Dollar a day

This is what an estimated 46% of Kenyans survive on.

An interesting side effect of the car breaking down is that it has brought me a lot closer to reality for most Kenyans. Without a car, my world has been limited to where I sleep,  the house I'm fixing, and the village where I get off the matatu. Which has meant that (bearing I must buy fresh each day as I don't have a fridge) if I want to eat or drink anything, I've had to either pick it off the trees or buy it in the village where the range of items on sale is geared more towards the 46%. The knock-on consequence is that I've been spending about 3.50 USD a day; 2.50 USD on the "luxury" of boda-boda rides, and one dollar on food and matatu fares.

As I hinted at above, the stalls in the village where I get of the matatu have a pretty limited selection. You're basically restricted to local fruit and vegetables, bread, mandazi (a kind of lightly spiced pastry), soda and water. Forget meat, cheese, juice, snacks, or just about anything else. My diet for the week evolved in line with this; mandazi for brunch, and avocados (from the tree) as a snack and vegetable stew for dinner, with (boiled) water to drink.  Just under 50 shillings for that lot, plus 40 for the matatu and we get to 85-90 shillings, which is about a dollar.

Just imagine this is all you get, every day, for the rest of your life....

But I am by no means claiming hardship; it has been an eye-opening few days. There are so many reasons why my temporary dollar a day is a very long way from reality faced by many Kenyans and most Africans.

Firstly, like the majority of people living in European countries, I've had the benefit of years of good balanced diet.  I maintain that those living in Europe who have not benefited from this have had an unbalanced diet due to choice - either their parents or theirs - and not due to outright poverty. A week without all the food groups isn't going to have lasting effects on a previously well-nourished human being such as myself.

Secondly, even my limited diet for this short time did not truly reflect that of the 46%. My vegetable delights must have seemed pretty gourmet to many poorer people. After all, more often than not the standard diet for them is ugali - a maize flour based staple similar to polenta, very likely served without any accompaniment - washed down with tea (the lucky ones take milk in their tea).

Thirdly, my dollar a day excluded a whole host of other expenses. Accommodation, clothes, healthcare, electricity, cooking and heating fuel to mention a few... all things that one way or another, I (like most of you) am lucky enough to have at my disposal. Not to mention, strictly speaking, I was on around USD 3.50 a day, as I spent USD 2.50 on boda bodas to save walking a 12km round trip each day. Most people would have to walk this; and indeed it is possible to find people who walk distances much further than this on a daily basis.

The experience of the week has served as a stark reminder of just how lucky we are. Food for thought (if you excuse the pun) next time you complain about the canteen food in your place of work...

Matatu madness in boda-boda land

Last Saturday was the first full day I got to drive the renovated Peugeot. It was a bit strange following three weeks of driving a nicely maintained automatic. Having barely got used to it, I was driving through Banana Hill (yes that is the name of a real town and not some place from Super Mario-World) when there was a clink, a clank and a clunk. And the car stopped.

The short term consequence of this is that I had to buy some rope and enlist my cousin's help to tow the car out of the Hill of Banana. Rope towing is surprisingly difficult. Our rope broke four times during a 10km tow. By the time we got the car back to the house the Peugeot was hanging on by a few threads.

The longer term consequences were two fold; lots more time (and money) lost on "fixing what has been fixed" (as a friend Sebas jokingly says) and the need to find alternative means of transport for a week.

Alternative means of transport are, more specifically, walking, matatu and bodaboda.  Each day I've used these three means of transport, in this order. The first you probably know about... but what are the other two? Read on...

Matatus

Matatus are Kenya's version of a bus network. It's hard to know how to describe matatus beyond the simple fact that they are cramped 14-seater minibuses. So instead lets look at some of the rules that matatus exist by. We'll call them the five matatu commandments.

1. Thou shall always have space. Officially, matatus are only meant to fit 14 people, and even that is cramped (my head always touches the roof and my knees always stick into the seat in front). However, matatus live by the rule that there is always more space. The most crowded matatu I have been on so far has held 24 people. Don't ask how. That said, the situation is still better now than a few years ago when this sight was commonplace:

These sights were commonplace a few years ago. About 10 years ago I even saw one where the front wheels left the ground due to the number of people hanging off the back (this one's not my own photo...)

