Where there's smoke

Smoky garden fires are ubiquitous in Nairobi

Fairly regularly, I am awakened in the middle of the night by the smell of smoke filling our house.

That’s not as alarming as it might sound, nor as rare as one might wish.

The source of the smoke does not come from inside our house. It’s not caused by an electrical malfunction or something left burning on the stove. The source is external, and the cause very basic. Most of our neighbors burn their garden clippings in their yards, and often, household garbage as well.

It’s a daily (and nightly) problem here in Nairobi. The city, indeed the whole country, has no public, residential garbage collection system. If you want someone take away your trash, you have to pay for a private service, which is what we do. But a lot of people don’t have access to collection services, or don’t want to pay for it if they do.

So they burn their rubbish.

Technically, trash/garden fires are illegal. That’s if you read the Nairobi City Council Bylaws. But no one seems to enforce the rules.

Anywhere you go in Nairobi, you can see fire smoke billowing across neighborhoods. It adds to the mix of diesel and gas fumes from unregulated vehicle emissions, dust from unpaved roads, and other household and industry pollutants. Throw in the methane from herds of urban livestock and you get a sense of the air quality concerns with which we live daily.

I have no way of measuring the impact of these garden fires on the local air quality and those of us who breathe it. But it’s clearly not good. They say that if you can smell wood smoke, you're breathing pollution that is hazardous to your health.

Wood smoke contains both gases and fine particles. The microscopic bits are so small they easily infiltrate homes, even when all the doors and windows are shut and the house well insulated. Also they don’t go away quickly, but tend to linger at ground level – sometimes for days.  Wood smoke contains toxic air pollutants like benzene, formaldehyde, acrolein, and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs). All smoke contains carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide.

To make matters worse, the fires in our neighborhood often contain plastics. The smell is acrid and cloying – and the impacts even worse. Burning plastic releases carbon monoxide, dioxin, and furans into the air - pumping more greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. And the smoke particles settle in the soil and water, further spreading their toxic range.

I’ve become something of a crusader against open fires in our neighborhood. I have gone dozens of times to knock on strangers’ gates asking them to put out their fires. I’ve asked nicely. I’ve asked less nicely. I’ve reached the hose over the walls around our compound to douse out the fires I could reach. I’ve rallied our landlord and the various staff around our compound to help with the cause.

But for the time being, it’s a losing battle.

Burning garbage is deeply embedded in Kenyan culture and practices – as is cooking indoors on wooden fires. Potential harmful effects from the smoke simply take a back seat to other needs and practices – like the lack of alternative ways of treating garbage.

But even when there are alternatives, getting people to change long-held practices is difficult, at best. 

In Kenya, as in many developing countries, countless international development programs have tried to convince people to use improved cookstoves instead of unvented indoor fires to cook, heat water, and warm their homes. The goal has been to address health concerns, environmental issues, and the human risks and burdens that come with having to collect firewood or other fuel to stoke these fires. Over and over the cookstove programs have failed, succumbing to the rejection that comes with things imposed (or even proposed) by outsiders looking in.  

In the meantime, the air pollution from indoor fires in the developing world continues to kill some 1.5 million women and children (who spend more time indoors than men) each year.

What about outdoor fires?  In Nairobi, the threat of City Council fines carries no weight, since the rules prohibiting fires are never enforced. This is rather remarkable in a country where police and other authorities regularly shake people down for bribes for minor or made-up traffic offenses, and corruption is rampant across public and political sectors.

There have been public health campaigns about the noxious effects of smoky fires, which have raised awareness to some extent. But that is only the first of multiple steps needed to actually change behaviors.

Increasingly, small solar powered devices are taking root across Kenya. The land has plenty of sunshine, and the costs of solar-powered cookers, lamps, water heaters, and such are becoming affordable enough that even poorer Kenyans are gaining access to them. Though their use is still limited, acceptance of these devices seems greater than for the various efficiency stoves brought in by well-meaning foreign do-gooders that depend on wood or other fuel.

As for private trash burning, there is clearly a dire need for incentives to adopt alternative practices.

As I’ve noted in a previous blog, good examples do exist of promising private, community-based garbage pickup and recycling programs, such as Nairobi’s Matare Environmental Youth Group. Located in one of the city’s biggest slums, the program has created jobs for youth, fostered civic engagement and leadership, and, by making communities cleaner, has also made them safer. Former rubbish-strewn spots have been made into recreational ones, further enhancing the physical and social environment. And according to neighborhood residents, the program has changed the way they handle garbage – in other words it has inspired positive behavioral change.

