Of food poisoning, electrcitiy and bribery.

Last week, I had the disputable pleasure of trekking to Lagos for business and everything was going swimmingly until I ventured to the buffet bar at the Protea Hotel for lunch.  One, quite wrongly and naively, assumed that a budding 5* hotel would know a thing or two about food hygiene.  Well, one would be sorely mistaken.

I had been back at my desk a mere 2 hours and it started: cramps, vomiting and more from the other end.  I was struck down and honestly, if that is food poisoning, then every dose I've had hitherto, was a pale imitation.  I even had to ask the driver to stop on the back streets after work to throw up behind a lamppost.  Thank God it was dark and no-one paid any attention to the stupid white man wrenching his guts to rid him of the bloody bug.  Shame on you Protea.

Anyway, then I had the delight of the journey home to Nairobi the next morning.  But as soon as I boarded, I headed to my seat and made positive eye contact and small talk with Charles a rather handsome Kenya Airways steward.  He looked after me all the way home.  He brought me extra bread, recommended soda water to calm my stomach and even offered me antacid tablets.  He was of Singapore Airlines standard - with no doubt.  He helped make my journey home bearable.  Well done KQ.

*     *     *

Well, I think I just complimented the airline too quickly - I've just tried to do an online compliment for Charles - and Kenya Airways doesn't have a "compliment" form only a "complaint" one - that is quite telling I suppose - and when I try to use that instead for my compliment, the page doesn't recognise my Kenya mobile number.  Sigh - I give up.  Charles will have to read my blog to get his now rather tardy compliment.

And while I'm ranting about Kenya Airways, in Lagos the rather nonchalant counter lady put a priority sticker on my luggage - since I'm silver with SkyTeam - "thank you", I thought.  But I was to be disappointed again.  Just look at the picture here of my suitcase, slapped with an insulting "Last Bag" sticker.  I think I need to go back to KQ's complaint form and scream at someone.

So much for priority baggage

Before I left Lagos, I had received a text from my help advising me that KPLC *(the local power company) had cut me off.  I had been using the previous tenants name and paying religiously - but she decided to close the account and KPLC duly cut me off.  We did our best, Ipsos and I, to get power back on for my impending arrival in Kenya - but without luck.

So I arrived home, knackered from the flight and drained from the food poisoning to a dark apartment.  I promptly lit some candles and rummaged around for my torch.  Then I realised, I would have no hot water to shower with in the morning.  Disaster...!  I went to sleep, disgruntled but knowing that I was home.

Ducking and diving

Next morning, I sprang out of bed having forgotten about having no hot water and then slumped back in again when I remembered.  So I dragged myself to the kitchen and started boiling water on the stove.  Then I did a good old mixing to and fro between a couple of buckets to get the temperature down and off I went to the shower.  It wasn't half bad, but I was squatting like a Niger-delta pygmy throwing water over my back with a measuring jug.  I even put a rubber duck in to keep me company.     

So as you read this, or switch off the TV later or put your night light on to read your current novel, remember how lucky you are not to in Lagos with food poisoning or rummaging around for matches to light a candle.

And what of bribery?  Well you see, for me to have an electricity account in my own name, I need a PIN (which also allows me to pay taxes in Kenya).  And I can't get a PIN until I get my Alien Certificate and I have been waiting for the said certificate since August last year.  Each time I trundle down to Nyayo House, where they process applications, there is a new story as to why my card is not ready or missing.  They are waiting for a back-hander and suddenly, I'm sure my certificate will be found.  I'm not paying.

It's my own little stand on the matter, and if I have to suffer a blackout or two, then so be it.

Giving things up and sarcastic comments

Recently, I posted on Facebook a lengthy list of abstentions I was embarking on for Lent - I must confess I did miss the start of it and had to be reminded by Baxter (my indomitable better half).  Don't think I can blame being in Kenya either; it being such a religious country; it just slipped under the radar.

So better late than never is a good axiom in which to take refuge on this occasion.

