World Tour 2012 - Reflections on the trip

May 2012

As most of you know, we’ve just returned from an epic vacation travelling to Canada (Ottawa)/Switzerland (Geneva) and the US (New York). Just to contextualize a bit… we flew from Nairobi to Geneva, spent a week there stuffing ourselves on all the fatty carby goodness that Switzerland has to offer as well as the more wholesome and delicious homecooking of Ammi (Aki’s mum).  Then onto Canada where we based ourselves for the next three weeks reuniting with family time on the Thomas side, neighbours, friends and colleagues from our previous lives in New York, and then back to Geneva where we spent some time in the mountains outside Geneva with family, hiking and eating ourselves silly till at last we felt sated and ready to be rolled onto the plane for the journey back to Nairobi.

We can thusly attest to the fact that it is extremely disorienting to spend one weekend with family in a chalet on an alpage, followed immediately by another with just your nuclear family in a two hour rainy, muddy trip back to your ‘home’ from the Nairobi airport.  We got a powerful reminder that we had arrived when our usually punctual driver was delayed (traffic on the rain-clogged road to the airport), and our mobile phone network being down due to the storms.  In any event, I’m glad we’re back, so that we can get our respective routines back.  Little F.’s sleep patterns, in particular, need remedial intervention if the 4 month-mark (May 21) sleep training regimen is to prove effective and painless.  We are also getting some faint reminders of how we felt when we first arrived here in September 2011: the vulnerability from the constant dangers of the roads, the inability to communicate at 100%, and, despite all this, the sheer (and this will be a weak word but true all the same) niceness of Kenyans in general .  Good to be ‘home’!

Freshly back, after a few days back we are already each feeling sane(r), clean(r), slept(er) and ready to re-engage with Kenya with a new energy. From my side (Anno), I’m hoping to shed a cool 15 pounds in the next few months as I prepare for my return to the battlefield of my office so that means a bit more discipline in my eating (i.e. no more sugar , or less anyhow) and a bit more physical activity (i.e. start playing ultimate, run, get strong and bring my bike trainer inside in the hopes of feeling the triathlete in me emerge sometime this year). I’m hoping this works. Unlike most women, breastfeeding for me means my already healthy appetite goes off the wall and I get fat, not slim, eating way more than the extra couple hundred calories suggested. On the bright side, my abs seem to be returning and I feel like my normal self again, just a heavier version.

While things were fresh, we thought we’d put down a few reflections on the trip and the return to Nairobi:

• On personal archeology: It was the first time we did back-to-back family visits, combined with meeting work colleagues and visiting friends/neighborhoods of past and present. That was unusual in and of itself but provided an interesting profile of our existence to date… sort of like doing a panorama picture on a camera or like the ‘This is your life” of Guy Smiley. It gave us a broad view of our lives and the various people in it. Not to mention, pointing out some of warts on both sides and giving us a perspective on our individual selves and the Thomas-Hussain union that we hadn’t really had before.  As a married couple, we developed a much more advanced insight into each other’s emotional subroutines and the assumption/expectation set underpinning those.  It’s given us weeks of discussion points on our respective families, our childhoods, where we grew up, where we’ve lived and where we’d like to be in the future, and how it’s all come together for us – melodramatic, perhaps, but worth mentioning.

• On the attributes of an ideal holiday: Not surprisingly, we spent a good deal of time discussing, the ideal vacation spots, the ideal type of vacation, vacation partners, activities for the kids. A few highlights… we need for there to be plenty for the kids and adults to do… our spot in Moleson-sur-Gruyere in Switzerland provided this… (see photos below). We luged (a roller coaster that you control speed), we hiked and we visited cheese and chocolate factories. Our chalet also came with a pool and sauna which was another huge plus… tonnes for everyone to do. As our family grows, the idea of a vacation home remains a fascination but not sure that we’re anywhere close to actually affording or selecting a location but certainly the idea of it remains exciting. For now, there’s more hiking and playing in Switzerland to come.

