Christopher's Kenyan Adventure

2007-12-10T06:59:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone!

Saturday was my last day at Baraton University. It was also the Sabbath for the Seventh Day Adventists, meaning that it was required to be a day of rest. Absolutely no work was permitted. All stores and offices on campus were closed, as were the library and computer clusters. Neither exercise nor laundry could be done. The students attended church from 9am to 1pm, and again from 6pm to 7.

For me, it was a very slow day. That is until my 1pm lunch at the home of Professor Ssemanda, the professor who had invited me to campus in the first place.

She had prepared a meal for seven people: herself, her sister, a nephew, his friend, a pastor, a lecturer, and myself. This meal for seven people was probably enough for 20. It was fantastic – chapati, fried chicken, two delicious varieties of rice, stewed vegetables, potatoes, and more. And no one could leave the table until it was gone. I ate until I thought I would burst. I guess this was my opportunity to make up for having missed thanksgiving.

Afterwards, we sat around the living room engaged in a fairly animated debate of women’s rights in Kenya and the United States. This is a topic about which almost every Kenyan seems to have a strong opinion, but which is almost never discussed. I will return to this issue later within this post, but for now suffice it to say that I spent a very intense hour (civil and polite on all sides, but intense) defending women’s rights with my host and her sister. There were some very disappointing perspectives voiced by the other side, even from the highly educated lecturer and pastor. More about the gender rights issue in a minute. I also had the honor of spending an hour or more going through family photo albums with my host.

Afterwards, I ran (waddled, perhaps, after all the food I had been given) immediately to the home of another two professors, this time an American ex-pat and his Taiwanese wife, both of whom were enormously kind and courteous.

Then it was off to see the fourth professor of the day, this time another Kenyan. He and his wife were fabulous hosts, making me feel absolutely at home. We discussed the merits of learning Swahili as an American (a question I commonly have to field, both here and at home), the American education system, and my impressions of Kenya and Baraton in particular. Once again, I was brought to the brink of explosion by the amount of food I found on my plate. And after I barely managed to finish that, I was compelled by my overzealous host to “just finish the potatoes.” And then the rice. And then the vegetables. It was almost too much to bear.

Then he brought out a GIANT tray of fruit. Mangoes, Papaya, Passion Fruit, Melons, and a nice tall glass of Pineapple Juice. I really don’t think I have ever eaten that much fruit before in my life. Seriously. And this was AFTER two enormous meals before. Of course, everything was delicious beyond words. The food was spectacular, and I’ve never tasted sweeter fruit than those the professor gave me. It’s just that the concept of “please, no more – I’m full” does not stand a chance against Kenyan culture and it’s stipulations about hospitality. Even my hosts were laughing about how funny it is that a guest can’t escape being over fed. If I hadn’t been miserable with all my delicious food, I would have joined in their mirth.

When I left, I was invited by Salim to accompany him to another professor’s late night goat roast. I went on the condition that he wouldn’t let anyone force me to eat anything. Of course, that deal went right out the window the minute we walked in the door. I managed to limit the damage to one small bowl of the Filipino professor’s wife’s sticky rice (purple rice fried in brown sugar and spices until it forms a play-dough like consistency with the most delicious caramel flavor you can imagine), but even this was almost too much to bear. It was incredible.

I returned to sleep that night around midnight still as full as when I left the table, and on a tremendous sugar high.

The next day I traveled with professor Ssemanda to her small but beautiful tea farm just off campus, and from there to Eldoret, where we boarded a matatu for Nakuru. The road was miserable, but we had a good time talking and taking pictures of the people and places that we passed along the way. I arrived in the evening, met briefly with Dennis, and then returned to my host family in Mangu, where we had a lovely reunion and lots of exciting planning for the week ahead. It’s good to be “home” again in Nakuru.

Here’s the aforementioned discussion of women’s rights in Kenya as I have come to understand them:

While many communities are making significant strides towards what most Americans would consider a more equitable and progressive gender situation, many more are very, very far behind. There are still families in which the woman is never permitted to leave the home. Young daughters are raised into a lifestyle of subservience from the outset, and many young rural girls stay at home to work while the boys go off to school. Domestic violence remains an issue. Even many westernized families believe that the roles of women and men should remain apart. In many instances the role of the wife is to take care of the family and the home, and then to take care of the husband when he returns from work. While much progress is being made, outdated ideas remain, often not too far beneath the surface.

In the current ongoing election and campaign season, several female candidates have been victims of severe violence, including one woman who was murdered. Many others have been the recipients of death threats and threats against their families. The common understanding is that the violence is intended to “keep women in their place” and out of office.

Even some of my REPACTED friends had to struggle (or their mothers had to struggle on their behalves) to defy their fathers or families and receive an education. I can only imagine how many more were not so fortunate.

There has been a tremendous upwelling in the women’s rights movement in the past few years, and much good work is being done. But it is still an area that needs improvement. In addition to being a fundamental human rights campaign, the movement towards gender equality will also assist in many other critical development issues. Many case studies from across sub-Saharan Africa (a large and diverse region, but the results are still valid) have shown that the advancement of women’s rights and women’s education can do wonders to limit the spread of HIV and other STDs, reduce violence, and even promote economic development. (See the book “The Invisible Cure” for further reading.) Hopefully the current trends of progressive thinking (There is a common saying: “a woman educated is a nation educated”) will prevail over the violence and subjugation that continues, and things will continue to improve.

English Lessons and Skipping Town Early

2007-12-07T01:17:00.001-08:00

Greetings all,

Not too much to report from the last few days, other than making a few new friends, eating tasty but nondescript food, getting the occasional caffeine headache, reading a lot, and sleeping early.

The only really noteworthy thing to come of the past few days was last night, when I sat in on an English class. The group was discussing the difference between American English and British English. I was called forward to give an impromptu example of American English. I spoke for a few minutes about any old thing, using fairly simple language and speaking at a manageable pace. After a few minutes it became increasingly clear that I had lost a good number of the students. It was an interesting reminder that coming here without knowing any Swahili would have been a very daunting task. These were college students who are studying English, and I was still unable to communicate with them in a relaxed and natural manner. I would have likely had even less luck with the average Kenyan on the street. The language barrier that I experience every day when communicating in Swahili is actually not all that different than that which I’d experience if I just used English.

Anyway, the rest of the class consisted of discussions of the merits of “Lorry” versus “Truck,” “Flat” versus “Apartment,” and “Holiday” versus “Vacation.” I was also surprised to hear that “Fall” is a distinctly American term, whereas “Autumn is more closely associated with British English. I guess there are some things you just can’t learn at home.

Anyway, the pithy nature of this post is probably indicative of my experience here. It’s been tremendously pleasant, but I’m feeling kind of lazy for just sitting around and killing time most of the day. I’ve changed my plans to get back to Nakuru a good bit earlier (Sunday morning, hopefully), so that I can continue with a little more of my work before I depart. My plane leaves two weeks from today! Craziness.

I also met a few American students here (most of them come from African families but did their lower education in the states), and I think we’re going to play American Football this afternoon. Needless to say, I am tremendously excited by that.

Talk to you all soon,
Chris

University of Eastern Africa, Baraton

2007-12-05T06:04:00.001-08:00

Hello, everyone.

The University of Eastern Africa at Baraton is a Seventh-Day Adventist college with some 1,500 students from all over Africa. I have already met many people from Kenya and Tanzania, as well as Malawi, Zimbabwe, Rwanda, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Ghana, and South Africa. Many of them are Seventh-Day Adventist, but for a college of that denomination, I was surprised at how many are not. For example, my three closest friends thus far are all Muslim. However, all students are expected to attend church every night for 45 minutes, regardless of their own faith. In keeping with the strict interpretation of the scripture that the Adventists adhere to, the campus also refrains from serving Alcohol, Coffee, Tea, Soda, or Meat. Tobacco use is prohibited, no jewellery is permitted, and there is an 11:45 curfew.

Despite all of these things which might in other contexts have detracted from my experience (NO COFFEE?), I’m actually finding Baraton is actually a very nice place. The campus is clean, safe, and friendly despite being located in the middle of a very poor and dry area of the country. The students and faculty that I have met have all been tremendously welcoming, and even the all-veg food is pretty good. I have a room to myself in the “Old Men’s Dorm” (so named due to its having predated the other men’s dorm, not due to the age of its occupants), and the shared bathroom is considerably cleaner than several others that I have encountered in East Africa.

As I said above, the three guys who I first met up with and have since befriended are all Muslim and all hail from the costal city of Mombasa. They are called Abdallah, Salim, and Juzer, and all three of them are of “Swahili” stock.

[ Quick history lesson: Traders were travelling back and forth across the Indian Ocean from East Africa to the Middle East, India and possibly even China as far back as the 7th or 8th century, and maybe even much farther. This interconnectivity brought increased wealth to the costal communities of Kenya and Tanzania, as well as a tremendous Islamic and Arabic influence (To alleviate any potential confusion: “Arab” is an ethnicity, “Islam” is a religion, “Muslims” are people who practice Islam, of whom many are Arab. There are also a great many African Muslims, Indonesian Muslims, and Persian Muslims to name just a few. There are also many Christian Arabs, and the like. Anyway…) The East African coastal peoples gradually assimilated these cultural and religious influences and formed a new society, calling themselves the Swahili people. The coastal peoples intermarried with Arab traders from the north and formed a fairly powerful trade network of their own, peaking between the 8th and 13th centuries. This is why the coast is predominantly Muslim, even though most of the rest of the country is Christian. As they grew in power and wealth, their language began spread inland. With the advent of colonialism the different colonial powers (Portugal, The Omani Empire, Germany, and England) utilized the language to different extents, and before long it was a major language of government. It was gradually supplanted in Kenya by English in the last several decades before Independence, but it is still one of two national languages (along with English, which is less widely known, especially outside of the cities) and is spoken by almost everyone. In Tanzania it is the only national language, and very few people speak English. Despite this national appropriation of the language, the coast is still considered to be the home of Swahili, and most folks there would call themselves the Swahili people. Many of them, including my friends here, are of mixed or even predominantly Arab descent. ]

Anyway, my three friends here are all seniors, and are all preparing to graduate in March. They have been tremendously welcoming and friendly, and have made me feel very much at home. They are all from relatively wealthy families (Baraton is a private university and there are very few scholarships available, so many people are), and I get the impression that Salim and Abdallah come from families that are very well connected in the Kenyan political and Economic elite.

Other than spending time with those guys, I am finding Baraton to be a little on the slow side. Exams start at the end of the week so many people are spending a lot of their time studying. There also isn’t really a significant town around, and the few restaurants across outside the gate are sufficient for sneaking out at meal time to get meat or soda, but not much else. Although the campus is certainly pleasant and would be a nice place to attend school, I nevertheless find myself with lots and lots of free time. On the plus side, this is helping me catch up on all sorts of reading. I’m also making some headway on the planning of the 24 hour play festival coming up on January 12th (tickets are just $5- reserve yours today!) and on my email correspondence, but this isn’t really what I came to Kenya to do. I have met briefly with a few professors, including one interesting meeting with a professor of Geography and Development Studies, but even that didn’t seem to lead anywhere, as he had to cut it short with other work to do. I doubt he’ll have time to schedule a second interview.

All in all, it seems like a very pleasant place that I happened to arrive at in the wrong context and/or at the wrong time. And I can’t even upload any more photos or anything to the web because the connection is a little too slow. If you find that my blog posts trail off for the next week, it will probably because there isn’t that much to report. On the other hand, if you find that I’m writing a whole lot more than usual, it’s probably out of a lack of other things to keep me busy. Now would be a good time for that casual email you’ve been meaning to send, if you catch my drift.

The current plan is to return to Nakuru on the 12th, but if the boredom keeps up I might move that to the 11th or even the 10th. And after that, I’m back to Nairobi on the 15th or 16th, and off for climbing in France with Nick O’Brien on the 21st. In these last visits to Nakuru and Nairobi I’m also going to be going around purchasing wearable art for sale back at Taylor’s Landing Country Store, so if you have any sorts of goodies that you’d like to be able to buy at very reasonable prices to support Kenyan artisans, please let me know ASAP and I’ll see what I can do. I’m already planning on bringing Earrings, Necklaces, Bracelets, Handbags, and Sandals, but if you’re interested in clothing or other things, that’s great too. I’ve also heard that the Red Ribbon Pins made by the HIV+ Single Parents support group are now on sale at Taylor’s, so if you are interested in those, they’re officially now available.

Thats everything (and then some),

Chris

Public Transportation Nightmare

2007-12-04T01:57:00.000-08:00

Greetings friends and family!

I’m currently writing from the desktop computer of the secretary of Doctor Miriam Ssemanda, the Dean of Humanities and Social Sciences at the University of Eastern Africa, Baraton. Doctor Ssemanda was a guest professor of Swahili at Princeton last year, and it was by her invitation that I now find myself here at this lovely Seventh-Day Adventist college in the tiny hamlet of Baraton, roughly an hour outside of the larger hamlet of Eldoret, Kenya.

I look forward to telling you all about this school, but first I must relate a story about public transportation. Two nights ago (my most recent “last night in Nakuru” – of which I have already had three and will certainly have at least one more) Sylvia and I were both in the city until 6pm, and agreed to meet at the matatu stand at 6:15 to find a car for the ride home. Due to a bit of misfortune (or possibly a bad decision), the car for Mangu wasn’t a typical 14 passenger matatu, but instead a mini-bus that seats 24. Naturally, the most profitable trip a bus can take one in which every seat is full, and as such we typically spend a good half an hour or so sitting in the van waiting for sufficient passengers to arrive. Because this bus could accommodate a whopping 24, because Mangu is a relatively unpopular destination, and because it was a Sunday, well over an hour later we still found ourselves waiting for the bus to fill.

It was already near 7:30 when Sylvia remembered that she had promised her mother a loaf of bread. She ran out the door, saying something to one of the conductors and disappearing off into the night. This left me alone to ponder why it was that we seemed to have three conductors, and why they spent as much time shouting at each other as they did attempting to draw in as many passengers as possible. Just a few minutes later, the bus departed. Sylvia was no where to be seen. I asked one of the conductors to wait for her to return, be he insisted that we were in fact going to pick her up. That seemed rather unlikely, but as we were taking the rather unusual course of driving right into the market area as opposed to leaving the city, I resigned myself to gazing desperately out the window until some other course of action presented itself.

Soon I realized that we weren’t just passing through the city on an unusual route home, but actually weaving up and down every block while the conductors hung out the doors and windows trying to drum up more passengers. We even stopped in the middle of the road for a time while we debated prices with a potential rider. The bus was sufficiently large (and awkwardly parked) to stop all flow of traffic, and it wasn’t too long until we were receiving a variety of very unpleasant comments from drivers and pedestrians.

After about five minutes of this, I called Sylvia (who was very confused as to where we had gone) and gave her directions to our location, and she caught up to us right as we the negotiations were wrapping up, barely making it on board. Also during this period another lady disembarked to run an errand, leaving her bags and a small child on board. The general protocol is to wait for such people to return, but our rather disorganized conductors had had enough. Perhaps they finally grew weary of lingering in town (as had I, long before), or perhaps they too had heard the warning shouts from the street that the police were on their way. But for one reason or another we took off like a bat out of hell, abandoning the woman in the city without her child, her bag, or a ride.

Of course, I was not the only one a bit chagrined at this course of action, and before long most of the passengers were yelling at the driver to turn the bus around. Finally he did, but not before wasting five minutes driving out of the city and another five driving back in. By the time we returned the woman was no where to be found, and we had to spend another ten minutes driving around to search for her. All told, it was a little more than an hour and forty-five minutes from when I boarded the bus to when we finally hit the main road out of town. Sylvia and I were quite relieved to be on our way. The advances of the drunken man across the aisle were becoming a bit much for her to bear, and besides, we were both hungry and had much to do when we got home.

It isn’t uncommon for matatus full of passengers to stop at a gas station and fill up en route. Often the drivers and conductors are living day-to-day and ride-to-ride, and don’t have the means to maintain a full tank of gas anyway. I’ve often had to pay my fare up front so that they would even have the cash to put something into the tank. (There was also one time when me and a whole car full of people had to pay up front and then wait half an hour while we drove straight from the stage to the mechanic and had the tires realigned, but that has nothing to do with this story.) That being said, it IS uncommon for the three conductors to argue about who is going to pay and about who is going to do the pumping, and then to get into a ten minute argument with four or five gas attendants about God-knows-what before anyone even starts to fill the tank. This was starting to become the matatu ride from hell.

We were finally pulling out of the gas station a few minutes later when we stopped again, this time so the driver could bound out of his seat and come running around to the passenger door. “We’re being followed by some police from town, and we’re over loaded. If we get caught like this, we’ll all have to go together to the police station until the paperwork gets sorted out. Is anyone willing to get off here?”

No answer.

“Anyone?”

Silence.

“Is anyone willing to lay flat on top of the bus for a few miles until we get clear of here?”

Three guys jumped up.

Five minutes later we were pulled over, and a fairly irate officer was standing just in front of me, inspecting the contents of the bus. We were almost about to get off, when he noticed that most of the passengers were not wearing seat belts. A seditious grin slid across his face. “Why aren’t you wearing seatbelts!?” He demanded in Swahili. “That is a 500 shilling fine ($8 US – a huge penalty for these people) for every one of you! I’m turning this car around and taking it back to the station!” This meant we would all be thrown into jail until we paid our fine and were free to go again. Of course, then we’d still have to find another way of getting home. Plus, most of the people with us wouldn’t be able to pay, and I wasn’t sure what would become of them. I was not thrilled. And I could only imagine what would happen when we arrived at the station and the officer discovered the three men on top of the bus. There was a massive outcry from my fellow passengers, and the officer turned and made to return to his car.

Fortunately, one of our conductors thought quickly, and ran after him. I don’t know what he said or what he did, but after five tense minutes of waiting, he returned alone and shout “lets go.” I didn’t know whether he meant we were going to the station or continuing on our way, but over time it gradually became clear by the smiles emerging on the faces of those looking back out the windows that the officer was letting us pass.A few miles later we passed through the permanent police check point, and although we were all quite apprehensive, it passed without event.

A little bit later we stopped again for the men on top of the bus to come back inside. They were greeted with a hero’s welcome, which I thought was fitting. Although I was surprised at how readily everyone forgot that the greed, confusion, and inefficiency of the conductors was what had caused all of these problems to begin.

Either way, in all the confusion neither Sylvia nor I was ever asked to pay, so we couldn’t really complain too much. We arrived at our stop two and a half hours after we boarded the bus, about two hours later than we had expected. It was a long and miserable ride, but I suppose in retrospect it makes for a good story. Either way, I was happy to finally arrive safe and sound, and five hundred and fifty shillings richer than I could have been.

Sorry for the bad grammar and spelling, this post was composed in great haste. Hopefully one day I’ll have time to actually sit and do things thoughtfully.

Until then, I miss and love you all.

World AIDS Day 2007

2007-12-02T21:19:00.000-08:00

December 1st marks the annual World AIDS Day, and the residents of Nakuru honored the occasion with a large gathering in the downtown Nyayo Gardens. There were a multitude of large tents set up, representing organizations such as Family Health International, the Catholic Diocese of Nakuru, and the Nakuru Police Department. Each had its own unique activities, ranging from the sales of arts and crafts made by various support groups to the distribution of free health information, condoms, and nutritional supplements. The main tent was home to a host of local health, youth, and political leaders, along with the winners of the Miss Red Ribbon Pageant and other prominent HIV + individuals. This tent opened out onto a central stage area, in which arts and youth organizations alternated performances with poetry readings and ensemble dance pieces by local school children. The rest of the clearing was occupied by hundreds of seated school children ringed by invited guests, concerned residents, and curious onlookers. The flowering trees and other foliage towering overhead gave the whole place a serene natural feel.

Behind the main tent the volunteers from the Red Cross and Nuru Ya Jamii had established two Voluntary Counseling and Testing tents, outside of which dozens of people had lined up to receive information and learn their HIV status. Partially at the urging of my host mother Jane and partially to satisfy my own curiosity about the process, I eventually found my own way into this same line. I was surprised to learn that a few of the members of REPACTED did not actually know their own statuses, and I was able to convince them that if I was going to be tested, they should be too. So it came to be that three of us spent well over an hour waiting in the line (or the jumble, if you will, as there were often contentions and near-fights over the true sequence of the “line,” especially as the clock marched on towards closing time.)

I began to grow unexpectedly apprehensive as our time to be tested grew neigh, as did most of the group around me. Because of my personal circumstances, decisions, and environment, I knew that the odds of my being HIV+ were tremendously small. But as I grew ever closer to actually determining my status for sure, a few small doubts began to creep into my mind. What if I was one of those miracle cases where infection stems from the slightest encounter with an infected medical instrument or a handshake where both people unknowingly had broken skin? What if there were no discernable explanation at all, but I was somehow infected nonetheless? I had been in close proximity to many affected individuals in the past few months, perhaps some mistake had accidentally been made. I wondered if I could possible have the strength to face a positive result, or if I would be took weak to live up to the very same advice I had been distributing for two months. I found myself sympathizing with the host of anxious individuals around me, many of whom had surely been in far more compromising situations than myself.

Fortunately, this anxious waiting period also turned out to be a fabulous teaching and learning experience. Many of the people in line, assuming that I was present as some sort of AIDS expert or foreign medical official, began to ask me questions. “Can white people get AIDS?” was one of the most common. “Is this a problem for the whole world, or just Africa?” “Is it true that AIDS was made by the Americans to kill black people?” I was amazed that such basic questions still persist, despite the mass-education programs that have been taking place. Many other questions of more detailed natures also came up, and the REPACTED members (names omitted to protect the innocent) and I took turns providing the best information we could. This job was soon made easier by the arrival of one of the VCT counselors, who began to prepare us all for our test with a brief conversation about the means of transmission of HIV, and what knowing our statuses would mean for us in the future. Most of the information was a repeat of things I have already learned, but I was still pleased to see that everyone who gets tested also gets this sort of lesson. I was also impressed with the confidence of many of the patients who asked rather difficult questions in front of their peers. Perhaps the knowledge that we were all feeling the same vulnerability emboldened them. Regardless of the cause, the last few minutes before I entered the tent were occupied with a tremendous exchange of information.

The two other group members and I agreed to be tested as a group, and to share our statuses from the moment we heard them. This meant entering the tent together, and it proved to be a great idea, as my apprehension was growing by the minute as I waited for our turn to come. Finally the counselor came to get us (all VCT “doctors” have been thoroughly trained in the requisite sanitation, medical, and counseling skills, but few are actually medical experts beyond the issues of HIV.) Once inside, we examined the literature and equipment arranged before us like an exhibit in an HIV museum. As the councilor prepared his equipment, the three of us took turns saying encouraging things and holding hands.

