Part 7 (2/2)

To satiate the unfed American reporters, who hadnat seen the senator all day, Gibbs made Obama available for a news conference in our Pretoria hotel in the early evening. Obama arrived in black suit jacket and white s.h.i.+rt, but quickly noticed that the a.s.sembled reporters were dressed down. We had been tourists most of the day, after all. To fit in with the reporters, Obama slipped off his suit coat and dropped into a soft chair in his stock white dress s.h.i.+rt. He slowly rolled up his sleeves to look even more casual. And for the first time on the trip, he looked fresh and physically rejuvenated. He certainly had gotten some badly needed rest that day, as well as a badly desired visit to the gym. I learned later that he had worked out and followed it with a long nap, two things that Gibbs most likely did not want reported back in the American newspapers. One could envision that headline: aObama Lands in Pretoria, Takes Nap, Hits Gym.a Obama was his typically collected and well-spoken self during the news conference. Nevertheless, he tightened considerably when questioned by the two reporters who had covered him most aggressively back in Was.h.i.+ngtona”Lynn Sweet of the Sun-Times and Jeff Zeleny, then of the Tribune. Since arriving on the continent, these two fiercely compet.i.tive journalists had been in a fitful contest to send home the most scintillating tidbits about Obamaas adventure, and both had been working and cajoling Gibbs mercilessly. Sweet was constantly in his face, while Zeleny plied him with drinks at the bar late into the evening. Sweet was pulling multimedia duty and was a perpetual ball of chaos. She not only filed daily stories but auth.o.r.ed a blog for the Sun-Times website and sent back both video and still photography. Not being trained in television media, she produced video dispatches that had the feel of narrated vacation footage. Moreover, her constant battles with the wobbly tripod that held her video camera provided amus.e.m.e.nt to all around. The thirtyish Zeleny penned daily stories and, along with Souza, compiled several handsome audio-video packages for the Tribune website. Sweet, a veteran Was.h.i.+ngton reporter whose demanding manner could border on abrasive, had long tested the nerves of Obama. He had once hung up on her in a phone interview. And Zeleny, in addition to pus.h.i.+ng Gibbs for information, was not shy about stepping up to Obama whenever a pertinent question struck him. The often imperious senator seemed to maintain a level of respect for Zelenyas professional dedication, but at the same time it was apparent that he preferred to own his personal s.p.a.ce at all times, and Zeleny did not mind invading it. For all of this tension, Obamaas Africa visit received mostly positive and nearly play-by-play coverage on the websites of both newspapers, leading his critics to charge in web postings, quite incorrectly, that Zeleny and Sweet were, in fact, media toadies for the senator.

In the press briefing, Obama told reporters that he had been careful not to criticize the United States too harshly while he traveled abroad, but said he could feel in South Africa asome negative impressions outside our borders that weare going to have to deal with.a He said Americaas decision to invade Iraq was responsible for that. aI think the perception is that not only did we act unilaterally, but that we have essentially determined that our interests and concerns and viewpoints are the only ones that are relevant,a he said. aYou hear a lot of discussion that the United States dictates its foreign policy as opposed to cooperating with other nations. So I think there is a lot of work that weare going to have to do in the coming years to recover the levels of legitimacy that I think we had.a He also addressed questions about how he felt bringing a media circus with him to visit his Kenyan relatives. He had last visited Kenya fourteen years before while researching his Dreams memoir, and he had come alone. He was far from alone now. aIam going there as a United States Senator, but this gives me an opportunity to reconnect and find out whatas going on and find out what folks need,a he said, sidestepping the question. aMy antic.i.p.ation is that I will be able to help in the future in terms of projects and ideas that they want to pursue. But no matter what happens, there is always going to be some level of discomfort just because there is this huge gulf between life in the United States and life in Kenya.a Obama also said that he worried that his visit would be ahijackeda for political gain by some Kenyan politicians, particularly the Luo tribe, to which his father belonged. This, as it would turn out, was a legitimate fear.

