Happy Birthday, Olivia!

I'm trying to write this post about how fast one year has passed, and everything I write sounds trite, and nothing I can write really shows what happened, but here's my shot at it.  

Olivia, last year, I waited for you, and was overjoyed when I received word that you were finally born, healthy and while the birth was tough, that your mom pulled though too.   I remember sitting on my bed in the hotel room I shared with another PCV and basically jumping up and down in joy when I finally got the email.  I think she was secretly relieved that you finally came - she was probably tired of me talking about you and checking email on my phone five or six times a day. 

I watched you grow over the course of the year with photos posted in Facebook by your dad, photos sent to me by your grandma and great-godfather, and I was excited to finally meet you over the holidays.  

This year, I'll be thinking of you as we relax after our white-water rafting trip down the Nile, enjoying my second last term break before my service ends.  Regardless of the fantastic year we both have had - you traveling to SF, meeting all the relatives and enjoying life with N & M, moving into a gorgeous new farm house just before your birthday, and everything that has been happening out here in my life in Kenya, I have only one small regret - I wish I was in a position to see you more often!  Well, hopefully that'll be the case after I COS. 

So, baby Olivia, I just wanted to wish you a fantastic birthday, and make sure your mom and dad give you some delicious chocolate to celebrate!  

Miss you!

The Plastic Bag Man

Every town in Kenya has its own resident harmless crazy person.  I remember in Loitokitok when the Deaf Eds would meet up to head somewhere to practice our KSL, sometimes we would meet up near the bank, and the local harmless crazy man would come up to us and try to talk with us.  He would wave pieces of papers acting like they were important documents and “talk with us about” these documents.  The first time we met him, I have to admit, he scared the shit out of me (regardless of six years working with the mental health population).  After seeing the man, wearing a headband as a pair of sunglasses, do the same to all the other trainees and the local Kenyans (who humored him and then told him gently to scoot), we all relaxed. 

Kenyans tell stories about the crazy person in their villages, and the crazy things that they do.  I ask about why they’re so matter-of-fact about these people, and they say, well it’s a part of life here.  There’s no good mental institution, no real form of mental service out here, so the people who need treatment are not getting treatment unless they are really violent or harmful to the community, and for those … they just trail off before they finish the thought.  I then ask if it’s like a part of the social fabric of towns across Kenya, and they say, oh hell yeah.  Just like the crippled man sewing the clothes, the Deaf woman who marries into a rich family, the students who have to work early in the morning to herd cows before school, they’re just like a character in their town.  I ask about the families who hide kids with issues such as this, and unfortunately, this does happen, but in many communities, they try to take care of their own. 

I realize that this is true at my school.  We have several mentally handicapped students, who may or may not be Deaf – but are put in our school because our headmaster has a bit of a soft spot regardless of his tough exterior and mannerism.  The teachers love these students like if they are our own; some of these students actually become a favorite of not only the teachers, but also the other students.  We have a new boy who came a couple of months ago and the teachers have named him after a character on a television show because he acted so much like him.  We learn how to manage these students so that their lives are less stressful, and a sort of peaceful co-existing community occurs. 

As for Kilifi, we most definitely have our own crazy man.  For lack of imagination or other descriptive words, I have dubbed him The Plastic Bag Man.  Anyone who has seen him would most definitely agree. 

The first time I encountered this man, he was laying in the divider between the tarmac and a parking lot, and I actually thought he was just a pile of rubbish.  If you have ever visited Kenya, a random pile of garbage is not all that unusual.  Then it moved.  I must have jumped three feet and then realize that it was a man, dressed in plastic bags.  I started seeing that every now and then, almost every inch of his body, except for his face covered by plastic bags.  When my friends visit and we walk down that street, they reacted much the same way I did, and after getting over the fear, we wondered about him. 

At the time of this writing I’m sitting on my couch, sweating like there’s no tomorrow, with the fan facing directly at me, and I’m still hot.  How is he able to stand the heat at high noon in the middle of Kilifi?  Who was he? What was the situation that made him who he is?

I asked around among the teachers about him, and one of the teachers said that he is the brother of the owner of a gas station in town.  I then asked whether there was a falling out or if the family was supportive, and he said that nobody in the family knew why he was like that.  Something just snapped one day and he was like that – the family continues to do what they can to help him, with food, with other necessities. 

He asked me why I was asking about him – and we started talking about how people become such a part of the town, like in Colorado, when I lived there, this man in a knight costume always walked around at one specific intersection, and how that kind of thing occurs in various communities all over the world. 

He said, “Well, you know, it’s life.  He’s not doing any harm, and he seems to be happy doing what he is, so we just let him be.”

Sometimes when there’s not that many options available, maybe it’s just best to let it be.  

