is where i am, Mumias if you want to look it up on a map. Huddling inside from the torrential downpour, hoping the rain doesn't knock the juice out of this place.
in Kenya, you have your house and your home. Your house is where you kukaa, where you stay. Your home is where you come from, where your family probably lives, where your relatives are buried. Im on a weekend trip with a friend from Matibabu. We're in her home.
So much has happened in the past four weeks, I know even highlights are impossible, and maybe not as telling even as the lowlights.
The first few days in Ukwala were some of the hardest I've had. Everything felt impossible, but I started to carve out a place for myself, despite feeling completely illequipped to contribute
anything really.
I started going to secondary schools after work to meet with small groups of girls. I talked to them about boys, sex, family. I taught them what their menstrual cycles are, how to use condoms. They want female condoms, they really really want female condoms. They also have no money to buy sanitary napkins.
Ive also been working in the HIV clinic here, seeing some very sick people, and some not so sick people. I did some home-based care two weeks ago, so I went around on my bike and visited patients in their homes. It doesn't have a word to go with it.
In addition, I went to the shamba--farm--and planted maize and maharague--beans--with my mama, who reminds me so much of bubby. She's maybe the most amaing woman I've met, Mama Lucy. I learned a word there--khomo, in dholuo, which means planting. The shamba is along a main road, and people would lean out of matatus, trailers, yell from bikes, Mzungu! Mzungu khomo!
I also killed a chicken yesterday. And opened a Tusker with my teeth.
And I have been very treyf, so so treyf and I was reading Exodus today and Im pretty sure that my soul will be cut off from Israel.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Dudes
Leaving soon, so post here your snail mail addresses for postcards.
Also, I'm going to be traveling overland to South Africa at the end of this trip. More details to follow!
Also, I'm going to be traveling overland to South Africa at the end of this trip. More details to follow!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Nitaenda to the West
It's been a very long time--I'm not sure if anybody is checking this anymore. I've been to Tanzania. Lushoto in the Usambara mountains, the most beautiful place I've been, I think, ever. I went to Mombasa last week, stayed with a Dutch man who owns a resort called Melrose Place, home to Europeans of the over-60 set and their "local partners." Saw a strange side of expat life, and felt the entire weekend like I wasn't in Kenya, or maybe was in Kenya, maybe a little too much in Kenya.
Just a warning. On Sunday, I'm going to my internship in Ukwala. I'm two hours outside of Kisumu and almost in Uganda. I've been told that the closest internet cafe is in Kisumu, so communication will most likely be minimal, if at all. Internet has been so unreliable in Nairobi, and it's only going to get worse. A friend made a joke the other day--she told me that I might as well say goodbye and I love you to everyone I know. So, so there.
I've been wondering how much I need communication. Yesterday, I was in Nakumatt Junction (how many posts have I mentioned Nakumatt? It's a huge part of life here). The Junction is shopping oasis for foreigners and wealthy Kenyans. It has a coffee shop with Heinz ketchup on the tables, a movie theater showing Benjamin Button and Revolutionary Road, and a little Apple kiosk where you can stock up on ipods that (probably) haven't been stolen. The Nakumatt in the place is suitably posh, like Market District to the Lawrenceville Jiggle. I walked in, and I had an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I wanted to talk to someone, maybe anyone, really, talk so I didn't have to put on a face. But I didn't have any airtime, and the feeling wore down. Instead of the bobby pins I was looking for, I found aisles of weave.
I've also bought a bike. It's a quirky Marin mountain bike. The shifting is a little off, the front tube is a Presta valve and the back is a Schraeder, and it's probably hot property from Europe, but it's mine and it handles the crappy roads in Nairobi like a dream. We'll see how it handles Ukwala.
Yesterday I biked along Ngong Road to the Lenana Forest Center, looking for a bike shop where I can pick up a little pump, some tire levers, and a few spares. The place had moved, so I called a friend who I thought might know where they were. While I waited for him to call back, I sat at a roadside kiosk and had a Fanta Orange--no baridi, so I had a warm one. There are roadside kiosks everywhere here, mostly fire-engine red and Coca-cola, with low, red and white picket fences enclosing enough territory for the kiosk itself, a table and a few chairs. I put on my don't talk to me face, sat at a table where I was joined by two high school boys, and sipped, was stared at. It's a place where you don't see a lot of white people, in an area with a lot of furniture workshops. I watched a man plane some wood for a bed frame. I could hear some metal work going on. Welding here is done out in the open. You might see someone wearing a mask, but probably not.
