Local Heroes: 'Souljah' the entertainer

As an antidote to my rather negative expat stereotypes (which some people seem to be finding a bit too much) – so I thought I’d start a new theme to run in parallel called: ‘Local Heroes’.

My first local hero to choose would be ‘Souljah’ (pronounced Soldier) our friendly leader of a team of children’s entertainers and acrobats named ‘Salto Jamboree’. He will supply a bouncy castle (or two), face painter and magic show at the drop of a hat (or a quick mobile phone call) – in fact the acrobatic routine is legendary and they are seen at almost every party or function you go to in this area. Souljah holds private ‘acrobatic’ classes for overly energetic young kids if requested and, Oh yes, the guys do fire eating too!

The kids love Souljah’s magic show, even though they have seen the same tricks 1,000 times and his black velvet embroidered outfit is a sight to behold. The ‘Salto Jamboree’ face painter is the best in town and creates masterpieces on the faces and arms of our little preciousness that take hours to remove at bath time (top tip: you need to use eye makeup remover). He and his guys have saved my bacon on many occasions. I know that hiring entertainers is a classic parents dodge for providing any kind of amusement for thirty ‘sugar rush’ kids, but I heartily recommend it! I also owe so much to the ‘Bamboola’ man who runs in circles around the bouncy castle dressed in a clown suit, chased by screaming kids. He is a highlight of every party and the kids try to whip off his hat and he reprimands them gently when they begin to get out of hand.

‘We are going to X’s birthday party this afternoon’ I tell my kids;
‘Will the Bamboola man be there?’ they shrill. At the end of each party they run back to their parents brandishing Souljah’s business card with contact details:
‘This is for you to KEEP Mummy!’

We once hired Souljah and his friends to do their famous drumming and fire eating display at an adult drinks party we were hosting at home in the middle of the Kenyan drought a couple of years ago. Their hoops of fire kept falling onto the ‘tinder box’ dry grass of our lawn and the routine was a little more chaotic than usual as the players tumbled and did hand-springs about with flames flying in the darkness – they certainly set the party off with a bang. I was wondering if they whole place might catch like a bush fire, so watched with heart in mouth as scorch marks kept appearing on the ground. The rather less than accurate stunts might have been explained by a friend (new in town) who commented during the proceedings:
‘Who was that guy with dreadlocks standing in your drive smoking a joint earlier? We wondered what kind of party this was going to be?’

It’s a joy to see Souljah in his shiny red 4x4, entrepreneur that he is and wish him many years of success to come. Thanks for being our expat housewives hero, numero uno!

Expat Stereotype 6: - Irritable Angela

Expat Stereotype 6: - Irritable Angela (this one is very often me)

Angela is out of water again at home and the power was off, so she has decided to go the local club for a shower, only to find, to her chagrin, that there is no hot water there (something to do with the heater packing up). After a cold shower and much spitting of feathers, she decided to order herself a café latte, but when it arrives it is too cold and a little too strong;
‘Why can’t anyone get this simple coffee right! Is a small biscuit on the side too much to ask?!’

Angela’s major problem is that for her, when living in Kenya, the cup is generally half empty.

Leaving the barrier operators at the club in a cloud of black 4x4 smoke, she sets out for the shops, where on arrival, she gives the ubiquitous desperate looking hawkers short shrift as she strides through the car park in large dark sunglasses;
‘Mama Sarah! Avocados; Strawberries?’
She tosses her head; ‘I’m not Mama Sarah!’ and bats them out of the way.
Her first stop is the bank’s atm/cash machine, which reads ‘not in service’…again.

Unfortunately her cook is off sick today so the task of preparing the evening meal has fallen to her. The prospect of juggling children’s homework, bath time and family dinner too is daunting, especially as this is the time when Angela generally manages to squeeze in a bit of ‘Oprah’ prime time viewing or E! News.

Angela intended to buy a chicken to roast for dinner, but it transpires that there are none to be had in the local supermarket. Apparently the chickens may be delivered to the shop at 2pm, but no one behind the counter seems very sure. Following various remonstrations of; ‘But why?’ ‘Are you sure’ and; ‘This really is not acceptable’, she wonders if she should drive 5 kilometres to look for another chicken vendor, or re-plan the meal. What a nuisance! This further disappointment has translated into her being short with the smiley cashier and the army of helpful men on hand to pack and carry her shopping for her to the car;
‘I can’t be bothered to give them a tip today’, she thinks as she slams the car door.