• On factoring in weather considerations: In Canada, the weather was forbidding so hibernated a bit more, visiting family and friends from high school, work and university that seem to be coalescing into a growing and a mellow social network. We really should only travel there when the weather is warmer, at least while the kiddies are relatively small.  This said, it was so cool to see S. playing for hours with her cousins…

• On having maximum fun: We appreciate more than ever the time we’re having together on my mat leave and now acutely aware of the fact that I’ll be going back to work in the next month. Accordingly we are in high drive to get our lives back on track – in fact, we are planning to move houses (from our current, rustic-charm cottage in the forest to a gleaming expat compound – convenience trumps all! – this will be the subject of another blog entry altogether)

• On the causes and effects child-rearing:  We met many old friends in the process of having and/or raising children.  Given our kaleidoscopic trip, it was fascinating to see the myriad approaches and energies applied to the process (perhaps the most subjective process in the world).  As a purely anecdotal observation, the personal attributes which I found most attractive in a friend seemed almost universally to have grown in the face of the demands of child care.  For instance, if I thought a particular friend was always very considerate, this trait would only have developed further once s/he had had a child (and extended to scenarios in which the child was not concerned).  Similarly, our friends seemed to be bringing to bear their own childhood experiences (for better or for worse) on their child raising techniques – and mostly in a proactive way (i.e. rather than simply playing out their own childhood).  For instance, a child having experienced a relatively reserved parent in childhood tended to result in that child growing up to be a relatively hands-on parent.  Without getting into specifics, the theme that emerged was that we are all making it up as we go along, much as our own parents did for us.  That’s what I found particularly liberating: the maxims which were so meaningless as a younger person (e.g. ‘this too shall pass’ and ‘just do your best’) become, when leavened with some life experience and common sense, actionable.    

• On S.: I think the trip represented a quantum leap in maturity and situational awareness for S.  She is, for instance, now fully aware of her two sets of grandparents and the corresponding sets of uncles, aunts and cousins – this being the first trip where we juxtaposed a Swiss and Canadian leg.  She also understands, for instance, which sets of people are to be communicated to in Urdu.  At the risk of sounding like the gushing parent, she is also impressively self-possessed in public situations.  On the plane which left Nairobi (take-off at 11pm local time), for example, an air hostess asked whether we wanted dinner (given the lateness of the local hour).  S., already deep into some movie involving crafty penguins and wearing huge over-ear headphones, looked up, took off the right headphone and replied, “Just dessert please.” (For the record, I did not intervene and she enjoyed her crème brule!)  Another example: at breakfast, I was trying to read the newspaper and so encouraged S. to read a magazine of her own (so that I could in turn get the peace and quiet to get through one particularly enticing article entitled ‘Enraged mob burns accused pickpocket alive’).  Among her choices on the dining table were (and this may provide insight into our family’s socio-economic self-identification): the New Yorker, the Economist and the 2012 Swiss Ikea catalogue (imported for the purposes of ripping off designs via talented local wood-workers).  S. coolly surveys this literary landscape and picks out the catalogue, saying ‘It’s ok Daddo, I’ll read the magazine about sofas.”
  
  Some photos below:

 At least one of us if getting some zzzs...

View from our favourite walk in Bellevue (see also the opening scene of the Hollywood film 'Contagion')

Cousin M. with baby F...

Panoramic view on hike route

BOB LUGE!
Below: Alpaging it up...

A meringue bigger than my head - best holiday ever!

Ladies who hike...

Below: Getting into her comfort zone on the plane.

How to waste time and alienate people, OR, How F. got a birth certificate

Ed.  As most of you know, we just got back from our Meet-F.-2012-World-Tour (tshirts available on demand).  I did not blog on holiday, in the spirit of mindfulness.  The next few entries will therefore be backdated like those canny Wall Street options - still moving in the right direction from a time perspective, but starting from March onwards.  This one, for instance, relates how F. got his birth certificate, which was a crucial ingredient to getting a passport, and to going on the world tour in the first place. 


Late Feb/early March 2012

As even the most casual reader of this blog will have noted, we had a baby recently. In Nairobi. In the wake of the fireworks of emotions and joy comes the acrid smell of logistical legwork.

I mean, of course, that we had to get a birth certificate for young F., as a necessary ingredient to then obtaining the passport (Can, Swiss, Indian, whichever was quickest) we would need to leave Kenya. Under Kenyan law, a child born on Kenyan soil to non-Kenyan parents does not automatically qualify for Kenyan nationality.

I manfully sized up the task of obtaining the Kenyan birth certificate. How hard could this be? I pride myself on being an expert form-filler (little known fact: this is the subject of a one-semester class in law school, btw).

