Traci in Kenya

Here are some more pictures of Traci’s students.  Although she hasn’t blogged in a while, she is still going strong.  Shes been fighting off a bit of an illness but is continuing her classes and loving her time with the children.

Traci is in Nairobi, preparing for a wedding (she was invited to be a bridesmaid!).  Meanwhile, she was able to secure a stable enough internet connection to send some more pictures of her travels.  Don’t forget to read her new post below the gallery!

- Chaning

There are times when I still find it hard to believe that I am in Africa, let alone more than three months in.  I try to imagine what I was doing before I got here and I see a completely different life…a completely different person.  It is funny to think about all I have seen here and how little these absurdities phase me now.  I have compiled a list of happenings that make me laugh or shake my head, or a little bit of both.  These are the little every day occurrences that makes Kenya, although strange at times, the best cultural experience of my life.

Matatus – Not only used for stuffing as many people humanly possible into a van, but livestock is also welcome.  Instead of sitting uncomfortably close to a Kenyan, I may find myself sitting next to a chicken.  Goats are not as fortunate, for they must stand on the roof of the matatu or if their owner is on a bus; they are put on the bottom in the luggage compartment.  I’ve even heard of a sick cow being transported by matatu to the veterinarian.  At least there is no discrimination!

Street boys of Nakuru – Attracted to foreigners and quite persistent, these street boys (ranging from ages 10-15) are plentiful.  Never seen without bottles of glue for sniffing (at first I thought it was juice) and an outstretched palm, they will and have followed us for blocks asking for food and money.  One brave boy kept asking me to kiss him!  On a busy day they will pick up accomplices on the way and this is when I have to switch my backpack from my back to my front.  It’s not until I reach a guard for the bank or a supermarket (they always carry guns or batons) that they will disperse with a sudden jolt of agility.  They are harmless, but quite irritating!

Toilets and outhouses – I’ve used my fair share of outhouses in Kenya and once you’ve used one, you’ve used them all.  Or so I thought until I came to the camp.  The outhouses at our camp are huge holes dug into the ground with wooden boards placed over them.  The hole is surrounded by food sacks or whatever the IDPs can find to add some privacy.  These are the IDPs’ toilets, but I found myself using one because I didn’t want to walk back to the house.  Scenes from Slum Dog Millionaire when Jamal took a plunge into a collection of the villagers’ crap kept flashing into my head.  The boards wobbled and they were placed inches apart from each other, making it very easy to see the pool at the bottom.  Since then I cannot bring myself to use them.  The house I am living in has a toilet and an outhouse, but the toilet tank must be manually filled with water before I can flush it.  Due to the lack of water you can imagine how often this can be done.  Because of this, Alex (a fellow volunteer) and I have come to a mutual understanding that the toilet is used strictly for urinating.  The other day, much to our dismay, we found an impressive sized turd lurking in our toilet.  I’m telling you this because after filling the tank twice – using more water than I use to take a bath – the atrocity would not flush!  Not being able to spare anymore water I found myself with quite the predicament.  I couldn’t just leave it there could I??!!  So after a few minutes of contemplation and Alex’s disbelief, I kid you not; I got a plastic bag, put the rubber gloves that Chaning’s aunt gave me to good use, and the rest is history.  I then threw it in it’s rightful home – THE OUTHOUSE!

Privacy – Something I have not had much of since I got here.  Children will knock and peer into my windows at any given moment, walk into my room like it is their own, plop down on the ground while I am lying in bed reading and watch me until I awkwardly realize ignoring them won’t work.  Then I talk to them while they fumble with my camera, play with my IPod, and eye my box of crackers.  As I write this a child came into my room and asked to play with the ball I use for my classes.  Just this morning, Grace (the woman who cooks for us), knocked feverishly on my door at 6:00 while trying to open it (I had it locked) asking for duct tape.  Duct tape…at 6 in the morning!  And just a few days ago I went into the bathroom to find my freshly replaced razor with a large quantity of hair and dirt tangled between the blades.  Not to mention my new shampoo opened and used.  That’ll teach me to not leave my things behind locked doors.