Having ferried the shopping home and in the process having had a furious beeping match with a matatu (public minibus) which was the third such vehicle to shamelessly carve her up outside the dukas (shops), her heart sank when the gardener who was opening the gate to her compound made that unmistakable flagging down gesture. Winding down her window she discovered that, sure enough, he was requesting a loan and time off as a cousin had died and he need to go back ‘upcountry’ to help pay for the funeral. Dammit, that meant another trip to the atm in the hopes that it has been re filled and also there’s the problem of arranging cover. With Morris not there, who would open the gate?

With a sigh, Angela heads out to lunch with a couple of friends at a restaurant en route to the afternoon school run. She might talk to her husband Geoff about hiring a driver, as all this dashing around is getting a bit much. The chosen lunch restaurant is ‘same old, same old’ (they always go to the same one) and the duck salad transpires to be seriously on the mean side - detecting crispy duck was a challenge. Having passed on her disappointment to the chef, she heads off irritated to an afternoon and evening a familial duties and the very real prospect of having to miss Eastenders tonight.

Rubbish and recycling - door to door

Still reeling a bit from a busy weekend including our sit down dinner for x30 in a tent, that became x40 (not sure that the caterers hauled in the fact that we had more people coming though and it was a bit of a case of FHB - 'family hold back' when it came to the food). It didn't rain thank goodness, but everyone ended up FREEZING and stuck outside as usual. More about that later perhaps...

In the meantime, in answer to recent comment re: recycling rubbish - I SHOULD use the Nakumatt (Kenyan big supermarket chain) 'recyclable fabric bags' but never seem to remember to bring them along on my shopping trips and would probably need to carry a few at a time as they are not very big. Good idea of the supermarket to produce them though, they are a bit like the designer Sainsbury's ones -but bright blue.

My larder/store is chock full of kikapus (woven grass baskets) that I get regularly from the local shop and keep meaning to return but don't get round to it. They often come in useful at home for ferrying firewood and dead leaves around the compound. For a couple of weeks I had a 'kikapu' in the back of my car to avoid plastic bags, but irritatingly it kept staying firmly in the boot, rather than coming with me into the shops. Shop owners are now recycling cardboard boxes for customers' shopping, which is perfect, but many things still do get packed into plastic. The local grocer tried plastic net bags, which didn't look very eco friendly anyway and turned out to 'age' the veggies more quickly. I gather the Kenyan plastic bag ban will come into force properly in January and we will all have to pull our socks up then.

I don't burn plastic in the garden or bury it as it seems a fairly primative thing to do and gives off terrible fumes, though this is still common practise. I do pay a local company to pick up our bin bags once a week and generally a few passers by rifle through the rubbish bag outside our gate before it gets picked up. Sometimes I am sitting in my 4x4 waiting for the gate to open (or rather be opened by our gardener) and I smile and wave at the poor guy with a wheel barrow - what must he think?!. I was horrified to see one of our chosen bin company's vans driving across the background of a Channel 4 documentory/expose by Aiden Hartley about Nairobi's inner city rubbish dumps, and throwing out bags - contributing to the problem. The rubbish collection companies have names like 'Bio bin' and 'Eco rubbish' but these are designed to ease the conciences of their customers - in fact, it all gets dumped on the nearest heap in town untreated and unsorted (except by those picking through by hand). No machinery is in evidence.

I am proud to say that since establishing our composting system, the amount of rubbish we throw out has reduced by almost half. All cardboard etc gets burned at home and I try (but need to try harder) to rinse out and sort recyclable pastic/metal containers into a seperate bag to make the poor rubbish scavengers job easier. Perhaps it would be more responsible to burn all our rubbish in the garden - thus sharing the Nairobi fumes out across the city than having them centralised in Dandora slum or wherever? Our youngest daughter is now out of plastic nappies, which makes me feel marginally less guilty now but the rubbish problem almost seems insurmountable at the moment. I suppose it's worth remembering that in Kenya most things are recycled several times and there is far less rubbish thrown out per capita than in the developed world (might just look up that statistic for you on Google).
See: Previous posts entitled: 'Nairobi's rubbish dumps' and 'Africa 'Recycling Kings!'

Loans and christmas fairs

Having one of those days:-

First one of the lady's who work in our house asked for a pay rise, as her rent and bus fare have both gone up. Fair enough. However, I said that I was planning to give everyone a rise at christmas, in the meantime could I just bung her an extra bit of money at the end of this month to tide her over (and everyone else, to be fair I suppose).

