Earth tremors in Nairobi

There’s been a bit of discussion over the earth tremor that hit yesterday morning at 6am, not least in the local newspapers. We are all fascinated to learn who felt it and who didn’t. There have been a five or six such tremors since July 15th and Monday morning’s mini earthquake measured 5.2 on the Richter scale. To be categorised as an earthquake it needs to measure 7 minimum.
Amongst my friends we speculated:
‘Some mountain in Tanzania is about to erupt’ was one theory.
Another one was: ‘the Rift Valley is where tectonic plates join and there are often earth tremors as they shift.’
Last month, I also got a blog comment from a friend while I was in England mentioning: ‘lots of earth tremors in Nairobi which are a bit scary.’
So, deciding that being armed with information is the best way to launch into coffee and tea party discussions I decided to google: ‘Nairobi earth tremors’. And now feel none the wiser really.

July’s tremors were blamed on a ‘seismic swarm’ by the US Geological Survey. The
Chairman of the Geology Department at the University of Nairobi said that the first tremor on July 15th originated from Lake Natron in Northern Tanzania. The Government blamed the successive July tremors on stirrings beneath Ol Donyo Lengai, Tanzania, an active volcano 240kms southwest of Nairobi and the US Geological Survey said that Monday’s rumblings emanated from about 90kms north west of Arusha, Tanzania ( which is 180kms to the South West of Nairobi). The geologically active Great Rift Valley was also referred to as a cause.

Ok, now from this information we can draw that the epicentre seems to be in Tanzania, which for us Nairobi residents is good news, but now I’m also beginning to think that the earth tremors are ‘a bit scary’ as no one seems able to agree what is causing them.

A funny story was that a friend of mine came to tea on Sunday, having just been to a bizarre lunch party. When another guest was introducing himself, she was surprised to hear him say:
‘Hello, I am the Russian Ambassador’
To which she nearly replied:
‘Yes, and I am the queen of Sheba’
Instead she just laughed heartily assuming that he was joking.
It turned out that this was indeed the Russian Ambassador and his friends or rather entourage comprised young, suited bald men in wrap around designer sunglasses playing chess and drinking shots of vodka – or perhaps that a little artistic licence on the part of my friend? Made me laugh anyway.

Dog Fights

The dogs have been at it again.

We have a pair of Alsatians of similar age (2 years) which we reared from pups and a couple of ‘inherited’ cross breed dogs, from our predecessors who gave us the ultimatum four years ago; ‘If you don’t take them then they’ll have to be put down’. One is a feisty terrier cross and the other a male Labrador/ridgeback cross who was a rescue dog and has a docile temperament. This week two fights have been between the pair of Alsatians and the older nine year old terrier, the latter seems to have a death wish.

Almost everyone I know over here owns a dog, more often than not for ‘security’ reasons rather than simply as loveable pets. The idea is that their barks might be a deterrent to any intruders who might set on masterminding an armed hold up at your house. A pair of full size Alsatians barking and jumping up at the gate can be quite off putting to outsiders. The way we keep dogs here is usually a far cry from the British way, where dogs are considered family members and owners willingly share sofas, even beds with their precious mutts and are happy to go for walks carrying specially designed poop bags.

Most people here have ‘outdoor’ dogs and out of doors is exactly where they live. Feeding is often delegated to gardeners or house staff and thanks to a fairly clement year round climate, they can comfortably sleep outside, even if you are running the remote risk that your dog will be ‘taken’ by a rogue leopard or hyena during the night. (N.b. this still does happen occasionally in some suburbs of Nairobi).

