Oh boy! I'm all checked in at my gate! I got here about 3.5 hours early, and of course when you're early everything goes well. It's only when you're running late that you miss your turn, or there is a long line at customs. I've traipsed the terminal but all they have are way over priced souvenir shops and duty free areas with cartons of cigarettes larger than the average coffin. They also have little restaurants. I checked one out to see if they had any mendazi and they did, well, they "did." If you count it if it was packaged in plastic with nutritional information on it. Ahem, the real deal is never more than a few hours old, and must come from a cafe full of old men sipping broth from a bowl. Please. You, airport, can keep your fake mendazi.
I'm kind of anxious about the souvenirs I packed. There are a lot of little wooden things. Things with handles. Things with tusks. I have this big, beautiful stone chess board that I'm most worried about. I know all about bending moments and torque! I packed it surrounded by clothes to cushion, and then books to prevent bending. I made little short cylinders out of newspaper because we did a crash lab last term, using paper cylinders as a bumper on a little car. It worked well then, and I'm hoping for similar impact absorption in my suitcase. Whoever said the things you learn in science classes you never use in real life has obviously never made it home with an intact chess board! I should probably not brag about my packing method until I get home with it in one piece.
Oh, also, somebody ring the wedding bells because I am officially certified as marriage ready. That's right, I made chapati by myself last night. And they were delicious. Kay told me that a good wife makes good chapati. This is a skill that will be boasted on many a future match.com profile, I'm sure. We also had cabbage and potatoes, my favourite meal. I ate so much. I'm bringing home some Royco so I can make it for whoever to try. Royco is this spice that is advertised heavily and only sold in Kenya. Their slogan is, "Royco, for the tastiest getheri ever" and whenever I see a billboard with this slogan, I say it aloud in the same voice as the lady from the radio. I'm sure it's annoying to all other passengers in the car. Royco should hire me. Oh, family, also I'm bringing home some chapati, too. It'll still be fresh.
Last night, after the aforementioned epicurean (I have no spell check, sorry) binge, I woke up around midnight feeling a little sick. Wouldn't it be so funny if after 3 months of fairly good health, I fell sick on the final day? Yes. Hilarious. And by funny I mean the worst ever. And by hilarious I mean woe to me. Luckily, I think it was just over excitement to come home. I got so many people such good presents that I can't wait to deliver! Also, showering! With hot water! I'll be home in about 21 hours and I'm so excited to be greeted at the airport. See you soon!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Malaria!?
I've been keeping a list of things that I packed that ended up being totally frivolous. On that list is: a travel sized bottle of hair conditioner, (please, as if I even get around to shampooing more than twice a week) and this fancy pants running shirt that I bought when I was being a fancy pants runner by going running outdoors even in cold weather. Then I got tendonitis and the next year I got a gym membership, and thus ended my career as a runner who runs outside in the cold. However, I had been told that it gets cold here in Africa during July, especially up in the mountains. Two sisters I know told me that they even ended up having to share a bed because it was too cold to sleep alone- they came to this same exact place last summer. After this story, I considered bringing a toque and mittens, but was laughed at by everybody in the universe, including myself. Mittens in Kenya? That's near the equator. Silly girl. Anyway, I packed this thermal running shirt for just in casies. Like for pyjamas or something. Until today it had remained on my list of things I shouldn't have packed. But today it proved its worth. I've been wearing it, with a t-shirt and a sweater, all day.
But still, while cooking lunch I was shivering like crazy. Like the kind of cold when you feel moderately certain that you can feel your bone marrow solidifying. Usually I tease people for being cold- other than at night when it really is cold- and boast my tenacious Canadian blood. There was no reason that I should suddenly be so affected by the temperature. That I was cold was unusual, and as I stirred the cabbage, I realised I wasn't even hungry for it. Not hungry for cabbage? Now that smacks of mystery.
Holy goodness, I suddenly realised, I've had two days of diarrhea and I've already taken 4 Advils for this dumb, persistent headache! I DEFINITELY HAVE MALARIA.
While my insolent little phone browser can't support the java on webmd.com's site (the prefered online destination for hypochondriacs everywhere), I still found ample information to confirm my self diagnosis. Did you know that even when taking the most expensive preventative drug, which I am, you can still get malaria? Did you know that even if you live way up in the mountains, where they say there are no mosquitoes, in the coldest month in Africa, when they say there are negative numbers of mosquitoes, that you can still get malaria? For example, we went to the doctor's house for dinner on Monday, and two of his daughters where at the vomiting stage of having malaria. NEVER SAY NEVER TO MALARIA. Did you know that? Also, if you experience flu like symptoms even up to a year after travel, you should consult a physician, because malaria can lie dormant for 12 months. KNOWLEDGE SAVES. The internet can save your life. Anyway, so once I was sure that I was infected, I created a treatment plan. It went like this: tell no one or else they might not let you fly home on Tuesday. Deal with it upon return to Canada.
Just one thing was missing from my diagnosis- a fever. I went to the hospital, conveniently located right beside my house, and asked for a thermometer. 35.9. Totally healtly. CLOSE ONE. I'll still keep an eye on those other symptoms, but I think I'll be okay. Also, don't tell the border patrol people, just in case. I really want back in my country.
But still, while cooking lunch I was shivering like crazy. Like the kind of cold when you feel moderately certain that you can feel your bone marrow solidifying. Usually I tease people for being cold- other than at night when it really is cold- and boast my tenacious Canadian blood. There was no reason that I should suddenly be so affected by the temperature. That I was cold was unusual, and as I stirred the cabbage, I realised I wasn't even hungry for it. Not hungry for cabbage? Now that smacks of mystery.
Holy goodness, I suddenly realised, I've had two days of diarrhea and I've already taken 4 Advils for this dumb, persistent headache! I DEFINITELY HAVE MALARIA.
While my insolent little phone browser can't support the java on webmd.com's site (the prefered online destination for hypochondriacs everywhere), I still found ample information to confirm my self diagnosis. Did you know that even when taking the most expensive preventative drug, which I am, you can still get malaria? Did you know that even if you live way up in the mountains, where they say there are no mosquitoes, in the coldest month in Africa, when they say there are negative numbers of mosquitoes, that you can still get malaria? For example, we went to the doctor's house for dinner on Monday, and two of his daughters where at the vomiting stage of having malaria. NEVER SAY NEVER TO MALARIA. Did you know that? Also, if you experience flu like symptoms even up to a year after travel, you should consult a physician, because malaria can lie dormant for 12 months. KNOWLEDGE SAVES. The internet can save your life. Anyway, so once I was sure that I was infected, I created a treatment plan. It went like this: tell no one or else they might not let you fly home on Tuesday. Deal with it upon return to Canada.
Just one thing was missing from my diagnosis- a fever. I went to the hospital, conveniently located right beside my house, and asked for a thermometer. 35.9. Totally healtly. CLOSE ONE. I'll still keep an eye on those other symptoms, but I think I'll be okay. Also, don't tell the border patrol people, just in case. I really want back in my country.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Ready To Go songs
They say the fogs come to the mountains in July, and today the weather verified that claim. In the morning, its so foggy that you can't see more than a few metres in front of you. You hear footsteps approaching on the path long before you see the owner of the feet.
