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.