Dave != Mountain Climber

Today’s diversion was a quick jaunt up the 2^nd largest mountain in Africa and the largest in Kenya – the aptly named Mount Kenya. The six of us who opted out of the weekend in Mombasa, geared up at 7 AM and loaded into what may have been the rickiest excuse for Kenyan transport ever conceived. If it were a building, it would have been condemned. Our hour-plus commute to the gate of Mount Kenya National Park included what we’ve come to refer to as the “African Massage”, namely the laborious journey over poorly maintained infrastructure in vehicles notable not only for their complete lack of shock absorbers but the deafening din that their apparently loosely coupled parts make while ambling down the rocky roads.

We set off with a modest goal of making it to the first base camp, since we had a day to spend on the mountain instead of the five days necessary to summit. The vistas were gorgeous, but after an hour and as the incline increased, doubts began to set in.

Been there. Climbed that.

By hour two, I was left with two questions: Mah Rabu Maasecha Hashem? and What The Hell Was I Thinking? My feet hurt, the dust off the mountain was choking me, the sun was beating down even though the climate was temperate, and the path seemed interminable. But no one suggested we quit, and on we trudged until we made it up to Met’s Camp at 10,000 feet and immediately collapsed. An accomplishment, but not enough to justify me taking up a new hobby. Our hikemate John is heading immediately to Kilimanjaro after our CSC assignment to attempt to summit it in 5 days. Good luck, kemosabe, I’ll be stateside with my feet in Epsom salts in solidarity.

The way back down was much easier and more leisurely, which allowed us to enjoy the views, birdsong and flowers.

Back at the gate, the DeathMobile threatened not to start up until the driver fiddled with EXPOSED WIRES underneath the dashboard, took out the battery and shook it, and had our guide physically push our Matatu Minus out of its parking space. Being in a different seat on the way home, I was able to identify the literal hole in the floor through which I could see the road whizzing by beneath us. On the way home, we were tempted to recommend turning on the air conditioner to see if the engine would immediately catch fire.

We will be very, very sore in the morning, but at least we’re not the latest traffic statistics.

Supposedly, a crew from CNBC is arriving in the morning to chat with us, so I decided to hit the barber to see about reducing the extent of my Jewfro. I was unceremoniously declined as soon as I entered as the hairdresser said “I can cut hair, but I cannot cut your hair. It is very complicated.” Sigh.

Taking a break from the grind

Today we took a break from our work schedules to spend some time in the communitiy of Nyeri. We spend time at the Allemanos Special School for mentally disabled children, and the Mweiga Orphanage, both of which are only a few kilometers from our hotel.

The conditions we met may have been shocking from an American perspective, but they were in line with much of what we have seen around Kenya, and the kids all seemed happy and well cared for. Once one reorients their vision to a country without building codes (at least outside the major cities) and with minimal material possessions (allowing that most of what we stock up on in the States is without regard for a need/want/just to have it distinction), you begin to absorb the actual experience of the people instead of their superficial surroundings. And in both cases, the first person experience of the kids seemed superb.

At Allemanos, we were prepared to not really have any interaction with the kids since so few of them are capable of communication. But from the moment we arrived, it was clear that standard verbal communication was not going to be required. We parked the cars, and walked down to the sports fields where the students were having Physical Education. Immediately a wave of at least 100 kids of all ages, identically dressed in gray jumpers FLOODED towards screaming at the top of their lungs. Within moments, there were multiple kids leading us around by the hands, kicking soccer balls, dancing, and just generally making clear their unrestrained glee at our presence. In some ways, it was the least foreign experience that I’ve had since I’ve been here. These kids, deprived of speech, were like similar kids anywhere in the world – unburdened by the knowledge of their own limitation, and absolutely satisfied, even ecstatic, within the boundaries defined for them.

We started up an IBMers vs. Allemanos soccer game, which basically consisted of the 6 male IBMers versus about 30 mixed-gender Allemanos students. They had seemingly boundless energy, but we had precision. After giving up an early goal in part due to amazement, I took a perfect feed from John and tied it up with an open goal. Rami would have been so proud. Alex, our DOT liaison, joined us and scored the next goal despite his inappropriate alligator shoes. And Francesco put us ahead for good. I let up a late goal, but we triumphed 3-2… our hosts did not seem put out.

After the kids had some lunch and we some tea with the school administrators and teachers, we got a short tour of the facility – a simple kitchen where the aptly named Charity cooks the 400 meals per day that the school requires, a nicely outfitted physical therapy gym, a garden that the more able kids help maintain, a cow pen where the half dozen oxen provide milk for the school again with assistance from the pre-vocationally functional students, the laundry, the dormitories and the classrooms. Most of the buildings were donated from societies in Europe, though all of the staff is constituted of government employees.

My colleague Francesco brought an extra laptop and provided Sister Jane, the school administrator, with the school’s first computer, complete with a USB modem which will outfit them with internet connectivity.

The kids put on a lovely presentation singing and dancing with full vigor, and most of the IBM team joined in the fun. All in all, an extraordinarily rewarding visit.