Every year I give up several things for Lent - it's a healthy self-sacrifice that really does help one appreciate what one has.  If I were to give up chocolate, for example, there wouldn't be much of an effort on my part as I don't really eat the stuff - but usually I try to stop things that really  matter.  One year I gave up all alcohol and suffered immensely.  Since then I've limited by penitence to subsets of alcohol and allowed myself an indulgence or three during the lenten period.

So this year, although tardy, I decided to give up the rather mixed bag of red meat, poultry, whisky, I-Tunes purchases, caffeine in tea & coffee and Facebook posts.  Naively, I posted such on FB itself and wasn't quite prepared for the barrage of counter posts on the subject.  Not being able to reply of course, I was a little constrained and mute.

So I resort to my blog.

A few points I would like to clarify - in a non-threatening, tongue-in-cheek, on-hobby-horse kind of way.

Firstly, sacrificing something for Lent, is not for God per se and indeed not for anyone else really.  It's a symbolic act of solidarity with Christ's suffering and a test for oneself to see if we come even remotely close to what He endured while in the desert before returning to Jerusalem to be ultimately crucified.

Secondly, various people commented on the items that were missing - other concoctions and alcoholic beverages - well as I said above, a complete denial of all things potato, juniper, hop & grape-induced will never happen again.  You try giving them ALL up - and I shall applaud you.

Thirdly, to Jesus giving up Facebook - I think if He were exposed to it, he'd be as addicted as the rest of us and we'd be "liking" his miracles and sermons with gay abandon.

Lastly, some were emboldened and even relieved at my "posting-silence".  Well, if you're reading this, you'll see my venting just took another avenue.  Where there's a will ....

And talking of will - I'm sure I will get through Lent as I've done most years and be be thankful, proud, humbled and grateful for it.

Go on, even if you're not religious, give something up for a while - it feels, tastes, looks, satisfies so much better when you eventually go back to it.

See you all on Facebook in a few weeks' time.

Oh, not another bank rant

Well I'm afraid to say, yes, here comes yet another bloody bank rant.  This one is about Stanbic, Kenya, who have over the past 8 months treated this customer of theirs with utter contempt and ineptitude.

Am I demanding?  Perhaps.

Am I unreasonable?  Not sure on that one.

Am I illogical?  Well, usually not. 

And on this occasion, you may pour scorn on my drama, but not on my logic.

I shall start by quoting the final email I have just sent my so-called "customer representative".  Then I shall take you all through the sorry sorry tale of my woeful interaction with this excuse for a financial institution.

"Dear N,

I give up.

Your service has been appalling from start to finish.

Inconsistent communication; haphazard processes; and a blatant disregard for customer delight.

I only wanted your card for the air miles – and this aborted process has wasted so much of my time, I probably could have flown around the world in the same time.

You may want to Google my blog to see how my wrath has vibrated into the ether on this travesty of customer interaction.  Then again, you most likely won’t bother.

Yours, where words fail to convey my disappointment,

Darren"

And what drove me to this apoplexy?

About 8 months ago, a Stanbic rep visited my offices after about 1 week when I'd requested more information on their website about the Kenya Airways credit card.  This in itself was rather tardy, but I let it go.  The young man, after taking various piece of personal information from me, advised that I would need THREE month's salary evidence.

What for?  I enquired.  Well as we're told constantly by financial advisers - in the same institutions - that past performance is no guarantee of future upward trends. He was blank as to why his employer would need 3 months salary slips - which prove neither that I will be employed in month four or that I'm a good credit risk.

I duly waited four months and then proceeded to the branch.

This wasn't enough, I obviously needed address proof, a letter from my employer and several other things.

But at least my application was submitted.

At no point was my tax PIN mentioned - a rather innocuous thing in Kenya - but a dreadfully difficult thing to get for an alien such as myself - without bribing some nondescript official.  Needless to say, I haven't done that (yet) - but believe me, it's only a matter of time. But I digress.

So then I get an email (one month on) saying "my" paperwork is out of date and I need to submit my most recent salary information and yet another bank statement.  I'm out of date???  The bank delays and then my paperwork is out of date - I was doing somersaults at this point.  