2. Thou shall have a crew of two. Matatus are run by a crew of two; the driver (who was once described as someone who hasn't slept for 36 hours and is only managing to stay awake by chewing copious amounts of the stimulant miraa); and the tout/conductor. Touts are a special breed. They are half salesman supreme, half contortionist. They will try to convince you to take their matatu even if it is going in entirely the wrong direction. Once the trip is underway, the tout will always stay next to the door to let people on or off. In the case the matatu is loaded up with over 20 people, they will perform some kind of contortionist routine in order to fit all parts of his body inside the vehicle.

3. Thou shall drive as if thou were king of the road. If traffic laws in general are more of a recommendation in Kenya rather than definitive rules for many drivers, for matatu drivers they are something that must be broken. Matatu drivers believe they always have the right of way, no matter what. Not only does this mean they will assume priority in every situation and honk and hiss if you as a driver don't respect this, but it also means they will perform crazy overtaking moves. The classic one is drive off the road in order to overtake on the inside.

"I'm king of the road, got it?!" (not my photo - camera has been at home this week)

4. Thou shall install a stereo system with woofer. A matatu without sound system is not a matatu. Some matatus will leave the sound system on full volume all the time, churning out a constant bass-line (this is a lot more common at the coast than in Nairobi). Others will either have the music turned down low, or off completely, but will turn it up/on at specific moments to attract attention- like when going through noisy towns such as Ruaka on the route I sometimes take.

5. Thou shall assume an amusing name. Matatus will always adapt amusing names which will be painted on the back window. The names of matatus I remember taking this week include "Attitude adjustment" and "confusion". But there are many more amusing names. In the future I'll post pictures when I come across some funny names on the roads.

Ebenezer, he's a geezer (not my photo).

Joking aside, while Matatus are a rather unique form of transport, they are both relatively efficient and very cheap. Furthermore, they've really come on a lot in the last few years; the Nairobi city council has introduced some pretty strict regulations for matatus, and as a result they are a lot more customer friendly than a few years ago. Hell, it is even possible to find a route map nowadays.

Boda bodas

So after walking a bit under a kilometer and being squashed in a matatu for 10km, I come to the final part of the journey - the bodaboda.

If you see something like this, you'll probably think it is a group of bikers hanging around and it's best to keep your distance.

A bodaboda stage... the one I've been going from looks somewhat more seedy though! (not my photo)

Actually, it is not a group of dodgy bikers, but rather a motorcycle taxi, or bodaboda stage.

Hop on the back and hold on tight. 50 shillings will get you about 4 km; if its further than that you're looking at 100 shillings. Not bad, and what's more, motorbikes handle the bumpy roads better than cars. But often not an experience for the faint-hearted.

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So that has been the daily commute in the absence of a car; walk about a kilometer, hop on a matatu for 10km then take a boda boda for the last 6km. Interesting for a week, but I'm not sure I could handle it in perpetuity....

Bright lights causing a headache

 There is a scene in fight club where the narrator walks into his dilapidated home to find people everywhere working autonomously and vigorously different aspects of project mayhem.  "The house has become a living, breathing entity" he comments. This scene reflects pretty well what is happening right now in my father's old house.

There are now five teams of contractors on-site, with a sixth team starting today and a seventh in the days after, plus an eighth and ninth to arrive at a yet unspecified date. Progress is fast; surprisingly fast, and it is great to see thing show the initial signs of falling into place.

Lounge and dinging before...

...and now

Hall before...

... and now

Old crowded kitchen before...

... and it's conversion into a breakfast bar

Boxy master bedroom has been opened up

No, really, it's a bathroom!

But with a total of nine contractors to co-ordinate and monitor, I'm suffering a little bit! Every contractor requires a bit of attention. And progress is so fast that important decisions are being asked of me quite early. Like for example last week's headache; lighting.

Lighting is one of those things that you rarely think about. You'll almost never notice good lighting, it will just blend in. However, I guarantee that you will notice bad lighting! You have to think about several aspects when you're considering lighting. Firstly, the total illumination in watts that the room needs; next the position of the lights to achieve this level of light; and then what type of light (e.g. pendant, chandelier, flush, track, recessed or wall lights). What's more thinking about the  lights is only half of the equation; you then have to work out where the switches go and in what order so that the whole setup is intuitive. It might all sound quite trivial, but when you are doing a complete renovation including total rewiring, you are basically starting from scratch. While there are guidelines for some of these aspects (e.g. total illumination that a room needs; 15-25 watts per square meter), many of them are personal decisions.

