Kilimanjaro

So since I have no internet on the mountain (though surprisingly there is cell phone signal), I have decided to blog each day and post one giantly-massive post when I get down. Here goes.

Day 1

I woke up this morning as though it were Christmas. My alarm was set for 8 but for some reason, my unique talent of the ability to loll in bed dozing for many hours late into the morning had evaded me. I popped up at 7 and had a long shower (until the hot water ran out) before scrambling to pack my bag and have breakfast. My lift to the office was late however, so I ended up waiting a while. When I eventually arrived I met my guide, Ezekiel, who in an instant surveyed my bag and indicated to me that I was not bringing enough. I was shocked, as I had thought that 'packing light' was going to be a challenge for me. Apparently I was TOO good. The funny thing was that after going through my entire giant backpack, I was only able to add one long-sleeve and an extra pair of PJs to the pile... It became quite evident that I had given too many of my clothes away in the village. Ezekiel was satisfied only after I ticked off all of the essential items on the list as he went through them. I met my cook and a few of the porters who would be coming with us – Barak (I call him Obama), and Anthony were the friendliest -  and we drove up to the starting gate. I had chosen to tackle the Machame route, which is apparently the 'Whiskey Route' because of its many challenges along the way. I wouldn't have wanted my Kili climb to be too easy. It is also known as the most scenic route so I was looking forward to some great shots of the landscape. The departure point was at 1800m ASL and while I waited for the porters to sort the gear into 20kg piles, I had my lunch. I nearly fell off my stool when I saw what it was: a veggie burger, fries, and bananas. Not really your typical hiking food. I devoured it just the same.

What a Whirlwind

Somehow a month has slipped by me and my time in Kenya is nearly finished. I am very sad.

My project has really picked up in the last three weeks and I have been busy transferring Class 4 students from Fairview to other schools nearby. Although many tears were shed at their graduation ceremony, I hope that they see in the end, it is best for their education. We are sponsoring 8 students in total for the remainder of this year, and then an additional 6 when a second transition happens in January. We will be looking for sponsors of these children for the next few years so if you are interested, please let me know. $50 pays for a school uniform, books, a lunch nutrition program, a PTA fee, examination fees and extra remedial classes on Saturdays FOR ONE YEAR! It is impossible for families here to even afford that, so I wonder how the government can continue to claim 'free education' for all primary school students. Secondary school is even more expensive and the most tragic thing is that many of these students will not have the means to attend without the help of a sponsor.

A New Birthday

It is early morning of the 26th of June. A young mother of two feels the labour pains of her third child pressing against her abdomen at the early hour of 1 a.m. So as to not disturb her husband and her sleeping children, she quietly bears the pain until the first rays of sun begin to appear in the sky at 5 a.m. Finally it is time to rise to attend the nearby clinic for delivery. She wakes her husband to tell him that she is in labour and will be heading to the clinic. He will handle the responsibility of getting the other two young ones off to school this morning and then will join her there. She dresses quietly and calls for a piki-piki. She feels every bump of the muddy road underneath the weight of her swollen belly as the motorcycle speeds along. It is a short journey of five minutes and she is grateful to make it before the next contraction hits.

Just keep pedaling...

To celebrate one of our teammate’s birthdays, 8 of us transported ourselves past the acres upon acres of green tea fields in Kericho, along a bumpy road (and when I say bumpy, I mean bumpy... we were airborne for the majority of the journey and I was two bumps away from losing my breakfast) to the deep cut, spectacular Rift Valley. A brief stop in Nakuru (near Lake Nakuru where thousands of flamingos apparently wade in the water and rhinos crash through the surrounding forest... I’ll save it for another journey), and we moved on to the final destination, Lake Naivasha. It was significantly more arid on this side of the Rift Valley. After some exciting sightings of baboons and zebras, the bus dropped us in what seemed to be a petrol station in the middle of nowhere. Upon further investigation, we determined that our hunches were right. We stocked up on some water and bread for breakfast, and then inquired after the nearest matatu station that could take us to Lake Naivasha. We were directed down the road, but after many unsuccessful attempts to wave down matatus that were already obviously bursting at the seams with overcrowding, I casually suggested hitchhiking (sorry Mom and Dad). I will not fume too much about the number of wazungus that ignored us in their comfortable rented SUVs and Jeeps, but instead will attend focus to the kind Kenyan driver and passenger, Joseph, in a safari-jeep who picked us up and drove us on to Naivasha town for no charge. Joseph was in tourism for Lake Nakuru so he did his best to convince us to visit at a later date. They dropped us at a matatu station, where they helped us bargain for our safe transport to our accommodations on the lake, and when the price was still stuck too high, Joseph paid the difference of 250/=KSH, despite our many protests.

Just Beat it

Today I went to the school early in the morning to help with the nightmare of sending children who hadn’t paid their school fees home. Two things broke my heart today. First, obviously, was dealing with teary eyed students as I passed them notes to take home to their parents/guardians, explaining why they were not allowed at school. Although it was very difficult, and even I had a few tears, in the end it worked and all students who were sent home returned later in the day with their fees.

The Negotiator

Well I reckon it is about time for a traditional blog post. I got a bit carried away with my creativeness, and figure I should revert for the sake of my future publisher who I can only assume is just biding his/her time until they discover the next big blogger (a.k.a. me).