As the day goes on, the fog eventually goes away, and around midday there are some really beautiful pictures begging to be taken. There's a giant church right near my house, and the fog makes the lines seem a bit blurred so that the whole thing looks like something out of Super Mario level 7. You know what I'm talking about. The castle level. It's pretty cool, and I've kind of gotten a little artsy with the angles. The white makes an awesome backlight for silhouette shots. (Aside to my cousin Britt, your CD has been great inspiration, too!) I think I'm going to have to start saving up/asking for a DSLR as a graduation present or something. Just 9 months away!
Both my exams have already been written, so I'm just spending the next few days marking them. So far I've been really impressed. In physics there is a 99% and an 100%! On Friday they're having a farewell lunch for me, and then I'm off to Kikima for the weekend, then on Sunday I head to Nairobi. Then, on Tuesday I fly home! I'm only here at school for two more nights, which is soon but also a while.
On the final day of a certain somebody else's visit, the certain somebody else was humming John Legend's "Ready to Go Right Now" ALL DAY (but it's okay, but I like that song), but now I totally get it because I've been singing Rilo Kiley's "Pictures of Success" all day. (Chorus is: "I'm ready to go" over and over) And I've still got a week go to! By the way, that's a fantastic song, so you should go love it.
I'm getting pretty excited to catch up on all the music that came out this summer. I also realized I have THREE MONTHS worth of xkcd to read! The only thing more exciting than that is lasagna, vegetables on the barbeque, ice cream, and nachos. Actually, let's get real here. I can't wait for fast internet most of all. Oh, and to wash my Achilles heel. Those babies are crusty with perma-dirt. Um, I mean, most important is all the people I love and miss.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Treats, and other food topics
My darling, darling, darling sister sent me a package of treats. A slew of Trader Joe's finest: honey sesame cashews, cranberry almond trail mix, dark chocolate and macadamia cookies, and so so so many other delights. What a gal, am I right? She also sent me a usb key full of the songs we've sung in choir, and lots of country. There is no country music here. Maybe I'll teach them some basic line dance moves! I'm excited to play all this music for them.
Tonight for dinner, Winnie and I were invited over to James' house. It is with guilt that I admit that I have come to inwardly groan whenever I am invited as a guest of honour. People like to slaughter goats and chickens and then I feel really bad for not eating them. One time, a friend was like, "and here is the meat from the goat's head! Special just for you!" and Eric and I were like, "oh, that looks great, but also, this rice is divine, so I think I'll fill up with it! Thank you!" So I hope James doesn't go to much trouble. I know that slaughtering a whole animal or making chipati are symbols to show a guest they are important, due to the monetary and time expenses, respectively. I feel so awkward when I know somebody has gone to great expense. Although I do love me some chipati, not gonna lie.
I leave next Tuesday morning, which means it's probably high time to start an hourly count down. 182 hours. We've got lots of food left in the cupboard, so I think my last grocery trip has been made. It's going to be a rice heavy week, though. Oh, also, the water pump has broken and won't be fixed for a few weeks, so the water that's remaining in our reservoir tank is all that's left for the week. We can get more, but it won't be in the taps. That means that today was my last cold shower! (From here on out, it's cold baths!)
Tonight for dinner, Winnie and I were invited over to James' house. It is with guilt that I admit that I have come to inwardly groan whenever I am invited as a guest of honour. People like to slaughter goats and chickens and then I feel really bad for not eating them. One time, a friend was like, "and here is the meat from the goat's head! Special just for you!" and Eric and I were like, "oh, that looks great, but also, this rice is divine, so I think I'll fill up with it! Thank you!" So I hope James doesn't go to much trouble. I know that slaughtering a whole animal or making chipati are symbols to show a guest they are important, due to the monetary and time expenses, respectively. I feel so awkward when I know somebody has gone to great expense. Although I do love me some chipati, not gonna lie.
I leave next Tuesday morning, which means it's probably high time to start an hourly count down. 182 hours. We've got lots of food left in the cupboard, so I think my last grocery trip has been made. It's going to be a rice heavy week, though. Oh, also, the water pump has broken and won't be fixed for a few weeks, so the water that's remaining in our reservoir tank is all that's left for the week. We can get more, but it won't be in the taps. That means that today was my last cold shower! (From here on out, it's cold baths!)
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Matatu names
Not to brag or anything, but I'm practically a hero at taking matatus by now. I'm on yet another one, heading back to school for my final week. I'm in the front, even though the front fills up first, and we were here a bit late. But it was Elijah that took me to the depot, and that guy has an in with everybody in the world.
After Saturday's escapade, I'm a mat veteran, and I feel that my experience now qualifies me to make a list of the best matatu names. Every bus has some words written on the back, in flashy, colourful letters that a marketing exec from the late 90s would have touted as a sans serif that really appeals to the youth mixed with Fresh Prince era wholesome graffiti-style font. I love it. Many names are just reminicent of Catholic high schools, like Merciful Redeemer, or He Gave His Only Son, and many have animal names like The Hyena. A few get more original like, OBSESSION or Sports Rally, but my favourites by far are:
4. Father, Forgive Them
3. u hit us, WE HIT U
2. Balancing Equations
1. SKIRMISHES!!
After Saturday's escapade, I'm a mat veteran, and I feel that my experience now qualifies me to make a list of the best matatu names. Every bus has some words written on the back, in flashy, colourful letters that a marketing exec from the late 90s would have touted as a sans serif that really appeals to the youth mixed with Fresh Prince era wholesome graffiti-style font. I love it. Many names are just reminicent of Catholic high schools, like Merciful Redeemer, or He Gave His Only Son, and many have animal names like The Hyena. A few get more original like, OBSESSION or Sports Rally, but my favourites by far are:
4. Father, Forgive Them
3. u hit us, WE HIT U
2. Balancing Equations
1. SKIRMISHES!!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Masai market
Today after lunch, Kay and I headed downtown to go to Masai market. It's a twice a week open air market about 2 city blocks large, selling mostly souvenir type things. So many white people!
Okay first of all, I swear 90% of the white people here are blond. I claim to know why, but it's just the strange truth. There are some couples, but mostly they seem to travel in small groups of girls. There's basically a uniform that all the females, myself included, wear. Hair in a messy ponytail bun and a hair band. Loose, light weight long shorts (shpants, if you will), and either a tank top or a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Then Birkenstocks, Chacos, or other gait-considerate sandals. When chilly, a fleece zip up from North Face or MEC. It really is a uniform.
At the market you're supposed to haggle the prices. Everyone knows you never pay more than half their original price, right? Wrong. I rather enjoyed watching some tourists get totally destroyed. The guy would say 800 shillings, and they'd be like, "um, do you think 750 would be alright?" They always looked super uncomfortable. They're also a bunch of stereotypical liberals, and when I make fun of them, I'm totally making fun of myself but it was just so funny. I overheard one person talking to a man who was just trying to sell her something, telling him all about how she volunteered for the Obama campaign, another talking about how much she missed organic fruit, and THREE people asked the vendor if the person who made the souvenir got paid a fair wage. A lot of unctuous self righteousness, but whatever. I think a lot of "well travelled" people tend to be self righteous, probably because they think that since they've been somewhere, they understand it. Anyway, the stereotype is so funny when it's true.
