I’m sitting at the Java House, a Kenyan equivalent of Starbucks, mooching off of their free Internet. Today hasn’t been the greatest of days despite it being July 4th. In the past, America’s Independence Day from the British had little importance to me. To be honest, it was another opportunity to party and have a good time. Memories of various 4ths are wafting back to me with the earliest being in Huntington Beach with Michelle Kim, Jennifer Spensieri, Chase Burton, and the Sidansky brothers (among others). A 4th in Seattle, Washington kept secret from my parents for a long time, a 4th with my parents and their friends, and more recently, a 4th of July celebration in Philadelphia. This year’s 4th of July, I am sitting in a cafe in Nairobi, Kenya. The only similarity is that Kenya is a former British colony and they gained their independence around 50 years ago. Every time I am in Nairobi, I am reminded of what it feels like to be living in a metropolitian city – just another one of the masses. It calms and soothes me but at the same time it scares me to think that I led a life very similar to what Nairobi Kenyans are living and how easily I could fall back into that life. A life full of materialism and a constant search of something bigger or better. At times, I feel even more stress here than I do in Meru. Granted, Meru is a growing city of its own but it’s an Oklahoma City compared to Nairobi’s New York City. Today, I woke up feeling good about myself but that feeling quickly deteriorated as the day went on. I went to the dentist’s to check up on my teeth – they had been feeling tight and my jaw muscles were insanely painful. Once again, the dentist pointed at stress and my ongoing case of bruxism. I got a new mouthguard that only fits on my two front teeth, which makes me happy because that’s the area of my teeth that’s being damaged the most since I’ve arrived in Kenya. It turns out that I manifest my stress into my jaw muscles and teeth, mostly. I’m not sure what exactly triggered this feeling of hopelessness I have (the issues with my jaws, teeth, this weird rash that’s spreading down my right arm, and to top it all off a big boil on my left side sure didn’t help matters much.) but it’s there and I have to deal with it. Volunteers tell me that I’m at a phase (around 6-8 months into service) where the ‘honeymoon’ period is over. This is where the newness and adventrous feel of everything fades and I suddenly see everything for how they really are. I’ll be going back to Meru tomorrow and I’ll have only 12 days before I return to Nairobi to fly out to South Africa for the World Federation of the Deaf conference. I can not wait – it will be a nice break from everyone and everything.
Oh, I think I remember what triggered this flurry of emotions. The British dentist was sympathizing my situation as a volunteer and that stress is a very understandable. Humans are naturally creatures of comfort and routine – they derive hapiness from the people and places that they are comfortable with. I took myself out of that sphere of comfort completely and completely exposed myself by transporting myself 10,000 miles away into an unknown land. I guess I should be proud of myself for this feat that I’ve done and what I’m doing at my school but I’m somehow not sure I am.
It may be because I chose to withold information regarding my ablity to speak and hear to the teachers at my school because I believed it was in their best interest to become fluent in Kenyan Sign Language for themselves and my students’ education.
It may be because I feel guilty for leaving my family and friends and not keeping very well in touch with them.
It may be because I feel like I should be doing something more for my students, my community, this country.
All I know is that I am here and I am going to continue trying my best to do what I can. I’ve already made some great friends along the way and learned much more than I would have had I stayed home. The World Federation of the Deaf will have a wealth of information for me to bring back to Kenya, and I am truly excited for that.
As you know, my family and friends -wherever you are – I love and miss you.
This is a ‘poem’ that I was strangely compelled to write some time ago after I exited the choo.
Black hole; gaping maw
Into you, I let forth a stream
Yellow and healthy.
Black hole, gaping maw
Sunbeams and scintillating yellow light
Downward ho,
Awaken what lie in the depths.
Black hole, gaping maw
Swirls of black clouds rise
From white, feeding on brown,
They come.
A shake. Finito.
Weird. Still, am sharing this with you. Comment on what you think, haha.
What an interesting month it has been! I now realize and apologize for not posting about what happened after the whole incident with the woman. I am safe and everything turned out for the best. Two Peace Corps staff escorted me back to Meru where we then got the woman to come with us to the police station and solved matters. That’s the basis of it and there’s really no need to go further into detail about it.
On the second Sunday of June, I was lounging around outside on the grass in the front area of my school’s compound when I felt a wave of paternal instinct. It ranks as one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. I felt that wave and instantly knew to check up on my boys playing football (that’s soccer over here) at the church’s football field. I was painfully aware of the fact that I was wearing sandals, a bit shorter than usual swimming shorts, and a very long shirt that went halfway down my legs as I started sprinting towards the boys. No matter. Kenya’s cultural norms and customs can wait for one day. As I arrived at the field, I caught the tail end of a fight that broke out between my boys and a neighboring high school, initiated by the others, during their football scrimmage. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I caught sight of the hearing boys holding branches, some as thick as my leg; and one was holding a metal pole as thick as my wrist! They had beaten my boys with them!! I was livid and screamed at them but as I calmed down, I tried to solve the situation for good. To avoid any escalation, I herded my kids back to school when I realized that their ‘leaders’ were high on weed and miraa. When I returned to the school, a teacher that lives on the compound and two house mothers were told of what happened so we all went out to talk to them again, sans 90% of the kids. When we got out there, the people I had talked to earlier had disappeared. There was a search for them but that soon fell apart. Soon, we went to the Chief to explain the situation but while we were waiting, one of the men I talked to returned. The man explained the situation and asked me to confirm the fact that he was not holding any metal poles. There were two teachers standing where we all were now but my responsibility to the students came first so my voice came out. (Besides, I wasn’t on school grounds so it’s all good. They were bound to find out eventually.) As soon as that happened, I simultaneously felt a weight lift off my shoulders and a heavier, but different, weight descend upon my shoulders. The football situation got resolved but the fact that I can speak and hear is still a hot topic among the teachers at school, even today. Some people at school go the length to refusing to greet me until I communicate with them using my voice. This pisses me off. Big time. I understand and realize that the teachers believe wholeheartedly in the oral method of instruction but what I do not understand is how some of them can be so blind to the fact that they are letting more than half the students slip away in the education system just to benefit the handful of students whom happen to have a level of hearing where they can benefit from hearing aids and speech training. The other half of the students whom do not benefit from either are basically left guessing at what the teachers are saying as they sim-com with English and Signed Exact English (SEE). Now that they’ve discovered my ability to speak and hear, some go out of their way to ‘teach’ me more speech skills or try to convince me that I should be practicing how to speak as if it were all about me when it’s about the DEAF STUDENTS WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE TEACHING. By teaching, I mean educational content. Teaching students how to lip-read and how to speak/formulate words or sounds is NOT educational AT ALL!!!!!! It takes AWAY from the time that the students have to learn about the various subjects that they are supposed to be learning about in the first place. I may come across as against speech-education, but I am not. I simply believe that speech-based education should take place at a time completely separate from regular instructions. Regular subject instructions should be completely focused on making the children understand the topic.
