Ode to Mom and Dad

Travelling demands some honest reflection about who you really are - it's like looking in a huge 360 degree mirror that magnifies all aspects of your persynality. In all of my experiences, there really is nothing quite like it. Since the beginning of this journey, it was blatantly obvious what a product of my parents I am - most of the time, we don't admit this to ourselves, and when others point it out to us, we laugh, as if it's an insult. Let me be clear: without the straight-up unconditional love and support (that is sometimes unjustified considering what a mess I can be), great influences, and nobel guidance of my parents, I would have fallen flat on my face in Kenya. It is time to put some thanks in its due place.

I thought about doing this in an email to my parents, more privately, but feel like things like this need to be said more often - kids don't generally take time or put effort into thanking our parents, and that's a shame. So in my last official entry before leaving the African continent, I want to say thanks, Mom and Dad:

Thank you for not only telling me I can do anything I set my mind to, but believing that it's true. Even when it's not, having that type of insane confidence does wonders for my ability to get things done.

Thank you for making things like honor, faith, kindness, honesty, passion, and determination natural aspects of my character development. Without your positive influence and high expectations, I would never have the moral guidance to act in a way that I can curl up with at night. I am comfortable in what I do, how I act, because you instilled goodness in me.

Thank you for not taking my crap. Excessive complaining was not allowed in our household, in our family, and that did more for me than I could ever express - dealing with challenges in life, making them an opportunity for growth, is the only way to handle the tough stuff, and without that, I surely would have crumbled over here.

Thank you for teaching me the value of laughing at myself. There is just no other way to deal with consistent "stomach adjustment," communication breakdowns across language barriers, or falling on your face in front of 70 youth.

Thank you for letting me practice my ultra-independence, and not saying "I told you so" when it blows up in my face :) If I did not have the self-reliance gene, integrating into this new culture so well would have been entirely impossible.

Thank you for being excited to hear my voice, even for a few minutes. Even when I don't act like it, say it, or show it, having your support is the only way I could be so comfortable in Kenya, so determined. Making you proud is one of the best things I could ever ask for.

Thank you for letting me figure out who I am, and dealing with all the hypocrisy, liberal rants, 10-minute fads, and long amounts of time that always takes. I may never get there, but this process of finding a place in the world that I can be comfortable in, proud of, and impassioned about is one of the most important things I will ever do, and without the space and "ok, do what you have to do" mentality that you approach my random ideas with, I would have never done work in Louisiana or Indianapolis, never gone to Chatham, never come to Kenya - there would be a lot of 'nevers' on my life resume.

And thank you for doing all the things that I never thank you for. There are far to many to count, but thank you for arranging my loans for me so that I can come to Kenya but still pay for school; thank you for driving or flying half way across the country to help me pack my business or arrange for a new year; thank you for waking up in the middle of the night to answer a collect call from your daughter who is stranded in New York; thank you for keeping my fish tank passion alive, even when you know I dont have time for it; thank you for checking my bank balance and cell phone minutes because you know I'm an airhead. Thank you.

To my friends with children, even when we don't act like it, we appriciate all the crap you put up with in raising us - it's the most thankless and difficult job on the planet, hands down. To my friends with parents (note: that's all of you): thank them more often, whether face to face, on the phone, in a letter, or silently recognizing how great you are because of them.

I could not have done any of this without you, Mom and Dad. I love you.

A Completed Project

Last Thursday might have been the best day of my life. Everything came together at the Remand Home and I've never felt that kind of straight-up wholesome happiness - it was unreal. It was the first time I saw the tables and bookshelf that got delivered earlier in the week, the white board was installed, I brought school supplies for the kids to start using, and the mural was finished. Even though it was the first time I visited the Home without Roo (whose Mom was in the hospital at the time), it was amazing. Didn't have my camera that day - kicked myself- but these are from yesterday when workbooks got delivered.

Roo used the space for a Paralegal Clinic to break it in, so it wasn't exactly school, but the same concept: this was actually the perfect day to take pictures because it had been storming for hours, so the entire compound was muddy (as you'll see) and without this space, the kids would have been shut in the sleep quarters, doing absolutely nothing except going crazy. Understanding that while seeing them so excited about writing in their 8 cent notebooks was perfect. There are 6 of these tables and, this is off topic, but the 'dryer' is behind them: windows.

When I showed up for the first time with these books, handing them school materials collectively worth less than a dime that still put a huge smile on their face was straight-up one of the best things I've ever done. Think about this: after I handed one of the little boys a notebook and pencil, he jumped up and down, squealing, and said he'd never owned something that nice before. Wow.

Fellow students and adults who can still remember this far back (ha), we write papers all the time - weekly, even - that are turned in, read (or skimmed, depending), and then a letter is put at the top to rate the quality. A few weeks ago, I did the same thing - basically wrote a paper - for a grant, and it had real world, awesome impacts that I got to see in the past week. I can't stress how surreal that was: I constantly had to leave the room while they were bustling over the newness of their materials just to collect myself long enough to come back and instruct them on what to do. Yes, I nearly cried.