When it comes to haggling, I hate not getting a good deal. If I had money to burn, I'm still not sure I'd be able to resist the allure of saving just 50 cents more. It was great to have Kay with me...they vendors would talk in Swahili, and Kay would translate for me, so I would know they were being fair. They didn't realise she wasn't a tourist, I guess. I'm also really good at acting disinterested, and just walking away. They always run after you, giving you the price you want. My best deals were a leather pencil case, from 800 to 200 shillings, and a necklace from 400 to 75. I'm that good. Okay, and Kay helped. She told me that some of the vendors were being kind of mean to her, asking why she would help a white person save money instead of helping a Kenyan make money.
But I got lots of good stuff, and many of you have exciting times to which to look forward! Then Kay and I got ice cream and took a matatu home. Hamburgers yesterday, ice cream today? Maybe Nairobi isn't so bad after all!
Okay first of all, I swear 90% of the white people here are blond. I claim to know why, but it's just the strange truth. There are some couples, but mostly they seem to travel in small groups of girls. There's basically a uniform that all the females, myself included, wear. Hair in a messy ponytail bun and a hair band. Loose, light weight long shorts (shpants, if you will), and either a tank top or a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Then Birkenstocks, Chacos, or other gait-considerate sandals. When chilly, a fleece zip up from North Face or MEC. It really is a uniform.
At the market you're supposed to haggle the prices. Everyone knows you never pay more than half their original price, right? Wrong. I rather enjoyed watching some tourists get totally destroyed. The guy would say 800 shillings, and they'd be like, "um, do you think 750 would be alright?" They always looked super uncomfortable. They're also a bunch of stereotypical liberals, and when I make fun of them, I'm totally making fun of myself but it was just so funny. I overheard one person talking to a man who was just trying to sell her something, telling him all about how she volunteered for the Obama campaign, another talking about how much she missed organic fruit, and THREE people asked the vendor if the person who made the souvenir got paid a fair wage. A lot of unctuous self righteousness, but whatever. I think a lot of "well travelled" people tend to be self righteous, probably because they think that since they've been somewhere, they understand it. Anyway, the stereotype is so funny when it's true.
When it comes to haggling, I hate not getting a good deal. If I had money to burn, I'm still not sure I'd be able to resist the allure of saving just 50 cents more. It was great to have Kay with me...they vendors would talk in Swahili, and Kay would translate for me, so I would know they were being fair. They didn't realise she wasn't a tourist, I guess. I'm also really good at acting disinterested, and just walking away. They always run after you, giving you the price you want. My best deals were a leather pencil case, from 800 to 200 shillings, and a necklace from 400 to 75. I'm that good. Okay, and Kay helped. She told me that some of the vendors were being kind of mean to her, asking why she would help a white person save money instead of helping a Kenyan make money.
But I got lots of good stuff, and many of you have exciting times to which to look forward! Then Kay and I got ice cream and took a matatu home. Hamburgers yesterday, ice cream today? Maybe Nairobi isn't so bad after all!
Friday, July 17, 2009
Lost in Nairobi
Yesterday I took a matatu from school to Kikima. It's a trip I've made a million times with other people, but yesterday was my maiden solo voyage. I met with Henry in town, and it was all okay.
I took the day off teaching today, and travelled to Nairobi. Very early this morning I took a matatu from Kikima to Machakos, and it was smooth sailing. I got the front seat, and when there is a white person in the front, the police seem to decide not to pull up over and ask for a bribe. The plan was to meet Elijah in Machakos, because it's really hard to figure out transfers. Nothing is marked, and all the matatu conductors sprint over, sometimes grabbing at your sleeve, trying to get you to choose their matatu despite the fact that it's not headed to your repeatedly stated destination. In Kikima though, Henry knew somebody on the bus who was also going to Nairobi, and she said she'd help me, so I told Elijah not to worry about it. We're going to call this woman, W1.
As we approach the city centre, I'm just about to congratulate myself for traveling alone in a foreign country, when W1 asks the conductor a question. He answers shiftily, and W1 says, "they cheated us!" The mat was stuck in traffic, so we jump off. W1 quickly explains that they aren't headed to the specific station at which I need to meet Kay, even though they said they were when we got on. She grabs the arm of a random woman passing by, explains the situation, and asks her to walk me to my station. Then the traffic starts to move, so she jumps back on the matatu while calling out, "she doesn't speak Swahili!"
The new woman, W2, looks at me for a moment and then beckons for me to follow. This is sort of when I realized maybe I wasn't in the best of situations. I decide to enact my most effective emergency contingency plan, called Trust Only Women. You may call this plan sexist, but I call it provident and safe. I know I'm generalising, but I find that women can be counted on to help other women, you know? W2 told me she was heading in that direction, but not all the way. At a junction, she tried to pass me off to a man that was headed there, but I didn't leave her. Later W2 passed me off to W3, who spoke even less English. Around this time, I started to get the feeling that we were no longer in the better part of town. And later still, we were it a part of town that made the bad part of town look celestial. Oh man.
W3 and I finally arrived at the station where I was apparently supposed to meet Kay. But then W3 had to catch her own bus. Kay had told me that often in Nairobi, people steal cell phones from right out of your hand while you talk, which is why I hadn't used it so far. But I got Kay on the phone and gave it to W3 to explain our location. Turns out I'm at the totally wrong spot, but Kay knew where I was and would come find me. W3 leaves, but W4-7 are sitting on some pavement. They over heard the Swahili exchange, I guess, so they kindly invited me to sit on the pavement while I waited. They actually even got out a piece of cardboard so my princess of a bum didn't gave to sit on the pavement. Nice, but kind of funny, gesture.
Eventually I realise that if so many people are starting at me, nobody is going to steal my phone. So I call Kay often, and I feel safe. Eventually she finds me, and all is well!
I'm proud that I didn't even freak out a little bit. I gave myself a few "don't worry yet, Lisey" talks, and really, I didn't feel that the situation ever reached levels of exigency. Kay says the drivers often lie about their destination, just to get another fare. So mean, right? But whenever she tells somebody where she eventually found me, their eyes pop. Kay says she has only been to that side of town once before. Since I'm okay, it's a hilarious story now. While I was still complacent and on the matatu, we drove past one of those air conditioned big, clean tour buses. There was an African driver, then about 12 people who looked about my age in the back. They had some luggage piled up, too. I felt a slight twinge of jealously at all the comraderie, but then I was like, "uh, I'm taking a matatu, and at best those guys get to look out a window. This is the real deal." However, by the end of the escapade, I was back to being jealous. But now that I'm found and safe, I'm back to being snooty.
Spurred my newfound Evil Kinevil life out look, I kept living on the edge all day. Kay and I ate lunch out, and I got a hamburger. And I didn't take off the pickles and lettuce. And later I ate an apple with out peeling it. RAW FRUITS AND VEGETABLES, PEOPLE. (I know, I know, it's really common for otherwise healthy travellers to get sick at the end of their trips once they ease up on being so careful about what they eat. And Eric, I'll check my inbox for a reprimanding email from you. But that burger was GOOD and I am still fine.) Bring it on, Kenya.
