We've been home for a few days now and most of the trip has had time to process. The GI distress has subsided (for the most part), and I think I have some perspective on the whole thing.
All in all, the trip, and all of its individual parts, was an astounding success. We elevated 16 high-caliber medical professionals to the level of AHA Instructor in one or more disciplines, the 8 individuals chosen to breathe life into the fledgling Paramedic program were left well-prepared to make the big leap in January (The program is actually full! They had 18 students registered, simply by word of mouth advertising, before we were done reviewing the National Standard Curriculum!), and great strides were made in the area for fire service education. This was, by far, the heaviest lift we had to make, and both Kevin and John pushed, pulled, prodded and yes, lifted, to get some semblance of standardization.
Moving the fire service from where it is, to where it could be, will continue to be a huge project. We are fighting limited resources, antiquated ideas about fighting fire, mediocre previous training and a society that simply hasn't embraced the value of aggressive fire attack - although the recent destruction of the biggest airport in the country by fire is highlighting some of the issues inherent to their current posture. The work is ongoing, and the Kenyan instructors are exuberant and eager to start making things happen. Time will certainly tell if our work will initiate any lasting changes.
As I've re-integrated into home-life, I'm left with some experiences that, maybe didn't change me, but certainly have left a lasting impact. The first, and foremost, is definitely the garbage fires. I almost wrote an entire post about the daily practice of burning trash in Kenya. It didn't seem to matter which part of the country we were in, either in the early morning or late afternoon, or both, everyone burns their trash. In some neighborhoods, it seemed like everyone pooled their garbage and set the whole, huge pile aflame. Everywhere you turned, something was burning. Maybe this has had some influence on the attitude Kenyans share regarding fire, maybe it accounts for the lackadaisical early attempts to control the airport fire...who knows, but the smell hangs heavy in the air nearly constantly. More than once, the plume of smoke caught my attention and made that fireman bit of my brain go bonkers. I distinctly remember the first night, driving from the airport to the hotel, and seeing a little fire burning, unattended on the side of the road. Coming from the U.S., and doing what I do for a living, you can imagine my difficulties with simply driving by, allowing the fire to burn there. It breaks with everything we're taught, from Smokey the Bear public safety announcements during Saturday morning cartoons, to the fire extinguisher training that I got as a freshman in the college dorm, we don't let fire burns. Apparently, in Kenya, it's not only "OK", it's expected...hence why they allowed the busiest airport in East Africa to burn down!
Clearly something else that has stuck with me is the shower situation. I still have some latent PTSD surrounding taking a shower. Even as I claw my beloved shower curtain back to climb into my garden tub at home, my heart races a little bit and I worry that I'm going to re-create Lake Goldstein...and Mrs. Goldstein is club me like a baby seal, unlike the cleaning lady's who probably were just happy to have a job siphoning water off of my bathroom floor (There's a 42% unemployment rate in Kenya! "Suck water off the floor? You bet! Straw or Shop-Vac, makes no difference to me Boss!")! But really, I love my shower curtain. I was not aware I could miss an inanimate object that way, but if I'm ever re-deployed to a curtain-less region of the globe, I'll probably be thinking about packing a collapsing rod and shower curtain...to help mitigate my stress disorder of course!
Driving seems to have clicked back into place. I did have a subtle urge to slide to the left side of the road for the first few minutes, and I certainly wanted to push a car off the road the other day (but that really had nothing to do with being in Kenya), but for the most part, I will relegate my memories of the roadways of Kenya to just that...memories. It's kind of like riding the rides at the county fair (you know, those conglomerations of moving parts assembled by individuals incapable of taking care of their own teeth), I'm glad I experienced it...and survived, but the tiny bits that I remember end up being way more interesting than the entire experience itself.
Lastly, I'm left with the the people. We met some incredible people over there. Firemen, Nurses, EMTs and Doctors, that will do almost anything to see their industry and their country advance. Although it was clear that some had additional, and arguably ulterior, motives for involving themselves in the projects, most simply sought to make things better. It is through the power of these folks, that progress will be made.
