Some Video Footage

I'm finally going through some picture folders on my laptop. I just dumped most of it, and I haven't really sorted through yet. Having recently finished midterms, I decided to clean it up and a bit, and I found some real gems.

I have an upload limit on my vimeo account, but for now, watch these two videos:

In this first video, I was just walking back home after school. My school choir was practicing, so I taped a bit. Watch the priceless faces of the students sitting near the fence just staring at me:

My school choir practising from Lisa on Vimeo.

The next one is of the local primary school choir. They did very well in competitions, and practised really hard. I could overhear them everyday as I taught computer lessons in the church, the only place with electricity. Watch and fall in love:

Jolie, Jolie from Lisa on Vimeo.

Pictures!

I'm all home safe and sound, and I'll do a bit summary wrap up post eventually. I'm doing lots of other travelling in August so I'll get around to it when I'm finally back at home again.

Until then, you can check out some photos. My flickr set can be found here, and here are some favourites:

In the airport

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!

Also, no big deal or anything, but today at the park a monkey chilled out on my shoulder for a few minutes. New career goal: organ grinder.

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.

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.

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!)

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!!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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?

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!

Animal orphanage

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?

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!

Not the only muzungu

My mom recently asked me why blogging has slowed, and I said that nothing new is really happening, so sometimes I'm out of ideas. She rightly pointed out what a funny statement that is- I'm in the middle of Kenya and there's honestly nothing new? But really, things just have been going normally. I've settled into a routine. Today marks exactly one month until I return home.

For 10 days or so, Eric will be around town as well. He's the brains of the outfit, at least from the Canadian side. He connected me with the people here, and my thoughts for creating a more official program for other people to get out here encouraging math and science would take place I guess as a sub-division of the program he created and runs. I'm kind of suprised by how much I've enjoyed just talking about the western world with him. We can go back and forth talking about food we miss, for example. And when I say that I could drink some Swiss Chalet gravy, he knows what I mean. Or we can make Flight of the Concord references. Or reflect briefly on Michael Jackson. Even it's been nice just to sort of have an ally of sorts in feeling awkward in certain situations, you know? I think it would have been much easier to have come here with another person. Well, Winnie turned out to be great... But in a Winnie-less circumstance, certainly another Canadiad would have been needed. If I get a program going, I'll send people in twos.

What else, what else. I got some pretty sweet care packages lately. Thanks mom/dad and aunt sandy! I now have a whole slew of books to keep me company and fill the days. The girls write midterms on Monday and Tuesday, and then they get a few days break; school resumes the following Tuesday. I'll be with Eric, who has got a pretty packed schedule, so I'll probably get some interesting experiences then. And after that, just three weeks left! Crazy, right? Well, I'm going to hit the hay. Long day today!

Winnie's house part 2

(continued from previous post)

Then they plucked all the feathers out. Some left little feather stubble that the boy helper began to pick out with the aid of his teeth. I almost fainted. Then the mom came over with a knife and sliced the bird open. Crack went the rib cage and 'oh no' went my gag reflex. Here's the lungs. Here's the heart. Here's the liver. Here are the intestines, but they aren't for humans, so we give them to the dog. After this, I asked, "oh, is that for the dog, or for humans?" at the appearance of every new organ with what I hope was not a too hopeful tone. The crop. Dogs. The feet. Dogs. The gullet. Humans.

Okay, right now, go look at pictures of a chicken gullet. Find one whole, then one split open with food in it, then one split open and cleaned. Now imagine how you would feel if the mother announced that the guest gets the gullet. It's considered the best part, and it would be really rude not to give it to the guest. I immediately tried the humility (oh, there's no need for that. I really couldn't) card, but she insisted that she wanted me to have it. With a tad more vehemence, I changed my game plan to the old, "if I may be so bold, do you mind if I request the breast meat? It's actually my favourite, and I miss it" approach, which went over well, and Winnie ended up with the gullet, which she loves. I mean, I'm not not a picky eater to start with, so there was no way on earth I could have eaten the gullet. I knew I was being rude, but you guys honestly, I just could. not.

