Kenya!!!

The End

2010-02-24T06:59:00.000-08:00

I'm home!!! And no, that is not a sentimental euphemism for Bev's children's home. I am back home in MN, huddled up inside against sub-zero temperatures and 5-ft mounds of snow. My original plane ticket was for March, but I decided that I was ready to come home. With the emergence of a still unidentified infection on my stomach I decided that rather than drag out the last few weeks just for the sake of making it to my original return date, I wanted to leave on a good note and have some extra time at home.
I spent my last two weeks in Kenya back in the village of Rabondo (where I taught for my first two months) working on the Sanitary Pad project I mentioned in my last post. It was a small project, but it dealt with an important and overshadowed issue and could lead to something bigger. The part I helped with while I was in Rabondo was dispensing reusable sanitary pads which had been fund raised for by the Rabondo Community Project. There were not enough pads for all the girls in the school, so the principle helped us determine which girls needed them most and I met with those girls to explain how to use them. I realized during that meeting that this was the first time I had really focused on the girls in Kenya. I taught girls, but they were mixed in with boys and there were so many students that I didn't have a chance to really focus on individuals. And the children's home was of course all boys. So working with these girls was a new experience and it opened up my eyes to how disadvantaged women and girls are in Kenya. The first and third place on the primary school final exams went to girls. Girls are taking the lead in schools all over Kenya, and yet women are noticeably absent from government and official positions. The expectations of women in Kenya are unbelievable. They are expected to go to school, but then pressured by all the men around them to have sex at a very young age. They then have to raise children alone or submit to the housewife role of working the fields, washing, cooking, cleaning, raising children and serving every man around them. Women have no outlet in Kenya. There are few facilities, if any, for battered women, women who choose to leave their husbands, and widowed women. During my small meeting with the Rabondo girls I felt a timid but overwhelming desire from them to be heard, to be given even the smallest push toward a new life with options and possibilities. Safely back home in the land of freedom and opportunity I am realizing more than ever that the women are where I want to devote my energy in the future.
It's amazing how much my perspective has changed coming back home. Things on both sides feel so surreal and absurd. America feels excessively clean and contained almost to a comical degree. I remember laughing at the thought of trying to carry hand sanitizer as the filth of Kenyan streets swelled up around me, and wondering just how far the minuscule bottle of jell would take me in a world swimming with bacteria and fungus. When I do venture out onto the sterile cold streets of Minnesota, I am amazed by the silence. It feels strange walking past children and not having them chase me calling out Mzungu, and I have to consciously stop myself from shaking hands with everyone who passes in my direction. "How are you?" has taken a whole new meaning for me after hearing it 5000 times a day in Kenya, so I just smile and say fine, remembering the way that phrase seemed to fly at me from the bushes and hills as I used walked down the road.
More than anything though I have reached a clearer understanding of the way I was treated in Kenya. I spent my first few months in Kenya trying to convince everyone that they had an exaggerated image of the luxury in America. When parents would ask me to take their children home with me and every child I met said he or she wanted to get to America some day I would try to explain to them that America has problems too. But being back here I have to admit that life is just easier here. Yes there are struggles and poor people and crime, but there are so many more facilities and institutions set in place to counteract those issues. And so many day to day tasks that are overlooked here as routine even by the poor are half a days work and energy over there. The poor of Kenya don't take their clothes to the laundry mat.
I still maintain the belief that I articulated in earlier posts that their lifestyle holds many wholesome values that ours has lost sight of, but that said it is a gruelling life and I have a much better understanding of any bitterness I felt directed at me simply for being a privileged American.
I am not fully adjusted to my luxurious home life yet, but I have been home enough to start to evaluate and truly appreciate my experience abroad and it has only left me yearning for more. I want to keep travelling and see as many different parts of the world and different types of people as possible. I learned more on this trip than I have in any classroom and I want to keep learning and discovering for the rest of my life. I cannot recommend travelling enough and for anyone who wants advice or tips I would love to talk about it. Thanks so much to all of my loyal followers and for all of your support. Knowing I had people who cared about me truly got me through this trip.

