am in a better mood this week. Last week I was in the middle of a dip of the Peace Corps roller coaster. Today I feel good because I am on midterm break until Wednesday. I told everyone I was leaving town and now I am free to do whatever I want for five whole days. It’s gonna be great. Lately, I have been getting some flak for not spending more time with the people in my village. It is not really fair of them to say that since I am followed by people yelling mzungu from 6 am when I leave my house till 7pm when I can shut my door and pretend to be busy. Of course the neighbor kids come in my house to laugh at me, and my other neighbors always want a quick chat, so by the time I climb into bed, I am never really relaxed. And if I step outside, I will invariably meet someone who will ask me why I am so anti-social. It is not my fault if Kenyans are ridiculously friendly! Its exhausting. Anyway, now I am free! I am hoping to go into Marsabit forest and see some elephants. That would be awesome. If not, I’ll just do my regular shopping, continue the quest for a cell phone that will work in the network black hole I live in.
On another topic, I have been observing people in my village and despite living here for a couple months, I still feel out of place. I think it is the clothes I wear, but I am too lazy to go to Town and buy a more modest outfit. I am sticking to my knee length skirts, scandalously short sleeves, and uncovered hair. But in case anyone wants to visit, and fit in, I thought I would give you a quick lesson on how to dress to fit into my town. Ladies: First, put on a pretty dress. Something bright, colorful, and fun. Like neon pink. Make sure the dress goes all the way to your feet, for modesty’s sake. Then take another dress, this one must be a muted, un-fun color. Like brown, or black. Make sure this dress is long sleeved and also goes to your feet, again for modesty. Put this dress on over the first dress. Now take a scarf and wrap it tightly around your head to cover your hair. Now take another scarf, make this one brightly colored and throw it jauntily around your head like the fashionista you are. Now you are fit to go anywhere, whether it’s the bore hole to fetch water, or to church. Now men, yours is more complicated so pay attention: Go to your closet. Pick anything. Put it on. Voila! Whether its dirty or clean, ugly burmuda shorts or a suit, a well put together outfit or (more commonly) a random organizational disaster, you’ll fit in.
Speaking of clothes, for those of you who donate clothes to Goodwill and wonder “who will ever want this faded high school football team t-shirt?” I have wonderful news for you. It somehow arrives here in Africa. Never fear that your favorite local business t-shirt that you got for free when they opened is at the end of its life. Donate it to Goodwill, and it will be reborn to a local man who will put a suit jacket over it and wear it to church. Last week, I saw a Washington Mutual T-shirt. A month ago there was a bright orange State Penitentiary shirt. And I could play sports team bingo with the number of logo hats there are in my town. This place is the afterlife for clothes. The secretary at my school has a favorite outfit she loves to wear. It is a shiny, maroon, mermaid-style, poofy shouldered, prom dress from someones past. Its great and she wears it twice a week. I should have brought my old prom dress, I would fit in perfectly if I wore that, under a black dress of course.
I know I have been talking about clothes up to this point, but I am going to completely change the topic because I just realized what the ‘meat’ I have been eating for lunch for 6 weeks reminds me of. I think it is cow stomach. Its either that or octopus. I can see its little sucker feet! I am not very familiar with identification of cow anatomy, so if someone knows what part of the animal has small circular structures that look like octopus suckers, please let me know. I am going to stop staring at it and just eat it anyway, cause it’s the only meat I get. And don’t worry, it actually is delicious if you don’t chew it and chase it with rice. We have a really good cook at my school. I don’t think I could turn unidentifiable chunks of cow into something an American would call edible, let alone delicious.
Alright, I have grossed you out enough for one day. I am going to go post this and then see what is going on in the rest of the world. And by that I mean I’ll be checking Facebook.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
I love being white and super ric h
We Americans are very lucky; it is pretty cool how every one of us has glowing ivory skin and pockets full of cash. Well, that’s what America means to a Kenyan. Lately I have been wishing for only one thing: to not be white. I am getting really tired of people asking me for money. I have started to not be polite when they ask. I know that I have white skin, and most white-skinned people who come here are wealthy, and they are apparently very generous to every person they meet. But I have no money and even though I have never had biscuits or pens or 5 shillings or sweets or tuition money since I got here, I still get asked every single day. I want to say, “You know me, we are neighbors, you know I don’t have spare shillingis”. Kenyans do not use the word “please” like we do in America. It is not considered rude to say, “Give me money” even though it drives me bananas. When little kids say it, I tell them “Hapana, mimi si banki, mimi ni mwalimu” (No, I am not a bank, I am a teacher) or I just tell them, “tabia mbaya” (bad manners). When adults ask me, they do it without preamble. The other day I had a conversation with a neighbor that went like this:
Me: Habari Yako? (How are you?)
Him: Ninahitaji shillingi mia moja tu. (I only need a hundred shillings)
Me: Sema tena? (Say again?)
Him: Nipa shilling mia moja. (Give me a hundred shillings)
Me: (pause)… Nina hakuna pesa, pole. (I have no money, sorry)
Couldn’t he even say hello first?
On Monday, I taught the form ones for the first time. At the end of class, one girl came up to me and said she wanted to ask me something but was afraid of me so she wrote me a letter. The letter was her life story; she has 6 brothers and sisters, her father had died, her mother had to make illegal home brewed alcohol and charcoal just to feed the family. She was the only one in her family going to school, and she would have to drop out because she had no money for tuition. Could I please pay for her schooling? This one is harder to deal with because I feel bad, even if her story sounds too awful to be true, I want to help her. But again, I do not have money. And even if I was wealthy, after all, I do have more money than they do, I still could not help everyone. When I told her no, I felt like I kicked a puppy. So I told her I would look to see if she could get a sponsor. I don’t know why I said that, I don’t know how to find a sponsor. I know that one or two girls here have them, rich couples in America who fund their education, and now I have to try to find one for this girl.
When I am generous, I feel like the students are ungrateful. This is probably my American sense of manners influencing my perception again. I was doing Review Jeopardy for my physics class and I brought a bag of Hershey Kisses. It was the last of my Christmas candy from America, and I felt very magnanimous for giving it up to the girls. As soon as I handed it out, there were maybe 3 or four pieces left, the girls started fighting over it. “Give it to me!” “No, just for me”. I told them I did not have enough for the whole class so I was going to give it to the teachers. They said okay, but then a crowd followed me out of the class begging me for more. Not one person said thank you. And for the rest of the week, students keep approaching me asking for more. “You bring for me tomorrow” It makes me not want to give them things, even though I know they deserve it.
I wrote the paragraphs above earlier today while I was at school, I was frustrated that this kid who I see every day asked me for biscuits, again. I wanted to slap him; and when I told him no, he ran away mumbling something under his breath, that in my mind, was “Screw you, Lady”. But then on my way home from school, I passed the Kubibagasa bore hole again, and it hit me how bad the drought was getting. The past few days have been hotter than…well, it’s hot. The people here are suffering because the bore hole is drying up. The herders bring their animals to the bore hole, and wait from morning to night for the water to come, and when it does, it is too little to water all the animals there. Yesterday, a cow died at the bore hole, and they ‘processed’ it right there. I gave an upbeat “Habari!” to the guy holding a machete in one hand, and a cow leg it the other. The women and girls with their 20 liter buckets on their backs walk for hours in the sun to get here, and then they wait all day for water that is probably not going to come. The road home is crowded these days, yesterday I waded through a herd of 200 goats, because there is little food and no water in the desert so they are just migrating. The men, who normally only have guns at night, carry their huge weapons during the day now to protect their few animals from being stolen. Yesterday, an old man died in my village. My village is very, very small, so this was a big deal. Someone told me he died of an illness, but they think it was caused by malnutrition. Without water, there is no milk from the camels or goats; that is their main source of food. And the elderly cannot eat githeri, their other staple food, a tough mix of maize kernels and beans that hurts your jaw to eat. So the man got sick and died, and the drought is just going to get worse. The rains are not supposed to come until April. I am pretty good with heat, I like the desert, but even I have been complaining. I am drinking almost 15 liters of water a week, and I am sweating most of it out. I am so exhausted by the walk home, and I am thinking I can no longer do it while the sun is high, I’ll have to wait until after 6 pm.
Now I feel guilty for complaining about people asking me for things. If I had a starving family at home, I would beg rich people every day. It makes me wish that I was actually wealthy. It has gotten to the point where I do not want to drink out of my water bottle while walking to school because I know every person I pass would love to have my liter of water. So if you are rich, and you do come to Africa, please do not give candy and money to children. It turns them into money- grubbing little monsters. But if you are rich, please give to charity, or churches, or become a sponsor, or come here and volunteer.
See what I did there? I relieved my guilt and turned the tables around. Instead of people asking me for money, I am asking you for them. See how that worked out?
And now after that depressing note, I’ll leave you with something positive. I saw a couple dik-diks on my way to school yesterday. (Google it) They are Adorable with a capital A. And so are baby pundas (donkeys), and baby goats. Baby goats are so tiny! I just want to grab one and make a run for it, but the guys with the big guns would probably object. My neighbors got a tiny baby goat a few days ago and I think they are keeping it in their sitting room, I can hear it bleating to its mommy through my wall right now. There, now I ended the blog by talking about baby animals. Don’t you feel better?
Me: Habari Yako? (How are you?)
Him: Ninahitaji shillingi mia moja tu. (I only need a hundred shillings)
Me: Sema tena? (Say again?)
Him: Nipa shilling mia moja. (Give me a hundred shillings)
Me: (pause)… Nina hakuna pesa, pole. (I have no money, sorry)
Couldn’t he even say hello first?
On Monday, I taught the form ones for the first time. At the end of class, one girl came up to me and said she wanted to ask me something but was afraid of me so she wrote me a letter. The letter was her life story; she has 6 brothers and sisters, her father had died, her mother had to make illegal home brewed alcohol and charcoal just to feed the family. She was the only one in her family going to school, and she would have to drop out because she had no money for tuition. Could I please pay for her schooling? This one is harder to deal with because I feel bad, even if her story sounds too awful to be true, I want to help her. But again, I do not have money. And even if I was wealthy, after all, I do have more money than they do, I still could not help everyone. When I told her no, I felt like I kicked a puppy. So I told her I would look to see if she could get a sponsor. I don’t know why I said that, I don’t know how to find a sponsor. I know that one or two girls here have them, rich couples in America who fund their education, and now I have to try to find one for this girl.
When I am generous, I feel like the students are ungrateful. This is probably my American sense of manners influencing my perception again. I was doing Review Jeopardy for my physics class and I brought a bag of Hershey Kisses. It was the last of my Christmas candy from America, and I felt very magnanimous for giving it up to the girls. As soon as I handed it out, there were maybe 3 or four pieces left, the girls started fighting over it. “Give it to me!” “No, just for me”. I told them I did not have enough for the whole class so I was going to give it to the teachers. They said okay, but then a crowd followed me out of the class begging me for more. Not one person said thank you. And for the rest of the week, students keep approaching me asking for more. “You bring for me tomorrow” It makes me not want to give them things, even though I know they deserve it.
