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.

The Halfway Mark

On safari, I had a lot of time to think. One topic I chose to reflect on was my time in Kenya so far. The halfway mark of this trip is approaching this weekend and it is a good time to analyze the ups and downs of this adventure. 

I have been having countless new experiences which have been enriching in some way or another. I am glad I challenged myself to come to Kenya. I am also glad, however, that I did not commit to a longer period of time. Considering this is the first time I embarked on such a journey, it was a good decision to transition with a short time frame. With almost one month gone, I have already been able to identify the things I am able to handle and the causes I feel more drawn to. For example, next time I would want to focus on a specific topic, such as FGM or reproductive rights for young women. It is necessary to have a goal to work towards because it is easy to lose motivation otherwise. I have also been able to identify the foundation of frustrations I face: lack of structure, to be broad. In terms of location, I would not be opposed to returning to Kenya but would most likely choose another country first, for the sake of going someplace unknown.

Orphanage work is difficult but mainly because of my status of "outsider". There are some barriers non-Kenyans face, including language. Although most of the children speak English, like I've mentioned, it is still not their native language and I am far from fluent in Kiswahili. Cultural barriers are also present, such as difference in social etiquette. The children have many chores to perform, such as laundry, which they do not often like to receive help with. This is understandable but also leaves me with little time to engage with them on their chore days. It can be frustrating, as I was warned it would be. When I do have time to play with them, we complete puzzles, do homework, read, or walk to a nearby school to use the lot for outdoor activities. The boys and girls enjoy soccer the most. They also love to be photographed, as well as taking on the role of photgrapher.

Next week, I will be transferred to Mombasa to teach children for the month of May. This will provide me with a chance to have two trips in one considering Nairobi and the coast are wildly different. It will also aid in reducing the stagnation I sometimes feel here. Mombasa will be a more active and lively placement due to both the nature of work I will be doing and the lifestyle and culture of the coast. As Franceska will be heading home to Canada earlier than planned, I will face this new placement alone. I am not sure how many volunteers are currently there but either way, it will be exciting. I'm proud of myself for being independent enough to face new challenges on my own.

I know, and have always known, that I am a New York girl. My life there is invaluable. I love living in the suburbs yet having the option to take advantage of all NYC has to offer, which is quite a lot (although that doesn't mean I'd turn down an apartment in Manhattan!). Living near my parents is very important to me, and my pup, Zula, keeps me laughing with all her antics. I have traveled quite a bit but acknowledge there are obviously countless countries I have yet to discover. Based on the places I have been to, however, I know I could not permanently live in any of them. Of course, I may travel somewhere new one day that will completely steal my heart, but until then, I'll continue calling New York my home sweet home.

Note to Self: Don't Ask What Kind of Elephant You're Looking At When You're in Africa (It's African)

The first moment it really hit me that I was indeed in Kenya occurred two weeks after my arrival. While riding a bike much too large for my body through Hell's Gate National Park (I let them know they should really think about catering to people with short legs), a few zebras bolted across the road in front of me. In the whirlwind of dust, all I could say was, "OH MY GOD!" over and over and over. It was an incredible moment, one that really took my breath away.

There have been several other moments of this sort, specifically my entire three day weekend spent on safari. We drove through Kenya on game drives, as the sun rose brilliantly in the sky, keeping our eyes peeled for the "Big Five" (lion, rhino, leopard, water buffalo, elephant). Ultimately, we saw four of the five; we would have had to be very lucky to see a rhino considering there are about thirty left on the Mara. Aside from the main events, we saw so many incredible animals (and some gorgeous Danes). Stopping to admire the majestic views and incredible species, I felt as though I was in a volume of National Geographic. Of course, I was most thrilled to see lions (maybe it's the Leo in me). 