KCEMT will be offering a Paramedic Program in the next calendar year. They're not waiting for a consensus or a governmental decree, they know it's needed and they're willing to let it iron itself out AFTER the medics hit the streets, rather than wait to see when and/or if anyone decides it's a good idea. The AHA programs are spreading through Kenya and the surrounding countries faster than the KCEMT can teach them. Just months prior to this trip, one of the biggest private hospitals in Nairobi mandated AHA BLS and ACLS for all of its nurses. While this seems like a no-brainer for us, it is a massively progressive move over there and, as far as i know, the first (and probably not the last) of its kind.
Once the fire service can prove its value on a national scale, doors will start to open for change. I almost feel like they need a "win". If the guys that we taught, or maybe some of their first students, can apply something they learned to stop a fast moving fire, or save a victim, anything that can prove the power and value of a well educated, equipped and manned fire service, the tides will change and they'll no longer have 10, brand new donated fire engines sitting in customs. And that part they need to get the only fire truck in a particular region will get through the red tape and into the hands of the mechanic just dying to fix the truck meant to protect his house. And maybe they can get the support they need to get a few air compressors running so the air packs that they have, can finally have breathing air in them!
Shorty before I left, I was asked, "Would you come back?" I have to say I would. The trip there and back is pure torture (unless you're in those fancy seats at the front of the plane! can you believe those things? I mean, I had a dorm room that weren't that big!), the food, I'm sorry my Kenyan friends, is pretty bad, but most of the challenges are surmountable with a little patience and a good dose of humor. And any of the hiccups and speed bumps dissolve away when compared to the satisfaction of being able to jump start change like we did. We offered a spark and now we get to watch our compatriots turn it into a national fire (no, not a trash fire!). I can't wait to see where they'll be in a year!
Monday, August 26, 2013
Friday, August 23, 2013
Questions?
I have one more post planned for the blog. I'll be submitting a wrap up and final thoughts post sometime this weekend. I had thought though, is there anything else that anyone reading this is interested in hearing about?
I've really posted about things that struck me as interesting, funny or otherwise worth writing about. there were plenty of everyday things that just become part of the background noise of life in Africa. Things like the daily burning of garbage, wooden scaffolding, livestock on the roadways, deadly snakes in the backyard, etc, that are so commonplace that I stopped noticing them.
Please ask any questions as comments to this post and I'll do my best to answer them. If they spark a larger thought, I might expand it to an entire post of it's own!
I've really posted about things that struck me as interesting, funny or otherwise worth writing about. there were plenty of everyday things that just become part of the background noise of life in Africa. Things like the daily burning of garbage, wooden scaffolding, livestock on the roadways, deadly snakes in the backyard, etc, that are so commonplace that I stopped noticing them.
Please ask any questions as comments to this post and I'll do my best to answer them. If they spark a larger thought, I might expand it to an entire post of it's own!
Ride Along in Nairobi
David and I were fortunate enough to get the chance to ride some ambulances with E-Plus, an ambulance service in Nairobi operated by the Kenyan Red Cross. They are an ALS agency with advanced care provided by Critical Care Certified Nurses, typically operating with EMT or First Aid Certified drivers. By all accounts, they are the most well equipped and probably the busiest agency in Nairobi. I knew that this was just like every other ambulance company out there when the driver announced, "I have to go argue with the dispatcher."
The day started with some confusion, which, having spent most of the last 15 years in and around ambulance services comes as no surprise. To amplify the chaos, the entire staff was in the process of getting evaluated by HR, so tensions were higher than normal. As soon as I was paired with a Paramedic, she was yanked to meet with HR, so I got to run some errands with a driver and logistics coordinator. Neither were EMTs, but both offered a great picture of the company and EMS in Nairobi.
After dropping off some supplies, I was told we were going to fill oxygen tanks at a company called Noble Gases. It's a gas supply company operated by some Indians (from India, not Turning Stone). Noble Gases is what a gas supply company would look like if a bunch of kids decided to get in to the pressurized gas business. Random tanks of unlabeled gases everywhere. Trucks coming and going within inches of HUGE liquid nitrogen storage tanks.
