He orders a double tequila and orange juice. I think, ‘wow I like the way he rolls, but it is 1pm’ and order a Nile beer. After all, it is 1pm on my first Saturday off in months. We are at a pool with a view, The Best View in Kampala in fact. It is up on the hill overlooking the edge of town and the start of the Great Lake. We are the only people at the pool - it is stunning, the beauty, the quiet, the peace.
In a break in our saga of life stories, the drinks arrive and silence follows. Absolute silence. There is not a church down the hill practicing the organ. There is not a man nailing iron sheets to his roof. There is not a matatu blowing his horn and kicking up dust, there are not kids calling to each other on the football pitch. SILENCE. I instinctively take a deep breath, a sip of beer and lay back on my recliner. This is the life…
It only takes a few minutes for this peace to turn to disquiet. An unknown tense anxiety rolls over me. I can’t place it. I walk to the end of the pool and look out over town. I expect to see tufts of smoke rising over burning Kikuyu businesses and homes. I am taken back to Kenya two years ago. The quiet in the days following the election was deafening - thick with tension.
I am sitting out back of Marcus’ apartment anxiously pretending to read a book about a travel journalist in East Africa, hoping the neighbors will turn on the international news. Kenya broadcast TV and radio have been shut down. Waiting. Every hour or so Nate would check in on me and see if I heard anything. I was going mad - I felt the madness of the country. It wasn’t even my country, but I felt the pulse of the people - quickening. I needed to stop thinking about the what-if’s for a moment, so I walk to the road just as the cops shoot tear gas at empty shops where one too many people had gathered.
It wasn’t my country, but that day when I heard the election results announced on the radio in favor of Kibaki I started crying. The country had stopped, held its breath, waiting, praying that this would not be the result. People knew what was coming long before the announcement. I go inside to tell my friends the result, they don’t believe it. Charles chuckles cynically, knowing he had just won 5,000 Kenyan shillings in a rigged election.
Without really thinking, I immediately leave- I need to talk to people. To get a sense of the destruction that was to come. People that voted for Kibaki were afraid to tell me, and were just as upset by what had happened. They knew that their man had stolen the election, and they too were scared, not just for repercussions of having supported Kibaki, but the repercussions of a government that is derived from corruption. I walk out to the road where I have a decent view of Kericho. It is burning. I hear the pops of gun shots in town. Right in front of me, I see men hoping over fences-running.
I find myself on a rooftop, watching Kenya burn as the sun sets. The people in the apartment nearby invite me in to watch the inauguration of the President. This is thirty minutes after the results were announced. The ceremony is in secret, only about twenty of Kibaki’s closest party members are present. Only one TV station is covering the event, but it is the only thing allowed on air, so there is no real difficulty finding the right station. There is no pomp. There is no circumstance. Just making it official. I felt dirty watching it. I cried with the people gathered in the small room. A few shook their hands at the TV crying, “The blood is on your hands.”
People had hope for this election. They finally had the opportunity to express true democracy. They no longer had to live under a dictator, and they no longer had to make alliances they didn’t believe in inorder to depose that dictator. They had a choice, and looked to the future. But the ruling elite didn’t like their version of the future.
Morgan inquires after my sudden solitude. I begin to go into the moment I was just in but feel myself sinking. I dive into the pool and return to my beer.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Benson
“Whoever gets education may also become strong leaders, may learn to change things, but the rebels did not want the war to ever end.”
This quote is from Benson Wereje, a refugee from Congo, describing why the Congolese rebels attacked school children, attacked his school. Benson’s life and dedication has become one of the deepest roots of Educate!. Every mentor and every student that passes through our program reads his story, and after they meet him for the first time, a little fire is lit inside. I met Benson for the first time this last weekend. Though, when I met him, he was no longer the frightened young boy running for his life through the Congolese forest towards some unknown destination that had to be better than his burning village. He is now a strong young student at one of East Africa’s best universities and the president of a successful refugee organization who returned earlier this year to his home village to establish his community development organization at the request of President Kabila. Shaking Benson’s hand, a fire was re-ignited in me.
My Peace Corps experience and the aftermath of the Kenyan election made me a cynic. I continued pursing this line of work because it was at my core, this belief, and because to not try was unimaginable. But Benson, Benson gives me hope, he brought out the dormant in me.
After an overwhelming day like today-that started at 9am with me leading a 3 hour meeting with our six Ugandan mentors and went straight into creating the weekly newsletter, holding one-on-one meetings with my mentors, dealing with demands from the state side of our operation and ended at 7pm (only because I made myself stop) with me working on a white paper for the ministry of education-Benson’s story reaffirms why I am here - Why I moved across the world, away from every person I love, every comfort I enjoy and fast internet.