The chipati was great though, and after lunch we went out to a beautiful rock looking over the hilly farm. Oh, excuse me, shamba. For some reason, nobody uses the English word, and often they'll even correct me if I say farm. I picked an orange right off the tree and we ate that and some sugar cane. I tried to slice the skin off but I was so afraid of the giant knife and cutting my fingers off that I mostly just whacked the air near the cane that I was holding, giving the skin more of a chance of being removed by wind erosion than anything else. So good ol Winnie took over. Oh also, the boy followed me around most places all day. I guess I was shocked my lots of many things that he considers pedestrian, so he would catch my eye and do every thing with a flourish. So then I felt like I should exaggerate my alarm to reward him for his efforts. When he reached into the chicken cage, head first, to fill their food bucket, for example, I did a giant OH MY! face that he loved. But then he would also do this like peel a banana, or water a plant, and I'd still have to keep up the act of being intrigued and amazed at everything he did. I didn't want to let him down, you know? So now he'll go to school and be like, "okay, so not but muzungos eat rice every day, but some of them have never seen water come out of a tap and they don't know what cows are." Speaking of cows, they had 4 but only one had a name, so chose the most bovine names I could think of: two girls and one boy, so Justin, Mya, and Chantal. Oh and speaking of things that are actually alarming, the boy's mom came to get him, and her hands were full, so she carried machete with her ear and shoulder, tucked into her neck, and if she were using it to make a phone call. It was terrifying to me.

We were sent home with left over chipati and lots of vegetables. We've had arrow root for breakfast every day this week! The best!

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.

Pi

I was at Winnie's house on the weekend and lots of funny things happened, but I regret to inform you that that blog post is going to have to wait because something far more urgent has come up.

Let me write you a direct quote from the math book from which I teach. "The exact value of pi is 22/7." I obviously threw a fit. I mean, they could have said, "you know what, don't worry about what it really is because you don't have calculators, but we'll ball park it at 22/7" or even, "pi is almost 22/7." But no, they had to go out there and drop the e-bomb. Exact.

Now, I get it. They don't have calculators and its easier to give them fractions. I didn't say anything when they looked up square roots to two decimal places in a table. I shed not a tear when the physics text book depicted wave graphs as little rounded cones, because they hadn't learned the sine graph yet. But this. This is too much for anyone.

In class today I called that line in the textbook wrong, absurd, evil, perplexing, silly, imaginative, and untrue. I encouraged them to scratch out the word exact. Then at five minute intervals I could interrupt my own lesson to say, "who knows the exact value of pi?" and they would shout out, "NOBODY!" and then we would carry on. I think I will have to write a strongly worded letter to the authors and publishers of this textbook.

Winnie and the market

Yesterday I went to the market with Winnie. I usually pick up the things I need when I go to the farm on weekends, but this weekend I'm at school to help the girls review for their upcoming midterms. I'm going to Winnie's house for dinner on Saturday, too!

Anyway so we made a shopping list and hopped onto a matatu heading into town. Winnie brought a shawl to wrap around her head during the ride. She was appalled that I hadn't brought one. "But you hair will get so dusty!" Though hair is an evening discussing topic about once a week, she still can't get over that I shampoo a few times a week, and I can't get over that her head only gets wet every other month, when she takes her weave out. I must say, my knowledge of weaves, previously only sourced from America's Next Top Model, has grown quite a lot while here.

Oh, okay, so I was going to bring my back pack to carry stuff in, primarily because blah blah, let's reduce the number of plastic bags we use to save the rain forest or whatever, but also because plastic bags cost 20 cents. That's a hefty fee by any standard, but particularly when you consider that a giant cabbage is only 50 cents. But Winnie really didn't want me too, because she though people would stare. I told her they are going to stare at of regardless, but she really really didn't want me to bring a back pack. She did impressions of how people would look at me. It was pretty hilarious. Fine, but we're bringing plastic bags with us then. Oh yeah, people here call them paper bags. It kills me. This is very clearly not paper. I never say anything to anybody but Winnie though, because she's used to my lip. "What's that? You want me to pass you a paper bag? Hm, I don't see any of those around, but might this plastic bag render itself serviceable?" She just polls her eyes and remains firm on her nomenclature choice. I like her.