Looking  at the pictures, you might be thinking it's a bit early to think about lighting. But actually no it's not. The electricians are doing the wiring at the moment , and the wires have to come out in the right places - so it is necessary to know already where the lights will be and how they will connect to switches. Plus where your plug sockets will be. If you don't know where you want to go, you'll end up somewhere you don't like; I'm learning that is particularly true of construction.

Back to school

Often you find yourself faced with two extreme choices in Kenya; an extremely expensive one and an extremely cheap one, with nothing in-between. I consider it a result of the structure of society; a large lower class and a small upper class with not a lot in the middle. Though in recent years the middle class, comprising well educated and ambitious young professionals, has finally both emerged and grown quickly.

When looking for a place to stay, I struggled with exactly this problem.

After an extensive search, my options came down to either fleapit hotels costing a few euros per day, or apartments or cottages starting at 500 euros per month and going well into the four figures. Unsurprisingly, neither really appealed. But thankfully, family connections prevailed again. My step mother managed to find a reasonably price wooden hut in the compound where she lives - inside a boarding school!

Home for the next couple of months

Haven't... had.. time.. to... furnish!

So that is home sweet home - kids running around all the time, but safe. Looking at the school, it's possible that the kids learning here will contribute to the next generation of middle-classers.

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On the subject of housing and classes, it is fascinating to see how Kenya is changing. My memories from childhood were of people living predominantly iron shacks; more often than not looking worse for wear. As a child I really struggled with seeing such clear signs of poverty; apparently the first time I came to Kenya, I asked my mother why the government didn't build council houses like in the UK. Her reply was that the government didn't have money to do it. Hey, I was only eight at the time...

However, things have changed, and nowadays there are nice looking tower blocks springing up everywhere. It's a sign of a growing middle class and the closing of the gap between rich and poor.

Blocks like this one (in which a cousin is involved in constructing) are springing up everywhere

Simple and effective design. One living room and hall (pictured), two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. Home for a small middle class family!

Demand is high; works are still ongoing but 80% of units have been taken.

Last Thursday I was lucky enough to be inside such a development. One of my cousins is involved in the development of a compound containing 40 flats spread across four blocks. It's a kind of group-funded project with around 1,000 investors involved. Some investors are buying one of the flats themselves, others are just investing in a flat (or part thereof) and looking to make a bit from the sale.

The flats themselves are nicely designed, and over 80% have already been sold (even though they are not yet finished). It appears therefore that such flats are in high demand. But with an increasing number of such developments, part of me wonders if Kenya is eventually heading for a property bubble, at least at the emerging middle class level.

Carcasses and hoarders revenge

It's amazing how much stuff we accumulate during our lives. We keep little things like that reception invitation, which means something to us, but is just a scrap of paper to everyone else. I think that as we age we hang on to more and more stuff - whether it be for memories, or because experience is telling us "one day this thing will be useful".

My father was no different. I spent five weeks last summer going through his things. On one hand it was an enlightening experience. I'd never known my father that well, and so I discovered a lot about him. It turns out he was the captain of his university basketball team. Maybe that's where I get the sports team captaining gene from!

On the other hand, it was a long and arduous process. It is difficult to quantify just how much stuff was thrown and burnt, but it is safe to say that if I was ever on the Greenpeace Christmas card list, I'm not any more. And then there were the items which we sold for recycling, including enough car parts to build a new car!

An example of what was dealt with last summer. If only I'd kept the car parts...

One year later, I think my father must be having a chuckle. I can see him putting the car parts in storage saying to himself "this will be useful one day". And one day has finally arrived. But the parts have long gone...

If you remember from a previous post, I was repairing my father's 1980 Peugeot. When we started on the repairs, we thought the engine would be the main thing to change. As it turns out, the car was effectively a car-cass. Over the last two weeks, we have replaced, in no particular order: the battery, clutch, brakes, two tyres, cylinder head, spark plugs, fan belt, alternator, ignition, fuel filter, and all the wiring. Plus we've modified the radiator and fixed the leaking fuel tank. That lot has come to a further 120,000 ksh (1,100 euros) on top of the 90,000 ksh for the engine. And the worst part is we probably threw most of these parts last summer. But hey, the car works now. More or less.

Car-cass

Changing the engine was just the start! Old diesel left, petrol right. And damn those things are heavy! 