The potential for such programs is huge. In cities, like Lusaka, Zambia, for example, informal waste collection, sorting, recovery, and disposal account for 60% of urban jobs (UN Habitat).  The trick is to organize and support informal waste management programs so that they are safe and sustainable.

And if that requires government or donor subsidies, so be it.

The results are good for everyone. No smoke and mirrors. And especially, no smoke.

Don’t stand so close to me, unless we’re sweating

“Am I really that invisible?”

This is a phrase I’ve been known to use on my grumpier days in Nairobi, when yet another person has completely invaded my space, is breathing down my neck, and is trying to put his/her purchases down before I’ve finished placing mine in the grocery store check-out line.

It’s not that they mean to be rude, and it’s not that I’m slow to take care of my purchases. It’s just that many Kenyans have a different concept of personal space when it comes to standing in a queue.

In the US and Europe, there’s an accepted social distance from the customer in front of you. Peering over their shoulder (literally) to look at their money is pretty much taboo. Lots of stores have plastic separators to help delineate one person’s buys from another. Better yet, many increasingly use the method of having everyone wait at some distance until a checkout spot is free.

Here in Kenya, there are no such provisions, or expectations – though our local Toyota dealership does have a discrete sign by the cashier window asking people to “kindly” stand back while the person in front is paying. Still, in most cases it takes pointy elbows, and no small measure of insistence, to get any private space at all when it’s your turn at the till.

Personal space zones and concepts of acceptable social distances vary widely across cultures, as demonstrated by a study published several months back in the Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology by Agnieszka Sorokowska (and 50+ co-authors). The researchers were not the first to consider the question of “how close is too close” around the world – indeed there’s a whole science devoted to it called proxemics. But theirs was by far the most expansive study to date. The research was conducted in 42 countries across the Americas, Europe, Asia, and for the first time, Africa. Some 9,000 people were surveyed. Each was asked to use a simple illustration and graph to indicate appropriate social distances from three types of people: 1. a stranger, 2. an acquaintance, and 3. an intimate.

Not surprisingly, people all over the world indicated a preference for keeping more distance from people they didn’t know compared to those they knew well. In fact, the difference was about double. But the comfort zones varied greatly across societies, as shown in the table below. 

Source: Preferred Interpersonal Distances: A Global Comparison. Agnieszka Sorokowska, Piotr Sorokowski, Peter Hilpert, et al. First Published March 22, 2017 Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology Volume: 48 issue: 4, page(s): 577-592

Generally speaking, the study upheld a common view that people in warmer climates allow closer interactions. But the country-by-country comparisons revealed a picture that was both richer and more complex.

Take Norway. Though it’s climate can hardly be termed as warm, the country rated in the middle for social distance comfort levels with strangers. As for dealing with acquaintances and intimates, the Norwegians got down right cozy. Maybe it’s a way of coping with cold, long winters.

The sunny cultures of Italy, Greece, and Spain, reflected a Mediterranean acceptance of more closeness than lots of countries. Yet all three rated slightly below the more stoic cultures of Austria and Russia. Meanwhile, in Romania, a country with strong Latin influences in its language and culture, the expectation seemed to be that strangers, and even acquaintances, had better keep their distance.

Along with cultural variations, the study revealed strong gender and age differences regarding physical comfort zones. By and large, women preferred more distance than did men when it came to interacting with strangers, and older people were more stand-offish than younger ones.

Interestingly, people in Kenya reported favoring more personal and social distance than those in lots of other countries. Warm climatic conditions notwithstanding, Kenyan culture can indeed appear somewhat cold and formal, particularly compared to Western African cultures, for example. But when it comes to standing in line, other forces (e.g., impatience, vying for social dominance) take over, social distance be damned.

That said, in my anecdotal experience, there is lots of warmth and closeness in Kenyan culture – even towards a mzungu outsider like me. And in the right circumstances, getting close to people you don’t or barely know can be just fine.

I practice a lot of yoga here in Nairobi, primarily with the Africa Yoga Project. Most Saturdays, I join the free community class that takes place from 10am to noon. It is meant as an opportunity for teachers and visitors to lead a large class, and every week it draws some 300 participants, from diverse nationalities and walks of life.