…and now I’m in Nairobi. I’ve been here since Thursday for Camp GLOW preparations. Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) is a camp designed to educate girls (both deaf and hearing) from all over Kenya about womens’ rights, HIV/AIDS prevention, career choices, and whatnot. It’ll be July 31- Aug 6 and 3 girls from my school are going. I am uber excited! Planning went along well and it’s always nice to be in Nairobi, feeling like an American again. Honestly, there were multiple moments during the weekend where I felt as if I was not in Kenya at all. But of course, it only takes a glance to the right to see a man trying to sell you souvenirs or the taxis jacking up the prices on the basis of our skin color to realize that I’m still in Kenya. I’ll be staying here until Tuesday for a dental appointment on Monday. I’ve been having lockjaw and my teeth feel tight. No idea. We’ll see how it goes.
I’m gonna go get ready to go out tonight. Cya.
What does a Spaniard, German, and an American have in common? Couchsurfing and elephants. In actuality, the trio has much more in common for they are all of European heritage albeit the American, me, being born in California. Fee Brinkmann, the German horse whisperer, and Sergi Ayora, the Spaniard guitarist fell into my life one day when they emailed me on Couchsurfing with a request to come crash at my place in Meru for a couple of days. I had never hosted anyone on Couchsurfing before, but I had an experience surfing at someone’s in Austin, TX during the epic roadtrip across America with Chase, Haley, and Tristan in the Summer of 2010. Taking a risk, I replied with a yes. The duo arrived at my porch on Sunday night around 9:30 while carrying gigantic backpacks that towered over their heads. My European instincts took over long before they arrived. I spent most of the day preparing the house for their arrival. I also cooked dinner, channa dal with coconut rice and paranthas, because I know what it’s like to be travel weary and go to sleep hungry. We talked about our lives, traveling, Europe, and languages. It was amazing – I didn’t go to sleep until 12:30 that night. On Monday, I had class so the two wandered off into town in search of a forest that might yield an elephant sighting. After class was finished at around 11, I headed to the market and returned home to meet the two at around 3:00. Their earlier excursion in search of elephants proved to be unsuccessful, but that didn’t stop them from trying again. I asked the amazing school secretary where we would have a chance of seeing them, and we were off. The exciting thing about going there was not that we took a taxi, like I normally do to get around, but that we hitchhiked all the way to our desired destination. It was amazing! I got a taste of what Sergi and Fee have been doing the past 9 months. Yes, they’ve hitchhiked their way through the Middle East to Oman, Yemen, Somalia, Ethiopia, and then finally into Kenya. They’ll continue on to the Congo and then up to Mali and Morocco before crossing over back into Spain. Anyway, we arrived at the location and we could clearly see that it was an elephant stomping ground. The evidence was everywhere – broken branches, dung, and warped earth was everywhere. We waited patiently until we saw a male in the distance, about 250 meters away. Our adrenaline rushed through our veins as we saw the elephant approach. Worry flashed through our thoughts of the possibility of more elephants coming from behind us, but that never happened. The lone elephant bull in front of us started flapping its ears vigorously before suddenly turning and walking away. I think it heard us. Bravely, we sought out to follow its path in hopes of seeing it closer or that it might lead us to a pack. We followed. Yes, we followed it. After about half an hour of nothing except the African highland bush, we decided to turn back. Hitchhiked back home. They left the following morning. Ah, such a pleasure to have them around especially because I’ve been around only Kenyans and Americans these past seven months. I realized I need Europeans in my life. I guess I’m more European than I thought after all.
Now, I’m in Nairobi. Yesterday (Wednesday) was a public holiday so there was no school. I took delight in the fact that I would have a day in the middle of the week to just relax, watch a few episodes of Glee, and story with the students. I woke up at 8:12, rather late for me, and jumped right into an episode of Glee while eating an avocado and fruits for breakfast. I started baking a carrot cake for a student’s birthday at around 11:00. It was around that time that I noticed fingers vying for my attention through the window. I felt tinges of fear run through my body as I realized it was the Muslim woman who was bothering me from January/February. I opened the curtains (if it can even be called that) and told her to please leave. I turned my focus to finishing the cake, thinking the woman wouldn’t have the gall to ignore my command. About an hour and a half later, the cake was finished and I started applying coconut frosting on it. Once that was done I opened the door, with the cake in my hands, to the woman standing in front of me. I was momentarily stunned but regained my composture. I quickly locked the door behind me so she couldn’t get in and started for the classroom where I had told the students to meet me. We had our little birthday celebration, but I will admit I wasn’t quite in the right mood for the woman was still bothering me in the back of my mind. I went back to the house to return the tin and knife after everything was finished only to find the woman still waiting there. ARGH! I quickly went back to the classroom so she wouldn’t have access to my house. She thankfully followed me, away from my house. Near the front gate, much to my dismay, we began typing back and forth on her cell phone. Basically, she implored for me to become her friend and ally, which means something completely different than what the words mean if you catch my drift. I continually rejected her and told her she needed to leave. No. Still there. We went back and forth with her pleads and my rejections, growing harsher with every plead. She even threw into the medley of pleads that she would committ suicide if I did not become her friend. Once she said I needed to give her five reasons why we cannot be friends, I was so fed up that I walked to the gate, opened it, and motioned for her to leave. As I was turning around to make eye contact with her for her to leave, I found her kneeling on the rocky ground. At that point, the guard told me to leave, and so I went to the dining hall. That wasn’t before I caught her bringing her index finger to her throat and moving it sideways in a slashing motion with the evilest eye I have seen in my life. I forgot to mention that all the while, there was a steady flow of students coming out to the gate area to see what was happening. 30 minutes passed before one student told me to come to the gate area because a house mother had called me. I walked over and the house mother said that I needed to make up with my sweetheart. Red washed over my eyesight and I became livid. I immediately said that the woman was causing a problem and she needed to leave. I turned away so fast as to not give any of them a chance to respond and to cool myself down. An hour passed before students started coming back to the dining hall because the woman had left and the drama was gone. I notified the Peace Corps and they told me to come to Nairobi immediately, meaning the following day because policy prohibits traveling at night. Ayiyiyi.
