Doing bussiness in Eldoret

(A Kenyan secondhand market, picture from the internet)

After days of "looking like a walkin' talkin' tomato" in the scorching sun of Eldoret, I decided it was time to take action. I went to the local supermarket for a sunscreen. I made my way to the cashier, only to find that this teeny-tiny bottle containing 200ml of Nivea sunscreen costed no less than HALF what Carol and I pay in rent per month! I was outraged. "How do these people expect ordinary Kenyans to afford that??". But then, wait, Kenyans obviously don't use sunscreen. The only ones who buy that stuff are the white expats. Suddenly it all made sense.

- These people are always looking for a way to charge more money from us foreigners, I thought grumpily to myself.

(One of these costs half a monthly houserent in this upside-down country, picture from the internet)

In order to spare as much as possible of this very expensive sunscreen, I decided to go to the local market to get a few second-hand long-sleeved tops. As Carol and I were walking to the market, I asked her:

- So where do these masses of second-hand clothing come from?
- What? You don't know? replied Carol.
-They come from you guys! Donations from the West.

(This is where the clothes you donate end up, picture taken from the internet)

The proof appeared soon after: a Dale Norway Lusekofte, being sold at the market in Eldoret. A state of the art piece of traditional Norwegian clothing, usually sold at around 250 dollars, going for the price of one dollar. Of course we had to buy that! So, friends back in Norway: if you recently donated a black and white Lusekofte to goodwill, I might be wearing it right now.

(These are sold for 100KSH, 1 dollar or 7 NOK at the market, picture taken from the internet)

Later that day I was coming back from the market. I alighted from the Matatu and started walking towards our home. Suddenly I heard someone shouting:

- Hey, mzungu! Come say hi to us!

I went over to talk to the 4 or 5 women that had called.

- We're selling mukimo, kikuyu food, they said and laughed.
- Would you like some?

Unusually sceptical as I was this day, I wondered if they were looking for a way of ripping off this mzungu.

- How much is it? I asked.
- What do you mean how much? they replied.
- It's a gift! Welcome to Kamukunji!

(Mukimo: like mashed potatoes only green! Picture taken from the internet)

God certainly knows how to put me in my place! Here I had been, grumpy and suspicious of Kenyans who, I thought, only wanted to get as much money from me as possible. How my mind even got there, don't ask. But that's what I love about God: whenever my paradigms, values or ideas about people start going off track, He knows just how to pull me back to His values, His paradigms and His love for His people!

God is great, and to the people of Kamukunji: I love you!!

We're just taking a walk, nothing more

(Picture taken from the nternet)

You know how sometimes you just know that the Spirit is leading your steps?

Today Carol and I went for a hike on "Reflection Hill", as I have named it. We brought our bread, chapatis, bananas and water along,  ready for a long, tiresome day of walking.
As we made it to the plains on the top of the hill, we met a guy in a yellow T-shirt:
- So, what have you come to produce? he said.
- Produce? We're not producing anything, we replied, a bit baffled at the question.
- Oh, so then you are missionaries? You have come to speak the word of God?
- Not really, we replied.
- We're just taking a walk, nothing more.

We kept going, and as we started going down the other side of the hill, we met a young guy who was herding cattle. Again, we stopped, talked about everyday things and continued on our journey. After a few minutes we arrived at the side of a lake, and we sat down. The young shepherd reappeared, now together with another guy. We struck up a conversation, or rather, Carol did. I was strugglig to understand their kiswahili, and kept silent most of the time.

- What is your dream? Carol asked the shepherd.
- I don't have one, was the reply.
- I have never had a dream.

We were surprised, to say the least, to hear such cynicism from a 20 year-old guy. As we kept inquiring, it turned out he had dropped out of secondary school due to lack of funds. His father had passed away 10 years ago, leaving the family in a very difficult economic situation. So for the past few years he had been roaming around, herding cows or working at the farms from time to time. Whenever there is no work, he usually passes his time in the local bar.

-Even when you met me in the morning I was drunk, he said.

We ended up not walking any further, but spending our afternoon with these guys. We visited their home, shared lunch and talked about our faith, our hopes and dreams. Truly God took great part in our conversation, and I am sure that we all left "Reflection Hill" impacted by His greatness in one way or another.

Reflection of the day: When you have surrendered your life to God, there is no such thing as just a walk.

Welcome to Eldoret!

On Monday morning I headed northwest to the small town of Eldoret. Now, after a few days of settling in, I am starting to feel at home, and so it is time to communicate to you guys what the place is like. Unfortunately the cable for my camera is back in Nairobi, so for now I don't have any photos of my house. Anyway I'll try to explain as vividly as possible.

(Photo from the internet)

Let's start from the inside - out. The town of Eldoret is located in the Central Rift Valley, not too far from Lake Victoria and the Ugandan border. It's lies around 2500 metres above sea level, and has around        250 000 habitants. It is by the way the fastest growing town in Kenya. It is mainly a farming town, but holds quite a lot of factories aswell.

(Eldoret city centre, photo from the internet)

My impression of the town so far is that it is very busy, very brown and very windy. People are nice and not too used to wazungu so you get a LOT of attention. The city centre is really small, you can in fact walk from one side to the other in less that 15 minutes. It holds everything from loud, smelly town markets to huge Nakumatt shopping malls, all scrambled together to make the town lively and interesting.

