Marafiki na Jamii

December in Kenya feels even less real than November in Kenya. The closer it gets to the holidays, the more disoriented I become. Snow still hasn't fallen, and there aren't any Christmas lights or music on the streets. There are no candy canes or advent candles or nativity scenes. No crazy shopping or holiday parties, no cookies or santa hats. But, this year, something that reminds me of the holidays WILL be here. Something I missed out on last year, something that is way better than all the rest of all those trappings combined...

MY FAMILY.

I've mentioned it before, but now it's actually happening - the Wooley family will be here tomorrow. I've been in Machakos the last couple of days, wrapping up Pre-service Training sessions with the new trainees (about to be volunteers! They'll swear in on Wednesday like I did last year!) but instead of really focusing on what's happening here, my mind has been on my mom, dad and brother. They started their journey over 24 hours ago, and won't be here for another 22 hours or so (due to some layovers), but that's small change compared to how long I've been waiting to see them.

That's why I decided to write this entry today. I imagine that for the next few weeks, I won't feeling like tearing myself away from my family, even for a few moments to blog. But I wanted to send out a holiday greeting. Also, I would like to ask a favor. A Christmas wish, if you will:

One thing that's convenient about a blog is that it's an easy way to reach a lot of people at once. The obnoxious downside, however, is that it's hopelessly one-sided. I can write hundreds of words about what I'm doing, thinking and experiencing, but never know what YOU all are up to. I catch up with people occasionally, but this Christmas, I want to catch up with everyone at once.

So, if we know one another, I'm asking you to e-mail me an update on your life. I don't care if it's been a week, a month, over a year (or more) since we talked. I don't care if you have a novel to send me, or if you think you haven't done anything interesting and don't know what to write. Just tell me a story, a feeling or an idea. Tell me what you're thinking about, dreaming about and what's happened since we last caught up. Tell me something you've never told me before, or something you've told me a hundred times. No one is exempt. I can't wait to hear from you, all marafiki na jamii yangu (my friends and family).

So, have a Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! I love and miss you all every day. Stay tuned to this blog at the beginning of January, I will have a lot to share once my family vacation is over, and when my next term of teaching starts.

Also, if you want to see some updated pictures, I finally uploaded more! Click here to see them.

Amani na upendo!

Siku Kwa Bata Mzinga

If I could paint a picture with words…

I’d say it’s Thanksgiving 2011, and I’m listening to the new Drake album (via Ian). I’m with Asheville’s own Anna Martin, cooking and telling stories, sharing our mutual disbelief – HOW have we actually survived a year in Kenya? The African sun is searing, falling in the sky, pouring through the eastward facing windows; the opposite of the November weather I grew up with. We’re staying with a cardiologist in Eldoret (a day’s travel from Sipili) who’s from Anna’s hometown and recognizes my late cardiologist grandfather’s name. We just got back, dusty and thirsty, from town. It’s a 20-minute walk, but economically distant from the landscaped compounds and guarded gates where these doctors live. We’re about to have Thanksgiving dinner, including turkey, sweet potatoes, corn casserole, green bean casserole, pies, and (if I’m REAL lucky) some cranberries somewhere. But back in Eldoret town, and back in Sipili, it’s another Thursday like the Thursday before.

But that description is not enough to really explain what it feels like to smell ovens full of rich food. Or to hear “Holly Jolly Christmas” tumbling out of the neighbor doctor’s house. Sounds and smells so contrary to those in the village that I’m almost disoriented. But I know that if I were back in the states, it would be even stronger, even more contrary. It’s hard to explain this “halfway”. Thirteen months out of twenty three, more comfortable around Kenyans than Americans, overwhelmed by microwaves and showers, counting down the days until I’m headed back to the US. Spatially and temporally, I can't really tell whether I'm closer to Kenya or the USA. It's like I'm in both places at once. But I’ve said it before, my experience here is defined by opposites existing simultaneously. Beauty and ugliness, hope and despair, exhaustion and energy. Native and foreign. I’ve decided I think that’s where the growth happens.

And this Thanksgiving, that’s what I’m thankful for. Growth. It’s been difficult, but everything worthwhile is. I’m also thankful for the usual things like family, friends, and health. (Side note: the fact that  these things are usual in my life is ANOTHER reason to be thankful). I’m ESPECIALLY thankful that despite all the unrest, my family will be here in less than three weeks.

I’m also thankful that you’re reading this. Whoever you are, wherever you’re sitting and whatever screen you’re gazing upon, I am humbled that you read what I write. It’s a blessing to share my triumphs and defeats with whoever chooses to listen.

Love and peace to you all, and Happy Siku Kwa Batu Mzinga (turkey day), everyone!

Unrest

Unrest (ŭn-rĕst’) noun: An uneasy or troubled condition.

Considering that I’d typically define my Kenyan home as “tranquil,” this past month has caused an unwelcome paradigm shift.

It’s notable that I’m having a hard time writing a blog post. I’m usually effusive, gushing about a new perspective I’ve gained, or an experience I’ve learned from.

This time, I don’t know how much to write, and how much to keep to myself. But there's unrest in Kenya, there's unrest in me, and it’s become obvious to me that complete avoidance of WHY there's unrest isn’t an option (especially when it comes to family and friends). I owe it to be honest with people back home, and my silence would say more than intended if I didn’t address the current state of Kenya, and how it’s affecting my life.

It’s no secret that Kenya is at war. It’s more than a little strange to be sitting in another continent, watching heads of state on TV speaking the same words that the US president said a decade ago: “We are not at war with a nation. We are at war with terror.” “We will not pull out of their country until we feel safe.” “We will not negotiate with terrorists.” Talk about déjà vu. But this time it’s Somalia, and not Iraq. And this time it’s the Kenyan military, and not the US military. The similarities are more abundant than the differences, though. People are on edge, worried about their friends and family members. Travel has slowed down, certain places are considered unsafe. We’re all on our guard, “remaining vigilant” and hoping for a speedy resolution. Peace Corps volunteers have unique concerns. Our freedom is compromised. We are losing sleep, worrying about evacuation. Although it’s extremely unlikely, just the thought of leaving our pupils, our communities, our friends and homes is enough to make us feel sick.

But in the midst of war, I have learned something about peace. I joined the “Peace Corps” for a lot of different reasons, but the most important one was its method – peace through friendship. Not through preaching, not through deposing governments or modifying culture, but through genuine understanding and acceptance. Those things are the foundation of peace, and I am proud to be part of a group that’s committed to building such a foundation. We really are "watu kwa amani," and it's something I am lucky to experience. But my conception of peace has changed. Now it’s not just an abstract dream I have for people and nations. It’s a state of being that I recognize intimately as a requirement for humans to function properly. It’s as essential as food or water. The suspension of a peaceful life and the replacement of love with fear is toxic and degenerative. Since seeing conflict closer than I ever have before, I don’t just hope for peace someday. I realize that I desperately need peace to feel like myself. Just like the rest of Kenyans and Somalis need it. Like the rest of the world needs it.

To reassure you all, I really am safe. It’s like I’m leading a double life – my school and my village are moving at their typical leisurely pace, while the news in Nairobi and the Kenya/Somalia border changes faster than I can track. Even though peace has been shaken, I feel secure where I am. I had trainees here from Machakos this past week, shadowing me to experience the daily life of a PCV. Exams at school are done, all except the BIG exam: the KCPE for class 8. They’ll be tested next week, and once they go home the term will be officially finished. I’ll be halfway done with my service, already gearing up for next year. I’ll be making holiday plans, helping out with training, and spending some much-needed quiet time at site. I'm maintaining the status quo in my life as much as possible.

Please keep Kenyans and Somalis in your prayers (as well as the rest of the people in the world who live without peace every day). And if you want to stay updated on what’s happening in Kenya, I’ve found that Al Jazeera has some of the most accurate news coverage (http://english.aljazeera.net/).

Peace is rest, and this unrest truly is "unpeace." Maybe someday we'll all be able to rest well, without fear. But for the time being, I refuse to feel threatened. I'll work on nurturing true friendships instead, because the foundation of peace is never really finished.

Once Around the Sun

It’s been just over one year since I arrived in Kenya. I can’t believe it. As one of my fellow volunteers stated, it’s been an experience “outside of time.” It’s crawled, it’s flown, it’s been joyful, it’s been treacherous.

I’ve already changed more than I imagined I would. This blog entry is an opportunity to reflect, and share my reflections on what has happened inside and around me this past year. It’s not exhaustive, but maybe it will provide a more complete picture of how far I’ve come, and what’s still ahead for me.

I’m a different person than I was last October. As strange as it sounds, I know it’s true. There have been quirky changes; for example, if I ever have kids, I’m pretty sure they’ll have a conversation along these lines:

Kid 1: Why does mom keep EVERY empty container? Everyone else’s mom just throws away the peanut butter jar when the peanut butter is gone.

Kid 2: I think it’s because she lived in Africa a long time ago. Maybe they don’t throw away jars there.

Kid 1: Oh. Is that why she always carries a roll of toilet paper with her everywhere too?

Kid 2: Yeah, probably. Maybe there was no toilet paper there, either.

Kid 1: And she’s really crazy about using too much water. And she likes lanterns better than light bulbs.

Kid 2: I don’t know any other mommies like that.

Kid 1: Yeah. Is our mom crazy?

Kid 2: I guess so.

Clearly, I’m pretty sure that many of the idiosyncrasies I’ve developed (such as extreme thrift and a mild obsession with conservation) will last a lifetime. The thought of waste makes me a little nauseous lately. Or maybe that’s just another parasite.

