Before you read any further, I should warn you that this is
going to be one of the most meaningless and random blog posts you will probably
ever read from me. That being said I just had one of the most lovely experiences
of my 2014 Kenyan Life and felt a bit inspired.
I would like to start by giving a peak into what it is like to be a single, 23 year old, white girl living in Ngong, Kenya. While the next couple paragraphs may seem like a lot of complaining, I assure you it is no such thing. This is my life, and it’s not always easy, but even after hearing “mzungu” 60x a day there is always something equally beautiful to make up for the difficulties that I face.
As stated above, I am currently 23 years old, white, living in Ngong, without a husband/boyfriend/male to constantly escort me around. In short, I am an anomaly. While Ngong is a fast growing town, that is not totally unfamiliar with white people, we are still VERY much in the minority. I would say that in the immediate area there is less than 10 white people who have made this their home (myself, and two white companions included) with a handful of volunteers who circulate in and out. That all goes to say that people notice you when you walk down the road, when you go to a shop, when you do anything. Add in the fact that I am a female and it multiplies the attention easily by two-fold. Consider that I am under 40 and double that attention again. Long story short, in the most humble way I can put this… I’m kind of a big deal (ok, kidding…but seriously).
I would like to start by giving a peak into what it is like to be a single, 23 year old, white girl living in Ngong, Kenya. While the next couple paragraphs may seem like a lot of complaining, I assure you it is no such thing. This is my life, and it’s not always easy, but even after hearing “mzungu” 60x a day there is always something equally beautiful to make up for the difficulties that I face.
As stated above, I am currently 23 years old, white, living in Ngong, without a husband/boyfriend/male to constantly escort me around. In short, I am an anomaly. While Ngong is a fast growing town, that is not totally unfamiliar with white people, we are still VERY much in the minority. I would say that in the immediate area there is less than 10 white people who have made this their home (myself, and two white companions included) with a handful of volunteers who circulate in and out. That all goes to say that people notice you when you walk down the road, when you go to a shop, when you do anything. Add in the fact that I am a female and it multiplies the attention easily by two-fold. Consider that I am under 40 and double that attention again. Long story short, in the most humble way I can put this… I’m kind of a big deal (ok, kidding…but seriously).
When I walk anywhere I can count no less than 10
repetitive calls after me. “Mzungu!” “Beautiful! Why don’t you marry me?” “Baby,
where is your man?” “Mzungu, buy me this!”
ALL.DAY.LONG. There are days when I go downstairs to ask Sedona and
Zach if they want to do anything, and they will turn down the offer because they/we
“would rather not be harassed while walking through town.” It is mentally
exhausting.
Most days end up with me shut inside my home no later than 7:30, shortly after it gets dark. I used to be a bit braver, but after being mugged last year I just don’t have the guts to risk it. Even when I am out enjoying a drink with friends or just going for a wander in the daytime people can get too over excited and cause problems. I was buying a piece of pineapple on the side of the rode a few days ago, and a group of women walked up and PET ME. They pet me like a zoo animal, because of the color of my skin.
I digress. The point here is that it is not always easy to maneuver through this life, without causing a scene when you are just trying to go about your business.
So, back to my really great experience, eh? This evening I decided to go to a butchery and order nyama choma for take away and enjoy it at home with a movie and a glass of wine. As I walked to the butchery to pick up my choma it was 7:30 and just past dark. I arrived at the butcher and walked inside, past the half of a hanging cow and most of a goat’s body in the window. I saw four butchers hanging out with no customers except for me in the room. Being as polite as possible I can say that of the four butchers there is a likelihood that none of them had made it to high school, they more than likely all lived in one of Ngong’s three slums, and all of their knowledge combined they could barely hold a basic conversation in English. One of the men was already visibly drunk, and one (strangely the one I talked to most) seemed to hardly even know Kiswahili, opting instead for his mother tongue, Kikuyu.
From first glance this is not the kind of situation I normally want to be in. This has nothing to do with safety. I was perfectly comfortable as far as my personal security was involved. Again, it’s all about being hassled and harassed. Being ripped off because I don’t know the right prices, talked to in Swahili just to confuse and frustrate me, or being told I have a nice ass when I just want to buy dinner.
As soon as I walked in a short man at the back called me over to watch him cut my meat (this is standard) and told me “Unajua nakupenda, mrembro. Unanipenda?” [You know I love you, beautiful. Do you love me?] I was feeling friendly so I assured him that of course I loved him and I am sure he is a very nice person. The other butchers thought this was too funny. They started testing my Swahili, and asking me about my home country. They made jokes; asking me to marry them, asking why I didn’t have a husband yet. But they did it RESPECTFULLY. When I was struggling with the language they would work out the proper English words together to help me understand. They asked me about my life here, my work, my home, and told me a bit about themselves. And it never got weird. I never felt, “I need to get out of here before I can’t understand them anymore, or before they get too familiar.”
