Today is the 20th of July, 2012. Today I have officially ended my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. While packing, I was reading in my journal and I found an entry nearly two years back, just as I was beginning my service. I have typed it out below, word for word. Please excuse typos, etc. I titled it “Why I Am Here.”
“22-July-2010
Why I Am Here
I applied to the Peace Corps for several reasons: 1. To learns about culture. 2. To learn another language 3. To serve others 4. To discover if all people are equal.
Culture
My fascination with culture began on the Cal-men’s swimming team. Each year we had a small cohort of foreign swimmers, and I would love learning about their language and culture. Secretly I was envious of their “foreigner” status, as they were able to see and experience my culture by immersion, but their culture was like a novelty that I could merely sample. Though two years seems like a long time, it is barely enough to stay and learn about another culture. It is an incredible opportunity through the Peace Corps to immerse myself first in a home stay, and then in a rural community where I can grow with those around me and live as they do. Things like food, clothing, bartering, communication, music, dance, and religion are things for me to keep in mind, and compare with my American lifestyle. *Remember to take every opportunity to learn*
Language
One of my life dreams is to “dream in another language.” The nuances of language is an integral part of assimilating and understanding culture, and in that way I will be a more effective and influential factor in my Peace Corps experience. Already I am ticked by various translations of words, like “punda mlia” meaning “zebra” but directly translating to “striped donkey.” Also, how words can carry vastly different meanings and the context is so necessary to decipher its meaning. “Mpira” directly translates to “rubber” but can mean “ball” or “condom” or “soccer.” Multiple languages helps me to communicate with a greater amount of people, and also on a deeper level. I hope to become fluent in a year’s time, (in Kiswahili) and continue to use it (perhaps teach it?) when (if?) I return to America.
Service
I have been inspired, inside my veins runs a passion that is fierce and powerful. My life’s purpose is to live for God, and have found that by serving others I am serving God. Though there is an amazing sense of self fulfillment when helping others, I must always remember where my true inspiration comes from, and what my satisfaction is focused on. I have a strong desire to learn and to help others in tutoring, training or the like. I hope I can always keep a fresh perspective and derive my purpose from pleasing God and not those around me. Luckily I am in a place where Knowledge is of great benefit to the people, and information flow is not easy, nor cheap. I am able to give my skills and knowledge to a great capacity, and I must use every opportunity to transfer those skills before I leave.
Equality
Are all people equal? As much as I want to believe that, I divide people by money, status, beauty , age, skill-sets, and probably others. How can I see everyone as the same? At least I am transitioning from basing someone’s worth on their status to valuing them more no their values and their ability to love and serve others. In the States, skin color is so plentiful or not such a great issue. One can find any color, and in any place. Skin color here in Kenya, especially in the rural areas where there is more ignorance and naivety, begets a strong stereotype. All Asians know kun-fu, all whites are wealthy, all black Americans are fluent in Kiswahili, and anyone that isn’t European – looking cannot possibly be from America. I hope in this two year adventure I am able to come away with a fresh sense of perspective and a deep reaching, colorblind love that I may carry back to the United States and throughout my lifetime.
Signed – Louis Vayo II”
Now that I have finished these two years, I ought to reflect upon these entries. But perhaps I will save the reflection for when I arrive back to the United States.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Meeting Hopping
Droplets of sweat ran down his face as he lifted a mud brick out of the wooden brick press. It was noon, and he had been working for three hours with only a few breaks. The sun poured upon his dark skin, turning it to leather. It was the 65th brick he had pressed that day, and he was expected to make 200. Molding, lifting, pressing, stacking. He was in his late forties, and his body fatigued quicker than when he was young, so the 200 bricks he was to make seemed like a difficult task. He was to receive 200 shillings or $2.40 for the day's labor – a shilling for every brick. His total day's work would amount to 7 solid hours, so his pay: 34 pennies per hour. Although it was barely enough for his wife and three children to survive, he counted his blessings - yesterday he had no work.
But tomorrow there was a seminar, something from USAID or World Vision, and he was signed up to attend. He had been selected by the new chief of the village, who was actually his second cousin.
