Here is the album from my trip...
http://picasaweb.google.com/sjbchapman/Africa#
My opinion.
The first things I notice about being home: everything is shiny, and I'm surrounded by 90 degree angles. The next things hit me slowly. My closet looks like it has enough clothes to last me a lifetime. I overhear conversation topics that seem pathetically highbrow. I feel like I'm in a rich, uncaring, excessive community. I hate it but somehow feel grateful to have the opportunity to be a part of it.
Nairobi was not what I expected. The poor were richer than I expected, and the rich were poorer. Most tasks were executed with imprecision, and most people seemed to feel that fortune had abandoned them not through a lack of effort on their part, but rather through God's will. Hard times were a test of survival, not a speed bump on the road to success.
I realized that my parents should not be taken for granted. Somehow, it's their obligation to take care of me, a responsibility they took on when they decided to conceive. In a world where so few are willing to reach out to others, it's ok to accept my parents' help, listen to their advice, let them listen to my troubles.
Resources are widely wasted. Utilities like water and electricity are used up as much as possible until the city-provisioned ration is exhausted. Recycling is non-existent; even on a personal scale, precious little is saved for re-use, creating massive pollution in the streets (garbage cans are also non-existent). There are abundant opportunities for composting, water conservation, home gardening, and other more economically focused forms of investment. None are taken.
How can we fix it? Where would one start? My friend, a fellow Afriphile, deems the problem "unfixable." All we can do, it seems, is help where its broken, like patching up a hose full of holes, one hole at a time, experimenting with different methods of adhesion, hoping that one day the hose might work properly. Is it really too late to teach a country how to build a hose that won't break...?
Nairobi was not what I expected. The poor were richer than I expected, and the rich were poorer. Most tasks were executed with imprecision, and most people seemed to feel that fortune had abandoned them not through a lack of effort on their part, but rather through God's will. Hard times were a test of survival, not a speed bump on the road to success.
I realized that my parents should not be taken for granted. Somehow, it's their obligation to take care of me, a responsibility they took on when they decided to conceive. In a world where so few are willing to reach out to others, it's ok to accept my parents' help, listen to their advice, let them listen to my troubles.
Resources are widely wasted. Utilities like water and electricity are used up as much as possible until the city-provisioned ration is exhausted. Recycling is non-existent; even on a personal scale, precious little is saved for re-use, creating massive pollution in the streets (garbage cans are also non-existent). There are abundant opportunities for composting, water conservation, home gardening, and other more economically focused forms of investment. None are taken.
How can we fix it? Where would one start? My friend, a fellow Afriphile, deems the problem "unfixable." All we can do, it seems, is help where its broken, like patching up a hose full of holes, one hole at a time, experimenting with different methods of adhesion, hoping that one day the hose might work properly. Is it really too late to teach a country how to build a hose that won't break...?
8/2/2009
It's the last day before I leave Africa. So I tried 2 things I've always wanted to try: fooling a monkey and bathing a camel.
Monkeys here steal fruit from the tourists, and I wanted to see what would happen if I pretended to hand a monkey a banana, but didn't let go. I thought maybe it would just run away, or possibly bite me. But the monkey was clever. I was holding one end of the banana, so he took his hands and broke it in half and took the other half.
Then I held out the remaining half, and he tried to grab it but I still wouldn't let go. So he just put his hands on mine and ate the banana out of the peel. It was very cute.
There are a lot of camels on the beach for tourists to take rides, and their owners give them a bath in the ocean every morning. So I woke up early and helped. I washed "Mr. Obama" and "Mr. Carlos." It was super fun, but Mr. Carlos scared the hell out of me by standing up in the middle of the bath. Camels are huge, and I thought he was surely going to step on me.
There is marijuana here everywhere. I've been hanging out with some locals since I arrived, and most of their time is spent sitting in various spots in the shade. Everywhere I sit, someone comes by and procures pot, practically out of the air. Its hidden in thatch roof tops, buried under dirt, kept in corn husks... I have a feeling if I lift any rock I'll find a big pile of someone's weed there. Its ridiculous.
It's also really cheap (I think). I'm not sure how much pot costs in the US, but a joint here is about 20 cents. The only thing I have to compare it to is a cigarette, which runs about 50 cents in NYC. It's funny ... everything is cheaper here, except gas, which costs exactly the same as it does in the US. But it doesn't stop people from owning cars at all. I do fear for my life when I'm walking along a road though... I think they could use some more driving lessons.
Monkeys here steal fruit from the tourists, and I wanted to see what would happen if I pretended to hand a monkey a banana, but didn't let go. I thought maybe it would just run away, or possibly bite me. But the monkey was clever. I was holding one end of the banana, so he took his hands and broke it in half and took the other half.
Then I held out the remaining half, and he tried to grab it but I still wouldn't let go. So he just put his hands on mine and ate the banana out of the peel. It was very cute.
There are a lot of camels on the beach for tourists to take rides, and their owners give them a bath in the ocean every morning. So I woke up early and helped. I washed "Mr. Obama" and "Mr. Carlos." It was super fun, but Mr. Carlos scared the hell out of me by standing up in the middle of the bath. Camels are huge, and I thought he was surely going to step on me.
There is marijuana here everywhere. I've been hanging out with some locals since I arrived, and most of their time is spent sitting in various spots in the shade. Everywhere I sit, someone comes by and procures pot, practically out of the air. Its hidden in thatch roof tops, buried under dirt, kept in corn husks... I have a feeling if I lift any rock I'll find a big pile of someone's weed there. Its ridiculous.
It's also really cheap (I think). I'm not sure how much pot costs in the US, but a joint here is about 20 cents. The only thing I have to compare it to is a cigarette, which runs about 50 cents in NYC. It's funny ... everything is cheaper here, except gas, which costs exactly the same as it does in the US. But it doesn't stop people from owning cars at all. I do fear for my life when I'm walking along a road though... I think they could use some more driving lessons.
7/29/2009 7:30pm
Breezy and cool, high of 82, give or take. Ok that's not cool, but everyone here thinks it is!
I walked around with an acrobat I met this morning, and we saw a camel! I got to pet it and everything. Then he told me I was lucky because camels know when a girl has her period and will bite you (and for this fact we had to awkwardly establish that yes, I do have my period...). He said camel bites are vicious and someone he knew lost an arm to one.
Then I saw a monkey steal someone's banana, which was pretty cool too.
The hotel receptionist told me I had a nice frown today.
And with that, here is a picture of me frowning at Pixie's birthday party:
I walked around with an acrobat I met this morning, and we saw a camel! I got to pet it and everything. Then he told me I was lucky because camels know when a girl has her period and will bite you (and for this fact we had to awkwardly establish that yes, I do have my period...). He said camel bites are vicious and someone he knew lost an arm to one.
Then I saw a monkey steal someone's banana, which was pretty cool too.
The hotel receptionist told me I had a nice frown today.
And with that, here is a picture of me frowning at Pixie's birthday party:
7/28/2009
FYI I turned off the setting that only allows gmail users to post comments, so anyone can post a comment if they like.
I went to the orphanage today to say goodbye, and it was very bittersweet, as you can imagine. Mom (that is what everyone calls Salome, including me) gave me a present for KB (my mother) for having me. Um, awesome. Not only does that take care of a souvenir for her, its kind of the ultimate compliment to her ever, so that's super sweet.
Then Jane and I went into Nairobi to see the IAVI office, and we had lunch with Daisy, and explained to everyone that I was SJ Chapman, NOT SJ Muratori, the other SJ who works for IAVI. We strategized about different fund raising methods for By Grace, and Daisy had some really good ideas, which is excellent, since Jane is on the board of the orphanage.
And then... off to Mombasa! It's fantabulous so far. Kenyans have acrobats perform at functions (we saw acrobats at the opening of a hospital in Kayole), and some acrobats performed tonight as well. Now, Kenyan acrobats are not what I imagine acrobats being, that is, flying through the air on trapezes, or people who fit into tiny boxes by bending their limbs in unnatural ways. Kenyan acrobats are Rastas who do a combination of cheerleading, jazzercise, and circus acts. They did a bunch of human pyramids, jumping through hoops, and step-clap-kicking for us.
I spoke with the hotel DJ, from which I learned that I understand much more Swahili than I can actually speak. He speaks fluent German too, so we had fun switching up languages on each other.
Being in places like this reminds me of how much I loved Africa even as a little girl. My favorite song was Paul Simon's Under African Skies (ps, here, every star in the sky is visible, and the sight of the southern cross makes me bubble over in delight), I only liked to play with black dolls (although I gave them really racist names like Baby Jamaica...), Lion King was my favorite movie (and now I know it was actually quite accurate in many respects), and I knew the capitals of African countries long before I knew the capitals of the states. Actually I still don't know the capitals of the US (Mandie, NC roadtrip much?).
Tomorrow I have a water-aerobics class at 10:30am, and then I plan on lying on the beach for HOURS. Its winter here, so it only reaches a shockingly low 80 degrees. Since I am not a fan of being hot, I am planning to enjoy myself very much in the cool (Indian!!!) ocean breeze.
The mosquitoes here are brutal. I got about 2 bites in Kayole in 5 weeks, and I already have 4, and I've only been here a matter of hours...
I went to the orphanage today to say goodbye, and it was very bittersweet, as you can imagine. Mom (that is what everyone calls Salome, including me) gave me a present for KB (my mother) for having me. Um, awesome. Not only does that take care of a souvenir for her, its kind of the ultimate compliment to her ever, so that's super sweet.
Then Jane and I went into Nairobi to see the IAVI office, and we had lunch with Daisy, and explained to everyone that I was SJ Chapman, NOT SJ Muratori, the other SJ who works for IAVI. We strategized about different fund raising methods for By Grace, and Daisy had some really good ideas, which is excellent, since Jane is on the board of the orphanage.
And then... off to Mombasa! It's fantabulous so far. Kenyans have acrobats perform at functions (we saw acrobats at the opening of a hospital in Kayole), and some acrobats performed tonight as well. Now, Kenyan acrobats are not what I imagine acrobats being, that is, flying through the air on trapezes, or people who fit into tiny boxes by bending their limbs in unnatural ways. Kenyan acrobats are Rastas who do a combination of cheerleading, jazzercise, and circus acts. They did a bunch of human pyramids, jumping through hoops, and step-clap-kicking for us.
I spoke with the hotel DJ, from which I learned that I understand much more Swahili than I can actually speak. He speaks fluent German too, so we had fun switching up languages on each other.
Being in places like this reminds me of how much I loved Africa even as a little girl. My favorite song was Paul Simon's Under African Skies (ps, here, every star in the sky is visible, and the sight of the southern cross makes me bubble over in delight), I only liked to play with black dolls (although I gave them really racist names like Baby Jamaica...), Lion King was my favorite movie (and now I know it was actually quite accurate in many respects), and I knew the capitals of African countries long before I knew the capitals of the states. Actually I still don't know the capitals of the US (Mandie, NC roadtrip much?).
Tomorrow I have a water-aerobics class at 10:30am, and then I plan on lying on the beach for HOURS. Its winter here, so it only reaches a shockingly low 80 degrees. Since I am not a fan of being hot, I am planning to enjoy myself very much in the cool (Indian!!!) ocean breeze.
The mosquitoes here are brutal. I got about 2 bites in Kayole in 5 weeks, and I already have 4, and I've only been here a matter of hours...
Saturday 7/25/2009 8:45pm
I found myself in Nairobi once again today, on mission "Buy Clothes for Mary," who is starting as an au pair in Koln, Germany in the Fall. First we ate at Trattoria (still... the only restaurant I've been to in Nairobi). When I asked her if she liked mushrooms, she said she didn't know what they were. We decided to split a pizza that came with them; she would pick them off if she didn't like them. Soon the waiter brought something for the table, and she pointed to it and asked "are these the mushrooms?" I told her no, that's just bread, they always bring a basket of it at Italian restaurants.
