500 Shillings? A bit too spicy.

After two lectures on Kenyan history and society, I can confidently say that I knew zilch about Kenya and the East African region before arriving here. Thanks to an Anthropology PhD by the name of Donna Pido (a very enlightening individual who has lived in Kenya for the past 40 years) we students have discovered that Kenya has become a human magnetic vortex, attracting many ethnic groups from all over Africa for the past 3000 years, give or take a year. The complexities of how Kenya came to be are fascinating and a bit overwhelming. From the existence of an Italian exiled-mafioso community in Nairobi to a large population of Indian proprietiers that comprise the backbone of the economy, the demographics of this country both contribute to its beauty and compound politics that are still fragmented by tribal organization.

If you were to ask a Kenyan about who they were, most would identify themselves as a Kenyan. Yet behind this veil of nationalism, what tribe you belong to is really what matters. There are 42 tribes in Kenya, with the Kikuyu being the most abundant and powerful (President Kibeki is a Kikuyu). Some might say that this number pales in comparison to the thousands upon thousands of tribes in the US, though we would never want to describe our social organization in such a primitive way. Our sports teams, religious institutions, friend circles, neighborhood organizations, and families comprise the tribes we know. It’s funny that we often see tribal organization as backwards thinking when in fact the idea of tribe is simply a social construct designed to embrace the basic human need (and want) to be part of a community.

During our last day in Karen, my curiosity got the better of me and I wandered over to the farm that was on the hostel grounds. Picture the quintessential organic farm that we so desperately strive for back home. This quite diverse establishment was nurtured by the expertise of a farmer by the name of Paul, who, after a brief introduction, proceeded to describe each and every vegetable that he was growing and how you could incorporate it into some tasty recipe. He asked about farming in the US, and the only scene I could paint was that of a farm home to endless acres of corn too mutated by genetic engineering to resemble the maize Paul was growing in one corner of his garden. He couldn’t understand why we needed so much maize, and neither could I.

Anyway, I’m moving in with my homestay family this afternoon. I don’t really know much about my fam except that they’re upper-middle class. It seems that oftentimes the mighty wealthy live right across the street from the mighty poor. I’ve got about a 5-10 minute walk to Kibera (one of largest slums in Africa), so I’m pumped to explore and walk and talk with people.

I just recently went to the local grocery store with one of our Academic Directors, Odoch, the other day. Our mission: find a superb soccer ball. There were plenty to choose from, and we spent about 5 minutes just going through them to see what we could find. Upon finding a nice, but slightly overpriced ball, Odoch said; “Oh, 500 Shillings, that’s a bit spicy.” Just found my new favorite word.