Nairobi is a Cloud of Poison But Still
Nairobi. My relationship with this town is like my relationship with LA. Everytime I visit I appreciate it a little more, and hate it a little less, even though getting here involves sitting in a solid cloud of noxious gases from Eldoret all the way to city center. I can feel the years of my life being cut short with every breath of eye-watering gray smoke I inhale, especially when we've been at a standstill in downtown Nairobi for 20 minutes waiting to enter a traffic circle simply to make the equivalent of a U.S. u-turn to go in the opposite direction. By the time I arrived in the city Friday night I had an Excedrin-sized headache and couldn't walk in a straight line, and I hadn't even been drinking.
But, I was meeting a guy from my village who is now studying to be a Catholic priest in Nairobi. He and his friend picked me up in town and whisked me away, as much as you can whisk away during Friday night Nairobi traffic, to their priest-studying place (I kept asking people all night exactly what kind of place this was. It wasn't a college. It wasn't a church. It was some type of Franciscan community under the Diocese, and it was an all-male congregation of students and other people in various stages of Franciscan brotherhood and priesthood) to meet all their fellow brothers and priests.
Side note for all the Catholics out there: I don't know anything about Catholicism so bear with the lousy terminology here.
We went to the Mother House for dinner, where there was a celebration in progress. One of the brothers had just graduated so they had prepared a big meal and thumping party music. I walked into a large hall throbbing with a hip hop beat as two priests, in full-on priestly collars and large Franciscan crosses hanging around their necks, got funky on the dance floor. It was the first time since I've been in Kenya that the music blaring through the speakers wasn't Christian reggae or gospel going in an endless mind-numbing loop, which is ironic considering that I was at a Catholic event with Catholic brothers at a Catholic parish. In fact there was NO Christian music whatsoever the entire night, only a huge lineup of remixed Kikuyu oldies from the 60s and 70s, with the occasional Kenyan hip hop interlude led by a young brother who would announce his presence throughout the night using the "n" word. I was the only person, of course, that seemed to find these moments awkward.
Over dinner three priests took turns regaling me with their stories about traveling and living in the U.S. As soon as I finished eating, all the brothers bustled me onto the dance floor and turned up the Kikuyu folk music. We bobbed and shuffled and congo-lined to crooning Kikuyu love songs for a few hours, including one song that apparently inspired everyone to start playing synchronized air guitar, and a ballroom dance number involving the mzungu visitor and the head priest's youngest sister.
Franscican brothers know how to party. The shower in my room at the parish was malfunctioning and ended up flooding my bedroom floor at 2 in the morning, but otherwise it was a fun night, fueled only by a proliferation of Orange Fanta sodas and a huge vat of mokimo, a traditional Kikuyu dish made of mashed bananas, pumpkin leaves and green maize.
In the morning I had to go back into town for a Peace Corps event, but everyone kept insisting that I stay for a few more days. Kenyans are really the most welcoming people I've ever met. The brothers and priests each offered to take me to their respective homes the next time I visit. I now have local guides should I ever want to visit Lake Baringo, Turkana, Nakuru, Naivasha, Tanzania, Kampala or Western Uganda ("Be careful when you go to Uganda. They eat people." "Don't be joking. If we ate people, Justina would have been eaten when she went rafting on the Nile.")
My Nairobi friends rock, man.
But, I was meeting a guy from my village who is now studying to be a Catholic priest in Nairobi. He and his friend picked me up in town and whisked me away, as much as you can whisk away during Friday night Nairobi traffic, to their priest-studying place (I kept asking people all night exactly what kind of place this was. It wasn't a college. It wasn't a church. It was some type of Franciscan community under the Diocese, and it was an all-male congregation of students and other people in various stages of Franciscan brotherhood and priesthood) to meet all their fellow brothers and priests.
Side note for all the Catholics out there: I don't know anything about Catholicism so bear with the lousy terminology here.
We went to the Mother House for dinner, where there was a celebration in progress. One of the brothers had just graduated so they had prepared a big meal and thumping party music. I walked into a large hall throbbing with a hip hop beat as two priests, in full-on priestly collars and large Franciscan crosses hanging around their necks, got funky on the dance floor. It was the first time since I've been in Kenya that the music blaring through the speakers wasn't Christian reggae or gospel going in an endless mind-numbing loop, which is ironic considering that I was at a Catholic event with Catholic brothers at a Catholic parish. In fact there was NO Christian music whatsoever the entire night, only a huge lineup of remixed Kikuyu oldies from the 60s and 70s, with the occasional Kenyan hip hop interlude led by a young brother who would announce his presence throughout the night using the "n" word. I was the only person, of course, that seemed to find these moments awkward.
Over dinner three priests took turns regaling me with their stories about traveling and living in the U.S. As soon as I finished eating, all the brothers bustled me onto the dance floor and turned up the Kikuyu folk music. We bobbed and shuffled and congo-lined to crooning Kikuyu love songs for a few hours, including one song that apparently inspired everyone to start playing synchronized air guitar, and a ballroom dance number involving the mzungu visitor and the head priest's youngest sister.
Franscican brothers know how to party. The shower in my room at the parish was malfunctioning and ended up flooding my bedroom floor at 2 in the morning, but otherwise it was a fun night, fueled only by a proliferation of Orange Fanta sodas and a huge vat of mokimo, a traditional Kikuyu dish made of mashed bananas, pumpkin leaves and green maize.
In the morning I had to go back into town for a Peace Corps event, but everyone kept insisting that I stay for a few more days. Kenyans are really the most welcoming people I've ever met. The brothers and priests each offered to take me to their respective homes the next time I visit. I now have local guides should I ever want to visit Lake Baringo, Turkana, Nakuru, Naivasha, Tanzania, Kampala or Western Uganda ("Be careful when you go to Uganda. They eat people." "Don't be joking. If we ate people, Justina would have been eaten when she went rafting on the Nile.")
My Nairobi friends rock, man.
posted by Justina at 1:46 PM
1 Comments:
oh you clearly need to go out more in kenya...the night life is nothing short of AMAZING!! however you need the right crowd to go out with who know the right spots. There is a kenyan bloggers ring that I know are avid party goers. U need to try out all the hot spots...sikiliza, klub house, etc...
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