'Nairobbery' is the cliche for the stresses of Kenya's capital, but after four years here I wouldn't say it really hits the target. And the time my bag was stolen in a shopping mall, it was recovered a day later with a somewhat restrained 3000 KSh (around $40) - only a part-payment - taken from the more substantial wodge of cash with which I'd been planning to do the week's shop. Yet sitting yesterday in a gathering of the expat accompanying partners from Tom's work the quiet talk in twos and threes was of the stresses of life here.
'In twenty five years of overseas postings, some to very difficult places, this is the hardest.'
Another: 'This is the posting which made us decide to change track and head back to the UK again.'
But which are the facets that so stress here?
Chewing the fat with some Mum mates last week as we swapped stories of outlandish encounters here, one, who had grown up in Africa and lived in some fairly wayward European countries, said, musingly,
'I get from my childhood I may 'need' to pay a bribe, a 'fine' when I'm in the wrong. But the thing is, here there isn't really the rule of law. Here, the fine is levied without there needing to be any offence at all.'
A survey published this week by Transparency International reported that 70% of Kenyans asked agreed they had paid a bribe to a public official this year, - the third highest rated country in the world, after Sierra Leone and Yemen. They can't ALL have done something wrong. And the impact of that is, I think, as with a bullying teacher who lashes out without reason, others scurry past with eyes downcast, heads down, hoping they won't be the ones to trigger the quixotic temper today. If you trigger the mine you're on your own with it. 'Too bad' people may hiss from the side of their mouth, as they scurry past but basically, survival of the fittest, sauve qui peut, and you're on your own.
A good mate, settled here for some twenty years, describes Nairobi as a frontier town. Which conjures up dodgy backstreets and shady dealings. Another recalled how her friends in well-ordered (but still African) Cape Town called Nairobi 'the Wild West'. Not Somalia or South Sudan where the laws are yet to be drafted. But somewhere, I'd say from a worm's eye view, where having the letter of the law on your side doesn't stand for much. Enforcement is what counts and your ability to enforce by fair means or foul. And all too often it isn't the sheriff with the ten gallon hat who rides into town to enforce the mutually agreed law but someone with their own personal agenda. Or no one at all.
It's not something you might see on first, or even second glance. Tourists passing through can marvel at the malls and chic dress shops. Those here on short-term contracts may breathe a sigh of relief and steam on well-trammelled routes between Gipsys bar, the United Nations complex in Gigiri and the sleek consultants' hangout, Art Cafe. But a few months in, you hear the horror stories which betray chasms and neglect. Of a Kenyan professional who had a car accident on the main,busy Thika highway after dark, but not late, on a Saturday night. And who was discovered dead in the car next morning, as no one had reported the incident or gone to investigate as it careered off the road. The security briefings at which you are told, should you see someone lying injured in the middle of the road, to drive on by, - even, some say, to drive over the body to escape if need be, - as it could be a scam in which you get carjacked - or you get lynched for having caused the accident. Children abandonned or orphaned, living independently on the streets, or in their villages.
A well-respected Head of Science at an international school working here for the last twenty seven years, had his work permit renewal rejected a few months ago. He sat at home off the books for three weeks while representations were made. And then got it re-issued.
'They were just chancing their arm with the school authorities,' he said wryly, a week later. He was just collateral damage. But for him, his family, possible deprivation of his income, question marks over his country of residence of twenty seven years, for no transparent reason at all. A mate of mine described her long-ongoing divorce case. Her ex-husband boasted to her he had bribed the family court. So he is getting away with truly minimal payments for upkeep of their children, despite his comfortable income. But what can she do? Not much in effect. Another very well-connected mate detailed the saga of the land in a prime development area left her ten years ago. How the deeds were stolen when they were lodged with the courts. How driving past after a tip off the plots had been re-fenced and divided up - a sign someone else was trying to grab the land and make a fast buck. All around us, plots of land bear painted signs 'This plot is not for sale', so no one can pretend to be the owner and 'sell' it on to an innocent buyer.
What scares and stresses me is how individuals can fall through the cracks. Individuals who could be me and mine. Just because there was solid ground there a moment ago, oh look theres a swallow hole and 'Where's she gone?' How so many choose to look away from tricky situations, from distress, and walk on by rather than stop, do the difficult thing, have the tricky conversation, offer support.
I was told of a newly arrived young expat wife, arriving in Nairobi some two months after her husband. Her husband lost his job within a month of her arrival, but didn't tell her. Carried on with the motions of going to work while trying to find something new. As well we all might. While she carried on trying to settle in a new country, make a new home, surrounded by other expat spouses who knew the reality of her situation, that she didn't know, but they didn't feel they could tell her on such a brief acquaintance.