In the back ground of the photo below is a tank. If you look closely, you can see a jet of gas spraying from the neck. Judging from the odor in the area, it was a canister of acetone. Apparently it needed to be emptied and what better way than to put it outside and open it up!
On the way out, we passed within feet of a worker struggling with these hoppers of liquid nitrogen. I have no clue what he was doing (and it would seem neither did he), but there was a cloud of nitrogen surrounding the two hoppers, the guy working on them and the intermodal supply tank in the background.
As we pulled away, our driver just shook his head and said, "I hate coming here."
After we dropped off the full oxygen tanks, we returned to dispatch and I was told they had a transport waiting. As it turned out, I went 7000 miles to do a vent job in Kenya!
This, however, was no ordinary ventilator transport...oh no, this is Kenya baby! I hop into the ambulance with my crew and we go blazing out of the parking lot lights and sirens blaring. I asked, "Is this an emergency? Is the patient critical?" Which would more than justify the urgency of our response (for all the non-EMS folks that might be reading, we don't typically travel with lights and sirens to non-emergency transports). Our driver responded, "No, he's stable. Just headed to Nairobi Hospital for a CAT scan...but we're late!" He smiled as he returned his attention to the road and continued pushing both oncoming traffic and vehicles he was overtaking off the road.
As the gas peddle was depressed closer to the floor boards, and the concept of LANES becomes even more optional, I distinctly heard a subtle slamming noise. As I sat in the middle of the front seat, I peered left and right to see if either the driver or Medic heard the same thing. As neither of them seemed to care, I assumed it must have been the sound of every sphincter in my body slamming shut simultaneously. The seatbelt for my seat was safely stowed under the seat somewhere, so I held onto the cushion and pinned my other hand against the dashboard. I was trying to be discreet, but I probably looked like a guy plucked off the street and placed in the front seat of the space shuttle...which is about how fast we were going.
To his credit, my driver was never out of control. He actually handled the rig as well as anyone I'd ever driven with before. After talking to him a bit, I found out why...he had been driving since he was 11 years old! Keeping my composure, I asked how old you had to be to get a driver's license. He said, 18 to drive legally, but he started driving on the side streets at 11. He must have seen the look on my face, because he started laughing and again returned his attention to the road.
The transport itself went like just about any transport I'd done before. The ICU nurse taking care of the patient knew very little about the patient and repeatedly referred to the doctor or the previous nurse's notes. The Medic completed a more comprehensive exam than had likely been done since the patient had been admitted. We discovered a very poorly secured tracheostomy tube, was probably febrile and had cerebral spinal fluid draining from his nose. Without getting into too much detail, I can say that the patient had suffered a traumatic brain injury secondary to a car accident in a neighboring country and was flown to Kenya for a higher level of care. We needed to take him to another hospital that had a CAT scanner to see the extent of his brain damage. We had him attached to our transport ventilator, Propaq, and portable oxygen. He was sedated with fentanyl, which we use for pain management more than sedation, but whatever works for ya I suppose.
The trip went without a hitch, and I got back to dispatch in one piece. The only other item of interest was the name of the hospital we picked our patient up at. I mean, I knew she was good, but to name a whole hospital after her? I don't know...
The day started with some confusion, which, having spent most of the last 15 years in and around ambulance services comes as no surprise. To amplify the chaos, the entire staff was in the process of getting evaluated by HR, so tensions were higher than normal. As soon as I was paired with a Paramedic, she was yanked to meet with HR, so I got to run some errands with a driver and logistics coordinator. Neither were EMTs, but both offered a great picture of the company and EMS in Nairobi.
After dropping off some supplies, I was told we were going to fill oxygen tanks at a company called Noble Gases. It's a gas supply company operated by some Indians (from India, not Turning Stone). Noble Gases is what a gas supply company would look like if a bunch of kids decided to get in to the pressurized gas business. Random tanks of unlabeled gases everywhere. Trucks coming and going within inches of HUGE liquid nitrogen storage tanks.
In the back ground of the photo below is a tank. If you look closely, you can see a jet of gas spraying from the neck. Judging from the odor in the area, it was a canister of acetone. Apparently it needed to be emptied and what better way than to put it outside and open it up!
