Kakamega, Kenya

Fireflies and Afterthoughts

2009-08-02T20:49:00.000-07:00

I sit on the train, riding backwards, my forehead pressed to the window. The city is passing me by as I head home after a long day at work, the buildings stretching higher than you'd ever think possible and I can't help but think about Kenya, can't help but think of all the things I wish I could show my family there about my life here...

Flash forward a few hours. It is dark, and I have stepped outside my front door to get some fresh air. I sit on the step in front of the door, and breathe in the thick, heavy, summer air. A tiny fluorescent yellow light flashes in front of my face, blinking only for a moment before fading quickly away. I look around, and the sky is ablaze with the tiny yellow dots of fireflies, the whole thing flickering like Christmas lights. It is overwhelmingly beautiful; I sit incredulous, wondering how and why fireflies light up, and then realizing I don't even care - the beauty is just in that they do, not in the how, or the why. It is the most awesomely natural moment I have had since leaving Kenya.

Flash forward two days. I walk out of the sliding doors of the train into the tunnels of grand central. The air is thick again, but this time dirty - the chalky smoky metallic hotness catches in your throat and sticks all the way down, until you emerge into the main terminal and can finally almost breathe again. The air was never like this there. The stark contrast between Kakamega and Manhattan is unfathomable; I am searching for parallels to assure me that we are not all so impossibly different, but if you are measuring difference in the height of the buildings, the number of people, the cars, the technology - well, you will not find the similarities there. I do not shake the hands of my coworkers when I walk into Senator Schumer's office each morning - I do not know everyone's name, and they most certainly do not know mine. It is a more separate way of life; even
with all of the ways in which we are connected - facebook and twitter and ichat all chip away at distance ad privacy - it is still a far more individualized life. In Kakamega, you know your neighbor's business closely...though the country is far further backwards in terms of means of communication, there is a sense of community on a local level that is incomparable. Each man is, in some way, your brother, your cousin; each woman is a sister, or an aunt. Because of this, you care about his family, her home, or their news, their habari. We here may be more capable of connecting, but this is no indication that we are more capable of being connected.

You will, however, find the parallels if you search in the right places. What is different is obvious, the concrete and iron bridges, the suburbian mansions, the smokestacks, the Internet. What is the same is far less apparent, but it is undeniably there. What is the same is humanity, sitting and eating a meal with friends, laughing about the day, sharing stories. What is the same is family - is coming home to see your parents, your sister, the whole lot of you finding time to take time to spend together. What is the same is sitting outside on a summer night and watching the stars, the feeling of contentment that swallows you when you ride a bodaboda through town as the sun rises, the same feeling of being completely and perfectly
content that drowns you as you sit and watch the sun set on the same rock jetty on Atlantic beach that you've been sitting on for nineteen years.

Beneath the constrains of technology, behind the movie sets of skyscrapers or huts made out of mud, despite black, white, or any shade in between, there are things that pertain to us all. There is much that separates, that devastates, and that divides us, but there is far more that connects, rebuilds, and unites us. Unfortunately, it is often easier to see the former than the latter, but this does not mean the latter cannot overwhelm us if we make the conscious decision to let it. For this reason, it has been an easy readjustment - I have not been consumed with the differences because I know they are superficial in comparison to the parallels, and this is why the experience is life-changing. For knowing this, for feeling more aware of the way in which time always slips too quickly, and for feeling more comfortable with this unbearable phenomenon and learning how to take better advantage of the time I've been given; for taking risks, for failing in order to ultimately succeed; for enduring discomfort in order to appreciate the things that make me comfortable; for the humbling experience of scaling down lofty aspirations; for learning how better to listen rather than hear, to observe rather than simply see...For all of these things, it is life-changing, and for all of these things, I am changed for the better.

ETA: 16 Hours

2009-07-18T13:37:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in the Dubai airport, I've been traveling for nineteen hours, and we have about sixteen more to go. Our group has slowly shrunk from 15 to 11, and delirium is sinking in. We walked through the airport, heading directly to Cosi. I cannot begin to explain the magnitude of my joy. It wasn't even that good, but it didn't matter. I may have told the cashier that I was in love with him. Emily and I had to explain why we were saying we were going to cry - it came down to one question: "Have you, sir, ever tasted ugali?"

The goodbyes were difficult - everyone in my family cried when I left, myself - obviously - included. Jacks gave me a hug and went to run out to the bus, then turned around, and ran back for another hug - crying as she pulled away. Mama Lucy wrapped me in the first real hug she's given me since I got here - people in Kenya are generally less inclined to hug - my face buried in her zebra printed furry winter coat that she wears in the mornings. When Erica and I left WEAEP, our supervisor cried, so Erica cried, so naturally I cried again. But then we got to Sheywe, and the mood shifted entirely.

The sheer amount of technology here is overwhelming. Every single person is on a cell phone, plugged into a laptop, or clicking through an iPod. There are flat screen TVs and tile floors and high ceilings and fluorescent lights. Also overwhelming is the diversity of races - the Kakamega population is entirely homogeneous (hence the "mzungu" phenomenon). Also, why did we fly east to go even farther west? So far I have accidentally said "asante" (thank you) and "pole" (sorry/excuse me) involuntarily on approximately three occasions. Old habits die hard.

Okay, it's time for me to go and rant elsewhere. More when I reach the U S of A.

And Then It Comes Full Circle

2009-07-16T18:39:00.000-07:00

Before I left, I said that it always works like this - hello's, and all too soon goodbyes - and I said I would try to remember that along the way.

But here I am, awake as I am every night around 4 AM, my last night with my host family, staring up at the folds of my mosquito net, my music just loud enough to hear, exactly as I said I was 9 weeks ago during orientation. I told my sisters I would wake up around 5 to say goodbye before they leave for school, because since I'm leaving the house around 5 PM, I won't see them before I go. Last night I gave the girls 2 framed pictures - one of the two of them, one of the three of us - and I printed a few more of the family as well. They gave me gifts - a Kenyan woven bag and African-style necklaces, and sent me with paintings for my family at home. I tried desperately to keep it together, turning to help clean even as my eyes welled with tears. I planned on saving the waterworks for this morning, I know I won't be able to help it then, and twice seemed a bit excessive.

I just can't believe it's over. I'll admit, toward the end, I was consumed with excitement to return to New York, but the emotions are mixed, as I have truly adjusted to being here. I no longer find it strange to ride to the stadium as the sun rises, on the back of a bicycle. Or to eat with my hands, or to buy all my food fresh, or to come home and read a book - simply because I have time. I know I'll make a quick recovery, but at the same time - from Kakamega to Manhattan in 3 days is the most extreme transition I could ever imagine.

I have a long trip home, so I plan on reflecting more (perhaps in my 8 hour layover in Nairobi? Yesssss.) But for now, I'm just going to lay here and try to make time slow down for just a little...I was just here, and now I'm going - if life is like that, then we all better get moving and do something because it's equally exhilirating and terrifying. I can't help but feel content that there's nothing I feel I wish I'd done - if you can live your life and honestly say that as often as possible - well, that's my goal, anyway.

Paying it Forward

2009-07-14T12:09:00.000-07:00

Today was the last of the workshops. It was supposed to be yesterday, but we got locked out of the office - long, frustrating story. Anyway, I went to Lwanda Secondary School (high school) with 4 of the women that attended the HIV/AIDS workshop the last week in June - Irene, Sarah, Fridah, and Selinah. These phenomenal women taught 200 female students the information we covered in our workshop. I cannot even begin to explain how proud of them I was. The girls were receptive, and of course laughed when we started talking about safe sex practices...again, this is universal and transcends age, race, gender, you name it. On a more serious note, however, it was almost unsettling how unfamiliar the students were with concepts most American sex-education classes cover without a second thought.

I was responsible for facilitating the Q&A session at the end - not an easy task, standing in front of 200 teenage girls and explaining these issues. I was surprised when one girl asked if it was expensive to get tested for HIV. I can't understand why, when they are taught about the virus - which I know that they are - the teachers fail to mention that the government is responsible for providing free testing and treatment for HIV. It comes back once again to the same issue - knowledge and awareness force accountability; without these forces generating constituent pressure on goverment officials, corruption will continue to persist as it currently does in the hospital system.

One brave soul described a situation with her "lover." She asked what she was supposed to do, when, in the moment, no one wanted to take the time to stop and put on a condom. After the hysteria subsided, and after I joined in the laughter, I explained the way in which that moment is nothing, it is fleeting and will pass without notice. But being infected with HIV? That is a lifetime, an infinite number of consecutive moments, strung together forever. She asked, "what if we want to be careless?" To which I replied, "That's the thing - you can't be careless. If you are careless for those 30 seconds, you might be dealing with the repercussions for the rest of your life. And you have to ask yourself if that is a risk you're willing to take." The thing is, teenagers here get a whole lot about abstinence - which is entirely legitimate. But the problem is that some people are simply not going to adhere to that, and there needs to be information provided regarding what one must do should she choose to act otherwise. I'm not condoning recklessness by any means, but it is naïve to assume that all teenagers will abstain from having sex, and the sooner people here accept that, the sooner people can start really talking openly about how to prevent the spread of HIV. These girls were unaware that there was such a thing as a female condom - which is really important in a largely male-dominated society. When one girl asked what to do if her boyfriend refused to use protection, I told her she could be responsible on her own, and she and her peers were shocked.

Anyway, the point is yet again that knowledge is accountability and power and the beginning of change - and the most important part of this workshop was seeing the women pass this knowledge to the girls.

But now it is time for sleep - it has been a long few days.

Anddddd...

2009-07-13T16:36:00.000-07:00

I have malaria.

But it's okay. I just feel like I have the flu. I have to admit, I'm a little bummed, I was priding myself on being The Girl Who Never Got Sick In Kenya. But its fine, malaria is intense enough for me. The doctor's office was kind of terrifying, me and ten screaming children, me screaming "the needle has to be new!!!" And the nurse being all "uh, yeah, I know." And me all "oh, um, okay." Etc. The lab test (pricking my finger and sticking the blood on a slide under a microscope) and the consult with the doctor cost about 5 dollars. The medicine prescribed cost $6. Damaris was with me for all 2 hours, she was great.

Anyway, my dad sent me this quote from the book Out Stealing Horses, and I couldn't have said it better myself, so...

"Time is important to me now, I tell myself. Not that it should pass quickly or slowly, but be only time, be something I live inside and fill with physical things and activities that I can divide it up by, so that it grows distinct to me and does not vanish when I am not looking."

Meet Me Next to Mama Tomato

2009-07-13T02:52:00.000-07:00

Over the course of the past two months, the interns have devised a means of giving each other directions. The roads rarely have names, so we were forced to accommodate. I think the streets and landmarks are worth sharing:

IMPORTANT STREETS:
Market Street - the street on which the open market is located.

Mama Tomato Street - the street on which Mama Watoto supermarket is located. Emily did not know how to pronounce the name, so "tomato" caught on instead.

In-Between Street - the street in between the aforementioned two streets.

Burned-Down Street - this is actually sad, but this refers to the street on which about four or five shops burned down. Perpendicular to the aforementioned three streets.

Diagon Alley - The market behind the market. You have to go all the way to the back of the real market, and then walk through this alley and cross a bridge to get there (analogous to platform 9 3/4, if you will). It is crowded and has all of these shops with everything you would ever need and the name just made perfect sense.

Golf Hotel Road - the road on which Golf Hotel is located.

Guillaume Road - where Guillaume lives. Even Mama Lucy refers to this as Guillaume Road now. She also uses Mama Tomato street, In-Between Street, and Market Street to direct me.

Kamadep Road - where Kamadep Guest House is, the hotel in which we stayed during orientation.

Dirt Road - connects Golf Hotel to WEAEP Road (where WEAEP is located). It is avoided at all costs when it rains.

IMPORTANT LANDMARKS:
Golf Circle - roundabout on Golf Road.

Boda Corner - at the end of WEAEP road, where all the boda boda drivers congregate.

