A Safari and An Outreach

Greetings all,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours,
Chris

Back and Forth to Nakuru

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

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

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

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

Much love,
Chris

VOSH Wrap-Up and a Guest.

Hello friends.

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

-T

Kibera Visits With VOSH

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep in touch,
Chris

VOSH

Volunteer Optometrists in Service to Humanity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Chris

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

Zanzibar, Nairobi, Dad

Greetings all!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take care!

Zanzibar, Eventually

Hello again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take care and be in touch,

Christopher

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

Dar, Briefly

Hello all, from rainy Zanzibar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris

Leaving Mombasa, Tanga, and Dar Es Salaam.

One and all,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Mosques in Mombasa

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

Hello friends,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk to you soon,
Chris

Mombasa: Day 2

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

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

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

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

It is so hot.

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

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

Yours,
Chris

Still Mombasa, Still Expensive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk to you all soon,
Chris

Mombasa

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading,
Chris

Not Enough Time To Type Much - Still Alive

Hi everyone!

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

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

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

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

"Trains don't run on Thursdays."

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

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

Much love to everyone back home,
Chris

"Cause I'm Your Lady"

By Celine Dion.

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

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

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

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

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

As always, thanks for reading!
Chris

Greetings all!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for your time,
Chris

Lion King Africa

Greetings friends,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry to be so self-indulgent,
Chris

Street Vendors and Helicopters

Hello everyone, and welcome to November.

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

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

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

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

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