Java was our regular meet up spot. It had free wifi and great masala chai. We'd all whip out our phones in a social media frenzy, posting and liking and updating and sending information as quickly as we could. The first time I came up for Internet Air, my brain was whirling ("this is the most intense buzz I ever had!"). There was so much to see and do and tune into!
But by my fourth weekend, the Internet became somewhat of a nuisance; my cyber social status didn't really apply anymore. I checked my email though my inbox was consistently empty, I browsed on Facebook though I didn't have anything relevant to contribute. The content I'd post would just float off into cyberspace, all notifications on pause.
But this time my Internet time was put to good use. Just before leaving for Kenya, I had been accepted as a Global Advocate in a program called the First Fifth Institute. It was an intensive 9-month training program geared towards young professionals who were eager to break into the international development world. First Fifth would provide hands-on experience "completing high-impact projects that meet the fundamental needs in food, water, education and health care." (It's a really great organization and you can read more at www.mamahope.org or www.firstfifth.org). First Fifth would be sending me back to Africa for a three-month stint to complete my assigned project. I came to Kenya knowing it wouldn't be my last time in Africa, knowing that this was just the beginning.
I quickly wrote a mini biography needed by the First Fifth orientation coordinator and emailed it off. I had other tasks to complete but dodgy Internet access made those items difficult. F/5 understood and agreed to make my deadlines a bit more flexible. I felt good knowing that when I returned back to the states I would have some real work ahead of me instead of the jobless, pointless scenario I had feared.
This weekend, I wanted a break from the tourist attractions. Some
volunteers were going to spend money on wildlife sanctuaries, but I wanted to spend more time in the city exploring. A volunteer from Washington named Cody invited me and a few others to go to an indoor rock climbing facility on the west side of Nairobi. Excited for something new and a bit of exercise (Kenyan food is mostly starch served with a heavy hand) I jumped at the opportunity.
Texas, an IVHQ trusted taxi driver picked us up. We drove a ways then pulled into a confused parking garage and opened the door. Here? We wondered.
We jumped out and paid the thousand shillings owed. Looking up, we saw the grey concrete of a ten-story building. Hallways and stairwells were placed in unexpected places; we climbed up to the sixth floor where the rock-climbing facility was suppose to be. But as we came to the final flight, construction workers on break gave us curious glances. The whole floor was demoed. No rock wall.
We quickly cut our losses by finding the nearest Indian bar and grabbing a cold Tusker. Most disappointing scenarios seemed remedied by a Tusker.
Niko enjoyed displaying his collection of interesting world facts, Cody and I enjoyed giving him a hard time. We were relaxed and easy and casual and happy. Rock climbing was foolish, really. Garlic naan and apple-mint shisha made up for the travel.
We handed it to one another--this really was better than all the touristy crap the rest were up to. Though I wondered if I'd get the chance to see that monkey park they had tried to find. I do love monkeys.
From here our adventure became...interesting. Cody, Niko and I agreed that walking through the city was an viable and practical option. Our group had planned to meet up at an all-you-can-eat exotic meat buffet called Carnivore in the city. Cody's Google Maps showed that it was only three miles away. His little blue glowing orb would lead us there.
Now, the streets of Nairobi are not easy to negotiate. It's all like a game of Frogger, but easier to die and less lives to waste. Taxis, matatus, buses and cars hurled themselves over lanes and into the highway shoulders, lights seemed to have no real authority and only the practiced pedestrians had figured out the secret rhythms to stay alive. We crossed roads, feigning courage. It seemed weak to scurry or scramble as a vehicle zoomed at you.
We were caught in the human gridlock of downtown Nairobi, faking know-how and confidence. We were walking with such over-zealous strides that we failed to register what we saw ahead: a giant cloud of smoke taking over the sidewalk. It wasn't until our lungs burned and eyes began to water that our senses began to override our pretend confidence. On impulse, we turned around and ran in the opposite direction. Others ran too. Many had kerchiefs over their noses and mouths, coughing and waving away toxic air. We rounded the corner and took cover in a doorway. Niko seemed to catch most of the potent gas and wretched, his eyes watering. Half bewildered, half scared, we quickly agreed to find an alternate route.
Nobody could tell us what the cloud was. Our theories went from accidental explosion to tactful terrorist attack to damn kids pulling pranks. We wondered if it would be in the paper. None of us would be surprised if it wasn't.
Our next failure we blamed on Google Maps. Carnivore, the restaurant where we were headed, did not revealed itself in the location the smartphone had predicted. Instead, we stared at a giant castle-like hotel complete with iron gates to keep us out. I asked the security guard how close we were to our destination and he mumbled something about taking the 25 matatu to the 4. After walking for an hour, we were definitely not keen on boarding one cramped matatu to the next. But this was suppose to be an "adventure" and isn't this what "adventures" were all about? I sucked it up as followed. Wasn't getting tear-gasses enough for these people?
But we found it and loaded up and paid the fifty shillings and rode our way towards Carnivore. To be brief, I ate lamb and liver and ostrich and testicles. My wallet was empty and my bowels never felt better. All for the adventure.
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