Adventures in Caroworld

The tales of my European adventure

A quick relapse of Nairobi

KENYA | Sunday, 30 December 2007 | Views [235] | Comments [1]

It was Sunday night and the streets of Nairobi were as busy as ever, filled with people crisscrossing in every direction and cars honking incessantly. The first week was the typical African adventure… safari and a visit to the beach for a swim in the Indian Ocean. I arrived back in Nairobi enthusiastic and mystified. My body still felt sore from the hours spent scuba diving in the Indian Ocean. My head was filled with images of an Africa safari… the leopard cubs licking each other clean, lions ripping through a zebra hide, a baby hippopotomus basking in the sun along the bank of a river. I was about to begin my second and last week of a volunteer holiday in Africa. Due to confusion at the volunteer office, I had no work to do the first week, so it was spent traveling to the beach around Mombasa and on safari in Maasai Mara. But now I was back in Nairobi with Beth, head of the volunteer agency, about to catch the bus back to my home stay.

I was crossing the street when all of a sudden I am surrounded by solemn-faced men speaking Swahili. Thinking they were trying to offer me a taxi, I wave them off with a brush of the hand and stern ‘No thanks.’ Before I realize what is happening, I am tumbling through the air and land gently on the ground. About five men had my body pinned down while another man was trying to rip the bag which held everything important (passport, visa, all my money) off from around my neck. The bag was originally hidden under my shirt, but the shirt was now lifted up to reveal my belongings. This man and I struggled in a game of tug of war for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. I could not feel my body being jostled about nor could I hear the bouts of Swahili being shouted out in every direction. All I could feel was my arms clenched firmly around my important possessions, all my strength and energy holding on for life. My voice kept trying to scream but was too stifled by fear and loss of breath. The man stared right in my eyes the whole time, sensing my fear and helplessness. All I saw in his eyes were anger and desperation, but most of all hatred. Hatred over the luxuries he knew I had, while he most likely spent the night in the streets hungry. Hatred of my nationality, the American, and perhaps even hatred of the color of my skin, when you see white skin in Africa, you see money.

Finally, my arms could no longer take it. My bag slipped away, and the man took off running at full speed. It’s funny how when you are so high on adrenaline you don’t think. There is no time to even make a complete thought. Your mind is completely blank, and fear and anxiety have taken over. I was left violently trembling on the side of the road. Some people helped me to the side of the road where I collapsed down sobbing and gasping for air. My head was spinning as I slowly came to terms with the situation. I was stuck in Nairobi… no passport, no money, no visa… totally helpless. Is this not the situation my parents feared? I could already hear the ‘I told you so”. Luckily I was ok, I was not hurt. There was a huge group of people surrounding me, all eyes on the young white girl who had just been robbed. A fellow traveler came and sat down, threw her arms around me to give some comfort. With a warm smile she told me it was going to be ok. At that point it was so nice to here because I was not so sure.

Eventually, the police came and took me to the police station. I knew they were not going to be able to get my things back, but I went reluctantly since I needed a police report to get a new passport. Any offense that might hurt Kenyan tourism is taken very seriously. Therefore, a young white American girl getting jumped on the streets of Nairobi quickly became a top priority. The head of police even came to assure me they were doing everything they could to regain my possessions. Unfortunately, in Kenya civil rights protection is not the greatest. So while I was speaking with the police chief, groups of random men were being arrested off the streets, and taken in for a line up. How could this be, a girl gets robbed and that gives the right to go arrest anyone off the street. I couldn’t even see straight, my head was spinning and my eyes hurt from crying so much. But now I am being asked to make a positive identification of the guys who just jumped me from a group of men crammed in a holding cell, like animals in a cage. With very aggressive, intimidating looks on their faces they stared back at us. I could not even bare to look at any of them. I just wanted to get my police report so I could get a new passport. But then the lady from the volunteer office identified one of the men as the one who stole my things. It all happened so fast I could not even look at him. So what do you know a few days later I am heading to the main court house in Nairobi to testify. I tried telling them that everything happened so fast I had no idea what the men looked like, they all looked the same to me. The police were very insistent that I come back and the lady from the volunteer office was all they needed to prosecute.