Uganda

2010-01-24T02:33:00.000-08:00

As all the proper facebook stalkers who are reading this know, I travelled to Uganda last week to visit the Jewish community.
Overall it was an amazing trip. Coincidentally I was there the same weekend as their first ever youth convention, so I got to meet Jewish teens from all over Uganda. Even more coincidentally, three Californians were there for the convention and two of them had been on seminar with me! Crazy things happen in Africa...
The 9 hour bus ride from Kenya to Uganda was the aspect of the trip I was most nervous for, and with good reason; it was an adventure to put it lightly. The bus was scheduled to leave at 11 PM which complicated things because the station was outside of town and getting there at night is a hassle. I ended up riding to the bus station on the back of a bicycle. It was just after dusk and the highway stretched into the blackness ahead as if it led of the edge of the earth. The huge trucks and vans sped past us in a dizzying whir of wind and headlights. All of my night travelling in Kenya has given me this strange dream-like sensation, one of the strangest feelings I have ever experienced. The whole world is so dark, which only makes the unnaturally bright lights of the roadside stores glow more luminously. Everything is silent and I begin to remember I am in a desert - land that was so recently a wilderness, and it is the blunt contrast of the florescent lights that puts me in such a trance.
I waited for a few hours at the bus station, only to find when the bus finally arrived at midnight that my seat had been taken. I asked the woman to move, but when she refused I could do little more than stare helplessly at her and block up the aisle. The conductor found me an open spot at the back where every bump and rut in the road is exaggerated to a painful extent. And bumps there were in plenty. The bus driver seemed to think the bus was big enough to just speed over the shattered road, but he was sorrowfully wrong, and my rump suffered the consequences.
Although I didn't get much sleep things were generally OK until about 4:30 AM. The bus stopped, but only about half of the passengers got off so I figured it was just a routine stop. Not knowing if or when the bus would stop again I decided to risk getting off to find a bathroom. I was immediately ambushed by vendors and bicyclists, everyone shouting and pointing me in different directions. I just repeated the work "toilet" as loudly as I could in a questioning tone until one man heard me and said, "Oh, come!" I followed hesitantly as it was dark and a strange man was leading me into a deserted alleyway, but I was also afraid the bus would leave so there was little time to dawdle. Travelling alone frequently puts you in positions where you have to trust complete strangers with everything you own, including your life. That is sometimes scary in a place where so many people are constantly trying to rip you off, but it is also a good opportunity to learn about people and to realize how you judge on appearance.
The trip to bathroom turned out fine, although I have peed under more sanitary conditions. When I reentered the bus though, more people had gone and worry began to nag my senses, because as any traveller knows, when in an unfamiliar place the smartest thing to do is follow the crowd. The problem was that the crowd had dispersed into the night, but as I sat trying to formulate a plan of action a man came on the bus and made a stern announcement in Swahili, of which I understood only the word "passport". The guy next to me of course spoke not one word of English, but the remaining passengers were getting up so I took my passport and followed them off the bus. It was still chaotic outside and hard to know whom to follow, but I recognized one guy from the bus and to my relief he spoke English so I tagged along with him up to a small building where we had our passports stamped. The bus then picked us up and drove 50 ft only to drop us off again at the end of a long road. I found my new English speaking friend who informed me that we had to get our passports stamped again at the other end of the long road.
Safely back on the bus I tried to get a little sleep as our bus wasn't scheduled to arrive until 9 AM and had left an hour late. My last surprise came at 6:30 AM when the bus stopped and my friend told me we were in Mbale (my stop). Momentarily I was gripped with fear that he was trying to trick me off the bus early, but what could I do? I got off the bus with him. It did turn out to be Mbale, and after a short scare in which my phone didn't work, I got through to the Rabbi of the Jewish community and he sent someone to pick me up.
It was a journey I will not forget anytime soon and the ride back to Kenya was an adventure to match the first, but the trek was worth the stay. There were people from Israel and the from US for the convention, and everyone thought I was there with the three USYers who came from California so I got to help with the planning and tag along to all the events! "Plans" have a whole different way of taking shape in Africa (and by that I mean they usually don't take shape at all) so the convention had a rather chaotic feel, but it was OK. Things came together and discussions and sing alongs cropped up where there was extra time. There was a dance and a soccer game and best of all a day long hike to Sipi falls, these magnificently beautiful waterfalls, which we got to climb down to and get completely soaked.
The Jewish community, the Abuyadayah, originated from a group of converts in the early 1900s and was discovered in the '80s. The Rabbi was then taken to California and ordained and later returned to convert his whole community under the conservative movement. It was hard to tell what in the community had been affected by all the outside attention they have recently received, but regardless it was cool. While in some ways they seemed to be less observant than my home community, in other ways they were more directly in touch with the laws and traditions of Judaism. They sang many of the psalms in L'uganda and when we ate cow and goat the animals were slaughtered, kosherly, by members of the community right on the compound. Some of the guys my age had formed a hip-hop group and many of their songs included Hebrew and part of Jewish prayers.
I really wanted to stay longer and see what the community is like under normal conditions, but I had to get back to Kenya. There will be a next time I hope. I am now back at the children's home in Kenya and trying to figure out how best to spend my remaining six weeks. I think I will go with a Kenyan friend to her home in Nairobi for a week, after which I will return to Rabondo for a bit. In Rabondo I will be working on a project supplying reusable cloth sanitary pads to girls in the village who are currently missing school each month because they cannot afford sanitary pads. After that I hope to return to the children's home in Nakuru and volunteer for the last few weeks at a nearby preschool.
It's hard to believe how soon I will be seeing you all!!! Please keep in touch though, six weeks is not SO short.

