Before I left for Kenya, my mom gave me an envelope full of quotes for me to read one at a time, as needed. Well, this week's quote was particularly fitting. Written by Leo Bascaglia, it reads, "Life is uncharted territory. It reveals its story one moment at a time."
This road through life this past weekend was full of bumps and potholes that I had not foreseen, and yet, in retrospect, I think everything worked out for the better. I switched to a new homestay on Friday after I learned my sister had stolen a few things from my bags, and that she often stole little bits of money from the house help (who basically has nothing) but my host mom never does anything about it. This, on top of my other frustrations with the family, led me to decide it was time to try a new route. The whole move was pretty haphazard, with the staff of the program here giving both me and my host family only about a half hour's notice. Although it was sad to leave the Joice (the househelp), I already went back to visit her for lunch today and we have plans to visit her family in the rural area together in May. All in all, I think it was definitely the right decision.
And my new family is absolutely great. They are so loving and kind, and a lot closer to what I imagined my homestay experience here would be like. There's a mom and dad and two girls, ages 7 and 10 (three years apart like Katie and me), and they've all been really welcoming. I share a room with the girls and the househelp, so it's a tight squeeze (with only 3 beds), but it's definitely cozy. Their 5-year-old cousin stays over a lot as well since his mom is sick, so then there's 5 of us, rotating and sharing beds. My first morning there on Saturday I was woken up by skinny legs climbing over me at 7 a.m. and a little voice saying "I want to play cards," in my ear. Then on Sunday I came home from a friend's to find the househelp and the girls and neighbor kids sprawled on the floor with the Minnesota deck of cards, one of them shouting "GO FISH!" Every day so far I've come home to new neighbors or cousins or relatives in the house, which makes for a lively atmosphere. And there's no end to the food! "We eat a lot here," Mama Sheila said to me the other day with a smile, "so that we're ready to face the many hard things in this country."
Last night I tagged along with my Mama Sheila and littlest host sister to the corner barbershop and got my hair chopped ("cut" would sound to precise) by a woman who'd never worked with a white person's hair before. It was definitely an experience! I figured it wouldn't turn out great, but with the heat here it's hard to keep your hair down for more than an hour in the morning anyway, so I figured I could deal with however it turned out. Once I helped her even out the front (one side was about an inch and a half longer than the other), it looked pretty decent. Rachel's bringing a scissors to school tomorrow, so we'll just put in a few finishing touches. And the best part is, it cost the equivalent of about $2! Definitely the cheapest haircut I've ever had.
There's so much more to write about -- from volunteering Saturdays with a group of children who are infected or affected by HIV/AIDS, to being all but thrown into a classroom in the slums to teach English, to the fiasco of picking up a simple package downtown -- but it's hard to capture life here in just a few paragraphs. I'll try to update again soon!
P.S. I had my first warm shower on Saturday since leaving the U.S. Enough said.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
A few photos so far...
The first picture here is of Carolyn, Patrick, Rachel and I with Sarah Obama in Kisumu. We are in the family compound and you can see their house in the background. The second photo is of the rift valley, some of the most fertile land in Kenya. We stopped at a scenic overlook to take pictures on our way to Nakuru the first week. Next is a picture of Jasmine and I at Lake Nakuru, in front of all the many, many birds! Finally, the sunrise over Lake Nakuru, which was absolutely beautiful.
P.S. No worries Eileen, I've taken PLENTY more photos, these are just a few to whet the appetite. :)
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Kisumu Adventure
I don't think I ever could have imagined what an adventure this past weekend would be! Three friends and I took a bumpy 8-hour bus ride to western Kenya, drank Tuskers at our hotel bar with locals, slept on rock-solid beds with cockroaches galore, ate fresh fish fried with our hands on the shore of Lake Victoria, took a motor boat ride to a remote fishing village, saw hippos splashing and swimming in the lake, and so so so much more. But I think I'll leave you with just one story for now. And I'll try to get right to the point.
I met Sarah Obama! (Barack's grandmother, for those who don't know.) While in Kisumu, we decided to venture out to Kogelo, a small village not far from town where Obama's family lives. We'd heard of a few people who'd gone before, and they said it wasn't too difficult. Just catch a matatu and you'll be there in about an hour and a half, they said. Well, we learned the hard way that it's not quite that simple...at least not for rural-Kenya amateurs. After spending some time wandering the Sunday market in town, we thought we'd catch a ride to Kogelo at about noon and have lunch there before looking around. So, we started asking around for a matatu going in that direction.
