Ambassador of Hope

Pictures!

2009-09-29T08:05:00.002+03:00

So, since I was unable to put anything up here while I was in Kenya, I thought people might like to see the highlights. I have plenty more, but these are the best.

Mbakalo

Ugenya

Kuria

Mituntu

Nairobi

Kibera Slums

Lang'ata Giraffe Center

Mombasa

Kakamega Rainforest

Maasai Mara

Enjoy!

-Pat

Mituntu

2009-09-27T06:29:00.005+03:00

So, finally, Mituntu. This village of hope reaches the Tigania West district, which is close to Meru town and in the shadow of Mt. Kenya. Here, we were able to visit four schools, and we were going to complete a fifth, but Marla got sick that day. The school’s here ranged from two of the best we had to two of the more frustrating. One school, we had major issues with the communication barrier, students and teachers alike. The other we dealt with a class that doubled to twice it’s size the second week through (we came on a Saturday the first time, so half the students were missing. When we came the second time, most of the students were there [plus some from the other stream, potentially] and didn’t know what was going on so didn’t pay attention and caused a major headache [the second time I was close to losing it]). The two schools that were good were both provincial schools, the boys school being really interested in all of the sciences (beyond what I covered [things like cloning and liver transplants]). I think I liked this group the best

For the week, we stayed with Barnabas, Ann, and Kendy (not sure how to spell this. it took me a while to figure out that Barnabas was not saying Kelly or Katie.) Barnabas is a principal at a small school up in the hills surrounding Ngundune (or more likely another village/town since it was a small distance away). Ann is a deputy principal at another school and also owns her own cake business (supposedly the best in the Meru area [I believe this considering someone paid her to come to Nairobi with a cake for their wedding]). Kendy was in standard one (I think) and didn’t really talk or say much (despite my attempts to practice some Swahili [maybe I was saying it wrong or my accent still got in the way]). They also had a cat, which I thought was the most annoying cat I have ever met. It was constantly trying to rub up against legs or steal food off the table (and it didn’t take hints well either).

One of the mornings (7/8), we visited Barnabas’s school and gave a talk to his students about the three methods of learning (auditory, visual, kinesthetic) and combining them to do well with studies and figuring out how you learn best (exams were coming up in a couple weeks). We then took questions about the US, our lives, and made comparisons with Kenya. Barnabas had managed to double the student number (from about 80 to about 160) over the course of two years. He also had funding secured from a couple agencies to build new dormitories and a new laboratory. (His office and the teachers’ office were made of wood, small, and poorly lit. I liked seeing that his focus was on the students first.) Another thing to note was that most of the roads in the Eastern Province that we were on were well paved (I asked Barnabas, and he affirmed that it was because of politics), however, the road to his school was still unpaved, but that is soon to change through EU (European Union) funding. This was also the day that Marla and I were served tea 7 times (once for breakfast, once before the talk at Barnabas’s school, once after the talk, once when we got back for lunch, once at the school we were attending, once when we got back from there, and once or dinner.). As much as I liked their tea, it was a bit much for me, and needless to say, I didn’t eat much for dinner.

The first week we were there, Barnabas was in the process of studying for exams (he is attempting to get his Master’s degree). Upon return, we discovered that he passed with a B average. For his last term, he was attempting to come up with topics for a dissertation. His best at the time was to investigate the roles of women on the growth and development in the Tigania West area. His thought was that because women took a more active role in society, creating women’s groups, caring for families, and running businesses, they must have the largest impact on growth. It was a fairly interesting topic. The second week we were there, Barnabas was busy being trained as a supervisor for the census (a huge deal in Kenya. So big, in fact, Kibaki announced a national holiday for the day after).

Another one of the mornings (7/10), we went with Barnabas’s friend, Antony (a police officer from Mombasa from the area who grew up with Barnabas [he was also the person Steph and I called to find a good place to stay in Mombasa and was very generous in showing us around that weekend), to his shamba. He showed us around his large compound, where he seemed to grow just about everything (amaranth, maize, coffee, pumpkin, macadamia nuts, avocado, bananas, natural beehives (hollow logs [he also sent over honey earlier in the week, complete with the beeswax. It was delicious.]), and probably a few others that I am leaving out. (He ended up sending us home with a collection of fruits, which we gave to Ann and Barnabas.)

He then showed us around the area, taking us to some of his land (which he was willing to donate if someone would be able to build a center for people with HIV in the area. I was a bit upset by this offer after he took us past some of his land where he is building rooms to rent to people, but upon further reflection [and explanation that land is expensive], I realized that it was a very generous offer given the circumstances. I felt like he should be doing things for his community himself, if he wanted change to occur, but if he has grown up in a culture where NGO’s consistently offer to help communities if they give a certain portion, he is making a very legitimate offer and show of concern for the people in his village.) and introducing us to some of the villagers. We then had eggs, tea, and an entire chicken (well, I had an entire chicken offered, Marla didn’t eat non-kosher meat, and I knew I would have lunch in a couple hours. Otherwise, I would have been up for the challenge. [In all seriousness, it was a very kind and respectful gesture to serve us a chicken because it meant sacrificing a source of food or income.]).

After tea, we went to talk to the school Antony is a board member for. It was very small, only having students for three of the four forms. Here, we took Q&A from the teachers and students. I got a lot of science questions from the biology teacher (about HIV [why it is difficult to cure, etc.], cloning [is it ethical], and other topics) and both of us got a lot of general questions from the students about the US vs. Kenya. At the end, the principal expressed his thanks and told us he would have killed a goat and had a feast if he had known we were coming (again, a great sign of respect, but something that is very difficult to feel comfortable with knowing the sacrifice they are taking for us. [On the other side of the coin, while it is being killed in our honor, it is being shared with everyone and the community would have benefitted]).

When we visited one the provincial schools, the school matron (i.e. the school mom), Faith, is also one of the members of the LMC. She invited us for lunch a couple of the days. It was the first time I had ever had passion fruit (I’d describe it as a more tangy orange. It was good.), and because of this, she sent us home with a big bag of thirty or so fruits (which we also gave to Ann and Barnabas. This was turned into juice for dinner that night.)

Beyond these experiences, there is not much else to say. We were pretty confined to the schools in Mituntu and didn’t see much else. The second week we were there, we were only around for a few days (the schools all booked us on the first two, and Marla’s parents were coming the next day to Nairobi for a trip to Mbakalo and the Maasai Mara.) so didn’t do much, but here's a few more pictures.

-Pat

Links

2009-09-10T04:10:00.006+03:00

I have since returned to the US, and I am about to head out to San Diego for the start of grad school. I haven't had much time to write with the quick turn around, but I will put up a few more posts about the last bit of my experience when i get a chance. For the time being, here are some links to stuff Steph has posted that we did together (she even puts up pictures... woah...).

Hillary

Mombasa

Giraffe Center

Kuria

2009-08-17T14:20:00.000+03:00

It has been a long while since I have written about my travels due to a combination of no power, no computer, and well, being busy. I have been in Nairobi since Wednesday evening (7/29), and I was just in Mombasa taking a break with Steph from Friday (8/7) to Tuesday (8/11). (I might have a post for that soon or [more likely] a link to what she writes.) I also got a chance to see Hillary Clinton at University of Nairobi as she stopped in her tour of Africa for the AGOA Conference. It was strange to see roads shut down, soldiers posted around the city, and her hotel (the Intercontinental) isolated with cars being inspected and people being redirected. (Steph will do a much better job explaining what Hillary had to say and how it relates, so I will save myself and link that when it is up). Anyway, Kuria…

We left Ugenya bright and early (i.e. 9 or so) and made our way uneventfully to Kisumu (which sits on Lake Victoria) to meet up with Mathias (the Kuria Coordinator). While we were waiting, we hopped in a tuk tuk (a three-wheeled vehicle known mainly in that area and on the coast) and went to the main sports ground for lunch and to watch a football tournament that happened to be going on. After a couple hours of waiting, Mathias finally arrived and we headed to catch a matatu heading to Migori.

Along the way, we saw the remains of an accident (I was wrong about that one [In fact, a couple days ago, I was in a matatu in Nairobi that hit/got hit by someone. It’s difficult to say who was to blame considering the way they drive.]). Our matatu stopped and everyone (with the exception of Marla, me, and another woman) got out to join the on-looking crowd. When everyone piled back in, Mathias explained that it had been a head-on collision (which wasn’t hard to believe considering the matatu was resting in a ditch) likely from trying to pass.

We arrived in Migori in the early evening and were introduced slowly to the matatu system of Kuria. Mathias (knowing we would be back late) had someone ready to pick us up to take us on the hour drive into Kehancha. We assumed this meant it was a private car, but while we were filling the tank with fuel (or fooel as they pronounced it [understandably, since the vowels do not change sound in Swahili]), two more people joined. We continued along our way and soon picked up one more. Much to our surprise, this was not the last pick-up. Just before we left Migori, another person climbed in to join the driver (making the total eight). Finally, with a packed car, we made our way through the night over the bumpy dirt road.

When we arrived in Kehancha, our car quickly emptied, and the driver (it turns out it is Mathias’s brother-in-law) took us to Mathias’s brother’s house where Marla would be staying (originally, it was supposed to be both of us, but Mathias didn’t realize that Pat and Marla were a guy and a girl [not two girls], and we would have been sharing a room). We met his brother’s wife, Florence, and their daughter (about five), Fiona, and had dinner. Then, I was taken to where I was staying, the Pre-Mara Hotel. Along the way, we pulled into the gas station next door (so Mathias could be taken home), but it was closed (we were told this by a man standing with a bow and several arrows [all carved from wood with rather sharp looking metal tips]), so Mathias stayed with me for the night.

Unfortunately for me, my week at the Pre-Mara was not a good one. This first night, my mosquito net was too small, and mosquitoes got under the net. Not wanting to wake Mathias, I covered myself with my sheet, but it was still a bad night of sleep filled with loud buzzing throughout. The rest of the week involved a lack of running water in my room, more mosquitoes (which was as big an issue because I slept in the bed with the bigger mosquito net, but there were many, and they were loud.), and while I was trying to eat one night, a drunk guy (with an apparent mental disability as well) dropping a maggot on my arm while he was pushing his phone in my face because it played music (this was one of the nights where I became frustrated [close to nearly exploding] with all the differences [between here and home] and could not laugh or try to understand the situation).

Thankfully, the manager and the staff were very accommodating and very friendly throughout the week (and they also weren’t happy about the guy getting in and bugging me). They always found a room in the morning that had hot running water (in one case, the manager’s offered his room) and took care of me for dinner. (One of the nights, I had to search for Vincent [the second in command] to get my key for my room, and he happened to be talking to another mzungu guest [this was actually somewhat surprising] when I found him. I walked up, and got introduced to the woman [who was sporting a fresh black eye from ???]. Apparently, she was under the impression that I had requested to talk to her [I think Vincent thought we would want to meet because we were both mzungu. Not an entirely unfair assertion.] because she asked “So, do you want to talk to me outside or what?” “No, I just want the key to my room.” [I never did actually talk to her, but it was amusing, nonetheless. From what I gathered during breakfast the next morning as she was talking to a number of people, she was doing some research in each province of Kenya talking to teachers about their schools. It sounded like she was British.])

Concerning the research, the week also proved to be a little frustrating. On Monday (6/29 [a while ago…]), we made calls to set up three hour blocks of time with four of the six schools Mathias originally contacted. One of the six schools never received a letter, and the other we decided we wouldn’t have enough material for all five. (This was our first mistake. We could have easily made photocopies later in the week, but we weren’t thinking.) We then went to the local Hekima (not sure why it wasn’t Kehancha because it was just down the road) VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing) Center to talk to their workers about the prevalence of HIV and the community’s reaction to their services (prevalence is low [about 3.7% {the national average is something like 6.3%}] and reactions are mixed [usually the stigma associated with HIV/AIDS is enough to keep people away and makes them not want to know their status]. We had an interesting discussion with Mathias and his brother, Joseph, about this the second week (7/17-7/21) we came. Their thoughts concerning the matter were that prevalence rates were low in Kehancha because of their cultural customs [they used to chase women out of town if they became pregnant before marriage], but HIV is more rampant in Africa because of poverty [having relationships allows people to be provided for]. They talked about how HIV reached Kenya [it was highest on the boarders between some of their neighboring countries because of rape during war. Then, it worked its way across Kenyan boarders through Tanzania and Uganda] and why rates were higher in different places [one area of Kuria on the opposite side of Migori also boasts the highest prevalence rate in the world {something like 25 or 30%, if I remember correctly}]. It’s higher along the roads because many of the migratory workers [like truckers] stop in different areas [such as Isebania, which is very close to the Tanzanian border and a main trucking route. We passed through here many times to go to a couple of the schools. It’s about a forty-five minute ride from Kehancha.] long enough to make friends [as they put it]. It is higher in the Ugenya area and around Lake Victoria because of the practices associated with the fish markets. Women, when they want to start buying from a fisherman, need to be “baptized” [i.e. have sex with him] before he will sell to her. Sometimes simply being safe isn’t an option, and sometimes [it seems] they have no alternative if they want food or clothing or shelter.)