After I paid I said my goodbyes and wished them all a peaceful sleep (lala salama) I was walking out the door and one of the men called after me. I stopped and waited for him to speak, “you told me you live by the stadium. Would you like me to walk you home?” he asked gesturing to the dark sky. This offer did not strike me as sketchy and did not raise any red flags, because he seemed so sincere. He really just wanted to make sure I got home safely. I politely declined his offer (there was still plenty of people walking home from work and this was a safe move, don’t worry mom!) and thanked him before I walked home peke yangu (by myself).
I believe Aretha Franklin said it best,” R-E-S-P-E-C-T.” That is all that I am asking for here. This interaction was a breath of fresh air and I am immensely grateful. I will certainly be back to that butchery next time I am ready for some choma! My dinner was delicious and now I am going to binge on Misfits Sn. 2
Most days end up with me shut inside my home no later than 7:30, shortly after it gets dark. I used to be a bit braver, but after being mugged last year I just don’t have the guts to risk it. Even when I am out enjoying a drink with friends or just going for a wander in the daytime people can get too over excited and cause problems. I was buying a piece of pineapple on the side of the rode a few days ago, and a group of women walked up and PET ME. They pet me like a zoo animal, because of the color of my skin.
I digress. The point here is that it is not always easy to maneuver through this life, without causing a scene when you are just trying to go about your business.
So, back to my really great experience, eh? This evening I decided to go to a butchery and order nyama choma for take away and enjoy it at home with a movie and a glass of wine. As I walked to the butchery to pick up my choma it was 7:30 and just past dark. I arrived at the butcher and walked inside, past the half of a hanging cow and most of a goat’s body in the window. I saw four butchers hanging out with no customers except for me in the room. Being as polite as possible I can say that of the four butchers there is a likelihood that none of them had made it to high school, they more than likely all lived in one of Ngong’s three slums, and all of their knowledge combined they could barely hold a basic conversation in English. One of the men was already visibly drunk, and one (strangely the one I talked to most) seemed to hardly even know Kiswahili, opting instead for his mother tongue, Kikuyu.
From first glance this is not the kind of situation I normally want to be in. This has nothing to do with safety. I was perfectly comfortable as far as my personal security was involved. Again, it’s all about being hassled and harassed. Being ripped off because I don’t know the right prices, talked to in Swahili just to confuse and frustrate me, or being told I have a nice ass when I just want to buy dinner.
As soon as I walked in a short man at the back called me over to watch him cut my meat (this is standard) and told me “Unajua nakupenda, mrembro. Unanipenda?” [You know I love you, beautiful. Do you love me?] I was feeling friendly so I assured him that of course I loved him and I am sure he is a very nice person. The other butchers thought this was too funny. They started testing my Swahili, and asking me about my home country. They made jokes; asking me to marry them, asking why I didn’t have a husband yet. But they did it RESPECTFULLY. When I was struggling with the language they would work out the proper English words together to help me understand. They asked me about my life here, my work, my home, and told me a bit about themselves. And it never got weird. I never felt, “I need to get out of here before I can’t understand them anymore, or before they get too familiar.”
After I paid I said my goodbyes and wished them all a peaceful sleep (lala salama) I was walking out the door and one of the men called after me. I stopped and waited for him to speak, “you told me you live by the stadium. Would you like me to walk you home?” he asked gesturing to the dark sky. This offer did not strike me as sketchy and did not raise any red flags, because he seemed so sincere. He really just wanted to make sure I got home safely. I politely declined his offer (there was still plenty of people walking home from work and this was a safe move, don’t worry mom!) and thanked him before I walked home peke yangu (by myself).
I believe Aretha Franklin said it best,” R-E-S-P-E-C-T.” That is all that I am asking for here. This interaction was a breath of fresh air and I am immensely grateful. I will certainly be back to that butchery next time I am ready for some choma! My dinner was delicious and now I am going to binge on Misfits Sn. 2
Here is a quick photo of my tasty dinner.
Mac n chz, choma, and a sweet bell pepper. Yumm.
Goodnight!! xx
PS: I know this blog didn’t focus very much on… well
anything really. But just as a quite update I can assure you that work is going
great. Better than ever I might say. Keep checking back for future updates to
see what I am up to next!
PSS: Check this out, because it is wicked cool.
PSS: Check this out, because it is wicked cool.
