Expats

So back to Kenya…

Expat life is always a little different. I’ve yet to fully navigate all of it’s challenges and rewards. There are tiers to being an expat – you’ve got the diplomats who drive around in their four-wheel drives and who have special red license plates that let everyone known – including the criminals – that they’re diplomats. There are the next group that came over to work for an NGO or private company who also drive big 4WD’s but who don’t have the nifty plates. Both of these groups are entirely overpaid (largely with your tax dollars) and live in large homes that they lease for years at a time and where house staff (cooks, maids, nannies, gardeners, and drivers) attend to their every need. Their children all attend private schools that cost thousands of dollars every year. They can afford trips throughout Kenya and abroad on a regular basis and are rarely ever really affected by the struggles going on around them in Kenya. And then there’s that third class of expat – the one that I belong to – that come to Kenya on their own dime and try to make it work. We’re not poor – but we’re not rich. We stress about rent from month to month but not so much that we can’t afford to go out to a proper bar once a week. We drive cars or take public transportation and may well take the odd trip when we can swing a deal.

We don’t usually mix very much – these different expat groups. We have different budgets and different priorities. But we do have some similar stomping grounds that turn into a circuit of sorts for everyone. There’s Monday movies – where the price of a ticket gets you a hot dog, drink, popcorn and candy bar. There’s Tuesday nights at Anami sushi where a DJ named Zalalem spins (DJ in a sushi restaurant is just weird to me so I’ve not gone)… There’s Wednesday night at the Mercury Lounge – a proper bar with a very Manhattan feel. There’s Thursday nights at Havana or Bacchus or Tribe (depending on your budget and your crowd) and then there’s Friday nights at Black Diamond, Gypsies, Soho’s, Casablanca or another of Nairobi’s famous clubs. It gets to the point where you begin to see the exact same crowd drinking the same drinks and doing the same thing week after week. I’ve started staying home more lately partly because of my budget and partly because it all just go a bit boring. I also get tired of watching Western men fondle very young prostitutes in these “nice” clubs. Contractors are sent over here for weeks or months at a time and they typically leave their wives and children in Europe or America. Upon arrival, they forget their commitments and discover “the exotic” as one man told me. It’s all just a bit sad to watch these girls (who have learned that Western men like thin, tall, and scantily dressed) sell themselves to somewhat older, disgusting men in the hope that they’ll find a guy who actually wants to keep them around as a girlfriend and maybe, if she’s really lucky, as a wife. It’s important to find a blend of expats that you can spend time with so finding the right group is critical. It’s good for the soul and brain when you can go to a bar or restaurant or other outing and everyone in the group understands your jokes and accent. Its been very important for me to get to know a few Americans I can sit down with and “be American”. The brain needs this I am convinced.