Back on American Soil (briefly...)

Back in Maine, to be more specific! While I had an incredible time in Kenya, and I wish I could have stayed for more than just two months, I have to admit that it’s pretty nice to be back home. The recap of my last week in Kenya is as follows:

Not much happened. Mostly just worked in the office, worked on grant proposals, worked some more on the bike ride project. I did go to Nairobi University, about a three-minute walk, when Hilary Clinton was in town and heard her speak and then saw her leaving the building. It was pretty exciting having her in the city. There were military folks all around, and when we walked by her hotel, the Intercontinental, one night we saw guards examining the engines of cars that were entering the parking garage.

We went to meet with the Member of Parliament from Mituntu/Assistant Minister of Education Honorable Kilemi Mwiria to talk about the Kilometres for Kenya’s Kids bike ride, which has been postponed until February or March. The government building he works in has padded walls, and wherever they had TVs, the channel was set to Kenya’s MTV equivalent I think. Interesting taste.

I’ve gotten much better at crossing the street, and Edward taught me a new strategy that seems to work pretty well: wait until an expensive-ish/nice looking car is coming, and cross in front of that one. This way they’ll either avoid hitting you because it will damage their car, or if they do hurt you they have enough money to pay for it. Don’t cross in front of taxis/matatus/cars that have clearly been in many accidents already, as they’ll all hit you and then probably run out of gas on the way to the hospital.

Last Saturday, Marion, Marla and I went to the Maasai Market. I was prepared to bargain and barter as necessary, but I can’t say I really enjoyed it. The market is filled with people selling their wares, items ranging from bags to fabric to jewelry to bowls. I think I still probably paid at least twice as much as I should have for most things I bought, and it wasn’t worth it to keep arguing to get a lower price. Interestingly they really are attracted to hair elastics. Even the men wanted to trade for them, oddly. I have no idea what they plan on doing with them, or if maybe they just took them so it seemed like I was getting a good deal. Regardless, I’m happy to be back in a society where prices are mostly set!

Marla and I left Nairobi on Monday morning to fly to Johannesburg, South Africa, where we waited for 8 hours before boarding our flight to Atlanta. 16 hours later, we arrived back on American soil! A quick flight to Cincinnati ended that travel saga. We spent two days there to finish up our work. I flew back to Maine on Thursday (of course, after smooth travels all the way from Kenya, my flight to Philadelphia was delayed, so I missed my connection to Portland).

I can’t really believe I was even in Kenya. I met so many incredible people and I feel so lucky to have met them all. I know that I’ve left a piece of my heart in Africa, and someday I will have to go back.

Thanks for reading the blog! It may or may not continue into the fall when I head to France (leaving on the 28^th; culture shock should be interesting!). I might even post a more reflective entry once I’ve had a chance to really think about the last two months! Enjoy the last few weeks of summer!

Baadaye!

Addendum to this post:

I am now sitting in Logan Airport in Boston waiting to board my flight to Zurich. I’ll take a plane from there to Lyon, France, then a bus to Grenoble, and then a taxi to a hotel. I’ll be in Grenoble for the semester studying French and hopefully traveling. I have to say my time in Maine was all too short, but adventures never wait!

Feel free to check out my photos from the summer at http://myviewfromafar.shutterfly.com/.

Thanks for reading and keep checking for updates from the Alps!

Nairobi Take 4

While staying in Nairobi is sometimes not as fun as being in the villages, there is still plenty to do here. Last week, Marla’s parents arrived from the US to spend some time in Kenya. I went with them to the Nairobi National Museum (I wasn’t sure if I should go because I was working on a proposal that was due the next day and wasn’t nearly complete yet, but then the power went off in the office so I took that as a sign and took off). Visiting the museum was a good way to sort of synthesize all of the different cultures I have seen so far, and to get a better understanding of their histories. Before the museum, we went to the Nairobi Hospital so that Marla’s mom, the VP of Nursing at Hartford Hospital, could visit an American patient with a serious spinal cord injury who is going to be flown back to the US. The crazy part is that the woman is being flown to Hartford Hospital. Pretty remarkable coincidence.

