Friday, December 31, 2010

Jerusalem: Day 1



The day after we arrived in Israel, we woke up in Tel-Aviv (stayed in a family friends’ house), and drove about 45 minutes east to Jerusalem. Navigating was a bit of a struggle since road names often had multiple spellings on signs that were only a few hundred feet apart. After a few miscues, we managed to meet up with our tour guide, Peter, who hopped in the car and began leading us around.

Peter’s first question: you want the Christian, Muslim, or Jewish tour? That pretty much sums up the Middle East doesn’t it?

Our first stop was at the Mount of Olives, which affords a great view of the Old City. The Dome on the Rock is the big gold dome. The whole hill is basically covered with Jewish graves, as they believe that this is where the first people are taken into heaven.

Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives:

(the foreground is the thousands of Jewish tombs on the Mount and in the background you can see the domes of the Dome of the Rock (Muslim), the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (Christian) and most of old Jerusalem)

From a church on the Mount of Olives:


A bit further down is the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was arrested the night before he was crucified. A church has been built around the rock where the arrest took place. Our tour guide informed us that this is one of the sites that has “Level 1” evidence, that is that it is regarded as the actual garden in religious tradition, and with archeological evidence.

Trees in Gesthsemane:


Church in the Garden:


We then parked and headed into the Old City. We first passed through the Muslim Quarter, which was dominated by a market made up of narrow alleys with eager vendors shouting to entice you into their shops. The smell of fresh Arabic coffee, spices, and grilling meat permeated the air. We walked through fairly quickly, as we needed to get to the sites because two days is actually not enough to thoroughly cover Jerusalem.

Walking through the narrow market with A and Koko:


Our first major stop was the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Originally built in the Byzantine era, the church was destroyed several times, and the current church was built primarily in the 11th century by the Crusaders, though some remains of earlier churches can still be seen. It is built on the site where Jesus was crucified (Golgatha, or Calvary) and was buried. The church is actually more like six churches; the Ethiopian Orthodox, Greek Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Coptic Orthodox and Syrian Orthodox all maintain portions of the church, and their areas are decorated in ways typical of their respective denomination. We were able to go into the tomb where Jesus was buried, and see the rock where he was crucified.

This is the mosaic on the ceiling of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher:


We then walked through the Jewish Quarter, which is of the same style as the rest of the old town, but most of it was built since the 1960s, and then through the Armenian Quarter, to the Upper Room, where the Last Supper took place (sorry, no pics).

At this point, we were getting hungry and eager to try some new foods after 4.5 months in Kenya. So we stopped for a short lunch break of delicious hummus, falafel, grilled chicken, pita, and delicious pickled accoutrements. This gave Peter (the tourguide) ample time to hit on Koko (E’s brother’s girlfriend) after he discovered she was Jewish, which was pretty amusing. After lunch, we trekked to see the Western or Wailing Wall. Like most people, I knew that the Wailing Wall was a Jewish holy site, but didn’t really know why.

Here you can see the Wailing Wall in the foreground and the Dome of the Rock on the Temple Mount above it:


Brief explanation of a very complicated story about the Wailing Wall:
The Wailing Wall is the western wall of Herod’s temple complex, built around 2 BC. This is the traditional site where Abraham was ready to sacrifice Isaac before God stopped him. Solomon’s Temple was though to have been originally built here, though no evidence has ever been found. So, Herod built on the site, and around 200 AD, this temple was destroyed, though the outer walls remained intact. Around 700 AD, Muslims came into power in the region, and they built the Temple on the Rock at the site of Herod’s temple, as they believe that Mohammad ascended into heaven at this site as well. As you may have heard, the Jews and the Muslims don’t always see eye to eye, so Jews are not allowed into the temple complex anymore, so they can’t venerate their most holy site. All politics of Israel and Palestine aside, basically the Western Wall is the closest point that Jews can get to the rock where God spoke to Abraham (you can see this in the map above), and thus, it is the holiest site in the Jewish religion. Sorry, that wasn’t so brief, but I did my best.

The wall itself wasn’t terribly interesting, though the site of hundreds of men and women praying from the Torah and stuffing little prayers into the cracks between the rocks was interesting to see. The men in the group had to wear little disposable yarmulkes, which looked pretty funny on my big head. We didn’t have time on the first day to visit the temple complex, but visited the next day.

We saw a ton more, but I think I touched on the highlights. Before this visit, I didn’t appreciate how complicated the situation in Jerusalem, and much of the Middle East, really is. In an area no bigger than a few city blocks, are some of the holiest sites for the three major monotheistic religions, covering half of the world’s population, with many of the sites overlapping. Politics and religion cannot be separated in these areas, which has obviously caused terrible conflict for centuries. It’s hard to say what the solution is, as even within religions, people often don’t agree. Our guide told a story about how a light bulb burned out in a contested area of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and they had to call several meetings of the different denominations to figure out who should change it, as to change it was like laying claim to the area. Finally, a Jewish man was called to “check the light”, and it was magically fixed. If people of the same religion can't decide on a lightbulb, the idea of peace in the region seems quite difficult.

