Eventful

Looking back, I can’t believe how much happened in the last month. I knew it was all going to happen, but it’s a little disorienting to be on the other side of it all. The experiences were eventful, so this update might take a while!

The Lewa Half Marathon was incredible. To risk sounding dramatic, I’d say it’s one of my top ten life experiences thus far. Lewa Downs is a little more than halfway between Nanyuki and Meru, and it’s a gorgeous conservancy. It’s exactly what one imagines when thinking of African grasslands, with its shallow undulating hills and golden vegetation that waves in the warm breeze. The color of the grass camouflages the ubiquitous impala, but you can spot their dark spiral horns that stick out above the grass, while the zebras’ stark stripes stand out against the beige background. Acacia trees are bunched in sparse clusters, where you can find the giraffes reaching for the top branches with their prehensile tongues. Just riding into the conservancy on the afternoon of June 29^th was awe-inspiring, I couldn’t believe I’d be running through the picturesque surroundings the next morning.

There were six Peace Corps volunteers running the race, and a couple other friends with us. We set up camp at the self-catering campsite area . The rich wazungu who had flown here for the race had their own set-up with fancy accommodations and food, but we were on a volunteer budget, so we brought our own tents, sleeping bags and gas cooker, and made an adventure of it. After a quiet spaghetti dinner under the stars at our campsite, we all went to bed early with our running gear laid out for the next day. We woke up slowly in the chilly morning on the 30^th, a couple hours before the race was scheduled to start, and we couldn’t tell if our shaking was from shivering or from nerves – or a mixture of both. About 20 minutes before the race, I realized I had lost the safety pins for my running bib, so I was running around asking everyone if they had extras. No one did, of course. Luckily, I had the genius Anna Martin by my side, who suggested I use my earrings to pin my bib to my shirt. Leave it to PCVs to find a resourceful solution in a pinch! It worked great.

The race kicked off at 7:30 AM (right on time! I couldn’t believe it) and the whole setting was perfect. It was about an hour after sunrise, and there was still a slight dewy chill, but the sun was already starting to warm us up, and running took care of the rest. Those hills that looked so beautiful as we drove in proved to be a little less inviting as the course climbed their slopes, but it wasn’t really that bad. I’d made the perfect music playlist and I had prepared adequately, so I was able to keep my pace for the majority of the run. I can’t explain the feeling of seeing the sign toward the end of the race “500 M to the finish.” It was right next to a sign for the full marathon runners: “for 2^nd lap, turn here.” At that moment I had infinite respect for the runners who were doing the full marathon. I couldn’t imagine running the course I’d just run AGAIN. I was relieved to make my turn, and cross the finish line. My legs felt like rubber and my insides were all jostled, but I’d finished. It was an awesome feeling.

Not four hours later, I was on a matatu back to Nairobi for the conference at the UN. I had a couple blisters and one black toenail (it’s still black, nearly a month later – not really sure about what happened there), but I slipped on a pair of pumps and a blazer and changed roles completely. It was time to be professional and quick thinking, which was an incredible change of pace. My job in the village is by no means easy, but it is much slower-paced than any activity happening at the UN headquarters in Nairobi. It was fun to think quickly on my feet and rush from one session to the next, take notes and synthesize them into summaries. There were people from all over East Africa, and there were so many good ideas about how to get East African youth interested in volunteering. There were some interesting counter-points, though – a lot of youths here view “volunteering” merely as thinly veiled free labor. There is a good deal of mistrust of government and NGOs on the part of the youth, and honestly, it’s not unwarranted. Even in my own job, I find that many “reputable” organizations are doing things completely contrary to the needs of my community (read on for a recent, specific example). I’m excited for the way that Peace Corps can partner with the people who are starting the East Africa Peace and Service Corps to address some of the concerns, since we have the unique privilege of working one-on-one with rural youth. Because as amazing as it was to be at the UN, it is SO removed from the reality of the people and groups who will be the largest stakeholders in the project. Anyway, the bottom line is that we had a productive and fun time, and I’m excited to see what comes out of the conference in the coming months. Also, the 4^th of July party at the US Ambassador’s house was pretty incredible. There were hot dogs flown in from Michigan, wines flown in from Napa, and all kinds of interesting people. Not to mention gigantic American flags and a jazz band. It was a really good reminder that although we have our own issues and challenges in the USA, I have developed a deep respect and gratitude for the opportunities I’ve had thanks to being a US citizen. It’s easy (and I’d argue, important) to criticize the things we do wrong as a nation, but it’s equally important to recognize and appreciate that our right to criticize is fiercely defended. It was also a good personal reminder toward the end of my service here, as I look toward a future career, that with great privilege comes great responsibility.

One other fun fact – the ambassador’s son lives in Alaska! I spoke with the ambassador’s wife for a few moments, and she said he lives in Eagle River. It was really nice to feel a small connection to home, even while thousands of miles away.

After a couple of weeks away from site, it was so nice to come back to Sipili. But the relaxation was short-lived. I got back on a Sunday, and there was a field trip for the whole school the following Tuesday. This wasn’t a field trip I was excited about, though. We were going with all of the kids to pick up the hearing aids we’d been fitted for last term. Sure, it was nice to take the kids to Nakuru, especially the little ones who had never really been on a big trip. But, the whole event was a disaster. As much as I try, I can’t think of too many redeeming qualities of the day. Maybe it was nice that the donors had good intentions, but I have very little patience for that being an excuse for a poorly planned and executed event. It’s obvious how I feel about it, but let me attempt to explain the proceedings without using biased language, and maybe you, reader, can see where my frustration stemmed from.

Last term, two Kenyans (a head teacher from Ngala School for the Deaf, and a doctor) came to take ear molds of all the children in my school. There were no audiograms taken before this visit, so the children who are profoundly deaf got ear molds, as did the children who are hearing but have no speech. There was minimal sign language explanation of what was happening. The process of taking ear molds includes inserting small cotton balls into the ear to block the canal (so the mold material doesn’t go too deep into the ear) and then an “injection” of a rubbery substance into the ear that hardens and creates the mold, from which the earpiece of the hearing aid will be made. This mold ensures a specific fit for each child’s hearing aid(s). Molds have to be updated for each child as they grow, because the ear shape changes as the child ages. After the molds were taken for each child, the two men left with the molds, which would be shipped to the USA for manufacturing of the earpieces.