Usually while at the grocery store in town, I'm in a bit of a rush it seems, or at least not at leisure to browse around. Winnie and I were in no rush though, so yesterday I discovered a cookie aisle! Pardon me, a biscuit aisle. I picked up a small, 25 cent pack of these coconut numbers. When we had paid and were back outside, I reached into my bag to crack open the cookies. YOU'RE GOING TO EAT THEM NOW? Yeah. HERE? Um, yes. IN FRONT OF PEOPLE? Yes? WHILE WALKING!!? That was the plan...? Apparently, eating while walking is the most hilarious and most most embarrassing thing Winnie could think of. She tried to talk me out of it, again doing impressions of what people would say if they saw me. She already convinced me to leave my back pack at home, so no, I was going to win this battle. And they were delicious. I tried to get her to eat one, but she wouldn't hear of it. I do not understand at all.

Anyway, after all our travelling we treated ourselves to chipati to in with the beans we were going to cook for dinner. We don't have the cookware required for making chipati at home, and I think the fact that I recently discovered that a store nearby sells them fresh for only 20 cents is going to mean a pretty sharp increase in the number of chipatis I eat. They are so good.

Chiggo

Winnie lives in fear that our gas cooker might one day run out in the middle of cooking dinner, and THEN WHAT? Like, she is literally (fine, not literally) petrified at the thought. She mentions often that she has a chiggo at her house, and eventually I asked how much such an item costs. The answer was the equivalent of 3 canadian dollars, so we sent matron with money on Monday, market day, to buy us one.

I guess the first thing you need to know about chiggos is that they mightn't be called chiggos at all. Maybe jiggos or jickos or any other combinations of similar phonetics. The other important details are that it's just a little charcoal stand, and that you can't use it in an enclosed room because of the carbon monoxide. Oh, okay. Wait, what? You mean dioxide, right? No? Mon? Like the kind that kills you or causes brain damage? Apparently yes. It's certainly a bit smokey, and what with breathing this in and all the high notes hiding in every song I can think to teach in music class, I've kind of got a bit of a perma-sore throat.

The other change brought about by our new kitchen appliance is that two things can be cooked at once. While this may sound like a blessing, let me assure you that it's turning out to be a bit of a curse.

My schedule is pretty regular, and not at all constricted by time. As I've mentioned, I do a tremendous amount of reading, and listening to music, and reading of the blogs. I already sleep for at least 9 hours a night. Having a second cooking method means freeing up half an hour, and I just don't know what to do with it.

Wait, I should first explain what I actually mean in the previous sentence, when I sort of imply that I do the cooking. You know when you're little and you mom lets you help bake? And mostly you job is to watch then lick the spoon, but when small tasks arise that you are capable of completing then it's like, I CAN CRACK THE EGGS! Or, HEY, I'M PRETTY GREAT AT POURING CHOCOLATE CHIPS INTO A BOWL! The same is cooking dinner with Winnie. Despite the fact that I do almost nothing, I feel like it would be rude to go read while she cooks, so I hang out in the kitchen with her, occasionally being like, OH, LET ME WASH THE TOMATOES! Also, I make pasta on nights that feature a kale/plain spaghetti menu. Only I break the long noodles because that's how Winnie likes it.
(sorry, dad). Sometimes she lets me mash the beans up until she gets so frustrated with my method that she has to take over. I swear to you that out methods are identical, and that maybe she is only a little faster, however I let it go because my arm is usually getting tired.

Anyway, like I was saying. In addition to the carbon monoxide threat, having half an hour extra in my day is most taxing. Maybe I'll start showering with hot water. I'm continually talking about starting to in running again; maybe that should finally happen. Ugh, chiggo.

