As I sat with another volunteer browsing through the various blogs of our Peace Corps colleagues, she mentioned how each person’s blog says something about that individual – perhaps the way he wants to be perceived, what’s important to her, or what aspects of the Peace Corps experience lie at the forefront of his life. So naturally, I inquired about her perception of what my blog says about me. “That you and the people reading your blog have a particular image of what Peace Corps is.” I agreed with her, and the wheels were set in motion for me to better define (yet again) what the Peace Corps experience is for me personally.
As I have said before, the physical aspects of my experience were not quite what I expected (running water, electricity, my own office, and even well-compensated laptop-toting work travel) but I still find myself writing about the picturesque, romanticized aspects of my experience in Kenya more often than not in my blog – running on red dirt roads with barefooted school children, participating in a project that uses innovative plowing techniques with camels, and picking up trash around my local community. It could even be seen as ironic, or perhaps the infrastructural paradox of the developing world, that I’m writing about water shortages via my wireless modem-connected blog.
To further contrast, or perhaps orient, my Peace Corps experience with one of a past volunteer, enter: Paul Theroux’s May 2009 Conde Nast article “The Lesson of My Life.” Having served in Nyasaland (present-day Malawi) in 1963, some of his experiences rang so true with my own life that I literally got goosebumps reading his article. Other, more superficial, aspects couldn’t help but make me smile; the following in particular: “Everything I owned in the world fitted into the small suitcase I had with me. I had nothing in the bank, no property; did not own so much as a chair. I was superbly portable. I had just turned twenty-two.”
I went on to read the following: “For the two years I was in Malawi, I never made a telephone call and my only contact with my family was in letters that took up to a month to arrive. This suited me fine. The instant connection in today’s world tends to distort the experience of being far from home. What sort of a life is it when, on the days when things are going bad, you are able to dial Mom for consolation?” And with a combined sentiment of deflation and amusement, I thought, “That’s me!” so adding to my contemplation of what this whole experience is truly about.
He continues, “The experience should involve remoteness, inconvenience, hardship, even risk; isn’t that the whole point of being away?” This is more like it! I think to myself. Apparently Peace Corps Kenya doesn’t quite agree, though, hence my thoughts on the emergence of the new generation of PCVs. Remoteness, inconvenience, hardship, and risk are a recipe for disaster and liability in the litigation-happy America we live in today, where news that travels faster than wildfire often influences fragile diplomatic relations, and helicopter-parenting has sent many from my generation into the world needing full-body armor and endless I Could Be A Millionaire lifelines. I’m certainly not about to digress into Peace Corps Kenya’s policies (because I understand why they are in place) but when we aren’t allowed to ride motorcycles, travel at night, hitchhike, stop taking our anti-malaria medicine, drive a car, or even ride a bicycle helmetless without the risk of being shipped home, I would argue the quintessential rugged Peace Corps experience cannot avoid being watered down slightly.
So what challenges will this new generation face, with access to ever-advancing technologies rapidly expanding? And what is our purpose, if not to become fluent in the local tribal dialect or appreciate tapped water after hauling buckets from a river 5km away? Ultimately, Theroux argues, the Peace Corps experience is about answering the question ‘Where is my place in the world?’ and walking away without making the “mistake in thinking that you will make an important difference in the lives of the people you’re among. The profound difference will be in you.” I would have to agree. So regardless of how often the power is cut off, or if you even have power at all, I have come to understand that the essence of the Peace Corps experience for past and future generations does not lie in the niceties of rural life but in the eye-opening experiences that shape an individual’s world view.
As the new generation of Peace Corps volunteers begin entering the global community, myself included, let us remember what is at the heart of embarking on this experience. As we constantly update our blogs and pat ourselves on the back for being able to bargain for a tomato in the local language (while most of our verbal skills have yet to develop beyond superficial exchanges), it’d be a shame for us to lose sight of the ultimate goal of gaining perspective. People say globalization is inescapable, and I would extend that to Peace Corps as well. So in the rapidly globalizing world, there will naturally surface a new generation of volunteers that break from the traditional, romanticized image of the Peace Corps JFK envisioned. I often struggle to come to terms with being part of this new generation, however, the actuality of my situation is unavoidable and I hope to do nothing less than make the most of my experience. So to those who have made it to the end of another of my lengthy pieces of writing, I hope I have succeeded in more clearly defining what the Peace Corps experience is for me and shedding some light on what I have come to call the new generation of volunteers I am a part of.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Ngamia 101 (aka Camels 101)
The founding vision of my NGO is to uplift the livelihoods of resource-poor rural women and children through provision of alternatives to current, unviable livelihoods. Camels has been deemed one of these appropriate alternatives…hence my first course in camels last week, which I will call Ngamia (Camels) 101. Before I write about the exotic adventures of Ngamia 101, let me justify my involvement in this project to head off any doubts that I’m really a Peace Corps Volunteer and not a tourist on safari.
Camels are currently used in numerous arid and semi-arid lands (ASALs) for plowing, consumption, and other income generating activities (think: milk) due to their drought-resistance. My town of Makindu, as it so happens, is geo-climactically prime ASAL. While camels have not been used for plowing in Kenya, which we know of to date, they are ideal for areas with erratic rainfall especially during times of drought.
Currently, Kenya is facing one of the worst droughts of the decade, going on almost 3 full years (5 planting seasons) without rain in some areas. This is devastating, to say the least. Pastoralists who are dependent on cows and goats for survival are losing entire herds to starvation. Images of Masai herders unsuccessfully propping up the rear halves of emaciated calves has been flashing on news shows for months now. Newspaper headlines tell of the devastation, as people have turned to eating seeds and dog meat, accompanied by pictures of bovine carcasses rotting in the background. Food relief has QUADRUPLED in some areas. Cross-border cattle raids (think: African-style Wild West raids to steal cattle by driving them away under the cover of night) are increasing in frequency, including one resulting in the massacre of a hundred men, women, and children just last week in Laikipia.
Yet looming in the background are murmurs about the coming rains of El Nino… Last time El Nino came through East Africa, there was humanitarian crisis-level flooding in Somalia and northern Kenya. Thousands died, if not from the flashfloods and inability to swim in ever-rising waters, then to the diseases and food emergency after. (Read “Where Soldiers Fear to Tread” for one UN-contracted relief worker’s account of his efforts in Somalia during the 1997/98 floods.)
So where do camels fit in? Well one bull (male) camel has the draft power of two bull ox, yet it costs the same (approximately 35,000 Kenyan shillings). And while cows have six stomachs that require constant supply of food – most of which is nowhere to be found during times of drought – camels will happily munch on the thorny dry-land bush that other livestock won’t (or can’t) touch. Lastly, cows need daily access to water, while camels can store enough water to last themselves two to three WEEKS at a time. So there you have it – camels would be quite the troopers for areas such as Ukambani (the larger region in which Makindu is located).
So we traveled up to a world-famous camel ranch Ol-Maisor in Laikipia, a few hours outside Nanyuki where Mt. Kenya is located. The trip there was a free safari: giraffes, zebras, buffalo, dik dik, gazelle running alongside the car, and an elephant herd crossing the road just minutes before we passed leaving us glimpses of their behinds as they continued into the bush. As we crossed over a dry riverbed, people murmured about it as if it had some importance, though I didn’t catch the gist of why. I later came to find out that was where one of the ten camels bought for our project had been eaten by a lion as they camped overnight on the trek to the ranch the previous week.
So we stayed for two days: watched the camels-in-training plow (or rather, kick ferociously as a plow was attached to them); the agricultural engineers took measurements and made adjustments to old equipment for designing a special camel plow; spoke with a team from India who is doing a documentary on endogenous knowledge application in dry-land regions and climate change; discussed selection process for soon-to-be-trained camel herders and the sensitization necessary for the communities in which the new animals will be introduced. All in all, it seems to be a promising project and application of this appropriate technology will hopefully make a positive difference in agricultural practices in the ever-increasing drought-prone areas (thank you, climate change) of developing countries.
Camels are currently used in numerous arid and semi-arid lands (ASALs) for plowing, consumption, and other income generating activities (think: milk) due to their drought-resistance. My town of Makindu, as it so happens, is geo-climactically prime ASAL. While camels have not been used for plowing in Kenya, which we know of to date, they are ideal for areas with erratic rainfall especially during times of drought.