The next day he walked in to the classroom for the seminar and was handed a stack of materials: two pens, a pencil, a full-sized notebook and a binder. He did the math quickly in his head (30kshs – pens, binder & notebook – 70kshs), and discovered he was given half a day's wages in writing materials. On top was a paper written, “Community Development,” and an outline for the days lectures. He had barely finished primary school, and was far removed from the necessity to speak and write in English. He could not understand the words written on the outline.
The speakers lectured for a few hours in Swahili, and he wrote concepts down furiously: sustainability, environmental protection, business opportunity. It was the first he had ever heard of these concepts, and honestly the last he would ever need to. In the back of his mind, he asked, “So what are they going to do to help improve my life?”
Lunch was provided, and each member was given bottled water, soda, tea, and biscuits intermittently during the seminar. At 25 shillings per bottle, soda was a luxury he would never afford. Then, at the end he was asked to sign his name on a piece of paper, and then he was given 1000 shillings or $12. He looked at the money in his hand in wonder and bewilderment – the money he was just given for sitting for four hours was equivalent to 5 days of back-breaking labor. Not to mention the lunch, and all the other treats he was given along the way.
As he got home, he gave his school children the pens he had received, and he used the scrap paper as kindling to light the firewood for cooking. From then on, he cared not to ever lay his hands on the wooden brick press, or lug another heavy brick again. He searched for the next seminar, the next teaching session, the next free meal and easy money.
He went to seminars on community health work, water, sanitation, environmental protection, politics, HIV, sitting patiently in the class and scribbling notes, only waiting for the allowances to be dished out at the end. Though he vowed to teach others in his community, the pages of his notes were inevitably used to light firewood at the end of the day. Hopping from seminar to seminar had become his official, and only source of income.
On the other side of the world, there becomes an increasing push toward assisting developing countries. Students in undergraduate classes are learning about inequality and disparity throughout the world. The media catches wind of exploitative stories of sweat shops and severe conditions in Africa, and images of torturous working conditions and starving children broadcast before the masses. International research becomes prime picks for Ph.D students, where their research inevitably shows the importance of environmental protection, social rights, political transparency, business training, basic health... there is a great push toward sharing knowledge globally so people can then live better lives. They read something about how 1 African child in 4 dies from unclean water, and then they are moved to educate the masses on public health policies and proper sanitation.
And from this push, the seminar was born. World aid organizations began facilitating educational seminars to help fill the need for education on different topics so as to improve people's lives. It was a great plan, but the problem was that people did not attend. People were too busy trying to survive, fetching water, cutting firewood, cleaning, cooking, sewing, harvesting, planting, that they could not be bothered to sit in a classroom to learn something that was not immediately useful. Plus, those sessions were not always nearby, so the transport fees alone would be enough to deter attendance. So the response was to reimburse people for their time and their transport. Sitting allowances began to be common practice at these educational seminars.
Unfortunately, this incentive became like poison. Many would go to seminars only for the sitting allowances. Their eyes glaze over, thinking only that at the end of sitting for 4 hours, they will be able to receive the equivalent pay of 4 days, back-breaking labor.
To exacerbate the issue, the village elders and the chiefs choose who goes to the meetings, often picking only those closest to them or those from whom political favor must be won. While a bunch of old people who are hardly literate sit in a class getting lectured, appropriate, youthful candidates who may have the audacity to change their community are left sitting idly – falling prey to drugs and all the other vices which flourish in one's idleness.
What's worse, is when smaller organizations or even peace corps volunteers have a great idea and want to gather people to share that idea, they do not have the amount of money required to bribe people to come and learn. People have become so used to receiving that allowance, that it becomes handicapping for anyone else wanting to initiate good ideas.
The disconnect between education and the people who need it is difficult to reconcile. There is a sincere desire for researchers and people with knowledge and technology to share that knowledge and technology with others whom they feel it will benefit, yet it is disheartening for me to watch it be squandered before my eyes by people who do not really understand its value. But it is not to say that all of these seminars are wasted that way; some find nuggets of life-changing information and truly do spread it to their communities. And even still, the high sitting allowances do help people in their daily living. But imagine being paid $200 to sit in a seminar for four hours (about the equivalent of four days minimum wage $7x32hours, tax free). If the seminars were frequent enough, I would quit my minimum wage job too.
But tomorrow there was a seminar, something from USAID or World Vision, and he was signed up to attend. He had been selected by the new chief of the village, who was actually his second cousin.
