Travels of an Irish rugby jacket: Seeing a familiar piece of clothing in Kenya

Most clothes in Kenya are imported, and many of them second-hand: coming as donations or similar from all corners of the world.

There’s probably a whole post on what comes and how it gets divided up (there’s a whole industry in it) but for now, we’ll just focus on a particular item of clothing that caught my eye as I was out walking to lunch this week.

Back in December, I returned to the UK with only a thin jumper and so bracing the chilly winds was kindly lent a jacket from my colleague. As a proud countryman, he gave me his Irish rugby jacket: fleecy on the inside, waterproof on the outside.

This was a godsend and was worn pretty much throughout the entirety of my trip, including when I went to Denmark where the weather was also, let’s say “compatible” with needing a warm, weatherproof jacket.

Anyway, in Nairobi right now it’s a rainy season, and the default sky is overcast.

Passing me on Tuesday was a guy where the same fairly niche jacket that I had had over the winter.

We naturally had to stop and chat, and Peter was also complimentary about its warm/ waterproof functionality.

This called for a photo.

I sent him a picture of me wearing mine from when I was in Copenhagen, along with the caption that he and I were now brothers. We’re chatting on Whatsapp, so who knows what could come of it.

So this week you have two for the price of one with the pic of the week.

Note that the one of me in a drizzly new year Denmark was a rare occasion for a silly selfie, and don’t be getting your hopes up for more any time soon…

In other news…

There’s a holiday on Tuesday and so I’m off to Northern Kenya for a long weekend. The area is named after the Lake (Turkana) and is pretty much a desert.

Speaking to my Kenyan friends about the trip they said how, growing up, they were told about how it was the poorest part of the country.

In fact, one, in particular, said that when she was growing up in the coastal region and refusing to eat her dinner her Mum would say “Mercy! Finish your plate – don’t you know there are kids in Turkana who are starving”

She’d then guiltily eat up before leaving the table…

Either way, I shall report back on how the trip goes next week.