As an antidote to yesterday’s unsettling experience with my neighbor from upstairs I had another unsavory incident with an unfriendly anonymous male person from -I assume- one of the houses next door.
I was determined today to keep my volume down and did my usual negotiations with my toddler with firm but low tones. My control, however, did not extend to his volumes and tones.
I had the usual difficulty, with him sleeping late, waking up late, and showing up late for his first day of the new school year on one of the hottest summer days.
Things continued to go wrong when he missed (or firmly resisted) his nap, and I thought that the best solution was to take him out in the late afternoon and let him walk off excess energy. I was hoping he will quickly settle to sleep after a shower and supper. But when we returned home he was in over-tired mode and started howling in the shower. I was doing my best trying to keep cool and weather the storm when someone next door shouted : SHUT UP, SHUT YOUR CHILD UP !!!
That made me mighty angry. I had a couple of foul-mouthed retorts ready in my mind, but mostly I wanted to tell the smart-ass that I was glad he was suffering. I was ready to let my child continue his tirade out of pure spite. I do not know the guy, or where he lives, but I recognize him as the voice who often barks at dogs to SHUT UP as well; I do not consider this normal behavior.
Perhaps this happened to bring yesterday in perspective and protect me from placing too much blame on myself. I will still try to keep my volume down, but some people will keep complaining no matter what..
One of my neighbors knocked at my door at bedtime yesterday. Apparently she was concerned that I always shout at Robert. We were having our usual bedtime argument, because he does not want to go to bed.
This incident brought me up short and made me as usual question myself and my rearing method. Yes, some people are better off minding their own business, but if an outsider views my behavior as wrong or disturbing then perhaps I should take account and correct it if necessary.
Some background information : I come from a very vocal culture, where people are normally loud. My ex husband used to comment that when I speak on Skype with my parents it is always like we are having a fight, but in the meantime it is just an animated argument.
My son dropped a cherished toy that I received from my family in Germany down the balcony yesterday, and I was at a loss at what I should do. I was in my nightdress, and the toy landed on the street at the back of the building where I had to walk all around the block to get it. So I carried him down (I could not leave him alone in the apartment), and was running my mouth at him calling him an idiot… I may also have said that I hated him sometimes, I was not aware that the neighbor was watching. The truth is that I was covering my embarrassment at running in a unpresentable manner on the street, and making a little bit of a fuss for my son so that he doesn’t do this again. I do the same sort of thing when he runs on the street without holding my hand (even if it is a perfectly quiet street) and when he tries to make dangerous acrobatics on the railings overlooking the ocean below.. I consider a loud and angry voice an intimidating parenting tool.
Yet, there is this moment, and another one a few months back. It makes me realise that perhaps I am over-using or abusing this method. Yes, we do live in a very close street, and I hear my neighbors flushing the toilet, and the people next door talking on the stoep. But this is all the more reason for me to be careful and respectful. And If I am ashamed to display such episodes to strangers then I should also control them in front of my son. I should not complain if he has tantrums if I frequently have my own.
I do have a wonderful little child and I do not want to be seen as anything but an appreciative and fond mother. I hate the image my loudness and my temper portrays to other outsiders.
Granted they are not there for the good times. They do not see me cuddling him every night, or telling him that I love him several times every day. They do not see us laughing and playing together, and they do not comment on the fact that I spend more time with him than with anyone else. I did not say any of that to my neighbor, who was perhaps brave, perhaps selfish to come and confront me. I was muted by my shame, at inadvertently showing a part of myself that I am not proud of.
It has been almost four months since I wrote anything new for this blog, and the gaps are now too big to fill, but I had a few problems and some joyous things to celebrate during the last third of 2009.
September : I was busy with a huge translation project which took up all my time.
October: Two days after I delivered my huge project I was due to start with another one, but I never did any work because my laptop was stolen out of my flat, and thus I officially joined the ranks of South Africans affected by crime. I was inconsolable for at least a week but then had to pick up the pieces on a rebuilt desktop machine and tried to carry on. I also had to change gears from self-pity when I went on a trip to Nairobi to write an exam, more about which I will write perhaps later.
