Before I begin attempting to describe my life for the past 7 weeks, let me first apologize for the obvious lack of communication with the outside world- internet access in Madagascar was scarce, to say the least. I was under the impression going into my Blue Ventures expedition that the internet was going to be accessed easier than it was in Kenya, but I was greatly mistaken. Upon my arrival in Madagascar, after the whirlwind of overwhelming travel stress that came with the transition between countries, it became utterly apparent that Madagascar is one of the least developed countries in the world, with arguably the worst economy. The three day overland tour allowed me to experience many of the biological wonders of this biodiversity hotspot, but even the ring-tailed lemurs can't distract you completely from the extreme poverty, remoteness, and untouched feeling of the people and culture.
As you can probably imagine, it's extremely difficult to leave somewhere you've become so comfortable and enter one where you feel quite the opposite. Fortunately I quickly became close with the 9 other individuals in my expedition group during our endless drives on winding, bumpy roads, and I began to remember how great it is to have someone to really talk to. The last leg of the drive to the Blue Ventures base was 7 hours, primarily on a sand road that I don't think has been maintained for at least a century. We arrived, poured out of the 4x4, and made a beeline to the warm water of the Mozambique channel. The volunteer huts are on the edge of a small cliff that leads down to Half Moon Beach, and the Blue Ventures office, staff huts, kitchen, and dive building are all spread out over the small peninsula that is the western most point of Madagascar. Over the first couple days were were filled up to our eyes with information- rules, protocol, names, places, and more, none of which any of us obtained all of. Looking back now it seems so odd that I felt uncomfortable and unsure of all the staff and the surroundings of the BV base, because it so quickly became home. It's incredible how adaptable humans are, and how easy it is to feel at home... even in a small wooden hut with a salty shower in remote, isolated, southwestern Madagascar.
I think the best way for me to sum up my experiences is to run through a typical day, because 7 weeks of stories is far too much for one post...
Every morning I wake up with the sun peaking through the eastern-facing window of my hut around 6:30 or 7. Usually I roll out of bed and walk outside, sit in my hammock, and enjoy the tropical paradise view I have from the porch. Eight o'clock means breakfast. The 10 volunteers make our way down to the other end of base to the restaurant, carrying our peanut butter, Nutella, jam, or whatever else we can find to decorate the rather bland breakfast of bread. Straight after eating you walk back to the other end of base again to the building that's known as the Bat Cave, which is the dive equipment/repair headquarters, and kit up for a 9:00 dive. BV has two motor boats, the only two in the entire fishing village of Andavadoaka. (Pirogues, a kind of dug-out canoe sail boat, are the main form of transport for the Vezo people.) The dive site is determined by the dive leader, usually one of the field scientists, and it depends on what data needs to be collected/what sites haven't been surveyed yet. Volunteers either do PITs (point intercept transects), or fish belts. PITs are 10 meter surveys, every 20 centimeters, of the benthic life of the reef at that specific point, and fish belts are 20 meters, continuously, of the species and number of the fish 5 meters above the line, and 2 meters to either side. Keep in mind, however, that these science dives can only happen for volunteers after we've memorized the 30 benthic compositions and 150 species of fish. We have to pass both computer and in-water point-out tests before we're allowed to collect data for Blue Ventures. Diving when you can identify nearly everything that you see makes it so much more fulfilling. I was in love with diving before I came, but when you experience the euphoria of simply breathing underwater and then mix it with the satisfaction of identifying and recording all sorts of different species swimming around you makes it so much more worthwhile. Dives are always 45 minutes and maximum depth is always 18 meters, which is conservative since the reefs are not usually very deep, but the protocol is strict due to the isolation of the site and the nearest recompression chamber is in South Africa. Another dive leaves at 11:00, and it's not unusual to be on both dives, which makes for a very busy morning. By the time the boat returns it's usually a scramble to clean your equipment, rinse off, and race to lunch. I'll admit, I've been to lunch still wearing my wetsuit. After lunch we have a couple of hours off usually, nobody is working or diving, and the place gets pretty quiet. The heat keeps you inside, so it's a good time to write, talk, nap, do laundry, go for a swim, do your knowledge reviews for your rescue diver course, study fish, etc. Around 3 the power comes back on and BV work resumes. The afternoon is when we usually have a lecture from one of the staff about different projects BV is running, or just about Madagascar, the Vezo people, shark fishing, and lots of other really interesting, relevant topics. We also have fish workshops, fish tests, and Malagasy lessons. We've been on a couple of day trips- to one of the Mangrove projects, and the Spider Tortoise monitoring project. Also multiple overnight trips- to a village with sea cucumber farming and Seaweed aquaculture where we did a homestay and stayed up all night "harvesting" sea cucumbers (they're nocturnal) and then cutting them open and squeezing out their guts. Zanga (sea cucumber) are a precious commodity on the Asian market, so for this village, farming them provides an enormous source of income- an alternative to fishing, which is exactly what Blue Ventures is trying to promote, sustainable alternative livelihoods. Blue Ventures has been in Madagascar since 2004, and isn't leaving anytime soon. Working through a "Population Health Environment" approach to conservation is a long term process, and for an uneducated, isolated, remote, and simple village it is hard to understand the direct relationship between those three factors. We also went on a two day diving trip in the permanent reserve where we slept out on Nosy Ve (a small island) on a pirogue sail under the stars. Coming back to the typical day and away from that tangent, in the evenings volunteers have our duties, or chores, which include data entry, taking weather data, cleaning up the "office", or Nosy Cao, as it's called, sweeping the stairs that lead down to the beach (so that nobody falls face first while lugging their heavy dive gear down to the boats), putting away all the dive gear, and changing the water barrels that we use to clean the BCD's, regulators, etc. Dinner is always at 7:30, so if we have free time in the evening sometimes we'll go into town and get snacks, attempt to speak Malagasy, take photos of the small, eager, and very photogenic Vezo children on the beach, or just sit in your hammock or on the sand dunes and watch the sun set. At dinner the expedition manager presents the board for the following day which tells you the dives you're on, and the general schedule for the day. Everyone eats rice, beans, and fish for nearly every meal, and even though I'm the only real vegetarian, many of the meat eaters have told the kitchen they want to be on the veggie list to get a change in their diet. I can't blame them... usually the veggie dish looks more appetizing than fish heads. Our favorite thing to do at dinner is try to identify the fish that everyone is eating. By 8:30 most people are knackered, and I have no trouble falling asleep at this time, although sometimes I'll take one of our beach mattresses up on the dunes, either with another volunteer or alone, and stargaze, for the night sky is almost better than in Kenya.
