When sources felt it was not my turn to eat

Many people have the erroneous assumption that you need to travel outside your country to become a victim of culture shock. It has happened to me many times right here in Kenya, especially in instances when I have interacted with people of different races.

My first memorable experience was in the early 1980s when I struck up a friendship with an American expatriate, Wade Huie who worked for some years as a reporter with a local daily and also wrote the script for the movie Rise and Fall of Idi Amin.

One day I called Wade and he suggested that we meet over lunch at Eclipse, a nightclub on Kimathi Street that also served meals.

Local custom

It was the local custom in those days if you invited someone out for lunch, it was assumed you would be footing the bill.

Things have since changed somewhat, and if someone proposes lunch nowadays it might be wise to find out in advance who will be paying.

It was thus in the belief that the lunch was on someone else that arrived for the appointment without enough money for a meal at such a swanky establishment.

My supposed host was in the company of the nightclub’s proprietor and already eating a hamburger and French fries when I joined the table. There followed an awkward pause as the two waited for me to make my order, which for a good reason I could not do.

Wade had been in Nairobi long enough and perhaps guessing the reason for my confusion, broke the ice by offering me a soft drink.

You can imagine how awkward it can be trying to make conversation with someone who is enjoying a delicious meal while you are nursing hunger pangs. While naivety could be blamed for this case of cultural cross-purpose, nobody would surely blame me for the next time it happened.

I was researching on an article on advertising in the mainstream media and needed to talk to an authority on the subject.

Talk over lunch

Roger Steadman, he of the then Steadman and Associates, was the chair of the Marketing Society of Kenya and an authority on advertising.

I called to make an appointment for an interview to which Roger, an amiable gentleman, readily agreed.

The interview would take place at his residence in Kileleshwa, which also served as the company’s offices.

As a sweetener, he suggested that we also could have lunch as we talked.

Thoughts of an exotic, chef-prepared repast flitted through my mind as I declined breakfast that morning.

My expectations were further heightened when it turned out that the interview would take place in a room with a well-stocked bar.

Could life get any better than this?

When lunch was eventually served, it turned out to be the sort favoured by people on a starvation diet — dry toasted sandwiches without even a piece of lettuce or slices of tomatoes and onions, in between.

As for drinks, Roger amiably suggested a soft drink, ignoring the array for bottles with exotic names.

I could not wait for the interview to end so that I could dash to my regular eatery in town for a good meal of ugali and nyama choma.

Our turn to eat

The last incident that comes to mind was when the British-Italian journalist and author Michela Wrong was researching material for her book, Our Turn to Eat.

She needed some background information which I happily provided.

As a mark of her appreciation, she invited me for a drink one afternoon and I asked  Charles Otieno, the Managing Editor of The Nairobian, to come along.

It was one of those Fridays when journalists are low on funds and the offer of a drink is therefore most welcome, especially from foreign authors with deep pockets.

After just a beer each, Michela stood up, stretched a sinuous body and said she had to go back to her hotel for a siesta and then a swim.

We were flabbergasted.

It took a call to a colleague at a nearby media house to save the evening from being a total disaster.