When you wake up from a really amazing dream, there's always that feeling of sadness that creeps into your bed, slowly stealing away your happiness as you realize the dream is over and done. You might call it a good dream hangover. I am currently experiencing one, and I've only been back in Nairobi a matter of hours. Sigh.
Lamu was everything I had dared to hope and so much more. It certainly lives up to its reputation as a tropical paradise, tourists' heaven, and retirement destination. White sand beaches, emerald green water, mangrove forests and palm trees, coconut milk sold fresh on the street (straight out of the coconuts themselves), and glorious sunsets. And the town! I'll see if I can describe it, at least a little. There are hardly appropriate words.
Sailing from the airport on Manda Island to Lamu, I could have sworn I was on the Mediterranean approaching some coastal village in Greece. There are old buildings with Arabic architecture and chipping white paint, traditional wooden dhows all along the sea front, streets far too narrow for cars to pass through, donkeys carrying bricks and grain and mangoes and passengers, shops with traditional Muslim clothing and bright African fabric, calls to prayer echoing from the mosque, and samosas, plantain, and cassava root frying in the streets. I saw one tractor, one ambulance, and a parked taxi while I was there, but no cars – donkeys take care of the rest of the transportation and add an interesting odor to the usual smells of fish and saltwater. There are two bars and two dance clubs on the entire island, and the single movie theater is really only used to broadcast football (soccer) games. The vast majority of shops close at noon on Fridays for Friday prayer. Life is simple and pole pole (slow), and that is what is glorious about it.
The mixture of cultures in Lamu is unlike anywhere in the world I've ever heard or read about. I see three distinct sub-cultures. The first is the tourist culture. The economy of Lamu is entirely dependent on tourism (you can only imagine how the violence has affected the lives of villagers), and many of the major attractions are catered to tourists. A mzungu cannot walk through the streets of town without being greeted by nearly everyone and offered donkey rides, fishing trips, and dhow rides to the famous resort at Shella Beach. Even the children in Lamu greet you with, “Jambo,” which is a greeting used almost exclusively by tourists (Kenyans don't actually say it), because they're so used to European strangers entering their town. The second subculture is traditional Islamic culture – the traditional dress, the mosques, the lack of alcohol on the island, and the need to hide your shoulders and knees while in town. The third, which I feel is generally pushed beneath the surface in travel books, is Rastafarian beach culture. Young people have midnight bonfires on the beach, smoke lots of marijuana, sing reggae to rhythm beat out on recycled plastic jugs, and worship Bob Marley. I haven't the slightest idea how those three cultures can coexist so harmoniously in such a small town.
Anyway, we spent two nights on Lamu Island, explored the town (a half hour walk down the only street in the village takes you from one end to the other), shopped (single-handedly reviving the Lamu economy, I feel), and feasted on fresh Swahili-style seafood and passion/lime juice. We also had a chance to meet and befriend the lost tribe of Kenya, the beach boys. They're what you might call “sweet young things” who do odd jobs around Lamu and, to be quite blunt, seduce older European women who visit as tourists. Sex tourism absolutely thrives in Lamu. But the boys (named Incognito, Captain Smile, Sunflower, Fishbrains, Starboy, and other ridiculous nicknames) threw a midnight bonfire for us and taught us the Lamu version of “Take Me Home, Country Road.” An entirely bizarre lifestyle.
We then spent two nights on Manda Island at a small eco-lodge. The place was an absolute dream. I played on the beach, swam several times a day, walked down to see the tidal pools at low tide, and sailed at every possible opportunity. I might even be slightly less pale when the pink on my shoulders fades. Our dhow escorts, who knew the students last semester, were the champion sailing crew in Lamu and four of the most attractive boys I've met in my entire life. Needless to say, we had a great time, and they gave me a Swahili name (Amina). The skipper invited me to stay with him when I come back to Lamu. At least I know that if this IR thing doesn't work out, I can marry a gorgeous sailor and live out my days on a dhow in Lamu. Can't say I'd mind too much... hahaha.
We also visited the Takwa ruins on Manda, which are the remains of a Swahili village that was abandoned a few centuries back. It's built entirely of coral rag, and the area is covered with acacia and baobab trees. Completely beautiful. You have to get there by dhow and navigate several kms of mangrove swamp, then escape before low tide beaches the dhow. I have literally hundreds of pictures. Get ready for those.