I resubmit and ask by email for an update - silence.  Deafening silence. Not even the decency to deign me with a reply.

So, storming and stomping, I march (again) into the branch and vent my spleen on a certain customer rep who apparently should have been overseeing my application from the outset buy had been on leave.  Ah well, forgiveness was looming and then I said I was looking forward to an update soon.

Well, the update came and it was tantamount to a red rag to a bull.  I had to re-submit all the required documentation AND my tax PIN - which I don't have.

When I scream blue-murder, I'm brushed off with a nonchalant "I'm sorry, but that's the process, please do feel to contact me or customer services for any other matter".  Hence my diatribe response above.

As I pour myself a glass of red wine (OK my 2nd one) and if you've managed to stave off narcolepsy in reading this far, please do tell me if I'm missing something.

Do tell me if I'm unreasonable.

Do tell me if I'm illogical in my expectations.

What the bank doesn't perhaps realise, is I put all my expenditure, where I can on my credit card and they've lost thousands of dollars of merchant fees.

My next crusade will be to tell Kenya Airways, how their so-called finance partner is turning away loyal flyers and forcing me to collect miles with Star Alliance.

It reminds me of a good friend who once scoffed at SkyTeam (of which Kenya Airways is a member).  Perhaps he was right.  SQ is better than KQ and my futile attempt to harvest thousands of miles on the latter has been thwarted - but I will fly with a better airline and in more comfort.

Perhaps, after all this travail, I should thank Stanbic - more than they could ever comprehend.  

"She's a great way to fly."

4 lanes are better than 3 in Lagos

Spending time in Lagos is a little like spending time in Disney Land; you know it’s not real on the surface, but when you dig a little, the deeper you go the more real it seems.  Come on, you agree – you’re telling me that you’ve never sauntered down Main Street in Orlando or LA and been only mildly shocked at strangers dressed in all manner of “cartoon” get-ups prancing around and crossing your path?  Remind you of a high street near you?@!

And so it is, to a certain degree with Lagos – however it’s not as kitsch or dare I say glam as the Magic Kingdom.

I had the “good fortune” to be staying a long way from the office on this trip and this afforded me an opportunity to see more of the “city of lagoons” – which is how the Portuguese named this city when they first landed here several hundred years ago, to the consternation and bemusement of the indigenous population.  And boy, did I see some sights.   

There were bakers transporting their loaves mile upon mile on a palette about 1m x 1.5m jammed full of newly baked bread perched precariously on the back of a rickety moped and speeding through traffic like a cockroach on wheels.  There were sellers of all kinds peddling their wares, dangerously close to the highway.  And winding side-streets took us on “short-cuts”, which felt disproportionately long, but we zipped past barbers, bars, shacks and hardware a myriad of merchants of all types.

But I think the thing that struck me the most and pushed me to doing this blog entry, was the 3 lane highway that drivers didn’t think wide enough.  Wide enough, you repeat?  What do I mean? 

Well, you see on most highways there is a hard-shoulder (or emergency lane) to allow access to ambulances, police vehicles and the like – and Lagos is (with a smile, perhaps surprisingly) no different.  Yet, the locals, perhaps peacocking or perhaps thinking the further away from the verge you are, the quicker you go, insisted on using the hard shoulder.  

Now, if the highway were clogged and not moving – then one may forgive motorists' selfish disregard for safety and other citizens in their driven desire to get home after a long day’s slog at the office.  But, no!  The highway was flowing like milk from a happy goat’s teat. (Sorry about this image – but it seems consistent with West Africa, where the goat is eaten with ferocity and gusto.)  There were no jams, and no slow-gos.  This traffic was speeding at over 80kmh quite merrily.  I was a little agog.

Sometimes what you have is not enough; sometimes the potential is not realized; sometimes the whole is not shared with the many – but rather hogged by the few.  For me, the highway linking the mainland of Lagos to Victoria islands and others was a metaphor for this disappointing situation in Nigeria.  The Big Men (Oga) need to show they’re bigger than the others – they drive on the hard shoulder; the aspiring disregard rules to get ahead of the pack – they drive on the hard shoulder; and the disenfranchised slip over from the inside lane to lane 2 or even 3, to feel “bigger” and squander the prospect of a highway that could move even faster, if everyone stuck to the rules.

