Trying to Make Some Sense of it All

The Sox and Patriots apparently inspired me to post again.

First, all my pictures are now posted on Kodak Gallery- you can find them here:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/ShareLandingSignin.jsp?Uc=13h2keeb.5dqid3zj&Uy=-v839iw&Upost_signin=Slideshow.jsp%3Fmode%3Dfromshare&Ux=0

It has taken me far too long to finish up this blog, and I have no great excuse- I only started work at the firm this Tuesday and the orientation has been very gentle there, so it is not work that has kept me from it, but I have finally posted the end of the safari adventure. It does not come off as that exciting, I fear, but I am truly happy to have gone on the safari and would gladly return if I get another chance.

That said, the safari was from the most meaningful part of my time in Kenya. I have struggled a bit in answering the usual question “how was your trip?” since my return, and I think it is partly because I remember different things about it at different times. I also don’t want to sound too dramatic about it- when you say a four week stay was “life changing,” it rings a bit hollow when you think about the experience of those who spend much longer in service to the developing world, whether it be a few years in the Peace Corps or a lifetime of missionary work.

Even so, I think the experience has the possibility to be life changing for me, though the results still need to be seen. At the very least, it was a grounding, centering experience that was what I was hoping for prior to starting my new career. I was seeking a challenge, an opportunity to see something totally different, and to give something to others. I received all of that and more.

I recognized at the end that I could have done a lot more on the service front had I made a longer trip, particularly because I truly began to feel some progress wiith my work in my last week at St. Al’s. I also recognize now that I was very happy to be coming home, that I am a person who enjoys the comforts of friends and family and pizza and HDTV and my own car etc. So while I have tremendous admiration for those who dedicate their life to that type of work, I may not be strong enough to do it myself. I do believe the next time I go I could stay longer and do more, but I have no idea when I will have that much time.

So now I look for ways to bring my experience back to my life in Boston. I am hoping to work with my friends at St. Al’s to support them from afar, and I will keep people posted as those opportunities arise. I am also hopeful that the perspective I have gained from my travels will inform my work and my life to make a positive difference where I can. It has certainly reinforced how grateful I am for the life I have already been given.

Wrapping up the safari

Part III

So from the moment I spotted the lion, things really picked up and changed for the better. Day was breaking and as the sun came out, we entered the Masai Mara National Reserve. The Mara is the classic African savanah, the northern extension of the plains of the Serengetti, on the border with Tanzania. It is the backdrop to the Discovery Channel type nature videos, the ones with thousands of wildebeests and zebras and antelopes migrating across the plains, stalked by lions and leopards and cheetahs etc.

I had hoped we would get to see the famous wildebeest migration on our visit, but we were a bit late and climate change appears to be having an effect on the animal behavior as well. Ordinarily the herbivores migrate north to Masai Mara during August and September as they dry season comes to the southern plains, then turn around when the rainy season comes in September and October and the land is greener. However, this year the dry season never really came, and thus the animals had no need to migrate.

Even so, there are thousands of non-migratory animals in the Mara year round. Mara is a word in the Masai language meaning spotted, and the grassy expanses with occasional tress and bushes make the derivation understandable. The Masai live around the area, and they still have limited grazing rights for their herds in the reserve. Evidently neither the Kenyan Wildlife Service nor the Masai are too thrilled about the arrangement, and the tenuous relationship was evident from the way the Masai regarded visitors- clearly not too excited about our presence, but willing to make some money off of us.

The landscape is beautiful and largely unspoiled, except for the tour buses and Masai women gathered by the gates to the reserve and aggressively trying to sell to the tour buses waiting to enter. Their hard bargaining business tactics are understandable given that they have been displaced from their land and forbidden by law from defending their herds from most of the predators that will occasionally attack, but still mildly off-putting.

However, once we entered the park, any annoyance was forgotten. Just on our way that morning, heading to our campsite, we saw zebras, giraffes, elephants, and buffaloes. Almost everyone has seen these animals on television, and many have even seen them in zoos, but there is something about spotting them in their natural habitat, interacting with other animals and their young, that is simply not comparable to any other way of experiencing them. It even inspired me to want to take pictures, and I usually don’t have much interest in pulling out my camera.

The journey to the campsite was relatively brief, and it was done on no sleep in the previous 24 hours, so as excited as I was, I was also not disappointed to arrive at the site, which was actually just outside another gate, on Masai land. Because there were relatively few tourists at this point, we were able to stay in permanent cabins, and I actually got my own cabin with a bed. After a quick breakfast I retired to that cabin and managed a nice 2 hour nap, waking up in time to get lunch and join the rest of the part for an afternoon game drive.

That afternoon we set out into the park around 1 pm with Kanyua once again behind the wheel, Eldard riding with us, and a Masai tribesman along to help spot game. The canvas roof was removed, allowing us to stand up to get better pictures. Laura let me borrow sunblock, so I was ok with the open top.

As we drove, we managed to spot many more animals, including hyenas, jackals, topis, hartebeests, gazelles, buzzards, and guinea fowl. We also found a small group of lionesses resting in the shade near a herd of wildebeest, seemingly uninterested in hunting, perhaps because they were not hungry given the nearby presence of a wildebeest carcass. We managed to see more cheetahs as we drove down to the border with Tanzania, where we got out and took pictures, and were able to cross into the neighboring country. The grass did actually look greener in the Serengetti.

From there we drove to the Mara River where we got out again and were met by armed park rangers, toting rifles used to protect tourists. A ranger took us on a walk around the banks, showing us many hippos as well as seeing dead wildebeests in the river. Apparently the wildebeest cross the river quite often, and they always do so as a herd, inevitably leading to tramplings and multiple deaths every time. We saw the wildebeests milling around on the opposite bank and stayed for quite some time hoping to see them attempt a crossing, but it did not happen during our visit. We also saw one enormous and apparently well fed croc on the opposite bank, basking in the sun.

It was while watching the wildebeests that my camera batteries gave out. That was disapointing, as I had charged the batteries prior to leaving for safari, but I believe that much battery power was wasted during the time when the camera was stolen and the pictures on it erased. So the only safari pictures I have are from those first few hours. I am hoping to see pictures from my traveling companions to supplement my own.

Our afternoon game drive was quite long, staying out until close to 5:30. On our way back to camp we came across what must have been 10 tour vehicles stopped and looking at something. The official guidelines say no more than 4 vehicles should be near any group of animals, but no one really seems to follow those rules. Any time you see a huge group of vehicles stopped, you can be pretty sure there is something interesting to see, and in this case there were two female lions walking along the road, seemingly posing for the cameras.

After we left the reserve and before we got to camp, I asked Eldard to stop in the local village, where I was able to buy some semi-cold tuskers to enjoy with our dinner. Gechaga cooked something tasty, we had a few beers, and everyone was more than ready for a good night’s sleep after the previous 36 hours or so, especially with plans to head out on another game drive around dawn the next morning.

We did manage to wake up almost on time and were in the reserve again by 6:30 or so. We saw close to a dozen balloons aloft overhead, and I imagine Dan and Mel were at least mildly jealous, but I am not sure the balloon trip would have been worth the expense to me- maybe it is more interesting when the huge migratory herds cover the groud. We once again saw many animals that morning, but the higlights were our first male lion and a leopard.

The leopard was particularly special- they are shy animals and well camouflaged, and Eldard claimed it was the first he had seen in Masai Mara this year. We spent probably 30 minutes observing the leopard, first in the bushes near the river, then up into a tree where it was nibbling on some type of antelope it had dragged up there. I really hope someone got a good picture of this one.

We returned to the campsite for a late breakfast, then went to the nearby Masai village for a tour. I was very reluctanct to subject myself to the usual high pressure sales tactics and the inevitable faux cultural experience, but I also did not have anything else to do with my time, so I made the trip. We each paid a fee to the tribe and were treated to a few traditional dances, a tour of a hut (made of caked cow dung), and a few other demonstrations before we were given a chance to do some shopping. As usual, the bargaining was intense, and deals were had to come by, though I did pick up a few items.

Our afternoon game drive was also exciting, this time with some our best chances to see lions out in the open. We did not see any rhinos, which is hardly surprising given how reclusive they are known to be, and we did not get to see a hunt in progress, which was what I was hoping for, but we did see almost everything else you can imagine. We returned to the campsite for our last dinner and picked up a few more Tuskers to wash it down.

In the morning we ate breakfast, packed up, and prepared for the journey back to Nairobi, hoping to get back in time to talk about our experience with the management at Gametrackers. The road back was long, dusty, and full of pot-holes, but we still made pretty good time and were able to arrive in Nairobi around 2, plenty of time to meet with the staff.

Back in Nairobi the staff was appropriately responsive to our concerns, taking the time to hear our complete version of the story (somehow I ended up the spokesman), offering their apologies and making clear their concern, and eventually refunding us the difference in price between the safari we had originally paid for and a trip only to Masai Mara. They also gave us each a t-shirt, which was particularly useful for me given my lack of other clean clothes.

So it was that I said goodbye to Eldard, Kanyua, Gechaga (he actually left the truck outside of Nairobi), Mel, Dan, Marlene and Germana, all of whom I will remember fondly and hope to see again sometime.

Ben and Laura took pity on me on my last night in town and proposed that we meet up for dinner at Carnivore, the world famous meat extravaganza in suburban Nairobi. It shows up in all the tour books and I had been told to be sure to get there by one friend with Nairobi experience and “Please don’t go to Carnivore” by another, with the obvious implication that it was a tourist trap.

Well I was feeling entitled to a good meal after the safari and I figured it was worth seeing even if just to roll my eyes, so I joined my new best friends and served as a third wheel for not the first time in my life. Ben and Laura never made me feel unwelcome, and I remain grateful to them for putting up with me throughout the week.

