fall into pieces and crumbs after only one day, giving you a hard time trying to make a sandwich?
9. Why is President Kibaki referred to always by his last name and Prime Minister Raila mostly by his first name?
10. Why does carbonic disappear out of the cola within no time, even when you screw the top to the bottle very tightly?
11. Why do Kenyans exclaim “Excuse me!” when they have to sneeze?
12. How do the ladies manage to balance their way on the unpaved streets and through the potholes, rocks, mud and dust, while wearing the highest heels and the most fragile, elegant sandals?
13. Why is every toilet sealed with a padlock, even the most smelly pit latrine in the middle of nowhere?
14. Why do all cookies taste stale, even when you have just opened the package?
15. Why is almost the whole country heading for church on Sunday morning?
16. Why are public displays of affection not done, except for the park (and bars)?
17. How come at the most odd hours (like on Sunday family day) men can be found alone in bars, sitting all by themselves, solely kept company by their beers?
18. Why is beef by far the cheapest meat?
19. Why are virtually all streets in downtown Nairobi declared a no smoking zone, while at the same time you almost choke in the diesel fumes?
20. Why are there strict rules for littering in public places like parks, with huge penalties backing them, but most people do leave these places fully littered nevertheless?
21. Why is the bar always hidden behind a gate of heavy bars?
22. Why are most rooms in houses and offices lit by a single bulb only, preferably one of 100 Watt?
23. Why did nobody call me “Hey mzungu!” all this time?
24. Why is even watching football fun in this place?
25. How come everything smells, tastes, sounds and feels much more intense here?

“This is the Kenya we want”

Saturday night, downtown Nairobi, a quarter past seven, the city has almost gone dark. In the bus (Citi Hoppa) with direction Jamhuri we are awaiting our departure. Which is not scheduled according to a timetable, the ride will only start once all seats are taken.

While the bus is filling up slowly, one of the passengers at the back of the bus starts making weird sounds and shaking her head. Everyone turns to see what is going on. Even before the lady starts convulsing, several passengers shout: “She is having an epileptic attack!” They rise immediately to give first aid. And they know exactly what to do. The lady is laid down flat on the back bench of the bus; a pen is clenched between her jaws to prevent her choking in her tongue.

My love takes care of her glasses and keeps them in his custody. Meanwhile another passenger has found her mobile phone, searches the address book and calls her mother. “What do you usually do in such a situation?” This seems to be the only logical question, in a country where one cannot simply dial 911 in case of a medical emergency. Ambulances do exist, but are available only to those patients with a paid registration. And for the average Kenyan this kind of membership is beyond his or her reach.

Slowly the lady is regaining consciousness. The bus has filled up in the meantime, except for the seats on the back bench. And although every seat is an important income generator, both the driver and conductor decide to depart nevertheless. Off we go, this time not driving like mad as all busses and matatus normally do. On the contrary, the conductor urges the driver to drive pole pole (slowly). Which is remarkable, as all rides are usually operated in the greatest rush, thus providing a maximum income in a day, by rattling off as many rides as possible – the Kenyan ‘public’ transport is a private business.

The common idea about Africa is that abnormal behaviour is seen as insanity of bewitched persons, who need to be hidden in remote places and be kept away as far as possible. Even when this so-called insanity has a medical cause, like in the case of epilepsy. Not in this African bus, though. Everyone knows exactly what is happening and what to do. The sense of community is large, as both passengers and crew unify in taking this lady home safely. Nairobi turns out to be not that hard and rough after all.

Annan the hero

Kofi Annan still is one of the most mentioned names in the Kenyan newspapers, together with president Mwai Kibaki and prime minister designate Raila Odinga. Remarkably, Kibaki is mostly referred to by his last name, whereas Raila is mentioned by his first name. But leaving this aside, Annan is just Annan, the former Secretary-General of the United Nations, the Ghanaian who almost on his own (or so it seems) found a way out of the Kenyan crisis.