I wrote the paragraphs above earlier today while I was at school, I was frustrated that this kid who I see every day asked me for biscuits, again. I wanted to slap him; and when I told him no, he ran away mumbling something under his breath, that in my mind, was “Screw you, Lady”. But then on my way home from school, I passed the Kubibagasa bore hole again, and it hit me how bad the drought was getting. The past few days have been hotter than…well, it’s hot. The people here are suffering because the bore hole is drying up. The herders bring their animals to the bore hole, and wait from morning to night for the water to come, and when it does, it is too little to water all the animals there. Yesterday, a cow died at the bore hole, and they ‘processed’ it right there. I gave an upbeat “Habari!” to the guy holding a machete in one hand, and a cow leg it the other. The women and girls with their 20 liter buckets on their backs walk for hours in the sun to get here, and then they wait all day for water that is probably not going to come. The road home is crowded these days, yesterday I waded through a herd of 200 goats, because there is little food and no water in the desert so they are just migrating. The men, who normally only have guns at night, carry their huge weapons during the day now to protect their few animals from being stolen. Yesterday, an old man died in my village. My village is very, very small, so this was a big deal. Someone told me he died of an illness, but they think it was caused by malnutrition. Without water, there is no milk from the camels or goats; that is their main source of food. And the elderly cannot eat githeri, their other staple food, a tough mix of maize kernels and beans that hurts your jaw to eat. So the man got sick and died, and the drought is just going to get worse. The rains are not supposed to come until April. I am pretty good with heat, I like the desert, but even I have been complaining. I am drinking almost 15 liters of water a week, and I am sweating most of it out. I am so exhausted by the walk home, and I am thinking I can no longer do it while the sun is high, I’ll have to wait until after 6 pm.
Now I feel guilty for complaining about people asking me for things. If I had a starving family at home, I would beg rich people every day. It makes me wish that I was actually wealthy. It has gotten to the point where I do not want to drink out of my water bottle while walking to school because I know every person I pass would love to have my liter of water. So if you are rich, and you do come to Africa, please do not give candy and money to children. It turns them into money- grubbing little monsters. But if you are rich, please give to charity, or churches, or become a sponsor, or come here and volunteer.
See what I did there? I relieved my guilt and turned the tables around. Instead of people asking me for money, I am asking you for them. See how that worked out?
And now after that depressing note, I’ll leave you with something positive. I saw a couple dik-diks on my way to school yesterday. (Google it) They are Adorable with a capital A. And so are baby pundas (donkeys), and baby goats. Baby goats are so tiny! I just want to grab one and make a run for it, but the guys with the big guns would probably object. My neighbors got a tiny baby goat a few days ago and I think they are keeping it in their sitting room, I can hear it bleating to its mommy through my wall right now. There, now I ended the blog by talking about baby animals. Don’t you feel better?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Life Skills
I am starting to get a handle on this whole teaching thing. I won’t say I am a good teacher, there are many days when I am pretty darn crappy. I just do not know high school physics well enough to make it very interesting. But the students really love having me as a teacher and that makes me feel better after each lame lesson. The students beg me to stay after class and continue teaching, or to come during their breaks and teach. When I left the Form Four classroom the first time, they all burst into excited laughter. The Form Three girls gave me a round of applause, I did not know why and I made them stop, and the Form Twos always call me back as I am walking away, “Madame Ryan! Madame Ryan!” and when I turn around, “We Love you!!”
This week, I started teaching Life Skills and I am already feeling out of my league. I had it in my mind to be a fun, interactive class where the students could trust me and we could talk about issues that relate to them. I have only taught one class to each form and already it is a much bigger job than I anticipated. I feel like I need a degree in psychology to handle some of the questions the girls ask. I let them run the class the first day; they could ask me any question they wanted. This was a bad idea because I incorrectly assumed they would ask me about boyfriends, schoolwork, and friendship. They did ask me those questions but also added so much that I was unprepared to handle. It is like they have been saving up a lifetime of questions and only now are given a chance to ask.
We discussed abortion, racism, poverty, friendship, fear, self esteem, sex, why some people are shy and others are not, when they should get married, and many other topics in the short 40 minute period. Two of the classes even convinced me to sing “Stop in the Name of Love” in an acapella solo (it wasn’t pretty). When we spoke about whether it was appropriate for a secondary school girl to have a boyfriend or lover, one student asked what a person should do if she is in love with someone who treated her badly. I got the impression she was in a bad relationship but how can I advise her in a group of 30 other students? I tried to give her advice and get some information about the problem but she kept saying “But what if you love him?”, as if the love negated her need to take care of herself.
My form 2 students told me they are failing all their classes because they do not understand when the teachers speak English, it is their 3rd language. Out of the 130 students, there is only one girl with a B-, there are a few Cs, but nearly all the students are at D or below. The students are afraid of the teachers, they might get caned if they speak up. The teachers are convinced the students are “not serious” and lazy, and they do cane them.
My form 3 class asked me about homosexuality; they all agree that, as a sin, it is up there with incest. They are all very religious and I do not want to imply that the Bible or Quran is wrong, but I have to tell them how I feel about the issue and it is a direct contradiction to what they learn in their religion classes. And when my form 4 girls asked if I had been circumcised, every one of them has been, I could not stop my shudder. I did not know how to explain my opinion on female circumcision in a culturally sensitive manner with no preparation in the 5 remaining minutes of class. They live in a completely different world; I am not qualified to tell them how they should live but I have to say something and all I have is my American knowledge and opinions. I can only be honest with them but it makes me nervous to be molding these girls. I know that they trust me but I cannot give both sides of the issues and I think they really should have that.
As we were finishing up class, another girl asked me which I would become: a wife or a sister (nun). It is hard to comprehend that they see those as the only two options. I think they are trying to see the other choices. I left class with my mind full. I learned more about their culture, knowledge, society, expectations, and experiences than I ever expected. Just with the one introductory day, I have a whole years worth of topics to discuss. I talked with the deputy principal and the other teacher in charge of guidance and counseling about the girls’ need for a mentor. Next week, we are going to split the girls into small groups that will meet with a teacher every day. Hopefully, the girls will open up more and be able to talk about these issues. I also need to do some classes about sexual health. The students know almost nothing about their bodies and they really need to know that you cannot cure STD’s by washing with cold water.
This week, I started teaching Life Skills and I am already feeling out of my league. I had it in my mind to be a fun, interactive class where the students could trust me and we could talk about issues that relate to them. I have only taught one class to each form and already it is a much bigger job than I anticipated. I feel like I need a degree in psychology to handle some of the questions the girls ask. I let them run the class the first day; they could ask me any question they wanted. This was a bad idea because I incorrectly assumed they would ask me about boyfriends, schoolwork, and friendship. They did ask me those questions but also added so much that I was unprepared to handle. It is like they have been saving up a lifetime of questions and only now are given a chance to ask.
We discussed abortion, racism, poverty, friendship, fear, self esteem, sex, why some people are shy and others are not, when they should get married, and many other topics in the short 40 minute period. Two of the classes even convinced me to sing “Stop in the Name of Love” in an acapella solo (it wasn’t pretty). When we spoke about whether it was appropriate for a secondary school girl to have a boyfriend or lover, one student asked what a person should do if she is in love with someone who treated her badly. I got the impression she was in a bad relationship but how can I advise her in a group of 30 other students? I tried to give her advice and get some information about the problem but she kept saying “But what if you love him?”, as if the love negated her need to take care of herself.
My form 2 students told me they are failing all their classes because they do not understand when the teachers speak English, it is their 3rd language. Out of the 130 students, there is only one girl with a B-, there are a few Cs, but nearly all the students are at D or below. The students are afraid of the teachers, they might get caned if they speak up. The teachers are convinced the students are “not serious” and lazy, and they do cane them.
My form 3 class asked me about homosexuality; they all agree that, as a sin, it is up there with incest. They are all very religious and I do not want to imply that the Bible or Quran is wrong, but I have to tell them how I feel about the issue and it is a direct contradiction to what they learn in their religion classes. And when my form 4 girls asked if I had been circumcised, every one of them has been, I could not stop my shudder. I did not know how to explain my opinion on female circumcision in a culturally sensitive manner with no preparation in the 5 remaining minutes of class. They live in a completely different world; I am not qualified to tell them how they should live but I have to say something and all I have is my American knowledge and opinions. I can only be honest with them but it makes me nervous to be molding these girls. I know that they trust me but I cannot give both sides of the issues and I think they really should have that.
As we were finishing up class, another girl asked me which I would become: a wife or a sister (nun). It is hard to comprehend that they see those as the only two options. I think they are trying to see the other choices. I left class with my mind full. I learned more about their culture, knowledge, society, expectations, and experiences than I ever expected. Just with the one introductory day, I have a whole years worth of topics to discuss. I talked with the deputy principal and the other teacher in charge of guidance and counseling about the girls’ need for a mentor. Next week, we are going to split the girls into small groups that will meet with a teacher every day. Hopefully, the girls will open up more and be able to talk about these issues. I also need to do some classes about sexual health. The students know almost nothing about their bodies and they really need to know that you cannot cure STD’s by washing with cold water.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Bartut Olle/ Habari Yako / How are you?
My New Home
Hi everyone! I have been very lax in my blogging, though this is not my fault. Turns out, my village is in the middle of nowhere (I know, shocking) and so I do not get cell phone or internet service there. This is the first time I have had internet since December. I found a parish in Marsabit town that has free wireless internet. So this blog entry is very long. I have actually been writing it since Christmas and just kept adding on to it. I hope it will catch you up on the happenings here in Kenya.
When I last wrote, Ana and I were stuck in Nairobi with plans to go to the medical officer’s house for Christmas. Ana’s supervisor, however, wanted to get home and Ana had to go with him and I was not going to stay in Nairobi by myself. So at 5 am on Christmas Eve we went downtown and found a cramped matatu to take us to Rongo, a six hour drive. Matatus, if you recall, are supposed to fit 14 people. This one had 18, plus luggage. This is not the most crowded matatu I have been on, but it was the longest journey. We made no stops but one. Kenyan towns are all drive though service. You pull up and anything you need to buy is thrust in your window. This pit stop was KFC. The guy next to me bought some chickens- live, unhappy chickens. There was no space on the matatu, so they were put under my feet. If I put my feet on the floor, I stepped on one, then he would squawk and everyone would look at me funny. I will never, ever complain about airplane travel again. During the incredibly uncomfortable journey, I saw some of the most beautiful views of the Great Rift Valley. We drove along a one lane road with a high cliff on one side and a drop off into the Valley on the other. It was incredible. And someone puked. This seems to happen a lot on matatus and is always a great smell to have on a cramped vehicle. It’s okay, I only got a little vomit on me. Finally, Ana and I arrived in Rongo. Her supervisor is very kind, and his wife is lovely. They have six children who want to stare at us, play with all our stuff, and generally just not leave us alone. Christmas Eve dinner was prepared by the wife, Ana, and me. The supervisor kept calling me into the living room to ask if the food was ready yet. I wanted to tell him to stop watching TV and come help, but I restrained myself. We ate dinner which was definitely the worst food my poor taste buds have ever encountered. It was greens and ugali made in a way that turned them into a disgusting, smelly, gooey decoction. It was terrible. After dinner, I was depressed and hungry so I went to bed. Ana and I lay on the bottom bunk in the storage room while people kept coming in and out and kids were hiding under the bed, and we licked a melted candy bar off the wrapper and lamented about our situation. Late that night, I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. In Kenya, that is outside. I left the room and went to the door to find it padlocked. I searched all around the house for the key and couldn’t find it. I didn’t know where any other bedrooms were or anything. My anti-malarial medication has a side effect that makes me have to urinate often. And I am unable to ignore it, if I try, I’ll pee my pants. I’m like a four year old. So I am stuck in this house, now I am just looking for something to pee in. Anything will do, a sink, a plant, or a cup. There is nothing. I finally cannot hold it anymore and I pee into a cup I found in the kitchen. There is no window to pour it out, and no other way to get rid of it but to wait till morning. So I go back to bed. An hour later, Ana has the exact same problem, with the exact same solution. We both get up in the morning to empty our cups, she does hers fine. I look for mine, and find it missing. Someone must have found it before I woke up and emptied it. How hilarious and embarrassing is that?