When we neared a tower of giraffes (as I learned is the correct term for a group of giraffes), they were startled and ran away; I realized it seemed to be in slow motion not because my TV was broken but because giraffes are graceful when running, unlike myself. Jackson, our safari guide, successfully approached the following animals to the point that we were so close I wondered if I would experience death by charging elephant: lions (Simba and Nala), giraffes, elephants, cheetahs, leopard, zebras, hippos, alligator, jackals, warthogs (Pumbaa), meerkat (Timon), wildebeest, gazelle, topi, and hundreds of different birds. Hyenas were usually only heard barking throughout the night but on our last morning, we drove up to a lone hyena dragging and gnawing on a large carcass. Fun fact: hyenas can snap just about any bone in the human body except knee caps, so, watch out.

At the Manyatta Safari Camp, where we spent two nights, I was completely disconnected (their WiFi claims turned out to be false). In addition, the camp runs on a generator, therefore electricity was turned on for only a few hours at night. With only limited outlets, those hours were mayhem. Luckily, my battery pulled through somehow, so I was able to admire the beautiful sky. I have always loved the night sky and staring at the stars so I had been looking forward to camping far away from bright lights to do just that. I was definitely not disappointed.  The sky was blacker than my mascara, which is pretty black. It was decorated with so many stars and various constellations were clearly visible. Between the serenity of the night, and the game we saw during the day, I couldn't have been happier. Oh, and did I mention we had running water? It was luxurious.

Driving around the unmarked, and ridiculously rocky roads, of the Mara for hours at a time, on three consecutive days, raised two important questions: 1. Was there a trusted chiropractor in Nairobi? 2. How was Jackson finding his way around without a GPS?  He has been going on safari almost every weekend for five years but I am still impressed and/or suspicious of his directional skills; I could really use some lessons in this department. Overall, I've made an executive decision that safaris are wonderful. And though I totally wanted to witness a kill, I was glad Simba made an appearance, even if it was a lazy one.

Kiswahili Lesson 2

Chagua maisha: choose life
Fahani: pride
Wachana na mimi: leave me alone
Mimi na wewe: me and you
Siku ilikuwaaje: how was your day
Tunakulanini (leo): what are we eating (today)
Tafadhali ni saidia na...: can I please have...
Naangalia...: I am looking for...
Umetoka wapi: where are you from
Nimetoka (new york!): I am from (new york!)
Tafadhali usiniongeleze: please don't talk to me
Unasema nini...: how do you say...
Mtu: somebody
Asubuhi: morning
Alfajiri: afternoon
Alasiri: evening
Usiku: night
Hiyo: this
Andika: to write
Soma: to read

Body
Mwili: body
Pua: nose
Macho: eyes
Jicho: eye
Mdomo: mouth
Urimi: tongue
Jino: tooth
Nywele: hair
Shingo: neck
Maskio: ears
Sikio: ear
Uso: face
Kucha: nail
Mikono: hands
Mkono: hand
Miguu: legs
Mguu: leg

Clothes
Nguo: clothes
Rinda: dress
Fulana: pullover sweater
Shati: shirt
Kaptura: shorts
Surualindefu: pants
Viatu: shoes
Kiatu: shoe
Soksi: socks
Mshipi: belt

Living Positive Mlolongo

As it turned out, my dentist has a friend who works with an organization here in Nairobi and and also happens to be from a town over from mine back home; small world, huh? She put me in touch with him before I left New York. Aside from the invaluable advice he bestowed upon me, he arranged a meeting on my behalf with his fellow members at Living Positive Mlolongo. Early yesterday, I made my way over to Mlolongo and met with Cate, the social worker at LPM. She elaborated on LPM's mission, explaining their focus on empowering women living with HIV. Since it is difficult to help a mother without helping her child, the organization has expanded to also aid these women's children through means of sponsorship, education, and health. It is important to note that they strictly believe that every dream is valid but it cannot be achieved if one does not wish to take steps to help themselves. This is incredibly true.