There have been some other changes that run deeper, though. My religious and political convictions have been affected. I have a different opinion on marriage and family life. Most notably, my plans for the future have evolved. When I left the US, I was pretty unsure about what I wanted to do for a career. I took the GRE here, in case I wanted to go to graduate school. I had some LSAT prep materials in case I wanted to become a lawyer, and I was looking into every program in the US that gives priority to RPCVs (Yes, they exist! Yet another reason to join the Peace Corps). I even considered an MFA in creative writing. But somehow, being a teacher has convinced me to be a doctor. I didn’t expect to find similarities between education and healthcare, but they’re closely related. They’re both about empowering people, through encouragement and genuine concern, to take their future into their own hands. Whether you’re trying to foster study skills and academic excellence, or a healthy lifestyle and mindset, you have to maintain a similar posture. And in that posture, I thrive. It’s something that, as scary as medical school sounds, I can’t avoid. So I’ve decided to take the MCAT as soon as I get home, and then get serious about applying for medical school.

I’m a lot more patient after a year in Kenya. I can wait for a vehicle to fill up with passengers for a good hour and a half before I start to get antsy. Five-hour staff meetings are par for the course. Any church service less than three hours feels rushed. I’m used to chores that last an entire day, and waiting for water to boil before I bathe. I do a LOT of waiting, but those are just opportunities for thoughts, plans and observations. Or for just quietly existing.

Maybe not all the changes are good. I have become more cynical about the way my home in the US interacts with my Kenyan home. Reading the news about poverty, aid and development while living on this side of the globe has been enlightening, in a sobering way. Although I sometimes resent how so many people here initially see me as a walking ATM because of my skin color (just today a stranger came up to me and yelled “We! Nipe kumi!” which translates to “You! Give me ten shillings!”), I have to acknowledge that a lot of the people back home see my friends here as underprivileged or needy just because they are African. Those kinds of misunderstandings are what hurt me the most. Many people here have a far higher quality of life than people I know in the US despite having no electricity, running water, internet, car, or prospects of a secondary education. But the worst part is that some people don’t recognize the beauty in their lives, because the world tells them they’re “poor” and they believe the lie. Of course hunger and poverty is a reality here, but it’s not everyone's reality. Besides, it's also a reality in the US, and all over the world. The causes are complex, and can’t be solved by merely throwing money at the symptoms. I’ve become aware of how powerful our collective perceptions are, and how dangerous they can be when they’re flawed. I will be forever careful of this. I’ve become convinced that monetary donations are used correctly in a shocking minority of cases, and that true understanding of one another and intentional, personal relationships are the only genuine ways to erode suffering. If cash flow is a result of those things, it can be an asset. But funds without friendship are useless.

In a nutshell, I believe that if we want to “help” foreign countries, the most important first step is to consider how we talk about those countries at home. Are they pitied? Considered weak, disease-ridden or poor? Such language is general. Saying East Africa suffers from famine (very common in the news these days) omits the reality of abundant food in the Rift Valley, for example. Such language breeds dependence, sickness and poverty. While the ills of society will always exist and should not be forgotten, let’s not remain ignorant of the rest. Let’s see the whole picture of foreign nations, including their cultures, their victories and their riches. Focus on the flip side of the coin for a change – It may surprise us. My new point of view has certainly surprised me.

Some of my changes are just realizations. I’ve been pushed to limits I hadn’t experienced before, and now I know a LOT more about myself. A few examples:

- I always thought I was infinitely tolerant of children, but I get really annoyed when the primary school kids STILL follow me home, trying to touch my hair and chanting “HOW ARE YOU, MZUNGU?!” in a nasal voice, meant to mimic an American accent. Visitors think it’s cute and play along with the kids, but I shoot them angry looks and say “WE! Jina langu si ‘mzungu.’ Ninaitwa Jennifer” (“You! My name isn’t mzungu. I’m called Jennifer”) until they show a little respect.

- I thought I loved all animals, but the mean, stray village dogs terrify me. So does the young bull at school, who charged me once, resulting in a shriek and a dash to seek refuge in the kitchen. And ELEPHANTS. I don’t want to run into one of those when I’m not in a car.

- I used to think it was noble to live without electronics, to shun Facebook and e-mail as unnecessary tethers to an impersonal virtual world, but I bought my first smartphone in Kenya and I love being able to stay more connected.

- I used to consider my identity as a US citizen as something circumstantial, and not that important. Now I’m proud of a lot of innovations, policies, cultures and realities that exist in and come from the US. It’s not a perfect nation by far, but I miss it every single day.

With all this lesson-learning, I'm surprised I had any time to TEACH any lessons. But it's a give and take, I suppose. Overall, it’s been a year of contradictions. Very high highs, and very low lows. But I’ve survived, and somehow thrived. I have no idea what this next year will bring, but I’m hoping it will be as eventful as this past year has been.

And of course, this Kenyanniversary wouldn't be complete with an appreciation for the people who have been on the receiving end of frantic e-mails when I just wanted to just go home, and talked me down. And for friends who send mail. And family members who call every week. And anyone else who's reading this and thinking of Kenya, or anything else this adventure/blog is about. You all go here with me, every single day.

A Water Story

Since I don’t have running water, I fetch my water from an old iron hand pump (connected to a massive tank) on the family compound where I live. The process is simple – I fill a bucket, haul it back to my house, pour it into a big 100-liter container next to my stove, and repeat until the job is finished. One hundred liters will last about a week. It’s used for daily bathing, washing dishes, drinking (after being treated), and cleaning the floors. Considering ONE shower with pipes uses much more than my weekly water ration, I feel pretty good about my water usage. But a little embarrassed of how much water I waste stateside. If only hot showers weren’t so miraculous…

Anyway, I’m not writing this in order to brag about being water-economical. There’s something else I wanted to share. After around 40-or-so of these weekly refills, I've noticed that it always takes exactly six buckets full (to the top) to fill the container again. It’s consistent these days because I have my water-pumping and bucket-carrying muscles built up enough to keep from spilling. So, it’s always six buckets full, and six trips between the pump and my house.

It turns out, six is an important number for another reason. It’s the number of terms I’m teaching. And since I’ve made that connection, my weekly water-fetching has become a metaphor for my time as a teacher.

The first bucket is kind of a pain. It’s the action sparked by my dreaded, inexorable realization: I’ve (literally) scraped the bottom of the barrel. I know it’s going to be extra work in the middle of some OTHER chore (usually cooking or cleaning) to fetch water. But I’m a little cheerful, because I know that I’ll be glad to have a full 100 Liters again. It takes a while to fill the first bucket, because I have to get the pump rhythm down so I don’t lose extra water that gushes from the joints of the pump as I work, and I have to concentrate as I walk so I don’t spill any water. And I usually am careful enough not to.

The second bucket goes quicker, but I get a little careless. I try to speed up the process, which makes it feel even longer. I get annoyed when I think “I still have 4 MORE WHOLE BUCKETS, how can I ever finish?! This is a nightmare!” But by the time I’ve finished mentally complaining, the bucket is full. I usually spill a little of the second bucket on the way to the house, and while pouring it into the container, because I get too confident.

I almost NEVER fill up the third bucket all the way. I intend to, but as I watch the water line creep higher in the bucket, I somehow convince myself I’m finished before I really am. As I walk to my house, peering down at the low water line, I make a mental note to fill the rest of buckets ALL the way so I don’t have to make a seventh trip.

The fourth and fifth buckets are the same – they happen without me even noticing. By that time, I’ve usually gotten used to the process and I’m thinking of what I’m planning to do with the water. Maybe I’m going to boil some water for tea, wash the mud off my chacos, or treat some water for drinking. At this point, I’m all about thinking ahead.

When number six rolls around, I become very aware that I need only one more bucket of water. I can tell my tank is almost full, and I walk a little slower to the pump. I’m relieved, but I look back and recognize that it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I take a few seconds to appreciate the environment around the pump as I fill the bucket – moss growing where water leaks on the wooden stand, the scuffle of the chickens in the adjacent pen, the lowing of the littlest, loudest calf (named June because that’s when she was born), and the fuchsia-colored bougainvillea blossoms. I finish, content.

I know I’ve only taught two complete terms, and I’m just a few weeks into the third. But so far, the emotions and experiences correspond with my water-fetching experience pretty well. I don’t know what my fourth, fifth and sixth terms will bring, but if they’re anything like hauling water, they’ll happen faster than I expect. One question remains in the metaphor, though. What, exactly, am I filling? If the number of buckets represents the number of terms, what does the water represent? I'd like to think it's knowledge, and the kids are the empty water tank, but that's giving myself WAY too much credit. It's probably more accurate to say that the water is patience. Or understanding. And that I'M the empty tank. But maybe the whirlwind of the next few terms will give me the answer.

I just hope I remember to stop and smell the bougainvilleas.

August Adventures

I can hardly believe  it’s September already. Facebook reminded me today that exactly one year ago, I was heading back to San Diego to visit one last time before I left for Kenya. That seems impossible – wasn’t that another lifetime? I suppose that in some senses, it absolutely was.

Since I wrote last, I’ve completed all scheduled travel/exams/activities, and am now back in the staffroom at my dear Sipili School for the Deaf. But I won’t gloss over my August adventures. There were some incredible experiences, beginning with my trip to the coast (which started right after I last wrote). The bus ride from Nairobi to Mombasa started out chilly (as is typical of Nairobi this time of year), but we could gauge our proximity to the coast by the temperature, which slowly increased as we approached Mombasa. By the time we arrived, I thought I was in a different country altogether. The first things (aside from the heat) I noticed that seemed out of place were all the palm trees. If I looked up without observing any of my surroundings other than the palm trees against the blue sky, I could easily pretend I was back in southern California.

