I'm back

I have internet again! I’d like to apologize for the incredibly long delay in blog posts… a combination of my own lack of motivation, busy schedule, nonexistent internet connection, generosity in lending out my computer (to people who delete my things, apparently), and a variety of other factors have contributed to the last month, in which I haven’t been able to write to you. Believe me, I have tried. So, The last month of my trip will be published in a series of blog posts, for those of you whose attention spans won’t make it past a few pages at a time.

Here’s the first bit, written and re-written 4 times (yes, really), most recently written about two weeks ago:

I’ve been in Kilifi now for three weeks, and I’ve finally gotten somewhat settled, both in terms of housing and the project I’m doing here. I know I still have to catch you up on the week I spent in Nairobi before coming here, but first I have a few other things I’d like to share. In the meetings I have with the girls I’m working with for my project, we always start off by them giving me two words to learn in Kiswahili (I might as well expand my vocabulary, even if everything else we do is in English): one useful word, and one useless word. So, in the spirit of continuing the tradition (sort of), I’m going to start with two things that are currently on my mind, one that seems pertinent to my experience here, and one that you probably couldn’t care less about…

Useless: My left foot is really, really itchy. At first I just thought it was mosquito bites, because they always seem to go for your feet and ankles, but then it always seemed to be in the same places, and was just my left foot, so now I’m thinking it might be eczema… does anyone know how salt water affects eczema? Oh, maybe I forgot to mention that part of my stay here in Kilifi involves me getting my exercise by swimming in the Indian Ocean everyday… but we’ll come to that later. And don’t worry, as fantastic as it sounds (and yes, it really is pretty great), the experience is brought down a fair few notches with all of the attention I get there for being white.

Useful: In my time here, I’ve come to begin to understand the importance of culture in development. Before I got here, I just sort of assumed that everything would work itself out, and the project and I would adapt to make it all work. Then, I got here and all of the misunderstandings that I knew would exist about my project and its implementation all sort of rose to the surface, and suddenly I found out that I was to work with a group of 45 under-educated teenage moms when, in fact, there was no way that my project could handle anything of the sort. Even once this was corrected and I found a more suitable population for my project, suddenly even something as simple as organizing a group of 15 or so girls into three groups so that they could all make it to meetings, seemed suddenly impossible. Between language, accent, culture, upbringing, notions of politeness, and countless other obstacles, even getting 5 girls in one room at the same time, much less getting them comfortable talking with me/one another seemed absolutely impossible. I’ll explain this further a little later, but in the meantime, I think it is entirely useful to know that you can scoff at culture as much as you would like, but despite its potential subtlety, it will likely be that ultimate factor that makes/breaks any attempt at progress in just about any development-related initiative.

Now that we have that out of the way, let’s back up to where I last left you: at the steps of Kibera Slum. Before I tell you about my experience there, I’ll give you a (VERY) brief introduction. You hear people talk about Kibera, chances are they’re talking about the slum, even if they’re Kenyan, from Nairobi, whatever. The thing is, Kibera is a neighborhood in Nairobi. The slum (second largest in Africa – behind one in Jo-burg, and largest in East Africa) is this absolutely MASSIVE area with maybe a dozen of its own neighborhoods (don’t quote me on that… I know there are a lot, but I don’t remember exactly how many, and as I sit here writing this, my internet isn’t working, so I can’t very well check). Positioned right in the middle of the city, the slum makes it a royal pain in the ass to get a number of places, because it’s so big that driving around just part of it takes anywhere between 10 and 60 minutes, depending on traffic. So, here you have this gigantic area full of people living in incredibly close quarters, under extremely harsh living conditions. And what does the government do to help this huge number of people that live in the heart of its capital city, that are part of its workforce, and that desperately need the help of its social services (yes, Kenya does have some of those, I swear! You just need to know where to look to find them)? Oh, well, the government doesn’t acknowledge the existence of this area. That’s what it does. Yup. If you look on any official government map of Nairobi, you can observe a giant forest in the middle of the city… So next time you’re in Nairobi, do me a favor, and go to this forest, and tell me if you find a single tree.

Now, this is perhaps the most ridiculous/inspiring/stupid/evolutionarily counterintuitive dream I may have had, but when I was daydreaming back in the states one day, I started thinking about what it would be like to live in Kibera Slum while I was in Kenya. I know my circumstances are incredibly different from the slum’s inhabitants, but I still had this persisting feeling that if they can live there, I should be able to, too. And hell, even if something really terrible does happen to me there, better that something terrible should happen while I’m experiencing something as important as slum-dwelling, as opposed to getting hit by a car while crossing the street or something. (I don’t mean to brag, but after living in Nairobi, I think I may just be better than any of you at successfully crossing the street, and if you have any doubts, we can take this up later). So, even before I arrived in Kenya, I had this thought in the back of my mind. Then, on the very first day of my study-abroad program, we were informed of the two absolute “do-not”s of the program; under no circumstances were we to get married or live in the slum. So, the program ended, the other students got ready to leave, and I went to live in the Mashimoni neighborhood of Kibera Slum with some friends of mine that live there.

