I remember when my pastor preached that sermon. It was such an astounding thought, that though it has been several years, I frequently quote that. And Friday was the dawn of a promise.
It is always hard to give everything up and know that if it’s supposed to be it will be, and if not, it really is no use fighting. You will lose anyway. Thursday night we prepared for the new school in Siaya. I had suggested a different approach where I would sit in the back and play the role of observer not the great white hope. We all thought that was a good idea, since when folks see the white girl they see dollars from heaven. We changed a few things around including this amazing skit that Beatrice and Rosemary get the people to do.
It’s a simple skit, they ask for 4 volunteers, 3 men and 1 woman. And the skit goes like this, there is a farmer plowing by a river. 3 people come upon the farmer and see that the river is flooded and they ask the farmer to help them. The farmer tells them that he is busy, but the 2 men prevail and the farmer carries him across the river. The woman says she wants to see how the farmer crosses the river so she can do it herself later. The End.
Then they get the audience participation and ask people who they want to be the men or the women. Well everyone wants to be the woman who learns. And then they get down to business and ask what is the river a symbol for? Challenges they face…Who is the farmer? The donor who gets tired and may not be there to help the men back across the river. It’s extremely effective and really gets people thinking and talking and seeing how important it is that they become the woman who learns how to cross the river.
Ready and prepared, we left the lovely Blue York for Siaya. Siaya has not changed one iota in 10 years. The “roads” are rutted and muddy and the car sways back and forth and we pray we don’t end up in the river. The poverty is so crushing that I begin to cough feeling it in my chest.
We arrive at Nina actually on time. The tour of the school is gripping in the filth and mud that the children walk in and learn in. The headmaster though is very forward thinking and is excited that we have come. He tells me they also have a deaf school that is on their grounds. Ok, perhaps most if not all of you don’t know that in an earlier version of myself back in the 70’s and 80’s I worked with the deaf. I am quite fluent in sign language and my heart leapt for joy as I thought of seeing those kids here.
We went over to where they were playing, since they don’t mix with the hearing school. I walked right up to the first girl I saw and started signing my name and sign and where I came from. Her eyes opened wide, no one could believe the muzungu could do that. Very quickly I was surrounded by these amazing kids, whose sign was a lot better than the American kids I used to work with. I immediately invited them to join us for the meeting and for the girls to learn about the sanitary towels.
Shyly they came to the other side. They sat way in the back where I knew they couldn’t see me interpret for them. So I told them in sign that they belonged here and that they had to sit up front so they could understand what was going on. With encouragement they came up front and all the others saw that they were part of the activities and that the muzungu would interpret. (turns out I didn’t need to there were a couple of teachers who did a fine job) And what’s better for the first time I
Understood everything because I could read the sign language. And I knew that God said yes.
The parents were incredible in their enthusiasm, the team was it’s extraordinary self, it was as if new life was breathed into every one of us. The girls learned about the pads altogether, hearing and deaf. And they asked Vera good questions. The parents were anxious to get started and next week the team will be back to work on their budget and action plan. Wow, we were really rocking! It was that moment I pray for every trip, and it’s always when I’m not sure it’s really going to happen.
I am back at the Blue York after a day in the field. The torrents of rain are hurtling against the roof and windows, and of course there is no power now. It was not a good day. I am frustrated and disappointed by Nambale ACK and KMET.
It didn’t start well and went down hill rather rapidly. Last year when we started there were throngs of people. There were people from the town and the district who didn’t have kids in that school. I met with resounding endorsement for the idea of the feeding program. And by resounding I mean over 1000 people were clapping and enthusiastic for it to begin. Feed just the lower grades? No they wanted to feed all the grades and they were going to do it.
It is now 1 year later. There were less than 60 parents there. The feeding program which was to be shared by the community, is in the toilet. I found out today that they are only feeding the ECD (early childhood development) class. They are the only parents that are still contributing. Blank stares and innui looked out at me. When I asked them if they knew that our money was leaving in a year, they looked shocked. Now folks, I know, and KMET sat on the same stage telling them this is how the program works. But see a muzungu face (white girl) and it’s donor time. I was beyond tired and angry, but you can’t show those things to the villagers; it would have to wait until we had team meeting at night. I sat numbly through the rest of the meeting, sometimes I slipped on my headphones so I could leave without leaving.
