September 21, 2005
I write my resignation letter to Dan, which I’ll turn in next Monday morning with a two-week notice. Walter Odede comes to the gate. He’s heard about my mugging from Tonny and he’s upset. He thinks it might be Victor, the guy who was stalking me after I first arrived, but I tell Walter it was just a random thief. Walter is asking me not to go back to the U.S. because of this, but I break the news that I’ve decided to leave.
He drops his head into his hands and makes a tisking sound. To brighten him up, I discuss ways I can continue working with Pambazuko from Atlanta. He told me a few days ago that the five orphans in Nyalenda sponsored by the Canadian medical students had school fees due and they couldn’t attend school until the fees were paid. So I go into my house and get 4,000 shillings, about $50 USD. It’s a good bit of money and it’s the last money I’ll give Walter, for I’ve been disappointed in his management of Pambazuko lately. Now is not the time to discuss with him, however, because there is so much going on related to my departure. But I will communicate my misgivings about Walter to him. Unless we clear up some of these things, I may not be supporting Pambazuko in the future.
The sun is bright, as usual, and the neighbors have tied their two sheep across the street, so they can nibble grass. But one sheep is standing in the road where cars are constantly passing. Walter unties the animal and secures him where he won’t be able to reach the road. I’ll miss Walter, I think, as he tends to the sheep. And I’ll miss animals on the streets, one thing I thought I’d never get used to.
In the afternoon, on her way home from work, Dina stops by to check on me. She’s with Pam, who parks her car across the street. They’re in a hurry and don’t have time to come in, so we stand in the Ruprah’s driveway and talk. Dina knows I’m thinking about going back to the U.S., but I don’t say anything in front of Pam. As we’re talking, Reverend Obondi drives by and parks behind Pam. He crosses the street and I’m very happy to see him, since he’s been away from campus all week. Reverend Obondi has heard what happened and he says what everyone else has said, “Pole sana, pole sana,” (Very sorry, Cindi, very sorry).
The Reverend is also in a hurry, saying he’s on his way to his niece’s house. It seems some thugs have been terrorizing her. Earlier in the week, they broke into her home while she was at work and held a knife to the nanny’s throat, demanding money. They were convinced there was money in the house and they took everything apart looking for it, even went into the light fixtures in the ceiling. This morning, they came into her compound and were hiding in the back, waiting for her to leave her house. But she saw them and called her co-workers, who came to get her. Funny she didn’t call the police.
“Why has no one told me to go to the police to report the robbery?” I ask the three of them. Their faces are blank and Dina says, “Why waste your time?” and Pam says, “They won’t do anything. Well, they’ll probably laugh at you.”
“I don’t expect them to find the guy and get my stuff back,” I say. But it seems the police would want an accurate picture of the crime in Kisumu. If people report crimes, then the police will know the types of crimes being committed, the victims, what’s taken, where it happens, time of day, etc. That would help them develop crime prevention programs.” They all just look at me like I’m crazy.
In Kenya and other African countries, there’s a thing called “mob justice.” It happens because the police are corrupt and won’t come to the scene of a crime when called. They’ll fill out reports and will investigate crimes if the victims pay them bribes. That’s why the Reverend’s niece called her co-workers instead of the police.
Residents across Africa have taken criminals in hand by passing out mob justice. If a thief is caught in public, the crowd will beat him or burn him, usually until he is dead. People do not want criminals in their neighborhoods, so they catch them and kill them. Just this week, one thief was shot in Nyalenda by an off-duty security guard after the crowd caught him stealing. Another guy stole a 15 cent toothbrush from a vendor’s shack in Nyalenda and they beat him to death. When these guys go to the hospital and the medical staff finds out they’re thieves, the staff give them very little care and attention.
It seems citizens use mob justice if the victim is Kenya. Too bad if the victim is white or Asian. The Indian ladies in town had been telling me no one assisted them in car accidents or muggings. Again, people with light skin are thought to be wealthy so the crime against them is considered to be victimless. Generally, uneducated Kenyans think crimes against whites are victimless because white people can, supposedly, easily replace anything that’s stolen from them. Except their sense of security and peace of mind.
This evening, as we stand in the driveway and talk, the Reverend is anxious to get to his niece’s house and move her to another place where, hopefully, the thugs won’t bother her. Amelia, his niece, is 25-years-old and has an adopted baby girl. Amelia, a college graduate working for an NGO, recently had visitors from the UK in her home. The thugs saw white people at her house, decided Amelia must have money and began their campaign of terror.
“Okay, now I’m getting scared,” Pam says. “I’m not going out tonight, I’m going straight home.”
