"and she shows you where to look, among the garbage and the flowers"

over the past month i have tried to discover and grasp something of nairobi. i have wandered her streets, slums and supermarkets trying to understand..just kidogo-- a little. the smells are arresting: burning plastic, shoe polish, feces, baking bread. The sights are indescribable. electricity is unreliable. everyone is perpetually just a little sick from the bad water and air. every other child has crusted snot on his upper lip and a watermelon belly that protrudes from an otherwise emaciated frame. and transportation is scary. The matatu, a 14 passenger nissan van--which often seats as many as 25 people-- costs only 20 shillings, but you ride at your own risk. the front seat is called the death seat. they pick you up without coming to a full stop and start speeding down the road-- making a third lane where there are only two-- as you try to pull yourself in the sliding door.
I have come accustomed to long stares and children stroking my odd looking hair and skin. I have been short of breath for a month in this city with an elevation of 5,450 ft. i get winded walking up the stairs. i have learned the fair price of a banana, and where to get the best ice cream. i have spent a month without seeing one man and woman touch or one mother show any physical affection for her daughter. and i have finally realized that kenyan time is just different, that watches should be tossed and punctuality abandoned. i have come home each evening, legs covered in red mud and nostrils filled with dirt, and gone to bed each night to the lull of the tarawih- the evening prayer in the mosque just behind where i stay.
i have seen riots for raila and rallies for kibaki, and witnessed a city buzzing with the upcoming elections and hope for change. i have seen a country divided against itself: 42 tribes, muslims and christians, blacks and indians, trying to live at peace together in one kenya. i have realized that we are not all so different; though the destitute have lived through a greater number of accidents for which nobody is blamed or accountable. almost everyone i've met has lost a brother or a sister or a father. in the slums, i have seen the beauty of community and hospitality organically grown out of communal dependency, people offering the little food they have. and in the wealthy neighborhoods, i felt the cold exclusion of the guarded, barbed wire gate.
yes there is violence here, and i have missed walking around alone at night. there is mugging and theft, and it felt a little odd putting the offering at church in a lock-box. there is trash everywhere and a desperate need for a recycling program. there is a lack of national pride and confidence and ambition and a need for a change in the government.
but there is also so much beauty in the land and the people that i have just begun to see. i know there is a lot of goodness to be found here.

tree bark

kenya is one of the worlds largest flower exporters. a dozen roses costs less than 2 dollars.









it's no wonder i have parasites.

can someone please help kenya start a recycling program? wangari maathai...?