A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 8

Actually I haven't known this, I got it by my last research.

REF:Warning against all travellers to Kenya using any means(Airplane or Motor vehicle):Take precautions before arranging any trip to Kenya.

The Consul,Embassador -South African embassy in Nairobi, Kenya

Dear Honourables;

The above refers.

I would like you to give/transmit warnings to all those till Kenya especially through the International airport to make first proper arrangements and make sur that there is a fair security upon arrival in Kenya.Otherwise,most will be surprised when the fund/money they are keeping in their suitcases or wallets(mostly wanted is the US Dollar currency bills) is robbed or stolen by Kenyan police at the airport without proper information.The average amount allowed to declare as a tourist/visitor must be determined as to not exceed not more than $5000,00 only.

I hope that you kindly transmit this message to all travel agencies in South Africa or abroad.This may be transmitted also to all other you find might be needing such an information like at OR Tambo International Airport,Johannesburg.

Thanks for your anticipated cooperation.May God bless you all!

Kind regards,

Kenya is not an easy country, that I must say. What in other countries of this world is very common and normal, in Kenya it is not allowed. 

In South Africa I as a Foreigner can open a bank account, that's very easy, takes only a few minutes. Then I can transfer money to this account and I don't have to run around with my pocket full of money. That's for my safety. Everyone is doing this. But in Kenya its not alowed.

The question is only why? What reason is behind it.

I can remember very good when the Kenyan government changed the currency. I asked what is the reason behind it. The answer was that the government want to stop money laundering. Still now I got no idea how this should go. If someone got black money, maybe under his pillow, he must change it to the new currency. Actually I don't believe that someone is hiding money under his pillow. The rich they got bank accounts in other countries. They are laughing about that. 

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 8

Today I would like to write about my experience and adventures in Mombasa and Kilifi. I arrived in Mombasa, not really prepared for this city and this district. My friends just said go there, Mombasa is beautiful. So I wanted to see this beautiful city. Most of all, I was curious about the sea. With 1,208,333 inhabitants, Mombasa is the second largest city in Kenya and the most important port city in East Africa. The city is located on Mombasa Island on the Indian Ocean and is the capital of the county of the same name. What should I tell you, everyone knows Mombasa. As soon as I got out all hell broke loose on me. Matatu drivers, even female drivers, stormed me, harassed me, didn't let me breathe. That was scary. 

"Where are you going, Mzugu?" "Mtwapa," I replied. "Long way, 5000!" As soon as the number was mentioned, someone else shouted: "4500!" "4000!" And so it continues. I was surrounded by these boars. The last offer was in 2000. I didn't know where Mtwapa is, how far away it is, I booked a hotel over the internet. That got too much for me. "If it is not possible to get a normal price, I will walk!" I took my backpack and slowly walked down the street. The parking lot where the matatus stood emptied, soon there were only a few left. Someone ran after me. "Mzungu, wait, I have an offer for you!" I waited. It was a shared taxi that wasn't quite full. The price was acceptable so I went back and got in. It took another half an hour, then we drove off.