Or thinking of the new mum on the playground a week before the end of the summer term. We swapped phone numbers, she came to coffee, we had a nice chat. Then came the summer holidays. Six weeks into the autumn term I realised it wasn't just that our kid's after school activities no longer overlapped. Not that she'd got a driver and no longer did the school run herself. Not that she was always in the gym when I phoned. Or 'out'. She wasn't here any more. That might not matter in Europe. But here, where networks and security are key, well it felt it really did.
'Oh yes, the partners her husband was working with changed their plans just after he'd arrived. So they had to turn round and go home.'
Its not that life is changeable that distresses me. But that I, others, no one noticed she wasn't there. No one sent out a search party. Stuck, in distress, in a car after an accident, and those passing by don't stop, to look and help.
I think its particularly hard if you work here in a regional role, - if Nairobi is your base and your home, but not where you spend most of your time. If you're regularly away in DRC, or Uganda, in Somaliland or South Sudan. A few days after the earthquake in Haiti I suddenly realised that the family of a mate of mine were based in Haiti. There had been wall to wall coverage of the earthquake. But because she's often away, I hadn't made the connection to her. I felt I knew her well, but we'd always met elsewhere. I'd never been to her home, didn't know where she lived. Five days after the earthquake, when I went to see her, it turned out both her parents were still trapped in the family house. That her siblings had had to give up digging by hand to get them out, as really all hope had been lost. She had been in contact with friends and family by skype, by phone. But no one in Nairobi had yet been to see her. No one from her office, which was five minutes walk away. Nor of her other friends. No one at all as she went through a double bereavement, and loss of all income for the rest of her family. A friend from her choir came later on that day. But what an indictment of a city, of a community.
The image which sums the stresses up for me is high altitude climbing. Above the snowline. A place where the air is thin. Things may look stable on the surface, but crevasses can open up. Things can go awry, and there you are, dependent on yourself and your team. If you're lucky you've put in enough, have built the strong relationships, have lucked upon a group with the mentality that if you fall into a crevasse others will pull together and pull you out. Harambee, its called in Swahili, - the mentality by which villages host events to pay for unforeseen funerals, to contribute school fees for talented children who otherwise wouldn't go to high school. But that's a choice. And somehow here, all too often I'd say its seen as value-free, if, imperilled as the rest of the team is too, they turn around, and rather than rescuing you, they instead cut the rope and walk away. Traumatised maybe but uninvolved.
'In twenty five years of overseas postings, some to very difficult places, this is the hardest.'
Another: 'This is the posting which made us decide to change track and head back to the UK again.'
But which are the facets that so stress here?
Chewing the fat with some Mum mates last week as we swapped stories of outlandish encounters here, one, who had grown up in Africa and lived in some fairly wayward European countries, said, musingly,
'I get from my childhood I may 'need' to pay a bribe, a 'fine' when I'm in the wrong. But the thing is, here there isn't really the rule of law. Here, the fine is levied without there needing to be any offence at all.'
A survey published this week by Transparency International reported that 70% of Kenyans asked agreed they had paid a bribe to a public official this year, - the third highest rated country in the world, after Sierra Leone and Yemen. They can't ALL have done something wrong. And the impact of that is, I think, as with a bullying teacher who lashes out without reason, others scurry past with eyes downcast, heads down, hoping they won't be the ones to trigger the quixotic temper today. If you trigger the mine you're on your own with it. 'Too bad' people may hiss from the side of their mouth, as they scurry past but basically, survival of the fittest, sauve qui peut, and you're on your own.
A good mate, settled here for some twenty years, describes Nairobi as a frontier town. Which conjures up dodgy backstreets and shady dealings. Another recalled how her friends in well-ordered (but still African) Cape Town called Nairobi 'the Wild West'. Not Somalia or South Sudan where the laws are yet to be drafted. But somewhere, I'd say from a worm's eye view, where having the letter of the law on your side doesn't stand for much. Enforcement is what counts and your ability to enforce by fair means or foul. And all too often it isn't the sheriff with the ten gallon hat who rides into town to enforce the mutually agreed law but someone with their own personal agenda. Or no one at all.
