Mangoness and Mind Scrambling

Walking through my neighborhood the other day, I realized I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I thought I’d be living in some swanky homestay digs, but I’ve discovered that my homestay family lives in a quaint little home in the Ayany neighborhood of Kibera, parts of which encompass the largest slum in Kenya. It is wonderful. The Ayany neighborhood, though close to the slums, is very safe and secure, just so you know Mom. It’s a hustle and bustle of activity all day long. Kibera is actually a very old area of Nairobi and it wasn’t until the 1980s that the slums started to appear. Even in my neighborhood you can find a number of very upscale homes, if you look hard enough. Mama Angetta, a retired schoolteacher, runs the house with love and discipline. Mama’s biological children are all older and living with their own families around town, but she has an adopted daughter, Mary, who has just started high school. There is also an 8-year old girl named Rita staying with us for a while.

Adoption is a funny concept here in Kenya. Because the idea of the family encompasses so much here, rarely is a child seen as adopted. They are simply part of an already established family whose roots run to all corners of a community. I don’t know if the Uncle Samson who visited yesterday is actually related to my host Mama, but by identifying him as Uncle, his relationship to the family is given a level of significance often absent in US relationships outside the immediate family. The family seems to be the essence of life here, and maybe that’s something we’ve left behind in the US as the accomplishments of the individual becomes the focal point of one’s life. Ya know, a few folks have asked why in the world I would leave my family for so long. The value we place on “going solo” is a sentiment not shared by many in this community.

Though the bucket-basin shower combo is quite superb, shaving in the dark without a mirror at 6:30am can make for some pretty interesting sideburns. And I’ve become a mango-fiend. Yum.

The intricate home security systems here in Nariobi make me wonder if each home with a security guard, steel gate, and a barbed wire fence protects a colorful assortment of gems, jewels, rubies, and gold coins locked away deep inside. Anyone that can afford the elaborate accessories of the “compound” seems to be very wary of the hamburglar. For those less well off, security is still no less of a concern. The “compound” also elicits a sense of curiosity about what lies beyond the tall walls and castle-style defense systems. I’m curious, not enough to climb over a wall topped with a mosaic of broken glass bottles, but definitely a bit curious. We’ve got perfect green grass yards that show off our wealth, they’ve got huge walls and security guards to hide theirs. Hmmm.

After joining Mama Angetta at a massive church downtown on Sunday morning (Catholic mass in kiswahili= total confusion for me) we hopped on a matatu to head back home. While driving through Kibera, something that really stood out to me. Wall art and other forms of graffiti are all over the walls, empty buildings, and sides of shops. Within my small scope of Nairobi, my favorite place to walk by is an abandoned apartment building covered with graffiti of superior quality. The Post-Election Violence of 2007 was most concentrated in Kibera because the losing opponent, Raila Odinga, was from the area. Often conveying a political message related to the violence, this artistic canvas is situated directly behind a trash dumping spot. Scattered across the grass is trash of all sorts, most of it burning and smoking in one-way or another. It’s an intense scene that I can only describe as the Beautiful Commons. A work of art and a defacto dump for all to see.

The past week has been a whirlwind of activity. A whirlwind in a great way, but there’s been some heavy overstimulation going on. Every minute there seems to be so many things I could be doing to make the most of my time here and not take this opportunity for granted. My thoughts become even more scrambled when we discuss our biases and ethnocentric tendencies (basically seeing Kenyan culture through the lens of our own culture) only to go home and see these theoretical ideas take form in our everyday lives.

For example, a young boy orders his sister to get him some mango juice when he is totally capable of doing it himself. I might view his behavior as a sexist action (the male superiority complex is very prevalent here, especially with husband/father figures) that undermines gender equality. Yet in that instance I am judging a Kenyan cultural norm by applying my own cultural background to the situation. Moving away from this ethnocentric tendency doesn’t mean that I condone the practice, but it may allow me to have a more complete experience. I want to see what life in a working class Kenyan home is like, and to do that I need to let go of my biases. Anyway, it’s not my place to judge a family’s actions while I am a guest in their home.