Don't Panic!

Google doodle, 11 March 2013

Google recently paid tribute to Douglas Adams, on what would have been his 61^st birthday. Adams was the author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and 4 other books filled with that biting humor the British do so well.

The Google doodle features, among other things, the words “don’t panic” – one of the main pieces of advice from the Hitchhiker’s Guide.

Living in Nairobi, and having just come out of the Kenyan elections, those words just brought a big smile to my face. The national elections here were held on 4 March. It took five days for the results to be announced officially, with Uhuru Kenyatta (son of Kenya’s first president) declared the winner in the first round. His main rival Raila Odinga is challenging the results, but saying he will do so in court and not in the streets.

This all comes after many months of anticipation and concern. Because of the violence, deaths, and displacements of people that followed the last elections in December 2007, there was much fear and concern that things would turn ugly once again this time around.

In the international and diplomatic community, the word “panic” is not far from what was happening in the months building up to this election, particularly the final few weeks. Some embassies flatly told their citizens to leave the country. Many offices and organizations made arrangements for staff to work from home or abroad.

We received messages and instructions, not only from Britt’s office but also through all sorts of expat networks, saying that we should ensure we had enough food, water, and fuel to last 2 weeks. We were supposed to stock up on batteries, make extra copies of vital documents, and pack up an “escape bag” in case we needed to be evacuated in a hurry. We were given a satellite radio in case mobile phone services were interrupted. We had all sorts of dire warnings about upping security even more than usual – not to mention the emails from fellow expats warning that the supply of long-life milk was running low, so we’d better GET WITH IT NOW. We were told to make plans for our pets, who wouldn’t get to come if we were evacuated. We were given a map with “red zones” to avoid during the election (which coincided pretty closely with the places you need to avoid anyway). We were invited to numerous security briefings (all of which we missed).

The lines at the supermarket became even longer than usual starting about 10 days before the election. You could see people stocking up on the oddest things (a full crate of bbq sauce, really?). 

We stocked up on water, pesto, red wine, and dark chocolate. I bought some tinned fish and pasta. I also purchased an extra mattress and sheets in case it was too dangerous for any of our guards to leave our compound, and did buy some basic food supplies for them.

But we’re not the panicky types really, so tried not to get pulled into the pre-election panic frenzy. 

And we spoke with locals. We talked to Kenyans who were praying for peace, singing for peace, even fasting for peace.

On election day, we walked to the public school near our house, which serves as a polling center. We saw the long lines and people waiting patiently for hours to cast their votes, lines which were far longer in the shantytowns.

In the end, there was very little violence. Nairobi was instead far quieter than usual. There was very little traffic. The weather was lovely. Most schools were closed for the full week following election day. Shops and supermarkets reopened during the course of the week. For people like us, it was fine. We worked from home. We ate our pesto and drank our wine.

But it was a strain for the poor. The few “matatu” buses that were running doubled their fares. The same was true for the small kiosks selling food and supplies in poor neighborhoods – those that were open jacked up their prices.

I’m not especially optimistic about the election outcomes. There are still hurdles to overcome with regards to the disputed election results and the ICC case against Kenyatta and his vice president to be heard at The Hague in July. Mostly, I’m not convinced that these new leaders will take the country in a positive direction. I think THAT force is more likely to come from civil society, from the dynamic movers and shakers I’ve met across numerous sectors. It will come from those with the drive and opportunity to move things forward, even if only with tiny steps. 

Now, as it happens, we’ve recently been upgrading our home security systems. It wasn't meant to coincide with the elections, but that's how it worked out. Among the improvements is a new set of “panic buttons” spread throughout our house and with our house staff. This is standard stuff around here.

Our goal is to never have to hit the panic buttons in our house. But these new buttons are so sensitive they keep getting set off accidentally. This triggers a call from the security company and truck load of security guards, who show up within minutes at our door.

The first question we get when they respond is, “are you okay”?

To which I’m tempted to respond, “yes, yes, DON’T PANIC!”

Bird Time

“What time is it?”

I’m buried under covers, very much in the haze of sleep still, with only half an eye open.

“It’s bird time,” answers Britt.

I laugh, because I know exactly what that means.

sunbird by our house

It means the sun has started to rise, and the songbirds are starting their day. It means that it’s not yet 6:30 am, because the birds are in full chorus. In my pre-Nairobi days, it would have meant I’d overslept – thanks to a series of jobs with early start times. 

But now, bird time, as Britt calls it, means welcome to the day. It’s the inevitable morning concert outside our windows, and one of the many charming aspects of living and waking in Nairobi.

 hornbills by our terrace

There are more than 1,000 different species of birds in Kenya. Some stick around all year, and others pass through on their ways across multiple continents. They come in an incredible variety of sizes, colors, and types – from the giant-size ostrich, Cory bustard, and secretary bird to the tiny and colorful sunbirds and firefinches. There are marine birds, terrestrial ones that rarely fly, raptors that nest in the cliffs and tall buildings, birds that prefer farms or field, nocturnal birds, woodland dwellers, elegant ones like the crowned cranes, and the ones that live in gardens like ours.

harrier hawk on our terrace

I’m not sure how many varieties of birds we have in our yard. But “lots” would be a close guess. We definitely have different weavers, finches, and doves. I’ve seen woodpeckers on half-dead branches and mousebirds on the electrical wires. Sunbirds like the hibiscus flowers and groups of firefinches and something a friend calls LBJs (for little brown jobs) zip around in clusters. We have a regular pair of hadada ibis on our mulch pile, and a pair of prehistoric-looking silver-cheeked hornbills that jump around noisily on the sunroof. There’s a big harrier hawk that visits regularly, too.

