correspondence 12/8/06

Hakuna shida baba, what a poor daughter I would be if I didn't remind you of the hope that exists in the world and thank you for the positive affect you've had in my life. I'm glad you've "enjoyed" Gelvin's book on the Middle East. I know what you mean, it's hard to enjoy the book but the insight is invaluable in my opinion. I get a bit sick every time I read the news about the Middle East now. I'm also better able to judge what's going on because I know the "why" of events and how they fit into the larger picture. I'm pretty sure French's book on Africa will do the same. Both are pretty depressing and I don't mean to get you down but I think it's worth it. The knowledge will give you the ability to act with understanding.

I really don't want to go...it's going to be hard saying good-bye. I found a private school in one of the poorer neighborhoods of Mombasa I can teach at and I'm looking into getting a visa to come back here. No idea when. Maybe in the summer? If Barak Obama decides to run for president I want to work on his campaign trail - which gives me something to do after I graduate. But what then? Kenya most likely. Who knows.

I'll try calling you tomorrow morning because we're getting up early to go to Tsavo Safari. I don't really want to go because I NEED TO FINISH MY ISP but I understand this is very much a once in a life time experience. Grrr. I want to stay and work here and visit my Mombasa family. Grrr. I've attached a VERY rough draft of my ISP for you and mom to look at. I have so much more I need to do!

correspondence 12/6/06

Beautiful -
Oh my gosh where to start! I'm taking a break from my ISP....
Ok I'm going to approach your email "chronologically" if you will - answering each point as I see it.

Reparations:

I know deep down reparations will never happen but I sure as hell think they should. I didn't before coming here but many things have changed. I don't think however, it should be in the form of monetary aid to governments. When I was alone on the island I heard an African professor (from Ghana no less) responding to Tony Blair's comments about reparations (god I love radio - even on a semi-deserted island I can keep up with the news). He said that reparations are a must and they should take the form of a true commitment to fair-trade in the West. Millions of Africans are being cheated and have become part of a new, though less brutal, form of slavery. This I'm sure you see in Ghana, just like I see it here in Kenya. One of the biggest problems I see is the exodus of Africans to places like Europe and the United States. Those who manage to leave generally don't come back, creating the famous "brain-drain" that is damaging African education and society. Before I continue I should say it feels a bit too ignorant to talk about "Africa" as if it was one country. There are variations to this trend etc, etc - you understand. I think solving this "brain-drain" problem should be part of reparations. However I get the feeling that's like telling an ant to go climb Mt. Kilamanjaro in an hour. I do think America and Europe should make it easier for Africans to study in their universities and colleges. Of course the counter point to that is, how could they be accepted to American/European schools if they can barely pass high school because of a lack of teachers, supplies etc. This is a "chicken or the egg?" dilema and therefore up for constant debate. Another problem with emphasizing education is how are they supposed to go to school if they have malaria/cholera/aids/pneumonia and so on? Ultimately, after hours of thought, I decided that no way one big umbrella plan will work for reparations. Nothing could solve all these problems at once. I am a firm believer in grass-roots organizations, I think they are the future of aid in Africa and other countries. Providing resources, not just monetary, to those organizations would be a helpful start. The point about fair-trade was also a good one.

I haven't read "The Constant Gardener" or seen the movie...yet, do you recommend both?

Aid Workers:

My opinion about aid workers changed our freshman year when I read one of the readings in that massive core I book. It was an insightful and bitter critique of the Peace Corps by a Nepalese man. I'll never forget how depressed I felt after I finished it. I felt my dreams come toubling down around me. Again, being here has changed that. There are benefits and disadvantages to aid workers. The Peace Corps began as a subtle propaganda move under I think the Kennedy administration. American kids were sent out to "help" those poor defenseless third-worlders who can't teach or build bridges by themselves (kindly note sarcasm). If, in the mean time, they spread the ideologoy of democracy in the face of encroaching communism so much the better. Brilliant PR move. Brilliant. HOWEVER if you ask, what right do we have to spread that ideology, I'd respond with what right do we have to deny it? Cultural exchange does not have mean the spreading of ideology. There are many aspects of Swahili society I think the US could benefit from and there are other parts I'm happy to leave here in Kenya. From what I've seen here cultural exchange is a two-way street. There are aspects of US life which appeal to the folks I've met and there's a lot that doesn't. I feel people have the right to pick and choose. Culture is dynamic, it's meant to change - it's been changing for centuries.
Here in Kenya aid workers, especially ones who speak English are incredible resources. The country has two languages, English (the official) and Kiswahili (the national). Of course there are over 40 other different dialects on top of those two. Kiswahili and English are both taught in primary school but after that all the classes are in English. It's idiotic on the coast where the majority of people speak Kiswahili or a language close to it. Up-country it works better because there are more languages, English becomes a common denominator of communication. Ok, imagine the consequences of being taught English by someone who doesn't really know it themselves, who isn't a native speaker, who has never been to an English speaking country. I'm not necessarily endorsing the teaching of English in an African country, but I do see the benefits of a common denominator language. Currently, someone well-versed in English has more opportunities and options than someone who can't speak a word. There are so many sub-issues to this. Knowledge of English means people receive their education in Western country furthering the brain-drain syndrome. If Kiswahili was mandatory like it is in Tanzania, then there could be a renaissance in literature, a move towards national unity, etc. However I'm not quite sure how well that would go over with the Luo and Kikuyu who aren't Swahili and don't care to speak it. I feel like I'm going off on a tangent...back to aid workers. I guess my take on the situation is that you've got to start somewhere. And if you're going to start, start small but in many places. I wish the Peace Corps would hire African, Asian, European, Latin American teachers...why restrict it to just Americans?

