Written and shot for Bloomberg Markets.

Oft-overlooked, mangroves are a coastal economy’s essential workers.

Along the coast of Kenya, mangrove forests provide an array of ecosystem benefits, including sequestering carbon, preventing shoreline erosion, and protecting fish from tides and predators. But the shrimp and fish aquaculture industries are destroying the very mangroves that are so essential to their health.

Now some coastal communities, for which mangroves also have spiritual, cultural, and ceremonial importance, are taking action to restore these special trees and preserve their local economies. Aboud Mohammed’s focus is on the island of Pate, the largest in the Lamu Archipelago, close to the northeast coast of Kenya. As vice chairman of Pate Resources and Tourism Initiative (Prati), Mohammed also heads a volunteer team that’s planted and conserved about 20 hectares (49 acres) of mangrove to promote biodiversity, combat climate change, and protect the livelihoods of local subsistence fishermen.

Early on in 2020, when we had little idea how deadly COVID-19 is, the uncertainty drove humanity into a black panic. As we’ve come to learn more about this virus and how it kills (the average age of a COVID-19 death is higher than the average death age in some countries), we should adjust our precautionary level to match that of the situation as we know it. But people are scared, really scared. And when the news cycle blasts certain news non-stop, most people can’t help but believe it. To them, news is the truth. People don’t check their sources anymore.

COVID-19 has magnified the growing gaps in human relationships– a disconnect that technology has already distorted and magnified. We are traversing what is unprecedented in our history and capable of bringing out malicious human traits concerning power, selfishness, and obliviousness. The repercussions include suicide, spiraling mental health, and abject loneliness. Where are the advocates for mental health at this time, against the physical distancing that is already having untold effects on social fabric everywhere? Who is speaking out against the repercussion of shielding ourselves away from COVID-19? not the veracity or deadliness of the virus? People are dying alone in hospitals, some of the most sterile, lonely, and frightful conditions imaginable. Many hospitals are not even allowing families to see their loved ones off, yet we are gathering in mass crowds to protest? These are not good deaths. I am not speaking to the nature of the protests whatsoever, but to the heart of what is happening. There is something off, and those who question it are shamed, blamed, and silenced.

Intense lockdown makes it impossible to ignore what we’ve always known- that life is meant to be shared, without physical community, the weight of existence can be too much to bear. COVID-19 has brought an unprecedented host of stressors while removing many of the outlets we traditionally use as coping mechanisms. Not only have our routines been disrupted, but we are flooded with the threat of being killed by a disease that still has no cure. And in line with the times, we are making up theories about things we do not know because the desire to hold on to something, anything, can be overwhelming.

Physical distancing is endangering mental health even as it aims to protect physical health. We’ve heard about the increased risks that COVID-19 poses to those who are immunocompromised and have preexisting conditions. But how many of us are aware that at least in England and Wales, 25% of coronavirus fatalities had been afflicted by dementia? That this virus has also asymmetrically affected veterans, an already shamefully underserved community in the US (a 2016 study showed that roughly 20 veterans commit suicide a day)? It is difficult to draw scientific conclusions at such a time due to insufficient data, but it is still vital that we examine the possible implications that social distancing means for those already coping with cognitive decline. Humans are social animals– we are culturally conditioned to believe that we have conscious control over individual fairness, morality, and empathy, some of our most valued social capacities– teachable qualities we are able to pass from one generation to the next. The isolation and broken routines from lockdown have hastened the cognitive decline that social interaction can help arrest. Lonely people, when alone, become lonelier.

There are several reasons for why people with dementia have been so severely affected by COVID-19– both conditions disproportionately affect the elderly and care homes have been rampaged by the virus.

One of the most common causes of dementia is Alzheimer’s disease

And it’s not just the elderly who are affected in terms of physical and mental health. The Director of the the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) stated that suicide and drug overdoses are killing more young people than COVID-19 itself, epidemics that were not magically resolved in the face of this global pandemic. There has been a 20% increase in substance abuse, while suicide remains the second leading cause of death in the U.S. for people ages 10 to 34. Small wonder, as chronic stress– a phenomenon we are certainly experiencing now– compounded by a lack of healthy coping mechanisms and unprecedented social issues stemming from the isolating qualities of technology…

People are so scared about coronavirus, yet few people are doing the research and work to find out what it actually means to be afflicted. Depending on where you are in the world, some simply lack the means and educational background to do so. A man in Nakuru, in the western region of Kenya, committed suicide as he awaited results from his COVID-19 test after developing symptoms. The test result was positive. In a similar case, a 30 year old man attempted to commit suicide when admited to Mbagathi Infectious Disease Unit in Nairobi for a 14-day quarantine period.

Several times Kenyans have said to me, corona is dead. And now that I’m back in the U.S. against my attempts at planning and wishes, I’m prepared to be socially shamed for trying to live life as I have been in Kenya. There are several reasons why Kenya has been dealing with COVID-19 better than the U.S.– they have bigger quotidian worries and killers (AIDS, access to clean water, and malaria, just to name a few) and the population is young. Most African countries have been inflating their case numbers for international aid money, which is the least surprising thing about all of this. Regardless of where one is, the numbers are not to be trusted, and we must look beyond mere case numbers. When considering everything that we unconsciously navigate on a daily basis, from car crashes to the endless bacteria in our environments, the act of survival is a miracle in itself.

