pole pole

I went around the city centre yesterday. Before getting dropped off at my very colonial, very snazz-matazz hotel. (I have my own bathroom! I can walk around naked in my hotel room! I get a robe, in case my curtains happen to be open!)

The city centre reminds me a lot of Maputo and Sar es Salaam. Big bustling African city, with colonial buildings wedged tightly between lots of crazy ugly modern stuff made from glass and concrete, and a touch dirty. But one thing I can say for Nairobi is that everyone - business' and housing - seems to keep their hedges in impeccable topiarified condition.

I saw the memorial park where the US embassy used to stand, before it got bombed in those 1998 terrorist attacks. It stood right next to the bus and taxi rank, so no wonder so many people got killed. I also went to a market - where I was immediately hustled to distrction. 'You can go slowly - pole pole - that's the East African way, slowly, so you can buy everything.'

'Dude. I'm not from Europe. I am South African, and therefore am not a rich 'msungu' (White person)'

I got a kikoi and some earrings, and had to sit down on a chair (the throne of negotiation), to try and bargain them down. I still think I got ripped, but hey, I gave it my best shot.

Then I spent the latter half of the afternoon succumbing to colonial hedonism. That is, drinking gin and tonics by the pool. Tried to stay out of the sun, but now have a red nose. Awesome.

Felt a touch lonely while dining on bruschetta and my own cheap Kenyan wine at the restaurant. (I bought my own from the supermarket. Why? The headache last night was insatiable. Christ.) It's one thing staying at an amazing hotel, surrounded by other lonely executives or executives with wives prancing around in Versace and oversized sunglasses, but when you have no one to share the experience with it feels rather ridiculous. I wish the rest of my team could've come.

Anyway, now off for an intense first day course today.

hakuna matata

I’m in Kenya. Fucking surreal.

After a few glasses of wine with the other Swedish birds that are staying in my guesthouse (they are here to build sustainable windpower machines for rural communities. Interns. Fuck me.) I start to wonder if I am, in fact, too old for this whole ‘arbing around Nairobi for the weekend before I hit work’ thing.

I arrived yesterday to find my suitcase had been busted open at the airport and rifled through. The fuckers didn’t find anything of value in there though – so ha! You thought I’d ACTUALLY put my electronic shit in there? You thought my bag was from Copenhagen didn’t you? Wrong again. Still, they bust my suitcase. Annoying, and yet, not completely surprising. Welcome to Nairobbery.

Today, John, a trusty, talkative, and slightly senile driver, drove me around Karen, the neighbourhood I am staying in. The neighbourhood is in fact the old farm of Karen Blixen, now turned into a suburb.

She used to shoot lions here willy nilly, because they ‘terrorised her workers.’ And she wore two hats on her head because, coming from Denmark, thought the hot African sun was so strong, it would harm her brain. Interesting.

First stopped at the animal sanctuary, of rescued wildlife. Shame, most of the elephants were orphans of mothers who’d died of starvation or were otherwise poached. One rescued rhino was born blind, poor little bastard.

One elephant farted right next to my face. This little guy who’d just been fed milk. It was rancid man. Half of us had to jump out of the way.

They were tame, and played with this soccer ball, some kicking with their back feet. While warthogs – LOVE those guys, seriously warthogs rock my planet something epic - they have the naughtiest faces and their aerial tales crack me up - they just wallowed and rolled around in this mud bath. Happier than, er. pigs in shit. Their babies were so small, the size of a daschund.

Then we went to Karen Blixen’s farmhouse. The original colonial setting, made famous by the Out Of Africa movie – it was all filmed here. Saw Meryl and Robert’s clothing for the set. The dude, Humphrey, who showed me around was in barrels of laughter the whole way through – ‘oh and those were Meryl’s boots for the movie haaaaaaa hahaha, look how small they are.’

So Meryl Streep has small feet.

