What happens when an American is dumb enough to get up on a stage in front of a bunch of Kenyans?

    Allan and I had planned to go to a slam dunk contest and 3-on-3 basketball tournament that Grace's brother, Allan's cousin, Elijah, was going to be in. However when I got back from my run and he woke up, Roger informed us that all of us were going to head up to Angela's (Allan's younger sister) school for a concert thing that she was going to be singing at. It was a couple miles over there, but we walked because none of us brought any money with us and the matatus didn't go there very directly because it was across the creek, so we were able to take a more direct route. Still, it was a long walk. Just a couple blocks from the house, we came to a group of bike taxis that I had passed on my run that morning. Two of them had taken off running with me that morning and one, named Manuel, actually ran with me for 15 or 20 minutes before dropping off. I had really enjoyed having him with me; with the exception of the swarms of kids in Nairobi I'd been running alone since I got to Kenya, and he was a great guy to with, one of those that just seems pretty happy about life and about running along with a foreigner. Manuel was back with his bike cronies so I made sure to specifically say hi to him as we went past. I don't know if I'll see him again, but those are the kind of small relationships that I want to foster as much as I can while I'm here, making personal connections with people wherever I can.

    When we got to the school we said hi to a couple of people Roger knew – he used to teach here so he knew quite a few people – and some of Allan's friends before finding and greeting Angela. Allan and I got vouchers for lunch and headed in to grab a meal of rice, potatoes, and Fanta. The first open spot we sat down at happened to be across from a middle-aged white lady and a younger one. It was a mother and a daughter from Alberta, and the mother and her husband had actually moved to Eldoret about 10 years ago after coming on a missions trip and falling in love with the place. They had adopted five Kenyan foster kids, who were now ranging in age from about 5^th grade to college age. She said you couldn't get her back to Alberta for anything, and that they planned on living here for the rest of their lives. This was the first white person I'd met that lived permanently in Kenya, and I think it more firmly planted the seed in the back of my mind that it was a reasonable idea for me to consider living here at some point.

    The performance turned out to be something of an end-of-term recital with pieces that all grades had been practicing. Most of them were poetry or verse spoken in unison by a whole class, and let me say that once you've heard about one and a half of those they really don't sound any different. Moreover, Allan was getting texts through this time that Elijah was doing really well in the slam dunk contest and had actually moved on to the final round. We sat through the rest of the show, including Angela singing in a choir that was understandably one of the better acts, considering it was nursery through high school and she was in the high school choir. We slipped out as the adults begin to talk about the value of education and how hard the kids had worked, as did a decent number of other parents. One of Allan's cousins (Martin?) was coming to pick us up and took us down to the court where the slam dunk contest was going on. I didn't realize how much of a full on event it was, and the area around the court was packed. They had moved on from the slam dunk contest to a 3-on-3 tournament, which appeared to be the bigger attraction. Allan searched around until he found Elijah, who he brought over to introduce to me. We talked for a while, mostly them talking in Swahili, and Elijah explained that the winner of this tournament would earn a trip to a national tournament in Nairobi, with the winner of that tournament earning a trip to an all-Africa tournament, the winner of which would be entered in the NBA draft I believe. Elijah took through the crowd to where him and his buddies were hanging out right next to the court at half-court, a much better place to watch from than the outside of the circle we had been at before. Elijah struck me, like Allan, as a pretty well-connected and generally popular guy.

    Behind was a stage where they were blaring music and a pretty entertaining MC was providing color commentary for the whole event, mostly in Swahili. As people were warming up for games, they would have different acts on the stage, mostly people out of the crowd dancing to the loud music that was almost always blaring. Overall it was a very festive atmosphere, with a lot of high schoolers showing up that were getting out of school. Sometimes there's school on Saturdays here but I think it's mostly just at the high school level and I don't think they usually go a full day. Anyway, I was turned toward the basketball court with Allan when the voice of the MC caught my attention because for the first time all day he was speaking very deliberate English. "Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones please come to the stage. Mr. Jones." Even after I heard him it took me a couple seconds before I realized from the people around me that he was talking to me. Apparently in surveying the crowd for the next break to keep the crowd entertained he decided that getting the white boy to come on stage would be great entertainment. I was reluctant, considering I was in a new place with the only person I knew being my cousin-in-law I had met 4 days earlier. Allan told me if I didn't want to go up there I definitely didn't have to, but all of sudden I realized this was the kind of opportunity that doesn't come around too often and that regardless of what happened up there I was pretty sure it would be a good story. Plus, I'm all about having fun with people, especially on this trip. I didn't really think about it until afterward, but this was another chance to connect with a whole bunch of Kenyans and at least give them a picture of an American who wanted to have fun and wasn't worried if he looked like a fool in the process. That thought process now looks prophetic.

The crowd had been fairly loud egging me to go to the stage, and the volume increased in excited cheers as I turned toward the stage. The crowd parted for me with a couple of slaps on the back and a lot of hoots and hollers. When I got on stage they directed me toward the back of the stage, waiting for a moment before starting the music for me to start dancing to. The stage was shaped so that there was something of a runway out toward the crowd, and when the music started I put on my aviators that I had tucked into my shirt and strutted out that way with as much sass as my uncultured, uncoordinated hips could muster. The crowd loved it, and the cheering only increased as I started jumping around and waving my arms in what I figured to be some semblance of dancing. The crowd was roaring with laughter when they cut off the music after maybe 10 or 15 seconds. I did my best Napoleon Dynamite impression of stopping awkwardly with the music and then turning to run full speed to the back of the stage. The problem was I was wearing my flip-flops, and between the dust I had collected on them from the long walk to Angela's school and the sweat I had generated from the heat of the day and my vigorous dance routine, they provided not traction whatsoever as I turned to scramble to my spot at the back of the stage, and I went down in a heap, losing my glasses in the process, to which the crowd roared all the more. I think the MC could see he had a real unique gem of a crowd pleaser, so he came over to do a quick Q & A with me for the crowd's benefit. After some basic questions he asked whether I liked Kenya, to which I shouted that I loved Kenya, getting another approving cheer from the crowd. After that he launched into a string of rapid fire Swahili, with a couple other languages mixed in I found out later, as he got done I put my arm around him and I said I completely agreed, to which the crowd cheered again. He asked me about what kind of music I liked and what I wanted to dance to and I told him, and mostly the crowd, that I wanted them to put on some African music so I could show everybody what I'd learned since I'd been here. They threw on some upbeat dance music and I headed out to the front of the stage again, this time without flip-flops or glasses, to the enthusiastic approval of the crowd. I danced around for what seemed like ages but I would actually guess at maybe two minutes. The thing is, two minutes is enough to just about exhaust my limited repertoire of pseudo dance moves. The crowd loved it though, and I was really enjoying it myself, because here being an awkward American was exactly the thing that was being celebrated, not covered up. They gave me a hat and bandana with the Sprite symbol, the sponsor of the event, and I made my way back through the crowd through an even more intense barrage of high-fives, handshakes, and backslaps.

Looking back on it I think the whole thing went about as well as it possibly could have. I was glad that if I saw anyone who had been there on the street I would no longer just be an out of place American, but I would be an out of place American that had flailed around like a crazy person on stage. I hoped I would be more approachable, at least to those people, now because if I was willing to get up on stage and dance around I would be happy to talk to somebody on the street. I was excited that maybe after this I could make connections with a lot of people, even just running around town, if they recognized me from this. There was a small kid who actually grabbed my hat and took off with it as I was heading through the crowd, but he was caught by the crowd before he was out of sight and forced to give the hat back. He proceeded to bug me about giving him the hat for the next 10 minutes or so, to which I refused, partly because that hat represents a pretty funny memory for me now, and partly because he'd already tried to take it so I didn't want to just give it to him. Plus, it's not like a pair of shoes or food where it would really make too much of a difference for him if I did give it to him. After the tournament was over a couple of popular local singers put on a small concert, which everybody was pretty in to. When I looked around there were probably at least 300 people there, so it was a decent crowd. They were all rappers, which I don't really listen to, but it was still pretty good music and I enjoyed it. At one point Allan told me to make sure I didn't have anything valuable in my pockets and give him anything I of value I did have. Later he explained that he had seen a notorious pick pocketer roaming through the crowd, and that naturally I would be a prime target.

