In a blink of an eye ….

Three weeks have passed since my last blog entry.  When that RPCV told me that my last eighteen months will feel like six months (after my first six feeling like eighteen), I was not sure if I believed her, but now I harbor no doubts.  I literally felt as if I blinked and then we were whisked into mid-terms, then another blink and I’m in Nairobi for the meeting about the BCC create-a-thon, a third blink, and I’m in Embu (or to some people, Fun-bu), and then a final one and I’m back home typing this entry on the last day of February. 

February, historically, has not been one of my favorite months for numerous reasons, regardless of being short and being the month that hosts my brother and sister-in-law’s birthdays.  This year, February surprised me this year by being a fairly good month.  Last February we were dealing with the effects of the teacher’s strike, I was having some doubts about my service, and the Februarys beforehand for some reason had always an aura that I would much rather avoid. 

While the low point was saying good-bye to one of the Deaf Eds – a very good friend of mine and a part of my support system – there were several high points.  Firstly, I spent some time with the new volunteers, introducing them to the Mombasa scene (and quite a few other volunteers who just happened to be in town). 

Nairobi then beckoned me yet again with a meeting in Peace Corps-Kenya’s offices regarding the BCC (Behavior Change Communication) create-a-thon. A couple of the Deaf Ed volunteers had developed the idea of the BCC create-a-thon in where we would invite various organizations of and working with the Deaf together for a two day workshop with all the current Deaf Ed volunteers and work together on creating new Deaf-friendly HIV/AIDS materials.  The meeting in Nairobi was with three other volunteers (who were specifically tapped because of their film/graphic design/technological backgrounds to work with BCC materials), and we worked hard all day to hash out ideas – bringing our ideas and working with what PC-K wanted or expected.  In the end of the day, I felt good about the meeting – I think it was the first time in a long time that PC-K and the volunteers really came together and worked something out that would work on both sides.  I also think that PC-K understood some of the concerns that we had about the BCC program, and steps have been made to address these concerns.  While not everything went perfectly, it was a good first step.

The next day, after finishing up a few things at the office, Ginnie and I headed to her school in Mbeere, about 15 minutes outside of Embu.  I had a blast there staying for a few days, talking with her students and teachers about my life experiences.  I especially loved the students – who obviously loved and trusted Ginnie. I also had a wonderful time talking all evening with Ginnie, who I don’t get to spend much time with because of the geographical distance.  It was with well wishes from the teachers, and promises extracted from me to the students to greet my students for them, when I finally pried myself from the vise of St. Luke’s and headed back to my own neck of woods. 

All that was on top of everything that is happening in Kibarani and Pwani Secondary.  I started teaching the Form One students, which this year has come from not only the Coast province, but the Eastern as well, and I realized that one year really does make a huge difference in my confidence in teaching these kids.  The kids also have started practicing for the Deaf Games, which will be happening in Kibarani this year, and the midterms have come and gone, with several weeks left in the term.  Being back home, like always is a relief, but I found myself - less than 24 hours back home - eager and ready to research for a couple of trips for the break this April after the end of the term. 

Recently I have been thinking of a line from Shawshank Redemption that I thought fit pretty well with everything that have been happening around here - “Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’.”  

Ten Seconds

A few nights ago, I was on night duty, and after I made my rounds, I ended up in the dining hall with the KG-1, KG-2, KG-3, and Class 1-3 students.  I played with the little ones, taught the trick of separating the index finger by using the thumb on the other hand - terrifying half of the kids before I told them the secret, and spent some time chatting with the older ones who were excited about the Provincial Deaf Games happening here in the end of March.  

All was going smoothly and well, then all of sudden the mood in the dining hall was transformed.  Completely transformed.  The blaring television has captured the attention of all one hundred odd kids.  Bewildered, I turned to the television and became even more confused.  I saw an advertisement for a candy, a mint, or something of the like, and then I looked around to the students with raised eyebrows, looking for an explanation.  An explanation was not forthcoming as the eyes of every kid were riveted on the television, waiting for something to happen. 

