Sunday 10 October 2010

Day in Nairobi with Gill




After shaking our booties in Nairobi until 4am at Gypsys (expat bar – a bit like the Big Apple in HK, not my favourite place- though apparently the only Gay friendly bar in Nairobi) and more local Kenyan Clubs (Changes/Rezerous/Black Diamond) with Carly, Justine and their Kenyan friends I decided to have a nice girlie mooching day in town with Gill.

Met for Milkshakes in the CBD and headed over to the KICC to check out its view from the rooftop helipad (and pretend to be a helicopter). Got sidetracked by the Maasii Market where you have your own personal shopper who puts everything in the ‘maybe bag’. This part, once you got the hang of it, and had told them to keep quiet whilst you shop, was great. Don’t have to bend over to look at anything, just vaguely point or muse… and get to feel how the other half live, for all of 30 minutes. Of course being a wee bit drunk/hungover probably helped. After almost wanting to walk out with nothing after the first minute of bargaining I started to enjoy myself. God knows if I got ripped off or a decent deal, but I seemed to get a lot, for a decent (not super cheap) amount. My Personal Shopper also told me I was a female Kofi Annan strongwoman, which made me laugh.. and happy! Not sure Kofi would agree with my ramblings on how some of his prices would have got me a plane almost home to England and I think he realised my ‘maybe bag’ was in fact a ‘yes bag’ and I wanted it all which perhaps weakened my position

Headed to the Thorn Tree Café which is in a hotel built in early 1900s due to the Kenya/Uganda railway and where the Lonely Planet online forum is named after as travellers used to leave notes for each other on a board by the Thorn Tree. A little posher than we expected, but really good. Next stop was the National Archives to look at photos of the struggle for independence (sadly mainly head shots of those involved) and art from all around Africa.
Passed by the roller bladers in we think, City Park, and went up the KICC to the 30th floor/the top. Not so high in terms of Hong Kong standards, but you could see all of Nairobi, including the national park. It was an incredible view and I’d really recommend doing this to any visitors (or citizens, or even Aliens as Mzungos are officially called).


Beers in Zanze and Tacos to end the weekend (even got bought a beer by the man on the other side of the bar… who then thankfully spotted  a woman he liked more). My theory is he is a rich player who likes to freak out white women by buying them drinks. It worked. Dinner in Panda Chinese Restaurant. Tofu. Good stuff. Incredibly friendly staff (the guidebooks did not lie)

Not sure whether my favourite quote of the day was Gill telling a boy selling A4 laminated bible quotes ‘no thanks I’m not hungry’ thinking it was a menu, or on us refusing to buy a woman on the street medication being told ‘don’t come back to Kenya.’


Friday 8 October 2010

Outreach weekend - IDP Camp & Gioto Garbage Slum

The program started with a trip to the KCC Slums and a cycle and hike through Hell’s Gate, but I stayed at school that day with the plan to meet everyone in Naivasha. Stupidly even after 10 days I hadn’t realised when they said it was a 45 minute matatu journey it of course meant closer to 2 hours. Luckily I hate being late so pretty much ended up arriving on time despite getting lost in Naivasha itself. The journey there was interesting and beautiful with unexpected views (to me) over the Rift Valley whilst zebra spotting on the roadside, coupled with banter with the locals. It's hard not to strike up a conversation when you are 5 to a 3 man seat, with someone's child on your lap. 

From Naivasha we headed straight to GilGil to stay at ‘The Chicken Place’ and I spent the night eating, chatting and drinking beers with the rest of the volunteers. Early next morning we started to bag flour and vegetable fat to hand out to families at the IDP Camp & the Nakuru Garbage Slums.



