Thursday, August 16, 2012

Bryan Goes to Kenya

Great Rift Valley

Maasai Mara Safari


Great Wildebeest Migration

Past the green line of trees (marking the Mara River) is Tanzania

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Back in Shikokho!


After 6 months I decided it was time to brighten up my room with some photos...
Hello everyone,
            Just a note before I get started, I am writing this at my desk in my room, and despite the fact that it is 4 pm—AT THE EQUATOR—and I’m indoors with my windows closed, it is COLD!  I just had to get up to put on a few more layers and wrap a blanket around myself.  Rainy season is over (I missed most of it while I was traveling, thank God), but now we’re in the relatively cold Kenyan months of June and July.  It still rains maybe three or four evenings a week (like right now), but the roads are passable—which is not the case during rainy season.  The weather during the day is brilliant—sunny but never too hot.  My first couple months here I would steal away from school some afternoons to come strip my clothes off in my room and fan myself for a few minutes; now I go all day long without breaking a sweat, and instead of making me uncomfortable, holding my 11 o’clock tea in both hands is something I look forward to.  I noticed how green this region is when I first arrived, but since the rains the scenery is even more lush and the school’s gardens that the students have planted for their agriculture classes are starting to show beautiful results.  We also have a banana and an avocado tree out our back door that are starting to bear fruit.  You have not seen a real avocado until you’ve been to Africa—the things are HUGE.  The ones we get in US grocery stores have obviously been bred to withstand traveling long distances; not for size (or nutritional value, while we’re on the subject).

            I know I have been severely slacking in my updates and I apologize to those of you who actually care to read them.  The internet connection here in the village seems to have sorted itself out a little since I got back from traveling, so I should be better in the future.  I have a lot to update you on!

Monday, May 21, 2012

Photos from Uganda and Rwanda

Monkeys playing outside the hostel in Kampala, Uganda

Kittens that we saved from the monkeys, who were trying to get at them
not. happy.

View of Kigali, Rwanda from the Genocide Memorial Museum
Holes from grenade blasts in a church outside Kigali where 5,000 people were murdered in the 1994 genocide. Clothes  (and some bones) of the murdered remain at this memorial

Eugene outside the church-- notice the human skulls and bones inside. The purple banners are up to commemorate the 18th anniversary of the genocide

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Rwanda


Hello everyone,
       I am writing from beautiful Kigali, the capital of Rwanda.  I arrived yesterday morning with my English friend, Ryan, after a 9-hour overnight bus ride from Kampala (the Irishmen we were with got stuck in Kampala for a few days due to visa complications).  The ride was very typical of the region—jerky, crowded, cold, and overall uncomfortable.  The view of the Rwandan countryside once the sun came up, however, made the discomfort completely worth it.  Rwanda, “The Land of A Thousand Hills,” is nothing but green as far as the eye can see, and the farming terraces extending up the hillsides paint a rustic, romantic picture.  Kigali is by far the nicest African city I have visited so far.  It is also known as the safest capital city on the continent.  Spanning several hills, the city is clean (spotless, really), the roads well-maintained, and the people polite and soft-spoken.  English is less commonly spoken in Rwanda than in Uganda or Kenya (French is more common.  Rwandans also speak Kinyarwanda and some Kiswahili), but we have had hardly any trouble so far. 

       The events of 1994, when the country descended into a horrific 100-day-long genocide in which more than one million people were brutally murdered and two million displaced, play a significant and visible role in the national conscience.  Signs and billboards around Kigali commemorate the 18-year anniversary of the violence, with slogans such as “Learning from our past to create a better future.”  Today Ryan and I visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial, which, in addition to housing a museum spotlighting the Rwandan genocide as well as other genocides of comparable magnitude around the world, is the final resting place of some 250,000 genocide victims.  It was a powerful experience, bringing both Ryan and I to tears.  One room displays rows upon rows of human skulls and bones of the deceased, and another shows photos of children who were murdered in the conflict—including details such as their favorite food and exactly how they were killed.  For example: “Francine, Age: 2; Personality: always smiling; Means of death: smashed into a wall.” Other means of death included being hacked by a machete in their mother’s arms, being thrown into a latrine pit, and a bullet in the head.  Needless to say, it was difficult to enjoy a casual meal at the museum cafĂ© after emerging from such a somber atmosphere.

       Currently, I am sitting by the pool at the elegant Hotel des Mille Collines (in English, “Hotel of a Thousand Hills”), the site of the events that inspired the Academy Award-winning film Hotel Rwanda.  The story centers on Paul Rusesabagina, who was given control over the hotel after the European managers were evacuated.  Rusesabagina opened the hotel’s doors to an estimated 200 of the city’s persecuted Tutsis and moderate Hutus and, in the face of great personal risk, managed to keep the refugees safe through bribery, cunning, and courage.  We are having drinks with a man whose girlfriend—at the age of 12 and with only her two sisters as company—sought solace under Rusesabagina’s protection for some 1.5 months.  During the 100 days of madness, the refugees consumed all the water in the swimming pool for cooking and drinking, and our friend can point to the places in the bushes where the hunted hid from the Interahamwe (the perpetrators of the genocide).