November: I managed to work on another small translation project and started thinking about buying another laptop, but my world crashed again when I was hit with severe pneumonia. I was bedridden and feverish for over a week and started thinking all sorts of bad scenarios including death and Malaria. I learned a simple truth, that once a health issue rears its ugly head everything else pales in comparison; I promised not complain ever again about anything, because being healthy is enough blessing for anyone.
Perhaps it was middle age, or the severity of my illness but it took me quite long to get back to normal. I suffered from the usual nasty ailments that follow long treatments with antibiotics and I was still coughing at the end of November when we had a visitor from Germany.
December: I decided to fly to Germany for two weeks at short notice. This was made possible thanks to a very special friend who agreed to look after Petey my cat and my two neglected but alive plants. Robert and I braved a 10,000 km distance and long flights to be with family over Christmas.
The trip was among the most pleasurable moments of 2009. It was possible for us to visit my aunt in the German countryside and reconnect with an uncle and grown cousins, whom I only remember as kids. We had a wonderful time and were spoiled rotten.
We arrived back in Cape Town today, the last day of 2009. Robert and I are having our mini New Year celebration, listening to music and munching on potato chips. I have opened a bottle of South African bubbly. As we say good bye to old 2009, we are again at a crossroad in our lives. The need to reflect and make a decision. I realise that forever I will be split apart between my love for my family and the life I built against all odds here in South Africa.
My heart is unequivocally in South Africa, the beautiful land where I feel at home, but the fact remains that I was born elsewhere and all my relatives are far, far away. Am I doing the right thing for myself and Robert by staying in South Africa. Isn’t better for him to be in Europe where he can have access to grandparents, a better education system and an additional language?
It is hard to decide what is best for my son, and it is harder to make my own life revolve around what I may think best for HIM. Because down the line parents always get blamed for the decisions they make on behalf of their children. It is perhaps fairer to go with my heart and choose what I think is best for me, because what my son needs most is a happy mother who can then provide him with her absolute best and make sure that he gets the most of his surroundings. But even though I am absolutely convinced of that there is always a small voice inside my head that tells me “what if I was wrong?”
One of the last things I remember checking on my stolen lap tops were flights on KQ (Kenya Airways) to Nairobi. I was close to buying a full fare ticket rather than take advantage of a stand-by, because I was not entirely comfortable with using my company benefits to write an exam for another job. My qualms were put completely to bed after the incident with my computer and my whole concern shifted to the option that would cost me least money.
So as it happened I bought myself only a stand by ticket on SAA and double-checked that I do not need a visa. Since I was flying to Nairobi via Johannesburg I found myself at Cape Town airport for the earliest flight, I reckoned that since it was a Sunday the flights will be busy and they will get busier as the day wore on. There were two flights from JNB to NBO on the day but I did not want to wait around for the later flights and preferred to arrive earlier in Gigiri to orientate myself.
So it was I left with heavy heart early in the morning, leaving Robert with his dad and with lots of instructions and support. I was due to come home on Tuesday afternoon and that means I will spend two nights away from my little boy. I did not get on the first flight out to Johannesburg but was on the next one which meant that I would make the connection to the earlier flight to Nairobi.
I spoke to Robert again from Johannesburg as I was checking in for the flight and sent a text message to my contact at the guesthouse in Gigiri to arrange for a taxi from the airport. The flight to Nairobi was four hours and I arrived in the afternoon to a warm and humid city. The taxi was waiting for me, an old car with tattered upholstery but the driver was very nice.
