My Homestay

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