Lamu

Just back from the lovely coast of Kenya, a relaxing place where beach boys serenade and then..ask for money. Lindi and I met a few interesting characters on our trip.

We took the train from Nairobi to Mombasa, a 15 hours trip, indeed polo pole. No high speed trains in Kenya. In fact we spotted a matatu passing us on the road beside the tracks. Life on the train passed quickly as we made friends in the dining carraige, ordering wine and Tuskers. A remant from the past, there were little tables with greyish tableclothes and service where you wish you brought your own cork screw as it does take quite a while to open a bottle of wine...

After a bumpty sleep on the top bunk, we arose to the warm winter sun of the coast and the pine tree vistas. Children waved by the train tracks and many begged

We watched the world cup with a fellow expatriot from Ireland. I had my Spanish jersey from Spain, 3 sizes too big. It read 'Espana' on the back so I was pleased to be on the winning side for a change. We sat in an open square and paid a few shillings for chairs. We hugged and celebrated Spain's win despite losing electricty along the way, we just about managed to watch the world cup in its entirety

Another night, we stumbled across a muslim wedding. I heard beautiful music coming from the stairs above a restuarant and slipped upstairs only to be invited to take off my shoes and sit with other muslim women as we waited for the bride to arrive

'Just wait', they said, 'She will be here soon'

Always an alarming reponse in Kenya as 'just wait' could mean one hour or several. I was wearing a mini dress and my hair was uncovered, very risky attire given the situation

The brides mother inisted we cover our hair with our head scarves

'I dont have one', I responded, getting ready to leave
Suddenly, brightly coloured scarves were hurled in our direction

'Take a seat' which mtranslates 'squat on the floor'
Great, its not easy aquatting in a mini dress
My legs were gangly and bare, so I knelt down as the pins and kneedles ached

The bride never came...so during one of the many dances and songs, I bolted to the door with Lindi, lmy head scarf flying off my head, landing beside our muslim sisters

'Take some deserts with you', one girl offered...so i did

Then off to a night club, the brothel known as 'florida'
And as you might imagine, we were the only women paying for our drinks. The rest had to work for them

I was trying to watch the Germany vs Uruguay match but kept getting distracted by prostitutes in Sharon Stone costumes, legs uncrossed

Another quick exit

Then off to the lovely Lamu

We stayed on Shella beach, and spent our days sun bathing and chatting with locals including...
The Masai warriors of the coast, friendly chaps who wanted us to buy their jewellery
and beach boys who wanted us to pay for Dhow trips

Life on the beach is relaxing but the night life is interesting. You have to take a boat to the night club or a donkey, a little different from home

There we met Satan, the manager of Petleys and friends from other places

Several drinks later, myself and Lindi boarded a Dhow boat bound for Shella

The fuel had ran out so we drifted in the ocean several minutes with 3 drunken men from Petleys. Then after picking up some fuel from another boat, the engine broke down

Thanks to the whiskeys, we found the situation quite amusing. Eventually, the engine was given a kick start, and off we went, with one the beach boys singing 'Maria Maria' in my honour

I had told him I was married. He asked if my husband was still alive

'Yes', I replied. 'He is a young man'

Then he actually pretended to jump off the boat at the thought of my husband still living..

Eventually , we made our way to Shella, in one piece

Kwaheri Lamu

Life is more serious in Nairobi, with talk of upcoming constitution on August 4th. I'll write again soon with tales of constitution mayhem. Its bound to be dramatic..

Mob justice

Last Wednesday,I was delivering a training program in Malaba, near Uganda, to parents of children with disabilities.I was encouraging parents to interact with their children with speech and language problems in order to further stimulate the children's language skills

I was on my way to the bathroom in the compound, when I turned the corner and confronted an angry group of young men, whipping a younger boy on the back with car tyres. An older man was laughing in the corner at the spectacle. I found out later that the boy had apparently stolen some roofing from a nearby shop. The owner of the hotel where I was was staying, paid local youths to kill him and they decided to carry out the torture in the grounds of the hotel where I was staying

The boy appeared intellectually disabled. Gripped by panic and fear, he was wailing loudly and unable to articulate at the thought of his imminent death.
The crowd was getting more and more animated. When I returned from the bathroom, the situation was getting out of control. One man was charging at the boy with a shovel.

This is when I decided to intervene.

I could not let them beat a man with a disability to death in front of me when I was giving a lecture next door on valuing people with disabilities.

I ran towards the man with the shovel, pleading and shouting at him to stop.
A woman crept up toward me, giggling quietly, and whispered in my ear. She explained to me that the boy was a thief and this was how Kenyans dealt with petty theft- by handing down a death sentence and dealing with it themselves

The police were not called.There was no need. They would deal with this themselves.

The owner protested that the policeman would ask him why he had not killed him.

The mob were getting more fired up and took off towards the back of the hotel.The boy was bleeding on his head as one man had hurled the shovel at him and hit him on the head. He was also bleeding inside his shirt from the public whipping

I continued to follow them, with my bosses looking on in silence and complacence. This is the system here, they said, despite it being illegal.

