Self deception is the worst kind of deception. We deceive ourselves regarding one thing or another. The best lies we like to believe are those about ourselves. Sometimes we recognise the lie and sometimes, we don't even know it. I am not sure which is worse.
In the past three or four years,i have played host to short term teams on return visits. Apart from the chance for deepening relationships, it has meant significantly less work and worry. The returnees can eat ugali and sukumawiki using their hands and know the spots to get good Kenyan food in town. I like not having to hold their hands when crossing a road or reassuring them that the matatu drivers who've hemmed us in won't crush us (how can they not when its filled with the number of pale faces cringing in it). Why, they even know the rules of that game. I like those that notice that there are traffic lights on uhuru highway unlike the last time when they had to learn to dodge the three lane traffic. They can navigate around the CBD without guides, know how to shake off pesky cabdrivers, can board the right matatu to westlands, hurligham or githurai and alight at the correct stop as they have been there before. I only have tag along to make sure they are not ripped off.
While my job as host is significantly less stressful, a vague concern has been taking shape at the back of my mind for a while. I could not put my finger it much less put it into words until recently. And even then, it took being stuck in a jam with my family, and co-hosts, from college bible study and a spontaneous discussion on our collective but previously unvoiced concern regarding our American friends. This is a reconstruction of events to illustrate.
Most of the returnees first came during their college years. They, like us, have since graduated and joined the workforce. These single (they are the ones who return) and passionate-about-missions young adults have maintained local contacts and use them (i.e. us) to find out about mission opportunities. Since they cant be here full time, the kind of partnership would be monetary with a short visiting stint every two or three years. In theory, not a bad idea. Its our country and thus we know one or two places each. In fact, we are all plugged into one ministry or another. So why not?
Some of our friends were introduced to a certain ministry by an individual who had been in the fringes of our community for a while. I recall being distinctly uncomfortable about the whole affair. I had no hard evidence but I didn't trust the individual in question at all. Again, its not that I had some glaring character flaw to point at. However, a previous encounter with this person had resulted in my labelling them as a bit shifty. While I did not visit the place, most of the others did. One of the locals recognised a scam and confronted Mr. Shifty. I can only speculate on what went on after that. Our American friends decided to get involved. I was not invited to comment on the idea and as I found out, none of the others were.
Last year, a year and a half later, I heard rumours about it all coming unglued. One person was sent, all the way, to come and try to solve the problem. Although I spent some time with the emissary, I got the distinct impression they were unwilling to talk about whatever was going on. So, again, I held my peace. I found out during our spontaneous conversation that later in the year, two others came on another attempt to solve the issue. This time, they kept their coming quiet and for two weeks, only those fortunate enough to have bumped into them in town knew they were here. All this time, the only ones privy to the details were the Americans and Mr. Shifty. They still continue to work with Mr. Shifty and a splinter group from the ministry.
Another team, led by the same returnees was back this year looking for an opportunity to partner with some ministry here. Again, the local contacts provided them with different alternatives. After touring different places, they took some team time to decide what they would like their church to be involved in. When the time came, they left hopefully having made up their minds. It was this last team that sparked our conversation because again, no one asked for opinions. And again none were offered. Why?
A long term missionary was once venting in my presence about something that her security guard had done. She was furious because he had just looked at her as she struggled to ferry heavy nakumatt bags from her car to the house. "Did you ask him?" I asked. She was surprised. You see, she didn't think he needed to be asked. I felt a bit sorry for her as I explained that by standing there, he was offering to help, he was asking to help, but he wouldn't do it unless he was invited to. He was not going to touch them without her permission. If I am carrying a heavy bag, I choose to either struggle with it or put it down and look for a woman, a perfect stranger, preferably around my age, and ask them to help me. I've yet to be turned down.
And its not just me. The six of us in the car, evenly split between both sexes, agreed. If no one asks, no one offers. In my opinion, I think its a Nairobi thing-an unwritten rule resulting from a clash of cultures both local and western. A rule that arises when people from collectivist cultures live in a city heavily influence by western individualism. Its an uncertainty about the perception of an offer to another individual; an intrusion or a helping hand. The safe assumption is intrusion thus the seeming indifference.
If volunteering information is hard, it is worse when it has to do with causing another to lose face. I had expressed my misgivings to some of my friends about Mr. Shifty. However, it was only with those I have stronger and more secure ties with; those that know me well. As we spoke, we realised that most of us shared the misgivings, its just that we had not broached the topic in public. When I asked why it was so uncomfortable to say something, the answer was exactly what I had anticipated. There is a vague sense of being intrusive. This time intruding upon a relationship. Fear that one would be perceived as a malicious gossiper (I have no tangible proof of my suspicions) and how that could damage one's own standing among peers and even ones relationships. However, if ones opinion is sought directly, there is an opportunity to divulge information directly (you asked!) and depending on the strength of relationship, the answer could be complete or hints to get you hunting in the right neighbourhood.
The default position we operate from is suspicion. I once explained the general Kenyan attitude to someone like this: everyone is a thief until proven otherwise. It is a hard attitude to shake. On the negative, it casts doubt without good reason. On the positive, it keeps everyone alert. The concern about our collective opinion not being sought had to do with the fact that we know each other much better than they know us. We would know who can be trusted and who cannot. We know how to spot a scam. We see and hear of them every day. If not us, then how about the long term american missionaries? Lord knows this city is full of them. How in the world are they going to be sure they are not being robbed blind from across the Atlantic? Email? Monthly commutes? That seems to be the idea.
Since our friends feel a lot more comfortable and are less dependent, they think they know what they are doing, they will do it on their own and on their own terms. I think its ironic that they want someone to tag along on matatu trips where they could be relieved of ten or fifty shillings but will not ask for assistance on more important matters. I hope the painted donkey goes for a drink soon, its reflection just might reveal the delusion.