This was our first learning experience: matatus in the Nairobi are a different animal than matatus in the rural areas. First of all, matatus (remember the small, run-down vans I wrote about earlier?) in the city are capped at 14 passengers. And believe me, 14 hot, sweaty people in a run-down van is an experience in and of itself. But in our matatu to Kogelo, we had TWENTY hot, sweaty adults in the van. Not to mention the bundle of corn, the box of bananas, and the other random produce someone was traveling with. But what was worse is that after abour 2 hours, we started to question if we were even going in the right direction. In rural Kenya, the luxury of highway signs is few and far between. Finally we stopped at a small town, yet we were only shoved into another matatu that said they were going in the direction we wanted. After about an hour in that one I tried to ask the driver if we were nearing Kogelo, but whatever he shouted back to us did not sound like an affirmative. Just as we were starting to freak out (we had a night bus to catch in a couple hours to get back to class in Nairobi on time the next morning) the matatu spit us out in another small village. That is, if you could call something this small and remote a village. We quickly realized that we would not be having lunch. Nonetheless, upon our immediate arrival about 20 Kenyan men surrounded us, pleading with us to pay them to take us to Kogelo on their motorbikes. Amidst the chaos, we finally spotted a guy with a car (which looked slightly more assuring at the time) and decided to go with him. Once packed inside the old blue junker, a few men once again surrounded us, and before we knew it we were being pushed down a slope to get the engine to start. Once we picked up speed, the dust from the road began billowing out of the floorboards (or what was left of them). And off we were into...well, we weren't quite sure.
Finally, we arrived at a gate with a few cement, one-story houses inside. A security guard approached us, and after exchanging a few words he invited us in. Once we signed the guest book, there we were, in Obama's family's home. He motioned us over to a spot on the lawn where two old women were sitting in lawn chairs. It was Sarah Obama and her friend. We introduced ourselves and talked to them for a few minutes in broken Swahili (Sarah doesn't speak any English), and then a young guy appeared, who introduced himself as one of her grandsons. He showed us around their small compound to the graves of Barack's father and grandfather. Then he translated for us as we chatted a bit more.
The time we were actually in Kogelo went by in a flash. By the time we figure out how to get back to Kisumu, we were starving, thirsty, dirty, sweaty and exhasted, but nonetheless it was a fantastic adventure.
That's it for now... thanks for following along! :)
I met Sarah Obama! (Barack's grandmother, for those who don't know.) While in Kisumu, we decided to venture out to Kogelo, a small village not far from town where Obama's family lives. We'd heard of a few people who'd gone before, and they said it wasn't too difficult. Just catch a matatu and you'll be there in about an hour and a half, they said. Well, we learned the hard way that it's not quite that simple...at least not for rural-Kenya amateurs. After spending some time wandering the Sunday market in town, we thought we'd catch a ride to Kogelo at about noon and have lunch there before looking around. So, we started asking around for a matatu going in that direction.
This was our first learning experience: matatus in the Nairobi are a different animal than matatus in the rural areas. First of all, matatus (remember the small, run-down vans I wrote about earlier?) in the city are capped at 14 passengers. And believe me, 14 hot, sweaty people in a run-down van is an experience in and of itself. But in our matatu to Kogelo, we had TWENTY hot, sweaty adults in the van. Not to mention the bundle of corn, the box of bananas, and the other random produce someone was traveling with. But what was worse is that after abour 2 hours, we started to question if we were even going in the right direction. In rural Kenya, the luxury of highway signs is few and far between. Finally we stopped at a small town, yet we were only shoved into another matatu that said they were going in the direction we wanted. After about an hour in that one I tried to ask the driver if we were nearing Kogelo, but whatever he shouted back to us did not sound like an affirmative. Just as we were starting to freak out (we had a night bus to catch in a couple hours to get back to class in Nairobi on time the next morning) the matatu spit us out in another small village. That is, if you could call something this small and remote a village. We quickly realized that we would not be having lunch. Nonetheless, upon our immediate arrival about 20 Kenyan men surrounded us, pleading with us to pay them to take us to Kogelo on their motorbikes. Amidst the chaos, we finally spotted a guy with a car (which looked slightly more assuring at the time) and decided to go with him. Once packed inside the old blue junker, a few men once again surrounded us, and before we knew it we were being pushed down a slope to get the engine to start. Once we picked up speed, the dust from the road began billowing out of the floorboards (or what was left of them). And off we were into...well, we weren't quite sure.
