Dirty Laundry

Washing clothes in my courtyard

When it comes to laundry and doing it the Kenyan way, Sister Jane, one of the Sisters of Notre Dame, says, "It's all part of the experience." So this is what I tell myself when work has to be done. If I want to live in Kenya, I must do it the Kenyan way.

Every weekend I gather my dirty clothes in the morning and take them out to the courtyard to wash. Although sleeping in always crosses my mind, the thought of having clean, dry clothes always gets me out of bed. As with many things in Kenya, laundry is done all by hand. I start by getting a wash basin and a bucket filled with rain water, laundry detergent, a bar of soap, and also a stool, because I know it’s going to take awhile. I have to pour the water for the basin and bucket through a strainer to remove all of the bugs, leaves, dirt, and debris. The basin is used for washing while the bucket is used for rinsing. I add a small handful of detergent to my wash basin before I begin.

Kenyan washing machine

Washing clothes by hand is a lot of work and it really gives my hands a workout. My shirts tend to be fairly easy to clean, but my pants seem to be a magnet for stains when I walk along the dirt roads. I use a bar of soap and lots of scrubbing to get out any stubborn stains. I can usually get the stains out of my pants, but nearly all of my white socks are permanently stained with red Kenyan soil.

When I am finished washing my clothes I make sure to wring them out thoroughly and place them in the rinse bucket. Despite my best efforts, by my second or third shirt, the rinse bucket usually is just as sudsy as the wash basin. After rinsing, I must again wring my clothes out thoroughly to lessen the time they will take to dry.

Kenyan automatic clothes dryer

I will then hang my clothes on a line in my courtyard to dry. In Kenya, there is very little privacy when it comes to laundry and nearly anyone at the parish has an opportunity to see everything I wear inside or out of the house, including my underwear. The sun at the equator can be very intense, especially around 12-noon. So I turn my shirts inside out to prevent them from fading or bleaching. When they do eventually dry, if I haven’t completely rinsed the soap out of my clothes, they will become stiff and will feel like sandpaper against my skin.

Early morning is the best time to do laundry because it allows the most time for the clothes to dry in the sun. Usually I try to do my laundry on Sunday just before church. After a 3-hour mass at St. Teresa, most of the drying will already be done by the time I get home.

Once I have finally finished my laundry and it becomes almost completely dry on the line sometimes it will rain and soak them all over again. On those days, I must pray that I have something else to wear! "It's all part of the experience."

Malava Market

Vendors line up along the roadside at the Malava Market

Every Friday is Market Day in Malava. It all begins just after the sun comes up. Many people come from miles around to sell fruits, vegetables, clothes, shoes, hardware, and more. The vendors will sometimes walk many kilometers in the darkness of the early morning from the surrounding villages to make their journey to Malava. They all want to be ready when the village wakes up. No daylight is wasted.

The market begins around 6AM along the roadside just north of the main intersection in my village. Some of the vendors have simple stands made from any available pieces of wood, but others will simply lay a blanket on the ground to display what they are selling.

Fruits and vegetables are always very popular on market day. Some fruits and vegetables, such as bananas, mangoes, tomatoes, and onions can be available any day of the week, but the selection is always better on market day. Then there are some foods that are only available on market day like dried fish, fresh garlic, or roasted groundnuts.

Secondhand clothes for sale at the market

Clothes and shoes are also sold on market day. Shirts or pants can be seen neatly displayed on the ground or on hangers, but mostly they are found in a large heap that requires the buyer to dig and sort. There is usually a man shouting the prices over a blaring loudspeaker that can be heard from anywhere in the village center. He speaks so loud and fast the he reminds me of an auctioneer. Most of the clothes are sold secondhand. One element of irony that one vendor made me aware of is that most of the used clothes are donated to Kenya from the United States, and now I have come from the United States to buy them back from Kenya. I think, if I ever buy any used clothes, I may just try to donate them back to Kenya before I leave. Or, to save on shipping, I just may ask someone back home to donate any clothes I might need this year to Africa and then I’ll just pick them up at the market.

My new tire sandals

There are a few styles of dress shoes and sandals available, it only takes finding the right size. I have recently bought a pair of the only custom fit sandals available in Malava. They are made out of pieces of old tires. The vendor cut the straps to fit the size of my feet and used nails to secure them to the soles. He then cut each sole with a very sharp knife to the exact size of each foot. They are a perfect fit. My pair were made out of Firestone car tires, for 50 “bob” (50 shillings), but some nicer pairs are made out of Goodyear tractor tires and can run almost 500 “bob” (500 shillings). So far I have already had a few complements on my sandals and one villager says that I look like a white member of the Maasai tribe.

One item that is surprisingly very popular for dress shoes is Kiwi brand shoe polish. Walking on the dusty roads in Malava, it’s hard to believe that anyone would even attempt to maintain the shine on their shoes. It seems hopeless to me, but then again the dusty road is probably the reason why it is so popular.