Currently, Kenya is facing one of the worst droughts of the decade, going on almost 3 full years (5 planting seasons) without rain in some areas. This is devastating, to say the least. Pastoralists who are dependent on cows and goats for survival are losing entire herds to starvation. Images of Masai herders unsuccessfully propping up the rear halves of emaciated calves has been flashing on news shows for months now. Newspaper headlines tell of the devastation, as people have turned to eating seeds and dog meat, accompanied by pictures of bovine carcasses rotting in the background. Food relief has QUADRUPLED in some areas. Cross-border cattle raids (think: African-style Wild West raids to steal cattle by driving them away under the cover of night) are increasing in frequency, including one resulting in the massacre of a hundred men, women, and children just last week in Laikipia.
Yet looming in the background are murmurs about the coming rains of El Nino… Last time El Nino came through East Africa, there was humanitarian crisis-level flooding in Somalia and northern Kenya. Thousands died, if not from the flashfloods and inability to swim in ever-rising waters, then to the diseases and food emergency after. (Read “Where Soldiers Fear to Tread” for one UN-contracted relief worker’s account of his efforts in Somalia during the 1997/98 floods.)
So where do camels fit in? Well one bull (male) camel has the draft power of two bull ox, yet it costs the same (approximately 35,000 Kenyan shillings). And while cows have six stomachs that require constant supply of food – most of which is nowhere to be found during times of drought – camels will happily munch on the thorny dry-land bush that other livestock won’t (or can’t) touch. Lastly, cows need daily access to water, while camels can store enough water to last themselves two to three WEEKS at a time. So there you have it – camels would be quite the troopers for areas such as Ukambani (the larger region in which Makindu is located).
So we traveled up to a world-famous camel ranch Ol-Maisor in Laikipia, a few hours outside Nanyuki where Mt. Kenya is located. The trip there was a free safari: giraffes, zebras, buffalo, dik dik, gazelle running alongside the car, and an elephant herd crossing the road just minutes before we passed leaving us glimpses of their behinds as they continued into the bush. As we crossed over a dry riverbed, people murmured about it as if it had some importance, though I didn’t catch the gist of why. I later came to find out that was where one of the ten camels bought for our project had been eaten by a lion as they camped overnight on the trek to the ranch the previous week.
So we stayed for two days: watched the camels-in-training plow (or rather, kick ferociously as a plow was attached to them); the agricultural engineers took measurements and made adjustments to old equipment for designing a special camel plow; spoke with a team from India who is doing a documentary on endogenous knowledge application in dry-land regions and climate change; discussed selection process for soon-to-be-trained camel herders and the sensitization necessary for the communities in which the new animals will be introduced. All in all, it seems to be a promising project and application of this appropriate technology will hopefully make a positive difference in agricultural practices in the ever-increasing drought-prone areas (thank you, climate change) of developing countries.
Friday, July 10, 2009
An American’s Birthday in Kenya
Since a number of people have asked me about my first birthday in Kenya, I figured I’d share my experience here... Coming from a culture in which each passing year serves as a personal holiday in American life, celebrating my ‘personal holiday’ in a country where some people do not even know their age was a much different experience. June 30 saw the passing of 22 years of my life – and I had the best Kenyan birthday I could have hoped for. For me, the day was a perfect encapsulation of how this experience abroad is a turning point in my life.
My birthday fell on a Tuesday, so my first gift to myself was to take the day off from work and do one of my favorite pastimes here: read. I stayed in my fleece pajama pants, drinking hot cocoa, and reading on my couch all morning and into the early afternoon. It was a quiet, calm, and pleasantly sunny day. The book I picked up attributed greatly to the pivotal representation of the day: “The Last Lecture” by Randy Paush.
“The Last Lecture” was written by Randy as a lifetime full of lessons for his children that he would never be able to actually teach them because he was dying of pancreatic cancer at the time of authorship. Given to me by one of my closest friends and one of the incredible people in my life Laura, prior to my departure for Kenya, it was a perfect supplement and compounding factor to a reflective day. I honestly could not believe that I was turning 22…in Kenya: I was spending my birthday amidst a life goal I have had since 8th grade and was actually realizing.
Given the time zone differences, my birthday seemed to last twice as long as usual – which I of course didn’t mind one bit – and I thank everyone who expressed birthday wishes to me in all the various forms, spanning thousands of miles and numerous time zones. Waking up to birthday emails and messages, as well as still receiving them in the days following, was incredible. It is easy to feel forgotten all the way over here; and while I have been lucky enough to never experience this sentiment since arriving, I still cannot thank everyone enough for ensuring I certainly would not experience it on my birthday!
As for birthdays in Kenya – they are typically not celebrated for whatever reasons. The most practical explanations seem to be: people had no means for keeping track of which day someone was born (this is probably so prehistoric and outdated of an explanation though that it offers little viability); the infant and child mortality rates can often be so high that celebrating another passing year just attributes to emotional investment and connection to someone who could pass away at any time; and birthday celebrations can require money to be spent and that is a frivolous expenditure many cannot afford. But upon asking Kenyans why birthdays are not often celebrated in towns and villages, most responded, “That’s just how it is.”
When I finally made myself presentable to leave the house around 2:00pm, Paula and I went into town to run a few errands and then ventured out to the river for a two hour hike. We ended up winding our way through flourishing fields and undeveloped land by the town’s water source (an underground river). As we started back home, the sun was setting behind the acacia trees and corn fields, dusting the white salt-iced spans of red dirt with a breeze-cut illumination. It was yet another perfect way to end yet another perfect day.
My two closest Kenyan girl friends Jackline and Saida came over for dinner that night, but I don’t think either of them ever knew it was my birthday. I realized that, while if I was in America it would have not been uncommon for me to inform them of my special day, here it was just another day. And I wouldn’t have changed that sentiment for anything. I loved every minute of it – feeling truly at home in my Kenyan life and being at peace with the possibly conflicting ideologies of the two cultures that weigh most heavily on my personal identity at this point in time. So with that, I thank everyone – whether or not they even realized the significance of the date to my life – that made my birthday the best 22nd an American in Kenya could have hoped for.
My birthday fell on a Tuesday, so my first gift to myself was to take the day off from work and do one of my favorite pastimes here: read. I stayed in my fleece pajama pants, drinking hot cocoa, and reading on my couch all morning and into the early afternoon. It was a quiet, calm, and pleasantly sunny day. The book I picked up attributed greatly to the pivotal representation of the day: “The Last Lecture” by Randy Paush.
“The Last Lecture” was written by Randy as a lifetime full of lessons for his children that he would never be able to actually teach them because he was dying of pancreatic cancer at the time of authorship. Given to me by one of my closest friends and one of the incredible people in my life Laura, prior to my departure for Kenya, it was a perfect supplement and compounding factor to a reflective day. I honestly could not believe that I was turning 22…in Kenya: I was spending my birthday amidst a life goal I have had since 8th grade and was actually realizing.
Given the time zone differences, my birthday seemed to last twice as long as usual – which I of course didn’t mind one bit – and I thank everyone who expressed birthday wishes to me in all the various forms, spanning thousands of miles and numerous time zones. Waking up to birthday emails and messages, as well as still receiving them in the days following, was incredible. It is easy to feel forgotten all the way over here; and while I have been lucky enough to never experience this sentiment since arriving, I still cannot thank everyone enough for ensuring I certainly would not experience it on my birthday!
As for birthdays in Kenya – they are typically not celebrated for whatever reasons. The most practical explanations seem to be: people had no means for keeping track of which day someone was born (this is probably so prehistoric and outdated of an explanation though that it offers little viability); the infant and child mortality rates can often be so high that celebrating another passing year just attributes to emotional investment and connection to someone who could pass away at any time; and birthday celebrations can require money to be spent and that is a frivolous expenditure many cannot afford. But upon asking Kenyans why birthdays are not often celebrated in towns and villages, most responded, “That’s just how it is.”
When I finally made myself presentable to leave the house around 2:00pm, Paula and I went into town to run a few errands and then ventured out to the river for a two hour hike. We ended up winding our way through flourishing fields and undeveloped land by the town’s water source (an underground river). As we started back home, the sun was setting behind the acacia trees and corn fields, dusting the white salt-iced spans of red dirt with a breeze-cut illumination. It was yet another perfect way to end yet another perfect day.
