House Hunting Safari
After being in Kenya five weeks, I realize I need my own private living space. The wing of the house Ian and I are sharing is too small for two people who do not know each other. So I begin looking for a new home. Elizabeth the librarian tells me about Sam, a guy who finds places. Sam found her “apartment” in the home of an Indian women just around the corner from TICH. He's not a real estate agent, this Sam, just a guy who makes a living connecting landlords with tenants. “How much do you pay him?” I ask Elizabeth. “Oh, I bought him a Coke.” A large Coke goes for 30 shillings.
It's hard to tell how old Sam is, perhaps late 30s. He has a bare spot near the center of his head as though someone swiped him with a sword. Sam shows up at TICH one day while I'm hosting a meeting in my office and he stands in the hall beckoning to me. He has a place for me to look at. “You'll take it, I know,” Sam says. Elizabeth wants to go along to make sure the neighborhood is good and security is plentiful.
Sam points from my office window to the front of TICH where two men stand outside the gate. He tells me they are real estate agents, the place is a boda boda ride away and I can pay for everyone. That's 20 bob both ways for each person at 5 people: 100 shillings. (I insist on paying Elizabeth's, too, since she's helping me out.) But I wonder why two guys who'll make money from this real estate venture are asking me to pay for the bike rides. Same old answer: because I'm white.
As we near the gate, Sam says if I decide to take the space the guys will get a fee of a 1,000 shillings. Gee whiz. I tell Elizabeth the charge is a 1,000 shillings and she's shocked. “They're licensed real estate agents,” I tell Elizabeth. “Really?!” she says with doubt, “When someone starts talking about their credentials, I want to see their license,” and she begins talking to the Licensed Real Estate Agents (LREAs) in Luo. Elizabeth grew up in Kisumu so she knows the way of the city.
We take boda bodas and they head toward Ring Road and Nyalenda, the slums. This is my first clue I won't like the place. We ride and ride and ride, more than a mile along Ring Road. My second clue. I want to be within a 15 minute walk of TICH. We pull up to a gate opposite the Jaralem Academy. A man in torn clothes opens the gate. The LREAs talk to the guy for much too long, then we proceed to the back. Not the front, but the back. A dog skulks nearby (clue #3). The ground is sandy, no walkway (clue #4). The LREAs keep using the words “self-contained” and look as though they expect me to levitate at the news.
The landlady, a local, gets the key. The room is accessbile from an outdoor hallway-- no going through the rest of the house. She opens the door into the tiniest, dirtiest room I've ever seen. Big clue #5. I try not to show my anger or disgust. “You like carpet?” the LREAs ask, “she'll put in carpet. She'll paint. Whatever you like.” They say “self-contained” and open a door to the toilet, a 3 by 4 foot room with a seatless, nasty toilet and a showerhead (no separate shower room). Next to the toilet room is a space of about 4 by 4 feet. Sam says "kitchen" and I blink and look again, study the bare walls for any sign of a pipe carrying water. Nothing. Just a solid floor and solid walls in a tiny, tiny space.
The LREAs ask Eliabeth what she thinks and she says, “It's not my decision.” They ask me and I say, “I'll continue looking at other places.” Couldn't get out of there fast enough. We exit the gate and I spy boda bodas on Ring Road. “I'm not waiting for them,” I tell Elizabeth, “and I'm NOT paying for the LREAs boda boda ride back.”
“They think you're going to come from the US and live there?” Elizabeth muses. “I wouldn't live there.” We climb onto the boda bodas as Sam catches up to us. “Do you want the place?” “No, Sam, please keep looking.” “She'll do whatever you like to the place.” “Sam,” I say, “whenever I hear 'kitchen,' I think water pipes and a sink. That place had nothing resembling a kitchen.” I now doubt Sam's judgement.
“I'd like to pay for their boda boda,”Sam says, indicating the LREAs. “Fine,” I say, “pay it. But don't ask me to pay it.” The first time I'm rude since being in Kenya. But my heart is sinking at the thought of that tiny, dirty space surrounded by sandy earth and lacking a kitchen. We cycle away from the insane LREAs. I won't allow myself to be disheartened and instantly remind myself the most perfect place will come along. Back at the office, I pull out my journal and begin to write as though I've already found the most perfect space. “Write it Down, Make it Happen.” This book has inspired me through some tough times. Jaime often reminds me to write it down, make it happen. So in the journal I write:
“Life in Kisumu becomes more lovely and meaningful with each passing week. I love my new place. It is beautiful and comfortable. Friends love to visit and I'm especially creative in this space, writing and studying. I love the people who live nearby and feel absorbed into their family. They keep me from feeling lonely. Cooking here is a joy and I love, love, love my new refrigerator. It has enhanced my life greatly. Beautiful art, flowers and music are always available here, along with wine and stimulating conversation. This location is central, the neighborhood is pretty, safe and quiet. It is quite ideal and I immensely enjoy going to social events with my neighbors. In this new place, I feel pampered and more human, cared for. This delightful space recharges me, revives me, cocoons me so I can go back out into the world and give of myself more efficiently. My spirit is constantly lifted in this new environment.”