Marketplaces just outside Nairobi are where modern economics goes to die. The concept of value is all messed up; I saw $1500 designer leather boots sell for $10. And if you ever wonder what happens to all those extra clothes from the Gap that people don't buy, I can tell you where they end up: in a marketplace just outside Nairobi. Do you have something from 20 years ago that you always wish you'd bought two of, because yours is just too old to wear? You can also buy it in a marketplace just outside Nairobi. (Is that something black spandex bike shorts with neon splatter paint stripes down the sides? Because I can pick some up for you if you'd like). Along the 1 km of arbitrary-quality pants, sweaters, jackets, tees, socks, shoes, underwear, and jewelry, nothing was more than $10. Where necessity overtakes indulgence, everything costs the same.
We were highly unsuccessful, because people saw Mary with me and started hiking up the prices. It seems to be widely believed that white people will buy anything - at any price. Vendors came up to me with all sorts of things they thought might interest me. One friendly vendor stopped me in my tracks by stretching a pair of boxer briefs out in front of my face, which made Mary and I double over in laughter.
Mary and I joked around that to hide my whiteness, I need a veil like the Somali women. I dared her to go up to one of the women and ask her "excuse me, but where did you get your dress?" And then it grew into "wow, it really brings out your eyes," "that color looks great on you!" and "do you think it comes in blue?" By the end of the night we made plans to just get a sheet, cut eye-holes in it, and wear sun glasses over it, like a cool ghost.
By now you're probably dying of curiosity: turns out, she loved the mushrooms.
Marketplaces just outside Nairobi are where modern economics goes to die. The concept of value is all messed up; I saw $1500 designer leather boots sell for $10. And if you ever wonder what happens to all those extra clothes from the Gap that people don't buy, I can tell you where they end up: in a marketplace just outside Nairobi. Do you have something from 20 years ago that you always wish you'd bought two of, because yours is just too old to wear? You can also buy it in a marketplace just outside Nairobi. (Is that something black spandex bike shorts with neon splatter paint stripes down the sides? Because I can pick some up for you if you'd like). Along the 1 km of arbitrary-quality pants, sweaters, jackets, tees, socks, shoes, underwear, and jewelry, nothing was more than $10. Where necessity overtakes indulgence, everything costs the same.
We were highly unsuccessful, because people saw Mary with me and started hiking up the prices. It seems to be widely believed that white people will buy anything - at any price. Vendors came up to me with all sorts of things they thought might interest me. One friendly vendor stopped me in my tracks by stretching a pair of boxer briefs out in front of my face, which made Mary and I double over in laughter.
Mary and I joked around that to hide my whiteness, I need a veil like the Somali women. I dared her to go up to one of the women and ask her "excuse me, but where did you get your dress?" And then it grew into "wow, it really brings out your eyes," "that color looks great on you!" and "do you think it comes in blue?" By the end of the night we made plans to just get a sheet, cut eye-holes in it, and wear sun glasses over it, like a cool ghost.
By now you're probably dying of curiosity: turns out, she loved the mushrooms.
Friday 9pm
It was my last day teaching at By Grace. How did this happen? I savored every moment in a solemn sort of way; I read stories about giants and witches to my favorite class, 6th grade. Schola, one of the 6th graders (also, Jenga's sister), gave me a beautiful friendship bracelet she had made from the string I brought. Then we sang One Tin Soldier together one last time. I choreographed a dance with my 4th graders. I taught my 3rd graders about the ways different animals move, and played memory with my 2nd graders and Uno with my 5th graders.
Schola (short for Scholastica):
Some of my favorite moments over the last month were in the staff lounge, discussing everything with the teachers - from Kenya's treatment of the disabled to how Kenyan's believe a bosom's size reflects how caring a woman is (Linda and I were proclaimed to be caring women). So many laughs.
Linda and I:
I tried to keep myself from getting too attached to the children, but I've really grown to adore the girls in the 6th and 3rd grades. And I, like all the volunteers, have my favorites. Winnie stole my heart from day one: she is the cutest thing, and the definition of bashful. Daniel in 3rd grade is brilliant, and I have a soft spot in my heart for him because I think he'll go very far if he keeps applying himself.
I need to go back one more time before I go home to say goodbye to everyone; I was unable to do it today. I meant to, but instead I left early without telling anyone. I know I have to say goodbye, but its very hard, because I have no idea when I'm going to see them again. I've seen the kids say goodbyes, and they are always filled with tears... I want to remember them grinning and laughing, not tearful. I have an idea for the orphanage that I need to discuss with Salome, so that will force me to actually face saying goodbye.
Mary, who I've adored since the first day I met her, asked me to bring my computer in today so she could write me a note. I had to fight back tears when reading it; I hope she won't mind if I share part of it here...
"S.J you have been so good to us and knowing that your time to go back to your country has come, it makes us all sad.You have brought a smile to soooooo many faces, thanks for that. I really appreciate all the good things that you have done to me and i must confess that you are such an awesome person. Everyone here thinks that you are very creative, smart, and a good dancer. Yesterday mum told me that she really really like you and ever since you came she noticed something special in you.she added that you are special and you really know how to relate well with people.All that she can do is to always pray for you. BYE FOR NOW, I WILL MISS YOU."
Schola (short for Scholastica):
Some of my favorite moments over the last month were in the staff lounge, discussing everything with the teachers - from Kenya's treatment of the disabled to how Kenyan's believe a bosom's size reflects how caring a woman is (Linda and I were proclaimed to be caring women). So many laughs.
Linda and I:
I tried to keep myself from getting too attached to the children, but I've really grown to adore the girls in the 6th and 3rd grades. And I, like all the volunteers, have my favorites. Winnie stole my heart from day one: she is the cutest thing, and the definition of bashful. Daniel in 3rd grade is brilliant, and I have a soft spot in my heart for him because I think he'll go very far if he keeps applying himself.
I need to go back one more time before I go home to say goodbye to everyone; I was unable to do it today. I meant to, but instead I left early without telling anyone. I know I have to say goodbye, but its very hard, because I have no idea when I'm going to see them again. I've seen the kids say goodbyes, and they are always filled with tears... I want to remember them grinning and laughing, not tearful. I have an idea for the orphanage that I need to discuss with Salome, so that will force me to actually face saying goodbye.
Mary, who I've adored since the first day I met her, asked me to bring my computer in today so she could write me a note. I had to fight back tears when reading it; I hope she won't mind if I share part of it here...
"S.J you have been so good to us and knowing that your time to go back to your country has come, it makes us all sad.You have brought a smile to soooooo many faces, thanks for that. I really appreciate all the good things that you have done to me and i must confess that you are such an awesome person. Everyone here thinks that you are very creative, smart, and a good dancer. Yesterday mum told me that she really really like you and ever since you came she noticed something special in you.she added that you are special and you really know how to relate well with people.All that she can do is to always pray for you. BYE FOR NOW, I WILL MISS YOU."
Friday 12am
I had a drink with a few friends after school today. When they proposed, I said "what about the Mungiki?" and the reply was "don't worry we know them, you'll be fine." Okey dokey, then. We addressed the Kenyan problems of dead capital, bureaucracy, and the governmental inability to take advantage of natural resources. We debated whether judges should be elected or appointed. We discussed the pervasive fear of AIDS, including stigma and spread.
In Kayole, the main cause of HIV is infidelity. The parents of By Grace children were probably infected in the late '90s and early 2000s, before the government got on board with awareness campaigns. Today, Kenya's ABCD campaign (Abstinence, Be Faithful, Condoms, Death) is widely accepted. Monogamy is not a virtue that arose from self-reflection, it is a lifestyle that emerged out of fear. In theory, this means that fewer and fewer children will be coming to By Grace annually.
A few years ago, Salome bought a plot of land to build a decent By Grace, with separate dormitories and classrooms. Of course there is no money to begin building, but my hope is that as the years pass, more and more students will be sponsored to attend university (only 4 are currently sponsored, but a few have some university under their belt already and are waiting for new sponsors. GRATUITOUS PLUG - sending someone to college is only $1400 per semester, which includes meals, books, housing, tuition, etc.). Once there is a decreased flow into the orphanage and an increased flow out to universites, my hope is that By Grace can focus less on the orphanage aspect and more on the academics. One day...
By Grace-ians often ask what type of music I like. We listen to music all day long on the radio, and I find myself enjoying the music more and more. It's dance music avec super catchy melodies. Yesterday I brought my laptop into the staff lounge for the day so they could hear for themselves what I liked. They asked if I had any R&B and when I admitted I didn't, a flash drive immediately appeared out of nowhere, full of beats. So we spent the whole day listening to the songs we hear every day anyway.
Then they discovered photo booth and spent hours taking pictures. Hilarity ensued.
I am hooked on the soap operas here. Linda, one of the volunteer teachers, and I always discuss what has happened on the latest episode of Storm over Paradise (Will Aymar ever get over Nicholas? She deserves so much better than him! Will he ever leave Carena? Will they ever find out Carena actually has Leonardo's baby? Will they ever discover she's not the actual Carena Rosenberg?????). I watch these shows in the living room, with Enoch on one couch, and Grace next to me on another. Last night on Storm, Little Mermaid was raped. Then a woman was beaten up by hired thugs. These are topics deemed appropriate for Enoch to absorb. Watching such gruesome scenes will not affect him. But Harry Potter -- surely this will lead him down the path to witchcraft. I'm just saying is all.
In Kayole, the main cause of HIV is infidelity. The parents of By Grace children were probably infected in the late '90s and early 2000s, before the government got on board with awareness campaigns. Today, Kenya's ABCD campaign (Abstinence, Be Faithful, Condoms, Death) is widely accepted. Monogamy is not a virtue that arose from self-reflection, it is a lifestyle that emerged out of fear. In theory, this means that fewer and fewer children will be coming to By Grace annually.
A few years ago, Salome bought a plot of land to build a decent By Grace, with separate dormitories and classrooms. Of course there is no money to begin building, but my hope is that as the years pass, more and more students will be sponsored to attend university (only 4 are currently sponsored, but a few have some university under their belt already and are waiting for new sponsors. GRATUITOUS PLUG - sending someone to college is only $1400 per semester, which includes meals, books, housing, tuition, etc.). Once there is a decreased flow into the orphanage and an increased flow out to universites, my hope is that By Grace can focus less on the orphanage aspect and more on the academics. One day...
By Grace-ians often ask what type of music I like. We listen to music all day long on the radio, and I find myself enjoying the music more and more. It's dance music avec super catchy melodies. Yesterday I brought my laptop into the staff lounge for the day so they could hear for themselves what I liked. They asked if I had any R&B and when I admitted I didn't, a flash drive immediately appeared out of nowhere, full of beats. So we spent the whole day listening to the songs we hear every day anyway.
Then they discovered photo booth and spent hours taking pictures. Hilarity ensued.
I am hooked on the soap operas here. Linda, one of the volunteer teachers, and I always discuss what has happened on the latest episode of Storm over Paradise (Will Aymar ever get over Nicholas? She deserves so much better than him! Will he ever leave Carena? Will they ever find out Carena actually has Leonardo's baby? Will they ever discover she's not the actual Carena Rosenberg?????). I watch these shows in the living room, with Enoch on one couch, and Grace next to me on another. Last night on Storm, Little Mermaid was raped. Then a woman was beaten up by hired thugs. These are topics deemed appropriate for Enoch to absorb. Watching such gruesome scenes will not affect him. But Harry Potter -- surely this will lead him down the path to witchcraft. I'm just saying is all.
Tuesday 7/21/2009 11pm
One of my hidden talents is catching mosquitoes. At first I was sort of swatting at them with my fist, but I worked on my timing and now I can open my hand to find the dead pest in my palm. There aren't too many, maybe 3 or 4 a day, maximum. Before I left I was under the impression that they would be pervasive, but they're really not any worse than at home. Maybe they move more slowly, but I am able to spot them, walk over to one, and just grab it out of the air. I also think it is funny to play a mean trick on them by which I turn my headlamp on underneath the mosquito net; they see me but they can't get me!
