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.