Occasionally we would do 6:00 a.m. dives, and one of those early mornings stood out to me- As we were motoring away from Half Moon beach, the sun was just beginning to rise behind Andavadoaka, and the full moon was just beginning to set in the opposite direction, a surreal moment. We splashed over the side of the boat into the dark water, and during the 45 minutes we were able to watch the transformation of the ocean from night to day, the visibility gradually increasing as the sun penetrates the depths more directly. My biggest challenge every day in Madagascar is forcing myself to come back up to the surface. Eighteen meters for 45 minutes is never enough; life is good underwater.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
La La Salama
The past few days have been difficult, to say the least. Wednesday was my last day at Ronesa. I wore my Maasai clothes and beads, painted the faces of the kids, made necklaces and bracelets with them, colored, and had them put their hand prints on a Kenyan flag for me to bring home. The kids were having a great time, not understanding the reason behind their fun and games. My six children of class one were the only ones who really were able to understand that I was leaving, but even they couldn't comprehend why. I walked out to the gate with all 45 of them, adorned with the beautifully hand-crafted beaded jewelry gifted to me by their parents, and when I started to hug them goodbye there was no stopping the tears. Crying only confused them more, many of them just stood and stared at me, completely lost. But I made sure that I had said "kwaheri" and "na kupenda" to each child before turning away. The short walk back home suddenly became a endless distance... That was the first time I felt alone in Maasailand.
That evening Rosemary got a call from the mother of a boy in class one; Charles had been really upset all afternoon, crying because I had left, asking his mom if I had hated him, and that's why I wanted to leave. This made me want to cry all over again. Charles was one of the sweetest children at Ronesa, for the past few days when I would tell them that I was leaving soon, he would say, "teacher Kate no go America!" with an unbearably adorable pouty face.
It's safe to say that those kids, especially the 6 of class one, have become a part of me. Sitting here at the VICDA volunteer house, where there is running water, electricity, and refrigeration, I feel strangely out of place. Saying goodbye is never easy, and it's a part of every meaningful experience, but that doesn't make it any less heartbreaking. My host mother and the entire community of Olosho-oibor have shown me such love. It feels wrong now to talk of Maasailand, Ronesa, and Rosemary in the past tense... I've already had to start trying to answer the dreaded question, "How was your trip?" with words that feel empty and shallow. There is a Maasai saying that goes "only the mountains never meet; but humans always will", and in this situation, I am confident that one day I'll be back here, back to show the people of that community how much they've affected me. I know that as time goes on their influence on me will not disappear, because, as Rosemary would say, "you are a Maasai now, Kate."
But enough wallowing, tomorrow I depart for a safari in the famous Maasai Mara with two other volunteers, on from Brazil and the other Mexico; it is sure to be a phenomenal three days. And then, because of a flight cancellation by Kenya Air, I'll leave Kenya for Madagascar (I can't believe it!) on Tuesday morning instead of Sunday night. This problem which at first had me quite worried, was quickly solved- I'll be staying the two extra nights with Sheila, Rosemary's first born daughter; yet another testament to the generosity of my family here.
I have so much to say, but pole (sorry), for right now words escape me. May I just say la la salama (goodnight) and asante sana (thank you very much) for allowing me to share my adventures with you.
That evening Rosemary got a call from the mother of a boy in class one; Charles had been really upset all afternoon, crying because I had left, asking his mom if I had hated him, and that's why I wanted to leave. This made me want to cry all over again. Charles was one of the sweetest children at Ronesa, for the past few days when I would tell them that I was leaving soon, he would say, "teacher Kate no go America!" with an unbearably adorable pouty face.
It's safe to say that those kids, especially the 6 of class one, have become a part of me. Sitting here at the VICDA volunteer house, where there is running water, electricity, and refrigeration, I feel strangely out of place. Saying goodbye is never easy, and it's a part of every meaningful experience, but that doesn't make it any less heartbreaking. My host mother and the entire community of Olosho-oibor have shown me such love. It feels wrong now to talk of Maasailand, Ronesa, and Rosemary in the past tense... I've already had to start trying to answer the dreaded question, "How was your trip?" with words that feel empty and shallow. There is a Maasai saying that goes "only the mountains never meet; but humans always will", and in this situation, I am confident that one day I'll be back here, back to show the people of that community how much they've affected me. I know that as time goes on their influence on me will not disappear, because, as Rosemary would say, "you are a Maasai now, Kate."
But enough wallowing, tomorrow I depart for a safari in the famous Maasai Mara with two other volunteers, on from Brazil and the other Mexico; it is sure to be a phenomenal three days. And then, because of a flight cancellation by Kenya Air, I'll leave Kenya for Madagascar (I can't believe it!) on Tuesday morning instead of Sunday night. This problem which at first had me quite worried, was quickly solved- I'll be staying the two extra nights with Sheila, Rosemary's first born daughter; yet another testament to the generosity of my family here.
I have so much to say, but pole (sorry), for right now words escape me. May I just say la la salama (goodnight) and asante sana (thank you very much) for allowing me to share my adventures with you.
Friday, March 16, 2012
45 small children
Where have the past 2 months gone? I've never felt time pass so quickly. My last day at Ronesa will be Wednesday, and then it's off to a 3 day safari in Maasai Mara, and then Madagascar in just one week. Madagascar. I haven't really even had a chance to think about Madagascar yet. I've been far too absorbed in Ronesa and the kids for the past 7 weeks to even let myself accept the thought of leaving.
For the past couple weeks the sky has deprived us of the rain that was so promising before. Without water again, it's back to hauling water, sweltering heat, and dust. But the kids seem immune to the high temperatures, many continue wearing their sweaters and even their hats throughout the midday heat while I sweat, seeking shade under an acacia tree.
Last week Ronesa got a new teacher. John, the 18 year old teacher, was just a temporary stand in for class one because they weren't able to find a teacher before the term started. Turned out he was actually quite a good teacher, one of the best at the school. But they found someone who was more qualified and so he took his spot. It's strange for me to be the veteran of class one now, I realize how well I know each child- Shadrack, Joseph, Charles, Neema, Jemimah, and Patrick, and how much we have come to respect one another. I secretly glow with pleasure and pride when the kids choose to bring their work to show me instead of the new teacher, even though I sympathize with the fact that he's in a completely new environment.
Last weekend I went with former teacher John to his home, which is down the hill at the bottom of the valley, and area called Intashat. It was a ridiculously hot day, and I was sweating as though I was in the middle of a hot yoga class. The hill was really steep and rocky, and keeping up with a young Maasai in their own territory is not easy, especially in flip flops. But once we got down to the bottom and looked back up it was stunning. The sheer rock faces are impressive, and apparently they attract mzungu rock climbers to the area. John's home sits against one of these rock faces, a rather dangerous place, and there have been a few instances where tumbling boulders have narrowly missed their home. His mother was so excited to see me, she prepared chai, and presented me with a leso (part of the traditional dress), a bracelet beaded to look like the US flag, and three Maasai necklaces. She insisted that we take pictures together so that I could go home to America and tell everyone about her.
