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!!
Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts
Sunday, July 19, 2009
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.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Winnie's house
On the weekend, I went to Winnie's house. It's about a 40 minute walk from the school with terrain so treacherous that I literally had to use my hands to help of scale some inclines. Before moving in with me, she used to make this trek twice a day!
On the way we passed a giant transformer that Winnie said had been out of working order since about March, and the power people keep saying they'll do it any day, but they obviously haven't yet. Can you imagine? We got to her home and it was very nice. She was obviously very proud of it. Her mom and dad weren't home yet, but two young boys who I guess just help out on their farm were. We walked around the hilly farm, and then Winnie shouted at the boys to bring us some sugar cane. Man, that stuff is delicious, even though I haven't figured out a way to avoid tongue splinters. Also, you use a giant knife to peel it. I was certain that the a finger was going to be lost by somebody, and the one boy seemed to enjoy making me cringe.
Then her parents came home and they were super nice and welcoming. Dinner was this casserole type dish called Kenyiji made of beans, arrow root, bananas, and corn. I loved it so much, but apparently it takes a lot of time/effort/cooking tools that Winnie and I don't have at home. They said such a dish would fetch an unreasonably high price at a tourist place, because foreigners pay big bucks to have the traditional dishes. It's funny that they recognised this, but even funnier that it's probably true.
They really were just embarrassinly welcoming though. Mom and dad, you both are warmly invited over any time. We hit the hay around 9, and I got Winnie's bed. When I woke up at 7, they made me in back to bed because guests are supposed to relax. Kind of awkward but also so nice.
Before bed on Saturday, we looked through photo albums. They own a camera, so lots of stuff was documented. Various graduations, first day of schools, etc, but also pictures of other visitors they've had. One was a clearly caucasian guy named Ian that they said was from China. I asked if they were sure we wasn't American or European or something, but no no, they insisted China, or maybe Japan. Then there was later a bunch of photos of a girl who lived nearby for two years, named Chiko. This time she was legit from Japan. I guess because she was here for so long, she implanted the connotation that muzungo=from Japan. I guess that makes a lot of sense, since many many many people have told of things like the staple food in my country is rice, that English isn't my mother tongue, and that I know karate. Not that I'm saying all Japanese people eat rice and know karate, but just that in my experience, as a stereotype, it's more common to assume those things about an east Asian than a North American. But really, I've had some conversations where people are like, at home, you eat rice every day. Then I'm like, no, we really don't. They insist. I concede that perhaps some people do, but it's certainly not the norm. They say that every body eats it every day. This goes on for a long time. Darn you, Chiko.
In the morning her dad had left, and I wasn't allowed to help make breakfast, so I sat in the sitting room reading a week's worth of newspapers. The opinion section made of wild. There was one really well written article on why foreign aid is bad, and one woman who wrote progressively on reform of domestic abuse laws, but other than that there was a lot of misogynistic vitrol, not unlike what you might read in the comments section of many a blog in any geography, but those are usually anonymous. To see a national newspaper publish it, and to have people write with their name as if their opinion doesn't warrant shame... just, I don't know. Okay an example actually, in the cool young person section: one article on Britney dating her manager, them something about this Nigerian pop duo P Square getting in a fight with their landlord, then a post wondering if old white men coming and marrying young Kenyans constitutes prostitution and sex trafficking, or should we just consider it a boost in the economy, since she'll probably send money home. No lie, this question was posed without satire or sarcasm. Right? I don't know why I didn't stop reading.
Breakfast was arrow root and sweet potatoes, then Winnie had told her mom that I love chipati, so that was on the lunch menu. Also on the menu? Chicken. Where would it come from? Right outside. Yes, they were going to slaughter a chicken. Oh man. The same boy from the previous day, who was fascinated by how fascinated I was, was the one doing the neck cutting. I watched from a distance, trying to hold in my anguish and alarm, but emitting the odd oh! Ah! Ooh! And at one point I may or may not have said eek! I do know that I was burping for a good ten minutes afterwards on account of all my gasping. However, it was much less bloody that I had imagined.
Out of space; to be continued tomorrow.
On the way we passed a giant transformer that Winnie said had been out of working order since about March, and the power people keep saying they'll do it any day, but they obviously haven't yet. Can you imagine? We got to her home and it was very nice. She was obviously very proud of it. Her mom and dad weren't home yet, but two young boys who I guess just help out on their farm were. We walked around the hilly farm, and then Winnie shouted at the boys to bring us some sugar cane. Man, that stuff is delicious, even though I haven't figured out a way to avoid tongue splinters. Also, you use a giant knife to peel it. I was certain that the a finger was going to be lost by somebody, and the one boy seemed to enjoy making me cringe.