I spent the day making home visits with Cate. We commuted to different slums to meet with some of the women LPM  works with. The slums were in the most dire situations. The "houses" were small shanty structures made of tin and plastic. The floors were dirt. There were chickens walking on the blankets where the children slept. Despite these factors, the children still managed to maintain cheerful dispositions. Of the stories I heard, there were both uplifting and heartbreaking ones. I'd like to recount some of them now:

1. Mary* has been living with HIV for three years. However, she has not yet informed her husband, mainly due to marital issues. She believes he may no longer welcome her in their home. As she has worked hard to attain the life her family has, she has a right to remain in her home. However, her husband also has the right to know. She managed to persuade him to get tested but, as it turns out, he is negative, making them what is usually know as a discordant couple. As a village elder of Mlolongo's Zone 3, Mary often takes in children who are not hers. Aside from her children, Faith and Joseph, her sister's two children are also residing in her home. The only two people who know about her status, aside from LPM staff, are her daughter and son. It is often feared to speak about having HIV as the stigma is particularly strong in Kenya. However, help cannot be afforded to someone who is silent. Mary has been taking excellent care of herself and receives about five months worth of medicine each time she returns to the doctor. She says she feels strong.

2. Karen is another village elder of Zone 3 in Mlolongo. It was only recently that Karen found out about her positive status. She is married to a Pastor and they live in a house afforded them by the Church. She has one daughter, Phoebe. Karen also cares for George, her sister's nine year-old. George does very well in school, which will hopefully motivate Phoebe to improve her grades, as well. It is particularly imperative for these children to excel in their classes so that they have a better chance of getting sponsored. George is under Karen's care because her sister was the victim of domestic abuse by her husband. She divulged that her sister's husband had turned violent on two occasions before their mother removed her from that environment and brought her to live at her house. Karen's sister's attack last year left her disabled to an extent. The burns she received on her body limit her from performing any strenuous movements or activities that require long periods of standing. Being unable to properly care for herself, she is even less able to also care for her son. Although a case was opened against the man who committed these heinous acts, no one has followed up. It is important to keep up with such cases so that proper justice can be reached. In addition, if the man ever came back to claim his son, which he technically has a right to do, there would be no documentation of his violent behavior and would be allowed custody of George.

3. At twenty-two years old, Stacy has already been through a lot. She is one of twelve children and has three of her own, with another on the way. She has been positive for five years. Luckily, her children do not have HIV. She feels frustration and pain due to her mother's alcohol abuse. Her mother and father fail to provide the necessary care and affection to their children, which strongly affect the entire family. They have married off daughters with intentions revolving around money. They tell their children to work and give her their income, which she will ultimately spend on becoming intoxicated. Although her children have attempted to address the issue with her, the situation does not change. Stacy has tried to leave home several times, but always returns. One of her sons has a protruding hernia stemming from his belly button. It is painful and aesthetically displeasing; both are reasons he cannot attend school. Since money is squandered in Stacy's family, she is trying to find another way to afford the operation her son must undergo. Unfortunately, she has not been able to get work yet, partly due to her pregnancy. There is a hospital that performs free operations, which she hopes to get her son admitted to.

*All names have been changed.

Meeting with Stacy put me in shock; we are the same age. It is incredible how differently two people can spend twenty-two years.

Thank you LPM for the opportunity to meet with women who challenge, not only HIV, but the stigma that goes with it. The women who dare to break the circle of poverty and shame are the ones who will truly change the world and inspire others to do the same.

Tatiana in the Kitchen

I don't belong in the kitchen. That could be a feminist statement, but it's just the honest truth. My cooking skills range from boiling water with an electric teapot to slicing tomatoes for my kale salad. I've attempted making entrees and take my word for it, it ain't pretty. The thing is, I enjoy my food simple therefore have no need, nor interest, to cook. Is that such crime?

Kenya has been teaching me the ways of the kitchen, however. I've already learned how to cook various native dishes. The other day, I helped make chipati at Elshadai. First, we made the dough, which required enough kneading to triple the size of my arms. Then, we floured the table we'd be working on and began to cut pieces of dough to form into balls the size of my palm. ("Amina's Style" rolls out the dough flat, cuts strips, and coils them to resemble cinnamon buns). We took each ball and rolled it flat with a wooden rolling pin; by the end of all this hard work, there were 60 chipati. While I was getting covered in flour, and fantasizing about my future as a world-renowned chef, Benjamin began frying. When I came home that day, Amina looked at me and said, " You made chipati today." At the sight of my quizzical look, she replied, "You're covered in flour, that's how I know." I can't get anything by that woman.