A Maasai house usually consists of at least 5 buildings. Once a boy turns 16 and is regarded as a man, it's no longer acceptable for him to live with his parents, so he usually builds a home for himself within the same compound. Then there are the manyattas for extended family, the kitchen, and the latrine. And sometimes a structure for livestock. Every Maasai must have their own land, at least a few cows, goats, and sheep, and if you don't, you aren't really a Maasai. It's not uncommon for me to come across one of my young students on the weekends, walking behind 50 cows and goats on their way to the dam to drink water. Herding comes naturally to them. Even in the school compound they boys have to often chase away stray donkeys or cows. Their culture and livelihood centers around these animals. Even I can say now that I've milked a cow! It's a lot harder than you might think, especially since I was competing for the udders with a calf...
One of my favorite Maasai customs is the way you greet elders. If you're a girl you must, until you're an elder yourself, greet those who are older than you not with your hand, but with your head. You bow your head towards the person you're greeting and they touch it. Boys are expected to greet elders this way as well, but only until they're 16. To greet someone you say "Supa?" and they respond "Ipa", it's like saying "how are you?", "fine". Other traditional practices include pulling out the bottom two teeth, brushing your teeth with a stick, and stretching out the earlobes to hang like big loops. The belief with the teeth is that if you faint, or are unconscious and your mouth can't be opened, that water can be poured through the space where the teeth used to be. These cultural norms are becoming less and less common though. The area where I'm staying, Olosho-oibor, is not so far away from being developed. The communities on either side of us have electricity! But even at Olosho-oibor the wildlife has started going over the hill, towards the interior. There used to be lions, gazelle, buffalo, baboons, and many others, but now to sight one of them on this side of the hill is rare. Yesterday I saw a gazelle, and I've also seen bush babies and giraffe's of course. Not to mention countless birds that I'm sure my dad would go crazy over, but I lack appreciation for.
Just now the internet in this cafe went out. But luckily Google saved my blog post!
Just three more days at Ronesa. Unbelievable. But I'll do my best to embrace the change and not be too depressed to leave the kids. Very soon I'll be packing my life back into a small suitcase.. how unfortunate that there isn't space enough for 45 small children...
For the past couple weeks the sky has deprived us of the rain that was so promising before. Without water again, it's back to hauling water, sweltering heat, and dust. But the kids seem immune to the high temperatures, many continue wearing their sweaters and even their hats throughout the midday heat while I sweat, seeking shade under an acacia tree.
Last week Ronesa got a new teacher. John, the 18 year old teacher, was just a temporary stand in for class one because they weren't able to find a teacher before the term started. Turned out he was actually quite a good teacher, one of the best at the school. But they found someone who was more qualified and so he took his spot. It's strange for me to be the veteran of class one now, I realize how well I know each child- Shadrack, Joseph, Charles, Neema, Jemimah, and Patrick, and how much we have come to respect one another. I secretly glow with pleasure and pride when the kids choose to bring their work to show me instead of the new teacher, even though I sympathize with the fact that he's in a completely new environment.
Last weekend I went with former teacher John to his home, which is down the hill at the bottom of the valley, and area called Intashat. It was a ridiculously hot day, and I was sweating as though I was in the middle of a hot yoga class. The hill was really steep and rocky, and keeping up with a young Maasai in their own territory is not easy, especially in flip flops. But once we got down to the bottom and looked back up it was stunning. The sheer rock faces are impressive, and apparently they attract mzungu rock climbers to the area. John's home sits against one of these rock faces, a rather dangerous place, and there have been a few instances where tumbling boulders have narrowly missed their home. His mother was so excited to see me, she prepared chai, and presented me with a leso (part of the traditional dress), a bracelet beaded to look like the US flag, and three Maasai necklaces. She insisted that we take pictures together so that I could go home to America and tell everyone about her.
A Maasai house usually consists of at least 5 buildings. Once a boy turns 16 and is regarded as a man, it's no longer acceptable for him to live with his parents, so he usually builds a home for himself within the same compound. Then there are the manyattas for extended family, the kitchen, and the latrine. And sometimes a structure for livestock. Every Maasai must have their own land, at least a few cows, goats, and sheep, and if you don't, you aren't really a Maasai. It's not uncommon for me to come across one of my young students on the weekends, walking behind 50 cows and goats on their way to the dam to drink water. Herding comes naturally to them. Even in the school compound they boys have to often chase away stray donkeys or cows. Their culture and livelihood centers around these animals. Even I can say now that I've milked a cow! It's a lot harder than you might think, especially since I was competing for the udders with a calf...
One of my favorite Maasai customs is the way you greet elders. If you're a girl you must, until you're an elder yourself, greet those who are older than you not with your hand, but with your head. You bow your head towards the person you're greeting and they touch it. Boys are expected to greet elders this way as well, but only until they're 16. To greet someone you say "Supa?" and they respond "Ipa", it's like saying "how are you?", "fine". Other traditional practices include pulling out the bottom two teeth, brushing your teeth with a stick, and stretching out the earlobes to hang like big loops. The belief with the teeth is that if you faint, or are unconscious and your mouth can't be opened, that water can be poured through the space where the teeth used to be. These cultural norms are becoming less and less common though. The area where I'm staying, Olosho-oibor, is not so far away from being developed. The communities on either side of us have electricity! But even at Olosho-oibor the wildlife has started going over the hill, towards the interior. There used to be lions, gazelle, buffalo, baboons, and many others, but now to sight one of them on this side of the hill is rare. Yesterday I saw a gazelle, and I've also seen bush babies and giraffe's of course. Not to mention countless birds that I'm sure my dad would go crazy over, but I lack appreciation for.
Just now the internet in this cafe went out. But luckily Google saved my blog post!
Just three more days at Ronesa. Unbelievable. But I'll do my best to embrace the change and not be too depressed to leave the kids. Very soon I'll be packing my life back into a small suitcase.. how unfortunate that there isn't space enough for 45 small children...
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Rain
The rain has finally come to Maasailand. Where before there was nothing but overwhelming dust, unbearable heat, and thirst, there is now new vegetation, a mild climate, and plenty of water to drink. It came on Monday afternoon, the unfamiliar dark clouds and a strangely humid smell in the air made the teachers of Ronesa send the kids home early so that they could arrive before the downpour began. It started as a harmless drizzle, but before I knew it there was hail bombarding the tin roof, making us shout if we wanted to say something to one another. After the hail ended the sky just opened up and dumped buckets on us. The cracked, dry ground turned into a lake before our eyes, as the storage tanks which had been empty for months finally began to fill as the gutters brought them water from the roof; it was the most rain I've ever seen. It was the kind of rain you could take a shower in. (A shower I probably could have used...)