Gambler's Corner - at the end of Kamadep Road, across from the Field of Trash (see below). A group of boda boda drivers play games and gamble here all day. On this corner one is especially prone to shouts of "mzunguuuu!"

Field of Trash - field in between Buhunghu Stadium where we run and Gambler's Corner. Not fun to walk across.

Scale Boy Corner - Down the street from Yako's supermarket, where a boy sits with a scale that you can pay to weigh yourself on. I've resisted the temptation.

Alafu, We Talked About Risks

2009-07-10T11:10:00.000-07:00

This just in: "alafu" means "then." As in, I went to school, then I came home. We've been walking around thinking people were saying "I love you" in a Kenyan accent for weeks.

Today wrapped up the three-day soya workshop. I presented this morning the information I prepared regarding entrepreneurship, microfinance, and small-scale business. Since WEAEP focuses a lot on microfinance, I talked more about developing a business idea, important things to keep in mind, setting goals, etc. We got to talking about risk, and failure, and Wilfrida - one of the Tujipe Mwoyo women I've gotten pretty close with (she's approximately 6'4", in case that's relevant at all) - mentioned that a lot of the time here, if women fail at an attempt to start a business, they rarely try again.

So I told them about my thing with cleaning my room (this is all with the help of Isoso's translation).

For those of you who know me well, you might know that whenever I feel kind of stressed, or if I have a lot to do and am having trouble figuring out where to start, I clean my room. It's a little weird - I admit it. But there's something about it that is really satisfying - sometimes you just have to make a complete mess in order to put all the pieces together. Maybe you stumble across old things that are just adding to clutter. So you can throw them out, and make room for the new. Or maybe you dust something off that you hadn't seen in years, something really important that ends up being just what you were looking for. The point is, you need to be familiar with all the components if you want to perfect the bigger picture.

And then I told them how I was afraid when I first got here. Genuinely shocked, they laughed, asking how I could ever be afraid.

"Well," I told them, "it's the same fear you have when you take a risk in starting a business. You don't know what's going to happen - you're scared you might fail, that your ideas won't be accepted, that you won't accomplish your goals - its different from what you know and what makes you feel safe. But the thing is," I (Isoso) explained, "when you take a risk, you absolutely take the risk of failing. If you don't take a risk, it's true - there is no possible way you can fail. But you rule out simultaneously the possibility of being great, of succeeding, of accomplishing more than you'd ever hoped you would. So it's a tradeoff: you take the risk, sure - you might fail. But you also might not, and that's why you try."

The thing is, failure is just another way of looking at progress. You can choose to see what went wrong, and you can decide to stop, defeated. But this is a choice, a conscious decision. You can also choose to see what went wrong - and take those flaws and use them constructively to make something better. I prefer "setback" to "failure" - the former implies that your process simply took a pitstop, but fully intends to get back en route. The latter condemns you - it implies the journey is over. I told the women how it is important to look at successful local businesses, and think about what they've done to excel. But I also told them to look at struggling businesses - what brought them down? How can I avoid these problems? What would I do to fix them, if I were in that same situation?

I told them about how my project here had gone astray - about how I thought initially that I wanted a small group of girls to teach their peers about HIV/AIDS. I told them, that as this idea unraveled before me, I was forced to revise the means with which I'd achieve the outcome I wanted. It was a stressful and trying experience - for a while, I didn't know how to find a solution. As we talked about goals, I tried to tell the women that this experience was an example of having to reassess one's plan of action to accommodate the needs and capabilities of the community - which is also a really crucial part of starting a business. Sometimes you just have to rip it apart in order to put it all together.

The women were fantastic these past few days - even though I was pretty tired by the end of today, I'm really happy with everything they did during the workshop. The women even had the chance to build Margaret's keyhole garden in WEAEP's backyard, so here's to new beginnings, even as my time here ends.

Soya, The New Bubba Gump Shrimp

2009-07-08T11:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, so remember in Forrest Gump when Bubba listed out approximately 9 billion different things you could do with shrimp? That is how I feel about soy (soya, as it's called here) after today.

First, my day started with a few noteworthy scenarios:
1. Several schoolchildren passed me on the way to work without acknowledging me. I consider this a feat accomplished. No "mzungu!" No "how ah you?" in a cute small child voice.
2. My boda driver's phone rang while we were driving (riding?) to work. First, his ringtone was a rooster crowing. Story of my life. Second, he answered it. This may just be the New Yorker in me, but I was tempted to tell him as I clung for dear life while the bike swerved all over the road that it was illegal to talk on the phone and drive. Really, it doesn't seem safe.

But more importantly, today began the 3-day workshop on the processing and utilization of soya. The leaders (Community Resource Facilitators = CRF's) of all 25 women's groups in Kakamega (as well as two of WEAEP's vocational students) came to WEAEP to learn about how to make food with soy. They will then each return to their respective Literacy Centers to teach the other women what they learned. Margaret, a member of WEAEP's staff who facilitated the same workshop in Mumias last summer, led the workshop. We boiled the soya beans, shelled them, ground them to make paste, and proceeded to make soy milk (which we used for soy tea), soy sausages mixed with meat, soy vegetarian meatballs, soy nuts, mashed sweet potatoes with soy, cooked greens with soy...and that was just today. On tomorrow's agenda is soy porridge, soy chapatti, soy mandaazi, soy puffs, soy ugali, and soy food mixes. See what I mean? Garlic shrimp, barbecue shrimp, shrimp cocktail...it's incredible how much you can do with soya. And all of the food is so much more filling - I couldn't even eat dinner. I brought Mama Lucy a recipe book and some samples - I think it was a success, especially the soy nuts and the sweet potatoes.

I was again really pleased with the level of enthusiasm and participation from the women. Since Margaret did a lot of the talking, I got to observe more and participate myself. It's really nice to feel that I have become close with some of the women - there are several with whom I've now interacted on multiple occasions. At this point, I can honestly say I feel comfortable spending time with them as a part of their community, and not so much an outsider, a novelty imported directly from America, the land with streets paved in gold.

Needless to say, I'm excited for day 2. I did some work last night on the contract for the soy/vegetable garden, and Erica made headway today. I've done some more tonight, and I'm confident that we'll be able to pull this off. It has been a really busy week, only to get busier as we wrap things up.

I just left the girls' room; I climbed up on the top bunk to tuck Jacks in and tell her a bedtime story - she wanted to hear Aladdin. I think I did alright until the part when Jafar steals the genie lamp - serious holes in my story there. I think I had selective childhood fairy tale memory - I really only remember the happy parts of Disney movies, so my story went something like "Jafar stole the lamp, things got ugly, he was suddenly a big, red, evil genie, something happened at the ends of the earth, Aladdin somehow broke this hourglass and saved Jasmine (Jacky had no idea what an hourglass was, I spared her the explanation), he somehow saved the city, no way to be sure what happened to Jafar, and everyone lived happily ever after." When I was done, Jacks was like, "okay, byeeeeee." But I got a kiss on the cheek goodnight, so I think it was good enough.

Sowing the Seeds

2009-07-02T10:48:00.000-07:00

First and foremost, thank you so much to everyone for the donations to my project. Without your contributions, the project could not exist, so consider yourselves a crucial step in this process! I can't thank you enough.

But since I raised more than I originally budgeted for, where to use the extra funds?

Some I have used to adopt several costs that WEAEP originally agreed to cover for my workshops. The compensation for the farming facilitator for the soya workshop, and additional transportation stipends for the Literacy Center women for the HIV workshops. We had also originally only planned for the soya workshop to be 2.5 days, but since I had extra funds, we were fortunate enough to be able to add another half a day - we can now cover the costs of lunch. On the third day, Margaret will also teach the women about "keyhole gardens," which, from my understanding, involves planting seeds on a small plot of land. From there, one can transfer the seedlings to a larger plot. This is a very valuable skill for the women to learn. We are also now considering inviting a few more women to the workshop, and potentially a speaker from a nearby village that received this training a year ago, to talk about her success. These two are, however, still tentative.

But even with all of this added to the project, I was still looking for ways to expand. Erica, in a similar position, suggested the idea of planting a garden at the drop in center (DIC) for the street children. Some of the food, she said, could be sold for profit, while the rest would be used to improve the boys' diet. When we talked it over, we realized it made a lot of sense to collaborate...the opportunity to actually cultivate a plot of land coincides really well with the concepts of the soya workshop.

This afternoon we talked to the woman who owns the land on which the DIC is located. She was very enthusiastic about the idea, but told us it would have to wait until the fall when the current crops will be harvested. If executed, I would use the funds I still have to pay for the initial lease of the land for cultivation, the plowing of this land, as well as the seeds for vegetables, local greens, and soya. Ideally, WEAEP will make some sort of financial contribution, to demonstrate their long-term committment to the project. Women from Literacy Centers who attend the workshop next week and live in the area surrounding the DIC will be responsible for weeding and maintaining the garden. It would be divided, then, among these select LC's. They would be able to sell the harvested crops in the market or to local hotels, keeping some of the profit, and giving a percentage to WEAEP - this money will be used to renew the lease on the land once the growing season is over. Some of the crops, additionally, will be given to the DIC, for the boys - rehabilitating street children - who live there.

I am really excited about this - one of my goals was to integrate the 3 groups WEAEP works with - women, schoolgirls, and street children. The addition of this project coupled with the HIV/AIDS training cycle means this goal could potentially be a reality. And this is a sustainable way to extend the soya workshop from training to actual implementation of the skills taught. So I am crossing my fingers that this comes together in the next few weeks. Since the land isn't available for some time, this means Erica and I will leave a detailed work plan, budget, and funds in the hands of WEAEP for the project. As far as I know, FSD will also help make sure the project is implemented and funds appropriated as intended.

In other news, I cooked ugali and chapatti for dinner, I felt very accomplished. Oh, and I might be engaged. My boda boda driver this afternoon turned around (eyes on the road apparently not a concern) and asked if I was married. When I said no (why did I say no?), he asked if I would marry him. When I said no, his response was, "In fact, I love you." In fact, I stopped him right there and walked the rest of the way home. As I was getting money from my wallet, he asked if he could keep my sneakers. Apparently he didn't do so well with rejection.

Oh, and then I got home and the house was empty and locked, which is very unusual. It started to pour, and I hid under the roof of the porch. Half an hour later, Jacks came back, and we stayed for a while, and then Mama Lucy came back, without a second key. Our housekeeper, Auntie, had gone to the hospital at 10 AM. It was now about 530, and she was still MIA. An hour and a half later, after Jacky and I had resorted to warming our legs with the heat of my laptop (laptops - the equivalent of fire in the 21st century), Auntie came back, and we finally thawed our feet in front of the jiko.

HIV/AIDS Training, Phase 1: Literacy Center Women

2009-07-01T03:55:00.000-07:00

I showed up to work yesterday morning a wreck. I was completely on edge, nervous about the first of the many workshops we will be holding over the next three weeks. I had planned everything to the best of my ability, but execution does not always go as planned, and I guess I was worried that the actual implementation of the HIV/AIDS workshops would not live up to my expectations. I had never taught this subject matter before, and as I thought about it, realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taught anything to a group. Needless to say, when the women showed up an hour and a half late, and when my translator left the office briefly just as they were arriving en masse, I almost lost it. Somehow I managed to pull myself together – I called upon one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever received: in that moment right after you commence – a presentation, a speech, a performance – you have a choice. Once the first word escapes your mouth, you have started, and there is nothing you can do to take it back, or un-start, if you will. But you can decide whether you will crumble under the pressure or whether you will give it everything you have – and I like to think that once that first word is said, there is little point in choosing the former.

We opened the discussion with a prayer, as always, and then a few questions. “Who,” I asked, Isoso translating in Kiswahili, “knows someone with HIV or AIDS?” Every person raised her (and his – there was one man who attended the session unexpectedly) hand. “Who,” I proceeded, “knows someone who has died of HIV/AIDS?” The women looked around, cautiously raising their hands for the second time. Isoso continued – “Who,” he asked, “has lost a family member to the disease?” Most of the women again raised their hands. Though perhaps not all infected with HIV/AIDS, it was clear immediately that all were affected by HIV/AIDS.

