h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

So - you've met a person from South Africa! Wow! You know, I met a person from America once! Ha ha! Actually, I met quite a lot of 'em! Is that much of a co-incidence? I think, not really! As for South Africans in Kenya ... yes, I guess there would be a few! As for Kenyans in South Africa ... can't say I've met any, yet ... but there are quite a few Nigerians here! Funny, since Nigeria is much farther off than Kenya!

You know what is rather amusing to me ... when I meet *African-Americans* here! They look just like our black people, but they talk with these fully-American accents! That is quite surreal to me. The black people here speak English with a very strong African accent ... I hardly know any who can speak it with any *other* accent. But I must say, meeting *white* Americans and hearing them speak is also surreal! I cannot imagine why *anyone* of *any* colour would talk with such an outrageous accent!!! But I think if I practice my own joke-American accent a bit more, I'll be able to fool someone ... I do a fairly good Ozzie accent, and even an okay Indian (from India!) accent!

So long as Perium doesn't hear me, I guess I'll be safe!

What does an 'average twenty-something hippie type' look like? I wonder how somebody would characterise what *I* look like. Currently my hair is very short and I have a very round head, and I'm fairly sturdily built, and I think I'm fairly friendly-looking, but I can also become scary-looking very rapidly! I can be *very* intimidating in appearance! I am quite enthusiastic and energetic... even though I *am*, I don't give the appearance of being very laid-back. I don't know many people who are ... I don't know many hippie-ish types over here!

What you say about time: I think we are rather more patient over here than in America! Some people speak of 'Africa-time'; there seems to be *more time* here than elsewhere! Well, people have been around over here for longer than anywhere else!

And about the daughter with the punky hair ... that reminds me of that quip you pulled ... 'you've got a point there... but the way you spike your hair, it doesn't show so bad!'

You spelled 'Johannesburg' correctly!

What you tell me about Somaliland is news to me. 'Sfar as I knew, there was just one country, Somalia. With the wars and the things over there, I guess some people could become confused... brother.

Okay, I hope the next trip to the museum goes well!

Yes, it was rather fun to talk about something else for a while!

Love,

Willem, with Valerie and Vivienne attending

Hi People! ... As soon as I started typing, RL interrupted. I have to go, but rest assured I'm a bit happier, looking forward to being a lot happier, and thinking of you both. Thanks for your wishes, Tony.

Still wishing you all the best...

x x Fenny (Universal Tolerance)

Willem

Ok, check it out.

I've set myself to a strange and tedious task, and I just discovered something cool! First the task:

I am reading my *entire* h2g2 backlog. I'm going through all the conversations to which I'm subscribed, starting on January 8, 2001, and reading up to the present. The reason for this, aside from basic weirdness or self-obsession, is because I want to find out when the smiley started being used as a divider to break up long posts. I have been, for a while, of the opinion that *I* originated that practice, so I'm doing some research. Did I use it before I saw it, or did I see it before I used it? If I saw it first, who was using it? Did they invent it? I have taken it upon myself to dig up this particular bit of h2g2 trivia. I'm quite certain that, back in January, it wasn't common practice like it is now, because there's a convo back then where Lucinda and I were trading loooong posts, and breaking them up in boring ways, like with short rows of hyphens.



Part II, the cool thing I discovered:

Part of what got me hooked on h2g2 was that, during my first fortnight or so here, I read a really great Entry, which I found on the front page. The Entry was on Aardvarks, and the author was.... The Unmentionable Marauding Pillowcase!!! I even posted a note to the entry, back then in January, saying how much I liked it! Now I want to read all of the Pillowcases *other* animal entries, which I've only just found out about! Yay!

Hey, I gotta go, but I just had to tell you that.


love,

Tony

You know, Tony, *that* is the sort of thing that makes me feel really good when I hear it!

I hope you're able to make sense of those animal entries... most of them were written in HTML instead of GuideML, and originally contained pictures, which no longer display. I haven't taken a look at them myself in quite a while.