The hotel where we stayed for the Cross-Sector Workshops was absolutely incredible. There were about 6 of us volunteers who had all traveled together to the training from Camp GLOW, and we’d been on the same bus for eight hours, which meant we were all pretty dirty, disheveled and tired by the time we got to Bamburi (just north of Mombasa). When we entered the hotel we’d be staying in for the next week, we felt COMPLETELY out of place. The lights were bright, the floors were clean, and we could see a pool outside. Someone came out of nowhere when we were checking in to bring us chilled pineapple juice. There were carts for our bags, and when we got to the rooms we discovered bathtubs. It was surreal. And right next to the beach! Looking back at it objectively, there are definitely nicer places in the US (Hotel Del Coronado, anyone?) but getting to this resort-style hotel on the beach after life in the village and roughing it at camp was a HUGE shock. There were two amenities in my room that I was especially excited about (because I hadn’t seen them at all in Kenya yet): air conditioning, and a hair dryer. Since the whole hotel experience, I have amended my opinion regarding the best aspect of modern technology. Before, I would have said I most value the ability to control the temperature of liquids (cold drinks and hot showers are FAR better than the opposite). But after my cool room and blow-dried ‘do, I no longer take for granted the ability to control the temperature of gases either. Actually, temperature control in general is pretty fantastic.

Not only was the hotel great, but the content of the seminar was very helpful. All us Peace Corps Volunteers had each invited two Kenyan counterparts to come with us for the seminar, so I met two of my coworkers as the sessions began. The first day was one long Kiswahili lesson for us volunteers, which totally whetted my appetite to keep learning (more on that later). The rest of the week focused largely on issues surrounding HIV/AIDS in Kenya, and what we as Americans and Kenyans can do in our communities to combat its spread. The information was great, and we were able to get in discussions with our Kenyan coworkers about issues that tended to divide us culturally, but taught us a LOT about one another. In the course of the sessions, I heard something that really resonated with me. A lot of people are afraid to go to a Voluntary Counseling and Testing (VCT) center to get an HIV test, because the prospect of finding out they’re HIV positive is terrifying. But one man explained it really well: of course it’s true that you shouldn’t be afraid of getting tested and finding out you’re positive, because testing doesn’t MAKE you positive, it just makes you aware of your status so you can take the best next steps. BUT the flip side of the coin is just as important. People shouldn’t freak out or be afraid of getting tested for HIV, because in reality, most people are negative. Even in Kenya. Even in all of Africa. MOST people do not have the virus, and once you know you don’t have the virus, you can be intentional about protecting the health you know you have. Some people tend to be fatalistic when they hear that Kenya has such a high incidence of the virus, and assume they probably have it. And yes, a 6.8% infection rate is a crisis. But instead of throwing your hands up, refusing to get tested and leaving it up to fate, it’s much more empowering for those who are HIV negative to know they aren’t infected, and make sure they keep it that way. All the other sessions were equally thought-provoking, and my coworkers and I all went away with some ideas for HIV/AIDS awareness activities to do in our school and community.

In some of our down time, we were able to travel into Mombasa town and see the sights. There is an old stone fort called Fort Jesus which was built by the Portuguese in the 16^th century, a fantastic market, beautiful fabrics (called kikoys), spicy street food (gotta love shwarma), and a very strong Muslim presence. Old Mombasa (where Fort Jesus is located) reminded me of Europe in some ways, with high apartment-style buildings built close to one another with small, winding alleys between them, and iron balconies jutting out from the upper stories. The mosques are majestic, and the call to prayer (adhan) is hauntingly beautiful. The adhan happens five times a day, and it pours out from a loudspeaker in the minaret of each mosque in town. Even if I was in the middle of bartering in the market or in a vehicle traveling down Mombasa’s cosmopolitan streets, the undulating, recording of the adhan immediately transported me to some ancient place in my mind, and reminded me of Mombasa’s historic importance. It also elicits an unexpectedly deep spiritual feeling. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. I think it’s one thing I’ll really miss about Kenya. There’s not a large enough Muslim population in Sipili to have a mosque, but I look forward to hearing the adhan whenever I travel.

After the training in Mombasa, I spent a day in Kilifi (about an hour north of Bamburi) at a fellow volunteer’s site. She took us on a snorkeling trip on a wooden dhow in the Indian Ocean, which was incredible. Somehow, it was simultaneously exhilarating and tranquil. The slow pace and lovely sails over blue-green water was gorgeous, and the things we saw under the water were insane! The highlights include an octopus, countless bright red starfish, baby clownfish in an anemone, and an eel. The highlights do NOT include the nasty sunburn I got. My knees are still peeling.

After the coast, I took the train to Nairobi for a complete change of pace – the GRE. Not much to say there. It was a standardized test, and I was glad when it was finished. I took it with a friend, and we stayed with a teacher from ISK (remember? That international school I visited back in April? Who’s been keeping up with my blog?) for a few days. After the test, I was involved in the planning meeting for October’s PST. Finally, almost a month after I’d shipped off to Kisumu, I headed back to my village. Good ol’ Sipili hadn’t changed much, apart from becoming a muddy soup due to late heavy  rains. Also my cat (who, I’ve discovered, is definitely male and is thus referred to as “Jay Jay” by the kids now instead of  “Kiki”) was pretty sick when I first got home. He’s since recovered. And we have a new Peace Corps volunteer in town, who will be working at the computer center! It’s unusual to have 3 volunteers in one village like we do, but I’m not complaining.

Despite being home, it wasn’t quite time to rest. I did a thorough cleaning of the house, inside and out, to prepare for visitors… three volunteers who were coming to my site for Kiswahili immersion! As I mentioned previously, the little training we got in Mombasa made me very enthusiastic to learn more Kiswahili, so a few of us volunteers opted to take Peace Corps up on its offer to provide intensive instruction. We somehow packed everyone in my little house, and took five days of Kiswahili classes from a trainer who came and stayed in a hotel in town. It was incredibly helpful. I’m still pretty dismal when it comes to fast, conversational Kiswahili, but I can read and understand a lot more than before, and I can understand what people are saying much more easily. I also feel like it’ll be a lot easier to do self-instruction now that I have a lot of the grammar rules under my belt. It’s a very different language from English, but it makes a lot of sense grammatically. Actually, that’s one of the reasons it’s a very different language from English. As a side note, one of our “cultural activities” during the instruction was to help construct three mud huts with the family on my compound, along with half the residents of Sipili. Talk about messy. And FUN.

Now, I’m finally back to my usual routine, which is a bit of a relief. Although it’s not COMPLETELY normal; The Kenya National Union of Teachers (KNUT) is on strike due to a disagreement with the Ministry of Education (I even found a blurb in the NY Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/08/world/africa/08briefs-Kenya.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=kenya%20strike&st=cse). So, since the other teachers aren’t teaching, I’m not either. And that’ll be how it is until it’s resolved, which will hopefully be soon. But I’m still playing games with the kids, mostly because I can’t help myself – I missed them SO MUCH. Some students still haven’t come back, so I’ll be back here, in the staff room, bright and early tomorrow to see who else shows up. There’s no better feeling than seeing all their shining faces again. I don’t think I’ll ever be a teacher as a permanent profession, but I can understand why people who are teachers love it so much.

Gosh, that was a long update. And I’m just gearing up some new projects, so stay tuned for what’s lined up for Sipili School for the Deaf! I’ll give you a hint: there’ll be school visits, donations, media involvement and exam preparation. There’s never a dull moment around here! Except for when it’s too cloudy for my solar panel to charge because it’s rainy, causing my lone light bulb to die, and I don’t have any kerosene for my lantern or any candles. That’s pretty dull. But it inevitably picks up again, as life tends to do.

Two Down

Term two is finished. Exams are completed and marked, classrooms are empty, and the school compound is even more quiet than usual. It feels strange to be finished with two terms of teaching, especially because I know how quickly the third term will come and go.

Since I wrote last, I have been continuing to work on developing teaching resources with the staff and the pupils. It’s been slow sometimes, and my unrealistic expectations become apparent all too frequently, but I’m not giving up. Lately I’ve been learning a lot about the power of example. I’ve known the phrase “actions speak louder than words” since I was young, but I have come to understand its meaning during these past few months more than any other time in my life.

When we first started the poster/resource development project, we had endless staff meetings where we would argue over the best way to divide the work and organize the project. We NEVER came to any consensus. Once I was fed up with the inefficiency, I started to make posters on my own. And then other teachers made posters. And still others made posters. Then there were collages made from old magazines. And pictures of animals with their names so the kids could improve spelling. Then one of the teachers enlisted the help of a couple of the best artists in the school to draw a sign language alphabet that wraps along the walls of one of the lower primary classes. I am blown away when I look back at all that was accomplished when teachers worked at their own pace, in their own way. Work is done differently here – in my professional experience at home, I’m used to having a plan when a project is started and gauging success by meeting or missing pre-determined benchmarks. But here, quiet leadership and self-directed ambition gets things done. The project has grown more slowly and in a different way than I expected, but it’s all the more beautiful for its natural development.