Education, civic empowerment, social responsibility. These ideas really can revolutionize the world. I believe in it, and in my three weeks here I have seen it .
This quote is from Benson Wereje, a refugee from Congo, describing why the Congolese rebels attacked school children, attacked his school. Benson’s life and dedication has become one of the deepest roots of Educate!. Every mentor and every student that passes through our program reads his story, and after they meet him for the first time, a little fire is lit inside. I met Benson for the first time this last weekend. Though, when I met him, he was no longer the frightened young boy running for his life through the Congolese forest towards some unknown destination that had to be better than his burning village. He is now a strong young student at one of East Africa’s best universities and the president of a successful refugee organization who returned earlier this year to his home village to establish his community development organization at the request of President Kabila. Shaking Benson’s hand, a fire was re-ignited in me.
My Peace Corps experience and the aftermath of the Kenyan election made me a cynic. I continued pursing this line of work because it was at my core, this belief, and because to not try was unimaginable. But Benson, Benson gives me hope, he brought out the dormant in me.
After an overwhelming day like today-that started at 9am with me leading a 3 hour meeting with our six Ugandan mentors and went straight into creating the weekly newsletter, holding one-on-one meetings with my mentors, dealing with demands from the state side of our operation and ended at 7pm (only because I made myself stop) with me working on a white paper for the ministry of education-Benson’s story reaffirms why I am here - Why I moved across the world, away from every person I love, every comfort I enjoy and fast internet.
Education, civic empowerment, social responsibility. These ideas really can revolutionize the world. I believe in it, and in my three weeks here I have seen it .
Nimerudi
I have returned. After 2 days of never ending flights and everlasting layovers, I step off the plane and am hit with the hot muggy mid-afternoon African air. To my right is the airport terminal, not be confused with a 3 door crumbling strip mall, and to my left the vast lake Victoria. I have returned. Jua Kali man. The sun is still so strong. I sleep walk my way through customs, crack a smile as I always do when I see my luggage on the belt (this simple joy comes after my first trip out here where I spent the first week without luggage) and wander my way to the arrivals gate where someone is to be holding a sign with my name on it. It almost felt like the corporate world where people in suits hold signs with the name of other people in suits. But then the non suit-wearing man holding the paper with my name on it gave me a big hug, and all felt right in the world.
Peace Corps was more cush than this. Emma, my greeter, and I immediately get on a matatu (minibus-public transit). The conductor decides to jam my two large bags in the back, where they of course do not fit, but maybe repeatedly slamming the door on them will work. At this moment, I am glad for my gut instinct that told me to keep the bag with the $700 camera in it with me. Apparently slamming the door on my bags eventually worked, because we are quickly speeding down the roads, through the hills that surround Lake Victoria. As we climb one hill, a matatu speeds past us honking and pointing to our rear. The back door had come open, and all of my worldly possessions threatened to spill out the back of the matatu. We stop to slam the door a few more times, and continue on.
Through the window I watch the women carrying water in their bright kangas, the mzee pushing his bike with bedroom furniture stacked over the back, the school kids drinking fanta outside shops and the street hawkers with their abundant collections of worthless shit stitch into the red African soil and the outstretched fingers of the great lake. Nimerudi.
The matatu stops. I am back at the old taxi park – Kampala’s chaotic, vibrant, potholed answer to NYC grand central. I help Emma into my backpack, grab my timbuk2 and duffel and we make our way to the final leg of my trip, another matatu, though this time, we opt to put the luggage on our laps.
We alight at a dirt road marked with an official Educate! sign. As I am led into my compound, my mouth drops. In front of me is a beautiful yard with mango, avocado and orange trees and a HUGE house with an external spiral stairway leading to the rooftop deck. The house itself is also the office. There are two large bedrooms, I share one with Maggie, a volunteer who arrived 2 months before me, and my boss, Angelica, has the other. There are two smaller rooms which serve as offices, a large common area which is the main office/meeting space and a large yet very ill-equipped kitchen. Out back there is a boys quarters with two rooms where Connie and Barbara our office staff/mentors and Joe, the Business Coordinator, stays along with whatever male visitor happens to be here at the moment.
I’m greeted by Maggie, who turned 24 this day. She has one of those kind faces and a voice that even when angry still carries joy. I drop my shit in our room and step into the hot shower. I let out a big sigh - in addition to the last 48 hours of airport grime, I wash away the incredibly difficult last year and a half of my life. Nimerudi…
Joe gives me a brief tour of our immediate world. We have electricity (most days), flushing toilets and a hot shower. As well as a man, Emma, who cleans, does dishes, and washes clothes. When I first heard this, I vowed to not have him wash my clothes. Then I realized that when I am lucky enough to find myself with a day off, I do not want to spend half of it scrubbing my clothes and wrists raw.
