A feel good post

I thought I would follow up a more depressing blog with a bit on the light and fluffy side...

One of my fave 90's artists has a song that didn't get the props it deserved entitled just that - A Life Uncommon. While the entire song is wonderfully written, in my humble opinion, I think that a few lines speak to me especially while I am here.

Lend our voices only to sounds of freedom

No longer lend our strength to that which we wish to be free from

Fill your lives with love and bravery

And we shall lead a life uncommon 

There are plenty of people who pray for peace
But if praying were enough it would have come to be
Let your words enslave no one and the heavens will hush themselves
To hear our voices ring out clear
with sounds of freedom

Each of us has a certain amount of energy, a certain amount of time, a certain amount of strength that we are able to give. I attempt to make an effort to put my energy in places that result in freedom. This to me means putting my energy towards empowerment. I have met many genuine people here in Kenya and I appreciate their honesty and their willingness to share. I am empowered to be myself through those relationships and I hope that in return I can aid in their empowerment. 

I like how love and bravery are linked in this song. I am wearing a bracelet here in Kenya that reads "Jipe Moyo". Literally this means 'take heart' in Swahili, but I read it as 'courage'. It was given to me by the women I worked with in Tanzania. Often it takes courage to love - some of those closest to me are very brave in their love and I admire them. The world provides innumerable opportunities to hate, and to be passive. Often the opportunities to exhibit love must be sought out and are costly. Sometimes those who need love the most are the most difficult to show love to. I like how the second phrase here talks about how praying isn't sufficient (although its important). Peace requires action! Love requires action!

My take-home message: Be yourself, make purposeful decisions as to where to put your energy, and love bravely. 

Here is a feel good quote to end my feel good blog from one of my very favorite books.

"If you care about something you have to protect it – If you’re lucky enough to find a way of life you love, you have to find the courage to live it."

 
— John Irving (A Prayer for Owen Meany)

Two new friends - Janet and Cathrine

Kibera Reflection #3 - Thoughts on mob justice

In any exercise of cultural exchange, you encounter situations that make you uneasy. Even those travelers that attempt to accept a new place wholly, with all the good and the bad mixed together, inevitably find incidents, moral codes, cultural practices that are impossible to align with their own cultural experience – even with the most liberal application of acceptance. For me, this sticking place is mob justice. Mob justice, in this context, is generally the response to a theft in which the surrounding community responds by beating the thief, most typically resulting in death. Since I have been in Kenya, I have seen two dead bodies, doubling the amount of dead people I have seen in my entire life. Both of the deceased I have seen here died as a result of mob justice. While it is surely a gruesome and uncomfortable topic, it is a reality for the residents here and I thought it was important to attempt to share my experiences.

I do not intend to misconstrue this act as simply an expression of the moral code of Kibera, it is much more complicated than that. It is an act that is the product of extreme desperation, frustration with the almost complete lack of a judicial system, a reaction to violation and insecurity, and a presumed safety measure. This explanation isn’t meant to justify the action, but to illustrate the complexity. It also does not mean to paint the residents of Kibera as lawless, amoral people without a sense of right and wrong - that is also far from the truth.

I have not seen the act, but have witnessed the results. The two people I have seen – one killed in the market directly in front of my place and the other killed in front of the office in which I work – elicited from me strong emotions. I was upset that someone’s child had been murdered at the hands of other humans. Frustrated that there wasn’t a police system functioning to properly react. Disheartened at the quickness and ease in which the thief was seemingly disposed of.

But perhaps the more illustrative observation I made was the almost complete nonchalance at which the bodies were pointed out to me and the relative non-reaction of those that also witnessed the scenes.  Imagine how many bodies you would need to see in order for the next to just blend in with the scenery or to not provoke a strong sense of emotion?

The second body, which I saw just this week in front of the office where I work, was a boy, probably 16 or 17. He had reached in a mama’s house and taken her purse. Because it was light outside, the woman was able to see who had taken her bag. She screamed and the boy was chased down and beaten. Eventually someone came with a metal bar.

I have had a few really interesting and involved conversation about mob justice in Kibera that resulted from this incident. Several ideas were posed, several entities or circumstances were blamed, several justifications were made.

How are the citizens to protect themselves against the roving bands of thugs present every night?

Didn’t that boy murder that mama by taking her livelihood?

Where were the police?  

It is about a lack of hope! If the youth had hope they wouldn’t resort to this behavior!

That boy was most likely working for another man, it was that man who should be killed!

The boy knows that happens to thieves here!

