When I first started this post, it was titled "Two Weeks Later..." but I haven't had the time or concentration to finish it until now.
Let me start by saying a bit about words. I love words. I am a reader and writer, not by profession (I wish), but by necessity. I believe there is a magic in words, and if I go a stretch of time without blogging or reading well-written books, I start to go a little batty. Like rattling off 10-page emails without even a second thought (until I'm about to hit send), or just generally not feeling right. It's poetry that I turn to to get me through my hardest days, especially Sarah Kay, Anthea, and Finn Butler.
I kind of went back and forth on writing this entry. But, in the end, it comes down to this: for me, the best way to work through my emotions and experiences is to write it out. While the last few entries have been photo heavy, consider this your warning that this entry will be very different. This entry is about words.
I also struggled a bit with figuring out how to write this entry. Chronological is always my default, but there are so many parts of this experience, woven together, that I think it would get too muddy too quickly. So I've decided to start with my experience, and then move on to Elaine's experience, which also includes the experiences of others. The other day I listened to a TEDtalk about the "danger of a single story," which talked about how in order to truly understand a situation, an experience, or a moment in history, you must hear as many perspectives as possible and find the story in the way they are tied together. So here are our stories.
MY STORY
We woke up early on the morning of Saturday, September 21, intent on squeezing in one more game drive on the Mara before breakfast and the trip back to Nairobi. By 6:00am we were bumping around the bush, snapping photos of lions, mongooses (mongeese? haha), and jackals. After returning to camp to pack our belongings and eating a quick breakfast, we piled back into the safari van by 11:00am for the trek back to Nairobi. I was seated in the back row, and thanks to the non-functioning generator the night before, my phone battery was running low. Luckily, Mathias’s van comes with a built-in universal power strip, and we were able to re-charge. I passed my phone up to Rick who plugged it in for me, and settled in to do a little wildlife spotting out the window. After about an hour and a half of bumpy roads of scenery slipping by, I felt myself nodding off, and promptly fell asleep for a couple of hours.
I awoke with a start around 3:20pm, and looked around to find us sitting in almost completely stopped bumper-to-bumper traffic on the escarpment road just on this side of Naivasha. Rick passed my newly-charged phone back to me, and I found two missed calls from Chris, as well as a few messages from the US Embassy’s emergency SMS system.
2:32pm – nulld have sealed off the area. Avoid Westgate Mall and stay tuned to local media reports for further information.
2:57pm – Msg from the U.S. Embassy: This is to inform U.S. Citizens that there is an ongoing shooting incident at Westgate Mall in Nairobi. Police are on the scene and have sealed off the area. Avoid Westgate Mall and stay tuned to local media reports for further information.
As I read, I began to get a sinking feeling in my stomach. It was 3:23pm, and I immediately called Theresa and Clay to check in with them since they live so close to Westgate and are there all the time. I couldn’t get through, and my panic definitely started to increase. Erich, who had also just woken up and checked Facebook, asked “What happened? I just saw Elaine’s Facebook statuses that says ‘I’m ok.’ and ‘At mp shah. But ok. With Mik. Don’t worry.’” I confirmed with Mathias that MP Shah was a hospital in Nairobi, and immediately called Chris back.
At 3:31pm, I got through, and asked Chris what was going on. “Meg, don’t freak out. She’s okay....but Elaine was shot.” (Add this to the top of the list of ways I never ever ever want to start a conversation again.) Chris briefly explained that there was an on-going terrorist attack at the mall, where Elaine had been overseeing a work event. She had been hit in the arm, leg, chest, and face, and would likely need surgery. Beyond that, not much was known. He asked if I wanted to talk to her (probably sensing my incredibly high level of anxiety) and passed the phone over to her. After confirming that she was, in fact, doing alright, I couldn’t help but ask “Lainey...what the fuck happened?” At that, we both ended up crying, and I was passed back to Chris. He told me they were at MP Shah waiting to figure out what the next move was. I told him that I was making my way back to town in horrible traffic, and that as soon as I got there I would head over to the hospital.
I called my mom, trying to remain calm as I filled her in on the situation. It was still very early in Maryland, and the news wasn’t broken yet, but I wanted to let her know I was okay before she saw Nairobi splashed all over CNN. Then, I began the process of checking in to make sure other people I know were okay. Chris had already told me that most of our friends were accounted for, but I needed to hear people’s voices, so I called many people myself. Clayton and Theresa caused some stress by not having their phones charged....truly, the 19 minutes it took me to finally get in touch with Clay were some of the longest minutes of my life. I must have texted and called their phones about 20 times. My stomach still ties up in knots when I think about it. I got in contact with Jess, and after I told her what was going on and she said she’d be ready to take me to the hospital when I got home.
