It’s telling when you sign up for a full day tour two hours away, and discover you are one of only two people doing it. To me it reveals the tour service has set itself up to make a profit regardless, but also that the driver and guide are in need of their small bit of compensation despite the lack of participants. Frank (aged 22) was my guide, and Patrick (42) the driver. Both were engaging and informative. They gently felt out if I was open to conversation and once I established I relished the exchange, we had a fun drive.
They asked about the US, and my family, and personal interests, and I returned the favor. I asked what they thought of their new president, who came in last year. An instant “TSkkk!!” (A Kenyan exclamation of deep disgust) was followed by an impassioned: “He has done NOTHING he promised, and in fact the opposite! He is more corrupt than the previous one!”
Yet the situation is familiar, revealed by some questions in our exchange: “John, what do you think of Mr Trump? How is it so many in America cannot see how he plays directly into Putin’s hands? Even here in Kenya, we can see he is a buffoon, pulling his followers along with lies but only out for his own benefit!” Ummm, yes.
But we also spoke of family and loves. Patrick has four children and seemed grounded and devoted to his spouse. I’ve been glad to hear most of the drivers (perhaps because they are not living the rural life) are choosing to have smaller families. Four is small by the Catholic majority standards of the previous generation here. Given that five out of ten of the world’s most populated cities will be on the African continent by 2030, and we are globally straining resources everywhere, this was a good trend to me.
Frank asked if I was religious, and I told him I’d been raised Catholic but was no longer. I said my family was middle class, but more so was very rich in love, which is true. Most Kenyans understand and appreciate this, as there remains a strong sense of community that begins with family and extends far beyond, in subtle, good ways still affecting much of their society. I’d even suggest to a degree in the driving habits, where despite seeming chaos there’s a polite communal undercurrent. IE: Horns are mostly lightly tapped for communication (very rarely in anger). Generally there’s an assertive yet also mostly kind, organic flow as traffic weaves in and out. No middle fingers and little energy expended on anger; drivers just shrug, “tsk” softly at foolish moves, and move on.
Except for the aggressive Boda badas (motorcycle courier services that deliver people and all manner of goods) which blatantly act as if they are infallible and irritate all other drivers. It’s amazing what I have seen being carried on these (sheets of plywood, 8 crates piled well over my height. Yesterday it rained on return from Hell’s Gate. I saw a moto with a bundle of goods over two meters high roped tightly under a tarp, with another man riding atop all this, as the motorcycle driver climbed the wet bumpy pavement amid semi-trucks in a downpour.
Perhaps because there are many pedestrians crossing traffic (and even some animals) most drivers seem to have an especially keen awareness all around them, including the centimeters between the edge of their vehicle and others’. At first it made me cringe, but now I trust it as I’ve never been in a vehicle that touched another. Even on this very busy two-lane road, during our constant passing of the big slow trucks, cresting hills, other vehicles always allowed our car to merge back in ahead of the oncoming vehicles — albeit often with a second to spare.
When I asked if he was religious, our driver Patrick pointed to the cross hanging from his rear view mirror. “Catholic.” I asked why the Catholic Church was so prominent since the Brits were a Protestant people, and he said it was their insight to establish schools throughout the country in colonial times, serving the non-wealthy Kenyans, usually with a church as well. In this way people of all tribes became more loyal to their Catholicism generations ago, than the government which was and still is corrupt.
Realizing it was a Sunday I told him I felt Catholic guilt. “Why?” he asked. I said not for me, but because I was keeping him from his church services. He laughed and said “John, I had a conversation with God. He said this man John visiting Kenya was in need of asssitance, and I want you to go and help him!” I saw a twinkle in his eye in the rear view mirror as he said “My wife and children in fact will pray for me this morning, and I assure you we are all ok in the eyes of God.” I said I was sure God also didn’t mind him earning some income, and thanked him for relieving me of my guilt.
His younger colleague, Frank was a senior in college studying tourism. I learned through Patrick’s cajoling he had dated a white woman and now decided finding a white partner was his new goal. Frank absorbed the teasing of his older coworker, and shyly owned up to his quest on my prodding. I suggested to Patrick he was young and “fishing” which elicited the familiar spontaneous Kenyan laugh that I’ve come to very much enjoy. It’s been fun to discover my humor meshes very smoothly here.
To Frank’s “fishing,” It’s hard to underestimate the entrenched generational class system still lingering here. I expressed how I was the odd Muzungu who liked to walk places — usually the only light-skinned person on the main thoroughfares and sidewalks anywhere in sight. Further unique as I didn’t have a cross necklace, bible, or diplomatic tags, and was too old to be a student.
The vast majority of those who walk here can’t afford a ride. Except maybe public busses, which they may understandably wish to avoid. Often with music blaring, these busses and expanded vans are always packed tight, people literally hanging out of open windows and doors, even as they careen around curves on tight two lane roads. I suspect it may be a bit confounding to many why a white person (= wealthy) would walk the sidewalks and rotate clay paths of the common folk. I greeted people of all ages eye to eye, which elicits different responses. The older teen boys often attempt to look tough (same everywhere!) and the women in general are modest but (I hope) sense I’m simply being friendly and usually return a warm greeting. Of course I’m always at ease with children anywhere, and they me. But I feel I especially surprise the elders, who, after sensing my sincerity, openly return a smile, “Hallo!” or “Jambo!” and seem genuinely appreciative of the encounter. Considering what they have seen and endured in the last 70 years here, so am I.
