Maybe once a month is more realistic :)

There is a certain smell that comes with developing nations. It’s not rotting garbage or sewage or anything terrible. It’s just a constant smell that is common to Morocco, Peru and Kenya (I can’t comment on other developing nations). In the mornings, it’s a bit crisp with an undertone of dust. It makes you feel like the day has potential, like maybe traffic won’t be that horrific. In the evenings, it’s dusty and full of exhaust – the smell, like you, is tired. I guess you could say the smell helps keep you in check, you always know of the possibilities ahead of you and the insanity behind you.

As a consultant for the UN, my day begins before dawn. I get up between 5:30 and 6:00 am, eat in the semi-dark and hop in the Toyota Corolla I’ve rented for the hour to hour and a half cross-city trek. I tried to find a map to accompany this description of my daily commute, but there wasn’t one small enough to show you all the landmarks. So bear with me and enjoy a glimpse at the global grind of a commute with a Kenyan spin on it. (I’ve taken some photos during my commute and will post at a later date)

To get out of my neighborhood, I literally play rally car driver and weave around pot holes, going both in the other lane and off the tarmac to avoid the car-swallowing holes. Once out of my ‘hood I go down Ngong road and see all the furniture makers bring out their handmade beauties to their roadside-dirt-parking lot showrooms. Between me and the “showrooms” is the dirt path meant for pedestrians or bicycles. Between the "showrooms" and by showroom I mean a dirt parking lot full of furniture - there are the mamas making grilled corn on the cob and various other goodies. When there is bad traffic, the pedestrian path is full of matatus, the pedestrians walk through the “showrooms” and the bikes fight for space on the road.

My favorite part of the drive is seeing the kids walking to school. They all have their sweaters and skirts or pants. Even with holes in their shoes or missing sleeves to sweaters, the children walking to school look ADORABLE and totally innocent and happy. Whether it’s two little boys walking arm in arm laughing with each other about god knows what or a big sister making sure her sibling doesn’t walk too close to the road, the children are the best part of my drive.

Occasionally I’ll see cows or goats grazing in any patch of grass their herder can find. And just as I’m gazing at the livestock, a pimped out land rover will cut me off and I’m reminded that I’m in a capital city.

Any slow corner or intersection is surrounded by flower sellers and paper boys who walk to your window and sell you the morning headlines. Luckily they understand that people want their product and they don’t hound your window. Unlike another stretch I go through where people know you’ll be stopped in traffic (and you always are) and they present kittens and puppies and toy cars and brooms at your window, hoping you’ll be their first purchase of the day. In actuality, I don’t see those guys until I’m on the way home, in the mornings, in that same trafficky, captive-audience stretch, they have young boys leading “blind” men and women asking for money. Just the other morning I heard a radio report about how they found a training camp to teach people how to pretend to be blind or crippled. I don’t donate.

I have to cross a highway on my way to work. It’s not too terrible, but on the way home, I have to get to the other side of the three lanes in about 200 yards so I can get to a Uturn area and get to the other direction. Not so fun when I leave after dark.

Another section is a huge dip. In the evenings, there is without a doubt a truck stuck on one side of the dip and if it’s raining, there’s a stuck truck on each side of the dip. I’m not sure if there is a single truck in Kenya that is fit to be on the roads. Each one has a driver and a “rock guy”. When the truck can’t make it up a hill, the rock guy gets out and puts rocks under the guy’s back tires to help him have friction and not fall down the hill. If this somehow miraculously works and they don’t have to repeat it, the rock guy grabs the rocks, throws them in the back of the truck and then chases after it until he can hop back in.

Another two person job is the matatu. I’ve learned that the door guy doesn’t just collect the money. He’s the one that smiles when they cut you off and he’s the one that jumps out at a crowded intersection, directs traffic with authority until his van is through the madness, and again, chases down the vehicle until he can jump in.

NO ONE respects any traffic laws. On a two-lane road, if it’s stopped or slow, people just drive in the other lane or off the road to get around everyone. If I see someone (normally ALWAYS a matatu) coming around the off road behind me, or coming down the wrong lane behind me, I get as far out of my lane as possible to block them. It’s great fun. Sometimes it work, more often than not it doesn’t cause they don’t care and go further off the road or further into another lane.

There are no four-way stops. If you come to an intersection it’s every man for himself, so good luck. The other day I was at one and everyone one was blocking everyone. Then matatus and buses started going in the wrong lane and really screwing everything up. So I bailed, luckily I knew another route.

No drive is complete without a pedestrian walking in front of you. At the afore mentioned four-way stop, people find a way to ALWAYS walk in front of my car JUST when a window has opened and I can scoot across. But alas, I cannot for if I do and if I hit someone who has so stupidly walked infront of oncoming traffic, I’ll be blamed and most likely subject to mob violence. It’s highly likely that the surrounding pedestrians will drag me out of my car and proceed to beat me. No joke.

So you don’t hit pedestrians.

There is so much more to tell about the commute alone, let alone the rest of my life in Kenya. It used to be a white-knuckled hour and half of hell twice a day. Now I enjoy the kids in the morning and being a nightmare for matatus in the evenings. Funny how things change. Someday soon I’ll tell you about “Obama Day”. It was great fun!

I’m home soon. I’m no longer a blogger, but I keep waking up in the morning, smelling the potential of the day, and thinking about ALL the amazing things I could blog about. And then the evening smell reminds me that I’m exhausted and no one still checks this blog anyway! ☺

~EKYV