they don't call it the rainy season for nothing

Computer never recovered but I’ve replaced my old machine with a new laptop – it’s another hp, apparently my favorite brand, but it sure doesn’t hold a candle to my old beast. The only good thing is that it’s about three times lighter, at least, than my former laptop – making carting it all over the damn place a bit easier.

Thanksgiving was less than spectacular here. All my friends that I would have celebrated with were out of town – in Congo or Sudan having quite a worse time of it than me, I imagine. So I cooked up some chicken stir fry (tried to keep to the poultry theme without resorting to wild turkey – tough meat and dry no matter how you cook it) and drank a good three quarters of a liter of whiskey. I’m sure I made the founding fathers proud.

My dad’s due for angioplasty on Tuesday – a bit of a shocker and something that’s had me worked up considerably since I found out. But after a lengthy phone conversation the other day, the duration of which was spent comforting me instead of vice versa, I feel a bit better about the whole thing. It’s a preventative measure and better to have this done now than get sacked with a major coronary some years down the road.

The one thing this has made me consider is how far away and how completely helpless I am halfway across the world. Sure, that’s something I expected before I uprooted myself from the lap of relative luxury I enjoyed in the States. But it’s never something I’ve been confronted with before, aside from the general pangs of homesickness. It really gives me pause to think about what I’m accomplishing here and what I really want out of life.

I’ll put an end to all these vague philosophies for now and promise a triumphant return to colorful blogging and interesting stories – but for the time being, I’m just trying to make it through November without any further calamities raining down on me.

Did I neglect to mention I’ve finally been struck with an inaugural bacterial infection and am suffering a gruesome rash on my neck from some insect referred to as the ‘Nairobi fly?’

Of course, this all seems terribly selfish and relatively inconsequential (except for the dad part, of course) when I consider there are literally millions of people just a few hours upcountry flooded out of their homes, their towns, even refugee camps – all without access to any kind of relief except what little the aid agencies are able to airlift to them. And the rains aren’t due to stop until January.

Love and umbrellas,
K.

roadkill

i'm back on one of those wacky french keyboards which are such a delight as i'm sure all those of you who have experienced this phenomenon know.

the reason?

my laptop, wallet and ipod got jacked earlier this week on my way home from this crap climate conference that i've been covering without end. i was in the car with the office driver and one of his friends (who was actually driving because earlier that SAME day i got into a car accident with the office driver on my way TO the conference in the SAME TRAFFIC ROUNDABOUT and his own vehicle was in the shop). we were stuck in traffic, creeping into town when a gang of petty thieves, started rapping on the windows - all of which were closed except for the driver's - and one reached in through the driver's window and unlocked the door, grabbed my bag and ran. i must have lived here far too long because i didn't even blink an eye and just directed the driver to take me to the police station after i returned from running fruitlessly after them.

lesson learned? lock your doors and close your windows when you're stuck in traffic in downtown nairobi (let me know if i'm wrong here: but didnt i do that?). there's a remote possibility that my computer may be recovered but i'm not holding my breath - i have my high level police friends working on it.

so, every morning i've been dragging my ass out of bed - hard to do during this gloomy wet season - to make my way to un headquarters for the climate change conference i've been trying to cover. it continues to be complete hell! but finally, this tuesday, relief arrived from paris in the form of a pair of seasoned science reporters who actually know what's going on but i've still been busy. and getting a shitload shitload shitload of clips.

the coolest thing, however, had to have been covering kofi annan who was here on wednesday. i got a couple of excellent, non-climate related stories out of him. it was truly awesome. i don't think i've ever been so starstruck in my life, drooling away in the front row of his press briefing.

also on the roadkill front: it's not much that strikes me as unusual about this place anymore - but i must say that during my commute to the conference - which is in an especially wooded area of town - i've noticed a large number of dead animals on the road. i originally dismissed them as a local species of raccoon or opossum, but upon closer inspection - they're actually monkey carcasses!

glacial meltdown

man, did today suck.

i was assigned to cover the goings on today at the climate change conference happening here in nairobi - 6,000 delegates, 189 countries, infinite scientific mumbo-jumbo and un bureacratic protocol.

aside from spotty internet connections - making filing any story, or even sending quotes virtually impossible and certainly mind-numbingly frustating - there was the minor problem of sharing quotes with my colleague - who refused to send them to me until she sent her copy to the office.

many phone calls from a maniacal editor later, we finally filed - i think i wrote four separate stories today - and certainly multiple versions of each.

it was certainly a confidence -shattering, ego-crushing afternoon but by the end of the day i think i managed to figure out how to cobble together the kind of copy that met my editor's approval.