I definitely take your point about creating this visicious dependency cycle. I have no idea what to do. Great answer huh? I seriously have no clue. If we give them aid, it's just an easy way out. If we don't, we may be doing more damage than good. We wil talk more on this when we get back...I need to think on it.

correspondence 12/5/06

Be gentle with yourself. Our time here is precious, do not waste it on might've beens and should've dones. You've guided me through life's myriad environs with a steady hand, loving heart, understanding and patience. As I approach the time when I will stand on my own I am not afraid. Do you know why? Because I carry with me your lessons - they are written in all my actions and many of my dreams. How many other young women can say the same of their fathers? Take a moment to contemplate how unique your gifts to this world are. You have successfully raised a daughter, given her a future, given her maps to guide her through life and the strength to live it. Though these things are not tangible like donations to a charity or hours spent at a soup kitchen they are perhaps more important. You had the courage and insight to defy a centuries old social structure that denies my worth. You taught me to believe in myself, love myself and pursue my dreams without fear. In a world where women are treated at sub-humans, either covertly or overtly, understand the worth of your contribution.
Don't feel like you haven't done enough, only realize you have the ability to do more.

correspondence 12/5/06

I cannot begin to tell you how meaningful your emails have been in the past weeks. The first one you sent felt like a warm cup of tea to my withered spirit. Tears welled up in my eyes as I read your advice, sent with so much love and understanding. I have taken everything you wrote to heart. Thank you so so so much - I really can't begin to tell you how much these emails mean to me. Not to be hyperbolic but I felt like I was drowning and you threw me a rope.
I look forward to seeing you, hopefully soon (mungu akipenda - or God wishing, there's an arabic version of that phrase but I have no idea how to spell it). I'm getting better. Your emails have really helped and I've also been using my traditional spirit-lifiting methods. I went to church on sunday with some of the girls on the program which made me feel a lot better. I'm not one for the preaching or organized religion really but it was comforting nonetheless. The service was colorful, vibrant and exciting - full of music, dancing and love. I needed to see that type of hope and happiness, it gave me courage. I'll keep you posted on my re-entry process. Hopefully we'll cross paths soon!

notes from a small island

Dear friends and family,

I got back two days ago from my 10 day stay at Takwa Ruins on Manda Island near Lamu. I worked on creating hard copy images of wall-drawings at the aforementioned ruins. I lived alone but for 3 fishermen who had huts down the hill from me. It was...an opportunity to think and be alone. The area was breath-takingly beautiful. I watched the sun rise and set every day. In one direction was the overwhelming seascape of Indian Ocean, and in the other a green expanse of mangrove forests, occasional baobab trees and the distant Lamu Town. There were brightly colored weaver birds, butterflies, the occasional small monkey, lizards a-plenty, fish, lobster, crabs, and insects of all denomination. I had two run-ins with the baboons that frequent the area, and on both occasions my heart was in my throat. Takwa is extremely hard to access because of its secluded location and the fluctuating tides. Had I been bitten by a baboon -according to the fisherman they are fierce and unfriendly- I would've had to wait a long time before getting medical treatment. When I asked Ali (one of the fisherman) what I should do if I saw or heard one, he said in the most matter of fact voice, "Andoka!" or "Leave!". I took his advice.

After a few days of work I felt the irony of my situation. I was working on ruins that few in Kenya, let alone Africa or the world, know or care about, studying images even fewer people know or care about (which will in the end be destroyed by the weather and lack of care). A hundred miles north of me (Somalia) there's violence, a hundred miles south of me people have been driven from their homes because of flooding, roads are inaccessible and bridges are drowned. Food, medical supplies, and general everyday necessities are astronomically expensive because of the condition of the roads. My Kaloleni family's house collapsed - they're sleeping outside. And I was working in paradise, on esoteric and decaying remains of a once glorious city-state. Few would actually benefit from my "research", even myself to some extent. However, the exprience was worth every wasted second. Introspection is invaluable and natural beauty does much to heal the mind. I almost wanted to start this email with, "I went to Takwa to live delibrately..." but refrained. Oddly enought it's close to the truth.

I intended in this email to expand on the current social, economic and political ills in Kenya because I didn't do them justice in the previous email. However I'm going to put it off for another time, perhaps over tea when I'm back in the US you can ask me. Though I'll probably say I don't know where to start.

I'm in the middle of "A Continent for the Taking" and it's been a bit difficult to read. It's an excellent book but heart-breaking. He describes many of the things I've seen in Kenya without the sugar coating I've given you (although the book focuses mostly on Western and Central Africa). I'll read passages and my memory jerks me back to streets in Malindi, or the villages in Kaloleni. One part stood out enough for me to bring the book to the internet cafe and copy it for everyone. "More than a million Africans die every year from malaria without raising a peep in the wealthy countries of the world. Struggling for a way to depict the scale of this disaster, the Tanzanian researcher Wen Kilama said, 'Imagine seven Boeing 747s filled mostly with children crashing into Mount Kilimanjaro each day, and you begin to get an idea of malaria's horrifying toll.'" Two girls on the program have already had malaria. My friend Ali who works at our guest house just recovered from malaria. Medicine is expensive, he and all of us are lucky we can afford it. In the US that type of statistical information would've drawn sighs of sympathy from my breast but no more. Here it's different. Everyday I see those children who get malaria, who are on that Boeing 747 flight into Kilimanjaro. I pass them in the streets. I slept next to them - they were my sisters for a week. I left my mosquito net in Kaloleni on purpose, I didn't care how much it would cost me or SIT. Of course there's more of the book I want to share but I don't have the time. Possibly the most difficult part to read is the history. Reading about what Europe and the United States have done to African countries for 500 years makes me want to vomit. I don't care what kind of "aid" we give, it'll never in my opinion atone for centuries of violence, greed, rape, distruction and slavery.

My experiences finally caught up with me this afternoon and I spent a good portion of my day in tears. As I come closer to leaving, images of life back home saturate my thoughts. They creep slowly, like tentacles, into every crevice of my brain providing a sickening contrast to the reality before and behind me. The dirt, the poverty, the garbage did not affect me until today when I was able to vividly picture in my mind the clean streets and affluence of Blue Ridge Drive. I know the going back will be harder than the coming here. I also know giving up hope would be giving up on those who are making a difference in Kenya and other parts of Africa.
The "re-entry" will be hard, but not even half as hard as the lives I see here. All I can do is take Marieke's advice and live my life the best I can, with as much understanding and patience as possible and use what resources I have to make a difference.

notes from a lying panglot

Dear all,

I read over my past emails in Zanzibar and was thoroughly disgusted with way I've been presenting my experience here. Nausiated is I think the best word. I decided not to write until I could gather my thoughts together which, thank god, I've finally done.

Before I start it's vital I convey to you how difficult it is to describe my life here. For those who have travelled, or better yet lived abroad, especially in a third world country, this will make perfect sense. For everyone else I'm not sure what to say. Only understand that I am incapable of fully describing the daily whirlwind of emotions, constant introspection, challenges to my "world view", and the overwhelming amount of sights, sounds, smells, tastes I have to process every nanosecond. Caught in this storm, I have not had the patience to candidly describe my experiences, most often because I was still trying to understand them myself. Once I understood, once I had digested this new life, I didn't have the heart to share it. Is it possible to describe what went through my mind as I watched a cripple crawling through the muddy streets of Mombasa? Probably, but I chose not to dwell.