Half way

Yesterday was the midpoint between when I arrived and when I leave. 42 days left! Simultaneously I feel like ALREADY? and STILL HALF LEFT?

I kind of wanted to celebrate the date, so I was going to buy some cokes for all the teachers, but them thought that might be too, ooh, celebrate me, so I just got them all mandazis instead. They're like 8 cents each, and delicious. It's basically just deep dried flour and water, I guess, but so good. The first time I tried one was a few weeks ago, when Jessica bought me one. Now Winnie and I get one every now and then for breakfast. I put peanut butter on mine. The best!

Anyway, half way!

Mendasies

I have no idea how to spell it, but these babies are delish.

Garbage

A few weeks ago, Winnie took all the garbage out, and that's all I know about that. Then, today, the garbage was full again, so Winnie showed me where it goes.

A pit, out back. You bring some matches and find a good poking stick and then you burn it. First of all... it's kind of awk to burn your garbage with somebody. There is no need for the details to get detailed, here, but let's just say that feminine hygiene products do not burn very quickly. Also, all my wrappers from Clif bars and Crystal Light didn't burn at all, so they're just hanging out with the banana peals and tin cans that have accumulated over the years.

My hair and clothes smell like melted plastic and my eyes still sting a little. However, if I am to bring only a singular lesson home with me, it will be related to reducing the amount of things I throw out. I'd like to think I'm pretty good about garbage. I even sometimes take care to recycle post-it notes, with an emphasis on sometimes. Once you put garbage in the dumpster, or on the curb for the truck, you don't really think about it again, you know? You know about landfills and how plastic bottles don't disintegrate for a whatever-illion years, but actually dealing with it makes you realise how dumb garbage is. Like all that extra packaging that comes on everything- if you had to melt that in you back yard, you'd start thinking more about how wasteful it is. I mean, what else are you going to think about as you poke it with a burning stick? Anyway, what I'm saying is that I may or may not, upon my return to Canada, become somebody who has a composter in her kitchen, and writes angry letters to companies who use excessive packaging. For now, I'm just going to make sure that next time I put some flammable tinder in with the rest of my garbage.

Different kind of homesickness

When the amount of entertainment media one has, measured in number of novels and gigabytes of audio files, is finite, care must be taken to both ration and savour new material.

I brought 10 books. The complete novels of Jane Austen, that's 7, Great Expectations, The Power of One, and Wuthering Heights. In any other three month period, 10 would seem excessive, but in less than half my stay here, I've already finished 6. Of the four remaining, I've already read two, but a while ago so I'm hoping they're fresh. I read Sense and Sensibility a few weeks ago; the last time I read it was probably around 2006. I read as slowly as possible and the book was even more hilarious than I remember. My Aunt Sandy is mailing me a book, so I feel like if I work hard at stretching each one, and maybe give Great Expectations a second hurrah, them I think I'll make it, and only jog, rather than sprint, to the airport bookstore during my stop over to peruse every gossip rag in the joint. Charles Dickens vs Us Weekly. IT'S A TIE. I've also added some feeds to this RSS thing I found on my phone, and I now treat myself every now and again to the bandwidth required to load up some of my favourite blogs.

Music is another question. I have a four gb ipod with me, holding about 800 audio files. I debated for weeks, no joke, about music vs podcasts, and in the end brought 6 This American Life episods. Sometimes I kick myself for bringing so few, and at other times repeat the action for bringing so many. On one hand, it's obviously the best podcast ever, right? And it's such a nice hour of thinking about ways in which humans are humans, bless them. And it's so North American that it cures bouts of homesickness. I've listened to Return to The Scene, from early May, three times now. TAL fans, if that one somehow slipped through your listening, go have a hear now. On the other hand, a whole hour is like 20 songs, and while I'm a huge advocate of listening to good songs on repeat, I'm also getting a little ear-restless for some new tunage, you know? I don't really miss tv, though I am a bit curious as to whether Dollhouse pleased it's fans over the second half of the season. Rob/Jake/Greg... did it? But I really can't wait for some new music. Lisa, I expect you to write me a syllabus of things I need to catch up on that came out over the summer.

