Goodbyes

My last week here in Kenya has been a whirlwind of activity – I have barely had time to process it, much less write it all out in any sort of coherent detail! My mind is a jumble of events; places and people all strung together like colorful beads on a necklace.

I have been rushing to finish my last projects here, gathering up information I need to take back with me, filing folders and trying to tie up all the loose ends. On Friday Leonard and I again went to Marafa, this time to plant a tree. We planted a small young tree that is hardly more than a branch, but it will grow into a big, long lasting tree that will shade the way to the new dormitory. I will have pictures up as soon as I can, but the internet has been rather finicky and I do not want to push it over the edge.

As long and arduous as it is, I really enjoy visiting Marafa. The drive is always beautiful despite being rough and it gives me time just to sit and think. Leonard and I also visited several children who need to be in school, and one of them was several kilometers away from the school. The road was impassible by car, so we took it by foot. Such a beautiful walk in the late afternoon after being jostled around in the car for so long–it was a wonderful break. I was complimented by our guide, who was one of the teachers from the local primary school, on my walking ability. Apparently I am a good walker. I have finally discovered my athletic ability! Excellent. Now if only it were an Olympic sport…

Then Friday night I had my farewell dinner with the Mbonani family and Margaret. They made me a really delicious dinner, with a ton of variety! I had rice, fish, chicken, stew, chapate and greens. It was really too much. It always is. But they gave me several nice presents and I felt very special and honored.

Then today I woke up late (ok, before you think I am lazy, ‘late’ here is 7:30) and went into Malindi with Madame Karo. I still had a few more things I needed to get and finish up. When I finally returned after a whirlwind of a trip I came back and washed a mountain of laundry with the help of the girls at the school. I played around with them for a while, and then Madame Karo taught me how to make chapates, and I helped with the rest of dinner. After dinner, we held our farewell ceremony. Margaret presented me with a beautiful card she had made, two bracelets and a woven basket, and Madame Karo gave me a beautiful laso to add to my small collection. I presented them with the gifts I had bought for them and we sat for a while just chatting and having a good time. It is going to be really difficult to leave, and I am going to miss them a bunch. They have been to kind to let me stay here in their home, and they have been so welcoming. I was able to just slip into their lives for a time, and I felt at home.

Tomorrow is going to be another busy day. I need to somehow figure out how in the world I am going to take everything home with me without anything getting broken or damaged, and pack up my life here in Kenya. I also am going to meet Andy, Kate and their team. They should be arriving sometime tomorrow evening, and we are all really excited to see them. I am sad that I am leaving almost as soon as they get here, but that is just how the timing worked out. Ah, well.

So that is all for now – give the busy schedule the next time I am going to have a chance to blog is probably going to be on the airplane headed to Boston. So unless something spectacular happens, this is my last blog from Kenya. Next stop – Kupenda US!

An Accidental Encounter

Right now it is raining, and by raining I mean torrential downpour that has left people scuttling down the street with bright cloths over their heads in a futile attempt to remain dry. The rain came suddenly – just an hour ago it was sunshiny and lovely, and now dark rainclouds shadow the sky. And already the blue sky is beginning to peek through again. By the time I finish this letter the rain will have stopped, and the only sign of the downpour will be soggy clothes and muddy feet.

Today has been a strange day – the morning began with the single most embarrassing thing that has happened to me in Kenya. As I was on my morning run, dodging children on their way to school, chickens, trash pits, and students sweeping the compound with their brooms made of sticks, I managed to run into a bicycle. One that was moving. With a man on it.

You are probably wondering how I managed to accomplish such a spectacular feat so early in the morning….I was running next to the tarmac road on the dirt path where the children walk and the cows graze. There were students to my right, staring at me as usual while I ran by. I could see a cyclist coming and I veered slightly to the left (onto the tarmac road) so as to avoid running into children, and then veered right again after I passed them. Unfortunately, the cyclist also veered right, and there was a spectacular crash as his front tire hit my left shin.