Then, at school, one of the teaching assistants drew me to one side and asked for a loan to help pay for a leg operation for her mum - she wanted to borrow the usual amount: Kenya shillings 10,000 (about £75). The rest of her family are chipping in to take the total up to Kshs 60,000 (£500). She said that her employers do not give any loans on principal, and if I mention it to anyone there she will be fired (I heard that one before from our nightwatchman). So here I am indescreetly putting it on my blog. But I ask you, what choice do I have - she looks after my CHILD (and is very sweet and nice to boot)! Will she be like the nightwatchman and never pay us back, just try to avoid eye contact every day for the next couple of years?

I also found myself talking to the ex nightwatchman, asking whether he REALLY needed these expensive annual HIV immunity blood tests? How embarrassing.

I wonder if I've neglected to see 'INTEREST FREE UNSECURED LOANS AVAILABLE HERE' tattooed on my forehead, or maybe it just says: 'MUG'.

In the meantime, It's one of the big christmas fairs in Nairobi this weekend; 'Bizarre Bazaar' (there's another one next weekend - the xmas craft fair). You pay to go in and there are numerous stands with lots of expensive gift ideas - it's soley about shopping and father christmas does not make an appearance at this one. In fact, usually you are expected to inadvertantly part with $2,000 for an original oil painting, $1,000 for a drift wood coffee table; $500 for a dress designed by a trendy KC, (run up by a side of the road tailor); or $700 for a sheepskin throw and matching leather pouffe. That's if you can pluck up the courage to go into a tent, when faced with the prospect of interrupting the 'oh so cool' thirty something stall holder, who is deep in conversation with a group of cool hangers on who are lounging messily around the tent brandishing plastic cups of red wine.

I was also faced with the dilemma today of whether I could justify parting with 950 shillings each (i.e. £7 each) for three chocolate advent calanders for the kids. I put off the decision for now, and will probably find that next time I visit the shop, cash withdrawn from bank and in hand, that they are out of stock (that's what happened to me one Easter). Spending three times the UK price for a chocolate advent calendar seems excessive and definitely one of those 'peel off the price label before you get home' scenarios (i.e. so that the people in your house aren't taunted or sickened by the pure indulgence of it).

For now though, I promise that this is the last time I talk about money in my blog for a while - I know, I know....it's getting boring.

Horse Chestnut trees

My Mother in law kindly sent us some conkers. Now that my daughter has finished with them at her school 'show and tell' I wondered if I could somehow get them to spout roots and then plant some lovely horse chestnut trees, to replace the Blue Gums that we cut down? (My 'propagation' gardening lession is not until Feb 2008). I wonder if they will be confused by the Kenyan climate. I wonder if I am really showing my ignorance now?...

the gardener's baby died

Our twenty three year old gardener phoned on Monday morning to say that he was taking a ‘friend’ to hospital and that he would be in to work late. At 2pm he arrived at work to say that the friend was in fact female, pregnant and was in hospital delivering a baby. Hmmm I thought, it sounds like it’s your baby then. Ok. I gave him money for the hospital fees and thought it a shame the baby wasn’t exactly planned but good luck to them. I know that our young gardener has to send money home to his parents upcountry every month and he’s the eldest child so is financially supporting younger siblings too, so that doesn’t leave much to spare from his monthly salary paid by us.

The next day he popped in to say that a baby boy was born safely and that he needed time off until the end of the week. Congratulations! One day later he called to say that the baby had suddenly died. He came over to our house once again and explained the tragedy in Swahili. Apparently the child went home from hospital and some hours later inexplicably seemed to be choking and unable to breathe. The doctor suggested giving the baby warm water and he seemed to recover. Twelve hours later the same thing happened and the baby died in the doctor’s arms while he was being examined. There was some vague medical explanation about perhaps the umbilical cord had been tied too late after the baby was born, which may have lead to these problems. His brother in law had leant him money for a quick burial which was what his religion dictated. By now he was calling his girlfriend his ‘wife’ who he said was unsurprisingly in deep shock. I said ‘try to be strong for her, she will be feeling very bad’ (who am I to say that?!?). I gave him more money and told him to take as much time off as he needs.

