tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47634580978913535372024-02-18T21:33:35.938-08:00Mara's Kenyan CorrespondanceA window into my year in Kenya and around East Africa.Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-1804076881616441262010-06-29T23:34:00.000-07:002011-03-31T21:15:17.089-07:00Final YAV Retreat<div style="text-align: justify;">My year in Kenya is winding down to a close. For the grand finale we had a final YAV retreat which took place last week.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />We spent the first two nights on a safari in the Maasai Mara. On the first evening game drive, we came across two male lions sleeping in the long grass. From what I've heard lions, especially the males, sleep for about 20 hours a day, (while giraffes only sleep for about 1/2 hour a day.) So it's a pretty typical sight to see these beautiful giant felines stretched out lazily enjoying the cool evening breeze coming off the savanna - It clearly pays to be at the top of the food chain.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPWh0hqZ31MVo-1wMXHqdVKm-2PSEuqF2jMj_PkXhodaMenr-F67xJ4hyphenhyphenfsjYIBDDG8jiUn-nqBpZe_38kp7akajrMNfIDKe42pZym-kau-re_eXm1ROKJkVqC3Dp6SF55Z8LczVgrjY/s1600/35880_532921234605_19402149_31448069_2363647_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPWh0hqZ31MVo-1wMXHqdVKm-2PSEuqF2jMj_PkXhodaMenr-F67xJ4hyphenhyphenfsjYIBDDG8jiUn-nqBpZe_38kp7akajrMNfIDKe42pZym-kau-re_eXm1ROKJkVqC3Dp6SF55Z8LczVgrjY/s320/35880_532921234605_19402149_31448069_2363647_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488484039510237874" border="0" /></a>After our time in the Maasai Mara we headed to Nyanza province in the southwest corner of Kenya. Nyanza encompasses part of Lake Victoria, one of the largest fresh water lakes in the world (2nd only to Lake Superior in my home state!) Nyanza is also home to the Luo community, and President Obama's heritage, but more about that later! There we stayed at the rural homestead of a very prominent Luo elder and long-time acquaintance of Phyllis, Professor Gilbert Ogutu. Once the head of the Luo Council of elders and a <span style="font-style: italic;">Ker, </span>or<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>spiritual/cultural leader, Ogutu was and still is a 'big deal' among the Luo. On the first morning of our stay at his homestead, Ogutu had his sons slaughter a ram for us as part of a morning ritual. Witnessing this was a very new, intense, and informative experience for me and others in my group. We ate the mutton later that night at dinner.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThJY4QHFd1mVdW3OaeQZZsz2AOMLnW8Qpzoy-efs7KitdQyPoYI82VmzpRnPLdco8Ogs0ffgYnCZdbEfuUWeVOeqPe0gYfRkCzmi4Ojv2RRAQFa8_WdyetAqnRC64G7nHy0EwoQECJe0/s1600/34144_532921778515_19402149_31448086_2804794_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThJY4QHFd1mVdW3OaeQZZsz2AOMLnW8Qpzoy-efs7KitdQyPoYI82VmzpRnPLdco8Ogs0ffgYnCZdbEfuUWeVOeqPe0gYfRkCzmi4Ojv2RRAQFa8_WdyetAqnRC64G7nHy0EwoQECJe0/s320/34144_532921778515_19402149_31448086_2804794_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488484583802003250" border="0" /></a>During our two-day sojourn in the village we did various projects at the local primary school. The most significant of these was painting the Standard 1 classroom for the youngest children. What I liked about this project was that my group didn't do it alone. We worked with the students and other people in the community to accomplish the task. I was grateful for the help of one man in particular who had a background in painting and construction. He taught me some skills in handling paint and paintbrushes, and his help made the project go much smoother and faster than expected. With everyone's help, we succeeded in painting the entire classroom, and even a large colourful mural on the back wall. Literally over night the classroom transformed from a dull and drab space into an environment suited for children's learning. And the entire experience was a great lesson for everyone about the power of volunteering when you work hand in hand with a community rather than working for it externally.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS97Ov9Wr_3idMadzrZdCLCWbV4VhOdnPQ5q1Y436vNcqy1PRVYYy9DSl-W8s1L8lAUMVBapr6cism82VYQ1npVQudQU0rqaqJYKr04p7VtY2waWOf1uwNrBwOkwWqq-EVN4OHTIyQASY/s1600/35416_532922576915_19402149_31448117_7419006_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS97Ov9Wr_3idMadzrZdCLCWbV4VhOdnPQ5q1Y436vNcqy1PRVYYy9DSl-W8s1L8lAUMVBapr6cism82VYQ1npVQudQU0rqaqJYKr04p7VtY2waWOf1uwNrBwOkwWqq-EVN4OHTIyQASY/s320/35416_532922576915_19402149_31448117_7419006_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488485097020062210" border="0" /></a>On the last day of our retreat, before making the 8 hour drive back to Nairobi, we stopped by the homestead of Mama Sarah Obama, President Obama's grandma, for a visit. Security is tight around her home, yet we had a connection through Prof. Ogutu, who knows Mama Sarah very well, and therefore had the honor of driving into the compound when other visitors must park outside and walk in. We first saw Barack Obama's father's and grandfather's graves, a very moving experience. And then we met Mama Sarah, who I'd describe as a no-nonsense lady with a great sense of humour. As we were asking her questions, she told us about Barack's father and about her grandson's visit home in 2006. Josh, another YAV, asked her which team she supports in the World Cup. And she replied with the wonderfully diplomatic answer, 'I support the team that plays the best and that is most determined to win.' We paid tribute to Mama Sarah with a goat, and also foodstuffs for the orphanage foundations she oversees. In return she gave us sodas as refreshments. I can say that relaxing on the lawn of President Obama's family homestead and sipping soda from his grandma is a memory I'll never forget.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjWdkjemdNVM0kdtoZhpnZFrbF8yWvocPI4nOUrkJr4ill48iih10nX65jj_vqdCfviJEpoVcb6eynUkLF_MXE0XSwi7aQn1gJ1xsCdLqUJmjzybVU28lEwOsy-RbTqUdE8D1hHqh0HI/s1600/35416_532922581905_19402149_31448118_3840347_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjWdkjemdNVM0kdtoZhpnZFrbF8yWvocPI4nOUrkJr4ill48iih10nX65jj_vqdCfviJEpoVcb6eynUkLF_MXE0XSwi7aQn1gJ1xsCdLqUJmjzybVU28lEwOsy-RbTqUdE8D1hHqh0HI/s320/35416_532922581905_19402149_31448118_3840347_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488485849512232562" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGj9g4apsBIuhrm4TNM75lD4heJk9LONQ1zO31Y6C1rEcxG78XhnhmTfjnTpfHwd3agUj3QI2BasN4BntYA5My7-OGuLaPPv6UPjjqQS3N06M4VZxfW_CgG03a9PATAQ3JMCItJLO5Z8k/s1600/34128_532923380305_19402149_31448183_4800466_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGj9g4apsBIuhrm4TNM75lD4heJk9LONQ1zO31Y6C1rEcxG78XhnhmTfjnTpfHwd3agUj3QI2BasN4BntYA5My7-OGuLaPPv6UPjjqQS3N06M4VZxfW_CgG03a9PATAQ3JMCItJLO5Z8k/s320/34128_532923380305_19402149_31448183_4800466_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488487090088312290" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNGlMm6YHVTtzZXpAzzEACJiJpDrbmBL0H610KRhoSPDK7nhKNOwNXEIUYvYhurM7ZOdA0Qk3abrzIhkC5gC0SUktDiTsXZ-0ka-m-yuHQaIPS8cprsaTOvZ1PlMwvrxhmONQtWJebwU/s1600/34128_532923385295_19402149_31448184_4333274_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNGlMm6YHVTtzZXpAzzEACJiJpDrbmBL0H610KRhoSPDK7nhKNOwNXEIUYvYhurM7ZOdA0Qk3abrzIhkC5gC0SUktDiTsXZ-0ka-m-yuHQaIPS8cprsaTOvZ1PlMwvrxhmONQtWJebwU/s320/34128_532923385295_19402149_31448184_4333274_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488487539753187298" border="0" /></a>So just like the first YAV retreat in Zanzibar, our second retreat turned out to be fantastic and a great way to draw this year to a close. I felt connected to the Kenyans we met in a very genuine way, through the hospitality that they showed us in the village and working hand in hand with the community to accomplish a shared goal. And of course I loved being with the other people in my YAV group, with whom I have shared so many experiences and adventures throughout this year in Kenya.<br /></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-1597737216894322592010-06-07T02:29:00.001-07:002010-06-28T01:57:39.375-07:00Someone needs a haircut...<div style="text-align: justify;">... and that someone is ME! It's on the list of top priorities, but it just doesn't ever seem to happen. My sister would criticize me (big time) if she knew about this. I guess it's just part of being away from home. Your physical appearance, along with your perspective and outlook on life, are bound to change.<br /><br />I have less than two months left in Kenya, and it's interesting now to look back on the year in retrospect. I've seen a lot of change and progress taking place. At work, I feel like I have accomplished good things, especially building and improving my organization's website (check it out: www.oaic.org). I've also gained confidence in everyday tasks... like cooking/cleaning for myself. And killing cockroaches. Seriously. Creepy crawlies including ants, cockroaches, and slugs have been a significant part of my living experience in Kenya.<br /><br />Assertiveness is another quality I've picked up while living in Nairobi. Simple activities like boarding a bus or 'matatu' require a level of pushiness that never existed in me before. I've also improved my bargaining tactics, though I always hate doing it. I've had psycho shopkeepers literally yell in my face when I stick to the price I know is reasonable.<br /><br />I wonder how the transition to life back in St. Paul, Minnesota will be when I arrive home in August. From my past travels I know that the culture shock upon re-entry can be worse than when you first arrive in a new place. Hopefully I'll be able to maintain the personal growth I've experienced in my year abroad. But I'm talking about growth in a conceptual way. When I get home, the first item on my agenda will be a hair cut!<br /></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-80159080633079810982010-05-26T01:04:00.000-07:002010-06-03T06:30:28.391-07:00Mara in the Mara<div style="text-align: justify;">Often when I introduce myself in Kenya, people ask me how I got my name. 'Mara' is a common word in many of the country's languages. It is also the name of a river that flows through Kenya and Tanzania, and the namesake of the popular Maasai Mara reserve. I just had the chance to visit the Maasai Mara, so now I can finally tell people that when they ask me about my name!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25pm7E2r9bBYoSOra2Fllk7OJRaLdC6-q8Ez8ZzH6KplosTl1B4FR_qgHPP0UraRZ_a3XL9PT-mSlk-W8t9qI9zz1piRmLpkrRjepaGUEbXJd29RQgIHTOJ_taTz7UwHCJXEvHFM_IqY/s1600/31686_531805969605_19402149_31401851_1821846_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25pm7E2r9bBYoSOra2Fllk7OJRaLdC6-q8Ez8ZzH6KplosTl1B4FR_qgHPP0UraRZ_a3XL9PT-mSlk-W8t9qI9zz1piRmLpkrRjepaGUEbXJd29RQgIHTOJ_taTz7UwHCJXEvHFM_IqY/s320/31686_531805969605_19402149_31401851_1821846_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475512932846535010" border="0" /></a>My parents just came to visit me for ten days, arriving in Nairobi on the 11th of May. I loved showing them around the city, and introducing them to my friends and colleagues. One highlight was when we visited a friend of mine from OAIC who lives with his family in Kibera, one of Africa's largest slums. I had been to Kibera once before, accompanying a social worker to do home visits to women in her support group. Yet it was an entirely different experience to visit someone I know very well, and the hospitality his family showed us (as well as the huge meal that they prepared) was very touching.<br /><br />We also visited Nairobi's Giraffe Centre where we fed the giraffes, and it was amazing to see the beautiful animals up close and personal after having only seen them behind fences in zoos or in photographs. While in Nairobi we had several meals around town, both in people's homes and at restaurants, and of course had to visit a number of museums like many tourists do.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiXR7M2D3rV9HLlIO2Sn4xKygdPU4QLh-xyH5uubYMeQEIUrfRjZUkxsNPW3SYXUfUpD11f0wYhor8W6uZhV138jOhXs_LrxOnWW4gbP0AYQ77wK3JcMOmZUsV2jTzIwtaOvdVsNiG44/s1600/31686_531804198155_19402149_31401744_6717075_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiXR7M2D3rV9HLlIO2Sn4xKygdPU4QLh-xyH5uubYMeQEIUrfRjZUkxsNPW3SYXUfUpD11f0wYhor8W6uZhV138jOhXs_LrxOnWW4gbP0AYQ77wK3JcMOmZUsV2jTzIwtaOvdVsNiG44/s320/31686_531804198155_19402149_31401744_6717075_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475513247803346226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">With Daniel in Kibera slum, Nairobi<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqziheZ5LNxu0wS2ka3r_ZaB10ygTcW3XJdJX8Yc7gzQY8p_v6EVf8IgTuIIGYJipTm1yfgGvcTCli0j62eHP2FifXAz96dCnDv0UblLctubPlOxbOkaYZBmnXlUOm4u6J8OdEo759LhY/s1600/31686_531804382785_19402149_31401750_119286_n.jpg"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqziheZ5LNxu0wS2ka3r_ZaB10ygTcW3XJdJX8Yc7gzQY8p_v6EVf8IgTuIIGYJipTm1yfgGvcTCli0j62eHP2FifXAz96dCnDv0UblLctubPlOxbOkaYZBmnXlUOm4u6J8OdEo759LhY/s320/31686_531804382785_19402149_31401750_119286_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475513658787282130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Giraffe Centre, Nairobi<br /><br /></span></span></div>A few days after my parents arrived, we left Nairobi and headed southwest for the Maasai Mara! We <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhMmuir-oMEMTAM1C9Ma2jkahpeK4dpd5vqrvFGt16vi4Loa8MKGJxQe83ujADKTFQ1aRrr94GWfVf4WHdCGBL9kDRB36e85AiubV4_fntncX-Jtaot2ZDkQOPKTa6YOIDXK7kKcqWPvE/s1600/31686_531807227085_19402149_31401865_5886330_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhMmuir-oMEMTAM1C9Ma2jkahpeK4dpd5vqrvFGt16vi4Loa8MKGJxQe83ujADKTFQ1aRrr94GWfVf4WHdCGBL9kDRB36e85AiubV4_fntncX-Jtaot2ZDkQOPKTa6YOIDXK7kKcqWPvE/s200/31686_531807227085_19402149_31401865_5886330_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475517287290538834" border="0" /></a>flew there, which in itself was a new experience. Our plane was a ten passenger propeller plane with one pilot and no crew members. Thankfully it was a smooth flight, even when we landed at our safari lodge's dirt airstrip in the middle of an open field.