Wahenga walisema mtu hujua atokako hajui aendako

I'm looking at my final days in Nairobi. On Saturday (Sunday at the latest) I'm hopping on a matatu to Kampala and spending about three weeks traveling around Uganda and Rwanda. That puts me home in Overland Park in mid May. It's weird to think about leaving already, but not entirely sad. I've missed home and friends every day I've been here. I know I'll miss Kenya just as much when I'm gone, but I also know I can't live my entire life without coming back here.

I had my Kiswahili final last night. It's always the proverbs that make me fall in love with languages. The title of this entry is my favorite proverb from any language I've learned so far, I think. It means, “The ancestors say: a person knows where he's coming from but not where he's going.” It says a lot about this trip, also. Every day has been a challenge here. There's an element of that inherent in this program, but it was made significantly worse by the post-election crisis. Nothing is particularly set in stone in Kenya (or life for that matter). I've learned that I have to sit back and let things happen sometimes. Some mornings I'd wake up with every intention of going to work at the Centre or class at USIU, but protests downtown would have paralyzed the matatu system and made getting to town impossible. Some afternoons I'd come home expecting to write a research paper on my laptop, but the power would be out for eight hours. Some evenings I'd go to the internet cafe intending to send an assignment to KJ, but the internet would be down. So you do what you can. Some days it has sucked. Mostly it's been fine with me. Mtu hujua atokako hajui aendako. The only thing you can be sure of is what's already behind you.

It's going to be difficult getting back to the US. I'm a little worried, but I also know that I'm an unusually adaptable person. I'll get used to white people and odorless cities and expensive meals and processed food full of preservatives and judging stares and ubiquitous electricity and changeable weather and drinkable tap water and driving (on the righthand side of the road!) and petty suburbanite attitudes again. I think I'll be okay, but I also think you all should know that it's probably going to be weird for me for a while. There's a new Kenyan restaurant in Shawnee, I've heard. We'll go check it out.

This has been a glorious semester. I've enjoyed myself so much and learned more ABOUT more than I ever anticipated learning. I honestly wish it weren't over. But I've done some scouting of employment opportunities. Maybe I'll end up back here. Maybe not. All I know is that this has been a beautiful chapter of my life, and I'm very likely going to cry throughout our entire end of semester party on Friday, when I have to say goodbye to this place and all the friends I've made.

Naishi, natumaini, najitoleya daima Kenya. Thank you, Eric Wainaina, and asante sana, Kenya. Tutaonana badaye.

Why you'd want to live here

Sense by sense...

Nairobi is by far the greenest city I've ever seen. It's absolutely full of color. There are acacia trees, weird looking conifers, palms, and lush plants covering most open spaces. Tropical flowers grow on fences, gates, trees, and along roadsides. Buildings and cement walls are hand painted in bright colors, and there are still traces of political graffiti from January. When we got here, every surface was covered with ODM and PNU posters. There are little dukas (shops) on most corners where phone credit, cigarettes, fruits and vegetables, soda, cooking oil, bread, eggs, and sometimes cooked meals of beans and rice are sold in red Coca-Cola stalls or under lime green Safaricom awnings. Streets are full of obnoxiously painted matatus blasting hip-hop. Everything looks a bit faded in the dust that covers everything.

No matter where you are in the city, you smell exhaust, burning trash, and sweat. Even a lot of the passenger cars are diesel, so thick blue clouds of exhaust envelop the bigger roadways. It's not illegal to burn trash, so people do it pretty much everywhere... in backyards, in ditches, on sidewalks, wherever, and you can always smell it, even if only faintly. The weirdest thing about it is that I know I'm going to miss that suffocating, carcinogenic pollution when I'm back in deodorized US cities. It's honestly become a sort of endearing smell that I associate with my home here.

Swahili is mixed with English on the streets, though you'll hear Kikuyu, Luo, Somali, Arabic, Hindi, and other tribal languages as well. The music, especially in bars and clubs, is mostly American (a lot of 1990s hits, a lot of Top 40), but the Kenyan music I've heard is fantastic. I'm developing a serious appreciation for both hip-hop and swingy, plunky African music... haha. Never thought that day would come. KJ rents space for our program's office in the compound where Eric Wainaina, one of Kenya's most influential musicians, has his recording studio. Eric is fantastic (as a musician and in person), and fortunately, we get to hear him play quite regularly. His music is very likable... Afro-fusion is the label he's adopted for it, I think. I'll let you all listen when I get my computer home.

Kenyan food is pretty simple – mostly just salt, a few spices, and whatever is in the dish. Lots of carbs (rice, chapati, or ugali, which is a thick mixture of water and maize flour) eaten with lots of red meat (beef, goat, lamb). You use the carb to scrape up the stewy item with your hands, unless you're in a nice restaurant that uses silverware. The Indian influence has caused a lot of staple foods to be deep-fried and really heavily salted, so I've had to learn pretty quickly what my stomach can and can't handle. There's unbelievably good Ethiopian food – my all time favorite – and decent Indian food scattered around, though you can definitely find whatever type of cuisine you want in Nairobi. I take that back. I haven't found good Mexican yet.

But ohhhh, we must talk about produce. You can buy it on almost any corner, and my flatmates and I take full advantage. Avocados for about $.15, tomatoes, roasted ears of maize, papayas, passion fruit, bananas, and the most delicious pineapples imaginable ($1 on the street). Amanda and I finish off a pineapple about every other day, I swear. I've also developed a taste for mangoes ($.50), which are infinitely better than any I've had in the US. I'm getting spoiled rotten and loving every minute of it.

The best time of day is the fifteen minutes or so directly after sunset. It's called magharibi in Kiswahili, borrowed from Arabic. I'm usually on the balcony reading, talking to Amanda, listening to the birds singing, or just cooling off with my feet propped up. The wind picks up and makes the trees in the back lot squeak as their trunks rub together. Now that it's the rainy reason, it gets a bit cold... the only time of day I need a sweater. There's a mosque tucked somewhere in the neighborhood behind our field, and the call to prayer at sunset is carried in little clusters of notes to our balcony on the wind. Very often, clouds roll in that bring us rain in the middle of the night. As it gets darker, the men living in the field behind the apartment light a campfire to cook and stay warm. Its smell mingles with the usual scent of burning trash.

This place is home, at least for another two weeks. I'm starting to realize how much I'm going to miss it.

The monsoon season

Flying back into Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, I felt like I was coming home. A week in Mumbai reeeeally made me appreciate Nairobi. My experience was a bit worse than the other students', but even with my bad luck taken into consideration, I don't anticipate ever returning to India for more than a short vacation. It just wasn't a place for me.

Kenya Airways royally screwed up my reservation, and I had to fight tooth and nail to get on the plane. Nearly missed the flight even though we'd arrived at the airport 3 hours early. The ambassador's son was traveling with us, though, and had his dad's secretary call the airport in a last ditch effort to get me on the flight. It wasn't necessary, but I was amused. VIP treatment. Haha.