Fast forward to our field trip. We arrived at Ngala School for the Deaf (where the hearing aid distribution was taking place), and there was one large red tent with about eight stations manned by red polo-clad volunteers from an organization called Starkey in the USA. The volunteers did not know Kenyan Sign Language. The Deaf kids sat in an assembly line, with the earpieces (made in the US from the molds, and distributed upon their arrival) inside their ears. They, one by one, sat in a chair with an American volunteer who spoke to them, saying “Hello, my name is ____. Tell me if you can hear this.” The volunteer then attached a hearing aid to the earpiece, stood behind them and said “ba ba ba ba” or some other repetitive sound. Then using gestures (not Sign Language) and spoken English, asked “do you need it higher or lower?” Based on the kid’s response and the volunteer’s interpretation of that response, the hearing aid was adjusted or replaced with a different hearing aid, until the volunteer was satisfied with the fit. I saw a couple sign language interpreters, but they were not actively involved in the process. After being fitted with hearing aids, the kids moved on to a booth where they were given a small packet containing a few months’ worth of batteries, and a sticker for a job well done.

My emotions were very high throughout this whole ordeal. I had no power to make any changes to the procedure, so I did my best to improve the experience by interpreting for my students, and explaining what was happening, because there was a LOT of confusion and miscommunication. I also made it very clear to my coworkers that although I am from the USA and the volunteers from Starkey were from the USA, we don’t  have the same philosophies on how to work with Deaf kids. We also briefly discussed whether it’s appropriate to just accept any donation that comes along, or if we should think critically about whether it would actually help our students and react accordingly. I also got into a few conversations with some of the volunteers from Starkey. They noticed I was interpreting, so they’d call me over to help them ask the kids whether their hearing aids were too high, too low, or just right. It was a tough job, even knowing sign language, and the whole thing  was rushed. A lot of the kids were confused, scared, or unsure of what to say. Some of the kids didn’t even have any KSL skills, so even my signing wasn’t helping them to communicate. Finally after about an hour of my help interpreting, one of the ladies said “gosh, thank you! Maybe I should know some sign language…” I just smiled and nodded, which was all I could do to keep from shouting “OH, REALLY? YOU THINK SO??” and embarrassing myself. I moved on to ask the people handing out batteries where the kids could get more when these ones ran out. They said they didn’t know. I also asked about how the kids were supposed to get updated ear molds. They also didn’t know.

Perhaps the most frustrating moment of the day was an interaction I had with one of the kids (he was 10 years old) who was with Starkey. He was the son of one of the volunteers, and he knew the ASL alphabet, how to say his name, and use some very basic signs. This made him the resident sign language expert. However, the only difference between the ASL alphabet and the KSL alphabet is the letter “t.” In KSL, the ASL sign for “t” is vulgar; it’s the sign for a certain part of female anatomy that is not discussed in polite society. Of course, the boy’s name began with the letter “t.” So every time he introduced himself, he shocked all the Deaf kids. He also misunderstood most of their signs. One of the Kenyans asked him if he liked Kenya and why. He said “yes! I like being here, because I get to help people!” I think that served as a pretty good metaphor for the whole day.

Once the whole process was over, we got back on the bus, everyone armed with new hearing aids and a few batteries. Almost immediately, some of the hearing aids started to make feedback sounds. You know, the sound a microphone makes when it’s near a speaker, or that hearing aids make when they're not fitted or used properly. Not annoying at all. By the end of the bus ride, most of the hearing aids had been taken out. Over the course of the next week, most of the smaller kids’ aids were broken, the bigger ones weren’t adjusted properly, and most kids admitted they didn’t help them hear. Probably a total of eight hearing aids (in a school of about 70 kids, who each got two hearing aids) are helpful, and are still being worn, maintained and used properly. But they will be rendered useless once the batteries run out and/or the kid outgrows the ear mold.

The real kicker? One hearing aid costs tens of thousands of Kenyan shillings. I can only dream of the teaching materials, books, uniforms, play equipment and other useful things that could be purchased with the same money spent on the hearing aids.

For the record, I have nothing against hearing aids, if the decision to use them is made by the student and the parent together, with appropriate support from the teacher. I also believe that poverty should not be a barrier to accessing such devices, if they are in the best interest of the child. However, I am very much against irresponsible spending, cultural insensitivity, unsustainable projects, and reinforcement of the donor/beneficiary relationship between industrialized nations and the global South. I am offended that although there is no excuse for donors to remain ignorant of the places they are going to “help,” there is oftentimes no effort to educate oneself about the environment they’re entering into, and that remains culturally acceptable. It’s neo-imperialism, it’s self-serving and it’s incredibly embarrassing.

Excuse me as I get down off my soapbox now. I could go on forever, but it’s time for some less emotionally-charged news.

The past couple of weeks have been pretty quiet (minus the occasional chorus of feedback playing from the few remaining hearing aids), which has been nice. I’m excited for August, because I’m climbing Mount Kenya with some PCVs, and my dear friend Kelsey is visiting along with her mom and her sister. They’re like a second family to me, so it will be incredible to see them. In the meantime, I’m continuing to work with my community KSL class, who will be taking their exam on August 4^th. I have high hopes for them – they’ve been preparing diligently! But the strangest news from the last couple weeks has to do with the weather. It’s been hovering around 18 degrees C, which is uncommonly cold for Sipili. It also has me deeply worried, because I’ve been absolutely FREEZING. I’ve been wearing scarves, multiple jackets, wool socks, the works. It seems I’ve completely acclimated to this region, which is not good news for my return to Alaska. Especially since I’ll be getting back in the middle of the winter. It may get ugly.

As I move into the last couple weeks of this term and my last school break before heading home, I wish you all (in the US) a lovely second half of summer. Also, for anyone who may have stumbled across this blog who has gotten their invitation to be a Deaf Ed volunteer arriving in Kenya this October, feel free to get in touch!! I’ve heard that some people are already getting their notification. They’ll be our replacements. How time flies…

The Days Are Running

Here in Kenya, when you want to say that time is going really fast, you say "the days are running." Sitting here looking at the calendar, realizing we're over halfway through June, I am convinced. The days are definitely running. Very, very quickly. There are less than five months left until I'm on a plane out of here - that thought simultaneously makes me feel queasy and elated. But lately, it makes me feel a little more of the former than the latter.