But before the rains came, when the area was still plagued with thirst, I went with Beatrice to fetch water at the tap that's at the government school of Olosho-Oibor. Carrying 20 liters of water on your back, with a cloth tied from the top of the jug to around your forehead is no easy task. Beatrice was very doubtful that I would be able to carry it, and she had every right to. She let me test it, and even just walking a few yards made my neck sore. I was allowed to carry 5 liters in the same manner, feeling silly walking next to her carrying 4 times more than myself. The Maasai are very strong, tough women. Their backs are straight as a board, but they are always slightly angled forward from the hip from years of hauling firewood, water, children, and everything else in the same manner as I described above.
Yesterday Beatrice started to plant Rosemary's fields with maize and beans, and she called me to come and help her, or try to at least... She showed me how to properly hack away at the hard earth with a jembe (a small hoe) in a line down the length of the field. Beatrice walked behind me, dropping 4 kernels of maize into the shallow hole and then pushing the earth back to cover them with her foot. Planting beans is even more tiring- She tied my leso (a large piece of fabric) around my waist so that I had a pocket in front like a kangaroo, and filled it with beans. Handing me the jembe, she bent at the waist and quickly and expertly began to carve away the soil with one stroke of the tool, sprinkle a few beans in the hole, and then cover them with another sweep of the jembe. I was not so quick. Often I would drop my handful of beans and have to pick them up, or i would get too close to the fence, or hit a rock, but I slowly improved. When it started raining we abandoned our work, and I had two small blisters on my jembe-holding hand to show everyone how inexperienced I am. Before running inside to escape the giant bullets of water raining down on us, we had to run back to the maize field to chase away the chickens that were trying to peck down to the maize we had just planted.
At Ronesa things are going well. I realized this past week how much the spoken English of grade one has improved in the past 4 weeks. They understand now that they can't communicate with me in Kiswahili, and the way they furrow their brow in concentration when they try to talk to me is priceless. "Teacher Kate! Teacher Kate! You-- I-- has finish number 4!" Sometimes it's exhausting, especially when I'm in the younger classes, because their attention span is much shorter and they would much rather cause mischief than learn how to write the alphabet. All the same, I can call every child at the school by name, and even though some of them are trouble makers, I love them all so much and the idea of leaving Ronesa is painful.
One thing I failed to mention in my last post is the night sky. It's absolutely incredible. My dad warned me before I came that the stars are brilliant, but it's impossible to describe to someone how truly awe-inspiring they are. I've never been able to actually see clearly the outline of a constellation, but here they are clear as day because none of the stars are blacked out from light pollution; when you walk outside at night it's pitch black. The first night I noticed them I literally had to catch my breath, which has never happened to me before, especially not from simply looking up!
Two weeks ago on Sunday, there was a celebration for the opening of the new church for the community. It was a huge event and seeing so many people in a place where people are hardly ever so concentrated was overwhelming. My mom was out until 3am the night before preparing food for the masses along with the rest of the ladies in the community. About ten ginormous pots were cooking over fires when I arrived to the church, and men were busy dissecting a goat on the grass under a tree, while freshly butchered cow meat was smoking next to another fire. Later, after the ceremony and service, the peace keeper of the area (the man who carries the giraffe tail) asked me, "Nashipae, have you taken blood?" Replying no, he wanted to give me some before I was able, with a little difficulty, to explain to him that I don't eat animals. A very strange concept to the Maasai, who love their meat so much. Usually I just tell people that it hurts my body to eat meat, because otherwise the questions become endless and I am the recipient of many strange looks.
But before the rains came, when the area was still plagued with thirst, I went with Beatrice to fetch water at the tap that's at the government school of Olosho-Oibor. Carrying 20 liters of water on your back, with a cloth tied from the top of the jug to around your forehead is no easy task. Beatrice was very doubtful that I would be able to carry it, and she had every right to. She let me test it, and even just walking a few yards made my neck sore. I was allowed to carry 5 liters in the same manner, feeling silly walking next to her carrying 4 times more than myself. The Maasai are very strong, tough women. Their backs are straight as a board, but they are always slightly angled forward from the hip from years of hauling firewood, water, children, and everything else in the same manner as I described above.
Yesterday Beatrice started to plant Rosemary's fields with maize and beans, and she called me to come and help her, or try to at least... She showed me how to properly hack away at the hard earth with a jembe (a small hoe) in a line down the length of the field. Beatrice walked behind me, dropping 4 kernels of maize into the shallow hole and then pushing the earth back to cover them with her foot. Planting beans is even more tiring- She tied my leso (a large piece of fabric) around my waist so that I had a pocket in front like a kangaroo, and filled it with beans. Handing me the jembe, she bent at the waist and quickly and expertly began to carve away the soil with one stroke of the tool, sprinkle a few beans in the hole, and then cover them with another sweep of the jembe. I was not so quick. Often I would drop my handful of beans and have to pick them up, or i would get too close to the fence, or hit a rock, but I slowly improved. When it started raining we abandoned our work, and I had two small blisters on my jembe-holding hand to show everyone how inexperienced I am. Before running inside to escape the giant bullets of water raining down on us, we had to run back to the maize field to chase away the chickens that were trying to peck down to the maize we had just planted.
At Ronesa things are going well. I realized this past week how much the spoken English of grade one has improved in the past 4 weeks. They understand now that they can't communicate with me in Kiswahili, and the way they furrow their brow in concentration when they try to talk to me is priceless. "Teacher Kate! Teacher Kate! You-- I-- has finish number 4!" Sometimes it's exhausting, especially when I'm in the younger classes, because their attention span is much shorter and they would much rather cause mischief than learn how to write the alphabet. All the same, I can call every child at the school by name, and even though some of them are trouble makers, I love them all so much and the idea of leaving Ronesa is painful.
One thing I failed to mention in my last post is the night sky. It's absolutely incredible. My dad warned me before I came that the stars are brilliant, but it's impossible to describe to someone how truly awe-inspiring they are. I've never been able to actually see clearly the outline of a constellation, but here they are clear as day because none of the stars are blacked out from light pollution; when you walk outside at night it's pitch black. The first night I noticed them I literally had to catch my breath, which has never happened to me before, especially not from simply looking up!
Two weeks ago on Sunday, there was a celebration for the opening of the new church for the community. It was a huge event and seeing so many people in a place where people are hardly ever so concentrated was overwhelming. My mom was out until 3am the night before preparing food for the masses along with the rest of the ladies in the community. About ten ginormous pots were cooking over fires when I arrived to the church, and men were busy dissecting a goat on the grass under a tree, while freshly butchered cow meat was smoking next to another fire. Later, after the ceremony and service, the peace keeper of the area (the man who carries the giraffe tail) asked me, "Nashipae, have you taken blood?" Replying no, he wanted to give me some before I was able, with a little difficulty, to explain to him that I don't eat animals. A very strange concept to the Maasai, who love their meat so much. Usually I just tell people that it hurts my body to eat meat, because otherwise the questions become endless and I am the recipient of many strange looks.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
There's a fly in my chai
Before I start attempting to describe the last couple weeks, I want to correct mistakes from my last post. Firstly, the name of the school that I'm volunteering with is called Ronesa, not Roynasa. It means "coming together" in Maasai. Secondly, I am not north of Ngong, but northwest.
