Good to be back

In Nairobi, that is. The city.

Back from where? Not Uganda, though I was there weekend before last. Rather, I'm referring to being back from Eldoret, a small, agriculturally-focused town (not village) in Western Kenya where I spent two and half weeks living. As I pointed out in a previous post:

I’m a city (and suburban, I must admit) boy. And Indians don’t really camp much – at least not my family. So this was a new experience for me.

Living in a rural African town would also be a new experience for me. And it was one that I was a bit apprehensive about: what would I eat? how would I stay awake (translation: would I be able to get decent coffee in a more remote part of this tea-dominated land)? and what would I do?

Of course, living in Africa, period – urban, rural, whatever – is a new experience for me. But Nairobi – a city of about 3M, the financial and commercial hub of East Africa, and home to many expatriates like myself who demand more than a modicum of Western comforts – is a far cry from the African norm. As such, for my first few weeks here, I fared quite well against the three pivotal questions posed above.

To please the palate, I enjoyed Indian food better than most, if not all, Indian restaurants in Chicago, decent-enough sushi (that did not make me sick), pizza hut-style pizza (pan, but not exactly Chicago deep dish), and, of course, Kenyan cuisine that was certainly not bursting with flavor but sufficient, especially with some always-available chili sauce.

To please the palate and keep me awake, I discovered Nairobi Java House – after an initial attempt to acclimate to the ubiquitous instant “coffee” – on my first trip to the Sarit Center, a big shopping mall that also includes a supermarket, multi-cultural food court, multi-cultural movie theatre (English & Hindi), and an overpriced Western-style health club.

To pass the time, I walked around the city, hung out at the aforementioned Java House and mall, played ultimate frisbee and went out with other expats, and got a daily dose of news from Al Jazeera. (In addition to the less unique activities of watching 1.5 seasons of Dexter on my laptop and blogging.)

What would Eldoret hold for me? Certainly a lot fewer options, although I’d already heard, reassuringly, from a prior volunteer that there was both an Indian and Chinese restaurant in the town. That was good news. Conversely, he’d also given me a thoroughly unenthusiastic review of the hotel where I would be staying: “livable, but not nice.” (Do "-ble" adjectives ever describe a pleasant condition? Livable, edible, etc.)

His review rang true from the moment I stepped out of the lobby of the Hotel Sirikwa and into my dark, dilapidated room. The carpet was stained, the sheets years – if not decades – old and definitely not Downy-soft or Tide-fresh, the furnishings spartan and retro (think dirty, un-renovated motel 6, not Urban Outfitters), and the mosquito net contained a smattering of purpose-defeating holes. It was going to be a long three weeks, I thought. But, despite my initial aversion, I soon got used to the sub-optimal conditions (aided in no small part by a move to one of the three renovated rooms in the hotel). Furthermore, the staff's eagerness and friendliness made up for an obvious lack of training in hospitality.

The food situation turned out to be a mixed bag. The hotel's buffet breakfast was quite good (most every hotel here is a bed and breakfast). I looked forward to, and now miss, my daily ration of whole-grain rice krispies, a two or three egg Spanish omelet, toast, and a selection of fruit (usually pineapple, watermelon, and a banana). In retrospect, it wasn't spectacular, but it was good and a lot better than the breakfast I typically ate in Nairobi, or Chicago for that matter. In Eldoret, breakfast truly was the most important meal.

It was the most important meal because lunch was the worst meal. For the first week I had a driver and thus could venture into town (office was located a 5 minute drive from the "city center") for lunch, but the options were few. I was saved by a popular Lonely Planet-recommended lunch joint that served a decent veggie burger and some one the best samosas I've ever had (run by an Indian, naturally). After that week, however, I was confined to the off-menu vegetarian option cooked up by the office's maid/cook. It was edible but bland, and I quickly grew tired of it.

Dinner, fortunately, was better. The Indian restaurant was quite good, definitely surpassing my expectations. In fact, I am very much looking forward to having some kadhai paneer or chicken tikka masala when I go back. The Chinese restaurant was not as good, but not bad. Problem was, along with the sub-par hotel restaurant (breakfast was their pièce de résistance), those were my only options. I would rotate between dining alone at these three spots, telling the taxi driver "Chinese tonight" or "Guess its Indian today." After close to 20 days of this, it was getting old.

To keep me awake, I was indeed forced to acclimate to instant coffee – carefully balancing, yet never mastering, the need to temper the taste with milk and sugar and my preference for strong coffee. I got used to it, but a fresh cup of Peet’s it was not. In the afternoon it was Kenyan tea, which i prefer black, not “white” as most Kenyans drink it – basically, they use milk instead of water.