The workout is great – loud, friendly, and intensely sweat-inducing. Though the studio is big, mats are closely placed one right next to the other to make room for everyone. Notions of personal space become very fluid and unimportant.

Photo: Africa Yoga Project

Any movement that requires reaching out laterally means either touching your neighbor or staggering yourselves to make space. Most teachers and participants embrace the proximity, turning balances and backbends into group activities. Airplane poses becomes close knit squadrons, as sweaty arms support sweaty bodies. 

The studio is a place filled with laughter, grunts, and hugs. The lack of personal space means there’s little room for pretentiousness – which in this case is quite liberating.

Photo: Africa Yoga Project

Definitions of personal space are clearly quite relative. Proximity can be invasive. But sometimes, breaking the barrier of personal space makes room for new connections. Sweating together is clearly a great way to break the ice of personal barriers. And while I may not be ready to give up defending my private space at the check-out line, maybe it’s the humanity of being brought together by such a common act as buying groceries that matters more. 

Photo: Africa Yoga Project

Speeds Bumps on the Superhighway

Speedbumps on the Thika superhighway. photo: Kathleen Walsh: https://kathleengoestokenya.wordpress.com/2015/03/18/top-10-kenyan-surprises-so-far/

In November 2012, Kenyan President Mwai Kibaki officially inaugurated the country’s first eight-lane road, known as the Nairobi-Thika superhighway. Construction took nearly three years and more than 4,000 workers. The highway heads NNE from Nairobi and is part of an expanse known as the Great North Trans-African Highway, meant to connect Cape Town (South Africa) to Cairo (Egypt). 

As it leaves Nairobi, the superhighway narrows from eight lanes to four. By the time it reaches the outskirts of Thika town, some 50 km from the capital, the road loses its “super” status and reverts to a two-lane highway. And that is how it continues over the Aberdare Mountains, past Mount Kenya, and across the northern Kenyan drylands all the way to the Ethiopian border. When I was up north in 2016, some of the furthest sections of the road had yet to be paved, though construction was underway to tarmac the full stretch.

Good roads are a rarity in Kenya. The number of major highways can be counted on one hand and rarely feature more than two lanes. Those connecting the port city of Mombasa to Nairobi and points beyond (e.g., Uganda, South Sudan) are deeply rutted and pocked from overuse and poor construction or maintenance. Famously, the last 80 km of the road leading to Kenya’s famous Maasai Mara reserve (one of the country’s biggest tourist draws) are not only unpaved but bone-rackingly bumpy and difficult.

So, the opening of the Thika superhighway was a big deal. Besides cutting travel times, the new road was expected to boost transport and trade – and through a phenomenon called the multiplier effect, serve as a major driver for economic growth. The expected payoffs in terms of new jobs and economic opportunities were such that the highway was dubbed “Kenya’s newest road to prosperity.”

Indeed, the superhighway has successfully spurred everything from corporate investments in new residential and commercial properties to the widespread development of small-scale shops, eateries, entertainment venues, and lodgings. It has cut travel times from Nairobi to Thika by half or more. And it is contributing to Thika’s booming growth and the development of bedroom communities along the way.

But the superhighway’s development has not been entirely smooth.

Most people in Kenya do not drive (gridlocked traffic in Nairobi notwithstanding). The country is ranked 152^nd worldwide in terms of per capita car ownership, with only 24 car owners per 1000 people. Compare that to bike/public transit-friendly Europe, where car ownership rates are well over 500 per 1000 people or the US where they are nearly 800 per 1,000. As a result, large swaths of the Kenyan population walk. And, if they can afford the fare, they depend on buses or motorcycle-taxis (known here as boda-bodas) to travel longer distances.

So, unlike highways in Europe or North America, where pedestrians are prohibited, the Thika superhighway is crowded with people – getting rides, hawking wares, and generally going about their business. And because of all the activity surrounding the super-highway, many of the pedestrians need to get from one side of its many lanes to the other.

For them, there are pedestrian overpasses, raised high above the highway to make room for even the tallest truckloads. But these are few and far between – and not necessarily well placed. Three of the footbridges empty onto highway no-man’s-lands, forcing pedestrians to cross dangerous feeder roads. The pedestrian bridges also have become the hangout of thugs, who wait to rob those trying to get from one side to the other, especially after dark.