Nairobi struck me as a true African city. I passed this way before almost ten years ago, on my way to Johannesburg at the time I only glimpsed the airport and the skyline of the city but I got the feeling that things haven’t changed much since then. The airport itself is distinctly third world, with dirty tiles and smudged counter windows, and plastic loungers showing their cracks and their age. The drive from the airport was easy, and there was no traffic to speak of on a Sunday afternoon, but the dusty road reminded me of Aleppo, and I am positive that it would get terribly congested during rush hours. Drivers had the same lack of curtsy I experienced in the Middle East, where traffic circles are a clear invitation to chaos, when all cars from all direction claim the right of way, and the horn seems to be the only useful traffic signal. This is very different from the scene in South Africa’s urban centers.
Also reminiscent of the Middle East was the general state of the roads, the pot holes, the broken lamp posts, and the uneven sidewalks. Things like that appear also in South Africa but they are less prevalent in the large city. As we neared the city center I saw huge birds gathered on one of the trees by the roadside, and I realized with a chill that they were vultures, I never expected to encounter such a sight in the middle of an urban setting, and again I had to remind myself that this is the heart of Africa.
Although Gigiri is the home of the United Nation office in Nairobi (UNON) there aren’t many guesthouses in the area, and the place where I ended up staying is the only one that responded to my inquiry. It is big house overlooking a garden and has a huge kitchen and television room for the guests to share, the room itself was very big and had a television and a small fridge. Again the furniture, curtains and colors reminded me of the Middle East, there were lots of velvet, gold thread, curtains with tie-backs and tassels. The setting showed signs of age, but was nevertheless comfortable. Most impressive was the friendliness of the people who were looking after the guesthouse. They helped me with directions to the UN office and I walked there on the afternoon of my arrival for orientation and timing. I told the young woman that I will be back for dinner.
The walk to the UN office took just over twenty minutes. I returned just as it was getting dark. I remember that I stumbled into a little puddle on my way back and muddied my sandals. I was grateful that I will be wearing sensible and not dressy shoes for the exam.
Dinnertime at Rugiri Guesthouse was a quaint affair. I met the only other guest, I do not remember his name anymore but he spoke with a very distinct north American accent and I was therefore shocked to find out that he was Russian. Despite his full head of hair, all dyed a dark reddish brown, I could tell that he was old enough to remember the USSR, and that perhaps gave us a little more to talk about. He was thrilled to find out that I came originally from Syria. We sat at the kitchen counter throughout dinner. He had TWO laptops and was working on something while helping the young woman who is in charge of the guesthouse to download or upload something on her own Netbook. She was, I understood, working on an assignment for university. Meanwhile I was still sore from the loss of my laptop and wondering when I will ever have the company of one again.
The mystery Russian man had many interesting things to talk about. He worked for an NGO and was in Nairobi on one of his projects. Throughout his travels he came across many adverse situation and perhaps that is why he was guarded about personal information, he never volunteered much, but he told me one story that I found interesting. In his opinion what separates civilized men from savages is one meal and a drink. He came to realize that once when he was besieged with other relief workers and the rations of food started running short. It is a scary thought to contemplate.
I will remember himthough for his love of reading and he gave me some book titles that I promised to check out and will read in due course. I think his taste ran towards the futuristic apocalyptic, because Aldus Huxley’s Brave New World featured in that conversation.
The next day I met him again at breakfast and we exchanged good wishes while I went on my way to the exam. The UN building in Nairobi is surrounded by a lot of green and the entrance is interesting as you follow a winding path of flagpoles to the main building. The security procedure was not long and I was early to the appointment. It took a little longer to locate the man in charge of the exam, who turned out to be a weary-looking Frenchman, who did not hide his dissatisfaction with the “strange” instructions passed down to him from New York. Inwardly I sighed, here was the shape of things to come: bureaucrats complaining about other bureaucrats did not sound so good.
In time I met the other two candidates in Nairobi. A Moroccan gentleman who was visibly older than I was. He told me that he was a teacher at a local university. The other candidate I saw but I did not talk to. She was the blind candidate who gave rise to the Frenchman’s complaints. At the time we arrived they were still busy trying to set up the software to help her perform the test. The next hours went by very quickly for me as I wrote the three exam papers one after the next. Sometime in between the papers we had a break, and I ate the crackers and cheese I brought with me. I even came prepared with a sachet of instant coffee, but it was a mission for my Moroccan colleague to find the boiled water for it. When the time for the third and last paper finished, we said our goodbyes and I went to retrace my way back to the guesthouse. My brain was tired but I was high on adrenaline feeling that I did the best that I could.
