A Traveller is Always Saying Goodbye

There's a funny thing about meeting people while travelling: they're in your life in passing. You may meet again one day, and perhaps become very close with someone under unlikely circumstances, as I have been lucky to experience. However, it seems that usually there's a confident farewell. This is particularly true when meeting other travellers compared to natives.

Since my arrival, I've met so many people from all over the world. Some I spent a lot of time with, like Franceska. Her and I spent practically every second of the day together for a few weeks; we became very close very quickly. Inevitably, we had to say our goodbyes, not knowing when, or if, we'd see each other again. There were other people I met briefly, like Karl, from Sweden. We met on the beach and spent the day together, but he and I had to eventually part ways, as well. These hellos and goodbyes are constant for a traveller.

Out of the countless people I interacted with, there were only a few I decided to exchange information with, in order to keep in touch. Networking is considered crucial but I don't necessarily believe in making contacts just for the sake of "you never know". Just because I did not give everyone my email, does not mean my time or engagement with them was not influential in some way. In general, I appreciate interactions with people. There are so many fascinating individuals in the world and it's worth striking up a conversation with a stranger sometimes. Even from a short conversation, one can attain a better understanding about a culture, a language, a people. It creates a bond.

Personally, I regard goodbyes as facts; they are an inescapable part of life. Sometimes people say that it is never "goodbye" but only "see you later"; I tend to be more straight forward though. Again, it is not that I am ungrateful to the people who shared their lives with me, even for fleeting moments. But life moves on and we must hug and wave and wish each other the best in their life adventures. I keep with me the memories and lessons from all the people I had real interchanges of the heart and mind with. As for my goodbye to Kenya, it will probably not be the last. Despite the challenges, I feel connected to the country in many ways. I'm sure I will return again one day, saying "mambo!," with a huge smile on my face.

Kids

A couple volunteers from England, Vicky and Bryony, arrived to Amina's just before I left. I remember Franceska was playing with Darnell when Vicky turned to me to say, "children are raised quite differently here." I had been working the same thought over in my mind for a while; for her to notice it on her first night in Githurai, confirmed my hunch as being more than simply that.

In New York, I have been working with and caring for children for many years; after an intensive period of time with children here, it is easy to compare the differences between upbringings. Aside from upbringing, it is more importantly a matter of general childhood. The comparison comes to be between childhood of kids on the lower side of the economic spectrum in Kenya, which accounts for a large percentage, and an average childhood in the States.

Firstly, there are obvious differences in terms of resources available to kids here. All my life, I have been privileged with running (hot) water, proper waste and sewage sytems, healthy diet, education, and health care. This is only a dream for a lot of children here. Secondly, I had a clean place to play, whether indoors or out. I had toys, electronics, a bicycle, etc. Pretty much, there was nothing for me to complain about growing up. Also, every August, my parents would take me back-to-school shopping so that I could get the coolest backpack of the season and glittery classroom accessories.

For a lot of kids here, having a notebook is a big deal. At the school where I have been teaching, there are a lot of children in my classroom who lack notebooks, pencils, erasers, and pens. It is very difficult to teach when the kids can't even write down the assignments. The school currently has about 50 kids enrolled, all from the surrounding community I live in, which faces poverty everyday. Many of the parents can barely afford to send their children to this low-standard community school. Some of the children are orphans. The kids do not always come fed; this contributes to their lack of focus and ability to fully grasp concepts. Other factors that lead to these issues are insufficient school materials, unbalanced ratio of teachers to students, children of various grades all in one classroom, and home life problems.

Regardless of lack of toys or sufficient materials or clean clothes, kids always seem to be happy. The bratty attitudes I see far too often back home, are inexistent around here. The children entertain themselves in any way, playing outside all day and coming home in time for dinner. From morning until night, they are physically active and very social (and that doesn't mean on Twitter). They seem to appreciate simply having friends to hang out with rather than having the latest electronics. Then again, if they had the option to have those things, I'm sure it would be a different scenario. After all, kids are kids.

Bad Sides

As Moses, 25, a friend of the family I am now living with, had showed me the way to the mall and the nearby Nyali Beach on Sunday, I felt confident to make the trip on my own the following day. As I walked up to the matatu to ask how much it would be for my ride, I felt someone behind me; that someone was a ragged-looking man searching my backpack for something to borrow, I'm sure. When I called him out, he kept screaming, "What, what?!" I also realized the people from the bus were accomplices, which made me laugh cynically and storm off. I decided to walk to my destination as I remembered the way and wouldn't mind a good, long walk.

