In demand

Following on from an earlier post about relationships in Kenya I thought it was about time I updated everyone on my stalker problem – or rather problems, as the stalkers are legion. They also hail from both sides of the gender divide and seem to have skin like rhinoceros hide, remaining impervious to ignored phone calls, text messages and friend requests. I have also had several marriage proposals (none of them from Eddie, sorry Lesley) and people trying to chat me up, so I will throw these in too for a little seasoning. Let’s take this ramshackle crew one at a time:

1. I met Linah over breakfast at a hotel while on a workshop with KAIH. It was my first group meeting with work and I was struggling to remember faces, never mind names. So, much as I would have preferred to stare glumly into my fruit salad, I felt obliged to make polite small talk with Linah just in case she was a colleague. I thought I’d escaped her but as I was trying to call a cab at reception and make good my escape she cornered me and demanded that I take her number. She then insisted that I call her from my phone so that she had my number. By this time I had already decided that she was rude and pushy but doing as she asked seemed to be the easiest way to get rid of her. Bad mistake. She called me at least once a week, sometimes three times in a row, for two months, even though I never once answered. I even resorted to changing her name in my phone to ‘Linah – DO NOT ANSWER’ just in case Ed went to pick it up. I think she has finally got the hint, but you never know.

2. A matatu driver named Teddy spent a whole journey to work trying to get my phone number. Luckily I had more sense than to crack on this occasion and instead wrote down his number. He said, “But if I give you my number you won’t call me.” Quite. When I told him I had a boyfriend he said: “Ah, but this is just a boyfriend – no problem” (since then I have taken to telling every random man I meet that I’m married, but even this doesn’t always put them off - I refer the reader to mpango wa kando). Teddy finally realized I wasn’t going to play ball and changed tack, saying: “I really want to f*ck a mzungu. Do you have any white friends?” What a charmer. Needless to say I have not arranged any blind dates for him.

3. Next up was a random homeless man who stank of drink and various other less determinate substances. He stopped me at about 8.30am as I was on my way into the office and slurred: “I want to move to America. You will marry me, yes?” So insulting – I am clearly not American.

4. In at three we have a guy who we met at the police station while we were reporting that our stuff had been stolen over Christmas. Having been kept waiting for two hours we were hardly in the mood for bonding but he was entirely oblivious. I feel it’s a little unfair that he has wound up as my stalker actually as he really wanted to be Eddie’s buddy, but Ed craftily sneaked away leaving me to carry the can. Again, only once the guy had my number did he leave, and then he called me two or three times to arrange a meeting in Nairobi. Again, a studious ‘reject caller’ seems to have finally done the trick.

5. At the supermarket near my work (Tusky’s in Buruburu, in case anyone is interested) the shop assistant tried it on to. Here’s how the conversation went:

Random Man: Ah, I see you are buying shower gel.

Me: Yes.

RM: You know, I wonder if you can help me? I have a small problem. You see, some of my friends think that I am handsome, but I don’t know. What do you think?

I made a swift exit with my shower gel.

6. I also had a proposal from a guy selling shoes in the street where I work. Again, no intro, just: “Will you marry me?” At least this one seemed to have a job – my prospects are looking up.

7. Now we come to the most disturbing stalker to date – Martin the artist. He has a studio not far from where I work. He seemed alright at first and said he was a friend of my colleague, so when he gave me his card I foolishly gave him mine. Half an hour later the work email account had ten messages from him with examples of his work. Ten minutes after that he texted me to say that he thought it would be better if he had my personal email address as we might want to correspond ‘in private’ sometimes. This left me with a quandary as I didn’t want to give him the address but also didn’t want him clogging up the work inbox with junk. Regrettably I cracked and sent him on email saying ‘this is Allys’ (the one and only time I have responded to any of his texts or emails). Since then I have had an email or text message from him at least once a day, sometimes wishing me good morning and then goodnight. He has called me ‘baby gal’ (which in my book is reason enough to punch him in the face) and keeps trying to persuade me to visit his studio (which is never going to happen, ever). He brought me a picture he had made. I am coming close to being very un-Kenyan and just telling him to his face to Foxtrot Oscar.

8. Just yesterday a man walked up to me while I was eating lunch in a café and said: “Hello, because you are different from us I find you attractive.” I said: “I have to go back to work.” Can’t help thinking that in the UK that sort of talk could have you on a racism charge.

So, to the analysis. Much as I would like to believe that I am insanely beautiful and charming and that people simply cannot resist throwing themselves at my feet, the real answer has a lot more to do with the colour of my skin and ultimately the colour of my money. Being mzungu (white) is a big deal – there is an instant assumption that you are in possession of untold wealth and influence, and that being your friend/ lover/ husband would be a huge coup. Kenyan men (gross generalisation of course, but allow it to pass this once for the sake of efficiency) believe that if they could only marry a mzungu they could lead a life of indolent luxury for ever more.

It’s an uncomfortable position to be in. I feel extremely conspicuous in many areas of Nairobi and get a lot of attention (which reduces considerably when I’m with Eddie). On the one hand I want to disabuse the notion that westerners just sit around all day being pampered and counting their cash; on the other, average earnings in Kenya are very low (over 70% of the population is not in full-time employment and around half live on less than a dollar a day) and in comparison to many people I am very wealthy and privileged – I have attended not only secondary school but university; I live in a nice neighbourhood; I have traveled outside my home country; I am nearly 30 but have not yet popped out half a dozen sprogs. Let’s face it, in many ways my stalkers are right. I’m still going to change my phone number though.