“The Fieldwork Body” is a compilation of 18 selected excerpts from my fieldwork diaries in Kenya, composed throughout my PhD research. The number itself is symbolic, representing the maturation I have undergone—or aspire to—as a scholar, embodying the tensions, transformations, and intensely personal moments that defined this period of my life. These entries conceptualize the body not merely as a vessel but as a medium—one that absorbs the emotions and infers both burdens and privileges of navigating fieldwork.
Within these diaries, I offer intimate snapshots of grief, illness, joy, and the complex positionality I occupy as a researcher from Central Asia in working within a Western academic framework. My body became a canvas where all these identities and experiences overlapped—moments of sheer exhaustion, moments of fleeting joy, all somehow leading to resilience and the desire to adapt. In Kenya, I was not only a researcher; I was a mother, an outsider, someone who had lived through poverty and social assistance as a child—each identity impacting me in anticipated and unexpected ways. The interviews continue, the observations deepen, and the body itself becomes a repository of memory.
Though I endeavor to offer a faithful account of my fieldwork journey, I acknowledge that much of it remains shrouded in a “black box”—untold stories, obscured perspectives, and experiences that this narrative can never fully capture. My vantage point represents only a fragment of the broader reality—one which may not encompass the full depth of the field I entered, the people I encountered, or the lived realities I witnessed.
I extend my profound gratitude to all those I met during my time in Kenya—the interviewees, colleagues, and community members who guided me through this transformative experience. I hope to repay you for your bravery and generosity.
02.07.2024 – Nairobi
The city unfurls before me like a bustling ant colony—people, cars, matatus, all moving with a frenetic energy that is both dizzying and awe-inspiring. I find it difficult to grasp the rhythm of it all, my senses overwhelmed by the cacophony of life (after quiet Bochum I guess). I search desperately for something familiar. And then I find it—Java House. Here, I discover Dawa—a concoction that warms my soul, spicy and invigorating, filling me with a new kind of energy. I have to reply to all the unread messages on my WhatsApp. Since April.
06.07.2024 – Protests
From the safety of my Airbnb in Westlands, I watch the smoke curl up from burning tires in the distant CBD1, I can smell it. It feels surreal, like watching a storm rage from the safety of a high tower. I have scarcely ventured beyond the confines of this apartment. When I ask the guard about the protests, he brushes off my concerns with a casual assurance: “It is so far away, a different world.” His words are meant to soothe, but they only deepen the unease coiled within me: I am living in a different world. I began searching for information about abducted persons and found myself immersed in Twitter throughout the night.
13.07.2024 – Interviews
Today, I conducted my first interview. I am filled with gratitude for the woman who sat across from me—kind, generous, sharing not just her story but also the contacts that will guide me forward. How do I adequately express my thanks? The weight of the conversation lingers with me long after, manifesting in a pounding headache that leaves me unable to think of anything else.
14.07.2024 – Karura
We ventured into the heart of Karura Forest. The experience was nothing short of therapeutic— a gentle balm for the soul. I touched the ancient trees. I stood in awe before the waterfall, its roar both powerful and calming. Monkeys flitted through the branches above, their presence a reminder of the sacredness of this place. Karura is more than just a forest—it is a sanctuary (for me), where nature heals and restores.
20.07.2024 – Lavington
We’ve moved to a new place, one that finally feels less polished and more like home. The air here carries a sense of ease, a subtle shift from the previous neighborhood. My toddler found a friend, a bright and cheerful neighbor of the same age. Watching them play in the yard brings back memories of my childhood— a simpler time when joy was found in the small things. I need to arrange for a nanny or find a kindergarten soon. The interviews are starting to snowball, and I’m becoming more selective. Still, the headaches linger after each one. My toddler wants to go home.
24.07.2024 – Kibera
My interlocutor— why did academia have to choose such an awkward word to describe someone so human?—led me through the narrow paths of Kibera today. I visited offices, made observations, and tried to understand the pulse of this place. People assume we’re here to launch a new cash program. I try to convince them otherwise. During a conversation with a community volunteer, I struggled to keep my tears at bay. Should I have to or is it gendered?
On the way home, my phone rang. It was my mother. My grandmother has just passed away.
25.07.2024 – Grief
The price of tickets to Bishkek is beyond reach, and my interviews are lined up for the coming weeks. For some reason, I can’t shed a single tear, while my mom, aunt, and cousin pour out their quiet and loud hysterics on WhatsApp, where someone is probably listening in. And where I still have those unread messages.