After living and working here for 3 weeks, the house seems much smaller than it first appeared.
The neighborhood is confused. There is a lot of building taking place. Big houses strewn about haphazardly intermixed with small wooden dukas (shacks that sell veggies and staple food items). When feeling ambitious enough, there is a big hill for me to run up with a breathtaking view of the lake. And gasping for breath I tend to be. Rolex’s are huge here! There are about three stands in 100 yards where a man occasionally sits with his jiko, and makes omelets rolled in chapatti (I ate two today). A few days a week, the morning hours are filled with the sound of weed-whackers. Yes. The people out here are rich enough to grow and maintain green lawns, but not rich enough to buy a proper lawn mower. So. The landscapers cut vast lawns with one tiny weed-whacker.
The power goes out. Maggie and Joe take me up to the rooftop to gaze at the dark sky, talk of African politics, enjoy some tusker malt and smoke. I decide not to start that last habit just yet…
Peace Corps was more cush than this. Emma, my greeter, and I immediately get on a matatu (minibus-public transit). The conductor decides to jam my two large bags in the back, where they of course do not fit, but maybe repeatedly slamming the door on them will work. At this moment, I am glad for my gut instinct that told me to keep the bag with the $700 camera in it with me. Apparently slamming the door on my bags eventually worked, because we are quickly speeding down the roads, through the hills that surround Lake Victoria. As we climb one hill, a matatu speeds past us honking and pointing to our rear. The back door had come open, and all of my worldly possessions threatened to spill out the back of the matatu. We stop to slam the door a few more times, and continue on.
Through the window I watch the women carrying water in their bright kangas, the mzee pushing his bike with bedroom furniture stacked over the back, the school kids drinking fanta outside shops and the street hawkers with their abundant collections of worthless shit stitch into the red African soil and the outstretched fingers of the great lake. Nimerudi.
The matatu stops. I am back at the old taxi park – Kampala’s chaotic, vibrant, potholed answer to NYC grand central. I help Emma into my backpack, grab my timbuk2 and duffel and we make our way to the final leg of my trip, another matatu, though this time, we opt to put the luggage on our laps.
We alight at a dirt road marked with an official Educate! sign. As I am led into my compound, my mouth drops. In front of me is a beautiful yard with mango, avocado and orange trees and a HUGE house with an external spiral stairway leading to the rooftop deck. The house itself is also the office. There are two large bedrooms, I share one with Maggie, a volunteer who arrived 2 months before me, and my boss, Angelica, has the other. There are two smaller rooms which serve as offices, a large common area which is the main office/meeting space and a large yet very ill-equipped kitchen. Out back there is a boys quarters with two rooms where Connie and Barbara our office staff/mentors and Joe, the Business Coordinator, stays along with whatever male visitor happens to be here at the moment.
I’m greeted by Maggie, who turned 24 this day. She has one of those kind faces and a voice that even when angry still carries joy. I drop my shit in our room and step into the hot shower. I let out a big sigh - in addition to the last 48 hours of airport grime, I wash away the incredibly difficult last year and a half of my life. Nimerudi…
Joe gives me a brief tour of our immediate world. We have electricity (most days), flushing toilets and a hot shower. As well as a man, Emma, who cleans, does dishes, and washes clothes. When I first heard this, I vowed to not have him wash my clothes. Then I realized that when I am lucky enough to find myself with a day off, I do not want to spend half of it scrubbing my clothes and wrists raw.
After living and working here for 3 weeks, the house seems much smaller than it first appeared.
The neighborhood is confused. There is a lot of building taking place. Big houses strewn about haphazardly intermixed with small wooden dukas (shacks that sell veggies and staple food items). When feeling ambitious enough, there is a big hill for me to run up with a breathtaking view of the lake. And gasping for breath I tend to be. Rolex’s are huge here! There are about three stands in 100 yards where a man occasionally sits with his jiko, and makes omelets rolled in chapatti (I ate two today). A few days a week, the morning hours are filled with the sound of weed-whackers. Yes. The people out here are rich enough to grow and maintain green lawns, but not rich enough to buy a proper lawn mower. So. The landscapers cut vast lawns with one tiny weed-whacker.
The power goes out. Maggie and Joe take me up to the rooftop to gaze at the dark sky, talk of African politics, enjoy some tusker malt and smoke. I decide not to start that last habit just yet…
Monday, February 4, 2008
Lamu Tamu
Sweet Lamu.
On our way to the airport, crammed into a matatu, Nate busts out three boxes of teatree toothpicks. They are gifts for our month and a half journey together. Throughout our eight months here, these tooth picks have taken on a great deal of importance for us oral fetishers and smokers. Every time we are together, we are chewing them. To the point where back in Kitui, a Kenyan was trying to describe one of my friends and said ‘you know, he always has a stick in his mouth.’
