A Sad and Interesting Day Indeed

Today was a day of firsts, and not all of them were necessarily happy firsts. It was a very long day and we covered most of the city of Nairobi. Drove through some very, very poor sections of town I had never seen before and had two flat tires (at once) due to an idiot driving an SUV at night…and a lot in between.

This was a sad week. My friend’s brother passed away from a pulmonary embolism. It was unexpected as he was quite young at 36 (I think) but he had been very ill. He was the one that had been diagnosed with TB some time ago but we are still not completely sure what it is that he had. The sad thing is, pulmonary embolisms like he had are very preventable. Folks that spend too much time in bed develop pools of blood in their legs that if left untreated can form clots that travel to the lungs effectively suffocating a person. Simple shots of Heparin can go a long ways towards preventing this. So can various physiotherapy-type workouts. It is too bad, indeed. On the other side of the coin, there was much suffering from a disease that was as of yet undiagnosed, and had absolutely ravaged his body. He was mentally challenged to begin with and probably did not understand what it was that was making him so sick. This does not help as I am very sad, not only for him but for his Mother, Brother, and extended family that is left behind. I take comfort knowing that he has journeyed to a better place than any one of us here knows.

He and his entire family are Sikh. Actually, I would say that 90% of the people I have met and interact with here are Sikh. Going hand in hand, they are also mostly Punjab, an ethnic group from India. Sikhs are probably mostly recognized in public by the turbans they wear, but very few of the ones I interact with wear them. Their religion is very interesting as it is founded around three principals of worship God, work diligently, and share one’s fruits. Their daily prayers even include prayers for all mankind, not just for within their faith…which I find cool compared to other religions that strongly believe all other religions will populate hell. Non-Sikhs can partake in prayer meetings, social functions…the Sikh’s even have a tenant where they feed anyone for free anytime (called Langar) which, in my interpretation, serves as a way to honor all socio-economic backgrounds (which is very important to Sikh’s) and to serve all mankind. This has been very apparent, even practiced by most all Sikh’s I have interacted with here. To worship, yet live one’s life, the exact same way is very admirable.

Back to the previous story, I attended a Sikh funeral for the first time. There are a lot of differences between “American” funerals as they are called here and “Sikh” funerals. First, it is not an opportunity for everyone in the community to profit from someone’s loss. Rather, the entire Sikh community bands together and helps there brothers and sisters in time of need. There is a Sikh Hospital that provides the necessary medical support , a hearse, services, temple, prayers…all for free or for a very modest fee to cover expenses. Very unlike American funerals where I remember vividly the funeral home trying to make us feel morally bankrupt for not providing bells and whistles for my Father’s funeral. Instead, the Sikh community banded together at a time of need and took care of their own, a basic tenant my Father instilled in me at a young age.

Also different, they do not use burial as a means of a resting place. Instead, they cremate as they believe the body is but a physical tool but their soul lives on. During the prayers, they pray for a swift passage of the soul onward to its final destination. I participated somewhat in the process as what Americans would call a Pall Bearer. Instead of a casket, the body is transported in an open metal box and the body is covered in sheets, something similar to a prayer rug, and surrounded by flowers. The men of the family drive and ride in the hearse (provided by the Sikh community) to the crematorium and carry the body in. When the body is carried into the crematorium, there is a certain note of finality that is missing from American funerals. Hard to explain but it is very real when one is standing there. There are no comforting speeches about the greatness of the departed, no humorous stories, documented great accomplishments…simply prayers and well-wishes for a speedy departure of one’s soul to heaven.

