Theft and Robbery Month

I’m currently riding on the bus to Nairobi after a great time on the coast. The woman in front of me is scrolling through the ring tones on her phone, playing all of them at maximum volume. The guy next to me keeps leaning halfway into my seat, his elbow propped on my knee. No matter how many times I push him away within a few minutes he’s back again. Oh, and its a million degrees outside. In the bus with the windows shut (the guy behind me doesn’t want the breeze in his face), the temperature raises to a billion. All coastal Kenyans come equipped with a sweat rag for wiping their body and face. I don’t have one and am pretty much soaked right now.
There’s plenty I want to write about the past week but I’m still more than a month behind. I’m trying to do something about this before things get hopelessly out of hand. January and February are proving to be the busiest months I’ve had here. For the sake of my future Pulitzer Prize-winning best selling autobiography I better catch up soon so I remember it later.

My return flight to Kenya went well enough. During a layover in Detroit I met my Peace Corps friend Maria, also on her way back from a holiday at home. I think I’ve written about her before but I think Maria is one of the best volunteers in Kenya. She’s fluent in Swahili, completely integrated into her school and community, and loves it here. She was even thinking about extending her service for a third year. However, her trip to the states appears to have changed her mind. Maria is one of the only volunteers from my group who has managed to maintain a long-distance relationship past the first year. Seeing her boyfriend over the holidays seems to have convinced her that two years in Kenya is more than enough.

I flew in on Friday, but had a meeting in Nairobi on Monday and Tuesday. I was ready to get back to my site but ended up having to spend my first four days in the capital city. The good news was that Maria’s mom works for the Holiday Inn, and I was able to stay at the upscale Nairobi Holiday Inn on my first night back for a quarter of the cost. The posh hotel and westernized atmosphere of the capital city actually made a nice, more gradual transition back to life in the Peace Corps.

That’s not to say everything went well. This is Africa, after all. Nairobi thieves must have been working full time this January. On Saturday morning Maria and I decided to go to Adam’s Arcade, a huge second-hand store full of the clothes American people don’t want and donate to Charity. I have managed to get brand new designer clothes in this country for less than a dollar, and plan to come back the states with a better wardrobe than when I left. Over time of course the clothes will wear out, and I will donate them again so they can come in a container back to Africa and the great cycle of life can continue.

So I’m getting sidetracked. On the first matatu towards Adam’s Arcade a man came running up and butted me out of the way with the intention of sitting between me and Maria. I’ve decided that when people are blatantly rude there’s nothing wrong with occasionally returning the gesture, and I shoved the guy out of the way and took my seat. There are three seats in the back row and the third one was already taken, so the man started telling the conductor he knew us and wanted to make sure he could sit in the back. The conductor asked if that was true and I told him I’d never seen the guy. He was asked to leave the matatu and the conductor told me he’s seen the guy often and he always behaves that way. He suspects that the guy makes a living stealing and pick pocketing from matatus. I was proud of myself because I didn’t him even have an opportunity to try that on us. Nairobi is sketchy, I reasoned, but when you know the way things work here like me you don’t have to worry too much.

We took the first matatu from Westlands to the city center than boarded the next for the trip to Adam’s Arcade. The back of the matatu was full except for the middle seat in the second row and the middle seat in the front. We took our strategically located places and the guys on board were exceptionally friendly and nice. That should have been a warning sign in itself but after my victorious defeat over my previous theft attempt I guess I wasn’t being overly cautious. The two guys in the front row were chatting amiably with Maria, particularly the one on the left. In fact, he even paid her fare when we departed the matatu. Meanwhile, the man sitting next to me warned that there had been several police checks that day and I needed to wear my seatbelt. Seatbelt use is required in Kenya and failure to wear one is punishable with a fine. I always try to put one on but I find the law a bit of a joke. A good two thirds of the belts don’t work at all and the overcrowded vehicles usually just pay a bribe at the checkpoints and continue unchecked. I reasoned that perhaps the laws were more stringent in Nairobi and paid no attention when the guy sitting next to me helped adjust my belt.