To compensate for the lack of pedestrian bridges (or because funds for more of them were misappropriated), the highway developers installed a series of speed bumps and crosswalks at regular intervals ON THE SUPERHIGHWAY.  Not surprisingly, the results are anything but safe and efficient. For pedestrians, the crosswalks are  a dangerous but necessary gamble, and for motorists they are the causes of enormous back-ups and delays, largely defeating one of the super-highway’s primary purposes.

For those of us living in Kenya, the concept of speed bumps along a super highway is frustrating, but not entirely surprising. Indeed, it is an apt metaphor for many of the development efforts in this promising and industrious country.

Kenya has the largest economy in East Africa, and is expected to see a further 5.7-6% growth in 2017. This, in spite of a protracted drought that is threatening agricultural production (and millions of lives) in large parts of the country. Kenya has a growing middle class and has risen from low to middle income status.

But progress has been hindered by internal speed bumps in the form of corruption and cumbersome public policies. In September 2016, for example, the Kenyan government introduced a cap on the interest rates that banks can charge for loans. The effect has been to block access to credit for all but those that can meet increasingly high loan standards. Small and medium-sized enterprises, which fuel growth and development, are particularly hard hit – as are those that previously enjoyed concessionary rates for providing positive social impacts (e.g., clean energy, youth employment). The impact of the restricted credit flow, according to IMF estimates, will likely shave several percentage points off Kenya’s GDP growth.

Other factors, such as difficulties related to starting a business, registering property, enforcing contracts, and dealing with construction permits also impede development, and Kenya fares poorly (ranked 92 out of 190 countries) in the World Bank’s 2017 Ease of Doing Business indicators. A further World Bank report on Kenya’s economic growth revealed in 2016 that for the past decade the country has lagged behind expectations, and its East African neighbors, in terms of growth, exports, and investments. Had it kept pace with countries like Ethiopia and Tanzania, the average Kenyan income would have been 15% higher than it is – not necessarily benefiting everyone equally, but driving more jobs and demand.

Slowdowns in agricultural production and trade, along with a stagnant manufacturing industry, are partly to blame for putting the brakes on development. But the main culprits have to do with a dearth of functioning institutions. Education and health care are woefully inadequate and under-funded in Kenya. Public doctors and teachers have been on strike for months at a time because the government has not come through with overdue salary increases negotiated several years ago. Labor laws are outdated, and government processes are riddled with red tape, bribery, and corruption. Patronage, venality, and the despoiling of public resources have been longstanding characteristics of the Kenyan political system. Rampant corruption and a rip-off mentality trigger a social contagion that pervades just about every sector of society.

While these bumps and blockages may slow Kenya’s road to prosperity for years to come, the ones snarling traffic on the Kenya superhighway are destined to disappear soon. Last month a handful of high-level politicians, no doubt tired of sitting in stalled superhighway traffic, succeeded in pushing through a decision ordering the removal of the Thika highway speed bumps. The move created a flurry of suits and battles, including arguments over who should cover the costs. It also has presumably resulted in the planned building of four additional pedestrian footbridges – as soon as the money is awarded (sic).

Political action may smooth the way for drivers navigating between Nairobi and Thika. What it does to remove the greater barriers impeding Kenya’s road forward remains to be seen.

As the highway crosses northern Kenya, camels are more likely to slow traffic than vehicles.

Seats Available

If you’ve been following the health news, you’ll be well aware that one of the latest threats to public health is, sitting. Yes, this seemingly innocuous pastime is actually shaving years off our lives, according to a study published a few years back in the Annals of Internal Medicine Reviews (20 January 2015).

Sitting, it seems, causes all kinds of physiological havoc, due of its association with being sedentary. As one fitness site describe it:

“When you stop moving for extended periods of time, it's like telling your body it's time to shut down and PREPARE FOR DEATH.”

The list of problems associated with taking a load off one’s feet is impressive. It starts with a slow down of metabolism. Blood flow slackens and muscles burn less fat, which can then wander around and CLOG YOUR HEART. The pancreas produces more insulin, increasing the risk of diabetes and maybe cell growth, which combined with a lower production of antioxidants, may increase CANCER risk. And if that wasn’t enough, poor blood circulation in the legs can cause varicose veins, lack of activity lowers bone mass, and being sedentary causes the production of mood enhancing hormones to go down. Casual sitting is bad for the back, neck, and even brain function  – potentially raising the risk of DEMENTIA.

