Saturday, May 05, 2007
The halarious charm of Africa
It was probably the most anxious and lively trip most os us ever did, seasoned with a horror movie landing in Stansted, a long coach trip through London´s gods and a Polisarian mate´s hope.
But that was just the beggining. Once in the fog of Nairobi´s airport, blinded in a morning we never expected, we started to realise of the new waves around us. No hurry, nothing seems to be hasty, time dances like it never did before, trying to catch it would be our task for the following days. New faces, new smiles, new day.
Mr Mutanga brings the hope of a cheap ride, that easily vanishes without prior warning. The price of being a tourist; despite the forum, we started learning quickly: Africa treats you as you treat her, with no mercy, but always with a smile, unlike we do.
Soon we gather our first group of volunteer interpreters with whom we shared the days in Kenya. 20$ each would compensate Mr. Mutanga´s disappearance, and the way to Kasarani started, towards the venue of the Forum, the Athletes Hostel next to it. And just started our journey, some long necks on the distance strike our attention. The jirafe sanctuary next to the airport was just the prelude of the ever lasting day we had just started. The drive through the slams would bring us back to Earth. It was for most of us the first contact with what we thought was poverty, graves shops and the handcraft-subsistence economy. The centre of Nairobi would follow, with little attraction for the western tourist. Local buses, “matatos” flood the roads of the capital. The chaos is everywhere, we wonder how we have not seen any accident yet. Time again does not seem to exist, some minutes later, maybe hours, we arrive to Kasarani.
The hostel is kind of funny, full of staff, it seems to be crowded, like ready for the great occassions. Fighting for a single room did not succeed. Luckily I found a nice coleague to share with. By this time I thought I started to to assimilate the surreal bee flying in the air. The mosquito net in the bed and the little lake in the toilet increased my excitment. I lost my cigarretes, had to find something, Carlos would help me.
Most of the newly arrived went to sleep. I could not keep my curiosity limited to that room and had to leave, even though it was 13 and we had slept a couple of hours the night before, and had had a trip of more than 24 hours, I had to go and see what was out there. The sun was punishing the poorly protected tourist. I had nothing to counterpart his power, soon I decided to look for some shade, as I knew I was soon going to burn. The sourroundings of the stadium increase my awareness of the location, we are out from the city, in another village, with no houses, shops or anything, just stadiums and buildings of the kind. Soon I am back in the hostel, ready for lunch with the rest. New, faces enlighten the day, a great team starts to assemble.
14:00 brings the fresh team to the main stadium. An unexpected but espectacular meeting locates our souls in the interpreting frecuency, that´s why we are here, we recalled. Our host, Thomas from the organising comittee, and Judith from Babels explain to the around 400 attendants what they think is relevant before we start interpreting in the Forum. Some kind of revolution seems to start when the topic of the money is discussed. Kenyans want to be paid daily, arguing they have to pay for their transport. The idea is quite simple, many want the money as fast as possible cause they life the day, without a savings account or anything of the kind. I personally start to think that we will get the per diem at the end, if that ever happened. In the meeting itself, the first robbery happens, nobody knows how, but a bag is stolen from a Spanish girl, with all kind of valuable documents inside.
The afternoon and evening go on in the Kasarani aera, planning something to do for the following day. Two options in the air, opening ceremony and wondering around Nairobi or trip to the holy hills on Ngong. The late negotiations with the local safari business people will finally divide us. Some would go to the march starting from the slams, the famous Kibera quarter, others booked a trip to the mentioned hills. Exhausted from a long journey and an intense day, I decide to go and have some sleep. Entering the mosquito net for the first time brings a big smile before the rest.
We had arranged with the driver to be picked up early, around eight, but it´s nealy ten when we are all together heading to Ngong. The Ngong Hills, at the southweast of Nairobi, are considered by the Masai as the hands of God graving the Earth.. Mithology and reality create here a wonderful link for the local tribes. During the journey we get to see more of Nairobi, the Wilson airport and the Kibera quarter among other places. We get out of the city and small villages and churches appear every now and then. Our driver tells us stories of the Masais while we try to catch with our cameras the everyday life in Africa. Once arrived to Ngong, and after having found the path to walk up the hills, we get out of the car. Three soldiers negotiate with our driver the price to be paid for the scort. The place is said to be full of bandits, and we hear that some days ago two american guys were robbed because they did not want to pay for the scort and their bandits were executed by those relaxed soldiers of the beggining of the path. One of them comes with us, together with our guide. We start walking towards the 2.700 meters of the highest of the last of the four hills. Our scort goes first, searching for bandits with his rifle. The sun strikes hardly, we did not expect such a long walk and soon we start to consider the idea of going back. Some cows line up for drinking from a brown water pond. Soon we have great views of Nairobi, on the other side the Rift Valley with a blurred late morning misterious landscape. We spot some Masai villages, our guide tells us more stories about the tribe and our soldier gathers the group picture. The idea of danger we had brought with us is gone, we fell safe with a machine gun next to us, hakuna matata. The owner tells us how his brother is being trained in Spain by a famous athletes trainer.
