Kenya hear me now???

Smiling...because it happened!

2012-11-13T10:03:00.002+03:00

I keep finding myself staring off into space reflecting on all that has happened in my life over these past two years...the people I’ve met; the students I’ve fallen in love with; the sunrises I’ve watched during my morning runs; the sunsets I’ve enjoyed as I sit storying with my children; the walks to town; the visits to other volunteers sites; the nights out dancing in Nairobi; the vegetarian life I’ve adopted; the chickens I’ve slaughtered; the evenings journaling by candlelight; the letters received from half way across the world; the moment the first raindrop falls after months of dry heat; the “welcome home” hugs and handshakes from my students after being away whether it be for hours or for weeks; the taste of pizza after months of kale, rice and beans; watching students grow; enjoying the transition of acquaintances becoming friends; having a small child run with such excitement toward me that he loses his trousers (and underwear aren’t in the budget!); laughing until it hurts; having children pet me as if I’m an animal; watching mamas carry baskets teeming with goods on top of their heads as if it were nothing; observing men break boulders down into gravel; seeing giraffes, lions, monkeys, elephants, rhinos, and zebra living together in their natural environment; the bright fabrics hung on the lines to dry; the smell of chapati being cooked over a charcoal stove; the sound of rain on my tin roof; the attempts at speaking Kiswahili and mother tongues; the noises my children make; the change I’ve seen in myself...

It’s hard for me to truly believe that these memories plus thousands more have been my reality for these past two years. It’s even harder to believe that this chapter of my life is about to come to a close. Dr. Seuss said it best when he said "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened!" It’s impossible for me to find the words that truly describe how thankful I am to have had this experience. I’m not the Anna Martin that left Asheville, North Carolina on October 12th, 2010. For one, I’m now Ann Martins...at least that’s what I’ve been called for two years now. But in all seriousness, I’m stronger, more patient, more flexible, a little more thoughtful. I’m able to stand my ground. My thoughts about various issues have changed. My hair is way longer. My wardrobe has taken on a hint of “hippie” and a heap of “Kenyan”. I will smash myself in a vehicle with 25 others for 8 hours just to visit a friend for a day. I’m still Anna Martin (or Ann Martins if you prefer that version) but having been through an experience like this I can’t help but be a tad different than when I left.

This week I’ve been watching my furniture slowly make it’s way out of my house and into the homes of my community members, I’ve said some tearful goodbyes to some of my favorites, I’ve taught my last lessons to my students, I’ve had my last meals at the homes of the people that have become my mamas and babas, I’ve held some of my children for the last time, I’ve packed up the things that I’ve collected during my time here into the same two bags I arrived here in Kenya with.

To the teachers, students, community members, Peace Corps Volunteers and administration, my family, the people in Nairobi that have graciously welcomed me into their homes, my friends back at home, and anybody else that has shared in any way in this experience with me I say thank you. Thank you for encouraging me, thank you for loving me, thank you for teaching me new things, thank you for supporting me, thank you for being apart of this incredible journey with me. As they say here in Kenya “Only mountains never meet” and I look forward to being with each and everyone of you again, whether in the next few weeks or in the distant future when the time is again right.

And so the countdown begins

2012-10-04T20:43:00.001+03:00

As my 2-year anniversary here in Kenya approaches, the countdown to my return home has become as exciting to me as the countdown to my childhood birthdays were. I basically have it down to how many hours it is left until I can see the faces and sites I haven’t seen in so long. With less than 2 months until I can call myself a “Returned” Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV), the lump that was there in my throat this time 2 years ago when I started saying my goodbyes to my closest friends and family, has made a comeback with a vengeance. Recently my class of PC Volunteers had our “close of service” conference to talk about reverse culture shock, post-PC plans, tickets home, and what our service ended up being like compared to what we thought it would be like when we started off on this journey (yes, they provided us with the aspiration statements that we so naively wrote out back when it all began---quite entertaining!). At the end of that conference we realized it was the last time that some of was would see each other as we would all be in our villages until each of us flew out at various times at the end of November and beginning of December. So, we shed a few tears and said some goodbyes...for now. There will be a Peace Corps Kenya 2010-2012 reunion someday, of that I’m sure.

Then I travelled back to my site. The school compound was completely empty as the teachers of Kenya were on strike and there would be no school until they were able to strike a deal with the government on pay increase (for the record, it took 3 whole weeks!). I woke up on that first morning after getting back and opened my door and looked out at an empty field, locked classrooms, and stillness....and cried. I’m ready to leave a lot of things behind with the close of this chapter in my life but I’m not ready to leave those kiddos that have become my own. They are the definition of joy in its purest form. To be able to have fun with a tree stump or an old tire or something they dug out of my trash bag.....I don’t know how they do it but they do, and it brings a huge smile across my face to even think about it. To be able to learn various concepts despite the teachers’ inability to communicate to them using Kenyan Sign Language just shows their intelligence. They are brilliant students. They are even better teachers. They have taught me more than I could ever hope to teach them. I am a different person than I was two years ago because of my children. The young students have given me such an excitement for one day becoming a mom, while at the same time being better than any form of birth control one can take in the form of a pill. The older students have given me friendships that I value more than I could have expected being that most of them are at least 6 years younger than me and at a very different time in life. But they are mature beyond their years. I look up to them.

One night last week I was sitting outside making popcorn over my kerosene stove with Sylvia, one of my class 4 students. I told her to put her hand on the lid (with a washcloth covering it---don’t worry, I wasn’t trying to burn her!) so she could feel the kernels popping open since she couldn’t hear it. Her face lit up as fast as one of those popcorn kernels popped....and equally as fast that lump jumped up in my throat and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I’m going to miss moments like that. I have a million...but I wish I had a million more.

I know these next two months are going to be gut-wrenching. As hard as saying goodbye to people was when I left America for Kenya, I think that this will be harder. When I said goodbye to all that I knew in 2010 I was confident that I would return and most everything would still be the same and the people would still be there. My dad has been sending me pictures of all the changes that have occurred in Asheville and Raleigh (a new fancy hotel in downtown Asheville???? roundabouts on Hillsborought Street???) while I’ve been on this side of the world and I have had to say a few unexpected goodbyes from over here to my grandmother and a few others. But, in general, things will be very similar to the way I left them. Here, I will be saying goodbye to my students who I may never see again in this lifetime. Some may not ever return back to school because of inability to pay fees. Others may be forced to relocate to another part of the country for reasons beyond their control. And as much as I fear to even say it, malaria or some other terrible sickness may take a couple away without any warning. Even if none of this happens though, I won’t be their teacher anymore. I won’t be there to wake up to their smiles and squeals every morning. I won’t be there for them to run to when they are upset. I won’t be there.

I do have one advantage that other PCVs don’t have, though. I know I’m going to be back here in Kenya (when I get all the details I will share!). I will be able to visit the school from time to time. I can’t imagine what some of my fellow PCVs are getting ready to go through, knowing that this is quite possibly the LAST time they will EVER see their students, their host families, and their friends in their communities. I may be saying goodbye, but I say it knowing that it is more of a “see ya later”.

But with all the sadness that I’m feeling as I prepare for goodbyes, I’m overcome with equal amounts of excitement as I get ready to see my friends and family at home, eat delicious foods, drive, visit my favorite places, and enjoy being home. Lately, I’ve been waking up at night from dreams of people that I’m so ready to be face to face with. I make lists of foods I can’t wait to eat, people I HAVE to see, things to buy as soon as I get there, places I have to go to. Every song I listen to seems to be about going home, saying goodbyes, and other things that just set off my daydreaming about home. Folk music playlists have become my go-to because the style just reminds me of being up at Pisgah View Inn looking out over the mountains this time of year as the leaves are changing and the air is turning cooler. I’ve already done a trial run of packing up all my stuff just to see if I have enough room in my bags. I’ve also started to put post-it notes on various items around my house that I’m allocating to people that have been especially good to me during my time here. I’ve got one foot out the door.

But I still have one foot here.....and I have to keep that foot planted because I still do have a little bit more work to do here. It’s not over til it’s over. I want to enjoy my students til the very second they walk out of that gate for December vacation, I want to appreciate my village until I can’t see it anymore in the rearview mirror of my final matatu ride to Nairobi, I want to dance my heart out with my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers until we are forced away from the dance floor. I want to be the best Peace Corps Volunteer I can be until I’ve signed all my papers and have become a “Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.

2 months....it’s not long. It will pass faster than I’m prepared for....but I will be ready for America, for N.C., for Asheville, for home! Hope you’re ready for me!

The Lwala Brothers

2012-09-26T07:40:00.004+03:00

So in my last blog entry I told you there had been several serendipitous situations that have happened that have confirmed to me that I’m here in Kenya again not just because Peace Corps randomly found a position here but for other reasons as well. One of those happy accidents has to do with The Lwala Brothers. I’m sure many of you know this story of mine but probably not all of you so let me share...

November of 2009 I was weeks away from graduating from NCSU with a degree in International Studies and was waiting for a nomination from Peace Corps but still wasn’t positive that was going to work out so I was getting a little nervous about what I should do next. I had just finished up interning at the International Affairs Council helping host a group of students from Pakistan and the woman I was interning under suggested that I go to this conference for International Studies students to get connected with other young people with similar interests and find out what kinds of jobs were available to people like me. I was the only student from NCSU there so I was a little nervous stepping into a huge conference room full of students from other schools around NC (all the other universities brought large groups of students) but, as with Passport Camp 2005 where I was the only student from my church (read previous blog entry) I’d been in this situation before and was ready to just jump in there.

The conference was amazing. I learned so much about the jobs and opportunities for International Studies majors, heard some really amazing speakers, and then, watched a documentary called “The Lwala Brothers”. It was intended to be the service-learning aspect of the conference. We were to watch the documentary and then go back to our universities and raise some money for the cause. But I’ll get back to that in a second. Let me tell you about this documentary. It was about these two guys, Fred and Milton, from Kenya who had both gotten scholarships to Dartmouth to play soccer and then both went to Vanderbilt for medical school. While they were away in the U.S. studying, they lost their parents. They had already planned the construction of a health clinic in their village with their father but now he was gone and they knew they had to go forward with it anyway. In Nyanza, the area they are from (and very close to where I live), AIDS is very prevalent and, also, expecting mothers often don’t make it to the regional health clinic in time to have their babies in an appropriate place leading to many miscarriages. The brothers were using this documentary to tell the story thus far, to show the progress they had made with the clinic, but also to raise necessary funds to build on to the clinic, have adequate medicine and equipment, and continue the efforts to help the community that had helped raise them and send them to America to study medicine. For me, it was refreshing to hear about two Kenyans that were going back home to help out their communities, and not another story of the “brain drain” effect, which is large scale emigration of skilled and educated people, leaving the country they come from, in turn, creating a loss for where they are from. As I watched the film I was so inspired and felt inclined to help out the cause, especially as I’d been to Kenya before and had a special connection with the country they were from and wanted to continue helping in their own unique manner.

As I said earlier though, I was the only student from NCSU and they were asking each university to go back to their schools and think of their own ways to raise money for the Lwala brothers. I had a matter of weeks of school left and no one who had been there to see the film with me so I didn’t know what to do at that point. Well, that week at church they started a project called the Mina Project. Everyone in attendance got an envelope with some money in it, some with 10 dollars, some with 1000. No matter how much money there was you were instructed to find a way to multiply the money, whether through using the money to buy ingredients and then selling a product to make a profit, having a yard sale, using the funds to buy the supplies to complete certain tasks like raking leaves, etc., etc., etc. Well, I’ve never really been a fan of graduation announcements because I feel that the people that I’m closest to know that I’ve managed to make it to another mile stone and don’t need a fancy reminder that also reminds them to send a little money my way for getting to a point in life that I had intended on reaching anyway---but I decided for this it might be the ticket to raising money for the Lwala Brothers. I used my ten dollars (plus a little of my own money- those announcements are expensive!!!) and bought 25 graduation announcements and filled them out to the 25 people in my life that have been supportive of my efforts here in Africa along the way and that I knew would help one more time. I enclosed a little card with the announcement talking briefly about the Lwala Brothers documentary and what the initiative was all about. Within weeks I had over a thousand dollars pour into my home address. After the holidays were over I mailed in the check to the Lwala Brothers and got a nice thank you note from them. At that point I sort of figured I’d done what I could for them and feeling satisfied that I’d been able to do my part for the conference’s Service Learning Project, my church’s Mina Project, and for the Lwala Brothers. But it didn’t stop there....

So January 2010 I was still waiting on my placement for Peace Corps so I was living at home, working with mom Monday through Friday and working on Sundays after church at Bruegger’s Bagels, the place I’d been working since the week I got my driver’s license. One Sunday in February after a few weeks of being back to work this tall, dark man came in and right away I knew he was from Africa. I told the other guys on the sandwich prep line that I called that guy because I wanted to see where he was from and hear more of his story. As soon as he opened his mouth to order his breakfast sandwich I heard the accent that confirmed that he was indeed NOT from America. I asked him where he was from...”Kenya”. I started to get all giddy while I told him I’d been there before and was doing my best to get back to anywhere in Africa. He seemed interested but I’m sure he’d met girls like me that were interested in going back to his home and “make a real difference” many times over. I asked him what he was doing in the U.S. and he told me medical school, he was in Asheville speaking at a medical conference at our local resort. I asked if it was Vanderbilt he went to and he affirmed. At the moment, I did not assume he was one of the Lwala Brothers but I figured he had at least met them in his studies as a young man from Africa at Vanderbilt. I asked him “Do you know anything about the Lwala Brothers?” He looked up a little shocked and said “I’m Fred Ochieng...one of the Lwala Brothers”. I was stunned! The two people that were with him gave the same sort of “OMG” looks and I then recognized them from the documentary, too. I told them what I had done with my money and how I’d seen the documentary and truly supported their efforts. They went out to their car and got me a copy of the documentary and Fred signed it. I was “starstruck” and completely overwhelmed with how that had all just happened. The rest of the day my mind was a complete mess and I couldn’t wait to tell my mom and all the rest of my “graduation announcement” group of the chance encounter. Everyone got goosebumps as I told them what had happened. But again, it doesn’t end there.

6 months later I got my official invitation in the mail from Peace Corps, to Kenya! Right away I got on Facebook and found my friend “Fred Ochieng” and told him where I’d been placed. We talked of trying to get together while he was on one of his trips over here during my service. This past August it ALMOST worked out but some things came up that kept it from happening but I know I will be around this country for many years to come so I don’t think this story is over yet and I can’t wait to see where it ends up going.

This past week I saw that “The Lwala Brothers” had been awarded the Peace Corps Award for their work. I thought it was pretty cool that the organization I am working with recognized them for their work and I’m almost certain that this award will lead their clinic to receive more direct support from Peace Corps in the form of a PCV being placed there in Lwala. No organization is more deserving of this award and I look forward to seeing where else this story heads, whether I’m directly involved or not. It has confirmed that I’m exactly where I should be at multiple points in my life. I was meant to be at that conference, taking some time off being patient and working at Brueggers’ Bagels on Sunday afternoons once I’d graduated from NCSU and then in the country of Kenya with Peace Corps. It’s amazing how people can be placed in your life at just the right times to teach you certain things, give you things to think about, and allow you to have a story to share with others that leaves them in amazement at the serendipity of life.

Read the following to learn about Fred and Milton’s work:

Brothers’ efforts in Lwala honored by the Peace Corpsnews.vanderbilt.eduBrothers’ efforts in Lwala honored by the Peace Corps. The Peace Corps has selected Milton and Fred Ochieng’ as this year’s recipients of their annual Director’s Award.

http://lwalacommunityalliance.org/

7 Years

2012-08-03T23:44:00.001+03:00

Seven years ago today I set foot on Kenyan soil for the first time. I was 17 years old and getting ready to start my senior year of high school. I’d decided that I wanted to see what another part of the world was like. I’d travelled all over the U.S. with my family and been on a lot of mission trips with my church. I’d seen the highlights that America has to offer- the view from the Sears Tower, Times Square in New York, the beaches in Florida- as well as the things that America doesn’t take as much pride in showing off- the hollers of the Appalachian Mountains, the trailer parks scattering Alabama, the lines of children getting free lunches at community centers. But at this time in my life I was ready to go out on my own and see something different from anything I’d ever experienced before. I was interested in seeing what poverty was like outside of America. I was fascinated by people from other cultures. I wanted to do something that would make me see the world that I’d grown up so comfortably in a little bit differently.

People have asked me over and over again “Why Africa?” and to be completely honest I don’t know what was drawing me to this part of the world. I was taking Spanish classes throughout high school so the logical thing would have been to take a trip to somewhere in Latin or South America so that I could use and improve those language skills. But that part of the world wasn’t calling me like Africa was. I guess a more appropriate thing to do would be to ask Africa “Why Anna?” because I sure don’t have a solid reason as to why I decided to take that first flight over here. I can, however, give you a million reasons for why I continue to come back, but that initial step is beyond my comprehension.

As I was looking for trips to get me out of America I happened upon this trip to Kenya called PassportKenya which was a mission camp outside of the capital city of Nairobi in Limuru, a cold, wet place perfect for growing chai (tea). It was not the climate I was expecting for a place that set directly on the equator. The team was made up of half American students and half Kenyan students. The camp seemed like a good mix of a lot of things I was looking for- cultural exchange, a mission component, and Africa being the setting. As the summer was coming to a close I was heading out on one final summer trip- one that has certainly changed my life in a million unexpected ways.