Here are some funny things that Kenyans ask/say:
“Running will cure the cold that you have entirely.”
“I am scared of snakes because they are all poisonous and are the witchdoctor’s slaves.”
“If you go at it with many women, your *mm* will grow long and mighty.”
Kenyan: Have you met so and so? S/he was here X years ago and s/he is American! Me: No. Kenyan: What?! But you’re American too! Me: Have you met the Kenyan Secretary of Education? He’s Kenyan. Kenyan: Uh no, Kenya’s a big country… Me: Exactly. America is 10 times the size of Kenya, if not bigger. Kenyan: Oh… but you’re American….
“Teacher, I have cramps.” after having ran and not drinking anything in three days.
“Warm water will make me lose weight, right?”
“America must be flat because Americans are so fat! Right… right?”
May really has flown by. I cannot believe it’s the last week of May already. This has been the fastest month during my time in Kenya.
This weekend, I decided to go to Maua for a day to celebrate Clare and Rohan’s birthdays. I woke up at 7 o clock on Saturday morning with the intention of leaving the house at 9 o clock. Instead, I left at 10:30 in accordance to the Kenyan culture of being tardy. A bit scary as I notice small changes within myself as I incorporate more Kenyan cultural traits into my everyday life. On the other hand, this was not a time that was prearranged with anyone and thus I was free to delay myself a little. I’m still on time, if not early, for my lessons. I tend to draw the lessons on longer than the 35 minutes. Whether that’s the Deaf or Kenyan culture or just me and my wanting to share all the information possible with the children, I don’t know. At the matatu stage, I was greeted by the familiar shouts of the touts trying to draw me to their vehicles. As usual, I coldly walked past them all. If you so much look at or smile at any of the touts, it almost guarantees that they will grab any part of you to drag back to the vehicle. I learned that lesson quickly. I zigzagged through the crowd and myriad of matatus that always strangely remind me of beetles, aiming for one that had a MERU-MAUA sign resting on top. I found one and angled my path 15 degrees to the right, towards the car but as soon as I changed my path, I noticed another that advertised itself as direct for the same price. Again, I altered my path 40 degrees to the left but the damage was done. The tout from the first car I headed for broke out in a run towards me as the tout from the second car briskly walked towards me. The first tout arrived first and grabbed the bag I was holding clean out of my hands. The second tout had arrived by then and they engaged into a sort of shouting match in Kiswahili over who had right over the mzungu. (I had no idea what they were saying but in my defense, I heard mzungu more than enough times.) I firmly grabbed my bag back and walked to the matatu going direct with both touts in tow. The first tout had his mouth half open as I boarded the matatu and began to fume. I started laughing about the incident about five minutes later. They say that people who are able to laugh at themselves are sane. Or is it insane? On the trip to Maua, which means flower in Kiswahili by the way, I fell into deep thoughts, something that has become sort of a habit anytime I travel in Kenya. I thought about the usual things: everything at home, how I can improve myself and the situation at my school, and the future. I notice that I focus less on the past and the future and more on the present than I did back in the States. I realize that the present becomes past before we even realize it so how can I pinpoint what is the present. I believe we each have our own definitions of what past, present, and future means and it changes day to day at times. During that one hour period for me, the past was anything prior to 4 months ago and the future is anything further than 4 months from now. That’s not to say that I don’t think about you, family and friends. You come across my minds during a different and more frequent time. Maua. It really does deserve the name it was given. The main town is nestled in between two peaks that are part of the Nyambeni Hills. The peaks are covered with tea and miraa plantations and is peppered with palm trees swaying peacefully. In case I didn’t explain before, miraa is considered a cash crop in Kenya. Miraa takes the form of a young twig that is plucked off the tops of strange gnarled trees. It is also considered a drug that has effects similar to that of cocaine. One must chew, and swallow, for at least two hours before feeling any effects. Despite the trees being gnarled, they look quite beautiful among the palms and the sun shining through the clouds. I exited the matatu and was greeted by waves of quarter-sized butterflies ranging from earth-brown to pollen-yellow. No butterfly migration or whatever phenomenon it was occured in Meru. I met up with Mark, a PCV that lives just outside of Maua town at the Posta and we headed over to the Maua Methodist Hospital where I would enter the famed apartment of Jill’s. An apartment. I pictured the apartment I had seen at Mary’s in Mtwapa. Definitely nice but Jill’s takes the prize. Upon entering the apartment, my eyes bulged. A large living room, slightly bigger than mine, with a sitting room half the size of the living room connecting to the kitchen with an oven among other accessories like a blender. Two bedrooms and a separate toilet and shower. I was in awe. Enough about that. We greeted Clare and her father, Tom and headed out to Equata, which is an American-owned resturant. The decor and landscaping there was stunning with crawling vines, a plethora of flowers, and a river running straight through the entire resturant with a bridge offering access to the outdoor dining areas. The menu was mouth-watering but had a very limited vegetarian selection. I ordered veggie samosas and a Mozzerella salad. Everything was delicious but let me just say my body physically misses the taste of fresh, real mozzerella cheese. The kind that’s still sitting in liquid. The cheese I had in with the salad wasn’t as soft and reeked of.. feet. Clare’s father generously paid for the entire bill. Big smiles all around! We played a round of Monopoly followed by loads of fun cooking