I think in any situation like this, there is a feeling of helplessness that comes part-and-parcel with knowing there is nothing you could have done to avert disaster. But, let me tell you, that feeling of helplessness grows exponentially when you’re trapped in the back of a safari van, barely creeping through traffic, only an hour and a half outside the city. It is torture. I was crawling out of my skin as it sunk in that I was totally unable to do ANYTHING at that point. Debbie, who had obviously heard my conversations, looked back and simply said “We’re praying for your friend.” And at that, my tenuous grasp on composure crumpled, and I dissolved into tears.
Over the next hour and a half there were many phone calls and texts flying back and forth, as friends continued to check in and arrangements were made to meet up. Clay and Theresa headed to the hospital, and had some trouble getting in initially. After texting back and forth about having trouble getting access to Elaine, I received a message letting me know that they had gotten in through a side entrance. It was followed by a second message with the single word “Come.”
As soon as I got home, I threw my stuff down, called Jess to pick me up, jumped in the shower, and ran down to her car. On the way to the hospital we passed the turn off to Westgate at the “oblong-about” right by Theresa’s house. The car inched through throngs of people who had been evacuated. You couldn’t see the mall from where we were, but even someone who had never been to Nairobi would have been able to guess where it was. Everyone was just standing and staring in that direction, quietly waiting for what came next. We found our way through the side streets of Westlands to MP Shah, the hospital closest to Westgate and therefore the default choice as victims were removed from the mall.
When Jess and I arrived, it was basically a mad house. We were diverted and told to park down the street, and as we made our way up to the actual hospital there were people everywhere. Jess and I estimate that there were probably about 300 people crowded into the parking lot, clustered in pairs and small groups, all trying to find loved ones, or provide support, or simply make sense of a totally nonsensical situation. There were a handful of well meaning volunteers, but they were far too few to coordinate the massive number of people milling around. I cannot count the number of times I heard one say, “Please! Move aside! We must keep this way clear for ambulances!” Intermittently, a car or ambulance would come rushing into the parking lot, and someone would be wheeled or walked briskly into the emergency ward. The helicopters began to circle overhead.
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| Photo credit: Sabahi Online |
I finally got in touch with Chris and told him there was no way we were going to be able to get in to see them. He agreed to keep me updated, after confirming that they were not accepting any more blood donations, Jess and I decided to head to Theresa’s apartment to check in with people there. We got to the apartment, and after exchanging some fierce hugs with Theresa, Clayton, and Tyler, we decided that Jess would take me back across town to Kilimani to pick up some stuff from Chris and Elaine’s apartment, and I would take a taxi back to drop it off. At this point, Jess and Ben had accounted for all of their friends except for one, Ravi. Some of their friends were going to get together to try and call hospitals and look for him, so Jess dropped me off and headed home.
I picked up the necessary items, checked in with Laura, Paul, and Erich, and my taxi picked me up to head back to Westlands. By the time we made it back to MP Shah, it was dark, and the crowd had dwindled down to only about 100 people. I still wasn’t allowed in, so I called Chris and he came down to meet me and pick up the external battery charger I’d brought from his house. The guards weren’t going to let me in, even though Chris was right on the other side of the door, but I pushed them out of the way (saying “sorry!” as I did so, haha) in order to give Chris a big hug. I tried once again to see if they were accepting blood donations, and they ended up taking a group of us into the lab to see if there was any room in storage for new donations.
As we walked through the halls of the hospital, I couldn’t help but notice that there was blood everywhere. The floors, the walls, everywhere. The hospital had been vastly under-prepared to handle the volume of injuries that were sent there, and there simply wasn’t time to clean anything up. It was just one more thing that hit home the severity of what was going on just down the street. They determined that all of the stores were full at MP Shah (thanks to an incredible and immediate outpouring of support from expats and Kenyans alike) but said we might be able to go to Aga Khan and donate. By the time I got back to Paul’s car, it had already been posted on the Nairobi Expat group on Facebook that Aga Khan was full as well, so I just headed back to Theresa’s.
I spent the next few hours kind of frozen on Theresa’s porch. I truly cannot think of another time in my life when I’ve felt so helpless. Sitting there in the dark, listening to the blades of the helicopters whirring overhead, unable to do anything...I was crawling out of my skin. Inside they had the news on, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. I made some phone calls – my mom, my brother, some friends – and just sat there. At 7:27pm, I received an email from Jess: a link to a USAToday article, with the caption “Big old picture of Elaine.”
Now, at this point, I still hadn’t seen Elaine yet. Clayton and Theresa had seen her in the hospital and knew what state she was in, and they had seen her evacuation on the footage being shown on the Kenyan news. But I hadn’t seen any of it yet. This image, powerful enough that it was used in every major news station’s coverage of the attack, certainly evokes an immediate response. Let me tell you, when that is one of your closest friends...the response is even stronger. I couldn’t breathe for a minute, and I already knew that she was doing okay and being looked after.