In mid-July, I had a chance to branch out from school-based projects (and teaching) by getting involved with community-based outreach (which is SUCH a cool part of the Deaf Education program in Peace Corps Kenya). I was invited by an NGO called St. Martin’s Catholic Social Apostolate to come and speak about Deafness in children. I may have mentioned St. Martin’s before in this blog, but let me introduce them more fully. I think they are an INCREDIBLE organization (their motto is “Only Through Community,” which is the first clue as to how great they are). Most of the people who work for St. Martin’s are Kenyans who volunteer their time, and almost everyone in the Nyahururu area knows about and/or is impacted by the work they do. They have outreach programs for people living with disabilities, people living with HIV/AIDS, survivors of domestic and sexual violence and vulnerable children who are orphaned or living on the street. The story of how they were founded is beautiful, and I can personally relate to it, since a good number of the kids at my school were locked or hidden away throughout much of their childhood, before someone advocated for them and took them to school. (To read the story of the founding of St. Martin’s, go here. I strongly encourage it!) Anyway, the staff who works with disabled children and their families travel into the villages in order to find children who aren’t receiving services that they need, and advise the parents accordingly. They told me that they know how to advise parents of children who are 6 years old and above, because a 6-year-old Deaf child can start school, but that they don’t know how to advise parents of young Deaf children. I jumped at the opportunity to speak with them, because (as anyone who has studied early childhood development knows) the first few years of a child’s life are incredibly important for language development. If a Deaf child is not acquiring any language in those first few years, they are set up for a very difficult experience in school. So we talked about what causes deafness, Deaf culture, KSL, language development, education opportunities, parental involvement, etc. It was a great experience, and I hope I’ll be able to conduct similar seminars in the future. I’d also love to set up some parental support groups, who can help each other learn KSL and just spend time together and advocate for their kids.

So, with teaching on top of all the other activities, it’s been a busy term. Sipili School for the Deaf has also recently been linked with a British school through a school partnership program run by STAR4Africa, so we’ve been working in implementing practices to make sure the partnership is successful. There’s a volunteer from the UK here for three months who is providing technical support for the program’s implementation, so there’s plural “wazungu” at the school until September, not just one “mzungu.” The school linking program focuses on global citizenship, and there is also an emphasis on children’s rights, which is great for the kids to learn.

Since the term is over, we have about five weeks off for a break. I’m currently in Kisumu with two girls from my school (and about 85 other girls from other schools), at a Peace Corps camp called Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). It’s a female empowerment camp, and we attempt to address issues that are pertinent to the lives of girls (especially in Kenya where traditional gender roles predominate and cause real barriers for young women), but aren’t covered fully in school. Although “life skills” is technically part of the Kenyan curriculum, it’s not tested in the national examinations so it’s oftentimes overlooked. So GLOW has a lot of sessions about making goals, planning for the future, women’s health, reproduction, money management, human rights, domestic and sexual assault, future employment opportunities, etc. It’s been a lot of fun to plan and teach the sessions, and the girls have been so much fun to work with. Within the camp there is a section for hearing girls and another for Deaf girls, but during meals and free time it’s been amazing to watch them mingle with and learn from one another. They’ve all come out of their shells, and are able to participate with a lot of enthusiasm. This is the last day of camp, so we went to an impala sanctuary this afternoon where we saw animals and Lake Victoria, and had a “disco” to wrap it all up. Now it's past midnight, and all the volunteers are completely exhausted after a week of planning, teaching and directing girls. We’ll probably all find a way to sleep on our respective vehicles back to site tomorrow…

…unless we’re not going back to site! The Peace Corps Cross-Sector Workshops are happening in Mombasa this coming week, so a lot of us are taking a shuttle to Nairobi tomorrow, and then will travel onward to the coast on Sunday. I still haven't been on the Kenyan coast, so I'm excited to experience the laid-back attitude, observe the Muslim culture and watch the sunburned wazungu tourists try to bargain. And of course the training sessions will be interesting - they're funded by PEPFAR (President's Emergency Plan For AIDS Relief), and volunteers from all sectors (education, small business and public health) are eligible to attend. So I'll probably learn a lot AND get to know more PCVs from around the country. Two teachers from my school are also attending, and I'm really excited for them to get information about HIV prevention and community activism.

After my week in Mombasa, I'll travel back to Nairobi with a fellow PCV (who is also a very good friend), and we'll take the GRE together on the 18th. I don't really have a reason to take the GRE, except to keep my post-PC education/career options open. I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do after I finish my 2 years, and since I have seriously considered everything from getting an MFA in creative writing to getting an MD/MPH to working as a barista for the rest of my life, I think it's important to be prepared. (That third option wasn't considered for too long, but it was considered). Finally, after the GRE I'll spend a couple more days in Nairobi meeting with a Kenyan organization that wants to help our school, and then meet with some Peace Corps Staff to help plan the Pre-Service Training for the NEW education volunteers who are coming in October. I can hardly believe it's already time to plan the next PST, it feels like I was just landing in Kenya, just getting on the bus to Machakos, just meeting my host family. But instead it's almost time for a totally new group to experience all that. I'm excited I'll be able to provide input to help make their training as helpful as possible.

I know August will fly by as I fulfill all my commitments and live my "other life" in cities and on buses instead of in my little house in the village. But I know I'll be happy to get home once it's all settled. I already miss my students, and I'm starting to feel a little bit of separation anxiety, since I know my class 8 pupils will be leaving at the end of the next term.

But in the meantime, I'll try to take everything one day at a time and enjoy new towns, new faces and new experiences. I don't think that will be TOO hard.

A List

Although I wouldn't consider myself a strictly "Type A" personality (which is probably good, since, according to a college psych professor, Type A's have a high rate of heart disease), I am someone who loves to make lists. I like to organize my thoughts with bullets, and in the case of to-do lists, few things feel more satisfying than crossing items off. So, below is a list that I've been mentally compiling over the past eight months. It's a list of things that most Kenyans can do MUCH better than I can. It's not meant to be self-deprecating, as I remain confident in the abilities I possess. But I also get a lot of comments from people at home about how I'm "doing great things." I want to show another side of reality, where I'm learning FAR more than I'm teaching, and I'm assisted more than I could ever hope to help. And maybe the list will make you laugh.

Things That (Most) Kenyans Can Do Better Than Jenny

1. Walk Through Kilometers of Mud in Heels, and Arrive at Their Destination Completely Clean

When I started my job at school, I has some nice, professional-looking black flats that I would wear every day. That was the dry season, and I was able to maintain their luster with a simple daily rinse to remove the dust. It was the rough roads that eventually did them in (the soles were split completely in half within a month). So I got another pair of black flats, that met a similar fate. Pair number three were purchased right before the advent of the rainy season, which nicely softened the roads... into mud. After the rains came, I would leave my house with clean shoes, and arrive to school with my black shoes changed to red, covered in wet clay. But upon greeting the other female teachers at the beginning of the day, (who walk a similar distance to school as I), I found myself trying to hide my dirty shoes in shame. The other women were wearing strappy shoes with a good inch of heel, and they were immaculate. No mud anywhere. I assumed they'd changed into their work shoes after trudging to school in hiking boots or that they'd cleaned their heels before I was able to see. But in reality, the women at my workplace and ALL the women I have come across, are able to deftly maneuver the soggy roads without getting a speck of dirt on their footwear. I've seen them in action. And I still don't know the magic technique, so I still go everywhere with muddy shoes.

2. Get a Stain Out of a Shirt Using a Bucket, Water and a Bar of Soap

Even at home in the states, I have trouble getting stains out of my clothes. Even though the supermarkets are stocked with stain-removing detergents, sprays, soaks, sticks, rinses and more, it's a battle to get wine, dirt or other spot-causing substances out of fabric. At home, I even have the advantage of mechanized washing that continually cleans clothes for nearly an hour. When you're armed only with a bucket, water, glycerine soap and your own elbow grease to do the washing, removing a stain seems like an impossibility.

At the end of my first week in Kenya, I first faced the task of washing my clothes. And after traveling in dusty matatus, they were anything but clean. I even had a shirt with an ink stain that had persisted through dozens of machine washings back at home. Since I was such a novice to the whole hand-washing process, my host mama helped me wash. (Or, if you want to get technical, she did it all herself as I looked on awkwardly). When we got the stained shirt, I said "oh, don't worry about that stain. It's permanent." She looked at me, raised her eyebrows, smiled, and wordlessly returned her focus to my shirt. I was taken aback, but continued to watch as she applied bar soap liberally to the stain and used some magic wrist-work, wringing and scrubbing the cloth. After all the twisting, rubbing and a thorough rinse, the stain was gone. I was stunned. I don't know how much spray-and-wash I'd wasted on that stain, to no avail. And she got rid of it in minutes. Yet more proof that Kenyan women are magic.

3. Bend

All cleaning activities (washing dishes, clothes, sweeping, etc.) are performed while bending over the work, with a straight back and legs. Brooms and mops (towels, really) in Kenya don't have handles, and wash basins for clothes or dishes are placed on the ground. The first time I washed my clothes on my own, I squatted down next to the basin and began scrubbing. I didn't think about my position, I just found it natural and comfortable. My host mama came out and started laughing, saying "you wash like a little boy!" I was immediately self-conscious, and she instructed me to bend over my work like a lady. I obliged, and in a matter of minutes, my legs and back were completely stiff, and starting to wobble. She came outside again to see my progress, and noticed I was in pain, so she silently brought me a stool to set my washing on so I wouldn't have to bend. I was ashamed of my prop, but I knew I couldn't finish without it. As the weeks progressed, I attempted to rely on the stool less and less. I had to work on my flexibility just to complete chores successfully. That's something they don't tell you about in the Peace Corps brochures. But now, thanks to persistence, I can wash clothes, dishes, floors, or whatever needs washing while bending. Albeit, not with as much stamina or grace as Kenyan ladies. Seriously, these women are superhuman.