While there, I stayed with my friends Katonya and Mercy in Katonya’s house, which consisted of a room big enough to hold a bed (this became one of two rooms, when you let the sheet down that divides the room, should you need a two-room house instead of a one-room house), a small tv/tv stand, three small chairs, and a freezer for the juice business. Think of the smallest college single you’ve seen, and now shave off the end of that. So, for my week in Kibera Slum, the three of us stayed there, which was a little cramped for three people, but was quite manageable. Katonya coaches a number of soccer teams for kids/youth in the slum, and as a result, is quite well-respected throughout the community. He runs a business selling juice (generally mango) and coffee, which earns him anywhere from 20 to 200 shillings per day (the exchange rate generally hovers around 86KSH/$US). Though rent for a room in a mud (or maybe even cement) structure may be cheaper than the rest of Kenya, one small pouch of milk costs 35 KSH (every family generally uses a few of these each morning to make tea) and a loaf of white bread (the other breakfast staple for everyone that can afford it) costs around 50 KSH.

Mercy is Katonya’s sister, and perhaps the most sincere, positive person I have met in my life. When I first came to Kilifi and I was a little sick, as soon as she heard, she started to make plans to come out to Kilifi to take care of me. This is someone who has never been to Kilifi, much less anywhere on the coast. This is someone who often takes her tea without white bread because she can’t afford, who was ready to search for 1000 KSH to take her to an unfamiliar place just to make sure that I was okay. She wants so badly to go to nursing school, but again, can’t afford the tuition.

Katonya has survived off of his business selling juice around the slum, which makes him 200ish KSH on a good day. Katonya is the coach for a number of soccer teams in Kibera (this is how we met), which not only eats up his time, but also his money. How does he afford to both live and buy his players uniforms, balls, and shoes? I have absolutely no idea. Walking through the slum with them, though, made it very clear that these two people are well respected in the community, which definitely helped solidify my positive perceptions of them and their family, and made me more comfortable staying with them, considering the extent to which it decreased the likelihood that anything would happen to me or my things. Indeed, when I was hanging out with some of my little kid neighbors and taking videos of them, apparently some boys saw me with my camera and decided that it would be better off in their hands, when one of the neighbors heard them talking and explained that I was Katonya’s guest, which made them change their minds.

After talking with Mercy and Katonya throughout my stay with them, we came up with the idea of taking one of the vacant nearby structures and turning it into a hotel (aka eatery) in which Mercy and Katonya could sell not only juice, but all the regular dishes (most Kenyans don’t like to branch out from ugali so much), in addition to a few new items here and there, like French toast. So, in the hopes that a loan will get everything going, I have offered to lend them enough money to put together the newest, classiest place to pick up a snack in Mashimoni neighborhood of Kibera Slum. According to the latest budget sheet, the hotel name will be Tasha Russman Gloom Hotel. Why “gloom”? No idea.

The end? Or the beginning? Sijui.

Here we are a week later (by which I really mean a month later), and I’ve traveled a bit, researched a bit, relaxed a bit, and even managed to pull out 30+ pages and a presentation at the end of all of it…

I’m back in Nairobi for a few days, and am trying to figure out how, exactly, I feel as I prepare for the next 3 months of my trip, as everyone around me is getting ready to go back home. So let’s start frommmmm ISP. Things finally started to work out, I was approved to do research, and then got to business in Nairobi. After about a week of talking to people in Nairobi, I went to Kisumu and spent about a week in Kisumu, where I stayed with my professor’s son and friend at their home on the lake (Lake Victoria, that is). In a nutshell, my memory of Kisumu consists of hippos, sunsets, and reading on a mattress swing under the tree. Those, and the friendliest people you could hope for as a researcher. Not only did I get surveys filled out there, and interviews conducted, I was offered multiple lunches, games of football, rides home, and help with bargaining for a pikipiki home (the family hid me in the car so the driver wouldn’t know he was giving a mzungu a ride home). Research here is definitely not the same as research in the States.

