The trip home - Parts 1 and 2

The trip home: Part 1 – Bus Ride

December 19, 5:00am: Lesson #1: Don’t trust African public bus schedules. A bus that may say it’s leaving at 6am could actually leave at 5am. And so it goes. Interestingly enough, we had planned to be at the bus by about 5am because we were attempting to transport my bags, Crystal’s “house” (aka like everything she owns packed into several giant duffels), a computer monitor, and 4 large boxes filled with our research and surveys. So at 4:45am, Isaac the driver picked us up, and we said our good-byes to Jake and Evans (the gate guard). A few minutes later we pulled out of the bumpy dirt road from Mohochi land, where the Nuru house is located – just in time to see the Nyamira Express bus whiz by. Isaac swiveled around, yelling “it’s ok my friends! We will get it!”, and TOOK OFF. What ensued: A high speed chase down the road, Isaac versus Bus, Isaac flashing his lights and honking his horn and swerving around any cars in his path… all the while, me yelling “Isaac stop! I think maybe there’s a 6am bus too!” (But what did I know.) Result: Isaac successfully flagged down the bus (amazingly, without any harm to anyone), got it to stop and load on our million pounds of boxes and bags, and we were on our way to Nairobi.

6:00am: The bus stops in Migori (the next town over from isibania). No biggie, considering the bus was supposed to stop in Migori. We wait. We wait some more. About 15 min into waiting, a Kenyan guy comes up to us and says something in Swahili that includes the question “passports?” We look at each other with concern. Julius jumps up immediately and runs out to check to see if the luggage is ok. (Lesson #2: Luggage in the lower compartment of an African public bus is NOT secure.) What ensues: A police blockade, checking the bus for contraband. Our duct-taped, twine-tied boxes of surveys look totally suspicious. The police make us open one. Luckily Julius picks the one WITHOUT the computer monitor, which I am SURE they would have come up with some reason for us to part with. We pass inspection. The bus starts up again, about an hour later. We fall asleep.

8:00am: The bus stops in Kisii (another town). A preacher boards. Preacher begins to preach at the TOP of his lungs (and he’s got a good set of lungs) in crazed-sounding didactic Swhaili. I recognize brief interspersions of English words such as “Christ”, “apostles”, “damnation”. People begin to give money to the preacher. He doesn’t stop. Crystal yells out a big “Amen!” – hoping that he’ll get the message. He doesn’t stop. I think his volume increases. Crystal and I plug our ears with our fingers – that’s how loud he is – it’s almost painful. 8:45am – he stops and takes a seat.

10:00am: The bus stops again. This time I don’t know where we are because it’s an unplanned stop. Kisii was supposed to be the last one before Nairobi – but again, schedules don’t mean much. A man with live chickens boards. The chickens go chill in the back of the bus. A large, made-up Kenyan woman boards with a big cloth bag. She does not take a seat – but rather, takes the preacher’s place in the aisle and starts screaming something. I recognize brief interspersions of English words such as “7 days”, “2 months”, “sick”. I discover she is selling herbal / traditional healer medicines to our bus. A TON of people buy from her. She keeps ranting about the benefits for some time, drawing in other buyers. I plug my ears again.

12:00pm: We arrive at the Nairobi bus depot (basically just a large parking lot located adjacent to a really disgusting and rancid trash pile). The bus is promptly swarmed by prospective drivers and baggage hands (likely many of whom are living on the street and trying to make a few shillings by carrying your luggage out of the fray). I am the first one of our group off the bus, and try to push my way in towards the luggage compartment – I want to be right there the minute they open the door, to make sure that nobody else grabs our stuff. I am totally surrounded by a mob of people… “mzungu, is this your bag?” “mzungu, I help you!” It’s a no-win situation. If you ignore them, they become insolent. If you so much as turn your head or say one word towards them, they take it as a sign of encouragement. Crystal and Julius get off the bus and the crowd moves to engulf Crystal as well. The police come to break up the frenzy. Another bus tries to get through the microscopic space between our bus and another, and the crowd is forced to part. We seize the opportunity and squeeze between the buses, out of the madness. We wait by the trash pile for the taxi that Julius has called. The smell is so rancid that I gag a few times and almost hurl. It’s the grossest trash I’ve ever ever smelled. The taxi finally comes and someone with seeming authority tells us that he can’t pull in beside the trash pile (right, b/c it’s really coveted real estate??). Julius slips him some cash and all of a sudden it’s a free parking zone. We jump into the cab and are on our way, Part I of our journey home completed safe and sound.

The trip home: Part 2 – Planes

December 20, 3:00pm: I’ve spent the morning touring around Nairobi with my fabulous driver Michael. He’s driving me back to Mama Chacha’s hosue (where I’ve spent the night) and all of a sudden a huge wave of nausea washes over me. I’d been feeling a little weird all day, in fact. My flight isn’t supposed to leave until 10pm, but I’d been planning to go to the airport early to meet up with Jake for some drinks and conversation at the airport bar. I decide to take a nap first and hopefully my stomach will settle. I tell Michael to come back at 6pm because I want to get a move on before dark, anyways.

5:00pm: I wake up from my nap. I’m so dizzy that I can barely stand up to finish packing my things. I crawl around on the muddy floor of my room, stuffing clothes and packages into whatever bag they’ll fit in. I have chills – it’s like 75 degrees and I’m wearing my Patagonia jacket and shivering.

6:00pm: Michael comes back to take me to the airport. Julius decides to accompany me to the airport – I think to make sure I don’t pass out in Michael’s car. I insist they stop at the neighborhood chemist, where I stumble in and purchase several antibiotics for which, were we in the US, I’d need to get a prescription. It costs me a ridiculous amount of money because I refuse the African generics and opt for the boxes that have names I know. Once back in the car, I pop one and close my eyes for the remainder of the ride. I can sense Julius looking back at me with concern.

