Tim in Kenya

Coming Home!...but one last adventure!

2007-12-08T09:44:00.001+03:00

This year has truly been the experience of a lifetime!

On Monday the staff, parents, and children came together one last time this year to celebrate World Disability Day before closing for the Christmas break. Thursday was my last day of work at the St. Julie Centre and I spent it taking inventory of over two-hundred store-bought and hand-made toys. On Friday I packed and cleaned the house and through a heavy rain storm rushed off to Nairobi where I will celebrate with the Sisters one last time. A new Sister of Notre Dame will be giving her final vows today.

Lastly, I will prepare for my journey home. But just before I will have time for one last adventure. I have sold my laptop in Nairobi and will use the funds to travel for two weeks in Egypt. I have booked a tour to see the pyramids and various temples, but also I plan to climb Mt. Sinai to see the ancient St. Katherine’s Monastery to see what is claimed to be the actual burning bush seen by Moses in the Book of Exodus. As they say, one journey’s end is another’s beginning.

I am leaving Nairobi for Cairo on December 9th and will return on December 22nd. Then I will fly out of Nairobi on December 23rd and should be in Detroit on Christmas Eve. I’m sure it will be hectic, but it will ve good to be home for Christmas.

I will not have internet access for at least two weeks, but I still have more stories to tell and pictures to show. Last month I had the opportunity to visit the Shrine of the Uganda Martyrs in Uganda. So please look forward to continued updates on my blog even after I have returned. Please look forward to stories from Tim in Uganda and Tim in Egypt.

Thank you again for all of your support with my mission and may God Bless you all!

Much Love,

Tim

Happy Thankgiving!

2007-11-22T23:55:00.001+03:00

Turkey Dinner?

Unfortunately Kenya does not celebrate Thanksgiving Day, like in the States, and so I had to work, as if it were any other Thursday. As I came into the St. Julie Centre I wished all of the Kenyan staff members a, “Happy Thanksgiving!” To which they replied, “What?!?” When I greeted some of the American Sisters of Notre Dame in the same way, they replied, “Oh yeah!, Is that today?” Many of them have been in Kenya for so many years that they don’t even think about it anymore. And so it seemed that I would have to celebrate on my own..

Roast Beef?

That evening, I gave thanks and ate my fill of all the sukuma wiki (kale) and rice I had in my kitchen, but ironically St. Teresa Parish grounds are always full of animals that would be perfect for any Thanksgiving feast. Everyday, my backyard is literally filled with cows, goats, sheep, pigs, ducks, chickens, and of course, two very fat turkeys. And so as I sat and ate my greens and rice I couldn’t help but think of what I could be eating had I been better prepared.

Pork Chop?

One story of thanksgiving that came to mind was that of Marcelline, one of my volunteers at the Centre. As the year is quickly coming to an end it has been my job, as Volunteer Supervisor, to evaluate each of the volunteers on their performance and then allow them to give us any feedback regarding the programme. As I worked my way through the volunteers, evaluating one after another, some of them seemed to lose sight of what it meant to be a volunteer. One volunteer, after I had given her a good evaluation asked, “Now why can’t you pay me?” But it was when I came to evaluate Marcelline, truly one of my best volunteers, that I was pleasantly surprised. I told her that she comes to work on time and always does her job well. I told her that she really seems to enjoy helping the disabled children because she always works with a smile. I thanked her for her year of volunteer service and asked if she had anything to say. And all she said were these two words, “I’m grateful.”

Mutton?

And so on Thanksgiving I thought about Marcelline and the words that she said to me. I want to thank my family, friends, and all of those that have supported me back home. I want to thank all of those that are here with me in Kenya, the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur, my fellow volunteers, all of those at the St. Julie Centre for Disabled Children, and St. Teresa Parish.

“I’m truly grateful.”

Don't even think about it!

Malava Kids

2007-11-16T22:29:00.000+03:00

Kids gather on the road for a "snap"

My house at St. Teresa Parish is constantly surrounded by kids. They use the footpath from the church to the hall and as they pass my house they stand at my gate and call me. “How are you Timoth!” That’s what they call me, Timoth. They don’t pronounce the “y.”

Kids at my gate

When I first came to Malava many of the children were very shy and would smile and hide their faces while others were afraid of me. Now that they have seen me around for many months they greet me on the road and come to the gate at my house all the time. When they greet me I respond, “I’m fine.” Then the small ones repeat over and over again, “How are you?”, “How are you?”, “How are you?” The older ones say, “Give me twenty bob! (shillings)” or “Mbekho Iswiti!” (Give me sweets) in their tribal language.

Stephen shows off his new lamb

Many months ago I was very courteous with these children and would answer, “I’m fine” over and over or would say, “I’m sorry I don’t have any money or sweets.” But now since I have seen them around for many months, I simply say, “I’m fine” only once and “No!”

Gathering firewood or cooking

They come on the weekends and watch me through my gate while I am doing my laundry or sweeping the courtyard. They always want to help me, but I never encourage them because I think it’s important that I do my own work, but also because they will expect payment and then when the word gets out more and more children will come for money and sweets.

Eunice climbs the trees by my house

Malava kids are cute and fun to be around, but they certainly don’t allow me much privacy. When I am reading on my bed they come to my bedroom window. When I am preparing food in the kitchen they come to the kitchen window. Some days when I just want to listen to music on my iPod out in my courtyard they will poke their heads through the wide bars on my gate. Many times they want something from me other times they just come to stare.

Rope swing

When I really just want to be alone many times I must go in the house with the door close and the curtains drawn. This is when the smallest of the children will climb through the bars of my gate and will run and play with my camp shower lying on the patio just outside. They will call my name for me to let them in the house, but I know better and will ignore them for ten minutes until they go.

Malcolm's homemade soccerball

When I’ve told them “no” enough times we get alone very well. A group of nearly twenty children, girls and boys, come to the parish hall on Saturdays to learn how to be liturgical dancers for the Sunday mass. They have asked me to join their group many times, but having been born with two left feet, I unfortunately declined. They dance and sing for me and even teach me songs in Swahili.

The latest model made out of bicycle spokes

They are truly amazed by the color of my skin and the hair on my arms. I keep the hair on my head pretty short so it tends to look really straight and so they are always wondering if I use chemicals to get it that way.

Just hangin' around

When I walk to the Sister’s house to work in the afternoons I am greeted by children herding cattle, gathering firewood, and carrying milk and fruit to the market. But perhaps the most amazing thing about these kids, besides the fact that they always smiling and cheerful despite how little they have, is their talent for making their own games and toys. While kids in the States might occupy themselves with television and videogames, Malava kids occupy themselves with what is available. They can make a soccer ball out of plastic bags or a toy truck out of bicycle spokes, an inner-tube, and lids from plastic bottles. Some can make a jump rope from a vine, or a swing from a tree branch, while others will make up their own games with marbles and bottles caps. These games and toys are not fancy or high-tech, but are in many ways more impressive, but even more so are the kids that make them.

St. Julie Centre - Week 40

2007-11-05T22:22:00.000+03:00

A mother holds her son as he gets two plaster casts on both legs

At the St. Julie Centre, a few of our staff members have returned from their scheduled leaves and now it seems that we have a full staff again. Angela has returned from her maternity leave and the staff, last Friday, went to visit her in her home to see her new baby boy for the first time. Novice Joy, who had worked at the Centre as a volunteer earlier in the year, took her vows as a Sister of Notre Dame in August. She has returned to the Centre, now as Sister Joy, and also as a new staff member. Neto, a student volunteer has been able to continue his classes locally, instead of in Nairobi, and has been able to stay on as part of the staff. During the months when it seemed like the staff was dwindling away there were a few days when the Centre was being run by only two or three people and everybody had to be strong and fill in for those on leave to keep it going, but now the staff members are all in their respective roles and things are once again running smoothly.

David prepares a cast for the left leg

The St. Julie Centre is open for therapy Monday through Thursday and each client typically comes once a week. While the day on which any client comes is based simply on their availability, not on the disability of the child, Tuesday is somewhat of an exception. Tuesday is the day on which the children with clubfoot come for plaster and many times it is the busiest day of the week.

Mama Javan shows her son's left clubfoot

Clubfoot is a disability that a child is born with in which one or both feet are unnaturally curved down and inward. A clubfoot generally looks like it has an extremely high arch. A child that suffers from clubfoot typically has trouble placing his or her foot flat on the ground when they are walking.

A mother and father remove an old plaster cast

The good news about clubfoot is that if it is diagnosed early it can be treated without surgery. This is done so by putting a plaster cast on the foot while it is still growing. The cast will slowly straighten the foot before the bones have fully developed. In many cases, a child with clubfoot can make a complete recovery from their disability.

A mother plays with her child after the casts have been set

On Tuesdays, there is fear in the air for the children that I see for play therapy. Each child that I engaged in a play activity is continually distracted by the screaming, shouts, and crying coming from the occupational therapy room. This is where the therapists are twisting the feet of the children with clubfoot in order to set the plaster casts that hold them straight. Once the cast is set it is usually not painful, but before the plaster hardens, the foot must be held in an uncomfortable position. One by one the children go in and come out with tears in their eyes. While there are still some cases that are not coming for plaster on this day, all of the children are struck with fear when the occupational therapist opens the door and calls, “next.”

The last volunteer meeting of the year

In October, I had my last volunteer meeting of the year. We began on a somber note by praying for the eight children that have died this year. Two children had died since our last meeting, Emmanuel who suffered from hydrocephalus andspina bifida and Bernard who suffered from cerebral palsy. As usual I spoke to the play therapy volunteers about keeping up with their duties and gave them some advice on how some things could be done more effectively. Then we shared our stories about some of the children from the past couple of months at the Centre. But it was when I told them the news that in December I would be leaving that I really knew how they felt about me. I thanked them for their service and told them that I enjoyed my time working with them, but I also said that I would soon have to go and that there would be other volunteers coming in January. They very graciously told me that they really enjoyed me as their supervisor and really wished that I could stay longer. It was when they told me this that I remembered that they said the same thing to Cindy, the volunteer supervisor last year, before she left.

Emmanuel suffered from hydrocephalus and spina bifida

Bernard suffered from cerebral palsy

When I began the position as play therapy supervisor back in January and I kept hearing how much they liked Cindy as their supervisor the year before and I wasn’t sure that I would ever be able to fill her shoes. I was told that when they heard that a man was coming to take her place, the volunteers were all very concerned because they thought that Cindy, as a woman, knew them so well. But what I’ve come to see in these last few months, is that the staff and I have also worked very well together and that they will also be sad to see me go. We have developed our own relationship with each other and in many ways it will be tough for me to leave. I struggled in the beginning to carry on what she started, but in the end, I now realize that I didn’t need to be like Cindy, I just needed to be myself.

We are quickly coming to December and there is still so much to do before then. On December 3rd the Centre will be celebrating World Disability Day. It will be an opportunity to create some awareness of disabilities in this community and help to remove the shame for which sometimes they are hidden away or seen as outcasts. It will also be a last farewell for me to those parents, children, and staff members with which I have spent this blessed year.

Kenyan Funeral (Feast of All Souls')

2007-11-02T00:21:00.000+03:00

Burial at the homestead

If there is one thing that I have learned this year in Kenya, it’s that life is fragile. The combined deaths of the children at the St. Julie Centre along with those of the families of the staff members this year are more than I have experienced over my entire lifetime back home in the States. To die may be more a part of life, here in Africa, than any other place on earth. And so it was on the Feast of All Souls that we remembered those that have died this year in our prayers that God may raise their souls with Him to Heaven.

Prayers at David's home

Last month, Rose, the wife of David, the head occupational therapist, passed away leaving behind her husband and their three-year-old daughter. Her death came as a shock to all as she was only thirty-two years old and it was not known that she was seriously ill at the time. She died at a nearby hospital due to a reaction to intense anti-malaria treatment. The funeral was held at David’s home in Malava and the burial at his parent’s home on Saturday, October 27th. Rose was a nurse by profession and so along with her family and many friends, many of her fellow nurses were in attendance. The St. Julie Centre staff members also came to offer their condolences.

Many attend the funeral at David's parent's home

While it is only proper to provide for the visitors to one’s home, a funeral can be a very busy time for a Kenyan family. Something to eat must be offered to each of the many guests and so it is normal to slaughter many animals on the day of a funeral. While, in the States, a funeral can be a small private affair with only the closest of friends and family, in Kenya, hundreds can be in attendance. Sometimes it can take an entire village to bury somebody.

The burial procession

At the funeral and burial services, some people, especially women, can be very emotional and can throw themselves upon the casket wailing loudly and crying out. A funeral can last several hours as traditional religious songs are sung and many friends and family, one by one, tell the story of how they came to hear of the death. Some may also tell stories of spiritual signs they have seen and experienced regarding the person who has died. Lastly, a history is told aloud and all rise and begin the burial procession.

A Kenyan funeral is a beautiful service of song and prayer in celebration of a person's life such that if they were able to look down upon it from above there would be no doubt indeed, they were loved and will be greatly missed.

After the casket is buried at the family homestead all prepare for their long journey home.
And life goes on…

For Rose, the children at the St. Julie Centre, and all those who have died this year...

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. Amen.

Feast of All Saints

2007-11-01T00:37:00.000+03:00

While Halloween is not celebrated in Kenya, the Catholics do, of course, celebrate the Feast of All Saints. Before I left the States my friend JP gave me a copy of a book titled, The Saints Show Us Christ, by Rawley Myers. It is a book that gives daily readings on the spiritual lives of the saints. While I am no saint, on this feast I remembered some of the saints that I have learned about, admired, and sought the intercession of this year.

St. Julie Billiart represents my mission in Kenya working with disabled children and adults through therapy, treatment, and education.

St. Julie Billiart (1751 - 1816) is the foundress of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. She was born the fifth of seven children in Cuvilly, France. As a child she liked to play “school,” but when she was sixteen, to help support her family, she began teaching for real the stories of the bible. She carried this mission of education with her the rest of her life. A parish priest, recognizing that she was something special secretly allowed her to make her First Communion at the age of nine, instead of the usual age of thirteen. When a murder attempt was made on her father’s life it shocked her nervous system so badly that she became completely paralyzed and was confined to a wheelchair. During the French Revolution she offered her home as a hiding place for priests, but because of this she became hunted as well. She had to flee five times in three years to avoid involving her friends that allowed her a place to hide. In 1803, she began living a religious life and was miraculously cured from her illness and began walking again after twenty-two years. In 1805, she took her final vows to the congregation and was elected Mother of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. In 1815, she nursed the wounded of the Battle of Waterloo and fed the starving as her own health began to worsen. She died peacefully on April 8, 1816 at the age of 64.

Saint Philip Neri keeps my sense of humor alive when my mood becomes too serious.

Saint Philip Neri(1515-1595), a resident of Rome, was known for his love of humor. His many jokes and pranks were usually at his own expense, in a humbling manor. On one occasion he shaved off half of his beard and danced through the streets of Rome before attending a ceremony held his honor. St. Philip lived in the 16th century, in a troubling time for the Catholic church, but in he responded by forming an Order of priests called the Oratorians. The Oratorians were called so because they met in an oratory to pray. They were known for reaching out to the ordinary people of Rome. One time, while in deep prayer, his heart grew to the size of a fist. While he never complained of any pain, when he died 50 years later, an autopsy showed that two of his ribs were broken and fused together in an arch to accommodate his unusually large heart. He invited friends to his room where he lived, and when they arrived expecting to see a saint, he sat wearing a small hat and big shoes, reading a book of jokes. Saint Philip was loved by a succession of Popes, but out of humbleness he resisted their attempts to make him a Cardinal. When one Pope sent him a red Cardinal’s hat as a sign of respect he played with it and used it as a football.

St. Ignatius Loyala keeps me strong when I feel weak and reminds me to be charitable.

Saint Ignatius Loyola (1491-1556) was a Spanish soldier that founded the Jesuits. He was one of the defenders of Pamplona against the French. Not willing to surrender during the battle, his right leg was hit by a cannon ball, which completely shattered the bone, while his left leg was hit by falling masonry. He was sent to a hospital in great pain. As the hours in his sickbed went by slowly, he began to read of the lives of Christ and the saints. Saint Ignatius had tremendous courage and endured the pain of having the bones of his leg set without complaint. After the operation, when it was found that a piece of his bone still protruded, he insisted on having a doctor saw it away as he suffered the agony. When his legs healed he started on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He gave away his possessions and begged for food as he stopped in the town of Manresa, where he lived at a monastery with Dominican friars. He retreated to a cave at some nearby cliffs to pray and to meditate. It is during this time that he began to contemplate the religious life and the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits. He later wrote The Spiritual Exercises, which is considered by many to be a masterpiece.

The Prayer of St. Ignatius Loyola

Take, O Lord, and receive my entire memory, my understanding, and my whole will. All that I am and all that I possess You have given me: I surrender it all to Your love and Your grace; with these I will be rich enough and will desire nothing more. Amen.

Malava Village

2007-10-27T00:00:00.000+03:00

Malava villagers gather around for a Tangawizi tea promotion

Malava is such a small village in Kenya that it doesn’t appear on most maps, but for it’s size there is surprisingly a lot going on. When I wake up in the morning it is not to the startling sound of a buzzing alarm clock, but rather the friendly sounds of the countryside. My rooster crows from the courtyard, a cow moos from the field behind my house, and a tractor drives by in the distance. For a moment, as I come out of my dream, I could be in any small town in America, but then I hear the sounds of people. The people walk by my house on a narrow footpath to the church and I hear them talking back and forth to each other. Their voices are familiar, but the language they speak can’t be understood. They are speaking Kiluyha (KEE-LOO-YAH), the language of the local tribe, the Luyha (LOO-YAH) tribe. “Oh yeah,” I remind myself, as I open my eyes and yawn, “I’m in Kenya.”

Men sell chickens from a basket on their bicycle

On my way to the St. Julie Centre on Wednesday’s mornings, just before I cross the main tarmac road, I walk through numerous vendors selling chickens from baskets on the backs of their bicycles. The chicken’s legs are tied so they won’t run away and many of them cry out and flap their wings desperately as they are held upside down. Some are also lying in piles on the ground and I look them over briefly as I walk by. I try not to look too long or I will be hounded by the vendor to purchase one. I think to myself, I am probably the only person in all of Kenya that keeps chickens for a pets.

The Posho Mill is used to grind maize into flour

This boy heads for the market to sell greens

As I cross the road, matatus are quickly stopping to let the passengers off while others are scrambling to get on. There is always a long line of boda bodas (bicycle taxis) on this road. They call out to me as I walk passed, offering to take me to work by bicycle for only 10 Ksh ($0.07). Close by there is a place where bicycle mechanics are hard at work. I wave to them and continue on my way. Some villagers are carrying small baskets or large heavy sacks of maize to the posho (POH-SHOW) mill. The posho mill is a place to bring dried maize to be ground by a machine into flour for making ugali. Ugali is the main food of many Kenyans and so the posho mill is a busy place that does a lot of business. For 4 Ksh ($0.03), one gorogoro (coffee can) of maize can be ground into flour. Other villagers walk barefoot along the rough dirt roads carrying baskets of fruit on their heads to the market to sell. Some also carry jugs of milk or bushels of greens.

Malava kiosk

Barber shop and music store

Babadogo Discount Shop

To my right I pass a number of kiosks (wood stands selling fruit and other items) and Malava’s only music store, which most of the time functions as a kinyozi (barbershop). To my left I pass the Babadogo Discount Shop which sells soda, bread, milk, eggs, sugar, margarine, matches, batteries, padlocks, brooms, and more. Both advertise that mobile charging and prepaid phone cards are available. While most villagers do not have electricity in their homes, many own mobile phones and come to the shops to buy airtime and pay to have their phones charged.

A poor man in Malava

On my way to work, many days I see at least one mentally ill man or woman that looks so much poorer than all of the rest of the villagers. In general, the people of Malava are poor, but because they all live at about the same standard, only the incredibly poor stand out. These people appear to be homeless and wear dirty, tattered clothes with many odds and ends stuck into the pockets. One woman walks through the marketplace topless and dances to the music on a radio while one man talks nonsense to anyone who passes by. They have become a nuisance to some, but never to me. They both always greet me kindly when I see them on the road.