At the market, there are no price tags on anything. Whether you are buying an imitation Sony radio, tiny minnow-sized fish called omena, or a Bob Marley t-shirt, the price is always negotiable. At first, before I got used to bargaining for everything, it was a very confusing. I didn’t know how much to pay for anything. I had no idea how to tell what anything was worth. Many times after buying something I would find that I paid almost double what the item was worth. In doing so, sometimes it has made bargaining more difficult for me because I have already shown some vendors that I can afford to overpay. But worst of all, has been the pain and humiliation of facing the laughter of my friends and co-workers when I told them how much I spent.

Ryan, my roommate, is bargaining with a vendor.

Bargaining is everywhere in Malava, and probably most of Kenya, with few exceptions. Although sometimes I wonder how much bargaining the locals really do. All of the locals already know the lowest price to pay for anything and are unwilling to pay more, but tourists or missionaries aren’t always so sharp. Many times foreigners will pay what is called the “mzungu price.” This simply means the higher (sometimes a lot higher) price. It comes from the perception that a white person can afford to pay more for an item and therefore will be charged more for just about anything.

This is why it has become increasingly important for me to develop very good bargaining skills.

Nairobi - The Big City

Nairobi skyscrapers

When I first came to Kenya, about two months ago, I stayed in Nairobi for a week and had the chance to experience this big city.


Nairobi is both the capital of Kenya and it’s largest city. Nairobi has the highest urban population in East Africa at between 3 and 4 million people. The city was founded in 1899 and in 1901 it became the capital of the British colony after the former capital, Mombasa. Unfortunately, almost all of the colonial-era buildings have been replaced by bland modern office buildings following Kenya’s independence in 1963. Nairobi is a relatively new city and almost all of the buildings have been built in the last 100 years.
Before the 1890s the whole area on which Nairobi now stands was an isolated swamp. It was after, that the East African Railway established a depot on the land at the edge of a small stream. The Maasai, a prominent tribe in East Africa, called the small stream uaso Nairobi, meaning “cold water.” In 1998 the US embassy on Moi Avenue was bombed by militants linked to Osama bin Laden killing more than 200 Kenyans. Four suspects were convicted, but lenient sentences and a meager compensation still anger many Kenyans today.

Kenya's National Conference Center in Nairobi.

Nairobi is very modern compared to the rural villages and has rush hour traffic and skyscraper buildings. Many of the things that we take for granted in the United States can also be found readily available, such as running water, electricity, post cards, pizza, and ice cream. At first glance, it is a very cluttered city. There is a lot going on in a relatively small space. The buildings, traffic, and people seem to be stacked on top of one another. In Nairobi, unlike the rural villages, the streets are named and have signs to label them. The two major streets are Kenyatta and Moi Avenues, named after the first and second presidents of Kenya. Street names tend to be preferred for giving directions over the landmark and fingering-point approach used in the villages. But don’t let this fool you into believing that there is any kind order.

Nairobi matatus are the most outrageous in Kenya.

The streets are congested with cars, trucks, buses, and matatus. Matatus are easily the most popular and most outrageous form of travel in Kenya. The traffic seems to flow wherever there is a space on the ground that nobody is using, even the sidewalks. There are lanes painted on the streets, but it seems rare that anybody uses them. Standard traffic is full of near misses until there is an accident. In the midst of all this chaos, there always seems to be at least one car with a student driver. Surprisingly, there are many driving schools in Nairobi. It’s hard to believe that behind such madness there is actually a learned method.

In Nairobi, there are also many high-class hotels and exotic places to eat. The Norfolk Hotel, built in 1904, is the city’s oldest and was the place to stay in colonial days. While on the southern outskirts, the Carnivore restaurant serves all-you-can-eat nyama choma or “barbecued meat” where one can taste camel, ostrich, or crocodile.

Nakumatt is the "Wal-Mart" of Kenya.

Downtown Nairobi contains many restaurants, shops, and cyber-cafés. The various restaurants offer Kenyan, Ethiopian, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Italian, and Western-style American food. The shops are many, but the obvious stand-out is the huge Nakumatt Supermarket, which is very similar to America’s Wal-Mart. It proudly carries the slogan, “You need it, We’ve got it.” The cyber-cafés are popular and scattered throughout the city. Internet access is a standard 1Ksh (Kenyan shilling) per minute, roughly $1 US per hour.

The National Archives in Nairobi

The City Center contains the National Archives, official Parliamentary buildings, and also the residence and offices of President Mwai Kibaki. One heavily guarded building contains the tomb of Jomo Kenyatta, Kenya's first President.

The Holy Family Basilica Cathedral

Lastly, I visited the Holy Family Basilica Cathedral in Nairobi and while I wasn’t there for mass, I was told that it is much like it is in the States. Mass on Sunday is offered at many times and is in English and only lasts one hour. This alone is very different from the churches in the rural villages.

