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.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Sunday, October 8, 2006
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!
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!
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