Anyway, for us, it was amazing to see many of the sites that play such a prominent role in the Bible. Reading the Bible has become a lot more vivid and meaningful since the visit, as I can actually picture where things took place.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Israel: There and Back


View Journey to Israel in a larger map

We spent the last 10 days in Israel with my Dad, K, my brother, and my brother’s girlfriend who I’ll call Koko. We’re going to do a series of blogs on Israel so I thought I’d start with the travel. Those of you who’ve read the blog regularly know that any travel situation in Kenya requires at least two of the following three: blood, sweat, and tears.

Mungai offered to drive M and me to the airport so we arrived fairly uneventfully and then we attempted to enter the airport. We were immediately barred from entering a security check-point because we didn’t have boarding passes or tickets. Sweating commenced.

We explained that we didn’t have our tickets because we hadn’t gone to the check-in counter yet. This is apparently problematic in Kenya because check-in is located through one layer of security. We told them we were flying Ethiopian Airlines but they didn’t have an office in Mombasa so we were directed to the Kenya Airways desk to print out tickets. As expected, the Kenya Airways people immediately rejected (and judged) us because “we aren’t Ethiopian Airlines, how could we print your ticket?” Perfect.

One benefit of sticking out like a sore thumb is that sometimes people take pity on you and a security guard eventually just escorted us through. The flipside of the constant wazungu-related attention is that many people assume that wazungu are too rich / educated / white (I don’t know how many other adjectives) to be doing anything “bad” so the security guard had no problem vouching for us despite meeting us seconds earlier.

We waited in line for our 4:30 flight which was inexplicably now leaving at 6 PM. This was not a delay, they just decided the flight was leaving later. We had plenty of time for our connection in Addis Ababa but it was just amusing to us.

When we got up to the check-in counter, we handed over our passports and were asked to produce an itinerary. When we explained that we hadn’t printed one (printers are hard to come by around here), they told us that we couldn’t fly unless we had the credit card we used to book the flight back in July. We were fairly certain we didn’t have the credit card. We often travel with only some of our cards so that if we’re pick-pocketed, we aren’t left with no access to funds in Kenya. Despite each having about 7 forms of ID, their acknowledgement that they had our reservation, and the fact that a stupid paper itinerary would be insanely easy to forge, only that specific credit card would work if we didn’t have an itinerary. Tears commenced.

At this point I should note that I was upset but tears are also strategic on my part. Kenyans don’t typically raise their voices or lose their tempers. Kenyan woman do it even more rarely than Kenyan men. So the standard American response where we get angry and frustrated and eventually get to speak to a supervisor wasn’t going to work. Crying was worth a shot though.

I stepped away from the counter to allow the men to handle the issue. As much as it aggravates me that I’m excluded from some of these conversations, they tend to go much more smoothly if handled man to man. M said that he could tell that the guy felt bad so he eventually agreed to call his supervisors. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there trying to think as fast as I could. Our flight was 2.5 hours away and it’s at least 3 hours roundtrip on the ferry if everything goes as planned. In desperation, I suggested to M that we have him check our other credit cards.

At this point, we realized that since we booked as if we lived in Kenya, it was possible that we had used a credit card that gets better international rates than the one we use 95% of the time in the US. Amazingly, this worked. Whether it worked because we had actually used that card or if the guy just relented and let us through, we aren’t sure but we didn’t care.

One thing that we’ve often spoken about is the bureaucracy in Kenya and the rigidity in job titles and activities. The guy knew that we had paid for the tickets and wanted to let us on but he couldn’t for fear that he would be fired for breaking the regulations. In the US, customer service folks have some leeway to apply common sense in these situations but in Kenya, he could easily have been fired or personally charged for our tickets if we were somehow committing fraud (he directly related this concern to M). We’ve repeatedly encountered similar situations where you can tell that someone wants to help you or knows that a different standard should apply than ‘normal’ but are unable / incapable / too afraid to break protocol.

At least this time, the story ended fairly well. The same could not be said for my brother’s bags which he never received. He spent 10 days in Israel wearing the same shirt and jeans (luckily there was a washer where we were staying) and our entire group trekked to the airport every night to try and find them. On the last night, he was finally told that they were waiting for him at the airport so he could take them home to the US. He arrived only to find out that they had been sent out for delivery and had to board the flight without them. So I guess travel is difficult everywhere but the trip was absolutely fantastic.

We were able to see Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nazareth, Tiberius, Casearia, Petra, and Maasada on our whirlwind tour of the Dead, Med, and Red Seas. Blogs on those to come. A few favorite pics of our first day in Tel Aviv follow below.

Tel Aviv is a beach town:


This church and the mosque below were virtually on top of each other:


Saturday, December 18, 2010

Trashed

E and I were walking through the hospital on the way back from lunch yesterday and we came across an interesting pile: syringes, ampules of medicines (Valium, adrenaline, anti-malarials, to name a few), and various other medical sundries. These were unceremoniously piled on the floor of the waiting room for the pediatric clinic. From the appearance, I think that these were long-expired medical supplies awaiting a yet unknown fate. I do hope that fate isn’t in a crawling child’s belly.