After our visit to the VCT Center, we headed to the District Hospital (a collection of unconnected buildings, latrines, and a covered, open-air waiting room [essentially, take out the hallways, levels, and toilets of a hospital back home]) and talked with the head of the TB (tuberculosis) division. TB and HIV go hand in hand many times, each making a person more susceptible to the other. Often, when a person is found with one, a test is done for the other (the instances when this does not happen is a result of someone’s unwillingness to be diagnosed, and it is unethical and illegal to do the tests without someone’s consent.) The doctor (I forget his name) told us about how they handle compliance issues for medications (starting and stopping treatment for HIV and TB is dangerous because it gives the virus and the bacteria opportunity to develop drug resistance through mutation and selection. [Both diseases are treated with multiple drugs at once. For HIV, this is three forms of antiretrovirals that block different components of the replication cycle. Because of the way the virus replicates, errors occur 1 in every 10,000 times, changing the viral RNA/DNA that determines the different viral components. This means the virus has a 1 in 10,000 chance in become resistant to one of the antiretrovirals, if the RNA/DNA of that component that particular ARV targets mutates. By targeting three different areas of the virus replication cycle, this chance is reduced to 1 in 1,000,000,000,000. The ARV kills all the replicating virus, but the viral DNA can become integrated into the human DNA before replication is blocked, and when ARV treatment is stopped, the latent DNA can reactivate, offering more opportunity to mutate and become resistant. For TB, depending on the strain, the bacteria have different resistant to the various antibiotics used. If only one antibiotic is used, the TB strain resistant to that antibiotic is selected for. Using multiple antibiotics prevents selection and ensures all strains are killed. There are instances of multiple drug-resistant {MDR} strains, but the doctor related that he had no cases. Because of the way the antibiotics work, starting and stopping treatment before it is completed does not allow your body to clear the entire infection and the more resistant strains can grow and take over the body. This can lead to cases of MDR TB. Anyway, enough science for now.]) His program does not start medication until the person is sufficiently educated about the disease, the consequences of not taking medication, the side effects of the medications (both can be toxic and require good nutrition [a problem] to avoid these effects), and other issues. He visits all of his patients to ensure that compliance is being achieved, and it sounded like his program has a pretty good success rate.

After this, we went to get lunch then proceeded to the school that received the letter, but we wouldn’t be able to use for the research and gave only the talk to the whole school and some of the teachers. The principle came in halfway through, and when he gave his closing remarks to thank us, emphasized the important message to his students that he got from the talk, “Don’t trust your partner.” Oops…

The next day (6/30), we spent the morning visiting the school we would visit the next day to inform them of our needs and about what we would be doing. The week happened to coincide with the annual headmaster’s convention in Mombasa, so the people left in charge didn’t always have the authority to do what we needed. With this school, we were stuck with two of the teachers (unsure of what they should do it seemed), and they continually changed what we agreed upon. (The students were a fun group to talk with, but we were unable to return the next time around because it would interrupt their exams.) We then went back to Kehancha, and after lunch, headed to our first school. Here, we met quite some resistance from the nun in charge. We explained that we would need three hours for the two evaluations and talk. She explained that the students only had two hours between exams. We said we could spilt it up. She said the students were leaving the next day, and we could fit it all into two hours. We said sorry we can’t, and we won’t be able to do the program if we don’t do all the evaluations. She said really it’s ok, you can do it with two hours. No matter how well we thought we explained, she wouldn’t budge. We ended up just giving the talk (this one was without the assistance of a chalkboard).

The next day (7/1), because we didn’t need to be at the school until later, we used the morning hours to visit the LMC Chairman, Maasai Maroa. We had a brief chat with him, and touched upon some of the historical events he witnessed while he was studying at Kent State (he was on campus during the shootings) and working in the US and some that we had witnessed in our generation (9/11, Obama elected, etc.). At various points throughout the day, we met the rest of the LMC and various other people that Mathias knew (everyone it seemed). Later in the day, we set up times for the next day’s school visit and ran into some issues. This school has sent its form 2’s home to collect school fees (this is a common practice and something we ran into later with other schools), which left about half the students from both streams left for the next day. Because we had already lost two schools, we agreed to allow this even though it could lead to further difficulties down the road. When we got to the scheduled school, they pushed back the timing on us unexpectedly (when we came back for the third follow-up, they dropped us completely because they didn’t want the students distracted during exams), causing us to be stranded when we got back to Isebania (since Kehancha is so isolated and matatus usually don’t travel there from Migori or Isebania [Interestingly, all of the shop signs spelled it Isibania, but the official signs and maps have the previous spellings] after dark). While we were waiting for someone to come from Kehancha, it began to rain (sometimes the roads become impassable when wet [being dirt and all]). Fortunately, it did not last too long, and our ride managed to make it to get us with little problem. On the way back (it may have been the next day because we had to do this again), we nearly crashed into someone herding their cattle down the road.

The next school turned out to be something of a disaster. Because it was a mix of the two streams, they put us in the laboratory (which happened to be filled with wasp’s nests [though, this didn’t turn out to be an issue.]). However, only half the students had chairs (and when they went to ask, they couldn’t retrieve any from their classroom), and they were generally disruptive (students were walking in and out, continually making fun of our accents [amusing, usually, but tiresome after ten minutes], and collectively not caring) throughout the entire thing (with other schools, this lasted for the explanation of the evaluation and maybe the initial part of the talk. Here, it crossed the line into disrespectful.). When it came time to do the second evaluation, there was a large protest because they had already done one and it was getting late. Nearly, three-quarters of the students left. It was bad enough that we considered dropping the school for the rest of study (given the number of circumstances we had to deal with), but upon return decided not to (fortunately, things went much better the second time around).

The last school was just across the district border in Kuria East (all the others [and where we were staying] had been in Kuria West). Along the way, we saw the remains of a burned car (I may have failed to mention at any point previously that it was known [about a week before we went] that Kuria was in the middle of tribal fighting, but the main focus was centered politically around the two tribes of Kuria East and around cattle rustling between Kuria East tribes and the Maasai. I was never entirely clear, but the political fighting was about where to put the town hall [or something like that] but there were disputes between the two parties [and thus, tribes] in the area. We were safe because [being white] we were clearly not involved in anything [we were told Mathias was safe because they could recognize he was not from a Kuria East tribe]. We were also told that the cattle rustling was only in the East, but on our last day, we saw a party of men armed with bows and arrows and other weapons returning down the road with cattle that had been stolen the night before [we happened to be in Kuria West at the time…]. That would [most likely] explain the man with the bow and arrow I saw on the first night.) The burned car and the cattle party were the only evidence we saw of the issues, and I never felt that I was in danger (the general warmth of everyone we met was similar to Mbakalo). Anyway, the school was very enthusiastic about being involved and was very good, overall. On our way back to Kehancha the second time around, we shared a matatu with the principle (or headmaster [I am never sure which school calls them which], the deputy principle (see above), and the guidance and counseling teacher. We had a fairly interesting discussion about HIV/AIDS, covering the differences between Africa and the US (the conversation started with that general topic) and dispelling myths they may have heard (and/or possibly believe [I was never sure on this part]. I would like to believe that the questions were more out of general curiosity, and these were things they simply heard and wanted to know the facts about, but it really was difficult to say. The list covered a range from where/how the virus originated [one myth is that it is man-made] to why it is more prevalent in Africa [one myth is that Africans have different blood types, so the virus affects them at a much higher rate]). Whether or not it was simple curiosity, the overall vibe (throughout the entire process) was that they showed concern for their students (before we left the school, the principle gave a letter to Marla raising concerns about the female students access to information and resources for feminine care and explained what they had done so far [building separate latrines, new dorms, etc.]), and when we arrived in Kehancha after our discussion, they all wanted us to return and address FGM [or female circumcision, depending on your point of view, but nonetheless, a topic that has come up on several occasions]. We had to decline not knowing much about the issue [nor having time]. I was asked my opinion on the topic during the discussion. What I said was that while I do not agree with the practice because it is harmful to the woman, it is something that needs to be respected because it is such an important part of the culture [this is when a girl becomes a woman and is a very big deal for the community and the individual]. FGM is illegal in Kenya, and as a result, in order to perform the ritual, it is often done underground [often in unsafe conditions], raising the risk of the woman contracting HIV [this is how FGM was connected to our conversation]. You might be asking why a girl would agree to do this if it is dangerous. It may be easier to place blame simply on a lack of education or family members/men forcing the girls to be cut, but because the practice is so ingrained into the culture and what is represents is a monumental part of a woman’s life, would you want to be considered a child your entire life, never be respected by your community, never marry? I agree with it being illegal but not without education and replacing the practice with an alternative ceremony [one that I have heard is cutting the girl on the leg to represent the act] that respects the step in the girl’s life and the culture. Should a woman be looked down upon because she willingly agrees with the ceremony? Should a culture be disregarded or changed because it is different than yours? I think first, it’s important to understand why something is done before you can agree or disagree with what or how it is done [this goes for understanding another culture as much as it goes for understanding your own. Why do you believe what you believe? Why do you do what you do?].)

On the first week’s Friday (7/3), before our last visit to the above school, we had lunch at Mathias’s house. He showed us his shamba (filled with cassava, some bee hives, maize, avocado, etc.) and told us about all of the planning that goes into harvesting his crops (when to harvest, who to hire, how many to hire, etc.) so that he can make a decent profit. We met his daughter, Robi, who is about to start her pre-university (form 5 and 6) in Tanzania so she can become a lawyer. The efforts Mathias has taken to ensure that his children (I want to say six, but it might only be four) can be educated is something to be admired. (I won’t necessarily discuss the details, but he knows how to work the system.) For lunch, we were treated to a course of brown ugali (made with millet and cassava instead of maize creating a much doughier experience), eggs and tomato, and a fruit salad. Along the way back in to town, a woman tried to give me her baby (mostly as a joke, but also with serious intentions behind it [i.e. we would be able to provide for it much easier]). Being a bit confused and taken aback, I smiled a shook its hand, and she proceeded to hand it to Marla. When we returned the baby, Mathias informed us of what the woman said. Because I didn’t take the baby, she had informed me, “I will give it to your wife who will have many more some day.”

Throughout our entire stay, we have had the pleasure of children shouting “Mzungu” and running up to shake our hands. Kuria has been my overall favorite. Kids would do double takes, some would stop completely in their tracks, others would smile and come right up to play with us. One incident was while we were waiting in Tanzania a couple of small girls in their school uniforms (I don’t know if that had actually been from school or not because it was still early) decided we were curious enough to venture up closer. They first spotted us outside the shop where we were buying cloth and would peak around some of the hanging sheets and smile. Later, they spotted us again as we moved down the road a bit. Eventually, they overcame their shyness (though, not enough to talk despite all my efforts to practice a little Swahili) and came up to us. One girl planted herself against Marla while the other explored the strange hair that happened to be growing on my arms, legs, face, and head. At one point, she would play with the hair on my head, slowly drop her hand to gently brush me on the tip of the nose, and laugh. I regret that I didn’t think to get a picture of them. My overall favorite from the trip, however, was while we were walking in Kehancha. We passed a group of children playing in front of some stores, initially oblivious to our passing. A boy turns and spots us. Every fiber of his body explodes with excitement and lifts him off the ground, his knees come up, his waist bends, his arms (bent at the elbow) shake in front of him, fists clenched as he shouts “Mzungu!” at the top of his lungs to alert his friends. I think it’s the most excited I’ve seen anyone ever.

Both times we left Kuria, we had to leave very early (i.e. 5:30) to catch the bus leaving Migori for Nairobi. The first time through, I hopped off in Narok because Steph happened to be passing through as well, returning from a meeting in the Mara near Talek. We will actually be returning that way next week after visiting the Kakamega Forest Reserve just north of Kisumu. I will continue to try to write and catch up over the course of the next week, so expect more soon (about Mituntu, the Maasai and Somali Markets, the Kibera slums, etc.).

-Pat

Matatus- The World Turned 90 Degrees

2009-08-05T13:06:00.002+03:00

Simply put, I don’t fit. Usually I get stuck somewhere (inevitably) where my knees are in my chin or my head is ducked so I can avoid hitting the ceiling on the bumpy roads. Matatus (the ones I have ridden at least) are anywhere from seven to fourteen passenger (this is usually advertised mockingly on the sides of the matatu. I say mockingly because, in the rural areas, this number can reach over twenty [we have been in one with twenty-five {three were hanging out the side door}]) vans with an appearance resembling something close to an old VW hippie van (that’s the best I can come up with for now. A picture will come later). Each matatu looks completely different. Usually, they have some sort of sticker of a celebrity (we have seen Obama), a US sports team (I have seen the Philadelphia Eagles and the Chicago White Sox), or some phrase. Some are painted wildly (the ones I have not ridden [which are much larger] are usually the ones like this and have themes, usually with rappers [Tupac seems to be the most popular] bursting out the side [a fairly nice paint job is required]). In Kuria, the matatus are station wagons. Supposedly, they are only four passenger vehicles, but they won’t leave without eight. This requires that two people share the driver’s seat. However, we have been in one that has had fourteen. (Five were in the front, five were in the back, and four more were in the trunk. [One in front was a child, but still…])

People hop on and off wherever they need. Occasionally, there is a main stage where you can find a number of them, but then you have to deal with the touts (I may have called them tauds earlier?) who fight over you (sometimes pulling you [never forcefully, more or less suggestively]) to get you on their vehicle (they are paid a commission per passenger they find). The conductor sits in back and hangs his head out the window or (when the matatu is packed [which it usually is]) standing on the ledge with the door open to look for more passengers. The driver’s job is to drive wildly (usually swerving back and forth to avoid potholes and find the least bumpy path. In Nairobi, it isn’t so much swerving as it is forcing, usually to avoid traffic [there is never not a jam] and find the lane moving fastest [on occasion, this requires use of the sidewalk].). The conductor and driver communicate with a variety of taps and signals (usually hitting the roof with a coin twice) to know when to stop (or sometimes, in Nairobi, when they can switch lanes).

In almost every matatu, the music is blaring. (In Nairobi, this can sometimes be coupled with a TV hooked up in back playing the accompanying music video [or something completely random].) Usually, it is something in Swahili that I don’t understand. Sometimes it is American. Occasionally, it is a CD. With the exception of the volume, it’s kind of nice.

