Anxiety Becomes the Norm
Eleanor’s increasing angst over Nairobi’s deteriorating security seems to have ebbed. The anticipation and excitement of our first baby is palpable, however, the “weather” map of her pregnancy is dotted with cyclones of uncontrolled energy, low pressure fatigue, followed by gusts of unpredictable mood swings.
Mum takes me aside to counsel me on my anxiety over Eleanor’s issues. “You must have patience, Lando. These are all common but temporary problems during pregnancy. It will all be over in a few weeks,” she calmly assures me. “The moods… the morning sickness… Eleanor’s sudden rejection of mangoes and other fine foods… and the cravings. They will all go away in time. Be patient! ”
“Mum, I’ve been doing my best to keep up with her ever-evolving cravings. I brought her Scottish Shortbread and Bassett’s Liquorice Allsorts from Bishendas Brothers at the Municipal market. And I even found her favourite newspaper the Manchester Guardian Weekly at the newsagent in Westlands.”
“Good,” my mum replies, “you must keep doing your best, and in a few months you’ll see it will have paid off nicely when you welcome a healthy baby into your world and a happy wife back into your life.” She concludes with a twinkle in her eye and a reassuring hug. “Remember… patience, Lando.”
* *
My encounters with clients, and an overlapping contact with expatriate experts, give me a new perspective on the changes that are taking place in the country.
The daily news headlines carry multiple reports of political fund-raising events, inauguration of new businesses, and ribbon-cutting ceremonies by the Mzee and his Ministers. They give the impression of a strong confident Kenya Government now in control. The disruption of Asian economic activity; the prolonged turmoil within the white farming community; the uprooting of white and brown families and the tragic upheaval of personal dreams and aspirations is the white noise of a colonial system being expunged.
There is a new sound and a new rhythm that is muffling the white noise. It is the happy, excited fusion of a relatively young, motivated, educated, colour-blind society in the making. The Wageni are a multi-cultural, multi-national, multi-colored mix of temporary residents. They are also referred to as Expatriates. They are visible everywhere. They come from abroad to work and to see Africa. They are inspired by the exuberance and exhortation of the youthful US President Kennedy. Energized by the enhanced budgets of the Peace Corps, CUSCO etc., some have come as volunteers with youth development programs, others are employees of international and bi-lateral aid agencies; each with their cryptic acronyms. Local technical consulting firms expand and bring in more consultants and professional experts. And many are employees of multinational corporations. But the one thing they all have in common is that they want to make a difference in people’s lives. These young ambitious minds had hitherto only known Africa by what they saw and heard on television and radio.
Kenya’s strategic geography bordering on Somalia, Ethiopia, South Sudan, Uganda, and the Congo Republic has the potential for being the best listening post for rival cold-war spies. We notice a sudden influx of ‘diplomats’ and their families.
I envisage the constant movement of visiting Wageni, as analogous to the spectacle of the annual wildebeest migration across the Masai Mara and Serengeti, which in turn attract predators that accompany the herds and feed off of them. As for their human predators or con-men counterparts, they too attract prostitutes, pimps, old style preachers and new style evangelists. They migrate into Nairobi, Mombasa and Kisumu and the smaller townships. They have all flocked to celebrate, contribute and partake of Kenya’s newfound wealth and freedom.
The Wageni have brought their families along, which means they have the wherewithal to voraciously consume local and imported goods and services. Almost overnight, the cultural transformation of big cities like Nairobi is complete. Shops are stocking foods and specialty items from a range of different countries. New restaurants that cater to different palates are opening in abundance. Bars and Nightclubs proliferate. It is now a vibrant, bustling, multicultural city.
Eleanor and I have many Goan friends who intend to stay. A number of senior Goan civil servants have been requested to remain to help with the transition… to train Kenyans to take over their jobs. Goan teachers are in high demand. Goan secretaries, who have always been in demand, feel they might stay on until they see how members of their extended families make out in the UK, Canada, and Australia. Others have sensed new opportunities opening up and are ready to start new businesses in Kenya.
Eleanor and I are most impressed with Betsy Pinto and her husband, Richie.
“We knew we had to do something,” Betsy explains. “I had a good job with Barclays Bank and I did some part-time work with Francis Drummond Limited, Stockbrokers.”
“I was with Shell,” said Richie. “Nothing there for me now.”
“So we went on a quick trip to check out life in England. Our friends had a good life in Kenya but they left before Uhuru. We saw how our close friends were struggling over there,” Betsy continues. “They worked long hours, had to prepare school snacks for their children, wash dishes by hand, they did laundry twice a week, attended night classes, and washed their car on weekends. Sunday Mass was the only social life they had but many were so tired by the weekend, they skipped more masses than they attended.”