<br /></div></div><br />My parents and I stayed at a tented camp/lodge called "Kichwa Tembo" (meaning Elephant's Head in Kiswahili.) During our time there, we enjoyed the luxurious accommodations that included delicious food and comfortable safari "tent" rooms. Since arriving here last September, I have not really experienced the luxurious side of the country. Yet during our safari, I decided to just enjoy this different experience of Kenya for our two night stay.<br /><br />We had an excellent guide named Sophie, who was one of only four female park guides in the entire Maasai Mara reserve. With her help we saw all of the so-called 'Big 5' (lion, leopard, cape buffalo, black rhino, and elephant) as well as many others.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOBdoG-0GlzRXxn6iggdCupPxDA7jKdadunkLZdXCQvelcQjZFbVauWT25YcYeZxGLRYzthxgXfUpHop4mTODRyqusiUa1MCmcKNGiBfppw-fdR2zWOfffwEeI2G4nkUu2sWeZHdYMqE/s1600/31686_531805745055_19402149_31401839_6423897_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOBdoG-0GlzRXxn6iggdCupPxDA7jKdadunkLZdXCQvelcQjZFbVauWT25YcYeZxGLRYzthxgXfUpHop4mTODRyqusiUa1MCmcKNGiBfppw-fdR2zWOfffwEeI2G4nkUu2sWeZHdYMqE/s320/31686_531805745055_19402149_31401839_6423897_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475514298614164050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Cheetah mother with 3 cubs<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhic53Oj5jasZ38oXHcvJwWOEuBSc5Rale7UC1VUv1s8xVF3MqZL5SeJvk9IdT2sKAMzr1RxUgtemBw4PxghqIqzRFEs1rNm6iZPJ6sT5RZXm49EaiNUi_IwYvfPat0ZpVEebOYwWAI1IA/s1600/31686_531805600345_19402149_31401836_2178085_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhic53Oj5jasZ38oXHcvJwWOEuBSc5Rale7UC1VUv1s8xVF3MqZL5SeJvk9IdT2sKAMzr1RxUgtemBw4PxghqIqzRFEs1rNm6iZPJ6sT5RZXm49EaiNUi_IwYvfPat0ZpVEebOYwWAI1IA/s320/31686_531805600345_19402149_31401836_2178085_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475515308678310674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sophie driving us through a pond that was blocking our path<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUpVLdde0HAuwnKQbXLWEdKkbn6pGyb4o3NNb3NB9hnvfpD2qT_LgBtYN001yhNDW4kYPBNECLc2pUyBWyVCeZgwSJZNPX8kAvaivm8U9SCYYnWUW_EWBdvTJHTwivad23tLCw_TS_ids/s1600/31686_531808314905_19402149_31401898_3776463_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUpVLdde0HAuwnKQbXLWEdKkbn6pGyb4o3NNb3NB9hnvfpD2qT_LgBtYN001yhNDW4kYPBNECLc2pUyBWyVCeZgwSJZNPX8kAvaivm8U9SCYYnWUW_EWBdvTJHTwivad23tLCw_TS_ids/s320/31686_531808314905_19402149_31401898_3776463_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475515509945426722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Elephant herd with tiny baby<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0eLpDLUyiOMWNGKXZaf6J4TayMs3HFRBZ0GdWsL0kN_GD9aFY8FYVUjLdOl13uaze2u6zLqgY6Zdx9kV46WueHFizwAGwHvaAf_viQAfdiaYhYm9hmSpikoLFXI43OL7ACqj0NGPZJB4/s1600/31686_531807795945_19402149_31401871_276039_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0eLpDLUyiOMWNGKXZaf6J4TayMs3HFRBZ0GdWsL0kN_GD9aFY8FYVUjLdOl13uaze2u6zLqgY6Zdx9kV46WueHFizwAGwHvaAf_viQAfdiaYhYm9hmSpikoLFXI43OL7ACqj0NGPZJB4/s320/31686_531807795945_19402149_31401871_276039_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475515932588414130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A stork eating a frog<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQosdcw0YaVbFw8lH3lyqJDyeBo1-wlrjsWrOzNb04IRU-DsmwhJOQ-Cclv8mFDQzSQgNazNqjhERq7pZh97fePSQMkW0TTxySbPHezMgfIK4MW7ZYP4QK9WAqoMAzr0UocHVqTR952L0/s1600/31686_531805949645_19402149_31401847_6274872_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQosdcw0YaVbFw8lH3lyqJDyeBo1-wlrjsWrOzNb04IRU-DsmwhJOQ-Cclv8mFDQzSQgNazNqjhERq7pZh97fePSQMkW0TTxySbPHezMgfIK4MW7ZYP4QK9WAqoMAzr0UocHVqTR952L0/s320/31686_531805949645_19402149_31401847_6274872_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475516344228398402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Maasai Giraffe<br /><br /></span></span></div>The breathtakingly beautiful animals and landscape of the Maasai Mara really made it clear to me why tourists from around the world flock to the place in droves. The majority of people working in camps like "Kichwa Tembo" are Maasai, and they depend upon the tourism for their livelihoods. Unfortunately the recent post election violence in Kenya combined with the world-wide economic down-turn has severely impacted the tourism industry in Kenya, and the Maasai Mara was no exception. Things are looking up again now that more tourists feel safe and enthusiastic about coming to Kenya. Yet I question exactly how much of the revenue from Kenya's tourism goes to local communities, or whether it just falls into the hands of the fortunate few. Maybe this is my Anthropology of Tourism course background speaking, but it is an important question to ask all the same.<br /><br />My parents flew home to the US a few days ago, and my life is getting back to its usual routine now that they're gone. We had a great time together, and I loved showing them around the city and country where I've lived for the better part of a year. Now I have only 2 months left, but having just visited the Mara for the first time, I realize that there are still many places I have yet to see and experience here before I go!<br /></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-21827657263950954532010-05-03T23:27:00.000-07:002010-06-07T04:39:55.831-07:00Maasai Cows & Ostriches<div style="text-align: justify;">Imagine vast fields of long grass waving in the wind, stretching across an expanse to end in gentle blue mountains at the horizon line. 'This,' my friend David told me, 'is Maasai land.' Before the city of Nairobi existed, the area belonged to the Maasai. The name 'Nairobi' actually comes from a Maasai phrase meaning 'cool waters', because the city's location was once a watering hole for Maasai cattle. Over the years, the Maasai have lost or sold large portions of their land to other ethnic communities in Kenya such as the Kikuyu, and Nairobi has now become the cosmopolitan urban sprawl that it is today. Yet much of the surrounding land still belongs to the Maasai, even though other people have moved in to occupy the area.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2LLqcieFvSFWMf6QjEEk2gGR96lF4J8CJdSq2Nh5gVsSuW3YXgigM5HzcmpiWIeUVG5882S0OSgnZn9Xuu_Vlvlz0kjKC4vppmnAXBSJOel26nFeS_nsPILFpUHhMJujWcXlesLFqcY/s1600/30897_531114260795_19402149_31376884_2781027_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2LLqcieFvSFWMf6QjEEk2gGR96lF4J8CJdSq2Nh5gVsSuW3YXgigM5HzcmpiWIeUVG5882S0OSgnZn9Xuu_Vlvlz0kjKC4vppmnAXBSJOel26nFeS_nsPILFpUHhMJujWcXlesLFqcY/s400/30897_531114260795_19402149_31376884_2781027_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467701045473003906" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">David with his son Arvid.<br /><br /></span></span></div>I visited my friend David, a co-worker at OAIC, over the weekend in his home town of Kitangela located about a half-an-hour outside of Nairobi. As we drove out from the town into the beautiful countryside, I realized I haven't been out of the city for at least 2 and a half months! I appreciated the peacefulness of the farms, gentle bird songs, and the fields of long waving grass; peace and quiet is something you don't realize you miss until you experience it again.<br /></div><br />After some time, David turned o<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAxchtnNCeYU7UkH3F1Ge4HPiDoLm09ibPapeMpml2RuDu7IR0-JSRq08nTDwr5juXHcc5_HdjZkgQ3-ollOQX3hM4mh6WOFQqDhmueBY60VFONn8EYzVQFWwnQfpVny6Tru1q8rry-E/s1600/30897_531114245825_19402149_31376882_3880414_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAxchtnNCeYU7UkH3F1Ge4HPiDoLm09ibPapeMpml2RuDu7IR0-JSRq08nTDwr5juXHcc5_HdjZkgQ3-ollOQX3hM4mh6WOFQqDhmueBY60VFONn8EYzVQFWwnQfpVny6Tru1q8rry-E/s320/30897_531114245825_19402149_31376882_3880414_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467701636334857602" border="0" /></a>ff the main highway onto a dirt road. We bounced a long on top of the potholes for a while, but had to stop suddenly. In front of us stood a large herd of Maasai cattle blocking the road with no herder in sight. It had been drizzling off and on that day, and so to avoid the cold grass, the herd was clinging fervently to the gravel, still warm from the sun. David 'hooted' his horn (as Kenyans would say), and we edged forward at a creeping pace until we were directly in the midst of the brown painted crowd of cows and bulls. They were stubborn and had no desire to leave their comfort zone. It must have taken at least five minutes of honking and creeping, honking and creeping, before we finally cleared the blockade.<br /><br /><br />Farther down the road, David stopped again and asked me if I wanted to drive. In Kenya people drive on the opposite side of the road, like they do in Britain. I was hesitant, but agreed, and had my first international driving experience on the left-hand-side. It felt really odd at first, like trying to write your name with your non-dominant hand. Yet even though I did mistake the windshield wipers for the signal blinkers, it was a successful endeavor!<br /><br />We ended up at an ostrich farm/resort for tourists where we fed baby ostriches, and got to see adult ostriches running at top speeds. They are really ugly animals, but I think they're also somewhat charming... probably because I grew up with images of Big Bird in my head. David insisted that I try ostrich meat. I felt guilty at first, having just fed the babies, but the meat turned out to be delicious, like tenderly grilled chicken. It was outrageously expensive, so I only tasted a sample, but would definitely try it again if I have the chance.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3Jc5jJiEEVEO3qi9Bm4ULCJ-Q57oTf9NhA-AWwJ_BLj-ncq46iwLquook70Up2bABsZp8CXdLABxvtekPf0Qo9GnEKl2yzrWhtUp4sxmWWM8vmqBiMiR_0la1I6EG6jRVilW61srHb0/s1600/30897_531114669975_19402149_31376888_6575315_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3Jc5jJiEEVEO3qi9Bm4ULCJ-Q57oTf9NhA-AWwJ_BLj-ncq46iwLquook70Up2bABsZp8CXdLABxvtekPf0Qo9GnEKl2yzrWhtUp4sxmWWM8vmqBiMiR_0la1I6EG6jRVilW61srHb0/s320/30897_531114669975_19402149_31376888_6575315_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467703193541199058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Baby ostriches<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsw0D-QsStrVFvWpM15Uck85F1zbg8ROO3BC-C4HQ4JV-3EEIURdXxPNJe8fF-6pywv8vu_SnztNnSaQ3ZTctJAglTkrdCSEt1eQtzXK2_wTCyZ4L_vwCvuGyrgjerYe4LG3EMFy4nKY/s1600/30897_531114265785_19402149_31376885_751143_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsw0D-QsStrVFvWpM15Uck85F1zbg8ROO3BC-C4HQ4JV-3EEIURdXxPNJe8fF-6pywv8vu_SnztNnSaQ3ZTctJAglTkrdCSEt1eQtzXK2_wTCyZ4L_vwCvuGyrgjerYe4LG3EMFy4nKY/s320/30897_531114265785_19402149_31376885_751143_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467702055847085138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Apparently 1 ostrich = a dozen chicken eggs<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7JAa0b9tGotumx_3VnkJ3KGYAOVRY5MGAWxawPpNJWzKb-9ArnWo3hxx3Nzc-FUfsLualDN1KPb0-vASbNLqt4_a5LWyhe_6UA2SI1wzw4y-E14rsMEr6cooiYeKK9F7_X3q54AekWs/s1600/30897_531115248815_19402149_31376893_6227600_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7JAa0b9tGotumx_3VnkJ3KGYAOVRY5MGAWxawPpNJWzKb-9ArnWo3hxx3Nzc-FUfsLualDN1KPb0-vASbNLqt4_a5LWyhe_6UA2SI1wzw4y-E14rsMEr6cooiYeKK9F7_X3q54AekWs/s320/30897_531115248815_19402149_31376893_6227600_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467704156516904546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Yes, this is a somewhat cruel juxtaposition, but don't knock ostrich meat till you've tried it!<br /><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2hrOAvaQltWH6NNnW7Bmw3d1E782SQ3szCEZzgF1Bo_iP4ElJ9Fyczz7Tx0CYDqvzLnlyMO4ZQhc7kCXQlt6TgC-yfO5wlskO1mUEfgqkl-Zqv6v4xO-_mzYB_3RpupHbTTM2Qumor8/s1600/30897_531114679955_19402149_31376890_3933670_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2hrOAvaQltWH6NNnW7Bmw3d1E782SQ3szCEZzgF1Bo_iP4ElJ9Fyczz7Tx0CYDqvzLnlyMO4ZQhc7kCXQlt6TgC-yfO5wlskO1mUEfgqkl-Zqv6v4xO-_mzYB_3RpupHbTTM2Qumor8/s320/30897_531114679955_19402149_31376890_3933670_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467702643339318978" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;">So I had a great weekend visiting David. It's true that new experiences are waiting just outside your door, or right outside your city's limits. It's only a matter of taking the plunge!<br /></div></div></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-89853870630650292432010-04-16T04:33:00.000-07:002010-05-22T06:51:51.389-07:00Planning a Visit to Kenya<div style="text-align: justify;">Thought I'd write with a quick update on how things are progressing.<br /><br />I'm getting very excited for my parents to come spend ten days visiting me here in May. We're planning to do all the touristy stuff you can do in Kenya ... a safari in the Masai Mara, a trip to Nakuru in the breath-taking Rift Valley province, seeing some sites around Nairobi etc. I'm also planning to introduce them to people at OAIC, and possibly take them to visit one of the OAIC groups I've mentioned at other points in my blog. I feel like it's important for visitors coming to places like Kenya to see all sides of the spectrum-- to balance being a tourist with just being a traveler who is there to meet people in a genuine way, learning from them as well as teaching. Kenya is a very complex country as you probably already know, or have picked up from reading my earlier postings. I can't wait to show my parents at least a portion of what is here. After now having nailed down most of the arrangements, I can relax and just look forward to their arrival in less than a month!