Allan wanted to take me clubbing that night, to which I agreed. As I said before I'm really not into the whole clubbing thing, but I wanted to hang out with Allan and it would be a chance to meet some of his friends. As the evening went on I wondered if we were even going to go. We sat around watching stand up comedy on his computer past 11:00, and finally headed out for the club around midnight like that had been the plan all along, which it probably had been. Yet another occasion of something happening 2-3 hours after I assumed it would happen. Grace's friend Rita was in Eldoret so she joined us, and I only half joking asked her where the heck she lived because I'd seen her in Nairobi, Kisumu, and now Eldoret. She said she lived in Kisumu, but wasn't too liberal with the details of the trip she took to Nairobi and why she was in Eldoret. When we got to the club Allan introduced us to a couple people and then apparently started making the rounds around the whole club to say hi to people and left me with a couple of his friends. I mostly just stood there awkwardly and absent-mindedly swayed back and forth a little bit in a decidedly half-hearted attempt to join in the dancing. A kid came up to me and said he had seen me on stage that afternoon and was had said to himself and the time that he needed to meet this guy. His name was Ronnie, and he was an extremely talkative 17-year-old that I think would have been annoying if I had anybody else I wanted to talk to or if it wasn't so entertaining just talking about what he thought of America and Kenya. Allan definitely didn't seem to want anything to do with him when he came by, but I was happy to just stand there and talk. He told me that, although the age for getting into clubs and bars is 18, no one checks at all and he doesn't have any problem getting in. Now that I thought about it, none of us had been asked to show IDs either. He did most of the talking, sharing his entertaining thoughts on American clubs, movies, and women. The impression I got was that he has a pretty utopian view of the US, who saw America as a glamorous place where everyone lives like kings. Ronnie tried to persuade to go "woman hunting" with him, but I really didn't have any desire to do any woman hunting, and if I did I probably wouldn't do it with a 17-year-old. One of Allan's friends that I recognized from Thursday and earlier in the day pulled me out to start dancing a couple times, which I actually enjoyed because we just kind of dance around in a circle doing goofy moves which I liked because no one cared whether it looked stupid, everyone seemed to me to be genuinely interested in hanging out and having a good time. I spent a good portion of the night watching an Argentina vs. Uruguay soccer game, which was fine with me. Toward the end of the night, and by that I mean around 4 am, Allan brought me over to a group of girls and one said she wanted to dance with me, which was fine with me, as long as she wasn't looking for a decent dancer. She was really nice, and although I still think she was pretty appalled at my lack of any dance skill, I suspect she liked just dancing with an American and trying to show him how to dance. I don't think I can salsa now, but I'm closer than I was at the beginning of the night. After a while of dancing we sat down and talked for a while about America and Kenya and traveling. Although it had been a fairly entertaining night, I was still somewhat relieved when Allan said he and Rita were ready to go. I barely made it home awake before collapsing into bed at about 5:00.

Kip Keino, Little Kids that are the children of world record holders, nostalgic memories of Elementary school, Kip Keino (did I already say that?) and other things you find in Kenya

    Friday was my first day heading out to school with Uncle Roger, which is what I planned for most of my time in Eldoret. That meant waking up at 6:45 to catch the bus heading out to the school, which was about 16 kilometers from town (actually not too far from Grandy's farm). A lot of the teachers take the bus to school with the kids, which seemed a little weird to me, but I guess that's just because most teachers in the US have a car, and that's definitely not the case here. When we got to school all the students and teachers put their stuff away and then headed to the center square for the flag raising ceremony. The school looks something similar to the elementary section at Morrison, the school I went to in Taiwan. There was a center square that was grass with stone paths through it and probably half of it was all cement with the flag pole in the middle of that section. The class rooms formed a square around this central area, opening onto a cement walkway around the square. I love schools like this that open to the outside. I guess it's only practical when you have pretty warm weather the whole year, but it's so much nicer leaving a class room and seeing the sky and breathing fresh air rather than walking into a hallway where a solid portion of your attention has to be devoted to not being run over (yes I'm talking to you Sentinel High School). Watching the kids line up for the flag raising ceremony brought back memories of lining up outside before school in elementary school. Even with their school uniforms and the formal nature of the event, there was still a special connection for me to see the kids messing around and fidgeting as they stood there. I think kids are a big cross-cultural connector, and they definitely have been for me, because they still haven't learned enough about culture and society to be that different from kids from a completely different culture. What I'm try to say is that squirrely little Kenyan second-graders seem to be to act just about the same as squirrely little American second-graders. A group of older student marched out, in a military-type procedure (but much more sloppy) to raise the flag. A group of students (I believe one of the classes) had lined up at the front, facing the other students, and now they sang the Kenyan national anthem and said the Kenyan pledge of allegiance (or whatever they call it, but that's basically what it was). The pledge seemed to interesting to me because they pledge their allegiance to the republic and also to the president, which seems to me to be somewhat undemocratic, maybe just because we don't do that in our pledge of allegiance. There's also a commitment to nation building in the pledge, which just sounded funny to me because it's different from the American version. After that they sang a song, with drum and tambourine accompaniment, that they had prepared. Then two kids came forward to read passages of scripture and then two other kids came forward to pray for the school, the country, the impending exams, and finished with the Lord's Prayer and a creed I didn't recognize. I'm not sure how much of this is standard across Kenyan schools and how much of it happens specifically because this is a private school that was founded by a man who, from what I've heard, is a very sincere Christian and was adamant about instilling those values at the school. The school administrator gave a short talk to the students about listening during the scripture readings and songs, and told them to take care to prepare themselves for exams. I guess next week are exams, which kind of disappoints me because I would have liked to come at a time when I could see more of the school operating as usual, and maybe be able to help out where I could.

    Fridays are pretty laid back for Roger; he only has two classes, so there's a decent amount of in between time. Kids don't have one teacher like American elementary schools, but have teachers that teach different subjects, similar to American high schools. Kids still have desks with all of their supplies and books in it, and always stay in the same room with the various teachers moving around to the different rooms when it is time to change subjects. With this, and I think with the number of teachers at the school, it seems to me there are a lot more teachers walking around than I ever saw when I was in school. Maybe it's just because now I'm walking around with them rather than being in class. We popped into one of the classes (I think it was fifth grade) and all the kids, who had been rummaging around getting ready for class, all crisply stood up and in unison said "Good morning Mr. Ogola and our visitor." Roger returned their greetings and introduced me, which earned another unison response from them. It was clear in every interaction I'd seen that the students show a great deal of respect to teachers, much more so than in the US. Not that these kids are angels by any means, but they are very respectful to their teachers. The weird thing about that was that I had now been put in the teacher category and over the course of the day had a number of kids solemnly and formally shake my hand when we talked or even I greeted them.

Talking more with Roger about how the school operated, I found out that it is one of the top schools in the area and very difficult to get into. It's a combination of kids from the children's home across the street that Kip Keino started and kids from the area who applied and were selected. The kids who apply pay tuition fees that cover both for them and for the kids coming from the children's home. I can see why it's a highly sought after school - as far as the quality of teachers and supplies the kids had available to them I thought they looked just as good as my elementary education. While Roger was working on stuff in his room I had a chance to read an article he had on the wall about Kip Keino and the founding of the school. I knew generally about his accomplishments as an athlete (note for non-track enthusiasts: Keino was one of the first great African runners to make an impact on the international stage. He won gold medals in the 1968 and 1972 Olympics as well as a bronze in '68 and a silver in '72 if I'm remembering right, in the 1500m, 5000m, and the 3000 steeplechase. He was one of the most dominant runners in the world during this period and was an integral part of paving the way for the dominance of the current generation of African runners) but I hadn't ever heard about what he had done after he was done running. He came back to his farm and outside Eldoret and never moved or changed the way his lived because of the money he made from his running. Instead he and his wife started taking in children off the streets, until by the 1990s they had over 70. Keino was finally able to realize a dream he had to build a school that his kids could go to. With some of his money and lots of donations from people all over the world they were able to build a primary school across the road from the farm. The farm now has an impressive herd of cows that has parlayed into a large milk and cheese production operation, the proceeds from which also go toward keeping the school running. As I said, it is now one of the top schools in the area, and all the kids that live at the home go to school there so they are put in a position to be successful and become productive members of society. In addition to this great story, reading the article and talking with Roger, both emphasize that he is a really down to earth guy and amazingly humble for someone who has had the kind of success that he has. Roger said that he is around all the time and comes over to see how things are at the school pretty regularly. I told Roger that if I could meet him when he was around that would be phenomenal. Roger casually said that he was actually probably going to meet with him on Monday. I couldn't believe it. Kip Keino was one of the names I learned growing up when I was getting into running, one of the great legends from the past. To meet him I can't even say it would be a dream come true because I never entered my mind that this might ever happen. Besides Keino, there's a lot of phenomenal current Kenyan runners who's kids go to the school. At one break Roger called over one kid who was Keino's grandson, who he said "runs like a bullet", and the son of Bernard Barmasai, the world record holder in the 3000m steeplechase a couple years ago (I'm pretty sure his record has been broken, but I don't follow the pro running enough to know for sure). It's funny to see these kids because you know they have the genes of world champions, but right now they're just goofy second and third graders that can't wait to get out of class so they can play football. On Roger's desk can be seen signed pictures and autographs from another handful of world class runners that he knows because he's taught their kids. Ezekiel Kemboi (2009 steeplechase world champ), Moses Massai (26:49 10k runner (note within a note: for those of you who don't know 10k times, that means he's running about 4:19 per mile. It also means he's run 10 seconds faster than any American has ever run)), another runner who had the #3 1500m time in the world in 2009, and another with a couple top finishes at the world cross country championships. Being the fan of running that I am, I was blown away. I hope I can meet some of these guys, which may be as simple as waiting for them to come pick their kids up after school.

Roger introduced me to Hayato, the Japanese volunteer that mainly helps him with PE and recreation. He's about a year into a two year stint volunteering at the school and stays in a house set aside for volunteers over on the farm. He's always smiling and polite when you talk to him, but still strikes me as a pretty laid back guy. I was immediately impressed with his command of Swahili, which he spoke fluently talking with other teachers. He also spoke excellent English, so chalk him up as another multi-lingual person that really impresses me with his linguistic versatility. I headed out with him for a PE period later in the morning. Both him and Roger had bemoaned the way the PE got cut into in the name of the "examinable" subjects, which hamstrung their ability to actually teach the kids that much. In this case by the time kids came out there was less than half an hour left for the period, so Hayato just organized them to groups based on who wanted to play football, netball (a game that seems to me like kind of a cross between handball and basketball. I guess it's pretty popular here), and volleyball and we headed out to the field with them. Apparently teachers will just ignore what the time schedule is supposed to be if the subject they are infringing on is not an "examinable" one (then again the thoughts I've heard on this are Roger's, the art and PE teacher, so it's far from a balanced perspective. I still think I agree with him though). The groups split almost completely into boys playing football and girls playing netball and volleyball. We headed with the boys to play football, and Hayato split it into 4^th graders against 5^th graders with him and I playing on the 4^th graders' team. These kids were good enough that I definitely wasn't dominating, and in a lot of cases wasn't winning one-on-one matchups unless I ended up just muscling the kid out of the way (which I generally tried to avoid) or just out ran them. It didn't help me that I absolutely could not tell who was on my team, so I mostly just played defense and cleared the ball to other end when I got it. There were still one or two times when I got up to speed and then some kid challenged me and I sent them flying, but I didn't hurt any of them bad enough that they didn't bounce back up and start chasing the ball usually before I even had a chance to ask if they were alright.