Mob justice

I continued to plead with the owner to take him to the police so they could investigate the matter. Eventually the owner agreed to take him to the police

I screamed at the owner saying that he himself should be charged with attempted murder..the boy after all was disabled and had stolen a small amount of roofing material, hardly deserving of death by blow to the head with a blunt instrument

He replied that the man was not disabled. He was caught stealing and must be punished. He was simply teaching him a lesson and ordered the mob to stop

'I am saving his life', he protested

I insisted that he in fact was trying to kill him. I was the one trying to save his life

All this time, my boss was laughing, proclaiming that this is Kenya and Marie, you are like an Afican woman, fearless

The crowd simply did not see the benefit of taking him to the police..he would not learn his lesson, he would steal again. Besides the police would beat him also

So there... a day in the life of Marie Fahy in Kenya

And all I wanted to do was go to the toilet!

Kenya is a harsh place and sometimes very barbaric

but then why are there so many Christians heading off to mass every Sunday if, when the whim takes them, they beat a man to death with a shovel for stealing so little

Where is the compassion? It's not very Christian

Innocent people are being lynched not only in Malaba but also in Nairobi. Mob justice is absolutely unethical in African society so why does it continue?

Change can only come when the administrators adhere to and respect the law..Kenya has a long way to go in this repect

The judiciary system, just as other government departments, are riddled with corruption and it is not surprising that people have taken the law in their own hands

Having witnessed firsthand "mob justice" in Kenya, I absolutely condemn this barbaric act which is due to the incapability of the Kenya Police and high level of corruption which sees many criminals walk free after small handouts forcing the public to take the law in their own hands.

I don't believe that Kenyans are bloodthirsty and enjoy killing their compatriots but the justice system here just doesn't seem to work, leaving people with no other option but to take the law into their own hands.

Many law enforcers have failed to deliver and people have to live with the fear that they are not well protected. In other cases law enforcers have forged alliances with criminals and this has reduced the confidence that people have in them. It's time kenyans reviewed the way their law enforcers work, and maybe give them enough resources.

Otherwise many more people will get killed on mere suspicion of having committed a crime.

Pimp my ride

The other day while whizzing down a highway in Nairobi in a battered health and safety risk matatu, the wheel fell off. I was seated in the front beside the driver and noticed some confusion amoungst passengers in the back. As I turned around, the matatu had fallen sideways as we skided along the highway on three wheels! I jumped out with the other passengers when we screeched to a halt. My immediate reaction was laughter at the sight of the missing wheel- the entire thing had flown off while we were driving.

Noone was injured. I took a photo of the scene and exchanged laughs with the other passengers.I am getting very laid back about these type of matatu situations since that same week, the door of another matatu had fallen off.I could have been more alarmed but since none of the other passengers appeared concerned, I also moved away from out battered three wheeled matatu and hailed the next one, hoping that this time all vehicle parts would remain intact for the duration of my short journey.

No-one seems to complain about the state of the unroad-worthy vehicles. People complain all the time about the crazy erratic driving skills of the matatu drivers but not about the state of the vehicles. Road accidents are reaching alarming rates yet there is no monitoring of these battered machines or the driving skills of road users.

Imagine the worst Hiace van, ceilings lined with second hand carpet, dodgy doors that don't shut, blaring music at 120 decibles, a tout extracting shillings from 20customers who are squashed in 12 seats (they have no half seat rates despite sharing a seat with up to 3 people). The ceilings are so low that even I, at 5 foot 3bang my head everytime I attempt to 'alight'.

The police continue to extract bribes but noone insists on updating the matatus to a reasonable state of safety. Seat belts alone would be a good idea, let alone operational doors and wheels

Later that same day, I was invited to the polo club in Ngong road to go horse riding with a friend. I must be the only person in Kenya to arrive at a polo club in a matatu.One other member flies to the club by helicopter, a relation of ex- President Moi. I arrive in style in a battered matatu, four wheels this time,dusting the flies from my face and the red Africa soil from my shoes

That is the confusing contradiction of this great place.One minute you are riding down the highway in a three wheeled matatu complaining about Mzungu prices and the next minute you are riding a horse in an elite polo club.Kenya is certainly confusing and unpredictable but I am addicted to the highs and lows. It's certainly never boring and keeps you on your toes!

Is sexual harassment to blame for crashes? Daily Nation, Kenya

I came across this hilarious article in the Daily nation last week. Only thing is, it wasn't meant to be funny. It goes like this....

26,662; the number of people killed in road accidents in Kenya last year
Female passengers who caress boda riders blamed for rise in accident

According to one chief in Meru, the problem is not Chinese made motorbikes or their riders. The chief, who was addressing a public gathering last week, said the cause of motorbike accidents is...female passengers.

