the road to Ngong and Obamamania

One of the things I like about going to Ngong is the means of transportation to and from. My friend Isaiah, the son of Agnes who I visited last time I went, had invited me to a sports day that was to be held at a local primary school.

To get to Ngong, I first took a matatu out to town, and then a bus to the little town of Ngong Hills. That particular bus passes through mostly rural areas, but also through the middle-class suburb of Karen, and it always has an interesting mix of characters. Inevitably, someone will be carrying huge bags of charcoal, agricultural produce, or live chickens. You have to feel sorry for the chickens in this country. Some of them are lucky enough to run free in the countryside for most of their lives, but it seems that whenever I see chickens they're always in some awkward, ignoble position. The chickens in Nairobi are stuffed into cages in markets and on the side of the road, or tethered to each other and strapped to a wooden frame, or are actually hung live upside-down from a moving bicycle, or tucked uncomfortably under someone's arm or between their legs on a long bus ride. The funny thing is, none of them ever look too disturbed by their predicament, as if they've accepted their lot in the world and see no point in rebelling.

In any case, this particular bus ride was funny to me because about ten minutes into the ride, the reggae music that had been blasting was abruptly switched off, and one of the passengers stood up and began to talk. Though he was speaking in Swahili, it quickly became apparent that this man was not just talking, but preaching -- it seems I had unwittingly boarded a church on wheels. Most of the passengers simply ignored him, but I was quite impressed that the preacher managed to go on for a good forty-five minutes before debarking.

Once in Ngong, I was left to my own devices. The nice thing about small-town Kenya is that, unlike in Nairobi, most people you meet are friendly and will give you a hand without ripping you off. I didn't know the name of the school I was heading to, so I loitered about while a motorcycle driver asked around about the event. Eventually, we figured out where I was supposed to go, and he offered to give me a lift. However, the thought of riding down the steep hills and bumpy, dusty roads of Oloshoibor was a bit much -- I would have arrived with a full-body "dust tan". I opted to catch a ride in the cab of a pick-up truck instead, and ended up sitting next to the village chief. The last time I went, I made the trip to Maasailand in a matatu that was so old and decrepit that the door literally fell of its hinges several times during the trip.

The sports day was held by a local NGO in order to raise awareness of female genital mutilation (FGM) and to promote girls' education. I'm not sure how effective the event was in achieving those specific goals -- there was a talk at the end of the day, but by that time everyone was worn out and not too attentive. But it was a good effort, and it was certainly an enjoyable day. It was closed with an enormous goat feast, at which I was given way too much meat to handle and became ridiculously greasy. A very Kenyan meal.

Recently, as you may imagine, the country has been overcome with "Obamamania". Kenyans, and particularly Luos, are immensely proud that a "son of Kenya" may end up being President of the US. Never mind the fact that Obama's father had little to do with raising him, or that Obama is not one to affiliate himself with tribes. That's a Luo up there! For all the enthusiasm, you might be forgiven for thinking that he's actually running for the top political post in Kenya. Many Kenyans are convinced that if he does win, Obama will do great things for Kenya, and I'm afraid that they will probably be disappointed in that respect.

Of course lately everyone is claiming to be a cousin or some other relative of Obama's. His actual grandmother has been in the international media spotlight for some months now and is growing quite blase about all the attention. There are songs about Obama, and he's in the newspaper every day without fail. It will be a madhouse around here if the man actually makes it!

Obama fever was also present at the soccer game I attended this past weekend. The match was between Kenya's Harambe Stars and Zimbabwe's Warriors, and everyone in Nairobi was dying to be there to watch in person. Seby managed to get us some tickets, and the place was packed full, with the police out in full force. Kenyans take their soccer very seriously indeed, so everyone was showing their support in one way or another -- right down to the guy dressed as Spiderman who somehow scaled one of the lighting platforms and perched up there for an hour waving a giant Kenyan flag! There was also a very enthusiastic group of dancers, who played the drums and danced and sang their way around the stadium for the entire game. Some of them were dressed all in orange and were waving an ODM flag, and others had written OBAMA across their back or chest. Eventually a chant was taken up, that went "Oliech! Obama! Odinga!" (Oliech being one of the star players on the Kenyan team.) I'm not quite sure I see the connection there, but it is fascinating how Raila and Obama are both such popular figures. You'd never see anyone waving a flag and chanting for Kibaki at a soccer match. Obama has now joined Kofi Annan and scores of rap artists on the sides of matatus across the city. Another of the chants at the game was "Mugabe must go!", which is what everyone is thinking these days.

The Harambe Stars won, by the way.