The next day he walked in to the classroom for the seminar and was handed a stack of materials: two pens, a pencil, a full-sized notebook and a binder. He did the math quickly in his head (30kshs – pens, binder & notebook – 70kshs), and discovered he was given half a day's wages in writing materials. On top was a paper written, “Community Development,” and an outline for the days lectures. He had barely finished primary school, and was far removed from the necessity to speak and write in English. He could not understand the words written on the outline.
The speakers lectured for a few hours in Swahili, and he wrote concepts down furiously: sustainability, environmental protection, business opportunity. It was the first he had ever heard of these concepts, and honestly the last he would ever need to. In the back of his mind, he asked, “So what are they going to do to help improve my life?”
Lunch was provided, and each member was given bottled water, soda, tea, and biscuits intermittently during the seminar. At 25 shillings per bottle, soda was a luxury he would never afford. Then, at the end he was asked to sign his name on a piece of paper, and then he was given 1000 shillings or $12. He looked at the money in his hand in wonder and bewilderment – the money he was just given for sitting for four hours was equivalent to 5 days of back-breaking labor. Not to mention the lunch, and all the other treats he was given along the way.
As he got home, he gave his school children the pens he had received, and he used the scrap paper as kindling to light the firewood for cooking. From then on, he cared not to ever lay his hands on the wooden brick press, or lug another heavy brick again. He searched for the next seminar, the next teaching session, the next free meal and easy money.
He went to seminars on community health work, water, sanitation, environmental protection, politics, HIV, sitting patiently in the class and scribbling notes, only waiting for the allowances to be dished out at the end. Though he vowed to teach others in his community, the pages of his notes were inevitably used to light firewood at the end of the day. Hopping from seminar to seminar had become his official, and only source of income.
On the other side of the world, there becomes an increasing push toward assisting developing countries. Students in undergraduate classes are learning about inequality and disparity throughout the world. The media catches wind of exploitative stories of sweat shops and severe conditions in Africa, and images of torturous working conditions and starving children broadcast before the masses. International research becomes prime picks for Ph.D students, where their research inevitably shows the importance of environmental protection, social rights, political transparency, business training, basic health... there is a great push toward sharing knowledge globally so people can then live better lives. They read something about how 1 African child in 4 dies from unclean water, and then they are moved to educate the masses on public health policies and proper sanitation.
And from this push, the seminar was born. World aid organizations began facilitating educational seminars to help fill the need for education on different topics so as to improve people's lives. It was a great plan, but the problem was that people did not attend. People were too busy trying to survive, fetching water, cutting firewood, cleaning, cooking, sewing, harvesting, planting, that they could not be bothered to sit in a classroom to learn something that was not immediately useful. Plus, those sessions were not always nearby, so the transport fees alone would be enough to deter attendance. So the response was to reimburse people for their time and their transport. Sitting allowances began to be common practice at these educational seminars.
Unfortunately, this incentive became like poison. Many would go to seminars only for the sitting allowances. Their eyes glaze over, thinking only that at the end of sitting for 4 hours, they will be able to receive the equivalent pay of 4 days, back-breaking labor.
To exacerbate the issue, the village elders and the chiefs choose who goes to the meetings, often picking only those closest to them or those from whom political favor must be won. While a bunch of old people who are hardly literate sit in a class getting lectured, appropriate, youthful candidates who may have the audacity to change their community are left sitting idly – falling prey to drugs and all the other vices which flourish in one's idleness.
What's worse, is when smaller organizations or even peace corps volunteers have a great idea and want to gather people to share that idea, they do not have the amount of money required to bribe people to come and learn. People have become so used to receiving that allowance, that it becomes handicapping for anyone else wanting to initiate good ideas.
The disconnect between education and the people who need it is difficult to reconcile. There is a sincere desire for researchers and people with knowledge and technology to share that knowledge and technology with others whom they feel it will benefit, yet it is disheartening for me to watch it be squandered before my eyes by people who do not really understand its value. But it is not to say that all of these seminars are wasted that way; some find nuggets of life-changing information and truly do spread it to their communities. And even still, the high sitting allowances do help people in their daily living. But imagine being paid $200 to sit in a seminar for four hours (about the equivalent of four days minimum wage $7x32hours, tax free). If the seminars were frequent enough, I would quit my minimum wage job too.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Slavery
Too many times have I heard it. Even when hearing it for the first time, I was already disgusted by it. I do not know if it's meant for self-pity, humility, or some sort of backwards form of exultation, but in my mind it's unacceptable. It only happens in conversation between an African and a Non-African. It's a simple phrase that begins like this:
“You know, we Africans...