And those are just the ones that are easy to identify.

Back in January, I joined an outing with a group called Nature Kenya. They meet up at the National Museum every Wednesday morning for birdwatching, and at least one Sunday per month. In January, they went out almost daily to conduct an annual bird count in different parts of the country.

The day I joined we went to the Thika water treatment area, about 30 minutes northeast of Nairobi. It is in a place with natural marshes and a series of ponds used to filter sewage water. They are open air and not nearly as disgusting as you might expect. Ours was a very large group, with many serious bird specialists there for the count. Most of them are young Kenyans, who have trained as tour guides and specialized in birds as a professional advantage and out of personal passion.

There were also a dozen or more mzungu bird enthusiasts and experts, most of whom seemed to be long-time regulars. They know their birds. And because they are enthusiasts, not competitors, they were only too happy to share their knowledge and remarkable ability to spot and identify birds with novices like me. 

Their leader is a woman, who is well known for the warm and welcoming way she shares her extensive bird knowledge. I’d read and heard about her through various venues. And it was a real treat to see her in action, patiently pointing out every bird, repeating its name several times for everyone to hear, and sharing different things about its habits and usual habitat.

We looked just as you would expect. A bunch of people equipped with the requisite binoculars, floppy hats, and sensible shoes. Some also had bird guides in hand or cameras with huge lenses.

There was a time when I might have found this embarrassing.

Now, I find myself investing in better binoculars.

guinea fowl

hammerkoop

Hoopoe

ostrich with chicks

Gwinner Abbey

Gwinner Abbey - our Nairobi abode

“My wife left me this morning.”

I’m standing in front of our house, looking at our driver, James.

He has just spent three hours on the road going to the airport and back to drop off one of our guests.  That’s Nairobi traffic for you.

I’m squirming on the inside. Clearly, James would like a sympathetic ear.  He’s jumpy and upset. But I also know that once he starts talking, he has a hard time stopping. And I’m not really his counselor or best friend. I’m supposed to be his employer.

James is the latest hire out of a series of people who take care of us, our house, and our guests in various ways. We get a kick out of the idea that our driver is named, James, and resist the temptation to say, “Home, James.”

The fact is that we’re not totally comfortable with all this domestic help. We didn’t grow up in Downton Abbey nor with a bevvy of staff accustomed to being ordered about to meet our every whim.

We had some exposure to this in Lima, where we had a live-in maid. The live-in part was her preference and not ours. She kept our apartment very clean in spite of its enormous size. And she drove me crazy.

Here in Nairobi we have a housekeeper (who, unlike a maid, goes home every evening). Britt picked her out, and deliberately chose someone whose temperament was the near opposite of our Lima maid. Our housekeeper is calm, competent, and discrete. She manages to keep our giant house sparkling and under control. And instead of driving me crazy, she helps keep me sane.

We also have an assembly of guards, with a regular day guard, a night guard, and a few others who replace them on their days off. They show up rain or shine, some of them walking an hour each way to get here. They wear crisp blue uniforms and stand very straight (as does just about every Kenyan I’ve met). They bond with our dog and watch who/what comes and goes, neatly keeping notes in a daily logbook.

Our yard is vast and full of trees

Then there’s the gardener, Jacob. We share him with the other houses of our compound, which are all owned by the same landlord. Our yard is nearly the size of a football field, and is covered with trees. There are exotic flowerbeds and flowering plants on the edges, which pretty much take care of themselves. But the trees drop leaves constantly. So Jacob spends a lot of time sweeping and raking. The swishing of his broom, made of fresh twigs, is a regular part of the morning concert at our house. It joins with the daily chorus of birds, chatting of guards, and shouting of instructions from the sports coaches at the school next door (who, in true British school form, start swim practice at 6:30 am regardless of the weather).

These people comprise the main cast of characters that makes up the “downstairs” crew of our upstairs/downstairs expat lifestyle. Others, such as the property manager, generator technician, plumber, and especially the electrician, Charles, make regular guest appearances.

The “upstairs” cast is small – mostly just Britt and I, plus occasional visiting family and guests.

The thing of it is, although we certainly don’t identify ourselves as part of the “upstairs” crowd, it’s a role that has been thrust upon us by our situation. We live with the stark contrast between our Unitarian ideals of equality and the vast inequalities between our lives and those of the people who work for and around us.

So, we pay salaries that are much higher than the norm. And we give the housekeeper extra money to provide lunch for all the staff. Because she’s very frugal, she stretches it to also cover breakfast and tea, which makes our house a very popular place with all the workers and repair people.

We try to be fair and generous in other ways.

And sometimes that means lending a sympathetic ear.

So, I listen as James lets off some steam about his wife’s departure. I tut-tut and say, “maybe it’s all for the best.”

And then we say goodbye for the weekend. He walks off to catch a bus to his humble abode, and I turn and step back into our house and the luxury of a privileged life.