heRe And TheRE aNd EveRyWherE.....

Adieu SF

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 23 Jun 2016 01:15:00 +0000

the goodbyes gently nudge memories
out of their deep slumber
as love awakens my six senses

the crooked heart that bleeds on a sidewalk in Pacific Heights
the nakedness in the Castro of life and liberty
the soulful woes of the foghorn in the Pacific
the cacophony of heels and wheels in the Marina
the intoxicating smell of yesteryears on the Haight
and of the millennials at Blue Bottle in the Hayes
the lightness of sugary beings in the donuts on Polk Street
the unbearable weight of California Cabs in Nopa
the ethereal embrace of endless fog at Land’s End
the feathery touch of balmy sunshine in the Mission
I curl within,
feel the reverberating peace amidst Zakir’s notes at SFJazz
remember the lifeless breaths between heartfelt kisses
surrender to the six senses completely
for what is love
if not complete surrender
I hide these love children
in the innocent laughter of a toothless stranger in the Tenderloin
so I return to seek
for now,
I make space
for the new and the unexplored...

London times

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 23 Jun 2016 01:01:00 +0000

sound and light.

i close my eyes.

beauty- in all forms- it reverberates.

lost in translation

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Sun, 16 Nov 2014 06:54:00 +0000

the presence of absence
and the absence of presence
is saudade

I'll be your mirror

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Sat, 27 Sep 2014 04:08:00 +0000

armed with
the wisdom that abounds at the grays of your temples
and the strength of your idealistic heart
pack up your infinite curiosity
etch that impish smile
in the stubborn crease of your inquisitive eyes
bind your gypsy soul
with precious dreams
wait no more
question
wander
explore...

sf, 2014

child's play

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Fri, 04 Oct 2013 18:35:00 +0000

2013.09.21-0020-childsPlay
Originally uploaded by travellingLite

Its been a month of connecting, waiting, traveling, introspecting, reminiscing from 21 years to 86 lifetimes.

In the last month, I have concluded that reincarnation seems like fiction and Karma seems like non-fiction- an oxymoron indeed- for those who know the 3 kinds of Karma…
and that I should not be eating salads in Kenya (read a typhoid misdiagnosis scare)

As for village matters, for everyone who has heard my incessant talks about solar energy in the last couple years, here's an update:
In an effort to find the perfect lamp for sardine fishing, I met the 4 major players in the solar space in Africa in Nairobi and identified a particular product that might have worked well. Armed with a life vest (to venture out in the Lake at night again!), a handheld weighing scale, that "particular" solar lamp and plenty of patience, I arrived in the village only to find these efforts were, well, a bit redundant :)
OSRAM, who I have been in contact for 2 years now, decided to build a we-hub in "my" village :) So, in a couple months, there will be a computer center and solar lamps specially made for night fishing! well, more time to fish for me :)

My plans of teaching yoga and teaching at the orphanage have been thwarted by frequent trips to Kisumu to network with NGOs or to shop for upcoming projects (like right now). Every few days, though, I do get a chance to learn basic Swahili and teach basic English to about a dozen children, who show up at the house, and sit patiently through the 1-2 hour class. Sometimes, we follow it up by a skipping lesson outside :)

Lakeland Youth group is just as active as ever- responsible and hard-working youth who really want to break the cycle of poverty.
I have been able to connect them to Safe Water and Aids Prevention, Yes Youth Can! Nyanza and to Americans Friends of Kenya- AFK.
- SWAP is collaborating with them to make things like water purification tablets, mosquito repellent jelly, detergent, diapers, mosquito nets more accessible to the community. The youth group is dipping their feet into entrepreneurship- by reselling these items that they get at a discount, at retail price.
- Joram, the president of YYC Nyanza visited them last week and promised to connect them to local youth leaders for training and access to funds reserved for IGAs for youth groups.
- and maybe, maybe- one day there will be a library at Honge beach- just as the one in Siaya with the assistance of AFK.

The most exciting development of all, however, is the beginning of a conversation with Small and Micro Enterprise Programme (SMEP). On Monday, we will explore entrepreneurship a bit further- tilapia fishing, poultry farming, bee keeping etc. We have Reinhard from SMEP visiting Uhundha to talk about microloans for a small enterprise and we already have a number of youth ready to sign up.
On to bigger and better things…

from the morning

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 08:01:00 +0000

for the first time in years, we had a meal together.
m1 talked about perseverance, m2 demonstrated it.
I sipped on my ginger root mojito in the mid-afternoon, closed my eyes momentarily and experienced bliss- warm, familiar, comfortable.

it was a perfect day.
thank you.

Language Lyrics

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 23:08:00 +0000

I compiled a cheat sheet of Luo for anyone who is planning to spend some time in a Luo village in Kenya.

across the universe

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 02:43:00 +0000

six degrees of separation. i believe its less than that...
with the advent of social networking sites, sometimes i gasp when I find friends i made in opposite corners of the world as being mutual friends of friends a mile away.
the earth seems to be becoming smaller, yet a small village in Kenya or a small town in Missouri seems far away, maybe distance is measured in MB these days and data plans

hell's heaven

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 22:31:00 +0000

more photos

"I am in heaven(zanzibar) at the moment", I wrote to a friend the morning of September 10, 2011.