Day Four in Africa jumped headfirst into activity. We drove to Soweto, a Johannesburg suburb that gained international attention in June 1976 with the Soweto Uprising, ma.s.s riots spurred by the white governmentas decision to force black students to be educated in the Afrikaans language rather than in English. Soweto is now a middle-cla.s.s suburb of blacks that houses a museum dedicated to the uprising and its most famous victim, Hector Pieterson, a thirteen-year-old killed when police opened fire on protesting students. With Hectoras sister Antoinette as his guide, Obama toured the Pieterson museum, which is largely ignored by the locals but draws a good number of tourists. A few American tourists who patronized the museum recognized Obama, shook his hand and asked for autographs. The museum workers, meanwhile, asked reporters who he was.

With media crews buzzing around them, Antoinette solemnly walked Obama along the museumas exhibits. They gazed at photographs of Mandela and other images from the antiapartheid movement. When they reached the most dramatic moment of the tour, Obama knew exactly what to do. The two stopped in front of a wall-sized print of the iconic photo of the lifeless body of Antoinetteas younger brother as he was carried from the protest scene in the arms of another young man. The riveting image, taken by a news photographer, was publicized around the world and helped to galvanize the international community against apartheid. Though the focus of the photo is on the limp dead teen, the vieweras eyes also wander to seventeen-year-old Antoinette running alongside the young man holding her dead brother. Her mouth is agape and her right hand is raised helplessly into the air. In a afeel-your-paina moment reminiscent of Bill Clinton, Obama slid his long slender arm across Antoinetteas shoulders and pulled her against his thin torso. She reached around his waist and pulled him tighter. The two lingered in front of the huge photo as flashbulbs feverishly flickered behind them. aThat was the shot there, man,a the Tribuneas Souza observed. aJust a great shot, and Obama knew it.a Outside, through a light rain, Obama offered a short speech as he stood with Antoinette before a memorial to her slain brother. Obama often pays tribute to the leaders of the civil rights movement in the United States by saying that their efforts paved the way for his success. Here in Johannesburg, he did much the same, noting that his first political activism came in college when he protested apartheid and advocated divestment of American funds from South Africa. aIf it wasnat for some of the activities here I might not have been involved in politics,a he said.

The next quick stop was a museum in Soweto dedicated to Rosa Parks, the black seamstress who helped launch the civil rights movement in the United States by refusing to give up her seat to a white person on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama. Obama glad-handed the curious onlookers throughout the museum, which truly resembled a small library, and then ran across something that prefaced events to come later in the tripa”a framed black-and-white photograph of Robert F. Kennedy during his seminal trip to South Africa in June 1966. Kennedy, standing atop the roof of a car amid a sea of black South Africans, was leaning forward and extending a hand to the enthused crowd. In the coming days, there would be scenes similar to this one for Obamaa”only they would play out in his homeland of Kenya. Here in South Africa, he was barely recognized. Seeing the photograph, Obama could not help himself. He glanced down at the image and a half smile grew from a corner of his mouth. aYou know,a he said to a person in the entourage, amy desk in the Senate is the same desk that Robert Kennedy had.a Whether Obama had meant to draw a parallel or not, the image was drawn.

CHAPTER.

24.

Nairobi.

This is where he belongs. He just goes there to work [in America], but he should and will come back home to be one of our own.

a”A KENYAN WOMAN.

Obamaas arrival at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi the next day bespoke the utter madness that was to mark Obamaas six-day Kenyan adventure.

The difference between the cultures of South Africa and Kenya was immediately evident. Nairobi is a city of more than three million people, but the first thing one notices after arriving at the airport from South Africa is the lack of white people. And the whites who were there, like me, were immediately approached aggressively by any number of smiling Kenyans and offered a.s.sistance, by carrying a bag or giving directions or supplying a taxi. This a.s.sistance was for a fee, of course.