On the way, two unpleasant events took place. The first was nauseating: an old, white man was bargaining with a black man for the services of two young boys. In New York, I worked for many months on a project against child sexual exploitation, for the non-profit I was employed at, and know all too well how the offenders work. In Nairobi, I met a volunteer who spent a couple months working in Mombasa and mentioned bearing witness to this, especially on the beaches. She said it was difficult to be faced with something so vile and be useless against it. She was right.

The second event was more personal. To get to the beach, I must pass Bamburi Cement Factory, which is one of the largest producers of cement in Africa. I learned this information from my handy Kenya guide. Being that this was highlighted in my book, I figured I'd take a picture to add to my collection; it went downhill from there. I was followed by security guards, nothing short of manhandled on the street and forced to go with them to the security office or else face the police, for what they failed to mention. Trying to fight off the strong grip of men who offer no explanation for their actions certainly gets your adrenaline pumping. The worst part was feeling as though the guard was enjoying watching me struggle; there was no reason for his holding me down but he just watched me with a strange, pleased gaze. Since there was no guarantee I'd be taken to any sort of respectable office with respectable people, I kept my disposition calm and collected but, on the inside, was kind of freaking out (and developing plans A through Z). In the office, another man explained that the cement plant is of high security and a target for terrorism so they must be very cautious. He interrogated me but was careful to point out this was not a "detention center" (funny, since I didn't have an option to leave). I explained that 1. It could be safely assumed I was not affiliated with al-Shabaab with a bathing suit tied around my neck 2. If I was a terrorist trying to snap pictures, I would have been a little more tactful 3. There are no signs warning against photos 4. I offered from the beginning of the ordeal to delete the photos, which is ultimately how it all ended. Overall, it was a dramatic and unnecessary ordeal. I informed the man that personnel should be trained in handling these situations better as what happened was unacceptable. Obviously, coming from a girl half his age and half his height, this was laughable to him.

In three days, I have seen a side of the city I wish I hadn't.  Bad sides balance everything out but I was hoping to see Mombasa's good side first. I find myself counting the days until I return home. This is partially due to being the sole volunteer in a place where terror attacks are becoming more frequent by the day. I'm not sure I want to stay very long in a country where you are now encouraged to purchase terrorism insurance. In addition, the rain pounds down on the roof day and night, which doesn't help my motivation. Being negative may be something I am guilty of but I prefer to think I am simply being realistic. At least I can admit the way things appear to me and how they have influenced me.

This weekend I will explore the main part of the city, visiting top tourist spots and treating myself to a nice dinner. It has become increasingly important to have things to look forward to. Perhaps, I won't snap too many photos of industrial structures, you know, to be on the safe side (of the prison bars).

The Blue Zone

Westlands is a wealthy area of Nairobi. Westgate Shopping Mall is located there. Also, it is where the Blue Zone is located. The Blue Zone refers to the United Nations sector, where various embassies and the U.N. complex is located, as well as where many of the U.N. staff reside. A contact living in the area was gracious enough to invite me to spend the day with her on Friday. After taking bus 45 and matatu 107, I arrived at Village Market, a very nice mall in Gigiri, where we enjoyed breakfast.

A native Bosnian, she lived in Western Europe for several years and has now been in Kenya for three. As a Westerner with white skin myself, I was curious about her perspective, as a white woman with a career, on living here for a substantial amount of time. There are some cultural aspects here that she realized right away would be quite different from what she had experienced in the past. Having "help" in the house was one of these aspects. It is customary, even for families that are not wealthy, to have maids, servants, and security working for them. When she first moved in to her house, the first two months were spent awakening to a mob of people outside her gate asking to be hired; her husband and she decided it would probably be best to hire someone since it was becoming impossible to even open their gate anymore. Once they hired one woman, they were told they would need two because the size of the house required two maids. This deals with the common misconception of white people having a lot of money. Kenyans have told me this about their own people (it is a topic I should probably dedicate an entirely separate post as it is complicated).

In addition, she realized one cannot live here and play by the rules (mostly because there are none anyway). If you want something done, you need to pay. For instance, when she needed an electrician to fix something in the house, she spent weeks trying to get someone to show up to appointments and do more than just say they could fix the issue. Once she paid a little extra, the electrician showed up the very next day and did the job in five minutes. The corruption in this country is endless and is found on every level. Watching the news each night tuned me into this very quickly. For someone with white skin, or someone with a U.N. sticker on their car, for that matter, getting trapped in the corruption, unintentionally or not, seems inevitable. To a degree, it is part of a lifestyle.