Monica and her team did their thing, but by the end even Monica was angry and said if they didn’t participate she had other places to go. Funny that was my feeling, but I’m glad she said it. The community responded that they were going to make it compulsory that every parent contribute their share. I’ll be waiting to see.
So here I am 10 years later, wondering if it can be done. Can a small non-profit partner with an NGO and get a community to take care of their children? Micro-finance surely works, but getting a community to come together to feed their children, with all the support that they are getting…Nambale ACK was a real slap in the face, and Manyole was a chasm that OVAAT will not put more money into.
My hope lies with the 2 new schools. Can the new approach of PICD work? I need to see the schools, surely, but perhaps tomorrow I won’t tell them where I am from or what I am doing there. Maybe I shall just be a consultant, so that they don’t see an unending source of money. We’ll talk about it in team meeting.
As for me today, I am tired of the rain, the mud, the lack of power, the lack of connection to the outside world, ha no connection to the outside world. Maybe that’s the key. If you don’t know what is going on outside then you see yourselves as victims, you are passive, you wait. Only when you think you are part of a future, part of a plan might you decide to change your attitude. Perhaps; but as for me, now, it’s time for another cold wash from the spigot and creepy food.
I am back at the Blue York after a day in the field. The torrents of rain are hurtling against the roof and windows, and of course there is no power now. It was not a good day. I am frustrated and disappointed by Nambale ACK .
It didn’t start well and went down hill rather rapidly. Last year when we started there were throngs of people. There were people from the town and the district who didn’t have kids in that school. I met with resounding endorsement for the idea of the feeding program. And by resounding I mean over 1000 people were clapping and enthusiastic for it to begin. Feed just the lower grades? No they wanted to feed all the grades and they were going to do it.
It is now 1 year later. There were less than 60 parents there. The feeding program which was to be shared by the community, is in the toilet. I found out today that they are only feeding the ECD (early childhood development) class. They are the only parents that are still contributing. Blank stares and innui looked out at me. When I asked them if they knew that our money was leaving in a year, they looked shocked. Now folks, I know, and KMET sat on the same stage telling them this is how the program works. But see a muzungu face (white girl) and it’s donor time. I was beyond tired and angry, but you can’t show those things to the villagers; it would have to wait until we had team meeting at night. I sat numbly through the rest of the meeting, sometimes I slipped on my headphones so I could leave without leaving.
Monica and her team did their thing, but by the end even Monica was angry and said if they didn’t participate she had other places to go. Funny that was my feeling, but I’m glad she said it. The community responded that they were going to make it compulsory that every parent contribute their share. I’ll be waiting to see.
So here I am 10 years later, wondering if it can be done. Can a small non-profit partner with an NGO and get a community to take care of their children? Micro-finance surely works, but getting a community to come together to feed their children, with all the support that they are getting…Nambale ACK was a real slap in the face, and Manyole was a chasm that OVAAT will not put more money into.
My hope lies with the 2 new schools. Can the new approach of PICD work? I need to see the schools, surely, but perhaps tomorrow I won’t tell them where I am from or what I am doing there. Maybe I shall just be a consultant, so that they don’t see an unending source of money. We’ll talk about it in team meeting.
As for me today, I am tired of the rain, the mud, the lack of power, the lack of connection to the outside world, ha no connection to the outside world. Maybe that’s the key. If you don’t know what is going on outside then you see yourselves as victims, you are passive, you wait. Only when you think you are part of a future, part of a plan might you decide to change your attitude. Perhaps; but as for me, now, it’s time for another cold wash from the spigot and creepy food.
Yeah and I’m a crispy critter too. So much for SPF 30, there’s no fighting the Kenyan sun. You only have to be out in it 15 minutes to fry, so I will be a dermatological dream again.