From Kisumu I took an overnight bus to Mombasa (maybe 13 hours?), on which I slept like a baby, and still managed to make friends with the woman sitting next to me, who convinced me to go to her house on my way to my Mombasa home and have a shower and some breakfast after meeting her adorable daughters. I am now officially facebook friends with just about everyone in the world who has given me a ride anywhere, offered me anything, or seems like a legitimately good person. Won’t the pruning process be fun when I get back to the states and sift through all of these people whose names I don’t quite recognize…

So then Mombasa happened. The thing about Mombasa is, once you wipe the sweat out of your eyes, you realize it’s just about the best place in the world. Well, at least Old Mombasa is (see description from earlier post). So, there I was in Mombasa again, wondering why I didn’t come up with some way to spend my entire month there, instead of just the last week and a half. I was staying in a giant house in my own giant room with a giant balcony overlooking the bay. It was right on the water, and just upstairs from the old chai guy who does amazing arab tea and coffee every afternoon at 4 (but make sure to get there by 3 if you want buns – I never managed that part, though). So, to sum things up, Mombasa was fantastic, and I’m pretty thrilled that I’ll be only about an hour away allllll summer long.

From Mombasa, I went to Malindi, which is a small resort town a few hours North of Mombasa, and about an hour and a half north of Kilifi. The culture there is really peculiar – a mixture of Swahili and Italian… Arab architecture and gelato? Sounds good to me. That week was spent listening to presentations about all the other students’ research, which was really interesting and inspiring, and then either playing in one of the resort’s 4 pools, swimming in the clear ocean, or playing football on the perfect sand by the water. Not a bad way to spend a week. Aaaaand, just to top it all off, there was excellent food, AC, and a real shower in my room. What more could I ask for?

So here I am back in Nairobi, which feels oddly like home. Tomorrow, though, I’m moving out of my homestay and into the slum, just in time for our daily rain. Remember how I mentioned rainy season a while back? Well that was just a preview. The powers that be just seem to have realized that this country could really use some rain. So, here it is. After lawsuits against the meteorologists for predicting rain (this caused a bunch of farmers to prepare their crops for rain that never came, which cost them a lot of money), it has finally arrived. So, it’ll be fun to see how much of my clothing/shoes make it out of Kibera slum alive in a few days time. Then, back to the coast, and onto Kilifi to start my project!!

from panthers to projects

I realize it’s been a while since I last wrote, but I’ll do my best to catch you all up as best I can…

I’m going to start with a trip we (the program) took a little less than a month ago to Tanzania, in which we stayed with a Black Panther (yes, the kind you’re thinking of), visited the International Criminal Court’s War Crimes Tribunal for the Rwandan Genocide, and stayed with a Maasai tribe. Oh, and then there was that day where we hiked part of Kilimanjaro. All-in-all, I’d say it was a pretty good trip.

The first day we were in Arusha we went to the ICC, where we heard a lecture on the ICC in general, the specific institution in Arusha (specifically there to find/prosecute those responsible for the genocide in Rwanda), and we sat in on a trial for someone responsible for transporting people/ammunition to all sorts of important people then. It felt absolutely absurd that we were allowed to be there, and was crazy to have people arguing about such specific details of one minute of one day in 1994, on which the rest of this man’s life depends…

Staying with the Maasai tribe for a few days was really quite fun. Though clearly we didn’t experience what life is really like there, I do think we got a pretty accurate sneak-peak that was far more rewarding than the other touristy Maasai tribe experience I had had with a tribe in Kenya a few months earlier. I felt like I actually made friends with a few of the warriors (to the extent that that’s possible when we only shared a vocabulary of maybe 100 words in Kiswahili. The kids there were absolutely adorable, and the warriors were really quite nice, and made it feel like an incredibly personal experience as they taught us about different traditions, rituals, and everyday life. We slaughtered a goat while we were there (that’s kind of what I mean by getting a glimpse of life, though clearly the ceremony when we slaughtered the goat was taken far less seriously than one would be under other circumstances), we learned how to chew the bark from one tree as bubblegum, how to cut ourselves a toothbrush from another plant, identify certain ingredients for all kinds of medicinal chai… basically, it was great.

Unfortunately, after our stay at with the Maasai, everyone in our trip managed to get food poisoning (that we later determined was NOT from all the crazy goat parts that we had eaten) just in time to climb Kilimanjaro. We all ended up climbing, though that’s not really saying much, considering we were only allowed to climb to the base camp, and it was really a pretty easy hike. Still though, good for impressing people who don’t think to ask how far you went, and it really was a nice time.