The little ones were standing on the dining tables, poised, the older ones were standing on the benches or the concrete floor waiting.... for something.  I could feel the anticipation in the air.  Suddenly the main character, who was somebody like a traffic policeman, in the ad popped a candy, mint, whatever it was, and became all energetic and started doing his job with crazy enthusiasm, which basically consists of directing traffic doing a Luhya sort of dance where stands on one leg, and the other leg is up and waving around, and using a windmill motion with one arm, supposedly to keep the traffic moving.  

As I watch the guy do this for five or ten seconds, I became aware of moving legs and arms, and then realized that every kid in the dining hall was copying his movements.  I started watching in amazement at the perfectly choreographed ten seconds of kids on tables, benches and stage moving almost in unison.  

As fast as it started, it was soon over and forgotten.  In one corner of the dining hall, six years old Emmanuel went back to his favorite pastime, chasing six years old girls, more specifically Fatuma and Elina; on a table in the middle of the hall, Christine, Riziki, and their friends went back to braiding their hair, and Jumaa, Stephen, Liwali and Kazungu went back to their eternal argument about whether Manchester United or Arsenal is the better football team as they stood lazily by the windows.  The only sign left of this ten seconds window of amazement is my gaping mouth and my mind racing with wonderment.  

The crazy ass random things that kids do!

Motivation & Inspiration

Apparently I went through a sort of motivation crisis four or five months early as I wrote in the entry Legacy of the Peace Corps.  Several of my fellow volunteers from my group are having brainstorming sessions and discussions on how to keep going.  We suddenly found ourselves in the peculiar position of being the longest serving volunteers (aside from the two who have extended for a third year), and how to motivate ourselves was a frequent topic of conversation. 

After two months of training and a year of service, we have reached a lull.  The first two months in the country is spent in training, learning the language, the culture, getting over part of the culture shock, and just basically figuring out if this is truly what we wanted.  The first three months in site is spent moving in, developing friendships and relationships with counterparts / other staff people, and basically what Peace Corps calls community integration and continuing trying to figure out if this is what we want to do. During the months afterwards, teaching techniques were tried and perfected, niches in business and public health organization were found, or other major assignments were found, new ideas and thoughts for our assignments were implemented.

After a year, now that we know how to live here, that we have called this country our home, these communities our community, we also learn much of what goes on in a community that is not obvious to the casual observer. Our mental energy is spent looking at various things of Kenya that originally did not bother us, but now that the “honeymoon” period is over, drives us absolutely bonkers. 

We learned about corruption in almost every organization, from small scale “borrowing pencils and never returning” to taking school food and selling for an individual’s profit, and to fudging of documents for travel reimbursement.  This can and does cause some disillusionment in quite a few volunteers, and they asked the same questions that I asked back in September – what am I doing here in Kenya?  Is it helping any?

One volunteer is of the opinion that all foreign aid should be removed, that the only way to resolve the dependence that Kenya has on foreign aid was to completely cut everything off, and have them figure out how to manage their country.  I believe that the solution lies somewhere in the middle.  Foreign aid should come with accountability and strict guidelines, and some aid should be cut off, most definitely, but I found myself becoming less of a cynic here than I was in the United States, which surprised myself, and I believe that some foreign aid does good here.  It is not my intention to got off on a tangent, and more on foreign aid might be written at another time.  This played a huge part in how she felt about her job, and what happens with and in her school administration. 

Another volunteer found out that there were major problems with the accounting at her project, and this forced her to question whether providing the services she provides as a volunteer to that organization is truly in the best interest of her organization.  A few other volunteers started to see the fellow teachers at their school with new eyes – possibly really seeing who would benefit what they are trying to teach.  Many volunteers have started to really miss the comforts of their homes and lives in the United States, and in order to keep going and ignore what is pulling us back to the States we have to find something. 

