The first time you wake up in Africa, you feel different....and it's not just the melfoquine. As the sun pours through your window it washes over you a feeling of purpose and a longing to explore. At least that's what the first glimpse of Nairobi daylight did to me.
But the tough thing about being an mzungu (Swahili slang for white person) in this town is that your sense for adventure can be quickly stifled by the realization you have no idea where the hell you are. And there are limits to a free spirit in this town.
As I am discovering, it's not only the visitors who can feel shackled in this city. I spoke with several Kenyan immigrants in the United States before leaving, all of whom expressed the lack of opportunity they felt in their home country. In conversations with my roommate, I have found that this can be particularly true in the world of journalism...and as I sit at a desk populated by too many bodies and too few computers, I can see why she and many others seek wider opportunities in the States.
Throughout the next ten weeks, I plan to speak with journalists in every specialty and field to discover what makes reporting in Kenya unique for them. I hope to discover what obstacles and frustrations face them, along with what freedoms and achievements they enjoy...and of course I'll be recounting some of my own personal experiences as well.
Stay tuned, rafiki.