I’m not going to go into so much detail about the entire week at PassportKenya, not because it wasn’t amazing, but because I’d rather focus on a few specific moments that I’ve continuously replayed over and over in my mind and how they help confirm that I am back here in this specific place at this specific time in my life doing something that I am meant to be doing,

The first memory I have from my time here on that initial trip was meeting Sharon Charles. I remember showing up at Brackenhurst, an old missionary compound where we were staying during most of our time during that trip, and seeing all the Kenyan students that were joining us at camp. Sharon and I introduced ourselves to each other and sat down and talked for a couple of hours. We talked about absolutely everything- the similarities that we share even with an ocean between us, as well as the differences that went well past the opposite skin colors we each wore. There’s a picture of us from that first conversation that was posted on the camp website that my mom printed out and put up in her office. Even after camp came to a close we kept in contact via e-mail. As the years passed the contact became less and less until it eventually stopped. But then when I heard I was going to be coming back to Kenya as a volunteer with the Peace Corps I decided to reach out again and see if she even remembered me. She did and although we haven’t been able to see each other near as often as we would have liked during my time back here as a volunteer, the conversation that we started 7 years ago has continued. I will actually be staying here a couple of weeks past my close of service to attend her wedding the night before heading home. If you would have asked me August 3rd, 2005 where that friendship would lead I would never have been able to predict this and I can’t begin to predict what it will look like 7 years from now but I have more confidence in its longevity than I did when we said goodbye at the end of camp back then.

Several other conversations that week led to similar friendships- Patrick Kamau has continued to be a close friend. I was able to see him while he was traveling through my neck of the woods in North Carolina during my college years and then again back over here when it works out that we are both in the same place at the same time. Maureen Mwangi was so sweet then and continues to be so to this day checking in on me and all that I’m doing out in the village. Alice Kamande, my roommate for that week, was obviously a talented singer back then but never did I expect to see her on t.v. and youtube one day belting out songs in Kiswahili that can bring you to tears! Kambua, another talented friend from camp has risen to the top here in Kenya when it comes to the music world and I get so excited every time I hear her voice over the radio or see her picture in the newspaper. There are many others that I’ve reconnected with over my two years back here that I remember saying goodbye to at the end of that camp experience and hoping that it wouldn’t be the last time we saw each other but realistically thinking that it might very well be our final goodbye. But the impression that they all gave me at camp that week was enough for me to know that the people of Kenya were a wonderful group that I wanted to continue working alongside .

Another moment that impacted my life happened during the time that we spent at an orphanage in Kibera slum. Kibera is possibly the largest slum in Africa (although it’s impossible to say just how many people live there). The children’s faces are forever burned into my mind. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I remember the sounds of the children as we played games, I remember the conversations we tried to have with each other using the little English they knew (because at the time I knew NO Kiswahili!). I remember at the end of our time together, all of us crying a river but I promised those children I would be back to Africa one day. I remember holding one little girl and not wanting to let her go. The space in my heart for the children of Kenya grew that day and continues to do so every time I pick up a new child, every time I see them playing with a toy that is a treasure to them but that an American child would call trash, every time I see them walking together with their arms around each other. When I see my students today that I work with I also see that first group of children I got to spend time with, and I know that the experience I had in Kibera led directly to Mundika School for the Deaf and the students I’m so blessed to work with on a day to day basis now.

One final moment that sticks out in my mind from that week was one of the camp leader’s Kenyan family (his parents were from Kenya) coming from hours away to see their nephew that they hadn’t seen in over a decade. Some came by foot while others were packed in the back of an old pickup. Either way, they came and celebrated his being here back at “home”. They also celebrated the rest of the American visitors because since we had come alongside one of their very one, we had become part of the extended family that came along with him to Kenya. I remember thinking about the concept of family and how important it is to the people here. Not just the immediate family (mom, dad, siblings, grandparents) but cousins, nieces, nephews, cousin’s cousins, aunt’s friend’s children- everyone with any sort of connection. It was so neat for me to see how much family meant. And as I stay here and create a life in Kenya I’ve been adopted into so many families. My host family from Peace Corps Training brought me in as their own. Some of my co-teachers have become mamas to me, some of my students are like brothers and sisters and some are like my very own children, and I have uncles and aunts throughout my village ready to take care of me. Kenya has opened its arms to me and just like it is hard for me to be away from my family in America, it is hard for me to even begin to think about leaving my new Kenyan family members that I’ve made over here. Kenya has taught me to think of all the people that aren’t in my immediate family back at home as relatives whether blood ties us together or not. I value those relationships more now than ever because of what Kenya has taught me about the family community.

So, seven years ago I came, I learned a lot, I developed some friendships, I saw things I would never forget, and I left, not knowing what would follow. But here I am, almost two years into my Peace Corps service applying to jobs to bring me back here at the beginning of 2013 to continue with the next thing that I’m meant to do here. I would have never expected that from that experience as a 17 year old high school girl my life would be changed in such a dramatic way. I often wonder where I’d be now had it not been for that trip, but it’s been amazing to see how every little thing has connected so perfectly to bring me to this moment right now telling you how happy I am with the life I’m leading in Kenya. I couldn’t have come up with a story like this if I’d tried. In the next blog entry I will write more about some of the specific serendipitous moments that have occurred over the past few years but today I will close with the simple fact that because of so many of those little moments I’m confident that I’m in the right place, at the right time of my life, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. I would never have expected to be working with Deaf students in Kenya at the age of 24 but I’ve learned over the years not to have expectations so that when things do happen you are always pleasantly surprised at how everything plays out so perfectly. So here’s to having no expectations, and lots of surprises...which Kenya has proven to me that it will continue to provide over and over.

The Peace Corps Marathon

2012-07-05T05:12:00.001+03:00

This past Saturday I stepped up to the starting line of the Lewa Marathon (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewa_Marathon), a race set in the savannas of Kenya with zebras, giraffes, monkeys and impalas sprinkled out over the dusty landscape that you’ve probably seen on the National Geographic or Discovery channels any time they have a special on African wildlife. I was standing beside some of Kenyans finest runners as well as others like myself just out there for a challenge and to be able to marathon off the bucket list. I’ve been running since I was about 13, albeit not because I have any true skill but because I enjoy the way it makes me feel, the escape it provides me, and, if I’m going to be completely honest, to keep as much of the “ugali”, rice, and potatoes off my hips as possible. I’ve run many 5k races, a handful of 10k-ers, and 2 half marathons, but as I signed up for this marathon, I knew I was in for a new experience when it came to my running.

As I started training for this giant back in January, slowly adding a mile every week to my long runs, running with a little more purpose than usual, and thinking about how the other parts of my life were affecting my running (my health, my diet, my schedule), I realized that this marathon that I was embarking on might very well be comparable to the experience I’m having here as a Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya. I started to recognize the parallels that existed, the most obvious to me being that a marathon is just over 26 miles and my Peace Corps experience here in Kenya is going to last just a few days longer than 26 months when it’s all said and done. I began to reflect on my experience thus far in Kenya, month by month, as I went on my daily morning runs and as I ran mile by mile this past Saturday.

Whenever I set out for a run it always takes me about 3 miles to get into the rhythm, warm my body up, get used to the terrain I am running on and mentally prepare for the rest of what’s to come. So, in comparing the two beasts, the marathon and the PC experience, I can honestly say that, like in the first 3 miles of a race, the first 3 months of PC require a “warm up”, a time to get into the rhythm of this new life you are setting out on, a chance to feel out the “terrain” or environment that is new to you, and an opportunity to realize that what you are getting ready to embark on will be difficult but is entirely possible if you are committed to finishing it. During my first 3 months in Kenya, 2 of those were dedicated to training with other people like myself who were trying to get their own feel for this place, followed by a month of initial shock of being in the village alone but surrounded by people that I didn’t know yet but had been here forever and already had their own ways of doing things. As I set out on my race on Saturday I could see this same pattern emerge. I started out with my fellow PC runners but within a couple of miles we were all going at our individual paces as we felt out the terrain. As with the other villagers that we met when we were dropped into our villages, there were other runners at this race who were much more seasoned than us and had been running on this kind of terrain their whole lives so they set out for this race much more comfortably than us. Running is an individual sport- every man for himself. You thrive off the people around you for a competitive edge but at the end of the day your performance relies on how you trained for it, how hard you push yourself, and your own personal goals. As I set out on my race called “Peace Corps” I knew that I would need to use all those elements to keep me persevering throughout the 26 miles... I mean months.

Once you get into your rhythm, you can begin to coast for a bit. Your body is warmed up, the initial shock of the new terrain has warn off and your mind just allows you to go. You get lost in the music you are listening to, you look out at your surroundings and realize just how beautiful everything is. Even though you’ve seen this terrain now for a few miles you still continue to look up every few moments and realize that this whole experience is pretty darn cool and everything- from the abundance of acacia trees, hills, and brush to the more sparse giraffes, monkeys, and views of Mt. Kenya- are things that you wouldn’t get to see if you hadn’t set out on this experience. There’s the occasional stone that makes you lose balance, the moments of thirst, and the twinges of pain from your “preexisting conditions”, but overall you are freely going at this point. For me, those months that line up to the miles I just spoke of were enjoyable as I coasted- things like bucket bathing, cooking over a kerosene stove, and teaching with limited resources were becoming easier as they became more normal and routine. There were still little things that made me break from time to time- watching a tv show that reminded me of something at home, talking to a friend for the first time in months, wishing I was anywhere but that overcrowded matatu on my birthday. But overall, I was settling in quite well and would look up from time to time and realize how amazing my life was with 120 crazy children constantly buzzing around, having people bringing me chickens to say thank you for what I’m doing, eating fresh pineapple and mangos straight from the garden, and having clothes custom made for me for a fraction of the cost of an outfit from the mall. I was coasting,

Then, that moment comes where you’ve reached the half marathon mark and you come to the intersection that has a sign reading “<---half marathon finishers this way -I- full marathoners this way--->” and you ask yourself “Can I do what I just did all over again?” You have to think fast because that sign is quickly approaching, well, depending on your pace. But no matter the pace, the sign comes faster than you’re prepared for. At this point in the race you feel like you have a good pace going but your body is beginning to tire, your surroundings aren’t as “cool” as they were the first 6-7 miles, and if you did decide to just finish the half marathon, heck, that’s still quite an accomplishment! But, for some crazy reason, you decide to do what you just did---again! At least you know what’s coming. At the Lewa marathon, you simply run two laps of the same course----again synonymous to the PC experience. You know the terrain at this point, you know where the refreshment points are going to be, you know it’s going to be a long 13 miles but you know that if you can do it again the end is there and that next time you see that “<---half marathon finishers this way -I- full marathoners this way--->” sign you will be able to take the first arrow and change the phrase to “this way to be a marathoner!!!!”.

Miles 13-20, there’s more space between you and your fellow runners. You’re now running at your pace, taking little breaks when you need in order to rest your body for a moment or refuel at the water stations. You know what it’s going to take to get through that second lap. In PC, months 13-20, from my own personal experience are very similar. You have to know when you are starting to feel that your tank is empty and you need to stop and refuel. Whether that means staying in your house for a day away from the children and other community members that you work with on a daily basis and watching a “Glee” marathon or going to the closest big city to stock up on good foods that you don’t get in the village or simply calling home to hear a familiar voice. You have to know yourself---and at this point in the marathon you know your pace, you know what’s going to keep you going.

And here comes the part that I’m going to have to assume on but if my marathon experience is any forecaster of what’s to come I will indeed come out on the other side a marathoner, or in PC terms, an RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). I’ve always heard that the last 5-6 miles of a marathon are the toughest ones. You’re body is hurting at that point- you have blisters, you’re dehydrated no matter how much water you drink, the pains you came into the race with are hurting with a little more intensity, and you know the finish line is within reach but still not directly in front of you. You just want to be finished. You’re still glad you’re doing what you’re doing but you’re ready to see that finish line, hug your friends that are cheering you on, eat some good food to satisfy the cravings you’ve been having for a few miles now, and relax while doing something that is totally mindless, because let’s be honest, besides pushing your body to its breaking point, your mind has been pushed to the limit as well. They say running races like this is a mental game and that is so very true. If your mind tells you that you are done, your body will listen. If your mind tells you to keep going past the pain, your body can listen to that, too. So those final miles are tough...so tough. And, as you know, I’m not done with my PC experience yet. I now have 5 1/2 months until I’m on the plane home and I can almost taste the food on that flight, feel the cold chills as I step out into that Asheville winter, hear my nana’s voice, and smell the candles that mom always has burning at home. I’m still enjoying my time here, I’m beyond grateful for this experience, I’m proud of myself for signing up for PC, getting on that flight over here, persevering to this point despite some of the hard things I’ve dealt with along the way. I’m so close to being an RPCV. I know I will have moments in the next few months where I will be like “when is December 16th going to freaking be here?” and “I’m sooooo done with this!” but it will get here...no matter how tough these next few months are they will pass by and I will cross that finish line.

And what does it feel like to be a marathoner? Well, I can’t wait to slap one of those “26.2” stickers on my water bottle (I probably won’t have a car to slap one on for a while!)! I’ve done something that, in the big scheme of the things, not too many people can say they’ve done. I’ve pushed myself physically and mentally in ways that I didn’t know I could. I’m in pain throughout my body- besides the expected soreness of my leg muscles, I also lost a toenail which has since gotten infected forcing me to take a much needed break from running. But I’m ready for my next marathon. I will use this experience to train for the next one, I will be more prepared for my next race. And if I can draw one more comparison, I can say that with the Lewa Marathon, being regarded as one of the top ten toughest marathons in the world, and the Peace Corps, being called “the toughest job you’ll ever love”, have been challenges that I know will prepare me for the next “marathon” that life signs me up for. I’ve already done something that was regarded as one of the “toughest” of it’s kind. That brings a sense of comfort to me as I come to the finish line of this part of my life and start preparing for the next starting lineup, wherever that may be.

SUCCESS!!!

2012-06-25T12:33:00.003+03:00

“A reasonable man is one who adapts himself to the world. An unreasonable man is one who forces the world to adapt to his ways. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man”

~George Bernard Shaw

This past week has been very successful and productive. I honestly was beginning to wonder if I could feel that same degree of productivity that I felt back in America. Back at home I felt like every day I was crossing through the items on my “to-do” lists, making new ones, tearing through those, and just continuously getting things done, whether it be studying for an exam, fundraising for a particular cause, hitting personal and professional goals at the office, attending networking events to get my name out there, adding another internship or volunteer position to my resume, or conquering certain fitness tests to push myself physically. I made new lists daily, but here my lists seem to take weeks to work through...sometimes never getting completely accomplished. But what I’ve come to understand is that my idea of success and progress is entirely different from Kenya’s. Success isn’t getting through a list of “to-do’s”. The way success is achieved and measured here is very different from the way America conditioned me to achieve and measure it. In America we all too often associate success with piles of money, money that is attained as quickly as possible. If you are a millionaire by age 25 you are the epitome of success. If you make it to one of those “Top 40 under 40” lists you might as well be in the Webster’s dictionary as the definition of success. But what is success really? Is it crossing every item off of your list as quickly as possible? Is it having lots of money stored away in a bank? Is it having your Ph.D. or being a CEO of a company? Well maybe for some it is. For those who, having attained these things, and are truly happy, than yes, they are successful in their own personal definition of success.

I was recently having a conversation with someone that I look up to immensely, Dr. Lawrence, who I’ve mentioned in past blog entries. Dr. Lawrence is a retired cardiologist (from my home church in Asheville) doing work a few hours away from my village in a research hospital. He is getting a very different perspective of Kenya than I am. His service here in Kenya is in the medical field which is very grim much of the time with death looming constantly, patients not showing up to access care that they desperately need until it is too late, doctors not taking their jobs as seriously as they should, and children being left at the hospitals for months at a time or simply being left abandoned because their parents can’t pay the hospital fees. After hearing some of his stories I can’t imagine being able to have any feeling of success especially where success is often measured the number of lives you’ve saved and there are mamas dying and leaving 4 and 5 children to become orphans or young men in their mid 20s coming in looking like young teenagers because of heart problems they have which were not treated from initial onset. But Dr. Lawrence is a very wise man and despite the frustration that the Kenyan medical world dishes him on a daily basis he is able to recognize what true success is.

During a conversation in which we were talking about what I want to pursue post- Peace Corps, my thoughts on grad school programs, and what exactly it is that I want to achieve in my life, he gave me a definition for success that is spot on and worth sharing. “Success is doing what you want, where you want”. There is nothing in this definition about how many zeros are on your paycheck, about being the head of a company, having a certain amount of degrees, or having the most Facebook friends of anyone else around. If what YOU want is to make money than, yes, you’re definition of success will involve money. If a Ph.D is what you need to pursue a life that is personally meaningful, than your definition of success DOES involve a number of degrees. But success is very personal, or in the sense of development, communal. The person, or group of people, has to be happy with what they are doing and where they are going. Success can’t be measured by an external party, someone coming in to impose their own ideas that may have worked out favorable for them but not necessarily for everyone else. If the idea of success is measured by that outsider, than the development (whether for a person or community) won’t be sustainable because the person(s) will not own it and continue to care and maintain it. It won’t last unless it is rooted in the existing person’s or community’s culture. Dr. Lawrence mentioned the doctors he’s been training during his time here. Having them realize what an impact they can have on Kenya if they stay here and treat their own fellow Kenyans in the manner that they should as professional doctors sheds light on the success that Dr. Lawrence is having and also the success that his trainees will one day have here in Kenya if its what they truly want for themselves and their country. It’s the way he’s empowering these young doctors to do things honestly and full of integrity that will prove more successful than just bringing in doctors from outside to do the work for them.