The IDP Camp


The IDP Camp  was a result of the 2007 post-election violence leaving 600,000 displaced persons. The camp was originally set up by the UN, but is now privately owned by the 130 families who used the governments grant of KSH 10,000 each to collectively buy the land. Considered an eye-sore by the government (or perhaps they genuinely do want to help the families…) they are repeatedly being told that the community will be split up and moved to differing urban areas. After 3 years they have become a tight community, with a 7-person elected council  and in my eyes resemble very little of the refugee displacement camps you usually see on the news which are chaotic, cramped, dangerous and unsanitary. We were told (including by the volunteers that stay there) is it a very safe community and seems  as well kept as it can be. Recently a nursery/early primary school has been built there and they also have a borehole (water well). But still a tented temporary community is not somewhere you would want to live.

We visited on a nice, sunny day – the inside of the tents were boiling, and we hadn’t even hit summer temperatures yet. When it rains, many of the tents flood, and of course you have one tent for your whole family, be it 2 or 8 people. Many of the displaced had seen/been victims of violence and had to not only leave behind their homes, but their trades/businesses and sources of income. A few sell vegetables, one lady makes Kenyan name bracelets and some even sadly sell themselves to the truckers on the motorway near by.

The outreach program brings them food approximately every two weeks, but this is not much, and though I’m sure they are happy to have it, unsurprisingly it’s not gratefully received. This for me was the most disturbing part of the visit. Seeing a member of each family standing around waiting for their name to be called whilst us well-meaning Mzungos give them next to nothing must be soul destroying. It felt like being a Santa giving out coal to
kids that have nothing – they take it cause there is nothing else. I can imagine the anger at us that they are supposed to feel grateful for this and the loss of dignity or pride. Not that they should feel like this; this wasn’t of their own making. I did hear (through the volunteer grapevipe, so who knows) that people have become dependant on the handouts and therefore less motivated to find their own ways of buying food.  But considering the constant threat of moving and the little opportunities there are I can see why people are reluctant to invest in any business plans or more permanent structures. I was told by one of the council members that they would like to stay there, but in concrete permanent housing such as I saw in other IDP camps. The landscape around the site like much of the Kenyan countryside is gorgeous, and in my eyes a much nicer & safer place to bring up kids than the slum areas around Nairobi; If they could built permanent houses and then attempt to re-gain more stability in other areas such as gaining incomes. Yet the lack of facilities and the constant threat of the elements and relocation makes daily life a struggle for them.













Gioto Garbage Slum, Nakuru


No matter what you have heard or seen before going, there are no words to describe that first glance of the houses on top of the rubbish, and the people sifting through the piles and in the garbage trucks eating straight out of them. I know many street kids and homeless people eat from bins (shit, freegans eat from them) but this was different. A whole community living in rubbish, that have been there for the last 50 years, with a wall built between them and the posh private school next door. There is only one two-parent family living within the slums, with the rest being single mum families and lone alcoholic men.

Girls have to be in their houses by 4pm, and the boys by 6pm – otherwise it’s likely they will be raped. One lady that the Fadhili Volunteers are trying to help has 14 kids (8 living with her) and is raped annually by her husband who comes back soley for this purpose. Another man raped her in front of her children, and then raped two of them – aged 3 and 4 years. It was stories like this that hit me the most, even though I can’t deny that seeing pigs and humans eating from the same rubbish bags, on rubbish, surrounded by rubbish, stinking, wasn’t disturbing. The pigs are a results of some volunteers buying two… and then they just multiplied. The families wait until they are about 4 years old, and sell them for KSH 1000… approximately £8/$12. There are also goats and 5 foot vultures to contend with.
To earn money some of the women make necklaces out of newspapers and magazines, and others make bags out of plastic bags to sell to volunteer-spectators like me. The ladies we met were generally very warm and friendly (no men, we were told to steer clear of them, though this particular group
allowed us to take photos – I have never felt so ashamed taking a photo, yet couldn’t stop myself). And of course the children were like children everywhere and just happy to be swung about or made faces at, or just laugh at my lip and tounge piercings; always children crowd pleasers.

The Matatu on the way home had notiably changed very much from the cramped/trying to make lunch on bumpy roads giggle van to pretty much silence… which was broken slighly on seeing Zebra’s feeding on the side of the road (incredibly cool, man I love Zebras. And plain Zebras! (Otherwise known as Donkeys). Also the two funny men on the radio with the incredibly Black African Belly Laugh. How can it not make you smile.


If you want to know more about the garbage slum, or want to help out,  visit one of the follow sites:


Monday 4 October 2010

Amurt Orphanage



Our contact at the Amurt centre couldn’t meet us on the first day and in all honesty my first impressions weren’t great. Not of the centre, that seemed fantastic, but the usefulness of us! Amurt is a worldwide mission, ran by Hindus originating in India in the 1950s, opening the centre in Kenya in the 1970s. They have a free health care clinic, fund education for the needy, hold a small day care centre and also house some of the orphans. Their mission however is to help people to help themselves and do not want to take children out of their communities unless completely necessary.

The older children were all at school during the hours we should be working, so we were taken to the day care centre 10 minutes walk away (through a gated, affluent area of Mountain View) where we found Tepeter and his class of 12 children, between the ages of 3 – 7 years old. My initial thoughts that we would be of no use due to the small class side proved unfounded very early on. The different levels of ability, concentration and need for 1:1 attention became very clear. For one teacher to meet all these needs would be impossible. Spent the first day trying to work out levels of ability, get to know the children and have a bit of fun with bubbles, balloons, football… the usual!

The personalities of each didn’t take long to come through! Considering I am hoping to do a PGCE in London soon the training of teaching children who only vaguely understand English should be a help... The difference between the older boys and girls was incredibly obvious in terms of ability and concentration levels. But, the most satisfying thing accomplished in my short time there was helping two of the older boys (6/7 years old) learn to add and subtract. When 1:1 attention was focused on them, with patience, repetition and above all praise, they finally got it. The pride on my face could not have been more obvious and on realising this both the boys mirrored it, proud of themselves – as they should be. Thinking back to my primary education and what I knew at what age (roughly, my memory isn’t that good) it makes me sad to see the levels they are at. Bright children, just not the background, or the educational system. Many had only been at school a short time due to family issues (ranged from being orphans to being in vulnerable homes, or parents that were ill and unable to afford school).


Our 12 children were… (ages are rough… they seemed to lie/not know…)

Alice – 7: Smartest in the class, but very moody and sensitive. I know I shouldn’t have a favourite but she was mine. She seemed to take a shining to me as well – My favourite time with her was sitting inside during break and all she wanted to do was learn, so I taught her how to divide!

Blessing – 6: One of the older advanced girls. Seemed to have issues with Alice. At first I thought because they were both the smarter ones, but I’m sure it was something more personal than that. Tried very hard, and had a very sweet personality.

Vivian – 6: Part of the smarter older girl group, but copied a lot and seemed to have little confidence in herself. I remembered her name as she had her ears pierced and I thought of Vivian Westwood?! More of a follower than a leader, meaning she could also be quite bitchy to Blessing.

Veronica – 4: The kindest girl. Always helping the others, trying to defuse situations. Any time someone was upset she would be trying to comfort them. The only time I saw her even remotely thinking about herself was when the skipping rope was out! I think skipping was her thing!

MaryAnne – 4: What can you say about MaryAnne! A 4 year old Big Mama! High pitched loud voice, loved hanging out with (and antaganising) the boys! She had this incredible dance, which I believe is inate and can’t be learnt. I could never do it justice by describing it. Once the kids realised how much all the adults loved it the whole class used to try and do the MaryAnne dance. Too cute and funny for words.

Doreen & Diana – 5: Twins, both HIV positive. Very very cute. For the first few days Diana was at home sick and Dorkus (her nickname) was very shy and quiet, and never smiled. Recoiled if you tried to give her a hug. Once her sister, who is the confident one, was back she was smiley and happy. Teaching them was near impossible though sadly.