After I distributed all the materials last week, I left to compose my stupid emotional self (which was partly a result of understanding this would be one of my last times with the kids, so it was justified, in my defense). When I came back, they had all organized themselves into classes...seperated one another by grade levels, the older girls stepped up to the white board and started working on 3-letter words with smaller kids who huddled around a table in the front. The rest of the older kids were waiting on me, so asked what I wanted them to do then...

So I told them to write about their lives. It was Friday, the volunteer teacher wasn't coming until next week, but I knew they couldn't wait - it was SO "Freedom Writers." Circles of teenagers were scattered all over the room helping one another with the English spellings and when one would finish, they'd run up their progress to me so I could read - the stories were unreal. Some were about how happy they were to be in the Home now, to be safe and have food, so felt so blessed by God, and others were accounts of what they'd experienced before coming here. You can only imagine what they were like. Oh my gosh, I get chills thinking about it...

This is where their class would have been yesterday if the room wasn't finished. In the back is the sleeping quarters where they would have been locked up and the bucket there is the dish washer. I took more pictures of the facilities yesterday too that'll be on Facebook - there are too many for here. I'm talking with my FSD contacts to discuss building them a sports hall - something larger and open-air, just covered, where they can run around - because this is inadequate for releasing the energy kids have so much of.

I can't stress how unreal this experience is - I'm applying all of those skills we learn and use over and over again in the Academy to do something useful. I'd like to say I don't do this for the rewarding feeling, and I really don't think that's the huge, overarching, motivating factor, but looking back at how stressful the grant process was at times and seeing how well it paid off now - how happy it's making these kids and doing something legit for them - is like nothing else.

In exactly one week, I'll be on a bus to Nairobi for a mini vacation with Ruweidah before boarding a plane to the States. Said this once before, but I'm redundant: that's unreal, friends.

Forest to Beach in 2.5

I became a tourist on Sunday. The majority of my time here has been spent doing very non-touristy things (spending time with the family, working and all that entails, or attending the numerous programs FSD arranges for us) but, with 2 weeks left, thought it was about time I joined in on the fun. So Ruweidah - my partner in crime at MUHURI - and two other interns with FSD went on an adventure through Forest Hills, something like a conservation area with beautiful trails. The picture to the right is my favorite of Ruweidah and I so far...completely captures our relationship: crazy mzungu doing something silly, getting funny looks from her Kenyan friend :)
This is a preview of the types of trails we walked down...can I say breathtaking?? Sarah and Aliyah, who were the other interns, are both from California and said it reminded them of the huge trees there. At one point, we found our surroundings hella creepy because it was far too similar to those scenes from "Are You Afriad of the Dark" that played on Nickolodeon when we were younger. There was a similar park down the road that wanted to charge us the tourist price (which was 6x more expensive) even though we had papers proving we were working in Mombasa. Had we gone there, we could have fed giraffes, saw alligators and hippos in a swamp, and done mountain biking, but we were stubborn. So at this park, we walked these trails by ourselves, played on a playground, and enjoyed some really sweet views.





Our favorite part was probably playing on the 'kids enjoyment' area of the park: what they didn't know is that we're all kids at heart :) I can't ever take a serious picture, as most of you know, so while on the swings, Roo acted normal while Jenn pretended to be a flying acrobat. At one point, the other two conspired to push two little children off the teeter totter so they could have a turn. Know this: you can take the child out of America, but you can't take the child out of the child while in Kenya.

Aliyah had a great time with the "wittle camels" on the beach that we visited right across from Forest Trails. As I've said, the beaches are to die for - beautiful white sand, greens and blues in the ocean, endless shore line - breathtaking. Roo and I plan to go back and ride these because it looked like way too much fun to pass up. Very tood time. The tourist industry is booming on the shores: behind Aliyah, numerous people were displaying their woodwork, art work, bead work, and random artifacts they'd made out of ocean materials (shells, drift wood, etc) so it was really cool. Very talented people.


I leave in 2ish weeks. That's surreal. Not that I'm not excited to come home to you all again, but I've adapted to this place so well, grown to love and appricate Mombasa culture and the folks here, that coming home is heartbreaking. I've got plenty of reports to complete before then, so my mind and time will be occupied, hopefully making the last days easier. Hope your summer is wrapping up well.

My Crib

I realize it's nice to have a mental image of what I'm talking about when I share stories, so this is a viritual tour of my house. (I promise I format this better before I press the "Publish" button...after that, cyberspace takes over and jacks it all up. Sorry). This Sunday, I took a mental health day - some Jenn time - after working 6 straight days with a crazy amount of people that can drive this introvert insane. My house mama and the kids went to the family compound where she grew up and her brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and parents all live, so I took a few pictures while they were gone. This is the front room (I'm standing where the enterence is). Understand that everything is very simple, but more than sufficient - I'm extremely comfortable, more so than I expected actually. Behnid that glass and the door are the clothes my mama sells out of the house - many special-occassion dresses and accessories that supplement their income.
This is the hallway to the kitchen on the left, the pantry after that, the toilet, and wash room, then on the right, the clothes room, my room, and the family's sleeping room. How's this for uncomfortable: I have a room to myself with 3 beds in it (2 are bunked, you'll see) and everyone else shares. That's part of FSD's policy - interns must have a room to themselves in the home stays, which makes sense and most days, I demand that kind of privacy and power as an escape, but it's uncomfortable to know they're accomodating me this much.