For me right now at this very moment I feel as if I’ve attained the success that, as a 24 year old, Christian, university graduate, and independent female, my various support groups (schools, churches, workplaces, mission teams, volunteer organizations, and family) have helped me to achieve. I say “at this very moment” because I’m quite positive that the “whats” and “wheres” of success change throughout the various phases of our life depending on our individual needs at those particular moments and the experiences we have which make impressions on us and force us to continually challenge how we think and move forward with life. I at least hope that my goals and ideas of success change (within reason) as I continue on in life. I don’t want to remain exactly as I am right now. There are many things I still want to do to continue enjoying various successes in my life.

But for now I’m living here in Kenya. It is the very place I was 7 years ago when this crazy idea of making a life revolving around some aspect of Africa began to stir in my heart and mind. I told some of the Kenyans I met on that trip that I would one day return...and here I am! I was very naive on that first trip. Heck, I still am in many regards, but I have learned so much from my studies in West Africa and at NCSU, from volunteering short term and long term both domestically and internationally, from learning under some of the greatest minds when it comes to African studies, by living in a small school compound where the language is not only a foreign language to me but also one that involves using your hands and the rest of your body instead of your voice and the fluctuations it uses to express emotion. If you would have asked me 7 years ago what I’d be doing now I don’t know what I might have said specifically, but I’m sure you can ask any of my friends from my high school senior year and anyone I’ve met since then and they could tell you that my mind was set on working somewhere in Africa. Success.. I’m “where” I want....and I’m doing “what” I want!

2 years ago I thought Peace Corps was going to be sending me to Jordan to develop a program for special education....at least that is what they had initially told me to prepare for. At that time, the “what” was perfect (the special education program development)..but the “where” (the Middle East) for me was not. As many of you know I struggled with the decision to tell Peace Corps that I was, in fact, ready to go, but not to Jordan. After many tears as I typed out a letter to Peace Corps spilling out my passion for sub-Saharan Africa and what I’d done in the past few years to help me prepare to live out that passion, they managed to find a position that I would have never picked for myself, but has turned into exactly the “what” that I want...and it just happens to be in the “where” that I love. Working with deaf students, some with physical and developmental disabilities as well, has taught me so much about people with special needs in developing countries, and as the days, weeks and months go by I can see with more calrity how I can continue to lead a successful life here in Kenya (although I will need to take a few more steps to get there---grad school, probably some more volunteering or internships, some entry level jobs, etc).

But let’s get back to where I started...to Shaw’s quote. This week, for me, was a success. It’s taken over a year and a half to have a week where I have felt this productive...and by me feeling productive, I mean watching my school pull together and move forward with ideas that they’ve come up with on their own. I only threw out some questions to them to get their minds thinking. For so long, as much as I thought I was adapting to my world here in Mundika, I still had spite inside of me. I wanted them to work at the pace I’m used to working at, not their “African time”! But it’s “African time” for a reason----it’s their concept of time, it’s the pace they gauge life at- they don’t follow it simply to annoy all the foreigners that come to work here (as much as it seems like that some times!) Their culture is engrained in this concept of time---however painfully slow it may seem on occasion. Also, the way Kenyans go about approaching a project may not be the way I would have chosen to go about it but, again, it’s not my project to have ownership over, it is theirs, and however it needs to be done for them to take it as their own “baby” and nurture it and help it grow and give back to the community in the way that they need for it to I have to just sit back and let them to whatever that entails.

This week as I sat down with a professor from a University here in Kenya. I told him my observations of the school I work in, the teachers, the students, and the deaf community as a whole. I then shut up and listened to him tell me how we could go about developing positive attitude changes (slowly and, therefore, sustainably), how we can get kids to start thinking critically, and how to get them involved in basic income generating activities that they can even take back to their homes to bring in extra money. Although a lot of what he was saying were things I’d thought about individually, I had never been able to connect them in a way that, as a Kenyan who has grown up here, he was able to fuse them all together with such finesse.

With 6 months left here I probably won’t see the end results...but that’s okay. I know that Kenya does things at their own pace....Kenya has their own way of doing things. If I were to come in and tell them to do it my way I wouldn’t see an end result either, because the project would die before it even got a chance to get going. At least if I allow them to take ownership and see the project through by getting involved themselves financially, physically, mentally, and spiritually then success will come...the “what”, the “where”, and also the “when” will all happen as Kenya deems necessary.

So, please, do not be the “unreasonable man” who sees your ways as the only way. Our American ideals work for us in the culture we have grown up in, but that doesn’t mean that our ways are the best for everyone. When we introduce the notion of “success is money, power, and fame” with other cultures that have never valued these things like they are beginning to, we are causing them to try and do things OUR way which doesn’t work with THIER way- the way they’ve done things for ages and ages. When you tamper with one aspect of culture you tamper with all aspects of culture. They are all connected: language, religion, art, customs, etc. If you go in trying to change a culture instead of immersing yourself in the culture and accepting the wonderful differences that exist between your culture and theirs, resistance will crop up in the group you are attempting to change. The things you try to implement will not remain or sustain, and you will beat yourself up because you will never see the success that you could be able to witness if you yourself would adapt instead of forcing many others to adapt to your ways. Be reasonable! It’s much easier to change as an individual than expect an entire community to change for you.

Lights Out!!!

2012-05-31T14:41:00.001+03:00

It’s 5:00 a.m. and I’m sitting here writing this blog entry out on scrap paper by the light of my kerosene lantern (I later typed it up at the cyber cafe). The power has been out in my village for 3 weeks thanks to some thieves taking the transformer and the Kenya Power Company not being able to find a replacement. I’m thinking to myself “This is what I expected my life in the Peace Corps to be like for the entire 2 years of my service”. Luckily, I’ve been pretty blessed when it comes to water and electricity. My water comes from a bore-hole on the school compound so I don’t have to go too far to fetch it, and usually my kids are more than willing to fetch it for me. This saves me from soaking myself on the walk from the well to my house as I don’t have the inherent balancing skills that these Kenyan kids are born with. The school’s bore-hole works most of the time but it does have the occasional break which means we have to go over to the secondary school to fetch water. When you’re carrying 20 liters of water on top of your head that walk seems so much farther than it really is. My electricity has been fairly consistent over the past 18 months here in Mundika, and by consistent I mean that the power goes out 2-3 times a day, but I can pretty much rest assured that it will come back within an hour or two or at the very longest I will go to sleep without power but wake up being able to turn on the lights again. There have been only two occasions where the power was out for over 4 days, both times because the school hadn’t paid the electricity bill in a couple of months and the power company finally had to shut it off to get the school to cough up what they owed.

Well, May 12th I woke up and when I went to flip the light switch nothing happened. I didn’t think much of it. I figured it would come back at some point that day. So I went on with my normal routine. But the darkness came again that night and the power didn’t accompany it. I began to light my candles and kerosene lantern to allow me to see enough to finish up some of my work before heading to bed. I was certain it would come back at some point that night. But even if it didn’t, I was enjoying the simplicity that came with no power. My computer and phone were both dead at this point, not realizing earlier in the day that I should have tried to conserve some battery in case it took some time for the power to reappear. Not having these gadgets charged up gave me an opportunity to read a little bit more, study for the GRE, journal a little more than usual, and not be glued to my computer checking Facebook, G-mail, watching movies, etc.

But May 13th passed and so did May 14th. I finally found out about the transformer being stolen and questioned the whole situation. “Who would have stolen a transformer?” “How did someone steal it? It’s a pretty involved process, I would think- I sure wouldn’t know how to do it.” “How the heck did no one hear or see it al happen?” As a friend said when I told him about it “Oh Kenya, always outdoing itself”. True statement if I’ve ever heard one!

The novelty of the situation was beginning to wear off. I’d caught up on sleep since I was able to start heading to bed around 7 and sleep for a good solid 10 hours a night. Usually if I lay down and try to read before falling asleep I can only get a couple of pages read before I fade but I was so caught up on sleep after a few long nights that I was able to read several hours before falling asleep. Not being able to text friends, call my parents, or check e-mail was making me feel closed off and, in a way, imprisoned. I need to be able to connect with people and not having that ability was getting under my skin. I also have a lot of secondary projects that rely on my access to internet so feeling like I wasn’t able to work was stressing me out. Another thing that became harder for me was boiling water. I have an electric water heater that I can easily turn on and boil a couple of liters of water very quickly for bathing and drinking. Without that I have to boil it on my kerosene stove. Not only has this proven to be very expensive as I have to frequently buy more fuel, but it is also very time consuming. I know you’ve heard “a watched pot never boils”....well, it’s true! I’m almost to the point that I just want to drink my water straight from the bore-hole instead of boiling it and letting it cool. But I’ve had Giardia (aka gastrointestinal hell) enough times that I’m still boiling it. It’s so hot here and training for the marathon leads me to drink a lot of water..a lot of water I have to boil and cool on a daily basis. I would also switch over to un-boiled water for my bath but have been medically instructed to boil all of my water because of the problem I have with the boils on my skin. I would be okay with the cold bucket baths...but now I just bathe way less often because it’s such a production.

My visits to town have become even more frequent. Trying to find a gap in my schedule long enough to make the 5 mile walk to town and then sit for a couple of hours to charge all my electronics has been difficult. To add to it, the dust and heat that my computer and other gadgets have endured this past year and a half have really damaged the battery life and they don’t retain the juice like they once did making that trip to town necessary every couple of days.

But, after three weeks, I’ve gotten somewhat adjusted. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be cheering right alongside my students when the “stima” (power) does come back! I feel for them especially, as they aren’t able to communicate with one another once the sun goes down. Unlike hearing children who are able to continue chit-chatting deep into the night, my children are doomed to the darkness of the night. As I sit here remembering what it was like at home to lose power I have to laugh. Even the thought of an approaching storm sent people to the grocery stores to stock up on non-perishable foods so that they didn’t starve if the power went out for 24 hours. Come on, people! There is enough food in your pantries to last a good, solid week with all those trips you’ve taken to Costco and Sam’s Club. You may be eating chips and PBJs for a maximum of two days but you will not die! Also, I think about the frustration that was caused even when the power flickered and we had to reset our clocks all over the house or turn the computer back on. Oh, the troubles we Americans endure!

But even when I think I have it bad, I walk by village shops where the owner makes money off of charging people’s phones (since not everyone has electricity at their homes, people stop by shops to do this) and I realize that with the absence of electricity comes absence of income for these already struggling families. The tailors who have sewing machines that use electricity, or the kinyozis where people go to get their hair shaved off....all these people’s incomes, as little as they were before, are nothing these days.

But, as I said, I’ve been adjusting...it’s not easy. To live for so long with something and then have it taken from you is difficult. Whether it be electricity, constant interaction with or at least the ability to connect with friends and family, health, a nutritious diet with lots of variety...all of these things I took for granted for 23 years. When you are so used to them being there and then they are not...well, it takes adjusting. And although it is difficult it is possible, as I’ve seen in my life many times during this Peace Corps experience. But when you do get these things reintroduced into your life you appreciate them even more and don’t take them for granted for a single second. I’m looking forward to getting all these things and many more things back that I’d grown so accustomed to during my life but had to give up or have taken away for this short time here in Kenya. That re-adjustment will be much easier!

Kids say and do the darndest things!

2012-05-19T05:59:00.002+03:00

This week I started working at a nursery school just to help the children get used to interacting with a white person. I get so tired of being yelled at, mocked, and stared at by other children (and adults) in the village so I figured the best way to combat this was to start working with the youngest group of the community so they know how to appropriately approach a foreigner. Plus, their 3 year old kids....they are soooo funny! Some things that happened during my first week with them...

~I walked into a classroom and one child started screaming and hid behind his hands for the full 30 minutes I was sitting in there. Come to find out his mother told him that if he ever misbehaved, a white person would take him to Europe as punishment.... AWESOME! For two days, he didn’t come back to school for fear of seeing me. Thanks, mom!!!

~On the other hand, I had a girl come straight to me as soon as I arrived at the school and ask me to carry her. So for the rest of the day she was attached to my hip. Every time I tried to set her down she would start crying. When I had to leave she mourned my departure. It made me feel better after the first situation...although I hate making kids cry no matter what the reason.

~Two days later, the same little girl threw a rock at my face. It barely missed my eye and caused a huge knot to form at my eyebrow. Really???

~A little boy told the teacher that he wanted to invite me to his house where he would kill a chicken for me and cook for me ugali....even though I don’t eat either of these things I would totally suck it up for this cutie!

~I brought a book to read to them and I’ve never in my life heard kids soooo excited to talk about colors! I’m used to working with loud deaf children, but hearing kids are definitely much louder

~I have a new name....Auntie Annie.

~Every time I do something good they sing the standard little jingle sung in hearing schools here in Kenya that makes no sense to me but whatever...I get to shake my hips back and forth with a bunch of three year olds! The lyrics are “Well done, well done, try again another day, a very good girl”. So...you get praised but then they tell you to try again like you didn’t do it well....confused!

So yea....I’m loving this new volunteer position at the nursery school and I’m pretty sure it will provide me with a lot of great stories! Kids say the darndest things...no matter what country you’re in!

Just another "normal" day....whatever that is

2012-04-29T15:27:00.002+03:00

I realized lately that I’ve been waiting for something big to happen...something worth sitting down and hashing out on the keyboard to tell you all. During my first year of being here, everything was new and strange and so different from anything I ever experienced in America that I never struggled finding something to blog about. Now, my life here is just normal. But normal is a very relative term. I realized that the daily routines that just a short 18 months ago were so strange and hard to get used to are now second nature. So many sights that once made me laugh out of complete shock or things that brought tears to my eyes now pass before my eyes and don’t even get a second glance. As I thought about all these things this week I found a new appreciation for the life I’m living right this second and will soon have to say Kwaheri (bye) to. I just want to share with you some of the things that I saw or did or thought about that are normal to me these days but as I reflect on them are not so normal to my average reader...

“There’s no need for an alarm clock here. It’s 4:30 and I can already here the house mama in the next room over shuffling across the floor to get things ready for when the girls wake up at 5:00. The funeral celebrations, which are held at night to keep the spirits away from the body before it is buried, are just wrapping up. The drumming comes to a close and the ululating women let out their final cries. I wake up every couple of hours throughout the night when things at the site of celebration get emotional and the sound level rises. Some nights I curse the funeral rituals here because sleep is the absolute only thing I want, but other nights I want to leave my house and go and join in on the celebration of the life of whoever it is that is now being guarded by their loved ones from the evil that lurks at night waiting to take the soul of the newly fallen man or woman. But the sun slowly turns the blackest of skies into a grey one, the sounds from the drum and the cries turns into the sounds of splashing water coming through my window as the girls wash themselves and their clothes. Amani (my cat) climbs up the mosquito net that has become more and more like a security blanket I can’t live without than the stupid annoyance that made me feel like I was a caged animal that it used to be. Amani slides down it landing on my back with a thud which wakes me up a tad more than I was awake. The screams and laughs of the little children who don’t realize how loud their screams and laughs are (remember, my students are deaf)...well, all these things act as my alarm clock here. I sit up and untuck the netting that protects me from the mosquitos, lizards, spiders, mice, and any other unwanted night visitors. I get out of bed and immediately start boiling some water for my morning cup of coffee or chai. No coffee maker here....just boiling water and a strainer. After the caffeine kicks in I put on my tennis shoes, throw up my hair, and hit the trail for my morning run.

I step outside. It’s 6:15 and like clockwork the sky is just light enough for me to safely navigate the bumpy dirt roads and paths crossed with tree roots. People are already up and walking to school or work. The children are all dressed in uniform and are staring at me as one might stare at a camel walking through downtown Asheville. I try to ignore it and stay focused on my run, but the nasally, high pitched “howayus” and jeering laughs that continue despite this being the 527th I’ve been here are hard to tune out. I pass by farmers already out in the fields slashing away with their jembes and pangas, cows being led to a green area to graze on, women bent over at the waist washing their family’s clothes, little chicks following behind their mama, naked babies dancing around after their bath, and, if I’m lucky, a baby piglet snorting as he looks for some food. I have to pay close attention to the path as it is full of ditches, piles of animal feces, and mud slip-n-slides (during the rainy season). At 6:50 the sun is coming over the horizon and never fails to make me smile. It’s always exquisite in color and unique from day to day. Oranges, pinks, yellows, and reds all rise with the big, bright ball of fire that make the village come to life. I turn around and on my way back to the school I see more and more people making their way to work. There are men riding bicycles with ten squawking chickens tied to the back, women with a bundle of market goods strategically balanced on their heads, children with their grocery bag (they call these “paper bags” despite them being “plastic bags”...still can’t figure that one out) full of schoolbooks in one hand and a recycled bottle originally filled with vegetable oil now full of water in the other. I get back to my compound and my students are there to greet me as they walk to the kitchen to get their uji, porridge made from maize flour. Now it’s time for a bath....maybe...

First I let myself cool down for a few minutes. Then it’s time for a few quick tests. One, do I feel dirty? The answer is probably yes, but I will feel dirty as soon as I finish my bath so what’s the point in wasting precious water? Two, do I look dirty? Probably, but I have a long skirt that can cover up my legs and I can wash my hands and face to get the most visible parts of me seemingly clean. Three, do I smell bad? Now this, for me, is the most important of the three questions. I have a very sensitive nose so if I can smell myself starting to let off a ripe stench I have to give in and take a bucket bath. If I just smell a little sweaty or it’s nothing my sunscreen scent can’t cover up I enjoy a little bit of downtime freed up by the absence of the bath. If the smell is absolutely putrid (which, if I’m being completely honest is probably more often than I admit to myself) I’ll go ahead and boil enough water to make my bucket bath lukewarm. I set my bucket on top of the western toilet (which doesn’t have access to running water) and dip my head into it like it’s a mop, which it is becoming as my hair grows to Rapunzel-esque lengths like it was in back in high school. I wring it out and lather it up with some shampoo and let it sit as I scoop handfuls of water over my body, soap up, and again, throw more water over my body. I dip my head in the bucket again to rinse out my hair and then as I towel off my body I stand in the bucket to allow my feet, the dirtiest part of me due to the dirt roads, to soak. Once I’m all bathed I use the leftover water to wash down whatever has been sitting in the toilet since the last time I bathed. Sometimes, the reason I bathe is more contingent on what’s in the toilet and how long it’s been sitting there than on how dirty I actually am (just being honest!).

