The Outsider(S) (20 page)

Eight hours later, we arrived in Nairobi. At the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. The day was sunny and everything seemed dry. I wondered if it had rained in the past six months. I was hungry, and I hoped to reach the prison soon enough in order to eat some lunch. My companions seemed busy. They had a lot of paperwork to finish. They were involved in heated conversation with some officials, whom I assumed were Immigration officials. I waited silently, sitting on a new red couch that still had plastic covers on it.

They had unchained me as soon as the plane touched the ground. There was no longer a risk that I could run of the plane and drop down somewhere in Europe. I was in Africa where I belonged.

After what seemed like an eternity, they both turned and walked towards me. I stood up, in anticipation of my trip to jail.

“Good luck and good-bye!” the older cop said in a sympathetic voice. I watched him, not understanding what he was talking about.

“You can go and find your relatives and start a new life,” he continued calmly.

The reality of what I was faced with suddenly dawned on me. Their job was done. I was no longer their responsibility.

“What about the prison?” I demanded. I was counting on going to prison and trying to figure out from prison where Tamaa Matano was. The other thing was that I was hungry and I needed something to eat.

“You are lucky you don’t have to go to prison. The Kenyan prisons are too full,” the younger cop said. I could see that he wasn’t completely pleased with that development. I was also not happy about it. In fact, I was furious. They both looked at me one last time, the older one in obvious sympathy and the younger one with a mixture of relief and satisfaction at delivering me back to Africa and disappointment at my not landing in a Kenyan jail.

For the first time since that fiasco began, I burst into tears. The Immigration officials looked at me sympathetically.

“You are not the first one. You will survive!” a fat woman behind the counters said in my direction while simultaneously talking on her mobile phone.

But of course, she had no idea just how bad my situation was. My life in Germany had ended abruptly the previous evening, and now the only thing I had to my name was my purse with seven Euros and thirty-five cents in it.

I walked slowly out of the arrivals terminal and was met by a huge number of people waiting for their loved ones to arrive. And taxi drivers. The taxi drivers looked at me without any interest. It was clear that I wasn’t the only deportee that they had ever come across. None of them asked me where I was going to, perhaps very aware that I could not afford their services.

Irmtraut

Kenya, 2010, Philippe’s Visit

I
lay next to Philippe and watched him sleep. He looked peaceful, and I thought I could even detect a smile. I had achieved it. I had made Philippe so happy during this trip that I was willing to bet that this was going to be a regular in our calendar. There were suddenly going to be emergencies that had to be sorted out by the CEO himself in Nairobi, I thought happily. I was awakened from this sleepy daydream when he grabbed my hand playfully. For someone who had looked like he was totally asleep a few seconds earlier, he was quite alert.

“I ordered room service. Coffee will be here at exactly seven thirty,” I murmured in his ear. I knew that Philippe was a coffee junkie, and I was going to spoil him as much as I could.

“Seven thirty African time?” he asked with a smile. “I am afraid that might turn out to be ten thirty a.m.” We both laughed. That was what the management consultants had drilled into our heads during the global intercultural training sessions. Africans were never to be trusted to arrive on time. Apparently the clock in Africa moved slower than in the rest of the world.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, still holding my arm.

“Do what?” I asked feigning surprise.

“Shouldn’t we just go to the restaurant?” he asked.

“OK, be my guest!” I answered happily. I was going to show him the fresh fruit and the samosas that I absolutely loved. These were some kind of Arab-Indian-Kenyan specialty. We walked out into the corridor and took the elevator downstairs. I was keen on giving him the impression that I loved it in Africa, never mind the incidences with the shit on my face and the car rental fiasco.

In the elevator, we met the laundry man. “Good morning!” he said with a smile.

“Good morning. How are you today?” I responded. Philippe looked at me, amused. This routine continued. Pretty much all the personnel greeted me as if we were long-lost buddies. I responded enthusiastically. I didn’t mention to Philippe that it had always annoyed me that they almost always wanted to talk to me. We sat down, and a waitress whom I recognized as Kanini walked up to our table.

