Beginning Again

It’s a new year! 2012 is going to be pretty great, if it's beginning is any indication.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. 2011 ended in a pretty spectacular way, which I’ll recount.

After Thanksgiving, I was involved with training in Machakos again, planning and running “model school” (not a school for models, but rather a mock school environment where the trainees get to practice teaching) with six other volunteers. It was great to hang out with old friends, get to know the trainees even better, and see them practice their teaching skills – they’re at site by now, and I’m sure they’re doing great, considering what I saw that week. After model school, I went to Nairobi for my mid-service medical checkup. Nothing too out of the ordinary there, thank goodness. Then it was back to Machakos for training (those trainees were probably so sick of me by then) about Behavior Change Communication (BCC) projects, which includes making posters, videos and other visual materials for the Deaf community. Since so much essential health and safety information is disseminated through radio and television, a lot of Deaf people don’t have access to the information. These projects try to provide non-verbal access to information about everything from infectious diseases to decision-making skills. I can’t wait to see what we come up with this year!

Finally, it was back to Nairobi, to meet my FAMILY at the AIRPORT. I can’t explain the excitement of standing in the terminal with a mass of people on every side of me, craning my neck to see who is coming out of baggage claim. I was probably standing like that for about an hour and a half, but it was all worth it when I caught the first glance of my mom, dad and brother, and practically pounced on them once they’d cleared the exit. I immediately felt a sense of relief and comfort I hadn’t felt in 14 months. They know me better than anyone in the world, and being around them was exactly what I'd been missing.

A few people have asked about our itinerary so they can get some inspiration for when people visit them in Kenya, so that will take up most of the rest of this entry. If that’s not interesting to you, feel free to skip ahead to the last paragraph.

We stayed a few nights in town so my family could get over their jet lag and start to get used to being in Africa. The first thing we did in Nairobi was to go to the Giraffe Center, which has a herd of endangered Rothschild giraffes. There’s a viewing area at giraffe-head-level, which allows the giraffes to approach the visitors, who can then feed the giraffes little food pellets. A lot of my friends really love giraffes (I'm looking at you, K&K), and while they are incredible animals, they inspire in me NO sense of awe. They just make me laugh. Their tongues! Their little horns! Their run! I can't take them seriously. My brother narrates their run as "galumph... galumph..." which is pretty accurate. But it's fun to watch them galumph around the grasslands. Anyway, it doesn’t take long to see the center, but it was awesome to get so close to the animals. After about an hour there, we went to the nearby David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust for orphan elephant feeding time. I have decided that there is not much in this world cuter than a baby elephant drinking milk out of a huge plastic baby bottle. The elephants are rescued from all around Kenya, and come to this sanctuary to receive the constant attention that they need to survive (that they would have gotten from their mothers). They even need sunscreen because if they were with their mother, her huge shadow would shield them from the sun, but otherwise their ears burn! Aww. Anyway, the place was great, and the elephants (especially the 2-month old) were adorable.

After the elephant babies, we proceeded to Nairobi National Park. It’s pretty incredible that a national capitol has a national park within it, and the nature walk did not disappoint. It was kind of like a huge zoo, full of African animals (a bit of a preview for our safari to come). While the park was great, the best part of the experience was meeting up with the family who I live with in Sipili. Baba had just come back from Japan, so the whole family came to pick him up from the airport and made a Nairobi trip out of it. It was heartwarming to see my Kenyan family meeting my American family. We went through the whole nature walk together, and then met up again in the afternoon at the Nairobi Museum, where Dad lost it when he saw some ancient hominid skulls. Obviously, the day was packed, but it was great to see things in Nairobi I’d never seen before. The next day in Nairobi mostly consisted of getting ready to head out on our safari, which started early the morning after.

We left the hotel at about 9 AM, drove into downtown Nairobi to pick up the train tickets we’d use the next week, and headed for Narok (the last town on the road before you get into the Masai Mara). We stayed there overnight, and bright and early the next morning, headed to our camp in the Mara (Kichwa Tembo which translates from Kiswahili to “elephant’s head”). The place was unbelievable. Even though I’d been away from no-frills village life for a while, this place was still a total shock. The tent I stayed in was bigger than my house, and had more amenities, including a hot shower and a flush toilet. Mind boggling! The food was incredible, and (much to my brother’s delight) there were monkeys everywhere. And warthogs. The game drives were spectacular – we saw the "Big Five" (buffalo, elephant, leopard, lion and black rhinoceros) within the first three hours we were out in the vehicle, along with all kinds of other gazelle, giraffes, crocodiles, etc. We stayed for three days, and really enjoyed ourselves.