I’ve run into the issue of getting things disposed of properly here. A few weeks after I arrived, office space was scarce, partially because a good deal of real estate was taken up by archaic computers and printers that haven’t been used for 20+ years. I inquired about getting rid of the junk, and I was told that nothing could be done without a signed letter from the boss giving permission. Fine, so with eager naivety, I spent the next several hours pulling the very dusty, very old equipment from desks and shelves to catalog. I then typed up a letter, sent it to my the head of the study at my school, and by mid-afternoon, the letter was here. Alright!

Me: “Where are we taking all of the stuff?”
Lab people: “Let’s put it back on the shelves for now”
Me: “Why? Let’s just get rid of it. We can’t sell this stuff”
Lab people: “Let’s just leave it for now”

Fast-forward four months. Everything remains where it was. The very large computer box pictured below is in the middle of my lab floor, obstructing my path every day. I tried to deal with it the other day, and was told that “we should leave it there for the time being”. I’m beginning to think that Kenyans might be the human equivalent of Ents, the giant, slow-moving tree-people from Lord of the Rings. Literally, it is impossible to get anything done with any sort of alacrity. Geologic time is more the clock that we’re on here. It’s not that their pace of life is wrong, but that it’s just so incongruent with the haste that Americans are used to, it’s hard to deal with sometimes.

I'm pretty sure this was the latest model circa 1990:


To be fair, part of the problem has to do with lack of infrastructure in dealing with waste. There aren’t many trashcans around, so people just end up throwing their trash along the side of the road. This may have been acceptable when the vast majority of the waste was organic, but now, plastic bottles litter the country. In E’s Ukunda post, she showed the town’s trash infrastructure. Not so sweet. I’m not even sure if disposal of large items (i.e. refrigerators, cars, etc) is ever dealt with. Check out the Land of Forgotten Hospital Toys. It is a 15x15 room piled to the ceiling with I don’t know what and it will remain there for another 30 or so years. I imagine someday that someone will excavate this hospital and think that the Kenyans worshiped old and broken machines since they kept them all.



While the old machines are a nuisance, the expired medicines could actually be pretty dangerous. Kenyans are very resourceful and I can easily see someone trying to make a quick buck by selling these expired medicines. Since most of these things can be bought at a pharmacy without a prescription, buying medicines from someone at a kiosk is not foreign to Kenyans.

We're headed off to Israel in just a few hours to meet up with some of E's family for Christmas. Hopefully we'll be able to go to a Christmas service in Bethlehem, but as of right now, it seems there's no room at the inns (seriously, they're all booked up). We are REALLY excited to have a change of scenery and food for a while, as well as seeing some familiar faces!

On an unrelated note, I just received this text from our Swahili teacher, who has now missed six straight lessons, due to toothaches, malaria, or just plain forgetting:

"M and E, poleni sana! (very sorry!), beginning to remember now that I was to come for Swahili y'day evening. Some matters and issues have really consumed even the memory section of my brain. Twice having not fulfilled my promise due to forgetfulness?? The whole idea may sound hypocritical but in reality this is what has been like this week. Just bear with me for the near-fatal state of mind. Kindly accept my apology, I'm very sorry for the expectation and anticipation I created in you. Have a wonderful weekend! Juma"

We laughed for a long time at that one. Oh well, pole pole (slowly, slowly).

Anyway, Merry Christmas to you all, have a wonderful holiday!

Love,
M & E

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Ukunda


View Ukunda in a larger map


Diani is one of the Southern-most points in Kenya; it’s only about 45 minutes from the Tanzanian border. Diani Beach is mostly a tourist town and consists of one major road that is about 20 km long. So, you cross the ferry from Mombasa and drive down the Mombasa-Tanzanian highway until you come to a junction in a little town called Ukunda, hang a left and you hit Diani. (So in the map above, Ukunda is the left map marker and our house is the one near the beach)

Ukunda is where all the hotel workers, teachers, service people, househelp, etc. live and they commute to work each day via matatu which is an 8-40 minute ride depending on where you are going on Diani Beach Rd. Most people living in Ukunda are employed either directly or by association with the tourist industry. This means that Ukunda is a ‘wealthy’ town by Kenyan standards.

For us, Ukunda was eye-opening. By our American standards, Ukuna is crowded, hot, and dirty. Kiosks are crammed together, people are everywhere (including the roads) and it is pretty loud.



What we didn’t know, at first, is that this is only the first row of Ukunda. Houses and other kiosks stretch on behind these. Mary lives in a one-room place in a row of concrete one-room places about a 10 minute walk back along the dirt roads. All the roads are dirt except the main road so it’s pretty gross when it rains. The people in her block of rooms all share a single bathroom/latrine and they have a tap with well water. According to Mary though, there are parts of Ukunda with plumbing and sewage issues.



Additionally, the town is bisected by the Mombasa-Tanzania highway so the lorries (Kenyan word for “Gigantic Truck”) and the huge 60-seater buses go roaring through at about 100 km/hour. People sit within feet of the road selling roasted corn and other snacks.



It’s dirty because there are few services like trash removal. Here is one of the trash collection sites. Gotta love the slogan!:



They apparently empty these every few weeks but typically it starts overflowing before that so the locals burn the trash.