Mexican for dinner. Makeshift margaritas were involved causing me to strangely feel as if I could open the window and see Los Angeles with a bustle of traffic and activity. I made the trip back to Meru asleep most of the way, a big change from my usual behaviour of being awake and alert on matatus when traveling alone. In the moments where I skimmed the surface of being conscious, I could feel myself having my head back with my mouth hanging wide open. I wonder what the Kenyans thought, haha. Do you know that feeling of waking up one minute before the alarm goes off? I had that feeling when I woke up at the exact moment the matatu started to stop at the side of the road. I woke up completely confused but I slowly grasped the situation. The tout and driver had abandoned the vehicle to get another one for gasoline was leaking through the front left tire. I stood for a bit, watching the gasoline leak. (Stupid. What if the car had exploded.) After a while, I started to take in my surroundings and I realized that I was near the Kenya Methodist University (KEMU), which is about a 20 minute walk away from home. One foot in front of the other on the side of the Meru-Maua road as my mind tried to wake itself up. Over a bridge, past the fields of arrowroot, past the Olive Retreat for the wealthy and uphill towards Kaaga. A car pulled up behind me and I was greeted by my neighbors whom were offering me a ride. I beamed, inside and outside. When we returned to Kaaga School for the Deaf, I could not have felt any more at home than I did at that moment. It almost felt magical with the light of the setting sun. I spent the night with the students in the dining hall. I decided to put on a DVD I got from the Peace Corps titled ‘My Constitution’ which is basically an overview of sections of the New Constitution that affect the Deaf directly. The entire DVD is dramatized and is in Kenyan Sign. I was unsure whether the children would enjoy such a thing, especially with its political nature but the children were mesmerized. I could hardly shake one’s eyes off the television when I wanted to share an opinion with him. This filled me with happiness to see the children finally see something on the televison that they could understand as opposed to the usual programs. Americans, consider yourselves very fortunate for you enjoy the benefits of Closed Captioning. I woke up this morning to a picture of Kristina Iancului and her long-time boyfriend Jason. At first, I didn’t notice anything unusual except for Kristina’s blonde hair, which I’m not used to seeing. Her hands were in an unusual pose, though. A ring. OH SHIT! They’re engaged. I was lying in bed for a good ten minutes in shock. I have known Kristina since we were two years old and we’ve practically grown up with eachother. Time doesn’t stop, even for a friend who’s in Kenya away from the entire life he’s known. Congratulations Kristina. May you be blessed with happiness prosperity. I can’t help but wonder if there’ll be any more of my friends getting engaged for Kristina’s engagement is the second during my time here. (MarloJo Lovitch’s was the first.) Now, I must return to the campus. My lunch break is over. Much love to you, you all know who you are.
Today begun the third week of school in the second term. I woke up earlier than usual in anticipation for the start of teaching classes and whatnot. I couldn’t help but laugh when I found out that the entire school would be migrating to the nearby Kaaga Primary School for a zonal athletics day. This’ll be carried onto tomorrow but with those students that performed well today. I entered the staff room where teachers were idly sitting, waiting for something to happen. (Be it known that I do not get very much information at this school, just the bare necessities so the teachers may have very well known what they were waiting for but I’d like to think they didn’t.) I joined a fellow teacher, Beatrice, and started talking about random things. The conversation somehow shifted to crying and my neighbor, Ruth, said that it is shameful for men to cry. Three other female teachers echoed Ruth’s statement, leaving me standing in awe. Yes, there is a stigma against men crying in the States but never had I seen such blatant comments about the wrongness of a man crying. I quickly said that we’ll agree to disagree and left the room.
A bit later in the morning, I walked with two of the new teachers in training, Samuel and Millicent, to the Primary school where the competitions would occur. On the walk there, Millicent asked me why I’m so reserved and alone a lot. I replied saying that it’s in my nature to be reserved and Americans value their social time just as much as they do their alone time. This clashes severely with Kenyan belief as mentioned in my previous blog, I believe. Millicent told me that I should change my behavior. I sarcastically said that I would change only if she would stop going to church. That made her jaw drop right in the middle of her steps. I nodded yes. She nodded no. I shrugged and continued walking.
When we entered the premises of the Kaaga Primary school, I was overwhelmed by the number of students that peppered the track sidelines. I eagerly sought out my own students and spotted them in the distance, under a flame tree. The flame tree is named so for its flame-red flowers that make the tree look like its burning when they’re in bloom. I hurriedly walked to join them but was deterred by the head teacher who motioned me to join the other teachers sitting on the raised platform. Having just finished reading Buddha, I felt an internal contempt for the teachers sitting on a raised platform, raising themselves from those they consider low. This feeling was just spillover from the morning debate regarding crying – they insisted that any grown person crying are babies. (I forgot to mention that when prompted whether the women cried during giving birth, they proudly shook their heads no. Whoa?) After 30 minutes or so, the competition began and I moved from one event to the next, like a father beaming on his children. Ayiyi – those children! I actually made a coconut-glazed carrot cake tonight to share with my Class 6 students (five of them had birthdays during April or the beginning of May) for some birthdays.
