Mama Shiro

I have not blogged all week because I have been going to the center everyday and I am dead tired at the end of each day. I wake up at about 6:30 and leave the house around 7:30. It takes me two hours to take two matatus from Westland's to Rongai. When I switch matatu's I have to walk about 0.7 miles between the two stations. In the evenings when I return home I have to walk through traffic and crowds, which is complicated and scary, and then ride through traffic which is hot and miserable. I leave Rogai abou 3:30 and sometimes don't make it home until 6:00. It is exhausting. Simply exhausting. I have been trying to maintain some type of workout routine; so, when I get home I try to do a basic workout. Every night I go to bed pooped and I feel like there is not enough time in the day. I don't think I am going to be able to maintain volunteering every single day. It is simply too far to travel. I have already mentioned this before but the work that I do at the center is really psychically challenging. I do have an inspiration though. Her name is Mama Shiro. She works in the kitchen and has been working for the center for 6 years. She is all about the children and making sure they are fed. Sometimes she is not paid. Sometimes she has no help except the older children but each and everyday she is there and she is working. Chopping, picking rice for bugs, cooking in a smoky kitchen, washing dishes, sweeping, mopping but never complaining. She is simply amazing to watch. She cooks for hundreds of people, daily, and often inadequately assisted. She is one of those people who can make something out of nothing. Sometimes there is not enough food for all the kids but she has that magical ability to make it stretch until it is enough. I think that is a trait that is unique to

women who love a lot. I believe that is a gift. A God given gift. Check out Mama Shiro and her work:

On Thursday Mama Shiro made pilau. There was not enough so she added potato's so it would be filling enough for the kids...and because it was served to children, she added ketchup (Yuck! But the kids LOVE it) and all were fed and happy.

This gives you an idea of how many children are fed. There were bowls of rice EVERYWHERE. I kept worrying we were going to run out of food so I didn't put that much food on everyone's plate but she insisted that I "add more! put more! the kids need to eat." So I hesitatingly did as she said. She was right. There was enough for the kids to have a big bowl.

So my job was to first, fill the bowls, then hand the food to Mama Shiro....

It involved me walking back and forth to the window...

and handing the food to Mama Shiro...

Who made sure each and every child ate...

and then nicely returned their bowls. Notice: each and everyone of those plates is clear. You don't have to beg children to finish their food here.

This little boy was eating the last morsel. Notice the bucket of water where the kids could was their hands after they ate.

This is the most amazing picture of all. After we finished feeding the kids Mama Shiro finally takes a second to sit down and eat...when one little boy comes in the kitchen and says that he just arrived and had missed lunch. I felt bad because there was no food left. Nothing more in the pot. Mama Shiro tells him to get a bowl and takes the food from her plate and gives half of it to him. She does stuff like that all the time. This would have been a much better picture if they didn't notice me taking it! Ugha! I hate when that happens. But the act of kindness remains the same...despite the cheesy smiles at t the camera.

Everyday I come to the center I stop at the market and pick up some food to contribute to the meal: 3 big cabbages, or a bag of rice, or fruit...whatever looks good that day. I recently started to buy something special for Mama Shiro and her family as well. She so deserves it. It is the absolute least I could do for someone who I feel is deserving of so much more.

On The Domestic Front: Concept of Care

About a year ago Ernesto and I went to the movies to see "Babies" Y and I highly recommend it to everyone. Since seeing that movie I have been very interested in the concept of care, especially when it comes to caring for children. I do not think there is one right way to care for a child, and having witnessed "care" in developing nations I have grown to be a bit critical of the amount of doting that people do over their children in the U.S. I have noticed that the children in Kenya cry a lot less, are far more self-reliant: they self-sooth, entertain themselves, walk and feed themselves much earlier than children in the States. It really is amazing. However, there is one thing that I have noticed in Kenya that I do not like. I am only finding this to be true of wealthy Kenyans, but there is this concept that really fat babies are healthy babies. Now, I know in the United States we also like babies to be a little fat, but these babies are obese. It is really bad. On Christmas day I watched this lady feed her fat baby a big bowl of food. The baby made it halfway through and started to turn her head when the spoon came toward her mouth. Most parents would understand that to mean that the baby no longer wants to eat; but this mother was determined that her child finished the bowl of food. She continued to force feed the pudgy little child until the baby was screaming because she did not want to eat; but the mom kept right on feeding her. Actually, the baby crying made it easier for her mother to feed her because she was opening her mouth to cry and involuntarily swallowing. Eventually the bowl of food was finished. The mother was satisfied. She picked up the baby to change her shirt. As soon as she took one step the baby vomited all over her mother. Justice was served. I was horrified watching this mother overfeed her child. Do you think the baby vomiting helped her get the message? Not at all. Less than 10 minutes later the mother had a bottle in her mouth. So what does this lead to? Well about every well-off person in Kenya has a house full of little morbidly obese children. It is heart-wrenching. These children have rolls all over their little bodies. I kept staring at this one little boy because I was in disbelief by how big he was. He had breasts that were at least a B cup, huge "ham-hock" arms, fat thighs, he even had extra fat in his earlobes (seriously) and he was only 9 years old. Do his parents fail to acknowledge the health and social consequences for extreme obesity? I really think his parents should be convicted of child abuse...but in a country where many people go without enough food, who would dare criticize this family for flaunting their ability to feed their child more than enough? Today, I went back to the center to volunteer but was sent to Mama Mary's, the coordinators, house to help prepare for her guest from America. She is expecting 10 students and 2 professors from a University in New York and her house was not ready. All the center employees and I cleaned out closets, changed sheets, swept, mopped floors, went to the market and redecorated, all day long. I really admire the way many Africans care for their homes. Even though many don't have much, they do take care of what little they have. I respect that. Oh, and back to the baby thing. Mary's grandson, Abednego, is another overweight Kenyan baby. Today his Nanny was in the middle of overfeeding him and he tried to defend himself by whining and turning his head but the Nanny kept feeding him. Eventually, he stopped swallowing the food. She shoved more and more food in his mouth and he simply would not swallow. To his good fortune, his aunt from South Africa came and snatched him away from the Nanny, "You have overfed this child. He is not hungry! Don't make himeat! He needs to diet. Look at his face and legs! This baby is too fat!". I was so relieved! I wasn't crazy. These children are miserable, and someone else has noticed it too. Another thing that is really funny is that Kenyan parents, rich and poor, all wrap their babies in lots of clothes when the go outside. They put wool hats, gloves, long-sleeves shirts and long pants on them...and then they wrap them in a blanket...I don't know how everyone has failed to realize that these children live in AFRICA and the sun is blazing and it is hot ALL THE TIME. The little babies actually sweat under the clothes. It is weird to see a baby sweat.