Tired and purified from the walk up hill we start descending towards the car. Once inside, we say goodbye to the locals, not without first buying nearly every necklace and bracelet that they bring with them. Some kids benefit from our spontaneous and volatile generosity, I am offered candies, but instead I give them those I had with me. We promise them we will back soon. Back in the car, we enjoy some calm, we are hungry and want to stop in a western-like toilet and eat something western-like looking. We stop once, a local bar, visit the toilet, but that is not the kind of place we want to eat in, the search contiues. Pizza restaurant receives the acceptance of nearly all the crew. We go for our second day of ugali, rice and some fried beef. The after lunch takes us back to town, stopping before in a armoured supermarket to buy some solar cream and some bottled water. Back in the hostel we listen to the stories about the march, the opening ceremony and the day the forum officially started. We share our trip with the rest of the interpreters. Tusker beers and more ugali, rice, beef and goat fill our plates for the dinner. The late gathering at night clarifies when and where we have to be for the seminars of the following morning. After two days, the first feeling of usefulness appears, the forum is about to start and we have to give our best. Burnt by the sun of the hills, I am obliged soon to go back to my mosquito net. Some holes on it, together with some bites in my damaged skin, make me doubt of the effectiveness of such invention.
The 7th edition of the world social forum has brought the movement to Africa. This fact has had a very significant impact on the attendance. Few participants seen around once the doors are open. The first morning just brings sad images of empty rooms, seminar organisers not turning out and many of our team members frustrated due to the precarious organisation arrangements. The interpreting system is missing in most of the rooms, the registration price for westerners is around 80$, local have to pay around 4$. Most of people in Kenya live with less than 2$ per day. The entrance fee creates the first barrier for the poor of Nairobi, those who supposedly are the one to benefit from the forum. Soon the People´s Parliament of Nairobi creates an alternative free event in the city centre, “the forum of the poor” as they named it. Talking about barriers, the chosen venue itself was another one. Kasarani, around 12km from the city centre was not accesible for all, traffic jams and even the few cents of the matato ticket kept many away from joining the event. The massive number of Swahili interpreters, more than 400, was a paradox considering the few rooms provided with interpreting equippment. The more than 50.000 radios available, stored somewhere in the stadium due to the fears of theft, made the whole thing a big joke, why on earth they paid for our tickets and accomodation and then silent us in such a stupid way?
But that was just the beggining. Once in the fog of Nairobi´s airport, blinded in a morning we never expected, we started to realise of the new waves around us. No hurry, nothing seems to be hasty, time dances like it never did before, trying to catch it would be our task for the following days. New faces, new smiles, new day.
Mr Mutanga brings the hope of a cheap ride, that easily vanishes without prior warning. The price of being a tourist; despite the forum, we started learning quickly: Africa treats you as you treat her, with no mercy, but always with a smile, unlike we do.
Soon we gather our first group of volunteer interpreters with whom we shared the days in Kenya. 20$ each would compensate Mr. Mutanga´s disappearance, and the way to Kasarani started, towards the venue of the Forum, the Athletes Hostel next to it. And just started our journey, some long necks on the distance strike our attention. The jirafe sanctuary next to the airport was just the prelude of the ever lasting day we had just started. The drive through the slams would bring us back to Earth. It was for most of us the first contact with what we thought was poverty, graves shops and the handcraft-subsistence economy. The centre of Nairobi would follow, with little attraction for the western tourist. Local buses, “matatos” flood the roads of the capital. The chaos is everywhere, we wonder how we have not seen any accident yet. Time again does not seem to exist, some minutes later, maybe hours, we arrive to Kasarani.
The hostel is kind of funny, full of staff, it seems to be crowded, like ready for the great occassions. Fighting for a single room did not succeed. Luckily I found a nice coleague to share with. By this time I thought I started to to assimilate the surreal bee flying in the air. The mosquito net in the bed and the little lake in the toilet increased my excitment. I lost my cigarretes, had to find something, Carlos would help me.
Most of the newly arrived went to sleep. I could not keep my curiosity limited to that room and had to leave, even though it was 13 and we had slept a couple of hours the night before, and had had a trip of more than 24 hours, I had to go and see what was out there. The sun was punishing the poorly protected tourist. I had nothing to counterpart his power, soon I decided to look for some shade, as I knew I was soon going to burn. The sourroundings of the stadium increase my awareness of the location, we are out from the city, in another village, with no houses, shops or anything, just stadiums and buildings of the kind. Soon I am back in the hostel, ready for lunch with the rest. New, faces enlighten the day, a great team starts to assemble.