Today marks the end of the 5th week that I've been in Kenya, which means that I'm halfway through my Kenya trip! What a wild thought. The past two weeks that I've spent in Olosho-oibor have been absolutely incredible. I can already tell that leaving this place is going to be very hard.
In order to help you understand what I'm doing on a daily basis without recounting the many adventures I've had every day, I'm going to describe one "typical" day of my present life.
I wake up each morning at 6:30, and though I set my alarm, it's usually the roosters that wake me without fail, about 2 minutes before my alarm sounds. On a day when I shower (which are few...) I'll ask Rosemary's niece, Beatrice, whom she has employed to be her domestic assistant, to warm a little water for me. I take the bucket of water out to a small structure next to the latrine and pour water on myself with a cup in attempt to wash away the dust and dirt. After my refreshing bucket shower, I go inside to have chai and chapati for breakfast and get dressed. Before I leave for Ronesa I go outside to the yard and brush my teeth as I watch the sun rise over the hills towards Ngong.
I walk across Rosemary's maize field on a small path to the school, and usually am there by 7:45. At 8:00, the students line up for assembly by class, where they are scolded if their uniform is incomplete, their hair isn't short, etc. Then they recite bible verses and sing songs until about 8:15, and then it's back to class. I begin the morning with either an English, math, or science lesson with grade one, then the same with pre-unit, and again with either nursery or baby class. They have a couple breaks throughout the day, when they go outside and play with a soccer ball or jump ropes accompanied by the cows and goats that like to graze in the school yard. There are 43 students total, 4 more were enrolled in the last 2 weeks since it's still the beginning of the term. Teaching in Kenya is dramatically different than the elementary teaching style I grew up with. Resources are the main limiting factor. 90% of teaching is done with nothing more than chalk and a blackboard. Children learn through repetition and copying, and are disciplined using a stick, which has taken some getting used to for me. But each day I get to know the students better, and they are learning to respect me as "teacher Kate", not just another mzungu.
At 12:20 I go home for lunch, and then come back an hour later. In the afternoons I don't normally teach, unless a teacher is absent, but instead I either work one-on-one with students that I've noticed struggling, especially with reading and writing, or I do other work for the school like covering books or making posters to put on the wall. The one-on-one time that I've spent with one particular student named Patrick, in grade one, has already been really rewarding. Every day he comes up to me and says, "teacher Kate, reading?" Now when he looks at a word he begins to try to sound it out, instead of just memorizing how certain words look, as he was before. And not only is it good for the students to have this individual attention, but it's good for the teachers to see the benefits that arise from stepping away from the blackboard and focusing on the kids. The employed grade one teacher is named John, he is 18, he'll be starting university in May to study education, but as of now he has no experience.
At 3:00 the students are dismissed and they all run to the gate to begin their walk home, which is as much as 7km for some students. I go home, usually exhausted, and relax and talk about the school with Rosemary and teacher Joseph. At 4:00 we have another cup of chai, which one of the zillions of flies decided to go swimming in the other day. Once it's cooled off a little, by about 5:00, I'll either go with Beatrice to collect firewood (and carry it on my head), help her cook chapati, wash clothes, or go with Joseph (not the teacher, a man who lives down the road, a friend of Rosemary) to look for giraffe's. On Tuesday we were particularly lucky and came across about 30 of them wandering across the bush at sunset. I just wanted to stand and stare at them forever, but I had to tear my eyes away because we had to get back before dark. In the evening I'll read, write in my journal, and eat dinner with Rosemary. The food is really heavy, usually maize and some type of beans, chapati, potatoes, or ugali (traditional Kenyan food, I'm not sure how to describe it). At around 8:30 Beatrice, Ann (Beatrice's sister who stays with Rosemary to go to school), and Dan (employed by Rosemary to take care of the livestock, etc.) come into the house. One of them reads from a Bible translated to Swahili or Maasai, and then they pray and talk about their day. By 9:00 I'm usually asleep under my mosquito net, or attempting to kill one that has gotten inside my sleeping sanctuary.
On Sunday's we go to church from 10:30 to 1:30, which you might think is a very long time to sit down and listen to somebody preach in a foreign language, but it's not like that at all. Nearly the whole time is spent singing and dancing to blaring, rhythmic music, and watching Maasai dance is quite impressive and entertaining.
This week both Joseph and Rosemary unknowingly bestowed upon me the same Maasai name, Nashipae. It's pronounced Nah-shey-pie, and it means joy. They like to constantly remind me how happy I am and "what a big blow" it will be to Ronesa and the community when I leave.
There are about a trillion other things that I wish I could talk about, for so much has happened to me in the last two weeks, but my Internet time is limited and my budget is tight! I know that what I've written doesn't even begin to do justice to the experience that I'm actually having, but I hope it has helped to paint you a picture of my life here in Maasailand that I love so much!
Today marks the end of the 5th week that I've been in Kenya, which means that I'm halfway through my Kenya trip! What a wild thought. The past two weeks that I've spent in Olosho-oibor have been absolutely incredible. I can already tell that leaving this place is going to be very hard.
In order to help you understand what I'm doing on a daily basis without recounting the many adventures I've had every day, I'm going to describe one "typical" day of my present life.
I wake up each morning at 6:30, and though I set my alarm, it's usually the roosters that wake me without fail, about 2 minutes before my alarm sounds. On a day when I shower (which are few...) I'll ask Rosemary's niece, Beatrice, whom she has employed to be her domestic assistant, to warm a little water for me. I take the bucket of water out to a small structure next to the latrine and pour water on myself with a cup in attempt to wash away the dust and dirt. After my refreshing bucket shower, I go inside to have chai and chapati for breakfast and get dressed. Before I leave for Ronesa I go outside to the yard and brush my teeth as I watch the sun rise over the hills towards Ngong.
I walk across Rosemary's maize field on a small path to the school, and usually am there by 7:45. At 8:00, the students line up for assembly by class, where they are scolded if their uniform is incomplete, their hair isn't short, etc. Then they recite bible verses and sing songs until about 8:15, and then it's back to class. I begin the morning with either an English, math, or science lesson with grade one, then the same with pre-unit, and again with either nursery or baby class. They have a couple breaks throughout the day, when they go outside and play with a soccer ball or jump ropes accompanied by the cows and goats that like to graze in the school yard. There are 43 students total, 4 more were enrolled in the last 2 weeks since it's still the beginning of the term. Teaching in Kenya is dramatically different than the elementary teaching style I grew up with. Resources are the main limiting factor. 90% of teaching is done with nothing more than chalk and a blackboard. Children learn through repetition and copying, and are disciplined using a stick, which has taken some getting used to for me. But each day I get to know the students better, and they are learning to respect me as "teacher Kate", not just another mzungu.