“Madam, today we have passion fruit juice, the one you like!” she started with a smile.

“Thank you, Ms. Kanini, I will take a glass!” I said. I turned to Philippe, and before he could say anything I started talking. “And he will take coffee and a glass of passion as well!” I said.

Philippe started to protest. “I don’t know what that passion thing is so…” Before he could finish, we saw a black man in a jeans jacket approaching our table. He looked furious.

“How long is it taking you to serve us?” he asked Kanini.

“Sir, I will be with you in a minute!” Kanini said in a surprisingly firm voice.

“They’ve just come and you serve them before us?” he prodded.

“Sir, I said I am coming to your table,” she said again. I watched this exchange pensively.

“No don’t bother. I am not going to eat in a racist restaurant!” he said and signaled the lady who had been sitting at the corner table. They left in a huff, but then the man came back and I thought that he had forgotten something. He walked up to us.

“You are lucky to be white!” he said and turned to leave.

Philippe and I stared at each other for a moment.

“What was that about?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know,” I answered feeling confused. The more I thought I understood Africa and its people, the more I realized I didn’t.

Later that day, Philippe left for the airport.

“There is something I have to tell you before I leave,” he whispered in my ear. We were seated in a taxi.

“Right now?” I asked giggling. I couldn’t remember the last time things had been that easy between us.

He looked hesitant for a second. I was sure he was going to tell me what I had suspected the whole time, that he was going to come again probably the following week or at most in two weeks’ time. I saw him attempt to open his mouth. “Wait until we are alone!” I whispered. We arrived at the Terminal 1 for the international departures at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. I was surprised to see that the airport was quite beautiful. Contrary to my arrival when everything had looked dreary, this time around everything looked bright and welcoming. We walked in and checked his luggage in. As a first-class passenger, Philippe was ushered into the VIP lounge. I went along even though I was not traveling. Those were some of the perks of traveling in better classes.

A few minutes later, we were alone. Philippe took me in his arms and kissed me. I felt dizzy. There was no ounce of doubt in my mind that I was in love with him. Deeply in love.

We sat down, and he held my hand. I felt so much joy that my eyes welled with tears.

“Listen, I am very glad to have you,” he started. “I am very glad to have us.”

I smiled shyly, the way I suspected would-be brides smiled when they suspected that the guy was going to pop the big question. But I wasn’t that naive. I didn’t want him to marry me. It would be enough if he just wanted to continue being with me. I thought about it for a second and wondered if that was a sign of my low self-esteem or if it meant that I was a highly independent woman. The lines were hazy, and I was bright enough not to believe the chest-thumping bullshit preached by some feminists.

“Tell me, you know you can tell me anything,” I said softly and almost believed it. The reality was that I hated it whenever anyone confessed anything to me. I hated the burden of sharing some supposed secret.

“You seem to really like it here, Irmtraut. You look wonderful. It is as if you have undergone some kind of rebirth,” he said softly, and I felt my knees crumble in excitement.

I smiled up at him, and even though I felt knots of doubts in my stomach, I suppressed them. I still didn’t know what to think of Africa. It had so far been a very interesting experience. But “interesting” had many faces, and it was certainly not a synonym for “good.”

“I am leaving,” he said simply.

“I know that,” I responded absently.

“You don’t understand. I am leaving the company.”

The words struck me like a sharp knife in my tummy. “You are what?” I asked, and for the second time that day felt my knees crumbling. “Tell me you’re kidding!” I whispered, barely able to open my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

I sat upright. This was my career we were talking about. This was the most important thing in my life. I had invested so much in it. Part of my big investment was Philippe. I had been under the impression that I was going to be here for a short while. In fact, I had been planning on how to use my experience in Africa as a tool that no one could beat. I was going to rub people’s noses in it. I was going to pose as some kind of expert in emerging markets. But more importantly, I was planning to use it as a tool to challenge for the next level. Philippe leaving the company wasn’t part of the plan. I needed him to stay. I knew from experience that no one made it far as a professional manager based on performance alone.