It’s hot because it’s Kenya and it’s on the equator but also because of these trash fires and the pollution from the buses. It’s very strange to think about starting a fire when it’s 95 degrees out, but fires are a common way of disposing of trash in the developing world. It’s becoming more problematic though, as plastics are being introduced but it’s still much more rare than in the US. Cokes, and all drinks, are still sold in glass bottles that require a deposit so that cuts down on trash quite a bit.

One thing that always strikes me are the babies you see in Ukunda and Msambweni crawling through the mud and dirt. I know babies and kids get dirty but this isn’t America where you get dirty and then you go inside and wash up. This is “you crawl on the dirt because it’s your floor” and you aren’t going to learn to crawl or walk if you don’t crawl through the mud.

Ukunda is where it hits home that you’re not in America anymore. The only way in or out of Diani (unless you fly to the airstrip) is through Ukunda. Here you see that the majority of Kenyans have a significantly lower standard of living than Americans; I imagine that’s not intellectually a surprise to most people but I think the realities are a little more stark than most people realized.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Mango Addendum

Two mango-related updates:

1) Mango chutney-making was highly successful! Looks nice in the jam jars, and adds a good zest to lots of foods. A little too much ginger this time around, but it was easy, so I’m sure we’ll make it again.

2) About three days ago, I noticed that my lips were very chapped (my lips hurt real bad!). It kept getting worse and worse, despite lots of chapstick application, and as you can imagine, there aren’t too many cold, dry winds here to dry out my lips. My lips look and feel like the crazy chapped lips that you get when you’re eight years old. Once Aunt Kiki posted that she got swollen lips from mangos, I searched the internet and found that a mango allergy is actually fairly common. Well, usually the allergy is to the skin, which has a compound related to that found in poison ivy. My over exuberance in eating the mango right out of the skin appears to have gotten me in trouble. So, I’ll amend my mango eating instructions to say that you should eat with a spoon.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Graduation



A few weeks ago, our school held a graduation day on the Saturday we got home from Kilimanjaro. Mary asked me to arrive a little early to help organize all the kids. The Kindergarten-2 class (the children one level older than my class) and the 8th graders were graduating but all 300 or so children were in attendance to perform and celebrate.

Since graduation started at 9, M and I arrived at 8:45. We were greeted by my entire class rushing at us since they hadn’t seen us for 2 weeks (they know M since he’s stopped by several times). They crowded around for hugs and I was very happy to see them all. They looked so cute in their uniforms and the girls were allowed to wear their hair in braids (they call them “rastas”) for graduation so they were all eager to show me their new hairstyles; school rules require the girls to wear their hair braided to their heads except for graduation (they call this “lines”).

Unfortunately, children in several other classes rushed over as well including some children in the primary classes (1st grade and higher) who have likely never seen either M or me. I say “unfortunately” because Kenyan children have the habit of rushing up to any mzungu they see in an effort to get sweets, money, etc. that these visitors often hand out. For obvious reasons, this is dangerous and something I really try to discourage in children that we don’t know.

All of the children were present and waiting for the parents to arrive. The school bus picked them up as on a normal school morning to ensure their arrival. At 9 AM, M was the only non-teacher present and actually several teachers had not yet arrived. He took a seat under the tent while I helped Mary prepare the table for the guests of honor. At 10 AM, only a few parents were present and the kids were starting to get hot and dirty; it simply wasn’t possible to keep them from running around since this entire event was taking place on the school field. At 10:30, there were about 30 parents present so they decided to start. Through the day, attendance would climb to several hundred parents and visitors with the majority arriving after 11 AM.

Each class had prepared several songs, dances, skits, or poems so the presentation began. Our kids were to go 3rd or 4th in the presentation so we lined them up to go “on-stage” but then we got the call that we were waiting for the guest of honor before our kids could go. So now we had 20 or so 3 and 4-year olds lined up in 95 degrees and we were supposed to keep them that way for about 45 minutes. Things quickly deteriorated as the kids got very overheated so we moved them into the shade. Some of our youngest soon dissolved into tears including Timo; it was clear that everyone needed a nap:



Eventually at 11:30, the guest of honor arrived and we began to re-do the portion of the program that been going on since 10:30. Eventually around 12:30, it was our turn. Mary and Teacher Esther had planned 3 songs for our group when we started rehearsing months ago. One was a Kenyan song (remember money politics?) and they asked me and Katherine, a German volunteer who showed up 4 weeks after I did, to each teach the children a song.

At first I was stumped for a song to teach the kids. Katherine could pick any German song but after a few weeks, it became clear that the kids knew most American/English nursery songs. They sing “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” and “London Bridge” every few weeks. I asked Mary if she thought they had any frame of reference for “London Bridge” and she said no, not at all. I asked why they didn’t sing African nursery rhymes and she said that she didn’t know any. She knew traditional Kikuyu stories but that with so many tribes in Kenya, they just learned the old British nursery rhymes in school because that’s what they’d always done.

I got the idea to teach them an African song when I heard the ringtone on Mary’s phone: the World Cup theme song includes a chorus in Zulu as a tribute to host South Africa. I would teach them Siyahamba; a mzungu teaching Kenyans a Zulu song, makes good sense. I was taught this song in Sunday school when I was little and M’s family also grew up singing it in their local music groups. Mary was vaguely familiar with it so we decided that we would sing it in English, Swahili, and Zulu:

English: We are marching in the light of God

Swahili: Twatembea kwenye mwangaza

Zulu: Siyahamba ekukhanyen kwenkos

I taught them the song in the third week and the kids love it because we sing it the 3 ways and then substitute other action words (dancing, jumping, clapping, praying) for marching and then can be silly and act it out.