Term two is in full swing, and luckily it’s been more relaxed than term one. Of course I’m still teaching a full load of classes, afternoon KSL class for secondary students and another for community members, but at least I’m consistently leaving school before it starts to get dark, which is an improvement over last term. It affords me enough daylight to go on evening runs, which are a fantastic way to de-stress. Not to mention, they’re incredibly necessary – the half marathon is less than two weeks away! I am a little nervous about it because the terrain of the course is rough, there is no tree cover, and, well, it’s 21 kilometers long. But I’m up for the challenge. And my one consolation is that I’ve been training at an altitude about 300 meters (~ 1,000 feet) higher than the course. So, hopefully my red blood cells/hemoglobin will be at their oxygen-carrying peak.

After the run, I’ll be in Nairobi for close to a week, for a really exciting reason: I was invited, along with six other Peace Corps Volunteers, to the “African Conference on Volunteer Action for Peace and Development” (ACVAPD). It will take place at the UN Headquarters, and will feature influential leaders in politics, youth development, health, environmentalism, peace building, and volunteerism from East Africa and around the world. Participants are coming together for a few days to initiate the inception of an “East Africa Peace and Service Corps” that would be dedicated to fostering the spirit of volunteerism in East African youth. If you’ve been following my personal evolution of discovering how I believe we all should interact with one another, you’ll know that this sounds like a dream to me. Through experience and observation I’ve come to the conclusion that people, regardless of nationality, can realize their potential to make a positive difference in society through service without monetary compensation, and I believe that such service is one of the surest routes toward global understanding and peace. In Sipili, I see countless brilliant, disenfranchised young people every day. There aren’t enough local jobs for all these youths, which breeds desperation, and young people can be easily hijacked by ill-meaning individuals or organizations who recognize desperation and know how to manipulate it. Some girls who have finished high school but can’t afford college will sell themselves to men at the nearby military post. And young men in similar situations are, as we’ve recently seen, joining groups like Al-Shabaab with chilling frequency, lured by promises of financial stability and honor. Opening opportunities for young people to volunteer is an exciting if not necessary way forward, and I’m really excited to attend (and contribute to!) this conference.

The only downside? I’m going to need to buy some new clothes. And shoes. As much as I love them, I wouldn’t feel right shaking the hands of foreign dignitaries while wearing my Chacos.

In the meantime, life in Sipili is passing at its usual, leisurely pace. There was some excitement at the end of May, when four women from the US visited the school. Two of them have been in partnership with the school for a few years now, and they’ve worked on funding small-scale projects that benefit the kids directly (a cow that provides milk for the porridge, sweaters for the school uniform that the kids wear while they’re at school, etc.) It was really nice to visit with all of them and swap Peace Corps stories with one of the women in the group who served as a PCV in Kenya years ago. It was a lucky coincidence that they were here during my birthday, too! We had a lovely dinner together (at the infamous Olivia’s), and they even gave me some cards and a cake. It’s not always easy being so far from friends and family during birthdays (they’re not celebrated at all in Sipili), so it was really thoughtful and encouraging to have a little celebration with people from the US. Although I think I may be losing touch with home – when the ladies first arrived, I couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. People from the US really do speak quickly.

There is some bad news from the school, too. Last week, one of our two cows fell into an open pit, being dug for a latrine at the neighboring primary school, and died. No more milk from her, but he kids ate a lot of meat that week. Personally, I’m overjoyed the cow has been fully consumed and that we’re back to beans.

I feel like there a million other little updates that I could share (we have a new teacher at school, one of the other teachers just had twin girls, the weather is nice and cold, the bean and pea crops are almost ready for harvest, my friend’s grandmother’s burial was this past weekend) but it dawned on me that all the little things combine to tell a bigger story. I know I’ve written before about how integrated I feel (or don’t feel), and about how I constantly have to work to navigate my identities. When I first got to Sipili, I was “mzungu” to everyone. I made children cry from my appearance alone (which can do a number on one’s self-esteem, by the way), and people would charge me an inflated price for almost everything. Kids would use a nasal voice (because apparently that’s how American English sounds to them) to imitate me, and the greeting I heard was “Jambo!” Then, months passed, and people realized I was a fixture in town. They also learned I am a teacher, so I became “mwalimu” instead of “mzungu.” Greetings changed to the more natural “mambo” or “habari,” and the mamas at the market knew which vegetables I would buy when I approached their stalls. That was encouraging, definitely. But there was still something missing – people knew of me, but people didn’t really know me yet.

Now, finally, after over a year and a half in Sipili, I’m “Madam Jennifer” to almost everyone. I swap stories and news with the women I buy food from, and I shake hands with at least a dozen children on every walk home (and promptly wash my hands upon arriving to my house). When a child from another town is visiting Sipili and they call me mzungu, one of their local family members will turn and defend me, saying “hapana! Ni Madam Jennifer!” When I go on runs, people will join me for a kilometer or two here and there (even the grandmothers – these women are made of the strongest stuff) or cheer me on as they’re digging in their farms that flank the road. Now the greeting I get is “We mwega?” which is in Gikuyu, the local tribal dialect. And these days, I even know how to respond: “Nikowega muno!”

So, all the other little updates, too numerous to mention, are now part of my life because I’ve finally, fully become part of life here. I have the privilege of holding newborn babies, joining in prayers for rain, mourning deaths, and contributing to discussions about current events. And although this emergent property that arises from joining little instances together is difficult to describe, it’s the most important update I can communicate to all of you who have been with me on this adventure.

Before I sign off, I want to wish everyone back  in the USA (and especially Alaska) a happy summer. Congratulations to all the graduates (especially USD grads, my brother and three cousins – you guys are amazing) and I hope everyone gets a chance to take a vacation and enjoy the sun. Have a great 4^th of July, too. If all goes according to plan, I should be celebrating Independence Day with the US Ambassador to Kenya. Who would have thought?!