I’m wondering how much of the difference between East Africa and the U.S. has to do with American moral superiority or the politicization of one of the tensest election seasons in recent history. This pandemic has made it clear that we have to live with a higher degree of uncertainty that we are used to. It’s difficult to take such a plunge.

Sources:

https://www.npr.org/sections/coronavirus-live-updates/2020/08/13/901627189/u-s-sees-deadly-drug-overdose-spike-during-pandemic

https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/nairobi/article/2001369263/covid-19-patient-tries-to-commit-suicide-at-mbagathi

https://thehill.com/opinion/healthcare/508306-as-covid-19-crisis-continues-suicide-risk-for-veterans-likely-to-grow

https://www.christianpost.com/news/more-youth-are-dying-of-suicide-overdose-than-covid-19-during-pandemic-cdc-director.html

https://www.apa.org/monitor/2020/06/covid-suicide

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/covid-19-worsens-obsessive-compulsive-disorder-but-therapy-offers-coping-skills1/

There are many extant critiques that China overlooks environmental degradation repercussions through its business involvement with African countries. Appeasing resource-rich yet corrupt and brutal governments is an unfortunate facet of development (conditional aid, as is more the style of Western donors, has been known to make beneficiaries balk due to attached stipulations). While it may be tempting to place China in the same category as Western neocolonialists, viewing Sino-African relationships solely through the framework of business transactions and access to resources strips away greater historical context and several differences that set China apart from true neocolonialists. Understanding the intricacies of these relations– from both African and Chinese perspectives– may help provide a deeper understanding of China’s interest in African countries and the future trajectory of their relationships.

Sino-African relationships are not monolithic; they are mutually constructed and dynamic relationships. Most attempts to discern motivations behind Chinese investments and loans to the continent focus on what China gets out of these relationships. African interests and decisions in these situations should be given equal weight as we examine whether they are reaping the appropriate benefits required for economic development.

During the Cold War era, Chinese investment did not match the ambition and scope of American or Soviet efforts. But mere decades later, China worked to catch up on developing formerly lackluster relations with African countries by redoubling its foreign funding efforts. By 2007, China moved from being the eighth largest bilateral donor to becoming the second largest investor (with the US being the first). Rapidly developing in its own right, China picked up the slack by investing in many countries at an unprecedented level of commitment. Eswatini (Swaziland) is the only African country never to have formal relations with China, having received no economic assistance and recognizing the Republic of China (Taiwan) instead of the PRC as the sole representative of China.

There are several key factors that set China apart from its traditional Western investor counterparts: strategy, focus, and manifestation. China offers an alternative model of development based on trade rather than foreign aid and subsidized loans. This strategy holds a greater capacity to equalize international relations, since China regards African countries not simply as destitute, developing countries, but viable business partners. This is palpably different from that of the charitable, hand-out style that other foreign investors and donors have normalized. China has also chosen to focus on infrastructure, a sector that Western assistance traditionally overlooks. Such projects provide opportunities for significant African development while leaving room for the Chinese to benefit by way of grants to mining rights. Another major difference is the phenomenon of exporting Chinese migrant labor. Whether this stems from concerns about expertise, a lack of trust in African partners on the ground, or some combination of these two factors, the proliferation of blue-collar Chinese workers across Africa sets China apart from the entanglements of other foreign powers on the continent.

There is no question that China’s increasingly high demand for natural resources comes from its strain to accommodate its rapidly expanding middle-class. China had to find viable external venues to export and digest its excess industrial and constructional exports to circumvent domestic, large-scale deflationary pressure, and the African continent was a perfect and willing venue for such partnerships. Solidifying Sino-African relations boosted African public revenues. As part of the post-Cold War era, a number of newly independent African governments found themselves struggling to develop from a lack of external investment and attention, even though they boasted a wealth of natural resources.

One political studies thesis produced at the University of Tartu in Estonia examined correlations between oil availability and corruption, crime rates, and level of democracy. While a correlation between oil and gas reserves and Chinese investments was found in five countries, data analysis revealed that natural resources are not the sole impetus for Chinese investment. For example, Zambia has no such reserves but was still classified to the medium category in investments, while Angola boasted only modest reserves but was the recipient of some of the biggest investments, more so that South Africa, Ghana, and Nigeria, which all have far more natural resources. Assumptions that China only focuses on funding countries with natural resources neglect how Chinese business interests are in fact very geographically diverse, with heavy commitments in telecommunication, transport, energy, and even regional educational opportunities. It is important to recognize how Chinese involvement has boosted African economies. African exports to China increased by 110% from 2006 to 2008 and 32 countries exhibited a net gain in earnings. And while African perception of the Chinese presence varies wildly depending on socio-economic status and geography, African leaders overall view China with less suspicion than the West, seeing trade and investments as pulling the continent onto the path of globalization.

