Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Football (that’s soccer for you Americans who are out of touch with the rest of the planet), Barack Obama, Angry Giraffes, and other things you find in Kenya

My first big treat of the trip came on Saturday when Junior and Flo casually asked me if I'd want to go see an LG Cup match between Kenya and Sudan. They seemed a little bit caught off guard by my enthusiasm at this opportunity (I'll admit I was like a kid who had just been offered a shopping spree at a candy store), which surprised me. If the situation was reversed I would be stoked to see the American national team play anybody, and would want them to come along too. I went down to the store to get groceries with Miriam and Flo and get tickets. I think I'm starting to feel comfortable with the short route from the estate to the grocery store they go to, but I'm still shaky on if I could pull it off on my own, mostly because the matatu system still seems like such a mystery to me. The tickets were 500 schillings, so a little over $5, which really just seemed too good to believe to me. Before we left I walked around the neighborhood a little bit with Lois, a young girl who spends a lot of time at the Otienos' house. In walking and jogging half a lap around the estate I had gathered a crowd of about 20 kids who were delightedly squealing and jabbering at me. I headed back home with my posse and sat in the driveway for the next 15 minutes or so talking with them, and mostly answering their questions about America. There were a couple of bold little girls that were the main spokespeople, either because they were the bravest or the spoke the best English, I would guess some combination of both. There were more interesting insights gained, like their fascination with leg hair, and their uncontrollable giggling when I took my hat off and they insisted I looked like Jesus. There's a wonderful picture of me with the whole group that's on Miriam's camera, hopefully I'll be able to get a hold of it and post it, but it appears to me that pictures like that won't be hard to come by. When it was time to go Flo, Lois, Mama Patrick and the visitors came out and Mama Patrick kicked into school teacher mode and seemed to simultaneously quiz the kids on what I had told them and shoo them away so we could leave. I was a little worried about the match just because I knew it would be a pretty crazy atmosphere, and I wondered if it would be slightly dangerous as a mzungu. I couldn't shake from my mind all the crazy stories I'd heard about people being killed or trampled after soccer games in South America. It turned out when we got there that the atmosphere was not so different from that of an American sporting event, though the crowd was definitely boisterous. I was surprised at how many other white people I saw. In fact, I probably saw more at that game than I've seen the rest of the trip combined. The stadium held what I would guess to be in the neighborhood of 8,000 people, and looked like it didn't have more than one or two boxes for more comfortable seating. We sat on some of the concrete benches that made up most of the stadium. The atmosphere was very festive, with flags waving, whistles blowing, vuvuselas buzzing, and much of the crowd jumping around with enthusiasm as the stadium filled up. I got a couple of shouts directed at me for being a mzungu, including one man who came over and put his arm around me and implored me to vote for Obama in the next election. If Obama ever wanted to run for president in Kenya, I think he would take just about every vote from what I've seen so far. Adding to the festive atmosphere, a marching band made their way around the stadium just before kickoff belting out an upbeat tune. A downpour broke out just before the start of the game, and watching people run for the exits was pretty entertaining in itself. We also ran for cover, and emerged about 10 minutes into the game when the rain subsided. Flo explained to me that the Kenyan team was dependent on two talented players who played for high-powered European teams. One of the funniest things that has happened so far on the trip was some of the heckling we heard during the game, which I enjoyed a lot better than American sports heckling (which I also usually enjoy, by the way). First of all, heckling is much better when it's in a rapid fire mix of at least two languages, with people presumably alternating depending on which they felt