 I can't say where we were going, I have no idea. I can only remember one bridge. One by one got out, I was the last. I had never seen the hotel before, only on the picture on the Internet. But whatever. Mtwapa I'm here! Mtwapa is a city in Kilifi County in Kenya. The city is located about 16 kilometers northeast of Mombasa on the Mombasa – Malindi road. Mtwapa Creek is an inlet of the Indian Ocean near Mtwapa, which forms the border between Mombasa and Mtwapa. Mtwapa is a satellite city and it is part of the metropolitan area of ​​Mombasa. It's warm and humid; I sweat. I come from the highlands and I am warmly dressed. The hotel is closed! What bad luck too! What can I do? It's not nice here, I don't like the area. Doesn't look good here, I imagined it differently. There can be no talk of a beautiful city here. It's dirty, dusty and dirty here. A tuck-tuck is coming. He stops. "Can I help?" It is a young man. Who in this country is older than me? Everyone is younger and more beautiful. But whatever? "Yes," I said, "I'm looking for a hotel, if possible open and not too expensive." "How much do you want to spend?" "2000, about" "Get in, I'll take you there." "What does this cost?" I have become cautious, I learned in Kenya. Caution is the mother of the porcelain box, as we say. "200" I got in, couldn't be far. And really, after a few street corners we stop. "Here it is! Check it out, if you don't like it there are several other hotels." I stayed. Wasn't the best but acceptable, located on a side street, far away from the crowd, the bars, ... But more about that later. As I said, I was very interested in the sea, I wasn't interested in the city of Mtwapa at all. And in retrospect, that wasn't wrong either. I asked for the way to the sea. They showed me the direction and I started walking. Down a narrow street, dusty. I noticed the houses, everywhere signs saying "rooms available". So many houses, everyone is looking for guests. Several people were sitting at a table, a white woman with three black men. She smokes, looks at me with interest, and so do I. She looks old, it's not the wrinkled skin that makes her old. I go around the corner, there is a bar, people are sitting at a table in the shade, this time the other way around, a white man with some black women. “Hello, Mzungu!” One of them calls out and waves. I wave back, move on. Soon I'll be at the sea. What a sight! Mangroves, swamps, flies, a lot of people, one bar at a time. Everyone screams: "Come here, have a beer" A huge German flag is there. Maybe 5 meters long. Some whites are sitting around. I ended up in "Little Munich". I don't like that. There is nothing here that would impress me positively. As a white man, I have no peace here. It's time to eat. I'm going back to town, looking for a bar. Massage parlors along the street. Signs in German. "Leberkäse" Where am I here? Everywhere girls, women all look at me. Waiting for customers, they are prostitutes. Men sit around, apparently having nothing to do, are perhaps the beneficiaries of these ladies. What do I know.

I ask for an acceptable beach, they tell me. I drive there. Call the tuck-tuck driver, he'll drive me. "Lots of white people here?" I ask him. "Not as many as before." The poor prostitutes, I imagine, no business, no food! No whites, no life! After a few kilometers we arrived. The beach. One hotel after another. One luxury house after another. The sea is shallow, the surf far out, here on the beach the water is calm. I go to the beach. Get dismayed by some, buy this, buy this, the old lyre. You have to get used to that. Kenya is full of it. I would be arrested. I've already reported about it, I don't want to repeat that. Here is the link to the story. https://charlykappel.blogspot.com/2021/08/arrested_22.html?m=1 Here a few words about Kenya's police. Corruption is widespread among Kenya's police. Kenya's National Police Service is considered the country's most corrupt institution, and bribery is reportedly the only way to speed up access to police and services (HRR 2016). What I would like to add here are my thoughts on Mtwapa, Mombasa and Kenya in general. On the beach, which is public, there is a large board. This board shows what is and what is not allowed on the beach. I noticed one thing. There is forbidden topless without, i.e. not covering the breasts. And that got me thinking. Bare breasts are forbidden, prostitution is - although not allowed - but accepted. The church preaches, but keeps silent before prostitution. It is easy. Bare breasts don't bring you anything, no tired shilling, prostitution brings a fair amount of money. And money denies life! Just like the government, which is also keeping quiet as if the problem doesn't exist. The white people I saw in Mtwapa, of course not all, there will be others too, are old. They just take advantage of people's plight. Old men, young women! And the whites are not ashamed! The blacks make fun of these impossible whites on the one hand, and on the other hand they pull the money out of their pockets. Don't bother me at all. They didn't deserve it any other way.

Here I would like to mention an article from a Kenyan newspaper.

Sex tourists prey on minors pimped by own parents in Mtwapa https://www.the-star.co.ke/news/big-read/2019-05-17-sex-tourists-prey-on-minors-pimped-by-own-parents-in-mtwapa/

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 7

 In the matatu

In the matatu

In Kenya there are a lot of matatus. Transport is usually done by them. The streets are full of them. There are different types of matatus. One for short travelling, others for long, fast and slow.

One day I entered one of these matatus. I got a seat in front beside the driver. The driver was a young man with a moustache. I can remember him very good because at this time I also have had a moustache.

He started to talk with me. Anyway it was a small conversation.

As a Kenyan he complained about his life. "We are so poor!," he told me, not knowing that I read newspapers.

"Why you say this?," I asked him.

