my new community

Nyaoga.

my new community:

Nyaoga is a small community consisting of a couple sub-villages, one-room school houses, and a medical dispensary in the South Nyanza province of Kenya. It's inhabitants make up the majority of the Luo tribe. Luo's pride themselves on their fishing skills and pride itself. Nyaoga is located in between Mount Homa (a cluster of about 5 hills with the peak at 1753 meters - very fun to hike) and Lake Victoria in a small peninsula near Kendubay. (don’t get too excited, Lake Victoria is not a swim-able body of water) It’s very hot and even though I apply SPF 70 everyday I still managed to get burned to the point of peeling. At first, the nights were unbearable, but you get used to it. (A donor visited our compound and brought a thermometer and I looked at it once when I found it to be a very cool morning and it was 82 degrees farenheit.) Ps - There is no plumbing or electricity throughout any of Nyaoga.


my new job:

The Dispensary (which is basically a clinic) is owned by 'The Board', a group of local older mama’s. They chose to create this place when an American woman, Mary, decided to donate through an organization called Give Us Wings (Mary is the founder). The purpose was to 'give wings' to the community so that it can 'fly' on it's own. But, this community is experiencing trouble. The goal was to establish a clinic that was able to give free healthcare to The Board and provide them with an additional profit. But, the clinic isn’t making money and Give Us Wings is still supporting a good portion of the costs to run it. And, I believe, that’s why I’m here: to help the clinic become self sustainable.

A unique component to Nyaoga is that it has a primary school, the Lake Victoria Michelle Obama Academy/Adult Education, that allows mothers to attend class with their infants. Normally these women would go without any education and would stay at home with their children. Give Us Wings provided the funding necessary to build a school house and establish a system to allow these mothers to pursue an education.

Another feature of this area is the dependence on rain. They survive on a water catchment system, which accrues rainwater from the gutters of a building into a very large reservoir. No rain means no water. (Though, you can always attain the cholera and giardia infested water of Lake Victoria.) My first week here I wasn’t able to bathe or flush our indoor latrine because of the drought. (And to think, a couple months ago I was irritated about not having running water) The community had started a 5-year long water project to assure a constant supply of water, but it was sabotaged and now the whole thing needs to be re-done.

my new personal life:

I have two and a half roommates. Rosalyn, who just turned 23, is the head Clinical Officer of the only health facility for the. Diana is turning 28 soon and has an adorable year and a half old baby girl, Tamalia. She is the ring-leader of this complex, which is no easy feat (I’m referring to Diana, not Tamalia). We spend our evenings watching cheesy Hispanic soap operas (that have been dubbed over in English) until the battery of our solar panel runs out. Yes, even I have become addicted to Soy Tu Dueña. (I can hardly wait to find out if Valentina will give in and stop fighting her desire to be with her next door neighbor, San Migel, who saved her life by sucking out the rattlesnake venom in her leg that her evil cousin planted in her bathroom in an attempt to kill Valentina so that she would get all of her money and the estate.)

some big changes

It was a Thursday at 2pm in the afternoon when I was going to meet a friend for a picnic when I was attacked.

After spending the morning in the office coordinating for the upcoming OVC event that I was running in town, I was meeting a friend for a lunch and I decided to go early to have some time to myself, maybe read some of my latest book, write in my journal, and just relax.

A man came out of the woods and told me, in the clearest and most perfect English that I’ve ever heard, to give him his life. He grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the bush, I screamed and fought him until he ran off.

I walked away with a few scratches and bruises. I was really lucky. Peace Corps thought that it would be best for me to return to America to recuperate. I was given the gift of seeing my family and friends, the use of some American luxuries and the gift of time. Yet, all I could think of was getting back to Kenya. Now, I’ve moved into my new house and started to get to know my new community.

masero vs vasomi... the circumcision-ers have returned.

the musical instruments (left) and the marching (right)

I have recently been enlightened about the truth behind the circumcision ceremonies. It turns out there is not only a a single tradition, but there are two groups with two traditions. At one point the groups were united, but in 1935 the vasomi group diverged from the masero group. (note, masero translates to skins in kiluhya - because when the boys return from the forest after healing from their procedure symbolizing their journey into manhood they wear cow skins while vasomi translates to people who study... or the 'educated').