<br /><br />Other than getting excited about my parents' visit, I've just been working...working...working. I've been busy writing OAIC's first quarterly newsletter, and also designing a fundraising brochure to send out to our international partners. Hopefully I will get out of the office soon, either with a trip to Uganda to visit AIC's there, or to visit local groups around Nairobi. I hate being couped up in the office when there is so much life and activity going on outside.<br /><br />Take care and always remember to be in touch :)</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-41998061398414424892010-03-22T05:11:00.000-07:002010-04-01T04:09:53.602-07:00Birthday Blog Post<div style="text-align: justify;">I won't spend this entire blog post writing about my 23rd birthday, at the risk of sounding self-centered. But I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm having a nice day, even though it's Monday and I'm here at work, and thank you all for the b-day wishes :)<br /><br />Life in Kenya continues to be good. The most significant event that occurred recently was OAIC's Executive Committee meeting, which took place on the 10th and 11th of March. You might be asking, what is an Executive Committee meeting and why is that interesting enough to be in a blog post? Well, read on anyway.<br /><br /><br />OAIC's Executive Committ<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9wSa1eKeZy6WPdhlNm0uP0MWvOwMFKHLA32cbuS5aZs8cfyNAk20sbKzk3whwr40uDlP2gni8boYQ0oR9piRIhUQZamLV8LFjjcSEALz3GHZgyPNTUlIknlLusn2a6sIjbp-Is1aKWg/s1600/DSC00521.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9wSa1eKeZy6WPdhlNm0uP0MWvOwMFKHLA32cbuS5aZs8cfyNAk20sbKzk3whwr40uDlP2gni8boYQ0oR9piRIhUQZamLV8LFjjcSEALz3GHZgyPNTUlIknlLusn2a6sIjbp-Is1aKWg/s320/DSC00521.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452097604560061698" border="0" /></a>ee meeting is an annual event bringing together all of the organization's top officials from around the African continent to discuss our current state of affairs. I met leaders from Ghana, Nigeria, Uganda, Botswana, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Burundi, and people from other parts of Kenya as well. For most of the meeting I was the only woman present, so I'm thankful that at one point the leaders discussed the need for more female leadership at higher official levels of the organization. Yet I have to admit that it was an odd feeling to be a young American woman sitting in an official meeting with several older men from different parts of Africa. I did not let that intimidate me, though, and enjoyed getting to know each of the members. I was even asked to present in front of the Committee about the new OAIC website that I have been working to improve over the last six months. And after the meeting was over, I had the opportunity to conduct individual interviews with each of the Committee members to find out what is going on with OAIC in other regions of Africa.<br /><br /><br />One of the most interesting aspects of the meeting was hearing about OAIC's chapter in the DRC. The Committee member from the DRC is an elderly man in his mid 70's known as Papa Zeyi, who I have to say is quite a character. Claiming to speak only French, he showed up at the meeting wearing a short-sleeved pin-striped suit and leopard print sunglasses. When he spoke, his comments could easily turn into twenty minute long monologues, with the poor translator trying desperately to keep up. He talked about how African Independent Churches in the DRC are leaving OAIC because the organization has not done enough to support and engage with them. It is true that there is a definite language barrier within OAIC. Although it is an international, pan-African organization, the Francophone countries are often at a disadvantage and there is less programming in these places as a result. However, I believe that in the case of the DRC the major problem is a lack of funds, which the OAIC International Office encourages its chapters to raise for themselves. Papa Zeyi reported that the OAIC staff members in the DRC use his own house as an office, free of charge, because they do not have the money to rent their own separate building. Because of this lack of resources, there is not enough funding for programs, and thus the churches are leaving the organization. However, the General Secretary contradicted Papa Zeyi, saying that when he had visited the DRC last year, he had met several young church members who were very enthusiastic about joining OAIC. It is obvious that there is a clear divide between the older and younger generations within the DRC's OAIC chapter, and this needs to be addressed. Eventually after these discussions with Papa Zeyi, the Executive Committee decided to hold a workshop in the DRC sometime this summer to establish better footing, and to reinvigorate the organization within the chapter.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIj5JzU9uyaejBPIk9fVDdYIQ2zQn959SCyoSqVpbUbkFjHXVfr-niR6kq-ajf4-4UMegni6u89FUrzgPVHY0AdLu5uqU8AMwKWsB-LMYtp7dUgsVnR1NB82Axh7ExD5EaXPz9QoHOODo/s1600/DSC00524.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIj5JzU9uyaejBPIk9fVDdYIQ2zQn959SCyoSqVpbUbkFjHXVfr-niR6kq-ajf4-4UMegni6u89FUrzgPVHY0AdLu5uqU8AMwKWsB-LMYtp7dUgsVnR1NB82Axh7ExD5EaXPz9QoHOODo/s400/DSC00524.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452094525092127538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Papa Zeyi (left) with the leader of OAIC's Uganda Chapter.<br /></span></span></div><br />Now that the Executive Committee is over, I have my hands full with writing stories and news updates to use on our website. Attending the meeting made it clear to me that my fieldwork and on-the-ground activities are not the only interesting aspects of work at the organization; even at the executive levels there is work to be done, problems to be solved, and stories to be written.<br /><br /></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-18180047708437902812010-02-28T23:30:00.000-08:002010-03-01T04:57:49.321-08:00Six Months and Monks<div style="text-align: justify;">Today marks six months since I arrived in Kenya. Has it really been that long? Half a year ago I stepped off the plane, exhausted after a day and a half of flying, hoping only for a bed to sleep off my jetlag. I told myself that night I arrived that I would just take it day by day, and not think about the overwhelming amount of time I would spend away from home in an unfamiliar part of the world. Yet it seems that time is a funny thing. The months have slipped away, and now I am waking up to realize that I only have five months left in Kenya. I'm more than half way through my year.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">This past<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKE0YWh7p4h7tgVbDSU_GHMhmj3wo4F71sy_DUN6wMWteKAdO30GWzx9a-g_W6DpbXYczQksMapSdWdSuxBiJNo6hfcqKlatqLnurRiE5Rflc3-3lKTrnfD_WlHMasMJoroInnm8y6PY/s1600-h/DSC00556.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKE0YWh7p4h7tgVbDSU_GHMhmj3wo4F71sy_DUN6wMWteKAdO30GWzx9a-g_W6DpbXYczQksMapSdWdSuxBiJNo6hfcqKlatqLnurRiE5Rflc3-3lKTrnfD_WlHMasMJoroInnm8y6PY/s320/DSC00556.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443591203607611666" border="0" /></a> weekend I stayed with the other YAVs and Phyllis at a Benedictine monastery outside of Nairobi. We had come together for a meeting to reflect on these past six months in Kenya, and to discuss plans for our remaining time here and beyond. The monastery provided the perfect setting for reflection. Situated amidst rolling green hills of forest and farmland, the place is a haven of peace right outside a fast-paced and noisy city. I appreciated the overall quietness of the place, interrupted only by bird songs in the day, and the chanting of the monks in the evening at their Vespers service. Walking around the grounds of the monastery, I came across several statues of saints, and one glorious life-sized sculpture of Jesus Christ with a crown that I thought looked like a wedding cake. Though not part of my own faith tradition, these statues were powerful and seemed familiar to me. I thought back to the visits I made as a child to another monastery with my father when we lived in Wisconsin. Sitting high up on a forested hillside, we could climb the church's steeple and look out at the surrounding countryside. The Kenyan monastery I just visited this weekend had a similar connection to nature, and a stillness that brought peace to the mind and allowed room for introspection.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcGjn6_JSuZzG-1uL3SlezN_kgBq6N_C7TEFdcs9jLhyM_lEWCiOKHqi6cvuKc-4BPd1p0P1B1FyszuRSfJAYrHKbJghFoE2G6Or8YMuYR6criTCzsQyk_xp0M89fjOU_BQFH-xMfP9o/s1600-h/DSC00585.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcGjn6_JSuZzG-1uL3SlezN_kgBq6N_C7TEFdcs9jLhyM_lEWCiOKHqi6cvuKc-4BPd1p0P1B1FyszuRSfJAYrHKbJghFoE2G6Or8YMuYR6criTCzsQyk_xp0M89fjOU_BQFH-xMfP9o/s400/DSC00585.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443604553337459602" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxA_RMU9Dc8GcIZAPC0wmHjXghrTKgCv7migs2eBK7-7SuOGcohH21c3_PR2nT_pbcv1Hz9lWiB9O7A8eH3K0IGZXt5zeos_9SXkFJsPa8S5ouafMKObbu7lmbQRh4Up7uvEs2Tuwed9s/s1600-h/DSC00595.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxA_RMU9Dc8GcIZAPC0wmHjXghrTKgCv7migs2eBK7-7SuOGcohH21c3_PR2nT_pbcv1Hz9lWiB9O7A8eH3K0IGZXt5zeos_9SXkFJsPa8S5ouafMKObbu7lmbQRh4Up7uvEs2Tuwed9s/s400/DSC00595.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443605100802018082" border="0" /></a>In our group discussion Phyllis asked the question, what in Kenya has effected you the most, and how will this remain with you when you return home to the US? One simple example came to my mind right away when she asked us this question. I thought back to the time I was cooking with a Kenyan friend of mine and using some oil. When it ran out I went to throw away the bottle. Yet my friend stopped me, saying, 'Why are you throwing that away? Some people in my village pay 30 shillings for those bottles so that they can gather water.' It struck me then that the lifestyle I'm living is extremely different from the majority of people in this country, and probably around the world. I have long since realized that there are two different economies functioning in Kenya-- one for the wealthy, and one for everyone else. 500 shillings that some people spend on one meal at Java House restaurant could feed an entire family living in a rural village for two weeks. Here in Kenya the division is clearly visible. Yet I know that there are people living in the US that experience this same inequality in lifestyle, and that the reality of this is not only far away in some developing nation, but close to home as well.<br /><br /><br />I have had some intense experiences over the past six months of living in Kenya. Visiting places like Kibera, Africa's largest slum, and hearing people's stories of struggle and survival through my work at OAIC have opened up my eyes. With these experiences fresh in my mind, I will probably find it difficult to travel home and live life again in the US. Yet I do not want to feel guilt for myself, nor be critical of my family members and others around me for the way we live. Instead I hope to use what I've experienced in a positive way, to tell the stories I've heard, and share what I've seen in order to create awareness and bring about change.<br /><br /></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-71016133000467521882010-02-04T05:41:00.000-08:002010-03-17T00:40:25.586-07:00A Woman of Faith<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK__t_E9Twp9aH0lWqnHxo_Pjlhe25a9syLSfzyOf2Na55v82BS4cH0bciH_y3NXRhgoqoFbDgkSuGI_0xqJVqJQ6pToPRQEYHP89zSjfJIYbS3rGjTQzI27xLwadXRYphpPPmncLUbOk/s1600-h/13566_526741823195_19402149_31234136_560052_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK__t_E9Twp9aH0lWqnHxo_Pjlhe25a9syLSfzyOf2Na55v82BS4cH0bciH_y3NXRhgoqoFbDgkSuGI_0xqJVqJQ6pToPRQEYHP89zSjfJIYbS3rGjTQzI27xLwadXRYphpPPmncLUbOk/s400/13566_526741823195_19402149_31234136_560052_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434810608505438930" border="0" /></a> <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>732</o:Words> <o:characters>4175</o:Characters> <o:lines>34</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>8</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>5127</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>11.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotshowrevisions/> <w:donotprintrevisions/> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-parent:""; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment--><span style="font-size:100%;">I am currently writing a story for OAIC's website about a lady I interviewed named Gladys Kenyani Kedogo.</span><meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/mara/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>74</o:Words> <o:characters>426</o:Characters> <o:lines>3</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>523</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>11.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotshowrevisions/> <w:donotprintrevisions/> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-parent:""; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment-->Gladys is a quiet lady with a gentle nature. By appearance she is a woman like any other. Yet in reality Gladys is a key female leader in her African Independent Church and has spent her life speaking out to support marginalized groups of people and to teach HIV and AIDS awareness. What is most compelling about Gladys’ story is that she has personally experienced the issues she speaks about, and her faith has survived in order to change her community for the better.<span style=""> </span> <!--EndFragment-->
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<br />Gladys comes from a village called Tigoi in Western Kenya, the area of the country I visited over Christmas break. Since the early 1970's she has been involved in women's ministries in her Independent Church, referred to by many as "Mama Center" because she is at the center of her church’s community.