We administered a pre-workshop examination, which was to be replicated at the end of the training session to measure how much the participants learned over the course of the morning. I did not anticipate such a language barrier, so it took Isoso some time to translate the questions for the women. We began talking about HIV/AIDS – clarifying definitions and key medical terminology, discussing ways in which the virus is transmitted, and ways in which transmission can be prevented. We discussed the difference between exposure and infection, and clarified the concept of risk – it is risky, for example, to have unprotected sex with an HIV-positive individual, or with someone whose status is unknown. It is not, however, risky – and this came as a surprise to many of the women – to kiss a person with the virus, or share eating utensils.

We broke into partners to engage in a role-play – one person counseling a friend who was afraid to be tested for HIV. Violet, the woman I was paired with either did not entirely understand the concept, or simply wanted to talk about her personal situation, because this is what we did. She told me that she has wanted to be tested for some time, but wants her husband to come with her to VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing). He, however, refuses consistently – leaving her frightened and very much alone. She suggested that WEAEP encourage home counseling visits to encourage husbands to accompany their wives to VCT, and told me that since the Project HOPE women came, she knows many people in her community who have chosen to be tested for HIV. It was so incredible to hear this – though I take it with a grain of salt; she spoke broken English, and I spoke even less Kiswahili. Still, I have talked to Emily about how it is difficult that much of the success of my project is intangible – it is difficult to measure the ripple effect that a speaker or a workshop might have on a community. I found her comments widely reassuring that even a few people had been inspired enough by the HOPE women to take action on their own.

When we reassembled, it was really interesting to hear their versions of how a situation involving HIV/AIDS might unfold in the context of their lives and communities; each pair’s story was slightly different and extremely realistic, and I couldn’t help but wonder if some of these “stories” were in actuality reflections of the speaker’s real-life experiences. The incredible detail in the circumstances they outlined suggested this might be the case. The women participated in a way that exceeded my expectations, even going so far as to explain to me that women are responsible here for birth control, which I actually did not know until very recently, but which does not surprise me given the gender dynamic in this region – amusement and laughter at such subjects undoubtedly transcends location, gender, race, and age.

After several hours, I closed the workshop with a short speech – I told these women that they possessed the same strength and power that they admired so greatly in the HOPE women, demonstrating their drive to make a difference simply by virtue of attending the workshop. They were already making a difference in their community, I told them, by committing themselves to increasing awareness. I also spent a good deal of time stressing the importance of exercising their rights as Kenyan citizens to free HIV medications, and explaining how crucial awareness of these rights is in the process of holding the government accountable for its promises and responsibilities. I ended by emphasizing that they couldn’t change their pasts – what is done is done. They do, however, have the ability to change their futures by making the decision to live positively, and can perhaps even more importantly affect the futures of those around them by sharing their knowledge. This concluded the first workshop, which was the information that is to be passed on to the students at Lwanda Secondary School.

Day two was this morning – focusing on home-based care for people with HIV/AIDS. Everyone was more energetic this morning, my nerves had dissipated, and I could sense that the women (and Frank!) felt more comfortable with me. We spoke about ways to care for patients, how to practice hygiene when cooking, drinking water, and taking care of oneself. We talked about the importance of maintaining a nutritious diet to combating HIV, and the way in which taking such precautions can help slow the progression from HIV to AIDS, thus improving the chances that a patient can live a long and normal life. We talked about providing emotional care in addition to physical care, and broke into groups again to discuss what we might say if a friend, sibling, daughter, parent, spouse, etc. had just found out they were HIV-positive. The workshop went well – I drew pictures to demonstrate hygiene, and they all laughed when I told them that it was a wise idea to keep chickens outside the house to avoid spreading bacteria (welcome to my life). They laughed even harder when I admitted I have a dog that lives in my house – and, alas – sometimes sleeps in my bed. It is not weird, however, that their chickens sleep in their beds, but that I have a dog in mine is unfathomable.

Anyway, I asked the group at the end to reflect upon the last two days, and their responses were so positive – I had that feeling, when you know you’ve made an impact, when you are so proud of someone that you feel it in your chest. Jane explained the way in which she had been handling improperly a patient at home – that now she knows they can all eat together, instead of forcing the HIV-positive person to eat alone. Others expressed interests in more workshops like the one we had put together, and everyone said they felt like they had really learned a great deal. I told them I planned to select 3 or 4 of the women to come to Lwanda to teach with me, and I have a large list of interested names to narrow down.

Tonight I spent about 2 hours grading the pre and post-workshop examinations, and I am very pleased with the results. Though not perfect measurements – there was a language barrier, and the women may have collaborated at times – they indicate an improvement in the average level of knowledge. For the first workshop on HIV/AIDS, the pre-workshop average was 71.95% , while the post-workshop average was 90%. For the workshop on Home-Based Care, the averages were 63.6% and 82.1%, respectively. I’m really happy with this – if nothing else, I know that these 10 individuals walked away with more knowledge, and – so it seemed – an increased sense of optimism that they and their loved ones could take new actions to live positively. If even one person walked away with nothing but a revived sense of hope – well, hope is the driving force behind change, and I couldn’t ask for more.

Update: Sarah from WEAEP told me today that she went to Shirere Post Test Literacy Center this morning (Wednesday), and the women we trained in the workshop taught the entire group about HIV/AIDS, including a leader in the community. The women, she said, were so happy - they clapped at the end, and the community leader expresssed the way in which he felt the community would really benefit from the information. I couldn't be happier - training trainers was exactly the intent of the workshop.

A Giraffe, A Shower, and A Discussion on Development

2009-06-30T04:45:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was the FSD retreat – all of the interns went with Angie, Damaris, and Kirstin to Hell’s Gate, which is about 5 hours from Kakamega by matatu. It was so great to go away for the weekend – I love my family and my work, but after six weeks, it was nice to be with everyone together and hear about how each person’s work has progressed. Not to mention that I got to take a total of 3 showers, none of which involved a bucket. And I slept in a very large and soft bed (mosquito net still included). And I ate a cheeseburger and pizza. It was phenomenal. All that aside, the retreat came at the perfect timing – enough time had elapsed since orientation that we were all ready to step back, relax, and reflect, and the time that is left is long enough to allow us to really throw ourselves wholeheartedly into our projects, but not long enough to lose motivation. I’m in a good place.

Hell’s Gate was fantastic – as much as I love Kakamega, I was a little resentful when I discovered that this region of Africa is not notorious for its large game. I was surprised, then, and really ecstatic that when we biked through the park and walked through the gorges, we saw an array of animals wide enough to quell this unmerited resentment.

Giraffes, zebras, warthogs, monkeys, baboons, gazelles, antelope, wildebeests, ostriches, eagles – I feel like a huge tourist, but it really was cool to just see the animals prancing around in the wild. We also got to take a boat ride – which always sits well with me, and we got to visit a Maasai village – as lucky as I was to be exposed to the Maasai via the guards (Simon, Julius, and John) outside my house at night, it was an entirely different experience to see the village and witness some aspects of the culture.

On the way home, Angie, Arjun, and I had an in-depth discussion about Angie’s perspective on development (well, Arjun commandeered much of the discussion, but I like to think I got a word in edgewise here and there). Angie explained how she felt that aid does serve its respective purpose in the process of international development. We spoke about the way in which, prior to giving people sustainable opportunities, you have to give them some ground upon which you can build a foundation. Often, this foundation is what is lacking – you can’t plant a garden without land, but if you provide people with, for example, kitchen gardens, you give them the initial endowment, but simultaneously the tools they need to work toward sustainable results. We tagged the ratio of aid to sustainability as approximately 30% to 70%, with the caveat being that people must be taught the methods of sustainability when given aid, so as not to simply come to expect aid as a long-term solution to a particular issue in question. They must be aware of the reality that they must put in that 70% in order for a project to ultimately be successful.

The issue of risking dependency on external aid shifted the conversation to globalization. As we began the discussion, Arjun was explaining his commitment to the idea that globalization is a positive driving force for development, and there are certainly aspects of this argument with which I agree. But Angie gave us a counter-example that resonated deeply regarding the post-election violence in Kenya in 2007. Riots broke out across the country because of the widespread perception that the election was rigged – a situation, actually, quite similar to that which is currently unfolding in Iran. As violence was progressing, other nations intervened with the aim of quelling the destruction. At first glance, it might seem like the problem was solved, and indeed, the violence dissipated, but the intervention of other nations created a new problem.

While not the sole reason, these nations were motivated to intervene largely because they had a vested economic interest in Kenya as a center of trade and commerce. It is true that this integration of international economies is a positive effect of globalization in many respects. However, Angie explained, the globalization also had potentially negative repercussions. Because the nations intervened (partially in self-interest), the Kenyan citizens were never able to conceptualize that their government was not acting with their best interests in mind. As counterintuitive as it might seem to suggest violence should have continued, it could also be argued that the people would have benefited from the revelation that their government was not taking due action. More time and perpetuating violence would have forced the Kenyan government to eventually respond. The citizens, then, could have judged their officials based on their ability to handle the situation.

By not allowing this post-election violence to run its course, other nations may have indirectly (a) prevented a revolution that had the potential to politically unite the Kenyan citizens and perhaps pave the way for a more democratic and transparent system, and (b) reinforced the idea that problems will be solved by foreign intervention, strengthening even further a dependence on aid. Hence, this serves as an example of some of the less apparent and perhaps more negative implications the powerful force of globalization can have on a people and a nation.

We talked about what one of Angie’s professors termed “revolutionary patience.” I was talking about my experience thus far – the way in which, despite being extremely rewarding in many respects, it has also left me jaded. It is hard not to walk away from an experience like this not feeling slightly discouraged – the longer one is here, the clearer it becomes that the web of issues facing these people is enormous in scope, with all the issues intricately and delicately intertwined. This realization does not quell my conviction that I have made a difference in some way during my time in Kenya, but it does make this difference seem miniscule in the grand scheme of matters to be addressed. But this idea of “revolutionary patience” – the one characteristic a person must have in order to be heavily invested in development – is achieved with both the recognition and the acceptance of the reality that change is (sometimes painstakingly) slow. To walk into a community and believe that one can fully “change” a problem, a perception, a way of life is naïve. The process takes years, decades, generations. But if you can accept this, and with patience accept that you are capable of impacting some small community in some way that might not immediately seem profound, it becomes clearer that you are a step in the vast process of development – perhaps not THE change, but A change.

HIV Medications and Foreign Aid

2009-06-24T01:19:00.000-07:00

Just a reminder: My fundrasing ends June 30th (FSD extended the deadline), so donations will be accepted until that date! Just copy and paste this link: http://www.fsdinternational.org/donate/projects/Friedland
Thank you again, your donations are helping spread awareness, which, as you will read below, I believe is absolutely crucial to helping HIV/AIDS patients receive the treatment they are entitled to.

In the process of finalizing information for the upcoming workshops on HIV/AIDS, I came across a very important question, perhaps the most important question when working with people that come largely from low-income households: how much will this whole process of testing and treatment cost? The answer, in Kenya, seems straightforward: it is free. It costs nothing to be tested for HIV, and the medications if you do test positive are also free, provided that you obtain these medications from a public hospital. The Kenyan government provides these services to its citizens, free of charge. It seemed too good to be true. Why, I asked around, weren’t more people getting tested and treated?

The answer seems to be threefold:

The first reason I have discussed already: stigma. In many communities, to test positive is to condemn oneself to a marred reputation, and in many circumstances, community and even familial isolation. With these the stakes, many people simply do not want to know – for fear their husbands will leave them, for fear their colleagues will shun them, for fear that the end of their life might suddenly be approaching all too quickly.

The second reason is because the medications, though free, are often unavailable. I asked Mama Lucy about this, and she helped explain to me that there is pervasive corruption throughout the hospitals – since the medications are provided free of charge to public hospitals, it happens all too often that someone in a public hospital sells the drugs to someone in a private hospital. This person in the private hospital can then sell the medications. Both parties make a profit, and the medications become unavailable in the public hospitals. Patients are faced with two options: pay for the medications from a private hospital, or fight the symptoms of HIV/AIDS without medication. Unfortunately, many people cannot afford the former, and are forced to deal with the repercussions of the latter.