Soundtrack of My Life

I know it's been a while since I gave an account of what's been happening over here. I'll sum it up in bullet points, and then get to the real substance of this blog post:

• Term one (January-April) was insanely busy, getting prepared for games (we actually got to go and compete in the provincial competition this year!!) and drama (something new to our school, that I jumped into headfirst as the coach, without having any idea what I was getting myself into), and I found myself at school almost seven days a week, from morning until evening. I don't know if that will be the case this term, but I hope I can dial it back a little!
• In March, three teachers and I traveled to Kericho with the drama team (ten kids), along with all our costumes and backdrops for the10-minute mime performance I'd written, directed, and had spent the past few months coaching. We competed in the provincial drama competition there, and won first place in our category! That qualified us for the National Drama Festival in Kakamega, so we traveled across the country to Western Province as soon as school closed, and performed on April 10th. The kids absolutely rocked their performance, and I sat in the audience almost in tears - I was so proud of all their work. They ended up getting second place in their category, and we also got awards for Best Actor, and Best Script/Choice Mime. I went to Nakuru last week to pick up the three trophies (of course they were super bulky and I had to schlep them around in torrential rain) and certificates, and  the kids have been admiring the trophies with wide eyes as they get to school. I hope they can get first place next year!
• Also in April, I attended and helped facilitate a workshop for the parents of our students. We talked about the causes of deafness, how to support kids who are Deaf, and we had a few basic KSL sessions. It was a sometimes confusing (the facilitation switched between four languages - Kiswahili, Gikuyu, English and KSL) but incredibly heartwarming few days - definitely a highlight of my service. About 20 parents were there, and were genuinely interested in learning about how to support their kids. They got contact info from one another, and plan to start a parents' group of their own. I hope we can have at least one more similar session before I leave. I know it was a success, because some of the kids have shown up to school saying "Did you teach my mom how to sign?? She knows how to ask me questions and spell my name! Can you teach her more??"
• During the first month of May, I held a one-week intensive KSL class for some teachers from neighboring schools. It was a blast - I think they'll be joining  the KSL class I teach for the secondary school students twice a week. Our goal is to be proficient enough by the end of the year to get a certification in KSL, hopefully opening up job opportunities for the people who get the certificates, and spreading general awareness of KSL.
• After all the excitement of April and early May (there was a trip to Nairobi in there somewhere, too), it's time to get back to school. The kids are slowly trickling in, and we're starting to teach here and there. I expect we'll be back in full swing by mid-week. I'm also glad games and drama are over, because I have other things to focus on this term. Most importantly, I have to get extra serious about preparation for the Lewa half marathon I'm running at the end of June. I told the kids they're training with me - that means running after school every day! They're all on board, and genuinely excited about it. Chances are, they'll kick my butt. I'll just try to keep up with the third graders.

Now you're caught up. And now we can talk about something a little more interesting.

I know saying "I love music" is like saying "I love puppies" or "I love chocolate chip cookies". Sure, there are people who don't care for music, but I think it's a nearly universal human experience, and it's been one of the most fun things to experience in Kenya. I've talked a lot about some of the other cultural experiences I've had here regarding the food, the languages, and the lifestyle. But I was thinking about it today, and I couldn't believe that I hadn't said much about the music here.

So, let's take a little tour through my Kenyan music experience, starting with my arrival in Nairobi that fateful night in October 2010:

1. When I landed in Nairobi, half asleep and really disoriented, the first thing we encountered right out of baggage claim was a group of Kenyans, singing and beating drums with really big smiles. As far as I could tell, they were dressed in "traditional" clothing, and singing "traditional" music, despite a lot of "Jambo Kenya!!" and English lyrics, too. We all got halfway into the spirit as we hauled our bags to the bus that would take us to our hotel. It was actually kind of exciting - it made me feel like I was finally in Africa. Going back over a year later to pick up my parents, though, I saw the same guys. Let's just say they're not as "traditional" as they seem.

2. During my time with my host family, I heard a lot of American music, because my host mama had DSTV. There were more channels on that TV than I'd ever had before, and my host brother and sister liked to watch American music videos. But there was one moment on a bus while I was traveling with my mama, when I heard a song that got stuck in my head. I had no idea what the lady was singing about, but I liked her voice. So when I heard one of our language trainers playing it on her laptop later that week, I had to ask the name of the song. And this was the first Kenyan song I downloaded:

I didn't know it was a gospel song, and I didn't know she was from the coast. It just sounded nice to me, and I could pick out a Kiswahili word I knew here and there. Another memory from Machakos was my host mama's ringtone. She's since changed it, but I'll always think of her when I hear this song by Wahu, which is a Kenyan favorite:

3. After swearing in, Jess and I took that crazy trip to our site. I met the family I would spend the next couple years with, and I was kind of overwhelmed. I slowly amassed some furniture, and read a lot of books, since I had no work yet. I tried to get to know the family, and we opened up to each other as the weeks passed. Within those first few weeks, I'd gotten a jumbled folder full of Kenyan music from Jess, and after sorting through it, I kept a few of the songs I recognized. I'd heard them on the radio that played all day in the kitchen, ten feet from my house. I put the music on my ipod, and listened to it while washing the dishes in my house. One day I got brave enough to show Joyce (the niece of the parents on my compound) my ipod, and she asked if I had any Kenyan music. When I played this song for her, her eyes lit up, and we sang it together. Then it was official - we were friends.

4. One thing people will tell you about music that plays on Kenyan radio, is that about half of it isn't Kenyan, or even East African. There's a good deal from Jamaica, which I love. Another large chunk is from the US - but not contemporary music. Occasionally you'll find a radio station with Top 40 hits from the US, but much more frequently you'll hear Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers, Celine Dion, Phil Collins, Shania Twain, Westlife, Michael Jackson, and other artists who reached their musical peak 20-30 years ago. But there's this really magical fusion that happens, where Jamaican music and old-school music from the US meet. And of course, since it's the best of both worlds, Kenyans love it. This song has been playing regularly since I got here, and doesn't show any signs of letting up:

There are tons of other mashups like this. I can understand why - everything sounds better with a reggae beat. Even The Commodores and Phil Collins.

5. At some point last year, the teachers at my school decided that we should have a TV in the staff room. I was never a fan of the idea, but one against seven doesn't hold much weight. So, we got a TV and a DVD player, and the rest is history. From then on, the TV is either playing Kenyan news, Nigerian films (cleverly coined "Nollywood" films... do yourself a favor and watch one if you can, they all feature an evil mother-in-law) or Kikuyu music videos. I don't know how, but one of my coworkers has a seemingly endless supply of Kikuyu music video DVDs. His very favorite artist, based on the frequency with which his videos are shown, is Franco wa Sabu. Now, this is a big shift from the other songs I've listed previously. Most of those are played internationally, and have mass appeal. Franco, on the other hand, has a lot of... let's call it "local flavor". He sings in the tribal language of my region, Gikuyu, and his videos are very low-budget. At first I couldn't sit through one without laughing, which made me look like a jerk in front of my coworkers. But now, when I get back to Sipili after a long time away, I love hearing the high pitched "gling gling gling!" sound that is characteristic of Kikuyu music. Franco is the quintessential example of the kind of music you hear in my village 24/7.