Quickly, an askari is a guard. Every apartment complex is guarded by high walls, many topped with barbed wire, electric wire, broken glass, or a combination of the three. Each complex has a guard. In some areas, like Jamhuri, where there are more houses than apartments, estates will be closed off, one from another with guarded gates. You learn who lives where by the gates, and which gates are safe at night and which aren't.
Kitu kidogo means something small. It's what you give a police officer when they stop your taxi driver. Also known as chai, or tea.
My feelings have been very confusing recently. I think I'm sad about leaving Nairobi and my host family. I'm apprehensive about this internship--the word underqualified is probably most suited. I've just found out that Matibabu has a VCT center, Voluntary Counselling and Testing, meaning, if I wanted, I could learn how to break it to people that they have AIDS. I could also end up working in their lab, or doing community development in the field.
I've also been wondering about coming back here. Leaving Nairobi is like a practice for the big game. What happens when I get home, look around me at a confusing summer followed by a quick last semester, and ask, "what next?"
I don't know. Maybe I've been eating too much sugar, not enough sukuma wiki.
Just a warning. On Sunday, I'm going to my internship in Ukwala. I'm two hours outside of Kisumu and almost in Uganda. I've been told that the closest internet cafe is in Kisumu, so communication will most likely be minimal, if at all. Internet has been so unreliable in Nairobi, and it's only going to get worse. A friend made a joke the other day--she told me that I might as well say goodbye and I love you to everyone I know. So, so there.
I've been wondering how much I need communication. Yesterday, I was in Nakumatt Junction (how many posts have I mentioned Nakumatt? It's a huge part of life here). The Junction is shopping oasis for foreigners and wealthy Kenyans. It has a coffee shop with Heinz ketchup on the tables, a movie theater showing Benjamin Button and Revolutionary Road, and a little Apple kiosk where you can stock up on ipods that (probably) haven't been stolen. The Nakumatt in the place is suitably posh, like Market District to the Lawrenceville Jiggle. I walked in, and I had an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I wanted to talk to someone, maybe anyone, really, talk so I didn't have to put on a face. But I didn't have any airtime, and the feeling wore down. Instead of the bobby pins I was looking for, I found aisles of weave.
I've also bought a bike. It's a quirky Marin mountain bike. The shifting is a little off, the front tube is a Presta valve and the back is a Schraeder, and it's probably hot property from Europe, but it's mine and it handles the crappy roads in Nairobi like a dream. We'll see how it handles Ukwala.
Yesterday I biked along Ngong Road to the Lenana Forest Center, looking for a bike shop where I can pick up a little pump, some tire levers, and a few spares. The place had moved, so I called a friend who I thought might know where they were. While I waited for him to call back, I sat at a roadside kiosk and had a Fanta Orange--no baridi, so I had a warm one. There are roadside kiosks everywhere here, mostly fire-engine red and Coca-cola, with low, red and white picket fences enclosing enough territory for the kiosk itself, a table and a few chairs. I put on my don't talk to me face, sat at a table where I was joined by two high school boys, and sipped, was stared at. It's a place where you don't see a lot of white people, in an area with a lot of furniture workshops. I watched a man plane some wood for a bed frame. I could hear some metal work going on. Welding here is done out in the open. You might see someone wearing a mask, but probably not.
Quickly, an askari is a guard. Every apartment complex is guarded by high walls, many topped with barbed wire, electric wire, broken glass, or a combination of the three. Each complex has a guard. In some areas, like Jamhuri, where there are more houses than apartments, estates will be closed off, one from another with guarded gates. You learn who lives where by the gates, and which gates are safe at night and which aren't.
Kitu kidogo means something small. It's what you give a police officer when they stop your taxi driver. Also known as chai, or tea.
My feelings have been very confusing recently. I think I'm sad about leaving Nairobi and my host family. I'm apprehensive about this internship--the word underqualified is probably most suited. I've just found out that Matibabu has a VCT center, Voluntary Counselling and Testing, meaning, if I wanted, I could learn how to break it to people that they have AIDS. I could also end up working in their lab, or doing community development in the field.
I've also been wondering about coming back here. Leaving Nairobi is like a practice for the big game. What happens when I get home, look around me at a confusing summer followed by a quick last semester, and ask, "what next?"
I don't know. Maybe I've been eating too much sugar, not enough sukuma wiki.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Na wewe?
A good week, and a busy weekend.