The third reason can be attributed to a general lack of awareness. In the conversations I have had with my colleagues, it seems that many people do not know that the medications are supposed to be free, and thus are under the false impression that they cannot afford treatment.

I couldn’t help but wonder why the Kenyan government wasn’t making more of an effort to put an end to the illicit exchange of HIV medications between public and private hospitals. It seemed as if it would be in its best interest as providers of these drugs to crack down on this problem. However, Lucy explained that the drugs are largely provided via foreign aid from Great Britain and the United States. Here is where one must stop and consider the repercussions of foreign aid.

By no means do I intend to discredit the generous donations made by foreign countries – including my own – to Kenya. In fact, it is certain that the aid provided has helped the many people who have received medications to regain control of their lives, and rebuild hope for their futures. However, one must also return to the other side of the argument – some argue, and I cannot completely disagree, that simply giving aid does not foster in the citizens of a nation the sustainable skills and tools they need to make a difference for themselves. Perhaps, I told Lucy, one of the reasons the Kenyan government has not taken sufficient action is because it does not have as direct a stake in the status of these medications. It has not, on its own, created a program to provide the drugs, nor has it had to fund the medications. Aside from the deterioration of the health of the populace, the government loses little when the medications are traded illegally. Maybe, I proposed, if the Kenyan citizens were funding the provision of these free medications via their taxes to the government, the average citizen might care more about the corruption – knowing their tax money was being squandered. If this were the case, I cannot imagine that the Kenyan people would not exert more pressure on their leaders to hold public hospitals accountable. As the case may be, if many citizens are unaware that the medications are supposed to be free, it is impossible for these same people to hold their representatives accountable. The first step, then, is awareness. As more people become aware that the medications are free, Lucy explained, more people are demanding their rights to HIV medications, forcing both the government and public hospitals to instigate reform. I can only hope that my workshops help spread this knowledge to even a few more people who may not have previously been aware.

It always comes back to the idea of giving people a stake in an issue. If you give someone a personal stake in a situation, he will undoubtedly care more about the outcome. This is nearly always true – you may be encouraging a colleague to collaborate with you on a project by insisting their participation is integral to its success. You may be trying to encourage people who have taken microloans to repay their accumulating debt by initiating a revolving funds program (as WEAEP has) that requires other members of the group to repay any loan that defaults – regardless of whether it is their own. Whatever the issue in question may be, I feel one of the most effective ways to encourage involvement is to give those affected a personal stake both in the process and in the outcome, which is precisely why the model of sustainable grassroots development that FSD encourages is so effective. Until you are on the ground, working directly with a community, it is impossible to fully anticipate the way in which a given project will be received, or, in this case, the way in which foreign aid might be utilized and implemented. If you involve the community in the process of development – truly analyzing community need to develop courses of action, using the resources already available to execute the process, and engaging community members to take part in the formulation of both ideas and realities – you will more likely achieve results that the community can perpetuate independently.

Around the House...

2009-06-24T00:47:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to show you where I live...

The first one is of me and Jacky - dancing to my iTunes is almost a nightly experience. Jacky and Chantel's favorites are Rihanna (Umbrella, and Disturbia - also referred to as "bum bum bee dum"), Beyonce (Single Ladies), and Taylor Swift.

The is our driveway and part of the front yard (although they don't say "yard" here, they say "compound." Funny how I found this out - one day I got lost walking home from work - don't ask me how, it was like my third week living here. Anyway, 40 minutes later I end up in someone's backyard, two 15-year-old boys staring at me and laughing hysterically at the mzungu that just appeared, looking entirely lost. One of them kindly led me through this fence, but he turned sideways to walk through, and I had my backpack on, so you can imagine the debacle that ensued. The other was doubled over, laughing so hard he couldn't have helped me if he tried. Imagine what you would do if you saw a random person walking in your yard, and then imaging living in a place where the number of white people are few and far between, and how much stranger that would be. I can't say I looked very threatening though. Anyway, when I was explaining the story to Jacky and Mama Lucy that night, I learned from Jacky's famous blank stare and Lucy's quick translation that she didn't know what a "yard" was.)

The next is out our kitchen window...

And this is our living room...

Breaking News

2009-06-21T05:05:00.000-07:00

This just in. My family likes salad. In case this doesn't resonate as a big deal, let me tell you: this is ground-breaking. NO ONE here eats raw vegetables. I was casually chopping up some for myself, not so interested in the anchovies Chantel was making for lunch. Mama Lucy approaches me, and asks me to make some for the rest of the family to try. I am hesitant, as my pasta didn't go over so well. I am terrified that salad will be a disaster and they will think people in America are like cows or something. Also, there is no lettuce here, so its really just vegetables on a plate.

Anyway, to make a long story short, they tried it, and actually enjoyed it from what I can tell (sometimes they say they like it but don't, people here are generally very wary of hurting someone's feelings, which is very considerate, but makes it difficult to gauge preferences). Mama Lucy said it was "cooling," and they all finished their bowls - a good sign.

Also funny - as we are eating the salad, I realize I have never heard them chew before. As I have mentioned in the past (perhaps excessively), the food is all cooked and thus soft, and all of a sudden everyone is crunching away. This reminds me of the How I Met Your Mother episode when they realize Lily chews really loudly, for anyone who watches the show, and I start hysterically laughing, and tell them why. They start laughing, and then everyone feels kind of awkward crunching away and we are all laughing as we eat, trying to be quieter (difficult with carrots).

I also had Arjun pick me up some marshmallows from Kisumu, a larger city, so tonight we will attempt s'mores. I promised them this would happen (see Things I Have Tried and Failed to Explain to My Family, Part 1) - I am incredibly excited, I KNOW they will like them. Jacky has a serious sweet tooth :)

Met Arjun and Emily for a work-out this morning at the "rehabilitation" school, but the boys were in church and nowhere to be found. I laugh so much with these people, I don't even need to do an ab workout. Our retreat with all the interns is coming up next weekend, so I'm excited for that, and to finalize my training materials this week for my project. I go up and down - sometimes I want to be home for a short break, but overall I'm content. One day, one week at a time.

Again - one more week of donating! Everyone has been great, I really appreciate it. Thanks so much!

Redirecting...

2009-06-19T18:35:00.000-07:00

We've been told from the minute we arrived that our internships would be a process, subject to constant changes and adjustments. Sure enough, I've decided to make some changes to my project in the past week...nothing major, but a few readjustments that I think will make the project more effective. Initially, I intended to train the women from the Literacy Centers about HIV/AIDS, who would, respectively, train the WEAEP scholars, who would, in turn, train a larger audience of their peers. I've decided to eliminate the middle step, and instead have the women go directly into the schools, for several reasons:

1) The women have more personal experience with these issues, and thus valuable insight to give school girls. When the Project HOPE women came to speak, I realized how much of an impact it makes to hear this coming from people with first hand experience. It puts a face to an unspeakable topic, and that is exactly what reduces stigma.

2) The women are more comfortable talking about these issues. When dealing with something so sensitive in this culture, it is so important that the people delivering the information are confident and comfortable enough to effectively convey a message. I was concerned after meeting the girls that they were so soft-spoken, and worried that I wouldn't have enough time here to encourage them to open up to both me and this project. In the future, the girls could be trained to teach, but in the interest of having only 4 weeks left and a mountain to accomplish, it makes more sense to work with the women, who I've already met several times and who, I hope, feel more at ease with my presence.

3) I was worried about information getting lost in translation, literally.

4) Instead of using the second workshop for the women to teach the scholars, I think the time and resources would be better allocated to teaching the women about home-based care for HIV/AIDS. This was one thing they specifically asked me to address, and with only one workshop, I wouldn't have had the time. This comes back to what we've talked about - trying to listen to what people in the community really need and want, and not just acting based on what we believe they need or want, or what we think would ideally best serve their interests.

It's been a learning experience - having to adjust and adapt a plan as circumstances change. Its a valuable lesson to learn; I just hope the implementation goes as well as the planning has been going so far.

In other news, I got to wash my hair for the first time since Monday - sorry, had to go there. We had no running water all week, and still don't, as far as I know, but it rained a lot today so we had some water collected. I honestly was out the door, ready to shower in the rain, but I realized I had my laptop at work.

Remember to donate by the 26th! Thank you so much for those of you that already have - it means a great deal to me.

Things I Have Tried and Failed to Explain to My Family, Part II.

2009-06-18T01:09:00.000-07:00

Remember to donate by June 26th!
Thank you!!
http://fsdinternational.org/donate/projects/Friedland

-Halloween. Stemmed from coversation about Michael Jackson. Not sure how this oen strung together, but it did, and I tried to explain how the holiday came from some old tradition; people used to dress up as scary things - ghosts, witches, vampires, mummies, ghouls, goblins (but what is a ghoul? goblin? how do you describe these vague creatures?). Now, I told Jacky and Mama Lucy, people dress as whatever they want. The idea that we parade around at night asking random strangers for candy was also difficult to grasp. And don't even get me started on what went down when I told them people throw eggs at each other as pranks.

-M&M's. As I was describing my Halloween costumes throughout the years, I landed on this one (along with firefighter, construction worker, crayon, princess, evil witch from Sleeping Beauty - it was a dark phase, what can I say - sailor, Buzz Lightyear - blow-up wings included). I was wondering why Jacky wasn't laughing at the image of me in a green, round, Polyester suit (green M&Ms are my favorite), with large white gloves and shoes. And then I realized she didn't know what an M&M was. So out of context, that description means absolutely nothing and I was just left stuttering. "You know, a candy, a chocolate...they have faces, and hands, and feet - No, not in real life, just on commercials..."

-The phrase "oy vey." Okay. I began by pointing out that when Kenyans are exasperated, they say something that sounds like "AIII!" And they throw their hands in the air and shake their heads. I love it when Jacky does this to Mama Lucy: "AIII, Ma." Mama Lucy: "whatttt?" And she laughs at herself. Okay, so I explained that this is the yiddish equivalent, usually accompanied by slapping one's palm to their forehead in exasperation.

These are hands-down my favorite times with my host family.

In other news, official mosquito bite count = 19.

Fundraising!

2009-06-18T00:54:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!

So, as you know, I've been working on the implementation of the project I described earlier. However, I need to fundraise in order to be able to carry out the microfinance training workshop! My seed grant from FSD covers most of the costs associated with the HIV/AIDS workshops, but the workshop dedicated to teaching women how to produce more nutritious meals using soy and sell these products for profit requires further funding.

Any donation would be much appreciated, seriously, no amount is too small. Before I got here, I had no idea how far a little bit of money could go, but I promise you, it truly goes a long way.

If you have any questions, please let me know! The following link has a formal description of my project, and allows donations by credit card. Unfortunately, the link isn't working, so you'll have to copy and paste it into your browser.

http://fsdinternational.org/donate/projects/Friedland

Thank you so much for your support - not just now, but throughout this entire process. I can't begin to explain how much I appreciate it, and how crucial it has been to making my transition as flawless as it has been.

Team USA

2009-06-14T04:06:00.000-07:00

Sports day on Friday was unlike anything I have ever experienced. The Momias women were much fiercer than their Kakamega counterparts - there were no dresses or skirts amongst those playing. Everyone was wearing jerseys, in vibrant shades of shiny nylon. My soccer team was reluctant to put a mzungu on the field - there was a lot at stake. I got stuck at left defense, and held my own - I even mustered up an assist. Every time we scored women would charge the field from the sidelines, wrapping me in hugs and grabbing my hand, thrusting it victoriously into the air above my head. "Our mzunguuuu!" I was okay with the politically incorrectness, in context it was endearing.

At halftime - after the team stole my water bottle and polished it off - I was given a handful of glucose (Kenyan Gatorade?) and a local name: mabakolwe, the name of a local clan. Innnntense. It took me an embarassingly long time to realize that they were trying to give me a nickname.