However, no matter how fast the Ogas sped down the emergency lanes, no matter how well they thought they’d got one over on authority – or worse, their fellow Nigerians – it all came to a grinding halt at the toll booth.  Here the e-tag system was only partially working and all the traffic crammed and spilled over to a set of tellers taking money with only half of a half-smile and ample lethargy to give any sloth a crawl for its money. 

You sigh, you smirk– and you scratch your head thinking: what was all that bravado for?

It's the food, silly.

Returning from my Christmas and New Year jaunt and being a good 3 kilos heavier, it was natural I should ponder my expanded waistline and share with you some of the reasons for my orcine bulge.




One of the things that certainly Singapore is know for, is its food - and I'd really forgotten how good it all tastes.








Here are some of my temptations to which I happily succumbed while over there.

Fish-head curry at Muthu's restaurant.
Delicious...

Drunken prawns at Jumbo's seafood place.
A bugger to peal but worth the effort.
Sweet and delicate.

Broccoli with ginger - normally it's done with garlic, but my old boss had a penchant for ginger and now, so do I ....

What a fab claw with sprinklings of fresh coriander.

Steamed fish with fresh herbs...very good and tender.

Murtabak - a devilish indulgence with meat filling and a stinging curry sauce for dipping... 

My favourite teh tarik - which means "pulled tea" and it's sweet as hell.





And both this and the murtabak are from Zam Zam's near Arab Street...

This is the starter platter at No Menu for our New Year Eve's dinner.

And this the pasta course - there were so many courses I lost count...LOL

Ahhhh the colourful shop houses.

And this the Red Dot Building  which is the background currently to my facebook timeline page.










A great time and great friends once again.
Can't wait to get back to Singapore.  I do miss it terribly.

Looking back on 2011

Today I took down my Christmas tree - a little late - since one should dismantle it officially on 6th January - the 12th day of Christmas - but I was out of town on a work thing.  Still as I packed away the various baubles and beads, some of which date back to my childhood a good 35 years ago, I was taken to pondering 2011 and what it was like for me.

Way back in January 2011, I was blessed with a plethora of amazing friends who helped me celebrate my 40th birthday.  We had two incredible parties - one in Maryport and one in Singapore with over 160 guests between them.  I used the word "blessed" because indeed I was and truly am.  And even those who couldn't make it sent beautiful greetings of birthday wishes.  It was without doubt a splendid way to start my 40s.

Shortly after that, Baxter and I voyaged to Burma and stood in awe of the valley of Bagan with 4000 odd stupa, monasteries and temples in front of us.  One sees pictures of superfluous sights and one sighs in admiration - but seeing it for yourself is really breathtaking.  This was a first holiday for Baxter and me since our separation, that was repeated when we journeyed to Tokyo in May.  Walking down the winding streets we did when we lived there, brought back splendid memories of our time there together.  We met friends, ate well and enjoyed all that is Japanese.

However, it was only a few weeks later that I left Singapore and ventured over the Indian Ocean to taste Kenya life and sample what the "dark continent" had to offer.  Perhaps this was partly a mid-life crisis, partly my urge to experience more and more of life, perhaps partly jolting a certain man back to reality, partly a life-trek to purge my own demons.  And then, who cares now, I'm here and loving it.  Africa, and Kenya in particular has so much to give the world.  I hope the world sees and seizes it.

Since I've been living in Nairobi, I've been lucky to travel to Dar-es-Salaam, Kampala, Lusaka, Accra and Lagos.  I'm learning the differences between east and west, between ki-Swahili in the city and on the coast, between kikuyu and kamba, between Westlands and Karen and Kangeme.  Life is the pulchritude we call diversity.  I've safaried (with Baxter) in the Masai Mara and seen flamingos by the thousand (with my parents) in Naivasha - and there is so so so much more to see.  In a couple of weeks, Baxter and I (again) will be flying off to Zanzibar, and its spices, beaches, serenity.