Mumbai smelled like ocean and raw sewage, and the occasional whiff of incense. It was in the upper 90s and horribly humid, so I didn't feel properly clean until I got back to Nairobi. It didn't help that we were staying in a budget hotel for European backpackers. Suffice it to say our hotel room was not clean. The city itself was disgusting. Nairobi is dusty, but Mumbai is absolutely coated in filth and, for all that India is reputed to be full of bright colors, overwhelmingly brown.

Three of us girls stayed in Mumbai, taking the week slow, sightseeing, relaxing, eating, visiting temples, and shopping. The three boys and fourth girl went to Goa for a beach vacation. I had a really excellent time for the most part. Fantastic food that tore apart my taste buds, amazing architecture, beautiful clothing... it was also neat to be in a megalopolis with highway overpasses, traffic signals, streetlights, McDonalds softserve ice cream, and good roads. I took plenty of pictures. There were double decker buses (a delightful reminder of British rule), fleets of auto-rickshaws, packs of motorcycles and bicycles, and loads of old taxis, ALL of which honked, hooted, and rang bells obnoxiously twenty-four hours a day. It was hard to sleep the first night. At least once a day, a Bollywood casting agent asked us to be extras in movies, but we always had plans. Too bad.

We were there during Holi, the Festival of Colors, during which everyone throws powdered dye and water on each other. We made a friend who took us to celebrate with his family for a short while. They offered us beer (which we politely turned down, not wanting to put ourselves in any further danger), dumped dye on our heads, and poured water over us. There must have been 30 people standing around us, just staring at us and laughing along with us. We left the party that afternoon magenta from head to toe. It was highly enjoyable, and everyone who saw us walking back to the hotel got a huge kick out of us. My hair is still tinged red. I'm so glad we had that opportunity. It was a beautiful holiday to witness, as everyone was happy and splashed with color and in the mood to celebrate.

For every twenty men you saw on the streets of Mumbai, you would see only one woman. Wives stay at home caring for the kids and cooking for their husband. I've never been much of a feminist, but I was genuinely shocked by how badly women (especially white women) are treated in India. Reading about it is entirely different from experiencing it firsthand. Turns out I don't handle it too well.

I'm very much used to being stared at, but not the way Indian men stared at me. The other girls on the trip agreed that there is a huge difference between the innocent flirting stares we get in Kenya and the looks we got in India. After a few days of walking around the streets of Mumbai, I was sick of it. I felt offended and violated. This was compounded by the fact that I was physically groped on the streets on two different occasions (this only happened to me... hence me noting an element of bad luck). One afternoon we had a man try to follow us back to our hotel, but we ducked into a restaurant, attracted attention to ourselves, and had the staff drive him off. It was not a good experience.

I felt that we were more frequently (and more severely) exploited in Mumbai. Prices were higher and much harder to bring down, and people would voluntarily help you and ask for money afterward. There's a tremendous amount of poverty in that city. The slums of Mumbai look a bit different from those in Nairobi... shacks were stacked on top of one another and were hanging over the water in many cases. I can't imagine what happens when it floods.

The population of Mumbai is about 17 million, or half the population of Kenya. Streets were packed with people. In many areas, there were massive apartment complexes that looked dirty, old, and crowded. When I asked about them, our taxi driver said they were middle class homes. I asked where the lower classes lived and he said, “Nowhere.” Over the course of the next few days, I'd see lots of people sleeping on sidewalks, but I didn't fully understand what millions of homeless Indians meant until the night we left to return to Nairobi.

Our flight home was at 6 AM, so we left at 2 AM to drive across the city and negotiate my ticket all over again. There were families, extended families, and sometimes whole communities sleeping on sidewalks, on the corrugated tin roofs of shacks, on the steps of restaurants and businesses, on trailer beds, on top of cars, on top of carts, under overpasses, above overpasses, and in every other conceivable place. The Holi party we attended had been on the sidewalk of a street, which I suspect was a permanent home to our friend's family. Only a few people had a blanket to cover themselves. God only knows what happens during the monsoon season. I can't comprehend it.

I'm glad I took this trip after living in Kenya. I'm not sure how I would have reacted if I had visited Mumbai after living in Overland Park and DC. Maybe I just wouldn't have understood it. I've sampled many of the slums of Nairobi this semester, visited Kibera, Eastleigh, Kawangware, Maathare, Kangemi, and seen what real poverty looks like... but honestly, Mumbai shocked the hell out of me. There's not really any other way of putting it.

Back to work. If I survive the next week of schoolwork, I can survive anything...

The rainy season

We went to Kibera a couple of days after the new session of Parliament began. I think KJ wanted to remind us that the deal brokered between Kibaki and Raila doesn't mean that everything has gone back to normal for Kenyans.

Kibera is an informal settlement about the size of Central Park which wraps across the southern edge of Nairobi. It's the oldest slum in the world and remains the largest in Africa. There are many other slums built on the periphery Nairobi, but none really compares to Kibera. Nobody is particularly sure how many people live there, as the government hardly recognizes the existence of its residents. Most reliable estimates put the population over one million at this point.

Kibera residents represent about ¼ of the population of Nairobi, a ratio that continues to grow as families and young girls migrate from rural areas in search of work and are forced to settle in slums when they can't afford the scarce housing in the city proper. Half of Kibera's residents live below the poverty line, but there isn't really the misery and squalor you would expect under such conditions. Many people commute downtown and work regular jobs as shopkeepers, security guards, hawkers, matatu drivers, construction workers, tailors, and domestic workers. Whether people live in small concrete structures or tiny huts made of mud or corrugated tin, they keep their living space extremely clean. This does not change the fact that living conditions in Kibera are some of the worst in the world; there is a severe shortage of space, shelter, jobs, food, sanitation, schools, and healthcare. It wouldn't be a huge exaggeration to say that this is what led me to study development and brought me to Nairobi. The slums represent a huge violation of human rights, but continue to be overlooked by national governments as well as the international community. It's the paradigmatic example of environmental injustice, where economics and anthropology meet.

Kibera is heavily populated by Luos and thus an ODM stronghold. It was the location of the worst incidents of violence against Kikuyus in Nairobi following the election (the video clips of burning cars and demolished houses in Nairobi were all taken in Kibera). Somewhere near two hundred people were killed there. At the beginning of the semester, KJ introduced us to Miriam, the Kikuyu headmistress of a nursery school called St. Vincent dePaul where AU students had interned in the past. She had fled Kibera in the middle of the night just after the violence started, as her neighbors were burning down Kikuyu houses on all sides of her home. St. Vincent's reopened in February and Miriam was recently able to return to work, although she doesn't intend to ever move back to Kibera.

The walls and fences on the road to Kibera were covered in graffiti. Half was political, and the other half called on Kenyans to stop the violence and asked for “amani na umoja” (peace and unity). Behind the shops along the side of the road, houses stretched off into the distance, and there were burned out churches and building with broken windows on both sides of the street. The narrow streets and tiny sewage ditches running between houses reminded me of Lamu, in a very creepy and distorted sense.