I would also like to say that long car rides are no longer the best time to listen to This American Life, and that lying under your mosquito net on you bed, after a long day of teaching and often not understanding/being understood, now takes the pole position. Also, to my cousin Britt, I feel like you would really like that podcast, and its free on itunes.

I guess I'm going through a bit of homesickness, but not in the usual PEOPLE! COMFORT FOOD! FAVOURITE BATHROOM! Kind of way. (And don't tell me you don't miss your favourite toilet while travelling) but rather in a culture way. I really can't even what I would do without internet and emails from friends and blogging and etc. Cannot imagine.

I also have a rule that I can't indulge in more than one form of entertainment at once. "Listening to music while blogging? You sybarite*!" Last week, in a show of utter decadence, I listened to TWO unlistende to This American Lifes, and felt a little guilty all weekend. This means that when I listen to music, I really LISTEN to it, you know? I also don't think I'd have enjoyed some of these books nearly as much if I didn't self-mandate the savouring of every word. I'd like to say that when I return home, I'll have a newfound appreciation for songza.com, or the local public library, but let's just face that that's probably not true.

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* I also brought a pack of flashcards and have been writing vocab on them. And so yes, sybarite is one of my new words. Thanks dictionary.com word of the day! (I think)

Cooking beans

Copying and Consequences part two

Read previous post first, please.

Winnie told me that most parents really struggle to say school fees. In fact, over the weekend everybody who had outstanding fees got sent home, which is about a third of the student body. That's frustrating because now I'll just have to reteach everything once they return. Anyway, but it's painful to think of parents making sacrifices to send their daughters to school and then the girls can't be bothered to even take notes in class.

We got a new girl last week. She had grade 8 test scores high enough to go to any school, but she couldn't even afford the cheapest regional school. She finally found a sponsor who agreed to pay for her to come to my school. In term 1 the math teacher covered seven chapters, and so far I've done three more. I thought I'd be dooming her if i didn't help her catch up, so I wrote up some notes for chapter one and gave her some homework, saying take your time, thinking it'd take her about a week. She handed it back to me the next morning, all questions perfect. Now, less than a week later, we are already on chapter six. She is so smart and hard working. She got 12 points on the quiz and she missed most of the chapter. I badly want to just brush away the ones who copy homework and spend all day doing really fun and hard questions with her.

On Monday mornings we have assembly and the principal usually rips into them pretty hard on things I think are pretty small. Like after church, apparently some of them gave some kids some money to go buy donuts for them, and lately they've been speaking to each other in their mother tongue DURING SCHOOL HOURS! I don't see the harm in a donut now and again but I do see the harm in not knowing how to multiply when you are 15 years old. I'm thinking of taking the law into my own hands (what's the word I'm looking for?) and creating some sort of demerit system that takes away privileges... fortunately the only privileges they have are the ones I'm about to bestow (that is, the electives) so I don't see any of the other teachers taking beef with that. But ugh, so much to organise, and so many guns to stick to, you know? With some lovely lovely exceptions, they really are a frustrating bunch sometimes. Maybe tomorrow or soon I'll blog about the ones I love because there really are some sweet ones, too.

Copying an Consequences

Today was pretty frustrating. Each day at lunch, I spend an hour with four or five of my grade nine math students. We practice different problems on the board, all four working independantly, and then after they give me their note books and I make up some extra problems to help them practice in the areas with which they are struggling. They then hand it in the next morning, and I mark it. If I'm not satisfied, then I write up more notes and examples and problems and they hand it in the next day. It's a lot of work but I feel that giving them that extra individual attention MUST help, right?

Yesterday we had a quiz that I didn't mark until today because I had about 15 notebooks full of weekend work. The quiz results were dismal. Out of 25, half the class got under five points. I had a few of my favourites score 19 and 20, and a bunch of students got 12 or 13. But come on. What is going on? Other than the issues with integers (I think some teacher somewhere must have skipped that chapter, because many of them have issues with the number line) this is mostly new stuff. It's not reliant on past knowledge. The only teacher to blame for the low scores is me.