I knew that Chris and Elaine had held off on contacting her family until they could figure out the extent of her injuries and give them a clearer picture of what was going on. After I realized that the US media had picked up the photo of her, bloody and in shock, I realized they couldn’t wait any longer. At 7:40pm I called him and asked if they’d talked to her family yet. He said that they hadn’t, and couldn’t right then, because she was in surgery. I couldn’t imagine how horrible it would be to find out from the news. Thankfully, they were able to get in touch with her older sister, Mary, who told the rest of her family and started making plans to fly to Nairobi.
Eventually, I learned that Elaine was being transferred across town to Nairobi Hospital, so I decided to head home. I spoke to Chris after he was kicked out of the hospital around 11:40pm, and settled in for a sleepless night.
ELAINE’S STORY
While transitioning into the General Manager role at EatOut Kenya, Elaine was often the face of the company at various events around town. In September 2013, EatOut partnered with SunGold, SunRice, and EastFM to launch the Junior Super Chef cooking completion. Groups of three kids, aged 8-16, teamed up to show their cooking skills. A panel of judges, including two executive chefs from renowned restaurants at local hotels, a finalist from a previous SunGold SunRice Super Chef competition, and Elaine, judged the dishes prepared by the children to determine an overall winner. The competition kicked off on Saturday, September 14, and the second round was scheduled to take place on Saturday, September 21.
Elaine arrived around 10:45am, in order to make sure that things were all ready to go for the competition’s second round. She picked up an iced coffee from Nairobi Java House, and headed out to the roof where the families were already gathering. Eight teams of three kids each were competing, but many brought siblings and friends, resulting in a group of about 40 children on the rooftop that day. There was also a large collection of family members – parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles – ready to watch their children compete.
The competition began without a hitch, with teams of children working at each of the makeshift kitchen stations that had been set up in one side of the rooftop parking area. Fulfilling her duties as judge, Elaine walked around, watching the groups of children cook and making small talk with the contestants and other judges.
Just before 12:40pm, she noticed movement. Groups of people started pouring out of the mall, running onto the rooftop parking area. Clearly terrified, they ran screaming from the upper doors to the mall, shocking those at the competition. After hearing what she describes as “distant booms” from inside the mall, Elaine began to run along with everyone else, trying to get away from whatever was happening inside. At this point, she had no idea what was going on, but as she watched people begin to jump over the wall to escape the roof of the parking garage, it quickly became clear that something terrible was happening inside the mall.
Elaine paused a moment to look around. Two of the other judges had remained under the competition tents, and were clearly trying to gage what was going on. She took a deep breath and willed herself to stay calm, concerned that the large group of terrified people would cause injuries in their haste to escape. She made her way back over to the other chefs, and together they tried to figure out what was happening and what their next move should be.
At 12:41pm, she called her boss, who she knew was planning to come to the competition with his wife and two young children. After ascertaining that he and his family were still at home, she told him to stay there. “Don’t come. Don’t bring the kids. Something is happening at Westgate.”
Suddenly, a loud explosion went off nearby, causing Elaine to scream and hang up the phone. It would be another hour before she was able to get in touch with her boss again. She and others began to run, dropping low to try and find cover. One of the presenters from the radio station, also there for the cooking competition, grabbed a microphone and directed everyone to run away from what they thought was a bomb blast. Everyone headed for one side of the parking lot.
As she heard gunshots in the distance, something became clear to Elaine for the first time. This was not a simple bomb. There were people involved, people who were deliberately shooting.
There was a great deal of confusion in the frantic moments that followed. Desperately seeking cover, people piled on top of each other in the corner. Terrified that she would be trapped by so many people in one small area, Elaine extricated herself from the group and took refuge behind one of the makeshift kitchen counters. Piled between an Indian woman and a young Kenyan girl in vibrant leopard-print pants, Elaine recalls that though her head and chest were protected by the kitchen counter, the rest of her body was sticking out in the open.
After another spurt of gunfire and several explosions, the woman beneath her cried out, “I’ve been shot!” As blood began to soak through her pale yellow sari, Elaine realized that she needed to get into a safer position. Manoeuvring out of the pile of terrified people, she dropped her phone, wiggled free from the strap of her bag, and moved into a crouching position behind the counter. Making herself as small as possible, she hid. Next to her was Mitul Shah, an executive from Bidco Oil, one of the companies sponsoring the cooking challenge. Noticing that he had two cell phones in his hands, she asked if he had called the police. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. They’re coming. They know,” he responded.
From her vantage point behind the counter, Elaine spotted one of the other judges hiding behind a different cooking counter. Seeing that there were fewer people gathered behind the second counter, Elaine decided that she needed to make a move. She remembers saying to Mitul, “I need to move over there. How do I do this?” He encouraged her to stay calm and remain where she was, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would be safer in the less populated area.
