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.