After we came in it was time for "break" which meant all the teachers went over to the teachers' lounge and had a bread and tea. Almost all the teachers were in there, and as far as I could tell no one was specifically monitoring the kids during the break. I met several of the teachers, going through the same polite explanation of how I was related to him and what I was doing here a couple of times. As far as I'm concerned the bread and tea break is pretty essential because they don't eat lunch until 1:00, so by the 11:00 break I was already hungry and without something to tide me over then I think I would have headed out and ran down a wildebeest to eat by the lunch time came. After the break Roger and Hayato took me over to see the farm and the children's home there. It felt to me like something in between a house and a dormitory, but overall looked like a fine place to live, and being out on the farm provided a lot of open areas to explore that I've always thought are an awesome thing to have growing up. The little kids at the home not old enough for school yet were going through activities with their nursery teachers. When we showed up a lot of the kids shouted Hayato's name, apparently he's pretty popular with the nursery kids. In general the kids here react a lot differently to me than other kids I've ran into, I think because they see a lot more foreigners and mzungus than your average Kenyan kid. I still definitely stick out but I'm not the oddity that I am other places. Kids are more willing to come up and talk to me and they don't giggle when I walk by. I must say, it's very refreshing to be at least a little more normal.

We came back and Roger was supposed to have an art class, but he said with exams next week the class probably wouldn't come at all. I surprised though, because it was the first grade class so I couldn't imagine them really working hard to get ready for exams, but I guess even the first graders are gearing up for exams. I don't remember having any kind of final exams until high school, and even then the level of preparation and anticipation here seems to me to be at a level I didn't see until finals week in college. We hung around in the classroom waiting for them, but sure enough, they didn't show up. Roger took me over to see the dormitories. From fifth grade on all the students board at the school and the teachers take shifts staying overnight at the school in the dorms. From there we headed over to the spacious cafeteria/multi-purpose building for lunch. The students make a long line that goes out the door waiting to be served (another thing that reminds me of elementary and middle school) but the teachers have their own table to get food out of a couple of crock pots. It was an extremely healthy meal of rice and stew, so I continued my extremely healthy eating pattern that has existed over here. Roger was free for the afternoon, which was only two hours because they eat lunch so late, so him and I headed out to the field to hit golf balls, a new hobby he has been taking up. He's pretty big all around sports enthusiast, having played about everything that you could play back in his school days, and is a big advocate of kids getting involved in sports as much as possible. It was a great, relaxing way to spend the afternoon and the weather was fantastic. It was one of those times when I felt like I could really get used to this. After a while some kids came out to play hockey, so Roger went over to coach/officiate/cheerlead/play. The first time I heard hockey mentioned here was on the news and they were talking about the Kenyan national team gearing up for some competition and I was trying to figure out how a country that didn't have any ice closer than the top of Mount Kilimanjaro (I know that sounds like a joke, but if you really think it is then look at a map and see if you can prove me wrong) could have a hockey team. They quickly cut to a bunch of guys running around a grass field with long skinny sticks hitting a ball around, and I realized this was field hockey, which it turns out is a fairly big sport in Kenya (I would say maybe roughly on par as far as national interest with ice hockey or soccer in the US). I've mentioned that to several of the students at the school, and they think it's even funnier that people would play hockey on ice then I thought it was to play on grass. Then again, the whole concept of going anywhere near ice recreationally, or at all, is a pretty foreign concept to them. All you needed to do was watch Patrick try to ski when he came to Missoula to figure that one out. I stayed on the sidelines and watched, along with a couple kids who weren't playing (I'm not sure why, but if Roger's not yelling at them, I'm not going to say anything). I started talking with the kids, and they started peppering me with questions. After not too long, one of them started asking me about how Americans felt about Bin Laden being killed. It cracked me up to hear this from a third-grader in Kenya, but to me it was a little bit of confirmation of my notion that people here are far more aware of international events than people in America. I carefully explained to them that most Americans were glad he had been killed because they felt that now the world is safer. They launched into a bunch of questions about the particulars of how Bin Laden had been killed, and I tried to keep my answers pretty general. I felt like there were a lot of American stereotypes wrapped up in this bunch of questions so I wanted to answer honestly but as diplomatically as I could without distorting the "facts" (I'm not comfortable calling what I know about what happened to Bin Laden "the facts" because I just know what I've heard from the American media. For all I know they staged the whole thing just like the moon landing).

We caught a ride back to town with one of the parents coming to pick their kid up, and then headed to the athletic club Roger often goes to to play squash after school. He pointed out a loop around the numerous soccer and rugby fields there, as well as some adjacent corn fields. I decided it would be good to go for a tempo run (for those of you who have been living under a rock/haven't run competitively/never paid attention to your training a tempo run is just an up tempo run at a comfortable pace. Without getting into the particulars of it, for me it usually means I'm running somewhere between 5:40 and 6:00 per mile for 20-40 minutes) since I hadn't really hit anything faster yet for the summer and wanted to get a little bit of an idea of where I'm at. I ran the loop to see where it went, and it was a nice, flat, grassy single track loop, with the notable exception of a dead dog on the far side of the loop that was covered in flies and made me start to feel nauseous when I passed. Every subsequent lap I held my breath for about 3 seconds passed there. Without taking you through the minute details of the workout, let me say that a 25 minute tempo turned into a battle of will. I had hoped to go 30 minutes, but I was pushing myself harder than I really should have just to keep the pace respectable through 25 minutes. As well as my relaxed runs had been going, I clearly underestimated the effect of the elevation on this one. I headed home with Allan, who had come up later on his own, and in the matatu on the way back to town a guy jumped in, exclaimed a greeting to me, gave me a fist bump, and promptly asked for 500 schillings. I responded incredulously that I definitely wasn't going to give him 500 schillings. I didn't want to treat that like a reasonable request that I might consider, or even as something I was apologetic for not doing. I think I'm ever so slowly getting better dealing with pushy Kenyans, whether shop owners or not, who see you as a walking money dispenser and are just looking for where the lever is they have to pull. People had asked me for money before, but usually it was for five or ten schillings, which I still wouldn't give them, but that isn't unreasonable to give someone the change you have in your pocket. 500 schillings though, is over $5 US, and I would estimate that would go about 4 times farther here than the US. Put it this way: you could go out to lunch with 3 of your friends for 500 schillings without skimping at all, and he acted like he really expected I might give it to him. The best I could figure is that maybe there were foreigners who would hand over the money that easily. I asked Allan about it and he said that a lot of Americans come just planning on spending a set amount they have budgeted for the trip, so they don't necessarily say no to people who ask them for money on the street. Allan and I were both pretty wiped out when we got back so it was a pretty low key evening. He fell asleep on the couch and I went to bed after not too long myself.

 

The camera I have is still the bain of my existence, but I've been able to get some shots that at least give you a decent idea of what the countryside looks like. I don't have all that many shots of in town, partly because it doesn't look all that different from Nairobi except that it's much smaller, and partly because I don't like taking my camera into town with me. I'd like to say that's because I don't want somebody to snatch it, but if I'm really honest a big part of it is that I just don't want to look like a tourist, which cracks me up because it follows that I'm assuming that I won't look like a tourist without the camera, which makes about as much sense as getting in Grandy's way when she has her machete.

Small towns, Muslims and other things you find in Kenya

    Flo left on Thursday morning to head back to Nairobi, but in typical Kenyan form leaving Thursday morning turned into leaving Thursday at 1 pm. Allan and I went with her to see her off. I'm not jealous of her sitting in the shuttle for the next 8 hours or whatever it takes to get to Nairobi, because the shuttle is really just like a matatu van except not as crowded, like the one we took from Kisumu to Eldoret. Flo was somewhat worried about leaving me with Allan and Roger, but I was very much looking forward to getting to spend some time with them. I've been spending more time with female relatives than I think is really healthy, so hanging out with Allan and Roger and their friends will be a welcome change I think. After Flo left Allan showed me around town. Like I said before, the downtown of Eldoret is pretty compact, with all the streets laid out in a grid. I consider Allan, despite his objections, to be a pretty darn popular guy, judging from the number of people we stopped to say hi to on the street and the number of shops we ducked into to talk to the owners. We stopped to talk to the guy who Allan said does his dreds. He explained to me that having dreds was still something that a lot of older people looked down on because they were associated with an extremely dangerous gang/militia that originally had been fighting for independence, but after the country gained independence turned into more of a gang, terrorizing and often killing people. He told me some funny stories about people not messing with him because of them, even though he's otherwise a pretty unintimidating guy. He said his dad was fine with it, but that he's more understanding of the changing times than a lot of adults. He had actually been pretty reluctant to go the farm, and explained to me that Grandy had told him that if he got dreds or did anything to his hair that she would bury him alive, which isn't as empty of a threat from her as it is from most people. He just covered them up with a bandana and a stocking hat though and, I'm happy to say, didn't get buried alive.