Our next stop was an orphanage in Mweiga. I was creeped out by the welcome we received, which consisted of well-rehearsed songs, dance numbers and a (weak) comedy routine. My allergy increased as the time went on as I asked myself “Is this another safari?” I got suspicious that maybe this was the donor shpiel that the administrators had the kids put on in order to extract more foreign money from visiting pockets, and I withdrew from the crowd to talk to some of the kids around the periphery. Fortunately, my impression seems to have been inaccurate, and the kids I spoke with were very well adjusted and not at all put upon by the proprietors to gussy up to visitors. I spoke with Theresa, a 13 year old girl who was caring for their newest orphan – pudgy 9 month old. She was self-confident, articulate and pleasant, talking to me about her desires to go to the University of Nairobi and study accounting, her satisfaction with her local school, the big-sisterly role that she plays with some of the other girls in the orphanage and the general litany of teen stuff. She was decked out in a High School Musical t-shirt, naturally, though I never got to ask her if she actually knew what that was.

I played some soccer (poorly) here as well, and then broke out some of the gifts we had brought, specifically the construction paper and massive bin of crayons that Bianica had brought. Immediately the kids converged on me and I was awash in children showing off how well they could write their names or draw a flower. It was adorable. I broke out my rusty origami skills and started doling out paper cranes and fortune tellers to much acclaim. Reka then graced the kids with some salsa dance instruction which they seemed to catch onto quickly (certainly relative to me). I got some face time with the 9-month-old who was initially quite shy, but the patented Sloan baby charm bore fruit and the international language of “Boop on the nose” was received with the requisite smiles and giggles. The skies opened and the rain started to call, which we took as a clear sign that our day was over.

The next day, we proceeded to Kimathi University, where I had the opportunity to address about 100 students on the general topic of why IBM is cool and why they should Think Big. I was bowled over by the reception, with some of my Swahili humor getting a rise and very positive views from students and teammates alike. I stayed after to talk Watson with a few of the more inquisitive students while most of the students went for an IBM career workshop and to do some hands on work building functional smartboards from about $22 of materials.

Half the team then departed to Mombasa for the weekend, but I stayed back for another restful, if largely solitary, Shabbat. Tomorrow, we’re off to hike a bit on Mount Kenya before returning to our productive grind.

Shabbat Nyeri

With the rest of the group enjoying a Safari in Samburu,  a Shabbat of solitude was in the offing.






I set up my little Shabbat corner of my room, and jumped in, lighting candles (something I’m certain I haven’t done in at least 13 years if not longer). Knowing that all of the rooms surrounding me were assigned to my colleagues and therefore empty, I let loose, serenading the unperturbed trees outside my window with a full volume Carlebach Kabbalat Shabbat, something I haven’t really done since my last Friday night at Kesher back in October. About halfway through, I could hear the muezzin from the local mosque behind the treeline and across the highway joining in, something that recalled davening in certain locations in Jerusalem.

Emotionally, it was a mix of the transcendence of davening apart, away, and in complete isolation and longing for the top shelf family time that normally constitutes a Shabbat evening. But having made my solitary bed, I aimed to sleep with gusto, pacing my prayers according to me own whim, lingering on tunes that felt right, and singing every Shabbat zemer published in the Koren siddur. My Shabbat meal constituted of a mini-Kedem grape juice, 2 whole wheat matzot, a tin of tuna fish, a packet of RJ’s Kosher Beef Jerky and an orange – basar v’dagim v’chol matamim – and I was off to bed.

Since all my timepieces are electronic, I can’t tell you what zmanim I observed, but I can tell you precisely when I woke up, as the rooster who has made himself a home just out of view but not out of earshot from our bank of rooms has been quite punctual all week. He has no snooze button, and his repeated crowing is quite impossible to sleep through. I hope to kill that bird.

Praying in the morning was similar to the previous night, although layning the parasha to myself alerted me to how rusty I’ve become, gotta work on that before Rami’s bar mitzvah. Before lunch, I caught myself pausing a second time after “Savri” in Kiddush, which brough a smile to my face - as if I expected one of my avian audience to reply “L’Chaim”.

I leisurely strolled around the town and the Green Hills campus for some of the day, indulged myself a long Shabbat afternoon nap, and enjoyed a few selections from the Mitoch HaOhel collection of drashot from YU that the Rosenbaums presented to me as a going away present. The frenetic pace of our work during the week and the full stop of this Shabbat put the conceit of progress and the humility of rest in lovely contrast, and I thought for a while about the proper frame of reference for our work here. Though I hope that all of us are able to make substantive contributions during our brief stay, Shabbat brought home the notion that Kenya was here long before us and will be here long after us, and our fondest wish can only be that its progress, whose success will be determined by factors indubitably far out of our control, is ever so slightly buoyed by our efforts.

Tomorrow I rise early to head out into the Mau Mau caves, fortunately long since abandoned.

Shavua tov!

Some background on Nyeri

A very productive morning, after which my colleagues headed out "into the bush" to spend some time on safari in Samburu. Samburu is not particularly Shabbat-friendly (not that Nyeri is significantly better, but at least I have the span of the Green Hills to roam), so I opted to stay alone. My Sunday free, I signed up for an early morning excursion into the Aberdares, the nearest National Park to the area, and a hike to tour the Mau Mau caves.

I haven't written much about our home base of Nyeri, but it is Kikuyu Central. The Kikuyu are the largest of Kenya's 42 communities, yet hold power, wealth and influence even in excess of their numbers. In fact, President Mwai Kibaki is from this town. Nyeri now is indistinguishable from many other towns its size in Kenya, but during the dying days of the British Protectorate, this area served as the home base for the Mau Mau Rebellion, a bloody and vicious time prior to Kenyan independence. The myth and history of the Mau Mau have become indistinguishable in many cases, but it is likely that they were driven to revolt by the typical excesses of colonialism - shortage of land devoted to the natives, outrages visited upon the local communities, a complete stripping of their political rights - and it is undisputed that they dwelled in the forests around Mount Kenya, stockpiling captured weapons to add to their signature Panga long machetes, and unleashed violent attacks ostensibly in the hopes of driving out the British and other white Europeans.