Meanwhile, the same day, our HIV positive ex-askari sent me a text:
‘Gd evening we are ok. 2day was appointment day. End year lab tests are required 4 us on 19.11.07 each of us need kshs.4000.tests-liver function, serum creatine, full blood count, viral load & total cholesterol. We kindly request 4 assistance. GOD BLESS. THANKS.’
We also gave him money last week for ‘rent and food’ as his redundancy pay from the security group he worked for is now finished.

What could I say: ‘This is not a good month for us; our gardener lost a baby so I gave him money, we just gave you money last week and besides it was my daughter’s birthday party yesterday and she wanted the magic man and a bouncy castle which wasn’t cheap, in addition we are planning another grown up party later in this month to celebrate buying our house for a vast sum, x30 people sitting down for dinner in a tent in the garden.’

Expat Stereotype 5: - Indecisive Izzy (this is the category that I fit into)

Izzy has been in East Africa for nine years now but she had never visited Africa before moving over as a newly wed. She is happily married to a husband who was recruited back in England to run a commercial business out here and her three children were all born since arriving and are currently enjoying a gilded ‘African’ childhood. Izzy is aware that raising kids back home in UK is no picnic and having two helpers in the house has given her enormous freedom and privilege that would otherwise be impossible. However sometimes she misses home, regrets that she only gets back to see friends and family once a year and is sad that her kids have never seen snow.

She has cleverly managed to swerve the issue of going back to work since having the kids, as work permits are difficult to arrange, expensive (there are a million excuses she can think of) and she has become used to hanging at home, doing school runs and managing the household. She did work for a year in Africa before the kids were born, as local hire for an aid agency and that was where she learned Swahili. Before that it was London. Sometimes money is tight at the end of the month, especially with increasing school fees, so maybe one day she will think up a job that she can do part time, something creative, ideally from home, without getting in trouble with the authorities (KRA) and thus risking her husband’s position and possible expulsion from the country.

Izzy is proud that the business that her husband is running seems to be thriving with sixty Kenyan staff (forty of whom own their own cars); the emerging middle class in Kenya is a modern phenomenon. Not only is Izzy indecisive about going back to work, but she is also concerned about the children’s schooling in the long term. Is it better to educate them outside Africa after the age or 13? If so, they could hardly afford overseas private school fees and don’t want to split the family, so should they move back to UK then? Would her husband be able to get a job back in UK? Would they miss Africa enormously? Would they hate it in England in the cold, wet and grey weather? Would they be able to afford a house there? Could they resettle?

Like many of their friends, they have taken the plunge and bought a family house in their favourite suburb of Nairobi (the ability to get bank loans locally has sparked a huge property boom) but they have had to sell their tiny flat in London to fund it, which was risky as it was all they had back home. They are hoping that the ‘wananchi’ (people) of Kenya don’t unwittingly vote in a megalomaniac for president in the 28th Dec 2007 elections; someone who may destroy the economy and lead to them losing everything (as in the case of Robert Mugabe’s leadership). They also hope that they don’t experience another armed break in that last time lead to her husband having seventeen stitches in his face – funnily enough, they never considered leaving Africa, even then. The fact that they have invested in the country means that they have faith in it and high hopes but they are still not sure if they’ve made the right decision….

(A friend of mine pointed out that I forgot to make any reference to clothes or appearance on this one so:)

Indecisive Izzy wears lots of Mitumba (second hand market) clothes sourced locally that she studiously tried to pass off as older UK purchases. Her best finds have been various pairs of 'Diesel' jeans and a pair of knee high black 'Bally' boots. Otherwise, she is almost always wearing locally made flip flops in spite of suffering horribly from cracked heels (it's SO dry in Nairobi!). She often orders online from 'Boden' and gets family to bring these purchases out from England, but she tries to steer clear of designs that are more obviously Boden, as they can be spotted a mile off at the local shops. More recently she has been seduced by the shiny new shopping centres that offer high street style clothes for four times the price as those found at home - but shopping for clothes can be irresistable and the guilt that follows is not enough deterrant to put her off the odd indulgent purchase. Originality is not really an option when living as a housewife in Nairobi.

Entertaining out of doors

Nothing much to report this end except that re: gardening; I keep buying non indigenous hydrangeas, jasmine, honeysuckle, roses etc. out of pure sentimentality for England. It’s raining now so hopefully everything should bed in ok. The herb garden is progressing thanks to my neighbour’s gardener Joyce who kindly brought me some marjoram (which I’m not sure how to use cooking wise?) and some parsley, mint, lemon grass and thyme (I’m wondering what to give her by way of thanks - a tin of biscuits?). I bought some succulents for the dry beds under the guest room windows, but they look pathetically small and far too spread out.

