An afternoon with the Masai

          Today we went into Masai Land after spending the morning looking at artifacts Olorgesaille, the famous dig site of Dr. Louis and Mary Leakey- ranging from hippo and elephant bones to human skulls and tools.  After the tour, a long, dusty bus ride into Masailand led us to the ward of Chief Joseph who met us in the middle of what seemed like nowhere in order to spend the afternoon with us.

            From our bus, he took us down a dirt path taking the time to point out the tracks of a leopard and a family of cheetahs.  The weirdest thing- this part of Kenya looks very similar to central California.  To see the foothills and the windmills, I would think myself back at home…except for the fact that our guide was Masai and we were looking for giraffes. Anyways, our first destination was that of a ritual house for the boys of the Masai where they eat meat before the ceremony to become men.  We were lucky to be able to get in, if we had been there in August for the actual ceremony, we would have had to stand outside of the hut.  Well, David and Victor would have been able to watch but where would that leave the rest of us girls?  While there, Joseph showed us where the men slept and how they stored the meat on top of the tree because they do not have refrigerators.  Additionally he took the time to point out several pants that had very sharp thorns- something I desperately wish I had paid attention to as I got cut pretty badly chasing giraffes.

            After looking at the ritual hut, we began the walk to look for the wild giraffes.  Along the way we stumbled across some wild antelope.  Once they began to run, Joseph told David to run and help him herd the antelopes so we could have a longer look.  Joseph is a sprinter- a stereotypical Kenyan and he had no problem running at a breakneck speed to catch the antelope in the blazing sun for a significant period of time.  Watching the two men was a lot of fun- especially as I was not the one running in the blazing sun.  From there we took off into the brush looking for wild giraffes.  It was a long walk until we reached the trees where the giraffes were eating.  It was such an iconic view that I almost feel guilty for describing it: the green trees, white clouds, blue sky, and about twenty giraffes peeking neck and head over the trees.  Once we got close enough we just sat down in the bush and took pictures and watched them.  This was nothing like going to a giraffe center and kissing giraffes (and I definitely did not kiss these wild ones).  This was wild, real, and breathtaking.

            Following our time watching the giraffes, we went back to Chief Joseph’s compound.  Once there he showed us the pen where he kept his cows, goats, and chickens.  Our arrival was greeted by several children running around the compound with the three dogs and women walking en masse singing to us.  After our introductions (including many handshakes, supa!,  ipa!, and patting the children on the head) the women brought out our meal which  consisted of peas, cabbage, goat, mashed potatoes, and chapatti- modern fare according to them- usually they dine on meat, blood, and milk.  After our meal Chief Joseph introduced himself and his wife and four children to us and then explained to us portions of his life as a Masai.  Chief Joseph actually has been to American University to give talks to students so it was awesome to have that connection with him.  He showed us his warrior ostrich head dress which we all tried on (a faux paus I’m sure since the majority of us are women and not warriors) and passed around his leadership staff. Eventually he took back the headdress and joined the women for a song.  They kindly gave us a tour of their home, a mud hit with two beds, a fire, and cooking area housing thirteen people.  Unfortunately, our time there came to an end and after bartering for some Masai goods, we headed back to Njema Court.

            The Masai people and the Masai culture is one of the most iconic facets of Kenya and being invited into the home of Chief Joseph was such an amazing opportunity.  It is days like this that make the stress, dirt, and insanity of Nairobi completely worth it.  Such an amazing day- one that I will carry with me for a very long time.

Adjusting

         I have been here for a little over two weeks and I must admit that until very recently I was convinced that I would never be able to figure things out.  Forget fitting in, I was just concerned that the overwhelming oh-my-gosh-I-understand-and-recognize-nothing feeling would never subside.  Funny thing though- things are starting to make sense.  For all that I am living on a different continent 8/11 hours ahead of my home in a country with a culture, demographic, and socio-economic status completely different from my own, I have begun to develop and cultivate my own routine. Never mind that it consists of getting up at 5:30 every morning to go to the work out so I can shower with hot water, walking 40 minutes to school every day on dusty, uneven roads, attending an inefficient, infuriating university were I am a very tiny minority, and studying ethnic/tribal division and its affect on urban life and a country’s stability.  To give you all an idea of some of the differences  I have been facing, here is a list - sorry it is a little long- but then again, it has been an immense adjustment.