6:20pm: We arrive at the airport. There’s some unknown roadblock and Michael can’t get me all the way up to the KLM departures entrance. Julius runs ahead and gets me a luggage cart, for which I was really grateful. I pay Michael, hug Julius good-bye, and walk about 5 meters before I’m forced by the man at a checkpoint to leave the luggage cart behind. I haul my bags onto my back and make my way to the check-in desk.

6:30pm: There’s nobody in line because KLM only has one flight – mine – which isn’t leaving until ten. The woman behind the counter starts checking me in, and all of a sudden the system freezes. “We are locked out”, she explains. “Amsterdam has shut us out of the check-in system. Anyways, you are later, you know.” “Yes”, I answer. “I know we’re not leaving until ten.” “No”, she replies. “There is bad weather. You are leaving now at 3:30am. And Amsterdam has stopped letting us check people in right now. But do not worry, the system could come back any minute.”

6:45pm: System still locked out. My whole body is aching and I am having trouble standing at the counter. I ask the woman if she would be OK with my sitting on the baggage belt next to her counter, and drop down on it before she can even respond. Three or four more people arrive for the flight and line up behind me.

7:15pm: Line building a little more. System still locked out. Still sitting on the baggage belt. Try eating a piece of a protein bar and my stomach churns.

7:30pm: System comes back up and the woman motions to me. I realize I’m going to miss my connection in Amsterdam and ask her if she can rebook me on a later flight to Boston. She says no; she’ll just check me to AMS and I’ll deal with it there. I balk at this and call over her manager. The system locks out again and all arguments are off. I return to the baggage belt.

8:00pm: A good looking Kenyan guy dressed in those cool branded sweats that probably cost way more than my designer jeans asks me if he can weigh his bags. I glare at him and ask if he can please make it quick. Guilt washes over me, slightly stronger than the nausea, and I mumble, “Sorry. I don’t own the baggage belt. I’m just not feeling well and I need to sit.”

8:05pm: Turns out the guy is really nice, and distracts me from the wait for a few. His name is Osseyou, and he’s in real estate in Portland. I commiserate about the state of the market, and hope for his sake that commercial doesn’t continue to tank. We chat about Nairobi, where his family is from.

8:30pm: The line is REALLY long now. Hundreds of people, most of whom thought the flight was leaving at ten. None of whom can check in. Since the airline staff don’t speak great English and aren’t doing a great job of explaining what’s going on, many come up to ask the girl lying on the baggage belt why the line isn’t moving. I gaze up at them and act as polite and informative as possible. We are all hoping that the system has locked out because they’re working on rebooking us all.

8:45pm: Airline staff come around with handouts -- a printed explanation of the state of the flight. I wonder why they can’t just get someone to make an announcement over a loudspeaker. Even a megaphone. Or find that preacher from the bus – everyone would surely be able to hear HIM.

9:00pm: System opens up. I haven’t been rebooked on anything. I allow them to check me only to AMS – knowing full well the problems I’m setting myself up for. I accept my single boarding pass and walk to the immigration desk. Kenyan guy behind the counter waves a blue piece of paper in my face and asks me where mine is. I have forgotten to fill out the exit VISA form – but in my daze I have no clue what he’s talking about. He seems to decide I’m too confused to be worth his time, and waves me through illegally. I later wonder if Kenya knows I’ve left the country, and if it even matters.

9:10 – 10:00pm: I wander around the airport looking for Jake. I become totally exhausted.

10:00pm: I decide I want to go into the British Airways Executive Lounge and wonder if my Platinum AMEX will gain me admission even though I’m not actually flying BA. I thoroughly confuse the girl behind the counter who has never heard of AMEX and she calls over her colleague, a young Kenyan guy who decides to let me in – not because of my AMEX, I’m sure, but either because he thinks I’m cute or he’s expecting me to pay him off. I don’t care the reason. I go inside, drink a glass of OJ which upsets my stomach, and fall asleep on a really fabulous couch.

11:00pm: Lounge guy wakes me up and tells me I can stay until midnight, when he’s closing. He also tells me some garbage about people paying $20/mo to use the lounge. I tell him I pay $450 for my Platinum AMEX which allows me to access airline lounges whenever I want, and that he was supposed to let me in anyways. I close my eyes, signaling an end to the discussion which I sense was going in the direction of me giving him $20.

11:55pm: I wake up, use the bathroom, and begin to leave. Lounge guy tries to convince me to stick around for a drink with him and his friends, who’d begun diving into the champagne the minute all the “legit” passengers left. I decline and make a quick exit.

12:10am: I finally find Jake in the Java House. Thus proceeds the kind of conversation that two people who don’t know each other too well can usually only have either late night or after a few cocktails. Jake is an extremely thoughtful and insightful human being and I am quite happy to have gained his respect and gotten the chance to see into the wonderful Nuru world he’s created.

1:30am: Announcement over the loudspeaker that it’s time for our flight to line up and start proceeding through screening into the holding pen – that stupid water-less, bathroom-less room that airports with poor initial security screens send you into before you can get on the plane, signaling to the US or EU that they’ve gone through the desired security proceedings at least for that subset of passengers heading to the western world.

2:00am: While standing in line, I realize I’m about to totally lose it. I throw my bag at Jake and make a dash for the bathroom. I’m pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of the Nairobi airport bathrooms – compared to India and Rwanda, they’re like being at your own home toilet. I have no time to consider that though, as I promptly lose all the contents of my stomach. UGH.

2:00 – 4:00am: Blur. Go through security. Fall asleep sitting up in holding pen. Get on plane. Take several Nyquil. And thus, good-bye to Kenya.

PS - Don't Tune out Yet!