MASERO

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The masero group is the one that I claim for myself, they are the ones that all of the pictures have been taken of... the truly traditional group. They are the ones that drink basu (home brewed alcohol) and have their boys wear crowns of leaves and dance naked with all of their community dancing with them. The music is supplied from home made instruments (2 sticks hitting against each other) and mostly consists of everybody beat-boxing the main rhythm of the song they are singing while also singing the luhya lyrics. After the initial (and only) naked-dancing round, the first day, the boys will go with their elders into the forest where they are circumcised the next morning. No women are allowed near the forest at this time and if a man happens to wander through he cannot leave until the boys are fully healed. (they, supposedly, will just kill the woman... though I've been told if it was me they would ask me what they can do to help me and then safely escort me to the main road... not sure how true any of this is, but i certainly don't want to test it in-spite of my recently public engagement to one of the elders.... and, no mom, i didn't consent to this... and by engagement i mean Freddie [the guy that i was dancing with in my older post on circumcisions] dragging me around the market by my arm drunkenly screaming to everyone in ear-shot, "THIS IS MY WIFE THIS IS MY WIFE")

itumi: culture of the circumcision.

About two weeks from their original entry into the forest the boys will return to the market place where they initially danced, but this time with their home made outfits. The elders of their circumcision group will take the skin from cows and wrap it around their bodies to cover them, while the boys father's (or father figures) will make them a basket with eye holes to wear on their heads, and finally, their mother's (or mother figures) will decorate their final outfits with plastic bags, cd's, and other things to distinguish them from the other boys. The same beats, as the previous dancing ceremony, are laid and the same songs are sung. But, this time the boys will separate from each other long enough to dance with their individual family's (mothers, sisters, brothers, but never fathers.) In fact, I'm not sure where the fathers are at this time. During their stay in the forest I've been told that they are taught how to be men. Some say they are told how to farm, when their crops are ready for harvest, how to be a good husband and father. Some say they are taught how to practice magic... to put curses on people and stuff. One one person even told me that they are taught how to have sex. (just an fyi, the person who told me that they learn how to do magic was from a person who looks down his nose at the masero traditions... he thinks they should be abolished because of the "un-chrstian-like" behavior)

The boys.

Eventually after their passage into manhood, a couple weeks of healing and learning, the boys return for one last "hoo-rah" of singing and dancing with the community and they spend their last night in for forest. They return early the next morning for the ceremony of the clothes. For the first time as men they will put cloth back on and return to society as men.

VASOMI

When the original group of men and men-to-be split into two, it was a big deal. Lines were drawn and bridges were burned. The group left because the church. They believed that the original practiced traditions were un-christian-like in behavior and they believed that they wanted to better themselves while still maintaining a version of the "right of passage" for their boys. They were told that in order to be civilized people (as the colonization by Great Britain had taught them) that they must wear clothing made of cloth, they must abandon their barbaric habits and go to school to become educated (hence their new name)... also, along with this new learned behavior came the kenyan handshake... (it's kenyan because there is no 'shake' to it, you just put your hand out and squeeze the other person's hand and then release. Also, it is used every time you see a person. Whether or not you like them or even know them you must shake everyone's hand every time you see them.).

So, the main differences between the masero and the vasomi, from my perspective, are: there is no singing or dancing in the vasomi, the boys never surface to the public eye during any part of the process (they just go into the forest and then come back out a couple weeks later), the boys never put on cow skins, there is no home-made music, the elders of the group will just parade up and down the street at dusk strumming away on their drums with no particular beat in mind while someone waves around a flag of another country symbolizing that they are the super-power group. [usually it is the American flag, but I only saw the Canadian flag being waved around... how interesting, huh? Canada being thought of as a super-power nation]

And to be completely honest, my only experience with the Vasomi group was as I was walking home from the naked-dancing of the Masero group and ran into the Vasomi's marching towards the Masero group as if to start trouble.

this crazy culture

One Sunday afternoon Caro received a call, around 5pm, from one of the local boys in town, Dennis. Dennis, who is Caro’s “age-mate,” works at the local hospital and wanted Caro to come visit him at his home because he was feeling sick. They had known each other for years and had been friends so she went to see him. He greeted her and welcomed her into his living room where he left her, locking her in behind him. Odd behavior, don’t you think? Well, in Luhya culture, this means that they are married. Yes, that’s right, Caro is now married to Dennis solely based on this occasion. When Dennis returned three hours later with some tomatoes and onions, they spent the ne couple of weeks on their honeymoon. Now, when I say honeymoon I mean Caro stays in Dennis’s house (her new home) all day and all night, cooking the meals and keeping the place clean and when Dennis comes home from work they… well, they enjoy each others company. Caro is not supposed to go into the Shop where Milcent works, she is not supposed to visit friends or shop for the necessities. She is supposed to stay in that house all day resting for when Dennis returns. Infact, Caro one day being who she is, decided to do what she wanted and left to hang out with Milcent. Caro’s mother found out (because word spreads fast in small towns) and called Caro yelling at her to, “get back in that house and wait for her husband!”

kenyan friends

Walking to church on a very warm Sunday morning.