The meal itself was good, but not spectacular. The gimic is that they bring all the meat you can eat and carve it off swords onto your plate. At one point there were some fairly exotic choices, but laws have restricted their ability to serve most plains game, so the only real excitement was the opportunity to eat ostrich, which was very tasty and reminded me a bit of lamb, actually. But even if the food was nothing special, the company was great and I was happy to be getting on my way the next day.

After dinner I took in one last rugby match with Ben and Laura at their hotel bar, watching Ben’s beloved Wales roll to an easy victory over Japan- unfortunately Wales was later upset by Fiji and much like my Irish lads did not qualify for the knock out stages, then I bid them goodnight, slept a few hours, and spent the next 24 hours in transit back to Boston where I was happy to find my parents waiting for me at the airport and Santarpio’s pizza ordered for the ride home. It was a long end to a long trip, and it felt good to be home.

More Safari Drama, Now Illustrated (a little)

In DC now, ready to post Part II of what is looking like 3. The next one should have more pictures, and soon enough I will get all the pictures online, I just need time to caption them.

Safari- Part II

On our way to Marigat, we stopped off and picked up a few of the locals from the smaller village right near the river. Some of them had been involved in the investigation, others may have been involved in the theft. Eldard was explaining to us that they had tried to stay with the vehicle, but were persuaded that they should get out for their own safety as the water was rising. They made it out with the clothes on their back and perhaps one tent, but left everything else behind and tried to sleep a bit on the river bank.

At some point during the night, obscured by darkness and the sounds of the rushing water, someone had gotten into the truck and taken the bags, including the staff’s. Plausible enough, and hard to blame the crew for fearing for their safety, but also hopelessly naive on all counts in retrospect.

We turned into the town of Marigat and proceeded to the police station, where we found our first truck parked in the lot, alongside a second truck of similar size that had apparently been sent to extricate the first truck. Both were now under repair, as the train of the process had done damage to their engines. It was now abundantly clear that this trip was not going to be making Gametrackers any money.

Eldard told us that the police had recovered a few bags, and with the help of the men we had brought along in the truck they had hopes of recovering everything, but they would need to go back across the river, and they would need our truck to do it. The exercise was supposed to take maybe two hours, and to get all of our things back, two hours seemed worth the wait.

In two hours, it was around 12, and nothing was being reported. We had sat in the shade of the truck for a while, but at noon there is not much shade to be had, so we began to get a bit cranky and started asking questions, which were of course met with evasive answers. No one had let Germana and Marlene see their bags, and we wondered where the rest of the crew was. We had not spoken directly to the police at all, only to Eldard.

So we ate our lunch, sitting on stools in the dust. And we waited. Periodically, we would get updates, but mostly what we got were requests for patience, and that was in short supply. Finally, perhaps around 3, a truck pulled in and unloaded 7 bags, which was a welcome sight, except there were 8 of us. It will probably surprise no one that my bag was the one that was missing, although Laura’s had been essentially emptied as well- she was left with 2 towels and a pair of jeans.

Then began the process of compiling police statements for insurance purposes. We really wanted to get going, but we also really wanted something to prove this had happened. The Marigat police were not exactly well-equipped for the challenge. I was interviewed by a younger officer (none of them wore uniforms), and he took all sorts of irrelevant biographical information from me (Married? Occupation?) and obscure details (what was the registration of Moses’ car?). Then he began handwriting a statement for me to sign- I believe it is safe to say we have some stylistic differences.

Looking to move things along, I signed what he had written out, as it was mostly correct and not incriminating to me, then asked if perhaps I could have a copy of it and we could be on our way. Laura was in a similar process with an older but no more competent officer in another room. All kinds of people were filtering in and out to watch the spectacle. I imagine it was the best show going in Marigat. And it was only about to get better.

The request for a report we could take along was, in retrospect, ill-advised, especially now that I have discovered I have no insurance coverage for any of what I lost. Computers, photocopiers, and fast typists were not the order of the day. The older officer, perhaps the chief, pulled out a decrepit type writer and set about the task of retyping our statements using his index fingers. Not far into that process, another man showed up and demanded attention.

This fellow was also older, and wearing a beret and a vaguely military uniform. He had not been around all afternoon and seemed to know nothing about the events of the day, but it did not prevent him from taking charge. He wondered first why all 8 bags had not been recovered. Then he wondered why the others had been allowed to take their bags, as they were “evidence.” Then he told us we would be needed to testify in court tomorrow. When we objected, he suggested we wait a few hours and we could speak to the magistrate right away.

Further objections led him to suggest that all of their good police work would be for naught if we were to leave. I pointed out that they had our written statements, that we had not been present when the bags were abandoned, that the chain of custody of the evidence was already hopelessly lost, and that the only things we knew were hearsay from our guides, who could surely be more useful witnesses than we could. I was somewhat proud of my evidentiary arguments, but they only served to turn attention on our crew.

The next tactic was to accuse our guides of “failure to prevent a crime,” and by now I knew things had become absurd. This man’s only goal was to obstruct us from leaving the station, and I had no idea how to placate him. It emerged several days later that one of the boys in trouble was the younger brother of a well-placed military man, and it was likely someone had been dispatched to foul up the investigation enough that the boy would escape trial. But that was just one of several conspiracy theories surrounding the events of Marigat.

At this point Eldard was close to tears, Laura, who had been incredibly tough, was in tears, and I was fuming and wondering how far I could go with this guy without getting myself thrown in jail. We got on the vehicle with our bags, if only to protect them from the clutches of the police, and everyone walked away to clear the air. Military man came back and told us that they thought they could get my bag now, and they would be gone for half an hour, so sit tight. Argh.

The tourists were all of a mind to drive away, but the crew insisted that we stay, likely concerned about being arrested themselves. The local chief was back to typing away, while the rest of the squad was out beating the bushes for my gear. Eldard got the Kenyan Tourist Federation involved now, calling on his cell phone and asking them to talk some sense to the Marigat cops. They finally succeeded in persuading them to release us, or else we just got bold and left on our own. We left behind our original driver, Wanjumi, to collect the police statements and anything else that might come in, and set out for Masai Mara at 6 pm, some 9 hours later than planned.

Our new driver was Kanyua, and he was also a mechanic, which was both reassuring and troubling- why would we need a mechanic? Of course, we were about find out.

The drive was supposed to be about 2 hours to Nakuru, where we were supposed to camp on Day 2 and where we were to pick up another two people. Our new truck had a much smaller capacity than the original, so the other 7 who were going to join us were already in a different vehicle with a different crew. From Nakuru, we were told it was about 2 hours to Narok, the gateway town to Masai Mara, and then another 2 hours or so to our campsite. It meant that if everything went well, we could expect to arrive around 12 or 1, and there were canins available for us there, so we could just collapse into bed on our arrival.

Our first hour away from Marigat was fine, the roads were good, we were making good time, and the sun was setting. Shortly after we crossed back into the Southern Hemisphere, Marlene saw a roadside sign indicating 37 km to Nakuru and said something about making good time. Within in minutes, Kanyua lost a struggle with the clutch and could not bring the truck beyond first gear. It was completely dark and there was no place to stop, so were left to crawl along to Nakuru where he would be able to look at it.

Around 8:30, we made it into Nakuru and pulled over in a reasonably well lit spot. The rest of us walked over to a hotel where we managed to find Dan and Mel, a nice couple, also from London, who had apparently just begun their preparations for bed, assuming that there would be no truck coming to pick them up that night. They had been on their own in Nakuru all day, receiving repeated assurances that someone was on their way, but not unreasonably they had given up on those assurance.

Apparently, they were scheduled for a balloon ride taking off before dawn in Masai Mara on Tuesday morning, approximately 8 hours from then. Some consideration was given to spending the night in Nakuru, but Eldard and the crew insisted that we forge on, the truck would be fine, and we needed to get Dan and Mel to their balloon ride, which are both expensive and spectacular by all accounts.

While we were waiting, Wamjumi caught up with us, and somehow had my bag, albeit largely empty, but somehow containing my shaving kit which had been repacked with my Ipod, my camera, and my new binocular. So I had no clothing, but I had the expensive stuff. My camera had been erased, but I had saved almost all of the pictures on it to my laptop already. I bought a toothbrush and prepared to make it another three days without a change of clothing.

The repairs took us until close to 10, so now it would be a very late arrival indeed, but Eldard insisted that our route was safe, that he was in touch with the tourist police and our route was protected. Without any better options, we took off into the night, in a truck with a tarp for a roof and plastic flaps for windows, over rocky roads with no street lights. There was no chance of sleeping for me, though it seemed possible for people who could lean on each other like Ben and Laura.

I had no watch or clock to track the proceedings, but things seemed to be taking a long time, and I definitely became worried when Kanyua pulled up alongside a truck driver and asked a question, and the reply included a laugh and the words “a long way” repeated several times. At some point Eldard pointed out that we were driving through Kericho, home to the largest tea plantations in the world. I didn’t remember that being on the way either, but I no longer had a map or any light to read by.

Others in the truck began to have similar panicky thoughts, and maps and flashlights were taken out. The truck began to have transmission problems again. We saw it was after 3 am, and the map showed us still a long way from Narok, as we had taken a very indirect route rather than the straight shot that appeared on the map. We also realized that our driver had been up since 6 am, and that he had not gone to sleep until after midnight the night before. Mel claimed to notice him weaving, but that was less of a concern for me, as that is actually the way you have to drive to avoid potholes.

Kanyua pulled over at a police checkpoint shortly thereafter and began to work on the transmission again. The rest of began to bombard Eldard, who was still working the phones (now using my hone with his SIM card- his own was out of battery). He told Dan and Mel that they were not going to make the balloon ride, a fact that was abundantly clear already. Everybody was upset, nobody felt safe, and I began thinking of the most dramatic possible language to use if I ever got to speak to the management at Gametrackers, but that seemed unlikely.

