VACATION

Dearest family and friends,
I know I’ve been a bit absent lately. Sorry for the lack of updates, but I’ve been on vacation for the past 3 weeks. The Kenyan education schedule consists of 3 months of school then one month of vacation. January to March was Term one and the month of April I had for vacation and training.

TRAIN: I started my vacation by heading to the Kenyan coast with three other girlfriends. We took the overnight train from Nairobi to Mombasa. It was lots of fun although I have to admit that I was a tiny bit scared of being murdered after my host brother in Loitokitok made me watch his favourite movie Midnight Meat Train (it’s a horror movie that takes place on a train, not a gay porn despite the title). Anywho, we arrived in Mombasa quite tired, because honestly how much sleep can you really get when a train is bumping and jerking along the railway?



COAST: We reached Mombasa the next morning after a beautiful and bumpy ride through Tsavo National Park. Mombasa is HOT and humid. We explored Mombasa a bit which has this great vibe of relaxedness (is that word?) and culture. We saw Fort Jesus, a monumental structure built by the Portuguese and wandered through the alleys of Old Town. We then went to Pirates beach (sadly no actual pirates) for some lounging, cold beer, and beach food. We ended the night with some amazing Indian food and bowling (yes, there is a bowling alley in Kenya!).





The next day we headed to Reef Beach which was spectacularly gorgeous. Imagine white deserted sand, the warm Indian ocean, and camels! I got to ride a camel! Which was much larger than I had ever imagined. I swear it was the size of a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex (Or maybe animals are just larger in Africa? Like my enormous bunny.



SHIRIANI: The next day, early in the morning, we headed to Shiriani, where a business peace corps volunteer is working with an ecotourism company that does snorkelling excursions. We had the chance to see lots of beautiful fish, coral and starfish. I even saw the Hawaii state fish the humuhumunukunukuapuapuaa!!!!



MALINDI:We traveled North along the coast to reach Malindi. Malindi is one of the towns that you can just tell you would want to live there from the first glance. It’s right near the beach has tons of friendly looking people and lots of eclectic shops and restaurants. Like a gelato shop- after months of ice cream deprivation a shop just devoted to gelato is the equivalent of heaven! I think I sampled 10 different flavours each time we went. And did I mention that the coast has amazing juices? We had fresh squeezed passion fruit and avocado juice ..delicious!



Near Malindi town are the Gedi Ruins. They are this fascinating ancient swahili civilization that was abandoned in the early 17th century. It was very interesting to learn about. Plus there were tons of cute monkeys everywhere.





LAMU:We then headed up the coast, towards the Somali border to an island called Lamu. Lamu is a Swahili inhabited area filled with amazing culture, language, food and …amazingness! After a long bus bumpy bus ride and a packed ferry trip to the island, pulling up to the waterfront of Lamu is just breathtaking.



We stayed at a hostel with a waterfront view, ate amazing seafood, drank the best fresh squeeze juices I’ve ever tasted, and explored the island of Lamu for the next 3 days of our vacation. Lamu town is comprised of endless swerving alleyways adorned with intricately carved wooden doors. Also, the alleyways are much too narrow for cars, so the primary mode of transport is either by foot, or by donkey! There are approximately 700 donkeys and just 2 cars on the island. Donkeys are pretty cool creatures, they are totally underrated and overworked in my opinion- good thing the island has its very own Donkey Sanctuary!



The first day we were there, the weather was too rainy for the beach so we visited the Lamu museum, the Lamu fort and got henna done in traditional Swahili patterns.