The test itself was a relatively simple process. The counselor used a fresh and sterilized disposable “sharp” to prick the end of a finger, and then drew enough blood to fill a small dropper, probably about 5ml. He then opened a disposable test strip (something rather akin to pool chlorine-level test strips), and placed a few drops of blood on one end. He then disposed of the sharp and dropper in a biohazard box and placed a few drops of a test solution on the strip. He then hid the strip from view while we waited for it to develop, and moved on to the next patient. The whole process for all three of us took no more than ten minutes. While we waited, he filled out some demographic information that we provided in individual interview sessions. This was rather straightforward, although looking over his shoulder I did notice that he made a handful of assumptions about me and the other members of the group. Between the spaces for “age” and “marital status” there was a space for “sexual orientation.” For all three of us he assumed heterosexual without even asking the question. We were all also automatically recorded as Christians.
After a brief waiting period, we were instructed how to interpret our test results. You have to read your own results in order to help you feel like you "own them" and to help you accept the truth, one way or the other. For me, it also served to further intensify the situation. With one final reminder - "one stripe, negative; two stripes, positive" - and one last set of reassurances, he handed us our tests. First there were sighs of relief. Then a moment of tension again as we realized our friends might not have been so fortunate. Then a burst of laughter as we realized we were all okay. The moment that followed was as momentus for its joy as the one before had been for fear. We were all okay. But this sensation also passed as we realized that many of the people who had passed through this tent before us had not been so lucky, and that millions more awaited that same fate.

Later in the day I accompanied REPACTED and a host of Red Cross volunteers to a local slum area where we brought a VCT tent and loads of information to hand out. For me and the others with whom I had been tested, encouraging people to learn their status took on a new meaning. Having been through that experience ourselves (and in my case, with much less to fear than many others), I could appreciate the horror that many felt at the suggestion. But I also recognized in a new light the importance of knowing your status, both to help you protect yourself and to protect those you love. In the end, I probably shouldn't have let the day be so much about myself. But in so, I certainly gained a new appreciation for what it means to be HIV-, and for the challenges facing the campaign to raise awareness and defeat stigma and fear. Certainly a World AIDS Day that I won't be able to forget.

A Safari and An Outreach

2007-11-29T03:34:00.000-08:00

Greetings all,

Our first full day in Nakuru was largely occupied by a big trip to Lake Nakuru National Park just outside of town. We awoke early to be ready when our hired van/driver arrived, and by 8 am the whole group of us (the host family - George, Jane, Charles, Sylvia, and Caro - plus me and dad and Blair) had climbed aboard and we were off to the park. We ran into trouble 5 miles from the house when the van ran out of gas (I'm not certain why the driver didn't fill up prior to coming out to get us), but after half an hour of waiting by the roadside for him to hitch into town and back, we were once again on our way. Although the park was fairly expensive ($40 US for foreigners, $3 for residents), we soon realized that it was going to be worth every cent.

The park is a large parcel of land starting just 3 miles from downtown Nakuru. It contains a large and shallow lake, some dense forest, and a stretch of semi-arid savanna, and the whole thing is ringed by low hills, many of which have sharp cliffs facing inward towards the lake. It is a fantastically beautiful place. The lake itself is home to an enormous flock of flamingos, who stand (monopodically) in large clumps near the shore, where they feed on a very specific species of algae (which in turn feeds only on flamingo waste.) From a distance they give the lake the appearance of having being ringed entirely in pink. It is also home too several huge flocks of storks and pelicans, all of whom are alarmingly loud and large (many stand 2-3 feet tall). The water also draws large numbers of mammals, and near its edges we saw giraffe, gazelles, rhino, zebra, water buffalo (which are enormous), and several other large animals whose names I do not know. We also saw a hyena eating a flamingo, an angry troupe of baboons (as well as plenty of smaller monkeys), a tiny hoofed animal called a dik-dik, very large and bizarre rodents called hyraxes who were neither curious nor afraid of our presence, and more colorful lizards, birds, and insects than I could possibly describe. There were no Lions, Elephants, Warthogs, or Leopards, but every other species we had hoped to see were present in large numbers. It was an animal-watching dream.

We also came across a gorgeous waterfall cascading down from beautiful (and tremendously climbable - I'll be back one day) sandstone cliffs. There was a forest of cacti towering 40-60 feet over our heads, a low marsh that is home to several hippopotamuses (whom we did not see), and some very arid near-deserts. The diversity in such a relatively small space was astounding. George and Jane had been in the park many years before, and Sylvia vaguely recalled visiting with a class when she was very small, but otherwise none of us had been before, and we were all fantastically impressed.

We returned home that night just before dark, my dad was invited to a village elders meeting with George, and Blair and I helped Jane and Sylvia prepare dinner. It was a relaxing way to end an enjoyable day, and I think everyone felt quite satisfied. We stayed up very late drinking Chai and talking, and I think we all learned a lot. I'm hopeful that my dad (who arrived home safely this morning) will have time to write a little more about it in the days to come.

The next morning Blair, dad, and I went back into the city to accompany REPACTED on a theatrical outreach in a nearby slum. They had arranged this particular one to coincide with our visit so that Blair and my dad could see the work they do. We arrived at the site around 10 am, and more or less immediately set to work with mobilizing an audience. We sang our usual songs, danced and made noise, and generally called attention to ourselves. Blair and dad were both quite amused at our antics, especially when they were each in turn pulled into the circle by members of the group, becoming Incorporated into the commotion. After a time a skit was initiated, and we fell to the side to watch. At this point the multitude of tiny children descended upon the three wazungu, overwhelming my dad's ability to take a picture of each, and shouting out "mzungu!" and "howareyou!" with glee. We were also amused to find them shouting "Kibaki Tena" (Kibaki again), a campaign slogan currently employed by the incumbent president in his bid for reelection. His campaign manager surely deserves a bonus for thoroughly saturating the nation with his message, if even three year old slum dwellers are shouting his praise.

Anyway, the skit ended well, with large amounts of audience participation (thanks to the great work of a fill-in facilitator as our usual one was out of town) and after a few small group discussions took place, we departed again. Both of my guests were thoroughly impressed, and made their thoughts known at the post-performance discussion back at the theater. The group appreciated their attendance and kind words, and after lunch we once again went our own way, this time to buy tourist goodies at the local curio market, get dinner, and return home.

The next morning we visited the orphanage where Carrington and Bev both work (although Bev had just returned to the states the night before), and got a great tour from Carrington himself. I was thrilled to see how much progress had been made on a few construction projects in the weeks since I had visited. The place is really coming together beautifully - no doubt a testament to the work my friends and theirs had done. Shortly thereafter we returned to Nairobi via matatu, and in the evening I saw dad off at the airport. I've been in Nairobi (thanks to the hospitality of Micah and Hodari) taking care of a little business with the Red Ribbon pins, and tomorrow I'm heading back to Nakuru for World AIDS Day on the 1st. Then I'm off to Eldoret to visit Professor Miriam Semanda and the University of Eastern Africa - Baraton campus there. I'll keep you posted on how that goes.

I hope you all find a way to acknowledge World AIDS Day wherever you may be, and I wish you all the best, always.

Yours,
Chris

Back and Forth to Nakuru

2007-11-28T00:04:00.000-08:00

Hello again!
Sorry for the delay in postings, I've been away from computers for quite some time. Saturday morning we packed up our things and met Blair in the lobby of the Hilton. A short Taxi ride brought us to the Matatu stand, where we purchased tickets for the long ride to Nakuru. I was able to get the front seat for Dad (where he'd be able to stretch his legs at least a little), but Blair and I found ourselves in the back of the bus, trapped by the bars on the windows and the seats that fold down across the aisles to accomodate more passengers. 3 bumpy, dusty hours later, we were in Nakuru, and my dad was beginning to understand what I mean when I say that the roads here are a mess.

We met up with my host father George, recieving a very warm welcome in his office and leaving our bags in his car while we set out for lunch. I was thrilled to be reunited with the usual fare at Mama Njeri's (the very small restaurant where I often eat with REPACTED), and even dad found the $.30 beans and $.15 chapati to be a very satisfing meal. Afterwards we visited the theater and Nuru ya Jamii, and got dad his first bodaboda ride. We also attended a small portion of the "Miss Red Ribbon" beauty pageant at the theater in the evening, in which HIV positive and HIV negative youth vie for the title, and afterwards (when the audience has established it's favorites and selected a winner) it is revealed who is living with the virus and who is not. The idea is to support the young women who are positive by providing them with an opportunity to be celebrated, and also to drive home the point that you cannot and should not distinguish the afflicted from their peers, because all are beautiful and have much to offer. It's an anti-stimga message wrapped up in a lively event for youth that also features "know your status" themes and provides empowerment. Although we could not stay til the end, I was thrilled with the high turnout and the support the audience gave to the performers. It was a very positive occasion.

As evening settled in, George took us out to a restaurant where he bought my dad a drink and Blair and I played pool with Charles. Then we returned home where we met again with my host mother Jane and sister Sylvia, and the youngest daughter Caro who is home from school on break. It was a very pleasant occasion with much conversation and eating of good food and drinking of tea. We also made the final preparations for the next day's mini-safari.

I'm very short on time at the moment, but I will be back near the computer again this evening or early tomorrow, and will explain more about the trip then. Suffice it to say that it has been a positive but relatively uneventful time, and that I am in Nairobi until tomorrow afternoon. I'm sorry for the lack of content, and also the lack of proofreading. I hope that the quality of my writing will improve soon.

Much love,
Chris

VOSH Wrap-Up and a Guest.

2007-11-23T09:48:00.000-08:00

Hello friends.

Tonight is my last night in the Hilton. While I'll miss the fluffy pillows and the marble in the lobby, I think I'm ready to get back to my strengths - life without running water and making my own bed. Anyway, I'm going to give a tiny bit of information on the past few days and a little bit about the next, and then I'll turn it over to a special guest correspondent.

We concluded the final day of the clinic on Thursday. It was once again a lengthy day filled with meaningful moments, from the heartwarmingly joyous to the heartbreakingly cruel. We restored sight to a 103 year old lady, and minutes later explained to a 17 year old mother why her 3 year old daughter will never see. There was also the uniquely miserable task of turning away potential patients who arrived too late, even when they had walked for hours to be seen. Registration was closed at 1pm (as had been widely advertised), but steady trickle of desperate patients continued to plead their cases until we finally departed at 3:30. Although we did continue to register a handful of exceptionally needy cases (primary school students, young mothers, and the nearly blind), it would have been impossible to admit everyone, as we still had over one hundred people registered and waiting at 2pm. Turning away the others was a poignant reminder that despite having seen 1,800 patients in three days, we hadn't even scratched the surface of the work that needs to be done.

The experience was a challenge in many ways, and yet was also fabulously rewarding. The people I met and the perspectives they brought were both enlightening and refreshing. If every doctor in the United States joined these men and women in taking one work trip per year, a lot of good could be done in the world. I know for certain that the experience of translating, holding lights and drops and lenses, and just being in the room while they worked brought me a whole new understanding on the kinds of work that can (and needs to) be done. Sure, it isn't the Peace corps (What with the safaris and the Hilton and such), but the doctors of VOSH and other groups like it have a valuable contribution to make, and they are brave enough to make it. And that is outstanding.

Anyway, tomorrow morning Dad and Blair and I are heading to Nakuru to stay with my host family one more time and to visit REPACTED, Nuru Ya Jamii, and maybe the Lake Nakuru National Park. In the mean time, my father has agreed to put a few of his experiences on the record. So, without any further ado, the words of Terry Simpson:

Hi, it’s me the guest blogger, Dad. If you are like me, you have been enjoying reading the past postings. I’ll try not to disappoint.

I’m here in Nairobi. From reading my son’s past postings, you know we’ve been working with a VOSH mission, providing eye exams and glasses to 1800 Kenyans. The trip has been a true smorgasbord of experiences and emotions.

First, let me speak as a parent. I feel great pride for my son. His language skills and knowledge of the issues facing Kenyans in particular and East Africans in general has been enlightening. His street savvy will be comforting to his Mom, when I’m able to report that he is fitting in quite well and he is quite safe. His caring is contagious. Nevertheless, he remains merciless when driving a bargain with the street vendors.

Driving from our western style hotel to our work site every day, we pass through Kibera. I am told it is one of the world’s largest slums, home to more than one million people, exceeding the population of my home state. The conditions here are deplorable, truly deplorable. In writing about it, I have a sense of deja vous for the college exams I took unprepared because I’m writing on a subject I know very little about. Like that student, I feel not a little guilty in not knowing about the subject matter, because I should know more than I do. How can I be enjoying my comfortable life when so many are living with so little? I suppose because I live more or less half way around the world the situation here has been easy for me to ignore. My shame is that soon I will be back home and re-engaged in my own life, and may well continue to ignore the issues many are compelled to live with daily.

As an unskilled VOSH volunteer my daily work consists of standing in front of a long line of people waiting their turn to enter one the exam rooms to be seen by an eye doctor. Some speak English fairly well with a nearly-British accent. Most speak only a little English. Of course, I cannot speak their language at all. Some are shy, but many wish to converse. Most of them are residents of the slums of Kibera. They read my name tag and introduce themselves to me, calling me by name. They are polite, friendly and appreciative of what VOSH is doing. They ask about my country and tell me something of theirs- mostly about the lack of jobs and opportunity. But each one who is conversant, there are many more who are not. For those with whom conversation is strained, the long wait in silence is difficult.

For I while, I was taking photos on my camera. There are many photogenic faces in the crowd. But that, too felt a little awkward, like I am taking something from them without permission. So, I put my camera away. But then, a thought occurred to me. Thank goodness for digital cameras with display screens that allow for instant gratification. Showing the photographed persons their pictures brought smiles to their faces and their friends’, which led to more pictures and some level of communication between us. Stern looking faces soon became smiling faces and a re-shoot of the picture with the smiling face. Sharing the photo made me feel less like an intruder, more like an invited guest. More importantly, the photos and the experience of taking them will make it less likely I will forget them and their life when I go home.

-T

Kibera Visits With VOSH

2007-11-21T11:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday (Tuesday) was the first of three days of free eye clinics at the Olympic Primary School in the Kibera slums of Nairobi. We began work at 8am as the first trickle of patients came through the gate, continuing almost ceaselessly until 2pm. Hundreds of people (mostly residents of Kibera) lined up, registered, and were seen by one of our ten optometrists. The vast majority received glasses, eye drops, or other medications free of charge. The small children also received candy or crayons. Although I did have some reservations about the relatively short work day, I must say that I was ultimately very impressed by the doctors’ dedication to improving the lives of their patients and by the number of patients who were ultimately seen. The work unquestionably makes a world of difference. The number of people who emerged from the dispensary with enormous grins or equally enthusiastic expressions of gratitude is remarkable. My work as a translator has been very gratifying, particularly in cases where the patient has some symptom or concern that might not be immediately visible under the quick exams our doctors perform. My father has been quite content as one of the “crowd control” volunteers, especially appreciative of the opportunity to interact with people as he leads them from one room to another.

I must admit that I questioned the necessity of breaking for lunch during such a short work session, especially when hundreds of patients – many of whom may have been going without lunch themselves – were still queuing just outside. Fortunately, this problem was somewhat mitigated by the fact that our oversized safari-company issue lunches were comprised of a great number of individual items, including (but not limited to) a piece of chicken, nuts, an apple, a banana, two sandwiches, nuts, cake, and an egg. Because the allotment was so excessive, there were easily enough leftovers to give one item to each client still waiting outside. I was impressed by the readiness of the doctors and volunteers to offer up the better part of their meals to the hungry crowd outside. Many even went a little hungry to do so. It was clear that the Americans had indeed been moved by the plight of the Kibera dwellers, and I was happy to see that many of our clients ended up with a free small lunch to match their new glasses.

A few noteworthy cases have come across my path in the past two days. The most touching to me was that of a little boy whose vision is so bad that he would be considered legally blind at home. The doctors found him a tiny pair of enormously powerful glasses that roughly matched his needs. His face lit up like a Christmas tree when he put them on, and he was the eager subject of numerous photographs for the next few minutes as everyone shared in his glee. There was also a 92 year-old man who received glasses for the first time in his life and wouldn’t stop thanking and blessing every one of the volunteers. And the doctors’ presence proved quite timely for a mechanical worker who had a small piece of rusty metal embedded in his eye the night before, and for a tiny young girl who was struck in the eye by a projectile stone on the playground right outside our offices. In both cases our group was able to prevent lengthy and painful (and potentially blinding) injuries, and resolved the problems right then and there. I was also thrilled to see my usual Nairobi taxi driver come in the door. I was even more thrilled when he walked out without a prescription, meaning that his vision has been reliable and safe all along. He did however receive a free pair of sunglasses for long days in the sun.

As a translator, I have come to generally be tied to one small classroom and the three doctors who work within. This has often brought me the unique pleasure of helping patients who don’t know English and learning about optometry in the process. But it has also presented me with some very difficult situations. The joy of helping to restore someone’s vision has been matched by the occasional burden of delivering bad news. My Swahili was strained to the limit in trying to find the kindest words to tell a man that his detached retina will never heal, and that he will gradually lose all sight in one eye. I’ve also had to explain that while cataracts are easily and inexpensively cured in the states, we don’t have the equipment in our clinic to solve them, and that they will be prohibitively expensive here in Kenya. “A cure exists but you can’t have it” is a hard pill to swallow. A little lying is always involved (there isn’t really any reason to tell them that the surgery is possible in the states), but my task to translate the doctors’ words, not to modify them to suit my own sensibilities. I was also nearly brought to tears by the reaction of one 8 year old boy when I explained that his left eye is slowly degenerating, and that glasses will not help.

It has been a difficult two days, but fulfilling ones. Although the group itself is comprised of many wealthy individuals, and the contrast between our own situation and that of our clients is at times a little jarring, I am still in full support of the work that VOSH is doing. To hear many of the volunteers speak is refreshing, as several of them have come to a point where they no longer travel except for on missions such as these. They lament the unwillingness of many of their peers to sacrifice their own time or money to charitable causes. An expensive dinner or fancy hotel is undoubtedly a luxury most Kenyans have never known. However, I have come to realize that this does not change the fact that the work the group does is tremendously beneficial, or that many other doctors in the same position do not undertake it. If everyone took the time to include a little volunteering into their vacations and relaxation, the world would be a better place. Help comes in many forms.

Tomorrow is our last day of the eye clinics, and on Saturday dad and I (and Blair, I think) return to Nakuru for a few days. More about these things as they develop.

Keep in touch,
Chris

VOSH

2007-11-19T05:32:00.000-08:00

Volunteer Optometrists in Service to Humanity.

The organization sends volunteers to every part of the globe to do free vision exams and to hand out glasses, drops, and self-help information to the underserved. This is the third year that a VOSH group from Indiana has come to Nairobi to work in the Kibera slum, and my father and I have been lucky enough to accompany them as volunteers.

After my father arrived yesterday, our first stop was the Nairobi Hilton where we dropped off our bags. Yes, that’s right. The Hilton. We then set off on a walk around the city, so that dad could fully embrace his culture shock, as opposed to only glimpsing it from the safety of our 15^th story window (which is quite enjoyable, I might add.) In addition to getting a kick out of the “Office for the Eradication of Corruption” and it’s large wooden “Anti-Corruption Suggestion Box” (which I might add is locked behind the security gate and out of the reach of passers by), he also loved the street vendors and hawkers. He purchased two top-quality neckties for $1.50 each. And even now, 24 hours later, he still laughs when he remembers that both the “University of Arizona Law Review Journal 1995” and “Who’s Who of America’s High School Students – 1976” are available ($0.50 each) from the sidewalk booksellers. Other than that, I’m going to wait and allow you to hear his impressions in a “guest blog” to appear some time in the next few days.

As for the group members themselves, they arrived en masse around 9:30 last night. We had a brief meeting at which we reviewed the schedules and received our “complementary” safari hats and bead necklaces (when you’re paying $200 a night for a hotel room, nothing is really “complimentary.”) The group is mostly comprised of doctor-types ranging from mid thirties to… significantly older. At this point I’ve only gotten to know a few of them, but it seems that they run the gamut from “I’m going to Kenya to help the less fortunate and learn about the world” to “I’m going to Kenya on Safari.” By and large they seem pretty interested in doing good in the world, and looking at the stacks of boxes of free eyeglasses they plan to distribute, I’m pretty sure they will. I hope to get to know a few of them pretty well, as they are definitely some interesting and outstanding individuals in the mix.

The group will be in Nairobi until Friday afternoon, doing exams and distributions in Kibera for the majority of that time. Afterwards, the group is heading on a four-day safari while my father and I head north to visit REPACTED, Nuru Ya Jamii, and my host family in Nakuru.

This morning we started those visits, heading to the Olympic primary school (Grades k-8; 36 teachers; 2500 students) to set up black plastic curtains on the windows of the classrooms that be pressed into service as exam rooms over the coming days. While a few members of the group worked on that, the rest of us played with, gawked at, and were gawked at by the children. It was a pretty silly experience, being with all of these older Americans and tiny young Kenyans. Neither group really knew how to interact with the other one, and I think it was fairly awkward on all sides.

After a while we climbed aboard the bus and were off to the “Nyumbani” (home) orphanage for “Watoto wa Mungu” (children of God). The orphanage currently hosts 106 HIV+ children, most from ages 1-16. They have a profound impact on the lives of these children, giving them access to resources they would otherwise have never had any chance to receive. In addition to clean and safe housing and nutritionally-customized meals, they also have daily meetings with nurses, clothing and sporting equipment, and periodic testing and health monitoring, all for free. The head of the orphanage even went to court to win the orphans’ right to attend school, something that they had previously been denied on the basis of their HIV status. The orphanage is the oldest AIDS orphanage in Kenya, and is certainly one of the most successful that I have seen or heard of. The standard of living for the children is tremendously high, and the access to nutrition, sanitation, and outstanding medical care has undoubtedly saved or extended their lives. The manager told the story of a child who arrived several years ago at the orphanage, having been told that he had “less than a week to live,” and who, with the assistance of ARV therapies and better nutrition, is still alive today. While stories like this one are undoubtedly uncommon, this particular home is indisputably effecting positive change.