Side note: I realize that so far, these are largely gender specific. That could be because Kenyan women can do everything better than anyone, or because I don't have much experience here with traditional "men's" work. Such work includes anything to do with pangas (machetes), shovels, rakes, motors or wires. So honestly, they're probably better than me at all that too.

3. Sleep on a Matatu

I don't think I've fully described matatus yet. I know I've referenced them in multiple posts and you, dear reader, can probably grasp that they're no Lexus, but I think it's important to have a deeper understanding. If a minivan and one of those airport shuttle buses shacked up and had a little baby motorcar, it would grow up to be a matatu. But in the growing-up process, it would go through stages of rebellion that would include stripping itself of seatbelts, mirrors, radio knob and patches of upholstery. But, to its credit, it would never lose its spare wheel.

However, it's not the shell of the matatu that is so remarkable. It is the living, breathing interior. Matatus are designed to hold fourteen people, with two passengers in the front, and three in the next four rows. However, the most people I've seen in a matatu is more than twice that. Close to 30 PEOPLE. Well, technically everyone wasn't IN the matatu, but the matatu was carrying everyone. Standing on the running boards counts, in my opinion. And the passenger count isn't always limited to humans. Sometimes there are chickens, sometimes goats, and sometimes both. I'm just waiting for the day when my seatmate is a cow. Also, It's not uncommon to have people on your lap while traveling. Grown people.

Due to the "close quarters" (to use an extreme euphemism), it's tough to regulate the temperature in a matatu. It's not the sweetest-smelling atmosphere, either. So how someone can get comfortable enough to SLEEP on a matatu is beyond me. But it's possible. Just ask the lady who napped comfortably on my shoulder from Nyahururu to Sipili last weekend.

4. Predict Rain

This one is a doozy. I've always considered the predictions of a meteorologist to be about as dependable as those of a water diviner or a president of Family Radio (a rapture joke - too soon?). But since moving to Sipili, I've met people who are totally accurate when it comes to predicting rain. And to them, it seems to be less of a prediction, and more of a "well, can't you see the sky? It's obviously going to rain/not rain." Sometimes I get cocky and think that the cloudless sky won't betray my prediction, and I'll proudly announce to a nearby Kenyan "well, it looks like it's not going to rain today!" The last time I said that, we had a flash hail storm in the afternoon, followed by a downpour that nearly washed away the calf at our school. And when I say "maybe it will rain today!" because I heard thunder and see dark clouds, the usual response is a puzzled look and a polite "maybe." And sure enough, we stay dry as a bone. I remain completely baffled at this supernatural Kenyan prediction skill.

5. Dance

Let me clarify right up front: This skill is not limited to hearing Kenyans. My Deaf students can all dance better than I can, and they don't listen to music. It's pretty much guaranteed that any Kenyan I meet who can walk can also dance. And dance WELL. When PCVs go out dancing in Nairobi, we usually stick to foreigner hangouts, because otherwise we'd look like 80-year olds in terms of our range of motion and sense of rhythm compared to the locals.

6. Speak Languages

While I consider it a good day when I can successfully buy tomatoes at the market using my basic Kiswahili/Gikuyu skills (aided by excessive gesturing), most people in Kenya speak at least three languages fluently. They grow up speaking their "mother tounge" or tribal language, and then learn Kiswahili and English at school. Their parents may speak Kiswahili and/or English at home with them too, so it's not uncommon to meet trilingual toddlers. Considering the fact that some Kenyans learn tribal languages other than their own, and may study French or German in university, they're all leagues ahead of my repertoire of English, rudimentary KSL and Spanglish.

There are probably many other arenas where Kenyans have me beat, but these are the ones I experience most frequently. I can only hope that my two years here will help me gain some of the insights and abilities that are integral to Kenyan culture. Self-improvement may be a less noble goal next to, say, teaching my students to read, but I find myself just as eager to be changed by Kenya as I am to create change here.

Back to School

Is it mid-May already?! With all the excitement of April break and a problem with internet availability, I haven’t written in a very long time. But plenty of things have happened in the past month or so, so this promises to be an extra long entry with all kinds of updates.

To pick up where I left off, the conclusion to the “games” story is a disappointment. Many of you have heard the story, since I was pretty distraught when it happened, but I’ll give the abridged version to catch the rest of you up to speed. One day after my last post I was still in Nakuru, excitedly anticipating the students’ arrival. They were supposed to arrive sometime in the afternoon, but when 4 o’clock passed, I started to wonder where they were. Finally I got a text message from my headmaster saying they weren’t coming. I remained optimistic, hoping it meant they hadn’t left when they had planned, and would be coming a few hours or, at worst, a day late. But when I called him, those hopes were dashed. Apparently there was no money available for the bus, and the kids were waiting at school for a vehicle that was never coming. There wouldn’t be a chance for them to compete at all, and they all had to go home instead. I was heartbroken, as were the other teachers. We had all worked so hard with the kids to get them ready for competition in Nakuru, that a failure to even participate was a huge blow. It was a tough lesson for me, but it was important nonetheless. I felt like I should do something, cause a fuss and confront whoever was responsible for paying the fees, and try to “save the day.” But I had to remember I’m a teacher, not too high on the totem pole, and that kind of response would burn bridges (which is kind of the opposite of my goal here). So, I had to suck up my disappointment, and focus on cheering the kids up. I rushed back to Sipili, and although most of the kids had gone home for break, I tried to do something fun for the ones who remained.

Since games didn’t happen, I stayed in Sipili instead of going to Mombasa. I could have taken some vacation days and traveled to the coast, but I’m trying to save my vacation days for December, when my FAMILY VISITS! That’s right, the Wooley family is packing up and making the long journey to Kenya to stay for almost a month in December/early January, and I’m beyond excited. It’s still ages away, but the plane tickets were recently booked, so I reserve the right to start getting antsy. It will be a completely different experience to see Kenya from the “tourist” point of view, but I bet I’ll have a really good time. Considering the company, I think that’s a fair conclusion.

After about a week and a half at home in Sipili (which was pleasant and surprisingly productive), I left again. This time I was headed to In-Service Training (IST) in Nairobi with all the rest of the Education volunteers who arrived to Kenya in October with me. I decided to spend a few days in Machakos first, to visit my host family. It was really great to see them – my host brother had grown taller, my host sister was home from secondary school (she’d just finished her first term of form one, equivalent to freshman year in high school) and she’d gotten more mature, and my host Mama hadn’t changed a bit. It felt like I was “home” for break, too. The town was familiar, as was the house, my bed and the cooking. It was very comforting and it was great to catch up with the family. We went to my “grandma’s” house one of the days I was there, and she loaded me up with a bag full of fresh, ripe mangoes, so I was set for Nairobi. It was sad to say goodbye, but I promised I’d visit again as soon as possible.

A few other volunteers were in Machakos visiting their host families, so we all traveled to Nairobi together. It’s only about an hour away from Machakos, so it was an easy trip, but I was definitely awe-struck when I arrived in the city. The traffic is crazy, the air is polluted, and there are people everywhere. Luckily I know how to get from the matatu stage to the hotel where we had our training, but the layout of the city is confusing, and the whole place is sprawling. Coming from three months in the village, I was overwhelmed. Luckily I’d been to Nakuru and Machakos and had a chance to acclimate to city life a little bit, but it was an adjustment nonetheless. All the stress melted away when I saw my fellow volunteers. I hadn’t seen many of them since our swearing-in ceremony in December, so it was so awesome to catch up with all of them. We had all kinds of experiences at our sites that we were anxious to share, and we learned a lot from one another over the course of the two weeks. We also learned a thing or two from the training sessions, but it’s no secret that the most beneficial aspect of the trainings is the opportunity to catch up with fellow volunteers. That being said, we did have one notable session at International School of Kenya (ISK), which follows a North American curriculum... and has an IB program! I got to observe an HL English class (hands down my favorite class I took in high school), which made me strangely nostalgic for West High. Aside from providing a trip down memory lane, the experience helped inspire me to try and emulate past teachers I've had. I also met a teacher who was originally from Juneau, and the school gave us volunteers a bunch of old resources. I picked up some kids' books: "The Little Red Hen," "The Gingerbread Man," "Blueberries for Sal," and "The Velveteen Rabbit." Seeing those old books was like seeing old friends, and it's awesome to watch my pupils read them and marvel at the illustrations. Man, do they love books. Needless to say, I gained a lot from our ISK visit.

Another exciting outcome of IST was the establishment of a new committee within our Deaf Education Sector of Peace Corps Kenya. It’s largely focused on advocating for the needs of the Deaf community (especially Deaf children) in Kenya, and will do so by working with existing groups (public and private) to come up with goals and objectives for enhancing Deaf education/KSL. We have lofty goals, but that’s part of the excitement. Getting involved in a committee like this makes me feel like I’m really a volunteer, not a beginner on the periphery. Although, to be honest, I still am a beginner. Until I know Kiswahili and Gikuyu, I’ll feel like a total novice. I can understand a bit of Kiswahili, but don’t have much luck speaking it yet (except for the basics). And my Gikuyu is even more limited – I can say a few greetings, a few nouns, “come,” “go,” “I’m going to school” and “I’m going home.” Past that, I’m lost. But I’m working at it. Let me just say, learning three languages (KSL, Kiswahili, Gikuyu) at the same time is a challenge.