Another noticeable difference in Nairobi was the ubiquitous presence of uniformed police officers, many of them toting a.s.sault-style rifles. The atmosphere was far less Western-oriented, more fragile and clearly more dangerous than in Cape Town. Nairobi might be Kenyaas capital and the center of culture, business and politics in all of East Africa, but it had been pushed into becoming a modern urban mecca far too fast. In the early 1960s, the cityas infrastructure had exploded into place after Kenyans won independence from colonialist Britain. This had resulted in some neighborhoods appearing completely modern, and even middle-cla.s.s or better, by Western standards. But not far away were sprawling slums without potable water, indoor plumbing or electricity. Roads curved for no apparent reason, and traffic lights seemed to barely contain the autos speeding along the streets. Paved sidewalks were nonexistent, with pedestrians walking along uneven red-dirt paths in close proximity to moving traffic.

Kenya was a functioning democracy, but it still operated heavily on a tribal caste system. Political parties were divided along the various ethnic tribal lines. Bitter rivalries existed among these tribes, and the resultant political warfare had severely hindered economic and civic growth. Obamaas father hailed from the Luo tribe, which made up about 13 percent of the countryas population and had a strong farming background, mostly in the western region.

Only a few minutes after my arrival at the airport, I noticed that certain crimes were either overlooked or, perhaps, encouraged. Once I claimed my luggage, I went to confirm my flight reservations to ensure that arrangements for my departure six days later were in order. As I waited in line, two white European men in their fifties talked with a tall, lithe Kenyan woman who appeared to be in her early twenties. The men squeezed the attractive young womanas behind, ran their hands up and down her thighs and then offered her a small wad of money, which she stuffed into a pocket in her tight white jeans. The men looked as if they were measuring cattle, but she didnat seem the least bit offended and, ultimately, walked away arm in arm with each of them. To be sure, such a transaction might occur in airports in any number of cities around the globe. But what was most revealing: This one went down just several feet from a cl.u.s.ter of uniformed police officers in berets, dark uniforms and with a.s.sault weapons in their hands.

The senator had traveled from South Africa on a U.S. government jet, and by good fortune or bad luck, some of us in the media were at the airport when he landed. Obamaas staff had hoped to keep his entrance a secret, but of course Kenyan politicians had tipped favored reporters to his evening arrival time. Most of the American reporting gaggle would have missed it too if it had not been for an unsettling occurrence. Axelrodas camera crew was held up at the baggage entrance trying to get its video equipment through security. Kenyaas reputation for rampant corruption was well known, and back in the States, the leader of the doc.u.mentary crew, Bob Hercules, had sent money ahead to a Kenyan afixera to ensure that their equipment would make it through the customs agents. Nevertheless, Hercules soon found that the paymenta”a bribe, if you willa”had not secured safe pa.s.sage. (Another media crew from Chicago also paid a bribe to get its equipment through. Together, the bribes equaled about eighteen hundred dollars in U.S. currency.) As Hercules and his crew haggled with airport officials to get their equipment released, the environment outside the terminal suddenly changed. An eerie silence washed over the evening dusk and about a hundred people started gathering in small groups along the roadway and in the medians. They were strangely quiet, expressed little emotion and were all looking toward a building in the front of the airport where a couple of dozen security personnel had gathered. In a hushed voice, a man explained, aObama is here.a Ah yes, the young prince was returning to his fatheras homeland.

A moment later, Gibbs popped out of the building, quickly surveyed the scene and disappeared back inside. So I headed toward the building, where a clutch of media and police had ama.s.sed, and soon grew aware that being white might actually be a plusa”it might get me through the thicket of bodies that had been cordoned off by police. What else could a white man with a notepad and camera be other than a Western-based news reporter? Sure enough, police allowed me and a magazine reporter past the first media barricade.

