A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 21

 Fedha - the money

We are on our way again. The money arrived, people ran like crazy to the bank, wanted to withdraw the money, but the bank prevented that. Wasn't bad!

They want to force him to worship their gods, and as he refuses, they pluck him by his beard and his hair and yank him until he kneels, and it's very funny. He does not recognise their visible gods, and the others do not recognise his invisible gods. But just in case, they take away the little money he has saved up for the altars of their gods, and they beat three of his seven children to death.

That's just by the way. Money makes the world go round. Round is maybe not correct, mad is maybe better. 

We, the monster and I, we are already expected, impatiently, fearfully perhaps, that we, or rather I, will not come. The man with the money! At the moment everything is at my feet. I can't believe what money can do. It works. Money always works. Kindness prevails. Of course, with my signature there is money! Why shouldn't people be friendly? 

In the surveyor's office we sign. Copies are made. I get one to look at. Well, immediately I notice that this document from Ministry Of Land, is not stamped. I have to point this out to him. He apologises, stamps all the papers. 

The way to the bank is now clear. With the signed contract they get the money. They can hardly be restrained. Their first way to the bank! Where else? 

We're going back. 

I have time to think. 

What am I going to do with my life?

... I knew what I was spending it on,

Considered what my faith weighs,

And if I end it on the judgment block,

I was victorious in the end!

(Richard Zach, Austrian poet, executed in January 1943)

From a poem smuggled out of prison). 

Somehow I feel as if I were on the slaughter bench. It's just happened too quickly. We haven't known each other that long and now I've bought a building plot! Somehow too fast! Way too fast. I feel run over. 

We're going for another beer, it's got to be now! My throat needs to be flushed. Something is scratching in my throat. 

As always, my thin thoughts dispel the monster. She's got it, I'll give her that. 

We're still talking about the house, how it's going to be, what we have to consider. 

"Call Fundi, I need to talk to him!" 

Everything is still open. Nothing is decided.

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 20

 Mkataba - the contract

What we still don't know is what the house should look like. Big, small, high, low, ... There are so many options. What I know is simple: Atehan psatzen debena bere etchezan da - (that's what the Basques say) whoever walks through this door may feel at home. And that's my job too.

Are you closer to the face of God when you kneel before his consecrated altar? It is said that God is everywhere. But it also means: go to your father's house.

And that's exactly how it should be, a father's house. Everyone who comes should be welcome, as a friend, relative or just a hiker who asks for a place to sleep.

I'll have the monster call Fundi, this problem has to be solved! 

We'll meet in the bar. As always, I'll have a cold beer. 

"This bar here, that's my office," I explain to the Fundi. "There is everything I need here. Cold beer, fresh air and music." The music is too loud, I can hardly understand anything, that makes conversation a bit difficult.

The Fundi brought some plans with them, copied from a newspaper. We look at them, we don't like them.

The monster says, "What can we do?"

The Fundi says: "Look on the Internet, there are many examples! Find one." 

That's how easy it can be! 

I ask, casually, if he has any idea how much the house might cost? 

He pulls out a pencil and a piece of paper, begins to talk and write. 

"The foundation costs around 100,000. For this we need 50 bags of cement, 2 truckloads of stones, ... Then the approval, the stamps, ..." 

He enumerates a number of things. Then the bricks, the windows, the doors and ... In the end he adds up. It comes to 5 million.

I guess the house can't get big at 5 million! I can't pay that! It has to be a hut, nothing else is possible!

We discuss how big is the house, how big should it be. 

Then we come to his task. He will do the construction site inspection.

I ask him why doesn't he do the planning too? 

"We need an architect for that." 

"And he also does the construction drawing?" I ask. 

"No," he replied, "the construction drawing is made by a draftsman." 

"And where can I find such a draftsman?" 

"That is determined by the architect." 

I think this is just an overview, we don't know anything for sure yet. One after the other. There is a lot of talk, maybe too much. I notice a few things. I discard it again. Perhaps I misunderstood it, it may be that one mustn't judge too quickly.

We arrange a meeting point with the seller. Go there, the contract must be signed. The Fundi is there again. Why? I dont know.

We get off the bus, are already expected. It's not far to the land surveyor. It's a strange office, behind another store. To get to the surveyor's office, we have to go through this business.

I am not doing well. I got a stomach ache that night. They are now making themselves felt. The office is small. 2 tables, nothing else, and as usual in Kenya, dark. It takes until I can see something. Witnesses are there too. Chairs are fetched, we sit down.

The surveyor fetches the contract. He gives it to me. I look at him. It is a form from the Ministry Of Land. Nothing special. Nothing special. A standard contract.

The Fundi also looks at him. I wonder why he's doing this. I don't have to wait long, he's already talking.

"It's a completely normal contract." 

I've been waiting for that. 

And he keeps talking. "Nicely worked out, there is the seller, the buyer, the witnesses, everything is listed correctly."

Excellent! He commented on everything I read. I know everything now!

The surveyor fills out the contract. 

Address given by the monster, then the buyer or buyers. The monster comes first, then me. Now the witnesses. The buying price. He shows me the contract.

"Is it correct?" 

I look at it. 

"No," I say, "the monster's name has to go." 

The monster looks a little surprised, but says nothing. 

The surveyor amends the contract. My name is now the 1st buyer, the name of the monster as the 2nd buyer. So exactly the other way around.

The surveyor shows me the contract. 

" Is it correct?" 

I look at it. 

"No," I say, "the name has to go." 

The monster is irritated. The surveyor brushes the name away. Now only my name is there as a buyer.

"OK," I say, "let's sign." 

Here I am in for a surprise. There is no signing, the money has to be paid first. This is strange to me, but this is Kenya.

Now the questions begin. 

"When will the money be there?" 

The most important question of all. 

"I don't know!" I can only answer. 

"When do you think it will be there?" 

"In 3 days, that is the shortest period of time, it can also take a week or more." 

You are satisfied with that. 

I made the monster happy. I bought a piece of land that doesn't belong to me because the contract is a sales agreement, nothing more.

Everything was handled quickly. If you have time and let time pass, you lose a friend and never get money. I got rid of money, that's true. Maybe I made a friend. One for life. If you ask a person for change, he gives a lecture on the begotten and the ungenerated; if one asks about the price of bread, the answer is that the father is greater than the son; if you ask whether the bathroom is ready, the answer is that the son was created out of nothing. There is always talk of the bush.

We're going back.