Despite all the ups and downs, the highlight of the past month was my run-in with Kenyan wildlife. Within the first couple months of arriving in Kenya, I’d seen most of the animals I’d expected to see along the road – zebra, giraffes, camels, buffalo, gazelles, warthogs, ostrich, baboons, etc. But I hadn’t seen an elephant. Laikipia has a lot of elephants, so my neighbors and coworkers were surprised that I hadn’t seen them yet. Even Jessica saw one last term, so I’d been getting impatient. Finally, I was lucky – I saw four elephants in one day! I went with the teachers last weekend to Nanyuki for their teachers’ union elections, and the route we took went through the back-country. I’d been through Nanyuki before (on my way to Meru for New Year celebrations), but that time I was on paved roads, which was much less direct and took a long time. Anyway, on the way to Nanyuki, we saw the first elephant, just munching away on the side of the road. When we passed in the matatu, it slowly sauntered further back into the brush, but not before I had a good chance to look at it. It was huge! I had only seen elephants in a zoo before, and there was something peaceful and soothing about seeing it in the wild. Then, after a long day of excitement in Nanyuki surrounding the elections (and a lot of introductions to other teachers from all around Laikipia), we saw three more elephants on the way home! This time it was a momma with two babies. The baby elephants were adorable. Of course I didn’t have a camera, but that’s alright. If you Google “African elephant,” you’ll have a pretty good idea of what I saw.

Other than that, life back in Sipili has been normal. Readjusting to village life after Nairobi took some effort, but it’s not so bad when there’s a goal in mind. This term I’m really focusing on developing the resources at school. We have great teachers and great kids, but we’re desperately lacking visual aids. I’m working with the other teachers on making posters that we can laminate and reuse. Since there’s no lamination in town, any posters we make are destroyed by the end of the term. Something as simple as going into Nyahururu, Nakuru or even Nairobi and laminating posters will greatly enhance our available resources, and if the kids help us make them, they’ll be more inclined to respect them and keep them in good condition. We also have some local donors who want to help us add resources, so hopefully we can get a science kit, arts and craft supplies, etc. My long-term plan is to turn this all into a resource room, where we keep the classroom resources together with picture books, games, computers (REALLY eventual), interactive DVDs and other visual resources that can enhance learning for Deaf kids. But, baby steps are required. First step, posters.

Thank you to everyone who continues to send letters and stay in touch. I've now passed the seven-month mark here in Kenya, and while I feel more at home here, I feel far away from my American home. I miss all my American friends and family dearly, and I think of you all constantly. Please never hesitate to write, call, or send an electronic message. Just hearing a “hello” and a bit of news from home inevitably makes my week. I also want to congratulate the class of 2011! I can’t believe it’s been a year since my own graduation – gosh I’m getting old. I hope everyone has a beautiful beginning to their summer, and I’ll write another update soon. Kwaheri!

School's Out!

School is over, break has begun, and I haven't felt this relaxed in months.

But since I haven't written in a while, I'll give some updates before talking about break. Most notably, the rains came! They started one afternoon shortly after my last post, and didn't let up for a few days. It was incredible how the environment of the whole town switched from drought to flood in a matter of days. The rain sparked a flurry of planting in all the shambas in Sipili, and drew a sigh of relief from most of the families in town. There have been a few showers since the initial thunderstorms, but we're hoping there will be some more heavy rains again this season. Another byproduct of the first rain is the emergence of flying termites. I didn't pay them much attention when I saw them flying around the first morning after the rains came, but when I got to school I DID notice my students running and jumping in the air to catch the termites. At first I thought they were playing like kids do, and then I saw them EAT the termites. I was surprised and asked the kids about it, and they just grinned and assured me the bugs are "VERY sweet!" Even some of the teachers were surprised I didn't want to try some freshly-caught termites, but others understood why I was wary. They insisted they were MUCH better lightly fried.

Last weekend, I took a trip up North to see some other volunteers in Maralal (a small town in Samburu, home to the tribe of the same name). I really fell in love with the place. Although the town is about 100 km from Sipili, it takes about 3 hours to get there since the road is unpaved. I was happy to meander slowly, since the grasslands we traveled through were full of zebra, gazelles, camels and a few giraffe. In fact, we came across one particularly stubborn giraffe standing in the middle of the road who reluctantly allowed us to pass only after we yelled, honked and otherwise expressed our desire for it to move for a few minutes. I couldn't help comparing it to the moose in Alaska - it gave us passengers the same unamused look that moose give as it lumbered off the road.

Arriving in Maralal reminded me of what I had expected to find when I first landed in Kenya. The first things I saw were groups of Samburu people, and I found myself staring, transfixed. The Samburu tribe is one of the tribes in Kenya that has maintained a large degree of its traditional culture, which is immediately obvious in their appearance. Their dress is characterized by bright colors, elaborate beadwork, ear piercings (I've been asked if I'm Samburu because of my multiple piercings), and the unique ochre-dyed braids of the murran (warriors). They are quite stunning. The Samburu are nomadic pastoralists, so it's common to see a Samburu man wrapped only in a shukka (cloth around his waist), holding a staff and walking with his large herd of goats or cows. It's an interesting contrast to the Kikuyu people in my region, who rely heavily on agriculture, and who have completely embraced a more "Western" way of life. The Samburu have even managed to retain a large amount of their traditional religion, although there is a strong Christian contingency in Maralal specifically. Seeing the other volunteers was great, too. We were able to share stories from our sites, and work on ideas for our secondary projects. It only made me more excited to see ALL the volunteers in Nairobi in mid-April!

After returning to Sipili, I worked hard on marking exams and filling out report cards, while preparing my house for an extended absence. Exams were frustrating, but I was SO proud of my class 8 English class. We've been working tirelessly all term to translate signed KSL into written English, including all the grammatical nuances that are integral to English and irrelevant to KSL. All our work paid off when I saw their English compositions. Although they were admittedly full of errors, there were a few COMPLETE SENTENCES in the compositions! It was really encouraging, and I told the kids they should be REALLY proud of themselves, because I was certainly proud of them. It was a highlight in the middle of the largely irrelevant testing.

After a seemingly eternal week of exams, practicing for games and cleaning the classrooms, we closed the school on Friday, and the kids who aren't coming to Nakuru were picked up by their parents/guardians. However, there are a few kids who are staying at the school for the rest of break because their parents can't (or won't) travel to Sipili to pick them up. It's always a strong dose of reality when I encounter those kinds of things. All my life I've not only been lucky to HAVE parents, but I've had parents who support me and welcome me into their home whenever I want or need, no matter how old I am. Some of the kids who will stay alone at school are younger than I was the first time I stayed away from my parents for more than one night. It's not about placing blame - the parents do what they can. But it does put my "troubles" in perspective.

Friday afternoon, I left with Jessica for Nakuru. It used to be known as "the cleanest town in East Africa," and although that superlative no longer holds, it is certainly more organized and charming than other cities I've visited. Over the past couple of days, Jessica and I have re-acquainted ourselves with many of the amenities we've become accustomed to living without in Sipili. When we checked into our hotel room, we gazed lovingly at the switch on the wall that controls the hot water heater for the shower, and immediately plugged in all our chargeable gadgets to the electrical outlet. We went out for COLD drinks and American food, and wasted a couple of hours on high-speed internet. We even spotted a laundromat in town. It's fun to be surrounded by some of the comforts of home, but even after just a couple of days I feel as though my craving for familiarity has been sated. Who knows, maybe by the end of this break I'll start missing doing all my chores (including washing clothes and bathing) with a bucket.

The kids will arrive sometime tomorrow to start games. I'm already missing them, so it will be great to see their smiling faces, especially in this context. As much as I enjoy teaching, it's a lot of fun to just spend time with them informally and get to know their personalities better. They've been looking forward to this for such a long time, so I know they'll have a blast no matter how they do in games. But of course I hope they do well so we can all go to Mombasa in a week!

Travel to Mombasa and Nairobi is exciting for one particular reason: access to wi-fi. I'll hopefully be able to access Skype, so let me know if you'd like to video chat sometime in mid-late April! I can't imagine how incredible it will be to see faces that I haven't seen in six months.

Games and More

When it comes to impatience for the term to end, there’s not a lot of difference between school in the US and school in Kenya. My school will close on April 1^st for a little over a month, and the teachers (myself included) and all the students are getting really anxious for these next three weeks to fly by – mostly because Provincial Games start right after closing! Provincial Games will be held at a primary school for the Deaf in Nakuru (about one hour southwest of Nyahururu) and will host all the special schools in the Province. Each special school will compete within its category (e.g. Deaf students compete against one another, Blind students compete against one another, etc.) and the students who do the best in their category will proceed to National Games in Mombasa.

Last Friday we had school-wide time trials for the running races. We had already selected the volleyball teams (boys and girls), football team (boys) and netball team (girls), but we hadn’t chosen students for the track events. We don’t have a discus, javelin, shotput, long jump or high jump at our school, so I’m still a little unclear about how we’ll select students for those events (maybe no one will enter). But we do have a rudimentary track (an oval-shaped trail through an overgrown field) which we used for the running time trials. I was pretty impressed with these kids – they don’t have running shoes (or any shoes at all, in a lot of cases), they don’t have clothes other than their uniforms (imagine running a track race in a skirt and petticoats) or water bottles (instead of water, Kenyans give kids powdered glucose after running a race), but most of them were incredibly fast. It was a lot of fun to watch the kids really excel at something, especially the ones who have a difficult time in class. Once the time trials were finished, we determined who would travel to Nakuru as a team. Unfortunately, we only have the budget to bring 35 students, so about 25 kids will be left behind. The littlest ones in class one were oblivious to the purpose of the races, so they weren’t disappointed about being left. But there were a few older students who have never qualified and really want to go to Nakuru, so there were some tears. Seeing the kids so upset about not being able to travel to a town just an hour away made me really wish that we could bring everyone on the trip, but I also found myself feeling grateful for the travel opportunities I've been lucky enough to have over the years. Hopefully there will be another chance for them to go somewhere different – maybe to Kakamega for the drama and dance competitions later in the year.