Boxing Day: A Rant

Today, is Boxing day, the day after Christmas in Kenya. So your question, and mine are both the same. What is boxing day? Well I decided to ask the Kenyans who celebrate it.

Sitting at the breakfast table I polled about 8 people, "Do you know what boxing day is?"
Aunt #1: "No, that is a good question. I don't really know what it is?"
Heavy-Set Uncle: "Me either, but you see it on the calendar all the time."
Aunt #3: "Well it is the day after Christmas"
Aunt #1: "I thought it was Canadian?"
Cousin #5476: "Who cares?"
Aunt #3: "Well I wonder what it has to do with boxes."

I asked the driver, "What is boxing day?"
Driver: "What?"
Me: "Boxing day"
Driver: "What is that?"

I asked the people at church. "Do any of you know what today is?"
Random Church lady 1: "Yes. Today is boxing day."
Me: "Oh really, what is that? I mean what does it celebrate?"
Church lady with the head wrap: "Well I bet it has something to do with boxes. Like maybe that is when you are supposed to open your gifts...because gifts are in boxes..."
Church lady listening to our conversation: "No it is not. I don't know what it is but why would you open gifts the day after Christmas."
Random Church lady 1: "(very loud and dramatic clearing of throat. insert attitude).

In total, I asked about 30 people what Boxing day was and no one knew. They were all just glad to be off of work. So, of course, I had to find out what this day was. After researching on line for a while, I have found that Boxing day is only acknowledged by former British Colonies. And what is it?

To protect ships

During the Age of Exploration, when great sailing ships were setting off to discover new land, A Christmas Box was used as a good luck device. It was a small container placed on each ship while it was still in port. It was put there by a priest, and those crewmen who wanted to ensure a safe return would drop money into the box. It was then sealed up and kept on board for the entire voyage. If the ship came home safely, the box was handed over to the priest in the exchange for the saying of a Mass of thanks for the success of the voyage. The Priest would keep the box sealed until Christmas when he would open it to share the contents with the poor.

To help the poor

An 'Alms Box' was placed in every church on Christmas Day, into which worshipers placed a gift for the poor of the parish. These boxes were always opened the day after Christmas, which is why that day became know as Boxing Day.

A present for the workers

Many poorly paid workers were required to work on Christmas Day and took the following day off to visit their families. As they prepared to leave, their employers would present them with Christmas boxes.

During the late 18th century, Lords and Ladies of the manor would "box up" their leftover food, or sometimes gifts and distribute them the day after Christmas to tenants who lived and worked on their lands.

And the tradition still continues today ......

The tradition of giving money to workers still continues today. It is customary for householders to give small gifts or monetary tips to regular visiting trades people (the milkman, dustman, coal man, paper boy etc.) and, in some work places, for employers to give a Christmas bonus to employees.

Schools across the country gather together gifts to be put in Christmas Boxes that are sent to poorer countries.