The mama should have known he just wanted something to eat and should not have screamed!

But at the core those I talked with understand that this mode of retaliation is regrettable. 

As a result of this incident, some officials showed up to the office (which used to be a medical clinic and is known to be well equipped) to ask for two things – someone to come and document the proceedings, i.e. to videotape or take pictures, and for some gloves to carry the body away with. This request alone has implications that just left me shaking my head. Also as a result, I was told that the mama who shouted at the thief will now be ostracized by her neighbors and blamed for the boy’s death. Not those whose hands committed murder, but the woman who screamed.

What is the proper reaction to this act? I am still considering where my personal response lies, probably it is found somewhere along the spectrum from disgust to acceptance. But this is a vast, and convoluted, continuum. Mob justice is a fact of life here - a complicated, messy, entirely deplorable fact of life.  

Typical Tuesday

About two weeks before I left, my dad posed a question to me about what my typical day in Kibera would look like. I told him to ask me when I had been there a month. I have been here almost six weeks now and I still haven't really had a 'typical day' because of the vast diversity of my activities, and the multitude of opportunities that Nairobi has to offer. It isn't unusual for me to go from Kibera to an upscale Nairobi mall in a single day, with varying degrees of whiplash. That said, there are a few things that tend to happen every day. So here it is Dad, just for you...my "typical Tuesday"...

4:48am, or about daybreak: The neighboring mosque begins the call to prayer. More significantly, this signals the guards who sit below my window in the market that it is a time to begin playing their music loudly. They play the same album every.single.morning. Good Morning Nairobi!

6:30-7:00am: I manage to get myself out of bed after a feeble attempt to get back to sleep.

7:30am: After making myself moderately presentable, I go downstairs where Mama has breakfast laid out for me. More importantly, where she has chai waiting - the famous milk masala tea that Kenyans exist on. Its no two-pump-vanilla-soy-latte, but when in Rome, right? It is hot, spicy, and contains just enough caffeine to jumpstart my day. Breakfast is usually bread, or eggs, or sweet potatoes, or sausages, but usually bread.

8:30am: I am off on my 25 minute walk to Kibera. This walk takes me through the massive Toi Market. I meet some friendly faces, some more tolerant than friendly, but I enjoy this morning walk in the cold morning air. It is the dead of winter here in Nairobi, meaning it is a brisk 60 degrees when I walk to work. BRRRR.

9:00am: Arrive at the office in Kibera and greet every staff member present with a smile and a handshake and follow-up on their family. I enjoy the fact that as time goes on we get to know each other. Sometimes I see this cat, who has adopted CFK as a home.

9:30am: A trip down to the satellite office where the SRH program is primarily located. Check in with those peeps, including the PYEs who are hanging around and the program officer Ben.

10:00am: Chai, again, this time with the staff.

10:30am: Start on whatever task I have, this can include interviews, digging through documents, organizing my to-do list, and revising the to-do list from yesterday. Things change often, but I like being on my toes.

1:00pm: Lunch! This usually involves trekking to somewhere appealing in Kibera - like Atlanta Fries (guess what they have) or Arusha Dishes which serves local cuisine. Chapo and beans it is again! For less than 50 cents, its a deal.

2:00pm: Back to the office, or home-again-home-again. Depending on the day, I trek back to the office or make my way back to my place. Because I leave my laptop at home and concentrate better in my own space, I often work the afternoon from home. Or, if I am feeling nostalgic, from the coffee shop just around the corner.

5:30pm: Mama comes home! She works in a organization in Kibera too. With these ladies!

6:00pm: Chai again. When Mama comes home, it is a boost of chai to get us to dinner, and to power Mama in her cooking. She is a fabulous cook and I really lucked out that way.

8:00pm: Dinner! Tonight it is fish, ugali, and greens. Yum.

9:00pm: Local news with the fam, they are kind enough to watch the English speaking channel. Tonight is on the new country of South Sudan and the celebrations that took place over the weekend.

10:30pm: Read, or watch 20 minutes of one of three Harry Potter movies I managed to download on my computer before I left, and fall dead asleep. What a day!