I recently found out that one current Peace Corps Volunteer is E.T.ing. (Early Termination) ET is used in the Peace Corps for anyone who ends their service before the agreed 27 months is up. Quite fitting too because who doesn’t remember ET and his famous ‘Phone Home.’ lines. ET’s feat is made entirely feasible in the Peace Corps where a volunteer only has to raise their phone and click send to the Peace Corps office in Nairobi as opposed to raising their fingers. The ETing volunteer is given a span of 48 hours to pack everything and vamoose back to the States. This ETing volunteer in particular was.. no.. is someone I admire and have come to look up to despite the short time I’ve had to know her. My heart twinged with pain upon reading the Facebook status stating her decision. At least there’s email. Just goes to show you that anything could happen, especially with her having only six months left in her service.
Here’s to hoping the same won’t happen to me.
It has been nearly two weeks since I came back to Meru and time has really flown by, in hindsight at least. I remember vividly some moments during the time where time seemed to be scraping its body on a desert, desperately searching for water. I must admit, it has been rather difficult adjusting to life in Meru. Naturally, with the beginning of any new thing brings changes. I think I mentioned this in the previous post but this term brought eight teachers in training to this school, leaving the permanent teachers with an average of ten lessons a week or less. Another change is that the headmistress is actively involved in affairs within the school. One thing she demanded the teachers do is to stay at school from 8am to 5pm. That includes eating lunch as a community at the school. While I have no objections to any of these, it is definitely a big change from the lax environment I had grown used to last term. After the dustbowl of assigning classes to teachers settled, I was left with teaching Kenyan Sign to Class 6. I’ll be teaching two extra lessons of mathematics during 3 to 5pm on Tuesdays to Class 5 and 7 as well as a Life Skills & HIV/AIDS lesson once a week. I am eager for the term to truly start so that I can have some semblence of a routine again. As much as I despise routine, it is something that keeps me sane here. I need all the sanity I can get sometimes. Routine will be good not only for self-perservation but to keep tabs on what the other teachers are doing so that I can fill in the gaps. Hopefully, there won’t be too many.
One thing I’m looking forward to is unofficially teaching KSL to the seven hearing teachers in training for one hour on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. I hope to impart my knowledge and see them become better signers, which in turn makes them better teachers for the Deaf.
This entire week, I have been beating myself up for the tornado of a mess in my house. I’ve had a record number of people who wanted to enter my home and I had to keep them all at bay. One of whom, Samuel Murithi, is one of the eight teachers in training here and is Deaf. I couldn’t turn him away every time so he came in and witnessed the wreck. I’m a firm believer that the state of the house reflects on the state of your life. I was definitely not together. I’m still not, but I’m sewing myself up quickly.
One thing in Kenyan culture that differs vastly from American culture is that when someone stays in their house for a long period of time, they begin to talk to the person increasingly as to alleviate their lonliness. Sometimes, they think the person is sick so they believe they have the right to barge into the house to inspect the situation. You can imagine the sort of reaction I received from the children today when I decided to stay within the confines of my house until 4:30pm. I got loads done – two loads of laundry, swept the whole house, cooked dinner for the next three days, organized the mountains of paper I have lying around (mostly from Peace Corps) and I got started on making some tofu from scratch! When I finally decided to emerge from my cave, I had completely forgotten about making myself look ‘smart’ (sharp). That’s another thing about Kenyan culture. You are expected to look ‘smart’ at all times. For those of you that know me, my hair can get rather poofy when it’s longer than two inches. That’s exactly the state my hair was in, and I was met with scores of insults. I’m sure the children didn’t say what they said with the intention to insult me but insult me they did. The most insulting, and unfortunately the most common comment, was when they said that my hair was like a girl’s. It’s understandable because Kenyan men do not grow their hair longer than half an inch, with the exception of the rastas, and the women tie on artificial hair. I had to swallow my pride and explain patiently that in America, this sort of hair is perfectly acceptable. There was once or twice where I couldn’t hold back and ended up spitting venom: “Do I look like a girl to you?” or “So what if I am?” I’m pretty sure that my hair was touched by every single student in this school today. Luckily, I’ve had a lifetime of training for my mother has hair similar to the Kenyans’ (mine had always been a source of envy for her) and she took a habit of caressing my hair at every opportunity possible.
Today was also the day that I brought out Connect 4 to teach to the children, despite their behaviour towards my hairdo. I had to play with several children while the others observed before some started to understand the rules of the game. As soon as two understood, I let them go at it against eachother. I left for two hours to cook dinner and by the time I returned, the numbers of students that understood had tripled. The power of peer teaching, dayum.
Other than school, which is about 95% of my life right now, things are going well. I have a friend that I meet up with every now and then in the Makutano area of Meru. He signs rather fluently, a rare thing around here, and he’s clever. Who knows, I may actually have friends outside of the Kaaga School for the Deaf!
Mikary Je’Trasely is growing beautifully. I’ve taken to calling her MJ but most of the time I sign her name sign. Whenever people see me signing to the cat, they think I’m not all there. MJ’s pissed me off a couple of times when she shat in my house, once on the couch and the other on my bed. If any of you have any suggestions on how to train a cat to not shit inside the house, it’d help immensely! Otherwise, I’m keeping her outside the house for the time being. (Of course, there are times where I let her in but it’s under the strictest observation. It’s actually funny because I feel like she KNOWS I’m watching her because she shat and she acts like she’s looking for an opportunity to do it again.)
Yes, one last thing: during my house-wide cleaning spree today I found a USB that I brought from the States. It contained photos from 2008 and 2009. A night to remember on the CSUN campus that ended with Mike, Kevin, and Chase gallantly smoking ciggarettes in front of the police that were in the driveway at #101 leaving Haley and I in the kitchen, the roadtrip from Maryland to CA with Mr. Hause, King’s River, Spring Break at Cancun and in NorCal (I don’t remember the name of the town we went to) followed by a visit to Tristan’s parents, and finally photos from one of the best and scariest nights of my life: Gabriel was driving DiDi, Kevin, Jennifer and I back to Northridge from LA because the party we were at got shut down. Sweet memories that brought forth many other memories I had forgotten. Thank you for all the wonderful memories, friends. I miss you all.