My first experience with a matatu was in Mbakalo as Simon and I were travelling to visit the first set of sponsored OVC. We found ourselves passing through the foothills of Mt. Elgon. Large boulders loomed ominously over the small mud huts, each intermingling sporadically across the rolling hills. I spotted men bathing in rivers, women carrying stalks of bananas (balanced on head, both shoulders, and in both hands), and people idly lying under trees. At each stop, people come up to the windows with baskets of fruit and food, displaying their items neatly, arranging them as if bouquets. In larger towns, people come up with other merchandise (locks, socks, movies, drinks, candleholders, etc.). On our trip, Simon treated me to a bag of groundnuts.
When you find a full matatu, the process can be efficient. Depending on the time of day, it can take a while for a matatu to come (when on the side of the road) or people to fill (at the stages). I was shocked the first time I rode one in Nairobi. Not only did the matatu fill only to capacity, it left the stage without being full. Overall, it’s not the most comfortable means of transportation, and it lacks a certain independence that a car affords, but it’s a cheap means of transport, and it gets you where you need to go. It fits with the rest of what I have observed about Kenya, it works.

-Pat

The thing I have been calling a road to Ugenya (and more!)

2009-07-20T22:05:00.000+03:00

It’s been a while, I know. It’s been busy, basically. Anyway, I continue…

After grabbing some lunch at a local hotel (I haven’t been able to fully tell, but it seems that hotels here are actually simply restaurants and not actually places to stay) and saying farewell (maybe I will see you soon) to Mttaki, I grabbed a room at the Park Villa and waited for Marla and Marion to arrive. The first thing I did (after settling into my room) was shave (because I had a mirror, running water, and three weeks of growth [not very fitting for me]) and take a long, hot shower. Shortly after, I found Marla and Marion at the front gate with baggage enough for four people. Marla just finished her first year at Tufts and received a grant to conduct the research for two months. As we waited for Dr. Ngome, Marla filled me in on the States, her research, and Nairobi (and I got a chance to play around with my new camera my parents sent with her). The meeting with Dr. Ngome was very short (enough to let him grab a copy of the questionnaire we would be using so he could look through them overnight), but we set a time to meet him at his school on our way to Ugenya to go through more. We had dinner that night at the Park Villa. “Are you ready to order?” sounds a lot like “Have you already ordered?” so we spent an hour waiting for food we didn’t order and wasn’t planning on coming. After chatting for a while, we finally realized the mistake (we should have known when the waiter took the menus after we said “Yes.”) when our stomachs began telling us food would be required rather than merely welcomed graciously. I went with a beef curry and ugali (It was nice to finally have an opportunity for a bit of variety and flavor), but the waiter brought me a half portion of the ugali. He was shocked (as is almost everyone else it seems) when I said I actually enjoyed it and had been eating it every day for the past three weeks (so I could grow strong [naturally]) and quickly brought more from the kitchen.

The next morning we were planning on taking four matatus (with my sixty pound bag, large backpack, laptop, Marla’s two large fifty pound bags and backpack, and Marion’s small duffle). We caught the first one to near Ngome’s school and waited for some of his teachers to come get us. When they arrived, they made the mistake of saying it wasn’t far and wouldn’t necessarily need boda bodas for the bags. Marla’s had wheels and were manageable, but mine was a pain. (I felt bad for the one teacher who helped me because he took it from me and ended up lugging it over his shoulder to the school [despite my protests and offers to trade bags].) We finally arrived and sat down outside with Ngome. Marla explained more about what she wanted to do and Ngome went through parts of the questionnaire he thought would be misunderstood (The two changes made were defining “Siblings” and “Cool.” For some reason we chose to find a Swahili equivalent to “cool” [machachari] instead of another English word [which made sense, but as we have traveled around, some schools haven’t understood “machachari”, and we have realized it is more of a regional dialect and substituting “popular” works much better]) and removed his previous reservations about the length since the questions were simple and mostly straightforward.

After talking with Ngome, we were introduced to the entire school (I forget the name, but it was primary level) and then fielded questions. Unsurprisingly, the boys flocked to me and the girls to Marla. It took a little while for them to warm up, but eventually one of the bolder boys started asking questions. They asked about Obama, school, how much school cost (over 9 million ksh), foods I ate, my favorite football club (in Europe), celebrities I knew, my hobbies, and many other questions. (I found it difficult to hear some of the boys and to field multiple questions at once, so it was easier to continue letting the first boy ask all the questions or turn to him for translations.) When they asked about my hobby (rather than trying to explain), I pulled out a couple discs from my bag and we played with those. When they asked about food, I told them all the Kenyan foods I had so far, and I got a big cheer for knowing busuma (ugali). They then asked me to sing them a song, but not having a good one off the top of my head (or being much of a singer) challenged them to sing me one first. They wouldn’t do it either. Shortly after, a couple boys grabbed my hand (some fighting for the privilege), and we moved through the compound as they pointed out the dorms and the kitchen and the school rooms. We passed the girls singing Marla a song and finally arrived at the soccer pitch (which was being used by grazing cows at the time). I mainly stood around and let the boys play, occasionally fielding a few passes and getting a couple of head balls. It’s been a while since I had played, but it was fun.

Since we had so much luggage, Marion thought it would be best to take a taxi to Ugenya, so while we were off playing, she made sure that Bramwell (our taxi driver to Mbakalo) could come to pick us up. The ride was fairly uneventful. Passing through Bungoma, however, meant creeping through a series of giant potholes. We also passed the Mumias sugar factory. (It was strange seeing a large industrial factory in the middle of nowhere, especially after getting used to the small shops and maize fields.) The maize was replaced by sugar cane (hence the sugar factory), and on occasion, we would find ourselves following massive (probably fifteen or twenty feet high) trucks loaded with the cut cane (which was poking out the sides at random angles). We arrived at the Camunya Hotel (where we would be staying for the week. It is a pretty nice place, complete with electricity [though this is prone to short blackouts], running water, queen size beds, and a pretty nice breakfast) in Ugunja in the early evening and met Calvin. We talked about plans over dinner, and arranged to go to as many schools as possible the next day. We were also recruited as new Arsenal (an England football club that Calvin supports) fans (if only I had known this was my favorite club earlier in the day [The issue would have been, however, they would have then asked me who my favorite player was, who the top scorer is, etc. All the questions, basically, that would give me away]).

Ugunja is a two street town resembling many of the other towns around Kenya. I would liken the setting to a bustling ghost town. The buildings have an Old West feel to them (and sometimes they look as though they were built then, falling apart, decay creeping in), the things I have been calling roads are dusty (sometimes the wind whips up small dust tornados that sweep across them), but there are people and activity everywhere. Women sit at stalls selling fruit and vegetables. Men are at work, repairing cars, building metal doors. Going by the matatu stages, you are hounded and grabbed by tauds (this is how is sounds when Calvin says it). At one point, Calvin (who is 5’1”) was surrounded by six men pleading and tugging him this toward their respective vehicles. At the intersection, the boda boda and piki piki drivers set up across the street from each other, like two rival gangs competing for customers. On several occasions, we have been talking to the boda boda drivers (who were planning on charging too much anyway), when one, then two, then three piki pikis break rank and pull up next to us, revving the engines, rocking back and forth, giving us a better offer. It is certainly a much more hectic life than in Mbakalo.

There isn’t too much to describe about the talks and evaluations, but before I start that, I should describe the secondary school set up. There seems to be a fairly even mix between day schools and boarding schools and between mixed schools and single sex schools. Each school has for levels (form 1-4), each form as multiple streams (anywhere from one to three), each stream has between forty and sixty students, and the students range from age 15 to 22. We were able to get four schools (out of five who were willing [out of ten Calvin asked]) signed up for Marla’s study. The total program (one evaluation, a talk, and a second evaluation [the same questions]) takes about three hours, and for three of the schools, we were able to break this up over the course of the week (for the one school that we did not, it worked well because they had tea break and moved to join the other streams for the talk in the library, then returned to their class to complete the evaluation). Everything went fairly well. The biggest thing was our accent (which some students liked to imitate ([by plugging their noses]), but using the chalkboard and slowing down helped. We found that pointing it out usually got them to settle down, and each school was different, depending on the attitude of the students, the maturity level (they are sophomores, essentially, and we are talking about sex [kind of integral to HIV/AIDS awareness]), and the school attitude. At one school, they decided to send us off by everyone imitating our accent. They thought it was pretty funny when I then covered my mouth and talked as quietly as possible to imitate them. Some of the students also found it interesting to touch our hair, but would recoil when I went to touch theirs in return. We have also received a round of applause simply for coming back, and I have received a couple more for telling them I will be going for my PhD when I introduced myself. For the most part, it has been kind of fun.

While the study is supposed to be gathering how effective the talks are, from what I have gathered simply through observation, the students have heard it before. I have been able to add more detail to the science background (some find this more interesting than others [get that], but one of the principles requested that I add more since the students would be curious about current research), which they don’t always know, but they know how HIV spreads (blood, sex, and mother to child) and how to prevent it from spreading (abstinence, being faithful, and condoms [ABC’s]). We attempt (to some degree) to discuss the various strategies of prevention (and this is, invariably, where we get the most questions [some more serious than others, some about myths they have heard, and some that tend to be off topic]), but try to stress that getting tested and making sure they are safe is best to add to whichever method they want to choose. My biggest fear about the talks is that I will say something (which I will know all the implications and details of) that the students will pick up on and use as justification for unsafe actions (because they didn’t understand completely or I couldn’t explain completely [One example is that each time you come into contact with the virus sexually you don’t always become infected. If you say that it is at a low rate, they won’t regard it as a serious enough threat. If you say that it is at a high rate, it could be debilitating. Usually, we try to avoid mentioning a rate and simply say the risk is always there.]).

Between the talks and evaluations, there has been travel, which brought a few interesting experiences. Outside one of the schools, when we were waiting for a matatu, there were three little girls (from about three to six) who would creep around the corner of a shop (about 40 yards away) to look and wave. When I would turn to look and wave back, they would dash back out of sight (sometimes the youngest would forget for a few seconds). When we came back the second time, they recognized us again, but had warmed up to the idea of us and danced to the music for our (and more likely their) delight. It was pretty adorable. Outside another school, there was a nursery (again about forty yards from where we were sitting). A couple of the boys became aware of our presences and alerted the other kids. Soon, there was a crowd of twenty or so children waving and yelling “Bye!” We decided to go over and say hi, but since they didn’t know any other English and we didn’t know much Swahili (I haven’t really had as much free time as expected, though I have been able to pick up enough to surprise people. [In fact, in Kuria, I was able to successfully carry out two conversations. Granted, they were both six statements long, but it’s a start]), we just stared at each other and smiled. Coming back from another school, it was about to rain, so we couldn’t take piki pikis. Luckily, a guy had just passed with his truck and was returning soon. Turns out, he drove (then Senator) Obama around when he visited Kenya in 2006. I asked him his impressions of Obama, and he said he was a very down-to-earth and humble guy, and he was also very charismatic and had a certain likability about him that made him easy to relate to. I thought that was pretty cool.

When we’re not traveling, we are usually at Camunya, which is fairly isolated from the rest of Ugunja. At the bar, they have a big screen TV that is usually playing Kenyan music videos. I don’t really know how to describe them perfectly for you. The quality is low, the videos are long, and the dance moves are… dance moves, I guess. It’s entertaining, at least. (My favorite has been the Obama song. I have no idea what they are singing about, but it’s complete with Obama dancing enthusiastically with an old African woman [maybe his grandmother?]) We have also been able to catch a few football matches and caught one good game (because we won!) between Spain and the US in the semis of the Confederation Cup and one boring one between Brazil and South Africa in the other semis. We missed the finals, but reports say it was an exciting one (despite Brazil edging us out).

We also had the opportunity to visit Calvin’s home before we left. We got to see his new motorbike and new compound. It was easy to tell he was very proud of everything, despite his claims that “this is the type of home that the poor can afford.” (A semi-permanent mud based structure) We also met his mother and father, his children, his wife, and his niece. We had a simple meal of chapo and beans followed by bananas and chai. Because this is Luo land, I found it very interesting (but appropriate) that he had several posters of Prime Minister Raila (or as the posters put it “The People’s President” [For more details, look up the election violence that occurred last year. Essentially, Raila, a Luo, had the popular vote but Kibaki, a Kikuyu, stole the election, through corruption, etc., and became president. These are the two largest tribes in Kenya and usually in control of the political scene.]) This made me wonder how much the principles of the schools we visited really wanted the picture of President Kibaki hanging in their office.

The other interesting thing about Calvin was hearing about his land dispute with his cousins. I don’t remember the full details, but basically, Calvin’s grandfathers land is now being claimed and used by his cousins and so they took it to court, but because of corruption, he lost the case and is now in the process of getting things appeal (which could take two years, but he has connections to get it pushed up [maybe]). Throughout the process, written statements were removed as evidence or altered to convey a different message and overall, was time-consuming and frustrating for Calvin.

Currently, we are moving back through the three villages to do the third evaluation. This one has only taken thirty minutes and doesn’t entail much. We met up with Grace and Fillippo (two other interns) for a couple of the days since they were in Ugenya doing visits with the sponsored OVC. The highlights this time through include eating an entire fish and meeting a cute kid. Yes, I have documented how an entire fish was placed in front of me on multiple occasions, but this does not mean I ate the entire thing. When I say I ate the entire fish, I mean I ate the fillet (the easy to get to stuff), something that makes up the stomach (more grainy and tougher), the gills (crunchy!), the eyes (actually kind of good), and the tongue (softer but mostly flavorless). Calvin chastised me telling me that I had been throwing away my money and wasting fish up until then. Now, I know better, and once you get past what you’re eating, it’s quite nice. On one of the trips to a school, we were met on the path by a two year old (or so) coming from his house. He had his armed outstretched ready to greet us and was calling “Hiyo!” (His version of “How are you?”). Just before he reached me, he took a quick look at his hand (either to make sure it was clean or that it was still there for use) and gladly greeted us. Accomplishing his task, he delightedly went back to his house, and we moved on. He’s been the most outgoing, in terms of approaching us, and it was good for a smile and a laugh.