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<br />In 1995, OAIC trained Gladys as a Trainer of Trainees (TOT) to promote HIV and AIDS awareness among youth. Gladys would speak to groups in her church and in surrounding communities about the HIV virus and how to prevent its transmission. At the time, the disease was still relatively new, and there were several misconceptions and stereotypes floating around in the air. Many church communities, in particular, viewed HIV as a "curse from God" and therefore stigmatized those living with the disease. Gladys spoke out to change these views and to educate people that HIV is a virus that attacks the human immune system, and not a curse from God.
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<br />Along with some of the beliefs that her community held, there were also several traditions that Gladys' ethnic community, known as the Luhyia, practice that she realized might be responsible for the spread of HIV. Wife inheritance, for example, in which a widow is 'inherited' or remarried to her brother-in-law, causes several problems according to Gladys, one being the high risk of transmitting HIV. The practice of male circumcision also was a major factor, because the elders would often use one razor blade to circumcise all the boys in the village. Along the same lines, when a person dies in the village, it is custom to shave the heads of all the deceased's family members, and similarly the elders used one razor blade on everyone involved. Because of Gladys mission to teach about HIV awareness, she could not help but speak out about these practices that she viewed as harmful.
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<br />Gladys speaks with conviction about these challenges due to the fact that she has experienced many of the same issues personally. Ten years ago, Gladys’ husband died tragically in a road accident, leaving her as a widow with ten children to care for. When her family members requested that she go for inheritance, she refused on Christian principles. Because she had spoken out against many of her Luhyia traditions and also had refused to be inherited, the elders shunned her. To this day Gladys cannot attend circumcision ceremonies among other rituals that go on in her village, and often she must leave the village entirely when these customs are being performed.
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<br />To add to the calamity, Gladys discovered that she herself is HIV positive, after having preached awareness of the disease for the previous ten years. Despite her effort to discover how she had contracted the disease, Gladys could find no answers. She began treatment on Antiretroviral drugs (ARV's), and has managed to keep herself healthy and functioning. However, contracting the virus has seriously impacted Gladys' life. The drugs she must take are expensive, and with no income to speak of, Gladys finds it extremely difficult to feed herself, her family, and to buy the necessary medications. When she asks for assistance from her extended family members and neighbors, they reject her, saying that if she had accepted the tradition of inheritance, she would have been taken care of. She explains, “So if you go to that house, you need some salt, they say 'Why does she come here begging? Since she said God is there for her, why can't God bring for her salt or food from heaven?’ So when I don't have any money I just live in God.”
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<br />Gladys' faith has saved her from facing her life's challenges empty-handed. OAIC has also encouraged Gladys, teaching her about how to sustain herself as a victim of HIV. Staff members from OAIC trained her about certain natural medicines such as Artimesia and Maringa that boost her immune system and supplement her ARV's. OAIC also made it possible for Gladys to buy a cow, which now supports her through its produce.
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDGcU-q38SPLY08RXy8L-sDLv98mmgZcupvzIF5kfz9eGEYBm5egysVa7OaYJtGZF0lLbODz-YjSH4GA_nUDFy1om1OER-tgmQ-Zk8GYElbF3aFaTDB2lbLJ0FIcr9xtuLM69id28vL4/s1600-h/22080_527779508665_19402149_31268039_7346123_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDGcU-q38SPLY08RXy8L-sDLv98mmgZcupvzIF5kfz9eGEYBm5egysVa7OaYJtGZF0lLbODz-YjSH4GA_nUDFy1om1OER-tgmQ-Zk8GYElbF3aFaTDB2lbLJ0FIcr9xtuLM69id28vL4/s400/22080_527779508665_19402149_31268039_7346123_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434814785050780050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A typical homestead in Western Kenya.
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<br /></span></span></div>Looking back on her life, Gladys is proud of the work she has done because it has brought about positive changes in her village. Now more widows are standing firm, refusing the tradition of wife inheritance. The elders have also heeded Gladys' slogan 'one knife, one child' during their circumcision ceremonies, thus stemming the risk of spreading HIV. Although they still have not fully accepted Gladys back into their midst, the community has taken actions to address the risks that some of their traditions potentially cause.
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<br />Despite her various hardships in life, Gladys has not once lost her courage or her faith. It is by this faith that she continues to live each day, staying healthy and optimistic, and continuing to change her community.
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-41188373275216210772010-01-19T04:23:00.000-08:002010-05-26T00:46:28.956-07:00Ventures in Zanzibar!<div style="text-align: justify;">I used to believe that Zanzibar was a mythical paradise, lost somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean. After having just spent a week-long retreat with my YAV group on the island, I realize my stereotype of the place proved false. Zanzibar is very real, and it's one of the most vibrant and incredible places I have ever been in my life.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOOxzFrXvaSQTjHgDY8Dni1UFtEFlDuWujeNJIp51xUliA15WZV_k7uEr6e6pR-6JP9wulECAwMFb6D3hFxTmiKOkgMO8Syd4qMSFc8NbJdfvsHQZZRyfTxwcV3P6DlA8HiY7ozB7Pd0/s1600-h/DSC00273.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOOxzFrXvaSQTjHgDY8Dni1UFtEFlDuWujeNJIp51xUliA15WZV_k7uEr6e6pR-6JP9wulECAwMFb6D3hFxTmiKOkgMO8Syd4qMSFc8NbJdfvsHQZZRyfTxwcV3P6DlA8HiY7ozB7Pd0/s400/DSC00273.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435839498868647522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >The waterfront in Stone Town, Zanzibar</span><br /></div><br />Getting to Zanzibar is no easy feat. First my group spent sixteen hours on a bus from Nairobi to Dar-es-Salaam, Tanzania. Then from Dar we had to take a ferry twenty-five miles out into the ocean in order to reach our island destination. Yet on that particular day, the ocean was extremely rough and choppy. Giant waves rocked our tiny boat to a point where I craved to get back onto solid land. I have never been sea sick in my life. But that was something else. Needless to say, my group was exhausted when we finally reached Zanzibar and we were ready for a week of relaxation on an island in the sun. <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />I have h<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqgqyYEQSuUwGMjmNIOoCFqzEjSHNROjl-F5NGDGkw_iwLqHP0Pd5ECDqLcr636X3ABC0-ZJPNzzHJ3ctyg5Zk5nJYrc_i0JTG_XYIca3sQC5pKM2PS3hiyY1LFt-VhP-2uo3J3lqBkM/s1600-h/DSC00221.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 102px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqgqyYEQSuUwGMjmNIOoCFqzEjSHNROjl-F5NGDGkw_iwLqHP0Pd5ECDqLcr636X3ABC0-ZJPNzzHJ3ctyg5Zk5nJYrc_i0JTG_XYIca3sQC5pKM2PS3hiyY1LFt-VhP-2uo3J3lqBkM/s200/DSC00221.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437257519671625938" border="0" /></a>ad the opportunity in my life to visit many amazing places, but I would say that Zanzibar is now at the top of my list. What makes the island so interesting is its blend of African, Arabic, and European influences both historically as well as in the present day. In the old Stone Town, the island's city center and the place where my group stayed, I felt as though I could have been wandering around the streets of Paris. The narrow ally ways and huge stone churches reminded me of some European cities that I have visited. Yet the architecture was clearly Middle Eastern in character, a sign of a predominant Arabic presence throughout the island's history.<br /><br />When I describe the place as vibrant, I mean that every sense tingles when you are on the island. The noisy street vendors and honking horns mixed with the unruly smells of the fish market will push you to escape the crowded streets of Stone Town and venture out into more peaceful parts of the island. Once you get away from town, you will likely find small farming villages where people grow a variety of tropical fruits. Zanzibar, both past and present, is also famous for its spice industry. My group took a tour of a spice plantation where we saw, touched, and tasted all the spices we use at home, but have never known where they come from or what they look like before being processed. Cinnamon, nutmeg, red curry, yellow curry, masala, turmeric, pepper corns, vanilla, and cloves were a few of the many spices we sampled that day. As it turns out, Zanzibar still supplies 60% of the world's cloves... who knew?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY0CY5SoK6K-Yi8ONbzDN4YA99PtJF1XNwWjns_vHO4HddAB3hzJ2VBWnXoDQwWH2vTvxCzZIDKVxPYVvWKNnedfx4pQpH8A5P8DB8VXQLSowJhqRhm3uPhuVRFeAUBpbjXvuwnjpfG-Q/s1600-h/DSC00145.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px; display: block; height: 225px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428458950908702834" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY0CY5SoK6K-Yi8ONbzDN4YA99PtJF1XNwWjns_vHO4HddAB3hzJ2VBWnXoDQwWH2vTvxCzZIDKVxPYVvWKNnedfx4pQpH8A5P8DB8VXQLSowJhqRhm3uPhuVRFeAUBpbjXvuwnjpfG-Q/s400/DSC00145.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">My spice collection on our spice tour<br /></span></span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimc3dDU9fGmElOo_NdHxJe8f5sKjV6m6NnsR0KtpR-m1ALen7PqyaHUtrAqOCUrbVw_tOUDGcb6YfQmOu1IRf-eh_uSdcXEe13zUz0K4ZpVGl65R0fBApCFuU0S7P-V_EmmnSwG7cC44k/s1600-h/DSC00139.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px; display: block; height: 225px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428457214180651506" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimc3dDU9fGmElOo_NdHxJe8f5sKjV6m6NnsR0KtpR-m1ALen7PqyaHUtrAqOCUrbVw_tOUDGcb6YfQmOu1IRf-eh_uSdcXEe13zUz0K4ZpVGl65R0fBApCFuU0S7P-V_EmmnSwG7cC44k/s400/DSC00139.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Turmeric<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqhJXkxnSvcj3OqO4v_ElPZLs3ylHRL_t_V8JWEzOuTDEBgC9q3SVSOuhRrXRt-BZ2KeRds2oSEs3qB7N5O7wCvuOh2k_OZI9iUM3G_r0ccUSGh_N_iwHFoAELqvprr9JgTqA1lmCzB0/s1600-h/DSC00211.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px; display: block; height: 225px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428461151324889154" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqhJXkxnSvcj3OqO4v_ElPZLs3ylHRL_t_V8JWEzOuTDEBgC9q3SVSOuhRrXRt-BZ2KeRds2oSEs3qB7N5O7wCvuOh2k_OZI9iUM3G_r0ccUSGh_N_iwHFoAELqvprr9JgTqA1lmCzB0/s400/DSC00211.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A spice market in</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> town</span></span><br /><br /></div>The island's vibrancy does not end at the smells and sounds of the Stone Town, the spices, or even the gorgeous white sandy beaches on the coasts. What I think is most unique about Zanzibar is that its local community lives side by side with the throngs of outsiders who flock to Zanzibar in droves. It seemed as though most of the local people were completely genuine, and relatively unaffected by the tourist industry. My group made many connections, and several times we found ourselves being helped out by people who were not trying to con us or expect tips. This feeling was a welcomed change from Nairobi, where it is unwise to trust strangers or to accept help on the street.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Bn_0ftoY1P2LSPxHB2lMvVJJKKkzXe4rOKtEGpd55HZqe9MIpU0ptA1ObLWkVaw_grTyXm_y5PWaVc8czOaYfCXtWP0nqMZFcWK2SvOIsqcRYgzo2SdtSoY-aAnIDuPCL6mFE3R9hFs/s1600-h/DSC00242.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Bn_0ftoY1P2LSPxHB2lMvVJJKKkzXe4rOKtEGpd55HZqe9MIpU0ptA1ObLWkVaw_grTyXm_y5PWaVc8czOaYfCXtWP0nqMZFcWK2SvOIsqcRYgzo2SdtSoY-aAnIDuPCL6mFE3R9hFs/s400/DSC00242.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429125485184490306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A beach on the western coast of the island.</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy12qiDJ4wGfW4bM8Sdtt6HH7kAKzFkZz1iQY5NJjSrDBenXcL2yNF_BSNvyeqOo6vAMtcvs_v8wCPosfzSNBmhAtYPdoEr-8RrN84y2IFe7BZYuQrTNjYxe5aQz7bmHjMDEcPwOlyhe8/s1600-h/DSC00108.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px; display: block; height: 225px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428466786440699346" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy12qiDJ4wGfW4bM8Sdtt6HH7kAKzFkZz1iQY5NJjSrDBenXcL2yNF_BSNvyeqOo6vAMtcvs_v8wCPosfzSNBmhAtYPdoEr-8RrN84y2IFe7BZYuQrTNjYxe5aQz7bmHjMDEcPwOlyhe8/s400/DSC00108.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The lounge at our hostel </span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-o3bIW2QJR5Cf5Y2xf6EaIAtzaSYGViAs3mtauFRuy6tcONePF4Jdet3X6BQUn8kY_BmN7nSLuC_I5Sr0oSRam3O7LtbRRV9Qd5mQ7MCf13EeqhEREtKJDi7nnGpvCLL10g-4InpWpQ/s1600-h/DSC00220.