Philip – 6: Naughty kid of the class, but I think highly disturbed. Off ill all the second week, was constantly hurting himself (in quite disturbing way – throwing himself off things, trying to aphixate himself by clamping himself in between the desk and the wall – blindfolding himself and trying to stab pencil into his eye?!) I tried to work out why – what his background was, but Tepeter never seemed to want to upset us or portray anything badly so often it was hard to get the full picture or truth of situations. He was obviously a sad boy.. maybe the reasons were disturbing (most likely?) or maybe it’s ADHD… I never managed to find out and in two weeks it’s hard to be a good enough person/role model to help out at all.

Rooney – 6: Apparently yes, he is named after Wayne Rooney! Middle of the class… needed strict guidance but a really good kid.

Comfort – 6: Usually fairly shy, but sometimes would get really hyper active, or a little angry… though I never saw him hit anyone, so not sure if he was just framed a lot?! He seemed to love hats… the mouse hat was my favourite. Was a lot smarter than he seemed, I think because he is shy he may have got overlooked a bit. Definitely managed to make progress with him.

John – 6: Always trying to be naughty, but a good heart! Made a lot of progress from 1:1 attention. I could not have been more proud when he started to understand how to add and take away.

Ochin – 4: Little troublemaker! Always trying to cause mischief, and even more so when Philip was off ill. My favourite thing about Ochin was that when doing anything in his exercise book he would start from the centre of the book… so if it was the left page he would write the mirror image of what was on the board. Not only the top line reading Ee Dd Cc Bb Aa, but the letters would also be backwards. On the right page they would be perfect. Intelligent… but wrong!

The day care children are well looked after – given Ugali reguarly which is a maize based drink - a common staple food. Avocados which are grown in the yard (have you seen an avocado tree? They are massive! I was looking at some strawberry type shrubberies trying to find the avocados when a neighbour came over, inquired to what I was doing… laughed and then pointed at the large oak type trees behind me!)
For lunch they usually eat Ugali and vegetables. I have always prided myself as a very non fussy vegetarian.. that I will everything and anything that is vegetarian, which is more important than it sounds, and less common than it sounds! But that is one claim I can no longer make. The smell and taste of Ugali makes me choke. I don’t know why. It’s only maize.. but I can’t eat it. I tried. I even tried again. But the smell?! Even the smell! Excuse after excuse each day on why I did not want to join them for lunch ('allergic, don’t take a big lunch, huge breakfast') whilst hiding in the classroom during their breaks trying to eat a bit of chocolate or a couple of crisps. Thank god for those avocado trees! (This led to us being starving 4pm every day… going for dinner number one at either Open House Indian, Siam Thai, Java, Panda Chinese, Takeaway at the Barnetts… normally with a beer or two.. )

Classes consisted of Maths, English (alphabet or spelling depending on the levels), shapes, colours (think we got there in the end) animals, storytime, drawing, painting. Good fun, but hard work. Frustrating when you need to explain one vital thing, but they don’t understand your English. With Tepeter’s help we usually got there in the end. He does a great job, and you can tell he loves and cares for the kids. I cleaned up the classroom and organised the teachers trunk (no surprise to those who know me). I found so many useful books for all ages and subjects – most likely from other volunteers, piled them up where the kids could see them, instead of mixed up between old exercise books, and of course the kids love looking through them. He was really grateful for the clear out, so I hope he manages to keep some level of organisation –I think it’s so important and otherwise such a waste of really good, fun educational materials. They also had a mini farm yard with rabbits and goats which they fed daily. They drank the milk from the goat, and I believe sold the rabbits when they were big enough.