We have to find inspiration.  One way or another, we have to find something that would inspire us to remain here and manage our cynicism, to continue working with the students, to continue working with our community, it all boils down to finding things that inspires us, and enough inspiration that it makes all the headaches and frustrations worth it. 

So, yeah, inspiration. 

I found inspiration at almost every major Deaf community event or organization when I talk with Deaf individuals sharing stories about their PCV teachers who taught them fifteen, twelve, seven years ago.  I find myself being inspired by Deaf Kenyans wanting to aim higher, becoming teachers because of teachers who inspired them.

I was inspired at Global Reach Out when I saw participants interested in paying for the program (albeit still at a discounted rate), rather than asking for handouts and passing on the torch to the secondary school students.

I am continuously inspired by my students; the laughter when they understand a play on words, the shining eyes when they finally understand the difference in meaning when you use different prepositions with the same nouns, the sheepish grins when I told them I was once a high school student, and that I was not born just yesterday when I see that they have copied homework from another student, and excitement in sharing and trading stories.  I am inspired by the one who wants to become a nurse, the one with aspirations for electric work, the one who wants to work with interpreters, and several who want to be teachers.

I am inspired by three or four teachers that I work with that works tirelessly, eager to learn as much as they can about KSL and Deaf culture, asking me about ways and ideas in order to communicate best with their students.  I am inspired by their stories, by their lives, and their families. 

I am also inspired by the new group of Math/Science and Deaf Education volunteers. That people continues to want to go abroad to help a group of people that they do not even begin to know or understand, to experience new things, to broaden their horizons, and just basically spend two years of their lives doing something that most of the people in the United States would never even think of doing.  I am inspired by their new energy and motivation. 

Lastly, but not least, I am definitely inspired by the other members of my group, those who seek out and work on secondary projects that provides them with great motivation, those who continues to work with administration that puts obstacles and problems everywhere, the ones that continues to want to teach, and the ones who became such members of their community that it is virtually impossible to walk through town in ten minutes.

Here’s to another crazy year of service!    

You Know You’ve Been Living in Kenya For More Than A Year When ….

It’s time for another installment of You Know You’ve Been In Kenya When … I realized that the last time (and only time) I did this was last July! That had to be remedied, so here goes another installment!

-you stop half expecting ceiling fans to spin out of control

-you’re amazed to see a house without termites

-you feel weird if you don’t shake hands with at least five people by tea

-you enjoy ugali

-warm sodas and beer doesn’t bother you

-you think that Hawaiian shirts are fashionable

-families of five or six on a motorcycle finally stop scaring you

-toads and frogs are welcome roommates

-you are able to calculate the actual time of meetings

-you’re almost as excited as Kenyans are about the 2010 World Cup

-you finally stop multi-tasking and enjoy the peace and quiet

Mythology of the Snake

Upon return to my house from the travels and holidays, I was accosted by a couple of my neighbors who told me of a snake trying to enter my house.  We walked around in the house and found no snake, then they started to tell me the epic tale of the valiant battle between the neighborhood of Kibarani and the snake.  

A house girl working for my headmaster began the story, as she walked around my house, she saw a snake trying to get into my house via the kitchen door.  Terrified, she ran to find the other neighbors and after much discussion, it was decided that some paraffin would be poured down my door to prevent the snake entering and wrecking havoc.  Apparently it proved very effective as my neighbors proudly said that the snake left and my house is declared snakeless.

Now my kitchen door smells faintly of paraffin.  At least the neighbors did not set fire to my house in the process of trying to get the snake out.  If they did that, in fact, I would not be too surprised - Kenyans hate snakes with a passion that may only rival their passion for football (soccer to y'all Americans). 

The snake holds a place of importance to Kenyan - all their fables and myths set up the snake as the villian, even today in medical and education settings.  For example, we were boggled when one of the KISE (Kenya Institute for Special Education) teachers was giving a presentation of causes of Deafness in Kenya to the new volunteers in Machakos, he said that looking at a black snake made you go Deaf, and that they should be careful of black snakes.  