Then her parents came home and they were super nice and welcoming. Dinner was this casserole type dish called Kenyiji made of beans, arrow root, bananas, and corn. I loved it so much, but apparently it takes a lot of time/effort/cooking tools that Winnie and I don't have at home. They said such a dish would fetch an unreasonably high price at a tourist place, because foreigners pay big bucks to have the traditional dishes. It's funny that they recognised this, but even funnier that it's probably true.
They really were just embarrassinly welcoming though. Mom and dad, you both are warmly invited over any time. We hit the hay around 9, and I got Winnie's bed. When I woke up at 7, they made me in back to bed because guests are supposed to relax. Kind of awkward but also so nice.
Before bed on Saturday, we looked through photo albums. They own a camera, so lots of stuff was documented. Various graduations, first day of schools, etc, but also pictures of other visitors they've had. One was a clearly caucasian guy named Ian that they said was from China. I asked if they were sure we wasn't American or European or something, but no no, they insisted China, or maybe Japan. Then there was later a bunch of photos of a girl who lived nearby for two years, named Chiko. This time she was legit from Japan. I guess because she was here for so long, she implanted the connotation that muzungo=from Japan. I guess that makes a lot of sense, since many many many people have told of things like the staple food in my country is rice, that English isn't my mother tongue, and that I know karate. Not that I'm saying all Japanese people eat rice and know karate, but just that in my experience, as a stereotype, it's more common to assume those things about an east Asian than a North American. But really, I've had some conversations where people are like, at home, you eat rice every day. Then I'm like, no, we really don't. They insist. I concede that perhaps some people do, but it's certainly not the norm. They say that every body eats it every day. This goes on for a long time. Darn you, Chiko.
In the morning her dad had left, and I wasn't allowed to help make breakfast, so I sat in the sitting room reading a week's worth of newspapers. The opinion section made of wild. There was one really well written article on why foreign aid is bad, and one woman who wrote progressively on reform of domestic abuse laws, but other than that there was a lot of misogynistic vitrol, not unlike what you might read in the comments section of many a blog in any geography, but those are usually anonymous. To see a national newspaper publish it, and to have people write with their name as if their opinion doesn't warrant shame... just, I don't know. Okay an example actually, in the cool young person section: one article on Britney dating her manager, them something about this Nigerian pop duo P Square getting in a fight with their landlord, then a post wondering if old white men coming and marrying young Kenyans constitutes prostitution and sex trafficking, or should we just consider it a boost in the economy, since she'll probably send money home. No lie, this question was posed without satire or sarcasm. Right? I don't know why I didn't stop reading.
Breakfast was arrow root and sweet potatoes, then Winnie had told her mom that I love chipati, so that was on the lunch menu. Also on the menu? Chicken. Where would it come from? Right outside. Yes, they were going to slaughter a chicken. Oh man. The same boy from the previous day, who was fascinated by how fascinated I was, was the one doing the neck cutting. I watched from a distance, trying to hold in my anguish and alarm, but emitting the odd oh! Ah! Ooh! And at one point I may or may not have said eek! I do know that I was burping for a good ten minutes afterwards on account of all my gasping. However, it was much less bloody that I had imagined.
Out of space; to be continued tomorrow.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The children's home
I spent all day Saturday with the kids from the children's home. We went on a walk that was two hours long. I was getting pretty tired, but if shoeless seven year olds could manage, then so could I! That said, I carried Baraka home most of the way but that's only because he's adorable, and he didn't murmur a word of complaint but was so tired that his shoes were dragging and his eye lids were drooping.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
The children's home
I spent all day Saturday with the kids from the children's home. We went on a walk that was two hours long. I was getting pretty tired, but if shoeless seven year olds could manage, then so could I! That said, I carried Baraka home most of the way but that's only because he's adorable, and he didn't murmur a word of complaint but was so tired that his shoes were dragging and his eye lids were drooping.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Travelling
Today was one of my best days yet. First I got two whole extra classes, one for each grade. The grade tens had p.e. and the game I chose (big booty renamed to big money, because I don't know if booties are acceptable around these parts) was a hit. Sometimes it's hard to be a hit with the grade tens, and I have to resort to letting them pat my head, so that was a nice way to end the teaching part of my week.
I'm spending the weekend at Elijah's children's home. Jessica and he picked me up after school, with a girl with an incredibly soft voice who puts the sweet into being 16. Today she was moving into his home (so he now introduces her as his daughter) but first we had a few other kids to check up on. The kids are either being sponsored or looking for sponsors or about to start being sponsored... I'm not sure since much of the day was conducted in mother tongue. Pictures need to be taken of everything, which I get. I was asked to be in many of the pictures, which I don't get. Also it was drizzle-raining, so my hair was a frizzy mess, so I apologise for ruining the pictures. We visited a little house made of mud, which I thought was bad, but then we visited a little nook by the river bank where one orphaned boy had been sleeping for a few weeks. Elijah organised for him to stay tonight with a teacher from his school, with plans to find something more permanent tomorrow.