Even though I just wrote my "farewell Kuria" post, there will be more. And I am writing this mini-post to hold myself to that. I have two more posts I have been meaning to write: (1) A commentary/comparison on medical testing in Africa and the US, and (2) A commentary on on the correlation between poverty and corruption. So enjoy the post below - I hope it makes you smile as it did for me while writing it - and stay tuned :)

Farewell Kuria

Last day in the district of Kuria. Tomorrow before dawn I will get back on the infamous bus and head out to Nairobi for the weekend. As such, I feel compelled to reflect on what I will and won't miss about this lovely place and our life here this month.

What I'll miss:

• Sunrises, sunsets, and the bright stars
• 6am yoga on the porch -- being zen.
  
• Falling asleep to (or being kept awake by) crazy thunderstorms
• Greeting everyone you pass
• Openness. Easy trust. Warm people. The kind of welcoming attitudes that no longer exist in at least the northeast US and its constant bustle.
  
• Mangoes, pineapples, avocados, chapatis. Mmmm.
• Sunny morning Boda rides out to the field.
  
• Little guys (aka lizards. Even the one in my bedroom and the one in Crystal's shoe.)
  
• Baby chicks
• Monkeys
• The frog in the shower
  
• Cute/funny little kid greetings. ("mzungu, I'm fine." "mzungu, welcome to Kenya." "chicamo")
• Crystal, Gaby, Stephanie, Jake, the Nuru team -- of course.
• Nightly "family dinners" with the above.
  
• Boda Peter and Boda Abraham (whose mother I am named after :) )
• "My kids" - our wonderful team of surveyors. I will remember them all and hope they are able to lead successful lives in which they exercise good judgment in family planning, respect the women in their lives, respect and have confidence in themselves, and strive to make a difference in their community.
• My kids' random comments and questions about me and my life, which never cease to entertain me.
  
• MJ dance parties
• Seeing where Nuru has made a huge and noticeable difference in someone's life, and feeling swept up in the excitement and emotion of the family.
• Long walks through the villages. Scaling hills and jumping rivers.
• Not caring what I look like :) Not looking in a mirror for a week straight.
• Prayers before meetings. The feeling that many things in this world may still be left up to fate and/or a higher power.
  

What I won't miss:

• My bed. Think of the hardest piece of foam rubber you can imagine, then fold it up and put a big dent just to the right of center.
• Dirt. Being dirty.
• Smelliness. Garbage. Cows. Me. Others. My Nalgene bottle. (i have tried EVERYTHING. any suggestions??)
• Roosters
• Whatever the heck runs around on the roof directly above my bed at 4am. it is SO loud.
• Dodging cow poo. Everywhere.
• Afternoon rains when you're just plain tired and don't feel like getting wet and muddy.
• "muuuzzzzzzzuuuunnggguuuuuu! aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! how are yoooooooou? aaaaaahhhh!" (and repeat. and repeat.)
  
• The pile of 600 completed 20-page surveys that need to be entered into the database.
• Sad diseases. Sad sick people. Little kids with big bellies who don't have enough to eat. Little kids with sad diseases. Their images will all stay in my heart and I will pray for the betterment of their lives.
• Sad cases of the substance abuse that plagues families and "gives their money legs to walk out the door".
• Bugs that live your stomach for a week.
• My STUPID Kenya phone. It's such a ridiculously poor design. Nokia, WTF?
• Talking to people at home via Skype. Happy they invented it; not thrilled, always, with the execution.
  
• Doing dishes and sweeping. Yeah, I'm spoiled. I like dishwashers and vacuums.

Finally, I would like to encourage my readers to check out Gaby's tales of our Kuria adventures as well. It's a fun, informative, and well written blog... and PS - I am the girl who swung the broom that broke the monitor AND I am also the girl who went for the scary medical examination (all is OK). But read and find out more!
http://www.nuruinternational.org/about/research.html

The Bash

Today was our last day working with our interviewing, surveying madmen (and women). And upon request, we decided to throw them a good-bye "bash" (wondering where they picked up the term "bash" - which seems to refer to any celebratory activity), at the ritzy / corporate establishment in town (basically the only place that would remotely resemble an actual restaurant as we Americans know it). As an aside, this place has seemed to me such an odd out-of-place haven of quiet and order amidst this crazy, dirty, bustling little town of market stalls, kiosks of veggies and fruits everywhere you look, random stuff on the street, random and sometimes troubling people on the street, motorbikes, screaming kids, etc. Interestingly enough, for several of our interviewers, it was the 1st time they'd ever been. I couldn't decide if I liked that -- that we made them feel special by taking them to the high-end place -- or if I'd rather have let them know that us mzungus don't need to go to such a place -- we like theirs too.

So I'm too tired to write out the full bash-tastic story, so here are some bullet points of poignant and/or funny memories:

• The way they all (even the skinny little girls) filled their plates with fried food as if they were storing up for a winter hibernation. And then went back for seconds. Keep in mind the bash was NOT at meal time. But I doubt any of them had eaten lunch.
  
• The ease with which many of them expressed their feelings about what we've accomplished and what we've learned about the community.
• That Peter Sabora said that if he ever tries again for an interviewer job, he'll be the best trained person in the pool.
• Okoth giving a Barack Obama speech when accepting his certificate. Note: Okoth thinks that an Obama speech goes as such: "Thank you California! Thank you Ohio! Thank you North Carolina! Thank you Chicago! ..." (...and on and on)
• The boys talking about gender inequality in the community (Crystal will have them preaching women's rights yet!) and the need to educate and empower/create women leaders and role models.
  
• The strange look that some of the guys gave Crystal when she told them "ladies first".
• Okoth, in recollecting his earlier impressions of us: "Crystal, well, she has been around Africa. Sarah, well, she was SO mzungu!"
• Peter Sabora calling me a conservationist because yesterday I wouldn't let him drop the almonds wrapper on a farm. (littering around here is awful - people have so little respect for the beauty of their surroundings. I think it's because they don't know how different it could be.)
• The last performance of our own interviewer choir! Their singing gives me chills. I get chills sometimes when I'm in, like, a really fabulous B'way play with amazingly moving music. It was those kind of chills. And again - I don't even understand the words.
• My troublemakers being late. I was so mad at them today. We've come full circle. At least the work in between their trouble-making was really good.
• The genuine appreciation. The connections with us and with each other. We taught them a new skill set, gave them a challenge, kept them on their toes, and for some, gave them new friends. When Crystal and I first wrote our "desired interviewer characteristics", I never expected that we would also have the benefit of having such a fun and upbeat crew.
• Crystal again pointing out what a good match we are for this job. Our talents are totally different and that's why this has worked.
  