Okay, so I started my Boxing day being slightly irritated that no one knew what it was. Why did that piss me off? I don't know. Maybe it was that the heat had finally melted my brain. Mombasa is HOT. Too hot. It was hot day and night. I was constantly sweating. I was even sweating above my lip like Whitney Houston. I never sweat there. I was hot and miserable. Plus, I started to feel sick. My stomach was upset and I think it was because I spent all day and night cooking from the inside out, our outside in (depends on how you look at it). As a matter of fact I was just generally irritated. One of Angela's cousins is in a relationship with a White woman. She came to Kenya with her son and daughter to represent their family at the wedding. SHE GETS ON MY FREAKING NERVES. Not because she is White, but because she is annoying....and I absolutely HATE (and yes, that is a strong word that I am very intentionally using) the way that Africans respond to White people. They treat them like Gods. They wave to them, and sing to them when they walk down the street. They give them better service. They, literally, run behind them. Whenever we have the White lady in the car, no one questions us; gates just open and security guards just step out of the way. I don't know why the African people are so kind to the White man who STOLE PEOPLE AND RESOURCES FROM YOUR ENTIRE CONTINENT FOR YEARS! AND ARE A BIG REASON FOR ALL YOUR PROBLEMS TODAY? WTF? Do know I am screaming inside as I write this. I mean Damn? Really? I really, really, really, really despise that. It makes me pewk. Yuck. We also went to Catholic church today for the baby to be baptized. Why people baptize babies? I have no idea? Why would a sin-less person need to be "saved"? Would God seriously send un-saved babies/children to hell? Well if that is the case, that is not the God I would serve...So I have realized that although I am trying to be open to understanding religion and the weird things that people do in hopes of getting closer to God, I completely don't get Catholics and I officially dislike Catholic events. THEY ARE SO FREAKING LONG! Why do we have to stand up for you to say this one sentence? Oh, so we sit back down now. Then, WHY ARE WE STANDING UP AGAIN OH PRIEST!? WE JUST SAT DOWN? It is too hot for this non-sense!!! Oh, now we kneel? For what? Can't we pray sitting down?! And I don't even understand what you are saying because you are speaking Swahili and that makes this long, hot, confusing, weird, service even more taxing. WHEN WILL THIS END? Moving on, I am also irritated because I have spent the past few days doing the family-thing with Angela's family. As nice and wonderful as they are, and they are genuinely very good people, the family thing, with any family, gets exhausting after a while. Every place we go, we go in a big hot van of at least 10 people. We went to the market to go shopping and there were about 15 of us walking in and out of stores in a huge group. Why don't we just split up and then met at the car so we can be more productive? Or just so we don't look like a gang? Because no one seems to think I know what I am doing because I am American. Being American in Africa makes people treat you like you are fucking retarded (please note again, this is a rant and I am venting right now). "Oh Adrianne, you can't take a matatu, people will steal from you." Hello? People steal everywhere. Do you know who gets robbed? People who don't know how not to be robbed. Duh? There are universal rules to not being robbed. Be aware of your surroundings. Don't stand in one place for a long time. Don't look/act scared. Hold on to your shit. Better yet, don't bring your shit with you. Fuck. I get it. I can take a freaking matatu. Do you know what I rode around in when I was in Ghana? This matatu is a luxury bus. I am taking the matatu. Move out of my way "Adrianne, you know how to make your own eggs? I am so impressed. Wow. Who turned on the stove for you? Oh, you did it?! " Are you kidding me? I AM NOT HELPLESS! I am not stupid! I am just not from Africa. I can make my own food! Why does everything I do impress, amaze or alarm you. "Adrianne, you eat goat? You must be an African." I am not an African because I eat goat?! People eat goat in America! Please stop watching me eat like I am some fucking display. Get out of my mouth so I can chew my goat in peace. Gosh. "Adrianne, are you sure you want to buy that banana?" Yes I am sure I want to buy this banana. It is a freaking banana! I can pick the banana I want to buy. I don't want to eat the green one like you do. I intentionally picked this banana with the brown spots. Not because I don't know what I am doing, but because I DO KNOW WHAT I AM DOING! I picked this one because it is sweeter. Geez! Get off of me!!!! Fuck. You are making me crazy!...but what the hell, you people don't even know what boxing day is...Happy Boxing Day to you and yours from a Black-American girl in Kenya who has clearly gone mad.

Chrismas in Kenya!

5 Good things about being in Kenya for Christmas:

5. Christmas here is more about God, and people, and less about stuff. There are not Christmas trees, plastic reindeer, lights, and snowmen...and there are not even gifts really. Everyone goes to church and then goes home and has dinner with their families. It is more like Thanksgiving (which happens to be my favorite U.S. holiday) in which people share their time and lots of food. Today, Angela's family is going to kill a goat. I told my mom this last night and she said, "They are going to kill a goat on Christmas?! Well, that is not very Christmas like." Hilarious.

4. People sing a lot on Christmas and they sing all day! I love the music! The harmony! The drums! It is glorious! The hotel we are staying in is surrounded by 4 churches. Today I went and sat in the church that I felt had the best singing. They were singing in another language, but lucky for me the song was repetitive so I was able to sing-a-long. The church with the best singing was a very poor church filled with people who were obviously very poor too; however, they were rich in praise...and boy could they sing! I even stayed for the prayer. Everyone prayed privately. A lot of people cried...a lot.Even though I could not understand what they were saying...I totally understood. There is a lot of suffering on this continent. I could feel it...that made my heart really sad. I have always been a bit critical of speaking in tounges and shouting and all other religous activitiy that I consider chaotic...but here, I felt that it was necessary. Where there is so much suffering and pain and poverty and dying, it seems perfectly normal to just rock and cry or shout for no apparent reason or even repeat the same meaningless words over and over for hours until your soul is okay. I really liked the Christmas morning church service.

3. The Christian Christmas does not dominate the country. I feel a genuine respect for other religions in Kenya. I really see Muslims and Christians and Hindus really living and working together. Even though Christianity is the dominate religion and the major corporations and banks are closed, all the stores did not close today. No one assumes what you believe and says "Merry Christmas" all the time. It is the holiday season but it is not blatantly shoved down everyone's throat. I like that.

2. The weather is beautiful.

1. In Kenya, Santa is Black! So, all who know me well know that I am in love with Coca-Cola, especially it's marketing. I think it is the most effectively and successfully marketed global product. I so want to work at Coke one day..Anyway, Coca-Cola is responsible for branding the popular image of Santa Claus. According to their website, "Most people can agree on what Santa Claus looks like -- jolly, with a red suit and a white beard. But he did not always look that way, and

Coca-Cola advertising actually helped shape this modern-day image of Santa. 2006 marked the 7th anniversary of the famous Coca-Cola Santa Claus. Starting in 1931, magazine ads for Coca-Cola featured St. Nick as a kind, jolly man in a red suit. Because magazines were so widely viewed, and because this image of Santa appeared for more than three decades, the image of Santa most people have today is largely based on our advertising." Anyway, I say all of this to say that another reason I love Coca-Cola as a company is because they made Black children's Santa Claus Black...even though he looks like the White one dipped in chocolate, I still very much appreciate this kind gesture. I only wish little Black children in the states had this image of Santa as well... ...but even with all of this, none of this is a great as being with my family and friends on Christmas day. I miss you all! Merry Christmas! I LOVE YOU!

