I am now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. I spent a couple hours on Wednesday in America (at the ambassador's residence), and after I have arrived in Marungu, a small town South-East of Voi. It has been 2 days in my brand new town. I have been so warmly received I feel like a celebrity. Well, I am a celebrity.
My supervisor accompanies me everywhere I go and quickly jabbers off in kiswahili or kitaita (the local language) to everyone around about who I am and what I am doing here. After a minute or two, people's faces light up and then they vigorously shake my hand, as if I had just saved their baby from a mountain lion. Though my kiswahili is improving, it is far from good or even conversational. I feel like my counterpart is telling everyone that I am the second coming of the messiah, or that if they stand shake my hand vigorously enough, money will come out.
Here's the scoop: from the looks of things, my organization is on its own two feet. They have a well-written description of what their purpose is, and they have assessed the needs of the community (which is namely water accessibility), and they are fervently pursuing the relief of that major issue. When I quickly reflect upon my skill-set, I come up with this short list:
1. Swimming
2. Guitar Competency
3. Wooing Women
4. Basic Computer Skills
5. Able to speak and read English
Aside from computer skills and knowledge, I feel like I have precious little to offer my organization, and I'm not sure exactly what they expect. I know it has been just a few days, but I feel like I am fairly worthless thus-far. Nevertheless, here's what is happening in my small town (pop 10,000).
Water is a big issue. The Kenyan government established a baseline water price at 3 shillings for 20 liters, but the price of water in my area is 7 to 8 times that much because demand is high and accessibility is difficult. The town of Marungu is only 7 to 10 kilometers away from the “Mombasa Highway” where huge pipes of water are located, so one project is to divert some of that water to the smaller remote towns such as mine.
Marungu offers beautiful hills, though currently dry, can be lush green during the rainy season. Also, brown elephants are often spotted in the hills, searching for watering holes. One major problem is poachers killing these elephants for their ivory tusks. This is done with bow and poison tipped arrow, and as many as 20 dead elephants were found already this year, up from the 7 elephants from last year. Prices for ivory have increased, giving incentives to slaughter these beautiful creatures.
On a more positive note, I did see a group of 10 wild elephants off the side of the road near the city of Voi. Many camels can be seen in my area as well, and I also saw a buffalo and two eagles. It's ridiculous and wonderful, and I am truly loving every minute of my experience, including the hardships and inconveniences.
Wild Animal Sitings Update: black & white colobus monkey, chimpanzee, black buffalo, brown elephant, camel, giraffe, eagle, superb starling, antelope, ostrich.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Addressed To My Fellow PCTs
(A poem, titled "Addressed to My Fellow PCTs", as a summary for our training experience)
What do I remember most about Loitokitok?
The dust.
The dust from the ground rose like pillars of smoke
from a bonfire
When the motorbikes came flying by,
Kicking dust from their tires and into my eyes
I'm not much of a crier, but I'm not gonna lie,
All that dust made me pretty sad.
And you know what I don't understand?
When the Kenyan teens greet me with a wave of their hand
they say, “Safi Kabisa” which means completely clean.
How do the Kenyan teens stay completely clean?
But nevertheless
In the beginning those overdressed, fat-cheeked kids were cute,
and with each “how are you?” those kids got cuter..
I don't remember who I told
but I said to them,
“I don't think those 'how are you?'s' will ever get old."
..how naïve I was...
but everything was so new to me
there were so many things to learn, and so many things to see.
And I saw things I've never seen before
Like a goat in a crate, or a family of four
riding on a motorbike. So that's what it's like
on this African tour.
Still, It's amazing all the things we've experienced,
From Kilimanjaro's beautiful, twin peaks in the distance,
To our Kenyan Mamas' constant and fervent insistence
to eat more, despite our resistance.
And those Kenyan Mamas, they are simply unreal
So hardworking, yet gentle, and with hands made of steel
That pot has got to be hot mama, can you not feel?
And the Kenyan men, so strong and so proud through & through
Still they are always ready with a smile and a greeting or two
To make us feel welcome.
But despite their warm welcome..
Adjusting to Kenyan life has not been easy.
Some days just had too much Blue Band, and Kenyan T.V.
But those few hot days in my business clothes, that was the worst situation
When the sweat from my head dripped off my nose, I think I'd smell ugali in my perspiration
We faced so many troubles, but all of you know
We battled spiders, bats, bugs and bad smells in the choo
We sat through hours & hours of church, still with hours & hours to go.