       Tomorrow we are visiting a church 20 km outside the city, where several hundred people perished after the church was barricaded and set on fire.  Most of the site is still intact, and I am told that the experience at the memorial museum pales in comparison to seeing piles of human remains, untouched since the genocide.  The only survivor of this massacre is your guide.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Uganda

Hi friends,
       Things are still going great here in Uganda.  My original plan was to head back to Kakamega tomorrow, but after a quick talk with the principal this morning, the plan has changed.  The students are taking another round of exams next week, and Thomas agreed that it would be unnecessary for me to be at school.  SO, I now find myself with another full week to travel!  I’ve made friends with a group of three guys (two from Ireland, one from England) who have agreed to let me tag along with them to Rwanda.  From what I hear, Rwanda is beautiful and very traveler-friendly, so I am beyond excited.

       Right now I am back in Kampala (Uganda’s capital).  I spent the last few days in Jinja, where I went down the river for the second time, but this time on a boogey board!  We also did a fishing trip on Lake Victoria.  More later (tired. brain function is low), but here are some pictures for now.  Miss you all.

Huge market in Kampala. Stopped for drinks and made friends

Ugly shirts we found at the market in Kampala; currently traveling with the three on the left

Tower at Gaddafi National Mosque in Kampala

Inside the mosque. capacity (including space outside): 50,000
Market in Kampala on a different day; different friends
Peas with rice and matoke, which is made from smashed bananas
Port Belle, Kampala
Surfing a wave on the Nile River. This day was AWESOME

Thursday, April 26, 2012

I'm Back!

Hi everyone,
       I am currently in Uganda, where my internet connection is infinitely better than the connection in Shikokho.  I went through three or four internet modems before I realized that the problem wasn't the modem; internet has just gotten significantly more difficult to come by in the village.  Case in point: to get anything on my phone I now must sit in my desk chair and hold my arm out at a very specific angle to get a signal.

       The first term of school is over, and we do not start again until May 7th.  I was in Uganda about a month ago and enjoyed it so much that I came back to spend the three-week break between terms.  Uganda is AWESOME.  Last month I went rafting on the Nile River!  More about that later, though.  For now, let me tell you about the riot I just escaped from:

       I arrived in Uganda's capital city, Kampala, last night and ventured out into the city for the first time this afternoon.  After a delicious meal at an Indian restaurant with a nice street view, I spent around an hour wandering aimlessly around the city.  I saw a few police vehicles speed by, sirens blaring, with several AK-47 wielding officers riding in the truck bed, but no one seemed in the least bit concerned so I kept walking.  Later, I thought I heard gunshots, but again, no one seemed phased.  A couple people glanced up towards the sky, which made me think maybe I was hearing construction somewhere...I mean, when was the last time you heard gunshots and people behaved as if this were totally normal?

       Probably the last time you were in Africa.

     Eventually I turn a corner and before I'm fifty yards down the road I hear what is unmistakably gunfire, and as if to confirm my suspicions, several people on the street turned tail and started jogging in the opposite direction.  Uh-oh.  I turned and jogged with them, stopping at the entrance to a small indoor shopping mall to ask the guard what was going on.  He answered that the Muslims were rioting, but he was not sure exactly why.  A woman on the street started gently pushing me inside the mall, saying "Get inside, they will grab you!"

Good Housekeeping


Home
***edit: this post was originally written a couple months ago.  Been having serious internet struggles!***
Hi everyone.  We’ve had some electrical/internet issues here in Shikokho, so this post is from about two weeks ago.  More coming soon!