So I hope you manage to find that out about the popcorn smiley!

Okay! And how are you doing nowadays?

Hey Tony! Between all the other stuff, come look in here just once in a while, why dontcha! The girls miss you!

Aargh! Sorry!

I have been doing a lot of stuff lately. I'll tell you all about some of it.

Here at h2g2, I finally got through the popcorn research I had mentioned. Check out:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/h2g2/guide/A661547

...for a truly bizarre and irrelevant entry.

Meanwhile, on one of the "Ban SL?" threads, some researchers (Hoovooloo and Mina) expressed an interest in figuring out how many active researchers are, as they say, "in the building". I figured out a couple of ways to get a good estimate of that number, using fairly simple statistics, and I think AGB will be hosting a study of sorts at her page.

My intention grows stronger every day to write an entry about how to hold onto your money in Nairobi - I think that could be a useful tool for hitchhikers, as there are so many ways to lose it here.



IRL, I got my safari pictures developed yesterday! Joy! - or, as we say in Swahili - Furaha! The best part of that experience was that I've certainly learned exactly what my camera is and isn't capable of. The landscape shots came out nicely. Some of the animal pics are fine, and many more will be fine when I scan them and enlarge the bits that actually contain animals. Any pictures that were taken with insufficient lighting didn't come out at all, which makes sense - the camera has no flash. It's a neat camera, because it doesn't require batteries, but that means no zoom, no flash, no frills at all.

Anyway, there are some good elephant shots, good zebra and wildebeest, good vervet monkeys, and several types of birds that I can't identify. I'll get them scanned on Monday, hopefully, and email you the good ones. I hope you understand when I say you won't get the *first* email of animal photos - that's for the kidz!



I've been thinking about you guys a lot lately. In fact, in my passport photo, which I'll be scanning in soon to put at my new website(! I'll get you the URL when there's something there to see), I was thinking of you, and of our exchange about your aardvark entry. It seemed like a good way to get a genuine smile, and it worked, IMHO.

I also tend to think of you, and of the girls (Hi, Vivienne! Hi, Valerie!) when I listen to music. I have this one favourite band... I wonder whether you'd like them. I think they're rare genuises, but a lot of people think they're utter crap. You say you like to read over the lyrics before you listen to music. Would it be agreeable if I sent you emails with lyrics to songs, and my descriptions of what they sound like? That would be fun for me, because it's fun to describe music. I might even, through practice, improve my quite-limited ability to use language in that capacity.

What I'd really like would be to get on down there to Pietersburg with my music collection, and we could all sit around, listening and chatting. Shall we plan for... maybe July, 2002?



When I met the guy from South Africa, I wasn't really trying to say that it was an amazing coincindence as much as that it reminded me of you. I've only ever met two or three people from South Africa, so...

I'll be better about posting here, I promise!


love,

Tony

Hi Tony! I'm going to look at that popcorn entry of yours straight away after answering this! The study of how many actual active researchers we have also sounds like a very worthy project ... after all, we've been discussing that matter for a long time on FoLKZ. Having a fairly reliable estimate of the number would be quite interesting!

The idea of holding onto your money in Nairobi also sounds like a good one!

I am really looking forwards to those pictures! As for me, I also have a batteryless camera, it's a Pentax, a model from I guess the late 1960's or early 1970's. But it has a 300 mm zoom lens, and a flash (*that* requires batteries, though). And it functions well, depending on the film, under a variety of lighting conditions. Everything has to be done manually, but that gives me more creative control over the end product. I usually take better photos with it than my father does with his new-fangled battery-operated everything-automated camera!

So, you actually *smiled* for your passport photo? Over here is is more or less standard to look very depressed when they take that ...