We would have demanded to stop there to sleep, but there was nowhere to do that either. Eldard begged our patience, to get to Narok where Kanyua could get a cup of coffee, a bit of a rest, and then make our way to the campsite. We had no choice but to follow that plan. We did arrive in Narok around 5, found some coffee, rested a bit, then left for our destination.

As we left town, the sun began to come up, and the area around us looked like the classic savannah of a thousand nature programs. We began to see an abundance of zebras and various types of antelope, along with children making their way to school. Then, suddenly, Kanyua pulled over. Another repair? No, a cheetah. Very well camouflaged, and in the half-light of dawn, but somehow the man who had been up for 23 hours driving picked it out. Strong coffee in Kenya, apparently.

No the rest of the truck was awake, and getting a bit excited. Kanyua was flying along the road when I saw a blur of yellow fur on my left and yelled out “Lion!” The truck stopped, and backed up, and sure enough a lioness was crouching in the tall grass by the roadside. I was pretty proud of my spotting ability, and now totally ready to experience the Mara.

Recovering

It has taken me longer than I would like to put together the story of the safari. Partly because there is a great deal to tell, partly because I write too much, and partly because I have picked up a decent cold in transit, which seems to be sapping some of my energy. In any case, here is the first part, with a bit of suspense, although I guess we all know it ends up ok, because I am writing this now...

Safari- Part I

I spent the night before the safari staying at the threadbare but still comfortable enough Hotel 680 in downtown Nairobi, and took advantage of the lack of curfew to head out to a pub to watch the England- South Africa rugby game, but there is nothing special to report there- the tv was small, there was no sound, and South Africa dominated.

So it was no big challenge to wake up on time Saturday morning, check my big bag and my backpack (including my laptop) into bag storage at the 680, and walk the five blocks or so to the offices of Gametrackers Safari Co. I arrived just before the 8:30 check in time and found a few people walking around the office, but not much urgency to get anything done there.

After about 45 minutes of filling out a form, renting a sleeping bag, buying some water, etc. I knew that I would be making the trip with a nice young couple from London- Ben was Welsh, Laura, English, and a pair of ladies from Winnipeg who looked to be around my parents’ age (turns out they are recently retired sisters-in-law- Marlene and Germana- and also very nice people). It seemed like a pretty small group, especially when we saw our vehicle- a huge truck with capacity for about 30 people.

It made a bit more sense when we learned that 9 others would be joining up as the trip went along, but it was still an impressive vehicle, with a crew to match- a driver (Wanjomi), a cook (Gechaga), and a guide (Eldard) to show us around. We received a quick briefing from a woman from the office, and we took off for the Great Rift Valley, with a long drive ahead of us.

Along the way I began to get better acquainted with my traveling companions. I was excited to discover Ben, like any good Welshman, was a devoted rugby fan who just happened to have brought along a Rugby World Cup schedule. I commiserated with him missing the big Wales-Australia match that afternoon, while Laura did a fine job at concealing any disapproval regarding our conversation. They were at the very beginning of their holiday, with a week at the beach in Zanzibar still ahead.

Marlene filled us in on the work her daughter was doing in Nairobi in pursuit of her PhD in agronomy. Germana had come along after her brother, Marlene’s husband was unable to make the trip for health reasons. I had initially thought they may be from the upper midwest of the US, but their frequent use of the word eh gave them away.

We stopped about 3 hours into the trip to take a look down at the Great Rift Valley from the escarpment. We were at 8000 feet above sea level, and the valley was a sight to behold- the land simply fell away, first dropping about 500 feet, then a small plateau, then dropping again another 2000 feet or so, all practically sheer cliffs. Unfortunately it was a bit foggy up there, so it was tough to take good pictures, and of course the view was also accompanied by the requisite souvenir shops and aggressive salesmen, who outnumbered our party (the only visitors) by about 3-1.

When we got back on the road and made our way down the escarpment, we came to discover that the roads through the valley left a fair amount to be desired. Much of the stretch to Nakuru was under construction, and apparently had been for some time. Our rugged vehicle was quite capable of handling the off-roading that was required, but our backs and bums might not have been so well prepared.

We continued on our way until we arrived near Lake Nakuru, where we stopped for lunch. There was a small shaded picnic table in a village that was mostly lined with tanker trucks, but also had the obligatory curio opportunities. We sidestepped the hawkers while waiting for lunch to be prepared and enjoyed a nice repast of fresh salad and cheese sandwiches, then returned to the road.

As we continued north, we passed through the town of Nakuru, and several villages selling what looked like vodka bottles full of an amber liquid. I originally thought it might be some potent local elixir, but was relieved (and maybe a bit disappointed) to discover it was only honey, a local specialty. We also passed across the equator- Eldard suggested we wait until we passed back the next day to take pictures, a reasonable suggestion, but one we would come to regret.

The roads to that point had been decent, but as we came to the village of Marigat, we discovered another stretch of road that was perhaps not quite up to code, and then we came to small river. Eldard told us it was not usually a river, but a dry river bed, and that our truck was quite capable of crossing it. I believed him, but I was also a bit concerned about the rushing water and the large crowd of 60-70 locals who had gathered around the banks to watch the action there.

Wanjumi plunged the truck in headlong, making for the most direct line to the other side. He was receiving a variety of advice from the spectators, but because it was in Swahili and because he was sitting in a separate cab, and I really can’t say which of the advice he heeded. In any case, he should have consulted someone else, as we came to standstill about 20 meters into the water. At that point he tried to reverse, but only dug in further. And now there was plenty of advice coming in.

Eldard stripped to his shorts, took off his boots, and jumped down to the rocky river bed to see what he could do. The rest of us stayed in the truck and occupied our time coming up with theories on what may have happened and how we could get out while we watched much smaller vehicles take a circuitous route around our truck and across to the other side, following local guides who splashed ahead and showed where the shallows were. Some of them were fellow tourists, who enjoyed waving to us and laughing.

Several vehicles attempted to tow us out, but none of them were up to the task, and the situation was worsening as the loudest thunder clap I have ever heard foretold of rising water levels in the river bed. Dusk came around 6, and darkness was following, when Eldard told us that we should get in the Landcruiser that had pulled up near our vehicle, that it would take us to the campsite, and we should leave our bags behind and they would be safe with the crew.
A narrow metal gangplank was created to convey us from one vehicle to the next, keeping us dry, and our driver Moses told us he was an employee of the Roberts Camp where we were to stay the night. He succesfully ferried us to the other side and made a quick drive to the campsite. He suggested we order food from their restaurant and that we sleep in one of their cabins for the night, as our food and our camping equipment would be unlikely to make it.

Initially we were concerned about who would pay the extra costs, but we did not have many other options, so we settled in for the night, with no word from our crew back at the river. To my surprise, and to Ben’s delight, the campsite actually had satellite tv and was showing rugby. They had cold beer, decent pizza, and a comfortable cottage which allowed everyone to have their own bed, under mosquito nets, and even indoor plumbing.

In the morning, we were woken up and encouraged to report to the dock to take the boat ride we had been scheduled to take the night before. We went out for an hour long tour and saw families of hippos, some 30 species of birds, and learned a bit about the area. Lake Baringo is a freshwater lake, with brown water due to all the sediment carried in from the surrounding mountains. The unseasonal rains of this year had brought the banks well beyond their usual level, with many trees and grasses now under water. The ride was quite pleasant, and we returned to the campsite feeling optimistic about the rest of the trip.

That optimism quickly turned when we sought out Moses for news of our crew, vehicle, and bags. He was evasive about any news, telling me he had heard nothing, and that he did not have Eldard’s cell phone number, despite the fact I had seen them conversing the night before. With no other food in sight, Marlene and Germana ordered breakfast from the restaurant, but I was holding out for some confirmation that our food was not on the way.

Unfortunately, that confirmation came in the form of a bearded white man with an Irish accent who came to tell us he had a bit of bad news to share. It seems that all of our bags had been stolen in the night, and that our truck could not make it over the river, which was now unpassable. We discovered his name was Mark, and he ran the campsite. He could not understand how our guides could have allowed this to happen, but he thought it important that we know.

Mark explained that it was common in Kenyan society to try to keep people from learning bad news, and he told us that he had originally been asked not to tell us yet, that it was too soon. He asked us not to hold it against them, saying it was a cultural difference, and that people would not even tell family members if someone had died- they might suggest someone come home because their mother was sick, when in fact she had already passed away.

Marlene and Germana were around to hear all of this, and I went back to the cabin to break the news to Laura and Ben. It certainly came as something of a shock to each of us, and of course the immediate reaction was to think of what had been lost. We had asked the night before if we should take our bags, and when we got into Moses’ vehicle there was actually space for them, but we were assured that the bags were safe and we should go on. Even so, the other four had at least taken smaller bags with them, which included their cameras and some of their toiletries, etc. I had no smaller bag, so I had only what was in my pockets, which fortunately included my wallet and my passport, but otherwise amounted to 4 sticks of chewing gum, insect repellant, and a receipt.

We tried to be philosophical about it. We talked about not letting it ruin our trip. We began making lists of what was lost. I in particular was worried about not becoming a burden on others, recognizing that I had probably lost the most and that I also did not have a close friend with me to lean on for support. So I tried to take up a positive attitude and encourage others to do the same, and to everyone’s credit there was no whining and very limited anger. It was what it was, and it was only stuff. Plus insurance would surely cover it.

Mark, for his part, was terriffic. He was in contact with the Gametrackers front office, and the General Manager David had encouraged him to take care of us, to make sure we were fed and to comp us our drinks at the bar and keep us in the cottage. He did all that and more, telling us his own story of coming to Africa on Safari with his young family 6 years ago and deciding to stay.

