It was a typical Kenyan trip on a Saturday afternoon. The plan was to go to Ngong to find mats and chairs for our new library. We might even go to Rongai too. It was only when we were underway that the new plan emerges. We are going to Nairobi, to GIkomba market where the prices will be cheaper. It is a long, hot dusty journey and weekend traffic is busy but the mood is good and the chatter is lively. Wasike and Edgah had accompanied us. I assumed they had come for the ride.
When we arrive, Bonface parks in an impossible spot and explains that some precautions are necessary. Mzungus are rarely seen in Gikomba. So he will carry my phone, Edgah will carry my bag, Wasike and Edgah will walk in front and behind me to act as bodyguards and I must stay alert and do as I am told. This seems a bit over the top but as Edgar explains, “Margaret, you are a lion in the classroom but a newborn cub in Gikomba.” Fair enough.
We set off through throngs of people. There are stalls, shoppers and street vendors as far as the eye can see in every direction. Each area has its own speciality: luggage, pots, clothes, plastic furniture etc. Walking is hazardous. Cars, piki pikis, hand carts, donkeys and people carry heavy loads, move at pace and simply force their way towards their destination. It is your job to get out of their way not their job to warn you. “Watch the ditch,” “Car behind,” “Angry donkey with big teeth” are some of the warnings issued as I am steered along.
I attract a lot of attention. Some people want to sell tome, others want to touch me. Still more simply want to greet me. I return every smile and reply to every hello. It costs nothing. I feel very protected and a bit like a pop star!
The street children are the most disturbing. I can’t tell if they are all wearing black/grey clothes – like some kind of uniform – or whether it is just the colour of the dirt and dust of the market that they have absorbed into their skin. They hustle hard. The begging is aggressive rather than supplicant. I can sense the suppressed violence. There is something feral about these hungry, scared and angry children who are dead behind the eyes. I cannot imagine the suffering that has led to those blank stares. I cannot imagine what their life holds on a day to day basis.
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