Eldoret has more a feel like Missoula, even smaller than Missoula, in that lots of people know each other and if you go into town you're bound to run into somebody you know, which I really enjoy. An interesting thing about Eldoret is that the buildings are pretty old, and Allan explained to me that in Nairobi they had finally just insisted on tearing down old building to replace them with more modern ones despite the objections of the people in the buildings, and said he wished they would do the same thing here. Note though that we're not talking about old like historically old buildings, just building that were built in maybe the mid 1900s that are showing their age. I was glad to get to head through town, and because of the pretty simple layout of it I think I could probably make my way around Eldoret without getting too terribly lost. It's a place where you can use the surrounding geography to tell where you are, which is my preference because that's what I grew up with. As were walking back there was fire-and-brimstone street preacher with a megaphone preaching to anyone who would listen and a lot of people who wouldn't. I'd seen a couple in Nairobi too, and to me that was a funny connection to be able to make at home. It was in a different language, but by the character and tone you could tell it was about the same message. We got to talking about churches, and I told Allan I felt like there were a lot more churches here than the US and that I think a lot more people go to church here. He said that was true, but that you had to be careful here because a lot of the churches were fraudulent, just trying to get money. On our way back from town we took bike taxis, which are pretty darn cheap, but that's because they don't move you along all that fast or comfortably, but I enjoyed it.

On my run I explored running toward the other side of town. There is a small river that runs on along the south side of downtown, and there are only a couple bridges across the creek, so those form a pair of bottlenecks that people must cross as they walk from town across the ravine the river runs through to the houses and part of town on the other side. It doesn't get too crowded but looking across the ravine to the hillside riddled with dirt trails and roads populated with people walking along, it strongly reminded me of a huge anthill. It's so impressive to me to watch how much people walk here, especially during "rush hour" when the roads and fields are filled with people walking from place to place. Like in Nairobi, it seems to me like more of a mass of humanity, almost like an army marching somewhere or a big migration. There were more people around for this run than my other couple in Eldoret, I think partly because of the time and partly because I ran toward a busier area, but I think I had more people outright laugh at me on this run than others, and I was surprised with how much it bugged me. I thought I was getting used to people's reactions but I think maybe that was because most of the reactions were still positive even if they treated me as an exotic attraction (which is fair because I guess that's pretty attraction). I coming back I noticed what I thought looked like minarets poking up above the buildings, and later heard what I thought might be an evening call to prayer, and in subsequent days I found that there is a mosque nearby and now hear the calls to prayer semi-regularly. Actually probably my favorite part of the day so far is sitting in the grass outside the house at dusk stretching after a run, listening to the evening call to prayer and watching the sun go down and the stars come out.

I was supposed to make dinner that night because of a bet I lost with Allan shooting hoops, but I was incompetent enough that Allan helped me anyway, and by help I mean he made most everything and I struggled through a little bit of making the ugali. It surprised me how simple it was, maybe because all things cooking seem mysterious and somewhat magical to me. All you have to do is boil some water, add the proper amount of flour, and then stir it around, which actually is really hard because as the stuff mixes it gets harder to stir and my arms just aren't conditioned for that kind of work.

Farms, Cows, Spunky Old Machete-wielding Ladies, and other things you find in Kenya

    Wednesday I went for a longer run in the morning and actually got out into the countryside. Once you get out of town and into the farms, there are endless dirt roads. I'm not sure I'll need to do the same run twice if I don't want to. The countryside is a comforting place because once I get out there it feels like I could be running in northern Idaho or the countryside around Dillon and Twin Bridges. There are the same cows, corn, tractors, and rickety old barbed wire fences, plus there are less people to gawk at me (though I think those people gawk even more because it's that much rarer to see a mzungu that far off the beaten path). This was the kind of amazing run that I hoped for when I thought about training here for the summer.

    After the run we headed out to "the farm" where Patrick's grandmother, known as Grandy, lives. Before we left we stopped at the store and picked up a bunch of flour, sugar, and other supplies. Apparently it is standard when going to the farm to take a considerable amount of groceries, maybe just because it's far enough into town that if you can spare Grandy the trip that's well worth it. On our way out we passed a police "checkpoint", which consisted of three police officers standing on the side of the road. They had no car, and I wondered aloud why anyone would stop. Allan said that people just usually do if the cops tell them to, but that he never did because they were all corrupt anyway so all that would happen is you would have to pay them enough money that they let you go. He also mentioned that if you went to the police station and wanted something to get done, you better be prepared to pay them if you expect anything to actually happen.

The farm is about 10 miles out of town, and I was surprised by how much land she has out there. As we were driving in, Flo and Allan were pointing out fields on both sides of the road that were part of the farm. We pulled through the front gate, and parked in front of the house. There were all manner of animals roaming around the house: chickens, cows, dogs, cats, ostriches, and so on (I probably shouldn't joke about the ostriches because for all you know there might actually be ostriches on the farm, but I'm going to do it anyway). Across the road from the house was a field of a variety of crops, but it looked more to me like forest because of the banana trees and the variety of plants. We were ushered inside by Grandy, who had been doing work out in the yard. Her and another lady, that had been out in the yard and I found out later was Grandy's aunt or something like that (older than Grandy, let's put it that way), came inside with us and the first thing that happened is we stood as Grandy's aunt said a rather lengthy prayer. I think it was in Luo, which it must have been because I also found out later that Grandy's aunt only speaks Luo. The living room, as I imagine most grandmas' living rooms are, was ringed with pictures of the family. That was actually nice because I was able to go around with Allan and see how many names and faces I could match up and see the people I hadn't met yet and the people I'd met and already forgotten and the people I'd met and remembered their name for about five seconds so I would have to awkwardly try and figure it out next time we were talking. I'm hoping by the time I leave I have a decent feel for how the family fits together, but not enough to actually put that much effort into keeping it straight, so we'll see. From what I understand Grandy knows English but never speaks it, so I didn't catch most of what was said, especially because I still don't know enough Swahili to recognize when they're throwing in Luo, so sometimes I kind of feel like I'm fishing without any bait.

Grandy was spunky, spry, old lady who looked to me as if she would still have no problem smacking one of the grandkids around if they got out of line and wouldn't hesitate to do it. She also seemed to me to have a decent sense of humor, or at least was saying things that were ridiculous enough that they amused Allan and Flo. There maybe hasn't been any time on the trip when I wished I could speak Swahili as much as then because I would have loved to hear everything Grandy was saying, it was entertaining enough just watching her talk and watching Allan and Flo's reactions. She had absolutely no hesitation about harassing the grandkids and seemed to me to be good-natured but also extremely strict as far as what she expected from her kids, grandkids, and people who worked on the farm and would cut in line to be the first one to tell you if you weren't up to her standard of what you should be doing. Even I wasn't completely out of the crosshairs, but I was able to sidestep most of it, I think partly because I didn't understand the Swahili and partly because I wasn't actually one of the grandkids so hassling me wasn't nearly as required as it was for Allan and Flo. She put Flo to work right away making ugali with the flour we had brought, and eventually brought it out so I could see how to make ugali. The room seemed to me to be swarming with flies, but I felt like I was the only one bothered by it. The flies landing on me and the incessant buzzing were definitely at a level that was noticeably annoying. While we were talking two of the chickens from outside came wandering through the open door and into the living room, Grandy didn't notice for a minute, probably because she was busy imparting some life lesson/extremely random story to Allan, but then shooed them back out. Thinking about it later I was pretty heartbroken I hadn't thought to whip out my camera and snap a picture, but that is the kind of thing that ran the risk of gaining Grandy's attention, which was something I would just as soon avoid. Pretty soon we had a meal of ugali, scrambled eggs, and kale, and a green vegetable that looks to me something like a cross of cilantro and asparagus if that makes any sense. It's pretty standard to have with the ugali, which is really the staple meal of the Kenyan diet as far as I've seen, but I don't like it. Still, I've found if I mix in a little bit with the ugali and eggs or meat that we always have with it, you don't taste it too much and I think it's good to eat because it's so green and tastes bad enough that I figure it must be really good for you. If I found out otherwise I will be most put out. In true Grandma form, Grandy made a family size meal and then told us if we didn't finish it she'd package it up and send it home with us. The problem is unlike at home I know there are really a lot of people in the area who don't have very much food, so I was more hesitant to dig elbow deep into the mound of ugali. The other thing is that ugali is about as stick-to-your-ribs as anything I've ever eaten, and it really fills you up so you can't really eat a ton of it even if you want to. We didn't quite finish it, with me definitely making the most valiant effort, but it turned out Grandy's threat was an empty one.

After a decent amount of talking, which seemed to me to be comprised mostly of Grandy interrogating Flo and Allan about what they had been up to and how their families were doing (I have two grandmas, and regardless of cultural differences grandmas are grandmas the world over, so I think I can guess at a decent amount of the conversation even without understanding it), Flo, Allan, and I headed out to walk around the farm a little bit. They pointed out a house that Timothy, Grandy's youngest son was building out here. I'm not sure if he's planning on moving out here, but it sounds to me like all the kids have been given some freedom to manage land on the farm themselves, as long as they don't sell it. We headed past some more corn fields and a couple of homes that I'm not sure who owns them. We passed several people on the rough two track we were walking on; the farm seemed to me to be something of a community of its own. We continued passed a couple of large greenhouses to the home of Uncle Jack, who it appears lives at the farm. We went in and talked with him for a while, then walked back toward Grandy's farmhouse with him. He seemed to me to be another good-natured, pretty laid back guy who was fun to listen to. He reminded me some of my Uncle Rob and Uncle Peter (a note here: Throughout these posts I'm making references to lots of things that something reminds me of or that is the best description I can think of. I know already these references range from Missoula to Seattle to Taiwan, so inevitably they'll make sense to some people and not others, so don't worry if you don't know my Uncle Rob or Uncle Peter. But you should get to know them, they're top notch guys). When we got back to the farmhouse Grandy was out hacking on a downed banana tree with a machete, only enforcing everything I already thought about her. We hung around and explored the field opposite the farm a little bit. It was interesting to me that there was such a mish-mash of crops. I wondered if that was intentional or not, the banana trees seemed to me to be spread somewhat hap-hazardly around, like they had already been there and other things were planted around them. Before leaving we all stood in the living room and prayed again, which seemed to be a standard part of visitors coming and going. We headed home for another dinner of ugali and beef, and then hit the sack after an evening of reading and TV. I've been reading a book called The Places in Between, written by a British former diplomat who walked across Afghanistan recording what he saw and the people he encountered. Like reading Nate's blog, it's been comforting to read about someone going through a similar situation (even if not that similar, I'll take what I can get right now) and I hope I can learn some things about how he observed and recorded things.