(Milcent and Caro)

Milcent (the one with the umbrella) is 30 years old and has not only graduated from secondary school [high school], but went on to get her diploma in theological school and then she studied fashion. This is highly unusual for this culture because, generally, men see an educated woman as a threat and don’t want anything to do with them. But Milly isn’t afraid to do what she wants, she puts herself first. Not only is she an amazing clothing designer (wait until you see what she’s made for me), but also an amazing person.

Caro (short for Carolyn) is my age and more of a typical female in this village. She has a 2 year old daughter named Falcity who is taken care of by her parents because Falcity’s father was chased out of town just after Caro found out she was pregnant. Why didn’t they just get married, you ask? Well, Caro’s father didn’t like the guy and wouldn’t hear of it. Currently, she is learning from Milly to be a seamstress so that she can open her own shop one day.

This is Hudson washing dishes.

Hudson is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Anywhere. He is 32 years old and is like an older brother to me. He, and his brother David, would walk me home whenever it was getting late and always protected me of cultural misunderstanding with other villagers. He owns a shop in town that sells fabric and materials for clothing businesses. He travels to Nairobi and Kisumu to buy sewing supplies in bulk and then resells them to the villagers for a decent price. This is the same shop that Milcent and Caro work out of (free of charge). He is engaged to a wonderful woman named Rachel from another village and they are going to be married December of 2011 (I’m SO excited for the wedding!).

Hudson is one of those people that you just have to love. He has a good spirit, a warm personality, and is always laughing. Normally, men wouldn’t be caught dead helping out women in anything… even their wives. Hudson, though he thinks it’s funny, but is always willing to help with anything (sewing, washing dishes, cleaning the house, farming his shamba, etc.) and always has a good attitude about it. [keep in mind women do everything. EVERYTHING. While men seem to never be around.]

David, Hudson's younger brother, has recently turned 30 years old and is currently farming his family’s land. Everyday he chops wood, milks the cows, picks the vegetables that are ready to be eaten, prepares the land for planting, harvests the corn… etc. Before he returned to do this, he was living in Eldoret (a city a couple hours away) living with his sister, and her family, and helping her run her restaurant. He wasn’t able to graduate from secondary school (high school) because his father died while he was in form 2 (10th grade) and he was no longer able to afford the school fees. He is the most westernized in my group of friends. He likes going to night clubs, social drinking, American culture, playing games and sports, pop music, picnics, and trying new things… When I first met him, he was emotionally recovering from the death of his friend Bramuel. (Bramuel was a local businessman/church youth leader who was killed by a reckless driver. It was a huge devastation to the community) I had never seen a Kenyan cry, let alone see any kind of emotion, when I saw David mourning the death of Bramuel it really opened my eyes to him.

This is Triff.

Triff is the four year old son of Eva. Eva got married at a decent age (mid-twenties) to a local man that she had known for the majority of her life. She did it the “right way” by going to the Pastor of her church and getting approval and then having a big formal wedding. Their marriage started out healthy, but then took a turn for the worst. He abused her. So, she left him. She is now living with Triff on her families land in their own house. Triff’s father was financially supporting them until recently when he found another woman and married her (without a divorce from Eva) and stopped paying for Triff. In the meantime, Eva was getting an education at a local college with a focus of finance. Now, Eva is consulting a lawyer to ensure a positive future for Triff.

world AIDS day.2010

Our Banner

(my partnering organization participating)

To bring HIV/AIDS awareness into the rural areas of Kenya every year activists celebrate World AIDS Day on December 1st. Within the Tiriki division, the HIV testers/counselors, people living positively, and anyone who wants to join comes together and marches through a local town. While the chosen town changes from year to year, the activity remains the same. When the marching/singing crowed reaches it's destination at a local school, rehearsed skits are performed followed by sodas and a speech by the local chief. During the skits and speeches there is a private area set up for testing and blood donations.

Our Skit

Several skits are performed by every VCT organization in the area and this year took about six hours. They are performed in Kiswahili and relate common rural life to HIV transmission prevention. My group, Rehema AIDS Intervention Program, acted out a skit with a drunk father bringing home his dangerously promiscuous lifestyle to his wife.

sigh... kenyan meetings.

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i hate going to meetings. absolutely hate going.
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first of all, they never start on time... i'll get a text at 6 pm requesting that I come to a very important meeting the next day at 10 am. So, I show up at 10 am and i'm the first one there. About an hour and a half later they decide to start this meeting and it always starts out the same way. The person leading the meeting will greet the group... "Hamjambo," and then the group, in unison, will reply, "Hatujambo," and then the leader will say, "Hamjambo tena," and then the group will reply, "Hatujambo."
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Next is roll call. The leader will sit facing the group and then call out names in a similar fashion to the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off and continue to repeat a name until that person responds or someone else steps in and says that they are not there. I suppose this wouldn't be that strange except that there are never more than six people at these meetings.
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Following roll call is an explaination of why the meeting is being called and past activities that the group that was called to be there has accomplished. (confused yet?) well hang in there, 'cuz you ain't seen nuthin yet.'... this continues for over an hour in a repetitive way that consists only of kiswahili. During this time the head-honchos of the group will sporadically show up and not pay attention to what's going on anyways.
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After awhile they will decide that it is there turn to talk and sometimes write down the points of their speach on a piece of paper on the wall to emphasize their points. During this last meeting, that I had to be at, was for the "youth" group that associated with my partner organization. And when i say youth group i mean a bunch of people ranging in age from 20-50 who get together maybe twice a year to play sports and maybe give skits on topics. And i have no idea what the topics are. (i'm hoping to alter a lot of this over the next two years).
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So anyways, the head-honcho man was trying to get the group involved by asking easy questions that are pertinant to the community and then writing their answers on the paper on the wall. First, he writes "Good Practices" and then underlines it. Then he asks, "ok, so what are some good practices that our community does?" and after a full 2 minutes of awkward silance (i'm not joking, it was a full 120 seconds of silence) he then writes, "1. Male Circumcision" and then he picks up a hand-out from an organization that did a study on MEDICAL CIRCUMSISION that concluded from their research that when MEDICAL circumcision is practiced the spread of disease is decreased. Head-honcho then decides to explain to the group that the second circumcision ceremony of the year is coming and it is a good thing because taking the boys into the forest, circumcising them with the same group machete, and then releasing them back to society as 'men' will decrease the prevelance of HIV within our community.
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(now please understand, that i love these traditional practices and i fully support them, BUT i do not agree with the notion that they are helping to reduce HIV transmission and of course I cannot voice my opinion and correct any of this because that would not only black list me within this mans eyes by undermining his authority, but it would also label me as a rebel-slut... incase you didn't know, any woman who stands up to a man is a prostitute.)
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Anyways, after listening to him talk about eliminating HIV, he then reaches for another topic that is a good practice within our community. And then, out of the small group, someone says, "women inheritance." AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I'm seriously going to SCREAM! [Women inheritance occurs when a husband dies leaving his wife, a now widow, behind (and usually with a couple of kids running around) to his BROTHER and if he doesn't have a brother to another male relative. It doesn't matter if he already has a wife or two, this woman now belongs to her former husband's brother]. Head-honcho goes on for 20 minutes about how this is such a wonderful thing and how it reduces HIV. At this point I just can't listen anymore. First off, it's well known that this not only does not reduce HIV, but infact, it advances it! If this married couple happened to have HIV, now the brother and all of his wives will acquire the virus and continue to pass it on to whoever they're sexually penetrating as well.
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I know this sounds crazy. Infact, I must be making it up, how could it possibly be true? I wish I could be creative enough to make it up. Incase you don't believe me... just see for yourself:

"Good Practices."

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As the meeting continues into it's 5th hour, the head-honcho wants to make a couple phone calls and puts the TV on for the rest of us to watch Afrocinema (a Nigerian version of soap operas)... it being 3pm and my stomach starting to eat itself, i decide to sneak out to get some food only to be stopped by one of my co-workers, Wheelkista. She's a sweet girl, but don't get between my acidified empty stomach and food. She told me that I couldn't leave, that i had to be there. I stared at her blankly for probably 43 seconds and said, "I've been here since 10am, 2 hours longer than you and i'm hungry." she then said, "ok, well let me check with Charles to see if you can leave."................. SHE MUST ME JOKING. She absolutely has to be JOKING....

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No, my friends, no she is not joking. At that point I start considering my options and conclude only one thing. RUN. No, I'm just joking. I just explain that i'll get some food kubeba (take away) and that i'll be right back. some chai and kenyan cake later, the meeting hasn't resumed. we wait around for head-honcho to resurface and finally when he does, he takes off and the rest of us are just waiting to leave. WAITING FOR ANOTHER 2 HOURS TO LEAVE. The rest of the meeting was a blur, i think we talked about World Aids Day on December first, i think they want to get T-shirts... and basically they waited to sign some US Aid papers showing that they were there and allowing them to receive 500 KES. Then they all take off.

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I've come to conclude that that is the only reason that anyone ever comes to any meeting... to get a traveling/lunch stipend. I hate meetings.

thank you, quakers, thank you.

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so, after the break in you are probably thinking, "now what?" will she quit Peace Corps? will she change her site to another community? would she actually even consider staying in that same house? well, the answer to all of these questions is NO. Thanks for the Friends Theological College located in Kaimosi village I will be able to stay within my same community and continue my work with orphans. The college compound exists thanks to U.S. funding and provides (amoung many things) a 24 hour guard, bars on windows and doors, and efficient locks. Plus, my new place is HUGE.