My two closest Kenyan girl friends Jackline and Saida came over for dinner that night, but I don’t think either of them ever knew it was my birthday. I realized that, while if I was in America it would have not been uncommon for me to inform them of my special day, here it was just another day. And I wouldn’t have changed that sentiment for anything. I loved every minute of it – feeling truly at home in my Kenyan life and being at peace with the possibly conflicting ideologies of the two cultures that weigh most heavily on my personal identity at this point in time. So with that, I thank everyone – whether or not they even realized the significance of the date to my life – that made my birthday the best 22nd an American in Kenya could have hoped for.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Lewa Safaricom Half Marathon
On Saturday I participated in my first half marathon…and miraculously completed the 21km route! The days leading up to the pre-race meeting were filled with anxiety and nervousness. I kept wondering, “Would I even make it??” I arrived in Nanyuki, by Mt. Kenya, on Tuesday to begin acclimatizing to the altitude which is over three times higher than at my site. On Wednesday we went for a beautiful four hour hike around the foothills of Mt. Kenya and a short jog Friday morning to get my legs moving. Friday’s pre-race meeting completely lightened the mood, replacing my nervousness with overwhelming excitement.
The Safaricom Lewa Marathon was a perfect choice for my first half marathon – the mood was fairly casual, most of the participants taking part for the cause rather than the competition. The Lewa Conservancy has wildlife protection and educational programs throughout the region. The majority of participants are on teams, doing the half marathon as a fundraising event. Although I signed up as an individual for the full marathon, I knew going into it that I would only plan to run half since it was my first marathon experience.
The choice to do the half was a good one – between the altitude, cessation of training for the month leading up to the marathon because of an injury, and the heat and hills, the 21 km I did complete was fairly brutal at times. It was an interesting mentality, though, knowing that there was no turning back and the question of completion was never on my mind because I knew I had no choice. The first 9 km were fairly easy….then the hills began. From 12 km through to 17 km was a ‘nice little’ series of hills. Although my initial goal was to run the entirety of the route, I definitely walked. I have no shame in admitting that. But the beautiful surrounding scenery made for a nice view as I slowed my pace.
The beginning and the end of the course were the most memorable, as far as marathon experiences go. Since we were running through a wildlife conservancy, the commencement of the race was delayed as helicopters and planes patrolled the route clearly the surrounding areas of wildlife. With a chopper hovering overhead, the race started with the bang of a gun. Along the entirety of the course were Kenya Wildlife Service park rangers with their guns, assuring no one was eaten by a lion or trampled by an elephant. The avoidance of human-wildlife contact was done quite well – a little too well, in my opinion – since we only saw some grazing gazelle in the distance once. But all was redeemed on the drive into the park and the drive out as we passed numerous giraffes grazing along the roadside, some only 30 feet away!
The entire experience was quite incredible, even surreal at times. As we departed from the pre-race meeting Friday night, I had to keep reminding myself that I was actually having this experience: the picturesque fire red ball of sun was sliding behind the cloud cover engulfing Mt. Kenya, creating scenery over the African landscape like I had never seen before. The umbrella acacia trees speckled the dry grasslands, with a spot of forest sprouting up around a stream and providing the base for the conservancy’s tent camp. I know my description cannot even begin to do the entirety of the experience justice, but I try anyways – mostly in hope of convincing someone, anyone to seek out these moments in life. Because it is in moments like that I know there is nowhere else I’d rather be. And ultimately, isn’t that was life is all about: finding a sense of personal satisfaction in every moment of your life?? I guess I’m still figuring this out myself, but hopefully it is moments like this that bring me closer to my answer.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Kenya's Poetic Future
“What makes a Kenyan a Kenyan? Skin color? Language?,” the horseshoe-bent line of twenty young girls posed to the Kenyan adults. “No! NO!,” their strong voices echoed in unison, reverberating within the corrugated metal walls and roof. Surrounded by hundreds of children in a rainbow assortment of colored uniforms – purple and yellow, orange and blue, red checkers, red with grey and blue socks, pink and royal blue, green checkers, grey and navy plaid – I felt a smile of being profoundly impressed creep across my face as the powerful voices recited a powerful message. “We are proud Kenyans. Kenya’s national heritage – our pride.” This was just one of many poems I heard primary school aged children reciting at the poetry competition as Mgunkuni School yesterday.
In an education system where rote recitation is the key to success, how will children be able to learn critical thinking skills, and then apply them to serious real-world issues like water conservation, national identity, and peace along ethnic divides? One primary school teacher is using the poetry competition as a means for passing on messages regarding serious issues facing Kenya today. “We have so many meetings and they don’t listen to us. Maybe they’ll listen to the children.”
The message of another poem, the effect amplified by recitation in a group, plastered furrowed brows and pleading eyes on the children’s faces as they begged, “Spare me, mama. Spare me!” This one was about water – an increasingly dire situation in my town of Makindu. The price of water quadrupled as of March of this year and for almost a week in May we were without running water, and that shortage discounts the sporadic outages. Despite numerous town and government meetings regarding the issue, an ongoing saga continues to unfold with new information making the internal politics of the situation ever more interesting. So for now, I sit tight with my reserve tank full, waiting for a resolution to this ever-pressing issue.
Though my favorite poem came in light of the post-election violence and ever-present ethnic divisiveness in Kenya. “Unite, peace, and liberty is a possibility.” After hearing the profound and powerfully delivered poetic messages, a friend leaned over to me and said, “If these children believe what they are saying, you will see a change in Kenya in your lifetime.” I would agree. If these children do become embodiments of these poems’ messages, one cannot be left with any doubt that a positive change will come to Kenya as the next generation comes into its own.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
This Spot is Meant for My Banana Tree!
This morning when I came back from my morning run, I was feeling lethargic yet refreshed and ready to start my office work-laden day. Upon rounding the corner of my house to view my backyard, I realized that the hole I had dug for my soon-to-be-planted banana tree – measuring about two feet in width, length and depth as of Saturday – was now big enough to be used as a grave. The first thought that came to mind was, “I don’t want them to put in a big tree here! This spot is meant for my banana tree” because my neighbor Muindi and I had crafted a sand-lined drain to funnel my bathing water to the tree to water it.
Let me back up for a moment. This last week I moved into a new house, only about 50 feet from my old place, but not sharing any walls with (inconsiderately noisy) neighbors and a little further off the main road to provide for some more privacy. One of the most exciting things about my new house is the backyard I now have, where I have already planned a waste-water garden and makuti thatched-grass roofed sitting area. My Saturday morning was spent doing some good old KYM: “kazi ya mikono” (“work of the hands”…basically manual labor, as explained by a Kenyan), and preparing for my planting. Since water is such a precious and limited resource, especially these days in my town, I have vowed to only grow fruits and vegetables using my kitchen and bathing waste water. So far I have opted for a banana tree and some passion fruit vines, but after speaking with my friendly local agricultural officer today, I will add spinach and sukumawiki (kales) to my list. The banana and passion fruit can be planted in the ground and watered with the runoff from my house drain; the spinach and sukuma will be planted in large sacks (which usually hold commodity agriculture products) and can be covered so the goats won’t eat them. Ok, enough about my gardening plan for now; back to the story.
So I’m standing, almost dumbfounded, staring at this huge hole in my backyard. The second thought that came to mind was, “Wow- this hole is really well dug. The sides are even and they were able to break through the hard top soil Muindi and I got stuck at when we tried to dig.” Yes, it’s true, these thoughts really did go through my head and reflecting on them, I surprise even myself. [Those of you reading this who knew me pre-Kenya can probably appreciate the complete absence of interest I had in yard work or gardening before Peace Corps.] So the next logical step is to find out what is going on. The first person I find is Manywele, the caretaker of the compound on which I live. Manywele is one of the nicest Kenyan men I’ve met, and that’s probably an understatement considering he has selflessly taken care of me and done me a hundred and one good deeds in the short time I’ve been here. One of those good deeds includes having unending patience with my attempts to speak Swahili, since he does not speak English. So, although strained at first, our conversations always make me smile because we work through repetitions and rephrasing (over and over and over…) until we eventually come to a workable understanding. So in our five minute conversation, I think I have gotten an idea of what is going on with the hole. I thank Manywele and set off to find someone who may be able to explain in English.