I may have missed some points of TZ, but I’m going to keep moving right along in my efforts to get up to speed. When we returned to Nairobi, I was hoping to come back to a letter from the IRB at Scripps… You may or may not know that part of my stay here involves doing research for a month. Well, if I’m doing research with human participants I have to get my research passed through an Institutional Review Board at Scripps, and over here, because I’m affiliated with both institutions. Well, the IRB at Scripps takes a week or two to go over everything, so I had gotten it set up before TZ, and was hoping to find it finished. Turns out, true to Kenyan productivity, my academic director had forgotten to send it in, and then decided that it wasn’t her responsibility when she realized. Long story short, I had a mini-breakdown, a good cry, and then felt just as peppy as usual when I was done, though it was still beyond me how anything was going to be accomplished, given that our one month of allotted research time had just started, and I needed the full month to conduct this research (which, by the way, I was planning to use for my thesis upon my return to Scripps in the fall). …Fast forward a few weeks, and everything got sorted out, and I’ll just have to multitask as I write part of my paper and complete my research to make up for lost time. At this point, I’m hopeful that research will work out (though not as planned), and if not, well, I’m sure life will go on anyway.

Meanwhile, my social life also progressed… since our return from TZ, I moved out of my home stay (independence!!!) and into a nearby appt with two friends from my program. The apartment has a pool, internet, and no family trying to take care of me by telling me when I am/am not allowed to go out, aaaand, I cook my own things with what I view as appropriate levels of oil and sugar. It’s great. It’s funny what happens when you’re not FORCED to be with someone… now whenever I go home everyone (including me) is always thrilled, and it seems it never gets boring. So, I've been spending my days in Nairobi doing research downtown, which is a great excuse to talk to all kinds of people, and then relaxing and going to football matches with friends at night. Life could be worse...

For those of you who don't already know, the research I'm conducting is on psychological empowerment, and specifically concerns cultural differences in perception of government and empowerment across Kenya. In easier terms, I'm doing my research in Nairobi, Kisumu (on Lake Victoria), and Mombasa (on the Coast), and in each location I determine through interviews and surveys how people perceive their government, and how that relates to the ways in which (if at all) people in one city/culture behave in more/less empowered ways.

Though I'm going to leave you shortly to catch my ride to Kisumu, I'd like to share one last exciting bit of news for those of you that do not already know: I recently received word that I was selected as a recipient of the $10,000 Stauss Grant for a project I proposed in which I'll work with girls in Kilifi (near Mombasa) to create their own community development projects. I'll explain this further later, but if you're interested in hearing more, email me, and I'll send you a copy of the proposal...

Nimelewa Sana (but not really)

As I sit here writing to you, I am slightly tired, in a moderately good mood, and ready for the most productive weekend I think I may have in my time here. Now, let's piece our way through this statement so that you all get some idea of what's on my mind...
Now that we've been in Nairobi for over a month (and of course only have a few weeks left) I seem to have finally found myself a number of really cool people to hang out with. I've gone out with them a few times, hung out, and had a really great time in general with them. Last night, we (a number of students) started the evening at a friend's host family's bar, where we had drinks with Swahili teachers, and tried to get their actual life stories (some of them seem to enjoy pushing the boundaries of what they can tell us, what we understand, and what we actually believe), despite not really accomplishing much in that regard. From there, one of my friends from the program, her host brother, and I all went out and met up with some of my new friends for what ended up being a very fun evening, full of dancing, talking, and wandering around near where I stayed with my parents when we were in Nairobi. So, the "slightly tired" part can be attributed to the fact that I only got three hours of sleep last night. The night was unfortunately also slightly dampened by the pickpocket that managed to get my phone, my friend's phone, and her money. It's not a huge deal, just sort of a pain to find ways to contact everyone... so for the few of you that had sent me texts via google, I'll let you know my new number shortly. This "happy go lucky" sort of attitude is also a pretty useful outlook to have on a morning like this (by which I mean one where I woke up 7 hours earlier than I otherwise would) because I am at school right now waiting for a meeting with an advisor that doesn't seem to be coming in today.

Part of my study program is a month at the end during which the students perform research on basically anything they could want to research, though most topics are related to the program's theme of health and community development. On the one hand, this seems like an incredible opportunity to look into some really interesting matters, and the program has provided us with all kinds of connections and potentially valuable resources to use for our projects. On the other hand, though, nothing here seems to be the least bit organized, and even when you can be "absolutely" sure that something is going to happen, or that someone will be at a certain place at a certain time, and then you confirm another 3 times just to make sure, it still doesn't seem to happen. So, here we are a few weeks away from the beginning of this research period, and we were finally given the opportunity to meet with one of these really great professors from University of Nairobi who has provided us with a fantastic lecture series over the past weeks, and we were told to come to school today (Saturday) no later than 8 am mzungu time (aka actually on time, or maybe a little early). Well, now it's 10 'till 9, and he definitely has somewhere else to be in 10 minutes. Rumor has it he accidentally threw his keys out the window this morning (and hence, couldn't make it), but... well.... really? So there you have it: in a pretty good mood (a good night, and I'm in Kenya!), a bit tired, and ready to do a lot of thinking about research-related things, especially if I don't end up getting the guidance here that seems to linger perpetually just beyond my fingertips.