Now those words are out in the universe, making it happen (hopefully!).
It's hard to tell how old Sam is, perhaps late 30s. He has a bare spot near the center of his head as though someone swiped him with a sword. Sam shows up at TICH one day while I'm hosting a meeting in my office and he stands in the hall beckoning to me. He has a place for me to look at. “You'll take it, I know,” Sam says. Elizabeth wants to go along to make sure the neighborhood is good and security is plentiful.
Sam points from my office window to the front of TICH where two men stand outside the gate. He tells me they are real estate agents, the place is a boda boda ride away and I can pay for everyone. That's 20 bob both ways for each person at 5 people: 100 shillings. (I insist on paying Elizabeth's, too, since she's helping me out.) But I wonder why two guys who'll make money from this real estate venture are asking me to pay for the bike rides. Same old answer: because I'm white.
As we near the gate, Sam says if I decide to take the space the guys will get a fee of a 1,000 shillings. Gee whiz. I tell Elizabeth the charge is a 1,000 shillings and she's shocked. “They're licensed real estate agents,” I tell Elizabeth. “Really?!” she says with doubt, “When someone starts talking about their credentials, I want to see their license,” and she begins talking to the Licensed Real Estate Agents (LREAs) in Luo. Elizabeth grew up in Kisumu so she knows the way of the city.
We take boda bodas and they head toward Ring Road and Nyalenda, the slums. This is my first clue I won't like the place. We ride and ride and ride, more than a mile along Ring Road. My second clue. I want to be within a 15 minute walk of TICH. We pull up to a gate opposite the Jaralem Academy. A man in torn clothes opens the gate. The LREAs talk to the guy for much too long, then we proceed to the back. Not the front, but the back. A dog skulks nearby (clue #3). The ground is sandy, no walkway (clue #4). The LREAs keep using the words “self-contained” and look as though they expect me to levitate at the news.
The landlady, a local, gets the key. The room is accessbile from an outdoor hallway-- no going through the rest of the house. She opens the door into the tiniest, dirtiest room I've ever seen. Big clue #5. I try not to show my anger or disgust. “You like carpet?” the LREAs ask, “she'll put in carpet. She'll paint. Whatever you like.” They say “self-contained” and open a door to the toilet, a 3 by 4 foot room with a seatless, nasty toilet and a showerhead (no separate shower room). Next to the toilet room is a space of about 4 by 4 feet. Sam says "kitchen" and I blink and look again, study the bare walls for any sign of a pipe carrying water. Nothing. Just a solid floor and solid walls in a tiny, tiny space.
The LREAs ask Eliabeth what she thinks and she says, “It's not my decision.” They ask me and I say, “I'll continue looking at other places.” Couldn't get out of there fast enough. We exit the gate and I spy boda bodas on Ring Road. “I'm not waiting for them,” I tell Elizabeth, “and I'm NOT paying for the LREAs boda boda ride back.”
“They think you're going to come from the US and live there?” Elizabeth muses. “I wouldn't live there.” We climb onto the boda bodas as Sam catches up to us. “Do you want the place?” “No, Sam, please keep looking.” “She'll do whatever you like to the place.” “Sam,” I say, “whenever I hear 'kitchen,' I think water pipes and a sink. That place had nothing resembling a kitchen.” I now doubt Sam's judgement.
“I'd like to pay for their boda boda,”Sam says, indicating the LREAs. “Fine,” I say, “pay it. But don't ask me to pay it.” The first time I'm rude since being in Kenya. But my heart is sinking at the thought of that tiny, dirty space surrounded by sandy earth and lacking a kitchen. We cycle away from the insane LREAs. I won't allow myself to be disheartened and instantly remind myself the most perfect place will come along. Back at the office, I pull out my journal and begin to write as though I've already found the most perfect space. “Write it Down, Make it Happen.” This book has inspired me through some tough times. Jaime often reminds me to write it down, make it happen. So in the journal I write:
“Life in Kisumu becomes more lovely and meaningful with each passing week. I love my new place. It is beautiful and comfortable. Friends love to visit and I'm especially creative in this space, writing and studying. I love the people who live nearby and feel absorbed into their family. They keep me from feeling lonely. Cooking here is a joy and I love, love, love my new refrigerator. It has enhanced my life greatly. Beautiful art, flowers and music are always available here, along with wine and stimulating conversation. This location is central, the neighborhood is pretty, safe and quiet. It is quite ideal and I immensely enjoy going to social events with my neighbors. In this new place, I feel pampered and more human, cared for. This delightful space recharges me, revives me, cocoons me so I can go back out into the world and give of myself more efficiently. My spirit is constantly lifted in this new environment.”
Now those words are out in the universe, making it happen (hopefully!).
posted by Cindi at 8:40 PM
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