I’m writing from a location across the Atlantic, but I hesitate to tell you exactly where because I really don’t know. Not before I look it up on the Google map anyway.
It’s one of the afflictions of ‘modern’ America, which means the Internet is the reference point for virtually everything here.
Had I heeded that caveat, I probably would have saved myself the mile or two that I trekked locating... you guessed right, the campus exit!
Why, there are 18 exits in all (I had a physical count), through which nearly 40,000 souls arrive daily in search of knowledge.
My education has been, for the first few days I have been around, life-transforming. I’m learning anew how to write simple things like the date (oh, Peeerrerr, you need to start with the month, not the day...), to mundane things like crossing the road.
Mistakes emanating from the latter can be grim. Besides knowing where the vehicles are likely to emerge (they pour from any corners, and perhaps even from above), there are designated areas where pedestrians are strictly expected to use. Arrests and heavy fines are possible for what the police call jay-walking, which is the felony surcharged for crossing when the lights are not clear for pedestrians – even when there are no vehicles.
Motorists are similarly expected to stop at all pedestrian crossings, irrespective of whether there are humans crossing or not.
The other thing that I have re-learnt is not to convert the price of commodities from dollars into shillings. Why, the wooden ladle that I picked from Tuskeys in Nairobi at the dollar equivalent of Sh55, fetches at least ten times here.
Perhaps I should get into the business export-import business and become a mwiko hawker. I bet there is a viable market for mwiko, for I suspect there is no Kenyan household in America that does not occasionally enjoy a meal of ugali. “Buy Kenyan mwiko and build Kenya!” I would shout at a street corner to every man and woman with Kenyan features which, by the way, are self-evident. That’s a story for another day.
My only concern, of course, is that Americans do not seem keen to do business. You see, if you want to rent a flat, you will need to avail information on your credit history, put in an application (at a modest fee of $25 (Sh2,300) and basically wait for the landlord to call.
Nothing has been more frustrating than looking for a cellphone to buy. Yes, I did check online the various options but most offered what they call pay as-you-go. You get a free handset (of their choice), and commit to subscribe to their services for at least two years. Meanwhile, the phone company sets you to set number of minutes and texts that you can use in consideration for a monthly fee of something in the region of Sh6,000.
As a newly arrived visitor (I saw the airports signboards have opted for the more hospitable term to replace ‘alien’), and without any credit history to talk about, I’ don’t think my social security number guarantee full payment of bills.
Why, accustomed as I am to the culture of paying for services beforehand (and some that are ultimately undelivered), the idea of credit is part of the American dream I would rather let remain at that illusory level.
Still, my trip here has been a source of great education. When I read of the American (economic) meltdown, I had no idea how bad it was until I got here. The meltdown has reached the skies, pouring down heat in the region of 101 degrees Fahrenheit. How on earth do you turn that into Celsius? Google, please!
Stay informed. Subscribe to our newsletter
Finding something of value, over again
I walked into a bank to make an inquiry about international transactions. The woman at the counter swapped my bank card twice but apparently, the card couldn’t budge.
“Benard, you are from Kenya, right?” the teller said, wandering off to a desk where her colleague was seated.
Chase banker Benard Ndua rose with a smile, and the most spontaneous greeting: Sasa!
A small welcoming party unfolded at the bank. Ndua thanked Sibu, the Swazi student who had picked me from the airport the previous day, for taking good care of his compatriot. He also indicated his desire to help with the pending businesses.
Ndua donated sofas for my new home (no, it can only be a house; home has more permanence) and a TV set and a microwave are awaiting delivery.
My new landlord, who had arrived from Taiwan as a student in the 1970s, said he trusted me enough to allow occupation of the house before any money was received. He even sent a note alerting me about a departing tenant who also had seats to spare in case I was interested.
Well, people dump what they don’t use in the streets, but the touching acts of generosity from strangers go beyond the convenience of finding storage space for obsolete household items.
They still retain a something of value: human trust. Trust is pretty thin in our country, and sadly keeps diminishing. I don’t know if it’s because of the thieving political class, or Kenyans have perfected the art of trickery to keep up with the competition.
Why my cup simply runneth over
Since Kenyans are fond of distorting things (some will pose beside their neighbours’ vehicles and say: this is my car, and this is my house), let me let you into some a few home-truths about my new abode.
I have only one mug, black on the outside and white inside, which serves as just about everything – wineglass, water glass, juice glass, name it. So when I wake in the morning and feel like I need juice to start the day, I take the black-white mug and pour myself a drink.
Tea or water, in no particular order, comes next. I think the order is important; if tea comes last, then it means there is no extra rinse.
If I’m cooking, which I’m learning to, after years of inactivity, the cup serves as a saucepan of sorts, mixing a paste of Roiko seasoning before pouring into the cooking pot.
Not a bad place to start, not at all. In my student days in London, many moons ago, I had a plastic cup that I used for several weeks before it gave way to tear and wear.
I replaced it with a cup picked from a study, where it had been mislaid by its previous owner.
The Standard Group Plc is a
multi-media organization with investments in media platforms spanning newspaper
print operations, television, radio broadcasting, digital and online services. The
Standard Group is recognized as a leading multi-media house in Kenya with a key
influence in matters of national and international interest.
join