14:00 brings the fresh team to the main stadium. An unexpected but espectacular meeting locates our souls in the interpreting frecuency, that´s why we are here, we recalled. Our host, Thomas from the organising comittee, and Judith from Babels explain to the around 400 attendants what they think is relevant before we start interpreting in the Forum. Some kind of revolution seems to start when the topic of the money is discussed. Kenyans want to be paid daily, arguing they have to pay for their transport. The idea is quite simple, many want the money as fast as possible cause they life the day, without a savings account or anything of the kind. I personally start to think that we will get the per diem at the end, if that ever happened. In the meeting itself, the first robbery happens, nobody knows how, but a bag is stolen from a Spanish girl, with all kind of valuable documents inside.
The afternoon and evening go on in the Kasarani aera, planning something to do for the following day. Two options in the air, opening ceremony and wondering around Nairobi or trip to the holy hills on Ngong. The late negotiations with the local safari business people will finally divide us. Some would go to the march starting from the slams, the famous Kibera quarter, others booked a trip to the mentioned hills. Exhausted from a long journey and an intense day, I decide to go and have some sleep. Entering the mosquito net for the first time brings a big smile before the rest.
We had arranged with the driver to be picked up early, around eight, but it´s nealy ten when we are all together heading to Ngong. The Ngong Hills, at the southweast of Nairobi, are considered by the Masai as the hands of God graving the Earth.. Mithology and reality create here a wonderful link for the local tribes. During the journey we get to see more of Nairobi, the Wilson airport and the Kibera quarter among other places. We get out of the city and small villages and churches appear every now and then. Our driver tells us stories of the Masais while we try to catch with our cameras the everyday life in Africa. Once arrived to Ngong, and after having found the path to walk up the hills, we get out of the car. Three soldiers negotiate with our driver the price to be paid for the scort. The place is said to be full of bandits, and we hear that some days ago two american guys were robbed because they did not want to pay for the scort and their bandits were executed by those relaxed soldiers of the beggining of the path. One of them comes with us, together with our guide. We start walking towards the 2.700 meters of the highest of the last of the four hills. Our scort goes first, searching for bandits with his rifle. The sun strikes hardly, we did not expect such a long walk and soon we start to consider the idea of going back. Some cows line up for drinking from a brown water pond. Soon we have great views of Nairobi, on the other side the Rift Valley with a blurred late morning misterious landscape. We spot some Masai villages, our guide tells us more stories about the tribe and our soldier gathers the group picture. The idea of danger we had brought with us is gone, we fell safe with a machine gun next to us, hakuna matata. The owner tells us how his brother is being trained in Spain by a famous athletes trainer.
Tired and purified from the walk up hill we start descending towards the car. Once inside, we say goodbye to the locals, not without first buying nearly every necklace and bracelet that they bring with them. Some kids benefit from our spontaneous and volatile generosity, I am offered candies, but instead I give them those I had with me. We promise them we will back soon. Back in the car, we enjoy some calm, we are hungry and want to stop in a western-like toilet and eat something western-like looking. We stop once, a local bar, visit the toilet, but that is not the kind of place we want to eat in, the search contiues. Pizza restaurant receives the acceptance of nearly all the crew. We go for our second day of ugali, rice and some fried beef. The after lunch takes us back to town, stopping before in a armoured supermarket to buy some solar cream and some bottled water. Back in the hostel we listen to the stories about the march, the opening ceremony and the day the forum officially started. We share our trip with the rest of the interpreters. Tusker beers and more ugali, rice, beef and goat fill our plates for the dinner. The late gathering at night clarifies when and where we have to be for the seminars of the following morning. After two days, the first feeling of usefulness appears, the forum is about to start and we have to give our best. Burnt by the sun of the hills, I am obliged soon to go back to my mosquito net. Some holes on it, together with some bites in my damaged skin, make me doubt of the effectiveness of such invention.
The 7th edition of the world social forum has brought the movement to Africa. This fact has had a very significant impact on the attendance. Few participants seen around once the doors are open. The first morning just brings sad images of empty rooms, seminar organisers not turning out and many of our team members frustrated due to the precarious organisation arrangements. The interpreting system is missing in most of the rooms, the registration price for westerners is around 80$, local have to pay around 4$. Most of people in Kenya live with less than 2$ per day. The entrance fee creates the first barrier for the poor of Nairobi, those who supposedly are the one to benefit from the forum. Soon the People´s Parliament of Nairobi creates an alternative free event in the city centre, “the forum of the poor” as they named it. Talking about barriers, the chosen venue itself was another one. Kasarani, around 12km from the city centre was not accesible for all, traffic jams and even the few cents of the matato ticket kept many away from joining the event. The massive number of Swahili interpreters, more than 400, was a paradox considering the few rooms provided with interpreting equippment. The more than 50.000 radios available, stored somewhere in the stadium due to the fears of theft, made the whole thing a big joke, why on earth they paid for our tickets and accomodation and then silent us in such a stupid way?