We returned to Nairobi this afternoon, and after a little downtime/shoppingtime/bloggingtime, we will be off for dinner at the home of the owner of the safari company that has arranged this entire event. It promises to be opulent beyond belief. I’m not going to lie, I feel a little out of place. But several of the doctors are of the down-to-Earth variety, and I think my dad and I will be able to hang with them and keep our heads down. Even so, I am finding that it is very uncomfortable to spend $200 on a hotel room (okay, my dad is paying, not me) and eat lavish meals after spending the afternoon in Kibera. I kind of wish we could stay at a budget hotel on the outskirts of town and send the other $190 back to Nakuru. I take a little consolation in the fact that several of the doctors have already volunteered to buy large numbers of the Red Ribbon pins from the support group back at Nuru Ya Jamii, and that we are here doing good work. But it’s still weird.

Anyway, I’m off to clean up, but I hope to be back here tomorrow, hopefully with a post from me and another from my dad.

Love,

Chris

PS Thanks to both Mom and Emily for the “The Pats won 56-10” text messages that arrived 5 second apart this morning. I’m glad to know you’re still thinking of me.

Zanzibar, Nairobi, Dad

2007-11-18T01:38:00.001-08:00

Greetings all!

I'm sorry I've been out of touch for a few days, traveling has taken a toll on my budget and sleep schedule. I'm currently in Nairobi at an internet cafe across the street from the Nairobi Hilton. Access is 1.5 cents a minute here, and 33 cents a minute there. Anyway, I'd like to give a quick summary of the past few days as best as I can before explaining where I am now.

Zanzibar ended up great. After all the complications with immigration, the Island ended up being a very positive experience. Stone town is a large neighborhood of tiny cobblestone streets and alleys winding around and among innumerable mis-matched stone buildings. They are tall enough and they alleys are narrow enough to completely block out the sun, and when it rains the streets run several inches deep with water. The doors are elevated several feet above the street level for this reason, and are almost exclusively hand-carved wooden masterpieces with fabulous detail and heavy brass bolts and hinges. Wandering the maze of pathways and staircases could entertain you for days, and the cafes, souvenir shops, and and artists workshops provide innumerable diversions. Although tourism is clearly the major source of income for this part of the island, the hawkers and taxi drivers are much more subdued, and the experience of wandering the streets isn't nearly so wearisome as it is in other touristy sections of East Africa. The beaches area also tremendously nice, although I spent very little time in the water.

All of this conceals the fact that poverty is still a very real issue for the majority of the island's inhabitants, even despite the fact that the economy is largely fueled by the export of Cloves, Tumeric, Cashews, and Cinnamon, all of which are farmed i abundance on the island and which fetch a hefty price in the international markets.

As an interesting side note, HIV prevalence on the island is at a very low 0.6%, largely due to the island's isolation and low population (of whom 98% are Muslim and thus less likely to engage in high-risk- behaviors.)

After a few peaceful days on the island, (a destination I will highly recommend to other travelers), Carrington and I took a an early morning flight back to Nairobi (passing very near the beautiful Mt. Kilimanjaro -Africa's highest peak- along the way). Back in Kenya, we parted ways with Carringon heading back to Nakuru and me settling back into life in Nairobi. I spent the afternoon walking around the city with Blair in an attempt to familiarize myself with the popular destinations and places to eat. In the evening we returned to her neighborhood to meet with Micha and Hadare for dinner, and then back to their place for tea and conversation. We stayed up late into the night discussing their work and my own, and at 8:30 this morning I sleepily made my way to the Airport to meet my father, who arrived for 10 days of volunteering and travel.

Because he is volunteering with a group of Optometrists from Indiana who have made this trip before, he allowed them to make our travel arrangements along with their own. Lo and behold, we now find ourselves staying at the plush Nairobi Hilton in a room that probably costs more per night than my entire week-long expedition. I had considered myself lucky to find running water in some of the places I had stayed, and now I find myself in a room with a mini-bar that sells drinks for more than a night's lodging in Mombasa. The rest of the VOSH crew comes into night, and I look forward to meeting them and getting a sense for what this week is going to be all about. I'll keep you posted.

Sorry to be hasty with the post, but I'd like to get back to my father ASAP. I'm sure you understand.

Take care!

Zanzibar, Eventually

2007-11-15T01:17:00.000-08:00

Hello again.

Leaving Dar, we had grand visions of a scenic dau (Swahili for boat) adventure across the wide strip of Indian Ocean separating the mainland from Zanzibar. It turned out to be three hours inside a little room in the middle of a high-speed catamaran. By virtue of being foriegners, we were obligated to pay for the most expensive ticket and stay in the "V.I.P room" along with all the other tourists. Our foggy windows revealed precious little of the scenery (although what we did see was quite remarkable), and the television was permanently fixed on one very loud station. It played nothing but obnoxious and poorly dubbed phillippino soap operas, split by one good hour of BBC news. The rest was among the worst programming I have ever seen. The waves were fairly substantial, and more than one person ended up rather sea sick. It was not exactly a trip to remember.

We arrived in the rain, and hustled across the dock, bracing for impact for when we emerged onto the street and were met by the typical horde of taxi drivers and hawkers. Fortunately (sort of), that never happened. Instead we were stopped at the immigration desk (I'm not sure why there is a separate immigration desk for Zanzibar, but there is). The woman behind the counter (and her do-nothing male coworker) opened our passports and both immediately recognized a serious problem. We were in for a fight.

A few days ago I wrote about the border crossing in from Kenya, where two border patrol officers tried to take Carrington and I for an extra $50 each. Well, apparently there was no foul play after all, aside from them allowing us to enter illegally without really explaining what the situation was. Apparently there really was a recent price increase for American visitors to Tanzania, from $50 to $100 dollars. This time around it took about 10 minutes of Swahili arguing to get to the point where I believed this, and even then it wasn't until I saw a copy of the official government notice until I was sure. Then it took a few minutes to convince them that I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't have $50 US in my pocket to make up the difference on the spot.

The real conflict began when it became clear that she would not let us into Zanzibar without paying, and that she wouldn't let us go back to Dar either. I was pretty miffed. We were essentially traped into paying five night's worth of hotel money in one go, all because the Tanzanian consulate in Mombasa missed a memo and the border patrol farther north had been to lazy to pursue the issue. If at either point we had been told that the total fee would be $100 instead of $50, we would have turned back and changed the plans. But now we were standing at this window in the rain, unable to proceed or turn back without paying $50 each that neither of us had. The imigration officer suggested that if we were stuck for money, we shouldn't be travelling. I told her that there was a difference between not having money at all and not being willing to be the victims of a lousy system or extortion. She suggested that I call my parents and ask them for money if I were really in that much trouble. I told her that my family was none of her business, and Carrington asked if they had a cretit card machine we could use to resolve the situation then and there. When she said they didn't, he made it clear that he wasn't impresed. She said that if we didn't pay she would find us police escort to the airportto be deported, I told her that we'd be happy to pay the $100 ticket to fly home rather than give her the $50. I also mentioned that it would save us from spending money in her town, and that we'd be sure to pass the story along to all our American friends.

She hesitated for a while, and then agreed to write that we were fully paid if we just gave her what little we had. We forked over a combined 40,000 shillings ($35) and were on our way. I'm fairly certain that she just pocketed it, as it would have been impossible for her to explain to her supervisors why she accepted a partial fee.

I'm not sure if I did the right thing in arguing, or in giving her the money. I'm also not sure who "won." But it was a tremendously exhausting process, and far and away the most stressful thing that has happened to me yet this trip. It was also the hardest test of my Swahili, and I think in that regard I passed. Even so, it was miserable.

A taxi driver who had witnessed the whole thing gave us a very good price and a lot of sympathy (I was fairly worked up at this point), took us to the bank where we re-filled our pockets, and then brought us a hotel in "stone town," by his reckoning the best bargain deal in town. I don't know if his claim is true, but the price (roughly $25 per night for a double) is on par with or better than what I had been told to expect, and the rooms are very nice. They have running water (still not heated, but I've learned not to care), private bathrooms, a fan, bug nets, AIR CONDITIONING (oh my God, I love it), and a television that actually picks up several good channels (including BBC, Al Jazeera, and CNN. The two former channels are both impressing my on this trip as being significantly mroe news-oriented and unbiased than any American station I have ever seen. I'd watch Al Jazeera over NBC any day - it isn't nearly as biased as we've been told.) It also has a free breakfast included, which essenially knocks two or three bucks off the price.

After settling in and letting the stress fade, we set off for a walk around Stone Town. It's like a really old Block Island, in a lot of ways. Very cool, very safe, and very fun. More about all of that later. For now, we are very happy here, and that it might even have been worth the extra money to get in.

Take care and be in touch,

Christopher

PS
Today marks 51 days since leaving home and 51 to go. Wow.

Dar, Briefly

2007-11-14T07:05:00.000-08:00

Hello all, from rainy Zanzibar.

Let's start with yesterday. We arrived in Dar Es Salaam (Tanzania's largest city and former capital) in the early afternoon, at the big bus depot outside of town. We planned to stay downtown at the Jambo Inn, my home away from home last summer when I was in Tz for two weeks. As such, we needed to take a matatu (called "Daladala"s here in Tz.) into the city. Daladalas have two major differences from Matatus. 1) The ceiling is raised about 18 inches, creating much more space. 2) There are no laws decreeing an upper limit on passengers. This combination results in tremendously crammed vehicles. People fill the vehicle's seats to capacity, and then continue to cram more and more folks into the narrow benches. Then people begin to stand in the remaining niches, utilizing every bit of that extra headroom. Unlike their Kenyan counterparts which never exceed 14 people, Daladalas often reach 25 or more. The saying is that there is ALWAYS room for one more. Our vehicle into the city topped out at 22.

The extra folks are in ever tighter quarters with each other, allowing for even less personal space than before. Increased crime is one result. I felt other people's hands stray towards my pockets at least twice on our twenty minute ride.

Even so, we arrived downtown safe and sound, and set off on 10 minute walk to the Jambo Inn. Along the way, I was reminded of lots of places and events from my previous visit. It was a very positive experience. In the 16 months since I last passed along those streets, a great deal of development has taken place. I recall being impressed at the amount of construction taking place, and much of that has come to an end with the result being that the numerous streets and avenues downtown are now lined with bustling shops and cafes, all indiciating that the local economy is thriving. There are also more cars to be found, more people out after dark, and slightly higher prices. Additionally, the power shortages that plauged the city last year are now said to be a thing of the past. W ith all the changes, it is almost starting to feel like the theater district in Philladelphia, with many small cafes and shops spilling out into the sidewalks, block after block. Okay, that might be a stretch, but the amount of development in the entire downtown region is astounding. Dar is clearly a city on the rise.

The only other really noteworthy incident occured after dinner, as we were walking back to the hotel around 8pm. A lady and her small child were sitting on the sidewalk, begging for handouts. I hurried by, as we often do. But as I walked, I began to feel more and more guilty about leaving a starving child without any help. Abo ut a block later, I changed course. I went to a street corner where local vendors sell fresh fruit, and purchased a large bunch of minature sweet bananas. I returned to the woman, gift in hand. I gave her the food, and started to talk. I begged her to try to find some sort of work. I showed her the AIDS pin that I always wear, and explained how relatively they are to make, and that tourists or other people would certainly buy similar beaded products with the Tanzanian flag or other images. I also talked to her about the importance of nutrition for the small child, encouraging her to make sure he gets food from all the major groups whenever possible. She was very receptive and grateful for the food and information. Then as I was leaving, she said something that struck me like a stone.

"The boy's father is a German, and he told me he'd come back one day. He just hasn't arrived yet." She'd been waiting for years.

This morning we slept in, had a leisurely breakfast, and took a three-hour ferry to Zanzibar. More on that later.

Chris

Leaving Mombasa, Tanga, and Dar Es Salaam.

2007-11-13T05:58:00.000-08:00

One and all,

Carrington and I left Mombasa by bus Monday morning at 8:30 PM. We were a little irked at how little footroom our seats had, but were otherwise pleased. It started raining a few minutes later, so we just considered ourselves lucky to be on the bus. We even left 1 full minute BEFORE the scheduled departure time - a Kenyan first as far as I know.

It was taking a while to get off of Mombasa Island (Geographically it is like the Manhattan of Kenyan. Economically, not so much), but things were moving fairly smoothly, so we didn't complain. That is, until we came to the river crossing and saw what was causing the hold up. There is no bridge. They just haven't built one yet. We had to wait for a small barge to pull up from the other side so cars could load up and be ferried across. It was pretty funny. And then we saw a second barge, big, uncovered, and open to the rain, full of people. Apparently there is a second pedestrian ferry. We counted our blessings to be on a bus and not trapped in the huge mob of people stampeding off the boat to find shelter under the trees.

After a short wait (These days I consider half an hour to be a "short wait"), our bus was ready to load up. Right as we were about to drive onboard, the door opened and everybody poured out into the rain and onto the pedesterian ferry. Apparently it's illegal for anyone but the driver to remain in a vehicle on the ferry. After another "short wait" in the rain, we arrived (fully soaked) on the other side. We had to wander around a muddy tangle of streets for about 10 more minutes to find the bus. We got on board, hung around a bit longer, and finally, right as the rain came to an end, we drove on to Tanzania.

It started raining again about 3 hours later, right as we reached the border. Everybody off the bus on the Kenyan side to go through some paperwork. Everybody back on. Everybody back off two miles later on the Tanzanian side. Everybody wait while the bus gets searched by the authorities. Everybody back on. All in all, 90 minutes. In the rain. The man on the Tanzanian side also tried to scare $50 out of me by claiming that the enterance visa price just went up "the other day" and that I wouldn't be allowed in if I didn't "pay now, in cash." I more or less told him to go to hell, and he agreed to let me through for the "old price, just this once." Carrington experienced the same thing.

Leaving the border, the highway turned back into dirt. The villages we passed every ten minutes were tiny, comprising only a few families and a small farm or two. But as time passed, they began to grow in size and frequency. At each one, a few goods were out by the side of the road for sale. At first it was just fruit, which is one of the most readily available commodities in the region. Sooner or later it grew to charcoal, which requires a little more effort to produce. For one short stretch there were bundles of shale paving stones, a less common natural resource that resulted in a few larger and more prosperous buildings for a short period of time. Then it was back to agriculture for a long while, until a few hours later we began to see signs of a major town.

Despite the interesting economic evidence along the ride, we were pretty disgruntled by the time we found ourselves climbing off the bus in Tanga, Tanzania. It didn't help that we arrived via the back streets and that the bus depot is in one of the sketchier parts of town. Unfortunately, our "Lonely Planet: Kenya" guidebook leaves off at the border, and we didn't have a single friend or contact in town. If it weren't for the help of an Indian hotel owner and friendly Taxi driver, both of whom pointed us in the right direction, we might have ended up completely miserable. Even so, as we flopped down on our uncomfortable hotel beds one (long) hour later, we were pretty sure we had been fools to think that it would be fun to stop in some "smallish town along the coast." We took out books and began to read, resigning outselves to our fate.

About an hour before dark, hunger made itself known, compelling us to return once more to Tanga's "unfriendly" streets. And I am so glad that we did. We found a beautiful and safe little main street, with tons of local shops and eateries, backed by block after block of mixed residential and commercial homesteads. Everyone we met was friendly, and the place was a pedesterian's delight. Sure, the gutters are still the East African standard 2feet deep and only mostly covered, but even Nairobi hasn't solved that problem yet. It was a completely different experience than the mealy part of town we had arrived in, and yet still completely different than the tourist-funded, tourist-oriented, tourist-trap restaurants, shops, and beaches I have seen. I had the impression that when a real, authentic East African middle class evolves (have I ever mentioned that Kenya is ranked third in the world when it comes to having a huge gap between the rich and the poor?), they're going to live in neighborhoods like this one.

All of these positive observations were confirmed by a gentle old man who sat down with us at dinner to chat for half an hour, just to welcome us to town. He said that he was a doctor of traditional medicine, and the conversation covered everything from politics and religion to the history of Swahili and the study of linguistics. And unlike most of the other overly-friendly people we have met, he never once asked us for money, food, or a business partnership. He only wanted to chat. It was fabulous. Even Carrington, who is sometimes a little skeptical with people who don't know any English thought the man was the highlight of his day. We returned to the hotel with lighter hearts, and after I spent an hour or so discussing French (in Swahili) with a nice lady I later discovered to be our hotel manager, I turned in.

No amount of friendly conversation can change the weather, and I had a miserable night trying to sleep in the hot and humid air of the tropical coast. Because mosquitos are a huge problem here, I once again had to sleep with a net over the bed, and it was stifling inside. When the alarm went off at 6 am (half an hour after the first prayer call of the day scared me half to death coming from the mosque just outside my window), I felt like I hadn't slept an hour. A quick shower in the cold water, a quick breakfast of chapati and chai, and we were back on the bus for another 6 hour ride, this time to Dar Es Salaam.

This ride was significantly more enjoyable, as the scenery was both gorgeous and ever changing. Farms of all sorts of produce were visible along the road, as were towns and villages both large and small. Rivers, forests, mountains, and swamps passed by our windows, and despite the heavy rail occasionally soaking through the roof of the bus and dripping on us (still not sure how that's possible...), we were in fairly good spirits when we arrived in town.

I'm 45 seconds from being kicked off, I have to publish this. Things are good and I'll write more soon.
Chris

Mosques in Mombasa

2007-11-12T06:10:00.000-08:00

Composed Sunday evening in Mombasa, posted Monday evening in Tanga, Tanzania:

Hello friends,

Mombasa, being a city of nearly a million people - of whom 70% are Muslim - has a lot of Mosques. It has tiCny ancient Mosques, such as the one in Old Town constructed of coral bricks with walls many feet thick. It has enormous modern Mosques, like the one across from my hotel, which has stacks of offices, and minarets rising more than a hundred feet into the air. It has elaborately adorned Mosques, such as the one across from the bus stop where we first arrived, and simple, minimalist Mosques hidden in sleepy alleys and streets. It has Mosques every hundred yards in any direction, in all styles for people of all walks of life. Thus, it was only a matter of time until our wanderings around the city (visiting temples and churches all along the way) finally led Carrington and I to approach one and nervously ask the Emam (Muslim religious leader) if we could gaze inside.

So we did, and the Emam said no. But he was delighted to bring us around the side to his office and answer any and all questions we might have. Accepting this as the next best thing, we took him up on his offer. Because he speaks only a tiny bit of English (on par with Carrington's grasp of Swahili), I served as a translator. Unfortunately, my years at Princeton and month or two on the ground hadn't quite prepared me for a theological discussion. After about 30 minutes of circumlocution and inefficient (although still interesting) conversation, the Emam called upon a youth who knows both Swahili and English. Unfortunately, his English was only about as good as my Swahili, so we still had a lot of trouble. But between the two of us, and with the help of two Korans (one printed in Arabic and English, one in Arabic and Swahili), we managed to have a pretty decent hour or two of conversation and education.

The Emam began with a simple explanation that Islam is a peaceful religion and that it a good Muslim lives his life according to the laws of the Koran. He pointed out that many of the stories of the Old and New testaments are in the Koran, including the familiar stories of Adam, Moses, and Jesus. He was careful to point out a passage that very simply explains that Allah (the same god as in the Judaic and Christian traditions, but with a different name) was not "begot," and cannot "beget." The Emam explained that the Koran makes it clear that Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary by God's will, but that it would be impossible for Jesus to be the actual son of God. He said that this was the first of many differences between these compatible but very different religions.

He also explained that the Koran is believed to be the word of Allah direct from the prophet Mohammad, as transcribed by his own hand. He said that there has never been any translation or reinterpretation of the Koran, and so it has not been altered. He argued that because the New Testament was composed by Jesus' followers many years or centuries after his life, it cannot be trusted as closely as the words of the Koran.

His last major theme was a discussion of the pillars and laws of Islam. There were many important ideas here, but the one perhaps most relevant today was the idea of Jihad. The Koran clearly states that it is forbidden to start wars or conflicts for almost any reason. The only exception is to defend the religion if someone challenges it or attempts to destroy it. He explained that this is the idea that has led some people to follow Osama Bin Laden and other Terrorist leaders, as they feel that the West is attacking Islam through it's culture and the American military and economic presence in Islamic nations. He was careful to say that he didn't necessarily feel that this was justified. He was also very insistent that even if Osama were correct in his assertion that the west is attacking Islam, that there is absolutely no justification for suicide bombs or terrorist attacks anywhere within the Koran. He repeatedly said that the World Trade Center may or may not have contained
several people who were working against Islam, but that even if it did, there was no possible way to excuse the murder of the thousands of others killed that day.

His biggest fear seemed to be that the west's misunderstanding of the true peaceful nature of Islam and it's ability to coexist with other religions would lead to them to perpetrate real attacks on Islam, which he believed would force more Muslims to take up the cause of Jihad. He emphasized the importance of understanding that most Muslims cannot and would not harm anyone. He also said that insistence of leaders such as Bush that Islam is a dangerous and fanatical religion could actually lead to this being true. It is a very unsettling idea, for both the Emam and myself.

I'm heading back to my room to hide from the heat, and tomorrow at 8:30 we board a bus to cross the border into Tanzania and spend the afternoon and night in the small town of Tanga, Tz. We'll see if I can find an Internet cafe there to keep you posted on the going's ons.

Talk to you soon,
Chris

Mombasa: Day 2

2007-11-10T05:15:00.000-08:00

Sleeping in Mombasa is tough business. It's hot. The windows don't close (you wouldn't want them to anyway) and the street noise (trucks banging, drunkards yelling, music blaring) doesn't stop. The ceiling fan is almost completely ineffective, and it's breeze fails to penetrate the thin veil of the mosquito net around each bed.

Waking up, on the other hand, is very easy. The sun comes in fast and dangerous over the low-rise buildings off to the East. The pre-dawn prayer calls are more than qualified to serve as alarm clocks. The matatus and tuk-tuks (the tricycle of public transportation - three wheels, two passengers, one horn) manage to make the sounds of the night sound seem somehow serene.

Anyway, by 6:30 we were up and out. Breakfast is hard to find at that hour, but a little searching with the help of a friendly askari (security guard) found us a decent spot for chai, chapati, and eggs. Afterwards we walked around the city a good bit more, stopping at another Hindu Temple. Although it was not our intent, we happened to align this visit perfectly with the Hindu new year, and the Temple was open and the center of a bustling Indian community moving all about. Hindus are roughly 10% of the population in Mombasa, with Christians representing 20% and Muslims roughly 70%. We were offered a brief tour and were once again impressed with the architecture, atmosphere, and level of devotion. There were numerous depictions of the religion's central dieties and tales on every wall, and the entire building had a very clean, safe, and education-oriented feel. It was nice. I learned a few interesting tidbits about this particular Hindu community's practices, including the separation of male and female worship spaces, and the refusal of any food produced by non-Hindus. These things were a little less in step with my western biases, but interesting nonetheless.

The rest of they day consisted of reading in the shade, wandering around the city, and visiting the harborside (the old harborside, that is - the new one is much like any modern port, with towering cranes, colorful shipping containers, and heaps of industrial pollution). I can't really complain about anything, except for the heat.