I’ll be one of two teachers to chaperone the week-long trip to Nakuru, and maybe continue on to Mombasa if any of the kids qualify. I’m very excited about Nakuru – it’s the fourth largest city in Kenya (after big three: Nairobi, Mombasa and Kisumu), which hopefully means I can find supermarkets, fun restaurants and maybe some dancing. But even if I don’t find those in Nakuru, they will certainly be waiting for me in Nairobi in mid-April.

Aside from these upcoming events, there isn’t a lot that has changed at my site. The rains still haven’t come, which isn’t great news for the crops, but we’re still hopeful that they’ll come before March ends. Also, today marks five months in Kenya, which is exciting, but I’m losing bits of my American-ness every day. For example, I was talking with a friend from college on the phone last Friday, and she mentioned looking up churches on Yelp.com. I found myself wondering, "what the heck is Yelp?” After I sat and thought for a good five seconds, I finally remembered Yelp (a website that provides reviews of businesses in searchable regions that I used on a weekly, if not daily, basis at home). Once I knew what she was talking about, I couldn’t believe I had completely forgotten about a website that I used so frequently at home. I guess there’s not a real need for it in Sipili, where there’s one hotel, one supermarket and all the other little shops are virtually identical. I also find myself feeling completely shocked when I see someone scantily clad on TV. Music videos or advertisements that were run-of-the-mill back at home seem completely scandalous here. I think I’m becoming re-sensitized to the insane images that we see all the time on TV in the US, which will prove interesting when I get back home. I don’t know how I’ll deal with a supermarket full of choices, running water whenever I want it, or any other amenity that I’ve been living without since arriving in Kenya. After living here for enough time, America seems, in retrospect, like an oversized theme park. It’s a place with comparatively little disease, it's clean and tidy, full of entertainment and interesting gadgets that make daily living nearly effortless. I actually find myself having a hard time believing I lived there less than six months ago. This will all make for a very interesting re-entry in roughly 21 months, but luckily there's quite a bit of time before I have to worry about that. For now, I’m more than happy with my new home, here in Kenya.

Making Plans

I have added a new member to my family!!

(No, I haven't eloped with a Kenyan. Not yet, anyway.)

It all started on a Monday, on Valentine's Day. I had stopped by the little roadside duka to buy some small candies for my fellow teachers in order to share a little bit of an American holiday tradition, and arrived to school early. My week as the teacher on duty was just starting, so I helped the kids with their morning chores and attempted to explain Valentine's Day to my students (I think they mostly just caught "love day" and were underwhelmed, even when I told them they were ALL my Valentines, and the best Valentines I could hope for... some things are just lost in language/culture translation). After my first block of classes, I returned to the staff room where most of the other teachers were assembled. They thanked me for the sweets, and we talked briefly about the differences between Kenyan/American Valentine's Day (I'll give you a hint - Americans tend to take it way too far, spend too much money, and Kenyan's don't understand why. That seems to be a common theme in the difference between Kenyan/American anything) until the head teacher came into the room and requested my presence in his office. I was confused when he pulled an empty potato sack out from under his desk, even more confused when I realized there was something small inside, and downright baffled when the small object in the bag moved. Most of my experiences in Kenya with living creatures given as gifts have been confined to chickens in the collection plate at church, which made me nervous. I have no idea how to take care of a chicken, and don't really want one. But when I looked inside the bag, I was thrilled - there was a tiny grey and black striped kitten sitting at the bottom, looking up at me. I saved him from his burlap confinement immediately, and we've been best of friends ever since. (Note: I know I have previously referred to my kitten as a girl, but some... evidence has proven that she is, in fact, a he). He still doesn't know that fingers are not for biting, but that's one of the last lessons that kittens learn, so we're working on that one slowly. I'm otherwise pleased with his company and antics.

Of course this can't be an entirely pleasant blog post. Another event that really knocked me off my feet (but not in an I-just-got-an-adorable-kitten kind of way) was a recent bout of giardia. I had been so careful with my water treatment and general cleanliness that I thought I had nothing to worry about. But parasites have a way of finding you despite your best efforts, so I was stuck dealing with the first real episode of serious sickness since I've been here. Luckily the medication worked quickly, and the family on my compound helped me out a lot. They gave me fresh pineapple when I regained my appetite, and even offered to wash all my clothes. I didn't let them do that, but still. They were total life savers. Now I'm healthy, I've doused my house in bleach and replaced all my drinking water containers (I am my father's daughter, after all) and hope to stay healthy because of it.

Teaching continues to make me incredibly happy and drive me totally crazy. I'm brainstorming ideas for helping improve the situation at our school to make it more learner-centered and nurturing, (and, by selfish extension, a little easier on the teachers) but we're really starting from scratch. So far I've thought of

• Readjusting the classes (and the students therein) to actually reflect the level of learning that's appropriate in each case. We currently place students in a class based on age rather than ability, so the older man who can't write his name is in class eight while the boy-genius who works on long division and spells names of Kenyan cities for fun is in class five.
  
• Expanding the garden to include more nutritious options to supplement the githeri/ugali/porridge diet that the students get (and actually serve the produce to the STUDENTS instead of the teachers), maybe including a small nursery for baby fruit trees that we can keep for the community (thanks for the nursery idea, Tim!)
• Building a resource room/library that can house books, posters, games and other educational resources that the students don't have now. Also, making the posters, getting donated kids' books and games, etc.
  
• Starting a girls' group to promote health, self-esteem and friendship between the girls (we're having a bit of a problem with the ladies and the way they interact with one another).

There are other ideas, but these are the most pressing, and most feasible. I can start the girls' group this term, but the others will take some planning. I hope to get the other teachers on board, provided they agree with my analysis!

Other than those updates, there isn't a lot that has changed. I'm already getting excited for In-Service Training in Nairobi at the end of this first term. I'm becoming more and more used to living in a village, and have become a bit out of touch with modern conveniences. This is a good thing for the most part (it's nice to not miss running water when it's not an option), but when Nyahururu looks like a bustling metropolis to me (and I can vividly remember, upon first sight, considering it a very small town), I think it's time to reacquaint myself with a real city. And of course I'll have a chance to see the other Volunteers and "be American" for a little while. I like becoming Kenyan, but there's something rehabilitative about being myself for some time.

In the meantime, if you city slickers think your life is a little boring and could be spiced up by taking on a bit of a challenge, I have one for you! The 50-year anniversary of John F. Kennedy's creation of the Peace Corps is coming up in March, and Peace Corps is doing all kinds of things to raise awareness not only of the anniversary but of the organization as a whole. One of the events is a challenge to US citizens living in the states to "Live like a PCV." You can choose a country from the available participants (Kenya is one of them!) and there are guidelines (of varying difficulty) that you follow to simulate life as a PCV for a week in the country you've selected. If you're considering service as a PCV, it's a great taste of life in-country. Or if it just sounds like fun, check out the rules, photos and other information here.

I'd also like to extend an invitation for anyone following this blog to post a comment with a request for what they'd like to read about. Since I've been here for a while, I have a hard time determining what is exciting, or what people may be left wondering at the end of each post. I will post a summary of daily life (with pictures!) once I reach Nairobi and have picture-uploading ability, and of course I will keep everyone updated on what happens in my school/life (those two things are slowly becoming the SAME thing). But, any specific requests are encouraged!

Lessons Learned

I can hardly believe it, but it has been four months since I first landed in Kenya. That’s exactly seventeen weeks, 1/3 of a year, and 2/13 of my service (but who’s counting?). As I mentioned in a previous post about my perception of the passage of time, I can’t determine whether it feels like it’s been far longer than four months or much, much shorter. But I can breathe a little easier now that a sizeable amount of time has passed, now that I have some experience under my belt. I find myself speaking in a friendly Kenyan accent even when I’m talking to Americans, and the amount of livestock and poultry wandering through town doesn’t faze me anymore. I’m feeling more settled every day.

Since the last post, there have been a few notable events, and the MOST notable was Ian’s visit. For those of you who don’t have the pleasure of knowing Ian, he’s one of my best friends from Alaska who has been in Kenya since late December, volunteering at an orphanage on Rusinga, an island on Lake Victoria. There are no words to express how awesome it was to see a familiar face in a sea of strangers as he got off the matatu. Plus, he had brought news from and about loved ones, gifts from home, and bear hugs. It was one of the best moments in Kenya thus far.

Ian and I spent the weekend in Nyahururu catching up with each other, talking about Kenya and about America, and seeing the sights in town. And by “sights” I really just mean the singular sight, Thompson Falls. The falls are lovely, and it’s not difficult to get to the base. There is a fancy tourist lodge right next to the falls, but it was out of our price range so we stayed in one of the smaller “hotels” in town. There were no frills and the time was short, but it was fun to be in a bigger town, away from work. After mass on Sunday (there was an English service! Mass in Sipili is only in Kikuyu) Ian and I took a matatu back to Sipili so he could meet the kids at school. The kids loved him, and liked that his name is short and easy to finger spell. They even gave him a sign name – you bring your thumb and other four fingers together like you’re grabbing the brim of a baseball cap next to your forehead (meant to represent his hair, which is different from hairstyles they’re used to seeing). Even though he left about a week ago, the kids still come up to me, sign his sign name and then sign “where?” I think they miss his company and Frisbee skills.