With Gibbsas help, we wended our way through the mob of people inside the building before Gibbs put a hand on my upper back and pushed me into a small back room where Obama was enduring a quick photo aspraya with select Kenyan media. The media hit had been thrown together on the spot, and it showed. There was no focus to it. Obama had only agreed to sit down for the shot when the foreign minister told him that he wanted to atake care of my guys in the press,a Gibbs later explained. aBarack didnat want to say no, so we sat down and did it. It wasnat our idea.a The photo spray lasted all of two or three minutes. Some people carried cameras and some did not. It was difficult to distinguish the journalists from the onlookers, the plainclothes authorities from the civilians. People without the proper clout were physically escorted out of the room. Those with journalistic clout, including myself and a couple of other American journalists in the Obama entourage, were permitted to stay. Dressed in one of his navy blue suits and a light blue s.h.i.+rt, Obama was sitting on a chair with the Kenyan deputy foreign minister. Cameras whirled all around. Obama smiled and tried to look relaxed, but I could see by his rigid jaw that his Hawaiian calm was eluding him. When Gibbs abruptly announced that the spray was ending, Obama tried to ease the tense and chaotic atmosphere by telling the a.s.sorted gathering, aYouall be tired of me by the end of the week.a Outside, another hundred or so people had gathered along the streets leading up to the various terminal buildings. They stood under palm trees and along curbs and one man hoisted a little girl onto his shoulders. I stepped across the small street from the building and watched as Obama made his first public appearance as a U.S. senator in his fatheras homeland. To my surprise, when he came through the doors, the crowd reacted with near silence. They simply stood and watched in quiet reverence. Obama, with a government official at his side, stepped quickly toward an awaiting white Ford Explorer parked at the curb just a few steps from the building. Gibbs had instructed him not to stop and take questions, or even acknowledge the cameras and gathering crowd. But Obama walked up to the vehicle and could not help but look out to the people. Discarding Gibbsas advice, he seemed to realize that it might appear impolite to altogether ignore the crowd around him. Besides, as a skillful politician, it is deeply ingrained in Obamaas psyche to acknowledge an audience ama.s.sed for his benefit. Finally, one photographer yelled at him, aWave!a So Obama raised a crooked arm and waved stiffly, like a wiper across a caras winds.h.i.+eld, or like the infamous Richard Nixonas bon voyage wave as he stepped onto the plane after resigning the presidency. Obama then flashed a forced smile and ducked into the SUV. The vehicle burned rubber as it sped away, with a twelve-car convoy piloted by emba.s.sy officials and police in tow. The scene more befitted a visiting head of state than a junior member of a foreign countryas legislature. I breathed a heavy sigh and felt the adrenaline rush begin to subside. This was clearly not going to be the same laid-back atmosphere as in South Africa, where our subject could roam the streets in relative anonymity and events seemed more orchestrated than organic.