It is so hot.

Anyway, I'm off to buy a bottle of water and read again for a while. I plan to set out for dinner in the early evening when things are just starting to cool off, and before that I might sneak in another cold shower. (That'd be three on the day. I never thought I'd be complaining that the water in my hotel room isn't cold enough.)

I'll get back to you tomorrow, and Monday we take a bus south to the middle-of-nowhere town of Langa in Tanzania, where we'll spend one night before hitting Dar Es Salaam for a day and Zanzibar Island for three or four. We've cut the Arusha/Serengetti part of the trip in favor of more days on the island. It will cost us a little more money to fly from Zanzibar or Dar directly back to Nairobi than it would to take busses, but we save a lot by cutting out a safari. I think it makes more sense. Of course, I'm not thinking all that clearly with all this heat. We'll see how it pans out.

Yours,
Chris

Still Mombasa, Still Expensive

2007-11-09T08:15:00.000-08:00

So I'm going to try to write quickly. You'll have to forgive the typos (as always.)

So after leaving the Tanzanian consulate we headed town towards Old Town and Fort Jesus. The fort is a giant structure built by the Portugese in the 1500s as they attempted to establish a foothold in East Africa to facilitate their go-around-Africa-to-get-to-India spice trade endeavours. They ended up losing it shortly thereafter to the Omanis, and it went back and forth between these two parties and the native Africans for many years as part of the East African Slave Trade and the various wars of conquest and such. We got as far as the inner gate before someone tried to get us to pay $15 USD each to pass any farther (Mombasa has lots of tourists, so a lot of things get over-priced) and we turned back. But it looked pretty cool.

Thankfully, the fort is built right up against an inlet on the coast, and treking down and around it yielded spectacular views up at the towering ramparts. Add to this the characteristic tropical blue and green ocean, unique rock formations, and lots of sand crabs, and this little beach was a fantatsic retreat from the oppressively hot Mombasa streets.

Speaking of which, adjacent to the fort is the "Old Town" of Mombasa - narrow winding streets between towering old buildings with ornate Arab-influenced architecture. I took lots of pictures. Balconies hung out over the winding streets with intricate hand-carved wooden blinds and screens emerging from the surrounding buildings at fantastic angles. It was also fabulously colored, had many vaulted arches, and innuemerable steep narrow staircases leading up to second and third story rooms. Very fun to wander around. There was also a suprisingly strong Iranian influence, as many shops and restaurants had images of the Ayatollah up along side the (legally mandated or at least universally adopted) image of President Kibaki. That was fairly unexpected.

After a brief rest period back in the room which included listening to the mid-afternoon prayer calls radiating from every mosque in the city. My understanding from high school global studies is that Muslims worship five times a day, and every mosque issues a lovely and mystical Arabic chant/song before each session. Halfway through, this prayer call was interrupted by a van blaring hip-hop from giant speakers mounted on the roof - a campaign vehicle employed by the re-elect Kibaki team. The van had the president's face on every surface. Apparently the Muslim vote isn't sufficiently important that the campaign team would bother to plan around their worship. Hummm.

Lastly, just before dark we wandered over to the Shiva Hindu Temple, which was a splendid refuge from the heat and dust of the city. It has a meandering sculpture garden set in and around an artificial pond, and several large worship structures complete with intricate wood and stone carvings of the various Hindu gods and lesser dieties. Inscence wafted in and out of these various enclosures, adding to the sense of mysticism.

If it weren't for the African groundskeepers actively diriding their Indian employers in Swahili that they didn't think I could understand, I would have thought the place to be perfectly blissful. I would say Kenyan groundskeepers, but the Indians are equally entitled to their citizenship and I want to be precise - race, tribe, and nationality are all very touchy subjects in this town. Apparently the African employees are underpaid and maltreated, and only stay on because their is no other work available. When questioned (again in Swahili), they told me that the Indians also refuse to eat at the same table as them or even eat food that they prepare. I was more than a little put off by such blatant acts of racism. It was especially shocking in that moment because it was in such stark contrast to the atmosphere of peace and tranquility in the temple. Life is confusing.

Anyway, this has started to become pretty expensive, so I'm going to go back to my room and probably go to bed. No nightlife for me, especially when the sun goes down at 6 PM. (Being right on the equator, Kenya has a 12 hour day, every day, all year long.)

Talk to you all soon,
Chris

Mombasa

2007-11-09T03:41:00.000-08:00

Even less time to write than yesterday, this time due to really pricey internet nonsense. I'm in a new city for the third consecutive day (Mombasa), and I haven't found a cheap place yet. Hopefully I will soon. In the meantime, here's a quick update:

Things wrapped up uneventfully in Nairobi. We found our bus (an actual bus this time) with relative ease, climbed onboard, and were off at 9:30 PM. We stopped at a small town for twenty minutes at 1:30 AM, and arrived in Mombasa at 5:30. It was dark the whole way, so there aren't really any sights to report. I slept much of the way, despite the ride being very bumpy. I'm getting good at ignoring awful roads. We arrived just before sunrise, so we sat in a little cafe and drank chai for about an hour, reading our "Lonely Planet: Kenya" to find a suggestion on where to stay. The first place we checked had spacious double rooms with decent bug nets, running water (cold, but in Mombasa you don't want hot water anyway), a working fan, electricity, locking doors, and a television (doesn't really work) for just 1100 shillings a night. That's like 16 bucks, and we're splitting it. So that's really good. We checked a few other places before we committed, but this was clearly the best bang for the buck. It also turns out that it is very close to the "downtown" area. After settling in and taking nice cold showers (it is extraordinarily hot here. It must have been 75 degrees at sunrise, and it's only gone up since), we set out for adventure. Our first stop was the tallest tower in the city (15 stories) - 2 blocks from our door. We took the stairs (I don't trust elevators, especially in East Africa) to the top, and looked out the windows. It offered very nice views of the city, which is the second largest in Kenya. Especially noteworthy were all of the mosques scattered around town. The swahili coast is very heavily influenced by the middle east and has a large number of Muslims and Arabs, and that is clear in almost all aspects of the culture - the food, music, architecture, clothing, and language. It's a very interesting place.

We also stumbled into the Tanzanian consulate at the top of this building, and the "Trade Attache" (some guy in the office) spent more than an hour helping us plan the rest of our trip, free of charge. It was pretty unexpected, and very helpful. We also picked up our travel visas there for when we cross into Tz in a few days.

Afterwards we went to Old Town and Ft. Jesus, both of which were remarkably interesting. I'm out of time now, but hopefully I'll find a cheaper cafe soon and tell you more. Things are good, although very different than before. Mombasa almost feels like an entirely separate country with all of the cultural (and climatological) differencs. That's all for now.

Thanks for reading,
Chris

Not Enough Time To Type Much - Still Alive

2007-11-08T06:17:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone!

I am currently writing from a computer in the office of the All African Conference of Churches center, courtesy of Blair. However, I am tremendously limited in how much time I can stay. So here is a businesslike rundown of the past 24 hours.

The show went well. Very well. Most of REPACTED came, along with a variety of other theater people, my host family, and much of the Nuru Ya Jamii staff. In short, the audience was a hodgepodge of characters from my Nakuru life. The idea of theater in the round was pretty new to most of them, and using such a small space (and such lively actors) allowed the show to really reach out and touch them. The actors were all over the place, and it was fabulously entertaining. Carrington (with whom I am now travelling) came, and was perfectly entertained without even knowing a word of Swahili. Hopefully one day I will have time to describe it in greater detail.

Said some goodbyes, went home, slept early, woke up early, and packed all my stuff. I left a few thigns (Vdieo camera, slackline, recently purchased books) with my family in Mangu, and ocne again packed the rest of my meager belongings into my big camping backpack. It was certainly a weird sensation, leaving my new "home," after such a short time to hit the road again.

And hit the road we did. Carrington and I met in town, hopped in a matatu, and were off for Nairobi. Mercifully, the stretch of road between GilGil and Nakuru (which has been under incessant repairs since my arrival) is about 30% repaved, and the trip was a good bit shorter than when I first came. We arrived in Nairobi, dropped bags at Blair's office (She comes through in the clutch once again), and went into the city to find the train station and buy tickets. After a CRAZY matatu ride (I've seen them get one tire up on the curb before, but never both) and a 30 minute walk, we were at the Railway Station. (By the way Moi Avenue is one of the most diverse streets I've ever seen. It's like a major Avenue in New York in archetecture, but it has a completely different feel. Thankfully I'll be back here in 9 days and can describe it more.)

"Trains don't run on Thursdays."

One 30 minute walk later, we were at the bus station. Called my host mother to make sure we'd be safe on this particular line, got the okay, and booked 9PM overnight (8-10 hour) bus ride to Mombasa. Walked to Nairobi University, bought a few books in the book store, and returned here to go out to dinner with Blair and some of her friends. We're leaving now, so that's all I have time to say.

But I think it'll be fun. We'll see.

Much love to everyone back home,
Chris

"Cause I'm Your Lady"

2007-11-06T21:21:00.000-08:00

By Celine Dion.

It's playing on repeat in this internet cafe right now. Kenya sometimes blows my mind.

Speaking of cultural anachronisms (Perhaps one of the lexicon-lovers out there (Lily, Owen, Caitlin, Blair, Michael Boyce...) can tell me if "anachronism" can describe non-temporal phenomena?), one of my favorite little things about Kenya is the habit of emblazoning little English phrases and sayings on the back of matatus and boda bodas. Things like "Jesus Love," "Big Boy," and "Waiting Game" aren't entirely logical, but don't seem tremendously out of place. However, seeing a boda with the license plate "John Kerry" or a matatu with big metallic letters spelling "Elvis Lives" is sometimes a little too much to bear. I've also seen buildings labeled "Back Alley Investments," "Hygenic Butchery," and my all-time favorite, "Turbo-Happy Catholic Church."

Anyway, a quick update on my schedule for the next few weeks, and them I'm off to rehearsal:

Tonight: Show
Tomorrow, Nov 8: Matatu to Nairobi with Carrington, the 40-something Mainer who I met at the orphanage in Mangu. Take an overnight train to Mombasa (on the coast.)
Friday Nov 9 -Sunday Nov 11: Be tourists on the coast. Check out Swahili ruins, the Portuguese "Fort Jesus," and lots of churches, mosques, and other fascinating cultural and religious places.
Monday Nov 12-Wednesday Nov 14: Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania. Possibly Zanzibar
Thursday Nov 15 -Saturday Nov 17: Arusha, Tanzania. Mt. Kilimanjaro and the Serengeti. (Lion King Africa, here I come.)
Sunday Nov 18: Nairobi, meet my father and the VOSH volunteers for a week of free eye-clinics in Nairobi's Kibera slum. Carrington returns to Nakuru alone.
Saturday Nov 24: Return to Nakuru with my dad, and possibly Blair again. Miss Red Ribbon pageant in the evening. It's a beauty pageant for HIV+ women.
Sunday Nov 25: Tourist things in Nakuru. Lake Nakuru National Park - flamingos, rhinos, and other exciting stuff.
Monday Nov 26: Take dad to visit REPACTED and Nuru Ya Jamii.
Tuesday Nov 27: Return to Nairobi, dad flies home.
Wed Nov 28- Saturday Dec 1: Stay in Nakuru for Dec 1st World AIDS day events.
Sun Dec 2: Depart for Eldoret and Baraton University, where I'll begin translating Amezidi.
Dec 18th: Return Nairobi
Dec 20th: Fly to France, meet Nick there, climb and stuff.

So that's where things stand now. I must run, but wish me luck for tonight's show.

As always, thanks for reading!
Chris

2007-11-06T06:31:00.000-08:00

Greetings all!

Before proceeding with my usual ramblings, I would like to give a "shout out" to some very important people. It just came to my attention last night that my grandpa and grandma in Fort Wayne, Indiana have been following my travels every day right here on this very blog. This is especially meaningful to me because neither of them are particularly computer literate, and in addition, my grandfather has pretty significant vision problems. So the fact that he has been asking someone to come to his home to read him the stories every day is pretty incredible. I’d like to use this moment to wish them both all the congratulations in the world on their recent 60^th wedding anniversary. I’m sorry that I was all the way in Kenya for such a special occasion, but I want them to know that I was (and still am) thinking of them.

In other family-related news, last night marked another special occasion. It was the first time that my host mother and my real mother (Hi mom!) spoke on the phone. It was pretty amusing from my end. The phone connection tenuous at best, and because of the pretty significant difference in accents and/or dialects, I’m not sure that a whole lot of information was actually exchanged. But I could tell that they were both happy to hear the voice of the person who takes care of me on the other side of the globe. There was a lot of “Hello?”-ing and “Thank you”-ing and “You’re welcome”-ing. They also briefly touched on the time zone difference, the weather difference, and my mother (my real mother’s) distaste for air travel. It might not have been high drama, but all the same I was pretty entertained just listening to the Kenyan side of the conversation. They’re both wonderful people, and they both ended up happy, so it was a win-win-win.

In loosely-related news, that same conversation with my mother also yielded an insight into the difficulties in posting comments on blogger.com. I have had several people tell me that they are unable to leave comments here, and apparently that stems from a requirement that you be logged in to an active gmail.com email account. While I certainly wouldn’t want to be accused of biased webmail-company campaigning, I will just take a moment to point out that gmail accounts are pretty nifty. In addition to having practically unlimited storage space, it also has pretty good spam filters, list-serve capabilities, and a ton of really interesting features. One of which is being able to post comments on my blog, which I love. Anyway, enough about that.

It's becoming pretty clear that the biggest challenge for an mzungu here in Kenya is the issue of money. In one sense, it is really easy: There are roughly 67 Kenyan Shillings to the US dollar, meaning that everything is very, very inexpensive. A good breakfast or lunch can easily be as cheap as 30 or 40 cents. With a little bargaining, tshirts and other tourist things usually fall in the 4-8 dollar range. Intra-city transportation is 30-60 cents, and inter-city transportation is no more than S3-10. Add in the fact that the average Kenyan probably doesn't make more than 2 or 3 dollars a day (I met a taxi driver who was thrilled to be averaging 6 bucks a day, but most people are considerably less well-off), and it's pretty clear that the visiting American has a pretty good amount of purchasing power. The downside is that everyone and their mother knows this. Therefore, Safaris, upscale hotels, and nice restaurants often charge tremendously high prices, prices that would even approach the point of being prohibitive in the United States. And without the protection of fixed prices, it's very common for wazungu to pay many times more than their Kenyan counterparts, even for public transportation or food. This is one reason that many lower-scale restaurants don't offer menus - so they can tell the customer whatever they want.

This is a country where corruption plagues even the highest-level offices. Although president Kibaki is thought to be relatively clean, his government is nevertheless characteristically riddled with scandals and embezzlement schemes. And these don't only take place in private back rooms like Buddy's Plunderdome fiasco (my apologies to those who don't call RI home), they are often right out in the open. In Kenya the parliament has the power to set their own salaries, and the session that just ended is often bashed for having established new heights for their own compensation and benefits. Each of the 200+ MPs (Member of Parliament) receives a higher yearly salary than President Bush himself. No wonder the roads are in terrible shape.

That being said, it should come as no surprise that I struggle every day with small monetary issues. People, especially salespeople, are always trying to take me for the extra shilling. In many cases this isn't a problem at all, because a little arguing almost always results in a fair transaction. But peddlers, beggars, and street children easily spot "the color of money" (white) in a crowd, and it is hard to go anywhere in the city without at least one or two following you around. Of course, they can't really be blamed. This is a city where many people are utterly without opportunities for employment or self-gain, and I am certain that many guilt-ridden tourists have given a few handouts or at least knowingly over-payed for some small goods. It shouldn't come as a surprise that the destitute have learned to identify potentially generous foreigners, who are invariably better off than they. Even I, a struggling college student if there ever was one (thank you mom and dad for helping subsidize parts of this trip), am never without at least a few hundred shillings as I walk up and down the street.

The question then, is what should be done? The street children are the easiest to address. If it's a school day, "shule ni ya bure" ("school is free" - mercifully and recently true thanks to the Kibaki regime) gets the job done. I don't want to give them the idea that it is more profitable to pester tourists than to get an education, even if sometimes it probably is. Sundays you tell them to go to church. When neither of those is possible, it isn't too expensive to buy a loaf of bread and hand it out. (Although it's important to do the dividing first, I once had this misfortune to give three boys a whole loaf and then watch the oldest tear off down the street with it all alone.)

With beggars, it's tougher. Health care is improving in Kenya, but impoverished polio victims, blind people, lepers, and the handicapped are still a common sight in the streets. It's hard to justify not giving them anything, but at the same time, it's hard to share with them all, especially every day. It still makes me feel bad every time I walk by, but I'm not sure what else to do. As for the hawkers who over charge, my opinion varies from day to day. If I've just had a particularly expensive day, my own personal greed takes over and I fight for every shilling. If I'm feeling more generous, I sometimes don't argue as hard as I could. But Dennis once told me that it isn't good for these people to become dependent on the generosity of others. Selling their goods is a sustainable way to make a living, but becoming accustomed to absurdly high prices will only set them up for problems in the future. Although the theory of sustainable incomes is absolutely one that I support, I'm not sure I believe in the logic of this particular instance. If generous tourists (or at the very least, unsuspecting ones) continue to come along, perhaps this scheme is sustainable after all. But he also raised the point that it makes prices higher for other Kenyans, which is bad for the local economy. Additionally, what happens if another American Embassy bombing takes place and the tourists stop coming all together? The dependency on tourism could be devastating. This, of course, would be true with or without inflated prices. I'm pretty unclear on what to think.

Anyway, this might have been my most disjointed and un-readable entry yet, so I think I'm going to wrap it up here. Tomorrow I'll have news about an exciting change of plans, and hopefully Thursday I'll be able to tell you about our performance of Amezidi. So you know, keep reading.

Thanks for your time,
Chris

Lion King Africa

2007-11-05T05:55:00.000-08:00

Greetings friends,

All told, this was a very quiet weekend. I had almost forgotten what those feel like. But there are still a variety of topics large and small that merit mention, so here we go:

Saturday and Sunday I came into town, both days without a whole lot taking place. The performance of Amezidi has been scheduled for Wednesday night at 6pm, so rehearsals and planning have begun to play an increasing role in my life. I spent several hours at the theater Saturday and again with the actors on Sunday. That is progressing nicely, and I'm thrilled at how well I'm beginning to understand the text. I still have plenty of problems to face, but this project is helping me to take big strides in a very short time. It's also exciting in it's own right, as we're doing the entire thing on the stage of the Nakuru players theater, a reasonably old British-colonial theater that has long since been run by local artists and art aficionados (including the esteemed Mwalimu Mahiri Mwita - once one of Nakuru's own talented youths, today my Swahili professor.) And when I say "we're doing the entire thing on the stage," I mean just that. The show takes place under the lights, with the audience sitting right on stage in close concentric circles around them, all with the curtain closed. For a show that takes place largely inside a cave and in the character's imaginations, the towering darkened ceiling, aging infrastructure, and dusty hardwood floor couldn't be more perfect. By virtue of a miraculous last-minute union of acting talent, facilities, and script, this is going to be a truly remarkable show.

Beyond that, the weekend consisted of lots of walking (visits to an American-funded, Kenyan-operated orphanage in Mangu, the family of a friend whose mother recently passed away, and a large church on the outskirts of town where REPACTED performed a peaceful-election play in preparation for the upcoming December 27th elections. (I promise, more about these elections will eventually follow.) All of these things were interesting, but none were extraordinary aside from proving once again that Kenyans, like all other people, care for each other (sometimes with a little help from the outside world), grieve for and support one another, and have hopes and fears for the future. An obvious message, but an important one nonetheless. And one that easily leads me to one of my favorite pet-topics, the American impression of Africa.

I call it Lion King Africa. And I don't blame it on any individuals or particular institutions so much as on our entire culture's lack of understanding of the outside world. (A forgivable lack of understanding, since most people never have any need to interact with the outside world other than the occasional vacation or business trip.) But this particular lack of understanding seems to be particularly entrenched when it comes to Africa. Most Americans can tell you what language they speak in most of South America, or could name 10 European countries. We even have a vague-but-not-entirely-incorrect impression of China, Japan, Taiwan, Korea, India and a handful of other important players on the Asian continent. But Africa is different.

Growing up, The Lion King was one of my favorite movies (okay, it still is.) Combining this with what I saw on the discovery channel and other nature programs, I understandably developed an understanding of Africa as the continent of big animals, safaris, and the Serengeti, Kalahari, and Sahara. When I matured a little, I also learned to recognize TV's numerous "for just $0.15 a day you can save a child" commercials as evidence of Africa's impoverished way of life. Middle and High school classes brought me a limited understanding that there had recently been (and still are) a number of violent conflicts in Africa, most notably the Rwandan Genocide, South African Apartheid, and today's Darfur Crisis. Movies like Hotel Rwanda, Blood Diamonds, Black Hawk Down, The Last King of Scotland, and The Constant Gardner sometimes carry important messages, but still perpetuate the understanding of Africa as a continent of strife. And high school health-eduction, numerous international conferences, and even blogs such as this one consistently call attention to the seemingly-insurmountable health challenges on the continent, most notably AIDS, sanitation and safe water shortages, and Malaria. (I'm part of the problem - who knew?)

It is certainly true that there are beautiful wild spectacles in Africa. And that poverty and starvation are always potential threats for several large regions. And that the violent legacy of colonialism has yet to fully subside. Health is also a major issue here, as I have frequently tried to describe. But the important things to remember, that I think many Americans forget (certainly including myself before I came here - and sometimes even now), is that these problems are not due to some inherent flaw in African people or the African continent. There is more to Africa than elephants, land mines, and mosquitoes. Africa is full of millions of people who are just like anyone else in the world, only trying to peacefully provide for their families and improve their lives. The continent holds thousands of languages (more than any other continent), hundreds of very distinct cultures, and 53 independent nations, most of which are making great strides towards achieving peace, health, and prosperity for their people.

The single biggest lesson I've learned (and the one I'd like most to impress upon anyone who has waded through all the self-righteous preaching thus far) is that our concept of Africa is often way off base. There is an enormous amount of tremendously positive stuff happening here (the arts are flourishing, people like the aids counselors I've written about are helping the people around them, and everyone is tremendously politically active.) Kenya is only one country, and I've only seen a slice of it, so I can't really begin to speak to the situations everywhere. But if what I've encountered is any indication, this place is much, much, much more exciting than most of us in the US think.

Sorry to be so self-indulgent,
Chris

Street Vendors and Helicopters

2007-11-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone, and welcome to November.