At 12:20 I go home for lunch, and then come back an hour later. In the afternoons I don't normally teach, unless a teacher is absent, but instead I either work one-on-one with students that I've noticed struggling, especially with reading and writing, or I do other work for the school like covering books or making posters to put on the wall. The one-on-one time that I've spent with one particular student named Patrick, in grade one, has already been really rewarding. Every day he comes up to me and says, "teacher Kate, reading?" Now when he looks at a word he begins to try to sound it out, instead of just memorizing how certain words look, as he was before. And not only is it good for the students to have this individual attention, but it's good for the teachers to see the benefits that arise from stepping away from the blackboard and focusing on the kids. The employed grade one teacher is named John, he is 18, he'll be starting university in May to study education, but as of now he has no experience.
At 3:00 the students are dismissed and they all run to the gate to begin their walk home, which is as much as 7km for some students. I go home, usually exhausted, and relax and talk about the school with Rosemary and teacher Joseph. At 4:00 we have another cup of chai, which one of the zillions of flies decided to go swimming in the other day. Once it's cooled off a little, by about 5:00, I'll either go with Beatrice to collect firewood (and carry it on my head), help her cook chapati, wash clothes, or go with Joseph (not the teacher, a man who lives down the road, a friend of Rosemary) to look for giraffe's. On Tuesday we were particularly lucky and came across about 30 of them wandering across the bush at sunset. I just wanted to stand and stare at them forever, but I had to tear my eyes away because we had to get back before dark. In the evening I'll read, write in my journal, and eat dinner with Rosemary. The food is really heavy, usually maize and some type of beans, chapati, potatoes, or ugali (traditional Kenyan food, I'm not sure how to describe it). At around 8:30 Beatrice, Ann (Beatrice's sister who stays with Rosemary to go to school), and Dan (employed by Rosemary to take care of the livestock, etc.) come into the house. One of them reads from a Bible translated to Swahili or Maasai, and then they pray and talk about their day. By 9:00 I'm usually asleep under my mosquito net, or attempting to kill one that has gotten inside my sleeping sanctuary.
On Sunday's we go to church from 10:30 to 1:30, which you might think is a very long time to sit down and listen to somebody preach in a foreign language, but it's not like that at all. Nearly the whole time is spent singing and dancing to blaring, rhythmic music, and watching Maasai dance is quite impressive and entertaining.
This week both Joseph and Rosemary unknowingly bestowed upon me the same Maasai name, Nashipae. It's pronounced Nah-shey-pie, and it means joy. They like to constantly remind me how happy I am and "what a big blow" it will be to Ronesa and the community when I leave.
There are about a trillion other things that I wish I could talk about, for so much has happened to me in the last two weeks, but my Internet time is limited and my budget is tight! I know that what I've written doesn't even begin to do justice to the experience that I'm actually having, but I hope it has helped to paint you a picture of my life here in Maasailand that I love so much!
Friday, February 3, 2012
From Mombasa to Maasailand
I've now been in Kenya for 3 weeks. The passing of time is so disorienting; it feels like months ago that I left Anchorage, and I feel at home in Kenya, but each day passes and before you know it it's a new month.
Last weekend Michelle and I went to Mombasa. It was a weekend both busy and relaxing. The streets of Mombasa are winding, confusing, and so very crowded. We spend about half of Saturday looking for a map of the city... a bit ironic. We stayed at the Jambo Paradise hotel in Mombasa, and that gave us the flexibility to visit both the northern and southern coasts. The beaches were the most beautiful ones I have ever seen. The Indian ocean is the perfect temperature for swimming, and is the brilliant turquoise color you always see in photos of paradise. To add to the picturesque image I'm sure is in your mind, imagine me riding a camel along the beach.
An 8 hour overnight bus ride later and we were back in Nairobi. Suddenly I only had two days left at Happy Life before leaving for Maasailand. Wednesday was Michelle's birthday so we celebrated by getting manicures and pedicures at a beauty shop along the street. The lady had never been to beauty school, but she made my feet look and feel as though they had never seen a speck of dust. That changed rather quickly.
Thursday morning came and I had to say goodbye to the babies. It was the most difficult to say bye to Sean, my favorite, who made huge improvements in his health while I was there. Then it was into the taxi and off to the next chapter of my adventure.
We drove northwest to Ngong, where I purchased six 5 ltr bottles of drinking water. Then we continued on and the road soon turned to dirt. We only got stuck on the road once on the way to my host family. The whole drive, despite the dust, I kept my window open because the scenery is breathtaking. I'm living just north of Ngong, at the start of the Rift Valley. The community is so spread out it almost appears from a distance as if nobody is living there at all. The landscape is full of acacia trees and lots of thorny bushes that continue as far as you can see, until they meet the mountains on the other side of the valley. The hills on the south side of the valley are sprinkled with windmills that supply power to Ngong. And my host mother, the most kind, warm, and inviting woman I've ever met, has a solar panel that allows her to have one light bulb in the evening when it gets dark. Rosemary, my Maasai mama, is the woman who started Roynasa (questionable spelling) primary school, where I'm teaching. She also has land for growing maize and beans, 5 cows, lots of goats, and too many chickens to count. The school is just next door to the house, so in the mornings at 8am I walk across the garden and through a gate to the school. It is a single building with a wooden frame and metal sheet siding and roofing, and it's divided into 4 areas. The school started in 2009 with just one class, so the highest grade is 1. But each year the school will continue to grow as the students progress to the next level and as more young children come to be educated. Frdiday morning I was handed a piece of chalk and asked to teach science, "head, shoulders, knees and toes" proved very useful. I spent some time in each class on , it was challenging because there is such a stark language barrier between us, limited resources, not to mention that they are overcome with fascination at the color of my skin and just want to touch me all the time. But the staff (there are 4) have been so helpful and I'm sure I'll find my niche here just as I did at Happy Life. The next seven weeks are sure to fly by.
Yesterday evening Rosemary took me for a walk across the savanna and to the watering reservoir where the giraffes come to drink every day. When we first arrived there were none there, but as we waited their long necks and heads began to appear, and they slowly and cautiously walked towards the water. They are so beautiful; each step they take is deliberate and measured, you feel so small seeing them so close. I took so many photos, but I'm doubtful that they'll be able to convey the beauty of a family of giraffes bending down to drink water with acacia trees in the background during an African sunset.
