The year is 1927. The British Colonial Office has just put out an advertisement in the papers that says, “Come to the brightest jewel in the crown of the British Empire – Kenya.” In the 19th century, the term “Jewel in the crown” would be used by Britain in reference to India. But now in the 20th century, ever since the British discovered Kenya, the heart of empire has a new soft spot. Those who once were the only child in their family before their parents decided to have another baby might know how this feels – having the limelight stolen away from you.
Two men who are previously not acquainted with each other respond to the advert, and lucky for them, their applications are successful. That same year, they are both sent to Kenya. Their names are Matthew Armstrong and Douglas Duncan, and both are surveyors. Having the same occupation, they are employed in the same office as senior government surveyors in the Public Works Department.
The colonial government hands them five-year contracts renewable depending on their performance. The early 1930s, however, prove to be lean years for the construction industry; save for the Indians who are continuously setting up shops along Bazaar Street, not much building takes place in the colony. It almost seems as if the advertisement by the Colonial Office back in 1927 was a scam, but the two have no quarrels. They withstand the drought nonetheless.
When their five-year contracts expire in 1933, the two decide to quit the Public Works Department. They’ve had enough. Wait. No. They’ve had nothing. So, they decide to look for greener pastures, or rather, greyer ones. Unlike pastoralists, construction professionals love to see grey things – stone, concrete – even though they pretend to be concerned about “green building”.
For the one year during which they’re out in the cold, they lobby LegCo to pass the Architects and Quantity Surveyors Ordinance and finally, in April 1934, they get their way. Still in tandem, Armstrong & Duncan set up their practice, the first firm of Quantity Surveyors to be established in East Africa, with offices located in one of the rooms in the BMC Building at the corner of Queensway Street and Government Road (now Mama Ngina Street and Moi Avenue).
Once they move in, Duggie – as Douglas Duncan is popularly known – incessantly insists that the size of the windows facing Government Road be increased. The landlord complies, and thus, during their breaks from work, a great deal of time is taken up looking out of the window, making jokes as they watch the many, many unemployed artisans staring into shop windows on the street below.
It’s now exactly 90 years since this happened. Within that period, the BMC building has been demolished and replaced by Union Towers. Within that period too, Armstong & Duncan Associates has moved offices to Milimani Road, and in their place, a satellite campus of Mount Kenya University and the famous Chicken/Pizza/Creamy Inn have moved in. As we speak, I’m standing on one of the floors above, where, I believe, the two surveyors stood during their breaks. I am also a surveyor now, looking down on Moi Avenue, as the two compadres did. But I don’t see many unemployed artisans staring into shop windows. Instead, I see them crowded around a statue across the street.
A visitor to the city would be mistaken to think that the crowd is a bunch of idol worshippers. But no, they’re just a bunch of idle gossipers. Okay. Some are. Others are just waiting for their date for the day to arrive, while others are waiting in line for their matatu home. Waiting. To be a Nairobian means to wait. To wait for your order at Sonford. To wait in line at the supermarket counter. To wait for the Mpesa message after paying your matatu fare. Even waiting for that sneeze; the sneeze that never comes, and instead leaves you with a contorted face. It’s no coincidence that we have an Instagram celebrity who’s risen to international fame just by hugging people in queues.
The statue before which stand the idol worshippers belongs to Tom Mboya, one of the founding fathers of the nation. David Goldsworthy penned a beautiful biography titled Tom Mboya: The Man Kenya Wanted to Forget. But I ask myself, how can we really forget him when the right hand of his statue points to the entrance to our favourite recreational spot, Sabina Joy (at least up to three years ago it did, before the statue was refurbished). How can we forget him when Gor Mahia fans congregate at his statue after every Mashemeji Derby? There must be something particularly peculiar about him that makes us still talk about him 50-plus years after his death, that makes us gather around him at all times of the day. Maybe it’s the belief that he would’ve led us to Canaan had he been our leader. In Tujiangalie by Sauti Sol and Nyashinski, Bien sings,
Na Tom Mboya ameshika tama,
Alituacha kama angali kijana,
Je angekuwa mambo yangekuwa sawa?
Ndivyo alivyopanga Maulana.
I ponder that for a while, before remembering that it’s no use crying over spilt milk, especially milk spilt under circumstances beyond my control, at a time when the nation itself was a toddler, still learning to walk, just like my dad. So, I decide to end my contemplation there. I walk over to Ronald Ngala Street and board a Double M home. I sit in the front, next to the driver. It’s my favourite seat because I get to listen to the driver’s constant ramblings.
Today he tells me that driving through the CBD is chaotic. As chaotic as the Minesweeper game. You see, Minesweeper is a game consisting of clickable tiles. Hidden underneath some of these tiles are bombs. If you click on a tile with a bomb underneath, it explodes, and you lose. The objective of the game is to open all the safe tiles without detonating any of the bombs. It’s a risky game that requires caution at every step. And therein lies its similarity with driving in the CBD. Everywhere you look, there are people carelessly crossing the street, hawkers spreading their wares by the roadside, hand trucks and nduthis crisscrossing in front of you, and other matatus carelessly zooming in and out of their parking spots. Any misstep on the part of the driver and the bomb explodes. He’s constantly applying the brakes, as do I from where I’m seated. As does the person seated next to me. Everyone else is staring out of the windows.
We find ourselves in a traffic snarl-up as we try to exit the CBD via OTC. Twenty minutes and two side mirrors later we finally break free, breathe a sigh of relief and bring out our phones. Because the cardinal rule in the Nairobi CBD is “Thou shalt not use thy phone when seated by the window of a matatu”. Punishment for going against this rule does not come in the afterlife. No. This is not a rule made up in heaven. It is a rule made in the streets of downtown Nairobi. If you break it, you receive instant punishment. “Ndiposa wahenga na wahenguzi wenye busara na tabasuri si kiduchu waka amba kuwa, ‘Asiyefunzwa na mamaye hufunzwa na Nairobi.’”
As we zoom off down Jogoo Road, clear of the CBD, I finally look back, both literally and metaphorically, and contemplate it all.
Pedestrians hate the CBD because it’s difficult to walk around. Look at Tom Mboya Street, for example (we really can’t seem to get away from Tom Mboya, can we?) From Fire Station to Afya Centre, the sidewalks are full of hawkers, their wares laid out on both sides of the street. Pedestrians can only walk in single file, and woe unto you if the person in front of you decides to stop and check out the wares on sale, because now there’ll be an inescapable human traffic jam. The streets are also loud, with mobile phone dealers playing annoying music that repels more than it attracts. There are only a few benches on which to take a rest, and those few are usually taken. The streets are basically unsafe, and on any day, you could find yourself in the same situation as Jesus on the cross, yaani with two thieves by your side.
Drivers – at least personal vehicle drivers – hate the CBD because it is difficult to navigate. PSVs always seem to be in a hurry to get to nowhere, and can decide to leave with your side mirror or bumper in the process. Pedestrians carelessly cross the road right in front of you, as if on a suicide mission. Looking for parking space is like looking for a Pokemon Go; it’s an extreme sport.
So I wonder, for whom was the CBD built? If both the pedestrians and the motorists loath it? If we both abhor it, why don’t we simply dump it and go elsewhere?
In this moment of contemplation, I am reminded of Sessional Paper n° 1 of 1986: Economic Management for Renewed Growth. Chapter 1 is titled “Kenya in 2000” and the 1st paragraph reads,
“At the end of this century, Kenya will have a population of about 35 million people, 78% more than lived in Kenya in 1984. That population will include a work force of 14 million people, 6.5 million more than in 1984. These future workers have already been born. To accommodate that workforce without a rise in the rate of unemployment, it will be necessary in the next 15 years almost to double the number of jobs in Kenya. Moreover, at current trends, the urban population will reach 9 to 10 million by 2000, over one fourth of the total population, compared to only 3 million (15%) in 1984. Unless new workers can be attracted in large numbers to jobs in smaller urban centres and on prosperous farms, it will be necessary to build at least six cities the size of present-day Nairobi, or to watch Mombasa and Nairobi expand into cities of two to four million each. And, unless those working on farms and in rural towns continue to raise their productivity, the rural population will be plagued by uneconomic subdivision of the land, migration into marginal areas, falling average incomes, and food shortages.”
I am surprised how these predictions came true. The second-last sentence talks about Nairobi expanding to a city of two to four million people. Well, the population of Nairobi in 2000 was three million – just within the range predicted. At the moment, the population stands at five million, and the sad part is that the city isn’t developing in tandem with the increasing population. That is why we see high-rise apartments being built on the small plots of land being sold all around the city. That is why we have areas being developed without regard to zoning laws. That is why we have traffic jams due to the congestion on the roads. That is why green spaces are being converted into concrete jungles.
Nairobi has clearly become worse in the period since 1986.
In his book A Brief History of Time, Stephen Hawking says that there are three arrows of time: The cosmological arrow of time, which focuses on how the universe is expanding. It points outwards; the psychological arrow of time, which has to do with our memory. It points to the past, and explains why we remember our past; the thermodynamic arrow of time, which focuses on entropy/the degree of randomness in a system.
The last arrow of time gave us the four laws of thermodynamics, but the relevant one in this context is the second law, also known as The Law of Entropy: The Universe will always move from a state of order to a state of disorder. This means that, as time goes by, the world will become increasingly disorderly. For example, you’ll have more cases of glasses falling down and shattering, but you’ll never have a case of a broken glass picking itself up from the floor, mending itself back into a whole glass and getting itself back onto the table.
Stephen Hawking says that, at the end of the world, there’ll occur a Big Crunch (the opposite of the Big Bang), and only then will the three arrows of time turn back and face in the opposite direction. The thermodynamic arrow of time, for example, will finally allow us to move from a state of disorder to a state of order.
Those who will be living in Nairobi during that time will be lucky, for they’ll finally get to experience an orderly and clean city once again. For you to understand the magnitude of how orderly it will be, pick up your Bible and go to Chapter 21 of the Book of Revelations where God shows Apostle John a vision of the New Heaven, New Earth and New Nairobi.
As for us, we shall have to contend with this chaos. This entropy that has boiled in the cauldron that is Nairobi. If I could speak Aramaic like Jesus Christ, I’d ask, “Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani?”, but since I can only speak Sheng, I’ll finish by saying, “Woi! Woi! Jamaa saba . . . sababishaaaa!!”