Going back to prior to the funeral, and all this past week, our power has been cut off sometime between 09:00 and 10:00 every day for what I am assuming is some type of power line work. We had initially thought (stupid us) that they would not cut off the power on a weekend…but alas that is what I get for assuming, you know. Trying to get ready for this funeral without electricity was tough, especially considering our hot water comes from electricity (as does hair dryers and other functional tools required by my wife). When it is 60 degrees outside (and inside) and one takes a cold shower, at least I can say that we were awake. Actually, one can get used to cold showers after awhile…just a transition to living in a third-world country. Getting around a bit late due to previously mentioned, we met the rest of our party at their home for the long drive to the Temple. Traffic here is CRAZY after the rains we had the day before. The roads are still as narrow but the full-of-water potholes on the side of the road take away the “sidewalk passing lanes” that the Matatus and other, more adventurous drivers use to quicken their arrivals. It also slows down traffic as folks do not know actually how deep some of those water-filled holes are! Thirdly, it seems that folks are very hesitant to get their vehicles wet and will brake wildly or swing out into traffic even more wildly to avoid it. So, a 30 minute trip took a little over an hour.

The Temple is located in the far North-East part of Nairobi. It borders on a poorer part of town then where I live but the crematorium is located in a very, very poor part of town. Roads in worse condition, traffic heavier, buildings older, the area filled with garbage and very much dirtier than even what we see on the West side of town. It was bad enough that we were advised not to drive and follow behind, so instead we packed into vans with professional drivers. The smell of burning garbage everywhere one goes, people sitting in “yards”, to use the term loosely, which were mostly bare ground, rocks, and trash…absolute poverty one usually only sees on television. It really opens one’s eyes to how good they have it, for sure. Folks there just staring at the procession of Mzungu and Punjabis through their neighborhood in either disbelief or curiosity of what might bring them to their side of town…

On the way back to Karen, we had one of our friends drive us back as I had NO idea where I was and how to get back. On the long drive back it was nice to check out the progression of neighborhoods from Slum, to Urban, to Suburban. I like where we live albeit it has its own sets of hazards to deal with.

In Karen, where we live, there is an obsession with folks driving large Four-Wheel Drives, most anything that resembles a Safari vehicle is best. Landcruisers, LandRovers, Trucks with Roll bars…just so long as it sits very high and has at least four, zillion-candlepower driving lights mounted either to the front bumper or the roll bars. These self-entitled people feel that the roads are their own prized possessions and can drive any which way that they want, especially at night. The roads here, as mentioned previously, are very narrow. Combine that with all the obstacles and zero street lights, it is very hard to see what one is doing. It is even harder when some butthole is heading right towards you driving down the center of the road with their bright driving lights on. A courtesy flash of ones high-beams prompts a retort of very, very high-power driving lights being burst into ones retinas causing a fearful momentary blindness. Last night was a wonderful demonstration of this. We had to travel a ways to get some medicines as we were unable to do our shopping during daylight hours because of the funeral. On our way back home, in the pitch-black night, some Karen Cowboy Butthole decides to test his/her power-wielding road advantage by sizzling mine and my wife’s retinas with a burst of light that probably are photon torpedoes from the deck of the Starship Enterprise. All the while my 10 month old daughter is sitting in the backseat. In the darkness and insecurity of the back roads of Karen, we were yet again forced off the road so that society’s elite may drive down the middle of the road. However, this time we had the wonderful privilege of hammering both passenger-side tires on a hidden pothole causing one flat tire and another one with wheel damaged but drivable. I changed the tire in pure darkness on the rear, always observant of any noise or oncoming vehicle for fear of a carjacking or possibly a simple mugging. While I was changing it the wife was on the phone with our friends and they were on the way to help. By the time they appeared, I had already changed the rear tire and was driving VERY slowly as the front-left tire was “thumping” (both felt and heard). They were nice enough to follow us home at 20 KPH to make sure we limped in ok. Now, we have an un-drivable vehicle in front of the place and are awaiting our friends to bring us one repaired tire so that we can get our errands done today.

My plan moving forward is to collect a number of 4-5 pound (2 Kilo) rocks to keep in a small box next to the driver’s seat. Now, instead of a courtesy flash of the high beams to help me see the road while my 10 month old daughter sleeps in the back seat…I will softly lob a rock in the air and let it smash through the windshield of the oncoming butthole letting them know they should dim their lights…

Peace,

Dude
FBO