Greg MooreGreg MooreBy Greg Moore, The Kansas City Star

All I could think was, “God, I wonder whether they can tell how nervous I am?”

Because I was. In fact, I was sweating. Forehead, hands, feet, armpits. All that.

Consider the circumstance Thursday morning at the Nation Media Group offices in Nairobi: I was wearing a suit and tie and holding a microphone before about 300 people, all were staring at me expectantly.

(Oh, yeah, and I’d been in Kenya for all of three days.)

It was a quarterly staff meeting at Nation. There was breakfast (which I hadn’t finished when time came for me to speak), a prayer for the company and its leadership – and most everyone had on formal business attire.

I was out of my element – as uncomfortable as a bald man using a hairbrush.

So, the M.C. calls all people who are new to the company to come up and introduce themselves. I stayed put in the hopes that this stand-up-and-be-recognized formality would be reserved for employees and not extended to some guy in town from Kansas City for a few weeks.

Yeah, right.

So, I leave breakfast: sweetened white Kenyan tea; sausage; mandazi (a Swahili delicacy very similar to a doughnut); a short ear of boiled corn on the cob (which is a little firmer than our corn as it is allowed to grow longer); and samosa (a delicacy of Indian origin – for generations there have been many ethnic Indians in Kenya – that is a triangular pastry filled with spiced ground beef.)

It was delicious, and I wasn’t pleased about letting it grow cold.

To make matters worse, I ended up on the far left of about four other speakers (who could count at a time like this?), which meant I was going first.

There was a big clock on the wall behind me and the room was so quiet that you could probably hear the second-hand tick. Or maybe that was my heart beating.

“OK, no big deal," I thought. "This crowd looks a church crowd. Prays like a church crowd. And church is cool.”

Then I thought, “I haven’t been to church in forever.”

And did I mention I was in Kenya? Kenya! Yeah, that’s the ticket. I should say “habari,” which is Swahili for “How are you?”

But, I’d probably pronounce it wrong and wind up sounding as stupid.

Oh, (shucks)! My accent. They’re not going to understand me. Talk slowly.

Do I say, “My name is Greg Moore.”? Or do I say it as they would, “I am called Greg Moore.”?

Plus, I’m often self-conscious about my appearance. I frequently find myself in rooms where I’m the only black person. (Or just as often, the youngest person. Sometimes both.) And among my black friends, I have been made fun of for my complexion and odd hair. These days, it’s good-natured. When I was young, it preceded fistfights.

The mild anxiety always passes. But Nairobi has provided no relief. The good people here are as curious about my ethnic background as any others I’ve met.

Maybe I should just say, “Hi. I’m black!” Wait, no, don’t say that.

The room was still silent. I was still holding the microphone.

The second hand ticked again – or maybe it was a heartbeat.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning,” the audience replied.

So far, so good.

“I am Greg Moore, I am from The Kansas City Star ... and I love your food.”

Everyone laughed.

Whew.

All I could think was, “I wonder whether they can tell I’m still sweating?"

[em]The Kansas City Star has exchanged journalists with Nation Media in Nairobi, Kenya, for the last three years in partnership with the Alfred Friendly Press Fellowships. Greg Moore, who is The Star's wire editor, is traveling and teaching journalism in Kenya and Uganda for the next several weeks.[/em]