Hemingway’s
Naughty
Nairobi
By Devanshi Mody
I
’m in snug rolls of blankets, gently
rolling into slumber, when gently
my breakfast order is requested.
It looks as if Naomi Campbell is
speaking to me. Am I dreaming? But
I’m not on Kenya Airways’ justlaunched new Dreamliner, I’m in their
more down-to-earth aircraft. Though
I’m in their world-class Business
Class, I haven’t quite expected its
multi-award-winning amenities to
include Naomi Campbell as hostess.
Attending me is Victoria, about whose
uncanny resemblance to the super
model I remark. Victoria smiles that
she did indeed model but hasn’t the
“X-factor.” She has, however, the “I”
factor, intelligence — demonstrated
in our discussions on Kenya’s ethnic
composition. Victoria is subtle.
Nevertheless, I soon envision ranchowning, rich “Kenyan Cowboys,”
around whose heads power wreaths
like lassos. White hegemons, it would
seem, dominate a black majority. Just
then, I spy a mountain, its dusky
amplitude wreathed atop in white
snow. A metaphor for Kenya’s shaded
power dynamics?
We land. I’m offered an abundant
bouquet, almost bigger than I am, of
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