I am constantly telling my clients that they must surrender ego, that it is always up to the universe to make things happen. Old ego and I had a real smack down today. We were supposed to get to Malanga at 11A, then it was changed to noon, but we didn’t get there until 2P. That made me crazy since I, of course, was on time. But it turns out the KMET van broke down, Monica didn’t really know her way and wasn’t traveling with us and well it’s Kenya. By the tie we got there folks had been sitting waiting since 8A. And to make things worse the headteacher, Maloba, had told the new school we would be there by 11A. So we were pissing people off all over the place. We had to apologize at Malanga, then we had to split up so some of us could go and placate the new schools while the others worked out the exit plan at Malanga. Suffice it to say ego did not like where this was heading. Ego likes things organized, ego anticipates problems and leaves time for them, and ego was really snarky.
I went to the new school ,Nangina. By that time it was 3P and they had been waiting 6 hours. I felt terrible and apologized as best I could but they were still not having it.
So I got Francis to go to the car and get a bag of sweets that I always carry for the kids. In this case I needed to sweeten the mood of the parents and passed out the lollipops. I had to make a joke of it and they seemed a bit better.
But you know you’re in trouble when there are no speeches and few introductions. And the dancing girls were no where to be seen. The KMET team was first up and gave their schpiele for the first 30 minutes. We covered micro-finance, nutrition and partnership. We were missing a lot of the team cuz they were back at Malanga.
And then it was Mama OVAAT time. And something miraculous happened, it wasn’t’ about me anymore. It was about them. It was about building a team, a partnership. It was about telling them how much I believed in them and that with a little push they could make it on their own. I asked them if they would join our team, team Nangina and they said YES!! And then the old cheerleader or preacher in me broke out and I got them chanting yes we can and passed out faith bracelets to everyone of them so they could identify as members of the team and they were united and it was glorious and it was all about God not that dirty little ego. It was truly amazing grace.
We broke for a quick lunch (which I always avoid). I’ve gotten so good at it I take out my diabetic kit and prick my finger at the table, then shake my head and say sorry the number is not right for me to eat that. (trust me I don’t care whether it’s 80 or 180 it’s “never right”). So after a few handfuls of rice I want to see the children. The children breathe life back into me as surely as water lifts a marathon runner. Maybe it is runner’s high.
We finished at 5P and went to the lovely Blue York. Dinner and review of the day followed by no internet and very little electricity. No matter, since I’m so dirty I’m totally ok with washing with cold water. I didn’t have a choice really,
What always continues to amaze me is the teamwork that happens with the KMET crew. As I reflect on the day, and I see how they work as a team, reflect on the good and the bad and plan the next day I know I am with a group of remarkable people. Everyone is equal and respected and while sometimes it is not the most efficient process, their staff is dedicated, inventive, and a delight to work with.
So I end the night in grace and for that I am grateful. I’ll post this when I can.
Keep the faith y’all
Last night we didn’t get settled until 6P. And it was the first time I could pee all day. Ah yes, I remember, no peeing until 6PM. You see there are no restaurants or gas stations on the road to Kisumu so there are no public restrooms, so there is just no peeing till you get to either KMET or the hotel. So it still stands, (or in this case squats)no peeing till 6P.
This morning we went to visit a site run by the PICD. This stands for Participatory Integrated Community Development. We went first to the river where women and children had been bathing and drinking for lifetimes. The stench almost knocked me over. It seems that the cattle also use the river and defecate in it. And when it is the long rains they often find bodies of people who have drowned. Africans do not swim.
The PICD went into the community and helped the people organize their own project. No money was donated initially until there was an action plan. Many women and some men got together and decided they needed clean water and they made their own bricks, got a $1000 grant, added their own money and built a water tank that holds rain water.
I wish I could show you the film of the river and the women, but see that’s the African thing. Francis insisted on using my old camera instead of the HD one and well….it didn’t come out. And Francis being both a man and an African man was having nothing of asking another person at KMET to help him with the camera until I begged him. Alas, too late to get the film of these women.