Side note: "bibi" means girl. This song is essentially about a guy who has a girlfriend who becomes such a huge pain, that he is "forced" to find a second girl - his "bibi no. 2". Once I made a comment in the staff room about how I would never be anyone's bibi no. 2. This was met with thunderous laughter, and one of my male coworkers saying "Oh yes you will. You just won't know it!"  

6. I don't know when, how or why it happened, but there came a time (last August, I think?) when a certain song TOOK OVER Kenya. No matter where you were or who you were with, you would hear this song about five times a day. It's a Nigerian song, mostly in Igbo, and it's actually quite racy. However, Igbo isn't spoken in Kenya, so everyone considers it pretty harmless. In fact, the words in the song's chorus (Sawa, sawa, sawale) are nonsense, filler sounds in Igbo that are meant to indicate someone walking, but it sounds like the word "sawa" which, in Kiswahili, translates to something like "ok" or "cool" in English. Kids love to sing the song, which makes me smirk, because I looked up the Igbo meaning, and the song is about a "lady of the night". There's no denying it's incredibly catchy, though!

7. Speaking of insanely popular songs, this list wouldn't be complete without the most popular gospel song in Kenya. I know some people (especially Peace Corps Volunteers) who want to scream whenever they hear this song because it's so ubiquitous, but it just reminds me of the kids who live on the same compound as me. They love to sing it, and it's adorable.

8. The start of 2012 was pretty exciting. I was with my family, I had survived a FULL YEAR of teaching, and I was seeing a side of Kenya I'd never seen before, full of giraffes, lions and fancy hotels. I knew it would be back to the daily stresses of teaching in the village soon, which was a daunting thought. And I knew I'd be facing the challenges without one of my coworkers, who had been transferred to a different school. He'd always helped me feel integrated, and I knew I'd miss talking with him - plus, us teachers who were left behind would have to take his work load. I was looking down the barrel of a rough term. During one of the last days of the holiday, I was thinking about the idea of new beginnings, and I came across a Kalenjin song that had actually been my coworker's ringtone. Not only that, it had a really good message for the new year. This song was my new years resolution song, and I continue to listen to it whenever I get stressed out or bogged down. 

Side note: the Kalenjin tribe was pitted against the Kikuyu tribe during the post-election violence in 2008. The fact that my coworker, a Kikuyu, had this song as his ringtone, continues to inspire me. He lost his home in the deadly clashes, and his mother is still displaced. But he always preached (and practiced) acceptance and reconciliation between tribes.

9. It's no secret that it's difficult to live isolated from the people and culture that you're used to. It's hard to always feel like a foreigner, and no matter how integrated you are, you will always be a foreigner when you look, speak, think and act a little different from everyone else. So I consider myself incredibly lucky, because although Sipili is pretty remote, there is another Peace Corps Volunteer here with me. Jessica's house is roughly a 15 minute walk from mine, and her school is neighbors with mine. She's the best site mate - laid back, friendly, hilarious, and always up for a weekly beer at Olivia's. When I say Olivia's is a hotel, I'm probably stretching the term (just ask my mom), but it's the fanciest place in town. The beer is sometimes a little cooler than room temperature, and they have a TV. Jess and I go there about once a week to have an Allsopps (500 ml of warm, sub-par beer for 110 shillings - about $1.50), and shoot the breeze. We talk about frustrations in our jobs, ideas about how to improve our schools, plans for life post-PC, and whatever else is on our minds. She doesn't mind when I zone out (something that happens to a lot of us after being in the village a long time), and we both stare at the TV when it's playing music videos. When it's Rihanna or Drake, we gripe about missing the US. When it's Justin Bieber, we thank our lucky stars we're over here. And when it's Kenyan music, we laugh or take notes, depending on whether it's a song we want to remember, or just another insane mash up of poorly edited dancing. These next three songs remind me of Jess. The first one is her jam, and the second two are songs we discovered while in our Allsopps/equatorial sun-induced stupor one Thursday afternoon:

Please notice the random mzungu in the last video. This is a common theme in Kenyan music videos. In fact, the PCVs up in Maralal were approached by a group of people shooting a music video, and ended up in TWO Samburu music videos. I'm keeping my eyes peeled for anything similar happening around these parts. Maybe I can weasel my way into a cameo.

10. Now I'm in the downhill slide to the end of my service. It's weird, because I've gotten really used to life here. I had a moment the other day when I realized that when I go, I'll actually miss Kenya. Not just the kids, and not just the family with and their awesome fruit farm. I will miss sitting in a matatu with nowhere to put my feet, because there are dozens of chickens underfoot. I will miss people asking ridiculous questions like if I know Obama, why I'm not married, or if I'm immortal because I'm white. I will miss the rains after months of drought. I will miss the way little kids look at their palm after we shake hands, to see if some of my (lack of) color wiped off on them. I will miss the languages, the towns, the long skirts and the animals. But I'll really, REALLY miss the music. I was listening to this song as I had that realization:

This song reminds me of my time here, because it's a mixture of English and Gikuyu. It's modern, and it's a throwback. I can dance to it like I would in Nairobi, but the old Kikuyu man reminds me of Sipili. It's going to be hard to say goodbye to all of that, but I guess I can just be grateful that's still six months away.

And on that note, let me leave you with some Franco. Because, let's be honest. This dude can rock a cowboy hat.

Interconnected

I've spent the last month crafting this blog post. It's a lot more work than I usually put into my journal-style entries. It was important for me to be intentional this time - instead of ranting about the frustrations I alluded to last month, I figured that some research and analysis could enrich the conclusions I've drawn from my own experiences.

Whenever I think of how the world really is a small place, and that we're all connected to other people/locations/experiences in one way or another, I remember a scene from one of my favorite movies. "I <3 Huckabees" is about a man who repeatedly experiences the same coincidence, in which he is convinced there lies profound meaning. He begins to search for it's significance, aided by two married "existential detectives" (Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman) who, in the course of their sessions, try to reveal to him the nature of the world. Hoffman attempts to illustrate it by draping a blanket over his hands, and poking his fingers upward to give topography to the flat plane, saying:

"Say this blanket represents all the matter and the energy in the universe, okay? This is me, this is you, and over here, this is the Eiffel Tower, right, it's Paris!"

