...who thinks there's something not quite brilliant about running towards a catastrophe, like the people in downtown Nairobi were doing yesterday. As I wrote then, my gut instincts eventually prodded me to flee the area when I noticed people pressing closer to the burning building whenever the flames leapt dramatically higher.
With my decades of journalism experience--and abundance of basic, down-home mother wit--I quickly deduced that if I was near the front of that crowd the next time a gas cannister exploded, I'd either be instantly incinerated or trampled by people who suddenly realized it is wiser to avoid an out-of- control inferno wherever it might occur.
Better I should watch the drama unfold at home on my astonishingly uncomfortable couch, I concluded. And now the wisdom of that strategy has been confirmed by my colleague Ruth, the one who came running through the newsroom to usher everybody out yesterday. Turns out she's actually one of the designated fire marshals for the newsroom, so she definitely gets top marks for her effort.
But she also made this comment in an all-staff e-mail today:
"I am tempted at this point to go into the "peculiar" habits of Kenyans who think nothing of running TOWARDS a raging fire while cylinders are exploding at will and throwing shrapnel in all directions. This must be the only nation in the world where the only thing that scares citizens into running AWAY are policemen on horses (mind, they quickly return once the police have moved on) and the rain."
As I wrote on my Facebook status line this morning, I do not drink nearly enough alcohol to be able to adequately interpret the experience of life in Nairobi. But I'm working on it.
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