"Women passengers caress the riders, who are young men with hot blood. This is what leads to accidents", he declared

Motorbike manufacturers should now consider changing the design of their models. For instance, they can put the luggage carrier between the rider's seat and the passenger's. For extra caution, they can convert it into a cage or plastic box. This will ensure that there is a reasonable distance between the passengers and hot-blooded riders. Another option would be to have handle-bars between the two. This would require passengers to hold the handle- bars rather than virile riders. That way, contact would be reduced and, one hopes, so would accidents

Ingenious piece of critical thinking and deduction..
Kenyan women are to blame for the rise in motorbike accidents rather than the drivers who don't know how to drive

Watch out for these futuristic boda boda models on the market and
take care girls,
try not to caress your hot-booded boda boda driver, however tempting it may be

Delicious ambiguity at Semana Santa de Sevilla

Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity... Gilda Radner

I decided to take a break from Africa for Easter and head to Semana Santa in Sevilla...not the usual thing for a volunteer working in Africa but necessary I thought.The original arrangement was to meet a friend in Santa Justa train station at 5.30pm but as by bags didn't arrive on the London-Madrid flight, I spent most of Holy Thursday in Madrid airport rather than enjoying the festivities in Semana Santa de Sevilla.

Anyway, not the end of the world, I thought. Draw on your newly learned patience from Africa where nothing works according to plan and you are expected to wait and wait. I'll be a few hours late and rejoin celebrations later that night. I waited from 1.30pm to 5.30pm that day, sipping cups of cafe con leche, eating Jamon Serrano sandwiches and trying to relax..not easy. Tranquillo, I murmured to myself..the bags will arrive soon and then I'll be on my way.

Eventually the bags arrived and I headed straight to Atocha train station, Madrid, to grab the AVE high speed train to Seville. Only 2 hours 20 minutes from Madrid to Seville, a little different from African trains (pole pole) and the Irish rail service which promises improvement with the slogan "getting there"..

I luckily met up with 2 American girls on the train. Deanna was living in Seville for 6 months, and spoke Spanish with a Sevillian accent. Her friend was visiting from Chicago. As I was 5 hours late for my meeting with my friend, my only option was to stay on the girls couch for the night and make contact with him in the morning. Thank you Deanna for your kindness. I would have had to sleep in Santa Justa train station if I didn't happen to bump into you on the train

I emailed my friend that night to let him know where I was and luckily, he was online so we made contact. He came and picked me up... straight to Semana Santa festivities. Despite my fatigue, I joined the festivities on the streets, my nervous energy keeping me going.

The streets were thronged with people, all admiring the procession of pasos, floats of lifelike wooden sculptures of individual scenes of the Passion and images of the Virgin Mary. Some of the sculptures are considered artistic masterpieces, as well as being culturally and spiritually important to the local Catholic population.

The processions are organised by Hermandades and Cofradías, religious brotherhoods. During the processions, members precede the pasos, dressed in penitential hoods, accompanied by brass bands.

The standard structure of a procession is:
A great cross (Cruz de Guía - Guiding Cross) is carried at the beginning of each procession. A number of people dressed in the distinctive pointed hood (Capirote), and holding long wax candles, marching in silence. These are the Nazarenos. Moving between the lines are diputados de tramo, guardians who keep the formations organized. A group of altar boys, acolytes,march behind, with chandeliers and incense, and other servants. Then The Paso follows.

There are 3 pasos, the first one is a sculpted scene of the Passion ; the second is an image of Christ; and the third an image of the suffering Blessed Virgin Mary, known as a dolorosa.
The structure of the paso is richly carved and decorated with fabric, flowers and candles. Many of the structures carrying the image of Christ are gilded, and those carrying the image of the virgin are silver-plated.

A distinctive feature of Semana Santa in Seville is the style of marching of the pasos. A team of men, the Costaleros (literally "sack men", for their distinctive headdress), supporting the beams upon their shoulders and necks, lift, move and lower the paso. As they are all inside the structure and hidden from the external view by a curtain, the paso seems to move by itself. On the outside an overseer (Capataz), guides the team by voice

The crowd behaves relatively normally while Nazarenos are marching, though one man actually pushed me out of the way..I responded with "tranquillo" (relax) to the fanatic. This turns to respectful silence when the images pass. Small children beg for sweets, from the Nazarenos.

So as religious as it sounded, it was a lot of fun. The ambience was intoxicating...crowds on the streets, dressed in traditional dress, men in black suits and the rest of us.. We spent nights eating in terraces, eating gambas con ajo, marinated olives, choco balls with white wine followed by coffee with Baileys. Que delicioso, a big contrast to the fried chicken, greasy chapatis and beans I have grown accustomed to in Nairobi. I made mming noises after every morsel of food I tasted..so When Harry met Sally scene in restaurant..mmmmmmmmm

So next trip, Il Ngwesi, near Mount Kenya next weekend

Stay tuned for more adventures.

.and for those of you not living in Kenya...come visit

Slaintate(slainte + ate)- a blend of Irish & Spanish, meaning cheers to you

Absence from blog

Just returned from one month's holidays in Spain..will update blog v soon with details and some photos. Stressed already and only back in Nairobi one week..