After we won, I was dragged into a mob of women and schoolchildren, all marching and dancing behind a group of men playing drums. The level of closeness and sweat was worse than Shooters, for those of you for whom that means something. At one point, a lady comes up to me and kneels at my feet. I look around, wondering if this is some sort of praise? Ritualistic practice? As I am searching for someone to explain, she sticks her head between my legs and grabs onto my calves, flipping me over her back, my head dangling near her thighs, my hands frantically covering my face in absolute astonishment/terror/hysterical laughter. She proceeds to parade me around in front of the tent, which is where the WEAEP administration sits solemnly in the shade in formal work attire. Mortifying and hilarious at the same time. Keep in mind that this woman weighs probably 120 pounds.

I also got a chance to eat raw sugar cane. It came straight off the ground, a.k.a. dirt road. A small boy started it off so I could bite it with my weak American teeth. Was I slightly nervous I would get some sort of parasite? Absolutely. But so far so good.

This morning I went to the market to buy a pair of boy's athletic shorts - they don't really make a women's equivalent. I met Arjun at 8 to work out, and this is when the adventure unfolds. We go to the track/stadium, only to find hundreds of people there. Arjun claims it is church. We go to a nearby school to use the field, but the gate is locked and the barbed wire was too close together to crawl through. We walk back to the stadium, on the way to my residential area, resigned to running on the roads. A large group of men are parading toward us, wielding large sticks and other menacing paraphenilia. This is never a good sign - we were instructed to run in the opposite direction if this ever happened. Fearing my life, we approach a man on the side of the road, who tells us they are headed to the stadium, not for church, but rather for a bullfight. Sure enough, a sheepish-looking bull is reluctantly being herded along in their midst. We opt out of attending, in search of what this Side-of-the-Road Man referred to as the "Approved School," where "all" the athletes allegedly go to train. Perfect! False. We walk to the school - at this point we have legitimately probably walked upwards of a mile and a half - and the school is called "Rehabilitation School." Side-of-the-Road Man is henceforth referred to as Slightly-Off-the-Mark Man. Needless to say, there is a level soccer field in the distance, so we go in and ask the administrator if we can use the field. She agrees but looks very strangely at us - she is not alone, mind you. We have gathered a large audience, what with me in my new kelly green gym shorts, and of course being foreign and all. We run several laps, and do some ab exercises - the boys are all staring wide-eyed. I told you, exercise is not the norm here. Especially co-ed exercise. We then start to do some weird workout Arjun has conjured up, the kids creeping ever nearer. Finally I just ask if they want to join, and the whole lot of them - 25 in all? - lines up and joins us in a series of lunges, push-ups ("press-ups"), and strange frog leaps. It was adorable, they were probably on average 11 years old, and there we were, crawling across the field, counting aloud our exercises and collapsing on the sidelines. I tentatively whip out my soccer ball, and the crowd goes absolutely wild. We break into two teams - naturally Arjun and I are captains - and proceed to play, a typical AYSO Sunday morning, I was almost expecting orange slices at halftime. We are suddenly forced to stop. I am used to stopping games because the time ran out, or because of an unexpected thunderstorm. This, however, was officially the first time I had to call a soccer game because one of the school's cows ran away and the teacher needed the boys to go run after it. We told them we'd be back next week for round 2. They were so appreciative and so friendly - it was really a fantastic morning.

I made pasta for my family for lunch, with a delicious pomodoro sauce. The vendors in the market all know me from my daily visits with Erica, I dutifully say hi to my friend, Obama's cousin. I went to Emily's to watch a movie. I might do some work, listen to music, hang with Jacky and Chantel, and call it a night.

Project HOPE, and then things get a little thorny...

2009-06-11T22:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the first of the many meetings I have lined up in the next six weeks. Isoso, Sophie, and I headed to town to pick up three women from Shikokho, a rural village about 40 minutes away from Kakamega town. The women are all members of Project HOPE, a group of women that have all gathered for reasons relating to HIV/AIDS. As we pulled up to the gas station, they stood waiting, decked from head to toe in light fuchsia silky material, their smiles as bright as their silky dresses. They reminded me a little bit of the three fairies in Sleeping Beauty – Merriweather, etc. The six of us visited three different Literacy Center meetings: Tujipe Mwoyo, Shirere Post-Test, and Roster Man.

I described the idea of our project, with the help of Isoso’s translation skills, and then introduced the three HOPE women to the women in each LC. They stood, one at a time, and spoke of things that most people in this region, this country, cannot bring themselves to address – one described how she had lost a husband to HIV/AIDS, another discussed the way in which the women came together to start a revolving funds program in order to support each other in coping with the costs of the disease. Yet another spoke of the stigma of HIV/AIDS in their community – of the way in which people claimed her husband, positive, was “bewitched.” They talked about the importance of knowing one’s status, eating healthily, and becoming advocates in order to reduce the stigma. Project HOPE has effectively eradicated their community of such a stigma – the women now also help to fund the education of disadvantaged and special-needs children in their community.

They embodied everything that I wish my project could ignite in the spirits of Kakamega women – to be HIV positive in this region is inexplicably difficult. Think of how hard it is to cope with the implications of the disease in the United States, and then imagine “coming out” (so they refer to the action of revealing one’s positive status) in a society in which so doing risks community and even familial exclusion. The courage, the strength, the determination they portrayed – and having witnessed the tumultuous context in which these characteristics were nurtured – it was truly an honor to be in their presence. I can only hope that the LC women were as inspired as I was by their veracity. We were well received – the women seemed enthusiastic about our project idea; the HOPE women were met with applause, my attempt to introduce myself in Kiswahili was met with appreciative laughter, our arrival was even met by one women’s group with a song and dance.

Today I began to gather information about HIV/AIDS in order to start assembling a curriculum, and visited Bishop Sulumeti, one of the secondary schools in which WEAEP has sponsored scholars that have agreed to work with me. The girls were extremely quiet – I even asked a teacher to translate to make sure they understood. He assured me they did, but they still responded minimally to the proposal that they participate in the training program. My biggest concerns are both that they are uncomfortable talking about something as controversial as HIV/AIDS in front of their peers, and that they do not think this is a project worth pursuing. However, I’m choosing to take their silence as shyness and not disinterest for now, and hoping that they open up when they meet with the LC women to be trained July 4th. I can only imagine that it would be intimidating if I was removed from class to speak with a stranger not much older than I, from a country I’d never been to, about my participation in a project I had never heard of.

I finally got to go for a run yesterday, on a track. I ran with a few of the interns, not that I could keep up after a month free of physical activity besides yoga. Today I ran on the roads around my house – not initially advised, but I really needed to get some exercise. Too bad I didn’t bring shorts – I ran in yoga pants; too bad i didn't pack sneakers – I ran in hiking shoes. I’m going to need to do something about this.

I also may or may not have stepped on a 3-inch long thorn, which I yanked out of my foot. I rinsed it with hydrogen peroxide, but about four hours later, it started swelling. It feels kind of like I have a cramp in the arch of my foot, but I called Angie and she said to wait till tomorrow and see how it feels before going to the doctor. It’s gotten better in the past few hours, so I’m not too concerned. Lucy informed me she didn’t THINK it was poisonous. Reassuring. The new fad is also malaria – Emily has it, Guillaume has it…I’m hoping to resist joining them, tempting as it is.

Me: “Jacks, I hope I make it.” Jacky: “What, you think you will die?” Me: “I hope not. That’d be sad.” Jacky (casually): “Yeah.” She waves me off nonchalantly – BUT I STEPPED ON A 3-INCH THORN! – continuing her homework: writing out similes. “Ugly as a warthog. True as the Bible. Fat as butter. Happy as Gabriel when he found out that people were worthy of salvation.” Not quite the comparisons we used in middle school, but hey, they work too.

Tomorrow is women’s sports day again, this time in Momias (about 40 minutes away). I’m pumped – I have my headband made of extra fabric from my new locally outfitted dress ready to be tied ferociously across my forehead and everything. These sports days are INTENSE, and I have to prove myself worthy of acceptance :)

Things I Have Tried and Failed to Explain to My Host Family, Part 1:

2009-06-09T05:14:00.000-07:00

Picture me right now:

I just had a dress made by my new favorite tailor - Zilpah - out of the local fabric. She is in her twenties, maybe? And the nicest woman ever. Anyway, I am sitting on the floor of my bedroom at home, surrounded by this African garb, scooping peanut butter from the jar with bread that I bought at the supermarket and am hiding in my suitcase, all the while laughing out loud at myself at the thought of someone in my family walking in on me, horrified that I'm eating other food. If heaven is a big bowl of vegetables or peanut butter and bananas on whole wheat toast, then hell is a big bowl of ugali, one after another after another...

Back to business:
- Marshmallows. I told them it would be great to make s'mores on their jiko (small pot used to cook with charcoal). This led to "what is shmores?" which led to me listing ingredients. Graham crackers were also difficult, but I could just kind of say biscuit or cookie. Marshmallows have no such substitute. We looked marshmallows up in history textbooks, dictionaries...the definition doesn't do it justice. We have not reached a conclusion here.

- Sororities. This one isn't intuitive. You think that it would be very easy to explain, but it's not, trust me. A group of girls that...are sisters? "But they're not really related." They sometimes live together in a house. Kappa Kappa Gamma...How in the world am I supposed to explain why this organization that seemingly has no purpose ("So it's like a team?" Yes. "But you don't play a sport...?" Hm. I see the confusion.) exists and is labeled by a series of Greek letters? I tried the history approach. It ended up with me just sounding creepy when I got into the rituals, etc.

- Hippies. I had tied a piece of fabric as a headband around my head, hippie-style, and I was like, "oh, I'm a hippie." Blank stares. Jacky thought I said "hippo." I'm finding as I learn a little more Kiswahili that she rarely understands what I'm talking about without translation. Which is so funny because she does a great job of hiding it - I never would have known. Now I catch an "anasema nini?!" ("She said what?!") every time I speak at length. Anyway, hippies: people in the 70s who wore bell-bottom jeans and flowy clothes and headbands across their foreheads while giving peace signs and saying things like "be easy, man, peace on earth." I don't even know where to begin here.

- Ribs. As in babyback ribs. I was surprised by this one - people eat a lot of beef here, and they are generally resourceful when it comes to making sure that they get the most meat for their money (case in point: matumbo, cow intestines, common delicacy). But my sisters had no idea where I was going with this one, as I pointed to my ribs and explained that in America, you eat these, but from a cow.

Strange topics come up, random unexpected things that you take for granted - everyday things with which you assume "everyone" is familiar - and then the smallest thing is said, and everyone waves the red flag. The conversation detours in the direction of explanation and cultural exchange, and these are the funniest times - when you sit down next to these people, once strangers, and realize you are now suddenly relatively close with them. You try to explain the concept of a marshmallow, or whatever trivial cultural phenomenon - out of nowhere you find you are bonding and laughing and learning - together. "We don't have that," they say, "but we have this," and the exchange comes full circle.

Of course, the cross-cultural exchange isn't always so flawless. One person I've encountered (ambiguity intentional) tends to subscribe to the idea, very common in this culture, that women are expected to serve the interests of men. Here, this mindset is absolutely normal - and should be viewed as a product of upbringing and cultural difference. I might not agree, but it is not my place to judge. Rather, I've chosen to work with the women here, in hopes of adding to the progress already being made in women's empowerment. Nonetheless, there have been times when this viewpoint has emerged, both subtly and very blatently. Finally, it was politely conveyed that where we come from, we are not expected to do something simply because we are women. To be helpful, yes, to be kind, sure, but not solely because of our gender. Some of this may simply be that this person is testing how far our boundaries can be stretched - the point, needless to say, is that cultural exchange is a process, one that is at times hilarious and heart-warming, and at others emotionally challenging.