            While my situation here in Kenya could definitely be worse, there are certain modern luxuries that I do miss.  For example, washing machines.  Doing laundry here takes a bit of planning ahead.  First, you must soak your clothes in a basin overnight to loosen up the dirt.  It is unwise to leave your clothes soaking for more than one night—I have found—because it leaves the fabric smelling foul.  It also attracts little flies that, for some reason, like to rest in the standing water.  I can only hope they are not laying eggs.  For these reasons, you must be sure that you will have the time and/or inclination to wash your clothes the next day, no matter how lazy you may be (but probably are) feeling.  The actual process of washing the clothes is not overly difficult or complicated; it just requires a lot of bending over and several trips to the sink (thank goodness this house has running water—however unreliable it may be).  After letting the laundry soak in a water/detergent mixture for 15 minutes or so, you are ready to start scrubbing.  At first I used a brush to scrub the fabric, but as the bristles pull too roughly at the threads I switched to simply rubbing the cloth hard against itself.  I’ve developed a pretty intense callous on the top knuckle of my right forefinger from the rubbing.  When the scrubbing is done, you must refill your basin three separate times to rinse the detergent out.  Then, all that’s left to do is to hang everything out on the line!  The great thing about laundry here is that I have no need to iron—the air is so dry and the sun so strong that my shirts and skirts dry too quickly to leave wrinkles.
            Last weekend was full of mundane tasks like this.  Since I have been here for over a month now, I decided that it was time to commit to my new home.  On Saturday morning I felt the strong urge to do something about my walls, which were covered in dirt (seriously, who got mud on their hands and then said, “Hmm, I think this wall is probably best place for me to wipe this off”??).  After hours of scrubbing the walls inch by inch—during which I listened to two separate movie commentaries from the Ocean’s 11 DVD—I was exhausted and only halfway done.  Sunday morning, due to the aforementioned incentives, I was forced to do my laundry.  This proved much more pleasant than usual, however, as Maxwell joined me out in the yard to wash the one shirt and one pair of shorts that he wears to school every day.  He is generally a quiet kid, so I was blown away when he began talking to me in terrific english (he made some mistakes, but never to the point where I could not understand his meaning).  He told me all about his old school and even showed me some pictures from a school field trip to nearby Kisumu—a city about one hour away on the shore of Lake Victoria.  It is also the area the Obama family comes from.  And here I’ve been thinking that he couldn’t understand me!  I showed him some pictures that I had brought from home and we chatted about other things like agriculture and the weather (both favorite conversation topics among Kenyans) while we did our washing.

Maxwell washing his school uniform

Sunday, February 5, 2012

"Madam, may I assist you?"

Friends that come out to play as soon as the lights go out

Unlike my last few posts, I am in a solidly good mood as I write this.  I have just come back from buying a few groceries for the first time on my own and—as far as I can tell—the women did not even attempt to cheat me on the price.  Peter had warned me about buying food myself and told me to make sure that, until I was familiar with the prices, I either texted him or had someone with me so I could be sure I got a fair deal.  So, on Tuesday I flagged down Centrine, our librarian, on her way out of the school compound and asked if she would accompany me as I shopped.  We walked about 100 yards outside of the gate to the nearest street corner (I use the term “street” very loosely), where I can see around 2-5 women sitting in the grass selling produce on any given afternoon.  Centrine did most of the talking as I smiled at the group of primary school students hanging around staring at me while they chewed on sugar cane.  I purchased about 2 pounds of sweet potatoes for 20 shillings (somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 cents) and 2 small mangoes for 10 shillings (12 cents).  They also convinced me to try some sugar cane, so for 1 shilling a woman took a machete and hacked off a piece about 5 inches long for me.  They started to explain to me how to chew it, but Centrine seemed inexplicably offended when the children began to giggle at me and she ordered me to keep walking.  She seemed equally perturbed at another small group of boys who giggled as we walked by and spoke to them in some very aggressive-sounding Kiswahili.  A little farther down the road I was able to buy tomatoes (3 small ones for 10 shillings) from a tiny store that looked like it carried some candy and probably Safaricom top-up cards.  Dinner—and then some—for under a dollar?  I’ll take it.  Celestine then showed me how to chew the sugarcane. It looks like bamboo on the outside, except a little thicker and solid in the middle.  The inside is white and you basically rip off strips with your teeth and suck out the juice before spitting the leftover strip onto the ground.  It was definitely more pleasant than I expected—much juicier than you would think.  The first couple “bites” were very refreshing in the hot sun, but I soon tired of using my teeth and the sticky juice covering my fingers.  I waited until I got home then chucked the rest of it behind the house.

            This week at school has been great.  I’m beginning to learn more names and I’m more comfortable with the schedule.  Discipline in class has not been much of a problem so far, but as the students grow more comfortable with me I can tell this will become a more significant issue in the near future.  This morning a boy wanted to leave class a few minutes before the lesson was over and I had to physically place my hand on his chest before he would sit down.  Yesterday was the only day so far that I’ve truly lost it—I still haven’t the faintest clue what the problem was, but I was asking for their homework and getting blank stares in response.  I don’t know how to say, “Give. Me. Your. Exercise. Books. So. That. I. Can. Grade. Your. Homework… NOW!” any more clearly.  After a few minutes of this (and, ok, a lot of waving a book in the air and yelling) I simply walked out of the room with the small pile of books I had been given and gave the students who did not turn theirs in zeros. 

Monday, January 30, 2012

Football and Piki-pikis

Shikokho Girls Football Team
       On Friday I attended a girls soccer game at a nearby school.  I noticed the girls getting their uniforms together as I was leaving the staff room for the afternoon, and they seemed excited when I asked if I could go with them.  I had talked with a few of them before, and a couple are in my 2W class.  They are all so sweet and I feel more comfortable around them than any of the other students at the school.  As we walked the 3-ish kilometers to the school the girls taught me some new Kiswahili words (mto: river, maji: water, mtoto: child, watoto: children) and asked me questions about America.  They were all very concerned that I was getting tired on the journey—I had to assure them that while I cannot run as far as they can (yet), I can handle walking long distances.  A few tried to get me to allow them to carry my backpack for me, and I was told I was a “good mzungu” for insisting on carrying it myself.