So, we decided that the kids would march in to that song and then sing the Swahili and German songs as their “presentation”. Below is the result that M captured on film:



After our group went, there was another 2-3 hours of presentations before any speeches; above is the dance team performing a traditional Luo dance. It was now 2:30 PM and graduation was supposed to be from 9-12. The keynote speaker stood up and began talking about fiscal planning and creating vision statements for the schools goals. Mary later explained that Kenyan graduation speeches were intended for the parents and not the graduates. That made sense since I’m pretty sure it was over the head of the graduating Kindergarten children as well as most of the 8th graders. Since it was pretty informal, we eventually headed out to get a much needed cold beverage but apparently things wrapped up around 4:30. Our kids did great and I think it was a pretty strong performance considering the delays. I miss the kids and Mary and I am looking forward to school re-opening in January.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Mangos

When we arrived in Kenya, mzee informed us that the mango season had just ended, and that they wouldn’t be back until May. This was sad news indeed, as I am a mango-lover. In Cleveland, Trader Joe’s Chili-Spiced Mangos probably made up about 50% of my calorie consumption while I was on my surgery rotation. I mourned in silence for months, until a few weeks ago, when a few mangos began popping up in the roadside kiosks. I asked mzee about this, and he said, “yes, there is a very small mango season right now”. Excellent.

When E and I were on our road trip to western Kenya last week, we noticed that little round orange fruit were ubiquitous in the area around Kisumu. We found out that they were a variety of mango, and for about 15 cents, we bought a few and carved them up. Easily the best fruit I have ever eaten. So fragrant and so sweet, like mango candy. E has been grossed out by mangos ever since she tried the vaguely pine-flavored mangos that show up in the US, but I forced her to try this. She immediately asked me to cut another.

We continued to gorge ourselves over the next few days, and upon returning to the coast, the mango binge has continued. The mangos on the coast are much larger and not quite as sweet, but they’re cheap and abundant. Yesterday I told E “don’t judge me, but I’m going to have to eat a lot of mangos in the near future”. I don’t know how long this “small season” is going to last, so I have to take advantage. Mango and avacado salsa has already been made, and mango chutney is on the agenda. Tonight I remembered salt and cayenne on mango. So good.

Also, I finally learned how to properly cut a mango. Follow along.

1) Hold the mango stem side up, with the other tip resting on the counter.


2) With a sharp paring knife, filet down the flat sides of the pit, as close to the pit as possible, without hacking off too much of the fiber.



3) Repeat 2 on the other side.

4) Score the flesh in a crisscross pattern all the way down to the skin.



5) Invert the skin so the flesh pops out in a most pleasing manner


6) Peel the remainder of the skin from the pit and suck the rest of the fruit off of the pit

7) Eat with a spoon or just straight from the skin

8) Repeat indefinitely (I had 3 yesterday)

I’ll keep you posted on the results of the mango chutney making.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Dining Out: Kenya Style



When eating out in Kenya, you have two choices: go to a mzungu restaurant and pay prices more expensive than in the US or go to a local restaurant and order carefully. We usually chose the latter. M eats out every lunch since there’s nothing to bring from home and I’ve been joining him now that school is over and I’m helping him out in the lab.

I say you have to order carefully because there are some things that we simply shouldn’t eat. Mostly fresh, unpeeled veggies (tomatoes are a common one) and anything made from untreated water (juice, water, cold soup, etc.). We eat the salads that Lucy serves because frankly we can’t afford to lose one of the five dinner options that we get and we haven’t gotten sick yet. We don’t usually risk it when we’re outside the house.

The other interesting aspect of Kenyan restaurants is the menu. There is generally a printed or posted menu. This menu has little to no relation to what they actually serve. So, when foolishly trying to order from a menu that has been handed to you, there is often a complex series of exchanges to try and figure out what they actually have. This is made more complicated by the fact that they often substitute things on the menu for unlisted and unfamiliar items making it the equivalent of dining roulette. You’re never really sure what you’re going to receive, and whether it will make you ill.

There are positives to this scheme though (everything is a scheme in Kenya in local English vernacular). The other day, we went to a place for lunch which had a menu of about 20 items including fish, chicken, and beef. When we got to the ordering process though, we discovered that they actually had chapatti, ugali, and wali (coconut rice) as their only options (remember when we said that Kenyans often will eat just one of these items for a meal? Baffling.) I admit it, I balked. Maybe it’s not polite but I said discreetly to M, I am not eating straight, unflavored carbohydrates and calling it a meal. When they saw we might leave, they promised us that they could have fish for us in 10 minutes. Now, we knew this would be Kenyan pole pole 10 minutes but we weren’t in a big rush and Msambweni is a fishing village so we decided to go for it. Within 25 minutes (actually faster than expected!), we were each served a small reef fish that had been pan-fried over coconut rice. It was absolutely delicious and obviously pretty fresh. We were delighted.