China has also been criticized by international observers and foreign policy correspondents for carrying on with business as usual despite the repressive or brutal nature regimes that they support, or at least turn a blind eye to, when supporting or spearheading mega infrastructure or resource extraction projects. Officials at the Zimbabwe Embassy in Beijing attempted to downplay how the capital city Harare made mining rights available to Chinese firms by buying back concessions once held by western or South African companies (however, it should be noted that Zimbabwe’s tactic of offering minerals as a swap for other necessities such as oil is not unique to its relationship with China, having done the same with Iran and Russia). Similarly, third-party observers construed China’s financing of the Ayago North and Ayago South dams in Uganda as a way to secure access to oil. Examining how China prioritizes resource extraction availability in the context of investment decisions and how this criteria fit into the African demand for investments and export markets may shed light on both China’s deeper motivations.

Some studies on the external environmental factors influencing China-Kenya trade have found that Chinese foreign direct investment has an affinity toward countries with not only abundant natural resources, but also corrupt institutional environments. Chinese investments de facto feed into the institutional failings of resource-rich beneficiaries. This leads to the question of where the lines should be when it comes to China’s responsibilities in choosing countries to invest or work with. While it would be unfair and impossible for China to bear all the burdens and implications of investing in unstable regimes, China must acknowledge that their business ventures have repercussions on the ground.

Only time can truly show what exactly what dimensions exist in terms of evolving Sino-African relationships– these complicated relationships are neither purely inherently exploitative and neocolonialist or wholly charitable. While development inevitably carries a certain degree of exploitation — both internally as African countries organize and build their own internal structures and externally when foreign powers contribute to the process — there is certainly potential for deeper and more balanced relationships as China and African nations better carve out the boundaries of beneficial partnerships.

Sources

Whitfield, Lindsay, and Alastair Fraser. “Negotiating Aid: The Structural Conditions Shaping the Negotiating Strategies of African Governments.” International Negotiation, vol. 15, no. 3, 2010, pp. 341–366., doi:10.1163/157180610x529582.

George, Mark. 2009. “China-Africa Two-Way Trade: Recent Developments.” Unpublished paper.

Rich, Timothy S, and Sterling Recker. “Understanding Sino-African Relations: Neocolonialism or a New Era?” Journal of International and Area Studies, vol. 20, no. 1, June 2013, pp. 61–76., doi:https://www.jstor.org/stable/43111515.

Chichava, Sérgio. “Mozambique and China: from Politics to Business?” Instituto De Estudos Sociais e Económicos, May 2008.

Pallo, Karl-Hendrik. “Call It Neocolonialism: Correlation between Chinese Economic Investment and Crime, Corruption, Gas, Oil and the Level of Democracy in Sub-Saharan Africa.” UNIVERSITY OF TARTU Faculty of Social Sciences Johan Skytte Institute of Political Studies, 2017.

Besada, H. “Assessing China’s Relations with Africa.” African Journals Online, vol. 38, no. 1 & 2, 2014.

Chan-Fishel, Michelle, and Roxanne Lawson. “Quid Pro Quo? China’s Investment-for-Resource Swaps in Africa.” Development, vol. 50, no. 3, 2007, pp. 63–68., doi:10.1057/palgrave.development.1100403.

Chinese Involvement on the African Continent: Beyond Natural Resource Exportation was originally published in The Noodle Shop on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

My mouth watered in anticipation of beans cooked in coconut oil accompanied by chapati– a kind of layered, unleavened flatbread of Indian origin, commonly eaten across East Africa. We were stopping at a tiny stall just south of Mombasa before heading out into the water for a day’s worth of snorkeling. The last time I had eaten this kind of stewed beans, cooked for hours over a low fire until silky soft, was in Tanzania. So much of the enticement of food lies in its familiarity just as it does in intimacy and affection. We love what we love because of how it brings us back to a poignant memory — a different phase of life perhaps, when we were free from what we know now. I drained my cup of gingery tea, relishing in its heat even though it was a blazing day outside. I never take sugar in tea save for situations like these, as per the local custom.

I’m fascinated by how food has the capacity to expand one’s world and open one up to cultural exchanges. Research has shown that an effective way to facilitate bridging cultural divides is by introducing modern interpretations of culture to conversations and debates. Increasingly, food is added to the mix. It provides the perfect avenue for disparate generations, such as Kenyans and Chinese, to find new common ground in the midst of immense cultural differences.

As a Taiwanese-American who has lived in Nairobi for more than a year, I have long since settled into a rhythm here. One of the most grounding aspects of normal life is what I find myself preparing for and cooking in the kitchen. I’ve been rewarded in my search for glutinous rice flour and am becoming a regular at the tiny Chinese shopping center nearby. Despite mostly cooking my own meals, including rotations such as Malawian chicken curry, roasted vegetables, and pan pizza, there are still times I feel a deep craving for Chinese food. Plain old home-style cooking. These are the closest moments I get to missing home. I grew up in rural New Hampshire, and while the sturdy Chinese community was a cornerstone of social life as I knew it amidst the sea of the greater white community, it was a far cry from the niche Bay Area Asian-American culture that recently gained traction in popular culture. While I understand boba culture and the qualities of an ABG, they don’t necessarily resonate with my own experiences.