A Little Reflection

2010-01-05T00:05:00.000-08:00

I am fast approaching the two month mark of my return home and have now spent more time in Kenya than that which remains, so I have been thinking a lot about my experiences here and how they have affected me.
It struck me the other day that my journey in Kenya has followed a progression very similar to my time spent on the Apple Valley Swim Team. Both experiences have been the type that are challenging to the point that I often doubt my sanity in pursuing them. Each day is both physically and mentally gruelling, and often times when confronted with small day to day tasks I am overcome by the same panicky dread that used to wash over me as I would watch my swim coach write the next swim set on the board. Washing clothes by hand for example is something to which I have not and will not ever adjust. The cold unwelcoming water of a basin of filthy clothes is eerily similar to that of a swimming pool as I procrastinate the unavoidable pain of the awaiting task. Things that should be simple and easy always seem to have some complication or twist. Like swimming, chopping vegetables is not something that is in itself painful. But like swimming at race pace without rest for hours on end, chopping vegetables as the sun scorches your nose and hands and poo-covered flies crawl unabashedly up your arms and legs, becomes quite another story.
All of that sounds miserable, I know, so you are probably asking yourself why I stayed with it for so long. The answer to that question lies in the reason I stuck out an entire swim season and joined the team again the following year. For all the daily hardship I know that I will come out of the experience a stronger and healthier person. What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, and I am learning so much about myself and about the world. And for every time I have become discouraged someone has been there to pull me back up and remind me what I am here for. The relationships I have formed here have proven well worth any struggle I have undergone. As with swim season I reached a sort of peace, I can't say exactly when, with the difficulty of the situation and learned to find humor and appreciation rather than frustration.
The street children in Nakuru town who cluster around me as I walk down the street used to overwhelm me with their clutching hands and strong stench of glue, but I now recognize and differentiate between them and can chat and joke with them as we walk. I have even reached an understanding with the aggressive street vendors. I spent a day selling cookies on the street with some of the boys from the home (much to the amusement of all the Kenyans) and I found myself becoming just as forward and annoying as all the other vendors, pushing costumers who clearly had no interest. I can now commiserate with them over the suckiness of their job, but more importantly I respect them for trying. The strong air of dependency that ravages Africa and produces beggars and thugs leaves me no choice but feel deep respect for even the most annoying salesperson.
The whole issue of dependency and expectancy towards the mzungu is still something I struggle with, but I am learning to take it less personally. On the matatu a snobby little girl poked my arm and asked as she chomped on bubble gum if I would buy her a cake. I just smiled and said, "why don't you buy me a cake; you're the one who just sucked down a lollipop." She stared at me in confused silence and I returned my attention to the wide horizon where sun rays pierced fiery clouds and a sunset of colossal structures, angelic pink and majestic purple, tumbled into the mountain tops. I will certainly miss the beauty of Kenya and of the African skies.
Appreciating Kenya's landscape came along with learning how to slow down in general. During my first few months I wanted so badly to be part of the community here, but at the same time as a volunteer I felt the need to be constantly doing something. It took me a long time to see the discrepancy between my two main ambitions. African culture is slow, there is just no way around that. My need to be always moving and accomplishing was getting in the way of my simply being with people. It took me a while to be able to just sit with people and do nothing for hours on end, but that's what it took to form real relationships with them.
There is one area however where Kenyan culture is not slow: the roads. All of the pent up energy that is not spent in daily life bursts forth on the roads like a wild animal loosed from a cage. Matatus (small buses) speed and maneuver through crowded junctures like there's no tomorrow (which there very well may not be for the overstuffed passengers). It's strange though that they rush because once they get where they're going they act as if they have all the time in the world. It's like a race with no final destination; everyone is just frantic to get somewhere. It makes me wonder about my conception of time and purpose in general. In America we are always in a hurry, always reaching and striving, planning and proceeding. We so rarely remember just to live in the moment and appreciate where we are while we are there.
On another matatu ride the driver suddenly slowed and looking out the window I saw that a motorbike had been hit by a car. The driver of the motorbike was lying on road, dead, a river of blood streaming from his head. It was there and then gone so suddenly. There was no build up, no dramatic soundtrack. It scared me that life could end so suddenly and so unceremoniously. It made me want to stop wasting my time trying to get somewhere and just be here because who knows if I will have time to get where I am going. What if I spend my life striving and die before I reap the benefits? How much would that suck?
Of course it is easier said than done to "live in the moment", but it is something I am learning about and working on. As Kenya's drought gives way to massive flooding, displacing tens of thousands of residents, I think the whole country is waking up a bit to the irony of life and appreciation. You never know what's coming in life, but that is especially true in Africa. Looking back over the adventure of the past for months, I get a tingle of excitement and anticipation wondering what the next two months could possibly hold in store. All the same I can't help looking ahead a bit to the end of that two months when I will be home and see you all again. Keep in touch!