There is so much that is running through my mind, I think I could write about just the last two days for hours. Internet here is more expensive and harder to get to than it was in Roysambu, although it is not uncommon to see an old Maasai man herding his goats and sheep to water across the bush while talking on his cell phone. Many people, if given the choice between shoes and a cell phone, will prefer to have the latter.
Last weekend Michelle and I went to Mombasa. It was a weekend both busy and relaxing. The streets of Mombasa are winding, confusing, and so very crowded. We spend about half of Saturday looking for a map of the city... a bit ironic. We stayed at the Jambo Paradise hotel in Mombasa, and that gave us the flexibility to visit both the northern and southern coasts. The beaches were the most beautiful ones I have ever seen. The Indian ocean is the perfect temperature for swimming, and is the brilliant turquoise color you always see in photos of paradise. To add to the picturesque image I'm sure is in your mind, imagine me riding a camel along the beach.
An 8 hour overnight bus ride later and we were back in Nairobi. Suddenly I only had two days left at Happy Life before leaving for Maasailand. Wednesday was Michelle's birthday so we celebrated by getting manicures and pedicures at a beauty shop along the street. The lady had never been to beauty school, but she made my feet look and feel as though they had never seen a speck of dust. That changed rather quickly.
Thursday morning came and I had to say goodbye to the babies. It was the most difficult to say bye to Sean, my favorite, who made huge improvements in his health while I was there. Then it was into the taxi and off to the next chapter of my adventure.
We drove northwest to Ngong, where I purchased six 5 ltr bottles of drinking water. Then we continued on and the road soon turned to dirt. We only got stuck on the road once on the way to my host family. The whole drive, despite the dust, I kept my window open because the scenery is breathtaking. I'm living just north of Ngong, at the start of the Rift Valley. The community is so spread out it almost appears from a distance as if nobody is living there at all. The landscape is full of acacia trees and lots of thorny bushes that continue as far as you can see, until they meet the mountains on the other side of the valley. The hills on the south side of the valley are sprinkled with windmills that supply power to Ngong. And my host mother, the most kind, warm, and inviting woman I've ever met, has a solar panel that allows her to have one light bulb in the evening when it gets dark. Rosemary, my Maasai mama, is the woman who started Roynasa (questionable spelling) primary school, where I'm teaching. She also has land for growing maize and beans, 5 cows, lots of goats, and too many chickens to count. The school is just next door to the house, so in the mornings at 8am I walk across the garden and through a gate to the school. It is a single building with a wooden frame and metal sheet siding and roofing, and it's divided into 4 areas. The school started in 2009 with just one class, so the highest grade is 1. But each year the school will continue to grow as the students progress to the next level and as more young children come to be educated. Frdiday morning I was handed a piece of chalk and asked to teach science, "head, shoulders, knees and toes" proved very useful. I spent some time in each class on , it was challenging because there is such a stark language barrier between us, limited resources, not to mention that they are overcome with fascination at the color of my skin and just want to touch me all the time. But the staff (there are 4) have been so helpful and I'm sure I'll find my niche here just as I did at Happy Life. The next seven weeks are sure to fly by.
Yesterday evening Rosemary took me for a walk across the savanna and to the watering reservoir where the giraffes come to drink every day. When we first arrived there were none there, but as we waited their long necks and heads began to appear, and they slowly and cautiously walked towards the water. They are so beautiful; each step they take is deliberate and measured, you feel so small seeing them so close. I took so many photos, but I'm doubtful that they'll be able to convey the beauty of a family of giraffes bending down to drink water with acacia trees in the background during an African sunset.
There is so much that is running through my mind, I think I could write about just the last two days for hours. Internet here is more expensive and harder to get to than it was in Roysambu, although it is not uncommon to see an old Maasai man herding his goats and sheep to water across the bush while talking on his cell phone. Many people, if given the choice between shoes and a cell phone, will prefer to have the latter.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
"Whatever you thought, think again"
Saturday morning Michelle (from Australia) and I woke up at the normal time, but instead of feeding the infants at 8:30, we walked down the main street of Roysambu to where you catch the matatu. Matatu's are small vans that are the main mode of transport in Nairobi and the surrounding area. There is no limit to how many people can fit in a matatu... Our route number is 44 or 45, coming and going from Roysambu to Nairobi, but unfortunately they're not very well labeled. But as we crossed the busy, dusty street, all we had to do was say, "45?" to the eager conductors and we found our matatu right away. It was quite the wild ride, I felt like we were going to rear end the cars in front of us every time, but it never happened, despite the morning rush hour chaos. Once in the city, we found the Barclays band and took out more money than I would have liked, but went and paid a deposit for a Masai Mara safari that I'm going to do the last 3 days of my time in Kenya- so exciting! After that a man from the VICDA office took us to the Masai Market. Both Michelle and I had been looking forward to this all week! We were immediately surrounded by so many crafts and insistent vendors, "looking is free! Touching is free! I give you good price!" It was a little overwhelming at the beginning, but similar to my initial experience at Happy Life, things gradually slowed down. "Pole pole," they say, slowly slowly. We left the market with our bags much heavier than when we arrived. And my mzungu (white person) skin was a little fried on my shoulders. We went back to the office to meet Peter, our guide for the tour of Kibera. We took another matatu from the city center out to the slums, and got off on a crowded and busy street, with countless small shops and stands. Peter led us into a small passageway that I never would have otherwise noticed and suddenly we were in a labyrinth of short, compacted, hand constructed buildings. Into another passage way and between hanging laundry we were taken into Peter's house, which was very neat, clean, and homey. We dropped our bags and out the door we went. He showed us the Kibera clinic, the public latrines, the water supply, and nearly everyone we passed, especially children, said "HOW ARE YOU?!" Walking farther down the street the pungent smell of burning trash filled the air. The dumping sites are along the side of the road, and it is not uncommon to see people bent at the waist, hunting for scraps of something useful in the rubbish. As we entered the disorienting maze of Kibera again, we had to watch our step for the small streams of black water that run down, full of modly trash and grime. Every person smiled, said hello, and all the children wanted photos, which we were happy to take. It was so elating to see their faces light up when they looked at an image of themself on a small screen. They'd all scream, laugh and point. We somehow ended up back at Peter's house, where he showed us an old special edition National Geographic magazine, with "AFRICA" on the cover, and below that, "Whatever you thought, think again". These were Peter's words. He worked with the National Geographic crew, particuarly the photographers, and there is a small artile about him, as well as a large photo. He's a really sincere guy who is really adamant about bringing change to Kibera. Before going to the slums, I was mentally preparing myself to feel sorry for everyone there, but after leaving I really felt more sorry for myself. Not a single person there seemed unhappy. It was kind of refreshing actually, to be around people who really love other people, there was such a strong sense of community there that you could see on everyone's faces. Africa as a whole is misjudged greatly, and it was great to prove stereotype wrong in an area that is typically viewed so poorly.