            We took a path through the countryside instead of the main road, and it was beautiful (I am kicking myself for not taking pictures on the way—we ended up taking the much less interesting main road home).  We passed many small clusters of houses, cows, sheep, maize fields, etc. We also crossed the river where most people in the village get their water.  I had been warned several times that just because I am a good swimmer does not mean I should try to swim in the river.  The section we crossed kind of just looked like a mud hole to me, so there must be a more dangerous section people are referring to. (Side note: speaking of swimming, the other day Joann was asking me about swimming and whether or not I miss it.  She says, “I used to swim, but I quit after I found a dead body in the pool.” Um, what??  One day in college there were only a few people in the pool and no one noticed a boy had drowned until she found him at the bottom.  I guess he had been practicing holding his breath so people had stopped paying close attention to him.  Yeah, I would quit swimming too.)

            The village we visited is called Shivagala, and the Primary and Secondary school seem more or less exactly like Shikokho.  They get much fewer visitors from the West than Shikokho does, however, so I quickly attracted a mob of about 50 primary school children.  At first it was cute but it got old (and overwhelming!) in a hurry.  They didn’t know any english beyond “hello-how-are-you” and “what are you called?” so they just kind of stood there and giggled.  They were very interested in my watch and then my water bottle, which they asked if they could have.  Um, no.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Fun and Frustrations

Hi everyone,

            Apologies for taking so long to update.  It's been getting busy here!  

            I have very mixed emotions as I write this post—some aspects of the past two weeks have been terrible, while others have been pretty great.

One of the school's 7 cows
            The living situation: still yet to be rectified.  Up until last Friday, I was sleeping in the living room of the girls’ side of the house and it was driving me completely insane.  First of all, there were four girls crammed into a house with only two bedrooms: me, Sarah, Murebi, and Johanna*. 

Sarah: Sarah also teaches English (been at Shikokho for a couple years), is a few years older than I am, and is very nice.  She is not overly friendly or talkative, but when I have a question she is helpful.

Murebi: Murebi might be a nice person, but I wouldn’t know.  She regularly acts like I do not exist.  She tends to play her radio very loudly and during normal sleeping hours, which, frankly, is infuriating.  I think Murebi is recently out of college and this is her second year teaching Kiswahili at Shikokho.

            Johanna: Johanna is my favorite.  Sometimes she has trouble with my English, but she is the only one who will strike up conversations with me and frequently helps me out (for instance, when she saw me hanging my laundry on the line the other day she brought me her bucket of clothespins to borrow).  She is also always sharing her food with me.  She’ll cook something and say, “Do you take porridge?” or, “Do you take boiled maize?” (people here say “take” instead of “eat”), and then give me a little taste.  Johanna has been teaching for a few years and is from the area, but this is her first year teaching (Biology and Agriculture) at Shikokho. 

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Turkeys and Geese and Baboons, Oh My!


Hi everyone,


       This weekend has been rather uneventful, so I thought I would take the time to fill you in on my visit to the principal’s house last weekend.  Thomas lives on the other side of this house during the week, but his family lives in his hometown about an hour and a half from Shikokho (in the direction of Uganda).  We had a little trouble getting past Kakamega because only one of the handful of gas stations in town had any fuel.  Gas shortages have become more of a problem recently in Africa.  After waiting in line (or “queuing up,” as they say here) for about half an hour, we were on our way.  Like on the trip from Nairobi, the road was paved the whole way and had some really pretty scenery.  We drove through a peripheral section of the Kakamega Forest, which is a tiny, isolated section of the Guineo-Congolan rainforest—a massive belt of jungle that used to stretch from coast to coast across sub-Saharan Africa.  Due to large-scale deforestation (mainly for the purposes of establishing tea plantations, grazing land, and collecting firewood), Kakamega Forest is now a solitary patch of around 230 square kilometers.  According to the Rough Guide to Kenya, the forest is “famous among zoologists and botanists around the world as an example of how an isolated environment can survive cut off from its larger body.”  I can’t wait to visit it for real!

            Thomas’s home is in Bungoma, and luckily I did not find it “unremittingly dull,” as Rough Guide so affectionately puts it.  I was greeted by Thomas’s wife, daughter, and about 100 different birds scattered about the yard—chickens, turkeys, ducks, geese, guinea fowl (normally wild), and a very unfriendly-looking turkey tom that Thomas was quick to warn me about.  Thomas and his wife have four sons and three daughters; the sons are all college-aged or older, one of the daughters just finished secondary school, and two of the daughters are in primary school.  At the house was Lillian, 18, and Paul, who I’m not sure about because we were never introduced.  Lillian is at home for the next couple months waiting to find out if her exam scores are high enough to get into university (she wants to be a doctor) and was an excellent companion.  We sat outside in the shade of the house all afternoon and chatted—mostly about the US and its comparisons to Kenya.  We talked a lot about all their birds and how much I like eggs, so at one point she ran inside and scrambled some for me.