We get to the small airport and check in, our baggage consists of a small backpack each and 3 shopping bags of alcohol. Being a Swahili island, Lamu does not sell alcohol- good thing we knew to stock up before hand. Sitting in the airport, a man in a nice suite is ushered through the small lobby surrounded by airport staff and other suites. Charles says, isn’t that one of the ODM guys?(ODM is Odingas party) In fact it was Saitoti, one of the head ODM MPs in a contested seat. A few wazungus(white people) in fancy sunglasses and pull luggage walk through, each with a Kenyan guide. This is not how we are used to travel. Sitting in fancy airports watching fancy people led around. Our flight comes. It is a 20 seater plane, we are 3 of the 6 people on this plane. It is more like a private jet. I say we are not used to traveling this way, but this is the 3rd private plane we have been on in less than a month.
The plane lands on a field. Literally grass. There is an airstrip, but it is under construction, so we taxi along side it on the grass. Everything in Kenya, especially roads, is under construction. Climbing off the airplane we are hit by a blast of scortching hot and muggy air. Just to give you a climate reference, we are on the border of somolia. we grab our stuff, walk out of the airport(a field with a shack) and down to a dock where we climb on a canopied wooden boat that taxis us up to the part of the island where our house is. We have no idea if this house/apartment is going to be complete shit, we have negotiated to pay 2000 Shillings a night total, about 8 dollars each, so we don’t expect much, though, tourism is in the shitter, so we had no idea. The boat pulls up to the shore, but the tide is out, so we take off our shoes, the guys roll up their trousers. We are greeted by 2 young men in flowy white shirts and blue shorts-they turn out to be our house boys-they take our bags, against our insistence that we can carry it. Steping out of the boat, I feel the cool water on my calves and the sand in my toes. I instantly smile. I don’t really care what the house looks like if I get to have this sensation for a week. The boys lead us barefoot through a maze of shaded narrow walkways and allies full of arched doorways covered in bougainvillea. I am in heaven. constantly remarking- this is gorgeous! I just love walking barefoot through exotic locals. It makes it all more intimate. They lead us to the ‘apartment’ we have rented. It is a 5 story building and we have the top 3 floors. Most of it consists of out door balconies and sitting areas with a gorgeous view of all the cement houses with thatched roofing that we had just wandered our way though, the brilliant ocean spotted with dhows(sailboats), and the mangrove island offshore. We are flabbergasted. In shock. We have these absurd smiles on our faces, the kind of disbelief as if we had just won the lottery.
We spend the next week laying around our balconies sunning, enjoying the breeze, swimming in the crystal ocean, eating good seafood and a lot of beans with tropical salsa. My favorite day was spent wandering alone through lamu town, through their narrow alleyways just getting lost. Turning corners and running into women in boi bois, full muslim dress of black flowing robe with colorful headscarves, men in white robes and skull caps, and young boys and girls in minature costumes. When I get far enough away from town center, it is quiet, all I hear are the people chatting on their door stoops, kids chasing eachother and the occasional call to prayer. Architecturally this place is a mix of the greek islands and the Italian coast but with a heavy muslim influence. tall dirty white walls warn by the sea air. It is beautiful. old. warn. Remarkable. Gorgeous and wrapped in culture. I just wander.
At the end of each day, at about 4, we all reconvene on our middle balcony with drinks where we just sit and talk and laugh for 3 hours as we watch the sun drop over the ocean. Nate and I set up beds and a mosquito net on the balcony and sleep under the stars in the ocean breeze. This is paradise.
We weren’t used to this type of travel, but man was it nice. For a week in paradise, we spent less than 200 dollars. The rest of our trip will not be in any kind of comparable luxury, but I like that even better I think.
In other news, our fabulous trio is now just an awesome duo. Early last week charles decided that he just needed to get home. I am disappointed to see him go, as I love him dearly, but I understand, as I cant wait to be home also. For now, we are playing around mombasa, saying goodbye to the coast of Kenya that has treated me so well for so many months and trying to arrange a sailboat to Zanzibar. Ok, until next time.
On our way to the airport, crammed into a matatu, Nate busts out three boxes of teatree toothpicks. They are gifts for our month and a half journey together. Throughout our eight months here, these tooth picks have taken on a great deal of importance for us oral fetishers and smokers. Every time we are together, we are chewing them. To the point where back in Kitui, a Kenyan was trying to describe one of my friends and said ‘you know, he always has a stick in his mouth.’