And we'd wait, patient, for Kenyan partner groups to show for a meeting though,
they were late, or they forgot, even though you watched them
scribble down the date
But hey, that's just the Kenyan way,
An unwritten cultural rulebook we need to learn and obey.
Here's what I've learned so far:
Pedestrians yield themselves to cars
Women are seen as whores in bars
When we share, what's ours
becomes theirs
And the locals charge expensive fares,
But only if your skin is fair.
Because here in Kenya, fair skin means money
It's just like saying that the sun is sunny
well that's funny because
that's a stereotype we are here to correct, (I think) we'll consider it a “win”
If we can gain our respect independent of the color of our skin...
I've also learned that Kenya is the land of many hidden children
We can't always see them, but we always hear them
So we walk home to the sound of “Mzungu!, Mzungu!” their tiny voices screaming
And after thirty-six “How are you?s” in a row, it's lost its meaning.
And I've been meaning to tell you, I don't know if I did
But when Michael Smith flips out on that one, unlucky kid, Hell..
Michael Smith, sometimes i'm right there with you.
But seriously, together we can laugh and support each other
Each of you have become like a sister or a brother
And soon we leave Loitokitok, though the cows are still mooing
The roosters still crowing, and the Tusker still brewing
But will all that distraction, I forget what i'm doing here.
Can any of you relate? Do any of you agree?
Then I remember, I'm here to throw starfish back into the sea
One by one, and that's okay with me
because when it's done, if it's one life we saved
One life we changed for two years we gave
..it'd be worth it
Because after two years, we'll be rearranged,
Though I think all along we will have known
That life that has changed will be our own.
And for two years we'll face all manner of trouble
From Malaria to funeral orgies, and with mephaquin: seeing double
But let me tell you the real dangers
When returning to America, we'll be the strangers
And we'll think it's strange: the roads are paved
the toilets flush, the furniture's plush
they use microwaves
But we have two years to go 'till then
So let's let the adventure begin.
What do I remember most about Loitokitok?
The dust.
The dust from the ground rose like pillars of smoke
from a bonfire
When the motorbikes came flying by,
Kicking dust from their tires and into my eyes
I'm not much of a crier, but I'm not gonna lie,
All that dust made me pretty sad.
And you know what I don't understand?
When the Kenyan teens greet me with a wave of their hand
they say, “Safi Kabisa” which means completely clean.
How do the Kenyan teens stay completely clean?
But nevertheless
In the beginning those overdressed, fat-cheeked kids were cute,
and with each “how are you?” those kids got cuter..
I don't remember who I told
but I said to them,
“I don't think those 'how are you?'s' will ever get old."
..how naïve I was...
but everything was so new to me
there were so many things to learn, and so many things to see.
And I saw things I've never seen before
Like a goat in a crate, or a family of four
riding on a motorbike. So that's what it's like
on this African tour.
Still, It's amazing all the things we've experienced,
From Kilimanjaro's beautiful, twin peaks in the distance,
To our Kenyan Mamas' constant and fervent insistence
to eat more, despite our resistance.
And those Kenyan Mamas, they are simply unreal
So hardworking, yet gentle, and with hands made of steel
That pot has got to be hot mama, can you not feel?
And the Kenyan men, so strong and so proud through & through
Still they are always ready with a smile and a greeting or two
To make us feel welcome.
But despite their warm welcome..
Adjusting to Kenyan life has not been easy.
Some days just had too much Blue Band, and Kenyan T.V.
But those few hot days in my business clothes, that was the worst situation
When the sweat from my head dripped off my nose, I think I'd smell ugali in my perspiration
We faced so many troubles, but all of you know
We battled spiders, bats, bugs and bad smells in the choo
We sat through hours & hours of church, still with hours & hours to go.
And we'd wait, patient, for Kenyan partner groups to show for a meeting though,
they were late, or they forgot, even though you watched them
scribble down the date
But hey, that's just the Kenyan way,
An unwritten cultural rulebook we need to learn and obey.
Here's what I've learned so far:
Pedestrians yield themselves to cars
Women are seen as whores in bars
When we share, what's ours
becomes theirs
And the locals charge expensive fares,
But only if your skin is fair.
Because here in Kenya, fair skin means money
It's just like saying that the sun is sunny
well that's funny because
that's a stereotype we are here to correct, (I think) we'll consider it a “win”
If we can gain our respect independent of the color of our skin...
I've also learned that Kenya is the land of many hidden children
We can't always see them, but we always hear them
So we walk home to the sound of “Mzungu!, Mzungu!” their tiny voices screaming
And after thirty-six “How are you?s” in a row, it's lost its meaning.