            The family also recently adopted a young, mentally disabled girl named Purity.  She was practically blind and deaf (and is still mute) before Thomas and his wife took her to a doctor, but now can see and hear, although poorly.  Due to her condition, Purity's mother never let her outside of the house for the first 10 to 12 years of her life.  When they discovered her situation, Thomas and his wife brought Purity to live with them, took her to a doctor, and put her in a special school for the disabled.  She can now write her name, but not much else.  Right now Thomas's family cannot afford her school fees, so she has to stay at home.  She can handle all domestic chores and answers when called; later when I took a picture of her and Lillian, she looked at the screen and then pointed to Lillian and herself.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

So... When do we start teaching?


            Well, it took the better part of two weeks, but I finally have a better grasp on what goes on at Shikokho Secondary.  I arrived in the village last Tuesday, and on Wednesday the principal walked me over to the school to meet the staff.  As we approached the school we were met by a group of about 40 students walking in the opposite direction.  Thomas murmured: “They are being sent home because they do not have their school fees.”  In Kenya, even a public school like Shikokho Secondary is not free.  Fees for the year are only 10,000 shillings (roughly $100), but even this small amount can be very difficult to come up with.  Walking past them, knowing that I had spent over twice the cost of their year’s education in town the previous day, was an awful feeling.  I quickly sympathized with the principal’s predicament, however.  Many of the parents have the money, but are reluctant to give it up.  It appears that paying school fees can sometimes turn into a game of who-can-pull-one-over-on-the-principal, which will only come back to bite Thomas when government auditors inspect the books.  So Thomas has to be tough, but he is fair; if a parent can come up with at least 1,000 shillings by the beginning of school the child is allowed to start classes.

            Thomas then introduced me to the Director of Studies, Mr. Mwimani, who is also an English teacher.  After a brief discussion of my college studies (Thomas: “Maybe you can start an environmental club.” Hey, now there’s an idea…), we agreed that I will be teaching English, and Mr. Mwimani showed me into the staff room, where I met a few of the other teachers, including his wife and fellow English teacher.  I didn’t make the connection until later, but Thomas had warned me about the Mwimanis.  They were appointed to Shikokho by the government and therefore are not directly employed by the school.  “They are very lazy,” Thomas had said. “You will see the wife playing games on her phone all day long.”  I was officially introduced to only one or two other teachers, as most of them did not arrive until later in the morning (if at all).  To my slight irritation, it does not seem to be Kenyan culture to tell someone your name when you first meet them.  I shook hands with over a dozen people that day and came out with zero names to show for it (apart from the Mwimanis).  It was a fitting start to a week and a half of confusion and frustration.

Friday, January 13, 2012

House in Shikokho / New Pics

 ***NOTE: I have added pictures to previous entries (elephants, giraffes, etc.), so be sure to check them out!***

Hi everyone,

Just finished my second week in Shikokho--expect posts covering that time later this weekend (I was so irritated that I couldn't get my internet working that I haven't typed anything out yet). It took me a while to figure out what the heck was going on with the school schedule, because the first week is not very well organized. The schools opened last Tuesday, but the majority of the students did not have their school fees until a week later... meaning, the first week the teachers can't really do anything and I was SO BORED. Monday-Thursday of this week was testing, and today I taught my first official class! I taught one last Friday, but only about 1/3 of the students were present. It has been very frustrating at school because practically nothing was explained to me and I spent 8 hours a day sitting in the staff room wondering why in the WORLD aren't I in a classroom right now? I'm feeling much better now, however, because we finally sat down as a department and figured out my schedule (although it may still change slightly).

I promise to update more this weekend, but for now here are a few photos from the house I am staying in.


The house: the left side is ours


Right now I am living in the common room, as this side of the house has 2 bedrooms. Later we will move to the other side, which has 3, and I will have my own room.



Kitchen. It has running water and lights, but nothing else electric. I cook on a gas stove

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Tuesday, January 3rd


Hello everyone, I finally have internet on my computer! Here are two updates from last week (note that I have posted two separate posts). Expect more tomorrow, including pictures!

       Tuesday morning I had been told to be ready for the Headmaster to pick me up from Kakamega at 10 am. Per Kenyan Time, he arrived at 11:30, accompanied by the school’s counselor, Everlyne. They took me to one of the three Wal-Mart type stores in the town, and I stocked up on the rest of the things I’ll need in the village. Poor Everlyne had volunteered to take charge of my cart so she had to follow me as I criss-crossed the store a billion times looking for the items on my list. We then crammed my luggage, my groceries (including two large basins for bathing and laundry), the Headmaster, Everlyne, me, and another school employee that needed a ride home into the Headmaster’s tiny car. After running a few errands in town we finally headed in the direction of Shikokho! I can’t remember what the distance is from Kakamega (people keep answering me in kilometers so it goes over my head), but the drive took us around 25 minutes. Thankfully, Everlyne had picked up a nice, cold Coke for me to have on the drive. The group was not as impressed as I thought they would be when I told them that I lived in the city where Coke was invented, but I was impressed when the Headmaster, Thomas, took the cap of the (glass) bottle off for me with his teeth.

