Street Vendors and Helicopters

Hello everyone, and welcome to November.

In every big town that I have visited in East Africa there is always a tourist street market where dozens of local artisans and retailers set up their goods and charge absurd amounts for a little slice of Africa. I always enjoy walking up and down them to hear the outrageous prices they have to offer. Being a mzungu (White is the 'rangi ya pesa' - color of money), I am tabbed as an easy mark. But knowing some Swahili allows me to catch them off guard, and I almost always end up with a halfway decent price. Nothing I do will ever get me the prices as good as the locals, but it's fun to argue back and forth and see how it goes. Kupiga bei - negotiating - is an important part of almost every transaction in Kenya, as very few things have a fixed price. I wonder how the average tourist would feel if he or she knew this.

At this point I'm rather used to protracted debates about every market purchase, and conversations about myself and how I came to know Swahili generally accompany these. But in the past few days I've been really pleased to learn more about the retailers themselves and their interests. It all started when I was explaining my interest in East African Literature. One of the men asked which books I have read, and began to tell me about his favorite novel, Arrow of God by Chinua Achebe (a Nigerian, and thus not technically from East Africa, but popular here nonetheless). This led to a long discussion of the merits of using English versus local languages for literature, and to the differences between some of the more famous African authors. He is tremendously well-read despite having never been educated beyond high school. I told him about my project at the theater with Amezidi, and offered him a free seat when the performance comes. I also let him borrow a copy of the script to read. This afternoon I'm returning to the market to discuss his impressions.

It was during the course of one of these conversations that I also met another remarkable young hawker (the local term for street salesmen.) He overheard me talking about the Spanish classes I took this summer, and without missing a beat introduced himself. "Me llamo James," he said in an oustanding Spanish accent, "como te llamas?" I was shocked. How on earth did this Kenyan street vendor know how to introduce himself? And I was further surprised when he began to speak about his years education in Nairobi in perfect Spanish. Apparently he had studied world literature and languages (He knows six - English, Spanish, French, German, Swahili, and Kikuyu) in Nairobi, but was unable to find a job and returned to Nakuru to sell his artwork (very impressive paintings) on the streets. We talked at great length, and made plans to meet again. It was one of the most surprising things I've ever encountered.

Speaking of surprising things (and completely changing the subject), try to imagine this sequence of events:

After finishing the nightly routine (dinner, poorly-dubbed Mexican telenovella, glass of warm milk), I return to my room. Listen to the i-pod on $4 mini-speakers, step outside to brush my teeth, kill a small army of bugs in various corners of my room. Put a book on the pillow to read, take off my sandals, turn off the light, and find my way into bed. Notice the book on my pillow. Feel stupid. Find the headlamp on my table/nightstand. Feel clever again. Five minutes later, remember that insects are attracted to light, and realize that the small army of bugs had radioed for reenforcement before they died. Discover that the reeneforcements include a giant beetle that sounds like a helicopter. Get dive-bombed. In the face. Freak out. Swat the monster away, turn off the light, pull the blanket over my head. Five minutes later, nearly asleep and with the sheet back down around my shoulders, get dive-bombed again. Trap the bastard in my sheet, take it outside for immediate release. Return to the room, notice a medium-sized cockroach on the table/nightstand. React quickly. Take off a sandal (which I had just put back on to go outside) and move to strike. The beetle moves to the edge of the table, and then defies gravity by walking on the underside. Strike with the sandal. Watch him scurry away as a shower of dirt and debris flies off the sandal and up into the air. Watch as it lands on my clean clothes, on my pillow, and all over the bedsheets (which are still a mess from when I jumped out of bed.) Watch a large clump of dirt settle slowly to the bottom of my glass of water. Admit defeat. Dust off the sheets and pillow. Turn off the lights. Sleep.