Bag of ChipsAugust 1My favorite place to eat in Eldoret is Freddy’s; I especially like their club sandwich. (Actually, sandwiches are a very rare menu item in Kenya.) Freddy’s sandwich comes with “chips” (fries) and coleslaw. On this particular evening, I ordered it “take away” so I could eat it in my hotel room. I realized I didn’t really need to finish the whole thing, so I saved some of the chips, “tomato sauce” (a strange Kenyan substitute for ketchup), and salt. I knew I’d be able to find a hungry, but grateful street boy.
The following morning, I carried the leftovers in a small black plastic bag as I walked to the post office. Failing to see any street boys on the way, I kept it with me while I mailed two packages. While in line, I assisted four Sudanese guys, mailing a letter to the US apparently for the first time ever. I enjoyed our brief interaction.
Upon completely that task, I noticed it looked like it was about to rain. Since I didn’t have an umbrella with me, I stopped to get one at Ukwala (a grocery store). I left my little black package with the guy manning the “luggage check”. Immediately after stepping outside with my newly purchased umbrella and collecting my package of leftovers, a downpour hit the city!
As I headed to my next destination Рa cyber caf̩ РI scanned the wet streets and sidewalks for a hungry child to bless. Apparently they had all sought shelter from the cold rain. Eventually, though, I did spot a kid that appeared to be about ten years old.
Barefooted and wearing tattered shorts, he held his sweater over his head in an attempt to keep dry. He waded in a culvert full of gushing rain water, very intently searching for something, although I’m not sure what.
I got his attention and handed him the bag of chips. “Thanks,” he said appreciatively, as he took the bag.
I continued on my way.
DilapidatedAugust 6Look up the word “dilapidated” in any reputable dictionary and you’re likely to find a photo of a matatu (“Nissan” van used for public transportation). Here are some synonyms: decrepit, rundown, ramshackle, on its last legs, the worse for wear, falling to pieces, falling apart, and wrecked. Each and every one of those words or phrases very aptly describes any given matatu currently on the road in Kenya!
These vehicles truly take a beating, partly due to the atrocious roads! Likewise, the conductors and drivers seem almost intent on prematurely wearing out the matatus. The windows rarely work. The dashboard components (crucial features such as the gas gauge, the temperature gauge, and the speedometer) are typically missing.
There are frequently holes in the floorboard. The seat belts normally don’t clasp properly or don’t adjust for size. It’s not unusual for the mirrors to be held in place with a piece of wire or duct tape. The rear door is typically held shut with a piece of rope, whether or not there’s an excess of luggage squished inside.
Perhaps the components that take the worst beating are the two passenger doors. They are constantly being opened and shut to let folks in and out. I’ve seen numerous matatus with doors that don’t properly shut or open. Often the conductor has to reach into the inside of the front passenger door to pull a dangling wire (where the handle once was) so the passenger can exit.
Similarly, the sliding door often has to be repeatedly slammed shut until it will stay closed. On more than one occasion, I’ve ridden in a matatu on which the sliding passenger door came off of its runners. Each time, the conductor nonchalantly and dexterously managed to get it properly re-engaged… while we continued to move down the road!
Such are the vehicles I use to travel around Kenya!
Recently, while returning from Kitale to Matunda, I sat in the seat behind the driver. I was squished next to a large, dirty bag of potatoes. In fact, my pants got soiled from them. As is the norm, the conductor squeezed in too many people and some were forced to stand, bending over.
In addition to many brief stops we also stopped at Moi’s Bridge, a fairly large market area. It’s normal for several people to vacate and board vehicles here. Of course, along with them, all of the appropriate and miscellaneous pieces of luggage must also be exchanged.
After about five minutes, we continued on the road for Matunda. As we did so, the conductor attempted to force the sliding door shut. Suddenly, it fell off – not off the runners, but completely off the vehicle!
Reacting to the absolute absurdity of what I’ve just seen, I laughed out loud. Since no one else even batted an eye, I somehow managed to stifle my laughter!
Fairly quickly, the driver stopped and simultaneously the conductor jumped out to retrieve the door. But instead of reattaching it, he immediately put it up on top of the vehicle and haphazardly tied it in place.
We continued merrily on our way – with no side door – business as usual! People (including a rather large woman) still stood bent over, with their back sides now getting a nice breeze. Fortunately, I was next to the dirty bag of potatoes and not standing next to the non-existent door! And fortunately, I only had about ten more minutes before reaching Matunda!
The driver said something about getting it fixed in “town”, which in this case would mean Eldoret. The vehicle still had a good hour to go before reaching Eldoret. Believe it or not, it’s likely that no new passenger would mind riding in such a dangerous vehicle.
Ha! Surely, this incident qualifies for my list of “only in Kenya”! I’ll tell you what… there’s rarely a dull moment here!
Another Hungry ChildAugust 16
Most likely you’ll recall reading about Kim, Collins, and I taking Mark Deng Deng to Franco’s at Kakuma Refugee Camp. As we entered the Ethiopian restaurant, just as was the case the two times we ate there last December, a young street boy stood strategically at the door. Silently holding out his hand, his eyes spoke volumes.
As we all thoroughly enjoyed our lunch, I noticed Kim stopped eating before finishing his platter of njera. When he said he didn’t have any more room, I suggested he give it to the boy at the entrance. I added my boiled egg and Kim asked our waiter to “pack” it. However, it turned out that the young boy was no longer standing at the door.
Kim continued to carry the bag of leftovers with him as we walked to Mark’s house. For some time, we didn’t pass by any other feasible prospects for the small lunch. Eventually Kim spotted a lone boy walking towards us. He appeared to be weak with hunger, almost to the point of fainting.
Kim held the bag out to the boy, but he didn’t even react. Instead he stared at Kim unemotionally.
Mark intervened. “Unasikia Dinka? Unasikia Swahili? (Do you understand Dinka? Do you hear Swahili?),” he asked gently and with compassion. The boy barely muttered, “Dinka”. Mark explained to him, in the Sudanese language Dinka, that food was inside and that he should take it.
Unenergetically the boy complied by taking the bag; he silently continued on his way.
Mark offered us some sobering commentary, “You can tell that boy is hungry by the way his mouth is so dry. You can see he hasn’t eaten in many days.”
I knew Mark spoke from personal experience.