I asked for a place to go shopping and the ladies at reception gave me direction to the village market. I expected some sort of local market that sold local produce, but it was a small mall called the Village Market. I saw many of the familiar South African franchise brands, like Steers, Debonairs and even Woolworths. I just stopped at one of the local supermarkets where I bought a few treats: dried pineapples and Kenyan coffee come to mind. I spent all the Kenyan currency I had left after paying for my room and meals.
In the evening I had dinner alone. My companion of last night had already checked out, but I still enjoyed a fish dish that one of the male staff of the guesthouse cooked. The next day was a public holiday in Kenya – Kenyatta Day and I saw some programs on national television about the man. I also discussed Swahili with one of the friendly staff, it has many words of recognizable Arabic origin. Before she left for the night the lady receptionist/caretaker assured me that my taxi driver will pick me up for my trip to the airport bright and early. I said my goodbyes and turned in for my last night away from home and from Robert.
The trip back home was very uneventful, until I arrived at Johannesburg airport that is. At passport control a very bored-looking female immigration officer asked to see my immunization card, after asking me where I arrived from. I was later turned away from immigration on the pretext that I needed an immunization again yellow fever.
Help of course was at hand in the form of a private international clinic, the only problem is that the shot cost me over R700 (more than $100 at the time) and that was many multiples of what it cost in a normal hospital. Somebody had to take me around immigration to an ATM because I did not have that money in cash and the disgraceful private clinic did not have a credit card facility. I was fuming at the end of this misadventure and no amount of justification from the medic at the clinic could convince me that their operation was anything other than highway robbery with the endorsement of government, absolutely awful.
The delay meant that I had to wait a little longer to board a flight to Cape Town. Fortunately the flights were not full on a weekday and I proceeded home with a little less money and sore arm. The thought of meeting my little boy soon was enough to get me over anything else.
In all it was a successful trip and I will remember Nairobi fondly. Kenya looks like a true African country with no more white-man hangups. In fact, apart from the mysterious Russian and the senior staff at the United Nations, I did not see any white people in Nairobi, and I was impressed with the efficiency of everyone from the staff at the guest house to the taxi driver. Yes, things were run-down and a little reminiscent of the cash-strapped country in the Middle East I hail from, but it was pleasant to see the Africans -for better or worse- running their own country.
One day I will be able to devote time every day to my blog. One day I will sit to write down all the crazy thoughts that go through my mind and every single amazing thing that my boy is teaching me about life and love, but for now I will have to make my very infrequent readers settle for a smattering of posts whenver I can steal time from another urgent assigment (or one that looks like it will be running late.. like this one).
I have accomplished one more step towards my day of salvation when I succeeded in getting a helping hand for domestic work. For South Africa this is really normal, not a luxury at all, but for me well, I am not sure. For one thing, it seems to me very rude to make someone clean up your bathroom, and at the same time it is also giving up privacy. This is perhaps why a day before Vee came to work for me I had a dream of a maid coming into the flat then walking into the bedroom on me while I was engaged in an intimate act with … ah well stupid me, the ex husband – who else.
Vee will be the first one to know if I ever have a boyfriend, but of course the likelihood of this happening is pretty remote. Unfortunately even my subconcious knows this as it only puts the ex in my bed. In reality he would be there only if he were the last man alive on earth, and even then, maybe not, thank you very much. In any case, the dream was about Vee, not about my love life (or the lack thereof). I am definetely giving a stranger an intimate picture of my life, the colour of my underwear, the leftovers in my fridge, the tatty furniture, my son’s broken toys, and the coffee stains I am too lazy to scrub out of my mug. Still, it is great that I do not have to spend my free time on collecting dust balls and do something else instead and for that I am grateful.