All in all, they tell us, sitting more than three hours a day may be costing us seven years of quality life.

And don’t assume that throwing in an hour of exercise each day can compensate for the nefarious effects of plopping down our backsides for hours at a time. Nope. It. Doesn’t. 

The situation is not entirely hopeless, according to the experts. But countering the effects of excessive sitting does require some effort.

One solution is to sit on something wobbly, like an exercise ball. I did this for years. I don’t know if it was healthier than a chair, but it was fun. Another recommendation is to get up and move around a lot. Every hour. Standing desks are effective alternatives, as are treadmill desks. Fidgeting is good, and pacing. So, too, are stretching exercises. The yoga poses of cat and cow are recommended, though awkward if you work in a cubicle.

All of this runs the risk of giving chairs a bad name. And that’s a shame, because the problem with sitting isn’t the chairs. The fact is, people have been using chairs of one type or another for 5,000 years or more. They show up in Egyptian tombs, on Greek vases, and among Pre-Colombian artifacts. And for most of that time, they have not been considered a health hazard.

Instead, chairs have long been appreciated as items that combine both form and function. Architect Witold Rybczynski recently published a book on the history of chairs, called Now I Sit Me Down (Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 2016), which highlights the beauty and utility of chairs across the ages, and around the world. He theorizes that the earliest chairs were probably folding ones used by traveling nomads in China, and considers the social implications and contrasts associated with who sits, or gets to sit, on seats – as well as cultures that forgo chairs altogether.

Though I haven’t undertaken a formal study of chairs around the world, they do tend to catch my eye when I travel. Especially empty ones. I find there’s something very touching and inviting about them. So, I often take photos of chairs and benches, and have built up quite a collection. Some of them are altered for artistic effect. Here are a few examples:

On a sidewalk in the San Isidro neighborhood of Lima, Peru, this child-sized stool was used by an older woman who would spend parts of her day watching people go by.

I loved the way this bench blended into the winter environment near the Matterhorn in Cervinia, Italy.

On the Kenyan island of Lamu, workers make a distinctive style of furniture that reflects the Indian and Arabic influences of their Swahili culture.

These low sitting chairs were offering a place of rest to visitors in a quiet corner of New Delhi's Red Fort.

When I was very young, you had to pay a fee to sit in the chairs of Paris' public parks, though the stone benches were free. Now you can enjoy the chairs, too, without spending a cent.

How to resist the invitation of a French bistro chair on a sunny terrace in Montmartre?

I have met pastoralists from multiple African tribes and countries. Young men from these communities typically carve their own stools, which they carry with them everywhere and may take different forms - in some cases also doubling as a pillow.

The plush seat of a horse-drawn cart in Cordoba, Spain was just waiting for flat-footed tourists.

This stack of chairs, including a child's high chair, were part of the purposely mismatched furnishings of a cafe in Lima's hip Barranco neighborhood.

Blue and white lounge chairs in Lugano, Switzerland barely marked the distinction between the town's alpine lake and a hotel swimming pool on a sunny summer afternoon.

Molded stackable plastic chairs have become ubiquitous around the world, but here were given a special feline flavor during an art exhibit in Lima's Parque Kennedy (home to many stray cats).

Although they look French, these classic outdoor chairs and tables were set up in a small park in New York City, including miniature versions for kids.

A park bench in Paris' Jardin des Plantes blended into the patterns of light and shadow on a sunny morning.

This empty bench was sitting in a once thriving but now abandoned train station along the western railway line of Kenya that, until recently, ran from Nairobi to Lake Victoria.

These chairs seemed to be abandoned and up for grabs on a quiet square in Amsterdam.

Is Cauliflower the New Brussels Sprout?

Classic white cauliflower from Nairobi

Now that Brussels sprouts are the new fab food, gracing fancy menus in New York, Paris, and even Nairobi, are cauliflowers next?

According to our housekeeper, an astute woman and farmer, cauliflower is a very lucrative crop here in Kenya – more so than spinach or broccoli. “Everybody grows spinach,” she says with a smile. She grows cauliflower and can attest to the fact that demand is high, not only from restaurant suppliers in Nairobi but also those who come from the coastal city of Mombasa.

Traditional Kenyan food tends to be bland and built around a few key staples. They mostly include maize meal or beans, greens, and for those who can afford it, grilled meat (generally goat). For flavor, there might be a few tomatoes or onions.

