September 26, 2005
Arriving on campus Monday morning, I find Dan is out of the office today and tomorrow. I talk to Sister Masheti instead, telling her the story of the robbery and my anguished decision to return to the U.S., explaining how difficult the decision was to make and letting her know I plan to give Dan a two week notice. Sister Masheti is my line manager and she’s come to my office to say hello. We talk about my robbery, crime and life in Kisumu for nearly an hour.
“Cindi,” says Sister Masheti in her forthright way, “I support your decision. You must decide what’s best for you and not worry about others. TICH is an institution and it will continue without you and without me and without others. But your safety and peace of mind is of utmost importance now.”
I’m taken aback by her level of understanding and am grateful to Sister Masheti for realizing how hard this has been. She says my perspective is unique, for I come from another culture, and while everyone here may think it’s normal to be expected to be robbed, I don’t have to live like that if it’s an issue. Then she tells me about Dan’s Christmas Eve party in 2004, an incident that happened only three months before I arrived in Kenya.
Dan had 30 guests from around the world and they were all dancing in his living room. Fred, the guard at TICH’s gate, was working the gate at Dan’s house that night. The gate was chained and locked, but thugs cut the chain and were in the gate before Fred knew it. One guy hit Fred on the head with a gun, knocking him to the ground and dazing him. They then took Fred to the front door and pushed him ahead of them into the living room. Sister Masheti was across the room when she saw Fred stumbling through the door. She thought someone was drunk and giving Fred a hard time. When Sister Masheti stood up to go to him, that’s when the men shot their guns over everyone’s head. Sister Masheti tells me a bullet went right over her head and stuck in the wall. They were all told to get down on the floor and were systematically robbed.
Sometime in 2003, Dan was awakened in the night by men holding AK-47s in his face. They robbed his house. “Every year for the last six years,” Sister tells me, “Dan has been robbed. So I can’t tell you something like that won’t happen to you.”
When I talk to Walter Mukwana, he’s also understanding. He tells me how his next door neighbor was carjacked last week while pulling into his own gate. Walter also tells me how the ad salesman from the Nation, who Walter talked to this morning, was shot by thugs a month ago. They were trying to steal a car and when the Nation rep realized what was happening and tried to run away, they shot him in the leg.
It seems everyone I talk to has a very recent crime story to share, sometimes two recent stories. Some of them say it’s just the way things are and I must accept the risks. Others say I’m doing the right thing by going home. It seems clear-cut. And I’ve made my decision. But I’m torn.
“Cindi,” says Sister Masheti in her forthright way, “I support your decision. You must decide what’s best for you and not worry about others. TICH is an institution and it will continue without you and without me and without others. But your safety and peace of mind is of utmost importance now.”
I’m taken aback by her level of understanding and am grateful to Sister Masheti for realizing how hard this has been. She says my perspective is unique, for I come from another culture, and while everyone here may think it’s normal to be expected to be robbed, I don’t have to live like that if it’s an issue. Then she tells me about Dan’s Christmas Eve party in 2004, an incident that happened only three months before I arrived in Kenya.
Dan had 30 guests from around the world and they were all dancing in his living room. Fred, the guard at TICH’s gate, was working the gate at Dan’s house that night. The gate was chained and locked, but thugs cut the chain and were in the gate before Fred knew it. One guy hit Fred on the head with a gun, knocking him to the ground and dazing him. They then took Fred to the front door and pushed him ahead of them into the living room. Sister Masheti was across the room when she saw Fred stumbling through the door. She thought someone was drunk and giving Fred a hard time. When Sister Masheti stood up to go to him, that’s when the men shot their guns over everyone’s head. Sister Masheti tells me a bullet went right over her head and stuck in the wall. They were all told to get down on the floor and were systematically robbed.
Sometime in 2003, Dan was awakened in the night by men holding AK-47s in his face. They robbed his house. “Every year for the last six years,” Sister tells me, “Dan has been robbed. So I can’t tell you something like that won’t happen to you.”
When I talk to Walter Mukwana, he’s also understanding. He tells me how his next door neighbor was carjacked last week while pulling into his own gate. Walter also tells me how the ad salesman from the Nation, who Walter talked to this morning, was shot by thugs a month ago. They were trying to steal a car and when the Nation rep realized what was happening and tried to run away, they shot him in the leg.
It seems everyone I talk to has a very recent crime story to share, sometimes two recent stories. Some of them say it’s just the way things are and I must accept the risks. Others say I’m doing the right thing by going home. It seems clear-cut. And I’ve made my decision. But I’m torn.
posted by Cindi at 5:13 PM
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