I fell to the ground, hitting the soft dirt with my palms. I think the man riding the bike managed to jump off, because he was standing by the time I whipped around to apologize profusely. I do not think he understood me. He had this glazed, kind of scared look on his face. It was at that moment I realized I do not know the Kiswahili or Kigiriama word for ‘sorry.’ I flailed for a minute, trying to communicate with him but I think he was in too much shock to comprehend anything. I checked his bike to make sure that it was ok, put my iPod buds back in my ears and kept running.

The children were stunned; I don’t think they quite knew what to make of the whole thing. Neither did I for that matter. But I kept running. By shin did not hurt too bad, and I was only on my first lap. Great.

I have managed until this point to avoid the hundreds of children that flood the school compound every morning, but I somehow could not manage to avoid an old rusty bike.

I have another souvenir from Kenya now – a beautiful swollen bruise in the middle of my left shin. Africa has left its mark on me.

As I predicated, the rain has stopped and the sky is blue. It is time for me to leave the office.

All in a day's work....

This week was an interesting one for me – not quite so busy as last week, but still very full.

Monday morning I began with a running start. Just moments after I got into the office Leonard informed me that he was going to Mombasa, and he wanted to know if I would be willing to come so we could look for filing materials. I quickly agreed, and that remained the plan…. for about 10 minutes. Then, he received a phone call from Madame Karo informing him that there was a hearing for the two boys at Gede who have been accused of rape. (For those who do not know, allegedly, two boys from Gede Special School raped one of their classmates. This happened over a year ago and the trial is still dragging on.) Leonard thought it would be a good idea for me to try to sit in on the hearing because of the policy that I have been working on – I would get to see it in action. I agreed, and soon I was off to Malindi, the opposite direction from Mombasa.

When I arrived at the court, the hearing was just getting out. It had been earlier and much shorter than anyone expected. The court itself was like no court I have ever seen. It was literally a circular courtyard with dirt floors and a collection on plants in the middle. The sky was the ceiling for the centermost area where people sat and milled around, and each individual court was in a small stucco room connected to the others.

I quickly learned that I did not miss much. Essentially all that happened was the magistrate said the boys had something to answer for, and that they needed to present their defense on July 2. While I stood there talking to the people who attended the hearing, a clerk with a small piece of paper came up to us to inform us that the date had been pushed to August 2. Another month! Even though I missed the hearing, I was able to discuss the case with the boys’ lawyer and the court interpreter. I am not sure what I should or should not say, but it is a messy case. A real tragedy for the school. I feel awful for everyone involved. By law, any trial regarding a child is supposed to be expedited, taken care of as quickly as possible. It is clear that is not happening, and everyone is suffering as a result. Especially the children. Such a dark stain on their young lives, dragged over a course of years.

Because the hearing was over so quickly I called Leonard, and we agreed that I still had plenty of time to go to Mombasa. So I got on a mutatu to Mombasa to meet Leonard there. As it turns out, I took the wrong kind of mutatu. I was on a mutatu to Mombasa, but I had not taken an express one, rather, I had taken one that stops for anyone along the road, and that stops and waits for people in the larger town areas. So instead of taking me a little over an hour and a half to get to Mombasa, it took me nearly three hours. And it was quite the ride! As we approached the larger towns, the mutatu would be so full that people would literally be hanging out the rickety sliding door. Then they would all get off and we would wait for more people to come and fill the mutatu and then we would be off again, dodging slow lorries, bicyclists and motorcycles down the undivided and unmarked highway to Mombasa. There are no lanes here in Kenya, at least not on the highways, and even if there were they would be utterly ignored. There is only one rule: don’t hit the vehicle that is coming toward you, or anyone that you are trying to pass.

I successfully met Leonard in Mombasa and we thankfully found what we were looking for, and we headed back to Gede. This ride was a much more peaceful one, as we took a nice express vehicle that did not stop (except for gas) until we reached Gede.

The next day was a quiet one. I spent it putting the new filing system in order and filing all of the children’s paperwork. But Wednesday was a new journey, this time to Marafa.

