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.