When we arrived at our matatu stage, neither KJ nor the students from last semester recognized it, though they'd visited St. Vincent's many times. I thought the slabs of cement along the road were uneven pieces of sidewalk until I realized the gray dust on top of the slabs was a mixture of red dirt and ash. The shops along the road had been burned down on the entire block, leaving just cement foundations. A group of men stopped us as we walked to St. Vincent's with Miriam, asking what we were doing and where we were going. They accepted Miriam's explanation and let us go, but it scared all of us. KJ has told us we can't go back to Kibera or St. Vincent's anytime soon. The school is at a high risk of being looted or vandalized because we were there, not to mention the possibility of violence against us. Miriam told KJ she wasn't sure how she would get home that evening, because the men would likely find her and question her about us. She's already targeted for being a Kikuyu and doesn't need the extra attention.

Most of the students have returned to St. Vincent's by now, but quite a few of the non-Luos are still missing. The children who are there seemed extremely happy to be back and were overjoyed to have visitors to play with. Miriam said most had come back significantly thinner and psychologically shaken up, drawing pictures in art class of burning houses and policemen with guns. Most have gained back some of the weight they lost, but many have sores on their faces and patches of white hair from malnutrition. It was weird to think that the candy we brought them represented about half of their calories that day. Miriam took us to the kitchen and explained that their supply of bananas and eggs has been cut off since the violence, so the students are eating nothing but starch, beans on occasion, kale, cabbage, and, one day per week, vitamin powder mixed with sardines. When the kids get their only meal of the day at school, the lack of fruit and protein makes a big difference.

There's a free clinic in the neighborhood where the HIV-positive kids from St. Vincent's were able to get treatment before the violence started. Lea Toto is actually the organization I had wanted to work with, but all of the Kibera internships were scrapped for the semester. I can't imagine the clinic could be getting the supplies it needs if St. Vincent's can't get bananas for lunch twice a week. If KJ lets us go back into Kibera before the end of the semester, I'd like to visit Lea Toto to see what kind of resources they're working with, if any.

On the walk back to the matatu stage, we passed dozens more ash-covered foundations and the skeleton of a small shopping center that had been looted and burned out. There were strange burn patterns on the ground in the parking lot which I eventually realized were marks from burning tires. The mobs that looted and burned Kikuyu houses had pushed the families' cars to the parking lot of the shopping center to burn them.

The nephew of one of the administrators at St. Vincent's had taken videos and pictures in the days after the election. It was weird to watch a slide show of the photos and listen to the children singing and laughing in the classrooms around us. We spent our first few weeks in Nairobi complaining that we couldn't leave Westlands, and these kids were fleeing their homes in the middle of the night and watching their neighborhood go up in flames. I don't think I've ever felt so stupid.

Last Friday, KJ took us to Naivasha for class. It’s a lake town about two hours outside Nairobi famous for its animals and miles of greenhouses growing flowers for export to Europe. We also passed a huge IDP camp, which was surprising… there’s been so much talk of the good things that are happening, I hadn’t considered how many families were still living in tents. KJ said buses were going into the camp and taking refugees to work in the greenhouses. Makes you wonder how they’re being treated.

The rainy season is starting… it's been raining a bit every day and getting very muddy. I’m now getting my comeuppance for all the beautiful tropical weather we’ve had. Tomorrow, though, I’m headed off to India for a week. Tickets were cheap, and I decided I shouldn’t waste the opportunity (in case I don’t get another), so I’ll be spending Easter in Mumbai! I’ll be in touch after that. Hope everyone has had a safe and happy spring break.

Unafanya kazi gani?

I intern in a middle class neighborhood called Nairobi West. Amanda and I commute there every Tuesday and Thursday to spend a few hours working (plus the three hours on matatus). The organization is called the Center for Domestic Training and Development, and is a bit similar to the fantastic group I worked with last semester, ONE DC.

The Center deals with the huge number of Kenyans who are employed as cooks, laundresses, housekeepers, and childcare specialists, most of whom have moved from rural areas to Nairobi in search of work. Domestic labor is one of the biggest career fields in Kenya, but also one of the most overlooked. Half of the young women in Kibera are employed as domestic workers in Nairobi. It's an issue inseparable from urban migration, human trafficking, labor rights, and women's rights.

Many of the women who move voluntarily or are coerced into coming to Nairobi end up associating with organizations called bureaus that operate downtown. In theory, they works as agents for the women, but the reality of the situation is quite scary. The women live in horrible conditions and are often physically, emotionally, or sexually abused by men who share their living quarters (kikombas). Their agents essentially sell them to employers who often exploit or abuse them in turn.

A main project of the Center for Domestic Training is to reach out to these women. Those who were abused are taken in as rescue cases, and all others are eligible for the Center's month-long training program. They're housed at the Nairobi West compound where they learn to cook for themselves, clean their living quarters, and do their own laundry. The Center then connects the students to employers who come in search of a housekeeper, and the students leave when they're ready. If they can, they pay back the Center for their training in small installments.

The Center has about forty students at a time – they take classes on skills training, personal development, labor rights, and HIV/AIDS awareness. Because so many of the girls left secondary school to move to Nairobi and work, the Center has recently introduced a literacy program that allows students to earn their high school degrees through classes on Sundays (Sundays are required days off in the contract employers must sign with the students they hire).

I've been incredibly inspired by the people I've met at the Center. This organization gives people a chance to pull themselves up and support themselves and their children, and provides a safe place in case the women are abused or exploited in the workplace after leaving the compound. Most of the staff are former trainees who feel that the Center is their home. This is effective sustainable development at its best.

The Center has outgrown itself. Two new compounds opened last year – one is just getting running in the slum of Satellite, and one is thriving in the slum of Eastleigh thanks to a UNHCR grant, allowing hundreds of Somali refugees to receive training. The system they've worked out functions gloriously. All the Center needs is more space and the funding to continue growing.

Amanda and I have been working to organize the office, create an employer database, and create a library catalog of donated books. We've also taught a staff seminar; and Amanda intends to continue working in the classroom. I'd like to work on documenting rescue cases and ex-students who have started their own businesses, as there are a lot of forgotten success stories. I just need a translator, as most don't speak English and many don't speak Swahili.

Amanda is working to get a grant from UNIFEM to do more advocacy work, while I'm trying to expand the literacy program through the Commonwealth Education Fund or UNESCO. The Center is working with essentially no supplies right even, even though adult education is a priority of the Kenyan government and a number of development NGOs. Ideally, I can get the Center some classroom supplies, textbooks compatible with national standards, bookshelves, and computers. We'll see. The Center is a fantastic cause and is very successful thus far, so I've got my fingers crossed.

Finally, the new year

For most of the last two months, nobody was keen to wish anyone a happy 2008. The new year has finally arrived in Kenya, and we couldn't be happier to hear it. Raila and Kibaki signed an agreement to set up a coalition government, creating the post of prime minister and two deputies, dividing the cabinet between the two parties, and sharing power in Parliament. MPs from both parties have agreed to push through necessary constitutional changes and get this thing rolling. From the way Raila, Kibaki, and the MPs are talking, this is really going to happen. Soon.

Yay!