The next day we went out on a dhow (boat) trip to do some snorkeling above a giant and gorgeous coral reef. There were so many beautiful fish, coral, urchins, etc I wish I could do them justice in describing them. I can just tell you that I felt like I was in Finding Nemo- there were Dories, and Nemos, but sadly no talking turtles. After a few hours of snorkeling off our boat and catching fresh fish, we landed on a deserted island for a delicious meal of fresh fish, coconut rice, tropical fruits, and curry. This was one of the most amazing days ever. Even though we were rained on as we headed back to Lamu, the memory of indescribably beautiful snorkeling in the Indian Ocean AND a private island AND a freshly caught seafood meal will remain in my mind as one of my top three beach days (Mozambique’s swimming with whale sharks and Panama’s Kuna Yala islands still rank number 1 and 2!).



We spent our last day exploring Lamu’s winding alleyways, shopping, and tasting all sorts of Swahili cuisine. Whitney and I wandered the alleyways at night sampling the street food in place of a restaurant dinner- while I don’t know the names of what we ate I can tell you that since most things were fried, made of coconut, and cost a few shilling each which all add up to deliciousness!

MOMBASA: We travelled back to Mombasa the next day where we celebrated another Peace Corps Volunteer’s birthday. We had an epic night out dancing in an open parking lot turned bar, in the rain, until 5 in the morning. We also had some pretty entertaining company in the form of some Brazilian lifeguards, who, despite their poor English skills, were incredibly funny. We caught an early morning bus back to Nairobi the next day (or that day, I guess) to begin our IST (In service training) with the rest of the Peace Corps Education volunteers

IST: IST was like coming full circle as we stayed at the same hotel that we stayed in our first night in Kenya. IST was very informative as we were able to share our triumphs and difficulties of the past few months, learn about grant writing, and bond over some shared misfortunes (bowel movements often became the topic of dinner conversations…). Some highlights in Nairobi were going to the Giraffe Centre and kissing a giraffe (it’s tongue was much too rough for me to enjoy it). Petting a cheetah at the animal orphanage. And eating some delicious food- sushi, Ethiopian, and cheesecake!!!!!







Well folks, that’s my April update for you. Hope you enjoy the pictures and hopefully it will convince some of you to come visit me!!!!

Dorothy's Ruby Red Slippers

I know I have said this is the past, but whoa is Kenya an emotional roller coaster. Let me tell you about my day today. The day didn’t begin with the best start. I was awoken by my neighbour’s blaring alarm clock at 5 am. Normally, I would have slept through this, but today, for some reason, the Kenyan version of yodeling music came screeching through my windows. I then woke up did the normal routine and started to get a migraine. I know I do not deal well with pain (ask my mother), so I popped a strong painkiller. I was feeling much better, but 45 minutes later when I reached school the nausea/ drowsiness kicked in. To rid myself of the awful mental forecast of barfing up partially digested sukuma wiki and ugali, I asked my principal if I could rest in her house.
Right as I was drifting into my painkiller induced sleep and away from its nauseating side effects, a fellow teacher barged into the house. Her darling newborn daughter Mercy just would not stop crying in the staff room so she brought her to rest in Matilda’s house. My colleague urged me to continue sleeping, but the wails of her newborn were not exactly reminiscent of a soothing lullaby. So, begrudged, I sat up on the couch where the teacher joined me. She began breast feeding her daughter (which thankfully meant the screaming stopped). But, to my shock and horror, I was soon being squirted all over with breast milk because apparently, baby Mercy cannot handle a fast stream of milk. Rather than yell my initial reaction of “Oh my god this is disgusting!” I tried my hardest to mask my insensitivity with just a slight grimace. The teacher’s apology of “Oh sorry, sorry, now you’re going to smell like breast milk” really did not make me feel better. So I returned, still nauseas, still headache-y, still tired, and newly smelling of breast milk, to the staff room. One of the teachers used the phrase “It’s as easy as beating a woman” which spurred the one sided debate of why, indeed, it is easy to beat women. I did not have the energy, patience, or self control to argue at that point. I knew that if I opened my mouth a river of culturally inappropriate things would flow out (why the patriarchal society clearly is not working, why polygamy is ridiculous and killing Kenyans with increased AIDS transmissions, why it is unfair that women work so hard, why Kenyan men, in my opinion, are completely and utterly useless beings) So I kept my mouth shut. As I sat holding my throbbing head I really wished I had Dorothy’s sequined ruby red slippers. Not just so I could add to my tiny shoe collection, but to tap my heels together and go home. Ok, maybe not home, but anywhere BUT here-where men think it’s okay to hit their wives, where a mountain of papers need grading, and where I reek of breast milk.
I put my head down, powered through my paperwork, and miraculously finished my work in order to leave my staff room and regain my sanity. But as I was giddily putting on my backpack to make the trek back home, I felt a raindrop on my head. I look up just as the sky turns black, lightening begins, and thunder roars off in the distance. Great. As the rains pour down, I return to my desk to wait it out. I was wishing for all sorts of magically powers during that time- a teleporter, a magical bubble to protect me from the ferocious Kenyan rain, a flying avatar like bird that could fly me back above the clouds to my house. But, alas, my fantasies and wishes did not come true. And when the rain finally did stop, FIVE hours later, I trudged through feet of mud and forged newly formed rivers to arrive home. And as I sit here, half amused at my misfortune and half seething with self pity, I wonder how people come out of the Peace Corps after riding this emotional roller coaster. Am I going to have some weird Mefloquine induced form of bipolar disorder? How can one day be so wonderful and the next so disastrous?
I know tomorrow’s sunshine will dry the rivers and ease the mud, a good nights’ sleep will appease my headache, and some serious bucket bathing will get rid of the strange smell of breast milk. But what, I seriously wonder, can realistically change the Kenyan male’s view of women? How can a culturally, religiously, socially ingrained opinion of females be altered? While behaviour change, unlike my moods, cannot be drastically transformed overnight, I wonder if two years is sufficient time to make some difference. Because tomorrow, as my one-woman car goes up the emotional roller coaster, I’m returning to the staff room fully armed, headache free, to argue with these men.