The Road to Mombasa

Wednesday morning we left Niarobi to come to Mombasa, a coastal town that is the second largest city in Kenya. On the way to Mombasa we saw zebra's, giraffe's, antelopes, buffalo, and monkey's all from the side of the road. I was amazed! Until Angela affectionately reminded me, "Adrianne, this is Africa. Zebra's and antelope are the like deer." I looked embarrassed, "Oh." and then slummed down and my seat and decided to put my camera away. No wonder no one else has there camera out. I am taking pictures of the ordinary. Since arriving in Mombasa I have finally taken pictures with the Masai (according to Wikipedia: The Masai are a Nilotic ethnic group of semi-nomadic people located in Kenya and northern Tanzania. They are among the best known of African ethnic groups, due to their distinctive customs and dress and residence near the many game parks of East Africa. The Maasai population has reported as numbering 840,000 in Kenya in the 2009 census, compared to 377,000 in 1989 and 400,000 in 2000 .The Tanzanian and Kenyan governments have instituted programs to encourage the Maasai to abandon their traditional semi-nomadic lifestyle, but the people have continued their age-old customs. Recently, Oxfam has claimed that the lifestyle of the Maasai should be embraced as a response to climate change because of their ability to farm in deserts and scrublands.Many Maasai tribes throughout Tanzania and Kenya welcome visits to their village to experience their culture, traditions, and lifestyle.) Check out my pics with the beautiful Masai women.

Thursday we hung out on the beach at this cool bar called "The Forty Thieves" and I put my feet in the Indian Ocean for the first time in my life. As of this moment, I will claim the Indian Ocean as my favorite ocean because it is so warm and blue. I love it. I then took my first camel ride across the beach. It was awesome and it only cost 300 Kenyan Shillings....about $3 U.S. dollars. My camels name was Thomas. He was sweet. He was brought to Kenya from Ethiopia. The camels owner, Ali, told me that Thomas was the best because he was a one-humped camel, which are usually found in Somalia, Kenya, Ethiopia, etc...He went on to say that two-humped camels are found in Egypt, Morocco, Libya, etc...and they are not as good because they spit and are meaner. So, I was lucky to have Thomas and Ali.

Friday we went deeper into the Indian Ocean on a trip to swim with the dolphins. We did see dolphins, but we did not exactly swim with them. Oh, We saw these two dolphins mating and boy were they getting it in! It was awesome! Dolphins are one of the only mammals, like humans, who have intercourse for pleasure and not just reproduction. Very cool. No wonder they are such happy and playful animals. They really like humans too. The tour guide referred to them as the "dogs of the sea". I totally see that. They have a very pet like relationship with humans...too bad I didn't get to swim with them. But what I did get to do was equally as awesome. We went snorkeling in the middle of the Indian Ocean for about 2 hours. I didn't have an underwater camera so I have no pictures of the wonders that I saw under the sea. It was amazing! Glorious! By far, one of the most breath-taking things I have ever done in my life. I saw sea turtles chilling at home in the sea, starfish, the FISH! My god! The fish were so beautiful! It is so much better to see them at home than in a tank in some Chinese restaurant or aquarium. After that, I have to go to the Coral Reef in Australia (Seriously, I am going to be working on a trip to Australia soon. Join me!)Being in the ocean and seeing all of it's wonders made me feel so small. I thought a lot about the universe and it's creation and the wonders of the earth. It such a privilege to be alive and to have the opportunity to experience such things.

China Man

The China man is all over Africa. Wait, let me try that again. The China man is all over the world. He is slowly creeping his way into world superpower or dare I say domination? Mark my words, in my lifetime or in my children's lifetime, we will likely see East Asian nations (China, Japan, South Korea) emerging as the most powerful nations in the world. I mean seriously, America is already BILLIONS of dollars in debt to China. Shouldn't that be a red flag? Well today my focus is not the China man in America cause we can look at our clothes, household items, and damn near everything we use and find his domination there. Today, my focus is the China Man in Africa. Kenya and Ghana to be precise. Many African nations depend on foreign aid, especially those that are in the beginning stages of "developing nation". In order to receive that aid, that is largely from the U.S. and other Western nations, they must adhere to some of the desires of these European countries. For example, today I was reading in the paper that Kenya is unable to sign a human rights document because it is in violation in a few areas. They must met this requirement to continue to receive aid from/ do business with the U.S. Well China is not like that at all. They don't care about human rights violations and corruption. They want business. They are doing all the business all over Africa. They building the roads, the buildings, all the cars are Asian, etc...The China man is literally building just about every African nation. Kenya currently has a plan to increase the quality of life for all Kenyans by 2030. They are first starting with improving the roads. There are road building projects all over the country. It looks great! It feels nice to ride down a smooth road without fearing the upcoming pothole. The problem with all this quick development is that it is causing the cost of living to increase. The food, gas, market prices are all on the rise. However there is not an increase in employment opportunities or wages. So far this 2030 plan will result in further isolation of the poor. All of this development is financially beneficial to other countries. 50% of the people building the roads, especially those in the high paying/skilled-labor positions, are imported from China. There are a lot of Indian and Europeans here taking advantage of the developing economy, especially in the technology sector....many Kenyan's don't even have the skills to do the work. All this growth is not benefiting the locals as much as I think it should. Since I have arrived in Kenya there have already been 2 major strikes. The first was when the doctors went on strike, yes the doctors went on strike?! for about a week and a half due to under-payment. The nurses struggled to keep the patients alive until the government finally promised the doctors an increase in wages in the coming year. Then the matutu drives went on strike. The cost of gas has gotten so high that they no longer are earning enough profit to make the rides worth anything but a few cent. So why don't they increase the price of the ride? Well, that was my first question too. But the people don't have enough money to pay the increased fare. They will refuse to pay. What to do? What to do?