The Masai

2009-12-22T04:01:00.000-08:00

Bev has gone back to the US, but before she left we had plans to travel around a bit and pick up artwork for her organization. Our first stop was in Narok which is the nearest town to many Masai tribes, and Bev happened to know a Massai man, named Kipila, who was willing to take us out into the bush and visit Masai homes. The Masai live on less than most Americans would think possible. The houses are constructed of mud and cow dung with a wood base made from a local tree and in total they are only about 10x15 ft. They are all identical, with only a fire place and small ledges built into the walls and covered with cow hide for beds. The Masai refer to cows as Life because from the cow they get milk, meat, blood, dung, and hide - and that's all you really need in life, right? But in all seriousness their lives did not seem to be any more lacking than the lives of most Americans. Lacking in different ways maybe, but not more. Kipila took me into the houses of strangers because in Masai culture any Masai is allowed to enter and even sleep over in the house of any other Masai. So we sat in the dark, stuffy hut and Kipila translated while I asked some Masai women about their lives.
As I felt the meeting drawing to a close I threw out a question about the Masai song and dance, hoping for a small glimpse into that part of their culture and let me tell you, I got what I asked for. The women laughed and said that it was circumcision season and that if I stayed on a few days I would be able to get the full view of their song and dance. How could I say no to that???
I said my farewells to Bev, packed my malaria pills and a change of clothes and headed back into the bush with Kipila, to his home, where his family welcomed me as one of them.
The first day I hung out with his daughters doing chores and learning how to bead Masai bracelets. That was fun and interesting, but it was not until the next morning that things got really amazing.
Kipilas daughter Rachel and I walked a few km Sat. morning to another Masai home where two boys (and by boys I mean they were 17 and 19) were to be circumcised. They circumcise girls as well, but there were not any girls in this ceremony. A group of women paraded out into the bush with the boys to kick off the ceremony, the men dispersed, and I stayed on with the rest of the women to prepare the feast. A few months ago I would have been enraged by the sexism of the all the work left to the women, the multiple wives, and the overbearing power of the Masai men. But the women love it! We had a blast peeling potatoes all day and they all claim to be best friends with their co-wives. I had more than one invitation from the women to become their co-wife... Rather than weak and submissive these were some of the strongest women I have ever met and although they have immense respect for their husbands they are by no means afraid to tell them off or refuse them. I am starting to doubt my conception of fairness and equality. Who is the western world to tell the Masai that their way of life is wrong or sexist? I felt far less pressure dressed in the Masai shukas and and living their lifestyle than I generally feel as an American female. The Masai seem to submit themselves to life and tradition while Americans try to conquer and control life. Which sounds more stressful?
At about four the boys returned and the ceremony began in earnest. The boys were escorted to the house where they were sat on cow hides and shaved and then sandals were cut for them from the cow hide. Then the drinking started. The excess of alcohol was unfathomable. In honor of each boy were the traditional 10 buckets of Masai brewed herbal alcohol, but that was nothing to the hard liquor that seemed to be stashed in every corner and under every Masai cloak (shukah). The women continued to cook, but by no means missed out on the partying. I was both shocked and amused when the woman next to me stood up and took a large swig out of the tumbler she had been sitting on, but I was completely blown away when a traditionally dressed old women coyly withdrew a small container from her shukah and proceeded to snort a brown powdery substance.
I firmly declined the snuff, but not so wisely agreed to try a small cup of the herbal alcohol and spent the remainder of the night in a nauseous, feverish delirium. The Masai were a little more hard-core and danced and sung for the entire night, but I felt so sick that I had to seek out one of the four English speakers out 150 people (a 12 year old girl) and ask her where I could sleep. She took me into one the houses where I climbed into bed amongst a large number of African children and wove in and out of feverish nightmares in cramped, sweaty misery. The children woke me at six saying "quick Nashipae (that was my Masai name), the boys are coming!" We rushed outside in time to see the boys being paraded out into the cow field where they were anointed with water, layed on cow hide and circumcised. Though awake and sober neither boy made a sound and I was told that if they had it would have shamed their whole family.
The atmosphere was somber and powerful and adding to its eeriness were the drunken (and God only knows what else) men passing out and having strange heaving fits. The boys were then carried back to their beds where they lay for the day in the company of their friends and parents. Everyone else kept drinking. I was still sick so I slept most of the day, but when I got up the celebration was still in full swing. A feast was served and then the elders continued singing and dancing and it was absolutely beautiful. They sang in their Masai tongue with pure, passionate voices and danced with a strange thrusting head movement. It was a dance that would have looked absurd if attempted by anyone other than the traditional elders in their beautiful wraps and beads.
They live an intense lifestyle, and I by the time I left I was ready for a shower and some time to recover from the bedbugs I got at the ceremony, but there was a definite ache in my heart when I had to say goodbye. The Masai have an amazing culture and I feel so lucky to have experienced it so personally.
I spent the next few days at a hostel in Nairobi just see the city and be really on my own for a bit which was very needed and very fun. I met so many amazing and interesting people and even brought an Israeli back with me to the children's home to volunteer! The past two weeks have been just the adventure I needed and I feel like I discovered a whole new side of Kenya and of travelling in general. The Masai and the many travellers at the hostel were all amazing and inspiring in their own ways and I feel energized and excited just to have met them and heard their stories. I am having fun, but still missing you all so much (especially around the holidays) so PLEEEEAAASE keep in touch!

