I Built No Schools in Kenya_A Year of Unmitigated Madness by Kirsten Drysdale

Author:Kirsten Drysdale [Drysdale, Kirsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Personal Memoirs, history, Africa, General, Political Science, Colonialism & Post-Colonialism, Performing Arts, comedy, humor
ISBN: 9780857988553
Google: FkNrDwAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 42916150
Publisher: Random House Australia
Published: 2019-01-08T00:00:00+00:00

Fiona decides she wants to buy Walt some new slippers. And he can’t just have any old slippers – they must be podiatrist-approved slippers. Fiona thinks you can buy some at Nakumatt, so that afternoon we all pile into the Mazda: Walt in the front with Peter driving, and Alice, Fiona and me in the back seat, like we’re on a family road trip. We make the short drive down to Village Market, the upmarket shopping complex near the UN headquarters. We pass dozens of sinewy marathon runners on their training route, and the furniture sellers with their polished wood four-poster bed frames and plush recliner armchairs, and the nurseries full of potted plants and bunches of fresh-cut flowers. I’m fascinated by these open-air roadside businesses.

‘What do they do with everything at night?’ I ask Peter.

‘They have an askari,’ he says, glancing up at me in the rear-view mirror, careful not to divert his attention from the road for too long.

‘A lot of the stallholders in a particular area will pool their money to pay for a night watchman,’ Fiona explains. ‘But every now and then even they get held up.’

‘Yes, it is very-very bad,’ says Peter.

‘What’s bad?’ asks Walt.

‘The bandits,’ says Peter. ‘The bandits who rob the stalls.’

‘Oh no, how dreadful!’ says Walt, looking intently at Peter with a surprising amount of sympathy. He thinks Peter’s saying he’s been robbed. ‘Did they steal much?’

Peter catches on quickly to the misunderstanding. ‘Oh no, bwana,’ he says. ‘No, no, they didn’t get anything. I am fine.’

‘Oh, thank goodness for that,’ says Walt, sincerely relieved.

‘Nothing to worry about, Dad – look, here we are!’ says Fiona, trying to distract him from worrisome thoughts as we pull up at the boom gates. Security guards have us pop the bonnet and boot, and they run the mirror around the car before waving us through. Peter drops us at the entrance then finds a shady spot to wait in the car park.

Village Market is where expats and wealthy locals come to enjoy sushi in the open-air food court, set against a waterfall feature and terraced gardens. It’s a mecca of Western-style comforts and wealth, full of rich Kenyan kids eating frozen yoghurt, teenage couples going to see the latest Hollywood blockbuster, conspicuous US special forces soldiers playing mini-golf, and guests staying at the adjacent five-star hotel buying expensive souvenirs and having coffee and cheesecake at Artcaffe. Just outside the gates, Coca-Cola is sold in dusty dukas for thirty bob a bottle; inside, it’s ten times the price.

Fiona says we’re not supposed to bring Walt to places like this – that they’re too busy, too unfamiliar – but today she says it’s fine because the three of us are there to look after him. I can’t help but notice that she’s more than happy to bend her hard and fast rules when it suits her. And apparently she’s forgetting that it is technically Alice’s afternoon off.

Fiona and Alice walk ahead to scout for the footwear department, leaving me to wander around with Walt until we know where to take him.

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