“Where to?” I asked, suddenly aware that nothing changes so easily and so fast in life. Philippe was a shark. Whether I was sleeping with him or not was totally immaterial to him.

“Frileys,” he said simply.

“Frileys?” I asked, and jumped up at the same time. Philippe was looking at me in that cold, distant, calculating way. I could not believe that that was part of the reason I had been attracted to him. His ability to be ruthless. His ability to make decisions without emotion.

I felt tears flowing down my face. All the nightmarish experiences I’d had so far had in Nairobi came flowing back to me in an instant. The shit on my face, the challenging stare of certain people, the constant fear as well as the insecurity.

“Frileys?” I asked again in a voice barely audible.

“Don’t be dramatic. This is a great opportunity for me,” he said, standing up.

Frileys was our direct competitor. They had previously offered me a position, and Philippe had discouraged me from taking it. “I have confidential information that Frileys is going down,” he had told me. I searched his face for any sign of his remembering that conversation. But there was nothing. For a moment I just stood there, my arms folded tightly around my chest. He stood up as well, and I noted that his hands were in his pockets. From experience, I knew that he had switched to business mode. My natural instincts were to ask why that was happening to me, but I knew better than to make a bad situation worse. I was a professional.

“Can I come with you?” I asked. I felt vulnerable and alone. It was not lost on me that Philippe leaving the company also meant the end of our relationship. I was sure that he was going to replace me with someone else. That was just how the world worked. Once one made a compromise, there was no going back. It was just more compromises and more compromises.

“Let’s not go there,” he responded with a cold smile, checking his BlackBerry.

“Do you know who is taking over from you?” I asked in a fake pleasant voice. I was already thinking of new strategies. I needed to come up with new plans and most importantly with a new godfather.

“Yes of course,” he answered, looking more at ease. My not seeming mad seemed to be the correct strategy.

“Yeah?” I asked smiling. But he didn’t say anything. “Sorry about my initial reaction. I was just a bit shocked,” I continued. My plan was to get as much information from him as possible. Maybe I could even get him to put in a good word for me with the new CEO.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this. It’s still confidential,” he said.

“Please…” I pleaded. He looked at me regretfully, and for a moment I didn’t understand why.

“Nadia.”

Irmtraut

Kenya, 2010, Nadia

I
don’t remember what happened after Philippe’s revelation. What I remember is being engulfed with an icy feeling. A feeling that was to become my constant companion. Two weeks after Philippe left, the board of directors announced Nadia as the new CEO. I travelled back to Germany to be a part of that milestone. It had not been my wish, but I knew that anything else would be suicidal.

“For the first time in the history of this company, we are going to have a woman CEO,” Herr Kracher, the board chairman, said in his big booming voice. He sounded like a politician. I looked at Nadia and was surprised to meet her gaze. On her most important occasion she was staring at me. She walked to the front. She was dressed in a gray blouse and a dark gray straight skirt that hung just below her knees. Her hair was shorter than I remembered. It also had many more gray strands than I remembered, and I suspected that it was deliberate. “Thank you,” she started in the direction of the board. Her voice was shaking, and for a moment I felt some pride in being a woman. “I would like to thank the whole company. Everyone.” She paused before adding, “From the lowest level to you, the board.” She gestured to them with her hands. “Your trust and confidence means a lot to me.” Once again her voice broke.

I looked around. Her emotional performance was having its effect. I could see that one or two people had tears in their eyes.

“I would like to take this opportunity to thank my colleague and friend Irmtraut Eickelschaft for her outstanding performance. Our revenue in the emerging markets, mainly in Africa, has tripled ever since she took up her position in Nairobi,” she continued.