Christmas morning, Ana’s supervisor said he would take us to Sori; it is near to where PCV Brennan lives and where some people were meeting for Christmas. We made it by the afternoon and spent the rest of the day in Karungu Bay with Brennan, Reilly, Karl, and Emily. Brennan lives in a McMansion on a hill overlooking the lake. We cooked spicy hamburgers (the meat was a little green, so we ground it up, spiced the heck out of it, and over-cooked it a bit) with guacamole and pineapple slices. We also had fried potatoes. We ate on the porch, watching the sun go down over the lake. When it was dark, the light show began. We were surrounded by lightening and it was not raining. It was an incredible show that was as good as fireworks. Below the lightening, on the lake, we watched the fishermen take their boats out to catch fish. They put small, floating oil lamps on the water to attract the tiny silversides. There were hundreds of these tiny lights bobbing and floating around the inky, black lake. On our shore, they moved freely and created shapes. Across the lake, on the Ugandan side, the lights all blended together to form a line, like a distant, twinkling city. Above the lightening, it was a clear night. I have never seen so many stars in my life. There were shooting stars, the brightest I have ever seen, streaking across the sky to fall into the lightening. As we sat there, our astronomers, Ana and Emily, pointed out actual constellations (Betelgeuse, Vega, the Andromeda Galaxy), and we made up our own on the lamp-starred lake. We had: “The Chai Ladle”, the “Creepy Smiley Face”, and “The Seahorse”. After the show, we went in the house and turned it into a haunted house. We moved all Brennan's couches (he has, like, 10) into the middle of the room, hung a chair in a doorway, and draped mosquito nets over everything. Then we played hide-and-seek. The goal was to scare the pants off the seeker. The seeker was allowed one wind-up flashlight that had been taped over with duct tape. With the bats in the rafters, the creaking doors, and Karl singing children’s songs in a creepy, little girl’s voice, it was a terrifying game.
After Brennan’s house, I went to Oyugis with Emily and stayed a night in her supervisor’s house. Then I helped her move in. She lives in an even more beautiful place than Brennan. Her town is overgrown with vegetation, it looks like Cambodia. She has rolling green hills sprinkled with thatched roof houses, banana and avocado trees everywhere, and a view of the lake. I stayed with Emily until New Years. We cooked for the first time for ourselves. We made a couple of jiko cakes, and figured out frosting which doubled as chocolate fondue. We made a jiko quiche, which turned into a small volcano –molten on the inside, pumping smoke out of the middle. For New Years, we all went to Kisumu. It was HOT and wonderful. We rode around the city in “tuk-tuks” which are three wheeled vehicles that are driven like jet skis. They are adorable and I love them. We got milkshakes, had really cold drinks, and ate pizza. New Years Eve we spent on the roof of our hotel, overlooking the lake. There were fireworks (which kinda sucked), a DJ (who really sucked), and champagne (which was delicious). There were about 14 PCVs from our training group and a bunch from other groups. I got to see all my friends and it was absolutely wonderful. After New Years, I followed Cindy home. She lives in Sega, near the Ugandan border. To get to her place, we crossed the equator. It was an exciting concept, but less cool in actuality. I was on the made up, wooden seat in the aisle of a matatu, and all I saw was the yellow Equator Ball. Still cool though. Cindy’s house is very small, one room. She does have a dog, which belongs to her neighbors. I loved him and I taught Cindy how to train him. We decorated Cindy’s house by going to Busia (a town straddling the border with Uganda) and buying a ton of crazy-patterned fabric. Then we nailed it, quilt style, to her ceiling. It looks awesome.
Finally, on the 4th, I got a call saying it was time for my vacation to end and I had to go back to Nairobi. In all the traveling I have done over the past few weeks, I have never actually done any by myself. I was a little nervous. But I got up at 7 am on Wednesday, caught a matatu from Sega that took me to Kisumu, only stopping four times to bribe cops. I found a bus in Kisumu to take me to Nairobi; it somehow had an extra person and we had to stop at the police station in some tiny town so cops with big guns could get on and yell at everyone. I saw a herd of 40 zebra! When I arrived in Nairobi I got a little lost; the taxi didn’t even know where I was and could not find me. It was getting dark, and I was getting nervous. Downtown Nairobi by yourself at night is probably the worst possible scenario you can find yourself in. So I found a police officer who found me a taxi, and I made it to my hotel all safe and sound. I ate at a nice Italian restaurant, all by myself, which I have never done before. I was proud of myself for, you know, not dying. Then it was my last day in Nairobi. Friday (Jan 7th), I was on a tiny, baby plane to Marsabit. Because of my terrible luck, I had issues at the airport with my luggage. Unbeknownst to me, there was a 20 kg weight limit. I had brought 40 kgs to Kenya originally and then I bought a ton of stuff. Then PC gave me 80 or so books and manuals during training. Needless to say, I was way, way over 20 kgs. The pilot was nice enough to let me have 31 kgs: one bag. The other three had to be left behind in Nairobi with the hope that they will get sent to me soon. Anyway, I got on this tiny, baby plane that only fit 4 other people and the pilot, my bag was strapped in as an extra person. The propeller was on the nose and the seatbelts were these crazy military-racecar-harness contraptions that had to be buckled by the pilot. The whole plane could fit in your standard two-car garage. We flew out over Nairobi and I immediately spotted an elephant. From the air he looked like a gigantic hippo. The rest of the flight was fairly uneventful, just incredible views of mountains, forests, volcanic craters, huge plateaus, turbulent rivers, tea plantations, and rice paddies. You know, the usual. After two hours, which I spent with my face pressed against the window, we landed at the Marsabit airstrip. I looked pretty scruffy and was wearing my cleanest skirt; it is my inappropriate one that only grazes my knees. I figured I would get in, meet my supervisor, then go to my house and relax. Nope. Remember my bad luck? I was greeted by a welcoming committee of my deputy headmistress, my principal, Curtis, and Curtis’ counterpart. Alright, so that wasn’t so bad. I just wish I was dressed to impress. After hugs all around, they told me I would be staying in town for the night since my house had absolutely no furniture. So the four of them took me to lunch then showed me around town. It is gorgeous and I am already in love. It is huge and has absolutely everything. The people are friendly, it is cool (compared to the western area I have been staying), and there are millions of butterflies floating around. As my principal walked me around bargaining with carpenters to build me a bed for cheap, I was skipping around like a four-year old trying to catch the butterflies. The town is nearly all Muslim. This is why the welcoming committee was bad. I didn’t get to change and so I walked around looking like a prostitute. I did not see one woman who was not covered from tip top of her head to toes. And here I was, already standing out for being mzungu, walking around with a skirt that showed off my entire pasty calves. If that wasn’t bad enough, we kept meeting teachers from my school, students, and members of the Board. I might as well have been naked. Besides the bad first impression, I am actually really looking forward to living in a Muslim area. The mosques are beautiful, the women are beautiful, and the clothes and scarves they wear are beautiful. First payday I am going shopping. Though, I’ll have to hurry up and learn Borana. I do not understand one word of what anybody says. Curtis taught me the greeting and I forgot in, like, an hour.
My house is wonderful and the perfect size for me. I have two bedrooms, a sitting room, and a kitchen. A carpenter made me a beautiful king-sized bed, two stools, a coffee table, a couch, and two chairs. I also bought a gas stove because cooking on a jiko takes an intolerable amount of time and I am lazy. I have electricity, plenty of water, an indoor bathroom (room where you take baths, not a toilet), and private choo. I am very happy to have a choo after staying at Cindy’s house where her flush toilet didn’t even accept toilet paper. My principle, Guyo, and my deputy headmistress, Grace, are wonderful and are taking very good care of me. Besides bargaining for everything for my house, they also paid for most of my dishes and kitchen stuff. Guyo said I could treat him as a father and Grace as a mother. Grace will let me stay with her if I get stressed and Guyo offered me money if I needed it. I have no complaints so far. This place was so worth the wait and the hassle.
From my front porch, I have the most beautiful view of the desert. One of my neighbors described it as “a vast ocean mirage” and that is exactly what it looks like: a grayish, blue ocean extending forever. The Catholic compound is an oasis in the desert. The sisters planted a great garden that has roses, wildflowers, vegetables, and fruit trees from as far away as India. They also have built a hospital clinic where they have disabled children who come and stay. They even have a physical therapy room and a visiting therapist. My neighbors are all very nice and most do not speak English at all. Some do not even speak Kiswahili. My students have taught me the greeting and are determined to teach me how to communicate. Every evening I watch the bats fly out from my rafters and fly out over the desert. At night, I sometimes am woken up to hyenas making a ruckus. Yesterday night, there was a creature on my porch and I do not know what it was. It looked like an anteater/fox mix. (update: I looked it up, it is a “civet”) . My village is tiny, called Dirib. It has one store (okay, a tin shack) that sells Blue Band, Camel’s milk, and almost nothing else. Every day I walk from Dirib, the village my house is in, to my school in Kubibagasa. It is a 3 km walk and takes me about 45 mins. It is a lovely walk through very desert-y looking desert. There is really nothing out there. I follow the road which is really just a wide, dirt path and pass acacia trees, acacia bushes, and rocks. There is an occasional mud and grass hut, and sometimes I meet a herder with his goats or a woman carrying water. They never can speak my language. There is one fork in the road and I asked someone where it led to. She answered, “nowhere”. I insisted that it must go someplace, it was a road. She said that it lead out into the desert where there was absolutely nothing except temporary nomadic shelters. She urged me to never take a wrong turn or I would wander in the desert forever. Wonderful, I thought, as I have such a fantastic sense of direction. On Saturday (the 15th), I had to go to school for Parents Day to show everyone the new white teacher. I was not looking forward to it (no one spoke a language I knew so I sat quietly from dawn till dusk) but then, on my way to school, I saw a camel and her baby in the desert. Camels are big! I was so excited, I almost peed myself. Then on the way home, I passed a whole herd. There were both babies and adults plodding along the road in a line, making that camel-y noise, with the sun setting behind them. It was like a movie. I loved it! Now I am used to things, and I see camels every single day. They look ridiculous when they run. Yesterday, I walked past a whole line of them, and the head guy stopped to lean over and peer in my eyes, drool stringing from his mouth. I reached up to touch him and he yanked his head back in a huff. As I passed the last one, a small baby as tall as I am, I couldn’t resist, and tried to touch his flank. So he kicked me. I guess I learned my lesson. That is all I will mention for now. Thanks for reading and if anyone wants to send me American food, or a book on how to teach circuits (physics) to kids who don’t have electricity, my address is PoBox 117-60500, Marsabit, Kenya. Miss you all!
Hi everyone! I have been very lax in my blogging, though this is not my fault. Turns out, my village is in the middle of nowhere (I know, shocking) and so I do not get cell phone or internet service there. This is the first time I have had internet since December. I found a parish in Marsabit town that has free wireless internet. So this blog entry is very long. I have actually been writing it since Christmas and just kept adding on to it. I hope it will catch you up on the happenings here in Kenya.