Corruption – I’ve had my fair share of conversations regarding corruption and how it is stifling the people of Kenya.  I and my fellow volunteers have also suspected a bit of corrupt souls here at the camp, but only recently have I found out any specifics about the sleaziness that goes on here.  Some examples are: Relief food for the IDPs are often times getting stolen by the government officials in charge, people who are not IDPs and can buy food for themselves.  The chairman (an IDP) also steals stored relief food late in the night, under the cover of the dark, thinking no one knows what he is doing (though everyone knows).  He also tried to pass his children off as orphans because someone was nice enough to pay for the schooling of ophans at the camp.   This same person also took the money our organization gave him for our food and kept it for himself, leaving us to eat some questionable food with dirt in it (the dirt I don’t mind, the deception I do).  The IDPs are often telling me about the many people that take advantage of their situation, like the pastor who came to the camp with a bus filled with tourists.  This particular pastor will collect any donations he can after showing people the camps with the promise of using it to do good, and then pocket the money for himself.  He thoroughly enjoyed taking pictures of us (the volunteers) building houses, probably to send overseas to get donations from goodhearted people that want to help.  Because of all the lying and cheating everyone at camp is suspicious of one another, making it difficult for us to do any community based projects.

I know at the end of my six months I will still and probably forever will be trying to make sense of Kenya, the people, and why, despite the day to day frustrations, I love it so much.

I finally reached my breaking point a week ago. Coincidentally enough it was right when I had to take a short hiatus from camp life and go to Nairobi for a couple of days to renew my visa. This proved to be quite therapeutic – although all I did was drink countless cups of coffee, use the internet, and watch much needed Seinfeld episodes on my newly charged laptop – for when I returned to the camp I felt rejuvenated and in good spirits once again.  Now that my psyche is back to its normal self I can write without the pessimistic attitude the people I have met in Kenya most definitely do not deserve. I’ve written several blogs now – though Chaning always says I should write more – and in all of them I have been careful to only include the positive, afraid that if I share the experiences that really test my patience (something I feel I have a lot of) I will depict an image of Kenya that is false and one-sided for everyone back home. But I realize that these experiences are just as valuable as the good and who am I kidding, everyone knows I’m in a third world country. There are bound to be some headaches along the way.

Now let me paint a picture for you of a day in the life of me…a foreigner in Kenya.

I walk down the dirt road, headed towards the camp, ready for a grueling day of building, digging, teaching, etc. People wave as I walk by. I greet them with a ‘habari yako’ or ‘habari ya asubuhi’. They reply ‘mzuri sana’ with of course beautiful smiles spread across their faces. I shake hands with 5, 10, 15 people, children are yelling ‘mzungu, mzungu!’ and ‘How are you’s’ are being shouted at me from invisible children. Quite the welcome for a not so special day in Kenya. So, I can’t help but feel good. Then I am invited into a tent by a family I may have helped in past and as much as I want to be polite and mingle I am ALWAYS apprehensive because I can almost guess what is coming once I enter their home. Not only the tea I was initially invited in for, but then there is the infamous request for money. My heart sinks because I actually gave them the benefit of the doubt and thought they might just want to enjoy my company. Mind you it doesn’t always take this form. Sometimes someone offers to walk me home, then asks me to give them money for their child’s schooling. Or they’ll see me talking to a friend at the camp, and knowing they can speak English and translate for them they’ll saunter on over and shamelessly ask for some shillings for a matatu. To make matters worse this same friend that translated such a request will later on ask for something unnecessary from the market. Questions like, “What are you going to buy me from Nairobi,” or “Can you get me sugar from Nakuru,” or “When you leave for America can I have your _____________,” are quite popular here. EVERYDAY (and this is not an exaggeration) I am begged for things by people who claim they no longer want to be beggars; begged for things they don’t need and actually could obtain if they understood the concept of saving money. It’s a constant let down when I hear innocent sweet-faced children start a sentence with, “Give me…” an ugly phrase taught to them by their parents. The constant expectation of us to give, give, give can really make my blood boil and make me question the whole purpose of my stay here. Am I doing more harm than good giving aide, regardless of the monetary value, when their dependence on it is so much of the problem? My emotions do back flips while I try to justify giving money to a man to get a tetanus shot because he stepped on a nail and can barely walk or paying men to plow a blind woman’s plot so she and her five children can grow food to eat. I think what kind of person would I be to not help them when it would be no problem for me to do so. But then I think they need to figure these things out for themselves if they ever want to move forward in life. They no longer want to be beggars right? My actions contradict my beliefs and the answer to the question, ‘Am I doing more harm?’ is invariably, ‘Yes’. So what the h*** am I doing here?! After expensive 5 A.M calls home to Chaning (his time, not mine) I start to remember my purpose for coming to Kenya. I remember the children who don’t have the luxury of going to school, the children who don’t get the attention they need from their parents, the children who are expected at the age of 5 to take care of their baby brother or sister, and the children who have never and probably will never know what it’s like to play a game of tag, paint a picture at school to be put up on the refrigerator at home, or build any memories that shape a childhood. This is why I came to Africa, to expand the minds of children and hopefully help to show them the importance of getting an education.

