Intestines, Tear Gas & Disco Disappointment

This weekend I headed to Nairobi once again. I was in the company of Nicholas, the IT teacher at Mang’u Youth Polytechnic, who I’ve been working with during my days. The entry begins after leaving Mang’u, passing through Thika and heading to Nairobi in the company of Nick and another teacher, Sammy.

We arrived in Nairobi around 6:30 Friday evening after the slow matatu ride through traffic in which they were playing Ace of Base classics at full blast. Unfortunately full blast meant hissing highs and a booming sub but left the mid section totally out of the equation. Combined with being stuck in a back seat positioned just that little bit to close to the roof, meaning if I wasn’t paying attention every bump was an addition to the headache forming from the music. Once hell on four wheels was finally over, I straighten myself out and we headed to a bar/restaurant called the Tea Room for a couple of liquid introductions to the weekend. Nicholas has been “saved” in the religious sense and as such doesn’t drink so while he chose a soda, Sammy had a Guinness (popular here, served in a 500ml bottle and pored into a small glass bit by bit) and I had a Smirnoff Black (At around $2 each, 3 times cheaper than home). A band of a drummer and guitarist were playing some Kikuyu music that sounded slightly like country and western without the twang. I liked what I was hearing and was a welcomed changed from the reggae and bongo styled music that has been a consistent soundtrack to Kenya so far. It was also pleasing to Sammy who felt the need to join the others populating the dance floor.

After a couple of drinks we left to find the matatu stage for the ride out to Kibete, the suburb we were to stay. Sammy was staying in the city so we said goodbye and headed our separate ways. The first matatu was a bit of a false start with only just getting underway, rounding a corner and being stopped by the police. No one could tell me what the problem was but the matatu was forced to park, the passengers get off and then walk back to the stage to try again.

The second try was more successful. We had traveled about half of the 20 minutes to Kibete when after a phone call Nicholas informed me of some trouble. The place in Kibete we were heading is a technical college. Nick’s cousin studies there and has a place on campus in which we were to stay. The school is quite large and had a similar feel to an Australian university campus albeit with a 3rd world touch. I was visiting at a time just before the end of term assessments and these are usually preceded by something called ‘exam fever’. As far as I understand this is pretty much an excuse for the students to find something to riot about and they had chosen this Friday night as the night.

We hopped off the matatu around 200 m before the front of the school as Nick worked on deciding what to do. Standing around in a dark market place type area he casually mentions to me the smell of tear gas in the air. Surprised at just how casually he mentions it, and that he actually knows the smell of tear gas, equally as casually, as my eyes and nose start to mildly burn, I mention I’ve never smelt tear gas before.

A few days later as he jokes about this exchange with others I’m told it’s a common occurrence and it’s popular for the students to try and catch the canister, before it hits the ground and discharges, and throw back at the police.

Nick decides to head to another cousin’s house around 200m in the opposite direction until things calm down a bit. His cousin lives in a single room, with his wife, which forms a single story building in a dirt compound just off a main road. We squeeze in and sit down on the couch that is against one wall with the rest of the space dominated by the double bed against the other. John, Nick’s cousin, is listing to music while his wife reheats food on a gas burner in the corner. After a short while a delicious meal of spinach and cow intestines, served with ugali and chapati, is delivered. I sat a talked answering the common questions of the differences between Australia and Kenya as Nick spoke on the phone to various people. In the end it was announced we’d go the back way into the school.

Thanking and leaving John we head back past the area were we first arrived and headed down a dark alley way along and around a few quite streets. We pass through a small door in a corrugated iron fence not uncommonly used as the entrance to the compounded rows of houses seen everywhere. We follow the narrow path down past the quite houses on either side for about 50 m till we reach a dead end of high bushes. Nick tells me his cousin’s place is just on the other side of this hindrance but it’s obvious we’ll have to find another way.

We backtrack along the path as I notice a woman peering out from a window. She doesn’t notice me at first but when she does she halts and the look of surprise at seeing a white man there and then is obvious. We exit through the same gate and head down a winding dirt track that follows the bushes that bar our path. We try a few more spots only to get caught up in the thorns the form the wall.

We’re now standing on the hill looking down into the urban valley of grass and small shrubs. We notice a group of people making their way up the hill. Nicks speaks a quite greeting which is replied with an almost Benny Hill looking split and dash of the six or so who make up the group. I couldn’t help but smile. At this point I tighten the pack I’m carrying on my back as it becoming evident that running will be the order if things get worse than they already are. We head down the hill towards them when finally one appears and is willing to talk. The conversation is held in Swahili but it looks and sounds positive.

Three of us now, we continue along the tall bush wall until I notice an opening in the greenery. We squeeze through avoiding as best we can the many thorns and appear in a field of tall grass with even taller maize skirting the edges. It appears the rest of the men who scattered earlier have regrouped and are making their way towards us from the bottom of the field in which we now stand.

Through a mixture of English and short shots of translated Swahili they tell me many of the students had to run out the back of the school to avoid the carnage at the front. Any attempt at the main entrance was met with a violent reaction from police, broken bones and lost teeth were expected.

We walk through the fields of grass and maize till we reach the top of the field only to be greeted once more by a dead end of tall thorny bushes. After a short backtrack it’s decided to head across the field to try our luck leading us to climb through a few barbed wire fences. Meeting other students making their way back along the way, we finally enter the school grounds and quickly head to Nick’s cousin, Patrick, place.

His room, for that’s all it was, it located in an old garage partitioned into four. It’s probably only five meters square and is set up much the same as John’s small place with a bed and couch taking up the majority or room. Feeling slightly awkward after finding out the three of us are to share the one double bed I settle in for what’s to be a rough nights sleep.

The next day I discover the cause of the riot. It turns out they students were to have a disco that night and were unhappy with the size of the sound system provided. Having requests for a better setup refused were apparently enough to set things in motion for the night of violence, tear gas and injury. It all seemed too much for me to understand. The next night a disco was provided and this time the students were happy.

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