The day before, Tim asked me if I could upload a photo story by the weekend in preparation for the Open Show Retrospective to be held on October 20 at Rayko Center in San Francisco. One of my photos has been selected to be exhibited.

Truth be told, my story on Joseph was (and is) incomplete. I never got that shot of him with his family -they loved the camera and I could never get a candid shot or that "last" shot I had thought of with a view of the lake.
So I looked for a photo story in my next destination, Zanzibar. On the morning of 10th, I went to the hotel reception for help just like I had the day before. But this time I found one and it was hell.

MV Spice Islander I, capsized in the Indian Ocean off Zanzibar at around 1 AM that morning. 579 people were rescued, 189 are confirmed dead and as of today, scores are still missing.

I was one of the very few photographers at Nungwi Beach, where the ferry capsized and where the victims were brought to shore.

I was also one of the very few who made it into the tents where the victims were wrapped, numbered and their belongings were placed on top of them.

I was one of the three who was given 5 minutes to take pictures in the identification tent right before the friends and family were allowed in.

sometimes, I discovered, you don't need press credentials to get close to the action, you just need a little compassion, respect and guardian angels who help and comfort you, when you need it most.

time was

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 10:37:00 +0000

Nairobi, Kenya, Africa

with priscah and maurine in a kitange before the farewell lunch
Originally uploaded by more photos

It’s back to the hustle and bustle of Nairobi and clinking cutlery in the guesthouse dining room.

Its been 5 hours since I got here and while I wait for a room to check in, I am already missing the village- where the rooster started his daily chant at 4 AM, the cow occasionally chiming in and the sheep and the dog and the bats, and where Maurine’s much-loved radio stayed awake as long as she did- although I don’t miss the insane bat who ran towards the lantern (and hence me) in the evening or the one that was crawling on my bedroom floor one evening or the one that I found in the bathroom…
I have had an exhilarating and exhausting week, including a few 12 hour “working” days, where work included riding matatus, cars, motorcycles, boda-bodas, transplanting kale and tomatoes from the seed bed to the garden, teaching basic computer skills to a handful of youth group men, arguing with the chief, typing documents, waiting, waiting and more waiting for power, vehicles, people, printouts...

But all paid off on Thursday as Pamella, the treasurer, made the first deposit into St. John’s Uhundha Orphans and Vulnerable Children Center CBO bank account we opened that day- a CBO which was registered on Tuesday!!

My last day in the village, yesterday, I have yet another sumptuous feast cooked by five Lakelang youth group girls, who take charge of the kitchen the moment they enter the house-- fresh tilapia that George is sent to “hunt” for by Priscah for my ‘last supper’, as John calls it, and then a very emotional farewell by my friends and family at Uhundha. Priscah gives me a big hug adding, “You have a new home address.”

I will be back- it wasn’t the last supper there...

signs of life

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 16:57:00 +0000

uhundha, Kenya, Africa

Untitled
more photos

The mention and thought of an ‘Anu’ waterline in a fishing village in Kenya has brought smiles in the last week- and some tears of joy - mine.

It’s been another week of mostly incomprehensible but very positive meetings, incredible meals, and marvelous experiences.

Priscah arrives early Thursday morning. A bundle of boundless energy and endless smiles, she boisterously christens me Akinyi right before twenty-five strong church group arrives. She has brought along Jane, a friend from Nairobi to teach the group how to make juices, soups and tie-dyes.
A chicken is slaughtered; the kitchen is overflowing with women socializing, laughing, chopping kale and meat. Another dries the sardines I got the previous night during my night fishing adventure.

I dine on the amazing feast at dinnertime after spending time with the youth group, who I will be accompanying to Nairobi the next day. Just another day in the exquisite Kenyan countryside filled with beautiful, friendly folks!

Maurice and Godfrey from the local branch of Plan International arrive a few hours before we head to Nairobi. We tour the youth group garden, the orphanage garden, the orphanage center- a couple hours later before Godfrey departs, he confides in me, “I wasn’t expecting much before I came here but was pleasantly surprised.” Collaboration. Hope.

The highlights of the ride to Nairobi and back are the zebras I see casually grazing along the freeway, the spectacular rift valley and the occasional decelerating of Easy Coach for a dog, donkey, cow, and pig on the road. A weekend in Nairobi flies by quick. Shiriki welcomes the Lakeland Youth Group- there’s a healthy exchange of ideas, they plan to visit the village in September. I get my urban fix in the Uchumi shopping for cake and biscuits and my African mask fix at the local Masai market.

I return from Nairobi to find Maureen weak and lethargic. She speculates it is malaria (it is confirmed the following day). In the last four weeks, four people I have interacted with have casually mentioned that they had malaria, as if it’s a common cold. In this part of the world, it is.

Gordon stops by Tuesday evening with the Holy Bible- a gift from Priscah with a lovely inscription inside. It’s a first, and after years of being in Catholic school, I look forward to finally reading it.

I spend most of the last couple days in meetings discussing a water line with the community members, village elders, stakeholders, and existing water line committee members. Joshua from Sana International diligently follows up on the request for help with a water line at Honge Beach.
So, there is indeed a strong possibility that safe drinking water will be provided to the 2000 residents there once all the details are ironed out. Along with it, the chairman Moses suggests, the next daughter in the village or the water pipeline be named Anu!!!