would better harass the other team and show their support for their national team. Second, you have a lot more significant ammunition for heckling when the side you're facing is the national team of a country that has dealt with years of political strife and civil war and is now about to split. We had one of the crazies sitting (and by sitting I mean standing the entire game) near us who kept yelling something along the lines of, "Which one Sudan? Which one? North or South? I don't know! Which one? Kenya is not divided! Kenya is one!" The game was a very entertaining one, which both sides getting early goals and Sudan going up 2-1 before halftime. I got a couple of weird looks from people around us, I think because they weren't sure why a white person was yelling and cheering for the Kenyan side. Late in the game a fan lit a flare and started running around the stadium with it just outside the barbed wire fence that separated the playing field from the spectator area. I expected him to be apprehended by security, but he made several laps around the stadium, and it was pretty smoky by the time he was done. Kenya got a lot of good chances in the second half, particularly in the last couple minutes, but weren't able to convert and 2-1 was the final score. Despite the loss, an impressive barrage of fireworks began as we left the stadium. The post-game traffic somewhat resembled the grid lock that often accompanies American sporting events, except with the usual lack of regard for traffic laws/other vehicles/where the road is. We walked a couple block away to catch a matatu, because with the crowd waiting outside the stadium you would have probably had to gouge someone's eyes out to make it into one of the matatus. Think competitive bus riding with no rules. We caught one several blocks away that circled back around toward the stadium, but when we hit the traffic jam, our driver, with no hesitation, hopped the curb and begin driving down the rutted, dirt shoulder in a terrorizing manner that rivaled anything I've ever pulled off playing Crazy Taxi. At one point he gunned it to get through a puddle of water that was probably pushing a foot deep, and you could hear the chassis grinding on the curb for a couple seconds. As we came past the stadium, scattering pedestrians, a police officer jumped on the side of the matatu and ordered everyone out. I wish I was making some of this up, but maybe this is just your typical overly entertaining Saturday night in Nairobi. After the matatu had cleared out the police officer jumped in with the matatu and directed him away, maybe to be fined or punished, but this isn't a country where you can take that for granted. We had to walk maybe half a mile along the road past the stadium before we found another matatu. I wasn't a huge fan of being out with the post-soccer match crowd after dark on a Saturday night, but we didn't have any trouble and Flo seemed more annoyed by the inconvenience of the situation than worried, so I guess maybe I'll just try to stop being such a worry wart. We ran into Miriam and Junior downtown, which seemed to me to happen completely by accident, but I'm never sure about that anymore. Miriam's birthday had been on Thursday so we went out to one of her favorite restaurants, a classy Ethiopian place on the other side of town. We had a great time; it was really good to be able to hang out with all of them. Between Miriam working and Junior being in school I don't have as many opportunities to hang out with them as I'd like. This place was also interesting because there was a table of white people, I think Americans if I caught their accents correctly, near us and it was a little bit of a shock to see that many white people in one place. All of a sudden I realized how much I had been off the typical tourist path, and I was very grateful for that.

Matatus, Swahili, Charging Rhinos, and other things you find in Kenya