But coastal Kenyan food is a whole different story. The coast is populated by traders and seafarers, whose Swahili culture and cuisine reflect a fusion of influences from India, Arabia, and the Horn of Africa. The food is delicate, spicy, and delicious. The fish and seafood typically come directly from the crystal blue waters of the Indian Ocean. But most of the grain and produce are brought down from the cooler, dryer, and higher climates of central Kenya, including the Nairobi area. 

Indian food is popular in Nairobi as well as the coast, due to the presence of a highly influential population of Kenyans of South Asian heritage. Cauliflower holds its own in this cuisine, found in everything from curries and chutneys to dishes like aloo gobi and gobi fry.

The name cauliflower means cabbage flower, and like its more popular cousin the Brussels sprout, it is a member of the cabbage family Brassicaceae. Other related vegetables include cabbage, of course, but also bok choy, broccoli, kale, and collard greens. Interestingly, artichokes don’t make this list, as they are actually a kind of thistle and related to things like sunflowers and chrysanthemums.

Mark Twain qualified cauliflower as “nothing but cabbage with a college education." But the fact is that, like its cabbage family cousins, cauliflower is something of a super food.

Though very low in calories (<30/cup), cauliflower is highly nutritious. One cup provides a whopping 73% of the daily-recommended doses of vitamin C, along with a respectable list of other nutrients like vitamins B and K, folate, fiber, omega-3, manganese, potassium, and protein. It is said to be high in antioxidants and anti-inflammatory compounds, and credited with helping to prevent heart disease and cancer, while boosting bone health, digestion, and eye health.

There are hundreds of varieties of cauliflower, and it comes in a rainbow of colors. The most familiar is the snowy white version, but there are also orange, green, and purple varieties. Perhaps the most stunning is the green Romanesco variety. It features a shape made up of fractal spiral curds and looks like something that may have been grown under the ocean, or in a Dr. Seuss book.

Green Romanesco variety straight out of Dr. Seuss

Interestingly, the different varieties all taste the same, though their nutritional values vary a bit. The orange ones have more vitamin A, and the purple ones contain anthocyanins (also found in blueberries, grapes, and eggplant, among others), which may offer further anti-cancer and anti-inflammatory benefits.

Purple cauliflower

Cauliflower is a very versatile food. It can be eaten raw, roasted, stir-fried, mashed, microwaved, steamed, sautéed, pickled, puréed, shredded, and in everything from soups or salads to curries, casseroles, and more. For dieters, it is a good alternative to starches. An easy web search brings up all sorts of recipes for cauliflower-based carb substitutes, such as cauliflower rice, cauliflower muffins, cauliflower bagel, cauliflower pizza, cauliflower breadsticks, even cauliflower tater tots. The wide variety of recipes and articles about cauliflower also suggests that it is quietly becoming a foodie favorite.

So, while I’m not taking bets, I am rooting for the humble “cabbage flower.” I’m not sure I’ll be making cauliflower muffins any day soon, but I will be doing my part to support the local demand.

Walking for Change

Women's March on Nairobi, 21 January 2017

On January 21, 2017, Nairobi joined with groups, towns, and cities all over the world to host a Women’s March. The development was very organic, launched by a few devoted Kenyan and expat organizers, with plans spread largely through social media and word of mouth. The crowd included over 700 people, more than twice the expected size, and included men, women, and children of many nationalities. As with the marches all over the world, there were lots of causes and clever slogans. The atmosphere was warm, and the weather beautiful. The event lasted all day, with food, music, and presentations following the march itself.

The venue for the Women’s March on Nairobi was particularly appropriate. It took place in Nairobi’s Karura Forest, a space that is both beautiful and highly symbolic when it comes to women’s rights and protests. The forest lies entirely within the city limits of Nairobi. Bordered on one side by the massive United Nations (UN) campus as well as the tony neighborhoods of Gigiri, Muthaiga, and Runda, Karura covers some of the city’s most coveted real estate. As a result, the forest, which was gazetted as a reserve in 1932, has been repeatedly threatened by greedy developers – all too eager to cash in on its prized location.