Taking advantage of my cooking mood, Amina decided to teach me to make ugali that same night. This is another common Kenyan dish made from cornmeal and is quite similar to polenta for all my Italians out there. Most foreigners find this dish to be flavorless, which I must agree with. Luckily, it is eaten with vegetable sides, such as cooked spinach, or omena (tiny fish with a taste like anchovies). Making ugali is quick and easy: after boiling water in a pot, the cornmeal is slowly poured in and must be simultaneously stirred until it gets very compact, in which form it is served. Amina had to take over at one point during my mixing because she said I was too weak. These Kenyan women are constantly impressing me with their hidden strength.

Aside from making Kenyan meals in Amina's kitchen, every Sunday night is "Muzungu Night," which means I have to wrack my brain to think of something to make that isn't constituted of kale and tomatoes. For our first Sunday dinner, Franceska and I made an omelette, except we made it in a pot. Don't try this at home, kids; it only ends in frustration and ugly scrambled eggs. We realized after our blood, sweat, and tears that Amina indeed had a pan, which would've made the entire experience more enjoyable. I guess that's what we get for not asking. As for our second Sunday dinner, we thought a simple Russian salad with beets and potatoes would be easy and delicious, and of course, a fruit salad for dessert. This turned out to be even more complicated than the omelette. To add insult to injury, Amina and the kids (Amina's daughter, Sarah, and niece, Nicole, are here) didn't necessarily jump at the opportunity to try the beets. Honestly, I don't blame them. Boiling anything over a tiny coal stove, on which there is no such thing as adjusting temperature, is challenging, therefore the beets were perhaps a little too hard and the potatoes a little overcooked. Hopefully, it's the thought that counts.

So, it seems my dreams of being a chef were short-lived. I'll have to stick to take-out and salads. Also, I'll need to find myself a man who can cook, which I'm definitely not complaining about. Breakfast in bed, anyone?!

Jua na Uchafu

Sunburnt is the understatement of the century. The first day I went to the school, I wore a tank top and no sunscreen. Obviously, this is my own fault but I've learned my lesson and really don't see the need for further punishment. I've only burned this way one other time in my life: in Lima, which is equally as hot due to its proximity to the equator. The skin on my shoulders has blistered (gross) and I'll definitely peel like a snake soon.

Jua nikali (the sun is very hot) here in Kenya, obviously. Even on breezy days, the sun beats down on you in a most unforgiving manner. I have been wearing long sleeves because I would rather have a heat stroke than look like a leper. The kids do not seem to be affected by the heat as much since many of them wear sweaters and tights. Perhaps the most perplexing sight was the sale of peacoats at the market. Who in their right mind is sporting a peacoat here?! Insanity.

Clothes wear out fast here, especially the children's, due to the sun and dirt. The children's clothes are washed at Elshadai. There are no washing machines, and as I said before, no running water. Everything must be washed by hand, which is not the most appealing chore if you remember that diapers are too expensive for many families. There are definitely no drying machines, either. It is a process of soak, scrub, rinse, rinse, hang to dry. Kezia says it is the most laborious task to complete. Sometimes there are too many clothes to wash so she must call someone (read: a woman) to help, whom she will pay 500-1000ksh. Sometimes there isn't enough water to wash at all.

I have not washed any clothes yet, however, I did take my first "shower" by means of pouring buckets of cold water over my head. Once I poured the first one, it wasn't so bad. I'm not confident the soap completely washed off my body, but at least I have some form of getting clean other than baby wipes, which got old very quickly. The day after I showered, I looked as though I hadn't. The dirt is inescapable, BUT it's been giving me an amazing spray tan for the best price in town: free!

Kiswahili Lesson 1

I use these words and phrases daily. Im sure I'm butchering a lot of the spelling, but hey, at least I can pronounce them correctly.