The islands are naturally intoxicating – you get swept up in the beauty and the romance of it all and have no need for anything else in the world. The weather was perfect. I was able to walk on the beach for hours every night, late into the morning. There is absolutely nothing like it. Wading in the Indian Ocean under the stars and full moon, the breeze whipping my hair and skirt, reggae music from the beach party carried on the wind, local dogs trotting along behind me... I could easily have floated away on the breeze. On the plane ride home, I finally started remembering all that I had to worry about... yet here I am, still dreaming about Lamu when I should be studying for midterms. Such is life.
As I haven't properly slept for four days (thanks to the damn moonlit beaches), I should wrap this up. Back to school now. There's a terrible week ahead, but safariing at Maasai Mara at the end. Again, sorry for not being in touch, but I'll work on catching up with the emails and talk to you all as soon as I find the time.
Monday, February 25
Wednesday, February 20
I could sure go for some tropical paradise
Monday was the longest day yet at USIU, knowing we'd leave for Lamu today. We're flying to this little island on the Kenyan coast because the roads aren't considered quite safe enough to drive there. Lamu is in part a tourist destination, thanks to beautiful tropic weather and the most beautiful beaches you've ever seen, but it's also a really unique place. Lamu has preserved coastal Swahili traditions better than most towns. Because of the strong Islamic influence, it's a fairly conservative place – there are essentially no cars on the entire island. Assuming the weather is good, I should be able to see every star in the sky and breathe the cleanest air I've ever had in my lungs.
Needless to say, the Port O'Connor girl and anthropologist in me are madly excited. I haven't been able to focus on anything important for days. Even if the weather is bad, I'll be able to do some shopping and eat fantastic seafood every night. If it's sunny, I'll be living at the beach and should return to Nairobi looking significantly more Kenyan (but yes, Mother, I'll be wearing layer upon layer of sunscreen the whole time, and I've been taking malaria meds).
In preparation for Lamu, I took my first major shopping trip today. Honestly, shopping is exponentially more fun in Nairobi than at home. Since the Kenyan police forces were deployed around the country to control people during the election, hawkers have absolutely taken over downtown (it's technically illegal for them to be there, but there aren't police around to enforce it anymore). You can buy almost anything for absurdly low prices, generally without haggling. As usual, though, some of the vendors try to overcharge you, and you can barter a little if you know they're trying to cheat you. To give you an idea of the possibilities, I spent around $25 today and came home with a beach towel, sunglasses, three DVDs, two skirts, and three cute tops. You can also buy fruits and vegetables, shoes, scarves, jewelry of all kinds, make up, silverware, plates and cups, kitchen knives, rat poison, keychains, towels, mosquito nets, loofahs, feather dusters, car mats, place mats, shower curtains, CDs, suits and ties, jeans, socks, bras and underwear, belts, purses, and sometimes puppies or kittens. I was in the midst of these hawkers when people tried to steal my purse and when someone tried to grab my necklace. It's exceedingly easy to get distracted by the merchandise and stop paying attention to your surroundings.
Kenya is quite calm these days, though a lot of folks are skeptical that Annan will succeed in guiding Kibaki and Raila to a political settlement. The more I learn about Kenyan politics, the less shocking everything seems. Kenyan elections have never been particularly fair, so there's no reason to believe the current negotiations will result in a groundbreaking compromise between PNU and ODM. Raila is probably just going to get screwed and Kenyans will have to try to move on. But the tribalism! This practice of pinning political failings on ethnicity is far from a new concept. Kenyatta and Moi picked up the practice from the British, and now Kibaki and Raila have done an excellent job of reviving tribalism and turning their own disagreements into conflicts on the streets. It's infuriating, given how long this has been going on. Plenty of Kenyans are aware of how they're being manipulated, but plenty are just angry.
The week after we get back from Lamu is midterms, a huge paper for KJ's class, and preparation for a Model UN-style simulation at USIU that I have to do for Politics of International Economics (I'm Jamaica... hah). Then we're off to safari before we come back to finish the semester and write our grant proposals for our internships. I know I said I'd write about my internship, but I'm afraid I haven't had the time, so I'll do that shortly. I also know that quite a few of you are waiting on email responses, but it's been a busy busy week. I'm back in Nairobi on Sunday and will do my best to get back to everyone and update my blog with something more substantial. In the meantime, I'm going to go have the time of my life in Lamu. Wish you could come with me!