I took the day off teaching today, and travelled to Nairobi. Very early this morning I took a matatu from Kikima to Machakos, and it was smooth sailing. I got the front seat, and when there is a white person in the front, the police seem to decide not to pull up over and ask for a bribe. The plan was to meet Elijah in Machakos, because it's really hard to figure out transfers. Nothing is marked, and all the matatu conductors sprint over, sometimes grabbing at your sleeve, trying to get you to choose their matatu despite the fact that it's not headed to your repeatedly stated destination. In Kikima though, Henry knew somebody on the bus who was also going to Nairobi, and she said she'd help me, so I told Elijah not to worry about it. We're going to call this woman, W1.
As we approach the city centre, I'm just about to congratulate myself for traveling alone in a foreign country, when W1 asks the conductor a question. He answers shiftily, and W1 says, "they cheated us!" The mat was stuck in traffic, so we jump off. W1 quickly explains that they aren't headed to the specific station at which I need to meet Kay, even though they said they were when we got on. She grabs the arm of a random woman passing by, explains the situation, and asks her to walk me to my station. Then the traffic starts to move, so she jumps back on the matatu while calling out, "she doesn't speak Swahili!"
The new woman, W2, looks at me for a moment and then beckons for me to follow. This is sort of when I realized maybe I wasn't in the best of situations. I decide to enact my most effective emergency contingency plan, called Trust Only Women. You may call this plan sexist, but I call it provident and safe. I know I'm generalising, but I find that women can be counted on to help other women, you know? W2 told me she was heading in that direction, but not all the way. At a junction, she tried to pass me off to a man that was headed there, but I didn't leave her. Later W2 passed me off to W3, who spoke even less English. Around this time, I started to get the feeling that we were no longer in the better part of town. And later still, we were it a part of town that made the bad part of town look celestial. Oh man.
W3 and I finally arrived at the station where I was apparently supposed to meet Kay. But then W3 had to catch her own bus. Kay had told me that often in Nairobi, people steal cell phones from right out of your hand while you talk, which is why I hadn't used it so far. But I got Kay on the phone and gave it to W3 to explain our location. Turns out I'm at the totally wrong spot, but Kay knew where I was and would come find me. W3 leaves, but W4-7 are sitting on some pavement. They over heard the Swahili exchange, I guess, so they kindly invited me to sit on the pavement while I waited. They actually even got out a piece of cardboard so my princess of a bum didn't gave to sit on the pavement. Nice, but kind of funny, gesture.
Eventually I realise that if so many people are starting at me, nobody is going to steal my phone. So I call Kay often, and I feel safe. Eventually she finds me, and all is well!
I'm proud that I didn't even freak out a little bit. I gave myself a few "don't worry yet, Lisey" talks, and really, I didn't feel that the situation ever reached levels of exigency. Kay says the drivers often lie about their destination, just to get another fare. So mean, right? But whenever she tells somebody where she eventually found me, their eyes pop. Kay says she has only been to that side of town once before. Since I'm okay, it's a hilarious story now. While I was still complacent and on the matatu, we drove past one of those air conditioned big, clean tour buses. There was an African driver, then about 12 people who looked about my age in the back. They had some luggage piled up, too. I felt a slight twinge of jealously at all the comraderie, but then I was like, "uh, I'm taking a matatu, and at best those guys get to look out a window. This is the real deal." However, by the end of the escapade, I was back to being jealous. But now that I'm found and safe, I'm back to being snooty.
Spurred my newfound Evil Kinevil life out look, I kept living on the edge all day. Kay and I ate lunch out, and I got a hamburger. And I didn't take off the pickles and lettuce. And later I ate an apple with out peeling it. RAW FRUITS AND VEGETABLES, PEOPLE. (I know, I know, it's really common for otherwise healthy travellers to get sick at the end of their trips once they ease up on being so careful about what they eat. And Eric, I'll check my inbox for a reprimanding email from you. But that burger was GOOD and I am still fine.) Bring it on, Kenya.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Primary School Kids
The kids from the nearby primary school are the best. At lunch, they’re out on break when I walk past on my way home to eat, and they’ve always got creative new things to shout out at my as I pass. “Muzungu!” or, “how are youuuuu” then the next week, “goooood morning!” (where good rhymes with food), and eventually they’ve moved on to things like, “you are beautiful!”. “you are smart!”(where smart rhymes with cat) and even, my personal favourite, “we love you so much!” It makes a girl’s day to have 100 small Kenyans shout amorous proclamations at the top of their lungs.
I guess I should mention that there seems to be a local grammatical deficiency in the area of superlatives, like when Winnie asked me if there was a difference between dislike and hate. I told her yeah, it’s like the difference between like and love. When she asked me to clarify the difference between like and love, I thought for a moment that maybe the kids didn’t feel as ardently as their vocab choices might imply… but no, certainly they mean love. Don’t you think?
Last week another primary school was visiting. They ate lunch on the church yard, and my regular primary kids at lunch on their school yard. The fences of the yards line the walk way to my house, so as I walked home, there were kids crowding the fences on both sides. My kids were particularly possessive, and when the visiting kids in unison yelled, “what is your name!” my kids shouted back, also in unison, “her name is Mrs. Farlow and she is from Canada!” (I can’t get them to stop with the Mrs, but at least they no longer tell me that I’m from Japan)
When I go running in the morning before school, I always end up with a herd of kids running beside me. With backpacks and bare feet, they just run beside me. They never say anything. I bet that on the mornings I go running, the number of late students is at least halved. I feel a little bit like the pied piper.
Today I headed over to the shops to pick up some chipati for dinner, just as the choir kids finished their practice. They won some local tournament, so they’re heading to the big city (by big, I mean Machakos) in August for the finals. They practice every day, and they’re actually really good. I would totally go cheer for them, except for that I’LL BE HOME BY THEN! (less than 2 weeks now!) The walk to the shops is about ten minutes, and the entire time the choir gaggle giggled non-stop. Then the boldest girl, a tiny one who I often see challenging boys to foot races, would ask a question like, “where are you going?” and when I answered, “the shops!” they would all repeat my answer as if it were the most absurd thing ever. “THE SHOPS!!! THE SHOPS!” And once they had caught their breath, the girl would ask another question.
“What is your English name?”
“Lisa!”
“LISA!!! HER NAME IS LISA!!! LISA!”
And then I would ask a question, like how far their walk home is. They’d all waffle until the little brave one would shout an absurd answer, like “A THOUSAND MINUTES!” and they would all laugh in the same way they laughed at my absurd answers. Then the little ring leader would sprint off, apparently embarrassed by her own wit, until the laughing had calmed. I noticed that two girls looked alike, so I asked if they were sister. The ring leader shouted, “NO, THEY ARE BROTHERS!” and dashed off again. Almost everybody has as shaved head, so I looked again, but no, they were wearing the girl uniform (that is, a skirt).