However, when I watch shows such as David Chang’s Ugly Delicious that contextualize the significance of food in keeping culture and identity alive, I felt connected to the greater Asian American community in a wholly different way. I realized that regardless of geography, the time and effort spent making dumplings from scratch or making the trek to far-off Asian grocery stores represents the importance of what happens in the kitchen. Dishes served at the dinner table can provide a sense of familiarity and comfort in a place where nothing else outside is the same. In a way, my family’s biannual drive to the Kam Man and H-Mart stores in Boston marked the passing of the seasons and reminded me that we care enough about what we eat to make such a trek. Living in Kenya has made me realize that this rooted interest in food is concentrated within certain cultures; not every culture shares the same fervour in terms of planning, discussing, and trying new recipes for dinner as East Asians do.

I took Chinese food for granted while growing up. It was just home-cooking to me. When I left home and subsequently the accessibility of homemade steamed buns and scallion pancakes (we take after my grandmother’s Dongbei roots), I realized how special that normal food actually was. Even thinking about my mother’s yu xiang qie zi brought me back to some of the very first things that I knew and loved– not because they taste the best, but because they were made by her.

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As a whole, Kenyans don’t branch out much in terms of food. Ugali (a boiled paste of maize meal), stewed meat, and vegetables such as sukuma wiki are the main staples. I made a rogue version of chicken adobo and bok choy for two local girls, which they loved. One of them exclaimed, ‘I don’t even know the name for this!’ She went on to say how she wished Kenyans were more adventurous in their palette and cuisine, as the range is quite small. We planned a whole list of things to cook together in the future. I asked her if she liked kimchi, which she had never heard of before. The following week, I made a batch with a Maangchi recipe that we could use in stir fries and stews. In return, she said she would show me her favourite nyama choma joint and teach me how to make mchicha, a type of local greens.

What we eat extends far beyond sustenance. It is an act of cultural expression and identity that can be used to both compliment and denigrate. Popular Facebook groups like Subtle Asian Cooking and Vietnamese Cooking Group are not only fun pages for inspiration, ingredients or technique-oriented questions, but also a welcoming space for home-chefs to show off their creations. The Asian group members seem to enjoy the community and unifying aspect of these groups just as much as they do for the food posts. On the other hand, the Kikuyu, one of the main tribes in Kenya, have the reputation for cooking bland food along with being avaricious. I’ve met Kikuyus who insist upon first impression that they are trustworthy even though they are Kikuyu, and that they how to cook well. These stereotypes run deep and can easily manifest one’s sense of self-perception.

From a historic and geographical perspective, food security in areas with natural advantages in farming have allowed for the development of the most famous and innovative food cuisines since the sustenance problem was conquered. However, this has evolved into a lasting attitude to food that can be seen even today. Of course, the cuisine does vary regionally, from the coast to the west, but in a way that is different from how it is in China. In traditional Chinese culture, the idea of harmony is vital to almost every aspect of life. This is reflected in cuisine, where practically all flavours are used in a balanced way to create delicious dishes and also presented with meticulous attention to symmetry and colours, particularly for special occasions.

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On Kenya’s stunning coast, largely deserted due to the pandemic, I encountered a Chinese American lady who studied food science in university. I had just come in from a swim, and ran into her on the porch overlooking the water. In true Kenyan style, you come across just the kind of people you need.

She had the very interesting perspective that 30 years ago, many parts of China also lacked creativity when it came to food. Meals were simple — rice, sauteed greens, and very little meat. While it is unfair to generalize a country as large as China into a monolith, I can see her point. It takes a while for people to move away from seeing what they eat as utilitarian in order to transform food into creative expressionism. In Kenya, the middle class boom has yet to come. Day laborers tend to eat a large plate of ugali accompanied by some greens and cabbage with only very small pieces of meat; there is little bandwidth available for the average Kenyan to be much more creative about their daily sustenance. The thing about food is that as a form of culture, it is always in motion, morphing even as we speak. And as much as I enjoy trying new flavours, there are moments when all you want to do is return to what you know.

Food: Binding and Bringing Us Back was originally published in The Noodle Shop on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A significant ritual that comes with growing up is venturing out in the world and relinquishing the familiarity that has ensconced you your whole life. Lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of posts within internet groups such as Subtle Asian traits where people speak to personal experiences growing up in communities of low diversity– how they were keenly aware of feeling out of place due to their race and culture. I did as well, having grown up in rural New Hampshire in a largely white and homogenous setting. However, I do not remember attributing those feelings of displacement to my ethnicity. I’m not sure why I thought so little about race — perhaps it was in part due to my parents and how they intentionally did not want to point out obvious racial biases or prejudices. They have lived all across the US for nearly four decades, having emigrated as graduate students from Taiwan in the early ’80s and successfully assimilated with many aspects of American culture, from the food to small town living. They wanted my brother and I to grow up without that chip on our shoulders. But sooner or later, every one of us figures out what race means to us on our own terms, how it influences situations and why it matters.