On the homefront we are alive and well. I am busy again, and busy is good, especially given my plans to stop working at the day job sometime in the near future. I have a deadline next Friday, and then another by the end of the month. So who knows when I will be writing here again, and if I do it is probably going to be a whimsical post like this one.
But I do have many things to talk about and to think about. I am taking notes, and I will fill in the gaps at a later stage. Yes, I know I said that before.
Yesterday Mr. Handyman came to install my washing machine, my stove and a security door. This last one is kind of mandatory in South Africa, although the house break-ins in our area are neither more nor less than the average place in the world, or so we like to think. I ended up paying the handyman too much, and I was the one who solved the problem of connecting the washing machine to my hand basin, by suggesting the correct fitting : a simple T junction. They wanted to sell me a new tap, that would have cost a fortune and would have probably ruined the handbasin, and I do not want to talk about the mishap with installing the security door either, which the apprentice screwed in the wrong way while the master handyman was busy making small talk.. Ah well, all in a day’s work in South Africa.
Since I ended up paying a fortune yesterday for the privilege of owning and using my appliances, I wanted to make use of them as soon as possible, hence we made pan cakes for breakfast and for lunch we fried fish cakes and fish fingers, but the highlight of the day was inaugurating the washing machine; I think it is truly a mother’s best friend. The handyman thought the dishwasher was too, but I beg to differ, because there are disposable substitutes for dishes should one want, but they haven’t invented a socially acceptable form of disposable clothes. In theory you can eat take out, from the pot, or from the container to minimize on dishes, nobody would notice unless you invite them to your home to watch this anti-social behavior, but everyone would surely notice if one chooses to minimize on clothing or go completely without… Therefore the washing machine is definitely non-negotiable.
Today it is two weeks since we moved here, and I am definitely not in a frenzy of ordering. Things are getting to their places in their own good time (or in mine). I have been busy with a number of small jobs and I was keeping strange hours, such as sleeping at seven with my boy and then waking up after midnight to translate, review or proofread as the case may be. Now I have a bigger job that will demand my attention for the next four week.. I am a very busy woman.. touch wood.
That said, things on the day-job front do not look that great. The atmosphere is getting increasingly stifling there are more rule-writers and micro-managers than I can tolerate, and I keep wondering how long before I just throw in the towel and concentrate on spending my time in more rewarding activities, like making my flat feel like a home for example..
Now it is almost home with a few touches missing here and there. There are many positives to the new place : It is closer to Robert’s play school, so I normally walk with Robert there and back, this dramatically reduces my travel time and transport expenses. The down-side is that it is far away from my favourite food stores; I definitely need transport to do the shopping or I need a high degree of enthusiasm to walk back five kilometres or so with a heavy backpack. This is the only way to go though if I was going with Robert since it is too difficult to get him, his stroller and my shopping bag(s) onto a minibus, or even a bus – our city buses are horribly inaccessible with a half a dozen steep steps to the passenger deck and very narrow seats and aisles. Still, I can do this. Shopping is not an everyday affair, unlike taking Robert to the day-care.
Robert himself seems to be heading towards a difficult time for me. He has developed an interest in the Micky (Music in our language) and asks for the radio the moment we step into the flat. One would like to think that he wants to listen to the songs, but no, not Robert. He wants to move the CD player about, plug it in, then out, then carry it to the floor, or put it on the table. Later he starts pushing buttons indiscriminately, and opening and closing the tape deck, taking out the CD and then putting it in again… drives me absolutely insane.
I tried to ask him to promise me to leave it alone, not play with it or move it. But his only concession to my demands was learning a new phrase :”promise mommy”. It is actually so cute when he stands in the lounge and asks me for the radio, then says to me “promise mommy, promise me” while slowly nodding his head in affirmation – makes me want to give in.. I am thinking of buying him a cheap tape recorder to break, and I will make tapes of his favorite songs so that he will stop scratching the CDs. Oh, the things that this boy is making me do, but I love him so much.