She's Your Queen to Be!

Angela is here! A big part of the reason she came to Kenya is to be in her cousins wedding. Today was the big day! I have always wanted to attend an African Wedding and Saturday I was able to do just that. So, I will admit I am a bit critical of weddings because I think they totally objectify women and display them as property to be "given away", they assume this idea of purity as desirable and all other realities as deviant (wearing white and being unveiled), in Kenya they still pay dowry's, and overall the whole thing can be a bit overdone/expensive/silly. I mean it is a ceremony, so when I think about most ceremony's parts of them are laughable. It is hilarious to watch people become so unnatural and so deliberate and intentional about their actions and words. All and all, it is a big scene....Now that I have totally criticized the entire wedding, I will say that the bride and groom looked very happy and it felt good to participate in the celebration of the love between two people. The bride was just beautiful. She looked like a doll baby under her snow mountain of a dress.
The couple live in Seattle, Washington and are both nurses. They have dated for over 8 years and finally decided to get married.Angela was a bridesmaid.And I was able to take a picture with the bride and groom because the photographer called for "all people from America" for a photo and I was forced by friends get up there.So the couple decided to have their wedding in Kenya because it is drastically cheaper to have a HUGE wedding. This was by far the longest wedding I have ever been to. Everyone had to introduce themselves (what the hell?), and present their gifts to the bride and groom (long presentations in the form of song, dance or money and all), Pray over the bride and groom (and boy did we pray!) and do a whole lot of other things that made the wedding and reception last a total of 10 HOURS.Salma and I were bored so we talked about other things, like the other guest were doing because all of us were delirious, and we harassed the flower girl for pictures and for her veil. Salma has wedding and baby fever, which is not surprising considering that she just got married herself, and she can't wait to have a big "church wedding". We danced a bit. Ate dry cake. And went home just as it started to pour down raining.

Overall, it was a good day but I will declare that as my first, and last, African wedding. It is a bit too much for me.

Going to the Mosque

Friday I went to the mosque for the first time ever. I recently made a friend named Salma and she invited me and another American, Brandi, to attend mosque with her. I have studied, and taught, a lot about Islam and I find it to be a very respectable religion; however I have never entered a mosque during service and had a first hand experience of the order of service. First things first, I had to cover myself before going to mosque. Which meant I needed to cover my hair, and all my skin down to my ankles and my wrist. It wasn't so bad except that I had to cover in this way in Kenya on what I felt was the hottest day of my visit so far. Then I performed wudu, which is the process of washing the hands, feet and face, before entering the mosque. Cleaniness is a very important aspect of Islam,"For Allah loves those who turn to Him constantly and He loves those who keep themselves pure and clean." (Quran 2:222) and then we crowded into 3 matatu's and went to mosque. The service was nice. Men and women were in separated so I didn't see any men in until we were dismissed. The service was in Swahili so I didn't understand anything. I prayed. I looked at people...a lot. I asked Salma a lot of questions. It all sounded really good...very positive (like most religions aim to be) but I also found it inherently sexist (like most religions are) and dogmatic (like all religions are)...so, of course I had some major disagreements with some of the things I saw and heard (as translated by Salma). But hey, no need for churches or mosques or temples for me. God is Love! The rest is unnecessary.

It's my man's birthday!

The Have's and the Have Not's

Monday was Republic day in which Kenyans celebrate much like Americans might celebrate an independence day. They observe both independence and republic days. I spent a part of the day at a cookout at Mark (Josephine's husbands) bosses house. He works for Microsoft and his boss lived in a modern and beautiful home just outside of the slums in Kisumu, the third largest city in Kenya. On the way to the beautiful gated house we passed slums, bare-foot children, begging cripples on the side of the road, factories that pollute the air and are just steps from people homes, garbage piles, roaming animals that shit where they please, etc...before we arrived at the house and one of the two armed guards opened the gate. The party was held in the guest house where we were served as much food and drink as our bellies could hold. Toward the end of the party, I was recovering from my "itis" when a man sat beside me and decided he wanted to small talk. I really wasn't in the mood. I am not very fond of African men in general, and I knew I wasn't going to like this one.
"So! How do you find Kenya?"
"I love it. It is a beautiful country."
"Say, is this your first time in Africa?"
"No. I visited Ghana earlier this summer"
"Oh, so Kenya is more developed than Ghana. Yes?" (Why is he asking me this?)
"Um. It depends on what you consider development."
"Eh, What do you mean?" (Why is this man pressing me? I am trying to be nice.)
"Well if you consider development tall buildings and paved roads; then yes, Kenya is developing quickly and maybe more so than Ghana. But if you consider development everyone having access to clean water, decent housing situations, low HIV/AIDS rates, and opportunities for employment, then no Kenya is not more developed than Ghana. I see more people here with lots of money, but I also see an over-abundance of impoverished people. I see more poor people than I see people like yourself. So until the masses are living a decent life in which their most basic needs are met, than perhaps a country is not truly developed."
"Eh. I see." (Was that a look of embarrassment on his face? Perhaps he had ignored the slums we passed on the way to this one gated mansion.).
"Well, I have to go now. Nice talking with you"
I could not stand this man another second. I have such mixed feelings about success in the form of wealth in this country. It was great to see Mr. Microsoft-Boss man was a brother and all the people on the team were black as well. Black people doing well in Africa! That did my heart some good. But I am somehow disgusted by their disconnection to all the poor people, who look just like them, who are surrounding them. If you talk to a wealthy African about the poverty of the vast majority of African people, they will respond as if they are talking about a distant stranger, "Oh yes. It is so sad for them". This furthers my belief that race is still an issue in America, and throughout the world; but race is no longer the issue. Socio-economics and class divisions are the civil rights issue of our time. It is not just an American issue, it is global issue...and it just happens that the majority of poor people are people of color. But the focus should no longer be Black people the focus should surely be poor people... Note: I am a big fan of Dr. Martin Luther King's work and 3 years before he died his focus was on class division. He wanted more rights for poor people because he noticed that the civil rights movement had benefited middle-class Blacks...not the Blacks that the movement intended to benefit. Read about it...it is very interesting that he called that so long ago and it reins true today.