While she watched and waited, trying to determine the safest course of action, she saw two women in hijabs approach the terrorists. They were released, unharmed. One of the radio presenters followed suit. He stood, arms raised, and walked towards the extremists. Not knowing he was Muslim, Elaine watched in confusion as he, too, was released. “Maybe this is what they want,” she thought. Perhaps they were looking to take hostages rather than killing people. Terrified that remaining where she was could only end in death, she decided she would surrender as well. As she thought through her plan, another woman stood as if to surrender. As she walked towards the men, one raised his gun and executed her without warning. Elaine quickly decided that approaching the gunmen was no longer a viable option.
One of her fellow judges, a boy who celebrating his eighteenth birthday that very day, stood. Gathering his two younger sisters, he approached the terrorists. At gunpoint, they were asked to recite a familiar Muslim prayer. His youngest sister, only twelve and too young to feel the need to wear a hijab, was singled out by one of the gunmen. Pointing a gun in her face, she was asked why, if she were a Muslim, she did not cover her head. Frantically, the siblings apologized, explaining that she was very young and would wear one in the future. “If we see her without a head dress again, we’ll shoot her,” the militants said. The three teens were released unharmed. They fled down the ramp of the parking garage and onto the empty street in front of the mall. They flagged down a car that sped them away from the scene. The first responders had not yet arrived.
Meanwhile, on the roof, the shooting continued. Elaine remembers short hails of gunfire, punctuated by breaks. During one of these sprays of bullets, the gas canister in the kitchen counter that she was hiding behind was hit. It exploded, sending shrapnel flying. Victims scattered, and Elaine took her opportunity to run. As she ran, she felt something hit her leg. After finding safety in a new hiding location, she looked down to find a hole through her jeans and blood leaking from a new wound. Elaine was now hiding behind a different kitchen counter, huddled together with an older couple. The man, already shot, lay bleeding on the ground. His wife, possibly in shock, sat propped against one of the tables. Scared that she was partially exposed behind the short makeshift counter, Elaine made the decision to lay motionless, pretending she was dead. With her right cheek pressed to the ground, she lay still. Unsure of their movements, she would cautiously open her eyes at times, trying to pinpoint the location of the militants.
As she laid there quietly, she became aware of the sound of multiple mobile phones ringing. Some belonged to victims, whose family and friends were frantically trying to contact them as word of what was happening at Westgate spread. As they waited for a sign of what to do next, the woman sitting beside Elaine asked her if she thought they were going to die. The question gave Elaine pause. Early on, while hiding behind the first counter, she had told herself “I’m going to get through this. There is a way out of here. It’s going to happen. I just need to figure out how.” But by the time she fled to the second counter, injured, bloody, and surrounded by others were severely injured, her faith began to flag. In her head, she simply thought, “You know what, Elaine? I think we are going to die.”
Thoughts of her family sprung to mind. How would they survive this news? She worried about her mother’s heart. How her sister and brother would handle such a loss. A sort of calmness settled over Elaine as she thought to herself, “Its okay. I’ll find a way to communicate with them.” For a self-proclaimed agnostic, Elaine’s simple faith that she would find a way to reach out to her family even after death caught her off guard. She began to think about the fact that she might soon have the opportunity find out for sure what happened after death. Her questions would be answered. She thought about the things she hadn’t been given an opportunity to experience yet, and feared she never would. “I can’t believe it was in my cards to die this young,” she thought to herself. “I’m so young. I have so much energy. I want to do so many things. I just can’t believe that this is all that was planned for me.”
She fought to stay calm. “Be peaceful with this. Don’t grow so much anger,” she told herself. She looked down at her tattoo, only a few weeks old. Across the inside of her left wrist, it said simply “THIS IS BEAUTIFUL.” Focusing on those words, she thought about how beautiful her life had been, and the legacy she would leave behind. She tried to make peace with the idea that her life might soon be cut short, and hoped that if she had to die, her death would be quick. With so many thoughts running through her head, Elaine had to remind herself not to fall too deep into thought. She needed to stay focused on what was happening around her so that she could respond accordingly. It wasn’t over yet, and Elaine was determined to fight for her life.
From her hiding place she heard gunfire and raised voices. Then, suddenly: silence. It stretched on for what felt like an eternity, but was likely only about five minutes. Elaine remained motionless on the ground, unsure of what was happening. Fearing that remaining with the group would put her in more danger, she decided to move.
Slowly, she pulled herself under a table against the wall, shielding herself from view with the cheery red tablecloth that had been laid out for the cooking competition. She looked down, and saw a large, gaping wound on her right forearm. Long before, when the gas canister had exploded, a chunk of super heated metal had been propelled through her arm. A large piece of flesh was missing, but in the confusion, stress, and shock of the moments that followed, she had not even realized that it had happened. Hidden beneath the table, she took stock of her injuries. Upon seeing that her leg was still bleeding heavily, she removed her belt and fashioned a tourniquet to staunch the flow.