They asked about the US, and my family, and personal interests, and I returned the favor. I asked what they thought of their new president, who came in last year. An instant “TSkkk!!” (A Kenyan exclamation of deep disgust) was followed by an impassioned: “He has done NOTHING he promised, and in fact the opposite! He is more corrupt than the previous one!”
Yet the situation is familiar, revealed by some questions in our exchange: “John, what do you think of Mr Trump? How is it so many in America cannot see how he plays directly into Putin’s hands? Even here in Kenya, we can see he is a buffoon, pulling his followers along with lies but only out for his own benefit!” Ummm, yes.
But we also spoke of family and loves. Patrick has four children and seemed grounded and devoted to his spouse. I’ve been glad to hear most of the drivers (perhaps because they are not living the rural life) are choosing to have smaller families. Four is small by the Catholic majority standards of the previous generation here. Given that five out of ten of the world’s most populated cities will be on the African continent by 2030, and we are globally straining resources everywhere, this was a good trend to me.
Frank asked if I was religious, and I told him I’d been raised Catholic but was no longer. I said my family was middle class, but more so was very rich in love, which is true. Most Kenyans understand and appreciate this, as there remains a strong sense of community that begins with family and extends far beyond, in subtle, good ways still affecting much of their society. I’d even suggest to a degree in the driving habits, where despite seeming chaos there’s a polite communal undercurrent. IE: Horns are mostly lightly tapped for communication (very rarely in anger). Generally there’s an assertive yet also mostly kind, organic flow as traffic weaves in and out. No middle fingers and little energy expended on anger; drivers just shrug, “tsk” softly at foolish moves, and move on.
Except for the aggressive Boda badas (motorcycle courier services that deliver people and all manner of goods) which blatantly act as if they are infallible and irritate all other drivers. It’s amazing what I have seen being carried on these (sheets of plywood, 8 crates piled well over my height. Yesterday it rained on return from Hell’s Gate. I saw a moto with a bundle of goods over two meters high roped tightly under a tarp, with another man riding atop all this, as the motorcycle driver climbed the wet bumpy pavement amid semi-trucks in a downpour.
Perhaps because there are many pedestrians crossing traffic (and even some animals) most drivers seem to have an especially keen awareness all around them, including the centimeters between the edge of their vehicle and others’. At first it made me cringe, but now I trust it as I’ve never been in a vehicle that touched another. Even on this very busy two-lane road, during our constant passing of the big slow trucks, cresting hills, other vehicles always allowed our car to merge back in ahead of the oncoming vehicles — albeit often with a second to spare.
When I asked if he was religious, our driver Patrick pointed to the cross hanging from his rear view mirror. “Catholic.” I asked why the Catholic Church was so prominent since the Brits were a Protestant people, and he said it was their insight to establish schools throughout the country in colonial times, serving the non-wealthy Kenyans, usually with a church as well. In this way people of all tribes became more loyal to their Catholicism generations ago, than the government which was and still is corrupt.
Realizing it was a Sunday I told him I felt Catholic guilt. “Why?” he asked. I said not for me, but because I was keeping him from his church services. He laughed and said “John, I had a conversation with God. He said this man John visiting Kenya was in need of asssitance, and I want you to go and help him!” I saw a twinkle in his eye in the rear view mirror as he said “My wife and children in fact will pray for me this morning, and I assure you we are all ok in the eyes of God.” I said I was sure God also didn’t mind him earning some income, and thanked him for relieving me of my guilt.
His younger colleague, Frank was a senior in college studying tourism. I learned through Patrick’s cajoling he had dated a white woman and now decided finding a white partner was his new goal. Frank absorbed the teasing of his older coworker, and shyly owned up to his quest on my prodding. I suggested to Patrick he was young and “fishing” which elicited the familiar spontaneous Kenyan laugh that I’ve come to very much enjoy. It’s been fun to discover my humor meshes very smoothly here.
To Frank’s “fishing,” It’s hard to underestimate the entrenched generational class system still lingering here. I expressed how I was the odd Muzungu who liked to walk places — usually the only light-skinned person on the main thoroughfares and sidewalks anywhere in sight. Further unique as I didn’t have a cross necklace, bible, or diplomatic tags, and was too old to be a student.
The vast majority of those who walk here can’t afford a ride. Except maybe public busses, which they may understandably wish to avoid. Often with music blaring, these busses and expanded vans are always packed tight, people literally hanging out of open windows and doors, even as they careen around curves on tight two lane roads. I suspect it may be a bit confounding to many why a white person (= wealthy) would walk the sidewalks and rotate clay paths of the common folk. I greeted people of all ages eye to eye, which elicits different responses. The older teen boys often attempt to look tough (same everywhere!) and the women in general are modest but (I hope) sense I’m simply being friendly and usually return a warm greeting. Of course I’m always at ease with children anywhere, and they me. But I feel I especially surprise the elders, who, after sensing my sincerity, openly return a smile, “Hallo!” or “Jambo!” and seem genuinely appreciative of the encounter. Considering what they have seen and endured in the last 70 years here, so am I.
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