When I last wrote, Ana and I were stuck in Nairobi with plans to go to the medical officer’s house for Christmas. Ana’s supervisor, however, wanted to get home and Ana had to go with him and I was not going to stay in Nairobi by myself. So at 5 am on Christmas Eve we went downtown and found a cramped matatu to take us to Rongo, a six hour drive. Matatus, if you recall, are supposed to fit 14 people. This one had 18, plus luggage. This is not the most crowded matatu I have been on, but it was the longest journey. We made no stops but one. Kenyan towns are all drive though service. You pull up and anything you need to buy is thrust in your window. This pit stop was KFC. The guy next to me bought some chickens- live, unhappy chickens. There was no space on the matatu, so they were put under my feet. If I put my feet on the floor, I stepped on one, then he would squawk and everyone would look at me funny. I will never, ever complain about airplane travel again. During the incredibly uncomfortable journey, I saw some of the most beautiful views of the Great Rift Valley. We drove along a one lane road with a high cliff on one side and a drop off into the Valley on the other. It was incredible. And someone puked. This seems to happen a lot on matatus and is always a great smell to have on a cramped vehicle. It’s okay, I only got a little vomit on me. Finally, Ana and I arrived in Rongo. Her supervisor is very kind, and his wife is lovely. They have six children who want to stare at us, play with all our stuff, and generally just not leave us alone. Christmas Eve dinner was prepared by the wife, Ana, and me. The supervisor kept calling me into the living room to ask if the food was ready yet. I wanted to tell him to stop watching TV and come help, but I restrained myself. We ate dinner which was definitely the worst food my poor taste buds have ever encountered. It was greens and ugali made in a way that turned them into a disgusting, smelly, gooey decoction. It was terrible. After dinner, I was depressed and hungry so I went to bed. Ana and I lay on the bottom bunk in the storage room while people kept coming in and out and kids were hiding under the bed, and we licked a melted candy bar off the wrapper and lamented about our situation. Late that night, I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. In Kenya, that is outside. I left the room and went to the door to find it padlocked. I searched all around the house for the key and couldn’t find it. I didn’t know where any other bedrooms were or anything. My anti-malarial medication has a side effect that makes me have to urinate often. And I am unable to ignore it, if I try, I’ll pee my pants. I’m like a four year old. So I am stuck in this house, now I am just looking for something to pee in. Anything will do, a sink, a plant, or a cup. There is nothing. I finally cannot hold it anymore and I pee into a cup I found in the kitchen. There is no window to pour it out, and no other way to get rid of it but to wait till morning. So I go back to bed. An hour later, Ana has the exact same problem, with the exact same solution. We both get up in the morning to empty our cups, she does hers fine. I look for mine, and find it missing. Someone must have found it before I woke up and emptied it. How hilarious and embarrassing is that?
Christmas morning, Ana’s supervisor said he would take us to Sori; it is near to where PCV Brennan lives and where some people were meeting for Christmas. We made it by the afternoon and spent the rest of the day in Karungu Bay with Brennan, Reilly, Karl, and Emily. Brennan lives in a McMansion on a hill overlooking the lake. We cooked spicy hamburgers (the meat was a little green, so we ground it up, spiced the heck out of it, and over-cooked it a bit) with guacamole and pineapple slices. We also had fried potatoes. We ate on the porch, watching the sun go down over the lake. When it was dark, the light show began. We were surrounded by lightening and it was not raining. It was an incredible show that was as good as fireworks. Below the lightening, on the lake, we watched the fishermen take their boats out to catch fish. They put small, floating oil lamps on the water to attract the tiny silversides. There were hundreds of these tiny lights bobbing and floating around the inky, black lake. On our shore, they moved freely and created shapes. Across the lake, on the Ugandan side, the lights all blended together to form a line, like a distant, twinkling city. Above the lightening, it was a clear night. I have never seen so many stars in my life. There were shooting stars, the brightest I have ever seen, streaking across the sky to fall into the lightening. As we sat there, our astronomers, Ana and Emily, pointed out actual constellations (Betelgeuse, Vega, the Andromeda Galaxy), and we made up our own on the lamp-starred lake. We had: “The Chai Ladle”, the “Creepy Smiley Face”, and “The Seahorse”. After the show, we went in the house and turned it into a haunted house. We moved all Brennan's couches (he has, like, 10) into the middle of the room, hung a chair in a doorway, and draped mosquito nets over everything. Then we played hide-and-seek. The goal was to scare the pants off the seeker. The seeker was allowed one wind-up flashlight that had been taped over with duct tape. With the bats in the rafters, the creaking doors, and Karl singing children’s songs in a creepy, little girl’s voice, it was a terrifying game.
After Brennan’s house, I went to Oyugis with Emily and stayed a night in her supervisor’s house. Then I helped her move in. She lives in an even more beautiful place than Brennan. Her town is overgrown with vegetation, it looks like Cambodia. She has rolling green hills sprinkled with thatched roof houses, banana and avocado trees everywhere, and a view of the lake. I stayed with Emily until New Years. We cooked for the first time for ourselves. We made a couple of jiko cakes, and figured out frosting which doubled as chocolate fondue. We made a jiko quiche, which turned into a small volcano –molten on the inside, pumping smoke out of the middle. For New Years, we all went to Kisumu. It was HOT and wonderful. We rode around the city in “tuk-tuks” which are three wheeled vehicles that are driven like jet skis. They are adorable and I love them. We got milkshakes, had really cold drinks, and ate pizza. New Years Eve we spent on the roof of our hotel, overlooking the lake. There were fireworks (which kinda sucked), a DJ (who really sucked), and champagne (which was delicious). There were about 14 PCVs from our training group and a bunch from other groups. I got to see all my friends and it was absolutely wonderful. After New Years, I followed Cindy home. She lives in Sega, near the Ugandan border. To get to her place, we crossed the equator. It was an exciting concept, but less cool in actuality. I was on the made up, wooden seat in the aisle of a matatu, and all I saw was the yellow Equator Ball. Still cool though. Cindy’s house is very small, one room. She does have a dog, which belongs to her neighbors. I loved him and I taught Cindy how to train him. We decorated Cindy’s house by going to Busia (a town straddling the border with Uganda) and buying a ton of crazy-patterned fabric. Then we nailed it, quilt style, to her ceiling. It looks awesome.
Finally, on the 4th, I got a call saying it was time for my vacation to end and I had to go back to Nairobi. In all the traveling I have done over the past few weeks, I have never actually done any by myself. I was a little nervous. But I got up at 7 am on Wednesday, caught a matatu from Sega that took me to Kisumu, only stopping four times to bribe cops. I found a bus in Kisumu to take me to Nairobi; it somehow had an extra person and we had to stop at the police station in some tiny town so cops with big guns could get on and yell at everyone. I saw a herd of 40 zebra! When I arrived in Nairobi I got a little lost; the taxi didn’t even know where I was and could not find me. It was getting dark, and I was getting nervous. Downtown Nairobi by yourself at night is probably the worst possible scenario you can find yourself in. So I found a police officer who found me a taxi, and I made it to my hotel all safe and sound. I ate at a nice Italian restaurant, all by myself, which I have never done before. I was proud of myself for, you know, not dying. Then it was my last day in Nairobi. Friday (Jan 7th), I was on a tiny, baby plane to Marsabit. Because of my terrible luck, I had issues at the airport with my luggage. Unbeknownst to me, there was a 20 kg weight limit. I had brought 40 kgs to Kenya originally and then I bought a ton of stuff. Then PC gave me 80 or so books and manuals during training. Needless to say, I was way, way over 20 kgs. The pilot was nice enough to let me have 31 kgs: one bag. The other three had to be left behind in Nairobi with the hope that they will get sent to me soon. Anyway, I got on this tiny, baby plane that only fit 4 other people and the pilot, my bag was strapped in as an extra person. The propeller was on the nose and the seatbelts were these crazy military-racecar-harness contraptions that had to be buckled by the pilot. The whole plane could fit in your standard two-car garage. We flew out over Nairobi and I immediately spotted an elephant. From the air he looked like a gigantic hippo. The rest of the flight was fairly uneventful, just incredible views of mountains, forests, volcanic craters, huge plateaus, turbulent rivers, tea plantations, and rice paddies. You know, the usual. After two hours, which I spent with my face pressed against the window, we landed at the Marsabit airstrip. I looked pretty scruffy and was wearing my cleanest skirt; it is my inappropriate one that only grazes my knees. I figured I would get in, meet my supervisor, then go to my house and relax. Nope. Remember my bad luck? I was greeted by a welcoming committee of my deputy headmistress, my principal, Curtis, and Curtis’ counterpart. Alright, so that wasn’t so bad. I just wish I was dressed to impress. After hugs all around, they told me I would be staying in town for the night since my house had absolutely no furniture. So the four of them took me to lunch then showed me around town. It is gorgeous and I am already in love. It is huge and has absolutely everything. The people are friendly, it is cool (compared to the western area I have been staying), and there are millions of butterflies floating around. As my principal walked me around bargaining with carpenters to build me a bed for cheap, I was skipping around like a four-year old trying to catch the butterflies. The town is nearly all Muslim. This is why the welcoming committee was bad. I didn’t get to change and so I walked around looking like a prostitute. I did not see one woman who was not covered from tip top of her head to toes. And here I was, already standing out for being mzungu, walking around with a skirt that showed off my entire pasty calves. If that wasn’t bad enough, we kept meeting teachers from my school, students, and members of the Board. I might as well have been naked. Besides the bad first impression, I am actually really looking forward to living in a Muslim area. The mosques are beautiful, the women are beautiful, and the clothes and scarves they wear are beautiful. First payday I am going shopping. Though, I’ll have to hurry up and learn Borana. I do not understand one word of what anybody says. Curtis taught me the greeting and I forgot in, like, an hour.
My house is wonderful and the perfect size for me. I have two bedrooms, a sitting room, and a kitchen. A carpenter made me a beautiful king-sized bed, two stools, a coffee table, a couch, and two chairs. I also bought a gas stove because cooking on a jiko takes an intolerable amount of time and I am lazy. I have electricity, plenty of water, an indoor bathroom (room where you take baths, not a toilet), and private choo. I am very happy to have a choo after staying at Cindy’s house where her flush toilet didn’t even accept toilet paper. My principle, Guyo, and my deputy headmistress, Grace, are wonderful and are taking very good care of me. Besides bargaining for everything for my house, they also paid for most of my dishes and kitchen stuff. Guyo said I could treat him as a father and Grace as a mother. Grace will let me stay with her if I get stressed and Guyo offered me money if I needed it. I have no complaints so far. This place was so worth the wait and the hassle.
From my front porch, I have the most beautiful view of the desert. One of my neighbors described it as “a vast ocean mirage” and that is exactly what it looks like: a grayish, blue ocean extending forever. The Catholic compound is an oasis in the desert. The sisters planted a great garden that has roses, wildflowers, vegetables, and fruit trees from as far away as India. They also have built a hospital clinic where they have disabled children who come and stay. They even have a physical therapy room and a visiting therapist. My neighbors are all very nice and most do not speak English at all. Some do not even speak Kiswahili. My students have taught me the greeting and are determined to teach me how to communicate. Every evening I watch the bats fly out from my rafters and fly out over the desert. At night, I sometimes am woken up to hyenas making a ruckus. Yesterday night, there was a creature on my porch and I do not know what it was. It looked like an anteater/fox mix. (update: I looked it up, it is a “civet”) . My village is tiny, called Dirib. It has one store (okay, a tin shack) that sells Blue Band, Camel’s milk, and almost nothing else. Every day I walk from Dirib, the village my house is in, to my school in Kubibagasa. It is a 3 km walk and takes me about 45 mins. It is a lovely walk through very desert-y looking desert. There is really nothing out there. I follow the road which is really just a wide, dirt path and pass acacia trees, acacia bushes, and rocks. There is an occasional mud and grass hut, and sometimes I meet a herder with his goats or a woman carrying water. They never can speak my language. There is one fork in the road and I asked someone where it led to. She answered, “nowhere”. I insisted that it must go someplace, it was a road. She said that it lead out into the desert where there was absolutely nothing except temporary nomadic shelters. She urged me to never take a wrong turn or I would wander in the desert forever. Wonderful, I thought, as I have such a fantastic sense of direction. On Saturday (the 15th), I had to go to school for Parents Day to show everyone the new white teacher. I was not looking forward to it (no one spoke a language I knew so I sat quietly from dawn till dusk) but then, on my way to school, I saw a camel and her baby in the desert. Camels are big! I was so excited, I almost peed myself. Then on the way home, I passed a whole herd. There were both babies and adults plodding along the road in a line, making that camel-y noise, with the sun setting behind them. It was like a movie. I loved it! Now I am used to things, and I see camels every single day. They look ridiculous when they run. Yesterday, I walked past a whole line of them, and the head guy stopped to lean over and peer in my eyes, drool stringing from his mouth. I reached up to touch him and he yanked his head back in a huff. As I passed the last one, a small baby as tall as I am, I couldn’t resist, and tried to touch his flank. So he kicked me. I guess I learned my lesson. That is all I will mention for now. Thanks for reading and if anyone wants to send me American food, or a book on how to teach circuits (physics) to kids who don’t have electricity, my address is PoBox 117-60500, Marsabit, Kenya. Miss you all!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Kenya and Alcohol: The remarkable success story of Senator Keg
Interesting blog post on Kenya and Alcohol by Rob Macaire, the British High Commisioner to Kenya.
http://blogs.fco.gov.uk/roller/macaire/entry/kenya_and_alcohol_the_remarkable#
http://blogs.fco.gov.uk/roller/macaire/entry/kenya_and_alcohol_the_remarkable#
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sargent Shriver's legacy: the Peace Corps
It was John F. Kennedy who 50 years ago urged the nation "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." But it was Sargent Shriver, his tireless brother-in-law, who put the thought into practice.
