Sunday at the mall

Two British journalist friends, a husband and wife, are leaving Nairobi after two years and heading back to London. They both really seemed to like it here and they've done pretty great work, so I was curious that neither of them feels at all conflicted about leaving. They can't wait. "It will be nice to be somewhere where you can walk to the corner store again," the guy told me yesterday. "I guess that's something you don't miss, being from California."

 

Ah yes, the West Coast digs don't stop, even when you're in East Africa. But I thought for a second. It was Sunday, we were sitting on a patio having brunch, the weather was somewhere in the high-20s (80s in Fahrenheit), a multicolored, multilingual crowd was all around us, and the view spread out before us was a mini-mall parking lot. It was true -- I'd never left L.A.

 

The parallels between Nairobi and my hometown are starting to become clear. You have to drive everywhere. All the shopping, eating, drinking and entertainment are centered in malls. The city's climate and natural beauty are stunning, yet most days all you see are concrete and car bumpers. The pollution is noxious. The segregation is stark -- the slums of Kibera on one side of downtown, the well-manicured estates of the expatriates and Kenyan middle class on the other, and never the two shall meet.

 

The mall culture is especially similar. On weekends places like the Junction -- a gleaming South African-built mall north of town -- are teeming with families who come less to shop than just to walk around. (Which is good, because virtually all the shops and restaurants are replicas of ones you can find at any other mall in town.) You can have lunch, take a quick stroll around (there's only about a dozen shops), lose yourself in the bookstore, have a cup of coffee, catch a movie. It's the Beverly Center, minus the Armani store. Having a clean, safe place like this is something new for a lot of Kenyans, but if you're from L.A., it feels completely like home.