Anonymous Comments

Okay everyone, I think I finally got the anonymous comments thing worked out. You should now be able to post anonymously to my blog. If you do, though, please sign your name or give some indication of who you are, otherwise I won't know who's saying rude things about my blog. Thanks Julian and Jesse for getting on my ass about this. Sorry it has taken so long to figure out. Kenya might be making me retarded.

Mungu akipenda

I learned how to say "God-willing" in two languages last week. In Swahili,
mungu akipenda. In Arabic, inshallah. Anyway, sorry for the long silence. I
hope some of you have been checking my blog as that is really the best way
to spy on what I'm doing. There is only one internet connection in my town
(technically I think it qualifies as a large village) and it doesn't handle
Yahoo's address book very well, which means you get less spam from me. So
until (if) I get all the kinks worked out I'll try to post to my blog once a
week or so.

First, congratulations Phillippa and Francois! I am really sad to miss your
wedding but I wish you all the best in San Francisco, Paris and wherever
your life together takes you. And Phil, drop me an email sometime and let me
know your post-wedding plans. Second, happy birthday, Michelle! I don't know
if you'll be able to see this from your aircraft carrier but I hope the film
is going well and you haven't dropped any equipment overboard. Ha!

So here is the lowdown on the new address/mail situation. I can still
receive packages tax-free until Sept 28. If you sent me something and I
haven't acknowledged it yet, it's probably because it is still sitting in
Kisumu waiting for me to go pick it up (this weekend, mungu akipenda.) Any
lightweight, dried food, especially Asian stuff, is much appreciated, as are
those spice packets and teabags that you've been hoarding for 15 years but
have never used (no ketchup, please.) Also, sample size lotions and such are
also fun, since everything with a scent here smells like rusty baby powder.
And of course you can't go wrong with chocolate. I will try to send out my
new address to each of you when I'm in Kisumu (real, bug-free internet
access + Yahoo address book) since I don't want to post it on this blog.

Anyway, the Nairobi address that y'all have will still work, but it will
take a long time to reach me because it gets routed to the regional Peace
Corps office in Kisumu, and then I have to go pick it up. Kisumu is actually
only about 25km away as the crow flies, but because of the roads here
(non-existent) it takes about 3 hours to get to Kisumu from my town. Since
it rains everyday, mud is a problem on the roads, or I should say the clunky
two-wheel drive matatus are a problem. Each time we hit a patch of mud, all
the men get out, tie a rope to the front of the matatu, and pull. All the
women just sit inside and read the paper, except for the mzungu who is
tightening her seatbelt and muttering, "Oh my God, oh my God." Last weekend
we hit a large patch of mud that was too deep to cross, so everyone got out
and we walked the rest of the way home.

Last Friday we had two widows come into the VCT to be tested. Both of their
husbands died of AIDS last year. One was older, and very sick. She came with
her son, who carried her on his bike. It was very sad to see her after she
found out her status. She just sat there completely still and emotionless,
although I also wonder if she was just too weak to emote. The second woman,
Mary, was 30 years old with three children. The two younger ones are also
HIV positive. Mary found out she was positive right after her husband died,
but she went to a traditional herbalist, who charged her 5,000 shillings for
herbs that she claimed would cure her of AIDS. Well, a year later Mary is
still carrying the virus (of course) but doesn't have the 400 shillings she
needs to travel to the district hospital to get ARVs (anti-retroviral
drugs). The saddest part is that most people in this community are just like
Mary, uninformed about HIV and AIDS, with devastating consequences.

On a lighter note, I'm settling into a daily routine here, trying to get a
feel for the community, the VCT and my cozy new home. I'm learning about the
two main tribes in my village, the Kalenjins and the Luhyas. The Luhyas are
known for being a bit chicken-crazy (maybe I'm actually a Luhya, and I have
noticed that the chickens here are a lot prettier and fatter than the
chickens in other parts of Kenya. Coincidence?