Saturday, a few friends and I went to Kibera, or really the outskirts of Kibera, to volunteer at a feeding center for orphans. My friend's host mother runs the center, which feeds about 20 or 30 kids one day a week. How can that be a feeding center, really? I enjoyed my time and I learned some fun games, but I'm conflicted about it. Maybe it's the magnitude of the problem, or the fact that I'm not really committed to this organization, or maybe because I don't believe in its effectiveness. I didn't walk out of there feeling like I feel after a tutoring session at Arsenal. There are around 700 organizations working in Kibera, the biggest slum in Africa. Wouldn't they be more effective if consolidated? Better able to get money from donors, and make sure it goes to the right places?
One of the staff members here is Maasai. On Sunday, I woke up early and met with friends at Nakumatt Junction. We took a matatu to Ngong--one of the best matatus yet, by the way--and then another matatu to his family's land a few kilometers from Ngong. We hiked down the escarpment and sat on some rocks halfway down. It was beautiful, the Ngong hills to the left, some huts and brush, but mostly nothing until the horizon. We ate, saw the dam, played with some kids. I practiced my kiswahili, which is about good enough to communicate with a four year old.
I've tried for the past five minutes to construct a coherent thought about how beautiful it was there, how I'd like to put a house down, how I couldn't live as a third or fourth wife in a roach-crowded hut, but everything felt like something terrible, something I couldn't sign my name to. My feelings and thoughts have been paricularly difficult to organize.
On the language front, I just had my first lesson of Dholuo. I'm going to be working in a Luo community, so I figure I should know how to introduce myself and ask how things are going. Which I can do now.
Last week, every morning walk to school, I couldn't stop smiling.
But here's something I've been wondering about. In Cairo, every day I felt overwhelmed. Crossing streets, sitting and having tea. Here, I haven't felt that way, except maybe my first day in Nakuru town. I wonder if it is because I'm living here, because on my walk home, I can see what dresses the second-hand kiosks have sold, and which they haven't. Or because the askari who used to yell hakuna matata at me every time I walked by now responds when I ask habari za leo, or habari gani. But I've been worried that it could be some kind of tiredness that comes from traveling. That I'm worn out and nothing will surprise me, nothing will have the same wonder.
I've got to head to Yaya center to pick up some paint. My mum is having the house painted, maroon and orange. She's a very stylish lady--I'm sure it's going to be bangin.
Saturday, a few friends and I went to Kibera, or really the outskirts of Kibera, to volunteer at a feeding center for orphans. My friend's host mother runs the center, which feeds about 20 or 30 kids one day a week. How can that be a feeding center, really? I enjoyed my time and I learned some fun games, but I'm conflicted about it. Maybe it's the magnitude of the problem, or the fact that I'm not really committed to this organization, or maybe because I don't believe in its effectiveness. I didn't walk out of there feeling like I feel after a tutoring session at Arsenal. There are around 700 organizations working in Kibera, the biggest slum in Africa. Wouldn't they be more effective if consolidated? Better able to get money from donors, and make sure it goes to the right places?
One of the staff members here is Maasai. On Sunday, I woke up early and met with friends at Nakumatt Junction. We took a matatu to Ngong--one of the best matatus yet, by the way--and then another matatu to his family's land a few kilometers from Ngong. We hiked down the escarpment and sat on some rocks halfway down. It was beautiful, the Ngong hills to the left, some huts and brush, but mostly nothing until the horizon. We ate, saw the dam, played with some kids. I practiced my kiswahili, which is about good enough to communicate with a four year old.
I've tried for the past five minutes to construct a coherent thought about how beautiful it was there, how I'd like to put a house down, how I couldn't live as a third or fourth wife in a roach-crowded hut, but everything felt like something terrible, something I couldn't sign my name to. My feelings and thoughts have been paricularly difficult to organize.
On the language front, I just had my first lesson of Dholuo. I'm going to be working in a Luo community, so I figure I should know how to introduce myself and ask how things are going. Which I can do now.
Last week, every morning walk to school, I couldn't stop smiling.
But here's something I've been wondering about. In Cairo, every day I felt overwhelmed. Crossing streets, sitting and having tea. Here, I haven't felt that way, except maybe my first day in Nakuru town. I wonder if it is because I'm living here, because on my walk home, I can see what dresses the second-hand kiosks have sold, and which they haven't. Or because the askari who used to yell hakuna matata at me every time I walked by now responds when I ask habari za leo, or habari gani. But I've been worried that it could be some kind of tiredness that comes from traveling. That I'm worn out and nothing will surprise me, nothing will have the same wonder.
I've got to head to Yaya center to pick up some paint. My mum is having the house painted, maroon and orange. She's a very stylish lady--I'm sure it's going to be bangin.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Mahindi choma
Means roast corn. Which is what I'm eating right now. I'm sitting in the MSID office. Abdul Aziz, on of the on-site staff, brought it--it's delicious!