Time for classes to begin. I step outside of my house and see the children picking up the trash from around the compound. They have started a fire in the burn pit to get rid of all of it. No garbage man around these parts! I go over to where the teachers are gathered and greet everyone with a “Habari ya asubuhi” (good morning). They all comment on my kiswahili...again. I’ve been saying this since day one but my attempts always lead to them reacting like I’ve just told a joke. It’s 8:20 and I head to my nursery class...on time. I know it will be at least 20 more minutes until the others dawdle to teach their classes. We have three classes going on in each classroom so until another teacher shows up for class I pretty much have 60 students tuning in to my class. I’m helping the nursery class with basic Kenyan Sign Language vocabulary. The older kids are helping the babies form their hands correctly. There’s an occasional smack that I hear and turn abruptly towards with glaring eyes. The child who has committed the crime doesn’t know how I figured out so quickly that it was him...he hasn’t quite figured out the idea of sound and that there are things that I hear that he cannot. Finally a teacher comes in and interrupts class because she hasn’t greeted me yet and has to do it before she can continue on with her own duties. It still irritates me because it allows my students to get side tracked while I go through the customary greeting but I do appreciate the importance the Kenyans put on acknowledging everyone daily and seeing what the news of the morning is (“Habari ya asubuhi” literally means “What’s the morning’s news?”).

It is fantastic to watch the nursery students’ vocabulary expand as time goes on, especially the newest students who have come in with little to no sign language. I have a stack of flashcards that I hold up one at a time and have the kids imitate the sign I’m making. The older ones throw up the sign quickly while the younger ones look around to those who already have the sign formed. They look at their own hand and try to manipulate it to resemble what the other students and I have formed our hands to make. Often times they have to take their other hand to push down certain fingers or pull other fingers up. It’s really neat to see them go from this level to being up there with the other kids that throw it up as soon as they see the picture on the flashcard. Some of my favorite signs to see the kids make are “elephant”, where you hold your nose with one hand and thread the other one threw the space in the elbow of the other arm and swing it around like a trunk would sway, then there’s “dirty” which resembles the sign made on the Little Rascals when the little boys enter into the “he-man woman hater’s club” where they wiggle their fingers with their hand under their chin (and of course you have to scrunch up your nose like you are disgusted), and then “pineapple” which is tapping your open hand on top of your head with the wrist so that it looks like the top of a pineapple. After going through the flashcards we go through everybody’s sign names so that they can greet each other and practice names. Sign names are really cool. When I came here, my hair was short so I clipped it up all the time. A deaf woman (you have to receive your name from a deaf person) then took her two fingers and thumb and made a “clipping” gesture on top of her head and gave that to me as my identity in the deaf community. Sign names here in Kenya usually have something to do with something distinct to your face like facial hair, scars, glasses, moles, earrings, etc but can also include the first letter of your name to identify more specifically.

When I wrap up my class with the nursery kids they always sign to me “thank you” for whatever it is that I’ve done with them that day. They know I like good manners so they never miss thanking me knowing that I will respond with a smile and a “you’re welcome”.

The classes after that are with older students: Social Studies and Maths (yes, here in Kenya there is an -s at the end of Math). I don’t particularly enjoy teaching these subjects since there is such a rigid syllabus that we are enforced to follow and get through by the end of the year whether the child is understanding everything or not. It is frustrating because we only have 35 minute classes and sometimes it just takes a little bit longer to get through a topic than I expect. Usually it’s because I fail to explain it clearly versus the students not understanding the concept or topic (although most teachers blame it on the kids, not their own poor language skills). I know my students are smarter than they get credit for. If they aren’t understanding it’s my responsibility to figure out another way of teaching it, not to just move on and allow them to continue to add new confusing topics on top.

Most of my days wrap up at lunch time so that I can use the afternoons for my secondary projects, leading athletics, or personal errands. Lunch is as follows: Monday- rice and beans, Tuesday- githeri (maize and bean mixture), Wednesday- ugali (maize porridge paste) and sukuma wiki (kale) and beef which I always go without, Thursday- rice and beans, Friday- ugali and sukuma wiki. I’ve been passing over the ugali and the meat for the entire time I’ve been here now but still can’t get through a meal without them telling me to “just try it”, that I “will be stronger if just (you) eat it”, that I will “just like it”. I’ve learned to deal with it, get through the meal, and wait for trips to Nairobi to relish in the flavorful foods.

Afternoons are always different but I try to walk to town at least two days a week to get a little extra exercise. Here lately it has been scorching but I still try to walk the hour and a half (5 mile) walk to town where I then indulge in a refrigerated bottle of water! The walk to town is often not the “meditation” I wish it could be. I love just walking to town, passing by the shops and taking in my surroundings. But, there are many children that chant “howayu, mzungu” over and over and over until the cuteness wears off, the motorcycle drivers yelling at me in a high pitched nasally voice to let them take me to town with the hopes of getting 5 times the normal amount of money from me, and the mamas telling their children to look at me and ask me for sweets or money. By the end of the hour and a half walk I’m ready to crawl in a shell and never come out, but then the adventures of town start. I go to the posta to collect mail or buy stamps to send a letter home and am forced to stand in a crowd pushing my way to the front. There’s no such thing as a line here. As an American I get very frustrated with the pushing and shoving to get to the front of the mass, the sweaty bodies standing so close to one another, the person that comes in 30 minutes after me weaseling his way in front of me. I appreciate lines, no matter how far back in one I might be. Lines are organized and I like organization! But thank goodness the post office has come to know me and treat me well once I make it to the front. They now tell me when packages have come (after a very frustrating experience where I had to pay several weeks worth of my living stipend on fees for not picking up a package for 6 weeks because the “parcel reminder” didn’t ever get to me...I’m not proud of the bahavior I displayed that day). It’s a great day when there’s a package full of gum, granola, and other goodies from home waiting for me at the posta.

Next is the market which is open air and is packed with mamas laid out on their blankets and tarps selling their tomatoes, garlic, onions, kale or whatever foods they’ve brought in from their “shambas”. At first they try to gouge me by asking me for 50 bob (Kenyan shillings (money)) for a piece of fruit. When I bring out the kiswahili that I know, though, they really bring the prices down and I’m able to get away with that same piece of fruit for 10 bob! Success! After about a half hour of being asked to “just visit” and being told “looking is free” I’m done with the market having my bag filled with a few days worth of fruits and veggies and only spending about a dollar! I’m going to miss that!

Not much else goes on in town. Busia is not a place to spend time. It is dirty and there are a lot of truckers that are crossing over to Uganda since it’s a border town. No real entertainment, especially during the day hours when I visit. I’ve only been in Busia town two times after 6 p.m. It’s just not the kind of place that your mom wants you to be when the stars are the only lights shining.

If I haven’t gone to town I am working on projects (grant writing, sending e-mails out, developing new ideas for how to teach a class better) followed by leading sports practice. Sometimes 3 p.m. comes too soon and the 10 laps that I have my students run are just too much. I try to keep up with them but I don’t think I will ever get used to the equatorial sun that beats down on me and turns my white skin bright red no matter how much sunscreen I put on. The kids never fail to be intrigued by my ability to change skin colors like a chameleon and then have it peel off like snakeskin. What a weird creature I am with hairy arms and legs, skin that burns and peels, the softest of soft hair that can’t be braided in tight cornrows, eyes that can’t see once the sun goes down (and also require pieces of plastic be inserted to see even during the day time), and teeth that have clear molds to hold them all in place (my retainers). I guess I am, in fact, quite a sight to see around these parts!

After sports practice I collapse into my couch (with minimal cushioning) and read for a while. I’ve been able to read books I never thought I’d end up getting to or books I’d never intended on reading. I’ve never been intrigued by the “classics” before, but such titles as “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Anna Karenina” are now some of my favorites along with Mandela’s “Long Walk to Freedom”, Dambisa Moyo’s “Dead Aid” and Richard Dowden’s “Africa: Altered States, Ordinary Miracles”. Most of these books are intimidating to pull off of a shelf due to their size. 400-800 pages is quite a task to take on but here I have the time to take on such challenges that I wouldn’t have back at home where life is always go-go-go and opening up a book of such magnitude seems nearly impossible when you think it might be a few months until you have time to open it back up and by that time you will have forgotten what you read and have to reread it all. I’m not saying I’m not busy here but when your friends are at least 50 kilometers away, the school television is of the same quality as I remember my grandparents’ tv being when I was a little girl (rabbit ears, static, warped lines, and all), reading a book just seems like the best way to spend down time. I hope that even when I get back I will make time to read like I have here.

6 p.m. comes and my nightly serving of sukuma wiki (kale) arrives. Sukuma wiki means “to push the week”. It is a cheap vegetable that when times are tight they continue to push the leftovers to last and last and last throughout the week until they can get more wages to buy the other essential foods. I actually love kale and don’t mind the heaping serving I get every night. If the power is out I sit by a kerosene lamp and eat while my cat eats a little ball of ugali that one of the kids has brought him alongside a few omenna (sardine-like) fish that I add to his bowl. After dinner I may sit outside and “story” with some of the children or just sit up and look at the sky that seems to be on steroids with all the stars shining brighter and there being at least a million more than what there is in the American sky. The constellations are easy to spot, the milky way is much more evident. I could stay up all night looking at the sky here in Kenya.

8p.m. comes and it’s about bedtime. I usually spend a few minutes journaling about the day. I’ve filled up close to 10 journals by this point and have several blank ones waiting to be filled with stories that will inevitably come during my last 7 months of my time here. I hope to one day make them into some kind of book- not to make money or with any intention of finding fame, but just to share my story of how I got to this point in my life, why I decided to jump in to this strange, oftentimes inexplicable life and what all has happened in the two years I’ve spent in a small village in Kenya with 115 deaf children that I would have never fallen in love with had I not followed the many signs that were placed along the way these past 7 years since I took that first step and came to Kenya in 2005. None of what I’ve described as being normal in my life these days would have even crossed my mind. I’m so blessed to have this new “normal”, even if for a short time in my life."

Upendo: Interconnected

2012-03-27T06:05:00.001+03:00

This blog entry is by a close friend and fellow PCV here in Kenya, Jenny Wooley. Enjoy the read.

Upendo: Interconnected: I've spent the last month crafting this blog post. It's a lot more work than I usually put into my journal-style entries. It was important f...

A Dermatologist's Dream

2012-02-12T10:55:00.002+03:00

Yea, that’s what I am these days....a dermatologist’s dream. Well, of course, typically I’m every guy’s dream girl but I’m pretty sure right now no one that is not in the field of skin science would come near me. As I’ve said many a time, living on the school compound has its pros and cons. Here lately my skin is facing the consequences of living in such close proximity of the children. I know this is really gross but I get lots of questions about my health from people back at home and this seems to be the main health concern I deal with. When I first started here last year, one of the children came to school with jiggers crawling out from the areas around his toe nails and finger nails. One of the house mamas held him down as another picked out the little mites that had set up house on this poor screaming boy. I thought to myself that this was possibly the grossest thing I’d ever witnessed (ha....what this past year has brought in the area of gross sights!). Apparently this was quite normal for kids that walk around without shoes in areas where animals defecate. I’ve seen kids with jiggers so many times now that I think that a foot without jiggers is abnormal. While I’ve never gotten the little mites on my own feet or hands (thanks to the shoes I have and wear religiously despite my love of being barefooted) I have gotten quite a few things that I never thought I’d have. I bathe with the best soap I can find here in Kenya, I put an antibacterial wash in my water, I constantly use hand sanitizer, I wash my clothes after one wear in the same antibacterial wash I put in my bath, I try to take as many precautions as I can....but I’ve still managed to get ringworm on my back, poisonous insect bites that burned my skin to the point of scarification, and the worst boils in the history of mankind. I’ve been getting these since April of last year and although more painful things have happened to me (my teeth taking the impact of a field hockey stick and then a steering wheel) these have made some days equivalent to what I can only imagine hell is like. They are these abscesses that show up looking like pimples and then grow so furiously and cause a pain that 4 tylenols at a time only make slightly bearable. I’ve had them on the nape of my neck, my armpits, and now my face. They make it impossible to sleep, as every position you shift to is somehow putting pressure on them, they make it impossible to think because of the headache’s they cause, they make it impossible to run or sit. Pretty much life sucks when you have a boil. So a few days ago when one showed up on my forehead causing migraine-like headaches and another inside my nose (while I was getting over a cold I must add), I just wanted to take a lifetime supply of Lysol and spray down every square inch of the school compound as well as the children and put on a space suit. It’s not like the space suit would draw any more attention than my white skin already does so I don’t see the problem there. My kids kept asking me what that big red blob was on my forehead and why my nose was sooooo red. They get the boils too (obviously, because they are the one’s giving them to me) but their dark skin makes them way less visible. To treat the boils the doctor will put the patient on some kind of antibiotic...unfortunately the boils I keep getting don’t respond to any of these meds which is why they keep coming back to haunt me (I’ve had several rounds of blood, urine and puss tests run after thinking what I had might be MRSA--just look it up if you don’t know about it!). So I continue to do the village regimen....put hot towels on them til they are close to exploding and then have one of the not-so-gentle Kenyan mamas squeeze them open or cut them open without any kind of numbing cream. Let’s just say I’m not the quietest patient when it comes to this type of pain.

So beyond the normal gastrointestinal problems that every person experiences when they travel somewhere so different I’ve taken on a host of skin peculiarities that I hope stay behind here when I depart. I never thought that these would be issues I’d have to deal with over here, but then again, what was I expecting???

Helping vs. Hurting

2012-02-12T10:03:00.000+03:00

We all want to help out those less fortunate in any way that we can. For most people, it’s pretty natural to want to help others instead of hurting others. But in the midst of our attempts to help people sometimes, we end up hurting them instead. I’ll be the first one to say that I’ve been a part of many projects, initiatives, mission trips, charity drives, etc., etc., etc., that looking back I can say weren’t well thought out and didn’t do any lasting good for the recipients of the service and may have, in fact, set them back. Even as a Peace Corps Volunteer I have to say that there are days where I wonder if what I’m doing is actually benefitting the people I’m serving or simply reinforcing the idea that white people have enough money to just leave their comfortable lives and families back in the land of milk and honey to come and stay a while in the village to make themselves feel better about who they are as people. I mean, as simply as I live compared to my life in America, I still have a computer with constant internet access (cheap as far as I’m concerned, but a ridiculous expense for my neighbors), a mattress that is more than an inch thick and made of a denser foam, so many clothes I could go without doing laundry for well over a week (unlike the suitcase my kids have with 1 uniform and 1 outfit of play clothes), spices to cook with, more books than the school’s library, and a constant flow of care packages and letters bursting with the obvious fact that I have plenty of support back at home...support that has loaded wallets.

Where I’m getting at is that even though I often feel that I’m not helping as much as I wish, I do realize that I make a conscious effort to think through every project that I initiate, every outfit I put on, every gift I contribute towards community fundraisers, and, in most attempts, every move I make. I could go out wearing the clothes I wore in America, like so many people do when they come for short visits, but I would not get taken nearly as seriously and would be talked about by the mamas for how I disrespect their culture. I could put 1000 shillings (about $10) in the plate on Sundays but that would reconfirm the stereotype that all white people come with tons of money and are able to fix all financial problems. I could give sweets out to every child that asks me for one. But, it is so important for me that the people I live amongst don’t see me as the person they see on t.v. or the other white person that came in for the day and brought a bunch of quick fixes.

Today a doctor came in to our school and got ear-molds of every single student’s ears in order to make hearing aids for them. Now, this sounds great....someone who is benevolent enough to donate expensive hearing aids to a school of deaf children...how sweet of them. But that’s where the planning stopped. They were taking ear molds of EVERY child, despite the fact that some students will simply not benefit from hearing aids because they are completely deaf, some even with ears sealed off by skin meaning that a surgery would have to take place to cut an opening for a hearing aid to possibly work. And, although I do work at a school for the deaf, there are some hearing students that are they have learning disabilities and there is no other school in the area that will accept them, or for some, no other students that accept them for being different. But, EVERYONE GETS FREE HEARING AIDS! We wouldn’t want to leave someone out and make them feel out of place!!!

Next brain fart----batteries. Hearing aid batteries do not last very long. My dad is now using hearing aids and I’ve heard him complain about how long they last, or rather, don’t last. Most of you know from reading the blog that my students are the last to be sent to school because their hearing brothers and sisters are sent first and if there happens to be money left, well then oh, happy day(!), the deaf child gets to go to school for at least a term! Now, who in the world thinks that once those batteries die the parents will dole out money every couple of weeks for a new set when they struggle to prepare a wholesome meal, or any meal, for their family, or a communal toothbrush, or coal to cook with? Once that set of donated batteries dies those expensive hearing aids die, too.

How to Care for Hearing Aids 101....not included. If you are like me, then if someone were to hand over the newest model of the iPad you would stare at it for a minute, turn it on and fiddle with it, pushing every button (or whatever you call the touchscreen buttony things...see what I’m saying...I have no idea what I’m even talking about with these gadgets) until you did something to break the darn thing. Well, that’s my kiddos when they get these hearing aids...especially the young ones. They will squeeze them between their fingers, play with them in the dirt, put them in their mouths, and whatever else they can think of to do with them. They won’t know how to clean them, keep them safe, change the batteries or anything else that needs to be done with maintaining hearing aids. If the batteries don’t die first...the kids will kill them.

And let’s not forget about the fact that most of them have never heard before or if they have, they lost their hearing at such a young age that they barely developed any oral language skills. My teachers were stoked at the idea of hearing aid donations. They could talk more and sign less and the kids would FINALLY get everything they’ve been trying to explain in their classes... oh wait a second....nope, no they won’t magically understand English or Kiswahili or mother tongue. The teachers argued with me when I said this telling me that the students know English since all their lessons were written on the boards in this language. I guess the constant “letter by letter” approach to copying that the students have taken on didn’t tip off the teachers that they don’t know what the heck it is that they are writing down. They are simply copying because it’s a task that they get a check mark for, not so that they can go back and study the notes before exams. The majority of them have no idea what they are writing down. For them to understand it, the lesson needs to be done in sign language. For them to suddenly get their hearing back doesn’t mean they will be able to comprehend what it is they are hearing. Intense speech therapy would be needed (by the handful of speech therapists that the entire country of Kenya shares...). Time to develop words and their meaning, English sentence structure vs. KSL sentence structure, intonation, I could go on and on...

But here’s where I’ll wind everything up. Please, please for the sake of the people you are trying to help, think about as many details as possible before putting a project into effect. There is no perfect project...all of them have their glitches but with careful attention, followup, and flexibility the projects can become better....or put aside, whichever is a more ideal option. You must think about the people you are serving. If there are additional costs beyond the initial gift you must be prepared to provide those, otherwise the project will not be sustainable. Giving wheelchairs, for example, is a great way to help the physically impaired but you have to be prepared to assist with flat tires, broken chains and gears, and normal wear and tear. Otherwise it will end up as the clothing rack in someone’s house or a toy for the village children to play on (I know this from personal observation). Also, do your best to not reinforce stereotypes that groups have been tagged with. On the coast of Kenya, many tourists come in and while they are here they hand out bags of sweets and give generous amounts of money to beggars which allows the native people to believe that we all come with our pockets full and ready to hand out things that will not make a long term difference, just a short lived fix. Find out what’s already available where you want to help out. There might already be a local initiative in place that just needs a little more help to get going but is able to implement the project with an understanding that only a native would have. If you do want to be a part of the process work alongside that existing initiative and learn and observe before doing what you think is best. There are many ways to help and many people to help but please don’t act hastily in your attempts to do so. Think through what you’re doing....so you don’t drive another Peace Corps Volunteer into pure madness. Like I said, I’m no where near being the perfect humanitarian, but I’m in a position to see what kinda works versus what absolutely doesn’t work.

Reasons Why I Love My Kids

2012-01-23T17:12:00.000+03:00

1) Because after wearing a collared, button up shirt tucked into my skirt, all the little boys decided that tucking in their sweaters and jackets into their shorts looked equally as “smart” (even though they wear their collared, button up shirts tucked into their shorts every day).

2) Because they have no idea how much noise they are making at 4 a.m. by tapping on the pictures posted on my window, or laughing out loud as Amani (my cat) goes behind the curtains to see where the tapping is coming from, or screaming to try to get their friend’s attention.

3) Because, when something is bothering them or someone has wronged them, they come to my house to talk, to get advice, or simply get away.

4) Because when something is bothering me or someone has wronged me, they know and they have a sense of what it feels like to be the “odd one out” and they always make me feel a million times better.

5) Because they know I don’t like ugali and don’t try to make me eat it every time it’s served (ahem, teachers...)

6) Because they tell me I have a stain on my shirt when they have porridge all over their face, dirt covering their legs, rips in their clothes, nasty breath and snot bubbles in their noses.

7) Because no matter where I am, they are there, too.

8) Because when I kiss a child on the cheek and give them my hand to kiss they stick out their tongue and lick it.

9) Because after a meal of ugali and sukumu their tummies turn into big drums that I get to play.

10) Because no matter how awful of a teacher I think I am, they come to me hours before my lesson to start asking why I’m not in their class yet.

There’s alot more where this came from...just felt like sharing a few today...

Second Chances

2012-01-14T11:13:00.002+03:00

I realize that my second year is not necessarily a second chance since I’m staying in the same community, at the same school with essentially the same group of students, going through, ultimately, the same day-to-day agenda. First impressions only happen once, so I’ll have to live with the one I left this time last year as I was getting settled into this temporary life of mine. However, with all this said, after coming back from my break from Kenya I feel as if I do have this second year to do a better job, be a nicer person, judge my community members less harshly, try a few more new things, accomplish some more tasks, put a little bit more effort into teaching and learning, visit more people in my village...in essence, take advantage of the fact that I do have a second year and a bit of a second chance.

I did not realize just how much I needed to get away from Kenya. It was good for me to totally escape the incessant “mzungu, howayu”s and fishbowl effect I live in. Being in Europe allowed me to look at two new cultures, the Spanish and the French, that are also very different from the American culture I grew up in and the Kenyan culture I’m attempting to learn. Being able to reflect on the year I had just completed while in an altogether new culture was better, for me, than reflecting on it while here in Kenya or if I were to have gone home. I think one of the best things about the trip in regards to my reflection was spending time in France with my close friend Netta. Netta is amazing. She is a graduate of Winston Salem State University and attended the same study abroad program in Ghana and Benin that I did in the summer of 2007. Destiny truly brought us together and we were roommates for that experience. I was the only white American with the group of African Americans who were studying at a HBC (historically black college) and traveling to a part of the African continent where the African Americans have deep history and roots. Ghana and Benin are two of the countries where the transatlantic slave trade were the starting point for the journey of Africans going over to the Americas hundreds of years ago. While studying there we toured many slave castles and other historical sites that evoked a lot of emotion for all of us, but I think especially for them as they saw a specific part of their heritage. For me, being able to room with Netta gave me several course credits worth of information that I would never be able to learn in a book or from a lecturing professor. She taught me so much about being a strong African American woman, what this part of the world (West Africa) meant to her, her frustrations with stereotypes, her passion for traveling and exploring new cultures, the struggles she’s endured in going for her education, among so many more things. She was so patient with me as I asked questions, told her what I’d grown up knowing and hearing, and the opinions I’d formed over time. Since 2007, we’ve remained good friends always making time to see each other. I’d always try to stop in Winston Salem on my drive from Raleigh to Asheville, and she would come visit me in Raleigh from time to time. As you may guess from me visiting Netta in France is that she has come to love this country and many aspects of that culture over time. She took French in high school and has lived and studies there as many times, if not more than, the times I’ve been in Africa. She’s become fluent in the language, she’s become friends with the locals of many areas of France; if you were to plop yourself in France and see her walking on the streets you would think she’s a native. The last time I saw her was 2 years ago in her hometown of Henderson, NC with her entire family where she’d invited me to celebrate her moving back to France (it was a family reunion like I’d never experienced before!).

Talking to Netta during my time with her in Paris I realized that even though France is a lot more diverse than Kenya in many regards she still struggles with being the odd one out, like I do in Kenya. Being black, being a woman, being from America, and living in France poses a lot of questions people ask of her. I guess I never thought that people there would have such questions. I figured they accepted the diversity more so than I seem to be accepted here in Mundika. As I shared my frustrations that I’ve dealt with over the year Netta gave me comfort and good advice. She let me know that even though our situations aren’t the same they do have elements of similarity and I just need to have more patience with people and be more willing to teach than just assume that they should know. I know as a Peace Corps Volunteer one of the goals is to teach my community members about American culture. I do that MOST of the time...but there are too many times I where I grow too frustrated and just don’t take the opportunity to teach and take offense to whatever someone has done or said to me instead. Like the whole “mzungu” thing. Many times I ignore it, instead of taking the opportunity to tell the children (or adult) who are screaming it that although they might think I like to be called that, I take offense at being called “the rich one” and would prefer for them to ask me my name and call me Anna instead. After being here a year, all I want is to get rid of the “VISITOR” sign that is plastered all over my body. I want to be treated as someone who lives here. I don’t want people to treat me special, cook more expensive dishes for me, go out of their way to do something that they would do for a visitor. But looking back on my year I just need to be more patient, more accepting, and more friendly to those just hungry to learn about this person that has come from half way across the world from a “land of milk and honey” to a place where people often struggle to find their next meal.

Already this year, I have found myself with a better attitude towards the people, my job, my fellow teachers, and my life. I’m not saying that I was completely bitter abd cynical but there were too many good teaching opportunities I passed up, too many times when excited children yelling “mzungu, howayu” got under my skin and I ignored them instead of smiling at their thrill and telling them my name that I preferred, too many times I sat in my house watching a t.v. show or movie, instead of walking to a friend’s house for chai or sitting out on my “porch” and telling stories with my children.

In the less than 2 weeks that I’ve been back at site I’ve had more basic Kiswahili conversations with the village children on my runs, more conversations with my older students, more times I’ve completely let go in order to be silly with the young ones, more hugs, and more smiles from the people I pass on my walk to town because instead of just walking by I waved or greeted as many of them as I could.

So, thanks Netta, for reminding me that I’m not just here to experience a different culture but to take every single moment as a teaching opportunity. Frustration can consume you if you let it....I’m gonna to make more of an effort to let happiness and satisfaction consume me this year.

A little break from the village life

2012-01-12T07:57:00.002+03:00

The month of December was nothing short of amazing. Almost every single day I was busy with something different. After the World AIDS marathon from my previous post I headed straight to Nairobi for some Peace Corps meetings, mid service medical appointments (which doubled as time to catch up with fellow Peace Corps Volunteers), training the new class of volunteers and getting to join them for their swearing in ceremony at the country director’s house (where brownies, cheetos and doritos made a welcome appearance), followed by the grand finale of 2011- a visit to Paris, France and Madrid, Spain. My roommate, Netta, from my time in West Africa lives in France now so she met me there for the week before Christmas to show me around Paris. I didn’t even have to get to Paris though to feel the “reverse culture shock” that I’d been warned about. As soon as I got to the Amsterdam airport I caught myself laughing out loud as I stared at all the white people, for being okay with spending 3 bucks on a cup of coffee (instead of the typical 10 cents it would cost in the village), for stepping foot into a Ralph Lauren store (while still wearing my village-chic attire), and for the first time in two years being able to legitimately say “it’s cold”. When I got to Paris, I paid about the same thing it costs me to get all the way from the village to Nairobi (12 hour drive) to get from the airport to downtown. I was so relieved to see Netta and have her be my personal interpreter/ tour guide for the week. She apologized for the room she found us, saying that it was small and that we’d have to share a bed. I quickly assured her that it was probably better than anything I’d seen in a while. And I was right! Tile floors in the bathroom along with a real shower that I was able to set the temperature of, water that I could drink straight from the tap and not worry about getting sick, a bed without roaches or other creepy crawlies and sheets that had been cleaned since the last occupant.... and that was just the hotel!

Paris is a beautiful city. We took a day to visit the Louvre and only managed to see a small portion of the art that it holds. We spent a day at Versailles which was absolutely gorgeous. We saw the Notre Dame and Sacre-Couer Cathedrals among others that are not as well known but equally impressive. We ate galletes, crepes, fondue, and other French foods that were so flavorful and filled with ingredients I hadn’t had in a while, or ever had. We drank lots of coffees, teas, and hot chocolates with bakery pastries. And of course, we visited the Eiffel Tower. It was bigger than I expected towering above the skyline of Paris. At night the lights on the tower could be seen from just about anywhere. It was so nice to spend time with Netta after going 2 years without seeing her. She’s one of those friends that even though we are always in a different part of the world from one another we manage to get together and pick up where we dropped off last, whether it be in Benin, West Africa, Raleigh, NC, Henderson, NC or Paris, France (Netta- next meet up will be in Nairobi... and hopefully before another 2 years has gone by!)

Well, after a week of taking on Paris it was time to fly to Madrid, Spain where my family would be waiting on me! On the 2 hour flight from Paris to Madrid I would only have to think about the reunion ahead of me for tears to start welling up in my eyes. I touched down in Madrid, made my way to the metro station where I was able to find my way to Gran Via, the main road in Madrid and the location of the hotel where I would be staying. I asked the policemen which way the hotel was and they pointed me to the left. So I walked all the way down the road as far left as it would take me with all my luggage in tow, never seeing the hotel. I turned around and went back to the point where I’d met the police earlier. I looked around and right where I stood was the hotel. I know my Spanish isn’t perfect but I’m pretty sure I asked them where the hotel was in the correct way! My shirt was drenched through with sweat despite the temperature being the coldest I’d experienced in 2 years! I walked up two flights of stairs to the lobby where I was going to ask which room my family was in, but that was not necessary. My parents were waiting there for me! At that moment I thought I was going to be strong and not cry...but mom hugged me and squeezed the tears out of me as she also began to cry. 14 months is way too long to be without a hug from your mom and dad. We went upstairs to the room where my brother, Clint, was. Life was good at this moment. I was with my favorite people in the world!

Madrid was another incredible city. My uncle David, Aunt Julie, and Nora (Julie’s sister) joined us on our trip. We went to El Prado art museum as well as a visiting a couple of other collections with famous works of art, we visited a tapestry gallery, castles, churches, markets, amazing restaurants and cafes, saw flamenco dancing, and did a little shopping (I’d almost forgotten how much I love to shop, get dressed up, and look like a girl!) The food mainly consisted of tapas, paella, delicious desserts, and amazing wines and sangria. I also loved being able to speak in Spanish again. It was shocking how fast it all came back to me, however, I did slip a few Kiswahili words in here and there that would totally confuse the person on the other side of the conversation. “Pole” does not get the point of “I’m sorry” across in Spain! Also, I was told I used my hands a lot when I talked....sometimes it’s easier just to sign what I’m thinking!

As the week came to a close I really dreaded saying goodbye to my family. The last night I was with them I just laid down with my mom and she held me as I cried. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to return to Kenya. I know that this year will be amazing and I have so much that I want to accomplish and that I love every minute of being with my kids, but saying goodbye all over again to the people I love most is something I will never get accustomed to no matter how many times I do it. Between my mom being my best friend, being a daddy’s girl, and really enjoying hanging out with my brother (to all those that knew us when we were growing up- yes, you read it right, I do enjoy spending time with him these days!) having to say goodbye again for another 12 months was heart breaking. I’m so thankful for those 7 days with my family in Spain. I’m glad to have had a break from Kenya and although I would have loved to be home it would have made the goodbyes that much harder. Coming back to Kenya from this vacation and looking forward to this year I know that December will come much faster than I can even fathom. I don’t want to wish away the days, especially the ones I spend with my students, but I also can’t wait until the next holiday season!

A Story of Hope

2011-12-16T18:55:00.003+03:00

This year has been filled with plenty of stories. Many of them heart warming and some heart breaking. As Christmas approaches I have one of the most heart warming stories to share with you and give you a feeling of joy and hope that this season is all about.

Since coming to Kenya last year I’ve been told countless times about, and even witnessed on numerous occasions, the attitudes of parents who have children with special needs. The general consensus is that kids born with special needs, whether they be physical impairments, deafness, albinism, blindness, or intellectual disabilities, they are to be neglected, hidden, ignored, and forgotten. Many parents leave the children as orphans, or worse, to die. Some keep the children hidden from sight for years and years preventing any development that could happen if allowed to live outside the walls of the home. The parents are told that they have done an evil thing in the past and now God is punishing them with this child. The things I’ve seen and heard break my heart time and time again. But, there’s always hope. Yesterday, as I was coming back to the village from Nairobi, my heart was healed by one such story of hope.

I was sitting next to a man in his 40s who was traveling with his son who was in his mid-teens. The boy’s legs were thin and limp and he was confined to a wheelchair. The father asked me what I did and as soon as I let him know of the work I’m doing in Kenya he began to open up to me about him and his son. His son was crippled from birth. The mother had left them as soon as she saw signs of a bleak future. Now, I hate making the statement that most Kenyan fathers would flee the scene that we are talking about, but from my observations of my students it is the case that if the child is born with any sort of disability it is the father who leaves the child. But in this case, the father is the hero. He told me things that I have tried over and over to tell the teachers at my school and the parents of the children and the members of my community. He told me that he put his son first before anything else- before his work, before himself, before everything. He said that he was doing all that he could to help his son lead as normal of a life as he deserved to live. He had taught him to cook for himself, bathe and dress himself, read, attend school as regularly as he could, and see his family and friends often.

Tears filled my eyes as he shared his story. A lump jumped into my throat and I wanted to cry as he talked but I had to remain strong. He told me about the 13 operations his son had undergone and all the fundraising he’d had to do to make them happen without getting into debt. He proudly showed me brochures of the work he did in interior house renovations to help them keep food on the table. On this very trip he was heading to work on a house that was near to his family so he’d brought his son to stay with his grandparents. The whole time he was on the phone making sure the supplies were paid for and at the site, setting up new business endeavors with other clients, and finishing up final details from projects he’d completed. I could tell he was doing it all for his son. As he talked of his boy I could see how proud he was. His son laid his head on his father’s shoulder and slept as he told me how special his son was to him and how much he would give up to see his boy live life fully.