We met his young daughters, we enjoyed Tuskers and rugby together, and he was generous enough to sit with me for around an hour, just telling stories and sharing our experiences- he had been a student at Trinity, where I studied for my junior year. Basically we shot the bull in a manner that would have been quite familiar to our ancestors, and it helped me enjoy the day despite the fact that we were missing out on our entire planned itinerary and I had likely lost over $1000 in personal property, including my camera, my Ipod, my binoculars, my brand new Ireland Rugby World Cup jersey (Mark would keep an eye out for it on the locals, and take it for himself if he saw it), and some of my favorite t-shirts. Of course I was most upset about the t-shirts- everything else could be replaced, but I am not likely to find a 1995 CYO Basketball All-Stars t-shirt anytime soon.

Around 3:30 we piled into Mark’s car to have a look at the river, with the possibility of crossing on foot in our minds. It was a remote possibility, as I myself am not that bold and I certainly did not want to be responsible for pressuring anyone into sustaining a broken hip. The rushing river was enough to convince us to stay dry and well fed at Roberts Camp, but there were people crossing on foot with the aid of strong local youths, and there was also the sight of a huge military truck crossing the river. A smaller vehicle was stuck halfway across, and Mark was heroically trying to tow it out, but thankfully the army finished the job before he burned out his clutch.

After another nice night in Mark’s care (including information that perhaps Marlene and Germana’s bags had been recovered), we were just waking up and taking advantage of the showers when the maid came to inform us we had visitors. I walked over to the restaurant to find a sheepish Eldard and a new driver who had just crossed the river in a new truck- shorter, but even more rugged and higher off the ground. We took breakfast once more at the restaurant, which was now running out of provisions with no supply line across the river, and took off. There was some brief drama as we angled ourselves to plunge in, but never any real doubt once we started across, and we were on the other side by 9 am, with only the small matter of stopping at the police station to get reports for insurance purposes and retrieve whatever they had recovered in terms of bags. It was just going to be a brief stop...

Back in the US and A

Just got home, currently rooting against the Yankees in the 13th. Sox have already begun to turn things around now that I am back on home soil. The safari was a huge adventure. Probably 2 or 3 more posts coming, plus some pictures, but for now here is my wrap-up from St. Al's:

Days 18 and 19- Endings

I have just finished up at St. Al’s and left Tumaini Centre, and the feeling is very mixed. On the one hand, I confess that I crave comfort and companionship of friends and family, so getting closer to those things feels good, and even being able to watch CNN International in my hotel now is a little too exciting.

On the other hand, nearly everyone I saw today expressed a moving combination of thanks for the time I was here and requests that I stay longer or return soon. It was tough to tell what I was accomplishing at times, and it is likely that some part of the goodbyes were simply good manners, but I did feel like it was also partly hearfelt, which made me feel both good and guilty.

Thursday was again divided between time at school and time at the office, starting out with Dennis and the database. My former colleagues at admissions (some of whom are now Powerball winners) will understand how boring data entry can be- this exercise compares best to doing SSRs, except without any chance to check internet or email, and each student takes about 7 minutes operating at maximum efficiency with two people working together. The good news was that Dennis seemed to be picking it up a bit better than Ben did, and he committed to finishing what we could not get done (which will be close to ¾ of the work).

After a few hours of data drudgery, I walked back through the mud (still more rain) to teach the Freedom lecture to the other section of Form I, and I believe it went very well. I would probably be a better teacher if I had any confidence in my chalkboard writing, but I certainly learned something from the first go around, and I found this group very engaging too, although it should be noted that every class and group I have met with has been dominated by the boys, even though Form I is purposely skewed at 60% girls to account for typical attrition.

The class periods came at the end of the school day, so the students ordinarily would have been leaving for games after our session, but the weather meant no games, and thus I stayed around for a while just to talk with the students and have a little fun. I had my last three Red Sox hats to give away and decided I would have a contest to award the prizes.

The girls suggested a singing contest and the boys a dance-off, and in some ways I wish I had come up with some way to accomodate those thoughts, but I didn’t think I could possibly judge, so I went with a trivia contest instead, and the winners were two of the best participants in class discussion (boys, of course). When I broke out my camera to take a few pictures of the class, pandemonium took over. Everyone wanted to be in the frame, and the mugging was intense. It was nice to see them having fun.

The fun was in contrast to my next meeting with a group of 12 first formers who had formed a sort of study group. They asked me to advise them on the best format for their discussions, and I was both impressed by their dedication and a bit concerned that they were so intense. The group evidently meets daily and reviews material from their courses. Given that classes go from 8-5 daily, it seemed like maybe it was too much, but they are clearly dedicated. Among their questions was how to prevent people from laughing during their meetings. I admit I was confused on how to help.

I went home and packed up, and enjoyed my last dinner with the sisters, offering my sincere thanks for their hospitality. I would not have imagined myself saying that and meaning it even two weeks earlier, but they really made sure I was well taken care of, and the rates were more than reasonable. We prayed together as we left, and Rose, the young student sister who has been the most friendly, gave me a gift (rosary beads) and a letter to mail to her family in Silver Spring.

In the morning I finished cleaning out my room and left my bags in a locked room, then went over to school without any definite plan. I was able to see most of the students I got to know and say goodbye, as well as saying farewell to the teachers and Kiambi, and all of them thanked me for coming and also asked me to give their regards to my friends and family in the US. You are all invited to St. Al’s any time.

Around noon I mucked up the hill and walked through Kibera for the last time to go meet Dennis. We worked on the database again for a while, and he looked like he had the hang of it by the time we finished. Then we sat and talked for a while. I had not had much opportunity to talk to Dennis previously, as he had been so busy with helping the graduates, especially Florine, the young woman on her way to the US who had all kinds of visa problems (no surprise to me).

It turns out Dennis has a moving story too, like almost everyone in Kenya. He is the 8th of 11 children, and, at age 30, the second oldest surviving member of his family. He was helped through college by a Jesuit who was impressed by his ability in Catechism school, and he ended up student body president in his senior year. His mother died of cervical cancer on his graduation day, leaving him as the head of the family, with three younger sisters and three orphaned daughters of his older brothers. His new responsibility forced him to cancel his plans to enter the Jesuits, a calling he had felt very strongly.

Along the way, he has won awards for leading students to impressive exam results in the subjects he taught, including as an unlicensed English teacher before he graduated college. He has a great passion for teaching and looks forward to resuming some teaching duties at St. Al’s in the near future. He would also like to pursue a graduate degree at some point, hopefully in the US (his undergraduate college is actually a branch of St. Mary’s (MN) in Nairobi), but he needs a lot of support to do it. He had to leave a bit early that afternoon to celebrate the 6th birthday of one of his adopted children. I made sure to pay for the cake and soda, but I wish I could have done more.

When I got back to pick up my bags, my friend Irene, the housekeeper, had a difficult time letting me go as well. She has been particularly jealous of my time recently, and she insisted that I stay another night, but with a prepaid hotel room and an early departure in the city center, it made no sense. I finally persuaded her to let me get my bags by offering to show family pictures, but she has insisted that I return to Kenya as soon as possible and call and write often. I still don’t know what I did to impress her.

So it was that I got in my taxi and left for the Hotel 680, where I am being bombarded with news of scandal involving the Patriots (Belicheck fined $500k) and Formula 1 (McLaren fined $500 million!), as well as the “success” of the troop surge.

In an earlier journal entry I mentioned one of my frustrations in comparing the type of work I am doing with medical work like that of Partners in Health. I realized later that I should have said that I believe that education is just as important as medical care, but the results are longer term and thus harder to see, and the process takes a lifetime. In the end, if more of these kids can be encouraged to learn and to stay in school, they are the ones who will become the doctors and the people who can build the economy to support both better healthcare and more education.

What I have done is not enough to make a real impact in learning, but I hope I have done something to help students think broadly anyway. My role has been equal parts teacher, consultant, and journalist, and I am not a professional in any of those fields, so it took me a while to figure out how to do any of them properly. As I was saying my goodbyes to students today, so many of them wanted to maintain some type of contact, a difficult assignment without the help of email. But others just wanted to thank me, for showing them, in the words of Form III Eileen, “that there are so many people who care” about them, and telling me that we are all together in Christ. Hard to imagine hearing that in the US. And that makes the trip worthwhile if nothing else.

I'll Be Seeing You

This is likely to be my last post from Kenya. Although I don't fly out until September 21, I leave Tumaini tomorrow and will not be near my friendly neighborhood internet cafe again. That means the Sox will have to survive the Yankees series and the Pats will have to survive the Chargers without me. But I will be back in Boston in time for the Devil Rays and the Bills on TV! I will still make sure to update on the end of the trip and post pictures when I get back. If you are looking for me when I get back, I might not have my cell phone service immediately, it has to be reactivated, but I do want to see everyone, so send me an email.

Days 16 and 17- Too Little, Too Late?

As of this writing, I have only two days left in at St. Al’s, so of course it would be appropriate that I am finally starting to feel somewhat useful around school. By hanging around long enough, the teachers have gotten to know me and they have figured out that I am willing and able to do just about anything they ask, so they are finally asking.

On Tuesday I was asked to meet with the journalism club at lunch time on pretty short notice, but with only about 45 minutes to fill it was not a huge challenge. For the most part we talked about what goes into the practice of journalism, me drawing on my vast reservoir of knowledge, having written for such prestigious publications as The Wellesley Townsman, The Hoya, and AAP News. More importantly, I have friends in the business.

It was actually great to see so many students interested in journalism, and disappointing that there was not more that could be done to encourage their interest. One girl asked me whether students in my country had journalism clubs, and so I told her about high schools with their own newspaper, magazine, radio station, television station, and website. I think it is imperative that their be more outlets for these students when the new school is built, with someone to work with them on desktop publishing and hopefully some student content on the website too.