This is the kitchen. The fridge works well but Kenyan's don't keep leftovers for long - chances are, if there is more food after a meal, the remains will be breakfast in the morning or dinner the next night, which I never mind. The food is unbelievable because it's all made fresh from 'scratch' as we would call it. On the table in the left, there's a stove top with 2 burners, a microwave, and toaster oven. The larger compound with my house mama's family has a larger oven where she can cook breads and such, and she constantly talks about how she wishes she had access to one more often - she likes to cook :)

This is my humble abode. The larger bed is usually where the oldest sleeps and the bunk beds are for the two boys. The youngest, Fatma, generally sleeps with her parents in a small bed, so knowing all this is very uncomfortable - I know they wished they could sleep in their ordinary beds. Don't ask why the bunk beds aren't moved into the parent's bedroom - I dont know because it would make so much more sense. They usually sleep on a matress to the side of their parents bed which is so adorable - when I walk past the room to brush my teeth, they're dog piled on the floor in one of the best Kodak moments I've ever seen. There's a door behind the bunk beds that opens up to a balcony that I frequently sit on, making my house mama extremely nervous. We're on the third floor of an apartment complex so sitting this high up is just crazy to her - some things never change :)

This is the toilet. Seperating the toilet and shower never made so much sense - you do completely different things in them! At the bed and breakfast we stayed at, they were literally the same room - there wasn't a stall for the shower, just a showerhead that let water fall into the tiled room with a toilet and sink, so the toilet was generally drenched after we showered - it was halarious. Muslim culture is very clean, so water is used to clean yourself after going to the bathroom, making the whole place full of standing water and I slipped last week, hitting my tail bone on that darn step. I was coming down with the flu so already in a bad mood, and I think my house mama was ready to call the ER. I was stubborn and just said I was fine, limping to my room holding my back, afraid I wouldn't be able to sit down for a month. I'm fine though - no worries :)

This is the washroom. We take bucket showers that are always an interesting experience. I'm learning the art of water conservation and I dont mean turning off the facuet while you brush your teeth, my friends :) I mean I literally can shower, wash my hair and underclothes (as they're called and always washed by the interns - it'd be taboo for the house help to wash them) with 2 gallons of water. It's amazing how far it can stretch but it has to - most days, everyone else takes two showers or more, which just means pouring the cold water over themselves. Frequently, Adnarn comes walking in my room completely drenched because he just poured water on himself to cool off, I'd expect. He shakes like a dog and I get the backwater. It's becoming a fun routine :)

Hope you enjoyed. Once again, I'm very comfortable and have adjusted nicely to the place, which I'd assume is considered upper-middle class around here (because frankly, I think sleeping on the streets is a class - different from the States).

Keep writing. Love hearing from home(s)!

The Beginning...

I just spent the day with 70+ kids who've never held a paint brush trying to cover oil-based walls with water-based paint and had an absolute blast. Some folks from MUHURI came (including my supervisor and the CEO of sorts, which was a pleasant surprise...) and we let the kids perform (which I filmed), played frisbee and futbol, drank juices with lunch, and almost got the dining hall painted. Story in pictures:

A great deal of the paralegals that I run into once in awhile while transitioning from the prisons to MUHURI offices to the Remand Home came out to play. My "boss," Fatma, is in the front wearing green and Husna (who loves to ask my opnion on social hot topics) is next to her. In the back you can see what will one day (with enough funding) become a kitchen made out of stone and the dining hall behind the tree.

While the walls were being washed, we had the kids dance for us. This is an awesome story: half of Mombasa is down with the flu due to the change from rain season to heat season, including me, and this week Roo and I both felt like caacaa at the Home. So after doing some paralegal things with the kids, slept under a tree to give them time with the spiritual leaders. After we woke up and felt just as bad, they all organized and danced/sang for us to make us feel better! The dances they performed today were very similar - they perform with an abandon that puts our self-consciousness to shame, my friends.

This is the head honcho, Hussein, who runs MUHURI. There are three different projects going on right now and he manages them all with a casual leadership that I adore - I've rarely seen CEO types work up a sweat playing futbol with a bunch of kids in remand or get down and dirty with paint, but he showed up a lot of the younger folks today! You can see how much brighter the walls look with this paint - even though I found my perfectionist self getting frustrated with kids doing up-down strokes then side-to-side strokes or the paint not working well because of the oil-water mixture, everyone was extactic about how fresh it started to look. We'll have to go back on Monday to add a final coat that hopefully makes it look more complete, then the carpenter will begin installing shelves at the end of the wall in this picture, a white board will be put where Hussein is painting, and we'll line tables down the middle for classes and such.