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my spacious new living room (and faux fireplace)

my spacious new bedroom.

my TOILET. (yeessssss...)

and (my favorite) my SHOWER.

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It has been brought to my attention that this sub-community is known as a quaker group. Not knowing anything about them I decided to wikipedia-it-up... and I didn't find anything too weird. Only that they don't use titles like Mr. or Mrs. and i figure that's not too bad. Therefore, I would like to thank this religious society for everything they are providing me with.

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thank you, quakers, thank you.

heartbreak.

it all started here. at my bedroom window.

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judging by the marks on the doors I figure that they used a crowbar, or something to that extent, to pry open my bedroom window. Looking back on it I really shouldn't be suprised... wooden shutters kept closed by a small shift lock... I suppose I figured the guard dog and my landlord whose house was four feet away from mine would be enough security for when I decided to leave for a weekend. But, I was wrong.

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after they got in, they created a path of destruction... they shoved the furniture and destroyed my mosquito net by tearing it down for easy access to the rest of the room. (again, no one around seemed to notice).

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they then proceeded to shove everything they could find in my own bags and lug it all away... my own bags. including but not limited to: my 2 year supply of contacts, my spare pair of glasses, all of my anti-malarial prophylaxis, every pair of shoes i had (hiking boots, nike running shoes, showering flip-flops), clothes (my host mama had a given me a kenyan style custom made dress)... yeah, that was taken... my computer - which had pictures and videos of the tiriki traditions saved on it, guitar, ipod, my oakley sunglasses that i had had for five years, everything that i had stored under my bed to start the Orphan Support program (including toys, pens, pencils, crayola markers and crayons, jump ropes, candy)... the dumbies even opened up a box that was wrapped in christmas paper (an external dvd drive) and took it out of the box and then left it behind.

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they dumped out my night side drawers, which contained letters from home, my journal, books, and took the things that were on top, like my alarm clock, and my family photo album.... yeah. Now, why on earth would they leave an external dvd drive, but take pictures of my white family in America?

after the goldmine that was my bedroom, they then proceeded to the rest of the house... the list continues: my mattresses, my bicycle, my enormous 12 kilogram gas cylinder and stove top (and let me tell you, that thing was heavy.) ... now, what i don't understand is how they took, literlly, a truck load of things, without ANYBODY noticing?? they even took the light bulb for crying out loud. (i had to borrow the one in the picture below so that i could pack the remaining of my stuff)

it was truly, truly, heartbreaking.

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when the police came they looked at the mess that was left behind and then had me come down to the station to record a statement... what this means is that they wrote down in a carbon copy notebook the date that i returned to discover this mess and then list the things that were stolen. Because it was already dark Peace Corps had me stay the night with the nearest volunteer and then travel the next day to the offices in Nairobi to evaluate the next step. But, before i could file insurance paperwork I had to get a legitimate police report. So the next morning I spent 20 minutes explaining to the Cheptulu police that i needed this statement to prove the incident. I can comfortably conclude two things. One, they have never been asked for one before and Two, they are lazy "non-do's" that refuse to do the job that they receive a salary to do.

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After finally getting my point accross (i'm not leaving without a police report) they took out a piece of notebook paper, wrote down the list of things that were stolen, stamped it, and then handed it to me.

what a joke.

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On the brighter side... Peace Corps Safety and Security department has done a great job attempting to get a proper investigation accomplished, my international insurance came through by fulling covering my insured items, and Peace Corps also will be giving me another "move-in" allowance to start over and also some extra for my losses.

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afterthoughts....

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to be completely honest, it really sucks to come home to a place you don't recognize and to experience this internal seed of mistrust that will probably never go away, but I have to be really thankful that i wasn't there when they decided to break in. I don't want to think about what could have happened. But, I have come to accept that they were just things that were stolen and that was all. My health is fantastic, my family's health is fantastic, and I am so grateful for all of the support that i have received because of this incident.

Not everything is so much fun...

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My main project, that I will be striving to achieve here in Kenya, is to develop an OVC (orphans and vulnerable children) program for the kids within my community. We are applying for grants to get them money to pay for their school fees, uniforms, food, etc... and I always want to make it a mentoring program. (kind of like the US "big brothers big sisters" program.) There are many secondary (high) schools and universities in the area, and I think that would really think that both groups would benefit form the experience. To start the program, we are meeting and gathering three “sub-communities” that will support about 30 children from the ages of 2-12. The first two groups that I met with were fairly typical of the Kenyan culture, but the third group that I met with was very complicated experience… Just thinking about it makes me tear up… So, I’m going to do my best to set the scene for you, but I’m not sure that I am able to really portray to you the heartache that comes with it.