It's not something you might see on first, or even second glance. Tourists passing through can marvel at the malls and chic dress shops. Those here on short-term contracts may breathe a sigh of relief and steam on well-trammelled routes between Gipsys bar, the United Nations complex in Gigiri and the sleek consultants' hangout, Art Cafe. But a few months in, you hear the horror stories which betray chasms and neglect. Of a Kenyan professional who had a car accident on the main,busy Thika highway after dark, but not late, on a Saturday night. And who was discovered dead in the car next morning, as no one had reported the incident or gone to investigate as it careered off the road. The security briefings at which you are told, should you see someone lying injured in the middle of the road, to drive on by, - even, some say, to drive over the body to escape if need be, - as it could be a scam in which you get carjacked - or you get lynched for having caused the accident. Children abandonned or orphaned, living independently on the streets, or in their villages.
A well-respected Head of Science at an international school working here for the last twenty seven years, had his work permit renewal rejected a few months ago. He sat at home off the books for three weeks while representations were made. And then got it re-issued.
'They were just chancing their arm with the school authorities,' he said wryly, a week later. He was just collateral damage. But for him, his family, possible deprivation of his income, question marks over his country of residence of twenty seven years, for no transparent reason at all. A mate of mine described her long-ongoing divorce case. Her ex-husband boasted to her he had bribed the family court. So he is getting away with truly minimal payments for upkeep of their children, despite his comfortable income. But what can she do? Not much in effect. Another very well-connected mate detailed the saga of the land in a prime development area left her ten years ago. How the deeds were stolen when they were lodged with the courts. How driving past after a tip off the plots had been re-fenced and divided up - a sign someone else was trying to grab the land and make a fast buck. All around us, plots of land bear painted signs 'This plot is not for sale', so no one can pretend to be the owner and 'sell' it on to an innocent buyer.
What scares and stresses me is how individuals can fall through the cracks. Individuals who could be me and mine. Just because there was solid ground there a moment ago, oh look theres a swallow hole and 'Where's she gone?' How so many choose to look away from tricky situations, from distress, and walk on by rather than stop, do the difficult thing, have the tricky conversation, offer support.
I was told of a newly arrived young expat wife, arriving in Nairobi some two months after her husband. Her husband lost his job within a month of her arrival, but didn't tell her. Carried on with the motions of going to work while trying to find something new. As well we all might. While she carried on trying to settle in a new country, make a new home, surrounded by other expat spouses who knew the reality of her situation, that she didn't know, but they didn't feel they could tell her on such a brief acquaintance.
Or thinking of the new mum on the playground a week before the end of the summer term. We swapped phone numbers, she came to coffee, we had a nice chat. Then came the summer holidays. Six weeks into the autumn term I realised it wasn't just that our kid's after school activities no longer overlapped. Not that she'd got a driver and no longer did the school run herself. Not that she was always in the gym when I phoned. Or 'out'. She wasn't here any more. That might not matter in Europe. But here, where networks and security are key, well it felt it really did.
'Oh yes, the partners her husband was working with changed their plans just after he'd arrived. So they had to turn round and go home.'
Its not that life is changeable that distresses me. But that I, others, no one noticed she wasn't there. No one sent out a search party. Stuck, in distress, in a car after an accident, and those passing by don't stop, to look and help.
I think its particularly hard if you work here in a regional role, - if Nairobi is your base and your home, but not where you spend most of your time. If you're regularly away in DRC, or Uganda, in Somaliland or South Sudan. A few days after the earthquake in Haiti I suddenly realised that the family of a mate of mine were based in Haiti. There had been wall to wall coverage of the earthquake. But because she's often away, I hadn't made the connection to her. I felt I knew her well, but we'd always met elsewhere. I'd never been to her home, didn't know where she lived. Five days after the earthquake, when I went to see her, it turned out both her parents were still trapped in the family house. That her siblings had had to give up digging by hand to get them out, as really all hope had been lost. She had been in contact with friends and family by skype, by phone. But no one in Nairobi had yet been to see her. No one from her office, which was five minutes walk away. Nor of her other friends. No one at all as she went through a double bereavement, and loss of all income for the rest of her family. A friend from her choir came later on that day. But what an indictment of a city, of a community.
The image which sums the stresses up for me is high altitude climbing. Above the snowline. A place where the air is thin. Things may look stable on the surface, but crevasses can open up. Things can go awry, and there you are, dependent on yourself and your team. If you're lucky you've put in enough, have built the strong relationships, have lucked upon a group with the mentality that if you fall into a crevasse others will pull together and pull you out. Harambee, its called in Swahili, - the mentality by which villages host events to pay for unforeseen funerals, to contribute school fees for talented children who otherwise wouldn't go to high school. But that's a choice. And somehow here, all too often I'd say its seen as value-free, if, imperilled as the rest of the team is too, they turn around, and rather than rescuing you, they instead cut the rope and walk away. Traumatised maybe but uninvolved.