And I've been meaning to tell you, I don't know if I did
But when Michael Smith flips out on that one, unlucky kid, Hell..
Michael Smith, sometimes i'm right there with you.
But seriously, together we can laugh and support each other
Each of you have become like a sister or a brother
And soon we leave Loitokitok, though the cows are still mooing
The roosters still crowing, and the Tusker still brewing
But will all that distraction, I forget what i'm doing here.
Can any of you relate? Do any of you agree?
Then I remember, I'm here to throw starfish back into the sea
One by one, and that's okay with me
because when it's done, if it's one life we saved
One life we changed for two years we gave
..it'd be worth it
Because after two years, we'll be rearranged,
Though I think all along we will have known
That life that has changed will be our own.
And for two years we'll face all manner of trouble
From Malaria to funeral orgies, and with mephaquin: seeing double
But let me tell you the real dangers
When returning to America, we'll be the strangers
And we'll think it's strange: the roads are paved
the toilets flush, the furniture's plush
they use microwaves
But we have two years to go 'till then
So let's let the adventure begin.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Native American Living
In all my grade school textbooks, I remember learning about how the Native Americans lived: nomadic, spiritual, and incredibly resourceful. I remember reading things like, if they hunted a buffalo for eating, they would use every part of the animal for some useful or aesthetic purpose.
In Kenya, I believe I am coming very close to living like those fabled Native Americans lived, except in a modernized world. My host family seems to generate absolutely no trash. In my host family's garden (garden meaning 7 acres of farmland), they grow corn, bananas, carrots, and kale, and they also raise a small number of cows, goats and chickens. My family eats mainly corn-based meals (ugali-the tasteless hardened tofu equivalent), and then they burn the corn cobs to use as fuel for cooking. Any fruits peels or leftover vegetables go straight to feeding the cows or goats. As for other trash/waste: hard plastic jars or metal containers (the kind that would have peanut butter or jam) become a storage container or other things, or a flower pot. Any soft plastic bags (the kind you would find in America to put vegetables in at the supermarket) simply get burned.
Even after 6 weeks of Kenyan living, I have created less than one cubic foot of trash. Also, most of it is paper which is environmentally safe to burn compared to the plastic counterpart. This is the equivalent to the amount of trash I would accumulate in a single trip to the supermarket in America.
There are absolutely no recycling centers near Loitokitok, and I'm not certain but I think you would have to travel as far as Nairobi or Mombasa for recycling facilities. The little trash that is produced from the plastic bags often can be found littering the dusty roads of Loitokitok. Also, since there is no waste disposal service, the way biodegradable waste such as banana peels or vegetables gets cleaned up in the market area is: they send a herd of goats to eat it. No joke. Coal is a big source of fuel for the kitchens (or wood from their beautiful forests), so despite the resourcefulness, major problems lurk in the shadows as progress and development take their foothold on African soil.
The inequality that can be found in my immediate neighborhood is astounding to me as well. My family has all the luxuries: hot showers, electricity, satellite T.V..yet the housing situation would be worse than below the poverty level in America. The house only takes up maybe 100 square feet (though the garden is enormous). Still, the immediate neighbor is an old man who lives in a single room, not much bigger than a tent. The room is not big enough to fit a twin sized bed. When I went to visit him with my Mama, he was listening to the radio for entertainment by the light of a small kerosene lamp. Ironically enough, he had a cell phone (he charges it at my family's house for a small fee)
As a side note, I am beginning to like ugali. At first I loathed it, then it became tolerable. Now I sometimes crave it. I promise, it has no flavor, but sometimes when it comes off the stove piping hot I convince myself it will be delicious (as if "hot"-referring to temperature was a flavor). My steady inclination toward ugali kind of feels like I am falling in love with the ugly girl in math class that doesn't even have much of a personality.
In Kenya, I believe I am coming very close to living like those fabled Native Americans lived, except in a modernized world. My host family seems to generate absolutely no trash. In my host family's garden (garden meaning 7 acres of farmland), they grow corn, bananas, carrots, and kale, and they also raise a small number of cows, goats and chickens. My family eats mainly corn-based meals (ugali-the tasteless hardened tofu equivalent), and then they burn the corn cobs to use as fuel for cooking. Any fruits peels or leftover vegetables go straight to feeding the cows or goats. As for other trash/waste: hard plastic jars or metal containers (the kind that would have peanut butter or jam) become a storage container or other things, or a flower pot. Any soft plastic bags (the kind you would find in America to put vegetables in at the supermarket) simply get burned.
