Life is a lot like Dodge Ball - or – Surviving in Nairobbery and elsewhere.

Nairobi has come up a notch.  It now has the distinction of being the Crime Capitol of Africa and has had a name change in the media to “Nairobbery.”  It beat out Johannesburg, South Africa and I understand that there is a move underfoot by the criminal elements of that city to win that distinction back.  Some of this negative advertisement is keeping people from coming here to enjoy the beauty and people of East Africa.

Personally, I enjoyed my times in Nairobi; yes, I did get robbed and beaten one night coming out of the Trattoria Italian restaurant, while walking up to my car when I was jumped by six men.  I put up a valiant effort hitting one guy on the jaw resulting in a broken wrist (found that out some time later).  I contributed to the local economy to the tune of a few hundred dollars and a ring and missed a plane to London that night since I was in no shape to go anywhere. 

Nowadays, I meet a lot of people running a Bed and Breakfast near a University and often the conversation moves to my passion of heart – Africa.  Many people would love to go, but often they have read some of the above and are afraid that they might get robbed, mugged, hurt, I can understand those feelings but I also know that fear – can keep us from entering into dance life, the enjoyment of the moment, the ability to drink in the essence of the experiences that might be before us.

When I was growing up in Germany we used to play a form of dodge ball on sunny afternoons at school.  If you were hit with the ball, you were out of the game and got to go home early.  If you did not get hit, you stayed the full time at school until regular dismissal time.  I wanted to go home and therefore entered the game with all the gusto in the world.  “Hit me – Hit me “ I would holler out, Laughing, ducking, not caring, living the moment, the spirit of the game.  I was not worried about being struck out; I was playing the game and usually was one of the last one’s out and had fun in the process.

On other occasions I would try very hard not to get hit, hiding behind other players, moving cautiously, almost fear like across the playing court and before I knew it the dodge ball would come right at me and out of the game I was.

Life is a lot like that.  One can worry constantly about this or that.  We can worry about having an accident and never drive.  We can worry about food to the point where we never enjoy a treat of this or that since it might be harmful to us.  I have some Vegan acquaintances who can never just eat, but always have to ask…”What did you cook in the pan before you cooked my dish, what is in the spice, any extract of beef, is there any milk, any egg?”  Though I live in an area where the nuts and grain crowd is almost the majority I still like my nyama choma (roasted meat).

I had spent the day in South Sudan at Kajo Kaji a few hours from a little border town in Uganda called Moyo.  The Vehicle we were traveling in got stuck in the mud late at night about 10 miles from the Ugandan border.  It was the area that the Kony Rebels (Lord’s Holy Ghost Army) stayed at and one did not feel too comfortable walking in the darkness of the night.

As I walked along, my imaginative mind saw all kinds of things behind this or that bush.  My ears picked up sounds that became magnified ten times over.  My heart kind of tightened and I realized that fear was getting the best of me.  That I was being frozen from being, that I was afraid of moving forward and simply wanted to stay by the vehicle wishing and hoping that it would maybe move on again, and that certainly was not a good idea.  I had to walk on to the safety of the Ugandan border and to my dwelling at the Central Lodge in beautiful downtown Moyo.

Thankfully all went well and a few hours later we passed the border post into Uganda and soon were back at the Central Lodge Hotel at 3 dollars per night with warm bath water brought in a pail in the morning to your door…oh, the comforts of a hotel.

As I sat outside of my room looking up to at the stars in Equatorial Africa, I thought of the instances in my life where fear had frozen me, kept me back of enjoying the moment, from being, from becoming.  I thought of the tourists I had met at the Nairobi Hilton Hotel who were afraid to venture out on their own, sharing with me their fears while I was thinking, ”why did they come here in the first place?”  To me they were like the people where I live in the Northwest who use umbrellas, raincoats and goulashes the moment it rains, Never experiencing the rain itself, but simply grumbling about it and being afraid of getting wet, of entering the elements.  Isn’t life meant to be an immersion into the wonderful experiences presented to us instead of tiptoeing at the edge of a pool and barely getting one’s toes wet and calling it going swimming.

Eating teaches us a lot about living, the way kids consume and enjoy food brings home what life is about, enjoyment, abandonment and the like.  If you have any kids watch them eat and you will recognize what I am talking about.

I was at an Ethiopian birthday party in Nairobi and of course all the food was eaten without forks and knives. This Germanic man of proper manners had a hard time eating and scooping up the food with the sour, flat bread called Injera, instead of using a fork and knife.  (My friends would usually bring me cutlery)  At the same time I loved to watch people, especially the kids dig in and have a merry time.  During that same party a special treat was offered for all, Ice cream cones. The fresh waffle kind just made at a bakery at Ya Ya center nearby filled with vanilla ice cream to the overflow with fresh roasted Ethiopian coffee on the side. 

I watched a four year little girl begin to tackle an ice cream cone that was much larger than her mouth.  She was not intimidated by it.  She did not withdraw in fear, but entered in. She did not eat ice cream but experienced it in its fullness.  The evidence was on her face, her hair, her hands, and her clothes. When she realized I was looking at her, she glanced at me and smiled. She had learned the secret of dodge ball, of eating, of life at a young age, enjoy the experience, taste it, smell it and most of all, live it.

It has been a few years (5) since I watched that young girl experience her ice cream. She is in school by now and learning to be a proper young lady, all grown up, but I hope she still experiences ice cream in the same manner as when she was four and maybe it is time for me to take up dodge ball again and get into the game and become childlike once again.

Nairobi may be called Nairobbery now a days, but Africans know how to live beyond mere survival, celebrate the moment and experience the ice cream, not just lick it in Emily Post or Miss Manner fashion and that is an art that many of us have forgotten…you can always stop by with an ice cream cone and a dodge ball…see you…kwaheri for now…on second thought I have a quart of Starbucks Mud pie coffee ice cream in the freezer…just bring the cones…jon

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