Nairobi

One day recently, I rode from there to work on the subway. The train was quite empty. A black woman who also got on in Bonames walked down the long aisle, passing all the empty seats, and sat down next to me. And off we went.

In good weather I never forget to take a look at the Taunus ridge between the stops in Kalbach and Riedwiese and to take pleasure in the fact that it is there. At that moment, the driver made an announcement: we would have noticed that the train was slowing down, there were technical problems and we would have to get off in Heddernheim. I gasped a bit and looked at the time on my mobile phone to see if I’d make it to work on time. After a short while, the woman next to me asked in English: "So we have to get out of the train?" Yes. We travelled on a bit longer, until I simply asked the woman whether she would mind if I asked where she came from originally. She said: "From Kenya." After a lot of "No! Really, well, this is so, you know, I will go there, well, really!" on my behalf, we chatted until we reached Hauptwache.

Christine Mutuku gave me some good advice. To watch for a yellow line on the taxis in Nairobbery, get in with older drivers, make sure that someone sees me get in, don’t wear jewellery, don’t accept any beverages from strangers. Ms Mutuku also told me that Ms Maschuai or something like that at the German Embassy in Nairobi is great and that I would experience lots of stories. We exchanged telephone numbers and have been in loose touch since then. Life is full of surprises.

That’s also what I was thinking when the next scurrility happened. It was time to pay a visit to the Lower Rhine region and say goodbye to Mama before the long journey. "Nairobi? Oh, child..." I distracted her with little linguistic titbits in Kiswahili, like: "Do you know what hakuna matata means?" How would she? "It means ‘no problem.’"

We planned a hike along the Wesel-Datteln Canal the next day and drove to the little town of Krudenburg, where we would begin the hike. As we were putting on our hiking shoes, my mother said: "Hakuna matata." Wow, I thought, she remembered it. But, she pointed at the car parked next to ours, which was decorated with a number of stickers: "I love Kenya" one said and "hakuna matata" another. Nairobi had followed me all the way from Bonames to the Lower Rhine.

Oh, Africa, what do I know about you? Practically nothing. At the word Nairobi, a zebra-striped Jeep immediately drove through my mind, a lion peeked around the corner and someone said "Daktari". Like the television series; daktari – the Swahili word for doctor. Images of umbrella acacias appear. Strange things, new things. Maybe something long familiar, too? Oh, Africa. Oh, yeah! Of course! I need to apply for a visa!

When I returned to Frankfurt I took care of that and called the Kenyan Embassy in Berlin. I asked how long it usually takes to get a visa by post. The gentleman speaking broken German on the other end asked what he ought to say to that. He had no time for such things. I became quite irritated and interjected that since he is from the Kenyan Embassy, he could certainly give me that information.

"Kenya! Kenya! I’ve heard of it," the man went on to say, "but I am a barber in Frankfurt. What should I do? Cut the ambassador’s hair?" I had forgotten to dial the area code for Berlin and was bothering a barber in the neighbourhood by the main station with my questions. We had a good laugh, then. Pardon me for my mistake. Oh, no. Hakuna matata.

And now it was time for the yellow fever vaccination and all the other necessary needle jabs. Who do I find standing ahead of me at the university immunization clinic? The Webers. Wolfgang Weber, creator of the monument for the deceased gorilla Matze, is on his way to India for Arts for Nature. The Webers lived in Nairobi for many years. Are these all coincidences? At my question whether it really is so dangerous there, Mr Weber’s wife replied: "In Nairobbery? Oh, yes. Just recently, an acquaintance of ours was shot and killed." Then the doctor arrived to shoot the living yellow fever virus in my upper arm. Nairobi has already begun – even in my bloodstream.