what I love about Nairobi

One
Every time I'm about to explode with stress, frustration, overwhelm, I bump into someone I know. Or someone who's seen my work. Old friend or old schoolmate or name I've seen a dozen times on listserves and networks. Or someone I've been a fan of for a long time - like the Ugandan musician, Samite, at the Java Junction. 5 minutes of conversation and things fall back into perspective. I'm human again. Recharged by the web of connection.

Two
As soon as I get my new Bluetooth-enabled phone up and running, I can access the internet from my laptop through my cellphone account, anywhere I can pick up a cellphone connection. I'm at a whole new level of wirelessness. This is not amazing to the tech-savvy and tech-enabled population of Africa. But to me, it's the most exciting leap in my tech universe since I was yanked out of PC-world into Mac-utopia.

Three
I needed copies of my Migritude show DVDs. I asked P over coffee, if she knew where I could do it. She hooked me up to a local cybercafe. The woman there called her friend, who drove over, and picked my DVD up. Today, a day and a half later, I text him to ask for an update. They're done.

I text: Where can I pick them up? He replies: Where R U? Me: Sarit. Him: I'll be there in 7 minutes.

He shows up, with DVDs and laptop. We test them in the food court of Sarit Centre. Money exchanges hands. I walk away with my 100 DVDs - at a quarter of the price I pay to get them copied in the US.

Four
This morning, I meet B, the printer recommended by my producer to do copies of my chapbooks. I show him the original copies I use in the Bay Area, where they just run off 100 photocopies, assemble and staple for me. He shakes his head over my whited-out and handwritten in updates of my email and website. Insists that he will insert type instead. Suggests we re-design the layout to improve quality.

I say: Right now, I don't have the time to upgrade quality, I just need the books. Fast.

He shakes his head. Returns, again and again, to the design faults that he cannot bring himself to print without correcting. I'm practically begging him to just churn them OUT, as they ARE, but he will not compromise his standards. Finally, I cave in, from sheer exhaustion. Go upstairs to the cybercafe, on his insistence, to copy the original files from my flashdrive to CD, so he can work with them. Arrange to go by his River Road print shop tomorrow, to review and proof.

Nowhere else in the world has someone insisted on doing MORE work than I ask them to, for a fraction of the price I'd pay to just run off the copies at a copy shop.