At this point, the accounts veer into the gory and easily exaggerated, but hyperbole or no, they were trying times for Kenya. Tens of thousands of Kenyans died (a significant number due to internecine violence) and another 70,000 were imprisoned over the course of a conflict which killed less than 100 Europeans but made the case that the British protectorate was failing and likely led to Kenyan Independence in 1963. All this within a small radius of our current home. In fact, the local university where I'll be speaking at the end of next week is called Kimathi College, named after Dedan Kimathi, a Mau Mau freedom fighter/terrorist (your pick) who is currently hailed in Kenya, but was known at the time for strangling to death those who he suspected of treason until his alienated followers joined up with the British, captured him, held him less than a mile from our hotel, and then executed him by hanging after a court decision in absentia. I'm hoping for a knowledgeable guide who will be able to provide some first hand or close second hand knowledge of those times for me.

In the meantime, I've got my own Shabbas Safari planned that consist of pray, eat, walk, read, sleep, repeat. Shabbat Salama.

Reaching out

Today we spent much of our time reaching out to a variety of local and national government officials. Since our project spans the gap between e-Government and its constitutional, legislative and regulatory underpinnings, we have a broad range of technical and legal within the government who we need to interview in order to ensure that our recommendations are relevant and actionable. Given our short time frame, it's already remarkable how many meetings we've been able to coordinate at relatively high levels. I know that if the tables were turned, I'd be deleting emails and sending calls to voice mail left and right. Fortunately, that hasn't been the case here.

In parallel, we're developing detailed interview documents that spell out exactly what information we need to get from each stakeholder, and doing our own research via the web to determine what some of the answers are likely to be, and what other answers can be brought from outside the country as global best practices to benefit Kenya. It's massive, but fascinating reading for my inner geek as we compare e-government legislation in Norway, the U.K., Finland, Australia, the U.S., South Korea and others.

OK, enough work talk, here's another piece of local color. Luan, Nimeesh and I had lunch in Nyeri again today, at another second story cafe, this one open air. The heat of the day and omnipresent dust was not enough to erase the enjoyment of drinking in the sights and sounds of this bustling small town. I'm confident that there's no corner like it in the US anywhere - bumper to bumper cars, people milling about, in front of storescape that is devoid of brand names, each one hand painted with the proprietors name above it, none of them busy, but all of them eking out a living. Below the balcony was a man tending a small, crowded coop of chickens, and an even more crowded cardboard box of chickens, which led me to jibe that my colleagues lunch would at the very least be fresh.

A trip to a bank to make the deposit for the group's weekend safari led to an experience with the always flexible closing time. 3:10 can become 3:00 with a kind word, and we walked into an ultra-modern Barclay's Bank which seemed to defy the space and time around it, as if it was a portal to a first world country.

The negotiations at the bank took longer than we expected, we had already taken a leisurely lunch, and it was hot, so we decided to grab a cab back instead of walking. For 200 shillings (about $2.50), it seemed a reasonable luxury. My rudimentary Swahili was enough to identify and procure a vehicle (cabs are not marked anywhere in Kenya that I can tell, but certainly not in Nyeri). Fortunately the cardboard on the passenger side floor was sturdy enough to keep my feet from touching the street. As we drove up the main road, I was dismayed to see the driver pull into the Koboil gas station on the corner. I questioned the customer service wisdom of fueling up with a car full of passengers until I glanced over at the driver's side dashboard and realized that it was amazing that we had made it to the gas station, given that the needle was firmly on "E". Sure enough, the driver asked for his fare at this point. He took 100 shillings and put it in his pocket, and gave me back the other 100 shillings to give to the service attendant, enough to buy 1 litre of gasoline. His fuel gauge ever so slightly buoyed by the stop, he ferried us back to the Green Hills front gate. And here's the good part. He then gave me his cell phone number in case I ever needed a cab again in Nyeri. This is to say, that this guy who sits around the center of town waiting for the rarest rarity of a cab fare, so much so that his means of livelihood and transportation stands on the verge of uselessness with vapors so evanescent that the kilometer each way to our hotel would stand a fighting chance of exhausting them, who can spare only one quarter of a gallon of gas at a fill-up, nonetheless has a CELLULAR PHONE which he will fund and maintain even at the risk of disabling his only apparent source of income. I have nothing more to add.

We returned immediately to work upon our return, this time choosing the grassy plaza as our "office". A sudden rain forced us inside, and the rhythmic patter of the rapid drops on the corrugated tin roof made the passing shower sound more like a typhoon. It mostly drowned out the noise of the absurdly sonorous aerobics class though, and provided a steady soundtrack to our furious work efforts, which carried over to a brief dinner and then back to the bar for a few more productive hours.

Next will be my first Shabbat in isolation in Nyeri... more to come.

Day One?

Despite the fact that I've been in Kenya for a week, this felt like Day One all over again. If nothing else, this was our first "regular" day, waking up with no agenda, no appointments, just a blank sheet of paper, and a sackload of expectations. We reported to our crammed work room, accompanied by a selection of Kenya’s six-legged fauna. A butt-ugly marabou stork methodically patrolled the terrace outside. John, our delegate from Marketing, promptly saw to it that the room was plastered with Smarter Planet posters, while the rest of us attempted to figure out the massive 80s era network router in the middle of the table.