We do really share one blanket. One, for all of us in the world, and we have to share it responsibly while coexisting peacefully - all 7 billion of us. I think it's safe to say that at this point, our efforts leave a lot to be desired. Learning how our global interactions should look and the reality of how they look now has been a constant journey during my time in Kenya.

It's no secret that there are discrepancies in how much different people "own." Our earth is not shared equally, and that's a result of a host of reasons that aren't really the point of this blog. People from all over the world and from all different backgrounds like to imagine solutions to global problems, which oftentimes arise from such discrepancies. But ironically, the ability to put such ideas and dreams in action is the privilege of those who can afford it. After all, it's no secret - "helping" isn't cheap. Not financially, and not in terms of time.

From my angle as a US citizen, it has become clear through media and personal conversations that most people from my "Western" tradition perceive the most pressing global issues to be centered around "lack." We are very concerned about lack of things like food, water, education, clothing, shelter, knowledge and/or religion, in places that are quite culturally and spatially removed from the USA and Europe. We also typically hold two interesting beliefs: that our own nations don't have the same problem with "lack" as less industrialized countries do, and that there's not a lot that our beneficiaries can offer in terms of dreams for their own future, plans for actualizing those dreams, and/or resources to make it all happen. The solution we come up with to deal with all this "lack" (that makes us feel the pang of injustice at best and pity at worst) is to travel somewhere where we perceive a lack, and fill the void with our own perceived surplus. Or, if we can't travel or don't want to travel, we give money to someone who will.

I don't want to cast judgment, because I have held those exact thoughts. Also, it's important to mention that there are absolutely valid reasons and responsible ways to travel internationally, experience new cultures, and contribute to a process of healing and growth in our broken world. I just think it usually looks different than tradition suggests. I want to tease apart some of the things I've thought about, read about and experienced within the past year and a half that have made me seriously re-evaluate our culture of "helping."

My story begins with my first encounters with poverty. I'd seen people without homes in the US, but traveling to India and Jamaica in college exposed me to communities that were crowded, looked dirty, and had few of the familiar comforts I was used to at home. My knee-jerk reaction was to give. Empty my pockets in response to wide eyes or hungry faces. It was an instinctive desire to DO something, to quench the guilt or shock that my previously-sheltered conscience was experiencing. However, that reaction was ultimately about my own comfort. It's also important to note that in my guilt-driven generosity, the faces in front of me were interchangeable. I wanted to throw money and make the dirt, hunger and discomfort go away because they scared me - not because I knew, loved or understood any of the people with their hands outstretched. I may have wanted to know, love and understand them, but how is that possible in a matter of weeks?

Once I'd flirted with the symptoms of poverty, I felt like I'd stumbled upon something mysterious and hidden, yet raw and incredibly pervasive. I began to internalize what I'd been told all my life, that "the fact that you can read, write, go to college and have clean water and food puts you in an incredibly small percentage of humanity." Well... that's not exactly what I'd been told. People had used the word "top" instead of "small," which I'm not sure I agree with. More on that later.

To look back on the period after these travel experiences and pre-Peace Corps is to glimpse myself during an interesting window of time. When I wanted to express my empathy with those in poverty, I bought a pair of TOMS shoes or donated money to a mission trip. I wanted to establish myself as someone who cared more than I wanted to (or even knew how to) do the legwork necessary to address gross injustices that result in poverty. I was much more idealistic and a touch less cynical than I am now. When I was accepted for the Peace Corps, I was so excited to have a job with purpose, and to make a lasting impact. Why I thought I had to travel halfway around the world to find purpose and make an impact is still lost on me. Any job can be purposeful, and we all inevitably make an impact. Nevertheless, I feel blessed to work here not only because I've had the adventure of a lifetime, but because I've been able to live with people whose living conditions are similar to those who I offered coins to in India - and it's been humbling to say the least.

Kenya is economically strong compared to many of its East and Central African neighbors. It's a land rich in natural resources and human capital. There is untold potential unlocked by the passage of a new constitution in 2010, and there is a feeling of optimism for the future. But there are a few things that keep Kenya from functioning in the way it's citizens yearn for. Most notably there are ethnic tensions born out of British colonial tactics of subverting the natives that still pervade every aspect of life, especially politics. This is probably the greatest contributor to inequality, because it begets corruption and results in misappropriated resources. And because Kenya is one of the many African countries who has been played like a pawn in the interests of globally influential countries (beginning with the Berlin Conference, continuing through the Cold War and into the present day) there are cycles of dependence that were created and are partially perpetuated by "help" from Westerners. Many times, charitable and government aid does more harm than good, and marginalizes Kenyans who could and want to manufacture the supplies or earn the money that Westerners give them. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I have lost all patience for most of the forms of aid I've seen. This time, I'm standing with my Kenyan students on the other end of the cash flow, and I resent the Westerner's knee-jerk reaction, the same one I had myself while navigating the winding slums of Delhi. Now I'm the one with dirty feet and no electricity or running water, next to kids with no shoes - but it isn't scary. It's my lifestyle, my reality, the existence I've grown to love. Through my students, I've had a glimpse of what it's like to be pitied, and it leaves me feeling dirtier than my feet could ever get. I find myself yearning for the same thing as the kids - "Know us. Love us. Understand us." But instead, the pity usually gets us a different kind of "help" than we'd hoped for.

To give some examples of "help" my school and students have received:

1. Hearing aids without hearing tests that are not only unsustainable (parents here can barely afford school fees, much less batteries or new ear molds as their children grow) and fragile, but are also mostly useless (some of the kids are profoundly deaf and wouldn't hear anything even with an aid, and none of the kids here speak - they would need intensive speech therapy to do so, and we have no speech therapist). No parents were notified of the decision to provide their children with hearing aids, so there was no opportunity to opt out. The whole process is unbelievably expensive. But it's a tax write-off for the donor organization, Minnesota-based Starkey.

2. Visits by foreigners overflowing with candy and good intentions. School and lessons are stopped in the middle of the day, and the visitors are "entertained" with a song/dance by the kids. Then the visitors play soccer with the kids - that's the "helping" part. Learning comes to a screeching halt, except for the one lesson that is reinforced every time : white people have cameras and candy to give us. They are important enough to stop school for. They are always the ones who give, we are always the ones who receive.