The Home of the Fastest Distance Runners on PLANET EARTH

Monday before we took off for Eldoret I got a phone. So far I haven't been out on my own at all other than running, but we decided it's a good for me to be able to get a hold of people in case I end up lost on my own. This will be a more important issue now that Flo will be heading back to Nairobi and I'll be on my own a little bit more. With that and the overall relaxed nature of the morning we didn't end up leaving town until around 4. As we were heading into town I was somewhat worried we'd end up in a crowded matatu for the whole 2+ hour drive to Eldoret. We ended up in one of the matatus, but this was more a shuttle, and we only put 7 people in but then left. It was still cozy, but not as crowded as the matatus, and much more comfortable. I wanted to take some pictures on the way to Eldoret, but I ended up in the middle seat of the back row, so it was basically the worst place for taking the pictures in the whole vehicle. I still took some, basically operating on the premise that if I took enough pictures a couple would turn out. I've been frustrated about taking pictures for the whole trip, because I have pretty much no photographic ability, and I would prefer to just see things and experience them but I know it is valuable for sharing the trip with others and remembering the trip, so I'll soldier on. I was surprised that there wasn't really any area on the way from Kisumu to Eldoret where we were completely away from people and settlements. There weren't any major towns along the route, but it was dotted with shacks and roadside markets and occasional sections where a crowd of storefronts, usually made of concrete, corrugated metal, and wood, appeared to comprise a small town. All the way along they were people walking on the road, sometimes bunches of school kids. I wondered how far these kids were walking to get home from schools. There were some good scenic views along the way, but nowhere was there unbroken wilderness, always a mixture of forest and farmland. I got car sick, I think partly from taking pictures, partly from the incessant speed bumps, that at times came four at a time, so I was eager to arrive in Eldoret.

We got out of the van at the central bus port in Eldoret, and it seemed to me just as crowded as Nairobi. As we took a taxi to Uncle Roger's house, we left the crowded downtown almost immediately. I would come to find out that the actual "town" of Eldoret is pretty tightly packed into a relatively small area, with sprawling fields and endless dirt roads beyond. We had to wait outside for a minute before Allan, Roger's son, got home. The temperature here is much more pleasant to me than in Nairobi and Kisumu, where it was a little bit too hot. The temperature probably rarely gets above 75, and seems to me to usually be in the 60s or low 70s during the day. Uncle Roger's wife died some years ago and his daughter is off at school so right now the place is pretty much a bachelor pad, which I was looking forward to after spending my trip so far in homes that had majorities of women. Talking with Allan, I found out he's on break from college, where he's majoring in IT. We talked some more, and I'm pretty stoked to be spending the next couple weeks with him, he seems like a super cool guy. My plan for my time in Eldoret, which should be until almost the end of the month, is to spend a decent amount of my days heading with Roger to his school, but for the first couple days I'll probably just relax and see what I can around Eldoret.

The next day Flo and I headed into town. I needed to find an ATM or bank where I could pull money out of my bank account from home, which I was kind of nervous about because if I couldn't, for whatever reason, it would be a lot more of a hassle to get money, so I was hoping this would go smoothly. The first two banks we went to couldn't make the transaction because my card was Mastercard, which I hadn't considered at all before I left. The third bank we went to had a ATM that could perform the transaction, and I was surprised with how smoothly it went. Before we left town we stopped at a local café (I don't think that's really the right term for it, but that's the best word I can think of to describe it) to get lunch to go, and Flo was appalled that a fairly large lunch for her, Allan, and I was 575 schillings, about $6.40 US. When I told her that one of the popular lunch items in the US was a subway sandwich that cost $5, she couldn't believe that anyone would buy that. It rained pretty hard for a little bit, but cleared up nicely in time for me to run in the evening. I didn't get too far from the house before the side of the road I was running on opened into a field probably over half a mile long and at least a quarter mile wide criss-crossed with trails and with several crowds of kids playing soccer at the other end. Outside of the main part of the city and the main highways it seems to me that most roads are dirt and that an even larger portion of transportation is on foot, bikes, and motorcycles, partly because a lot of the side roads are fairly rough. I ran around this field some and then explored down a side road from there that headed toward the hills. There were several areas along here that looked like an open landfill, stretching several hundred yards of piles of trash, with a decent number of people walking across the piles, picking through the trash. I saw one too many groups standing around burning mounds of trash staring at me to feel comfortable heading too far down that road, but promised myself I would venture farther when I had more daylight. I could feel the thin air, especially climbing the long hill to get back to the main road, but overall it was a great run, I can't wait to have another couple of weeks of exploring all the great places to run around here.

Sunsets, Mosquito Nets, Marauding Bands of Bandits, and other things you find in Kenya

    I thought the plan was to wake up and go to church in the morning then sleep the afternoon away, but here was yet another case of either me not understanding what was going on or the plan changing on the fly. I don't know if I've mentioned it so far, but there have been several times that I've been asked if I still wanted to do something I'd said earlier, and several times it seemed to be something of a surprise that I hadn't changed my mind. I showered and got ready for church, but Grace saw me in my Sunday clothes and told me that we weren't going to church. Instead I went for my long Sunday run, going farther on the road around Lake Victoria than I had before. I was disappointed though, that the road dead ended in a community rather than continuing along the lake. Still it was another cool run with more good views of lake, which was fantastic. I can still feel the thinner air from the elevation on my runs, but that will just make me stronger when I go back to sea level. So far I think running has been my most effective way of understanding the layout of the area I'm in, maybe because that's the only time I'm figuring out where I am on my own.

    We laid low for most of the afternoon and I took a long nap. I was still adamant about seeing the sunset on the lake, so we went down there to catch the sunset. I was starting to get tired of hanging out with all the girls, but I imagined it was no different than what any of them would experience if they came and hung out with me and the Hamilton cousins in the States. We walked down along the same dirt road I had been running in the mornings maybe half a mile to a point where a small park was. The mosquitoes were unbelievably thick, and we didn't get all that good of a sunset as far as sunsets go, but it was still a very beautiful scene. Thanks to my utter lack of photographic ability I don't know that I really captured it all that well, but I'll put the pictures up and hopefully you can at least get an idea of what it was like. Kisumu is on the eastern side of the lake, which I'm told is the largest fresh water lake in the world, and from there the water goes as far as you can see until it meets the horizon, which at times can be a hard line to distinguish until you concentrate on it. We headed back in the dark, which was a little bit sketchy with the motorcycles whizzing by, but got more sketchy when I guy told us that someone had just been attacked on the dirt trails through the brush off the road that were a shortcut back. Flo and one of their friends freaked out a little bit and said they were going to wait for a motorcycle, but Grace and Nora (another cousin) didn't seem bothered and another lady walking by that chimed into the conversation insisted we would be fine as long as we stayed on the main road. This whole conversation had taken place in Swahili, so it was explained to me after we were on our way again. We got home fine (note: it took all the restraint I could muster not to throw in a story about how we did get attacked and lost some good men, but eventually beat back the attackers and how I killed a man with a traditional tribal spear I had happened to nab from the Luo village yesterday and see if I could get a movie deal, but the thing that made it so appealing was the very reason I could put it in: there would be real potential of someone believing the story and calling the American embassy, starting the greatest long distance, international misunderstanding I've had in my life since Patrick discovered I had a girlfriend on facebook while Heather was in Kenya last spring. Somebody stop me if I make another one of these honest, responsible choices, they just add to my getting old phobia), and Flo and I decided we would leave for Eldoret the next afternoon. This was already three days off of our original plan, but this was one of the cases where I really enjoyed how flexible and noncommittal the schedule was. It had been nice to have a couple days in Kisumu, and I'm here for long enough that there's no reason to rush through anywhere.

    Another new experience Sunday night was sleeping with a mosquito net. In the shuffle of guests coming and going I was moved back into the room with Flo, Grace, and Nora. Let me comment that it is rare to have a room to yourself unless you are the only child of your gender in the home. It seems to me that the standard set up for homes I've been in is to have a master bedroom for the parents, a bedroom for the girls and a bedroom for the boys. I don't think I've seen a kid's bedroom yet that didn't have a bunk bed in it, even with kids up into their 20's that are still at home. That's another difference from the US, and I think somewhere where the US is different from a lot of the world, it is far from standard for children to leave when they're done with high school. Unless they leave, it seems that a lot of kids stay at home well into their 20's, and even after they move out it seems to me there is more of an expectation of staying close to their family, which I tie back to the traditional homestead community, which, in the case of the Otienos, they are only a generation away from. Anyway, I untied my mosquito net and let it drop around my bed. It felt to me just like a fort I would build when I was a little kid, I thought it was awesome.