Shriver died this week at 95, one of the last of the Camelot clan. But his legacy is more than membership in a political dynasty. It's the Peace Corps, which has sent 200,000-plus Americans of all ages overseas to test their beliefs and share backgrounds with other nations in need of teaching and training.
Shriver almost lived long enough to take part in the 50th anniversary of the Peace Corps coming in March. He was its founder and the guiding light who designed an entirely new foreign policy initiative.
The plan took shape in a post-midnight campaign stop at the University of Michigan, where candidate Kennedy challenged a small audience of students to consider taking their talents overseas to help poor countries. He firmed up the brainstorm thought and gave it the name Peace Corps in a later speech in San Francisco. A catchy idea was born, but there was no blueprint on how to make it work, a sign that the endeavor might be only a campaign gimmick.
When Kennedy won office, he picked Shriver, a campaign insider married to his sister, to road test the sketchy idea. As Shriver recalled it, "Everyone in Washington seemed to think that the Peace Corps was going to be the biggest fiasco in history, and it would be much easier to fire a relative than a friend."
But the new director become a true believer and turned the idea into a success, one of the most lasting of the gilded Kennedy era. His enthusiasm and drive gave the new program the spark it needed to survive, even though early recruits and target-country staffers received only bare-bones training. Shriver spent weeks in the world's backcountry, cheering up volunteers and urging them on.
Both then and now, Africa remains the top destination. But, as an example of the program's evolving character, the focus has grown from teaching English to include AIDS/HIV work in the continent most afflicted with the epidemic.
The Peace Corps survived the Vietnam era, the Cold War and independence movements in host countries that often saw Washington as an enemy. It covers only basic living expenses and discourages both staff and volunteers from making a career in the organization, a tone set by Shriver who disliked bureaucracies.
Its informal slogan - low pay, lousy conditions, brutal weather - left no mystery about the nature of the job. But the plain message of public service on a worldwide stage took hold and never faded. Most Peace Corps veterans regard their time as the most memorable experience in their lives. They stay in touch with each other and remain immersed in public service.
The organization has served the nation in other ways, providing a nonmilitary foreign policy option. It's remained an integral part of "soft power," a benign form of aid and development that spreads American idealism in personal terms. The result is a political rarity: across-the-aisle support for the Peace Corps and its yearly budget of $400 million. A columnist for the conservative National Review's online publication this week suggested the liberal-authored institution be nominated for the next Nobel Peace Prize.
Monumental as it is, the Peace Corps wasn't Shriver's only feat. After the Kennedy years, he went on to launch Head Start, Legal Services for the Poor and VISTA, a home-grown version of the Peace Corps. He served as ambassador to France and helped his wife Eunice found the Special Olympics for developmentally disabled athletes. Among his few setbacks was a run as vice president with George McGovern on the Democratic ticket in 1972 and a later run on his own as a presidential contender. Both ended in sharp defeat. Shriver was a man who couldn't resist public service or devising new ways to channel his restless volunteer spirit.
Though he faded from public view over the last decade due to his advanced age and the onset of Alzheimer's disease, his message is still as fresh and timeless. In a culture soaked in celebrity and material success, the idea of public service and humble personal action should have a role, too. That was the message of the Peace Corps back then, and it remains true today, a half century later.
Countries served: 139
Gender of volunteers: 60 percent female, 40 percent male
Average age: 28
Volunteers over 50: 7 percent
Marital status: 93 percent single
Pay: Living allowance; $7,425 payment upon returning home
Term: 27 months
Main activities: Education, 37 percent; health and AIDS, 22 percent; business development, 14 percent
Largest service areas: Africa, 37 percent; Latin America, 24 percent; Eastern Europe/Central Asia, 21 percent
Source: Peacecorps.gov
Shriver died this week at 95, one of the last of the Camelot clan. But his legacy is more than membership in a political dynasty. It's the Peace Corps, which has sent 200,000-plus Americans of all ages overseas to test their beliefs and share backgrounds with other nations in need of teaching and training.
Shriver almost lived long enough to take part in the 50th anniversary of the Peace Corps coming in March. He was its founder and the guiding light who designed an entirely new foreign policy initiative.
The plan took shape in a post-midnight campaign stop at the University of Michigan, where candidate Kennedy challenged a small audience of students to consider taking their talents overseas to help poor countries. He firmed up the brainstorm thought and gave it the name Peace Corps in a later speech in San Francisco. A catchy idea was born, but there was no blueprint on how to make it work, a sign that the endeavor might be only a campaign gimmick.
When Kennedy won office, he picked Shriver, a campaign insider married to his sister, to road test the sketchy idea. As Shriver recalled it, "Everyone in Washington seemed to think that the Peace Corps was going to be the biggest fiasco in history, and it would be much easier to fire a relative than a friend."
But the new director become a true believer and turned the idea into a success, one of the most lasting of the gilded Kennedy era. His enthusiasm and drive gave the new program the spark it needed to survive, even though early recruits and target-country staffers received only bare-bones training. Shriver spent weeks in the world's backcountry, cheering up volunteers and urging them on.
Both then and now, Africa remains the top destination. But, as an example of the program's evolving character, the focus has grown from teaching English to include AIDS/HIV work in the continent most afflicted with the epidemic.
The Peace Corps survived the Vietnam era, the Cold War and independence movements in host countries that often saw Washington as an enemy. It covers only basic living expenses and discourages both staff and volunteers from making a career in the organization, a tone set by Shriver who disliked bureaucracies.
Its informal slogan - low pay, lousy conditions, brutal weather - left no mystery about the nature of the job. But the plain message of public service on a worldwide stage took hold and never faded. Most Peace Corps veterans regard their time as the most memorable experience in their lives. They stay in touch with each other and remain immersed in public service.
The organization has served the nation in other ways, providing a nonmilitary foreign policy option. It's remained an integral part of "soft power," a benign form of aid and development that spreads American idealism in personal terms. The result is a political rarity: across-the-aisle support for the Peace Corps and its yearly budget of $400 million. A columnist for the conservative National Review's online publication this week suggested the liberal-authored institution be nominated for the next Nobel Peace Prize.
Monumental as it is, the Peace Corps wasn't Shriver's only feat. After the Kennedy years, he went on to launch Head Start, Legal Services for the Poor and VISTA, a home-grown version of the Peace Corps. He served as ambassador to France and helped his wife Eunice found the Special Olympics for developmentally disabled athletes. Among his few setbacks was a run as vice president with George McGovern on the Democratic ticket in 1972 and a later run on his own as a presidential contender. Both ended in sharp defeat. Shriver was a man who couldn't resist public service or devising new ways to channel his restless volunteer spirit.
Though he faded from public view over the last decade due to his advanced age and the onset of Alzheimer's disease, his message is still as fresh and timeless. In a culture soaked in celebrity and material success, the idea of public service and humble personal action should have a role, too. That was the message of the Peace Corps back then, and it remains true today, a half century later.
Ambassadors to the world
Volunteers to date: 200,000-plus
Countries served: 139
Gender of volunteers: 60 percent female, 40 percent male
Average age: 28
Volunteers over 50: 7 percent
Marital status: 93 percent single
Pay: Living allowance; $7,425 payment upon returning home
Term: 27 months
Main activities: Education, 37 percent; health and AIDS, 22 percent; business development, 14 percent
Largest service areas: Africa, 37 percent; Latin America, 24 percent; Eastern Europe/Central Asia, 21 percent
Source: Peacecorps.gov
This article appeared on page F - 10 of the San Francisco Chronicle
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Burn, Bury or Ditch
I received a text message from Ryan this morning asking me whether she should burn, bury or ditch her trash. I was shocked and appalled to find out she was even considering any of the options, especially since she is one of the most environmentally conscious people I know. If you know her at all, you'll know that she single-handed founded the Recycling Club and the Environmental club at her college and has been known to hold "Eco-parties." Yes, she is a nerd, but she's my sister and I love her ;) Anyway, for those who don't know yet (and have yet to read the previous posts on this blog) Ryan is in Kenya on a Peace Corps mission. I'm pretty there is not a whole lot of indoor plumbing... so its safe to assume there isn't Thursday morning trash pick up in matching blue bins and a thriving recycling program. More likely you wake up to a wild hog rummaging through your garbage. So what is a environmentally conscious girl to do when your living on a wild life refuge that doesn't even have an accessible road? The rest of the village either burns the trash -- putting toxins in the air, buries the trash -- ensuring their kids will grow up on a landfill, literally, or they ditch it -- out of sight, out of mind.. right? A similar discussion was highlighted in the New York Times: Should the US Burn or Bury Its Trash?
I am leaning towards the burning idea though here are some downsides:
Burning:
I am leaning towards the burning idea though here are some downsides:
Burning:
- Remains a serious threat to public health. Burning garbage is a primary source of cancer-causing dioxins and other pollutants that enter the food supply and concentrate up through the food chain.
- Produces more carbon dioxide per unit of electricity than coal power. Current atmospheric carbon loads cannot safely bear additional emissions from incinerators and landfills.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
I Kissed a Giraffe- and I liked it!
Slyvia, the medical officer, is a wonderful person. She knew Ana and I were depressed about being stranded in Nairobi for Christmas. She wonderfully invited us to her house for the holiday to spend it with her and her family. Her husband is Dutch and so we will be having a traditional Dutch Christmas, whatever that means. She also felt bad that Ana and I have no money to do anything but sit around in our hotel room eating mayonnaise and Pringle sandwiches. Wonderful Sylvia arranged for a cab to come pick us up in the morning today and drive us around to wildlife sanctuaries all morning. And she paid for it. It was a great day. On the way there, as we drove out of the city, there were troops of Baboons with their blue butts in the air and their babies clinging to their backs. As we pulled into the elephant orphanage, the baboons stopped to look at us and then ducked the fence to escape. We were early for the baby elephants, so we hung around in the parking lot chatting with our taxi driver. As more and more ridiculous looking tourists showed up, Ana and I became very uncomfortable. Way too many shorts, white skin, and English for us. We hung in the back and spoke Engwili (or Kiswinglish) to each other. Then all the park guides started yelling at us to hide behind benches and bushes. We all stood up excitedly and then started scrambling to get behind something. A young rhinocerous named Shida (“Problem”) was wandering around the parking lot, poking things with his horn. As he shuffled back and forth, less than a foot from us, we scuttled behind insignificant shelters both trying to escape the rhino, and also to get a really good picture. It was poa sana (very cool) and a little scary. After the guides herded Shida back to bed, we went in the sanctuary. First we passed a family of wild boars (just like Pumba!). The baby Pumbas were dusty and adorable. We walked up to this clearing where there was a herd of about 10 baby orphaned elephants being bottle fed and playing in a mud puddle only 5 or so feet away. It was the most adorable thing I have ever seen. They made cute honking noises when they wanted more milk, they pushed each other in the water and rolled on their backs. They have bad balance and little control of their trunks. I want to live at this place. Each baby elephant gets his own room (because, like all babies, some always want to play and don’t like naps) and a park employee sleeps in a bed next to them. This is so the babies aren’t lonely at night. The human companion will also feed the baby if he gets hungry and put a blanket on him if he is cold. The orphans are all rescued from around Kenya, some from poachers, some from wells where they had fallen, and some from hyenas. They live at the sanctuary, being taken care of by humans and interacting with other wild elephants so they learn how to take care of themselves. When they are a few years old, they get attached to a wild herd and are set free in a park somewhere else in the country.