Life in a Market

I live in a veritable thrift shop. Like, no joke. I cannot get anywhere without walking by stands selling anything you can imagine – pants, avocados, sheets, fabric, stoves. I live right around Toi Market, a giant market in which you can find ANYTHING. I challenge you to think of one thing that they don’t sell there - anything that can be bought in bulk, placed in a small wooden kiosks (okay, so not cars), but they have pretty much anything. Bandanas. Beans. Belts. Bananas. Coat hangers. Cow meat. Cashmere sweaters. Canteens. Coffins. I walk through this market every day and am tempted to buy many things, and others I am just amused about. How exactly does someone amass several dozen shovel heads? Or a few hundred spare socks? Where does this come from? I really enjoy my walks through the markets, browsing through piles of sweaters and shirts that someone somewhere threw away. Some items still have “goodwill” or “value village” tags still stuck on them.  Yesterday I found a t-shirt from a basketball tournament at the Boys and Girls club in my hometown in Washington state.

What is really convenient is that no matter where I go when I am looking at clothes the sales person declares that all of his goods are “your size! Your size! Everything is your size!”. I am simultaneously a size 4 and a size 14. Rock on.

Life in a market provides many temptations and no end of hustle and bustle. I have made friends with a couple of the people who run shops by where I stay and they know my name and we chat it up every morning. I am in awe at how they pack it all in every single night and bring it all back in the next day. This market was destroyed by fire in the post-election violence of 2008 and was rebuilt after with the help of a few donor organizations. Although the market is loud and results in a continuous 24/7 soundtrack, it is an exciting place to live. 

The market, part of my daily path to CFK.

Research Update

The purpose of my trip here is to conduct research in order to turn in a thesis at the end of this year so that I may graduate with my Masters in Global Health. I am fortunate that I was able to combine this requirement with an experience that matches my career, and personal, interests. Working with CFK has provided insight into organizations and in the sort of “participatory development” that is so important. While I am thankful for the opportunity to pursue higher education at Duke, and to participate in the classes that I took while there, I chose Duke almost exclusively for the guaranteed chance to work abroad for this time and was really ready to get out of the classroom and into the field. It feels so satisfying to be doing something. While I give props to my more academically inclined classmates, I am much more excited to be here and talking with the people I hope to serve.

Check out this famous-in-my-field person talking about the importance of organizations “accompanying” those that they work with here.

Mary, Amy and I on Amy's brief tour of Kibera

To complete my goal of doing a program assessment of the SRH program, I have conducted almost all of the interviews with the staff that are involved in the Sexual and Reproductive Health program here at CFK. Because the program relies heavily on the use of peer-youth-educators, I have also conducted interviews with these youth leaders whom have turned out to be a fantastic resource for understanding the dynamics of Kibera. I have another focus group with these youth this weekend along with a focus group discussion with a small sampling of the participants of the program. Because of the newness of a project like mine to CFK, things move slowly but it is a learning process for all involved, and that is the point at the end of the day. I am also hoping to help the SRH program put in place a more thorough method of evaluating the program going forward. It may sound counterintuitive, but monitoring and evaluation is a relatively new concept for organizations, and CFK is not alone in needing to improve in this area. Luckily, the staff here is awesome, and  the program officer I am working with (Ben!) has been very helpful. 

While Kibera is an exhausting place to work at times, it is also an interesting and rewarding place that provides many adventures but also a space to contribute. There is always room for improvement in programming, for continual modification to suit new needs and feedback, and it is good opportunity to be a part of that process here.  

CFK is celebrating its tenth year anniversary this month and you can bet there will be a big celebration in the community. Check out the book written by co-founder Rye Barcott here. 

Hell's Gate National Park

Me and the path through the park - yes I managed to wear both Carolina and Duke gear without spontaneous combustion

 

Amy and I took a much needed mental health day and took a two hour drive up to Hell's Gate National Park. This park is unique in that you can opt to bike the 8km to the Rangers station through the wildlife. Amy and I kept reassuring ourselves that if there were lions in this area they wouldn't willingly give tourists bikes and free reign of the place. That said, we saw plenty of wildlife and because we arrived early we were able to have the place to be the only visitors there. It was a very calm morning and I felt lucky to be able to be a part of nature in that sort of way. The bike was nothing luxurious but it wasn't a big safari vehicle and that made all the difference. It was really amazing to be so close to zebras, giraffes, warthogs, impalas, etc. without a metal cage all around us. We were able to stop and take pictures and meander through the park to the rangers station at the other side.

Zebra crossing in front of my favorite acacia tree

My sweeeeet ride - a too small bike stuck in first gear

Such a peaceful morning

Zebras and warthog parade

Can you see the giraffe?