From there we did the Kenyan thing of filling up time doing really nothing. I visited the nursery school I had worked on last year. I found that they had not implemented the suggestions I had given them and it was frustrating. Then we went to this ceremony with KMET and UNICEF and a whole bunch of other people that went on in the hot African sun forever. This is the part I really am losing patience with. The endless speeches, the naming of everyone and their introducing themselves, then more speeches, to say nothing of having to watch children sit tirelessly and better than I in the sun. We didn’t get to eat lunch and by 4P I was definitely feeling it.
Today was all the hard stuff of being in Kenya. It is the endless waiting, organization Kenyan style (that means everything starts 2 hours late and goes on at least 2 hours after it is supposed to end). And what seems to this American mind like a total waste of my time. But they wanted me there and I do have good southern manners (well sort of…half way through I put on my iphone and listened to a story…oops)
At the end of the day I reviewed with Monica and the staff the impossibility of the plans they had made for the rest of the week. Nothing gets done in 2 hours much less a visit to our favorite school; the one who is graduating and going on to mentor another. So we’re going to be at it flat out for the rest of the time I am here.
Tomorrow is Malanga. This is the good part of what I do. Tomorrow you will meet Benta, the Iron Lady. Tomorrow you will meet Maloba the headmaster and the parents and children of a school which has excelled beyond all expectations. It is true that there will still be the endless speeches, but I am going home to the parents and children I love. So I will sit in the sun, and take the live chicken, and find out just how well they have done.
On to Nambale (the town) and Malanga (the school)! Hooray
Today we drive the Great Rift Valley. I don’t remember when exactly I started driving the Rift instead of flying. Probably when I smartened up and realized that a. it was much cheaper and b. it brings me to my heart home as I travel the different climes that are the Rift. First we hit a crest and look down on the long fertile valley, then we pass through miles of tea and coffee plantations, and then into the orange roads that signal the small towns teeming with people, farm animals roaming the streets and mounds and mounds of produce. Potatoes stacked in pyramids, onions, tomatoes. As we move further on we get to the villagers carrying great stalks of banannas and finally pineapples. Poverty abounds, naked children playing in the dirt, tall regal women with huge loads of sticks or water in jerry cans atop their heads, and everyone is walking by the side of the road.
Once in a while we see a private car like our own. But mostly it is the lorries and crazy matatu drivers (these are Toyota fans which are supposed to seat 9 but are often crammed with as many as 20 in them). The matatus are usually the culprits in the horrendous vehicle deaths that run rampant on the roads. A couple of weeks ago 25 people were killed because a Matatu tried to outrun a lorry and didn’t make it. I used to drive in those when I first started here; but even I gave up as they were so incredibly dangerous. Sometimes you see a boda boda (bike carrying someone for money). Life can be very cheap here and it is taken for granted that road deaths occur regularly. I don’t ride boda bodas either.
I am anxious to get going. Francis shall be here fairly soon given the traffic and what he has to attend to at home. I will film some of the Rift and post it for you.
I have officially been spooked by the security. I have checked out and had 3 bags. I left my black briefcase on the couch in the lobby while I went to the loo. It was scooped up immediately. Then,I got questioned by the guard as to whether it was mine. And since Francis is late, I decided to go to the ATM to get some cash. Again, I was questioned by 2 guards about my walkabout. And then another at the bank and then I was frisked to get back into the hotel. Yeah, who says they’re not worried?
Catch you in Kisumu
It was a glorious though bumpy ride to Kisumu. I have attached some un-edited film of our ride. We go from the very arid rift where the Masaii tend their cattle to the vast tea plantations in the valley and along the way meet some interesting fauna.
I am glad to be back. Exhausted, the ride takes 6.5 hours, and it’s really hard on the back, but pain killers are a wonderful thing. Monica and I met for dinner and have mapped out the rest of the week. I am excited by the new steps they are taking to join resources with us and get more schools up and running in a year. Tomorrow I’ll see a proto-type, but the partnership between Monica and I is truly one the masters had in mind.