The Games

The Provincial Games were held at Sahajanand Special School at Mtwapa, the school where another volunteer, Mary works at.  This year was like night and day in comparison to last year's experience in the Games.  I was relaxed, I knew what to do, I knew my kids, and I knew what to expect.  We had a lot of water (so nothing like The Water Problem at Ziwani last year), insane amounts of cake (seriously, people, two huge chunks of cake at every meal), and everyone had a good time (regardless of the major epidemic of pink eye).

Kilifi District rocked, and sent many kids to the Nationals which will occur this week in Thika, not far from Nairobi.  This year is also the first year that Pwani Secondary has participated in the games, and because there are no other secondary schools in the Coast, most of the kids who are competing will go to Thika to compete with other secondary and tech schools in Kenya (of which there are only four others, if my numbers are correct).  I'm proud of my kids.  

Kids waiting for balloons and face painting.

They were a total hit with everyone - from the 8 years old to the 20 years old.

Kilifi District's tent - watching the track and field activities.

Kilifi boys playing football against the Malindi district.

Mary talking with a few students from Pwani Secondary.

Joyce and Shukurani braiding my hair while we watch the Pwani Secondary boys play football against the vocational program at Ziwani.

Random Mida Creek Photos

A few weeks ago - maybe more - a few of us got together to check out a park just south of Gede, and this was a great opportunity to really break out the XT as there's not that many people around gawking at me carrying that camera around.  Regardless - I had a lot of fun experimenting and here are a few photos that I'm willing to post.  The park is gorgeous - it is sort of a marsh and part beach, and home to many different birds and other animals (of which we did not see much ...).  

We had to walk across several very rickey rope bridges over the marshy area in order to preserve the area and to reach the beach - we visited when it was at low tide, and it truly was low tide.  The bridge is approximately 15 feet above the sand. 

These snails / shells were all over the marsh and the beach. 

Are we still on planet Earth? I was just thinking how amazing that there are such a variety of ecosystems within miles of each other.  This is a photo of the beach when we walked ten minutes into the ocean.

“He stole my ink.”

Said Alii as he pointed at Apolinary.  With raised eyebrows, I looked at Apolinary and said, “C’mon, give Alii back his pen.”  I was preparing to begin my English lesson and proceed to write some words on the blackboard.  Corrugated.  Expedition.  Triumph.  Unparalleled.  Exhilaration.  Alii waved his hand and caught my eye.

“No, no,” Alii signed excitedly, “He stole my INK, not my PEN.” Alii held up his pen and I looked at Apolinary to see him smiling a wicked grin.

“Huh? What?  How?” I asked to laughter from the class, especially from Monica and Josephine, joined at the hip like always.

“C’mon, can’t you take a joke?” Apolinary said as he shrugged. 

Francis came to Alii’s defense as he said, “Oh please!  Apolinary was too lazy to walk to the store and buy a pen so he just sucked the ink out of Alii’s pen.”

“What? Sucked the ink out of the pen?!” I said with a shocked expression on my face. Immediately after I said that, I realized that I might have opened a can of worms as the class began to clamor and provide instruction on how to steal ink. 

“You know, you need to first find the right kind of pen…” Francis began in his prefect mode, only to be interrupted by Mercy.

“No, if you’re good you can suck out ink of any pen.” Mercy retorts. I realize I now have to throw out the lesson plan I had designed for that class, a vocabulary list to supplement the reading I was prepared to give them for their homework assignment that night – and secretly I was hooked.  I wanted to know how these kids steal ink.

Mercy continues, “If you’re really good you can get it out of the fancy pens, but the Speedo pens are easy.” holding up an example.

Samuel adds, “Oh, make sure that you pick a pen that has enough ink to makes it worthwhile.”  The class all started talking at the same time about how important that was. 

Josephine picked up the process and explained the process of pulling out the ink tube from the pen without damaging or raising suspiciousness of the pens’ owner while Monica nodded. 

“You have really thought this out, haven’t you?” I said.  “Maybe you have too much time on your hands!” Another round of laughter from the class and five people started to sign at the same time, making the finish of the ink transfer process something that, to me, apparently only rocket scientists or Pwani Secondary students are able to do. 

“You then hold the other pen like this …” Said Salome, holding a pen under another pen, after hypothetically sucking the ink out of the other plastic tube almost to the point where it’s ready to come out.

“No!  Like this!” Osman cries, showing a different position.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, like that, or maybe like this …” Stephen sagely added as Stephen’s neighbor, Chengo demonstrated.  Mwavu also provided his hypothetical version of ink theft accompanied by commentary from Thomas.  Tall and skinny, Abdullahi captured our attention with his long arms picking up the same thread that Salome started.

I mused, have accidents ever happened? Students with ink-stained faces getting in trouble with the house parents? Poisoning by swallowing ink? I shared those thoughts with the students.

“Oh, that doesn’t happen much,” Shukurani responds with a carefree shrug as is her nature, “We practice.  We’re good.”

Indeed.  They’re good.  