We arrived out of the matatu with no police check, and as usual I checked the contents of my pockets as soon as I got out. I immediately noticed that my phone was missing and before I could stop the matatu it had driven away. I told Maria what had happened and she checked the contents of her backpack that had been securely in her lap during the entire ride. In the front pouch she had stored her passport, residence card, cash, and credit cards. Everything had been stolen. It had also been where she was keeping her change for the matatu fare. The thieves, noticing this, cleverly offered to pay her way so she wouldn’t look into her empty bag. I could see then how the man on the left managed to keep Maria distracted while the man on the right unzipped her bag and stole her things. The fact that they managed to do that in her lap without her even noticing indicates they were pretty good at what they do. I realized that the man adjusting my seatbelt had somehow gotten into my pocket and lifted my phone without me even noticing. We both felt like total suckers for being so careless and realized you can never be too cautious in a matatu, especially in Nairobi.

I spent the next few days in Nairobi going through the extremely frustrating ordeal of trying to get my old number back. I waited in three different lines for hours, but managed to learn through my experience that I was not alone. There were easily fifty people waiting with me, and after asking around I realized that nearly all of them had had their phones stolen as well. Later I spoke to several Kenyan friends about the experience and nearly all of them had a similar story of losing a phone or a wallet in Nairobi. It made me feel a little bit better to know I’m not the only target. I actually learned there’s a booming market for cheap second hand phones on the streets of Nairobi. You lose your phone, buy back a stolen one, and the cycle continues.
A similar story goes for side view mirrors. Not long ago it was very common to come out to your vehicle and see the mirror was gone. Luckily there was a place in town where a mirror, identical to the one that was stolen, could be purchased for a decent price. Drivers in Nairobi finally put an end to that by writing serial numbers on their mirrors.

The day after losing my phone I met two Danish girls at the Upper Hill campsite, my favorite low budget backpackers hostel in Kenya. The girls had just started their first day of a six month backpacking trip around the world. Within their first few hours on the streets of Nairobi, they were approached by two men dressed as police officers. The officers told them that there was a lot of counterfeit money being circulated and requested to have a look at theirs. Of course you can see where the story is going. When the girls took out their money the men grabbed it and ran, and each of them lost around $400 in shillings and euros. I also learned that day that another Peace Corps Volunteer had returned from the states the day before me. She took the same bus to her site as I do and when she arrived all of her bags full of Christmas gifts and food from the states had been stolen.

So theft is rampant here. I could go on and on with these kinds of stories but just one more example. I was fed up with Nairobi and ready to get back to my site. Finally I was finished with my meetings and was able to leave. My entire time away I had a feeling that somehow someone would manage to get into my house while I was gone. After all, even though I have metal doors with slidebolts and padlocks on the outside, I am a mzungu and the people on my compound, including lazy drunken Moses, knew I was leaving. However, the only times I had managed to lose things from my house was when I had not realized children were able to squeeze through the bars on my windows. Since I’ve kept the windows locked nothing else has happened.
When I came back to my house I noticed something wasn’t right. The metal loops that were holding the padlock on the outside of the door had been chiseled off, but the door was still locked. When I came inside the floor had been swept and everything tidied up. Then I started noticing all the little things missing. Half of my protein bars were gone; the blanket in the guest bedroom; the cap to my water can; several of the books I’ve been meaning to read. Not only that, but someone had left the sugar jar open, and my kitchen, as I learned that night, had been taken over my giant cockroaches. Whoever came into the house obviously had a key so I called Shamala, the landlord from Nairobi who leases me the house. He told me that, yes, he did come in late one night and see I wasn’t home. He needed a place to stay so he just broke the lock of the door then unlocked the door and came in. He has a room he keeps locked in the back with all his things and stayed there. I mentioned to him all the things that were missing and he told me that he had no idea that had happened. Then he remembered that, yes, he did let some people inside and they may have taken/eaten things in my house.

I was pretty pissed and called Peace Corps to tell them about it. I didn’t want to change houses because I undoubtedly would have the same kinds of problems elsewhere, plus I think, break-ins and annoying boda boda drivers aside, my site is just about perfect. Anyway, Peace Corps gave my landlord a call and straightened things out, so hopefully that’s the last time I deal with this kinda stuff. At least in my own house, as I’m not placing any bets that Nairobi won’t get me again.