But finally it's working...

A selection of just some of the other parts we've had to change

You're probably thinking it would have been cheaper to buy a working car to start with. Well, yes and no. Car prices in Kenya are highly inflated. The reason is taxes; import taxes on cars are 100%. Yes, you read that right. Why so high? It is an easy way of getting tax money. Although the Kenyan government has recently set up an excellent online income taxation system, and has also clamped down on VAT, traditionally tax collection has been an issue - as it is in most developing countries. So the easiest way to be sure tax revenue is collected is to collect it at the point of entry. Cars, being expensive items, can bring high tax revenue, and act as a way of taxing the rich. The system therefore kind of makes sense. But it inflates the price of all cars, old or new.

Back to my banged up Peugeot, 210,000 shillings later we have a car for which we have already received an offer of 220,000. So maybe it wasn't such a disaster after all. Plus I can finally stop spending money on renting

Picking up problems and pipe dreams

Days here tend to start with a plan, which quickly disintegrates into sequence of seemingly random actions which in turn eventually still somehow or another fulfil the aims of the day. Friday was a great example. Friday's plan on paper was quite simple; my cousin was going to come up to the house early with some mechanics to finish fixing the old car. We were going to meet there about 730 and discuss a few things before I headed into town to negotiate with another contractor and pick up building materials. I'd then be back at the house by about 2pm in order to meet the contractor number 9b (they are so many they have to be numbered nowadays!)

In reality the plan had fallen apart by 715. I was just about to head up to the house when my cousin called me. He'd been arrested and they were about to take him to jail. His class A felony was driving a pick up truck with a chip in the windshield.

Kenya has all kinds of laws on driving for which you can be stopped and carted away to jail for a few hours before going before a judge and paying a hefty fine. On one hand I kind of understand the principle; in a country where getting money for public finances is a problem, one way of boosting the coffers of the legal services is to have laws for simple misdemeanors with fines. However, there are two pribbling-idle-headed gigleting huuuuuuge problems with this. Firstly, if you ever drive in Nairobi, you'll wonder if there are any traffic laws at all. Traffic lights are a recommendation more than anything, and about 50% of drivers (including myself) would be stopped for dangerous driving in Europe. Secondly, more often than not these strange laws on driving provide a way for the policemen themselves to boost their coffers rather than the police service's.

Take the example of my cousin. The chip in the windshield is very recent and he hasn't had time to fix it, yet this is the second time in three days he's been stopped for this. Both times he's been given options; an on the spot paperwork-free fine, or a trip to the jail and a paperwork inclusive fine of 25,0000 kenya shillings (230 euros). I won't tell you how much the paperwork-free fine was is his case, but let's just say it varies based on the policeman, and given the two options, you'd have to be mad not to take this one, even if it is morally wrong. Today's "fine" apparently was paid to the checkpoint chief office, next to his brand new, personal Toyota. Wonder where he got the money for that? ;-)

So by the time my cousin extracted himself from that, it was 830 and he didn't get up to the house till after 9, in turn meaning I didn't leave till almost 10, and hence arrived in town around 1100.

The negotiations with the contractor then dragged on, as did my hunt for materials. I'll write a more detailed account of the negotiation dance another time, but suffice to say when you're buying or contracting anything here, you have to get a series of quotes first. This basically ensures that you're not getting ripped off, given there are no set prices. However, on the down side it also seriously eats through your time. After having finished satisfactory negotiations with the contractor, and while I was halfway through the price checking exercise, I got a call from another cousin who had magically sorted out the car insurance for the car we're fixing - just 16 hours after I casually mentioned it to her. So we met up for a coffee and she gave me the papers.

By the time I finally got round to final negotiations on the materials, it was already 1400, and by the time I bought them, it was 1430.

Now Nairobi rush hour effectively begins at around this time on a Friday. Everyone, and everything which has to go long distance for the weekend, starts their trip around this time. As a result, it took a further 30 minutes to move the car 250 meters to the depot to pick up the materials.

Then came the real surprise of the day.

When negotiating the material purchase, I had established that the main materials I was buying - conduits (or pipes for electrical wires, how fascinating!) were 6 foot long (about 1.8m) . Nice and easy to put in the car. When it turned up, it was actually more like 15 ft long (4.5m). Not so easy to fit in the car. Kenyans are inventive, so what happened next?