Baby O

Its time again ... for baby Olivia!  next month (woah!) she'll turn 1, so just wanted to post a few photos that was uploaded to Facebook or sent by my godfather, Ron.  

Olivia and Melissa.  The sushi bib is da bomb, yo!

Olivia with Nate.  Not only the sushi bib da bomb, it also is delicious!

Oivia with great-goddaddy Ron.  

Dude - while you have very cool parents, I'm not quite sure if you should trust them that much! Love you!

The Peace Corps Experience

Happy Peace Corps Week!  I know I am a little late with this sentiment as the week is more than half way over, but over this week I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the Peace Corps Experience, in my case, as it compares to the experience of the volunteers ten, twenty, thirty, even forty years ago. 

In 1961, almost half a century ago, Peace Corps was established, with the idea of providing service to other countries adding a positive aspect of the American doing good for others.  It became a romantic sort of image, the young American, just out of college trudging along in the random village across the world, helping build water systems, schools, teaching people how to better themselves.  This image also has the poor young American walking five kilometers to the local phone booth for a five minute conversation with dear ole mom and dad on a line filled with static, sitting on a hard wooden chair, writing letters and hoping for letters from home.  This was indeed the case for many years in the history of Peace Corps, and frankly what I expected out of my service.  Needless to say, my service is not as romantic or isolated.  I’m writing this blog on a computer that I have seen numerous movies over the past year (granted, half of ‘em was really bad), with internet access via Bluetooth on my cell phone.  I have been in a volunteer’s house that has high-speed internet access.  I speak with my mom at least twice every month for quite some time via IM, as well as a few of my close friends.  I’m sitting in a decent house, with cement floors, electricity that works three quarters of the time, on a sofa with foam cushions, I have a gas stove (much like the Coleman camping stove), and I am able to cook decent and enjoyable meals. I have been to dance parties in Mombasa and Nairobi, visited animal parks, and hung out with numerous volunteers and their friends.

For a long time, I wondered if I was denying myself the romantic image of being a Peace Corps Volunteer.  I wondered if I was not suffering enough to get the authentic Peace Corps Experience.  I felt slightly guilty every time I signed into gchat or AIM, wondering if I was not getting everything I should get out of my life in Kenya.  Even if half of my group has a blog, almost all of them check e-mail and facebook on a weekly basis, if not daily basis, I still wondered if some things should not change (at least twittering hasn’t reached too many of us … yet).

Should the Peace Corps that was established in the 60’s not change into something different almost fifty years later?

I have come to realize that I AM having the Peace Corps Experience - that it has just changed over the fifty years that it has been in existence.  The world is becoming smaller due to the internet access, globalization and numerous other factors.  In order to help our communities we have to expose them to these kinds of things.  We have to access the internet, show our teachers, our students how to tap that wonderful resource.  There are several volunteers who work specifically in IT, setting up various systems and other things related to computer usage.  The romantic image of the ‘lone ranger’ of a PCV does not accurately represent the Peace Corps Experience today.  Is our experience any less authentic because of what we have available at our fingertips?

Issues that PCVs face in the local communities are much the same issues we are facing in our communities – local leadership, cultural differences, various other things that has not changed in over forty years, as evident in the cartoons drawn by a PCV in 1965, which can be found here.  I can relate completely to the cartoons drawn by that PCV, as well as almost every PCV I have met who have seen these, and I can imagine, probably almost every PCV that has served.  

In the Fall 2009 issue of the Worldview, a magazine published by the National Peace Corps Association, Kevin Quigley, the president of the National Peace Corps Association wrote an open letter to Aaron S. William, the new Peace Corps Director. 

Quigley wrote, “When it started, the Peace Corps was perhaps one of the most innovative government programs in the 20^th century, and the agency and its world was widely known and admired around the world.  Unfortunately, that is no longer the case.  While recognizing that the world in 2009 is vastly different from the world in 1961, a major challenge would to be revitalize the culture at the Peace Corps so that it once again has a willingness to innovate and develop new approaches and programs that truly advance its timeless mission of making a more peaceful and prosperous world.” 

While we celebrate the Peace Corps Week this week, we are also thinking about ways to revamp and, in Quigley’s words, revitalize the Peace Corps culture – work has been done in the country to discuss IT solutions to various aspects of information sharing, access to IT, and various other things. 

It’s true that it’s not the Peace Corps of the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s or even the 90’s, but it’s still Peace Corps, and every time I think, hmm, is this truly the Peace Corps Experience, the three toads, a couple of baby mice, a bat, and numerous spiders remind me that they’re living with me.  Sure, I have internet and gchat access more often than not, I still have to deal with the faucet that gives off electric shocks, the bats flying around the house, the ducks and chickens decorating my front porch with their droppings, and nosy kids standing at my window trying to peek into my living room.

In midst of all that chaos, think of your local Peace Corps Volunteer and send some good vibes to celebrate the Peace Corps Week!