As we pulled away, our driver just shook his head and said, "I hate coming here."
After we dropped off the full oxygen tanks, we returned to dispatch and I was told they had a transport waiting. As it turned out, I went 7000 miles to do a vent job in Kenya!
This, however, was no ordinary ventilator transport...oh no, this is Kenya baby! I hop into the ambulance with my crew and we go blazing out of the parking lot lights and sirens blaring. I asked, "Is this an emergency? Is the patient critical?" Which would more than justify the urgency of our response (for all the non-EMS folks that might be reading, we don't typically travel with lights and sirens to non-emergency transports). Our driver responded, "No, he's stable. Just headed to Nairobi Hospital for a CAT scan...but we're late!" He smiled as he returned his attention to the road and continued pushing both oncoming traffic and vehicles he was overtaking off the road.
As the gas peddle was depressed closer to the floor boards, and the concept of LANES becomes even more optional, I distinctly heard a subtle slamming noise. As I sat in the middle of the front seat, I peered left and right to see if either the driver or Medic heard the same thing. As neither of them seemed to care, I assumed it must have been the sound of every sphincter in my body slamming shut simultaneously. The seatbelt for my seat was safely stowed under the seat somewhere, so I held onto the cushion and pinned my other hand against the dashboard. I was trying to be discreet, but I probably looked like a guy plucked off the street and placed in the front seat of the space shuttle...which is about how fast we were going.
To his credit, my driver was never out of control. He actually handled the rig as well as anyone I'd ever driven with before. After talking to him a bit, I found out why...he had been driving since he was 11 years old! Keeping my composure, I asked how old you had to be to get a driver's license. He said, 18 to drive legally, but he started driving on the side streets at 11. He must have seen the look on my face, because he started laughing and again returned his attention to the road.
The transport itself went like just about any transport I'd done before. The ICU nurse taking care of the patient knew very little about the patient and repeatedly referred to the doctor or the previous nurse's notes. The Medic completed a more comprehensive exam than had likely been done since the patient had been admitted. We discovered a very poorly secured tracheostomy tube, was probably febrile and had cerebral spinal fluid draining from his nose. Without getting into too much detail, I can say that the patient had suffered a traumatic brain injury secondary to a car accident in a neighboring country and was flown to Kenya for a higher level of care. We needed to take him to another hospital that had a CAT scanner to see the extent of his brain damage. We had him attached to our transport ventilator, Propaq, and portable oxygen. He was sedated with fentanyl, which we use for pain management more than sedation, but whatever works for ya I suppose.
The trip went without a hitch, and I got back to dispatch in one piece. The only other item of interest was the name of the hospital we picked our patient up at. I mean, I knew she was good, but to name a whole hospital after her? I don't know...
Nakuru National Park and the Cookie Thief
Nakuru National Park was AMAZING! Although we weren’t trucking across the plains (there were trails leading everywhere), it was a full-on African safari. The top of the 4WD van we were in popped up and allowed us to stand and see in 360 degrees. The animals roamed freely and were EVERYWHERE.
The first critter we experienced, while we sat and waited for our passes to be processed, were the baboons. I figured they were hanging around the main entrance for a reason, they’re not stupid after all! A few of us wondered over to the main lodge building to use the men’s room and saw, as we sauntered back to the van, a baboon high-tailing it across the lot with something in his hands. He was being chased by two other monkeys vying for a bit of whatever he had. We even laughed as the whole scenario played out in front of us. The humor faded as we got closer to the van as saw the look on Dave’s face.
Apparently, as we walked away, Dave took one step away from the van, which opened a window of opportunity for the baboon to covertly enter the passenger compartment and raid the cookie supply! They grabbed an entire bag of cookies and a big bunch of little bananas that Dave had in front of his seat.