Later that day we went back to Josephine's village, Kendu Bay, and I listened to the president's Republic day speech while shucking corn with my bare hands. Josephine's family is a farming family, like most of the people in the Western Province, and they were removing corn from the cob to sell it in the market. At first I was enjoying the novelty of it all: Here I am, in a remote village in Africa, shucking corn, talking with the locals, listening the presidents speech on an old radio, a chicken just walked by me, the dog is asleep at my feet, I am full, I am happy, it's a good life...And then I noticed that my thumbs were starting to get tired, because we were doing this by hand. I wanted to stop but every one else looked so content and peaceful and I didn't want to complain like a weak little privileged American! I worked on. Maybe a conversation would help. "So, how often do you all remove the corn from the cob like this?"
The grandmother smiled. "EVERYDAY!"
"Oh. For how many hours?"
"Some days 8 hours, some days 13 hours. It depends on the sun and on how much money we need to make in the market."
1 more hour passes by. Fuck. I'm screwed. I physically can't do this anymore. My thumbs are going to bleed...or break off.
"Okay. I am tired. I have to stop now. My thumbs are broken."
Laughter.
A boy decides to share something to cheer me up, "Yes. It is hard work. You have to get used to it. You did a good job. There are actually machines to do this work now. We just can't afford that, so we do it this way. Here, drink some water."
I sat down and pretended to drink the water he handed me, because I don't want to show my American-ness again by reminding him that I can only drink bottled water. But while I sat I thought about the conversation that I had with the idiot man at the party earlier that day and his comments disturbed me all the more. Perhaps he had never done this type of work? Maybe no one he knows does this type of work? Or maybe, just maybe, he really didn't care about the people who remove corn from a cob all day so that they can survive in homes with scarcely running electricity, unclean water, inadequate health care and who can't earn enough money to escape it...no matter how hard they work...and believe me....they were working really hard.

Western Provience: Obama's Tribe

This weekend Josephine invited me to visit her family in the Western region. On the way there we passed the Great Rift Valley! The problem with taking photos in Africa is that you pass so many great places right by. Luckily the driver stopped so that I could take a picture here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Rift_Valley.

I also saw the most beautiful Kenyan women who were very traditionally dressed. I could not get their pictures though because you already know how the locals feel about people taking their pictures. I guess I understand about no one wanting to be made a display of but i don't think they realize how unique they are to the rest of the world. This is a picture that looks like the lady I saw, actually, there were several villages full of women who dressed in this fashion. They were really captivating and beautiful to see!

We went to Josephine's home village, Kendu Bay, and stayed in her mother's compound. It was very nice and quaint and quiet. I liked it. Josephine's mother has taken in several orphaned children over the years. Now they are teenagers, and they help her out around the house. I felt a little sorry for the people who grow up there and never get out. The teenagers kept asking me if I wanted services from them, "Can I wash your clothes?", "Do you need something from town?" One took another approach altogether, "I want to be your friend. If we are friends, when you go to town will you buy me something". It was so annoying! But I am becoming more and more sympathetic to the mental/emotional/behavioral affects of poverty. These kids just wanted an opportunity to make some extra money. Anyway, since there wasn't much to do. I sat under a tree with Josephine and caught up on some reading for a class.

By the way, Josephine is a member of the Luo tribe, and so is Obama's father. Obama come to Kenya in 2006 to visit his grandmother and to make a speech (Obama and I have traveled to the same African countries, Kenya and Ghana). During this visit he also encouraged Kenyans to get tested for HIV/AIDS, and he and Michelle were publicly tested in order to remove the stigma of testing and encourage others to join them. I love the Obama's.

Back to the blog at hand...where was I...Oh yes! I was stuck on the farm... Eventually, someone decided to take mercy on me and offered to arrange to take me around town. So, a young man named, well I forgot his name, took me around on his motorbike.

Our first stop was at Lake Victoria, the largest lake in Africa and the second largest lake in the world. I don't think it was all that impressive, it was a massive lake, but I did enjoy seeing a place I taught my students about.

There were ladies cleaning the fish that the men caught earlier that day. I asked to take a picture with one of the ladies and she made me buy her a coke for this picture that was ruined by my driver who did not understand that I did not want him in my photos. He actually go on my nerves. He kept talking about how hungry he was and asking me could I buy him lunch. We stopped and got something to eat...yes, I paid for it...but the begging and constantly being asked for stuff gets old. It makes it hard to form relationships with people when you constantly fear that they are going to ask you for something, or even worse, offer you something and then ask you to pay for it later (after you were under the impression someone was being nice to you). Nothing is free in this country. Not even friendship.

When then went to Simbi lake. It was really beautiful. I have two stories about Simbi lake.