Our team jumped right into the meat of our project, breaking down the issues we hoped to tackle, identifying the stakeholders and sources of information we would draw upon for data, and overall taking a disciplined and methodical but aggressive approach towards a broad and complex situation.

After a non-stop morning, we broke for lunch and headed en masse into Nyeri town, separated from us only by the near vertical stretch of road that undoubtedly earned our hotel its name of Green Hills. The town itself is less than a kilometer from our door, but only half that distance be forward progress, the rest must be ascent and descent. Nyeri itself is a small but vibrant town, dusty and shabby on the whole, but hardly desolate with the buzz and bustle of a market town around every corner. The storefronts probably average about 6 feet wide, selling everything from auto parts to liquor to cellular phones to household goods to cellular phones to hair products to cellular phones. I’m still floored by the degree to which people who look like they don’t have ten shillings to spare are all toting mobile phones. Out of an abundance of caution, I doffed my yarmulke, as we entered the city proper, and we meandered over to the Nyeri Town View restaurant, situated on the second floor overlooking what must suffice as the center of town, marked only by a small blue and white obelisk at the middle of an intersection frequented by decrepit cars and trucks of questionable structural stability. We crowded into the compact diner, which managed to stash a kitchen, a full bar, and two dining areas into a tract no larger than my two-car garage. Still, the service was warm and welcoming as it has been everywhere we’ve ventured in Kenya, and for the meager sum of 250 shillings each (about $3), my mates feasted on a platter piled high with chicken, rice and vegetables, barely making a dent before capitulating to the generous portions.

We headed deeper into town after lunch, with Nimeesh and I serving as the scout team. We located a barber shop, a 4 shelf grocery store narrow enough to require a sharp exhale in order to pass someone in the aisle, a few more cell phone stores – really Safaricom, Zain and Mpesa are omnipresent, I counted three Safaricom stores alone on one block – and the ultimate goal of our wanderings, a store selling bicycles. Unfortunately but not unexpectedly, even after bargaining, we were met with the “Tourist Surcharge” which might be more unceremoniously dubbed the “White Man’s Price” and the price was beyond our tolerance. We made a mental note to beseech our Kenyan program manager Alex to inquire after the same cycles and see if the price didn’t drop by a solid 20% or more.

In the afternoon, we got back to work, which turned out for most of the folks to be equal measure drafting interview questions and arranging for weekend safaris, but we made steady progress. Some took a break for a one hour aerobics session held at the hotel which is apparently hosted by a half-deaf black Richard Simmons hopped up on amphetamines. Those exiting the class resembled those exiting Nam.

The PCK team visited the local Posta branch and were pleasantly shocked to be greeted with open arms by the branch manager who welcomed them in without an appointment, and despite their complete lack of business attire or formal preparation, held for over an hour, giving them an invaluable front line account of everything that transpires at the branch level… certainly a tremendous boost to their challenging project.

After a quick dinner we got right back to work, this time retiring to the un-updated but perfectly comfortable hotel bar, and beginning our legal interpretation and gap analysis, while sipping some Tuskers and gin and tonics. We dubbed this our new official after hours office, and worked through an entire edit of our day’s work.

Tomorrow, our work structure finalized, we begin our research in earnest!

Today’s activities were brought to you by the word surreal. If you would have asked me to assign a number value to the likelihood that I would be in Nyeri relaxing in a bar with a Tusker, interrupting our discussion of the finer points of the Kenya Communication Act of 2009 to bend an ear to the TV news to learn the latest twists in the Attorney General appointments imbroglio if only to figure out who we’re going to be meeting with in Nairobi next week, pausing only briefly to define the word “promulgate” to my Korean colleage, I would have given you a low single digit percentage which rhymes with “hero”. Go know.

Nyeri Town

Today we ventured outside Nairobi for the first time en route to our “permanent” home in Nyeri. Nyeri is the “breadbasket of Kenya”, an agricultural center which also serves as the cultural stronghold of the Kikuyu, the largest and most powerful of Kenya’s communities. Nyeri is home to both the current president Mwai Kibaki and Dr. Catherine Wanjiru Getao, our client.

The departure from Nairobi this morning was… apropos to Nairobi. Crushing, chaotic traffic, road construction, dirt, smog and reckless pedestrians at every turn. Our convoy of six cars probably took six different routes getting out of the city. Luan and I were fortunate enough to be driven by Maureen, the IBM East Africa communications and marketing resource who has been effectively made the liaison between us and IBM EA. She first wowed us by informing us that our group’s arrival had made the papers, appearing in that morning’s edition business section of the Standard, one of the two major Kenyan newspapers. Maureen is pretty amazing, a Kenyan through and through, worldy, eloquent, mellow, sharp, upbeat, and a objective knock-out. Like all Kenyans we’ve met she’s also an unapologetic optimist, seeing only brilliant progress on the horizon despite the atrocities, chaos and violence that have littered Kenya’s recent history even in her lifetime. She lives a city life during the week and strikes out into the Kenyan countryside on the weekends. I got the sense from her private Catholic University education and her being raised outside the tony Nairobi suburb of Karen that her parents were probably at least relatively well off, but I don’t know for certain. Along the way to Nyeri, we discussed politics, development, IBM, and her life. That plus the scenery I’ll describe was enough to banish from my mind any idea of using the ride to rest.