Fried tilapia

This man sells roasted maize by the roadside

On the weekends there is always something happening. On Fridays the main attraction is the new Malava market. The original market along the tarmac was moved to a nearby location just up the road from the St. Julie Centre. This new location has a brick and concrete enclosure that provides shelter from the traffic, sun, and rain. It also offers clean latrines and showers for only 10 Ksh ($0.07). But most villagers save their money by showering from a bucket at home and use the bushes and trees for a “short call” (nature’s call #1). Since most people in Malava do not own televisions, sometimes on market day a large food company will send a promotional team to entertain the crowd in order to advertise it’s products. The Tangawizi tea company team comes in a bus that converts into a stage. They set up a sound system and play music and dance for the crowd. On the roadside, people are selling fried tilapia and roasted maize. They always ask me if I would like to buy either of them, but unfortunately I do not care for fish and the roasted maize is too hard for me to eat.

Villagers dance at the crusade

On Saturdays and Sundays nearly all of the many churches in Malava are active. While St. Teresa is the only Catholic parish, there are many Protestant churches. The more prominent ones are the African Church of the Holy Spirit, the Friends Church, and the Salvation Army Church. One Pentecostal church sets up a stage for a crusade. They sing gospel songs and dance while they invite the villagers to join in. Between performances a charismatic preacher shouts into a microphone giving them the hard gospel message. The preacher’s voice can be heard clearly from my house, but because I cannot understand what he is saying his forceful tone only makes me laugh. To me his strong voice sounds like he is challenging someone to a wrestling match.

The New Honey Drops Hotel

Malava Supermarket

The trees in Malava forest are home to monkeys and baboons

On the weekends I go early to the New Honey Drops Hotel for mandazi and stop off at the Malava Supermarket for milk to make chai tea. I usually spend the morning in the house, but in the afternoons I may take a walk up passed the landmark Total station to the Malava forest. The Malava forest has many interesting species of trees that are inhabited by monkeys and baboons. The monkeys usually remain in trees, but the baboons will walk along the roadside with the people. Sometimes they will chase a woman carrying a basket of fruit on her head. They are normally harmless animals, but I am told when one of them feels threatened they will all come together and can viciously attack.

The Imax Cinema

On my way back from the forest I pass the Imax Cinema to see what is showing. A chalkboard outside lists a schedule for what is playing. Usually there are Nigerian movies during the day, but in the evening the schedule is full of English Premier soccer matches. Unlike in the United States where “Imax” means stadium seating, digital theatre sound, and an eight-story screen, in Malava “Imax” means a 19-inch color TV, no remote.

The Wornder Kutz Kinyozi (barber)

Before I head home I stop at the Wornder Kutz Kinyozi (barber) for a hair cut. I believe the sign is supposed to say “Wonder Kutz” but because many of the older villagers cannot read, spelling is not important. Most Kenyans do not use scissors to cut hair, they simply use electric clippers to shave their heads clean. And because there is not much technique involved most barbers learn on the job. The barber shaves my head, but I am careful to give instructions for him to leave a little stubble. When he is finished he wipes the back of my neck with a brush made of animal fur and I pay him 10 Ksh. As I leave I again look up at the sign and think, “I pay for the haircut, but the laughs are free.” This, of all, is how I have chosen my barber.

When I reach home the evening is beginning to set in and I am thinking about what to make for dinner. I fetch some water and cook some rice and look out at a picture perfect sunset. It is the perfect ending to another enjoyable day in my small village of Malava.

A picture perfect sunset

The Kenyan Homestead

2007-10-25T23:45:00.000+03:00

In the village of Malava, I live very close to the marketplace where there are many shops, small buildings, and even some homes made out of cement and bricks, but if I walk only a few minutes in any direction I can see mud huts all around. A group of mud huts together make up the traditional Kenyan Homestead. In Swahili, the homestead is called the bomas.

In the village of Malava mud huts are all around!

A typical mud hut in Malava

The traditional Kenyan homestead is typically is made up of many mud huts built close together and occupied by many generations of the same family all living together. It is very common for a man and a woman to live on the same land as their children and grandchildren all at the same time.

A local Malava Homestead

Some Kenyans practice the tradition of polygamy. In those families, each wife is given her own hut, but it is the hut of the man’s first wife that is always the largest of them. When the children grow old enough to be considered men and women they are each given their own hut as well. Then when the men get married they will bring their wife to live at the homestead, while the women will move away to live at the homestead of their husband.

This small hut is used for storing maize and other grains

The average mud hut is not very large and only contains two or three small rooms and so separate huts are built for the kitchen and the latrine. In addition to these huts other mud structures are also built for keeping animals and storing grain.

This interesting variation is covered completely with grass thatch

Each tribe of Kenya uses a different style of building and huts across the country can have a lot of variation. The huts from the Luyha (LOO-YUH) tribe around Malava are made in several stages. First the land is cleared and a foundation of mud is formed. This foundation also serves as the inside floor of the hut. Then walls are built up around the floor out of tree limbs and sticks. Afterwards the limbs and sticks are covered with several layers of mud and left to dry in the sun. Square and rectangular holes are cut in the walls to serve as windows and are fitted with small wooded shutters. When the mud walls are finished a cone-shaped roof is constructed of wood limbs and finally covered on top with grass thatch.

This modern hut uses cement instead of mud

The mud that is used to build the floor and the walls is made out of soil and water, but can also contain cow dung. When dried cow dung is said to be several times stronger than soil and water alone. Some modern huts can be covered with a layer of cement to make them strong and can even be fitted with glass window with metal frames.

Tom and his one-year-old daughter

On several occasions I have had the great pleasure to visit Tom, the groundskeeper at the St. Julie Centre, and his family at their traditional Kenyan homestead. Every time I have come he has given me a tour around the compound. He always begins the tour by proudly showing me his hut, where he lives with his only wife and their one-year-old daughter. Then as we continue to walk around he will show me the huts of his father, mother, brothers, and cousins. We are followed every step of the way by all the children of his family. They are all very curious and shy at first but soon they all begin running and laughing and will dance to the music on the radio. When we get to the far edge of the homestead Tom shows me a newly constructed hut that looks very much like a house. It is made of cement and bricks and has glass windows with metal frames. I always remark at how nice it looks. Then Tom will smile and turn to me and say, “This is where you will live when you marry my cousin.” That’s when I smile and turn to him and say, “I think it’s time for me to go.”

The children at Tom's homestead

St. Julie Programme - Workshops & Clinics

2007-10-21T08:19:00.000+03:00

Ryan, Tim, and Joy sit at the registration table at the epilepsy clinic

Currently, there are about 60 children that come to the St. Julie Centre, but there are over 300 that are part of the St. Julie Programme. The St. Julie Programme includes children as well as adults that don’t always come to the Centre for regular therapy. While the Centre specializes in occupational therapy, transportation and other forms of assistance may be provided for those children and adults that need surgery, medication, or eye treatment at a hospital or clinic.

Sr. Judi, the founder of the SJC speaks at a parent meeting

Angela, an occupational therapist at the SJC, speaks about child deaths due to illness

In addition to occupational therapy, the St. Julie Programme also holds local epilepsy clinics, eye clinics, and parent meetings, or workshops. They are all held several times a year, usually on a Friday or Saturday, when there is no occupational or play therapy.

Stephen speaks about the treatment of epilepsy at the SJC

The epilepsy clinics are normally held at the St. Julie Centre. On those days, Stephen, an epilepsy specialist, and his staff come from the nearby town of Mumias to evaluate the clients and to prescribe the necessary medication. Typically, 60 to 80 children and adults attend the epilepsy clinics and receive treatment and medication.

Stephen explains how a child can develop epilepsy

The eye clinics are usually held in the St. Teresa Parish Hall. A team of specialists from an eye clinic in the town of Sabatia come to Malava to check people’s eyes and, through the St. Julie Programme, get the necessary treatment and even eye glasses. On April 29th, the Sabatia eye clinic evaluated over 500 children and adults from the surrounding villages and through donations given to the programme, over 100 received free treatment and eye glasses.

Over 500 children and adults line up during the Sabatia eye clinic

In many cases, it is difficult for the people in Malava, and other nearby villages, to travel the distance to the nearest available treatment centre or hospital, so both the epilepsy clinic and the eye clinic are set up to bring the treatment to the rural villages, where the people are.

Sr. Judi and Neto, a SJC volunteer demonstrate
a locally made toy (a wheel attached to a stick)

Parent Meetings and workshops, like the eye clinics, are also held at the St. Teresa Parish Hall. The main purpose of these meetings is to educate the parents and volunteers about disabilities, where they come from and how to treat them. Each parent meeting has a topic related to a specific disability and also includes modes of prevention and treatment. A speaker begins a talk and then opens it up for discussion among the group. The parent meetings are especially helpful because they are beginning to remove the stigma that is associated with disabilities in rural Kenya. While there are still many in the villages that hold on to traditional beliefs that disabilities are a result of witchcraft or curses, this is changing and many of the disabled are given hope for recovery as well as acceptance among the community.

The parents listen intently as Sr. Judi speaks about parent's responsibilities

One particularly heartbreaking occurrence, that illustrates the need for education in the villages, happened some time ago when another local clinic was offering free inoculations for diseases common to the area. As an incentive for the villagers to come and bring their children to the clinic, each was given a free mosquito net for the prevention of malaria. However, because the people didn’t have the proper education, some of the them brought their children to be inoculated again and again , in order to receive yet another mosquito net. After begin given the same vaccine over and over many of the children began to die as a result of ignorance.

A parent stands to ask a question during the discussion at the parent meeting

It is St. Julie Billiart, the founder of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur, that we follow in the footsteps of who spoke of educating the people as “the greatest work on earth.”

Eatin’ Bugs

2007-10-19T23:17:00.000+03:00

Mmm, termites!

In March, I went to visit Maurice, the parish cook, at his family’s home, in the nearby village of Shitoli. While I was there I had the chance to try a Kenyan delicacy: live termites. As Maurice took me on the path from his family’s compound, we came along a group of children sitting in a circle out in the field. They were drumming with sticks on small flat stones as they sat on the ground. At first, I thought they were playing music, but I was wrong. Maurice explained that the children were drumming on stones over holes in the soil to make the termites come out. The termites, who live under ground, think that the drumming is the sound of rain drops falling on the stones. When they come to the surface for water they’re caught and eaten or collected to sell in the market.

Termites: A Kenyan delicacy!

What they call termites in Kenya aren’t the same wood-eating insects that we have back in the States. The termites in Kenya are about the size of ants and have two sets of long rounded wings. They can be found almost everywhere and sometimes I can find one or two of them flying around in my bedroom at night or even on my front doorstep in the early morning.

Termites coming to the surface for water

Termites are usually eaten in two ways, live or fried. While fried termites with ugali and greens sounds better to me, some Kenyans say that they are sweeter when eaten “fresh,” meaning live. And so I, wanting to get the most out of my Kenyan experience, ate two of them live.

Children catching termites to eat and sell

I have to say that there really wasn’t much taste to them. They were very dry and bland and so small that I could hardly taste anything before swallowing. Why anyone would eat termites is beyond me?!?

Birthday in October

2007-10-12T23:34:00.000+03:00

Enjoying some refreshing Kool-Aid on my birthday in October

My birthday was in July, but I have had so much support from my family and friends that the packages are still coming. I got a notice today from the Sisters that I had another package waiting for me at the Posta. At first, it made me nervous because although I like receiving packages, I don’t like going to the Posta to retrieve them.

There is a woman who works at the counter at the Posta who on a personal level seems nice enough, but when it comes to the business of sending and retrieving packages, she is the enemy. And every time I enter the Posta another battle between her and I begins. It is her job, when someone comes to retrieve a package, to charge the receiver with fees and taxes that sometimes can amount to more than the shipping cost. The Kenyan government seems to be very watchful when it comes to packages from other countries. Packages that are large and somewhat heavy are thought to contain items of significant value and are slapped with the most amount of taxes.

The last time I went to the Posta I got into an argument with this woman about the quality of ketchup that was in my package. When she wanted to charge me an outrageous fee for a package, I pointed to the customs label and said, “It’s only ketchup!” “You want to charge me this much for ketchup!” She then promptly responded by pointing to the address label and said, “Yes, fancy American ketchup!”

Signed birthday banner

So it was, when I heard that there was another package waiting for me, that I reluctantly dragged myself over to the Posta once more. In the end, surprisingly, it wasn’t so bad. My strategy was to say as few words as possible. I went to the counter, handed “the enemy“ my package retrieval slip, paid an unusually small amount in taxes and fees, and left without a word. It was probably my best trip to the Posta yet.

The package contained belated birthday greetings from some friends back home. Along with a signed “belated birthday” banner, I received a St. Therese medal, various books, including The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, sugar-free Kool-Aid, and Twizzlers.

Just when I was about to write a post titled, “It’s October, and the candy you sent me is all gone!”

Thanks Rakhi, Tim M., Raquel, Erin, JP, Mike, Mary, Vicki, Andrea, Julie, Joseph, and Jonathan. You’re support of my work has been amazing! You have been in my thoughts and prayers everyday. I can’t wait to see you all when I get back. Sorry JP, the chickens can’t come!

Kenyan Cuisine

2007-10-08T18:58:00.001+03:00

Ugali, meat, and sukuma wiki (kale) is one

of the most common meals to eat in Kenya

I have been learning throughout this year to prepare traditional Kenyan food. I don’t think I have, or will ever have, what it takes to slaughter an animal, but beyond that I have gotten some education in the Kenyan culinary arts and have developed a taste for African cuisine.

A fruit stand in Nairobi

Kenyan food is, no doubt, based on what’s available. In Nairobi, while there is no McDonald’s, there are fast food restaurants and hamburgers, fried chicken, and pizza can be easily be found. However, in the rural village of Malava, much of what is eaten is grown locally in shambas (small farms) and many people are able to live off the land. Those that own enough land to plant more than they need can sell what they grow in the market. The main staple crops are maize, sugar cane, tea, and sukuma wiki (kale). Some villagers also raise cattle, chickens, sheep, and goats for meat, milk, and eggs.

Mama Aizan sells vegetables in the market

This mama sells dried tilapia and omena

At the market, some of the best food are the fruits and vegetables. Fruits such as pineapples, bananas, mangoes, oranges, papayas, and passion fruit are grown without chemicals, and sold for pennies on the dollar. Cabbage, eggplant, maize, beans, potatoes, rice, carrots, onions, tomatoes, squash, kale, and garlic are also for sale.

The Furaha "Happiness" Butchery in Malava

Chickens sold live in the market

In the city, meat can be found frozen and packaged at the supermarket, but in the villages beef and pork are sold in the local butcheries. Although the meat is inspected by a government health official it is not packaged and hangs all day in the sun of the open-air shop windows and typically has flies on it. Chickens are, for the most part, bought and sold live and slaughtered at home. The thought that all of the germs and bacteria will be killed when the food is cooked gives me a lot of comfort. Beyond that, it’s “Out of sight, out of mind!”

A sufuria (pot) is placed over a wood fire on three stones for cooking

The most traditional way of cooking Kenyan food is on a wood or charcoal fire built between three large stones, on which a sufuria (pot) is placed. Although this is method is rarely seen in Nairobi, it is still somewhat common in the rural villages. I, however, have never cooked this way. I use the most convenient way, which is on a propane stove.

Ugali is a main food of East Africans. It is made with maize flour and water and is cooked until the mixture is hard. It is served in large brick-shaped pieces and is usually eaten with meat, chicken, fish, or vegetables.

“Sukuma wiki” is Swahili for “push the week.” Sukuma wiki is kale, cooked with fat, tomatoes, onions, salt, and beef flavoring. This is also a main food of East Africans because it is inexpensive and easy to grow. The locals can eat this many days in a row on very little money and it gets them through the week.

Chapattis are flat bread, similar to a tortilla, made with baking flour and water and fried with vegetable oil. They can be eaten alone or with meat, chicken, rice, or vegetables.

Pilau is a swahili dish made with rice, meat, and spices

Githeri is a mixture of beans and maize cooked
with onions tomatoes, and beef flavoring.

Samosas are a deep fried thin pastry filled
with meat, vegetables, and spices

Generally speaking, Kenyan food is very hard, bland, and contains a lot of carbohydrates. In Malava, and many other villages, the people are used to hard, laborious work from sun up to sun down, so they eat food that is very hardy to give them the energy to do such work. Most Kenyan food has very little seasoning aside from salt, pepper and the natural flavors of beef, chicken, and fish. Surprisingly, it is very difficult to find simple condiments such as ketchup and mustard. Some available alternatives are tomato sauce and hot chili sauce.

Omena are small sardine-like fish that are sold in the market.
They can be boiled or fried and eaten with ugali and sukuma wiki.

In many Kenya families one chicken must feed many people so no
parts go to waste. Chicken heads don’t have much meat on them,
but can be given to small children.

In Kenya, washing before and after meals is particularly essential because most Africans eat everything with their hands. Although utensils are somewhat available, the people feel that a fork or spoon gets between them and the food.

Fish soup contains whole fish heads, skin, scales, bones and all

After the meal, fruit is typically served for dessert and then toothpicks are offered. Following dessert, chai tea is taken to complete the evening.

Matoke is made from green bananas and
potatoes cooked with onions and tomatoes.

Matoke served with rice and cooked cabbage

One day I was having a conversation with a Kenyan about salad. I was telling him that I sometimes enjoy eating salad, but I haven’t seen much of that kind of food in Kenya. “Do you have lettuce here?” I asked. “Sure,” he said, “We feed it to the animals!” “Hmm,” I said scratching my head. Soon the conversation shifted and we began to talk about maize. Maize is similar to sweet corn, but it’s not sweet and the kernels are very hard. I said, “In America we eat corn, not maize. He said, “Well, do you grow maize at all?” “Sure,” I said, “We feed it to the animals.” “Hmm,” he said, scratching his head.

Kenyan chai is simply tea made with water, milk, and sugar

Kuvasali Landslide

2007-10-05T20:06:00.000+03:00

A photo from the Daily Nation Newspaper shows rescuers at Kuvasali.
(On the upper-left a hut can be seen covered to the roof)

In mid-August the village of Kuvasali was hit by a devastating landslide, killing eight people. Kuvasali is a village on the edge of the Nandi Hills 30 to 45 minutes east of Malava. The disaster happened in the middle of the night when a large area of soil from the tops of the hills, loosened by the heavy rains, came crashing down on the village covering many of the huts to the roofs with soil, while the people slept. Shortly after, a rescue team came to dig the victims out when again another landslide occurred, covering some of the rescuers. Most of the victims are thought to have died from the impact of the heavy soil landing on them, while others are thought to have suffocated when buried alive.

Eight caskets contain the bodies of the victims

Eventually the Red Cross arrived and, with the help of many people from Malava and other neighboring villages, they began to pull the dead bodies one-by-one from the mountain of red soil. While I didn’t see it first-hand, I am told that it was a sad sight and many families of those trapped were gathered around wailing and crying over their loss. After three weeks of digging in the muddy soil as the heavy rains continued all eight of the victims bodies were recovered.

Thousands of people line up for the prayer service

On a Sunday, early in September, there was an interdenominational prayer service held on the grounds of the police station in Malava. The choir from St. Teresa parish came to sing hymns and Father Paul, the pastor, was called to pray over the bodies. The story was covered by the Daily Nation and East African Standard Newspapers. Father Paul appeared in the Standard. Thousands were in attendance. People lined the roads to the police station to see what was happening. Many sat on the roofs of vehicles and shops nearby to see over the crowd.

People ride their bikes to the service and line the roadside

The choir sang and somebody read an account of the disaster and the rescue operation. One rescuer recalled a vivid dream in which one of the dead victims came to them to tell them the exact location of where their body could be found. And sure enough that was where it was retrieved.

It was a beautiful service in remembrance of those that died and it helped to give closure to their families.

A politician speaks from a podium at the prayer service

Unfortunately, because it is an election year in Kenya, many politicians used it as a venue to rally and after the prayers ended the campaign speeches began. Heads of the local government went back and forth placing blame on each other and what moments before the people placed in God’s hands was now wrongfully placed in the hands of human beings.

Unusual weather patterns on the Feast of St. Teresa

2007-10-01T23:10:00.000+03:00

It's hailing in Kenya!