In a roasted-brown-nut-shell

(just trying to be more 'kenyan' with my title.)

Monday morning: In the field doing Biz interviews with my fun friend Clement.

Monday afternoon and evening: Consulting flashback with Gaby talking spreadsheets and metric calculations galore, mixed in with crazy unexpected interruptions and phone calls. It's like being back at Booz together ... only we're a lot dirtier and there's a lot less wine. And a lot fewer people yelling at us (namely, none). And we cook for ourselves (actually that's not entirely accurate - the CEO helps cook for us :) - definitely ALSO not a typical consulting scenario). And we have the craziest t-storms ever pounding at the roof. And there are dive-bombing bugs dropping onto our computers/desks. And a frog at the door.

Monday night: Team pow-wow. Data troubles. Wondering how we will ever get the results we want from all this field work.

That is all.

In a nutshell

Sunday morning: Data entry, followed by more data entry.
Sunday afternoon: More data entry.

And my Nalgene bottle really smells.

And there was a lizard (aka "little guy!") sleeping in Crystal's shoe.

That is all.

Crossing the border

This afternoon we took a trip to Tanzania -- my first time in the country unless you count the time earlier this week when I ran (slash bounced with my very full backpack to the tune of my laughing team and to the amusement of the truckers) across the "border line" (a half-carved ditch on the maize trading road). Today we were escorted by Eunice (one of the Kenyan Nuru office admins) and Victoria & Victoria (two of Crystal's very stylish interviewers -- really bright, cute, late teen / early 20s-aged ladies who could really be anyone's fashion consultants. I wonder all the time what they must think of us in our ever-dusty "field clothes" and dirty sneakers and sandals. I felt a little sad at one point because they got heckled a little bit by some of the dirty, rude border guys for hanging out with the mzungus. I know the girls didn't care, but it's frustrating to us all the same -- they deserve nothing but the best for being so nice to spend the day with us.)

Anyways, stuff is apparently a lot cheaper in Tanz, so we went bargain hunting for cool fabrics to get African dresses made! We went to this big market area - it was totally a great developing-country market full of alleys with stalls and rows of little street-side shops - and wandered around for a few hours, with our counterparts smartly chiding any vendors who tried to give us "mzungu prices". I hope (I'm quoting Gaby's thought on this one) that someday there is a point when these vendors don't see a white person and automatically think "money". Then afterward they brought us to the Tailor in town, "Mama Kate" (real name: Nelly. yeah, i don't get it either), to design our new clothes.

Another cool part of our wanderings through the border towns today was that we ran into a rather good number of people we "know" (aka have met or worked with over the past few weeks). Kenyans are so warm and believe so strongly in the importance of greeting that it's impossible to pass by an acquaintance without a handshake and a warm "habadi" ("how are you"). I'm so glad they include us in that custom.

High Jump

Scenario: (2 days ago) Walking from the town center to an outer village in the hills with my survey team and a village elder. Descending down a hill. I am concentrating closely on my feet and the dusty path, making sure I don't slip (again - I've already turned my ankle once - but there's no way I'm admitting it to my boys and the senior citizen (village elder) who is way far ahead of me already).

Peter (an interviewer): "Sarah, have you ever done the high jump?"

Me (wondering what on earth he's actually asking about, and thinking back to, like, middle school gym class): "Sure. yeah. Of course."

Peter: "Good!"

I look up. In front of me is a river, and all the guys - including the elder - are launching themselves across it with ease. Peter follows their lead and I am left by myself on the other side, all 8 of them staring at me -- wondering how the crazy mzungu who bosses them around will handle this one.

Me (starting to laugh hysterically): "What?? Are you guys serious? You want me to jump over that?? I'm going to fall in!" They all start laughing as well. I toss them my windbreaker which I've been carrying on my arm (note: not sure why I thought that would weigh me down more in the crossing), back up, get a running start, and take a flying leap across the river.... SUCCESS! Not even a wet sneaker!

The guys - of course all still watching the show - cheer as if I've actually won the high jumping gold medal. It was hilarious.

The Next Day:
Scenario: Gaby meets my guys in the morning to hand out surveys (Crystal and I are meeting with some of the hospital admins to do data collection there). Having heard my tale the night before, she is eager to inquire about my airborne feat.

Gaby: "Guys, weren't you worried that Sarah would fall in?"

Okoth (another interviewer): "No. Sarah, you know -- she is very light." (That in itself I find hilarious as well -- did he think that made me more aerodynamic??)

Conclusion: Sometimes you have to just take the plunge. Or in this case - the jump to avoid the plunge :) And on the other side of the river was one of the most beautiful hillside villages I've seen here in Kuria. And a day full of interesting interviews and conversations with my guys.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"To get to the other side?"" Hell no. Here are a few better conjectures:
1. He thought the rock he saw over there was food.
2. To get directly in the way of the boda boda (motorcycle) trying to drive down the road at the same time.
3. He was forced by the stick-waving 6-year-old kid who was sent to round up the animals for the night.
4. His chicken friends did it.
5. The rooster chased him over there.
6. He had absolutely no freakin' clue. Chickens are pretty dense, you know.

