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.