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.
I am readying to return to Kenya Thursday. I look at our blue sky here, but I can already see the vastness and beauty of the African sky. I am longing to see my sister Monica and hug her. I think of driving with Francis and of the many journeys we have shared during this 9 year adventure. He has taught me a lot and I pray I have taught him some things too.
I am going back to the Village where I began 10 years ago. Without going into too many details, one could politely call it our beta program.
It was my learning place; it was where I knew that Africa would always own a piece of my heart and I would always have to return to touch that place. It was a place of humiliation and disgrace.
So now I begin again there. I am wiser now. I am accompanied by Monica and her team. I am glad I get the chance to do it right this time.
So this begins my journal for you and the Board. I must finish packing my suitcases. Funny how 100lbs fills up so quickly. Again I shall have to choose what is more important. And again I shall cover my bounty with condoms and candy. I am going home again.
Do you remember those tests you took in High School (or even middle school) that asked you to compare and contract 2 different but similar entities? Sometimes they were truly obvious and sometimes really slippery. For me it was always about how well I could write and how much I could sling it.
Today, however, as I was reading my normal newspapers, The Washington Post and the Nation, it was so obvious that I just had to comment on it. Both have online editions, the ones I read. The Washington Post is arguably one of the best newspapers we have in the US. And in Kenya, for my money, the Nation is the best. (Not quite so many to choose from, but I digress)
What always strikes me is the difference in our news versus theirs. Our news is pretty much all about us. On the Post site if you want to know about the World you have to go to the top of the page, click that tab and then click another. And frankly if it’s not in Europe it gets scant coverage.
Not so the Nation.Right on the first page they tell you what is happening in Kenya, Africa, The World. Today they mentioned the death of Dorothy Rodham, Assange losing his appeal, without multiple clicks.
And how this translates into the people is that I have found Kenyans far more knowledgeable about our country than we are about them. So now children I invite you to Compare and Contrast
The Headline today in the Nation said that 18 men of the proscribed Mombassa Republican Council (something to do with Al Shabbab) were arrested. So, because I’m following this stuff I read on. And then I totally had to laugh. It seems there was “a renowned traditional healer” performing rites on the boys. And if he had been able to complete his job, the boys would be invisible to the police and not arrested as they went about their nefarious deeds. Yeah, I’m not kidding. And this reminds me that I’m still in Africa and that I can be scared but I can also laugh.
I really am following the yellow brick road.
I’m trying to remain calm as things keep blowing up in Kenya. We so need to get the new program off the ground and it has to be in November, since in December the schools close and then open in January when it gets launched.
The news, however, is not encouraging coming out of Kenya. And I’m wondering how you prepare for an explosion. I wrote a guy in my church who is an EMT about what kinds of things I should think of. I figure a tourniquet or two would be good and probably some powdered sulfa. Yeah, my mind is thinking that way.
All the work I have ever done in Africa has been a walk of faith, and I’m guessing this is just another one of those times where God has upped the ante. But I must admit for the first time ever, I’m scared. Probably that is a good thing.
So keep the faith y’all and watch for updates.
Every time I prepare to return to Kenya there are those who think that joining me would be great fun/education. And each time I invite the person to join me. I’m always up for company. Once they hear about the accommodations, the shots, the lack of food that they would eat and the potential for danger they find a reason that they can’t go.
Today, while reading the Nation, I see that Kenya actually could get dicey before the elections. Kenya has sent troops into Mogadishu, and the terrorists are PISSED. So now the threat is that they will bomb Nairobi. I’m not saying they will, but it does give me pause. I forget to think about those things.
I wonder, though, if 11/11/11 will mean anything to terrorists in Somalia and Southern Sudan. Cuz I’ll be in Nairobi then and I’d prefer not to dodge falling debris. Oh yes I’m still going, but it did have a weird affect on my psyche.
So I’m off to see my kids this weekend. A new granddaughter awaits. I always like to see them before I go. It’s not that I’m not planning to be home for Thanksgiving, but just in case, I will have had a chance to say I love you one more time.
And if you’d like to read the Nation Article, here’s the link.
I have commented several times on the corruption of the Kenyan Government. Perhaps you’re not aware of the trials going on in the Hague, but since they involve the Vice President, Treasurer, and Uhuru Kenyatta (whose after was first president) you should want to know. They are being tried for crimes against humanity. And they are scalawags and devils one and all. Check it out.
Among the places Amercans will never go are the slums of Muthare and and Kibera on the outskirts of Nairobi. They are places of savage poverty, filth, and a vulnerability we cannot comprehend. They have no running water or electricity and are generally what I call God’s throwaways, because they are the poorest of the poor.
As a child growing up in the privileged suburbs of Chicago, my father, a DA at the time, often took me to court. I went to my first rape trial when I was 9. And rape trials back in the 50’s were rare indeed. However it surely raised my understanding of the awful things that could befall a woman. Woman the world round are aware of the possibility of rape everywhere they go. And rape is not a sexual thing, it is a domination of man over women or, in this case, over whole families.
I have been following the trials of the Ocampo 6. They include the Vice President of Kenya and several other high ranking Government officials. And they are all thugs. As I have read of the horrors of the killings, and have lived the results of both the killings and the burnings, I felt the horror. I knew the horror. But today as I read the Nation a whole new outrage rolled over me, taking me a minute to actually catch my breath.
It seems that hordes of gangs were hired to go into the Kibera and Muthare and rape the women in front of their families. The purpose was both intimidation of the tribes and ultimate humiliation. No man wants to see his wife raped, and it is even worse in tribal Africa because a tribe’s domination over another can be achieved through this very act. Always it is the women who are sacrificed to achieve the goal. And it is women who pay the price. In this case thousands of husbands walked away from their wives because the woman had been raped. And who can say how many women were left infected by HIV? That wasn’t even part of the article.
As I sit listening to the fountain gentle trickle water over the rocks, plentiful food in my fridge and a toilet ten feet away from me, I keep wondering why. I am a woman of God, and I have espoused always that God has a plan. But today I just have to ask Him Why?
For the full article: http://www.nation.co.ke/News/politics/The+horror+of+rapes+in+post+election+slum+life+laid+bare/-/1064/1241926/-/mym333z/-/index.html
There are many who bemoan the high cost of gasoline (what we call it here in the US), however we don’t risk our lives for it. That is not so in Africa. Today my sadness continues as I learned that more were killed in a fire in Busia. This one is really close to home, since I stay in Busia when I am in Kenya.
I see those long lines of trucks lined up on the main road. I can literally walk across the border into Uganda from my hotel. Not that that would be a smart move for this muzungu.
Poverty makes people do crazy thing. Children are sold, and people overwhelmed by the need to eat will run up to a truck engulfed in flames to siphon off a little of the precious fuel that is not yet burning. And yes many will catch on fire, many will burn to death.
Often I am asked about whether I am worried about getting sick over there. I don’t think about it much. Whatever I get I figure can be taken care of when I get back home. But burns and automobile accidents are different. They can’t wait and the hospital and medical help in Kenya as well as all over Africa is so incredibly lacking that coffin makers are always just outside the hospitals. Hospitals are a place you go to die.
So I tell you this so you can know a little more about a life and a place you probably will never see. If you go to Africa you will probably go on Safari. You will never see the problem of Petrol
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11 November 2011
