T-4 Countdown to Obama, plus rain.

Wake up in my rented room in Nairobi, rain on the window. Outside I can see the uniformed guard at the front gate under a large bright red umbrella; surrounded by jungle foliage he looks like some kind of toy soldier. This is the neighborhood where Obama’s step-mom lives, or used to; it’s a wealthy neighborhood owned mostly by fifth and sixth generation Indian families. There’s a casino and a Thai restaurant across the street.

My roommate knocks on my door and tells me she’s stepping out, and did I want to come explore the neighborhood a bit, so I throw on a poncho and we walk through the puddles down a potholed road with no sidewalks, ducking for cover under corrugated tin awnings. Under one awning, a woman in a loose red top is scrubbing a painted plate, the kind sold to tourists, and stacking them on a huge pile of painted plates. Under another, a man in brown waits for a bus. But, there is no bus, no traffic at all, really, which my roommate says is really really weird, until we see why: jammed inside the rotary, blocking all cars, is a massive Russian-made mach truck with its back wheel stuck up against the curb and its front wheel in a pothole. Like a frustrated elephant it rears and roars, belching exhaust, while about a dozen Kenyans scamper timidly around trying to push without getting trampled. It is incredible the truck driver thought he could even fit in there; though I don’t know, maybe he does this trip every day. As we watch, the truck is suddenly freed, and momentarily heads straight for us, before veering away again. Mud flies everywhere.

We pass yet another casino, and two malls, plus a 24 mega-mart, where I stop in to buy some supplies and immediately feel underdressed compared to the other shoppers. Even the font is aspirational. Posters of couples with expensive looking watches glare down at me, smirking about financial security. I buy juice, some cheese and a loaf of bread and hit the checkout counter where I grab a Kenyan men’s magazine with Obama on the cover. The cover is a parody of men’s cool: Barack in Ray Bans, a crisp white shirt and grey tie, thrusting his index finger directly into the camera, so close to the lens that the fingertip is out of focus and in motion. Below him, in shadowed white lettering: “Obama: Our man in the White House.”

I buy the magazine expecting a gushing fan letter to American politics, but when I turn the pages I find an homage to American consumption; this mag, it turns out, is a Kenyan version of the most standard men’s mag fare: with sports-round ups, vicarious financial advice, motorcycle porn, aspirational gadget reviews (“we take a look at the best boy’s toys of the year”), style tips (“want to wear a jacket, but afraid of looking too formal? Team it with a simple t-shirt”), and lots of pretty girl photos (a four-page spread where a 22-year old “college graduate” is body painted, a feature profile of Hugh Hefner and another of supermodel Kimora Lee Simmons), plus plenty of ads for brandy, banks and shaving cream. It is a magazine targeted at the middle class Kenyan man.

And, if these glossy pages are any judge, middle class Kenyan men are a lot more concerned about relationships than politics. There’s exactly one article, a short blurb, really, about Barack Obama’s ascendancy. (The cover was a bit of a ruse.) Whereas there are 14 feature articles on handling the opposite sex, including advice on how affectionate to be with your woman in public (“three women explain the ‘secret’ rules”), how to know if a woman likes sex (“if your woman enjoys her food, chances are she’ll be good in bed”), what books to read if you want to seduce an intelligent girl (“the way to a woman’s bed is via her head!”), as well as advice on why it’s normal to feel somewhat emasculated by Kenyan woman’s feminism and how you can respect her emancipation while still ‘reconnecting with your inner caveman.’

Oh, there is one other mention of the president elect. In the style trends section, we’re told that “what’s hot” in 2009 includes sushi, smart phones and funky shades, whereas what’s “so last year” includes analogue TV, wallets, and “Ethnic or tribal acrimony: You’re a global citizen. Behave like one. Think Obama.”