Today I brought a package of cookies to share with the rest of the staff room. Then I put the empty box in the middle of the table with a sign that said "free cookies, help yourself!" The 10 or so of us in the room at the time found this hilarious. Unfortunately, with so little food available, adults tend to politely decline available food so that others will have something to eat first (the fact that they accepted my offer to share comes from my bringing goodies in so often; initially people were reluctant to accept, but now they've warmed up to it). Nevertheless, no one who came in after I put the box on the table took the bait, save for one person, who really didn't understand the humor inherent in only pretending to offer food to citizens of a starving nation. And I've officially learned the hard way why practical jokes are risky; I may end up feeling horrible about it in the end.
The kids at By Grace are heartbreakingly lacking in medical attention. Thank god that Tiffany is a nurse... she found 2 potentially fatal hernias today that everyone else ignored, thinking they would just go away in time. I've seen more infected wounds than I ever thought I would. I've learned not to call on children that have their heads down on their desks; they are sick. Oh, when I see a sick, malnourished child try to lift his/her head... how can I describe it? I think it's something like how I might feel at the end of a live production of Old Yeller (not one where they really shoot the dog!).
Before I came to Africa, I received my assignment for creative arts and PE instruction, and my directions were to bring all my own supplies because they aren't available here. But if I could re-pack for this trip, I'd skip all the construction paper and crayons, forgo the frisbees and yo-yos, and just pack vitamins, OTC meds, and first-aid supplies. I'd rather see the kids bored to death and lacking creativity, but healthy - even if measured by 3rd world standards.
Today I brought a package of cookies to share with the rest of the staff room. Then I put the empty box in the middle of the table with a sign that said "free cookies, help yourself!" The 10 or so of us in the room at the time found this hilarious. Unfortunately, with so little food available, adults tend to politely decline available food so that others will have something to eat first (the fact that they accepted my offer to share comes from my bringing goodies in so often; initially people were reluctant to accept, but now they've warmed up to it). Nevertheless, no one who came in after I put the box on the table took the bait, save for one person, who really didn't understand the humor inherent in only pretending to offer food to citizens of a starving nation. And I've officially learned the hard way why practical jokes are risky; I may end up feeling horrible about it in the end.
The kids at By Grace are heartbreakingly lacking in medical attention. Thank god that Tiffany is a nurse... she found 2 potentially fatal hernias today that everyone else ignored, thinking they would just go away in time. I've seen more infected wounds than I ever thought I would. I've learned not to call on children that have their heads down on their desks; they are sick. Oh, when I see a sick, malnourished child try to lift his/her head... how can I describe it? I think it's something like how I might feel at the end of a live production of Old Yeller (not one where they really shoot the dog!).
Before I came to Africa, I received my assignment for creative arts and PE instruction, and my directions were to bring all my own supplies because they aren't available here. But if I could re-pack for this trip, I'd skip all the construction paper and crayons, forgo the frisbees and yo-yos, and just pack vitamins, OTC meds, and first-aid supplies. I'd rather see the kids bored to death and lacking creativity, but healthy - even if measured by 3rd world standards.
Some Gems...
Grace after I unbraided part of her hair...
She always waves at the camera
And here's what happens when I say "Kiiiiiiiiss?"
She always waves at the camera
And here's what happens when I say "Kiiiiiiiiss?"
Monday 7/20/2009 9:00pm
Innocent drove me into Nairobi super early, on his way to work. His wonderful friend Joseph walked me around for 30 minutes and showed me a few landmarks to look out for so I wouldn't get lost. Finally around 8:30 I sat down for some coffee at the only restaurant I have ever been to (because: it is the only restaurant I have ever been to) and just sat, staring into space. I felt overwhelmed by the things I had come to the city to do, and by having to do them all by myself. I successfully managed to do all of them ... and topped it off by taking a matatu home.
I briefly mentioned matatus in a previous post, because they serve as Nairobi public transportation. Just to recap, they are giant pimped out vans that seat roughly 45 people. Until today I had only seen them from the outside. There are giant decals of 50 Cent, MLK Jr., Obama, etc. plastered on the sides and rear. Bible-themed phrases are airbrushed everywhere, as are arbitrary brand names. The windows are lined with rainbow party lights that flash at night, and the horns honk out tunes. When they go by, the bass is audible all the way down the street.
I've been wary of riding them, having heard stories of pickpockets and warnings about getting ripped off as a mzungu. Plus, none of them seem to have numbers, designated routes, and each one looks different it seems impossible to determine which go where. But today I decided to brave it, with the help of a stranger who led me to the right matatu. It was amazing! There were dance music videos playing on a big screen at the front of the van, and speakers had been rigged into the ceiling all the way to the back. The inside was wall-papered in Kenyan bands and albums. I paid a total of $.50 to go about 20 miles. It was more like a ride than anything, especially each time we drove over a speed bump, causing me to fly a few inches into the air.
I got off that matatu thinking, I belong here. I'm totally comfortable walking in a slum by myself. I know my way, I've got cornrows, I know a few vendors by name, I practically own this street. I passed a stand selling bananas and thought to myself, "mmmm I haven't had a banana in weeks..." but I was too intimidated to get one because I've never bought a banana here before. Maybe there's a specific banana-buying protocol that's different than the pineapple/watermelon buying one. And I unwillingly had to admit to myself that when it comes to life outside the orphanage, I'm still as green as the day I arrived.
This is me with my faaaaaaaaaaaaaaavorite little boy at the whole orphanage, Jenga.
On a lighter note, I've been thinking that it would be a nice gesture to take the family out to see a movie, which they mentioned they'd really enjoy. And then Harry Potter came out... perfect! I have an idea, I said yesterday to the family, why don't we go to Nairobi this week and I'll treat everyone to... Harry Potter!!!!! [Radio Silence, uncomfortable looks between Jane and Innocent]. Turns out Harry Potter is actually a "gentle introduction to witchcraft."
All I can say is... wingalum levio-sah!!!!!!!!!
I briefly mentioned matatus in a previous post, because they serve as Nairobi public transportation. Just to recap, they are giant pimped out vans that seat roughly 45 people. Until today I had only seen them from the outside. There are giant decals of 50 Cent, MLK Jr., Obama, etc. plastered on the sides and rear. Bible-themed phrases are airbrushed everywhere, as are arbitrary brand names. The windows are lined with rainbow party lights that flash at night, and the horns honk out tunes. When they go by, the bass is audible all the way down the street.
I've been wary of riding them, having heard stories of pickpockets and warnings about getting ripped off as a mzungu. Plus, none of them seem to have numbers, designated routes, and each one looks different it seems impossible to determine which go where. But today I decided to brave it, with the help of a stranger who led me to the right matatu. It was amazing! There were dance music videos playing on a big screen at the front of the van, and speakers had been rigged into the ceiling all the way to the back. The inside was wall-papered in Kenyan bands and albums. I paid a total of $.50 to go about 20 miles. It was more like a ride than anything, especially each time we drove over a speed bump, causing me to fly a few inches into the air.
I got off that matatu thinking, I belong here. I'm totally comfortable walking in a slum by myself. I know my way, I've got cornrows, I know a few vendors by name, I practically own this street. I passed a stand selling bananas and thought to myself, "mmmm I haven't had a banana in weeks..." but I was too intimidated to get one because I've never bought a banana here before. Maybe there's a specific banana-buying protocol that's different than the pineapple/watermelon buying one. And I unwillingly had to admit to myself that when it comes to life outside the orphanage, I'm still as green as the day I arrived.
This is me with my faaaaaaaaaaaaaaavorite little boy at the whole orphanage, Jenga.
On a lighter note, I've been thinking that it would be a nice gesture to take the family out to see a movie, which they mentioned they'd really enjoy. And then Harry Potter came out... perfect! I have an idea, I said yesterday to the family, why don't we go to Nairobi this week and I'll treat everyone to... Harry Potter!!!!! [Radio Silence, uncomfortable looks between Jane and Innocent]. Turns out Harry Potter is actually a "gentle introduction to witchcraft."
All I can say is... wingalum levio-sah!!!!!!!!!
Sunday 7/19/2009
Maybe I should not have had the girls do my makeup. I woke up today with a minor eye irritation...
I then headed deep into the slums, because I had a friend of a friend who was willing to braid my hair. She did an awesome job. In the meantime, 15 children saw a Mzungu in the hood and flooded in. The kids were hysterical. When one wanted to hold my hand, they all ran up and tried to grab it. There is another hand, but none of them want that one. At one point, one kid handed me a baby. Just handed it to me. And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, I was getting my hair braided with a 4 month old child in my arms (I can not emphasize enough how warmly Kenyans dress in the 75 degree weather; the baby was wearing flannel footies, a fleece onesie, and a winter hat). I admit, I did look in the mirror and pretend it was mine... just for a few minutes. I spent the rest of the time wondering: Should I adopt a baby or an older child? How stringent are Kenyan's adoption laws? What would happen if I just took this baby? What should I name it? ...and so on.
No later than 5 hours later, voila! I was camouflaged. On the 20 minute walk back to the orphanage, not one person shouted "Mzungu." I noted a statistically significant reduction in the amount of stares. Despite how ridiculous I felt, I was beaming with pride when the girls told me how great I looked, and even the boys (especially the one with a big crush on yours truly) commented that I looked "smart." On the way home from the orphanage, one guy who normally shouts Mzungu at me even said "Wa, your hair looks smart!"
Enoch and I couldn't help ourselves...
One of the girls ran her finger across my forehead and asked whether I had pimples or a rash. When I told her they were pimples, she said I was becoming a woman. Yes, I said, I am 15 years old. She laughed and said, no, you are 17, right? If you are white and feel like your age is showing, rather than plastic surgery or expensive lotions, I recommend coming to Africa. I guarantee results that will make you appear 10 years younger, instantly.
I had a meeting with Salome today. I have feared her since day 1. She started By Grace in 2002 and has since had to worry that 250 children are adequately fed and schooled on a daily basis. She has had to dodge the Mungiki, kick delinquent kids out on the street to fend for themselves (only after giving them enough chances to continue to take advantage of her), and manage any other impossible tasks that present themselves. I have heard stories about some of the worse days she's had, and have been tiptoeing around her for 4 weeks. Today in her office, I teared up when she told me how much she thanked God for me in her prayers, and how I was sent to this earth from God to do his work; how I've been one of the best volunteers she's ever had because of how unique I am (I long ago gave up anyone appreciating my bizarre personality). She said when I'm around she hears laughter for the first time from the teacher's lounge, and she's even seen a positive change in Joel, and that she prays to God to send me a husband as a reward for all the good things I do.
Here I stopped crying and started laughing. I told her none of this would be possible without her truly blessed heart. And that thanks, but she didn't need to waste any prayers on a husband for me. She closed her eyes, reached up to the sky, and insisted that she would continue to pray for a husband who would share my values, be my partner in doing what we felt was right by people, and maybe even come to By Grace. For the next 10 seconds I felt myself float up to the ceiling, helpless, as I watched myself say "may God hear your prayers, Amen."
A new housegirl has materialized. Her name is Priscilla. She seems nice. I don't really know, because she sits in the kitchen all day, just sitting, staring, sometimes cooking, and then eating her food, and then disappears behind the curtain in the living room to go to bed.
I then headed deep into the slums, because I had a friend of a friend who was willing to braid my hair. She did an awesome job. In the meantime, 15 children saw a Mzungu in the hood and flooded in. The kids were hysterical. When one wanted to hold my hand, they all ran up and tried to grab it. There is another hand, but none of them want that one. At one point, one kid handed me a baby. Just handed it to me. And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, I was getting my hair braided with a 4 month old child in my arms (I can not emphasize enough how warmly Kenyans dress in the 75 degree weather; the baby was wearing flannel footies, a fleece onesie, and a winter hat). I admit, I did look in the mirror and pretend it was mine... just for a few minutes. I spent the rest of the time wondering: Should I adopt a baby or an older child? How stringent are Kenyan's adoption laws? What would happen if I just took this baby? What should I name it? ...and so on.
