Port McNeill lawyer takes his law practice to Nairobi

by Mike Seaborn

The rainy season has started in Nairobi and the red dust which gets on and in virtually everything has turned to red mud, coating the sidewalks in a thin, slippery layer, making walking on them a treacherous proposition. Sidewalks are infrequent in Nairobi and so most of the time when walking one is competing with the harrowing traffic for the edge of the road.

I walk to the UN in the morning and it is my favourite part of the day. I pass Asian women in brightly coloured saris walking young children to school, older school children in their private school uniforms, African women with large bundles balanced on their heads, the occasional glue-sniffing street kid, walking around with a plastic bottle of glue permanently stuck to the lips, and the many business people gingerly picking their way through the worst of the mud. Near the UN High Commissioner for Refugees office there is stretch where there are always road touts, people standing in the middle of the road offering wares for sale. Aside from the usual plastic bric-a-brac and household items some of the more interesting things for sale have been puppies, one squirming under each arm, inflated pink Barbie beach balls and, the other day, a guy with a stand-up coat rack. The vendor had one arm draped over it, like he was hanging out at a party, while traffic streamed past him on either side.

Recently I spent a morning with the unflappable Reception Officer at the reception desk. Here, every morning, he sorts out the 200 or so refugees who show up, sending them to the right place for assistance: “Eligibility” for new asylum seekers to determine if they are legitimate refugees; “Protection” for those with security concerns (where I work); “Medical” where there is a nurse and referrals to doctors; and “Community Services” where counselling is available for the many survivors of torture and sexual violence. After passing this desk they are given numbered tags and proceed to an inner waiting area to be seen by UN workers.

In the Protection Unit I interview refugees residing in Nairobi and review their written security claims. We try to identify those who may be at risk, such as people who held high-profile political positions, journalists and vulnerable women. If possible, services are provided to them to increase their safety here.

While sitting at the reception desk I look around the open-air compound at the refugees clustered on benches, the busy UN workers, the translators scurrying around trying to match language to refugee, the numerous highly visible guards, and realize that I am the only white person there, something I’m getting used to.

An elderly woman, dressed in long black robes and a black shawl over her head, is told she is there on the wrong day and will have to come back. No number for her. This does not go over well and she adopts the interesting strategy of plunking herself down on the floor in front of the desk and commencing to wail, burying her face in her shawl. Several guards immediately surround her. The Reception Officer, unperturbed, tries to reason with her. This goes nowhere. He waves in the next refugee who nimbly steps around the woman and, completely ignoring her wailing just inches from his feet, conducts his business. The Reception Officer tries again. “Mama, please mama, we cannot help you while you sit there. Stand up mama and maybe we can help you.” This only produces more wailing and some arms raised to the sky beseeching, which is left untranslated by the bemused translator. “Next,” and another refugee hops around the woman.

Eventually the woman is persuaded to get up and go back to the benches, where she composes herself. The guards disperse. The rest of the refugees are dealt with. By the end of the morning I’m frayed from just watching. The Reception Officer gathers together bundles of paperwork he has been left with, all the matters that did not fit neatly into a category and which he must now deal with. The refugees are all in the waiting area, clutching their numbered tags.

Another day at the office.

Mike Seaborn works for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Mike Seaborn practised law for eight years as a partner in the firm Jones Seaborn & Company on northern Vancouver Island. In May 2004 he left the firm to travel to Africa to see what adventures he might find and if there were people he could help with his law skills. In October he began working for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees at their office in Nairobi, Kenya.

This article was published in the December 2004 issue of BarTalk. © 2004 The Canadian Bar Association. All rights reserved.