As things really calm down around Kenya, police presence is returning to Nairobi. We're expecting hawkers to be driven out of the city center any day now, as MPs no longer need their votes and the police aren't busy keeping chaos from breaking out. Yesterday morning, right after stepping onto the USIU bus in city center, Amanda and I heard shouting and looked out the window to see men with signs running past us, away from clouds of tear gas. The few of us on the bus shut all the windows and watched. They had been protesting for Maina Njenga, a Mungiki leader who was just rearrested. The police really aren't fooling around. There have also been clashes with hawkers who don't want to vacate the downtown district.

So a bit about my recent trip!

Although I can't help feeling that my heart is and will always be in Lamu, Maasai Mara was one of the most incredible places I've ever been. I had made up my mind to not enjoy myself on the trip because I'm too proud to let myself be treated like a tourist... and when you're on safari, you can't escape the “Jambo”s. But wow. What a place.

Our camp, Tipilikwani, was more of a resort than a camp. The owner was fantastic, and his wife is the chef I aspire to be. They also had two pet mongooses that liked nothing better than biting my toes under the dinner table. My cabin-tent hybrid overlooked the Talek River, on the other side of which stretched the Mara, so at night I could hear lions and hyenas crying to one another. They do wander into the camp on occasion, so after sunset you have to call a Maasai askari to escort you around the camp. Anyway, KJ put me in a four-person suite with a clawed foot bathtub by myself, which I thoroughly enjoyed (weird story of the trip – I was so excited to have my own room for a change, I slept in my underwear the first night. Bad news is, temperatures in the Mara plummet overnight, so I woke up for our sunrise game drive around 5:30 and froze my ass off running across the cabin to my bag. Bad choice, Rachel). But I really can't remember the last time I felt so completely and totally relaxed and altogether spoiled. I can see the appeal of the safari life.

Sunrise and sunset of both days, we went on game drives. It was pretty fascinating to see the animals, but it was really the scenery that killed me. Kenya's Maasai Mara is Serengeti Park on the Tanzanian side of the border, if that gives the name a little more meaning. We're talking rolling grassland, beautiful streams, lone acacia trees on hilltops, rainshowers in the distance... heavenly. The safari trucks would go flying back to camp at sunset, and you could smell the rain on the wind. Anyway, we didn't find any rhinos (the rarest) or cheetahs (though we looked and looked), but we saw plenty of gazelle, topis, impalas, zebras, giraffes, elephants, lions, hyenas, hippos, jackals, hares, foxes, crocodiles, lovely birds, and one very very rare leopard. We also splurged for a night safari where we saw spring hares, mongooses, and an aardvark (also extremely rare), in addition to an unbeLIEVable amount of stars. That poor aardvark. It got chased at very high speeds by two massive Range Rovers, which then crashed through the brush where it took cover, pursuing it for another ten minutes or so. I bet the poor thing will never recover from that experience.

The really glorious part of the trip was that we were in the middle of nowhere. We flew into a little airstrip and drove an hour to reach Talek, the Maasai village near our camp. Maasais are the quintessential African tribe that you see on the cover of National Geographic because they look so exotic. Now their villages are supported mainly through cultural tourism. I don't particularly enjoy being part of that exchange, and I did somewhat regret my decision to go visit a village on our last day there. It felt very intrusive and uncomfortable, though I learned quite a bit. Out in the middle of the Mara, the Maasai lifestyle means paying a bride price of seven cows to marry a circumsized girl of about 14, then buying more wives for your compound as you accumulate cows. Minimal freshwater and minimal electricity in all of Talek... mostly just Maasais in bright red kikois herding cattle. It makes for an intensely beautiful, intensely quiet place.

Anyway, after visiting the Maasai village on Monday morning, we were running a bit late, then stopped to check out a huge herd of elephants on our way to the airport. When we saw the plane flying over us on the way to the airstrip, we took off flying across the bumpy savanna at about 60 miles an hour. As I was sitting in the very back seat of the open-sided Range Rover, this was a mildly terrifying experience, but mostly hilarious. I took a video on my little camera that I'll have to show you all when I'm home. Anyway, we got on the plane and took off about three minutes later. Bit of a close call.

These past few days in bustling Nairobi have been even tougher than the return from Lamu. The fact that I'm buried beneath schoolwork doesn't help, but I really miss that clawed foot bathtub and the feeling of driving across a washboard in a Range Rover at 50 miles an hour. I wouldn't mind too much going back sometime, I must say.

Lamu pole pole

When you wake up from a really amazing dream, there's always that feeling of sadness that creeps into your bed, slowly stealing away your happiness as you realize the dream is over and done. You might call it a good dream hangover. I am currently experiencing one, and I've only been back in Nairobi a matter of hours. Sigh.

Lamu was everything I had dared to hope and so much more. It certainly lives up to its reputation as a tropical paradise, tourists' heaven, and retirement destination. White sand beaches, emerald green water, mangrove forests and palm trees, coconut milk sold fresh on the street (straight out of the coconuts themselves), and glorious sunsets. And the town! I'll see if I can describe it, at least a little. There are hardly appropriate words.

Sailing from the airport on Manda Island to Lamu, I could have sworn I was on the Mediterranean approaching some coastal village in Greece. There are old buildings with Arabic architecture and chipping white paint, traditional wooden dhows all along the sea front, streets far too narrow for cars to pass through, donkeys carrying bricks and grain and mangoes and passengers, shops with traditional Muslim clothing and bright African fabric, calls to prayer echoing from the mosque, and samosas, plantain, and cassava root frying in the streets. I saw one tractor, one ambulance, and a parked taxi while I was there, but no cars – donkeys take care of the rest of the transportation and add an interesting odor to the usual smells of fish and saltwater. There are two bars and two dance clubs on the entire island, and the single movie theater is really only used to broadcast football (soccer) games. The vast majority of shops close at noon on Fridays for Friday prayer. Life is simple and pole pole (slow), and that is what is glorious about it.

The mixture of cultures in Lamu is unlike anywhere in the world I've ever heard or read about. I see three distinct sub-cultures. The first is the tourist culture. The economy of Lamu is entirely dependent on tourism (you can only imagine how the violence has affected the lives of villagers), and many of the major attractions are catered to tourists. A mzungu cannot walk through the streets of town without being greeted by nearly everyone and offered donkey rides, fishing trips, and dhow rides to the famous resort at Shella Beach. Even the children in Lamu greet you with, “Jambo,” which is a greeting used almost exclusively by tourists (Kenyans don't actually say it), because they're so used to European strangers entering their town. The second subculture is traditional Islamic culture – the traditional dress, the mosques, the lack of alcohol on the island, and the need to hide your shoulders and knees while in town. The third, which I feel is generally pushed beneath the surface in travel books, is Rastafarian beach culture. Young people have midnight bonfires on the beach, smoke lots of marijuana, sing reggae to rhythm beat out on recycled plastic jugs, and worship Bob Marley. I haven't the slightest idea how those three cultures can coexist so harmoniously in such a small town.

Anyway, we spent two nights on Lamu Island, explored the town (a half hour walk down the only street in the village takes you from one end to the other), shopped (single-handedly reviving the Lamu economy, I feel), and feasted on fresh Swahili-style seafood and passion/lime juice. We also had a chance to meet and befriend the lost tribe of Kenya, the beach boys. They're what you might call “sweet young things” who do odd jobs around Lamu and, to be quite blunt, seduce older European women who visit as tourists. Sex tourism absolutely thrives in Lamu. But the boys (named Incognito, Captain Smile, Sunflower, Fishbrains, Starboy, and other ridiculous nicknames) threw a midnight bonfire for us and taught us the Lamu version of “Take Me Home, Country Road.” An entirely bizarre lifestyle.

