Maasai Mara Safari

Some photos from my safari with my dad in late May

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!

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

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 café 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.

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

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