After the safari, we headed to Naivasha for a few days. It wasn’t nearly as swanky as the camp in the Mara, but I think it was my favorite part of the whole trip. The place we stayed (Crayfish Camp) was frequented by a lot of Kenyan locals, which made me feel more at-ease than when I’d been in a camp full of wazungu. THAT’S not a good sign for my re-entry into the US. Anyway, during the few days we were there, we visited Hell’s Gate National Park, hiked to the top of Mount Longonot, and visited Lake Naivasha. On the first day, we (minus Aaron, who got a stomach bug – no surprise there, Kenya’s teeming with them) rented bikes at the entrance of Hell’s Gate, and biked 7 kilometers to a huge gorge. We took a 2-hour hike through the gorge, which was awesome – the thick rocks hid us from the sun, and the water that trickled through kept us cool (except for the steaming water that came from underground geysers). There was a place for a picnic back at the trailhead, and after lunch we biked back to the entrance. Unfortunately, the bike I rented was stuck in the highest gear. That was fine for the downhill ride into the park, but the uphill on the way back was a pain.

The next day, we headed to Mount Longonot, which I’d compare to Flat Top (for the Alaskans reading this). There’s a bit more elevation gain, but it takes about the same amount of time to summit. Longonot is a huge crater from an erupted volcano, and it’s a little scary walking around the rim if you’re afraid of heights (I won't name any names, Mom). But from the top you can see Lake Naivasha, and over to Hell’s Gate where we’d been the day before. Stretching our legs with all the biking and hiking was welcome after sitting in a vehicle during the safari.

On our last day in Naivasha, we went to Lake Naivasha for a boat ride to Crescent Island. There were a ton of hippo in the water, along with plenty of water birds (pelicans, egrets, herons, gulls, etc.) The island was neat, full of zebra, water bucks, and other animals. We were trying to find some giraffes, but they were elusive that day. After lunch, we headed to Nairobi to catch the train to MOMBASA! The train was bumpy (how is a train bumpy?) and hot, but charming nonetheless. The guy in the compartment next to us would probably disagree, though – his bags were stolen through the window while he was sleeping. We could tell we were at the coast when we started to sweat and see palm trees (always indicative of good things to come).

We spent Christmas in the same place I stayed during Cross-Sector: Traveller’s Beach Hotel in Bamburi. We spent the whole time relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. I was able to catch up with some fellow volunteers who live on the coast, Aaron did some quality monkey-watching, Mom acted like a solar panel, and Dad enjoyed the air conditioning. Christmas together was incredible. Not too many trappings, but we DID see African Santa Claus (or Father Christmas, rather) surrounded by bagpipes. That was pretty hilarious.

After doing a whole lot of nothing at the beach, we took a bus back toward Nairobi, but alighted at the Machakos junction instead of going all the way into town. We stayed there a day, and my family got to meet my host mama from training, and her kids. We spent the whole day together, just talking and eating. My mama had made an incredible and HUGE Kenyan meal, as usual. Again, it was amazing to see really important people in my life from SUCH different places meeting one another. A little surreal, but definitely amazing.

From Machakos we traveled to Nakuru, where we spent a day doing a game drive around the lake in Lake Nakuru National Park (flamingos!) and another day up at Menengai Crater. After the crater, Mom and Dad continued to Hyrax Hill, which is a prehistoric site very close to Nakuru town. My dad, ever the anthropologist, loved it. For New Years Eve, we all four shared a champagne toast in our hotel room and talked about the coming year. It was the perfect start to 2012, surrounded by those three. The next morning, after a shopping trip to Nakumatt (one just opened in Nakuru! Big news, indeed), we traveled on to Nyahururu. We saw Thomson Falls and did some souvenir shopping, and then it was on to Sipili! It was a little more rugged than my family expected, but I assured them it’s NORMAL for the hotel to have no running water sometimes. You just have to use a basin!

Everyone got the tour of the farm next to my house, ate a ton of pineapple, visited my school and had lunch with my Sipili family (that they’d met in Nairobi before). Saying goodbye was hard, but it was easier than when I left the first time. This time I know what to expect from the coming months, they understand my Kenyan home, and I’ll see them in less than a year.

Now I’m back at school. We have two less teachers this term than we did last year, which will mean I’m in the classroom all day every day, with no free lessons. At first that felt overwhelming, but then the kids started showing up. Just seeing them and talking with them about their holiday changed my mind. I am so excited to spend as much time with them as possible. Yesterday for the first time, it really hit me that I will be going home at the end of the year. I’ve always known it, of course, but I got choked up when I thought about leaving the kids. Part of me wishes I could stay forever, but that’s not realistic. And it’s not what I really want. So I’ll just have to make the most of this year. Oh! Remember that exam the class 8 students took last year? Well, they ROCKED it! Three of them are going immediately to secondary school (the school called our headmaster and requested them by name) and at least one or two more will be picked up by another school. I'm over the moon about it, and SO proud of them. I will definitely be visiting them at some point this year and make sure they’re not goofing around in high school! Also because I miss them a lot.

Here's to the second year!

Marafiki na Jamii

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

MY FAMILY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amani na upendo!

Siku Kwa Bata Mzinga

If I could paint a picture with words…

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

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

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

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

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

Unrest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once Around the Sun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kid 1: Yeah. Is our mom crazy?

Kid 2: I guess so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Water Story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August Adventures

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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