Anyway, the dogs do have a nasty habit of impinging on their owner’s consciousness when they start a vicious fight whilst guests are visiting for tea. Adrenalin starts pumping and children are screaming as the dogs terrifyingly begin to pull chunks off one another in a ball of flying fur, blood and noise. Last Monday, I had one kind friend holding the back legs of our larger Alsatian and reversing in a kind of ‘wheelbarrow’ motion whilst another friend was trying to grab the second Alsatian by the scruff of the neck; meanwhile the terrier was locked between both sets of jaws and looked in danger of being pulled in two. ‘What were you doing then?’ I hear you ask. Well, the honest answer would be ‘just standing hopelessly, hoarsely screaming at the dogs’. The agony of dog fights is that they seem to go into a kind of blind ‘killer’ mode and can’t hear or obey you. When we finally managed to prise the canines a part, a trip to the vet was necessary, stitches put in and eye drops administered.

This was the first time such a fight had taken place between these dogs and I hoped it was a one off but sadly they were at it again yesterday afternoon. The second time round we found that a bucket of cold water shocked the dogs enough to momentarily release their grip, giving us precious seconds to separate them. Now we are keeping the little one from the others which means lots of shouting; ‘shut the door!’ and ‘don’t let the dog out!’ and we plan to send the Alsatian, who was instigator of the fights, to be spayed next week. The sweet old rescue dog was not involved.

A year or two ago other dog fights we were experiencing had also involved the little terrier but were started by a pure breed Doberman who had been ‘passed on’ to us by fellow expats in Tanzania who had been posted from there to an apartment in Nigeria. This time the Doberman and our Alsatian who has since died, viciously fought whilst the terrier attempted to chip in with some nips here and there for good measure. The situation worsened with more and more recurrences of dog fights. Our nerves were jangling and vets bills skyrocketing to we ended up finding a kind friend who was willing to take on the rather beautiful Doberman. Over the past two years we discovered that the Doberman has killed the kind friend’s faithful old cat and nearly killed her other dog on a number of occasions. It was therefore a joint decision to find a new home for the pure breed via a dog home nearby. A few weeks ago, the proprietor of ‘Puddle Pets’ rang to say; ‘I’ve found a great place for your Doberman! The people have no other dogs, just a couple of cats, do you think it’ll be a problem?’ ‘I’m afraid that won’t do’ we reluctantly admitted, imagining scenes of carnage.

Any helpful advice on how to tackle dog fight problems would be most welcome….

HIV, VCT, AMREF free treatment

We’ve had a few text messages from our HIV positive ex night watch man lately. Let’s call him Paul for now:

‘Good evening?for 2wks now im unwell,chest problem.im on medication,awaiting xray report done 10.08.08 To check tb or pneumonia.thanks. Paul’

It’s freezing here at the moment and I seem to remember him getting sick this time last year. Not really surprising when you are standing around outside all night in the cold. I sms’ed back to say that we were sorry to hear he’s sick and to let us know if we can help by paying for treatments or in any other way.
He texted:

‘Hi?im at hospital booking for 2lab tests both going for 4000 .xray report show –ve TB results & so Dr says it is pneumonia but has to tested in lab 4 certification.drugs will cost 2700 ,2wks full dose.just like the you treated me last year.weather is too cold for my chest .jul&august.’

I said that of course we can pay 7000/- for his treatments and we arranged to meet and hand over the cash later in the week. He receives free antiretroviral drugs from AMREF but must meet the cost of treating the recurrent ‘incidental’ illnesses suffered by him and his wife, himself. His wife seems to have been on the brink of death a couple of times but has miraculously come out of it.

Funnily enough, yesterday I’d invited a couple of friends around for tea at home and between being interrupted by twelve children and a fairly vicious dog fight that unexpectedly kicked off, the conversation turned to staff with HIV and AIDS. My friend said that her nanny had asked her recently;
‘Madam, what are we to do about my sick sister at home in Kakamega?’
It’s common to make a personal problem a joint one here and my friend knew that the lady in question was HIV positive. Whilst pondering this question, my friend suddenly noticed while driving about a VCT surgery in Karen. She went in and learned that they have a Tuesday clinic especially for the treatment of patients who are HIV positive. First the clinic will treat any incidental illnesses, sending patients off for free xrays, then providing the relevant drugs free of charge. Then, when the patient is recovered they check their HIV ‘count’ and provide antiretroviral drugs for those whose numbers are low enough:
‘Why doesn’t she get treated by the VCT clinic in Kakamega where she comes from?’ another asked;
‘Because, for some reason they charge for treatment up there’.
We could only speculate why this might be:
'It sounds like maybe someone somewhere is pocketing the cash?'