In the late 1990s, there were several movements to protect Karura from encroachment by private developers, who started clearing parts of the woods on the forest’s northern side. Violent protests erupted in 1998, following shady land allocation arrangements between developers and the government. The development was halted, but in 1999 further violence broke out when a group of women led by Wangari Maathai staged a demonstration by planting trees near the forest’s northwest edge. Hired thugs attacked the women, sending several of them to the hospital, including Maathai. The head of the UN Environmental Programme (UNEP) threatened to move the organization’s headquarters out of Nairobi if the forest was destroyed, and UN Secretary General Kofi Annan also added his condemnation of the attacks.

A 2005 Kenya Forests Act put into place stronger protections that have helped preserve Karura. But as recently as 2016, new movements have been afoot by developers to turn the same portion of Karura defended by Maathai and her supporters into a luxury hotel. So far, they seem to have been quelled.

Wangari Maathai is revered as a great national heroine in Kenya. She died of cancer in 2011, but remains a huge role model and source of inspiration for Kenyan women. Maathai was the first East African woman to obtain a PhD, earning a doctorate in veterinary sciences from the University of Nairobi. She was the country’s first female associate professor and department chair, and chaired the National Council of Women in Kenya. Maathai’s tree-planting organization, called the Green Belt Movement, focused primarily on poor, rural women, offering them a source of skills and income in exchange for planting trees and restoring depleted natural resources.

Maathai was a strong advocate for community empowerment and openly defied government-backed corruption and abuse, for which she was jailed, beaten, publicly derided, and fired from her university position. In 2004, Wangari Maathai was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

Wangari Maathai's image is iconic in Kenya.

The young Kenyans I’ve asked speak enthusiastically about Maathai’s work and lessons, but older ones worry that her legacy may not outlast the pressures of urbanization and development.  Already, high-end housing is going up in green zones of Nairobi that Maathai tried to protect, and the struggle to save Nairobi National Park from encroachment is literally losing ground.

Maathai’s fight for women’s rights remains a challenge, too, as Kenya continues to be a country very much governed by traditional gender norms in culture and politics. Female genital mutilation (FGM), though technically illegal, remains widespread. Abortion is illegal unless there is a need for emergency treatment, or the life or health of the mother is in danger. As a result, women resort to unsafe abortions, which are the leading cause of maternal mortality in Kenya.

Under Kenya’s new constitution women are technically allowed to inherit property, but in practice they are still passed over in favor of male heirs. A 2014 Marriage Law legalized polygamy – for men. The bill initially stipulated that the first wife could override the husband’s choice of additional wives, but male Members of Parliament deleted that clause. Female MPs stormed out of the late-night voting session in protest. But female supporters of the law saw it as a way to formalize common practice, and more importantly, to offer protection to successive wives, who had not previously been recognized as officially married.

The Women’s March on Nairobi was primarily focused on fighting sexism and inequality, while calling for more inclusive and progressive governance. Slogans addressed issues such as ending FGM and the trafficking of women and children, the need for reproductive rights, addressing police and political corruption, women’s land and inheritance rights, and the implementation of the gender-based two-thirds rule in Kenya’s parliament. Signs called for protecting the rights of people with HIV, the LGBTQ community, people with disabilities, sex workers, refugees, and other marginalized groups. There were signs against Trump, and signs supporting healthy futures for our planet and people.

The Women’s March on Nairobi has succeeded so far in launching a flurry of follow-up activities, primarily targeting executive orders and appointments in the US. Whether it helps to further the causes of women’s rights in Kenya remains to be seen. But clearly, the fight to protect public rights and the environment will need to continue here in Kenya, as in the rest of the world.

Meanwhile, a study published the journal Environmental Science and Technology back in 2013 confirmed that living in urban areas with green spaces provides long-term positive impacts on people’s mental wellbeing.  Thus, the protection of places like Karura Forest is crucial not only for maintaining the quality of our air, water, and land but also for preserving our sanity. In these political times, that is going to be more critical than ever.

The Gimme Economy

Nearly every day when I walk my dog in our neighborhood of Nairobi, someone will say to me, “Gimme that dog!” 

Some people are very insistent: “Come on, just give it to me. Gimme your dog.” And while most are walking, others will actually lean out of their cars to say, “Gimme that dog.”

Needless to say, I’m very fond of our dog, and he’s not up for grabs.