I agree, it would be agreeable to get some lyrics and attempted descriptions of the music ... *we* need some practice with that, too! It's gonna be a long time still before I get me some real guitars and good equipment, so in the meantime, we can do that! Say ... do you perhaps know of, or know anybody who might know, of good *free* downloadable music software? Stuff to compose songs with, to sample or create sounds with and so on ... that could be useful, perhaps; I am certain Val and Viv and their musical pals will go nuts (in a good way, of course!) if they can get their hands on stuff like that...

But hey, you *must* come here if at all possible! Middle of next year would be *excellent*! Try to stay for at least a week ... free accomodation for you down here, and we are fortunate to live in a really beautiful part of the country! It's gonna be a blast, that I assure you!

Hi Willem!

I just wanted to drop by and tell you about something I've started doing. I always have a few windows open on the computer, so while I'm waiting for one to load, I can be doing something in another.

Anyway, lately, I've been keeping one window open to a website called HOT or NOT? You can probably guess the URL, or you can link to it from my page of external links, here:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/h2g2/guide/A544213

The concept of the site is that anyone who wants to know how attractive they are can upload a picture of themselves at this website. Anyone else can then surf by and be shown pictures, which they are asked to rate on a scale of 1 to 10, where 10 means the person is HOT!

So, it's not an entirely nice idea - "Click here to pass judgement" - but I've found a way to use it as an exercise in... something. What you do is, you go there, and whoever you see, give them a 10. The part of it that's an *exercise* is that, before you give them a 10, you have to believe that they are truly beautiful, which shouldn't be hard, because everyone is.

I find that sitting here telling a bunch of strangers that they're beautiful, though it may be statistically insignificant, feels good.

While I'm here, I'd also like to point you towards a quotation that I posted at the reggabwoW? project page. It's in a thread called "nice paragraph" or something like that. If it's gone by the time you get there, it could be because of copyright problems, though it's only one paragraph.

I gotta go now, but tell everyone I said hi! Hi everyone!

BTW, Hi Fenny! Are you still reading here? Long time no see!

Yes, I'm still here, but I'm always on for such a short time I can't always get here! Sorry for the delay! I hope the sun's still shining, down there where it's currently summer ;p!

I enjoyed the popcorn entry. Congratulations on being the first Corn-Popper, and I hope you enjoyed the Champagne you opened (smilies - you have to enjoy!)

When you brought up the hot-or-not page, I thought you were going to tell us that that was where we had to go to find your pic! Still awaiting the photos! Your verbal-pictures still sound great, though. Just the thing for a cold, wet November evening.

I'm on my way to the Oasis to have a look at your paragraph if it is still there...

Best wishes from Europe to Africa!

x x Fenny (Universal Tolerance)

Yes, I'm still here, but I'm always on for such a short time I can't always get here! Sorry for the delay! I hope the sun's still shining, down there where it's currently summer ;p!

I enjoyed the popcorn entry. Congratulations on being the first Corn-Popper, and I hope you enjoyed the Champagne you opened (smilies - you have to enjoy!)

When you brought up the hot-or-not page, I thought you were going to tell us that that was where we had to go to find your pic! Still awaiting the photos! Your verbal-pictures still sound great, though. Just the thing for a cold, wet November evening.

I'm on my way to the Oasis to have a look at your paragraph if it is still there...

Best wishes from Europe to Africa!

x x Fenny (Universal Tolerance)

Hi Fenchurch and Tony! My internet access is not very reliable, so I'm going to do what I did before: post a number of separate postings, one after the other, instead of a single, very long one. That is going to be *my* way of breaking up the posting ... I am not that fond of popcorn!

Well, Tony, by now I've checked out your entry, and your kind-words paragraph, and I'm checking out the 'Hot or Not' site as well! I'm giving everyone tens of course, since I, too, believe that everybody is beautiful. But all the same, I'm finding it interesting what kinds of pictures the people are submitting, and what kinds of scores they're receiving. I'm thinking of submitting a picture of myself there! I'll have to search out a good one. It might be interesting to know what others think of one's looks ... being an artist, I am quite interested in the matter of aesthetics. Nothing wrong mith my own self-image or self-respect, so I won't mind at all what other people say. I think I'll get a seven or an eight, though, especially if I'm well dressed and groomed and the photo is professional in quality. I wonder ... I am also thinking of submitting a picture of my *dad* there! I think he'll get a rating very close to ten! Even though he's fifty seven! If I submitted pictures of him as a *teenager* then he'll get a full ten, for sure! Same if I submit a picture of my mom in her early twenties! There were sure some *excellent* genes going into me ... so I wonder what went wrong???!!!