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When I go into the really rural surroundings of my village to meet the kids that I will be working with, I go with my supervisor (Judy, who is now eight months pregnant). We meet the kids, their guardians’, and the “sub-chief” of that area. Many times, the sub-chief doesn’t show up, and usually when they do they are on their phones texting the entire time. The guardians dress-to-impress and they do the same to their kids, but that doesn’t really mean much. .... Also, please note that in order to get funding for our program we have to have proof that the kids are orphans aka: we need death certificates.... which isn’t exactly the easiest thing to accomplish here. The places that we meet are in one of the houses of the guardians, and let me tell you, it is never enough space, but the surrounding view of the forrest and the shambas [garden/farms] is soooo beautiful that it’s ironic.

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So, as Judy and I walk through the most desolate surroundings to meet the third and final group of kids to start this program. We walk for about 20 minutes out of the village of Cheptulu and into the Nandi forrest where one of the guardians lives. Eventually the small, mud path that we are walking on ends at a small mud house and there are children running all around, playing. (a typical Kenyan-tiriki home)

After formally greeting all of the adults that came to visit and sit in on the meeting (to see the mzungu [white person] that’s been hanging around town for the past month). Judy and I walk into the sitting room. It is very small room with a Kenyan-made sofa against every wall. After Judy and I take our seats the kids then come in. There are so many of them that they have to sit on each other’s laps. As the meeting begins I am mesmerized by the children and really only focus on them, and as I watched a 4-year-old carrying a 2-year-old as if he was the parent, I just thought to myself, “yep, this is in Kenya.” As every meeting does, we start by going through roll call... we get their names, their parents names, their guardians names, their ages, the attending schools, and then I talk a little bit about who I am and what I’m doing there. Then, Judy reiterates what I say because my accent isn’t always understood, and as she’s talking one of the visitors grabs a little girl saying, "Oh, you are a nurse. Help her,” as she pushes her onto my lap. The girl is about six or seven and small for her age (as they all are malnurished) and i just start saying, "no no no no nonononono no no no. I'm not a doctor or a nurse. I am not able to help her.” But, the woman continues to talk, in very fast Kiswahili now, to Judy about this girl. She tells/demands the girl to take off this scarf that was covering her head and as the little girl is delicately unknotting it the woman (who no one can seem to move fast enough for) pulls it off of the girl. Immediately I can smell this overwhelming odor that is so pungent that I had to cover my nose and mouth to keep from gagging. It reeked. I couldn’t really see what I was looking at, (because we were in a mud hut that lacks electricity) but I what I could see was that her hair was falling out and her skin was peeling off. It looked like a mix between a burn wound (where the skin looks wavy) and an open/raw sore. Judy then started asking questions (she used to be some sort of nursing assistant at the hospital) and that’s when the arguing started. The woman was telling Judy that we (Judy and I) needed to take this little girl to the hospital because they didn’t have any money. Judy then told the woman and the male guardian that this girl can receive FREE healthcare from the hospital, FREE medicine, FREE treatment. FREE CARE. All they have to do is take her to the hospital. And that’s when the excuses turned into, “well I am not able to take her because I live and work in Mumias and I a do not have time. And he (referring to the older male guardian on the other side of the room) has to take care of the rest of these kids so he does not have time.” [please note, that I walk past the hospital everyday on my way to the office every morning. It is not even a 30 minute walk. It is not far away from where these people were staying.] I just didn’t understand what was going on. I was in complete shock, probably sitting there with my mouth hanging open and looking back and forth between the female guardian and the little girl. This little girl was suffering. I sat there watching as she could barely touch her own scalp enough to put the scarf back on and this woman was telling us the story of her parents dying of AIDS several months ago and her grandmother dying several weeks ago. Seriously, this little girl is not healthy and was suffering in so many ways.

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As we left the house the owner walked us out, and as everything was just sinking in i started looking around at the beautiful landscaping and thought, how ironic. and then i notice the enormous dirt pile in the front yard. The woman, who was talking to judy, turns to me and points at the dirt mound saying, "this is my mother." it was her grave, but she treated it as if she was introducing me to someone that i should greet, and that would greet me back. It was a grave. IT WAS A GRAVE. So, as Judy and i walk back to the office i just cannot stop thinking about how that little girl needs medical attention. Judy agrees and says that the sub-chief that introduced us to the group is going to look into it.... so we get back to the office and i am eating my lunch in complete contemplation of life and one of my co-workers (Charles, we call him "Charlo" because it is short for Charles) sits next to me and asks what's up, and i tell him everything and he says, "oh i know who you're talking about" and describes the house and the little girl in exact detail. He tells me that her parents died of AIDS and that she also has it and that it's probably her medication that is doing that to her scalp so they stopped giving her the medicine and started rubbing herbal medicines on her head. my own skin started to crawl at the thought. I asked why her guardian didn’t take her back to the hospital to change the medication and he said, "I don’t know, probably because they are just waiting for her to die."......................