       After some driving down bumpy dirt roads, which for the most part are impassable in the rainy season, we arrived in Shikokho! We went straight to the school, where I will be living in a house with two other teachers (both young Kenyan women). The house is a duplex, with a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms on each side. It is roughly the same size and shape as the apartment I lived in at Davidson. The living room is about the size of a dorm room, and then the kitchen is half that size. Right now I am staying in the living room (there is a bed) because this side of the house, where the two other women live, only has two bedrooms. The other side has three bedrooms and the Headmaster lives there alone right now. Sometime next week we will switch sides so all of us girls can have our own bedroom. The other two have been out of town, so I have not met them yet. It is just as well that they are gone, as I don’t have to feel bad about cluttering up the living room with all my stuff.

Monday, January 2nd


       Monday was spent mostly with Peter in Kakamega. Like the first time we met, he called me five minutes before he was to arrive at the hotel and I had to scramble to run out and meet him. I had been under the impression that he lived in Shikokho (pronounced Shi-ko-ho. You do not pronounce the second “k”), but he actually lives right in Kakamega. His wife and four children, however, live in Nairobi—I don’t know but I’m guessing because the schools are better. We swung by his apartment to pick up the keys to the Foundation for Sustainable Development (FSD) office. I got to see more of the town in the process. It is basically three main parallel streets, and I would estimate that the main city center is about 3 or 4 square city blocks. When we got to the office I made a delightful discovery—another white girl! She is interning with Peter from Canada, is also 22, and is also named Emily! We exchanged numbers so we can meet up sometime during these last three months of her six-month stay. She is living with a host family just outside Kakamega. As we sat there in his office Peter shared some gossip with us about a few of the other Westerners that have worked in or around Kakamega—whether with FSD, the Peace Corps, or teaching in the schools. They mostly involved white girls taking Kenyan lovers and causing big drama (typical)—the juiciest story stars a young American woman who had to abruptly return home to give birth to her half-Kenyan love child. The father (or shall I say Father) of the baby? Oh, just the Catholic priest.

Apart from warning me that I’m on my own when it comes to men (“I want to be your guide, but if you choose to have sex with a Kenyan man—that’s on you.”), Peter gave me many helpful tips on living and teaching in Shikokho. He explained how the school is structured and how I should negotiate my schedule with the Headmaster. Primary school in Kenya goes from grade 1-8, which they call "standards" (or sometimes "classes" instead of “grades” (5th grade is Standard 5, 6th grade is Standard 6, etc.). When they reach the secondary school, they are called "forms." So, 9th grade is Form 1, and 12th grade is Form 4. From there, rigorous examinations determine if you will be able to attend a 4-year University (although, just like in the States, some degrees—such as engineering—take longer to complete). 

 There are almost 600 students at Shikokho Secondary, which means around150 per form (grade). Each form is then separated for classes into “streams.” For the subject of English, each stream (meaning a class of around 50 students) has six 40-minute lessons per week (one of those meetings being a double period). So, Peter suggested I tell the Headmaster I want to teach two streams of English, which will mean 12 lessons per week. It baffles me that we are even having this conversation—you mean the school opens tomorrow and it hasn’t been decided yet what I’ll even be doing?? Can you imagine trying to pull that in the US? Maybe it’s because they are not paying me a salary, but I had no idea I would have this type of negotiating power—I assumed they would have made up my schedule for me and let me know the plan when I got there. I’m cool with this version of events, however. We also talked about how I can contribute to the school outside of the classroom. I’ve had it in the back of my head for a while now that I would like to start a chapter of the environmental organization 350.org. Peter liked the idea, but suggested that I put a lot of limits on membership, because if I’m not careful the whole school will show up for the club with the mzungu. I’ll take some time to think on it (“For the first month, focus less on doing and more on observing”), but right now I’m leaning towards an all girls environmental club. According to Peter, the girls in the school need strong mentors, as drop-outs due to pregnancy are on the rise. Lastly, Peter let me borrow two books on Kiswahili and the Rough Guide to Kenya. He advised me to keep myself busy reading to manage the culture shock better. 

