Con: Laundering by hand means things rarely feel super clean.
Pros: After a few hours slaving away in the hot sun, you have three lines of clothes drying in the sun and have a concrete sense of accomplishment. (Let’s hear it for “productivity orientated” people like me!)
Kenyans love to dance, if you want dancing, you have to provide the drumming. I think all of the instruments I’ve seen so far are homemade… check out this cool drum and another cool xylophone.
A primary school boy plays a super cool homemade xylophone made out of plywood, twine, and a wooden drawer.
Many thanks to Angela for letting us know about the competition and performances!
My first visitors came to see me in Kenya! My parents arrived on Sept 1 and we had a great two week trip seeing the sights. From Nairobi to Kisumu to Malava, then back to Nairobi and then onto a safari. It was great seeing Mom and Dad so willing to try whatever I threw their way… they rode on the back of bicycle taxis (only one minor accident), took a boat ride to see the hippos in Lake Victoria, hiked through the Kakamega Rain Forest, met my friends and visited the St. Julie Programme for Disabled Children where I work in Malava, learned all about rural farming and building mud huts while visiting my friends homes, tried local foods you eat with your hands like sukuma and ugali, etc. Tom’s family set down a large bowl of LIVE termites next to the chicken and greens during lunch in his mud hut, and I think I remember laughing out loud! Mom and Dad didn’t opt to eat the live the termites, but they didn’t really freak out either which was impressive. (Termites are popular around here with the Luyha tribe and I’ve eaten them fried before, but never had them live).
My father loved bargaining in the markets of Nairobi and Kisumu, and picked up a few small antiques (hard for him to resist). Mom seemed to really enjoy watching baby elephants at the orphanage and did well feeding giraffes at a conservation center in Nairobi. Both attempted greetings in Swahili and shook lots of hands of little kids in Malava. Our camping safari at the Masai Mara National Reserve was probably a highlight of the trip. In addition to seeing tons of lions, seeing a cheetah eating an impala for dinner, seeing the wildebeest and zebra on their annual migration, etc… we also visited a local Masai village, and additionally made friends with fabulous Leah and Kate from the UK and Lucie from the Congo.
I’m fighting illness in the form of a cold or achy body or rib pain or something bizarre like that. No diagnosis by me yet, but if I go to a doctor I’ll keep y’all updated. Beyond fatigue, I’m otherwise alive and well, spending my free time this week reading magazines. I’d forgotten how glorious magazines can be! So far I’ve spent my time reading Texas Monthly, Mother Jones, and Premiere cover to cover, and there’s still more that were sent as gifts or brought by my parents. For today, though, I’m in Kakamega to do some shopping, so decided to upload some pics and do email as well. Hope everyone is alive and well! Take care!
Angela takes a turn playing a local guitar type instrument. “We learned to play one of these in primary school,” she says, “but I really don’t remember any of it.”
He connects wires between the guitar and an old cassette deck and plays on batteries
We met Jackson deep in the interior on a hike through a rocky patch at the top of a small mountain. He builds his own chairs, designed and built his own rock walled hut, and most impressive of all designed and built this homemade electric guitar! Does he have electricity? Of course not, he lives deep in the interior in a rock wall hut on top of a mountain. Has anyone living in the interior likely seen or held an electric guitar before? Not likely. But Jackson spent a little time in Busia when he was younger, saw one there, and knew he had to recreate one of his own. This version was apparently his second attempt at an electric guitar and it was fabulous.
Many thanks to Doreen and James for introducing us and translating!
So my work permit paperwork was lost once, required a bribe once, was denied once, and was most recently deferred. Yesterday it finally went to committee and today I spoke with a live human over the phone who said I was actually approved! Halleluiah! Halleluiah! So now I’ve got to go to Nairobi with my passport next week (or send someone with it) and get the work permit stamp to make me a resident! If this was done a week ago, I’d be even more excited than I already am as I could’ve saved almost two months salary on national park entrance fees. Alas. At this point the work permit means I won’t be kicked out in two more weeks when my visa expires. It also means I can travel around Kenya till Susie arrives, can hit national parks for $15/day instead of $40, can go on a safari with Sameer if he wants to when he visits in October, etc. I can even stay here in Kenya up to three years if I want to! I don’t know about y’all, but I think it’s pretty crazy exciting.
Cindy gets credit for using my camera to capture these delicate candid moments on film when I didn’t know I was being photographed. This first one is me at a pork butchery… the only one we’ve seen so far, in neighboring Lubao about 20 minutes away. As long as we were both eating occasional meat in Kenya, the thought of bacon instead of other yucky stuff seemed like a good idea. Cindy opted to stay in the car while Angela and I went to buy the meat. (Inside you’ll see Angela leaning in the doorframe, explaining her (entirely made up) status as a health inspector to the butcher, ensuring I got a decent cut of meat. Of course, neither Angela nor the butcher knew what bacon was, so I had to just watch as the butcher takes out his machete and chops into the flesh and bones of the pig, chopping till the bone breaks off in a manageable size for my little ½ kilo order of pork. I’m not much of a fan of meat, and seeing a carcass cut up in front of me is still pretty gross, hence my lovely expression.
Here I am ready to leave as soon as possible from the sight of the dead animal, laughing at myself for barely being brave enough to approach a butcher. Eww… In case you’re wondering, we fixed the meat that next weekend, spent forever cutting pieces off bones, then fried it up and ate it with eggs. It definitely wasn’t bacon, just plain old pork. I realized at the butchery that I didn’t even know what bacon was as a cut of meat, and couldn’t explain it to Angela or the butcher. I’ll admit my ignorance when it comes to meats (though I suspect my brother or Dad would know?). Most of my “bacon” in the last ten years has come from the green packages of Morningstar Farms frozen soy strips that are oh so lovely and only take 30 seconds in the microwave.