Work Plan

2009-06-09T04:53:00.000-07:00

I wanted to describe the project I've developed to implement in the rest of my time here, so here is the formal write-up that I've sent to FSD in order to fundraise.
I'm sorry in advance that this post is obscenely long, but this is really the point of me being here, and I know you're interested anyway, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this :)

Among 15 to 19 year olds in Kenya, the ratio of women to men infected with HIV is 3:1. The peak prevalence (13%) is among women ages 25-29. This prevalence is due to a lack of knowledge regarding the ways in which the disease is transmitted, and how transmission can be prevented. People are often unaware of or cannot afford treatment options. Due to stigma, people diagnosed are often under the impression that they are no longer capable of living fulfilling lives.
This project will:
(i) Increase awareness of HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment among women and schoolgirls at risk.
(ii) Teach women to use locally available products to create healthier nutritional options for themselves and their families.
(iii) Empower women to sustain themselves and cover costs of medical treatment via the sale of these soy products.
To achieve these goals, we will develop a series of trainings, which:
(i) Initiate a sustainable cycle of HIV/AIDS education amongst women and girls of the Kakamega community.
(ii) Teach women how to cook meals using soy.
(iii) Teach women concepts of microenterprise and small-scale business planning, focusing on the sale of these food products for profit.
Since the costs HIV/AIDS reduces a household’s ability to purchase healthy food necessary to maintain a weak immune system, this project seeks to provide a way to produce healthier foods and potentially increase household income.

WEAEP will dedicate its time to help to execute this process of “Training of Trainers,” and will partially fund this opportunity to give community women the tools they need to pass on essential knowledge to younger members of their own community, who can, in turn, educate their peers. The funds will be used to cover transportation, training materials, and ingredients necessary to teach women to cook food with soy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Basically, the idea is that the project is entirely sustainable once I leave. WEAEP works with women, girls, and street children. I wanted to figure out a project that in some way involved more than one of these groups - having one help another, etc. The organization wanted to expand HIV/AIDS training, and I decided I would put together a new curriculum. The WEAEP women meet in Literacy Centers (LC's), and there are about 20-25 women in each LC (some more some less), and about 80 LC's in this region. 3 of these LCs are specifically HIV + women.

Project HOPE is a group of HIV+ women in a rural vilage nearby who have given a lot back to their community. I am bringing them into Kakamega tomorrow to talk to these 3 LCs to encourage the women to participate in what will be my training program. Then, a few women from each LC (let's say 2-3, so maybe 7-8 total?) will hopefully agree to be trained.

I then train these women, who, in turn, go and train the girls in the Kakamega schools that WEAEP sponsors via scholarships. Let's say there are 3 scholars at each school, and 2 schools I'll reach out to...that means 6 scholars will be trained in HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment by these women. THEN, these scholars set up meeting times at their respective schools and teach their peers, a much larger audience. It's a cycle: WEAEP --> LC women --> scholars --> peers. when I leave, WEAEP can repeat the training/cycle whenever they want. Thus, sustainable.

THAT IS ONE BRANCH.

The women in the LCs need ways of financing their lives, making them more independent and self-reliant/sustainable. In the HIV groups, they need to fund the costs of their medication, as well as improve their diets to support their weakened immune systems. I am going to hold a training session on how to make food products using soy, which is a much healthier way to make food here (the food is generally not healthy because they have so small a budget for food). These healthier foods are better for people who are battling a deteriorating immune system. The training will also cover microenterprise and small-scale business...the women can learn to market these goods and sell them for a profit. Thus, they and their families are healthier and there is more money flowing to pay for their meds/lives in general.

I didnt want to limit this training only to the LCs that are positive status. Other women simply may not be vocal about their status, due to the stigma associated with the disease, or may have family or friends that have HIV/AIDS. Therefore, the leaders from the 25 Literacy Centers will all come together for this training. Each leader will go back and teach her LC, ensuring that we reach the greatest number of people at the lowest cost. This means each of the 25 leaders (Community Resource Facilitators = CRFs) will teach approx 20-30 women...500-750 women taught these methods.

The HIV/AIDS material I have to develop on my own from scratch. As for the nutrition information and training materials, luckily, the last intern with WEAEP carried out a similar training in a neighboring town. I will replicate what she did, which is why it will hopefully be possible to do both trainings in the time I am here.

I'm really excited about the project. So far, things have been coming together, slowly but surely. I've visited the two schools I will work with, and plan on returning to form relationships with the scholars later this week.

Meet the Fam!

2009-06-07T22:10:00.001-07:00

This weekend was pretty quiet - Sunday, I went with the family to visit Mark at boarding school. I've only met him once before, and I can't say we interacted too much yesterday, either. My host father was there for the weekend, too, so the two of them spent a lot of the day together speaking to Mark's teachers about his progress in school. Once again, it was mostly me, the girls, and Lucy - what I like best anyway :)

I got a chance to take some pictures of them, to finally put some faces to the names. I also got a chance to wear jeans for the first time since I've been here - I wish I could explain to you how good it felt to finally be wearing something familiar, a necessary break from traditional skirts. I saw Jacky wearing jeans in the living room when we were about to leave, my eyes wide as I ask her: "Can I wear jeans, too?" She looked at me like I had five heads as she nodded silently, as if it was strange I even felt the need to ask. I can't imagine why she was surprised I'd ask - I've never so much as seen another girl my age wearing jeans.

Anyway, the task for the week is finalizing my work plan, getting my budget together, and having the first of many meetings with the women in the Literacy Centers that I am recruiting for training...but more on that later.

My single piece of wall art:

People here are OBSESSED with Obama. Everyone you meet asks if you know him, and tells you that he is their cousin. I've started to reply that he is my cousin, too.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

2009-06-04T18:12:00.000-07:00

The past 48 hours have been like the seesaw on the kindergarten playground at recess. Yesterday I was the “big” kid, my feet stuck hopelessly to the pavement, staring wistfully up at my lightweight friend, soaring above me on the other end, and all of this with a Twinkie in hand, adding my own insult to injury. Today, I’m the latter, propelled upward with such force that I can barely manage to keep my Velcro light-up sneakers on the ground.

As of yesterday, I had no idea what I wanted to do personally with WEAEP. Everyone around me seemed to have a plan, a course of action, which made my situation all the more stressful. Irrational as I know it was – even at the time, I was aware – I was convinced I’d be facing what I’d dreaded most in coming here: that I would find nothing on my own worthy of making my stay meaningful for both the people around me and for myself. I met with Angie, I was a total mess, and woke up today hesitant to leave the folds of my mosquito net, anxious for further disappointment the day might bring.

We went with Isoso to a Literacy Center meeting, a women’s group in which most of the women are HIV positive. I recognized most of the members of the group from WEAEP’s sports day; my favorite, the one who had greeted me in town on Sunday, was there – the fact that she is now a familiar face makes me so happy. I sat with these women, Isoso translating every now and again, and I couldn’t help but admire them, their strength, their companionship – they sat, some linking arms, others sharing quiet jokes and stories, all of them smiling, all of them eager to learn about the possibility of taking new loans to start new lives.

The women here are absolutely breathtaking, unconventional, maybe, by American standards, but radiant nonetheless. Their skin is rich and velvety in color and texture, their lips full, teeth strong and straight – their contagious smiles illuminate their entire faces; when they smile for real, their eyes glow and highlight their chiseled cheekbones. Their cropped hair only further accentuates their features. The women are reserved, yet passionate and optimistic, at the same time both quiet and revered by one another. They exude a steadiness that is both intimidating and inspiring – in a society in which HIV/AIDS is brutally stigmatized, these women have found it within themselves to be open about their status. They embody hope, warriors for a cause that has unfortunately garnered meager support in most communities.

I knew I wanted to work with them, even before my newfound friend turned to me and whispered that she hoped I’d not forget their group as I made arrangements for my summer. But how?

I wish I could say that I hadn’t had a momentary lapse of optimism, a breakdown – and I wouldn’t have, had I known a breakthrough was just around the corner. But I’m happy it happened – first of all, you never know ahead of time that a breakthrough is around the corner, and second, it drove the message home that this is a process of ups and downs. However many ups I experience, there will be moments of frustration, confusion, self-doubt. But more importantly, the reverse holds – for each setback there will ultimately be some triumph.

Things I Wish I Had

2009-06-04T09:00:00.000-07:00

Nail clippers: I don’t know how I forgot this. I have started cutting my nails with my Swiss Army knife scissors. Desperate times.

Twizzlers: I can’t explain this one. Just wish I had some. And sunflower seeds; I bought a huge pack but I’m running out.

A Mess Kit: you never know when you might need a fork or spoon. Utensils are not common entities here. Starting today, I am carrying around my Swiss Army knife in the event that I might need it. Example: yesterday I had to slice an avocado for a group of ex-street children at WEAEP’s drop in center. Would have been nice to have a clean knife.

Hard food: Everything here is mushy or chewy. Absolutely everything. The one exception to this is when I have had a biscuit with tea. My toast in the morning is usually un-toasted. Note to anyone traveling somewhere like this: granola bars are necessary.

Crystal Light: They have to boil the water here before we drink it – otherwise, there are bacteria and parasites that allegedly cause devastating stomach problems that render you useless for days at a time. I’m looking to avoid my Cipro at all costs. However, this means that the water has a strange metallic taste, in my case, and unfortunately for others, a strong charcoal taste (if water is boiled on a charcoal fire). Thus, Crystal Light would be ideal to mask this taste and make me less dehydrated.

A Salad: again, no way to describe the lack of fresh vegetables. I get some vegetables, mostly greens, but they are all cooked like spinach. Nothing crunchy. My teeth are not going to work when I get back for lack of practice. Old people, however, would do well here. How did people here get such strong teeth? When we were in Kisumu, Nate asked for a bottle opener so he could drink his Fanta, and Damaris simply took the bottle, and snapped the bottle cap off with her teeth. During our field visits, we saw hundreds of Kenyans eating sugar cane straight out of the ground, holding huge 5-ft. tall stalks of the extremely tough plant, just ripping off pieces with their teeth. And their teeth are so straight – the things my parents could have done were it not for my orthodontist bills. And think of the adolescent trauma I would have avoided…

Colored Clothing: My shirts are white and tan. My skirts are khaki, navy, and olive green. My pants are olive green, brown, and black. Occasionally I wear a colorful dress, usually on weekends.

Other than that, I think I’m good. You might think I’d want a shower, but bucket showers are fine, I actually kind of like them. You literally cannot rush (it takes forever, especially when you’re a girl and have to wash your hair) and it’s kind of pleasant to take your time. Washing machine, not really – my clothes smell nice after drying outside in the sun. At least I am also getting some color. You know how I know? I have tan lines from the criss-cross design of my sandals. At least I think they are tan lines – by that, I mean they do not wash off when I scrub them. But this might just be a permanent layer of dirt. No way to be sure.

Update: Erica and I have started to go to the market for lunch. We bought a basin, and now we go buy vegetables and make a salad (minus lettuce). This is the second day we have done this, and it is no less amazing. If you want your kid to like vegetables, send him to Africa. We cut them with our army knives (see how important?) while singing "heavennnn...I'm in heavennn..."

Making a Difference?

2009-06-03T04:11:00.000-07:00

Some people tried to caution me before I left – “You know,” they would say, cautiously, one hand on my shoulder, as if trying to tell me kindly that perhaps it was unrealistic for me to try to figure skate in the next Olympics, “you shouldn’t go ‘in there’ thinking that you’re going to change the world.”

It’s a lovely sentiment, and I appreciate their trying to cushion my crushing fall when, suddenly, I come to the logical realization that I can’t make a difference. But I refuse to be converted. If it were possible to convert me, I wouldn’t be here. Because I know that I can make a difference. I think these people have a skewed conception of what it truly means to make a difference. If you define “making a difference” to mean stopping ethnic and religious conflict tomorrow, ending economic recessions in a week, world peace in a month, well, then, yes – I probably am not capable of “making a difference” in the next two months.