After the elephant orphanage, Ana and I went to the Giraffe Center. There is a Rothschilds Giraffe breeding program. We just stayed long enough to pet and feed the giraffes. I even kissed one, he used tongue. In case you were wondering: Giraffes have very long, rough, warm tongues. And they slobber. I never realized how huge they are! Their heads were easily half the size of my whole body. And they have beautiful eyelashes.
I was going to go on to tell you about the guy we saw get hit by a car – no one stopped, they just swerved around. And that would lead me into a rant about Kenyan drivers. Insanity! But I will have to leave it until next time. I could go on and on and I have already taken up enough of your time for today. Thanks for reading!
After the elephant orphanage, Ana and I went to the Giraffe Center. There is a Rothschilds Giraffe breeding program. We just stayed long enough to pet and feed the giraffes. I even kissed one, he used tongue. In case you were wondering: Giraffes have very long, rough, warm tongues. And they slobber. I never realized how huge they are! Their heads were easily half the size of my whole body. And they have beautiful eyelashes.
I was going to go on to tell you about the guy we saw get hit by a car – no one stopped, they just swerved around. And that would lead me into a rant about Kenyan drivers. Insanity! But I will have to leave it until next time. I could go on and on and I have already taken up enough of your time for today. Thanks for reading!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Stuck in Nairobi
Okay, so there are worse places to be stranded than this city. I have gotten over the disappointment of being stuck here. Peace Corps has set me and Ana up in a nice hotel with down comforters and pillows. There is free breakfast and free wifi. Peace Corps is also going to give us 1600 shillings per day to spend on food and fun. Ana is feeling better and we are having fun watching movies, eating cheese burgers, and watching more movies. Yesterday I even got to have sushi. We have also been hanging out with other PCVs who are in town. We went to dinner with some education volunteers that we know and some public health guys that we didn't know. They are as crazy as all the rumors say.
There is only one problem with being here in Nairobi. I did not know that the Peace Corps office would close on Friday at two in the afternoon. This is an issue because everything I own is locked in that office until Monday. I have only my toothbrush, laptop, and one outfit to wear. I have been wearing that outfit since Thursday and will be in it until Monday. Gross. I also have no shampoo or conditioner and no comb. Surprisingly, my hair looks not nearly as bad as I feared. Though, I would not say it looks particularly good. Lastly, I have no cell phone charger. So everyone who I told I would call is out of luck. Pole! That includes Caroline, the Medical office, and my supervisor in Marsabit. Oops.
I'll keep this post short and go upload some photos to Facebook. Finally.
There is only one problem with being here in Nairobi. I did not know that the Peace Corps office would close on Friday at two in the afternoon. This is an issue because everything I own is locked in that office until Monday. I have only my toothbrush, laptop, and one outfit to wear. I have been wearing that outfit since Thursday and will be in it until Monday. Gross. I also have no shampoo or conditioner and no comb. Surprisingly, my hair looks not nearly as bad as I feared. Though, I would not say it looks particularly good. Lastly, I have no cell phone charger. So everyone who I told I would call is out of luck. Pole! That includes Caroline, the Medical office, and my supervisor in Marsabit. Oops.
I'll keep this post short and go upload some photos to Facebook. Finally.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
From PCT -> PCV
I am now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer! I am so incredibly proud of myself and all my fellow volunteers. This has been an amazing week. Nairobi has reminded me so much of America and I have had a wonderful time. We arrived here on Sunday and got to the hotel which has private rooms, hot-ish showers, and free, slow-ish internet.
On Tuesday, I met my counter-part who is the person who will show me around my new home town, help me buy stuff and settle in, and introduce me to people. Her name is Grace and she is the assistant principle of my school. She is very nice and very nervous that I won't be able to handle Marsabit. I assured her I would be fine. I asked her about my house and she said, "It is.... modest". I am guessing that means small. But it does have electricity! Yay! I also enquired about Marsabit Town. It is up the slopes of the mountain and is green and cool, beautiful and moist. But, Grace said, I am not near the town, I am 15 km away. Where I am there is no rain and it is very hot. She was very concerned when she found out PC was sending a female volunteer to them because my house is 3 km from the school and I will have to walk. I assured her that I was stronger than I look. She said, "okay, but... it is very hot". I will probably buy a bicycle to make her feel better. My house is on the Catholic church compound. There is a Kenyan Father, a Mzungu (white) father, and a bunch of Indian nuns. There is a garden on the compound (I am very excited about this) where the nuns plant sukuma wiki and cabbage. I am going to try to have my own garden so I can grow garlic, zucchini, and as many herbs as I can. If anyone wants to send me seeds, I would love you forever.
On Tuesday night, I went to see Harry Potter at a local movie theater. I got a bucket of popcorn, a hotdog, a soda, a milkshake, and the ticket for $7.50 American. Not too shabby.
Wednesday was the Swearing in Ceremony. It was held at a fabulous mansion. The biggest house I have ever been in. These people were seriously rich. The kitchen alone could seriously fit the whole bottom floor of my American house inside it. And the garden was larger than anything I have seen outside a British castle. There was a picture on their wall of their 10 year old daughter with Nelson Mandela on his birthday. Amazing. The actual ceremony was outside and I wore my target dress, actual make-up, and even had gel for my hair. I look fantastic (compared to usual African me). We pledged our allegience to Peace Corps and swore a bunch of stuff that I don't remember. We got certificates, just like graduation. It was a hundred times better than my college graduation. My favorite part was when a ministry official stood up to officially accept us into his country and he told us he had been taught in secondary school by some Peace Corps Volunteers. He even remembered their names. He told us we could have no idea the impact we will have on the lives of our students. We are all very proud to be here.
After the ceremony, there was a Karibu Kenya cake, maybe 20 kinds of home baked cookies, tiramisu, real coffee, and juice with real, frozen ice. I ate one of everything and made myself very sick. Us, new volunteers, went home and had PCV naptime, then went shopping. Nakumatt is the greatest store on Earth. It is a cross between Heaven and America. It is larger than any Wal-mart, and has everything you could ever want from Kenya, or America, and stuff from Europe and Indian too. I spent almost a third of my moving in allowance. I bought a french press, coffee, olive oil, wine, cheese, ranch dressing, a new camera, and as many spices as I could carry. I also bought a duffle bag to carry it all in. It was the best shopping spree ever.
In the evening, we had pizza delivered (yeah, delivery is the greatest). Then we went out to a club. As PCVs, we have no curfew, so we stayed out till 2:30 am. In America, I loved going out dancing with friends. Sometimes there are creepos, and you usually have 5 or 6 friends. This bar had no creepos, the only guys we talked out outside our group were from Stanford. There were about 30 of us and we had an incredible time. Dancing and singing with 30 of the best people I have ever met. The best.
Everyone departed for their new homes early Thursday morning. There were a lot of tears, and I still am trying to not be sad. It was very hard to leave. The worst part is that I didn't actually leave. I am stranded in Nairobi with only Ana, who has bacterial gastroenteritis. I am annoyed and depressed. This is what happened. On Tuesday, I was stung or bit by something on my foot (I am going to say scorpion or deadly spider to make the story more interesting). It hurt a ton, bad, burning pain. But it only lasted 5 minutes and then I was fine, no swelling or itching. Then Thursday morning, I woke up in incredible pain. I had a delayed allergic reaction to the sting and my foot was hugely swollen and I could not even walk on it. My toes were all numb and my foot was completely freezing. I went to medical and they were all worried and decided to keep me here for a day to watch it. I took benedryl, ibuprofen, and steroids, and I was fine. But my ride to Marsabit left without me. So I am flying to Marsabit. Since it is in the middle of nowhere, flights only go up there once in a while. I am stranded until Tuesday. I am depressed and bored. Nairobi is only fun if you have friends to go out with and money to spend. Curtis has called me a couple times to tell me the road trip has been beautiful and they are getting two armed guards to escort them the rest of the way. He will be home in a few hours and gets to have a great adventure. Bastard. Oh well, TIA right?
I am going to go figure out something to do for the next few hours. I'll let you guys know whats going on. Have a good weekend!
On Tuesday, I met my counter-part who is the person who will show me around my new home town, help me buy stuff and settle in, and introduce me to people. Her name is Grace and she is the assistant principle of my school. She is very nice and very nervous that I won't be able to handle Marsabit. I assured her I would be fine. I asked her about my house and she said, "It is.... modest". I am guessing that means small. But it does have electricity! Yay! I also enquired about Marsabit Town. It is up the slopes of the mountain and is green and cool, beautiful and moist. But, Grace said, I am not near the town, I am 15 km away. Where I am there is no rain and it is very hot. She was very concerned when she found out PC was sending a female volunteer to them because my house is 3 km from the school and I will have to walk. I assured her that I was stronger than I look. She said, "okay, but... it is very hot". I will probably buy a bicycle to make her feel better. My house is on the Catholic church compound. There is a Kenyan Father, a Mzungu (white) father, and a bunch of Indian nuns. There is a garden on the compound (I am very excited about this) where the nuns plant sukuma wiki and cabbage. I am going to try to have my own garden so I can grow garlic, zucchini, and as many herbs as I can. If anyone wants to send me seeds, I would love you forever.
On Tuesday night, I went to see Harry Potter at a local movie theater. I got a bucket of popcorn, a hotdog, a soda, a milkshake, and the ticket for $7.50 American. Not too shabby.
Wednesday was the Swearing in Ceremony. It was held at a fabulous mansion. The biggest house I have ever been in. These people were seriously rich. The kitchen alone could seriously fit the whole bottom floor of my American house inside it. And the garden was larger than anything I have seen outside a British castle. There was a picture on their wall of their 10 year old daughter with Nelson Mandela on his birthday. Amazing. The actual ceremony was outside and I wore my target dress, actual make-up, and even had gel for my hair. I look fantastic (compared to usual African me). We pledged our allegience to Peace Corps and swore a bunch of stuff that I don't remember. We got certificates, just like graduation. It was a hundred times better than my college graduation. My favorite part was when a ministry official stood up to officially accept us into his country and he told us he had been taught in secondary school by some Peace Corps Volunteers. He even remembered their names. He told us we could have no idea the impact we will have on the lives of our students. We are all very proud to be here.
After the ceremony, there was a Karibu Kenya cake, maybe 20 kinds of home baked cookies, tiramisu, real coffee, and juice with real, frozen ice. I ate one of everything and made myself very sick. Us, new volunteers, went home and had PCV naptime, then went shopping. Nakumatt is the greatest store on Earth. It is a cross between Heaven and America. It is larger than any Wal-mart, and has everything you could ever want from Kenya, or America, and stuff from Europe and Indian too. I spent almost a third of my moving in allowance. I bought a french press, coffee, olive oil, wine, cheese, ranch dressing, a new camera, and as many spices as I could carry. I also bought a duffle bag to carry it all in. It was the best shopping spree ever.