This weekend I went on my first adventure outside of Nairobi. On Friday morning, four friends and I took a matatu into town. We walked to the River Road district to pick up another matatu to Nyeri. The staff here told us never to go east of Moi Avenue into the River Road district. There are two problems with this. First, if you want to leave Nairobi at all, you have to. Second, the River Road area is the coolest place in Nairobi. Hectic, loud music--very different from the rest of downtown Nairobi, which is mostly boring and very clean.
So we picked up a matatu to Nyeri. It took us about two hours to get up there, passing farms along the way. The Rift Valley is the most fertile place in Kenya, and we passed through it on the way up. The land on the left side of the road is steep, so we passed tons of terraced farms.
In Nyeri, we picked up a taxi to Aberdares National Park. The taxi driver wanted us to pay 2000 ksh, but I got him to 500. He was pretty cool, told me about Kikuyu food and his children. We got to Aberdares and it turns out that we'd have to pay a ton of money to get where we wanted to go. So we took the cab back to Nyeri town, about 10 km back. On the way back, we were stopped by the police. The cab driver got out, and I watched him hand the police officer some money. When he got back in, I asked him, Something kidogo? He laughed, and I said that the police were just robbers. He laughed again and said that now he is good to drive for a week.
In Nyeri, we picked up a hotel room, ate, got some beers at the bar. Some old men taught us how to dance to real Kikuyu music, and we went to bed.
Next morning, bright and early, we took a bus to Nyahururu, or Thompson's Falls. We set up camp, walked to the falls, which were beautiful. Back at camp, we talked with two Bulgarians who are traveling Kenya and Tanzania by bike, and two Brits whose Mt Kenya trek had just been interrupted by some nasty altitude sickness. We went to see some hippos in a pond. They're huge! Back at camp, we had dinner, sat around the fire and slept.
And so on Sunday, back to Nairobi.
What else? The government is corrupt. People are starving in the north, and the First Lady is on the board of a company that's been illegally buying grain from emergency supplies. In town the other day, I saw two policemen kicking a man in the mouth. When everyone watches, I get out of there quick. I'm getting good at taking matatus, and I'm navigating the city well.
Tonight, I'm cooking real American spaghetti with my host family. I've got to go to Nakumatt to buy some supplies, and then the produce market on my way home to pick up some tomatoes and onions.
This is one of the most boring blog entries ever. I'm sorry! The next one will be filled with poetry, I swear.
This weekend I went on my first adventure outside of Nairobi. On Friday morning, four friends and I took a matatu into town. We walked to the River Road district to pick up another matatu to Nyeri. The staff here told us never to go east of Moi Avenue into the River Road district. There are two problems with this. First, if you want to leave Nairobi at all, you have to. Second, the River Road area is the coolest place in Nairobi. Hectic, loud music--very different from the rest of downtown Nairobi, which is mostly boring and very clean.
So we picked up a matatu to Nyeri. It took us about two hours to get up there, passing farms along the way. The Rift Valley is the most fertile place in Kenya, and we passed through it on the way up. The land on the left side of the road is steep, so we passed tons of terraced farms.
In Nyeri, we picked up a taxi to Aberdares National Park. The taxi driver wanted us to pay 2000 ksh, but I got him to 500. He was pretty cool, told me about Kikuyu food and his children. We got to Aberdares and it turns out that we'd have to pay a ton of money to get where we wanted to go. So we took the cab back to Nyeri town, about 10 km back. On the way back, we were stopped by the police. The cab driver got out, and I watched him hand the police officer some money. When he got back in, I asked him, Something kidogo? He laughed, and I said that the police were just robbers. He laughed again and said that now he is good to drive for a week.
In Nyeri, we picked up a hotel room, ate, got some beers at the bar. Some old men taught us how to dance to real Kikuyu music, and we went to bed.
Next morning, bright and early, we took a bus to Nyahururu, or Thompson's Falls. We set up camp, walked to the falls, which were beautiful. Back at camp, we talked with two Bulgarians who are traveling Kenya and Tanzania by bike, and two Brits whose Mt Kenya trek had just been interrupted by some nasty altitude sickness. We went to see some hippos in a pond. They're huge! Back at camp, we had dinner, sat around the fire and slept.
And so on Sunday, back to Nairobi.
What else? The government is corrupt. People are starving in the north, and the First Lady is on the board of a company that's been illegally buying grain from emergency supplies. In town the other day, I saw two policemen kicking a man in the mouth. When everyone watches, I get out of there quick. I'm getting good at taking matatus, and I'm navigating the city well.