The next day Junior and I went into town again, but mostly just to look around. We stopped by the school to see Mama Patrick then headed out to Junior's school to see if anything was going on. Junior's been out of school since I got here because he had mid-terms last week, so apparently he is out of school until Tuesday. Heading up to Junior's school was my first time in one of the really small, impossibly packed matatus. They are basically a van with a sliding door that could comfortably fit 6 or 7 people. The thing about them is they put 14 or 15 people in there. All of a sudden having 7 college kids pile into a Honda Accord to go get burgers doesn't seem quite so impressive. We wandered around town some more and got chips for lunch again at the same place. The novelty of Fanta in a glass bottle is still not even close to wearing off. Before we headed home we headed to a "video store" to pick up some movies to watch on my laptop. The video store was a packed stall in a corner with a bunch of wooden cubbies all containing stacks of DVD's. Everything was burned onto disks, and I must say the selection was pretty impressive. You would tell one of the girls working behind the counter what movies you were looking for and they would go sift through their stacks of disks until they found what you wanted, including some movies that hadn't come out in the US yet. On our way home we stopped off at the sprawling market near their house. Nairobi has a diverse mix of roadside stalls and vendors, established businesses, and about every shade in between. I had told Junior that I wanted to look at soccer jerseys – no, excuse me, football jerseys (you can talk about "American football" over here if you want, but most people won't know what you're talking about any more than Americans know about cricket or rugby) so we walked through the market to get to a vendor Junior knew would be selling them. The cramped market reminded me of night markets in Taiwan, where you could buy just about anything you wanted (and a lot of stuff you didn't) from any one of hundreds of rickety looking wooden stalls. The walkway through was only about 3 or 4 feet wide, which made me pretty worried about getting pick-pocketed, so I tried to be careful as we walked through. After walking a surprisingly long distance the market opened up onto some train tracks. Here the market stalls stopped, but others stood out on the tracks selling things, while other seemed to just be standing and chatting. I asked Junior if trains came through regularly, and he said they did; people would get out of the way when they needed to. Even then, there couldn't have been more than 20 feet from the stalls to the tracks. On our way back through we heard the horn blaring of a train coming through, and I almost wished I was there to see everyone scrambling to move, but it was definitely for the better to be safely out of harm's way, especially considering the significant disparity I am beginning to appreciate between my idea of "out of harm's way" and the typical Kenyan ideology. Once we arrived at the stall we checked out some Premier League jerseys, and a Kenyan national team jersey also caught my jersey. Junior asked about the price, and after jabbering with the man who had been watching attentively (Americans are good for business because they have lots of money and tend to be pretty careless about spending it. At least that's my perception of the Kenyan perception of Americans) informed the price of 1500 schillings (about $16) was too high and we'd find a better deal somewhere else. I really want to get a Kenyan national team jersey now though, and I saw a Kenyan rugby jersey and I really want one of those too. Am I just another one of those Americans spending a lot of money? Ah, that's neither here nor there. We went to meet Flo and do some grocery shopping then come home, and I fell asleep both going there and coming back. Maybe I'm still getting used to the time change, but I've been pretty tired for a lot of the time since being here. On our way back from the market we took a 3 wheeled taxi called a "tuk tuk" (pronounced "took took") that adds to the diversity of the fleet of vehicles and humanity that cover the roads. Believe it or not it was actually bumpier than most matatus. I think when I get back to the States, every car ride is going to feel like I'm floating on air. At one point we got stopped in traffic, and the driver swung off the road onto the dirt shoulder with no hesitation and motored down the shoulder for about 40 yards before turning in to our neighborhood. The traffic laws here are as ineffective at keeping order on the road as the numerous speed bumps. When we got home I slept until dinner and then went to bed again right after dinner. I felt bad about not hanging out more, especially because Miriam and Mama are both gone for the whole day and evening is about the only time to see them, but I was a walking zombie at that point, plus the weekend is upon us so I'll get to see more of them anyway.