Teachers... and rough days

All I have to say for tonight: I definitely couldn't be a teacher. (Good job, mom -- I have increased appreciation!) I have spent the last two nights from like 7 - 11pm reading survey after survey after survey from my "kids" who are gathering business and agriculture data for me in the community. I feel totally like I am correcting papers -- 50 of the same survey, each night. AND I have to find their mistakes... no matter how many times I instruct them on the intricacies of our 50 questions, there's always someone who manages to totally miss what I say and make the mistake that I tried so hard to preempt. I just have no attention span for this "paper correction" process, and am really sick of repeating myself. siiiiiighhh!

Today I was totally grumpy because we were up really late working on our data and then had our usual 630am wake-up -- AND THEN in the field I distributed the blank surveys produced by the Isibania IT shop (which is oddly called Charity Computers) WITHOUT fully checking them -- only to find they'd mixed up mine and Crystal's copies. So one of the Nuru employees had to run out on a 'boda' (motorbike -- our form of transit) and track down all my guys in the village to get them enough of my actual surveys. I think unfortunately my grumpiness translated to impatience with the guys and their (in)abilities to understand my every word (which they generally do a surprisingly good job of, given their limited prior exposure to my mzungu accents and terminology).

Other things that made today a rough day in 'field work land':

• In the middle of one of my interviews, a cow walked between me and my subject, stopped, and took a really large dump.
  
• Gaby forgot her coffee on the counter, and hence was also grumpy.
• Crystal was ridiculously dehydrated, and hence was generally unhappy.
  

Chelsea made brownies in a pot over charcoal tonight, though, which basically made most stuff better. (It didn't correct my papers for me, though.)

Kenya hearts Barack

One thing that I did not expect to see here in Kenya is the overwhelming outpouring of love for Barack Obama. I guess I should have known --- they're an aspiring democracy here, and the newest leader of the free world is one of their own. I walk into these tiny 1- and 2-room huts, and they have dirty, dusty, tattered posters of Obama hung on their walls, right next to dirty, dusty, tattered pictures of their own President. (Yes, Barack didn't get elected all that long ago, but trust me -- things can get dirty, dusty, and tattered in a pretty short period of time here. I'm pretty dirty, dusty, and tattered after only a week and a half, myself :) ) When we were first training our interviewers, we played that silly little ice breaker where you find someone in the room who meets a certain criteria (you know, like "find someone here who likes to sail" as a way to get to know random stuff about others -- only in Kenya it's more like, "find someone here who buys and sells cows" or "find a man who helps his wife with the cooking"... AND -- our favorite one for bonding -- "Find someone voted for Obama or who WOULD have voted for Obama if they were in America"! I think the whole room met that criteria!)

Another funny thing: I found one of the local sketchy pubs is called the "Obama Cafe" (note - it's one of the only establishments -- and definitely the only one of THAT nature -- that I've seen with an actual sign). LOL -- got a pic to share when I return.

A Religious Experience

I love talking to my interviewers about religion and religious practices -- partly because I get to see the surprise on their faces when I explain how different (generally and personally speaking) such practices are in America. They just can't believe, for example, that I'd only spend 1 hour a week in church (I didn't have the heart to tell them that I don't always even go). And I told them yesterday that I'm part of an interfaith marriage -- they looked at me and said, "well, who will change?" I replied, "nobody - we will both keep our practices", and continued on with the conversation.... only to find that about 5 minutes later they said again, "Sarah, so you will change and become a Hindu?"

I'm lucky (or cursed) that half of my boys are 7th Day Adventists - which means they attend church on Saturdays and can work on Sundays! (Cursed in that it means no rest for the weary -- i.e. me -- on Sundays.) Anyways, they showed up and I inquired how church had gone yesterday. They of course sung praises. (yeah, poor choice of words by me there, sorry.) And they proceeded to invite Crystal and I to join them next weekend. After hemming and hawing (sort of) over the prospect of 4 hours of Swahili preaching, I asked, "well, do you all sing a lot in church??" (Side Note: I adore gospel music sung by black people. I find it so incredibly moving. I don't know why the African / African-American genes seem to include one for amazing pitch and rhythm, but they do. My mom will remember our 1997 trip down to NC for me to visit Duke University when we tried our hardest to hunt down a black Baptist church to attend on Sunday! So therein lies the underlying motive for my question to the boys.)

They of course responded that they sing frequently at church... and then proceeded to ask if we wanted to hear a song! Crystal and I were like, "uh, YEAH. For real? YEAH we do." So they proceed to huddle up and ASSIGN PARTS. Like bass, tenor, soprano, whatever. And Okoth (singing bass, for your information) starts snapping his fingers, and the 7 of them break out into this gorgeous song. US collegiate a capella -- eat your hearts out. These guys would've taken you down in about three bars. I don't even know what they SAID, but it was amazing. It's probably one of the most moving Sunday mornings I have had in awhile -- standing out by a beautiful field, under the bright sun, listening to these Kenyans just belt it out. (Side Note: Alok would probably remind me here that I often miss Sunday morning altogether, so that's not entirely a strong statement. Oh well!)

Top 5 Reasons that Roosters Suck

1. They crow ridiculously loudly for no apparent reason at 5am. Sometimes at 3am... (i.e. at Mama Chacha's house)... and sometimes go on for like 2 hours (i.e. in Rwanda).

2. They're really mean and vicious animals.

3. They hog food at chow time... and try to chase away anyone who gets in their way.

4. They're arrogant. (I really believe this.)

5. They're deadbeat dads. They produce some of the cutest animals around (baby chicks!) and then don't pay any attention to them ... (and, rather, steal their food ... per reason #3).

Note: While I'm discussing our web-footed, beaked, feathered compadres, I'd like to mention that I'm basically a total sap for baby chicks. Alok -- I'm going to bring one home, OK? Don't worry, I'll bring you a monkey.

Corruption

The Kenya I have seen is a really non-violent place. Sure, there are the usual people who think mzungus = moneybags, but I haven't yet come into contact with anything really bad here in Kuria at all. I think they actually escaped much of the political calamity of last year (as I interpret one oif my interviewers, the people of Kuria are actually kinda too much of pushovers (in a good way, really) to put up with violence. they'd just, like, invite the people into their homes for chai).