Chickens are a part of every tradition and ceremony in the Luhya culture,
and there are specific rules about who gets to eat what part of the chicken.
The gizzard always goes to the man because it's the best part. Women and
children are only allowed to eat the less valued parts (wings, neck?). My
co-worker Hillary (a man's name here in Kenya) has promised to bring me a
couple of hens this weekend, so I am looking forward to having fresh eggs
soon. Hillary told me that because August is the month of the Luhya
circumcision ceremony, chickens are more expensive this month. One chicken
is slaughtered for each boy who is circumcised, and then additional chickens
are slaughtered for the general celebration. Luhyas also use chickens as
part of their naming ceremonies - each chicken is given a name, and they are
all thrown onto the roof of the house. The child is given the name of the
first chicken to fly down from the roof. The Kalenjins are the runners -
tall, skinny and fast. They are also shy and reserved compared to the
outgoing Luhyas.

I'm also starting to get compliments about how well I wash clothes, do the
dishes and hoe dirt. My supervisor, Indiazi, even commented the other day,
"You are just like the African women." Woo-hoo!! Take that, Kitui homestay.
Right now my co-worker Justine, who is also the counselor at the VCT, is
teaching me how to carry things on my head (no hands of course). These women
are amazing. She put my Nalgene bottle on her head and walked all around the
office, jumped up and down, and talked to a bunch of people, and it never
fell off. By the time I leave here I want to be carrying a 20L jerrycan full
of water on my head.

Hillary took me on a short tour of some of the shambas and homesteads right
outside of town. We went to a pineapple farm and he showed me how to
identify a pineapple seedling and peel away the dead outer layers to expose
the roots for planting. Pineapples are really common here, and one of the
local farmers gave me seven pineapples today, so I think I will be making a
lot of pineapple jam, pineapple curry, pineapple pie, pineapple meatloaf,
pineapple soup... So send along those pineapple recipes! Hillary also
pointed out the toilet paper plant - a local plant with really soft leaves
that the Kalenjins used to use for toilet paper.

Well, I'm off to finish digging a new trash pit for my house. The gossip
around the school compound where I live is that I'm not a normal mzungu
because I can dig my own moat and trash pit, I eat the local vegetables, and
I use the choo instead of the toilet. Just wait until they see me carrying
10 kilos of maize on my head. The headmaster will adopt me as his own
daughter for sure.

Black Nightshade in a Hailstorm

So it rains here at my site everyday. It's a monsoonal pattern, so it
generally comes around the same time each day and only lasts for about an
hour or so. Yesterday, though, it poured solid sheets for an hour, then
hailed for another hour, then rained for another two hours. I discovered why
I have a small mote around my house, and also decided that I'm going to make
the mote wider and deeper, maybe even install a drawbridge and an iron gate
for a medieval touch. As luck would have it, my house is downhill from the
choo, and my door faces uphill, which means when it rains everything washes
right into the mote and I imagine, during rainy season, into the house
(right now it's "dry" season).

This morning I learned the local handshakes, one for men and one for women.
As a woman, I can greet other women by tapping their left shoulder with my
right hand, then shaking their hand, then repeating all this. However, I
would never greet men this way because, as my colleague explained, men get
very "emotional" when women touch them, and the next thing you know, he will
be falling in love with me and wanting to marry me all because of a shoulder
tap. Instead I greet men and older women by grasping my right wrist with my
left hand, and extending my right hand for a handshake. My colleague assured
me that this is a sign of respect that will make men feel as if I'm their
sister, and they will want to protect me, instead of getting emotional and
want to marry me. Well, I tried out the new handshake on a couple of older
men at the post office just now, and one of them started patting me on the
back and inviting me over to his house to drink soda and meet his wife. I am
assuming he meant all of it in only the most brotherly of ways.

I am slowly learning the daily routine of the VCT where I am working.
Yesterday I pretended I was a client wanting an HIV test, and the VCT
counselor took me through the whole counseling and testing process. She
actually did a group session for the pre-test counseling, which I think made
the other client really uncomfortable to have a mzungu sitting there waiting
to hear her explain why she wanted to be tested (the reason: she plans to
get married soon.) The test itself requires a drop of blood from your
finger, and only takes 15 minutes. I was wondering why we don't use these
tests in the U.S. because they are fast and cheap, but my colleague said
that they are less reliable than the 2-week turnaround Elisa tests that we
have in the U.S. Like all VCTs in Kenya, my VCT provides all its services
for free, although we do ask for a 30 shilling donation per test if the
client can afford it.

Anyway, people have been asking about my new address. I will email it to you
when I get this damn address book thing in Yahoo figured out. In the
meantime, the Nairobi address will also still work but may take longer
because it gets routed to Kisumu and then I have to go pick it up. And
remember that I can receive packages tax-free for 90 working days from the
day I arrived in Kenya, which will be about September 28. And for all those
people asking about pictures, I will try to upload some to Snapfish the next
time I'm in Kisumu, but going forward I might be drawing pictures because my
camera broke last week, which is unfortunate because I only have pictures
from dry, dusty Kitui, and none from lush, green Rift Valley. Will have to
figure how to get a replacement without breaking the bank. Hope all is well!

Fatten Up Those Dogs

Well I've arrived at my site and moved all my things into my new house, which I discovered yesterday is not the one with electricity, running water and a kitchen. When I pulled into my town with half of Nakumatt strapped to
the top of the van, my colleague told me that they had switched me - unannounced - to a different "house." Now instead of the two bedroom luxury home I was expecting to stay in for two years in the Posh Corps (thanks, Ron), I'm now living under the stairs in Harry Potter's closet. I suppose it could be worse - I still have electricity, but no running water. The most disappointing part has been not having a kitchen. Maybe it's just me, but food and beds just don't mix, and now I'm sleeping next to my rice cooker and a bag of onions. I think my supervisor thinks I'm a little crazy because I raised a fuss about not having a kitchen (raising a fuss makes Kenyans very uncomfortable, I've learned) but I have no problem sharing a pit
latrine with the head teacher and his family of 17. I'm staying at a girl's secondary school, the one with the AIDS (awareness) club, which is on a really beautiful compound. The school has a bunch of cows, a couple herds of goats, beautiful chickens (calendar quality a la Extraordinary Chickens), sheep, the giant bull that eats mzungus, and a large tree nursery. There is also a small rainforest with monkeys on the compound, as well as a river where the girls do their wash. A woman showed up at my door this morning with a liter of milk fresh from her cow (yes, Mom, I boiled it for 5 minutes) and I'm working on getting a couple chickens and some broccoli seeds (if I can find them). I already like one of the neighbor girls, a daughter of the head teacher, even though she is - yes - a kid, maybe about
9 years old. The best part is that her name is Dorcas. It took all the willpower I had not to fall out of my chair laughing when she told me that, and what's even funnier is that it's a common girl's name around here...maybe even from the Bible? Anyway, I saw the Chinese guys paving the road into town again when I arrived yesterday. And in Kenya, where there are Chinese people, there are also skinny, urine-infused local kids screaming, "China! China! China! China!" at me. Fortunately I bought a 70 liter water storage tank that is also good for stuffing bratty kids into. My supervisor and I stopped by the dispensary yesterday and talked to the head nurse, who I'd met before. We had the classic conversation that I'm expecting to have exactly 730 more times (once a day for two years) before I leave this
country:

"You are from Korea?"
"I'm from America. California."
"California is in North America or South America?"
"North America. The United States."
"Okay, so you are from North America."
"Yes."
"Let me ask you, let me ask you. In China, do people eat dogs?"
"Um, I don't know."