So it begins [the exhaustive account of all happenings in Africa]…

Authors Note: This is completely separate from the post that I put up but covers some of the same ground because this is the more extensive record I've been keeping on my computer of all things pertaining to Africa and culture shock and wild boars. If this looks too long to you to read the whole thing, just read every third sentence and that will get you about 30% of the information, which will probably be enough to pass the quiz at the end


 

I am sitting in Patrick's family's home is Nairobi writing this, and so far so good. The trip over went surprisingly smooth. I ended up on the same flights as a group of students from Western Washington that are going to Kisumu for a service learning project. I got to sit next to one of them on the plane ride from New York to Brussels. He had been to Kenya and Tanzania last fall for several months for a study abroad project. He casually mentioned some work he would be doing on this trip with his non-profit, and when I pressed him for information, it was indeed his non-profit that he started during his last trip to help support families in Kenya that are taking in orphans. That completely blew me away. Here was a guy my age that was doing something great that was tangibly helping people and he didn't seem to have any more idea about what he was doing than I did. That conversation was great for me because I felt that in a lot of ways he was doing what I aspire to do. He simply saw a need that needed to be filled and had the opportunity to do something about it, and stepped up and served and blessed a lot of people. He also told some stories of cool encounters he had with a lot of Kenyans when he was there and how great it was to get to know them. He helped me out with some basic Swahili and let me borrow his basic "how to learn Swahilii" book for the rest of the plane ride. After that flight the whole group graciously assimilated me into their group, which was great for navigating through the Brussels and Nairobi airports and took out almost all the anxiety I had about traveling alone. One of the great inadequacies I felt, and still definitely feel, is knowing only one language as one of the kids from Western said, "If you know more than two languages, you're multi-lingual. If you know two languages, you're bi-lingual. If you know one language, you're American." I was greatly impressed with other people's ability to switch from language to language so seamlessly. It really inspired me to learn more languages, Swahili or otherwise. Every time someone spoke to me in English I felt like I was being accommodated for, and for the most part that was exactly what was happening. The same thing has been true through my time in Kenya. Other than talking with me everyone speaks in Swahili, and then speaks in English when they want to talk to me. I would so much prefer to be able to just be a part of the Swahili conversations, but in some ways that process is hamstrung since we can communicate in English if we need to so there isn't the necessity to learn the Swahili. I'm still working on it, but frustrated with the lack of progress I've made. There's a huge difference between having taken an online tutorial and feeling like you understand something as simple as greetings and farewells pretty well, only to get into an actual conversation and realize you can't recall any of it or understand it in a practical setting. But I digress. The flight from Brussels to Bujumbura offered some outstanding views of the Alps and what I believe were some of the islands of Greece. After getting my visa and picking up my language at the Nairobi airport and said goodbye to the Western group and was greeted my Miriam, Flo, and Roger. The ride with them back to house did not offer a very true version of Kenyan traffic I would see the next day, but we still did a decent amount of weaving around to avoid potholes and pass big trucks. The whole family and stayed up to greet me when I got to their home and they had a meal prepared for me. The whole family was as good as I had been promised they would be, it was so great to meet them after everything I'd heard about them from Heather, Patrick, and Mom. Patrick's dad made sure to make it clear that this was my home now, and I should treat it as such. There was a genuine feel to their welcome that I could tell they were really excited to meet me and that just made me more excited about the time we'd be able to spend together. After a night of restless battle with the jet lag to try to get some sleep I finally gave up and got up. Flo prepared breakfast for me, bringing it out a tray with a thermos of tea, toast, sugar, and juice, which really kind of embarrassed me. I want to make sure on this trip that I don't refuse hospitality just to try and be polite, but this kind of made me sheepish. While I was sitting there I read through the newspaper. I came at an interesting time for Kenya politically, as changes of the new constitution they enacted last year are starting to take hold. The big issue right now is that politicians, who had previously not had to pay any taxes despite their sizable salaries, were being forced to pay taxes for the first time or risk seizure of their assets, just like any other citizen. This seems to me