Another student asked me if it was true that you need to be attractive to be in broadcast journalism. Nice to know that has filtered down even to people who don’t have television sets. Mostly, though, journalism seemed like an escape for them, a chance to get away from Kibera and see the world, to open their minds. I am supposed to meet with the club again on Friday, and I am trying to think of a way to expand the discourse.

I was also asked on Tuesday to teach a double period of Christian Religious Education (C.R.E.) to the Fourth Formers. That made me nervous- 80 minutes on a subject I had never taught with the oldest students in the school in the stress of preparing for their national exams. To add to the pressure, I was given their text book and told to pick any lesson I wanted, as it was all review for them anyway.

Once I looked at the book, though, I felt better. The book was an introduction to Christian ethics, with strong emphasis on civic duty and not requiring any strong knowledge of Aquinas. Naturally I was drawn to the chapter on Christian approaches to Law, Order, and Justice- apparently I spent too much time in law school, now it is the only thing I feel qualified to talk about.

So I went through the chapter and did my best to bring out discussions on how Christianity frames the ideas of law and justice. We thought about whether the Bible had anything to say about racism, tribalism, sexism, corruption, punishment, hypocrisy, distribution of wealth, and equality. At least some of the group responded to the discussion, though there were others who slept through the period. I wish I knew how to engage everyone in my passions, but it is much tougher for a substitute teacher to demand attention.
As class ended, a downpour began, so I took shelter in the teachers room until I thought it was over, then I slogged back through the mud, only to be hit by another squall. Strange weather for what is supposed to be the dry season, and really destructive around Kibera.

I realized today that I have not done much to describe Kibera since the first day, and I have also been unable to upload pictures due to internet problems. Even when I do upload pictures, it will be impossible to get the full image because you cannot capture the scale, the smell, and the sounds in megapixels. That, plus the fact that it is tough to take pictures of everything I want people to see- I am very reticent to take pictures of people I do not know, and the only people I do know are the students. But it is the people that make Kibera so interesting, and sometimes so heartbreaking.

I discovered the true vastness of the slum at some point last week when I decided to walk the length of the main road to get out on the other side. It seemed much shorter when I was on the bus. But as I walked along, I could not believe how many kiosks and little shops were lining both sides of the street, and how many people were walking through the street, and yet I hardly ever see anything being purchased. Everyone is selling something, and it is true throughout Nairobi, but so few people can actually buy anything, so I have no idea how the market functions. Disposable income is non-existent in Kibera.

The other major form of work in Kibera and elsewhere around Nairobi is what is known as jua kali, literally translated as hot sun, where men sit out on the street or in empty lots and due all kinds of skilled and semi-skilled labor. There are furniture makers, carvers, metal workers, auto mechanics, and various other trades. Once again, I know no one in Kibera is buying that 4 poster king size bed, but there it is, sitting in the middle of what seems like a sidewalk.

Also as you walk between the shacks, the alleys are always full of people- hundreds of little kids with their constant song of how are you, women doing the washing and occasionally the cooking, and a few men eyeing me suspiciously. But they are also full of animals- chickens and roosters and cats and dogs. Down by the lower school and on the nearby rubbish heap there are usually goats. And there is, inexplicably, a decent sized herd of cattle that goes back and forth over the low ground. The herdsman must be Masai, who keep large herds but do not slaughter cows to eat their meat, preferring to occasionally tap their jugular and drink their blood.

Wednesday was a return to the database project, now working with the school’s grade register. I have managed to create some forms and reports in Access that could be useful, but the process of entering all the grades is incredibly tedious. I can do it pretty quickly, so best that I try to do everything I can while I am here, but for every student there are 11 subjects every term, 3 terms a year, meaning that there are over 100 marks to enter for a student in Form IV. There is no chance I finish this project before I leave, so I need to train Ben and Dennis to follow through. The data could be very useful, but I fear it will never serve the intended purpose unless there is some full time, competent administrative support to make it work.

In the afternoon I went back to school to teach a Form I English class. The assignment was reading comprehension, and the article was titled “What is Freedom?” Naturally Stephanie, the Hong Kong lay missionary who teaches the class usually and lives at Tumaini, thought I should teach the lesson. Some of the themes were ideas I had explored with the law club and with the journalism club and with the Form IV’s, but there was also new territory, and for the most part a new group to work with.

So we talked about individual freedom vs. free societies, about the social contract (although I did not use those words), about civil liberties, searches and seizures, torture of suspects, freedom of religion, freedom of expression, and independence as different from freedom. The reading was really pretty challenging for Form I in their second or third language, but some of the group took up the challenge quite well. I also learned a bit about how to teach such a lesson, learning that I hope will bear fruit when I get to teach the same lesson to the other section of Form I on Thursday.

After teaching the class, I returned to the database, and late in the afternoon it poured again, this time harder than any of the previous rains I had seen. I tried to wait it out, but eventually Ben and I made a run for the bus, and I took it up to Ngong Rd. and got out to buy an umbrella at Nakumatt. Unfortunately, all that was left were floral patterns, so it was that I spent nearly $15 on lady’s umbrella and walked home.

Only two more days at St. Al’s, and while I cannot say I am desperate to stay longer, I do wish I had gotten to this point earlier. I might not have finished so many books (Atonement by Ian McEwan is my latest conquest), but I also might have had more action to write about here.

People are the Most Interesting Animals

Days 14-15

After my somewhat stressful Saturday, it was a relief to have no plan whatsoever on Sunday, aside from Mass. As it was, the day was good, but not worth much text here. It consisted of the aforementioned service, a stop at the internet cafe, a shopping trip to Nakumatt mostly to pick up supplies for my safari, and a trip in search of rugby on television.

The rugby trip involved me taking a matatu out to Karen and searching for a bar called the Outside Inn, which appeared easy to find in my guide book. I planned to be there for the 3 pm start of Wales v. Canada, so I left Tumaini at 2 to find the matatu to take me the 10K or so to Karen. Unfortunately, I had to wait nearly 30 minutes to get a matatu and then deal with incredible traffic for half of the journey because apparently all of Nairobi was heading to the Ngong Hills Races, and that was on the way to Karen.

Finally I arrived in Karen and started walking. Of course I was immediately asked by every taxi driver at the local taxi stand if I needed their services, but I was sure I could get there on my own. I then proceeded to walk approximately 5 miles in a triangle, bringing me back to the cabbies and then asking for a ride to my destination.

In fairness, the bar was not right on the main road I thought it was on, and it had changed names to the Double Inn, Nairobi’s only Irish pub. By the time I got there it was starting to rain, and Wales-Canada was almost over (Wales won 42-17), but at least I was there, and I got to see South Africa dominate Samoa, drink some Tuskers, eat some excellent chicken wings, and talk a little rugby with some native Kenyans before calling for a cab home.

It rained almost all night Sunday, making for a very messy walk to Kibera through muddy roads Monday morning. I cannot imagine how bad it is during the rainy season- it is supposed to be dry this time of year, which probably means bad things for crops when all is said and done. Strangely, Kenyans don’t really talk weather like, say the Irish, for whom weather is a national obsession. I say it is strange, because the weather has a massive impact on life here, whereas in Ireland it just rains all the time, so why should anyone care?

By the time I arrived at St. Al’s my shoes were caked in mud and the cuffs of my jeans were also filthy. I was cursing my decision on Sunday not to buy a cheap pair of boots for the safari. I made sure to arrive earlier than usual to be able to take part in the field trip, but of course no one was around to tell me what was going on. Around 9, after I had read the entire paper, Kiambi came in to tell me the trip was still on and should be leaving shortly, and soon enough after that the bus did arrive.

It turned out I was the chaperone for 24 essentially randomly selected students from all forms going on a wildlife trip sponsored by the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife. We had a good young tour guide named John and a small bus. Evidently the AFEW runs these trips every day of the week at no cost to the schools in the area, and they are trying to get every kid from St. Al’s to go at least once.

The bus took us first to the Safari Walk of Nairobi National Park, a nicely organized boardwalk/zoo that gets you up close and personal with zebras, wildebeests, antelopes, ostriches, white rhinos, pygmy hippos, leopards (pronounced lee-o-pards to my amusement), lions, cheetahs, and monkeys. We learned a little about each animal and also about the dangers to their habitats. The place was almost entirely empty, but I thought it was nicer than the National Zoo in DC and well worth a trip as a primer for the big game drives.

Next stop was the David Sheldrick Trust, an elephant/rhino orphanage where they bring out the baby elephants for a public show at the mud bath daily from 11-12. This spot was chock full of American and European tourists, and you could see why. The elephants are incredibly playful and funny at that age. Apparently the trust has been very successful at finding orphaned elephants and raising them, then returning them to the wild at Tsavo East National Park. I was impressed by the process and amused by their behavior, and I wish we had been there longer.

We moved from there to Mamba Village Crocodile Farm for lunch and then a view of the crocodiles. There were over 50 crocs sitting around and in the pools, and they are some of the laziest animals on earth. Because of the relatively cold temperatures in Nairobi, their metabolism is very slow, and they only eat on Sundays. It being Monday, they were well-fed and boring, but the kids still seemed to enjoy learning about them.

Our final stop of the day was the AFEW Giraffe Center at Langata. The folks at AFEW are doing their best to help out the endangered Rothschild Giraffe, and they have also been successful in raising that population. The center was pretty cool, with a raised feeding platform where the kids literally had giraffes eating out of their hands. The center also included warthogs and tortoises, who for some reason fascinated the kids as much as the giraffes.

For me the most interesting part of the trip was the way that John tried to pitch environmental conservation to the students. Some of the appeal was as I was used to- basically a line about the lands belonging to animals and appealing to a basic idea of doing what is right. But it went beyond that, trying also to sell the kids on the importance of wild animals to Kenya’s economy and the possibility of them someday earning their livelihood in the tourism industry. It is an argument that makes sense, and particularly when you are trying to convince kids with hungry families why they shouldn’t keep cutting down trees for firewood, or eating all the antelopes, or even killing elephants and rhinos for lucrative ivory trade.