Many times he’d been asked by family members and friends why he didn’t just let the boy die or leave him to be on his own. He took those times as opportunities to share his story. He is the first man that I’ve seen with this outlook on people living with special needs. As we were ending our journey he told me that if I ever had a meeting with parents of children with special needs he would love to be invited to share his story and advocate for all these children. I’m sure that many people’s attitudes will shift once they hear his story and the love he has for his son. When people do listen to what he has to say, more and more will stand up for their own children and Kenya will be on their way to a time when people living with special needs will be given the life they deserve.

World AIDS Day 2011

2011-12-08T21:37:00.002+03:00

AIDS has been around for my life. I’ve grown up seeing images on the TV of the debilitating effect it has on people, read journal articles about efforts being made to take care of the increasing number or orphans it is leaving behind, and watched documentaries about the history, although short, of the disease that has wreaked havoc all over Africa, America and across the world in just the past few decades. But to see these things in the flesh??? Now that has been like receiving several blows to the head! Seeing someone lying lifeless because of this monster that has taken over their body with sunken in eyes and cheekbones that are much too defined, with not even enough energy to raise their head. Watching a student stick around the school grounds long after the term is over because their parents have died from AIDS and aren’t coming to pick them up for the break. Worrying to death that the little girl in your 2nd grade class may have contracted AIDS from the older boy that just raped her. Preaching over and over again about the importance of using a condom and using it correctly (you’d be surprised at how people try use them!). Being the only one standing in line to get tested to know your status and having no one else there with you for fear that they might test positive and just don’t want to know their status.

AIDS is here. It’s in America, too, for sure. Actually my first real experience with AIDS came while I was volunteering in Philadelphia where I met a young pregnant woman who had just found out her status was positive. This is one instance the word “positive” is the last word you want to hear (Side note: people often get confused by the “positive” and “negative” statuses. When they see the “positive” sign they often think that they are in the clear...especially in the Deaf community). But here it is in your face all the time. I live in a border town where a lot of truckers cross over to Uganda. Truckers are known for wanting a little entertainment to make the long cross-country drives a little more bearable so there is a lot of prostitution going on. With that comes a higher rate of HIV/AIDS. Even some of my own students are, tragically, involved for weeks and months at a time.

This year I signed up to run the World AIDS half marathon in order to raise funds and awareness for those living with HIV/AIDS. I contacted Richard Brodsky, a brain cancer survivor and man living with AIDS from New York, about the race. After e-mailing back and forth a few times about race logistics we discussed the other things he would be doing in Kenya while he was visiting here in the Kisumu area. He was sponsoring some dinners and dances for local orphanages that cater to kids who’ve lost their parents to the disease and some that even live with the disease themselves, either due to “mother to child” transmission or contracting it at some point in their young childhood. I asked Richard if I could join in on the festivities and he welcomed me to help out with the medical check-ups, serving the kids a meal full of protein and nutrients they normally don’t get, and celebrating with dancing and singing.

The day came to head to the orphanages. We set up a makeshift health clinic with basic medicines and dove in to something none of us could completely expect. Even the doctor was unfamiliar with many of the things the kids were coming in with as they were tropical diseases and things that you just don’t see in suburbia America. Close to all of the patients came in with malaria. The malaria wasn’t treated for weeks and months and therefore the bodies became weaker and weaker making them susceptible to other illnesses. Most were anaemic due to the poor diet mostly consisting of ugali (flour and water) and a little fish. Hardly any vegetables were included in their diet and trace amounts of meat. The parents complained of their kids eating dirt. Their bodies were just craving the iron that their diets weren’t providing their growing bodies. There were many cases of diarrhea and vomiting due to worms from the water they drink and dirt they were eating. Although most kids lungs seemed fairly healthy there were cases of upper respiratory tract infections most likely from the unclean air they so often breathe in from the burning trash piles.

After seeing so many kiddos we served them dinner with lots of meat, vegetables, and other foods that they rarely, if ever, get to eat. I got stuck serving matumbo, a local dish made from the intestines of the animal slaughtered for the occasion. It smelled of the $#!+ that had been cleaned out of the organ and I could barely serve it for the overwhelming desire to vomit. Needless to say I had no appetite for anything that night.

We did essentially the same things the next day at a different orphanage, checking the health of more kids and feeding them a big meal but also had time to dance and sing with them. Those kids could move and had the most expressive faces as they moved their bodies with the music. Even the sickest of kids that we saw at the clinic managed to dance with an intensity that you wouldn’t have known was there during their checkups.

December 1st is World AIDS Day around the world and the day came with many ways to acknowledge the importance of knowing the facts, knowing the importance of one’s status, and celebrating life. I took part in the half marathon running alongside many Kenyans and other people living and serving here in Kenya. There were over 600 runners, a record number for this particular race. They ended up making race bibs out of torn sheets because they ran out of official bibs made up before the race. The run was a fun one for myself. The course was great...never a dull moment with mud puddles to run through, ravines to jump over, cows and goats to stop for as they passed by, motorcycles drivers to offer rides to the next check point (don’t worry, I didn’t take one!), and kids to run alongside. And I know you all suspect I was the last one to cross the finish line....well, I wasn’t! It was a great race with people of all skill levels, but all with the common goal of raising support for people living with HIV/AIDS.

After I finished I looked at the various tents they had set up to educate people about proper diet, getting tested, getting circumcised, and making smart decisions. There were thousands of people gathered to learn, advocate, and teach. AIDS is something that has become so real to me this year. AIDS is not just this thing that the homosexual community lives with or this plague that is killing off communities in Africa. It is affecting individual lives every single day in every country in the world. I am now able to put faces with stories. Whether it be people living with HIV/AIDS, children who are orphans because of it, friends of those too scared to be tested but can’t convince them to do what’s right for them, teachers doing their best to help their students understand what it is and how it is spread, parents watching their children die of this debilitating monster, or people just struggling to understand what it is, we are all affected by AIDS. It is events like this that will help us to squelch the fire that AIDS is.

Not ready to go...

2011-10-26T17:59:00.001+03:00

The Al-Shabaab is a militant group from Somalia that is really wreaking havoc over the country I am currently calling home. After several kidnappings along the Kenyan coast a number or weeks ago, several of our volunteers in that area were pulled out of their sites without any warning and without enough time to say goodbye to all of those that they had begun to call their family over this past year. The Al-Shabaab have continued to ruin the lives of many Kenyans and cause anxiety and worry to overcome the minds of all of us that are living and serving here in this country. This past weekend the American embassy issued a warning to all Americans in Kenya to take caution and be very vigilant about where we go, avoiding the normal “wazungu” hangouts. The Al-Shabaab have threatened to retaliate against Kenya for pushing into Somalia. Us Peace Corps Volunteers have had to at least dabble with the thought that a 2-year service is never guaranteed. Just because we are committed to stay here and complete two years of teaching or serving in whatever capacity we were brought here for, does not mean that we will get to serve it in full. It’s unlikely that we will be evacuated but is always a possibility. Just the thought of having to leave early has left me with a heartache this week. On Monday morning, I looked out at my kids lined up for their weekly assembly and tears filled my eyes. If I had to leave today or tomorrow or anytime before December 2012 I would not be ready. I won’t be ready then either, but at least I will be able to approach that date knowing that “the final goodbye” was part of the package deal. Having to be ripped away from my kids, my fellow PCVs, and all the work that I’m doing outside of teaching, without any sort of warning would be heartbreaking. The day I left my parents, family and friend October 12, 2010 was horrific, without a doubt one of the hardest days I’ve ever experienced. But I chose to say goodbye that day and had all the hopes in the world to see everyone that I said farewell to two years later. But to have to say goodbye unexpectedly to a group of people that I might not ever see again...well, that would definitely be hell on earth for me. As you all know, I’ve fallen head over heels for my kiddos. Even if they wake me up at 4 in the morning, it’s their laughter and screams that also wake up the passion inside of me each new day. Even if their fighting makes me want to absolutely throw up my hands in exasperation, their fighting is also what makes me want to keep fighting for what I believe is right and good over here. Even if their disregard for my privacy annoys the living daylights out of me and makes me want to crawl into a deep, dark hole, it’s that same disregard for my privacy that makes me to be the best person I should be at all moments of the day...because I know someone is ALWAYS watching.

On days like today after reading the news that the Al-Shabaab have bombed a nightclub and injured 14 and thrown a grenade at a bus stage injuring 8 more and killing 1, it is all I can do to keep thoughts from entering my head about the possibility of going home. I know I am safe in the village, I have no concern with that...it’s the idea of Peace Corps Kenya, in general, being safe enough to keep doing what we do. If the safety of the volunteers throughout the country and the administration watching over us all from Nairobi are in question than what might tomorrow bring? I pray that it doesn’t bring a plane ticket back to the States. I sure hope it brings another day teaching of my class 8 students, playing with my 5 year old nursery kiddos, helping the girls at my school know how to be a strong woman in their community, advocating for those that need their voice to be heard, and encouraging positive change throughout the community. Not ready to go....

Happy Birthday to Me!

2011-10-26T17:58:00.001+03:00

A lot less tears were shed this birthday than last year. I’m thankful that the lump that had situated itself in my throat for so long finally decided to vacate. For the first few months of being here that lump induced tears unexpectedly and let the floodgates open on days like Thanksgiving, Christmas and my birthday. This year, the lump still visits from time to time, but not like it’s used to. I guess he’s moved on to some of the new trainees that arrived a few weeks ago.

This year was yet another uneventful birthday although I did have some wonderful moments throughout the course of the days before and after. I was attending and speaking at a conference with other educators from around Africa during the few days leading up to my birthday so I was surrounded by wonderful teachers and administrators whom I connected with very quickly and learned so much from. As I was leading a session on “Teaching Students with Special Needs” I felt this overwhelming gratitude from the attendees. Although it was quite obvious that I was much younger than most of them there, they were so willing to listen to my experiences and accept the knowledge I was putting out there. Often times I’m disregarded in the classroom back in Mundika due to my inexperience and young age, but these educators had so many questions and were so interested in learning more so that they could better the classroom experience for their students with special needs back in their schools. It was neat to have these more experienced men and women ask to take pictures with me, ask me to send them more information after the conference, and to keep in touch so that we could continue to share with each other. It made me feel a lot older than 24.

I was also lucky enough to have a gala dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in Nairobi in celebration of the conference. The Carnivore is famous for serving game meats and traditional Kenyan food. I’d been there 6 years ago but due to a sickness I’d wish to forget about I didn’t take part in much of that dining experience. This year my stomach was much more equipped although I’ve given up eating meat. So, I didn’t really enjoy “The Carnivore” like you are supposed to, but it was still a great celebration with many wonderful people.

The actual day of my birthday I spent on the matatu as I headed back to the village. My cab driver in Nairobi knew it was my birthday and had bought me a card reading “Ennah” on the front along with a banana fiber jewelry box and a beautiful bone bracelet. He was so proud of himself and it was wonderful to start off the day with feeling special.

Unfortunately where my cab driver left me was the last place I wanted to be on my birthday...the Busia matatu stage, meaning the beginning of a day long journey back to the village. I hopped into the front seat of the van, paid my 900 shillings (about 9 dollars), and waited for the van to fill up before we were off. Nothing to speak of happened during those long hours except for sleeping, reading, and thinking. But when I got off and walked through the gate of my school I was welcomed by the familiar faces that I love. Of course, they thought I was coming home from a trip home (any trip over 1 km is worthy of them asking if I went home...I could only wish I was home for 5 days). I went inside my house and after reading countless “Happy Birthday’ e-mails and Facebook messages I crashed. Again, I felt years older than 24...8 p.m. is my village bedtime most nights.

Friday morning I woke up and went over to the Catholic convent where there is an oven that the sisters welcomed me to use. I made 4 funfetti cakes with homemade frosting for my kids. I indulged in the batter, enough so that I had no appetite once the cakes were ready but that was good because there was just enough cake to give each student a small piece. They were ecstatic and although I don’t think they fully understood the occasion (why would you spend money on an occasion that everyone has???) they enjoyed the “tamu sana” (very sweet) cake.

So, October 20th has come and gone once again...another year older. Not sure I’m another year wiser but I’ve definitely experienced some things in this past year that I have never had the chance to before. Truly looking forward to #25 and what I’ll be able to say I accomplished leading up to that day of celebration! Honestly, though, I’m just looking forward to another excuse to make funfetti cake!

525,600 minutes in Kenya

2011-10-19T06:34:00.000+03:00

A year in Kenya. I always knew I’d get here but didn’t know what the year would truly look like. One of the reasons I liked the sound of Peace Corps was for the length of service being two years; a chance to compare two different years, an opportunity to try things for one year and do them better the second year, a possibility to first observe the similarities and differences that exist between the United States and Kenya and then “slowly by slowly” assimilate and make them more a part of my life and allow them to become more second nature and less “the way the Kenyans do it”.

So, as the year-mark has now passed me by much quicker than I ever expected it to, I’ve had the “525,600 minutes/Seasons of Love” song from Rent in my head on repeat, but with slightly different lyrics. Every time I sing it the lyrics change as I remember more things that I measure this past year in. So the following are things that are included in my response to the question the song asks me, “How do you measure, measure a year?”

In meals of sukuma wiki (kale) and ugali (thick porridge (play-dough consistency) made from maize flour), the staple meal here in Kenya.
In matatu rides (public transportation that consists of a 14-passenger vehicle being stuffed with a minimum of 25 people but often exceeding 30, meaning you sit with an old woman or child in your lap, with your legs flailing out the window, a chicken pecking at your feet, and the stench of omenna fish overwhelming your nose...not to mention a close call with death every few rides as the driver is often drunk or high.
In “Howayu, mzungu?” chanted over and over and over by little chidren or obnoxioulsly said by ignorant 30 year old men while holding their nose and saying it in an abnormally higher pitch than they would normally speak in. This phrase translates to “How are you, white person with a lot of money?” and is usually proceeded by “Give me sweet”, “Assist me with some shillings”, “You will just support me”, or “You will marry me”.
In cups of chai- I’ve certainly had more than one cup of chai per day spent in Kenya, and that is by choice. Kenyan chai is delicious, made with milk and sugar, often with ginger or other spices in it as well. It is always “accompanied” with something: mandazi (like triangular donuts without the sugar), chapati (flatbread, similar-ish to tortillas), samosas (fried snacks filled with lentils or ground beef), or a half-loaf of bread with margarine.
In trips to Nakumatt, the haven place for people who are accustomed to a land overflowing with Targets, Wal-Marts, and super-sized supermarkets. Sometimes I just go to stare at things like cheese, Heinz ketchup, and bags of Twix bars. Other times, I actually indulge.
In journals I’ve filled: I think the count is at 7 at the current moment.
In times I’ve returned to school and been overwhelmed by the welcome my children give me: carrying my bags, handshakes all around, children running up to me like I’ve finally returned after years of being away even if it was a simple 2 hour trip to town which reminds me of the following...
Times I’ve been asked by the kids “Are you going home now?” when I leave the compound for town carrying only my purse. And how many times I’ve responded with “I’m here for 2 years, my home is right there (pointing at my room next to the dormitory).
In tears. Sometimes, like now, they come out of absolutely nowhere and don’t stop until there are absolutely none left. Tears because I miss people at home so much. Tears because there is a ton that I want to do here and two years is simply not enough time to do it all in. Tears because so many kids grow up too quickly and their innocence is lost far earlier than I would ever fathom a child to lose it. Tears because my kids are absolutely beautiful and filled with this hope that I wonder how they muster from day to day. Tears for the children who have absolutely nothing but the tattered clothes they are wearing on their backs. More tears for more things than a person should ever cry for.
In smiles. Smiles from my students when they do something well. Smiles from kids as they swing on the playground. Smiles from the older boys and girls when we’ve just shared a joke that is only between us. Smiles from the village children as they see this freak-show walk by, or better yet, run by! Smiles from the teachers who’ve become my true friends slowly by slowly as they’ve allowed walls to come down between us. The smiles that have swept across my own face as I think back and reflect on all that this past year has brought me.
Photos. Thousands of photos. The kids, and adults, love to have their picture taken over and over and over. I post them on my windows of my house so everyone can see (and to block people from seeing in my house!) and the kids will stand there for hours looking for every detail in each picture. I even catch the adults standing there for long stretches of time looking at the images that have been captured over the year.
In books read. I’ve read more books in the past year than I did when I was participating in a “reading contest” back in the first grade (which I won by the way!).
In times I’ve been sick. From recurring boils to countless sprints to the bathroom, from the onset of asthma due to the constant burning of trash to inexplicable days where you just can’t move from pains striking all your body parts. In Peace Corps they say you are not a true volunteer until you’ve pooped in your pants....I’m proud to say “I’m a true United States Peace Corps Volunteer!” Thanks to all the worms and germs for making life so truly miserable some days.
And do continue on that note, the endless visits that people unexpectedly make to my house, especially on my sick days. I’m typically looking like death, wearing shorts (completely innappropriate!), confined to the bed and not at all feeling like visitors when 5 people show up expecting me to make them chai and something to eat, to have a long conversation about absolutely nothing, and then watch me drink liters of milk (The Kenyan Cure-All!) which 5 minutes later leads to a sprint to the “choo”.
Episodes of Glee, How I Met Your Mother, and Big Bang Theory along with countless movies that I never in my life thought I’d let myself sit through.
Bugs unintentionally ingested with food or chai or on the walk to town.
Meetings that never begin on time (typical delay is 3 hours) and never end.
In sunrises, sunsets, and starry skies (you’ve not lived until you’ve seen these in Africa)!
In moments to ponder just how blessed I am to have been born into my family, grown up in beautiful Asheville, attended wonderful schools along the way, mentored by amazing adults throughout the years, been a member of an incredible church, had the most amazing friends, and experienced all that I have been able to in the past 24 years of my life.