I had two girls who, on last Wednesday, as we approached the end of the chapter, hadn't done a lick of chapter 10 homework. I gave them until today to hand in all assignments. They both did- every question, every section. But they both scored below 5 on the quiz. Something fishy. I took another look at their books... It seemed like messy, quick writing. There were no scribbles or eraser marks. I wrote down a few fairly easy questions from the homework that they had gotten correct and brought them to the two girls. Neither of them came anywhere close to the correct answer. After letting them hem and haw for a good long while, I was like, well, these SHOULD be familiar, since you did them in the homework. And then I asked them if they did the homework or if they copied, and one girl started to cry. She admitted to copying but the other was being all snickery and kept turning away. I gave them both lunch detention (and I will make them sit silently and do every single question in the chapter, coming during every lunch break from now until they finish). It's so frustrating. Nobody likes being lied to. And then I gave the class quite the lecture on copying and cheating. It was quite angry, and then I went home and cried for a bit.

This was all before school even started, so I headed back to in teach the class. Luckily my grade ten physics girls were in hilarious spirits. We're doing ray diagrams and they're all really into it. We've started a new thing where we applaud everybody who comes up to the board to draw a ray. But then I went next to the grade nines for math. I'm slowing the lessons down (even though I may or may not be screwing over the next term's teacher by leaving her more that a third of the material to cover) so that every time I do an example on the board, I walk around and give everybody some time to try it. So today I discovered that many girls haven't ever copied down a single note that I've written on the board. They're just totally resigned to failing math forever that the just sit quietly in class and don't even listen. I stood over a girl's shoulder to make her attempt one of the examples, and discovered that she doesn't know how to multiply. She had to look up five time seven in a little book she carries around. COME ON. This is the same girl who, during her lunch time learning session, kept asking to go to the bathroom. Listen, we all have had those days, you know? I though I was being the chillest teacher ever by lettin her in without making her feel awkward about it, until I saw that she had just been writing questions on her hand and getting help from the people outside. I felt so used. I cried after that as well. My first though is to be like, FINE, SUCKER! Never learn math and see if I care when you can never get a job because all employers look at high school transcripts and particularly at math even in non-math related fields. It's your own funeral! I guess if I were a good teacher, I'd want her to learn for the sake of learning. But I'm a spiteful person I guess... that girl is going to learn the heck out of chapter 10, because she's also going to learn that you do not lie to me, and you do not cheat. I wish there were a math equivalent of making somebody run laps. A punishment to make them think about what they've done, you know? "Drop and give me 50 push ups, and then factor this!" I guess I could make her write out times tables again and again, or, like the other two copying girls, just sit in silence for every single lunch period doing every question in the chapter. It's so much work.

My phone only lets of type a certain number of characters per text box and its hilarious that I've reached it. I'll have to start a new post.

Electives

Yesterday while sitting on the matatu with the principal, I mentioned that I was thinking about starting some clubs, like drama or photography, that would run after school and be totally optional. She gave me full approval on whatever I wanted to do, and even told me to ask her for anything I might need. I've been trying to think of knowledge I have that might be useful or fun for the girls. There are no arts in their curriculum, and despite the fact that the only arts course I took in high school was grade ten drama, and I only took it because we needed an arts credit to graduate, I most certainly beleive in the merits of the arts. Like, they're so busy being well behaved reluctant to speak that when you give them a chance to let loose they don't know what to do. When we played the wavi game I had to bribe them with extra points to make them cheer.

So my main goal with the electives is to give them a place to learn without being tested. Like, just to express themselves and be creative. That sounds so trite. My secondary goal is just to take full advantage of the fact that I have a different teaching skill set and knowledge base than the other teachers. So in addition to the creative electives like photography and drama, maybe things like first aid/cpr, North American culture, and colloquial English.