Around the same time, she heard a man’s voice. “Let’s go! Let’s go,” he repeated. She heard shuffling and decided to risk a look. Before her stood a blonde, white man, in a yellow shirt, signalling victims to move. Terrified and unsure of who he was or where he might go, Elaine and many other victims stayed put. A few people decided to go with him, and they ran off into the mall.
From her hiding place beneath the table, Elaine focused on the sounds around her. Gunshots and explosions continued to erupt from inside the mall. Finally, in the distance, she heard the first sirens. It had seemed like an eternity had passed since the first shots rang out on the roof, and she questioned where the police and military were. Westgate was extremely popular among expatriates including UN staff, and she found herself wondering whether international law enforcement were on their way as well. When would help arrive?
During a lull in the attack, people began standing, and checking in with others. “Are you okay?” they asked over and over again, trying to identify people who were injured and in need of help. Many people stood, ready to make a move, and Elaine joined them. Suddenly, everyone dropped to the ground and scurried to find cover. Although Elaine does not recall the exact trigger, she thinks it is likely that someone heard something, panicked, and set off a chain reaction.
Soon after, a pair of men who appeared to be of South Asian descent decided to make a run for it. Gathering a group of about 20 people, they set off towards the mall. Elaine waited, and weighed her options. After watching to make sure there were no immediate retaliatory shots or explosions, she decided that perhaps this group was safe from harm. Unable to believe that the ordeal was over yet, she assumed they were simply moving to a new location that might provide better cover than the makeshift kitchen counters scattered across the parking area. Although she had no reason to trust these unknown, unarmed, non-uniformed men, she made the decision to follow them. Before she did, she decided to go and look for her mobile phone. Though she now realizes that this may not have been the safest course of action, in the moment she could only think of her phone as a lifeline to the outside world. A way to connect with people she trusted.
Heading away from the building, she ran back to the first counter where she had hidden. “If you don’t find it within 20 seconds, run back,” she coached herself as she moved. As she reached her initial hiding place, she saw her bag and cell phone laying on the ground amidst bodies of victims. Though she wanted to stop and see if she could provide help to any survivors, her survival instinct kicked in. Throwing the strap of her bag over her arm and clutching her cell phone, she ran towards Nairobi Java House where the group had gone. After briefly stopping to consider whether her wounds would allow her to make it over the short fence separating the patio of the coffee shop from the rest of the parking area, she determined that it was safer to go over the fence than through the entrance inside the mall. She jumped the fence and ran inside.
Inside Nairobi Java House, a presenter from the competition began signalling the group to go inside the kitchen area behind the counter. Initially, Elaine followed, but quickly became concerned about the number of people crammed into a relatively small space, and the danger of being trapped in a room with gas cooking canisters that might explode if shooting commenced or a grenade was thrown. Pushing past other victims and ignoring the instructions of a woman who told her she should stay in the kitchen, Elaine found her way to the space behind the service counter. She lay on the floor and called her boss. It was 1:42pm; only sixty-one minutes had passed.
“I’m in Java. I’ve been shot twice,” she told him. He encouraged her to stay calm, and promised they would get her out. “Keep your phone with you. We’ll try to call you again,” he said. She hung up, put her phone on silent, and lay there listening. At times, she heard people walking by her. Still unclear about what was going on around her, she was concerned about trusting anyone who was not in uniform. However, no uniformed officials ever showed up. At one point, a man in plain clothes walked by, clutching a gun. Trusting her gut intuition that he was there to help, she stood up.
Relying on her intuition, Elaine followed the armed man into the kitchen, and noticed that it was now empty. There must be a way out. If everyone else had escaped, perhaps there was hope for her as well. She needed to follow. Towards the back of the kitchen, she spotted someone holding open a hidden door to a fire escape. Peering out, she saw a Kenyan police officer with a gun, which she took as a positive sign. Still concerned about the location of the shooters, she cautiously navigated down the congested fire escape.
She arrived at the loading dock on the ground floor, and found herself amongst the Nakumatt trucks used to transport goods across Kenya’s bumpy roads. Frantically looking around, she questioned whether there might be snipers hiding, ready to kill off those who were able to escape. People began to run, and after waiting to ensure that no gunshots rang out, Elaine joined them.
Scores of people began running towards the street in front of Westgate. A woman in a hijab stopped to ask Elaine if she needed help. Frantic to get away from the building, Elaine initially shrugged her off, but complied when the woman said, “Please, let me take your hand. You’re hurt.” They moved toward the street together, and suddenly a crowd of photographers emerged, snapping pictures. This, more than anything else, was a sign of safety, and Elaine could no longer hold back her tears. Images of this moment, with tears running down her bloodied face, would eventually be run on many news networks both in America and abroad. [Update: This photo, taken by NY Times photographer Tyler Hicks, would go on to be one of a portfolio of 19 photos that won him the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for Breaking News Photography.]
