45 years of confinement to the Western world (does that include Istanbul and Abu Dhabi?) have finally been surmounted. On a Tuesday I learnt that I shall be on a plane to
Nairobi, Kenya, Africa, Sunday next.
Was I excited? Yes! though knowing, I would not see much of this continent, country and city, which I had never set foot on. I would be attending a workshop in a hotel all week.
So what! A 6:30 flight took me to AMS. I got to know parts of Amsterdam's Schipol airport I had never seen. Then I boarded an aged and pretty full 747 to Nairobi and proceeded to chat with a French engineer, who worked 'in oil (petrol)' and other industrial engineering, in many countries. He had recently moved to Mombasa, though he still had a home in Southern France; a nomad by (work)-choice. That's globalisation for you! In the smaller plane to Amsterdam, I had talked to a Hamburg doctor, who was heading to safari in Kenya. He would be flying to Kilimanjaro airport. I thought he was pulling my leg, until he showed me the airport location on the map in the in-flight magazine. That's globalisation for you, of the tourist kind! At that point, it struck me that to ask developing countries to contribute to mitigating climate change was truly a western, cheeky joke!
Back to 'my' 747. Flying down the Italian shoe, the monstruous plane cruised above the Mediterranean for about 1/2 hour. I know, because I was looking out the window to experience that moment; when we would hit the shores of Africa, in this case Libya. The lightish blue of the Mediterranean was replaced by the reddish yellow of the Sahara desert. It took a good 2 hours to traverse it. What where those concrete installations in the middle of nowhere, down there? Rocket launch installations? Terrorist training camps? What was that airstrip doing there in nomansland? Towards the end of the desert, I could identify circular irrigated fields, some wet, some fainted, some dry. Though I did not wonder what might be grown on those fields, I was struck by the size of the African continent, which is hardly illuminated at all. Even in the Alps, you see lights at night.
We landed at Nairobi's Kenyatta airport in the dark. With my 5-day bag, I got out of the airport pretty fast, after having purchased a visa. I quickly identified the sign, which Martin, the driver, had held up, among the mass of chauffeurs waiting for their prey. Because it was my first time in Africa, Kenya, Nairobi, he made a detour, passing through the centre of town. Not very enticing, but a very friendly gesture nonetheless.
And so I arrived at the Sarova Panafric Hotel, which I would not leave for 5 days, but for 3 short excursions (a dinner, visiting the
International Livestock Research Institute and an hours' walk in the city centre).
The next morning, I swam in the agreeably cool pool, all alone (it's too cold for most people, but I'm used to the North Sea). During a cigarette break from the workshop, I saw lots of mini-busses on the avenue, which led to downtown. They had very entertaining names plastered on their windscreens: Happiness, Babyface and other names. I was told that people chose particular mini-busses according to the kind of music they played inside; the 'image' they had. Otherwise, people might opt for the KBS, the public transport busses. In the afternoon, a vast array of school busses transported girls and boys in red or green uniforms, which naturally reminded me of England. I've also seen schooluniformed children walk by the wayside of busy roads, which I doubt any Western European mother would allow their brood to do.
The three outings from the hotel took us to a Brazilian restaurant with lots of meat, the aforementioned agricultural research center, which is agreeably nestled in the hills on the outskirts of the city, with a view of the
Kilimanjaro, if you're lucky (we weren't) - and the walk into town, during which I got to know a Zimbabwean teacher (refugee), who spoke a little German and very elegantly succeeded in making me give him some money. I did not doubt his account of his recent experiences, but apart from that, he did an excellent job of insinuating himself into my path.
What else did I see and learn? Little. Kenyans drink milk with tea, not tea with milk. Most men wear big, elongated shoes. Most peoples' teeth are startingly white (ok, contrast). The air can be fresh, when there's no rush hour. The city park features lots of dry grass. Nairobi residents thrive on petrol, there's no non-automobile transport to speak of, apart from walking (or biking). I saw a corrugated iron-roofed slum and it's "market street", running along the highway. As we rushed by in a Land Rover, I saw the most colourful patchwork clothing on sale at one of the stores.
In the hotel enclave, I met laughing Philippines, joking Tanzanians, headshaking Indians and positive Americans during the workshop. We could have been anywhere. We were surrounded by many hotel staff, in orange, yellow or blue jackets or full, dark suits. At night, a security person was stationed on every floor, wearing a lilac uniform. Many other workshops took place beside ours, including one for lots of women, organised by a local savings bank.
Indeed, I have seen little of Africa, Kenya, Nairobi. Perhaps I shall have the chance to go back.
... on a curious and rather particular subject - Some of you will remember how I came to transform my personal interest in the grotesques (grottesche, Grottesken), that weird form of Renaissance ornament, into a somewhat scholarly book. Thanks to an open-minded publisher (and an investment on my part, called "print subsidy"), Metamorphosed Margins was published in 2008 and has since entered many more a library (art history section) than expected, including, to my delight, the Frick Collection, the Metropolitan Museum in New York and the Hertziana in Rome.