"We are poor, we have nothing."

"Is that true?," I asked him.

"Sure!"

"Can't be," I said.

He was amazed. "Why you said that?"

"Listen," I answered, "I have been reading the news. Some days ago there was an article in the newspaper mentioning that Kenya is doing good. This was an investigation done by the world bank."

"Cannot be!," he cried out.

"Hold on, I'm not finished. Next day there was another message in the newspaper, saying that's not true, that Kenya is poor and that Kenya is doing good in East Africa is a lie."

The driver nicked with his head. He agreed completely with what I said.

"And yesterday there was another article in the newspaper. You want believe it but it says that a lot of money is in the country. And when you calculate that less then 50 million people are living in Kenya - what a surprise - each of your guys have in your pocket or your bank account 12 million. Such a lot of money and you're still poor. "

He agreed." Yes, that's true, we are poor. "

" So you mean you don't have 12 million in your pocket? "

" Of course not! I am poor! "

I only could ask him." If you don't have that money in your pocket where is it? Someone else must have it, the question is only who got it? "

He was looking at me not knowing what to say. After some time he said:" They are lying. "

I haven't asked him who in his opinion is lying. For sure he wouldn't known it. For him all Kenyans are poor and that is actually what I found out: all Kenyans are poor. In this country no one is doing good all are suffering. If Kenya's wealth were equally distributed, then every Kenyan would have just this 12 million in his pocket, but because the wealth is unevenly distributed, the majority has to suffer so that a minority can live damn well.

The driver could not understand. Only few people can understand.

Later I got the news that in Kenya only 2 million people are paying taxes. I can't say if this is true. What I found out is simple, most people are self employed, that means no job. So it can be true. 

Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 6

 A fine day in Nairobi, I was in the bar, had a beer, actually there were two, but what the heck, people were talking, it was loud, several televisions made us happy with a sports program that nobody was interested in. Suddenly an outcry. Someone had come from the street, ran out of breath, stood in the doorway, shouted: "People, traffic jam!" Everyone jumped up and ran out. The waiter afterwards, some had forgotten to pay. In a few minutes the bar was empty. I was alone. I asked the waiter, "What happened?" "It jams again." "And they want to avoid the traffic jam?" "No, they want to take part." I was just amazed. I drank another beer. Fresh and cold. After an hour they came back. They beamed all over their faces. Some had red cheeks, they were so excited. "How was it?" Asked the waiter. "Wonderful. We were stuck in a traffic jam, nobody could go forward, nobody backward, neither right nor left. We didn't leave any space. It was wonderful, wonderful!" That's the way it is in Nairobi. Traffic jam every day. The streets are full. Everyone knows it and yet everyone gets behind the wheel. Why do you do this to yourself? Some because they have to, others - and that's the majority - because they want to. It's the nouveau riche who drive big, fat cars, they have to be shown. Everyone has to see it, you can afford it! You don't belong to the large group of Matatu users, you drive your own car! Anyone stuck in a traffic jam will be seen and that is important. See and be seen. That's why you are completely relaxed when you arrive. It is always hoped that the neighbor in the traffic jam is someone you have never seen. That is the greatest happiness. People in traffic jams burn a lot of fuel, that's the same. At the same time it pollutes the environment. But what the heck, a little lead in the blood won't do any harm. What is harmful is not to be seen. You could also drive Matatu, that would save a lot, but the disadvantage is that you cannot run your own vehicle. And so it keeps building up. No life without traffic jams! Only those who accumulate live!