And if anything was a success today, it was playing. I brought my frisbee and we found a ragged soccer ball so all the kids were running around doing recreation things they never get the chance to do...made my whole trip. Getting this shy girl to take a picture with me was an accomplishment in itself. After the day was done, it was hard to remember that they have some sort of issue with the law - more than half are "Children in Need of Care and Protection" so haven't committed a crime, rather are victims, so seeing them play around today was simply beautiful.

And this just sums it up...putting young folks in front of a camera is like putting light infront of flies - they flock. Everyone who wanted to got a chance to help paint and will get to help with the mural later in the week. Fatma is pictured here with them and at this point, we've pretty much called it a day because trying to put more paint on top of barely-dry paint was just a mess. I had an absolute blast and can't believe this is how I'm spending my summer - definately nothing like I imagined but better than I could have ever hoped for. More updates to come soon.

Superwhatever.

Oh my gosh! I figured it out...my camera was on the highest quality image setting, making the file size HUGE! So, expect more of these in the coming weeks, but right now, I only have time to upload a picture of the resort I stayed at this weekend for a retreat. Absolutely stunning. The picture doesn't even really do it justice. What makes me uncomfortable, though, is seeing this amazing atmosphere that is booming with tourism (or was, before the winter violence) and then walk outside this compound to folks begging for change. The financial disparity is astounding...we thought there was a large wage gap in America...folks, we haven't seen anything.

I'm stealing the title of this post from Rob Bell, who's book I'm reading right now. He just got done talking about how we try to become Superwhatevers in our lives - you know, Superdad, Superstudent, Superfriend, SuperRA, Supergirlfriend, etc. In reading his words about such things, I realized one of the things I like most about Kenya is the lack of people trying to be Superwhatevers. Competition isn't dripping from relationships or workplaces. There is a drastically lower population of folks sacrificing people for a paycheck. Being 'Super' is just not a priority when we're trying to get food in mouths or medicines into bodies.

Now, when I type these blogs and talk in generalities about Kenyans or Americans or whomever, realize that I fully understand this is not true of all people - there are amazing people in America not trying to outshine others or take on the world and some folks in Kenya are placing orders for a spandex uniform with an "S" on the front. But...

I am more than guilty of trying to be Superstudent, Supersister, Superdaughter, Superwhatever. It becomes a game: how many meetings can I attend around helping friends, investing a few hours in homework, going to classes 5 minutes early, and travelling home for the weekend to surprise my family (which was a blast). But now that I've existed in this more lax environment for a good 5 weeks now, that seems so silly. I'm not doing anyone justice running myself into the ground, and neither are you. Putting in 90 hours a week doesn't make loved ones any more comfortable than your presence; spending a ton of money on a gift for your girl/boyfriend won't make them love you anymore; and for crying out loud, we've got to stop scheduling back-to-back meetings and such. Running out of one early to arrive at another late isn't helping anyone.

Rob Bell tells us to go out back and kill our Superwhatevers. To look at what we're trying to be, realize we're not doing a good job and never will, and accept the reality of our flaws, embracing them. Take a day off. Go play with some kids (because it's theraputic if it's not an obligation). Kill the Superwhatever. I'm working on it.

Unexpected Acceptance

When I was preparing for this trip, many experienced travellers or natives of this area warned me about holding my tounge - putting a filter on the liberal rants I am, at times, known for. I'm generally considered a liberal by all accounts in the States, so in the conservative Muslim area of Mombasa, I might as well march the streets in rainbow tie-dye, walking to the beat of Buffalo Springfield (if you missed the 60's cultural reference...go Google it now. I mean that Jodie).

Today I was sitting down to lunch with Roo and an older womyn from MUHURI - both practicing Muslims and from what I had gathered overhearing previous conversations, extremely conservative (even though they both work for a Humyn Rights organization, liberating womyn...go figure). The news was playing in the background, and I was transfixed on some story about a boat capsizing in Asia somewhere, and Husna turned around to see what grabbed my attention. It was a horrid story - 100+ people died in the random collapse of this boat, so the families were shown crying and such. I couldn't help but think about how awful it would be to die like that, to have family die like that. And, I kid you not, after watching a few seconds of the clip, this womyn turned around and said it's "probably for the best. They're overpopulated anyway."

I spit. Almost literally spit out my food. All I could do was stare.
For those that know me well, the fact that I held my tounge was an act of God. But I did. I'm proud.
Then, for crying out loud, she started talking about how God plans for things like that - about how we have to balance the world somehow, although "the tsunamis made me sad - so many people." I couldn't believe that I was listening to this extremely religous womyn - one whom I had a monumental amount of respect for - quantifying how 'sad' an event was based on the number of deaths. But, again, I held my tounge.

The next story on the news was something about futbol, and she quickly asked me what America was doing with Beckham (I guess we 'bought' him, or something - I'd heard other interns talking about it, so I had a vague idea, although sadly don't follow much soccer). I informed her of my limited up-to-date knowledge, and guessed he was in California somewhere, and the sound of that state set her off. She looked at me with a piercing gaze and explained that she'd been "following" the same-sex marriage laws (fully expecting me to jump on her gay-hating bandwagon) and couldn't believe that so many people were getting married like that. Roo jumped in, gawking at a story about "two old womyn who'd just married each other."