As for me, I will gladly accept either - its an honor (and all I did was submit a request!) :)
Must be the reason I used to call myself a “Bhishti” growing up- a water bearer/Aquarian.
It’s all coming together now…(I hope!)

something fishy...

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 18 Aug 2011 21:43:00 +0000

casting the net
more photos

I was given an African name today- Akinyi, which indicates I was born in the morning.

The week leading up to twenty five women dressed in colorful attire addressing me by my new name in this idyllic village has been anything but that.

After putting in my hour at the shamba, I leave for the closest ‘big city’ Kisumu on Friday. That evening, I make ample use of the free wi-fi at the rooftop bar, Duke of Breeze, over alternating glasses of red wine and French press coffee. I smirk at the forlorn tilapia platter with vegetables at dinner and the milky tea at breakfast - they don’t even come close to the ones at ‘home’ in Uhundha.
Funny how a couple weeks in a foreign land can begin to feel so homely- I have to attribute it to the community, who has made me feel so welcome here, to Charles and Priscah for opening their home to me, for checking up on me every so often, to Maureen for every little awesome thing she does to make sure I am more than comfortable and most of all to Alison, to AVIF, for giving me this great opportunity.

Sunday morning I finally touch the waters of Lake Victoria. I am on a boat with Joseph, George, Nicolas and Jesus, who calls himself God. Joseph, George and Jesus work on casting a net for the next two hours for tilapia, which they will collect in the evening.
Boats pass us by often- there are 400 fishermen in this village, a couple have radios blaring, some pose for me, others laugh at the ‘mzungu’ (foreigner) on the boat- women don’t fish. Two old men stop and show me their loot- I buy 6 little fish, 2 of them still gasping for breath. When I propose to throw them back, Joseph quietly disagrees indicating they wont live in the water anyway.

While the tilapias are making their way to the net, the youth group puts on a great show of dramas for me- I don’t comprehend a word, but the gallery of children do. They squeal and giggle with delight at George’s and SosPeter’s antics. We return home, Maureen and I, exhausted and ready for a hectic week ahead.

Monday is one of the more social days. As I approach the dilapidated mud building of the orphanage, I am welcomed by 40 kids clapping to a rhythmic ‘mzungu’. The volunteer teachers, Pamela and Phoebe, usher them in hurriedly. Once inside, they sing and clap to numerous other songs, one specifically to welcome the ‘visitor’. They mock my Luo with affectionate gusto. Some have never seen brown skin before, least of all speaking Luo.
(By now, I know the basic phrases including “How much is it?”, “Its too expensive.”, and the numbers. I practice them everyday with the motorcycle drivers on my ride to Usenge, everyday I learn something new (today it was ‘Akinyi’) )
This is followed by a meeting with the orphanage committee and some guardians, where we strategize on the future maintenance of the orphanage garden. A “community shamba day” is decided upon to formally let the community take responsibility.
I leave the orphanage with fresh tilapia for lunch, which Maureen quickly fries with spicy fish masala. Yum..

In the afternoon I go to the primary school with 2 posters I made for composting over the weekend. Mr Polycarp excitedly talks to the monitors of the four classes in session about composting, while holding buckets with “Little Rotters Composting Club” written on them! Internet is a great resource, indeed ☺ The children accept the responsibilities listed on the poster happily… The school closes with a prayer in a dense semi circle in the yard as the sky gets woollier with dark clouds and it starts to rain.

Early Tuesday morning, I get a call I have been waiting for- the local NGO is indeed paying us a visit that afternoon to discuss a safe water system. Joshua stops by, as promised, and has a prolonged chat with Henry, the beach chairman and some other beach leaders. Another meeting is scheduled for next week with more community members and village leaders to decide on the best solution of the alternatives we have. That evening Henry and me follow fishermen returning from the lake for fresh fish- another 'small' celebration.

Wednesday, Henry promises to take me fishing- “OMena”(Sardine) fishing.
Henry is Charles’ uncle- very polite, serious but often breaks into an instant smile, says Thank you too often and insists on calling me Madam at times (which makes me very uncomfortable and I tell him so). As I follow Henry to the boat with a kerosene lantern in hand, the news has spread in the village. Apparently no woman has been OMena fishing before in this village. In whispers freighted with laughter and disbelief, as we get ready to go on board, the neighboring fishermen wonder how I will fare in the cold waters of the lake.

And I soon discover, not so well ;) Sardine fishing is nothing like the relaxing, quiet sport of fishing is advertised to be in the West. It is 6-7 hours of laborious work in cold, dark, sometimes turbulent waters.
Four fishermen, with four lanterns mounted on floating “platforms” leave as night falls. A kilometer or two from the shore, they anchor those lanterns one-by-one a good distance away from each other at the corners of an imaginary square.
Then they wait for 15 minutes for the fish to be attracted to the light - David chews on a slice of bread and gulps down milk, Henry reassures me they wont be on the Lake till 2 AM tonight! My stomach growls, Its 8 PM.

Then the pace quickens accelerating to a frenzy. They approach the first lantern surrounding it with a net as they close in. As the boat rocks and veers dangerously on one side, they pull in the net, leaving the lantern behind. A few pounds of struggling sardines are emptied into the boat.
It takes about 10 minutes for one lantern. Then it’s on to the next one, and the next… for the next 6-7 hours till the moon appears on the horizon.
But tonight is different. The crew is very sensitive to my presence. Gauging the discomfort from my silence as it starts drizzling, they decide to return after 3 hours. Guided by my phone flashlight, Henry escorts me back home, a bucket of fresh sardines tucked under his arm for my lunch tomorrow, keeping his promise of getting me home by 11 PM.