2009-11-29T03:44:00.000-08:00

The roads...

On the Road Again

2009-11-24T23:43:00.000-08:00

Before I begin this post I need to retract something I said two posts ago. I mentioned that the Texans' container was being held ransom at a church, but as it turns out it was only being highly taxed at customs. My mistake... I'm sorry for any issues that caused.
I left Rabondo about a week ago and I have been back with Bev since then. It has been so great to see her and all her boys again! On Sat. (sorry God) Bev, a few of her boys and I piled into her big van and drove all day up to a place called Turkana, in Northern Kenya, to feed orphans. It was far and away my best experience yet in Kenya. I think the best way to describe the roads once we got out into rural Kenya is that they looked like they had been bombed. We didn't get out of second gear for much of the drive as we bumped and crashed along the devastation. The roof of the van lifted so we could all stand on our seats and hang out to better gape at the spectacular view surrounding us. First there was rain forest - luscious, chaotic jungle, which morphed into dry, arid desert, just as wild and beautiful, but in a different way. There were cacti, 12 foot high termite mounds, huge boulders, and mountains - oh the mountains... stretching in every direction, towering around us.
Craning my neck out the roof like a puppy I was so content I thought my heart would burst. It was the fulfillment of everything I had sought in coming to Africa - the moving, the adventure of traveling, all in order to help starving orphans. As dusk approached we entered a more dangerous area and stopped at a police station to get an escort. The police of course saw two white women and tried to rip us off, despite the fact that we were trying to go feed their children. In disgust we forged on alone and fortunately met no trouble. That night the boys and I went to a dance club where they played awful music and all the people did this hilarious jerky movement with their bodies. I made a fool of myself trying to dance like them and one of the boys was my personal shover for all the drunk Kenyans who came to slobber on the mzungu.
The next day we wound up into the scorching mountains and just when it seemed like no critter or even lizard would be able to survive in the dry heat a few huts and a crowd of Africans came into view. I don't know what they have been eating, let alone drinking, but as the pastor gathered up the orphans to receive our food I felt a deep remorse that we couldn't feed all the other villagers who grouped around to watch.
That was when the little voice that has been nagging at me for my entire trip piped up again. It taunted me that we were feeding 62 orphans and that they were only a small fraction of the orphans in Kenya, let alone the world. And worse, the voice chided that for all the trouble we went to in order to reach these orphans, they will eat the food and then be starving again in a few days (if their food isn't stolen from first by the other starving villagers).
Just under the surface of my happiness at feeding these orphans was an overwhelming anxiety that what I was doing didn't matter. Later one of Bev's assistants who had grown up near the village spoke to the villagers about the importance of education. He spoke passionately and proved by his very being that education can make a person. It is so important for these people to see the products of their own success stories. So many of the young people who make it to college and get jobs disappear into the world and their villages never hear from the again. When the mzungus show up with a truck of food it fills the villagers' stomachs for a day, but when their friend or child shows up in nice clothes with a healthy smile on his face they are given the motivation that is so lacking. I think the colleges and universities need to require all their graduates to go back to their villages and speak, or even do a service project. Kenyans need to expect help from their own people, not just the whites.
As we drove back through the drought stricken desert, gazing pedestrians held our their hands or pointed at their parched throats and begged "maji" (water). Bev threw a bottle to two little boys who chased after our van screaming for water and that's when I was hit with a small wave of comfort. Perhaps they drank that water and were just as thirsty a few hours later, but maybe, just maybe, that water pushed them through until they found more water. Perhaps Bev saved their lives. And even if that water had no lasting effect, it made them so happy for that moment in time. I am still struggling with the expectations and demands most Kenyans have of white people, and I am still trying to figure out how I can have a real impact here, but for the moment being able to bring food to people so desperately in need made me appreciative and happy.
I am back at Bev's place now, helping out with whatever she needs. Bev and I will travel again in Dec., for which I am obviously excited. In other news, I have a finger nail fungus, which looks every bit as disgusting as it sounds. I just glanced down one day to find that both my thumbnails had turned an alarming shade of yellow and seemed to be detaching from my thumbs. Night told me that in African culture dead fingernails mean you are going to get something new. I told her I was not African so that rule may not apply. Fortunately Bev has some anti-fungal cream so hopefully that will help.
Missing you all terribly!! Keep staying in touch!!!

