Ethnographic Observation: Rupa’s Mall
The following work was originally submitted for a Cultural Anthropology assignment requiring 30 minutes of observation in a public location. It is presented here as an example of an ethnographic observation.
Viewed from the observation tower of the Eldoret Arboretum, this is the view of Eldoret Town.
Since the dawn of complex societies, markets have been a gathering point for the local populace and foreigners alike. Today markets come in many forms, from open-air produce markets or a collection of stalls to large complexes. For my observation I have chosen a modern market: Rupa’s Mall in Eldoret, Kenya. Not only is Rupa’s Mall a modern market and public space, but it also offers the opportunity to observe culture not seen in my home country and it’s walking distance from the apartment I stay in while in Eldoret. By the time I finish the round trip, my phone tells me that I have walked a little over six kilometers and my wallet reminds me that the boba tea I drank in the mall to cool down cost roughly the same as the round-trip fare in a Wasili – Kenya’s version of Uber – would have been. When I arrive at the gates of the mall, it’s 3:00 pm and 23C (about 73F) outside.
When in the US, 73F would have been a comfortable temperature. I have spent days outside gardening, hiking, or just enjoying the weather in 73 degrees. In Kenya the sun seems closer, more intense, and the walk to the mall makes me appreciate both the foresight to have Transition lenses in my spectacles and for the extra handkerchief my wife made me bring. I live on one side of the CBD (Central Business District) and Rupa’s is just outside the CBD on the opposite end of town. By the time I arrive at the mall, Kenya’s wide sidewalks are less crowded. Outside the gates – everything in Kenya is behind walls and gates – are groups of boda boda (literally “motorcycle” but often used to reference bike couriers) with their riders in neon safety vests waiting for someone to need a ride or a package delivered. Just beyond them is parking for more Wasili drivers. The mall has two entrances for cars and pedestrians, each with a pair of security guards in navy blue uniforms with their pants tucked into black leather combat boots. Pedestrians can walk through the gates, but cars must be stopped so the guards can look inside, check the boot (trunk) and run a mirror along the underside to search for bombs. This has been a common practice at all 5 of the Kenyan malls I’ve visited and is a precaution resulting from previous terrorist attacks committed in the country.
Once inside the gate there’s the typical parking lot, the mall entrances, a hotel, and a large gym complex. The mall has three entrances to the building itself, and outside of each one is a covered area with a sink for washing hands – this is a big part of Kenyan food culture. To get into the building, everyone must pass through a metal detector. There are two guards, one male and one female, in the familiar uniforms. Women go through the side of the detector with the female guard; men use the side with the male guard. I hand over my messenger bag and walk through, given a smile by the male guard; he doesn’t even search my bag. As a mzungu – Caucasian – I’m never searched. The dustiness of the outdoors soon gives way to the expected cleanliness and gleam of a modern mall. White tile floors with the occasional gray accent stand stark against the rising black marble walls, about knee high, that encircle three irregularly shaped fountains at the heart of the atrium. Artificial light seems less harsh when it’s blended with the bountiful natural light that shines through the skylight windows four levels above me.
The KFC in Rupa’s Mall, a familiar sight for the traveling American and a sign of continued colonialism for Kenya. And yes, the chicken tastes the same. But. make sure you try the rice!
After taking the aforementioned boba from a kiosk at the back of the atrium, I select a seat at the edge of a dry fountain, the escalator up to my right and the one down to my left, with the broad staircase behind me. From here I can see the lone KFC in Eldoret near the back entrance – completely empty save for the workers – and even the Woolworth’s department store that serves as an anchor; both are signs of past and present colonization. There’s City Walk (a shoe store), Bree Afric (tailor), a place selling appliances, a pharmacy, a few restaurants and some kiosks on the ground floor (a florist with two female workers and a few booths of a local crafting collective that upscales items with an African flare and sells them to support a charity). Rupa’s serves as a contrast to Zion, the closer mall that I passed on my way here. Rupa’s is clean, spacious, modern. Zion, on the other hand, is cramped, crowded with booths at every possible location, and not as bright in terms of lighting and dinginess. Whereas Zion Mall in the CBD services the everyman, Rupa’s is for the middle and upper class.
With the taste of green apple on my tongue, I take a moment to survey the mall. There’s a mix of sweet pastries from the bakery on the second floor mingling with the pungent aroma of Indian spices from the restaurant next to it. There’s music playing from overhead speakers, loud enough to be there but not so loud it gets involved in conversations; it’s playing something bland and inoffensive in Kiswahili. Standing out from the low din of conversations is the sound of English. There’s a man in his mid to late sixties, balding and otherwise gray haired, walking along the perimeter. He’s another mzungu and his walking companion is a black man of similar age but with more hair (and still black). They discuss their wives in English, and I can tell from the accent the mzungu is from North America, though it’s too quiet to make out whether that’s Generic Americana or a light flavor of Canadian. Soon they walk past me, and I hear them no more.