The rest of the day in the park was less eventful, but incredible to say the least. I honestly don’t have the words to fully describe it. Here are some pictures instead:
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| Hippos at Lake Naivashu |
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| Thompson's Gazelle |
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| Smile! |
The Great Rift Valley
On Sunday, we were taken up to Naivashu and Nakura to see the Great Rift Valley. As always, the trip there (and the trip back) were death defying. The access to the Valley is through a mountain pass at approximately 7100 ft. The road up the outer rim is essentially one lane up and one lane down, but in true Kenyan form, it’s possible to fit three vehicles side by side (regardless of the direction of travel) on the pavement and one on each shoulder, for a grand total of 5 vehicles moving either up or down the mountain at any given time.
Scary? Sure, but you also have to account for the fact that the downward moving traffic, with the help of gravity, is moving at roughly 3 times the speed of sound, while the uphill traffic, stalled by massive trucks screaming, “I think I can, I think I can!”, is crawling. But, not every vehicle going up is dragging 10 tons of rocks, NOOOO, some of the little SUVs and small sedans are trying to sprint up the hill. Where, pray tell, could they drive to get around the trucks? Why not into the oncoming traffic? Why not try it ona blind curve? Why not try it on a blind curve at a 40% grade? Hell, let’s have about 6 cars, pull out into oncoming traffic on blind curve! At a few points, there were more cars going up the hill in the WRONG lane than the correct one (I was going to say “right lane”, but the correct lane would actually be the left lane, and why further confuse an already confusing situation? I mean, lanes are completely optional to begin with, left lane, right lane, right lane, wrong lane...it’s all just semantics!).
Alas, we arrive at the overlook shown above and the world opens up in front of us revealing an awe inspiring sight. I mean, since my recent trip to the Smithsonian in DC, I am now very aware that I was overlooking the cradle of life for the human species. The power of the moment lasted about 7 seconds until one of the many merchants who had set up shop at the vista began peddling his wears in my face. I got him to identify a few of the key landscape features and then, as politely as possible, I sent him away. Fortunately for me, just as I was telling him I wasn’t buying anything, a van load of Asian tourists popped out of another van and he must have smelled fresh meat, because he didn’t even say goodbye, he vanished in a puff of smoke...I will call him the Ninja Vendor.
The rest of the trip to Naivashu was relatively uneventful. Seeing a death hung heavy around every corner, we did strike up a conversation with Paul, our KCEMT chaperone about the availability of ambulances and trauma services where we were. Suffice it to say, when he explained that there were TWO ambulances covering the entire region and, if called, we would be taken to Naivashu Hospital, which is a Level 5 Trauma Center. In my mind, I’m thinking that if St. Francis in Poughkeepsie is a Level 2 Trauma Center, what the hell is a Level 5 Trauma Center?!?!!? If Caren and me are both home, I think our kitchen might qualify as a Level 5 Trauma Center!! Jeezus, considering there were TWO first aid kits in the the van, and it was loaded with experienced Paramedics (and one EMT, which Johnny is VERY quick to remind everyone), we MUST qualify as a Level 5 Trauma Center...alright, maybe Level 6. Point being, when the van starts careening sideways, bend over and kiss your ass goodbye, ‘cause you’re screwed!
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
The Masai Market
I almost forgot! Before we went out for dinner and drinks in Nairobi, we were taken to the Masai Market. I'm going to struggle to describe this experience, but let me make an attempt.
The Masai Market is a an open air market in downtown. It is in a walled courtyard and is PACKED with vendors. My understanding is that everyone inside is from a particular tribe of Masai people and they earn their living by hand crafting items to be sold. You can buy clothes, jewelry, artwork, utensils, toys, trinkets, blankets, all sorts of things. But here's where the act of purchasing an item goes sideways in a hurry.
When you enter the market, you are confronted with a cloud of arms and legs and loud voices yelling in swahili. What is happening is a group of personal shoppers is fighting over the right to shop with you. I have no clue if they're actually called personal shoppers, but it's the best title I can think of. After a brief argument, Casimba and Moses had beaten back the competition and had won the right to guide me through the market. As we walked, Casimba, the lead shopper, explained the ground rules.
Rule #1: Anything you see that you like, we put in the plastic bag as a "maybe". (I later learned that "maybe" loosely translates into swahili as "an item that I thought I might like, and now am forced to purchase for fear of insulting my personal shopper")
Rule #2: After I have directed you to the vendors that I want you to see, we will retire to a private square foot of space and haggle over the price of everything. Of course, he didn't use the ugly word "haggle", he said we would "discuss" the purchase price.
