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.
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