Holy Family Basilica Cathedral Interior

Eulogy for a Chicken

2007 - 2007

Malaika, my hen, sadly died on Sunday, February 25, 2007. On Saturday morning, she refused to go out in the field with Rafiki, my rooster, to find food. She stayed all day in the chicken house and began to cough, as chickens do when they are sick. I was told by Maurice, the parish cook and grounds keeper, that she caught an intestinal bacteria and there was not much I could do, but to kill her. I was not willing to accept this and on Sunday I went to a veterinary medicine shop, in Kakamega, a half hour away, to buy chicken medicine. When I returned to the chicken house with the medicine she had already passed away.

So the Lord God formed out of the ground

various wild animals and various birds of the air,

and he brought them to the man to see what

he would call them; whatever he called them

would be their name.
Genesis 2:19

"I will call you Malaika."

Malaika you were a good chicken. You always let me pet you when Rafiki would run away. You always remained calm and did not get excited over petty things. You ate what I fed you and did not turn your head to complain. You would never bite the hand that fed you. You treated Rafiki as a friend and kept him company in the field and helped to show him the way home at night. You were a strong chicken and stood up for yourself when Rafiki would try to steal your food. You were a very modest chicken and did not feel the need to stand tall in the morning and announce your presence to the world, as many roosters do. But this does not mean that you have gone unnoticed. Your name means “Angel” and so you were, on Earth. But now you have gone to Chicken Heaven, and there, a much greater Angel you will be. Goodbye Malaika. You will not be forgotten. Rafiki and I will miss you.

St. Julie Centre - Week 6

Bevan has cerebral palsy and uses the tricycle for play therapy.

I have now been given the position of Volunteer Supervisor at the St. Julie Centre for Disabled Children. It's very strange that I have only been at the Centre about one month and now I am a supervisor. I have never worked with disabled children before, I know almost nothing about physical therapy, and I am not fluent in Swahili. I even have trouble remembering many of the names of the children or even the names of some of my co-workers. I've only been in the country about a month....and did I mention, I'm a supervisor. I'm not quite sure what to think of it. Should I be honored? Frightened? Both?

Work at the Centre has been intense to say the least. I arrive at about 8:30 in the morning and greet David and Angela, the local occupational therapists, but there is usually only time for a brief chat with them before the parents and children start coming in the door.
As they come up the ramp to the Centre I quickly stand from my child-size chair and greet each parent and child with a hand shake, and a "Habari asubuhi!" (Good morning!). Greetings in Kenya, I am told, are very important and I try my best to make a good impression. All are very polite, but some are so surprised to see a mzungu (white person) that appears to speak their local language, that they often can't help but laugh. Many times I also am surprised, but more so by their reaction than I being white, that I will go back and sit down in my chair without asking for the name of their child.

Bridgit has Down's Syndrome and is playing with a doll to help her socialization.

There are now over 100 children that come to the Centre and have disabilities as a result of birth defects, diseases, and also nerve damage due to improperly given injections. Some of the disabilities that are brought into the Center are club foot, cerebral palsy, Down's syndrome, epilepsy, spina bifida, mental retardation, hydrocephalus, microcephalus, and foot drop. Their are also some children that receive transportation to and from the hospital for surgery to correct cleft lip, cleft palette, and various eye conditions.

Samson has spina bifida and kicks a soccer ball for play therapy.

The Centre provides both occupational and play therapy. Occupational Therapy is done by the therapists, David and Angela, and can be a massage or exercise that increases brain and nerve stimulation. The children may also have plaster casts or plastic braces made for their feet and legs to ensure that they will grow straight. The last part of occupational therapy is always a swing in the "hammock" or tire swing to increase balance and stimulate the senses.

Aizan has a speech disability and uses the hammock "tire swing" to stimulate his senses.

It is my job to keep a record of each child's visit and also to update their files for play therapy. I will ask the parent in Swahili, "Jina la mtoto ni nani?" (What is the name of the child?) Then I will record it and see if the child already has a file from a previous visit to the Center. A file includes information about a child's specific disability and can help when choosing a toy for play therapy.

Benjamin is hemiplegic and uses the soccer ball to increase muscle control.

Children that have trouble walking may get a toy that stimulates gross motor control and will be encouraged to use the parallel bars, the push cart, or the tricycle. Those that have trouble using their hands may get a toy that stimulates fine motor control and be encouraged to fit wooden pegs into holes or thread beads on a string. The one's that have problems standing or sitting will be encouraged to use the child safety seats or the standing box. While the one's that have problems with focusing or attention will get a toy that makes noise, play songs, or have flashing lights. Lastly, the children that have problems learning to talk will get a toy that stimulates oral motor control and be encouraged to blow bubbles or play a harmonica.

The children at the Centre can have many varying disabilities. Many can be very active and will run, scream, shout, cry, or laugh. However, there are also many that display very little movement beyond the blinking of their eyes. These children can show very little or no emotion at all. It can be challenging to work with either extreme, but many times, in one day, I will work with both children that are hyper-active and will not sit still and also children that can barely move and are confined to a child seat. Some days can really be a rollercoaster!

Ash Wednesday

A Kenyan girl with ashes on her forehead.

“One does not live on bread alone,
but by every word that comes forth
from the mouth of God.”