I have a feeling that the reasoning behind this menu scheme is that the average Kenyan doesn’t mind eating just ugali or whatever for lunch so they don’t sell much chicken, fish, etc. This, combined with a real lack of refrigeration, makes it unprofitable to carry a lot of proteins each day. So they use just-in-time sourcing, also known as paying a fishermen to get a fish right quick, delicious!

Monday, December 6, 2010

Mary's House



At the tail-end of our foray through western Kenya, we were invited to have lunch at E’s friend Mary’s family’s house. Mary is Kikuyu, the most populous tribe in Kenya, which is originally from the central highlands, north of Nairobi. Mary is a teacher at E’s school and was heading home for the holidays. When she found out that we would be in her area, she was very excited for us to visit. In fact, she asked us to visit and stay for a week and she was completely serious.



Normally we would have politely refused so as not to place undue burden on our hosts but Mary was so excited to have us that we decided that we should go. We had to ask her 4 times what we could bring as a gift to her parents before she reluctantly said we could bring some sugar (a common gift in rural Kenya). In Kenyan culture, the guest is the person who receives gifts or honors. E had to insist that in our culture it would be rude to arrive without a gift so Mary would accept the sugar. Luckily Mary is a good friend so this negotiation was all done in good humor.

In order to get there we were instructed to pull off of the main freeway at a specific market, where Mary would meet us and help to guide us on the rest of the drive to her house, as there are often no street signs in big cities, let alone the Kenyan countryside. This particular market was one of the largest produce markets in Kenya, and our stopping elicited full-on sprints from a dozen veggie hawkers. We were later informed that our merely having a car was incitement enough, but because we were wazungu as well, it was a perfect storm for the hawkers. A man with a five-gallon bucket full of carrots comes to the drivers’ side window and literally starts dumping carrots into the car. “Only 300 for all!”. “Sitaki kununua leo” (we don’t want to buy today). This did nothing to distract the mob. People were leaning and sitting on the car, just waiting us out; it was similar to a reverse safari. We joked that they were saying “ooooh, look at the wazungu reading, look at their funny clothes, etc.”. Finally, Mary arrived and as we pulled away out of the throng, hawkers slowly peeling off of the vehicle, a women confusedly shouted “you don’t want cabbage?!”.

The drive to her family’s house took about 15 minutes on a pretty rough dirt road, past verdant hills and fields, and children shouting “mathungu!” (in Kikuyu, ‘z’ or ‘s’ is pronounced as ‘th’), we arrived at the house (shown above).

Mary's church from their yard:


Mary’s parents greeted us as we arrived by warmly shaking our hands and guiding us to their sitting room. It was a small, concrete-floored room with a few couches and coffee tables, with old family pictures adorning the walls. An entertainment center was used for storage, and to house a very small TV, which was powered by a car battery (Mary later explained that they paid for the installation of electricity in October and are still waiting for it to be hooked up) . We sat and spoke for a few minutes, though Mary had to do a lot of translating, as her mother only speaks Kikuyu, but her father spoke some English and Swahili, so we could communicate directly.

The sitting room:


We spent about 5 minutes talking and 4 of these minutes were spent asking us when we could come back to stay over. Now we see where Mary gets her generosity from! Soon after our arrival, Mary’s father left to attend a dowry negotiation for a family friend, and Mary’s mother went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. We took the opportunity to tour the family’s property. Mary’s family owns five acres, and like many rural Kikuyu, they are farmers. The central highlands are known as the “breadbasket of Kenya”; the temperature is moderate, the rains consistent, and it’s right on the equator, so conditions for growing are ideal. We first passed the three milk cows, which produced the milk that we would have in our chai later in the afternoon. We then came to the kale fields. Because of the long (read: eternal) growing season, kale basically becomes a tree. The plants were taller than me. E and I have dabbled in gardening, and found out that while greens grow like a champ in the spring, once the summer heat hits, they bolt (i.e. flower), and the greens production is done for the year. Well, it never gets that hot in the highlands, so they just grow and grow. The soil is really rich and dark and the whole countryside is so green; the growing season is literally year-round in this part of Kenya. Mary said their trees are never without leaves and the leaves never change color. E’s tried to explain “daylight savings time” to Mary before but there’s a lot lost in translation giving the constant growing season and the fact that on the equator the sun rises and sets at the same time all year round.





Mary’s family also grows potatoes, peas, carrots, cabbage, plums, and pears in copious amounts most of which they sell at the market or to brokers. Further down the hill, freshly-shorn sheep and cows grazed in their pasture. Quite the bucolic scene. We then find out that Mary’s parents and one assistant manage the entire 5 acre farm themselves! Without any machinery or beasts of burden!

We then sat for a lunch of mashed potatoes and peas, and a carrot, pea, and beef dish. Both were delicious and very filling. After lunch, while Mary’s mom milked the cows, we sneaked into the kitchen for a look. While the sitting room looked like it was from the past twenty or so years, the kitchen could have been from the 1700s. It was a dark and very smoky dirt-floored room, with a central fire surrounded by three stones, on which rests a large wok-like pot. While in the cities people have fairly modern kitchens, this is status quo in rural Kenya. See below.