I suppose now that I've started in Mombasa and on the subject of poverty I suppose I should continue. Many of the streets are lined with grandmothers begging. Dirty, tired and toothless, they bow their heads and hold out their hands, crumpled under the weight of their poverty. How much of that poverty is feigned is beyond me so I walk by, eyes to the ground. I did it in Hong Kong at 10 years old and I did now at 21. On the bigger streets hang the street children, who without fail get money from an mzungu (a non PC word for foreigner - the Mau Mau used it during the fight for independence to describe the white colonials; it is on some level an insult). The street children have no parents, no home, and hardly any future beyond the hellish poverty they live in. The money they get goes to someone else - I don't know how they live. The girls are in the greatest danger. There are 9 and 10 year olds in Mombasa and Nairobi who are pregnant. Not surprisingly many die during childbirth. I wouldn't expect anything less when children have children. There is a belief in Kenya, and other parts of Africa, that the way to cure AIDS is to have sex with a virgin - the younger the better. The street girls are taken from their "home", raped (sometimes they're paid) and left for dead. Most girls who reach puberty, if they reach puberty, become prostitutes. Unprotected sex is more profitable than protected sex. When the option is starvation or a slow death which would you pick? HIV positive men believe that if they sleep with enough women the AIDS virus will leave their body. Contemplate the consequences of this myth.

Everywhere there are heaps of garbage; there isn't enough infrastructure for a adequate dumping system, let alone an environmentally friendly one. Children, sometimes months old, play in feces, rotting foods, razor blades etc. They make toys from the trash they find and eat someone elses left-overs. Is this disturbing? Of course. Is there anything I can do? Not now at least. Do I see it everywhere I go? Yes.

It's sickening to say this but I've gotten used to the poverty and the squalor. I had to. It's not as heart wrenching as it was the first week or compared to how I felt in Cambodia when I was 13. Thankfully the begger children in Mombasa have all their limbs - there arent many land mines in Kenya. However, I shouldn't get too cheery. I have yet to visit the slum areas of either Mombasa or Nairobi (I saw one figure: 70 people to one latrine in an area of tens of thousands of people). Urban poverty is far, far worse than rural poverty. At least the poor in Kaloleni had thier land and livestock. The destitute in Mombasa have nothing.

In this Mombasa vein let me describe again the matatus. I know I've written fondly of my rides home: the music, the people, the excitement. Let me re-describe the memory. Matatus are essentially mini-buses. They are meant to hold 12-14 people but often cram up to 20. Accidents happen every day. People die. The drivers drive impossibly fast to make enough money so they can bribe the police who stop them. The roads are horrific. My heart was in my throat a number of times as I watched the driver swerve left and right, coming dangerously close to multiple collisions, just so he could avoid the pot holes. One evening I went with my Mombasa homestay mother (Ramla) and one-year old sister (Amne) to an Eid celebration (end of Ramadhan festival). We were crammed into a bulging matatu, Ramla in the back and me in the front seat with Amne. I sat with this fragil body on my lap, her tiny hands clutching my hijab. I couldn't watch the road I was too scared. Had the matatu stopped suddenly Amne and I would've gone through the glass windshield - there are no seatbelts and no airbags. When I said matatu rides are exciting, I was trying to look on the brightside. I tried not to think about the possibilities, especially when my matatu got stopped by the police.

Now to Kaloleni...
I lived in a mud hut and my homestay was one of the more well off in the village. At least they had food everyday. Once Mei lost her fear of me we were "3 peas in a pod" in our little bed. Except I'd wake up almost every hour because Mei was really sick. She was coughing so bad she was gagging, she nearly vomitted a couple of times. I'd lie awake as long as I could just to make sure she wouldn't choke in her sleep. This was almost every night. There was nothing I could do. I had no medicine and neither did my family. All the children were sick. The parents all work and live elsewhere, leaving the children in the care of the grandmothers. This is I think, the only reason why my family was so well off (relative to other houses I saw). Just an update on the rain: "Kenya faces a humanitarian crisis following the displacement of up to 60,000 people by torrential rains in Coast Province." (the Daily Nation, November 16). I'm safe, Lamu is north of all the rain, but I don't know if my family in Kaloleni is alright. My brother Francis called from Malinidi so I'm assuming the children have left the area for safety reasons. Kenya is working hard at getting supplies to the affected areas (including Kaloleni) but I don't want to think about what life is like for them. Mud houses don't last too long in a lot of rain. Roads, houses, bridges, latrines all collapse. People drown. I want to know if the boys at St. Georges are alright. I don't know if I really want to continue. There's so much more. It's so much easier to keep this all to myself, I don't have to think about it all the time.

Everywhere we go men propose to us. They romance on the off chance one of us girls will fall in love and take them out of the hopeless hell they live in. Their hope is equal to their desperation. Some just want an mpenzi (lover) who will bring money and gifts every vacation season.

Poverty in both Kenya and the US has been part of my education. Learning about US poverty from Torrie, Shay, and Jasmine has been as eye-opening as what I see around me. It's frightening how blissfully unaware most white, upperclass Americans are about the world just beyond thir picket fenced neighborhoods (me included). I've heard Americans talk about poverty as if it only exists in countries like Kenya. True, destitute, slum povert like in Nairobi is hard to find in the US. But finding a family who doesn't know how they will eat the next day, though they live in a house and have a car, isn't hard at all. I balk at my ignorence when it comes to the many nuances of poverty. No matter how much my heart goes out to the people here, Torrie and Shay never fail to remind me of how imperfect life is in the US and the work that needs to be done there.

...what else...
I've already given you enough positive. I'll leve this letter as it is. I have neither the time, the patience, nor the will to describe the current economic, political and social issues facing Kenya. I'd just got more frustrated and depressed. I do not wish to an apathetic West, too much cyncism is bad for the liver (I can already feel the bile slipping into my bloodstream). Nor do I wish to describe the natural beauty I've seen here. It is such a contrast to everything else, I wouldn't no where to start.

correspondence

I vividly remember that reading and how hard I thought it was at the time. Hopefully I would be able to handle it now but who knows, I think my academic skills are getting a bit rusty here in kenya. I'm sure the classes thing will work out, it was just mildly frustrating to have my house of cards come tumbling down. In Kaloleni the deputy head-master of St. Georges told me a Giriama proverb which I've seriously taken to heart: You can only itch as far as you can scratch. Did I mention that in my last email? It's been my mantra recently whenever I get frustrated with life.