The road to Nyeri was bumpy, rocky, and under construction at the start, with heart-stopping near misses de rigeur. But Maureen faithfully piloted our rolling projectile without incident. We made it as far as the market town of Thika before stopping at a fruit stand for refreshment. Del Monte has ample operations in the Kenyan heartland, and most of the items on the menu seemed like the kind of canned or boxed product you might find in three weeks time on a grocery shelf in Europe or America. Dedicated as we are to the “authentic” we promptly ignored those selections as soon as we saw a selection under the juices labeled “Fresh Pineapple” for the absurdly low price of 70 shilling (about 75 cents). Luan and I ordered three, to be gracious to our driver as well. We moved from the cashier to the next window to pick up our frothing glasses of pineapple juice, already licking our lips. When we saw the individual behind the counter reach for a pineapple from under the counter, we looked at each other and said “Wow, when they say fresh pineapple juice, they really mean it!” Our smiles turned quizzical when two more pineapples made an appearance on the counter, thinking “How much juice do you get from a pineapple anyway?” They then took out a bag, inserted the 3 pineapples and handed them to us. Fresh Pineapple meant just that, and any juicing would need to be a result of our own effort. Undefeated, I ran to the car, found the paring knife I had acquired in Nairobi, and proceeded to dissect a pineapple and share it around. It was sweet and succulent, and there was certainly no loss in having an additional two to bring with us to Nyeri. In the future though, I will hesitate before assuming away the literal.

The closer we got to Nyeri, the more lush and verdant the surroundings became, with fields predominating over dustbowls. We passed through small towns, but between them were thatched huts, men tending cattle on the road shoulder, women carrying bundles of hay or twigs on their backs, a few stray goats, and some people sitting without any clear objective, although admittedly some of them were on cell phones. This intensely rural landscape was not one we expected a mere hour outside the Nairobi city limits, and the contrast was bracing.

Nyeri continued the green surroundings, but placed a thriving town with rich offerings in the middle of it. Though we have not yet had a chance to thoroughly investigate, we already caught glimpses of banks, restaurants, cafes, service stations and the like. I’m hopeful that we’ll find sufficient material to satisfy our rudimentary needs while we’re here.

We arrived at the Green Hills hotel, our home for the next four weeks. The accommodations are mixed, with thriving, beautifully cared for horticulture, and somewhat less cared for architecture. The gym, spa, and small pool should not be discounted,  but the lack of internet in the rooms might cause us some bit of consternation as we strive to keep in touch with each other and with the outside world. I’m planning to go up to the terrace in a half an hour to Skype with my family, despite the fact that it is pushing midnight, and I’d much rather be in my PJs.

We jumped back into our suits, snapped up a quick lunch on the terrace overlooking a beautifully manicured plaza, and then headed out for our work content for the day, a meeting with local District Commissioner and Provincial Commissioner… roughly the mayor and governor of Nyeri and the surrounding area. They were pleasant and seemed to enjoy hearing a brief overview of our work and charitable efforts, and confirmed much of what we had heard regarding the need for these initiatives. To hear them talk of the 42 agencies’ efforts that they coordinate in the local area, and to empathize with the frustration they felt, for instance, at the three to nine month period it takes them themselves to get a driver’s license, gave us valuable proof points for our strategies. And both the DC and the PC will certainly provide us critical access to their bureaucracies so that we can see first-hand how the process works (or doesn’t work) currently. However, the most powerful evidence of the need for change came just outside the office where the queue for the various registration actions that the population needed to take snaked out of the offices, across their entry halls and out into the dusty parking lot. And the PC assured us that this was not even a bad day. The notion of the people sitting out there in the hot sun, hopefully in the right line at the right time with the right documents, praying to get in front of a clerk before they leave for the day who is competent and has integrity, when the registration they are performing is likely completely duplicative, half-knowing that they’ll likely be there at least another time before their transaction is complete and furthermore knowing that the whole process could likely be done online with a few key clicks was both heart-rending and fortifying. We provided some small gifts to the DC and PC and headed back to unpack at the hotel.

After a pleasant dinner, with sufficient fruits and veggies to fill my belly, we headed out into town to a small bar called the “Gazelle Impakt” (don’t ask me). It was quite dead, but still always enjoyable to hang out with the group, we downed a few Tuskers (which appears to have *excellent* market penetration) and called it a night.

Presentations

(You'll forgive me for blogging out of chronological order, but I'm afraid to get steamrolled by the march of time and the density of experiences, so I'll try to fill in the last few days asynchronously.)

This project goes zero to sixty on the first day. Leveraging our presence in Nairobi, each of our three subteams were scheduled to present their plans for the month to their clients. All of us had already completed work plans back in our own countries, but its not slandering anyone to say that many of them were pro forma, having either been cribbed from prior CSC teams, assembled hastily, or based upon first impressions rather than detailed research. Nonetheless, our in country consultant Muriuki was clearly very eager for us to make a dramatic first impression, gain the confidence of our customers, and - although he was kind enough not to state it explicitly - dispel any notion that we were just a bunch of spoiled mizungu who wanted to take a safari within the government as well as around the parks. Admirably, all of our teams rose to that challenge. One team made the responsible choice and skipped going out on Sunday night in order to retire their presentation early. My team and one other chose to enjoy dinner together first and then return to the hotel to work, and those two teams were up well past midnight drafting, refining, practicing and recalibrating our slide decks.

First thing Monday morning, we gathered in the lobby in our business finery. Personally, I can't remember the last funeral or wedding I went to that necessitated the wearing of my only suit, but if any of the others were as unaccustomed to the formality as I was, they certainly didn't show it. Muriuki distributed some gifts from Kenya - for me a beaded bracelet in the Kenyan national colors too small for my wrist but perfectly suited for makeshift worry beads. We loaded into the cars and our convoy headed out.