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-o3bIW2QJR5Cf5Y2xf6EaIAtzaSYGViAs3mtauFRuy6tcONePF4Jdet3X6BQUn8kY_BmN7nSLuC_I5Sr0oSRam3O7LtbRRV9Qd5mQ7MCf13EeqhEREtKJDi7nnGpvCLL10g-4InpWpQ/s400/DSC00220.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429123488408065618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A cave where slave traders hid slaves when the trade became illegal at the end of the 19th century.<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We made one friend in particular who still sticks out in my mind; Ernest the Rastafarian chef. We met Ernest one night when we were out on the town, and then happened to run into him again the next day. He spent the entire afternoon and evening showing us around the island and taking us to good restaurants. With his long dread locks, lazy eye, and slightly slurred speech, I never would have guessed he had studied with an Italian master chef at a school in Dar-es-Salaam. But he assured us he had, and that his dream was to one day become a master chef of his own restaurant, 'Cafe Ernesto.' He proved his artistry to us as we were having dinner with him at a local cafe. He first decided the service was too slow so he got up and went back into the kitchen to help out. When he reappeared, he came with the waiter bringing our food. Then he called out to the waiter, 'Keep it delicious. Let's go!' And they disappeared back into the kitchen again. When Ernest reappeared the second time, he had prepared mangoes beautifully on a plate for each of us, at no extra charge. The cook came out at the end of our meal and asked if Ernest could come back the next day and teach them about some of the finer arts of cooking. Very impressive.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggbYcQFk_WDDuXgzx7Z8W_0MVx4YTOv_dAkE9n8ePszllx2zQM1TAw1OIkyJHijmem_5nBwIPYj52b7_wg8euhBxM-JjdqrBTImS7XRhPiHXzoOyHWsR_Zo9yVVv3FTJdzYLQKNDJfbSs/s1600-h/DSC00260.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px; display: block; height: 225px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428465866070920114" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggbYcQFk_WDDuXgzx7Z8W_0MVx4YTOv_dAkE9n8ePszllx2zQM1TAw1OIkyJHijmem_5nBwIPYj52b7_wg8euhBxM-JjdqrBTImS7XRhPiHXzoOyHWsR_Zo9yVVv3FTJdzYLQKNDJfbSs/s400/DSC00260.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The waterfront in Stone Town at sunset.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div></div><br />As I said before, Zanzibar is a truly incredible place. Its cultural and natural vibrancy, and the overall beauty of the small island off the coast of Tanzania was well worth the sixteen-hour bus ride in the end. I can't wait to go back!</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-71943356532653035912010-01-05T00:14:00.001-08:002010-05-24T04:19:58.436-07:00New Experiences at the End of a Decade<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWhS_gOtnUu4qEMuQOgQKtwXxNIbu4Yc6upv7ha5EncpIo3zew-sI06i255CoVh1cLZp7xJOTZ8_HAsRCej2UL1g8m5gBSVxBnCsuoalKzeKFr1J_qvyRU_YEGjmkGbB1a15iMppBUck/s1600-h/18649_542088977843_66200768_32017184_5966870_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWhS_gOtnUu4qEMuQOgQKtwXxNIbu4Yc6upv7ha5EncpIo3zew-sI06i255CoVh1cLZp7xJOTZ8_HAsRCej2UL1g8m5gBSVxBnCsuoalKzeKFr1J_qvyRU_YEGjmkGbB1a15iMppBUck/s400/18649_542088977843_66200768_32017184_5966870_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423908749749864642" border="0" /></a>Christmas and New Year's are over now. The holiday season has passed. A new decade is beginning, and I had a great time, though it was strange to be so far away from home.<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />One highlight of the holiday for me was Christmas Eve when my YAV group gathered at our friend Grace's house where we had stayed for our orientation month when we first arrived in Kenya. Being together next to a crackling fire in the fire place, listening to old 1950's-60's Christmas albums, and eating a huge feast that Grace had prepared really brought the spirit of the holiday to us in Kenya.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Christmas day spent at Phyllis' house was also a highlight, where we ate turkey, baked macaroni<!--EndFragment--> and cheese, and apple pie for dinner.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhpUwjo8vthBs4nBX7ltNFEUkqilintxh47SssKpFzevJqiduE8J3aA29MxAfTvxv_aHLN9pFqbrIukHaVANMXQrNdjvfdZ7a5r2RtjSdjmLvSpKOYLMz1jvgiPO237DYrSXZa2WrYQw/s1600-h/18649_542088843113_66200768_32017170_6025366_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 344px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhpUwjo8vthBs4nBX7ltNFEUkqilintxh47SssKpFzevJqiduE8J3aA29MxAfTvxv_aHLN9pFqbrIukHaVANMXQrNdjvfdZ7a5r2RtjSdjmLvSpKOYLMz1jvgiPO237DYrSXZa2WrYQw/s400/18649_542088843113_66200768_32017170_6025366_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423189619724863938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Christmas Eve dinner with the YAV group at Grace's house.</span></span><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhpUwjo8vthBs4nBX7ltNFEUkqilintxh47SssKpFzevJqiduE8J3aA29MxAfTvxv_aHLN9pFqbrIukHaVANMXQrNdjvfdZ7a5r2RtjSdjmLvSpKOYLMz1jvgiPO237DYrSXZa2WrYQw/s1600-h/18649_542088843113_66200768_32017170_6025366_n.jpg"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">And finally, I just got back from a New Year's trip to visit a friend's home village in Western Kenya. T<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04vDaggbLAxGLAnCBRD95p3k5_Yjmm3PW7geaXw3U8YMc7UtAOu7xIshqsnoJxHgPPcAxrKP9a4aXFOpVJ3cTNosmdXqDu8bechr5vFQU5gnxu5FfybfbnI5MtshzYZabHeQdCUFWvcE/s1600-h/DSC00004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 117px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04vDaggbLAxGLAnCBRD95p3k5_Yjmm3PW7geaXw3U8YMc7UtAOu7xIshqsnoJxHgPPcAxrKP9a4aXFOpVJ3cTNosmdXqDu8bechr5vFQU5gnxu5FfybfbnI5MtshzYZabHeQdCUFWvcE/s320/DSC00004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423237127776467090" border="0" /></a>hat area of the country is gorgeous. The terrain is characterized by the countless tea plantations on rolling green hills, lush from the high amount of rainfall that Kenya's Western Province gets during the year. I enjoyed riding through these tea plantations with the cool wind in my hair on the back of motorcycles, which is the main mode of transportation in and out of the village. Fun!<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Life in the village itself moves at a slow pace compared to crazy Nairobi. It's a pretty small community and my friend knows most of the people living there, including the owner of the village's 'hotel' (or restaurant) where we would go to eat fresh baked chapatis every morning. Because there were not many other Wazungu (white people) in the area, my presence in the village was quickly discovered. Everyone on the road or in their homes would call out inviting me in for tea or lunch as I passed.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm23vblX1KDz45vtcQO3g7P31DI5LMS1SVGNbk7Q6Nxlu08ianVl-ZLmUfVjjaNaD-MXya7MGCpFZplL8NjpPs12W8TM1bDmGIxaG_Rawz7L-LySlY__lswlYEFPP-IT5nGHTOzXo54_k/s1600-h/DSC00019.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm23vblX1KDz45vtcQO3g7P31DI5LMS1SVGNbk7Q6Nxlu08ianVl-ZLmUfVjjaNaD-MXya7MGCpFZplL8NjpPs12W8TM1bDmGIxaG_Rawz7L-LySlY__lswlYEFPP-IT5nGHTOzXo54_k/s400/DSC00019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423241153291495666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">An old woman who was picking tea.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRs3m21a53AW9hufrkefXeQwht5dRxyCn4ebjwiBw8_a4w6RCzZy3M-CBVkpPOd1eh9AnkqTButipTQvcyqbKnTsFuYq4iaQgZAH7LbfkOL1DeH7ny8N5ZeUiZOsJ20lkUq9LlAaC724/s1600-h/DSC00011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRs3m21a53AW9hufrkefXeQwht5dRxyCn4ebjwiBw8_a4w6RCzZy3M-CBVkpPOd1eh9AnkqTButipTQvcyqbKnTsFuYq4iaQgZAH7LbfkOL1DeH7ny8N5ZeUiZOsJ20lkUq9LlAaC724/s400/DSC00011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423234386548763218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Some kids collecting water at the village's water source.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRau_xYNTNguuaBIqb98rNu54TGwdxMLKVNGTz8_cHrDkSYZ83r8FnP9VmKrLwtgJUg37LpUsYsypPrqM_3q598XXbzl5IDZi_yRPHQ4HQ_gB8BGQOCS_i4pa-tcYkBdZ9294uurDQ88/s1600-h/DSC00062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRau_xYNTNguuaBIqb98rNu54TGwdxMLKVNGTz8_cHrDkSYZ83r8FnP9VmKrLwtgJUg37LpUsYsypPrqM_3q598XXbzl5IDZi_yRPHQ4HQ_gB8BGQOCS_i4pa-tcYkBdZ9294uurDQ88/s400/DSC00062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423235115084824434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me climbing around some rocks on a hillside near Kigama.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKcnB_xV5SSFZH4kQVq5lnZmgeup9sw5gGHy4B4rwWgkdAN6INxHA-PnIpfID4s67ovHyyglLVkjHTEKJfPy0mTdVCj6ovXFSqQpwut7uxf5wmbBnTc1pl5QW1s9lPAQm6v5NfnIlHqc/s1600-h/DSC00006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKcnB_xV5SSFZH4kQVq5lnZmgeup9sw5gGHy4B4rwWgkdAN6INxHA-PnIpfID4s67ovHyyglLVkjHTEKJfPy0mTdVCj6ovXFSqQpwut7uxf5wmbBnTc1pl5QW1s9lPAQm6v5NfnIlHqc/s400/DSC00006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423241872037784546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Tea Leaves- One of Western Kenya's main crops.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjANkNF8uBv4zecTCnf3FSDmG_VZsjXBg037vPe6C3I9qmcaIJ_wUoF6PihL77g-LnBTwdF2z76CLHudByxKBgwlOLGo-zuu9UPm2ThvUeMs0IEnwWPmyUO_xk3iKMoq6ItkKWFCRG_KjI/s1600-h/DSC09972.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjANkNF8uBv4zecTCnf3FSDmG_VZsjXBg037vPe6C3I9qmcaIJ_wUoF6PihL77g-LnBTwdF2z76CLHudByxKBgwlOLGo-zuu9UPm2ThvUeMs0IEnwWPmyUO_xk3iKMoq6ItkKWFCRG_KjI/s400/DSC09972.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423240610062306930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A little boy in the village.<br /></span></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">On one of the days I was there, my friend and I took a day trip to Kisumu, a city in the neighboring Nyanza Province, yet still not far from the village where I was staying. The city sits right on the shores of Lake Victoria, the body of water that borders on Kenya and Uganda. We spent some time on the lake shore and then in the town, where we ate lunch at a restaurant with the best chips (fries) I've had since coming to Kenya. Delightful! I enjoyed getting to explore a new city, and of course seeing the lake as well, which is one of Africa's major landmarks.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2x5hDNmab4vc_x6OKdREAKRCMxWgCoO5ovzjlBkDWWLQGt0iqleqECz-1ENY7Hj3EdWLLakLSovuGS52O3q-zRc8tDuyPg-qg1sYZ792QAZNKP-ayrBY4RoJ0Fbry4X3WgV0935S-zI/s1600-h/DSC00024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2x5hDNmab4vc_x6OKdREAKRCMxWgCoO5ovzjlBkDWWLQGt0iqleqECz-1ENY7Hj3EdWLLakLSovuGS52O3q-zRc8tDuyPg-qg1sYZ792QAZNKP-ayrBY4RoJ0Fbry4X3WgV0935S-zI/s400/DSC00024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423239333152266322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Kisumu, Nyanza Province</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwN3t4Smbe3KHSNaX-0FXLwV4RChbMx27cd6W-pFdufjL_AlJTODpodWCKEKyRCHssEbe1Zp6YLbgkTtihZg9HxsQdJjwDQ2ztxPygAB4-rL_o69O_dqAdWVULIfiqLvjUJtOOm-p3d4/s1600-h/DSC00031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwN3t4Smbe3KHSNaX-0FXLwV4RChbMx27cd6W-pFdufjL_AlJTODpodWCKEKyRCHssEbe1Zp6YLbgkTtihZg9HxsQdJjwDQ2ztxPygAB4-rL_o69O_dqAdWVULIfiqLvjUJtOOm-p3d4/s400/DSC00031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423236090665586114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Me at Lake Victoria.<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now I am back in Nairobi, in the office at OAIC, getting ready for the 2010 new year. Already I have more travel plans for the near future... I'm headed to Tanzania next week for a retreat with my YAV group. We'll be in Dar-es-Salaam and then on the island of Zanzibar, just to have a relaxing get-away. So I'm not complaining at all :)<br /><br />Happy and prosperous 2010!</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-77928372946633325972009-12-15T04:19:00.000-08:002009-12-15T05:45:03.990-08:00Christmas Time in Kenya<div style="text-align: justify;">It will be my first Christmas away from home, and I have to admit I am getting a little homesick. I miss family and friends, not to mention that the 80 degree weather here does nothing to conjure up my usual images of the holiday season--that is, of deep snow banks outside the windows, cookies baking in the oven, and a freshly cut Christmas tree glistening in the corner of our dining room.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />I suppose there are a few reminders that Christmas is approaching and that the holiday season is finally here. For one, the shopping malls in Nairobi are decorated with Christmas lights. Just the other day as I was shopping at a shoe store in town, I actually saw a Kenyan <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41N_5UVdhTeVcHWDnOlInakDf1g15v0cK5fZCbjaKunmwLZPuPC0onLbe9q27vICbt_rBFoD0lTVLTSNdYp9lArpPDrMtTsGbROkijRxwYXOnNhoc97m6LQVelNl_0aI9euLKb75BOLE/s1600-h/13566_527066367805_19402149_31244000_3586232_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41N_5UVdhTeVcHWDnOlInakDf1g15v0cK5fZCbjaKunmwLZPuPC0onLbe9q27vICbt_rBFoD0lTVLTSNdYp9lArpPDrMtTsGbROkijRxwYXOnNhoc97m6LQVelNl_0aI9euLKb75BOLE/s320/13566_527066367805_19402149_31244000_3586232_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415453695285203122" border="0" /></a>Santa Clause with a fake white beard ringing a bell for charity donations. And today I walked into my office's reception room to find that Jane, the receptionist, had put up a tiny fake Christmas tree by her desk. Even so, these elements of Kenyan Christmas cheer do not compare to Christmas time back home. I was speaking to OAIC's General Secretary Rev. Nicta Lubaale the other day, and he admitted that Kenyans do not 'do Christmas the way people in the West do it.' Nicta had just arrived back from a trip to the UK, where he had seen lights lining every street and mounds of Christmas chocolate piled high in the store windows. I tried to look for Christmas chocolate the other day as I was shopping at a supermarket, but could not find one piece. There was a whole wall of chocolate candy in the store, yet none of it was decorated with little snowmen, Santa Clauses, or holiday wreaths.