Matthew 4:4

Mandazi (Kenyan donuts)

For all you Catholics out there, once again it is Ash Wednesday and the Lenten season has begun. We now have forty days and forty nights of fasting before Easter Sunday on April 8th. As part of my fasting, I have given up soda and mandazi (Kenyan donuts). In a hopeless attempt to get craving them out of my system, this week I ate at least five mandazi and for Mardi Gras, yesterday night, I had to rush out and buy some more soda. I drank Coke, Sprite, and Blackcurrant (grape) Fanta soda. In Kenya, most of the soda is still sold in the original glass bottles. It’s so good!

Priestly Ordination

Newly Ordained Priests

The procession

The Bishop

On Friday, this past weekend I was invited by Sister Jane, one of the Sisters of Notre Dame, to her cousin's priestly ordination. I have never been to an ordination in the States, so I'm not sure how it compares, but in Kenya it's a very big deal. Sister Jane's cousin is now known as the Reverend Father Chris Mukakha Walfula. He was ordained this past weekend along with two other priests and two deacons.

The ordination took place at the Catholic parish of Sirisia in the town of Busia (about 2 hours from Malava). The celebration began with a mass led by the local bishop that lasted 5 hours long. Thousands of people from many towns and villages came to celebrate so the mass was held outdoors. Most of the people traveled many hours on foot just to get to the parish. Tents and chairs were put up for the soon-to-be priests along with distinguished guests, family, and friends. All others had to sit on the ground with only the trees to shade them from the hot sun. During the mass there was lots of dancing and singing, speeches were given, a lengthy homily, and, of course, the consecration of the body and blood of Christ. Even the Kenyan Boyscouts were there to ceremonially raise and lower the Kenyan flag.

Throughout the celebration the newly ordained priests and deacons were treated like celebrities. It seemed like they were constantly followed by their own paparazzi. There was a small crew of men with cameras and digital video equipment trying to capture every moment. The locals that could afford to have a camera were also taking pictures. Those that had cameras had the large, very simple, 35mm, point-and-shoot cameras that were very popular in the U.S. about 15 years ago. Except for the video crew, no one had a digital camera. When I took mine out to take these pictures I got many stares from adults and children. Although many didn't own them, the people seemed to be very familiar with the concept of how a digital camera took pictures. I wondered if it had everything to do with tourism. The people, especially the children, love to have their pictures taken so that they can see themselves on the small screen.

After the mass the singing and dancing continued for hours. Local musicians set up handmade instruments and played music for the crowds. Traditional Kenyan food was also served along with Coke and Fanta soda.

Local musicians playing handmade instruments.

Sister Jane who has been to many ordinations is very keen on what happens. She told me how it works. Many people get distracted by the dancing, the singing, and the musicians. Then when they finally make their way to the food line, it's very long and in many cases the food runs out before everyone has eaten. Knowing this we both headed straight for the food. We where nearly first in line and filled our plates fast with rice, beef, chicken, potatoes, ugali (maize meal porridge), and sukuma wiki (kale). As we sat and ate on plastic chairs in the shade we watched the line growing quickly. We both looked up from our plates, mouths full and chewing, when Sister Jane explained once again, "That's what happens when you go to dance!"

Newly Ordained Reverend Father Chris Mukakha Walfula celebrating his first mass.

The large crowd at the Rev. Father Chris' first celebrated mass.

Later on Sunday, we attended Sister Jane's cousin's first celebrated mass.

Kuku Day!

My newly bought chickens and I on Kuku day.

In my small village of Malava every Wednesday and Friday is Kuku Day. If you know your Swahili you'll know that "kuku" means "chicken." All of the farmers that raise chickens gather together just off of the main crossroads in the marketplace and show them off to all who pass by, even those who have no intention of buying a chicken. Who knows, for the right price maybe they'll change your mind.

Many of the chickens arrive by bicycle and are stuffed many into a small wooden cage on the back. Chickens in Kenya seem to be seen as a mere commodities and are not given any animal rights. The chickens' legs are tied together so they will not run away and when hung upside down, the legs provide a handle for carrying them. A potential buyer may also hang a chicken upside to see that it is not sick. If the chicken is sick a liquid will drain from its nostrils and beak.

Many farmers want to make a quick sale and when they see that someone is interested there is stiff competition between those that can offer the right bird at the right price. As with nearly everything that can be bought here there is an "African price" and a "Mzungu price." Mzungus (white people) are always preceived to have a lot of money and so they tend to pay the highest prices for anything that can be bargained for...and chickens are no exception.

In Kenya, chicken is considered to be one of the finest foods and this is reflected in the high price for chicken in the restaurants. Surprisingly chicken is even more expensive than beef.

I have been thinking for a couple of weeks now that it would be good to have a couple of chickens on hand. They could always be slaughtered and eaten, but I was thinking more that they would make good pets and that I would always have fresh eggs for breakfast.

One Friday David, the Occupational Therapist that I work with at the St. Julie Center, met me at the market to help me get the best price on a couple of kukus. David is a Kenyan and was able to help me get an "African price." I ended up paying 430 Ksh for a rooster and a hen, just a hair over 6 dollars US. Not too shabby.