like something that is a no-brainer, and everyone I've talked to here feels the same way, but it is still a radical change from the way things have been done and, according to a funny commentator on the radio, a great step toward making the country more democratic. Another big thing that is going on is that a new Supreme Court Chief Justice has been appointed, the first to be appointed with a more rigorous selection process, meaning that he was interviewed and approved by Parliament rather than just being appointed by the President (I hesitate to put these current events in here because I'm not sure I've got the facts right, this is just how things appear to me. If Patrick or Kenneth or anyone else more familiar can correct me on any of these particulars please do so). I laughed a little bit thinking about the issues and disagreements in American politics and how big those can be made out to be, and I know I sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture that we have a wonderful government structure that is stable and (at least to some degree) fair and democratic. After breakfast I talked some with Patrick's dad about Kenyan politics and what he used to do. He is a wonderful grandfatherly type man who I think is one of the friendliest, most pleasant people I've ever met. I think I could sit around talking with him for days. The whole time I was eating breakfast and talking with Patrick's dad Flo and Junior were washing dishes and cleaning the house. It's a pretty simple home, but they keep it immaculate. I feel try to keep from leaving my stuff around but I still feel like a slob compared to them. They have a much higher standard and priority for keeping things clean and tidy. After Flo and Junior had everything cleaned we went into town. As soon as I left the "estate" (the closed neighborhood the Otienos live in), I heard "mzungu", the Swahili word for white person, all around me. People were jabbering in Swahili all around me, and the only thing I could pick out at this point was "mzungu", which I heard quite a bit. Without a doubt I was an oddity that really couldn't have stuck out much more if I tried. One thing I've noticed is that, although everyone can speak English, it is definitely not the primary language. Almost everything I heard all day that wasn't directed at me was in Swahili, although occasionally it would be an interesting mix with people interspersing English into their conversation when convenient. The traffic was also fascinating to me. First of all, there was a comical mix of vehicles and people on the road. There were cars, the infamous bus taxis called "matatus" (the plural form of "motto" in Swahili) that drive crazier than anybody, motorcycles and bicycles of every shape and size, people pulling carts of produce, and people walking. The other funny aspect of it is that, as far as I can tell, it is jungle law. That is to say, the only rule is the rule of survival. The roughly follow the British convention of driving on the left side of the road, but that is only done when convenient. It actually reminds me of a cross country race: if you see daylight you go for it, and if you have to stick your elbows out to protect your space, then so be it. The chaos of the eclectic mix of vehicles and people, as well as the lack of rules and poor condition of the roads (compared to American roads) made the whole trip an adventure. We walked past the street stalls where produce as well as clothing and other items (including a surprising number of tire shops) were sold to a corner about 10 people were standing in the middle of the side road that was coming into the main road. Apparently this was a stop for the matatus, but there was no sign of any kind, apparently people just know. Apparently all the matatus have their own routes they take and people just know what the routes are, so they form a citywide transportation system. How people know where the matatus are going or where the stops are is a mystery to me, but the system appears to work smoothly. The matatus themselves deserve more description. They are a mish-mash of vans and small buses of all shapes and sizes, and they are usually packed to or past the capacity most Americans would assume the vehicle could hold. Once crammed inside, music is usually blaring loud enough to make conversation at normal volume difficult. Every mtoto has a man, usually in his teens or early twenties that hangs out the door and jumps out at every stop to actively recruit people to get on. When they are doing this they often keep up an auctioneer type line of chatter telling people to hurry up. I loved the hectic nature of the matatus and found them quite entertaining but was fascinated me was that there were old ladies who would get on the matatus as regularly as anyone. I realize that my mom took some matatus when she was here, but the thought of her getting on one of those gives me the giggles. I admired the traffic system because as crazy as it was people didn't seem to get in a lot of accidents or even get as angry with each other as American drivers do. My guess is that when everyone is driving crazy all the time you just expect it to be that way so you avoid a lot of the wrecks and road rage that happen in the United States when someone does something unpredictable or illegal