Some people speak to how their parents discussed racial differences with them from an early age. Awareness, when timed and delivered well can be enlightening but reality can also be painful. I’ve had conflicted feelings about the weight and prevalence of my heritage for as long as I can remember. When we watched the summer Olympics as a family in 2008 and 2012 I distinctly remember rooting for the Chinese national team. I’d wake up each morning to check the medal count on the Internet, cheering internally as China maintained her lead. I’d never been to the mainland, and in all other aspects of my life I’ve never thought twice about my “Chinese-ness.“ But in the context of a competitive space, my own allegiance became clear. Despite not growing up around a defined Asian community, the abeyant allegiance was there all along.

The handful of times when I visited relatives in Taiwan I felt a rush of connection to familial ties extending far beyond myself — a feeling distinct from the stolid American individualism that I had subconsciously come to embody. In Taiwan, the most normal of activities such as spending time with my relatives and family friends, speaking my mother tongue, and learning how to cook jiang you ji (soy sauce chicken) from my step-grandmother contextualized many of the ideals that my parents tried to convey to me over the years. I realized how my actions were seen as extensions of my parents and upbringing; that my relatives cared about what I did, that my decisions mattered to them under a greater sense of family.

It took leaving home and being pushed to seek community on my own terms for me to realize how important my heritage is to my identity. When I moved to Nairobi in 2018 to work as a photojournalist, it was the first time I’d ever lived in a metropolis. There was not only the urban aspect of life that I needed to acclimate, but also the immense cultural adjustments that touched upon everything from quotidian interactions, to the attention I received every time I stepped out in public. There were many culturally charged moments that eluded me altogether. Now that I’m living in Kenya for the second time, I have a more thorough understanding of the transactional nature of society, the Nairobian hustler mentality, and most importantly, how not to take anything personally. My hope is that discernment and acceptance of cultural differences here will not only continue helping me navigate my current surroundings, but also help me understand more of my own Chinese-American upbringing.

Initially, I was upset by the rather unceremonious way that Asians and Caucasians are grouped monolithically as mzungus (white people) in East Africa. To many Kenyans, there is no difference between those with silky, non-kinky hair and light skin. I practically wanted to protest, I’m not white! I’m Asian. Where I come from, I’m also a minority. I’ve long since moved beyond this desire, since there’s no sense in struggling against structures so much greater than myself.

Nevertheless, I felt a gravitation towards the Chinese community in Nairobi. In my previous experiences abroad, I had felt something similar– that there was a tiny hole inside of me that grew deeper the longer I was away. I subconsciously yearned for my mother tongue. Speaking in Mandarin brings a sense of familiarity and home that English does not, even though I am so much more limited in the former language.

This surprised me. I didn’t realize how important my heritage is to me. In many ways — from career to dating — I wouldn’t classify myself as conventionally “Chinese-American” at all. I didn’t go the corporate route and am not pursuing an orthodox or lucrative career as others often expect of people like me; hardworking and ambitious with a world class education. But as I am living in Nairobi, it is becoming an unexpected opportunity to reconsider my heritage roots in ways I have never done before.

There’s a Chinese Malaysian missionary family here who took me under their wing when I first moved to Kenya. In pre-COVID-19 times, they hosted home group dinners in their home, welcoming in both Kenyans and expats for Bible study sessions. I surprised myself by becoming a regular. I had no choice but to go to church multiple times a week growing up, but since college I do not go out of my own volition. Being able to communicate in Mandarin and having a shared cultural identity brought me a sort of comfort I didn’t know I needed. They included me in all types of activities, not just religious ones. I liked the feeling that they cared more about how I was doing as a person than saving my soul. “Consider us your family in Nairobi,” they said to me. I did.

How Leaving Home Made Me More Chinese was originally published in The Noodle Shop on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

In May, I was on my daily quarantine walk around Karen, Nairobi where I’ve been staying since lockdown began nearly 3 months ago. Karen is known to be a bougie neighbourhood — its greenery and seclusion sets it apart from the normal chaos that is downtown– and is inhabited by big cats and wealthy expats. I had my earbuds in and was generally just minding my own business. A man, well on his way to getting through middle-age, approached me and joined me on my walk. I generally don’t mind this kind of interaction– unexpected connections can lead to great conversations, one never knows. But it took about a minute and a half before things went south. He started making unsolicited comments about my figure, how nice I look (it’s quarantine- I hadn’t washed my hair in 3+ days), and do I have a boyfriend? Had I been with a Kenyan before? If I had, he probably wasn’t any good, because a smart Kenyan man would know how to “treat me right”. Shortly after this volley of comments began, I rerouted my walk (“Oh, you don’t feel safe walking down this road?”). The irony of his comment irritated me. I always feel safe in this neighbourhood, I was just cosmically annoyed at his effrontery and wanted to be left in peace.