At 1:55pm, Elaine texted her boss, letting him know she was now in an ambulance. The vehicle sat, waiting, for more victims to emerge so that it could minimize the number of trips between the mall and the hospital. Still terrified of retribution for her escape, Elaine pleaded with them to leave and go somewhere safer. After the ambulance was packed to capacity with about eight people, all with varying degrees of injury, it took off towards MP Shah Hospital.
A short time later Chris arrived at the hospital, and Elaine was taken to be x-rayed. She arrived to find the x-ray table covered in blood from previous patients, but was told she had no choice but to lay on it. There was no time to clean it. Theresa and Clayton, having received word of where she was from me, headed to the hospital and saw her briefly before returning to Theresa’s apartment. Still in shock and feeling little pain, Elaine encouraged the hospital staff to attend to others before seeing her. Later that night, she was taken to a surgical theatre to further assess and clean her wounds. As they waited in the hallway, Chris received a call from me letting them know that her picture had been picked up by USAToday, and telling him that they needed to get in contact with her family as soon as possible.
As the night wore on and victims continued to arrive in droves, the hospital decided that their attention was required elsewhere and made the decision to discharge her. Thankfully, a Kenyan friend was able to organize a transfer to Nairobi Hospital in Kilimani. In the ambulance on the way over, Elaine was finally able to get through to her sister in San Diego, to let her know what had happened and that she was okay. Thankfully, her family had not already found out via the news. After getting situated in her new hospital room and learning that Chris was not allowed to stay the night, Elaine finally had the opportunity to rest.
THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED
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| Clockwise: Just after the attack; with Chris in MP Shah hospital, healing with the help of visitors (Ken, Tahir, me, Ami, Mikul, and Chris) |
Sunday morning, Chris headed back to the hospital first thing to make sure Elaine had company while they did x-rays and ran some other tests. I called around to various restaurants, trying to determine what was open so that I could bring them lunch. Nairobi Java House ended up being a lifesaver, as they have a location right next to the hospital and remained open even when all of the malls (and therefore most of the restaurants) were closed. By this point, Mary and her boyfriend Jarrett had already booked their flights to arrive on Tuesday morning, and Elaine was in relatively good spirits. I got in to see her quickly during morning visiting hours, and then just camped out at the hospital until I could sneak in early for afternoon visiting hours.
It was sometime on Sunday that Elaine was identified by name by an old co-worker on Twitter, which kicked off an insane amount of unrelenting media pressure. It was, frankly, infuriating. Though she was safe for a bit in Nairobi, reporters started showing up at her parents’ house in San Diego, terrorizing the family in hopes of getting a scoop. Really awful, and at just about the worst timing imaginable. Elaine remained positive, as always, and would crack jokes about the images being run like “At least my cheekbones look really defined. It’s not a bad picture... I mean, beyond all the terror and blood and stuff.”
While I was hanging out with her, the Vice Consul from the US Embassy came and talked with her for a bit, and then the doctor showed up with her x-rays. She had four pieces of shrapnel still in her body, two of which they determined they needed to pull out. The first was a fairly large piece of glass in her chest, and the second is a smaller piece of metal in her left thigh that was fairly close to the surface, making it more prone to infection. They decided to leave a tiny piece of shrapnel in her right leg, because it was buried fairly deep and would cause more damage to find/remove than just to leave it there. There was also a very tiny piece of either metal or glass in her abdomen, and though they weren’t really sure how that one even got there (no wound nearby), they didn’t seem very worried. The doctors felt both pieces could be removed with only local anaesthetic, so they scheduled a surgery for later in the evening.
That night we went out and grabbed some food and Chris went back to the hospital to be with Elaine after she got out of surgery. By 10:00pm she was out of surgery and they had been able to remove the shrapnel from her chest and a tiny shard of glass from a cut above her eye (that they didn’t even know had glass in it until they saw it sparkling under the surgical lamps!). They tried to retrieve the shrapnel that had appeared close to the surface in her left leg, but although they spent over an hour rooting around in the muscles and nerves of her thigh, they weren’t able to find it. So they closed her back up, determining it would create more damage if they continued looking. This was also the night that a reporter called the hospital, pretended to be Elaine’s father so that he would get connected through to her room, and then “interviewed” her as she was still under the effects of anesthesia. Another mark against the media. That night I emailed my boss and curriculum author and let them know I wouldn’t be in on Monday or Tuesday, as I would be spending time with Elaine. This situation definitely put priorities in perspective.
Monday morning I grabbed breakfast for everyone and headed to the hospital. Elaine’s pain was higher than before, mostly due to the fact that she had a surgeon messing around INSIDE her leg the night before, but the morning wasn’t too taxing...just reading trashy magazines, catching up on social media, and watching the news. We had all gone to sleep on Sunday night thinking, HOPING, that by the time we woke up on Monday it would surely be over. Unfortunately we woke up in a world that still didn’t make sense, a world where inexplicably there were still hostages cowering in fear, still militants in control of the mall, and still bodies being pulled out.