The dispensary guy was so genuinely curious and completely devoid of malicious intention that I humored him for awhile, which was well worth the patience. I learned that all the townspeople here heard that Chinese people love to eat dogs, so when they found out that a Chinese company was sending men to pave the road here, all the locals started fattening up their best dogs in hopes that the workers would pay a small fortune for the local dogs.

Hello There I'm In Transit to Site

Greetings everyone! I think it’s been awhile since I spammed. First let me say thanks to people who sent me mail. I may or may not have already thanked you. Patrick, thanks for the CDs and peanut M&Ms. Nandita, thanks for the chopsticks and Pico Iyer essay. Antti, thanks for the letter, chocolate, and copy of your article. My host family thinks I’m some sort of supermodel because my picture is in a magazine. And my host brother said, “Finnish looks like Swahili.” Mom, thanks for the letter with the update on how my investments are doing. ;) Lynn, thanks for the long letter, pictures, samples, newspaper clips and article about the toilet-themed restaurant.

I am in Nairobi in transit to my permanent site. This is the big weekend – tommorrow we swear in as real live Peace Corps Volunteers! On Saturday we disperse to all corners of Kenya for a shopping spree at the regional Nakumatt (the Kenyan Walmart) to buy housewares, and then make our way to our new homes with obscene amounts of stuff. Fortunately the whole town will come out to witness the mzungu unloading all her wordly possessions from the matatu (minibus), and
they will realize that everything I have in my house is equal to the GDP of Rift Valley province, and I will never be lonely again because people will be visiting me daily asking for money for school fees, food and medicine. And when I say, “Pole, sina pesa,” (Sorry, I have no money) they will just look at me like I’m the biggest lyingest mzungu they’ve ever seen.

Anyway, saying goodbye to my host family in Kitui was a bit bittersweet. They are a pretty reserved bunch but I think I detected some sadness that I was leaving. I gave them some thank you gifts - chocolate, a world map with cutout photos of them and of me, pointing to our respective countries, some postcards of San Francisco, some jasmine tea from Yank Sing Chinese Restaurant in SF, and a nice Hallmark card that said “Thank you” in six languages – Spanish, French, Italian, English, Swahili and Kikamba…yeah, I
wrote in the last two by hand. Then, as ridiculous as it sounds, they gave me some thank you gifts as well. Thanks for what? For using all their water in a region rife with famine because it never rains? Anyway, they gave me Kenyan bedsheets (two flat sheets that never stay tucked under the mattress) and a wooden giraffe carving, and my mama baked me two cakes, which is a minor miracle considering no one has ovens here. My 19-year-old brother wrote me a nice letter that said, “God willing, in five years I hope to have a college
degree and a good job and I will send you an email using a computer, the way you explained to me.” Because I spent an evening diagramming internet servers and the world wide web for him, which is a bit hard to explain to someone who has never used a computer before. I also gave a speech in Kiswahili at the Host Family Appreciation lunch (see blog post for text), which made my family think, “Damn, all this
time she could speak mad Kiswahili but she always spoke to us in English.”

So the next three months are what has been described as a period where we “do nothing.” In reality this just means I will hang out with my colleagues at the VCT, accompany them when they go into the surrounding villages, and basically get to know people in my community and the issues affecting them. I’m not supposed to start any projects, apply for any funding, conduct any training or anything else until I understand what is going on and get familiar with what resources are available to address their needs. This
is all just Peace Corps speak for poking around town having chai with people and getting to know all the local gossip. Anyway, on the matatu ride into Nairobi today my PC friend Pat befriended the conductor and ten minutes later was explaining the ABCs of HIV/AIDS
to this guy. Then another trainee whipped out a condom, and I whipped out a Snickers bar, and Pat started giving a condom demonstration. The Peace Corps at work.

Well they're closing up here so I better run! Hope all is well!

I speak Swahili?