At breaktimes (many of them.. it was after all daycare) we usually played with balloons, bubbles, made shakers out of old waterbottles (and played a version of musical statues.. named ‘the shakey shakey game’. Skipping, football, hopping.. even taught them the Hokey Kokey (which they, and the street kids loved). We generally walked with the kids part way back home through the Kangame Shanty Town; Trush always amazed at how they could find their way. I loved walking back with them, but the Pied Piperish feel of it made me a little uncomfortable, with kids hanging off each hand – fighting each other, and the other children all following in a line. I loved holding their hands and swinging them around but occasionally their fights got too big and we had to declare no one would hold hands with ‘Cha! Perhaps it was the looks of the local woman that made me uncomfortable. I get it, but I’m just trying to help, and they seem happy.


The dynamics of the classroom were so interesting. At such a young age, such full personalities. I never got to the bottom of the girls bitchiness feud due to the Swahili language boundary, but it was very much there between the three older girls – though the alliances seemed to change every few days. The boys were generally boys, messing around unless they had 1:1 care and then they turned into little angels! All of them loved ‘Cha’s (teachers) attention.

The teacher supposedly did ‘cane’ them, which horrified Trush and I, but when it actually happened (which was very very rare) it was more like a smack my Mum used to give me; all about embarrassment rather than hurting. Before I saw this happen I had no idea what I was going to do. I don’t believe hitting children works (and what Tepeter did seemed to have no effect whatsoever either), but the fact he wasn’t hurting them meant I left the subject alone. The threat of caning them did seem to work on some of the kids somewhat. What I found most effective was to stop them from doing whatever everyone else was doing! Messing around during Maths? Fine.. go outside, play… every time within 5 minutes they would be back keen and ready to learn. Simple. Effective! I made Rooney sit in the corner once after being disruptive and he started crying after five minutes… desperate to join everyone else in class.

We took them for ice cream one Friday afternoon – such a great experience for us, nevermind them. Enquiring why MaryAnne wasn’t eating her ice cream I was told it was because she wanted to show off to her family how rich she was! She cared not it would melt by the time she got to them.

On our last day we bought food and soda and party hats for the kids, and those who often came to play during breaks and after school (the neighbours' kids, who though we were told went to school seemed never to be there) and the smiley deaf boy, who runs so fast, I think he should compete – a smiley deaf by from the slums, winning a Gold for Kenya… ahh..… and for two weeks was stunned by my tongue bar! I noticed how some of ‘our’ kids could be mean to him, not wanting him to eat with them at lunch, but we perserviered in trying to include him and overall I think he enjoyed himself.

Because it was half term for the older kids we ended up with 30 of them that day. It was the hardest day of teaching… all wanted to do something and we had no idea of their abilities and also had to get them from messing around mode to taking us seriously. Again, telling them we were teaching a class and to please leave if they were going to mess around worked!  The oddest thing was many of these girls and boys were 13/14,  taller than me, looked older than me, but wanted stickers, the hats, the horn blowers and really enjoyed the party and the games. They all just seem so much more mature and have so many more responsibilities, but really of course, they are still kids (though I would never tell a 13 year old that ;) )















'Well done, well done, Alice.. Try again another day Alice. You Showed a good example, thank you, thank you Alice!"


During our time there Irene brought 2 HIV positive women to come and speak to us. The matter of factness about how they contracted it was pretty heartbreaking; even though expected (husband playing around). The first lady was asking us ways she could earn more money, as she earned too little washing clothes (she washed ours). We tried to discuss other things she could do, but not sure if all was lost in translation or if there really isn’t anything else? She was generally quite well, so don’t really think it was that, but where to start? She said she did not want aid, but I guess a little push/help in the right direction, but what can we do? Create jobs? Gill told me about a lady she visited who started a Samosa business. Each day baking Samosas in her one roomed house and selling them. Apparently this really changed things for her and was an idea given to her in a Women’s Empowerment Group.

