Nairobi

Classes were supposed to start last week, but none started, so I took off for Nairobi, Kenya with some Americans from another program. Other Americans warned us against robbery, pickpockets, scam artists, and beggars, but we went anyways.

We left at 6 AM, thinking the bus should arrive by 7 PM. Instead our bus broke down in Moshi. We spent an hour playing cards on the side of the road and waiting. The ride was uneventful from Moshi until the Kenyan border, where we checked out of Tanzania and paid our Kenyan visa fees. Because buying our visas took longer, the bus almost left us alone in the dark. Luckily, we ran and caught up just in time. As we crossed the Kenyan border, the roads surprisingly got worse (they’re pretty awful in Tanzania) and we were soon stopped by police checking that passengers were wearing seatbelts. Spending the last three months in Tanzania, I almost forgot about seatbelts .

We got increasingly nervous driving through the dark, so when we arrived at 9:45, we stepped into a taxi and asked for Backpacker’s Hostel. We decided the hostel chain might be a little more expensive than other guesthouses, but we could stay one night and then move somewhere cheaper. However after one night at the Backpackers, we couldn’t imagine moving. A wonderful Kenyan woman, Patricia, owned the hotel and took great care of us. She cooked for us and gave us directions. We decided we could afford to pay a little extra for a tv, a fireplace in the outdoor dining room, a puppy named Scooby Doo, and warm showers.

We spent the first day wandering around the city, marveling at how urban it felt. We noted immediately that there was no trash on the ground or burning like in Dar-es-Salaam, no squat toilets, and that buildings were taller and better maintained. Although, I didn’t see many Mzungu, Kenyans didn’t stare at us the way Tanzanians do. Nairobi was so well-developed; I could forget I was in Africa. Everyone spoke English clearly and wealthier Kenyans even spoke English to each other. I went to the National Museum and was amazed at how much more organized it was than most Tanzanian museums. Although people pointed out parts of the city that had been disturbed by violence last year, there is currently no visible evidence of last year's upheaval.

The next day, we toured Kibera, the second-largest slum in the world. We slid through rain and across mud paths down into the valley of mud homes and tin roofs, passing signs for small NGOs and private schools. Because the Kenyan government doesn’t officially recognize Kibera’s existence there are no public schools in the area. But we never felt unsafe or even very sad. The people were friendly and they seemed happy despite their poverty. The conditions were cramped and unsanitary—mud dripped through irrigation pipes and there was no room between homes. We visited a shop were men make jewelry from cow bones and a youth center where the kids made beaded jewelry. I couldn't resist buying a few necklaces to support the workers and remember my visit.

I’m not sure why people warned so strongly against Nairobi. It was worth seeing at least once and I’d love to go again someday. The nightlife was more fun than in Dar; Kenyans are better dancers than most Tanzanians and it was exciting to see a city recover (at least on the surface) so quickly from such great turmoil as last year’s election violence.

Since I’ve returned, classes are starting slowly but surely. Not all professors are coming to class, but each day more professors and students show up. I’m supposed to register by Friday, but still go to classes without professors and am not sure what I want to take. We’re all running around trying to find good classes that are actually happening. But on the bright side, I’ve met my roommate, Nehema. She is a very sweet sociology major and we have class together. She has a tv and is currently unpacking a suitcase full of clothes, wondering why she brought so much. I think we could get along well. At least I hope so.