During computers today (which doesn't take place in the school house, and therefore the girls are way less taciturn) I asked them what sorts of things they would like to learn. They want to sing American song. Oh man. I said okay, which is hilarious since my singing voice has been described as both shrill and lugubrious. Oh man.

So I'm now trying to put together a little curriculum for each elective. Do you think its fair to say that only students who get above 80 on the next big upcoming midterm are allowed to partake in photography? I'd rather limit the number of people who can learn it because I don't want my camera to get ruined, plus maybe that will be incentive to study? I'm thinking we could do a lesson on working a digital camera, then a lesson on what makes a good picture (its a long story, but one time I snuck into a high school and ended up in a photography class pretending to be a new transfer student. It's a long story, but I know a bit about rule of thirds and stuff. Listen, it's a long story.) Then the rest of the sessions could be taking pictures, and I could print and mail back a few.

Drama...man, I don't know. Where does one being to start there? I guess I could teach improv? Does anybody know of good resources for scripts? Like, three to six characters, no longer than five minutes? I don't know where to start.

For North American culture, I could have a theme each week. Like geography, politics, fashion, media, rights and freedoms, food and cooking, the justice system, ceremonies like weddings or whatever, etc? I think each week it would be easy enough to think of something.

Singing/music. It'll be stupid expensive to stream a song, but it would be nice to let them actually hear the real version of a song while learning to sing in, which would limit me to the things on my ipod... so I guess I'll start by looking through what I've got. I think I'll have to extend my search though. Probably some good Beatles songs will be easy and appropriate, or some show tunes like Any Dream Will Do, or Do You Hear The People Sing? Yeah, do you think? There's a piano in the church that we can access, but none of them play. I bet I could pull it together and play some simple accompanyment, but I'd rather choose songs that can be sung without the need for an instrument. I'm trying to think up good acoustic type sing alongs like Jack Johnson? Dashboard? Even The Mountain Goats? Or some more cheery twee like any Tilly and the Wall? Slow Club? I don't know. Please comment with any song that you can think would be enjoyable for 15 year olds to sing, and not too hard for me to teach. Like harmonies are probably over my head. Also, do you think its important to choose songs with a bit of cultural significance, or just any song that is fun to sing? Also also, comment any ideas for elective classes that you can think of.

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.

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.

Getting water from the river

This is Baraka

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.

Malaria and Machakos

Today during first period, the business teacher for form one wasn't around so I greedily swooped in on his class time. I say greedily but I mean calmly, since the other teachers think I'm crazy to want extra time with them. It was nice to just have a whole period of doing examples, and calling people up to the board, and having factoring races. Seriously, you add a racing component to anything and these girls are all over it. As I left the class I did a little two-handed-clasp-shake-over-each-shoulder (that is a hard motion to describe) in victory of the business teacher being away. Then it turns out he also has malaria and now I feel terrible, but not so much so as to regret the fun of the expand-and-collect-like-terms race. Because it was the best. Plus, he was back in the afternoon, because he just had a mild, easily treatable case.

In other news, I am going to Machakos tomorrow- a city so big that google maps has heard of it! Tonight I will dream of the variety of fruits and vegetables I am sure to find. Fingers crossed on apples!

Malaria and Machakos

Today during first period, the business teacher for form one wasn't around so I greedily swooped in on his class time. I say greedily but I mean calmly, since the other teachers think I'm crazy to want extra time with them. It was nice to just have a whole period of doing examples, and calling people up to the board, and having factoring races. Seriously, you add a racing component to anything and these girls are all over it. As I left the class I did a little two-handed-clasp-shake-over-each-shoulder (that is a hard motion to describe) in victory of the business teacher being away. Then it turns out he also has malaria and now I feel terrible, but not so much so as to regret the fun of the expand-and-collect-like-terms race. Because it was the best. Plus, he was back in the afternoon, because he just had a mild, easily treatable case.

In other news, I am going to Machakos tomorrow- a city so big that google maps has heard of it! Tonight I will dream of the variety of fruits and vegetables I am sure to find. Fingers crossed on apples!