I have since moved back to Kuria, and I hope to begin describing there as well as developing some other material that goes a bit deeper (at this rate, though, I might fall five weeks behind). Since most of the school stuff is the same, I will try to keep that to a minimum. Tomorrow (6/21), we will be heading across the border to Tanzania (I will let you guess as to the legality of this action [not even sure if I should be revealing that. Oh well.]).

-Pat

Fish, Cows, and Volleyball

2009-07-07T11:48:00.002+03:00

The third week in Mbakalo slowed down a bit more. On Sunday (6/14), Mo and I planned on continuing painting and writing reports, but The generator was locked in a room we didn’t have a key for, so I peppered (hit a volleyball back and forth) with Victor for the morning hours and for the afternoon (not feeling much like painting), took our time with lunch and sat around and talked (and waited for the key that never came). During our conversation, Mo and I learned from Victor that the stereotypes of Americans that the Kenyans have in the rural areas are that were are smart, curious, and are packing heat (or if not carrying a weapon, are well trained in self defense. We has a good laugh about this and for the rest of the week joked that Mo was pulling out his nine any time he reach for his camera). When we got back to Mama’s, I kicked around a “soccer ball” (really some type of material rolled and wrapped with rope) and played with some of the local kids (which consisted of them simply laughing and being shy or [at one point] someone shouting “Aja!” [sp?] and all of us jumping together. This lasted until I was tired [since they all jumped about two inches].)

The rest of the week (as far as work goes) consisted of finishing painting and (in one and a half rooms) applying a second coat of cream (with a black border so the water doesn’t show when mopping), writing updates and some reports, and helping Simon with a proposal. Mixed in between were several other activities. On Tuesday (6/16), Simon invited us for lunch at his home. Again, this entailed a feast be served (though this time it was all at once). We had busuma (Luhya for ugali), chapo, kuku (chicken), soup, Irish potatoes (as opposed to sweet potatoes), fish, sukume, avocado, and green grams (btw, if I forgot to mention it before, their accent is sometimes difficult to pick up so I had the name wrong previously. Also, discontent couples should be discordant couples). I think the only thing missing was rice. Similar to Kitale, the fish was served whole. (The reason that we even had fish was because when we first arrived, Mo mentioned that he really enjoyed the fish [fillets] in Nairobi and had it for all of his lunches. Simon then vowed to get fish for us when we visited his home. We forgot until now. [I will say that it was good preparation for Ugenya since they are near Lake Victoria, and fish is cheaper than meat.]) So Mo (still feeling unwell), managed to knock out the fish, while I was continuously fed as Esther joined us and kept piling sukume (so I could have a balanced meal) and chapo onto my plate (before I was done with what was there).

While Mo lay on the ground, Esther continued an ongoing joke and offered to wash Mo’s shoes since they were dirty. This at least garnered a chuckle from Mo and a quick dismissal that Esther was crazy (signs that he wasn’t too bad off). Previously, she told him he wasn’t allowed to have dirty pants because he was a visitor (and if he left with dirty pants, people would think poorly of Mbakalo), so he should bring them for her to wash. I managed to get out of this predicament later in the week by telling her that if I left with clean clothes and clean shoes, I would have nothing to show people back home that I actually did work. Before leaving, Esther’s last born (I don’t actually remember her name because she was referred to more as “my last born” than anything else.) and Simon’s daughter, Esther, finally had warmed up to us and wanted us to play, using me to throw them up into the air or as a human jungle gym (for three and thin, Esther’s last born was surprisingly strong, pulling herself up to wrap both arms and legs around one of my arms). Mo being sick (and naturally it being late in the afternoon [we didn’t start until after two], we called it a day after arriving back at the dispensary. Later that evening at dinner with Mama and Lusweti, Lusweti had a great time with our account of the feast. Mainly, he found the idea of us not being used to the fish looking back at us hilarious. (“You are eating, and the fish, it is there. And you are looking at it. And the fish, it is looking back at you. [At this point, he would lean forward and widen his eyes.] Then he would just laugh and laugh, repeating it multiple times throughout the meal.)

Wednesday afternoon (6/17), Victor had the brilliant (I mean this sincerely) idea to ask the Mbakalo Secondary School for a volleyball match with their boys. (We had been intending to play a game against the Polytechnic next door, but they were on break.) We arrived at the school and say the boys warming up in a circle, peppering. From a distance, they all looked tall and thin, not a good sign for our ragtag team (consisting of myself, Mo, Simon, Victor, Henry, and Ken [a guy who had been helping us paint]). We spent about forty or fifty minutes talking with the deputy headmaster and the headmaster, exchanging pleasantries and presenting jerseys (multiple times [since we met so many people]) for the school as a way of saying thank you. (I was actually feeling a little excitement [which meant sitting for so long was agitating] about playing [likely because it was the first sign of competition I had experienced in weeks]. Finally, we walked out to the court, and from up close, the boys still looked tall and thin. We changed into the jerseys we brought for ourselves and without warming up, started the match. The court took some getting used to because it was cinder, (I don’t know how they played with bare feet) and the usual approach led to slipping and sliding. The first game remained close throughout, but we managed to pull out a victory. I think the boys were surprised when I got several blocks and put a few spikes down throughout the game. The second game saw some substitutions from them (their captain stopped reffing and put on a jersey) and a growing crowd from the school (possibly a hundred or so people completely lining the court). Again the game was close, but we managed to pull out a victory. Their captain and I got the best of each other several times throughout. The third game was the same. At one point, I went up for a block and somehow did a 180 before landing. My momentum carried me to the other side of the court, and I got a good laugh from the crowd (and a surprised look from my team) as I set up to receive the serve with the other team. Having pulled out a surprise victory (for us, them, and the crowd) in only three games, we agreed to play one more before it got dark. Somehow, I ended up setting for this game. We lost this one, but it was still just as fun. After we were finished, we shook hands, said thank you, snapped a couple photos, and headed home under the setting sun.

As the earth breathed a heavy sigh of relief at having survived another night and the mist slowly rose to blanket the ground, Mttaki arrived in his car with Simon to come take Mo to the bus station early Thursday morning (6/18). Mo tossed his bags in the trunk, and I hopped in to enjoy the ride (despite it being so early). Not remembering how long it took to get from Webuye to Mama’s coming and adding the fact that we were leaving later than planned (though this was expected, but we were then further delayed so we could go to the dispensary to get Simon’s broken laptop so Mo could take it to Nairobi to get fixed), we weren’t sure how close we would cut it. Mttaki has a way of driving whereby he jiggles the wheel back and forth as the car passes over the inevitable bumps. I couldn’t really tell how much it helped. Despite the forty-five minute late departure, we arrived a half hour early. (I set this up for being more of an adventure, but it was too early to remember any of the details that were available to be enjoyed.) After leaving Mo at the station, we made a quick stop at a primary school to check on the status of the school’s contribution for the water project. From what I could gather, they had plenty of bricks lying around and a nice pile of dirt to be used. The rest of the day (and the next two [for the most part]) was spent helping Simon with the proposal.

Friday (6/19) was a fairly uneventful day. In the morning, though, I was showing off pictures from home and people could not believe I still had grandparents. Since I have a girlfriend, they also wanted to know when I was getting married (Mo had already set his date for seven years from now despite having no one. Therefore, I must be getting married soon. In fact, one evening I was talking on the phone to Steph, and Mama walked by and called out, “Talking to your fiancée?” Later that evening, she said that I should bring her [she may have used fiancée again] out to Mbakalo and that she was more than welcome.) It’s difficult trying to explain the concept of dating. Speaking of marriage, however, one of the conversations that day involved dowries and Kenyan marriage. Victor has offered more than three cows (to me?) for any of my cousins or friends that wish to be his wife. (I will try to find a picture of him and [if I go back] of his cows.) Later in the day, I had the opportunity to take tea (which also included groundnuts and bread and honey [from his beehives]) at Mttaki’s with Simon, Isaac, Denis, and Mttaki. The house was fairly nice (made of brick) and came with a garage. The inside was (like many other Kenyan houses it seems) full of couches, tables, and chairs, all with some type of small covering (either cloth or afghan). Conversation ranged from topic to topic, but the threatening rain shortened things a bit. On the drive back, curtains of rain fell in the distance leaving windows for the hills and sky between. (It’s also quite a sight when the lightning flashes all around you at night and fills the gaps between tree trunks with a flicker of yellow, accompanied by no other warning [thunder, wind, or rain] that a storm will be coming soon.)

The next morning (6/20), I stopped by Henry’s home (since it was on the way) to say a final farewell. We sat and chatted for about an hour, thanking each other for various things. I then went to the dispensary to help finish up the proposal with Simon. I was ready to head back to Mama’s for lunch, when Mttaki arrived with his car. They loaded up a woman (clearly in some amounts of pain) into the car to take her to a hospital in Misikhu (which is about three quarters of the way to Webuye) since they couldn’t handle her problem (I never really found out what it was. It may have been some complications with a child she was carrying) at the dispensary. Since Mttaki was supposed to be taking me into town to drop me in Webuye to meet Marla and Marion (coming from Nairobi), the decision was made to save gas and take me as well. We rushed to Mama’s, and fortunately, I only had some odds and ends left to pack. Mama was off in Naiteri hosting all the Quakers from around Kenya, so I hurriedly explained the situation to Eunice and apologized for not being able to take the lunch she had prepared. (I felt bad for delaying the woman even the five [or so] minutes it took to accomplish all of this.) Mttaki’s method of driving now seemed to reflect the sense of urgency that hung heavily throughout the ride, but we made it to the hospital and (I assume) got her into safe hands. Because of my quick departure, I was only able to say goodbye to Simon at the dispensary and Eugene, Ian, and Nick (who all looked forlorn as my bags were being packed).

In the next post, I will (hopefully) talk about meeting Dr. Ngome at his school and Ugenya. Currently, I have departed Kuria, was back in Nairobi for a few days, and am residing in Mituntu (in Meru and near Mt. Kenya) to continue Marla’s research. Things did not go as smoothly in Kuria as they did in Ugenya (for a variety of reasons). Hopefully, things will be better in Mituntu.

-Pat

P.S. Victor was joking. (I think)

Mbakalo- Take Two

2009-06-27T11:35:00.004+03:00

So, I'm about two weeks behind for writing. Currently, I am now teamed up with Marla in Ugenya (near Sega, Patrick's home [which I will hopefully visit on the second time through]) and Mo has headed back to Nairobi and off to Mituntu with Grace. We have been traveling around giving talks to some different schools and are now wrapping up the week and getting ready to head off to Kuria. Depending on the status of electricity and free time (so far rather limited), I hope to catch up a bit more and maybe only be one week behind in posting. I imagine when things settle down a little after the research is complete and the talks are finished I may even be able to post regularly. There is still the last week in Mbakalo to talk about and my experience coming to and being in Ugenya, but that can wait for a bit. All signs still point to things being good. (No news is good news, right?) Hopefully, later on I can add some of the picture I have been taking, though this hasn't been many (my camera broke early in Mbakalo and here in town I don't feel as comfortable pulling the camera out. I'll simply have to continue producing thousands of words.) Anyway, Mbakalo...

For the second week in Mbakalo, I was still busy with the ABD project and OVC visits. Mo (however) was busy getting sick with Malaria/a stomach bug. On Sunday (6/7), we attended Simon’s church. A one hour ceremony turned into a three hour ceremony, a very interesting, experience needless to say, but something I will likely avoid (and thankfully am traveling) for future Sundays. We were expecting the church to be close, but it was a 45 minute piki piki ride over a river and through rocky terrain. On Monday (6/8), we went out on more ABD visits to see Catherine’s clients. It was more of the same, with one exception (thankfully). We made it to one of the final homes and met someone who was self-sufficient (although prone to drinking and being unfriendly depending). Fortunately, he was in a good mood that day and showed us his farm. It was filled with about every crop imaginable (sukume, banana, millet [like wheat], maize, peas, carrot, mango, amaranth [I think is what it was called], etc.) planted so there is continuous harvesting and quite a number of livestock (cattle, goat, doves [which were flying in and out of the house, resting on the rafters and walls, a bit disconcerting], ducks, roosters, and rabbits [think I got them all]. He also showed us the roofed stables he has for feeding his cattle (each with their own stall. If we were able to help boost him [i.e. give him money through the project], he was going to buy a new cow [and name it Patmo, naturally].) Adjacent to the stalls was his milking stall, where he put in special feed with molasses (he also makes molasses from the corn stalks) to get the cows to come and stay while milking. He showed us the machine he uses for slicing the grass he buys and the corn stalks to make the feed into very fine mulch. I think he would have been happy to have us for the rest of the day, but Mo had been lagging and (of course) we were late for lunch, so we headed back to Mama’s after getting back to the dispensary around 3 and rested for the afternoon (it was much needed).