It’s a rarity for me to write something like this. In my years abroad in countries with diametric cultural expectations, my go-to strategy has always been to give the other person the benefit of the doubt (one of my friends has even said that I’ve been in so many … interesting situations, there’s no reason for me to still be alive…) I’m not necessarily interested in how men behave in Kenya– male behavior is all across the board here, as it is anywhere else in the world– I’ve just been thinking more about my response to such interactions and how that correlates with where I am in the world. Initially, I was unperturbed about what happened– it was ultimately harmless and short-lived. My usual modus operandus is to just shrug things off. You can’t walk around in the world and accept everyone to have the same values and approaches as you do. But am I wrong in my approach? The most frustrating thing is how in that moment, that man made me feel totally naive, as if it were my first time abroad. Like a spring chicken. And in the middle of a pandemic, no less! In retrospect, I wish I had been blunt about how inappropriate he was as I would have in most other countries.

I briefly recounted this mundane interaction with my Kenyan friend. She was not in the least amused, saying that his behavior is not acceptable anywhere– why should Kenya be an exception?– and that I’ve been here long enough to not count as a tourist.

I have no doubt that if I were in a predominantly white country (not to mention at home in the US) I would not have hesitated to tell such a person to leave me alone. But it’s complicated here in Kenya for several reasons: 1. I’m a muzungu (in other words, not black) 2. Chinku, Chinese, which only complicates matters due to brewing racial tensions. My relative whiteness considered, the dynamics are definitely different when the other party is African, versus any other shade of white or even Asian. One of my Kenyan friends is surprised people can even tell the difference, that I’m Asian and not just white (I look a bit like a halfie, feedback I’ve gotten my whole life). And of course, it wouldn’t do to make enemies on current home turf. No matter my experiences or how much time I spend here, the fact that I’m not local will always stand out and dictate my experiences. Am I intrinsically biased in how I react to these situations because of race? Specifically, the race of those who gaze? I’m not even sure how to begin understanding these dynamics, or if it’s worth anyone’s time to do so. Life moves on, and even though I continue walking in the same neighborhood, I have a feeling I’ll never run into that man again anyway.

A local friend made a call next to me the other day, and I picked up from his Kiswahili that I’d called me a Chinku. ‘Do you prefer mzungu,’ he wondered. Fine, I conceded. Might as well be more specific.

He is always annoyed when he hears of such encounters I face. “People here know what they know,” he says. The habit of pointing out the obvious is an interesting one. It’s not as if I’m trying to blend in, I’m just going about my business– going on a walk, buying some paw-paw or chapati on the street.

Another friend was saying that being white– being Asian makes me more attractive here. Everyone likes your silky hair, he says. It’s what all the African women want as they tortuously subject their hair to endless chemicals. We talked about how messed up beauty standards are, how kinky hair is not seen as beautiful, even by Africans themselves, not just because of the extraordinarily high degree of maintenance. People just wish they had straight hair. He also said, You’re treated better. Notice it next time. People take your complaints more seriously, and are more polite to you.

We went to one of his friend’s parties the other weekend, and it just so happened to be that there were a ton of Kenyan Ivy league graduates. Many of them had returned home after studies in the States to live and work. Once they return to Kenya, apparently it’s like they had never lived amongst non-Africans. My friend said this phenomenon happened to him too, oddly enough. And we’re talking Nairobi, the most cosmopolitan city in Kenya, possibly East Africa. Later that night, I made out with one of his friends, who had gone to Yale and works at a large consulting firm in Nairobi. He’d want to get with you because you’re white, my friend insisted. This is where we get into the grey area in terms of preferences and fetishes. I don’t want to be liked for my race, of course. But at the end of the day, how much of that matters?

But with this privilege, undoubtedly some vestige of colonization, come the follows, stares, unsolicited approaches. He walks with me down the street and is not used to how I’m treated like a human spectacle. People aren’t shy about staring here. A group of men will stop whatever they’re doing and collectively eye-fuck me. I’ve long learned to tune this out but even to my local Kenyan friend, this was a bit much. In the CBD (Central Business District) last week, a man had reached out to try to touch me, my hair or my chest or something. So much for social-distancing. It’s not great, but what can be done? I ducked and had I not told my friend later that that happened, he would have never known.

How the Male Gaze is Different Depending on Where I am/ the Sliding Scale of Attraction was originally published in The Noodle Shop on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The first guy I dated seriously is Kenyan. I’m a second generation Taiwanese-American who grew up in New Hampshire and the daughter of very conservative and sporadically traditional parents. I have a feeling that many people in my situation would be hesitant about bringing their partner home to meet the parents– a very Western ritual, I’m told. But I was more worried about the existence of a boyfriend, not so much his race. In many regards, my parents are not typical “tiger-parents” who mapped out my life from a young age. They emigrated from Taiwan nearly 40 years ago and have assimilated well into rural New England culture, from enjoying the nature and relative solitude to falling in with the small town pace of life. It took me a long time to even begin to see how my parents accepted or rejected certain American norms. The resulting mindset is one that is asperous and unexpected. As it is with every family, especially immigrant families today, the clash of culture wrought many a conflict. It tested the ability and capacity for my parents and I to communicate.