In every big town that I have visited in East Africa there is always a tourist street market where dozens of local artisans and retailers set up their goods and charge absurd amounts for a little slice of Africa. I always enjoy walking up and down them to hear the outrageous prices they have to offer. Being a mzungu (White is the 'rangi ya pesa' - color of money), I am tabbed as an easy mark. But knowing some Swahili allows me to catch them off guard, and I almost always end up with a halfway decent price. Nothing I do will ever get me the prices as good as the locals, but it's fun to argue back and forth and see how it goes. Kupiga bei - negotiating - is an important part of almost every transaction in Kenya, as very few things have a fixed price. I wonder how the average tourist would feel if he or she knew this.

At this point I'm rather used to protracted debates about every market purchase, and conversations about myself and how I came to know Swahili generally accompany these. But in the past few days I've been really pleased to learn more about the retailers themselves and their interests. It all started when I was explaining my interest in East African Literature. One of the men asked which books I have read, and began to tell me about his favorite novel, Arrow of God by Chinua Achebe (a Nigerian, and thus not technically from East Africa, but popular here nonetheless). This led to a long discussion of the merits of using English versus local languages for literature, and to the differences between some of the more famous African authors. He is tremendously well-read despite having never been educated beyond high school. I told him about my project at the theater with Amezidi, and offered him a free seat when the performance comes. I also let him borrow a copy of the script to read. This afternoon I'm returning to the market to discuss his impressions.

It was during the course of one of these conversations that I also met another remarkable young hawker (the local term for street salesmen.) He overheard me talking about the Spanish classes I took this summer, and without missing a beat introduced himself. "Me llamo James," he said in an oustanding Spanish accent, "como te llamas?" I was shocked. How on earth did this Kenyan street vendor know how to introduce himself? And I was further surprised when he began to speak about his years education in Nairobi in perfect Spanish. Apparently he had studied world literature and languages (He knows six - English, Spanish, French, German, Swahili, and Kikuyu) in Nairobi, but was unable to find a job and returned to Nakuru to sell his artwork (very impressive paintings) on the streets. We talked at great length, and made plans to meet again. It was one of the most surprising things I've ever encountered.

Speaking of surprising things (and completely changing the subject), try to imagine this sequence of events:

After finishing the nightly routine (dinner, poorly-dubbed Mexican telenovella, glass of warm milk), I return to my room. Listen to the i-pod on $4 mini-speakers, step outside to brush my teeth, kill a small army of bugs in various corners of my room. Put a book on the pillow to read, take off my sandals, turn off the light, and find my way into bed. Notice the book on my pillow. Feel stupid. Find the headlamp on my table/nightstand. Feel clever again. Five minutes later, remember that insects are attracted to light, and realize that the small army of bugs had radioed for reenforcement before they died. Discover that the reeneforcements include a giant beetle that sounds like a helicopter. Get dive-bombed. In the face. Freak out. Swat the monster away, turn off the light, pull the blanket over my head. Five minutes later, nearly asleep and with the sheet back down around my shoulders, get dive-bombed again. Trap the bastard in my sheet, take it outside for immediate release. Return to the room, notice a medium-sized cockroach on the table/nightstand. React quickly. Take off a sandal (which I had just put back on to go outside) and move to strike. The beetle moves to the edge of the table, and then defies gravity by walking on the underside. Strike with the sandal. Watch him scurry away as a shower of dirt and debris flies off the sandal and up into the air. Watch as it lands on my clean clothes, on my pillow, and all over the bedsheets (which are still a mess from when I jumped out of bed.) Watch a large clump of dirt settle slowly to the bottom of my glass of water. Admit defeat. Dust off the sheets and pillow. Turn off the lights. Sleep.

Theater Things

2007-10-31T23:27:00.000-07:00

Greetings once again. I hope you all had a safe and enjoyable Halloween.
They don't really do Halloween in Kenya, but I bought myself a cookie to celebrate. Oh well.

Anyway, I have three main reasons for being in Kenya right now, beyond the obvious “have-a-good-time-and-learn-something-too.” One is to become fluent in Swahili. The second is to write this blog to fight against the idea of what I call “Lion King Africa” (I’ll explain more about that another time.) The third is to prepare for my senior thesis at Princeton. I plan to do a translation of the Swahili play “Amezidi,” and to produce it with the theater department in the spring of ’09. The play is a hysterical two-actor show featuring 7 characters in a somewhat irreverent look at the issues hindering development across Africa.

This week I have finally begun to take this third objective. By a stroke of good fortune, two of the members of REPACTED had performed on this play before. At Odu’s suggestion they spent a few nights last weekend reviewing the lines, and on Monday presented Scene 1 (of 10) for me in a very informal performance in the theater’s back yard. It was tremendously helpful. First and foremost, the play is written in very complex Swahili, and I continue to struggle with numerous passages. Their performance afforded me a terrific opportunity to pick up on details which I had previously missed. It also presented me with an excellent manifestation of the physical comic style that is clearly described in the script. They offered to continue reviewing the lines if I would return Tuesday with some new ideas for their performance. How could I refuse?

I went home and tried again to read the script. Scene 1 was much easier to understand after the performance earlier in the day. But beyond that I once again struggled. The language of the play is very complex, and my Swahili is still far from up to the task. I wasn’t sure what new ideas I could possibly have to offer. After a very long period of staring blankly at the inscrutable pages, I resigned myself to failure and went to bed.

Tuesday I arrived at the theater without any ideas. Afraid to admit this to my eager actors, I asked them to perform the scene again. I hoped against hope that they wouldn’t notice my stall technique, and that some inspiration would hit me while they performed. They play began. “Mtazameni!” Cried the first actor – “Look at this!” It hit me like a ton of bricks - he wasn’t speaking to the other actor, he was addressing the audience. Just like in the two plays I directed this summer (“The Matchmaker” and “Set & Drift”) the character was speaking directly to his audience. This one word had saved me; I knew exactly what to do.

“Stop!” I cried (in Swahili – part of our agreement is that I will direct in Swahili as much as possible, only switching to English when I can’t find the words to express a specific thought.) All summer long I was moving farther and farther away from the traditional concept of a play, opting instead to bring the audience into the action, eliminate realism, and allow impossible things to happen on stage. Amezidi is the logical continuation of these ideas. It uses 2 actors to play 7 roles, it takes place is 5 different locations in its 10 scenes. It is about as abstract as anything I have ever read.

“The playwright wants us to speak directly to the audience, to involve them” I explained, “ So let’s do it.” I walked in a small arc, dropping things from my bag every few steps until I had delineated a circle some 15 feet across. “Our audience is going to sit on the edges of this circle. Our stage is this little space, surrounded on all sides by one narrow row of mtamazaji (watchers.)” I spent the rest of the afternoon re-blocking (“blocking” is theater-speak for planning the movements that will accompany the lines) their scene using every theater-in-the-round trick I had ever learned. Two hours later, they were totally sold on the concept, and I was feeling like I was finally starting to live up to my end of the deal. We broke with plans to meet again in the morning.

Yesterday I arrived in town early and went straight to the one American-style coffee house in the city. (I’ve tried to kick the habit while here, instead drinking Chai – a fabulous sweet tea made with boiling milk instead of water – but today’s work would require an extra burst of energy only possible with Coffee.) I paid my 40 cents and found a seat, pulling out my notebook in the process. I thought back to my theater classes at Princeton, and especially the “creating character and text class” with (the outstanding) Professor Sandberg. With his help, three other actors and I created an astounding 30 characters and put together a full-length show featuring 12 of them. I recalled the techniques he used to help us develop the physical characteristics of each of our 30 people. He used to make us walk back and forth across the room, changing as many behaviors as possible each time. He taught us to emphasize different parts of our bodies to change the personalities of our characters. All people are remarkably adept at recognizing swaggering shoulders, fidgeting hands, swaying hips, limp wrists, and jutting chins. Each trait clearly conveys a personality type, and there are dozens more characteristics that are equally clear. I made a note – this would be an outstanding place to start.

I then thought back to my experience performing in Ruby Pan’s original “The Thousand Stringed Instrument” in 2006. She used the recently-developed ‘viewpoints’ technique to help us with the challenges and opportunities of performing in irregular spaces. Moving around an empty stage while focusing intently on the movement of your peers attunes your senses to your environment. You learn to sense when there is empty space on stage (generally speaking, a big no-no), and how to instinctively fill the space vacated by the folks moving around you. This is especially valuable in theater in the round, when stagnating in one place or abandoning a section of the stage often leaves large swaths of the audience out of the action. This would be a perfect second exercise.

A two-man show requires outstanding cooperation and the ability to predict your companion’s movements even before they begin. Bob Sandberg’s exercises once again - actors stand together and mirror each other’s every move. They learn to follow one another smoothly and completely, and to give and take as they alternate who leads. When this exercise is completed perfectly a spectator has no idea that one is initiating the movement and one is following along. Exercise number three.

As I prepared these lessons/exercises, I also thought about the single biggest lesson I garnered from the esteemed professor Tim Vasen – the audience will follow your production no matter what you do, as long as you are consistent with yourself. If you want every actor to wear big fuzzy hats, the audience will play along as long as you are consistent. A corollary of this is that changing the rules of the game halfway through the show is a recipe for disaster. If our Amezidi has the actors addressing the audience from the first line, then that has to continue throughout. In fact, it has to grow. The characters will interact with the audience, will talk to them, point at them, even sit in their laps. This part would require no preparation on my part, these are two of the most gifted improvisers and comedians I have ever met.

I arrived at the theater and we immediately set to work. Performers by nature and already familiar with the script, the actors took to every new idea perfectly. It was very apparent to me that although they had never seen these particular techniques, they are very experienced in rehearsal technique and are very interested in learning new approaches to their craft. For me, it was a beautiful exercise in cultural exchange, with me sharing the ideas I had recently acquired at school, and them sharing their own techniques and thoughts. The end result of yesterday’s work (once again only scene 1 – today we start to move on) is a really creative marriage of their own work and mine (okay, fine: mostly theirs). We performed it to an appreciative sample audience and it was met with much praise.

We’ve decided to do a performance next Wednesday (my last day in Nakuru), and we will spend the coming week or so preparing for that. It might not be perfectly ready, but it will certainly provide new ideas to all of us, and give me invaluable familiarity with the script before I embark
upon the still-daunting task of translating it. All in all, good news.

Take care,

Chris

USAID: From the American People

2007-10-30T07:01:00.001-07:00

There is a group of counselors in Nakuru that does incredible work. As a team of eight, they maintain regular contact with some five hundred clients, all of whom are HIV positive. Additionally, many of these clients have families which are not counted in this list. That means this small band is ultimately providing services to well over a thousand people. These services include grief and bereavement counseling, treatment adherence monitoring, nutrition and exercise training, and even home visits for clients who are no longer strong enough to venture out. They also form support groups for clients with similar situations, and run a small farm from which they sell vegetables to clients for token fees. Needless to say, their work is very, very important.

Of course, it also carries great risks. As one volunteer said, “AIDS is dying slowly. It is terrible to watch.” Even with the best treatments, the survival rate isn’t good. Wealthy American AIDS patients are not guaranteed anything. And these people are not often receiving the very best treatments. “You reach stage 4 (of the disease), and that’s it.” Emotional trauma is a part of the counselors’ daily routine.

There are medical risks, too. Although HIV itself is actually fairly difficult to catch, most advanced AIDS patients also carry opportunistic infections. These can include Tuberculosis, Viral Pneumonia, Thresh, and any number of virulent skin infections. Home visits always carry a risk of contagion, but the counselors are too invested abandon their clients. Even so, they worry. “We don’t even have gloves. Maybe they need to hug you, what do you do?”

Complicating matters is the lack of medical services for the counselors themselves. Despite encouraging counselors to expose themselves to these risks, the overseeing organizations provide NO annual medical treatment, NO risk allowance, and NO sick leave or paid vacation. This last part is especially damning, as the counselors (often as in need of money as the people they visit) cannot afford to take time off, meaning they are interacting with clients even when they themselves are ill. This only serves to spread the opportunistic infections farther around the immuno-compromised HIV+ community.

Even assuming the counselors come to work every day, the payment is insufficient and inefficiently distributed. One counselor who has a long history of such work, having served under the UNHCR (United Nations High Commission on Refugees), MSF (Medecenes Sans Fronteres), the International Red Cross, AAH (Action Against Hunger), and UNICEF (United Nations’ Children’s Fund) said the situation here is the worst he’s ever seen. Payment comes every 45 days instead of the regular 30, making bill paying impossible. For people who are often living paycheck-to-paycheck, this extra delay can be devastating. Children cannot go to school without school fees, electricity will not come if the bill isn’t paid. And this NGO pays less than the others he has worked with. Talking about his former employers, he asserted that “others are without problems. He shook his head as he trailed off, “Here…”

These problems were recently compounded by an unexpected turn of events. A letter from somewhere up the chain of command, October 17th, 2007:

“To all counselors and Volunteers:

RE: OCTOBER 2007, SALARY

This is to inform you that (the program) funding from (old sponsoring program) ended on 30^th September, 2007. Meanwhile we are in the process of transitioning most of the activities under (your program) into (another program.)

I wish to inform you that, during this transition period we will not be able to pay your October salary. However, as soon as the structures to run the program have been put in place, the program will continue and we will inform you accordingly of any future developments.

We apologize most sincerely for this inconvenience and regret that this information was not communicated to you earlier in the Month. It was our hope that the process will be completed by this month but due to unforeseen circumstances this was not possible.

Lastly, I take this opportunity to thank all of you, for your commitment and the tireless service you are giving to the community; and hope that this temporary situation will not deter your spirit of serving the less fortunate in our community.

Sincerely yours,

Xxxxxxxxx”

This letter was printed on USAID stationary alongside the slogan “From the American People.”

The counselors are understandably upset. The lack of pay is devastating. Finding out after two and a half weeks of work that they won’t be receiving their due compensation makes it even worse. And the cavalier attitude of the author (They apologize for the ‘inconvenience’) added insult to injury. Of course, there is no legal recourse here. They cannot complain to a union or take the case to court. All they can do is wait it out. And so they do. But amazingly, they don’t allow their clients to suffer. The morning after the letter arrived, all 8 counselors were in their office at the usual 8am time. There have been no irregular absences in the two weeks since. They are afraid to abandon their clients for fear that they will begin to regress. They are dedicated to their cause.

This isn’t to say that the counselors aren’t feeling the pain. “Our (adminstration) isn’t going to help us, but we will continue helping our community. The money (when it does come) isn’t enough to help us, but not having it hurts us.” Others were more resentful. “Those up there, you just give (them) reports. Nobody cries on their shoulders. They don’t know what we do.” She sounded close to giving up. “Even with the call, with the willingness, you tire because you are a human being.”

“If they will not change, it will be difficult for us.”

Kind of a Repeat

2007-10-29T22:44:00.000-07:00

Friends,

This entry is a significantly modified version of one that I made several weeks ago. It is also the cover letter that is accompanying a shipment of RedRibbon Pins to the Taylor's Landing Country Store in West Kingston, Rhode Island. The pins should be available there any day now, and as time progresses many more will hopefully be finding their way back to the states. If you're interested, please contact me, or visit Taylor's. (They also have the best coffee in town.)

Thanks,
Chris

In 1986 John Aremo of Nakuru, Kenya was diagnosed as HIV positive. For the next 17 years he defied medical understanding, living in good health with the virus, even while many friends and family passed away. This continued until one day in 2002 when he decided “If I hadn't died after 16 years, God must have something he wants to do with me." This spiritual revelation led him to seek the assistance of others, and in 2003 he began attending the Love and Hope Center, a Catholic support center near his home. It was there that he first learned the value of "positive living" - a clever slogan that emphasizes the value of a proactive approach to living with HIV, while also alluding to the patients' HIV status. As John says, "there is still life after infection."

It was also at the Love and Hope Center where John first learned how to use a safety pin and a meager handful of beads to make emblems with the red AIDS ribbon. After the first lesson, John immediately saw their value to promote awareness and fight discrimination. Stigma was becoming a major problem in his life, and he was no longer able to find employment. When his wife passed away from the disease, he turned to the beads as a limited but effective means of providing for himself and his daughter. They gave him hope for the future, and also an escape. "When I am working with the beads I forget that I am sick,” says John.

In 2004 ARVs became free for all Kenyans. Shortly thereafter, John’s health began to rebound. It was in the same year that was invited to Nairobi to be part of the fledgling "Ambassadors of Hope" program. He received detailed information on how to improve the quality of his life through diet and exercise. He learned about preventing the spread of the disease, and how to fight stigma. Perhaps most importantly, he was trained in counseling other HIV+ individuals and on educating those without the disease. He eventually found the strength to go public with his status, telling friends, family, and ultimately his entire community about his illness. In a country where millions of people have died from HIV because of a refusal to acknowledge the illness and receive treatment, this was a monumental decision. John persevered, and today he can be found all over Nakuru, encouraging others to learn their status and to believe in the importance of a positive lifestyle, with or without HIV.

This work has also allowed him to continue making Red Ribbon pins, and to spread the skill to other HIV+ individuals. He has trained numerous support groups, including a small meeting of HIV+ single parents at the Nuru Ya Jamii (Light of the Community) Center at the Nakuru Chapter of the Red Cross. These parents continue to fight the same debilitating medical, social, and financial challenges as John, and joining together to talk about their struggles and make these pins brings them hope, strength, and the promise of a better future.

Promulgating Obfuscation: A Supplementary Missive

2007-10-29T06:46:00.000-07:00

To Promulgate Obfuscation:
1) To intentionally increase the chance of misunderstanding in any given communication; to reduce clarity.
2) The deliberate incorporation of under-utilized lexical offerings (such as "promulgate" and "obfuscation") in casual discourse, effectively prohibiting the apprehension of intent by most native Swahili speakers. Often used in conjunction with the "Unintelligibly Rapid Discourse" technique. Employment of grammatical constructions that are obscure, awkward, and unpleasant accompanies these approaches in many instances.
3) A good-natured way to exact revenge on friends who playfully switch into Luo or Kikuyo when you are the topic of conversation.

Weekend With Blair

2007-10-28T22:57:00.000-07:00

Greetings once again.

First things first, many congratulations to the RedSox, who clinched the world series a little more than two hours ago. Thanks to Emily and my mom for the text-message updates. I'd also like to send some congratulations to the Patriots for being frickin' sweet.

My first few days in Kenya were only possible because of the generous help of a few good friends, namely Professor John Githaiga of Nairobi, and Blair Moorhead of North Dakota, both of whom I met at Princeton. So you can imagine how thrilled I was when Blair accepted my invitation to come spend a weekend in Nakuru so that I could return her hospitality (and get a second American opinion on the many cultural idiosyncrasies I have been observing.)

She arrived late in the morning on Saturday, and after the long and bumpy ride, I offered to take her to Mama Njeri's, the tremendously Kenyan little restaurant where I eat most of my meals in town. Situated in a corner of a mid-sized autoshop/patch-of-dirt-with-broken-cars, Mama Njeri's features 5 indoor picnic tables, a cooler of soda, an ancient television, and a variety of local fare in the $0.15-$0.45 per-meal price range. That being said, I love the place much like I love Phil's back home. And Blair was also a big fan, much to the surprise of the locals, to whom the site of two wazungu (the plural of mzungu) in Mama Njeri's was almost too outrageous to handle.

After lunch, we headed to the theater where we met up with a few group members, including 21-year old Agik, an avid linguist (he fluently speaks 5 languages - English, Swahili, Luo, Kikuyu, and French) who is also one of the more gifted actors in REPACTED. He and Blair (who double-majored in French and Psychology, and is just starting to learn Swahili) immediately hit it off, and before long we were all teaching each other common words and phrases in Swahili, French, and my limited Spanish. It was good time, interrupted only by the beginning of the second day of the Nakuru Regional finals of the Kenyan National Cultural Festival, an annual event that pits performers of every nature against their peers, ultimately leading to the crowning of champions in Nairobi every November. (Odu, the co-leader of REPACTED, is the current reigning national champion in story-telling. He'll be competing in the finals again this fall.) When we heard the event begin, we moved up into the performance hall to catch a glimpse of the activities. After sitting through an inspired (but not too impressive) one-man drumming/singing/harmonica band and a less-than-thrilling improvised drum-circle, we were treated to a few really remarkable performances. A chorus of 25 middle-aged women dressed in their brightest traditional clothes sang several religious pieces in Luo and Swahili, dancing and clapping to the beat of three young men on the drums. There was also a comedy piece feautring a young man in a bright red conductor's outfit "air-directing" an imagined orchestra as a tape recording played. It was an interesting interpretation of the art of conducting, and the performer was the recipient of much applause when the song concluded.

Blair and I were about to leave at this point to see more of the city when the emcee of the event noticed us sitting in the audience. As the only wazungu in attendance, we were promptly introduced as celebrities, and asked to rise and wave. It was horribly awkward. We decided to wait another piece or two before exiting. Ironically enough, this also proved to be a mistake. A bit later, we were sneaking out the back door while the emcee made another round of introductions, this time of local playwrights in attendance. One happened to be sitting right near the back, and we happened to be situated right in front of him as the entire audience turned to offer their applause. Oops.

We walked around the city a good bit more that afternoon, seeing the local produce market, strolling several parks, and being hassled by more than a few hawkers (the name for the aggressive street merchants lining every avenue and lane). Agik was a perfect tour guide, and by the time we met up with Odu and Karongo for a late snack, we had seen most all of the city. Because Blair is a vegetarian, we stopped into the only Veg-friendly restaurant in town, sampled a variety of interesting and satisfying Kenyan Veggie dishes, and eventually made our way to the matatu stand feeling quite content. Taxis, while much more convenient, are also maddeningly frustrating to use. You have to negotiate the price of everything in this country, and when Taxi drivers see an mzungu, the price immediately jumps several hundred shillings (65 shillings to the dollar). It's often easier to take the cheaper and slower matatus, where the price is more-or-less fixed.

Back at home we had a wonderful traditional meal made of smashed cooking bananas (less sugay and firmer than the popular "sweet" banana), corn, and beans, all with chapati and chai. We laughed under our breath at the popular poorly-dubbed Spanish and Filipino soap-operas, the popular poorly choreographed American wrestling, and the popular poorly-produced Kenyan sitcoms. Although we were busy playing the role of cultural-elitists, I think we both would have readily acknowledged the hospitality of our hosts as one of the many the strengths of the Kenyan people. Television programming aside, these are wonderful folks.