I brought them home and now they live in my courtyard. The rooster is named Rafiki (Friend) and the hen is Malaika (Angel). They are both a little young and will not be crowing in the morning or laying eggs for several weeks. Rafiki has not yet grown the comb on his head for which a rooster is most recognized. For this reason many people have mistaken him for a hen. They are both white with a similar pattern of black on their tails and as many other chickens in

Kenya are completely brown or black, I like to joke about them being mzungu chickens. We all seem perfectly suited for each other.

Rafiki looks like a hen, but clearly has the manners of a rooster. He gets excited quickly and does not care to be petted. He seems very proud of himself, for no reason at all, and struts along a ladder that is laying down in the courtyard.

Malaika sitting calmly and Rafiki standing proud.

Malaika is calm most of the time and doesn't mind being petted. She seems very modest and spends most of her time sitting and clucking. When food is present she is clearly "the boss" and will peck at Rafiki to get the first bite.

Malaika and Rafiki sitting together.

I let them out in the morning to find food in the field out back and have trained them to come home at night. When they come home separately, one will wait for the other and then they will sit together on the ladder and sleep throughout the night.


They are the perfect Kenyan pets!

Kenya Facts

The Kenyan flag was adopted on December 12, 1963.

The colors, shield, and spears are those of the Maasi warrior.

The Republic of Kenya is located in East Africa. It is crossed horizontally by the equator and vertically by the 38th meridian (east). It is bordered in the north by Ethiopia and The Sudan, on the west by Uganda and Lake Victoria, on the south by Tanzania, and on the east by the Indian Ocean and Somalia.
Kenya's boundaries came about through rivalries between colonial European powers and contain many ethnically diverse people who are independent and proud of their cultural heritage. Kenyans are also aware of the need for a strong national identity and many groups are willing to come together and unite to make this possible.
Since Kenya's independence in 1963, the government has rallied the people under the national motto of "Harambee," or "Pulling together."
Postcolonial development has been a communal effort based on the principle of self-help. In this way the republic has tried to strengthen its traditional agricultural base as a foundation for industrialization. It also continues to promote tourism, for the beauty and variety of Kenya's landscape, the pleasant and sunny climate, and the impressive dances and music of its people.

Kenya Facts

Population(est): (2005) 33,830,000
Area: 224,961 square miles (582,646 square kilometres).
Largest Cities:
Nairobi (Capital)
Mombasa
Kisumu
Nakuru
Eldoret

Motto: "Harambee, " or "Pulling Together"

Languages:
Swahili
English
tribal languages
Government:
Republic (gained independance from the British Empire in 1963)
President:
Mwai Kibaki
Religion:
Protestant 45%
Roman Catholic 33%
Muslim 10%
Traditional Religions 10%
Hindu, Jainism, and Baha'i 2%
Tribes:

Akamba

Borana

El-Molo

Gabbra

Gusii

Kalenjin

Kikuyu

Luhya

Luo

Maasai

Meru

Pokot

Rendille

Samburu

Somali

Crops:
Sugar Cane
Tea
Maize (Corn)
Sukuma wiki (Kale)
Beans
Potatoes
Bananas
Pineapples
Mangoes
Plums
Papayas
Guava
Passion Fruit
Music:
Lingala (upbeat party music guitar and drums)
Benga (contemporary Kenyan dance music)
Taarab (originated as Swahili wedding music)
Raggae
Hip-Hop
Rap
Sports:
Football (Soccer) National Team - The Harambee Stars
Rallying (Off-road racing)
Rugby
Cricket
Boxing
* Kenya has announced it's intention host the Olympics in 2016.
It would be the first African country ever to host the Olympics.
Athletes:
Paul Tergat - Marathon world record holder
Catherine Ndereba - Four-time winner of the Boston Marathon
Films:
The Constant Gardener
Nowhere in Africa
Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life
To Walk With Lions
Karen Blixen's Out of Africa
Born Free
Price Ranges:
$1.00 US = 70 Ksh (Kenya Shillings)
1 Litre of petrol (gasoline) = +/- 70 Ksh
1 bottle of Tusker Beer = 70 Ksh
1 bottle of Coke = 16 Ksh
1 Daily Nation newspaper = 35 Ksh
1 pineapple = 30
1 apple = 25 Ksh
1 bag sukuma wiki (feeds 3 people) = 10 Ksh
1 bag maize flour (feeds many) = 55 Ksh
1 meal (restuarant) = 100 - 200 Ksh
1 meal (home) = 50 - 100 Ksh
1 pirated DVD (containing 5-6 new movies) = 150 - 300 Ksh
1 Toyota Hi-lux / yr 2000 (4WD Pick-up) = 680,000 Ksh
Experiencing Kenya first-hand = PRICELESS!!!

Burgled!

My front door and all its locks across from the kitchen.

My first week in the house I learned a very important lesson. Lock the kitchen door at night.