Mo tried to join me on Tuesday (6/9) and made it as far as the dispensary, but considering he has been lagging yesterday, threw up after not eating much for dinner, and had a sallow, ashen, sickly looking face, I told him walking probably wasn’t the best bet and to stay and rest (which he did until Thursday). So, I went out with Paul (who is a very quiet and deliberate guy, so it was difficult to converse) to meet Carol and got to ride a bike! (For some reason, no one believed I knew how to ride, and there were many shocked people along the route.) The bikes are heavy and only one gear, but it was nice exercise. Today, I experienced some serious AST (African Standard Time). We arrived at the dispensary a little after 9, then proceeded to have tea and talk about Mo (which was of primary concern, so understandable delay) until about 10. Then, when Paul and I were riding to Carol’s, we stopped at Josephine’s house where she proceeded to step out for a few minutes (to run up to the market) and returned with soda and mandazi. Finally, when we arrived at Carol’s house (who actually called to see where we were [that’s how late we were, albeit it was right as we were pulling up to her house]) past 11, she served tea for us (and naturally tried to offer me a second cup, which at that point [after tea and scones at breakfast, tea at the dispensary, soda and mandazi at Josephine’s, and one cup there], I was inclined to turn down.). We finally left the house around noon and proceeded to visit seven clients.

One of the clients was an interesting character. (Had we not visited, he would have paid a visit directly to Carol’s house early the next morning to see where she was.) He wanted me to guarantee and tell him when I would return to his home (since none of his previous had returned yet) and bring him a camera when I do (so he could take pictures of all his visitors). I proceeded to inform him that it might not be for several years since I would have school to complete, but he replied that he might be dead by then so I should come sooner. (This became something of a joke as he walked with us to the next client and continued to ask for things. I would tag on “As long as you’re not dead” to each of my responses. [He found this quite humorous.]) He also wanted me to find a way to sponsor/send his son to school (at Moi University in July), and even brought him in to talk to me and explain the situation. I could only look at the school fees (small in comparison) and explain my situation (student with loans who will still be in rural Kenya come July) in return. I tried my best to offer some suggestions and hope, but I could offer little in the form of assurances. (What do you say to something like that?) The day ended around 4:30 with everyone (except myself) concerned that I had missed lunch again. Simon had someone head to the market for soda and chapo (despite my reassurances that dinner would be soon and I had a lot up until noon.)

Wednesday (6/10), I got to ride a bike again (though I used Henry’s [somewhat lighter] bike because he was carrying Josephine and needed a stronger bike). We visited three clients (all women) with the trend seeming to be unsupportive husbands. From their point of view, it must be a difficult situation, knowing you are not positive (though one refused to be tested) and with a wife that is. After asking questions of the last client we visited, I asked if there was anything else I could help with. The husband (also prone to drinking) wanted me to offer advice with how to deal with misunderstandings that arose. Not knowing the nature of these misunderstandings (and after unsuccessfully asking questions to perhaps learn what he really meant), I advised to be patient and gave some generic, vague answer and then Henry proceeded to spend about an hour counseling them, trying to sort the situation out. (Even though it was all in the Luhya mother tongue, it was an interesting experience. We talked a bit afterwards so that I could be filled in a bit more, but the essential message was that alcohol is very cheap, and when men are prone to drink, it is just as easy to get drunk as it is to provide for the family.) After the visits, we headed back to Josephine’s where we had ugali and eggs (crispy and flakey, and a very bright yellow [since they are so fresh]).

While eating, I had a very interesting discussion with Henry about the respective systems each of our nations has for the poor. He wanted to know if there were specific areas of the country where the rich live and the poor live (the best I could think of would be Beverly Hills and Detroit), but I told him rather than having the nation with specific areas it was more likely that each city has it’s areas (think Indian Hill and Over-the-Rhine). People usually know about which parts are “bad” and usually avoid or ignore it. It’s something of a dilemma because the houses the poor can afford are in the run down areas of town. As soon as the city attempts to improve the area, the poor are displaced because property values rise. Henry also asked if there were people who didn’t have homes. I told him that is also typical of every city, but there are some government funded shelters that serve food and provide a place to sleep. He was somewhat surprised, I think, but nodded knowingly when informed that the services were limited and hardly met all of the needs of even the few people that are able to get served. (It helped that I was able to describe the work at the Drop Inn Center my friends and I had done.) I described to him welfare and the typical stereotypes associated with it (how some people see it as people freeloading and cheating the system and being lazy when in fact it speaks of a far larger problem within a capitalist society and can be attributed to poor education, a lack of jobs [or low paying jobs with a minimum wage far below living standards], and people dropping out of school to provide for families [very similar it seems to the HIV/AIDS epidemic here without having to deal with the disease]). I told him about the distribution of wealth (most of the money being with very few) and many other aspects of life in the US. You can already read about the issues in Kenya.

After our talk, it was getting hot in the house, so we went outside to relax in the shade. Josephine’s two sons (who [in the interim] had been decked out in full sets of jean jackets and pants and a Spidee Man (not a misspelling on my behalf) hat and another sports wind breaker and pant suit and hat with flames] and the other children in the surrounding houses came to see the stranger. It’s amazing what closing the gap and reducing the group size can do to the usual chattiness of the children when they see us passing by. When they came close, it was as if a magical barrier had been placed around me holding them a few feet away and caused them to lose their voices. Not even Henry translating could get them to speak. After snapping their photos (and showing them the results of course), we headed back to the dispensary and called it a day.

On Thursday (6/11), Mo was feeling (and looking) quite a bit better, so decided he was able to get back into work (apparently, being sick and laying around the house lacks any excitement). We started by stopping at the nearby primary school to visit with one of the OVC’s. Here, we were mobbed by all of the students out in the yard, all requesting handshakes and “Hello”s. (This also happened the first time when we attempted to visit [6/5].) In order to get through, I simply grabbed as many hands as possible at once, hoping that merely being gripped would be enough. The visit went as well as could be expected, so we then headed through the market to the Mbakalo slums (I honestly couldn’t tell a difference from the normal houses and here) to drop off some money for an OVC’s mom. During our brief conversation with the mother, a few of the kids from nearby houses would peak in the door and when we turned to look, (or make a face) would run out of sight, leaving a squeal of laughter in their place. We then went back to the market to get a couple of piki piki drivers to take us to see the girl. Simon bargained for 120, but the drivers wanted 150, so we left to find someone for a better price. Luckily, as we walked onto the road, a driver from the area we wanted (Martin) stopped and agreed to 120 as one of the two from the market came so he wouldn’t lose out on a deal (and continue to sit in the market [likely not as interesting as going somewhere]). Mo very nearly got bucked off the bike as the other driver had trouble getting his started, but as it turns out, this was the ride that took us through the evergreen forest and up and over some very rocky terrain, and Mo made it safely to accompany us. We sat and talked with the OVC (who, surprisingly, was willing to talk and was ready with [more than one word] answers) and hopped on the bikes to return. Martin was driving a Victor (a type of piki piki) which was running very smoothly, so when we got closer to the dispensary (after one of the bikes ran out of gas), Simon asked if he could ride. Somehow, (much to his dismay) Mo got stuck on the back (/didn’t get off/Simon wouldn’t listen to no) and (as he put it) feared for his life. When the other driver returned, Martin and I jumped on and (also luckily?) found Mo and Simon (in one piece) at the dispensary. (As it also turns out, Simon was definitely asking for a price that was too low, so we settled for 130.) This was just the morning.

When we returned to the dispensary after lunch at Mama’s, we gave Martin a call (he became our driver for the next few days) and he collected another driver from the market. We then raced to meet the last OVC we needed to visit, making it just in the nick of time. Halfway through the return visit, Simon wanted to drive again. Fortunately for me, Simon was not with me on Martin’s bike. Unfortunately for Mo, neither was he. I didn’t have time to pull out my camera and snap a picture (and my other attempts failed), but it was quite the sight when Simon caught up and the driver (still with his helmet) was sandwiched between him and Mo. Martin eventually passed Simon during a climb up a hill and soon raced ahead. We soon came to a rather bumpy bend (with a giant ox cart taking up most of the road), and Martin commented that this was a bit tricky. Sure enough, Simon did not follow us out of the bend. We slowed down to let them catch up, and upon looking back, the driver was back in his usual seat. When we finally returned to the dispensary, we found out that not only did Simon not make it through the bend but also that Simon got stuck in just the right spot so Mo could have a nice conversation with the ox pulling the cart. (Not exactly what you would call his lucky day. [Especially, coming off of being sick]).

Friday (6/12) was a day that had finally been settled on to go to Kitale so that we could go to a cyber and type up emails and reports. While the internet was faster and electricity was available, it still wasn’t possible to get much done. (In case you didn’t notice, the last post wasn’t available to be put up as promised.) For lunch, we went to a hotel (their version of a restaurant. What we would call a hotel is called a house.), but because the place was bustling, we were unable to be seated together and were placed wherever something was available. Not having someone to translate for us and tell us what was safe (i.e. simple and edible), I took my chances with the mutton while a couple tables over Mo stuck with his usual fish.

To accompany my order, I also wanted a Fanta (orange soda), but somehow the exchange became a bit muddled. “Warm or cold?” “Cold, please.” “We don’t have cold.” “Oh, that’s ok. Half liter of water, then. Cold.” The waiter left and after a short period, returned with a half liter of Coke. Before he could crack open the lid, “No, cold water.” “Oh.” He left again. This time he returned with a 300 mL bottle of Coke. “No, a water.” “Cold?” “At this point, whatever.” Finally, he returned with a half liter of Coke. At least it was cold.

When I was reading through the menu, I had noticed that they offered fried fish and another type (I don’t remember specifically). When I turned to look up, I saw someone receiving the entire fish and assumed that was the second type, hoping that Mo also saw that there was a distinction. Distracted from this thought as the waiter returned again (this time with my mutton), I heard a cough from Mo. As the waiter moved away, Mo simply looks at me, looks at his plate, and laughs. There was no distinction (that we’re aware of) between the two. While Mo dealt with the challenge of figuring out how to go about eating an entire fish (this not only means head, but skin, fins, and tail), I was busy figuring out how to eat my food. I thought beef of any kind would be a safe choice. In actuality, Kenyans like their bones. My plate was riddled with a mixture of meat and bone, intertwining in a perfect collection as to allow my mouth the pleasure of finding out which was which (typically with a nice crunch). In case you missed the point earlier (or more likely, I forgot to mention it), Kenyans eat with their hands. (I’m sure I could have asked for a fork, but I’m not sure it would have done me any good. The grease from the food probably would have slowly crept up onto my fingers as I stabbed wildly with a silent hope that I hit meat.) I tried to use the chapo to pick up the mutton and avoid getting greasy, but this has two problems. The first is mentioned above (except it becomes a padded crunch). The second is that (eventually) you run out of chapo. Despite my best efforts, I was delegated the task of finishing my “water,” “grabbing” my bag, and snatching my bill with grease-soaked fingers because the wait staff recognized a shadow upon my face indicating that my mind was even thinking about being finished (which [following a logical path and then proceeding to forget about any of the in-between] means that my body will soon come to the same conclusion and vacate the location [without allowing my mind to first consider the precarious position of figuring out where to go next and how to accomplish that task with hands that normally would be considered unusable]) and were hustling other diners over to take my place. I then found the sinks in the back. It was an experience, to say the least.

After washing and paying, I went outside, and it slowly became clear to me and Simon that Mo was relapsing back into a poor situation. He had a desperate need for a toilet with none in sight. We headed for another cyber, and while I inside writing reports, they went on a hunt to help Mo. Three reports later, they returned, and while Mo said he would be ok, we decided to leave and forego any other tasks. We used the boda boda to get back to the matatu stage and headed on the hour journey to Sikhendu (the location of Douglas’s butcher shop). It was very fortunate for all involved that Mo was able to manage through the matatu and piki piki rides back to Mama Anne’s (NB: This was the piki piki ride that inspired the things that I had been calling roads to become things that I had been calling roads, so it demonstrates a bit of Mo’s resolve to hold things together.) After this, Mo passed out (not literally, but he may as well have) and didn’t move until dinner. During this time, Simon brought more medicine from the dispensary (a couple of different anti-bacterials) and later, when Mo took one, threw up everywhere, claiming “Well, I should have just done that before. I feel so much better.”

Saturday (6/13), Mo refused to sit around for any longer (and he needed more TP) and joined me as I headed to the dispensary. In the morning, we painted the dispensary, putting on the first coat of white. Henry (the ABD) donned a surgical gown, mask, and gloves while Mo and I used masks and gloves. We cut some old jugs of cough syrup in half to use for paint buckets and started on the (Patmo) maternity ward. About halfway through the first room, I decided the gloves were of little use (too hot and tight) and my mask hindered my ability to see (it had a plastic guard in front that would have been useful) because it continually fogged up. My initial solution was to breathe in and hold my breath, but air was more important to me than paint, so I turned the mask upside down. This seemed to confuse onlookers passing by (“The mask is to protect your face.” “I know.”), so I simply removed the mask to save myself from explaining the situation multiple times. Our giant twenty liter bucket of paint lasted us for two and a half rooms, but clearly made a difference in brightening up the place (and preventing formation of hazardous dust). In the afternoon, we used the chance to write up some reports and respond to emails, and after that, we called it a day.

This is what I have so far. Obviously, there is more to come. I may even be able to get some more up since we don't have much to do today. I hope everyone is well in their respective locations around the world.

-Pat

Piki Piki Rides

2009-06-15T17:49:00.003+03:00

Woah, two post in one day. Hopefully, this will keep you busy until I can post again (since it's about ten pages of writing that I have finally had the electricity to produce/complete/copy onto a computer [by running the generator all day]).