I had to stop myself from crying when we met the second lady. It was the first time she had come to see Irene and most likely the first time she had properly offloaded her troubles. She had had a stroke about six months previously, and since then her eyesight has deteriorated – now she is blind aside from occasionally seeing blurry lights. He son had to take the day off school to bring her here. You could tell by her mannerisms and posture she was a proud, hard working woman and even typing this now my heart is breaking for her. She had seen many doctors, all saying nothing could be done (I enquired whether it was a money thing, but it was not. Both Trush and I cringed when Irene told her to pray to God for her eyesight back, as he can perform miracles. To me it came across as implying it was a punishment for something, though I don’t think she meant it this way. Irene told us later that they would try to get funding together to her to the blind school (after their doctors had examined her) so she could learn to live as a blind lady, and get back into work. 

My teaching experience was not as sad or desperate as I thought it would be. The classrooms aren’t like they are at home, but there is a want to learn, and hopefully with a stream of volunteers there should be the resources to give the kids a decent start. It’s the kids outside the classroom, those who have been abused (by family often) or those who can’t afford secondary school (the school is free, but they need to pay for uniforms, books, stationary, exams, etc) or don’t have a primary school near enough that need the attention. I think a little less attention to God’s will and a little more need to realise that we are what we make, our society is how we have built it and people and education, not a higher being nor throwing money at the issue, is the only thing that can address the fundamental issues that are here today.


Sunday 3 October 2010

American Memorial Garden


To rejunivate ourselves we headed to the Junction and grabbed Veggie burgers (and a milkshake for me) at Java, a well know American style chain/diner/coffee shop. Then to further cheer ourselves up went over to the CBD (Central Business District) to have a look at the Memorial Garden for the August 7th 1998 Terrorist Attack. 'Muslim Extremists' were attempting to detonate a car bomb underneath the American Embassy building, but as they couldn’t get past the guards they instead blew up the building next door, killing 218 Kenyans. I really knew nothing about this (aside from the attack had happened at some point). The museum was showing a National Geographic documentary which though was terribly made, was still incredibly moving predominately made up of interviews of witnesses and survivors. On realising the Embassy was under attack one of the Security Guards called for back up to which the response was to stop messing about and get off the radio. Amazing. Surely that’s one of the main reasons for having a front door security guard somewhere like that?
To end my day, grabbed a taxi to Havana, Westlands to watch the Arsenal-Chelsea match. We lost 2-0. Cheered up by good conversation with a local Kenyan over a few beers. Thank (enter whichever entity you like here) for good, interesting people. How I love them. 


My 4.5 hour church service



Jane didn’t seem too mad at us when we had to wake her up at 2am (she did say she would give us a key, but didn’t). Perhaps because she knew what was in store for us the next day!
We went to her church, the Jesus Revival Centre, which has been open about 7 years. They said they weren’t Evangelical throughout the service, but it clearly was. On arrival, the people were lovely and friendly, and part of me feels bad knowing what I am going to write. But organised religion isn’t my thing, and fanatical organised religion even less so. Viva la Church of England and its tea and crumpets monotone 45 minute services. The church housed about 1000 people (full at the end) but seems we had turned up 45 minutes early for the second service, so got to listen to a female pastor’s sermon. It was very loud. My head hurt a lot and I’d brought about 100ml of water. My nose was also acting up and I had about two tissues.


The start of the service was exactly what I expected, and had seen on TV, but being there in person was completely different. Saying it made me un-easy would be putting it far too lightly. The possessed, pacing, chanting prayers made me want to cry, or run out of there. It felt so wild and dangerous. Perhaps that’s a compliment - it’s not supposed to be.  I know how easy it is for humans to work themselves up into a frenzy (hey, the ending of the Lord of the Flies was all about that) and that also explains the occurence of many mass killings, and very controversially was used as a defence for the Jamie Bulgar killers.
The songs and dance were quite fun, and amusing to be pointed out as “Hey White Sister… yes you… you are the only white person in here…” but 4 ½ hours of fun it was not. I didn’t really understand the sermons. They didn’t seem to have a clear message, but a lot of jumping around mixed in with many hallelijuahs and praise Jesus. I didn’t really get the bible message being pushed through; though of course that book is open to many interpretations and I was, very vaguely brought up COE (at least when I went to Boarding School – I used to think that the difference between Catholics and Christians were that Catholics got more Easter Eggs. My mum told me if I wanted to be Catholic I’d have to go to Sunday school – this put me off the idea immediately. I was also unaware until the age of 14 that there were four Christmas stories, seriously, wtf?!)


