Soles of my shoes

'You pass through places, and places pass through you. But you carry them with you on the soles of your traveling shoes'

I found this amongst the many words of a letter from a friend as I was looking back on old letters and it has been sticking with me. It isn't that I ignored it the first time I read it, but it holds a deeper meaning to me now that I am starting to reflect on my time in Kenya. Yes, I have 7 months left, but time is flying. I often wonder what I will remember the most clearly, or what will stick out the most about Kenya after I return home.

One of the teachers recently asked me what I thought about Kenya (or Africa) before I jumped my feet off of the plane. I am so often asked 'how do you see Kenya', but am hardly ever asked what I thought before I came here. His question was a healthy reminder. After being here for a year and a half, I can forget that at home we only receive highly negative images about the state of Africa. I am not proud of it, but if I don't grab the paper at the right time when another teacher isn't reading it, I can go weeks without even knowing what is going on in the bigger world around me. While it leads me to ignorance about the world, it allows me to focus just on what I feel about the place that I am in. The times I do get my hands on the paper, or discuss the current status of Kenya or Africa with others, may confirm the images that appear at home: there is corruption; HIV is prevalent; there are many families drowning in poverty; in select countries there is danger and violence. But not everything is included in that big picture. It doesn't show the families who, while they may not be rich, are comfortable. It doesn't show the people living their lives and feeling content. It doesn't show the smiles and generosity of the market mamas. If you sat at home and learned about Africa through the images being thrown at you from the TV, you would never know how hard some students are working to bring themselves to a better situation. You wouldn't see that people are happy. Not all, but are all of us happy in the US?

Another false impression I had was that people would be more in touch with nature. In many ways they are. Students can tell me which plants are a good substitute for a toothbrush, which plants treat certain ailments, and can definitely show me up when using a jembe or panga. So sometimes the nature disconnect takes me by surprise. As I was walking from the school kitchen to my house the other day, a student was patiently waiting for me under the shade of a tree. She looked a little flustered. "Teacher, there is something that looks like a bird in my locker. I am fearing, and the others won't help me". She was flustered, and she did have a baby bird in her locker. I had the audience of two different classes huddled around me to watch me take it out. Walking back to my house, bird in hand, I couldn't keep my laughter in. I've never heard of anyone fearing a baby bird and not knowing what it is. Looking at it, I understand. Its mouth is WAY to big for its head, but it is very clearly still a bird.

I have recently discovered another cultural tick that I love. When older people are happy to say hello to friends, they do not just wave, but raise their hands towards the heavens and give them a little shake. I think I'll bring this one home with me...

Mango under candlelight

Mango season is coming to an end. A season for new fruits is surely taking its place, but mango season is my favorite and I'm sad to see it pass. Every time I travel to a new place in Kenya, including Mugona, I discover a different type of mango. Outside of my door is a mango tree that produces mangos smaller than your palm. They are yellow inside, juicy and extremely fibrous. These are not a 'first date' appropriate mango, or one you would want to eat on the way out the door. No matter how dainty you try to be (and lets face it, I should not even try), bunches of mango fibers will always lodge themselves in your front teeth. It is better just to embrace the mango mouth. The mangos I buy in the market are bigger than grapefruits, orange on the inside, and by far my favorite. I can only find them in Chuka town. With the move, I now live a 20-30 minute walk from the main road, then a 15 minute matatu ride to chuka. It has taken some adjustment to learn how much food to buy to last a week, and how much I can carry. I've learned my lesson with mangos: when the market mamas told me they were going out of season I freaked and bought 10 of the biggest I could find. It was quite the workout to walk up the road to my house, but completely worth it.

The first few nights in Mugona were accompanied by electricity from a generator, but it has been on and off (mostly off) since then. I have not grown out of the excitement I used to get when the power went out during storms at home. I happily light my candle and read with a mug full of hot chocolate. It would be far more efficient to buy a lantern, but I am too stubborn in my ways.

When I first came to kenya my one request for site placement was to be in a place where I can grow my own food. Namanga was a lot of things, but a place to garden was not one of them. I feel like I've been given a second chance. So far I've started tomato, kale, and spinach plants, accompanied by two mango trees. I have learned that I am an impatient gardener, or maybe I was just too excited. The day after hiding the seeds in the soil I kept looking outside to note their progress. There wasn't any, of course. The day I saw them reaching their little arms up to the sky for the first time, I couldn't help but smile to myself. There is something so rewarding in seeing your garden grow.

Mzungu anakimbia

I woke up this morning with the determination to start a new running routine. It was short, but otherwise perfect. At 6:30 in the morning the moon was still out, while most people were still in. I ran by fields of coffee, maize, and bananas. My plan was to run the short loop twice, but the mud had other ideas. When it rains the mud forms a sticky goo that attaches to your shoes until your feet feel too heavy to move. When I got back to school the student I had said good morning to on my way out told me 'that was TOO short!' Tomorrow she will show me the long way. I am ready. I got back home just in time. Mugona is enveloped in a thick chilly cloud, bringing more rain. There are rumblings of thunder in the distance.

I finally broke down and purchased a computer. I went back and forth countless times. I like my life here; it is simple. The only possession really have to think about is my camera. I don't have a TV or radio, although I do treat myself to an ipod dance party every now and then. I didn't want the access to a computer to change my nightly reading and journal writing routine. It is all in my control, but it is just so easy to find yourself engrossed in CNN or home life. As it turns out, the lack of electricity and only 3 hours of generator time per day adds a little assurance that I can only waste so much time. My decision came down to my affectiveness in my new home as a volunteer. I am able to research methods for lesson planning, how to make a barometer from simple materials, information on FGM, ideas for building a bakery for the school, and sponsorship opportunities for the students. I laughed to myself yesterday while typing up the activities I've done in class for biology, because I had no water and no electircity, but I could check my e-mail!

A few days ago I was riding in a party matatu and watching music videos; some from kenya, some from the states. It was about a 1 1/2 hour ride. A half an hour in, I was so absorbed in the music videos (its been a while) that when I looked out the window it hit me like a slap in the face (a good slap) that I'm in Kenya, riding through giant hills of terraced tea farm country.

My definition of a party matatu: A 15 passenger van that in kenya can be stuffed to 29 people (the highest number I've experienced) with loud music and a TV for passenger enjoyment.

A bell rings, and minutes later I hear girls singing to fill the empty, chilly air. There are no children crying or roosters crowing. I can hear nothing but the singing. It is 5:30am and pitch black. It takes a minute until it dawns on me that I'm not in Namanga anymore. I make my way out of bed when I hear someone's footsteps crunching on the stone pathway to my door. I take my delivered bucket of steaming hot water and get ready for my bucket bath. After bathing, I am brought a thermos of the milk taken from the school's cows the night before. This is my new life, and I love it.

Namanga will always be a part of me: the duka owners, market mamas, and the in-your-face mountains. I will never forget the students and how much they meant to me in my year there. I will never forget their attempts to teach me their mother tongue(s) and how they welcomed me into their lives without question. I will never forget my little neighbors, Eric and Sandra, who had just learned to call me Rose instead of mzungu. I won't forget my last night in Namanga, taking goofy pictures with the families in my compound, and eating dinner at my neighbor Victoria's house, wondering why we hadn't made dinners together earlier. As much as I was sad to go, my only regret is not being able to say my goodbyes...and never making it to the rock face that I woke up to every morning.

It has taken a lot of energy to start over, but I am excited. My new life presents me with challenges different from those I found in Namanga, but behind those challenges are opportunities: I'm not teaching many classes, so I might as well try to start a bakery, milk cows, organize the library, and figure out what to do with all of the water pouring from the tank; my new school canes the students, which allows me to continue the discussion on alternative to corporal punishment (while concurrently coping with the actual caning). On the ride to Mitheru, the matatu stop to my new town, I realized how much Kenya has changed me. On my first trip to Namanga I was excorted by the principal, nervous about everything, and maybe just a little bit teary! This time, I caught my own matatu to Mitheru, made a friend along the way, and enjoyed the lush, green, curvy ride. I wasn't worried about the driver forgetting to stop in Mitheru, or how I would get from Mitheru to my new school in Mugona...things just work their way out.

A Choo is Like a Bicycle

After more than a month away, I am finally back in Namanga. While looking out the window on my matatu ride home, a few questions consumed my thoughts: Will I remember how to use/aim in the choo? How bad will the spiders be in my house? Have the termites taken over? Will Namanga be green or brown? How will I feel when I get there?

In just a few hours at site I had my answers. A choo is like a bicycle; you just don't forget. The spiders were awful and big, including one solpugid (I think)...I don't want to think about any live ones. My house is still standing, but I'm crossing my fingers that the termites will let my bed stand for one more year. Namanga is GREEN! I am happy and excited to be back. When I got out of the matatu, the taxi guys recognized me and one drove me home. It is comforting that after being gone for a month I can return and be recognized as a teacher, not a tourist. I got big smiles from everyone in my compound, especially the kids. Eric (my 2 year old neighbor) still calls me mzungu, but still makes me laugh. As I was filling up my water buckets I watched him strut across the compound in my neighbors heels. I am happy to know that it isn't just my shoes that he steals. I danced around my house to my neighbor's music as I cleaned. When I looked outside I saw that Robbie, Shiko, and Sandra were doing their own dances. I smiled an sighed...I'm home.

Mwaka mpya

With the new year came my year as a PCV in Kenya mark, a whole load of reflection, a really bad sunburn, and maybe some new years resolutions (but there is always time to make those later). As I write this (to be typed when I have internet) I'm in nairobi, snuggled under 2 wool blankets, and sporting a long-sleeved shirt as well as a head lamp. There is question about my ability to survive the Vermont cold when I return next winter...it may kill me.

I have been away from my site for a month, and am in the process of re-energizing myself to return. Looking back on the month of December, I feel like not a moment was wasted. My family flew in for a two week visit on the first. After a day with Sammy (best taxi driver) in Nairobi we trucked down to my site. Now that they have all returned home, I am curious about their reflections on the town that I now call home. Along with the family came a soccer ball for the kids on my compound. I thought I had seen the peak of their excitement when they discovered my jump rope; I was wrong. I have never seen someone's face light up as much as Douglas' did (the oldest kid in the compound) when we gave him the ball. It was clear that they kids had never seen so many wazungu at once, except maybe in tourist cars destined for Amboseli. There were mixed reviews. Most kids were curious, some were excited, one just started bawling...

From Namanga we went to Watamu, a town on the coast. Watamu has a lot of tourists, but it also has a lot of beach. We stayed at a place that is traditionally for people doing reserach on the marine reserve. Because it was on a reserve, we essentially had the beach to ourselves, day and night. I have MISSED the ocean. Walking up the beach about a mile led us to Turtle Bay Resort. I'm not sure what to say about that place. I think I prefer my empty beach, even though we didn't get drinks served to us on the beach and our shower didn't work. The ocean cleans you off, right?

After Watamu we went back to Nairobi so I could see my family off as they flew back to VT. Saying goodbye was hard (little did I know they actually spent the night on the Nairobi airport floor), but I can't put into words how much it meant to me that they came. I didn't have the emotional crash that I expected after they left. It may have helped that another PCV came armed and prepared with milk and cookies for me post-departure. Or maybe it is just that I"m really happy about the experience I am having. Or maybe I"m just kidding myself and it will hit me later.

The day after the family left I went to loitoktok to work at the training for the new education volunteers. I forgot how beautiful Kilimanjaro is in the early mornings. It may just be the definition of breathtaking. After having spent 2 months in loitoktok for my own karibu kenya training, it is a lot of fun to come back. I love walking through the market and feeling completely comfortable, going back to the hoteli where we spent every afternoon playing cards and drinking chai, and chatting with my mama. I visited my host family in August, but this time I got to see my two host brothers who were still at school before. I was so happy to see them again, with big smiles on their faces! I went 'home' for lunch one day, and because my mama was at work, my host brothers cooked food for me. Their family is pretty amazing.

Following training was my second vacation of the month, and my second kenyan coast visit. It was my first experience in an air conditioned hotel room in Kenya, which made me laugh as I thought about how my family crowded into an ATM booth for the AC. After a long bus ride up the coast to another PCV's site near Lamu I fully savoured the milkshakes that I've heard so much about. Christmas was simple, but not so simple that there weren't pancakes AND maple syrup involved. The land surrounding Namanga is beautiful, but the coast is a whole different kind of beautiful. And it has coconuts. New years was spend on the island of Lamu. Lamu is very touristy, but I have no idea where all of the tourists went around midnight. There were drums, music, and acrobatic competitions on the street (all kenyan), but were were some of the only wazungu I could see. It made me really wish that drums were played in Namanga. The giant moon shining over the indian ocean on new years eve sealed the night for me.

It has been 3 years since my snorkling days in Hawaii, but finally I got to return to a mask, snorkle, and fins. On new years day we took a two hour dhow ride to a reef, where we got to jump in and explore for two hours. Have I mentioned that I miss the ocean? It was surprising to me that so many of the fish were the same or similar to those in hawaii. And not surprising to me that I spend most of the time challenging myself to remember their names. Apparently I also forgot how white I am, but four days later I still have a hefty reminder...sunburn. I cannot imagine having a more painful two day bus ride back to Nairobi.

That brings me to where I am now, with my two wool blankets, long sleeved shirt, and head lamp, thinking about what I want to do to make this year different. The beauty of PC, especially for teachers, is that it is two years. I already know what I liked and didn't like about last year. I'm working on putting those feelings into concrete ideas (yes, I just talked about feelings) and creating some goal for myself. I guess I'm back to the list-making that my parents love to make fun of me about!

I'm sending good vibes from Kenya for a creative, adventurous, and lively 2010 in the states, and I can now say I'll see you (or talk to you on a US cell phone) in a year!