I like the primary school kids a lot. It’s too bad there are so many of them (8 classes of about 30) because I’d have liked to have spent time with them, or give them candy on my last day or something. Either way. Hilarious kids.
I guess I should mention that there seems to be a local grammatical deficiency in the area of superlatives, like when Winnie asked me if there was a difference between dislike and hate. I told her yeah, it’s like the difference between like and love. When she asked me to clarify the difference between like and love, I thought for a moment that maybe the kids didn’t feel as ardently as their vocab choices might imply… but no, certainly they mean love. Don’t you think?
Last week another primary school was visiting. They ate lunch on the church yard, and my regular primary kids at lunch on their school yard. The fences of the yards line the walk way to my house, so as I walked home, there were kids crowding the fences on both sides. My kids were particularly possessive, and when the visiting kids in unison yelled, “what is your name!” my kids shouted back, also in unison, “her name is Mrs. Farlow and she is from Canada!” (I can’t get them to stop with the Mrs, but at least they no longer tell me that I’m from Japan)
When I go running in the morning before school, I always end up with a herd of kids running beside me. With backpacks and bare feet, they just run beside me. They never say anything. I bet that on the mornings I go running, the number of late students is at least halved. I feel a little bit like the pied piper.
Today I headed over to the shops to pick up some chipati for dinner, just as the choir kids finished their practice. They won some local tournament, so they’re heading to the big city (by big, I mean Machakos) in August for the finals. They practice every day, and they’re actually really good. I would totally go cheer for them, except for that I’LL BE HOME BY THEN! (less than 2 weeks now!) The walk to the shops is about ten minutes, and the entire time the choir gaggle giggled non-stop. Then the boldest girl, a tiny one who I often see challenging boys to foot races, would ask a question like, “where are you going?” and when I answered, “the shops!” they would all repeat my answer as if it were the most absurd thing ever. “THE SHOPS!!! THE SHOPS!” And once they had caught their breath, the girl would ask another question.
“What is your English name?”
“Lisa!”
“LISA!!! HER NAME IS LISA!!! LISA!”
And then I would ask a question, like how far their walk home is. They’d all waffle until the little brave one would shout an absurd answer, like “A THOUSAND MINUTES!” and they would all laugh in the same way they laughed at my absurd answers. Then the little ring leader would sprint off, apparently embarrassed by her own wit, until the laughing had calmed. I noticed that two girls looked alike, so I asked if they were sister. The ring leader shouted, “NO, THEY ARE BROTHERS!” and dashed off again. Almost everybody has as shaved head, so I looked again, but no, they were wearing the girl uniform (that is, a skirt).
I like the primary school kids a lot. It’s too bad there are so many of them (8 classes of about 30) because I’d have liked to have spent time with them, or give them candy on my last day or something. Either way. Hilarious kids.
Monday, July 13, 2009
It's the final countdown!
A long time ago, as you may remember, I numbered each of my malaria pills and have been using them sort of as an advent calendar, counting down the days until I return home. I'm on my last pack of pills now. Just 15 more sleeps! Every morning when I take the pill, I sing the chorus of Europe's The Final Countdown, and I feel like a success. And a little bit like Gob Bluth.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Out of water
My house has running water. I recognize that even though we're only talking cold running water here, that it's a luxury to be able to turn on the tap and get water. The house has a small reserve tank from which the taps draw, that gets filled twice a week by a water pump that also supplies the hospital and some other nearby buildings. James, the head doctor at the hospital, told me that over the past few weeks, the pumps have been stopping before the reserve tank at the hospital was full, and they've been having water shortages. I felt glad that our tank seemingly stayed full, but I've been using water even more sparingly lately just to make sure.
Also starting a few weeks ago, the principal has been filling her big water jugs at our house. In the best of times, our water pressure is low, so filling them for her takes about half and hour. Each jug is 20L and she brings two. Prior to a few weeks ago, she got her water delivered by somebody who brought it from the river, and I'd like to know what happened to that plan, because not only is it time consuming (and you can't just leave it in the sink to fill by itself, because it sink is too small to align the tap nozzle with the jug's mouth), but also worrisome. My deepest fear is not that I am inadequate, it is that I might run out of water. Before she leaves me to fill them, we always take a few minutes for her to assure me that I won't run out of water.
Well. On Monday she got 40L and then yesterday she took 60L. This morning Winnie tried to take a shower and...nothing. From the two sinks we got enough water that was still in the pipes to boil some water to heat up our breakfast (pumpkin!) but then that was it. I have a small supply of bottled water for drinking, and I used a bit to wash my face. Then the ol' Purell for the hands- my mom made fun of me for packing it, but I am not lying when I say that stuff has saved my life many times over.
After breakfast I headed to school ready to inform the principal that she owed us some water back, but she was traveling all day. Ugh. So matron arranged that some water would be brought over to our house...some sweetheart students carried it all the way from the river during lunch. What good girls, but also, I feel kind of bad about that. James said the pump should be on again by tomorrow to fill our reserve tank, but until then, living with all water from jugs is hard. Washing hands with soap- you want to use both hands to rinse, but one hand is for pouring. Washing dishes. We're holding off laundry until it comes back. There was one flush left it the toilet that we saved until, ahem, we really needed it. It's so annoying. When I first came, I was in a BRING IT, KENYA mood, and so adjusting to no electricity or got water was a cinch. But now that my days are very numbered and I've started dreaming about marble cheese, fast internet, and long hot showers, then to back even further away is painful. I've learned my lesson. Blah Blah, we should appreciate having running water, and not take it for granted yadda yadda. Fine, good, now give me running water back!
Also starting a few weeks ago, the principal has been filling her big water jugs at our house. In the best of times, our water pressure is low, so filling them for her takes about half and hour. Each jug is 20L and she brings two. Prior to a few weeks ago, she got her water delivered by somebody who brought it from the river, and I'd like to know what happened to that plan, because not only is it time consuming (and you can't just leave it in the sink to fill by itself, because it sink is too small to align the tap nozzle with the jug's mouth), but also worrisome. My deepest fear is not that I am inadequate, it is that I might run out of water. Before she leaves me to fill them, we always take a few minutes for her to assure me that I won't run out of water.
Well. On Monday she got 40L and then yesterday she took 60L. This morning Winnie tried to take a shower and...nothing. From the two sinks we got enough water that was still in the pipes to boil some water to heat up our breakfast (pumpkin!) but then that was it. I have a small supply of bottled water for drinking, and I used a bit to wash my face. Then the ol' Purell for the hands- my mom made fun of me for packing it, but I am not lying when I say that stuff has saved my life many times over.
After breakfast I headed to school ready to inform the principal that she owed us some water back, but she was traveling all day. Ugh. So matron arranged that some water would be brought over to our house...some sweetheart students carried it all the way from the river during lunch. What good girls, but also, I feel kind of bad about that. James said the pump should be on again by tomorrow to fill our reserve tank, but until then, living with all water from jugs is hard. Washing hands with soap- you want to use both hands to rinse, but one hand is for pouring. Washing dishes. We're holding off laundry until it comes back. There was one flush left it the toilet that we saved until, ahem, we really needed it. It's so annoying. When I first came, I was in a BRING IT, KENYA mood, and so adjusting to no electricity or got water was a cinch. But now that my days are very numbered and I've started dreaming about marble cheese, fast internet, and long hot showers, then to back even further away is painful. I've learned my lesson. Blah Blah, we should appreciate having running water, and not take it for granted yadda yadda. Fine, good, now give me running water back!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Winter in July
Alright, let's get serious here. It's gosh darn cold over here.