Every morning I have to ask myself the same question before I can leave the house and go to work. "Where the heck did I put my keys!" I have three sets of keys that I have to carry with me when I leave the house. I have a key to my bedroom door, two keys for the front door, one key for the security bars on the front door, one key for the kitchen, and one key for the gate to the courtyard. Here in Kenya many of the smallest tasks can take a considerable amount of time and securing a house is no exception. Many times when I am leaving for work I will go outside and make sure everything is locked up tight and then it occurs to me that I have forgotten something in the house and I have to go through each batch of keys that I have and unlock all of the locks to get into the house in order to retrieve it. Then I have to repeat the whole procedure to relock the house before I can leave the second time. It's always AFTER I've locked up everything that I remember that I've forgotten something, never BEFORE. Appearently, Murphy's Law applies in Kenya too.

My kitchen is in a separate building across the courtyard about thirty steps from the house. Just to get up in the morning and go into the kitchen to make something to eat for breakfast it requires three keys and the unlocking of four locks. I lock up before I go to work, I unlock when I get home for work, and I relock after dinner before I go in for the night. Sometimes when I lock up and go in for the night, I get into my pajamas and get ready to brush my teeth... Then I remember that we don't have any water in the house and it's all stored in the kitchen. You guessed it... I have to find the keys (usually still in my pants pocket, but could be anywhere by this time), unlock two locks on the door, unlock the security bars, walk across the courtyard in my pajamas through the gauntlet of Malaria mosquitoes, unlock the kitchen door, get the water, then do it all in reverse. So you see it can be a pain sometimes.

My new two-burner gas stove.

What I have been leading up to is the night that I forgot to lock the kitchen. We had some of the other volunteers over for dinner that night and we were in and out of the kitchen so many times that I thought it would be easier just to keep it unlocked for the time being. Later we went into the house and when night fall came I still had not locked the kitchen. I went to bed that night with out any worries. When I went into the kitchen the next morning I found the door open and many things scattered about the room, but the worst of it was that somebody had come into my kitchen and stolen our two-burner gas stove.

At first I got angry over the situation. I almost felt as if the hospitality that I have been shown by the Kenyan people to this point was all phoney. As if they had plotted to steal my stove all along. But later it was explained to me that the Kenyan people did not see it this way. They did not hate Americans. They only saw that we had a lot and they had a little. And that we could probably afford to buy another stove. Whereas it would take them several weeks or even months to be able to afford what we probably didn't appreciate anyway. Sometimes I can forget that I am the foreigner. I have come into their country...and I really should have locked the kitchen.

I soon got over it and bought a new stove and the supermarket. It cost me a whole 2,200 Ksh (Kenyan Shillings) which is the equivalent of $31.00 US.

...and now I've learned to keep the kitchen locked at night.

RATS!!!

My house at St. Teresa's has...how do you say...a little bit of a rat problem. To put it bluntly, my ceiling is infested with many, many rats! I didn't just find this out today. In fact, I knew this before I even left the States...and yes I still came here. I suppose there must be a greater power working inside me. Every night while I am lying in bed I can hear what sounds like hippos playing shuffleboard on pogosticks across my ceiling. Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little, but you get the point. They're loud!!! The good news is that they are not, I repeat, NOT in the house. But please don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm more amused by it than anything. Somehow they find, or chew, a hole into the roof outside and then they make themselves at home in my ceiling.

Up until now I was just hearing them, but today was the first day that I actually saw a rat. In fact I saw many rats...

There wasn't much going on today after work so I sat reading in the sitting room. The front door was open for the breeze. I looked up from my book (C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce) when I started to hear the pitter-patter of something running through the rain gutters. That's when I saw them through my door. They weren't that big, but still they were big enough and were followed by their long and thick, hairless tails. This is when I began to investigate. While outside, the rats were nowhere to be seen. I took a walk around the courtyard and found what looked like a hornet's nest hanging from one corner of the roof, made of red soil. This is when I though it would be a good idea to knock it down. The last thing I need is hornets in my courtyard. So I grabbed a long mop handle from the house and began hitting the nest to break it apart. Pieces of dried red soil began to fall to the ground and revealed a hole leading into the roof. This was when along with the soil many baby rats began falling out of the roof as well. They kept coming until there where at least five or six of them. It was pretty disgusting. They were only babies and they couldn't run away so I swept them up and took them out in a field far far away. I hope that is the last I will see of them. But as for their parents, who are still in the ceiling, they will be feasting on rat poison very soon.

UPDATE
I have since had rat poison put into my ceiling and I have seen my first victim. The poison I am using is called Storm and it's pretty brilliant. When ingested the rats become very thristy and come out of the roof to find water. Shortly after they find themselves "belly-up" outside, and not in my ceiling. Poor buggers!!!

