Theater Things

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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