Our first stop was IBM East Africa, a relatively newly constituted subsidiary of IBM that covers Kenya, Uganda, Tanzinia, and some other countries. We met with Tony Mwai, the country general manager, and a small group of his sales, services, and communications staff, who presented a little bit of history about IBM's expansion and strategy in this region. IBM EA has recently made blockbuster headlines by capturing an enormous IT outsourcing deal with Bharti Airtel (finalized yesterday) to the tune of $1.5 Billion US dollars over 10 years. IBM East Africa's annual revenue target is US$30 million dollars. IBM East Africa's largest single prior multiyear deal was US$30 million. So with a single deal, they grew annually by 500% and their largest deal by 5000% . Apart from the eye-popping numbers, Tony, his staff and the IBM office itself were extremely impressive. It's no novelty to say that any of them could meet or exceed the standards of IBM in the United States, because many of them served with IBM in the US previously, including Tony who is a 25-year veteran of IBM in New York, Virginia and elsewhere. Overall, the impression left was one of staggering growth, and an ambitious and highly skilled staff eager to capture it. Another piece of the puzzle in explaining the plenary optimism we have witnessed here.

Upon leaving the office and heading to our first customer presentation, the contrast was bracing. There is no transition from the stylish suits and unmistakable command of the IBMers to the mass of people milling about aimlessly, workers carrying wrought iron carts by hand hoisting 30 gallon drums of lord knows what down the center of the road, and the occasional herd grazing on the road shoulder. It's facile to ask which of these represents the true Kenya because the answer is clearly that both do.

We arrived in the city center at the Posta Kenya building, home to Subteam 1's client the Postal Corporation of Kenya. We filed in to a dingy but formidable lobby, where we were greeted with a large mission statement poster signed by the retired Major General of the Armed Forces, who clearly received his position as Postmaster General as a gratuity for his years in the Army, and not through a recognition of his ambitious plans to reform this dowdy institution. The conference room on the twelfth floor was unremarkable with 1960s decorating style, and broad assortment of chairs in various states of disrepair. The audience was a half dozen or so high ranking postal officials, though it quickly became apparent that there was only one or two who were truly engaged in the discussion, primarily the general manager of financial services. The team presented it's initial ideas on how to revitalize a classic old economy institution into a modern e-commerce staple. The facts are bleak - stamp revenue for PCK is down 90%, their budget is hemorrhaging, their investment in IT is diminishingly small, and they run a cash only business nationwide, unable even to accept credit cards. The GM responded enthusiastically to the global examples of postal rebirth that the team highlighted, and confirmed the unique advantages that PCK has in terms of its broad and deep presence across the country. The question left lingering in the air was if all of these initiatives and ideas resonated so well with these high-ranking PCK officials, then why was the corporation in this sorry state? Nonetheless, the IBM CSC team left with enough confirmation of their stated goals, that they can probably attack even a subset of them, and still deliver their customer a document of tremendous value to them.

Our next stop was just around the corner at the Kenya ICT Board. The Tale of Two Cities continued as we contrasted their gleaming modern offices, which could have exchanged unnoticed with any avant garde Silicon Valley powerhouse, with what we had just seen at PCK. A striking view overlooking all of downtown Nairobi was the backdrop for Subteam 2's presentation regarding the development and retention of high end ICT talent to reduce the reliance on expensive expatriate workers for Kenya's most complex technology undertakings. The audience was a selection of ICT staffers, let by the Kenya ICT Board chair, Paul Kukubo,
a polished marketer charged with the limitless mandate of supercharging Kenya's ICT economy and presenting a professional and commanding presence in the room. Subteam 2 faced the difficulty of a flighty scope which seemed to shift or change with each attendee's feedback. At one point it could seem like Mr. Kukubo directly contradicted the team's impressions, at other times his staff contradicted him. Everything was very collegial, but progress was choppy.

It was at this point that we experienced a true Africa moment. Arriving in the middle of the meeting was the Permanent Secretary Dr. Bitange Ndemo, the head of the Ministry of Information and Communication. As the PS walked in, the environment shifted instantaneously,  all of the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Dr. Ndemo was a striking figure, seemingly casting a greater aura than any Kenyan we had met previously, somehow more formidable with a density that exceeded any notion of Western gravitas I had previously experienced. Paul Kukubo, who had until now presented a confident and Alpha persona, quickly shifted over from his place at the head of the table, commanded one of this underlings to provide the PS with a drink, and kowtowed immediately, scribbling notes as soon as the PS spoke. In some cases, people literally averted their eyes. A taste of the African Big Man, and not one that I'll soon forget.

Dr. Ndemo was soft-spoken, insightful and direct, giving the team much clearer feedback than they had had previously, and was extraordinarily gracious in taking pictures with the group. I ended up next to him in the photo, and hearing that I was from Washington, DC, he inquired if I was a Redskins fan. I informed him of my Philadelphia roots and my Eagles allegiance, and he shook my hand, congratulated me on my choice of teams and revealed that he is an avid Minnesota Vikings fan. In an act of uncharacteristic good judgement, I refrained from trash-talking Brett Farve.

The presentation concluded, we enjoyed a tasty buffet lunch of genuine African delicacies courtesy of the ICT Board adjacent the pool at the posh Intercontinental Hotel.