<br /><br />Of course I was anticipating Christmas to be different here than what I have known my entire life growing up. The consumer nature of the holiday season that has developed so intricately in the West is not necessarily indigenous to other parts of the world. Even the tradition of giving gifts is not practiced nearly as much here, whereas back home people go into an annual shopping frenzy to find the perfect Christmas presents for their family and friends. Perhaps it is good for me to spend a holiday season without all the distractions of the material world. It's important to focus upon the story of the Christ child himself and how his coming reminds us to love one another, even the less privileged in society... That is all well and good, of course, but I could still use a few more ho, ho, ho's!<br /><br />Maybe I am speaking too soon. I do actually have exciting holiday plans in store. My office officially closes on December 18th and reopens again next year on January 5th. This gives me ample opportunity to celebrate the season and ring in the new year! I'll spend Christmas with the other American volunteers at our site coordinator Phyllis' house (there's rumor that she might even cook a turkey!) After Christmas on Dec. 27th I'll board a bus and head to Western Kenya to visit a friend of mine at his home village near the town of Mbale. Many of my Kenyan friends that I've met here in Nairobi are originally from Western Province, so I am excited to see the area, and to escape the city for a bit of relaxation in a new setting.<br /><br />I hope everyone is having a nice holiday season wherever you might be. And to my family back home, you better still hang up my Christmas stocking! I'll be with you in spirit.<br /></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-67506559454019891582009-12-10T05:00:00.000-08:002010-01-05T05:35:50.643-08:00Eye-Opening Experiences<div style="text-align: justify;">These past few weeks have been intensely eye-opening for me in a number of ways.<br /><br />While I've already written about my exposure to situations of severe poverty in the AIC communities I've visited so far, I feel like I am really beginning to internalize the issues that are at hand. Mainly it is the injustice that I see played out clearly in the way some people live compared to others. When visiting another women's group in a slum area of Nairobi recently, I met a lady nam<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMoR1TPH0z7J2Bzb-yRtqRSUaYTRN34R5OrdCwkOULSxHRlO9zXcvkWfPeRgNYjDPMTSDRTCxWSO_EJpdJ50Z9PhuxMRuopeTM6l3ircAJbXgbVC2pf4zrf0RZKsUKqL59ReNRTDhUTCs/s1600-h/DSC09840.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMoR1TPH0z7J2Bzb-yRtqRSUaYTRN34R5OrdCwkOULSxHRlO9zXcvkWfPeRgNYjDPMTSDRTCxWSO_EJpdJ50Z9PhuxMRuopeTM6l3ircAJbXgbVC2pf4zrf0RZKsUKqL59ReNRTDhUTCs/s320/DSC09840.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413609573437698498" border="0" /></a>ed Radempter Masitsa who took me to see her charcoal selling business. She explained that before she had joined the group, she was unemployed and was trying to support two young children as a single mother with no income. After joining the women's group she was able to take out a small loan of Ksh 5,000 ($66.00) in order to establish her business. Yet she is still struggling to make ends meet. As I was speaking with her, I realized that the meager mounds of charcoal I saw spread out in piles on a plastic tarp was this lady's entire livelihood. The very survival of her family depended on the charcoal and if the business failed, Radempter and her children would be left with absolutely nothing. I compare this situation with some of the people living in my apartment complex who have a huge house, two big fancy cars, and maidservants who do their laundry for them every day. While I do not condemn these people I wonder, where is the justice? Why do some live with so much and others live with next to nothing? How can we even begin to address this situation of drastic inequality in the way human beings live today?<br /><br />Along with the exposure to poverty, I had another type of intense experience this past weekend as I attended a 'peace' concert (of all things) at Uhuru Park in downtown Nairobi. I arrived at the park with a Kenyan friend of mine to meet up with some other friends who were already there. As we were searching for our group, I noticed a huge crowd of people gathered in one area of the park. My friend told me that the crowd had beaten up what what was probably a thief. All of a sudden the crowd began running in another direction, chasing after a second thief in a chaotic frenzy. A small group of mounted police on horseback appeared, but seemed to do nothing about controlling the angry hoards of people.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We moved to another area of the park where the 'peace' concert was going on, found our friends there, and enjoyed the Reggae music for a while. Yet the image of the angry crowd stuck in my head as I began to imagine what the 2007 post election violence must have felt like to many Kenyans for two months straight. The feeling of fear and anger in the air, witnessing atrocities occurring, and realizing that the police and other authorities have no control over the situation is a pretty awful combination. I learned later on that it was drunk university students who had smashed a vender's soda bottles and caused the raucous.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvpiAF0ycYKkHsYeDy5f2NdgQnIpMsQ7kNjgcpzjsYpVkCW58Z-Kdx_Oxb31QlK0_kGgbpzhyHr-9mzwJ2jiBH0J-Iml2Jmt7EEQp1RLCDJq0Xgh0KAESBQnXIxCI0oqIyLsLQXqwYXM/s1600-h/DSC09686.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvpiAF0ycYKkHsYeDy5f2NdgQnIpMsQ7kNjgcpzjsYpVkCW58Z-Kdx_Oxb31QlK0_kGgbpzhyHr-9mzwJ2jiBH0J-Iml2Jmt7EEQp1RLCDJq0Xgh0KAESBQnXIxCI0oqIyLsLQXqwYXM/s400/DSC09686.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413859754624405170" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Vic and Deanna as we watched the 'peace' concert in Uhuru Park, Nairobi</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">While they are intense and at times disheartening, I believe that these experiences have in fact enriched my perspective of life in Kenya. I realize that I must take in the bad with the good, and hope that my work here this year will, in some small way, improve tough situations for the better.</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-22862719171643266632009-11-17T03:53:00.000-08:002010-02-14T23:27:14.735-08:00A Ride Around Mombasa<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0B_465KF4bIE1SGFFLs7EXK1fGnhyII1cpYbAI0rppKbrVKQtP51hEVCbA0OjzTQDnnQS4uYDmXPBXI9NcSD4c_c1ME1lz8QzmnEK27KcH0yh0djOxOGvNB_a-N5_Uly17vIePvWjR0Y/s1600/dan+pics+%2855%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 284px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0B_465KF4bIE1SGFFLs7EXK1fGnhyII1cpYbAI0rppKbrVKQtP51hEVCbA0OjzTQDnnQS4uYDmXPBXI9NcSD4c_c1ME1lz8QzmnEK27KcH0yh0djOxOGvNB_a-N5_Uly17vIePvWjR0Y/s400/dan+pics+%2855%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407559253592688498" border="0" /></a>Last week I rode on a ten-foot high camel! I've never ridden one before, and my first time could not have been in a more perfect setting: on a sun-lit beach looking out over the Indian Ocean. The only unpleasant part about the experience was when the camel knelt down to let me off at the end of the ride. I got jerked forward and back again, and I almost fell off! But I managed to hold onto the saddle, and so survived my first camel ride.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">All this took place during a five-day trip to Mombasa on Kenya's east coast. I traveled there with three other co-workers from OAIC. The purpose of our journey was to visit several women and youth groups connected with our organization to see what they are doing on the ground.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6_LmOSj1CrPMzBOG3ZrSBOZJikmRfbFuakSiy6bBFf1IEm_4h9u482N-ds5zTd2OUcXg19nZ5K_z8icN4FT4WiwPgOsJK9aT5jFFNV1XGMPhWjJWmT5kvpKtEAN98kED1eDTlXc-ygk/s1600/DSC08605_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6_LmOSj1CrPMzBOG3ZrSBOZJikmRfbFuakSiy6bBFf1IEm_4h9u482N-ds5zTd2OUcXg19nZ5K_z8icN4FT4WiwPgOsJK9aT5jFFNV1XGMPhWjJWmT5kvpKtEAN98kED1eDTlXc-ygk/s320/DSC08605_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405079174076354946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Manus</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">ura Women's Group. "Manusura" translates to "survivors."</span><br /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Going to Mombasa to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNMgdZgVq7WraGVQDIyRnvj2wfN0kFiw0sHtg_XFoimL-kA8buN4YGkrQTGMxB8gEH6Fkrdvk2SN3o7qWiIr8o8NYI8PDOT6ZGDKZ0se6abV7RXWWUR1S4CZb1JCVKxiZoC7EWvTAAwc/s1600/DSC08706.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 203px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNMgdZgVq7WraGVQDIyRnvj2wfN0kFiw0sHtg_XFoimL-kA8buN4YGkrQTGMxB8gEH6Fkrdvk2SN3o7qWiIr8o8NYI8PDOT6ZGDKZ0se6abV7RXWWUR1S4CZb1JCVKxiZoC7EWvTAAwc/s320/DSC08706.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405080805972305842" border="0" /></a>do community development work rather than on a vacation really gave me a different perspective of the city, which is one of Kenya's major tourist destinations. The level of poverty I found in the slum areas was staggering next to the luxury of Mombasa's other areas. The rolling green hills around the city's perimeters, fancy hotels, and white sandy beaches did not fully cover up the destitution that many people who live there are facing. In the groups we visited, I heard stories about the 2007 post-election violence ravaging people's businesses and livelihoods. Young men and women in the youth groups described discovering they are HIV positive, and also being orphans having to raise their younger siblings alone.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghd442X0E4z_8UkI89-c8TZu2SwE7nTEhs3kx6Zf4SmXHg6VJo0vSEuTU0ACpxomjYbUuM_QmCIF3XgT7Xu5lRs3TFqH4Jbcn13pp4kp8dGf9AgPhX76vb1_SpmwTp6RYjKPFTzqV3oDI/s1600/DSC08682.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghd442X0E4z_8UkI89-c8TZu2SwE7nTEhs3kx6Zf4SmXHg6VJo0vSEuTU0ACpxomjYbUuM_QmCIF3XgT7Xu5lRs3TFqH4Jbcn13pp4kp8dGf9AgPhX76vb1_SpmwTp6RYjKPFTzqV3oDI/s200/DSC08682.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405089315019662082" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Yet with these devastating stories there was also a feeling of hope in each group we visited. The members had come together to support one another and take action against the challenge's that poverty and destitution have placed before them. Many members of the women's groups had been able to reopen their businesses that had been so heavily impacted by the 2007-08 violence. Youth group members have also utilized their natural talents such as drama, acrobatics, dance, and singing to restrengthen their own confidence and engage with one another in a healthy, safe environment. This hope that I found in each member of the groups we visited is a testimony to the importance of community and the resilience of human beings in the face of utter desolation.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEO-gV24nPBF3hobt3-HCo1_yJRLdNhR9X11FEMASePPlJWumIO4giIZcTFan9FxFN5kHA_uWL8d2GSz3ZR_05iRDZHLns-dDnTcdt9YXWDlOXryQlXtbE1M53ET1Ev1Ss07Wfe2bqXo/s1600/DSC08714.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEO-gV24nPBF3hobt3-HCo1_yJRLdNhR9X11FEMASePPlJWumIO4giIZcTFan9FxFN5kHA_uWL8d2GSz3ZR_05iRDZHLns-dDnTcdt9YXWDlOXryQlXtbE1M53ET1Ev1Ss07Wfe2bqXo/s320/DSC08714.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405084627910098978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Meeting with one of the youth groups.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoguHb6Tg9hyphenhyphensmLeH78lkKHrLTcnVjfU_AJsyAyeBXX7ga_5vZvUlootZv2ENTBUdSp_hrmWDjH8D2hII_DMIGP6BFOUz_Bs7_paFDPTBmVmlL1Rtft6Dj8g_aoo8cQMKq26jbT4smGXM/s1600/DSC08761_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoguHb6Tg9hyphenhyphensmLeH78lkKHrLTcnVjfU_AJsyAyeBXX7ga_5vZvUlootZv2ENTBUdSp_hrmWDjH8D2hII_DMIGP6BFOUz_Bs7_paFDPTBmVmlL1Rtft6Dj8g_aoo8cQMKq26jbT4smGXM/s320/DSC08761_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405086368963890930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Some little girls in one of Mombasa's slum areas.<br /><br /></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh29BM_itZnjdDpLSetEvNukZa7YoLSSJcTDHpuAWJEV0LwffQ3z-YfnbMODYcuyFBdYTg-BnIDP5wbTxvHhM7jR8L_E8v8wSwATaTOJoNvKFNOy-fN-XkwiT57ixKfrsFeK2Al3dhZhwc/s1600/DSC08655.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh29BM_itZnjdDpLSetEvNukZa7YoLSSJcTDHpuAWJEV0LwffQ3z-YfnbMODYcuyFBdYTg-BnIDP5wbTxvHhM7jR8L_E8v8wSwATaTOJoNvKFNOy-fN-XkwiT57ixKfrsFeK2Al3dhZhwc/s320/DSC08655.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407586457315048850" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A private residence on Mombasa's coast</span><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although my trip to<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwXNQnH2BLY4J8ciqsOOUnOM7ne_4XxzhFLs7ekfm3mPqmYEgN1e2HAr6kmkllqv3X2UIUMJgHjiGGYvki4SDlRwf8mIqVx2NfENW05zeo5CKF6WcT8HXbOXgAAt26OLldglfdGmGJoU/s1600/DSC08679.