...cannot trust someone else with our money like you people can.”
...want to marry white people. You white people are more desirable because you make love to your woman and consider how it feels for her.”
...cannot keep time the way you white people can.”
And countless others.
Whatever this phrase is, it reflects a deep mental division between race and culture in the minds of those who employ it. This mindset permeates deep into the entirety of African culture. In a grade-6 social studies textbook, there was a passage about the effects of WWII on Africa. There were nearly eleven effects listed, and eight out of the eleven were about the realization by Africans that the white man was not above them or inherently better than them. A few specifically went, “Africans realized that the white men were able to be killed.” or “Africans discovered that the white men could be defeated in a battle.”
There were four of us, two Americans and two Kenyans, speaking about economic differences and development in America compared to Kenya. One of the Kenyan guys spoke out, “You know it was you white people who exploited us Africans to build your country.” He argued. “It was the slaves who built the railroad, the slaves who harvested the cotton and the crops. If it weren't for the slaves, America would not be the great economic power it boasts today.” My colleague and I could not argue; we knew it was true. A deep silence ensued. The friendly conversation suddenly turned tense. From his eyes came a seeming glare, which cast a feeling that my colleague and I were the ones to have employed that abject system of slavery on him and his family. It was as if he believed that our very existence reincarnated the atrocities of the past. But then, the tense silence was broken by the other Kenyan clearing his throat.
We turned towards him. He stood there smiling amicably, an immutable aura emanated from him. “We Africans,” he began, dropping the usual phrase I so greatly loathed. He continued, “We did not care much about slavery or what not. We just noticed that the white man was so frail, so fragile. They could not do an honest bit of hard work like we could, so we felt sorry for the white man and decided we were most fit to do the difficult jobs.” He ended his thought again with a smile that betrayed a playfulness which, in conjunction with his words, dispelled the rising tension. I looked at him, he was a 29 year old who was just finishing up his senior year in high school, but there was a sense of clairvoyance in his expressed thought, a sense of paradoxical superiority which resonated with me.
I became lost in thought and reflection. So many of us are focused on retribution or reconciliation of the sins of the past, of the decades of slavery and oppression which have contributed to the inequality of resources and opportunity between races and countries. So many were schooled to think and believe that the oppressed minorities deserve some type of pity, while those same minorities were made to believe that they are not only entitled to but are in need of a head start, or a push forward. They are made to believe that there is a great chasm to cross, and on the other side stand the former oppressors, or the white man.
His comment seemed to rise above all the researched sociology, the oppressive history, and the deep seeded mental boundary that only serves to divide different peoples. Although all of the history is grounded and should be considered, what exists now inside many people is a form of mental slavery. But his thought was liberating. It shrugged off the past and all of its horrors and it embraced the only thing that truly matters, the present.
I smiled back at him, acknowledging the depth of his remark. He smiled at me again and then resumed the conversation by asking, “So which is your football team?”
“You know, we Africans...
...cannot trust someone else with our money like you people can.”
...want to marry white people. You white people are more desirable because you make love to your woman and consider how it feels for her.”
...cannot keep time the way you white people can.”
And countless others.
Whatever this phrase is, it reflects a deep mental division between race and culture in the minds of those who employ it. This mindset permeates deep into the entirety of African culture. In a grade-6 social studies textbook, there was a passage about the effects of WWII on Africa. There were nearly eleven effects listed, and eight out of the eleven were about the realization by Africans that the white man was not above them or inherently better than them. A few specifically went, “Africans realized that the white men were able to be killed.” or “Africans discovered that the white men could be defeated in a battle.”
There were four of us, two Americans and two Kenyans, speaking about economic differences and development in America compared to Kenya. One of the Kenyan guys spoke out, “You know it was you white people who exploited us Africans to build your country.” He argued. “It was the slaves who built the railroad, the slaves who harvested the cotton and the crops. If it weren't for the slaves, America would not be the great economic power it boasts today.” My colleague and I could not argue; we knew it was true. A deep silence ensued. The friendly conversation suddenly turned tense. From his eyes came a seeming glare, which cast a feeling that my colleague and I were the ones to have employed that abject system of slavery on him and his family. It was as if he believed that our very existence reincarnated the atrocities of the past. But then, the tense silence was broken by the other Kenyan clearing his throat.