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.....(sigh)...........

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yeah. i don't even know what to say. The situation is so desperate that i just wanted to take the little girl to the hospital myself. But, judy reminded me that it is not my responsibility, it is the little girl's guardians responsibility and if i do it this time then they will continue to expect me to do things like this... to take these kids for treatment, to pay for their treatment and to buy them medications…. I just cannot emotionally settle this internal turmoil with my conscience. After a bit of time passes, i told judy what charles had told me and together they contacted the guardian and got her to the hospital the next day. Turned out that the medication that they wanted to put the girl on was out and she will either have to go somewhere else and pay for it, or she will have to wait and return to the hospital to get it... who knows if she will ever get it.

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I LOVE TIRIKI TRADITIONS!! (circumcision ceremonies)

My first five weeks at site I was welcomed with the Luhya-tiriki tradition of the circumcision ceremonies. They only take place once every five years and the communities basically shut-down for about a month while the male-community elders take the boys (ranging in ages from 4-15) are taken into the woods to be circumcised, to heal, and to be taught how to be a man. I wasn't allowed anywhere near the woods, no woman is. But, before they started their transformation into manhood, there was a "pre-circumcision" ceremony where the boys are led by their elders to dance with their families and community... naked. Well technically they are wearing a special plant in the form of a crown on their heads and if I (or anyone) were to cross their path while they were wearing these leaves, I would be cursed.

(here is one of the "not as" revealing pictures of the boys in their ceremonial outfits)

(here are a couple of the "elders" as they prepare the crowd

and lead the boys into the dancing circle)

(here is me dancing with one of the "elders"... my favorite part of this picture is the crowd of mama's in the background. They love to see me participating in the culture. They now call me omukhana wefwe [our daughter])

After a couple of weeks in the forrest, the boys and the elders return to the village in their masks and cow-hide clothing to dance again with their families and community. The boys who have healed will dance, while the ones who are still healing just walk. But, I believe there is some kind of symbolism in that their costumes are all the same and you cannot distinguish one boy from the next, except that their families will tie things to their masks and cow-hides (like records, cds, funnels) so that they can find their own and dance with them.

(here are the boys lined up as they make their way to the dancing circle)

(here are the boys of a nearby village called Shamakhokho (not Cheptulu)

as they follow their leader through the crowds)

(me and a couple of the boys)





(....me dancing.... as you can tell, I'm pretty intense)

i look like a ninja

I think one of the first statements/decisions that I made after I was accepted into the Peace Corps was, "I'm going to get a mohawk." And, after the first month I cut it short, and the last night of training (the night before I swore in for my 2 years of service) I shaved the right side of my head.

I now have a mohawk-esque haircut and it's one of the best decisions I've ever made.

(left to right: the shaved side of my head, the front-head-on-look, what I look like when it's wet, in an up-do, when i first wake up in the morning, and finally how i usually wear it: with a ninja headband.)

So, for those of you who are curious, this is what I look like now!

home sweet home

i like to refer to this as my little cottage on the hill. I think my favorite part is the view from the back of my house... except i cannot full-heartedly agree with that because i get this amazing breeze going through when all my windows and doors are open and it always smells fresh with a relaxing vibe.

(view from the back of my house... if you look at the far hill in the background you can see my favorite tree... i named it Sylvia... and yes, I now name trees.)

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(view from the back of my house during a thunderstorm)

my cottage is composed of 4 livable rooms. (technically there are 5, but the fifth room is forbidden. it is where my 70 year old land lord, Shua, keeps her extra charcoal and furniture that should be thrown away.) When you walk in the front door you enter the sitting room. Walking through the sitting room you enter the kitchen with my "running" water... by "running" water i mean i have a bucket that i refill with water and there is a spout. I didn't create it until my 5th week at site, and it has been wonderful. My gas stove runs off of a 16 kg tank that sits in the fireplace. Next to the kitchen is my bathing room. As you can see it is an empty room, with a drain, without electricity, and with several buckets. In order to find my soaps and shampoo while i bathe i bring a carosene lantern back with me. It sizzles everytime i splatter water on it.

(this is how close i live to Shua...

my landlord who makes me pay her for ridiculous things)

(this is my living room! ... and my guest bed/napping bed.)

(and this is what it will look like [a couch] once i make pillows for the back)

(my kitchen!)

(my kitchen sink!)