Ian also helped Jessica and I with our weekly “guidance and counseling” session at the secondary school (it’s always a little weird for me to go there and teach kids who can hear). We tell the students to pretend like we’re not teachers, just for the hour, and to ask us anything they want to ask. Usually it’s related to life skills (drugs, alcohol, STDs, etc.) but sometimes we get really great questions about America (and requests for our phone numbers), or get a chance to dispel a particularly ridiculous misconception about HIV/AIDS. It’s a fun weekly event. Despite its simplicity (or maybe because of it) I think it helps the students.

Once Ian departed to continue his adventures (including a Kilimanjaro climb!), it was back to the normal routine. During the weekend, I visited the school that the kids on the compound attend and met their teachers. Here in Kenya, most kids go to school on Saturdays – it makes me appreciate the fact that I’ve always had free weekends. Then on Sunday I went to church with the grandfather of the family I’m staying with. He lives less than a kilometer down the road from our compound, so he left his house a bit early and picked me up on his bicycle at around 9:30 AM. I figured we’d be at church for a few hours, three at the most. I told the older girl on the compound that I’d be home in the early afternoon to do some washing, and we made plans to wash clothes at the same time and keep each other company. But now as I look back, I should have remembered the one truth that has been reinforced over and over throughout my Kenyan experiences: an invitation is never as simple as it sounds. Lunch is never just lunch, a meeting is never just a meeting, so why should I expect church to be just church? When we arrived, I found out that it was "pastors’ day," so the church had about six visiting pastors, all of whom made speeches throughout the course of the service. The pastor gave me a chance to deliver a speech as well (probably because I stuck out like a sore thumb and was most obviously a visitor), so I said a few words about my job, etc. During the main service, there was a bible study, the usual preaching that I had expected, and of course singing and dancing (including a bunch of elderly Kikuyu mamas doing the electric slide – a great sight to see). Once that was all over I thought we were finished, but it turned out to be a special fundraising day where a representative from each family in the congregation (no less than 100 people) came up one by one and announced their contribution. Finally we finished, and we were served lunch. We ended up leaving the church around 3:30 PM. I had to laugh to myself a little for vastly underestimating the time commitment I had inadvertently made, but I just filed it away as a lesson learned. I think from now on I’ll stick to the Catholic church – even in Kenya we’re usually in and out in under 2 hours.

The other recent excitement was our site visit by Peace Corps staff. During the first term of teaching, they make a point to visit all the volunteers at our sites and make sure we’re doing well. Since they drove to us from Nairobi, they were able to bring all kinds of fun things (American candy, fruits, and mail that had come to the Nairobi training address after we were posted at site) It was nice to see the staff, and even nicer to finally get my Christmas package from home! It actually looked like Christmas morning in my house after I opened the package – there was wrapping paper everywhere, and the PC Medical staff who came had brought oranges, which are always in my stocking. It was definitely a great mental health day.

Aside from all the excitement in the past couple of weeks, teaching is still going pretty well. I can see a bit of improvement in some of the kids (especially in class 8 English), but there are still challenges. I’m learning how to cope with the frustrations I have with how the school is run, and I’m trying to focus on being grateful for the things the other teachers do to help me out. There’s one teacher who sympathizes with my frustrations (and who can tell when I’m reaching the end of my rope) and reminds me that any meaningful changes will take time. Another teacher always invites me to her house for tea and a homemade meal. Those small moments of compassion and concern that they show me are good reminders that it’s not fair to fly in from America and dwell on the things in the school that don’t work. At least there IS a school. At least the kids have a bed, food, clothes and teachers. Everything else is variable, but even those basics weren’t available to them ten years ago. I’m not getting complacent and of course I want to encourage positive change, but at least I’m not so overwhelmed.

Oh, and I do have a fun anecdote. The other day, I was eating my usual githeri for lunch at school (githeri is the staple Kikuyu dish, essentially a mixture of maize and beans), and I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before. I’d always assumed that the dark specks in my githeri were pieces of burnt beans or some other byproduct of cooking, but upon closer examination I realized that they were, in fact, bugs. I have eaten githeri almost every day for lunch since the term began, so I have no idea how many bugs I’ve accidentally eaten since then. I mentioned my discovery to the students, and they just thought it was funny that it bothered me. According to one of the boys, the bugs just make you stronger. More protein, I guess. Life in Kenya is full of surprises – I think I’ll only continue to discover metaphorical bugs in the metaphorical githeri of my experience. And I think that they will, in fact, make me stronger.

Gaining Momentum

Although Sipili is back to its usual dustbowl climate, on Monday morning I awoke to thick clouds hiding the sun, and trees swaying in a cool breeze. That weather was certainly a pleasant change from the usual scorching heat. These arid areas have been experiencing a bit of drought lately, but Sunday night we got a good dose of rain. I didn’t even mind that I heard each and every raindrop that hit my tin roof from 4-5:30 AM, because I knew we’d have water in the well and the crops wouldn’t fail. It’s comforting to feel such a connection to rain, to feel genuinely excited about water. Back in the US, rain just promises clean streets, a fresh smell and maybe some crazy drivers. But here it’s critical for survival.

Some time has passed since the bright, new beginning of the term, and life has settled into a bit of a routine. As I was discussing with my Mom during a much-needed phone call back home, this is the first time I’ve actually had time to settle down since before college. I’ve always been on the move, with a new town, a new home or a new room just a few months away. Now the reality of “2 years” is sinking in, and I still haven’t decided how I feel about that reality. It’s undeniably exciting, but it seems like a long time to be settled in one place.

The upside of settling (or “nesting,” as I like to call it) is that my house is becoming more and more like a home. Although the little girl next door recently broke my only chair by standing on it to see the spaghetti I was cooking for dinner, I have gained a small coffee table and a couch. My couch doesn’t have cushions yet, but I’m hopeful that I can find some in town within the next week. On one wall in my room I’ve hung cards and pictures from home on a piece of twine (Brutus Buckeye is featured twice already), a framed bible verse to remind me of my college community group days (I love and miss you girls!) and some Buddhist prayer beads that a dear friend gave to me before I boarded the plane in Anchorage. These things from home help me feel connected, the importance of which can’t be overstated.

School is increasingly rewarding and frustrating (I’m finding such contradictions to be common). The students are having a hard time grasping simple concepts, but they’re making every effort and at least are comfortable with me as their teacher. Some days when there are no other teachers around (another frustration altogether, explained later), I just sit with the classes and “story” with them. We talk about school, home life, their likes and dislikes, and whatever is on their mind. It helps me learn their signs, and also gives them a chance to freely express themselves. There’s not much of an opportunity for that otherwise. They’re particularly fascinated with airplanes. They see them occasionally in the sky and have seen them on TV, but have never been close enough to one to really know what they’re like. So, we talk about airplanes. A lot.

When the term began in early January, I was very excited to hit the ground running and teach as much as I could. I’m still excited about teaching, but I’m starting to encounter a problem that I already anticipate will be a constant battle over the next couple of years. During training we were warned that the other teachers may not share our enthusiasm for the job, so I thought I was prepared for that kind of attitude. At the beginning, I saw a little bit of that in my fellow teachers, but I was actually pleasantly surprised; they spoke a lot about their dedication to the job and displayed a mature understanding of the obstacles Deaf children face and what techniques should be employed to overcome them. However, while everyone is good at identifying issues and explaining how deal with them, actions ultimately speak louder than words. And inaction speaks the loudest. It’s not at all uncommon for me to go to the class I’m teaching, and to see my lesson from the previous day still on the board (meaning that a whole day has gone by without another lesson, even though they are supposed to have eight lessons per day). And it’s not terribly diplomatic for me, the young, foreign lady teacher with no previous experience, to call attention to the absence of other teachers for their lessons. Additionally, we have staff meetings during the school day, which prevents ANY of us from teaching during those times. On Monday, the headmaster called a staff meeting that was to last “5 minutes.” Over three hours later, we were finished, but we weren’t back to teaching – the headmaster sent the teachers out to deliver invitations to community members for a “Day of Thanksgiving” (for donations) on Friday (also to take place during scheduled class time). I politely refused and went to class, which is just about as forward as I can be about the lack of structured instruction time. And when visitors come to the school, all bets are off, too. The students “entertain” them and then go play until the visitors leave. There hasn’t yet been a day when every teacher has attended every class from the beginning until the end of the day. And during the times the teachers aren’t in class, the kids are running around, hitting each other with sticks because they don’t have a playground, toys or books. There’s nothing I want more than to help redirect time and money that the school has into resources for the kids, but it’s a struggle that has to start slowly. In the meantime, the best I can do is show up to all of MY scheduled classes, and, if I’m feeling brave, make a comment or two if I notice other people aren’t in their classes (or aren’t there on time).

Overall, my spirits are still high (most of the time), and the family next door to me is still SO supportive and helpful. I still have fresh fruit every day, and mango season is coming up! For those of you who sent mail/packages to the Nairobi address that I still haven’t received, I should be getting them by mid-February at the latest (when the APCD comes to visit my site). I’ll be sure to let people know when I get something from them so they know it wasn’t lost. And be patient with my replies – it’s been over a month since I’ve seen an OPEN post office… as we say over here, This Is Africa, or TIA for short :)