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.
This past
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.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.
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