We then spent two nights on Manda Island at a small eco-lodge. The place was an absolute dream. I played on the beach, swam several times a day, walked down to see the tidal pools at low tide, and sailed at every possible opportunity. I might even be slightly less pale when the pink on my shoulders fades. Our dhow escorts, who knew the students last semester, were the champion sailing crew in Lamu and four of the most attractive boys I've met in my entire life. Needless to say, we had a great time, and they gave me a Swahili name (Amina). The skipper invited me to stay with him when I come back to Lamu. At least I know that if this IR thing doesn't work out, I can marry a gorgeous sailor and live out my days on a dhow in Lamu. Can't say I'd mind too much... hahaha.

We also visited the Takwa ruins on Manda, which are the remains of a Swahili village that was abandoned a few centuries back. It's built entirely of coral rag, and the area is covered with acacia and baobab trees. Completely beautiful. You have to get there by dhow and navigate several kms of mangrove swamp, then escape before low tide beaches the dhow. I have literally hundreds of pictures. Get ready for those.

The islands are naturally intoxicating – you get swept up in the beauty and the romance of it all and have no need for anything else in the world. The weather was perfect. I was able to walk on the beach for hours every night, late into the morning. There is absolutely nothing like it. Wading in the Indian Ocean under the stars and full moon, the breeze whipping my hair and skirt, reggae music from the beach party carried on the wind, local dogs trotting along behind me... I could easily have floated away on the breeze. On the plane ride home, I finally started remembering all that I had to worry about... yet here I am, still dreaming about Lamu when I should be studying for midterms. Such is life.

As I haven't properly slept for four days (thanks to the damn moonlit beaches), I should wrap this up. Back to school now. There's a terrible week ahead, but safariing at Maasai Mara at the end. Again, sorry for not being in touch, but I'll work on catching up with the emails and talk to you all as soon as I find the time.

I could sure go for some tropical paradise

Monday was the longest day yet at USIU, knowing we'd leave for Lamu today. We're flying to this little island on the Kenyan coast because the roads aren't considered quite safe enough to drive there. Lamu is in part a tourist destination, thanks to beautiful tropic weather and the most beautiful beaches you've ever seen, but it's also a really unique place. Lamu has preserved coastal Swahili traditions better than most towns. Because of the strong Islamic influence, it's a fairly conservative place – there are essentially no cars on the entire island. Assuming the weather is good, I should be able to see every star in the sky and breathe the cleanest air I've ever had in my lungs.

Needless to say, the Port O'Connor girl and anthropologist in me are madly excited. I haven't been able to focus on anything important for days. Even if the weather is bad, I'll be able to do some shopping and eat fantastic seafood every night. If it's sunny, I'll be living at the beach and should return to Nairobi looking significantly more Kenyan (but yes, Mother, I'll be wearing layer upon layer of sunscreen the whole time, and I've been taking malaria meds).

In preparation for Lamu, I took my first major shopping trip today. Honestly, shopping is exponentially more fun in Nairobi than at home. Since the Kenyan police forces were deployed around the country to control people during the election, hawkers have absolutely taken over downtown (it's technically illegal for them to be there, but there aren't police around to enforce it anymore). You can buy almost anything for absurdly low prices, generally without haggling. As usual, though, some of the vendors try to overcharge you, and you can barter a little if you know they're trying to cheat you. To give you an idea of the possibilities, I spent around $25 today and came home with a beach towel, sunglasses, three DVDs, two skirts, and three cute tops. You can also buy fruits and vegetables, shoes, scarves, jewelry of all kinds, make up, silverware, plates and cups, kitchen knives, rat poison, keychains, towels, mosquito nets, loofahs, feather dusters, car mats, place mats, shower curtains, CDs, suits and ties, jeans, socks, bras and underwear, belts, purses, and sometimes puppies or kittens. I was in the midst of these hawkers when people tried to steal my purse and when someone tried to grab my necklace. It's exceedingly easy to get distracted by the merchandise and stop paying attention to your surroundings.

Kenya is quite calm these days, though a lot of folks are skeptical that Annan will succeed in guiding Kibaki and Raila to a political settlement. The more I learn about Kenyan politics, the less shocking everything seems. Kenyan elections have never been particularly fair, so there's no reason to believe the current negotiations will result in a groundbreaking compromise between PNU and ODM. Raila is probably just going to get screwed and Kenyans will have to try to move on. But the tribalism! This practice of pinning political failings on ethnicity is far from a new concept. Kenyatta and Moi picked up the practice from the British, and now Kibaki and Raila have done an excellent job of reviving tribalism and turning their own disagreements into conflicts on the streets. It's infuriating, given how long this has been going on. Plenty of Kenyans are aware of how they're being manipulated, but plenty are just angry.

The week after we get back from Lamu is midterms, a huge paper for KJ's class, and preparation for a Model UN-style simulation at USIU that I have to do for Politics of International Economics (I'm Jamaica... hah). Then we're off to safari before we come back to finish the semester and write our grant proposals for our internships. I know I said I'd write about my internship, but I'm afraid I haven't had the time, so I'll do that shortly. I also know that quite a few of you are waiting on email responses, but it's been a busy busy week. I'm back in Nairobi on Sunday and will do my best to get back to everyone and update my blog with something more substantial. In the meantime, I'm going to go have the time of my life in Lamu. Wish you could come with me!

The matatu: a little local flavor for you...

As my last update discussed my least favorite part of my travels in Kenya, I should provide some insight into the things that are making me absolutely crazy about this place. Particularly since certain Kenyans have discovered my blog and think I'm miserable here. ;) So without further ado, I'll tell you about matatus, my favorite part of Nairobi.

Matatus are the biggest form of public transportation in Kenya. They're about the size of an American van, I think, but they seat 14-20 people. The most accurate description of matatus I've heard thus far is courtesy of Amanda, my flatmate, who compared them to the Knight Bus from the Harry Potter books. Translation: I am infinitely more likely to die in a matatu than I am to get a tropical disease or suffer the effects of any post-election violence.

I should preface this discussion with some background information about roads in Kenya. For starters, they're in generally horrible condition. Potholes are everywhere. There are no rules to the road that I'm aware of. You drive as fast as you want, as dangerously as you want, anywhere on the road you want. Lanes are suggestions, at best. I think there are three traffic lights in all of Nairobi... I've only seen one that I can recall. Pedestrians don't have the right of way, which takes a lot of getting used to after walking all over Washington. You cross streets are your own risk, usually at a sprint.

So. Matatus. They make up about half the traffic at some points during the day. The matatus that run in the slums are always painted a crazy color, decorated according to a random theme, have neon lights on the inside, and a slightly absurd message painted on the back window. Some of the best have said, “Skankin',” “Drive It Like You Stole It,” “Crunk and Disorderly,” and “Philadelphia Eagles.” Yesterday I saw one with a Missouri Tigers logo on it and cracked up. My favorite matatu had a “Crunk” decal and “Thank You Jesus” printed on the same window. Such an interesting clash of cultures.