Yesterday was my middle daughter’s birthday and the rain didn’t make staging her outdoor party very easy. All children’s birthday parties here are held in the garden and there’s often a bouncy castle and (if we are pushing the boat out) our beloved troop of local children’s entertainers, who us Mums would pay in gold bars if we could as their valuable contribution means that there’s no need for excruciating party games such as musical bumps. As is usual at this time of year (short rains) we were mopping the bouncy castle dry after a short downpour, but I heartlessly insisted on marauding kids staying outside for the duration. Food is scattered about and children and Mum’s graze all afternoon with the hostess (i.e. me, or Gladys, or Florence) dashing in and out with constant refills of hot water for tea. Accompanying ayahs, drivers and entertainers get cups of tea and fairy cakes too. Once again I spectacularly omitted to offer any Mum’s a glass of white wine at the end of the afternoon, due to being distracted by cake cutting and party bag allocation, which was highly remiss and quite a faux pas as a rewarding glass of white wine and soda water is always welcome. Mums in England must surely tear their hair out with winter birthday parties having to be held inside the house (shock, horror – inside?!!) – once again, I really don’t know how they do it without suffering from a nervous breakdown!

I have noticed that people who live in Kenya always have a blind faith in staging any kind of entertainment outside, whatever time of year and whatever the weather. You can understand why, as luckily enough the climate in Nairobi is mild(ish) all the year round. Rainfall tends to be regarded an unfortunate inconvenience that happens only occasionally, so not considered sufficient reason to brave hosting parties inside. At night, functions are held on verandas or in tents outside and by 11pm/midnight the temperature dips (after all we are living at an altitude of 5500ft). I am often approaching hypothermic whilst inappropriately dressed in skimpy eveningwear and find myself on arrival home in desperate need of either a hot bath or the necessary pulling on of seven jumpers before I am able to stagger into bed. Those who have lived here long enough have learned through bitter experience of standing about in tents or on lawns and sensibly don a uniform of jeans and a fleece jumper or wrap/pashmina to all evening parties whatever the dress code. They know that it’s better to be prepared when outside and at the mercy of the elements.

Social Stereotype:- 4. The Kenya Cowgirl

It is a leap of faith doing the Kenya Cowgirl – my husband has tried to warn me off writing this one as he fears I may get lynched in the local supermarket, or have someone tip a glass of red wine over me in our local restaurant – but hey, caution to the wind, here goes and please, no one be tempted to take offence!...

‘Karen the Kenya Cowgirl has lived here all her life. Her parents own an extensive ranch upcountry which they have turned over to game conservation and ‘top end’ tourism. Clients who visit the ranch are treated to a truly luxurious and pampered holiday with almost exclusive reign over the ranch/conservation area which almost justifies the $1,000 per head per night rack rate – oh and apparently Prince William has also stayed there.

Karen has had a rather jet set life schooling first in Nairobi (her parents took a house in town for a few years at this point, commuting up to the ranch by private plane during weekends and holidays), then on to a well known girls convent in the UK home counties. All this travelling and an unconventional upbringing have made Karen a very confident and ‘can do’ person. She got married comparatively young to fellow ‘KC’ called ‘Kip’ who is a professional pilot and drives a Harley Davidson. Together they have two young blonde kids; Tarot and Tana, who in their own way are rather a handful (thank goodness for the ayah!).

Money can be slightly tight living on a pilot’s salary, so Karen has diversified into creating very fashionable clothes and accessories out of masai beads, Indian sari fabrics and local leather (though she has had to import better quality suede on occasion). All of these are fabricated by a team of local ‘fundis’ who work from the garden of her house and a few are exported to UK and circulated via her old school chum network. All items are priced in dollars and go down quite well with the tourists who visit Mum and Dad’s ranch.

Karen can often be seen trailing her ayah and barefoot children around the local supermarket with a mobile phone clamped to her ear, buying up camembert cheese, wine and imported goods with astoundingly efficiency. She drives an old, beaten up Range Rover. Don’t be fooled by her slightly unkempt appearance; long un brushed hair, multicoloured full mini skirt, knee high leather boots, spaghetti strapped vest top or kaftan and fur gilet as you’ll find it’s a carefully styled look that’s in keeping with her many and varied young friends who conveniently all live in the same suburb of Nairobi, similarly have young children and are for the most part artists, film makers, journalists and conservationists. She loves entertaining and having friends to stay.