Well, after two busy weeks, my parents flew out of Nairobi on last Thursday and I rode solo on the overnight bus back to my little village. Lots and lots to report on eventually, but it’ll be a little while before I can digest or summarize it all. But we’ll carry on the “What Do I Think About” series of rambling posts begun last month.
Sadly, the high of parents and vacation and safari and hot showers and new friends and real food went away pretty quickly upon arrival in my village. Upon return, I heard all of the details of how our neighbors, the priests, were robbed earlier in the week. Next to our house is our kitchen, and on the other side of the kitchen a few yards away is the priest’s house. A visiting member of parliament came to town last Sunday, made a donation to the church, and I guess the thugs were hoping the priests hadn’t deposited the cash yet. A band of 8-10 thugs showed up in early evening, tied them up, robbed them of electronics and valuables, stole the donated money and any other cash they could find, ate the priests just served dinner, and even took household things like clothes, bed sheets and linens, dry foods, and hot chocolate mix. They then took the priest’s keys and drove away in the priest’s car. Bastards!
Who robs priests? I sometimes think people have to be pretty sick to rob a church. I mean, who could have any conscience and be able to round up a gang of thugs to rob a priest at gunpoint in his own home? Sometimes I think maybe the thugs are just super poor or in a desperate situation if they’re stooping to rob a church. I don’t know. I just know it’s awful. Father said the men appeared to have guns, but he later found out they were real metal but were fake guns. The important thing I should mention is that no one was hurt. The lucky thing is that unexpected visiting priests arrived as the thugs were driving out the driveway. The visitors blocked the drive, which forced the thugs to get out of the car and run, only taking what they could carry. Thank goodness that meant they had to leave the car, cocoa mix, and other random goodies that they couldn’t carry in their arms.
Needless to say, Cindy and I are more aware than ever of our own potential for begin robbed. While our house is quite comfortable for living, the security’s awful as the kitchen is in a separate building. The priests were robbed when one priest walked a few yards away to the church to pick up a few things for the morning mass. It was just a half hour after dark, around 7:30pm, when the thugs grabbed him and then tied up the other priest, cook, and groundskeeper. Makes us think we shouldn’t ever leave the house after 7pm/dark, but sadly with our kitchen in a separate building, it gets difficult. In Seattle I didn’t usually eat before 9 or 10pm. Cindy and I compromised here and we don’t usually eat before 7pm (much less finish all of the dishes and after dinner cleanup). If we wanted to be fully locked up at dark, we’d have to do all cooking at 5pm, eating by 6pm, and cleaning of all dishes before 7pm, and forever forgo the possibility of popcorn after dinner while watching a movie. (I know, that’s a small price to pay for security, but it’s still a change and a scary one at that).
Sadly, out here in the village, there’s no calling 911. There are no armed security guards you can hire as a night watchman. There are only bars on the windows and the hope that no locals would risk robbing white women because of potential very severe backlash/consequences. If they stole my cameras or iPod, I’d be sad. But if they stole my laptop with a year’s worth of journaling and photos, I’d be incredibly sad. And I don’t even want to think about what would happen if they hurt me or Cindy.
Neither of us wants to dwell on our fears. We know enough to be home before 7pm each night, to lock our doors and windows, and to keep cash or valuables on the down low. It’s just a bit shocking for it to have happened right next door, so I guess I’m brain dumping now in an attempt to process it all as I type it out.
When my parents arrived in Kenya, they graciously brought a pile of things I’d requested in a wish list… a $0.25 muffin pan from a garage sale, a couple of my books from home, more underwear, etc. They even brought some chocolates and freebies like lotion and lip balm from their flight – it was great! And then, shortly after their arrival, I got a notice from Posta Kenya that said they have a package waiting for me. Did they really have a long awaited package waiting for me, I wondered? Nope… it turns out they had SIX packages and one letter waiting for me! I was incredibly surprised to receive goodies galore, sent between June and August, that all mysteriously arrived on the same day! (Yay Trista for having faith in the Posta Kenya employees!)
The mail excitement included but was not limited to… a Wham! tape and Korean goodies from Beal; baby pics and spices from Stef; all kinds of edible goodies and a coveted Mother Jones magazine from Andy, Charles, and Kat; soup and news from Mary; and even much needed deodorant and software from Trista and Heather! And have I mentioned pudding lately?? Seems loyal readers took the pudding suggestion to heart and I’m not sure I can even remember just how many people have sent pudding mix over the past few months that we’ve been eating and will happily continue to eat. I suspect I’ll never be able to eat pudding in the future without thinking of my time in Kenya. Many pudding-filled thanks to Adria, Caroline, Susie, Trista and Heather, Andy, Charles, Kat, and Stef! (Apologies to anyone’s pudding package that currently escapes the brain).
Sad to say Mary’s package from May and Mom’s from June still haven’t arrived, but apparently the date sent isn’t exactly an indication of when it’ll show up. In the mean time, I consider all of this an early Christmas and I offer my sincere thanks to all involved! I’ll be thinking of y’all when eating, reading, listening, working, and showing off cute nephew photos! And while it might be getting old to hear, Charlie and Stef should be glad to know that local Kenyans absolutely agree that my nephew Gus is impressively cute!