Burning Trash

I’ve often heard that smell is the most sensitive sensory organ, evoking vivid memories with just one inhale. Like how the scent of pumpkin pie and roasting turkey brings back thoughts of Thanksgiving. Or how the smell of Water Babies sunscreen gives me flashbacks of summers spent by the Swim and Racquet poolside. Or how the distinct aroma of salt and sand reminds me of lounging on Hawaiian beaches. Well, the smell that brought back memories for me today was the specific scent of burning trash. The smell of burning plastic gave me flashbacks of the developing worlds that I have lived, worked, and travelled in. Before this moment, I hadn’t really thought there was a distinguishing characteristic that tied all of these countries together. But as I stoked my burning pile of trash this morning, I had images of rural countries flash through my mind; trekking through El Capulin in Nicaragua, or exploring the Kuna Yala Islands of Panama, or back to my first extended stay in a developing nation, La Providencia de Napoles in Mexico. While the smell of burning trash might evoke images of a deteriorating ozone layer or a grimy slum to others, the smell is nostalgic to me. When I get a whiff of smoking trash I get visions of the amazing people I’ve met through out my travels (adorable kids, my favourite Nicaraguan grandmother, Fanny, my host mom in Mexico, Charo) the unforgettable sights I’ve been lucky enough to see (the view from the top of Volcan Mombacho, the frosted peaks of Mt. Kilimanjaro, the untouched beaches of Mozambique) , the exotic foods I’ve been able to try (Zimbabwean mopane worms, South African zebra) and all the good times I had throughout. So as I stand here, watching the remains of my weeks trash smoulder in smoke and turn to ash, I breathe in (yes I know it’s carcinogenic!) and remember the memories. That’s why I, strangely, enjoy the smell of burning trash.