"No, really sir, your car IS big enough!"

1530 when I'm leaving with a car capped with conduit (over 200 pipes in total, held in place by meters of string) and the my cousin's class A driving fellany fresh in my mind. I did not fancy my chances of making it back to the house without a police fine, whether it be paperwork inclusive or paperwork free. I negotiated the jammed city with the pipes on my roof, getting glares from the policemen on every junction. My saving grace was that they were so preoccupied with trying to keep the rush hour traffic in some kind of vague order that they didn't pull me aside. I, and they both knew that stopping me in rush hour traffic would have caused them more hassle than I am worth. Plus there would be a couple of thousand witnesses for any "paperless fine". Once out of town I had to double the driving distance in order to avoid the main roads with police checks. Finally back at the house at 1645.

What?

150 euros worth of plastic piping. What has life come to?!

Finally I sit down and take a breather. So how did we do on our plan?

• Meet up with cousin for car - check
• Negotiate contractor - check
• Pick up materials - check
• Lunch with cousin - not the one I was originally meant to meet, but check for A cousin
• Meet last contractor - fail. But in the end he never came anyhow! So good thing I didn't rush back for him. And hey, if he wants the job he'll come back another day. And I did manage to pick up the insurance too, so that is a bonus!

A tale of two cities (or countries)

My dad's old house was built in two phases. The original bungalow was built in 1946. He extended the house in 1976, shortly after buying it. The house is therefore a product of two different periods, and two very different Kenyas.

Between the late 1950s and early 1970s, all Africa countries (ignoring the anomalies of "Rhodesia" - Zimbabwe, and South Africa) gained independence from colonial rule. Kenya obtained it's independence from the UK in December 1963. This transition period following the end of such a rule has always fascinated me. One day there is one set of rules, with a few people setting them and holding all the power, and the next day these people go with their rules, leaving rule and power voids. In this sense, I guess the end of colonialism is kind of like the end of communism in Soviet block countries. In many cases in African countries, the void was filled, sooner or later, by civil unrest; 20 out of 42 sub saharan countries experienced civil war between 1960 and 2000 (my master thesis touched on this).  Often a charismatic and power hungry dicta.... I mean leader took the reins; such as Idi Amin in Uganda or Joseph Mobutu in Zaire (Congo). While Kenya has its own dark post colonial history (read this excellent blog if you'd like to know a bit more: http://kumekucha.blogspot.be/2009/12/dark-secrets-of-presidency-part-1.html), it was ultimately a peaceful country led for 15 years by a charasmatic and firm, but not dictatorial leader, Jomo Kenyatta.

Nonetheless, even though Kenya was a relatively peaceful and stable place, it seems that the end of colonialism still left a void. When the "colonial masters" (as they are referred to in most African countries) left, it seems that they took with them most of their knowledge and systems. Kenyans had to find ways of filling these voids, and it did take some time to do this.

And this all relates to the house how?

Well, the original 1946 bungalow was commissioned by a gentleman called Alistair Scott. I think it is fair to conclude that Alistair was a "colonial master". Even if his name didn't give him away, the number of black Kenyans living in houses with stone at that time was low to none; from my knowledge of my father's upbringing, the walls of the house he grew up in were certainly not made of stone. Alistair did a pretty good job with the bungalow, he put proper foundations with blinding and clearly used colonial architects and engineers (and no doubt strictly supervised black Kenyan labour) when building it.

From the ground up:
problems with the foundations
show themselves higher up

In contrast, the 1976 extension, built some 13 years after independence was clearly a product of the aforementioned void. A boom time during which the first set of educated Kenyan engineers and architects were still emerging and building regulations were lax, if existent at all.

37 years later, the next generation (me) is able to report that "Houston, we have a problem"!

Works in the house started on Monday, and everything was going swimmingly. Then came Tuesday. And with it came the engineer, along with his big suitcase of piddle-on-you-parade, enthusiasm-dampening news.

In short, we discovered that the 1976 extension was a result a bit of its time. The extension has limited foundations without blinding (read: not very good foundations), leading to sinkage. Which manifests itself visibly thorough... cracks. Lots of cracks.

And  no sooner did the engineer leave than the damp proofing contractor came (yes I've had to add another contractor). Who reported that the subterranean part of the 1976 extension might not have been the best design ever. With serious water coming in, it would be necessary to damp proof it all, and as far as possible, dig the walls out of the earth.

