I rode a matatu into the city centre this Saturday afternoon with Beth. We stood along the sidewalk with a throng of people waiting to catch a ride. We all pushed into a gutted out Nissan van turned into matatu by cramming in as many small seats as possible. This matatu had stickers of Alishya Keys plastered on the windshield and the front seats were covered in a carpet-like maroon flowered material. Clouds of smoke and red dust chortled and coughed about. My feet, jeans and hair were inevitably covered in the mix of pollution and raw earth by the end of the day. As we whizzed along to downtown, the contrasts of Nairobi flooded my thoughts.


I have already experienced some of the best and worst of Nairobi in the nearly three weeks I have been here. The well deserved nickname of this city is "Nairobbery". If you have not been mugged or robbed you must know of at least three other people that have. Last weekend as I was flung out into speeding traffic screaming and hanging onto my purse with the strength of sheer adrenaline, I became one of the thousands. Traffic skidded to a stop with me laying in the middle of the road. My cell phone landed next to the wheel of a car. Fortunately the man did not get anything and only left me with greenish bruises and a whipped-lashed neck and back. I got up, dusted myself off and scrambled into the safety of a bus. The other passengers asked if the thief had gotten anything. When I answered no, a low laugh rustled throughout like chattering birds. The mzungu (white person) had beaten the thief. However, I felt anything but confident. I felt disarmed, exposed, and bare to my bones.


Cheap roadside meals are one of the best things about Nairobi. A large meal at a kiosk outside the tall walls of the JVA office is about 50 cents for rice, stew, and kachumbali (salad of sorts). I sat in the small hovel this past week for our 45 minute lunch break and chatted with the Kenyan JVA staff, trying to catch their jokes and understand the mixture of Kiswahili and English. Beth and I stopped by another Kenyan hole in the wall this afternoon for delicious chicken and chips and fresh passion juice for few dollars. Toothpicks were being used to pick up chips smothered in tomato and chilli sauces. However, with all cheap roadside meals, a cost is usually towing right after it. A physical cost that is. My stomach has felt the bug crawling in it the past few days. So hence, I have already started a course of medicine to kill it. I guess these past five years of primarily US living has weakened my tolerance. I am hoping it\\\'ll build right back up or else I\\\'ll be packing charcoal tablets to all refugee camp trips.


This morning I sat and had a cup of coffee at a mall called Sarit Centre. This is my almost daily hang out place right after work. It is close to work, has an Internet Café with a quick connection, a super market, and lots of expensive stores. As I looked around, I spotted people of all sorts of different nationalities enjoying a slow Saturday morning together. There were Kenyans, white South Africans, Africans that sounded European educated, Indians, Americans, Spanish speakers, British, Arabs, and others that have probably lived in multiple countries and continents throughout their lives. I love that Nairobi is a hub for activity and people. I had a conversation over dinner last night at a Japanese restaurant about migration issues, unaccompanied minors, international law, Armenia, and the stained glassed Franciscan (of Assisi) chapel I attended earlier in the week. When I spot another foreigner walking the roads like myself, I automatically wonder what journey they are on and what they are doing in Kenya. It is inevitably intriguing. However, at the same time Nairobi can be a lonely city with people always coming and going; the big city cold shoulder. Fortunately I have had people to be with from day one. And I am learning about giving myself time and not to expect everything to fall into place all at once. This purposeful patience helps. Next week I will be moving into an apartment shared by three others. It is very close to work and close to other people I know. I am relieved that I will no longer be separated from the main activity by an expensive and long taxi ride. Annie and Dave (near future apartment mates) work for JVA as case workers like my self. Annie\\\'s from Houston and a former Peace Corps volunteer. Dave is half Swedish and half American. Kelsey is Canadian and is an intern at IOM (International Organization for Migration). The apartment is spacious, new, has large windows and lots of fresh sun light, and has a balcony over looking a road bordered by tall purple Jacaranda trees.


The second week of work went by almost like a blink. My days were filled with interviewing Somali and Ethiopian refugees. I had a cunning elderly Somali man with red henna dyed hair and eyebrows tell me that I am young enough to be his daughter because surely my father must not even be as old as him. And because I am his daughter, then I must request this other person to be included on his case (not in my power of course to break the rules). I had a Somali woman ask to see the picture of her son in our file. He is in the US and she has not seen him for almost 10 years. Upon seeing the blurred black and white photocopy, tears rolled down her weathered cheeks. On Friday I interviewed another Somali woman and her four sons. She was flustered and nervous about making mistakes in the interview. I smiled and reassured her, and she finally calmed down. She, too, wants to join her eldest son in the US.


I am feeling more and more comfortable in my role. I can see how my experiences with refugees in the US have eased the transition. Soon I will start training for another part of the interview process. I am trying to be aware of those that lie and manipulate, but also show compassion at the same time. The fine balance doesn\\\'t seem so difficult right now, but I am thinking it will become so if I allow disillusionment to sneak in. Another case worker sat reading the newspaper at the start of our Thursday work day. I heard him mumble he wished he could just take a personal day off. Yet another case worker in the interview room next to me was nearly interrogating his interviewees. He got irritated when an uneducated woman said she didn\\\'t know how to hold a pen and said, "Don\\\'t pretend you don\\\'t know how to hold a pen, I know you do!" Part of me laughed out loud at how ridiculous the situation was and another part of me worried that maybe I\\\'ll end up becoming like this: fed up with it all, wary about refugee resettlement, and suspicion rather than discernment being the determining factor when making decisions. I know I have a lot to learn. But if I ever start becoming like this, it will be time to take a break or quit all together.


Case workers have also started to talk about the field experience. One case worker uses her excess baggage allowance to take an apple a day for every trip. She says that they last long and keep her healthy. Another case worker said that every night about 8 pm in Dadaab (place of three refugee camps in Kenya) the wind starts to pick up speed and really blows things about. Kakuma refugee camp is like the beach but with no water. Almost every camp has a watering hole (bar) for the expatriate aid workers. In Kakuma IOM and the UNHCR have separate ones. There is a running track also, but you\\\'ll just get bogged down in the sand. My first trip will not be to a camp, but to a city: Addis Ababa in Ethiopia in December. January will be the first trip to Tanzanian camps. So I\\\'ll be able to tell you firsthand my experiences rather than just second hand information! I am thankful for this time in Nairobi to be trained and feel "settled", but I will certainly be more than ready to travel by December.


This is all for now. I will write another update in a week or two. I uploaded a few pictures of the cottage I have been staying at with Julia. I will have to post pictures of my new place soon. I hope to get away for a weekend to camp on Lake Navaisha and hike around the Rift Valley in Hell\\\'s Gate and Mt. Longonot. My parents have also so graciously arranged for me to visit them in Dar es Salaam over Thanksgiving (and my birthday!) at the end of November. I am looking forward to a day in my beloved Indian Ocean.


With love on a pleasant late night in the Cottage,

Merica

NairobiKenyaMerica

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