At the end of the day, all frustrations aside, how can I blame these people for asking for something tangible when for all their lives foreigners have stepped in and gave so readily, obviously myself included? All I can do now is present them with a new perspective; that they can and have been making it on their own, and that that is something to be proud of. After an excessive amount of introspection the infamous Chinese proverb kept popping up in my head, “Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime.” Maybe from now on when someone asks me for something my only response will be, “Give a man a fish…” That would go over well!!!

A picture is worth a thousand words, but these left me speechless.

For easier viewing, download them all in a big .zip file (202 pictures) at.

http://drop.io/tracikenyapics6185

Or click “Continue Reading” to see the gallery….

- Chaning

Continue Reading »

Two hours of sunlight left, the rain has yet to show signs of stopping, and I irresponsibly finished ‘White Tiger’, leaving me now with nothing to occupy my time.  Although I have checked many things off my list of things to do here in Kenya, not to mention ALREADY being here for over two months; time has a way of moving at a snail’s pace when working, reading, knitting, hanging out with the friends I’ve made here, and going into the city have gotten old.  But despite the bouts of restlessness and anxiety, the hours in between have been filled with many moments of joy.  And that brings me to my first, and I must say successful, week of teaching.

As Chaning has informed you, I have set up English classes for the 3-5 year olds at the IDP camp.  A few people helped me organize a classroom for about 60 children (and the number is continually increasing) that attend “school” from 8:00-1:00 every day.  They are supervised by A teacher, and I emphasize the ‘A’ because, yes, there is only one teacher for 60+ 3-5 year olds.  This is apparently the norm here in Kenya, but as a teacher who can speak little Swahili (learning more every day), can say 2 words in Kikuyu (campers mother-tongue), and absolutely adore 3-5 year olds in small doses; I adamantly demanded 10 students per English class, despite their attempts for me to take more.

Although I didn’t expect to be teaching very much English in Kenya, it does feel great to be in the classroom once again.  And what a classroom it is!  The barren 10′ X 10′ room resembles something not far from a prison cell, with it’s gloomy dark colored walls, dusty and dirt covered floors, windows protected by metal bars, and of course there is the absense of a light.  Although not what I am accustomed to back home, once the eager children come bustling through the door, there is nothing more a teacher really needs.  It never ceases to amaze me how intuitive children are, for these young minds have already caught on to my little games and activities I have them do despite the language barrier.  Whenever I step into the classroom to collect my 10, all 60 children start yelling, “How are you,” at the top of their lungs and cannot wait to get started.  Their excitement reminds me so much of my students in the Czech Republic, and I can only hope for the same anticipation from children when I return to America.

I would also like to thank everyone once again for their donations.  Because of all of your big hearts I have been able to buy school supplies and teaching materials for my classes.  There are no words to express the childrens’ excitement and eagerness.  I hope to be able to put pictures up in a couple of weeks!

Traci didn’t have time to write up a new blog this week, but I wanted to give everyone a glimpse of what she was up to.  Here is a excerpt of an email she sent to me that sums up what she has been doing; as informative, if not as descriptive as her normal prose.

Things here are going well.  I have been building all week and I am
happy that I can take a little break from it next week because my
wrist is a little swollen on my right hand from rolling and packing
mud so much.  I have little cuts and scraps all over my hands
too…hehe.  I think I definitely have some muscle definition in my
skinny arms now…hehe.  So, my classes seem to be going very well.
The camp actually organized a “nursery” class for the children at the
camps (3-5 years old) and the parents of the children are pulling
their money together to pay a teacher to watch them all day every day.
And then I will take 10 of them at a time to another classroom that
they made for me during my scheduled English classes.  I’m happy that
I at least “inspired” them to take care of the children that aren’t in
school, even while I am not teaching.  I will start next week Monday
and I am here in Nakuru today to buy more materials and what not.  I
also mentioned that I will be helping the 8th graders in their English
and maybe other school work that they have.  That is three times a
week in the late afternoon for an hour.  If I knew I was going to be
teaching English more than anything else I would have brought my
textbooks ’cause I don’t remember a lot of the rules already, but for
the little ones it shouldn’t be a problem…but the 8th class is
pretty advanced in English.