For the past week, to be quite honest, my work in Western Kenya has been a struggle. About a week ago now, four of the teachers at the school I am working with decided to strike... somewhat illegally. Their issues stemmed from long-festering managerial issues, to lack of compensation for their efforts. Whist communicating with them and collecting the terms of their strike, I attempted to derive some compromises to their issues. Unbeknownst to me, while I was dealing with the teachers, the director of the school decide that instead of listening to their problems, she would go ahead and hire four new teachers.

The Little Princesses

This is the story of three little girls living in a little room in a little house in a little town in Western Kenya. Every night, as they tuck themselves in to the shadows of their blue mosquito net canopies, they reminisce about the days of cheese, chocolate and wine. In the mornings they hear the shuffle of the other children getting fed delicious eggs and mandazi doughnuts for breakfast. Once the evil headmistress has left for work, they hop out of bed, hopeful of what may be left over to eat. The house keeper with kind smiling eyes serves them tea, as she has found a soft spot in her heart for the three innocent girls, but all to eat is cold chapaties leftover from the night before. They argue about who deserves the extra one and in the end agree to split it into three equal pieces. The eldest one closes her eyes and describes the wonderful smorgasbord of food she imagines before them. She declares that the strawberry covered crêpes she is devouring are absolutely delicious. The other two follow suit and soon there is a wonderful game underway providing relief and excitement to their palates.

Flash Forward

It seems that days in Kenya fly by. Perhaps it is summer months everywhere, but I am exceptionally aware of it here.

A Night Visitor

Sometime around 3am...

Natalia (loud whispering): “Girls?...Girls?... Allison! Erin!...”
Erin: “mmm? What?”
Natalia: “Do you hear that?”
(rustling)
Erin: “Oh my God. Yes. Is that a mouse?”
Natalia: “I think so.”
Erin: “Where is it? It sounds like it’s eating plastic...”
Natalia: “What is in the plastic bag at the end of your bed?”
Erin: “Ah! It’s not in there... my dirty underwear is in there!”
Natalia: “Hahaha. It sounds like it is coming from over there somewhere!”
Allison: “Do you have your headlamp? Shine it”
(Erin shines her headlamp)

Take a Walk

Please. Come take a walk with me. Out the house, down the path. Wave good-bye to baby Natalie and Maggie hanging laundry on the line. Scare the chickens out of the way... watch how they run. Don’t forget to duck at the gate. Many a head have been hit on the metal rusting bar. Turn left down the muddy path, jump over the ditch at the end and wave hello/mirembe to the lazy men hanging out at the small general store to the right. Ignore their leering stares and obvious discussion about us as we walk by. Watch out – a piki-piki driver is zooming past. Listen as the two men aboard shout ‘wazunguuuuuuus’ as they speed on.

A Precarious Outing

My fabulous roomies and I decided to try our adventure caps out on the weekend, and selected the tropical Kakamega rainforest as our first destination. To get there, we voted for a stop in Kakamega to load up on food staples and Kenyan shillings. We settled on the disgusting, yet filling ‘Supaloaf’ bread and jam (from which launched a re-mix version of the Internet sensation “Peanut-butter Jelly Time” – “Supaloaf and Jelly Time” at every meal) for lunch, dinner AND breakfast the next morning. This, sadly, with the addition of 50 shilling crackers and a bottle of water each, was the maximum our daily food budget allowed.

The Blahs and the Big D

Imagine. You crash land on a remote island. All that survives, besides you, is a large tin of kale and a tin of maize flour. You are pleased at the discovery at first, because you know that you can make Sakuma and Ugali (which really does the trick to fill an empty stomach) if you can just manage to build a fire. The first week, all seems fine and well. You eat your Sakuma and Ugali every day. Twice a day. By the time the second week rolls around, you are starting to notice that your stomach protrudes slightly. By the beginning of the third week, you appear to be 3 months pregnant, though you know that is not a possibility. It is an Ugali baby. Growing inside at a rapid rate. And those rumbles? Yes, the big D – a result of extreme malnutrition, inadequate water supply, and adjusting to a new diet.

Welcome to my life as I know it (minus the plane crash on a remote island).

Mazungu = Money

Everywhere we go it seems we are asked for money. If I told you it was somewhat exhausting, it would be an extreme understatement. It is also indescribably gut-wrenching and disheartening to have to say no to people who so obviously need money for their next meal. Other times, it is so incredibly easy: the already large woman in the market asking us to buy her some meat; the old woman we pass while walking, who at first to appears to be friendly saying “Merembe” and coming to shake our hands, only to grip tightly and ask for “Kumi” (10) bob; the school children we pass who shout with laughter saying, “How are you? Can you give me 5 bob?”; the man in the shop down the street who brings his child over to shake our hands only to later ask for me to pay for his flight to Canada and fees for Med school. Please, remember I am a nice person. Just a bit pessimistic today.

The School

Where do I start? The kids at Fairview CDC Academy are the happiest welcoming children I have ever encountered. Every time we visit we are swarmed by children that want to shake our hands, and never let go. Some have to settle for holding on to our arms as we weave our way through the mob. Now I know how the Beatles felt. The school itself has five and a half separate classrooms. One room houses the very young kids: babies, nursery age, and preschool. Another four accommodate Class 1, