A Different Kind of Christmas

Diani Beach, Kenya, December 25, 2012. This is the first time in many years that we are not spending Christmas in Washington, DC, with a routine of Christmas Eve service, followed by late dinner, and sleep-in to Christmas morning, followed by presents and late lunch with a jolly assembly of friends and family.

Even when we lived in Peru, we made the trip back to the US annually. We would regroup our scattered nuclear and extended family to see familiar faces, experience cold weather, and smell the scent of Christmas trees.

But this year is different. We’ve got just one of our two sons with us, and no added family or friends. We’re celebrating in the southern hemisphere, where the rains are finally letting up and hot season is starting to set in. Instead of wishing for snow, we’re experiencing the white sand beaches and clear blue water of the southern Kenya coast. There are palm trees, exotic flowers, and monkeys in the gardens. We have sunburns from snorkeling and drink Tusker beer lazily.  We work out at the gym, and enjoy the luxuries of spa massages and private yoga classes. We are in a resort hotel, where the guests are from all over the world, and many don’t celebrate Christmas. 

We drove from Nairobi, and rather than going through Mombasa, which is bound to be blocked with traffic jams this time of year, we took some back roads. We spent two nights in the Taita Hills and Tsavo National Park, encountering numerous packs of elephants, antelope of many kinds, and exotic birds. We saw hippos munching on grass and encountered the elusive Tsavo lions – famous for being mane-less, man-eaters, and larger than the ones you see elsewhere.

We are lucky to live in an amazing country – known by some as the cradle of mankind and certainly punctuated with beautiful landscapes.

Merry Christmas from Kenya!

Pole pole

Sign cautioning drivers to go slowly

Though many things may look and seem familiar, when you are a stranger in a strange land, there are often subtle differences in the way things work or happen. And you quickly find out that even if the local way of doing things seems inefficient or strange, that’s just the way it’s going to be. Generally speaking, you’re not going to change it. Instead, it’s you who will have to change. You’ll have to adjust your expectations, shift your attitude, and learn to be flexible.

You will also learn to be patient. Patient with the unexpected, patient with jams and hurdles, patient with a slower pace, and patient with yourself.

In these moments, I fall back on one of the few Swahili expressions I know, “pole pole.” Pronounced poe-lay poe-lay, it means slowly, slowly. Just saying it can have a soothing effect and give you the momentary pause needed to take a breath and take stock of the need to be flexible and go with the flow.

Pole pole is actually part of a longer saying that goes like this: “Pole pole ndio mwendo, haraka, haraka haina Baraka.” It means, “slowly, slowly indeed we go, hurry, hurry has no blessings.”

This is not to say there aren’t times when faster, faster would be better. Here in Nairobi, you can literally sit for hours in stuck traffic or wait endlessly for service. Standing in line can feel like a national pastime, and even things that are designed to be automated can backfire and require multiple approvals, phone calls, or visits to customer service.

But to me, pole pole is more about frame of mind.

As a working mother with young children, I spent years saying, “hurry, hurry – c’mon, c’mon.” And I remember the day it came to a peak when I nearly collided with another working mom.  We were both dashing up the elementary school steps from opposite directions to pick up our children in their afterschool program. Reaching the top, we looked at each other, stopped for an instant, and laughed. I said, “don’t you feel like you are always running”? And she answered, “yes, and that no matter what you do, you are always running late!”

In those days, my annual New Year’s resolution was always the same: not to drive through yellow traffic lights. We lived in Washington, DC, where the common practice was to charge on through them. So, I was at risk of being rear-ended for stopping when the light was yellow. But it wasn’t really about traffic rules, or being a good doobie. It was about reminding myself to slow down, in a life and a city where everything was, “hurry, hurry.”

Now in Nairobi, we live a life of many privileges, but also one that requires patience and cool heels. Getting things done is a multi-step process Power outages are frequent, and Wi-Fi connection is sporadic. The roof leaks. We’ve had rats in the attic, bats in the stairs, and monkey pee on our living room floor. And we encounter frequent communication barriers that come from speaking the same language (English) different ways.

But little by little we learn. Pole pole we make our way, and are far better for having taken the time to do so.

Driving on the Left

One of the tricks when you first get used to driving on the left is to follow another car, and also remember that the center line should be on the same side as the driver.

In Kenya, cars drive on the left hand side of the road. It’s a legacy of the British colonial rule. Some people will (half) jokingly tell you that cars drive all over the road here. It’s partly true. It’s not that unusual to encounter a car heading straight at you in your lane, coming from the other direction. There is a tendency to pass on blind curves and hills, especially on the part of matatu drivers, who have a well-deserved reputation for terrible driving. And there’s the occasional, confused expat.