One year. There’s a lot of ways to measure one year here in Kenya. As Rent concludes in the song, we should “measure in love”. I can say with certainty that I am able to measure this past year with love, both received and given. Looking forward to how I measure the next 525,600 minutes.

Stories from the Field

2011-09-29T14:37:00.000+03:00

Since returning to school for this final term of the year, things have been nothing close to normal (but really my life has been nothing close to normal since coming here to Kenya). The days leading up to the beginning day of school were filled with threats from the teachers’ union saying they would go on strike if the Ministry of Education did not pay them what they had earned over the past few months. The government had been putting that money into the military instead of the teachers’ paychecks. The strike lasted a few days and then the teachers took a few extra days to get back to school, oh just ‘cuz! The students slowly trickled in, the first few days with only about 5 children and then a gradual increase over the next two weeks. We are three weeks into school now and almost, but not everyone, is back!

As you know I was working on a project to raise money in order to go out into the village and get the children that were being hidden away. I wanted to get them into school around other deaf students who they could communicate with and learn alongside. I had an overwhelming amount of support from friends and family, raising over $2,300 dollars and my dad tells me that checks are still coming in! Way more than I ever expected! Well, as soon as I got back from my time away from site I went out with the deputy teacher, Werimo, to look for the kids that we’d been informed about that were either no longer coming to school or had never come in the first place. We walked and walked and walked around this village and neighboring villages. I think I walked more that week than I’ve walked in my whole life! I want to share with you some of the stories of the kids that we found.

First, is an 18 year old Otieno. He’d come to school at Mundika School for the Deaf for a number of years, progressing to Class 4 and then was turned away for not having the 30 dollars for the 3 months to stay at school. And commuting for him was out of the question as he was confined to a wheelchair due to a condition I believe was a result of polio. His legs are permanently folded making it close to impossible for him to get around. Werimo told me that for a while Otieno tried to make the daily commute back and forth between home and school but eventually gave up because his wheelchair would get run off of the side of the road by the trucks and other vehicles and he would have to wait until the next good samaritan to come by to help him back onto his wheelchair. He would get to school several hours late exhausted from the long ride. When I showed up to his house (a room with a bed and couch that he shared with his older sister and several siblings- his parents missing from the picture) he was doing his best to keep up with the other children playing around. Werimo and I asked him if he would like to come back to school but he signed to us that money was a problem and there was no way he could come up with the money to get there much less stay for the entirety of the term. I told him I wanted to help and a smile emerged on his face that was just beautiful. I wish I could’ve taken a picture of that moment. My eyes literally filled up with tears when I saw that happiness come over his face! A few days later he showed up at the gates of the school in his beat up wheelchair. I later found out that he was so anxious to return to school that he told his neighbors to pack up his things on the back of his wheelchair and send him off down the road towards Mundika. He was not even willing to wait for his sister to come with him! When he got to school all the older guys that hadn’t seen him in a few years were so excited to catch up with him. They all sat around signing to each other with huge smiles on their faces. I asked him if I could take his wheelchair to get repaired so that he wasn’t riding around on flat tires (He’d come the whole 6 kms on flat tires!). When it came back from the shop with the nicest tires I’ve seen during the time I’ve been here, he was ecstatic and came to my door thanking me over and over again.

Then there is Linet. We walked into her family compound hoping to come across a family member that we could talk to in order to let them know we wanted to help her out. No one was there. We almost walked away with the hopes of trying again later in the week when we heard someone shuffling to the door. We looked down and saw Linet coming towards us on her hands and knees. Another victim of Polio. Her signing vocabulary was limited but high enough for her to understand that we wanted her to come back to school. She sat on her knees behind a wicker chair, hiding her face as she beamed with excitement. We asked where her family was and she said they were all gone. We asked if they’d left her any food or water for the day and sheepishly she told us no. It was midday and she hadn’t eaten anything yet. I went to a nearby shop and got her some food and water and told her that we’d talk to her family and figure out a way to get her back to school. We happened to run into her brother on the way out of there and he ensured they would bring what they could with her. On Monday she showed up to school crawling on her hands and knees across the school yard. Her mother had brought her uniform and one change of clothes...that was it! I’d told them that I would buy the essentials: soap, toothbrush, and a couple other things but simply couldn’t do everything. She was not the only child that came to school with nothing but the clothes on her back... unfortunately she is part of the majority. Werimo explained to the mother that she would have to buy some of the things so she went into town and got the bare minimum, the smallest size of everything she could. I understand that money is hard to find around here often times, but it’s frustrating to see a parent spend money on their other “normal” children or on things such as cell phones and getting their hair done and not buy a few simple things for their own child who just happens to have a disability. To top it all off, the mom asked me to pay for the debt she had left at the school from a few years ago. On one hand I wanted to tell the head teacher to forgive the debt as it was from a long time ago and certainly wasn’t an amount significant enough to do any good for the school but on the other hand I wanted to tell the mama to step up and take care of her own debts and not get into these kind of situations. At the end of the day, before the mother left I asked if Linet had a wheelchair. She told me she did but it was broken. I gave her enough money to get it fixed and the next day it came back “as is”. No new tires, no repairs done, none of the money I’d given to her spent on what I’d given it to her for. So while, Otieno’s new wheels rode in to the compound with nice new tires, hers came straggling in and Linet asked me why he got new tires and she didn’t. How could I tell her to ask her mom where the money went?

And then there’s the story of Murciana, yet another girl confined to a wheelchair due to polio (we seeing a pattern?) but with parents a little more concerned about their little girl. She, too, had been at the school a few years ago but was turned away due to unpaid fees. They’d told the headmaster they would find the money but he humiliated them and turned them away. After that, and a bout with one of the house mothers who had stolen the little girl’s underwear and then beat her for “losing them”, the parents were done sending their girl to school when they could at least protect her at home. We talked to her parents and after a while they finally relented and said they would send their daughter back.

There were more cases that we found. There was a beautiful little girl being kept at home and having her fee money used on witchcraft for her instead of schooling. There was a little girl from my nursery class being kept at home to be treated for malaria (if you are sick here, everyone assumes it’s malaria no matter what it is) using the money for her school fees. What she really needed was to be tested at the hospital. After seeing the doctor they found out it was TB so all that money for fees had been wasted on medicating her for a totally different illness and now left her to stay at home for the term. A little boy was being kept at home with a broken collarbone from falling out a tree. The little money they had went towards an herbal remedy put on the collarbone area instead of a hospital where they had outstanding dues. Also, the father didn’t see the point in putting the deaf child in school. There was a young teenage girl who’d just lost her mother in a car accident (the father had passed years ago). And unfortunately there were quite a number of other boys and girls without parents who simply would not be able to go to school if it weren’t for some outside help.

It’s cases like these and many more that I have seen and I’m sure will continue to come across that make me believe in my work here. Being able to go and convince a parent that it is more than possible for their deaf child to go on even past primary school and secondary school and to obtain a degree from a university is incredible when you get to see their face light up with this look that says “That’s actually possible? I had no idea.” It may just be a few families at a time but gradually we are shifting the attitudes of parents of children with special needs. Advocating for these kids and telling them that they are good enough for school is HUGE. Now, I know I am not going to save the world and things and there will still be some disappointments but seeing these new or returned kids at school every day and watching them play together, eat together, learn together, and just be together is worth every glitch along the way.

Quadrilingual????

2011-09-10T15:11:00.000+03:00

Well, not quite quadrilingual but I’m getting there! Never in my life did I think I would be able to at least hold a basic conversation in four different languages but here I am! English is almost perfected...although I continue to slip up on that, especially as I spend more time here in Kenya. Ask any Peace Corps Volunteer and they will tell you that you forget how to speak over here! Words just don’t come out like they used to. Especially knowing Sign Language...sometimes it is just easier to sign what you’re thinking than think of the darn word!

Spanish has been a language I’ve been learning since high school and, although I still have a long way to go to perfect it, I can get by (at some point I will make it a point to live in a Spanish speaking country so that I can get closer to fluency). Kenyan Sign Language is my first of non-spoken languages and let me tell you, there’s a huge difference between the two types! It’s been difficult to cut the words off in my brain and communicate in images portrayed by my hands, but that is coming along as well as I teach my kids and communicate with other deaf people in Kenya. Finally, this past week 3 other Peace Corps Volunteers and I spent 5 days in an intense language immersion training. We crammed Kiswahili into our brains, practicing the different tenses, vocabulary words, verbs and other language essentials. I am by no means fluent or even conversational at this point, but what I gained from those 5 days will give me what I need to take off running with this language that I’ve been wanting to learn since my first trip to Kenya. In the markets, in the staff room, upon traveling to different villages, I will be able to use my Kiswahili and allow it to grow as well. During the training my friend Jenny and I were talking about the languages we know and are currently learning and were even discussing the languages we are interested in learning in the future. I never thought I’d make it to four (even if they are rudimentary at this time) but why stop here. I definitely want to learn American Sign Language when I get home and also some Arabic. Plus, as many of you know, it’s always fun to get my mom to try and say phrases in other language...just ask her to say hello in Spanish!

August Rush

2011-09-10T15:08:00.000+03:00

April, August, and December are precious months for us Peace Corps Volunteers in the education sector. The months that we are at school are go-go-go with absolutely no quiet pauses or chances to catch our breaths until the last exam is completed and graded. I’m used to growing up in a school system where there are teacher workdays, holidays, or unnecessary snow days every two weeks or so. I have had one such day like that here, Independence Day. Other than that it is school Monday through Friday and even weekends are spent at the school since that is where my home is. I’m not necessarily teaching classes but I’m with the kids doing something.

But even the months off from school are filled with secondary projects and Peace Corps sponsored events that keep us volunteers from completely allowing us to shut off our brains. Although they are fun and allow us to shift our focus to different things we are rarely given the chance to completely RELAX!

This month began with Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World), a camp split up into four mini camps (two for hearing girls and two for deaf girls) where us Peace Corps Volunteers taught the girls about issues including How to Say “No”, male and female anatomy, abortion, female circumcision, self defense, HIV/AIDS, goal setting, and other topics that are so crucial to girls at this time in their lives (ages 15-22) but are simply not discussed in school or at home because they are often topics that the adults here are uncomfortable talking about. The girls that attended the camp were nominated by Peace Corps Volunteers. They are seen as good leaders within their school and communities and as young women that will take back what they learned and share it with their peers rather than keeping it in like the adults often do. At the camp the girls were in an environment where they felt comfortable to ask questions they’ve never been able to ask before. It was neat to see them open up more and more as the camp days went on. The girls gained so much from the camp. It was not easy for us Peace Corps Volunteers to talk about some of these issues, especially in Kenyan Sign Language. For me, it is still so new to me, and having discussions about the issues I just listed was difficult being that many of the words were new to me or simply don’t have signs and you have to explain the words rather than just spell the word out because many of the girls struggle so much with spelling. By the end of the week I was exhausted from staying up and lesson planning. Although it was tough, it was nice to be able to teach in a different, more laid back teaching environment than I’m used to at school.

As soon as camp was over in Kisumu (the Western Region of Kenya) it was time to cross the expanse of the country to Mombasa (at Kenya’s coast) where Peace Corps and PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief) sponsored a week of workshops and session for us Peace Corps Volunteers and some of our counterparts and teachers that we work with in our community. This was so that once returning to the village the knowledge wasn’t just coming from us but the counterparts were being given the same responsibility to work beside us in getting the information that is so important to Kenyans. Again, it was a great week where we were put up in an incredible hotel with air conditioning, mattresses more like clouds than the hard boards we’re so used to sleeping on these days, seven pools scattered through the grounds, and rooms overlooking the Indian Ocean. We were served obscene amounts of food that I’d forgotten existed on this Earth having been away from such foods for so long now. We had broccoli, salads, fruits, pasta, yogurt, fresh juices, granola, stir fries, steamed veggies----all simply out of this world! But when we weren’t in this heaven that I’ve just described we were in sessions that required us to think, question, and discuss issues such as rape, HIV/AIDS, drug abuse, gender roles, and sex. Now, in the past us Peace Corps Volunteers have had these type of discussions and it has been fairly mundane. As we discussed these issues we took into account the different views that people have but we simply touched on them and moved on. In this setting, where other Kenyan counterparts were there, things got a little more heated. For example, one question we were asked was “Is it considered rape if the man and the woman are married?” Some of the men felt as if their woman is their property since they pay a dowry. They have the right to satisfy their desires whether the woman is in agreement to have sex at that time or not. The facilitator to that particular discussion explained what a dowry was historically intended for a token of appreciation to the parents, not a form of payment. She explained that unconsented sex, even within a marriage, is rape. Well, that didn’t fly well with some men but neither did the issue of “Is a woman to blame for her rape if she is wearing revealing clothing, or if she’s out at a late hour, or if she is walking through a sketchy part of town?” Many men said “Yes”. One Peace Corps Volunteer asked “Is a bank at fault for a robbery just because they are holding lots of money?” That got people thinking! The rapist, obviously doesn’t have to have sex with the woman. Yes, she may be attracting attention but the crime belongs to the criminal, not the victim who so often gets the punishment here.

During one discussion on gender roles I just happened to be placed into a group with all males (six Kenyans and one Peace Corps Volunteer). The other groups were more mixed but I stood alone as the female in my group. My fellow Peace Corps Volunteer pointed this fact out to me as if I hadn’t already noticed! If it wasn’t blatant enough, the Kenyans really made me know it as the discussion began. As with any group meeting here in Kenya we had to pick a “chairman” and a “secretary”. According to their logic, since the word “man” is in the word “chairman” the position clearly belonged to a man, so I was out of that election. But, as we were picking the secretarial position I was the only choice since a woman is ALWAYS the secretary. I almost lost it! It took so much in me to keep calm as I told them that “I do not accept this position”. It led to a little hissy fit of “but you’re the female, this is your role.” type of comments from each of the men. One man said, in what I think was his attempt to calm me down “Since the chairman is already a male we need to equal things out by having a woman serve. I asked then if I could serve as the chairman and a male serve as a secretary but you know how that question got answered! Anyways, thank goodness for the other Peace Corps Volunteer who stepped in before I lost it and accepted the position of secretary. It’s these kind of things that are hard to discuss, hard to see other’s views and see their logic, but discussion like these need to happen more often.

I believe the Kenyans learned a lot as discussions such as this are often taboo to have and they just follow the traditions without thinking about how these issues really play out. I can’t blame them for following traditions but now that they’ve been given the facts and they must decide for themselves what is right rather than easily following what has always been.

So again, this week was a week away from the normal environment a Peace Corps Volunteer typically lives but it sure wasn’t an escape from using our brains.

After the week at the Coast it was time to head back to Nairobi where my friend, Jenny, and I prepared for the GRE. We were lucky enough to be able to stay with a teacher here from the U.S. that teaches at the international school here in Kenya. She has a nice home with a room for each of us. We were able to continue eating well as we went out for Ethiopian, Pan Asian, pizza, and Indian each night. It just feels so wonderful to be welcomed into a home and to feel at ease for even a moment, even if we were studying for a test that determines the next step in life after Peace Corps.

Also during the week that I was in Nairobi for the GRE the new Peace Corps Volunteer Class for Public Health and Small Enterprise Development were swearing in after their two months of Pre Service Training. I got to go to the ambassador’s house where their ceremony took place. It was great meeting the new volunteers and finding the ones that would be near my site. It was also cool to relive my own “swearing in”. It’s always good to hear motivational speeches from people that have themselves gone through Peace Corps Service and quotes from inspiring people such as JFK. And of course, the night of swearing in is a crazy one! Jenny and I made the really great decision of joining them in celebration the night before our GRE! We went out dancing with the newbies and despite the curfew we’d set for ourselves, we ended up getting in way too late for anyone that was trying to take a big exam like the GRE the next day! But, we woke up, made a big pot of coffee and beasted the GRE (well, I guess I won’t really know until November when I get my scores back, but I felt like I did well and the scale that they give you at the end of the test that tells you in what range you fell into told me I did okay!)

So, after the GRE was over I felt I could breathe again. I woke up the next morning to head out on the first real vacation I’ve taken while here in Kenya. I got on the 6am bus to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania en route to Zanzibar. The bus ride was a grueling 17 hours, the seat I had would not recline therefore leaving me to be uncomfortable for the entirety of that 17 hours, and the smell.....oh my god, the smell! Those of you who know me know that I have a very keen sense of smell, often to my disadvantage. That morning as each passenger got on the bus they handed us a plastic bag (although here in Kenya they are called paper bags...not sure where that came from and why it is so difficult to describe the difference between the two types). The plastic bag was filled with a chapati, a samosa, and a hard boiled egg. Again, those of you who know me know how much I hate eggs! That is one thing that I have never in my life liked and despite my changes in taste over the year, my disliking of eggs has not changed. Well, as the morning went on people began to peel open their eggs emitting that gross sulphur stench that makes me dry heave. That along with the stifling heat as we got closer and closer to the coast and the increasing stink of body odor...well, it was enough to drive me stir crazy! Finally, around 11 p.m. I got into Dar es Salaam where I headed straight for the hotel I was staying in and passed out.

The next morning I woke up and went downstairs to have breakfast wearing my new red Peace Corps Kenya t-shirt. Katie, a PCV in Tanzania that is from Asheville, was who I was trying to meet up with. Her mom and mine share the same hair dresser and as all hairdressers know everything about their customers she was able to get our moms in touch who then got us in touch with each other. She was there along with several other Peace Corps Tanzania Volunteers and the new PC shirt that I was wearing helped them to identify me really quickly. That day I hung out with Katie and her fellow PCVs at the beach. It was really neat getting to see how Peace Corps works in another country. It was also neat to meet up with someone from home that I’m sure will end up being someone I connect with for the rest of my life. We have a lot in common when it comes to life goals and, of course, the Peace Corps experience is something that, no matter where in the world you serve, gives you a special kind of bond.