That's about it, two rules. Outside of that, anything goes in the Masai Market. Teenagers with babies will ask for money, heavily intoxicated vendors will verbally berate you if you bypass their blanket full of shiny baubles. More teenagers with babies will ask for money. Your personal shopper will drag you past drink vendors, who scream at you, to show you their sister's blanket...and their brother's blanket...and their own blanket...and their cousin's brother's uncle's blanket...etc.
After a few minutes, I realized that this is absolute insanity and showing ANY weakness or insecurity will only result in a steadier onslaught of aggressive sales pitches. I finally had collected a small batch of things that I thought I might want. Casimba and Moses guided me to a spot where the real fun began.
He opened with a bid that probably could have sent four Kenyans to college for 8 years. I countered with the going rate for a Happy Meal. We went back and forth, removed items, replaced items, consulted the vendor for a "best price", discussed family, the exchange rate, the weather, American football, and after 20 minutes landed on a price that was agreeable to both parties. I ended up spending a little more than I intended, but I'll consider it a representation of the entertainment value of the whole process.
It seemed like everyone else managed pretty well. I still have no idea how Dave managed to avoid picking up a personal shopper, experience I suppose. He picked his way through and haggled with the individual vendors. Kenny was the only one that seemed stressed and primarily by the little mothers begging for money. Some of them could be quite persistent and, well, Kenny eventually resorted to telling them to "Go away!!" It was a test of anyone's patience to be sure. We were all glad to finally get clear of the market and find a bar to chill our nerves.
The Masai Market is a an open air market in downtown. It is in a walled courtyard and is PACKED with vendors. My understanding is that everyone inside is from a particular tribe of Masai people and they earn their living by hand crafting items to be sold. You can buy clothes, jewelry, artwork, utensils, toys, trinkets, blankets, all sorts of things. But here's where the act of purchasing an item goes sideways in a hurry.
When you enter the market, you are confronted with a cloud of arms and legs and loud voices yelling in swahili. What is happening is a group of personal shoppers is fighting over the right to shop with you. I have no clue if they're actually called personal shoppers, but it's the best title I can think of. After a brief argument, Casimba and Moses had beaten back the competition and had won the right to guide me through the market. As we walked, Casimba, the lead shopper, explained the ground rules.
Rule #1: Anything you see that you like, we put in the plastic bag as a "maybe". (I later learned that "maybe" loosely translates into swahili as "an item that I thought I might like, and now am forced to purchase for fear of insulting my personal shopper")
Rule #2: After I have directed you to the vendors that I want you to see, we will retire to a private square foot of space and haggle over the price of everything. Of course, he didn't use the ugly word "haggle", he said we would "discuss" the purchase price.
That's about it, two rules. Outside of that, anything goes in the Masai Market. Teenagers with babies will ask for money, heavily intoxicated vendors will verbally berate you if you bypass their blanket full of shiny baubles. More teenagers with babies will ask for money. Your personal shopper will drag you past drink vendors, who scream at you, to show you their sister's blanket...and their brother's blanket...and their own blanket...and their cousin's brother's uncle's blanket...etc.
After a few minutes, I realized that this is absolute insanity and showing ANY weakness or insecurity will only result in a steadier onslaught of aggressive sales pitches. I finally had collected a small batch of things that I thought I might want. Casimba and Moses guided me to a spot where the real fun began.
He opened with a bid that probably could have sent four Kenyans to college for 8 years. I countered with the going rate for a Happy Meal. We went back and forth, removed items, replaced items, consulted the vendor for a "best price", discussed family, the exchange rate, the weather, American football, and after 20 minutes landed on a price that was agreeable to both parties. I ended up spending a little more than I intended, but I'll consider it a representation of the entertainment value of the whole process.