But if you stop to think about the way in which we make a “difference” every single day, then it suddenly doesn’t seem so daunting a task. It’s all about your goals and your perspective. Every time we share a part of ourselves with someone else, we create a ripple effect, however tiny, that alters the course of their life in some miniscule way, and in changing their world, and perhaps in setting them on a different path, we have altered a much larger world – these people affect different people than they would have had we not intervened in some way, and so on down the line, achieving a different end entirely had we not acted at all. Whether this end is better or worse is another story entirely – but it is undeniable that some impact has been made, and thus, haven’t you changed the world?

I’ll give you two examples:

Here, my host sister Jacky, at ten years old, is in the peak of her handgame phase. We play handgames every day when she comes home from school, over and over, the same ones. But I taught her some of the ones that I used to play when I was younger, and after she learned them, she went and taught all her friends, and I’d like to imagine groups of young Kenyan school girls, outside at recess, playing “Miss Mary Mack,” not sure at all where this strange song came from, but passing it on nonetheless.

I taught a coworker today how to cut a piece of paper by folding it, creasing it, licking the crease to soften the paper, and ripping it neatly in a straight line. She was amazed, and I heard her throughout the afternoon tell at least five different people this trick.

So call me naïve, but I’m not ready to give up yet. I still have seven weeks to believe that I can make some sort of difference, and if I didn’t, then my being here would be pointless. We’ll talk when I get back, and I’ll let you know where I stand :)

Would You Rather: Turn Around to See a Guard Swinging a Machete 3 Inches From Your Face, Or...

2009-06-01T11:22:00.000-07:00

...Wake up after being unconscious to a Kenyan doctor poised with a syringe of cortizone, ready to be injected into your (bare) hamstring? The latter happened to a certain someone on our trip, names unnecessary. Not me, though, promise.

Today is Kenya's Independence Day, so we had Monday off from work. The interns decided to go to the Kakamega Rainforest on Sunday, spend the night, and come home this afternoon. Nate did most of the planning - it seemed so unstructured, I was shocked each time the next part of the itinerary actually worked out.

Sunday morning, I went to church with the girls - earlier this time, so it wasn't as warm. I managed to stay awake, and the service was actually beautiful. I can't understand a word - not that it would matter if I did, the religious aspect doesn't apply to me personally. But the voices of the congregation are incredible, so upbeat and lively - and everyone sings. I felt less out of place this time - I was prepared for the staring, and I recognized one woman from WEAEP's sports day. At the end of the service, I greeted her and shook her hand. She asked when we were going to come visit, and told me she hoped it would be soon.

We left for the forest around noon, arriving around 12:45. We were staying at KEEP (where Jessica works), in their bandas (grass-roofed huts). After lunch, we took a 4-5 hour hike to the river and back. I say this casually, but this was not a walk for the weary, let me tell you. As Emily phrased it, by hour 3.5, I was not a happy literal camper. Tiring, yes, but also beautiful - this part of Kenya isn't known for being a home to large game; we saw mostly monkeys, birds, butterflies, and a lot of species of plants - most of which locals use to make herbal remedies for all kinds of ailments, ranging from stomach aches to allergies to malaria and anything in between. Our guide, Job, moved at a ridiculously fast pace - I was sweating like you wouldn't believe (thank you, dry-wick pants - yes, I wore them. Were they ugly, up to my rib cage? Yes. Did I care? Not at all.). Job, however, was fine - naturally.

We came back for dinner, and joined a group of about 8 or so French business students who had also just arrived to begin working. As we walked into the "dining hall" (grass-roofed hut), we heard blood-curdling screams coming from one of our bandas. Arjun was probably the loudest - he denied it later, take my word for it. Apparently there was an enormous spider in their room; if I had been there, I would have been right next to Arjun, as anyone who knows me (especially my dad, who I have recruited to kill many a spider in my room at home at 1 AM) can attest. After dinner, a guard walks into the dining hall, decked in camo. He turns to the left: 3-foot AK-47 in left hand. "Welcome, karibuni, to Kenya! We are so happy to have you!" He turns to the right: 3-foot machete under right arm. Again: "Welcome to Kenya!" (This repeated approximately 25 times.) One of the guides told us he was slightly inebriated - not a comforting thought, as he swung his weapons haphazardly around our heads. He parked himself in the chair next to Emily - just casually pointing his gun in the general direction of whomever he was addressing. He finally left, swinging his machete, "welcome to Kenya!", as those on either side of him ducked when he swung their way.

We woke up at 430 for the sunrise hike. All 13 of us crammed into the open back of a pick up truck to expidite the process in lieu of walking. The stars were blazing - we saw between us at least five shooting stars on the way. We hiked in total darkness - who knew I would actually use my headlamp for anything other than reading?? The hill was approximately 90 degress - my legs were dying. As of now, I can't get off the couch or sit in a chair. But it was worth it; the sunrise was beautiful (and brunch was fantastic).

We left a while later, and I came home to Chantel and Jacky and Auntie, their family's househelp. Their mama and baba are not home yet from their stay in Kitali. I (bucket) showered - finalllllyyyyyy, and washed some of my clothes in the tub. Jacky sat with me for about an hour, helping me compile a list of Kiswahili verbs and vocabulary - I really need to work on it. I was sort of under the impression the ability to speak would just evolve as I stayed longer, but unfortunately language isn't learned solely via osmosis. Bummer.

We danced to some music, I tried to teach Jacky some bar mitzvah dance moves; we ate dinner - I tried to explain the concept of obesity being a problem in America (this was difficult to grasp; here, it's bad to be skinny - I love Kenya). I showed the girls pictures of all of you on my computer. They loved seeing your faces; it made me miss you all, but so happy to explain how much I loved each person whose face they saw. Also - try explaining the concept of a sorority to people who have never heard of it. Not as easy as you would think.

Okay, I'm off to watch Tom & Jerry. TV selection is slim; but no complaints at all. My personal favorite is "Can 'U' Dance!" I'm just happy I have a bathroom in my house and don't have to use a hole in the ground like we did at the bandas. In the dark, terrifying experience. Absolutely terrifying. No words.

Goodnight!

Battered and Bruised

2009-05-30T13:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was WEAEP's annual sports/field day. The organization has helped create literacy centers - groups of women who gather to learn how to read and write. These women also have the option to participate in a revolving fund, a microcredit program that enables a woman, once she has contributed enough shares to prove her creditworthiness, to take out a loan in order to promote self-empowerment through self-employment and small enterprise. Even if a woman chooses not to buy in, she can deposit savings into her LC's WEAEP SACCO (the name of the microfinance program) account, helping to foster a habit of saving and managing money.

Once a year, a number of the many groups get together to compete. The sports are varied: football (soccer), netball (volleyball), sack races, tug of war, relays, and my personal favorite, bottle races. In America, we balance an egg on a spoon and try to run without dropping it. In Kenya, the women balance glass soda bottles on their heads and - not walk, not jog - sprint across the field. It is actually incredible. Today I tried to balance a bag of avocados on my head as I walked with Angie, my program coordinator, down the street. If being a mzungu wasn't bad enough, being a mzungu carrying something on you head is just asking for it. "Everyone's doing it" suddenly doesn't seem justification (ah, when you realize your mom was right). Note to self: "when in Rome" does not always apply, judging by the stares, laughter, and pointing that ensued.

Back to the races: the women wanted me on one soccer team, Erica on the other. Before we started, they told me to look around so I could recognize them on the field. I took in their faces, outfits - skirts, all of them, barefoot - and told them to look at me so they would recognize me. Haaaaahahaha. They just about died when I said that - actual knee-slapping occurred. You could pick me out from miles away. They were shocked I could somewhat play (so was I, it's been a while and I was wearing hiking shoes), and when our team scored, everyone hugged and high-fived. I kind of just stood there awkwardly clapping, alone, not looking to overstep my invitations or anything. But this woman ran up to me and engulfed me in a giant bear hug, and after that, the rest of them high-fived me as well, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me really, really happy.

After the first game, Erica and I sat out - the sun was SO hot. This woman approached to ask us if we wanted to play again, and our heaving chests, gaping mouths, and sweat-drenched faces gave us away. These women played for HOURS. I felt bruises within 10 minutes - impact sport indeed - and sure enough, today, I am speckled with bruises; you could play connect the dots on my arms and legs.

I assumed the role of medic, snapping on powdery gloves to clean cuts and wrap ankles. I'm not sure at which point in the day we suddenly acquired medical degrees, but it involved sitting under a tent in the shade, so I wasn't about to complain.

Today I went to the market to buy the ingredients to make my family guacamole and tortilla chips (which looked nothing like tortilla chips). Chantel helped me cook.

Tomorrow we are off to the Kakamega Rainforest to hike and spend the night - Monday is a holiday, so I'm looking forward to it. Don't worry, we're leaving late enough that I'll just be able to make the second mass at church :)

I love the strength this picture portrays - it is so indicative of the women I have encountered here. In this society, women and girls have significant limitations on the rights they are permitted to exercise, both in public, and in the home. It was refreshing to be in the presence of and to witness such strength, not censored in any way.

Tastes (Sort Of, Not At All) Like Chicken.

2009-05-28T10:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was fairly similar to the day before; we went to visit a few schools in WEAEP's car to follow up on students. A few words about the car: one, the driver's seat doesn't stay upright; the hinges are broken. This is resolved, naturally, by wedging an enormous tire behind the seat so that the driver can lean back if he or she so desires. Two, there are 2 front seats, and 2 benches facing each other in the back where Erica and I sit. The door to the back wouldn't open, so we had to climb over the front seats to get to the back - awkward in a skirt. Then, the door to the back wouldn't close - we had to take turns holding the handle while simultaneously gripping the seat for dear life so as not to fall out of the trunk. We tried a rope, but when it started pouring rain, the rope broke frayed and snapped. This is when you just hope for the best (as your car is skidding into a two and a half foot ditch on the side of the road and small children are pointing and laughing at you).

For lunch, we had - wait for it - goat. I wouldn't have eaten it, but it seemed rude, so I tried...it tasted a lot like lamb chops. Not bad, I swear, though he actually cut the meat right off the leg, which looked slightly unappetizing. But on the other hand, today at lunch Guillaume ordered matundo - what he thought was mushrooms. He passed some around (I politely decline - lucky me), and everyone tried it, commenting that it tasted slightly too fish to be mushrooms. Back in the office, we got a mass text from Josh. Turns out, matundo is actually cow intestines. Classic.

Yesterday, a group of students circled around our stopped car, banging on the windows, pointing, and laughing. From our cage, we laughed and waved, finally opening the windows. The brave ones touched our hands, flinching and bursting into laughter. Others stayed back, asking if we knew Obama and his wife, Michelle, and could we please greet him on their behalf upon our return. I said I'd do my best.

When A Monkey and A White Person Enter Rural Schoolyards

2009-05-26T17:53:00.000-07:00

Today was WEAEP day 2.

It's 3AM - that was a matchbox 20 song I like - I wish I had my iPod but it's across the room, probably uncharged. One, I can't find a 3-prong converter - my colleague Likaka said he'd get one for me, but in Kenya time, that might mean tomorrow, 3 months from now, or never. Two, I'm not leaving the security of my mosquito net. I can hear bugs buzzing near my head outside it. Is it because I'm dirty? Possible. I'm not sorry - bucket showers are hard to take. Especially when there are windows in the bathroom that make it very easy for someone to see you when they are strolling through the cornfield. I've had to devise a method of lunging to avoid window exposure and, consequently, certain expulsion from the country, best case scenario. I'm thinking a pulley system might be in order.

Okay, sorry - this is what happens when you go to bed at 9 PM.

Today we went into the field - Erica is also working for WEAEP. We'll have different projects, but we're sort of just being introduced now, so we've been together. We get to the office and are told we will be going with Silira and Ann to conduct follow-ups on several female secondary students that the organization sponsors at various rural schools. Secondary education is equivalent to our high school, and, unlike primary education, is not free.

The schools were much nicer than I'd expected - by which I mean that they were equipped with many classrooms. Still, the materials were slightly outdated, the paint peeling, supplies limited. A small price to pay, however, for an education, and none of this detracted from the general morale of the students; they were at the same time enthusiastic and unbelievably polite.