We turned towards him. He stood there smiling amicably, an immutable aura emanated from him. “We Africans,” he began, dropping the usual phrase I so greatly loathed. He continued, “We did not care much about slavery or what not. We just noticed that the white man was so frail, so fragile. They could not do an honest bit of hard work like we could, so we felt sorry for the white man and decided we were most fit to do the difficult jobs.” He ended his thought again with a smile that betrayed a playfulness which, in conjunction with his words, dispelled the rising tension. I looked at him, he was a 29 year old who was just finishing up his senior year in high school, but there was a sense of clairvoyance in his expressed thought, a sense of paradoxical superiority which resonated with me.
I became lost in thought and reflection. So many of us are focused on retribution or reconciliation of the sins of the past, of the decades of slavery and oppression which have contributed to the inequality of resources and opportunity between races and countries. So many were schooled to think and believe that the oppressed minorities deserve some type of pity, while those same minorities were made to believe that they are not only entitled to but are in need of a head start, or a push forward. They are made to believe that there is a great chasm to cross, and on the other side stand the former oppressors, or the white man.
His comment seemed to rise above all the researched sociology, the oppressive history, and the deep seeded mental boundary that only serves to divide different peoples. Although all of the history is grounded and should be considered, what exists now inside many people is a form of mental slavery. But his thought was liberating. It shrugged off the past and all of its horrors and it embraced the only thing that truly matters, the present.
I smiled back at him, acknowledging the depth of his remark. He smiled at me again and then resumed the conversation by asking, “So which is your football team?”
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Sex Education
“What is a clitoris?” The teacher asked the class. She was answered with silence.
The teacher broke the silence, “Come up here,” she commanded a student, giving her a vagina model to hold so she could demonstrate. The student stood blushing, holding the vagina model upside down. “Where is the clitoris?” She asked the class. A girl raised her hand and when called upon, she stood and replied, “It is above the vagina.” The teacher looked at the upside down model, and then pointed above the vagina, “Here?” she asked. “Yes.” The girl replied, then embarrassed she covered her face with her hands and sat down. “Do any of you know where your own clitoris is?” Again, silence. Either the girls were too shy to answer, or they actually did not know. After all, there are not many full-body mirrors in people's homes, and not much privacy to allow someone to stand naked in front of one. The teacher then said, “This is your homework, to take a mirror and look at your vagina.” The entire class giggled awkwardly. “This is important!” The teacher added.
We were at camp GLOW, an empowerment camp for adolescent girls. This camp covered issues like girl's health, leadership, HIV, business, and other important topics that may not get covered in the general school curriculum. During this particular lecture, we were discussing anatomy and sexuality. Sex talk is taboo in general, especially in Kenya. But the purpose of camp GLOW was to bring those conversations into the open, where myths can be dispelled and the girls can establish some level of comfort and confidence on these issues. As a result, many many questions arise during those sex-education classes that are quite endearing.
Next, we discussed the different types of condoms. Male, female, extra-thin, bumpy, and we had examples for the girls to see and pass around. During the lesson, the teacher said, “There are even more types than we have here, they even have flavored condoms.” At this comment, one mature girl in the front raised her hand and asked, “Flavored condoms?! But the vagina does not have taste receptors, or does it?”
After twenty years, she still had not been exposed to the idea of oral sex. She laughed at herself as the teacher explained what flavored condoms were used for.
Next, we had the “Question Box” session. It was a chance for girls to write anonymous questions and have them answered so that there was no social pressure or judgment. The teacher pulled out the first card and read:
“Boys tell us that having sex makes our hips wider. Is that true?”
“No, this is not true,” we said to the class. We knew the girls desired fuller, childbearing hips, but this was just an underhanded means for boys to get sex. One of the facilitators chimed in,“Just look at prostitutes as an example, who have sex multiple times per night. Their hips were not any wider.” It was a good point, and the girls seemed to agree. Then we drew the next question:
“Can we lose our virginity by riding a bicycle?” (Virginity meaning the hymen).