We also had a more general discussion about health, where someone piped up and said;
‘why do doctors and clinics here always say our staff have malaria? I thought that there was no malaria in Nairobi!’
Another chimed in to say that there is malaria in the slums of Nairobi and it is increasingly cropping up elsewhere amongst the city’s population. I said that I remembered a trainee doctor on placement in the government hospital in Dar es Salaam saying that all patients are routinely treated for malaria when they arrive at hospital. If that doesn’t work they are then treated for TB. If the patient is still alive after these two treatments, but not yet better, they will then carry out further tests to pinpoint a specific illness. The reason for this is that doctors’ resources are so over stretched that they save more lives with this blanket approach.

Well, my assignation with our ex night watch man was today and as luck would have it, it’s Tuesday, so I handed over the cash and we drove together straight to the VCT clinic to investigate. Paul said that it was an AMREF doctor stationed there. They do give out free drugs to HIV positive patents (if they have the right ones available at the clinic) and they can send patients for free xrays. Most often for chest xrays as this is a common problem.

This was good news, as his xrays seem to cost about £30 a go. Not that I resent forking out, but if some treatment is available free it seems crazy not to take it up.

Anyway, Paul also had a moan about his employers, they asked him why he kept being ill and he finally told them about his HIV status. His complaint was that they are making him do two weeks of night duty, then two weeks of day guarding. Paul complained that too many nights at work on the trot were making him ill, couldn’t they alternate, or do one week of nights, one week days? The employers said that they didn’t care about his HIV status, but he must do the shifts they give him or forfeit his job. Paul wanted to speak to the superiors at work but he said that his boss; ‘Prevented him’. Paul said to me; ‘Do they want me to die because of my work!’

Today my friend said that her nanny’s sister was found to have a bad case of TB in the neck, and my friend has offered to drive her into town to admit her to hospital. I wonder who will end up footing that bill?

Robbery and Destruction

We just learned that last weekend, a friend of my husband has had a robbery and lost everything. All of his possessions. I call this man my husband’s ‘boyfriend’ as they spend long weekends and evenings laughing and joking together. In fact he’s actually trained mechanic who moonlights from his day job to work here fixing up our rally car, kit car and other toys for some spare cash.
He only speaks Swahili and is a salt of the earth type. It’s pretty tragic that someone broke into his house (or more likely room) and took everything, from his clothes to cutlery to shoes to his most prized possession, his tv. This week he’s been busy trying to find a new place to live.

For our part, we’ve been looking through our wardrobe for clothes and shoes to give, but it’s hard as he’s a small guy and with the same size waist as me, but bigger feet. I’ve picked out the most asexual clothes possible of mine (i.e. jeans) and hope that a few things will fit. My husband has donated a precious pair of shoes, which I hope will do and which were, to be honest, were always too small for him.

I’ve heard a story like this before where a friend’s nanny in Tanzania was somehow gassed in her sleep at home by robbers during the night and her house was then looted. She woke up to find nothing left. Not even clothes to put on. Everything has a value. In a burglary in Europe you might loose a tv, laptop or some antiques, it’s unusual to hear of cases where nothing is left behind.

It is rough that people who are holding down a stable job and are viewed to have a little spare cash to afford one luxury or two are targeted and robbed of everything. These are the people who cannot afford cars, security guards and might only be protected by a padlock on the door. It is often assumed that the expats and wealthy Kenyans are assumed to be the only victims of crime but the truth is that the problem filters right down to the lowest level. The bank teller once told me when I was drawing cash that she had been held up at gunpoint in her home and burgled a year ago.