It's a bit odd being in Zanzibar because it's such a tourist town. I can walk out in my trousers!!!! There are foreigners everywhere and people don't stare at me as much. Last night we went out to a bar which was bizarre to say the least. I hadn't had a drink (let alone multiple drinks) since I'd been in Seattle. I even danced, which felt amazing. It was odd doing very "american" things like drinking and dancing. We went out with two Canadians who are travelling the world together. I didn't quite realize how much I missed interacting with men. It was so relieving to flirt with someone who was on the same cultural page as me. I knew my actions wouldn't be interpretated incorrectly. Actions, words, body language have an entirely different meaning here but unfortunately lust is universal. This can create complications. Women also have a tendency to crave protection when in a new environment, which translates into a need for physical attention (we had an entire lecture about this from our professsor of anthropology). What's even worse is I'm finally in a society that considers my body type extremely attractive. It's WEIRD!!! I see girls in magazines, on TV, on posters, in ads that I would never see in the US.

correspondence 11/3/06

To the best of my ability I know exactly what you mean. As I read your email I felt a rush of empathy and relief. It's a relief to know that there will be someone I can go to at Scripps who will understand what I've been through here in Kenya. I'm not going to pretend that either of us will know EXACTLY what the other experienced, but it's a start. I'm so sorry to hear about your brother, I have faith that he will be alright. Trust me when I say they take good care of people in trauma centers, especially survivors of car accidents (at least that's been my experience). You can get through this even though you're apart from your family. This may be silly but I always found it comforting to know I was under the same sky as those who were far far from me. We never leave the ones we love, but carry them inside of us. Your brother has you close to his heart even though you're an ocean away. I hear your voice in my head some times as I walk down the streets in Mombasa, I know you'd enjoy this or that of what I'm experiencing. If you're in my head and we've only known eachother for a short time, imagine how strong your presence is with your family.

I can't believe how quickly my time here as flown by! We start our ISP on Nov 11. I'll be living on a small island doing archeological work. I may be alone, I'm not sure. Will I see the stars and be 50 ft from the ocean? Yes. Is that the reason I chose to do my ISP there? Of course.
I'll miss you next semester when you go to Italy. Shall we plan a phone date for when we're both back in the US?

miss you and stay strong!

notes from a small village 2

Hamjambo!

I've just spent the past 2 hours glaring at the computer trying to work out my classes for next semester. Of all the idiotic things to worry about when I'm in africa CLASSES!?! I'm in Zanzibar right now, the "Spice Islands" as they are known to history, but I'll write later about that. Let me begin where I left off.

Kaloleni...
On my second night with my homestay we visited an aunt who lived about 2km away (a matriarch of the family I think). We walked through fields of corn and palm trees in glow of the setting sun (no rain that day thank god). I watched with sick fascination as my brother Peter slaughtered a chicken for dinner. What a process! We, Gracie and I, were the local attraction at the village. There was a gaggle of children gawking outside the house who would flee if we made direct eye contact. Gracie and I helped cook dinner by chopping veggies, sifting rice and watching the others cook. Have any of you ever sifted rice? It wasn't exactly sifting, we had to go through the rice looking for minute rocks. Talk about a needle in the haystack. But as the saying goes, "many hands make light work" and the job was soon finished. Again with rather sick fascination I watched my other brother Francis gut the slaughtered chicken (gut...is that the right expression?). The process was so new and different I knew I had to try it myself - if the opportunity came up (I expressed this wish to Peter who I think relayed the message to my brother Moses - btw, if you couldn't tell Kaloleni was predominently Christian). Well, an opportunity arose the next evening. I was playing with my sisters when Moses walked up holding a chicken in one hand and a knife in the other. I asked if I could slaughter the bird, which made him laugh but he agreed. With his help I decapitated my first fowl. Gracie documented the event with her digital camera. There's a great photo of the dead, bloody chicken at my bloody feet (I sound far too thrilled about the entire experience - it was a bit creepy). I didn't gut it though, I saved that for my mom (the process looked too complicated and I didn't know where to start). Eating something you've killed is definitely an interesting experience. I'm not going to lie, I kinda got the shivers when I bit into dinner that night. However, I feel very powerful everytime I look at a chicken now. The roosters in Lamu will never know what hit them. I'll be the Jack the Ripper of the Lamu roosters. Never again will they wake me up at 4am. Mwa ha ha ha ha ha.

We had one day of no rain while we in Kaloleni, and we were there for 7 days. Two bridges collapsed, there were landslides, crops were destroyed and one of the out houses collapsed too. I couldn't understand how in 4 months the entire place would be a desert. That part of Kenya is known as semi-arid. It rains but only for a short period, and the soil can't retain the water. This means yearly starvation and drought for the surrounding villages. According to one source 400 people died last year in Kaloleni because there was no water. If a family is lucky they will stay with relatives in Mombasa or Malindi - anywhere where they can get water. Our director decided we should leave early because the roads were so bad. I cried when I left my family. They'd been so welcoming and understanding...yet more than that. Again words fail me when I most want to express what I felt and saw.

I knew I'd miss my bucket shower in the gray dawn of the morning. I'd miss sleeping next to my sisters (Mei finally got over her fear of me and we were 3 peas in a pod by the last night). I liked hanging out with my brothers and sisters. We all liked to laugh, dance and play cards. Gracie was amazing to have around. She's very easy going and understanding. She cried too the day we left. I have to go back there.

Mombasa felt crowded, noisy and scary when I first got back, but the feeling went away quickly. I'd been speaking so much Kiswahili it became second nature. Conversing was no longer a chore but a joy! I tried to speak every day with as many people as I could. I also bought a buibui, a ninja and a headscarf. I was covered head to foot in black with only a slit for my eyes. I'm not sure how to explain this but there is an element of power in wearing the veil. There is power in the anonimity, if that makes sense. No one could tell what I was thinking, who I was, my expressions etc. Men were far more respectful towards me than before. There's also something incredibly attractive about only being able to see a woman's eyes. Believe it or not, much can be said with only the eyes. It can be very sensual. One of the more surreal moments was riding in a matutu, wearing my buibui and my ninja and listening to Coolio on the radio (and singing along under my ninja). Needless to say I loved it but there are some ethical and cultural issues that I still have to work out. I often feel like a wolf in sheeps clothes when I wear the veil.. I now wish I had my buibui in Zanzibar, but nevermind. I'll wear it in Lamu.

After a week in Mombasa we had our final Kiswahili exam and then it was off to Zanzibar...but I'll save that story for another time. Athman, my academic director has been waiting for the internet for about 4 hours. I should share shouldn't I? If I remember any other detail I'll be sure to include it in my next email.

notes from a small village 1

Hamjambo!