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder ... like I said, I also consider everybody beautiful, but some people are *especially* beautiful! One of the most physically beautiful people I've ever met was a girl who also stayed in the Denmar psychiatric clinic for a while. She had a very intriguing appearance: athletic in build, about my length *five foot nine) very dark, short hair; full, very well-shaped lips; and eyes that were rather oriental in appearance. She also had tattoos of chinese letters on her right shoulder. But she was Afrikaans-speaking. She had a beautiful voice as well. She had an equally beautiful and intriguing personality. She was quite artistic, but also with an aptitude for understanding mechanical devices. Her job was assembling computers. Unfortunately, she was very frustrated, depressed, with a low drive, and a feeling of a lack of meaning and direction in her life. I really got on well with her, but I was very unhappy about her problems. She also attempted suicide. She actually went as far as putting a pistol to her head and *pulling the trigger*. The shot did not go off. If it did she would have been dead. She's such a fantastic person ... it would have been such a loss. I do hope she manages to get over everything.

Hey Fenny! How are you?

Wil, Val, Viv, Fen, anyone else who's reading here...

Hi! Long time, eh? I have no idea what I'm about to type here, or why, but I think I know where it's gonna start. (It'll be pretty autobiographical, and possibly boring)

I chatted with Willem just before packing to come back to Kenya. I had to be at the airport in less than 2 hours, and I hadn't started packing yet. I love putting off packing until the last minute. It always reminds me of this one time...



I was 16, and I was living alone with my Dad. Mom had gotten a divorce about a year before, and Iris (my sister) was away at college. Dad was going crazy (bi-polar, and getting worse), and he was very hard to live with. I was a fairly messed-up teenager, sullen and unwilling to do anything productive, no matter how much it might be *right* or *good* or whatever. This didn't help Dad much, but I couldn't help it.

I'll spare the details, suffice to say that he crossed the line from verbally abusive to physically abusive, and I decided it was time for me to leave the house. Mom picked me up from school around 5 or 6, and Dad was due back from work... at 9 or 10? I don't remember exactly. I told Mom that I was moving to her apartment, so let's go to Dad's house and collect my things.

Neither of us wanted to run into him. There would have been explanations that nobody wanted to make, and tempers (one in particular) would have been ignited.

Mom parked in the driveway, and I went into my room to collect things. I was slightly panicky, thinking that he might come home any second. I stood there in my room, looking at all of the trappings of my teenage life. There was crap hanging on the walls, there were tapes and CDs, there were drawers full of God-knows-what, there were all of my clothes, random stuff, whatever, right?

I felt that I had to decide what I really wanted to keep. I had some crazy ideas that when Dad came home, and I'd moved out, he might throw away all my stuff, or trash the room, or who knows what. I quickly filled a few bags and a suitcase or two, put them in the trunk of Mom's car, decided that was enough, and said goodbye to the rest.

Of course, Dad didn't destroy my room. He destroyed himself instead. A month later, we went through the house, trying to figure out what we were going to do with everything, and there was all of the stuff I'd left in my room. I didn't want it. I'd already said goodbye, and I was happy with the stuff I'd taken.



Hell, even when I was 10... my Grandmother had passed away, and Grandpa wasn't doing too well living alone. He was lonely. Dad got a good deal on a house that was bigger than the one we were in, and we decided we'd move there, and move Grandpa in with us. That way, he'd be less lonely, and we could make sure he got his insulin shots and stuff. In the new house, I was to share a room with Grandpa.