Fifth Grade Science

2009-10-28T07:03:00.000-07:00

2009-10-27T05:57:00.000-07:00

Life in Rabondo has been a bit of an emotional roller coaster for the past few weeks. The Texans came and went, one of them generously leaving me her laptop to use for videochat between Kenyan students and her own, and teaching has reached both glory and the pits of despair. As I mentioned in my last post I took on more classes at the primary school, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but has been incredibly overwhelming. I was given no curriculum, only a book, in which no one seemed to know what they had learned, and principal and other teachers were less than helpful. The one teacher who could actually explain what one of the classes had been learning then proceeded to rearrange his schedule so that I could take more of his classes and when I told him to teach his own class he attempted to trick me into teaching his class. The other teachers do not follow the timetable so I often find teachers teaching other subjects to the classes I am assigned, which is strange considering that they skip their own lessons on a regular basis.
I met with the Principal after a realizing that the kids were not learning from me, but he told me to use more body language. Today I taught 7th grade about the reproductive system. Lovely. I never thought I would be drawing a detailed penis on the board for a classroom of 14 and 15 year olds. I'm sorry principal, but body language just wasn't an option.
My 6th grade class was acting up the other day and in utter frustration I mentioned it to another teacher. Ten minutes later the entire 6th grade was herded into the staff room, told to lie on the floor and beaten with sticks. It took me a minute to comprehend that these were my students and they were being beaten because of my comment. Ever since then the teachers seem to have decided that it is now OK to beat the kids in front of me (up until that point they were keeping it more discreet), and I have witnessed many a broken stick and yelping child. Am I just as cruel as the teachers with the sticks? I don't stop them.
Language is still a hindrance on everything I do. I got into many fruitless arguments with people who were telling me I was lost before I realized that they only meant they hadn't seen me for a while. But through all the frustration and misunderstanding I am learning a great deal about myself, my expectations of others and about other people in general. I am realizing that everything depends on perception and no perception of mine is more correct than a perception of anyone else, however unfair. I am learning how to slow down - how to stop and remind myself how lucky I am to have been raised by good parents in a priveledged home. I am coming to appreciate the value of being able to look like a fool and laugh at myself. And I am reminding myself day after day that what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

