a day at the fair and Nairobi fashion

On Thursday, two of my co-workers and I went to Oloshoibor for the twelfth annual Maasai cultural fair. It was almost unbearably dusty that day, the rainy season long since over, and I understood why people in this area have so many eye problems. I kept wanting to rub my own eyes to free them of the accursed red dust. But it was a great day. One of my co-workers is new and had never been to this area before. She’s from Nairobi and kept remarking, “wow, this is really indigenous!” And it was. There were traditional Maasai homes – manyattas made of branches, mud and cow dung – off to one side, a group of women draped in colourful lesos and gorgeous jewelry selling their own beaded creations, old men wandering about with their walking sticks and shukas. There were many dangling stretched earlobes, and missing teeth (just the front lower two, which are customarily removed around puberty). And of course there were gangs of schoolchildren everywhere in their uniforms. They will likely grow up wearing Western dress with teeth and ears intact, the only concession to culture a beaded bracelet or two.

The theme of this year’s fair was HIV and malaria awareness. We had to return to Nairobi to attend a gender forum in the afternoon, and so weren’t able to stay for long, but we saw some of the preliminary activities – a soccer match, races, a race and water balancing contest for women, and some cultural dances presented by local schools. There was also a small dispensary set up by a Nairobi-based Coptic church, but I doubt that they had too much business. Many in this area still prefer to rely on traditional plant-based medicine. Apparently the following day there was to be a talk on HIV, which I was sorry to miss.

We returned to the city exhausted and dirty, obviously straight from the country, and walked into the meeting to face a room full of people dressed in suits and business attire, looking as sharp as only Nairobians do. Fashion is a big deal in this city – it reminds me a bit of Montreal in the sense that people really dress to look good, and the style of younger generations can get a bit outrageous. The major difference is that instead of shopping at expensive boutiques, most people here collect their goods from the sprawling, hectic second-hand markets. People are also somewhat more formal in business settings, frequently wearing full suits even for minor office jobs (I even have my own dress suit and a couple of blazers now, though I’m more likely to mix it up with jeans).

Matatu touts are some of the most interesting dressers in the city, I imagine because they are attempting to be as loud and cutting edge as possible to attract customers. You’ll see a guy wearing a button-up shirt with tight jeans, long dreads worn in a ponytail on the top of his head and a long, pink polka-dot scarf that dangles almost to his feet and sways as he hops in and out of the moving vehicle. Some guys let the fingernails of just one hand grow long and paint them ruby red. It would look very silly if they weren’t otherwise so tough and gangsta, and instead manages to look almost intimidating. In the slums, too, the youth dress to impress. At Roots meetings, you’ll see everything from Timbalands to fedoras, lots of bling and attitude. Some of the women have become experts at navigating the mud and garbage heaps, and even hopping across the slippery stones in the putrid Mathare river, all in pencil-thin stilettos. It’s truly an art. Meanwhile, I’m in my practical sneakers and sandals, though sometimes I do manage to look “smart”, as they say. I’m adapting.