I have to admit my favorite part of the day was dinner. Honestly I can’t complain too much about the food here, especially in Nairobi where there is a variety of choices, some more American-like than others. But it seems that any time I order something American, the item I get is just not what I was expecting. But on Thursday night we went to a nice Italian restaurant. I ordered fettuccine with mushrooms and some alfredo-like sauce, and then had chocolate cake with ice cream for dessert. It was amazing. I hadn’t had any of those items for a long time. In fact the only ice cream I’ve had tasted like cheese, I swear. Needless to say I went to sleep that night full and happy.

On Saturday, we went on a bit of an adventure. There was rumored to be this hill where gravity goes the opposite way, so that rainwater flows up the hill, it’s harder to bike down than up, and cars in neutral roll up the hill. Edward had first introduced this anomaly, and then Marion confirmed and said she’d seen it on television recently. A couple of other sources agreed that they’d heard of it, too. I was not persuaded at all though. Obviously it was impossible. There was only one way to get an answer, and that was to drive to Machakos and see for ourselves.

Marion, Edward and I rode out, armed with some gas station snacks and a couple bottles of Fanta. After finally determining which of the many hills we drove over was the hill, we got out. A couple of locals greeted us, ready to show off their attraction. They first had the driver of the car go to the bottom of the hill, put the car in neutral, and see where it went. No joke, it slowly rolled up the hill. All the way. I have it on video. Then one guy poured water onto the hill, and again, with all seriousness, the water flowed towards the top of the hill again (I am still a little suspicious of that one, as I think there may have been a slight flattening of the hill at that point anyway). I even saw a bottle roll up the hill. There are trenches created by rainwater that come from the bottom of the hill before drifting off the side of the road.

The traditional story behind the hill is that two brothers married the same woman, and one brother’s house was at the top of the hill, the other’s at the bottom. Every week, the wife would switch houses to spend an equal amount of time with both of her husbands. Apparently the two men were not satisfied with this arrangement, however, and argued over it even after their deaths. The struggle between them continues to this day, but the brother at the top of the hill has thus far proven stronger, which is why things flow up to him.

I still am not certain I can believe what I saw.

We made it back to Nairobi in time to see a play, “The Morning After,” about a groom who deserts his bride at the altar because he still has not gotten over the death of his first wife in a tragic, somewhat mysterious car accident. Luckily the play was in English, and the few phrases in Swahili didn’t seem to hinder my understanding too much (at least I didn’t notice if I missed anything!).
I’m spending this week in Nairobi working at the office, and then I’m boarding a flight back to the US on Monday. I can’t believe the summer’s nearing its end, and that my time here is almost over. Right now I’m off to meet the Assistant Minister of Education with Edward, Pat, and two of the Kenyan interns. I'll probably try to have dinner with Hilary Clinton tonight, if she's available.

By the way, thanks for the post, Nat!

Baadaye!

Goodbye Mbakalo

While I’ve managed to pick up minimal Swahili throughout the summer, the little that I know has not always been helpful while in the rural villages. English and Swahili are the official languages of Kenya, but in each area people speak their mother tongue before either of those languages. As a result, everywhere I’ve gone I’ve tried to learn a little bit of the vernacular. Usually I only make it as far as “how are you” and “I am fine,” although in Mbakalo I did manage to learn the word for “peace/hello.” In schools here, students begin learning English and Swahili early in their education, although not usually intensively until after Class 3 or so. Apparently teachers greet students daily by asking, “How are you?” to the entire class, to which they apparently respond, “I am fine.” So, whenever we pass kids, no matter how far away we are, we always can hear a loud, “How ahh yoo?” Of course it doesn’t matter how many times we reply, because they just keep asking. Usually if we ask them the same, they can come up with a response, but the conversation ends there.