I'm writing again from Mombasa after spending about a week in Kaloleni, a small rural village about 2 hours outside of the city. The rural homestay was definitely an experience; again it's hard to find words - I wish I had a better grasp of the English language and stronger powers of introspection. I should probably outline these emails before beginning, but why would I make my life easier?

I remember Donna Pido, one of our lecturers, describe how the people of Kenya are at the mercy of the weather. Their lives revolve around something entirely unpredictable to an extent most Americans can't fathom. In class this made sense in a very cold, academic way. It wasn't until we began our trip to Kaloleni that it really sunk in however. The weather in Mombasa had been uncommonly wet for this time of year (it's the short rain season, we were experience long rains - I'm still not quite sure about the difference: rain is rain). Ali, our assistent academic director, said the roads to Kaloleni would be rought but I didn't take him seriously. The roads to Malinidi were "rough", pimpled with pot-holes like most of the roads I've seen here. About an hour into the drive we started climing dirt roads into the hills. And when I say dirt I mean mud. Our bus got stuck and we had to get out and walk. We waded a drowned bridge with water up to our thighs (actually my hips because I'm incredibly short, something most of you know). Men from the surrounding village pushed the bus through the water but the old thing couldn't handle the trauma. Once on the otherside it refused to start. We walked/swam the 1km in the pouring rain to our destination: St. George's Secondary School for Boys (secondary school = high school). Did I love every minute of that adventure? Yes. But the rain meant people couldn't get their produce to the city, people couldn't get to the hospital, people couldn't go to school.

Before I forget, let me just mention this. I've been keeping these emails pretty light and breezy. I've saved the fruit of my experience for myself, sending the rind to you, my friends and family. For every exciting adventure I relate keep in mind this is a country crippled by colonialism and neo-colonialism, HIV/AIDS, poverty, corruption, environmental degredation, and tribal conflict (which by the way, was created by the British). And Kenya is one of the better off African countries. I am still trying to process everything I see, hear, smell, taste and learn. Most of what I see breaks my heart with the tragedy or the beauty. Most of what I hear I do not understand because my grasp of Kiswahili is limited. But it's exotic and like so many generations of westerners before me, I am enthralled by the exotic. Most of what I smell reminds me of how lucky I am to have a comfortable life waiting for me in the US. Most of what I taste I am thankful for because every day I see those who are starving. Everything I learn makes me frustrated. Frustrated because I cannot change things, frustrated that I do not know more, frustrated that my time here is so limited, frustrated that more people don't know and will never know what I'm learning.

Back to my story. I arrived at St. Georges soaking but happy; I was very excited to meet my homestay family and dry off. Kaloleni was beatiful, even in the rain. Rolling hills covered with forests of coconut trees, not jungle but individual trees. Small fields of corn stood out from the trees, as did the few houses I could see. My homestay family had left the area because of the rain so I stayed with another student and her family the first night. The SIT students were in Kaloleni to teach sanitation methods to the students there. When we found out we'd be interacting with boys very close to our age we protested very strongly. Imagine explaining elementary hygene to 20 year olds - no, not happening. Instead we set up discussion panels with different classes. The boys could ask us any questions about life in the US, our government, pop culture, school system, sex, anything. It was amazing. The cultural exchange was perfect. I was critical of the US before coming to Kenya, I'm even more so now. Yet at the same time I am more appreciative - does this make sense? The pros and cons of our social structure were highlighted through these conversations. I was lucky enough to be paired with Shay, one of the three black girls on the trip. We come from diametrically opposed backgrounds, which made for great discussion. Racial tensions have been an issue on this trip in a way I hadn't expected...but I think I'll save those stories for when I get back. Let me just say it's been part of my education, a part I hadn't expected.

I loved being at St. Georges: chatting with the students, the cooks, the teaching staff, the administration, anyone. The older boys were very gentlemanly; no mattter where I went they offered to carry what I was holding. We could be walking five steps and they'd ask to carry my books. I felt like a princess. It was novel at first but became rather stifling. I developed a comprimise: they could carry my things but only the light stuff like my jacket, I took the heavy objects. The younger boys were very cheeky, asking me to dance with them, to marry them, silly things like that. I watched as the cooks stirred cauldron size vats of ugali (similar to cornmeal), meat and beans. I talked to the deputy head master about the lack of books, general supplies, good teachers, blankets. Compared with other schools I've seen this one was in very good condition (no leaking classrooms, all the boys wore shoes, they had access to food, classes were small, things like that).

Kaloleni is beautiful. I know I've said this about Lamu, Mombasa and probably Malinidi too but it's true. After a couple of days in Kaloleni the line from NPR's Lake Wobegon began to run through my head, "...where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking and all the children are above average." So far I think that's true of most of the people I've seen on the coast. This is of course a generalization and should not be taken seriously. By the second day I was given a new family: Sidi Baya. We walked to my new home in the pitch black of night (there is no electricity in Kaloleni, or running water for that matter). The sky was filled with stars and the fields with fireflies. I'd never seen fireflies outside of the east coast, it was quite a surprise to see them in Kenya. This may sound strange but they looked like the artillery fire from old black and white WWII documentaries: blackness punctuated by flashes of white. I waited for the boom of gunfire but I all I heard was the sing-song of frogs and crickets. I lived with a large family (about 15 people in 3 separate houses). I shared my bed with my younger sisters, Mei and Sabena. The youngest, Mei, was too scared to sleep next to me the first night. A cockroach took her place and tried to climb into my ear (I'm not kidding - I thought it was a dream until the next night it happened again, a roach crawled up my arm). I wasn't too bothered. There is absolutely nothing more painful or uncomfortable than being hit by a car and being unable to walk for 2 months. Cockroaches in my ear, crawling around the out-house, massive spiders hanging over my bed or sitting on the wall? Paradise compared to those two months.

I think I'm going to have to end my story here for now. It's getting around dinner time and no matter what country I'm in my stomach controls my behavior. I'll be sure to finish before I leave for Zanzibar.

love,

P.S. Book of the week: "We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families: Stories from Rwanda" Check it out.

notes from a busy city

Hamjambo rafiki zangu!

I measure time in malaria pills and the fun I've had in mosquito bites. Tomorrow I will take my 6th larium dose and I have over 30 mosquito bites (hopefully no malaria). The group is back in Mombasa after three glorious weeks on Lamu Island and the Lamu archipelago. I'm not sure where to start, there's so much to say! I suppose I should start where I left off...