At around 3:30, we said our (extended) goodbyes so we could get back to Nairobi to return our rental car; this included her mom giving us a Kikuyu blessing before we left, very cool.

E, Mary, and Mama Mary:


As we were about to pull away, Mary said to us “my mom is upset that you’re not carrying home potatoes and carrots”. We were already a little overpacked from our trip, so we agreed that Mary would bring us some when she returned to the coast after the holidays, and this seemed to satisfy her mother. There were several times when we had these exchanges with Mary:

Mary: Do you want tea?
Us: Oh, no, it’s ok, we’re fine
Mary: Well, we always take tea after lunch so mom will make it and then throw it out rather than not make it
Us: Oh, then we’ll take tea

As Americans, our focus is to avoid work for our hosts and minimize our impact. As Kenyans, they seek to serve the guests and are constantly worried you’re offended if you refuse to take what is offered. Luckily Mary and E have figured out how to explain these things to each other so it all worked out but the differences are very interesting; they start every 5th or so sentence with “in our culture” and Mary’s been a fantastic guide.

We had several hours to kill in Nairobi and since it’s not known for being the safest city, we decided that we would wait it out in the upscale mall on the outskirts of town. This mall could have been in America, it was very surreal after the last 4.5 months and especially after the last 4.5 hours. Neither of us really like malls but this mall had sushi and we’ve been craving that so we grabbed some spicy tuna maki before our bus. Pretty confident that we’re the only two people in the world who had Kikuyu food for lunch and Japanese food for dinner yesterday.


The overnight bus in this direction was significantly less comfortable but we made it unscathed. Trip stats:

Distances covered:
By bus: ~700 km
By car: ~1000 km
On foot: 22 km + some hiking

Animals:
Rhino: 1
Flamingos: Thousands
Baboons: 50
Creepy storks: 20

Purchases:
Carrots: ~25, for ~$0.35
Mangos: 12, for ~$0.75
Yogurts: 2, for $2.00

Misc:
Potholes: conservatively, 20 million
Bad facial hair: 3 days worth
Wazungu-related heckling: Constant

Friday, December 3, 2010

Flamingos, Rhinos, and a Trippy Yogurt Cafe

This morning we woke up in our hobbit hotel bright and early. It is actually impossible to sleep late in Kenya because the cities are so, so noisy and you have to keep the windows open. Earplugs are essential travel items if you ever plan to visit! (Also on that list are toilet paper, soap, shampoo, ziplock bags, and a towel, just FYI).

We drove into Nakuru National Park, about 5 minutes from Nakuru town; the national park is basically a large lake and the surrounding wetlands. Its main claim to fame are the massive flamingo flocks and a few odd rhino. Nakuru is also one of the national parks where you can do your own game drive without the services of a guide. We saw a few tourists in 4WD vehicles but our Toyota Carina was a champ!

As we drove in, we found this guy who was adorable:



Usually the babies run away but these seemed eager to sit and show off for us.

We made our way toward the lake which we could see was surrounded by pink and white at the edges from the flamingos and pelicans crowding the coastline. We were about 200 yards from the lake when I suddenly spotted a lone rhino and M made a sharp turn to the left. We approached slowly and snapped a few photos:



At this point, Mr. Rhino made a sound that was a cross between a sneeze and a grunt. “What does that mean?”, M asked. He didn’t even wait for my response (“I don’t speak rhino, dear”) before maneuvering the car into a U-turn and giving our friend some distance.

We back-tracked to the flamingos and almost got the car stuck in the lake but did manage to get close enough to see the famous pink flamingos.



After a few hours, we drove up to the look-out point where you could see the entire park:



After the lookout, we got on the way to Naivasha. Mzee Mungai told us to stop at the Yogurt Café outside of Naivasha which essentially was a large gas station with a few stores very similar to the NJ turnpike. We purchased some yogurts and were directed outside to a large garden area with tables and awnings, like a beer garden but with yogurt. The culture left something to be desired (insert yogurt joke!), however, because of the presence of some very large, vulture-like birds. Here is M enjoying his yogurt (they drink it with a straw here) with the birds stalking in the background:



There were about 20 of these birds walking between tables eyeing all the patrons like creepy waiters. The whole thing was very weird and trippy so we moved on quickly. We found lodging overnight in Naivasha and tomorrow we’re visiting Mary’s (my teacher friend) parent’s house in Kikuyu-land outside of Nairobi before taking the night-bus back to Mombasa. It’s been a whirlwind trip but very exciting to see a new part of Kenya and to do it at our own pace. I think we’re learning that we’d (often but not always) rather do our own thing than be part of a tour. It has some downsides but I think on the whole that there’s a lot more to be gained from doing it on our own.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Kakamega Schemes

So last night’s detour to the forest did indeed happen. We left Kisumu and drove the 35 km to Kakamega. This took us about 2 hours because the roads were full of potholes, lots of trucks, and people and animals constantly crossing the road.

Since we didn’t have a place to stay, we began by driving to several establishments and negotiating prices. We were a bit limited since we needed safe parking for the rental car but soon found that the local (very run-down) golf-course will allow you to stay and feed you breakfast for a very reasonable 1,700 KSH (about $20).

