Sometime this week, I came across a hilarious post poking fun at “African time”. The post was by an American who was visiting friends here.
He and his family had been invited to a party at a Kenyan’s home that was starting at 1pm. When you’re invited to someone’s home at 1pm, it means that you should go on an empty stomach since lunch will be served.
When invited to a Kenyan’s home at 1pm, however, yes, a generous lunch will be served, but it certainly will not be served at the said time, so eat a snack before leaving your house because the wait will be long.
Anyway, this poor American had no idea that there is something known as Kenyan time, and so he was outside his host’s gate by 1pm sharp and proceeded to wait for another 10 or so minutes because his hoots and phone calls went unanswered. At some point, he was sure that he had gotten the date wrong.
Eventually, his host unlocked the gate, looking puzzled, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone that day, and for the rest of the year for that matter. And he wasn’t, not at that time anyway. Going by the famous Kenyan time, he was expecting guests to start streaming in at 4pm.
I mean, it goes without saying that if you’re told a function is starting at 11am, the actual time is 1pm. As it is, the early bird guests walked into a house in disarray and a host family that had not even changed from their night clothes.
But what was even more hilarious was the comment section under this post. Africans from all over the continent weighed in, giving their own hilarious accounts regarding their poor time-keeping, a disease that, it seems, afflicts a majority of the continent.
I’ve written here before about being a stickler for time and how this trait has led to countless incidents of disappointment over the years. Forget about get-togethers in homes, there is rarely a function in Kenya that starts on time. If the invitation reads 9am, just sashay in at 11am to save yourself grief. At least you’ll find the organisers testing the mics, and all you will have to wait is 45 minutes.
In October this year, a former lecturer of mine at the University of Nairobi, Prof. Henry Indangasi, invited me to a launch event for a book containing a dialogue between him and the late Daisaku Ikeda, a Buddhist philosopher, educator, author and poet, who was the third president of the Soka Gakkai Buddhist organisation.
Yet to recover from the sting of disappointment over the years related to keeping time, I decided that this time round, I would behave like my fellow Kenyans and arrive at least an hour after the stipulated time to save myself the agony of waiting.
The event was to begin at 2pm, I arrived at 3.30pm, feeling immensely proud of myself. To my shock, I found a roomful of people and an event that was well underway. I had forgotten that the Japanese people are famously punctual, and view timeliness as a sign of respect and discipline.
Anyway, I’m seriously thinking of relocating to Japan to escape the tardiness here.