Another shock was to see all the corrugated iron ‘dukas’ (shops/stalls) being systematically destroyed yesterday by the city council. Street vendors are often targeted in government’s ‘clean up’ campaigns and it was tragic to see people trying to salvage what was once their livelihood from the wreckage. The shops and stands sold affordable vegetables, fruit, sodas and roasted corn to commuters at the mini bus stand around Karen roundabout. I asked a nearby shop assistant why she thought the dukas outside were being destroyed. She said; ‘someone must have complained. These places can be unsafe and can shelter thieves and lowlifes, there have been muggings there. If someone complains to the city council, they come quickly and destroy everything.’

Later I discovered the real reason for the clear up, the stalls were illegally situated on a privately owned plot and the space is now being cleared for planned redevelopment. However, it is often the case that roadside shops and stands are smashed up if, for any reason, they are reported to the city council.

Shopping/travelling children

Travelling or shopping with three ‘small’ children as I call them (although both the seven and four year olds would take exception to being described as small, the two year old doesn’t know any better) can be hell. Fortunately my family are very understanding of my need to shop and have done endless hours of babysitting whilst I have trawled through the summer sales over the years.

Seven years ago, shopping for my newborn baby, literally running up and down the high street, when she was only a week old at home screaming for a feed, was pure madness in retrospect. I was convinced that I’d find nothing for her in the way of clothing in Dar es Salaam and didn’t want to buy much before she was born as I didn’t know her sex and had was vaguely superstitious about buying things for an unborn child. Once born I had to do the shopping immediately as we were planning to travel back to Africa when she was two weeks old (we did) and had not scheduled another UK visit for a year, so I was scooping up 0-3months, 3-6month and 6-12month clothes in a frantic rush. The high street sprint led directly to some weird post natal illness and a course of antibiotics. Ironically, as soon as I arrived back in Africa, a new friend introduced me to the joys of ‘mitumba’ (second hand markets) where I could buy new or good as new designer clothes for my baby, at a snip. She wound up wearing Ralph Lauren and OshKosh and not much of my rush buys.

The following year I was obsessed with buying up ‘nice’ good quality nappies as the pure plastic ones available at home were so very sweaty for my precious (it was 100% humidity in Dar). I even asked visiting family to bring huge boxes of nappies with them which must have been difficult to explain to airport check in staff when no child was in sight (sorry everyone!). The next summer I was snapping up shoes in bulk and trying to explain to UK shop assistants that it really was ok to buy three consecutive sizes of the same shoe for my two year old, without any fittings. ‘You won’t be allowed to return them’ they argued, ‘I know…!’ I said.

Later there was another baby and a little less clothes shopping as I’d already got the basics, however there was quite some to-ing and fro-ing over buying the all singing, all dancing off road, three wheel push chair that I convinced myself was necessary. The fact that we’d survived without for the first baby somehow didn’t seem relevant. (By the way, if you are living in Africa a push chair is not really necessary. You never walk anywhere much and your nanny will more than likely prefer to strap your baby onto her back with a kanga than push a push chair around. A cheapo umbrella pushchair will suffice for airports and travelling back to Europe etc.) I particularly wanted a light colour so as not to attract mosquitoes – it’s surprising how many push chairs are navy blue or black. I found what I was looking for but think I used it only a handful of times. Every time we attempted to take it out, we seemed to be plagued by flat tyres from thorns. Plus, at the check in with a two year old and a 12 day old, the airline stewardess said that my luggage was over weight and I’d have to pay hundreds of pounds for excess baggage. If you are reading this, lady, I’d like you to note that I’ve never forgiven you……….