Now, let's backtrack a little bit. As I recall, I had provided you all with a brief overview of Shirazi, the rural coastal village where we stayed for a week. Well, after our week there we returned to Mombasa, where we stayed for another couple of days for a few lectures, guest visits, and time to wander around and discover Kenya's second city. Mombasa is a city whose complexity and beauty I can hardly begin to describe here, what with the swahili culture, muslim influence, white sand beaches, gorgeous architechture, and fascinating history. We stayed in Old Town (the most pretty part in my opinion, even if it was full of other wazungu), which is full of slightly dilapidated buildings with beautiful Arabic architecture, that looked absolutely beautiful, even when you really couldn't see it very well because of sweat running into your eyes.

Also, one of Adrienne's friends from high school, Morgan, has been a godsend as far as contacts are concerned... Luckily for me, Morgan is a truly delightful person who everyone here remembers very fondly from when she did this same program a few years ago. So, for my time in Mombasa, I had a family, extended family, and important/knowledgeable friends to show me around and give me a break from all the lovely whites. For those of you with facebook, there may/may not be pictures up. So, in a nutshell, Mombasa consisted of beauty, beach, sweat, Shamsa's wonderful family, going out, and the best food I've had in Kenya. I think I might just go back soon.

I don't remember if I mentioned this in my last post, but my last night in Shirazi I stupidly sat out on the dock on the Indian ocean with all my village friends for a few hours. I knew I was getting bitten a little, but had no idea what would come of it... The result? No less than a week and a half of what I thought might just be the worst chicken pox imaginable. Turns out, there are these little things called "Usubi" which are like sand flies, or sea flies, or something of the like. What you need to know is that they are tiny, numerous near the ocean at night, and SOSO itchy. So somehow, the heat and sweat of Mombasa made the itchiness pretty unbearable.

So, back to Nairobi to find the old swing of things, new friends, pollution, bearable climate, and all that work that the program hid from us during the first half of our time here. Oh, and did I mention danger? In the past week our group has experienced two muggings (one of which involved a gun) and two pickpocketing incidents. Great.

All in all, things are good. Dealing with Americans in the States is a real bummer, but let's face it: when is it not? On that note, I'm off to study swahili for my oral exam in a few days. How well that works remains to be seen.

Blog post numba 3: I can’t believe you offered that with your poop hand.

So last I left you, I believe I was about to leave for Mombasa. So the journey to Mombasa begins on the Friday night that we were to catch the overnight bus, in order to arrive on Sat morning. “What’s this,” you ask? “Taking a Friday night away from a bunch of study abroad students?” Not to worry, several of my classmates decided to meet at a pub before going on the trip, so while we were all at the bus terminal waiting for our overnight, there were plenty of white people rapping, singing, and being generally drunk whilst I’m sure all the other locals sitting there were stuck halfway between general amusement and fear of having a seat next to one of them (sober and boring, I think it’s safe to say I was not included in those thoughts) though it reminded me quite strongly of the way that people look at a baby while waiting to board a flight; with a combination of amusement at the baby’s cuteness and hope that the general cuteness is supposed to sit far, far away in case of tantrum. Luckily, the drunkenness subsided, and we all had an equally semi-miserable time trying to sleep on our way to Mombasa.

Upon our arrival, I think everyone was struck immediately by two things: the incredible culture apparent even in just the little architecture we could see in the pre-dawn darkness, and by the humidity. The humidity became more and more apparent as we all started to realize that we were sweaty even before having moved anywhere, and before the sun had risen. Then, after a nap at the SIT office and some terrible shopping (somehow haggling just isn’t the same when you’re part of a group of 23 white people all trying to buy things simultaneously) for lesos (kangas- African cloths that women tie around their waists, among their other uses), moo-moos (giant, light, shapeless nightgown-type things women wear in an effort to be modest without dying of heat), and a few other things, we were on our way to Shirazi for a week with our rural homestay.

That first day was incredible as we got the taste of so many cultures that were so, so different and enticing, though it was also pretty difficult, as we all must have sweated out at least 2 litres of water, were running on very little sleep, and ended up in some new village trying to communicate with our new host families in Swahili, all the while forgetting essential words like “forget”, “practice”, “no problem” “are you sure”, etc etc. Turns out, being cordial is a lot easier in your own language.