Robert got hold of an onion today from my shopping bag. The following conversation took place:
Mom : Robert is the onion nice, do you like onion ?
What are you doing with the onion ?
Robert: Take the onion off the peal, take it off, take it off
Mom: And then what are you gonna do with it.
Robert (chomps up on the onion and starts chewing for an answer)
The onion is missing a little chunk and sometime after his first few bites his enthusiasm waned. I am amazed that he put up with the sharp taste of raw onion. He still smelled of onion as he went to bed. I wonder what his teacher will think if he still reeks of it tomorrow morning.
Incidentally, this is not the first time Robert displays a liking for the strong biting taste of onion. Last year, during our holiday in Germany he happily crunched a green onion, perhaps it gave him a anesthetizing sensation on his gum as he was teething.
Yesterday I was contemplating the coming mounting expenses and thanking my stars that I had at least one outstanding payment arrive into my account. Yes, the exchange rate was horrible, but at least it will pay for the upcoming rent and appliances until I receive money from selling my own unwanted furniture and the deposit from this flat.
I went to the cash machine to withdraw money for the nanny, who is looking after Robert at Britt’s house, and at once I saw that I had more money than I should have, not a few hundred, but a few thousand more, and I did not have any more outstanding jobs that amount to a few thousand Rand.
I was so anxious I went to the bank to enquire, and lo and behold I actually got a refund from the Receiver of Revenue. I was so happy I almost cried, it couldn’t have come at a more crucial time !! I also got paid my regular salary on the same day, so I have all the money I need to get my through the terrible expenses of moving, I shouldn’t have worried.
Yes, I am lucky. Somebody out there is looking out for me and I am so grateful for everything I have.
I realize that every day when I look at my son, and when he snuggles against me at night, and says : Mummy I love..
I dropped off Robert at the day care, and because I had a few hours to kill I stopped with my laptop at a coffee shop that has a free wi-fi zone. I was totally out of place with the beautiful rich people, killing time and sipping coffee, but at least my laptop measured up. In my rush to pack up my laptop upon leaving home I forgot to equip my son’s schoolbag with nappies, everything comes at a price.
At eleven I had an appointment to look at the only flat I found in my price range AND in my area of interest. I Just wanted to reassure myself for a final time before I paid a deposit. As usual the place is not perfect but has some advantages over the one we live in right now. I went home and did the banking, paid a deposit then went for another appointment to view furniture being sold by a work colleague, I agreed to buy.
At about half past one I made my way under drizzling rain to pick up Robert from day care then onwards to the company garden where I had arranged to meet and spend an afternoon with my new friend D and her son, who is four years old.
We made a pretty picture, two women with similar colouring, two kids, one blond one with dark tightly curled hair, and no men in sight. D is also a divorcee so we had a few laughs comparing our situations.
The sun obliged and came out after we arrived at the gardens and the kids got to feed the squirrels and the pigeons. Robert mostly held on to the packet of peanuts and ate them himself until a cheeky little squirrel went up on its hind-legs and clambered up on his shirt trying to reach the little plastic bag held firmly in my boy’s fist. Robert was so surprised he dropped the packet and started howling… the image was worth a picture, but I was of course too surprised to capture the moment. D was quick to pick up Robert and comfort him, but his distress was mostly because he thought he lost the peanuts forever, and all was well when he reclaimed them. We made it as far as the museum, by way of statues of colonialists, bird cages and Koi ponds without Koi, and we ended the day at McGrease with two burgers, two happy meals and two very hyper kids, then D went with her son to catch the train while I half dragged half carried Robert to the minibus taxi stop.
I will be moving by the end of next week, but until now I have not arranged a moving team or packed a single item. But I arranged to spend the day tomorrow with another friend Jen, who will be bringing my boxes. I will also meet the owner of the furniture to give her a down payment. The money is going through my fingers like crazy, and I feel somewhat crazy myself.