Phrases:
Jambo/mambo/sasa: hello/hi/hey (Reply: poa/ jambo sana)
Asante: thank you
Asante sana: thank you very much
Karibu: welcome/you're welcome
Kwaheri: goodbye
Tuonane baadaye: see you later
Tuonane kesho: see you tomorrow
Kesho: tomorrow
Hapana: no
Ndiyo: yes
Twende: let's go
Koja: come
Kiasi gani: how much
Kuelewa: I didn't understand
Jina lako nani: what is your name?
Jina langu ni.....: my name is ....
Jua nikali: the sun is very hot
Habari asubuhi: good morning
Nini: what
Wapi: where
Pole: sorry
Pole pole: slow
Araka: fast

Words:
Kushoto: left
Kulia: right
Mtoto: baby
Wewe: you
Meza: table
Kiti: chair
Lala: sleep
#1-10: moja, bili, tatu, nne, tano, sita, saba, nane, tisa, kumi
#20: irishini
Matatu: small crowded bus for public transportation

Animals:
Mbuzi: goat
Samaki: fish
Kuku: hen
Jogoo: rooster

Food:
Chipati
Ugali
Chai

Muzungu

Children are so innocent, no matter where in the world they are from. As a muzungu (someone who is a native English speaker) I am the object of fascination of many people, particularly children. Walking through Githurai translates into children running up to me, and any other muzungus I may be with, yelling "Hi hi hi muzungu!," and touching our hands. Based on testimonies I read from other volunteers, this is common. However, it is such a striking event and impossible to become accustomed to. Yesterday, when Franceska and I left Elshadai, a group of school kids immediately bombarded us and upon grabbing our hands, exclaimed, "their hands are so soft!" Franceska and I didn't know what to say. Kids pick up on the most interesting things.

All the children at Elshadai speak English and speak it well. There are currently 26 children who call it home; the youngest, Anthony, is 3 1/2 and the eldest is 17. I do not see much of the teenagers except for Benjamin who laughed at me when I asked what that animal with no feathers on its neck was (it was a chicken). Charles is the youngest mtoto (baby) at the orphanage but he is not technically under Elshadai's care. He is the baby of Debra who works at the orphanage. He cries when he sees muzungus but he is slowly getting used to us. Yesterday, when we drove over to the school to bring the kids lunch, Charles rode on my lap. He didn't cry and actually seemed very content, which was a big step for him.

Elshadai is run by Pastor John and his wife, Kezia.  They are registered with the government but do not receive a single Ksh (Kenyan shilling) for help with the children. John and Kezia must rely on help from friends and donations. When there is a need to feed 26 children, plus staff, plus the staff's children, plus themselves,  donations seem to go only a short way.  Budgeting is actually a necessity and there is no such thing as spending too much because when the money runs out, that's it.

There is no running water at the orphanage and no Western toilet. The latter I experienced in Morocco but definitely not to this extent. One's imagination cannot fathom how desperate the outhouse situation is at the orphanage. Disease is so easily spread for reasons I have experienced for myself and it is frustrating to know that cleanliness is not an option for these children. Chickens and roosters walk around the orphanage. Washing hands is not common since water is scarce, especially since the water they use is collected rain water and it has been dry for a while despite this being the "wet season".

The children need attention more than anything. They go to school through sponsorship of the orphanage. When we went to the school to visit them, we played with them as well as the other school children who do not return to Elshadai at the end of the day. All they wanted to do was play with the muzungus. They played with our hair, jumped on our backs for piggyback rides, and became captivated by my tiny silver stud earrings. I tried to learn as many words as possible from them: bata (duck), buzi (goat), habari asubuhi (good morning) plus a lot more I will make a separate post for. The children all have English names: Faith, Charles, Eunice, Stella, Nelson.  This is not surprising after realizing pretty much everything is in English here and it comes as a huge surprise when a muzungu speaks even a word of kiswahili. The road signs are in English, the shops advertise in English, and the soap operas are in English.