Out into the bush where the natives are restless at night

Well I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I had absolutely the coolest, most culturally eye-opening experience I've had since I've been here, maybe in my life, and overall had a fantastic day on Saturday. The bad news is I forgot my camera, so I have no pictures of it, which is a shame because I think a lot of what I saw were things that are very rare for outsiders to see. I might be able to go back and have a chance to take some pictures, but either way it kind of colored the whole day with a tinge of frustration and regret that I couldn't take pictures of everything I was seeing. On Friday night we had received the troubling news that Patrick's dad and some of his brothers that were traveling with the coffin from Nairobi to Kisumu got in a wreck on the way, so Patrick's mom and some of the other relatives from here took off to go check on them. I didn't realize until the next day how bad of a wreck it was, but no one had more than minor injuries and they decided to go ahead with the funeral as planned. Let me also mention that I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep because of all the mosquitoes. I put on bug spray before bed as I always did in Nairobi, but they still were buzzing around so I ended up getting up and spraying on bug spray again two more times, so I wasn't sleeping very well to start, but then I heard lions start bellowing and if I was having trouble before that, I was really having trouble after that. What I realized in the morning was that it made sense to hear the lions because of the animal sanctuary just a little ways down the street, but that was still something of a rattling experience. I got up and explored down the road toward Lake Victoria on my run, and was rewarded by finding a dirt road maybe two hundred yards off the lake that occasionally gave great views out across the lake. Definitely my coolest run of the trip so far. I was told we'd take off at 10, and true to Kenyan form, we took off a little after 11, with no one seeming to be in a terrible hurry. We headed into town and took a matatu from there out of town for the funeral. I believe we set a new record for me for most people I have shared a matatu with, which I believe our highest count was 23, which we achieved putting about four across every row with a couple of kids on laps and about 3 guys hanging out the door. We went a ways out of town, maybe 10 miles, to the most rural area I've been in yet. As much of an oddity as I am in the city, I'm even more exotic the farther I get out into the country.

We went to somebody's house, I believe Patrick's Uncle Timothy, his mom's youngest brother, and met Patrick's mom and some other family there. We ate lunch there and talked for a little while then all packed into their old station wagon, I thought to go back to town. Maybe the funeral was there, or maybe it wasn't happening; by this point I don't even try to keep track of the plan because either way for the most part I'm just along for the ride. We stopped at a gas station and picked up a spare tire, then headed farther away from town out on the main highway. We turned off on a rough dirt heading up into the hills, and continued on that for a while, taking several turnoffs onto smaller and rougher roads, past the point that I would be comfortable taking our old station wagon, onto some roads that looked like prime four wheeling territory, then onto what I would call a wide motorcycle track. With each turn I became more intrigued with where we could possibly be heading. If I get a chance to go back I'll show you pictures of the roads we were on, but they would definitely be considered four wheel drive only, with about a foot of space on either side of the car. We pulled off into a clearing that was part of what I found out was a traditional Luo homestead (Luo is the name of the tribe Patrick's family comes from. I believe I heard there are 42 tribes in Kenya). There were several simple mud buildings with corrugated metal roofs, although some of the homes we had seen on the way in had the more traditional looking grass roofs. Cows roamed around the houses grazing, most of them looking downright emaciated by American standards. To put it in the eloquent words of Nate Thompson, we were surely "out into the bush, where the natives are restless at night" (an aside here: if you don't know the song that line is from and don't mind doing something you'll probably regret ask Dave or Dale Hamilton to sing you that song, I promise they'll be more than happy to oblige. It will change your perspective on global missions, most likely for the worse). To my ever increasing intrigue and amazement, once the car was parked everyone piled out and we continued walking down the rough, rocky path.

We crossed a creek and continued walking, until we came into a similar homestead clearing to the one where we had parked, but this one full of people, one big group looking like they were eating a communal meal, and another big group seated under trees and several large tents, most in plastic chairs and some on the ground, listening to one of several preachers in formal clergy robes sitting at the front. We moved over to sit with this group, which was the funeral for Patrick's uncle. I had almost completely forgotten about the funeral because I had sub-consciously been expecting a service in town at a church, similar to an American funeral. This was the homestead where Patrick's father and his siblings had been raised, so they came back here to bury him, as is tradition. We greeted the family sitting near us, some of which I was starting to recognize, and in a couple cases connect names with. Patrick's dad greeted me and I saw that one of his eyes was completely bloodshot and he was moving a little stiffer than usual, both of which I found were products of the crash. It was funny to watch the reactions of some of the kids around, who seemed to me to be first astounded and bewildered as to what a mzungu was doing at the homestead, and then I think confused as to why he was being greeted and treated as family by some of the people there. The service had already started so we said our greeting quietly and sat down to listen to pastor, who I found out later was from the local Anglican church where some of these people went. The service was in the traditional Luo tongue, so I couldn't even try to pick out Swahili words as I usually do in conversation. I still can't tell the difference of when people are speaking Luo and Swahili, because I've found talking with people that they mix Luo into their conversations as much as they mix in English, which I hadn't caught at all. The service didn't seem to me to be a particularly solemn or somber, and a lot of people weren't really paying attention. Several were reading newspapers, several talking quietly, and I saw at least a couple that were asleep. At one point while the pastor was talking we were offered to go get some lunch from the communal gathering that was eating. There were maybe a 80 people total there for the funeral, and probably at least another 50 roaming around or over eating, so it kind of felt more like a family reunion situation than a funeral.

When the eulogy (or at least what I assumed to be the eulogy) was done, they had a time to view the body, which I elected not to because I didn't actually know the man at all and the whole idea of viewing the body kind of gave me the creeps. I realized, especially after talking with Patrick's dad and comparing the funeral customs from home with those here, that I haven't been to many funerals at all, and none of any close relatives or people who I was close to. After everyone had viewed the body we went to a corner of the homestead to bury the body, which happened similar to what I think it is like in the US, but I've actually never seen a coffin actually put in the ground before so this was a completely new experience. Everyone, led by the pastors, sang hymns in Luo, which everyone seemed to know by heart. Still it wasn't the solemn situation that I expected it to be; I was introduced to people and talked with Patrick's dad and his Uncle Bob throughout the burial time. Patrick's dad told me some about the burial customs, and explained to me the layout of the homestead. His father's home was the big one in the middle, and since he was the oldest son his was the home on the left. The next oldest son would have a home on the right, and so on. He said then from his home, his sons would build homes around his. It seems to me if that happened at all now it would surely be only symbolic, because Patrick, Anthony, and Junior don't have any intentions (that I know of) to go live at the homestead, so I kind of doubt that will happen at all. It was really powerful talking with Uncle Bob about the wreck they had been in the day before, because it was one of those situations where it was really an act of God that no one was hurt more than they were. Uncle Bob's perspective on it was very impressive to me. He emphasized that it was a powerful illustration that every day is a gift and that God has a specific purpose for him because by all rights he felt he should have died yesterday. One of the grave diggers was super drunk and periodically would start screaming and seemed to me to spend a lot of time stumbling around rambling when he was shoveling dirt into the whole and overall seemed very disruptive and disrespectful, but no one seemed to be too bothered by him. At one point he came over to me and Patrick's dad and started talking to both of us, reeking of alcohol, and speaking what seemed to me to be about half-coherently and getting uncomfortably close to each of us. Patrick's dad didn't seem terribly bothered by him and still talked to him in his same deliberate, thoughtful manner, which I couldn't tell if it was because this was a standard occurrence and not really frowned on, or if it was just because of Patrick's dad's unflappably calm demeanor. The guy tried talking to me but couldn't real speak much English, at least not in this state, and unlike other conversations I didn't really have any desire to figure out what he was saying, so we just kept shaking hands and he called me "Mister gentleman" a couple of times. I decided if Patrick's dad wasn't concerned by him then I wouldn't be either, and he didn't seem to be doing anything worse than being disruptive. After a minute or two Patrick's mom pulled me away, I think mostly just to get me away from him and go sit down with the rest of the family that we came with. There were a couple other pretty solid drunk guys that raised started yelling from time to time, but no one seemed to perturbed, except for one that Uncle Bob sternly yelled at to go on a get out here. I wonder if that is a regular occurrence here, or at least for funerals.

Once the burial was finished everyone seemed to form small circles and sit down to talk and relax for the afternoon, again reminding me of a family reunion back home. It was an absolutely perfect place to relax for the afternoon with a view over much of the surrounding forest and homesteads and with corn fields, banana and mango trees, and ground nut (peanut) fields immediately surrounding the homestead (the whole time we were sitting there I was kicking myself for not having my camera, because the views and scenes of traditional life were really great). Patrick's dad had told me that these people grow pretty much everything they need here so they are essentially subsistence farmers, or close to it. To my astonishment, I noticed a Toyota Corrola parked along the side of the clearing. Before we left a couple of people piled into it a rumbled up what I had considered a footpath that we came in on. How they were able to make it up some of the rougher sections of the path in was a profound mystery to me. It was a sunny day, and the high elevation breezes kept the temperature pleasant. I would guess we were above 7000 feet elevation, because we'd climbed quite a ways off the valley floor, which I know is somewhere over 6000. One of the guys climbed into a couple of the mango trees that were in the clearing and knocked a bunch of mangoes there, which were collected, some by a couple of little kids scurrying around and some adults gathering them up to be stored or distributed to the groups sitting there. Maybe my favorite moment of the afternoon was sitting around eating a fresh mango, admiring the scenery, and watching everyone interact and talk. We sat around talking for most of the afternoon, which seemed to me the way things go out here. It seems to me that this is where the sense of African time originates, because out here everyone is here, so you just get to things as you need to, you don't really worry about appointments and deadlines. There's almost no vehicles out here, all the homesteads are connected with trails, and everyone travels on foot. I realized that in some ways this represents a kind of utopia for me, away from technology, living off the land, just like I've dreamed of doing back home. At the same time, as the sun started to go down and we cleaned up and left, the more I thought about staying for the night in the homestead, I was happy to be heading back into town to sleep. Throughout the afternoon, and as we said goodbye, everyone was very happy that I was there. I didn't sense any animosity or suspicion from anyone about being an outsider who'd entered their community, everyone seemed very happy and welcoming that I was there, and very eager to share everything they could about their community with me. One of the pastors who had performed the funeral came by to talk with Patrick's dad, who introduced me to him. He was an old man with what struck me as a funny facial expression who had been to the States back in the '70s if I remember right. He made a funny comment about how people in the States were amazed with how much he would walk, because they were so used to driving in their vehicles. As we walked back out of the village we ran into a couple a group of cows that were being herded along the path, and Patrick's mom pointed out different fields of crops that were cleared out of the surrounding forest. We walked out right at sunset, which made for an absolutely gorgeous walk (yet another time I was mad to not have the camera), which brought back my utopian feeling about this place. Being in these surroundings with these people gave me an incredible sense of relaxation and peace. At the risk of sounding a little too Pocahontas, it just seemed to me that they were living life the way it was supposed to be lived: with family, out interacting with nature, living off the land. It makes me wonder how envious they are of my life, being able to talk with people around the world and travel to see different places, compared to living their whole lives in that close-knit family community. I was so happy to be able to see that traditional side of Kenyan life, because I think there are some things that make more sense here seeing that that is the culture their society has come from and is based off of.