No later than 5 hours later, voila! I was camouflaged. On the 20 minute walk back to the orphanage, not one person shouted "Mzungu." I noted a statistically significant reduction in the amount of stares. Despite how ridiculous I felt, I was beaming with pride when the girls told me how great I looked, and even the boys (especially the one with a big crush on yours truly) commented that I looked "smart." On the way home from the orphanage, one guy who normally shouts Mzungu at me even said "Wa, your hair looks smart!"
Enoch and I couldn't help ourselves...
One of the girls ran her finger across my forehead and asked whether I had pimples or a rash. When I told her they were pimples, she said I was becoming a woman. Yes, I said, I am 15 years old. She laughed and said, no, you are 17, right? If you are white and feel like your age is showing, rather than plastic surgery or expensive lotions, I recommend coming to Africa. I guarantee results that will make you appear 10 years younger, instantly.
I had a meeting with Salome today. I have feared her since day 1. She started By Grace in 2002 and has since had to worry that 250 children are adequately fed and schooled on a daily basis. She has had to dodge the Mungiki, kick delinquent kids out on the street to fend for themselves (only after giving them enough chances to continue to take advantage of her), and manage any other impossible tasks that present themselves. I have heard stories about some of the worse days she's had, and have been tiptoeing around her for 4 weeks. Today in her office, I teared up when she told me how much she thanked God for me in her prayers, and how I was sent to this earth from God to do his work; how I've been one of the best volunteers she's ever had because of how unique I am (I long ago gave up anyone appreciating my bizarre personality). She said when I'm around she hears laughter for the first time from the teacher's lounge, and she's even seen a positive change in Joel, and that she prays to God to send me a husband as a reward for all the good things I do.
Here I stopped crying and started laughing. I told her none of this would be possible without her truly blessed heart. And that thanks, but she didn't need to waste any prayers on a husband for me. She closed her eyes, reached up to the sky, and insisted that she would continue to pray for a husband who would share my values, be my partner in doing what we felt was right by people, and maybe even come to By Grace. For the next 10 seconds I felt myself float up to the ceiling, helpless, as I watched myself say "may God hear your prayers, Amen."
A new housegirl has materialized. Her name is Priscilla. She seems nice. I don't really know, because she sits in the kitchen all day, just sitting, staring, sometimes cooking, and then eating her food, and then disappears behind the curtain in the living room to go to bed.
Saturday 7/18/2009
A few things make me tear up with happiness and one of them is seeing 250 orphans feasting on meat and vegetables, and then dancing with them all night.
I danced with one of my favorites, Teresa for a long time. Here's a pic of her:
Today we had a birthday party for Pixie and Helen, two regular volunteers. We covered the field in tarps, and hung up paper chains and colored pictures. It was transformed from a sorry looking gravel pit into a banquet/dancing hall! Then the girls did my makeup, which probably made me look very glamorous. Even Helen noticed, pointing out the beautiful streaks of mascara all down my nose. Then we had a dinner very different than their usual githeri (beans and corn) and ugali (corn meal). It was basically a feast that included chapatis, cole slaw, potatoes in sauce, rice and pop.
An aerial view of "the field," where we had the party:
It is a well known fact that white people can't dance, and a lesser known fact that Chapmans especially can't dance. But we also know I am not above embarrassing myself. So I broke out moves from my bar mitzvah days. Turns out, they loved it!!!!!!! All night the kids (and the teachers!) were saying "SJ you know how to dance!" I hear that a lot, but normally its completely sarcastic. I was learning many African dance moves as well, and I was likely butchering them but really no one cared, because we were all having an amazing time.
We hung the tarps over these clotheslines and strung the paper chains along them, giving a much more festive appearance than the laundry that's usually hanging there...
Random post script...
I am not joking when I say that I can not walk for 2 minutes without hearing: Wa, Mzungu (heyyyy, white girl). Every child I pass either stares at me, or more often, shouts "how are you!" For the record, the answer to "how are you" is "fine." Always "fine." Never anything else. In fact, when I say hi to someone, even adults, the reply is mostly "fine." Sometimes I just look at someone and smile and he/she says "fine." And its said in the same tone as a 5-year-old might say it if s/he wants to end an argument. In any case, I am bombarded wherever I go by people shouting at me. The only place I am safe is the orphanage, where people are used to Wazungu (whites).
I danced with one of my favorites, Teresa for a long time. Here's a pic of her:
Today we had a birthday party for Pixie and Helen, two regular volunteers. We covered the field in tarps, and hung up paper chains and colored pictures. It was transformed from a sorry looking gravel pit into a banquet/dancing hall! Then the girls did my makeup, which probably made me look very glamorous. Even Helen noticed, pointing out the beautiful streaks of mascara all down my nose. Then we had a dinner very different than their usual githeri (beans and corn) and ugali (corn meal). It was basically a feast that included chapatis, cole slaw, potatoes in sauce, rice and pop.
An aerial view of "the field," where we had the party:
It is a well known fact that white people can't dance, and a lesser known fact that Chapmans especially can't dance. But we also know I am not above embarrassing myself. So I broke out moves from my bar mitzvah days. Turns out, they loved it!!!!!!! All night the kids (and the teachers!) were saying "SJ you know how to dance!" I hear that a lot, but normally its completely sarcastic. I was learning many African dance moves as well, and I was likely butchering them but really no one cared, because we were all having an amazing time.
We hung the tarps over these clotheslines and strung the paper chains along them, giving a much more festive appearance than the laundry that's usually hanging there...
Random post script...
I am not joking when I say that I can not walk for 2 minutes without hearing: Wa, Mzungu (heyyyy, white girl). Every child I pass either stares at me, or more often, shouts "how are you!" For the record, the answer to "how are you" is "fine." Always "fine." Never anything else. In fact, when I say hi to someone, even adults, the reply is mostly "fine." Sometimes I just look at someone and smile and he/she says "fine." And its said in the same tone as a 5-year-old might say it if s/he wants to end an argument. In any case, I am bombarded wherever I go by people shouting at me. The only place I am safe is the orphanage, where people are used to Wazungu (whites).
Friday 7/17/2009
If your native language is Swahili, you will likely find it difficult to pronounce SJ. This is not a problem, as I will also respond to things that roll off the tongue more easily. I don't mind "As Jay," "CJ," "Essie Jay," and most things that end in the sound -ay, including "Che." The girl who calls me Che asked me today why I don't have any children. I asked her why I would spend money on my own child instead of sending it to By Grace so they can eat. She looked at me like I was certifiable: "Because that is what God wants you to do." It's a shame, too, she thought, because I was so old not to have any children, and I'm getting to the point where I might be too old. But I have a baby face, she said (many people here tell me I have a baby face).
Mary, who calls me Che, with another volunteer:
Esther (who helps out with the housework and watches over Grace) walked into the living room this morning holding up the most adorable tiny little hot pink snow pants. I said something like "Awwwwwwww! I loooove those they're sooooo cuuuute!" Jane nodded and smiled, replying, "yes, ideal for this weather!" It was about 75 today, and Grace was walking around in snow pants. I'm extremely confused, because I am told that the hottest it gets here is 80, so I don't understand why it is so cold in 75 degree weather.
A lot of things confuse me. Sometimes I ask questions, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I ask questions, don't understand the answer, pretend to, and then just remain baffled. For a while, I had no idea where the children slept. The orphanage is very small, with only about 20 rooms (1 for each of grades K-12/high school, 1 staff room, 1 office for the principal, 1 for Salome, the head of By Grace) and a rooftop area for cooking. There are 2 storage closets, and 4 toilets, one of which is for the staff. The second grade classroom is the worst; it is literally 16 square feet for 10 kids who share 2 desks. Eventually I found out they sleep in the classrooms, which explains why at the end of the day I watch all the kids carry their tables and chairs out of their classrooms and up the stairs (2 mysteries solved in 1 there...).
Class 2 (2 children aren't present in this pic):
Other mysteries remain. Where do the stands on the side of the road get all their clothes to sell? Some are brands I recognize, like United Colors of Benetton, but many are also of the snazzy 80s fashion variety. Who buys things from the stands that sell nothing but junk? Will anyone ever buy that used Nintendo, sans controllers and games? Why does Classroom 3 smell so much worse than the other rooms? Why am I escorted to and from the orphanage every day? The other volunteers walk alone everywhere, but I do not leave the house until Joel has picked me up, and I do not leave the orphanage until Joel comes by and says "are you ready to go?"
I was not ready to leave today... I started teaching the children songs in Creative Arts class recently, and they liked it so much I made song books for them to share. We were sitting together at the end of the day, singing songs that are a reflection of my love for Paul Simon, and years of summer camp. Along with songs about frogs and bananas, the children can sing Bridge Over Troubled Water and 59th Street Bridge Song.
I have been able to compromise on the personal space issue by developing what can only be described as a symbiosis with the children. I was tired after jumping up and down all day and shouting songs at the top of my lungs (all the camp songs have movements, and the kids sing along with me even though they don't know the words and often even the tune, so I do my best to sing louder than they do in an effort to get them to learn how the songs actually go). So I laid down on the small table I was sharing with 5 kids. There were 3, give or take, sitting on either side of the table as well. My entire perimeter was in contact with children. Both my arms lay in one or more laps. They like to trace my scars with their fingers, cover my eyes with their hands, and run fingers through my hair. They like to tickle my ankles and tummy, and run fingers along the soles of my feet. This produces an extreme spa-like effect. The anxiety I might otherwise feel from being surrounded is totally quashed.
Poor Barack Obama. Ever since he called Kenya corrupt, he has been much-despised by many kids at the orphanage. Why? Because he will not help his homeland that is why! I said his job is to help America first, but this is scoffed at! Even Jane feels he should watch what he says about Kenya. Kenyan media agree, although some pugnacious editorialists argue that Kenya should listen up and work on improving their corrupt bureaucracy.
Mary, who calls me Che, with another volunteer:
Esther (who helps out with the housework and watches over Grace) walked into the living room this morning holding up the most adorable tiny little hot pink snow pants. I said something like "Awwwwwwww! I loooove those they're sooooo cuuuute!" Jane nodded and smiled, replying, "yes, ideal for this weather!" It was about 75 today, and Grace was walking around in snow pants. I'm extremely confused, because I am told that the hottest it gets here is 80, so I don't understand why it is so cold in 75 degree weather.
A lot of things confuse me. Sometimes I ask questions, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I ask questions, don't understand the answer, pretend to, and then just remain baffled. For a while, I had no idea where the children slept. The orphanage is very small, with only about 20 rooms (1 for each of grades K-12/high school, 1 staff room, 1 office for the principal, 1 for Salome, the head of By Grace) and a rooftop area for cooking. There are 2 storage closets, and 4 toilets, one of which is for the staff. The second grade classroom is the worst; it is literally 16 square feet for 10 kids who share 2 desks. Eventually I found out they sleep in the classrooms, which explains why at the end of the day I watch all the kids carry their tables and chairs out of their classrooms and up the stairs (2 mysteries solved in 1 there...).
Class 2 (2 children aren't present in this pic):
Other mysteries remain. Where do the stands on the side of the road get all their clothes to sell? Some are brands I recognize, like United Colors of Benetton, but many are also of the snazzy 80s fashion variety. Who buys things from the stands that sell nothing but junk? Will anyone ever buy that used Nintendo, sans controllers and games? Why does Classroom 3 smell so much worse than the other rooms? Why am I escorted to and from the orphanage every day? The other volunteers walk alone everywhere, but I do not leave the house until Joel has picked me up, and I do not leave the orphanage until Joel comes by and says "are you ready to go?"
I was not ready to leave today... I started teaching the children songs in Creative Arts class recently, and they liked it so much I made song books for them to share. We were sitting together at the end of the day, singing songs that are a reflection of my love for Paul Simon, and years of summer camp. Along with songs about frogs and bananas, the children can sing Bridge Over Troubled Water and 59th Street Bridge Song.
