A little money exchange adventure

I took a short walk yesterday into the Nairobi night.

I hadn’t changed any money at the airport, because I was just staying one night, and didn’t think through that I’d need to buy dinner before I slept. I ordered dinner at the hotel restaurant (‘steak’ with ugali – similar to the Nigerian ebo I wrote about earlier), and then asked if I could pay in US Dollars.

‘Yes, of course’, but when I inquired about the exchange rate that they would use I was informed that it would be 50 Kenya Shillings to the dollar – which is not nearly the standard rate of 80 Kenya Shillings to the dollar. So I asked if I could pay in the morning, and went out into the night to change 30 dollars into shillings – enough for dinner and some purchases at the airport the next day.

Having separated out the dollars I wanted to change, I stood in the hotel doorway for some time, assessing the street life to determine whether it was the kind of place for a ‘muzungu’(white man) to announce the desire to change 30 dollars. There were no other muzungus, but there were lots of people of both genders, a festive mood, and no apparent tension, so I decided it was safe enough.

I turned left towards the brighter lights, then left again to a boulevard with many people on the sidewalks, and asked a street vendor where I could change 30 dollars. My question was met with some confusion due to language difficulties, so I abandoned the inquiry, and continued looking for some sign (as yet unknown) that would tell me I’d found the person who could help me. And he came to me, not me to him.

‘I understand you want to exchange some money’ was my introduction to the apparent answer to my problem. ‘Yes, just 30 dollars’, I said, as I surveyed him to determine if this was a person I could trust for the next step in the process, which turned out to be a walk of two blocks to a club on Moi Avenue (an even more well-lit boulevard), which had an (un-armed and friendly) security guard in a uniform.

My situation was partially explained by my guide. There was unwillingness and suspicious curiosity, until I more fully explained that the hotel restaurant only wanted to give me 50 Shillings to the dollar. Ah, yes, that was unfair, and the mood shifted to helpfulness. The manager (whose name was David, so I told him my name was David also – every little connection helps), agreed to give me 70 Shillings to the dollar. The exchange was made, and I was on my way, having given the security guard my Guardian newspaper that I’d finished with and he’d expressed interest in.

My benefactor/guide, also named David (?), told me he was the supervisor of the Matatu (mini-van taxis) stand. He also told me not to talk to the women who brushed up against me and then looked directly at me – an instruction I was already following, but I thanked him for his advice. He walked me to my hotel, accepted the 100 Shillings I gave him in thanks, wished me a good flight the next day, and invited me to stay longer next time.

The walk in the Nairobi night had ended successfully and peacefully.