Living in Shirazi for the next week was an incredible experience for so many reasons, but especially for the people there. My host family (immediate family) was AMAZING (except for one of my host brothers—ask me about this in person… it’s not a story that I have the time or inclination to include here), and I have to say, I wouldn’t have thought it possible to bond with a group of people the way I did in such a short time. Nearly everyone in the village was Muslim (including my fam), so the first few days were definitely an adjustment, as modesty has never really been one of my strong points, especially in intolerable heat/humidity.

That being said, I came to learn that a headscarf is actually an incredibly convenient tool for wiping sweat off, and is not quite mandatory, even when you are walking places where you encounter other people. I remember the first time I went on a walk with one of my friends, I finally decided that it would be appropriate to ask him if I could tak it off, when we were somewhere where we clearly would not find other people (we were hiking down the river to hunt a crocdile)… at first I thought it might give the wrong impression, given the fact that he was a boy about my age, and maybe me asking something like that would be perceived as promiscuous. Then, though, I just thought “screw it” (or words to that effect) and asked, and he gave me some response that clearly meant “uh… of course its okay… why wouldn’t it be?” Unfortunately, making costume adjustments wasn’t quite so easy when it came to playing mpira (football/soccer) at one of the Shirazi league games… between continuously pulling my leso back up as it fell down, keeping my headscarf in place, and picking thorns from the bottom of my feet, I ended up mostly just making a fool of myself more than I actually touched the ball, despite the fact that I was playing with a bunch of little kids. I guess that’s what playing with little kids is all about, though…

So family and friends in Shirazi: In my family there was Fatuma (Mama), Ali (Baba), Wafula (one brother), Mohamed (another brother), a third brother whose name I don’t remember, and then Mariam (a sister) and Ashura (another little sister—the one after whom I was named while I was there… I was Ashura Mkubwa (Old Ashura) and she was Ashura Mdogo (Little Ashura)). Everyone in the extended fam lives near one another (like within 10 feet of the next house) so around our house pretty consistently were uncles, cousins, grandma, etc. At first when people would introduce themselves to me and tell me how we were related, I would try to keep track, though I quickly found this to be near impossible for two reasons. The first is that ideas of family there are a little different, so culturally/linguistically, it’s pretty hard to differentiate between things like mom and aunt, or brother and cousin, so when people would translate over from Swahili to English, nothing quite matched up. On top of that, people had kids at all kinds of ages, so a number of my uncles, for example, were my age. A few of the other kids on my program had host mothers that were younger than they were… Regardless, everyone in the immediate and extended family were wonderful, welcoming, and plenty forgiving as I learned about things that were(n’t) allowed, doable, polite, etc. I have to say, looking back on a lot of the mistakes I made in my cultural assimilation, I’m incredibly thankful for all those times when my family clearly noticed I was doing something wrong, but didn’t mention it, like the first day or so that it took me to realize why everyone reclined on their left hand, and ate with their right. SO nice of them to not mention that I was touching our shared food (we all ate from a giant plate) with the hand meant for wiping my bum.

I’ll post more on Shirazi and Mombasa later, but I know how short some of your attention spans are, so I’ll give you a break for a few days before boring you with more details. In the meantime, I think you all should know, if you go out in public wearing a leso (kanga) as a skirt, everyone will laugh at you. I was about to do this, and was on my way out the door to school when the house-help, Jess, laughed in my face and told me that I definitely would NOT look smart unless I put on my trousers.

Chili, poison, or a lot of extra hair: which would you rather have on your nipples?

Time for blog post number two. Before reading, though, do me a favor, and pick one of the options provided in this post's title.

I'm a month into my trip to Kenya, and two weeks into my study abroad program. As would seem appropriate for any program with "study" in its descriptive title, I have been learning quite a lot. As you might assume, the majority of this learning has centered around Kenyan geography, culture, language, politics, etc, though you might also be surprised the multitude of topics that can be covered within those themes. As part of our orientation, for example, the boys in our group were warned against prostitutes' nipples. Yes, specifically their nipples. As our academic directors put it, sometimes you're going to be tempted to do certain things, and that is each person's individual choice. But, responsible for our general well-being while we kids are here, our academic directors wanted to make sure that, in the event that the males on our program just couldn't restrain themselves against all the persuasive pretty ladies in the clubs, they should just make sure to avoid any close contact with the womens' nipples, which are likely to be laced with poison. So boys, if you ever come to Nairobi, watch out.