3. Flush toilets. Two million shillings and counting have been poured into this project. The toilets are perpetually broken, the septic tank is always flooded, and there are perfectly good pit latrines mere steps away.

Yet how many of us would hesitate to pull out our wallet if someone said "I'm raising money for hearing aids for Deaf kids/a trip to Kenya to spend time with Deaf kids/toilets for Deaf kids?" I wouldn't have. Not before I met the Deaf kids.

For me, that's where the most important truth lies. Ours is a culture where we can say a few buzz words and the money comes pouring in. "Disabled" or "orphan" or "African," to name a few. We focus on labels that make us feel pity, and we don't get to know the people, their lives or their stories. We don't ask questions - for example, why isn't the community or government rallying around the cause we're funding? Is it because they know they can get someone from the West to pay for it? A staggering number of times, the answer to that question is yes. It's the reason why, whenever I leave my house, I am prepared to encounter someone who asks me for money. We've brought it upon ourselves, but more tragically, we've caught countless cultures up in the same lie. As my Kenyan friends often tell me, "I'm sorry to say, but whenever we see white skin, we just think 'money.'"

This seems like an appropriate time to address the Peace Corps' place in this whole thing. If I'm so anti-aid, why am I pro-Peace Corps? Isn't my job a sort of aid? First of all, I'm not entirely anti-aid. I'll explain that toward the end. Second of all, yes and no. It's true that the U.S. government is responsible/pays for me, and that the Kenyan government has requested the presence of volunteers. However, I am not taking a job from a Kenyan (there is a shortage of trained Kenyan teachers qualified to work in schools for the Deaf, since so many have sprung up in the past decade... our sorely understaffed school is a good example) and the main problem I have with intergovernmental aid is the interest that accrues, leaving the borrowing nations in mountains of debt. There is no cost for a volunteer, and there is no debt. Also, I believe that cultural exchange is the best way for us to break down walls of misunderstanding. I can tell you that since being here, I've debunked some pretty interesting myths and beliefs held by both Kenyans and Americans.

Giving has become a response to guilt, and has grown very trendy in the process. It's about quieting the voice inside you that says "how is it fair that I have so much, while these people have so little?" But within that statement, degrading falsehood breeds. It's true that there is a group of people who truly have next to nothing, who suffer and die because they have no water, no food, no access to medical care. But I believe that acting responsibly with less impoverished communities will give support to their struggle. Less impoverished communities like mine. It's a community FULL of aid, but much more full of blessings and resources that are always overlooked by fly-by-night donors. There is a strength of family that I've never experienced in the USA. Almost everything eaten is fresh, locally grown and healthy, and there is usually enough for everyone. People here know the language that their ancestors have spoken for thousands of years. The lack of electricity which we may view as archaic ensures dark, quiet, peaceful nights. I've learned more about what it means to be human after a year and a half in Sipili than I have during my whole life in the USA. This place is incredibly rich. When I say this to my coworkers, they say "but you Americans are so far ahead! What could you really learn from us? We have so little." Comments like that break my heart. It is a lie that I have more than them. It is a lie that they have less than me. We both have different, incomparable blessings. I'm still wrapping my head around that thought, because it's SO contradictory to everything I've ever been taught. And in my opinion, that's where the real lack is. It's a lack of understanding that is incredibly important for us to address, especially if we ever wish to address other areas of lack.

I know it's hard to shake, but there needs to be an intentional abandonment of our identities of "whites in shining armor." Kenya has almost entirely beat it out of me - and while it caused a mini-identity crisis, I am so grateful it happened. Now I know that the best solutions to Kenyan problems are born and grow in Kenya, not my mind. It's the same with any country. I think the best thing we can do as partners in a community's growth is to get behind local efforts to change - IF that's the desire of the community. We can start conversations with our friends who live overseas, or those who live in the USA who are part of a diaspora and/or have strong ties to their homeland. We can foster relationships based on trust and understanding, and share values and ideas. Equality in our partnerships and humility in providing assistance are the keys to future confidence and self-reliance.

So, let's think before we give money. Think before we buy TOMS (why are we sending foreign-made shoes to kids instead of buying them locally and stimulating the economy where those kids live?) or a KONY 2012 bracelet (will it really help find a man who has eluded countless manhunts if we give money to an organization whose founders are paid close to $90k a year and support intervention by the ethically questionable Ugandan military? For a red waxy string?) Think before we write checks, buy t-shirts and go to benefits. Let's first spend time learning, listening, reading and thinking critically because I believe that a deep understanding of our fellow blanket-sharers is the only road to peace and justice. If money follows, let it be for something we fully comprehend, support and have the ability to CONTINUE to support.

If that sounds complicated and hard, I agree. But I think worthwhile things always are.

If you're interested in what I read to explore my questions, check out the books "Dead Aid: How Aid is Not Working and How There is Another Way for Africa" by Dambisa Moyo, "It's Our Turn to Eat: The Story of a Kenyan Whistleblower" by Michela Wrong, as well as the blog "Good Intentions Are Not Enough" by Saundra Schimmelpfennig (an RPCV, as it turns out). I'm not finished exploring and understanding how we all can contribute to a collective brighter future for the globe, so if you have any other reading suggestions, please send them along!

A Day in the Life

I was really tempted to start this blog entry by complaining.

It's true, things have gotten challenging lately. I had my first "forget this, I'm getting on the next plane back to America" moment (that actually lasted a little longer than a mere moment) of my service. But something tells me that turning it around will take a certain level of mindfulness, especially in the tone I use as I continue to tell my story.

Usually I tell macro stories, spanning weeks between entries. Stories of where I've gone or what I've seen, but tonight I want to tell the micro story of where I am right now, today. Stories of the moments that keep me from calling my boss and telling him my bags are packed.

Today we had a "general cleaning" day at school, because we're going to have some visitors arriving on Sunday, teachers from the UK who work in our partner school. The school day started at 8ish, as usual, with "parade." It's essentially an assembly where everyone lines up around the flagpole, and the teachers make any necessary announcements. They stand in class order, the little ones fidgeting and chatting with each other, the older ones looking more grown up every day. It's like a mismatched Christmas - some kids in red sweaters, others in green, most of them torn at the elbow or wrist. But they are always scrubbed and clean and ready to learn. Today we made the announcement that visitors were coming, which got the kids pretty excited. They were less excited when they learned they'd be cleaning most of the day.