Finally, we arrived at a gate with a few cement, one-story houses inside. A security guard approached us, and after exchanging a few words he invited us in. Once we signed the guest book, there we were, in Obama's family's home. He motioned us over to a spot on the lawn where two old women were sitting in lawn chairs. It was Sarah Obama and her friend. We introduced ourselves and talked to them for a few minutes in broken Swahili (Sarah doesn't speak any English), and then a young guy appeared, who introduced himself as one of her grandsons. He showed us around their small compound to the graves of Barack's father and grandfather. Then he translated for us as we chatted a bit more.
The time we were actually in Kogelo went by in a flash. By the time we figure out how to get back to Kisumu, we were starving, thirsty, dirty, sweaty and exhasted, but nonetheless it was a fantastic adventure.
That's it for now... thanks for following along! :)
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
A Day in the Life (Part II)
Hmm...where did I leave off. I think it was on the way to school. Well, first off, I'm one of the lucky ones here because I only live about a 15-minute walk from the University. But even so, it's definitely not like walking to class down State Street. I'd say it's an exercise in alertness. My first and foremost objective is to not get hit by cars. The clean cut boundary between side walk and street back home is not so revered here. In Kenya, these are the rules most drivers seem to follow: if you can get there quicker by jumping the sidewalk, jump the sidewalk. If there's open road whatsoever in front of you, slam on the gas. And if there's pedestrians... well, they better get out of your way. At the same time as watching for cars, however, you also have to manuever the rocks and potholes and gravel beneath you. And then, of course, there's not running into people. I think it's pretty safe to say that on any given street at any given time of day, there are plenty of pedestrians. And pedestrians who walk on the left side of the road, not the right. As for crossing the street...it's pretty much luck of the draw. The funny thing is that while we Americans are often just struggling to stay afoot in our jeans and t-shirts and thick-soled sandals, many of the Kenyans around us are simply strolling along in their freshly pressed suits, shiny dress shoes, and for women, heels! I don't know how they do it.
Ok, enough about the walk to school. Classes so far are good - there's Kiswahili, Country Analysis (Kenyan politics, economy, etc.) and Development. I'm really liking all the professors, and I'm definitely learning a lot too. The only complaint I have is that classes are long. They're in two-hour blocks, and we have three each day, but often they've doubled up Kiswahili so that we have four hours of it in a day. The nice thing is, Kenyans love their chai. Classes start at 8:30 and at 10:30 we have a break for chai. Then we have another two hours before lunch, when we usually run (literally) in small groups to nearby restaurants and quickly gobble down some food. We've been able to find some good stuff, and even some that slightly resembles food back home. I never thought that after only a couple weeks I'd miss ketchup (not pink, runny "tomato sauce") so much. And salt. And pretty much anything other than curry and rice. My family is pretty traditional in their food, so our meals are generally predictable. Either rice or ugali (a doughy substance that is in dire need of salt), cooked cabbage or kale/spinach/lots of curry flavoring, and some kind of meat or bean stew. It's not that it's terrible...it's just that once a day is enough for me. Let's just say I've made lunch my big meal of the day.
After class we've got a couple hours until sunset, so we usually find some type of adventure. Whether it's wandering downtown, exploring the neighborhood, or meeting a new host family, this is usually my favorite part of the day. Then when the sun starts to set, we all part ways and settle into family life at home - which for me is extremely quiet. If my host mom beats me home, I can generally find her sprawled on the couch watching "Sebastian and Catellina" or some other beloved melodrama. If I'm lucky, she'll be watching the news. My host sister is usually either at the kitchen table or in our bedroom "doing homework"/surfing facebook on the house girl's phone. And the house girl is in the kitchen...working. Sometimes my host mom will be holding my host brother on the couch. I don't think I've mentioned him yet, but he's severly disabled. I wish I knew what his condition was, but the house girl doesn't even know and she's the one who takes care of him. And she says my host mom doesn't like to talk about it. He's six years old, but he can't walk, can't talk and can't even sit up by himself. I think he's pretty heavily medicated too, so that he doesn't have "convulsions," the house girl says, and often his eyes just roll to the back of his head. It's sad, but he's definitely well-loved. My host mom talks to him all the time in her cooing, yet somehow always booming voice. "How's my boy! How's my boy! Aren't you just the best boy in Kenya!" she'll say as she walks by him.