There's almost always hip hop blasting from all the matatus on the road. In the best ones, you can feel the bass reverberating in your ribcage. It's just sort of exhilarating to be flying down the streets of Nairobi in a beat-up van with manual transmission, smelling the intense diesel exhaust with your ears full of music. I'm going to miss matatu rides a hell of a lot.

The drivers tend to be fantastic characters, though most of them have got to be completely insane to drive the way they do. There's some sort of bond between them, so they'll chat with each other in traffic and ask each other where they found the white girl sitting in the front seat. At the same time, they cut each other off and take ridiculous risks (like driving on the wrong side of the road, on sidewalks, cutting inbetween lanes, that sort of thing). They drive so close to one another a driver can usually just lean out the window, holler at another driver who committed an offense, and give the other matatu a slap on its side. At the matatu stages downtown, they'll sometimes play bumper cars with one another in an effort to dislodge themselves from traffic... even if there are passengers inside.

Every matatu has a tout who acts as a sort of conductor, recruiting passengers, collecting fares, and instructing the driver when to stop. With the tourism industry suffering like it is, passengers tend to get manhandled at the stations downtown. Touts will sometimes physically pull you into their matatu. They're that desperate for business. As shady as that might sound, though, the touts are generally great people. I've made a couple of good friends among them that I see downtown almost every afternoon.

Matatus are cheap, but they're a bit risky. Yes, they crash a fair amount, but the bigger risk is from pickpockets. You just have to be careful with your valuables and choose your matatu carefully (never get in an empty one, try to find one with women in it, don't leave your window wide open, etc). Anyway, it costs about $.15 from Westlands to our bus stop for school and about $.40 for the ride home from downtown. Nice and cheap, which is great, since I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than try to drive in this city. We take matatus to go into town, get to the bus stop for USIU, and travel to our internships, so we're on them regularly.

So that's my favorite part of Kenya. Strange, I realize, but you'd love it too if you could try it. Tension is still simmering all over Kenya, but Nairobi is very calm lately. I hope nobody is too worried these days.

Miss you all terribly – feel free to shoot me an email if you haven't already.

Mzungu on the black continent

It's been an interesting week here. Right when it started to feel like I had a daily schedule set down, the violence that broke out in Nakuru and Naivasha made its way to Nairobi, and two members of Parliament were shot in about 48 hours. The first was definitely politically motivated, but the second shooting was attributed to the MP's affair with the murderer's wife. There's probably little truth in that. At any rate, as bad as things were looking last week, Nairobi has stayed fairly calm. Western Kenya is still a mess and the roads are dangerous; there’s no telling when things will heal over there. When we leave Nairobi for our excursions, we’ll be flying.

I did hear an interesting opinion the other day, though. My African IR professor sat next to me on the bus to USIU, and we talked quite a lot. She thinks the only resolution to this conflict will come through the sort of de-tribalization that Rwanda underwent. The British screwed things up horribly after independence – the land they seized from the tribes in the Rift Valley was sold off to the Kikuyus, the only ethnic group with the money to buy it. Now the other tribes resent the Kikuyus' ownership of their land, and the only way around the conflict will be to take tribalism out of the picture. That's her opinion, anyway. Who knows?

Anyway, life is good, classes are fine, and I'm really really excited about my externship. I'm working with a group called the Center for Domestic Training and Development (it has a website if you want to look it up, but I'll be sure to talk about it in depth in one of my future blogs). It does work very similar to that of ONE DC, where I was volunteering last semester. On Friday we took a trip to a place called the Giraffe Center, where you can play with the endangered giraffes they breed. Fantastic photo op, since you can put a pellet of food between your lips and they'll “kiss” you. Meanwhile, we've been going out plenty and making friends. I'm feeling great overall, and am already starting to worry about the day I'll have to leave.

I wanted to talk for a bit about what it's like for us being wazungu (Europeans/foreigners) in Kenya. Though I'm describing my own experiences, all of us share these to some extent.

The only thing that has really bothered me about Kenya is the attention I get no matter where I am. I've never been stared at so much in my life, and it does get tiring when fully half the people I pass on the street try to stop me and talk to me. This is partly out of genuine interest, I think, but also because white skin screams money. There are TONS of beggars and pickpockets in Nairobi, and wazungu are targeted much more frequently than Kenyans. Every time we go out to a bar or club, someone has a thief try to steal their phone (I think only one phone has actually been taken so far, though). I've had two attempts on my phone at clubs and one attempt at my purse on a busy street. I stay pretty aware of my surroundings though, so I've been able to escape bad situations for the most part.

The thievery is a lot worse since the election, which is why we weren't allowed to ride matatus for so long. Violence has affected the tourism industry significantly, so people have turned to stealing in order to feed their families. Matatus are a prime location to pickpocket people, but if you're careful, you're in very little danger. But all of this means that wazungu attract even more attention than usual. Vendors on the street see a white face and will yell at me through the crowd (“mzungu”, “madam”, “sista”, etc.) to bring me over and try to sell me something.

Being white means I can get away with a lot, as sad as that is. Europeans get very preferential treatment at times (because even we students have a lot of money by Kenyan standards), but we're also taken advantage of. The pickpocketing is only one side of it. Taxi drivers I don't know personally will charge me double the usual fare. Vendors at the market will try to charge me three or four times the going rate for an item. I'm not a bad barterer, but there's a price level I can't get below, since I look like a tourist no matter how much Kiswahili I speak. It's frustrating at times.

At USIU, the American students are treated like celebrities. This is largely because American girls have a reputation for being easy and very rich. It's unfortunate, particularly because it makes it extremely hard to know who is being genuine. That's the case outside of USIU as well, actually, so it sort of slows down the process of making friends.

The assumption that white people are wealthy frustrates me to no end. It really demonstrates how colonization and centuries of exploitation has skewed perceptions of Westerners. It doesn't matter if you're Kenyan-born, if you're a student, if you're poor by American standards; if you have white skin, you're a walking bank that can be taken full advantage of. Drives me mad.

Anyway, that's it for today. There's so much more to talk about, but I only feel capable of tackling one topic per day.

The place I call nyumbani...

Sorry it's been so long. It's been tough finding a decent connection. The good news is, although violence has cropped up in more cities, people have a lot of faith in Kofi Annan and feel that these negotiations will be a turning point. Meanwhile, I got my internship assignment, and we've started riding matatus through the city (I came to school alone today and got nothing stolen - woohoo!). More on that next time. Here's a bit about my home in Kenya:

Our apartment complex, Njema Court, is in an upper-middle class neighborhood of Nairobi called Westlands. All the homes and businesses in neighborhoods like this are surrounded by high brick walls topped with spikes, barbed wire, and/or glass shards. There are guards hired to stand at the solid gate 24 hours a day. It's mildly hilarious, but not at all unusual for Nairobi. This city is full of very rich people as well as very poor people, who the rich try desperately to keep out of their lives. There have been no reports of any sort of unrest in Westlands since the election, so we can stay in this district and do out grocery shopping and clubbing right here if there's violence downtown.