"Pardon me, madam," you say, "but I was under the impression that you were in Africa. Am I mistaken?" I thank you for the courteous tone of your inquiry, and reply, without your equanimity, "yes, but I live on top of a mountain and it's the middle of effing winter!"
Let me back up. In a friendly way, I mercilessly mock Winnie (during the week) and Kay (on the weekends) everytime they, rather querulously, talk about how cold it is. I tell them they wouldn't survive in Canada! That it's negative 30 for four months straight! That I once waited for a school bus for 45 minutes wearing only a kilt and tights on my legs! And everything is uphill both ways!
And most of the time, I'm not even lying when I say that I'm not cold at all. But it's the DEAD of winter now. There's so get water. There's thick fog in the morning. The sun sets quickly, and the water that comes out of the pipes is icy. Okay, not icy, but COLD. The windows don't close all the way, so a slight draft wafts in all night. The worst is having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night- first feel around for matches to ignite the lamp, then go outside and do your business, them wash your hands in liquid nitrogen. It takes about half an hour to fall asleep again after that. Oh, and for the people that have been here that are going to make fun of me like how I make fun of the Kenyans, have you ever spent the night in a mountainous abode? NAY. When you're at this high altitude, even 50m makes a huge difference.
During the day it's totally fine and I traipse around wearing a t-shirt and sandals. But tonight...man, I wish I had a third blanket. Oh, also, I live right beside the hospital, and this is the season when every one is sick. I came home the other day to find a bunch of men lying around my front yard, waiting for treatment but unable to sit normally, I guess. I hope they're not contageous.
"Pardon me, madam," you say, "but I was under the impression that you were in Africa. Am I mistaken?" I thank you for the courteous tone of your inquiry, and reply, without your equanimity, "yes, but I live on top of a mountain and it's the middle of effing winter!"
Let me back up. In a friendly way, I mercilessly mock Winnie (during the week) and Kay (on the weekends) everytime they, rather querulously, talk about how cold it is. I tell them they wouldn't survive in Canada! That it's negative 30 for four months straight! That I once waited for a school bus for 45 minutes wearing only a kilt and tights on my legs! And everything is uphill both ways!
And most of the time, I'm not even lying when I say that I'm not cold at all. But it's the DEAD of winter now. There's so get water. There's thick fog in the morning. The sun sets quickly, and the water that comes out of the pipes is icy. Okay, not icy, but COLD. The windows don't close all the way, so a slight draft wafts in all night. The worst is having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night- first feel around for matches to ignite the lamp, then go outside and do your business, them wash your hands in liquid nitrogen. It takes about half an hour to fall asleep again after that. Oh, and for the people that have been here that are going to make fun of me like how I make fun of the Kenyans, have you ever spent the night in a mountainous abode? NAY. When you're at this high altitude, even 50m makes a huge difference.
During the day it's totally fine and I traipse around wearing a t-shirt and sandals. But tonight...man, I wish I had a third blanket. Oh, also, I live right beside the hospital, and this is the season when every one is sick. I came home the other day to find a bunch of men lying around my front yard, waiting for treatment but unable to sit normally, I guess. I hope they're not contageous.
Monday, July 6, 2009
On sometimes being rude
I don't think many would argue if I stated that I can sometimes have a sharp tongue. When necessary, I rather enjoy administering a good verbal lashing. Such appropriate situations include: when somebody says something racist, sexist, homophobic, or other wise small minded (provided the perpetrator is not over the age of 70), or when people in ways that I feel are less respectful than I would like, and I feel their ego would do well to be taken down a peg. So while here its been hard to hold back.
Mostly, I don't understand all the rules of the culture here, and so somethings that might seen offensive are actually well intentioned. It's been pretty hard not being able to read people's meanings all the time. Also, I don't feel that it's really my place to in around challenging every view point. And before you get all, "if not you, then who? If not now, then when?" let me assure you that while in Canada I rarely miss an oppourtunity to add my strongly worded opinion to any conversation. The reason I'm holding back while here is, well, okay I guess I could cite safety...like who knows how incendiary I might get! But mostly, people here have been so welcoming and they always try to understand the strange things I do. Like now they all wave at me when I pass, which is new for them. And really I'm more able to change whatever attitudes thorough actions, or by giving the girls all the encouragement I can to help them overcome sexist obstacles.
There have been some exceptions. Like on parent day, when we were cooking, and there were all sorts of things I couldn't do, somebody asked how I expected to get a husband. I replied that for starters, I don't need a husband, and furthermore, that I'd want somebody to love me for my brain rather than cooking skills. I got some tsks from the older ladies after this statement, but I don't think I crossed and lines. Oh, and one time some random teacher from another school came to our teachers office for a visit, and started talking about marrying people for green cards, which was weird enough, but then we started giving a lecture about the trades and give/take of relationships, like how women have to give up their jobs when they have children, and men have to give up lots of their income to buy women jewelry. I know, right? I managed to keep my bum on my chair only through very impressive displays of self-discipline. Then he said that a marriage is doomed if the wife makes more money, which I'm sure would be hortatory to even the most sedate feminist. I reached deep into my supply of vocal artillery and gave it to him, but you can hardly blame me.
I've also decided on two other general times when it's definitely okay to be a little rude. The first is to people who are trying to sell me things if they approach me specifically on account of my skin colour. I'm not rich and why would I want to buy a bottle of water from you when I clearly have one in my hand. If you even make eye contact, they never leave you alone, so when they shove things in my face I think it's okay to just shake my head and keep walking instead of politely saying no thanks. The other time is when anybody touches me when not necessary. Like coming back from Nairobi today, the matatu drivers are all competing for customers to fill up their vehicle. Sometimes they would try to take my hand or put their arm around me to pull me over to their matatu, even though I was with Henry! For starters, no, I know what vehicle I want! Furthermore, I don't think it's a good idea for my personal safety or for my continued possession of my possessions to let strangers touch me in crowded locals. Lastly, I don't care if this is a more touchy culture; I don't like the invasion of personal space. It's hilarious to say that, knowing how close I'll be to lots of people as soon as I get on the matatu, but still. Anyway, so as soon as any of the drivers did more that shout in my face or try to obstruct my walking path, I would manually displace their offending limb, and politely say, "don't touch me." However, if they tried again, I would stop and, with one finger in the air, say loudly and firmly, "no, do not touch me." and that was enough to scare them away. Every few times this happened I almost convinced myself that I'm not being polite enough, or that I'm making too big of a deal, but really I don't think I am. It's just one of those times when it would be really nice to have another Canadian with me to sort out what is and isn't appropriate, and keep some perspective, you know?
