Brooks
Travel gives me so many opportunities to make new friends…especially in Kenya. The melodic Kiswahili is as gentle and hospitable as the people themselves. From the moment we landed at the Nairobi Airport, everywhere I looked there was someone I would love to sit and chat with for awhile.
For example, standing, waiting to go through the never-ending line to get our visa and pass through customs, the opportunities were endless!!! So many people to meet and so little time!!! This particular time, I had to settle for chatting with the immigration official, so I initiated the conversation by immediately practicing my very limited Swahili, “Habari yako (Hello, how are you)?” Confident in my pronunciation, I giggled out loud as she responded by pushing back her chair and laughing loudly, “Misuri (good)!” Mistakenly she assumed I could carry the conversation further, so she jabbered on and on. Shamelessly, I responded, “That’s it; that’s all I know!” Forgiving me, she assured me saying over and over, “Karibuni, karibuni (you are welcome, very welcome!” – a phrase said often wherever we go, letting us know that people are genuinely happy to greet us. The official went on further, though, by inviting me to just come and stay at her place for three months. She was confident I would most assuredly know Kiswahili very well by then. Smiling back at her, I mused, “If only I really could. What an experience that would be!”
One day I traipsed off to the bank alone. It was mercilessly hot walking through the dusty, people-filled streets to get there, but once inside the relatively modern building with the doors flung wide open and the customary armed security guard at the door, it was quiet and surprisingly cool. I went to stand in the usual very long line of people waiting for one of two tellers. Not believing it, I noticed the woman in front of me pull out her shawl and wrap it snuggly around her. Then as she inched her way forward, I stepped into the spot where she had just been. Amazing!!! Streams of COLD air showered down on my head. I quickly took off my backpack, laid it down and just basked in the coolness of the air. Heaven, I’d just stepped into heaven! I couldn’t resist telling the woman, “Ah, it feels so good, the air conditioning!” She looked at me like I was nothing less than a nut case. We had an extensive conversation with her laughing at me, trying to convince me of the horrors of ac and why would anyone ever enjoy it! Still, I am not convinced! For this lily white traveler in the heat and humidity of Africa, I welcomed the small circle of air, hating to step out of it, even to move forward in line. For me on a hot day, I’ll take ac any day, any time, any place!
The last time we were in Nairobi the World Cup was going on. STARVED for female companionship, I made friends with the night clerk where we stayed. She was wildly betting on this game or that as the rounds continued and we all waited for the final outcome. Acknowledging that she was having a bit of a cash flow problem, she vowed she was not going to place any money on the next game. She said the games were causing her so much anxiety, not only anticipating the next game, but having to stay up late at night just to watch it. Even her co-workers said she was grouchy and mean from lack of sleep. Of course I know nothing about “football”, but still was drawn instantly into her drama, loving every minute of discussing last night’s game, who won, why they won and who would play and win the next one. Arriving here in Nairobi, once again a month ago now, Lillian, jumped up greeted me Kenyan style, a handshake and kiss on both cheeks, and vehemently lamented over Germany’s win of the coveted Cup. She also very proudly announced she had quit betting for sure…well, at least for another four years!
Traveling around Africa, I often wonder how the men and women and even children manage to ALWAYS be wearing very clean clothes and shoes that are shining. The moment I step out of our room (or even before), I somehow manage to have a smudge of dirt on my shirt, dusty shoes, sandaled feet that are no longer white but have a thick layer of mud or dust covering them, and my hair – really why even go there? I pass by many beautiful African women with their hair neat and tidy, suits (a blouse and matching long skirt) pressed, looking “smart”, and without an inkling of dirt anywhere. Their shoes look like they have been walking along any clean sidewalk or street in the West, never betraying the reality of the miles they have walked on dirt, and now muddy streets and paths from their homes to reach town. Every day going back and forth to the Women’s Center, I pass by an elderly gentleman who has a shoeshine/watch repair shop set up alongside the busy street. Over the years we have become “friends”. He speaks very little English and has taken on the challenging job of teaching me Kiswahili. I try and try, but unfortunately, often he ends up lowering his head and shaking it in disgust and frustration. Back and forth I go day after day and he tries again, perhaps shocked that this white girl can be so slow! But, at long last, he has finally taught me something,“Sasa!” he shouts to me. (Slang for “Hi, how are you?”) He keeps talking in Kiswahili, but if I interrupt him at all, he lays down his tools and slaps his table. I must patiently wait. The simple answer is, “Fit” (I’m good, feeling good!) Victory at last! He smiles grateful that his student is finally learning something. He continues mumbling a few words, probably something about my language skills, to which I flippantly answer, “Sawa, sawa!” (OK, OK) He looked up and gazed at me with complete surprise and delight!
I couldn’t help but notice a woman walking toward my watch repair friend one day. She reached into her huge bundle and pulled out a neatly wrapped paper triangle of something and gave it to him. He then handed her a few shillings. Curious to know what the transaction was all about, of course, I had to ask. Curtly he answered, “My lunch.” I guess he mistakenly thought I might want some. He opened it up and sure enough inside was a mix-mash of ugali, maize and beans. The woman once again hoisted the bundle on her back with the handles strapped securely against her forehead and on down the street she went. Half-way down the block, she stopped to deliver another one of the tiny triangles. I raced to catch up to her and asked her many questions, which she was only to eager to answer. She told me she thought of a business of cooking all morning and delivering lunch to people at their place of work. Most every weekday she would deliver over 20 such meals to her “regulars”. Curious to know how she would even think of such a thing, she replied by telling me, “But, I cannot sit at home and accept a life of stress and poverty; I must do something.” How impressive is that?! Many of us do just sit and wait for something to come to us. How inspiring to meet and touch this old Kenyan mamma who would not sit idly back hoping and wishing, but actually did something about her plight. It wasn’t much, but giving her some shillings, I, too, bought my lunch. Unable to contain my joy at meeting such an inspiring woman, I just had to hug her tight. She was only shocked for a moment, then shook my hand, kissed both cheeks and went on her way.
These are just a few of the friends I’ve met along the way. There are so, so many more. The world is indeed filled with the glory of God. Just stopping to chat with someone (anyone, really), it’s very easy to see. People are amazing; each with a story, no two stories alike, yet interestingly I am finding, most are very willing for you to be a part of theirs.
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