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.