Kupiga Picha

Hi friends and family,
Here are some pictures of my life in Kenya


This is me pumping water at the borehole behind my house. People from all over the community come to pump water from this tap because it has "the cleanest water in all of the district" according to my babu. It's convenient to have a water supply close to my house, but I still don't enjoy carrying water. Maybe it would be easier if I was like the Kenyans who can carry huge jugs of water (and anything else for that matter) balanced on their heads.




This is one of my students, Leah, and her niece. She took me on a hike near her house where there was a beautiful view of Lake Victoria. Can you see it in the background? Prior to this day, I had no idea that I could see the lake from my community!



This is at Leah's house where her mother was teaching me how to make place mats out of banana leaves. Kenyans are very resourceful- I often have moments where I think "ahhhh why didn't I think of that!" I had a great afternoon eating bananas from the tree and weaving banana leaf place mats.


Here I am making chapatti. Leah's mother taught me a "secret" recipe that makes the most delicious chapatti I've had in Kenya! I told her that I would bring her recipe back to America and start a chappati craze in the states (seriously it could be the next korean taco truck phenomenon!) and name the restaurant Rosemary's Chapatti stand.


Here are some of my students at their Cross Country competition. They did very well, and our school was ranked 3rd out of 19 schools. Not bad for our first year competing!



I invited a Public Health volunteer to come to my school and answer my student's health questions. They have lots of good questions and no where to get the answers (they can't turn to the internet to find a solution to an embarrassing question about adolescence). So here they are at an outdoor assembly listening and participating in a HIV/STI discussion.


These are some other Peace Corps volunteers and me during a night out in Kisumu Town. We decided to meet in town to not only enjoy one another's company, but to take advantage of the hot showers and delicious (non Kenyan) variety of foods that Kisumu has to offer! Here, we're at a restaurant called the Laughing Buddha which has indian food, pizza, hookah, cheesecake, and a dessert called the sizzling brownie..mmmm


Here is my friend Whitney and I at her sight near Bomet. Myself and a few other volunteers went to visit her site and meet her students. It was interesting to see another volunteer's sight in comparison to mine. We all have very different living situations and schools.


During our visit to Whitney's site in Bomet, our afternoon hike was interrupted by a torrential downpour. We took shelter in a small shack until the rains subsided. While our smiles might say otherwise, we were completely drenched and cold.


During my stay in Kenya I have frequently seen some sights that make me laugh...this being one of them. This is a picture of a matatu "van" that I often use to travel in. This one has a rooftop of live chickens. They were all alive and flapping their wings as the matatu drove by.


K hope you enjoyed these pictures! Love you all!
-Jenny

2012

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do after the Peace Corps. Yes, I realise that it’s two years away (and yes, I realise that my spelling is in British English, but that’s my Microsoft word is programmed now!). But still, thinking about the future helps me sometimes, especially when the days are treacherously long. Imagining the time when I will have running water and constant electricity makes me a little less homesick. I, unlike many of my fellow community members, have the knowledge that this life is temporary. That I will eventually return back to America to daily showers (ok, who am I kidding? Bi-weekly showers) and having the luxury of dishwashers and laundry machines at my fingertips. These are futures that all my students and neighbours dream of, but will they ever get there?
This makes me wonder, what is it that I really want for my future anyways? I’ve thought a lot about grad school or continuing to work with international organizations like the Peace Corps. I’ve even thought about, on a good day of course, extending my service to stay in Kenya for three years. But after my stay here, will I go back to the US and finally settle down as David puts it? Not the settle down, like get married settle down, but the settle down like live in one place longer than a few years. (I’ve been hopping from continent to continent, country to country since before I can remember). But the truth is, I don’t think I can. Maybe it’s because I crave the adventure of living abroad. Won’t my life be boring if I don’t have to take my battle pose against the giant creatures that occupy my room before I go to bed? (I killed a giant hairy fanged spider last night) Won’t I get tired of speaking English everyday? And above all, won’t I miss the knowledge of knowing that every morning when I wake up it is going to be a new learning experience? I’m not saying that every job in America is boring. I just cannot imagine myself feeling fulfilled after a 9 to 5 day at the corporate office. I know I complain a lot (I can check back at my old blogs and read about my whining over lack of running water), but in reality, I love my life here. Living here is my life now, and sure there are days when the novelty wears off, but overall I’m comfortable just living here. Today, a community member told me, in dhoLuo and translated through my friend Emmah, that I’m part of the community now and I need to learn the language. I was flattered that he called me part of the community, up until now, I’ve been referred to as the “visitor” or “mzungu.” His comment really sunk in the fact that I am here, right now. And no matter if I have times when all I can think about is life in America, I’m part of the community and I need to mentally be here. I think I need to work on “staying present” as the director of my study abroad Cape Town program used to say. I need to learn to stay in the moment and appreciate the everyday experiences of life here. I want to learn the local language. I want to try those gross little dried fish that everyone here claims are “tamu sana” or very sweet. I want to laugh at myself when I slip in the foot deep puddles of mud. And I want to savour the moments, good and bad, that I know will last me a lifetime.