We (a bunch of white folk from the program plus a few local friends) did actually have the chance to go out this past weekend, and everyone got back safe and sound. We learned how/when/where to buy whatever alcohol we wanted for the evening (this, of course, we learned the hard way), and we also learned all the best places to go, at least in Westlands (one of the whiter areas, especially popular among expats). After being warned profusely against late night matatus (minibuses), we ended up taking them, and found them to be much safer than any of the matatus any of us had experienced during the day. Why is this, you ask? Well, you should understand that Nairobi has a lot of traffic. And by "a lot" I mean A LOT. Think L.A., and now take away about 15 of the highways in the area, and increase the number of people trying to get somewhere by 10. Then, take away any meaning you ever associated with traffic lights, and imagine half of the remaining roads without pavement, and add in a lot of potholes everywhere. Sounds like fun, right? And just think... rainy season started a few days ago... (but we'll come back to that later). So anyway, in all of this traffic madness, people have places to go, and matatu drivers have money to collect, so everyone is trying to get everywhere ASAP. Since I've been here, I've heard about probably 20 traffic accidents. As you can imagine, driving around Nairobi at 4 in the morning is a lot more doable than it is during the day. The drivers can actually race around, as opposed to just trying to race around when they can't because of the traffic.

In other news, we learned today very briefly about Islam, Swahili/Costal culture(s), and things that we're bound to experience when we go to Mombasa tomorrow. While learning about midwifery and baby things, we came to understand that it's pretty popular along the coast to breast-feed your baby until it reaches 2 or 3 years of age, at which point it is acceptable to turn your baby off to breast milk by coating the mother's nipples in a)chili or b)hair. Your pick (that is, if you're the mother).

So. back to rainy season. First of all, 3 days into rainy season, I've already nearly fallen on my bum twice on my way to school, waded knee-deep through puddles that I thought would only cover my ankles (I heard multiple stories about friends that made the same mistake, but ended up going in up to their wastes). Overall, I'm happy to have arrived at school each day with only moderately muddy feet/splatter marks all over the backs of my legs, though I'm wondering when the sewers are finally going to clear...

All that being said, I'm still thrilled that there are ways to get places despite the rain. True, crossing traffic is waaaay hard (now that there are rivers to navigate in addition the various lanes of cars that you inevitably get stuck between if you try to get anywhere), BUT I'd much rather have to cross one lane at a time than be stuck in some of the slums that we've been visiting, where you're better off holding yourself up on the walls of the shacks than trying to navigate the alleys between them. This past week we visited Kibera (the largest slum in East Africa, and second largest in Africa, complete with 11 villages inside it) and Muthare, another of Nairobi's 3 slums, and had the chance to take a few walks around with some local NGOs. Luckily, we visited them before the rains had started, making it possible to navigate our way around the streams/puddles of sewage/garbage in the tiny alleyways, though I really have absolutely no idea how people get around with all the rain. Even when the alleys turn from rivers to mud after drying a little, I still can't imagine getting down the steep slopes without sliding your way to your destination.

The NGOs we visited and got to know were really pretty amazing, and seem to be the kinds of organizations that make the best impact possible, given the circumstances under which they're working (Sidenote: if you know anyone that might be interested in working with any sort of NGO or research organization in Kenya and/or Uganda, I can likely help provide pretty great contacts) In Muthare, we visited MYSA, an organization that combines a soccer league with libraries and other youth organizations around Nairobi. It sounds sketchy, but it's impacted thousands of kids in various slums, it provides a safe haven for kids both with and without access to formal education, and after only 11 years, it has sent multiple teams from its league all over the world (Europe, South America) for football (soccer) tournaments, which they have won. Pretty great. There were a bunch of other amazing NGOs, all started either by, or in partnership with locals that grew up in the slums, which seems to be a pretty apparent trend across all of the successful projects and/or organizations that we've encountered so far. Surprise? Hardly. Still good to see though, as it seems to be a reminder that there is, indeed, a way to facilitate development along with community respect and sustainability, which can otherwise seem like a pretty impossible goal.

While we're turning negative things into positive ones, I'd like to share with you the highlight of the other day... (we're going back to the rainy season theme, now, FYI). I had gone to a nearby market, and had gotten so sucked into my efforts to haggle for a one-piece swimsuit (in my attempts to me a little more conservative while on the coast) that I didn't notice the odd yellow color that the sky had turned as a warning of the impending rainstorm (this would be the first day of rainy season, which had otherwise seemed impossible in such a dry climate). So, in the time that it took me to realize that it was going to rain, and get myself part of the way home, it had started to drizzle, which quickly turned into a full-fledged storm, and then nothing short of a downpour. After running home (yes, literally running), I was swimming-pool wet, and dripping all over the place. After peeling off my jeans, my little sister and I decided to go out and play in the rain, and ended up dancing, racing, running around, and generally acting like a couple of semi-obnoxious hooligans in the street (wazimu chizi in swahili). After about an hour of that, we had Jess, the house help, throw us down some money from the balcony, which we then used to buy the squishiest mangoes we could find, and ended up having the most delicious and messy mango fight I have ever had (though I suppose I haven't really had many others). All-in-all, it was a pretty great finale to the day, even if I didn't end up buying the swimsuit (the stupid vendor wouldn't haggle after his first price reduction, and I got stubborn).