The real test, though, came on the last question: what to do. I found part of the answer, randomly, a few days after arriving. Driving out of town on the weekend to take in the view of the Kerio Valley (above), my coworker pointed out that this is where "you see all ‘them’ running..in the morning and evening.” I had no idea what she was referring to; I asked for clarification. “White guys, they come here to train. There is a college here – for running. The elevation helps.” Sure enough, we soon passed a running academy, and on the way back we passed a few mzungus in their New Balances, short shorts, and Dri-fit t-shirts. (An internet search confirms that, due to the altitude of ~7000-9000 feet and the tradition of running in the area, Eldoret is one of the best training grounds for mid-to-long distance runners.)

After three weeks in Nairobi without being able to work out (due to the extremely high cost of gyms and inability to run outside due to congestion/safety), this sight inspired me: I decided to start a daily exercise regimen, consisting of outdoor running and the home made workout (push ups/sit ups). It felt great to be working out again and, moreover, this was an excellent way to fill my post-work time.

Thus, the weekdays managed to go by quickly enough. The weekends, however, were a different story. I’d hoped to get out of the city and see some parks etc, but the main attractions were all about 3 hours away, making a day trip unfeasible. A weekend trip was possible but cumbersome to plan and a bit expensive without someone to share the costs with. Therefore, besides the trip to Kerio Valley, I stayed within the confines of Eldoret, and mostly within a one or two mile radius of the hotel.

I passed the days mostly by lounging on the terrace reading (if breakfast was the restaurant's pièce de résistance, the terrace was the hotel's). But weekend nights are when the boredom really hits. If not filled by alcohol and socializing, they burn slowly. It was Kenyan friendliness that saved me from the slow burn, and, more specifically, from finishing my pirated copy of 24 season 6 even quicker than I did.

Besides being an agricultural center, Eldoret is also home to one of the countries main centers of higher education: Moi University, named after the country's legendary, long-tenured second president (1978-2002), who hailed from the Eldoret area and showered the region with infrastructure spending. Like Americans – and coeds everywhere – Kenyan students like to drink. (A med student told me: “What do you call it – binge drinking? Yes, we binge drink.” So do Americans, I assured her.) As such, there is a (read: one) nightclub in Eldoret, Spree.

I was invited by a coworker, who went to school at Moi U a few years back and still had some friends in grad school, to Spree my first Saturday night in Eldoret. After being frisked, I entered the bar, a space surprisingly reminiscent of the Ann Arbor haunt Rick’s – basement, dingy, small dance floor, slightly elevated DJ booth. (Perhaps this could describe any generic college bar but trust me it felt like Rick’s, except I knew one person there rather than fifty).

The night started out like my previous outing with a group of Kenyans: at a table covered with half-empty and full beer bottles, stacked two or three deep in front of each person. I did not know my coworker that well, and I knew none of the four or five others at the table, but soon struck up a conversation with a couple of the med students. A few rounds later (read: at least 8 beers) I was waiting for the eclectic mix of music – random American pop, house/dance, some hip hop, bongo (Tanzanian reggae), and various tribal African music – to turn back to hip hop so that I could make my way to the dance floor. It was a fun night, but I was ready to call it a night by the relatively early hour of 1:30.

That was my lone trip to Spree, but the following weekend I was invited to dinner at another coworkers, an extroverted recent college-grad who made my time there far less monotonous. This was a really interesting experience – my first visit to a Kenyan home. I did not know what to expect. Keeping it authentic, we took a took-took (auto-rickshaw in Indian/English parlance) to her one-room apartment. This single room accounted for her bedroom, living room, and “kitchen” – a hot plate, and stack of a few plates and pots. The bathroom, which I never saw, was somewhere outside the main apartment, and shared with at least one neighbor. Despite the modest abode, she hosted myself and three others for a pleasant meal of rice, beans, plantains, vegetables, and fruit salad. A simple, enjoyable night.

That about sums up my time in Eldoret. All in all, it wasn’t too bad. I had some new, interesting Kenyan experiences: partying in a college town, a home-cooked meal. It was also relaxing to be outside the congestion and pollution of Nairobi, and not having to travel more than 10 minutes to get anywhere. But, after two and a half weeks the routine – the breakfast, the two restaurant rotation, the terrace –, while comfortable, was getting a bit dull.

Even if I do not always take advantage of all Nairobi has to offer (ditto on Chicago) at least I have options. Furthermore, the innate vibrancy of a city is something I revel in.

It's good to be back.