But I heard a story today from Gabriel, one of my interviewer boys, that was so incredibly sad and scary. He was on the bus to Nairobi to go to college, and the bus got stopped at a "police checkpoint"... basically meaning that they expected everyone in the bus to get off, show ID, and give them like 200 Ksh. Gabriel refused to give them the money, and they pulled him away from the bus, into a dark area, and tried to strangle him. "They" = the police, yes. He got away, amazingly.

Another frustrating thing he told me is that a lot of people - especially older, disillusioned ones, don't vote anymore. They have seen so many instances of the candidate that they truly believe to have the popular support NOT actually making it into office, that they no longer feel their voices count. And I guess that's justified, It is just another example that makes me truly believe that some countries aren't ready for democracy. A democracy facade is so much worse, in my opinion, than some instances of outright dictatorships. A benevolent dictator can have the power to really make change if they choose an upright path; a corrupt democracy more easily can just hide behind the idea of social acceptance.

Kenya has a lot to learn from Rwanda on the corruption front. They need some "report corruption" roadsigns too.

Brick Houses

Clement (while walking past a pile of random bricks that someone probably should have been using to build a house): "Sarah, do you have bricks in the U.S.?"

Me: "Yes, we do, but they are a little different because our soil and rock and all are different than yours." (...and... they don't smoosh into smithereens when someone kciks one really hard)

Clement: "What do you use them for ... houses??"

Me: "Yeah -- We use them for buildings. Some people use them for houses, but brick houses are really expensive in the U.S. In fact, some people will just build the front of their house with brick and the back sides with other material to make people THINK that their house is expensive."

Clement (laughing): "Sarah, I can't believe you said that. I thought only people in Africa would want people to think like that!"

Context: Clement is one of my troublemaker kids. He's really bright and has great language skills (which is why I hired him to be one of my interviewers) ... but I have to keep a really close eye on him to make sure he actually does his work!

You laugh, you cry

This job with Nuru is fun and funny and challenging, but sometimes it can make you highly emotional as well. Like, in a good way. (Reminder -- if you can't remember what I am dong for Nuru, check out the "relevant links" on the right side of this page.)

I have only been here on the ground with the team for a few days, and already I have been moved several times. The first instance was yesterday, when I was interviewing the headmaster of the Nyametaburo Secondary School. We were asking about the level of interest and activity of parents of students in the secondary school. (One would think, right -- since so few students make it to this level of schooling (maybe like 10-20% (and fewer females)) -- that parents would be proud and excited, and eager to hear how their children were progressing.) The headmaster said to us, "before Nuru was here, the parents did not take any interest in their children's education. They had so much to worry about on the farm. But now that Nuru has come and helped them to learn to make an income or to feed their families with their maize, the parents have time for other things. They have time to have concern about their children's school." It was so unsolicited, and such a cool testament to Nuru's underlying principle -- that all aspects of poverty are connected. How can a parent focus on helping a child to study -- or even caring what happens at school during the day -- if that parent is so concerned about even feeding them a meal? And when a big step is made in one area, natural positive fallout occurs. It's what Nuru believes, and it is happening in both small and larger instances around the community.

The next two examples make me emotional because they illustrate the strong spirit of both the Americans here working for Nuru, as well as the Kenyan team we're working with. The first is that Nuru prays together every day. In the evening before the team dinner (we all live together in a small compound, so team dinner happens every night... nowhere else to go!), grace is said. We ask for help in the challenges faced in bettering the community and facing extreme poverty. At the start and conclusion of formal meetings with the Kenyans, a blessing or a prayer is said, asking for help in accomplishing the pretty major goals here. I know some of you anti-establishment, super-practical, agnostic friends of mine would balk at this. I would too, if, say, I was sitting on the 50th floor of a Manhattan office bldg. But here, it just seems right. Nobody here is promising the Kenyans that they should "believe" and their lives will just become better; rather, just the opposite -- Nuru gives nothing for free, gives no handouts. But everyone needs strength for such hard work. When you're out here amidst such a beautiful, natural, basic -- but so trying -- setting, somehow it just seems right to ask a higher power for help with that.

And finally - a funny one. Today Crystal and I were training our interviewers, and needed a break. Breaks are a little odd here -- we were in an open-air church, with no power, a dirt floor, cows mooing about 10 feet away -- even the latrine is like a 10 min walk. So, like, nobody's checking their B-berry or grabbing a Coke at break time. So Crystal suggested that we play a song on her battery-powered speakers. Immediately they all got jazzed -- and cries of "MJ!", "Akon!", "P-diddy!" rang out. I quickly blasted out some "Lady Marmalade" and IMMEDIATELY the trainees started dancing. It was HILARIOUS -- they loved watching us try to be as cool of dancers as them, too. The thing that made me emotional is that I love how the simple things - a fun song, for example - will totally jazz people up and get us all laughing together. We have so few of these simple easy pleasures and simple fun(ny) moments in our lives (esp. work lives) in the US. It's refreshing, fun, and touching to be around people who still recognize them.

PS - Additional funny note of playing "Lady Marm" -- Yelling out "voulez voius choucher avec moi ce soir" repeatedly in a church.

Part II... Mzungu in Kenya

OK, so this should have been before my last post, but oh well. Slight chronological impairment.

So, the punch buggy factor is in full force here in Kuria, Kenya. (See my very first post for the meaning of this reference.)