Both were told to me by a young man who guided me through the lake, since my driver didn't know anything and his English was iffy unless he was pestering me for something. The first story was told while me and some kids ate the sugar cane he shared with us... A long time ago Simbi was a thriving compound full of life and many people; however the people who lived in Simbi were drunkards. One day it started to rain, and it rained very heavily for many many days. An old lady came upon the compound and she asked the locals for refuge from the rain. Everyone denied her safety and slammed their doors in her face. She knocked on every door, but absolutely no one would help her. When she reached the last door and was again denied entry, a curse was placed upon the village. The rain continued for many more weeks until the village eventually sunk into the ground. It is said that the small village is under the lake, and many people believe that if you throw a rock into the lake it will never reach the bottom. The End. If you asked me this story sounds an awful lot like the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah. Actually, the more I travel and read the more I am noticing that stories are repeated and morals are taught using the similar tales; religious, fantasy, tall tale, village stories...they are all relativity the same. So the next story was about the White men that came to Simbi Lake. So, there were some White men who came to Simbi Lake to help people in the village by providing them with more fish. They had big boats and lots of fancy machines. The men dumped hundreds of fish into the lake in hopes of giving the local people more fish (which makes no sense to me considering that this village is on Lake Victoria and they could just to there to get fish...). The village people tried to tell the White men that no fish can live in the lake because of it's mystery, but they continued about their scientific work. Eventually, the White men came to check on their project and found that all the fish had died. The villagers were right!...but the real reason none of the fish lived is because the Lake has an extremely high salt continent, much like the dead sea, and it is not good for anything but producing salt. Oh, and while I am talking about real things...according to Lonely Plant Kenya addition "Simbi Lake sunk into the earth like a bomb crater". However, I think the kids and I were far more entertained by the local story than the one offered in Lonely Planet. So yes, Simbi Lake is a sunken village that reminds us that drunkenness is bad and so is being unkind to strangers.

Breakfast the Most Important Meal of the day!

I know I already uploaded several pictures of the work that I do at the center...but my favorite part of the day is serving the children breakfast. The center usually serves the children from the slums both breakfast and lunch, but since school is out and many of them are away visiting their families in the countryside, they are only serving breakfast. Breakfast usually consist of bread and tea or porridge. On this particular day, porridge was served.

The kids grab a cup and wait and line. Many come back for seconds, sometimes thirds.

This kid couldn't get enough. I think this was visit number three or four for him. Everyone else had already turned in their cups.

For the record, working in a center like this makes me very critical of the evil commercials we see on television about he hungry little African children. First of all, the commercials are correct in that many children and Africa, Kenya, do not have enough to eat. This is true. However, the way the children are made to look unkept, and uncared for is cruel and intentional. It makes me sick. Many of these children are orphaned by HIV/AIDS and they live in slums; however, they are often being cared for by a family member or other people in the community. These children are washed and lotioned and brushed daily. Of course there are a couple of snotty noses and ripped pants because these are CHILDREN and even more so because they are poor children.

Much like it seems that the newscasters find the most ignorant, illiterate, Black person to tell the story, the Feed-the-Children organizations target the outliers: the poorest, snottiest, nakedest, pitifullest, and try to make them seem like the norm. Don't give money to those organizations. Of a dollar, I bet 30 cents of it makes it to the children...and of that 30 cent, 20 cent is likely stolen by the African organizations that are full of corruption. If you really want to help children in Africa, or in any developing nation, get on a plane and come over. Buy the food when you get there...don't give money. See to it that the food is cooked and the children are served. Sadly, it is the only way to really know that your money really went to the children
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She Washed My Dirty Drawers

I have been wanting to post about the work I am doing but I am hoping to post with pictures and I am having a problem getting pictures uploaded. So I will post about that later...

Today, I have almost burned a bridge with my favorite person in the house, Emily (the HIV positive househelp). I have been planning to do my laundry for the past few days but now that I am volunteering everyday, I have not been able to do my laundry while the sun is up (cause I need to hang it on the line when it is done) so I have not done it. Joesphine told me her maid, Emily does the laundry and I should just give my laundry to her. I bundled up my clothes, took them to Emily and went off for another day of volunteering. A few hours later, I was delighted when I came home to find my clothes clothes washed, ironed and neatly folded on my bed. Great!

A few hours later...
"Knock, Knock". Came the knock on my bedroom door.
"Adrianne we need to talk", Josephine said with a stern look on her face.
I immediately begin to wonder what did I do wrong, because I know I am the type of person who just messes up in her sheer existence. I couldn't think of anything so I braced myself for the worst, "Emily is very upset about the laundry. You left your underwear in the laundry and that is a sign of great disrespect in Kenya."
My heart sank. Is that why there are always underwear hanging in the bathroom? I just thought they didn't have enough to wait til laundry day! I was supposed to wash my own drawers!
"Oh my God! I am so sorry. I had no idea!" and I really didn't considering that is something that they failed to mention in Lonely Planet Kenya addition. Dammit!
"Why did she wash them?! She could have left them out. I would have washed them myself." I asked with genuine concern.
"She was being nice to you because she knows you are a foreigner. But your actions have made her think that you think of her as low. She is really hurt." Had I seriously accidentally told Emily to kiss my ass...or wash my ass. That's horrible! I am a horrible person! Josephine goes on, "when a women starts menstruation she doesn't allow others to clean her panties. Only men and children have their underwear washed by others". (Men and children? Are these the helpless people of the society?)
"Oh. Well just so you know, I hadn't menstruated in any of those panties." yes, I felt the need to say that, "but I get the point. Should I go apologize?"
"It would be nice but the language barrier is a problem," Josephine reminded me that Emily does not speak any English and I speak no Swahili.
I sat on the edge of the bed and thought about what I should do. AH HA!
Quick as a flash I grabbed some of the panties Emily washed and ran down the stairs. I found Emily in the kitchen washing dishes. I turned her around and showed her the panties. Then I got the most pitiful look on my face, which wasn't hard cause I really felt bad, and said I am so sorry over and over. I gave her hugs and kisses and kept saying I am sorry. She understood. She hugged me back and laughed at my ridiculous display. Josephine laughed too.
I think we might be friends again.
I am now going to bed...but before I sleep, I must respectfully take the time to hang my hand washed drawers amongst the others in the bathroom.
Goodnight!

The Slums

Note: Due to my problem loading photo's I had to wait to post this blog. This was written on Tuesday, December 6th.

Today was my first day volunteering. But before I get to that I will start with last night. I have been having a really hard time going to sleep. First of all, the bed that I am currently sleeping in is in a little girls room and has a terrible mattress. The mattress is actually caved in the middle so that it does not support my body at all. Every morning I wake up and my back is killing me. I have started to stuff blankets under the center of the bed in hopes of getting a flat service to sleep upon. I am not sure if I am accomplishing this goal. Also, there are a lot of starving dogs that bark and cry through the night. It is miserable. And, I keep worrying about mosquito's so I don't leave the window's open (because they don't have screens) and there is also no fan in the room so it gets quite stuffy as the night goes on. Not to mention the 8 hour time difference that has me totally out of wack. I think I managed to get about 2 hours of sleep last night. I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning and prepared for my first day of work. The name of the children's center is...well I forgot the name, but it is run by local women who are mostly retired and seeking to help improve the community. The center is located in the slums and serves poor school children lunch everyday.They also provide free childcare services for 3-6 year-olds. Many of the children that they serve are abandoned by the effects of HIV/AIDS...either both of their parents have died or one died and the other left in order to hide the shame of their sickness. Some children live with their grandparents; however most of the children who come here are on their own and are somehow raising each other. DsSome of them are HIV/AIDS positive themselves. Since the children are currently out of school many of them come to the center during the day to hang out with other children and to get a hot meal. The government periodically sends programs to help teach the children; according to Ms. Mary they NEVER send money. I came in during a government health program to teach children about safe sex...actually, that is not what they did at all. They taught the children about abstinence and the teacher told the class, "Just forget about sex until you are married." One boy raised his hand and asked "What about masturbation?" The teacher looks shocked and said, "You should engage yourself in other activities that will expend your energy. Go for jogging. Go play football. Go to church. These things will help you forget about sex." In a country where HIV/AIDS has become such an epidemic that economic growth has been effected, I think masturbation would be a dear friend to young adults, especially those who have already lost a loved one to the disease. This disturbed me so much, that I had to talk to the teacher after class. After lying and telling him how much I enjoyed his lesson, I went in for the kill, "Sooo....Is this a religious program or a government program?".
"Oh, it is a government program that was sponsored by the Catholic church".
"So what would be the problem with young people, with God-given sexual desires, masturbating?".
"God doesn't want that," pause, "and they might become addicted to it!"
My experience in Ghana taught me to leave it there. When someone is so culturally different it is impossible to argue. I guess I just want to make friends while here so everyone won't hate me. It made my heart hurt a lot though. The more I talk to locals the more I understand the HIV/AIDS epidemic is so deep, it is more than just a health issue, it arises from so many social issues. One of them being the lack of education. The other is, the lack of education by internal people who are best fit to solve their own problems. Why in the world would Catholics not acknowledge that they need to alter their message for the unique circumstance of the African people. They should! Especially considering that they, and other White Christians, caused half of Africa's problems when they arrived on the continent hundreds of years ago. Sadly, they are still a great contributor to African's problems today. So I decided I did not want to continue to sit in on the sex-mis-education class...

I went to the kitchen to see if they needed any help. They put me work immediately! I love working in the kitchen with the women and girls. They teach me Swahili. We laugh. We work. Back breaking work. The hardest work I've ever done in a kitchen in my life. I sweat. I choke on the air. I chop. I chop some more. I take a break. I chop some more. I wash dishes. My back hurts. I take a break. I was more dishes. I sweep. I mop. I stir. Only for a minute. They take the spoon away in disgust with my stirring. We laugh. I love the kitchen. Check me out:


The first thing I do every morning is cut and clean vegetables. These potatoes were covered in dirt when I first started (farmers don't wash certain vegetables in the market...usually the ones that people are going to peel the skin off of). All the leaf vegetables are cut really fine. This bowl of cabbage is huge and took forever.

Then we serve the children breakfast. Sorry, I didn't get any pictures of that.


Then I help wash dishes. This is truly back breaking work, but the girls help me. Water is really important, so there is no running water used to wash dishes. We make one huge pot of water and wash a million dishes in it.


Then I take a break and read a book for about an hour while drinking a cup of tea. Everyone loves to offer a cup of tea in Kenya...and the tea is pretty good...if only they didn't put so much milk in it...



I probably read about 5 pages a day because the kids interrupt my reading with their games and questions. "How do you say Kenya in your language?" a girl asked. "Kenya", I respond. The crack up laughing. "How do you say rice in your language?" "Rice." They laugh again. "You all realize that we both speak English? Most of the words are going to be the exact same". Yet, the continue to ask these questions for another hour or so...I don't mind one bit.


Finally, I help cook lunch in these huge firewood burning stoves. In this picture I was cooking ugali, which is the Kenyan version of grits. It is eaten for breakfast and lunch and served in a harder more solid form than American grits. You eat it with your hands with stew. I like it. But it was hard to make. It is impossible to stir, so my arms were getting tired. Notice all the smoke in this picture. I would run outside every 10 stirs and go get some fresh air. I was coughing and my eyes were turning red. The old lady in the kitchen was crying laughing of me. None of the Kenyan women left the kitchen even once...