kids in kenya

Being a kid in Kenya is different than it is in America. Being a baby is similar in the sense that they are held often when first born and bundled up, but similarities end there. Kenyans take the baby clothing a bit too far. I have a hard time believing that a baby will freeze to death in 100 degree temperatures, but sure enough the babies have socks, hats, multiple shirts, jackets, blankets etc. One babies can sit up they tend to be a bit more on their own. Often times they are supervised by older siblings, like a seven-year-old sister or brother. Mamas help out when they can, but women in my community are constantly working as they tend to be the farmers, caregivers, problem solvers etc. in the family. Babies become tough as there are no pacifiers, toys or items for baby amusement. Babies start playing with the other children at a young age and small children tend to be pushed around a lot as they become inducted into the pecking order. Kids here are creative and the ones in my compound do an excellent job of making their own fun. My favorites have been when they used the clothing lines to zip line (I had to resist the urge to join in, something I was grateful for when the mamas starting beating the children for doing it--I'm not sure what they would have done to me), made swings (which proved to be highly dangerous but they had a great time) and when they made a sled out of half of an old jerry can. I like that the kids play outside for the majority of the day. They don't sit around watching TV or playing on the computer because generally those are not things that they have access to. In America people are perhaps overly concerned with the health and safety of children. Parents baby-proof their homes, feed their children pediatrician approved food, Lysol all surfaces and micro manage every minute of their children's time. In Kenya children have a degree of independence and responsibility that continues to blow my mind. Every once in a while a mama will acknowledge that something is unsafe for a child. I was concerned on day when a two-year-old was playing with a machete (I seem to be ok with four-year-olds using them as toys, I'm not sure what that says about my future parenting ability) and asked her if that was ok. She said he wasn't allowed because he was using it to chop at furniture. She wanted me to beat him for her, which I refused to do. I am constantly asked to beat people's children if they are too busy to do so themselves and I have yet to do so. Children are beaten at home and at school, something that would not be viewed as ok in America. Here it is the solution that they turn to. I have tried to introduce different forms of punishment but the mamas haven't taken me up on it. To say that I am uncomfortable with beating people would be a massive understatement. Kids in Kenya go to school. At least they should. Primary school is mandatory but enrollment does not seem to be enforced. The majority of small children in my community do seem to be in school though. High school attendance is low, especially for girls. Schools in Kenya vary, but generally speaking they are no where near as fancy as their American equivalents. Students take far more subjects simultaneously and learn by rote in classes at least double the size of those in America. It is not hard to see why many children struggle in their classes. Kids here play football (soccer) for fun. Typically they make balls out of old plastic bags. They are excellent football players, way better than the kids in America, because they play constantly. There are no organized sports though. Schools have teams and some students play on them but there are no community leagues. There are no music lessons, zoo camps, dance classes or any of the number of activities that fill up the schedules of kids in America. On the whole however, it seems like kids in Kenya are just as happy as kids in America. I think it would have been fun to grow up in my village and look forward to spending another year with the kids who live there.

my canadian

For six months during my time in Kenya I had a Canadian roommate named Magan. She became known as "my Canadian" due to the fact that there were two Megan's in my training group and it became really confusing. I made an excellent first impression, showing up sweaty and exhauted having just biked 20 miles and missed her welcoming celebration. I was not aware that she was going to be staying for six months, but I am very happy happy that she did. My Canadian came to volunteer with my first organization, and for a few weeks that's what we did. When everything started going down hill I was greatful to have a friend. I loved having a partner in crime when running around Kakmega looking for something to do, even if it was just sitting and drinking juice together on the steps of Nakumatt. My Canadian became an honorary member of Peace Corps, traveling with me to see other volunteers and helping with trainings in the community. When I had to move to my current village I brought my Canadian with me for the last few weeks she was in Kenya. I will always have memories of our time together, like when our bus hit a petrol truck, watching the lion king when I hadn't seen a movie in months, dealing with Skittles the cat, shopping for shoes and clothes in the market, chasing down the githeri lady (we loved her food a bit too much) and just hanging out. I'm sure that my Canadian and I will be friends for life, and while this short letter doesn't tell about our entire six months I think it provides a decent introduction.