On the topic of soap operas, "The Poor Heiress" is pretty fantastic. It is what we watch with Amina at 6pm sharp every day while eating dinner. A lot of international soaps air on Kenyan TV with incredibly horrendous English voiceovers. There is everything from Filipino soaps to Mexican soaps (looking at you, Erica). After 6, we are not supposed to be out unless we are coming home via taxi, so usually we watch soaps and the news in kiswahili with Amina then play with Dornel, her 4 year old son who has more energy than any child I've ever known. He finished school this week and will resume in May. There are three major breaks during the school year: three weeks between April and May, three weeks between July and August, and five weeks for the end of the school year between November and January. By the way, he just passed his exams at the top of his class. All he's been chanting is "I'M NUMBER ONE!"

Karibu Kenya

The views from the airplane while flying over Africa reminded me of the scenery in Lawrence of Arabia. The land was orange and dusty and continued uninhabited by humans for miles. Once we neared Kenya, the landscape changed to more vibrant and lush greens (thank goodness). As our pilot announced our descent to Nairobi,  electricity sizzled throughout my body; it was possible my smile would become a positive fixture on my face. This was Africa. This was Kenya. I was here.

Within the first fifteen minutes in Kenya, I caused a scene, naturally. I had anticipated getting the lock on my suitcase cut upon arriving to Kenyatta International Airport. I had not anticipated the lack of lock cutters, however. The one airport staff member I asked to aid me in my predicament turned into tweleve men taking turns attempting to smash my lock in a true show of male rivalry. My amusement (embarrassment) was apparent. Finally, they succeeded and I quickly went on my way.

Michelle had been on both my flights but I had been too tired (antisocial) to approach her during our 18+ hours of traveling to see if she happened to be an IVHQer also. It turned out she was. We were picked up together by George and brought to the volunteer house where we would spend our first night. The traffic was insane and definitely beat New York. On our drive, we got pulled over by a fellow who looked like he was a Hotel Rwanda militant (what is it with Kenya and all these movie references?). It was definitely one of the most frightening moments of my young life when he flashed his light in my face and gave me the look of death as he asked the driver to step out and present his license. I was trying to hide the fact that my seatbelt didn't have a clip and therefore was being held in place by my hand, which proved to be very difficult when being stared down by a very, very large military man with a very, very large gun. After this little run-in, George informed us that this was common and performed as a way to find any reason to fine a vehicle. "I guess New York isn't so different from Nairobi, after all," I said.  George laughed.

At the volunteer house, we were able to take hot showers with running water; little did I know this would be the last of its kind. Five more volunteers arrived (3 Canadians, a chick from Cali, and one from Georgia) whom Michelle and I chatted with for a while before we all passed out from exhaustion. Too bad a rooster woke us up at 3:30am; little did I know this would NOT be the last time this would happen.

Breakfast was chai (hot milk with steeped Kenyan tea and sugar, based on preference), toast, and hard boiled eggs. Our driver picked us up in a matatu at 7:30am, meaning 9am Kenyan time, to bring us to orientation. Here is where we were all provided the luxury of WiFi for the first time; you could say we became a tiny bit aggressive about it. The staff of NVS (Network for Voluntary Services), a partner of IVHQ, spoke to us about safaris, rules, Kenya, and placement, as well as sang us a killer welcome song in kiswahili. My placement was at the Elshadai Orphanage and my host mom was Amina; I was placed with Franceska, from Quebec, who is also staying two months.

We arrived at our host mom's home, which is in the Githurai slum on the outskirts of Nairobi. It was like watching those commercials on TV asking for sponsorship of children living in the poorest of conditions, except now I was part of the commercial. Franceska and I ate chipati for dinner at Amina's, which was delicious and very similar to a tortilla or arepa. After we spent half an hour trying to figure out how to install our mosquito nets, we realized we did not have running water and would have to bathe with buckets. At least I had expected this. Karibu Kenya!