Njema Court:

            I live in an apartment with three other people in a space that is absolutely enormous when compared to my dorm back at American University.  We have our own balcony, laundry room, kitchen, two bathrooms, a living and dining area, and three bedrooms.  Initially I wasn’t sure how to handle not living with forty other people and confining my belongings to a space a little bit bigger than my bathroom here, but I must admit that the privacy and the silence is starting to grow on me.  The walls here are thin- I can hear our next door neighbor’s dogs barking long into the night and early in the morning- definitely making me nostalgic for my neighbors back at the dorms who would listen when asked to quiet down- dogs don’t care what hour it is I have come to find. 

            We also have a maid and a laundry lady here- something that I am sure every college student wishes for – someone to clean up your messes every day and wash your clothes twice a week.  Many may think that this is something to be envied- yet it has its downfalls.  The maid loves rearranging our stuff (occasionally ending up in things falling and breaking) and if we are in the apartment after 8am I get the distinct feeling of being underfoot and useless.  Having our laundry done is great, but very often we don’t know when the laundry is coming back which at times can cause chaos. Instead of rummaging through my clothes hamper for that pair of gym shorts like I would have at school, I now have to run around the apartment complex (not worth it). 

            Hot water is a big difference here as well.  Here we have to pay for our electricity and hot water is one of the biggest expenses so instead of having a hot, long shower every day (my biggest comfort in the US) I wake up at 5:30 every morning and go to the gym to work out and have a warm shower with low water pressure before walking to class.

Transportation:

            Never before have I had to travel a substantial distance to go to school (minus moving to Washington D.C.): my elementary school was three houses down, my middle and high school were a fifteen minute drive away, and my classes at American University were on campus.  Now to go to school, I walk forty minutes to the study abroad office, trekking down concrete and dirt roads, past fences made out of barbed wire (not good for an oblivious, klutz like myself), and past a river.  From there, when I need to go to USIU, I take a matatu into town and then take a bus from town to Thika Road were my university is- about an hour journey in lawless traffic where it is common for the bus or matau to drive on the sidewalk or into oncoming traffic all the while blaring Kenyan rap or 90s American music.

             On the subject of matatus- they are absolutely insane and would never be allowed in Washington D.C.  Imagine a van that carries fourteen people with seats worn down and exposed metal parts cramming sixteen to twenty people in the car without seat belts.  When driving, they swerve in an out of traffic often going against traffic or onto the sidewalk in order to pull ahead of the Los Angeles-like traffic all for a price that you have to negotiate once you get inside the car.  Crazy, right?  Well, now I am matatu-ing with the best of them. 

Food:

            I have never been such a great food snob that I would turn down AU’s TDR and I must admit that every day I spend away from TDR the more and more I miss it.  While the food there may not have been the best, it was consistent, convenient, and clean. We don’t have a meal plan here and must cook all of our meals on our gas stove at Njema or brave the various food stands in Nairobi.  Before coming here, I had never used a gas stove so the trial period led to many burns and frustrations but now my meals are coming out much more edible, luckily for me.              Additionally our grocery stores are about a forty minute trek into Westlands and the walk back is torture when carrying heavy groceries.  Kenyans also don’t believe in the big refrigerators that we have in the states for eggs, milk, yogurt, and cheese…that was hard on me when my stomach was still adjusting to food here.  It is also more popular to go to the butchers than to buy frozen meat, so my diet has seen much less meat as the thought of trekking to the butchers with the flies, blood, and animal parts make me lose my appetite instantly. 

            As someone used to every eating establishment having a lettered grade and being relatively safe to eat, the fact that I have to be very cautious on what I eat here is difficult- and my absentmindedness often has dire consequences.  I am someone who loves fresh vegetables and fruit and the fact that we cannot have uncooked vegetables or fruit that cannot be peeled takes getting used to.  The produce here is often grown in the informal settlements and the water used often has human/animal waste in it so the warning is to be taken very seriously.  Finally, food sold on the side of the road can smell wonderful, but can prove to be very dangerous as it may have been weeks since the cooking oil was last changed.  As good as it smells, that moment of pleasure is not worth days of being sick.  To end, there are very few American foods here.  There are no McDonalds, Starbucks, Taco Bells (there is a Taco Club but they sell chicken, chips, and ugali), ketchup, ice cubes, and desserts.  Needless to say my first few days back home will be full of Chipolte, pizza, burgers, salads, and fruit.