We never gonna survive, unless we get a little crazy, and nobody says it better than my friend Alanis.
Wednesday was a hopeful day, and I thought I found our new flat and started planning my life -sort of- around it.
Today was a terrible day in contrast. I am stuck with a proofreading job, part of a translation that I already did last month and got paid for. It should only take one or two passes with an experienced layout artist but I am dealing with a rookie, and she is driving me around the bend. I have been trying to work with her for about two weeks now and there is very little progress, so I finally decided that perhaps it is good to try and do the job myself and embarked on a downloading half a dozen of trial software, using up my internet bandwidth and purchasing extra. I feel sick just thinking about the bill that I will get next month for my usage. This in addition to the upcoming bills of moving and admin related to rent.
Lastly when I called the property management company to enquire about the lease for the apartment I viewed, one of the workers there gave me lip and retorted that I was “not a good tennant” because I argued that they should please give me feedback soonest, I do not even know whether I will be getting the flat or not. Life is not easy when you are me.
My place looks like somebody just dumped a truckload of broken toys, dirty dishes and laundry haphazardly everywhere, I am demotivated to no end, and blogging about it to the whole world is not making me feel much better about myself. Hopefully today is going to be a better day.
Poor Robert has to put up with a grumpy mother today. I feel sorry for the little boy, it is not his fault what is happening right now.
Nairobi struck me as a true African city. I passed this way before almost ten years ago, on my way to Johannesburg at the time I only glimpsed the airport and the skyline of the city but I got the feeling that things haven’t changed much since then. The airport itself is distinctly third world, with dirty tiles and smudged counter windows, and plastic loungers showing their cracks and their age. The drive from the airport was easy, and there was no traffic to speak of on a Sunday afternoon, but the dusty road reminded me of Aleppo, and I am positive that it would get terribly congested during rush hours. Drivers had the same lack of curtsy I experienced in the Middle East, where traffic circles are a clear invitation to chaos, when all cars from all direction claim the right of way, and the horn seems to be the only useful traffic signal. This is very different from the scene in South Africa’s urban centers.
Although Gigiri is the home of the United Nation office in Nairobi (UNON) there aren’t many guesthouses in the area, and the place where I ended up staying is the only one that responded to my inquiry. It is big house overlooking a garden and has a huge kitchen and television room for the guests to share, the room itself was very big and had a television and a small fridge. Again the furniture, curtains and colors reminded me of the Middle East, there were lots of velvet, gold thread, curtains with tie-backs and tassels. The setting showed signs of age, but was nevertheless comfortable. Most impressive was the friendliness of the people who were looking after the guesthouse. They helped me with directions to the UN office and I walked there on the afternoon of my arrival for orientation and timing. I told the young woman that I will be back for dinner.
The walk to the UN office took just over twenty minutes. I returned just as it was getting dark. I remember that I stumbled into a little puddle on my way back and muddied my sandals. I was grateful that I will be wearing sensible and not dressy shoes for the exam.
I asked for a place to go shopping and the ladies at reception gave me direction to the village market. I expected some sort of local market that sold local produce, but it was a small mall called the Village Market. I saw many of the familiar South African franchise brands, like Steers, Debonairs and even Woolworths. I just stopped at one of the local supermarkets where I bought a few treats: dried pineapples and Kenyan coffee come to mind. I spent all the Kenyan currency I had left after paying for my room and meals.
In the evening I had dinner alone. My companion of last night had already checked out, but I still enjoyed a fish dish that one of the male staff of the guesthouse cooked. The next day was a public holiday in Kenya – Kenyatta Day and I saw some programs on national television about the man. I also discussed Swahili with one of the friendly staff, it has many words of recognizable Arabic origin. Before she left for the night the lady receptionist/caretaker assured me that my taxi driver will pick me up for my trip to the airport bright and early. I said my goodbyes and turned in for my last night away from home and from Robert.
The Loskop Diaries 