The next morning we were talking about religion with my host father, who's secret ambitions of converting me to born-again Christianity accidentally slipped out when he proclaimed that "There will be much rejoicing in heaven when we win Christopher's soul." Although I suspect that Blair was initially somewhat horrified at his lack of discretion (I was equally taken aback), he certainly meant well, and once again confirmed that Kenyans in general are not afraid of talking about other people's business. Religion, politics, and even weight gain and loss are free topics of discussion in this culture. Oh well.

The matatu into town provided a little more amusement by playing "Let's Hear It For the Boy" from Footloose, and a few other unexpected American offerings. We went up to the Menegai crater (Have I mentioned that yet?), took a Boda-Boda ride around town (the back-seat bicycle rides), and enjoyed Agik's culinary skills (he brought some homemade fried dough called mandazi) before Blair had to once again hop on a matatu back to Nairobi.

It was a much-appreciated diversion from my daily life here, and a good reminder of the fun of having someone around to share cultural anachronisms. It made me that much more excited for when my father comes to visit at the end of next month.

Alright, I've been here too long already, but I'll talk to you all again tomorrow.
Thanks for reading,
Chris

Falling Behind!

2007-10-28T05:28:00.000-07:00

These entries are falling behind the pace of my actual life. Blair just left, but I don't have time to write about that now, since I have to finish relating the story of my mid-week excursion. Hopefully tomorrow I can describe the events of this weekend. We'll see.

Thursday we awoke early, and after a quick breakfast the group split up. While the others went off in search of more art, Carrington and I played the role of the tourists, visiting the Kakamega National Forest. It’s Kenya’s last remaining slice of the once-mighty Congo jungle, and it’s a pretty cool place. It is technically managed by the Kenyan government, but all the day-to-day operation is done by trained local residents. Historically, damage was done to the local economy by the gradual introduction of conservation measures in the park, making hunting, timber harvesting, grazing and grasslands use, and even medicinal plant gathering illegal. But with the introduction of community-based training on botany and conservation, jobs began to reemerge. And with government, NGO, and even private organizations sponsoring programs ranging from medical research to butterfly propagation, the park has come to be viewed as more of a local treasure than a local curse. And tourist dollars (Including those from Carrington and I) help the cause as well. I was thrilled to see all of this, especially on reading an entire book on the merits of community-based participatory conservation last spring. Kakamega is a textbook examples of the benefits of such an approach.

Beyond that, the monkeys were cool, and the forest was beautiful. Not a whole lot of wildlife beyond the primates, but lots of interesting trees. The strangler figs were a particular favorite of mine. They germinate high in the canopy, and then send long, thin feelers winding down the trunk of the host-tree. Once they reach the ground, they rapidly take root, and before long they have engulfed the entire host tree, using it for support while it grows strong enough to stand on its own. By that time the host is pretty much out of luck, as the constricting roots of the fig have damaged it beyond regeneration. Eventually you have large fig trees with hollow centers living on their own where the other tree once stood. Pretty ruthless.

After finishing our tour Carrington and I began the long walk back to town. We were met after about an hour by Bev and the others, and were off once more, this time to Eldoret. Unfortunately, we arrived there too late to do any business, and had no choice to continue home. The road from Eldoret back to Nakuru is a particularly bad one, and the ride was unusually grueling. We stopped to stretch shortly after dusk on a stretch of “highway” just above Eldama Ravine, and were all surprised at the frigid wind that met us as we opened the doors. Apparently this particular pass is nearly 10,000 ft above sea level, explaining the lack of large trees, the sparse population, and how it managed to be in the upper 50s one degree north of the equator.

The rest of the ride home was long and tiring, but rather uneventful. I continue to be amazed at how diverse the terrain can be in Kenya, even in a relatively small area. I haven’t really been more than three hours in any one direction (even on these terrible roads), and I’ve seen everything from scorched and dusty desert to dark and muddy forests, mountains, lakes, boulder fields, and even flat, empty savannah. It’s a pretty incredible place.

Otherwise, all is still well. Although I can't explain the formatting problems in this post. This computer is really bizarre.

Road Trip, Saving Politics for Later

2007-10-25T22:50:00.000-07:00

After leaving my unfinished last post for two days and returning to it this morning, I have decided that I don't have enough information to make a really thorough post on the local politics. I'm also not quite sure how to present the information in a readable and interesting way. So I'm going to put that on hold. However, the electoral commission will announce the dates of the upcoming elections this afternoon, and I'm sure that will lead to a whole new round of interesting news stories and gossip. I'll take notes.

So I met another Mzungu in the small farming community where my host family lives. I attended Church with my host parents last Sunday (I think they've been worried about my soul ever since I told them that I don't belong to any organized religious institutions). By chance, we ended up sitting right behind the only other white person in the town, who I had a chance to speak with afterwards. Her name is Beverly, and she is a 50-something Mainer who works for a Church-based NGO in the states. She comes to Mangu (the small farming community) for several months a year, living at the sustainable-development themed orphanage that she helped to found. I was pretty thrilled to hear a New England accent, as well as to have a chance to visit such an intriguing organization, so I gladly accepted her invitation and we walked the mile or so back up the recently paved road to the village center.

The Orphanage combines a number of really interesting concepts to provide a very comfortable, self-sustaining home for 15 AIDS-orphans ranging from ages five to sixteen. They use solar power for all of their electrical needs, solar-heated water, and grow much of their own food in gardens that will soon be fertilized from a self-composting outhouse that is under construction. They also collect clean rainwater for drinking and cooking, and have planted watering-intensive banana trees behind the sheds and outhouses, where the sloping roofs ensure that every drop of rain makes it to the plants. There are a great number of savvy innovations in every facet of the compound, and they also pride themselves on spreading their ideas and philosophy to the local community, regularly hosting their neighbors to pass along money-saving and quality-of-life improving tips. It's a great institution.

Anyway, I talked with Bev for a while, and was even more surprised when another Mzungu from Maine showed up for a late lunch. His name is Carrington, and he is here as a volunteer for two months, having heard about Bev's project from a family member who attends the same church. He's traveled extensively, and is often involved with community service projects. Having once through-hiked the Appalachian trail, he now maintains a stretch near his home in Maine. He will be working at the Go Green Fair in Chicago in April and will be doing reconstruction work in New Orleans in February. He's a good guy.

Our conversations led us to make two sets of travel plans. One is for Carrington and I to travel extensively around the region during my one-week down time between Nakuru and Nairobi. More on that later.

More immediately, I was invited to accompany the two of them and the two Kenyan administrators of the orphanage on a trip around the local region to buy art from local elderly, handicapped, or otherwise disadvantaged artisans for sale in the US. I couldn't say no. Unfortunately, they had planned for three days, and I had immovable plans on Tuesday, so I would have to catch up to them on my own in nearby Kisumu on Wednesday morning. Easy enough, I figured.

Wednesday morning my host mother and I went to the Matatu stand (for inner-city travel the vehicles can be met on almost any street corner, but there is one major parking lot/hub for expeditions out of town) and found a Kisumu-bound bus that was nearly empty, allowing me to take a (somewhat) more spacious front seat, with promises from the driver that we'd be on our way in less than twenty minutes. Yeah, right. It was a full two hours before we filled the vehicle and departed (there are no schedules on these lines - you wait until the van is full and the driver can fully maximize his profit.) And matatu stands are full of "hawkers," people selling everything from newspapers to neckties to knives to chickens. People waiting for their matatu to leave can eat breakfast, buy small livestock, and dress themselves in traditional garb all from the luxury of their undersized seats. And as an mzungu, every single one of these hawkers assumes you have tons of money to spare. Between telling them off in English and Swahili, and convincing the street children that you won't give them any money because they should be in school, you have almost no opportunity to breathe. It was a long two hours. I was so grateful when we finally set off, hoping that I could finally find some peace. Ha.

The large man on my left was an ethnic Kikuyu. So was the large driver on my right. Four hours of MISERABLE roads, no food for several hours, and a raucous conversation (that I know concerned me on at least a few occasions - apparently mzungu is the same in any language) taking place in each ear in a language I don't understand. Not my favorite way to travel. By the time we passed through the endless miles of East-Asian looking tea fields, I was feeling tempted to jump out of the car and join the thousands of (heavily exploited) workers who could be seen picking leaves by hand.

When we reached the shores of Lake Victoria four hours later, I was exhausted. Kisumu is a fishing town, and as I walked along the small market immediately adjacent to the matatu stand (where I gratefully disembarked) I saw dried, fried, and freshly caught fish of every shape and size. A short Boda-Boda ride (a bicycle with an extra seat attached on the back - perfect for terrifying but convenient door-to-door transportation) brought me to the restaurant where Bev, Carrington, Mwangi, and Sammy were waiting. We had a somewhat lavish three-dollar lunch, piled into their rented car (a matatu - damnit), and were off for Kakamega, where we would be spending the night. Aside from 40 miles of gorgeous boulder fields and small ridges and outcroppings that I swore to return to, the ride was pretty uneventful. We stopped at a small institution for disabled women, and purchased a great number of hand-made banana-and-palm-front handbags, placemats, and coasters for sale in the US. I'll bring a few to Ken to see if he likes them. The woman who made them, who didn't understand a word of English, was enormously grateful, and I had the distinct pleasure of being able to translate her gratitude to Bev and Carrington.

We arrived in Kakamega around 8 PM and settled into our aging but nice hotel-huts. They were designed ages ago for western tourists but are sadly not receiving much business these days. It's too bad, since the entire night cost about 15 dollars with dinner, and included hot showers, flushing toilets, and electricity. Needless to say, after a slow start to the day, it ended up being pretty outstanding.

I have to go do some actual work right now, but I hope to return this afternoon to describe day two of the trip. If I don't make it back, I'm not sure that I'll be at a computer again until Monday. Blair is coming up from Nairobi for the weekend, so I'll be busy excitedly showing her all of my new favorite places around town.

Good luck to the Red Sox this weekend (someone had better text me the scores after every game), and I hope all is well with everyone.

Thanks for reading,
Chris

Positive Living

2007-10-22T02:04:00.000-07:00

In 1986 John Aremo of Nakuru, Kenya was diagnosed as HIV positive. For the next 17 years he defied logic (and statistics), living in relatively good health with the virus, even while his first wife and many friends passed away. This continued until one day in 2002 when it struck him that if he "hadn't died after 16 years, God must have something he wants to do with me." This spiritual revelation led him to seek the assistance of others, and in 2003 he began attending the Love and Hope Center, a Catholic support center here in Nakuru. It was there that he first learned the value of "positive living" - a clever slogan that emphasizes the value of a proactive approach to living with HIV, while also alluding to the patients' HIV+ status. Another subtle implication is that there is still living to be done when you are HIV positive. As John says, "there is still life after infection."

It was also at the Love and Hope Center where John first learned how to use a safety pin and 40 cents worth of beads to make little emblems with the red AIDS ribbon. An HIV support group from a neighboring town came to teach the craft to the members of the Nakuru chapter, and John was the only one who picked up on it. He saw the value of these pins as tool to promote awareness and reduce stigma, and also as a potentially profitable venture. Because he was not on ARVs (Antiretroviral drugs - the most affordable effective AIDS treatment), his weight had dropped to 49 kg (not quite 125 pound), and he was starting to show signs of his ailment. Stigmatization was also becoming a major problem for him, and he was no longer able to find employment. When his second wife also passed away from the disease, the beads provided a limited but effective means of providing for himself and his daughter. They also gave him hope. "When I am working with the beads I forget that I am sick." For a man who believes that staying busy has kept him alive for the past 21 years, hope is a major part of his remarkable success.

Finally, in 2004 he was afforded an opportunity to begin taking ARVs. His health began to turn around. It was in the same year that was invited to Nairobi to be part of an "Ambassadors of Hope" program. Thirty AIDS patients from around Kenya spent three weeks being trained on a wide variety of issues related to HIV. They received basic information about how to improve the quality of their own lives through diet and exercise. They learned about preventing the spread of the disease, and about fighting stigma. Perhaps most importantly, they were trained in how to impart this same information to others, counselling both HIV+ individuals and providing educational outreaches to those living without the disease. He was also trained on how to officially go public with his status, telling friends, family, and ultimately entire communities about his illness. In a country where many millions of people have died from HIV simply because they refused to admit their illness and receive treatment, this was an enormous challenge. But John persevered, and today his photograph can be found on posters all around Nakuru, encouraging others to find out their status and to continue to believe in the importance of life, with or without HIV.

With John's help the Society of Women and AIDS in Kenya (SWAK - an affiliate of the continent-wide SWAAfrica program) have trained 30 more ambassadors of hope in Nakuru alone. These individuals take information about their illness to the public, bringing hope to the afflicted and encouraging all to get tested. They are standing up against stigma and discrimination, each in their own way.

For John, this has included making his Red Ribbon pins, and spreading that skill to other HIV+ individuals free of charge. He has trained numerous patients and support groups, including one of the ones run by my host mother at the Nuru Ya Jamii (Light of the Community) Center in the Nakuru Red Cross compound. It is these pins (along with several of John's own) that will soon be available for sale in West Kingston.

Meeting John today has once again redefined my concept of eye-opening experiences. He also inspired me to do a little more research into The Love and Hope Center, Nuru Ya Jamii, Ambassadors of Hope, SWAK, and Positive Living. You can expect more information about all of these programs soon.

Yours,
Chris

East Pokot

2007-10-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

Salutations.

One of the members of REPACTED had been inviting me all week to attend a theatrical event of his in a neighboring town this Saturday (today). I wasn't exactly clear on the details of the event, but he is one of the funnier and friendlier members of the organization, so I agreed to attend on principle, trusting that it would work out well. It did.

So, I meet Mapet and three other members of his Church's theater group at nearby Kabarak University, where we pile into a small truck and head north. I wasn't really sure how far it would be, but every kept telling me we didn't have too much father to go, so I didn't really worry about it.

My first indication that this might have been a mistake came about half an hour later, when we passed a sign that read "You Are Now Crossing the Equator."

Half an hour after that we passed signs for Lake Bogoria, a famous destination with hot springs and scenic boat rides. My family had suggested we travel there last weekend, but had decided against it because it was too far.

15 minutes later we had finally finished crossing the savanah, and it's occasional road-wash outs, and moved onto a dirt road in a full-fledged desert. The herds of cows and goats crossing the road left and right disappeared.

15 minutes later we couldn't see behind us because of the dust cloud we were kicking up, but could see a giant red and black cliff band ranging from 40-250 ft paralleling our road for about 10 miles. We could also see me drooling at the thought of climbing it, which of course was not and probably never will be possible.

15 minutes later we passed through the remains of an ancient lava flow, much like the ones in the badlands of New Mexico. It was basically like any other place in the world, except for enormous heaps of bowling-ball to television-sized black rocks laying around everywhere. It's hard to describe how out of place this environment was, and it was even more striking because of how suddenly it arose and how quickly we passed through it.

15 minutes later we pulled off of what was already the worst road I had ever been on. Instead of a street sign, there was just a camel painted on a rock by the turnoff. The new road was even less accommodating than the first one. It was basically two parallel ruts filled with 6 inches of dust or 6 inches of loose stones, with giant hedges of prickly pear cactus on either side, and occasional patches of savanna, often with wild Camels hiding behind them. We began to see herders and goats again, too. We slid off the road several times, and often had to drive down short pitches of giant and VERY steep river beds that were eerily dry. I can't really explain how bad the road was, because nothing I say will conjure up a severe enough image. Think like, hiking trails. And then like, worse.

15 minutes later we arrived at a small encampment owned by the Catholic Church. Population: 1. He was very nice, though. He gave us soda and we picked up a water tank (apparently the theater group was doing a play about water safety), and then we were off. 20 more minutes of terrible roads brought us to East Pokot, where we scorched in the 100 degree heat, refused to eat at a filthy restaurant (the only one in town), drank about a dozen sodas each because we didn't trust the local water and no one was selling bottled, and finally met the district commissioner (a relatively high position in regional politics, although I couldn't quite tell you how high). He showed us to his office, spent about 10 minutes talking about himself, and finally led us to the parade grounds/football(soccer) stadium, where the days activities were to take place.
I was finally starting to get the picture that this "play" was really just a brief water-sanitation lesson as part of a much larger town celebration of Kenyatta day, the second largest national holiday. Weird. But it ended up being a great time anyway. First of all, there were numerous local officials, tribesmen, scouts, and school children, all in VERY diverse outfits ranging from military fatigues to traditional Americans-only-see-this-in-National-Geographic beaded clothing. It was breathtaking. Second, as the only mzungu there, (realistically probably the only one for a hundred miles), and because I had a camera, everyone assumed I was some bigshot journalist. I got invited to the DC's tent, people brought me more sodas, and I had the freedom to walk anywhere and take pictures. It was really fun. Everyone was also very impressed that I am learning Swahili, so that got me even more leeway. And third, the "skit" about water safety ended up being terrific. It provided valuable information about sanitation and filtration to the entire assembled crowd, while also being thoroughly hysterical. In the end, it was a pretty great day.

Other exciting notes that I didn't find a way to include in the narrative:

I saw wild ostriches, a giant turtle, and numerous exciting small beetles and such, including a "rhinobeetle" - about 4 inches long and with a massive horn on the front.

I ate bloodfruit, mini bananas, and green oranges.

"The Land Down Under" - (the worthless American 80's pop song) came on the radio twice, in both cases as the only English on the entire radio channel.

Kenya is REALLY crazy.

Yours,
Chris

Being Spit On

2007-10-19T06:31:00.000-07:00

It's not as bad as it sounds. In fact, it was meant as a blessing. But it was still really weird.

We were setting up for another outreach (this time in a slum on the west side of the city) when this little middle-aged lady came up to us. She was a little inebriated, and staggered around from one of us to another while we waited. (There are always numerous friendly drunk people at every outreach, it's an oft-ignored component of the misery of the slums.) Anyway, she came up to me as I was unpacking boxes of condoms for distribution and began to rub her face on my shoulder. It was VERY bizzare. She then mumbled something in Kikuyu (her tribal language) and spit a little on my collarbone. I jumped back, and while I was doing so, she spit down the inside of her shirt, and gave me a big, solemn nod. She grabbed a handful of condoms and staggered off down the road.

The laughter of my friends assured me that this was not a major insult, but it still took a while for me to understand that this was her way of giving me blessings and wishing me peace. Dorcas told me that her Grandmother does this to her every time they meet.

I'm still not certain how I feel about it.

The outreach was much like the one two days ago, except that the place was even poorer. The gutters were backed up with human waste, and the majority of the neighborhood was directly under a series of high-tension powerlines. It was thoroughly depressing.

Less depressing was the response of a bunch of my family's neighbors when I went for a run last night. We had returned from the city early, and I was feeling a little lazy, so I had Jane point me in the right direction and I went out for a few miles. Along the way, I met so many friendly people and curious children that I had to stop numerous times. I also had a school boy and a young woman join me for about a mile each. Everyone was fascinated that I was there and enormously welcoming. All the farmers who I passed stopped their work in the corn fields to watch and wave. A man on a bicycle rode alongside me on the dirt road for five minutes or so encouraging me to run faster and better. It was very refreshing.

In other news, I'm now only 12 days away from leaving for Mombasa, and I'm starting to realize that I have even less of a plan than I did when I first came here. It's also kind of weird that I'm already preparing to move on.

Otherwise, things are good. I'm going to the family's evangelical church on Sunday, which should be very interesting. I'm also meeting with a woman from Maine who now runs an orphanage here. So it should be a good weekend.

Yours,
Chris

Amazing Outreach

2007-10-18T00:44:00.000-07:00

Greetings.

Today I am extraordinarily busy, but I would like very much to quickly relate one experience before I get to work.

Yesterday we went on an outreach with two of the three French journalists, and it was extraordinary. Because the site was a good way out of the city, we took a matatu to get there. Me, two frenchmen, and 11 REPACTED members crammed into one big van. It was a blast. Two of the members speak french, one of the journalists speaks spanish, and almost all of the other members know at least one local tribal language. At one point we had a game of telephone going around in a circle, from french to kikuyu to kiluo to english to swahili and back again in spanish. It was incredible. I also taught the group the "There are ducks in this house" warm-up from Intime and the CTC, which I couldn't possibly explain to you in this forum. Suffice it to say, I made a fool of myself, and everybody loved it.

We arrived at the site and set up a small PA system for "bumping" hip-hop music and drawing large crowds. Large crowds gathered, and after about ten minutes of dancing and having fun, our group took to the center of the circle as the PA system was shut off. We immediately launched into a singing/dancing/clapping session known as "kupiga kilele," which translates literally as "to hit the noise," but basically means make a loud sloppy ruckus. And we did. By this point I have learned most of the call and response songs and can easily play along with the dance improvs, so I got to participate fully. Clemont and Martin (the journalists) were very impressed. As were a large number of the local young ladies and children, who took turns coming up and dancing with the mzungu (me.) That was a little strange, but it was good I knew it was for the best because it meant that I was doing my part to draw people's attention and to keep them interested. Nevertheless, it was a little strange. I also drew plenty of cheers when I was called into the middle of the circle to do a brief dance solo. I think the lack of inhibitions while dancing at CTC dance parties is serving me well here. I also think people like to see an mzungu make an ass of himself. Oh well.

So after about twenty minutes, we needed to end the kilele, and Dorcas (the girl who happened to be next to me) told me to do the ducks warmup one more time. So we did, and it was the most outrageous thing I have ever done. Standing in the middle of this huge crowd of Nakuru slum dwellers, I shouted at the top of my lungs (far louder than I knew I could be) "There are DUCKS in this house!" The performers around me immitated me in perfect form, albiet with heavy Kenyan accents. They also kept the pace when I bellowed "AND THEY ARE GOING TO STAYYYYYYYYYYYYY IN THIS HOUSE!" feigning a fit of rage. The next moment found me looking straight up the sky, arms outstretched, crying "WHY!?!" and as the group called back with their voices perfectly matching my despair, I had a quick moment to marvel at the blueness of a small patch of sky against the perfectly rolling clouds, and to fully experience the silent wonder of the crowd, broken only by a single ripple of laughter from some small child. It was fantastic. I finished the warmup with unusual vigor, and as the group broke, I felt an incredible surge of energy.

Which was good, because I was suddenly called upon to participate in the skit that was to follow.

To make what is already a very long story a tiny bit shorter, I will recount the skit very briefly. It was about a young man who was going to be evicted from his apartment by a very irate landlord (me) and the hired henchman. He had two girlfriends (a very common occurance here), one of whom he loved, and one of whom had a lot of money and could pay the rent for him. We improvised about 5 minutes of the scene (in Swahili: oh my god - I almost died), when it was broken by the facilitator, a member of the group who then involved the audience in identifying the problems that led to the situation (having two partners, not paying the rent, lack of communication all around, things like that), as well as potential problems that could have come up (STIs, domestic violence, pregancies). Then a few members of the audience got to come up and tryreplace the young man or one of his girlfriends, trying to resolve the conflict. It was amazing to watch (I didn't have to participate in this part.) The community members were completely enraptured by the story, contributed numerous valuable solutions, and even engaged each other in debates. At the end, the actors returned character made a decision to break up with the girl he loved in favor of the rich one, and was booed off the stage.