Classes were what you'd expect, as was cleaning and lunch (beans!). By the end of lunch all the cleaning was done, but classes weren't technically in session. I was bored sitting in the staff room with the national news in Kiswahili blaring on the television, so I decided to go see what the students were up to. I walked across the dusty compound, under the oppressive sun, into class eight, and found half of them sleeping (food comas, most likely) and the other half telling stories. Pauline was laying on the desk, looking at her watch and counting along with the seconds as they passed "one, two three..." She was born hearing, and became deaf after learning speech, so she has some residual speech. She doesn't use it for communication, but she uses it to entertain herself. Margaret was sleeping with her head on the desk, Rahab had her nose deep in a book. George and Michael were half-dozing, but perked up when they noticed I was there and had started talking to Pauline. We discussed the visitors coming, the past week, going to games this year, and how some of the kids in class six have been fighting a lot.

After those topics were exhausted, Pauline got off the desk, walked over to me, and started undoing my braid. The girls love to play with my hair. This started a new discussion: "Your hair is so much longer than when you came! Why is that?" "Do people in America ever shave their heads like we do here?" "You know, you'd look much better with cornrows or dreadlocks." Pauline pretended my hair was her hair, draping it over her head, and smelling the shampoo I use. She wants to grow her hair out, but her parents want her to keep it shaved because it's easier to handle. She's always admiring the other girls with long hair, even though I assure her she's gorgeous with a bald head. Which is true, she's lovely.

By that time, about five other younger kids had discovered our powwow. They love to come and hang out when I'm spending time with the class eight kids. Cecilia braided my hair again, Cheptios sat next to me and started showing me pictures from a book, and Magdalena asked me how big my cat has gotten. She asks me that question every day, and has since I brought my cat home almost a year ago. Paul and Patrick, the dynamic duo from class six, wanted to be a part of whatever Michael and George were doing, so they started to ask me questions about soccer, and who would get to go to Nakuru for games this year. Of course I made no promises, because of last year's fiasco. At that point, Patrick started showing off his spelling skills, signing something like "bird" or "chapati" and then spelling them perfectly in English. He's the spelling wizard of the school.

Those impromptu moments are the times that keep me going. Sitting with the students, learning about their hopes and dreams, their likes and dislikes, their individual personalities. Laughing when Cheptios makes a goofy face because she can't remember how to sign "passionfruit," cheering for Patrick when he spells "antelope" correctly on the first try, acknowledging and appreciating Michael when he says he's really trying to get the younger kids to stop fighting, and assuring Pauline that I think she's gorgeous no matter what is or is not on her head. We have serious moments (I recently had a discussion with all of them about how some Deaf girls in the region couldn't go to secondary school because they got pregnant, so they need to be careful), lighthearted moments (we have competitions for who has the best silly dance) and loving moments (a lot of kids are orphans, and need a little extra TLC).

After school, I went on a run with the kids. Once we were done, it was time to head home. I promised the kids I would be there tomorrow, even though it's Saturday. I usually go to the school on the weekends so they can watch TV and maybe play some volleyball or soccer. When I passed through the school gate and left the compound, a load lifted from my shoulders. I had officially made it through another week. But the serenity was shortlived - I was met by about 30 little kids from the neighboring primary school who followed me for the first quarter mile, and had to tell them not to call me mzungu a few times. But they're getting better at saying "Madam Jennifer" instead these days. I stopped by "Tumaini" (translation: we hope) shop, right at the corner where I turn to head to my house. I greeted Mama Grace, who greeted me in return and promptly told all the kids who had followed me to go along home. If she hadn't, they all would have waited in a swarm outside the shop until I was done with my purchases. I asked how the day was, and she said "Very... cold. No, HOT!" I laughed, agreed, and asked her how to say it in Kiswahili. "Ni joto," she said. I asked for my four eggs, paid the 48 shillings (about 50 cents) and left. Of course most of the kids she'd shooed away were waiting just out of sight, and the continued to wait for me as I stopped by the produce stand to buy a couple of mangoes (4 shillings each - less than a nickel). Lucky for me, I have longer legs than most seven year olds, and outpaced those kids in a matter of minutes once I started walking home.

The walk home took about 20 minutes, and I peeled one of the mangoes with my teeth as I walked. My hands were sticky and dirty by the time I got home, but I was happy. The whole weekend was ahead of me. I rested in my house, unpacked some things, and changed out of my work clothes. Then I went to the outdoor kitchen, where Mama was cooking. We had a cup of tea together, and talked about our days. She'd been to fellowship - she goes every Friday. I shared about our cleaning day, and my plans for the weekend. Little Ivy and Paul came through the kitchen like tornadoes, saying hello, and telling me about their days at school. Baba stopped by the kitchen to get a bucket for milking the cow, and greeted me with the usual firm handshake and big smile. After our tea, I insisted on cleaning the dishes while Mama finished cooking. It was one of my biggest accomplishments when Mama first started letting me wash the family's dishes - it made me feel like I was no longer a guest. I belonged. And I continue to belong, because I help wash dishes/winnow maize/shell peas whenever I get the chance.

By the time dishes were clean, the darkness had fallen, and I said goodnight to the family. I came over to my little house, and lit my lantern. I washed some of my own dishes, and made a simple dinner of rice and ndengu (little lentil-like legumes), which was made much more exciting by some hot sauce that I bought in Nyahururu last weekend. I sat on my couch with my plate and listened to a new reggae dancehall song that I'd seen on Kenyan TV the other day when Jess and I went out for drinks. After finishing, I treated 10 liters of drinking water, and poured it into bottles that had been emptied this week. They don't last long these days since it's the dry season - it takes a lot more to stay hydrated. By the time everything was done, the crickets were (and still are) singing loudly, and the moon was (and is) shining through my window, competing with the lantern light.

For all the frustrations and complications that arise in my job and my life here, there are such joys that I have to keep reminding myself about. There is always something to do, always something to learn. Tomorrow morning I'll attempt an 8k run as I continue training for the half marathon in June, and then wash my clothes by hand. Those things don't solve the problems I encounter, which I'll describe more someday. But they realign my head and my heart, and remind me of the reason I'm here. Upendo, remember? They're the things that have changed me, and that I will miss when I leave. Now is the time to absorb them completely.

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!