There are several reasons why SecondBorn's music lesson (530-630 on a Friday night in farflung Langata) doesn't sit happily. Chiefly that Fridays from 5 are reserved for meeting up with my mates for an end of week cocktail and raucous laughter. But also that a distant cello lesson which is meant to finish at 630, but often overruns to 645, involves a long drive back in the dark through potentially dodgy areas.
On the way there it takes 50 minutes drive on the shortcut through Kikuyu market, lots of people spilling onto the road, fine in daylight. But the way back is far less predictable. Potential for and experience of early evening roadblocks by gangs and every car robbed.
Week One's lesson coincided with the Nairobi Intenational Trade Fair, also in that neck of the woods. I choose the safer, long way round, got caught in gridlock traffic, and didn't get home, with a boy asleep in the back till 930. A fortnightly six hour round trip for a basic level music lesson? Not doing that again.
So in Week Two I booked a security escort vehicle to accompany us home. Given the peaks and troughs of Nairobi's security, and the risk of carjackings, we're advised to do this after dark when we feel insecure. But usually this means late at night. Coming home at 2am. We don't tend to bother if we're returning from haunts in our neighbourhood, though the risk is there too. Or at 630pm. And from the expressions of the escort car guards, nobody else does either.
My first time with a security escort we were a carful of women, returning home from a late night play and meal in Karen. The play had been good. We'd laughed alot. Came out to the carpark to find a security car waiting with ours to accompany us from the door. As we drove off at speed, security car behind, lights on hazard, it felt a good end to the evening. Like opting for a taxi rather than a wet journey and two connections on the tube. As we came up to the interchange points the security car would have radioed ahead to their colleagues. Would veer off the road, and their colleagues slide in behind us for the next bit of the relay. A slick operation giving peace of mind to something insecure. A whiff of presidential outriders, of fantasies of sharing a car with Jesiah Bartlett and maybe Sam Seeborn or Josh from West Wing.
630 returns from music lessons are very far from this in everyone's minds.
Kenyan major roads don't carry street names. Most don't have street lights. There aren't handy signs pointing - Kikuyu or Nairobi. So while I knew I knew the way home in the light, in the dark I felt much less secure.
'Please can't you go in front and I'll follow you. I'm not so sure of the route in the dark.'
As we slid out of the built up area a car overtook me. The security escort (four in the car but no one looking out of the back window at the client) speed up, the interloper did too. Leaving me far behind, stuck behind a recalcitrant handcart. By the time I caught up and got their attention (horn, flashing lights, hazard lights) we were nearly at the dangerous bit, and I was furious.
'I'm the car you're meant to be accompanying. You have to watch to make sure you're taking the right car home safely.'
'Oh.'
So then they opted to play safe. Hazard lights and 15 miles per hour, even she can't lose us then. 15 mph through the dodgy bits. Down the hell for leather dual carriageway, cars beeping us all the way. Radioing ahead to warn the next car that this odd fish would like to go at 15 mile per hour. Like being the Queen Mother on an illplaced stately ceremonial handwaving occasion, or a lumbering nuclear waste van. In the dark.
Once you've set off you have a judgement call. Do I try and get their attention and stop again - potentially insecure - to say:
'Oh come on, we could do a steady 40 here.'
Or just plod on, embarrassed, thankful its dark, inching our way home at snail's pace. But safely.
So yesterday, Week Three. Lost my reticence, gave some clear instructions to the initial car.
'Please lets go as fast as we can safely. Say at 40? You go in front, - but make sure someone checks regularly that I'm the car behind you?'
But after a strong start this bit of the instructions doesn't get relayed as they radio ahead. Much of the journey made at 25 miles per hour. A final sprint to the finish at 40 with the last car. A safe journey home - thank you KK. Quicker than gridlock, still not a speedy conclusion to the week.
'If music be the food of love, play on.' Huh.
On the way there it takes 50 minutes drive on the shortcut through Kikuyu market, lots of people spilling onto the road, fine in daylight. But the way back is far less predictable. Potential for and experience of early evening roadblocks by gangs and every car robbed.