Needless to say, the Port O'Connor girl and anthropologist in me are madly excited. I haven't been able to focus on anything important for days. Even if the weather is bad, I'll be able to do some shopping and eat fantastic seafood every night. If it's sunny, I'll be living at the beach and should return to Nairobi looking significantly more Kenyan (but yes, Mother, I'll be wearing layer upon layer of sunscreen the whole time, and I've been taking malaria meds).
In preparation for Lamu, I took my first major shopping trip today. Honestly, shopping is exponentially more fun in Nairobi than at home. Since the Kenyan police forces were deployed around the country to control people during the election, hawkers have absolutely taken over downtown (it's technically illegal for them to be there, but there aren't police around to enforce it anymore). You can buy almost anything for absurdly low prices, generally without haggling. As usual, though, some of the vendors try to overcharge you, and you can barter a little if you know they're trying to cheat you. To give you an idea of the possibilities, I spent around $25 today and came home with a beach towel, sunglasses, three DVDs, two skirts, and three cute tops. You can also buy fruits and vegetables, shoes, scarves, jewelry of all kinds, make up, silverware, plates and cups, kitchen knives, rat poison, keychains, towels, mosquito nets, loofahs, feather dusters, car mats, place mats, shower curtains, CDs, suits and ties, jeans, socks, bras and underwear, belts, purses, and sometimes puppies or kittens. I was in the midst of these hawkers when people tried to steal my purse and when someone tried to grab my necklace. It's exceedingly easy to get distracted by the merchandise and stop paying attention to your surroundings.
Kenya is quite calm these days, though a lot of folks are skeptical that Annan will succeed in guiding Kibaki and Raila to a political settlement. The more I learn about Kenyan politics, the less shocking everything seems. Kenyan elections have never been particularly fair, so there's no reason to believe the current negotiations will result in a groundbreaking compromise between PNU and ODM. Raila is probably just going to get screwed and Kenyans will have to try to move on. But the tribalism! This practice of pinning political failings on ethnicity is far from a new concept. Kenyatta and Moi picked up the practice from the British, and now Kibaki and Raila have done an excellent job of reviving tribalism and turning their own disagreements into conflicts on the streets. It's infuriating, given how long this has been going on. Plenty of Kenyans are aware of how they're being manipulated, but plenty are just angry.
The week after we get back from Lamu is midterms, a huge paper for KJ's class, and preparation for a Model UN-style simulation at USIU that I have to do for Politics of International Economics (I'm Jamaica... hah). Then we're off to safari before we come back to finish the semester and write our grant proposals for our internships. I know I said I'd write about my internship, but I'm afraid I haven't had the time, so I'll do that shortly. I also know that quite a few of you are waiting on email responses, but it's been a busy busy week. I'm back in Nairobi on Sunday and will do my best to get back to everyone and update my blog with something more substantial. In the meantime, I'm going to go have the time of my life in Lamu. Wish you could come with me!
Wednesday, February 13
The matatu: a little local flavor for you...
As my last update discussed my least favorite part of my travels in Kenya, I should provide some insight into the things that are making me absolutely crazy about this place. Particularly since certain Kenyans have discovered my blog and think I'm miserable here. ;) So without further ado, I'll tell you about matatus, my favorite part of Nairobi.
Matatus are the biggest form of public transportation in Kenya. They're about the size of an American van, I think, but they seat 14-20 people. The most accurate description of matatus I've heard thus far is courtesy of Amanda, my flatmate, who compared them to the Knight Bus from the Harry Potter books. Translation: I am infinitely more likely to die in a matatu than I am to get a tropical disease or suffer the effects of any post-election violence.
I should preface this discussion with some background information about roads in Kenya. For starters, they're in generally horrible condition. Potholes are everywhere. There are no rules to the road that I'm aware of. You drive as fast as you want, as dangerously as you want, anywhere on the road you want. Lanes are suggestions, at best. I think there are three traffic lights in all of Nairobi... I've only seen one that I can recall. Pedestrians don't have the right of way, which takes a lot of getting used to after walking all over Washington. You cross streets are your own risk, usually at a sprint.
So. Matatus. They make up about half the traffic at some points during the day. The matatus that run in the slums are always painted a crazy color, decorated according to a random theme, have neon lights on the inside, and a slightly absurd message painted on the back window. Some of the best have said, “Skankin',” “Drive It Like You Stole It,” “Crunk and Disorderly,” and “Philadelphia Eagles.” Yesterday I saw one with a Missouri Tigers logo on it and cracked up. My favorite matatu had a “Crunk” decal and “Thank You Jesus” printed on the same window. Such an interesting clash of cultures.