because in Kenya nothing is really unpredictable or illegal. We walked around downtown looking at shops, with Flo and Junior giving me a hard time about being worried of being pick pocketed. I got some of my money changed into schillings, and $60 turned into over 5,000 Kenyan schillings for me. Even here in downtown Nairobi I was dramatically out of place, and didn't see many other white people the whole time we were there, and felt like I was drawing a lot of looks. We stopped by the school where Mama Patrick works and were introduced to some of the teachers there. The school compound was relatively quiet compared to the craziness and traffic of the city around it. Little uniformed kids could be seen running around from time to time, with Mama Patrick yelling at the rogue ones to get back with their class. It was a good connection to for me with so much being new and different to see that young Kenyan schoolchildren behaved much the same as young American schoolchildren. We went to a fast food place serving "chicken and chips" to get some fries for lunch. The fries cost about 150 schillings I think, which is about $1.60. A feature of Kenya I love is pop in glass bottles. Apparently that is just how things I done here, and I love it. I got an orange Fanta in a glass bottle with fries, and let me say that I don't know how many things there are on this earth that are better than Fanta in a glass bottle but there can't be many. After lunch we went for me to get a pair of Bata shoes, a brand of shoes that Patrick told me I should get while there. I got a pair of sweet all-leather shoes for 2200 schillings, which is about $25. I did get sucked in by a store vendor on one purchase. I went to get one of the traditional African shirts my dad got that I really liked, and a man brought me into his shop and showed some designs. After a considerable amount of sorting through I decided on one I really like and we did some bartering. I felt alright about working him down from 1200 schillings to 1000, which means I got the shirt for about $10, and that seemed like a good deal to me for a nice shirt. However, we later saw a similar shirt in a shop for 550 schillings, and I realized I needed to throw my idea of what a good deal is, because what I think is a good deal can be a rip off here. I pledged to get a better idea on the price range for anything before buying any other souvenirs to take home. As much as I'm annoyed by that episode, if I'm able to learn that lesson in a situation where I only lost 500 schillings, then that's definitely a lesson worth learning. I have mixed feelings about the whole bartering process. On the one hand, it's very entertaining to me, and makes shopping a lot more recreational (wait, did I just call shopping recreational? Somebody tell Katie Nordlund that I've converted to dark side and I'm ready to become her padawan), but on the other hand, there's a lot of deception and manipulation to it. I think it will get better as I become more familiar with it, but right now I am very uneasy about it, and rightfully so I think. Also I think no matter how familiar I become with the bartering system, I'm at a disadvantage just because I'm white, so shop owners know I have money and I'm an outsider. The sun came out in the afternoon and it got pretty warm, but apparently I was the only one who thought so. Flo thought it was very cold when we left that house and it was about 60 degrees Fahrenheit. The matatus were uncharacteristically absent when we were ready to leave around 4, so we had to wait a while. There were still bus taxis flying all over the place but Flo assured that they were not what we were looking for. I'm still scratching my head about how she knows what vehicle is going where, but for now if she knows, that's good enough for me. I was very tired when we got home, but I was determined not to nap to make sure I could sleep the whole night through and get on a normal sleep schedule. I went out to play soccer in the street with Junior, but he urged me to wait until Saturday when we would play on grass, because there was a good chance of me getting hurt. I differed to him, since I still really didn't know what I was getting into and if I got hurt he would probably get in a lot more trouble than I would. I sat and watched with some young kids not old enough to play. For being a game of street soccer they seemed to me to be better than your average street game in the US. Several kids fell or got knocked down into the gravel and some limped off, but all returned to the game not long after. Junior showed me a scar on his elbow from when he fell a while ago. The scene really fit the picture I had in my mind of the street soccer played in most part of the world. Most of the kids wore extremely beat up old shoes and they played with narrow goals designated by rocks. The little kids next to me giggled and whispered, and eventually said hi, to which I was able to greet them tentatively with "sasa", my go-to Swahili word right now since it's a pretty general purpose greeting. They laughed and were very shy. I tried to hack my way through some Swahili, but really didn't know enough to make very many coherent statements, and as it was I couldn't tell if they didn't respond because they didn't understand or just because they were shy. I suspect