Mostly, I don't understand all the rules of the culture here, and so somethings that might seen offensive are actually well intentioned. It's been pretty hard not being able to read people's meanings all the time. Also, I don't feel that it's really my place to in around challenging every view point. And before you get all, "if not you, then who? If not now, then when?" let me assure you that while in Canada I rarely miss an oppourtunity to add my strongly worded opinion to any conversation. The reason I'm holding back while here is, well, okay I guess I could cite safety...like who knows how incendiary I might get! But mostly, people here have been so welcoming and they always try to understand the strange things I do. Like now they all wave at me when I pass, which is new for them. And really I'm more able to change whatever attitudes thorough actions, or by giving the girls all the encouragement I can to help them overcome sexist obstacles.
There have been some exceptions. Like on parent day, when we were cooking, and there were all sorts of things I couldn't do, somebody asked how I expected to get a husband. I replied that for starters, I don't need a husband, and furthermore, that I'd want somebody to love me for my brain rather than cooking skills. I got some tsks from the older ladies after this statement, but I don't think I crossed and lines. Oh, and one time some random teacher from another school came to our teachers office for a visit, and started talking about marrying people for green cards, which was weird enough, but then we started giving a lecture about the trades and give/take of relationships, like how women have to give up their jobs when they have children, and men have to give up lots of their income to buy women jewelry. I know, right? I managed to keep my bum on my chair only through very impressive displays of self-discipline. Then he said that a marriage is doomed if the wife makes more money, which I'm sure would be hortatory to even the most sedate feminist. I reached deep into my supply of vocal artillery and gave it to him, but you can hardly blame me.
I've also decided on two other general times when it's definitely okay to be a little rude. The first is to people who are trying to sell me things if they approach me specifically on account of my skin colour. I'm not rich and why would I want to buy a bottle of water from you when I clearly have one in my hand. If you even make eye contact, they never leave you alone, so when they shove things in my face I think it's okay to just shake my head and keep walking instead of politely saying no thanks. The other time is when anybody touches me when not necessary. Like coming back from Nairobi today, the matatu drivers are all competing for customers to fill up their vehicle. Sometimes they would try to take my hand or put their arm around me to pull me over to their matatu, even though I was with Henry! For starters, no, I know what vehicle I want! Furthermore, I don't think it's a good idea for my personal safety or for my continued possession of my possessions to let strangers touch me in crowded locals. Lastly, I don't care if this is a more touchy culture; I don't like the invasion of personal space. It's hilarious to say that, knowing how close I'll be to lots of people as soon as I get on the matatu, but still. Anyway, so as soon as any of the drivers did more that shout in my face or try to obstruct my walking path, I would manually displace their offending limb, and politely say, "don't touch me." However, if they tried again, I would stop and, with one finger in the air, say loudly and firmly, "no, do not touch me." and that was enough to scare them away. Every few times this happened I almost convinced myself that I'm not being polite enough, or that I'm making too big of a deal, but really I don't think I am. It's just one of those times when it would be really nice to have another Canadian with me to sort out what is and isn't appropriate, and keep some perspective, you know?
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Being Touristy
Today Eric's flight left, so yesterday we drove back into Nairobi. Eric is working on something where he'll write about the experience of taking a matatu, so I rode with him from Kikima to Machakos to provide more observations from non-local eyes in case he missed anything. I've taken lots of mats by now, but I've never sat in the back. Oh man, it gets dusty back there. Dus-T.
Then we all woke up early early this morning and drove out to the Rift Valley. Man, that is a pretty cool view. It's just so cool to think about how long ago people were there. Like in Canada, at most a walking path can be what, 500 years old? But Lucy walked in Kenya. It's pretty mind blowing.
Then we drove back into the city for a meeting with people who make solar cookers- more on that later, but first stopped at some fancy pants mall to get money at a bank and a bite to eat. Tip for foreigners on getting withdrawing money: Barclay's seems to be the only place that takes my debit card. For brunch we went to a place called Wimpy's and it was so good even though the orange juice was yellow. Ahem ahem, it's called orange juice.
Them we headed to a giraffe centre. You can feed them right out of your hand and even out of your mouth! You just put a little pellet between your lips and she'll come in for a kiss. The giraffe's name was Laura. She was so pretty (just like my sister Laura, am I right?) with those giant black eyes and long eyelashes. They really are beautiful animals. It's sort of like a horse but with a long neck and better colours. Anyway so it's hard to take a quick enough picture if you just let the giraffe have the food pellet, so you kind of have to hold it tightly. This will ensure that it takes a few seconds for Laura to get it, and that a picture can be taken. Let me tell you something. Giraffes have a very rough and goobery tongue. But we got a pretty cool picture and it's fun to be that close to them. There was even a tiny baby off in the distance. GIRAFFES! Oh, then we got ice cream and it was like, ICE CREAM! Because I love that stuff and I haven't had it in two months. It took me a second, but then I was like, giraffes! AND! Ice cream! Eating ice cream while just a few meters away from a giraffe is the best.
Then we headed to the animal orphanage. Have you ever been centimeters from a cheetah? Sucker, I have. It's was a pretty great little zoo, with all sorts of monkeys, lions eating huge pieces of meat, wart hogs, no less than four cages of cheetahs, and even buffalo. There was this one adorable adorable adorable baby monkey, oh, and an alligator!
Before dropping Eric off at the airport, we had a goodbye dinner of sorts at their aunt's house. Over the part few days there have been lots of goodbye-Eric things. In wrapping things up for him, I've really realized how ready I am to wrap things up myself. Three more weeks. That's forever! I wouldn't want to leave without finishing the school term, but if the term had finished last weeks, I would have been a happy camper to have gotten on that plane with Eric. I guess three weeks isn't that long. But I'm just ready, you know?
Tomorrow Kay is going to put my hair in corn rows, and then we're going to one of those jumbo churches with tv screens and things. I mostly want to gawk. Then we'll go to this monkey park, and call it a day. On Monday I head back to school via matatu, but I'm first stopping in Machakos to visit Elijah's children's home because they've been asking about me and that breaks my heart. Also, I'm not sure I'll get another chance to see them before I go. Oh, Baraka and Mumina! I guess when you think about it in terms of what there isn't time to do, then three weeks doesn't seem so long at all!
Then we all woke up early early this morning and drove out to the Rift Valley. Man, that is a pretty cool view. It's just so cool to think about how long ago people were there. Like in Canada, at most a walking path can be what, 500 years old? But Lucy walked in Kenya. It's pretty mind blowing.
Then we drove back into the city for a meeting with people who make solar cookers- more on that later, but first stopped at some fancy pants mall to get money at a bank and a bite to eat. Tip for foreigners on getting withdrawing money: Barclay's seems to be the only place that takes my debit card. For brunch we went to a place called Wimpy's and it was so good even though the orange juice was yellow. Ahem ahem, it's called orange juice.