Leonard and I went to check on the progress of the new dorm that is being put up, as well as fill out some new applications for sponsorship and progress reports. The dorm is progressing really well! We were out there last when Cindy was here about a month ago and there had been a great deal of progress since then. Leonard also had a meeting for the building project, so I went ahead with the head teacher and began to fill out the new application forms for sponsorship. It took us the rest of the morning and into mid-afternoon to complete all the work. It was much more arduous and involved than I expected it to be. For each piece of information it seemed that someone needed to be contacted, or so and so needed to confirm something. Then, one of the girls we were filling out an application form for refused to let us take her picture. Whenever the head teacher tried to take her hand she jerked away, and ran away when we asked her to stand for the picture. She seemed almost frightened, and I felt bad – I did not mean to scare her! It took the head teacher nearly twenty minutes to finally get a decent picture of her.

Trips to Marafa are always more tiring than I expect them to be – even Leonard was falling asleep on the way back!

Thursday and Friday were rather calm days – I spent them typing up the information we gathered in Marafa, updating the Sponsorship Database, editing articles for the newsletter and cross- referencing the newly created files with their digital counterparts to check for any missing or inconsistent information.

Right now I am looking forward to my trip to Malindi tomorrow to do some much needed shopping with some friends I have made here in Kenya. Two of them are teachers at Bambakofi – another NGO run primary school here in Gede.

Two Events

Last week was such a full week that I hardly had time to stop and rest, much less blog. Even as I write this I am exhausted from today’s journey to Marafa, but I would not trade it for anything!

Ah, where to begin….

Friday was the workshop for parents and siblings of children with Down Syndrome at Sir Ali Special School. I was especially excited about this event because it resonated with me personally because I have a little sister with Down Syndrome (I think I forgot to mention that important fact before). It was really wonderful to meet other people who have siblings with Down Syndrome and to hear about the experiences they have had with their siblings. They were a little shy at first, but we ended up having an interesting conversation on the dynamics of having a sibling with Down Syndrome – I especially connected with one of the girls there who was in her mid- twenties.

The event started on what Kenyans fondly call “African time,” meaning that it started an hour late. During that hour I started to get really nervous. Visions of a silent room with me stammering helplessly at the front swam in my head.

Thankfully, the workshop went nothing like that. The participants were engaged from the very beginning, and everyone clapped in encouragement whenever a child with Down Syndrome introduced himself or herself. The support was almost palpable; it was as though everyone in the room realized that irrespective of religion, gender or income level they were all connected in a way that went beyond outward appearances. Even those who did not actively participate in the discussion carefully took down notes on everything we discussed.

We started off the day with everyone together, and then we divided into two groups. The parents went with Madame Farida (a teacher from Mambrui Special School) and the Head Teacher at Sir Ali Special School and Leonard and I were with the siblings. When we all came together at the end, everyone seemed like they had all gotten a lot out of the individual sessions. Leonard did a fantastic job translating everything for me into Kiswahili, and Madame Farida and the Headteacher’s additions to the conversation were really helpful – I was so thankful that they were there and willing to be a part of this event. I really could not have done it without them!

After the workshop, we all had a late lunch together and we had a great time joking and laughing. I was so relieved that the event was a success, even though Samini’s death cast a slight shadow over the event.

The next morning, Leonard I rode the motorcycle to Samini’s funeral. It was a long dusty trip, Leonard zigzagging around water-filled potholes in the dirt road, but we finally arrived. There was already around a hundred people there when we arrived, and by the time the program began there were over five hundred. Leonard said that there can be twice that many at a funeral, but because it was for a young boy there were not as many people. Also, the fact that the funeral was held within days of the boy’s death also made a difference – people who live far away either had not yet heard, or were not going to be able to make the trip on such short notice

When I arrived I was surprised – the whole scene looked more like a party than a funeral. Cheerful Kenyan gospel music was blasting from rented speakers and there were plastic canopies set up with chairs underneath them. The women were all dressed in brightly colored kangas, and the canopy where the casket was placed was decorated with flowers and balloons. It looked like a birthday party.

All of the cheerful decorations provided a sharp contrast to the somber faces of the people, and the occasional wail that could be heard from under the canopy where Samini’s body lay.

The surrounding community was at a standstill – it seemed like everyone was there. As I sat there, waiting for everything to start, the MC came up to Leonard and I, and Leonard informed me that I was supposed to speak. What?! I should have expected it, but naively I had not even thought about it. But there I was, right in the program! Well, not my name exactly -- I was listed as “Sponsor 2” right after Leonard. So I spoke, gave condolences to the family on behalf of Kupenda, and sat down, heart pounding.