Within seconds I turn a corner and see my landlord – another one of my all-time favorite Kenyans. We exchange morning greetings, mine including an apology for my sweatiness thanks to my recent return from a run, and I state my issue, “There’s a hole in my backyard.” We saunter over to my house to look at it together. After vaguely referencing the plan, and confirming my previous thoughts from the conversation with Manywele, we step inside my house to examine the infrastructure of the bathing room adjacent to the hole. Upon inspection of the plumbing layout, he states, “We will have to put the toilet here,” referencing to the right of the water pipe. Toilet!?
So I go into the same plea I had attempted with Manywele (except this time in English): “I don’t NEED an indoor toilet. In fact, I don’t WANT an indoor toilet. I feel guilty enough having electricity and running water. Please please please DO NOT put a toilet in my house.” But my attempts to convince him otherwise fell on deaf ears. I had just spent ten minutes trying to convince people NOT to put an indoor toilet in my house. And the best part is, I genuinely and honestly DO NOT WANT an indoor toilet. I explained my complete and total satisfaction with my outdoor pit latrine, and combated comments about the questionable safety of nighttime bathroom runs with, “I have a bucket.” But my attempts failed miserably, even provoking these two extremely polite men to stop me mid-sentence and basically tell me that I have no say in the matter.
People often assume that the biggest challenge one will face being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa is living without the amenities of the developed world. And yet, contributing even further to the uniqueness of my experience, I am struggling to cope with actually having so many amenities I had mentally prepared myself to go without for two years. Undoubtedly, my struggle is also compounded by the socio-economic disparity in which I am immersed. As one of my fellow volunteers (and my sanity and sounding board for so many of these cultural challenges) put it, this is a prime opportunity to recognize the huge gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots,’ first hand, through living on the ground so closely to the reality. In reflecting on the situation, over which I have no control at this point, I realize that she is right. Yet I cannot help but get a little smile on my face thinking about how the highlight of my day was trying to argue my way out of having an indoor toilet. Until this morning, never could I have imagined that I would ever so fervently advocate against such a proposition.
Let me back up for a moment. This last week I moved into a new house, only about 50 feet from my old place, but not sharing any walls with (inconsiderately noisy) neighbors and a little further off the main road to provide for some more privacy. One of the most exciting things about my new house is the backyard I now have, where I have already planned a waste-water garden and makuti thatched-grass roofed sitting area. My Saturday morning was spent doing some good old KYM: “kazi ya mikono” (“work of the hands”…basically manual labor, as explained by a Kenyan), and preparing for my planting. Since water is such a precious and limited resource, especially these days in my town, I have vowed to only grow fruits and vegetables using my kitchen and bathing waste water. So far I have opted for a banana tree and some passion fruit vines, but after speaking with my friendly local agricultural officer today, I will add spinach and sukumawiki (kales) to my list. The banana and passion fruit can be planted in the ground and watered with the runoff from my house drain; the spinach and sukuma will be planted in large sacks (which usually hold commodity agriculture products) and can be covered so the goats won’t eat them. Ok, enough about my gardening plan for now; back to the story.
So I’m standing, almost dumbfounded, staring at this huge hole in my backyard. The second thought that came to mind was, “Wow- this hole is really well dug. The sides are even and they were able to break through the hard top soil Muindi and I got stuck at when we tried to dig.” Yes, it’s true, these thoughts really did go through my head and reflecting on them, I surprise even myself. [Those of you reading this who knew me pre-Kenya can probably appreciate the complete absence of interest I had in yard work or gardening before Peace Corps.] So the next logical step is to find out what is going on. The first person I find is Manywele, the caretaker of the compound on which I live. Manywele is one of the nicest Kenyan men I’ve met, and that’s probably an understatement considering he has selflessly taken care of me and done me a hundred and one good deeds in the short time I’ve been here. One of those good deeds includes having unending patience with my attempts to speak Swahili, since he does not speak English. So, although strained at first, our conversations always make me smile because we work through repetitions and rephrasing (over and over and over…) until we eventually come to a workable understanding. So in our five minute conversation, I think I have gotten an idea of what is going on with the hole. I thank Manywele and set off to find someone who may be able to explain in English.
Within seconds I turn a corner and see my landlord – another one of my all-time favorite Kenyans. We exchange morning greetings, mine including an apology for my sweatiness thanks to my recent return from a run, and I state my issue, “There’s a hole in my backyard.” We saunter over to my house to look at it together. After vaguely referencing the plan, and confirming my previous thoughts from the conversation with Manywele, we step inside my house to examine the infrastructure of the bathing room adjacent to the hole. Upon inspection of the plumbing layout, he states, “We will have to put the toilet here,” referencing to the right of the water pipe. Toilet!?
So I go into the same plea I had attempted with Manywele (except this time in English): “I don’t NEED an indoor toilet. In fact, I don’t WANT an indoor toilet. I feel guilty enough having electricity and running water. Please please please DO NOT put a toilet in my house.” But my attempts to convince him otherwise fell on deaf ears. I had just spent ten minutes trying to convince people NOT to put an indoor toilet in my house. And the best part is, I genuinely and honestly DO NOT WANT an indoor toilet. I explained my complete and total satisfaction with my outdoor pit latrine, and combated comments about the questionable safety of nighttime bathroom runs with, “I have a bucket.” But my attempts failed miserably, even provoking these two extremely polite men to stop me mid-sentence and basically tell me that I have no say in the matter.
People often assume that the biggest challenge one will face being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa is living without the amenities of the developed world. And yet, contributing even further to the uniqueness of my experience, I am struggling to cope with actually having so many amenities I had mentally prepared myself to go without for two years. Undoubtedly, my struggle is also compounded by the socio-economic disparity in which I am immersed. As one of my fellow volunteers (and my sanity and sounding board for so many of these cultural challenges) put it, this is a prime opportunity to recognize the huge gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots,’ first hand, through living on the ground so closely to the reality. In reflecting on the situation, over which I have no control at this point, I realize that she is right. Yet I cannot help but get a little smile on my face thinking about how the highlight of my day was trying to argue my way out of having an indoor toilet. Until this morning, never could I have imagined that I would ever so fervently advocate against such a proposition.
Monday, March 30, 2009
This Peace Corps Stuff is HARD
I have repeatedly commented in my blog posts and emails that many of my experiences “remind me why I am here.” And in reading that, one might ask, “But why, Erin, must you be reminded of your purpose being in Kenya?” Well, this is because if I do not have reminders of all the positives of my life here, then the challenges would seem insurmountable. That may seem like a depressing statement, but it is not intended to be such. As my good friend and fellow Volunteer Carly put it best, “We signed up for a challenge. And that’s what we are getting!” This truly is what I want out of, not only this experience, but life; I cannot let myself forget that.
The reason I want to talk about some of my challenges here is two fold: it always helps me to talk through difficulties, and I want to paint an accurate picture of my life. The accuracy with which I illustrate my experiences is not only a reflection of the disclosure with which I want to approach keeping a blog, but also for the sake of anyone reading this who may be considering Peace Corps service. To those people, I would advise: If everything you read about Peace Corps and people’s experiences as Volunteers- the good and the bad- fuel your desire to sign up more and more, even just a little, then I say go for it! Because (and no, Peace Corps did not ask me to say this…it is free publicity) this experience truly is ‘the toughest job you’ll ever love,’ as the public relations department so accurately crafted in the organization’s tag line.
As I am settling into life in Kenya and my site, the adrenaline and novelty of this experience are wearing off. And the initial challenges I knew I would face, such as the changes in lifestyle (living situation, language, attire, gender role, etc.) are turning out to be the easiest challenges to work through. I suppose rather than minimizing those hurdles, I should acknowledge them as ‘overcome.’ But then that leaves room for new challenges to emerge…and new challenges there are!
I’ll start with the most obvious of my challenges: being white. In America, it’s not politically correct to talk about race or ethnicity. Luckily for me, though, my experiences in South Africa broke down my hesitations to talk about issues of race; so recognizing the role my skin color plays in the way people perceive me is not an entirely new concept. It is exhausting to walk down the street every day and be called, ‘Mzungu’ (white person) by screaming kids and well-meaning adults alike. It is exhausting to be approached with outstretched hands and voices saying, “Give me money” or “Give me sweets.” It is exhausting to feel like every move you make, every thing you wear, every thing you say, and every thing you do is being observed. I never realized how much I would miss the ability to just disappear into a crowd or be able to walk down the street with no one noticing I am even there.