Reverend Obondi, Pam and Dina leave. It’ll be dark in about 30 minutes. I walk back through the gate and Samuel shuts it, securing the padlock through the heavy chain. I feel somewhat safe. But if someone robs the Ruprahs and Samuel is harmed is any way, just because I live there, I'd never ever heal from the guilt.
He drops his head into his hands and makes a tisking sound. To brighten him up, I discuss ways I can continue working with Pambazuko from Atlanta. He told me a few days ago that the five orphans in Nyalenda sponsored by the Canadian medical students had school fees due and they couldn’t attend school until the fees were paid. So I go into my house and get 4,000 shillings, about $50 USD. It’s a good bit of money and it’s the last money I’ll give Walter, for I’ve been disappointed in his management of Pambazuko lately. Now is not the time to discuss with him, however, because there is so much going on related to my departure. But I will communicate my misgivings about Walter to him. Unless we clear up some of these things, I may not be supporting Pambazuko in the future.
The sun is bright, as usual, and the neighbors have tied their two sheep across the street, so they can nibble grass. But one sheep is standing in the road where cars are constantly passing. Walter unties the animal and secures him where he won’t be able to reach the road. I’ll miss Walter, I think, as he tends to the sheep. And I’ll miss animals on the streets, one thing I thought I’d never get used to.
In the afternoon, on her way home from work, Dina stops by to check on me. She’s with Pam, who parks her car across the street. They’re in a hurry and don’t have time to come in, so we stand in the Ruprah’s driveway and talk. Dina knows I’m thinking about going back to the U.S., but I don’t say anything in front of Pam. As we’re talking, Reverend Obondi drives by and parks behind Pam. He crosses the street and I’m very happy to see him, since he’s been away from campus all week. Reverend Obondi has heard what happened and he says what everyone else has said, “Pole sana, pole sana,” (Very sorry, Cindi, very sorry).
The Reverend is also in a hurry, saying he’s on his way to his niece’s house. It seems some thugs have been terrorizing her. Earlier in the week, they broke into her home while she was at work and held a knife to the nanny’s throat, demanding money. They were convinced there was money in the house and they took everything apart looking for it, even went into the light fixtures in the ceiling. This morning, they came into her compound and were hiding in the back, waiting for her to leave her house. But she saw them and called her co-workers, who came to get her. Funny she didn’t call the police.
“Why has no one told me to go to the police to report the robbery?” I ask the three of them. Their faces are blank and Dina says, “Why waste your time?” and Pam says, “They won’t do anything. Well, they’ll probably laugh at you.”
“I don’t expect them to find the guy and get my stuff back,” I say. But it seems the police would want an accurate picture of the crime in Kisumu. If people report crimes, then the police will know the types of crimes being committed, the victims, what’s taken, where it happens, time of day, etc. That would help them develop crime prevention programs.” They all just look at me like I’m crazy.
In Kenya and other African countries, there’s a thing called “mob justice.” It happens because the police are corrupt and won’t come to the scene of a crime when called. They’ll fill out reports and will investigate crimes if the victims pay them bribes. That’s why the Reverend’s niece called her co-workers instead of the police.
Residents across Africa have taken criminals in hand by passing out mob justice. If a thief is caught in public, the crowd will beat him or burn him, usually until he is dead. People do not want criminals in their neighborhoods, so they catch them and kill them. Just this week, one thief was shot in Nyalenda by an off-duty security guard after the crowd caught him stealing. Another guy stole a 15 cent toothbrush from a vendor’s shack in Nyalenda and they beat him to death. When these guys go to the hospital and the medical staff finds out they’re thieves, the staff give them very little care and attention.
It seems citizens use mob justice if the victim is Kenya. Too bad if the victim is white or Asian. The Indian ladies in town had been telling me no one assisted them in car accidents or muggings. Again, people with light skin are thought to be wealthy so the crime against them is considered to be victimless. Generally, uneducated Kenyans think crimes against whites are victimless because white people can, supposedly, easily replace anything that’s stolen from them. Except their sense of security and peace of mind.
This evening, as we stand in the driveway and talk, the Reverend is anxious to get to his niece’s house and move her to another place where, hopefully, the thugs won’t bother her. Amelia, his niece, is 25-years-old and has an adopted baby girl. Amelia, a college graduate working for an NGO, recently had visitors from the UK in her home. The thugs saw white people at her house, decided Amelia must have money and began their campaign of terror.
“Okay, now I’m getting scared,” Pam says. “I’m not going out tonight, I’m going straight home.”
Reverend Obondi, Pam and Dina leave. It’ll be dark in about 30 minutes. I walk back through the gate and Samuel shuts it, securing the padlock through the heavy chain. I feel somewhat safe. But if someone robs the Ruprahs and Samuel is harmed is any way, just because I live there, I'd never ever heal from the guilt.
posted by Cindi at 5:00 PM
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