We left Mombasa in early september for a few days in Malindi - I think that's where I last wrote to everyone. From Malindi we flew to Lamu because the roads were too dangerous (bandits, shootings and general all-around pillaging). The Lamu archipelago is in the far north east corner of Kenya, right near the Somali border (it's where most of the refugees come to escape the hell in that country). Lamu is considered THE center of Swahili culture and history, more so than Mombasa or other parts of the coast. There is a strong history of international trade in the area, dating back to the 8th and 9th century CE. Arab, Indian, Persian and Chinese traders used the south-east monsoon winds to carry goods to the East African coast, often staying for months at a time waiting for the winds to take them home. The mixing of indigenous Bantu (African) culture and the incoming traders gave birth to the Swahili and Kiswahili (the language of the Swahili; "ki" just indicates that I'm talking about a language: kiingereza = English language). The majority of Swahili are Muslim and the Arab influence is obvious in customs, traditions etc.

Lamu is beautiful. Period. Trying to find words is difficult, so pole sana (very sorry) as I struggle to describe the adventure. The houses are built higgledy-piggledy, with no more than three feet betwee each complex and most are three stories high. There are only two cars on the entire island, the main transportation being by donkey or by foot. Walking around becomes a thoroughly enjoyable obstacle course: donkey doo (or punda poo as we liked to call it, punda = donkey), garbage, open sewage, and chickens. Barefooted children played in the dirt and ran after us chortling with glee, calling out "Jambo! Jambo! Karibu Lamu wanafunzi!" (hello! hello! Welcome to Lamu students!). We stayed in a guest house called Milimani and became great friends with the folks who worked there, Omari and Ali (aka Fupes from the adjective -fupi or "short"). Both were close to us in age, which made hanging out a lot more fun and easy going. Lindsey, Gracie and I had a hysterical time playing gin rummy with them and engaging in cultural exchange. The favorite topic was marriage: why none of us girls were married, why we didn't want to marry, why we were willing to wait so long to marry etc. Everyday Fupes would propose to a different girl - it was hilarious. I became Omari's official dada (sister) and he became kaka yangu (my brother). He protected my virtue from Fupes's constant attempts at marriage. I was dubbed "Kidiku" which my dictionary says means "fragment", but I think means something along the lines of "shorter than short" or "dwarf". Being short is universal...it transcends cultural divides.

This was the intensive Kiswahili studies period of the program. Classes started at 7am and didn't end until 12:30pm. We had a either free time or lecture in the afternoons and 2 hours in the evenings were spent with Swahili tutor. I didn't actually spend much time speaking Kiswahili with my tutor, it was a solid 2 hours of culture exchange and gossip...in English. Despite the lack of practice I've learned a bit, more than I can believe. I love speaking in Kiswahili, it's going to be weird coming back to English in the states. Of course I'm horrible and I get laughed at a lot but that's part of the fun. By the second week I was dreaming in Kiswahili! Crazy!!! If I couldn't think of how to say something in Kiswahili, I'd switch into French which really didn't help. Milimani was full of language as the students mixed Kiswahili with English, French or Spanish. We'd speak English with each other, occasionally mixing it with Kiswahili; with Omari and Fupes we'd try Kiswahili but if we wanted a private conversation, we'd speak French or Spanish (depending on who knew what). I thought Kiswahili would be easier than French because nouns aren't gendered (i.e. in French, LE chat - masculine and LA chien - feminine). Boy was I wrong. Nouns come in different classes (15 in total) and everything EVERYTHING in a sentence depends on the noun used. For example the Ki/Vi class:
Chumba cha kulala changu ni kikubwa cha kizuri (my room is big and beautiful)
Vyumba vya kulala vyangu ni vyikubwa vya vyizuri (my rooms are big and beautiful)
or M/Wa class:
mtoto yangu ni mbaya ya mchafu (my child is bad and dirty)
watoto wangu ni wabaya wa wachafu (my children are bad and dirty)

I think that's right...I'm still struggling.

The group also took trips to the neighboring islands which is where I've decided to do my independent study project. I'm planning on doing archeological work (restoration and preservation) at the Takwa Ruins on Manda Island. I'll theoretically be on a remote island with one other family for 2 weeks. No electricity, no running water and plenty of snakes. I've been warned about large boa constrictors (sp?) who eat the island goats. I've also been warned about a supposed lion who somehow got on the island (I'm not sure I buy this). HOWEVER I will stay in a hut 50 ft from the ocean with a complete view of the stars and the Milky Way (this is my real reason for choosing Takwa - I took one look at the ocean and the sky and decide electricity was overrated and snakes couldn't be that bad). Hopefully my project will be approved.

We visited another island, Kiwayu and I was kidnapped by the local village children. It was one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. It's a tiny tiny island with one village and forests of palm trees. I stood at the top of a sand dune and looked out onto the Indian Ocean (and a beach covered in trash - rather disconcerting compared to the beauty around me). I was taken around the village by my kidnappers, sang songs, played Duck, Duck, Goose! and watched a football game (soccer to all those silly americans). I've taken to wearing a headscarf which the kids thought was hysterical. My short hair was also very entertaining to them. When I told them I'd cut it all off they kept asking "kwa nini? kwa nini?", which by the way is my favorite Kiswahili word (kwa nini = why). I slept on the beach and braved the rain in the middle of the night so I could see the Milky Way. The stars are different down here; I could only recognize Scorpio and the Southern Cross, all my old favorites (Orion's Belt, Casiopia etc) were missing.

I know I'm leaving things out...Oh, I went to a stationary store with Gracie and Lindsey and a spider the size of a tarantula (sp?) scuttled over the counter and inside one of the cases. We gasped and laughed, but the guy behind the counter didn't blink an eye. The thing was HUGE, furry and moved quicker than any spider I've ever seen. I knew it would be something to write home about.

Despite spiders, snakes, punda poo and the joking marriage proposals of a 21 year old, I really miss Lamu. Mombasa is crowded and exciting but there's nothing like seeing the stars and forests of palm trees. I tried to fast for Ramadhan and only managed 9 days. It was easier in Lamu when the breaking of fast felt like Christmas. We'd gather in the office for goodies, coffee and juice, crowding as many people in as possible. In Mombasa it isn't quite as fun. I love my homestay family (which I'll get to presently) but Omari and Fupes were wonderful jokers and made great company.