Bless her heart, Husna asked what I thought. I quickly told her with a grin that she didn't want to know. But she persisted. So...my tounge untied itself.

I told her that I had absolutely no problem with that - that I completely supported the actions of the California legislature in passing the law and was happy that individuals who had been in love for years could now share the same rights as their hetersexual counterparts. I told her it didn't bother me at all. Both looked shocked, and Roo's only response was "But Jenn, you're Christian!!"

Ha, I love that one.

I rationally and quite calmly explained that I really believed all religions worshiped a God who upheld love above anything else, and I know that God loves when we're happy, so if our happiness is found in loving someone of the same sex, that I think God is totally down for that. She seemed ok with this. In fact, she nodded.

Nodded. That's big.

So we continued to have this conversation for a few more exchanges, and at the end, she said "You know, I still disagree. Not only because I'm a Muslim and we disagree. Not only because I'm Kenyan and our laws disagree. But I do. It's ok though, that's ok. We can disagree." And that was that. We walked away still respecting one another (ok, I have a little problem understanding how she can empower womyn - that's literally her job - but disempower gay women...another battle for another day). I was floored - after I initially opened my big mouth, I was sure MUHURI would ask me to step down as their intern and Argarn would send me packing.

It's interesting how such different people - two womyn with 30 years between them, practicing different religions (that we assume are polar opposites), working in differnt capacities, living in different countries - can have a conversation about such a political 'hot topic' and end so passively...I can tell you that most of my rights discussions in the States don't end with smiles. It was more than encouraging - it was relieving. I hope I can return to to America, to Chatham, with such an ease about these things, leaving my soap box in Kenya to rot.

Don't hold your breath. But I'll try :)

Work Details

I am such a sellout. In my defense, I didn't have much of a choice, but nonetheless, and a sellout. After just spending the last 4 days and three nights in a hotel on the beach, I feel like a contributor to the cycle of poverty in Mombasa. MUHURI hosted a workshop for VIP stakeholders in the prison system - commissioners, magistrates, Officers in Charge - from all around Kenya, and the some 60+ of us were all hosted in a gorgeous hotel on the beach. It was absolutely lovely, but it's so bittersweet, living a life of luxury with hot showers and a beach-front view, then coming home to cold water in a bucket for bathing and being cautious of how much food I eat.

Thought I should explain a little bit about what I"m acutally doing here, since it's been 3 weeks and I have yet to do so. I'm an intern for Muslims for Human Rights (MUHURI) who is a very well known, very estabilshed NGO that works in the Coastal Province of Kenya. They have three different projects going on, and Im working on the newest component of their Prisons Reform Project, the childrens outreach program. Street kids in Mombasa are being rounded up by the police, charged with loitering or some trumped up accusation of crime, and since Kenya's legal system really lacks the means to deal with youth offenders, most are thrown into prison with adults while their trials are going on, usually for months at a time. As you can imagine, the worst happens to them in these situations, so MUHURI stepped up a couple of months ago and is getting them into a Remand Home with other youth.

This is all completely not what I thought my time would be spent doing, but I work with one other paralegal whom I adore, named Rweidah (pronounced Roo-ade-uh, but we call her Roo), and travel to all the prisons, screening new children remands and working to get them into the remand home. This place, mind you, resembles nothing of a home. It's really 2 cinderblock/tin-roofed buildings with 2 more under slow construction on 1/2 an acre of sandy land. There's one tree on the whole lot and an unguarded gate surrounding it all. The kids sleep on 4" foam mats on the ground in one of the buildings which has a wall dividing the girls and boys side. Of course, there are more kids than sleeping mats, so most share or sleep on the hard-wood floors. My first visit was an odd experience: there's absolutely no structure to their days, and at 10:30 that day, they had yet to have breakfast. At night, they're locked into the sleeping rooms because the home doesn't have night security, so they leave them there alone locked up. If it rains, which is often, they generally go back to their dorms and sleep. The day before I arrived, MUHURI provided some paper and pencils for them to draw with, and I've never seen kids so excited to show off their artistic skills, bombarding me with Kiswahili descriptions of their amazing sketches.

My project is going to be converting their "dining hall," which is really an empty room with removable benches, into a multipurpose room. We'll have a work weekend and paint the whole thing, giving the kids the chance to paint murals on the walls, and get a chalkboard, bookshelves, and tables so that volunteer teachers can come and continue their education while their locked up for months at a time. Roo also does rights workshops, educating the kids on their rights in and out of court so they are not charged again, since most of these kids are 'repeat offenders.' Understand, though, that the streetkids have run from something...some are IDPs, displaced by the post-election violence, some come from abusive homes, other from various circumstances that leave them few options other than surviving on the streets, which they're very good at. They're a great group of kids, and will have the chance to school me in futbol this week :) Once again, when I get computer access at work this week, I"ll try and upload photos.

Would love to hear some summer updates. Hope you're finding plenty of time to relax.
Thanks for reading.

Grace in Africa

World War III is being waged in my tummy. When they tell you that there's a timeline of vulnerability for being sick (as you adjust to the foods of a new culture), they're lying. I thought that after more than 2 weeks, I was in the clear. I was wrong.