Talking with the educated Kenyan teachers and other professionals working for various organizations, almost all of them expressed a distaste for snakes.  Some of them knew that the fear and distaste was slightly irrational but all of them have stories of various relatives and friends dying from snakebite.  When I told them that the same widespread fear of snakes does not exist in the U. S., and in fact, my brother and dad at one time had something like six pet snakes, I could see the disbelief creeping into the faces.  

Even the nursery children I taught last year were well versed in the folklore and mythology of the snake before they even got language.  When I taught the sign for snake in KSL, along with a drawing on the blackboard of the snake, everyone from the 4 years old to the 16 years old cringed and signed bad! bad! hate! hate!  They told stories of their parents, older siblings and family friends killing snakes and telling the kids no, no, bad, bad!  

So, careful of that black snake, y'hear!  

From Nairobi to Kilifi in Ten Hours Flat

Standing on the sidewalk of a street in city center in Nairobi with the counterparts and new volunteers and our bags, we waited for the conductor donning uniforms with a crude drawing of an elephant on their backs with the motto “We lead the leaders” below.  The conductor and porters put our bags in a compartment and checked our tickets, and allowed us to board.  Those who sat in seats in which the adjustment of incline worked proceed to adjust to their preferred incline.  Hoping out against hope some of us tried to adjust the fan above us only to find that like always, it never worked.  Sitting in my seat, I hoped that I remembered to sit on the right side of the bus in order to avoid the sun.  After everyone boarded, we were off to our homes on the Coast. 

The driver wove through the streets filled with pedestrians, motorcycles carrying ten crates of bread stacked up on one another, touts trying to convince people that their lives depended on going to Nakuru rather than Meru, taxis honking and playing with the realm of mass and space, and buses competing for a quick departure of the clogged city center to their destination.  As we left city center, we joined the snarl of traffic on the Mombasa Road, passing large warehouses, corporations, and of course, a Nakumatt, and as we go along the road, the buildings gradually became smaller and smaller, less and less westernized.  After a while, instead of backlight signs of a corporate logo, signs are adorned by the Coca-Cola or Tusker logos with simple black lettering on white boasting the establishment’s name.  Safaricom green, Zain pink, and the red, white, and blue of Omo becomes the de facto colors of buildings we pass.  Roofs now alternate between the brightly colored tin roofs and thatch roofs instead of ceramic, tile, or regular roofing materials.

Machakos junction loomed as the bus chugged on, most likely than not spewing out fumes, going over man-eating holes and speed bumps that would better be described as hills.  More and more Acadia trees and vegetation started to pop up in the landscape, often fronting a series of hills jutting out in a backdrop of crystal clear blue skies.  Passing Machakos junction, we went through several hundred kiosks selling sodas and peanuts, and the landscape starts to flatten more, houses are farther apart, and made of mud, wild life such as zebras, baboons, and African buffalo are spotted, as well as mounds of termites as tall as I am, as well as numerous herds of cattle and goats with the lone chicken scratching the dust they stomped up.

The road, thankfully, started to smooth out as we approach Emali, going through hundreds of hawkers selling thousands and thousands of red onions – I will remember Emali always as the land of onions.  The temperature starts to rise, and with dismay, I realized that I was stuck with the glare of the sun on my side, so I adjusted the flimsy curtain to block what it could of the sun and settled in for the rest of the trip.

Several large mosques and other houses of worship sped by as we went through Makindu and Kibwezi.  We reached the halfway point where we gladly got off for a choo break and some snacks.  The temperature continues to rise and the humidity starts to stifle the air, and I knew that we were going home, near the Indian Ocean.  Getting off the main road, we went through the safari town of Voi, which always felt to me like a neon colored beacon in the middle of nowhere.  Glimmers of colors from the Art Deco era of Miami combined with the craziness of Las Vegas can be seen and felt in Voi.  Our bus became besieged by the hawkers selling everything imaginable, from food to hankies to watches to pets, and then of course, finally, mobile scratch cards.