For some reason, the old colonial house was painted white
and the extension left a muggy grey colour!

But it wasn't finished there. She casually added that we might want to call some termite exterminators relatively soon, given the way the trails are going (upwards).  The termite guys (or lady rather) will be coming tomorrow to given another quote. This will be contractor number 9 for the project. I think. I'm losing count nowadays!

So it would appear that there we're taking three steps back before we can go forwards. But then again, going back to the issue of post colonialism, maybe some of the African countries had to do similar to get to where they are today...

P.S. There are now building regulations including planning permission requirements in Kenya, and a wealth of highly qualified, skilled architects and engineers. We also have colour TV in case you wondered!

And boom goes the avocado

Last Thursday was the first night I spent in my new home for the next few months. After another long day, culminating with me dragging my suitcase into my new place, I crashed on the only piece of furniture I had - the bed.

Now first nights in new places are always a bit strange. But this one was one of the more bizarre ones I've had. As I was beginning to drift off to the sound of chirping crickets, I heard a crack and a thud. Suddenly I was fully awake again. I froze for a while, thought about getting up to investigate, but tiredness decided against it. A few more minutes passed, once again I was in that magical semi-conscious state close to lala land when I was awoken by the same noise. And again I decided to ignore it. This cycle repeated itself a couple of more times until finally I entered those dreamy few minutes of sleep. BOOM! On the roof right above my head. I jumped up like a jack in the box. "What the pribbling-idle-headed giglet* is that"? Then it dawned on me; there is an avocado tree outside my window, and as we're in the  season the noise was falling avocados; one of which hit the roof above me!

After that little anecdote might be wondering where on earth I'm staying. I'll reveal that next time round...

*replace with a four letter expletive of your choice....

"The things you own..."

"... end up owning you". Tyler Durden first came out with this line in the film Fightclub. I've kind of adopted this into my religion. No surprise therefore that homeowning has never been on the agenda - until now.

In pure investment terms, I've always considered property to be a poor option. That's not to say there isn't an unmeasurable value from owning your own home in which to raise your family. But as an investment, not great. When you rent a place and your plumbing leaks, you call the landlord. Cracks appear in the wall, you call the landlord. Ceiling collapses after a meteor hits your roof, you call the landlord. Sure, he/she might take their time in sorting it, but it's them who sorts and pays for it. When you own a place, you sort it and you pay for it.

So why start the blog with a discussion on owning property? Because what I'm facing with my father's old house is a reminder of why I've avoided property till now! But let's back up a bit to examine where we are.

Even with the roof fixed the outside looks in need of attention

Cracks and broken doors 

Leaking ceilings are a bit of a nightmare!

After my father retired, he effectively moved to a farm in Kenya's beautiful rift valley to pursue his passion for agriculture. The side consequence of this was that he'd only spend a few days a year at his home near Nairobi. Inevitably, the Nairobi house suffered. Leave any house for over  ten years and it will suffer; add the equatorial sun, 2 months per year of torrential rain and tile-throwing monkeys to the equation and you even bigger problems. Five weeks were spent last summer clearing the inside while workmen (kind of) fixed the sieve of a roof. Now we're into repairing everything else. Ceilings, floors, walls, electrics, plumbing, windows... literally everything!

Saturday's meeting therefore was with building contractors. In Kenya, you have two broad options for building works: (1) hire fundis (workmen) and organise them or (2) take contractors.

While fundis are cheaper (typically 600-800ksh, 5-7 euro per day around Nairobi), they are risky. Good fundis are in short supply. Hiring fundis is like having children as they require constant attention, all day long. You have to run around getting materials for them and always be supervising (they are paid at day rate so will drag the job out as long as possible). From my experience, you can even end up having to feed them, though thankfully in my case the feeding didn't involve the use of my breast! Furthermore, fundis can make horrific mistakes which may seem obvious to you and me, but are not to them. Things which should be square (such as rooms) have the habit of turning into parallelograms, or in the worst case, triangles.  Vertical constructions often end up looking like the leaning tower of Pisa. Electrical sockets might be fitted upside down. If you've ever visited the site faiblog.org and seen some of those horrible construction fails, that is what fundis, in the worst case, can do for you. In their defence, fundis often haven't had much formal education and have only learnt on the job.