Even after 6 weeks of Kenyan living, I have created less than one cubic foot of trash. Also, most of it is paper which is environmentally safe to burn compared to the plastic counterpart. This is the equivalent to the amount of trash I would accumulate in a single trip to the supermarket in America.
There are absolutely no recycling centers near Loitokitok, and I'm not certain but I think you would have to travel as far as Nairobi or Mombasa for recycling facilities. The little trash that is produced from the plastic bags often can be found littering the dusty roads of Loitokitok. Also, since there is no waste disposal service, the way biodegradable waste such as banana peels or vegetables gets cleaned up in the market area is: they send a herd of goats to eat it. No joke. Coal is a big source of fuel for the kitchens (or wood from their beautiful forests), so despite the resourcefulness, major problems lurk in the shadows as progress and development take their foothold on African soil.
The inequality that can be found in my immediate neighborhood is astounding to me as well. My family has all the luxuries: hot showers, electricity, satellite T.V..yet the housing situation would be worse than below the poverty level in America. The house only takes up maybe 100 square feet (though the garden is enormous). Still, the immediate neighbor is an old man who lives in a single room, not much bigger than a tent. The room is not big enough to fit a twin sized bed. When I went to visit him with my Mama, he was listening to the radio for entertainment by the light of a small kerosene lamp. Ironically enough, he had a cell phone (he charges it at my family's house for a small fee)
As a side note, I am beginning to like ugali. At first I loathed it, then it became tolerable. Now I sometimes crave it. I promise, it has no flavor, but sometimes when it comes off the stove piping hot I convince myself it will be delicious (as if "hot"-referring to temperature was a flavor). My steady inclination toward ugali kind of feels like I am falling in love with the ugly girl in math class that doesn't even have much of a personality.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Adventures in the Choo
The choo is a pit latrine, or a hole in the ground for pooping and peeing. My family's personal choo is located outside, and is made of entirely wood, except the flooring is a type of cement surface. It also has no lock, and most of the walls are covered in spider webs.
The choo smells bad. Once, I made the mistake of bringing a nearly-finished orange in with me to pee, and the whiff of decaying fecal matter produced a gag reflex.
The first time I ever pooped in a choo, I was simultaneously frightened of pooping on my pants, missing the hole, and falling over. I luckily have the fantastic, God-given skill of being able to plug my nose without using my hands, so my hands were free to securely anchor myself to the bug-infested, wooden door during that first poop. As a fun fact: back in the states, I used to really enjoy reading something while sitting on the john, but now that's no longer a luxury I can afford.
The second time I ever used the choo, it was very early in the morning so the sun had not yet risen. With me was a flashlight, a roll of toilet paper, and a travel bottle of hand sanitizer. As I opened the wooden door and shined my light inside the darkness, a small bat (or extremely large butterfly) flew out at me, circled a couple of times, and disappeared into the darkness. This incident almost literally scared the crap out of me. I instinctively moved in spastic fashion, simultaneously shining my headlamp in all directions and furiously wiping my body with my hands as if I were covered in ants.
Since these incidents, I have become more or less an expert at using the choo. I can squat without holding on to anything now (how thankful I am to Sean Hutchinson's swimming warm-ups), and I haven't yet been attacked by large insects. One time, I did make the mistake of shining my flashlight down the choo, and I was able to see the textured landscape of my home-stay family and my collective waste. I have not yet made that mistake twice.
Wild animal siting update: Just outside Loitokitok, I saw antelope in the distance (June 28, 2010).
On one of my usual runs, my friend and I were attacked by a pack of 6 dogs. Luckily we both came away unscathed, but I felt the dogs hitting the backs of my shoes as I fled. I have never run so quickly away in my life. These dogs were undoubtedly trained to keep unwanted trespassers away, so my friend and I no longer run that route anymore. The dogs here are beautiful though, and so are the donkeys.
The choo smells bad. Once, I made the mistake of bringing a nearly-finished orange in with me to pee, and the whiff of decaying fecal matter produced a gag reflex.
The first time I ever pooped in a choo, I was simultaneously frightened of pooping on my pants, missing the hole, and falling over. I luckily have the fantastic, God-given skill of being able to plug my nose without using my hands, so my hands were free to securely anchor myself to the bug-infested, wooden door during that first poop. As a fun fact: back in the states, I used to really enjoy reading something while sitting on the john, but now that's no longer a luxury I can afford.