They say that in Kenya we are experiencing very unpredictable weather due to El Niño. Back in April and May, many farmers were waiting for the first rains to tell them when to plant their crops, but when they didn’t come as normally scheduled, some began to worry. One church in Malava, the African Church of the Holy Spirit, actually sent it’s parishioners to a nearby mountain to pray to God for rain. When June came, their prayers were answered. The rains came heavy everyday and everybody seemed very relieved for the moment. But now it is October and the rains continue and everybody is wondering when they will stop.

My courtyard covered with hail stones

Today the church at St. Teresa Parish was decorated in celebration of the Feast of St. Teresa (1893-1897). St. Teresa, “The Little Flower,” said, “We are like the flower that can lift it’s head after the storm passes, because of God’s mercy.” During her life St. Teresa was an unknown Carmelite Sister in France until her death at the early age of twenty-four due to tuberculosis. She is attributed to many miracles and her famous autobiography, “Story of a Soul” was made into a motion picture in 2005. She was canonized in 1925 by Pope Pius XI and declared a Doctor of the Church in 1998 by Pope John Paul II.

St. Teresa decorations in the church

While St. Teresa is said to send roses to those who pray for her intercession, today something even more unusual happened. Just as it was beginning to rain I went inside the house to take cover. When I was inside for only a few seconds it came hard and fast and there was a deafening noise on the iron-sheeted roof top. I had never heard it rain like this before and so I went outside to check it out. Moments after I stepped outside I was in utter amazement standing under the awning in my courtyard. My roof and everything else outside was being pelted by hail. I stood with my mouth hung open and thought as I began to laugh, “Hail!...It’s hailing in Africa!”

St. Teresa Pray For Us!

Welcoming / Farewell Party

2007-09-27T23:39:00.000+03:00

Gettin' down with the SJC staff

For the past couple of months, Angela, one of the occupational therapists at the St. Julie Centre, has been on maternity leave. Early in August she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. During that time the Sisters hired a temporary replacement therapist from Nairobi, named Situma. In the play therapy department, during the school break, we also took on a student volunteer, studying social work and community development, named Neto. In addition to that, Joy, a volunteer who had worked with us earlier this year as a postulant, just made her final vows in Nairobi as a Sister of Notre Dame and has now returned to the Centre.

Neto, Situma, and David discussing important matters

With Angela returning to work soon and the school semester starting up again, we decided to throw a party at my house. It would be a welcoming party for Sister Joy, but also a farewell party for Situma and Neto, in appreciation for their hard work, before they would leave. It would be Sister Joy, David, Situma, Neto, Nancy, Postulant Caroline, and myself that would come to celebrate.

Sister Joy cuts watermelon, Postulant Caroline cuts pineapple

While Sister Joy was cutting the watermelon I was eating it

Delicious fruit salad

Maurice, the parish cook, makes roasted chicken

Maurice, the cook at the parish, agreed to help us with the food. He slaughtered and roasted two hens, and also prepared pilau (rice with spices), chapattis (flat bread), soup, black ugali (porridge set hard, made of sorghum) , and greens in the parish kitchen. In my kitchen, I popped popcorn for the appetizer, while Sister Joy and Postulant Caroline helped cut pineapple, watermelon, papaya, and bananas to make a fruit salad for the dessert. Nancy carried a full case of soda from the shops in the market the day before, that chilled quite nicely in my fancy refrigerator.

Refreshing "soda baridi" (cold soda)

Nancy helps carry food from the parish kitchen to my house

Tasty Kenyan cuisine

Shortly after the food was all prepared, David, Situma, and Neto would arrived. The food was brought across the grounds from the parish kitchen to my house and then the party would begin.

David about to eat his chapati

Situma is enjoying some fruit salad

At first, it started off slow, the usual introductions, small talk of work and what those who would be leaving would do afterwards. But then I made a run to Father Paul’s house for some gospel music videos, that are so popular in Kenya. I brought out my laptop, pushed play, and things began to get lively.

Kenyan gospel music videos on the laptop

Caroline feels like dancing

Sister Joy and Situma show us their moves

Many Kenyans love gospel music and gospel music videos. Even the most introverted Kenyans can’t resist. When they hear the music or see the videos they have to get up and dance. And so they did. For myself, I thought, “When in Kenya…” and got up to cut a rug.

All had an enjoyable evening

Bill Gates Commencement Address

2007-09-24T11:14:00.000+03:00

Upon receiving his honorary degree, Bill Gates said, "I've been waiting 30
years to say this: "Dad, I always told you I'd come back and get my degree."

On June 7th, Bill Gates, CEO of Microsoft Corporation, in a moving commencement address at Harvard University, said to the graduating class of 2007:

"I hope you will judge yourselves not on your professional accomplishments alone, but also on how well you have addressed the world's deepest inequities, on how well you treated people a world away who have nothing in common with you but their humanity."

He has been called, “Harvard’s most successful dropout,” but as the Chairman of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, he addressed the graduates by saying,

“Reducing inequity is the highest human achievement.”

His mother, who was filled with pride the day he was admitted at Harvard, never stopped pressing him to do more for others. A few days before his wedding, she hosted a bridal event, at which she read aloud a letter about marriage that she had written to his wife, Melinda. His mother, who was very ill with cancer at the time, saw one more opportunity to deliver her message, and at the close of the letter she wrote:

"From those to whom much is given,
much is expected."

He explained that when he left Harvard in the 1970s he had no real awareness of the awful inequities in the world-the appalling disparities of health, wealth, and opportunity that condemn millions of people to lives of despair.

Bill and Melinda read about the millions of children who were dying every year in poor countries from measles, malaria, pneumonia, hepatitis B, and yellow fever; diseases that had long ago been made harmless in the United States.

They were shocked. Together they just assumed, like many Americans, that if millions of children were dying and they could be saved, the world would make it a priority to discover and deliver the medicines to save them. But it didn’t. For under a dollar, there were interventions that could save lives that just weren't being delivered.

“If you believe that every life has equal value, it's revolting to learn that some lives are seen as worth saving and others are not.”

So they began their work in the same way anyone would begin it. They asked: "How could the world let these children die?"

“The answer was simple, and harsh. The market did not reward saving the lives of these children, and governments did not subsidize it.”

Many skeptics to the idea of reducing inequity say: "Inequity has been with us since the beginning, and will be with us till the end-because people just don't care."

To this he said, “I completely disagree.” “The barrier to change is not too little caring; it is too much complexity.”

“I believe we have more caring than we know what to do with.”

“We don't read much about these deaths because the media covers what's new-and millions of people dying is nothing new. So it stays in the background, where it's easier to ignore. But even when we do see it or read about it, it's difficult to keep our eyes on the problem. It's hard to look at suffering if the situation is so complex that we don't know how to help. And so we look away.”

“To turn caring into action, we need to see a problem, see a solution, and see the impact.”

“But complexity blocks all three steps.”

“Cutting through complexity to find a solution runs through four predictable stages: determining a goal, finding the highest-leverage of approach, discovering the ideal technology for that approach, and in the meantime, making the smartest application of the technology that you already have-whether it's something sophisticated, like a drug, or something simpler, like a bed net.”

“The AIDS epidemic offers an example. The broad goal, of course, is to end the disease. The highest-leverage approach is prevention. The ideal technology would be a vaccine that gives lifetime immunity with a single dose. So governments, drug companies, and foundations fund vaccine research. But their work is likely to take more than a decade, so in the meantime, we have to work with what we have in hand-and the best prevention approach we have now is getting people to avoid risky behavior.”

“[But] we can also make market forces work better for the poor if we can develop a more creative capitalism-if we can stretch the reach of market forces so that more people can make a profit, or at least make a living, serving people who are suffering from the worst inequities. We also can press governments around the world to spend taxpayer money in ways that better reflect the values of the people who pay the taxes.”

“If we can find approaches that meet the needs of the poor in ways that generate profits for business and votes for politicians, we will have found a sustainable way to reduce inequity in the world.”

“This task is open-ended. It can never be finished. But a conscious effort to answer this challenge will change the world.”

Black Widow

2007-09-21T11:03:00.000+03:00

The deadly black widow

It seems that since I have come to Kenya I have had to deal with danger nearly everyday. If I am not dodging malaria infected mosquitoes, I could be killed and devoured by wild animals. If I am not killed by a crazy matatu driver, I could be robbed and beaten by thugs in the night.

It also seems that when I am just getting used to living with one danger something even more dangerous presents itself.

Not a flush toilet!

Just such a an occurrence happened to me last week when I was about to use the bathroom in my house. I was about to sit down on what passes for a toilet seat in Kenya when I noticed something crawling underneath. In the dim light it appeared as if it was an insect or spider and when I waved my hand to shoo it away I noticed something vaguely familiar, a red hourglass figure.

I could always be mistaken, but it looked a lot like a black widow spider. I had never seen a live black widow spider before, only in pictures. So after taking a picture of my own, I killed it, doused the seat with insect repellent, and went to the internet to do some research.

Female black widow spiders are gloss black with a red hourglass shaped marking on the underside of its abdomen. The venom of a black widow spider is reported to be 15 times more potent than that of a rattlesnake. Although a small amount of the venom is usually not enough to kill a healthy adult human, it does produce very unpleasant symptoms and can cause swelling up to 15 cm. Deaths in healthy adults from black widow spider bites are relatively rare in terms of number of bites per thousand. Only 63 deaths were reported in the United States between 1950 and 1989. Prior to the development of anti-venom, 5% of reported cases resulted in a fatalities. Improvements in plumbing have greatly reduced the incidence of bites and fatalities in areas where outdoor privies have been replaced by flush toilets.

Never underestimate the power of a flush toilet!

Malaria

2007-09-20T11:37:00.000+03:00

Since I have come to Kenya the house that I have been living in has been continuously occupied with critters. Everyday there are innumerable spiders, beetles, flies, mosquitoes, and ants along with the occasional cockroach living with me. For the most part none of them really bother me except the mosquitoes which can carry the parasite that causes malaria.

In order to prevent myself from getting sick I need to take Artenam, an anti-malaria medication, twice a week as well as make the most use out of my mosquito net and insect repellent.

Furthermore, I spend at least a couple of minutes each night on the hunt for mosquitoes before I go to bed. In the house, I go from room to room and since I cannot tell the difference between the malaria infected mosquitoes and the ones that are not, I kill them all. My hearing is acutely tuned to the sound of a mosquito's wings in flight and if they are around while I'm in bed it is extremely irritating to hear them buzzing in my ears. It’s strange how personal a mosquito bite or the thought of getting malaria is to me.

In my work with disabled children it is unbelievable how many cases are caused by this illness. It is part of the work of the St. Julie Programme to educate the people of the surrounding community in the prevention and treatment of malaria.

Malaria is caused by a parasite that is transmitted by the Anopheles mosquito.
More than one million people die of malaria every year, mostly infants, young children and pregnant women.
90% of the 300-500 million cases each year are reported in Africa.
Malaria remains the first cause of death for children under five in Africa.
A child dies of malaria every 30 seconds.
Symptoms of malaria include fever, shivering, pain in the joints, headaches, repeated vomiting, convulsions and coma.
If left untreated, the disease can spread to the brain causing cerebral palsy, other disabilities, and even death.
Malaria is both preventable and curable.
Although there are drugs that are commercially available for prevention and treatment of malaria none of them are effective against all strains of the parasite.

At least one upper corner of every room in my house is inhabited by a large long-legged spider. When I clean on Saturday afternoons I always think that I should sweep them all out, but another part of me says that they aren’t hurting me and that they may help to reduce the insect population, by feasting on mosquitoes. So we have made peace with each other and I allow them to stay, rent free.

Maasai Mara National Reserve

2007-09-12T22:41:00.000+03:00

The grassy plains in the Maasai Mara

The highlight of my parent’s visit was without a doubt our safari in the Maasai Mara National Reserve. The Maasai Mara, also known simply as “The Mara,” is the most famous game park in Kenya. The game park lies on the southwestern edge of Kenya and borders the Serengeti of Tanzania. The Mara gets it’s name from the Maasai tribe that inhabits the region. The Maasai are the most distinct and celebrated tribe in Kenya. They are a semi-nomadic cattle-herding tribe that is known for it’s resistance to modernization from it’s traditional ways. The Maasai's primary diet is meat and milk mixed with cow's blood. The name “Mara” means “mottled,” and is in reference to the Reserve’s patchy landscape. The wide open grassy plains of the Mara make up the stunning classical landscapes that are shown in many films that feature Africa and it’s spectacular wildlife. The Reserve is located in the enormous Great Rift Valley, which stretches vertically, about 6000km, up and down the continent of Africa. The Rift Valley begins from the Dead Sea in the Middle East and passes through the Red Sea, Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, and Malawi. The valley floor is densely populated with Africa’s most amazing wildlife, including the famous “Big Five” game animals; the lion, the rhino, the buffalo, the elephant, and the leopard.

A Maasai wearing a "shuka" blanket and beaded necklaces

A Maasai walks, in the distance, out in the Mara

The Maasai cattle herds

The Maasai Homestead

On the first day of the safari we met George, who would be our guide and driver throughout the trip. We packed, boarded the safari vehicle, and began the several hours drive from downtown Nairobi, through the Great Rift Valley, and into the Maasai Mara. We stopped once when we got outside of the city along the high ridge of the escarpment to look at the breathtaking view of the Great Rift Valley. The view was simply magnificent. To be on the edge of this roadside cliff set high above all else around, looking down into the seemingly endless valley, I felt as if I might be able to view this vast continent of Africa as a whole. This spot, apparently the best place to view this natural wonder, was so frequented by tourists that it was packed with vendors trying to make high-pressure sales on anything from soda and snacks to wood and soapstone carvings to sandals and drums and other tribal souvenirs. After a short while, when the moment was over and pictures had been taken, we again boarded the vehicle and headed west.

Getting settled in my permanent tent

Just as the sun was beginning to set we arrived at the Acacia Campsite, on the edge of the Maasai Mara game park. We unpacked the vehicle, got settled into our permanent tents, and George took us out on an evening game drive. As we were leaving the camp for the game park he pointed out a grave marker of a man who had been killed in the night by an elephant. George said, “That’s why we don’t encourage tourists to go walking outside of the camp after dark.” We were literally out in the wilderness surrounded by many deadly animals.

Boarding the safari vehicle

That evening on the game drive we saw an adult male lion showing his dominance as he walked within thirty feet of the vehicle. He let out a terrifying roar and his eyes glowed in the darkness. As he walked he seemed to be chasing something. George said that the lion had been disturbed when another male had entered his territory and that when he found the other lion there would be a fight, that could possibly result in the death of one of them. Unfortunately we did not get to witness such a site and the lion ran off through the tall grass.

As it began to get darker we headed back to camp and enjoyed a dinner of Africa food with some American and European influences, all prepared by a small staff of Maasai. We enjoyed meat, chapattis (flatbread), and baked beans from a can. While we ate, we sat and chatted with a doctor and his wife from Canada who had talked enthusiastically about witnessing the greatest single event in the Mara, the wildebeest migration. It was exciting to hear their stories and wonder with eager anticipation what we would see the following day when we returned to the game park.

A Maasai carves a hunting club out of a piece of wood

Before I went to bed that night I couldn’t help but think about the lion we saw and also about the man that was killed by the elephant. I asked one of the Maasai if it was possible for an animal to wander into the camp while we slept. And without shuttering he said, “Yes,” and raised a small club from his side about the size of his forearm. He took a few swings at the air and when I questioningly said, “okay?” he assumed I was satisfied, nodded his head and put it down again. I went to bed that night trying to think of something else other than being attacked by a wild animal while I slept. You really have to be brave when you go on safari. Either that, or have a really dark sense of humor.

When a vehicle gets stuck in the terrain
other vehicles are called to pull it out

The next morning we rose from our tents early and after breakfast we boarded the vehicle and again headed back into the game park in hopes that we would at least get to see another lion and, of course, the wildebeest migration.

We entered the large gates of the main entrance to the park and after George raised the roof of the vehicle to allow us to stand and get a better view, we began to see animals right away in small herds. We saw the Thomson’s gazelle, many antelope, some impalas, and even a few wildebeests.

Gazelles, antelopes, zebras, and wildebeests herd together in the Mara

Not entirely impressed with only the few animals that wandered around near the gates, George assured us that these animals were year round “residents” of the park, but those that where involved in the migration would be many, many more. As we drove across the golden grassland the wind was breezy and cool in the morning.

The Maasai ostrich

We drove some distance and George pointed out a Maasai ostrich. We continued and he pointed out the “secretary” bird, which has an arrangement of feathers that appears as if it is wearing a mini skirt and has a fountain pen behind it’s ear. We went on for awhile and eventually came to a giant herd of buffalo, several hundred at least. George explained that although the buffalo is not a predator it is still one of the deadliest animals on the Mara. In a fight, one-on-one, even a lion is no match for the strength and size of a full grown African buffalo. A lion can only hunt those buffalo that are so old that they fall behind the rest and cannot keep up with the pace of the herd. But even then, it can take up to three or four lions to kill a single buffalo.

A large herd of buffalo

This old buffalo couldn't keep up with the pace
of the herd, so he stopped to take a mud bath

The herd of buffalo was our first big site of the day and at the moment it seemed hard to beat. George kept us moving but stopped occasionally to point out small animals and birds. It was just shortly after, that we came to a wide open savannah and witnessed something truly remarkable, the wildebeest migration.

Over 1 million wildebeests migrate across the Maasai Mara

The wildebeest migration is the single most spectacular event in the Mara. Every year from July to October 1.4 million wildebeests make the 500km round trip from the Southern Serengeti to the northern edge of the Maasai Mara in search of fresh pastures and water. The migration is arguably Africa’s greatest wildlife spectacle and one of the World's most exceptional natural phenomena.

Wildebeests cross over the road in front of safari vehicles

The event is actually only a fairly recent occurrence dating back to the 1960s. Prior to that time period, the wildebeest and cattle of the area were dying due to spreading disease. Around that time, 90% of the wildebeest population was eliminated. When the cattle were inoculated by veterinarians, to prevent further spreading of the disease, the illness disappeared from the region and the wildebeest population boomed. In the 1960s and 70s the population grew from 260,000 to the 1.4 million of today. This drastic growth in numbers forced the herds to migrate in order to find enough food and water. This immense migration effects nearly all of the animals of the region as hundreds of thousands of zebras, gazelles, impalas, giraffes, warthogs and all other herbivores join the pack, while lions, hyenas, cheetahs, leopards and other carnivores lie in waiting for the hunt.

A single line of wildebeests can go on for miles

The sheer number of wildebeests is hard to visualize until you see it for yourself. In some areas they appeared as a black sea sweeping across the pasture. While in other areas, they formed a single file line tens of miles long, head to tail, as they walked slowly across the countryside. Those thousands of animals, at a distance, seemed as small as ants and it was hard to imagine that each was as large as the ones we saw up close. Many times a large portion of the herd would cross over the paths the safari vehicles used and the oncoming vehicles would cause the frightened animals to stampede creating the sound of thunder. The experience was simply extraordinary.

Hyenas by the roadside taking a mudbath

We continued around the Reserve for several more hours until I though it would be the best time to tell George I needed a bathroom break. I asked, “How much longer until we get back to camp?” George smiled and said, “The camp is at least two hours away.” “We won’t be heading there until dinner time.” This is when George introduced me to the “bush toilet.” The “bush toilet” is a safari-goers worst nightmare. The “bush toilet” is exactly that, a bush. A bush that is conveniently located anywhere in the Mara, but inconveniently where there are usually large, deadly, wild animals. Just before we stopped for me to get out of the vehicle George said, “Look, a hyena!” Everybody stood up to see it while I sat down as my stomach tightened. Moments later when we finally stopped, I got out of the vehicle and crouched down in a bush. I thought of those hyenas as looked out in the field and over both shoulders. I was going as fast as nature would allow, but would it be fast enough? I don’t think I’ve ever felt more vulnerable in my life.

Hippos in the Mara River

Hippos coming up to the surface of the water for air

It seemed only minutes after I had reentered the vehicle, slammed the sliding door shut behind me, and was enjoying the safety of it’s enclosure that George wanted all of us to get out. He had taken us to an area on the Mara River, which runs through the Reserve, that is frequented by hippos. As we all exited the vehicle and looked over a small cliff down into the river, I looked around on both sides for predators. I asked George, “Is it safe to get out?” He turned to and pointed down at the river and said, “As long as you don’t get between the hippos and the water.”