There's almost always hip hop blasting from all the matatus on the road. In the best ones, you can feel the bass reverberating in your ribcage. It's just sort of exhilarating to be flying down the streets of Nairobi in a beat-up van with manual transmission, smelling the intense diesel exhaust with your ears full of music. I'm going to miss matatu rides a hell of a lot.
The drivers tend to be fantastic characters, though most of them have got to be completely insane to drive the way they do. There's some sort of bond between them, so they'll chat with each other in traffic and ask each other where they found the white girl sitting in the front seat. At the same time, they cut each other off and take ridiculous risks (like driving on the wrong side of the road, on sidewalks, cutting inbetween lanes, that sort of thing). They drive so close to one another a driver can usually just lean out the window, holler at another driver who committed an offense, and give the other matatu a slap on its side. At the matatu stages downtown, they'll sometimes play bumper cars with one another in an effort to dislodge themselves from traffic... even if there are passengers inside.
Every matatu has a tout who acts as a sort of conductor, recruiting passengers, collecting fares, and instructing the driver when to stop. With the tourism industry suffering like it is, passengers tend to get manhandled at the stations downtown. Touts will sometimes physically pull you into their matatu. They're that desperate for business. As shady as that might sound, though, the touts are generally great people. I've made a couple of good friends among them that I see downtown almost every afternoon.
Matatus are cheap, but they're a bit risky. Yes, they crash a fair amount, but the bigger risk is from pickpockets. You just have to be careful with your valuables and choose your matatu carefully (never get in an empty one, try to find one with women in it, don't leave your window wide open, etc). Anyway, it costs about $.15 from Westlands to our bus stop for school and about $.40 for the ride home from downtown. Nice and cheap, which is great, since I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than try to drive in this city. We take matatus to go into town, get to the bus stop for USIU, and travel to our internships, so we're on them regularly.
So that's my favorite part of Kenya. Strange, I realize, but you'd love it too if you could try it. Tension is still simmering all over Kenya, but Nairobi is very calm lately. I hope nobody is too worried these days.
Miss you all terribly – feel free to shoot me an email if you haven't already.
Matatus are the biggest form of public transportation in Kenya. They're about the size of an American van, I think, but they seat 14-20 people. The most accurate description of matatus I've heard thus far is courtesy of Amanda, my flatmate, who compared them to the Knight Bus from the Harry Potter books. Translation: I am infinitely more likely to die in a matatu than I am to get a tropical disease or suffer the effects of any post-election violence.
I should preface this discussion with some background information about roads in Kenya. For starters, they're in generally horrible condition. Potholes are everywhere. There are no rules to the road that I'm aware of. You drive as fast as you want, as dangerously as you want, anywhere on the road you want. Lanes are suggestions, at best. I think there are three traffic lights in all of Nairobi... I've only seen one that I can recall. Pedestrians don't have the right of way, which takes a lot of getting used to after walking all over Washington. You cross streets are your own risk, usually at a sprint.
So. Matatus. They make up about half the traffic at some points during the day. The matatus that run in the slums are always painted a crazy color, decorated according to a random theme, have neon lights on the inside, and a slightly absurd message painted on the back window. Some of the best have said, “Skankin',” “Drive It Like You Stole It,” “Crunk and Disorderly,” and “Philadelphia Eagles.” Yesterday I saw one with a Missouri Tigers logo on it and cracked up. My favorite matatu had a “Crunk” decal and “Thank You Jesus” printed on the same window. Such an interesting clash of cultures.
There's almost always hip hop blasting from all the matatus on the road. In the best ones, you can feel the bass reverberating in your ribcage. It's just sort of exhilarating to be flying down the streets of Nairobi in a beat-up van with manual transmission, smelling the intense diesel exhaust with your ears full of music. I'm going to miss matatu rides a hell of a lot.
The drivers tend to be fantastic characters, though most of them have got to be completely insane to drive the way they do. There's some sort of bond between them, so they'll chat with each other in traffic and ask each other where they found the white girl sitting in the front seat. At the same time, they cut each other off and take ridiculous risks (like driving on the wrong side of the road, on sidewalks, cutting inbetween lanes, that sort of thing). They drive so close to one another a driver can usually just lean out the window, holler at another driver who committed an offense, and give the other matatu a slap on its side. At the matatu stages downtown, they'll sometimes play bumper cars with one another in an effort to dislodge themselves from traffic... even if there are passengers inside.