I was pretty nervous about driving on the left, initially, even though other newcomers had told me it wasn’t very hard. It does help a lot to drive a car designed for left-side driving. We once drove a French rental car in England, and that was truly terrifying. There are several helpful tricks, too, which had been shared with us. One is to remember that the center line should always be on your right, or on the driver’s side. Of course, this presumes that the road has a center line, which is not always the case. Another is to follow other cars, which is easier when there’s plenty of traffic. But, what we found best for us was simply to keep saying to ourselves, “I’m driving on the left, I’m driving on the LEFT.” I know it sounds goofy, but it’s surprisingly effective.  It’s particularly helpful when you are coming out of a parking spot, and need to make sure you get launched in the right direction.

In the end, we both picked up left-side driving pretty quickly – in a matter of days. However, other associated habits have been harder to change. Looking over your left shoulder when you back up is really counter intuitive. And it's hard to remember which way to look when you are crossing the street as a pedestrian. Shifting gears with the left hand takes getting used to. Remembering to enter the car on the front right side as a driver (or on the left as a passenger) really takes time to master. We still mix that one up. But the craziest is keeping straight which side of the steering wheel has the turn signal or the windshield wiper command. There’s less consistency here. Cars from Japan have the turn signal on the right and wipers on the left, whereas those from Britain have it reversed. We have one of each, so often wipe the windshield to signal a turn.

As we master life on the left, there’s also a whole new vocabulary to learn. Again, this is associated with the British influence in Eastern Africa. Much of the car-connected terminology is British English. So, you fill the car with petrol rather than gas, store things in the boot rather than trunk, and clear off the windscreen instead of a windshield. 

As for converting the price of petrol from shillings to dollars, or liters to gallons, don't bother trying. Fuel here is expensive and the gas stations often run out. That's all you really need to know. 

Ah, but to wander aimlessly

Lane by our house where even a wandering muzungu is welcome to walk

One of my favorite ways to discover and enjoy a city is on foot. I love to walk. And it’s nice to mingle with the crowds and city activity at a strolling pace.

Unfortunately, as a white person in Nairobi, walking about is pretty much out of the question. It is considered far too unsafe.  To walk about as a white person is seen to be setting yourself up as a target for theft or further troubles.

This is in spite of the fact that you see Kenyans walking everywhere. Cars are prohibitively expensive for the vast majority. There’s no public transportation. There are small private buses, called matatus, which many people use to get around. They are generally very crowded and infamous for their dangerous driving habits. This is not unlike many other parts of the world – certainly it was our experience with “combi” drivers in Peru. But even the matatus are too pricey for lots of people.

So they walk.

Some walk hours each day to get to work and back. Even small children walk long distances to go to school. They walk rain or shine – both of which are highly common here. They put up with the dust and mud and passing vehicles that rarely cede the right of way.

Other than in the downtown area, known as the central business district (or CBD), there aren’t many sidewalks. So, people walk along the side of the roads. The paths are uneven, and frequently treacherous – with holes in unexpected places, various obstacles, and sometimes very little space separating the pedestrians from the passing traffic.

In our part of the city, the roads are windy and narrow. They make their way through lovely hills and valleys, across a surprising patchwork of residential constructions and urban agriculture. The median strips, the edges of roads, and the creek valleys are lined with small patches of corn, potato, beans, and cabbage. Garden plants are displayed for sale, and people will tell you that the area used to be covered with coffee plantations.

It’s very pretty and lush. But unless I am driving, it is considered out of bounds, because I am a mzungu. Mzungu is the term used here for white people. It is said to be derived from the Swahili word “zungu” meaning to wander aimlessly – or confusedly, according to some definitions.

So, you’ll note the ironic discrepancy between being named for being an aimless wanderer yet  prohibited from wandering aimlessly because of being a mzungu.

I talked about this with our housekeeper and day guard the other afternoon. I was sharing with them the fact that I regret not being able to walk places. They both looked at me incredulously. One of them voiced what they were both thinking: “Why would you want to walk when you can go anywhere you want with your car?” 

That was sobering.

It’s hard to justify to someone who cannot even dream of every having a car, why as a car owner there are times when you’d really rather walk. 

I didn’t try.  It seemed that any explanation I might offer could come out as trite, disrespectful, or just utterly naïve.

Have I completely given up on my penchant for aimless wandering? Not quite.  I’ve folded to local ways, finding and using the spots that are considered okay for walking: our immediate neighborhood, the well-patrolled Karura Forest, and places outside of town, where hiking is allowed and the threat of robbers, brigands, or large carnivores is minimal.