There were about four or five hippos swimming in the river together. They each went under the water for a couple of minutes and then inhaled a great gasp of air went they again came to the surface. We could only see their heads above the water, which, at this distance, didn’t seem very big, but George reminded us that full-grown a hippo can be up to 13 feet long, 5 feet tall, and can weigh 3 ½ tons. An adult hippo can hold it's breath under water for up to 6 minutes before coming to the surface for air. Although they are herbivores, or vegetarians as the Christmas song says, they can be very aggressive animals and can even kill a crocodile if threatened. But surprisingly, their major predators are humans and, away from the Reserve, can be killed for meat or their skins. So if any of you are still thinking, "I want a hippotamus for Christmas," think again.

A large ant hill in the Mara

We moved on, later that afternoon, to the other side of the park where there seemed to be no animals at all. Typically when something major is happening many safari vehicles will be huddled around in a cluster, but George spotted something that no one else in our vehicle or any other saw, a pair of lions mating in a secluded field. We drove up to them only within a few feet, George turned off the engine of the vehicle, and we all waited.

Lions mating in a secluded field

While we waited George quietly explained that the pair would sleep out in this tall grass, away from all other animals, and wake up every twenty minutes to mate. And it was only a few minutes after George explained this, that they did exactly that. The act was somewhat shocking, being so close to the vehicle. The only word that comes to mind to describe it is "rough."

A pride of female lions sleeps near the cool water,
always ready to ambush prey coming for a drink

When they are not mating, male and female lions live separately. The females are more social and do most of the hunting. They generally make up the pride with the young. The males generally live solitary lives and a dominant male is the head of each pride. The males only come together when they challenge each other to mate with the females of the pride.

Lions on the Mara lazily sleep in the grass between hunts

After we had been there for over a half an hour other safari vehicles began to crowd around the pair as they were, once again, sleeping. Everybody remained still and waited for them to wake up again. Because our vehicle had been there first, we already heard the details of the mating ritual. Now we were quietly hearing the explanation over and over again from the other vehicle’s guides. After a moment of explanation, the voice of an older women in a vehicle across the cluster could be heard over the quietness, “They’re going to do what!” Everyone looked on and smiled.

A Maasai giraffe in the Mara

A giraffe gets bite to eat from the tallest trees

We ate a simple lunch of fruit and vegetable sandwiches out on the Mara that afternoon. The weather was simply beautiful. The warm breeze made waves in the tall grass. We boarded the vehicle and headed back towards the camp. On the way we saw a number of giraffes that towered over the vehicle. We watched as the giraffes ate the leaves from even the tallest trees. One particular tree was called the sausage tree because from it grew the sausage fruit, which George promptly added could be used to make alcohol or was a favorite treat for giraffes.

A sausage tree with sausage fruit

Our first full day in the Mara was quite an adventure, but now the sun was beginning to set and it would be dark soon. We got back to camp just in time for dinner that evening where we ate and then enjoyed some time at the campfire before heading off to bed.

The next morning, on our final day, we went out just as the sun was rising. We entered the gates of the park just as the sun was peaking it’s head over the mountains in the distance. Having seen just about every animal in the Mara the day before, on this last day, George said, the priority was to find the elephants. We drove in the direction of the mountains, one of their favorite spots, but on the way many vehicles stopped when somebody spotted a cheetah on the hunt. It was moving slowly across the plains as it kept it’s keen eyes on a small gazelle two or three hundred yards away. It slowly got closer and closer as all of those in the safari vehicles watched. Many photographers got out their huge bazooka style lenses to get pictures up close. It creeped up slowly in the direction of the gazelle, who was completely unaware. Then suddenly the cheetah took off at top speed like a gun shot. The gazelle turned it’s head to run, but it was too late. In one graceful move the cheetah jumped into the air and came down on the gazelle as it’s powerful jaws closed on it’s neck.

A cheetah strangles a gazelle as a photographer takes close-ups

The cheetah looks up for predators

George explained that the cheetah strangles it’s prey before it eats it, which it unlike any other predator in the Mara. The cheetah mainly feeds on small prey and, surprisingly, does not pose a threat to humans. Furthermore, George explained, the cheetah does not have retractable claws which makes it more closely relate with the dog family, than cats, as many people mistakenly think.

A wildebeest carcass in the Mara probably eaten by lions

The cheetah began to eat the gazelle quickly while lifting it’s head every couple of minutes to look for it’s own predators, the lion and the hyena. As it raised it’s head from the carcass we could see that it’s mouth was stained blood-red. Kills such as this happen many times a day and carcasses can be found all over the Mara, but we were fortunate because it is somewhat rare to be able to be there to see it as it happens.

A herd of elephants at the edge of the mountains

Elephant adults and young form a family

A baby elephant eats grass

We continued on as morning became afternoon and the sun rose high in the blue sky when we arrived at the edge of the mountains. We had followed a dirt road as far as it would go, but at some point George turned off into a grass field. For a brief moment the vehicle almost got stuck in the rough terrain. I couldn’t see anything in the area and I had know idea why he had brought us here or where he was taking us. George pointed out the window in the direction of the mountains. I looked out, but couldn’t see anything. I was puzzled, trying to figure out what he was looking at. But then it was suddenly clear. “Elephants,” said George. Just then a small herd of elephants seemed to come out of nowhere. They were feeding on the grass as they fanned their large ears. Although we were the only vehicle in the area, and at a very close distance, they didn’t seemed to mind us and went about there lives. Just like the day before when George spotted the lions in the secluded field, he knew just where to find the elephants. There were at least two adults and even a few young ones. They were living as a family. George explained that elephants are very intelligent and that although they were out away from the other animals they were very social with one another. They had very good memories of each other and formed very tight bonds, and even mourned when one of them died. The females spent most of their time with the young, while, at times, the males would show off for each other. A full-grown male elephant is capable of tearing an entire tree out of the ground, roots and all. There is evidence of this all over the Mara.

At this amazing visit with the elephants our 3-day safari in the Maasai Mara National Reserve was over and we headed back to the camp where we had an early lunch, packed our things, and set out for Lake Nakuru National Park, on our way back to Nairobi. To go on safari is the experience of a lifetime and definitely one I will never forget. I am truly grateful to have had this great opportunity.

St. Julie Centre - Week 30

2007-08-31T23:14:00.000+03:00

Orpa rides the tricycle to help strengthen her club foot

The Kenyan equivalent to the long and dreary winter in Michigan is the long and dreary rainy season of Western Province. It has been raining heavily in western Kenya nearly everyday since May. The dirt roads of Malava become rivers of red muddy water in the late afternoons and early evenings and by morning there is a sloppy, sticky path all the way to the St. Julie Centre. When I arrive at the Centre my shoes each weigh two pounds heavier and I shuffle across the grass to lighten the load. As I sit on the benches out front retracing the pattern of the tread on my soles with a stick, I can see that my newly washed pants now have a red speckled finish. As the rest of the staff arrive, one by one, the routine is the same. On these mornings it’s cold and the children and parents will come late. Everybody seems to have a similar tired look about them. Despite the slow start, all are ready when the children finally walk through the front gate and it’s business as usual at the SJC.

The sloppy, sticky road next to the SJC

Baba Ephraim brings his son, Ephraim, who suffers from
Epilepsy and Cerebral Palsy, to the Centre on his bicycle

My work in play therapy seems to be going well, but it is not without it’s struggles. Sadly, their are parents who bring their children to the Centre that have no interest or desire whatsoever for their child’s recovery. It’s true. While there are some parents who are very good with their children and remain closely involved in every step of the therapy and treatment, many times there are others who seem to be merely waiting for their child to die so that they can be relieved of the burden of their disabilities. I have been told that some of the parents will actually use their disabled child merely to obtain the benefits of the St. Julie Programme for use by their other “normal” child, since some of the families receive food and money for transportation and school fees. Then when the disabled child dies from being neglected, the family feels only relief and they are content in thinking that, although they have been a curse, their lives were able to at least serve some purpose.

Wincelet is paralyzed on her left side and is stringing beads to
help increase the fine motor control in her hands and fingers

My greatest struggle of all, even though it’s not always in my hands, is to try to prevent this very thing from happening. It is my job, not to cut the parents out of the process of their child’s recovery by doing the play therapy as everybody sits and watches, but to involve them in it by showing them how the toys can be used in helping their son or daughter. At the Centre, we always try to keep in mind that if the children only comes for play therapy once a week, what they do away for the Centre might be even more important in their overall recovery. But it is a healthy parent to child relationship that makes this “home therapy” possible and, in most cases, is easier said than done.

Bevan, who has Cerebral Palsy, uses the "popper" toy to help him walk

As is expected, some days go very well, but it is the tough days that make me think about my work more closely. While I think that some doubt is normal for everybody in this type of experience, it is on these days that I seriously wondered if my work here would bear any fruit. It was not until recently that I would realize that it would.

Sylvia, who has Down's Sydrome, uses the parallel bars to help her walk

Besides my duties in play therapy, I have recently been given a new role at the Centre to collect membership fees from the parents of the children. This small registration fee of 200 Kenyan shillings per year (equivalent to just under three U.S. dollars) is not meant as a payment for our services, but rather is used to allow parents to play an active role in their child’s recovery. It also helps to motivate them to attend all of the therapy sessions when they know that it is costing them something. Many parents choose the option to pay this fee off over time. When they come to the Centre, week by week, they pay just a little bit more. For some, it may take months until they are paid in full. When they have cleared their balances, I then take a photo of each child and place their pictures on a board in the play therapy area. It is a fun way to show everyone which children are full members of the St. Julie Programme.

The "members" board at the St. Julie Centre

Mama Rael and her daughter, Rael, play together at the Centre

Up until recently, this job of collecting registration and taking photos for the picture board was a tedious task for me. It was awkward to ask parents, who seemed to have little next to nothing, for their next payment, but frustrating to see others, who seemed more financially able, make excuses why they couldn’t contribute anything. Some of the children are also called by many different names which always made it more difficult to locate the record of their previous payment to obtain their current balance. I would have to look through dozens of carbon-copied receipts only to find that I was looking for the wrong name. When I finally found the correct name, I would have to write out a new receipt by hand and then search for the proper change, which was not always available. When the balance was paid in full, I would then take on the laborious task of trying to make their mentally disabled child look at the camera and smile for the photo. The process always seemed long and arduous.

Mama Joseph removes plaster casts that help Joesph's arms and legs grow straight

Naomi uses the standing box to help her stand and walk

Last month, in July, I was instructed to focus more of my attention on collecting registration and encouraging parents to pay off any remaining balances, now that the year was half over. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to that job and at first, with some cases, it seemed like just another futile effort, but as one parent completed their registration fee they all began to come. The ones that did so became full members of the St. Julie Programme and began showing off to the other parents their child’s picture up on the board. Other parents began asking about their child’s photo and what they needed to do to get it up on the board. It was then that I really began to see their level of commitment. They began to pay off their registration balances left and right. And I began printing more and more pictures for the board.

Mama Lucy and her daughter Lucy use a flute and a puzzle to help her speak

In the end, it was this very task that I dreaded that helped me to put some things into perspective. I have been told that some work isn’t always about bearing fruit and reaping the benefits. Some work is about planting the seeds and waiting patiently. This type of work seems to be the most difficult of all because, without immediate results, there is always an opportunity to fall into doubt along the way. Then it is very possible to quit even before one has reach their goal.

Priscah, who is paralyzed on her left side, strings
beads to help increase her fine motor control

Until a couple of months ago, the board was pretty unimpressive. There were about twenty to thirty pictures filling scarcely one-third of the board. The staff pictures alone took up a great portion of that. But this week, I put up the last few of a bunch I just printed and then stood back to have a look. There are now eighty-six pictures on the board! I really couldn’t believe it! It was over two-thirds full! I took a moment to think about just what this meant. I was actually seeing the results of some of my work. It went way beyond a mere picture board. I was seeing how I, and many others, have touched the lives of these eighty-six children. When the programme started several years ago, there where only six. Now there are eighty-six. In the tiny village of Malava that’s huge! And what’s more, it’s not even close to being finished. There are many that are still showing their commitment little by little and new parents continue to come and bring their children with them everyday. Angela, one of the therapists, said that the board will be filled very soon and we will have to find another place to put the new pictures. I, with a renewed spirit, took this task and without hesitation. I now renewed my own commitment to the St. Julie Centre. I was seeing it through different eyes. The seeds I helped plant were beginning to grow.

Mercy rides the tricycle to help increase the
gross motor control in her arms and legs

Karen Blixen

2007-08-24T08:29:00.000+03:00

“I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills.”
Isak Dinesen from Out of Africa

The Karen Blixen Museum is housed in the farmhouse where Karen Blixen, a Danish aristocrat who once owned a coffee plantation in Kenya, lived between 1914 and 1931. Her famous memoir, Out of Africa, chronicles that prominent period in her life. The museum is located in Karen, a suburb of Nairobi that takes it’s name from Karen Blixen. The farmhouse along with the nearby agricultural college was presented to the Kenyan government at Independence, around 1963, by the Danish government.

The Karen Blixen Museum as it looks today

The farmhouse at the Karen Coffee Company Plantation from 1914 to 1931

Up in this high air you breathed easily, drawing
in vital assurance and lightness of heart.
In the highlands you woke up in the morning
and thought: Here I am, where I ought to be.

Isak Dinesen from Out of Africa

Although Karen Blixen came from a family of wealth and luxury her personal life was full of tragedy. She was born, Karen Dinesen, in 1885 fifteen miles north of Copenhagen in Rungstedlund, Denmark on her family’s spacious estate. Her father, Wilhelm Dinesen, fought in the Prusso-Danish war in 1864 and had an adventuresome spirit and talent for story-telling. At one point in his life he even lived for two years in the United States among Native American tribes. However, in 1895, when Karen was just ten years old, her father hung himself and left his wife to raise the five children alone. Although she didn’t know her father well, Karen claimed that she identified with his sense of exploration.

Karen Blixen posing after killing two lions on safari

In December of 1913, Karen’s life changed dramatically when she left the shelter of her childhood home and set out on her journey to British East Africa, now the Republic of Kenya. She married her Swedish cousin Baron Bror von Blixen-Finecke at a ceremony in Mombasa and in 1916 bought a plantation and began the Karen Coffee Company, just outside Nairobi, in the Ngong Hills.

Baron Bror von Blixen-Finecke

"Here at long last one was in a position not to give a damn for all conventions, here was a new kind of freedom which until then one had only found in dreams."

Karen Blixen, of her years in Africa

Karen was only 28 years old, her husband 27, and both had great expectations of their lives as settlers in Africa, but soon it proved to be more difficult than they imagined. August of their first year, World War I broke out and spread to East Africa. Battles between the British and the Germans led to a shortage of workers and supplies for the plantation. To make matters worse, East Africa was experiencing a three-year drought and in 1917 the British banned the import of coffee.

Karen Blixen and Denys Finch-Hatton

Meanwhile, Karen and her husband had many personal struggles in their dream of starting a family in Africa. Only a few months after their marriage, Karen became ill and was diagnosed with syphilis. She had to travel back to Denmark for treatment by a specialist, but was plagued with having attacks of intense pain for the rest of her life. The cause of the disease was never determined, but it was known that her husband had a reputation for being a popular and well-liked by many women. The struggles continued and after their marriage broke down in 1918, she began a secret love affair with the British Denys Finch-Hatton, who was an officer in the army, a pilot, a safari guide, and a big game hunter in Africa.

Denys Finch-Hatton with his private plane

"What is man, when you come to think upon him, but a minutely set, ingenious machine for turning, with infinite artfulness, the red wine of Shiraz into urine?"

Isak Dinesen from Seven Gothic Tales

Karen and her husband divorced in 1921. She ran the plantation by herself until 1931, which was very uncommon at that time for a woman to do, but due to a struggling crop, mismanagement, drought, and the falling price of coffee, the farm ran into debt and was sold at auction. Karen left Africa and returned to her family’s home in Denmark. But only a few months before her departure, Denys was killed in a plane crash on one of his routine flights to Tsavo National Park. He was buried at the foot of the Ngong Hills.

Karen Blixen's painting of a young girl from the Kikuyu tribe

While on the farm, Karen expressed her interest in the arts. She painted a number of portraits and started to write the first of her many books, Seven Gothic Tales, but when she returned home, she began work on her famous memoir of her years in Africa. Out of Africa was first published in Denmark in 1937, under her pen name, Isak Dinesen. Her memoir is considered by many to be a masterpiece. It is considered to be one of the most perfect records of early European ventures in Africa. In 1954 she was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature, but was passed over in favor of Ernest Hemingway. The book was adapted into an Oscar-winning film, starring Meryl Streep and Robert Redford in 1985.

Karen Blixen and her staff at the Karen Coffee Company

"White people, who for a long time live alone with Natives, get into the habit of saying what they mean, because they have no reason or opportunity for dissimulation, and when they meet again their conversation keeps the Native tone."

Isak Dinesen from Out of Africa

Karen has been criticized for some of her views of the African natives. Early settlers saw her as a friend to the natives while others saw her depiction of them as her “obligation” to be aristocratic and condescending. This attitude produced a conflicting opinion of her work and personal character in Out of Africa.

Karen Blixen's home in Rungstedlund, Denmark

Karen Blixen's final resting place at her home in Denmark

She continued to write and publish books from her home in Denmark and even made several radio broadcasts. In the 1950s her health began to worsen quickly and 1955 she had a third of her stomach removed due to an ulcer. Unable to eat, Karen Blixen died of malnutrition at her home in 1962, at the age of 77. Her last request was to be buried under a large beech tree at the foot of Ewald’s Hill at her family’s home in Rungstedlund.

David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust

2007-08-19T19:10:00.000+03:00

Just next to the Nairobi National Park is a nonprofit conservation trust which was established in 1977, shortly after the death of David Sheldrick. He and his wife, Daphne, were the first to use techniques of raising orphaned black rhinos and elephants, whose parents were killed due to poaching, in order to reintroduce them back into the wild. Of these animals, the elephants seem to get the most attention. It is for this reason that many refer to this wildlife trust as simply the Elephant Orphanage. For a donation of 300 Kenyan shillings patrons can come to view baby elephants being fed, playing soccer, and even receiving a mud bath from 11AM to Noon.

A baby elephant drinking milk

Eating leaves from a tree branch

As it was with the Giraffe Centre, it was possible to get so remarkably close to the baby elephants that I could even touch them. All that separated me from them was a small yellow rope about four feet high. We were all advised to watch our toes if an elephant walked by. Although they were still young, a baby elephant can weigh over 350 lbs!

A baby elephant fanning it's ears

Elephants playing soccer

Elephants are serious athletes!

Interesting Elephant Facts

An African elephant is larger than an Asian elephant and has enormous Africa shaped ears.
The largest African elephant recorded weighed over nine tons and stood more than twelve feet high at the shoulder.
Elephant trunks can get very heavy. It is not uncommon to see elephants resting them over a tusk!
Elephants don't drink with their trunks, but use them as "tools" to drink with. This is accomplished by filling the trunk with water and then using it as a hose to pour it into the elephant's mouth.
Elephants cry, play, have incredible memories, and laugh!
Elephants grieve at a loss of a stillborn baby, a family member, and in many cases other elephants.
Most of the communication between elephants cannot be heard by humans.
An elephant’s trunk is boneless and composed of 40,000 muscles.
An elephant’s trunk is powerful enough to kill a lion with a single swipe, yet the finger-like lobes at the end are adept enough to pluck a feather from the ground.
An elephants ears are packed with blood vessels, and when flapped, they quickly lower the animal’s body temperature.
An elephant can charge at more than 25 miles per hour.
An elephant has six sets of teeth, each replacing the next over it’s lifetime.
An adult elephant eats over 200lbs. of food per day.
When an elephant begins to lose it’s last set of teeth it starves to death.

Lang’ata Giraffe Centre

2007-08-17T23:56:00.000+03:00

Feeding Mr. Giraffe

During my parent's visit we had the opportunity to visit the Lang’ata Giraffe Centre. The Centre allows patrons to get up close and personal and even kiss (sorry no pictures) the Rothschild giraffe. Although some come just to observe, visitors from all over the world get a unique experience when they hand-feed the world’s tallest species. While there are two other sub-species of giraffes, the Reticulated Giraffe and the Maasai Giraffe, it is the Rothschild Giraffe that is known for it’s lack of spots on it’s legs and so it appears as if it’s wearing four very large white “socks.”