both. Eventually I was able to figure out their names and ages, and realized that they could speak more English than they let on, but they were still hesitant to talk to me, but seemed to like sitting next to me. After getting tired of sitting and watching and stumbling my way through basic Swahili phrases I decided I might as well go for a run, since it was getting to the end of the daylight anyway. I talked with Mama Patrick about where I could run and she wanted me to stay on the "estate", which I couldn't argue with since I didn't have any confidence I would be able to get back to the estate if I left and it was crazy traffic outside anyway, and would be getting dark in not too long anyway. Being lost in Nairobi after dark without knowing where I was trying to get back to was not a scenario that I wanted to play out. The problem was that the alternative was to run laps around the estate, which made for about 450 yard laps, which really gets to be a drag if you want to do a 6 mile run. I wasn't really looking forward to it, along with the ridicule I was afraid of incurring being a mzungu running around past everyone's driveways as the came home from work and finished the day. For the first couple laps that was true. All the kids giggled and pointed at me, wondering what the mzungu was doing running laps around their homes. But after a couple laps the kids got up and started running with me and urging me to chase them. Everything I've heard about the overall fitness level of Kenyans was confirmed. These kids, some as young as 4 or 5 and probably none older than 9 or 10 running barefoot could stay ahead of me laughing and screaming for several hundred yards at a pretty fast pace. I would keep running as the kids squealed and cut down side alleys and into driveways until I had narrowed the group to one kid, then grab them when I caught and twirl them over my head. The kids didn't tire out as quickly as I expected, and I ended up getting in a solid 40 minute fartlek workout chasing them around. As I jogged at the end after most of them were pretty tired, a couple of them grabbed my hands and we ran in a big group laughing and holding hands. If it wasn't real it would have been the kind of "kumbaya" moment that I would expect to see on some add to try get you to adopt orphans, but it was probably my coolest experience so far since being here. The kids all wanted to talk to me and chattered at me and each other all at once in a mix of English and Swahili that made it hard to decipher too much of anything. I was happy to be able to connect with them because I want to be as approachable as possible, especially for the children that would be understandably shy about something so strange and different, and I think I got a long way toward that. Another interesting aspect of talking with the kids was the kind of questions they asked. I was asked a couple of times whether I had met Obama, and a couple of times if I would take them back to America with me. I mentioned that to Miriam later and she said that most of what they've heard about America is just that it is a great place with lots of opportunities, so then they fill in the blanks and make it into a kind of utopia.

Friday, June 24, 2011

So it begins...

I'm keeping a more extensive account of what's been going on my computer, but for now we just ducked into an Internet cafe so I'll give a quick update.  The flights over went super smooth, no problems at all.  I actually ran into a group of students from Western Washington doing a service learning project in Kisumu that were on the same flights with me all the way through and graciously "adopted" me into their group, which took away any worries I had of making some mistake where I ended up deepest, darkest Africa rather than... never mind.  I had a welcoming party waiting for me at the airport and even though I got in at 11:00 local time, the whole family stayed up to greet me when I got home and they even had a meal ready for me, which was a welcome surprise after two days of almost exclusively airplane food.  They have been extremely gracious hosts, even to an embarrasing point at times, like when Flo served me a full breakfast on a tray while her and Junior were cleaning the house.  Patrick's dad made a point of telling me that I should consider this to be my home in Nairobi and treat it as such, both for the rest of the time I'm staying and for the rest of my life.  Yesterday and today I've gone into downtown Nairobi with Flo and Junior, and getting to town itself is a real cultural experience.  We walked several blocks to a corner to wait for a "matatu", the infamous bus taxis that run all over Nairobi.  Some of them blare loud music that makes it difficult to hold a conversation when inside, and they always pack it to the point where it would be considered full in America and well beyond that.  Every one has a man, usually in his teens or twenties, that hangs out the side of the bus or van that actively recruits people to get in at every stop.  They come in all shapes and sizes, but the biggest thing they have in common is that they drive pretty darn crazy. When the right one comes (don't ask me how Junior and Flo know which the "right one" is - it all seems pretty arbitrary if you ask me) we hop in and speed along down the road.  