Security and Insecurity

I was walking down to the Western-style grocery in Mombasa a few days ago, and I had a strange experience. All along the way, people greeted me, calling out "Jambo", the Swahili equivalent of "Hi, how's it going?" Small three wheeled golf-cart-like vehicles called tuk-tuks whizzed by, honking a tiny horn and beckoning me to sit down and let them take me where I wanted to go. Some drivers even called out "Nakumatt?," the name of the grocery at the mall. (There aren't many Kenyans out walking in the midday heat, and we tourists are all headed to the mall.)
In spite of the heat and humidity, I was feeling good. The effect of looking at the ocean is calming, and we had been resting for several days. I smiled and waved back at the greetings, said "No, Thank you" to the tuk-tuk offers, and finally made it to the mall after twenty minutes dripping sweat.
My goal at the mall was the ATM. I wanted to withdraw some Kenya Shillings to pay off the hotel and get Doug a little cushion for his overland trip to Uganda. As I walked toward a group of ATMs I began to take notice of the people standing about, drinking a Coke or reading the newspaper. I began to wonder if they were watching me. I began to feel like a sitting duck. The first ATM rejected my card. As I crossed over to the second one, I caught a glimpse of two men watching me. I felt uneasy. All the 60 Minutes episodes about scams and cons in Africa were bubbling up in my mind. I quickly tried the second machine. Again, it rejected my card. By now I was a little shaken; part of me hoped to get the cash, and part of me was afraid to walk out through that crowd having just gotten the cash! The two men were just out of my field of vision, but I sensed them there.
Finally the third machine spit out a receipt, my card, and 20,000 Kenyan Shillings--it isn't as impressive as it sounds, only worth about $250. But it is definitely a wad of bills. I nervously stuffed them into my neck pouch, slipped it under my shirt, and turned to face the two men. Only then did I see their uniforms...they were security guards watching over people like me doing ATM transactions. At banks, hotel entrances, even in pharmacies there are often these guards, sometimes armed, but providing a very valuable hedge against being mugged.
My feelings of security or insecurity are sharper when I'm in a foreign culture. On the way home I couldn't help being a little more restrained in greeting the people by the roadside. That wad of Shillings represented for me a thing that needed protection--I was no longer free to relate to people without suspicion and reserve. What a clear picture of how possessions come between us!
This is not a simple subject and I won't give you some bottom line that I figured it all out on the walk home. It certainly has caused me to reflect on the meaning of security and on how I relate to strangers--and what is most important to me. The next day a man named Sultan attached himself to Doug and I as we walked on the Mombasa waterfront. He wanted to be our "guide" although he wasn't in his uniform because it was Saturday. He actually said "I am not a cheat. This is my job." He had a few facts, and he eventually wheedled his way into showing us a shortcut back to our bus stop.
As we said goodbye to Sultan and gave him a small amount of cash for his trouble, I again reflected on how money and money's worth can either divide people or bring them into relationship. One of my good memories of Mombasa will be of Sultan...