 Because I had been running around with Peter all day (we went shopping after leaving the office) I had not eaten at all and was starving. Since it was my last night in the hotel, I decided to be adventurous and order one of the more expensive items on the menu—goat meat. Up until then I had been sticking to the vegetarian Indian dishes, which were 200 shillings on average. The goat—450 Kshs—came with potatoes and was a big disappointment all around. The goat meat had a delicious flavor, but was extremely tough and the majority of my serving was bones and gristle. The potatoes were bland, but I was delighted to find that the mound of shredded carrots that had been adorning all my meals was flavored with pineapple juice and was very good (making me half angry that I hadn’t tried it before). After giving up on the goat I popped in to see the mission group (they are a collaboration of two organizations—IDEA and VOSH—and the name of the trip is New Year’s Mission: Kenya Eye Clinic) again. They had seen Shikokho that day! I chatted with the pastor working with the group and he said he would try to visit me sometime this year (he lives in a village nearby). When I headed back to my room after dinner, one of the staff, Sheila, came to tidy up. Since the rooms are normally cleaned around noon, I think she had purposely waited until I was back so that we could chat. After asking my about the picture of Bryan and me I had propped up on the bedside table, she told me I had better come back to visit because, if not, "I will die!" What a cutie.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Last day in Kakamega

Yesterday I ventured out alone for the first time since coming to Africa. I’m still unclear what exactly my living situation will be, but I know I’ll need kitchen utensils so I started to walk back through town to Tusky’s. Not long into my journey I noticed a small boy (maybe 9 years old) following me closely at my elbow. A minute later, there were two of them. I asked them how they were, and the next thing I know, we’re all walking in a line holding hands. Oh boy, I thought, what did I just get myself into, but it made me smile and it was nice to have company. Their names were Stephen and Juma, and they never left my side the entirety of my shopping trip. I literally couldn’t make any sudden movements, because every time I turned around I was bumping into one of them. They tried to carry stuff for me and would grab things off the shelf before I could reach them, so I think they were aiming to be paid for the help. I felt a little sad at their disappointed faces when I said goodbye without giving them anything, but as Peter said, my white skin may as well be a flashing dollar sign on my forehead, and I need to make it clear that I am not here to hand out money.

While shopping I started to feel foolish again about my expectations for the region. I had lugged overseas several extra tubes of toothpaste, shampoo, soap, etc., thinking I would not be able to find them here. WRONG. Kakamega has pretty much everything I could ever need, including a cheap paperback copy of a book I’ve been wanting to read but didn’t buy back home because it was too expensive (too embarrassed to name the book but, Curtis, if you’re reading this, I think you know which one I’m talking about). I feel the same way about my wardrobe. Even in rural Kakamega, people for the most part do not dress like they are in the third world. This is especially true for the women, who often wear heels and snappy skirts and blouses. They do have a strange tendency to wear heavy coats or pullovers, which frankly baffles me as I sweat through my light T-shirts.

I don’t know if it was because there were fewer people on the streets or because Nancy wasn’t by my side, but I attracted a little more attention as I walked around town. It mostly came from men, who had the awkward tendency of waiting until after I had walked by to say “Hello, how are you?” or “Mzungu, hello!” (Mzungu is an all-inclusive term for “white person”). A few times I had to sidestep men offering rides on their boda bodas or in their matatus and say, “No thanks, I’m walking”. A boda boda is a simply a bike with a seat on the back and is a very popular/cheap mode of transport. Children and a couple women said hi to me as well. The children would giggle when I answered their greetings, and one little girl ran up and touched my arm as I passed by her in the store.


Last night I met my first group of Americans since arriving in Kakamega. They are a Christian group staying in the hotel as they travel around to nearby villages fitting people with glasses. I sat with them as they finished their dinner and went over their day and the upcoming days. Yesterday had been rough for them, as the village was very poor and no one spoke English. When I explained I would be teaching in Shikokho, a pastor they are working with native to the area said it was very close to where they had been that day. It hasn’t been that long, but it was nice to be around a bunch of other mzungus. They were worn out from the hard day but were very friendly and invited me to come along with them today. Unfortunately I had some more stuff to take care of here, so it didn’t work out. It was very neat, however, to hear about where some of our old donated glasses end up—I think I heard them say they gave out a couple hundred pairs in that one day alone!


Sometime today I think either Peter or the Headmaster, Thomas, will be in Kakamega to speak with me, and tomorrow morning Thomas will pick me up at the hotel in his car and bring me to Shikokho. I know the school opens tomorrow, but I do not know if that means classes will start (I hope not). The Kenyan way of life is very slow and relaxed, so it takes a while to figure out details—LUCKILY, though, my way of life is also very slow and relaxed. Hakuna Matata! (And yes, this is an actual Kiswahili phrase meaning “there are no problems,” and it is the unofficial motto of Kenya. Another language note—the term “Swahili” does not actually refer to the language, it refers to the culture that originated with the fusion of Kenyan coastal tribes and Arab traders. The “ki” means “language of.” So, Kiswahili means “language of the Swahili people.” The people of Shikokho are Luhya, so they speak Kiluhya--although I think many of them also know Kiswahili and at least some English).

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get internet next, but I should have good cell service if you feel like calling. You can email my dad at Chuck@thecastlefamily.com and he can get you the info on calling cards (they are cheap, I swear).

