Text on Techs

Deep-fried fish…the whole fish. Two coworkers gleefully took us on a journey to Nairobi fish heaven. Dale wrote about Mama Oliech awhile back. Nairobi streets are a bit of a maze for me still, but the flowers are pretty which makes for a colourful walk on a warm Friday afternoon. It is winter here, so warm is about 22C with a bright, high elevation sun. I am so doomed when I return to NA.

This meal was a bit of a production and worth it.

Step 1: wash hands

Step 2: regard the plates of fish (we basically ordered the same thing)

Step 3: Name your fish. My what scary eyes you have. While I normally name things, like scary spiders in my apt “Henry”..

Meet my coworker, Henry, and Sharon

And, Dale and April

Step 4: Devour. Yummy fish fry, almost as good as my Dad’s. You are not given utensils so it is all about the bread and fingers.

Step 5: Then, see how they are made. Discovery channel needs to visit.

Step 6: Double, Boil and trouble.Um, grease is the word, but yumm

Every country I visit, I have to hit a supermarket. I’m fascinated by the food, marketing and the fun stuff you find. It is an hour to kill as a tourist and worth it for the humourous questions.

Tropical heat appears to be the brand of choice. It is on juice (tropical carrot), chips and spices. My one North American coworker asked me to locate Tropical Heat Chai tea. After a meeting with Mozilla Kenyan Rep, Alex, I asked him to take me through his supermarket and pick out his favourite snacks and tea.

I’m taking Fanta orders now:

What nots. Um, “I will eat…what not”.

Free or mostly free entertainment for the curious.

h

On Sunday, I kidnapped Charl, my South African coworker, for some trains and then some.

First stop, the Lunatic line. Canada built the railway to populate the country. Kenya designated a country because of the railway.

I love the story of the official who decided to coax the lion into his carriage only to fall asleep. Anyway, we got to climb on steam engines and troll through the early century cars where dreams of romantic Kenyan adventures were baked in the sun.

After we got good and lost in our wanderings only to end up at the Muthurwa Market. Apparently, the number of people that we thought was many was 1/3 the actual street foot traffic of the neighbourhood. Our taxi driver told us that tourists don’t go to that hood. We were pleased. It was busy, but safe. The story of the market is actually fairly important to the city too.

Oh, earlier in the day at the Maasai market, situated close to a posh shopping mall, two men offered to pay me to touch my hair and one man gave me this in honour of it:

I bought a bracelet from Lou as thanks for this picture of her beadwork.

Giraffes. Of all the exotic creatures that traverse the lands of Africa, giraffes were top on my list. Beautiful graceful animals that seem to teach us a few things about calm demeanor, the swagger and patience. Yes, I hope to see more animals after the big work stuff is completed.

When I arrived at the Giraffe Center (such a tourist hub), The Giraffes were eating out of people’s hands. Then, they left just as I walked up the stairs. For 30 minutes, I wandered around the center and watched the giraffes way off in the distance.

Where are the Giraffes: (I expect my nieces and nephew to memorize this map.)

They took their sweet time, I mean, ate grass and napped.

With a pail-driven food racket, they returned.

Eyeballed:

After the giraffes, I tried to go to Kazuri beads to see the factory for my mom. They were closed. So, next week. Instead, I went to Karen Blizen’s estate. She was the author of Out of Africa. Many a female in my life swooned about Kenya and learned about the country’s colonial history via the Pollack movie. Apparently, the movie rubs off some of the true nature of the book and adds some “North American mainstream movie tone.” The grounds were beautiful.

Nairobi: two worlds.

Last night I had dinner with a few NGO and Tech friends. Two Nethope staff are en route to Daadab and were in the middle of planning logistics. Car, gas, airplanes, supplies. All the while we were eating Ethiopian food and talking about volunteer technical communities and how to bridge the gaps between NGOs, volunteers and the formal organizations like the UN. Each of us has had varied experience with these discussions. By the end of the dinner, the two humanitarian workers had the logistics set up and were off to northern Kenya. I am in awe of their work and really hope they can broker the next steps. Inspiring. Every bite of food felt like a triumph. We have so much in our world.

I woke up this morning to my happy hosts kids presenting their prize catch. They live with so much joy.

The sun is starting to set in Nairobi and iHUB is still full of people working away on their respectful projects. Innovation labs like this are incredibly special. I am souped up on Pete’s coffee and adrenaline from an afternoon of getting to know my colleagues and working on an event project.