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 151px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwXNQnH2BLY4J8ciqsOOUnOM7ne_4XxzhFLs7ekfm3mPqmYEgN1e2HAr6kmkllqv3X2UIUMJgHjiGGYvki4SDlRwf8mIqVx2NfENW05zeo5CKF6WcT8HXbOXgAAt26OLldglfdGmGJoU/s200/DSC08679.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405089013250878690" border="0" /></a> Mombasa might sound intense, this was not entirely the case. I had plenty of opportunity to enjoy the beautiful coastal city. Along with the camel ride, I took another ride in a sailboat out in the bay of a beautiful, palm-tree lined beach. I swam in the warm currents of the Indian ocean, and ate "nyama choma" (roasted meat) at restaurants around town. I admit that I did sweat quite a bit--Mombasa is about ten degrees hotter and more humid than Nairobi. The place actually reminded me a lot of West Africa, with an easy, laid-back feeling in the air that was a welcomed change from the hustle and bustle of Nairobi. Overall, the people I met, life-changing stories that I heard, and the unique experiences I had in Mombasa made the trip wonderful. I really look forward to traveling with OAIC to other parts of Kenya, and to other countries in Africa as well... and next up: Tanzania! Stay tuned.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKypQt_7lW4FHS3iGVYWLOhlYIMUwvJAmRYh_CKaaMTvwUHjfPxyFy_mIxHIhaAHgzjcdEFBzLfm8V4bc9fBOxkML4X-PdMKcrHL-ETjJMK7C0vEHT92dZik7YFo-p-ky32Bc0oPScQM/s1600/DSC08650.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKypQt_7lW4FHS3iGVYWLOhlYIMUwvJAmRYh_CKaaMTvwUHjfPxyFy_mIxHIhaAHgzjcdEFBzLfm8V4bc9fBOxkML4X-PdMKcrHL-ETjJMK7C0vEHT92dZik7YFo-p-ky32Bc0oPScQM/s320/DSC08650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405087757715022370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Beatrice, one of my co-workers at OAIC, enjoying our sailboat ride.</span><br /></span></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-81566639775843439242009-10-26T23:56:00.000-07:002010-01-05T05:42:47.808-08:00Rough Hands, New Lifestyle<div style="text-align: justify;">My hands are beginning to look <span style="font-weight: bold;">ROUGH</span>. It's because I've actually been using them...<br /><br />... mainly in my household chores. They are numerous, despite the fact that my apartment is just a 12x12ft room with a small bathroom attached. To begin with, there's laundry to do, and hand-washing is the name of the game. Once a week I sit in my bathroom with a plastic bucket in front of me and I scrub clothes for a good hour-and-a-half. When I wash my jeans, bedsheets, and bath towel in particular, I feel as though I'm wrestling with some big guy. Every time I challenge him to a match he resists being beaten down, wrung out, and hung out to dry, and usually gets the upper hand over my weakened, aching muscles. And the detergent. It burns! My knuckles have bruises from that detergent; the white powder sizzles the already-raw skin on my fingers and it continues to burn hours after I've finished doing my laundry.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwg4UtumDvIErYj0aJAZ6VVELGb20TUMBypy3yzu1wcc0WepZmvs51UPOE0dHiffzwGkvZOxsC6JMKWK9qHBG_6XTuxc4JVwYlWsCzwXHeF8Od94-gJjVD2Gm2nN0PLrFtw-ZqQTdSQvA/s1600/DSC08545.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwg4UtumDvIErYj0aJAZ6VVELGb20TUMBypy3yzu1wcc0WepZmvs51UPOE0dHiffzwGkvZOxsC6JMKWK9qHBG_6XTuxc4JVwYlWsCzwXHeF8Od94-gJjVD2Gm2nN0PLrFtw-ZqQTdSQvA/s320/DSC08545.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407584637263467042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">My apartment complex</span><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Do I complain about hand-washing my wardrobe every week? No, not at all. Instead I've developed an appreciation for the effort that goes into a seemingly simple task. I've always taken doing laundry for granted back home where everyone lives by their machine washers and dryers without a second thought. In particular, I've come to admire the Kenyan women who I've seen sitting on the street corners of Nairobi, waiting for cars to pull over and hire them to do washing or other house-holds chores for just a few Kenyan shillings.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">But of course there's also cooking, a much more enjoyable endeavor! Ugali, Chapatis, Egg Chapatis, Rice Pilau, Vegetable Stew, Fried Rice, Ndengu (aka lentil stew), sauces, relishes, mashed banana dishes... when it comes to Kenyan food, I've tried many things. Yet I admit I have not yet mastered the art of making chapatis. A "chapati" is basically just flat bread fried in oil and eaten with Ndengu or other kinds of stew. Yet during the mixing process, the chapati dough must be exactly the right consistency with enough oil added so that the bread doesn't become dry and brittle, but remains soft and flexible. Then the rolling requires artful skill and attention. The chapati is useless, according to a Kenyan friend of mine, if it is not rolled in a perfect circle with just the right thickness. I'm glad that friend wasn't around the last time I tried making Chapatis because it turned out to be a fiasco. My little kitchenette in the apartment looked like a war-torn disaster zone, and I even got a battle scar, burning my forearm on the hot frying pan as I tried desperately to role a perfect chapati circle! But I'm fine. Just learning, I suppose. Next time will be better, but I think I'll wait a few days and let my burn heal before I attempt making chapatis again.<br /><br />Cooking and doing laundry are of course essential tasks for me here. Yet they have both become increasingly difficult to accomplish due to the water shortages I've been experiencing in my home. With the country currently facing a severe drought, water rationing has become a normal part of every day life. Some days, maybe even two or three days in a row, I wake up in the morning to find that there is no water in the pipes. In these cases I resort to my water storage tank, graciously supplied to me by my OAIC office even though it was expensive. When using it I carefully measure how much water I fetch in the bucket to wash my dishes, take a bath, or do my laundry. I've come to realize the amount of water I've been wasting back home in my comfortable, yet somewhat irresponsible, American lifestyle. Other mornings I wake to water gushing out of the faucet. Those are the days I rejoice and cherish a hot shower right away before the water vanishes again unexpectedly. I can only imagine what this water shortage situation looks like in Nairobi's slum communities such as Kiambio or Kibera, and elsewhere around Kenya, where entire families do not have the luxury of a nice water storage tank sitting right outside their door...<br /><br />So even though my hands are becoming rougher every day, for me it means that I am adjusting to a new lifestyle here in Kenya. I shake hands with people whose palms are rougher than my own, acknowledging the strength and capability required for various aspects of Kenyan life, and I aspire to it!<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Some interesting photos from these past few weeks:</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-qIaeEAHOe4WNrBn4IldJJMcmM__E6q77nYTnUy-w9MMLfO7I5CNkHa-AfoSsqOCZqxgmz-FjYUfeKefQYkkcO1JXm42M_H8GZqX-j2429VIIyH7RbaZhL5z111QW2xwB9fE18I0ogI/s1600-h/DSC07995.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 352px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-qIaeEAHOe4WNrBn4IldJJMcmM__E6q77nYTnUy-w9MMLfO7I5CNkHa-AfoSsqOCZqxgmz-FjYUfeKefQYkkcO1JXm42M_H8GZqX-j2429VIIyH7RbaZhL5z111QW2xwB9fE18I0ogI/s320/DSC07995.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397256595865119506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Several cows riding in the back </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >of a small pick-up truck, Downtown Na</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">irobi.<br /><br /></span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_Ql3V3XHzEV388I2BMa8H5VIQMUhrUhLBSvxNUGrwP6QqHBG0Y7KZ_WupjXtbH48Ho2lqY2zeMeCo_VQBhHVh_R17Li54HOVt9Euf5yELu8-Iky7n6NreF_Huo9HBFwTuoALQs2RVA0/s1600-h/DSC07994.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_Ql3V3XHzEV388I2BMa8H5VIQMUhrUhLBSvxNUGrwP6QqHBG0Y7KZ_WupjXtbH48Ho2lqY2zeMeCo_VQBhHVh_R17Li54HOVt9Euf5yELu8-Iky7n6NreF_Huo9HBFwTuoALQs2RVA0/s320/DSC07994.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397261807435307810" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >The graduation ceremony for Daniel (center), a co-w</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >orker of mine from OAIC. Also pictured: Daniel's family&friends, and John Padwick, a British expatriate and one of my supervisors at OAIC. </span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1nUCVX6RSKSZPdrWGlkjJK9pL2Ll9ay1mRr4Ll9kFdtx0I4cIDcNl53fltdUdQuyLyWEJ6Q9JcWxZHIWT4NHEhs7taBzQ6uydu2TPTntweic2eH4KXUnadhiIuS-ViVqEc6VBKYtCLAE/s1600-h/DSC07790_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1nUCVX6RSKSZPdrWGlkjJK9pL2Ll9ay1mRr4Ll9kFdtx0I4cIDcNl53fltdUdQuyLyWEJ6Q9JcWxZHIWT4NHEhs7taBzQ6uydu2TPTntweic2eH4KXUnadhiIuS-ViVqEc6VBKYtCLAE/s320/DSC07790_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397263967405431042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >At the An</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >imal Orphanage, N</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >airobi Natio</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >nal Pa</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >rk</span><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nT6icKr-LZ3bIQh95tY7ttSf8THDu6_IQNXu3fh97nSebTxCuQuNt6CZDesxdzggYVWUdn5Uus41zlcBSEAkH82NcDCB_Im2tJFAUxgt3iUSz4DBy6awExhgv2kMAEe-5cidfJgeylw/s1600-h/DSC07906.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nT6icKr-LZ3bIQh95tY7ttSf8THDu6_IQNXu3fh97nSebTxCuQuNt6CZDesxdzggYVWUdn5Uus41zlcBSEAkH82NcDCB_Im2tJFAUxgt3iUSz4DBy6awExhgv2kMAEe-5cidfJgeylw/s320/DSC07906.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397266051265787138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Uhuru Park, Downto</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">wn Nairobi.</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlXI8SLIelROUtz02Clkl_FuW4ctyZFij7-sVNwfsJNCMq5EphATQdOBPzKRudtXMsrQLymjL7VeKlfKYPvbeE_DyxWDS7-SO_NIckN7nEm7QlflVbak9wPkpFpu3DaM-VmDXzljddLw/s1600-h/DSC08076.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlXI8SLIelROUtz02Clkl_FuW4ctyZFij7-sVNwfsJNCMq5EphATQdOBPzKRudtXMsrQLymjL7VeKlfKYPvbeE_DyxWDS7-SO_NIckN7nEm7QlflVbak9wPkpFpu3DaM-VmDXzljddLw/s320/DSC08076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397267472171478274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Ethiopian Food. It may look unappetizing here, but the taste is fantastic.</span><br /><br /></div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-32505308850817844102009-10-13T00:43:00.000-07:002010-05-05T02:53:43.679-07:00Ngong Women's Cooperative<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvp49TWiHU9Hh4Irptno2FW3oE7hinigIwjJSFl4G67vqz1fpJJh1NH1h8Nyjup_YrXSaLOnh0DXx5-lF32JxZ-1dNICehbThnkWFZ2gc-FhG8fREzGomOtxGILYFMaBB0Mw0CfRFKzk/s1600-h/DSC07796.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvp49TWiHU9Hh4Irptno2FW3oE7hinigIwjJSFl4G67vqz1fpJJh1NH1h8Nyjup_YrXSaLOnh0DXx5-lF32JxZ-1dNICehbThnkWFZ2gc-FhG8fREzGomOtxGILYFMaBB0Mw0CfRFKzk/s320/DSC07796.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392007811473292082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Members of Ngong Women's Cooperative</span><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday I went with a colleague of mine to visit a women's cooperative connected with the OAIC in a town called Ngong right outside of Nairobi. The group had formed after the 2007 post-election violence, when more than 1500 Kenyans lost their lives in the ethnic clashes that ravaged the country. Nairobi's slum neighborhoods felt the impact of the violence more severely than other areas of the city. Houses were burned, stores looted, and people murdered because of their tribal or political affiliations.<br /><br />After meeting with the Ngong Women's Cooperative, I realized I was witnessing the aftermath of this violence first hand. Many of the members had lost their homes and businesses to fire and vandalism during the conflict. With families to support and mouths to feed, the women had banded together as a group and appealed for a loan from the OAIC to start small-scale businesses. The large group is divided into subgroups of five women each, and these subgroups hold one another accountable for repaying their loans in small increments over a period of time. Now the members have been able to open vegetable kiosks at the market, beauty salons, and tailoring businesses as a result of their cooperative.<br /><br />I visited a group member named Alice's beauty salon, which was just a small tin shack with a chair and a small shelf of chemical hair products on one wall. Alice told me that for a while business had been good and that she had a lot of regular customers. Yet in recent months her clients have dwindled. Many people, she explained, are beginning to prioritized other basic needs such as food over plaiting their hair. The current economic hardship that many Kenyans face and the increased prices on commodities have had a clear impact on people like Alice. Yet the beautician remained optimistic, saying that she had almost finished repaying her first loan, and that with her second loan she would buy a hairdryer for her salon.