I have been able to compromise on the personal space issue by developing what can only be described as a symbiosis with the children. I was tired after jumping up and down all day and shouting songs at the top of my lungs (all the camp songs have movements, and the kids sing along with me even though they don't know the words and often even the tune, so I do my best to sing louder than they do in an effort to get them to learn how the songs actually go). So I laid down on the small table I was sharing with 5 kids. There were 3, give or take, sitting on either side of the table as well. My entire perimeter was in contact with children. Both my arms lay in one or more laps. They like to trace my scars with their fingers, cover my eyes with their hands, and run fingers through my hair. They like to tickle my ankles and tummy, and run fingers along the soles of my feet. This produces an extreme spa-like effect. The anxiety I might otherwise feel from being surrounded is totally quashed.
Poor Barack Obama. Ever since he called Kenya corrupt, he has been much-despised by many kids at the orphanage. Why? Because he will not help his homeland that is why! I said his job is to help America first, but this is scoffed at! Even Jane feels he should watch what he says about Kenya. Kenyan media agree, although some pugnacious editorialists argue that Kenya should listen up and work on improving their corrupt bureaucracy.
Tuesday 7/14/2009 7:00pm
Every day after school the kids have an organized activity. Monday/Guidance Counseling & Drama club, Tuesday/Science or Math Discussion, Wednesday/Games & Sports, Thursday/Group worship, Friday/Debate. I've already described the debate. On Monday, the teacher who leads drama asked me to join the club. It includes about 10 girls and one boy, all aged 14-19. I ended up leading the class in a game of Freeze Tag. They were slow to catch on, and the scenes were pretty much the same for about 10 minutes. Either the 2 characters were sweeping, or gossiping. But soon the scene work began to expand to include a few relationships, and more imaginative topics. My favorite was someone who started a scene by asking "What are you thinking about?" The other girl had her hands up in the air and immediately answered, "I was just dreaming about what it would be like in a parachute."
We played for a half hour and did about 25 scenes. What struck me most was how much the scenes revolved around rape, teen pregnancy, swine flu, boyfriends, and death. All these topics were dealt with very casually. "What is wrong?" "Oh, don't you know that I am pregnant?" "No! Tell me - who is the father?" "My mother's husband. He raped me." "Oh that is terrible. Would you like to play basketball now?" Another one was: "Why are you crying?" "My mother has died." "Ah. You know she is never coming back." "Why would you say that?? I thought you were my friend!!" "Well I thought you should know now so that you don't have to spend any time hoping she will come back."
None of these kids have parents (most have lost their parents to AIDS, some have even watched as their parents were murdered in front of them). Rather than birth control, everything here (the pill, condom) is advertised as family planning, because of the overwhelming Christianity of the region (birth control implies teens having casual sex; family planning implies married couples who can't afford more children at the time). The "peace" sign we recognize means "chill" here because there is a campaign against pre-marital sex called "Chill." Basically, teen pregnancy is a huge deal, as is abortion.
When I first started improv, I would initiate scenes that involved actual situations from my life. I was able to explore the reactions and consequences I might face if I really told my roommates how much their coke addiction bugged me, or how nervous I was at the beginning of the day before going to work - things I couldn't talk to my friends about; things that were plausibly made up for dramatic effect during improv rehearsals. Even everyone on Gertrude started out using actual events from life, and it was only later that we learned to work with more imaginative situations.
Anyway the point is, all the topics that came up that I found totally disturbing were completely normal to these girls.
Today I spent most of the day playing Kenyan poker, which is an addictive game, and is nothing (at all, in any way shape or form) like US poker. Its played by dealing 4 cards initially and just following suit (kind of like Uno), but then many rules are involved. 2 is pick up 2, unless another 2 is played in which case its pick up 4, etc. J skips a person, K reverses direction, and Qs and 8s must be covered. A's are somewhat wild - you can deny picking up cards, or change the suit, or just play them regularly. You can only go out on 4-7 or 9-10. You must play all your cards of one number, lest someone notices you've broken a group up and calls out "poker," in which case you must take half the remaining pile. There is actually a little strategy involved and its super duper fun.
Now my Swahili vocabulary has expanded from 3 year old language to card-playing language.
Grace and I eating oranges:
We played for a half hour and did about 25 scenes. What struck me most was how much the scenes revolved around rape, teen pregnancy, swine flu, boyfriends, and death. All these topics were dealt with very casually. "What is wrong?" "Oh, don't you know that I am pregnant?" "No! Tell me - who is the father?" "My mother's husband. He raped me." "Oh that is terrible. Would you like to play basketball now?" Another one was: "Why are you crying?" "My mother has died." "Ah. You know she is never coming back." "Why would you say that?? I thought you were my friend!!" "Well I thought you should know now so that you don't have to spend any time hoping she will come back."
None of these kids have parents (most have lost their parents to AIDS, some have even watched as their parents were murdered in front of them). Rather than birth control, everything here (the pill, condom) is advertised as family planning, because of the overwhelming Christianity of the region (birth control implies teens having casual sex; family planning implies married couples who can't afford more children at the time). The "peace" sign we recognize means "chill" here because there is a campaign against pre-marital sex called "Chill." Basically, teen pregnancy is a huge deal, as is abortion.
When I first started improv, I would initiate scenes that involved actual situations from my life. I was able to explore the reactions and consequences I might face if I really told my roommates how much their coke addiction bugged me, or how nervous I was at the beginning of the day before going to work - things I couldn't talk to my friends about; things that were plausibly made up for dramatic effect during improv rehearsals. Even everyone on Gertrude started out using actual events from life, and it was only later that we learned to work with more imaginative situations.
Anyway the point is, all the topics that came up that I found totally disturbing were completely normal to these girls.
Today I spent most of the day playing Kenyan poker, which is an addictive game, and is nothing (at all, in any way shape or form) like US poker. Its played by dealing 4 cards initially and just following suit (kind of like Uno), but then many rules are involved. 2 is pick up 2, unless another 2 is played in which case its pick up 4, etc. J skips a person, K reverses direction, and Qs and 8s must be covered. A's are somewhat wild - you can deny picking up cards, or change the suit, or just play them regularly. You can only go out on 4-7 or 9-10. You must play all your cards of one number, lest someone notices you've broken a group up and calls out "poker," in which case you must take half the remaining pile. There is actually a little strategy involved and its super duper fun.
Now my Swahili vocabulary has expanded from 3 year old language to card-playing language.
Grace and I eating oranges:
Sunday 7/12/2009 8pm
Safari weekend was the experience of a lifetime. I saw elephants, giraffes, wildebeests, zebra, hippo, crocodiles, monkeys, impala, ostrich, cheetahs, lions, leopards, vultures, bautler eagles, gazelles, secretary birds, a warthog, jackals, and lots of other colorful lizards and birds. All in two days. And I was so close to all of them! I even saw a lion sleeping next to the half-eaten wildebeest it had killed that morning. The most breathtaking part was just the 10 hours spent in the Masai Mara - the line of migrating animals on the horizon, surrounding a lone acacia tree... the mountains, the foliage, the air...
Tiffany has spent some time among the Masai over the past 5 years so rather than going to the commercial village all the safari-ists visit, Mingati took us to his village, where a wedding had just occurred that morning. A few people were very drunk from the wedding, and one man asked if I would be his wife (he already had 2) for 20 cows. I am told that is a good price, since he paid 10 cows for each of his other wives. They became disinterested when I mentioned my father didn't have any cows, and that I was 28 (the Masai women become brides when they are 15). I saw dancing, baby goats frolicking, drank tea with fresh milk from the cows, and watched as an excited crowd gathered around Tiffany as she handed out sweets, bouncy-balls, notebooks and pencils to the school children.
The school situation is tragically compromising; the government supports Christian schools, but in order to go to Christian school you must have a uniform, speak English, go to church, and have an English name. They are not allowed to do the ear stretching that is traditionally practiced by the Masai, and so the culture is slowly dying out (not everyone has the opportunity to go to school, so many children are able to continue in the Masai traditions).
At night, we stayed up with the Masai and learned a bit of their language. I can now semi-successfully count from 1 to 10, but either 8 or 9 is missing: Nabo, Aray, Uni, Umwhent, Siyet, Le, Napechwomo, Miyet, Tonmon. One night my legs started stinging, which turned into burning. I had stepped into an ant colony in the dark, and they were crawling all over my legs in my jeans. I was literally jumping around going "ee! ee! ee!" shaking my legs trying to get them out of my pants. I was very unsuccessful, so I ran into my tent (with much trouble because it was pitch black), and took my pants off. There were probably 5 or 6 crawling on my legs and on the inside of my jeans, with some squashed ones in my sandals. I tried to squish them, but quickly learned that when you feel them pinching and squash them, they just die with their pinchers in you and that causes the burning.
Another night the biggest grasshopper known to man fell in my lap. Not sure why this thought occurred to me, but at first I thought an apple had fallen from the tree into my lap in the dark. Then I realized there are no apple trees in the Masai Mara, and slowly looked down, saw nothing, got up, and as the huge thing rolled onto my chair, I shrieked, probably woke up the whole camp, and ran away from the chair as the Masai (commonly acknowledged to be some of the bravest men alive, hence the term "Masai Warrior") laughed at me. I was super duper embarrassed.
Tiffany has spent some time among the Masai over the past 5 years so rather than going to the commercial village all the safari-ists visit, Mingati took us to his village, where a wedding had just occurred that morning. A few people were very drunk from the wedding, and one man asked if I would be his wife (he already had 2) for 20 cows. I am told that is a good price, since he paid 10 cows for each of his other wives. They became disinterested when I mentioned my father didn't have any cows, and that I was 28 (the Masai women become brides when they are 15). I saw dancing, baby goats frolicking, drank tea with fresh milk from the cows, and watched as an excited crowd gathered around Tiffany as she handed out sweets, bouncy-balls, notebooks and pencils to the school children.
The school situation is tragically compromising; the government supports Christian schools, but in order to go to Christian school you must have a uniform, speak English, go to church, and have an English name. They are not allowed to do the ear stretching that is traditionally practiced by the Masai, and so the culture is slowly dying out (not everyone has the opportunity to go to school, so many children are able to continue in the Masai traditions).
At night, we stayed up with the Masai and learned a bit of their language. I can now semi-successfully count from 1 to 10, but either 8 or 9 is missing: Nabo, Aray, Uni, Umwhent, Siyet, Le, Napechwomo, Miyet, Tonmon. One night my legs started stinging, which turned into burning. I had stepped into an ant colony in the dark, and they were crawling all over my legs in my jeans. I was literally jumping around going "ee! ee! ee!" shaking my legs trying to get them out of my pants. I was very unsuccessful, so I ran into my tent (with much trouble because it was pitch black), and took my pants off. There were probably 5 or 6 crawling on my legs and on the inside of my jeans, with some squashed ones in my sandals. I tried to squish them, but quickly learned that when you feel them pinching and squash them, they just die with their pinchers in you and that causes the burning.
Another night the biggest grasshopper known to man fell in my lap. Not sure why this thought occurred to me, but at first I thought an apple had fallen from the tree into my lap in the dark. Then I realized there are no apple trees in the Masai Mara, and slowly looked down, saw nothing, got up, and as the huge thing rolled onto my chair, I shrieked, probably woke up the whole camp, and ran away from the chair as the Masai (commonly acknowledged to be some of the bravest men alive, hence the term "Masai Warrior") laughed at me. I was super duper embarrassed.
Thursday, 7/9/2009 11PM
My walk to the orphanage is roughly 20 minutes long. Unlike the other volunteers who live in Kayole, where the orphanage is located, I live farther away in Komarock, which is a slightly better area. I'm pretty sure no one would be able to tell the difference, and I couldn't either, initially. But after 2 weeks, I can see there is a definite difference.
I begin by walking out of a gated housing complex, where all the houses have walls and driveways. It is a stone drive, and mangy strays amble along next to me. I exit the community and walk along a few thin planks that cross the garbage ditch. They are rickety and I don't trust them to last much longer. A bus used as public transportation (a "matatu" - a pimped minivan that fits 20 people, painted in glitter with stencils of soulja boy next to obama, promulgating religious slogans, belting reggae, with windows that flash rainbow lights), even over speed bumps, emitting black smoke and kicking up poofs of dust.