Another month has come and gone. It was the fastest month that’s transpired during my time in Kenya, and with good reason too. April has always been a good month for me but I think it’s been even more so after teaching for 3 months straight. However, I’m glad to be back at site because there are things that I do miss here. I miss teaching and my students, even though it can be very challenging at times. I foresee many of the same challenges outside of school from the first term, which is a very thin line to walk since I live on the school compound, happening during the second term.
*shoos us all into a time machine that takes us back to April 4th*
I prepared the house for my extended leave in such a way that it would make my mother AND grandmother proud! I dusted everything, cleaned the sinks, toilet, fridge, and I swept and mopped the entire house in addition to washing all the bedsheets for my 3 beds. I also weeded and hoed the entire garden, the little that I do have, and planted peas, beet roots, cauliflower, hot and sweet peppers, and tomatoes. The garden looked so clean that I actually felt as if my grandpa was looking over my shoulder, congratulating me. On April 8th, I finalized a few things around the house and garden and then took a long shower to scrape off all the muck and dirt I accumulated onto myself the past few days. I packed all that I would need for my three week rendevouz away from site and I snuck away to the Meru stage to meet up with Rohan, Mark, and Clare. The four of us went to Nairobi to stay the night before continuing our journey to Mombasa, on the coast.
I have learned that every time I go to Nairobi, there will always be at least two other PCVs. It’s pretty awesome to meet Americans during my time in Kenya, whatever the reason I am in Nairobi for. It just so happens that there were 15 other PCVs in Nairobi the same night, some going to the Coast as well and others going to Uganda for white water rafting. Putting on our Volunteers’ best, we headed over to Black Diamond, a club in Nairobi that attracts people from all across the board and plays decent music. Always a good night with fellow PCVs. I woke up at 5:30 the next morning and sleepily found my way to the Nairobi stage to board the Mash Poa bus for Mombasa. (The fact that I was following other people may have very well been the reason I made it to the 8:00 bus on time.)
Sidetracking to a funny story that occured while waiting to be boarded onto the bus. A Public Health Volunteer named Clare and I were just chatting near the rear of the bus when a Kenyan man came near and leaned onto a pole. I don’t recall how it started but Clare and I found ourselves egging the Kenyan to demonstrate to us how to bend-over, backwards. It’s actually from a song that is quite popular in Kenya these days and sounds like ‘ben-ovah ben-ovah ben-ovah backwerds backwerds’ in the Kenyan accent. Anyway, the man told us we should show him how to do it. We responded saying that we’re Americans and therefore we don’t know how to but we would gladly do it after his demonstration. Back and forth it went like that for a good 15 minutes before we boarded. Hilarious.
I’m so thankful Amanda and I decided to take that particular bus for the 8 hour ride. The bus was roomy and we could comfortably sleep most of the way. I definitely needed the sleep for Sir Angovah was putting sand in my eyes, or more like my stomach. The bus’ swerves and bumps made my stomach lurch to a point where I seriously thought I was going to hurl. Luckily, that didn’t happen. As the bus made its downward descent to Mombasa, the air started feeling thicker and definitely more hot. By mid-afternoon, I was cured and started to enjoy the sights. We arrived into Mombasa town at 3:30. We exited the bus and immediately boarded a tuktuk (a three-wheeled vehicle that functions much like a taxi) to get to the Mtwapa matatu stage. 100KSH, we paid, for a trip that was barely a quarter of a kilometer. Gr. We fell into a tourist trap. We brushed it off and boarded the matatu for Mtwapa, where we would stay with the amazing and kind-hearted Mary.
Let me tell you the little that I’ve heard about Mtwapa prior to my arrival. It’s supposed to be the prostitute central of the Coast, and quite possibly all of Kenya. It’s proximity to Mombasa and the Coast makes it a perfect trap for traveling mzungus. In my mind, I imagined a semi-urban area resting on the sands of the Indian Ocean with tight mini-skirts and jeans flashing by everywhere. Nothing could be further from the truth. Except for the prostitutes. I wasn’t even seduced openly by anyone but that doesn’t mean whomever I spoke with wasn’t a prostitute. Travel weary, we dumped our bags into Mary’s very western apartment that overlooked a sort of clearing. I spent some long stretches of time just gazing out onto that clearing, at the bustle of activity passing through ranging from piki pikis (motorcycles) zooming through to a groups of chicken and goats making their rounds for whatever substance they could scrounge up. Much to my dismay, I did not immediately dip my sore buttocks into the Indian Ocean. As is expected of me, I slept in Mary’s balcony for the whole week while everyone else (Amanda, Mary, Shannon, Lee, Kristiann, and Anna) slept inside in the stifling heat. 