I had a house-warming in December and was again blessed with a flat full of fantastic people.  I've made some awesome friends here in Nairobi - and for that I'm also thankful.

I then topped it off with Yuletide in Bangkok and New Year in Singapore - again surrounded by friends of all hues.







So, on balance a good - nay awesome - year 2011 was. 

I turned 40, I moved to Africa, got my Baxter back, saw amazing places and have so much more to see and do.

2012 has just started, but it's gonna be a tremendous stupendous year - and I hope as many of you as possible reading this, will be part of it.

A dowry and a drive from hell

From left to right: James (groom to be), Manu, Stella, Anne and yours truly

This weekend I had the pleasure and honour to attend the dowry ceremony of the wife-to-be of one of my Nairobi colleagues.  He's from a tribe here in Kenya called Kikuyu, who apparently have several layers to their dowry agreeing and payment.  For us, the whole thing was combined into a single gathering.

But what a trek to get there.  As with most optimistic invitations to a great shindig only a few minutes by car away, the devil is so often in the detail.  We were late setting off since one of our party had car troubles - then we sped to the first traffic jam just 100m down the road from our starting point.  After about 30 minutes we hit a second larger "car-park" of a jam on the new super-highway from Nairobi to Thika.  Built by the Chinese, and not quite finished, the slip roads are devoid of any guidance or jurisdiction - and as one side road full, teeming with passenger buses and trucks, wanted to cross the main highway, the whole procession came to a grinding halt.

The bride-to-be is in yellow

Another 30 minutes or so passed with only centimetres gained and then as is if by magic, the traffic cop arrived and sorted us all out.  We were free.

Zooming down the now fairly empty super-highway, we arrived in the "village hall" where negotiations for the dowry amount were coming to a close.  So we didn't even descend the car but reversed out of the mud-caked car park and back on the country road to Gatundu - where money was to be handed over before gaining permission to access the bride-to-be's homestead.

The proceedings were running about 2.5 hours late by this point.  And I had a pressing engagement with a rendition of Gilbert and Sullivan back in the city centre...how was I going to manage my time?!?!

So we followed the convoy up a narrow dirt track, passed burgeoning coffee groves and luscious banana trees to the tent and after managing to engage my 4-wheel drive, parked on a rather soggy grass verge.  We headed up the track to cries of singing women.  It was explained to me, that the female guests had to request permission to enter the party and only after much volleying to and fro of "may I come in" and " no we're not ready yet" in the vernacular Kikuyu, the ladies were granted entry and the men guests duly followed.

A managed to capture a few instances of the singing here:

Cooking in the al fresco kitchen

The mood was happy and everyone patiently sat down and waited for the prayers.  A lady came forward and addressed us all.  She then bowed her head and closed her eyes - most of the guests did likewise.  Then with alarming speed, she rattled off, for about 3 minutes solid, prayers for this, that and the other.  Astounding.

We then (at last) were invited to eat.  Even though senior citizens had been given preference in the queue, we barged to the front, piled our plates, scoffed the (not bad, actually) food and dashed to find the happy couple to bid farewell.  Perhaps a tad impolite, but The Pirates of Penzance - Nairobi-style - were awaiting and we couldn't delay.

My beans, stew and chipati

Getting back to the city was much easier and we were only snarled up once.  There was a scary moment when traffic cut through an opening in the central reservation and sped up the outside lane of the opposite carriage way - they'd spotted a jam up ahead and thought they'd head it off at the pass so to speak.  Needless to say, I joined them...!  What fun...!

A rather tiring outing - I was behind the wheel for about 5 hours - and only travelled about 100km round trip.  But fascinating and the Gatundu region was quite breathtakingly beautiful.

Will need to ask my colleague when I get in tomorrow, just how many goats were haggled for at the dowry meeting and if he has secured sufficient funds to purchase them.

Not too different from a western wedding...ahem ahem.