Every matatu has a tout who acts as a sort of conductor, recruiting passengers, collecting fares, and instructing the driver when to stop. With the tourism industry suffering like it is, passengers tend to get manhandled at the stations downtown. Touts will sometimes physically pull you into their matatu. They're that desperate for business. As shady as that might sound, though, the touts are generally great people. I've made a couple of good friends among them that I see downtown almost every afternoon.
Matatus are cheap, but they're a bit risky. Yes, they crash a fair amount, but the bigger risk is from pickpockets. You just have to be careful with your valuables and choose your matatu carefully (never get in an empty one, try to find one with women in it, don't leave your window wide open, etc). Anyway, it costs about $.15 from Westlands to our bus stop for school and about $.40 for the ride home from downtown. Nice and cheap, which is great, since I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than try to drive in this city. We take matatus to go into town, get to the bus stop for USIU, and travel to our internships, so we're on them regularly.
So that's my favorite part of Kenya. Strange, I realize, but you'd love it too if you could try it. Tension is still simmering all over Kenya, but Nairobi is very calm lately. I hope nobody is too worried these days.
Miss you all terribly – feel free to shoot me an email if you haven't already.
Monday, February 4
Mzungu on the black continent
It's been an interesting week here. Right when it started to feel like I had a daily schedule set down, the violence that broke out in Nakuru and Naivasha made its way to Nairobi, and two members of Parliament were shot in about 48 hours. The first was definitely politically motivated, but the second shooting was attributed to the MP's affair with the murderer's wife. There's probably little truth in that. At any rate, as bad as things were looking last week, Nairobi has stayed fairly calm. Western Kenya is still a mess and the roads are dangerous; there’s no telling when things will heal over there. When we leave Nairobi for our excursions, we’ll be flying.
I did hear an interesting opinion the other day, though. My African IR professor sat next to me on the bus to USIU, and we talked quite a lot. She thinks the only resolution to this conflict will come through the sort of de-tribalization that Rwanda underwent. The British screwed things up horribly after independence – the land they seized from the tribes in the Rift Valley was sold off to the Kikuyus, the only ethnic group with the money to buy it. Now the other tribes resent the Kikuyus' ownership of their land, and the only way around the conflict will be to take tribalism out of the picture. That's her opinion, anyway. Who knows?
Anyway, life is good, classes are fine, and I'm really really excited about my externship. I'm working with a group called the Center for Domestic Training and Development (it has a website if you want to look it up, but I'll be sure to talk about it in depth in one of my future blogs). It does work very similar to that of ONE DC, where I was volunteering last semester. On Friday we took a trip to a place called the Giraffe Center, where you can play with the endangered giraffes they breed. Fantastic photo op, since you can put a pellet of food between your lips and they'll “kiss” you. Meanwhile, we've been going out plenty and making friends. I'm feeling great overall, and am already starting to worry about the day I'll have to leave.
I wanted to talk for a bit about what it's like for us being wazungu (Europeans/foreigners) in Kenya. Though I'm describing my own experiences, all of us share these to some extent.
The only thing that has really bothered me about Kenya is the attention I get no matter where I am. I've never been stared at so much in my life, and it does get tiring when fully half the people I pass on the street try to stop me and talk to me. This is partly out of genuine interest, I think, but also because white skin screams money. There are TONS of beggars and pickpockets in Nairobi, and wazungu are targeted much more frequently than Kenyans. Every time we go out to a bar or club, someone has a thief try to steal their phone (I think only one phone has actually been taken so far, though). I've had two attempts on my phone at clubs and one attempt at my purse on a busy street. I stay pretty aware of my surroundings though, so I've been able to escape bad situations for the most part.
The thievery is a lot worse since the election, which is why we weren't allowed to ride matatus for so long. Violence has affected the tourism industry significantly, so people have turned to stealing in order to feed their families. Matatus are a prime location to pickpocket people, but if you're careful, you're in very little danger. But all of this means that wazungu attract even more attention than usual. Vendors on the street see a white face and will yell at me through the crowd (“mzungu”, “madam”, “sista”, etc.) to bring me over and try to sell me something.