I had hoped the trip would take long enough that we would return to school too late for me to give my planned “Education for Life” lecture, I was feeling ill prepared and uneasy about me giving any meaningful life advice to the boys of St. Al’s. As mentioned, I had been given almost no guidance on the subject matter I should undertake, save for a book about manners from before color television in the US.

It was suggested that I talk about how to behave as a gentleman, and that was also fraught with peril in my mind. While I think I am basically a gentleman, I do not consider myself to have any particular expertise on the subject. I also had grave concerns about imposing my own beliefs on a foreign culture. So I tried to keep it general, with mostly broad platitudes about respect for women, trying in particular to emphasize that violence toward women is never appropriate, that no means no, and that women should be encouraged to pursue careers.

What followed was an awkward but still hopefully productive 90 minutes. The boys asked Socratic questions to me, and gave all kinds of hypotheticals, showing an earnestness that would never have happened in a roomful of cynical American teenagers. Some of these guys are 18 and 19 years old, clearly smart, and some have mothers who are prostitutes, and yet their questions were often painfully naive. I don’t really know what they have learned before, and I did my best to keep things on the path I would imagine their administrators would have wanted at a Catholic school, but it made me wonder.

Finally I ran out of things to talk about, and we somehow ended up with me describing the US Electoral College, which we all agreed is due for an overhaul, when the bell mercifully rang and my one and only experience with Education for Life at St. Al’s came to a close. I did get lost trying to find the least muddy road home, but I made it by dark, and it was far from the biggest adventure of the day.

Weekend Update

So I hadn't planned on posting twice over the weekend, but Saturday made me want to write. It was a bit raw last night, but I have not edited it, so it is also honest. Sunday morning already feels better.

Day 13- Guilt Tripping

One of the worst aspects of being a white person alone in Nairobi is the constant feeling of being a target. Any time I am walking alone, it is very clear that I stand out, and it is also clear that many people see me as quite different. Most days I only see one or two other whites all day, and in 10 or 12 bus/matatu rides I have seen a grand total of one other white, and the vehicles are always full. The expats have cars and the tourists take cabs, leaving just a few people in my situation.

In most cases the feeling of being a target is pretty benign- all the kids in Kibera singing HowAreOoo as I walk by, the street kids on the Ngong Rd. following me asking for a money until I am forced to give a firm hapana, the safari touts in downtown Nairobi looking to steer me to their preferred agent, or the merchants at the Masaii Market who see blood in the water as soon as I make my first purchase and will not let me browse without insisting on haggling.

Occasionally it gets more annoying, as in today when I was supposed to meet Ben in the city center at 10 and ended up standing around for about 30 minutes, which of course invites all kinds of people to start up a conversation, and I am too polite to ignore them. So I end up talking with a man who claims his name is Joseph and he was an orphan under the Mugabe regime in Zimbabwe, and he could not possibly ask for money, but... Or the next guy who just wants me know that Kenyans are friendly people, and oh by the way he is a pilot for safaris and his phone number is...

Meanwhile the guide books make you totally paranoid about talking to anyone on the street, and probably for good reason, but you feel like a total jerk if you ignore someone talking to you, as I did last weekend, and they turn out to be just a friendly passerby. In the end, it drives you to buy a newspaper and find a coffee shop where you can sit by yourself to wait, albeit for a cost of about $5.

Thankfully, when I am at Tumaini or at St. Al’s that feeling of being a target goes away. Certainly I am a curiosity, but at least they know who I am and that I am basically in Kenya to help out. Unfortunately, after today I feel a little less warmly about one person who I had enjoyed spending time with previously, and yet I also feel horribly guilty about expressing any negativity toward him.

Ben had insisted that I come meet his family today, and I agreed in spite of my previous plans to watch rugby, especially when he suggested we meet at 10 in the city center and he would take me home to show me his neighborhood, meet his family, have some lunch, and then see me off. I figured I would be back in the city by 3.

What I did not count on was Ben getting caught in terrible traffic and not arriving in the center until 11, and then us getting caught in more traffic heading out to his place and arriving close to 1, a full 30 km outside the city. Nairobi traffic is simply not to be believed. Imagine DC traffic, except the Beltway does not exist. Or Boston traffic, except 128 does not exist and the Pike and 93 are two lane roads. It is a total nightmare to get through the city, yet there is no ring road to go around it. Ben does this commute every day, leaving at 6 am to arrive to work close to 9.

What I also did not count on was Ben laying it on very thick about his personal struggles and those of the people in his neighborhood, and keeping me there until 4:30 to give me the full effect. The neighborhood where Ben lives is undoubtedly a step up from Kibera, but it is far below the standard I had assumed a professional, even a professional in community development, would inhabit.

The houses there are cinder block, with tin roofs, no plumbing, and no electricity. The roads are wide enough for a vehicle to pass through, but uneven and muddy enough that I would not want to try it too often. There are plenty of small shops, and a nice looking primary school, but it is impossible to imagine that it is so much nicer than anywhere within, say, two hours of where he works. And yet it must be the best he can afford.

He has three adorable sons between the ages of 2 and 8 and a nice wife, but all four of them were painfully shy, not able to say more than a word to me. His house has a very small sitting room/dining room, a kitchen, and two bedrooms, all withing a plot of probably 25 x 25. His wife graciously cooked us a big lunch of beef stew (of course) and rice, after Ben had asked earlier in the week if I ate fish and I gave him the honest if perhaps rude answer. Better to be rude up front than be unable to eat a well-intended meal, I figured.

Ben laid out for me what the rent was (I am paying much more for my single bedroom at Tumaini, and it seems like a pittance), what he paid in school fees, and what he paid for transportation to work, etc. He told me what he earns as a consultant to CLC and Hands of Love, and made clear that he is barely making ends meet. He mentioned how his phone had broken, but he could not afford a new one. All somewhat shocking for a bright, college-educated man of nearly 40 years old.

He then brought up again his goal of creating partnerships between St. Al’s and Georgetown, and he was particularly interested in sociology research. I tried to point out that Georgetown had previously sent a couple of delegations to St. Al’s and wondered if perhaps he had spoken to any of them, as official representatives, but it did not really register with him. I told him I no longer worked there, and I had never been involved in any type of academic research when I was. But he persisted, and I finally offered to try to set up a meeting when I am back in DC if he could give me a proposal to take along. If the proposal makes any sense, I will see what I can do, but I don’t have many expectations.

Our next stop after lunch and a relatively lengthy discussion of US and Kenyan politics (Travers, I could really use a briefing at this point, my limited Obama/Hilary talking points are getting kinda stale) was to go to the local community center that Ben helps to run on weekends and his spare time. We had actually been by earlier in the day, but the youths were at lunch and Ben really wanted me to see them in action.

The community center is two small rooms in a pretty nice building (it has electricity). The room where the kids were gathered has a tv/vcr, a small library of educational tapes, a blackboard, and a few (but not enough) plastic chairs. The other room is for vocational training and had sewing machines and those hair-dryer things for women’s beauty parlors. There were probably around 30 kids in the room, ranging in age from 8-20, I would guess.

They told me briefly about their projects, including the vocational training, a small farming project involving a few sad looking tomato plants, HIV/AIDS education in the local schools, and a chicken-raising scheme that failed due to disease in the chickens. Then they told me about their challenges, which of course boiled down to not having any funding, and it is a truly legitimate challenge. The session wrapped up by watching a short video showing the horrible impact of AIDS on a few Kenyans in the early 90’s, a true scare-tactic video, and then a few skits/songs/poems from the students about AIDS.

And then of course they turned to me to see what I could do to help them. And I felt/feel terrible. The problem for them is that, unlike St. Al’s, they don’t have any full time support structure. They certainly need help, though they are not as badly off as others, but there is no place reliable to direct the fund-raising. That is not precisely what I told them, but that was the message I tried to convey. Once again, Ben promised a proposal for me before I leave, but I would be hard-pressed to ask anyone to give to such a program without more evidence that the money will be able to make a difference. Without stronger adult leadership, any contribution would be little more than eyewash.

In truth, the situation was a microcosm of one of Jeffrey Sachs’ points in The End of Poverty. While it is imperative that those who are in a position to give do more for the poor, it is foolish to ask them to give if there is not a good plan in place to use it. Sachs contends, and I believe, that stories of wasted/stolen aid money are overblown, but he still admits that there are instances where it rings true.

The situation also points out the vastness of the problem, and it truly can seem overwhelming. It is most certainly the sort of thing that cannot be totally sorted out by one man, or even by a small, committed group of individuals, Margaret Mead notwithstanding. And it makes it hard to square the idea of giving to one program, like St. Al’s, when you know that there are people who are just as needy but who have not linked up with the Jesuits or someone else with international reach and strong organizational skills. It is the sort of either/or game that can drive you crazy if you let it, and I am really wrestling with how to keep it from doing that to me.

At the end of the day, I am sorry to say I wished I had not come out there, but I really cannot blame Ben for bringing me. What I was really wishing was not that I had remained in the dark, but that there was nothing to remain in the dark about. I still gave Ben and his wife many thanks, and I will continue to thank Ben throughout the next week, especially after he was so very kind as to ride back into town with me and make sure I made my connecting bus, a huge expenditure of his time, but something that made me feel much better given the very real prospect of me being on my own after dark in one of the worst neighborhoods in Nairobi otherwise.

For my part, I paid his fare both ways, and also told him he could have my phone when I leave Kenya. I told him it was no good to me after I leave, which is not really true because I could continue to use it with a new SIM card almost anywhere in the world, but I felt a little better about myself giving him something for his troubles, and he seemed grateful for it.