I headed back to Kisumu with Flo and Grace, and we hung around for a couple hours then, as they had promised, we headed out for a night of clubbing. I wasn't particularly excited about going clubbing, mostly because I didn't really enjoy the one time I went clubbing in the US, but I thought either way this would be a cultural experience of a completely different type from most of what I had experienced so far. The clubbing was similar to the US in that the main things that happened were consuming alcohol, trying to talk with music going so loud you just about have to shout, and dancing, none of which I'm a real big fan of. However, I really liked the Kenyan clubbing crowd. They reminded me of Patrick and Mark and Elijah and Ken (If you don't know them, those are Patrick and some of his Kenyan buddies that all live in the Rainier Valley and go to the same church), forming dance circles and pulling off goofy dance moves, and yelling and jumping when a song came on that they liked. It seemed to me a really good natured crowd, and I got several fist bumps and handshakes for being the awkward American making a feeble attempt to join in the festivities. For the most part I did what I've done for most of the trip, which is to sit back and quietly watch everything going on around me. I was ready to go a couple hours before the others, who seemed to me to be tireless in their dancing efforts. We finally left around 4 am, with me sitting at a table trying not to fall asleep. Reflecting back, it was a fascinating day, spending the day learning about and experiencing life at a traditional Luo homestead all day, then spending the night in the clubs of Kisumu. I felt like I'd experienced opposite ends of Kenyan culture, and I'm grateful for the overall breadth of the experience I've had so far.

Motorcycle Taxis, Wildebeest Stampedes, Lake Victoria, and other things you find in Kenya

We got on the bus to Kisumu at 9:00 on Thursday night. I was disappointed to not be traveling during the day so I could see everything we were passing, but we held off until Thursday night so we could travel with Patrick's mom and aunt. I must say I was surprised with how nice the bus was. I was ready for an oversized matatu that would make this a death march through the wee hours of the night, but the bus actually pretty closely resembled a Beachliner (or if that's an unfamiliar term, a nice tour bus). I stayed awake for a little while to see if I could see anything, but to no avail, so I pretty quickly went to sleep. We arrived around 4 in the morning and took a taxi to Patrick's uncle and aunt's house a couple miles from downtown Kisumu. There were a couple relatives up, and I met Uncle Peter, but I quickly accepted the offer of a bed to crash in until a more reasonable hour. I woke up at 9:30, and went out to the living room to find myself in the middle of crowd of aunts and female cousins. Judging from what I've seen here, it appears they have a setup almost opposite of the Hamilton family, with a horde of female cousins, but maybe those are just the ones I saw. Either way, I was caught in one of those awkward situations where everybody belonged to a group that had something to do except me, so I just sat there and drank tea and stayed quiet. The aunts took off, and Uncle Peter briefly came out before going to work, then the cousins disappeared leaving me to explore the grounds. It is a pretty big house by Kenyan standards, and with much more space around the house than anything I saw in Nairobi. After the aunts came back, they plopped me on the back of a motorcycle taxi to go show me a route that I could run through the neighborhood, which I was happy to do. First, because this would be my second time running outside the Otieno's estate since arriving, and second because I'd wanted to ride one of the motorcycle taxis since I'd gotten here. It's pretty impressive and terrifying to watch them work in Nairobi, because when the faithfully observed informal traffic law is that if there is a gap big enough you shoot it, these guys can shoot some pretty darn small gaps and are much more effective (and fearless) moving around the city. Things were different here though, where the traffic didn't demand any of the same antics. They would actually shut the engines off on all the downhills, and move pretty slow on the uphills. At least in this part of town there are few matatus but tons of the motorcycle and even bike taxis. Lots of bikes ride around with a cushion on the back that you can sit on and get a cheap ride. This is a pretty darn good option, especially when you're coming out of town down toward Lake Victoria and the bikes move about as fast as the motorcycles.

Once I got out on my run I felt like a bird out of it's cage for the first time. I'd got pretty burned out on running that loop around the neighborhood, and even doing the loop I'd been shown that took about 10 minutes was a breath of fresh air. Everything was so much less crowded and more peaceful than Nairobi. The problem was, I was running at 1 in the afternoon, and the combination of heat (I believe it was above 80, with significant humidity) and elevation (I think we're above 6000 feet here) quickly caught up with me. I ventured well off the assigned route, exploring side roads and carefully tracing my tracks. I returned exhausted after an hour, but happy. After washing up and eating lunch I went into town with the cousins. We walked around a little bit, but the downtown of Kisumu is far less impressive or interesting than Nairobi, so we left after walking around what I believe was actually a decent portion of the town. The main attraction of Kisumu I wanted to see was the view of Lake Victoria. I walked back home with Grace (one of the cousins) and her friend we had met in town. They checked to make sure I was alright walking that far, understandably uncertain of if an American would be able to cover the distance. I told them their concern was well placed, but that I would be fine walking the maybe mile and a half home. I think when I head home the amount of daily physical activity will be appallingly low to me, because here it has been the norm to walk a couple miles every day and I think that is pretty standard for Kenyans in general, and if anything maybe most walk farther than that because I've been in urban areas for my whole time here. When we got back they had me watch and learn how to make chipatis. The process makes sense to me, but if you sat me down with the ingredients on my own my guess is you would end up with something a long way from chipatis that was much less edible. Flo came back from town later, and we sat talking and making the rest of the dinner, and by that I mean they talked and made the rest of the dinner and I sat listening and watching. We missed the sunset on the lake, which bummed me out, but I believe we'll be able to hit it tomorrow night, so we'll see.

This one doesn’t have anything interesting so you can skip it

Note: I got to talk with my brother for the first time since I've been here yesterday, and his first comment to me was that I should organize my blog posts into paragraphs to make them more readable, so the Josh Hamilton adjustment will be put in place from this post on. Enjoy, and if it makes them much more readable send your thanks to Josh.

 

I'm writing this on Thursday afternoon as we're getting ready to depart for Kisumu, and I have to say that this week has been pretty chilled out or relaxed or boring, depending on your perspective (probably boring for anyone looking for some great story about me watching a lion eat a person, but very nice for me. You people hold your horses though, you'll get your stories soon enough). We still haven't gotten to the museum, which has been at the top of my list since the end of the last week, but the desire to rest a little bit and the lack of urgency have combined to discourage any immediate action. In fact, I don't think I've gone into town at all since Sunday. Part of that is that the novelty of just "going into town" is wearing off, so unless we're doing something, just walking around town isn't as intriguing as it once was. I feel like I'm starting to get a little bit familiar though, and the other day I looked at a map and was able to identify a lot of things to get a framework for how the town is laid out. In the last couple days riding around in mutatus Junior has made a point of having us sit in the cab next to the driver, which just makes the whole thing even more entertaining/terrifying because you can see every near miss and every pedestrian diving out of the way as we shoot down crowded streets. There was also a new first for me on one of these rides that the driver took the matatu up off the road on the wrong side of the road to get around some traffic, which was one of those things I had to kind of pinch myself as it was happening because I just couldn't believe that what I was seeing was actually happening. I read all of Nate Seely's blog from his trip to Indonesia, which was hugely uplifting for me. I was surprised by how comforting it was to read about something about someone struggling with similar issues, just when you feel like you are pretty alone in the world. Nate, if you're reading this and even if you're not, you rock. Keep the faith buddy, although by the time you read this you'll probably be home, but keep the faith anyway. I've found that every hint of home, whether checking facebook and emails or American movies and shows, or talking with my parents has been a huge comfort to me, and those are actually the times when I realize how much I miss home.

