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.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
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.
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