Piki piki rides. What an adventure. First, I should start with a couple things, then proceed with the narrative. One, when riding a piki piki, there is no such thing as personal space. Picture three people on a dirt bike. Two, the things I have been calling roads are likely misrepresented in your mind. Yes, I have said they are bumpy and filled with potholes. I apologize for such light remarks. The things I have been calling roads are in fact used, abandoned minefields with thin strips cutting their way through the least hazardous paths (though this occasionally becomes compromised by oncoming vehicles [cars, trucks, tractors, ox carts. I have passed within inches of some.].) Perhaps I exaggerate slightly on the second one. (We have photo evidence of four people piling onto the back of one. Three is comfortable. Two is lucky.) Half the time the things I have been calling roads actually resemble roads (i.e. they are paved, not perfect [please, don’t let your imagination run wild.]). The other half, the things I have been calling roads resemble the above description or turn into a rocky (i.e. not even a thing I would normally consider calling a road) uneven patch (sometimes stretching for an entire hillside. Though, thankfully, the vehicles are well equipped.). In either case, I have no choice but to trust the driver (if work is to be done), and the rides are quite a thrill. On the back of a piki piki, you are free to turn in any direction. (It offers the type of view I hoped for on the matatu coming to Mbakalo without the comfort or safety [I use this term loosely given the way the ride was at times. If confused, see the post about how people drive.]) The breeze blows swiftly throughout the ride, chilly in the morning and evening, perfect during that warmer period in between.

My first ride was with Douglas (who I just learned today (6/12) owns a butcher shop in one of the nearby towns) and Simon on Wednesday (6/3) as we heading to visit three OVC’s. I chose to sit in the middle (obviously, with the front out of the question [though, that will perhaps change soon. We are supposed to be spending an afternoon at what we have now coined Douglas’s School of Driving.]), feeling it the safest choice. Not being a veteran rider yet, I used Douglas as a grip, one hand on his shoulder, the other resting on his waist. Both laughed as Simon explained that I was new to this particular experience. I slowly relaxed (and learned from watching) and allowed my to move to my knees. As we moved onto the better things that I have been calling roads, tears began forming as the wind howled and we picked up speed. I watched as Douglas maneuvered and swerved deftly into the (sometimes narrow) gaps between the potholes. My mind flirted with thoughts of what would happen should he miss, how the front wheel would stick and catapult us into the air. (Yes, some of the potholes looked to be that bad.) As I shifted my focus back to the actual ride, I realized my body was still tensed and my fists were clenched. Again, I let myself slide a bit further into relaxing and turned my attention to the Kenyan countryside (which will likely continue to be revealed bit by bit as my mind wanders from topic to topic. I do expect to eventually find a place to get it all in.). Waves of maize stretch across the landscape, conforming to the hillsides, nestling into the valleys between, seemingly elevating the ground a couple meters into the air. Tall, thin trees (usually the size of an arm or leg, usually never thicker than a man [characteristic in fact of most people’s appearance here.]) decorate the scene and meld into the sea of maize. Thatched roofs poke out randomly, leaving the mud or brick body hidden below. Fronds of the broad banana tree leaves add a bit of flair, stretching towards the sun, relaxing just a bit before the tips. I took in each aspect and admired my new surroundings as we continued to Mfupi, arriving in what seemed to be no time. We visited our first OVC and continued on our way via matatu (which will be detailed in a later post).

After our long day of work, Douglas returned to pick us from outside St. Cecilia’s Girls’ High School in Misikhu. We raced back as the sun began setting to the west, starting to cast hues of orange, yellow, and pink across the sky, illuminating the tips of the maize stalks a fiery gold (perhaps symbolizing the energy the plants will soon provide?). Mt. Elgon rested just below the sun’s rays, a hazy outline on the border with Uganda, formidable peaks crooked, hardly visible against the darkening sky. Children and adults waved and smiled (again, what smiles!) as they saw the Mzungu pass reflecting back the same. At a certain point, Douglas decided it best to take a shortcut. I was half expecting this shortcut to take us past his home, but to my surprise, it did not. Instead, it took us along a narrow path, a thin line of dust curving between grass and maize field, bumpily. At the halfway point, we reached the river and were forced to dismount (not because we couldn’t cross, because it was a bridge made of twisted wood planks and round, shaved braches interposed between and across.) Reaching the other side, women sat beneath a tree, asking to me buy avocado. (I declined, more so because it was in Swahili and we were already pulling away than a disdain for avocado.) From here, the ride went smoothly, shortly returning to the main things I have been calling roads and pulling into the dispensary, hands cold, concluding another day’s work.

Our other rides have taken us across similar bridges, through evergreen forests (with monkeys crossing the thing I have been calling a road according to Mo), across rivers opening a view of different, exotic vegetation resting on its banks, leaves exploding like fireworks from the trunk. Our travels have taken us to places where the things I have been calling roads cease to argue that I should call them roads, and we slow, creeping gently down and up and over the rocky passage. We have raced against the clock to reach a school before visiting hours close, becoming clouds of dust as our speed raises, maxing just above seventy kilometers per hour, shooting past boda bodas and walking people, hearing the whiz as trucks head the opposite direction. We have returned on a thing I have been calling a road under construction, piles of dirt waiting to be shoveled into place, nearly flying off as we avoided an oncoming truck and later again as we hit a bump going a bit too fast. If you cannot guess, I have written this post after this last ride. Piki piki rides. What an adventure. What a thrill.

-Pat

When in Kenya...

2009-06-15T15:15:00.003+03:00

This post has been written over the course of the last couple of weeks. It is meant to summarize the first week’s work (and has for the most part), but thoughts from throughout have crept in where appropriate. There is still plenty swirling around in my head (The second and third weeks will be coming as well as my account of the piki piki and matatu rides, our trip to Naiteri [when I didn’t have time to post or even write this], and other aspects of life here), but I apologize for the somewhat non-linear (chronologically speaking) style this has afforded me. I continue…

[With a quick interjection. If you are interested in Mo’s account of the experiences, go here. If you would be interested in a completely contrasting viewpoint of Kenya (i.e. the city life) and education, go to my girlfriend’s postings here and here.]

At Mama Anne’s, our diet has consisted of ugali (the staple food of Kenya [it’s what makes them strong we’re told]), chapo (chapatti), rice, meat (small amounts), sukume weke (like beet greens), grim grams (small beans), and Kenyan chai (tea) (boil water, add milk to boil, tea leaves and sugar). It seems that each night Mama brings out more and more food. Soon, she will be preparing a feast. For mornings, we have had fresh made scones (more biscuits, really) and also fresh made pancakes (called so because they are small cakes made in a pan [from flour, baking powder, sugar, egg, and milk mixed and dropped from a spoon]). She has also prepared homemade chips. The diet consists of the sukume, ugali, grim grams, meat every night and a rotation of the rice, chapo, and chips. I have found that the diet lacks much substance, since usually the ugali and other carbs and starches are most filling. (Several times, I have found myself digging into my supply of Clif bars and trail mix to keep myself going through the day.)

Also at Mama’s are four of her grandchildren, Nick, Lionel, Ian, and Eugene. Nick is quiet but not afraid to roughhouse and be the center of attention. Lionel is also quiet, but more reserved. When a Frisbee and ball were pulled out, he was the one who kept interest and was content simply tossing back and forth. When I went in for tea, he watched form the porch through the open window and gave a happy, thankful, knowing, friendship-type of smile (that I returned naturally) when I looked back form the table. (He might be my favorite. Though…). Ian is a ball of curiosity and energy. He’s always spouting off a stream of Kiswahili even though we will not understand. He’s always asking for a picha (thankfully, close enough sounding to and actually meaning picture. Though, he’s usually making for the mfuko [pocket] it’s in as to leave no doubt.) or to climb up our backs, and he’s constantly checking our pockets to see if there is anything else (Mama Anne relates that he’s the same with her, except asking “Wapi uko wazungu?” [Where are the white boys? Essentially]). He’s a handful at times but funny, nonetheless. I was unable to communicate well enough to get Eugene’s name until today (Saturday), but he’s the youngest and tends to try and join in the fun the older ones are having. His endearing story comes when we were playing with the ball and Frisbee. He lost interest quickly and began playing with the leaves instead. Soon, he comes up with some round bark with two strands of leaves each. Thinking they are gifts for me and Mo, I graciously accept my offering and turn to catch the Frisbee. I turn back and find that I was meant to receive it as a fine platter of African foliage! He’s vigorously munching on his strands of leaves! Despite the language barrier at times (we have resorted to simple Kiswahili and English [though, this is usually Ian and Nick saying in the deepest voice possible, “I am Pata! I am good!” to which I reply, “I am Nick! I am Ian!” in similar fashion.] or even just making faces at each other.), we have managed to communicate and have fun.

So far, Mo has worked primarily on the ABD program survey while I have jumped between that (Tuesday and Thursday) and visiting the sponsored OVC’s (Wednesday). Monday, after our arrival, Simon came to get the 60 pound bag of donations with his boda boda and showed us the way to the dispensary. This day was used to meet everyone at the SOTENI dispensary, Flo (one of the nurses), Japheth (a doctor), Issac (the lab tech), Victor (accounts), Dennis (in the computer room), Jane (cleaning staff), and Mttaki (the Local Management Committee (LMC) Chairman), and plan for the next weeks activities. During the course of the day, we also met a number of the ABD’s (in total there are six with an additional supervisor), Henry, Carol, Paul, Josephine, Catherine, Elicah, and Esther (the supervisor). Catherine, who we met the day before, walked us to Mama Anne’s for lunch via one of the number of shortcuts (I’ve come to be wary when I hear this word being used. It doesn’t always entail the smoothest ride on a piki piki).

On the way back, we took another shortcut that conveniently went past several of Catherine’s relatives (I felt a little like I was being shown off), but when we returned, Simon took us to the field where the new dispensary is planned to be built (we didn’t know this until we arrived). Each room began to take shape, the courtyard formed in place, each section took on a look of its own as Simon slowly turned, describing each new features that would accompany the building (and his grander scheme for when things really took off [cybers and places to eat]) The look that settled on his face, as we imagined the building’s completion, was a proud look, a look of what it would mean to him and (more importantly for him) a look of what it would mean to the community when they all could be better served.

How should I begin to describe Simon? First, his many titles. From Monday to Saturday (we’ve noticed the Kenyan calendars start on Monday), he is the SVH-Mbakalo Coordinator, the treasurer for World Vision (chaired by Mttaki, works to sponsor and monitor the 1000+ OVC’s in the area), helps with the water project, runs the dispensary, and is the facilitator for the seven sponsored SOTENI OVC’s (all of which he is very proud of I could see him glow as he listed the ones he knew would make a public university [the system is set up so that the best students can attend the better and less expensive public universities after a two year period on the waiting list or pay more to go to a private university]). On Sunday, he is the pastor of a local Christian church. He is also a husband and a father (to three girls). Simon is a man of character. At lunch, during our visit to some of the farther OVC’s on Wednesday, he made the comment that, despite only knowing me for a short time (about a day and a half), he could tell that I am a man of integrity. Of him, I could easily say the same. He is a man that cares. When we were returning from the dispensary building site (just a well and the start of a latrine pit so far, btw), children from one of the homes told of how they had not eaten for two days. Simon gave the few coins he had in his pocket. On one of the legs of the journey to visit the OVC’s (which I will detail later), the driver of the matatu hesitated at one of the stops to allow a crowd and it’s ringleader to have a little fun at my expense, speaking in the mother toungue (as they put it), touching the hair on my head and chin, one man telling me that he was a college graduate and that my closest friends can be my worst enemies while raising his fists to his forehead as though the horns of the devil (I can only presume). I could sense Simon’s disappointment as he sat stonily next to me while the crowd and the passengers of the matatu cackled and laughed, and again as we pulled away, whispering in my ear, “Those are disturbed people.” An apology that it should happen, an apology that where he calls home could be in such a state.

Thankfully, this has been an isolated incident. Everyone we have met has either tried to invite us into their homes or welcomed us back as we were leaving. We have been told that Kenyans value visitors first and food second, so our presence is viewed as a blessing to the homes. On Friday, Esther has us over for lunch, and she brought plate after plate of food (this one did turn into a feast). First, was chicken and soup with chapo and ugali. Then she brought avocados. This was followed by chai and hard-boiled eggs (which were a very bright yellow, almost gold). Finally, she topped us off with a glass of fermented milk. It was chunky with a sour taste of yogurt (Not something I’d want again necessarily, but I could tell it was saved for special occasions and was not one to turn it down). It was an interesting experience because while we were being continually fed, Douglas, her husband, and the others (two ABD’s) had stopped eating. (It was also interesting because hens were running in and out of the house and jumping on the table with food.) We were their guests (and have been everyone’s it seems), so they were concerned about giving us the best (and in other cases, this entitles us to the best seats [or a chair if there aren’t enough], offers for bags to be carried, and reluctance to let us help. It has been difficult to turn down any form of hospitality even though we’d rather stand [or sit on the ground], or are perfectly capable of carrying a heavy load. [This also has meant that I have had more caffeine from tea and soda in the past week than I have had in the past few years.]) Even on the ABD home visits, some of the clients have provided us with dishes of food (or have expressed disappointment at not knowing we would be coming, so they could prepare). Every time we receive something, it makes me wonder how much they are sacrificing because we are guests (already well provided for guests at that).

So, finally, the ABD project. The seven members are remarkable. Esther and Henry double as night staff (nurses and also guard in Henry’s case) at the dispensary. Henry and Carol are HIV positive, which (they have said) helps them relate to the clients, having been in similar circumstances of desperation, and has made the project even more important for them (to be models, that living with HIV is possible). Each time the ABD’s meet with someone and discuss HIV/AIDS and the person then tests positive, that person is added as a client. The number of people they visit is now at 85 (granted, some are found in the same homes). This is for seven people and the roads can cover long distances over bad roads. Originally, each of the six ABD’s were supposed to cover 4-5 people, but, as Esther has stated multiple time, “How can we visit this person and recommend testing, then when they are positive, tell them no, tell them they are on their own, we can’t help? We can’t. It’s not right.”