A couple of relatives have stopped by, including Uncle Roger, who I'll be staying with in Eldoret for the next couple weeks. The plan is that Mama Patrick, Flo, Glen's mom, and I (if you're having trouble remembering everybody, join the club) will take the bus to Kisumu tonight and have tomorrow and Saturday in Kisumu to hang out with relative, admire Lake Victoria, swim across Lake Victoria, etc. The funeral Patrick's dad's brother will be on Saturday so there will be a lot of family in town for that so we'll hang out with them, then me (and I think Flo) will head to Eldoret with some of the family from there, and then there I'll be until the end of July. Not sure how often I'll have an Internet connection, so postings could be spotty, but I'll keep a record locally on my computer so I might just flood the blog with about two weeks of posts if I'm not able to get a connection sooner. Talking with Roger last night though, he said he would be taking what sound like a pretty awesome trip over to the Mombasa area end of the month, where I could see a lot of the cool stuff on the coast and do some camping along the way too, which I really want to get in, that sounds a little scary but awesome. I'm still not sure about hitting that trip because I already have plans to go to Mombasa with Kenneth (my housemate from Uganda) and with Heather and Patrick, but that sounds like the kind of place that it wouldn't hurt to visit a couple times so we'll see. Earlier yesterday I went to a local barber with Junior because he needed to have his hair cut, which I thought was pretty funny because he barely had enough hair to cover his head as it was, but he had it shaved right down to the nubbins. The barber shop was a section of one of the roadside shacks with enough room for two barber chairs and room for the barber to walk around the person and not much more. I was afraid to even walk into a barber shop for fear that they would just start hacking on my hair and beard just as a public service, but I had good time talking with the other two guys there. I think both of them were also barbers, but it was really one of those stereotypical barber shop scenarios where it looked like there was a group of regulars who would just hang around. We talked about America and Kenya, and how I thought they were different and what my impressions of Kenya were. I have a vague feeling that for as many people as I can meet it's better for them to have a face or a person they can attach when they think of America rather than a big, rich country on the other side of the world that's lucky enough to have Obama.

Tourists, African time and other things you find in Obamaland…I mean, Kenya

Saturday I headed into town with Junior and stopped by the Massai Market, something I had wanted to do. It's a market where people, I guess mostly of the Massai tribe, bring in crafts and art they've created to sell. I was excited to go see what was there and maybe check some things off my list of stuff I wanted to take back. The first warning sign though, came a block before we got there and were already accosted by an overly friendly man ready to be a guide through the market. There was some cool stuff in the market, but there were lots of guys obviously trolling around for tourists that were too polite or too rich to say no to them. I basically just ignored them as we walked around, and we probably had at least three different guys following us around trying to "helpful" as we were looking at stuff. We actually ended up getting out of there after not too long just because the number of people bugging us to buy stuff was pretty annoying. It frustrated me because it looked to me like for the most part it wasn't even the vendors themselves, but just guys taking advantage of an abundance of tourists who don't know anything about bartering. One of the cool things I kind of did want to get want to get was a pair of flip flops made out of tire rubber, those seem pretty cool, but I'm waiting on buying anything now because I have a suspicion that it'll be cheaper to buy things outside of Nairobi and even if I find there are good deals there I'll have plenty of chances to be back in Nairobi to buy things then. It was kind of painful to see all the tourists that were just too polite and too sensitive for the Kenyan bargaining system. I think I'm getting better at it, but that's mostly been because I haven't been buying anything. We spent some more time cruising around town, and I think I'm getting more comfortable, and I think I might even be able to get home from town on my own now, but we'll see. I'm getting used to the crowds and traffic, but I still have to work pretty hard to keep up with Junior or Flo, and especially Mama Patrick, if we're walking through a crowded area. I haven't been pick pocketed yet, so I guess that's a success as well. We went to go visit Junior's uncle, Uncle Bob, who used to play for the Kenyan national football team and is still quite the celebrity from what I hear (apparently he's famous enough that people regularly recognize him on the street), but he wasn't home. On the walk over though, we went through another large market section of town that I hadn't seen before. It surprises me that there is enough economic activity to sustain this many vendors, but there is a significant portion of all economic activity that happens here. I'm still used to the American (more accurately Seattle/Missoula in my case, I can't speak for the rest of the nation) concept that an open air market is somewhere where you go to buy free trade pottery and overpriced huckleberry chocolate on Saturday afternoons, not somewhere you routinely go for groceries and clothes. I got up Sunday morning to get my run in and have time to get ready for church, but that morning we were running on African time, so we didn't leave the house until church was over. The thing that struck me about the situation was that nobody was really that worried about it. At home my mom herds us all out the door, ready or not, when it's time to go for church and the later it gets the more herding she does. But here no one seemed concerned that we were late and then completely missing church, which was somewhat refreshing after growing up in America's schedule driven society. I don't know that it's good; we did completely miss church after all, but it was definitely refreshing to completely miss something on the schedule and have no one stressed about it. There's been a couple times since I've been here that something's been on the schedule, but then we just didn't get to it, and no one seemed to mind that much, everyone just kind of rolls with things as we leisurely get to things or don't. Anyway, Junior and I headed to town and from there caught a matatu heading out of town to the suburb (or as close as I can tell it's a suburb) Rongai, where his cousin Tina lives. Rongai is only about 25 kilometers away, but without a doubt there is a feeling that you are out of the city. Goats and mules graze along the side of the road, all the roads off of the main highway are dirt, and the general crowdedness and noise that is always present in Nairobi is absent here. The road to Tina's house led us down a steep, rocky road that it seemed to me would be impassable if there was heavy rain. In that sense this place reminded me of Clinton or Nine Mile, where having four wheel drive often isn't optional to be able navigate your driveway year round. We had arrived just in time for lunch, and sat down and ate with Tina and her family, as well as a friend of hers from work that was there. She had two kids, one about 4 months old and the other maybe 2 or 3, right at the age where everything he does seems to be funny and cute. When I had first met her in Nairobi, I had figured she was just one of the cousins, not married, an established bank manager, and mother of two. It's funny thinking about it now because she had come with her kids, but with the relatives that come in and out as well as other people stopping by and didn't make the connection that the kids belonged to her. Her husband arrived as we were eating and sat down to eat with us. I think I might have mentioned it before, but for the emphasis there is on family here and how close families seem to stay, I have been surprised that eating together is not seen as important at all. There have been several times I've sat down waiting for everyone to come to the table and pray together, but then I'm told to go ahead and serve myself and dig in, and people come and go from the dinner table over the course of the evening. After we ate we went to sit down in the living room, which was in the same big room as the dining table but very much a separate area. It seems to me that houses here are generally smaller, which I realized now because this seemed to me to be a pretty nice house, but still not as roomy as what I picture as an equivalent American house, considering that they both work for the bank and live out in the country somewhat. We talked casually and watched TV, with a long portion of the conversation turning to banking, at which point I was lost, but it was still interesting to listen to because of the fascinating mix of English and Swahili. However, between not understanding at least half of what they were saying and not understanding the subject matter anyway, I was a long way from understanding what was being said, apart from Tina's friend commiserating about a potential employee that had been ill-prepared for an interview. After long enough of talking that I was thoroughly bored, they asked me if I would like to go see a house with them. I reluctantly agreed, not sure what I was agreeing to, but looking for some change of scenery. We all got in the car, including Junior who had conveniently and mysteriously disappeared for the entire adults-sitting-around-chatting-about-banking session. I applaud him, but I only wish I had uncovered his plot so I could have been an accomplice. We headed a little ways down the main highway and then off onto another side road, and drove maybe a mile down that road. The area reminded me of the Bitterroot valley, with the main highway branching off onto dirt side roads with scenic landscapes and pastures as well as regular but generously spaced houses, and also with the proximity to town (I realize Missoula is not exactly Nairobi, but bear with me, these are just the things running through my head, I never said they made sense). While in the car I asked Tina's husband (I believe James but I've got too many new names in my head to keep them straight) about if the roads were passable when it rained. He said the main ones were, because of how they had been constructed, but that many of the side roads got extremely muddy and you would have to be careful with those. We also talked about American and Kenyan politics, and particularly about Obama. I really wish I was more up on American politics, because lots of people have asked me about, and more specifically asked me my thoughts on Obama, and I feel like I'm really just blowing smoke with my answers and no one corrects me because they assume I'm the one that is in the know on American politics. If anything I think Kenyans have a borderline unhealthy obsession with Obama; I've heard America referred to as "Obamaland" more than once and something along those lines has probably been the first comment of over half the people I meet. We pulled off the road down a rough driveway to a small plot with a small stone house on it. Tina's husband informed me that he'd bought the property and was having the house built then was planning on reselling the property with the house. The house itself was really small, I think four rooms total, and all pretty small rooms at that. It had a great view though, with the mountains in the distance over the foothills on one side (I think the West but I don't really trust my sense of direction here) and the valley stretching out into the plain on the other. It looked straight across the valley at some fields and houses and, especially in the pleasant afternoon sun, seemed to me like the perfect place to sit out and read a book or just sit and admire. What's great about that spot is that it's still less than 30 kilometers from Nairobi. I think you would be hard pressed to find somewhere that scenic and remote less than 20 miles from a major US city. We checked out a house being built on the next plot over by a Nigerian businessman that they considered to be huge. It was more on the order of what you would expect from a standard American house: two floors, maybe 5 or 6 rooms per floor. From the upstairs I think you actually had a better view than from the other house. It was the kind of place I would love to live if I had to work in the city, because it's far enough that you're not in the city but can still get to it easily. In that sense it reminded me of the Bitterroot valley too. We drove around the back roads a little bit after that then headed back to Tina and James' place. We sat around and drank tea and James and I talked about government subsidies for education in the US and Kenya, and I did my best to explain how the American system works, but I'm not sure how well I understand the American system myself when you get into subsidized loans and some of that stuff, so I hope I didn't give him too much bad information. I don't like being the sole expert of all things American because I'm realizing how bad I am at explaining, or even knowing, the particulars of American culture and politics and demographics and structures and what not. On our way back to town I think we may have got the loudest matatu we've had yet, and this one had a TV playing music videos of the songs we were listening to. Junior loved it, and I have to say it was pretty entertaining, but the music was a little loud again (I think the old person comment count is at about 45).