Moreover, it’s not like there’s a shortage of dogs here in Kenya. There are plenty of strays, especially in the slums. Known locally as the Dagoretti Ditch Dog (named for one of the eight administrative divisions of Nairobi), Kenyan street dogs tend to be sleek, short-haired, and smart. They scrape out a living feeding on the ubiquitous piles of garbage that litter city streets and neighborhoods, and they do their best to stay out of the way of kicking humans and motorized vehicles. The lucky ones get taken to the Kenya SPCA, where they are given proper care and attention – and hopefully a new home.

Typical Dagoretti Ditch dogs up for adoption at the KSPCA

Meanwhile, my dog is a mutt. He’s of average intelligence, neutered, and probably about 13 years old. We adopted him as an adult from a shelter years ago. While very sweet, charming to look at, and immensely likeable – even to people who don’t particularly like dogs – he’s no best in show. Nor is he much of a guard dog – unless you happen to be a cat.

But it doesn’t matter. Because when people stop to ask for my dog, it’s not really about the dog. It’s about something I call the gimme economy.

The dictionary definition of “the gimmes” is a “reliance on or a demand for the generosity of others, especially as one's due.” It’s very common here in Kenya, and according to my Kenyan friends, is on the rise.

Several factors seem to be involved.

First, there’s the enormous gap between the lifestyle of people like me and that of the overwhelming majority of Kenyans. According to the UN Human Development Report, more than 43% of Kenyans live on less than $1.25/day. Minimum wage in Nairobi for unskilled labor is $100-$120/month, and if you are a guard, that salary requires working 12-hour shifts, 6 days a week.

Most poor people in Nairobi live in one of the city’s numerous and vast slums, typically within labyrinthine neighborhoods of one-room shanties composed of dirt floors and corrugated metal walls and roofs. Because the government considers slums to be “informal” communities, they do not provide them with any municipal services such as clean water, sewage, streetlights, paved roads, schools, or health care. What services do exist are provided by churches, NGOs, small enterprises, and community members themselves. The results are dirty but bustling neighborhoods, filled with crime and disease, but also a vibrant population that reflects the effects of both despair and determination.
 
Even people with formal sector jobs often have difficulty affording much more than a slightly better place in the slums or lower income areas. Most (65%) of them earn just $200-$400 per month. That’s sufficient to be considered middle class, but not enough to access decent living conditions, which are notoriously unaffordable.

Our modern house is relatively modest by expat standards, but it is cheery and bright and secure. We have power and plenty of indoor plumbing, not to mention a fridge, range, small kitchen appliances, and a machine for washing our clothes (no dryer or dishwasher, which are rare extravagances, indeed).

The vast income and lifestyle disparities between the poor and people like us breed a Robin-Hood-like mentality, based on the concept that it’s okay to take from the rich (as we appear to be in a relative way) to give to the poor. In fact, it's expected - as one's due. 

This viewpoint has been reinforced through generations of international and humanitarian aid – long doled out in the form of handouts. While understandable during times of crisis, such as the looming threat of widespread malnutrition this year due to extended droughts, the long-term dependence on outside assistance has led to warped expectations about one’s due.  Both the humanitarian and development communities are trying to address the issue of learned dependence by replacing it with approaches that require community and individual inputs and participation in exchange for aid and investments. But it’s a tough mentality to change.
 
And it’s one that reverberates world wide, especially in the context of the gift economy of social media. Years ago (September 2002) the Wired ran a special report story about people using webcam culture to solicit gifts from strangers, touching on a concept they called the “please gimme economy” (the only other reference I’ve found to a gimme economy culture). 

“Why fold jeans at the Gap when you can get a new DVD player by making puppy-dog eyes into your webcam?” the story asked. It went on to say that: 

“In exchange for posting flirty photos, journal entries, and casual chat, these young experts in urges and acquisitions are hauling in pretty cool gear. Their sites are linked to mainstream registries at Amazon.com and elsewhere. The gift strategy seems to work, though police worry the sites can be a prowling ground for pedophiles.”

More recently, we’ve seen the advent of crowd-funding appeals to help people do everything from paying medical bills or start up business costs to going on holiday, saving circus lions, or sewing teddy bears for child cancer patients. But somehow, there’s a difference between being asked to give to a cause and the expectations of the gimme mentality.

So, while I do give generously to all kinds of causes and people here in Kenya, particularly those connected to promoting new livelihood choices for the poor, I’m not buying into the gimme economy.

And I’m not giving anyone my dog.

My dog may be a mutt, but he's not up for grabs.