It is thundering like mad outside. I pray we don’t lose electricity until all my cameras, phones, and computer are tanked. Francis is going to do some serious filming tomorrow. I hope to bring you Monica tomorrow night if even in the un-edited version. Her words will speak for themselves.
And now dear campers, I’m going to read while I still have some light before we lose power. It’s a matter of an hour or so.
Today we drive the Great Rift Valley. I don’t remember when exactly I started driving the Rift instead of flying. Probably when I smartened up and realized that a. it was much cheaper and b. it brings me to my heart home as I travel the different climes that are the Rift. First we hit a crest and look down on the long fertile valley, then we pass through miles of tea and coffee plantations, and then into the orange roads that signal the small towns teeming with people, farm animals roaming the streets and mounds and mounds of produce. Potatoes stacked in pyramids, onions, tomatoes. As we move further on we get to the villagers carrying great stalks of banannas and finally pineapples. Poverty abounds, naked children playing in the dirt, tall regal women with huge loads of sticks or water in jerry cans atop their heads, and everyone is walking by the side of the road.
Once in a while we see a private car like our own. But mostly it is the lorries and crazy matatu drivers (these are Toyota fans which are supposed to seat 9 but are often crammed with as many as 20 in them). The matatus are usually the culprits in the horrendous vehicle deaths that run rampant on the roads. A couple of weeks ago 25 people were killed because a Matatu tried to outrun a lorry and didn’t make it. I used to drive in those when I first started here; but even I gave up as they were so incredibly dangerous. Sometimes you see a boda boda (bike carrying someone for money). Life can be very cheap here and it is taken for granted that road deaths occur regularly. I don’t ride boda bodas either.
I am anxious to get going. Francis shall be here fairly soon given the traffic and what he has to attend to at home. I will film some of the Rift and post it for you.
I have officially been spooked by the security. I have checked out and had 3 bags. I left my black briefcase on the couch in the lobby while I went to the loo. It was scooped up immediately. Then,I got questioned by the guard as to whether it was mine. And since Francis is late, I decided to go to the ATM to get some cash. Again, I was questioned by 2 guards about my walkabout. And then another at the bank and then I was frisked to get back into the hotel. Yeah, who says they’re not worried?
1. There’s a guard at the end of the hall. He stays there all the time. There are metal detectors and 3 guards at the main door as well as guards outside.
2. I was supposed to meet with my friend Beatrice today, but she is in a meeting until 4P. I asked her to meet me for dinner, but it’s not safe for her to travel at night
3. I told Francis we need to go to the Market at noon. When I called him at 11:30A to see if he was almost here, he hadn’t left home yet. So it will now be closer to 1P before we can go.
4. I’m supposed to meet Douglas at 3P. Now I would be late for that meeting if I went to the market, but it’s ok because I haven’t heard from Douglas so if we meet it will be much later if at all.
5. And then there’s eating which doesn’t seem to follow any schedule. So my planned lunch with Beatrice is gone, tea with Douglas is a question and I had breakfast at 8, but I guess like peeing, it’s nuts and water till 6P now.
Now guys, this is just how it works. No one is being rude or disrespectful. They say yes to everything and then figure it out as they go along. Francis clearly had something he had to do today and didn’t want to tell me, cuz he’s being paid by the day. So he’ll just be late. And Beatrice, she loves me as a sister, but her community where she lives, her church etc. are all very important and she just figured she would fit it in. Douglas…well Douglas is an anathema but maybe I’ll meet with him and maybe I won’t.
Oh yeah, and one more thing. Francis kept one of my suitca
I have entered into the amorphous part of travel. I have no idea what time it is. By my calculations I have been traveling for over 24 hours, but I still have a 13-hour flight to Kenya. Security is tight here in Amsterdam with a second screening. The strange thing about my traveling is that I enter into this zone of peace, which carries me through to the end. I have audio books and kindle and movies of my own and so however long it takes is fine.