Thankfully traffic was lighter on the way back to town (though it looked brutal for Ben’s return journey), and I was home in time for dinner at Tumaini, which was also a good thing, as they were celebrating the feast day of the namesake of one of the Sisters (apparently as big a deal as a birthday here), which made for a lively dinner with several songs, and soda and cake and ice cream following our (gasp!) chicken dinner. It brought me back to a 10 year old birthday party, minus the pinata and the unwrapping of GI Joe’s. Basically, it brightened my day enough to feel ok about writing this.

In the end, I hope this doesn’t come across as too bitter, I am very conflicted about the day in general. I signed up for this, I had to know it was part of the bargain. And while I don’t particularly enjoy guilt trips, I also know they are effective, and sometimes they are necessary. After all, I am also the one who asked all of you to read this blog.

No NFL, But Maybe Rugby?

Kicking off the NFL season without spending all day in a bar seems a bit un-American, so I still might have to do something similar, except with Rugby World Cup. C'mon Pats and Ireland. And go rooks for the Sox.

Days 11-12 More than Halfway Home

First let me give a sincere thanks to everyone who has emailed me or commented in the blog with kind thoughts about my trip or about the blog. I truly appreciate the great thoughts and helpful suggestions from all of you, and I apologize for not responding individually in my limited time online, but you should know that your love has been a tremendous lift to me.

As for the action, it has remained at its previous medium pace, which is to say I still don’t feel like I am doing a whole lot, but now I am getting used to that feeling and trying to make the best of it. Frustration has turned to something like resignation, yet it has not made me regret the trip in least. I certainly cannot really blame my hosts here- they want me to do more too, but I am not sure that I have any skills that are particularly useful to them.

Thursday at least the power was back on, allowing me to resume my position in the library. I was there for a few hours in the morning, mostly reading on my own, doing some more sorting of the shelves, when I came across something that really made me smile- the 2006-07 Georgetown Basketball Media Guide. It is nice to see that some predecessor from the Hilltop had made sure there was a sports section in the library.

I also got a brief chance to talk with the biology teacher, Suzy, about her career. She seems quite young, maybe 24, and she approached me to ask if I was able to talk about careers. I immediately she assumed that she wanted me to talk to the students, and launched into my defensive explanation of how I did not think it was a good idea before I realized she just wanted to talk about herself. If there is one thing I have learned here, it is that I really need to work on listening to people.

Her questions were actually about obtaining a masters in public health, and what she needed to do for a program in the US. She is very interested in helping out with disease in Kenya, and I know there is a serious need for more help, so I was happy to tell her what I know, but unfortunately that is precious little. I promised I would do some research when I get home and email her the results (this is a reminder for when I re-read this later).

I went over to the office of Hands of Love around 11 and spent a few hours there with Access. Unfortunately, there seems to be some conflict between the various organizations that help St. Al’s, and I was not able to get my hands on all the student records, but I did at least get to enter the names and year of graduation for the entire current student body. I am pretty sure I am forcing a foreign concept on this group with trying to separate out first names and surnames, but I am also pretty sure I am not the first to do so.

In the mid-afternoon, I went back to St. Al’s to meet up with the gang for Games, the Thursday afternoon activity. I wondered where we would go, and the walk was pretty far, I would say over a mile up a hill, but when we got there it was spectacular- a huge polo field on top of the hill, with views out west to the Ngong Hills and no one else around, save a dirtbike park across the street.
I walked up there with my library buddy Jared and another Third Former named Cyrus who had been very helpful to me during the week. We talked the whole way about our different countries and I really enjoyed the conversation. I think they were disappointed to learn that Arnold was now the Governator and would not be making any more action films. I also might have burst a bubble by telling them the truth about professional wrestling, although I believe they felt better about their comparative lack of muscle mass when I explained steroids.

When we arrived, I presented them each with Red Sox hats that I had brought along to give as gifts (at the helpful suggestion of Bwana Brooks Goddard). It might not have been the ideal time to make the presentation, with the entire school also on the way, and immediately I had 4 or 5 other kids asking me for a hat, and Jared’s cap was quickly passed around among several classmates. I do have a few more caps to give, but will need to figure out a way to do it with less commotion

Then for the next few hours the field was alive with football (soccer), volleyball, and netball- a game for girls a bit like women’s basketball used to be- no dribbling, no jump shots, no contesting shots, but also no backboard and a smaller rim. I took part in volleyball, where I did not totally embarrass myself. I finally had to leave as the sun was setting and I had limited interest in walking through Kibera after dark, but the kids (and several of the teachers) showed no signs of quitting. It was great to see everyone away from Kibera and enjoying themselves so much, I only wonder if it would be possible to do it more than once a week.

The other reason I wanted to get home as soon as possible was to finish Tracy Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains, and it did not disappoint. Once again, I was revisiting the biggest hits of 2004, this time the story of Dr. Paul Farmer and his incredible organization, Partners in Health. Farmer began running a clinic in Cange, Haiti while he was still at Harvard Medical School and it has become the model for healthcare in impoverished setting everywhere. Since then Partners in Health has expanded to take on daunting challenges in fighting deadly tuberculosis and HIV/AIDS around the globe, and Farmer’s dedication and advocacy has been tireless and nearly completely selfless. When I finished the book I gave it to Suzy, the aspiring public health worker.

It has been said the Farmer is both inspiring and discouraging, because his work is awesome, but also impossible for any mere mortal to replicate. His response to such talk is frustration, that he does not ask everyone to be him, merely to do their part. I took inspiration from him, but also found myself feeling somewhat incompetent- not because I did not have his dedication, that goes without saying, but because I did not have his skills. A good doctor can still do great work in a place like Kenya, even if it is only for a month. An aspiring lawyer and former college admissions officer does not have the same impact on the people, so I suppose I need to hope I can do good in another way, and maybe this journal is part of that mission.

Friday I returned to St. Al’s for the day without a clear task in mind, except to meet with the law club at 4 pm, the end of the school day. And without a clear task in mind, I admit I did not accomplish much. I briefly met a young man named Brendan, from Cambridge, BC High and BC, who had previously worked at St. Al’s at the conclusion of a semester in Nairobi, and who is now back in Africa with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. He was helping out with English classes and seemed to know his way around, so I wanted to pick his brain a bit on how I could be more effective, but he had to run off to another meeting. He told me he would be back in the afternoon, but I did not catch up with him, much to my disappointment.

Other than that, I read almost all of The Kite Runner and chatted a bit with the teachers. There was a meeting for Form IV parents and guardians to discuss the bridge year program, and I had originally intended to attend that until I realized it was going to be all in Kiswahili. There was also a small group of students who had gone for the day to a local giraffe center, and I might have been able to join them had communication been better, but I am now scheduled to go on a similar trip Monday.

So the meeting of the law club was the highlight of the day, and I went in without a great plan. I had intended to have debate about the death penalty, but found no one willing to take the pro position, so that ran out of steam pretty quickly. Even so, I managed to make over an hour of discussion, ranging from a boring explanation of inchoate crimes (thank you BarBri) to more interesting topics like the crimes of Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein. I was attacked, albeit civilly, for US policy toward Iraq and asked to give a strategy for Iran. I also got to try to explain why Mitt Romney might end up President. It strayed a bit from the law, but it was still fun and several of the students were quite engaged.

When I got home I once again ran into the friendly housekeeper who invited me to join her family for the day tomorrow. I felt terrible telling her that I already had plans for the day, as Ben had invited me to meet his family. She was really disappointed, apparently she had already told her parents that her American friend would be coming, but I have no way of being in two places at once, and Ben also appears to be putting some significant effort into our lunch. On the plus side, I did get her to write down her contact information, so now I know her name is Irene.

I finished The Kite Runner before dinner (another good read, but I will refrain from the book report) and then prepared myself for the inevitable Friday night fish dinner. Except that apparently the sisters are so concerned about me that they make sure there is an alternative to fish whenever it is served while I am there, which meant more beef stew, making 6 consecutive nights of eating some piece of beef (none of it filet mignon, I assure you). I am happy to avoid the fish, but I wouldn’t mind occasionally mixing in some chicken. Then again, I am certainly not going to complain.

So my second week at St. Al’s is in the books, and I only have one more full week in Nairobi. I won’t say time has flown by, but for as much as I have learned I feel like there is so much more still to be done. The weekend awaits.

On A Roll

At least the Sox are. And also excited to see the Hoyas schedule in my inbox this morning. As for me....

Days 8-10 More Reading, More Thinking, Some Work

Monday was almost a completely wasted day as far as being in Kenya. St. Al’s was on holiday, I am not really sure why (Labor Day is May 1 here), but that was going to be ok, because I was scheduled to spend the day with Ben and Dennis working on the student database project. So I called Dennis around 8 to see where I should meet him, and he replied to say he was out of the office on appointments for the morning, but he would call me before 2 to bring me to the office.

That left me with little choice but to hang around Tumaini until 2, so I spent some time at the internet cafe across the street to read more about the Sox, and I mostly spent time in my room reading (more on that later). Finally around 1:30 Dennis called again to say that he would be out for the afternoon too, helping one of the graduates get her visa to go to the US for college.

Obviously that is the most important thing he could be doing, and I don’t blame him for bailing on me, but by then I had been sitting around all day and it was now too late to do anything useful with the afternoon either. I did resolve to check out the clothing market nearby to see if I could find anything useful to allow me to continue avoiding laundry (there are no laundromats in Kenya), but even that was largely a bust. Odds are I suck it up and pay for some extra boxers and t-shirts pretty soon.

Mostly, though, I read. Which was great, because I finished Jeffrey Sachs’ remarkable, inspiring The End of Poverty. I recognize that I am about three years behind on this one, but hey, I’ve been busy, right? In any case, it is without question the best economics book I have ever read (and I liked Freakonomics), and it gave me hope for the people of Africa just knowing that such a brilliant mind is in their corner.