Another hour or two pass and we approach Mariakani, and the first strand of palm trees were sighted.  The sight of the palm trees always made me hold my breath for a second or two, with the thought, we’re almost at the Coast!  Traffic started to increase, more and more pedestrians, especially Mamas with colorful lesos walking around, building are closer together, and boasting colors with a distinct Coast flavor.  I see a series of tin roofs clustered together and I know I have reached the outskirts of Mombasa.  We crossed over the bridge, entering the heart of Mombasa, passing buildings with business names painted on them, men pushing wheelbarrows of water, mangoes, and pineapples.  The roads expel steam and humidity around the hustle and bustle of Mombasa.  Even the hustle in Mombasa has a Coast flavor – slightly slower and lethargic.  Hotelis boasts of Swahili dishes, especially pilau and biriyani.  Passing Bishara Street, with almost every level surface covered by lesos and fabric, we started north toward Mtwapa, Kilifi, and finally Malindi.  Crossing the Nyali bridge off the Mombasa Island, we pass a junction, called the lights, where several hundred meters of homemade wooden and burlap stalls laden with used clothing many with hilarious statements and unintentional irony make their homes.

Continuing our way, we pass several extremely fancy resorts with manicured lawns and nary a flower out of place contrasted with shops and homesteads with children playing and chicken scratching the bare dirt ground.   Crossing the gorgeous teal water of the Mtwapa creek, we enter Mtwapa, a juxtaposition of riches of traveling mzungus and Kenyans, youngsters about to go clubbing, and a very traditional Muslim community.  After Mtwapa, it becomes less densely populated and fields after fields of sisal that is used for weaving mats and baskets followed by clusters of palm and coconut trees can be seen.  Hulking baobab trees becomes more and more common.  High above the water, we went over the Kilifi creek sparkling with the mesmerizing color of sea green, we entered the northeast edge of Kilifi. 

Disembarking in the Kibaoni neighborhood of Kilifi, looking at the familiar sight of several bars and kuku choma joints, I was ready to tackle the bumpy road that I knew would lead me to my school, and then my home, ready to tackle the year of 2010. 

“I can’t think of a better way to start the year …”

Said the United States Ambassador to Kenya at the swearing-in ceremony today at his house, in combination with the celebration of 45 years of Peace Corps service in Kenya, and I have to agree with him.  Twenty-five Math/Science and Deaf Education trainees became Peace Corps Volunteers, ready to embark on their two years service.  I watched these great people talk about their uncertain future, what will happen when they get to their sites, and just basically wondering what the hell they got themselves into.  

I remember the days I wondered what the hell I got myself into, one of which definitely was the swearing-in day, a year ago, and watching the ceremony sent me spinning a year ago into my memories.  Today made me miss my training group, their individuality, their quirks, and most of all, the fact that we spent eight insane weeks together at the end of 2008. I have to say, 2009 was a year of ups and down, although it was more ups than downs, and for that, I am grateful.  Regardless of the fact that our training group lost way too many qualified and intelligent people that I was proud to call friends, I found a home, a school that I loved working at, students who inspired me to continue working on the days I thought that nothing was going my way, neighbors who would invite me into their homes for beans and chapati, of course, the fantastic volunteers that makes up the support system I would depend on, who will be lifelong friends, and I would be remiss if I did not mention the fact that my gorgeous niece who would always put a smile on my face was born.  2009 also ended with a fantastic trip back to the States, seeing my family and friends (and celebrating the births of Olivia and Spencer!), ushering in the year with one of my best friends and a group of cool RPCVs who told me stories of their experience in Kenya.  

Overall, 2009 felt good. 

Starting 2010 with the final few days of PST with the new volunteers, with their swearing-in ceremony, I rode the positive vibes, which I hope would continue to be the case for most of the year.  Tonight we are going out for Mexican and some serious dancing, so as I write this blog entry and get ready to head out, donning the cool t-shirt I got from Kris (thanks, Kris!), I thought, the only way this would be better was if my training class was here, but it’s all good.

Happy New Year, everyone!