We walked for awhile along the train tracks and on a dirt path along the road, eating small plums and sugarcane on the way to where we were spending the night: one of VICDA's host families. We had a good meal, and crashed. The next day it was off to Nairobi again to visit the August 7th memorial park and the Elephant Orphanage. Unfortunately, we forgot our maps... and most people had no idea what we were talking about. So we wandered and ended up visiting another market, although much smaller and a lot quieter because it was a sunday. There we met some very friendly and comical vendors, who thought I should come back to Kenya when I finish my studies and marry a nice Kenyan man, like one of them. We had a lot of laughs and got some good deals, and then went to find lunch. The place where we went had a huge menu, and lots of different cuisines. They had a veggie burger, so I decided to try it. However, when they brought it out, there was no burger. It was just veggies on a bun. Really, when you think about it, it makes sense! There's no such thing as a vegetarian burger. After several matatu rides that took us to the wrong place, and a short and fun motor bike ride back to Happy Life, we were back "home". We both slept so well, and this morning it was so hard to get up! But it was nice to see the babies again, and so many of them that were sick made huge improvements over the weekend. We've been making nametags for each of the babies to put on their crib, and we're going to make posters of their birthdays too. We've found our niche; the babies keep us busy and happy, and now that they're not all sick and have diarrhea, we're getting to know their personalities and it's pretty fun. We take the older kids in small doses. And we've met the lady in charge, Rosemary, who was on holiday for most of the first week, so communicaiton is improving.
We walked for awhile along the train tracks and on a dirt path along the road, eating small plums and sugarcane on the way to where we were spending the night: one of VICDA's host families. We had a good meal, and crashed. The next day it was off to Nairobi again to visit the August 7th memorial park and the Elephant Orphanage. Unfortunately, we forgot our maps... and most people had no idea what we were talking about. So we wandered and ended up visiting another market, although much smaller and a lot quieter because it was a sunday. There we met some very friendly and comical vendors, who thought I should come back to Kenya when I finish my studies and marry a nice Kenyan man, like one of them. We had a lot of laughs and got some good deals, and then went to find lunch. The place where we went had a huge menu, and lots of different cuisines. They had a veggie burger, so I decided to try it. However, when they brought it out, there was no burger. It was just veggies on a bun. Really, when you think about it, it makes sense! There's no such thing as a vegetarian burger. After several matatu rides that took us to the wrong place, and a short and fun motor bike ride back to Happy Life, we were back "home". We both slept so well, and this morning it was so hard to get up! But it was nice to see the babies again, and so many of them that were sick made huge improvements over the weekend. We've been making nametags for each of the babies to put on their crib, and we're going to make posters of their birthdays too. We've found our niche; the babies keep us busy and happy, and now that they're not all sick and have diarrhea, we're getting to know their personalities and it's pretty fun. We take the older kids in small doses. And we've met the lady in charge, Rosemary, who was on holiday for most of the first week, so communicaiton is improving.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Spit and poop
I don't even know where to begin. The afternoon that we got to Happy Life was utter chaos. They put the children in this "playpen" which is more like child prison, and told us to go play with them in this metal cage thing. Over the course of an hour I was spit on three times, hit, grabbed, hanged off of, cried on, two kids peed, and another kid tried to drink his pee off the disgusting floor. It was a bit overwhelming. We weren't instructed at all as to what our duties were, and we've had a lot of misunderstandings, but it's only the second day and we're beginning to figure things out. Basically you can choose what part of the home you'd like to focus your time on, such as feeding the babies, changing/playing with toddlers, or playing with the kids. The babies eat at 5am, 8:30am, noon, 3:00pm, 7:00 pm, and 12am. We have the choice of going at either 5am or at 12am. Today we tried going at night but we fell asleep and the alarm was useless. So tomorrow we're going to try to wake up early. It's pretty exhausting and I've seen, smelled and felt some interesting things... Lots of baby spit up and yucky poopy diapers. But it's pretty easy to make free time between feedings. Yesterday I bought some mangoes which I can't wait to eat when they ripen.
Today we took 3 of the babies to the hospital and it turned out that one had a virus, one a bacterial infection, and the other pneumonia. I was holding one of them while they got an injection and I almost fainted. I felt like a total wimp but it freaked me out. The baby didn't even begin to cry.
The food has been great so far. Nothing that I can say is specifically my favorite but some great potatoes, lentils, and lentil like grains. They have this white tasteless mush stuff that is actually really good with veggies and other stuff. I've been drinking a lot of tea too. Also- no mosquito bites yet! But then again, I am kind of in the city, or at least 30 minutes outside of it.
My feet are so gross. Just walking down the dusty street for 15 minutes and they're black. We actually do have a shower in our room, but it's electric so I keep shocking myself. The accommodations are quite nice compared to what I would have expected.
Today we took 3 of the babies to the hospital and it turned out that one had a virus, one a bacterial infection, and the other pneumonia. I was holding one of them while they got an injection and I almost fainted. I felt like a total wimp but it freaked me out. The baby didn't even begin to cry.
The food has been great so far. Nothing that I can say is specifically my favorite but some great potatoes, lentils, and lentil like grains. They have this white tasteless mush stuff that is actually really good with veggies and other stuff. I've been drinking a lot of tea too. Also- no mosquito bites yet! But then again, I am kind of in the city, or at least 30 minutes outside of it.
My feet are so gross. Just walking down the dusty street for 15 minutes and they're black. We actually do have a shower in our room, but it's electric so I keep shocking myself. The accommodations are quite nice compared to what I would have expected.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
7 airports, 5 flights, 3 days
After traveling across 12 times zones through 7 airports and on 5 different flights, I'm finally in Nairobi. Sorry to my parents for not contacting them from London, but my connection was really close and I had no time to try to message or call you. On both flights to and from London I met some really nice people. And coincidentally, the guy I met on the flight to Nairobi is applying to Colorado College. He's spent his gap year in South Sudan. Very cool. It was nice to talk to someone my age in a similar position who I could relate to. When I landed (an hour late) I was met by David, a driver for VICDA who took me to the volunteer house. I didn't arrive until almost midnight, so I slept, even though it felt like noon. This morning Michelle, from Australia, and I had orientation, then went to the city center of Nairobi to get oriented, buy water, and go to the ATM. We're planning to visit the slums next weekend (the largest one in Africa) and the following week to go to Mombasa. Right now I'm writing to you from a small cyber cafe with a really crappy keyboard about 30 minutes from the city center right across the street from Happy Life Children's Home. I'll be here for the next two weeks, helping to look after over 50 children, mostly infants and toddlers, with Michelle and one other volunteer from Argentina. It's very hot and dusty, but I'm enjoying the absence of snow!
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