Time is catching up to me, I'll have to write quickly. My homestay family is great! I live with 3 families in one house. My homestay sister, her husband, his sisters and their husbands, a neighbor and all sorts of children. One of the sisters is crazy (she talks to herself, is occasionaly angry and will scream from time to time). Ramla, my sister, told me the first night to lock my door just in case. I feel a bit like Jane Eyre with Grace Poole in residence. It isn't bad at all and I feel completely safe. Ramla's daughter Amne (1 years old - so cute) has finally warmed to me. She fell asleep on my shoulder last night as we were riding home in a matatu.

Not all the students are doing well with their homestays and being so long and so far away from home. Again, I thank my lucky stars and my parents for my childhood. Being here feels like home in a way that living in America never will. I love the daily challenges: blackouts, lack of water, new foods, screaming children, screaming crazy lady, the language barrier, having my matatu stopped by the police, BEING in a matatu, crossing the streets (the cars have the right of way here and I've only seen one traffic light in the whole of Mombasa...there are no stop signs). Every day feels like an adventure. People are so friendly! You have to say "hujambo" and "habari gani?" or else it's considered rude - even if you don't know the person. I'll miss that when I have to come back to america.

Ok I have to run, Jennifer is waiting for me. I'm having dinner with her family. My love to all and hope everything is well!

correspondence 9/20/06

all is well (so happy my bag is with me). I'm in Lamu, where to my astonishment I found an abundence of internet cafes. Weird. NO cars, no sanitation, few paved roads, even fewer children with shoes, garbage everywhere, donkey doo everywhere BUT internet. I just saw the NY Times news about the coup in Thailand. Everyone on that side of the world ok? Any thoughts from either of you? It's not every day I read about a coup d'etat.

I think I'm going to do my independent study project on the Takwa ruins on Manda Island. They're ruins from the golden age of Swahili trade (16th century). I bet you can look it up online. Manda is beautiful. I'd be spending half my time there and half my time in Lamu doing research. I'd be living 50 ft from a completely, COMPLETELY deserted beach. However, my tutor tells me to be careful of snakes (boa constrictor size - she refuses to go back to the island because of them) and Athman said to be careful of lions. Lions and tigers and bears oh my!

Lamu is also beautiful but the donkey doo can get a bit trying. Outside of walking, donkeys are the only means of transportation by land. There are only two cars on the island and I've seen one of them. It's hard to believe I've been here for a week and a half! I've learned more Kiswahili in that time than in 3 years of french. We have class from 7am to 12:30pm and then 2 hours with a tutor (conversation only). My regular tutor is a bit lax about speaking Kiswahili with me; our conversations are generally limited to culture questions (what's acceptable, why swahili do this etc). Today however, I met with the sister-in-law because Hadida was out of town. AMAZING time. We talked for about an hour in Kiswahili and then switched to English interspersed with some Kiswahili. She's goes very pole pole which is the perfect speed for me.

The house is getting along pretty well, we haven't had any fights or much drama. Unfortunately most of us are sick. I have an ear infection (I'm pretty sure it's swimmers ears), Jeanne believes Africa hates her (a rash, tummy problems and recovering from strep throat), Hattie had sun-stroke, Vicki's tummy just went into an existential crisis, Sivan and a couple others are recovering from colds. Oh hurrah for microscopic invaders! Our immune systems will be so strong by the time we get back.
Danny really reminds me of Evan, it's kind of bizarre but makes getting along with him a piece of cake.

I'm finally able to sleep through the 4:30am rooster calls (they don't end until 6ish) and the 5:30am call to prayer. I hate waking up because my dreams are so vivid and strange (thank you malaria medication). The other night I dreamt I'd flown back to Claremont for a day to see my friends. The dream was so real I pinched myself in my dream because I thought I must be dreaming. I felt the pinch! Very odd.

Being in Kenya has little to do with what I want to study back in Claremont which makes me wonder why I'm here. Especially when conjugating verbs and agreeing nouns get too much for me. I miss my loved ones...and fresh veggies. When I'm sitting in class trying to get the right noun agreement I seriously contemplate my reason for coming here. It's not pushing me in the way I thought it would. I don't mind the bugs, the heat, the poverty, the utter lack of sanitation. I don't feel helpless. I'm not reacting to it the way I reacted in Cambodia or Burma. I think I'm better at rolling with the punches of daily life. I don't feel a culture shock the way I thought I would. Unfortunately this was part of the reason why I wanted to do an SIT program, to push myself. But I wouldn't give this up for the world (or for london). It's a unique experience...oh but golly what a fun time I would've had in London! Some other time. I'm perfectly content with a forest of palm trees, the milky way and veiled women. Ok my body guard is waiting must leave!

correspondence 9/14/06

It feels like I've been here for weeks instead of days. September 10 is eons away, prehistoric in fact. Oh baby donkey just walked by! There are no cars on Lamu, only donkeys. It's the only form of transport if people don't want to walk. This means two things: donkey shit everywhere and braying at all hours of the day...and night. Oh and cute baby donkeys walking by internet cafes.

The houses are built very close together (I'm betting you've looked up pictures) and look like images I've seen of the Casabah in Algeria. Sewage water runs through open drains that lead to the ocean (oh so very sanitary) and trash is everywhere. Oddly enough I like it. It's an adventure navigating between donkey doo, sewage, and garbage...that's how I like to look at it. The place reminds me of what a cleaner 16th century london might've looked like (doesn't say a whole lot about 16th century London, but never mind). Most Lamu houses date back to the late 19th century (some even further) and are made from a mixture of dead coral and cement. They are very tall (3-4 stories) with a rough surface of shell and cement. I get so involved in avoiding the donkey doo that I miss out on looking at my surroundings. When I get to know the town better maybe this will change. It's fun to run my fingers across the surface of buildings and pick out individual shells in the mish-mash of wall.

My day starts at 4:30am when the roosters wake up. Rarely have I felt such a strong antipathy towards a species (outside of carpenter ants and octipi). If you get a chance, kindly send me a meat cleaver - I'd put it to good use (chicken for dinner EVERY night). 5am is the call to prayer and I'm out of bed by 6:30. With a cup of tea or coffee I turn from rooster-hating-zombie to human being just in time for 7am Kiswahili class. I learn swahili until 8 when we break for breakfast and then it's back to school until 12:30pm. I can conjugate in the present, past, future and past perfect AND negate all of those. My vocabulary is pathetic and my conjugating abilities are sub-par but kidogo, kidogo (bit by bit) I will learn. We have a 1-2 hour lecture or tour at 2:30pm about Lamu or Swahili culture. At 5pm-7pm I go to my Kiswahili tutor and then from 7-8pm we have dinner at the guest house. By 9pm I'm zonked! Around 10pm a local musician comes to teach me a traditional Swahili wind instrument (it kind of looks like a clarinet, but smaller). I suck. One of the adivisors of the program noticed me playing my penny whistle and suggested I try to learn this Swahili instrument (can't remember the name for it, I know I'm horrible). It sounds like a banshee farting and is, for me, incredibly difficult to play. I spit and sputter through the palm reed as my poor teacher watches. I have the vague sense of tears welling up in his eyes as I butcher this beautiful instrument.