We followed all of this up with one-on-one and small group discussions with the audience members, handed out condoms and packets of information, and packed up and left. I recieved numerous offers from potential girlfriends, praise from drunk old men, and shook the hands of dozens of children.

A VERY good day.

Chris

Yesterday (with a little foreshaddowing of today)

2007-10-16T23:35:00.000-07:00

Hiiii.

A few days ago Dennis, Odu, Karongo (the group's youngest member), and I met with three French journalists. They are on the last few months of a year-long journey around the world, on which they are documenting interesting local cultural happenings and phenomena for a weekly column running back home. I'm sure if you know french and could find it online it would provide an enormous wealth of interesting leisure reading. Anyway, we met to discuss the work that REPACTED is doing, and by the end of the meeting the journalists had agreed to come on a special community outreach to take place Tuesday (yesterday). Actually, it wasn't quite that simple. In fact, it took quite a long time, since I often found myself translating "English with a Kenyan accent" into "English with a French accent" and back. It was a pretty amusing experience.

Anyway, we planned to meet in the morning and go from there. So we arrived at the theater after breakfast, and just hung around, waiting for them to call. At two o'clock we finally heard that they were going to be delayed a few hours more. We rescheduled for today (Wednesday). It was a whole day wasted, which was frustrating. But I suppose that's life. (I'm not going to make any snippy comments about French people: Tribalism here in Kenya has taught reminded me how stupid it is to stereotype based on ethnicity - more on that another time.)

So I left the theater, bought a few little gifts for people back home, and was on my way to the post office to purchase envelopes when I bumped into my host-mom. She was complaining again of aches in her knees and back, and I realized that it was here flat-bottomed sandals might be causing the problem. So I took her to a street market and bought her a pair of white sneakers (once again second-hand from America - the only sneakers available here) for like, $15. She put them on immediately, and even by this afternoon she is saying she feels much younger and hurts less. She said she had never owned shoes that nice before, and she can't stop thanking me for them. It was so easy and inexpensive for me, and yet it made such an impact.

Similarly, after we parted I stopped by the farm store and purchased a small packet of seeds for hot pepper plants (very popular here) and took them home with me that evening for Mothoni, the 17-year old hired house girl who makes something like $.50 a day. 60 cents worth of plant seeds could potentially bring her a regular and bountiful crop, and thus many months of sustainable income. 60 cents.

I'm not telling you all of this to boast about the meager assistance I've been able to give. I just can't think of any clearer illustration of how shockingly different life here is. I know it's nothing more than a well-worn cliche these days, but we take SO MUCH for granted in the US. There is so much that needs to be done in the world, and we can so easily do it, if only we have the right information and the opportunities.

Today I'm going on that outreach with the French journalists and REPACTED, and hopefully afterwards I'm going to meet with a member of a failed agricultural project to find out what went wrong. More on that tomorrow.

Thanks,
Chris

Visiting Freearea and the Chairman.

2007-10-15T07:49:00.000-07:00

Hi again,

After writing this morning, I met with Dennis for our last morning together here in Nakuru. He left this afternoon for the Nairobi airport, from which he will fly overnight to London, and eventually the United States. He is making a tour of the Northeast as a representative of the East African part of the “PeaceTiles” project, sponsored by the APHIA II project and Family Health International. On his trip he’ll be giving talks at Princeton and Middlebury College, and also stopping in Providence for a day or two. (Anyone in Rhode Island or New Jersey interested in meeting him should send me a message or email, I’ll arrange for you to connect.) He is taking along several dozen small pieces of jewelry produced by two local groups, which he will be delivering to Taylor’s Landing Country Store in West Kingston, RI (via the kind assistance of Emily Greenhalgh.) He will have a small number of bracelets made by members of REPACTED (see one of my earlier posts for a little more detail), from which most of the profits will be returned directly to the group. He will also have nearly 50 beaded pins, each emblazoned with the internationally recognized AIDS ribbon and the colors of the Kenyan Flag. These have been produced by a support group composed of HIV-positive parents who are no longer able to work or provide income for their families. I will be meeting with this group later this week or next, and will have more information then.

After Dennis left, Odu and I climbed aboard a matatu to go to an outlying area of the city to meet with a support group of a different sort. The “Wachache Disabled Self-Help Group” is an assembly of roughly 25 physically disabled Nakuru residents who work together to provide themselves with extra income and support in times of need. Odu and I arrived in their neighborhood (strangely named “Freearea,”) and walked a short distance to the grassy courtyard where 9 members of the group awaited us. We were met by Otieno, the spokesperson of the group, whom I had previously met once before in town. Walking with the assistance of crutches, he met us warmly and sincerely in Swahili and led us back to the shelter of a very large shade tree covered in tiny purple blossoms. The group proceeded to introduce themselves, and I was surprised to hear that they were all employed (in a town like Nakuru, meeting 9 people who all have jobs is a rarity). Many of them were cobblers, with an electrician, a hairstylist, and a second-hand clothes retailer mixed in (in Kenya, almost all of the clothing is second hand, excepting traditional wear and touristy stuff.) In addition to their regular work (which in most cases probably doesn’t bring in more than a dollar a day), the group meets regularly to produce large batches of soap and detergent, which they each sell out of their individual shops and homes. The ladies of the group also meet regularly to crochet tablecloths, from which the profits are again shared among the contributors. Most importantly, the group believes that by meeting, and speaking in a unified voice, they will eventually be able to bring more attention to (and win more rights for) the disabled people of Kenya. Otieno is even running for a seat on the municipal council, and Odu tells me that he has a decent chance of winning. As we were preparing to leave, they began to ask me questions about disabled people in America, including questions about the Special Olympics and other disabled sporting events, artificial limbs and prosthetics, and stigmatization and discrimination. I answered as well as I could, but was surprised to realize how little I actually know about the situation of disabled people in my own country. It’s certainly an interesting question. Either way, I promised to do some research and see if I could find a comparable disabled persons organization at home to put them in contact with. If anybody knows any such groups, please let me know.

As we were leaving, one last member arrived in a large wheelchair that the occupant can power with a set of handheld bicycle pedals. He was called the “chairman,” by the rest of the crutch-and-cane using group members. I wasn’t sure if this was a sign of his rank in the group, or if it is just an ironic nickname. I stifled a smile and kept my uncertainty to myself.

The community of Freearea is also noteworthy for an unusual environmental situation that has recently come up. Due to uncharacteristically high rainfall in the region as of late (it has rained almost every day since I have been here, even though October is usually the hottest and driest time of the year – the locals chalk this up to global warming), and especially in the mountains rising above the city, a river has reappeared that hasn’t been seen for many decades. In the interceding time, many houses and even a small market had been constructed in what was once the riverbed. Thankfully, the river has returned at a very modest size, but nevertheless, a massive impromptu sandbagging and dredging effort was required to save numerous homes from becoming uninhabitable. Unfortunately, in the slums above (upstream of, I suppose) the market area, numerous houses had to be abandoned. And sadly, one young girl was killed on the night when the water first arrived.

As it stands now, the river cuts a continuous narrow channel across the slum area up in the hills, down through the market and a more prosperous neighborhood below. Boards, ladders, large branches, and other found materials now cross the steam at regular intervals, reuniting neighbors who had been unexpectedly divided. With typical Kenyan ingenuity, a small army of young people have set up numerous carwashes at the place where the river crosses the main road to Nairobi, making a little bit of money off of an otherwise negative event.

Speaking of the excessive rain, I had an interesting sensation the other night. I awoke from my sleep to hear the pounding of the rain on my corrugated metal roof. I immediately wondered if the windows were closed, and I sat up in a frenzy. My mind was racing “did I bring the dogs in?” “Is the car still open?” Of course, it wasn’t long before I recognized my surroundings and the anxiety passed, but the experience still served as a potent reminder that all of my possessions were with me in the room.

Everything I own fits into a backpack. There isn’t any more.
It’s a weird sensation.

Visiting the Little Sister.

2007-10-14T22:37:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

Yesterday I accompanied my host family on a trip to visit their youngest daughter at her boarding school in Gilgil, a town roughly 1 hour to our south and east. It is on a high plateau overlooking much of the Great Rift Valley, and the view was absolutely extraordinary. The climate was very much like the American desert southwest, with low scrub bushes and cacti, high temperatures, and searing winds. We took the short walk to the edge of the plateau, and looking down we saw a shepard with an enormous heard of goats moving across the valley floor two hundred feet below. From there, savanah stretched out before us for countless miles, bordered on both sides by unique mountains and rock formations, with volcanic craters and twisted piles of rock occasionally dotting the landscape inbetween. I took a lot of pictures.

The school is only a year or two old, and is an all-girls christian school with 500 high school age students. They were all dressed in bright blue school uniforms, which matched perfectly the bright blue paint on all the buildings. For those of you who know Irene, Katie Jones' Kenyan roommate from last year, most of the students reminded me very much of her.

The large school chorus performed a few stirring patriotic songs in both Swahili and English, all to much applause from the family members assembled before them. Several lengthy speeches from school officials were enough to drive me and Charles from the building, where we once again returned to the edge of the plateau. From there, we had the unique pleasure of watching a line of storm clouds move up the valley, across the mountains, and right over us. We took cover in the car when it too close, and sat there listening to a rabid politically rally taking place in Swahili over the radio. There was nothing else to do, no where else to go, and no hurry at all. So we lounged, listened, and watched the rain.

I wish I had time to proofread this or to write more, but at the moment, I don't.
Tomorrow should be much better.

Yours,
Chris

Pictures

2007-10-11T22:50:00.003-07:00

I'm retro-actively adding pictures today. Doing so requires going to a different internet cafe with faster computers. It is also more expensive. As such, no blog today. I'm also probably going to be away all weekend, so you probably won't hear from me 'til Monday. But no worries, all is well.

The rest of my pictures (only 19 added so far) can be found here: http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AbN2zZy5ZOGLig

Chris

As cute as this guy is, note that he's playing in/with garbage.
Kenya is really sad, sometimes.

Two Quick Things

2007-10-10T23:43:00.000-07:00

Two other quick happenings from yesterday:

Walking down the street, I noticed a herd of goats on the opposite side of the street. Two of the looked like they were trying to climb a lamp post, and I couldn't figure out why. Until one of them finally got his teeth into the bottom of a poster that was hanging there, advertising an upcoming concert. He pulled it down (actually, he sort of ripped it in half), and the two of them quickly ate it.

Right before I went to bed, I was killing a small cockroach in my room (not an uncommon occurrence), when I felt something brush by my ear. Apparently a bat had gotten into my room, and was now angrily trying to escape. With my Rocky RCA training and the CTC Bat-in-the-basement experience in mind, I quickly opened the door and ran outside. After a minute or two, he found his own way out.

Just thought I'd share my little brushes with nature.

Yours,
Chris

Food in Kenya

2007-10-10T22:56:00.000-07:00

Hey all,

I thought today I'd keep it simple, with some talk about food.

Most of my breakfasts at the farm consist of one or two of the usual suspects: sweet potatoes, pound-cake, chapati, bread and butter sandwiches, or occasionally, fried eggs. There is always cold water and chai (tea steeped in boiling milk - oh my god, so good), and sometimes boiling milk or water for "coffee." I use quotation marks because Kenyans, like many of the world's people, believe that Nescafe powder in boiling water constitutes coffee. It does not. Most people would only have bread and chai, so I am lucky to have amount of variation that I do.

For the poorest, lunch consists of not much more than "uji" (very much like porridge... cornmeal, water, maybe a little sugar, and maybe some ground beans) and water. Others have options including stewed sukumuwiki (somewhere between spinach and kale, with a stronger flavor than either), stewed cabbage, soup with a little bit of meat or a little bit of cow stomach, or beans. Any of these things can be taken with chapati, ugali, or for a little more money, rice. Ugali is basically cornmeal and water baked until it forms a giant sticky lump, which you then break into pieces and use to soak up soups and sauces and to give substance to your meal. It is very filling, but isn't particularly tasty on it's own.

Dinner is usually chosen from the same options, but might also include potatoes or carrots, and certainly some form of roasted meat. Meet here is prepared very differently than it is in America. The animal is chopped into pieces and roasted or boiled, and presented as such. No attempt is made to remove the bones, cartilage, or fat. You have to be very careful when you eat it. As such, I try very hard to limit my meat intake, although it is usually found in small amounts in almost everything else.

All day long there are kiosks lining the streets selling water and soda, and often other snacks. Chapati and fruit are almost universally available, as well as a number of other lighter options. Fried dough that tastes much like a flat doughnut is available and called Mandazi. Kebab is a stick of dough mixed with vegetables and baked. And a Somosa is like a Spanish Empanada, basically a triangular meat pie with a lot of spices. Popcorn, roasted corn on the cob, peanuts, and sugar cane round out the other street-side fare.

In addition to these little kiosks, there are also numerous restaurants, ranging from the very small, dark, and cheap cafe where I get most of my meals for less than $0.50 each, to large, clean, multi-story restaurants with bars and dance floors. These are still comparatively inexpensive, but are out of reach for the numerous unemployed or barely-employed locals.

Water quality is also an issue, especially for out of country visitors. All of the water here is polluted a little, but in many cases it is good enough for the locals to drink without too much fear. However, without having grown adjusted to it since childhood, Americans could fall dangerously ill very quickly if they had any significant amount. I can only have water (or milk) that has been boiled, as in coffee, chai, or regular "black" tea (with water instead of milk). Bottled water and soda are also safe, as is the water back at home where the family boils it all before consumption.

Sanitation is also an issue, due to the lack of running water. Many public bathrooms lack running water for the washing of hands. The same is true of most workplaces, including many that involve construction, digging, and even animal work. Restaurants can also be a huge problem. In nicer places a sink is available for everyone to wash their hands before they eat. In many other places, the wait staff will come around with a basin and pitcher of water to allow you to at least rinse off (with the same untreated water that can make travelers sick). Other places have nothing at all. I have also seen plenty of restaurants where silverware is dropped and used anyway, or where the sharing of glasses and food is entirely accepted. The cultural tradition of greeting everyone with handshakes further facilitates the transmission of germs. The Mathews children wouldn't like it here, so much.

Conclusions: The food here is good. Not having a ton of options is bad. Tea in milk is good. Being nervous every time you go to eat is bad. Bottles of hand sanitizer are good.

Yours,
Chris

Community Outreach with REPACTED

2007-10-09T23:49:00.000-07:00

Hello hello.

Yesterday I accompanied ten members of REPACTED on one of their community outreach programs to the Nakuru slum of Lumumba. We met at the theater at 10 oclock, and at 1030 we set off, walking down the slightly sloping hillside on which Nakuru is situated. As a general rule, the farther downhill you go, the lower the levels of development, health, and standard of living tend to be. In keeping with this, about 10 minutes into the trek we left the last paved road and began walking along a fairly well-graded dirt and gravel track.

I should mention that all of the roads downtown are paved and relatively free of potholes. As you move even just a few blocks out of the city center some of the roads turn into gravel or dirt. If you leave the city up into the surrounding hills, there is usually a few paved roads to follow. Moving downward, there is only one, and the roads radiating off of it are often of very poor quality. Even higher up towards the city there are a few roads that I would never attempt in a car that nevertheless receive a great deal of traffic. Also, the majority of people here travel around the city by walking. Pedestrians have what little "right of way" there is. Actually, that is kind of untrue, since anyone on a bicycle has the ability to severely injure a pedestrian in a collision, so they are usually afforded preference. I think the most accurate way of understanding the situation is to compare it to a game of rocks-paper-scissors: Car beats Bicycle, Bicycle beats Pedestrian, Pedestrian beats Car.

Anyway, as we moved along the street I made note of a rather unusual situation. Even though we were entering an area where thousands of people live in tight, unsanitary conditions without any significant employment or education prospects, there was a neat row of newly erected, futuristic street lights on the other side of the gravel lane. Dennis explained that they were a project of the municipal government that had been initiated only a few months ago. I interpreted this as a positive sign of development and growth. Other members of the group were more cynical. They reminded me that we are only a few months away from an election, and that this project was only very recently undertaken. This street is one of the most commonly traveled roads from the lower part of the city, making this project a highly visible sign of the benevolence of the local elected officials. Worse, Dennis observed that there are no signs of any electrical wires having been installed above or below ground. All agreed that this is a clear but unpublished message from the government: elect us again and we'll finish this project. Otherwise, no light. I was quiet for some time while I thought all of this over.

As we got closer to Lumumba, we turned onto a smaller dirt lane than the one we had been on before. The houses around us grew smaller and closer together, although the number of animals living between them somehow seemed to multiply. Goats and chickens repeatedly spilled out into the road before us, although cows were now missing from the picture. The houses in this area no longer had any form of wall or gate between properties, instead having barely enough room for strings of over-worn laundry to drape from one doorway to another. The structures themselves were also made of less impressive materials. Tree branches replaced ordinary lumber as the main construction material, and mud often served instead of mortar. However, there were a few stone buildings, and in general the place had a better feeling than Kibera or the slums I had seen in Morogoro outside of Dar Es Salaam. Even so, the deep stone gutters that run along all Kenyan roads (to prevent flooding in times of heavy rain) were caked with filth and garbage, and the water that ran in between had a disgusting green and milky quality. This was not a prosperous community.
A typical drainage channel in Lumumba.

As we walked along a great number of young children came out to admire the strange group of well-dressed youths walking with an mzungu (the not-really-derisive-but-not-always-entirely-comfortable word for a white person). The only English the kids learn in their very first year at school is how to greet the teacher every morning: "how are you." Thus, the only means they had of communicating with me (the assumption is universally made that an mzungu does not know Swahili) was the shouting of this phrase as loudly as possible. Therefore, we were met with a chorus of sloppily-pronounced "howayoooo!"s (Mixed with a good number of overeager "Mzungu!"s) as we finally arrived at the outreach location.

"Mzungu!"

At first I was surprised that the group was going to perform at such an inconspicuous site. They call their process "Magnet Theater" because the concept is that a loud and hysterical performance will draw a crow like a magnet, allowing for the important discussions and information sessions that follow. But I had no idea that they would really literally start from scratch, in an otherwise unimportant crossroads where only a few young people skinning potatoes for to be sold for chips (fries) could be considered potential audience members.

Unfazed, the group set off into the surrounding areas, drumming up a little attention with one-on-one interactions and jokes. 15 minutes later, there was a very small assemblage forming, and a few people were peeking out from buildings and down narrow lanes to see if there was indeed anything worth paying attention to. We gathered back into a group in the middle of the intersection, with the members speaking too rapidly in Swahili and other local languages for me to understand. Something important was going on, but not yet being completely fluent, I felt a little left out. One of them began to clap a pattern. Casually, as if it weren't at all important, others began to join in. Each clapped at his or her own rate, with it evolving into a rhythm slowly, over time. I joined in as things evolved, trying my best to appear equally casual, and most importantly, trying not to ruin anything that I did not understand. After some time, Rolland, a group member, began to shout sporadically. Others responded with similar cries of celebration or joy. A full out chant began, with occasional pre-rehearsed choruses and unification surrounded by sections of free-form improvisation. The beat intensified and dance began to play a part too. Members would pass into the circle for a short time and be featured, and then recede back into the crowd, much like at an American club. I had a few opportunities to feature some of my patented CTC-Dance Party moves. I also wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. But it was too late to back out now, as a crowd was forming. In fact, as an mzungu, I couldn't be entirely certain that I was not a significant part of the attraction (especially for the group of a dozen or so small children who had assembled just outside our circle immediately behind my back.) And the smiles and laughter of the REPACTED members assured me that I was not out of line.

Some of our audience members.
In fact, the group seemed to be having as much fun as the audience as the song took the form of an improvised call and answer session, in which the caller rotated around the circle and the lyrics continued to tease and poke fun at the various members of the group. (Mercifully, I was never called upon to improvise in Swahili, as that might have found a way to be even more of a disaster than the dancing.) A crowd was rapidly growing, and the "magnet" part of the theater was a success. But unfortunately, due to our late starting time (it was now 12, and these outreaches are usually begun at an earlier hour when those left home are not preparing food for the return of family members at work in the city), the crowd was still only around twenty or thirty. They decided not to do a full theatrical performance, and just use this moment to do "one on ones" in which members would chat casually with the locals about their health questions and concerns. An announcement to this effect was made by Mapet, one of the other senior members of the group, and our circle dissipated after a little more than twenty minutes of performance. Now came the test: to see if our magnet's attraction had been strong enough to interest people in what we had to say.

As you would expect, many people immediately returned to their homes. But several re-assembled around the young people peeling potatoes, and a few group members immediately went over to talk to them. After shaking many tiny little hands and allowing myself to be thoroughly inspected by children who had probably never seen a real live mzungu in person before, I went over to listen.

Many questions came up in the next half hour, from questions about water and sanitation to Tuberculosis and even just basic nutrition, and the group members handled them all ably and comfortably. They provided comprehensive, helpful answers in accessible Swahili, putting the questioners at ease. Some took a little prodding to get started, such as one man who wondered if drinking alcohol too often would make him unhealthy. As the group grew more comfortable, questions about HIV and requests for condoms (which were filled until our supply ran out) started to emerge. I was amazed at the ability of the REPACTED members to deal with each thing in turn without giving lectures or turning anyone off. In fact, they often preferred to allow other community members to provide information when possible, fueling the discussion only when needed. This is part of their organizational philosophy: allowing the communities themselves to address the problems instead of bringing answers from afar.

A Discussion group with two REPACTED members and a bunch of locals.

It was an incredible sight to behold, and as I walked away at the end of the session (once buffeted by tiny "howayooo"s), I was overwhelmed with my good fortune to have been placed here with this group.

All in all, a very good day.

Internet Woes

2007-10-09T07:12:00.001-07:00

For those wondering why there is no post today:
I had almost completed one when the internet failed. The post was lost. I am a little frustrated, but there isn't really anything to be done about it. Such is life. I will return tomorrow and try again. Many apologies.

Otherwise, things are good!

Chris

Internet connections and traffic in Nakuru have a lot in common.

Politics and Rain

2007-10-07T22:57:00.000-07:00

Salutations!

I remained at home most of the weekend, as I was feeling a little down with a sore throat and headaches. However, I did venture out Saturday for what turned out to be one of the more interesting experiences I have had to date.