An Eternity Later, My Luggage is Finally Packed

Procrastination is not an issue for me, and by, "not," I mean, "definitely." However, the excitement for my travel to Kenya drove me to begin packing a week in advance, which makes me wonder how much more I would have accomplished during college had I felt the same fervor for writing papers. I knew there were a lot of items I wanted to purchase for this trip, such as the entire Walgreens inventory and 56 cotton V-neck tees from the Gap. Although I made a detailed list of items to buy, I also knew there would be last minute runs to the store to pick up that hundredth pack of tissues I forgot I'll obviously be needing. Therefore, I wanted to allow myself time for this inevitability.

Having learned from my mother how to pack in the most efficient way possible, I consider myself a pro. I pride myself on my skill to pull out key pieces from my wardrobe and ultimately wear almost everything I brought while away.  Not to stereotype against my fellow gals, but it is a pretty phenomenal feat to boast, "spent nearly a week traveling through Morocco with only an average-sized backpack" on my travel resume.

Packing my luggage for this trip was very humbling, however. Every detail of packing had to be thought out twice, which made this experience much more difficult than any other; I must admit to no longer holding the title of packing connoisseur.  I had to think realistically about what I'm going to wear and what I'm going to use and what I can get once in Kenya. How often will I have a chance to wash clothes? How often will I shower? Should I bring mostly dark clothing to lessen the visibility of how dirty they actually are? Will I wear the same pants 7 days in a row or 10 days in a row? How high maintenance would it be if I brought nail polish? Could I pretend I brought it by mistake, sigh, and play it off with, "well, it would be a shame to have brought it in vain..."? The struggle has been very real; (is my Western princess showing again?)

From the photo, it would seem half of what I am bringing to Kenya is maxi pads; false, it is only a quarter of what I am bringing. Actually, I wish I could bring more; they are for the women in slums who brave menstruation without sanitary napkins. Ladies, can you even begin to imagine what that must be like? We are afforded such a luxury with the entire supermarket isles dedicated to fifty-five variations of tampons, pads, and panty liners, which some people still manage to complain about. "Disposable society" takes on a whole new meaning when you think about the reality these women face for one long week every month.

Another quarter of my suitcase is filled with stickers, crayons, flashcards, puzzles, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, pens, and books. When shopping for classroom items to bring, I initially picked up coloring book after coloring book (which have become much more sophisticated than when I was a child, mind you). It hit me that they were probably not the most useful items, however, for obvious reasons. Tact was crucial on the hunt for the perfect, re-usable class objects, always keeping luggage weight limits in the back of my mind. Speaking of which, it is notable that I am only allowed 18 lbs. for my carry-on and 50 lbs. for my suitcase, which is ludicrous for someone going away for two whole months. On the other hand, it is frightening to think of the packing chaos that would have ensued had I been allowed more.

My ridiculously colored backpack goes everywhere with me, as most of my friends know, so it is obviously traveling with me to Kenya. I have a million little pouches and bags to keep all my stuff organized, including my new gorgeous, and very useful, pouch from The Royal Native (check this brand out, ladies) pictured right above my backpack. Also above my backpack, is shown my plane literature: Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life, because no one makes me laugh like she does, and my Kenya guide. Oh, and of course, there is my shockingly large and in charge repellent-treated mosquito net. The hassle to get this net was almost not worth avoiding Malaria (just kidding); I had to order it from an Australian charity because treated nets approved by the WHO are usually only manufactured by labs for mass distribution in affected areas and not sold individually. My determination got me through the ordeal, however, as a Chinese fortune cookie once told me it would.

A week and 80 lbs. later, I am ready to board my flight to Zurich, on which I plan to pass out for its entirety thanks to my good friend, Melatonin. In order to adjust to the time change, I should sleep on my first flight but stay awake on the flight to Nairobi, which lands at 6 in the evening Kenyan time (UTC/GMT +3). They better have The Lion King 1, 2, and 1&1/2 on their movie queue.

I downloaded a countdown app on my phone a few weeks ago to keep me aware of how much time I had left to enjoy New York. It currently reads, "Kenya: 1 day left." Technically, my flight leaves in less than 24 hours. This trip has snuck up on me so quickly. Ready or not, here I come, Africa!


Tuonane baadaye! (See you later!)