Hakuna matata

Hakunamatata 9/9/06

I have a mass email I'm sending out now and then (whenever I run into an internet cafe and have free time - the two don't often go together). To save time and because I don't have everyone's email address I thought I'd post the letters here.

Hamjambo!

I finally have a free afternoon to do a proper sit-down email! They keep us very busy here in Kenya, though the general motto is "polepole" and "hakunamatata" ("slow" and "no worries", respectively). One of the first proverbs we learnt was "haraka, haraka, haina baraka" or "hurry, hurry, has no blessing". I love it. When I get back you'll be hearing those A LOT.

The trip here was an adventure and therefore fantastic. The flight to New York got in about 30 min late and half the bags were left in Seattle. I made friends with woman sitting next to me and we had a jolly time running around JFK trying to find her a flight to Burlington and then our bags. The next morning at the Emirates check-in, the attendent swore he'd booked my bag on a flight to Nairobi (ba ha ha ha). My mind innocent of worries, I made my way to the gate to meet the people I'd be spending the next 4 months with. Like I said before there are 17 of us. We hail from all over the US and one Japanese resident (Daniel - he'd never heard of Kakinokizaka but he knew Megoroku). The group really is fantastic. I was surprised how well we fit together.

I'll try to give an abbreviated portrait of everyone, just so you get an idea. Danny is as crazy about linguistics as I am about history and reminds me of my brother. Vicki has the most beautiful curly golden hair I've ever seen; she's gullible, laughs easily and has no colon. Kayleigh (Kay-lee) smiles often and enjoys twirling. Sivan is loud in everything she does, even her movements. Torrie bargains like nobody I've ever seen, except maybe my aunt Kit. Julia is quiet, with a voice like chamomile tea (it nearly puts me to sleep it's that soothing). Reed is witty, tall and does dead-pan quite well. Ashley asks thought provoking questions, is curious and very tall (the perfect dinner partner). She (Shay) says grace before each meal and has a smile I could eat up. Lindsey walks like she knows where she's going and says what she thinks. Hattie has a strong Minnesota accent and perfect cupid's bow lips. Jennifer loves marine archeology and children make her nervous. Jasmine is elegant with perfect poise - she goes to Pomona. Daniel is quiet and speaks Kiswahili with a Japanese accent. Jeanne is freckly and easy to talk to. Gracey has a petite nose, a sunny disposition and always has bug spray with her.

It took us a total 29 hours to get to Mombasa (not counting layovers). Upon arrival I found out my bag had decided to stay in New York and my stomach had decided to have an existential crisis. Hakunamatata! Mombasa looks like a cross between Chang Mai (spelling?) and Macau. For those of you close to Mexico, it reminded me a bit of Tijuana (again, spelling?). It's dirty, busy, noisy but glorious. Goats nibble on heaps of garbage in the streets and fully veiled women walk by with kohl on their eyes. Even though I'm dressed modestly compared to the tourists, I still feel strange. I think I'm going to get a full veil, it'll be so much easier to walk around. There is such a mix of people in Mombasa (and Malindi). Africans, Arabs, Indians, silly tourists and everything in between. People are very friendly but our professors told us to make it clear that we're wanafunzi (students) not tourists. We get more respect and assistence if we respond in Kiswahili, instead of the touristy "jambo!".

I'd like to take a moment to thank my parents for dragging me all over the world; it's made me so much more prepared for what I see here, especially the poverty. Cambodia, Burma, Chang Mai, Guang Dong province, Macau, Hong Kong, even Tokyo - everything makes it easier. However, the 5am call to prayer is still something I have to get used to. I still don't quite understand how anyone could think about anything at 4:45am EVERY DAY, particularly prayer.

There have been so many high points of my trip that I don't know where to start. I saw my first Baobab tree! The drive to Malindi was breath-taking. From grimy Mombasa to fields and fields of jungle (including a couple monkeys swinging in the trees), then fields and fields of produce (I'm not sure what - cashew nuts?), and finally the ocean. Eating with my hands is definitely another high point. We can eat with only our right hand (a challenge for Vicki who's a lefty) and it's so much fun! I don't know how I'm going to make the transition back. Torrie and I visited a primary school in Malindi yesterday. I was impressed with how many students had shoes. The children spoke beautiful English compared to my Kiswahili (I have mastered "I'm called", "I'm from", "I like", "I want" and the general polite greetings/responses but that's it). The class rooms were just cement boxes with large spaces for windows and a doorway. Children shared benches, notebooks, everything. This school was pretty well-furnished compared with other ones I've passed. They had a section for mentally disabled and mentally handicapped students which was unusual. I wrote down the address if anyone wants more information.

Alright, I think I've updated enough. Even though it's only been 6 days since I've arrived it feels much longer. I know I'm missing some things. OH we saw a partial eclipse! Spaghetti is hard to eat with the right hand. Not having a suitcase is character building. They have tuk-tuks here! And spiders as big as my hand (no joke). I'll think of more things as soon as I send this.

Love to all!

in the beginning...

in case you were curious 9/18/06 (prior to departure)

I faced the Spanish Inquisition in the form of my grandma this evening and realized I had very little knowledge of the next four months. If I don't have a clue then none of you do. Therefore, on the off chance you're curious here is some information:



Kenya: Swahili Studies & Coastal Cultures

Fall 2006 Program Schedule

Week 1: Program Orientation & Introduction to Swahili Language: Mombasa & Malindi FSS

Weeks 2-4: Intensive Swahili Language Training, Coastal Studies Seminar & field Study Seminar, Dhow Safari, and Swahili Tutors: Lamu

Weeks 5-6: Mombasa Homestay, Coastal Studies Seminar, & Field Study Seminar: Mombasa

Week 7: Rural Village Homestay, Community Service Building Project, Swahili Language Training and Safari: Village Community & National Park

Week 8: Preparation & Meetings with ISP Advisors: Mombasa & with Homestay

Weeks 9-10: Educational Excursion to the Island of Zanzibar [or we might go to Oman on the Saudi Arabian peninsula]

Weeks 11-14: Independent Study Project

Week 15: Independent Study Project Presentations & Program Evaluation in Nairobi; End of Scheduled Program