On the walk from the dispensary to Mama Anne’s house, we always pass kids coming home from school or outside their houses playing. We make a turn at one house where there are always at least four children around. They ask the somewhat entertaining but eventually kind of annoying “how ahh yoo?” to which we reply, “fine.” However they like to keep talking to us, but in either Swahili or Kibukusu (honestly I have no idea how to tell the two apart). So rather than letting a conversation pass us by, Filippo and I often respond in our own made up language that has absolutely no meaning whatsoever. The kids usually stare at us and keep talking for a moment and then get very confused.

Now we don’t do this to be mean, really. It’s just that everywhere we go it’s as if we are celebrities. When we pass a school near the dispensary, all of the kids outside run to the fence, ask how we are, and try to shake our hands. If you even mention the word picture (or “picha,” as that seems to translate better), you will be mobbed. It’s risky business out here. When Victor showed us his home, we timed it poorly and I think we passed every primary school student in Mbakalo. A big group followed us to his house and waited for us to leave to follow us again. One entertaining thing to do is to stop suddenly and turn around and scare the kids behind us. Again, I know it sounds cruel, but they all laugh after and keep following us anyway. At least we give them a little attention that way (I swear I love the kids here, even though it might not sound that way…). The last time Filippo did that, one girl had a look of sheer terror on her face until she realized he was just joking. It was priceless, though.

On our last day in Mbakalo, Simon invited us to his house to meet his family. His wife, Mispah, graciously prepared a meal for us, which was delicious, and we met all of Simon’s children. He has three daughters, the oldest of which is 11 I think, but he and his wife also care for one of the dispensary nurse’s daughters because she goes to school where Mispah teaches. They have also taken in one of the sponsored OVC from the area. She is 16 and in a much better environment now than she used to be. We played jump rope and they showed us games they like, and then they tried to teach us Swahili and Kibukusu. Needless to say I did not pick up much from them, but if I’m ever in the area again I think I’ll ask them to be my teachers (key words they tried to teach me were mud, grass, corn, and food I think).

We left for Nairobi the next morning, which turned out to be slightly eventful in the beginning. Wycliffe, the LMC chairman, offered to drive us to the bus station, about an hour away, in his car. He and Simon came over early to pick us up, and after breakfast we got ready to leave. First thing I noticed as I was leaving was a hen sitting on a chair inside the house all fluffed up. Filippo and I had been trying to catch a chicken all week, to no avail and with much embarrassment, and suddenly there was one just waiting to be caught. Mama Anne told us this one was ready for chicks and wanted eggs and was laying them daily on that chair.

While that was very exciting, the best was yet to come. We got in the car, drove for approximately five seconds; the end of the car was even with the gate out of the yard, when Wycliffe stopped the car. He and Simon got out, only to discover a flat tire. How they don’t get flat tires here every other bump I don’t know, but they changed the tire faster than anyone I’ve ever seen (so maybe they do get a fair amount of practice). The stall was worth it though, since little Eugene came over and we got to say goodbye before we left.

We took the bus, an eight hour ride, from Webuye to Nairobi, and the only real excitement there was passing a flaming truck in one village. Also I was leaving the restrooms at one stop and a lady from the bus asked me to hold her son while she went in, which was kind of interesting.

A couple of days before we left Mbakalo, it hit me that my experience in Kenya was essentially over. I can’t believe two months have almost passed, and soon I’ll just blend in like any old American. While there have been days where that was all I wanted, I didn’t realize how quickly time would pass. I haven’t been here nearly long enough to really become integrated with the culture, and I know I still have so much to learn.

I’ve been in Nairobi for a week now, so more from here shortly! Unless, of course, no one is really reading this blog, in which case I’ll just keep all of my stories to myself. Sorry if they’re boring anyway. The least you could do is leave a little post. It could even be blank… I was going to offer a bribe but I’m out of postcards.

Baadaye!

The Red Tie Church

This is the first-hand account of the most bizarre experience I have had in Kenya to date.