I learned from my older brother’s mistakes in terms of failing to disclose or properly warm up our parents to his girlfriend (who is Chinese, from Hong Kong! That should have been easy.). I wanted to avoid as much of that tension as possible. A few months into dating, I eased my parents into my new boyfriend’s existence. I was living in Kenya at the time and I don’t remember if they explicitly asked about his race– maybe they did? But I was strategic in my approach by talking up the positives and mentioning how he’s religious, a responsible older brother, studying to be an engineer. About 8 months into dating, when we were both back in the States, I introduced my mother to K, who’s charming and sociable and made a great first impression. When he eventually met my father, that went well too– I’d told K so much about my parents, he had no problem sustaining good conversations, carefully calibrated to impress. He did well. They liked him a whole lot and never questioned our relationship or where it was heading.

I’m really lucky in this regard. I know all too many Chinese parents who would never be okay with their children dating someone who isn’t Chinese or white, let alone African. In my younger days, I used to pick fights with my parents about their political leanings. But this experience has shown me how they are very accepting despite the uncomfortable viewpoints they may hold. In 2018, as I prepared to move to Nairobi to tap into the ecological conservation space, I had one too many Chinese relatives and acquaintances say, just make sure you don’t end up getting a black boyfriend. Don’t get HIV.

I often joke about how I’m rather averse to dating white boys. It’s not just that I’m really not attracted to blonde people, but I feel that there would be so many cultural barriers to work through that it would be difficult to attain the form of deeper understanding I look for. Being with K made me realize the vast similarities between Chinese and African cultures, generally speaking. It goes as follows: corporal punishment is not off the table, the demand for parental respect and deference is great, both Africans and Chinese expect their kids to do something useful-– be an engineer, doctor, or lawyer. Moreover, the distance shared between parents and kids is much healthier and less blurred than it is for Caucasians, who tend to go on about how they are “best friends” with their parents. Generally speaking, Asians and Africans do not relate much to that sentiment. To us, parents are familial figures we love, fear, and increasingly take care of. The proportions may be different, but the core idea is the same.

As K and I became close, I felt comfortable revealing certain aspects about my childhood to him. Especially the backlogged emotional process of resolving anguishes stemming from adolescent fights I’ve had with my parents. I’m not sure if I would have revealed so much to someone who didn’t understand the normally complex dynamics in my family as well as he did. While we grew up in diametric households with entirely different disciplines, expectations, and atmospheres, I found that somehow, the expectations and essence were far more similar than I had imagined. My parents were much more involved in my upbringing than his were, but the structure of it all still resonated.

I actually became annoyed with him on several occasions for understanding my parents a bit too well. “You should really stop taking their side,” I’d complain, “That’s kind of messed up.” The matter at hand probably involved something about how I responded to some familial demand, remnants of my parents’ traditional expectations of me. Looking back, I appreciate how he tried to act as a bridge between my parents and I at times. Of course I wish that hadn’t been the case, but in the moment, it can be so hard to keep things from getting murky.

Beyond Skin-Deep: Is African and Chinese Culture as Different as We Think? was originally published in The Noodle Shop on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Here’s the thing- for someone who thinks about the inevitability of death every day, I always forget how no one Is making it out of this alive. Think about time- how our days are de facto split up by sleep, work, eating, routines, the normal things that keep us alive. Just the act of survival just takes up so much time in itself. There’s no way to bargain for more or less of it. Yet the attempt to grasp time, make it your own and not constantly have to fight or curse it, only feels more relevant the more I think about it. Thinking about how so much of our conscious lives are lived on auto-pilot pains me. Not that it isn’t nice to turn that off (the best part of sleeping), but now I’m thinking about ways to widen time. Relishing the moments that matter and actually change you. What is it that we look forward to? And how do we achieve that? Not just the acts themselves, but… the feeling of it. My gut instinct is that this takes mental wrangling, a certain degree of inner peace, and perhaps most importantly, the yearning and desire to make it happen. Some form of acknowledgment of the structure of time in the universe. I have a feeling, as it is with all the deliciously grey-area things in life, this act of widening time is a lifelong process. Here’s my list for now: being outside at night, preferably in a garden, looking up at the stars as if you had all the time in the world; strong eye contact with someone you love; finding a good hold on a good rock; dodging traffic on a motorbike, knowing that at any moment you could probably be killed but you’re going somewhere fast; seeing the coast for the first time in a long while; the rush of realization that you were wrong, but that it’s going to be okay…