I also never realized the significance my nationality would play in my personal identity. I never thought much about being an American. I just was. But more and more, I realize what being American really means to me, and how my upbringing in America, and more specifically in the socio-economic class I was privileged enough to experience, makes me who I am. And most importantly in realizing this identity, I am realizing that in my process to start my new life in Kenya, there is no reason for me to compromise any part of what makes me who I am. This might seem like an obvious statement, but for me it was not so clear until I started to live it.
In expressing some of my frustrations with the differences of life in Kenya from life in America with a previous Volunteer, she empowered me with the reminder that I do not need to compromise my values, my work ethic, my opinions, my cultural beliefs, and my social views to adjust to living in another country. When I first came here, I think a part of me believed that if I could adapt Kenyan ways of doing things, my life here would be easier and better. That is not entirely true. Yes, respect and tolerance for cultural differences is imperative to understanding and enjoying a society and cultural other than those of your native country. But one of the missions of Peace Corps is a two-way cultural exchange and education. And for me to uphold my end of that deal, I must stay true to myself and my Americanism. It is extremely empowering to be validated in preserving who I am and knowing that the value that my identity holds far outweighs the benefits of changing inherent characteristics to align with my surroundings.
Although this does not come close to exhausting the trials I confront in my new life here, they can hopefully contribute to painting an accurate picture of my experience. It is interesting to reflect on what I have learned to date, in summary: I should never try to change who I am…but who I am will pose inescapable challenges on a daily basis. Interesting paradox, huh?
The reason I want to talk about some of my challenges here is two fold: it always helps me to talk through difficulties, and I want to paint an accurate picture of my life. The accuracy with which I illustrate my experiences is not only a reflection of the disclosure with which I want to approach keeping a blog, but also for the sake of anyone reading this who may be considering Peace Corps service. To those people, I would advise: If everything you read about Peace Corps and people’s experiences as Volunteers- the good and the bad- fuel your desire to sign up more and more, even just a little, then I say go for it! Because (and no, Peace Corps did not ask me to say this…it is free publicity) this experience truly is ‘the toughest job you’ll ever love,’ as the public relations department so accurately crafted in the organization’s tag line.
As I am settling into life in Kenya and my site, the adrenaline and novelty of this experience are wearing off. And the initial challenges I knew I would face, such as the changes in lifestyle (living situation, language, attire, gender role, etc.) are turning out to be the easiest challenges to work through. I suppose rather than minimizing those hurdles, I should acknowledge them as ‘overcome.’ But then that leaves room for new challenges to emerge…and new challenges there are!
I’ll start with the most obvious of my challenges: being white. In America, it’s not politically correct to talk about race or ethnicity. Luckily for me, though, my experiences in South Africa broke down my hesitations to talk about issues of race; so recognizing the role my skin color plays in the way people perceive me is not an entirely new concept. It is exhausting to walk down the street every day and be called, ‘Mzungu’ (white person) by screaming kids and well-meaning adults alike. It is exhausting to be approached with outstretched hands and voices saying, “Give me money” or “Give me sweets.” It is exhausting to feel like every move you make, every thing you wear, every thing you say, and every thing you do is being observed. I never realized how much I would miss the ability to just disappear into a crowd or be able to walk down the street with no one noticing I am even there.
I also never realized the significance my nationality would play in my personal identity. I never thought much about being an American. I just was. But more and more, I realize what being American really means to me, and how my upbringing in America, and more specifically in the socio-economic class I was privileged enough to experience, makes me who I am. And most importantly in realizing this identity, I am realizing that in my process to start my new life in Kenya, there is no reason for me to compromise any part of what makes me who I am. This might seem like an obvious statement, but for me it was not so clear until I started to live it.
In expressing some of my frustrations with the differences of life in Kenya from life in America with a previous Volunteer, she empowered me with the reminder that I do not need to compromise my values, my work ethic, my opinions, my cultural beliefs, and my social views to adjust to living in another country. When I first came here, I think a part of me believed that if I could adapt Kenyan ways of doing things, my life here would be easier and better. That is not entirely true. Yes, respect and tolerance for cultural differences is imperative to understanding and enjoying a society and cultural other than those of your native country. But one of the missions of Peace Corps is a two-way cultural exchange and education. And for me to uphold my end of that deal, I must stay true to myself and my Americanism. It is extremely empowering to be validated in preserving who I am and knowing that the value that my identity holds far outweighs the benefits of changing inherent characteristics to align with my surroundings.
Although this does not come close to exhausting the trials I confront in my new life here, they can hopefully contribute to painting an accurate picture of my experience. It is interesting to reflect on what I have learned to date, in summary: I should never try to change who I am…but who I am will pose inescapable challenges on a daily basis. Interesting paradox, huh?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Corporate Global Responsibility
We have all heard of Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR). CSR, as described in an African business magazine, has three components: “a bid to obey the letter and the spirit of the law, by being ethical, transparent and fair, and having integrity; mitigating or remedying any operational harm that companies do, particularly environmental harm; for sustainable development.” This definition comes from the magazine Business Monthly: East African Edition, January 2009, reflecting the international popularity this concept has gained.
But my (albeit minimal) experience abroad begs the question: To what degree should international issues be addressed by an individual entity? In the ever-rapidly globalizing world of our time, no one can deny the need to stop looking at issues of development with an ego-centric lens. So when people refer to the obligation of organizations to be conscious to their surrounding environment – natural and social – how far does this extend? Globalization is undeniable; so should not the social responsibility of an organization span in conjunction with this phenomenon?
Furthermore, even if it is agreed that an organization’s socio-environmental responsibility lies beyond local and domestic borders, should this apply to all organizations? For instance, does a homeless shelter in San Francisco have an obligation to consider homeless people (more specifically, internally displaced persons IDP) in northern Uganda? Or does the inherit nature of the organization (i.e. assisting homeless people) render it exempt from seeking to contribute to a needy population elsewhere? Is there a ‘quota’ of social and/or global responsibility that each corporation and organization should meet – whether fulfilled locally, domestically, or abroad?
The previously-quoted article from Business Monthly discusses the concept of Corporate Philanthropy. Corporate Philanthropy is the “focus on the areas where social and economic interests intersect, and apply your distinctive corporate resources, not just your money, to solving social challenges. A company’s success comes not only from what it does but from the environment in which it operates. Unless the environment is right, the company will have a hard time being competitive. Social and economic objectives are not separate.” The subject of this article seemingly echoes a similar concept: the triple bottom line.
Organizations in the globalizing world must be conscious of the economic, social, and environmental impacts of their actions and measure their profits accordingly. Measuring an organization’s success and impact with the single bottom line- economic profit- is not sustainable. As natural resources are being depleted and the value of current socio-economic resources (such as labor, and certain skills and knowledge) is diminishing, money can no longer be the sole motivating factor considered in development.
So what becomes the drive for development? Development is ultimately intended to improve quality of life through provision of basic needs, is it not? This usually takes the form of infrastructure development, which in turn allows for economic development and hopefully opportunity for increased access to employment. Employment leads to money; money buys foods, clothes, shelter, education; food, clothes, shelter, and education improve quality of life; and the whole thing should come full circle to increased development, right?
But as this cycle (ideally) rolls forward, increasing in momentum and size, it sucks in those precious limited resources leaving a barren path in its wake. Enter the concept of sustainable development, which fits quite nicely alongside the triple bottom line and Corporate Social Responsibility (among other developmental buzz-word concepts). So then what is Corporate Global Responsibility? Initially, in my mind, it was a business’ obligation to sustainable international development. But as I hash out my own perceptions, understandings, and ideas on development, I realize this concept should be broadened. Organizational Global Responsibility? No, that sounds like it pertains too closely to order and structure. Global Responsibility of Organizations (GRO)? Yeah, that’s a little catchier. Who would have thought trying to coin a buzzword via blog post would be so tough? Regardless of how it is referenced, I strongly believe that the responsibility of sustainable international development must be valued enough for installation into the existence and workings of every organization.
This thought process can- and does- go on forever. These are just a few of the thoughts that my experiences in Kenya provoke to the forefront of my view on…well…life. It’s all food for thought – I’ve been indulging and thought I would share.