It’s been a long, and enlightening day into the daily struggles of life here, and I bow to them for their resilience, their patience and their generosity. The trip to the lake tomorrow is dependent on the value of the catch today; it should cover the cost of the kerosene and the crew. The average they make from a trip is about 150 Kshs- less than $2.

My faith in unshaken, if not more validated: what the community needs is not charity or aid, but better resources for income-generating activities- current and future. I quietly resolve to follow up with another NGO I visited earlier in the week with a request for collaboration with the youth group and the orphanage.

And as the heavens pour down this morning, I get a call from them- they are stopping by to meet the youth group and check out the orphanage tomorrow morning.
In Africa, the rains do bring good luck perhaps…

good day sunshine

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 12:38:00 +0000

the gardening 'gang'
more photos

A moth hovers around a kerosene lamp inebriated by its lambent glow. Maureen and me ‘cheer’ to the wonderful events of the past week- the Cabernet from South Africa is tangy. I bought it today from the ‘city’ (Kisumu), where I spent last night.

As I enter the house after a day and a half, Maureen runs to give me a warm hug and laments, ’I lonely in the house’. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I will be leaving again on Friday for the night to pick up some things I ordered.

After yet another sumptuous meal, as I pour her a little drink, suspicious that she may not be able to handle it, she says ‘ I had red wine and red bull at the Embassy.’ After the first sip, in the usual ‘Maureen’ way, she says ‘Is good’!

It rained on Saturday morning; it is a prelude to a violent downpour in the afternoon. I dance in the rain and place buckets, one after another, under the roof gutter to collect water for a bath. Thankfully, we have 13 little buckets- trash bins for the school classrooms to be given to them this week.

John stops by in the evening with an estimate for fencing the orphanage and can’t stop smiling, ‘We Africans say rains bring good luck.’
This past week has brought a lot of smiles and laughter.
The Ploughing, Porridge parties stretched over three mornings, all ending with a delicious feast of Nyoyo and Nyoka, which we eat only after saying grace.
From tomorrow, we will use hand hoes to prepare the land for the saplings (which I hope will emerge before I leave).
Saturday evening I have the great privilege of a meeting with the village elders again. Over steaming cups of spicy Indian tea, which Maureen is proficient in making now, we discuss the progress of current projects and the new proposal- an American NGO, in collaboration with a top-rated American University, would like to set up a proof-of-concept test system in Uhundha for producing ethanol, thus providing clean fuel, fertilizer, animal feed among other things, to the community.
More smiles, laughter and thanks…

This along with the news that I made it into the Missouri Photo Workshop in September and that some of the Lake Land Youth Group boys will be traveling with me to Nairobi to meet with Shiriki, facilitated by Alison’s (AVIF founder) kind offer to fund the visit, and that a local NGO might be coming this week to survey the village to help provide clean water, calls for a celebration and we do, with fresh fish, kale, ugali- this time with some tangy red wine! So, Cheers!

p.s.: Maureen giggled herself to sleep after that glass of wine…

place to be

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 16:54:00 +0000

the gardening gang
more photos

I walk to the shamba (farm) every morning, little moths guiding me, stop by at Josehp’s place to say ‘Jambo’ to his family, and pick the pangas (machetes).
Some days I arrive to find the boys working already. They work tirelessly, they make fun of me when I call for a time-out and a water/banana/Cadbury’s Eclairs break every half-hour.
They want to finish the work as soon as possible.
With a swift, strong sweeps of the pangas, they clear the land, or rather breeze through it, while I struggle to master the swing, losing the machete several times in the process.
SosPeter mimics a Bollywood dance and asks me to teach them a hindi song that we can sing as we work together-he is the drama director of the youth group, after all. I can’t think of a good one.
We have visitors every day. Two boys listlessly walk towards us, holding a nile perch by its mouth. The boy jerks it towards me and laughs out loud when I get scared. Sometimes little boys minding their cattle pause and lend a helping hand, older women carrying water buckets from the lake pause and laugh. ‘Women don’t work in shambas or fish’, Joseph tells me.
When I am relieved that it isn’t a warm, sunny day but SosPeter disagrees. ‘African are like monkeys and baboons, we like the sun’, he says pointing to the sun peeking through the clouds
By day three, the land has been cleared, the seeds are resting in the seed bed shaded by leaves- thanks to the efforts of a few members of the youth group. Without them, it couldn’t have been possible.

Tomorrow is the Ploughing, Porridge Party. At 7 AM community members will gather at the shamba- there will be ploughing and digging of a compost pit and there will be porridge, which Maureen is preparing on an open fire outside.

It’s the place to be!

first giant steps

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 20:10:00 +0000

Lake Land Youth Group, Uhundha, Kenya
more photos

I got a gift today-- a fresh tilapia. Its the first of its kind but I hope not the last!
after all, I am in a fishing village on the shores of Lake Victoria and I hope to go fishing one day.
George, Sirme and Joseph grin as they hand me a plastic bag, a tilapia in it with the hook still on. I insist on paying, but they vehemently refuse.