Basically, he was chuckling away and having a right old gas the whole way through my tour. He was the most entertaining of the lot. Karen died of lung cancer; and she self-medicated with small doses of arsenic before she died back in Denmark.
She also had two lamps, which she’d place on her window for her boyfriend, Dennis Finch Hatton (Bob Redford.) Red was for ‘Don’t come in, I have PMS’, and green was ‘Come in, I need a shag.’

The Danes are so practical.

Then went to a giraffe spot where I could feed them directly from my hand. What I loved the most was that the giraffes came to you when you called them by name. Laura and Daisy. Bless!?

Laura slobbered all over my hand with her big black tongue, and Daisy headbutted me.

Never thought I’d be able to say I’d been headbutted by a fucking giraffe.

In my life. Never did I imagine I’d be headbutted by a giraffe called Daisy in my life.

Well now I can.

Went to a bead factory, bought some earrings and ate…goat. I had a goat stew at a crocodile farm.
Crisis. Now I feel bad, and slightly pukey.

My driver took a vested interest in my family life as we drove. And spent about an hour consoling me about my parent’s divorce (that happened, like, 10 years ago.)

‘You must just leave over Christmas, and then hakuna matata.’

‘That’s what I do John. I leave.’

Maybe I am completely fucked up. I mean, I choose to spend a relatively arb weekend in Kenya don’t I. I leave, at any excuse. And I certainly fuck off for Christmas.

Oh well. John seems to think I am doing pretty well for a fucked up kid. Never thought I say that in Kenya, now.

Oh and the Swedes, having being interning on the edge of Lake Victoria with no fresh running water nevermind normal amenities, loved me when I gave them the latest Marie Claire, a bottle of wine and a Skype headset.
Bless.

ooh

Wonder if it'll be more than ten degrees and not pissing down with rain in Kenya like here.
I mean come one - last night I was in my flattering winter pyjamas, dragging a blanket around the house and sucking on Horlicks. After running 7 k's at gym.

Isn't it on the three day mark, your arss starts to shrink?

Anyway, whatever. I'm off to Nairobi this morning. I'm taking my suitcase as hand luggage, and have no idea what I plan to do when I get there this evening.

But that's part of the adWENture isn't it? Those that I love romantically and otherwise have been informed I do so.

Before I get put up at a hotel near the office, I've booked to stay in something called a 'Bush House' in a suburb called Karen, on the outskirts of the city. The suburb is named after Karen Blixen from Out Of Africa. Her original farmhouse, now a museum, is a block away from where I am staying.

Off I go.

naibs

I’m going to Kenya the week after next. For some work.

Will take the weekend prior to check the old place out.
Just feel a bit sad. For one, I missed the boat when Poen was there – only two months ago. But Poen’s boyfriend will be in town to take us out for a few drinks, which is rather fun. He knows places; I don’t.

Nairobbery here I come.

Am super excited really. The last I remember of Kenya is a runway, dotted with thorn trees, back in the days when planes used to have to refuel in Africa on the way to Europe.
I was with my folks, and were delayed for 6 hours in Nairobi airport because the plane had hit a buck on landing. Wild animals used to roam the runway it seemed. Wonder if that still happens.

Otherwise the furtherest I’ve been into East Africa was on a trip to Zanzibar and Dar es Salaam.
So this is an all-new exciting experience for me. What does one do in Nairobi? I mean tourists go to the Masai Mara or the coast, and I certainly won’t have time to do that. In some way its nice that I’ll only be tied to one city; one that isn’t romantic like Rome or Prague, or one saturated with history and culture like Berlin; or one dripping with sensuality like Rio.
It’s a hub in Africa, and yet it’s a city maybe 765th on everyone’s Bucket List.

Cool. I’m gonna rip it open.

I might even be by myself for most of this trip, so it’ll be a complete eye-opening me-experience like Israel was last year. Israel was an unexpected little adventure and would’ve loved to have stayed longer.

Wow. I’m going to Kenya. Whole new world of unchartered territory right there.