That may be TMI for many of you, but since this blog is all about being brutally honest - telling of both my highs and lows of this grand adventure - I thought I would let you in on the cruel intentions of the food I ate yesterday. If you know me well at all, you know that I may be the worst sick kid on the planet, worse than teething babies and grown men. So the story I'm about to share should come as little surprise.

I woke up to a disgusting boxing match in the pit of my stomach, and barring the horrid details, I knew I was sick. But because stubborness is genetically encoded into my persynality (thank you Grandma, then Dad), I chose to go attend my first staff meeting with MUHURI. Now, it's a good thing that the ramblings of our mind are not ordinarily streaming live on an online feed, because the elitist, angry America, and at times, straight-up violent thoughts that wound through my consciousness were not pretty.

The meeting, which was set to start at 9 AM, actually began at 9:45 (which is early for a large majority of the African culture), and by that point, I had already begun to mentally curse every late individual who walked through the door - I was in pain. I was looking for any kind of relief: I must have drank 5 bottles of Dasani, gobbled up pain killers and stomach meds like Skittles, and mastered the art of the fetal position. But regardless of what I did to calm my very angry intestines, that long, and, at times, pointless meeting put me in more physical pain than child labor, I'm sure (we all know that's a huge exaggeration).

Immediately after, I called the Site Team, letting them know of my churning stomach, and my supervisor at work told me to go home. It was already 12 and by the time I got home, I was sure I had met my maker. Of course, my wretched physical state didn't help me to remember that all the kids were home today, getting off early every Friday. Worst mistake of my life.

All I wanted when I came home was to crawl into a comfortable bed, put on a movie, complain to my mother who would then stroke my legs and pat my back through the blankets as Ladi, my loving and clueless dog, licked my hand skinless. Or, geeze, to plop onto the crunch Chatham matresses and fall into a sleep coma, feeling badly for Lyss who would, like a great best friend, sit on the edge of my bed with a look of sorrow like I was going to die. But no. I had to retreat to a sun-soaked bed, plain walls, and children who broke the decible level of Air Force rockets.

Folks, I could have killed them. Hard as my house mama tried, those little children had way too much energy to even muster heavy-metal rock beats. As I tried to sleep off this death disease, I lied there, sweating, cursing, and thinking of how easily I could lock all of those wretched children in the basement of the apartment complex. Although I try (desperately, but always failing) to live in such a way that doesn't make Jesus shake his head in shame, I knew I hated those kids. But alas, grace stepped in.

Now, my non-religious or spiritual friends will have to hold on to that respect that I know you have for me and all beliefs I have, including those of devine intervention, because I knew that's how I woke up and didn't strangle 4 almost-innocent kids. I finally got to sleep, and although my slumber was interrupted by shrieks, shrills, and the sounds of a beating door as they anxiously awaited for me to crawl out of my hole of misery, it was a nice nap. I was not cured, by any means, and still sit here at the cyber in quite a bit of pain, but, friends, I came out of my make-shift sanctuary and saw all of those kids piled around their mother on the only couch in the living room, watching a movie, peering down the hallway to wait for my homecoming. As soon as I stepped out, the youngest one ran over to me, and in Kiswahili, asked if I was ok, and hugged my leg like a toddler at Field Day.

I cannot even describe how freaking cute they all looked, piled like cold puppies on that floral print, using all of their might to not make a peep. They genuinely cared for me. It must have been so hard for my mama to let them watch a movie (something that rarely happens in this household) and I can only imagine how many urges the 4 little monsters had to fight away with stickes to stay seated and silent. They were all trying to stay as still as possible for the last leg of my coma, knowing but not understanding that's what I needed. Thank God for grace, because had it not stepped in to intervene, I might be in jail right now.

So no stories of adventures of tales of work today. Just a simple story to help you all understand that even though the tummies of life are churning with sickness (with George Bush as the piolot, I'm sure) and we can't always find the sanctuary we want (in the laps of our dear Mothers who always know the right spots to rub on our backs), grace does find a way to weasle into our bad moods and prevent us from commiting a felony.

A Weekend of Highs and Lows

I've been trying to upload photos now for 10 minutes, and I think the connection at this cyber is just too slow...another challenge for another day.

I was especially excited to show pictures today because I had a weekend full of everything - both good and bad - that this city has to offer, I'm sure.

Yesterday, my breath was literally taken away on my first trip to the ocean - the Indian Ocean. Never having seen the Atlantic or Pacific, walking on to the white sandy beaches to see an endless line of water with beautiful waves was like a clip from a fairy tale. I went with another intern who has family in Haiwaii and grew up in Cali, and this place caught her off-guard! Words just don't do justice folks - even the few pictures I took were inadequate. The experience did make a bit uncomfortable though:

This beach was literally 20 minutes away from where I live, nestled between resorts and what I assume were 5-star hotels. People near the tiki bars were sipping on wine coolers and lounging around on huge rocks, all the while the hustle and bustle of impoverished city life lay just beyond these gated communities. I wonder how such a lucrative tourist industry, clearly booming with business, can exist so closely to people who sleep on dusty streets and drink the rain water. Moving so quickly from one end of the wealth spectrum to the other confirmed my fears of coming back to America and experiencing straight-up emotional culture shock.