How I Got My Birthmark

I have a large birthmark on my left ankle* It has become darker over the years, fading during the winter and returning with my freckles when the sun returns* My cousin Amanda first noticed it when I was 6 and we were on a roadtrip in Oklahoma* Like the birthmark on my neck it was barely noticeable* My mom scrubbed my neck aggressively for what seemed like years before she realized that it wasn't dirt* Based on my past experiance I shouldn't have been surprized by the reactions to my birthmark and freckles in Kenya, well at least not all of them* In Loitokitok my host mama thought I wasn't actually washing my feet everyday, it took me awhile to convince her that I was* When I went to Gatunga in Eastern Province everyday the women in the compound would wash their feet together* The first day they were concerned* The first sign was when they handed me a rougher cloth so that I could scrub more effectively* Then one of them started scrubbing, which I have to say hurt a lot, as I tried to explain the misunderstanding* When she went for the steel wool I freaked out and she backed off* Kenyans, or at least the ones I know don't have birthmarks* They have scars from vaccinations and cuts but otherwise their skin is flawless* My freckles and birthmarks confuse them* The majority of people think that I should have them lightened or removed* I don't agree* People have many theoies about how I got my freckles and birthmarks* One nurse at my dispensary was very concerned about my health one day because she thought that my freckles were mosquito bites and that I was going to have some serious malaria* Granted if they had been mosquito bites I would have had hundreds, something I'm not sure my Malerone could handle* Another woman at the dispensary had a creative theory about my birthmark that I enjoyed* She said that my mother must have drunk some strong tea (tea without milk aka black tea) right before I was born, when feet were higher than my head* The tea landed on my ankle and stained it* I then told her that story reminded me of my mother's "theory" about why I am so short* My mother says that when she was pregnant she wanted a cheeseburger in the middle of the night and asked my dad to go and get her one* He said no* My mom says had I received the benefits from that burger I would have grown up to be a lot taller* The women at the dispensary loved the story because it was something they could relate to and laugh about, a sort of old wives tale that showed that people all over the world make up the same kind of stories to explain things that they may not fully understand* The day I told that story marked the first day I truly became friends with two women at my dispensary* I have always loved my birthmark and freckles and although I don't completely understand why I have them I'm ok with that because sometimes a good story is more fun and I am thankful to Kenya for giving that to me*

One Year Down

I've officially been in Kenya for a year* The time for the most part seems to have flown by* A lot has happened during my time here, the majority wasn't what I had expected, granted Peace Corps told all of us not to have expectations* When I boarded the plane in Chicago in a sleep-deprived haze I thought I would be heading to a small, rural community where no English was spoken and food and water were hard to come by* A community like Gatunga that Women's Global worked with* I thought I would learn Swahili an be able to speak with the locals confidently* I thought I would struggle with dressing like a mama* I looked forward to learning to play the guitar* I had ideas of the food I would be eating (focused around millet and goat)* I thought I would miss the internet, a virtually unlimited calling plan & other technology I had come to take for granted* Coming from a fairly urban environment I worried about life in a small village and the lack of 24 hour anything* I wondered what illnesses I would contract* I had no ides what kind of work I would be doing* I thought I would live in my village for my entire service* My first site was in a large town and I lived in an office* My current site is a village where I live in a house made of mud and poop (the cow manure helps the mud stick, we use it to make charcoal balls for the same reason)* A decent amount of the villagers speak English which is helpful because I was not taught Swahili* I am trying to teach myself but it's going a bit slower than I would like* My village is lucky* We ave two sizeable rainy seasons which means we can grow a lot of food to eat and sugar cane to sell* We also do not have severe water shortages like other parts of Kenya, our wells rarely dry up* I was worried about dressing like a Kenyan woman* I have never enjoyed wearing long skirts and as I over heat easily I was concerned about a ban on tank tops* Initially I resisted, but over the course of the year I have assimilated, perhaps too much* In the village I frequently wear a head scarf* I have once again become a fan of big, baggy tee shirts that I pair with three long skirts* I have only worn pants in Nairobi since moving to my village* I bought a slip yesterday after some ladies I work with pointed out that my skirts were showing a wear* I can't remember ever voluntarily wearing a slip* I bought a dress to wear in Kisumu a few weeks ago, a dress I would have worn in Chicago during the summer, and freaked out and ended up wearing a shawl over it because my shoulders weren't covered and the dress was knee length* I also haven't had a good hair day since our wearing in ceremony, but then again I have no desire to wear my hair down due to the heat as well as all of the people who want to touch it* I bought a guitar in Nairobi and I have learned to play it, hopefully the right way as I'm primarily self-taught although I did have Lorenzo's help with chords and my brother talked me though bar chords in a rather expensive phone call* I love my guitar, it helps keep me sane* My diet was a bit varied when I had my roommate Magan but now it's less exciting* I live off fresh produce supplemented with oatmeal, soya, popcorn, ugali (made from corn meal and water kind of like polenta) & the occasional pasta or rice* I am essentially a vegetarian, which people in my village think is a bit odd* We don't grow millet here* I have eaten goat twice* I can use my phone for internet sometimes, but there will be weeks where I have no access and have to go to town to use it and then hope that there is power* I only seem to want the internet to check email, I am ok with not being able to do that often* I don't use my phone much, I send some texts and make a few calls* Sometimes I only make one call in a week* While the cost of airtime is small in terms of $ it seems like a lot on a Peace Corps budget* I love living in a small village, I feel safe here* Recently I've started freaking out a bit when I go to my market town* There's too many people* Large grocery stores that I am unfamiliar with can be overwhelming* The malls in Nairobi are intimidating* It will be interesting to see how I react to Chicago when I've had another year in Kenya* I thought I woul get some kind of freaky illness, I did have an ameba which I guess qualifies* I had a lot of issues that I hadn't anticipated* I drank over twice the daily recommended amount of water and developed cysts due to matatus* I also have been having lots of flash backs to oregon trail fyi dysentry is not fun* I'm still figuring out what my job is here* I work with a variety of community groups and at a local dipensary (CLINIC)* A lot of the work I do is farming related, I really didn't expect to spend my time digging in shambas, making charcoal and rollling balls of charcoal dust and cow manure with my bare hands but I actually seem to enjoy it more than my time at the dispensary* I love my village and neighbors* I have no idea of what to expect this year, but I'm looking forward to what's coming because I know Kenya will keep me on my toes*