Well if this is all not crazy enough it gets a bit crazier. Upon my arrival to the Nairobi courthouse the whole street outside was filled with people in protest. Masaii warriors are everywhere, standing proud and determined in large groups in front of the courthouse entrance. There bright blue and red cloaks were draped in front, concealing what some believed to be weapons underneath. Opposite the warriors were long lines of military and police with callous faces, their big guns displaying as a deterrent for any Masaii or other protestor thinking of picking a fight. Beth and I walked between the two opposing forces into the courtroom entrance.

From what I heard the Maasai were mad, mad enough to fight. A few weeks prior there had been a land dispute between the Kenyan government and the Maasai tribe. The Kenyan government had been continuously chipping away at Maasai land in the name of ‘wildlife conservation’. This semi-nomadic society was loosing its land, and soon they would have no more land to roam. The survival of their culture was severely being threatened. Out of desperation to preserve their land and heritage, the Maasai warriors broke out in violence in the courtroom. And now the warriors in the courtroom that day were being put on trial for murder. Everyone was expecting a war to break out, the Maasai had given the inclination they would no longer stand for it. Herds of people were packed inside… Maasai, journalists, military, police, were all standing around waiting to see what would happen. I managed to get into the courthouse, which was packed with journalists all fighting to sneak their cameras into the main courtroom hoping for the shot of the century. The anticipated violence never happened… thank goodness. The story ended like one might expect, the Maasai being thrown in prison, and the tribe with less land then it started…all in the name of expansion for the ‘civilized’ world.

Eventually the ruckus cleared up, and everyone else scheduled to have trials that day were shuffled into the courtroom. The proceedings were in Swahili, so I had no clue what was going on. I kept nervously glancing over wondering which man had jumped me. I could feel numerous sets of eyes sending malicious glances my way, but was not quite sure from where. When they got to my case some people were telling me to stand, and the security guards were yelling at me to sit down. Up and down I went, everyone laughing at the confused white girl!

When this pre arraignment was over, everyone who was supposed to have their hearing that day went off into smaller courtrooms. The trial consisted of the judge, defendant, prosecutor, and Beth and I placing the charges. With no defense lawyer and no jury, it hardly seemed fair. This poor man was doomed right from the start. I got up to the podium and told the judge what happened, the whole time insisting that I could not remember what the men who jumped me looked like. And then Beth verified that this was one of the men that jumped me. Then the defendant was asked to give his side of the story. He obviously was found guilty, thrown in jail, and that was it. All of this seemed so pointless. I did not want to go to trial, I did not want to press charges, I just wanted a new passport so I could go home. But the police and ladies from the volunteer office insisted it was necessary. Of course, none of this got me my valuables back.

When all seems hopeless and lost, life finds a way to pick you back up again. I am still stuck with no passport or money. I went to the Kenyan embassy to try to get a new passport and call home. The last thing I wanted to do was tell my parents that all their fears and warnings were totally justified. I tried hard to hold back my tears, but could not resist the urge to start bawling my eyes out. I am so scared to call my parents and ask them to send money. I sat in the waiting area with the other American citizens, crying uncontrollably. I start feeling gentle pats on my back as the people around me tried to give some comfort… “there, there, it will be ok.” I tell them my story through the my bursts of sobs, how I was stranded, how my parents would kill me. I was really hoping for a “hey, I have been there, I know what you are going through.” But it never came. Instead, however, some man just hands me 400 dollars! I didn’t even realize how much was there at first. It wasn’t until I went to go pay for a new passport photo that I even counted it. I insisted on not accepting it, my parents would send money, but the man, as well as everyone else insisted I take it. I was so hysterical that I did not even think about getting his address to pay him back. I now had proof that angels really do exist on this earth.

Finally the two weeks was up, I had my expedited temporary passport and I am ready to go home. It honestly was the longest two weeks of my life. I get to the airport and realize I don’t have a visa, because it was stamped into my passport. I tell the immigration official the story, showing the police report, hoping he will understand. “No! You need a visa. How do I know you are not here illegally?” Bursting out into tears I tell him the whole story… how I came here to volunteer and help his country, I was jumped, had to go to trial, how my parents were so scared and wanted me home, plus I had to get home to start school in three days. He was very nice and said I could go, looking the other way as he gave me my exit stamp. But only on the condition that I not tell people at home that Kenya is a bad country. “We are good people and I am so sorry that this would happen to you here. Please don’t tell everyone that Kenyans are bad people,” he said with a warm grin. “I won’t,” I sobbed, “I will tell everyone to come to Kenya, I love Kenya… it is so beautiful.” So after a long and intense two weeks I boarded the plane for my long flight home.