“No,” was the response, followed by a discussion about the meaning of “virginity.” Though we did warn the girls that heavy physical exercise may break the hymen. We drew the next question:
“Boys tell us that when they get an erection, they are in a tremendous amount of pain and the only solution is for them to have sex. What do we do?”
This time I stood up and said, “This is not true. I have had an erection before, and it does not hurt.” The class giggled helplessly at my statement.
Through these camps for girls, there is quite a bit of insight one gains into the life and mind of a teenager in Kenya. I have found that the curiosity and mystery surrounding sex and sexuality are the same as in America. The only difference is that American teenagers have access to a very anonymous way of finding the answers to their sexual queries – the internet. It is not something that many have access to or knowledge about here in the rural parts of Kenya.
But we were not just restricted to girls camps. Many of the same mysteries surrounding sex and sexuality for girls swirled and stung in the minds of boys as well. During a boy's camp, we had similar sessions, with sex education and question boxes. Here's how some of them went:
The boy leaned over and almost whispered the question to me, as if embarrassed for others to hear, “So, when having sex do you put everything in? (referring to both the penis and testicles)”
We the teachers posed the question, “Where do the sperms go when a man ejaculates inside?”
One boy raised his hand, stood up and proudly answered, “Sperms go in to the woman and then dissolve into her body, giving her strength.”
Some of the male facilitators we had at the camp nodded in agreement. Yikes! Perhaps that was the justification for boys to sleep around - to give the girls strength.
During class, our male facilitator mentioned the fact that the human penis's maximum length is 6 inches long, and the penis cannot exceed that. Upon being corrected that 6 inches was the “average” size, he turned and whispered, “If it is any longer, how will the vagina be able to accommodate it?”
As we were sitting in the room, one of the boys asked, “Why do you see many skinny men with fat women?” Everyone else chuckled at the truth of his question.
Our female facilitator replied, “You would be surprised, fat women have very small vaginas, smaller than normal. As a woman gets fatter, the vagina does not grow with it, in fact the surrounding fat pushes on the vagina and makes it smaller.” Then she added, “They say also that fat men have small penises.”
One of the heavier-looking male facilitators objected as if defending himself, “Wait, I think the reason is that everything just looks relatively smaller, not because it actually is. And to answer your question about fat women, some men like the cushioning that comes with the added weight. It is supposed to put everything in a better position.”
Satisfied with that question, we came to the next one, “Why is it bad to wear two condoms?”
We had been doing condom demonstrations, and many of the boys had the slick condom lubricant on their hands. To answer this question, one facilitator replied, “You see how the condom is very slippery? The second condom can slip off, and thus be lost inside the vagina.” My fellow Peace Corps Volunteer and I nearly slapped ourselves on the forehead at his answer, and then quickly remedied the situation by providing the right answer. It was now very clear to see how myths get spread.
Finally, one question was asked by a boy who was almost proud of his sexual relationships:
"So, I was with this girl and we were having sex, and then her parents began calling her. I was right about to ejaculate when I had to get out through the window and run. If I were ejaculating, is it possible to run, or is it physically impossible?"
The teacher broke the silence, “Come up here,” she commanded a student, giving her a vagina model to hold so she could demonstrate. The student stood blushing, holding the vagina model upside down. “Where is the clitoris?” She asked the class. A girl raised her hand and when called upon, she stood and replied, “It is above the vagina.” The teacher looked at the upside down model, and then pointed above the vagina, “Here?” she asked. “Yes.” The girl replied, then embarrassed she covered her face with her hands and sat down. “Do any of you know where your own clitoris is?” Again, silence. Either the girls were too shy to answer, or they actually did not know. After all, there are not many full-body mirrors in people's homes, and not much privacy to allow someone to stand naked in front of one. The teacher then said, “This is your homework, to take a mirror and look at your vagina.” The entire class giggled awkwardly. “This is important!” The teacher added.
We were at camp GLOW, an empowerment camp for adolescent girls. This camp covered issues like girl's health, leadership, HIV, business, and other important topics that may not get covered in the general school curriculum. During this particular lecture, we were discussing anatomy and sexuality. Sex talk is taboo in general, especially in Kenya. But the purpose of camp GLOW was to bring those conversations into the open, where myths can be dispelled and the girls can establish some level of comfort and confidence on these issues. As a result, many many questions arise during those sex-education classes that are quite endearing.