In the euphoric aftermath of the peace deal achieved by him, Annan continued to play an important role in Kenya, even long after he had left for his hometown Geneva. Being the new Best Friend to all the Kenyans, the media liked to mention him often. Sometimes even following the most peculiar approaches.

As it happened, in one of the Saturday editions of the Daily Nation an article was published under the significant title “Suave and sexy at 50”. It contained numerous tips for the Kenyan man over-50 years of age, how to exploit his matured status to catch a young lady. Because, as it was put: “Kenyans have a lot to thank Kofi Annan for. Not only did he deliver the much sought-after peace deal for Kenyans; he also managed to make men over 50 suddenly appear to be in vogue.” Every woman wants to have an Annan, every man wants to be an Annan.

The worshipping of the hero seems to have no boundaries. Even on the streets it is not to be missed. Many matatus* decorate their rear windows with portraits of their idols. Nowadays the image of the Ghanaian can often be seen rushing by. Tupac had to give way to Annan.

No wonder that, when Kibaki and Raila were disagreeing about the coalition government last week, all Kenyans were looking northward, towards Geneva. At first Annan remained adamant, it was the Kenyan leaders’ move now. But when the news leaked that the Kibaki-camp in particular clenched to an uneven division of the ministers’ posts (both in number and in weight), a statement was released in Switzerland. The designer of the peace pact used only one formulation to summarize the essence of this pact: equal sharing of power.

Annan has spoken and once again he has made it to all the front pages. And his magic is still working. Within a day, Kibaki and Raila declare that they have reached agreement. All ministers’ posts will be announced on Sunday 6 April, the new government will be installed on Saturday 12 April.

This is a development not totally to the satisfaction of the media and the wananchi (citizens). Their main frustration is the lack of achievement of their own leaders, on their own. This makes one of the readers of the Daily Nation suggest: “Why not appoint Kofi Annan the expatriate president of Kenya if it is, indeed, the case that it is he who has all the answers to the country’s political problems?”

Whether or not he is providing all the answers to the political problems, Kofi Annan will continue to play an important role in Kenya. This brings me to discuss the seemingly endless worshipping of Annan the hero with one of my colleagues.
He answers me with a question: “What do you call someone more than a hero?”
“A saint? Maybe God?” I suggest.
“That is what Annan is to the Kenyans.”

* Matatus = shared taxis, private minivans that constitute the alternative public transport, servicing fixed routes, often driving like mad

Inappropriate

Eldoret Showground is one of the largest IDP camps in Kenya. Approximately 12,600 IDPs (Internally Displaced Persons) have found temporary shelter here.

Showground, it sounds very inappropriate. But the name of the stadium was already well known, long before the terrain was turned into its current capacity. The show that nowadays is running continuously here represents the daily reality of (in this case) Kikuyu families who have fled their homes during the post-electoral violence. Now these families are housed in tiny tents, provided for by the numerous aid agencies that operate in this area.

Like a real show, the camp is tightly directed. Tent after tent is pitched orderly, row after row, field after field. In between the tents there is a space left of barely 20 centimetres; the rows are separated by a path that measures 1 metre at the most. The mud roads that lead through the camp are wide enough to accommodate the trucks and 4WD’s of the aid agencies.

The corner of each block of tents is marked by tents hosting the sanitary facilities, neatly separated in areas for gents and for ladies. At the end of the terrain big rectangular tents are pitched, serving as temporary schools. Almost all teachers are volunteers, often IDPs who hold a teaching degree. Meals are provided at regular hours.

The persistent story is that IDPs do not want to return to their origins, the places where they have been chased away from. Rumour has it that they feel staying in the camps is all quite convenient: no rent to be paid, while meals and schooling for their children are provided for.

Once faced in reality with the circumstances in the camp (a reality that is even more shocking than the images on television and in newspapers suggest), this is a view that is really hard to believe. Even for Kenyan standards, these people barely have a decent space to live in, lacking any form of privacy. The sight of the camp is gloomy, especially with the torrential rain of that moment. The terrain has turned into one big slough. On the clothes lines that are set up provisionally, the laundry is literally dripping from the never-ending rain. Where on earth does one find shelter in this place – and be satisfied with it at the same time?