En route to our next meeting, we passed by the infamous Nyayo House which sent chills up my spine. It was it the sublevels of this building that the storied torture of the Moi regime were housed. Innumerable confessions were extracted here - sometimes for offenses as slight to our Western ears as criticizing the administration - by standing people up against walls and pummeling them with the stream from open fire hoses, housing prisoners with rotting human corpses, forcing them to consume their own urine and feces, and crushing their testicles with hammers. Some of those who still refused to yield were simply tossed off the 24th floor to their deaths, which were blandly labeled suicides. Whatever the foibles of the current government, these outrages are now complete anathema, though astoundingly an elderly Daniel arap Moi still lives in this country with no justice or retribution sought against him.

We walked through the city center past the Parliament building, and arrived at Harambee House, the Kenya White House, the office of President Mwai Kibaki and his staff. It's located directly across the street from the office of the Prime Minister Raila Odinga, the President's main rival.

We entered a chaotic lobby, where some Kenyan military security officers made an elaborate show of registering our laptops and ushering us through metal detectors whose loud beeping they promptly ignored. We ascended a dilapidated staircase into a non-descript hallway where we found our presentation space and our client, Dr. Katherine Wanjiru Getao, the presidentially appointed head of eGovernment in Kenya. While much of the discussion was simply confirmed what we had discussed over the phone previously, the experience of meeting her in person met all of our expectations. She was engaging, sharp, modest, collaborative, funny, and extremely committed. I look forward to working with her over the course of the next month as we attempt to put her efforts on strong legal footing and, by doing so, position Information Technology as a powerful force for eliminating the opportunities for corruption, streamlining the experience that Kenyan citizens have making it more equitable across all regions and income levels, increasing government efficiency, and ultimately for returning the power of the government of Kenya to the hands of the people.

Throughout the day, we were buoyed by the exhortations on our behalf of Muriuki who held forth at every sight regarding "the POWer and the PASSion of IBM" that the clients were witnessing before him. He has been a tremendous asset for us, and will be a lynchpin our all our projects' successes.

We had a pleasant debrief back at the Country Lodge where we also received our cell phones, and planned our departure for Nyeri. Although much of the team was up for dinner, drinks and dancing, I was jet-lagging hard, and retired to my room for a very enjoyable Skype with Deb and the kids and Elana and Shelly who are visiting from Philly. Got to hear about sleepovers, Shabbas, movie night, school, Brookville gardens and the thoroughly enjoyed Maple Sugar festival (pictures below). I then promptly passed out.

Nairobi 101

I don't expect these updates to be nearly as frequent once we start our project, but while I have time, I figure it can't hurt to post em up.

Some initial impressions from walking around Nairobi.

Mobs of people walk, and yet pedestrians are treated like it is their fondest wish to be a hood ornament. And when I say walk, I don't just mean walk to the nearest Metro station or walk until they get a cab. They walk. Home. Kilometers. And I'm guessing they all get home before their carbon burning commuter-mates, since all I saw in every direction was snarled traffic that made the Washington Beltway look like the Autobahn. In fact sometimes the only indication that traffic is moving is the mammoth belch of black minibus exhaust that chokes the lungs and stings the eyes. Pity the African asthmatic. Adjusting to the fact that lanes are British style here is made more difficult that lane directions are considered optional based on the congestion, evidenced by the dozen or so near head-on collisions when impatient drivers just decided to commandeer the lane for oncoming traffic. I should quote "lane" since none of the roads in this neighborhood are large enough for two cars to pass comfortably but all are bidirectional. I'll be walking.

The next, while contending for the gold in the obvious Olympics, is that I am extremely white. I mean, blindingly so. Walking down Haile Selassie Boulevard to Uhuru Highway with the masses, I became conscious of the fact that everyone was staring at me. I was not wearing a kippah, I did not have tzitzit hanging out, I did not have an enormous SLR camera strung around my neck or bermuda shorts. My baseball cap was not distinguishable from the Indianapolis Colts, Oakland Raiders or Arsenal hats being worn around me. But I sure do not blend in. That's not a feeling I have stateside or in Israel. It's humbling and discomfiting, though in a constructive way. As I got some catcalls from the passing matatus (gypsy vans), I decided to play with the tension and used my rudimentary Swahili to loudly ask the unsuspecting dude next to me to confirm what I already knew to be correct directions. He responded to me in Swahili, so I guess I nailed the accent. Lots of surrounding shoulders shrugged ("crazy mizungu...") and people went about their trek down the hill.

It's sad to see all of the federal government buildings adorned with signs of the sort "The Ministry of Water and Irrigation is a CORRUPTION FREE ZONE" ... an indicator of almost Orwellian certainty that they are not. One particularly candid one said "Help fight corruption ... Please don't offer officials bribes". Also don't feed the rhinos. Sigh.

The Israeli Embassy is next door to our hotel and has a large hand-painted side at either side of the block that says "Please Stop at our Friendly Checkpoint!" with two emoticon style happy faces underneath. I aimed to take a picture, but a pair of dour, AK-toting sentries made it clear that was not in the plan.

Nakumatt is Wal-Mart on HGH. You can bank, get groceries, outfit your electronics, housewares, clothing, change money, get a haircut, do your dry-cleaning, select fresh-cut flowers, buy school text books, order lunch, and log time in the internet cafe, all in one establishment, and I didn't make it to the second floor. It did occur to me that there's no reason that our e-government initiatives can't take locations like this into account, as they seemed well administered and smoothly run despite their sprawl.

Tomorrow the game park, welcoming the leading edge of my IBM teammates, and Shabbas in East Africa.