You truly have not seen a giraffe until you have feed one by hand! Their heads are enormous, their very long tongues are like sand paper, and their saliva is gooey and stinky. But it was only after I had washed my hands with hand sanitizer that the guide explained that the giraffe is immune from many poisonous plants by it’s naturally antibiotic saliva! They are no doubt some of the world's most amazing creatures.

I am recalling a joke from my childhood.

Q. What is worse than a giraffe with a sore throat?
A. A centipede with sore feet.

HISTORY

The Giraffe Centre, which is located in Lang’ata, a suburb of Nairobi, was established by the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife (AFEW, Kenya). This organization was founded in 1979 by Jock Leslie-Melvile, a Kenyan of British decent, to protect the endangered Rothschild giraffe and also provide education on the importance of conservation.

Prior to the establishment of the AFEW, Betty Leslie-Melvile, American wife to Jock, discovered that there were only 120 Rothschild giraffes left in Western Kenya. The giraffes were living in an area of 18,000 acres that was scheduled for subdivision and resettlement. She began to rescue these few remaining animals by transporting them to their property in Lang’ata. Betty became the founder of the AFEW, USA. This organization was able to save five more groups of giraffes by moving them to safer areas of the country. Due to their efforts, there are now over 300 Rothschild giraffes living and breeding well in different areas all over Kenya.

Parent's Visit to Kenya

2007-08-16T00:42:00.001+03:00

Mom and Dad arrive at the airport

I haven’t had much time to write lately because for the past two weeks I was very fortunate to have my parents come for a visit. They came to see where I live and the work I am doing. To become witnesses to the poverty and illness that is a stark reality in this country. But also to enjoy the simple beauty that is Kenya.

I took the night bus from Malava to Nairobi the night before we met and checked us into the Flora Hostel. The Flora Hostel is a special hostel in Nairobi run by the Consolata Sisters and is reserved for missionaries and their families. Compared to many other places in Nairobi it is clean, safe, quiet, and reasonably priced. An added bonus was that all meals were included and the triple occupancy room that we stayed in was housed in it’s own separate cottage out back of the main building. There was also an on-site chapel that offered daily Liturgy of the Eucharist.

The cottage at Flora Hostel

Cosy room 4NC at the Flora Hostel

The chapel at Flora Hostel

Having never been to Kenya and not knowing if they would ever get the chance to come again they wanted to see as much of the country as possible. So when they arrived at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi on Wednesday, August 25 I became their tour guide that would take on the impossible task of showing them the country of Kenya in just two weeks.

After spending seven months out in Malava, where the kitchen isn’t far from the slaughterhouse, the showers are from a cold bucket of rain water, and a white person is unheard of, it was good to get back to the city, even if for only a short while. I checked into room number 4NC and while I waited for my parents flight to come in I enjoyed a long, hot shower, ate meatballs and cold potato salad, and even talked to a few white people from Australia.

I had been planning for my parent’s visit for several weeks, but even still it didn’t seem completely real. I waited for over an hour for them to come through the baggage claim at the airport, but when they finally emerged from the exit doors I realized it was true. My parents had actually come to Kenya. Although at first I looked on in disbelief, it was good to finally see a familiar face. We greeted and hugged and then headed for the Sister’s convent in Racecourse, Nairobi. I introduced them to the Sisters and after a late supper the three of us slept easy in our beds at the hostel. We would need all of the rest we could get for the following day and the weeks to come. The schedule was extremely tight and there was a lot to see and do.

In the time that they were here, we feed giraffes by hand at the Lang’ata Giraffe Centre, we saw baby elephants being feed and got to pet a cheetah at the Animal Orphanage. We saw traditional African dancing and mud huts at the Bomas of Kenya and visited the Karen Blixen Museum. We visited Arielle and Sandy and the girls and Rescue Dada. We crossed over the equator through the Great Rift Valley and came to Malava to attend the Kenyan Mass at St. Teresa Parish. We visited the St. Julie Centre for Disabled Children and were invited to eat authentic Kenyan food with Tom, a member of the staff. We took boda bodas, or bicycle taxis, to Webuye Falls and took a tuk-tuk, or a three-wheeled motorized vehicle to Lake Victoria to see hippos in the town of Kisumu. We took a trip to the coast of the Indian Ocean, to the island town of Lamu, the oldest town in Kenya, and caught a glimpse of Mount Kilimanjaro on the flight back to Nairobi. But the ultimate experience had to be seeing the Big Five game animals on the four-day safari at the Maasai Mara National Reserve and seeing thousands upon thousands of wild flamingoes at Lake Nakuru National Park.

Giraffe and I at the Giraffe Centre

Cheetah and I at the Animal Orphanage

Traditional African dancers at the Bomas of Kenya

Now officially a grandmother, Mom gets her own hut at the Bomas

Tim at the Equator Crossing through the Great Rift Valley

Dad and Mom on bicycle taxis called boda bodas to Webuye Falls

Tom's brother, Tom, Mom, and Dad

The beautiful Island of Lamu on the coast of the Indian Ocean

Dad on the beach in Lamu

A glimpse of Mt. Kilimanjaro on the flight from Lamu back to Nairobi

Mass in Malava

2007-07-15T23:47:00.000+03:00

St. Teresa Church in Malava

Mass on Sunday, in Malava, at St. Teresa Parish starts roughly at 9AM. Many parishioners come from a long distance on foot and so the Mass will not begin until most have arrived and the church is full. Luckily, I live on the parish grounds so I can usually leave the house at 9 o’clock, or even a few minutes past, and still make it on time.

Mural of St. Mary and St. John at the foot of the cross

African Jesus shepherding his flock

When I arrive at the church I genuflect and look up at the crucifix hanging behind the altar and notice the African depictions of St. Mary and St. John at the foot of the cross, to the right there is also an African depiction of Jesus shepherding his flock. I am always aware that I will be the only white person at Mass and so I sit in the back, trying not to call attention to myself. Even still, within a minute or two the parents and children in front and on the sides of me turn around to get a look. The children stare, but when they see that I am looking back at them they smile and then hide their faces. Just before Mass begins, the church fills to capacity and many sit elbow to elbow. The choir, whose space is reserved in the first five rows, warms up by singing a couple of songs. Finally, they start a fast song that is uplifting and full of energy.

Liturgical dancers enter the church and dance up the aisle

All rise and a long procession begins up the center aisle. At the front of the procession are the altar boys followed by two rows of liturgical dancers. These young girls dance their way up the aisle and then divide in half when they come to the front, before the altar. Father Paul, the pastor, is last in the procession. He enters the back of the church in a cloud of incense smoke.

When Father Paul gets to the front of the church he begins the Mass in Swahili by making the sign of the cross.

“Kwa jina la Baba,
(In the Name of the Father)
na la Mwana,
(And of the Son)
na la Roho Mtakatifu.”
(And of the Holy Spirit)

And all reply,

“Amina.”

(Amen)

From this point, most of the Mass is sung. St. Teresa Parish has an amazing and talented choir. About twenty men and women sing everything a cappella with only the occasional accompaniment of a drum and tambourine. Even though I don’t understand most of the words they are singing, their passion comes through and they make the Mass come alive.

Father Paul gives one of his famous homilies

As the readings are read in Swahili I read along with my bible in English. The Gospel is read and Father Paul begins his homily. I never understand what he is saying to the people, but he always has a funny and entertaining story to tell that is relevant to the readings. Several weeks ago, on Trinity Sunday, he had a captivated audience as he explained the Trinity using maize.

The ushers stand in a line as "Our Lady of Perpetual Help" looks over their shoulders

The Mass then continues as the petitions are given during the prayers of the faithful and then the collection is taken up. The collection is done differently than in the US in that the baskets stay up by the altar while ushers dismiss row by row, to come to the front. The ushers wear colored sashes with “Malava Catholic Parish” on them, but because they cannot read in English the lettering is always upside-down. A typical offering is between twenty and fifty shillings, which is about thirty to seventy-five cents. It’s always a struggle for me to remember to bring my money in the morning and can be embarrassing when I forget. I am assumed by all to be very wealthy and it gives a bad impression when I have nothing to give while the poor villagers are offering up all they have.

The gifts are brought to the altar

When it comes time to present the gifts on the altar there are sometimes loud animal noises coming from outside the church. At Mass in the States, most of the time, the gifts are simply the bread and wine. In Kenya, the gifts are presented with another long procession that comes up the center aisle. The people dance as they carry gifts of fruit, vegetables, rice, maize, salt, sugar, eggs, soda, baking flour, and even toilet paper. Each gift is wrapped nicely in a black plastic bag. Some villagers even offer animals as gifts to place on the altar. Chickens are the most common, but there is also the occasional sheep. So that they don’t get loose in the church each animal must have it’s legs tied. This is usually done just outside of the church and the animals can be heard screaming and struggling to get free during the first part of the Mass. Two men will carry a large sheep upside by it’s legs as they bring it up the aisle. Sometimes it’s still “baa-ing.” It looks just like an animal sacrifice and it makes me laugh all the time. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to take a clear picture of this happening.

Gifts at the altar

After the gifts are brought, Father Paul consecrates the bread and wine and the choir leads in singing the “Baba Yetu” or “Our Father.” When it comes time to offer the sign of peace many children come over to where I am and are excited to shake my hand. Sometimes they just want to touch my skin to see if it feels to same as theirs. They offer the sign of peace by saying,

“Amani ya Bwana” (Peace of the Lord)
or
“Amani ya Kristu” (Peace of Christ).

Father holds up the Body and Blood of Christ

Father Paul then holds up the Body and Blood of Christ and the parishioners come up to receive the Eucharist. Surprisingly, the same organization that is used during the collection is lost when going up to receive Communion. The line is not single file but horizontal along the altar and many come all at once and then wait in clusters to receive the host.

Parishioners receive communion

Father Paul says to each,

“Mwili wa Kristu” (Body of Christ)

And they reply

“Amina”

What is somewhat surprising is that only about half of the church receives Communion. Many of the villagers were not brought up Catholic, or even Christian, and can’t receive the Eucharist because they haven’t been Baptized. All the same, they come to church to offer their prayers for the community.

After Communion, the whole church bows as the Eucharist is placed back in the tabernacle and then all kneel as the choir leads in slowly singing a prayer of St. Ignatius Layola, the Anima Christi. The mood is very solemn and one of great reverence. It is really only at this one moment, during the Mass, that I feel one with these people. I don’t know every word that is spoken, but I understand. They are mostly the poor and uneducated, but I can see they understand. All language and cultural barriers have been broken down. Together we have all become brothers and sisters.

All rise and Father Paul again makes the sign of the cross and then says,”

“Nendeni na amani” (Go in peace)

All reply,

“Tumshukuru Mungu” (Thanks be to God)

Our countries and cultures have many differences, but during the Mass we all become one in Christ.

St. Julie Centre - Week 24

2007-07-14T00:03:00.000+03:00

Godfrey Matika - Cerebral Palsy

For the past couple of weeks there has been one child in particular from the Centre that has been on my mind, Godfrey Matika. On June 24th Godfrey past away. He was the sixth child from the Centre to pass away this year. But what makes him stick in my mind is that I knew him well. Godfrey was one of the first children I met when I came to the Centre back in January. His mother used to bring him to the Centre every Monday, until the last few weeks of his life. He was a six-year-old who was blind and had cerebral palsy. He was very thin and it seemed obvious that he wasn’t feeding well and I think this may have been the main cause of his death.

I was told that his parents were so poor that they began to sell off their land bit by bit until they were left to live on a patch of ground that was so small that there was no room to plant or grow any food. It seems as though, in selling off their land, they sold off their main means of survival. And in the end, the burden of caring for a severely disabled child could have been more than they could bear.

Esther Moses - Cerebral Palsy

Fred Lisangari - Epilepsy

After Godfrey died, I began to look into the other children that have died this year and their causes of death. Most of them didn’t come to the Centre as often, so I didn’t know them as well, but from what I could see, they seemed to be to be doing alright, all things considered. It seemed that one day they were here, the next day they were gone, and I was the only one asking questions about it. No one else needed a reason. Death was just a way of life. I talked to the occupational therapy staff at the Centre and was surprised to hear how common it is for a disabled child to suddenly die. The staff, who had been at the Centre since it’s opening, seemed more accepting of this fact than I was. Apparently, when a small child has a disability, that could be in only one part of the body, the whole body is effected in some way. It’s as if due to the lacking of the one part, the rest of the body has to work harder, or is compromised. Mental disabilities are always more difficult to treat than physical disabilities and with small children, feeding can always be difficult.

Bramuel Sifu - Epilepsy

Issac Piccho - Cleft Lip

John Wanyama - Hydrocephalus

At some point, all we have are memories…

When Godfrey would come to the Centre his mother would bring him in and lay him down on the floor mats or sometimes prop him up in the sitting devices. Godfrey didn’t move much and his body seemed to be stuck in the fetal position from birth. His arms were very stiff, curled up into his chest, and his legs were raised, bent at the knee, and seemed to be frozen in that stance. When I would try to engage him in play therapy many times, besides his eyes blinking and the slight movement of his mouth, he wouldn’t talk or move at all. I would move his arms and legs for him to help reduce some of the stiffness. But one day I found that when I continued to play with him and call out his name he began to respond and move all on his own. It wasn’t much, but he would move his arms back and forth at the elbows and while his fingers were also curled into tiny fists, he looked like a boxer preparing to fight. I used to look at Godfrey and think, “This one’s a fighter.” Sometimes I would put my hand on his chest and I could feel his entire rib cage. I would think to myself, one day I will bring him something to eat while we played. Little did I know, at the time, that I wouldn’t see him much longer. I will truly miss him. May his soul, and all those who have died this year, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

In the month of June I heard, and saw, that I have a brand new baby nephew back home. In the month of July I heard the sad news that my 84-year-old grandfather has died. Wherever you are in the world, America or Kenya, whether you are rich, poor, or middle class we cannot get away from the fact that our days are numbered. Each day is a blessing, each breath a gift from God.

The Big 3-0!

2007-07-02T00:20:00.000+03:00

Making a wish!

Today is my 30th Birthday! I’m not normally into celebrating my own birthday, but 30 years seems like some kind of milestone. Three decades…just under a third of a century…and I feel a mid-life crisis coming on soon. I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but “I’m becoming an ancient artifact!” I have the grey hairs to prove it! Pretty soon I’ll be saying things like, “When I was your age…” and “Respect your elders!”

Well, I suppose you’re wondering how I celebrated such a landmark event in my life. Being in Malava, my choices were quite limited. No pool party. No fireworks display. No cardboard cone hats. I celebrated by having a quiet dinner with the Sisters. Just another testament to my old age…

Yesterday I celebrated a day early with Sister Catherine, Sister Phyllis, Sister Nekesa, Sister Beatrice, Sister Jumoke, Postulant Lucy, and Postulant Caroline. We ate salad, beef stew, and chapati (flatbread). Then, for dessert we had a chocolate cake with four flickering candles on it in the shape of a “T,” for Tim…or was it a cross? Anyway, we sang the traditional birthday song, I made a wish, we ate the cake, and then I had to get home early before any would-be bandits could rob me.

Today is my actual birthday. I ate dinner with Father Josaphat and now I am in the house with only a piece of bread and a single candle to make a wish. However, I have received many gifts, just in time, from my family and friends back home that couldn't take "no" for an answer. Thanks a lot for that.

Gifts galore from family and friends!

Thank you Mom and Dad for the card, the candy, the ketchup, and the mustard. Thank you Ed and Kerre for the candy and the update. I will enjoy it all thoroughly.

It seems like a pretty unexciting way to spend my “coming of old age,” but seriously, it was a nice couple of days spent with friends and their generous gifts and I enjoyed it very much.

Update 7/13/07

Thank you Grandma and Aunt Elaine for the birthday cards. Thank you and Aunt Jan and Uncle Walt for the card, the chocolate covered pretzels, and especially the Pistons T-shirt.

Starehe Boys Secondary School

2007-06-30T20:42:00.000+03:00

The front entrance gate at Starehe Boys

On my last visit to Nairobi, I had the opportunity to visit Sr. Frances, a Sister of Notre Dame, who teaches at Starehe Boys Secondary School. I spent the afternoon with her and she gave me the grand tour.

Starehe (STAR-A-HE) means "tranquility" in Swahili. Starehe Boys is Kenya’s leading boys’ secondary school. It has been a “Top Ten” School since 1975. For the past ten years Starehe has ranked consistently as Kenya’s Best National School and takes more students to local universities than any other school in the country. It’s unfailing record for excellence has attracted the attention of many celebrities from around the world, including Muhammad Ali. Starehe's Music program is the best in the country and it’s marching band is well known in Kenya and has performed before Queen Elizabeth II at Buckingham Palace.

The founders of Starehe Boys L to R, Geoffrey Geturo, Joseph Gikubu, and Dr. Geoffrey Griffin

The original two tin huts built in 1959 still stand on the school grounds

Muhammad Ali's visit to Starehe

The school’s founder, Dr. Geoffrey Griffin, assisted by co-founders Joseph Gikubu and Geoffrey Geturo, had a vision for a school that helped to educate the gifted, but poor boys of Kenya. Dr. Griffin was known for his charismatic personality and his ability to persuade others to donate to his cause. In 1959, with funding granted by Kenya Shell & British Petroleum, Starehe began with only 17 boys, housed in two small tin huts. Since then the school has grown and gained much respect for it's commitment to educating the poor. On the day I had visited, 12,456 boys had come to the school and with land donated by the Government of Kenya, the grounds had expanded to 48 acres.

The office of the President of Starehe is full of awards for excellence in education

The kitchen prepares meals for over 1,000 students daily

Most students receive free healthcare from the Starehe's on-site hospital

Seventy percent of the students, which come from every area of Kenya, are granted a completely free education and healthcare at the schools on-site hospital by private and corporate donation. The other thirty-percent pay school fees which are based on their performance on the examination for the Kenya Certificate of Primary.

The chapel at Starehe

The main area in the chapel is set up for Protestant worship

This area of the chapel is set up for Catholic worship

The founder, Dr. Geoffrey Griffin, is buried in the floor of the chapel

The mosque at Starehe

Starehe accepts boys of any religious beliefs and brings them up in the precepts of those beliefs. At the daily assembly in the Hall, different groups take turns to present a reading, a hymn and a prayer. Sunday worship takes place in the Chapel which originally was used as a lecture hall. The school has Catholic and Protestant Chaplains on Staff, so all needs from baptism to a funeral can be met. Many Old Boys return to marry in the Chapel. Starehe also possesses what is probably the most beautiful small mosque in the country, serving Muslim boys.

The Starehe school badge

The Starehe’s vision and tradition of excellence are embodied in the school badge which is displayed at the entrance to the school’s main Hall. The silver griffin head represents the founding director of Starehe, Dr. Geoffrey Griffin. It’s location at the top signifies vigilance. The silver bugles symbolize the emphasis placed on music at the school. The school colors, blue and red represent truth, loyalty, military strength, and nobility. The red lion stands for courage, bravery, strength, ferocity, and valor. The silver stars are a pun on the school name “Star-ehe” but also reflect it’s motto “Natulenge Juu” which is Swahili for “Let us aim high.”

Starehe is an amazing school with an amazing founder. When I see what has come out of his vision to help the poor through education I am reminded that this was also a vision of St. Julie Billiart, the founder of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur. Dr. Griffin’s work has helped many of the poor and his motto “Let us aim high” inspires me in my own work of children with disabilities. His dream continues to grow and in 2005, Starehe Girls School was founded.

Dr. Aggrey Primary School

2007-06-29T21:45:00.001+03:00

The children of the class raise their hands eager to learn

While I was in Nairobi back in May, I was able to visit another ministry of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur, the Dr. Aggrey Primary School. I was invited to spend the day with Sr. Beatrice, who teaches class 3. She explained that the school was named after a famous doctor and that they encourage the children to study hard by telling them that they too could be doctors some day.

Sr. Beatrice teaches at the front of the class

On the morning I went to visit the school, there was a steady drizzle of rain. Sr. Beatrice and I had to carefully find our way up the muddy road, trying to avoid many puddles along to way, to the classrooms and office buildings. As the children arrived they removed their muddy shoes at the door and it was obvious that they were poor from the holes in their socks. Sr. Beatrice introduced me to her class and began to teach at the front while I walked around and helped the students with their math and English lessons. It was incredible that nearly all of the students spoke three languages fluently. They spoke Swahili, their own tribal language, and English. These children have so much potentional, but sadly our still disadvantaged.