Anyway, it's a fancy apartment complex. Inside the gates we have a gym, pool, dry goods store full of Indian spices and lentils, bakery (mmmmm...), boutique, and chemist (combination pharmacy/doctor). A woman comes to do our laundry several days a week, and a maid cleans every day but Sunday. I'm getting ridiculously spoiled, but these women are friends of the program who were trained to do housework at some of our internship sights, so I'm happy to support them.

I share one of our three bedrooms with Ayah. The beds are hard and the walls are still pretty bare (except for my collage of pictures). We have two bathrooms, a living/dining room with a TV that gets five channels, and a kitchen with a small oven and a gas stove, where we cook nearly every night. We also have a fridge, toaster, microwave, radio, and boiler in which we boil tap water before drinking. We pay for electricity, so we turn out the lights and cut power to the outlets when we're not using them. We turn on the water heater for a couple of hours every day before we all shower.

The water is a bit orange from all the red dust that blows around. It weirds you out at first, but you get over it pretty fast. There's dust pretty much everywhere. You just have to get over the shock of seeing brownish-red water the first time you rinse your hair in the shower every night.

We usually don't watch TV, except the local nightly news. Truly, we're all so beat (physically as well as emotionally, at times) by the time we get home from wherever we are, we just want to sit, listen to some music, and talk. I read quite a bit and write emails/blogs on my laptop, which I save on a flash drive and take to school or an internet cafe in Westlands. Sometimes we lose power, but not for too long.

At the moment I'm sitting on our little balcony with my feet up (cooling off after the bus ride from USIU, which is dusty and hothothot), thoroughly enjoying the breeze. Our balcony looks northeast over an empty field that is dotted with trees and is vibrantly green, except where you can see little patches of red earth. There's a hut made of corrugated tin standing in the field where three or four men live. We weren't sure they actually lived there until we saw them walk outside and stretch one morning. They burn their trash in the field a couple of times a day, and sometimes we see their dogs chasing each other around the hut. I wish I knew their story. Right now there are some people in suits and ties standing in the middle of the field and gesturing (as the men sit outside their hut). Not sure how to explain this one.

That's about all there is to know about the place I call home. I'll do a “day in the life” sort of post sometime soon. We can't wait for this mess to die down so we can have some freedom and get on with our lives, but things are definitely getting better. The Eagle did an article on us, also, if you want to check it out: http://media.www.theeagleonline.com/media/storage/paper666/news/2008/01/24/News/Students.Volunteer.Help.Kenyans-3165297.shtml

Quickly, before my connection dies!

In this issue: a quick update and some talk of politics. Read on if you dare.

We're still waiting for the announcement that we can live life with some level of normalcy. The government made Raila's rallies illegal, and its been pouring rain for the past couple of days, so the ODM protests have been rather unsuccessful. We didn't go to class at USIU on Wednesday since we weren't sure what was going to happen, but we were able to have Kiswahili class in Westlands on Tuesday and Thursday. So although our movement is restricted, we haven't been imprisoned in the apartments. We're free to move about Westlands this weekend, so we'll be able to go out for a bit of dancing and shopping over the next couple of days.

We've still been spending a lot of time meeting with people from the businesses where we can intern. I'm holding out hope that we'll have access to the public health clinic in Kibera where I wanted to work, but there's also a great microfinance group we can work with that would allow me a lot of contact with families in the slums, as well as some fantastic experience.

We returned to volunteer at the refugee camp at Kurura on Thursday, where people who fled the violence in Rift Valley Province are staying. We arrived later than planned and didn't need to help with lunch, but we played with the kids for a few hours. I took some great videos and pictures... and the kids took plenty for me too. Haha. I wish I had a fast enough connection to upload a few photos. Maybe when the internet cafe on campus opens I'll give it a try. Anyway, I hope I can go back to see the kids sometime soon.

The other night we headed over to the US Ambassador's residence to swim in the heated pool and smoke shisha. Mark, the ambassador's son, goes to USIU and hangs out with us quite a bit... it was pretty fantastic to get to chill at the residence. Friday morning we went to the US Embassy for a town hall meeting, where a lot of caffeinated American missionaries harassed the Ambassador about their safety. It was interesting hearing the Ambassador's thoughts on the conflict, though. The Embassy is even less worried about the situation than KJ – they don't consider evacuation a remote possibility, so I'll likely get to finish my semester (yay).

So on to politics. I'm sure you've been seeing reports coming out of Nairobi and Kisumu about the latest outbursts. The fast of the matter is, the rallies this week were relative failures. They were fairly small and didn't attract a lot of attention, even here, thanks to the heavy rain and police blockades. We're all sort of feeling like things could calm down from here, although Raila will lose face if he backs down. I just don't see any other solution. Kenyans (except the extremists who are throwing rocks in the BBC videos) are tired of the violence, tired of not being able to ride matatus to work, tired of losing money because tourists have stopped flying into the country. Raila can't possibly hope to continue calling on his supporters to rally for him and die in the streets.

It's increasingly obvious that Kibaki probably lost the election. Raila appealed to pretty much all non-Kikuyus and spent a hell of a lot more time campaigning. That's not to mention the problems with ECK's tallies and voter turnout reports, which were 95% in some provinces. The problem is, a recount is impossible (because it's Kenya) and a revote would throw the country into chaos. Kibaki will never give up power, even if over half the country supports Raila. ODM has a lot of power in Parliament now, so if Raila will calm down and accept a political settlement in the next couple of weeks, things should stabilize a fair amount.

It's difficult to watch the news reports, knowing that Raila's supporters probably did have the election stolen from them (not that they didn't try to stack the deck in their own favor). The slums of Kibera and Kawangare, the cities of Kisumu and Eldoret in Western Province, and Mombasa on the coast, are all ODM strongholds. The worst videos you see on the news come from there. The burned church, the tear gassing, and the “shoot to kill” orders have all come from those pockets of violence. Unarmed protesters have been shot with no provocation, but all you can say is, “This is Kenya.” It's absurd that a country this developed would revoke the right to peacefully assemble, but what can you do? The government is behaving pretty horribly, but they have the military on their side. Raila isn't helping things by being inflexible, either. It'll be interesting to see what happens after the failed rallies this week...

Anyway, back to the real world for a few days. Talk to you all soon! And yes, I'll stay safe.

Slow down you crazy child...

It's been a tiring week. Our orientation is over and classes started today, though there's no telling how consistently we'll be able to make the trip to our university. USIU is a very pretty campus with about 3,000 students, most of whom are wealthy Kenyans, though there are a lot of foreigners there too. It's about a 1.5 hour commute to campus, which is a serious pain. My classes are looking pretty good though. All I'm taking at USIU is African International Relations and Politics in International Economics. My Kiswahili class and the course on Kenyan politics and culture are outside USIU. My IR professor is a cool Somali lady, and my IPE professor is a career diplomat and the former ambassador to Sudan. He's very excited to have Jackie and I in his class and spent 20 minutes after class encouraging us to express our American ideals in class discussion. Hah.