They are members of the Lake Land Youth Group, a registered group in Uhundha, consisting of 30 members of both sexes, ages ranging from 10 to 30+. They have a community garden in the village as an income generating activity as well as for sustenance. They are also active in using music as a medium to raise awareness in the community regarding AIDS/HIV, the environment and family resources management. Their ideology resonates with Shiriki, so I connect them, so they can collaborate with each other and 'share' their knowledge.

they will be instrumental in helping us mobilize a community garden for the orphanage in the village. We start at 10 AM on Wednesday and having read the group’s by-laws I am positive that it’s not 10 AM African time ☺

Like Indian Standard Time, African time follows the mentality of Hakuna Matata, which in Swahili means No Worries. The last 3 days seem to have been exactly those kinds of days, but with a lot of activity.

Let me rewind to the beginning of my introduction to Uhundha…

I take the morning bus to Kisumu taking in the glory of the picturesque Kenyan countryside. Overtaking buses with Sasha Obama, Jai Mata Dee, Jay Swaminarayan, Nanak trucking helps me feel at home, as does the fact that I have had Kenyans talk to me in Swahili multiple times over the last week. Indians are plentiful here, as is the influence of Indian food. I have fresh chapatis every day here!

In Kisumu, Charles arrives on time, unlike most of his countrymen, to take me to his village, Uhundha. He has spent the night on a bus from Nairobi, where he works, to make the 8 hour journey to Kisumu to settle me in at his place in the village and to introduce me to the community.

It takes us a couple hours to get to Uhundha, after a few brief stops to pick up Maureen, the housekeeper, and to buy necessities needed in the house. The car navigates the gentle ups and downs passing through lush green fields of maize, while Lake Victoria plays peek-a-boo. Kids are everywhere, girls balancing yellow buckets on their heads.

We arrive at a big house with an overgrown garden. Two of Charles’ nephews appear from nowhere and start cleaning the place with Maureen.

Determined to not lose precious time, Charles takes me for a tour of the primary school, the orphanage and the area called the beach. When we get back to the house, the ghosthouse it once seemed to be has been transformed into a lovely cottage with a dining table, a living room full of couches and two chairs in the patio. I may not have power but i have a functional shower AND a western toilet (a scream of delight for not having to use the 'hole in the ground').

There are guests waiting. Charles invited the village elders, the school headmaster and a couple schoolteachers in the evening to introduce me before he heads back to Nairobi the next day. We have a great discussion about the needs of the community, prospective projects that I could think of after a cursory glance at the school, and the orphanage, and ways the community can help.

A finger-licking good meal of beef curry, kale and ugali (made with maize flour) ends a perfect but a long day.

Sunday is a relaxed day. I wake up with an urge to try my new Vibram Five Fingers (bought solely for their weight) on Kenyan soil, it’s the country that produces the world’s best runners. The primary school soccer ground seems like a good place to start. Besides, I can scope out the playground or rather the remnants of it, to see if any improvements are feasible there. Ten minutes into the run, there are sinister shadows of a kettle of eagles that I apparently disturbed. As they decide to swoop lower and lower with every flight, I decide to run away.

In the course of the day, I am visited by most of the people I met the day before. We discuss more projects, brainstorm ideas to mobilize youth and community groups as soon as possible.

Lunch is lentils (which I transform into the Indian way by adding onions, tomatoes, ginger and garlic) with beef curry and fresh chapatis. I certainly will need to run more in the coming days!!

In the afternoon, I take a motorcycle (the ‘driver’ wears a Number 12 New England Brady Jersey) to the nearby town to charge my laptop and phone, buy ‘Pilipil Hoho' (Luo name for Green peppers), as requested by Maureen among other stuff.

Back in my room after dinner of fresh tilapia stew, every few minutes, I hear the pitter patter of bird feet on the tin roof, or bats squeaking from the unfinished roof- their ‘favorite’ hide-out I am told, and I am strangely comfortable under the security of my blue mosquito net.

Monday I wake up late, but just in time to meet Josiah, the school headmaster, who shows me around the school. We decide on a spot for the compost pit, check out the garden plot and the demonstration plot, where children learn to plant kale and tomatoes, among other things. We plan to have a classroom cleaning along with putting trash bins and compost bins in the yard to encourage composting the following week.

Another brief trip into Usenge for a couple hours to recharge batteries and its time to meet the Lake Land Youth Group…

They are all waiting for us under a tree- there is a school bench, a mat and a stool to sit, there are few drums made of tin cans and cow hide lying around, and a sign with the group name.

As I approach, they hand me the objectives, current activities and by-laws. This group is more organized than a lot others I know- they even have a fine for not showing up without an excuse/apology for their weekly meetings!

I explain the objectives of my visit to Uhundha, the objectives of this meeting, the various projects we have identified so far, and are thinking about and how we can utilize their expertise and help in establishing the garden for the orphanage. They open up about their needs and issues they face.

One poignant request, among other requests for assistance in providing seeds, watering cans, water pumps, t-shirts/masks for the drummers, is to teach them some things I have learnt since I have been to 'many different places'. I am suddenly at a loss for words.

It may be a monologue, with me learning from you, I say. I am an environmental engineer, who has never dug a compost pit, even though I compost back in San Francisco. They seem to understand.

But then I promise to show them places I have been to on my laptop.