Then we got dropped in Masu town or something, to catch a matatu. It took a while and I was getting super starving, so we bought some bananas from a road side vendor. Imagine if all road side vendors sold only fruit? The best. Finally a mat (please, I don't need to say the whole word) came and the toll collector tried to pull me to sit in the front, but I dodged and got in a row with the other 3. I'm pretty sure the guy behind me was trying to initiate footsies, because in my experience, chair legs don't follow when you move away. Oh well though, I just ate another banana and looked at all the bright stars the Kenyan sky has to offer. Then we got pulled over by some police who were making sure that all mats were in good condition, and not over the passenger limit. As our driver paid the bribe, I just ate another banana.
Finally we arrived in Machakos. We picked up a few things for the weekend from a huge huge grocery store. My feelings in this store are akin to the first time I visited Dylan's Candy Bar in New York. Salt and vinegar chips! Butter nut squash! (does anybody know how to cook it with no oven or microwave?) Much cheaper brands of peanut butter! We will visit again on my way back to school on Sunday and I'm going to buy so many great things. I'm so excited.
Then we finally got to the orphanage. The kids had been waiting up and as soon as our car pulled in, my door was opened, a tiny boy carried my bag, several sticky hands holding little candies were thrust into my face accompanied by adorable voices asking me if I would like a sweet, and a chorus of welcomes rang out. These kids are all such sweethearts.
It's about 5 hours past my regular bedtime, so I'll save describing my favourite kids for another day, but let me tell you about dinner when we arrived. Oh man. A giant bowl of rice then a giant bowl of soup. In the soup was beans, carrots, billybillyhohos, tomatoes, garlic, and cilantro. It was SO SO SO good. Like I had to stop saying how good it was in case they might think I was over doing it. So delicious. Then there was games and singing and feet washing, that I will maybe give further details about another day but right now I am having trouble keeping my eyes open. More tomorrow.
I'm spending the weekend at Elijah's children's home. Jessica and he picked me up after school, with a girl with an incredibly soft voice who puts the sweet into being 16. Today she was moving into his home (so he now introduces her as his daughter) but first we had a few other kids to check up on. The kids are either being sponsored or looking for sponsors or about to start being sponsored... I'm not sure since much of the day was conducted in mother tongue. Pictures need to be taken of everything, which I get. I was asked to be in many of the pictures, which I don't get. Also it was drizzle-raining, so my hair was a frizzy mess, so I apologise for ruining the pictures. We visited a little house made of mud, which I thought was bad, but then we visited a little nook by the river bank where one orphaned boy had been sleeping for a few weeks. Elijah organised for him to stay tonight with a teacher from his school, with plans to find something more permanent tomorrow.
Then we got dropped in Masu town or something, to catch a matatu. It took a while and I was getting super starving, so we bought some bananas from a road side vendor. Imagine if all road side vendors sold only fruit? The best. Finally a mat (please, I don't need to say the whole word) came and the toll collector tried to pull me to sit in the front, but I dodged and got in a row with the other 3. I'm pretty sure the guy behind me was trying to initiate footsies, because in my experience, chair legs don't follow when you move away. Oh well though, I just ate another banana and looked at all the bright stars the Kenyan sky has to offer. Then we got pulled over by some police who were making sure that all mats were in good condition, and not over the passenger limit. As our driver paid the bribe, I just ate another banana.
Finally we arrived in Machakos. We picked up a few things for the weekend from a huge huge grocery store. My feelings in this store are akin to the first time I visited Dylan's Candy Bar in New York. Salt and vinegar chips! Butter nut squash! (does anybody know how to cook it with no oven or microwave?) Much cheaper brands of peanut butter! We will visit again on my way back to school on Sunday and I'm going to buy so many great things. I'm so excited.
Then we finally got to the orphanage. The kids had been waiting up and as soon as our car pulled in, my door was opened, a tiny boy carried my bag, several sticky hands holding little candies were thrust into my face accompanied by adorable voices asking me if I would like a sweet, and a chorus of welcomes rang out. These kids are all such sweethearts.
It's about 5 hours past my regular bedtime, so I'll save describing my favourite kids for another day, but let me tell you about dinner when we arrived. Oh man. A giant bowl of rice then a giant bowl of soup. In the soup was beans, carrots, billybillyhohos, tomatoes, garlic, and cilantro. It was SO SO SO good. Like I had to stop saying how good it was in case they might think I was over doing it. So delicious. Then there was games and singing and feet washing, that I will maybe give further details about another day but right now I am having trouble keeping my eyes open. More tomorrow.
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