My new tech boyfriend named IDEOS:

Someone is blaring decent electronica while we work away. Great vibe. It is helping me keep alert. The trees and flowers are gorgeous. The roadside paths scatter around the city with many people walking. I hope to see more tomorrow. Though, I suspect I may wake up disoriented after days of no to low sleep. One thing I have noticed is how much people smile here. I mean really smile with the whole of their being in a genuine way.

One of my coworkers gave me coveted Kiptagich Tea, which I will give my mom. Another coworker suggested that I fill my suitcase with Tea Masala. Done!

And, there is a Fooz ball table:

Today is World Humanitarian Day 2011. Every day these people change the world one step at a time.

h

Somewhere west of Cairo, I woke up and wanted to pull my eyes out. Exhaustion has set in. I dug out the big guns: lemon ginger echinacea tea. If I could buy shares in this tea, I would. In the past year, it has saved many a day. Now I carry a few packages of it for special moments when a 2’4 is unavailable to crack myself back into calm.

So far in the last 24h, I’ve napped about 4 hours in total. My flight brain is getting fun. I woke up in a start over Germany and squeaked. Yes, squeaked and alarmed two seat mates. I saw a mouse. At least, I saw a mouse in my dream. They laughed. I seriously thought a mouse scurried over my feet. Red-faced apologies, but they laughed.

I am becoming the plane tourist. So, far I’ve watched African Cats. Sita is my new hero. Kala reminds me of, oh, that’s a tangent. Next up is a documentary: Meerkat Madness. Why do they look huggable? I might have time for Zoo Adventure. The last flight to AMS, I got bored watching Lincoln Lawyer and on this leg was Limitless. Meercats and lions over Hollywood. So, this is my state of mind.

Earlier I read Pius Adesanmi’s essay: “Going to Meet Black America” comparing poverty in the US with parts of Africa. It should be mandatory reading for some. I wish there was a talking/light car on the plane and that Sylvia was here to discuss the merits and faults of his argument. And, I need a book light. Since I’m not sleeping, I may as well learn and read.

Later today I meet some of my coworkers for the first time. Excited. Some nutcase decided that I should have 4 hours of meetings in the afternoon. Self-flog, but I am running an event in under a week and need to nail down details. That adventure will call for the Barcelona special. Drink within one hour:

1. One or two strong cups of expresso
2. Red Bull
3. One scary looking juice protein mix
4. Water

Enough writing in the dark. I love the timing of “If I ever leave this world” on my playlist. Appropriate. I travel with an old iPod and phone loaded with music. It saves on these long hauls.

“I’m ok, I’m alright…”

Time for cats!

Schipol isn’t an airport. It is a total living centre.

Not 5 minutes after deboarding, I was chastised by a cheesemonger for denying his overtures to gouda. Glazed over I responded: “um, I need coffee and shower before I can eat.”

Clean showers in an airport are a novelty, which is why I had to pay for the right to feel like a human being after flight. Worth every penny to not be fogged up. I truly have no clue what time it is, but my body is smart enough to think it is late afternoon. (pats back).

Before boarding in Toronto, I met with Carolyn Dunn, CBC’s only Africa correspondent. How is it possible for one person to cover a whole continent? CBC news taught me the world. Patrick Brown reports from Asia and all of the other people. Apparently, with cutbacks investigative journalism and actual foreign correspondence are waning. This makes me sad. Before I met Ms. Dunn, I reviewed some of her Libya reports. She is a storyteller passionate about Africa and the news. So, I used the small window of conversation to learn about Libya via her eyes. I look forward to a day that we can learn more about the real Libyan people. The people she talked about who cleaned the streets, helped their neighbours and banned together to rebuild communities. She talked about the beauty of the people and the architecture. We are so caught up in the big name leader politics in 30 second bytes that these real snippets get missed.

Somehow I managed to find a university student studying GIS in Canada at the airport. Small world. She was returning to Nigeria for a visit. We got to chatting about mapping. I mentioned that I was in contact with a Lagos mapper who built http://lagostraffic.crowdmap.com/. I’ve connected them via email.

