I witnessed an event that was.. well, I hope no one ever has to see this sort of thing. While traveling in a taxi to Makutano (the junction between the roads from Maua and Isiolo) I saw a man crossing the street. A truck carrying miraa was speeding down and the man didn’t take the car’s speed into account. It cost him his leg.

 

Well, aside from that, a fellow PCV named Mark came over to stay with me this recent weekend after I went to his place in Maua. When he came into Meru I was already waiting for him at Sherlock’s Den, a western style restaurant/bar type place, with a 2-for-1 pizza that honestly is the best imitation pizza you can get in Meru. We caught up on our weeks and practically wolfed down the food. Just when we were close to finishing our last slices, we were joined by a man named Jan. Originally from South Africa, he moved around and ended up in the States. Jan says he worked as a bodyguard for Tyra Banks for a while before going off to the military in Afghanistan and Iraq. The nice dude bought us Tuskers and we just kept on talking. Eventually, we joined him to a nearby bar named Marvin’s and it was the best decision I’ve made. It was a night like back home! 2 Americans, 1 South African, and 1 Kenyan. In other words, an Anglo-Saxon New Jersian, a Californian Hungarian, a  Dutch South African turned American, and an Indian Kenyan. 5 more Tuskers for me. I was perfectly fine, carrying an excellent buzz. Cigarette. A fag. I took one and smoked it. Like the smoke that emitted from the slim cylinder, my eyes hazed over. I got home safely.

The next day, a Saturday, Mark and I just chilled at my abode before going to the Meru Sports Club for a swim. The water is always nice here and once again, Kenyans were eager to challenge me to swimming races. Splish-splash and I win. I smile. We decide to cook dinner at home so we go to the Budget store. Tilapia filets sat, frozen, in an ice chest. Amazing. We buy the filets and have tilapia with garlic and mangoes, brownies, and curry flavored rice. Oh right, we had “the most exotic salad” Mark has ever had.

Sunday. Mark took his leave back to Maua and I was en route to my counterpart’s house, also known as the school’s deputy teacher (vice-principal), way out in the rural area I would call it. I watched George of the Jungle and Mr. Bones WITH CAPTIONS!!! AHHH WOOO at his house. It was awesome – the food was delicious and I enjoyed myself. As I was ready to leave, grey clouds rolled in over my head. I waited patiently for a taxi with Kirmi, hoping we wouldn’t get rained on. When none came, we started for the main Meru-Maua road. Walking. Walking. Running. Away from the downpour of the African rains. Eventually, we had to find shelter. As the rain subsided, we started for the road once more. There was an eerie fog that coated the tarmac road – it was almost like something out of a Jason movie. At the road, a taxi came and I arrived home. 30 Kenyan schillings. That night, I started my first night as a teacher on duty. I really did not know what I was supposed to do other than keep order and make sure the children are in bed at 9. Naturally, being the control freak that I am, I ran around the entire school compound scolding everyone that was out of line. Geez. This experience will teach me to lighten up at least.

 

There have been a multitude of power outages this week as well as a water outage that has been going on for two days now. It’s definitely challenging to live without electricity but after going two days without running water, I think I’ll take no electricity any day. Yes, I do shower (or bathe at least) still.  There is a big pile of dishes in my kitchen sink, though. On Wednesday, I was standing in the kitchen looking out the window when I saw all the children sprint for an area at the back end of the compound. Naturally, being the teacher on duty, I went to check it out. As I approached the scene, I began to become worried that a student had become injured for I could hear hoots and screams of a primal nature. Blood. Flashes of white. An egret’s upper fibula has been broken by a class 2 (2nd grader) when he proudly hurled a rock at the poor avian creature. Instincts took over and I saw my hands pluck the bird out of the childrens’ hands and I felt my legs carry me as fast as they could for my house. I tried my best to splint the leg, but with the limited  medical knowledge I knew I could tell that the fibula had broken clean through. Not good. I also remember reading somewhere that birds’ bones break easily and do not heal easily. The bird stayed in my house overnight, after I cleaned the wound, and I let it go in the morning. It flew off and landed on its good leg, and surprisingly sturdily balanced itself.

I think here on, it’s just going to be blurbs of little things that come to mind of what to share.

I made my very own homemade panir cheese. I modified it and added seasonings to the milk while its boiling as Rohan did with his. Delicious. I wish I could send some to you people out there. Just think – fried cheese. Mmm.

The school’s secretary called me a racist for jokingly calling myself a mzungu. While she is on par with what she said, I did not expect to have anyone call me out as a racist.

I’ve finally talked to some teachers and I will start teaching KSL classes on Tuesdays & Thursdays from 3:10 – 4:00. My only hope is that they take what I say seriously rather than learning the vocabulary corresponding to each English word and using that in their S.E.E. instruction. At least that will be better than having nothing at all. Still, I really hope that I impact at least one teacher to see the light that is the natural sign. Yes, this school teaches using S.E.E. and Sim-Com. As much as it pisses me off, there isn’t a way that I can criticize it publicly because it is the school’s established medium of instruction. I actually got into a spat with a teacher two Tuesdays ago – she inquired about why I wasn’t wearing my hearing aids. That’s how it started. The situation escalated when I said I didn’t like wearing them, especially in a Deaf school. An order to wear them from that day forward came from her, and you know how I am. I lost it and just started signing furiously. We haven’t talked since.

There are moments where I walk through the Nakumatt (Wal-Martish store here) in total shock at what I’m seeing. Granted, I live in one of the more civilized areas of Kenya but it’s a stark difference between seeing that sort of stuff everyday in America to seeing it only once every one or two weeks.

I think that’s all for now. I miss all you crazy people back home.