The children play jump rope at recess despite the rain

Later in the day she was called away for a teacher meeting and for about an hour I was left to teach the class. The kids are smart and always eager to learn, but they are also very energetic and a real handful. I helped to teach English for awhile until their attention was completely lost and then I set them free for a recess break. On the break, the children played games outside in the courtyard although the grounds were still wet and muddy. After the break, the children came back in and I was worried that I would have to teach another subject. At this point, I had run out of lesson plans and the class was still noisy from recess. I tried my best to quiet them down, but they obviously didn’t see me as an authority figure. Just when I was about shout, “Please be quiet and take your seats!,” they suddenly did on their own. The class miraculously took their seats and was immediately silent. I had not said a word, but still had my finger raised with conviction. I was puzzled for a second and then I turned my head and saw Sr. Beatrice walk through the door. The class had seen her coming for a short distance. They knew she meant business. She smiled at me and said, “How was the class?” I pointed to them all sitting quietly in their desks and said, “Oh, fine…they were fine!”

With Sr. Beatrice present, the class quietly does their school work

The Girls at Rescue Dada

2007-06-28T17:46:00.000+03:00

A Rescue Dada girl does her English school work

In May, I made another quick trip to Nairobi, this time it was to complete my Kenyan residency at the Immigration Office. While I was there I had the opportunity to spend a few days with the other Notre Dame Mission Volunteers, Arielle and Sandy, at Rescue Dada, a school and orphanage for street girls.

Lunch time at Rescue Dada

The last time I was there was back in January and I spent most of my time in the classrooms helping to teach English, but this time I came to visit during lunch and arts & crafts. On this day, the girls were making bracelets by stringing beads and braiding colored string. The bracelets would eventually be sold to generate funds to help support the program.

Girls make bracelets by stringing beads

Girls make bracelets out of colored string

At the time, the girls had been preparing for a poetry reading competition. It was to be held at one of the animal sanctuaries in Nairobi. The theme was the environment. While the girls were busy rehearsing the poem that they wrote, Arielle and Sandy were busy painting a natural landscape on a sheet that would serve as a backdrop for their presentation.

Sandy and Arielle paint the backdrop for the poetry reading

It's a masterpiece!

It’s truly amazing how the staff and volunteers at Rescue Dada are able to take these girls off the street, who seem to have no where to turn, and give them so much hope!

Chicks!!!

2007-06-26T02:35:00.000+03:00

Today feels like Easter! My new hen has just hatched a litter of babies and I now have nine tiny chicks living in my courtyard. She still sits on one last egg that chirps when I hold it up to my ear. When it hatches there will be ten in all.

Chirp chirp!

Awhile back I had two chickens. Sadly, my hen, Malaika, died and my rooster, Rafiki, got lonely and went to find another mate. I’m not sure where he is right now, but it seems as though he was probably caught by my neighbors and eaten. They were both good chickens while they were mine, but since then I have moved on and now have another pair.

Mama eating rice out of my hand

Jogoo "crowing" loudly in the morning

In March, I was invited to visit Father Josaphat’s family, and after spending the day with them, they presented me with a gift, another hen. I have named her Mama Kidogo, which means "little mother" in Swahili. Mama, like my last hen, is also mostly white and has a faint black collar and a single row of black tailfeathers. I kept her alone in my courtyard and even taught her to eat out of my hand. After a few weeks, I eventually bought another rooster at the market to keep her company. I have named him Jogoo Makelele, which means “noisy rooster.” Jogoo is all white and matches Mama’s colors well. Every morning he wakes me up at 6:30AM with a very loud “crow” and continues making noise all day long.

Mama and Jogoo in the chicken house

They seem like the perfect couple and in the morning they both go out in the field together to find food. In the evening, they come back at the same time and stay the night in the chicken house.

Little by little Mama started to lay eggs and I have been collecting them, one by one, and eating them for breakfast. But it was at one point several weeks ago that she played a trick on me.

It seemed as though she had stopped laying eggs for a short time. I didn’t think much of it at first, but one day I discovered that she had been holding out on me. I finally caught on to what she was doing when she didn’t come home one night. I went searching for her and discovered that she had found a way to climb into an open window of the storage room next to my house and was laying her eggs in a nest-shaped tarp on the floor. She had been hiding her eggs from me in this room for a couple of weeks. By now, she was sitting on fifteen of them!

Jogoo sits in his favorite spot waiting for eggs to hatch

Mama has spent the last three weeks in the storage room and I have been checking on her everyday. Today I peered in through the window to see how she was doing and was surprised when I saw two tiny heads poking up from under her.

Mama and chicks

Nine chicks and one egg

One big happy chicken family!

I immediately went to Father Josaphat and told him what had happened. He looked at me with a questioning expression on his face and said, “Hen, what hen?” I said, “The hen…the hen that your family gave me!” “Oh,” he said, “that hen!” “I thought you slaughtered that hen months ago!”

Power Outages

2007-06-16T23:48:00.000+03:00

Spooky!

Here, in Malava, especially during the rainy season, the power goes out quite frequently. However, seeing that 95% or more of Malava is without power to begin with, a power outage only really effects a small number of people. I am one of those people.

During the early afternoon, when it is not raining, the power can go out for what seems like no reason at all. I was told that on those days the power company has not produced enough power to go around and so they are rationing it. In most cases, this happens while I am busy working at the St. Julie Centre, which doesn’t have power anyway, so I am not usually affected.

The Sisters of Notre Dame, who live in a large compound just up the road, have a fancy-shmancy solar power system with large panels mounted on the roof, so usually they are not affected as well. The obvious disadvantage to having solar power is that when it rains there is not usually enough sun to recharge the system. So it seems that in Malava, no matter what kind of system you are using, power is scarce and everyone is trying to conserve energy.

Just one plug too many

Every time it rains the power is almost certain to go out. Having been through it a few times already, I have developed a system for survival. I start by quickly plugging in everything that uses rechargeable batteries. I plug in my laptop, my mobile phone, and lastly my AA battery charger itself. To keep all of these things near, where I need them, I plug them all into the one single outlet in my bedroom. When I look at all of the plugs protruding from the wall I am reminded of a scene from the holiday movie classic, A Christmas Story. In the movie, the quirky father blows a fuse while trying to light the family Christmas tree from a similar looking overloaded outlet. After I plug in everything I can’t resist a reenactment of the scene. I fiddle with the cords. I point to were each one goes. Then I shrug my shoulders, shake my head, and recite the punch line, “It’s just one too many.” I suppose, in the end, the joke is on me because I know very soon I will be in darkness, and then I won’t be laughing.

At night, when the power finally goes out, as one might expect, it gets very dark in the house. I hope that by this time all of the batteries have been recharged. However, a strange thing about that is that, if they are charged, I am afraid to use any of them. In most cases, the power goes back on within a day or two, but I have been told that it can easily be much longer. And so I try to save all of the power I have by living in darkness.

Candlelight dinner for one

As one might also expect, there is not much to do in the dark when the power is out. Luckily, I have some candles, a kerosene lantern, and a propane gas stove. I light the lantern and make shadow puppets on the wall while I cook rice for dinner. As I move from the house, across the courtyard, to the kitchen and back in the dark, I can’t help but think in back of my mind that if I was attacked by bandits on this night they would really catch me at a disadvantage. I try my best not to spook myself and put it out of my mind. I finish cooking quickly, get into the house, and lock the door behind me. When all is secure I set a small table in the sitting room for a romantic, candlelight, dinner for one.

Last week, after I had eaten, I tried in vain to read by the light of the lantern, but it was hopeless. I finally accepted the inevitable and headed off to bed early with hopes and dreams of having power in the morning. Of course, it was when I had stumbled quite a bit in the pitch blackness to use the bathroom, brush my teeth, get into bed, put on my mosquito net, and put out the lantern that the power finally went on. Suddenly, all at once, all of the lights I had left on during the day, including the one directly over my bed, went on in a blinding flash. Arrgghhh! I asked for it!

Corpus Christi

2007-06-10T20:42:00.000+03:00

Then He took the bread,
said the blessing, broke it,
and gave it to them saying,
“This is my body,
which will be given up for you;
do this in memory of me.”

Luke 22:19

Today is the Feast of Corpus Christi which is the feast of the Body of Christ or the Eucharist. At St. Teresa Parish we celebrated with a long procession that paraded through the village, stopping at the parish primary school, the local hospital and HIV/AIDS Testing Center, and finally the police station. At each stop the parish members gathered around to pray for the school children, the people of Malava who are sick or dying, and the police who the protect the village. Many from the village, not from our parish, heard and saw the singing and dancing and came out to see what was happening. Father Paul, the pastor, held the Eucharist high so everyone in village could see. Unfortunately, many of the onlookers had no idea what it was Father Paul was holding. Some of the small children that came out to see the parade and saw me and began shouting, “Mzungu, mzungu, how are you!!!?” Mzungu is “white person” in Swahili. When they began shouting, all of the children and some of the adults came out see…me, not the Body of Christ. I started to get concerned stares from those in the procession. I began to walk slightly faster and as I looked down at the ground, feeling very awkward and embarrassed, I said to the children with a forced smile, “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Father Paul and altar boys kneel before the blessed sacrament and pray at the parish school

School children lead the procession through the village

Father Paul holds the Eucharist high so everyone can see

Parishioners dance in the procession

All gather around to pray for those sick and dying at the local hospital

Father Paul prays in front of the blessed sacrament

Children come out of the shops to see the parade

Prayer at the Kenyan Police Station

The procession heads back to the church

Benediction at St. Teresa Church

St. Julie Centre - Week 18

2007-06-03T02:44:00.000+03:00

The Volunteer Staff and I at the St. Julie Centre

My role as the Volunteer Supervisor seems to get more familiar everyday. Three volunteers from last year, that took temporary leave, are set to rejoined the group and I will soon have a staff of twelve. Most of my staff are members of a local Christian volunteer group called Huruma. Huruma means "sympathy" in Swahili. I had my second volunteer meeting last week and even felt comfortable addressing them without having a translator present. I’m starting to think that my previous lack of experience in being a supervisor has turned out to help me in this role. It’s strange how the exact opposite of both our fears has actually happened. Before they met me, the volunteer staff, which is nearly all female, was afraid that, as a man, I would be over-bearing not be sensitive to their needs. While I, when I found out I’d be their supervisor, thought that the staff would see that I had no experience in this kind of position and would not take me seriously. But, I am happy to say that I have an excellent relationship with my staff and we are grateful to have each other. Things are well and as they should be.

Jairus uses the parallel bars to help him walk

Play therapy has been challenging, but is also going well. It has taken me some time to realize that many of the children who have severe disabilities are going to take a considerable amount of time to show any sign of improvement. Some of the children have been coming to the St. Julie Centre for years and are only presently showing some progress. Even more so, sadly, there are some cases where the children are not expected to improve at all. These children are brought to the Centre only in order to keep them in their present state and not allow them to get any worst. Before I came to terms with this fact I had a very difficult time with play therapy. In my mind, it was as if I had made it my own responsibility to make sure that each child would recover by the time my volunteer service was over. With this mind set, my first few weeks play therapy seemed like an incredibly daunting task.

Ruth is learning to write letters and numbers

After many weeks of therapy most of the children did not show any signs of improvement. Those that couldn’t stand or walk, still couldn’t. Those couldn’t talk, still couldn’t. Those that couldn’t concentrate on a single activity for more than a few seconds, still couldn’t. This is when I began to ask myself, “Am I really helping these children.?” It seemed as if, we at the Centre, were merely buying time while clinging to the false hope that a child with a severe disability might live a “normal” life one day. But watching these children come week after week without any progress, it was apparent that most of them would never live a “normal” life. It seemed hopeless and in many ways I felt like a failure. I kept asking myself, “What am I doing wrong that this child can’t walk or talk or concentrate?”

Vivian blows bubbles to help strengthen her vocal muscles to help her to speak

Mama Naomy plays with her daughter who is using a sitting device

I spent a lot of time thinking and stressing over it and finally had a conversation with David, one of the occupational therapists. He explained to me that physical therapy, in many cases is a very long process that can take several years. Disabilities in which the brain is effected can take even longer. He went on to tell me that my year of service spent with these children would only be a small fraction of the time it would take for them to recover, but he was reassuring that every stage was very necessary, even if I couldn’t see it. Just then, I pointed out a small boy at the Centre that, at that moment, was walking across the floor to chase a ball. I said, “He still can’t talk. I’ve tried everything. He only wants to play with the ball.” David replied, “You should have seen him when he first came to the Centre almost two years ago. He had to be carried in because he couldn’t walk, but now that he is walking, we are trying to focus on his speech.” This was a complete eye-opener for me. There was so much I hadn’t realized and I began to see my work with these children in a whole new light. I began to appreciate every moment I had with them. And the more I did this I began to notice small improvements with each child that I had previously over-looked. I now notice when a boy takes his first step, even if he falls on his second. I notice when a girl talks in gibberish, even if she can’t say any words. I notice when a child concentrates on an activity, even if it’s only for a few seconds more than from the week before. I began to ask myself, “How many “normal” people will get this opportunity to be here with this child at this moment? What's a "normal” life, but ordinary? I’m so glad that I don’t have a “normal” life!

Pentecost

2007-05-27T12:36:00.001+03:00

Father Josaphat consecrates the Eucharist at St. Teresa Church

On the evening of that first day of the week,

when the doors were locked, where

the disciples were,for fear of the Jews,

Jesus came and stood in their midst

and said to them, “Peace be with you.”

When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side.

The disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.

Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you.

As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them,

“Receive the Holy Spirit.

Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them,

and whose sins you retain are retained.”

John 20:19-23

Mail

2007-05-15T01:25:00.000+03:00

It’s always good to hear from all of you back home. Whether it be through comments posted on this blog, email, or snail mail, all of your words of encouragement and thoughtfulness have been very much appreciated. Asante sana! (Thank you very much!)

In the time I have been in Kenya I have received two packages by snail mail. The first was from my parents for Easter; a shirt, a watch, and best of all, jelly beans. The second was from Jane, my friend from Australia, who just returned home after working at an orphanage in Kenya; an UNO deck and delicious Cadbury milk chocolate. These were both very good gifts to get and I enjoyed them immensely.

Some of you back home have asked me if there is anything that I need and the fact of the matter is that there really isn’t. I am trying my best to adapt to the Kenyan lifestyle and everything I need is here. If I get a letter or a package in the mail I consider it a luxury and a real treat. I am grateful to have such friends and family, but truly I don’t need anything.

THIS IS NOT A REQUEST

However, if you are the type of person that doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Some things that I don’t need, but wouldn’t mind getting are greeting cards, any kind of candy, and ketchup and mustard packets. These things can usually be sent at very little cost. Postcards can be sent to Kenya for $0.75 and 1-ounce letter envelopes for $0.85.

*Just a tip -- The Posta (Post Office) in Malava can sometimes be corrupt. Large packages receive a high tax and can cost more to retrieve than they did to ship from the States. Packages with expensive items listed on the customs label can go “missing” before they are retrieved. So my best advice is, stick with envelopes. Large packaging envelopes are fine…bubbles or no bubbles. Sending time is usually about two weeks.

My mailing address is:
Tim Constantino
Box 323
Malava 501 03
Kenya
Africa

Weekend in Webuye

2007-05-12T19:25:00.000+03:00

Webuye Falls

About 30 minutes north of Malava is the village of Webuye (WAY-BOO-YAY). Webuye, in my mind, is known for two things, one of them is absolutely gorgeous while the other is absolutely disgusting. Webuye is home to the stunning Webuye Falls, but unfortunately it is also home to the Pan Paper Factory and also a sewage treatment plant. The falls are breathtaking beautiful and provide a relaxing retreat from the busy marketplace, while the pollution from the factory and treatment plant produce one of the worst smells on earth. The smell is a cross between car exhaust, burning rotten trash, and an overflowing pit latrine. It is mind-boggling that Webuye’s residents would tolerate such a foul stink in their community, but then again, I suppose they don’t have any power over the rich businesses in their village and furthermore, many of it’s residents are employed at either the factory or treatment plant. Fortunately, the falls are some distance from the village center and are isolated from the dreadful smell of appalling air pollution.

From the falls there are many tributaries that go in many directions

Behind the main falls are a series of smaller falls

In some spots, you can cross the river on a foot path of stones

The still water is very beautiful, but is also home to some crocodiles

From the marketplace, I hired a boda-boda, or bicycle taxi, to take me up the rocky path to the falls. The distance is only about a half-mile, but the terrain can be slightly challenging for a bicycle not built for off-road. For this reason, I had to pay double the standard taxi fee and what’s more I had to get off the bicycle and walk when the path became too difficult. Nevertheless, I gladly paid the 200 Ksh ($2.85 USD) round trip fee to spend a day at the falls. The boda-boda rider’s name was Joseph and he offered to be my tour guide for the day to show me around.

Webuye is a relaxing retreat from the busy marketplace

Local village children play in small caves formed by the huge rocks

The scenic rapids

The tropical landscapes

The main falls cannot compare to Niagara, but even still they are somewhat large and can be seen and heard from some distance. Where Webuye is lacking in size in comparison to Niagara, it makes up in serenely beautiful green tropical landscapes. Behind the main falls, huge stones dominate the countryside creating a series of smaller falls and rapids that give the feeling of peacefulness and tranquilly. There are even scenes of still water that make you want to spend an afternoon lying on the banks. The lazy stream is so inviting that children will often bath or go swimming it’s calming waters. But as Joseph, my guide, told me, “You have to watch out for the crocodiles!”

The stunning Webuye Falls!

The Crying Stone of Ilesi

2007-05-03T22:13:00.000+03:00

On top of the hills just south of Kakamega is the mysterious Crying Stone of Ilesi. The Crying Stone is a local landmark that consists of a large boulder resting on top of a massive pillar of rock eight meters high. The formation is supposed to resemble a solemn head falling on weary shoulders and from the top “tears” flow down the length of the column. The legend has it that the “tears” never stop flowing, but the stones were definitely dry when I came to visit. Although it seemed to be in good spirits on the day I came, remnants of many sorrowful days can still be seen. The stone is stained a dark green color from many years of weeping.

The cause of this natural curiosity is a hidden reservoir at the top of the stone “head.” When it rains the reservoir fills up with water and slowly flows through small cracks down the side of the “shoulders.”. Moss that grows inside the reservoir soaks up water and allows it to flow for many weeks at a time, even during a drought.

Labor Day

2007-05-01T22:25:00.000+03:00

Angela and Nancy making chapati

On Labor Day, Ryan and I had a few members of the St. Julie Centre staff over for dinner to celebrate both the work we are doing and also our day off. Angela, one of the occupational therapists, and Nancy who helps with just about everything at the Center, agreed to prepare the meal. David, the occupational therapist who runs the Center, and Tom, the groundskeeper were also invited.

David and Tom in the sitting room

Ryan entertained David and Tom in the sitting room while I helped Angela and Nancy in the kitchen. Although it is Kenyan culture for women to prepare food in a household while the men sit and discuss “important” matters, such as sports or politics, I spent most of my time in the kitchen learning about Kenyan cooking. The meal would consist of chicken, chapattis, ugali, and sukuma wiki.

Since most women in Kenya do the cooking, it is not uncommon for a Kenyan woman to know how to slaughter a chicken, and so Nancy did the honors. Ryan and I purchased a large rooster and Nancy slaughtered it in our courtyard before cooking it for dinner. I tend to enjoy a meal more when I haven’t witnessed the slaughtering of the animal just before and so I went out back while Nancy did her work.

Nancy removes all of the feathers

Slaughtering a chicken is typically done by removing the animal’s head from it’s body using a standard kitchen knife. Once the blood is allowed to drain, the chicken is put into a pot of hot water allowing the feathers to be easily removed. Then the chicken is cooked three times. First, it is smoked whole over a charcoal fire. Then it is cut into pieces and boiled in a cooking pot. Lastly, it is fried on a charcoal jiko in a sufuria pot until the skin turns brown. Then it is nearly ready to eat.