Tonight, I'm cooking real American spaghetti with my host family. I've got to go to Nakumatt to buy some supplies, and then the produce market on my way home to pick up some tomatoes and onions.
This is one of the most boring blog entries ever. I'm sorry! The next one will be filled with poetry, I swear.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Super Stupid Bowl
Well some first things first. If you want to send me some snail mail, I'm this:
Gillian Goldberg
c/o MSID Kenya
PO Box 66731-00800
Westlands, Nairobi, Kenya
If you want to call me, I'm 254716392311
Second things second.
The internet situation here is truly abysmal.
Another situation that is terrible--last night, I headed to the 24-hour bar in Prestige Plaza on Ngong Road to watch the superbowl. This really awful shopping mall with a 24 hour Nakumatt--think Wal-Mart but with merchandise that looks gently used and things you only find in the third world, like giant jugs for storing water on the days it isn't rationed.
My mom dropped me off at the mall at 9:00. The game was meant to start at 2 am local time. My friend Kat and I wandered around, met a Canadian and an American. At 1, after worrying about whether the bar carried ESPN, the highlights show came on. At 1:50, ten minutes before kick off, all the tvs went dead. The cable channel had gone down.
So we waited and waited. By 5 am, we realized nothing was going to happen. So we took a drunk walk through Nakumatt, tried on wigs.
There was a fire in a Nakumatt downtown a few days ago. The fire hydrants didn't work, the emergency exits were blocked, the security kept the people inside from leaving because they were afraid the customers inside would steal merchandise. Something like 30 people are dead so far. On the news, I watched people from the Red Cross in a line, tossing cases of Fanta from the burning store into guarded piles outside. They turned their hoses away from the fire and toward the people trying to get the food they were rescuing.
And two days ago, a gas tanker rolled outside of Molo. The police who were supposed to be guarding it were charging people to fill their jerry cans. Some guy lit a cigarette, and 111 people are dead.
But I guess these are just things from the news. In church on Sunday, the preacher warned about Kenya being consumed by fire. I don't know.
I guess that since I've been here, I've seen a few lions, a few rhinos, some zebras, giraffes.
Today's not a great day, but we'll see how tomorrow goes.
Gillian Goldberg
c/o MSID Kenya
PO Box 66731-00800
Westlands, Nairobi, Kenya
If you want to call me, I'm 254716392311
Second things second.
The internet situation here is truly abysmal.
Another situation that is terrible--last night, I headed to the 24-hour bar in Prestige Plaza on Ngong Road to watch the superbowl. This really awful shopping mall with a 24 hour Nakumatt--think Wal-Mart but with merchandise that looks gently used and things you only find in the third world, like giant jugs for storing water on the days it isn't rationed.
My mom dropped me off at the mall at 9:00. The game was meant to start at 2 am local time. My friend Kat and I wandered around, met a Canadian and an American. At 1, after worrying about whether the bar carried ESPN, the highlights show came on. At 1:50, ten minutes before kick off, all the tvs went dead. The cable channel had gone down.
So we waited and waited. By 5 am, we realized nothing was going to happen. So we took a drunk walk through Nakumatt, tried on wigs.
There was a fire in a Nakumatt downtown a few days ago. The fire hydrants didn't work, the emergency exits were blocked, the security kept the people inside from leaving because they were afraid the customers inside would steal merchandise. Something like 30 people are dead so far. On the news, I watched people from the Red Cross in a line, tossing cases of Fanta from the burning store into guarded piles outside. They turned their hoses away from the fire and toward the people trying to get the food they were rescuing.
And two days ago, a gas tanker rolled outside of Molo. The police who were supposed to be guarding it were charging people to fill their jerry cans. Some guy lit a cigarette, and 111 people are dead.
But I guess these are just things from the news. In church on Sunday, the preacher warned about Kenya being consumed by fire. I don't know.
I guess that since I've been here, I've seen a few lions, a few rhinos, some zebras, giraffes.
Today's not a great day, but we'll see how tomorrow goes.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Karibu
Well, the internet is unreliable and my group is about to leave me in a 5th floor internet cafe. Things are sort of weird--I'm not used to traveling like this. "Like this" meaning "with a huge group of people."
Last night we slept in a hostel next to Nairobi National Park and we could hear lions roaring as we fell asleep.
We're heading to Lake Nakaru park for a few days. Things are hectic--when will it normalize? Writing in my journal is going well--writing here may not.
Last night we slept in a hostel next to Nairobi National Park and we could hear lions roaring as we fell asleep.
We're heading to Lake Nakaru park for a few days. Things are hectic--when will it normalize? Writing in my journal is going well--writing here may not.
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