Most of the days during the week we went to a school for the Deaf in Mombasa to watch the National Deaf Sports, where at least 20 different schools were in attendance. My own Kaaga School for the Deaf was, unfortunately, not in attendance due to the District Education Officer (DEO) stating there were insufficient funds. *coughs* It was interesting to interact with all the different Deaf children from all over Kenya. In the afternoons, Amanda and I went to visit Alan at his hotel or to Pirates’ Beach to swim, AHH! Two afternoons, we went on an excursion in the town of Mombasa, including Old Town Mombasa. The spice market there was unbelievable – I bought 1kg of the best dates I’ve ever tasted in my life along with some tumeric and saffron (for 200KSH a gram!! = $2.50 – this usually goes for at least 8 dollars in the States per gram) I had three coconuts daily and my, my, their milky goodness was exactly what I needed. -.-
One story I absolutely must share with you. On the night of my birthday, most of us went out to bar-hop in Mtwapa. We danced and had a good time. When we got to the last bar, it was more of a lounge bar than anything and we had walked in on a show. There was a shirtless Kenyan man dancing to techno music. We started walking to a place that we could chill and watch the show. By the time we found a good spot to sit, the man had moved onto a burning stick show where he threw the stick around, licked it, rubbed it on his head and stuff like that. Rather suddenly, the show shifted to the man apprehensively looking at a wrapped up T-shirt. Once the man started touching it, loud rat-like squeals could be heard. The Kenyan proceeded to throw the shirt down, stomp, sit, jump, and punch the shirt. Pause. A peek, and the man was immediately looking in all directions as if the things that had been in the shirt escaped. One of the directions he looked at was towards Amanda and I. He nearly ran to a spot behind us where he comically bent over, thrust his bum high up in the air and swiveled his head side to side in search of the creature. His hands came up and his face revealed that he did not find anything. He began walking back to the stage but as soon as he passed me, standing, he turned around. So quickly did he turn around that I wasn’t sure what had happened. The Kenyan man, from a culture that is conservative, had grabbed my balls and penis. After the initial shock wore off he let go of my balls, yanked my penis up as if it was the creature he had been searching for, and threw the imaginary creature back onto the stage. Then came the loudest squeal after he proceeded to squash it. I found myself laughing to the point where I almost couldn’t breathe.
After a week in Mombasa, we headed back to Nairobi where we had our two-week long training. I’m so glad we had the training because it enabled us to get to know Nairobi so much better! During training, we learned a lot that will definitely help during the term.
(Sorry to clip off chunks of information from the last 3 weeks but quite frankly, the times were much too good to describe in words.)
I’m back at site, obviously, and the second term has started. Yesterday, to be exact. You can imagine my shock when I discovered that I only officially have 7 lessons, down from my 15 lessons in the first term. What had happened is that six teachers are here doing their practicums. Interesting way of doing things – sending teachers that aren’t very skilled at the language that the children here use to teach for an entire term. I wash my hands. We’ll see how this term goes. Maybe it’s a godsend because I’m working hard to establish the much needed Deaf Education Committee (no, that’s not our name.. we haven’t decided on one yet.) and to possibly work with other Deaf organizations in Kenya on some projects.
Whoooo, quite a read for y’all.
I have been reading a book called The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach and as the title blatantly suggests, it’s about dead human bodies. In the most recent part of the book I read, it mentions in passing that dead bodies in America are hidden; rarely seen in the public eye thanks to the fast work of emergency agencies. The same applies to corpses of animals. I have seen my fair share of animal corpses, but never a human body outside a coffin ready for burial.
Well.
Yesterday was Monday. Market day. I took a matatu into town and followed routine by going to Uchumi, a supermarket, for a loaf of whole meal bread, the best alternative to all the other stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth white breads here. The walk to the market is relatively short one from the Uchumi and just like any other day, I vary my route to arrive at the market for there are many options in the labyrinthine corridors that cover the downtown area. Yesterday, I decided to take a more crowded route, so to say, to people-watch a bit since school is out and the town revealed its more permanent denizens. Something felt different today though. It an electric feel in the air – the feeling that something major was about to happen, or had just happened. As I was walking, I noticed owners of dukas (shops) curiously gaze at the amassing crowd at the gas station. It is at the station I must make a right to reach the market and all of its splendors. I too started staring at the mass that circled an unseen entertainer and wondered what sort of con was going on at the moment. (I have seen a man try to sell ordinary pieces of rocks to people claiming that if you rub the black rocks on your forearm, you will become more fertile.) I edged closer in through the crowd to see what all the excitement was about – I saw people laughing and some just staring in amazement. I nudged aside a rather tall woman and there he… or it… was. A man of about 35 years of age was lying on the driveway entrance to the gas station with his eyes open, looking skyward, and open hands as if reaching for something ethereal. His chest was sunken and his right leg was bent. The body looked deceptively small without oxygen and that small weight that is released by the death rattle, which quite possibly may be the weight of oxygen that escaped our blood cells. My first live dead body. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me so I quickly averted my eyes. The crowd I had weaved my way through blocked my path to escape so I was forced to look at the crowd for it was better than looking at the corpse. Some laughing, some amazed, some astonished. My head stared in disbelief at those laughing but rational thoughts trickled in and I believed that they had been desensitized to death as it happens often here. My eyes dragged me back to look at the slumped corpse. I stared for a solid 5 minutes before shaking myself awake and a bit roughly working my way through the crowd to the market.
I read about it. I saw it two days after. Freaky. I made some delicious red bean masala last night and enjoyed it nonetheless.
I had my breath taken away from me while, as lady luck had it, sitting in the front seat of a speeding matatu heading back to Meru from Ntugi. Albeit being crushed to the passenger door by the two others next to me, I had a panoramic windshield view of two beautiful forest elephants crossing the tarmac. I let out an ‘ayyy’ followed by a ‘whoa’ as my mind started to comprehend just how large these creatures were. The elephants were a dark grey, characteristic of forest elphants, with gleaming white tusks appearing 2 meters long. Amazing. This was my first sighting of one of the “Big 5′s”. I felt abuzz with excitement and wonder. Watching the elephants disappearing into the lush, ancient forest made me admire their power and mystery.
And to think, I had almost postponed my meeting with Samuel Murithi, a Kaaga Deaf alumn who recently completed his high school education at Reverend something Secondary School (I don’t know the full name because I’ve only seen it referred to as Reverend HS), because my stomach wasn’t quite cooperating after frequent twisting and turning aboard what was most likely a miraa carrying vehicle judging by the bulging white sacks in the rear, the driving, and the driver’s disposition. I had been in Maua for the weekend to celebrate a PCV’s birthday but let’s put that on hold for a bit.