“So we came back and opened Beezee Secretarial Bureau,” Betsy declares triumphantly. “We haven’t looked back since.”
“Weren’t you worried about bringing up your children here?” Eleanor uneasily asks.
“Like all parents, we do everything possible to give them a better life,” Betsy says. “We realized we could still send them to boarding schools in the UK for a first class education, and that was enough to calm our fears.”
These conversations seemed to help allay some of Eleanor’s apprehension. Mum, who sensed my anxiety, told me with a first pregnancy there’s a lot to be worried about.
Eleanor has made friends among the Wageni. Each day brings new discoveries. She had no previous experience of a colonial lifestyle in the tropics, having been born and raised in England; so every night a new tale is recounted with relish at our dinner table.
“Lando, do you know that almost all the Wageni live in roomy three bed-room bungalows on large plots of land with beautiful gardens? Shirley took me to see a friend in Karen who lives on five acres, has four dogs, and employs a fleet of servants?”
I point out that Kenya’s residential apartheid created this land-use pattern of distribution and it’s not the fault of the Wageni. “This is the only housing available to them outside the ‘African locations’ and ‘Asian areas.’ That’s how non-European residential estates are labelled.”
“I didn’t imagine each family would employ so many just for cleaning and washing,” she says.
“Employing people is a social responsibility in Africa. When we can afford it, we too, will employ someone,” I reply. “There are not enough jobs available for everyone.”
**
Patience wins the prize. Finally, there is news on immigration and work permits. The new legislation has been signed by President Jomo Kenyatta. It requires the Government to toughen the rules and improve enforcement. It includes a provision for foreign spouses married to Kenyan nationals to obtain work permits, if the jobs they do cannot be filled by qualified Kenyans and if their expertise will help to improve Kenya.
In late March, Eleanor finally receives a work permit along with an offer of employment at the newly established Housing Research Unit at the University which is managed by a Danish team under a bi-lateral aid project. The idea of an extra salary is as pleasant a sound to the ear as Sinatra singing “But Not for Me.” Eleanor will be paid at the local salary rate… but the good news is… she begins immediately.
Now we’re faced with another problem. We have only one car and we don’t always have the exact same work hours. A couple of times a week, Eleanor manages to get a ride into town with our neighbor… but the fact is, we’re going to need a second car.
* *
Over the next few weeks, we juggle our time between her work and mine, house hunting and taking short trips to national parks and other scenic spots. As we travel around the country, Eleanor is amazed by the sheer natural beauty and bounty of the land that Kenya offers and the unevenness with which this bounty is distributed. This in-flowing wealth is bound to reduce the plight of the poor. At least that’s what we both hope.
Even with the support of Eleanor’s added income, I have this growing anxiety eating at me. A problem is gnawing at my insides and I’m beginning to recognize the sensation.
Years ago, when I was attending boarding school in Goa, I developed a persistent edginess and I felt an overwhelming urge to be set free. It was how I imagine a caged animal must feel when it paces the constricting fence that limits its freedom. It paws away at potential gaps in the enclosure to no avail. This mood did not go away until I engineered my escape from Goa and return to Kenya.
This time I could not quite pinpoint the solution… but the problem was palpable.
* *
Graham asked me to join him on a site visit to the Mount Kenya Safari Club in Nanyuki. When we were finished, he suggested an early lunch before heading back to Nairobi.
“Lando, we’re going to be advertising for building contractors to submit bids for the construction of the Mahe Beach Hotel in the Seychelles.” He must have seen the look of panic on my face.
“No, I wasn’t going to ask you to go,” he says, with a grin. “Not with Eleanor expecting a baby. But my Saudi client has asked me to open a local office there and personally supervise the project. So Pat and I gave it some serious thought, and I’ve accepted the position.”
“I don’t quite understand. Does this mean you’ll open a branch in the Seychelles? Or do you plan to close down the firm here?” I ask nervously. The thought that now flashes like streak lightning through my mind is of me being unemployed.
“The Seychelles will be a separate entity,” he says. “It will be too complicated with all the changes underway to restructure our firm.”
Perhaps he sensed my surprise and distress at the news.
“I wanted to tell you this personally, Lando. The Partners have met and discussed you taking on a major responsibility in shaping our future practice. In this connection, we will be adjusting your salary substantially upwards as soon as you begin. I imagine it will be useful with the new baby arriving. Of course, you’ll want to share the news with your wife,” he declares. He seems self-assured and content with the offer.
I thank him for letting me know and for thinking of me for the position.