And Then There Were Five

2009-10-18T00:19:00.000-07:00

Four Texans arrived in Rabondo a few days ago so there are now five mzungus here! They are here to deliver this huge crate that apparently has desks and playground equiptment and sewing machines and computers, but the church where the crate was being held is now holding it ransom for something like $1000! So the Texans are just haning around here waiting. They are all older, but it's pretty nice being able to speak to someone at a regular pace and to know that they understand me.
Starting Monday my schedule here will be completely changing. I told the secondary principle that it won't work unless I have regular classes so he organized them for me in the afternoon after school hours. Then Timon said he would prefer I spend more time in the primary school so I am going to be teaching there all morning and not going to the dispensary at all (at least not on a daily basis). I am a little sad because I liked helping at the clinic, and teaching is harder, but I know that with my lack of medical experience and the situation in the schools teaching is where I can have the most impact. Unfortunately the classes that don't have teachers are mainly science classes. Not only am I completely inadequate as a science teacher, but the primary principle doesn't know where they are in the curriculum and one of the classes is fifth grade so communication will be next to impossible. Lovely.
So a day in the life of African Ellie will go as follows: wake up at six, make some oatmeal and walk up to primary. Teach 6th grade math, seventh grade science, 5th grade science (ahhh!), 6th grade English. Eat lunch either in this tiny, dark, fly-infested room that they call a restaurant or with the teachers at secondary. Either way lunch probably consists of ugali, which is maze flour and water boiled into a very thick porridge and shaped into a cake, and sakuma wiki, which is a kale like vegetable that is shreaded and steamed/stir fried. Sometimes there are small fish, which are exactly what they sound like. They are the fish that little children try to catch in the shallow water at the lake and people here dry them, fry them and eat them whole whole. Eyes and all.
After lunch I will teach 9th and 11th grade computer classes and then either go home or help out at the dispensary for a little while. Back at home I usually help cook dinner (which is the same as lunch), and let me tell you everything here is harder than it looks. I probably would have lost a finger to shreading sakuma wiki if the knives weren't so dull and after mixing, stirring and shaping the ugali over a fire I was dripping sweat and heavilly panting. It was fairly humiliating. Kenyans just sit there and stir it and then pick up the burning hot pot with their bare hands, but I swear to God it's like stirring cement, and the smoke is blinding, and then you have to somehow flip the pot off the fire onto a plate, without any hot pads because those do not exist here. It really does not seem worth that much effort for ugali, but then again it doesn't require so much effort when they do it, and I guess they don't have much choice.
After dinner I fill a bucket of water and go out to this little hut and bathe. There is actually a shower in the guest house, but there is always something wrong with it and it's more fun to bathe outside anyway.
At this point I usually grade papers, and I will probably have a lot more to grade starting Monday. And when I finish I collapse onto my foam mattress in the little hut which I now sleep in with my African "sisters" Josephine and Loviance. Usually the room is still full of people being loud and the light is still on, but I am way to tired to care.
I wish there was someway that I could truly communicate to you all the craziness and excitement of everyday life here. There is so much more I want to tell you about and show you, but I can't fit it all here. I am trying to upload some pictures onto facebook so check there too. I miss you all!!!

I finally have internet!!!

2009-10-12T03:22:00.000-07:00

I am sorry I haven't posted in over a week now, but to my defense I have tried multiple times. I'm now sitting in the high school on the old dell desktop (of which the screen is violently shaking) and praying that the electricity will work long enough for me to finish this post.

Things are fine in Racondo. I have been keeping busy at the schools and the clinic (and by keeping busy I mean I've been there, not that I have necessarily done anything substantial). It is still impossible to count on anything being regular, which means my computer classes are made of new people each time, which means that I can't move past the first lesson. I find myself repeating phrases like "no, don't ever click the right side of the mouse" and "fjfjfj space ddddd" in the place in my head that used to resonate overplayed pop songs.

In primary school I teach seventh grade English, sixth grade math (or maths as they call it here) and whatever little kid class doesn't have a teacher on a given day. The little kids' English vocabulary doesn't span far beyond "how are you?" so I can only teach them math. It's kind of cool how I can communiate to 50 African first graders through numbers, although they don't understand my pronounciation so I have to have to write everything on the board. The class sizes, by the way, are HUGE. I am not exaggerating when I say 50 first graders. I made the mistake of collecting compositions from my seveth graders and spent my entire night heavily grading what seemed like a never ending stack of grammar mistakes.

As for home life, it gets better everyday. The compound I live on is made up of a really nice guest house, two small mud huts, and a whole lot Africans who are somehow related. I was having a lot of issues at the beginning with everyone being way too polite and always serving me and treating me like some celebrity. That may sound appealing but it makes a person feel incredibly alienated. Since being in Rabondo I have firmly decided I don't ever want to be famous. But anyway I just keep refusing their special treatment, insisting on doing what they do, and spending all my time out in the mud huts rather than the guest house. I am actually going to start sleeping out there tonight! I have to be more blunt than I have ever been in insisting how I want to be treated and what I am trying to say, but things have gotten far more comfortable and fun.

Trying to make people here understand me has been the biggest challenge so far. I think I mentioned that only those who have had at least four years of school school speak English, meaning a good amount of people between the age of 12 and 30, but I use the terms speak and English very lightly. Words from the English language come out of their mouths, but they do not always make up a coherant thought and sometimes have to be decoded from the British and Kenyan influence that affects all English here. Talking gets so frustrating! It takes such an effort to get any little question answered and I'm never sure if they actually understand what I am telling them. Trying to explain myself is often like being in an argument with someone. It's like when you are arguing something and you know so passionately in your heart that you're right, but the other person just can't comprehend your point of view. You lay out a perfectly reasoned, detailed explanation of why you feel how you feel and they just say, no you're wrong. And you get so mad, but it's not their fault that they just have a different understanding of the world.