As I leave Komarock, I pass stores that sell groceries indoors, or offer services like computer troubleshooting. Soon stores are downgraded to shacks on the side of the road. At first they sell fruits and chickens, but just outside of Komarock the goods sold are used clothes, and as I cross into Kayole, the used clothes turn into junk. Piles of screwdrivers, broken electronics, even an original nintendo, across from bags of charcoal being sold in front of half-broken down buildings. Matatus multiply, because no one here owns a car, and the air is filled with dust and exhaust.
My nose starts to burn from all the dust, which ranges from grains of sugar-size particles to flour-size particles. More and more people begin to look at me sideways, until everyone around me looks confused about my presence. Chickens poke at the garbage that, instead of resting in the ditches, overflows onto the "sidewalks." The smell in the air is sour, like rot and urine. Once in awhile I will have to avoid human feces on my way.
People don't use the "sidewalks," which are bumpy dusty pathways about 2 feet side in between the garbage ditch and the street. Most people walk in the street, leaving one lane for the cars. They still drive both ways, so the street is mayhem. Music blares from one of the shops, and sometimes it is beautiful local music, voices harmonizing in Swahili, and sometimes its bad pop from the US.
Then I see the colorful stack of mattresses on the right, and I know I am almost at the orphanage. The mattresses are a landmark for the kids (turn left after the mattresses, 3 stores after the mattresses), and they have become a landmark for me as well.
Here's a pic looking out from the orphanage across the street:
After the school day is over, I hang out with the kids for an hour or so, until Joel walks me home. Joel is one of the By Grace graduates, and is trying to earn some money working for the director so he can go to trade school to become an accountant. She pays him a little bit to run errands for her. I like it when Mary, another graduate (who is getting a position as an au pair in Germany), comes along as well. The best part is when people make fun of Joel, because they see him walking me so often, and call him "white boy."
Mary and Joel are rare cases. They have done very well in school, mainly because they were self-taught during a time when the orphanage didn't have any teachers. So they are able to pursue higher education. I am not sure what the other graduates do... I know that the boys stay at the orphanage to teach, which is why the orphanage now has classes, and some girls become house girls. The boys are waiting for sponsorship, for someone to help them pay their way through university. Some had sponsorship, and have a few semesters of college, and are waiting for sponsorship to finish school.
Thursday, July 9, 8AM
Yesterday I went into Nairobi with Tiffany, another volunteer, to book a safari for this weekend. Nairobi is really a nice city. There are a lot of trees and flowers everywhere, and its very clean. The buildings are not very tall, and they are all stone, so rather than everything being silver when I look up, its tan, brown, green and pink from the flowers. Its not dusty like it is outside the city, and the shops and restaurants seem decent. People don't look at me like I'm a complete alien, because there are a few other whites roaming around as well.
While I was in the city, I treated myself to some pampering: 2 beers, butter, more cold water, and a John Grisham novel!
My friend Scott from NYC had dinner with us. He has a few nonprofits, one of which is training Kenyans to run marathons so they can get scholarships in the states. The others are geared towards building schools in Kenya and Uganda. He's in town at the moment to work on a school outside of Nairobi. I can't describe the admiration I have for him: his life goal is to give away 1 million dollars by the time he's 30; he's only about 60k away, and he's my age.
Tiffany and I went to the airport next and met a colleague from IAVI, Prince, who was bringing me some things I needed from the states. It was a totally bizarre experience to see my American friends in Nairobi.
Prince brought me a Neti pot (props to Sara Jane for getting it for me!), which normally I just use when I have bad allergies, because it flushes the pollen out. But when I used it here, actual grains of dust and black particles came out of my nose, along with some greenish slime. I slept better, and when I woke up, my tear ducts were blocked up as well with brown crust that had formed from whatever discharged during the night. This morning I breathed clearly for the first time; it was glorious. The downside is that I will be more sensitive to the pungent odors the day will bring my way...
While I was in the city, I treated myself to some pampering: 2 beers, butter, more cold water, and a John Grisham novel!
My friend Scott from NYC had dinner with us. He has a few nonprofits, one of which is training Kenyans to run marathons so they can get scholarships in the states. The others are geared towards building schools in Kenya and Uganda. He's in town at the moment to work on a school outside of Nairobi. I can't describe the admiration I have for him: his life goal is to give away 1 million dollars by the time he's 30; he's only about 60k away, and he's my age.
Tiffany and I went to the airport next and met a colleague from IAVI, Prince, who was bringing me some things I needed from the states. It was a totally bizarre experience to see my American friends in Nairobi.
Prince brought me a Neti pot (props to Sara Jane for getting it for me!), which normally I just use when I have bad allergies, because it flushes the pollen out. But when I used it here, actual grains of dust and black particles came out of my nose, along with some greenish slime. I slept better, and when I woke up, my tear ducts were blocked up as well with brown crust that had formed from whatever discharged during the night. This morning I breathed clearly for the first time; it was glorious. The downside is that I will be more sensitive to the pungent odors the day will bring my way...
Tuesday 7/7/2009
Breakfast
3 Weetabix with room temperature whole milk. White coffee, made from an instant brand called Pancaffe. Its the most delicious coffee I have ever had in my life. On weekends Jane cooks mandazi. Mandazi is just a deep fried sweet dough which you might compare to triangular doughnut.
Lunch
All the teachers eat the same thing as the students every day, Gidheri. Gidheri is Kenyan corn (very hard and flavorless) cooked with red beans. Its very hard to chew, and really doesn't taste like much except for red beans.
I am lucky that Jane leaves some bread, peanut butter and jelly (not sure what kind, but its extremely sweet and somewhat sour) out for me every day to pack. The Gidheri smells very pungent so I try to hurry up and eat before its served, otherwise whatever I am eating tastes like Gidheri too.
There is a place down the street, Chicken and Chips, which I really like. A wall of glass separates my table from a butchered animal hanging from the ceiling. Flies swarm, but the greasy fries are delicious, and they're only about 50 cents.
I always feel guilty eating my yummy (comparatively) food when the other teachers are eating Gidheri.
Dinner
White Rice, Kale (Margit my friend who wears "Eghjuat would be so proud - Kale is a part of every Kenyan's dinner I've seen so far!), sometimes a green mash with corn in it. Then there's always a stew of sorts. It may be lentils and potatoes, beans and carrots, or sometimes, if I'm very lucky, it will have some meat in it.
In Between
Lots of tea. Its not as delicious as some of the more exotic teas you find in the US, but I really dig it. Its a good way to stay hydrated. It is so dry here that I went one day drinking an entire nalgene bottle of water, a coke and tea without peeing in between waking up and dinner time.
3 Weetabix with room temperature whole milk. White coffee, made from an instant brand called Pancaffe. Its the most delicious coffee I have ever had in my life. On weekends Jane cooks mandazi. Mandazi is just a deep fried sweet dough which you might compare to triangular doughnut.
Lunch
All the teachers eat the same thing as the students every day, Gidheri. Gidheri is Kenyan corn (very hard and flavorless) cooked with red beans. Its very hard to chew, and really doesn't taste like much except for red beans.
I am lucky that Jane leaves some bread, peanut butter and jelly (not sure what kind, but its extremely sweet and somewhat sour) out for me every day to pack. The Gidheri smells very pungent so I try to hurry up and eat before its served, otherwise whatever I am eating tastes like Gidheri too.
There is a place down the street, Chicken and Chips, which I really like. A wall of glass separates my table from a butchered animal hanging from the ceiling. Flies swarm, but the greasy fries are delicious, and they're only about 50 cents.
I always feel guilty eating my yummy (comparatively) food when the other teachers are eating Gidheri.
Dinner
White Rice, Kale (Margit my friend who wears "Eghjuat would be so proud - Kale is a part of every Kenyan's dinner I've seen so far!), sometimes a green mash with corn in it. Then there's always a stew of sorts. It may be lentils and potatoes, beans and carrots, or sometimes, if I'm very lucky, it will have some meat in it.
In Between
Lots of tea. Its not as delicious as some of the more exotic teas you find in the US, but I really dig it. Its a good way to stay hydrated. It is so dry here that I went one day drinking an entire nalgene bottle of water, a coke and tea without peeing in between waking up and dinner time.
Sunday, July 5, 2AM
Ice skating in Kenya. The rink does not have a zamboni so it is quite choppy; it's more like skating on hotel carpeting. There is also a lot of falling down involved. There are never more than 10 people on the rink because Kenyans are extremely averse to temperatures below 70 degrees. Innocent's dream is to live in Wisconsin (I have no words) so he skated tenaciously for the entire hour while Jane and I took turns holding Grace, who seemed unimpressed by the entire event.
The music was of course Michael Jackson for the duration, which was awesome. I tried to do the Thriller dance on ice but it is harder to fake it on ice than on a floor (who am I kidding I will never learn that dance) so I gave up.
Then I took the family to one of those meat restaurants where the waiters continually bring you meat. Meat! I forgot how good it was. Its only been what, two weeks, but I also had cold water to drink for the first time in that duration as well, and I feel so replenished now! I even had some ice cream, which to be honest, seemed entirely superfluous after the meat and cold water.
Lydia was the family "house girl," which Wanjiru told me before I came that everyone has, no matter how much/little money the family makes. Then, yesterday, she was gone. Grace's sitter, Esther, was here today and was doing laundry like Lydia usually does, outside in buckets. I asked if I could wash my jeans and this struck Jane and Esther as hysterical. Jane wanted to take a picture of me doing my own laundry, and Esther was laughing at me not knowing how to wash my own clothes.
Anyway I asked if Lydia was home tonight, and there was hardly more explanation than "she went home." Her peculiar and sudden departure is fitting, as she seemed a mysterious figure to me in the first place. She slept behind a curtain that partitions off the living room from ... a bed? I never saw because she never pulled the curtain back, just slipped in between the end of it and the wall at night to go to sleep. And I thought this WAS her home; at least she'd been living here since I've been around.
We had to stop at the supermarket on the way home. Grace follows me around which fills me up with a sort of "that's right, I belong here" attitude. I really don't know more than 20 words in Swahili, but two of them are "koja hapa": come here. So when someone was in the same aisle as me, I would say, noticeably "Grace, koja hapa!" as if to say "look at me, I am likely fluent in Swahili and practically Kenyan." But rather than being impressed, people around me noticeably dropped English words as if to say "look at me, I am likely fluent in English and am practically American."
I hope everyone had a fantastic 4th of July. And a HUGE thank you to my family, who, on a moment's international notice, tried to help me figure out how to use a credit card to get cash, even when it involved calling the credit card company and pretending to be me. Apparently there is just no easy way if you don't have your CC's PIN, which I don't have.
The music was of course Michael Jackson for the duration, which was awesome. I tried to do the Thriller dance on ice but it is harder to fake it on ice than on a floor (who am I kidding I will never learn that dance) so I gave up.
Then I took the family to one of those meat restaurants where the waiters continually bring you meat. Meat! I forgot how good it was. Its only been what, two weeks, but I also had cold water to drink for the first time in that duration as well, and I feel so replenished now! I even had some ice cream, which to be honest, seemed entirely superfluous after the meat and cold water.
Lydia was the family "house girl," which Wanjiru told me before I came that everyone has, no matter how much/little money the family makes. Then, yesterday, she was gone. Grace's sitter, Esther, was here today and was doing laundry like Lydia usually does, outside in buckets. I asked if I could wash my jeans and this struck Jane and Esther as hysterical. Jane wanted to take a picture of me doing my own laundry, and Esther was laughing at me not knowing how to wash my own clothes.
Anyway I asked if Lydia was home tonight, and there was hardly more explanation than "she went home." Her peculiar and sudden departure is fitting, as she seemed a mysterious figure to me in the first place. She slept behind a curtain that partitions off the living room from ... a bed? I never saw because she never pulled the curtain back, just slipped in between the end of it and the wall at night to go to sleep. And I thought this WAS her home; at least she'd been living here since I've been around.
