a victim of nairobbery

It’s been 5 weeks since moving to Kenya for the summer, and I’d be lying if it wasn’t an adjustment to the different pace of life, environment, culture, and most importantly — a new level of self-awareness of identity and cultural background and how that often define how strangers perceive me. 

My time in Kenya has been a majority of positive experiences with locals — I’ve been touched by their hospitality, kindness, and willingness to welcome me into their communities. This has been one of my absoulte favorite things about my time here. Yet, it also shares a stark contrast with another reality of less positive instances related to my identity as a foreigner. Since coming here, I am constantly struck by the wealth gap and mindful of my privileges living in Kenya in different areas, such as the country I was born in, the challenges I face in my daily life that is all relative to others, how I am able to travel and live comfortably, the belongings and experiences I can attain, and more. 

I think my stubborn optimism always find a way to give new places and people the benefit of the doubt — that people’s perceptions and actions are a reflection of a complex intersect between cultural views, politics, religion, historical context, and more that defines how they view society and conditioned to act a certain way. Maybe (I hope) people truly have good intentions and aren’t inherently bad. On another hand, maybe this is my sense of naivety and a weakness of my stubborn optimism.  

This past weekend, I went on a solo trip to Nairobi — excited for that sense of independence, exploration, curiosity to understand people, history, and culture. I love how solo traveling allows me to do whatever I want, whenever I want to do it — whether that includes activities, explorations, or striking conversations with strangers to understand their daily experiences in this foreign place. Yet, the reality of solo traveling is having a heightened sense of alertness, especially as a female in a country that I obviously stand out as a mzungu (foreigner). After 36 hours of high consciousness of my belongings, avoiding the dark, and spending time in the safe areas of Nairobi, I found myself a victim of nairobbery. I met with a local Kenyan friend for dinner and an outing of live music, when I caught myself living in the moment and my phone stolen, a scheme that happened so quick with someone zipping my fanny back, taking my phone, and zipping it back as if nothing had happened. 

When my mind registered that my phone was stolen -- music was still blasting, security acting helpless, people still dancing to the beat with joy -- I controlled my breathing to control my panic. As I quickly realized that the situation was out of my hands (figuratively and literally), I asked people around me to help me look. Most responses I received was a pole (I’m sorry in Swahili) because it was just a matter of fact that petty crime like this happened. I later learned this morning that it seemed that there was a planned scheme of individuals to conduct such petty crimes at this event -- I was a targeted victim, reemphasizing how I sometimes feel it is challenging to be a foreigner. The night progressed — no phone meant I couldn’t call an uber nor use M-Pesa (a money transaction payment form in Kenya that I became reliant on). My friend with a dead phone battery meant having the same lack of means to get home. Soon, I befriended four local Kenyans, similar in age, who tried to help my phone situation. When we realized there was nothing else to be done, we found ourselves at Pizza Inn for late night food and finally found the means of returning home by 5:30 am. The sky was getting brighter and the birds were chirping signifying a new day. As I underwent my detective work with contacting Darcy and Keland, I knew it was done for and so in unexpected ways I stayed awake for over 24 hours, slightly numb and distraught by this situation. In the grand scheme, I am safe. Phones can be replaced. Photos and sentimental moments were loss, but I will always hold those memories in my head. 

I share all of this because I think this situation unrevealed further aspects that I’ve found more exhausting and challenging since moving here. When I called Amy and KZ this morning, I was reminded that I can celebrate all the positives and excitement of making this place home for the summer, yet also be honest with less pleasant moments. In short, I’m becoming exhausted by feeling like a “target” due to my identification as a mzungu by locals. I understand how sometimes people approach me with curiosity, which I can understand due to being someone of such different features they have yet to see in my small town. However, to describe what it means to feel like a target, it is the moments when I am viewed as a sign of wealth, an opportunity to go to the US, whether through dating or a sponsored visa, where I feel like an object to others. And this has been reinforced by instances of children or locals following me to beg for money or food, being called for my attention with racial slurs which I confront them for being racist, men asking if I can give myself or my sister to them, photos taken of me without my knowledge for whoever knows what intended use, my misinterpretation of innocent moments with locals who quickly reveal their intention to ask for something more than I offer. For the first few weeks, I think I had patience for these instances — holding on to utilitizing empathy to understand their actions through their point of view. I have this internal conflict that I self-recognize my privileges and how yes, I have much more than what people can earn or buy based on the current state of government corruption and politics that have contributed to the degree of unemployment I have heard many narratives of. However, I have accepted that it is also not my social responsibility to fill in these financial gaps for these encountering people, who may see me as an object and a target. If anything, I think acting upon this "social responsibility" reinforces how children or adults have become conditioned to behave and view foreigners in such a way. This story of my stolen phone has transformed deeply into frustration that I was made out to be a target as someone who obviously looked out of place with the assumption I could be taken advantage of. I think this realization feels harder to come to terms with because I came with high hopes of wanting to provide my time to make some degree of impact. As a visitor of this community, my hope is to make a project that can provide some value — and so when instances like this happens, it makes it harder to make sense of intent and reality.

This situation has led me to unpack and be honest with myself with some raw challenges I have faced, despite my blinding stubborn optimism. I still hope to carry on my view that people hold good intentions while concurrently acting a higher degree of skepticism to give my trust. This story is just one of many realities that occurs when traveling that I feel like is less spoken about -- the good and the bad. To be frank, this isn’t my first rodeo lol and writing is my version of coping this loss, but give me a solid 24 hours, and I’ll find some humor in this situation. :)