The funeral lasted for hours, with a long list of people speaking, giving condolences, telling stories, and preaching sermons. I tried to appreciate it as much as I could, even though I understood very little of it. When everyone was finished speaking, it was time for the last viewing of the body. Every person was to circulate past the casket and drop any contributions they had into a hand-woven basket that sat perched atop the coffin. As I went around, I saw the mother and as I stepped to greet her, she opened her arms to me. The next thing I knew, I was in the arms of Samini’s mother while she wailed in her grief. All I could do was gently rock her and give her words of condolence – I was helpless in the face of her grief.

Kenyans are far more demonstrative in grieving than any Americans I have ever seen. All of their sadness was right there, in front of me. There was no dodging or avoiding eyes, no insipid words that can never really encompass the pain that the family feels. Only the sharp, loud cry of human pain.

A sound of loss, of grief, of Africa.

A Lesson

Wednesday while Leonard and I were discussing the sibling workshop, he received a call. It is typical for him, and for all Kenyans for that matter, to answer their phones regardless of time or place. So I did not pay too much attention until I looked up from my notes to see a surprised look on his face. He informed me that he had just received news that Samini Omar, a boy Kupenda sponsors had passed away. He was deaf, but did not have any other medical complications as far as any one knew. A boy nearly my age, gone for no apparent reason. I was shocked – How does one respond to such news?

The next day I went to Samini Charo’s home with Leonard and Reverend Mangi to offer condolences and support. A large number of people had already gathered at the family’s home and the looked quizzically at us as we arrived. I am sure the last thing they expected was to see a muzungu. The women were grouped around the mother, sitting on thin woven mats made of palm branches in the shade of the mud house and coconut trees. Just a few feet from the house there was a group of young men digging the boy’s grave from the red Kenyan soil. They dug for the whole time I was there, alternating. Hacking at the soil with a machete and then digging it out with shovels. There was another group of older men sitting as well who sat on rickety wooden stools, talking.

I was seated near Leonard and Reverand Mangi with the group of older men, on a chair made of sticks - the only chair in sight. I listened as Leonard talked with the boy’s father. Occasionally Leonard would explain to me what was going on, but for the most part I was completely clueless. Helpless in the face of the family’s grief. There was nothing I could do. None of the people there spoke English, so I was isolated by language. I had to rely on a the few scraps of information that Leonard related to me. What I learned was even more saddening than I expected. It turns out the boy was also born with a heart condition that he was treated for as a boy. He was given some medication, and had improved to the point where he seemed fine. So he stopped taking his medication and his parents never mentioned the problem to Kupenda or any of the boy’s teachers. I later spoke with Madame Karo about it, and she said that in the four years she taught him, neither he nor his parents discussed any heart problems.

At one point during the discussion, Leonard and Reverand Mangi got up to discuss something away from the group of men we were sitting with. One of them busied himself with weaving a basket, and another prepared the leaves for him to weave together. I watched him for a while, glancing at the women who sat grouped together. One was having her hair braided by another, several of them were caring for their young children, and the others were sitting with the mother passing around a small purple book.

I went to go join the women. I found a space on one of the woven mats and motioned to the women nearest to me asking if I could sit there. So I sat there, and the women around me laughed a little at my uncertainty. It felt strange to laugh in such a context. Then, I made eye contact with the mother. The look in her eyes was curious and inviting, so I went over to her and greeted her. She offered me a place on the mat next to her. Through a mixture of broken Swahili and motions I managed to introduce myself, and she introduced her self to me. She pointed out her daughters. When the small purple book came near to me I realized what it was – a small picture album with pictures of the boy. Maybe fifteen pictures. That is all they had left. The mother showed me all of them, pointing out the boy in each one. He seemed happy and healthy, just like all the others I see every day at Gede.

We did not try to talk too much; I just sat there with her. When another woman would come to greet the mother, all the women would begin to wail and the newcomer would echo her cries of pain. So different from an American condolence. There really are not words to describe that kind of grief. Only a wail of pain. I did not need to speak Swahili in order to comfort the mother. In fact no one hardly spoke at all to each other. We all were there just to be with the family, so they were not alone.
And the gravediggers kept digging. I could hear their shovels clang as they heaved the soil from the ground. A rich red, like no soil I have ever seen before coming to Africa.