At the same time, it was profoundly disturbing and depressing to read some of the statistics- not just about how poor the people are in Africa, not just about the devastating impact of diseases like HIV/AIDS and malaria, not just about the enormous geographic obstacles faced, but also about how poorly the rich world, and in particular the US, has done in helping these countries. I hope everyone gets a chance to read the book and thinks about these issues when they vote, but I would also like to point out a few of the most striking issues:

-As of 2004, the US spent 30 times more on military than on development aid. No other wealthy country comes close to that ratio, with only Greece and Italy even going over 10:1 among the 22 wealthiest nations. The war on terror cannot be fought by tanks and planes alone.

-As of 2004, less than .2 percent of US GNP went to foreign aid. A mere .7 percent of GNP from the 22 richest nations could potentially eradicate extreme poverty around the world within 20 years, and those nations have all signed on to various international agreements pledging that amount, but the follow-through is totally lacking. The other countries are almost as bad as the US, but the US is the largest economy and must take the lead for this to happen.

I haven’t been following the presidential races too closely since I have been gone, but I also don’t recall hearing much about increasing foreign aid from any of the candidate before I left either. Of course that is not surprising- no one has ever won an election based on promising to send more money to places most Americans will never see. But we need only go back a few generations to see what a dramatic impact such aid can have. Europeans should be even more willing to give aid to the developing world. After all, where would they be without the Marshall Plan, when the US gave more than 1 percent of GNP to rebuild Europe from 1948-1952.

Tuesday morning school was back in session, but conditions were not exactly ideal when I arrived. It turns out Kenya Light and Power had discovered that some Kibera residents had been stealing electricity, so they simply shut off the entire grid, including St. Al’s, meaning that the library was completely dark and there was no indication of when power would come back. The classrooms get enough natural light to get by, but I was forced to move down to the lower school and to stay in the teacher’s prep room.

So it was that I spent my morning through lunch, chatting with the teachers who came in between classes, but essentially without any responsibilities or contact with students. I did have more good conversations about the school, particularly with a physics/math teacher named Mr. Safari. I shared with him some of the lessons from my reading, but mostly we talked about why he was at St. Al’s, and how he had come there.

He had previously been a teacher at a public (i.e. funded) school, but chose to come to St. Al’s based on their mission and on his own convictions. His prior situation had offered better pay and much better working conditions, but he believed in the work of St. Al’s and he thought it was important to serve that community. His attitude is shared by most of the teachers there, many of whom could likely find other work, none of whom come from any great privilege.

It is easy to say you want to help people when you are like me and know you are returning to great comfort and more money that I need in two weeks. To actually live it out like the teachers at St. Al’s is impressive, and I only hope that the new school can be built soon to allow them to achieve government certification and ideally some more compensation for the staff.

In the afternoon I walked to the office of Hands of Love, a Catholic outreach organization in Kibera where Dennis and Ben have their office. Dennis was still involved in the visa application, but Ben sat down with me and showed me what they had as far as a student database on the laptop there. What they had was not in fact a database, but a list of questions that could be used to create a database, and a stack of files, one for each student in the graduates program, listing some, but not all, of that information.

I decided then that I would need to teach myself Microsoft Access- it couldn’t really be that hard, and it was the only database program available to us, with no internet capacity to allow me to search for anything else. So I sat down and built a database in Access and started to input the information. Most people who know me, particularly my former colleagues, will have a good laugh at the idea of me 1. creating an organizational structure and 2. spending my day at data entry, but that was what was required, and I was without question the most computer literate person in the room.

Ben’s plan for me is to have me do the same for the 240 current students at St. Al’s over the next few weeks, and while the work may not be the most exciting thing I can think of, it may also be the most useful thing I can do, but only if I can also teach people how to use the database when I have left. I believe that will be my biggest challenge (outside of collecting all the missing data- addresses, parent/guardian names etc. tend to be tough to pin down in this community), but at least it is something I can attempt.

In the evening, I finished another book that I had been working on throughout the day, particularly while sitting around at St. Al’s, a moving piece of fiction by the Kenyan author Ngugi titled Devil on the Cross. The book was evidently very controversial when it came out in the early 80’s, and you can see why. It is a scathing indictment of the colonial powers and of the Kenyan elite who aided them and still control much of the wealth in the country. It was originally written in the tribal Kikuyu language but was translated by the author, who may currently be living in the US (not sure about that now).

The book was recommended by Fr. Charlton before I came, so I had purchased it on Amazon, but I was glad to have waited to read it, as I think I understood its context much better, even after only a few days here. It has a real anti-capitalist bent, so I am sure some people might not enjoy it, but the interweaving of Kenyan history, culture, and religion was definitely worthwhile to me, and I hope I get a chance to find some of his other works.

Wednesday I reported to school again, this time hoping to take part in the teacher’s staff meeting to finally meet everyone and hopefully get into the schedule more formally, but just as the meeting was about to begin, Jill pulled me aside and asked if I would be willing to speak with the Form IV class while the meeting took place. Of course I would be willing, but what did she want me to talk about? Careers in Kenya.

Now there are many subjects I consider myself an authority on, and even more that I am willing to talk about at length despite a lack of any real knowledge, but talking broadly to a whole class about their career opportunities without knowing them or knowing their country at all is a bit daunting, so I hesitated. I balked. I hemmed and hawed. I finally said it was a very bad idea. If I had some time and resources to research such things, it might make some sense, but my background as a college admissions officer at a highly selective institution in the US did not give me enough background to do anything of the sort.

Jill seemed disappointed, I am not sure what I had said to suggest I could perform such a role, but she conceded and suggested instead I gather the law club to talk to them about the law. Now that was more my speed, even if I know next to nothing about Kenyan courts. At least there are some broad principles to work with, and the British legal tradition to fall back on.

I did talk to about 40 students interested in the law, and I did a very basic lecture of how a criminal trial works, then turned it over for questions, which were all insightful and appropriate. We talked about the presumption of innocence, we talked about international law, we talked about the death penalty, we talked about the responsibility of the juror, we talked about the right to counsel, we talked about the inequality of justice for the rich and the poor, and we talked about conflicts of interest and other ethical issues.

One student raised the issue of a Kenyan who has recently been in the news for bringing suit against the Roman Empire, Pontius Pilate, Herod, etc. on behalf of Jesus Christ, which almost led me to explain FRCP 12(b)(6), but not quite. It got my brain flowing, and it got them excited too. I envy people who get that feeling from teaching every day, and I hope my brother Titanic is having similar experiences as the school year starts up back home in his first year as a full time teacher of history.

After class one student in particular, a young man named Lawrence, pulled me aside and asked to speak in private. He had even more questions about the law, and what he should be studying, and how to get to become a lawyer. I shared with him my own experience, and suggested that Kenya was likely to have a very different system. I also tried to bring up the negative aspects of the profession, and how many people I knew who claimed to hate their job, but, not surprisingly, I couldn’t really convey how awful it was to make thousands of dollars a year, provide for your family, and be involved in a respected profession. Nor could I tell him how he might get to a similar position himself beyond the usual platitudes of hard work.

In the afternoon I returned to the Hands of Love office for another crack at the database. There had been a miscommunication (shocking, I know), so there was no new data for me to input, and Dennis and Ben had a meeting outside the office for the afternoon, so I was left alone with the computer, to try and teach myself more about Access. I think I succeeded in making the database a bit more user-friendly, although I also found myself wishing I had taken some more time before diving in.

I also spent some time in the afternoon reading through a book I had been given by Jill to help me prepare a lesson for Education for Life next Monday. The book is titled This Way, Please: A Book of Manners. It was written by Eleanor Boykin for a US audience in 1948. I am still unsure how to convey wisdom like this “Meet arriving guests at the door, unless there is a maid to do this... Direct girls to a room where they may take off hats and wraps... Your mother will be in the living-room, ready as hostess to welcome the guests who will show their good manners by going to speak to her immediately. Your father will probably be around to make people feel at home too.” Somehow that may not be applicable to orphans who live in 10 x 10 shacks with 6 other people. Although I will remind them to have a big bowl of punch in the center of the room.

After I left Hands of Love, I came home to do some more reading, only to discover my light fixture, previously uncooperative, was now totally broken. I told the maid about it, and she brought the maintenance guy, who then disappeared for a long time, leaving me talk to the maid, who I should add has been one of the friendliest people here.

I am embarrassed to say I don’t know her name, and now I feel like I cannot really ask her. She is young, probably 24 or so, and always has a smile for me. This time, she wanted to know a bit more about me, and we got to talking about why I was here, where I live, am I bored, etc. I told her that reading is keeping me interested, and gave her Devil on the Cross to read for herself.

For her part, she told me she had been to college but had to drop out for financial reasons. She was very negative about her future prospects in Kenya, saying that she had no real hope for a better job, or for any real excitement in her life. She told me she would like to do something that was helping other people, but for now she could only be concerned with helping herself and her family. It was a pretty sad conversation, and I could not really do anything to make her feel better.

It is true that there are very limited opportunities in Kenya, and even if the economy grows and development aid helps, it is unlikely to mean much to her. She said she would like to visit Boston sometime, and I assured her of a warm welcome if she ever makes it, but I am sorry to say I doubt I will need to follow through on my promise.

My next reading project is Tracy Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains, and it was all I could do to put it down to write this entry, so I suspect another book report will be part of the next blog entry. After that, I am done with all the “topical” literature I brought along, and will start heading back to the Western world in my reading, I reckon.

I hope everyone is having a good September so far, particularly those who are getting back to school, either as students or as teachers. I really miss all of you and look forward to seeing everyone again. Please feel free to send an email to let me know how everything is going, I am currently checking email once a day thanks to a membership at the internet cafe across the street. I may not respond to everyone, but I am interested.