<br /><br />I felt like yesterday's meeting was very successful and that the women accepted me into their midst. They asked me who I was and why I was visiting them, wanting to know how they could benefit directly from my work. When I told them that I wanted to hear their stories and experiences in order to share them with the public (ie. potential donors), the women were excited. They wish to make their group known in a wider context, to show what they are doing at the grassroots level and to attract future support for their cooperative.<br /><br />I will revisit the group again tomorrow and spend the entire afternoon with them. They've offered to take me around to see their businesses and to meet more of their members. Hopefully I will be able to take pictures (with the women's consent, of course!) to display on our new OAIC website. I also want to capture the essence of their group by recording the members' individual as well as collective experiences, and sharing these stories with wider African as well as international communities.</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-32035542728173801792009-10-06T16:00:00.000-07:002010-01-05T05:46:00.463-08:00Beginning Work at the OAIC<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYB5A7-jfw8yhlMqF3QY0Bvca90_mTa9yIrU2nJOsFu21KXFx9yKP5ZKDyO8i2dPmmrfoW-BUchefqkj9krZSUKa2rok8C8_HAgdl-MI1v1BT5hlOygfClF-a0s5hz69oGsoKHF5n39E/s1600-h/DSC07631.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYB5A7-jfw8yhlMqF3QY0Bvca90_mTa9yIrU2nJOsFu21KXFx9yKP5ZKDyO8i2dPmmrfoW-BUchefqkj9krZSUKa2rok8C8_HAgdl-MI1v1BT5hlOygfClF-a0s5hz69oGsoKHF5n39E/s320/DSC07631.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390132479616668834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >My YAV group with some friends from Meru.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's about time for another post!<br />So a lot has happened since I was last in touch. My group of volunteers split up and moved out to our individual work sites around the country. It wasn't as dramatic for me because I only had to move right down the street, whereas a few of the other volunteers moved to towns several hours away from Nairobi.<br /><br />This year I'll be working at the Organization of African Instituted Churches (OAIC), which is an ecumenical body with branches all around the African continent. African Instituted (or Independent) Churches began during the colonial period as a reaction against the Christian missionary efforts of European colonizers. These independent churches blend traditional values and practices with more mainstream forms of Christianity. The OAIC fosters a number of social programs in AIC communities such as HIV/Aids outreach, food security, and the empowerment of women and youth.<br /><br />The organization's headquarters are located here in Nairobi, and I'm working for their international office in the communications department. My main job will be to collect stories from the field, and write articles about what is happening on the ground at the various sites connected with the OAIC. This means there is a lot of travel in store for me, around Kenya, East Africa, and the African continent. Actually, I just found out that in November I'll go to Nigeria and Botswana to visit the OAIC offices in those two countries. There is also a possibility that I'll go to Ghana later in the year, which would be excellent! I'm very excited about the opportunity to travel and see different parts of Africa, and maybe to visit Ghana again. The work really draws on my anthropology experience a lot, which is great and not something I fully anticipated. And I'm becoming more and more interested in communications as a field, so we'll see where that leads.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRuovpqC-RbrU_m-tXO8KJUJTNkyrHK1HC3J-MphKLHpfUGwA_CzYWqfKvsxfsRFNP555NYloVa3R8HEYI88ovv5FdL4nQDI2yUWl6IezGf90eEo7KfkTyl1bpa8rd1vyUU7xC47Bjq-k/s1600-h/P1000155.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRuovpqC-RbrU_m-tXO8KJUJTNkyrHK1HC3J-MphKLHpfUGwA_CzYWqfKvsxfsRFNP555NYloVa3R8HEYI88ovv5FdL4nQDI2yUWl6IezGf90eEo7KfkTyl1bpa8rd1vyUU7xC47Bjq-k/s320/P1000155.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389485736829027426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Cooking Kenyan food-- Ugali and stew</span><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've been learning to take matatu's (minibuses) around the city... they are crazy. They drive up on sidewalks and across round-about medians, and I've almost been run down by several now. Not to worry! I'm fine. I've also been learning to cook Kenyan food. Chapatis is probably my favorite. It's like Indian flatbread and you eat it with this lentil stew called "ndengu". So delicious. It's been nice meeting some Kenyans through work, and through the guest house where I was staying before I moved into my apartment. I've made good friends already, and they've been taking me around the city and showing me the ropes.<br /><br />I hope you are enjoying reading my posts, even though I know they are few and far in between... I promise to work on that!</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-88049277100802009-09-15T06:42:00.001-07:002010-01-05T05:46:59.841-08:00First 2 Weeks<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmxfkw1pU5Kb8AWOhxegwkVeJLYOxes6k_w_BkRnhfxkPeCA-79RP1HO6fBCJ2addkbwr_ZhOkHARO1Ka5gi6Uoc4If4P29-ATLXFQw0e_WLf1mPBpRblYmP_mstbyR9lA4gWN0ek4ag/s1600-h/DSC07639.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 364px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmxfkw1pU5Kb8AWOhxegwkVeJLYOxes6k_w_BkRnhfxkPeCA-79RP1HO6fBCJ2addkbwr_ZhOkHARO1Ka5gi6Uoc4If4P29-ATLXFQw0e_WLf1mPBpRblYmP_mstbyR9lA4gWN0ek4ag/s320/DSC07639.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390112395823069842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >A herd of cattle on the road to Meru</span><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Life has been crazy, yet thrilling since I arrived here in Kenya two weeks ago. I finally have some time to sit down, write, and connect with all of you again from across the African continent.<br /><br />My group of six volunteers arrived in Nairobi on September 2nd, and immediately began our month long orientation to Kenya. We’ve been staying at a guest house and doing a number of activities and programs with our site coordinator, Rev. Phyllis Byrd. Phyllis is well connected in Kenya to many intellectuals. As a result, our days have been filled with lectures from her various colleagues and friends about Kenyan politics, economics, religion, and the role of ethnicity in Africa, to name just a few. On top of that we began our Kiswahili lessons at a language center last week. So far, it’s been really enjoyable. Our teacher, Vincent, is a character who’s always laughing and cracking jokes. He’s great, even though we do tend to get off topic a bit… but hey, we’re just learning creatively. I think I’ll pick up the language quickly.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhix2bF2QxrVreZyri70duol8gzfGGdap279eEW-tzQOHobnjdfjuDlZu8lQ6gOQiVVKgpUzA-B9iZIrLX0oYKSy3LzSw-EZT9WhnzKYwJlw55GonuV68uyBNEUKs5aTfFqu0_vfnqcCnU/s1600-h/DSC07468.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 118px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhix2bF2QxrVreZyri70duol8gzfGGdap279eEW-tzQOHobnjdfjuDlZu8lQ6gOQiVVKgpUzA-B9iZIrLX0oYKSy3LzSw-EZT9WhnzKYwJlw55GonuV68uyBNEUKs5aTfFqu0_vfnqcCnU/s320/DSC07468.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389476237218435666" border="0" /></a>The first weekend we were here, we stayed with our individual host families in the attempt to just relax, get over jetlag, and become immersed in Kenyan culture. My family is great. Both parents are lawyers in their late thirties with three young boys aged 15, 11, and 1 years old. The baby, Mangari, is beyond cute and the older boys are very friendly and engaging. My mom, Muthoni, was wonderful and took me around Nairobi, pointing out good places to shop for groceries, clothes etc. during my year here. Although I will be living on my own in an apartment, I definitely foresee my relationship with the family continuing and deepening even more.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Last weekend we traveled as a group to Meru, a district in Kenya about four hours north-east of Nairobi. Meru is near Mt. Kenya, so needless to say the rocky, rugged terrain around that area is stunning. Banana trees and other crops dot the rolling hills and mountains in terraced agriculture as far as the eye can see. I was surprised by how dry the earth seemed, but remembered the drought that the country is experiencing right now, something I could not visualize having been in the insular city setting since my arrival.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday we to<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaDFNDETdZ8-ohjhXCvcTYSlFpyY5vEINmoLjkQvY2jx3LKYyey_MKYUJHAVlgGY08WewFTvGbaRDF1_k1gp-BmUrc6LH83CKwEYtinvGWZKJHT0waJNPG-OU7bZf3vPzfZK6imfDGKE/s1600-h/DSC07721.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaDFNDETdZ8-ohjhXCvcTYSlFpyY5vEINmoLjkQvY2jx3LKYyey_MKYUJHAVlgGY08WewFTvGbaRDF1_k1gp-BmUrc6LH83CKwEYtinvGWZKJHT0waJNPG-OU7bZf3vPzfZK6imfDGKE/s320/DSC07721.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390122661103894898" border="0" /></a>ok a day trip to the Rift Valley, looking at some of the early human archaelogical excavation sites near the town of Nakuru. I have to say that the Rift Valley is one of the most amazing places I've ever been. The ground feels (and truly is) ancient. The very stones underfoot have been around for hundreds of thousands of years, and it's hard to keep from wondering how many people and animals have occupied the mountainous landscape throughout history. The excavation sites we visited answered some of these questions for me, giving us an idea of the past residents of the Rift Valley. We saw stone tools used by early humans as well as ancient games carved into the rock surface, seen in the picture at the left.<br /><br /><br />At the end of the day, we traveled up to a huge (active!) volcano crater by Lake Nakuru. From our high perch at the top of a cliff overlooking the volcano, we could see little spots inside the crater's rim where smoke was spurting up from underneath. The scrubby earth there looked unsettled, like it could burst apart unexpectedly any day in a massive lava bath. I could even see the pathways where lava had been flowing during the last eruption. After seeing that, I really admire the residents of Nakuru for their courage to live almost side by side with a massive, active volcano!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX14KmCHIEjzEBK-8wVY1Sov6zu0bqZKka-kxDF3Nj8mdRAstUuB4E1hvBwFzaexHrxNa9NhCnLmyARy5Fu7nvXPEJXnIbeIC0L4F4WmOvCPXAOavcjSMOs3y7pxi5ETmADdGZdVuPqTg/s1600-h/DSC07735.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX14KmCHIEjzEBK-8wVY1Sov6zu0bqZKka-kxDF3Nj8mdRAstUuB4E1hvBwFzaexHrxNa9NhCnLmyARy5Fu7nvXPEJXnIbeIC0L4F4WmOvCPXAOavcjSMOs3y7pxi5ETmADdGZdVuPqTg/s320/DSC07735.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390126336586837346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >The huge (active!) volcano crater we visited in the Rift Valley.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We got back to Nairobi last night exhausted after hours in the van, hitting rush hour as we reentered the city. Traffic in Nairobi is really something else… it took us 45 minutes the other morning just to travel 2 km. Hmmmm.</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4763458097891353537.post-71904047928503036402009-08-31T08:52:00.000-07:002009-12-10T06:50:16.998-08:00Off to Kenya.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUUuoQHbVBl9-b-TaSm_vfSdAT1OZliX_xPE2-ZkyLf1jYB_rOJHv-3wRXTy6bAuQi3JBdBrcGIYULOTli1AMMRruXnuynP8TU0jn7igJhxZRR_wqxZ8j9ciCRktyw5E-H81YPumPSyo/s1600-h/9520_523339092695_59401393_31105787_1368930_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUUuoQHbVBl9-b-TaSm_vfSdAT1OZliX_xPE2-ZkyLf1jYB_rOJHv-3wRXTy6bAuQi3JBdBrcGIYULOTli1AMMRruXnuynP8TU0jn7igJhxZRR_wqxZ8j9ciCRktyw5E-H81YPumPSyo/s320/9520_523339092695_59401393_31105787_1368930_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389472008765880306" border="0" /></a>Well, I'm off to Kenya.<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />It's finally August 31st, 2009, the day I've been waiting for since last March when I found out I would be spending this year abroad in Kenya through PCUSA Young Adult Volunteers (YAV). My flight leaves tonight around 8pm from JFK Airport in New York, and I'm already anticipating watching hours of movies on my personal, in-flight TV screen that often (though not always!) comes complementary with long international flights. I'll need that to get me through the six hour flight to London Heathrow, and then the eight hour flight to Nairobi! I've spent this past week at an orientation in Stony Point, New York with the rest of the volunteers going around the country, and around the world. A few are heading down to Peru, others to Guatemala and Northern Ireland, and some are going as far as Kerala, India. And for me, it's Kenya. I'll be there in just a little over a day! That picture up above is of me with my orientation roommate, Anna, the night before we head off to our international destinations, in her case it's Peru.<br /><br />Alright, I'm leaving for the airport in about an hour's time, so I have to run now and put the finishing touches on my packing! Wish me luck, keep me in your thoughts and prayers, and of course keep on reading. There's more to come!</div>Marahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07191389676158190989noreply@blogger.com0