Dirty Boots and Hanging Meat

So I called my the director of my sponsoring NGO this morning and he said he could not meet until 11 am tomorrow. He told me that he is located at Chaka Place, which is next to the
Ya Ya Center. I had no idea what this meant, so I used the afternoon to find out.  I managed to finally locate my own residence on a map of Nairobi, and nearby saw an arrow pointing off the map with the words 'Ya Ya center.' I was in luck.
It took about an hour and 20 minutes to walk to Chaka Place in the suburbs.  Upon arrival I did not want to turn around immediately, so I thought I would find out what the Ya Ya was all about.  It happens to be a large shopping mall, complete with a Woolworths and coffee shops featuring umbrellaed patio tables (inside of course, in that kitch Kenwood town center fashion). 
Walking the streets I realized that the location of my current residence is exactly what I had hoped, being situated within the second growth ring of urban Nairobi. I am located between downtown and the suburbs - similar to Pleasant Ridge within Cincinnati.  I have access to everything I need, as well a safe accessible location.  I will definately return here when I come back through Nairobi to return home.
Yesterday when the hippie expat was telling me about the splendor of the peace corps over other development agencies, his primary arguement was that the other agencies are socio-culturally removed from the concerns of the people and fail to understand the circumstances at hand while the Peace Corps workers manage to join the community and are frequently held in great respect by the indigenous peoples because a)they struggle to live like everyone else and b) the Americans are always so good looking and this is a point of pride within the community.
Anyway, I'm starting to believe this guy. In the last 2 days I hadn't seen a single white face until I go out to the high dollar Ya Ya center. That place was crawling with NGO workers, multi-lateral agents, and government officials. It was like being back at the UN again but in a really dissapointing fashion, as these people are suppossed to be here making changes and are instead drinking Stella Artois beneath nylon canopies at faux-coffee shops.  I hope that circumstances are better at the refugee camp, because I'm going to be miserable if all of the aid workers live such a plush lifestyle.  I'm here to live the dirt and grime of humanity, if I sought the consumerist artifice of West Chester, I could have stayed home.
Anyway, I did go and get some goat. Well...not the goat. I ate half a chicken instead. There is nothing like eating an animal while facing a pile of slaughtered animals (in various stages of butchering). Eating etiquette is rather sophisticated here. There are always facilities to wash your hands, rarely any silverware, and you just point at the carcass you want as an entree. Also, there is no purpose to order side items as your pile of roasted dead animal will be accompanied by fruits and vegetables. Very delicious. I sat on bench with a bunch of men, eating hunks of meat by the handful - that was quite the relief after going to the Ya Ya center. I guess I could have done without the bench though...