Commentary (by Arno Kopecky) - It wasn't business as usual when Condoleezza hit town

Ref: http://www.nationmedia.com/dailynation/nmgcontententry.asp?category_id=39&newsid=117456

Story by ARNO KOPECKY
Publication Date: 2/23/2008

She’s brisk, she’s bright, she’s (red, white and) blue — and oh yeah, black too. She’s Condoleezza Rice, “the most powerful woman in the world.” For a few hours on Monday, she was in Nairobi for the highest-profile visit to Kenya since her predecessor, Mr Colin Powell, came to bid President Moi adieu in 2001.

Busy day, huh Condi? After pulling in at Kenyatta International Airport around 10am, she barrelled straight to Serena Hotel in downtown Nairobi for a chat with Mr Kofi Annan (who no doubt wishes his Kenya stay was as short as hers), then onto Harambee House for tea with President Kibaki before heading to the American ambassador’s lush Muthaiga residence to meet the aspiring prime minister.

Conspicuous by their absence around Harambee House, though, were the usually tough-looking police officers.

Phew... no sooner had Mr Raila Odinga left than a delegation from the lobby groups — code for big business — piled into Ranneberger’s palace... er house... to put in their plea for business as usual. By the time all that was over, we journalists were basically an afterthought.

For our part, the press did little but think about Condi all day. Her closing remarks were scheduled for 10 minutes to 5pm, which in Nairobispeak usually means a quarter past six. Not so for team America: they told reporters to show up around noon so the guards would have time for a thorough pat-down.

Tennis rackets

If only we’d brought our tennis rackets! The distractions of the ambassador’s living room were off limits to all but the first handful of photographers to arrive. They were allowed inside for a brief photo-op on the condition that each cameraman was accompanied by a security guard.

Those of us who pulled into Muthaiga drive after 1 o’clock were whisked down an alleyway and shoved through a little black gate at the mansion’s rear end; metal detectors awaited us there, then a short walk past the tennis court to the pool deck, where we waited for the next three hours.

This idle scene resembled a cocktail party, the only real difference being that the fruit juice brought around by white-shirted waiters lacked vodka. Everyone wore their finest but the expats who could hardly be troubled to tuck their shirts in.

We scattered across the pool deck and formed small groups that reflected the allegiances formed amongst the press corps over the last two months of war correspondence.

For the most part, print journalists stayed seated while the television personalities flitted from one clutch of journalists to another.

I joined a table of foreign correspondents — an Alabama girl, a Spaniard, a Frenchman, three Canadians and a Brit. Like everyone else, we filled the time with gossip. “Who are the Republicans more afraid of?” said the Spaniard; “Barack or Hillary? That’s what we should find out.” He seemed to think Hillary was the greater threat, but the rest of us were betting on the Luo.

“A friend of mine works at a five-star hotel in Jerusalem where Condi always stays,” said one of the Canadians. “She always has a treadmill brought up to her room, along with a personal chef.”

“Wouldn’t you? The chef, that is, not the treadmill.”

We all agreed that with Kosovo having just declared independence from Serbia, and Pakistan in the throes of its own electoral drama, America’s top diplomat would have to say something truly outrageous for this Nairobi afternoon to make news outside Kenya.

Shortly before the appointed hour, a press officer went around informing everyone that we would be allowed to ask only two questions at the end of Condi’s briefing. Two in total, that is, not each. A collective groan went up among the 50 or so journalists assembled, each of whose notebooks harboured several questions of mass destruction. Who, we wondered, would be chosen to address the mighty Rice?

At a quarter to 5, we were let out of our holding tank, and streamed through an ivy-decked gate into an impeccably manicured back lawn. Secret service agents you could have spotted a mile away were milling in the bushes.

It isn’t just Hollywood, these guys really do wear brush cuts and dark sunglasses and earpieces; they also communicate with crisp hand gestures which, together with the earpieces, make them appear vaguely deaf.

There followed the most respectful hush I’d yet witnessed in Kenya as we lined up like footballers a safe distance from the podium and waited for her majesty’s appearance. But where was she? Five, 10, 15 minutes went by. Feet shuffled, cameras sighed, and I heard a Reuters man whispering to a friend behind me: “What should I ask?” Lucky devil, he’d won the draw but now had the weight of all our curiosities hanging on his query.

And then out came Condi. Just like that, with no introduction, she strode out from the dark confines of Mr Ranneberger’s house — she was talking before reaching a full-stop in front of the microphone.

“I met with Kofi Annan today,” she began, listing off her day’s encounters without so much as a hello.

You’ve heard the rest of the sound bites: “This is not a matter of dictating to Kenyans? there is an urgent need to share real power... do it yesterday? business as usual?”

Here was a lady who had performed similar functions in places like Baghdad and Kabul, Islamabad and Beirut. What’s a little Nairobi, after all that?

Condi looked relaxed, alert, every inch the businesswoman. You don’t have to agree with her actions — say, helping to orchestrate the Iraq war — to respect her professionalism.

She spoke without pause for all of six or seven minutes; answered the two questions put forward by KTN and Reuters without hesitation, then did the same for two more questions hollered out from the anxious crowd.

One could almost fail to realise she didn’t say anything new.

And that was it — make of it what you will — that was Kenya’s biggest visit in recent history.

We shuffled off to file our stories. As for Condi, she had a plane to catch, a president (her own) to meet in Dar es Salaam, and perhaps a tread mill to jog on before bed time.