It was time. My seven days of Swahili had prepared me to go to the Masai Market. What is it, you ask? Imagine as you exit a major expressway, you begin to see dozens of people walking rather precariously above the traffic to a market of hundreds of Africans spreading their goods for sale on the dirt ground. And you have a target on your forehead: Inside the bullseye reads: Here lies a dumb rich white person: charge as much as you can.

Your mission? Bargain. It’s an art form in Kenya, and anyone who pays full price is the same as the one who pays full price for a car in the states. The car analogy is an apt one: this is a land of car salespeople. Anything to make a connection. JT was wearing a Dallas Cowboys shirt and at least a dozen men loudly proclaimed: `I love the Cowboys Dallas!’ I saw one gentleman wearing a U of Chicago sweatshirt and told him I attended a class there. He told me he had also, and pointed to the date on the shirt: 1892. One guy told me that it was a bad omen if I didn’t buy; I told him I didn’t believe in omens. He then loudly proclaimed `I am again borned.’ Whatever you wanted to hear, it would be said.

I saw a batik I liked; it is dye on cloth, and it is quite the art form here. `Steve’ (there were about 20 `Steve’s’ that day) responded to my question `Ni shillingi ngapi?’ (How much) with 10 thousand shillings. I grabbed my heart and moaned `Ni ghani Sana’ (It is very expensive). He protested about the integrity of his artistic vision, or that he was going to eat bratwurst for lunch. I told him that his price was so high that I would suffer a heart attack, fall down by hill, and be hit by a car. Anyway, this went on and on and it finally got down to 700 shillings. What a day!

A few special moments:

• Matthew comes in and calmly informs me that there is a large male baboon in the outside trash.
• To celebrate the end of language school, they announce a goat roast. It tastes good, and rather like you might expect goat to taste. — I have read the Wall Street Journal since I was 19. I inquire what it will cost to get a subscription in Kenya. I am informed that a one-year subscription will cost $2,700 dollars and it will arrive 5-7 days later. I decide to remain uninformed. — Fred and I are sitting discussing the day. It is a chance for me to work on my Swahili and to know a national better; for him, it is an opportunity to him to laugh at my accent and pronunciation. At one point in the conversation, Fred tells me that he is hoping to save up to buy concrete, because his home has dirt floor, and windows, because the cardboard is a invitation for thieves. Fred is considered wealthy by African standards, and again I do not know what to say

A friend writes to me about his struggles at the university he has labored in for years. He is a smart, working charismatic individual who has given his whole life to this institution which is now treating him badly. And he feels bad complaining about his life. But if anything has become clear in the last month, it is every life is important, and that we all struggle against the circumstances we are in, and one is not higher or greater than the other. My hope is that these notes give a picture of what is here, but not to lessen what our family and friends struggle with. OK?

YOP

Steve