I guess I look towards the future when life gets tough here. And that’s ok. But I also can’t overlook the fact that I should be appreciating the days that I have here as well. I quote from the book I just finished, puts it in good words:


“So if she were granted one small wish, perhaps it would only have been not to know. Not to know what each day held in store for her. Not to know where she might be, next month, next year. Ten years on. Not to know which way her road might turn and what lay beyond the bend” The God of Small Things

Night,
Jenny

Teacher on Duty

Teacher, teacher! I see the vena cava! It’s moments of true understanding, like a student’s excitement at seeing a heart dissection, that make the long, often 14 hour, days worthwhile. This is the end of my Teacher on Duty week, where I have been the teacher responsible for everything that goes on at the school compound. I’ve been waking up at 5 am, leaving my house before sunrise (which results in me often slipping in the mud- and to my great misfortune cow pies) and stay at school until after sunset. I don’t think that I have ever worked this hard in my life. I go to sleep exhausted, but fulfilled. But the long hours are wrecking havoc on my cleanliness. I’ve been trying to ignore the disgusting pile of dishes that I have to wash and that I know are a breeding ground for the already growing colony of cockroaches in my house. I’ve been putting off washing my clothes because it just takes me so gosh-darn-long to pump and carry water. And when decided whether it’s more important to cook or heat my bath water, unfortunately for those around me, eating takes priority. I’ve decided that cooking takes too much effort so I have resorted to Peace Corps cuisine which includes crackers and jam and ramen. I’ve concocted all sorts of one-pot dinners like rice and lentils or kale and plaintains (Would Ina Garten hail my ingenuity or abhor my laziness?) Either way, I am glad that this long week has finally come to an end. At least next week I can sleep in until 6:30am! (Wow, how things have changed since my college days!).

Tears on my pillow

I cry myself to sleep a lot. Not because I’m sad or homesick (which sometimes does happen), but there are moments when I cannot believe the poverty that surrounds me. With such extreme poverty, there are cultural and social repercussions. It is a male dominated society. Wives are inherited by the deceased’s brothers. Men beat their wives. And what breaks my heart the most is parents beat their children. One of my students missed a week of her exams because her guardian beat her so hard she bled continuously for days. When my Form 4 students did poorly on their exams, they were caned, because as my principal said, “Some Africans only understand the word of the cane.” It’s psychologically draining to constantly see kids hit, puppies whacked, and wives with bruised faces. What can I do when it is so culturally ingrained in people’s minds that physical punishment is acceptable? Am I insane to think that I can make a difference here? In a society that does not value women's rights nor choice, how can I make an impact? Do I turn a blind eye to corporal punishment because it is “just part of the culture?” And what do I tell my student, who has no one else to turn to, when she asks me what to do about her abusive guardian? These are the questions that fill my head as I get into bed each night and because I have yet to find a solution, I cry myself to sleep.