Last week I had the fortunate experience of taking a five day trip to Lamu, a spectacular island near the Somalian border.  After a grueling 17 hour bus ride we finally arrived at our much anticipated destination.  After sweating profusely for over 8 hours and having not taken a bath for two days, we headed straight for the shower at our wonderfully quaint hostel, conveniently located not far from the beachfront.

Despite the trash-lined shores, excessive donkey excrement, and questionable smells that seemed to fill our nostrils at any given moment, Lamu was well worth the travel.  Once you step off the boat you feel as if you have entered a different time period, for cars are a thing of the future, hundreds of ancient houses and buildings line the narrow alleys, mosques are scattered haphazardly around town, and donkeys are EVERYWHERE.  The people of Lamu are overtly friendly, to say the least; and although at times it can get a little tiresome to acknowledge every person that crosses our path, I can’t help but appreciate their curiosity and willingness to please foreigners (or persistence to earn a few extra shillings).  Although the people of Lamu rely greatly on tourism, there were not very many “muzungus” (meaning white people, and a name shouted at us everywhere we go) around the island, which made for a nice, cultural experience.  Primarily a Muslim community, most women are covered from head to toe and prayers are heard over intercom systems throughout the island 5 times a day.  And although a small island we found ourselves with plenty of adventures to occupy our time, this including a donkey ride to Matondoni (nearby village), sunset dhow trip, swimming in the warm Indian Ocean, kayaking and snorkeling (I am waiting to do that with Chaning), shopping in the many local craft shops, and of course just enjoying the relaxation of being on an island again.  Anyone visiting Kenya for more than a week should not pass up the chance to visit this magical place.  I hope to make my way back before I leave in July.

So, I am now back at the camp, trying to get back into the groove of building.  I also have high hopes for the upcoming weeks, for I am trying to organize informal English classes that I can teach for the children at the camp who do not have the means to go to school.  Patience has proven to be a necessary trait to have here in Kenya, so I am crossing my fingers that this little project of mine gets rolling soon.  I will keep everyone posted!

Lastly, here are a few things I have planned for the upcoming months:

1. I will be a bridesmaid in a Maasai wedding at the end of April )

2. Rainy season starts soon, which wouldn’t normally excite me, but we have no water supply at the camp and I need to bathe!

3. And saving the best for last, Chaning and his family are visiting in June!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hopefully pictures of Lamu soon!

Traci wanted me to post a slideshow she made of her journey thus far.  I was going to write some commentary, but it is better to just enjoy them on your own. (click to open in a new tab)

- Chaning

From Movies

“It’s unfortunate, she is dead.”  I wasn’t sure I heard correctly, but as tears formed in our Salome’s eyes I knew it was true.

It was only 30 minutes earlier that we decided to take a walk in hopes of passing the time of the lazy, slow-moving Sunday afternoon.  On our way to the camp we bumped into our friend, Salome, who has been assisting us with building and communicating with the families we have been helping.  She decided to join us on our walk and take us to meet other families that we may be assisting during the week.  For a few days now she has been mentioning a woman that is very sick (HIV/AIDS) and is unable to build her home herself.  We all agreed that we would help her and her family tomorrow, but we had to make sure it was okay with them first.  We went over to their tent to meet them, but we were told that the building could not start until Wednesday because the woman (mother of five) needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible, and the preparation of the mud could not be done in time for Monday.  Salome mentioned to us that they did not have money for transportation to the hospital, and although they did not ask we wanted to help in some small way.  We all decided to contribute a little bit of money for a matatu ride for two of her children, as well as for herself.  How could we not?

We headed back home for the money and waited on the road for a matatu to come.  When it arrived, our friend asked the driver to pick the woman up at her home because she was too ill to walk.  By the time we walked over to the tent, the matatu was going, leaving us confused for we didn’t give them the money yet.  Salome walked over to us and told us she had died just then.  A crowd of people were standing outside of the tent where she lay, all expressionless and frozen in place.  One of her sons, in his teens, walked past us and sat against a pole a few feet away.  Not knowing what to do, we walked over to him and expressed our condolences.  The eldest son had just arrived a few minutes earlier, coming to the camp to help take his mother to the hospital.  We went over to him and gave him the money, hoping they could use it to help prepare for her burial and funeral.  It wasn’t very much, but we hope they can use it for something.

As we walk away, still in shock of the turn of events, I notice children on the road rolling their toy tires, laughing, yelling “How are you?” as we pass, having no idea of what has just happened.  The realization of where I am stares me in the face and all I can do to get through it is tell myself that this is their life, it must move on, and help where you can.

We hope to still help them build their house before we leave.