Samuel Murithi is about 40 minutes northwest of Meru and I went out his way to help with applying for a university to attend in the States as well as scholarships. We met when he came to Kaaga for some paperwork and I took an instant liking to him for his friendliness and intellect. When I squirmed out of the mangle of bodies I was sweatily stuck in aboard the matatu, I was soon greeted by his smiling visage jogging towards me. It was as if we were two friends that hadn’t seen one another in ages. Except that we met not 2 weeks before. And the fact that it was only our third meeting. Friendships truly are different here, not that its a bad thing. Just different. Taking my hand, he led me across the tarmac to one of his friends’ whose laptop we would be borrowing. Yes, I’m still getting used to the mega cultural difference of grown men holding hands lovingly while walking or whatnot. I see this happen more with the men than with the women, which is surprising for some reason. It had rained the night before, so thankfully there was a lack of dust that usually swirled around whilst traversing a dirt road. Still holding my hand, we took a sharp right into a long, dark corridor with wooden beams covering what seemed to be a trench of some sort. A squeak of wood revealed a tiny brown mouse, fleeing in terror from the approaching humans. We got to the man’s house and greeted him. He helped us get safaricom bamba, which seemed to be scarce in the small town. After several failures, we found a barber shop that sells the bamba. (Bamba is what Kenyans use to top up their phones – a pre-pay system) I stood outside, the sun warming my resting hands atop the tin roof. To my left sat five men pulling away the larger leaves of the miraa branches, red-eyed from little samplings of the merchandise along the way. To my right stood two men paradoxically chatting in the shade while wearing winter coats. I was in a state of absolute fascination with the way the men were openly gawking at me that I hardly noticed my hand being led once more towards Samuel’s humble abode for a customary meet and greet of the family. I met his sister, her husband and their two kids. An amazing family. They served me a delicious stew with what I believe to be the tenderest chapati I have eaten to date. The house was one of the more humble ones I have seen during my time here. The landscape was beautifully dotted of farmlands crawling with Old McDonald’s animals. I caught myself thinking I wished I lived more in a village than the urban area of Meru during a quick trip to the choo.
After about an hour, we left for the local school where we would be using the laptop. To reach the school, we used a backroads path that crossed through a very natural terrain covered with cacti and other native plants that I enjoyed. Turns out the laptop didn’t work so we ended up just researching on my phone so that when he comes to Meru, we’ll know which sites to visit. I took my leave not too long after we took a walk in the town. That’s when I saw the elephants – on the way back.
Let’s go back to the middle of last week and lead up to my coming back to Meru and then going to Ntugi.
Tuesday brought about the beginning of exainations at Kaaga Deaf. What! The longest term of the year is over? I was awestruck and looked at my students with pride that can be compared to a father’s for his child. After wishing them all luck, I was told to sit in for the Class 7 exams, as well as to correct the exams and tally them all up. At the beginning of each exam, I announced that any cheating would result in a zero for the exam. It brought gasps and a flurry of confusion. Apparently, this is not practiced much. Maths and English were the first two exams of the day. So far so good while I hawked from behind my current book: “The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers”. All was not perfect in Kaaga, though. The afternoon’s English composition brought ’round anger and tears as I confiscated three papers after seeing them copy off sentences from some magazines they were peeking through their desks. Two more exams were zeroed for the KSL composition exam. Sad but I wasn’t going to be lenient about cheating and especially because corruption is somewhat of a major problem here. Overall, the scores of the classes I teach weren’t that great but I expected it after the warnings they gave us during training. Hopefully, next term will be better.
Friday rolled around and the students were buzzing with energy, ready to go home. It seemed like it would be a pleasant day to wrap up the first term of 2011. A lot of things went wrong that day, though. It was as if all the pent up emotion the students and some of the staff had for one another came bursting out like a puffball mushroom’s spores spurting high into the air after its covering becoming tighter with each passing day. Some students were accused of stealing. As a result, they had all their belongings strewn out across the lawn to be searched. Quite shocking. A staff yelling almost at the top of their lungs at students in a manner that didn’t seem to be diplomatic or just didn’t help matters any. To further the already heating atmosphere, the ,headmistress and deputy informed me to inform everyone else that provincial sports, the one that the students and I had been looking forward to all term, would not be attended by Kaaga Deaf. The reason given was that there were insufficient funds for transportation. Fourty were supposed to be picked for the team but that whittled down to 30, and then later to the actual team of 20. In addition to the announcement of the team picks being only 2 weeks prior to the sports and this being the second consecutive year of not attending sports; this brought an uproar of rage among many of the students. I was relieved to see that the students kept it out of sight of the other teachers and administration because I would have blown up had any caning ensued as a result. I could see that the students were eager to take their leave and I couldn’t blame them, even though it did break my heart a little to not be seeing them for so long. After the final staff meeting in the afternoon, I took off for Maua with perfect timing given all that had happend.
I met up with Mark in Maua town and we started our hour-long descent to Mr. Rohan’s site. Arriving just before dusk, we were greeted by a crazy bearded PCV, shoving bowls of delicious yellow lentil dahl into our hungry faces. Mark, Rohan and I enjoyed a night full of spirits afterwards with some awesome star-gazing. Saturday brought a day full of relaxation and preparations for the utilization of Rohan’s famed pizza oven. It indeed was a full blown pizza oven, one that had to be heated for 2 hours with four armfuls of thick firewood. The students helped chop the wood and prepare the fire while the Americans prepped the dough, sauce, and all the little toppings. It turned out a success with a total of 9 pizzas, 6 for the students and 3 for us. Mark and I ended up calzoning ours because it was too big and flimsy to be moved into the oven. Still uber delicious, even with the vinegary-smelling Kenyan cheese. That night, I enjoyed some wine while we played “F the Dealer”. It was nice to relive some college memories sans the toilet. This morning, I awoke early and took my leave. I decided to walk uphill to Maua to enjoy the morning and bustle of activity spilling out onto the only road. It was a walk to remember.
I’ll be staying in Meru until around Thursday. Nairobi awaits me on the 9th followed by a visit to my host family in Machakos and then straight to the Indian Ocean that’s been calling my name with each wave that crashes onto the shores of Mombasa since I stepped off that flight back in October. April, ah. I love you.