Reverend Magi got up to say a few words, and though I could hardly understand a word he said, I echoed the ‘amens,’ and that was enough.

After Leonard spoke a bit we left the family, to go back down the bumpy dirt road to Malindi. Tomorrow I will head back down the same road to attend the boy’s funeral.

Communion and Community

Right now I am sitting in Madame Karo’s living room watching her daughter Margaret un-braid her thick black air with a comb. In a little while we are going to head to Malindi to go to the beach -- it is a beautiful Sunday afternoon here on the coast, warm and humid as always but with a nice breeze that lifts my hair, cooling the nape of my neck.

I just got back from church at St. James Anglican Church, which is situated right here on the school compound. I took communion for the first time here in Kenya, and I did not realize how much I had missed it until I took the wafer into my hand. I missed this sacramental connection to the community of Christians, the physical representation of my presence in the body of Christ. I began to miss the church I left in MA, the church were I was first introduced to the beauty of traditional liturgy and (gasp) taking real wine for communion!

But then I realized how wonderful it is to be taking communion here in Africa, another side, another picture of the worldwide community of believers. As I knelt down to accept the elements I thanked God for my opportunity to be here, the opportunity to worship in a simple grey-stone church with a tin roof, open to the wind and the smell of African mothers cooking Sunday lunch.

There is so much to see here – and everything is fascinating. The mosque that I pass every day on my way to the office, the Masai people who walk around in their traditional bright red clothing, the tiny shops (kiosks) that line the asphalt/ dirt road that runs through the center of town, the brooms made of dry sticks, traditional Kenyan dishes like ugali, the sign language that the deaf children speak here at the school, the rickety mutatus and tuk tuks that barrel down the road (the real mystery is how in the world they still run), the woven baskets that hang from the shops ….oh the list goes on an on!

One of the most interesting things are the long pieces of bright cloth that women tie around their waists, which have Kiswahili phrases written along the bottom. Apparently women will buy them not only for the pattern but also for the message so that they can talk to the other members of the community through their skirts. So if a woman is angry with her neighbors, she might buy one that has some rather nasty message on it so that she can send a passive aggressive signal…. It is the Kenyan way.

I find this extremely amusing, but I had to be careful when I bought one to make sure that I did not say anything nasty or rude!

On a completely different note, the work that I am doing here is really exciting an interesting. I have already gone through several books on Kenyan disability policy and made an outline for the handbook of rights that I am writing for people with disabilities and their parents I now need to go back into my notes, paginate everything and make sure that I have cited the sections correctly. The next step is to go into the court records to actually see how this policy is being carried out.

That is just one of my projects, I have several others!

I have also been updating the Child Sponsorship database with new children/ information, and then doing some number crunching based on the data we have there so far. During my time here I will hopefully be filling up some of the gaps in the information. It is really hard to gather information here because communication and travel are so difficult.

I am also reorganizing the way that all of the information is filed here to make it more efficient.

I am also going through the research that a university student did her last summer on the attitudes of parents towards their children with disabilities. She did a really good job qualitatively analyzing the interviews she did with the parents, but I am now trying to break it all down into an excel spreadsheet so that we can quantify the results of her research and use them for Kupenda’s own files. Reading all the stories that were told during the interviews is interesting, as is the fact that a good number of them attribute their child's disability to witchcraft or evil spirits. I have not finished going through them all yet, so I don't know exactly how many of them think this, but I think it is an interesting cultural attribute.

My final big project has been planning a sibling awareness day -- we are holding an event next Saturday for a small group of siblings and parents of children with Down Syndrome (about 30 people in total) to discuss what Down Syndrome is (many of them do not even know what it is at all), what people with Down Syndrome are capable of, and how to address the challenges that go along with having a sibling with Down Syndrome. We invited the parents because we did not think they would let their children go by themselves, and it is important for parents to be involved as well. The overall hope is to actually create support groups for siblings of children with all types of special needs, and to hold events like this one for family members of people with different types of special needs, but this is kind of a pilot project for that. Kupenda has held disability awareness days in the past, but they have never focused on addressing a specific disability, or tried to reach out to siblings. So I am really excited for that! This work is especially important to me because I have a sister with Down Syndrome, and I am excited (and nervous) to share my experience with siblings here in Kenya.