The chicken is smoked on a charcoal jiko

The chicken is fried in a sufuria pot

It is also part of Kenyan culture to use every part of the chicken so nothing goes to waste and one chicken can feed a family with many members. It is common to serve chicken with parts such as the liver, gizzard, feet, and even the head. I was told that the gizzard is considered one of the best parts and it is served to the head man of the house. Tradition says that a man can divorce his wife if she does not prepare for him the gizzard of a chicken. No complaints here!
While the chicken cooked, Angela and Nancy were busy preparing the rest of the meal. They prepared chapattis; a Kenyan flat bread, along with ugali; maize meal porridge, and sukuma wiki; kale that is fried with onions and tomatoes.

When the food was finished cooking we brought it all across the courtyard and into the sitting room of the house where David lead us in prayer. We thanked God for bringing us all together on this day to enjoy the food which had been prepared for us and then we began to eat. The meal that Angela and Nancy prepared for us was delicious and it was good to be able to spend my Labor Day with friends.

Sisters Attacked!

2007-04-29T23:06:00.000+03:00

The large community house on the north side of the Sisters' compound

While I was away in Mombasa over Easter vacation I heard reports from Nairobi that the Sisters of Notre Dame in Malava were attacked in the night by men trying to break into their house. Now that I am back in Malava, I have had a chance to talk with the Sisters and some others to get an account of what actually happened.

Apparently, on Tuesday, April 10th eight men approached the Sisters' compound at night. The Sisters' compound is a gated plot of land about 2 kilometers from where I stay, at St. Teresa parish, in Malava. It contains two large community houses and a small “shamba” or farm. It seems as though these large houses are well-known in Malava and give the appearance of wealth. The gate at the front of the compound is guarded by John, the watchman, every night. However, although John is there, he does not carry a weapon and, in all honesty, could do little if there was an intruder with a gun. Mainly, it is his job to keep watch over the night and to report any occurrences to the Sisters' and to contact the Kenyan Police, if need be. On this night, John was approached by eight men that easily over-powered him and placed a metal object to his head that was shaped like a gun. Fearing for his life, he stayed still, but when he noticed that the object was only a piece of metal pipe he began to fight back. When the Sisters' realized that they were being attacked from outside they called the police and secondly made a call for help to the priests at St. Teresa parish. Unfortunately Maurice, the priest’s cook and groundskeeper, was the only one home. The priests had gone out of town. He, being a good friend of the Sisters' decided to act. He grabbed the only weapon that he had at the time, a large stone, and together with the police headed to the compound.

The large community house on the south side of the the Sisters' compound

When they arrived at the compound it was dark and quiet. They had no way of telling what had happened. Had the intruders finally broken into the Sisters' house? Were the intruders armed? Were they still inside the compound? That’s when the Kenyan police devised a brilliant plan! They would stand, with guns drawn, at the entrance to the compound while Maurice, armed with only a stone, would go into the compound and try to chase the intruders out. When the intruders came running out of the compound, for fear of being stoned, the police would shoot them on-site.

Fortunately, for poor Maurice, when he entered the compound he found that the intruders had failed to break into the Sisters' house and had already fled the area. Sadly, John, the watchman, was hit on the back of the head with the metal pipe and suffered a head injury as well as a broken arm. Luckily he wasn’t killed.

The eight men got away and no one has any idea of who or where they are. We don't live in fear, but we do continue to be cautious, especially at night. Although Malava is a fairly safe place to be, we all realize what can happen. In the meantime, John is in bandages and will need many weeks to recover, while the Sisters' are looking for a new watchman. Although it seems as though he could use the money, Maurice has turned down the job.

The Rainy Season

2007-04-28T23:56:00.000+03:00

During the rainy season the dirt roads become rushing rivers of water and mud

It is now the rainy season in Kenya. Actually, from what I am told, it is the first of two rainy seasons during the year. In the States, we, of course, have the four seasons and they are, for the most part, distinct from each other by the amount sun, rain, or snow. In Kenya, the four seasons still exist, but the temperature doesn’t vary as much and so the seasons seem to be defined more by the amount of rainfall. Furthermore, many Kenyans are farmers and so tend to think of seasons in terms of planting and growing. So most Kenyans only talk about two seasons the rainy season and the dry season.

I collect as much water as I can during the rain storms

When each season is supposed to occur seems to vary by who I talk to, but roughly the first rainy season starts in March and ends sometime in May. In June and July the heavy rains will slow down to a drizzle. Then August and September the rains will continue until finally in October the dry season begins and lasts until February.

Rain water collected in buckets is never clear and needs to be filtered before using

During the rainy season the dirt roads can become rivers of rushing water and sticky red mud is everywhere. It can be tough to keep the clothes and shoes I have spent so much trouble washing from being soiled once again. Also, with the rain it makes drying clothes that have been washed very difficult. It most cases they have to be dried on a line inside the house.

Water is collected in a large water tank from the gutters on the roof

I suppose the biggest downside to the rainy season is that the power tends to go out very frequently. I try to keep the laptop and cell phone charged, but even so, without recharging they don’t last very long. Also, without light the house tends to be very dark and there isn't much that can be by the dim light of a kerosene lantern.

Water can now be used from the tank

The best thing about the rainy season is that there are buckets and buckets of free water just falling from the sky. This means water for cooking, drinking, washing, showering, and, of course, toilet flushing. We may tend to take these things for granted in the States, but here in Kenya, they don’t always come so easy during the dry season.

St. Julie Centre - Week 12

2007-04-24T23:05:00.000+03:00

One of the greatest challenges of being the Volunteer Supervisor at the St. Julie Centre is communicating with the volunteer staff. I continue to learn more and more Swahili every day, but it also seems important that I learn the local tribal language as well. The tribal language of Malava and the surrounding area is Luyha (LOO-YUH), after the tribe of the same name. So I have been trying my best to learn what I can of both languages so that I am able to speak at least a few words to the staff.

Besides learning the national and local languages to be able to verbally communicate with the volunteer staff, I also have had to learn a lot about the cultural of Kenya. There is an obvious dynamic between men and women in Kenya that isn’t as prominent in the States. In Kenya, there seems to be specific roles assigned to both men and women. There are certain jobs that seem reserved for men that women would not do. While there are certain jobs for women that men would not do.

An example of this comes into play everyday when it is time to clean the Centre before everybody leaves for the day. The volunteer women of the Center dilute cleaner in buckets and use rags to clean and sanitize everything from the play therapy toys, to the floor mats, and even the floor itself. While they do this Ryan and I sit and take tea and bread. It seems to be unthinkable to the Kenyan staff to allow us men to do such a job. It actually makes them feel uncomfortable to have us clean or mop the floor. On the other hand, Ryan and I don’t feel comfortable having these women do all of the cleaning, but, at least for now, it is their wish to do so and so we don‘t interfere.

Together, the language and the culture, have been areas in which I have learned the most about how to be a better Volunteer Supervisor.

One thing that drastically improved the communication between myself and the volunteer staff was the recent volunteer meeting. We have had meetings before where we reviewed contracts and various paperwork, but this was the first time that I feel I really had the chance to speak directly to the staff and also hear from them. I planned the meeting for March 30th and asked David, one of the occupational therapists, to help translate my English into Swahili. It made me nervous to think of how they would respond to what I said. At the meeting I spoke with the staff openly. I explained that there was a lot that we could learn from each other and that we had to work together as a team. I spoke, but then allowed the volunteers to speak, and one by one they did. I asked them to share stories about their experiences about volunteering at the St. Julie Centre. I asked them if they think the work that they do will actually help these disabled children. At first, it was quiet, but slowly each of them stood and began to tell of their best experiences at the Centre and why they know deep in their hearts that they are doing good work. They told of children that couldn’t walk and now are walking. They told of children that couldn’t talk and now are talking. By the end of the meeting I had forgotten how nervous I was and truly felt closer to the staff that the previous day seemed so foreign to me. We shared stories as well as concerns and slowly became comfortable with each other. I even receive many compliments from some of the volunteers saying that it was the first time that they had actually spoken at a meeting. It was the first time somebody asked them how they felt about anything.

Although, the volunteers still refuse to let Ryan and I clean the floor and I know there will continue to be language and cultural difficulties between the staff and I, that day many barriers were broken down and now what ever problems we will face in the future of the St. Julie Center we will face them together.

Fort Jesus

2007-04-13T01:56:00.000+03:00

The meter-thick coral walls at Fort Jesus

Fort Jesus is Mombasa’s biggest tourist attraction. Kenyans will tell you that you haven’t been to Mombasa until you have seen Fort Jesus.

Two years after the arrival of Vasco da Gama Mombasa was sacked by the Portuguese and in 1593 they built Fort Jesus to establish their dominance over the coastal harbor. The Portuguese regarded themselves as representatives of Christ rather than of Portugal. So they sailed under the flag of the Order of Christ and Jesus became an obvious name for the new fort.

Cannons lined up inside the walls of Fort Jesus

However, the Portuguese failed to hold on to it very long and between 1631 and 1875 the fort changed hands at least nine times before falling to British control.

The remains of a Portuguese soldier found at the site

In Swahili, Mombasa is called "Kisiwa ya Mvita," which means "Island of War", due to the many changes in its ownership during this period.

From 1895-1958 Fort Jesus was used as a government prison.

Gede Ruins

2007-04-12T00:52:00.000+03:00

The Gede Ruins are in an area about 4Km from Watamu. They are one of the principle historical monuments on the coast and also one of the principle reasons why it was so painful to lose my camera in the Indian Ocean.

Gede was a city built of stone between the 13th and 14th centuries. Sometime around the 17th and 18th centuries the city was abandoned by it’s inhabitants and became lost when it was swallowed up by the overgrowth of dense forest. Mysteriously there is no historical record of Gede’s existence or it‘s people.

When the ruins were rediscovered around 1920 they uncovered an advanced and prosperous city surrounded by two walls. Excavations found ornate tombs, mosques, and the ruins of a great palace.

Vasco da Gama

2007-04-11T00:14:00.000+03:00

Vasco da Gama was the first known European to visit Mombasa in 1498, but after just one week relations with it’s people fell apart and the Portuguese thought it necessary to sail to the friendly nearby village of Malindi. Here Vasco de Gama and the Portuguese erected a bell-shaped pillar used as a navigational aid on the rocks at the northern end of Casuarina Beach. The pillar is made of coral and topped with a cross made of Lisbon stone.

Camera Problems !@#$

2007-04-09T03:52:00.000+03:00

When I first arrived in Watamu I was amazed by how beautiful it was and wanted to take as many pictures as possible to show all of you back home this incredible place. On my first day at the beach I took my new digital camera out in the ocean where it was shallow, but I was hit by an unexpected wave that knocked me over and flooded my camera with salt water.

Unfortunately, there was no CPR I could do on my camera and it drowned and is now dead. The only pictures I have of my trip to Mombasa are the few I was able to take before this tragic incident. I know that a picture is worth a thousand words and so I am now shopping for a new camera, but until then we may have to rely on high-quality "mental" images. My apologies.

Easter Sunday

2007-04-08T00:21:00.000+03:00

"Peace be with you.

As the Father has sent me

so I send you."

John 20:21

On Easter I woke up early in the morning and went to a nearby café to enjoy two mandazi and a cup of chai tea. Having given up mandazi for Lent they were especially enjoyable and they seemed the perfect way to celebrate the day of our risen Lord.

After breakfast my fellow volunteers and I attended St. John the Baptist Church in Watamu for 9:00AM Mass. Mombasa and the surrounding area being predominantly Muslim it can normally be difficult to find a Catholic church, but thanks to the large number of Italian ex-pats the nearby St. John the Baptist church had Masses in both Italian and Swahili.

The small church was full for Easter mass and for many only standing room was available. Inside it was hot and sweaty as the people packed closely together. The Mass was in Swahili and I didn’t understand everything that was said, but there was one thought that came to me on that day. “I’m in Kenya in an area of the country that is most densely populated by Muslims and here I am sweating uncontrollably with all of these people packed into this tiny Catholic church celebrating mass on Easter Sunday. All I can think is God Bless!”

Watamu

2007-04-07T01:13:00.000+03:00

Watamu beach

After spending a day in Mombasa we boarded a matatu for the small village of Watamu. Watamu is a beach resort on the Indian Ocean that is frequented by European and American tourists as well as many Italian ex-patriots. The beaches are covered with powdery white sand and the ocean is blue with scenic rock formations and caves carved out by the erosion from the water. When the tide is low the cove drains out to sea and people can walk across the to offshore islands. Small pools of sea water that have not drained can be seen containing various ocean life.

Scenic rock formations

An island in the cove that can be reached by foot when the tide is low

The local beach boys are self-appointed guides and will take you around to show you fish, crabs, starfish, eels, and octopi. There is even a large eel named Georgio (Italian influence) and a starfish called Michael Jackson (it‘s arms appear to do the moonwalk). The beach boys rely on the tourists to make money and will offer to prepare grilled fish and bread as you lie on the beach as well as take you fishing and snorkeling.

Roadside stand in Watamu

The Indian Ocean

It was surprising to my fellow volunteers that live on the east coast in the States that I had never been to the ocean…that I had never swam in salt water…but there I was at the ocean for the first time and the Indian Ocean of all oceans. How about that?!!!

Mombasa

2007-04-06T23:48:00.000+03:00

Rooftop view of a busy street in Mombasa

On Good Friday, after boarding our second Akamba bus at 9:00AM, Ryan and I, now with Sandy and Arielle, were on the road to Mombasa. The road was incredibly smooth compared to the one leading to Nairobi and in the morning we could see spectacular views of golden grassy plains with mighty Baobab trees. We finally arrive in the city around 6PM.

Golden grassy field on the way to Mombasa

The mighty baobab tree

Mombasa is the second largest city in Kenya after Nairobi. It was the first capital of Kenya under British rule. Mombasa is a port city on the Indian Ocean that was founded by Arab traders in the 11th century and it quickly became the most important trading center of East Africa, mostly exporting ivory and slaves. Due to it's foundation by Arabs and past involvement in the trading of thousands of slaves, some Kenyans refuse to recognized the city's former glory as the capital of Kenya. Some Kenyans even refer to Mombasa as "the third city" even though it is Kenya's second largest.

A mosque on a busy street in Mombasa

Mombasa seems as densely populated as Nairobi only the climate is much hotter. The city is predominantly Muslim and contains many large and ornately decorated mosques. The call to prayer can be heard, five times a day, anywhere in the city starting at 4AM. Muslim women wearing the black cover-all "bui-bui" are also very common and can be seen walking on the streets and in the marketplace.

*According to my guide book, there can be some anti-Western sentiments among some Kenyan Muslims in Mombasa and hostile graffiti and Osama bin Laden T-shirts and demonstrations against Israel and America are increasingly common.

Road to Nairobi

2007-04-05T23:36:00.000+03:00

I spent Holy Thursday on an overnight bus bound for Nairobi. Ryan and I had a week off from the St Julie Center for Easter vacation and so we decided to meet Sandy and Arielle in Nairobi and then head for the coast and Mombasa.

From Malava we took a matatu to Kakamega, 30 minutes away, and then boarded the overnight Akamba bus for Nairobi. Akamba is a bus that seems to have a reputation for being unreliable. We boarded the bus at 9:00PM, and after many unsuccessful cranks to the ignition the engine finally started, and at 9:30 we were off.

On the road, I slept as much as the pothole-filled road would allow and listened to music on my Ipod as we crossed the Rift Valley in darkness. We finally arrived in Nairobi at 7:00AM, 2 hours behind schedule. It ended up taking 10 hours to get to Nairobi. Thank God we did not break down. We had just enough time to meet the girls and board our second bus for Mombasa.

Running at the Equator

2007-04-05T00:40:00.000+03:00

Fierce competition between the runners on the track

I have recently taken another volunteer position in addition to my work at the St. Julie Center. I am now the assistant coach of the cross-country running team at St. Antony High School in the neighboring village of Kakoyi.

The St. Anthony boys cross-country team and I

I enjoy the children at the Center, but I thought it would also be good to have an opportunity to work and play with children that are healthy and active. At the Center, most of the children are a lot younger and can’t compete in games or sports as well due to their disabilities. This is certainly not the case with the cross-country team at St. Antony. They are all fierce competitors and I am the one who is finding it hard to compete.

I met with the principal of the St. Antony several weeks ago to see about a position in athletics when he mentioned that the school had a cross-country team. I told him that I used to be on the cross-country team back home in the U.S. This is when he offered me a position to help coach the team. He thought I, having known the sport of running, might be able to give the team some good advice. He introduced me to Akumba, the athletic director of the school, and Edwin, the head coach, and we agreed that I would come to St. Antony twice a week to help coach the team.

My first day was the following Monday and once again I met with Akumba and Edwin at the school and they called for all the runners to gather around. Only, on this particular day I was in for a surprise. I sat in their small office on a simple wooden chair when they called out to a student outside the door saying, “assemble the marathoners.” At first, I thought there must be some mistake because I was there to help coach the “cross-country team.” I looked to Akumba and Edwin with a confused expression, “marathoners?” “Yeah,” said Edwin. “Are cross-country team is made up of marathoners.” That was when I started to feel drastically under-qualified for this position.

The runners all gathered into the office and I introduced myself and gave the “I’m from America” speech. Most of the small children that I’ve met in Kenya love to hear about America, but this group was different. They seemed unimpressed. I said, “If you have any questions about America I’d be happy to answer any of them.” I got nothing but stares.

Then Akumba stood up and told the group of teenage boys and girls that I was a cross-country runner and that I was there to coach them. This is when their eyes lit up. “If you have any questions…,” I repeated. Many hands were suddenly raised all at once. I took a question from a boy standing in the back of the room. He asked, “How can I compete as an international athlete?” Caught off guard and not having any real advice for him I said, “keep running” and quickly moved on to the next question.

All of the questions after were very similar. They seemed to be serious athletes looking for serious advice. So I told them everything I know about running. I told them to drink lots of water, to not eat junk food, to stretch before running, to pay close attention to injuries, etc. They listened intently, but I could see that much of my advice was having little effect on them. That’s when I had to remind myself that I am in the third world. Almost none of my advice I gave was relevant to them. In the third world there are droughts and the children can only drink the water that is available. Poverty and famine are high and children can only eat what their families can afford. There is no such thing as junk food. Also, most children don’t have access to health care so injuries can be overlooked and go untreated. I didn’t feel like I help them out much that first day, but they were happy to have me nonetheless. So I began coming to St. Antony every Monday and Wednesday afternoon to run with the team.

Practices are usually long distance runs along the dirt roads through the “interior” of the country. I usually wear my New Balance running shoes, Adidas t-shirt, and Nike shorts when I come for practice, while the team usually comes barefoot wearing whatever second-hand clothes they can afford. Sometimes a runner will run in the stiff black dress shoes that the students wear as part of their school uniform.

The views along the practice runs are incredible with beautiful blue skies, green fields, mud huts, and rolling hills. But it is also some of the most difficult terrain to run on. The hills are nice when running down them, but upwards can feel like running in slow motion. The air is also thin at this higher elevation and it makes it difficult to breathe and can cause headaches. The sun at the equator can be very intense and is directly overhead when we begin and it usually doesn’t take long before I feel like I am baking in an oven.

When we start the run I get an amazing feeling. I can hear the Rocky theme song playing in my head. The runners seem to run as a single unit. They run as a wave sweeping across the hills and I am in the front. Nearby primary schools have ended by this time and the children along the roadside walking home cheer us on as we run by. They cheer even more when they see that I am white. Some shout, “Never give up!,” in Swahili. Some try to run along with us. Many of the villagers will come out to the roadside to see the show. The distance can be anywhere from 7 kilometers to as much 30 Kilometers. By the end of the run I am thoroughly exhausted and can hardly keep up even a jogging pace. Although the team can run much faster without me they consider me a part of the team and refuse to leave me behind. It is such a privilege to be able to run in their company.

Periodically, they compete with the other schools in the area and they allow me to run the race with them each time. I am not a serious competitor by any means, but when I run it helps to motivate the team and so I am glad to do it. Due to the fact that I am the only white runner on any team I tend to attract a lot of attention. When this happens, the runners at St. Antony like to tell the other teams that I am an international athlete from America, but rather than fearing me this usually helps to motivate the other teams to try to beat me.

St. Antony Track & Field
(I'm the white guy in the middle of the back row.)

Tim on the track

Girls sprinting

Girls running in skirts
(It is not proper for girls to wear shorts in rural Kenya)

High jump

Javelin throw

Although they are the cross-country team there are some competitions that are run on an oval track that is marked with grease lines on a grass field. There are also typically field events such as high jump, long jump, shot put, discus, and javelin throw.