Them we headed to a giraffe centre. You can feed them right out of your hand and even out of your mouth! You just put a little pellet between your lips and she'll come in for a kiss. The giraffe's name was Laura. She was so pretty (just like my sister Laura, am I right?) with those giant black eyes and long eyelashes. They really are beautiful animals. It's sort of like a horse but with a long neck and better colours. Anyway so it's hard to take a quick enough picture if you just let the giraffe have the food pellet, so you kind of have to hold it tightly. This will ensure that it takes a few seconds for Laura to get it, and that a picture can be taken. Let me tell you something. Giraffes have a very rough and goobery tongue. But we got a pretty cool picture and it's fun to be that close to them. There was even a tiny baby off in the distance. GIRAFFES! Oh, then we got ice cream and it was like, ICE CREAM! Because I love that stuff and I haven't had it in two months. It took me a second, but then I was like, giraffes! AND! Ice cream! Eating ice cream while just a few meters away from a giraffe is the best.
Then we headed to the animal orphanage. Have you ever been centimeters from a cheetah? Sucker, I have. It's was a pretty great little zoo, with all sorts of monkeys, lions eating huge pieces of meat, wart hogs, no less than four cages of cheetahs, and even buffalo. There was this one adorable adorable adorable baby monkey, oh, and an alligator!
Before dropping Eric off at the airport, we had a goodbye dinner of sorts at their aunt's house. Over the part few days there have been lots of goodbye-Eric things. In wrapping things up for him, I've really realized how ready I am to wrap things up myself. Three more weeks. That's forever! I wouldn't want to leave without finishing the school term, but if the term had finished last weeks, I would have been a happy camper to have gotten on that plane with Eric. I guess three weeks isn't that long. But I'm just ready, you know?
Tomorrow Kay is going to put my hair in corn rows, and then we're going to one of those jumbo churches with tv screens and things. I mostly want to gawk. Then we'll go to this monkey park, and call it a day. On Monday I head back to school via matatu, but I'm first stopping in Machakos to visit Elijah's children's home because they've been asking about me and that breaks my heart. Also, I'm not sure I'll get another chance to see them before I go. Oh, Baraka and Mumina! I guess when you think about it in terms of what there isn't time to do, then three weeks doesn't seem so long at all!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
AIDS testing
Oh man, I have my lappy back! It feels rather weird to be typing with all ten fingers. I really do think my pace has slowed because I'm so used to thumb typing.
So since Tuesday, Eric and I have been driving around with Ruth and her family visiting a bunch of the kids his program sponsors. Many of the kids are AIDS orphans who live with their grandparents. There are just so many sad and desperate situations.
Tuesday and Wednesday we were giving mattresses and blankets and shoes to barefoot kids who sleep on the ground or on a pile of rags. Today though, we visited an all girls orphanage full of the cheeriest faces I've seen so far in Kenya. They sang us welcoming songs and gave high fives! Many of them were top in their class. They all lined up and introduced themselves with an adorable little curtsey. The reverend who runs the home gave us a bit more information about them. My favourites were a girl in grade 5 who has never not been first in her class. Even though she's not the oldest, she was the clear leader, and she wants to be the president one day. There's another fifth grader that had always been last in her class. Her parents both died of AIDS and she recently moved into the home, and now she's sixth in the class. In grade 4, there is a girl who is always first, but then another girl from the home beat her one time by four points, and she cried so much that she couldn't even eat dinner. Compare that to the girls in my school who don't even care if they pass or fail! Another girl who is top in her class wants to be an engineer. She is the first girl I've ever met in Kenya that wants to be an engineer. Also, Baraka's sister lived there. She was just as adorable as him, with that sort of concerned furrow in her brown. Baraka's countenance is more like, "oh no, something terrible is going to happen" but his sister, who wore a little red bandana tied around her neck, is more like, "what you're doing is dangerous, but if you dare me to, I'll join you."
Over lunch it was mentioned that later that day, Elijah and Jessica were coming in to conduct AIDS testing. Eric asked what would happen if some of the kids were positive. Well, they would have to leave. Kenya is really advanced in terms of lots of AIDS prevention, awareness, and testing policies. But... they think that the virus is contagious. Like that the kid would transmit it to the rest of the kids in the home, so for the safety of the rest of them, they need to kick the HIV positive kid out.
Look, over the past two months and especially over the last few days, I've seen lots of sad things. You know, where on the car ride back you kind of have to sit quietly and look out the window for a bit. No water, no food, no parents, abusive parents, AIDS left and right...but nothing was as SAD as thinking that president girl, or engineer girl, or Baraka's sister, or any of the others might get turned out tonight. I mean, so many bad things have happened in their lives already. Children's homes don't take kids unless all other options won't work out, so either every aunt, uncle, grandparent, and parent has died, or they were abusive. That's what's already happened to these girls. Yet they're still singing songs, and caring for the youngest in the home, and getting top marks, and making big plans for successful futures. Then they get a positive HIV test result. And then they're back out on the street?
I cried a lot. I couldn't even wait until we were back in the car. I put on my sunglasses and tried to discretely keep wiping my runny nose, but I'm pretty sure it was obvious. I was going to present them with new shoes and say something about girl power and especially let engineer girl know that I believe in her, or whatever, but I really couldn't. Eric took over, and gave engineer girl a speech that I really think will have a permanent impact. I should have added my encouragement but I was pretty busy trying not to just collapse on the ground and sob for hours.
As we left, Elijah and Jessica arrived to conduct the tests. I think I'll see if I can find out if any of the girls were positive. Here's the thing though, if they're going to kick out the positive status kids, can't they test them before they let them move in? It's just so overwhelmingly sad.
Update: all the girls came back negative. That's less sad. But still, somewhere there's an engineer or president girl who might come back positive, you know?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Full days
Man, I now have a computer! That is charged! And ready for 10 finger typing! But, the farm has been getting terrible internet reception, so I've only been able to access when I'm elsewhere, like on the road, with my cell phone. Fine, thumb typing it still is.
Back up! You say. On the road? Yes. My students wrote their June exams on Tuesday then left for a midterm break. Classes don't resume until next Tuesday! So I have a week off, a week that luckily coincides with the time that Eric is here. With him I've been visiting lots of homes and getting so see a lot more of this country than I would have otherwise. There have been some really sad and desperate sights that I'll go into more detail about in future posts.
Having a week off means some touristy activities. Today we went to this little workshop place full of wood whittlers. Aunts Anne, Sandy, and Darcy, I got something for you and your families! Uh, yes, it's all three the same thing, but it's hard to pick items that won't break on the way home, you know?
Yesterday and today were really full days. I'm pretty exhausted actually. Right now we are headed to Machakos to a restaurant that Eric has promised sells burgers that won't upset my stomache. Sign me up!
Back up! You say. On the road? Yes. My students wrote their June exams on Tuesday then left for a midterm break. Classes don't resume until next Tuesday! So I have a week off, a week that luckily coincides with the time that Eric is here. With him I've been visiting lots of homes and getting so see a lot more of this country than I would have otherwise. There have been some really sad and desperate sights that I'll go into more detail about in future posts.
Having a week off means some touristy activities. Today we went to this little workshop place full of wood whittlers. Aunts Anne, Sandy, and Darcy, I got something for you and your families! Uh, yes, it's all three the same thing, but it's hard to pick items that won't break on the way home, you know?
Yesterday and today were really full days. I'm pretty exhausted actually. Right now we are headed to Machakos to a restaurant that Eric has promised sells burgers that won't upset my stomache. Sign me up!
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