I have also been working on some other minor projects, like writing a story for this month's newsletter, writing a scholarship application for Kupenda supported children who would like to get a degree from a vocational school and a few other little things like that. Those kinds of things crop up every once in a while and I like working on those as well!

I really enjoy it all, and it is challenging in a very pleasant way. It is much different than school work, more hands on and applicable. I can see the people I am talking and writing about every day! It really keeps me motivated. Like the communion I took this morning, in my work I am participating in a different side of humanity -- the same humanity that lives and breathes in America, fleshed out differently and placed in a different context.

Thoughts and Impressions

The deep musky smell of a mosquito coil fills my small yellow room, as the wisps of smoke curl around my fingers. I like the smell, because to me it smells like incense. It is by far better than the nasty smelling bug spray they sell in the shops that line the street. Every time I spray it and I breathe it in, I am sure I am breathing in some noxious fume that slowly kills me. Ok, I know that sounds dramatic, but I seriously think I lose brain cells whenever I get a good sniff of the stuff.

Tonight is my first night with electric light in my room. I have had electricity, but up to this point there has been something wrong with the light socket in my room. The electrician finally came today and fixed it. Being without light has been an interesting experience, almost like camping in a house. I had my headlamp ready with me every night in case I needed to find something; otherwise I was surrounded by complete blackness. The good thing was I went to bed very early, and I would wake up at the very start of the day.

Every morning a rooster wakes me up literally at the break of dawn, and shortly thereafter I can hear the Muezzin from the loudspeaker in the minaret calling the Muslims to their morning prayers. Madame Caro’s house and the school are situated just down the street from a mosque. I doze for a little while, listening to the sounds of the morning. The children waking up for school and moving around, mothers beginning to gather their clothes from the laundry lines next to my window.

The school compound is like nothing I expected. When I hear the word ‘compound’ I think of concrete, barbed wire and a guard shack. We have all three I suppose, but it is not nearly as austere an atmosphere as I imagined. There is a short barbed wire fence that surrounds the whole property, but it is a large plot of land that has a warm, inviting atmosphere. On it there are two schools, a church, some mud houses with straw roofs, some brick houses with tin roofs like the one I am staying in, and a two separate large fields where the children play. There is a guard at the gate of the school, but whenever I see him he is stretched out on his chair in the shade, sometimes even sleeping there to escape the hot African sun.

And the whole place is full of children, especially in the school where I stay because many of them board here. Every morning when I leave for work and in the afternoon when I return they greet me with smiles. I raise my two hands to greet them in the sign for ‘hello’ and the put both thumbs up, which means that I am doing well. And in when I return for the day they always run to help me carry my bag back to Madame Karo’s house, even the ones in wheelchairs vie to take my bag for me. They are very kind, especially the older ones. They almost operate as a family, the older ones caring for the younger ones and all of them caring for the others who have cerebral palsy or another form of physical handicap. Sure they squabble and push one another out of the way, but that is typical sibling rivalry at work.

And they help me with my laundry too. I have never before washed my clothes by hand, and they tried to teach me the technique, but I failed miserably. They gave up on me, laughing, and used sign motions to indicate that I needed to stay out of it and just let them work. So I decided to take pictures of them while they did. Pictures mean a lot to them, which is understandable because they are only able to interact and communicate with the outside world with their eyes. Vision is everything to them, and they notice just about everything. And I love the ability to show them pictures, to type out what it is I am trying to say and have them teach me what to say in sign. I only wish I had more time to devote to it. I wish I had more time in general.

When it comes to time everyone is poor. Some might be wealthier than others, but there is really no way to know. There is only to live. Right now. It is to feel the sun and dust brush across my skin as I walk to the office. To taste the baobab candies with the red dye staining my fingers and mouth, and to say ‘jambo’ to everyone I pass.

I wish I could write Gede, capture the way it feels and the way it looks, but my words are too poor and everything would seem shabby and recede into something it is not.