(Eldoret in a nutshell, taken from the internet)

I'm living in the estate of Kamukunji, which is actually a small slum, so I am feeling right at home! The place is situated on a slope leading up to some beautiful hills that are really nice for hiking. The railway passes at the bottom of the slope, mainly carrying cargo. Out of the 5000 people living in Kamukunji, the ones I've met are wonderful people! They are outgoing, talkertive and have really made me feel at home in this place.

(My home, Kamukunji, taken from the internet)

Now, our house is located pretty close to the railway, that is, on the bottom outskirts of the area. It's part of a one story building with 10 apartments facing inwards towards a small square in the middle. Our house is about 5x6 metres in size and has two rooms: living room/kitchen/bedroom and bathroom. The kitchen consists of a sink and a gas cooking plate; the bedroom of a bed and a mattress (that we're sleeping on 4 weeks each); the living room of two chairs, a small table, a boookshelf and a study table; and the bathroom of a grounded toilet, a tap and a cold shower.

(Outskirts of Eldoret, photo from the internet)

In other words, my Eldoret world has everything I need, and nothing that I don't need. It's perfect!

I'll miss you

People who know me know that I'm seldomly lost for words, but no I am. Leaving Mathare and all my friends there behind is one of the hardest things I've had to do. I don't know what else to say, than to mention a few of the reasons why Mathare has the Presidential Suite in my heart.

Making chapatis for the first time at Anto and Malonza's place. They didn't turn out very tasty, but we had so much fun making them!

Esther and I during our Christmas bash. I can't imagine any better way of spending Christmas than together with 120 of my very much loved friends from Mathare.

Chilling at a Hamburger-place after taking class 6 at Mathare Worship Centre to the museum and to town.

Being counselled before doing my first HIV-test ever. Fortunately it turned out negative.

Together with my "tall friend Bravura", one of the many musical talents in the Eastlands.

The Recreation Factory, where the magic happens, and the stars of tomorrow are born and raised.

My first meeting with Esther. Since then her family has become among my close friends in Mathare.

Redecorating the Daycare, one of our moments of pride and our definite icebreaker with the MWC.

Tired after a day of painting lions, Jesus and a big boat!

Together with Esther and Matei. She is 4 years old, he is 2. Would you think?

Together with two of our definite heartbreakers in the daycare, Francis and Stevey.

My fantastic team, Flokken! Thank you for three months of fun, creativity, arguing, spontanity, immoral jokes at the dinner table, funny quotes and everything else that makes you special! Thank you for your support in hard times, and for sharing my joy in good times. I love you all, and I wish you the best in your new Kenyan adventures! Knuseklem!!!

It's a walking nation!

For the ones that have been reading my blog for some time, you have earlier read about how matatus, nissans and busses of all shapes, colours and decibel-levels crowd the streets and highways of Nairobi. Traffic jam is part of everyday life, just as are matatu accidents.

This past Monday and Tuesday, however, the situation was quite different. As some of you might have read in VG (http://mobil.vg.no/artikkel.php?artId=581371), all public transport-workers in Kenya decided to strike for these two days. The reason was that corrupt police officers keep forcing the drivers to bribe them, in order not to be arrested or taken off the road.

As most Kenyans cannot afford owning a private car or travelling by taxi, the result of the strike was that people took to their feet, leaving Nairobi resembling a giant anthill with people running up and down trying to keep on with their daily bussiness.

Two of these Nairobian-ants turned out to be Audhild and I. We had spent the night in Eastleigh, one of the estates neighbouring Mathare, and woke up to a full blown migrational movement outside the front door. As we needed to be back in Kasarani by 4 in the afternoon, we decided to join the masses of Kenyans on their apostle's horse journey to town, a walking distance of about one and a half hours, to get a taxi from there.

We were soon to realize that most wazungu in Kenya do NOT usually walk through the Eastlands by foot on a Monday afternoon. As we walk confidently down the crowded streets, people turned their heads, pointed and even laughed shamelessly at these walking whites: "Imagine, even the wazungu have to walk because of the strike!".

A friend of ours that was also going to town explained the situation: "People expect white people like you to be driven by private cars or safari busses. Wazungu never WALK in Kenya." According to him, we might even have ended up on the news if a camera crew had spotted us.

In some way or another, it always feels great when we defy the stereotypes of the wazungu and do things the way their are normally done in Kenya. Just by taking a matatu, buying mandazi at the local shop or taking a walk to town I feel  like I am changing the way Kenyans view us outsiders, slowly by slowly. The saddest part of it all is that there are way too many wazungu who actually contribute to the stereotypes that are there, travelling only by private cars, fearing any person they might meet on the streets and keeping to themselves in their safe expat-bubble.

I want to be different. I want to demonstrate by walk and talk that people are people no matter where they are from, and that wazungu by no means require special treatment.
When we finally arrived in town; tired, sweating and covered by urban dust, we got into a cab and paid way too much to be driven back to safe old Kasarani. I felt like a giant hypocrite, but at least we had taken part in the "walking nation".