The second time I ever used the choo, it was very early in the morning so the sun had not yet risen. With me was a flashlight, a roll of toilet paper, and a travel bottle of hand sanitizer. As I opened the wooden door and shined my light inside the darkness, a small bat (or extremely large butterfly) flew out at me, circled a couple of times, and disappeared into the darkness. This incident almost literally scared the crap out of me. I instinctively moved in spastic fashion, simultaneously shining my headlamp in all directions and furiously wiping my body with my hands as if I were covered in ants.
Since these incidents, I have become more or less an expert at using the choo. I can squat without holding on to anything now (how thankful I am to Sean Hutchinson's swimming warm-ups), and I haven't yet been attacked by large insects. One time, I did make the mistake of shining my flashlight down the choo, and I was able to see the textured landscape of my home-stay family and my collective waste. I have not yet made that mistake twice.
Wild animal siting update: Just outside Loitokitok, I saw antelope in the distance (June 28, 2010).
On one of my usual runs, my friend and I were attacked by a pack of 6 dogs. Luckily we both came away unscathed, but I felt the dogs hitting the backs of my shoes as I fled. I have never run so quickly away in my life. These dogs were undoubtedly trained to keep unwanted trespassers away, so my friend and I no longer run that route anymore. The dogs here are beautiful though, and so are the donkeys.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Two Lifelong Dreams, Successfully Lived
Before coming to peace corps, I had a wild fantasy that my experience would include: me sitting in front of a campfire playing my guitar, with potbellied, almost naked children dancing a traditional tribal dance in circles around me. Their long silhouettes cast by the soft orange firelight would move in perfect sync to the rhythm, and bright smiles would be permanently embedded on their faces.
Now here's the reality. While sitting in my tiny, milk-carton-cardboard-walled room on a Sunday afternoon, I decided to break out my guitar. A small boy must have heard the music, and he proceeded to enter the house, enter my room, and then sat politely on my bed to have a listen. After I had finished the song I was playing, he quickly left and returned with another boy. Since my tiny room can hardly fit me, my guitar, and my ego at all once (let alone two small children), I moved out to the living room and continued the performance. After 10 minutes, I had a host of children crowded into a small living room, listening to me play American songs they had never heard before. Even with ample mistakes and my sub-par singing voice, they sat attentive and wide-eyed. I even was asked to repeat the song "Down on the corner" by CCR when I finished it. This was by far the closest I have (and probably ever will) feel to being a rock-star.
Okay, the initial dream and the reality are slightly off, but I am checking that one off the list. Also, in the title I mention two life long dreams being fulfilled, and the other one is simply watching the world cup opening game with a large cohort of Kenyans (and the house-boy Abdala who is from Tanzania, and was the only one that cheered for America with me) huddled around a small television outside my host family's house, with the stars shining brilliantly above. It was simply surreal.
As a very honest side note, one thing I was expecting to have by now was diarrhea. Luckily, I have not yet experienced this. I promise to let everyone know when it happens though. =)
What do I miss the most from America? Real Tomato Sauce. Piano. Swimming.
Now here's the reality. While sitting in my tiny, milk-carton-cardboard-walled room on a Sunday afternoon, I decided to break out my guitar. A small boy must have heard the music, and he proceeded to enter the house, enter my room, and then sat politely on my bed to have a listen. After I had finished the song I was playing, he quickly left and returned with another boy. Since my tiny room can hardly fit me, my guitar, and my ego at all once (let alone two small children), I moved out to the living room and continued the performance. After 10 minutes, I had a host of children crowded into a small living room, listening to me play American songs they had never heard before. Even with ample mistakes and my sub-par singing voice, they sat attentive and wide-eyed. I even was asked to repeat the song "Down on the corner" by CCR when I finished it. This was by far the closest I have (and probably ever will) feel to being a rock-star.
Okay, the initial dream and the reality are slightly off, but I am checking that one off the list. Also, in the title I mention two life long dreams being fulfilled, and the other one is simply watching the world cup opening game with a large cohort of Kenyans (and the house-boy Abdala who is from Tanzania, and was the only one that cheered for America with me) huddled around a small television outside my host family's house, with the stars shining brilliantly above. It was simply surreal.
As a very honest side note, one thing I was expecting to have by now was diarrhea. Luckily, I have not yet experienced this. I promise to let everyone know when it happens though. =)
What do I miss the most from America? Real Tomato Sauce. Piano. Swimming.
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