On Monday there were lots of visitors, too. Sometimes it was hard to find the balance between wanting to let people in who were there to show their support and knowing that Elaine needed her rest in order to heal. One of the visitors on Monday was an 18-year-old who had been one of the other judges at the cooking competition. Sitting on the couches outside the ward, we listened to him tell the story of how he and his two younger sisters escaped the roof. Their experiences were so harrowing and tragic, and I can only hope they are all getting the psychological support they need. I think talking with him was hard, but helpful, for Elaine, as she pieced together what happened around her. On Monday, I also learned that Jess and Ben’s dear friend, who they had been looking for non-stop since the attack, had been found dead. Although I didn’t know Ravi, it was a heartbreaking reminder of exactly how close we had come to losing someone so dear to us.
Throughout the many stages of this ordeal, I was constantly reminded of how incredibly lucky I am to have such amazing, compassionate, caring people in my life, both in Nairobi and around the world. We were all able to get through it because we acted as a support for each other. We could be strong for others because we knew that there were people to put us back together when we fell apart. After I got the news from Jess, I couldn’t stop crying. I knew I couldn’t go back into Elaine’s room in that state, so I called Theresa. We were able to pass around the hurt, and it grew a little less with each pass, until it became manageable. I truly don’t know how any of us would have gotten through without the unending and immediate support of the rest of the group. It was truly incredible.
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| Elaine and her sister, Mary, reunited as Jarrett looks on. |
Elaine’s sister, Mary, arrived with her boyfriend, Jarrett, very early on Tuesday morning. Mary was allowed to stay with Elaine, but Jarrett came back to my apartment to get a few hours of sleep and a shower. I went over and spent time with her on Tuesday afternoon for a bit, and then Chris and I took Mary with us to a little celebration of life and love at Sushi Soo (which also doubled - tripled? - as a “Goodbye, Erich” and “Welcome, Mary” dinner). It was a gathering of many of the people I love most in Nairobi, and god, I don’t think I’ve ever given so many absolutely heartfelt hugs in my entire life. There were a LOT of tears and a LOT of soju bombs, and though many were hurting the next morning, it was exactly what we needed. This experience only cemented what I already knew to be true: my friends here are phenomenal.
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| Clay, Theresa, Me, Erich, Mary, Ben, Kalpana, Chris, Jess, and Tyler. My Nairobi loves. |
The siege finally ended, four days after it began, but there are myriad questions left unanswered. I truly don’t believe we’ll EVER know the answers to some of the questions, including: How many people were actually involved in the planning and execution of the attack (initial reports said there were likely 10-15 terrorists, but now the Kenyan government is only saying four...a fact I cannot believe after hearing and reading so many stories)? Why are there still a large number (around 40) of people listed as missing by the Kenya Red Cross? Why did it take so long to bring the mall under control? And many more.
On Wednesday, we came back to work, but I can’t say it was the most productive I’ve ever been. It was extremely difficult to concentrate on scripts when my mind was tied up with all the people I knew and loved (and all the people I didn’t know) who were caught up in this horrible mess. By the end of the day, Elaine had been discharged and Chris and I went to meet Elaine, Mary, and Jarrett at the hotel where they were staying. It was so good to see Lainey up and moving around (albeit slowly). We ended up spiriting Jarrett away for dinner and drinks at For You before bringing him back to the hotel.
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| Out, about, and wearing a STUNNING outfit, haha. |
Over the next few days we tried to give them some room to get stuff done they needed to in Nairobi. I am a caretaker by nature, and I always want to FIX things, so this was definitely an experience that forced me to grow and learn how to step back, say “this is a problem I can’t fix,” and try to be at peace with it.
On Sunday we were able to have a lovely brunch at Moniko’s, one of Elaine’s favourite spots in our area. The doors on the bathrooms at Valley Arcade, where the restaurant is located, are spring hinged to close when people leave. It was hard to watch her jump every time one slammed shut or tense up when playing children ran by screaming. It just made my heart hurt. She’s so brave and incredible...I truly don’t think I would have handled the whole situation with a fraction of the grace she has. I am not being hyperbolic at all when I say I am truly honoured to call her my friend.
Elaine ended up going back to San Diego on my birthday, October 1. My lovely friends organized a dinner for me, and Elaine and Mary came over after to say goodbye (or at least “see you later”). I had rallied everyone to make a scrapbook for her to take home, with pictures of some of our favourite memories and notes from those who love her, and we were able to give it to her that night, which was great. Though her time in Nairobi was cut short, that girl had some amazing experiences here! And I know, deep down, that our paths will cross again. Perhaps not on this continent, but somewhere in this crazy mixed up world.