Contractors on the other hand are significantly more expensive, but (from my second hand experiences at least) they tend to get the job done to a high standard. Not least because they tend to specialise in just one area.

So in order to save my sanity and make sure the job gets finished inside 3 months, I made an early choice for contractors. Another cousin of mine, Maggie was kind enough to hook me up with a very good and friendly architect who in turn recommended the contractors. Most of them I'd already met on previous trips, but Saturday's meeting was with ALL the contractors. Except the two who got stuck in traffic (there we go with the 1.6m- vehicles-in-Nairobi problem again)! So that was seven contractors (interior finisher; plumber; gutterer; electrician, carpenter/kitchen cabinet maker, structural engineer and welder/window fixer) minus two stuck in traffic, plus the architect.

After five hours of meeting we emerged with a draft workplan and an agreement on most aspects of the budget. Though there are still a few things to hammer out, work will start on Monday. Finally it feels like the wheels are in motion...

Planes, trains and automobiles

Europe is blessed with cheap flights and extensive train (and bus) network which can take you just about anywhere you want to go. In contrast, flights in Kenya are expensive (it's twice the price to buy a return from Nairobi as it is to buy one to Nairobi); trains are to all extents and purposes non-existent, and buses (and minibuses - called Matatus) while always amusing but not wonderfully practical unless you only have to go one place a day and don't mind walking a few kilometres each end (we'll talk about matatus in more detail another time!)

A car is therefore essential. So essential that there were 1.6m vehicles on Nairobi roads in 2011 (according to the government itself). That's in a city of 3.3m inhabitants, located in a country which is still classed as developing by most measures!

Since arriving I've been renting a car. It's a good short-term solution, and while the price is very reasonable (3,000ksh/day; about 28 euros), over a period of 3 months it will add up to some wedge. A longer term solution is therefore needed.

Cue the latest crazy plan. As if fixing a house is not problem enough, we are now onto fixing a car; my father's old late 70s' Peugout 504. Unfortunately it has one or two minor problems. Like the engine not working, for example (and it has no battery, flat tyres, bit of rust and a few dents). So today's excursion, kindly set up and negotiated by my cousin Kaibi, took me to a shanty area called Kariobangi, where I bought an engine.

Entrance to the car graveyard

One way in, one way out..

Who knows what you'll find behind those walls

Kariobangi was originally a low income estate which has since sprawled into a shanty with all kinds of entrepeneuring types recycling and building just about anything. This makes it the perfect place to find an engine to fit a car which hasn't been produced for 30 years. However it also makes it the perfect place to get mugged if you stand out. "Be alert all the time, and don't take anything out of your pockets, certainly not your phone" my cousin warned me. We left my rented car at the petrol station by the narrow, and only entrance to the shanty and changed to his less conspicuous looking pickup.  A short drive later we hit what looks like a car graveyard, but is actually the most comprehensive scrapyard I think I've seen yet. Entirely empty chassis lining the narrow mud road,  with all the parts carefully catalogued and stored in a cast iron shack. Quick test of the engine and we hand over 90,000 shillings (850 euros) and leave with a 300kg piece of metal which requires 4 people to move. Now just to mount the thing.

I know what you're thinking "850 euros? You can buy a car for that!" Not here you can't....

"You're doing what?!"

That's the reaction I got a few times when I tried to explain this trip. In European terms, what I'm doing doesn't make much sense. In Kenyan terms it makes perfect sense. So what is it I'm doing here again?

On 11 April 2012, I received a phonecall telling me that my father passed away very suddenly. With such an unexpected death, everything is topsy turvy. Nothing is ready, everything is somehow muddled through. Within a day of the call, I found myself on a plane to Kenya. With lots of help from family and friends we got through the initial chaos. When the dust, and emotions settle, it is time to clear up.

Clearing up in my particular case means taking care of my father's old house. Unfortunately it's seen better days and needs a lot of attention. After four trips to Kenya spread over a 16 month period, it became clear the only way to tackle this is to come out and stay here till it's finished. And so here I am.

So back to the beginning. "You're doing what?!" Coming out to Kenya for 3 months and spending a minor fortune on fixing a house miles away may seem like insanity for a European. However by Kenyan standards it makes sense; taking care of the house my father worked very hard for and the ground around it where he is buried.  In time it will hopefully become an asset for me and my family as well.

And so that's what I'm doing here - fixing a house, while reconnecting with my roots at the same time.