Yesterday we had a Homestay Family Appreciation luncheon for all the families who hosted Peace Corps trainees. I gave a speech - in Swahili - on behalf of all the trainees. Text and translation follows. Don't be fooled, my Swahili isn't actually this good. I just
stood there making random sounds with my mouth that people claimed to have understood.

Hamjambo. (Hatujambo.)
Habari za leo? (Nzuri.)
Mwa tinda ata? (Nesa.)
Mulembe. (Mulembe muno.)
Chamge. (Chamge mising.)
Hola, como esta?

Jamaa yangu katika Kenya ina uwezo wa hali ya juu wa kustahimili kicheko. Niliposahau kuweka sukari katika chai na ikachemka kiasi kumwagika sakafuni, nilipoyamaliza maji yote ndooni kwa kujimwagilia
kichwani na kuyajaza bafuni, nilipojaribu kumkamua ngombe wa jirani na maziwa hayakutoka, nilipokula nyuki katika asali kwa wiki moja, jamaa yangu ilionyesha uso uliojaribu kuficha mshangao, na wakasema, "Hakuna shida, tutakusaidia."

Kwa uvumilivu na ukarimu huu unanifanya kufikri kwamba nilinufaika zaidi kuliko wao. Katika homestay, mama yangu alinipikia chakula kizuri na kitamu kila siku, na kile tu nilichokifanya ni kuunguza chapati. Mama yangu na watoto wengine wadogo wa majirani walinifunza
kufua nguo kwa mikono, na nguo zangu zilijaza kamba zote. Niliwatesa kwa Kiswahili changu kidogo, lakini neno la Kiingereza ambalo niliwafunza ni "food coma" (kwa mfano, ukishiba sana unasikia kulala.)

Ninajua si kazi rahisi kumtunza kila mtu katika familia, haswa mgeni ambaye hali ugali, hutumia maji mengi ya kuoga, na ambaye hutoroka akiwaona mende ukutani. Ninafikiri ninazungumza kwa niaba ya
wanafunzi wengine ninaposema sisi tunaunyenyekevu kutokana na juhudi zenu za kutukaribisha na kutufanya tujisikie nyumbani, na salama, kama vile tungelijisikia majumbani mwetu.

Tunawashukuru kwa kujitolea kwenu ambako labda hatukuweza kuona wala kutabua tulipokuwa usingizini asubuhi. Mmetupa zawadi ambazo hatuwezi kulipa kama vile ukarimu, kuwa na moyo safi na kadhalika
tutazibeba zawadi hizi maishani mwetu.

--------------------

(Greetings in Swahili, Kikamba, Kiluhya, Kikalenjin and Spanish)

My host family has a superhuman ability to stifle laughter. When I forgot to put sugar in the chai and it exploded from the sufuria onto the floor, when I ended my first bucket bath by dumping all the water over my head and flooding the bafu, when I tried to milk the neighbor’s cow and nothing came out, and when I ate the bees in the honey for a week, my family just pokerfaced politely and said, "No problem. Here, let me help you."

It's this kind of patience and generosity that makes me think that the host families got the raw end of the deal. At my homestay, my mama cooked delicious, authentic food for me everyday, and all I ever did was burn the chapati. She and various 6-year-old girls
from the neighborhood taught me to wash my clothes by hand, and in return I hogged all the space on the clothesline. I tortured everyone with my dismal Kiswahili, but the only English phrase they learned from me was "food com."

I know it can be a struggle to take care of everyone in your family, much less an extra guest - one who is reluctant to eat ugali, who uses insane amounts of water to take a bath, and who bolts from the room if there is a cockroach on the wall. So I think I speak for all the trainees when I say that we are humbled by your immense efforts to make us feel as comfortable, safe and welcome as we would feel if we were in our own homes. We are grateful for all the invisible
sacrifices you've made for us that we will never know about, and that probably happened before we woke up in the morning. You have given us gifts that can never be repaid - those of kindness, generosity and open-heartedness - that we will carry with us for the
rest of our lives.