The Slums

When my plane first landed in Nairobi and I stayed with the Sisters at St. Mary's Parish in Nairobi I made a huge mistake. The area where St. Mary's is located is called Racecourse. I made the huge mistake of thinking that Racecourse was a slum. When I stayed there security was a big issue and I had to sleep in a room that had to be locked at all times. Racecourse is where Arielle and Sandy are staying and since I knew that they would be working with street children I assumed that they would be living in a slum. Racecourse has many people that work from simple kiosks made of wood and sheet metal and the roads are littered with potholes, but it is not a slum. In fact, Racecourse is actually a middle-class area and most of the people do fairly well. I finally realized this when I got to visit an actual slum. Before I came to my small village, we four volunteers had the opportunity to visit the slums of Mukuru and Kibera. It is mind-boggling that there are people that live in this world in such extreme poverty. It is something that should be seen by everybody. It made me take a step back and think about the world we live in. It made me think about everything I have been given in my life. Why are some given so much and others given so little? God only knows.

Mukuru

We were guided through the slums of Mukuru by a Kenyan woman named Maria and it was like we were in a completely different Africa. This was not the Africa that you see in the movies or on postcards. This was not the Africa of safaris and adventure. There were no picturesque mud huts, golden grassy plains, exotic animals, or people singing joyous praises to God in Swahili. This was the Africa that nobody wants to see. This was the Africa that nobody wants to hear about.

A family in the slums of Mukuru.

The people live in tightly packed, ramshackled houses made of wood and metal and sit out front to sell things to those who pass by. Some sold inexpensive things to eat while others sold secondhand clothes or shoes to wear. Nothing seemed new or of any real value. Nobody seemed to laugh or smile.

The streets of the Mukuru slum.

We crossed over a wooden bridge under which ran a dirty river that was filled with trash. This river was the people's source for water. This river was used for drinking, bathing, washing clothes and also as a drain for toilets. We walked along the dirt roads between the simple houses and where met with stares from the people. We could have been aliens from another planet. It was not often that a mzungu (white person) would visit the slums. Occasionally children would come out to greet us with their smiles and laughter. They seemed to be the only ones whose spirits were not effected by this place. There was a narrow canal dug into the roadside only about six inches deep that contained an awful smelling sludge. This canal was the plumbing and sewage system. In most areas the sewage would not drain, but only sat stagnant baking in the sun. It was strongly recommended to us earlier that we wear shoes, not sandles and now we knew why. In some areas the canal would overflow spilling sewage onto the open street.

Children smiling in the Mukuru slum.

As we made our way through the Mikuru slum I felt compelled to take pictures but in a place like this it's always a risk. I wanted to take pictures so that I could remember this moment, but also so that I could show everybody back home the desparate situation in Africa. I took a few pictures as discretely as I could knowing that nearly every eye on the street was pointed at me. When taking a picture of a specific person it is always important to ask permission first. Many don't want their picture taken or will want money in return. Not only can taking pictures in the slums offend some of the residents, but also having a nice camera can show that you are wealthy and you can be mugged.

Mukuru Primary School grounds.

Mukuru Primary School Classroom.

Children and I at Mukuru Primary School.

At some point on our tour, Maria brought us to the Mukuru Primary School. It is an elementary school that exists right in the middle of the slums. We stepped through a metal doorway and the crowded slums opened up into a large school ground with children laughing, running and playing. If the slums were a desert, this primary school was the oasis. Once again we were surrounded by many children wanting to shake our hands and ask, "How are you?" We were taken, by a young man named Gasper, into nearly every classroom where we introduced ourselves and the children looked at us in amazement. The children that were unsupervised jump out of their desk and ran to the front of the classroom. We were celebrities. It was a very enjoyable moment in sharp contrast to only moments before.... It was very hard to believe that we were still in the slums.

Kibera

Kibera rooftops that seem to go on forever.

People walk along the railroad tracks in the Kibera slum.

Kibera is argueably the largest slum in Africa. Although it is hard to determine exactly how many people live in any slum it is estimated that 1 million people live in Kibera. I was told my second week here that comedian and Saturday Night Live Alum, Chris Rock, was in Kibera at the time and was shocked by the level of poverty he saw. We had the opportunity to visit a school in Kibera that had a small library on the second floor where we could look out over the slum. It took our breath away to see the vast number of rusty, metal roof tops from the houses that seem to go on forever. If we looked closely we could see men, women, and children in the distance walking down the dirt paths between them. For another glimpse at what this very large slum looks like, there is a scene in the movie, The Constant Gardener, that was filmed in Kibera. Kibera can be recognized by the train tracks that run though it.

Some questions I asked while I was there are, "Who owns the land that the slums are on?", "How do the people come to live in the slums?", and "Do people ever move out of the slums?"

What I was told was that the land the slum is on is owned by the government. The land was inspected and was found to be unsuitable for building or any other use and that was when the slum was built. The poorly constructed houses in the slums were also built by the government. The people in the slums actually pay rent to the government to live there. The people are tenants and the government is the landlord. The slums are treated by the government like highly profitable business. Although the conditions are very bad, many of the people that live there are reluctant to move out for fear that somebody else will take their place. If they moved out and had to move back they might have to live in a house that is much worst then the one they had before. There also might not be any space available to move back.

So it seems like a hopeless situation at the moment. But hopefully as people from other countries continue to visit the slums and make them known to the rest of the world through awareness and many prayers a change will occur.