After such an interesting excursion, I had work to look forward to this morning, but was caught off guard as Dennis drove me up the main road. It intersects at a round-about that is the center of town, always drawing traffic and congestion, but today there was a huge commotion. As we drove, there were folks on rooftops looking down to the center of the intersection, people were peering through windows, and - no joke - hundreds of people were running to what Dennis called a riot. The whole situation got worse as we inched towards the mayhem: loud screams, two men walking away from it all holding rags to their bleeding heads, cars jumping the median to turn away from it all. All Dennis could say was, "Holy shit, man. Holy shit," but he's Irish - cussing is like breathing for the guy :)

We turned around about 1 block before the edge of the crowd, windows rolled up and eyes straight ahead, not sure what the deal was. After we reached a coffee shop on the other side of town, Dennis called a friend and found out that the police ambused 3 thieves and killed them on the spot, in front of all those people. Apparently, such things are not uncommon but can become highly dangerous with the police just shooting and everyone running towards the conflict. He explained that Kenyans have a lot of pride in the peacefulness of their communities and don't want it corrupted by thieves and the like, so kill them in a community-enforcement type of way.

I wish the whole thing wouldn't have shaken me as much as it did, but we literally transitioned from calm to chaos in minutes - something not entirely uncommon - and although I would have been fine on foot had I just turned away from the commotion and walked away, I was extremely grateful to be in a car. I don't want to enforce the negative image that can easily exist of this culture with stories of violence, but it's hard to see how people have to revert to such horrid means of upholding their image because there is so much corruption in the legal system.

Work was a disappointment: showed up to a waiting room with 10 people already sitting down and was told that there was an all-staff meeting and we would have to wait. After 2 hours of sitting, I finally got up to go explore outside and realized that the office sits right beside a huge tourist attraction - Fort Jesus - just off an inlet from the sea. Once again, absolutely beautiful. A make-shift tour guide from MUHURI who showed me around said that's where I can eat my lunch everyday. Can we say "awesome!" After the meeting, I met a few employees and was sent home, asked to take care of some lame paperwork to ensure it's ok for me to work. So, I really start tomorrow morning :)

I'm in good spirits and have absolutely loved hearing from you all via emails and comments. Please keep the persynal updates coming - they're really refreshing. I"ll respond as soon as I'm able.

Simplicity

After moving in with my host family - a traditional Muslim family that lives on the third floor of an apartment complex off a main road in Mombasa - I am beginning to feel at home, to feel a part of the culture. They have 2 boys and 2 girls, all younger than 7, which is a bit of a change that I'll adjust to quickly, I hope :) The language barrier is crumbling quickly though - something I've been waiting for.

I took a nap today after lunch and woke up to go write on the small balcolny outside my room. It wasn't hard to notice how simple things are around here. Below, the balcolny used a brilliant security system to keep folks from breaking in through their window: sharp shards of glass sticking up from the cement wall. Across, on the rooftops of other apartments, lines of clothese hung to dry and womyn washed more with buckets, a brush, soap, and their bare hands. On the street, men sat on old buckets and curbsides, just talking.

When I 'hang out' with friends at home, we must find a good movie to watch, or GO somewhere entertaining. If we want to keep others away from our belongings, we install a state-of-the-line security system, spending way too much money just driving around to compare prices. Interesting how we still use words like 'tribal' or 'native' to describe those who live in places like Africa, also describing the whole continent as 'third world.'

WHAT IS THAT?!

Are we insinuating that we Americans are of the 'first world,' as if the 'developed' nature of our country was not built on the backs of these same life-techniques of simplicity? I'm saying: folks seem a lot happier doing 'third world' pastimes and using 'tribal' building techniques. Food for thought.

I start work on Tuesday (Monday is a national holiday that is unexplainable to me, I guess) and really feel that doing so will make me feel more complete here. Working for Muslims for Human Rights (MUHURI) is going to be a great opportunity to break the idealistic nature of what we assume 'nonprofit, grassroots' work is. I'll let you know the real deal :)

P.S: we've really got to drink more chai and pineapple juice. I'll write the government about that and save you all some time.

Whoa, There's that Life Change...

My life is changing here. For the first time in a long time, I am noticing it as it happens. What an incredible feeling.

Being immersed in this people-oriented culture is extremely challenging for this natural, self-proclaimed introvert, but I'm enjoying it more than words are capable of expressing. I have noticed the flow of my life before Kenya was almost completely in line with typical American standards of success (ones I generally wish to denounce). Understand that this is self-criticism too, but we are a fast-paced, goal-oriented, consumer-driven, text-messaging culture that thrives on shallow, empty interactions with one another. So rarely are we aware of how precious that thing called life is.