I am also not a fan of the money preaching message. The pastor asking for large contributions so that they could spread the word, through a new top of the range camera and computer editing suite. Jesus didn’t need money to spread his word – look how big it got regardless eh? I don’t believe it’s a sin to have money (in fact, I don’t really believe in ‘sin’ as such. Things are generally right or wrong with a lot of murkiness inbetween) but implying that becoming rich is a religious right is just wrong, and distasteful in my eyes. And the psychic miracle healings didn’t sit right with me either…  I know a lot of very good people attend churches like this, but I hate the message and I hate the cultishness and I hate the focus (in Africa, not the US) on sorcery and witchcraft. Of course they are issues that need to be addressed, as they are real and damaging, but because people need to realise that someone didn’t die from a curse, rather than needing to save yourself from the witches of Satan’s following that are trying to steal your soul.
One message I did like was that of female empowerment that was brought up again and again. Sadly tainted at the end by declaring that it was thanks to Jesus a widow of 19 years was getting remarried.
I am really glad I went, but it was an uncomfortable emotional rollercoaster (seriously, the praying scared the crap out of me… especially after a night of Tusker/White Caps and Pilsner local beers) and 4 ½ hours is long for a good movie… let along a Church service…
I feel I have to reiterate though how the place must be full of great people. Jane our host is so warm, kind and generous for many more reasons than our listed here, but I’m not going to divulge her personal stories on the net. 


Friday 1 October 2010

The induction & outreach program

The induction reminded me a lot of Uni, rather than boarding school – everyone being friendly, in the same position with a mix of backgrounds, expectations and ages. Consisted mainly of teaching is a bit about Kenya (briefly brushed over the  'fact' there was no civil war in Kenya, though neighbours did kill each other with machetes after the 2007 elections), and what to expect from our placements and what not to do at our hosts (have sex, turn up drunk and sing at 2am, etc…) We were also told how homosexuality was an abomination in Kenya and did not happen. However, I did pick up a paper a few days later with an article entitled, “Muslim threat to disrupt Aids seminar over gays:, with the picture caption stating,  ‘WARNING: Special Programmes minister Esther Murungi with some of the gays at the Mombasa seminar.’ Ended up signing up to a load of things (like Uni Societies…) though have already not turned up to one (like Uni Societies?)

Trush, Jane & myself. 
Met my roommate-to-be Trush, England born, moved to the US, and now a New Yorker, also veggie, likes her beers and smokes.. occasionally. Oh, and likes documentaries. Pretty good match! After hours of waiting ended up in a flat in God knows where – behind some security gates, on the side of a really busy road. But with a lovely lady called Jane, with one 14-year-old son, constantly studying for his exams, and also her 14-year-old Albino nephew, Simon, who was staying for the weekend. Albinos in certain parts of Africa are sought after by witchdoctors thinking they contain special powers and are often left limbless (or dead) because of this. Jane also said they are sometimes referred to as ‘millions’ because of how much they are worth. In fact, since we’ve been here there has been a case of ‘medical negliance’ on the news…


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lciO0YDWiY

NEGLIGANCE MY ARSE.


One ‘excursion’ I did go on was to the Faraja Orphanage Tunva Children’s home in the Ngong Hills. The purpose of the trip was to raise awareness regarding HIV and Women’s empowerment in regards to saying no, what is appropriate and how to respect yourself and what to do if you are raped or abused. The first home housed 35 orphans and was run by a lady they called Mama.