It seemed like everyone else managed pretty well. I still have no idea how Dave managed to avoid picking up a personal shopper, experience I suppose. He picked his way through and haggled with the individual vendors. Kenny was the only one that seemed stressed and primarily by the little mothers begging for money. Some of them could be quite persistent and, well, Kenny eventually resorted to telling them to "Go away!!" It was a test of anyone's patience to be sure. We were all glad to finally get clear of the market and find a bar to chill our nerves.
Nairobi nightlife
It would simply be impossible to spend 10 days here and not get out at least once. We were fortunate enough to have one of the fire fighter students and Nairobi-native to guide us around. We refer to our guide as "House", as in, the Kenyan Doctor House. He is smart, charismatic and a natural born trouble maker. In short, he was the perfect tour guide.
Our first stop was a quiet place he described as his "goto" dinner spot in town. It had a cafe feel and was essentially empty. House looked around and said, "We could stay here, or we could go someplace really FUN." Umm, is this really a decision? Let's move!
We walked through the streets of downtown Nairobi, saw some of the sights, got a bit of history from House and arrived at a bar called Tribeca. The irony of us going to Tribeca for drinks was not lost on the New Yorkers. The bar had three stories, each with it's own bar and atmosphere. We settled on the third floor, overlooking the street.
At first, there was really no one on the floor with us. We started with beers and quietly chatted amongst ourselves. The Tuskers started flowing, the conversations grew louder and more boisterous. Behind us was a VIP lounge occupied by a couple enjoying some food and drink of their own. Someone asked House what was the deal with the "Shark Room", as the name on the glass doors read. House gave a stern look and simply said, "You don't want to go in there."
Here's where we all became aware of an VERY important lesson. When a life-long Kenyan, and Nairobi native tells you that you shouldn't do something, it likely means that what ever that thing is, has an inherent level of danger that scares someone that will kill a red mamba with a stick, ride helmetless on the back of a dirt bike on the Thika Super Highway and randomly burn piles of garbage EVERYWHERE. When a Kenyan tells you something isn't SAFE, you are basically being told that death is not only POSSIBLE, but PROBABLE if you insist on going forward.
There are lots of great pictures taken that night. To protect the personal and professional reputations of the individuals present, and to ensure we are ALL safely able to leave the country tomorrow, most of those pictures will remain private. There is one thing that I just have to share...
Our first stop was a quiet place he described as his "goto" dinner spot in town. It had a cafe feel and was essentially empty. House looked around and said, "We could stay here, or we could go someplace really FUN." Umm, is this really a decision? Let's move!
We walked through the streets of downtown Nairobi, saw some of the sights, got a bit of history from House and arrived at a bar called Tribeca. The irony of us going to Tribeca for drinks was not lost on the New Yorkers. The bar had three stories, each with it's own bar and atmosphere. We settled on the third floor, overlooking the street.
At first, there was really no one on the floor with us. We started with beers and quietly chatted amongst ourselves. The Tuskers started flowing, the conversations grew louder and more boisterous. Behind us was a VIP lounge occupied by a couple enjoying some food and drink of their own. Someone asked House what was the deal with the "Shark Room", as the name on the glass doors read. House gave a stern look and simply said, "You don't want to go in there."
Here's where we all became aware of an VERY important lesson. When a life-long Kenyan, and Nairobi native tells you that you shouldn't do something, it likely means that what ever that thing is, has an inherent level of danger that scares someone that will kill a red mamba with a stick, ride helmetless on the back of a dirt bike on the Thika Super Highway and randomly burn piles of garbage EVERYWHERE. When a Kenyan tells you something isn't SAFE, you are basically being told that death is not only POSSIBLE, but PROBABLE if you insist on going forward.
There are lots of great pictures taken that night. To protect the personal and professional reputations of the individuals present, and to ensure we are ALL safely able to leave the country tomorrow, most of those pictures will remain private. There is one thing that I just have to share...
These "statutes" ran the length of the bar and were positioned in front of each bar stool. It isn't visible in the picture, but the "statue" is wearing a pair of high heels, to distinguish the intended gender. So, when a patron sits down and slides forward to order a drink...you get the picture! It probably goes without saying that this was NOT the only photograph taken with these decorations. The other pictures will probably never see the light of day!
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