The next morning I took the ferry to Zanzibar, quite possibly the most fantastic place on Earth. On the ride over I saw two young men conversing in sign language so I began talking with them as well. The Tanzanian Sign Language is different from the Kenyan Sign Language that I know, but we were able to get by with them teaching me their sign for a word and me teaching them the one I knew. I also became the focal point to many of the passengers as I conversed with them for the entirety of the ride. When I first stepped foot on the ferry I thought to myself “Finally a couple of hours where I won’t be the one being gawked at” since everyone in there was a tourist going to the magical island of Zanzibar. That quickly changed when I began conversing with these two men. One man even took out his video camera and started taping our conversations!

Anyways, I got to Zanzibar and headed straight to the airport where I met with Lauren Dave, a friend from home who I’ve gone to elementary, middle, high school and university with! She was doing a medical trip in Tanzania and as a last little “rest and relaxation” before heading home she and a couple of her colleagues from the trip headed to Zanzibar to meet me! We had a wonderful time exploring the beautiful beaches, the maze-like alleys of Stone Town, the shops full of souvenirs, and the restaurants with mouth watering foods! We stayed at this little hostel-like place where there were bandas (kind of like huts) with Swahili-style cots, couches strewn out around the place to lounge around on, hammocks to lay in, and a direct path to the beach. The ocean was so incredibly blue. We got to go snorkeling one day and see some really colorful fish and other interesting creatures amidst the various types of coral. We were taken out into the ocean by a traditional boat used by the Swahili people which at first glance doesn’t look like something to trust! But we made it back safely and with intense sun burns from being out in the middle of the ocean (I’m still peeling and I’m typing this 2 weeks after the fact!)

After enjoying the beach for a couple of days we headed into the historic Stone Town. It has a very traditional Islamic feel to it: lots of incredible mosques speckling the town calling everyone to prayer every few hours, streets so small cars could barely pass, fish markets at sunset where you could get shark, octopus, and a huge assortment of seafood fresh from the Indian ocean, little shops selling paintings, jewelry, handbags, clothing, and every other souvenir you might possibly be looking to bring home. We also went on a spice tour. We toured a farm that had cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric, vanilla, pepper, cloves, coconuts, and other exotic spices I had never even heard of. It was incredible to see the spices at every stage of their growth.

Well, it was hard to leave the place but after a few days it was time to head back to Nairobi. The 17 hour bus ride was out of the question. As soon as I’d gotten off of it in Dar es Salaam I’d booked a flight to Nairobi. It was worth $200 dollars to save my sanity!

Back in Nairobi I met with some people I’m working with, enjoyed some time exploring a little bit more, and getting myself ready to head back to site.

I’m really looking forward to having a great third term with my kiddos! As you read in the last blog I was making an effort to raise money to get the deaf kids that are being hidden away back into school so that they can learn and grow with other kids like them. I’m so excited to say that I’ve raised close to $2,000 with all the support being sent from home: people from my home church, middle school, high school, and NCSU, people I’ve never met in my life...but all people that have huge hearts to help some very deserving kids here in the little village of Mundika! I can’t wait to update you on what’s to come from this effort. As always, thank you for all your love and continued support. Every sticker, every school supply, every crystal light packet, every note, every little thing that comes to me from home means more than I can even express.

Eldoret...one of my favorite places!!!

2011-07-30T19:00:00.000+03:00

These past few days I’ve been enjoying time in Eldoret again with Dr. Lawrence and his wife, Dale, and all of their wonderful friends doing medical work here for months or years at a time. Instead of coming on the weekend like I usually do, it was nice to get to be here during some work days so that I could see more of what goes on while I’m in the village teaching. On Monday, I went with Dale to the Sally Test Pediatric Center where child patients come during the day to learn, play games, and have a chance to forget for a moment why they are at the hospital. As soon as I walked into the center I was overwhelmed with emotions as I saw the children sitting at the tables, all with different reasons for being there. Some were there because of severe burns they’d suffered at home, others because of brain injuries requiring surgery, and others living with HIV/AIDS and other conditions. Some were even there because they’d simply been dropped off by their families because they didn’t want to take on the responsibility of raising the child.

One such child, Lydia, had been dropped off several months ago because her family saw that she was struggling physically. The doctors believe she has muscular dystrophy as she was unable to walk, straighten her fingers and control other muscles in her body. When I walked in, she was able to wobble over to me and fall into my arms. The doctor who has been working with her has helped her to come so far with her ability to use her muscles in ways her family probably never expected her to be able to. She was such a happy child, excited about her own progress, and motivated to do even more.

Another child, Peter, is now ten years old but was found in a dumpster several years ago and brought to the hospital to live. He has developmental delays but has overcome many obstacles to get to where he is today. When he first arrived, he was clawing, scratching, and growling like an animal but with time he has become gentle and always wears a smile. He was brought to the center this week after school closed for the term, and was welcomed by just about every single nurse there. He was beaming with all the attention he was getting at his old “home”.

During the time that I was there at the center we played many games, and although I could see the pain that these children were living with I also saw their smiles. As cliche as it sounds, it was like when there is a rainy day but the sun breaks through the clouds and you can see a ray of sunlight despite the dreariness of the rest of the sky. The kids were struggling and you could see the sign of pain (burn marks, scars, thinned hair) but those smiles were able to break through. It was certainly a different experience of working with kids than I’ve been doing at school.

I also had the chance to visit some homes and schools that provide care for street kids, abandoned and neglected children, and kids living with HIV/AIDS. Each place was different in its own sense but all were filled with lots of happy kids. One home was originally for women living with HIV/AIDS and were allowed to bring their kids along. Walking inside that home you felt the despair of the women but the children were so well behaved and excited to have visitors. There was a little deaf girl that I got to communicate with. She, along with all of the other children, were shocked to see someone come in knowing her language. The school, which also served as the boarding place for children born with HIV/AIDS was full of crazy energy as kids jumped around and ran all over. It was hard to tell any of the kids were even sick at all. I’m assuming that since the school was geared towards kids with HIV/AIDS, ARVs and other medications were available to help keep these children healthy and strong. The third home we went to was quite amazing. A couple from America that had adopted many, many children in the States decided it was time to pack up and head to Kenya to start adopting children here. The house that they built was nice compared to Kenyan standards and was full of rooms and things to keep kids busy. All of the children at this point are under the age of 5 but will remain with this couple until they are able to go out on their own. The children speak the most perfect English, no hint of a Kenyan accent. They were smart, mannerly, and the most well behaved kids I’ve interacted with since being here. It’s amazing what having caring, attentive, loving parents can do for children. These parents are obviously doing something right. All of the children were either found on the streets next to dumpsters, or in the hospital, or anywhere else a parent could discretely leave their child. Several had disabilities such as cerebral palsy, autism, and scoliosis but with proper attention had been able to develop in a way that if this couple hadn’t found them they probably would never gotten to. If my teachers at school saw these kids they would say “Oh, these children aren’t Kenyan....a Kenyan child needs to be caned, a Kenyan child can’t be this smart at such a young age, these disabled children will never make it”. None of these children were fighting each other at all....a clear sign that fighting is not an innate characteristic of Kenyan children like I’ve been told, but, in fact, a learned one...maybe because of caning????? Anyways, seeing this couple and all of their children just inspired me all the more....as if I needed more inspiration to keep on doing what I’m doing here!

Well, as I get ready to travel for the next month I probably won’t be able to update much so be prepared for a big old post at the end of August. I would post my itinerary but as I’ve said I’m giving up on planning! The vague agenda includes a Girls’ Leadership Camp for one week, training at the coast for one week, studying for and taking the GRE for a week and then heading to Zanzibar, Tanzania for pure vacation with Lauren Dave, my friend from Claxton Elementary all the way up to NCSU.

Also, I’m going to copy and paste the e-mail I have sent out to all my family and friends that I have e-mail addresses for. I want to make sure this gets out to absolutely everybody I know, so if you’ve seen it before via e-mail or Facebook sorry for the repetitiveness but I’m sure you understand the urgency of getting this message out in as many ways as I can. If you are reading this and are not receiving e-mails from me when I send out updates please send me an e-mail so that I can get you on my list! Thanks!

Friends and family,

As I’m winding up my second term of teaching here in Mundika at the School for the Deaf I’m really starting to feel more secure with the work I’m doing and how I’m going about it. Before leaving for my Peace Corps service back in October of last year many people were asking me what other little projects I would be doing alongside of teaching. These secondary projects are encouraged by Paace Corps and are meant to help our communities as much as we can in the small amount of time we have here. When asked what I was going to be doing outside of teaching I told many of you that I had vague ideas but wanted to feel out the needs of my school and community before diving in to something that I originally thought would work but ended up being irrelevant to what my community needs or would support long term.

After a few months of observation and feeling out my community I have witnessed just how many Deaf children are kept at home because their parents don’t have the money to pay their school fees or have a small sum of money but put it towards the education of their “normal” children. I’ve become frustrated with the neglect shown to these children that should be in school where their peers are communicating in a language that they could understand. The Deaf children that are still hidden away and not given the chance to develop their own language skills is a problem that needs to be taken care of desperately. It’s amazing to see the excitement on the students faces when they arrive at school after their month long break just knowing that they will finally be able to communicate with someone that understands them again.

With all this being said, at the moment I see the greatest need in my community is getting these children that are being hidden away into school where they can begin to grow in so many ways. What seems like little dollars to you and me can get these children back into school, give them meals that they often don’t get at home because of those same reasons I mentioned above (the child with special needs not getting the attention, food, financial support that the other children receive), and give them a sense of community that they don’t experience anywhere else. At Mundika School for the Deaf each child is to pay 3,000 Kenyan shillings to board at school for the three month term. This equates into just under $30.00 per student.

I come to you asking that if you are at all able to send any money to help get these children in school so that they can begin developing their language skills, as well as their social skills and obtain the education that they so deserve, I, along with the teachers, students, and other adults in Mundika that care for these kids would greatly appreciate it.

My dad has been taking care of my finances while I’m away and I have asked him to put any donations given into one of my accounts that I have easy access to while I am here. I guarantee you that ever penny you send is going straight to getting these kids back in school. I am not giving the money to my school until the child is there. I know people have grown weary of donating money to Africa after hearing stories of the guys on top keeping a big portion of the donation. This money is purely coming through me to the school so there are no other expenses that this money will go towards.

If you are able, please send any amount you feel comfortable with. You can send checks made out to me, Anna Martin, to

12 Mayflower Drive

Asheville, NC 28804

My dad will deposit the money and when the time comes to start school again I will be going around to the various houses of the children who have been kept at home and tell them that they are able to return to school. I will continue to do this each term for as many kids as I’m able to help. If you are not able to give at this time, please help me out by sending this e-mail to any one you might know that would be able to help these children. If you are a student still, think about ways you might be able to do a small fundraiser. If now is not a good time for you I will be here for several more terms and there will always be a need.

I’ve been able to see some small children develop their language skills considerably as soon as they arrive. I’ve also seen some kids arrive at school for their first time at age 15 and see how hard it is to catch up but with the interaction with others they manage to do it. I don’t want to see these children stay at home during these critical learning years. Please, if you can, help these children out. They are incredible and at this time giving them the opportunity to learn with other children like them is the best thing that we all can do for them.

If you have any questions please e-mail me back and I will respond as quickly as I can. Thank you for all the support and encouragement you’ve given me all along and for all that you will continue sending this way. I’m thankful for each of you.

Anna Martin

Karibu Kenya, Jessie Odom!

2011-07-28T18:29:00.002+03:00

These past few weeks have been loaded with adventures! My friend from NCSU, Jessie Odom, came to visit me for ten days and we packed in as much as we possibly could into that short time. As much as I’ve learned to “chill out” with the obsessive planning I love to do, I still had my boat rocked a few times as the “Jessie’s Visit” plan got turned upside down several times at the 11th hour of several of our planned adventures. Thank goodness Jessie is a lot more easy going than I am and wasn’t bothered at all by the changes. As soon as she got into the country we headed back to my school where she was able to meet all my students and other teachers. Immediately they took to her giving her a sign name, teaching her some basic KSL and putting on a show for her. The girls did their signature dancing as they felt the beat of the drum through the vibrations in the ground, while some of the boys acted out little skits pertaining to HIV/AIDS and what it can lead to if one is not careful. I had never seen them put on quite a show and was quite impressed my the talents my kids showed.

Saturday, we were up early and headed to Kakamega National Forest, a very small rainforest here in Kenya. It reminded me of home- the coolness of a hike through a forest after a rain. What made me realize that I wasn’t at home, but was indeed in Kenya, were all the baboons and other various types of monkeys leaping from tree to tree. We ended up staying in a banda for the night, which is like your traditional African hut but was nicely furnished with two beds and some chairs. We were expecting to camp so had come with our sleeping bags, etc but couldn’t turn down staying in a really cool little hut. There were some other people around from various countries who we had dinner with. After dinner Jessie and I enjoyed roasting marshmallows with a box of matches that I had brought! The next day we enjoyed a few more hours of hiking and then headed back to my school. Jessie was able to enjoy the “welcome committee” that so graciously greets me every time I return from a trip, whether it be to the other side of the country or just down the road to the market. The 130 students raced to the gate to help us with our luggage and to give us handshakes and hugs. I think that was a wonderful moment for Jessie to experience.

Monday was a school day but it was examination time so I had no obligations at the school. We went to the Catholic Compound where we were able to see their shamba (farm), enjoy lunch with some of the sisters, visit the nursing home that they run, and see the new convent that they will be moving into very soon. As soon as that was over we went over to one of my teacher’s houses for dinner. He’d prepared quite a feast for us of various Kenyan dishes- chapati, matoke (mashed green bananas), groundnut soup, arrow root, dengu (green lentils), and bananas. It was wonderful for her to see what home life is like for someone here in the village.

That night, unfortunately, something didn’t settle well with my stomach and I was up all night. Fortunately, Jessie didn’t have any troubles. On Tuesday, I had to give out my KSL exam to my kids so Jessie watched as I did that but it only took about 30 minutes so there wasn’t too much exciting for her to see there. Later, we went into see Busia town, the border city that I am next to where I go for the supermarket, bank, post office and other errands. I have never been impressed with this city and neither was she. The only thing we really enjoyed was the bakery where we were able to get some semi decent cake and a cookie. That afternoon we just played more with the kids and planned for the remainder of her stay since I received a phone call from Peace Corps saying we couldn’t leave the school compound until school was officially closed on Thursday, even though no teaching was going to happen after that point and none of the other teachers would be coming back either. Instead of leaving on Wednesday and slowly making our way to Nairobi with several stops along the way, we had to take a day trip into Kisumu and come back to my school until Friday morning when we headed to Nakuru en route to Nairobi. It ended up working out just fine (it always does...I just like sticking to plans!). Our day trip to Kisumu was just enough time to take a “three hour tour” of Lake Victoria. We laughed about that with our tour guides but they didn’t quite understand the humor in it as much as we tried to explain “Gilligan’s Island”. It ended up being a beautiful tour of the largest lake in Africa, second largest in the world (Lake Superior being the “superior” one). We saw many types of birds, a herd of hippos, lots of vegetation, fishermen out working hard catching tilapia, omena (tiny little fish), and perch. Afterwards, we went to a little market where she are able to buy lots of handicrafts and African souvenirs. We finished in time to catch a bus back to my school and spend some more time with the kids. Thursday we had no plans since we were originally supposed to be out exploring so we spend the day having a photo shoot with the kids (pics are up on FB). They had so much fun just taking my camera and shooting pictures of everyone else. It was a lot of fun for them and for us. That evening we had one of the house mamas, Millie, who I am really close with, come and teach Jessie how to make chapati. We made enough for all the kids to have some as well. Chapati is a treat for anyone, but especially the students. That night was another rough night for me which made for a long journey on Friday.

Friday we headed out before the sun came up to make our way to Nakuru. It took almost the entire day. When we got there we found a hotel, quite possibly the sketchiest hotel I’ve ever stayed in. It was dirty, dark, old, smelly...just awful! We stayed away from the room as long as we could, exploring the town and enjoying a pizza at one of the more decent restaurants. When the sun set, we reluctantly headed back to the room where we just laughed about the situation and talked about how we couldn’t wait to tell our kids about the things we’ve gotten ourselves into on our different trips to various countries. We slept in our clothes on top of the grungy beds and slept with one eye open until it was finally time to head out for our safari at Lake Nakuru National Park. It made up for the night. We were at the park for six hours enjoying the African scenery that Kenya is so famous for, the animals (lions, baboons, giraffes, water buffalo, impala, gazelle, rhinos, flamingoes, storks, pelicans, etc.). It was incredible! For me, even, it has been since my last trip to Kenya six years ago since I saw all of those animals. It’s not like they roam through the villages like so many people assume. Yes, they do romp through some areas from time to time, but not in the way that people have come to believe through books and movies.

After the safari, we headed towards Nairobi, where we stayed with my friend Patrick from my last trip to Kenya. We showed Jessie Nairobi, the part of Kenya that is not what people expect at all. Full of coffee shops, malls, movie theaters, and good restaurants, anyone who passes through Nairobi would hardly know they were in an African city.

The next morning I said goodbye to Jessie as she flew home and I headed towards Eldoret to stay with Dr. Lawrence and Dale again. I love my kiddos but I also love my vacation time where I get to explore this beautiful country I live in.