To give a brief intro/background for the program, there are six ABD’s both in Mbakalo and Mituntu. Individually in a month, they are required to do twenty home visits, conduct two educational forums, and sell mosquito nets and various medicines (painkillers and deworming tablets) at half-price. They also work in pairs, so basically, double those numbers. The home visits consist of giving emotional/psycho-social support, answering questions, checking on health, assisting with the cleaning and treating of sores and other ailments (equivalent to first aid), giving referrals to local dispensaries, educating a caretaker in the family, and others. The educational forums are given at schools, barazas (town meetings), and other such affairs and cover what HIV/AIDS is, how it is spread, how to prevent spread, and the signs and symptoms. The program is relatively new (only a year, with phase II set to cover an additional seven months), but it has taken many strides in promoting awareness and encouraging the community to remove the stigma and openly discuss a once taboo issue.

To give a simple overview of the clientele, they are poor. They have little money for food (eating porridge or maybe ugali once or twice a day [or maybe something else if they can grow it themselves, but currently, it is the dry season, and they don’t have equipment to keep food from spoiling.]), transportation to Naiteri (location of the dispensary which provides ARV’s [anti-retrovirals] for free), clothes, school fees for children, etc. They have rare access to soap or even simply clean water (even boiling is difficult because they can’t afford fuel). Almost all of them wish the ABD’s visited more. Some of the clients are children (some more aware of their situation than others). Most of the clients are weak (sometimes too weak to consistently work). The ARV’s can be toxic and must be taken with food. Naiteri is supposed to provide nutritional support to people with a CD4+ t-cell (immune cells that HIV attacks. I can get more detailed if you would really like.) count that is below a certain level (and continue to do so until the count is above the level), but the person is either too far to walk (clients are weak and have no money) or the dispensary is out of stock (it’s a pack of nutritionally supplemented porridge that can last up to two weeks [depending on use]). The situation is desperate, and (as you can see) a bit cyclic.

Visiting the clients has been… an emotional… ride of sorts (reference anyone?). So far (this is as of writing last week. Next week will be in another post), I have been to eight homes. A farmer and his positive wife unable to comprehend why some people on ARVs look healthy and fit but she can’t eat some foods and has been weakened by the toxic effects. A mother in a dress of gold, set against her dark skin and pale red eyes, with two young children, alert, happy, oblivious, interested only in the strange visitors, set against the somber mood (her husband is also positive). Steven, 4 (maybe), excited to see Henry, running to greet the wazungu, but sensing the seriousness of the visit once inside, knowing only that he takes pills twice a day. A quiet man (positive) and his exuberant wife struggling with the condition but working to spread what knowledge they have learned to the community. Paris, a young child (8), locked out of her grandfather’s small, small hut, taken in by her aunt and uncle next door, with a baby sister to also look after and no fees for school (there is free tuition from the government, but additional fees get tacked on). A woman, eight months pregnant, too weak and too pregnant to work or travel well. A widow (positive and husband was also positive) needing to care for her paralyzed son (also positive, unknown cause of paralysis), whose only means of communication is through moans and tears, struggling to turn him or change the sheets, afraid to ask her other children for help because the son contracted the disease when nursing the father. Brian, another child, with 10+ brothers and sisters and a positive mother, a CD4+ count of 7 (extremely low [normal range is 800-1000]. He should be bedridden.), and no nutritional support from Naiteri and limited from home. Also, Mo has related his visit to a woman so affected by psychological problems, she brings her cows into her small two room hut to prevent theft and exposes herself and her children (possibly sleeping in the same room) to disease and filth. It’s difficult to enter these homes, to hear a paralyzed man begin crying, to see a child unaware, and have only questions.

But there is hope.

The ABD’s, simply by visiting the homes, caring for these people, removing the stigma of HIV/AIDS, have brought a new attitude for these victims. During the visits, the biggest things that everyone we have talked to has hoped for is a VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing) Center (supplies HIV tests and ARV’s) be located at the SOTENI dispensary. This is closer than Naiteri (I’m not sure by how much, but having riden through today [6/12], it seems to be considerable) and is also the only dispensary in the area operating twenty-four hours a day. Another factor is the treatment by the staff at the respective locations. SOTENI’s staff seems to be more sympathetic and understanding while Naiteri’s only concern is if you can pay (and even then, can still be detached and unfriendly [even harsh at times. Occasionally causing someone to default and stop taking their ARVs]). Obviously, everyone wishes that nutritional support be included in the visits, but it would be better if a sustainable means of income were produced. I think self-sufficiency is the last thing on some of the clients’ minds, however. I have attempted asking at various points when a client would feel comfortable reducing the number of visits by their ABD, but none have seemed to realize that this should be the real goal. There are a few other suggestions that may help maximize the care and reduce the stress for the ABD’s. Since some of the clients are close, it would be more effective, it would be more effective to have them join each other in one house to reduce the number of visits for multiple clients to just one (though, I saw today (6/9) a household with both husband and wife with each a separate ABD. I was told this was to bring new ideas [a fair assessment] and to allow the husband and wife to open up more [they are the caregivers for each other and were both there as I asked questions, so I’m slightly baffled]. So, for neighbors to be asked to have the same level of openness as a husband and wife may be a bit difficult to ask for these joint meeting. [Although, most of the clients are in similar support groups throughout the areas, so depending on what they cover there, this may not be an issue.]). The other thing that has been suggested is to create a support group for the children because they are left to themselves (being spread across the area) and (I would imagine) could find it difficult to relate to the adults in the current support groups (and also for the adults. I think they would baby them and thus diminish their voice and thoughts about a serious topic). Despite everything that still needs to be done, everyone has also said that the visits and care from the ABD’s has improved how they live, has improved how they even think about and approach life, has given them reassurance that they can make it.

As we were walking in the field (i.e. doing home visits) with Henry on our first day of work (6/2), Henry was describing to us how he viewed the program expanding. The previous night, after our day of planning with Simon, he walked us to back to Mama’s. Henry’s house was along the way, so naturally, he invited us in. (Yes, this felt a bit similar to the activities at lunch with Catherine, but the feeling was quickly removed as he very sincerely welcomed us. [“This is Henry’s home. Here, you are always welcome.”]) It is an interesting place. On one side of the door hangs an “Obama in, Bush out” poster (everyone here loves Obama. In fact, while in Ugenya, I may visit his grandmother). On the other side of the door hangs a “Rise and Fall of Saddam Hussein” poster. The reason for the latter was this, “I want my children to see that it is possible to come to great power and then to lose it very quickly.” As we departed his home and made the short trek to Mama’s, he was telling us about his experience discovering he was positive, his time of self-pitying, self-loathing, and desperation, and how the ABD program has helped him have a more optimistic, fulfilled outlook and to pass this view onto others. It was easy to tell how important this program was for him. So, as he was describing his grand scheme, it was apparent it was not just talk. “It starts as a Village of Hope,” he said. “Then, with time, it spreads and becomes a Nation of Hope. When people see you walking along the road, when you came into their homes, they have hope. They know that someone is out there that cares about them. You are Ambassadors of Hope.”

Wow.

Who am I to be given such a status? Who am I to have been taken (earlier in the day) to exchange words with the village elder (who oversees and makes decisions for his people)? Who am I to affect such change just by stepping off a bus? A 22-year old, recent college graduate is able to do that?

Wow. This one will take a little longer to settle in.

As I stated before, for every moment of despair, there is an equal moment of joy. (Ok. Maybe it was reversed.) As we have traveled between clients’ homes, we are greeted with cries of “How are you?!” (emphasis on a high pitched “you”) or shouts of “Mzungu!” If the lunch hour is upon us, we are followed by mobs of school children (As Mo has commented, we may as well be Obama. I am beginning to realize what it is like to be a celebrity. This happens everywhere we go. If they had cameras, I wouldn’t be surprised to be constantly blinded by flashes. In our case, we have been parceling out smiles and handshakes, but it also becomes a bit tiresome after a long day and as it is repeated again and again despite being given responses.) We are able to laugh and joke with the ABD’s and Esther (who has been accompanying us on the trips). If a boy is born to the pregnant client in a month (not today. Had to be there, but essentially, still a communication barrier in English as Mo has a Connecticut accent and tends to speak a bit quickly. We have now been invited to witness and help deliver a baby should the opportunity arise at the dispensary. This is despite our complete lack of interest to partake, let alone any training or knowledge as to what we would even begin to do. [Lamaze?]), he will be called “Patmo.” (I’m not kidding.) We have been able to laugh about anything and everything from mistaking “due date” with “today”, to Esther’s emphatic way of saying “Yeeeessss!” (“I’m coming!/We’re going!”), to pregnant women spitting a lot, there fore Mo must be pregnant (he’s a former baseball player in college, therefore spitting is a habit.)

Each day of the last week has been busy from the time we wake up (around 7 or 8) to the time we go to sleep (9 or 10). This does not mean that we necessarily start the day at those times, however. Generally, the base plan from Monday has been thrown out because we leave late (hours sometimes), so something that was supposed to take the morning actually lasts all day. (This hasn’t been a big issue for me. Go with the flow. Things will get done. [and volleyball and soccer have helped fill the voids] When in Kenya…) The other projects of the first week have been getting along well. The water project will be bringing wells and springs to the area to provide clean, protected water (as well as latrines and rainwater collection tanks). SVH-Mbakalo as a CBO (community based organization) is working with a supporting organization to lead the effort. (They have recently put of a tender for advertising and have chosen the contractors to perform the construction.) World Vision, working with Afia 2 (which is under SOTENI and is chaired by Mttaki), has been helping to sponsor 1000+ children (all OVC’s) in the Mbakalo area and provide for their most pressing needs (food, school clothing, home clothing, etc.). The women’s group met with a financial advisor/educator (who spoke mainly in Kiswahili because the older mamas only know that) to go over their project/proposals for which they will be receiving loans from SOTENI. We learned from Mama Anne that night (6/6) that is was very helpful for those who didn’t understand loan interest and business plans. Talking to the sponsored students has been difficult at best. They are shy (though, understandably so) and don’t always understand my accent, but they are good students and are involved in a number of activities (drama club, choir [both boys, actually], athletics [i.e. track], journal club, community service, etc.) and dream of being pilots, professors, and the like. On Friday (6/5) after our feast, we attended one of Henry’s forums at the Polytechnic next door (trade school [sewing, mechanics, masonry, etc.]) and saw essentially what I will be doing when I go to the secondary schools in the other SVH’s.

So far, the experience, in a word, has been surreal. It’s hard to believe that I have been traveling on bumpy dirt roads by foot or on the back of a motorbike, that I have been visiting homes in such desperate state (out of a commercial it seems. Flies everywhere. Chickens running through the house [sometimes jumping on beds and tables]. Small lizards crawling up the walls.), that during the downtime, I have been kicking around a soccer ball or playing a game of volleyball (with an invisible net) with some Africans (some of which include the Chairman and Vice-Chairman of the LMC). Kenya is not nearly as hot or dusty as I pictured it to be. Shorts and t-shirt are comfortable attire, and the landscape is green and hilly. And it’s full of life. Now, it’s bikes and motorcycles and people mingling with cows and sheep and goats (though the same traffic rules apply. Go with what works). A variety of birds and butterflies flit and flutter across the paths, dancing from maize leaf to tree branch to barbed wire fencing, as we walk from place to place. People are sitting outside their shops, working in their fields, talking to their companions (and usually staring at us as we walk by. I’ve found that confronting them [in a sense] by waving, smiling, and saying “Jambo” [Hello] usually gets a smile [and what smiles they have] and wave in response [for the most part]. I have so much more to describe, but since this has been some time in coming, I will stop it here, and leave you waiting until next time. Essentially, I have found that when in Kenya, do as the Kenyans do (occasionally, do as the Romans do). Overall, it’s been good. It’s been thought-provoking. It’s been different.

-Pat

Road to Mbakalo

2009-06-11T18:32:00.001+03:00

The way to Mbakalo (via Nakuru, Eldoret, and Webuye) was every bit as spectacular as Vic, Edward, and Marion promised, but for every moment of beauty, there was an equal moment of despair. On the outskirts of Nairobi lies a collection of slums, small corrugated iron houses and shops packed together lining the road (to give a picture [since the matatu was moving too fast for a good one] the shops were the size of a walk-in closet [maybe], and the houses were aligned as if walls of a corn maze [in fact, Edward has taken interns in the past and gotten lost.]) It was disheartening and certainly a quick drain on the energy from the night before. The big things that stuck in my mind were the colors green, pink, and red. These are the colors associated with Safaricom, Zain (two mobile phone companies), and Coke advertisements painted on entire rows of shops (and buildings later on). I wonder if the companies only see the commercial opportunities of such a desperate situation. My guess is yes given what Willy said Saturday. “Kenya is not a poor country. It’s that the wealth has not been distributed because of the corrupt.” (This is not to say that these companies are necessarily corrupt, just that it’s along the lines of people at the top not caring about the people at the bottom, only themselves.)

I do have some pictures from the matatu (more of a greyhound than a real matatu… more later…), but I wish I had been able to get more. Children playing on piles of rocks. The wood/stick shops that littered both sides of the road. The spikes strips (for who knows what [NB: they are for people who run traffic stops, as I have found out later]) that lay as obstacles for the matatu (and other vehicles) to avoid. But also two piki piki drivers sitting erect atop what is theirs, staring off at nothing in particular, talking, waiting for their next fare. A child (8, maybe 9) standing at the end of a field, walking stick in hand, foot raised against a rock, arm across knee, a little brother imitating his every nuance. Even just a picture of the valley, the hills interrupting its seemingly endless expanse.