the worst? apparently i didn't bomb entirely because i have to go back tomorrow. should be a little easier, i'll have another anglo reporter with me and he can run to all the press briefings while i try to cobble together a story about the midterm election results are going to effect future environmental policy.

good news though - have a stringing assignment for the leading gannett paper tomorrow which i've somehow got to manage to fit in while i'm running up and down the halls of the press center, tearing my hair out and stalking prominent tree-huggers. unfortunately, it's past ten in the evening and i'm still in the office trying to clear a bunch of shit off my desk before the shenanigans begin anew...

it's getting hot in here

a story that fell into my lap about former street kids who got to meet wolfie.

climate change conference kicks off here today. gotta love the UN. there's nothing like griping about global warming while you're ferrying 6,000 non-nairobians around the city in gas guzzling SUVs. they sure know how to spend their money well, don't they?

so somalia's about to explode, as you might have noticed if you've been reading the news lately. there are concerns that if full scale war were to break out in somalia, it would create a lot of regional conflict. certainly in ethiopia and parts of northern kenya that border that crazy chaos of a country, but nothing serious.

i've been getting a bunch of pictures sent out on the wire, so i'm excited about that. if i could do it all over again, i think, i'd rather be a photojournalist. not to mention it pays much better and takes less time than writing articles. i'm all about consolidating my efforts these days.

am making some progress in terms of freelancing gigs. have a couple of newspapers, newswires interested. its getting easier to network and my seething hatred of expat journalists is on the wane but... i still harbor a lot of resentment, rest assured, of people that take their full time gigs for granted and do as little work as they can get away with.

might be heading to south sudan in the next couple of weeks. it's probably all just blather - there's a lot of talk about sending me here and there but i only ever get to go to refugee camps. luckily juba, the capital in southern sudan, is just like one big refugee camp so maybe it'll work in my favor.

but for now, i've got to wrap my head around carbon levels, gas emissions and environmental treaties and UN protocol. it sounds about as boring as it really is... but if you don't love global warming these days, you might as well invade iraq without any pretense and call yourself george w. bush.

muddy freak out

I’m covered from neck to knee in goopy red clay mud – despite my persistent efforts to shower it off (it’s hard to withstand cold water after you’ve been in the rain for a solid hour). And why, you ask? Well, I’ve been chasing after Stella*, my cat. She managed to escape this afternoon while my cleaning lady* was working her magic on this mosquito-infested, gecko-invaded, cat hair carpeted apartment Gerry and I call home the few hours a day we inhabit it.

I’ve been tramping around outside, shaking a bowl of food, in the midst of a fucking deluge! No wonder she couldn’t hear the food rattle in her bowl, it was solid mush after a mere minute outside. You may think that I’m incredibly overprotective – but she’s never been outside to fend for herself and there are packs of savage guard dogs that roam around the neighborhood and god only knows what other predators lurk these dirt roads. Not to say that there are lions prowling up and down my street for dinner, but it’s been known to happen.

Finally, an hour later and soaked to the core, located her hiding underneath some of the tropical foliage that peppers the inside of our apartment complex and lured her upstairs with her sodden mush meal and a equally dripping toy that I bought her at the market the other day. I’d been routing around in the mud and the puddles with a piddly flashlight for an hour while the askaris (guards at the gate) looked on, fully convinced – and amusedly so – that I’d finally gone batshit.

So much for that flea dip I gave her. So much for that clean pair of jeans I was hoping to survive in until next week’s laundry. So much for that sparkling clean floor I returned to after work before noticing that the cat was missing. And god help me, I’ve got to tell you – I’ve never seen ring around the tub this bad before.

A real, non-cat related blog is on the way, I promise.

And a couple of shout outs –

To Christy Goodman who is leaving me and all those other suckers who paid for journalism grad school in the dirt by scoring a job at the Washington Post.

To Alison Granito who’s heading back to the third world – Dehli for Christmas if I can’t get an Eritrean visa?

And to Molly Brown who reminds me that I’m not the only one who gets drunk and takes tumbles that result in permanent bodily harm.

*It was the only name I could come up with that didn’t sound ridiculous. Penelope didn’t seem to fit her. I wanted some classical originally but I figure I’ll make my kids suffer that – here I declare that my first born son shall be christened Euripides. Unless I get an aloe plant or another animal in the intervening years and get it out of my system. But back to Stella – it’s not too terrible. I mean, it is a pretty decent beer and it wasn’t like I could realistically call her Heineken, right?

*It had to be done. As much as I despise the idea of hiring help, it’s my small contribution to the local economy. Beatrix washes our laundry and mops the floor while her husband Charles puts new soil in the cat’s litter pan and washes my car when I have it. Besides, there’s not enough time in the world to scrub all the grunge off our clothes.