I know I am on my way home to Kenya because the faces are so different sitting here at the airport. Now I see the faces of Kenya, I see the Kikuyu, the luo and the luya. I actually can pick out the facial differences of most of the tribes now and know Somalis from Ethiopians from Eritreans. A Somali drove me to the airport and we had a cool conversation about El Shabbab. He is from Southern Somalia and I think he daren’t say that he supports El Shabbab, but he wasn’t putting them down either.
It looks to be an interesting trip this time.
Because I am white and don’t belong to any tribe, people from all tribes tell me stuff they would never say aloud with other tribes. So I shall be interested to hear what people’s take is on El Shabbab.
More later when I land in Nairobi. I am looking forward to the warm moist air and the night sky. It is the short rains right now, but hopefully they will have passed for the day and I shall be able to look out onto the endless spectrum of stars that dot the horizon and the moon radiates above.
12 November 2011
It’s the little things that now make me laugh. Americans would really be upset if their phone number changed every 6 months or so. Once I landed I had to tank up my Kenya phone. Because I use it every 6 months or so, and can’t tank it up in the U.S, it means that I have a new sim card often. Which means I must call everyone and give him or her my new number. Which means that I have to buy extra cards so that I can call my friends and contacts here. It’s just part of how it works here.
I got in late, as usual and the lines for customs were long and ponderous. But again, it’s just part of the deal. Folks who were tweaking didn’t get anywhere and I figure waiting in the visa line beats waiting for luggage and getting crushed in the mix. Since my suitcases are all hand painted by me, I know no one is going to take them. And since they both weighed in over the weight limit, most folks can’t even ick them up.
It was great to see Francis waiting, and his son John who has grown exponentially since I saw him last. Francis says things have quieted down here in Nairobi, so we’re going to the Westlands to Masaii market today. I hate shopping and quibbling with the vendors, so I like to get it over as soon as possible. I swear Francis is my Kenyan husband and understands me well. We have our routine down pat and I’m glad we both slip into our easy friendship so quickly.
Ok, I’m hoping to post this now, since I’m in one of the better hotels and they ostensibly have Internet. It wasn’t working last night and there were some pretty angry muzungus. It’s going to be a long trip for them if they get upset about not having Internet. What are they going to do when there’s no power or water?? Oh, no they won’t be staying in those places.
Is it really almost 10 years since my first time in Siaya? Imagine! (the Kenyans say this word with such emphasis it loses a bit in the translation). I went to Kenya that first time on complete faith and trust that my guardian angels and God would watch over me. I had met 2 ministers in Addis Ababa and was flying back to Africa to meet them.
One lived just outside Nairobi, and the other lived in Siaya. I knew nothing of either place, but Siaya was really out there. I flew into the tiny airport in Kisumu and was met by Mama Daniel and her brother, Ben. I had no idea where I would be staying or what I would actually learn, but so like a freshman in college, I was up for it.
The history of Siaya is contained in the blogs of long ago. I am in awe that people had enough faith in me stateside that they raised the money, developed One Village at a Time into a non-profit and never knew how little I knew. It was, as they say, the Beta project. It ended very very badly. People in Siaya were pissed and so were my brother and sister-in-law whose daughters had gone over to get caught up in my debacle. It wasn’t pretty.
Now, now I know the importance of so many things including good partners on the ground. I know how things work in Kenya (as much as anyone can). Our program has developed into something truly remarkable. We have gone from a rag tag feeding station in Siaya feeding 26 kids for $4000 to feeding 2000 kids for 6 months for the same price. And we are improving their lives and their parents lives. It’s a real macro approach.
Nambale is graduating 2 schools, a new one will enter to partner with the one we took in last year. And I am going back to Siaya. Funny how things work. Monica had asked me to work in her home village and of course I said yes. Then she told me it was Siaya. I must admit I blanched, and I am hoping they don’t string me up when I come back into town. I’m thinking that if I’m riding with Monica and Francis it will be ok.
So come with me now dear readers as we travel back to where I began. It’s going to be a really cool journey and I promise to tell all the truth, not just some of it. And in the end, hopefully, you will know me and why I do what I do.
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