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 5

 Nakupenda kwa moyo wangu wote. "I love you with all my heart. What else can you say? Crazy people invented love. There was another lady, I don't remember her name, I forgot. When I did The previous story of Debbie, she remembered. So we got in touch. Quick and easy. She had children, believe me, remember that she had two. The first question she asked was: "Can you support me? "That was damn quick. No other question, nothing else was important." With what? "Was my counter-question." I have children who have to go to school, I need money for that. "I understand that. Children have to go to school. "How much is this about? What would that cost? "I had to ask, I didn't know. She said a number. I replied," OK "The floodgates were open." And I need something too. "" What would that be? "Stupid question, I could ask myself already imagine what's coming next. "I want to open a business." Of course, what else? I said: "You are not looking for a man, you are looking for a supporter!" God? "She tried to give the conversation a twist." I don't fear God and I don't believe in him. "That hurt!" Then nothing will happen to us! I only take a man who fears God. "With that, the contact was over. Later I learned that everything is valued with money. This is no different in Kenya than in Europe. The pastors in Europe also get paid. They will rich, the creditors poor. Here is an example from Europe. There was a pastor who had a golden bathtub built into his house. That was too much for the creditors. In the end the Pope sent the pastor to Africa, somewhere where poverty is particularly high. Not in Kenya, that is not! Here in Kenya it is comparable to Europe. The pastor comes by car, the believer comes on foot. Here there are churches in all corners that fight for the believers. A lot there is talk of love. There is much of that in the Bible. Christ said nothing about stones and bricks and walls, nothing about the love a man feels for his field, his property, his little kingdom.

Love for anything is the daughter of knowledge; this love is all the more ardent, the more thorough is the knowledge we have of it. And the ultimate certainty is born from the complete knowledge of all parts which, when changed, form the totality of the things that are to be loved. The Christian creed does not know this love. The Bible doesn't know it, but the Kenyan does. The love for his property is very pronounced here in Kenya. There is a fight for every foot width, not traded at all, just fought. What I love about people is that they are a transition and a downfall. Who knows what 'love' is? The desire of the mean to prepare the other with his saliva into a firm bite. And you have to perish from it. Much loyalty is no longer found in this confused world. And the church, faith doesn't make it any better. Faith. There is something strange about the word. It seems that it creates reality first. Things are only there when you have named them, and if you keep something in silence for a long time, it also dies. There is a magical power in the Word, but we must support it with our faith. But we don't believe anymore today. Today we often no longer know the true meaning of the word, and the devil laughs up his sleeve because, as in the case of the Tower of Babel, he has completely managed the confusion of languages. It is believed that the people of Babel spoke different languages ​​back then. Not even close. They all spoke the same thing, but each word meant something different to each one. About like the discussions in Parliament today.

What I mean is what kind of love can that be that money bought? When the church needs something, donations are made, when a believer needs something because he may be sick, prayers are made. There is a difference, whether you like it or not, the difference is very obvious. The two dominant powers in the civilized world are church and state. The state uses the church to manipulate people. The perfect person and the millennium of community is not in sight. The dreamer who plants the seed of universal freedom will reap thorns for his pain. The most impressive institution in history, the church, is crumbling. It comes under the attack of doubt, reason and knowledge. And that's a good thing and also important, because we have to make the leap forward and not stop. Love, there is, even if it is not easy to find. There should be love at first sight, it is very rare, but there is also that. Usually love grows slowly. It gets bigger and bigger. Love has to be worked on. Love means work, a lot of work. Love ain't easy What many women forget when they treat their partner like he is a king is that they become queen. And yes, love goes through the stomach too. For my part, I love good food. I'm really looking forward to it. So dear ladies, don't forget, treat your men like kings, feed them well, then you will be queens.