Obama moved swiftly to the hotel in the speeding caravan, but the rest of rush-hour traffic was stymied, thanks to Kenyaas widely acclaimed guest. The bus carrying my grouping of the media gaggle took an hour to reach the Nairobi Serena Hotel, even though it was just a few miles away. Roads were closed all through downtown to allow Obamaas motorcade easy access, and this severely jammed up traffic. At the hotel that evening, the first order of business for Obama: interviews for the Chicago TV media. Each of Chicagoas major network-affiliated stations had sent a reporting and camera crew to cover the Kenya visit. International press, including writers for Time and Newsweek magazines, had also arrived. David Axelrodas old media chum Mike Flannery from Chicagoas Channel 2, a CBS affiliate, headed Obamaas interview list. The relations.h.i.+p between Flannery and Obama extended back to at least the Senate campaign, when Flanneryas coverage of Blair Hullas marriage files and drug use contributed to the burial of Hullas candidacy. aHowas it going so far, Robert?a Flannery asked Gibbs upon spotting him in the hotel lobby. aOh,a replied a harried Gibbs, aIam like a one-legged man in an a.s.s-kicking contest.a Gibbs, endeavoring to bring a sense of order to the chaos, held a 9:15 p.m. briefing for reporters in a casual meeting room on the hotelas ground floor. The vibrant aroma of after-dinner coffee, one of Kenyaas primary crops, emanated from the restaurant area of the hotel. Reporters filled a long table, some couches and a handful of chairs. Gibbs finally had preprinted daily schedules for us. There were a number of new faces in the press corps, including international wire services and, most notably, the Chicago crews. Gibbs warned that a frenetic atmosphere would be the norm. aIam not sure if you folks were at the airport,a he said. aBut weare going to find that even when things are not advertised, some Kenyans will gather.a Some Kenyansa”that would prove the understatement of the week. aWhat we learned todaya”expect the unexpected,a Gibbs said in concluding the briefing. aNow the fun begins.a OBAMAaS FIRST OFFICIAL KENYAN FUNCTION OPENED THE NEXT morning, and it highlighted the deified nature of his presence to many Kenyans. Mich.e.l.le and their two daughters had arrived the evening before, and the family appeared at the Nairobi State House for a morning ceremony welcoming the senator. The event was held outside the State House under a tent. Dozens of emba.s.sy employees, both black and white, wore orange-and-yellow T-s.h.i.+rts with obama in the house emblazoned on the front. Songs had been composed for Obamaas visit, and a group of clapping and finger-snapping Kenyans harmonized over these lyrics: aWhen you see Obama has come to Kenya, this day is blessed.a As Obama opened his speech, he was interrupted by a friendly, but misplaced voice. Eight-year-old Malia shouted to her father, aDaddy, Daddy, look at me!a No one could have been more pleased to see Obama, yet felt less blessed, than Christopher Wills, an a.s.sociated Press reporter based in Illinois. Wills had covered Obama when he was still in the state legislature and the burgeoning Obama phenomenon was still relatively confined to progressives and blacks in the United States. Thus, the AP honchos in New York and London made no objection to Wills being the lead reporter on the trip to Africa. Wills promised his editors in Illinois that he would write a couple of newsy feature stories from Kenya. By the time Wills arrived in Nairobi, however, the dynamics had s.h.i.+fted greatly within the AP. The wire serviceas London bureau had finally recognized the significant media buzz that Obamaas journey was drawing worldwide. As a consequence, the APas Nairobi bureau chief was nagging Wills by cell phone to supply half-hour updates on Obamaas every move, giving Wills a severe case of the jitters. This unexpected turn of events came after Wills had undergone an agonizing experience with the Kenyan emba.s.sy in the United States to attain the proper travel credentials. Obama is always mindful to cultivate friendly relations.h.i.+ps with the reporters who cover him, and he is happy when there are a good number of them around. He is happiest, though, when they are kept at a safe distance. So when Obama spotted Wills amid the media gaggle, he made sure to acknowledge him. Or perhaps, less cynically speaking, Obama simply spotted a familiar face and it comforted him. With Obama, as with many of the best politicians, it is never perfectly clear whether he is being politic or merely human. In either case, in contrast to the regal nature of the proceedings around him, Obama yelled out from his crowd of Kenyan government dignitaries, aChris Wills! You made it! You got your visa!a A slightly bewildered Wills didnat seem to know how to react to the unexpected shout-out. He responded: aUh, yes, Senator. Thank you.a Obama met that morning at the State House with senior government officials, including Kenyan president Mwai Kibaki. After triumphing in the December 2002 elections, Kibakias National Rainbow Coalition (nicknamed Narc) took control of the government in 2003, ending nearly four decades of rule by Kanu, the Kenyan African National Union. Kanu was widely viewed as corrupt and had been accused of land-grabbing and raiding public coffers for private enrichment. Kibaki won the office on a pledge to rid the countryas inst.i.tutions of corruption and revitalize its economy. But more than three years later, corruption persisted, the economy was largely stagnant, and Kenyans who had been optimistic at Narcas electoral success were again pessimistic about the direction of their country and its inst.i.tutional leaders.h.i.+p. aPeople have just kind of given up on the government,a a veteran Kenyan journalist, Dennis Onyango, told me. aThey feel weall never get what we want.a Obama, in his meeting with Kibaki, discussed with the president the importance of clean government. The American senator maintained that investment from overseas would never arrive if Kenyaas government and business communities remain soaked in graft. He cited the airport bribes paid by Chicago media crews as evidence that corruption remained pervasive, that it was a corrosive element in everyday society and that it negatively impacted Kenyaas international image. Kibaki replied that he was working to stamp out corruption and promised to look into the airport bribes.

