IN NAIROBI WE DON’T HAVE NEIGHBOURS.

Three years ago I relocated to the city. The big white bus, meandered on the highway, leaving my parents home and a huge part of my innocence behind. With each mile, I got a passing introduction to the world outside my own. I was not only ushered into the lush acres of land but also the peculiar environment that sped past us. On arrival, the big city gave me a humongous welcome. The hug was short and cold. Suddenly, I had to memorise streets, clutch my belongings to my body and accelerate my walking speed. I had to learn the ins and outs of the city for I was no longer the girl from the village.

I got acquainted with this new lifestyle pretty first. Among the many lessons, I learnt was that the city had no time for a chitty chat. The city had no time for the long, greetings and unsolicited pieces of advice that was served in the village. The city did not condone unplanned visits to someone's home as was the norm back home. The city had a set of rules. Rules that threw me off guard. Since I was in Rome, I had to abide by the Romans. In the big city, we don't interact freely. We don't have the luxury in terms of time to sit on the verandah for cheap gossip. We rarely host parties and when we do, then expect alcohol in plastic cups with a kilogram of meat. We also do not exchange greetings with our neighbours. In this place of cool waters, we mind our business as we wait for the next promotion or the launch of an up to the minute club in Westlands.

In Nairobi, we give each other shallow smiles and brief nods, this substitutes as our way of greeting. It blatantly sends the good morning or evening message that back in the village would have wasted a thorough 15 minutes. The village greetings which in my city are considered barbaric extended friendship and built on an already established rapport. The greetings braced ties between families and communities.