Kenyan President Mwai Kibaki's 5 year term as president is drawing to a close, and new elections are to be held this December. As a result, the entire populace seems to be engaged in various political debates and conversations all the time. Additionally, with Kibaki having announced his re-election campaign last week and challenger Raila Odinga formally throwing his hat into the ring Saturday, rallies, speeches, and propaganda campaigns are beginning in earnest.

And it just so happened that president Kibaki, having heard that Raila was planning a major Rally in Nairobi to coincide with his official campaign announcement, decided to try and steal some of national headlines with a rally of his own right here in Nakuru. Midafternoon found me tagging along with a few members of REPACTED (most of whom support the challenger Odinga) as we walked down to the soccer stadium outside of town where the rally was to be held. Many thousands of people turned out for the event, and security was tight. But even so, it was difficult to remain close to all of the members of the group as the crowd moved swiftly towards the gate in the stadium's outer wall. In fact, by the time we were inside only Dennis and one other member were still by my side. Worried for my safety (I was probably the only non-Kenyan, and certainly the only white person in the crowd), we moved quickly to the side of the crowd and picked a sparsely populated vantage point just inside the outer gate. From there, we could easily see the masses filling the field, the bleacher seating, and every other available scrap of space.
Some of the crowd at the rally.

Although such massive attendance was certainly impressive, the shouts of the crowd rang a little hollow. It was only a few hours earlier that I had been in Kenyatta Park downtown watching PNU members (The Party of National Unity - Kibaki's party) pay anyone they could find 100 shillings (Roughly $1.50) to wear Kibaki's Tshirts and carry his posters. "Many of these people are only here for the money and to see the president," Dennis said, "Most of them won't vote for Kibaki." In fact, just then we recieved a call from another REPACTED member who said that several of them were going to be paid to entertain the crowd during lulls in the rally. I had heard these same people express their support for Raila as recently as that morning. What makes this system even more surprising to me, is the fact that as the current ruling group, PNU is allowed to pay all of these people with government money. Imagine your tax dollars being used to increase attendance at Republican fundraisers. Anyway, we waited around for a little while, waiting for something to happen. As we did, a little rain began to fall. "A bad omen for Kibaki?" I asked. But unlike in America, where the saying "rain on your parade" conveys our belief that inclement weather is a sign of bad fortune, or at the least, an inconvenience, here in Kenya it is thought that rain is a heavenly blessing. Having a little rain falling was a stroke of good luck for the incumbent. As I contemplated this, the noise from the crowds outside the stadium suddenly reached new heights. The president's motorcade had arrived. The rapidly swelling crowd around us began to surge forward as the first security vehicles rattled through the gate, and by the time the president's personal guard rolled in on a convoy of motorcycles, I found myself pressed from all sides. A warning "watch for pickpockets" from Dennis was the last thing I heard before the noise of the crowd peaked as president Kibaki himself came into view, only fifteen feet or so from where we stood. He stood in his car, standing so that most of his body emerged through the sunroof. He waved benevolently at the throngs around him, thanking them for their faithful support. It was quite a sight to behold.

After he and a multitude of other ministers and officials passed, the crowd began to move towards the field again, and we found ourselves more or less alone with a few policemen who had been stationed to guard the gate. One of them was being laughed at, and it took me a minute to understand why. Apparently his phone had been taken right out of his pocket in the middle of the surging crowd. Even he was a little amused at the irony. I quickly checked my own possessions to make sure they were all safe, and was relieved to find that they were. However, we decided that we had taken enough risks for the afternoon, and decided to retire to the theater for the remainder of the day.

Several other things of note have transpired since I last wrote, but for now I must go. Perhaps later today I will be able to write more.

For now,
Chris

A Little Economics, A Little Sociology

2007-10-05T23:01:00.000-07:00

Greetings again,

This post will be fairly short, as I have many things to do today. But first, a little follow up to something I mentioned yesterday.

After writing about the other projects REPACTED members have started in order to raise money, I began to wonder how and where other locals find their income. At home that night I asked my host-mother, and she had a lot of very interesting things to say.

First a few facts from the CIA World Factbook:
There are 37 million Kenyans. The average life expectancy is 55, and 50% of the population lives below the poverty line ($1 per day). The GDP (Gross Domestic Product) per capita is $1200. The HIV prevalence rate is around 7%. The unemployment rate is 40%. Although the annual economic growth rate is up to 6%, it was as low as -0.2% in 2000.

My host-mothertold me that the recent economic upturn is just starting to manifest itself locally, with minor but perceptible changes taking place in the Nakuru in the past few years. New construction projects (though still infrequent) are undertaken more often. People are returning to the city in the evenings for social and business reasons, something that has not happened for years. She attributes this to an increase in optimism about the future, growth downtown, and a significant decrease in crime (which may be a result of this phenomenon as much as it is a cause.)

Despite this recent upturn, there remains a 40% unemployment rate remains nationally. And many of the employed are rural farmers, meaning the rates in the cities are much higher. Dennis Kimambo (leader of REPACTED) estimates the rate may be closer to 50% in Nakuru. And among young people (18-30) who have recently finished school and should be entering the workforce these numbers are even higher, possibly as great as 70%. This is because the young people in the city are a significantly majority. As a result, retirement rates are low, and the rate of young people entering the workforce is many times higher. According to Jane, this results in a culture of "wasted youth," (her words) where talented young people are sitting idle, unable to generate their own income, instead drawing off of their parent's salaries well into their twenties. Even a college diploma is often unable to generate employment.

For me, this makes REPACTED's work that much more impressive, and that much more worthy of international support. For my friends and I, founding the Courthouse Theater Company required a little initiative and a little sacrifice, coupled with the generous support of our community and the institutions already in place. Founding REPACTED required the ability to dream far beyond the established environment. Taking local theatrical talent (that would otherwise have never been discovered) and turning it into a sustainable force for development in a city where many have nothing at all is visionary beyond anything else I have ever encountered.

Yours,
Chris

REPACTED

2007-10-05T07:15:00.000-07:00

Rapid Effective Participatory Action in Community Theatre Education and Development.
I can see why they needed an acronym.

REPACTED (http://repacted.blogspot.com/) is the first NGO (Non-Governmental Organization) that I will be working with here in Nakuru. Led by the dynamic duo of Collins Odu Oduor and Dennis Kimambo, the group consists of 20 or so highly motivated and highly accomplished young people (ages 18-25, with leaders Odu and Dennis at 27 and 26, respectively) who engage in theatrical outreaches to educate the young people of Nakuru on health issues. While many of these outreaches focus on HIV/AIDS, they also frequently discuss topics such as gender equality, reproductive health, and other STIs. Based out of a small office in the basement of the Nakuru Theater, the group has a multitude of talented performers who take their message to a wide variety of venues, including prisons and schools. Although the group has received grants and support for specific projects from organizations as far reaching as the International Red Cross and MTV, they are nevertheless drastically underfunded. Aside from small honorariums (200 Kenyan Shillings ($3) per visit) to cover travel and eating expenses on the outreaches, no member of the group receives any payment. In fact, the most recent grant from MTV just ran out, and most of the work of the next few months will be done without compensation until another source of funding comes in.

And yet the group continues to put in countless hours every month because they believe in the importance of the work they are doing. They hope that the organization will continue to grow and receive support, and that eventually they will be able to open their own office and begin to employ their members. Until that time, most of the youths will continue to find other innovative ways of supporting themselves. One manufactures bracelets and beads (currently with political messages in light of the upcoming elections (much more on that soon)) and sells them locally with ambitions of selling abroad (those of you in Rhode Island may soon be seeing them at Taylor's Landing Country Store). Another is a partner in a local printing business. And a third volunteers the rest of her time for a Red Cross-sponsored counselling organization (which I will be spending time with later in the month). I can't yet figure out how she generates any income at all.

Despite all of their troubles, the group is going strong. In addition to their vast wealth of knowledge on the societal issues they aim to cure, they all have a passion for performing and for working together to improve their community. In the days to come I will offer much more detail on the work they do and the ways they accomplish their goals.

With apologies for all the parenthesis,
Chris

REPACTED Headqua

My Homestay

2007-10-04T23:24:00.000-07:00

Good morning!

After a twenty minute ride up into the hills surrounding Nakuru involving all the typical Kenyan features - potholes, dirt roads, randomly placed stretches of perfect new pavement, and police road blocks - I found myself at Kiguru family compound. We went inside the main gate (almost all family compounds have gates and walls facing the road) to the central yard, in which there is a small fenced enclosure containing several cows, a good-sized patch of wildflowers, two sheds, an outhouse, and the main house. We passed through a smaller gate close to the house, and after unloading my bag, I was welcomed inside where I found a large sitting room with many couches, a television, and a central table. The room is well decorated, with numerous posters and wall hangings and a few family photographs. Here I first encountered the eldest member of the family, my host father's 97 year-old mother. I say "encountered" instead of "met" because I don't think we've really yet come to know each other at all. She doesn't speak any English or Swahili, instead communicating primarily in Kikuyu, the local native language. My host parents each speak all three languages, having learned Kikuyu at home, Swahili at school, and English on their own. My host brother and sister (Charles and Sylvia) each speak Swahili and English, learning both from an early age. Neither speaks much Kikuyu. I also met the family assistant. I have yet to learn either her name or her relationship to the family, but I get the impression that she is something like a maid. She does much of the cooking, and helps care for the Grandmother. I hope to learn more about these relationships, but for the time being, this is about the extent of my understanding.

In any event, I was welcomed into the house and shown to the sitting room in which the family spends evenings and takes meals. I was also given a brief tour of the kitchen, in which a dinner of steamed cabbage, roasted meat, and chapati (flat bread, very much like indian chapati) was being prepared. My host mother Jane gave me a very friendly welcome and asked me to make myself at home, which was much appreciated given the overwhelming nature of my sudden arrival.

After eating (and accepting an offer of seconds despite already being full), I accepted Charles' offer to show me to his room. I will be sharing it with him for the first few days of my stay while a guest room is being prepared. (I insisted that no special arrangements need to be made on my behalf, but it is Kenyan culture to welcome guests with great hospitality, and my protests were quickly dismissed.) Much to my surprise, I was led out of the house and the inner gate, and across the tall, wet grass to what I had previously mistaken for a shed. Charles explained to me that according to the local custom, once a son reaches the age of 15 he is required to leave the main house and live elsewhere in the family compound.

The one-room apartment contained a queen-size bed, a desktop computer from the late 90s, two chairs, and a small table. It has its own outhouse around back (so you don't have to open the squeaky inner gate in the middle of the night. The apartment does have electricity, but like the rest of the compound, no running water. After answering many of Charles an Sylvia's questions about America ("tell me about Hollywood," "where did Donald Trump get his money," "what sports do Americans play," "do you support Bush?"), we were about to go to bed when Charles asked if I had any American music with me. I pulled out my ipod (actually my mother's, she let me borrow hers for the trip since mine is broken), and we rigged it to work with his computer speakers. He was very impressed with the technology, and even more so with the music, which has been playing continuously in his room ever since. He says that it is impossible to find anything other than Hip-Hop and Reggae here, and that he loves the softer American pop, funk, rock, and alternative that I listen to. It was great bonding experience.

We fell asleep around 1230 and awoke at 6, as the sun was rising. I brushed my teeth (from a teacup of boiled water), used the bathroom (a closet-sized concrete hut with a hole in the floor), showered (Using a handtowel and 3 gallons of hot water in a plastic bucket), and ate breakfast (pound-cake type bread and tea steeped in a cup of boiled milk (chai)), and we were once again crammed into the car for a trip to the city, where I would begin my first day of work with the NGO's I came to meet. More on that later.

Missing you all but enjoying it here,
Chris

Kenya!

2007-10-04T02:13:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Nakuru!

Thus far, Kenya has been wonderful. Overwhelming in many ways, but wonderful. This is my third full day here, and already I feel like I have experienced so much.

My first night here I was met at the airport by John Githagia, a professor from the University of Nairobi whom I met last semester at Princeton. He was kind enough to drive me across the city to a small apartment compound where Blair, a friend who graduated last year, is staying. Or more accurately, a compound where two of her fellow program-members are staying. If I had stayed with her she would have taken on a very unfavorable reputation. These friends, Micha (from Texas) and Hadare (from New Jersey), were kind enough to allow me to stay on their futon-thing for two nights. While I was in Nairobi, John helped me do a little shopping, picking up a cell phone (011 254 724 329 867 from the United States (text messages welcome)), a few Swahili texts, and a several other necessities. I also had a very enjoyable dinner at a Phoenician restaurant with Blair and Micha. I found the Nairobians I encountered to be tremendously friendly, especially once I told the I am trying to learn Swahili. I had very interesting conversations with many people, including an hour long discussion of race and religion with a security guard, and a brief introduction to Kenyan politics with a taxi driver. Things were very good.

Wednesday morning I left Nairobi in the most overwhelming (and ultimately satisfying) way imaginable. I received a phone call from Dennis Kimambo, one of my hosts in Nakuru. He said he would meet me at 9am, and gave me a location on a major road downtown. Unfortunately, he did not specify what side of the road, and before too long I found myself shuffling across 6 lanes of heavy (but NOT sluggish) traffic with my large, awkward backpack. Crossing the street here often means stepping in front of cars to stop them, and on roads with multiple lanes, waiting in the middle of rushing traffic for another opportunity to proceed. It's pretty gutsy stuff.

Anyway, I met Dennis and another member of his group, who, after the briefest introduction, herded me and my bag into a matatu (public transportation in Kenya: Imagine a hollowed out commercial van with 4 benches and 20 people inside careening down miserable roads at ridiculous speeds. Without seat belts, no less. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matatu). The vehicle was full with other members of the Nakuru Magnet theater group, and, like any other group of 20 year old theater people, they were loud, showy, and hysterical. They were also extremely friendly, which I greatly appreciated, especially because the vast majority of their conversation was in Swahili and moving about 5 times faster than I could possibly follow.

We moved brazenly (perhaps too much so, although nothing bad came of it) through the morning traffic, arriving half an hour later at the entrance to Kibera(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kibera), Africa's largest slum (and the subject of an earlier post.) I had not expected to be here so early in my trip, and although the size of our group (to which I still felt only marginally connected) was some comfort, it was still an alarming place to be. As the matatu rumbled along increasingly difficult and narrow streets, the view from my window was appalling. Innumerable people could be seen in various states of occupation. Many men and women sat by the sides of the roads offering meager wares to passersby. There were many children, some playing in the squalid piles of garbage and filth, others in ratty uniforms on their way to school. There were also many people laying about, often seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, likely the victims of malnutrition, cholera, parasites, and of course, HIV/AIDS. The conversation of my new friends took on a more reserved tone, and before long the matatu was filled with a deafening silence, entirely out of place in the commotion of the community around us.

As we pulled into a small driveway some distance in, I was surprised to see a sign advertising "the home of young women's football in Kibera." I was even more surprised when the driveway led to a small, clean courtyard. Minutes later we were seated around a long wooden table with Fredrick Ouko, the young leader of the Kibera Community Youth Programme (http://www.kcyp.kabissa.org/ ), a rapidly developing grassroots organization that is offering hope to a growing number of Kibera's young people. The leaders of these two groups discussed (usually in English, thankfully) the work they are doing to help develop their communities, and the ways in which they can and cannot help each other. It was the greatest possible introduction to development work in Kenya. For well over an hour I heard about the history of KCYP and REPACTED (my host organization: more about them another time) and the work they do, and the ideals around which they are based. I am currently running out of time at the computer and want to move on to relate a little about my accommodations, but I intend to return and provide many more details on these groups soon.

After our meeting concluded, and after stopping by the American Embassy so that I could register my trip (never I have a seen a building more heavily secured), we set off on the 4 hour journey to Nakuru. I will spare details of the trip, but I do want to mention a few highlights. We stopped at an amazing roadside viewpoint from which one could see hundreds of square miles of the great rift valley, a scene that includes enormous mountains rising up from vast green savanna. It is actually much like the view across the American desert southwest, except with significantly more foliage. We also saw several herds of Zebra and Warthogs as we drove across the countryside, my first sightings of the "big five:" Zebra, Warthogs, Lions, Giraffes, and Elephants. Once we arrived in Nakuru I had a VERY hasty dinner meeting with a family of four, (Mother Jane, Son Charles, Daughter Sylvia, and Father whose name I cannot recall), who I soon realized would be my hosts. I was once again shuttled off by people I did not recognize, and before long the five of us were crammed into the family's car and on our way up the long and winding roads into the mountain savanna where the family resides.

I would like very much to elaborate further, but my time on the computer is very VERY nearly over, and I have to publish this or I will lose it. I will return tomorrow and explain more. My apologies for the abrupt conclusion.

Safe and Sound,
Chris

Outside one of the first restaurants I visited.

Still Not About Kenya

2007-10-02T05:45:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Nairobi!

It's been a whirlwind since I've left the US, and I'm not sure whether to be surprised that it's only been five days, or amazed that it's already been so long. Either way, I'll now attempt to briefly summarize my experiences.

I left Rhode Island with my father at 4 am Friday morning, en route to Boston's Logan airport. 90 minutes later I was all checked in, proving once again that arriving the recommended 2 hours early to the airport is a foolish thing to do. After a lengthy chat over coffee, my dad and I parted ways. By 9 I was through security, aboard my plane, and en route to London. Due to time zone disparity and the unpleasant necessities of transcontinental flight, I wasn't on the ground in London until 9 o'clock that evening. And due to traffic on the M1, Tyler wasn't there until 10:30. Funny how that works. In his defense, picking up a friend at the airport is no small task (particularly when that airport is eight hours away and the rental car costs 250 pounds.) When he did arrive I was enormously grateful to see him, and even more so when we arrived at his roommate's flat a little while later.

Important Roman ruins. Very important.

After 4 hours of Risk and 3 hours of sleep, we set off for Scotland. Driving north on the M6 provides an interesting perspective on the English countryside, and by the time we arrived at the landmark Hadrian's wall (a historically fascinating but aesthetically underachieving Roman ruin), I had probably seen a significant portion of the UK's 20 million sheep. A dinner of "Haggis, Neeps, and Tates" in Edinburgh and a lengthy delay on the Forth Road Bridge (from which I had a magnificent view of the Firth of Forth Train Bridge, possibly the most fascinating structure in the UK: http://www.glasssteelandstone.com/UK/Scotland/EdinburghFirthofForth.html ) rounded out our travels, and by 9pm we had arrived in St. Andrews where, after a brief tour, I promptly fell asleep.

The next day brought clouds, tea, and crumbling 12th-century stone architecture. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Andrews ) As the esteemed Michael Boyce once observed, "if Scotland excels at any one thing, it is at looking Scottish." This day was also notable for a lengthy reunion with fellow Princetonian Caitlin Ludwigsen, with whom I will direct a somewhat unorthodox production of Hamlet in June. The evening more or less concluded with an excursion to Andruther's Fish & Chips, voted "The United Kingdom's Best Chippy, Bar One." I believe that speaks for itself.

Caitlin and I cleverly take advantage of the historic architecture for a photo-op.

Tyler and Caitlin were kind enough to accompany me to the Leuchar's train station, where at 11pm I caught the Caledonian Sleeper and rode overnight back to London, where I soon departed (via another 8 hour plane ride) for Nairobi.

If my Internet connection holds out, I will very shortly post again, with details relevant to those of you interested in actually hearing about Kenya. Huzzah!

A Little Bit About Kenya

2007-09-27T14:06:00.000-07:00

Greetings.

I am currently still in the United States. Unfortunately, this means I have few new experiences to report, but I am sure that this will change soon.

In the meantime, here is a little bit of background on Nairobi, the first city I will be visiting in Kenya. Although my information comes from a variety of sources, this is largely the sort of stuff you would find on wikipedia (from which I stole the map).

Nairobi, the capital city, is home to Jomo Kenyatta airport, and is the first place I will see when I arrive. With an estimated 3 to 4 million people, Nairobi is the largest city in Kenya, and the fourth largest in all of Africa.

The city is situated on the high central plain of Kenya at an altitude of 5,500 feet. This is good news for me, as it results in cooler air temperatures, and consequently, fewer malarial mosquitoes. Unfortunately, the majority of my time will be spent in Nakuru, Mombasa, and Eldoret (see map), where mosquitoes abound.

The city has been known in recent years as one of the most dangerous and violent cities in the world, even earning the nickname "Nairobbery." Kibera, one of the largest and poorest slums in the world, is located on government land near the city center. Great work has been done in recent years to increase the police force and decrease crime, but it is unclear how successful these efforts have been.

Many residents of Nairobi speak Swahili, although it has been heavily influenced by many of the local languages, as well as English. This pidgin is known as "Sheng," and many of the Kenyans I have met take pride in their ability to keep up with its rapidly developing vocabulary. I have been forewarned that Sheng will heavily corrupt my Swahili, and I look forward to experiencing it firsthand.

That's all for now,
Chris

My Itinerary

2007-09-17T12:46:00.000-07:00

The way things currently look:

Sept 28- Depart Boston, Arrive London 7:30PM
Sept 29, 30 - St. Andrews University, Scotland.
Oct 1- Depart London, Arrive Nairobi 8:45PM
Oct 2- Nairobi (w/ Blair?)
Oct 3- Depart Nairobi by Bus, Arrive Nakuru
Nakuru - Home stay with family of Esther Ndakalu
Work with several NGOs in Nakuru
Oct 31- Depart Nakuru, Arrive Mombasa
Mombasa- Home stay with family of Kalimbo
Work with Theater for Development program
Teach English in primary school
Nov 17- Depart Mombasa, Arrive Nairobi
Nov 18- Greet my Father and other volunteers at Nairobi Airport
Nairobi- Translate for VOSH (Volunteer Optometric Services to Humanity) in Nairobi
Photo Safari with VOSH + Dad
Nov 26th- Depart Nairobi, Arrive Eldoret
Eldoret- Residence in dormitories at University of Eastern Africa- Baraton
Weekday study sessions with professors of African Lit, Health, and Development
Weekend travel to nearby destinations (Kampala, Kisumu)
Dec 20- Depart Eldoret, Arrive Nairobi
Dec 21- Depart Nairobi, Arrive Paris
France- Meet Nick (and Kris?), rent car, drive south
Bouldering and Sport Climbing along Mediterranean Coast
Christmas & New Years in France
Jan 7- Depart Paris, Arrive Boston

First post; still in Rhode Island.

2007-09-17T10:14:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

This blog is intended to allow friends, family, and curious onlookers to keep up-to-date on my experiences in Kenya throughout the fall of 2007. I cannot be sure how often I will be able to update it, as I will be travelling frequently and the quantitity (and quality) of my internet access will undoubtedly vary. However, I hope to maintain fairly regular postings with my location and activity. We shall see.
I intend to post again soon when my itinerary is more clear.
In the meantime, thanks for reading!