There is a big project going on in Mbakalo right now to dig and expand boreholes for water, and protecting springs. Water is a major issue everywhere (even in Nairobi), but sanitation problems are especially evident in the rural areas. SVH-Mbakalo is the overseeing organization for the project right now, and there were always meetings going on to address different issues. Last Friday, Filippo and I were standing outside the dispensary (just after one of these meetings had ended) when Francis, the Local Management Committee vice chairman, came over to us. He said something to the effect of, “So would you both like to come around with us tomorrow?” Thinking “us” referred to the LMC, and “around” meant to visit the water project sites, we agreed to meet at 8 in the morning (American time, we confirmed), and Francis assured us we would return by 10am to the dispensary.

Filippo and I were surprised that Francis was actually early on Saturday morning; in fact, he had to wait for us. As Filippo and I went out to brush our teeth, I commented on the fact that I didn’t think I had ever seen Francis wearing clothes different from his khakis, dress shirt and red tie. We left Mama Anne’s and headed toward Mbakalo market. Shortly after beginning the walk, Filippo and I both realized “around” actually meant to Francis’ church harvest celebration service. It was too late to turn back then.

We took pike pikes to the church (Okome was my driver, and we exchanged phone numbers so that I could call him to pick us up. I didn’t expect to receive phone calls from him on both Sunday and Monday, just saying hello), where we met lots of people mostly in white. The women wore these habit-like outfits that were basically white dresses with either red around the neck or a very small red tie attached, and then white fabric with red trim on their heads. The men, I quickly realized, all wore red ties. I finally understood Francis’ style of dress. However that was probably the last thing I understood throughout the entire service.

The service was going to be outside, and Filippo and I were given prime seats (at least we thought so) in the back on a couch. The service didn’t start, though. Instead, everyone gathered on the road, singing and clapping, waiting for the Chief Patron to arrive. Francis kept coming back to us saying, “He’s almost here!” At one point a truck pulled in filled with women in white dresses and with a loudspeaker on the top. One woman was singing into it, and everyone joined in. No Chief Patron, though. I think we clapped and looked confused for about 45 minutes before this white 4-wheel drive Toyota wheeled into the yard, driven by the Chief Patron himself. People ran into the seating area to see him and find places to sit. He finally got to the front and the service started. It was about 2 or 3 hours of singing, praying, listening to other people talk, and waving my hand and saying either “amen” or “halleluiah.” Of course, the entire thing was in Swahili. The only words I understood were “American” and “mzungu” I think. At random times the entire congregation would turn and look at us. Apparently the Chief Patron changed his sermon to basically compare Kenya and the United States. There were also a couple of times when everyone would stand and whisper/pray (Filippo and I just made whispering sounds because we were always surprised by these moments), and then everyone would clap. I still don’t know how many times you clap or what the rhythm was, but it sounded like everyone would say, “ETphonehome.” We had to get on our knees at one point and whisper, and then we were forced to go shake hands with the Chief Patron.

When the service finally ended, we though we were free (and we were already a couple of hours late to our meeting with Simon). Then Francis asked us to go into the house. We figured we’d just be saying hello or at most taking tea, but in reality I think we participated in a Last Supper reenactment. The Chief Patron sat in one chair and some of the important people I would guess sat on couches around the room. A few women brought out bowls and plates filled with food, which was first served to the Chief Patron and then offered to Filippo and me. I guess we were second in command, for whatever reason. The entire meal was basically silent, and people only spoke in a whisper to those around them. The Chief just sat in his chair as people served him. Then suddenly everyone stood up and did the clapping thing again and then went back outside. Apparently the service was quite over, and there was a brief final segment. Finally it really ended, and all the women loaded back into the truck, and the Chief Patron got into his vehicle (which had been scrubbed clean during the service) and drove off, with much fanfare.

Now I don’t know if I did the story justice, or if I conveyed just how bizarre the entire thing was, and it might be a long way to tell the story, but I felt it necessary to share as best I could. I don’t mean to undermine religion, either, but I think this just took the cake for the most unexpected and strangest event I’ve seen so far.

Baadaye!