‘s African correspondent Pasi Toivonen had to leave the evening loops out of his life. He wonders whether the dark should be feared in an African metropolis.
NAIROBI My first dark night in Africa was memorable. It will soon be 40 years since my feet had just touched African soil for the first time.
We had flown from chilly Amsterdam to Accra on the wet hot evening in the capital of Ghana. From the hustle and bustle of the airport, the “authorities” asking for bribes, and the “Hello Mister!” Helpers and taxi drivers coming from all over, we had escaped safety to Legon’s quiet campus.
The crickets chirped, we sat with my travel companion Timo under the dim outside light on our backpacks, on the wall of some random administration building. Our local guide had gone out in search of friends to stay with.
The night was black and white and we tried to make our heartbeat level off in the wake of the airport turmoil.
And then those young hearts almost stopped. A figure emerged from the darkness. A nearly two-meter-long Ghanaian man approached without saying anything. Stopped in front of us. He bowed closer. He brought his face from above almost to us… and said:
– Relax Brothers, brothers.
It was perhaps the best advice I have ever received on how to be in Africa.
We have now lived in Nairobi a month and a half, and we live with a completely different instruction:
– In the dark, you don’t walk outside.
This is said in earnest. After six, you won’t go to the convenience store, even though it’s only less than a hundred yards from the guarded gate. You don’t walk home from the restaurant. If you drive a car in the dark and someone gestures to stop or help, you will drive over the person rather than stop.
I have been sent here to meet people, not to fear nor to build fear. On previous trips to Nairobi, I have gone to areas that are “too dangerous,” where “a white man is not worth going to”. And it has gone well every time.
The poor areas of Nairobi are home to hundreds of thousands or millions of people who want to live in dignity and move forward in their lives. That is the question in Nairobi. Not that people in Kibera, Kawangware or Eastleigh are stalking me, my cell phone and my money.
Nairobi is a vibrant metropolis of five million people. The people of Nairobi are open and friendly. When you make eye contact, you almost always get a smile and a greeting from both men and women, children and the elderly.
I’m going to be my Finnish-Spanish-Kenyan friend With Juan (Real Madrid) to watch the Champions League final at K1 nightclub. It is located on the same street as our first home in Nairobi.
Ojijo Road is quiet in the evenings, the distance from the guarded home gate to the nightclub is only a couple of hundred meters.
Before the game, it’s not even really dark yet, but Juan won’t give up. When the game is over and Real’s victory is celebrated, he pushes me back into the taxi.
I feel like the brothers aren’t really relaxed right now.
I see a piece of the familiar street in front of me, there are only a few other people going home from the game with whom we are just celebrating together. But no, we’ll take a taxi.
– You can’t get used to this. You can’t go on foot even if it’s just a short distance and a familiar route. I have lived here for 15 years and I have not compromised on this. And nothing has ever happened to me, Juan says emphatically.
Darkness descends at the equator always between six and seven. Since then, there has been a de facto voluntary curfew in Nairobi, declared out of caution, fear or rationality. At least the wealthier ones need to stay indoors.
Half a day no curfew? No evening walks? Not walking from the hall or shop home? Do I want that kind of life?
In the morning the newspapers tell about a local man who left home after a game for Real and Liverpool walking home, a little drunk and relaxed. He was robbed and beaten badly, and one of the robbers was shot dead by police.
I’ll think about it. In two years’ time, will I say that I have not compromised my safety, I have not walked in the dark – and nothing has happened to me.
Or have I followed the long-standing advice of Ghanaians decades ago and been a little relaxed?
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