But the funny thing is, i think they have seen so few of us that it's really just "punch buggy" (no description to follow)! Everywhere I went today - the market, the streets, the shops -- I heard whispers or cries of "Mzungu!" Announcing to anyone in earshot that they had 'seen one'. But it's usually cute and funny (we'll see if I feel this way in 2 weeks) -- but I don't find it to be annoying. Especially when it's the little kids who see you. And they SMILE huge and wave and sometimes run up to you and grab your hand, and they are just so happy when you greet them. It is truly heartwarming. Crystal, my partner who has been all over Africa, has this wonderful way of reaching out to all the people we meet... and I can see why she wants to. It seems to make people so happy. I heard almost (well not quite) as many "Karibu"s as "Mzungu"s. "Karibu" translates to "you are welcome here". Most people that I have met in my 2 days here have certainly made me feel that way. It helps that Nuru has such a positive perception from many of the people in this district. But it also helps that the people are (mostly) warm and inviting and non-judgmental at the core.

The Bus Ride: Nairobi to Isibania

We arrived at the Nairobi bus depot at about 5:55am for a 6am bus to Isibania (the city near the Kuria district, where Nuru is working). The depot is this crazy mess of buses, cars, people, and bags - with no apparent signage or directions. Our translator left to get us tickets (*note: unclear if they were ever actually purchased or given to the bus driver*) and then we took off at as fast a sprint as our large bags and packs would allow - through a tight maze of buses. We found one that - to me - looked exactly like all others in the mess, and were told to push our way on board. Steph and Gaby threw their bags up and climbed the precarious steps into the bus (you wouldn't think of getting into a bus as an ascension ... but really, this one was. Then it was my turn. I got one foot and one bag into the bus as the driver - apparently running on a tight schedule - decided that it was time to go though, and the bus started moving. Crystal was still outside. Our "helpers" started yelling and pounding on the bus. We finally got in, only to find a totally packed bus that basically couldn't fit more than half of us.... therefore, we found ourselves and our bags stacked precariously in the aisle ways as the bus bounced its way down the Nairobi streets.

I eventually squeezed in besides a Tanzanian woman who was in the animal feed business. Namely, she sold Tanzanian animal feed in Nairobi. Upon finding out that I was American, she wanted ot know what products she could go buy in NYC that she could resell in Kenya. Having been to HBS, this little intuition told me that, well, her Kenyan/Tanzanian purchasing power wouldn't exactly go too far on the streets of Manhattan. I hope I talked her out of that idea. She still wants to come visit me in New York though. She was a rather large woman, which basically meant that I had about half the seat, and ours was conveniently the seat closest to the exit. Good side: fresh air (mixed with road dust, but still. Not bus air). Bad side: every time someone needed to exit, they would basically toss their suitcase onto my feet, grab my shoulder or hair or jacket for balance, and stumble off the bus (sometimes while it was still moving).

Crystal and Julius sat amidst many small children. Crystal held, like, three babies or something. Julius held one ... who proceeded to yack all over him. Sign of true character -- he kept holding the baby the whole trip.

It was a rough 6 hours... on 2 hours of sleep... welcome to Kenya, muzungus!

Do They Hear You When You Cry

I am currently reading this wonderful, extremely well-written book called "Do they hear you when you cry", by Fauziya Kassindja. A true story centered around some really scary stuff that West African Muslim females endure. BUT, scary stuff aside, I came upon this cute and funny passage at the beginning of the book that I just HAD to post because it is SO in keeping with my blog's theme. Here goes:

"When I was a child, we almost never saw white people in Kpalime, and it was really uncommon to see them walking. My friends and I would run behind any white person we did see, calling out to everybody along the way, 'Come look, come look'. Sometimes we tried to touch him, because we thought if we touched a white person we would turn white too. Or we'd pretend to speak English: 'Arisha arisha kotombray' and other such nonsense words that to us sounded just like English." --Fauziya Kassindja

Hotel Gorillas

Before I forget, I absolutely have to write about the Hotel Gorillas / Gorillas Hotel (not sure which is right), located on the hillside in lovely Kigali. Now despite my initial misgivings about staying at a place with such a name, Gorillas turned out to be just fine... though CERTAINLY not without humor. Interestingly enough, in the past week, the Gorillas redid their website and it's now quite a Java/HTML masterpiece (Gorillas are good at coding and web design, you know). But before I left, the site was pretty basic and advertised two amenities: (1) 24-hour hot water, and (2) satellite TV. Upon my arrival, I found one very important thing missing. (Wanna guess?) Yup, hot water. I arrived at the Gorillas on a Saturday night, and I think the first time the Gorillas managed to pump me some hot water was Tuesday or Wednesday. How about the SAT TV, you ask? Well, if you consider two channels to be "Satellite TV" - those two channels being none other than SkyTV's Sports network and the HALLMARK CHANNEL - then yes. (Hallmark? for real? of all the channels in the world... anyways.)

So I spent a lovely week with the Gorillas, staying in this exact room:


I got this pic from the website, but I think every room looks exactly like this so it basically could have been my room. The window faced the main road, and across the street was a large farm. (Down the street a block was the Kigali institute of Forensics. interesting.) Anyways, and on the farm, there was a ROOSTER! (ee-yi-ee-yi ... oh never mind.) He liked to crow specifically from 6am to 7am. That's one set o'lungs to go that strong for a full hour, I tell ya. What the picture is missing, though, is the really large, loud fan that I parked right next to the pillow at all times. As hard as a tried to open every window to get some air in the room, the Gorillas were determined to keep my room shut in and totally stuffy. (Gorillas like to sleep outside, so I'm not sure why they don't understand the concept of air flow.)

One thing about the Gorillas, though, is that they CAN cook. (Food in Kigali overall leaves something to be desired, but somehow this slightly funny, slightly-off hotel had one of the best restaurants in the city.) But they have a lot of trouble handling money when you want to pay for anything. For some reason, nobody ever has any CHANGE. About five times, I saw someone take off running down the road (to the Forensics lab??) in search of bills to make change. Once I had the HOTEL DRIVER spot me a few francs from his tip money because nobody else had any change (it was super nice, but REALLY). Here is a pic of the entrance to the restaurant (quite pretty):


All in all, the Gorillas provided a safe and clean place for a week in Kigali... especially if you like roosters, unpredictable water temps, and Hallmark. TIA!