We get to the small airport and check in, our baggage consists of a small backpack each and 3 shopping bags of alcohol. Being a Swahili island, Lamu does not sell alcohol- good thing we knew to stock up before hand. Sitting in the airport, a man in a nice suite is ushered through the small lobby surrounded by airport staff and other suites. Charles says, isn’t that one of the ODM guys?(ODM is Odingas party) In fact it was Saitoti, one of the head ODM MPs in a contested seat. A few wazungus(white people) in fancy sunglasses and pull luggage walk through, each with a Kenyan guide. This is not how we are used to travel. Sitting in fancy airports watching fancy people led around. Our flight comes. It is a 20 seater plane, we are 3 of the 6 people on this plane. It is more like a private jet. I say we are not used to traveling this way, but this is the 3rd private plane we have been on in less than a month.
The plane lands on a field. Literally grass. There is an airstrip, but it is under construction, so we taxi along side it on the grass. Everything in Kenya, especially roads, is under construction. Climbing off the airplane we are hit by a blast of scortching hot and muggy air. Just to give you a climate reference, we are on the border of somolia. we grab our stuff, walk out of the airport(a field with a shack) and down to a dock where we climb on a canopied wooden boat that taxis us up to the part of the island where our house is. We have no idea if this house/apartment is going to be complete shit, we have negotiated to pay 2000 Shillings a night total, about 8 dollars each, so we don’t expect much, though, tourism is in the shitter, so we had no idea. The boat pulls up to the shore, but the tide is out, so we take off our shoes, the guys roll up their trousers. We are greeted by 2 young men in flowy white shirts and blue shorts-they turn out to be our house boys-they take our bags, against our insistence that we can carry it. Steping out of the boat, I feel the cool water on my calves and the sand in my toes. I instantly smile. I don’t really care what the house looks like if I get to have this sensation for a week. The boys lead us barefoot through a maze of shaded narrow walkways and allies full of arched doorways covered in bougainvillea. I am in heaven. constantly remarking- this is gorgeous! I just love walking barefoot through exotic locals. It makes it all more intimate. They lead us to the ‘apartment’ we have rented. It is a 5 story building and we have the top 3 floors. Most of it consists of out door balconies and sitting areas with a gorgeous view of all the cement houses with thatched roofing that we had just wandered our way though, the brilliant ocean spotted with dhows(sailboats), and the mangrove island offshore. We are flabbergasted. In shock. We have these absurd smiles on our faces, the kind of disbelief as if we had just won the lottery.
We spend the next week laying around our balconies sunning, enjoying the breeze, swimming in the crystal ocean, eating good seafood and a lot of beans with tropical salsa. My favorite day was spent wandering alone through lamu town, through their narrow alleyways just getting lost. Turning corners and running into women in boi bois, full muslim dress of black flowing robe with colorful headscarves, men in white robes and skull caps, and young boys and girls in minature costumes. When I get far enough away from town center, it is quiet, all I hear are the people chatting on their door stoops, kids chasing eachother and the occasional call to prayer. Architecturally this place is a mix of the greek islands and the Italian coast but with a heavy muslim influence. tall dirty white walls warn by the sea air. It is beautiful. old. warn. Remarkable. Gorgeous and wrapped in culture. I just wander.
At the end of each day, at about 4, we all reconvene on our middle balcony with drinks where we just sit and talk and laugh for 3 hours as we watch the sun drop over the ocean. Nate and I set up beds and a mosquito net on the balcony and sleep under the stars in the ocean breeze. This is paradise.
We weren’t used to this type of travel, but man was it nice. For a week in paradise, we spent less than 200 dollars. The rest of our trip will not be in any kind of comparable luxury, but I like that even better I think.
In other news, our fabulous trio is now just an awesome duo. Early last week charles decided that he just needed to get home. I am disappointed to see him go, as I love him dearly, but I understand, as I cant wait to be home also. For now, we are playing around mombasa, saying goodbye to the coast of Kenya that has treated me so well for so many months and trying to arrange a sailboat to Zanzibar. Ok, until next time.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
im coming home...wish i could see the look on your face.
Today i am officially an RPCV. Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. no longer employed by the peace corps. i have completed service. ive only been here for 8 months-you all thought you had another 19 months without me. well, no longer, im coming home. a week ago i would not have been able to tell you i was leaving so soon. ive been playing with the idea of leaving for some time now, but it was in the future. the last few weeks have been some of my hardest here. since returning to voi from evacuation in tanzania, i went through severe depression. i couldnt eat, couldnt sleep. couldnt do anything...but cry. i was paralyzed. i couldnt stomach being back in voi, back in this small bubble seemingly untouched by the devastation the rest of the country is experiencing. i couldnt even fathom waking up each morning and reading about the gang rapes, the homeless families, the lost relatives and livelihoods just a few hours away and me, going back to life as usual, to talking to kids about aids and how to make decisions for their futures. futures that at this moment are so uncertain. i contemplated just quiting Peace Corps and walking up to one of our haphazard displaced persons camps and just saying let me help. i want to be talking to those affected, i want to hear their feelings about the people who put them there. i want to start thinking about the reconciliation process that is going to have to take place here. my brain is capable of so much more than what i was doing in voi.
