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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