There is grass in Namanga? Since when?

The rains have finally come. Thank you el Nino! On my way to school the other day one of the shops I walk by was playing the 'bless the rains down in Africa' song. I thought it was highly appropriate and started the day off well. When it rains too hard, it is impossible to teach because the classroom's have tin roofs without a ceiling. It is both frustrating and exciting. I love extreme weather. Not that a steady rainfall is extreme in normal circumstances, but in Namanga it is. We have not had a real rain since somewhere around February or April. Of course the skies decide to let loose right as the students in my Form 1 agriculture class are starting to give presentations on their assigned chicken breeds. It is hard to be frustrated when the students are smiling and jumping in their seats yelling over the sound of rain on the roof that now they will have milk! Something that I never would have thought of at home (mostly because Vermont usually has no lack of rain) but here, at the end of a 5 year drought, no rain means no milk. The biologist in me gets super excited to see how fast Namanga responds to rain. It seems like you can almost see the plants growing and the insect diversity has increased exponentially. The animal lover in me struggles every time I see a cow that is so skinny it looks like if I just touched it, it would collapse; and they are everywhere! If you pay attention in the matatu you can see dead ones decomposing on the side of the road. The home-maker in me is annoyed because my laundry will never get dry. The teacher in me is happy because now some of the Maasai students can return to Namanga after herding there cattle elsewhere in search of grass. The Carly in me smiles every time I get stuck outside in a rainstorm, even though the Mamas think I'm crazy.

My third term and first year is coming to an end. Like the two terms before it, this one was not without its challenges. With A LOT of encouragement from my parents I'm doing some serious practice in the art of being a duck. If you don't know what it means to 'be a duck', ask my dad. I think that I might be a duck expert by now. One of the many things I've realized in this whole experience (in case there was any doubt) is how much I love/need running. I can't really run here. I can, but now that my running partner moved away, it is an extra challenge to go. I love the kids, but if I'm running to relieve stress it doesn't help to have them yelling 'Mzungu, mzungu, mzungu' the entire time. In august I bought a jump rope to try to replace running. It will do for another year, but it certainly isn't the same. It turns out thought, that it also helped me make friends in my compound. I didn't even think about it when I bought it, but the kids that live near me LOVE to jump rope. They are getting pretty good. The other good thing is that I can do it before the sun comes up. I used to get lectured about my safety when running in Corvallis at 4:30am; to do that here would just be asking for trouble.

Lately, Ive had these weird realizations that when people look at me they are seeing an adult. When did that happen? Primary students have run to get me to break up a fight. My female students ask me questions about how to deal with boys, what to do if they think they are pregnant, and how to deal with their parents. Part of me feels like I'm entirely unqualified to be dishing out advice, mostly because I don't feel like an adult. The other day the matatu guys were trying to guess my age. They thought 19, still technically an adult, but barely.

I have almost hit the year mark from the day that I arrived in Kenya. It is crazy to think that a year has gone by since I woke up from spending my last night in my parents house and thought 'oh shit'. It is funny to look back on all of the little kenyan subtleties and things that i've learned. This past weekend I had a few moments of confirmation that I've adjusted. I took a student and her mom to the district hospital which is about an hour away. We were supposed to meet at the matatu stage at 8am. At 8:45 we were ready to go. When I first got to kenya I would have been thoroughly annoyed, but now I'm surprised when things are only 45 minutes late. We piled into the back of a matatu, 4 people where there should only be three. They kept piling people in every time we saw someone on the side of the road. Not only was I NOT bothered by the extra people, I found myself wishing for more. My logic may be completely off, but I figure that if we get in an accident, more people means more cushioning for everyone. I also realized that if I ever had to teach kenyan students about the tragedy of the commons, a matatu ride would be a great example. I walked into the hospital, and was pretty clearly the first white person they had seen there in a while. That may be an incorrect assumption, but the stares said "what is a mzungu doing here?' Instead of being bothered by the stares, I smiled and walked past them. On the way out of the hospital to catch a matatu home, the mom asked if we could stop at a town on the way to see her other daughter. When I first got to Kenya I would have hesitated: Would I have to eat meat? What if they ask me to pray? Do I have the energy to be the new 'mzungu' in town? Will I get home in time to get my work done? But this time there was no hesitation, and I was happy that I went. The matatue ride from Bissil to Namanga was even more classic. 5 people sitting where 3 should be, and it may have been possible for someone to get drunk off of the matatu tout's breath (at least it wasn't the driver). When I came home, the two little twin girls that live on my compound followed me into my house. I might want to take them home to Vermont with me (their mom offered, but I think she was kidding). They take their shoes off on my steps, wait for me to open the door, and then make themselves at home on my couch...this makes it all worth it.