I had been planning on quitting peace corps in a few months, to freely travel and to begin pursuing work i am interested in, work that stretches my brain. more challenges. ive just realized a great deal about myself and what i want to do with my life, and staying here and living in voi just for the sake of finishing peace corps is not enough. i want out. i want to start taking control of my life and not have this safety net of peace corps behind me. im ready to be scared. im ready to not know the next step. im 23. this is the only time i can really be so reckless. so peace corps, we are done. tumemaliza.
Peace Corps has closed 2/3 of this country. all of my best friends were sent home a week ago, they told us 2 days prior to their flights. my site is still open and i dont want to be there. everyone in this country has been granted the option of Interruption of Service(IoS). it means that there are circumstances beyond my control that inhibit me from working. it reads as a completion of service. i can go home, hang out for a bit and if they find a better option they will bring me back, otherwise, i am just done. and damn it feels amazing. i chose to take IoS for a number of reasons, some of them practical like health insurance for a year, others like having the option of Peace Corps placing me with a humanitarian relief org out here. id still be a PCvolunteer, but it really would be an opportunity i cannot pass up. so we will hold our breath for that option. they told me to go home and wait. but im not going home...IM FREE
the day after i decided to IS, i was feeling pretty shitty because i thought i would not see any of my best friends for a long time. i received a text from Charles (one of my best friends in nairobi) telling me that we are offered the option to cash in our tickets and go travel. i responded back 'want to go travel, im only half serious, but could be talked into it.' he writes back that he will think long and hard about it. I text nate in Tanzania 'do you have the option to cash in your ticket? if so,want to play? if there is momentum, im there' because nate is in tanzaia, the text didnt go through for hours. before he had received the text, he calls me and asks me the same question. and i say im there. we both start screaming with excitement, he calls charles and the terrific trio was born. we're going traveling!!!!!!!! i couldnt be more thrilled, and really couldnt have asked for better partners for adventure. we spent some time emailing from our 3 locations and decided we need to be together and plan. we are now in nairobi and after much deliberation, we decided on this rough route through east africa.
1.28 Depart for Lamu Kenya
2.4 Lamu to Kilifi to visit current volunteer Darcy Dodd and Dan Hekkel
2.6 Kilifi to Mombasa Kenya-hang with more volunteers
2.9 Mombasa to Dar Es Salaam Tanzania
2.12 Dar Es Salaam to Zanzibar Tanzania
2.14 Return to Dar Es Salaam
2.15 train from Dar Es Salaam to Mwanza Tanzania(abt 3 day train ride)
2.18 Arrive in Mwanza Tanzania
2.21 Depart Mwanza on Ferry for Bekopu Tanzania
2.22 Bekopu to Kigali Rwanda
2.24 Kigali for Nyungwe National Park
2.26 Depart Nyungwe for Mt. Elgon National Park Uganda
2.28 Depart Mt. Elgon for Kampala Uganda
3.3 Depart Kampala for Jinja Kampala
3.4 White Water Rafting on the White Nile in Jinja
3.6 Depart Jinja for Kampala
3.7 Depart Kampala (by air) for Nairobi
3.9 or 3.10 Depart Nairobi for NYC via British Airways
3.11 Arrive NYC
Play around NYC and Wash DC for a week or so. if you are around, send me an email with your contact number, would LOVE to see you!!!
3.17 or 3.20 Arrive Sac Town
so our trip is filled with activities like renting a condo on the beach on the island of lamu for a week, eating fresh sea food, drinking fresh tropical juice, drinking in general, dancing, sailing from mombasa to zanzibar, overnight ferry across part of lake victoria, hiking through montane rainforests in rwanda, climbing mt elgon in uganda, rafting the nile, historical museums and remembrance walk in rwanda and soo much more. about 6 weeks of overland travel in 4 countries. ill try and keep you all posted.
if youve been to any of these countries and have tips for us, send me an email. geeze..what a post. i have soo much more explaining to do and i have many posts to catch up on, so they will be coming through as time allows. hope youre all well. namaste.
I had been planning on quitting peace corps in a few months, to freely travel and to begin pursuing work i am interested in, work that stretches my brain. more challenges. ive just realized a great deal about myself and what i want to do with my life, and staying here and living in voi just for the sake of finishing peace corps is not enough. i want out. i want to start taking control of my life and not have this safety net of peace corps behind me. im ready to be scared. im ready to not know the next step. im 23. this is the only time i can really be so reckless. so peace corps, we are done. tumemaliza.