On that note, I'm going to go pack now. I started this blog a few days ago and only just finished, so I'm a little over the novelty of all of it, though hopefully I've at least held your attention for this one. I'm off to Mombasa tonight (hopefully I sleep an hour or two on the bus), then to Shirazi (a rural village near-ish to Mombasa) so I'm going to be without internet for the next few weeks. SO, by all means, send me lots of things, though please don't expect immediate response. I will, however, say that I will do my best to think happy thoughts in your general direction (aka the Western hemisphere).

Have a nice few weeks, and as you feel sorry for yourself as you put on your third sweater, you can just think of me sweating through the clothing that'll be covering all of me except for my face and hands. And when I say sweating, I mean SWEATING. Just look up the temp/humidity there...

I am here, AND I have internet. What more could I want?

So, hopefully this will be the first blog post of many. So far, I've been in Kenya for about three weeks, and been with the program for about three days, maybe four. Not able to bear the thought of leaving their little precious, Mom and Dad escorted me across the world, and spent the first two weeks helping me acclimate to everything with a nice safari, after which they left me with the head of anNGO with whom I may end up working after my semester here. The safari was great, and included countless species of animals at all points of life and death. Checkfacebook soon for pics (photo credit: mom).

Then, I went and visited Kinyatta Village and one of Nairobi's outskirts, Mlolongo, where I had my first bucket shower and poop in a hole. It was pretty cool to go to Kinyatta, where I was welcomed by about half of the village that had prepared a dance for me, and then we had this great big ceremony where I handed out stuff that I had brought with me like secondhand clothes and school supplies. It was great to be able to help people, and pretty cool to see my things being used the next day, but I was pretty disillusioned by the position that they put me in (I felt like they thought I was royalty) and that in which they put themselves, portraying their need above all else. as someone trying to work against fostering dependency, this was hardly how I was hoping everything would go.

After the stay at the village, I returned to Nairobi for the start of my SIT study abroad program on health and community development. So far, the orientation's been great, and I've been really impressed with the staff and academic directors! They all have a wealth of information for the rest of us, and are incredibly approachable. Mykiswahili's getting much better very quickly (which isn't hard, considering I started not knowing anything) (turns out, hakuna matata really does mean "no worries").

In other news, I recently got set up with my homestay for my time here. I'm in Kibera (the area, not the slum, though it's only a 5 minute walk away) in a neighborhood called Woodley, which is really fairly nice. The apartment itself isn't anything too luxurious, but we do get water in the bathroom, and have fairly consistent plumming. Aaaaand, yesterday when everyone's power went out, we got ours back after an hour or so, while everyone else in the program apparently had to wait something like 7 hours. I live with my host mom, Mama Anna, and her daughter Velma, along with the househelp, Jess. Velma and Jess and I all share a room in the small flat, and we are occasionally joined by the husband/father when he isn't traveling for business or staying with his second wife/family, who apparently live in the same compound.

We don't have too much time to explore the city, and I'm still scheming ways to meet people my age and/or people I can play soccer with, but in general school's great, home's good, and most meals involve a substantial amount of mango, and tea (some of which even has relatively normal amounts of sugar). So, all-in-all, things are pretty great. ALSO, there is an abundance of indian food here, and I have learned to make a mean chapati.

In the meantime, ANY COMMUNICATION is greatly appreciated! Email, sms, facebook, even snail mail would be super, since I'll be here until Aug.

If you have gmail, you can send me texts for free, and I might even be able to respond! here's a link to show you how: http://mail.google.com/mail/help/intl/en_ke/sms.html#utm_campaign=en_ke&utm_source=bubble_ke&utm_medium=et&dc=bubble_ke
Also, if you send me your phone number, I can send you texts the same way...

Here's all the contact info you could want:

cell phone: +254726899540 (it's with safaricom)

email: tasharussman@gmail.com

snail mail: Tasha Russman c/o SIT Box 21752 Nairobi, 00505 Kenya

skype: Tasha.Russman

msn messenger: Tasha.Russman@hotmail.com


Tutaonana!
Tasha