A fellow expat friend in Tanzania suffered the same treatment when travelling back to Africa with her two small boys. The check in man took exception to the two bicycles that she was hoping to freight. Amazingly my friend, on the verge of hysteria, talked him around by asking if the air steward had a boy of his own and if he had a bike? She said that she wouldn’t want the bikes to go to waste and if her boys couldn’t have them, perhaps he would pass them on as a gift to someone in his own family. If her children had to be deprived of having bikes at Christmas, at least the air steward’s child would not be (I think at this point he was stammering ‘thank you but his children already have their own bikes’). She added that she would not be able to buy bikes for her kids in Tanzania so they would now have to go without. I think that at this point he broke down and let her luggage through. Persuasion can work with men but be warned, the female airline staff can be steely to the point of cruelty.

This year the shopping was complicated. Trying to stay focussed on checking sale rails for 2-3yrs, 4-5yrs and 7-8yrs was tricky. We also had three sets of shoes to consider (a year’s worth), bits of school uniform for the eldest and this year riding hats and ballet shoes. I also tried to plan ahead with Christmas presents. It can be soul destroying to buy a Bratz doll or Barbie here for £40 when you know it’s only £4.99 in Woollies. You also need to use the opportunity to keep up with friends and relatives’ birthday presents back home. Phew. I’m sure that it would be possible to manage without all of these purchases, but it’s hard to pass up the shopping opportunity whilst it is on your doorstep. I am omitting to add that I also managed to pick up one or two things for myself! I did almost exclusively stay within a £15 per item limit but lost it a bit on a denim jacket and nice leather belt. A low point was going into Jigsaw Kings Road and asking if they had a 'faulty' rail, as their sale had not yet begun. Anything that's faulty gets sent back to the warehouse, the shop assistant politely told me. I was blushing to my boots.

Packing up 80kgs of luggage was an effort. My Dad arranged a mini bus to take us to the airport and he came along to help with the Heathrow queuing system (thanks Dad). At 7.30am it was pretty chaotic and packed. The queuing took not less than an hour and my eldest was having a fashion meltdown (she didn’t like what I had picked out for the journey – trousers; too short, shoes; too cold.) However, to be fair she did rally round and help, just as the two year old began to loose it. A low point was when the two year old, who was precariously balanced (by me) on her Maxi-Cosi car seat which in turn was balanced into our supermarket pushchair, then proceeded to propel herself forwards and onto the floor just as we were just about to go through the x ray machines. Somehow she fell out with the Maxi Cosi (not really a lightweight item for those not in the know) crashing down on top of her. Everyone around stared in shock, no one said anything. You could have heard a pin drop (if it weren’t for the screams). Staggeringly, this didn’t seem to deter me from proceeding to select a new watch from duty free and then insist on queuing again to buy a burning hot take away café latte before boarding the flight. The four year old abandoned her wheelie bag at some point. When we found it the seven year old said; ‘lucky it wasn’t destroyed!’ – It seemed that the ‘Any unattended luggage will be destroyed’ loudspeaker was on a loop. The two year old then tipped mango smoothie all down her white shirt as she hadn’t got the hang of the straw in a bottle combination and she began to cry again. Oh well, the flight itself wasn’t too bad. The only other spill was when I managed, unaided, to tip a cup of water over myself.

Emerging at the other end, our bags arrived quickly and in tact (hooray), the seven year old pushed one trolley of 40kgs of luggage, me another and the four year old pushed the two year old in her push chair. By some stroke of genius customs did not stop us, in spite of the seven year old shouting in a loud voice; ‘but Mummy, why do we have SO many bags!’