Peace Corps has closed 2/3 of this country. all of my best friends were sent home a week ago, they told us 2 days prior to their flights. my site is still open and i dont want to be there. everyone in this country has been granted the option of Interruption of Service(IoS). it means that there are circumstances beyond my control that inhibit me from working. it reads as a completion of service. i can go home, hang out for a bit and if they find a better option they will bring me back, otherwise, i am just done. and damn it feels amazing. i chose to take IoS for a number of reasons, some of them practical like health insurance for a year, others like having the option of Peace Corps placing me with a humanitarian relief org out here. id still be a PCvolunteer, but it really would be an opportunity i cannot pass up. so we will hold our breath for that option. they told me to go home and wait. but im not going home...IM FREE
the day after i decided to IS, i was feeling pretty shitty because i thought i would not see any of my best friends for a long time. i received a text from Charles (one of my best friends in nairobi) telling me that we are offered the option to cash in our tickets and go travel. i responded back 'want to go travel, im only half serious, but could be talked into it.' he writes back that he will think long and hard about it. I text nate in Tanzania 'do you have the option to cash in your ticket? if so,want to play? if there is momentum, im there' because nate is in tanzaia, the text didnt go through for hours. before he had received the text, he calls me and asks me the same question. and i say im there. we both start screaming with excitement, he calls charles and the terrific trio was born. we're going traveling!!!!!!!! i couldnt be more thrilled, and really couldnt have asked for better partners for adventure. we spent some time emailing from our 3 locations and decided we need to be together and plan. we are now in nairobi and after much deliberation, we decided on this rough route through east africa.
1.28 Depart for Lamu Kenya
2.4 Lamu to Kilifi to visit current volunteer Darcy Dodd and Dan Hekkel
2.6 Kilifi to Mombasa Kenya-hang with more volunteers
2.9 Mombasa to Dar Es Salaam Tanzania
2.12 Dar Es Salaam to Zanzibar Tanzania
2.14 Return to Dar Es Salaam
2.15 train from Dar Es Salaam to Mwanza Tanzania(abt 3 day train ride)
2.18 Arrive in Mwanza Tanzania
2.21 Depart Mwanza on Ferry for Bekopu Tanzania
2.22 Bekopu to Kigali Rwanda
2.24 Kigali for Nyungwe National Park
2.26 Depart Nyungwe for Mt. Elgon National Park Uganda
2.28 Depart Mt. Elgon for Kampala Uganda
3.3 Depart Kampala for Jinja Kampala
3.4 White Water Rafting on the White Nile in Jinja
3.6 Depart Jinja for Kampala
3.7 Depart Kampala (by air) for Nairobi
3.9 or 3.10 Depart Nairobi for NYC via British Airways
3.11 Arrive NYC
Play around NYC and Wash DC for a week or so. if you are around, send me an email with your contact number, would LOVE to see you!!!
3.17 or 3.20 Arrive Sac Town
so our trip is filled with activities like renting a condo on the beach on the island of lamu for a week, eating fresh sea food, drinking fresh tropical juice, drinking in general, dancing, sailing from mombasa to zanzibar, overnight ferry across part of lake victoria, hiking through montane rainforests in rwanda, climbing mt elgon in uganda, rafting the nile, historical museums and remembrance walk in rwanda and soo much more. about 6 weeks of overland travel in 4 countries. ill try and keep you all posted.
if youve been to any of these countries and have tips for us, send me an email. geeze..what a post. i have soo much more explaining to do and i have many posts to catch up on, so they will be coming through as time allows. hope youre all well. namaste.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
updates
hey all out there in blog land. im alive. not well. but healthy and ok. im not posting my thoughts on the blog as i fear a lawsuit from the american government and or repercussions from the kenyan government. im also struggling to get past a point of mental paralysis from this waiting game that has soo many potential consequences and organize my thoughts during this ever changing situation. so. if you have not been getting my emails and would like to, send an email to rksantos@gmail.com and i will add you to the list. also, Nate has been keeping a relatively good log of what is going on in our direct lives so if you want to check out his blog http://natyb25.travellerspoint.com.
please be well
please be well
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Sex and Education
I spent a good part of October assessing the health education at primary and secondary schools around the district. I did so much work related travel that friends and acquaintances began referring to me as the District Officer(equivalent to our governor). The structure of these trips involved me traveling for hours, many times by foot, to visit with the head masters of the schools. During these meetings I asked a lot of open ended questions regarding how health is taught and how much detail and support is given regarding different topics such as HIV/AIDS, sanitation (washing hands, using latrines -diarrheal disease kills a large percentage of our children here), sex and puberty(some girls just don’t go to school when they begin bleeding…). I learned a great deal from these meetings and the conversations I’ve been having since arriving in Kenya.