We had to stop at the supermarket on the way home. Grace follows me around which fills me up with a sort of "that's right, I belong here" attitude. I really don't know more than 20 words in Swahili, but two of them are "koja hapa": come here. So when someone was in the same aisle as me, I would say, noticeably "Grace, koja hapa!" as if to say "look at me, I am likely fluent in Swahili and practically Kenyan." But rather than being impressed, people around me noticeably dropped English words as if to say "look at me, I am likely fluent in English and am practically American."
I hope everyone had a fantastic 4th of July. And a HUGE thank you to my family, who, on a moment's international notice, tried to help me figure out how to use a credit card to get cash, even when it involved calling the credit card company and pretending to be me. Apparently there is just no easy way if you don't have your CC's PIN, which I don't have.
Friday 7/3/2009 8:50pm
Hm I seem to have overestimated the science class. One child, Emmanuel, said he observed that the tissue paper smelled like yams. I thought that was brilliant and very creative. Today I asked the students to fill in the following sentence: Using my sense of _________, I observe that the __________ is __________. They were to choose an object and a sense and fill in the blanks. Emmanuel's observation was that he used his sense of hearing to observe that the wall sounded like yams. Some of them were still very innovative with their observations though, and others still have no clue what I'm talking about.
This season is Kenya's winter, so it is "cold" here. This means it can get down to as low as... 60 degrees! In 60 degree weather, you will find most people bundled up in winter coats and fuzzy hats. The babies are layered up and then wrapped in blankets. It is so cold that they tell me the most fragile geriatrics are likely to die.
The funny part is, they are so layered up that I can see the sweat running down their faces, and they still complain that their hands are cold. They are shocked that I will wear sandals and a t-shirt in this weather, and many people ask me on 60 degree days "aren't you COLD?" in a very dramatic tone.
It was about 65 degrees when this picture was taken:
Also, men around me hold hands and lay hands on one another's legs or backs when they are just chilling, sitting very close to each other. But it is shameful to be gay, so no one comes out of the closet, leaving me wondering who is gay and who is not.
One of the other volunteers was telling me she had to pay $750 to the Mungiki last year after they threatened to kill Salome (the head of By Grace Orphanage) if she did not pay. The following week she saw a beheaded body as she was driving to the airport and was grateful that she paid.
Here's an interesting question Innocent posed as we were having a philosophical conversation (he is very insightful and philosophical!) about knowledge and the internet: What do you think would happen if the internet was unavailable throughout the world for 1 year?
Also, we think a neat thing to do would be to keep a "Google Journal" in which you write down the exact dates and times you google something and the phrase you google. Then look at it in a month. Would you remember all the information you googled?
I miss ice cream.
This season is Kenya's winter, so it is "cold" here. This means it can get down to as low as... 60 degrees! In 60 degree weather, you will find most people bundled up in winter coats and fuzzy hats. The babies are layered up and then wrapped in blankets. It is so cold that they tell me the most fragile geriatrics are likely to die.
The funny part is, they are so layered up that I can see the sweat running down their faces, and they still complain that their hands are cold. They are shocked that I will wear sandals and a t-shirt in this weather, and many people ask me on 60 degree days "aren't you COLD?" in a very dramatic tone.
It was about 65 degrees when this picture was taken:
Also, men around me hold hands and lay hands on one another's legs or backs when they are just chilling, sitting very close to each other. But it is shameful to be gay, so no one comes out of the closet, leaving me wondering who is gay and who is not.
One of the other volunteers was telling me she had to pay $750 to the Mungiki last year after they threatened to kill Salome (the head of By Grace Orphanage) if she did not pay. The following week she saw a beheaded body as she was driving to the airport and was grateful that she paid.
Here's an interesting question Innocent posed as we were having a philosophical conversation (he is very insightful and philosophical!) about knowledge and the internet: What do you think would happen if the internet was unavailable throughout the world for 1 year?
Also, we think a neat thing to do would be to keep a "Google Journal" in which you write down the exact dates and times you google something and the phrase you google. Then look at it in a month. Would you remember all the information you googled?
I miss ice cream.
Thursday 4:45 pm
My outlook is much brighter today. Rather than playing with the kids like the super kid loving volunteers who have boundless energy and patience, I find my balance is maintained only when I behave like the every-day teachers at By Grace. So I go to my classes, teach, and read in the teacher's lounge during my breaks. We laugh a lot, and ask questions about each other's countries. Today they decided that one teacher, Isaac, would be my twin if he were white. I agree. I personally think its the nose.
My science class was somewhat encouraging today. They have already learned everything in their science textbook, so my instructions were to just teach it again, because they didn't have any more materials to give me. It is very difficult to find a way to get the children to think critically (or independently... mostly they just copy what I say down as the answer to a question, even if it doesn't pertain to the question at all). Example: yesterday I divided them up into 4 teams and asked them to come up with team names. Each one said "Team." or "Team Name." Eventually I got through to them and we had teams: "Mountain," "Lion," "Lenses," and "Golden Color." Awesome!
So last night I went home thinking I COULD get them to think creatively. I went online and googled science curricula for grade schoolers. Not much available, but I did stumble upon a publication regarding national evaluation of British Columbia science students. It talked about what science WAS (observation, questioning, hypothesizing, measurement, reporting). I created exercises for each of these 5 things. I wasn't sure how far we'd get today, but I got a worksheet together and we practiced observing. I gave everyone a sheet of toilet paper (which I carry around with me everywhere to blow my sad nose) and had them write down 4 things they observed based on sight, smell, touch and hearing. “Sounds like your feet moving through the grass” was my favorite. Oh these kids will go far!!!
Mary and I talked about chickens on the walk home. I saw chickens wandering around and asked if they belonged to someone. She said yes, they go to their homes at night. I described "chicken factories" to her, the ones where the chickens are hung upside down and decapitated. She pointed out chickens for sale on the way home, and I asked what would happen if I bought all 7 and let them go. She said people would take them. I disagreed. I said people would probably assume they belong to someone and leave them.
Then I asked what would happen if I went around with a chicken asking people "do you know whose chicken this is?" She said maybe the first person would laugh but the second person would say "Its mine." I gave her a few other ridiculous hypotheticals and we were cracking up by the time we got to my gate.
My science class was somewhat encouraging today. They have already learned everything in their science textbook, so my instructions were to just teach it again, because they didn't have any more materials to give me. It is very difficult to find a way to get the children to think critically (or independently... mostly they just copy what I say down as the answer to a question, even if it doesn't pertain to the question at all). Example: yesterday I divided them up into 4 teams and asked them to come up with team names. Each one said "Team." or "Team Name." Eventually I got through to them and we had teams: "Mountain," "Lion," "Lenses," and "Golden Color." Awesome!
So last night I went home thinking I COULD get them to think creatively. I went online and googled science curricula for grade schoolers. Not much available, but I did stumble upon a publication regarding national evaluation of British Columbia science students. It talked about what science WAS (observation, questioning, hypothesizing, measurement, reporting). I created exercises for each of these 5 things. I wasn't sure how far we'd get today, but I got a worksheet together and we practiced observing. I gave everyone a sheet of toilet paper (which I carry around with me everywhere to blow my sad nose) and had them write down 4 things they observed based on sight, smell, touch and hearing. “Sounds like your feet moving through the grass” was my favorite. Oh these kids will go far!!!
Mary and I talked about chickens on the walk home. I saw chickens wandering around and asked if they belonged to someone. She said yes, they go to their homes at night. I described "chicken factories" to her, the ones where the chickens are hung upside down and decapitated. She pointed out chickens for sale on the way home, and I asked what would happen if I bought all 7 and let them go. She said people would take them. I disagreed. I said people would probably assume they belong to someone and leave them.
Then I asked what would happen if I went around with a chicken asking people "do you know whose chicken this is?" She said maybe the first person would laugh but the second person would say "Its mine." I gave her a few other ridiculous hypotheticals and we were cracking up by the time we got to my gate.
Tuesday 6/30/2009 9:45pm
The air is full of dust. Not to mention, Kayole (where the orphanage is located) does not have one public trash can. So the dust is made up partially of rotten food, trash, feces (stray cats, dogs, chickens, etc.). From the air to my lungs. My throat has been scratchy for 3 days, because I can't cough the dust out. And my sinuses are clogged to the max, so my ears haven't popped since Saturday.
I learned why Jane said its so dangerous around here. The Mungiki. Wikipedia them. They are so gangster that when they call to threaten you, they tell you their full name, where they live, etc. Two of them were spying on the Americans across the way from me and called up their host family and asked for $1000. Have you wikipedia'd them yet? Have you read the part about the extortion? Obviously the host paid right away.
Now the orphanage I work at is much safer than the ones the other volunteers worked at. By Grace does not have any gang members, let alone any Mungeke to spy on me and extort my host family for money. The kids at the other orphanage will pick your pockets. Some even have guns and knives so they always get food.
I no longer notice the stink of By Grace. Can you guess why? Yes, it is because I now smell the same way. I came home, took a shower, smelled my dirty clothes once I was clean, and gagged.
Here's something fun: I nearly had a meltdown today. We walked 40 minutes through hot dust and garbage strewn fields to watch a speech about a new hospital opening. Now I'm thrilled that a new hospital will be built for Kayole. Thrilled. But the personal space thing is pretty much killing me. This trip was 40 minutes of children clambering to hold my hand on the way, an hour of them sitting partially on top of me, and another 40 minute torturous walk home. When I say these kids were walking next to me, I literally mean that their shoulders were touching my sides so that I had no room to move my arms.
I came very close to losing it. I told them I did not want to hold hands on the way home. I walked next to oncoming traffic, thorn bushes, curbs, and anything else I could find to keep kids from walking next to me. Nothing would stop them. I started elbowing kids out of the way when they came near me. A couple kids walking next to me asked "SJ, are you angry?" All I could do was whine "I'm hot and I'm tired."
I told one of the other volunteers that I was having a hard time with the crowding. She said, "I love sharing my personal space!" as she hugged and was hugged by 8 children, give or take. How will I survive with this crowding? Today I wanted to turn around, run to an internet station, and buy a plane ticket home for tomorrow.
These poor children have no parents, no care takers, no one to give them affection except the volunteers. And I just elbow them away from me. Well I guess I am still helping by teaching classes, even if I can not provide the affection that the other volunteers do. I am not a horrible person. I am not a horrible person. I am not a horrible person... sigh.
I learned why Jane said its so dangerous around here. The Mungiki. Wikipedia them. They are so gangster that when they call to threaten you, they tell you their full name, where they live, etc. Two of them were spying on the Americans across the way from me and called up their host family and asked for $1000. Have you wikipedia'd them yet? Have you read the part about the extortion? Obviously the host paid right away.
Now the orphanage I work at is much safer than the ones the other volunteers worked at. By Grace does not have any gang members, let alone any Mungeke to spy on me and extort my host family for money. The kids at the other orphanage will pick your pockets. Some even have guns and knives so they always get food.
I no longer notice the stink of By Grace. Can you guess why? Yes, it is because I now smell the same way. I came home, took a shower, smelled my dirty clothes once I was clean, and gagged.
Here's something fun: I nearly had a meltdown today. We walked 40 minutes through hot dust and garbage strewn fields to watch a speech about a new hospital opening. Now I'm thrilled that a new hospital will be built for Kayole. Thrilled. But the personal space thing is pretty much killing me. This trip was 40 minutes of children clambering to hold my hand on the way, an hour of them sitting partially on top of me, and another 40 minute torturous walk home. When I say these kids were walking next to me, I literally mean that their shoulders were touching my sides so that I had no room to move my arms.
I came very close to losing it. I told them I did not want to hold hands on the way home. I walked next to oncoming traffic, thorn bushes, curbs, and anything else I could find to keep kids from walking next to me. Nothing would stop them. I started elbowing kids out of the way when they came near me. A couple kids walking next to me asked "SJ, are you angry?" All I could do was whine "I'm hot and I'm tired."
I told one of the other volunteers that I was having a hard time with the crowding. She said, "I love sharing my personal space!" as she hugged and was hugged by 8 children, give or take. How will I survive with this crowding? Today I wanted to turn around, run to an internet station, and buy a plane ticket home for tomorrow.