Next, we discussed the different types of condoms. Male, female, extra-thin, bumpy, and we had examples for the girls to see and pass around. During the lesson, the teacher said, “There are even more types than we have here, they even have flavored condoms.” At this comment, one mature girl in the front raised her hand and asked, “Flavored condoms?! But the vagina does not have taste receptors, or does it?”
After twenty years, she still had not been exposed to the idea of oral sex. She laughed at herself as the teacher explained what flavored condoms were used for.
Next, we had the “Question Box” session. It was a chance for girls to write anonymous questions and have them answered so that there was no social pressure or judgment. The teacher pulled out the first card and read:
“Boys tell us that having sex makes our hips wider. Is that true?”
“No, this is not true,” we said to the class. We knew the girls desired fuller, childbearing hips, but this was just an underhanded means for boys to get sex. One of the facilitators chimed in,“Just look at prostitutes as an example, who have sex multiple times per night. Their hips were not any wider.” It was a good point, and the girls seemed to agree. Then we drew the next question:
“Can we lose our virginity by riding a bicycle?” (Virginity meaning the hymen).
“No,” was the response, followed by a discussion about the meaning of “virginity.” Though we did warn the girls that heavy physical exercise may break the hymen. We drew the next question:
“Boys tell us that when they get an erection, they are in a tremendous amount of pain and the only solution is for them to have sex. What do we do?”
This time I stood up and said, “This is not true. I have had an erection before, and it does not hurt.” The class giggled helplessly at my statement.
Through these camps for girls, there is quite a bit of insight one gains into the life and mind of a teenager in Kenya. I have found that the curiosity and mystery surrounding sex and sexuality are the same as in America. The only difference is that American teenagers have access to a very anonymous way of finding the answers to their sexual queries – the internet. It is not something that many have access to or knowledge about here in the rural parts of Kenya.
But we were not just restricted to girls camps. Many of the same mysteries surrounding sex and sexuality for girls swirled and stung in the minds of boys as well. During a boy's camp, we had similar sessions, with sex education and question boxes. Here's how some of them went:
The boy leaned over and almost whispered the question to me, as if embarrassed for others to hear, “So, when having sex do you put everything in? (referring to both the penis and testicles)”
We the teachers posed the question, “Where do the sperms go when a man ejaculates inside?”
One boy raised his hand, stood up and proudly answered, “Sperms go in to the woman and then dissolve into her body, giving her strength.”
Some of the male facilitators we had at the camp nodded in agreement. Yikes! Perhaps that was the justification for boys to sleep around - to give the girls strength.
During class, our male facilitator mentioned the fact that the human penis's maximum length is 6 inches long, and the penis cannot exceed that. Upon being corrected that 6 inches was the “average” size, he turned and whispered, “If it is any longer, how will the vagina be able to accommodate it?”
As we were sitting in the room, one of the boys asked, “Why do you see many skinny men with fat women?” Everyone else chuckled at the truth of his question.
Our female facilitator replied, “You would be surprised, fat women have very small vaginas, smaller than normal. As a woman gets fatter, the vagina does not grow with it, in fact the surrounding fat pushes on the vagina and makes it smaller.” Then she added, “They say also that fat men have small penises.”
One of the heavier-looking male facilitators objected as if defending himself, “Wait, I think the reason is that everything just looks relatively smaller, not because it actually is. And to answer your question about fat women, some men like the cushioning that comes with the added weight. It is supposed to put everything in a better position.”
Satisfied with that question, we came to the next one, “Why is it bad to wear two condoms?”
We had been doing condom demonstrations, and many of the boys had the slick condom lubricant on their hands. To answer this question, one facilitator replied, “You see how the condom is very slippery? The second condom can slip off, and thus be lost inside the vagina.” My fellow Peace Corps Volunteer and I nearly slapped ourselves on the forehead at his answer, and then quickly remedied the situation by providing the right answer. It was now very clear to see how myths get spread.
Finally, one question was asked by a boy who was almost proud of his sexual relationships:
"So, I was with this girl and we were having sex, and then her parents began calling her. I was right about to ejaculate when I had to get out through the window and run. If I were ejaculating, is it possible to run, or is it physically impossible?"
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