They promise to organize a show of a play/songs they sing to raise awareness of social and health issues among the community, for me over the weekend.

I promise to take pictures of them, record their drumming, burn them a DVD, and share their pictures and music with my family and friends. (I may not be able to land them a record deal with a recording studio, I warn, but I will take them to San Francisco)

They promise to show up on Wednesday at 10 AM with hoes and help me dig my first compost pit.

now, it’s a conversation…

soul revolution

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 19:34:00 +0000

Originally uploaded by travellingLite

The matatu comes like lightning- the ‘conductor’ holding a small card with a number, shouting the same, standing on the footrest, grasping the roof with his right hand.
I jump in and navigate gingerly through the narrow passage to go to a seat in the last row- the one with the best view, while Lil’ Bow-wow belts out ‘Bounce with me’ in the background.

The headrests are covered with cheap red plastic that match the upholstered black and red ceiling. Suddenly it swerves to avoid another matatu startling all the occupants. The man in the front seat reads an English newspaper about the tragedy in Norway, another continues to shout on the phone, a pretty girl in a grey skirt and pink blouse chews gum and plays with her sparkly pink rose earrings.

Armed with my camera, I am on my way to meet brothers from a Rastafarian CBO based in Kibera, the largest slum in Kenya and the second largest slum in the world. Shiriki, means to share in Swahili, unites the youth of Kibera to rally around environment conservation causes while earning a decent living through the arts, music and agriculture.
In a colorful studio surrounded by banana trees, taking in a breathful of marijuana from an intricately carved pipe, Ras Githaka explains the vision of Shiriki- to take the youth back to the villages, to teach them how to lead a fruitful life, use the natural resources available to provide for “Rasta livity”, as they say.

The studio is a living example of their ideology. It’s a place where the youth meet regularly to make music, weave bracelets, make slippers out of recycled tires, and cook meals made of plantains, avocados, beans and ugali (made of maize flour) over firewood. It also houses a small library, a small shop to sell bracelets and slippers.
The next day, I meet the Roots Connection band, who are practicing for an all-night concert over the weekend. As Joelle, the volunteer from Canada, who introduced me to this group, takes lessons in Photoshop from one of the brothers, I make my way towards a simple home-made loom, where one of the brothers is weaving a scarf in red, green and gold. Red is said to signify the blood of martyrs, green the vegetation and beauty of Ethiopia, where the Rasta movement originated, and gold the wealth of Africa. Many of its adherents worshipping Haile Selassie I, the emperor of Ethiopia as the reincarnation of Jesus- all Rastas here proudly wear a badge with his picture on it.

As they make melodious reggae music with meaningful lyrics, I wonder if they would be misunderstood by the most of the society due to their appearance or habits- wearing of dreadlocks and smoking weed, considered a spiritual act by the Rastafarians, is common practice.

For all the good they do, their alcohol-free and meat-free self-sustaining existence, the degree of self-sufficiency and self-reliance they have and try to instill in others, I personally consider these children of the earth the Enlightened Sons of Kibera.

changes

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 07:41:00 +0000

Untitled
Originally uploaded by travellingLite

Alex welcomes me to Cairo with a Revolution 2.0 t-shirt with an Egyptian flag and the date 25.01.2011 on it. What began as a ‘normal’ protest against police brutality on Police Day (Jan 25th), turned into Revolution 2.0, 1.0 being the one in 1952 that converted Egypt from a monarchy to a Republic.

The following day, on the metro, Alex practices his Arabic with a bubbly 5 year old. The kid, half-shocked and half-amused at the tall foreigner talking in his language, nonchalantly mentions that he is going to Tahrir, as are we.

We step out of the train to be stopped by 14 year olds, who check our passports and bags, before we can make it to the square. I wonder if they stop anyone from entering…

There is an excitement that lingers at Tahrir square or hope perhaps for a better future. Egyptian flags flutter in the little wind there is on this hot, humid day. Men, women, boys, girls, children of all ages lounge about in the square that has been cordoned off to traffic, quite a difference compared to my last time in Cairo three years ago. A teenager timidly suggests me to cover my head with a scarf, before disappearing in the crowd.

In one corner, everyone bows in prayer to the call of the mullah. Hundreds others live comfortably in their encampments, surrounded by enormous posters about the revolution.
A man sits on a railing and smokes, patiently waiting for customers for t-shirts that say “I love Egypt”. Another painstakingly bends down and draws on the road- more drawings of a person holding the Egyptian flag against the sun. A graffiti on the wall of a popular café screams ‘I want to see another president b4 I die’.

A young man wearing a purple shirt, LOVE written all over it inversely, two brushes in hand, one in his mouth- red, black, white, his forehead painted with those colors, offers to paint my hand.
I oblige with a smile and a ‘Shokran’, and extend my left hand, struggling to hold the heavy wide-angle still as I take a shot of the moment where I become a part of the revolution, as best I can.

then again...

