Bad Sides

As Moses, 25, a friend of the family I am now living with, had showed me the way to the mall and the nearby Nyali Beach on Sunday, I felt confident to make the trip on my own the following day. As I walked up to the matatu to ask how much it would be for my ride, I felt someone behind me; that someone was a ragged-looking man searching my backpack for something to borrow, I'm sure. When I called him out, he kept screaming, "What, what?!" I also realized the people from the bus were accomplices, which made me laugh cynically and storm off. I decided to walk to my destination as I remembered the way and wouldn't mind a good, long walk.

On the way, two unpleasant events took place. The first was nauseating: an old, white man was bargaining with a black man for the services of two young boys. In New York, I worked for many months on a project against child sexual exploitation, for the non-profit I was employed at, and know all too well how the offenders work. In Nairobi, I met a volunteer who spent a couple months working in Mombasa and mentioned bearing witness to this, especially on the beaches. She said it was difficult to be faced with something so vile and be useless against it. She was right.

The second event was more personal. To get to the beach, I must pass Bamburi Cement Factory, which is one of the largest producers of cement in Africa. I learned this information from my handy Kenya guide. Being that this was highlighted in my book, I figured I'd take a picture to add to my collection; it went downhill from there. I was followed by security guards, nothing short of manhandled on the street and forced to go with them to the security office or else face the police, for what they failed to mention. Trying to fight off the strong grip of men who offer no explanation for their actions certainly gets your adrenaline pumping. The worst part was feeling as though the guard was enjoying watching me struggle; there was no reason for his holding me down but he just watched me with a strange, pleased gaze. Since there was no guarantee I'd be taken to any sort of respectable office with respectable people, I kept my disposition calm and collected but, on the inside, was kind of freaking out (and developing plans A through Z). In the office, another man explained that the cement plant is of high security and a target for terrorism so they must be very cautious. He interrogated me but was careful to point out this was not a "detention center" (funny, since I didn't have an option to leave). I explained that 1. It could be safely assumed I was not affiliated with al-Shabaab with a bathing suit tied around my neck 2. If I was a terrorist trying to snap pictures, I would have been a little more tactful 3. There are no signs warning against photos 4. I offered from the beginning of the ordeal to delete the photos, which is ultimately how it all ended. Overall, it was a dramatic and unnecessary ordeal. I informed the man that personnel should be trained in handling these situations better as what happened was unacceptable. Obviously, coming from a girl half his age and half his height, this was laughable to him.

In three days, I have seen a side of the city I wish I hadn't.  Bad sides balance everything out but I was hoping to see Mombasa's good side first. I find myself counting the days until I return home. This is partially due to being the sole volunteer in a place where terror attacks are becoming more frequent by the day. I'm not sure I want to stay very long in a country where you are now encouraged to purchase terrorism insurance. In addition, the rain pounds down on the roof day and night, which doesn't help my motivation. Being negative may be something I am guilty of but I prefer to think I am simply being realistic. At least I can admit the way things appear to me and how they have influenced me.

This weekend I will explore the main part of the city, visiting top tourist spots and treating myself to a nice dinner. It has become increasingly important to have things to look forward to. Perhaps, I won't snap too many photos of industrial structures, you know, to be on the safe side (of the prison bars).