Ok I have taken far more than my share of computer time and need to go to the clinic. I miss you all, and I love hearing from you so please keep commenting and facebooking and calling, etc.

Rabondo

2009-10-01T11:57:00.000-07:00

Thanks for the comments!! I am in Rabando! I miss Bev and the boys SO much, which made the adjustment hard, but I am learning to love Rabondo too. I thought people were crazy about the mzungu (white person) in Nakuru but oooh my god I didn't have any idea. Here all the kids below age three get this shocked look on their faces when they see me and then run away screaming at the top of their lungs. The four and five years old will trail behind me as I walk and the brave ones run up and touch me. The elementary kids just stare and giggle while high schoolers make cat calls and whistle or bombard me with questions. The old women are my favorite. I can't understand a word they're saying and they know it, but they will just stand and continue asking me questions and telling me things and then start laughing hysterically.
It was pretty chaotic when I first got here. I went to the elementary school the first day and while I was just planning on getting a feel for it, they sent me to teach a class of eigth graders (many of whom are older than me) and didn't tell me what to teach or when the class ended. The kids kept lying to me because they wanted the mzungu in their class and no one came to relieve me so I was stranded trying to improvise an English class for four hours!
After that I decided I would check out the high school where they told me there I would be teaching beginner computer lessons, but every single computer had viruses and zero protection. I am quickly becomming an expert on technology.
My last job is to volunteer in the village dispensary. I got off to a great start today when the nurses left me in charge during their lunch break. A patient came so I went to try and find them but all I knew was they were in one of the surrounding huts. I went to the closest hut and the door was a little open so I stuck my head in, but there was a lady right inside standing butt naked bathing herself!!! She screamed so I screamed and then I just ran away, but she is clearly going to know it was me as I am the only white person for a 20 mile radius...
Other than that I pretty much just sat in the dispensary and distracted people from their pain by being white. Oh and the nurses made me take pictures with them. Posing as their patient. It was very bizzarre.
Collins, my main go-to person for everything, got called in two months early by his college and left yesterday, and my phone stopped working (oh my number is +10910418292), but at least I have internet for the moment! And I have more phone numbers, dinner invitations, and even sleepover invitations than I can keep track of. Everyone wants to have the mzungu in his house! My first computer lesson is tomorrow so I guess I should get some sleep, but I miss you all!

here at last

2009-09-25T05:42:00.000-07:00

i'm here!!! ive actually been here for a week so sorry i havent posted at all. things did not turn out as planned, which i am learning is often the way in kenya. bev and i had some mishap on the road and then we stopped at her children's home for the night and because of obligations she has here we are staying for the week. the boys in the home are great though! they are so fun to hang out with and i am learnng a ton from them. the standard of living here is insanely different. i dont like when they serve me and treat me all special because i am white so i have been helping with all the work and it is EXHAUSTING!! my hands and feet are all blistered, but it is actually really fun doing the work with the people here. they just enjoy everything they do. whether its studying, hauling buckets of water onto the roof for the shower, or shoveling poop out of the latrines they are all laughing and singing. i went to school with some of the boys for a day and man they have it rough. this village is pretty middle class but they were learning on old crates in cement rooms with absolutely no resources. the classes and materil was actually similar to ours, and they were preparing for a standardized test, but the environment in the school feels like being transported into the late 1800s. everything is written on the blackboard because there are no printers (no electricity at all actually) and the children have to stand when the teachers enter a room and they are all terrified of the teachers. they have reason to be terrified as there is very regular corporal punishment. when i was at the school the teachers called me into the office and at first they seemed mad that i had come and were grilling me with questions, but by the end one of the teachers was making me right down my phone number so that she could call me when she comes to visit her son in the us.
the people here are all like that - so friendly and social. i am really going to miss the boys from the home when i leave sunday, and i have only known them a few days! i have so many more stories, but limited internet time and i want to try and upload pictures. all in all i am having an amazing time and i am healthy as can be(besides looking like a lobster and feeling like my hands, face and arms are on fire from sunburn). i miss you all and i hope to hear from you soon, either on here or on email!

Leaving for Kenya

2009-09-08T08:13:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!
I am leaving for Rabondo, Kenya in a little over a week, so if you want to see pictures and updates from my trip here is my blog. I'll miss you all!!!