In the evening, we had pizza delivered (yeah, delivery is the greatest). Then we went out to a club. As PCVs, we have no curfew, so we stayed out till 2:30 am. In America, I loved going out dancing with friends. Sometimes there are creepos, and you usually have 5 or 6 friends. This bar had no creepos, the only guys we talked out outside our group were from Stanford. There were about 30 of us and we had an incredible time. Dancing and singing with 30 of the best people I have ever met. The best.
Everyone departed for their new homes early Thursday morning. There were a lot of tears, and I still am trying to not be sad. It was very hard to leave. The worst part is that I didn't actually leave. I am stranded in Nairobi with only Ana, who has bacterial gastroenteritis. I am annoyed and depressed. This is what happened. On Tuesday, I was stung or bit by something on my foot (I am going to say scorpion or deadly spider to make the story more interesting). It hurt a ton, bad, burning pain. But it only lasted 5 minutes and then I was fine, no swelling or itching. Then Thursday morning, I woke up in incredible pain. I had a delayed allergic reaction to the sting and my foot was hugely swollen and I could not even walk on it. My toes were all numb and my foot was completely freezing. I went to medical and they were all worried and decided to keep me here for a day to watch it. I took benedryl, ibuprofen, and steroids, and I was fine. But my ride to Marsabit left without me. So I am flying to Marsabit. Since it is in the middle of nowhere, flights only go up there once in a while. I am stranded until Tuesday. I am depressed and bored. Nairobi is only fun if you have friends to go out with and money to spend. Curtis has called me a couple times to tell me the road trip has been beautiful and they are getting two armed guards to escort them the rest of the way. He will be home in a few hours and gets to have a great adventure. Bastard. Oh well, TIA right?
I am going to go figure out something to do for the next few hours. I'll let you guys know whats going on. Have a good weekend!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Almost Done with PST
Hey World! So I have only two more days until my Swearing In ceremony and I am ecstatic. Last week I took my final language exam. It was rough, I was pretty sure I failed. We are required to achieve "intermediate low" as a level to be sworn in as volunteers. I am sure that I am at least at that level and intermediate mid on a good day. The woman who was my tester was from the coast where they speak even faster kiswahili than people in Tanzania (yup, that's fast). She also talked quiet and used strange vocabulary. I know that that is the point of the exam, to see if you can speak in actual situations with actual people who are not the kind trainers who know what words you can say. So anyway, I thought I failed and would be sent back home to America. But I did not fail!! Yay!
Yesterday was my last day in Loitokitok. I said goodbye to my wonderful host family. Despite all the frustrations of the last nine weeks with them, despite me being incredibly eager to leave and be an adult again, I will sincerely miss them. Mama made me cake as my going away breakfast. I have never seen a cake made like this. This is how you do it: make a paste out of sugar and blue band, add half a cup of flour, add seven eggs, pour into a pot and cook on jiko until done. In case you missed that, I said SEVEN eggs. And no milk or water. It was very odd, but incredibly delicious. Mama made it on Friday night and I excitedly asked when it would be ready. Mama said "we will not eat until breakfast"; the reason being, "you will get sick and die if you eat cake the first day. You will get diarrhea and die." I did not understand this logic but agreed to wait. Later during dinner I asked, "so we really cannot eat the cake until the morning?" Mama laughed and said, "Ryan you are so silly! Do not make me laugh!" So I thought maybe she was kidding with me the whole time and I had fallen for it. I laughed back and said excitedly, "we can eat the cake then?" And she, very soberly, said, "no, you will die." Then half an hour after dinner... she gave me a slice of cake. Sometimes this language barrier can be very confusing.
Saturday, after a breakfast of Blue Band and white bread sandwiches and Day Two cake, I finished my packing and walked up to Outward Bound for Host Family Appreciation day. I wore the gift Mama had given me: a Masaai skirt and headwrap. I wore my new Masaai earrings and necklace. Almost 3/4s of us PCTs got fancy outfits from our families. We looked amazing! Oh, the colors and patterns!! We had to do a talent show, which was hilarious and the families enjoyed- when they understood the jokes. We ended by all singing the Safaricom song. Go look up the YouTube video, seriously. It is an amazing commercial and we did a great off key rendition for our families.
When it was time for the families to leave, I gave out my hugs and told my family I would miss them. Kenyans, and especially my family, do not show a lot of excess emotion. I had to make my brothers give me hugs and the goodbyes were very, very short. When my Mama got home she found the letter I had written to them. It was just a simple goodbye and thank you card. This is the response I got via text (her English is not that good): "Hi can u imagine i hav never droped tears 4 smal things but ur letter make me so( thanx times a hundred). that letter wil stay with me forever I think it wil be my best gift cu"
Now, tonight, I am in Nairobi until Wednesday. I am in absolute heaven. First we went to Nakumatt, which is like Walmart. It has BBQ sauce, olive oil, twix bars, cheese puffs, and everything else you could ever want or need. I just walked around in awe. I did not buy anything except some sour gummy worms, I just stared. There were Christmas decorations, the first I have seen, and Christmas music, the first I have heard. I had a strong coffee for the first time since coming here and it was as delicious as anything from Starbucks. We went to dinner at this small, fancy, Italian place called Mediterranio. It was all painted like the streets of Italy inside, we had real roses on the table, the waiters wore uniforms, and there were cloth napkins. There was olive oil and vinegar to dip bread in, and breadsticks that were the first actual crunchy thing I have eaten since arriving in Kenya. For dinner I had an amazing pasta dish with actual sauce, vegetables, and CHEESE. It was spicy, filling, and flavorful. The garnish was a wonderful aroma of herbs, which I tried to eat because they smelled delicious. I had a glass of wine with dinner and an amazing chocolate mousse for dessert. I am the happiest person in all of Kenya right now. best day ever. Tomorrow after some boring sessions and meeting my future boss (EEK!)we get to go shopping again. I am going to start stockpiling supplies for Marsabit. Very exciting stuff.
So to recap: I passed my language exam, I got a Masaai outfit, my family loves me, I left Loitokitok, I am in love with the Kenyan countryside (did I mention that on the drive I saw a herd of giraffes, including some baby twigas, a wildebeest, and a greater Kudu?), I am in love with Nakumatt, I saw Christmas, I had an amazing dinner, I got to drink wine, and I have a private room with a hot shower and western toilet tonight! Best weekend ever!
Goodnight!
PS: "Twiga" is the kiswahili word for Giraffe. :)
Yesterday was my last day in Loitokitok. I said goodbye to my wonderful host family. Despite all the frustrations of the last nine weeks with them, despite me being incredibly eager to leave and be an adult again, I will sincerely miss them. Mama made me cake as my going away breakfast. I have never seen a cake made like this. This is how you do it: make a paste out of sugar and blue band, add half a cup of flour, add seven eggs, pour into a pot and cook on jiko until done. In case you missed that, I said SEVEN eggs. And no milk or water. It was very odd, but incredibly delicious. Mama made it on Friday night and I excitedly asked when it would be ready. Mama said "we will not eat until breakfast"; the reason being, "you will get sick and die if you eat cake the first day. You will get diarrhea and die." I did not understand this logic but agreed to wait. Later during dinner I asked, "so we really cannot eat the cake until the morning?" Mama laughed and said, "Ryan you are so silly! Do not make me laugh!" So I thought maybe she was kidding with me the whole time and I had fallen for it. I laughed back and said excitedly, "we can eat the cake then?" And she, very soberly, said, "no, you will die." Then half an hour after dinner... she gave me a slice of cake. Sometimes this language barrier can be very confusing.
Saturday, after a breakfast of Blue Band and white bread sandwiches and Day Two cake, I finished my packing and walked up to Outward Bound for Host Family Appreciation day. I wore the gift Mama had given me: a Masaai skirt and headwrap. I wore my new Masaai earrings and necklace. Almost 3/4s of us PCTs got fancy outfits from our families. We looked amazing! Oh, the colors and patterns!! We had to do a talent show, which was hilarious and the families enjoyed- when they understood the jokes. We ended by all singing the Safaricom song. Go look up the YouTube video, seriously. It is an amazing commercial and we did a great off key rendition for our families.
When it was time for the families to leave, I gave out my hugs and told my family I would miss them. Kenyans, and especially my family, do not show a lot of excess emotion. I had to make my brothers give me hugs and the goodbyes were very, very short. When my Mama got home she found the letter I had written to them. It was just a simple goodbye and thank you card. This is the response I got via text (her English is not that good): "Hi can u imagine i hav never droped tears 4 smal things but ur letter make me so( thanx times a hundred). that letter wil stay with me forever I think it wil be my best gift cu"
Now, tonight, I am in Nairobi until Wednesday. I am in absolute heaven. First we went to Nakumatt, which is like Walmart. It has BBQ sauce, olive oil, twix bars, cheese puffs, and everything else you could ever want or need. I just walked around in awe. I did not buy anything except some sour gummy worms, I just stared. There were Christmas decorations, the first I have seen, and Christmas music, the first I have heard. I had a strong coffee for the first time since coming here and it was as delicious as anything from Starbucks. We went to dinner at this small, fancy, Italian place called Mediterranio. It was all painted like the streets of Italy inside, we had real roses on the table, the waiters wore uniforms, and there were cloth napkins. There was olive oil and vinegar to dip bread in, and breadsticks that were the first actual crunchy thing I have eaten since arriving in Kenya. For dinner I had an amazing pasta dish with actual sauce, vegetables, and CHEESE. It was spicy, filling, and flavorful. The garnish was a wonderful aroma of herbs, which I tried to eat because they smelled delicious. I had a glass of wine with dinner and an amazing chocolate mousse for dessert. I am the happiest person in all of Kenya right now. best day ever. Tomorrow after some boring sessions and meeting my future boss (EEK!)we get to go shopping again. I am going to start stockpiling supplies for Marsabit. Very exciting stuff.
So to recap: I passed my language exam, I got a Masaai outfit, my family loves me, I left Loitokitok, I am in love with the Kenyan countryside (did I mention that on the drive I saw a herd of giraffes, including some baby twigas, a wildebeest, and a greater Kudu?), I am in love with Nakumatt, I saw Christmas, I had an amazing dinner, I got to drink wine, and I have a private room with a hot shower and western toilet tonight! Best weekend ever!
Goodnight!
PS: "Twiga" is the kiswahili word for Giraffe. :)
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
American Dinner and Bacterial Dysentery
I know I just posted yesterday, but when it rains it pours. I have two quick things I wanted to mention, my American dinner and dysentery. Despite the title, these two things are unrelated.
First I wanted to tell everyone that I found out what I was sick with a few weeks ago. Yup, bacterial dysentery. Exciting, right? I found out that was what it was because last week, during Model School, eleven of my fellow PCTs came down with it. The Medical Office was not happy with us as she had just told us that we were the sickest group in Loitokitok she had ever had. Oops.
Now about my American dinner. Last night I made spaghetti and garlic bread. It turned out fantastic. Salt and sugar were the only spices I had, and I overloaded it with delicious sauteed onions and garlic. Mama was trying to 'help' me half the time, which really messed me up. The spaghetti was all congealed and sticky because she added a bunch of dried noodles halfway through cooking because she thought there wouldn't be enough. Then she wanted me to make a second loaf of garlic bread, after I was finishing up the first loaf, so she sent my brother out to get more bread, which took half an hour, so the sauce was cold. I told her that we should start eating or at least put the sauce back on to heat up. She would not let me and said she would show me how to heat it up very fast. After the rest of the bread finally came, and I finished cooking it, I asked her to show me how to heat my sauce up. She said, "Ryan, you are the cook. Please don't ask me anything! I will sit here till you serve me." Arrggg. So the sauce was the only thing that was hot. Oh well, I loved it. It was the best meal I have ever made, ever. Annndd.... they hated it. They ate all the garlic bread, but could not stomach the spaghetti sauce. Only two of them even finished their plates. They had these hilariously long explanations as to why. "Spaghetti is so filling!" I was warned by friends that no Kenyan has enjoyed this meal and I was prepared to be the only one to like it. So I was surprised when I realized I was actually a little hurt. Hey, I always ate everything Mama put on my plate no matter how weird it was (chicken appendix, anyone?). And I paid for all the food myself, and spent two hours cooking it, and I heard them giving it to the dogs after I went to bed. Oh well. TIA. Six days left!!