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| No words to describe this love. Ben, Tyler, Malaika, Elaine, Me, Farah, Clay, Theresa, Kalpana, Chris Mary, Jess, Amanda |
Working through my emotions about this event has been a full time job over the past few weeks. In the beginning, I considered it a victory if I only cried 3-4 times a day. Then the bar was raised to 2-3, and later I just aimed to get through a day without tears. Little things would sneak up on me and catch me off guard, reducing me to tears. Sometimes I would look down to find my hands shaking as I tried to type. News stories would tear open freshly scabbed wounds and I would find myself constantly thinking “It was so close. So close.”
Elaine also sat down with her mom, Mary, and Anderson Cooper (swoon!) to talk about her experiences. The video can be found below:
I was chatting with a co-worker about the fact that I was approached by 60 Minutes, asking if I’d be interested in sharing my story (they apparently found my blog, so HEY CBS!). She brought up the fact that, in some ways, it wasn’t our story to tell. We weren’t there that day. We didn’t experience it firsthand. But the more I think about it, the more I think that even though we were indirectly affected by this tragedy, the fact remains that we were affected. We are all survivors. Everyone’s sense of security was compromised by what happened, even if we weren’t there to see it. I really don’t think there is a single expat in Nairobi that was more than once removed from someone who was there that day. I don’t think there is a single person who was untouched, either physically or emotionally.
If I had to choose two words to describe what happened at Westgate, the first would be “nonsensical.” As rational beings, we try to make sense of what goes on around us. We try to figure out WHY...but this extends beyond reason. There is literally nothing in the world that could explain or excuse the horribly misguided actions of the extremists that day. Nothing. There is no way to make sense of it...their actions simply defy reason. The second word would be “waste.” What a god damn waste. A waste of the adult lives no longer able to make a difference, a waste of children’s lives cut short, a waste of the lives of the babies still growing in their murdered mothers who were not even given the opportunity to grow and develop. Who knows what those people might have gone on to do, given the chance? Now we never will. I also think about the waste of the lives of those who did the killing. Those raised with such hate and anger that they felt that their actions were justified. What a waste.
Much attention has been given to the fact that the terrorists were Muslim, however the truth of the matter is that the only religion they truly belong to is extremism. Their actions are not reflective of the true teaching of Islam any more than the actions of Timothy McVeigh in Oklahoma City reflected the values of Christianity. Though leaders of nations from around the world said lovely and poignant things in the wake of Westgate, the words of Abdi Farah Shirdon, the Prime Minister of Somalia captured my thoughts and feelings so succinctly.
Our hearts and prayers are with the innocent victims and their families. We share their grief and pain. We know from personal experience of the suffering caused by these fatally misguided killers.
We stand resolute with our Kenyan friends and partners in this ongoing fight against our common enemies.
The first thing to say is that the attackers in Westgate are not Muslims. They are a complete dishonor to the faith.
Tragically they have been brainwashed into destroying innocent lives, theirs included. What they regard as a glory to the faith only damages it.
I draw attention to the recent fatwa issued by 160 of Somalia’s most distinguished religious scholars denouncing Al Shabaab categorically and declaring it was a religious duty not to protect them but to turn them into the authorities.
Be under no illusion: these men and women are without religion.
Growing up, I knew very few practicing Muslims. It really wasn’t until graduate school that I met people that I was even close enough with to discuss their religion. While so many people only know and focus on the ugly face of extremism and equate that to Islam, I count myself as very lucky to know some wonderful, smart, hilarious, compassionate loving people who truly embody the core values of the Muslim faith. Nelly and Sherif, Rita and Amine, Tara, Unaiza, Manal...I can replace the name of each terrorist from Westgate with the name of someone actively working to become a force of good in the world.
And that’s what it comes down to, for me. There is so much hate in the world, and so many misguided people living in fear. In order to counteract that negativity, each of us must go out and consciously make an effort to be a force of good in the world. Every time you do a good deed, every time you go out of your way to help someone else, you tip the scales. If we all work together then maybe, just maybe, we can begin heal this confused and broken world.
In about an hour, I'll be heading over to the local orphanage to spend some time with the babies and put some love out into the world. I would appreciate it if you could take some time out of your day to do something good for someone else, no matter how small. There were 67 lives cut short by the senseless acts one month ago, and in their memory I will try to do a little more, be a little kinder, and leave the world a little better than it was. I know that Elaine and I would love it if you did the same.
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| Much much love. |
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If you would like to donate towards the costs of Elaine's medical bills, please visit their GoGetFunding site. Anything raised above the costs necessary to cover medical care will be donated to the Kenya Red Cross, who did a phenomenal job in the face of true horror.
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© Meaghan Shanahan and Elaine Dang, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Meaghan Shanahan and Elaine Dang with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
