Nairobi Horror Stories

"Um, how should I say this without offending anyone?" John said to me in a hushed tone, glancing over his shoulder to the middle aisle next to us where a black, Kenyan man was reading a newspaper. And hushed tones or not, I felt that John had said this a little too loud, "Kenyans can be quite brutal people."

Thus begins the Nairobi horror stories.

A former business associate of John's had married a Kenyan woman and settled down in the plush (white) neighborhood of Karen.

The guy's wife had cheated on him and she contracted HIV. When she later died of AIDS, the house was thrown into some kind of a custody battle of sorts between he and the former Mrs's family members. I'm not really sure how the family would have any rights to the place at all. John didn't clearly explain this. Most likely, it's some kind of a racial law which gives privilege to black Kenyans. I'm not sure.

Anyhow, the woman's family came up with a solution.

The man's body was found hanging in the living room. In addition, evidence suggested he had been tortured to death in a multitude of ways.

Failing to get me screaming for an emergency landing, John decided to try again, this time with a personal account.

Some years ago, John was in Nairobi on business. Upon leaving the entry way of the Nairobi Hilton, a massive Kenyan man presented himself. The man stretched his hand out and guessed, "Dutch?"

"No, British", John told him as his hand rightfully shot out.

The man, however, had no plans of letting the John's hand go. He began dragging John toward a "particularly nasty" piece of downtown Nairobi called River Road.

John found the man's grip inescapable. He then told his giant captor, "Look, either let me go, or I'm going to yell, 'thief'". In Nairobi, calling someone a thief is akin to a death sentence. Apparently, crowds of other Kenyans will pounce on a thief and police will shoot to kill without hesitation or interrogation. Understandably, John's hand was immediately freed.

After these delightful tales, John relocated himself to a row of empty seats where he could lay down. Yet, for some reason, I couldn't sleep just yet.

Jetplane To Nairobi

Where was I?

Ah yes. Africa.

After the suffering the city of London for a day, and finishing my weird corn and chicken sandwich, I brushed myself off and boarded my flight to Nairobi, Kenya, Africa.

I was pleased with myself at having reserved a window seat so that I could look out onto great Africa when I awoke.

Also, I was surprised to see that the flight wasn't completely full and I had an entire row of seats to myself. That is, until an older gentleman sat next to me.

Tanned white skin, gray hair and gray mustache. He turned to me at some point before takeoff and introduced himself. He was John from England. He had business in Nairobi. He flew in 6 times a year to check in with the company's progress.

He asked me what I was doing, an American on my way to Kenya. "I just want to help people." One of my many vague answers I'd give out when people asked me. I was going to be a part of a volunteer group, teaching English to kids.

Was I certified to teach? No.

Did I have a passion for it? Not really. No.

In fact, I had problems with the upfront mission of teaching English. Why did I want to teach English? Why should everyone speak the same language? Wasn't that just making the world flatter and tame? Wasn't I contributing to some kind of new world order? To mass industrialization? Was there even anything wrong with that?

Really, I just wanted to go to Africa and experience it on the inside. To attempt to see it eye to eye.

I had vowed that I wasn't going to be the normal tourist and just go to see the giraffes and elephants. I was going to be different. I was going to help. Somehow. Armed with my white skin and some half-stoned mission statement, I was going to be part of the change.

So I gave John the "I just want to help people" line, and he had responded just how three others had the day before with the exact same word. Apparently, what I was doing was "admirable".

Soon after, John decided it was time to scare the shit out of me with Nairobi horror stories.