In March, I ran in a race that was somewhere from 15-20 km. In rural Kenya, the distances that are run on the winding roads in the “interior” are always estimated. If I ask three people about the distance of a race, I will get three different answers and the difference between them can be as much as 10km. I am also told that the coaches will tell the runners a shorter distance in order not to discourage them.

The race was easily the longest distance I’ve ever run and I didn‘t think I would ever finish. When it started the runners took off at the pace of sprinters and left me far behind. I knew I had long way to go so I maintained a pace only slightly faster than jogging. As the race went on and the runners near the back of the pack began to get tired and some fell back to where I was positioned and then it got really interesting. It was clear that not all of the runners in Kenya had the motivation to win. I observed some runners that would literally walk the race until I caught up with them and then they would continue to run. I also saw one runner actually resting under a tree until a group of runners behind him caught up and then he continued. It was very surprising to see. But the best part was when I actually had to stop to let a heard of cattle pass on the road before I could finish.

Palm Sunday

2007-04-01T23:39:00.000+03:00

School children on Palm Sunday

When the great crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, they took palm branches and went out to meet him, and cried out:

Hosanna!
Blessed is he who comes in the name

of the Lord.
John 12:13

It is Palm Sunday in Malava and at the parish of St. Teresa nearly one-thousand villagers were in attendance for the one and only 9:00AM mass.

The mass began outside at the nearby Isanjiro Primary School on the parish grounds. Father Paul, the pastor at St. Teresa, began by blessing the crowd with holy water and then read from the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 19.

There are many other churches of many other denominations in Malava that make a lot of noise in the village every Sunday, but today it was our turn.

Palms were raised by the crowd and the procession began.

Father Paul directs the people in procession

Choir members sing with palms raised

An altar boy with a cross leads the procession

Led by a single altar boy and followed by a 30 member choir, the crowd, with palms in hand, paraded, danced, and sang through the village and proceeded down it’s main road for all to see before arriving back at the church.

The procession coming down the road to St. Teresa Church

Children dance with their palms in the procession.

A little boy takes part in the celebration

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a public display of faith in the United States.

Kenyans have a real passion for what they believe.

Dirty Laundry

2007-03-20T01:26:00.000+03:00

Washing clothes in my courtyard

When it comes to laundry and doing it the Kenyan way, Sister Jane, one of the Sisters of Notre Dame, says, "It's all part of the experience." So this is what I tell myself when work has to be done. If I want to live in Kenya, I must do it the Kenyan way.

Every weekend I gather my dirty clothes in the morning and take them out to the courtyard to wash. Although sleeping in always crosses my mind, the thought of having clean, dry clothes always gets me out of bed. As with many things in Kenya, laundry is done all by hand. I start by getting a wash basin and a bucket filled with rain water, laundry detergent, a bar of soap, and also a stool, because I know it’s going to take awhile. I have to pour the water for the basin and bucket through a strainer to remove all of the bugs, leaves, dirt, and debris. The basin is used for washing while the bucket is used for rinsing. I add a small handful of detergent to my wash basin before I begin.

Kenyan washing machine

Washing clothes by hand is a lot of work and it really gives my hands a workout. My shirts tend to be fairly easy to clean, but my pants seem to be a magnet for stains when I walk along the dirt roads. I use a bar of soap and lots of scrubbing to get out any stubborn stains. I can usually get the stains out of my pants, but nearly all of my white socks are permanently stained with red Kenyan soil.

When I am finished washing my clothes I make sure to wring them out thoroughly and place them in the rinse bucket. Despite my best efforts, by my second or third shirt, the rinse bucket usually is just as sudsy as the wash basin. After rinsing, I must again wring my clothes out thoroughly to lessen the time they will take to dry.

Kenyan automatic clothes dryer

I will then hang my clothes on a line in my courtyard to dry. In Kenya, there is very little privacy when it comes to laundry and nearly anyone at the parish has an opportunity to see everything I wear inside or out of the house, including my underwear. The sun at the equator can be very intense, especially around 12-noon. So I turn my shirts inside out to prevent them from fading or bleaching. When they do eventually dry, if I haven’t completely rinsed the soap out of my clothes, they will become stiff and will feel like sandpaper against my skin.

Early morning is the best time to do laundry because it allows the most time for the clothes to dry in the sun. Usually I try to do my laundry on Sunday just before church. After a 3-hour mass at St. Teresa, most of the drying will already be done by the time I get home.

Once I have finally finished my laundry and it becomes almost completely dry on the line sometimes it will rain and soak them all over again. On those days, I must pray that I have something else to wear! "It's all part of the experience."

Malava Market

2007-03-17T02:07:00.000+03:00

Vendors line up along the roadside at the Malava Market

Every Friday is Market Day in Malava. It all begins just after the sun comes up. Many people come from miles around to sell fruits, vegetables, clothes, shoes, hardware, and more. The vendors will sometimes walk many kilometers in the darkness of the early morning from the surrounding villages to make their journey to Malava. They all want to be ready when the village wakes up. No daylight is wasted.

The market begins around 6AM along the roadside just north of the main intersection in my village. Some of the vendors have simple stands made from any available pieces of wood, but others will simply lay a blanket on the ground to display what they are selling.

Fruits and vegetables are always very popular on market day. Some fruits and vegetables, such as bananas, mangoes, tomatoes, and onions can be available any day of the week, but the selection is always better on market day. Then there are some foods that are only available on market day like dried fish, fresh garlic, or roasted groundnuts.

Secondhand clothes for sale at the market

Clothes and shoes are also sold on market day. Shirts or pants can be seen neatly displayed on the ground or on hangers, but mostly they are found in a large heap that requires the buyer to dig and sort. There is usually a man shouting the prices over a blaring loudspeaker that can be heard from anywhere in the village center. He speaks so loud and fast the he reminds me of an auctioneer. Most of the clothes are sold secondhand. One element of irony that one vendor made me aware of is that most of the used clothes are donated to Kenya from the United States, and now I have come from the United States to buy them back from Kenya. I think, if I ever buy any used clothes, I may just try to donate them back to Kenya before I leave. Or, to save on shipping, I just may ask someone back home to donate any clothes I might need this year to Africa and then I’ll just pick them up at the market.

My new tire sandals

There are a few styles of dress shoes and sandals available, it only takes finding the right size. I have recently bought a pair of the only custom fit sandals available in Malava. They are made out of pieces of old tires. The vendor cut the straps to fit the size of my feet and used nails to secure them to the soles. He then cut each sole with a very sharp knife to the exact size of each foot. They are a perfect fit. My pair were made out of Firestone car tires, for 50 “bob” (50 shillings), but some nicer pairs are made out of Goodyear tractor tires and can run almost 500 “bob” (500 shillings). So far I have already had a few complements on my sandals and one villager says that I look like a white member of the Maasai tribe.

One item that is surprisingly very popular for dress shoes is Kiwi brand shoe polish. Walking on the dusty roads in Malava, it’s hard to believe that anyone would even attempt to maintain the shine on their shoes. It seems hopeless to me, but then again the dusty road is probably the reason why it is so popular.

At the market, there are no price tags on anything. Whether you are buying an imitation Sony radio, tiny minnow-sized fish called omena, or a Bob Marley t-shirt, the price is always negotiable. At first, before I got used to bargaining for everything, it was a very confusing. I didn’t know how much to pay for anything. I had no idea how to tell what anything was worth. Many times after buying something I would find that I paid almost double what the item was worth. In doing so, sometimes it has made bargaining more difficult for me because I have already shown some vendors that I can afford to overpay. But worst of all, has been the pain and humiliation of facing the laughter of my friends and co-workers when I told them how much I spent.

Ryan, my roommate, is bargaining with a vendor.

Bargaining is everywhere in Malava, and probably most of Kenya, with few exceptions. Although sometimes I wonder how much bargaining the locals really do. All of the locals already know the lowest price to pay for anything and are unwilling to pay more, but tourists or missionaries aren’t always so sharp. Many times foreigners will pay what is called the “mzungu price.” This simply means the higher (sometimes a lot higher) price. It comes from the perception that a white person can afford to pay more for an item and therefore will be charged more for just about anything.

This is why it has become increasingly important for me to develop very good bargaining skills.

Nairobi - The Big City

2007-03-07T02:04:00.000+03:00

Nairobi skyscrapers

When I first came to Kenya, about two months ago, I stayed in Nairobi for a week and had the chance to experience this big city.

Nairobi is both the capital of Kenya and it’s largest city. Nairobi has the highest urban population in East Africa at between 3 and 4 million people. The city was founded in 1899 and in 1901 it became the capital of the British colony after the former capital, Mombasa. Unfortunately, almost all of the colonial-era buildings have been replaced by bland modern office buildings following Kenya’s independence in 1963. Nairobi is a relatively new city and almost all of the buildings have been built in the last 100 years.
Before the 1890s the whole area on which Nairobi now stands was an isolated swamp. It was after, that the East African Railway established a depot on the land at the edge of a small stream. The Maasai, a prominent tribe in East Africa, called the small stream uaso Nairobi, meaning “cold water.” In 1998 the US embassy on Moi Avenue was bombed by militants linked to Osama bin Laden killing more than 200 Kenyans. Four suspects were convicted, but lenient sentences and a meager compensation still anger many Kenyans today.

Kenya's National Conference Center in Nairobi.

Nairobi is very modern compared to the rural villages and has rush hour traffic and skyscraper buildings. Many of the things that we take for granted in the United States can also be found readily available, such as running water, electricity, post cards, pizza, and ice cream. At first glance, it is a very cluttered city. There is a lot going on in a relatively small space. The buildings, traffic, and people seem to be stacked on top of one another. In Nairobi, unlike the rural villages, the streets are named and have signs to label them. The two major streets are Kenyatta and Moi Avenues, named after the first and second presidents of Kenya. Street names tend to be preferred for giving directions over the landmark and fingering-point approach used in the villages. But don’t let this fool you into believing that there is any kind order.

Nairobi matatus are the most outrageous in Kenya.

The streets are congested with cars, trucks, buses, and matatus. Matatus are easily the most popular and most outrageous form of travel in Kenya. The traffic seems to flow wherever there is a space on the ground that nobody is using, even the sidewalks. There are lanes painted on the streets, but it seems rare that anybody uses them. Standard traffic is full of near misses until there is an accident. In the midst of all this chaos, there always seems to be at least one car with a student driver. Surprisingly, there are many driving schools in Nairobi. It’s hard to believe that behind such madness there is actually a learned method.

In Nairobi, there are also many high-class hotels and exotic places to eat. The Norfolk Hotel, built in 1904, is the city’s oldest and was the place to stay in colonial days. While on the southern outskirts, the Carnivore restaurant serves all-you-can-eat nyama choma or “barbecued meat” where one can taste camel, ostrich, or crocodile.

Nakumatt is the "Wal-Mart" of Kenya.

Downtown Nairobi contains many restaurants, shops, and cyber-cafés. The various restaurants offer Kenyan, Ethiopian, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Italian, and Western-style American food. The shops are many, but the obvious stand-out is the huge Nakumatt Supermarket, which is very similar to America’s Wal-Mart. It proudly carries the slogan, “You need it, We’ve got it.” The cyber-cafés are popular and scattered throughout the city. Internet access is a standard 1Ksh (Kenyan shilling) per minute, roughly $1 US per hour.

The National Archives in Nairobi

The City Center contains the National Archives, official Parliamentary buildings, and also the residence and offices of President Mwai Kibaki. One heavily guarded building contains the tomb of Jomo Kenyatta, Kenya's first President.

The Holy Family Basilica Cathedral

Lastly, I visited the Holy Family Basilica Cathedral in Nairobi and while I wasn’t there for mass, I was told that it is much like it is in the States. Mass on Sunday is offered at many times and is in English and only lasts one hour. This alone is very different from the churches in the rural villages.

Holy Family Basilica Cathedral Interior

Eulogy for a Chicken

2007-02-27T11:37:00.000+03:00

2007 - 2007

Malaika, my hen, sadly died on Sunday, February 25, 2007. On Saturday morning, she refused to go out in the field with Rafiki, my rooster, to find food. She stayed all day in the chicken house and began to cough, as chickens do when they are sick. I was told by Maurice, the parish cook and grounds keeper, that she caught an intestinal bacteria and there was not much I could do, but to kill her. I was not willing to accept this and on Sunday I went to a veterinary medicine shop, in Kakamega, a half hour away, to buy chicken medicine. When I returned to the chicken house with the medicine she had already passed away.

So the Lord God formed out of the ground

various wild animals and various birds of the air,

and he brought them to the man to see what

he would call them; whatever he called them

would be their name.
Genesis 2:19

"I will call you Malaika."

Malaika you were a good chicken. You always let me pet you when Rafiki would run away. You always remained calm and did not get excited over petty things. You ate what I fed you and did not turn your head to complain. You would never bite the hand that fed you. You treated Rafiki as a friend and kept him company in the field and helped to show him the way home at night. You were a strong chicken and stood up for yourself when Rafiki would try to steal your food. You were a very modest chicken and did not feel the need to stand tall in the morning and announce your presence to the world, as many roosters do. But this does not mean that you have gone unnoticed. Your name means “Angel” and so you were, on Earth. But now you have gone to Chicken Heaven, and there, a much greater Angel you will be. Goodbye Malaika. You will not be forgotten. Rafiki and I will miss you.

St. Julie Centre - Week 6

2007-02-22T22:34:00.000+03:00

Bevan has cerebral palsy and uses the tricycle for play therapy.

I have now been given the position of Volunteer Supervisor at the St. Julie Centre for Disabled Children. It's very strange that I have only been at the Centre about one month and now I am a supervisor. I have never worked with disabled children before, I know almost nothing about physical therapy, and I am not fluent in Swahili. I even have trouble remembering many of the names of the children or even the names of some of my co-workers. I've only been in the country about a month....and did I mention, I'm a supervisor. I'm not quite sure what to think of it. Should I be honored? Frightened? Both?

Work at the Centre has been intense to say the least. I arrive at about 8:30 in the morning and greet David and Angela, the local occupational therapists, but there is usually only time for a brief chat with them before the parents and children start coming in the door.
As they come up the ramp to the Centre I quickly stand from my child-size chair and greet each parent and child with a hand shake, and a "Habari asubuhi!" (Good morning!). Greetings in Kenya, I am told, are very important and I try my best to make a good impression. All are very polite, but some are so surprised to see a mzungu (white person) that appears to speak their local language, that they often can't help but laugh. Many times I also am surprised, but more so by their reaction than I being white, that I will go back and sit down in my chair without asking for the name of their child.

Bridgit has Down's Syndrome and is playing with a doll to help her socialization.

There are now over 100 children that come to the Centre and have disabilities as a result of birth defects, diseases, and also nerve damage due to improperly given injections. Some of the disabilities that are brought into the Center are club foot, cerebral palsy, Down's syndrome, epilepsy, spina bifida, mental retardation, hydrocephalus, microcephalus, and foot drop. Their are also some children that receive transportation to and from the hospital for surgery to correct cleft lip, cleft palette, and various eye conditions.

Samson has spina bifida and kicks a soccer ball for play therapy.

The Centre provides both occupational and play therapy. Occupational Therapy is done by the therapists, David and Angela, and can be a massage or exercise that increases brain and nerve stimulation. The children may also have plaster casts or plastic braces made for their feet and legs to ensure that they will grow straight. The last part of occupational therapy is always a swing in the "hammock" or tire swing to increase balance and stimulate the senses.

Aizan has a speech disability and uses the hammock "tire swing" to stimulate his senses.

It is my job to keep a record of each child's visit and also to update their files for play therapy. I will ask the parent in Swahili, "Jina la mtoto ni nani?" (What is the name of the child?) Then I will record it and see if the child already has a file from a previous visit to the Center. A file includes information about a child's specific disability and can help when choosing a toy for play therapy.

Benjamin is hemiplegic and uses the soccer ball to increase muscle control.

Children that have trouble walking may get a toy that stimulates gross motor control and will be encouraged to use the parallel bars, the push cart, or the tricycle. Those that have trouble using their hands may get a toy that stimulates fine motor control and be encouraged to fit wooden pegs into holes or thread beads on a string. The one's that have problems standing or sitting will be encouraged to use the child safety seats or the standing box. While the one's that have problems with focusing or attention will get a toy that makes noise, play songs, or have flashing lights. Lastly, the children that have problems learning to talk will get a toy that stimulates oral motor control and be encouraged to blow bubbles or play a harmonica.

The children at the Centre can have many varying disabilities. Many can be very active and will run, scream, shout, cry, or laugh. However, there are also many that display very little movement beyond the blinking of their eyes. These children can show very little or no emotion at all. It can be challenging to work with either extreme, but many times, in one day, I will work with both children that are hyper-active and will not sit still and also children that can barely move and are confined to a child seat. Some days can really be a rollercoaster!

Ash Wednesday

2007-02-21T23:38:00.000+03:00

A Kenyan girl with ashes on her forehead.

“One does not live on bread alone,
but by every word that comes forth
from the mouth of God.”

Matthew 4:4

Mandazi (Kenyan donuts)

For all you Catholics out there, once again it is Ash Wednesday and the Lenten season has begun. We now have forty days and forty nights of fasting before Easter Sunday on April 8th. As part of my fasting, I have given up soda and mandazi (Kenyan donuts). In a hopeless attempt to get craving them out of my system, this week I ate at least five mandazi and for Mardi Gras, yesterday night, I had to rush out and buy some more soda. I drank Coke, Sprite, and Blackcurrant (grape) Fanta soda. In Kenya, most of the soda is still sold in the original glass bottles. It’s so good!

Priestly Ordination

2007-02-20T01:00:00.000+03:00

Newly Ordained Priests

The procession

The Bishop

On Friday, this past weekend I was invited by Sister Jane, one of the Sisters of Notre Dame, to her cousin's priestly ordination. I have never been to an ordination in the States, so I'm not sure how it compares, but in Kenya it's a very big deal. Sister Jane's cousin is now known as the Reverend Father Chris Mukakha Walfula. He was ordained this past weekend along with two other priests and two deacons.

The ordination took place at the Catholic parish of Sirisia in the town of Busia (about 2 hours from Malava). The celebration began with a mass led by the local bishop that lasted 5 hours long. Thousands of people from many towns and villages came to celebrate so the mass was held outdoors. Most of the people traveled many hours on foot just to get to the parish. Tents and chairs were put up for the soon-to-be priests along with distinguished guests, family, and friends. All others had to sit on the ground with only the trees to shade them from the hot sun. During the mass there was lots of dancing and singing, speeches were given, a lengthy homily, and, of course, the consecration of the body and blood of Christ. Even the Kenyan Boyscouts were there to ceremonially raise and lower the Kenyan flag.

Throughout the celebration the newly ordained priests and deacons were treated like celebrities. It seemed like they were constantly followed by their own paparazzi. There was a small crew of men with cameras and digital video equipment trying to capture every moment. The locals that could afford to have a camera were also taking pictures. Those that had cameras had the large, very simple, 35mm, point-and-shoot cameras that were very popular in the U.S. about 15 years ago. Except for the video crew, no one had a digital camera. When I took mine out to take these pictures I got many stares from adults and children. Although many didn't own them, the people seemed to be very familiar with the concept of how a digital camera took pictures. I wondered if it had everything to do with tourism. The people, especially the children, love to have their pictures taken so that they can see themselves on the small screen.

After the mass the singing and dancing continued for hours. Local musicians set up handmade instruments and played music for the crowds. Traditional Kenyan food was also served along with Coke and Fanta soda.

Local musicians playing handmade instruments.

Sister Jane who has been to many ordinations is very keen on what happens. She told me how it works. Many people get distracted by the dancing, the singing, and the musicians. Then when they finally make their way to the food line, it's very long and in many cases the food runs out before everyone has eaten. Knowing this we both headed straight for the food. We where nearly first in line and filled our plates fast with rice, beef, chicken, potatoes, ugali (maize meal porridge), and sukuma wiki (kale). As we sat and ate on plastic chairs in the shade we watched the line growing quickly. We both looked up from our plates, mouths full and chewing, when Sister Jane explained once again, "That's what happens when you go to dance!"

Newly Ordained Reverend Father Chris Mukakha Walfula celebrating his first mass.

The large crowd at the Rev. Father Chris' first celebrated mass.

Later on Sunday, we attended Sister Jane's cousin's first celebrated mass.