Unfortunately, we're still taking taxis because Victor, the assistant program director, isn't comfortable sending us on the matatu buses yet. Raila Odinga has planned rallies for three days this week (because Parliament is opening tomorrow), and people are expecting them to actually happen this time, so we'll be on relative lockdown in the apartments for a few days. KJ, the program director, isn't taking any chances and doesn't want us out and about if there's a risk of violence. We're all dying for more freedom (and not having to pay for taxis, which cost about $5 instead of $.30 like the matatus), but patience is the word of the week.

The political situation is very interesting. A great deal of our orientation was just talking to Kenyan friends of KJ. Victor, who I mentioned earlier, and Fred, our Kiswahili instructor, both made it to Nairobi last week after having been stuck in the western provinces when public transportation shut down. Victor arrived with bloodshot eyes after being tear gassed in Kisumu. The whole tribal conflict idea is interesting – the more I learn about it, the more sense it makes that the American media can't discuss it accurately. It's very multi-faceted. On the one hand, Kikuyus and Luos can easily be friends and sit down for a drink and not care a bit. I've met several people with one parent Kikuyu and one parent Luo. The British fostered hostility between ethnic groups during colonial rule, though, and that animosity still surfaces sometimes. Kenyans do feel some obligation to their tribe... for example, employers will sometimes specify that they want someone from one tribe or another. People want to help their tribe before a “rival” tribe.

Really, most Kenyans just want this mess to blow over (they refer to it as “the mess”). Our program has a lot of connections to people involved in the peace movement, so we've been talking to the folks organizing the peace demonstrations and putting together the musical productions calling for Kenyan unity. There are messages for peace allllll over the radio, on billboards, in music videos, in graffiti... everywhere, really. As KJ says, though, the next few days will decide the next few weeks which will decide the next few months. No one is expecting it to be a smooth semester.

Orientation was definitely a lot of talking. We did visit several internship sites, though none in Kibera (where I want to work), as it's still rather unstable. We also got our introduction to Kenyan night life, which has a reputation for being the best in the world. Friday night we went to a tribute concert to the Mighty King Kong, a Kenyan reggae artist who died last month, at the French cultural center downtown. Saturday we went out to a bar/club and let loose a bit, dancing like the ridiculous Americans we are to “Sweet Home Alabama” and Hanson songs from the 1990s. I'll have to discuss the music scene in an entry of its own though. Too much to say.

We did some more community service on Friday, preparing food at a camp for refugees from the Rift Valley. Saturday we spent a few hours with the kids at an orphanage in Eastleigh, one of Nairobi's smaller slums. The neighborhood is populated mostly by Somali refugees, and the older boys at the orphanage showed us around the huge Somali market in the neighborhood. Obviously folks there aren't too friendly toward Americans, but we're allowed to go back to the neighborhood and walk around if we take the boys from the orphanage with us. I'll have to discuss impressions of Eastleigh in another entry though. Again, too too too much to say.

Also, I've learned to barter pretty damn well. You can mix Swahili and English freely, so it's easy to pick up the important Swahili phrases and sound like a natural. It's quite a lot of fun. :) Topic for another entry. I'll start discussing my life here in little pieces once things slow down. We've been going non-stop the past 5 days, so there are too many events to talk about. I'll get there though. Until later!

Fortunately, I am an optimist.

Holy crap.

I can't believe I've only been here 24 hours.

Despite mechanical problems with my planes in both KC and Detroit, I made it to Nairobi. I had a long layover in Detroit, we had a tailwind over the Atlantic, and I sprinted through the Amsterdam airport, so I made all my connecting flights. Obviously I am destined to be here right now. Hahaha. Anyway, the flight was gorgeous - the sky was crystal clear over Europe. Flew into Amsterdam at dawn, ate lunch over the Alps, took a nap over the Mediterranean and woke up over the Sahara. Northern Kenya was the most interesting to fly over, though. It was dark by that time, and there were almost no lights in sight. It would be a sea of darkness and then a single campfire, or a few grouped campfires... so different from the oceans of light you see when you fly over the US. The Turkana region is completely different from Nairobi though, so don't get any ideas about me camping. Nairobi is very much like a small Washington, DC.

The moment I realized (in my exhaustion and delirium) that I was actually in Africa was when I saw the trees on the drive from the airport to the apartment. None of the trees here grow in North America, of course, but that isn't really something I considered ahead of time. You know those trees you see lions sleeping under in PBS shows? Yeah. They're everywhere. Along with palm trees and huge, bright, tropical flowers. The weather is perfect - the air is 75 degrees, but in the sun it's quite a bit hotter. Oh, and I saw a monkey today.. it was chilling on a brick wall in Jamhuri Park. I am at a loss for words.

Nairobi is incredibly beautiful and ugly at the same time. It's SO green, but also rather dirty between the red dust and exhaust. It does smell better than DC, though. I keep forgetting any kind of unrest is going on. I've seen nothing remotely unusual after walking and driving all over the city today. Stores are open, buses are running as usual, vendors are selling mangos and pineapples on the street, and people are walking around everywhere.

This morning I woke up fairly early to go with the group to a really intense yoga class. Tomorrow I'll feel awful I'm sure, but the work out will help me get over my jetlag. This afternoon we went to Jamhuri Park, where many of the slum residents (mostly from Kibera) displaced by the violence can get shelter, food, and clothes. There were too many volunteers for them to need our help much, but we played with some of the children and helped the Red Cross load trucks with supplies. It was so interesting to see it all, though I wish we could have done more to help.

After that we explored Westlands (our neighborhood) a bit and I bought shampoo and toothpaste and such, then we cooked dinner for all the students and some Kenyan friends in our apartment. Things have just quieted down, and now we're waiting on the last three students to arrive. Orientation starts tomorrow! We'll be busy, but I hope I can update soon. I know we'll be visiting some of the internship sites, which means I'll get to see more of Nairobi, including the slums. Should be interesting. Also tiring. But I'll talk to you all soon!

Sorry for the rambling. I'm ridiculously excited to be here. The point is, I'm safe and very happy, and already a bit sunburned.

A bit of a shaky start...

Well, I'm still here in Kansas, dreaming of the Equator as I look out at the snow on the front lawn that hasn't melted since I got home from American. We rescheduled my flight to Nairobi for January 7, so I have another week to pretend I'm packing and getting ready to leave.

The post-election violence that's been all over the news is definitely serious, but much more isolated than we're being led to believe. The videos of riots and looting are almost exclusively from Kibera, Nairobi's biggest slum, and western towns like Kisumu and Eldoret, where the church was burned down yesterday. Businesses and public transportation in Nairobi have largely shut down, however, so my orientation was moved to next week, and I decided to delay my flight and spend the extra time at home.

Most of us students are flying in at the beginning of next week, unless conditions within Nairobi itself get significantly worse. The students who decided to leave the States yesterday have said that our neighborhood in Nairobi is quiet, but the city is understandably tense. Raila Odinga, who lost the election to President Kibaki by a very narrow margin, has called one million of his supporters to protest in downtown Nairobi tomorrow. That rally will most likely decide the future of our semester, so we're all hoping it's peaceful...