The idiot American

Thanks for coming. Lots to write about after a busy first week, but
generally I'll try to keep these posts short.

I arrived in Nairobi late last Sunday, and immediately set about
making an ass of myself in front of my new colleagues and neighbors.
Eric, the 28-year-old Kenyan who is my office assistant, brought me
from the airport to my apartment, where the first thing I did was flip
every light switch in sight like a five-year-old. I didn't notice that
one of the switches was slightly bigger and had a tiny alarm bell
painted on it, so Eric and I were duly surprised when, about five
minutes later, four security guards showed up at the door wielding
nightsticks, LAPD-style. My predecessor selected this apartment
precisely for its security system, and clearly he had chosen well. I
apologized profusely and explained that I was new to the building and
that it wouldn't happen again.

Which made it all the more entertaining when, two nights later, I
inadvertently flipped the alarm switch again. (It really does look
like a light switch.) Realizing what I'd done, I ran down to the front
gate and told the guards on duty to call off the security company. At
which point the security car pulled into the driveway and I confronted
the same four guards from two nights before. I said sorry, they stared
at me blankly, then the driver muttered something and drove off.

After they left, the guards on duty, clearly smelling blood in the
water, tried to convince me that I needed to pay 500 Kenyan shillings
(about $7) for the false alarm. I've learned from my short time in
East Africa that moderate resistance is usually enough to fight off
this kind of attempted shakedown, so I just said I didn't know
anything about that and the guards said OK and left.

But this brings up a delicate issue -- security guards (everyone calls
them by the Swahili word, askaris) are a key constituency for expats
here. The stories of "Nairobbery" are true; half the people I've met,
Kenyans and westerners alike, have been mugged, carjacked or
burglarized in the recent past. You don't walk around the city center
after dark, you don't wear fancy watches or carry expensive-looking
bags, and you certainly don't piss off your askaris.

Although my building is ringed by high stone walls topped with an
electric fence, we're not too far off a main road and I'm acutely
aware that I live alone in an apartment with a lot of valuable
computer equipment. Keeping the askaris happy is a necessity. So at
some point I will have to tip these guys nicely; I just knew I
couldn't start off as the idiot American who just throws his money
around. I'll try to leave that to the guys in the khaki vests and Land
Rovers who have clearly just flown in for safari.