The only two rules of the road are that if you see a gap you gun it, and drive on the left side of the road.  If there's noone you want to pass.  And it's not faster to drive on the right side of the road or in the ditch.  Okay, so there's really only one rule.  Today I actually got thrown all the way out of my seat when our driver got tired of the traffic and drove off the road to get around some slow cars/bicycles/motorcycles/people pulling carts/giraffes.  Alright, I made that last one up, but seriously, it's a zoo out there.  The thing that fascinates me is for all the craziness, there isn't much road rage and I haven't seen an accident.  In America you get mad at someone if they do something illegal or unpredictable, but here's that the norm, so it's not a big deal when it happens.  Especially matatu drivers are constantly (and I would say recklessly) cutting each other off, but no one seems to get upset about it, because it seems to be treated like more like a no-holds-barred competition where it is understood and respected that anything goes.We visited Mama Patrick at the school where she works, which is in a compound in the middle of downtown.  When we are walking through downtown sometimes it's all I can do to keep up with Junior, not because he's walking fast but just because I'm not used to walking in crowds like there are here.  We stopped by a couple shops and I got some bata shoes, a major brand here that Patrick told me I should get a pair of.  They were quality all leather shoes that I got for the equivalent of about $24 US.  Most of the fast food joints here are "fish and chips" or "chicken and chips", and we went to one for lunch.  I got a large order of fries and an orange Fanta in a glass bottle for 90 schillings, which is about $1 US.  Let me also state for the record I am a huge fan of how much they have pop in glass bottles.  I know there are better things on earth than Fanta in a glass bottle, but I can't imagine there are very many.  When we got back home to the "estate", the neighborhood where the closed neighborhood where they live, I tried my Swahili on some young kids there that were fascinated by me, but they giggled and wouldn't respond.  I don't know if they couldn't understand or they were just shy, but I suspect both.  I've been frustrated with my lack of progress speaking Swahili.  I've felt I was more prepared, but the fact of the matter is that I had't done much speaking to people, which requires a much better grasp of the language than running through an online tutorial.  My progression is also getting stunted by the fact that everyone knows English, so if anyone wants to talk to me they just talk in English.  I was urged not to leave the estate for my run that evening by Mama Patrick, so I stayed in the estate, which I thought would be a drag but turned out to be an unbelievable experience running around with all the children chasing me, or me chasing them.  And if you were wondering, I didn't see anything to refute the stereotype that all Kenyans are good runners.  I ran for 40 minutes chasing kids and running around the neighborhood and there were kids that ran just about that whole time themselves, most either barefoot or in flip flops.  We've got to take off so that's all for now.  I've been doing a terrible job of taking pictures, but hopefully I'll get some up eventually.   

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Welcome to my Kenya Trip blog!

Greetings!  I'm as new to this blogging thing as anyone, but I am excited to have this kind of "journal" to recount my adventures in Kenya, and at the same time keep people updated on how my trip is going.  Right now I'm hanging out in Missoula, catching up with people, and making sure I have everything in order for the trip.  I'll drive back to Seattle on Sunday and then fly out early Tuesday morning.  As I'm getting ready for the trip and going there here are a couple things to pray for about the trip

  • Quality time with Patrick's family.  The only one I've met in person is his sister Miriam, but they have been wonderful in helping me prepare for the trip and setting up accommodations for while I'm over there.  I am praying that I will be able to get to know them and connect with them in the time I have there.
  • Interactions with the people around me.  I am excited about some of the opportunities that exist over there, like volunteering at the school and orphanage where Uncle Roger teaches and hopefully finding training buddies.  I think those are really cool opportunities to meet and interact with people, but I'm also kind of nervous about it because, rightly or wrongly, I have some feeling of responsibility that I'm representing my family and possibly America in general for some people. I know their impressions and reactions to me will affect much more than their opinion of just me, particularly in Eldoret.  
  • Most of all, I am praying that God will keep my eyes open to his calling for me and how this trip is a part of that.  If there is something going on there that I can be a part of, I am praying for clarity and conviction in that calling.
I'm not sure how regularly I'll be able to update this, but I'm shooting for throwing something up every week.  We'll see though.  Stay tuned, and thanks for keeping me in your thoughts and prayers!