My House On Pooh Corner

At the end of December I moved to a new site in a new village. The move was something that I had been debating for a long time and was not an easy decision but a necessary one for reasons that I won't get into now. The decision to move has been the best one I have made since arriving in Kenya as I love my new village, neighbors, work and home.
My new village is not too far from where I used to live but the differences are huge. My village is small, the village center is a fairly large size for a village in Kenya. There are mamas who sell produce everyday, at hours that are unpredictable and entirely dependent on the tasks they have to accomplish each day. There are a few small hotelis (restaurants) where I sometimes buy beans for 10ksh (12 cents). There are fundis (people who make things) who work with wood and metal. Fundis are amazing, they can make pretty much anything with almost no tools for almost no money. A fundi in Kakamega made me an amazing guitar case, it looks shady which is part of the reason that I love it, but it gets the job done and cost around $12. A fundi in my village made a briquetter and lid so that I can make charcoal. He even added a handle to the lid making it more aesthetically pleasing and improved its safety immensely. There are several dukas (shops kind of like the smallest corner store you can imagine) where you can buy anything you need just not necessarily everything you might want. You can buy biscuits, bread, flour, soap but no chocolate (my theory is that it would melt in the duka and be a disaster). One mama has a duka with a fridge for soda which is incredibly fancy and her patrons can always be seen savoring their cool, refreshing treats. There is an agrovet where you can satisfy your shamba (farm) and animal needs. There are a number of different kinds of seeds and pills for preventing chicken typhoid, the usual.

My new job consists of teaching health to mamas who bring their young children to the clinic. Currently I work with a translator but it is my hope that I will soon be able to give the talks independently. I also work with a mamas group that supports orphans and we are working on raising chickens. I am also trying to teach them how to make charcoal out of corn cobs and twigs.

I live in a family compound reminiscent of a cul de sac. It is a friendly place where everyone knows each other. My Swahili has improved because only a few people in my compound speak English well, the small children and grandmother don't speak English at all. My home is a nice, comfortable mud and dung hut. It has two prison cell sized rooms that are really all I need. The house has electricity (bare bulbs and one outlet) which is nice to have, but no running water. The lack of water is fine because I honestly don't know where a sink would even fit and the well is all of 15 feet from my door so I barely have to haul water.

I love my new home and while it is a far cry from where I used to live in America it continues to make me happy.