But my (albeit minimal) experience abroad begs the question: To what degree should international issues be addressed by an individual entity? In the ever-rapidly globalizing world of our time, no one can deny the need to stop looking at issues of development with an ego-centric lens. So when people refer to the obligation of organizations to be conscious to their surrounding environment – natural and social – how far does this extend? Globalization is undeniable; so should not the social responsibility of an organization span in conjunction with this phenomenon?
Furthermore, even if it is agreed that an organization’s socio-environmental responsibility lies beyond local and domestic borders, should this apply to all organizations? For instance, does a homeless shelter in San Francisco have an obligation to consider homeless people (more specifically, internally displaced persons IDP) in northern Uganda? Or does the inherit nature of the organization (i.e. assisting homeless people) render it exempt from seeking to contribute to a needy population elsewhere? Is there a ‘quota’ of social and/or global responsibility that each corporation and organization should meet – whether fulfilled locally, domestically, or abroad?
The previously-quoted article from Business Monthly discusses the concept of Corporate Philanthropy. Corporate Philanthropy is the “focus on the areas where social and economic interests intersect, and apply your distinctive corporate resources, not just your money, to solving social challenges. A company’s success comes not only from what it does but from the environment in which it operates. Unless the environment is right, the company will have a hard time being competitive. Social and economic objectives are not separate.” The subject of this article seemingly echoes a similar concept: the triple bottom line.
Organizations in the globalizing world must be conscious of the economic, social, and environmental impacts of their actions and measure their profits accordingly. Measuring an organization’s success and impact with the single bottom line- economic profit- is not sustainable. As natural resources are being depleted and the value of current socio-economic resources (such as labor, and certain skills and knowledge) is diminishing, money can no longer be the sole motivating factor considered in development.
So what becomes the drive for development? Development is ultimately intended to improve quality of life through provision of basic needs, is it not? This usually takes the form of infrastructure development, which in turn allows for economic development and hopefully opportunity for increased access to employment. Employment leads to money; money buys foods, clothes, shelter, education; food, clothes, shelter, and education improve quality of life; and the whole thing should come full circle to increased development, right?
But as this cycle (ideally) rolls forward, increasing in momentum and size, it sucks in those precious limited resources leaving a barren path in its wake. Enter the concept of sustainable development, which fits quite nicely alongside the triple bottom line and Corporate Social Responsibility (among other developmental buzz-word concepts). So then what is Corporate Global Responsibility? Initially, in my mind, it was a business’ obligation to sustainable international development. But as I hash out my own perceptions, understandings, and ideas on development, I realize this concept should be broadened. Organizational Global Responsibility? No, that sounds like it pertains too closely to order and structure. Global Responsibility of Organizations (GRO)? Yeah, that’s a little catchier. Who would have thought trying to coin a buzzword via blog post would be so tough? Regardless of how it is referenced, I strongly believe that the responsibility of sustainable international development must be valued enough for installation into the existence and workings of every organization.
This thought process can- and does- go on forever. These are just a few of the thoughts that my experiences in Kenya provoke to the forefront of my view on…well…life. It’s all food for thought – I’ve been indulging and thought I would share.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
100 Liter Water "Test"
It is 6pm and the water coming out of the tap is warm enough to take a shower with. This is the third or fourth day in just this last week’s time that the water tells the story of the scorching sun, even as it begins to set behind the trees. But this is the last time I plan to be seeing water from this tap for – hopefully – a week or longer.
This last week in my town, the publicly-owned but privately-operated (as I understand it) water company exponentially increased the cost of clean, piped water. I initially heard that costs were doubled, but some people have seen their bills go from three-hundred Kenyan shillings per month to sixteen-THOUSAND.
In lieu of the immediate water crisis, as well as to quell my self-inflicted guilt from even having piped water at all, I will be trying a new water management method this week. I have a one-hundred liter reserve tank in my house that I always try to keep nearly full for the unexpected water outages that frequently occur. Starting Monday morning, I will use no other water sources than my reserve tank…and I will count the days this supply lasts me. I intend this to be an exercise not only in water conservation, but also a reminder of the importance of conscious water consumption. Too often I find myself taking advantage of the luxury of having clean, piped water at all.
It is interesting to think about how, in America and the rest of the developed world, clean water is seen as a right more so than a luxury. And it ought to go without saying that it should be a right for every person in the world. But the reality is- clean water is an ABSENT luxury for billions of people. But I guess it can often take coming half way around the world to truly recognize the gross lack of this basic human need. Situations like these seemingly jump out of the pages of National Geographic and off of the screen airing the Travel Channel, and into my life on a daily basis. Situations like these serve – with equal weight as do my encounters with Kenyans on my morning runs – in reminding me why I am here.
This last week in my town, the publicly-owned but privately-operated (as I understand it) water company exponentially increased the cost of clean, piped water. I initially heard that costs were doubled, but some people have seen their bills go from three-hundred Kenyan shillings per month to sixteen-THOUSAND.
In lieu of the immediate water crisis, as well as to quell my self-inflicted guilt from even having piped water at all, I will be trying a new water management method this week. I have a one-hundred liter reserve tank in my house that I always try to keep nearly full for the unexpected water outages that frequently occur. Starting Monday morning, I will use no other water sources than my reserve tank…and I will count the days this supply lasts me. I intend this to be an exercise not only in water conservation, but also a reminder of the importance of conscious water consumption. Too often I find myself taking advantage of the luxury of having clean, piped water at all.
It is interesting to think about how, in America and the rest of the developed world, clean water is seen as a right more so than a luxury. And it ought to go without saying that it should be a right for every person in the world. But the reality is- clean water is an ABSENT luxury for billions of people. But I guess it can often take coming half way around the world to truly recognize the gross lack of this basic human need. Situations like these seemingly jump out of the pages of National Geographic and off of the screen airing the Travel Channel, and into my life on a daily basis. Situations like these serve – with equal weight as do my encounters with Kenyans on my morning runs – in reminding me why I am here.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Perfect Morning to End the Week With
By 8am, three separate events that could have individually each made my day happened…
As I was walking to the edge of town to begin my run, the gentleman that I always see at the fruit stand that greets me in Kikamba rode past me on his bicycle, veering across the two-lane road as he turned to greet me and confirm that I would greet him last as I passed on my run. Upon arriving at his fruit stand not more than 15 minutes later, I exchanged greetings with him and his family, explaining (in the best Kiswahili I could) that I was only running a short distance this morning but trying to go faster than I usually do. Upon sharing the traditional pole (“sorry”) when I told them Nimechoka (“I am tired”), he offered me a free packet of energy powder (glucose, basically pure sugar I think) to help me. This was such a kind gesture from someone who probably barely makes a living as it is- yet he did not hesitate to give me this gift. That was the first heart-warming event of my morning. After saying goodbye, I assured them Tutaonana tena (“We will see each other again”).
A little further up the road, on the return stretch of my run, a little bare-footed girl was starting to cross into the dirt ditch off of the paved road. I was running on the other side of the ditch along a dirt road that runs parallel to the pavement. So I stopped and tried to ask her in Kiswahili Unataka nini? Unataka mimi kupata ingine kwa wewe? (“What do you want? Do you want me to get something for you?” at least this is what I was trying to convey…). She stared at me blankly, proceeded to cross the ditch, and reached up, holding my hand as she continued on her walk to school… It absolutely made my heart melt. So I have always adored children, but this little girl- who probably owns few more clothes than the tattered school uniform she was wearing- undoubtedly won my heart over the second she grabbed my hand. She acted like it was the natural thing to do in that situation and she will never know that this simple gesture meant so much to me. Upon seeing me pause my run and begin walking with this girl, a group of school children who had been walking a little ways behind, ran to catch up and walk with us. In the few minutes we shared together before they departed at the school driveway, I learned that they were going to study their favorite subject (science) today and they also enjoy learning math. Priceless interactions.