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 4

 Kenyan Ladies 

Kenyan Ladies Today I would like to write something about women in Kenya. I didn't remember much, some I didn't want to keep in mind, but I can remember a lady, not because she was so pretty, more because I laughed so much. I have to admit right away that I never saw her, never shook her hand or looked into her eyes. Like most foreigners who want to come into contact with women, I went to a cyber office. It didn't take me long to look, I soon found what I was looking for. One ad caught my eye, it was Debbie's ad. I replied, briefly, saying my name, my age, where I come from. So nothing special. A few days later I got an answer. Debbie wrote. "Hello grandfather! How are you?" I had to laugh heartily. It's true, I'm not young anymore - I have to admit it - I'm old! I know and I'm not trying to hide Why also? We get old on our own, you don't have to do anything, you just have to be careful that you can grow old. Well, this 'grandfather' didn't really surprise, insult or otherwise hurt me, on the contrary, he amused me. There was no photo on Debbie's profile, so I asked her to send me a picture of her. I received an answer soon. "I don't have a smartphone, send me money, then I can take a picture of myself and send it to you." I had to laugh again. The grandfather didn't send any money, of course. To this day I don't know if this Debbie really exists. Could also have been a man, so a fake profile. Nobody is safe! "Don't do it," I replied. I can't remember exactly. But it sure came down to that. Another message came from her. Heartbreaking news. "Dad, please send me some money, I have nothing to eat!" It may or may not be true. What should i believe What is the truth? Not easy to find out. God and justice are a long time coming. My love for God wavers and is replaced by love for girls. The latter are more tangible, more tangible than justice. Seen in this way, one can say that love experiences lead directly to communism. It stuck in my mind because it was straightforward. She - if it was her - didn't mince her words and I think that's nice. We always have to decide before the others, about death, love, the world, we have to choose, risk something, let life draw us a little, leave something behind and find ourselves again. She was not like other women who try to avoid reality, who write that age is just a number. Even if it's true that age is a number, it says a lot about us. You can't go over it. It also doesn't fit when an old man has a young woman, expectations are different, the attitude to life is different. So there are many reasons why it doesn't fit. Everyone has to know what they want. I wish for a satisfied, balanced life and that is only possible with a partner who suits me in old age. R. Here said: "If you stay young in your head, the rest of your body is not so important to you. Is there anything that looks younger and fresher than sparkling eyes and a shimmering mind?" Gere is probably right there.

A Foreigner In Kenya, Chapter 3

 In the hotel

I have chosen a middle class hotel. There are some good hotels in Nairobi, but the prices are heavenly. These hotels are so expensive that I wonder who can pay for them? And yet there must be people who can afford it. I'm not one of them, it hurts, but it's the truth. The lady at the reception is friendly, nice, helpful. I have to fill out an application, but after a long journey, I find it difficult to read. It is also dark, little light, a small lamp hangs on the wall, can barely illuminate the reception. She helps me, points with her finger where I should write the information. This procedure is finally over, I straighten up with relief, stretch myself; with a friendly smile she hands me the key. I go to my room. I'm a little surprised, the rooms in Kenya are a little different from those in Europe. On the left, right next to the door, is a wardrobe, in Europe they are closed, here I can see through the bars. Does not look bad. There are African paintings and decorations on the walls. The bed is just huge! There is certainly room for four people, not just one. This is not a bed, this is a battlefield! The light, ie the lighting in the room, is also not bright enough, much is in the half-dark. But it's nice. I go into the restaurant. I don't really have an appetite, only thirst torments me. I order a beer, then another. Finally, I still get an appetite. My first meal in Kenya. "I want something to eat," I say to the waitress. At the same time I notice that she is extremely pretty. "What can I get you?" She asks with a smile. I have no idea what is out there, I shrug my shoulders. She enumerates a few things, doesn't understand anything. Just order with good luck and luck was on my side. How amazed I was when she came with a bowl and I had to wash my hands. A little strange! After a while a young man comes with a huge bone and puts it on the table. He must have seen my face, which must have had an astonished expression. "Here is your order, sir!" I can't stop being amazed. By the way, an excellent meal. Some mzungus are just lucky! I stayed a few days. Make friends with me. A friend is a manager of this hotel. I was sitting in the restaurant, it was afternoon, having a beer, he came by, saw me, came to me, started a conversation. I wasn't averse to doing some conversation. He told about himself, his family, where they live, how they live. After a while he asked me if I could invite him for a drink. I agreed. "What do you want to drink?" I asked him. "A beer." I wanted to order a beer, but the good man held me back. I asked him why I shouldn't order. He told me that, as a manager, he was not allowed to have a beer with a guest. I got that. "How do I order now?" I asked. "It's easy," he replied. "We have a code here, if I have a beer, I'll just order a hallelujah!" To this day I don't know his name, for me it's simply called Hallelujah! And it will stay like that. Later Hallelujah came to me with another friend. The friend is also an employee of the hotel. I think he's a subordinate of him. I think that should also be true. Hallelujah came to me first. "May we disturb you?" I had nothing to do so I replied it's ok. "What's up?" I asked and looked at the two of them. "We want to leave the country. We want to go to Europe and you should help us." I was a bit surprised because I thought that the work in the hotel should be fine