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After 3 months of lockdown, I’ve finally been able to leave the concrete jungle that is Nairobi for some open space. That’s what I love about this city– you can probably find a means to an end. Lately, on Sundays: going up to Lukenya to climb. The trip to the crag alone is an adventure in itself. In early June, the roads were washed out with the heaviest week of downpours since the rainy season started some months ago. The locals are unphased as always, plunging through puddles of unknown depths on their boda-bodas, so we just followed them. We saw zebra, baboons, wildebeest, and gazelle on the drive in, saw locals sunning themselves and enjoying life once again. We bushwhacked as part of the approach– having been stuck in rooms for so long, I relished even that part. This week, the motorbike broke down twice on the way there. People stopped for us with a warm generosity that still amazes me. I learned some mechanic basics about wheel alignment, shortening chains, flushing out filth with petrol. Somehow, the right people just show up. Something about reflected energy in the universe and aims to meet your needs. Had half a day to love feeling the rock so much you forgot to look down at the wrong times. Advanced satisfactorily on a project fittingly named Leap of Faith. Got the right amount of bruises and cuts to nurse through the week, as you sit staring in front of screens, to remind you that there is a next time. Seasons barely exist here, it’s just a matter of trading mud for dust.

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“If I have time on my hands, I would try and get myself onto the spring migration of reindeer — 1 to 2 months from inland winter pasture to summer areas at the coast… People have strong views about pastoralists and pastoralism but how many have first hand experience of moving with them? And movement is the essence of pastoralism worldwide….Not very wise, I am afraid, but it is at least an idea :)” -Nicholas Tyler

I received this email from a professor of reindeer biology and Sami studies that I had met in Tromsø back in 2018 while I was on fellowship in the Arctic. My goal was to research the impacts of climate change on traditional reindeer herding culture in Finland and Norway, but as independent projects tend to go, fieldwork quickly took a life of its own. I soon became drawn to the migration aspect of reindeer herding, how land directly one’s identity, and technology’s role in redefining Sami herding. I spent time learning about reindeer herding– both in theory and in practice– through a series of participatory home-stays in Lapland Finland. I soon found myself in Tromsø after a January stint in Lapland, Finland. Both places have reputations as being gateways to the Arctic and home to vital reindeer herding communities. In Tromsø, I attended a public lecture on Arctic pastoralism that focused on community tensions and responses to Sami herding communities. It was at this lecture where I met Professor Nicholas Tyler. We kept in touch and he soon became an important mentor to me, a relationship spurred by his curiosity in what exactly I was trying to learn and accomplish. I kept him informed about the progression of my fellowship, and later on, my whereabouts and encounters with herders in Xinjiang, western China.

As I prepared to make a cold move to Nairobi, Kenya by the end of the summer of 2018, I expressed my desire to remain engaged in this fascinatingly niche world of reindeer herding. Professor Tyler must have sensed my interest and relayed me dangerously tempting ideas. Even now, I wonder what he saw in me– did he perceive me as the type to take on such projects, daring yet nebulous in a way that most people would never seriously consider.

But ruminate I did. In fact, I planned a whole section of 2019 around witnessing biannual reindeer migrations with my own eyes. I had been living in Nairobi for about half a year, learning the ropes about life in East Africa while working as a freelance photojournalist. I was figuring out how to set down roots in a new place, build a community, and actualize my own plans of becoming an environmental photojournalist. It was a difficult, gritty, intoxicating time. But quite suddenly, through Professor Tyler’s logistical magic and sheer force of will, I found myself setting a leave-date to go home and exchange my shorts for boots and a parka. It seemed possible that I would be able to stay with a Sami herding family, the Smuks, up in a place called Varanger, Finnmark.

I self-funded this trip because that’s how much I believed in it. It was as Nick said– there is no substitute for fieldwork. To really learn about reindeer herding, I would have to be there. Only then would I start to understand what happens on the ground. That’s the thing I don’t think people talk enough about, how much investment goes into so-called unconventional careers.

I stayed with the Smuks from March until early May. In that time, I witnessed the spring migration, learned how to cook blood pancakes, made endless trips up to the mountains on snowmobiles to herd and watch over the reindeers with my host brother and his cousin. I left feeling like part of the family, bursting with ideas, addicted to the possibilities. The Arctic is visceral in a way that’s difficult for me to describe; the desolation and peace there is unparalleled. Life there, although strongly connected to the rest of the world, somehow draws definite boundaries in such a way where the culture is practically tangible. Varanger is a place I think about all the time. I can’t help it, you always want to return to what you love.

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I’m writing this long overdue little piece mostly for myself. And from Nairobi, Kenya of all places. The way things come full circle. I’ve spent the past few months trying to get a handle on this pandemic and trying to keep myself from being washed up altogether. Even now, I can barely admit how difficult it’s been. Only after some forced introspection (Kingsley, I am eternally grateful) do I realize how I’ve really been failing to push myself in the way I know I can. I’ve been fooling myself into thinking that survival mode is fine. But as he pointed out, I’m not the same person I was last time I was in Nairobi. What is it that’s changed? Did I used to have more conviction in what I want? Why resist this world– is that even possible? Being back in East Africa has reminded me that there is so much more I should be doing. I can’t help but regret the past three months and all the ways I’ve failed to mentally commit to my own life. The reassuring thing is that even now, it’s not too late.

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