I know I haven’t learned all that there is to learn yet and every day a dozen small things pop up that I must learn to adjust with.  But hey, this is Kenya and I am loving it. 

Don't come looking for answers, only more questions

       When writing about Africa, one must be careful of two things 1) one must make sure not to idealize the country and shy away from the reality and practicality of the circumstances and 2) one must make sure not to overemphasize the suffering and neglect the humanity that is in each of us.  For the most part, I do not envision this becoming an issue when writing about my experiences in Kenya, but today I find myself struggling in trying to figure out what to write about my experience in Kibera.  Kibera is located just outside of Nairobi and dates back to the early 1900s as a place for Nubian soldiers to retire after World War I.  While they still have their own section in Kibera, it is now mainly inhabited by hundreds of thousands of Kenyans.  At the latest government census, it was estimated that about 350,000 people live there but many aid workers and residents of Kibera cite much closer to one million people in residence.  In the western world, Kibera is known as the largest informal settlement (slum) in Kenya and the first or second in all of Africa (disputed with an informal settlement in South Africa).

            Kibera is a paradox.  So often when the Western World portrays informal slums such as Kibera, they talk about HIV/AIDs statistics, infant mortality, lack of sanitation, starvation, and listlessness.  I would lose all credibility if I were to say that some of these characteristics were not accurately applied to Kibera; however, my short time there only served to show how Kiberans far surpassed the Western perception of them.  Many characteristics of that list are true.  Although I do not study HIV/AIDs, I am sure that they do not have an enviable rate and I know that rape and sexual abuse is common because living conditions place men and women in a context that makes it more of a possibility.  It is true that the sanitation was poor- when visiting a school, we passed by several children urinating right next to us in a puddle by the door and there were flies and dirt everywhere.  Additionally, it is true that the room for the woman with five children we met was smaller than my kitchen back at the AU, had mud walls, an uneven cement floor, and a leaky roof.  Our friends told us that most Kiberans can only afford to buy food and supplies in very small quantities such as a spoon of cooking oil and there were times when there is little money and food becomes scarce.  Some of the teachers at the school told us that the meal of rice and sometimes rice is the only meal some of their students get every day.  All of these things and more were true about the living conditions of Kibera, but there is so much more to Kibera than negative statistics. 

            Upon walking in Kibera, we weaved through the mazes of shop stalls that suggest a bustling, if isolated, economy, and passed scores of houses with children yelling  “Hi! Hi! Mzungu! Hi, How are you?”   The first place we were taken by Tony and Sabina was to the railroad tracks that overlooked one of the communities of Kibera, giving us a better perspective of just how vast Kibera was.  As far as we could see were the houses- some with colorful lines of laundries, others with makeshift antennas contrasting the fact that this is supposed to be a temporary settlement rather than a home.  Backtracking, we were taken to a construction site where they have been working for 2.5 months on building a school with six classrooms for a group of about 140 children.  The lady in charge kindly took us around the lower level and then used a piece of the wall so we could climb up to the second floor and look at all of the individual classrooms.  From there we met a woman who, though she looked little older than me, shyly introduced us to her youngest of five children.  She took us to her home, the tiny one mentioned above, and energetically wished us Karibuni (welcome) and answered all of our questions as we looked around at a space so tiny the 7 of us could barely fit when sitting.  As we left, she wished us many blessings and welcomed us back to her home in the future so we could meet her other children (two of whom were sponsored to attend school).  Never before have I felt so welcomed into a stranger’s home- a characteristic that I am quickly discovering is shared among Kenyans.  From there we went to the current school that the students were using- one big room with about 130 students in it- 6 different classes all in one room.  As we entered, the children sang a greeting to us and the teachers welcomed us and the students all reached to give us high five and share sweet, shy smiles- attention that I must admit I am still uncomfortable with.  We were invited to look around, ask questions, high five the students with a degree of warmth that I know for sure my high school back home would offer to random strangers walking into a class. 