When we were done with breakfast, we drove down the road to the U.N.. The United Nations complex in Nairobi is unique and simply gorgeous. There are various low-rise buildings established in close proximty to one another. The land on which the complex is built is filled with trees, flowers, man-made ponds, and even monkeys (who apparently sneak into offices to steal employees' lunches). Being that terrorist attacks are prone to happen at any time, as was warned could happen on the day I visited, security should be high; it's not. If you want to experience tight security measures, visit the New York UNHQ. Compared to HQ, Nairobi offers a green and calm atmosphere, and also sees a very quick turnover of many staff. However, both New York and Nairobi complexes exude the professionalism and sense of purpose for goodwill that I admire.

After our visit to the complex, we picked up her son from school. He attends a German school, which is very selective about admittance, as most of the private, foreign schools are. The moms were all chatting in German while their children played on the playground. Social life for people in Nairobi is difficult as most Kenyans close off their relationships with outsiders at their front door. A colleague of the woman I spent the day with has been here for fifteen years and has never stepped foot in a Kenyan home. This is due to lack of an invitation, despite working with many Kenyans. Therefore, U.N. people and individuals working with international organizations tend to all run in the same circle. Within this circle, it seems everyone is very lively and there's always an event happening. Who knew the U.N. was such a party?

It is always a privilege to be invited into someone's home and daily routine. As a volunteer, I've been lucky to have been witness to lives of people from varying ages, tribal associations, and social and economic backgrounds. Not to make it sound like research, but these experiences have opened doors for me to learn much more about life in Kenya and what it would be like for me if I ever lived here long-term.

Attachments

On one of her living room walls, Amina has a large poster on which past volunteers have glued their photos and written farewell notes. When I first arrived, I thought they all seemed exaggerated, ("You're my mom away from home," is a common theme) especially for the individuals who only stayed with her for a couple weeks. Now, it is clear to me that these people truly felt attached to Amina because I, too, feel the same.

Living with Amina has been better than I could have hoped for. Our personalities simply clicked (she's a Sagittarius). Having had an interesting experience with my host mother in Spain, I braced myself for what was to come this time around. I hit the jackpot with Amina, however, and now I am worried for my host mom in Mombasa, as she has large shoes to fill. Amina is hilarious; she is sarcastic (definitely my kind of person) and says what is on her mind. She is a poster child for the strong, no-nonsense, independent woman. I admire that. Also, she is an expert at ignoring my pleas to give up washing my sneakers since they are only going to continue to get dirty (although she somehow makes them look cleaner than when I bought them, which is a convincing factor for her argument). Her guidance and advice for surviving Kenya, and more specifically Githurai, has been invaluable. She taught me essential Kiswahili phrases to use against persistent men looking to make it big in America with their new Caucasian wife. As life here can sometimes be frustrating, it was comforting to know she is looking out for me. The care she has for me is something I feel deeply and there's no way to repay her for that. She has indeed been a mom away from home.

Aside from Amina, I will suffer a loss from the Elshadai kids, as well. The whole week I've been feeling sad about the looming inevitability of my departure. The girls and boys frequently confirm which day will be my last and have made it clear that they are upset about my leaving a month earlier than I originally told them. We have been having increasingly enjoyable days together; we celebrated a pizza day, organized a party with balloons and cake, and spent endless hours playing at the school lot. Every day is more exciting than the last.

There are always certain people we connect with more in any setting and the orphanage has not proved differently. Five year old Nivah and eleven year old Eric I have grown very close to. Nivah is always taking the opportunity to sit in my lap or hold my hand, and when she tells me she loves me, I melt. Eric is a little man; strong and confident on the outside but sensitive on the inside. He also has a gorgeous smile (upon verbalizing this to him, he became terribly bashful about it). I realized the connection I feel with each of them must be what it is like for soon-to-be parents who adopt children (don't worry, mom, I won't come home with a child). Instead, I need to use these types of connections to motivate me to find change on a broader scale. It will be kids like Nivah and Eric whom I will strive to make improvements for in the field of human rights and community development.

When I arrive in Mombasa, I will meet a whole new group of children and will eventually go through these feelings of attachment again. Regardless, the Elshadai children will always be special to me and each and every personality will be engraved in my memory forever. When I look at photos and videos of them, I laugh at their joy, wit, and companionship. They are truly a family and one that is happy just being together. They reinforced the lesson of the importance of love and laughter over material things. At the end of the day, they are the reason I went home with a smile on my face, and to me, that makes every challenge worth it.