A hike down into the gorge

When we got to the Rangers Station after 8 km of bouncing down the road, we were offered a chance for a two hour hike into the gorge. Although we were assured by the rangers that the hike was nothing to be afraid of, I was skeptical. The three other time I had been on "very easy" hikes in Africa they had turned into full-body clothes-destroying adventures. I warned Amy it would be more than a nature walk and we decided why  not, we were here. I guess correctly and at points we were hiking down vertical slabs of wet limestone (with the assistance of our tour guide George) and at another point I was shimmying parallel to the ground over a small stream. The biggest accomplishment was that I only fell once. It was a beautiful trek through the limestone that is continuously being eroded away. There were warning signs of flash floods throughout and George told us just a few days ago he had to usher 75 school kids as quick as possible out of the gorge because of imminent disaster. This is also apparently the gorge where they filmed Tomb Raider in 1992. The Gorge is not part of the national park but instead is on Maasai land. This was apparent when we saw a young Maasai boy herding his goats up and down the steep slopes of the gorge. There has been a drought in this area for the past two years resulting in more and more animals migrating towards the little water inside of the gorge. This includes large buffalo who have fallen into the gorge attempting to find food.

Our trusty tour guide, George, washes his hands in the hot springs

The green is from the algae caused by the hot springs

Amy and I 

Who knew we were so close to the chaos of Nairobi?

Kibera Reflection #2 - Same-same but different

One of my favorite phrases is “same same but different”. I think that it sums up a lot of things about comparing cultures. Like “are the mountains in Kenya the same as in the US?”  “Yeah, they are same-same, but different.” I think that it is a good way of cutely summarizing the complexity of comparison - things across the globe have some similar features but in other important ways are very different.

Thoughts on being different – The thing about being in Africa is how different you feel, as a white visitor, wherever you go. And the Kenyans go out of their way to let you know how different you are, don’t worry, you won’t forget you look different. From the kids shouting “mzungu” or “howareyou” continuously, to the mzugu-price you are given wherever you go, to the spontaneous marriage proposals, I am continually feeling different from the rest of the crowd. Men stare, women glare, kids shout and smile. Chairs materialize from nowhere so I can sit at a moment’s notice, I am given prime standing/seating, and assumed fragile or unknowing.  I get begged for money and the vendors try to sell me earrings for $20, when I should pay $1. I look different and because of my skin color and my assumed nationality, am treated different. And in many ways, we are different. I grew up in a town with over 400 coffee shops, married a boy YOUNGER than me, seen the Great Wall of China and U2 (twice!), and have a plane ticket out of here. Every so often it is nice to play the mzungu card. For instance, the other day I reached a part of Kibera that required me to jump about two feet from one mud slick to another. Knowing that if I did so I would most certainly embarrass myself (among other less pleasant things) to no end by falling face first into the mud-mixture of Kibera, I decided to pull the mzungu-card and waited at the ledge for someone to come along and offer their assistance, which they did and I gratefully accepted a hand down from the ledge. When I related this story back to my host brother, and told him about pulling the mzungu-card, he laughed at me and said “what other card to you have to pull?” This was a sharp reminder that I am almost completely defined here by being an outsider – by being different.

Thoughts on being same-same – Yet, at the same time, working in Kibera is a reminder that I am the same-same as everyone else around me. There are common threads of humanity that show themselves clearly in Kibera and remind me that I am not so different after all. This extends beyond the need for the basic necessities – shelter, water, food. That much is obvious. There are human needs that are experienced by the people in Kibera just the same-same as they are experience by people in Carrboro, or Bellingham. One example I’ve encountered is the desire for personal growth, especially among the youth. Talking with the young people of Kibera who are around my age, they are striving to be the best version of themselves and to obtain opportunities to further themselves personally, further their education, and to actively expose themselves to new possibilities, all things that are my own priorities. Even though they are hampered by many of the circumstances of living in Kibera and being young and perhaps unemployed, they show great ambition. Another example is curiosity. I am a very curious person and am always interested in different people and their perspectives (My mother can vouch that my first words, well actually phrase, was a child’s version of “what’s that?”). I find that the people in Kibera are very curious and inquisitive. I am forever being asked questions about America, and also questions of what I thought about Kenya before I arrived and how I found it when I came. I am asked about my family, my neighborhood, my diet, how many goats Marty paid for me, and if there are hippos where I come from too. The people are curious about the outside world and are interested in understanding what is going on in the world around them. I find that it is often assumed that because people are extremely poor, or are living in extreme conditions like Kibera, that they do not have the capacity (or time perhaps?)  to ponder, or to daydream, or to simply ask “why does that happen?” People in Kibera do all of these things, and that is another way in which we are the same-same.

People in Kibera and I are the same-same, but different. 

Growing Collards in North Carolina

Growing collards in Kibera