So far in Schipol: I’ve had a shower, been to a museum and had a nap in a bank lounge. Well, actually next to the bank lounge as I don’t have the prestigious VIP pass to get a leather couch. They do have swank lounge chairs with foot rests in the mediation area. (free) What amazes me about this place is all the space and quiet corners that you can hide and rest. Not surprising, I have no appetite yet. The airport is large enough that I was able to talk in a circle for about an hour and a half. This helped with the body crumbled feeling.

Shopkeeps are brilliant. I want to buy all the Dutch knicknacks and tulips for my Mom, kid’s toys for the nieces and nephew, some cheese and licorice for my Dad and, well, MAC cosmetics for myself. I don’t need anything and won’t buy, but they make it so attractive. I wonder what the books say about travel shoppers. I will garner that they spend, spend and spend. Everywhere I look hands are full of duty free bags. I was close to prey in Toronto. Lingering over The Shadow of the Wind for a bit, I contemplated buying it. Then, it struck me: I have this book because Mandy gave it to me. The copy has a different cover and is sitting on my table at home. The poor bookseller didn’t have a chance.

h

Preparing for my trip to Kenya has been full of teaching moments.

I’ve read books on Africa for N00bs (I simply want to be respectful). This research has lead to surprising discoveries like Nigerian’s love of Don Williams (also a favourite artist of my Dad’s). Who knew about country music in Nigeria?

Fashion and Kenya
To be honest, this post about Vivenne Westwood in Kenya made me wince. I really felt like it was capitalizing on people’s lives. But, then I read deeper:

“The handbags in the lookbook are a part of Westwood’s Ethical Fashion Programme collection, where the iconic label has partnered with the International Trade Centre to provide jobs to over 7,000 women in the Kenyan capital, where they learn to create handmade, ethically produced bags for the London-based label. The project is intended to help provide people in one of the world’s poorest economies with actual skills they can use to maintain a living for themselves and their families.”

The number of people employed is respectable. Not that I could ever afford brand labels, or convince myself to actually wear them, but it made me stop for a minute. With a seamstress for a mother accompanied by hours in fabric shops, I have complete regard for the value of work and responsible clothing production. Innovation and the market place build new economies. My new employer is focused on creating software, but is part of a microcosm into a world of bright people creating with will and imagination.

One thing I have noticed is the shock that people have when I say I work for a tech company based in Nairobi, Kenya. And, the reaction I get from people (mostly strangers) warning me about the dangers of Africa. While I am sure danger is part of the story, I think this is indicative of the lack of awareness about how large the continent is: every city, country and village. Part of me thinks that I am a vehicle to share a different version of the story. I suppose it is like thinking that all of northern Saskatchewan (where I grew up) is full of redneck hicks. Well, yes, there are many fans of Jeff Foxworthy, but they are good people whom I call my family. These are also the first people who will give you a homemade blanket when your house burns down, then help you rebuild. People who are neighours help each other. I think that we need to start thinking about people around the world as neighbours we don’t know yet. For all the information in the world, the Internet and more, we still have so much to learn about each other.

Makers, doers
My Grandfather never bought a new tractor. He taught himself how to fix one and saved money to travel when he retired. On the same premise, my father who has invented gadget and kludges with whatever was laying around the yard or found in a discount bin. Much like Afrigadgets, just the northern Canadian version. We really are a consumer society in North America. It would do us well to think about why we need a special container for our water hose. My dad used a piece of wood and an old piece of metal to make me this:

We have so much, but does it make us happier? Instead of creating more waste: remake, remix or reuse. With talented parents who sew and build, I feel a bit lost in the maker realm. I don’t actually make anything physically valuable (besides good meals and a pretty garden), but I create connections and community. Maybe in my next act, I will be a maker.

Postcards
Call me old school, but I love postcards. I have a box of postcards from my Grandfather’s travels and a fridge covered with cards from friends. Postsecret is a long time favourite. Whenever I have the privilege to go anywhere, I send postcards to close friends and family. It bridges our imagination and gives an immediate connection to place and to people that a digital space might not. It makes far away places closer and takes people on the journey with you. My Grandfather wanted us to be engaged in our world. And, my mom, the biggest news junkie I know, simply wanted us to understand what part we play in learning about our world. On my fridge, I have a postcard from a coworker who traveled to Kenya long before I even imagined that I would be making this journey. Every day for 3 years I have looked at this postcard and thought: what is my place in the world? This love affair with postcards is not mine alone: The Lost art of Postcard Writing.