I survived 9 hours on Kenya's roadways

       In the morning, Moses came to put me on the bus to Kakamega. Even thought the bus station was maybe 30 yards down the sidewalk, I was glad to have him there. I don’t know if it’s because Moses is good with people or if it was because I am white, but he got my bags put onto the bus first and made sure they were safely stored away before I got on. In the same vein, I knew I was over the luggage weight limit that was printed on my ticket, but nobody said anything. Another rule listed on the ticket that I found odd: “Passengers are allowed only one baby.” Other than that, the bus was more or less exactly like a typical Greyhound (or Young bus for all you DCSD readers), only no TV and no air conditioning. It did, however, have the addition of an attendant that walked the aisle to make sure everything was ok, handed out bottled water, and checked everyone for buckled seatbelts.

       I had been given very strict instructions by both Peter and Moses to follow while on the bus: Do not accept anything from anybody—ESPECIALLY food or drink, as it could be drugged to make you easier to rob. Do not tell anyone what exactly you are doing here and how long you will be staying. Do not buy anything but bottled water or pre-packaged food at the bus stops, and do so at the bus station, not at any of the local shops. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous when I got on the bus, but nobody so much as looked twice at me. The bus was probably a little over halfway full with women and their eerily well-behaved children. The three little boys across the aisle from me sat crammed in the same seat the whole trip and I never heard a peep out of them. The man next to me said hi and we chatted a little bit over the course of the ride, but he didn’t ask me any specifics. Funny cultural thing—at one point I was sitting with my legs crossed Indian-style in my seat, and he asked me if I was Muslim, because “that is how they sit in the Mosques.” I knew I would be too nervous to get off the bus when we stopped so I just didn’t drink much and snacked on some clif bars.

       The ride was long, but not as bad as I expected. In the last couple of years Kenya has improved its roads significantly. I ended up in the back (unlike buses in the US, you are assigned a seat), which I had been told in the guidebooks to avoid because the rough roads make for a very bouncy ride. There were definitely some rough spots, but overall it was fine. Not 20 minutes into the trip, however, we passed a massive wreck involving a matatu (public transport—mostly vans with several rows of seating) and a flatbed truck. Luckily the people involved had already been taken away, but the twisted metal did NOT reassure me much as we began our 9-hour long journey. The ride, however, was pretty uneventful. The scenery was INCREDIBLE—Mountains, valleys, rolling hills, grassland, gazelles (whose meat, according to my neighbor, is very sweet), and ZEBRAS! By the end of it my neck was very sore from staring out the window for 9 hours straight. Just like in Nairobi, the streets near the towns were very busy. This time, however, they were filled with animals as well as people. I can’t count how many herds of goats, cows, and sheep we passed.

I kissed a giraffe and liked it

Happy New Year!

       The rest of my time in the Amsterdam airport was pretty uneventful. Unlike in the US, there is a security checkpoint by every gate instead of a central one at the airport entrance. This led to an awkward moment when I realized what exactly I was standing in line for and had to push my way back through the crowd to go empty my water bottle. As I sat at the gate I was starting to feel foolish in my ankle-length peasant skirt—the people around me were not dressed as I imagined travelers to a third-world country would dress. I’m not really sure what I had in mind, but skinny jeans, ballet flats, and pencil skirts was not it. I could have been getting onto a flight to London, New York, Atlanta… etc. I felt a
little better when a nun came up to me and, after offering to help me carry my stuff onto the plane (I only had a backpack and a pillow, but what a sweetheart, right?), she told me I was “dressed perfectly for Africa. They will be so grateful.” One last note about the Amsterdam airport—East Asians everywhere. I think they were mostly on connecting flights elsewhere, but it was still strange/unexpected. I also saw at least three white couples with an adopted Asian child.

       The flight into Nairobi was exactly the same as the flight intoAmsterdam, except this time the flight attendants were Kenyan, not Dutch, and my vegetarian meal was stewed cabbage and rice instead of tortellini. I saw my first African sunrise on the descent, as well as what I think was Mt. Kenya, the second highest peak in Africa (after Mt. Kilimanjaro in neighboring Tanzania). Funny story about Mt. Kenya—while an early British colonist was exploring the region he asked his Kikuyu (the largest of several different ethnic groups in K
enya) guide the name of it. The Kikuyu, who was drinking water out of a gourd at the time, misunderstood and answered with the Kikuyu word for gourd, kenya. So now the whole country is named for a gourd. Colonists. Ugh.

       After my first experience in a squat toilet (read: hole in the floor) in the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, I met my driver/guide Moses in baggage claim. I then had another interesting experience as I watched Moses argue with, and then drive away with, two baton-waving policemen, leaving me alone on the sidewalk with my bags and a large group of bored-looking Kenyans staring at me (…Welcome to Kenya!!!). Luckily, he came back within a couple minutes and we were able to leave. Turns out he had parked illegally and, as he asked for 1,000 Kenyan Shillings (I gave him $10) before he left, I think he was driving away to bribe the officers in private.