Regarding HIV/AIDS. Every headmaster I met with told me with confidence it was taught-it is in the government curriculum. When I asked about how frequently and in what detail it was taught, they said it was discussed maybe twice a term. Teachers tell children it is contagious and it is caught from sex. It was a consensus that not much more detail was given to the students, as teachers didn’t feel comfortable talking about sexual issues with students. Depending on the school and the grade level the biological progression of HIV was discussed. Not the majority though. Social issues were not discussed. Sex not discussed. Care for the sick not discussed.
PROBLEM: Parents don’t feel comfortable talking to their kids about sex. They assume other respected adults will talk to them about it. Teachers (other respected adults in child’s lives) don’t feel appropriate talking to their students about sex. Kids are told having sex is a sin, and the teachers feel they’ve done their part. Condom use is not taught in most schools because the kids aren’t having sex (because they know it is a sin). Girls are coming to school pregnant, consequently getting kicked out of school and sent home to be a mother and dependant on someone else for income and some degree of stability for the rest of their lives.
FRUSTRATING STORY # 1: My PCV friend is a teacher at a local secondary school. The school held a talk on HIV/AIDS and asked her to lead the discussion. When the talk ended, the students asked questions, one being “is there a cure for Aids?” My friend begins to respond that there is not a cure but that there are ways to live long lives after being diagnosed through use of anti retroviral therapies and healthy lifestyle. At this point the head teacher interjects and tells them that if you are HIV positive and you devote your life to God, he will cure you. I kid you not this is what was said. All you have to do is ask God and all your problems disappear. Lesson: have as much sex as you want kids and when you are done, just find god and all your promiscuity is wiped away. All my friend could do was talk about how physiologically it was impossible for that to happen…once again the collision of science and god. At some point the same man insisted that condoms themselves were infected with HIV.
FRUSTRATING STORY 2: I spend a good amount of time with another friend who is a 40 year old Kenyan teacher at a primary school. She told me that now they are encouraging the students not to share their water bottles and things because you can catch HIV…I explain to her that this is not the case and make a mental note about the miseducation of teachers and therefore students.
In another conversation she was starting to say how the white people who come to teach at schools are bad people because they talk about condoms. Condoms are sinful etc. At this point I very politely asked how many girls come to school pregnant each year. She said there were always a few. I told her these kids are already having sex, regardless of whether it is sinful or not, the least we could do is give them some of the tools to protect themselves and enable them to live healthy lives. She understood, she is also a mother.
DEPRESSING STORY: Another friend of mine is a teacher at a different secondary school in a very remote area. Note-most secondary schools here are boarding schools. November marked the end of the school year so all of the students sit for exams. Exams here are a HUGE deal. Starting from primary school the results determine whether you will go to a good secondary school or university-competition is high. The Friday evening before the exam is to start, a Form 4 (senior) girl left campus alone and found her way to an isolated bunch of bushes. A female teacher saw her staggering out there and followed her. When she arrived she found the girl in labor. This girl had gone out into the bush to give birth alone. I cannot begin to imagine how scared this girl must have been, how alone, how unprepared. Did she walk out there knowing she might die. Alone. It makes me nauseous. It makes me cry. This is structural. Education is all kids have to even try for a better life and she was going to lose it if she was known to be pregnant. All she had left was to finish her exam, and for her, this was not something worth sacrificing. Her plan was to sneak away into the bush, give birth and leave the baby to die. The teacher called for help and they birthed the baby together in the bushes. The girl begged them to kill the baby, but they did not. When I imagine this scene, it is too much. This is not a movie, this is not some dramatization. This is happening all over this world. To compound matters, it is known(but not known with enough evidence for justice) that a teacher is sleeping with the students. It is whispered that this teacher might be the father of this baby. The school decided to kick her off the grounds but allowed her to finish the exams. Some of the woman teachers took her in and fed her for the week she sat for exams.
...
Here education is the golden ticket. Because of this, teachers are given a lot of respect and power. With this comes responsibility. When a teacher tells a kid who knows nothing about sex that condoms are infected with HIV, they’ll believe it. They do. The problem is, it doesn’t stop them from having sex. They just don’t use a condom. Kids are learning about sex by doing it. This post holds too much already so I’m gonna wrap it up. Long story not so short, I’ve decided that one of the most lasting projects I can undertake here is a teacher training where I will hopefully set some of the facts straight and give teachers some tools regarding talking about sex and puberty with students. It will take a long time to finalize the curriculum, but I think it will be incredibly beneficial. I don’t want to provide the bandaid fix by spending my 2 years talking in schools, reaching only those students that are here for those few years and further enabling teachers to hide from the sticky subjects of sex. I feel it important to educate those educators who will teach generations.
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