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 07:13:00 +0000

time to dust off this space. kwa heri :)

unchained melody

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 21:27:00 +0000

a scoop of sunshine
a hint of hope
a handful of good memories
makes music..

into the mystic

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 12:35:00 +0000

the final frontier- Tombouctou- its just like any other desert town- sandy with hot, sunny days and cold, dark nights. its the mythical notions that the name conjures up that drew me to mali, the familiarity yet the anonymity of it. beyond it stretches the sahara.

the path i take to tombouctou is the long, winding niger. the public pinnasse is packed as i step aboard carefully with a massive camera pack on my back. the boatman points to the vacant mattress in a corner 'ici'. one full size mattress for 3 adults- 2 travelers i met in mopti- dao, martijn and me!

earlier in the day, as i had passed by the pinnasse on my way to the market, a bespectacled, wiry man starts talking to me emphasizing the need to reserve a spot to sleep on the pinnasse, lest it runs out of space. so, as suggested, i hand him and the boatman $7 to put a mattress to reserve a spot for me.

my friends already have a mattress as promised- the full size in sight. when i ask about my mattress, the boatman points to half of a straw mat! while i didn't expect a pillow-top sterns and foster, i certainly was hoping for one of those cushy shocking green cotton mattresses with pink flowers i saw in the market, especially since i paid more for the journey than anyone i had met so far!

this does it. a angry shouting match ensues, much to the amusement of the fellow Africans, who cannot understand a word of what i say but give a thumbs up- apparently we are not the only victims here. Dao joins in with her own complaints about the size of the mattress! finally, after some commotion arrives that shocking green mattress. the best arguments, i decide, are in the language that the opponent doesn't understand. you can go on saying the same thing over and over again without ever losing its effect :) and we are off to a fiery start!

the journey on the Niger was unforgettable, even if an aurally challenging experience.
the river stretches wide as if awakening from a deep slumber, at every bend. we pass by forsaken mud houses, perhaps inhabited during the dry season. children wave and shout 'toubabu' for foreigners.
a woman in a village shows off her baby on her back, extends her hand and shouts 'cadeau'. a lady with big fula gold earrings, her mouth tattooed black, haggles for the price of tubers.
four naked boys splash around in the niger without a care in the world. an old man holds a radio to his ears, as the latest salif keita number tunes in and out.
a lady with blonde highlights plays with an ipod, clearly one of the elite malians.
a man questions my religion and nods disapprovingly when i say hindu. paape, the 2 year old who i decide to call dennis (the menace), always without his pants, makes it his personal mission to make trouble in every possible way he can. his mother spanks him constantly. another is enamored with martijn's feet, even sleeps next to them. he departs the pinnasse with a fanta in his pocket, a bright mischievous smile lighting up his face.

every village it stops at, the pinnasse is surrounded by boats selling bread, african potatoes, stale fried fish- there's more mayhem, chaos, shouting.
a bathroom visit is a painful effort, so we set a limit of two per day on them. it involves holding on to the railing and step by step making it to a little room in the back with a hole, the niger at the receiving end of it. the pinnasse, overloaded with people, smoothly glides away.

night arrives early and thus, begins the encroachment of space. soon we are surrounded by children sleeping on every free inch of our mattresses. i spend the night, cold and awake, trying not to hurt the little girl stretched out next to my legs.
day breaks and by midday there's a welcome respite, as passengers reach their destinations. the pinnasse reaches tombouctou at the break of dawn, after 36 hours, the second night cooler than the previous due to the thinning crowd.

we walk the sandy streets to the tourist office to get our passport stamped with the magic of Tombouctou. two Touaregs walk with us, helping us every step of the way. on our return we are invited to their tent opposite our hotel for the delicious Touareg tea- three cups of tea--the first strong as death,the second sweet as life, the third light as love, as they say.
after the first cup, the souvenirs are spread in front of us- ebony, agate studded Touareg silver jewelery. we politely decline, they are gracious, and tea time continues. we part with a small piece of salt from the Sahara, a gift from our Touareg friends.

the following day, as we are hounded by a mob of children selling souvenirs, an SUV comes to a halt and a man in an American accent offers us a ride. our rescuer- Scott is a journalist who is covering a couple stories in town- including the threats to foreigners in the area (as is another Swiss journalist staying in our hotel). the recent kidnappings of a french citizen from a remote part Gao in Eastern Mali and three Spaniards in neighboring Mauritania have hurt the tourist industry tremendously- i personally didn't feel threatened at all during my short stay in tombouctou.

the station wagon bound for Mopti honks at the hotel door at 5 AM the next day. the landscape by road on the way back to Mopti is breathtaking- vast grasslands, grass an unnatural hue of pastel green, dotted with women pounding millet in colorful african block prints, babies still slung to their backs, shepherds and cow herders in touareg outfits hurrying the animals off the road as our 4*4 passes by. once in a while the driver squints and speeds past people wanting a ride, as i take photos through the cracks in the windshield repaired by permit stickers. we overtake vans with people sitting on the roof along with firewood, straw mats and an occasional goat.