Dinner is a pretty casual affair. And it is also very late - around 8 or 8:30. When the food is ready, the house girl simply lays it on the table in insulated blue tupperwear containers, and we all serve ourselves as we please before taking a seat in front of the TV. There's occasional chatter, usually started by myself, but mostly it's pretty relaxed. Although I was slightly disappointed by the "family time" at first, I've found from talking to other students that my family seems to be pretty typical. Evidently, if a family in Nairobi can afford a TV, it often becomes a constant passtime. Even so, my family is very welcoming and hospitable and makes me feel at home. Plus, when I'm done eating, I'll generally keep the house girl company in the kitchen and we always have a good time. If there's one thing she does well, it's laugh. I'll tell you more about her some other time.
This weekend a few friends and I are hopping a bus (for about 7 hours) to Kisumu, by Lake Victoria. With a guide book, our backpacking backpacks, and somewhat comprehensible Kiswahili, we'll venture into unknown (to us, anyway) territory. No doubt there'll be good stories to tell you next week.
Until then!
Ok, enough about the walk to school. Classes so far are good - there's Kiswahili, Country Analysis (Kenyan politics, economy, etc.) and Development. I'm really liking all the professors, and I'm definitely learning a lot too. The only complaint I have is that classes are long. They're in two-hour blocks, and we have three each day, but often they've doubled up Kiswahili so that we have four hours of it in a day. The nice thing is, Kenyans love their chai. Classes start at 8:30 and at 10:30 we have a break for chai. Then we have another two hours before lunch, when we usually run (literally) in small groups to nearby restaurants and quickly gobble down some food. We've been able to find some good stuff, and even some that slightly resembles food back home. I never thought that after only a couple weeks I'd miss ketchup (not pink, runny "tomato sauce") so much. And salt. And pretty much anything other than curry and rice. My family is pretty traditional in their food, so our meals are generally predictable. Either rice or ugali (a doughy substance that is in dire need of salt), cooked cabbage or kale/spinach/lots of curry flavoring, and some kind of meat or bean stew. It's not that it's terrible...it's just that once a day is enough for me. Let's just say I've made lunch my big meal of the day.
After class we've got a couple hours until sunset, so we usually find some type of adventure. Whether it's wandering downtown, exploring the neighborhood, or meeting a new host family, this is usually my favorite part of the day. Then when the sun starts to set, we all part ways and settle into family life at home - which for me is extremely quiet. If my host mom beats me home, I can generally find her sprawled on the couch watching "Sebastian and Catellina" or some other beloved melodrama. If I'm lucky, she'll be watching the news. My host sister is usually either at the kitchen table or in our bedroom "doing homework"/surfing facebook on the house girl's phone. And the house girl is in the kitchen...working. Sometimes my host mom will be holding my host brother on the couch. I don't think I've mentioned him yet, but he's severly disabled. I wish I knew what his condition was, but the house girl doesn't even know and she's the one who takes care of him. And she says my host mom doesn't like to talk about it. He's six years old, but he can't walk, can't talk and can't even sit up by himself. I think he's pretty heavily medicated too, so that he doesn't have "convulsions," the house girl says, and often his eyes just roll to the back of his head. It's sad, but he's definitely well-loved. My host mom talks to him all the time in her cooing, yet somehow always booming voice. "How's my boy! How's my boy! Aren't you just the best boy in Kenya!" she'll say as she walks by him.
Dinner is a pretty casual affair. And it is also very late - around 8 or 8:30. When the food is ready, the house girl simply lays it on the table in insulated blue tupperwear containers, and we all serve ourselves as we please before taking a seat in front of the TV. There's occasional chatter, usually started by myself, but mostly it's pretty relaxed. Although I was slightly disappointed by the "family time" at first, I've found from talking to other students that my family seems to be pretty typical. Evidently, if a family in Nairobi can afford a TV, it often becomes a constant passtime. Even so, my family is very welcoming and hospitable and makes me feel at home. Plus, when I'm done eating, I'll generally keep the house girl company in the kitchen and we always have a good time. If there's one thing she does well, it's laugh. I'll tell you more about her some other time.
This weekend a few friends and I are hopping a bus (for about 7 hours) to Kisumu, by Lake Victoria. With a guide book, our backpacking backpacks, and somewhat comprehensible Kiswahili, we'll venture into unknown (to us, anyway) territory. No doubt there'll be good stories to tell you next week.
