end of semester blues/remembering aug7th 1998

ugh
papers due, take home exams (i'd much rather sit in class and sweat through 2 hours of an exam than have a take home) and i lack the motivation.

im currently writing about the 7th august 1998 bombing of the u.s embassy in nairobi for a class...This year is the 10th anniversary, and it's amazing how much i remember from that day- i almost just want to write about my experience- instead of evaluating the mental and psychosocial response.

here's my intro (yes, im sneaking in what i really want to write about- but this is the slightly fleshed out version). it reads a bit discordant.

August 1998 remains a salient month in a majority of Kenyans memories.
On August 7th, (3 days before my birthday) the U.S Embassy was bombed, with a simultaneous bombing occurring in Dar-es-salaam, Tanzania. This was the first large-scale disaster to happen in our memory, and like most Kenyans, I can vividly recollect where I was, and what I was doing. At the time I was working with the Regional AIDS Training Network (RATN), which ran training courses for providers of HIV/AIDS services in eastern and southern Africa. (First job, poorly paid, big title.)

I remember that month as one in which there was great tension on the streets of Nairobi. The Kenya National Union of Teachers (K-NUT)was threatening to go on strike over government failure to implement a pay rise they had previously agreed on; a strike the government had declared illegal, threatening to fire teachers who did not report to work.

Bank workers were on strike, protesting a raise in taxes, and they too were were threatened with the sack. City council workers, over 15 thousand of them, in an effort not to be left behind, downed their tools as well: they had not been paid for several months, and were busy having running battles with riot police on the streets of Nairobi, while garbage remained uncollected.

Every evening, the acrid smell of tear gas enveloped the streets.


It was also the month in which the World Bank and IMF, and several international investors had suspended funding projects in Kenya.


On top of that, it would take me more than 3 hours to get home most evenings, because of having to wait in long lines to get into a matatu- and where i lived (Tena estate) matatus were scarce, old, ramshackled, and overpriced. Masaai's, controlled our route- hence matatu owners had to pay them daily to be allowed to operate their vehicles (i think it was still Maasai's- the mungiki were still fairly nascient, i believe- i could be wrong)

There was just a general premonition that something was in the air (something was afoot).

That morning, I remember there was a loud boom! and then total silence.
We turned on the radio and all you could hear was static... and dead silence…

my first thought was 'ohmygod there has been a coup'- there had been rumours going round- and how was i going to get home- and somebody call my mother...and being scared shitless.

Then there was the wailing of police sirens and ambulances- RATN was housed in one of the buildings on the compound of Kenyatta National Hospital, the largest public hospital in Kenya. The radio abruptly started reporting that an attack had happened at the American embassy site.... calls for blood donations...kenyans covered under rubble... calls for volunteers..cooperative house about to crumble...more calls for volunteers... I had to go to Kenyatta.

It was only until a few of us went to the wards of the hospital and saw the many people wounded laying on the floor of the hospital, in their blood and that of others, -the bed capacity of the hospital was already overstretched -did the full scale of the what had transpired register. I dont know how many hours i was at Kenyatta... at some point they were turning away volunteers because so many Kenyans had showed up to help...I dont remember how i got home.

The next couple of days... watching the rescue efforts, hearing about people still trapped under the rabble...watching kenyans valiantly working day and night to rescue those trapped, americans refusing people access to the embassy site even though some kenyans were still trapped.... and the Israeli's coming in to help- and doing a whole lot more than the americans.. It was a tragedy, but one that brought us together nonetheless.
--

Wahome Mutahi (aka Whispers- *pours a frothy beverage in his honour*-may he rest in peace- sorely missed) wrote an excellent book about this: Doomsday, which, even though a fictionalized account- captures the mood of the country as only Mutahi can.

I love Kenya, and Kenyans. Even though i get frustrated at our politics and policians, and i still cant make sense of the recent elections fiasco... i am excited at the possibility of being in Nairobi in the next few weeks. No other city quite captures the feel of nairobi. i cant hardly wait to speak swahili, have a tusker, and just chill with friends. I cant wait to be in the CBD at rush hour, amazed at the mass of black bodies -yes nairobi is overpopulated- rushing to get home- or wherever. I got over saying that im boycotting the country because im ashamed at them trying to flush it down the toilet- im over that sentiment. Right now? i cant wait to land at JKIA and have the customs person (its almost always a lady) greet me with: naona imekuwa siku nyingi, karibu nyumbani