That was cool, right? I loved Grandpa. He was great. I had been living in a converted attic, though, and it was full of my toys and things. "You can't keep all of these toys," they told me, "there won't be room at the new house. Just pick out the ones you really like." We were also having a garage sale, and I felt some pressure to sell more than I was keeping, because it would help financially. I remember choosing about 5 toys of the hundreds (I guess) that I had, and saying that they could sell the rest. I never ended up playing with those last five anyway. I just sort of lost track of them. At the new house, I played with the dog, and rode my bike, and made new friends... didn't need those toys anymore.



Just a year ago, I was living in Santa Fe, making plans to move to Africa. I went through this neat series of compressions with my worldly goods. First, I pared everything in my apartment down to what would fit in my van, giving away or throwing away the rest. Next, in Dallas, I unloaded the van into a friend's living room, getting rid of another significant fraction - stuff I really didn't need to have driven back to Texas, but I'd been in such a hurry. Next I compressed from my friend's living room to a hotel room, then from the hotel room to a few boxes at my Mom's house, and finally down to a duffel bag, a backpack and a satchel, with about two boxes left in Mom's garage. Everything else was given away or thrown away.

I guess getting rid of stuff feels good. I guess that's all I had to say here. Thanks for listening, anyone who did. Hope I wasn't boring.

People are different. Shucking them off like possessions is entirely different. I miss them. Sometimes a lot.


Tony, getting things off his chest

Thanks Tony. I was listening, and appreciate your sharing. I've been wondering when we would hear from you again.

Hope you enjoyed your break, and I hope you're still enjoying Kenya. By the time you read this I imagine you will have got over your jetlag (please say you have - I can't imagine you're h2-addicted enough to go to the cyber-cafe without having caught some sleep first!)

Your attitude towards packing is a lot braver than mine. I remember packing to leave Israel, when I was a Volunteer there ten years ago. I remember spending hours on filling the suitcase (and, for Deity's sake, there was only one to fill!) just because I didn't want to make the leap between nearly leaving and really leaving! Bravo to you for your positive adjustment between now and soon.

Well, I'm looking forward to hearing more from you and Willie, and occasionally even making myself heard. Willie, we love you, and I hope you're taking care of yourself. I haven't heard from you for so long, except the bad parts, that I send daily support (and I always think of writing to you, I'm sorry I never do!)

x x Fenny (UT for infrequent letter-writers, please)

Wil, Val, Viv, Fen,

Here's some more news from the Tony Side. Willem, are you reading here? I hope so. Nobody seems to have heard from you in a couple of days, and I hope you're doing alright. When you're back online, at least you'll have something diverting to read here.

Fenny, you've called these literary snapshots or something... think of this as a short film.

--------------------------------------------------------

I had an adventure yesterday. I was invited to attend a championship boxing tournament that was being held in the Huruma Slum (on the outskirts of Nairobi). I know Francis Irungu (Irush) the guy who organized the tournament. He's a local guy with political aspirations, and he runs the Huruma Boxing Club, as one of his projects to help the street-boys get off of the streets and into some kind of more hopeful existence.

Ben (a friend) and I caught a bus out to the slum and then weren't sure exactly where to go for the boxing. We stopped in a pub and had a beer while Irush sent someone round to collect us. They led us to a field where there was a large crowd assembled around a boxing ring. To one side, there was a tarp set up for some shade, and at the front of the tarp were some chairs behind a table. Two of the chairs were cleared and Ben and I were given seats. I was quite blatantly the only Mzungu (whitey) in attendance.

Small children anywhere outside of the Nairobi city centre are really fascinated when they see a Mzungu. Some of them will hide, and peek, grinning, from behind whatever they're using for shelter. The bolder ones will shout out "How are you?", which must be the first English they learn, along with the response, "Fine!". It's not clear that they know that "How are you" is three different words; it's more like "Awayu". They grin insanely or burst into giggles when I actually answer them and wave. Later, a group of them were brave enough to shake my hand, which they all tried to do at once... but now I'm getting ahead of myself.