Until then!
Monday, February 2, 2009
A Day in the Life
Between itching the fresh mosquito bites on my arm, I'll try to squeeze out a blog post. Unfortunately one arm must have slipped out of my sheets last night, and a few mosquitoes had a hay day. Since Nairobi is not technically a malaria zone, not everyone sleeps with a mosquito net, but I think I might have to start - seeing as I have a wandering right arm.
Anyway, I thought I'd start by describing for you an average weekday for me here in Nairobi, as we're all starting to settle into somewhat of a schedule. I generally wake up at around 6:45 a.m., leaving some wiggle room in case my host mother decides to take an extra few minutes in the bathroom. By the time I'm up, the fancy silver platter is always laid out on the table containing a hefty black thermos of chai (the thermos is probably at least a year old and yet it still has the sticker on it). Next to the loaf is my breakfast: a Supa Loaf ("Don't say bread, say Supa!" the label proclaims) and a tub of Blue Band. I don't think anyone in the city of Nairobi calls in butter. It's strictly Blue Band. I usually use some of the honey my host mom has left out from her chai to spice up breakfast, but generally it's not too exciting of a meal. I just try to inhale as many slices as I can to last me til lunch - at 1 p.m.
After breakfast I ask the house girl to heat me some water so I can bathe (yes, bathe - what we do in no way resembles a shower). Then, with my half bucket of boiling water, I attempt to clean up in the tub, which is no easy feat when you have long hair. Once I'm dressed I ask the house girl where my shoes are (Kenyans always have their house helps clean their shoes every day, and I can never find them in the morning). Then, I'm off to school.
I meet my friend Patrick at a corner just a couple blocks away, and then we wait for another friend to get (sometimes violently) thrown from the matatu she takes from her house everyday. If you're wondering what a matatu is, imagine an old, colorful van full of people screeching by a corner and snatching an innocent victim from the corner, then throwing them out a few blocks later. It's what we call cheap public transportation here. Some vans are painted with pictures of Jesus, some display murals of rap artists, and one I saw the other day had the familiar "Yes we can!" painted on the back. Needless to say, riding in a matatu is never boring.
So, I guess I'll have to start with the rest of my day another time...somehow it got to be almost a quarter to 7, and the sun's about to start setting. I also promised the house girl I'd make the brownie mix I brought from the U.S. with her tonight, so I better get going. Again, thanks for all your comments! Much love from Kenya.
Anyway, I thought I'd start by describing for you an average weekday for me here in Nairobi, as we're all starting to settle into somewhat of a schedule. I generally wake up at around 6:45 a.m., leaving some wiggle room in case my host mother decides to take an extra few minutes in the bathroom. By the time I'm up, the fancy silver platter is always laid out on the table containing a hefty black thermos of chai (the thermos is probably at least a year old and yet it still has the sticker on it). Next to the loaf is my breakfast: a Supa Loaf ("Don't say bread, say Supa!" the label proclaims) and a tub of Blue Band. I don't think anyone in the city of Nairobi calls in butter. It's strictly Blue Band. I usually use some of the honey my host mom has left out from her chai to spice up breakfast, but generally it's not too exciting of a meal. I just try to inhale as many slices as I can to last me til lunch - at 1 p.m.
After breakfast I ask the house girl to heat me some water so I can bathe (yes, bathe - what we do in no way resembles a shower). Then, with my half bucket of boiling water, I attempt to clean up in the tub, which is no easy feat when you have long hair. Once I'm dressed I ask the house girl where my shoes are (Kenyans always have their house helps clean their shoes every day, and I can never find them in the morning). Then, I'm off to school.
I meet my friend Patrick at a corner just a couple blocks away, and then we wait for another friend to get (sometimes violently) thrown from the matatu she takes from her house everyday. If you're wondering what a matatu is, imagine an old, colorful van full of people screeching by a corner and snatching an innocent victim from the corner, then throwing them out a few blocks later. It's what we call cheap public transportation here. Some vans are painted with pictures of Jesus, some display murals of rap artists, and one I saw the other day had the familiar "Yes we can!" painted on the back. Needless to say, riding in a matatu is never boring.
So, I guess I'll have to start with the rest of my day another time...somehow it got to be almost a quarter to 7, and the sun's about to start setting. I also promised the house girl I'd make the brownie mix I brought from the U.S. with her tonight, so I better get going. Again, thanks for all your comments! Much love from Kenya.
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