We arrived at the station in Webuye, knowing only that we were to meet a man called Simon. Quickly, our white skin was a beacon for curious children and even passing adults. Several girls walked back and forth giggling, groups of boys had bets (I think) to see who would come the closest and walk by staring us down (we saw as they stopped across the street, talked, and one crossed to begin his inspection [and subsequently receive high fives as he completed the task and returned safely back across the road]). The minutes continued by with no signs of Simon as two women came around the corner, clearly interested in us. Being warned about the Kenyan women, Mo and I were wary, but for naught. It was one of the SOTENI ABD’s with word that Simon was on the way. Shortly after, Simon arrived with Bramwell (the taxi driver), greetings were exchanged, the taxi was loaded up (albeit with bags hanging out the back and the trunk strapped down), and we wove our way along the dirt roads to Mbakalo and Mama Anne’s.

Mbakalo is a rural area of farmers (maize, sweet potatos, bananas, and an assortment of greens and beans) and herders (sheep, goat, cattle). This means no electricity (other than some solar [enough for phone chargers and dimly powered lights]), no clean (unless boiled) or running water, and a hole in the ground for latrines. For baths, water is heated and put in a jug with a basin to fill when ready. Then small handfuls (or cupfuls) or water can be poured over the head or body inside one of the latrine stalls (except without a hole in the ground). For cooking, there is a separate smokehouse to cook by fire, and Mama has a gas stove but must work by flashlight. Most of the houses in the area are actually mud huts with thatched or iron roofing. We have been finding the poverty level is rather high. Mama and her husband, Lusweti (George [first name, not a translation]), however, are well off and take good care of us. Both are former teachers, and Lusweti still does some consulting (also being the former Minister of Education). Mama is very active in the community and is the leader of her women’s group, church group, school board, etc. The woman seems to do it all. They have chosen to help people in the community, supplying food and care for the elders and widows who are unable to sustain any form of support for themselves.

That is what I have written so far. It hasn't gotten past the first day here in Mbakalo. Things have been going mostly well. Just wanted to put up a quick post saying I have a longer one coming, but the internet has been touch and go.

Kwaheri (Bye)

-Pat

Nairobi

2009-06-11T18:25:00.003+03:00

To preface this, because I don’t think I have said it previously (though I meant to), thank you to everyone for your support. I wouldn’t be here without you, and it’s looking to be an exciting three months (now that I have more details of what I will do).

**Warning: This is a long one. And italics don't work. Supposed to be used for offsetting definitions. Hope it's not too much trouble.

So…I’ve finally gotten settled in here in Nairobi. It’s been a busy few days of orientation (or perhaps re-orientation… more later), and I have been given a laptop and a usb modem (essentially remote dial-up internet) and a cell phone with some airtime and m-pesa (lit. mobile-money) (money transfer via text message i.e. how I will be getting funds). Everything is pay as you go, but you can buy airtime with the m-pesa account or transfer airtime between modems and phones as needed, so things are rather convenient in that respect.

Everything else, however, will take a little getting used to. For those that don’t know, Kenya was formerly a British colony, meaning… they drive on the left side of the road. That’s ok; I was in Australia last summer. I will just need to adjust back to looking right first. The city center is usually pretty packed with cars and there are no traffic lights or crosswalks. That’s ok; a college campus plus a slightly faster rush hour. The nerve-wracking bit of it all is the system for driving. Since there are no lights, and traffic is so heavy, you just force yourself into where you want to go, and people will let you in… or not. A two lane road quickly becomes a three lane road. A two way street becomes one (or again narrows down to three). Turn signals are unnecessary. Cars mingle with people, mingle with bikes, mingle with random people on bikes carrying large billboard sized signs. (Only exaggerating about being on bikes.) Mo and I were introduced to this system at night, in the rain, with a car loaded with bags and people (the last part I could have expected [imagine my parents surprise when Patrick pulled up to leave for my graduation with six Kenyans in the car when they were only expecting two. Three hours later, I had a good laugh.]). Despite it being unnerving, it works. People on the sidewalks are helpful when cars are parking or pulling out. I haven’t seen an accident, and I don’t really expect one to happen. Drivers tend to be aware that something can (and will likely) happen in front of them, so they should be ready to slow down. Leave out the opposite side of the road, and I still don’t think Americans could handle it. I look forward to the piki piki (motorcycle taxis) and boda boda (bicycle taxis) rides. One of the first phrases I have been taught, pole pole (poe-lay poe-lay, [slow down!]), will come in handy.

Mo and I arrived at the YMCA intact with four 50+ pound bags (two ours, two donations), three laptops for donation, fully loaded two backpacks, and a camcorder. We get some pizza from Steers (Mo and I are now regulars, having been three of the past four nights. The guy at the counter wouldn’t give us another deal though [Fridays = buy one get one free].) with Marion (SOTENI Kenya [SK] Business Manager), Muthee (SK Board Member), and Stella (?). We return to the YMCA for some rest, get our keys from the front desk, and head to our room… to be met by a swarm of somethings in the hallway. I’m told they might be called ants, but they are four-winged creatures about two inches in length that fly around drunkenly. (People in Mbakalo farm them to then be fried and eaten. Maybe I will try them?). The next morning we moved to Ufungamano House, and were told it was much better than the Y, but the next night found a few in our rooms instead. Good thing there are mosquito nets. (It’s not really that bad. Just different. It was actually pretty cool to see a newt/gecko/lizard running up the wall at the Y.)

Between adjusting and getting set up and pizza, we’ve been meeting plenty of people and I have been trying out the local cuisine. I have only had a couple opportunities for lunch, but mbuzi (goat) and matoke (fried/stewed raw bananas [has the consistency of potatoes and not sweet like I expected) have made the list. So far, so good. There is also githeri (beans and corn), irio (githeri with vegetables), and njahi (white-eyed beans) to try from Express and plenty of others I’m sure. I will probably be looking to avoid the matumbo (intestines [though I’m told that African sausages {intestines stuffed with meat and liver} are good]). I’ve had chicken twice. They serve the leg and breast, but it is cooked fairly dry. (Hard to even cut). Apparently, they cook it drier in the villages. Kenyan tea (milk, sugar, and tea) and the fruit juices have been good.
The people: Vic (Founder of SOTENI, Chair of SK and SOTENI International [SI, located in Cincinnati]), Marion, and Edward (SK Program Manager) have been leading us through the various parts of orientation, taking us around town, and making sure we know what we’re doing when we get to be on our own. We sat in on an SK board meeting today and met Opondo, Martina (where we have been invited to stay upon return to Nairobi), Maola/Willy (non-board member from Baltimore [where we have been invited to stay should we ever be in DC] visiting his brother…), Fred (also non-board member [they joined for lunch]), and Jane (board member). Muthee and the three above were also there. This brings me to my re-orientation point (if you remember that long ago). One of the topics for discussion was who should be reporting where and in what capacity. Leaving out the details (you’re welcome), I thought about the focus of my orientation in Cincinnati and the things I have learned here in Nairobi. Essentially, I left the American orientation with an American point of view (duh), which is that I would be coming in supervising, overseeing, and sharing my knowledge for the various projects (mostly fine so far). The issue, however, is that it is with my agenda and my way of doing things and reporting things with the underlying assumption that I would be the one who has an idea about how things should be done and, more importantly (i.e. the bigger issue), that my way is right. The truth is that, up until this past week, I haven’t had much of a clue about what existed/was going on/needed to be done and even after orientation I still don’t really. To be honest, I’m a bit surprised I’ve let myself do this, but it seems like an easy thing to fall into. I’ll adjust as I go, and attempt to continue to going with the flow (hopefully, dropping the expectations and biases I’ve picked up through orientations [I’m sure here in Nairobi, too] and being open to whatever will happen).

The projects and talking about the ABD program and meeting George (the ABD Supervisor [from Thika]), will need to wait. It’s 11:45 here, and I need to be up around 6:15 to get to the matatu (bus) to leave for Mbakalo at 8:00. It will be an eight hour ride, but we go through the escarpment and see the Rift Valley (apparently gorgeous) along the way. I will say this, going through orientation and finding out the details of what I will likely be doing has made me extremely excited and energetic.

Nakwenda sasa! (I’m off now)

-Pat

Quick note on pen pals: Adjusted to perhaps pair up with a secondary school in Nairobi for higher reliability and closer level of communication, but I don’t know when I will get a chance to chat with a principle/other school admin since I won’t be in Nairobi for a while. Also, (just considered this now) there could be a likely selection of all boys schools to pick from.

Oh, and since I was told I would have a lot of down time, though with the projects (as you will soon find out [hopefully]) seeming to be quite a bit, I don’t know how true it will be. But I will be running out of my own books soon, so... I decided I was going to see how much Swahili I can pick up in the next three months, with the goal of being semi-literate by the end of the month (i.e. making it through the book I have and knowing most of it.) It says it would take two-three with two hours of study a day. (Challenge extended.)

Schedule

2009-06-11T18:21:00.004+03:00

Current Schedule:

May 27th - May30th
Arrive in Nairobi for Orientation

May 31st - June 20th
Travel to Mbakalo with Mo to work with a women's group and to visit the sponsored students to update records.

June 21st - 27th
Meet up with Marla. Travel to Ugenya to start the research/survey project.

June 28th - July 4th
Travel to Kuria for research project

July 5th - 11th
Travel to Mituntu for research project

July 12th - 18th
Travel to Ugenya for follow up.

July 19th - 25th
Travel to Kuria for follow up.

July 27th - 29th
Travel to Mituntu for follow up.

July 30th - September 3rd
Finish up projects/independent travel

There will be some stops in Nairobi and other cities as we travel around, but that give you the general idea. The plans with the research should remain consistent since it needs to stick to the given time frame, but the last month is open to complete any of the previous work or to continue on some other smaller projects. There are several projects in the different SVH's that are working towards sustainability and a source of income. These include banana farming and a daycare/feeding center. (Again, more details as I find out more.) There may also be work with the AIDS Barefoot Doctor (ABD) program to follow up with people who were assisted by this program in the SVH's. (A separate post for this program will probably come later.)

To give an idea of the rough locations of the four SVH's, I put some placemarks on google maps: http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&msa=0&ll=0.126343,36.474609&spn=3.235036,5.822754&z=8&msid=101083383240575677339.00046aafed9a85ac214dd

-Pat

Initial Plans

2009-06-11T18:11:00.001+03:00

This summer (May 26th-September 3rd) I'm going to Kenya to work with SOTENI International (http://www.soteni.org/). This is an organization focused on stemming the spread of HIV/AIDS through a variety of different projects. I will be traveling to the four "SOTENI Villages of Hope (SVH)" (Mbakalo, Kuria, Mituntu, and Ugenya [collections of villages as opposed to one specific village]), and my primary focus will be on the educational talks given to secondary school students about HIV/AIDS. One of the interns I will be working with, Marla, has been working on setting up surveys to assess the short-term and long-term effectiveness of the talks. She will be joining me for six weeks in the middle of June, and we will be traveling around to several different schools in three of the four SVH's. We will be able to give a preliminary survey and assess the short-term accomplishments of the talks (by traveling back after three weeks), but the long-term retention of the talks will be determined by later volunteers (months later). In addition to working with Marla, I will be joined by Mo for the first four weeks of my trip (he will be there for six) and Grace (coming with Marla, but pairing with Mo upon arrival and joining us after he leaves). We will be working to visit the thirty-eight students SOTENI sponsors (HIV/AIDS orphans) to provide updates on their status (education, health, etc.). For the final four weeks of my stay, I will be working alone, wrapping up anything that was left unfinished by any of the other three interns and/or on a few smaller tasks. I will be going through orientation Sunday and Monday and will have a more detailed schedule (though it could very well change a week after we arrive) to post then, but it will give you (and me) a better idea of the plans and smaller projects.

As a secondary project, I will be looking into the possibility of setting up a pen pal system with my high school in Cincinnati, St. Xavier, and some of the secondary school students (either the ones sponsored by SOTENI or a class at one of the secondary schools) in Kenya. The freshman house system at X provides a reliable pool of students (and I think what could be a pretty cool English project for the year), but the issues will be getting commitment from the students and teacher sin Kenya. Will it be something that will work for them for incorporating into their curriculum (to ensure that it will be reliable)? How will the different school years line up for logistical purposes (Kenyan students are in school during our summers [Perhaps the final letter from the Kenyan students could be delivered during the summer to the X student's address?])? Will gender be a barrier (St. X is an all-male school)? How reliable will the mailing system be (the Kenyan system is known to be slow and prone to lost mail)? These are just some of the questions I will be asking so it can get off the ground. My initial thoughts for the project would be something along the lines of once per American quarter (with some prompts to start the conversation for the first couple of letters). This would ideally allow for enough time for delivery both ways. Thoughts, suggestions, brainstorming for good prompts are all welcome. (Same goes for any questions about anything else. I'll do the best I can to answer.)

For someone who has a degree in biochemistry and is planning on a PhD in biomedical sciences, this summer is certainly outside of what would be considered my normal range of interests, but regardless, going to Kenya has been something I have considered and talked about for about eight years. My family hosted a man, coincidentally also named Patrick, from the Sega Township area (in the SVH-Ugenya) my freshman year of high school. While I didn't know what to think or expect before he walked through the door (certainly not someone in sandals, a fleece, and jeans in the middle of a December snowstorm), he's become family. Through the course of my work, I will have the opportunity to meet Patrick's family (in Nairobi and in his village). The stories he has told will finally have the actual places to go with them. Patrick sponsors students at the Sega Township school. Visiting all of the students in the four SVH's will give life to the students' letters I have read. It adds a little extra to the already important work I will have the chance to do.

-Pat