Rescue Dada

The Girls and I at Rescue Dada.

The Rescue Dada Center.

The dorms at Rescue Dada.

Last week I had the chance to visit the children at Rescue Dada. Rescue Dada is the organization Arielle and Sandy, the volunteers in Nairobi, will be working with this year. If you know your Swahili, "Dada" means "Sister", it literally translates, "Rescue Sister." Rescue Dada works with street children in Nairobi, specifically girls that are runaways, AIDS orphans, abandoned, or neglected by their families. The girls range in from 3 to 23 years old and are put into a class by age and level of learning. It is the goal of the center to educate the girls so that they can get jobs and be able to support themselves financially. Along with the school the center also provides a class in cosmetology so girls can recieve training in cutting and styling hair, manicures, cosmetics, and massage. There are numerous salons in Nairobi were they can be employed with these skills.

The day I spent at Rescue Dada I was invited to sit in on the Level 4 Class. The class was only about 12 students and they sat quietly as one of the teachers led me into the room. It was a very simple classroom. The blackboard at the front was made of wood and contained science notes that the children were copying into their notebooks. The lesson on the blackboard was all in english and I could clearly see that they were learning about the different types of teeth. The girls looked up at me in shy amazement. It was as though they had never seen a white person before, or at least not one up close. It was slightly awkward to be in this position. I was there to observe the class, but it seemed as though the class was busy observing me. I seemed to be quite a distraction. I went to the back of the classroom and tried not to cause any disruptions.At 1:00 o'clock a bell rang and the children left their books and pencils and headed outside and to another building where lunch was served. I was invited to eat with them. Together we ate maize (corn), beans, and potatoes and for dessert we had passion fruit. Passion fruit is a green fruit about the size of a lime that contains a gooey center with many seeds that, to me, tastes a lot like a kiwi.

After lunch there was time for play and this was when I really got to meet all of them. I spent a lot of time with Purity, Consolata, Brenda, and many more. They all get so excited and have so much energy and wanted to sing and laugh and jump rope and ask questions about America. They helped me with my Swahili and taught me how to count and say, "I am 29 years old." It was a pretty good time. They all wanted to shake my hand and touch my skin and hair. They were so amazed that somebody could have white skin and straight hair. Some of them touched my hair and then felt for what was left of their own. All of the school girls have their hair cut incredibly short to prevent lice. After this the bell rang again and they all went back to class.

In the Level 4 Class they took out story books and began reading. This was when I realized how smart these girls are. They could read and write fluently in both English and Swahili. I sat and listened to some of the books they were reading quietly. Once in while a girl would motion for me to come over to her desk to pronounce a difficult word. After reading I helped with their math homework. The day was done and so I said, "Kwaherini" (Goodbye everybody) and then I had to catch the matatu for home.

It was an incredible day. I've never been looked up to so much and felt so important.

St. Julie Centre - Day 1

The St. Julie Centre for Disabled Children.

Play area and sitting and standing devices without mats.

Parallel bars and tweeter platform with ball.

Hammock swing made out of a truck tire.

The cabinet full of fun play therapy toys.

On Thursday January 18th, Ryan and I began working in Malava at the St. Julie Centre for disabled children. It was a pretty good first day. The patients and staff at the St. Julie Center are all Kenyans so at points it could be a little awkward when a parent or co-worker only spoke in Swahili, but altogether everyone seemed to welcome us into our new roles. The Centre is a fairly small building with only four rooms that is rented and maintained by the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. Parents and children enter through the largest of the rooms which is used for "play therapy." Play therapy is physical or occupational therapy for children made fun with toys. This room has soft mats covering one corner of the floor, child seats and other devices to teach children how to sit and stand, a child-size table with chairs at another end, parallel bars for children learning to walk, a small teetering platform for children developing balance, and plenty of space for a child's push-cart and tricycle. At one end of the play therapy room there is a much smaller room for physical or occupational therapy done by trained therapists. In this room, there are massage tables and a hammock swing made out of a large truck tire cut in half. David and Angela are the physical or occupational therapists on staff. They each work with a child one-on-one usually by stimulating their nerves and senses with massage and swinging before they send them out for play-therapy. At the other end of the Centre is a small office that keeps track of patients files and also a "toy library." The toy library was set-up by last years volunteers and offers an assortment of toys of all kinds that will provide both fun and therapy for the kids. Some of the toys can be checked out and taken out of the Centre for use in the home. Everyday at about noon the staff will sit together in the office and take tea. Kenyan tea is called "chai." It is black tea made with milk and sugar. Tea is often served with bread, biscuits (shortbread sugar cookies), mandazi (a donut-like pastry), or chapatis (thin bread similar to a flour tortilla). Tea time is a nice relaxing break, but it is almost unnecessary. The hours the Centre is open are surprisingly short. Ryan and I will be there Monday through Thursday, 8:30 AM to 1:00PM. Staff meetings will take place on Fridays.

Our first day went incredibly well. We spent time with the staff and other volunteers, met some parents, and most importantly got to play with the kids.