At the boxing tournament, there were a group of kids seated on the ground close to the honor table where Ben and I had been seated. For some of them, I seemed to be at least as interesting as the boxing. Their staring at me, and I at them, was, I have to say, one of the more honest, straightforward interactions I am likely to have in Kenya (on Earth), but that's kids for you.

Anyway, Ben and I, although a good forty minutes after the official start time, were just in time. The first bout was about to begin. Before it started, Irush, busy with hosting his tournament, approached me and said that I would be presenting the first certificate, to the winner of the first bout. I was a little nervous, having no idea what sort of ceremony was to occur, but I was confident that I would be coached appropriately in time. Fortunately, I didn't end up presenting the first certificate. I was upstaged.

Right after the first bout finished, a group of dignitaries showed up. Everyone sitting at the honor table stood up as some well-dressed, well-fed, men pushed through the crowd. One wore a light suit, and what was left of his hair was greying. One wore a sharp hat , suspenders, and a colourful short-sleeve shirt which I coveted. One had a vaguely squinty expression and carried a guitar. Then there was Mr. Straw Hat Jomo Kenyatta look-alike, about whom more later. Anyway, I began to rise in unison with the others, but Irush gestured firmly at me to remain seated. Ok, whatever. The important men filed past the table, shaking everyone's hand, which made it even more awkward, it seemed to me, that I was the only one still seated. Whatever. Irush grinned at me as I greeted the man with the suit that he was the Deputy Mayor of Nairobi, but quickly repeated his "don't stand up" gesture, so I just figured I was that important.

Ben and everyone else besides me were cleared away from the honor table to make room for the new arrivals, and then the Deputy Mayor and I were at the two central positions. On either side of us were two of his contingent. He mostly was chatting with the one on the other side of me, so they kept leaning back and forth across me to comment on the boxing. The Duputy Mayor is a great boxing fan, and even boxes a little himself. The first thing he said to me was that he had recently boxed with someone from some embassy. "He was 26 years old, and he beat the hell out me!", he chuckled. Later he observed, wisely, that "when you box with anger, you lose control - it's just a game." At one point he said that he was quite impressed and pleased that Irush's organization was bringing boxing to the Huruma community.

He did ask me one time what I was doing in Nairobi, and I answered vaguely that I'm in the export business, which seemed to satisfy him.

Anyway, the Deputy Mayor and his buddies ended up presenting the first 5 or 6 awards, a process which turned out to involve no ceremony at all. The presenter stood up, handed a certificate and a shirt to the winner, and shook his hand, sometimes with a photographer documenting it. After these few bouts, there was a break in the tournament, and the boxing ring was used for speechifying. The Deputy Mayor went first, and although he was speaking Swahili, I could tell that he hardly talked about boxing at all, instead making a speech about how little corruption there was in City Hall. This was well received, and timely. The newspaper that morning, you see, had run a story about how some organization had just completed a study, ranking various public institutions in Kenya according to how corrupt they were. Boy, is Kenya ever corrupt. The police are the worst. Apparently, only about one out of 10 of people who require some kind of service from the police can get that service without paying a bribe ("Kitu kidogo" - "Something small"). More on the police later.

The next speech was from the straw-hat guy, who was addressed as "Chairman", and who I later learned is running for a Parliament seat, which he has previously held and wants back. I have no idea what he talked about. The third speech was from the guy with the shirt, who's some kind of Commissioner for Boxing, or something, he was very animated, and had the Deputy Mayor practically in tears, laughing, slapping me on the thigh, asking could I believe this guy! I laughed along with him, cheerfully and with no comprehension of what was going on.

After the speeches, the bouts started again, and the Important People left, Deputy Mayor, Commissioner for Boxing, Guy With Guitar (whose purpose I never divined), and all. Straw-hat former MP stuck around, and we've not heard the last of him. In this, the second half of the tournament, were the really good bouts. There was one in particular that ended very quickly; a local boy beat the hell out of his challenger and knocked him down in less than a minute, to the most enthusiastic reaction of the day. He was really good. I wouldn't cross him.