Karen won’t hear a negative word said against living in Kenya and tends to steer clear of whinging expats and two year wonders (unless of course they are buying something in her ‘boutique’ shop). Her dream is to own a ‘pied a terre’ in London one day, when the kids are old enough to be at school in UK, but that all depends rather on cash flow. However, Karen is sure that somehow she and Kip will find a way of achieving their goal and at this moment Karen is thinking of diversifying into fine art or TV presenting, apparently both options are fairly lucrative and she has some good contacts….’

Next Stereotype: Wendy the incessant expat whinger

Expat Stereotypes: - 3. The Kenya Cowboy

Jack is a ‘Kenya Cowboy’; his family have been in Kenya for three generations and he holds a Kenya passport (making him therefore a ‘Kenya citizen’, or ‘KC’). He’s a single chap, having previously been out with all the eligible girls in his social set at some time or another and he’s currently living in a guest cottage in his parent’s garden, though that arrangement is only temporary.

Now that he is approaching his late thirties the need to meet the right girl (ideally an ‘outsider’) who is game enough to commit herself to Kenya ‘ad infinitum’ is getting more pressing. With any luck he’ll eventually find a visiting prep school teacher or an air hostess to marry, but until then he’s happy to regularly prop up his local bar in Karen with the tight knit circle of friends whom he has known since childhood. He enjoys Sunday lunch with his parents every week and often joins them for sundowners mid week. He is extremely fond of his old school friends and sees no reason to get to know or talk to any of these transient ‘expat’ couples that pepper the neighbourhood. If he’s introduced to somebody who has been in the area for more than ten years then he’ll consider entering into conversation but overall, he’s happy with his existing social life thank you very much as they are friends you can rely on. ‘Two year wonders’ are so tiresome.

Jack is a handy man, knowledgeable of his surroundings (birds, flora, fauna) and self reliant, he even holds a pilots licence that he got in Florida some years back. He helps out in his cousin’s ‘top end’ mobile safari business when they are busy, but has more recently diversified into rustic furniture making and has a hand in project managing the construction of a new ‘exclusive’ lodge that is currently being built upcountry. His father wanted him to farm, but the prospect meant an isolated existence that didn’t appeal. Game conservation was another option but sadly his parents sold their ranch years ago to help fund his schooling overseas. Anyway, he’s happier to dabble in this and that and remain a ‘free’ self employed man.

You’ll easily spot Jack around town driving a long wheel base dark green 4x4 landcruiser with multiple game viewing roof hatches, a roof rack, two spare tyres and a high lift jack. Without fail, he will be wearing a short sleeved shirt, leather hat or baseball cap, rather battered short shorts (or ‘stubbies’) a beaded belt with mobile phone and ‘leatherman’ attached, short socks and ‘Bata’ safari boots (whose strap line is; ‘the boots that say you know Africa’). In the evening he dons his faded blue jeans that were bought circa 1987 and a fleece jumper. He has cleverly fashioned a box for his ipod from an ice cream container lined with foam, which prevents the device being damaged when driving in the bush.

He can make a very loud cattle whistle without even having to put his fingers in his mouth, can remove a beer bottle top without an opener and can make a clicking noise with his fingers by rapidly shaking his loose hand up and down whilst sucking air through his teeth to emphasize a point. Many sentences are preceded by the word; ‘Man’ or; ‘I tell you’ and there is a lilt in his voice that he and his friends cannot detect but which is typical of the ‘KC’. His Swahili is excellent, a vast improvement on the ‘kitchen’ Swahili still spoken by his parents, he also knows Kikuyu and some Maa. In Kenya he is in his element though he has no idea what the long term future holds, however, he will be ready to ride any storm that the local government throws at him because this for him is home.

Next stereotype: The Kenya cowgirl

Halloween and Guy Fawkes in Kenya

Last week was a bit crazy with Halloween and Firework parties for the kids. Having said how I miss Autumn in England, I was, before I could blink, thrust into a timetable of ‘lookie-likie’ UK autumnal celebrations here in Nairobi, centred around the children, bouncy castles etc.

One of the problems with doing Halloween parties and Fireworks for kids in Kenya is that it’s not dark until 7pm, so when you arrive at 4 or 5pm ish you are left with an awful lot of hanging around to do until dark. Lots of small talk with other mums is required if you can find anyone receptive and an increasingly ratty two year old hanging onto my ankles is a given.