Jambo! (I'm Basically Fluent in Swahili)

First things first: brainstorming names for this blog was more difficult than learning Russian (I've never learned Russian, but I imagine this to be the case). The idea behind the name I decided on, Beginning in Kenya, is based on my upcoming volunteer trip to Kenya, which will be one of the first major steps toward advancing both my personal and career development. Kenya is the first opportunity to challenge myself in this capacity and clarify a thing or two about where my life is heading. If this adventure of mine is a success, the blog will serve as a platform for the rest of my travels of this kind, as well. I will begin in Kenya and see where I end up.

With less than ten days to go, I am writing the first entry to what I hope will be an enduring record (I am not a fan of the word, "blog"). Less than ten days until what, you ask? Well, ten days until I spend more time than I can believe I committed to on airplanes, as I make my way (half asleep) over to Kenya. Kenya. I love saying that. I've been saying it to myself, both in my head and out loud, for a couple months now; it just sounds so full of promise! This practice may or may not have affected my current delusion that I am not going anywhere, and in fact, just daydreaming of yet another one of the trips I've said I'm taking but am not. However, I am leaving very, very soon and should probably get my feet firmly planted on the ground about how real the payment of my flight ticket was.

Although an airplane doesn't make the cut for my list of Top 4,000 Favorite Places, I plan to survive the 16 hours of sitting in a germ cocoon because, as with most things in life, there is a light at the end of this tunnel: immersing myself in the Kenyan culture, food, lifestyle - by means of aid work at an orphanage. Maybe this doesn't sound super glamorous to you, my dear reader, but for me it is as enticing as the meaty antelope grazing a little too far from the herd that the hungry lioness is about to claim as her dinner (it is amazing that I'm not even in Africa, and am already making lion jokes).  For two months, I will be volunteering, in either Nairobi or Mombasa (fingers crossed for the latter), engaging in all aspects of what it takes to keep the orphanage running smoothly. I would say more about this now, but until I go through my orientation in Nairobi, the only thing I can be sure about is that there will be children involved.

Various opportunities to gain field experience abroad have presented themselves to me in the past, but something always felt off about them and therefore, caused me to turn them down; I tend to take those "gut feelings" very seriously. A couple months ago, I re-fired up my search for a volunteer program. After a thorough scouring of the Internet, I decided International Volunteer Headquarters (IVHQ) was the best fit for me, specifically their Orphanage Aid Program in Kenya. Even I was a little taken aback by how quickly I committed to something. I ran the idea past my parents so fast I'm pretty sure all they heard was, "Kenya....orphanage...I'll try to Skype." It is lucky for me to have a very supportive pair backing me on not only this, but on (almost) everything I do. They would have preferred a place closer to home ("...people need help in New York, too, you know...," as my mother pointed out), but knowing how long I've waited to go on a journey like this, my parents only wish me a safe and wonderful experience. Aren't they the best? The answer is, "Obviously."

Now, just because I have been dreaming of doing field work for as long as I can remember, it doesn't mean I had a clear idea of where or how the opportunity would unfold. Even now, with a place and task, I do not know what to expect. All I can do is go with an open heart and a curious mind. This experience could prove to be everything I anticipated, or the complete opposite. Regardless, I truly believe that even if this journey convinces me against embarking on another one like it, I will come out as an enriched (and very tan) individual.

On a serious note, this project is just as much about learning as it is about teaching. Despite sex, color, religion, language, or culture, unity with our fellow humans is crucial to attaining peace. Within the field of humanitarian aid, I am devoted the most to the rights of women and children, a notion which was cemented during my time as an intern at UNICEF, and one I hope to build on through graduate study of human rights. When we are stripped of our superficial aspects, we are all simply human. We must work together so we may highlight how beautiful human bonds can truly be.




Until my next post, I'll just keep making "Kenya believe this..." jokes. Asante sana (squash banana); who knew the Swahili I learned from The Lion King would come so in handy?


P.S. The weather in Nairobi will be in the sixties, so even if I stay there rather than Mombasa, where it will be in the eighties, I am ecstatic to get away from the ridiculous games the New York winter played this year. Arrivederci, snow.