Being white means I can get away with a lot, as sad as that is. Europeans get very preferential treatment at times (because even we students have a lot of money by Kenyan standards), but we're also taken advantage of. The pickpocketing is only one side of it. Taxi drivers I don't know personally will charge me double the usual fare. Vendors at the market will try to charge me three or four times the going rate for an item. I'm not a bad barterer, but there's a price level I can't get below, since I look like a tourist no matter how much Kiswahili I speak. It's frustrating at times.
At USIU, the American students are treated like celebrities. This is largely because American girls have a reputation for being easy and very rich. It's unfortunate, particularly because it makes it extremely hard to know who is being genuine. That's the case outside of USIU as well, actually, so it sort of slows down the process of making friends.
The assumption that white people are wealthy frustrates me to no end. It really demonstrates how colonization and centuries of exploitation has skewed perceptions of Westerners. It doesn't matter if you're Kenyan-born, if you're a student, if you're poor by American standards; if you have white skin, you're a walking bank that can be taken full advantage of. Drives me mad.
Anyway, that's it for today. There's so much more to talk about, but I only feel capable of tackling one topic per day.
I did hear an interesting opinion the other day, though. My African IR professor sat next to me on the bus to USIU, and we talked quite a lot. She thinks the only resolution to this conflict will come through the sort of de-tribalization that Rwanda underwent. The British screwed things up horribly after independence – the land they seized from the tribes in the Rift Valley was sold off to the Kikuyus, the only ethnic group with the money to buy it. Now the other tribes resent the Kikuyus' ownership of their land, and the only way around the conflict will be to take tribalism out of the picture. That's her opinion, anyway. Who knows?
Anyway, life is good, classes are fine, and I'm really really excited about my externship. I'm working with a group called the Center for Domestic Training and Development (it has a website if you want to look it up, but I'll be sure to talk about it in depth in one of my future blogs). It does work very similar to that of ONE DC, where I was volunteering last semester. On Friday we took a trip to a place called the Giraffe Center, where you can play with the endangered giraffes they breed. Fantastic photo op, since you can put a pellet of food between your lips and they'll “kiss” you. Meanwhile, we've been going out plenty and making friends. I'm feeling great overall, and am already starting to worry about the day I'll have to leave.
I wanted to talk for a bit about what it's like for us being wazungu (Europeans/foreigners) in Kenya. Though I'm describing my own experiences, all of us share these to some extent.
The only thing that has really bothered me about Kenya is the attention I get no matter where I am. I've never been stared at so much in my life, and it does get tiring when fully half the people I pass on the street try to stop me and talk to me. This is partly out of genuine interest, I think, but also because white skin screams money. There are TONS of beggars and pickpockets in Nairobi, and wazungu are targeted much more frequently than Kenyans. Every time we go out to a bar or club, someone has a thief try to steal their phone (I think only one phone has actually been taken so far, though). I've had two attempts on my phone at clubs and one attempt at my purse on a busy street. I stay pretty aware of my surroundings though, so I've been able to escape bad situations for the most part.
The thievery is a lot worse since the election, which is why we weren't allowed to ride matatus for so long. Violence has affected the tourism industry significantly, so people have turned to stealing in order to feed their families. Matatus are a prime location to pickpocket people, but if you're careful, you're in very little danger. But all of this means that wazungu attract even more attention than usual. Vendors on the street see a white face and will yell at me through the crowd (“mzungu”, “madam”, “sista”, etc.) to bring me over and try to sell me something.
Being white means I can get away with a lot, as sad as that is. Europeans get very preferential treatment at times (because even we students have a lot of money by Kenyan standards), but we're also taken advantage of. The pickpocketing is only one side of it. Taxi drivers I don't know personally will charge me double the usual fare. Vendors at the market will try to charge me three or four times the going rate for an item. I'm not a bad barterer, but there's a price level I can't get below, since I look like a tourist no matter how much Kiswahili I speak. It's frustrating at times.
At USIU, the American students are treated like celebrities. This is largely because American girls have a reputation for being easy and very rich. It's unfortunate, particularly because it makes it extremely hard to know who is being genuine. That's the case outside of USIU as well, actually, so it sort of slows down the process of making friends.
The assumption that white people are wealthy frustrates me to no end. It really demonstrates how colonization and centuries of exploitation has skewed perceptions of Westerners. It doesn't matter if you're Kenyan-born, if you're a student, if you're poor by American standards; if you have white skin, you're a walking bank that can be taken full advantage of. Drives me mad.
Anyway, that's it for today. There's so much more to talk about, but I only feel capable of tackling one topic per day.
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