Across the atrium, seated on the black marble edge of one of the working fountains and just behind the kiosk of upscaled craft goods, an older black lady is seated. She wears a loose-fitting kitenge (colorful cloth with vibrant patterns common in East Africa) dress and a metal cane is resting, looking trying her best not to be seen looking at anyone. As soon as I note her, a trio of Muslim women walk between us on their way through the mall. In a few minutes, the older lady is greeted by a younger woman who helps her up and the two walk to the exit together. They do not walk quickly; indeed, almost no one in Eldoret walks with anything remotely called a “hustle.” Life here works on Swahili time and it’s a much slower pace than I’m used to after living for years in Washington, DC. I look around and notice other differences from what I would call norms: more people use the escalator or stairs than the elevator, and when it comes to the escalator, there’s no scrunching to one side for standers and leaving the other side open for walkers. Just like the sidewalks outside where there’s no invisible lanes for walkers in one direction over the other, no compunction to get out of the way when one runs into an acquaintance that wants to stop and talk. These are public spaces, for public use, and Kenyans will use them as they see fit.
A group of five Chinese women walk by and interrupt my thoughts, bringing me back to the here and now. As I suck up a lychee sphere from my boba I consider group dynamics. This group of five women is the largest group I see in the mall this afternoon. It would be a close call as to whether there are more singles or pairs of people, but there’s a large gap between those categories and trios, and a vast gulf between trios and anything larger. Age, too, is a good mix. There are maybe three small children to be seen – always in the company of a female – several late teens to early twenties, and a smattering of middle aged or older. Kenyans dress modestly as well. Looking around, everyone is in pants (save for one twenty-something woman wearing a knee-length dress) or full-length dresses. Tops are fully covering and at least 75% of the people are wearing long sleeved shirts, jackets, or in one case a puffer coat despite the relative warmth of the weather. No one is carrying shopping bags, though it’s not unusual to see backpack or messenger bag – usually leather – and it’s difficult to conclude if most people here are just browsing and hanging out, or if it’s Kenya’s ban on single use plastics driving this.
By the time I’m finishing my boba, a pair of uniformed custodians in dark tan smocks are standing next to the fountain the older lady had inhabited a few minutes before. The woman is laughing the man is smiling and absently waving a yellow “wet floor” sign back and forth as they converse. Another trio of middle-aged women come through, the one in the middle wearing a turquoise kitenge dress with salmon-colored patterns reminiscent of a DNA helix while the two flanking her are in Western clothing of jeans and sweaters. They speak in Kalenjin, and I can’t understand them as they pass by. Behind them walks a woman with a basket balanced on her head and a smile, knowing that she’s showing herself to be as much a stranger in the Kalenjin-dominated city as I am, for the Kalenjin do not carry on their heads. She must be from one of the other tribes.
One of the standouts from the observation of mallgoers is the lack of athleisure wear that I’m used to seeing in the States. Most Kenyans will dress the best they absolutely can, and even when they wear sports apparel it’s with a dressed-up look. Jerseys aren’t paired with basketball shorts or sweatpants; they’re worn with fitted jeans and nice shoes. There are a lot of jerseys today. I see so many red football jerseys in the mall and on the streets that I begin to wonder if Eldoret, the City of Champions, has been officially sponsored by Emirates, Snapdragon, or TeamViewer. While musing on that thought, I watch as a gray-smocked man from Chandarana, the grocery supermarket on the second floor, pushes a cart of groceries to the entrance and hand them off to a boda boda for delivery. This, I decide, makes it time to go for me as well.
People-watching in a foreign country never fails to entertain. It’s an opportunity to watch life unfold in ways that are both familiar and strange. My trip to Rupa’s, even after being here for six months, continues to bring new things into my life. The American or Canadian man? That was new! Most of the other wazungu (plural of mzungu) here are German. As a mall, it’s the kind of place where you can people watch without feeling like you’re intruding on someone’s private life. The only way this expedition failed my expectations is in the quantity of people. I saw maybe seventy-five people in the mall, and very few of them were engaged in more than talking to their companions or having a leisurely stroll. What the mall does provide is connection: to the past when markets were vast social hubs, to the West that I haven’t seen in half a year, and to people of all cultures as I watched those of Kenya, the Middle East, India, America, and Somalia wander through.