Obamaas next stop was a meeting with government officials and business leaders at a restaurant secured in a plaza behind huge wrought-iron gates. Judging by the secluded design of the restaurant, which made it easy to protect with a couple of guards at the closed gates, I a.s.sumed that it was the site of many high-level lunches among top Kenyan politicians.

It was here that we would first witness the intensity of emotion that Kenyans felt toward Obama, the emotion we had read about beforehand in various media accounts. Those news stories had not been overblown. Outside the restaurant, workers of many pursuits, all hungry for a glimpse of their American hero, had left their jobs to crowd atop balconies, huddle in doorways and press against the iron fences. Obama met privately for lunch with local officials and, as we waited, reporters fanned out to interview the Kenyans ama.s.sing outside the gates. The interviews bore out the state of idolatry surrounding Obama among the Kenyans.

To some, he was a native son who had risen to great power in the worldas most influential nation, and because of this he gave them hope that they or their children could persevere and succeed in their own daily lives. To others, he was an all-powerful political figure who could put Kenya on the worldwide radar. To still others, he was nearly a deity, an ethereal figure who would bring riches and all good things to Kenya from the promised land of America. This last group believed that Obama truly belonged in Kenya, not America.

A forty-year-old woman named Catherine Oganda maintained that Obama ultimately would choose to leave America and live in Kenya: aThis is where he belongs. He just goes there to work [in America], but he should and will come back home to be one of our own.a I asked why she believed that, and she continued: aBecause the father is a Kenyan. You know, your father is your bloodline; itas not your mothera”it is your father. So you belong where your father comes from, in your fatherland. Kenya is in his blood.a A fifty-year-old man named John Nyambalo had a slightly different take, but one that was no less divorced from reality. He saw Obama as a living representation that the United States had overcome racial intolerance. aIf the Americans can select a senator like Obama,a he said, athat means that Americans embrace the whole world and they are true democrats. There is no racism there.a After lunch, our caravan headed to the memorial that had been erected at the former site of the U.S. Emba.s.sy, which had been car-bombed in 1998, killing nearly two hundred and fifty souls. The deadly bombing, later linked to the Islamic fundamentalist terror movement that struck the United States on September 11, 2001, had helped to create a bond between the United States and Kenya. Both countries suffered from the attack. Dozens of people stood at the entrance of the memorial site waiting for Obama, with Mich.e.l.le and their two young daughters among them. Obama shook the hands of a long row of current emba.s.sy staff on his way up toward the site, with Mich.e.l.le nearly last in line. The last few introduced themselves to Obama, and then Mich.e.l.le smiled and held out her hand and offered the same, as if she were just another member of the greeting party. aIam your wife, welcome,a she said with a warm smile. ah.e.l.lo, Wife,a Obama said with a playful grin.

Gleaming in a brilliant sun, the memorial itself stood at the far end of a plaza just beyond a small fountain. It was rather una.s.suming, giving the appearance of an elongated headstone on a burial plota”a concrete block in the shape of a half-moon rising from the plazaas bricked surface. Its facade was a sheet of brown marble with the names of the deceased etched in it, as well as the following epitaph: aMay the innocent victims of this tragic event rest in the knowledge that it has strengthened our resolve to work for a world in which man is able to live alongside his brother in peace.a A couple dozen photographers and TV reporters were a.s.sembled at the far end of the plaza, readied for the shot of Obama at the memorial. Through the trees that guarded the memorial site, located in the heart of Nairobi, I could see a large crowd a.s.sembling in the streetsa”more Kenyans with hopes of catching just a pa.s.sing glimpse of Obama. Also witnessing the scene were workers in a seven-story office building that overlooked the park. They leaned out of big steel-framed windows and peered down on the proceedings with rapt attention. With his right arm wrapped around Maliaas waist and Sasha standing at his left elbow, Obama sat down at a white-clothed table and signed an official guest book before heading over to the memorial with his family in tow. He carried a wreath and laid it gently at the foot of the tombstone. Then he turned to a small group of officials huddled to his right as photo and video crews knelt and stood not far to his left, their cameras clicking away.

