Since I mentioned crowded matatus in the last posting, this seems like a good time to introduce you to my efficient, organized, and very talented young journalist/assistant Sarah, who almost got herself fired this past Tuesday.
Not really, but it was touch and go there for a second! Overall, Sarah is the literally reason I have been able to accomplish ANYTHING with the Kenyan Alliance of Health and Science Reporters. She's focused, hard-working and totally committed to the idea of improving training resources for Kenyan journalists. She's computer savvy, which helps when I get frustrated and want to fling the organization's lousy laptop against the wall. And she'll arrive early, stay late, organize invoices, work with vendors, race across town to pick up tee-shirts--and THEN find time to do her own reporting, which is always very good and very well-written. The most important thing is that her brains are so much younger and fresher than mine, and she remembers things we're supposed to do. She's like my spare brain.
But here's the thing. For our recent trip to Central Kenya, Sarah insisted that we take a matatu. An 11 seater death sled on wheels that usually travels at top speeds and is more likely than not to be driven by a 20-year-old guy who probably spent the night before gulping Tuskers and chewing the local hallucinogenic Miraa.
I was about to tell her to "talk to the hand," but then I felt a brief surge of fiscal responsibility. A 3-hour matatu ride to Nyeri costs 350 shillings, or about $4, whereas renting a car would cost 8,000 shillings, or $92. To Sarah, it was a no-brainer--take the matatu, like millions of other Kenyans do every day, and save the organization a lot of money. So on Monday at around 2:30, Princess Rachella boarded what was only her second matatu during nearly 3 years in Kenya.
By the time we were settled in for the return trip on Tuesday around 3:00, I was exhausted, my lower back ached from having been jolted over long stretches of bumpy roads the day before, and I was in AGONY thinking about the now 4 hours it would take to get back to Nairobi, because we'd encounter Nairobi rush hour traffic this time. Seriously, I would have paid $920 for a car with a clean interior and good shocks. So I pretended to whine about wishing I was back in DC, with the efficient, fast Metro system, with no bumps and crazy drivers. We both laughed at my antics, but then Sarah said, "Stop acting like a baby!"
Many things occurred to me after I finished being stunned. First, I am old enough to be Sarah's mother, so there's probably really something wrong with me if Sarah perceived I was acting like a baby. Second, when I first met Sarah, she was so meek and skittish and desperate to please, I could barely get her to look me in the eye, no less have her speak to me. It felt kinda nice that she has become comfortable and confident enough to tell me to get a grip.
But here's the thing: why wouldn't my youthful employee, raised in a culture where respect for elders is almost a LAW, view me with a mixture of nearly paralyzing, awe and reverence which would stop her from ordering me to quit being such a whiny little bitch??
I'm still processing this situation, but for the most part, every time I think about it, it makes me smile. By the way, coincidentally, I suddenly find myself in the market for a new assistant! (*just kidding!*)
"I'm just sayin' dawg..."
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