The next bout was finally the one for which I was to present the award. Irush stopped by the table and explained to me that this bout was really "D-Day" - that both of the boxers were contenders for the National Team. In the red corner was the brother of the kid who'd just been such a crowd-pleaser. The guy in the blue corner didn't have the audience on his side, but he didn't look like he needed them. He would have taken us all on, one by one. As the bout progressed, it was pretty clear that blue was winning, and the crowd was silent. When the referee held up his hand, only the handlers in his corner clapped. "Oh great," thought I, "I get to present the award to the guy who beat up the hometown hero." They announced that the award would be presented by "Tony Jacobs" (which they pronounce so that the first syllable is "Jack"), and I could read "Who the $%*& is that?" in the faces of the crowd (with the exception of my young fans on the ground, who still hadn't tired of staring and grinning at me, God love 'em). I presented the award to the winner, someone snapped a picture, and that was that.

Ben and I were ready to go at this point, as I really wanted to get back into town and make a phone call. My roommate worries if I'm not back to the flat by 9 o'clock or so, and I don't blame him. He's right that Nairobi isn't very safe after dark, and he's right that if I were to turn up missing, he would be the first one people would ask. (Note to self: send his email address to my family.) I also had been up since early in anticipation of a special email, and sitting in the sun was beginning to take its toll.

We told Irush that we were ready, and he ushered us to a car. I guess it wouldn't do to allow the guest of honor to take the bus back into town with the common folk. Turns out, it wouldn't do to allow the guest of honor to go back to town at all, at least, not yet. We were in this car, with someone in a hat driving, and an older man with a hat in the backseat. Babu (something you can call a grandfather) in the back seemed to be babbling incoherently, a suspicion which the rest of the evening did little to alleviate. I'm not trying to make fun of him. He could have been senile, he could have had Parkinson's disease, he could have just had a really terrible stutter and a one-track mind. He was my main conversation partner for the rest of the evening. I've had worse drinking companions, by far.

Babu encouraged me to have confidence in the safe driving of our conductor, which was fine; the driver seemed perfectly normal, and it hadn't occurred to me that he would endanger us in any way. Babu told me that the driver was his son - he continued to repeat this throughout the evening, and I lost count. He asked me whether I was visiting Kenya, or living here, and I answered him. He told me that the driver was his son. He told Ben that the driver was his son. We smiled and nodded. He told me that I should feel at home and not worry (another recurring theme) and I thanked him much for that. My neck was starting to hurt from turning around each time he addressed me.

The car didn't take us back into town; instead it took us into the heart of the slum, to a dimly lit bar/restaurant. (This is where I delighted a lot of kids by shaking their hands and repeating "I'm fine! How are you?) Somewhere along the way, it was explained to me that it was a sort of political dinner, involving Irush and the former MP Straw-hat, and that Ben and I could just sit in the corner and fill our bellies, and that would be fine. We took our seats, I in the corner, Ben next, and Babu next. Babu pointed out his son once again, and told me that his son owned the place where we were. Cool. While Babu wasn't paying attention, Ben and I had a quick discussion about him. Ben reminded me that, when someone is old and their children are doing well, that's really all they have in the world, and they like to boast about it. No problem, thought I.

Babu finally asked me where I'm from, and on hearing that I'm American, told me that his daughters are going to school in the US. Cool! When Ben got up to pee, or smoke a cigarette, or whatever, I slid down the bench and asked Babu directly about his kids. He has one son (who runs the restaurant) and three daughters (in American Universities), and when I said that he must be very proud, he became positively radiant. That was cool, I thought. He told me that he had once visited his daughter in California, and I asked him did he like it, practising my Swahili verbs - Ulipenda? He grinned, made a gesture with his hands like cradling his belly, and said that of course, he enjoyed it very much.