These poor children have no parents, no care takers, no one to give them affection except the volunteers. And I just elbow them away from me. Well I guess I am still helping by teaching classes, even if I can not provide the affection that the other volunteers do. I am not a horrible person. I am not a horrible person. I am not a horrible person... sigh.
Saturday 6/27/2009 10:00pm
As far as I can tell, there is no concept of personal space here. Today Jane took me with Innocent and Enoch to see her sister who had a baby 3 months ago. We drove 4 hours out of the city to a farm. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, there was a woman sitting next to me. Then I dozed off again and when I woke up, there was a man sitting between us. Enoch and another little boy were in the back of the station wagon.
The man was pretty much sitting on top of me, and when we were jostled into each other, it was no big deal for him at all. At the orphanage, handshakes turn into hand-holding, and everyone sits less than 3 inches from each other. I am usually in physical contact with someone else, or surrounded by 5-15 people. At the farm house, we gathered in Jane’s sister’s farm house with about 20 other relatives. Everyone was sitting on top of everyone.
We stopped for coffee on the way, where the server asked me if I wanted it “Black or White.” I had no idea what white coffee was, but it turns out that they serve hot drinks with the milk already in the water. Then you either add a tea bag, or a packet of Nescafe.
Friday 6/26/2009 6:40pm
Michael Jackson, RIP. There is not a lot of mourning around here. Everyone is aware of his death, but no one really cares. I am deeply saddened. The news called him a genius and I think they are exactly right.
I taught 2 art classes today and a gym class. Gym takes place in a field of big rocks and mud puddles.
The “jungle gym” is an enormous stack of junk plywood with nails sticking out everywhere. A tire is the favorite toy, although a mini soccer ball is also kicked around, and they play a sort of basketball by trying to shoot it through some circular metal that isn’t at all perpendicular to the wall.
I attended the primary school debate, a weekly occurrence on Fridays (there is also a debate among the high school students). The topic was: “Science vs. Social Studies” (which is better to learn?) (the topic for high school was: should catholic priests be allowed to marry?). Some intriguing arguments included: Science teaches us about our bodies, and how to avoid diseases. Yes, but if you don’t learn social studies, you’ll never know any capitals. Somehow, social studies won the debate. When a student is called on, he/she must say “Thank you, Mr. Speaker, Sir, and thank you, house at large” before beginning the argument. Then someone would raise their hand for clarification point, objection point, or addition point.
There were also Ministers of Agriculture, Education, Finance and Health who came in to answer questions. They were good questions, such as “Honorable Minister of Finance, you raised the price of food in the last year, but decreased the price of alcohol, how are we expected to eat?” But the answers were pretty much all: “I’m working on it.”
I taught 2 art classes today and a gym class. Gym takes place in a field of big rocks and mud puddles.
The “jungle gym” is an enormous stack of junk plywood with nails sticking out everywhere. A tire is the favorite toy, although a mini soccer ball is also kicked around, and they play a sort of basketball by trying to shoot it through some circular metal that isn’t at all perpendicular to the wall.
I attended the primary school debate, a weekly occurrence on Fridays (there is also a debate among the high school students). The topic was: “Science vs. Social Studies” (which is better to learn?) (the topic for high school was: should catholic priests be allowed to marry?). Some intriguing arguments included: Science teaches us about our bodies, and how to avoid diseases. Yes, but if you don’t learn social studies, you’ll never know any capitals. Somehow, social studies won the debate. When a student is called on, he/she must say “Thank you, Mr. Speaker, Sir, and thank you, house at large” before beginning the argument. Then someone would raise their hand for clarification point, objection point, or addition point.
There were also Ministers of Agriculture, Education, Finance and Health who came in to answer questions. They were good questions, such as “Honorable Minister of Finance, you raised the price of food in the last year, but decreased the price of alcohol, how are we expected to eat?” But the answers were pretty much all: “I’m working on it.”
Thursday 6/25/2009 11:35pm
I met with the children today. It was a long walk to the orphanage, about 30 minutes. There are huts on the side of the road covered in tarps where women sell things like fresh fruit (pineapple, watermelon, bananas), clothes (all used), and random dusty trinkets on the way there.
When I entered the orphanage, the odor of human waste literally nearly knocked me out. By the end of the day I still wasn’t used to it, but I tried to tell myself it was like being in a barn, and that helped somewhat.
One of the 12 year olds asked me if I was white. “Are you white?” “huh??” “Are you white?” “what?” “are you white?” “sorry??” until finally he wrote it down: WHITE? I said, that’s what I thought you were asking, yes I’m white.
I’m trying to teach Grace english, and learn Kiswahili from her. Innocent and Jane tell me when I speak, its at the level of a 3 year old. Its true. I am very good at saying “I want candy,” “where’s the nose?” and “what is that who?”
Thursday, 6/25/2009 4am
Awake. Wednesday afternoon I met with the 7 other volunteers who will be here over the next few weeks. Jane walked me to a storage unit and when she opened the door I realized the block of storage units was actually used for shops and offices. I stepped into the By Grace office, surprised at the size despite the tiny turquoise blue metal door. The other volunteers arrived and we waited for the volunteer coordinator, Sonya (my roommate at Jane’s house) to show up for our orientation. We waited. And waited. The car she was in had broken down,.
In the meantime, it rained for about 40 minutes. In the states, rain makes the ground immediately shiny. Its a strange effect here, because there is so much dust on the road that it takes about 10 minutes of rain for the ground to actually appear wet.
When it wasn’t raining, we waited outside, getting various reactions from people. Some gave us the stink eye while others tried to hide from us. Some came up to us and shook every one of our hands “hello, hello, hello, hello, hello.” Chickens ran across the road and a group of school children played jump rope at the end of the street.
After we had waited for 1.5 hours, it was decided Sonya would not make it. We walked to the field where the By Grace children were playing. The field is actually just a yard of dirt with groups of tall weeds growing in patches everywhere. A group of mixed age boys played soccer in the middle of the field, and the older kids hung out around the perimeter and watched. The younger kids surrounded us and shook our hands. There was a lot of hand holding. Even when I was just standing, someone was in front of me, with both hands on mine.
When it was time to go, a group of children led me out. I told them I didn’t think I lived this way, but they said, yes, you live this way. Suddenly a teenage boy runs up to me and points back to Jane. I had already walked a block in the wrong direction, so I waved bye to the kids and headed home with Jane.
Back at home, we ate dinner, played with Grace, checked our email, and watched a dubbed Chinese soap opera on TV (the cleavage is also blurred out, for modesty’s sake!). The power went off twice for about 20 minutes each time. Then we played some race-solitaire and off to bed.
In the meantime, it rained for about 40 minutes. In the states, rain makes the ground immediately shiny. Its a strange effect here, because there is so much dust on the road that it takes about 10 minutes of rain for the ground to actually appear wet.
When it wasn’t raining, we waited outside, getting various reactions from people. Some gave us the stink eye while others tried to hide from us. Some came up to us and shook every one of our hands “hello, hello, hello, hello, hello.” Chickens ran across the road and a group of school children played jump rope at the end of the street.
After we had waited for 1.5 hours, it was decided Sonya would not make it. We walked to the field where the By Grace children were playing. The field is actually just a yard of dirt with groups of tall weeds growing in patches everywhere. A group of mixed age boys played soccer in the middle of the field, and the older kids hung out around the perimeter and watched. The younger kids surrounded us and shook our hands. There was a lot of hand holding. Even when I was just standing, someone was in front of me, with both hands on mine.
When it was time to go, a group of children led me out. I told them I didn’t think I lived this way, but they said, yes, you live this way. Suddenly a teenage boy runs up to me and points back to Jane. I had already walked a block in the wrong direction, so I waved bye to the kids and headed home with Jane.
Back at home, we ate dinner, played with Grace, checked our email, and watched a dubbed Chinese soap opera on TV (the cleavage is also blurred out, for modesty’s sake!). The power went off twice for about 20 minutes each time. Then we played some race-solitaire and off to bed.
Wednesday, 6/24/2009 Noon.
I am staying with a family of 5. The parents are Innocent and Jane, and the children are Gideon - 15, Enoch - 8 and Grace - 3. Grace was the only one up last night when I arrived at 11pm. I have trouble understanding her mix of Swahili, English, Spanish and gibberish. But she’s very cute.
I played cards with the 3 other volunteers and Innocent for an hour, and the whole time wondered what the coughing was coming from behind a curtain in the living room. I found out later it was Enoch, who has malaria. It seems not to be a huge deal; apparently the night after he was diagnosed he was out playing soccer with his friends.
The other volunteers love playing a game called squidge, which I determined is actually just a race to see who can finish solitaire first. I played 2 rounds and was terrible.
Laying down in bed was the most glorious feeling after 25 hours of sitting up in uncomfortable positions. I heard mosquitos buzzing around my head and couldn’t determine whether they were in my mosquito net or outside of it. I suffered a few psychosomatic bites during the night and woke up scratching furiously throughout. The volunteer sharing my room seems super badass as she slept without a mosquito net.
No extraordinarily odd dreams last night to report. I was shopping for a hat, helping to put on a latin-themed production of the king and I, meeting a drug dealing cop at 1000 E 10th Street apartment 1G (I haven’t smoked since leaving so American Spirits were the illicit goods), and speed-dialing Ashish on his birthday to see if he wanted to go to a soduku party and a concert afterwards.
June 22, 2009
Sadness slightly dilutes my excitement; it seems like every day now will be closer to the end of the trip. Stray corgi hairs embedded in my clothes and pillow are comforting me as I wait for my plane. A part of corgi is literally coming with me, and even though I understand that these are hairs she will never miss or even really know about, their presence lessens my usual pre-flight jitters.
In the airport, I looked for trinkets to bring to my host family, and found myself drawn to the Field Museum store, to the section with jewelry and bags in the style of Africa. I realized that what attracted me most would be a totally lame USA souvenir and considered that conversely, maybe what I found revolting might be a great gift. “Here’s a metal thermos from Starbucks, one of the the greedy corporations that form the backbone of America’s economy. And here’s a tiny cup on top that we don’t even use in the US, for various reasons that all boil down to laziness. Americans like things that could in theory serve a useful purpose but turn out to be unnecessary and worthless in practice. Like our last president. Anyway I thought this would be good for if you don’t like your tea to get cold throughout the day. ”
There’s a girl next to me who just arrived from backpacking Europe. I thought of my trek through Europe and asked her where she’d been, but neither of us had been to the same cities. I was grateful for this fact, because I don’t really like talking to people in the airport and was relieved to not feel compelled to compare stories and experiences.
My dreams have always been very lucid, so I’m not sure if I can attribute the dream I had last night to the malaria pills yet. Vance was playing in a mixing bowl of liquid butter, dipping his face in it, blowing bubbles and laughing. It was the grossest cute thing you’ve ever seen. I wonder how much weirder it gets than that but have a feeling I’m going to find out soon.
In the airport, I looked for trinkets to bring to my host family, and found myself drawn to the Field Museum store, to the section with jewelry and bags in the style of Africa. I realized that what attracted me most would be a totally lame USA souvenir and considered that conversely, maybe what I found revolting might be a great gift. “Here’s a metal thermos from Starbucks, one of the the greedy corporations that form the backbone of America’s economy. And here’s a tiny cup on top that we don’t even use in the US, for various reasons that all boil down to laziness. Americans like things that could in theory serve a useful purpose but turn out to be unnecessary and worthless in practice. Like our last president. Anyway I thought this would be good for if you don’t like your tea to get cold throughout the day. ”
There’s a girl next to me who just arrived from backpacking Europe. I thought of my trek through Europe and asked her where she’d been, but neither of us had been to the same cities. I was grateful for this fact, because I don’t really like talking to people in the airport and was relieved to not feel compelled to compare stories and experiences.
My dreams have always been very lucid, so I’m not sure if I can attribute the dream I had last night to the malaria pills yet. Vance was playing in a mixing bowl of liquid butter, dipping his face in it, blowing bubbles and laughing. It was the grossest cute thing you’ve ever seen. I wonder how much weirder it gets than that but have a feeling I’m going to find out soon.
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