(my preparation/cleaning area)

(my new dresser)

(my bed and bedside table)

(my bathtub)

(my "toilet"... the choo)

(my enormous front yard and gate)

we be makin' de news

It’s back to basics for USA volunteers

Published on 27/07/2010

By Lucianne Limo

Adam Crider, 29, has lived a fast-paced life in New York City where everything is automated and most transactions are conducted using credit cards. This has also been the life of Brian Shutzaberger for the past 27 years. He loves big cars, and owns a luxurious BMW in his native Oklahoma. But the two youths are among the 36 American volunteers who have abandoned their privileged lives in the US to volunteer under the Peace Corps programme. Crider has traded his apartment in the most expensive city in the world, known to many as the Big Apple, for a small room in Rusinga Island that has no running water.

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Bright expectations: US volunteers in a group picture with ambassador Ranneberger and other embassy staff. [PHOTO: MBUGUA KIBERA/STANDARD]

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Shutzaberger, on the other hand, will have to do a bit of walking in Western Kenya where he is to help small and medium enterprises get on their feet. But even these lifestyle anxieties have not dampened their enthusiasm for the work ahead, and the new country.

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Rusinga Island

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"I’m excited about my two years in Kenya, and look forward to joining my community on Rusinga Island," Crider said after being sworn in by US ambassador Michael Ranneberger at his residence in Nairobi. A telecommunication specialist, Shutzaberger admits his new lifestyle will be a huge contrast to what he has lived in the past – where bathrooms are fitted with sensors to flush after use, while wash basins emit water at the hint of hands. For the next 24 months, Shutzaberger will have to contend with a pit latrine for a toilet and using a bucket to bathe, not to mention probably living without electricity. The 36 volunteers have been in the country for two months undergoing a rigorous induction programme at Oloitoktok, before being dispatched to various communities in Western, Nyanza, Eastern and Coast Provinces.

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Cultural Mosaic

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While at Oloitoktok, the volunteers were taught everything from using a pit latrine to bathing using a bucket and killing a chicken for a meal. They were also introduced to the diverse cultures that make Kenya’s cultural mosaic. "Some of them had never seen a pit latrine or used a bucket to bathe. They were really shocked but learned very fast," said Helen Tuken and Koikai Lemereu, who tutored and hosted some of the volunteers. "The most shocking thing for me was killing a chicken. I have never done it, and that really traumatised me. The chicken was nonetheless delicious," revealed Shutzaberger. Most of the volunteers interviewed said they left their comfort zones because they desire to change their career paths and, while at it, make a useful contribution to the less fortunate. Crider says he had reached a point in his career where he wanted change and, after evaluating his interests, he decided to pursue a path that would lead him to the US Government’s international affairs department.

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Strong Foundation

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"I felt that the Peace Corps provided a great opportunity to utilise my professional skills to help others, and learn to work in a very different cultural environment. I also hope that it will provide a strong foundation for a career in international affairs," he said, adding he would subsequently take a Master’s degree in community work. But, could they be US spies? "I have heard the rumours about Peace Corps volunteers being spies. To my knowledge, those claims are completely false. I was not recruited to spy for the US Government or any other entity," Crider said swiftly. He said he arrived in Kenya by chance as the only choice they made was that of region, not a specific country. "Sub-Saharan Africa was my first choice, and I’m very happy to have been placed in Kenya," he said. During their swearing in ceremony at the US embassy, another volunteer, Lorenzo Nava summed up, in very good Kiswahili, how prepared they were to face the new challenges. "We have left our loved ones and put off our careers in America to be in Kenya. We shall eat, sleep and breath ugali," Nava said to a great applause.

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Miss families

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"We will spend every Saturday morning for the next two years hand washing our laundry," Nava added, hinting at the work ahead. The volunteers said even though they are likely to miss their families back home, the experience and the service to the community would be worth the trouble. "We are prepared to learn and function in communities that are hugely different from our own. We will grow in ways we have never imagined, as we are prepared to put our skills, creativity and passion to the respective communities we will work for," Nava added.

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Dropouts

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The Peace Corps country director Steven Wisecarver said none of the volunteers chosen this year had dropped out of the programme unlike in the past. The volunteers will work in three key areas: Education, Public Health and Small Enterprise Development. Those in Education sector will support the Ministry of Education teach maths, science and life skills. They will also teach the importance of education to girls, counsel communities on HIV and Aids as well as serve as role models to students. Volunteers in the Small Enterprise Development will help in upgrading the business skills of those in income generating activities and help small entrepreneurs improve the quality of their products.

In the process, the participants shall have to encounter the unique cultures of Kenya, and the spirit of sharing that has kept its people going. There are prospects of learning new languages as well, not to mention getting other life perspectives.

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everybody's happy!! (can't you tell?!)

say cheese!

mwongela, kioko and i during our last day together....

ooooh how bittersweet.

to be young and 'kubaya' (to play!)

here are my little kaka as they play with their new hacky sac!