And here I find myself, ploughing through the mud in the pouring rain, wearing my Madonna-dress and high heals. Even in that respect I am hardly prepared for the conditions of this camp. This visit came without prior notice, leaving me no time to change my official outfit. Quite inappropriate, yes... so who seems to be out of place here?

Eldoret’s trauma

Eldoret is Kenya’s fourth largest city. Located in the heart of the Rift Valley, the stage of the worst tribal clashes that grasped Kenya at the start of 2008. This is the area where the church was set to fire, burning at least 30 Kenyans alive. This is also the area were thousands of people fled from the violence, leaving their homes literally burning, chased as they were by armed gangs. This is the area where still the most IDP camps are situated (IDP = Internally Displaced Persons, preferably not called ‘refugees’, as this expression implicates that these people will never be able to return to the places where they have run away from).

News that never made it to Nairobi, let alone to the rest of the world:
* more churches have been set to fire, not only that one church that served as a symbol of how deep Kenya was sliding down
* not only Kikuyu (often portrayed as the ruling class, that was chased by all other Kenyan tribes) have found refuge in these camps; even today there are still camps existing hosting Kalenjin IDPs (the people that form the largest number in this area)
* the crisis has left communities completely divided; at schools, Kikuyu kids no longer mingle with their Kalenjin classmates and vice versa; churches are split, with Kalenjin celebrating mass in one building, and Kikuyu meeting in prayer at a different venue
* Eldoret is completely deserted after sunset, as if the residents are voluntarily obeying a curfew; the crisis may be ‘solved’, still nobody is willing to be out there after dark

Eldoret was my base for a couple of days, to assist with a Trauma Awareness Workshop organized by the Coalition for Peace in Africa (COPA). The COPA secretariat may have been situated in Nairobi for quite some years now, never was there a reason to implement any programme in the host country. Up till now. The recent violence in Kenya has led COPA to initiate a programme aimed at the regions that are worst hit by the crisis. In this programme, the expertise of the COPA members in the fields of trauma healing, reconciliation and peace keeping is deployed. The Trauma Awareness workshop is tailor made to give local community leaders (like church leaders, but also representatives of women’s groups) instruments to heal the deep wounds left in society by the recent crisis. Only by addressing these traumas the tension, which is still simmering under the surface, can be diverted, preventing new outbreaks of violence. And without adequate attention for their traumas, the victims of today might just as well turn into the perpetrators of tomorrow.

And the people of Eldoret and its surroundings are truly and heavily traumatized. Without an exception all workshop participants draw the most gruesome symbols of the violence, illustrating the touching stories they are sharing. Guns, pangas (machetes) and bows and arrows play the lead in their stories. They all have eye-witnessed the dead victims lying in the streets, which seemed to be left there carelessly – people did not dare to pick their beloved, in order to give them a proper funeral. Now they all avoid that one spot, terrified as they are for the scenes that are stuck in their memories.

Images that made it to the international news bulletins and that have left a profound impression here in Eldoret: those mobs of youths emanating an unprecedented aggression, those houses that were set to fire apparently arbitrarily, that church in flames packed with people, that boy with an arrow piercing his scalp, that toddler crying on the bed with his lifeless mum lying in a splash of blood on the ground.

Not to mention the heavy personal losses some of the participants have been facing: a woman who lost both her husband and her cousin, a man who saw his own house being set to fire, another man who discovered his friend in a pile of bodies in the morgue.

All nikubaya (bad news), as one of the participants summarized. Yet all these people have the power and the energy to confront their own traumas and subsequently share their experience and knowledge with their own communities. Their belief in the future is immense; their love for their homeland is endless. In the same week that left Kibaki and Raila disagreeing once again, this time on the completion of their coalition government, the real hope for Kenya could be found here, on grass roots level.