Once in our room, E “suggested” I shave. We decided the result was vaguely Amish and I decided to leave the beard for one more day:



The next morning, we drove north to the Kakamega Forest in our trusty Toyota. This forest once stretched from here all the way to the Atlantic, connecting with the great Congolese rainforests, but now is an isolated 240 square kilometers, which sounds bigger than it is. Though it is a “forest reserve”, there is still illegal logging and farming taking place within the reserve. Here is the canopy from one of the look-outs:



We passed through the reserve gates and tried to find a good hike. There were several hikes shown on a map but almost no signage within the park. I ended up actually driving up a trail before I realized that we should probably get out and start hiking:



The rainforest was much cooler than the surrounding area because the canopy blocked most of the strong equatorial sun. I’ve never been out to the great forests in California, so these were probably the tallest trees that I’ve ever seen. There were even some ficus trees with the crazy roots! We saw a few large Toucan Sam-type birds, and heard lots of squawking, chirping, and howling, but because of the density and height of the canopy, we weren’t able to see much except for a few monkeys. After a hike of about an hour and a half, we decided that we’d better get moving toward Nakuru since we knew it would be a long drive.

We drove north through Eldoret (5th largest town in Kenya) before heading east toward Nakuru. Driving on the left-hand side of the road has become pretty natural but this was pure highway driving which is very unnerving (especially if you’re the passenger as E will tell you!). It’s not all bad though, there were some highlights.

Produce like carrots and mangoes can be purchased from roadside stands in under 10 seconds (advisable since stopping any longer risks drawing a crowd that would prevent you from driving away). I believe that these carrots were purchased in 7 seconds for about a quarter:



The drive through the Rift Valley is filled with beautiful terrain including tea plantations and mountain views:

Rift Valley from above:


Tea plantations (the white houses are for workers):


There were also some ‘anti-highlights’, notably E-sized pot-holes and matatus and trucks making crazy passes on the narrow roads. See below:



We arrived in Nakuru at about 5 pm. We had read in the guidebook that Nakuru is the bogus car repair capital of Kenya, so if someone tries to stop you by pointing frantically at one of your wheels, just to move along. This happened not long after entering town, but like seasoned veterans, we just continued along our way. About five minutes later, an older man walking with his three year old daughter did the same thing, so we thought it better to check. Oh irony. A flat rear tire. I pulled over in a hotel parking lot, and within five minutes, I had the wheel off, the spare on, and the flat in a local shop. 45 minutes later, the tire is repaired! The bill; $10 for a new tube, $1 for labor. Maybe the scam will rear its ugly head tomorrow, but I say it’s $11 well spent. We didn't get any pictures because we figured that drawing further attention to ourselves wouldn't be smart. While I was dealing with the car, E walked all around town to find a hotel, and she found one that has a bizarre stone castle / hobbit motif, but it’s cheap and has parking, so it’ll play.

Tomorrow we'll see the flamingos and hopefully a rhino or two.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Running with the Kenyans

After a long journey yesterday, we made it to Kisumu. The journey through the Rift Valley is absolutely stunning but we’ll write more about that later since we’re planning to visit several places over the next few days.

The night bus was significantly more comfortable than the day bus since it was much cooler out and we arrived in Nairobi unscathed at 6 AM. We then waited a little more than 3 hours for our rental while being assured that it was “five minutes away” the entire time. Luckily the drive only took 6 hours from Nairobi so we made it before dark.

The half-marathon was in support of World AIDS Day and the race included free screening as well as a prize of $1000 for the Kenyan winner. HIV/AIDS is a huge problem in Kisumu; almost 15% of adults in Kisumu are HIV positive. This is somewhat cultural as the local people still practice polygamy or serial monogamy much more frequently than in other parts of the country.


This morning we had an early wake-up since the race “started” at 6 AM. We showed up at 6 and we were 90 minutes early. We just can’t bring ourselves to be late, no matter how hard we try. Here is a picture of us pre-run:




The race started on some main roads which included running with matatus, motorbikes, and lots of people yelling “mzungu” at us. There were a few other wazungu doing the race (there’s a CDC outpost in Kisumu) but people seemed very, very amused especially by M. They yelled “long man” at him which is a direct translation of mwanamume mrefu (long/tall man).



Water was provided by a local NGO focusing on clean water. It was dispensed in plastic bags which created a fun challenge to try and get a drink while running.



The race wound through the dirt roads and several rural areas where kids lined the streets and giggled when we answered them in Swahili.



At this point it was really starting to get hot and we eventually wound up running along Lake Victoria before coming in for a very sweaty finish:



We took it easy and turned in our slowest half marathon time by quite a lot. We had decided in advance that it was more about the experience and it certainly delivered. Most Kenyan runners were wearing ancient shoes, sandals, and many just ran barefoot. M also took the opportunity for a little hair adventure. He hasn’t shaved his face since we climbed Kili so he insisted I shave his hair really, really short for the race so he had more hair on his face than on his head. Luckily, now that the race is over, he’s agreed to shave again.



We’re off to Nakuru now to see the flamingos! Or not. In the time it has taken me to write this, M has found a forest he wants to see instead so we may be detouring up to Eldoret. Oh well, the half-marathon was my idea so it's his turn to pick!