Touchdown

Arrived in Nairobi unscathed. Settled in at the comfortable Country Lodge. Scheduled a brief safari in Nairobi National Wildlife Park for the morning. Made contact with home through a better than expected internet connection via Skype. Now enough of talking to you lot, I'm heading out into the city. 

Departure

Feeling nervous is serving no purpose save for highlighting just how infrequently I feel nervous, but with departure in just 2 hours, some rowdy butterflies have opened a mosh pit in my midsection. Started my malaria meds, one last luggage check, and was pleasantly surprised by a Shabbat meal invite from the owner of our hotel in Nairobi. My next post will be from Kenya!

Epiphany

When was the last time you had a conference call that made you want to throw fist pumps and mule kicks? Personally, February 14th, 8 AM ET.

Our magnificent client today shared with us revelatory insights into the issues that are driving the problems we aim to solve. The scales fell from my eyes, and I threw up my hands and said Amen. Fortunately, the call was on mute at that point. Brace yourselves and I'll lay it on you.

Consider government institutions with end-to-end responsibility and authority over the various aspects of people's lives which are assigned to them. Population registry, education, voting, immigration, licenses and permits, birth, death, etc. Every topic has its institution, every topic collects its data - historically on paper, more recently in silo-ed databases, each founded for the purpose of fulfilling its ministry's mission.

The data fragmentation is natural and understandable. No institution has the mission, budget or political will to encourage, let alone force, these information repositories to build upon one another or even occasionally synchronize. No one set out maliciously to silo the data, it's just a default process that occurs in lieu of any other imperative.

Now, concentrate the portals to that data geographically and in a non-automated fashion, i.e. clerks in a capital city. Force the entire population to do their business in person with these clerks in a large country with poor transportation infrastructure. Require interaction with these agencies in order to progress in life, career, entrepreneurship and basic transactions like land registry.

Imagine the plight of the peasant who in furtherance of their own situation sets off to the capital at significant cost to both their meager cash reserves and the inconstant means in which they earn them. They succeed in their trek to the proper office only to be told that their paperwork is mildly but fatally insufficient, though of course this problem could be solved with the proper gratuity rendered to the humble civil servant on the other side of the desk. The petitioner is already straining their existence by having arrived at this point, and does not have the wherewithal or the resources to extend this transaction with extended appeals. And without the successful registry of their information by the conniving clerk, maybe their child cannot sit for matriculation exams, maybe they cannot begin the small business that would have provided the first boost out of poverty for them or their family, maybe they cannot seek a government job or run for public office. Our citizen is faced with the unenviable quandary whether to further leverage their tenuous financial position, take a principled stand which may jeopardize their condition further, or simply throw their hands up and withdraw from the system altogether thereby solidifying their place in the underclass.

According to our client, it is this last option which occurs far, far too often, and is a hidden but insidious and widespread drag on upward social mobility in Kenya.

Kenya struggles mightily against corruption at the highest levels through an independent and rightfully cantankerous anti-corruption commission but they have only truly been constituted for 5 years, and their task is vast. I would be shocked if they had the bandwidth to go after every teller who supplements their income with a few hundred shillings here and there while they're still hunting big game graft.

Imagine instead, we were encouraged, integrated access to those same critical government services through a single portal that references a common repository of master data. Disperse that access from regional headquarters, post offices, and mobile phones. And relegate the role of the bureaucrat to that of verifier instead of gatekeeper. The sense of democratization and empowerment is palpable and the ability of the corrupt to coerce and confine dissipates like a puff of cartoon smoke.

But that integrated access does not happen without the backing of the legal and regulatory authority to mandate and monitor it. Role changes encounter opposition from even the well-intentioned who question whether the disruption to the system will do more harm than good. Our mission is to create the set of archetypes and key principles for the legal and regulatory policies that will make these centralized repositories with decentralized access the de facto and de jure norm, and hopefully initiate the process that will loose the bureaucratic shackles from the hands of those striving to build their country.

Cue fist pumps.

Countdown

As with any pending transition, mental countdowns proliferate. This seems to be a combination of anticipation for the new experience and new awareness of incipient absences. Only 6 more bedtime stories to read to the kids, 5 more times to wake up in my own bed, 2 final client visits, dwindling availability of reliable internet and electricity, last easy access to prolific kosher food, only 18 more transition emails to send, last davening in a minyan, one last Shabbat together, the enumeration knows no enumeration. I'm well-versed in the art of appreciating the commonplace sublime that has populated my daily life, but even pause accentuates poignancy. Melodramatic, admittedly, as I am a service corps participant, not a cancer patient, but still weighty as a month is a far longer period than I've ever departed from my happy routine. Now if only any of that anticipation translated into a more practical motivation to pack...

Swoon

One hour of international realtime collaboration on our work plan = Dave <3 the Googles

With one eye on my own hyperbole, what is the parallel construct in history to an environment in which you could have even four-way global input editable simultaneously and instantaneously? Oh, and then with a click of a button, the entire document was translated into Swahili. And free. Google Docs Rocs.

It almost makes me feel bad that I'm boarding a plane to do this work, since so much of our high-content input could be delivered remotely. Almost - there is no substitute for the interaction with the government officials who will have to fight for and then live with our recommendations to sense priority, urgency, hestitation, concurrrence, cynicism or passion. Translating those intangibles through the body language, expressions, and social interaction of a new cultural context is an intoxicating challenge. But certainly laying the groundwork through the extraordinarily level of presence which can be achieved today with any connected collaborator should and will become the default standard for business.