So upon arriving back to my home, I stopped by the duka (“mini-shop”) across the street from my house where I buy milk every morning. Lately, I’ve also been purchasing my eggs from Raila, the lady who owns and runs the duka. But the past few days, she has not had any eggs; I asked her if there were eggs this morning, unfortunately hakuna mayai (“there are no eggs”). I told her I would return to buy milk after washing up from my run. About 20 minutes later, I hear a knock at my door…and it was Raila with 3 eggs! She had not only gone to get me eggs, but she even brought them to my house. I did not have enough change, so I gave her a large bill and told her I would come to her duka to get the change and purchase milk in a few minutes. Ten minutes passed and I had another knock at the door…it was Raila again with my milk and change! I could not stop smiling at these kind gestures. I told her I still wanted to buy bread, though, so we walked back to her duka together and I tried to explain that I was going to make French toast and would bring her a piece to try. I felt like it was the least I could do after she had gone out of her way, unasked, twice for me just this morning. [The other morning when she did not have eggs or milk at her shop, she walked me down to another store to purchase these things.] So after cooking up my breakfast, I took her a piece of French toast with some of my maple syrup concoction on the side for her to try. I also looked up the Kiswahili words for toast, bread, eggs, milk, cinnamon, and syrup so I could explain to her how I made it. I haven’t returned to get my dish back from her yet, so I have not heard what she thought of it, but we will see! Looks like my culinary contribution to Makindu might be something with an explicitly non-American name…how ironic is that?
As I was walking to the edge of town to begin my run, the gentleman that I always see at the fruit stand that greets me in Kikamba rode past me on his bicycle, veering across the two-lane road as he turned to greet me and confirm that I would greet him last as I passed on my run. Upon arriving at his fruit stand not more than 15 minutes later, I exchanged greetings with him and his family, explaining (in the best Kiswahili I could) that I was only running a short distance this morning but trying to go faster than I usually do. Upon sharing the traditional pole (“sorry”) when I told them Nimechoka (“I am tired”), he offered me a free packet of energy powder (glucose, basically pure sugar I think) to help me. This was such a kind gesture from someone who probably barely makes a living as it is- yet he did not hesitate to give me this gift. That was the first heart-warming event of my morning. After saying goodbye, I assured them Tutaonana tena (“We will see each other again”).
A little further up the road, on the return stretch of my run, a little bare-footed girl was starting to cross into the dirt ditch off of the paved road. I was running on the other side of the ditch along a dirt road that runs parallel to the pavement. So I stopped and tried to ask her in Kiswahili Unataka nini? Unataka mimi kupata ingine kwa wewe? (“What do you want? Do you want me to get something for you?” at least this is what I was trying to convey…). She stared at me blankly, proceeded to cross the ditch, and reached up, holding my hand as she continued on her walk to school… It absolutely made my heart melt. So I have always adored children, but this little girl- who probably owns few more clothes than the tattered school uniform she was wearing- undoubtedly won my heart over the second she grabbed my hand. She acted like it was the natural thing to do in that situation and she will never know that this simple gesture meant so much to me. Upon seeing me pause my run and begin walking with this girl, a group of school children who had been walking a little ways behind, ran to catch up and walk with us. In the few minutes we shared together before they departed at the school driveway, I learned that they were going to study their favorite subject (science) today and they also enjoy learning math. Priceless interactions.
So upon arriving back to my home, I stopped by the duka (“mini-shop”) across the street from my house where I buy milk every morning. Lately, I’ve also been purchasing my eggs from Raila, the lady who owns and runs the duka. But the past few days, she has not had any eggs; I asked her if there were eggs this morning, unfortunately hakuna mayai (“there are no eggs”). I told her I would return to buy milk after washing up from my run. About 20 minutes later, I hear a knock at my door…and it was Raila with 3 eggs! She had not only gone to get me eggs, but she even brought them to my house. I did not have enough change, so I gave her a large bill and told her I would come to her duka to get the change and purchase milk in a few minutes. Ten minutes passed and I had another knock at the door…it was Raila again with my milk and change! I could not stop smiling at these kind gestures. I told her I still wanted to buy bread, though, so we walked back to her duka together and I tried to explain that I was going to make French toast and would bring her a piece to try. I felt like it was the least I could do after she had gone out of her way, unasked, twice for me just this morning. [The other morning when she did not have eggs or milk at her shop, she walked me down to another store to purchase these things.] So after cooking up my breakfast, I took her a piece of French toast with some of my maple syrup concoction on the side for her to try. I also looked up the Kiswahili words for toast, bread, eggs, milk, cinnamon, and syrup so I could explain to her how I made it. I haven’t returned to get my dish back from her yet, so I have not heard what she thought of it, but we will see! Looks like my culinary contribution to Makindu might be something with an explicitly non-American name…how ironic is that?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Appreciating a Language I Can't Understand
The entirety of my day was a re-affirmation of how unexplainably much I love being in Kenya and how immeasurably happy I am with life right now… Sounds intense, I know. And truth be told, I don’t necessarily expect everyone reading this to understand. But if you’ve ever had that feeling of “I would not trade what I’m doing in this moment for anything,” then you should understand the sentiment with which I write.
My morning started out with the best run I’ve had since being in Kenya. I casually invited a neighbor of mine to go running with me and he agreed to join me next time. So this morning, not only did I have a good running partner to accompany me, but he was a good coach- suggesting we go farther and faster than I usually do, and talking about how there are many different routes we can go as the training progresses. This only fueled my motivation and now I have a change of scenery in beautiful rural Kenyan to look forward to.
For breakfast I successfully tried cooking French toast…a nice taste of home. And thanks to family friends- a couple who previously served as Peace Corps Volunteer in central Africa 20 years ago- I was even able to make some maple syrup from the maple-extract gift I received before leaving the States!
Around 11am, I met up with another Volunteer and the two of us plus a Kenyan social worker took a matatu (mini-bus taxi) to a neighboring town about twenty minutes away. There we met with a group of guardians of children who have been orphaned due to AIDS. This group of guardians has successfully operated an income generating activity of raising goats and is now looking to take on a larger project with a greater return. So the other Volunteer and I were there to present to them the prospect of raising pigs. Now that I’ve set the scenario, I’ll explain how this meeting left me with the most incredible feeling of “this is why I’m here”…
Upon our arrival, we were warmly welcomed with the traditional Kikamba greetings. Kamba is the pre-dominant Kenyan ethnic group in my area of the Eastern Province, Kenya…the region I live in is even dubbed “Kambaland” or “Ukambani.” The smiles and looks on the faces of these beautiful, labor-worn older women and men when I correctly respond to their mother-tongue salutation are indescribable. In those few moments of shaking the hands of everyone sitting there and individually greeting each group member, I fall in love with this country and its people that much more. The meeting was conducted in Kikamba, with the social worker translating the English explanations of pig-rearing to the guardians. I barely understood any of it, but I could pick up on a word here and there because Kikamba is very similar to Kiswahili. But listening people speak what I consider a beautiful language, I further realized the significance of being here- to hear their problems, to have them teach me their language, to try to offer solutions to better their lives and the lives of their children, and to understand another person’s life in a way that can only be accomplished through experiencing a human connection.
I know that all sounds very corny, but it’s the best and only way I know how to try to describe this experience. Following the meeting, we waited by the road and luckily caught a matatu back to Makindu in less than fifteen minutes. I say “luckily” because last week, the other Volunteer had to wait TWO HOURS before anyone passed by to give her a ride back to town. I do not doubt that will happen to me sometime in the not-so-distant future...
My morning started out with the best run I’ve had since being in Kenya. I casually invited a neighbor of mine to go running with me and he agreed to join me next time. So this morning, not only did I have a good running partner to accompany me, but he was a good coach- suggesting we go farther and faster than I usually do, and talking about how there are many different routes we can go as the training progresses. This only fueled my motivation and now I have a change of scenery in beautiful rural Kenyan to look forward to.
For breakfast I successfully tried cooking French toast…a nice taste of home. And thanks to family friends- a couple who previously served as Peace Corps Volunteer in central Africa 20 years ago- I was even able to make some maple syrup from the maple-extract gift I received before leaving the States!
Around 11am, I met up with another Volunteer and the two of us plus a Kenyan social worker took a matatu (mini-bus taxi) to a neighboring town about twenty minutes away. There we met with a group of guardians of children who have been orphaned due to AIDS. This group of guardians has successfully operated an income generating activity of raising goats and is now looking to take on a larger project with a greater return. So the other Volunteer and I were there to present to them the prospect of raising pigs. Now that I’ve set the scenario, I’ll explain how this meeting left me with the most incredible feeling of “this is why I’m here”…
Upon our arrival, we were warmly welcomed with the traditional Kikamba greetings. Kamba is the pre-dominant Kenyan ethnic group in my area of the Eastern Province, Kenya…the region I live in is even dubbed “Kambaland” or “Ukambani.” The smiles and looks on the faces of these beautiful, labor-worn older women and men when I correctly respond to their mother-tongue salutation are indescribable. In those few moments of shaking the hands of everyone sitting there and individually greeting each group member, I fall in love with this country and its people that much more. The meeting was conducted in Kikamba, with the social worker translating the English explanations of pig-rearing to the guardians. I barely understood any of it, but I could pick up on a word here and there because Kikamba is very similar to Kiswahili. But listening people speak what I consider a beautiful language, I further realized the significance of being here- to hear their problems, to have them teach me their language, to try to offer solutions to better their lives and the lives of their children, and to understand another person’s life in a way that can only be accomplished through experiencing a human connection.