The students didn't know what to make of us. At one school, the entire student body (100+) was outside looking at a monkey in a tree (imagine the lockdown this would have incited at Greeley), and didn't really notice as Erica and I made our way into the crowd. After a few minutes, interest in the monkey faded (how? I was mesmerized. Africa: check. See wild monkey in everyday setting: check.), and students started to notice our presence.

While the monkey - bizarre, in my opinon - had been greeted with laughter and cries of delight, the kids just kind of cocked their heads and slowly encircled me. One would dare every so often to step within that dangerous potentially radioactive 1.5 foot radius, only to dart behind a peer if I said a word. I laughed and said "hi! Habari?" (How are you?). No response - some nervous laughter at best. We had to go inside for a meeting with the headmaster, and in response to my "excuse me," the kids silently created a pathway. Moses, staff, psh. The sea of cerulean uniforms parted perfectly, heads and bodies turning in unison, swaying with us as we walked to the office. Its funny, from a distance, the kids are bold. Up close, not so much.

Okay, bed (nap?) time.

WEAEP Day 1

2009-05-25T11:16:00.000-07:00

Today was my first day of work - I did a lot of background reading on WEAEP (Western Education Advocacy and Empowerment Program). The program has two main goals - to empower women and girls through literacy programs and microfinance initiatives, and to reintegrate street children into the community. The people were extremely friendly - upon introduction, one man told me he recognized me from church yesterday. For the rest of the day, he was excited to talk, and promised to translate the kiswahili service the next time I attend. I may not attend again, but it felt like I'd passed some test in his mind - I'd proved myself worthy of integration - on some very basic level - into his community.

Tonight we ate dinner - my host father is not here during the week - he works a few hours away since he was transferred. It was just the girls, and Jacky and I danced around the room to my rendition of the King & I. She wanted to hear me sing - she won't ask again :) still, I taught her those swing dances we always do - kick, kick, open, kick, etc. The Masai came to guard the house, and Lucy introduced me to the three of them - Simon, Julius, and John. I told John, in kiswahili, that my father's name is John, too. Except my father doesn't carry a bow and arrow that is as tall as I am around my house at night, or sing tribal songs as I drift off to sleep. Different strokes.

Good nighttt, lala salama (sleep well).

Welcome "home."

2009-05-24T11:31:00.000-07:00

We pulled into the driveway yesterday around noon, the wheels of the van fitting perfectly where the grass had been worn down to form two parallel muddy paths. The driveway is surrounded on either side by cornfields, and two goats are feeding in the yard, each surrounded by a few chickens. Lucy and Fred were waiting outside, each smiling and waving as I climbed over people and luggage to greet them.

"Karibou," they said, welcoming me into their home as Lucy chases a baby chicken from the living room. The house is modest in size, but very comfortable. I have my own room, with a mosquito net draped over my bed. My host brothers - Mark and Allan - are at boarding school, so I probably won't see them during my stay, but my host sister, Jacky (10), and her cousin, Chantel (15) are here.

Around 4 PM, Chantel served me chai, which we drink a few times a day. She poured the tea in a mug, and leaned down to mix some sugar into the drink and hand it to me. "Thank you very much," I said, still feeling reserved, and tired from making conversation all day. "Asante," she replied, looking me in the eye to correct me and translate my English phrase into its Kiswahili counterpart. Her correction, instead of making me uncomfortable, was reassuring. I could see immediately that she would not hesitate to correct me in the future, the mark of a true and driven teacher. I liked that she and her sister were neither intimidated nor shy.

This morning we woke up, and my host parents went to visit family in a rural village. The girls and I went to church, Jacky holding my hand as we walked through crowds of people dressed in all kinds of clothes for church - silk dresses with puffy sleeves and lacy layers, more traditional african-style printed wraps, suits, etc. She squeezed my hand and played hand games with me as people started blatently at me, amidst cries of "mzungu" and "how ah you how ah you?" I would turn every now and then, and ask a child who couldn't tear his eyes from my white face, "habari gani?" How are you? Some would respond "nzuri" (good) barely audibly, their eyes quickly widening and finally shifting, while others sought refuge behind the skirts of their mothers and older sisters.

The service, conducted entirely in Kiswahili, lasted near 2 hours, most of which was recited in song. The heat made me drowsy, and I struggled to remain awake despite the soothing, rhythmic nature of the congregation's unified voice.

I sat outside and helped Chantel prepare the greens for dinner, picked fresh from their garden. I tried to calmly shoo away tje chickens at my feet, feigning disinterest - I strongly dislike birds. I've also been wary of their watchdogs, one of which is named Spike. The dogs never come into the house - the girls were shocked that Bella not only comes inside but takes precedence when it comes to seats on the couch and spots in the bed. As dinner was getting ready, I helped Jacky with her math homework - measuring triangles and angles. We ate ugali - like grits, cornmeal, but firmer, greens that tasted like spinach, rice, and some beef. For dessert, we had maende (mango). My host sisters helped me review some Kiswahili introductions for my first day of work tomorrow, and after a few rounds of Miss Mary Mack, I am calling it a night.

There are 3 Masai (members of the African tribe) who gaurd our home and the surrounding homes at night - they sit and talk on the porch, rotating every so often between houses. I have yet to meet them, but according to Lucy - and just about anyone else - they are "fierce." Fine by me :)

Liz

Before leaving for our host families, we spent the day in Kisumu, at a beautiful hotel - one last chance to spend some time together before going our separate ways. The pictures on this post are from this trip.

No such thing as pedestrians.

2009-05-21T15:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we took a trip to visit the rural town of Shikhoho. The driver of the matatu we were in insisted on playing one CD over and over on repeat - the music videos for each song playing on the fold-down flat screen TV in the front row (which, strangely, takes priority over such other useful items as seatbelts). At least the CD was Celine Dion.

As we finally accepted the music selection, another matatu drove passed ours, splattering the entire right side of my body (face, arm, white shirt) with mud through the open window. Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? Not really.

It was unbelievable to see the rural village - you have this image in your mind of what it would look like, and while usually these expectations fall short of reality, in this case, it is exactly as you imagine it: dirt roads intertwine with fields of corn, interrupted every so often by a cluster of homes made primarily of mud and packed manure. The inside of each home is dark, and the ceiling low, firewood stocked up for cooking and cold nights. The windows are cut into the walls, each covered by a single sheet of frayed mosquito netting, unattached at the edges, so that it blows into the house with the slightest breeze. The main room of Peter's house is decorated with newspaper articles that line the walls, and images of famous soccer players that dangle from the ceiling beams on fishing wire, swaying in tune with the mosquito net curtains.

The bathroom - a hole in the ground - and the shower house - for bucket showers - are outside.

Though modest, the home is warm and reveals a way of life. Hospitality is so incredibly important; our meal was delicious, and we were served chicken, a delicacy. Peter's mother spoke only kiswahili, and, as customary, greeted each person in the room with a warm and sincere handshake.

Today I may have been casually nudged by a moving car. Arjun and I were walking in town, and I got hit from behind - it was only the side of the car, but enough impact that the side mirror folded inward on impact. I am completely fine - shocked, but not injured. We think New York is bad - you don't know the meaning of lack of respect for right of way until you live in Kakamega.

Boda-Bodas.

2009-05-19T13:55:00.000-07:00

Three nights ago, when I was reading in bed, a moth flew into my book, and without knowing what else to do, I just slammed it shut, squashed the bug, opened my book, and kept reading. This may or may not have been my first act of acceptance.

Two days ago, we woke up and headed into town for a tour of Kakamega. Peter helped us each secure a boda-boda. This is analagous to a taxi - a man on a bike drives by, stops at the corner when you show up, and you just hop on a cushioned seat behind his bicycle seat and off you go. It wasn't as terrifying as I'd imagined; there are handlebars to hold on to, and the wind blowing by you as you ride is a nice break from the heat.

As we drove by, two little boys sitting on a picnic table waved their hands frantically in the air and yelled out "mzungu!" (This mostly happens with kids, but some adults say it as well.) This is a term most often used to refer to white people, but is more generally used to refer to any foreigner, regardless of race or ethnicity. Though I found the blunt acknowledgement of racial differences somewhat unsettling, we have been assured that the term is not used in a derogatory manner.

Yesterday, I woke up at 5AM - the roosters and dogs were incredibly loud, and, once awake, I couldn't fall back to sleep. The beds are hard, and my back aches when I wake up to the point where it is hard to breathe.

We started to learn kiswahili for a few hours. The language, when spoken correctly, is melodic and rolls off the toungue - the words thick and indulgent.

Still, I didn't feel great yesterday - I skipped the fish heads (eyes included) people had at lunch. I went to bed feeling somewhat deflated.

Last night was the first time I slept through the night. For the first time, my back barely hurt, I didn't toss and turn, wake up in a sweat, or have anxious dreams. I lay in my bed and took Guillaume's advice - I stared up at my mosquito net for a few minutes and just observed the way light comes in through a crack in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the delicate white floral lace, which drapes, iridescent, over my bed.

I roll over onto my stomach and stretch my back; I'm pleasantly sore from the yoga we've been doing. I take a deep breath, taking the time to appreciate having the time to simply lay back down in my bed and wait for my day to unfold.

Karibou (Welcome).

2009-05-16T23:26:00.000-07:00

It seems that if I have internet on my phone (service is sporadic at best) I can post from here. Good to know. My posts are a few days behind as of now - I've been writing and just posting when I get the chance.

I left my house in NY at 715 AM on Friday, May 15th. I arrived at the Kamadep guest house ("hotel" - wouldn't work in the US but hey, when in Rome/Kenya) on Sat. May 16th at 8 PM. I am completely lost in terms of time - it feels like time conveniently stopped, like the world paused to wait for me as I boarded 3 different planes and ate more meals on airplanes than anyone ever should. On a good note, Emirates airlines is phenomenal - highly reccommend it next time you jetset to Africa.

It's a miracle I'm in one piece, and that I managed to keep all my stuff. Granted, I lost my toothbrush five times tonight but I still have a passport which is a plus.

We live in a hotel this week. I'm roommates with Erica, and we are about ready to strangle the dog that is howling outside our window. Besides that, it's eerily silent, save for the crickets - and these dogs.

We got off the plane in Kisumu and I was amazed that what was in front of me was actually an airport. We waited outside for our luggage next to a sign that read "wait for luggage here," as if we were waiting for a waitress at a restaurant to seat us. Peter, one of FSD's site team leaders, met us and guided us to two vans, or matatus, a form of local transportation. The fifteen of us (plus 3 FSD staff members) and our luggage packed in like sardines. I snagged a window seat, saved from potential suffocation. A little contact never hurt anyone.

We drove for about an hour on a recently redone (really?) road, to Kakamega. The first thing I noticed was the proximity of everyone outside; it wasn't that they were overcrowded, it just seemed like everyone was carrying out his life in public, one next to another, without a second thought. Kids running here, men fixing a truck right next to them, a group sharing a seat in the shade - so many people, independently living so close to one another, their individual lives intertwined somehow to form this fluid rhythm of movement and communication. And the air smells damp, lush, and green, and at the same time like burning wood, the familiar scent of campfires pouring in the window as the sun set, casting a blueish hue over everything.

But aside from all that, I'm sleeping in a mosquito net, trying to get the moths OUT. They keep appearing en masse, lured by my - wait for it - headlamp (def. Lamp strapped to your head for freedom to move hands, commonly used for hiking according to employees at "Tent n'Trails in Tribeca). There are a lot of things I think this trip will bring me, but a newfound appreciation for insects is likely not going to be one of them.

Getting ready...

2009-05-12T19:40:00.000-07:00

T-minus 2 days.

I'm getting ready, packing - releasing anxiety in the strangest of ways - if I start talking about cameras, stop (slap?) me.

Everyone has been great. I'm just soaking in what's around me - my family laughing around a dinner table with good food and good friends, the start of summer in polka-dot bikinis, a car ride home sitting in the backseat of the car with my mom, my sister and dad in the front singing.

Hellos and all-too-soon goodbyes, quick to come and quick to go. But then again, it always seems to work like that - I'm going to keep that in mind.

- Liz