Babu said two things during the evening that weren't about his kids, or encouragements to feel at home, or to relax. One was simply, repeated three times slowly: "Patience Pays." I consider these the words of an oracle, the way they just burst out so clearly and without apparent context. The other thing was when I responded to his pride about his children by saying that I hope someday to have children about whom I can feel so good. He asked don't I have any yet, and on finding that I don't, at 25, he was shocked. He said that I need to get on the ball and choose a wife, and that when I choose one, he'll give me a goat. Yeah! Look out ladies! I wanna get that goat!

Meanwhile, the beer was flowing. The son who owned the place bought one crate of beer for the party, then another. Each time, we toasted his long life, led by the MP guy. MP was sitting near someone in a windbreaker who was identified to me as a Police Boss. Ben assured me that we were very safe, since we were dining (drinking) with a former MP and a Police Boss. I kept thinking about how the police led the nation in corruption, and how Ben had even told me in the morning how they'd confiscated his ID until he paid a small bribe, but I relaxed and drank my beer. At one point, when I had been leaning over close to the Babu, trying to catch what he was saying, I sat back up and looked across the table. The Police Boss was giving me a thumbs-up and a grin, which I returned, only a little nervously.

More beer, more beer... where was this dinner we had been promised? Where was Irush anyway? What time was it? I had better phone home and explain to my roommate that I'm safe, I thought, but my mobile phone wouldn't connect. S**t. Finally Irush showed up, and Ben and I told him that we really had to go. He said ok, just finish our beers, and if the food hadn't arrived, we could go. During the discussions, I had what Ben said was my finest moment, when the MP was asking Irush where was the food, and was he trying to starve us all, and I chimed in with some Swahili I had *just* learned "Tuna njaa!" (We're hungry!), which I said in a sort of plaintive cute voice. Everyone laughed heartily; I was a good Mzungu.

Of course, as we finished our beers (and one more that someone put in front of me), the Nyama Choma (fried chunks of beef) arrived and we all dug in. I'm not sure if I got after it a bit too heartily, but when the communal plate was down to just a handful of pieces, they pushed it in front of me, insisting that I finish it. I was really hungy, so I didn't object.

Now I was really ready to go, worried that my roommate must be worried sick (he was), but I was admonished by several (Irush, Ben, Babu) to take my time with my beer and not to be in a hurry. Ok. Finally, we rode home, in a good three sheets to the wind labyrinth of headlights on the wrong side of the road, confusing roundabout intersections, and the various odours of Urban Kenya smacking me in the face through the open window. Dropped off at my estate (apartment complex), I let myself in, apologized to my roommate, and went to bed...

Hey Tony! I'm cutting down on h2g2, but I still read here a bit. Good stories! I wish I could get as involved in my own communities as you are over there in Kenya!

Hey Tony! I'm cutting down on h2g2, but I still read here a bit. Good stories! I wish I could get as involved in my own communities as you are over there in Kenya!

Hey Willem, Viv, Val, et al! Great to see you back. Keep well!

x x Fenny

Hi Fenny! How are you doing?

Tony - just a small correction ... the Kenya stories are good. The story about your dad is not a *happy* story of course ... but thanks still for telling it. As for the getting rid of stuff ... yes, I also feel good about not being encumbered by too many things. I love for instance going on hiking trails. There I am in bare nature with only a bit of food and a tent. It always amazes me how *comfortable* I am, high on a mountaintop, sweating profusely and covered with bleeding scratches from bearing through dense thornbushes and from being assailed by all manner of biting insects, and threatened by snakes and even bigger wild things, burned by the sun at day, freezing under cold winds at night ... but none of that bothers me at all! I find it frankly astonishing that I feel so completely at home there, so safe, so happy and free. That's when I realise again, that the world is good ... and it's my world, I belong here.

Do you get the same feeling by being over there in a country that couldn't be more different than the one you grew up in, and yet finding that you can still relate to the people and feel at home?