The second home housed approximately 120 children and had only recently been built, as the original house (that is still there with 200 children) is in the Kibera slums.When I got there I read a plaque on the wall saying it had been built in honour of a 17 year old Irish girl. Out of nowhere I felt myself choke and tears start to fall, thinking about Amber and how in Malawi somewhere there is a plaque on the side of a school in her memory. I suppose thinking about it she has appeared in my thoughts a lot recently, being here, and with her sister’s marriage here next year. I wasn’t sad for me, but for her, the loss, the waste, her family, and her friends, especially my best friend, who I know still misses her like crazy. But I’m glad,  she has not been forgotten and she deserves the tears and the memories - … xxxxx RIP Amber xxxxx

I took to a young girl Metrine; sitting alone outside on a plastic chair who I found out had been abandoned and left to fend for herself for about a month. She was very small for her age (roughly four) and couldn’t walk, and didn’t talk – though she could obviously understand. After about 20 minutes I managed to get small reactions from her, and as the time went on she seemed happy in my company and we had some fun. During lunch the obsession and protection of her food was clear, and the power at which she smacked the kid (baby goat, rather than child) round the head with her spoon surprised me considering her docile nature.  I also helped out with the dishing out of lunch. I was told off that the first bowl was far too generous and then left…  so I cut down my portions. I figured the girls I was serving were just moody because of me being a Mzungo, but turns out it was because I was stingy. Impossible to please matron type (“half a spoon…” so I gave them ¾’s… “no, that is far too little…”) watching over me, and so I just gave them too much. Any one that has ordered a ‘veggie delite’ at Subway will start to understand their frustration (and I do understand the huge difference, note I said ‘start’).

It seemed well run, obviously fairly bare, but clean, spacious and adequate with a mix of over-loving staff, and the necessary matrons. The younger kids seemed to enjoy dancing for us,  (I’ve seen enough day trip tribal dances to see when people hate or love what they are doing) especially the 18 month old getting down with them.. . quite a site.




My only issue was the song they were made to sing at the end, about how it pained them in their hearts to see us go. Up until then, it was nice being there – teaching, interacting, helping out, just messing around… but really, that song could not have lacked any more emotion (quite rightly, we’d been there for five hours). Made up for by a Black volunteer from New York telling them she was from the US… a disbelieved gasp followed by hysterical laughter that the Black girl was not African!

Crammed Matatu home being used as a seat by a little boy with friendly Kenyan conversation… all for 10 pence. Really excited to eat my 7p street side grilled corn when I noticed I was being stared at by two little girls. So I went over and started to chat, realising all they wanted was my corn… too far away from the stand to buy them their own, before you call me stingy… though stingy enough not to give them all of it. I was hungry!

Ended up having dinner in  the expat part of town, Westlands, at a fancy Indian restaurant, Habdees. Then for beers at an expat bar, Havana, that reminded me of Hong Kong. Chatting to two NGO workers (one from CAFOD, the other I couldn’t really understand - he was wasted). The latter being immediately sarcastic, and self righteous as soon as we told him what we were doing in Kenya. After I gave him a bit of an ear bashing for being such a self important ignorant arsehole we seemed to get on better. He was actually a really decent guy once we started chatting normally, but that initial reaction is one that I see in far too many charity workers, considering what they have supposedly set out to do.  I’m under no pretence that this is some life changing holiday for others (that I meet), but hoping to have fun, help out a little bit, and really be educated. Media charity and poverty saturation mean it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not and what really is the best way forward. That, and I like to see new places. Again, under no pretence. I feel very uncomfortable when people telling me I am doing a great thing (and a lot of people do, you may be surprised to know) because it’s also great for me. Teaching kids, new country, a culture I don’t know too much about, pushing myself a bit – nothing to be congratulated about!