Turns out, the process is not that simple. First, when leaving the hospital, you have to have the wits to insist upon the staff giving you half of a pink paper called a birth notification (BN). (We had been briefed by friends - thanks Monika! - so I made sure we had this before we left). Then, the hospital sends the other half of the BN to Nairobi Archives, which then processes it and sends it on to Nairobi City Hall.

I breezily waved the details aside, and in expat-fashion hired an agent to do all this for me. 'Get the certificate in the next ten days' I said with what I hoped passed for an authoritative tone, 'and I will make it worth your while.'

Two weeks came and went, and the agent, tired of my ceaseless haranguing, tendered his resignation - returning my money and BN. I promptly turned to another agent, who was a little craftier.

'4000 shilling (roughly $50)', he crooned, avoiding any semblance of eye contact. I reached into my wallet for the sweaty bills eagerly.

He then added, 'I will not be able to produce receipts (Kenyans are absolutely obsessive about receipts for even the most trivial transactions) for this amount.'

This statement sat between us for a while, until I figured out that he meant that part of the sum would be to lubricate the wheels of city hall. I nodded sagely, like I was a hardened player.

Ten days later, this second agent phones me, sounding less confident. Apparently, his contact has been reassigned, and City Hall won't expedite my certificate unless the parent shows up in person to explain the urgency.

I sigh. We make an appointment to meet in the business district (in and of itself a chore) the next morning.

I arrived at the appointed hour, having braved a solid hour of savage traffic. My man, Mr. G., was bang on time, with F.'s dossier tucked under his arm. He then sternly gave me the following instruction:

• Mr. G. is known at City Hall, and so I could not permit anyone to know that we were together. I tried to understand why this had to be a covert mission, but Mr. G. only shook his head by way of explanation.

I protested, saying that I had no idea what to say or do, and furthermore, what precisely were the services for which I was paying him? Mr. G. shook his head some more, this time even more gravely.

Shoulder slumped, I followed him (at a suitably discrete distance) up three flights of a marble staircase. The place was clean, relatively uncrowded, and orderly, and I began to get my hopes up that this wouldn't be a colossal waste of time.

In the birth registration room, 6 people waited in a broom closet sized waiting area. Mr. G. made some room on the bench with his bony bum, and then gestured at me with his eyes to just go forward and engage the officer on duty. I gestured back with my chin, 'what about these people in the queue?' - but by that point Mr. G. was furiously texting (some other hapless client, doubtless).  I felt oafish and inappropriately dressed among my more respectfully clothed petitioners (see unduly foppish sartorial choice below - which picture I took while waiting to be served):



I bellied up to the officer, who was dressed in a dark suit. Next to him was an Indian guy, who it was clear from their discussion was a VIP petitioner (seeking his mother's death certificate it transpired).  The dark suited officer was studiously highlighting in yellow a line on a form.  Frown. Highlight one sentence (seemingly at random). Turn to next form. Repeat about ten times before I cleared my throat discretely.

He looked up at me with one raised eyebrow, which looked amazingly like a question mark. Without waiting for further body language cues, I launched into a petition of the urgency of my case, brandishing all the while my pink BN. The officer seemed unmoved, but called over my shoulder to one of his colleagues. The officer asked his man to retrieve the government half of the BN, so that we could match them and then proceed with the issuance of the certificate. This done, the officer indicated the waiting room with his chin.

I retreated, feeling secure in the knowledge that the waiting wasn't dead time. Which was when I noticed this sign on the wall above Mr. G's head:


An hour or so later, dark suit coughs in my direction by way of an invitation for a follow up discussion. There is hemming and there is hawing, and I feel baffled and a little marooned.  The Indian guy sitting next to dark suit raises his eyebrows, and asks me (in Hindi) whether I was intentionally trying to ***k this transaction up for myself.  In fact, he suggested, I did not, on a subconscious level, even want the document. 

I responded (in Hindi) that I did desperately need the document and humbly sought his guidance on how to proceed.  He smiled a little and discretely rubbed his thumb and index finger together.  What a dummy I am!!

500 shillings (roughly USD6) and three minutes later, I got my document.  I brandished it proudly at Mr. G. in the waiting room, who just slapped his forehead.  What a (resourceful) dummy I am!!