Africa just as I imagined it! i sit back and savor delicious pink guavas i bought in bulk for lack of small money.

starstruck

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 17:35:00 +0000

the camel glides on the sand- ungainly gait, chewing on little somethings, looking down on people who try to control him. i hold on tight to the wooden seat fitted snug on the hump- i prefer the two-humps and the stability they offer ons the bactrian camel in mongolia..
in the touareg village, muhammad pours a shot of tea or 'touareg beer' as he calls it. 4 year old fatima, with a mohawk, hides behind the flimsy straw tent and sings a welcome song to the beat of her little clapping hands.

the stars are endless.. nomadic touaregs study stars for 5 years before they make their first 30 day journey across the Sahara.
don mclean's 'vincent' plays in my mind as i look up at the sky- a simple pleasure i have denied myself for too long in san francisco..

watermark

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 21:45:00 +0000

i try to sit still as the old man shouts tranquille..

i am in front of a box camera as old and wrinkled as its owner. time passes and i am handed a black and white photo of me, straight from the 1920s!!

its a rest day before i board a public pinnasse en route to timbuktu- 2 nights on river niger ought to send me back in time perhaps back to the 1920s :)

country love

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 16:21:00 +0000

i have been in africa for about 2 weeks now and a lot of that time was spent waiting- waiting for buses to be fixed, for station wagons to get filled up, for meals to be served. I made it to a concert where i got to see mali's creme de la creme of music from the fifth row (for a VIP ticket price of $7)! I have been proposed to multiple times ( as are all the tourists) sometimes with an offer of 10 cows. I have had grilled lamb, shared watermelon, papaya, countless cups of tea with the locals on tabaski. and now finally, i sit and write about the Africa i have seen and experienced during walks and bus/taxi rides.

the bus/wagon weaves through a maze of finished and unfinished road, barely avoiding a cow skull on an occasion, leaving a dust cloud for the followers to swallow. i see a teenager kick a soccer ball at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere, his bright yellow Ronaldo #9 jersey shines on as does his smile in the blistering heat. NY caps and Unicef t-shirts are everywhere as is Obama- he makes an appearance on pants, his smiling face embroidered on one leg, on bedspreads, motorbike stickers, even on flip flops- a pair of which i couldn't help buying.
A mother and daughter, with their high cheekbones, hold tattooed hands.
motorcycles, cycles, goats are tied on the roofs of buses along with backpacks from REI. at a police checkpoint, a policeman opens the trunk, hoists a goat by its legs, then drops it back in the trunk and the car goes on its way.

i have been on 2 long bus journeys (8-12 hours), and both have been punctuated by mechanical failure after about 2 hours.
all passengers wait on the roadside praying for a miracle to happen while the driver takes the bus apart. men and women laze around on the languid afternoon under skeletal shacks, precariously balanced on knotty wooden poles passing tea around in a little communal shot glass.
a little girl dressed in her traditional attire, the color of sunshine, plays games on a cell phone. Another girl prances about singing songs as her mother struggles to hold her down to put purple extensions in her hair-an effort to tame her wild hair.
a mother has her son tethered to her breast- no one gives a second look.
a little boy holds a dead bird in his hands, as he would a soft toy while his sister, in her shocking pink dress and braids that end in kaleidoscopic color clips blinks her eyes repeatedly at me.
i play with the 2 year old kid Mambi, who either starts crying at the sight of me, or imitates my every move.
a woman on a scooter calls out to me saying I love you, perhaps the only English words she picked up from an english movie.

i take a walk in the village, little mud houses with corrugated tin sheets as doors all opening to a common courtyard. many men have multiple wives here.
in spite of the chaotic facade, everything, everyone seems to move at a snails pace here- except the african women. they strut around in their traditional garb with a regal air about them. an epitome of grace, a shoulder casually bared sometimes, a baby slung low on their backs, they cook food, grind millet, carry water while the men sit and 'discuss', an african man said to me over a slice of watermelon.

i find a corner in the shade and try to read a book while a woman nearby pounds millet with her daughter making beautiful music, a baby set in a constant hug on her back.

embryonic journey

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 09:57:00 +0000

thoughts, emotions, memories have raced through my being- perhaps the most myriad of them all in a period of 3 days as the buses, wagons, cabs rattled on, like the gypsy tambourines, on dusty country roads of the dark continent.
words lost their magic power in this journey- most of them were misunderstood. smiles worked and i am in bamako, mali after a three day journey- i traveled a great distance on different planes- thanks to the kindness of strangers who became friends.

It’s a day to give thanks and I have a lot to be thankful for.

move to the groove..

noreply@blogger.com (travellingLite) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 02:44:00 +0000

i spend a peaceful couple days at Nicole and Curt's. Dinners are home-cooked with conversations about volunteering and environmental engineering. curt has devised a composting system at their house and is in the process of installing solar heaters.

during the day i wander around the local markets, bustling with activity due to the festival, tabaski, on saturday. one day i visit Goree island, a trading post during colonization, and one of the first places in africa to be settled by europeons. i pay a visit to the peace corps office, where nicole works, to get information from the volunteers about the options to go to bamako.

i get a taste of true africa riding local buses and eating street food in dakar. i am ready to move on..

at the mention of the pains of unavailability of information about transportation, someone reminds me of the reasons i chose west africa as my destination- i wanted to get off the grid and go to the final frontier. so i thank him and, with a smile, i board a 'sept-place' to take me 8 hours closer to mali.

its a station-wagon which seats 7 passengers (not counting 3 babies) and double the amount of baggage on the roof and trunk.
the three ladies around me are curious to know why i travel solo. one suggests that i take her baby daughter, ayesha, (an adorable 'bebe' with three braids in her quarter inch hair) with me to mali and back home! i politely decline with a laugh.
after my repeated inquiries of the stop for lunch they offer me bread to nibble on. and time flies amidst stunted conversations of 'elle belle', 'il bon' and posing for photographs.

the path to mali is well-trodden but wrecked with potholes. mile-by-mile i will make it there..