* *
After lunch, we head for the Nanyuki airstrip. The pilot carries out the routine pre-flight checks on the small Cessna and we take-off heading for Nairobi. The plane makes a wide arc approaching Nairobi from a different direction to the east, keeping well away from the JKIA (Jomo Kenyatta International Airport) flight corridors to the south. We glide over Thika, Ruiru, and the housing areas to the east and south.
I see that the whole area is transforming into a sea of corrugated iron roofs. Close up, Mathare Valley is like a giant patchwork quilt of corroded rusty browns and shiny grey aluminum squares where new construction has sprung up to fill in the last of the open spaces.
In that moment, I am struck with the overwhelming thought that I must do something to change the African housing model they’ve been using since colonial times. It was always my ambition to improve housing conditions for the poor. I realize that Graham’s firm can’t possibly attract a public client who will be responsible for providing housing for the poor. Only public agencies will do that. I could leave the firm and join City Hall, but they can’t provide me with a living wage.
Now I’m stuck on the uncomfortable horns of a dilemma. If I choose to stay with Graham’s company, I’ll never get to improve housing conditions for the poor; but if I go to work for the government, I might possibly fulfill that ambition… but will not be able to support my family.
We land safely and I drive home having added gallons of anxiety to my already full tank.
* *
On the domestic front, we have a new reality. Our third-floor-walk-up days must come to an end as Eleanor’s pregnancy advances. We will need more room for the baby; more space for doing laundry, and accommodation for an ayah.
On our weekends away from work, we set out on a desperate house-hunt only to find the search becomes more and more distressing. The Wageni have raised the cost of rent because of increased demand, especially for the northern and western areas of Nairobi. Everywhere that is acceptable to us is not affordable for us. Houses of émigré Europeans and Asians are being bought by the new African middle-class who are either politicians or occupy top civil service jobs. The homes are then selectively offered to higher-paying Wageni, who are willing and able to pay up to five years’ rent… in advance.
Eventually, we heard from a Wageni couple that a place has just gone up for sale on Peponi Road (Marlborough Road). Kitisuru Road runs along the ridge facing the property.
We made an appointment to view the house, which is on a lovely isolated location at the end of Peponi Road. It’s a small, stone, fourteen hundred square foot bungalow, on three and a half acres of land, overlooking a ravine. It also has a detached two-room servant’s quarters. The owner is anxious to sell and has priced it reasonably, as compared to all the other places we’ve seen. I’m already imagining how, one day, I can completely transform the house; expand it and build a cantilevered deck over the ravine. I remember the American Architect, Frank Lloyd Wright and his design of Falling Waters. I quietly mention my idea to Eleanor.
“Whoa there mister, you haven’t bought it yet,” she whispers.
I turn to the agent and without ceremony, I declare: “We’ll take it for the asking price.”
We put down a deposit and have a month to raise the rest of money that’s required. We have no credit history and our joint salaries are still low. However, to our delight, after supplying the names of three guarantors, we’re able to secure a loan from a housing Finance company.
A week after the sale is formalized, we discover, from our soon-to-be neighbours, that the property we just purchased had been the favourite target of armed panga (machete) gangs that had broken in and robbed the place three times in the previous eight months. Now, the isolation factor doesn’t seem quite so attractive.
* *
Stephen has been maintaining contact with Mum and Dad to keep up with news of my career progress, which he seems certain will resolve his job search. He is present with Mum and Dad when we break the news about our move.
Stephen listens carefully. His eyes sparkle. He looks at Eleanor then turns to me and tells me that God has sent us this opportunity so we can be together again because now he has an employment offer for us. His offer is to move into the servants’ quarters, take full responsibility for maintenance of the acreage and start a vegetable garden.
Within two months, Eleanor, Stephen and I have made the move into our new house. By that time, a ‘bush telegraph’ among our acquaintances has been ignited. Six highly referenced and experienced ayahs, each willing and available to relocate nearer the baby’s due date, have left their phone numbers.
In advance of welcoming our first born, we are faced with an adoption. Cloto, a Rhodesian ridgeback was reared at the Kenya Regiment camp at Gilgil and was handed down through at least three owners in as many years. Our Wageni friends do a masterful job of selling the “adoption” idea to my pregnant and vulnerable wife with this pitch: “British troops in Kenya are going to be substantially reduced and we have to find a good home outside the camp for this hero dog, or… he’ll be put to sleep.”
Eleanor, who immediately fears for the dog’s life while assuming personal guilt over the reduction of British troops, insists we adopt Cloto.
In the space of two months, we have now acquired some of the attributes of a stable middle-class Kenyan family: mortgage, acreage and a big mbwa kali (savage dog.) To add to all that, we have Stephen, and soon an ayah on our payroll, but what we don’t have is the income of the Wageni.
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