Scanning the epitaph, Obama bowed his head and offered his own words of consolation and remembrance: aThe tragedy that happened here is a reminder that, ultimately, all of us suffer from conflict and, ultimately, all of us suffer from terrorism. But we have to redouble our resolve, as the memorial says, to find ways to live in peace and to find ways to resolve our conflicts in a way that does not result in the kind of tragedy that occurred here. We will not forget whatas happened here. We want to make sure that all of us are vigilant in terms of preventing it from ever happening again.a After the brief ceremony, Obama was taken inside a nearby building to chat with emba.s.sy and other government officials. Malia and Sasha, dressed in bright pink tops and white skirts, were set loose to play in the memorial area that doubled as a small corner park. I hadnat bothered a tired-looking Mich.e.l.le when she first arrived at the hotel the day before, so this seemed like a good opportunity to reconnect. She was strolling around, shaking hands and eyeing her daughters as they ran about happily. But our chat was cut short. Immediately after we exchanged greetings, a roar erupted from beyond the trees. Its sheer volume startled Mich.e.l.le. She leaned her upper torso far backward and a stunned look crossed her face. aOh my goodness! What was that?!a she exclaimed. aThat,a I said, ais for your husband. He must have come out.a The wondrous look slightly receding from her face, she replied innocently, aOh, my! For Barack?a Clearly, Mich.e.l.le was in no way prepared for this overheated response to her celebrity husband.

We both headed for the narrow exit to the memorial and Mich.e.l.le was gobbled up into a pack of security personnel. The crowd in the streets, consisting mostly of men, had reached a state of euphoria. They were cheering in full throat, standing atop cars, dancing, whistling and screaming and waving their arms wildly. Police had established a perimeter at the edge of the street. Yet even though the crowd seemed wild and uncontrollable, no one had stepped a single foot past the Kenyan officers, as if an invisible wall held them in check. The people were chanting in unison: aObama, come to us! Obama, come to us!a I looked for the senator and spotted him to the right along the perimeter with several security officers packed around him for protection. He was feverishly shaking hands with members of the fawning crowd in a surreal press-the-flesh moment. With each step he took toward the street, closer to the frenzied ma.s.s of people, the chanting rose a notch in volume. aObama, come to us! Obama, come to us!a I watched the senator from a safe zone inside the perimeter about ten paces behind him. Incredibly, the scene was growing ever more chaotic as Obama worked his way closer to the belly of the throng. A horse carrying a police officer, spooked by the noise and instability of the crowd, bucked his front legs into the air and nearly kicked me in the head before the officer reined him in. aBe careful! Donat get yourself trampled!a warned a perpetually tense Jennifer Barnes, the emba.s.syas media liaison. As I wandered closer to the edge of the perimeter, within a few feet of the first row of people, a woman from the crowd suddenly lunged toward me and grabbed my left bicep. Before I could pull away, an officer swung his black billy club and cracked the woman square on her forearm. Her arm fell limply to her side and the officer pushed her back into the sea of people with his club, swiping his club casually, like a chef pus.h.i.+ng a pile of crushed onions across a cutting board. I decided that I better keep a safer distance from the crowd. The scene was so full of heightened emotion that even the most innocent acts became hyperreality. Bill Lambrecht, a reporter for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, handed a woman a piece of paper from the emba.s.sy that contained background information on Obamaas visit. Lambrecht figured she could have it as a souvenir. Five men immediately jumped the woman and successfully ripped the paper from her hands. Lambrecht shook his head in discouragement upon seeing what his nice gesture had wrought.

Just then, as I turned backward and took a few steps, I saw Obama heading in my direction. It became apparent that I was about to be sandwiched between two surging walls of humanitya”the crowd before me and the crowd behind Obama. Unfortunately, I had no security detail guarding me from harm. To escape the fate of trampling, I galloped sideways to an opening. Standing in this safe spot was B

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