30.07.2024 – Friends
Talking to my friends today felt like being tethered to different worlds. Suddenly, I’m not just here— I’m everywhere. One is in Kazakhstan, the other in Germany, yet both are with me, bridging the distance with their presence. I tell them about Kenya and share pictures, they are fascinated. I wish they were here.
02.08.2024 – News
I woke up at 01:00 to check the news about the political prisoners’ swap in Ankara2. It felt wrong to be happy about it on so many layers; nevertheless, here I was. Later, I ate the most delicious watermelon, followed by mango and pineapple. How sad that my stomach was upset. Not a big price for those fruits, though.
05.08.2024 – Simone Biles
I’ve always loved gymnastics, but I fear that, despite being too young to remember it, the Soviet past might have seeped into me like propaganda, driving that same intense, almost obsessive passion. Watching Simone Biles perform her floor routine, I couldn’t help but see a reflection of my own PhD journey. No, I’m not going to win that golden medal, but I’ve leaped somewhere far. I may have stepped outside the lines, veering off the safe, competent mat, but I’ve stayed true to myself. Was that what she was thinking too, or is it just me? How arrogant does one have to be to even compare oneself to the GOAT?
My toddler is sick.
11.08.2024 – Multi-local
Did Geert Wilders watch the closing ceremony? I’d bet he did. Sifan Hassan, you were magnificent. Through the screen, I waved at Zholaman and Aisuluu as they carried the flag, at happy Dutch athletes, at the stunning Elzhana from Kazakhstan, at the Ukrainians, Germans, refugees, and—surprisingly, even to myself—now at the Kenyan team. Is this what it means to be multi-local? Or am I trying too hard?
I liked the Olympics. Everything is political but is it equally political?
14.08.2024 – Parties
We’ve already thrown our third party in Nairobi, three times more than we managed in Rotterdam this year (with last year combined?) And we invited everyone just a day before. Okay, two days. Incredible. Those were cozy evenings. Did it also get so much warmer? I need to check the weather forecast.
17.08.2024 – Maasai Market
The Maasai Market spills over with color— bright reds, sun-drenched yellows, deep greens, and royal blues. Kenya celebrates color in ways I hadn’t realized before, while I move through it in the monochrome of my wardrobe. The market’s rhythm reminds me of home. Which home though? The air is filled with sound, smell, life.
We pass the Supreme Court, and I instinctively reach for my camera. A guard hesitantly smiles and says, “No pictures… on Saturdays. It’s a law.” I politely smile back. I’m a lawyer, I understand.
26.08.2024 – Mombasa
I took a weekend to escape, boarding the safari train to Mombasa. The pristine beaches, towering palms, and the ocean’s vivid blue left me in awe. The heat is intense, the water like milk, and my body responds— my shoulders unbend, and I sleep more than I have in weeks. Only now do I feel the tension of the past month unwinding. It feels like a guilty pleasure— am I a tourist now? The fear of missing out that haunted me in Nairobi has vanished, but I can’t shake the urge to keep observing. I schedule another interview.
28.08.2024 – “Confessions of Nairobi women”
That morning, I bought Confessions of Nairobi Women—a collection of voices that speak of survival, corruption, labor, and hope. By midday, I was sitting with women, hearing their stories, which mirrored those I’d read—navigating a system with resilience and determination. Over lunch, we spoke of work and family, sharing stories of endurance and ambition. Each voice was part of a larger, unfinished narrative, weaving together lives filled with quiet strength.
31.08.2024 – Street artists
In Kibera, I walked with three local street artists who felt like friends from my childhood, like the boys from Karabalta. We spoke of art— how it breathes life into the streets, offering protest, joy, and a space for expression. I bought a painting of Nairobi— bold, raw, honest— and followed them to one of their homes, where art lined the walls like stories waiting to be told.
We talked of inequalities, of religion, of poverty. Art in Kibera is more than paint on walls; it is hope.
03.09.2024 – Nairobi
Today, I walked through Nairobi. I didn’t feel like continuing this diary— only seeing, touching, absorbing. I wanted the city to live through my senses, not just my words.
I ran my hand along the bark of a tree, and the wall of a building. This city has been kind to me, patient even, in its contradictions. I promised myself to return one day, not just to remember, but to repay it for all it has given me.
End notes:
- Central Business District ↩︎
- Biggest Russia-West exchange since Cold War sees 24 prisoners freed: https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c29d6k382k5o ↩︎
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