Week One's lesson coincided with the Nairobi Intenational Trade Fair, also in that neck of the woods. I choose the safer, long way round, got caught in gridlock traffic, and didn't get home, with a boy asleep in the back till 930. A fortnightly six hour round trip for a basic level music lesson? Not doing that again.
So in Week Two I booked a security escort vehicle to accompany us home. Given the peaks and troughs of Nairobi's security, and the risk of carjackings, we're advised to do this after dark when we feel insecure. But usually this means late at night. Coming home at 2am. We don't tend to bother if we're returning from haunts in our neighbourhood, though the risk is there too. Or at 630pm. And from the expressions of the escort car guards, nobody else does either.
My first time with a security escort we were a carful of women, returning home from a late night play and meal in Karen. The play had been good. We'd laughed alot. Came out to the carpark to find a security car waiting with ours to accompany us from the door. As we drove off at speed, security car behind, lights on hazard, it felt a good end to the evening. Like opting for a taxi rather than a wet journey and two connections on the tube. As we came up to the interchange points the security car would have radioed ahead to their colleagues. Would veer off the road, and their colleagues slide in behind us for the next bit of the relay. A slick operation giving peace of mind to something insecure. A whiff of presidential outriders, of fantasies of sharing a car with Jesiah Bartlett and maybe Sam Seeborn or Josh from West Wing.
630 returns from music lessons are very far from this in everyone's minds.
Kenyan major roads don't carry street names. Most don't have street lights. There aren't handy signs pointing - Kikuyu or Nairobi. So while I knew I knew the way home in the light, in the dark I felt much less secure.
'Please can't you go in front and I'll follow you. I'm not so sure of the route in the dark.'
As we slid out of the built up area a car overtook me. The security escort (four in the car but no one looking out of the back window at the client) speed up, the interloper did too. Leaving me far behind, stuck behind a recalcitrant handcart. By the time I caught up and got their attention (horn, flashing lights, hazard lights) we were nearly at the dangerous bit, and I was furious.
'I'm the car you're meant to be accompanying. You have to watch to make sure you're taking the right car home safely.'
'Oh.'
So then they opted to play safe. Hazard lights and 15 miles per hour, even she can't lose us then. 15 mph through the dodgy bits. Down the hell for leather dual carriageway, cars beeping us all the way. Radioing ahead to warn the next car that this odd fish would like to go at 15 mile per hour. Like being the Queen Mother on an illplaced stately ceremonial handwaving occasion, or a lumbering nuclear waste van. In the dark.
Once you've set off you have a judgement call. Do I try and get their attention and stop again - potentially insecure - to say:
'Oh come on, we could do a steady 40 here.'
Or just plod on, embarrassed, thankful its dark, inching our way home at snail's pace. But safely.
So yesterday, Week Three. Lost my reticence, gave some clear instructions to the initial car.
'Please lets go as fast as we can safely. Say at 40? You go in front, - but make sure someone checks regularly that I'm the car behind you?'
But after a strong start this bit of the instructions doesn't get relayed as they radio ahead. Much of the journey made at 25 miles per hour. A final sprint to the finish at 40 with the last car. A safe journey home - thank you KK. Quicker than gridlock, still not a speedy conclusion to the week.
'If music be the food of love, play on.' Huh.
In my eyes, this is dedication to get your child to their music lesson. I can't believe it would be a long drive in the first place to get there, but then realizing where you live, the options for teachers may be few and far (and many miles) between. Here in overpopulated Southern California, one would probably only have to go at a minimum of 10 miles to find such a teacher on hazardous roads (now that I think of it driving here is a challenge too, but not the challenges you face).
ReplyDeleteI would have definitely hired a security force to accompany me home if it was dark, no matter what the time. Better safe than sorry. If only they could figure out a way to make it a less taxing experience for you though!
This was interesting to read, thanks for sharing it!
betty