It also means ‘DRESSING UP’, which translates as making/inventing costumes in a country where they are not available ‘off the peg,’ in the shops. I will admit that I could have bought the fabric and explained/sketched a design for a clever roadside tailor, but that would have involved 'advanced planning' - which is not a 'forte' of mine.

On Friday night I was cursing my eldest daughter’s school firework party whose theme was ‘Outer Space’, whilst neck deep in silver fabric that was shedding sparkles that got everywhere, even into my lungs. Not only was there one outfit to make, but my second daughter guilt-ed me into making something for her too when she asked;
‘but Mummy, what am I going to wear to the firework party?’

So that was Saturday morning stuck behind the sewing machine too. I think I was over compensating for failing so badly on the Halloween costumes, where one daughter had been dressed as a very forlorn looking cat in normal dark clothes (including a school swimming costume) and a face mask on elastic and the other two were told categorically by me;
‘We’re not going to bother dressing up, just get in the car.’

Perhaps time spent on devising clever home made Halloween costumes would have been time better spent, because I couldn’t help wondering when battling with the silver fabric, when will there ever be another occasion to wear an ‘outer space’ costume? Plus fireworks are simply not fun for two year olds, or for Mums who are preoccupied by the fear of loosing three invisible children in the darkness, where there are many naked flames and explosions going off.

Expat Stereotypes: - 2. The Two Year Wonder

Tessa the ‘two year wonder’ has a husband who works for a large multinational corporation and two children who trail around various schools each time they move. They have ‘done’ Dubai and Jo’burg but Nairobi is the most ‘developing’ country that they have ever lived in and it’s taken a bit of getting used to. They are hoping to be posted back to UK in 2009, but fear that it might have to be China next; they will have to wait and see.

Tessa and her husband live on a secure electric fenced compound with other expat neighbours and drive a shiny, new-ish Landcruiser VX. They don’t ‘do’ staff loans because it leads to complication and Tessa has decided that it’s not worth taking Swahili lessons as she’ll be gone before long and probably won’t need to speak Swahili ever again. She does enjoy the school mum’s coffee morning circuit and regular visits to the local club gym followed by a leisurely cup of coffee. She’s thinking about taking up golf so that she can play along side her husband on Saturday mornings.

The house that Tessa and her family live in is furnished but most items belong to the company. They only have an air freight allowance measured in cubic metres at the end of their two year stint, which is a fact worth bearing in mind when tempted by a large dhow wood coffee table or wood carving at the annual Nairobi Christmas Fair.

The whole family greatly look forward to annual visits ‘home’ in the summer (business class flights), where they keep a furnished house full of all of their own belongings, even down to children’s toys and games. They decided not to rent out their house in England to keep the flexibility of being able to pop over and use it whenever the opportunity arises, plus it acts as the perfect base when catching up with family and friends at home. Tessa and the children never go ‘back’ for less than six weeks over the summer holidays and they book their flights out of Kenya for the day that term finishes and try to return the day before. They occasionally get back for Christmas and Easter too, but that depends on whether they have overseas visitors for the holidays or not.

They got a puppy from the KSPCA, as they were worried about ‘security’ when they arrived and thought a dog would be a good idea, but they might take him back because he’s turning out to be a bit of a pest. Other expat friends brought beloved dogs out from England and will put them into six months quarantine before moving back home. Tessa and family want to visit all corners of Kenya before the end of their posting, but try to stick to Serena lodges, as then they know what to expect.

Shopping is limited here as there is little choice and prices are high, so Tessa bulk buys at the Monsoon and Next sales in UK every year.

p.s. There is a little of me in all these stereotypes

p.p.s Next: The Kenya Cowboy

Expat Stereotypes: - 1. the Missionary

Having waxed on endlessly about gardening, I thought it might be time to introduce a new theme and was thinking about describing some; ‘expat stereotypes’ in Kenya (rather than the ‘social stereotypes’ in the Sunday Times supplements (or is that in The Telegraph?).