Yesterday I was driving to the airport to pick up my found luggage with Danny, one of the 3 stie team members who is originally from Ireland. He came here 4 years ago, expecting to stay for 6 months :) After meeting a great guy here doing development, he jumped on board a project and has since created a great school charity. When it started to take off, he commissioned a photojournalist and reporter from Ireland to come cover the success stories. That was 2 months ago, and after the report was finished, the photojournalist stayed around to do freelance stuff.

Last night, he was found dead in a ditch in Nairobi. Danny found out while I was in the car with him on the way to the airport. I've never seen an Irish man so quiet.

There are tons of implications - lessons to learn - from his story. The guy was very well known in Ireland, commissioned by the government to cover international stories all over the world. Young. Talented. But killed in his prime.

I don't know how well I"ll be able to stick to my pledge when I get back to the States, but we have seriously got to reevaluate our priorities. I know folks always say to 'live every moment to the fullest' and, for crying out loud, 'carpe diem' is written on the cash in your pocket, but we are a culture that ignores all of that. I really need to change a few things.

Would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for the emails. I love you all dearly.
I mean that.

The Beginning

I have arrived! I never thought I would be SO happy to be in a place that I've never been before. Without luggage, sleep, a shower, or a change of clothes, I am still one of the happiest beings on the planet. Africa loves me, Delta doesn't.

Realized earlier today that I just visted...
...3 continents,
...6 states,
...and 8 cities
...flying on 9 planes
in the last week and a half. I sound very cosmopolitain right now. Don't let that decieve you - it's a lie.

I wish I could upload some pictures. The Cairo airport was the first thavt I've been to where I noticed an actual change in atmosphere and setting. It was also the first time I remember really realizing that I'm going to a country that is foreign to me. Not expecting to be immersed so quickly in Arabic culture, the large amounts of people talking in a language I did not understand became a big challenge that I now hate. I tried to use a phone to let the folks in Kenya that I would again be delayed but couldnt figure out the payphones and card system - asking was equally difficult.

Had an entire row to myself during the Cairo-Nairobi flight and slept like a sick child (probably because I resembled one). Flew past Mount Kilamanjaro on the Nairobi-Mombasa flight and have some sweet air-pictures. I'm on an internet cafe computer now that is charging me, but before I leave, guess what my first meal in Kenya was?

Pancakes.
And coffee.
I'm in my element, folks.

The Saga Continues...

I am in the London airport right now paying 1 pound for 10 minutes of internet access - a cheap price to kill the 3 hours that I now have for my new flight to CARIO!! I got off the flight from New York with 30ish minutes to get to a gate across the entire terminal and made it through security and got there in time, just to find out that Delta did not reserve a seat for me. I am not country-hopping, having a jolly time striking up conversations with folks from Finland, South America, India, Japan, and a slew of European countries as I wait to now fly through Cario to reach Nairobi at 4:30 AM. The joys of travelling...

If I had more time, I would expound upon the differences and similarities I've began to notice in peoples from all over the world. This truly is an inter-cultural experience, so while I wish my travels went as planned, flying all over the world certainly has its perks. Hopefully more when I actually land in Kenya...

An Anti-climatic Beginning

Well, I'm not exactly paroozing Amsterdam right now, as previously planned :( My flight coming out of Pittsburgh - yes, the very first plane of the entire trip - was stopped due to air traffic. We had to sit in the plane for an hour after it was delayed from the terminal for half an hour. Leaving at 7:56 for an hour plane ride to JFK to catch a connecting at 9 became a bit stressful but we (two 25ish business-type guys sitting in front of me were from Amsterdam) thought that flight would be delayed as well. It wasn't. We missed it. By 5 minutes.


I waited for Delta to rebook my flight for 2 hours and then another hour while it was actually being rebooked. The guy that helped me was extremely nice - we both had the disease of 'sarcastic tounge' and since I was the only passenger waiting, we had a great time teasing one another. He's from Italy and is planning a month long trip through Europe in a few weeks with his girlfriend who is a flight attendant (how cute, yeah?) and was very excited for my summer in Kenya. It's amazing how much you get to know people while you're waiting on the higher-ups to do their job. He checked me into my flight early, helped me navigate the insanity of JFK, and took care of all my luggage - something that would have required me to go all the way to customer service in another terminal.


I checked into a hotel last night and had a really great time resting. Although this is extremely disappointing and a bit difficult because I can't get ahold of the airline who is taking me from Nairobi to Mombasa, I met some really interesting folks last night in the nearly-vacant terminal and on the shuttle to the airport. *Travel tip #1: kindness will get you a lot further in your travels than blunt annoyance - fake AAA membership to save you money at a hotel or priority seating on a rebooked flight, for instance :)


This is a very factual and bland post, I appologize, but I'm paying for the internet right now from my hotel's business center. They will get a lot more entertaining and full of pictures, I promise. I fly to London tonight at 8:30 PM so have a lot of time to kill but am unsure how to spend it. I then rush to Nairobi and hopefully catch a connecting that will put my into Mombasa at 11:30 tomorrow night. Kind of a 'blah' start to a great trip. I hope you all are doing well and keep me up-to-date on your lives. I will rarely check Facebook but will check my Gmail account if you can't respond to this blog: jhollern@gmail.com.


Peace and Love.