Going home - Culture shock

During annual summer trips home to the UK you are always hit by an element of culture shock that takes you completely by surprise and can turn you into a bit of a bumbling fool. One year it was chip and pin in all the shops (I still can’t really get the hang of which way round to insert your card). Another time it took me a while to click that shop security had not suddenly been increased tenfold, but in fact the people chatting to no one in particular with ear pieces were simply using their mobile phones ‘hands free’. Last year I was caught out by the oyster cards for the London buses and underground. My first time back after having lived in Africa for a year (in 1999), was my amazement that supermarket carrots, beans cucumbers and tomatoes were all of identical size and colour (and often lacking a bit in taste). I had become so used to buying ‘green’ oranges and lemons, knobbly cucumbers and sorting through dirty potatoes of varying shapes from roadside ‘dukas’ or shack/shops. The ‘perfect’ produce is still there on UK supermarket stands, but is now countered a bit by the more normal looking ‘organic’ veg that is now so popular.

This time what knocked me sideways was the sight of people smoking outside pub doors due to the smoking ban. It was a clever ploy to introduce the new regulations as summer was looming with long light evenings, but what happens in wintertime? I’m not a smoker, but a visit to the pub; nightclub or wine bar was always smoky and formed a major part of the atmosphere. How are gardenless pubs and bars managing now I wonder? Will they ban mobile phones (as I’ve seen on some train carriages that call themselves ‘quiet zones’) or simply talking too loudly next? Perhaps jukeboxes will go… It’s all kind of ironic as whilst smoking is being stamped out in Europe, it’s finally beginning to take off in developing countries now that people have increasing amounts of disposable cash. Cigarettes are often sold singly to make them affordable, advertising is big and tax is low. The tobacco firms’ main competitors here are the mobile phone companies (i.e. buying credit for your phone) and lottery scratch cards, as these are other things that spare cash is regularly spent on.

Everyone in England was being terribly conscientious about switching off lights and turning tvs and computers off standby, in an attempt to reduce carbon emissions. It struck me as being a bit of ‘shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted’, but what do I know?! In Africa people have negligible carbon emissions as they walk everywhere; have only one or two lights and a couple of power points (if any). Possessions are few and everything is recycled. Surely this should be enough of an argument to buy more produce from Kenya and the developing world and forget worrying about the ‘food miles’ stickers slapped on African produce in the supermarkets.

Another total shock to me was how Macdonalds has gone healthy!!! The kids begged for a visit having never been before. I guess that somehow the marketing had reached their consciousness somehow and to be honest I am always up for a cheese burger and chips. When we got there I was staggered to see salads on offer, matchstick carrots on the counter and little bags of peeled apple and grapes for kids?! Orange juice or water was the drink option in a ‘happy meal’. My niece was chanting ‘Macdonalds is good for you!’ In addition, you could choose flora or light Philedelphia instead of butter, low fat dressings and organic milk.

Each food tray was complete with a Macdonalds information sheet about ‘Our food, nutrition and you…’.complete with GDA (guideline daily amounts) charts and a complete ‘nutrition breakdown’ for each of the foods on sale. The information states; ‘we hope this helps you and your family make more informed choices about your food’. Good for them! I watched the ‘Supersize me’ documentary and was shocked like everyone else, even though it was complete madness to suggest that anyone else would really choose to eat every single meal at Macdonalds for a month. Having said that, I would never have dreamt that the world’s biggest fast food chain would take lessons learned so much on board and make so many positive changes.

Charity campaigners seemed pretty rife in London. When an Oxfam lady approached me at Victoria Station with a dazzling smile and a line that started; 'I'm not here to take your money today...' I said that unfortunately I could not help as I live overseas (thus implying that I've no UK bank account to set up a standing order from). I felt quite mean. Later I was hit by a three pronged attack along the Kings Road, where not one but three collectors for Crisis were spread at intervals of ten paces along the pavement. I suppose it was a sort of persuasion via attrition technique with the third guy saying 'I know my two colleagues have failed but couldn't I have a quick chat with you about Crisis?'. Sadly my feelings about charity have become ambivalent after living in Africa for the past eight years.

My final eye popping amazement and total respect was reserved for those London mums coping with tiny babies in prams or multiple small children on trains, hideously crowded tubes and buses. I don’t know how they do it. They didn’t seem to be getting much help either.