Here is the first...published at my peril:

‘Judith is a missionary in her late 30s with four boys under four and a husband named John. They are from Texas. When spotted in the Karen supermarket she looks frazzled wearing a gingham loose fitting sundress and round, metal rimmed specs. She has mousey coloured hair and is devoid of makeup. Her fair haired boys are braying for lolly-pops, in fact Isaiah and Jonah seem to be coming to blows around her ankles as the baby then begins to scream. Through it all Judith is showing extreme patience with her brood. Her shopping trolley is groaning full with popcorn, crisps, bread and sausages which she pays for with wads of cash. Cookie and cake mixes, latest plastic toys and games, nappies, chocolate bars and cheese are all flown in by the church all the way from the United States on a monthly basis.

Judith takes time out to go to the most fashionable hairdresser in town, but insists that her rather severe style with ‘bangs’ remains the same each visit and she certainly never lets the stylist persuade her in the direction of ‘colouring’ or highlights. All her church friends go to the same salon but some of the banter and language used by other gossiping expat housewife clients can be deeply shocking.

She drives a white mini van with the words; ‘Kingdom of God - Bible Study’ emblazoned on the side and has lots and lots of like minded friends. She’s been posted to some pretty remote and harrowing African postings with her husband, but the family have remained united and the US food parcels and air drops have never failed them.

They do take regular extended trips back to the US on fund raising missions and last year returned with enough dough from their US compatriots to buy a six seater airplane and three new VX Landcruisers for penetrating the African bush and reaching remote tribal settlements. At home there is a constant stream of visitors, which can be wearing, but the children are happy and they have everything that they could possibly wish for in the way of toys, latest technology and friends.

(Sorry everyone, couldn’t resist! Next instalment: ‘the two year wonder’)

Last gardening lesson - for now...

Finished the last of my gardening sessions - with a suppressed sigh of relief - then learned that there is another course being held in February which will be a continuation of this one, focussing on different gardening subjects. One of them is all about ‘vegetable gardens’ which probably alone justifies signing up again in Feb.

Our last lesson was; ‘gardening with indigenous trees and plants, pots and plants for pots, lawns and hedges’ (i.e. pretty much every aspect of gardening in Nairobi).
I piped up, as usual;
‘what shall I do about my dreadful blue gums/ eucalyptus trees’ and was batted off with the usual;
‘we are only talking about indigenous trees today!’

That’s the problem with pre-arranged topics for our lessons, the lecturer has to stick to his subject but all of us students just want to ask questions about the things that look nice in our teacher’s garden’s. The one we visited this week was in Tigoni, another 1,000 ft higher than Nairobi (ie Tigoni is approx 7000ft above sea level) and much cooler and wetter (good growing conditions for tea). We drove there in a mist and even needed a wool jumper until the sun finally peeped out at midday.

We are lucky enough to have this lovely garden in Nairobi with lots of mature trees, but unfortunately when we arrived there were also more than our fair share of blue gums. We’ve cut down about twenty, and there are probably a dozen left. The problem is that the ones we’ve cut down have not exactly gone, as their stumps and roots are still in the ground. The tree cutters were happy to remove the trees for almost nothing on the proviso that they get the timber for planking and firewood, but removing the root bowls was not something we really thought of much (see previous post on tree cutting). Now our once dramatic drive/entrance looks pretty scruffy with old bits of tree trunks that we never got around to cutting into firewood (or ‘kuni’ as it’s known here) and lots of stumps, half of which are sprouting and bushy looking now. I didn’t mind before, only I signed up for this damn gardening course and now I feel compelled to do something about the problem!

Blue gums and jacaranda are the most common trees in Nairobi and are obviously both ‘exotic’ to Kenya. Jacaranda kind of earn their place here as they are so pretty at this time of year decked in brilliant purple flowers, but for half the year they are without colour or leaf, they are also very greedy and take a lot of nutrients out of the soil, so therefore they are difficult to garden underneath. Above all, they are not indigenous!! Blue Gums have nothing going for them as far as I can tell, originally imported from Australia, their leaves are unsuitable for composting, they are very unstable when old, stupidly tall and greedy water consumers.

What else did I learn about gardening? Tons and tons and I feel I’ve barely scratched the surface on the subject. I’m still a total novice. What have I/Shadrack and Jared achieved so far? A composting system that seems to be working but takes some patience in waiting for the end result (the good news is that there are fewer of our bin bags heading out from our house each week to the city rubbish dumps thanks to composting – see previous post on Nairobi rubbish dumps). I do now have the beginnings of a herb garden and am considering how it might be humanly possible to re-channel my ‘grey’ water to a veggie patch and when, or how, we are going to start harvesting rain water? So much to do.