            The biggest discrepancy that I noticed between how the West portrays Kibera and what I saw is that the Kiberans were happy and productive.  Never would I purposefully belittle the conditions that they were living in.  At the end of the day, I was able to go back to my apartment in Westlands with running water, a working toilet, and spacious and secure living conditions.  I can never know what it is like to be a Kiberan, but I do know that people are not unhappy and listless as they are often portrayed.  Stalls selling goods, children running around the slums, and men and women going about their lives is a testament to the fact that Kiberans are not sitting around waiting for the Western World to assist them.  When it comes down to it, this is a functioning community that supports hundreds upon thousands of individuals and could use assistance but is surely not at our mercy.  They have their flaws- but then again what community doesn’t?

             We were told early on that we should not come to Africa looking for answers- only for more questions.  I must admit, after my trip to Kibera, the questions that I have regarding development, living standards, people, and just life in general only seem to be multiplying. 

Blending in Naivasha as a mzungu

            Naivasha is a small town in Kenya in the Great Rift Valley an hour outside of Nairobi and well known as a horticulture town for their roses, tulips, and sunflowers.  It was also where we had our orientation for the first three days and was introduced to the concept of being a mzungu (foreigner). 

            After an intense security briefing where we were told how we needed to act and what to expect when walking around the streets in Kenya, I decided to walk down the main street on Naivisha on my own.  While this may not sound intimidating, it was probably one of the scariest experiences of my life.  Being a mzungu, one can expect different treatment in numerous ways.  It is more acceptable for white women to wear jeans, speak up to men, and drink alcohol.  It also means that you are judged based on Hollywood/MTV standards so everyone assumes that American women are looking for a good time.  Walking down the street, every single head snapped towards me and I heard murmurs of mzungu constantly.  We were told not to look at them and not to acknowledge people who were trying to sell us things in order to avoid being followed or harassed, so I walked with my eyes down, trying to act as confidently as possible, while whistles, hisses, and cries of pretty-pretty followed me through the entire walk.  Walking down the road, it crossed my mind that no matter what I did, I would always be a white mzungu struggling with Swahili trying to understand the culture but never being able to fit in because of the color of my skin.  Never before have I been in a place where I stuck out so completely.  It didn’t matter that I was wearing a skirt down to my knees and my shoulders were covered, my hair was still blond and my sin was still pale.  Both California and Washington D.C. have a very diverse population so anyone can walk down the street without turning every single head on the street but on this walk I was the only white person in the city which created such a barrier between me and everyone else.

            The next day we had a random drop off in Naivasha where the bus dropped off us by ourselves and we had to navigate to Naivash Kubwa by asking directions of the people living in Naivsha.  At first I was terrified because of my experiences the day before- I was afraid everyone would just stare and no one would be willing to help- but it was an amazing experience!  The first lady I met was the director of an orphanage and gave me directions right away while asking me why I didn’t just hop on a motorcycle (before we left we had to give up our money, phones, and everything else that would help us out).  Walking down the street, I found a woman who gladly told me how to make irio and discussed life in Nairobi.  I had a conversation with a man comparing Kibabki and Obama in Swahili and played with a bunch of kids and their mothers, and  I also tripped and almost fell into a ditch numerous times (my clumsiness has remained constant from the states to Kenya).  Once I reached the Naivash Kubwa, I spoke to a bookseller who explained to us the complexities of the Ocampa Six and met a man who bought me sugarcane and taught me how to eat it.  It was so embarrassing spitting it out in front of the group of men.  To cap off the experience, we had a 45 minutes conversation with an woman named Mary in Swahili discussing her take on the post election violence and life in Kenya. 

            When I first arrived in Naivasha, I was terrified at the prospect that I would be unable to be anything besides an awkward mzungu stumbling around a city and a culture that I did not fully understand but after the drop off I learned that though I may be a mzungu there are things that are universal like laughter at someone at falling in a ditch and appreciation for a willingness to learn and discover.  I am so excited for what the next three months have in store