As you may have heard, an opposition MP, Mugabe Were was shot and killed yesterday in Embakasi, Nairobi. The neighbourhood was understandably thrown into chaos -- the first indication for me that something was wrong was that one of my colleagues who lives there was unable to come into work. Both ODM and PNU issued messages of condolences and called for peace, so at least there was no immediate cry for revenge or protest. As far as I can tell, there were localized demonstrations and though some businesses were burned and a few residents injured, no one else was killed. The police had thrown teargas into the compound where family and friends of Were were mourning, and have since apologized for this "stray gas". Now we are just waiting to see what new developments may arise from this. Alongside the stories of the shooting are articles on the continuing mediation talks between Kibaki and Odinga, and images of them drinking juice and tea together. It all seems a bit absurd, but even if negotiations are moving at a snail's pace, at least they are happening at all.

Yesterday, I was nervous that fresh riots might erupt in town due to the shooting, but though it was even more hectic than I had remembered, this was not due to any kind of political fervor. Instead, the political situation has allowed downtown to be overrun by merchants. Whole streets that used to be the realm of matatus have been usurped by hawkers pushing all manner of goods. It seems that with the police concentrating on breaking up riots and violence, the hawkers have been left to flourish. One area is filled with clothing: shirts, bags, pants, bras, underwear, glasses, belts, shoes, anything you could possibly want. Black market DVD sales are booming as well, with several movies on one disk grouped by theme or actor. In the past we've invested in Denzel Washington and Johnny Depp. This year the first purchase was an Angelina Jolie collection, 20 movies for 250Ksh (about $3.50).

Another area is the site of a little food market, where mamas sit and sell their fruits and veg while their babies are strapped to their backs or crawling somewhere nearby in the dirt and glass. The air is practically blue with exhaust fumes, and here and there plastic bags cling to barbed wire along the sidewalk. With the crush of people everywhere, it's impossible to rush through town now, especially in the afternoon. Everywhere, hawkers cry out their prices and try to entice me with calls of 'Yes please, customer' and 'Karibu mzungu' (welcome, white girl -- apparently my skin is not sufficiently dark to qualify me as anything but white at the moment). I must admit that I am quite frequently tempted by the clothing (being an avid Value Village shopper back in Canada), but some of the stalls carry some pretty sketchy merchandise. One table displayed "traditional medicines", sickly green and brown liquids siphoned into old liquor bottles, water bottles and honey jars. The stall owner claimed that his concoctions would cure cancer, malaria and "brain diseases", along with a host of more minor ailments. Nairobi is all about attitude, and Nairobians saunter through this mess with studied insouciance. It's as if they have to be extra cool and unhurried to counteract the frenzy of activity all around them. I don't mean to make it sound terrible -- I love Nairobi in all of its gritty, swaggering glory.

With all of this madness, getting to work in the morning is a bit of a challenge, but luckily we're operating on 'African time', so punctuality isn't exactly a priority. Speaking as someone who's chronically late, this system makes a lot of sense to me. Today I underestimated the time it would take me to get home by half an hour. My coworkers, however, were nowhere to be found when I arrived. In a typical display of Kenyan hospitality, the women in the neighbouring office insisted that I come and sit with them, read the newspaper and have some chai and cookies while I waited for another half an hour for everyone else to arrive. They run a travel agency, so unfortunately the unrest in Kenya means that business is nearly dead for them.

The office is in a different location from when I did my internship in 2006. Then we were in Ngumo, a neighbourhood that was quite close to Kibera. The office was fine but a bit cramped, and I often resorted to sneaking into a nearby hotel to use the washroom, as our toilet was dirty, leaky, didn't flush, had no seat, no sink and no toilet paper (par for the course, really). The new office is in Upper Hill, a posh neighbourhood that mostly houses businesses and a few upscale apartments. It's a bit of a hike from the matatu stand to get there, and it's a bit scary trying to cross the roundabout. It takes me about ten minutes just to cross the street and usually I find a clump of other people crossing and attempt to cushion myself with them, which is kind of awful, but I figure they've taken years to master the art of walking into traffic like you're taking a stroll in the park. It's well worth the trouble, though. The new office is much more spacious, with a little kitchenette and an actual functioning toilet, and the view is wonderful. It also feels much more secure -- there is no fear that someone will bust in and steal my laptop at any moment. Luxury!

Lucy, the director of IIN, is out of town on business, and right now there are just a few of us in the office. I've been working on the website content and hopefully will get a friend in soon to help me with the technical side of things. It's not easy for me to tell how much fieldwork we'll be able to do, or how much work in general, given that so much of what is needed right now is simply relief. But if we work on proposals for projects now, perhaps by the time we've organized our funding and collaboration with others, the country will be safe enough that we can travel, visit our partner organizations in rural areas and hold trainings and conferences. We can only hope, because the issues we're addressing don't just disappear in a crisis. If anything, they'll get worse.