Thats all for now. Have a good day!
First I wanted to tell everyone that I found out what I was sick with a few weeks ago. Yup, bacterial dysentery. Exciting, right? I found out that was what it was because last week, during Model School, eleven of my fellow PCTs came down with it. The Medical Office was not happy with us as she had just told us that we were the sickest group in Loitokitok she had ever had. Oops.
Now about my American dinner. Last night I made spaghetti and garlic bread. It turned out fantastic. Salt and sugar were the only spices I had, and I overloaded it with delicious sauteed onions and garlic. Mama was trying to 'help' me half the time, which really messed me up. The spaghetti was all congealed and sticky because she added a bunch of dried noodles halfway through cooking because she thought there wouldn't be enough. Then she wanted me to make a second loaf of garlic bread, after I was finishing up the first loaf, so she sent my brother out to get more bread, which took half an hour, so the sauce was cold. I told her that we should start eating or at least put the sauce back on to heat up. She would not let me and said she would show me how to heat it up very fast. After the rest of the bread finally came, and I finished cooking it, I asked her to show me how to heat my sauce up. She said, "Ryan, you are the cook. Please don't ask me anything! I will sit here till you serve me." Arrggg. So the sauce was the only thing that was hot. Oh well, I loved it. It was the best meal I have ever made, ever. Annndd.... they hated it. They ate all the garlic bread, but could not stomach the spaghetti sauce. Only two of them even finished their plates. They had these hilariously long explanations as to why. "Spaghetti is so filling!" I was warned by friends that no Kenyan has enjoyed this meal and I was prepared to be the only one to like it. So I was surprised when I realized I was actually a little hurt. Hey, I always ate everything Mama put on my plate no matter how weird it was (chicken appendix, anyone?). And I paid for all the food myself, and spent two hours cooking it, and I heard them giving it to the dogs after I went to bed. Oh well. TIA. Six days left!!
Thats all for now. Have a good day!
Mimi ni Mwalimu
I apologize for not writing in so long. Time has been going by so fast and I have been very busy. I have only one week left in Loitokitok and then I leave for swearing in, in Nairobi. I have been meaning to write to tell you about Thanksgiving and also model school. This will be a long entry. Pole! (‘po-lay’)
First I will talk about the holiday. Thanksgiving was an amazing day. All of us PCTs went to Outward Bound for the day. We went up there in the morning and set up tents off in the woods. We played football, frisbee, and volleyball until the beer showed up. They we played much more energetically. The staff at Outward cooked most of the meal for us, but some of us were allowed in the kitchen to make special things. My contribution was a last minute gravy that turned out pretty good (Dad would be proud). The meal consisted of: chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, chapati, sukuma wiki, Curtis’ spaghetti sauce, and pineapple-avocado salad. For dessert we had no-bake cookies, brownies (both regular and peanut butter flavor), pineapple crisp, and mango crisp (we could not find apples). It was an amazing meal. We sat down, all 26 of us, plus two from the Deaf ed group, some current PCVs and some staff, at one large table and went around and said what we were thankful for. My favorite was Sajeena saying she was thankful that we were all a lot dorkier than she expected us to be. We all cheered to that. After dinner, we had a big bonfire. But after a few hours, it started pouring rain and we all scattered to our tents. There were a bunch of small 3 person tents and one huge one with 8 of us in it. When we ran to the huge 8 person tent we found that it had flooded. So we vacated that one and all cramed into the small tents. My tent was relatively warm and dry, and only had four people in it. But some had 7 people and some flooded. Needless to say, very few people slept that night. And those who did were woken up at 4 am by someone (I won’t name names) singing “God Bless America”, in their sleep. It was a great time and my absolute favorite day of training.
Now I’ll tell you about Model School. Last week I was a teacher for the first time. Students came from all over Kenya to be taught by us newbie teachers. I taught the internal structures of the leaf, the light stage of photosynthesis, and a physics lab to a class of about 30. The students knew more about the subjects than I did. I learned as I was writing my lesson plans. I think that my first time in front of actual students was not a complete disaster. I talked too fast, they could not read what I wrote on the board, my activity failed, and I ran out of information after about 20 minutes and had to make stuff up on the fly. But the students said they enjoyed it and they understood me well enough. The second time I taught, photosynthesis, I talked slower, but still too fast. I ran out of information too early and my experiment did not work, again. I also played a review game that was totally unfair and I ran out of candy to reward them. But I was not nervous at all and really had a great time. The students had fun and most did surprisingly well on the test. I even got to practice my discipline when I caught five of the girls cheating. I felt very comfortable in front of the class, which I did not expect. Now, I am even more excited to go to my site.
I feel I should mention how I am doing with the language. When I came to Kenya, I knew one language; now I know zero. I am slowly forgetting English and I am still not very good at Swahili. I have merged the two into what I’ll call "Kiswinglish”. I no longer use contractions (its all: do not, cannot, and will not), I talk pole pole (slowly) like Kenyans do, and when people ask me how to say some things in english, I almost always have trouble remembering. Also the following phrases are completely eliminated from my vocabulary: Sorry (Pole), I don’t know (si jui), hello (hu jambo!), no problem (hakuna shida), and thank you (asante). I have my final language exam on Wednesday and I am only a teensy bit nervous. I am sure I will do okay, but I there is always that fear that I will be the only one who fails. I’ll let you know if that happens.
Today I am cooking American food for my family. I am making spaghetti sauce and garlic bread. I am 90% sure they will hate it, but I am still looking forward to it. I went to the market this morning and bought all my supplies and now I am just waiting to begin cooking. After the market, I felt I needed some space and I went to my special spot. That is where I am now; I am writing this the back of my shopping list. My spot is up the hill from my house, past all the streets and houses, at the end of the road. Here there is a rock at the very edge of the drop off where I can sit. Mount Kili is behind me, almost completely obscured by dark rain clouds. I will have to go soon as everything I own is hanging on the laundry line. But for now it is sunny and very hot; I’m guessing about 900 degrees (why did I think it was a good idea to bring black t-shirts to Africa?). There are some kids at the bottom of the hill waiting for me, but they are keeping their distance. In front of me the land is hilly and very green. It reminds me of Italy. The verdant hills are covered in farmland and dotted with trees. There are butterflies and swallows floating around. There is also a bird with a bright blue body and a bright gold head, I don’t know what he is. Beyond the farms, the rift valley stretches out almost to the horizon. There are big, fluffy, clouds that look drawn by Pixar casting long shadows on the valley. And at the very edge of my vision, almost fading into the sky, is a mountain range on the other side. I have only been here for 20 minutes, but with the view, my iPod, and my tiny bag of Skittles (thanks Alyssa’s mom!) , I am totally content. When the little girl with the dirty yellow dress and runny nose finally gets up the courage to come say “how are you?”, I will be ready to go home.
First I will talk about the holiday. Thanksgiving was an amazing day. All of us PCTs went to Outward Bound for the day. We went up there in the morning and set up tents off in the woods. We played football, frisbee, and volleyball until the beer showed up. They we played much more energetically. The staff at Outward cooked most of the meal for us, but some of us were allowed in the kitchen to make special things. My contribution was a last minute gravy that turned out pretty good (Dad would be proud). The meal consisted of: chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, chapati, sukuma wiki, Curtis’ spaghetti sauce, and pineapple-avocado salad. For dessert we had no-bake cookies, brownies (both regular and peanut butter flavor), pineapple crisp, and mango crisp (we could not find apples). It was an amazing meal. We sat down, all 26 of us, plus two from the Deaf ed group, some current PCVs and some staff, at one large table and went around and said what we were thankful for. My favorite was Sajeena saying she was thankful that we were all a lot dorkier than she expected us to be. We all cheered to that. After dinner, we had a big bonfire. But after a few hours, it started pouring rain and we all scattered to our tents. There were a bunch of small 3 person tents and one huge one with 8 of us in it. When we ran to the huge 8 person tent we found that it had flooded. So we vacated that one and all cramed into the small tents. My tent was relatively warm and dry, and only had four people in it. But some had 7 people and some flooded. Needless to say, very few people slept that night. And those who did were woken up at 4 am by someone (I won’t name names) singing “God Bless America”, in their sleep. It was a great time and my absolute favorite day of training.
Now I’ll tell you about Model School. Last week I was a teacher for the first time. Students came from all over Kenya to be taught by us newbie teachers. I taught the internal structures of the leaf, the light stage of photosynthesis, and a physics lab to a class of about 30. The students knew more about the subjects than I did. I learned as I was writing my lesson plans. I think that my first time in front of actual students was not a complete disaster. I talked too fast, they could not read what I wrote on the board, my activity failed, and I ran out of information after about 20 minutes and had to make stuff up on the fly. But the students said they enjoyed it and they understood me well enough. The second time I taught, photosynthesis, I talked slower, but still too fast. I ran out of information too early and my experiment did not work, again. I also played a review game that was totally unfair and I ran out of candy to reward them. But I was not nervous at all and really had a great time. The students had fun and most did surprisingly well on the test. I even got to practice my discipline when I caught five of the girls cheating. I felt very comfortable in front of the class, which I did not expect. Now, I am even more excited to go to my site.
I feel I should mention how I am doing with the language. When I came to Kenya, I knew one language; now I know zero. I am slowly forgetting English and I am still not very good at Swahili. I have merged the two into what I’ll call "Kiswinglish”. I no longer use contractions (its all: do not, cannot, and will not), I talk pole pole (slowly) like Kenyans do, and when people ask me how to say some things in english, I almost always have trouble remembering. Also the following phrases are completely eliminated from my vocabulary: Sorry (Pole), I don’t know (si jui), hello (hu jambo!), no problem (hakuna shida), and thank you (asante). I have my final language exam on Wednesday and I am only a teensy bit nervous. I am sure I will do okay, but I there is always that fear that I will be the only one who fails. I’ll let you know if that happens.
Today I am cooking American food for my family. I am making spaghetti sauce and garlic bread. I am 90% sure they will hate it, but I am still looking forward to it. I went to the market this morning and bought all my supplies and now I am just waiting to begin cooking. After the market, I felt I needed some space and I went to my special spot. That is where I am now; I am writing this the back of my shopping list. My spot is up the hill from my house, past all the streets and houses, at the end of the road. Here there is a rock at the very edge of the drop off where I can sit. Mount Kili is behind me, almost completely obscured by dark rain clouds. I will have to go soon as everything I own is hanging on the laundry line. But for now it is sunny and very hot; I’m guessing about 900 degrees (why did I think it was a good idea to bring black t-shirts to Africa?). There are some kids at the bottom of the hill waiting for me, but they are keeping their distance. In front of me the land is hilly and very green. It reminds me of Italy. The verdant hills are covered in farmland and dotted with trees. There are butterflies and swallows floating around. There is also a bird with a bright blue body and a bright gold head, I don’t know what he is. Beyond the farms, the rift valley stretches out almost to the horizon. There are big, fluffy, clouds that look drawn by Pixar casting long shadows on the valley. And at the very edge of my vision, almost fading into the sky, is a mountain range on the other side. I have only been here for 20 minutes, but with the view, my iPod, and my tiny bag of Skittles (thanks Alyssa’s mom!) , I am totally content. When the little girl with the dirty yellow dress and runny nose finally gets up the courage to come say “how are you?”, I will be ready to go home.
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