Partners' Hospital

In the midst of Rwink lies the main Partners in Health hospital. I got the chance to have one of the lead doctors show me around on Saturday. It was awesome to see the current baseline version of the electronic medical record system in use, but there are some other, more poignant images that really stick in my memory. Since it was the weekend, it was a bit quieter -- none of the big HIV/AIDS treatment groups meet on the weekends, though there were definitely lots of people around for other purposes...

• Birthing! Want to hear something crazy / amazing? Women in Rwanda are TOTALLY silent while giving birth. I can't imagine. We were walking past the maternity ward, and Michael, the doctor, was like, "hey - want to go in?" He then realized he should check to see if anyone was in labor first (um, YEAH) ... and it turns out there was! And she was not uttering a PEEP. I asked some Rwandans why it is not considered appropriate to scream and shout and curse and whatever during birthing, and they looked at me quizzically. (They were men.)
• Pediatrics: The Peds ward was PACKED. Two or three to a bed. A couple of beds were dedicated to premature babies. There was this one premie who I just wanted to hug forever and ever - she was SO incredibly beautiful, and about the size of my forearm. And she was sleeping in this big bed, all tucked in, but all by herself! It is so, so hard for these mothers -- if they have children in the hospital, they are not caring for the home (which often has lots of other little ones). You'd see tiny babies alone, and mothers rushing in and out -- but sometimes the moms cannot leave the hospitalized kids and are forced to stay in the hospital as well ... and then they either have to find another community member to mind their family, or else BRING all the kids to the hospital with them - UGH.
  
• Hippo mauling: There is a CODE in the diagnosis handbook for hippo mauling.
• Snake bites: The little boy in my pic - he had a snake bite. I think he was super proud of his bravery and valiance - hence wanting it all documented on camera. (I don't think the woman next to him was of any relation -- she just wanted in on the pic!)
• Malnutrition: This is hard for me to see. But the great thing is that a LOT of the people in the malnutrition ward at PIH are recovering really well. Their main treatment is "plumpynut" - this really fatty peanut butter in pouches. Interesting note: they use the "plumpy" instead of regular old rice and beans because you can send it home with the malnourished kids and it is less likely to get eaten by others, because it LOOKS like medicine from the package. Rice and beans, well, they're bound to get divvy-ed up amongst the family. Side note: the malnutrition ward is one of the coolest ones in the hospital -- it has this GORGEOUS jungle mural on one wall, painted by some villagers.

Good Africa Books

Interested in thoughts on good books about Africa! Fiction or non-fiction. Here's what I've got so far... leave me a comment to add to the list!

• Baking Cakes in Kigali
• Say You're One of Them (note: if you like Jhumpa Lahari's short stories, you will LOVE this)
• Shake Hands with the Devil
• Half the Sky
• It's Our Turn to Eat

A City Girl in the Countryside

OK, so I’m not exactly Carrie Bradshaw (though I think my wonderful husband might tell you that I’d like to be…). I like to hike up things (though I dislike the part when you have to come down), I don’t mind getting dirty (though I like the long shower afterwards), and I don’t jump and scream about bugs or rodents or reptiles (though I reeeeeaaalllly hate snakes and lizards the size of the one in Thailand that I named “Godzilla”). I’m level-headed, not too easily excitable, and pretty darn good at putting my mind onto the “practical” setting and getting through tough physical and mental situations. But I’m not one of those die-hard wilderness-loving activists, and I am certainly not going to use my blog to pretend to be something I’m not. Though I was sufficiently enthralled by it, I don’t know that I could live out in Rwinkwavu.

I mentioned in an earlier post that Rwink is pretty freakin’ gorgeous. It’s all covered in red and green (from the clay and banana trees and papaya trees) as far as the eye can see. The ridges call out to you, make you want to scale each and every one to see what’s on the other side. The birds are almost tropical-looking and tend to be as unphased by you as are Manhattan pigeons. The houses and huts are made of stone and red clay brick and tin and match the countryside (except for the Partners in Health hospital compound and training center, with its white buildings and bright blue roofs! I loved this because I could always find my way back!). It’s dusty but the air is clean, and the rain, which comes in extremely strong 5-min bursts, smells magnificent. If you get caught in one, you’ll be dry again in ten minutes. The people who have picked this lifestyle – working out in the hospital center or the associated labs – are amazing. They are laid-back and adaptable (you have to be!), but so committed to making an impact in the community (again, you have to be!). And Partners really gives them the resources to do that. I look at them and wonder if I could do it, what I would give up to gain that sort of an experience. I’m not sure I would cut it, for several reasons… among them are: (1) The food (it’s hard to get – meaning there aren’t many stores – and it consists mainly of beans, rice, and goat). (2) The showers (though I have a habit of taking cold showers after workouts – even in the winter – I definitely don’t like my early morning wake-up call to be cold water. Wait, make that loud roosters followed by cold water). (3) The quiet (it’s funny how different our individual preferences are … but I LIKE the sounds and the rush of the city. In a way, I find them comforting and inviting. There are people out there, things going on, and while they may exhaust you at times, you will very rarely find yourself bored.) (4) Snakes in the dark (um, yeah – word to the wise – don’t tell the city girl about the “two step mamba”. If this snake it bites you, you apparently have about two steps to live. Especially don’t talk about it right before said city girl has to walk ten minutes back to her room alone in the dark.)

So there’s my dose of realism for you. It’s not all beauty and helping wonderful people. It’s snakes and a trying lifestyle too. Some people – even the really committed ones – don’t make it out there. I talked to one at a party out in the game reserve who was miserable… he loved his work but was so sick of being in Rwink. He talked about going to restaurants in Boston as if they were like visiting the Taj Mahal – a dream. To each their own, I guess. Every situation has its ups and downs, and you’ve got to find the spot for you where the downs don’t overpower the ups.