I know that all sounds very corny, but it’s the best and only way I know how to try to describe this experience. Following the meeting, we waited by the road and luckily caught a matatu back to Makindu in less than fifteen minutes. I say “luckily” because last week, the other Volunteer had to wait TWO HOURS before anyone passed by to give her a ride back to town. I do not doubt that will happen to me sometime in the not-so-distant future...
Monday, February 16, 2009
Beginning the Beautification Process...
It was a great weekend! Saturday gave me time to relax, clean my house, and read all day, which was nice. (Oh, and Happy Belated Valentine’s Day!) Sunday morning, another Volunteer and I picked up trash with about 15 students from the boarding school near my house for about 3 hours. It was a great opportunity to clean up the compound, spend some time with the kids involving them in a meaningful activity, and to talk to them about the importance of garbage collection.
It was interesting trying to explain the importance of not littering for the sake of animals’ well-being, though. How do you justify going out of your way to put a plastic bag in a pit in order to protect a random, wild animal when the majority of people could not care less about treating a dog well? We tried to find an example that would connect with the students’ lives…so I settled on goats, chicken, and cows because these animals are often kept for income generating purposes and food. I tried to explain how a chicken could accidentally eat a plastic bag and die, then how what would the students and their families eat for dinner and if they could not sell the poultry, how would they pay for school fees and such? They all nodded their head in agreement and (hopefully) understanding.
Picking up trash with the kids was also a good opportunity to dispel some myths about HIV transmission. It was made a point to clarify that HIV cannot be contracted through touching the garbage of someone who is living with HIV/AIDS. There are so many myths about HIV transmission and I hope that these few, short conversations will at least begin a dialogue between people and foster a greater understanding in hopes of gradually breaking down the stigma surrounding HIV/AIDS and furthering people’s empowerment in prevention.
It was interesting trying to explain the importance of not littering for the sake of animals’ well-being, though. How do you justify going out of your way to put a plastic bag in a pit in order to protect a random, wild animal when the majority of people could not care less about treating a dog well? We tried to find an example that would connect with the students’ lives…so I settled on goats, chicken, and cows because these animals are often kept for income generating purposes and food. I tried to explain how a chicken could accidentally eat a plastic bag and die, then how what would the students and their families eat for dinner and if they could not sell the poultry, how would they pay for school fees and such? They all nodded their head in agreement and (hopefully) understanding.
Picking up trash with the kids was also a good opportunity to dispel some myths about HIV transmission. It was made a point to clarify that HIV cannot be contracted through touching the garbage of someone who is living with HIV/AIDS. There are so many myths about HIV transmission and I hope that these few, short conversations will at least begin a dialogue between people and foster a greater understanding in hopes of gradually breaking down the stigma surrounding HIV/AIDS and furthering people’s empowerment in prevention.
Friday, February 13, 2009
First (Cliche) Post
So let me start this blog off in a very cliche manner... "My name is Erin. I am a 21 year old Peace Corps Volunteer in Kenya. This is the first time I've kept a blog." Ok, now for something a little less superficial. I've decided to start the blog for three main reasons...
(1) to keep everyone who is interested informed about my life in Kenya; hence the name of the blog, "Maisha Yangu Katika Kenya" literally means "My Life in Kenya"... really original, I know
(2) so I can have a diary of my daily events, and
(3) because journaling has always been therapeutic for me, so I figure blogging with have some of the same perks.
I will write a post that gives a better background of my current situation soon, but for now I'm going to tell a little story. This is actually what prompted me to really start writing a blog. I created a blog account yesterday with the intention of deciding in time whether to actively write posts, but this mornings' events made me realize that there are so many little situations that I want to share with people, most of which are hard to remember when I'm writing my monthly mass emails or days later when I'm writing letters home. But this blog will allow me to get these stories and experiences down not long after they've happened. Ok, so the story...
My biggest "test" of self-assurance and confidence comes at 6:30am, about four times a week. Even though people do not usually run for exercise in most parts of Kenya, I did not want to compromise this stress-relief activity that is important to me. After a week at my site, I started running laps around the soccer (football) field next to my home. As for the "test" of being secure with myself, I constantly have to remind myself not to care about how strange it must look that I'm out there...running (for no apparent reason) in circles. And I say "for no apparent reason" because I have been told on multiple occassions that when someone is seen running, people's initial reaction is that they are running from something. I have actually been asked on multiple occassions if "everything's ok" when I'm running. One time, a police officer even offered to escort me; I assured him that I was fine and continued running. So this morning, I had a realization moment (I have many of these every week, if not day; they are gentle reminders that, "yes, Erin, you are in another country"). After about 10 minutes of running, I looked up an saw a group of about 7 young men sitting on the back step of a nearby house, just watching me run. It was like they were watching a sports event, just relaxing and taking in the entertainment. One of them had even walked a little closer and was standing with a cup of coffee, just looking on. Interesting, huh? And the thing is, they weren't making me uncomfortable or bothering me in any way, but simply found it an interesting way to pass the time. So every morning that I go running, I now understand how it must feel to be a professional athlete, knowing that people are entertained enough to just watch... Well, minus the free gear from sponsors, fame and celebrity status, and often very large paycheck that allows for early retirement. I'll just have to remember to keep my "Volunteer" status in mind when day-dreaming about my cheering fans and swelling bank account.
So I hope this blog serves as a good way to keep people updated on my life, as well as to stay in touch with everyone...
Best, Erin
(1) to keep everyone who is interested informed about my life in Kenya; hence the name of the blog, "Maisha Yangu Katika Kenya" literally means "My Life in Kenya"... really original, I know
(2) so I can have a diary of my daily events, and
(3) because journaling has always been therapeutic for me, so I figure blogging with have some of the same perks.
I will write a post that gives a better background of my current situation soon, but for now I'm going to tell a little story. This is actually what prompted me to really start writing a blog. I created a blog account yesterday with the intention of deciding in time whether to actively write posts, but this mornings' events made me realize that there are so many little situations that I want to share with people, most of which are hard to remember when I'm writing my monthly mass emails or days later when I'm writing letters home. But this blog will allow me to get these stories and experiences down not long after they've happened. Ok, so the story...
My biggest "test" of self-assurance and confidence comes at 6:30am, about four times a week. Even though people do not usually run for exercise in most parts of Kenya, I did not want to compromise this stress-relief activity that is important to me. After a week at my site, I started running laps around the soccer (football) field next to my home. As for the "test" of being secure with myself, I constantly have to remind myself not to care about how strange it must look that I'm out there...running (for no apparent reason) in circles. And I say "for no apparent reason" because I have been told on multiple occassions that when someone is seen running, people's initial reaction is that they are running from something. I have actually been asked on multiple occassions if "everything's ok" when I'm running. One time, a police officer even offered to escort me; I assured him that I was fine and continued running. So this morning, I had a realization moment (I have many of these every week, if not day; they are gentle reminders that, "yes, Erin, you are in another country"). After about 10 minutes of running, I looked up an saw a group of about 7 young men sitting on the back step of a nearby house, just watching me run. It was like they were watching a sports event, just relaxing and taking in the entertainment. One of them had even walked a little closer and was standing with a cup of coffee, just looking on. Interesting, huh? And the thing is, they weren't making me uncomfortable or bothering me in any way, but simply found it an interesting way to pass the time. So every morning that I go running, I now understand how it must feel to be a professional athlete, knowing that people are entertained enough to just watch... Well, minus the free gear from sponsors, fame and celebrity status, and often very large paycheck that allows for early retirement. I'll just have to remember to keep my "Volunteer" status in mind when day-dreaming about my cheering fans and swelling bank account.
So I hope this blog serves as a good way to keep people updated on my life, as well as to stay in touch with everyone...
Best, Erin
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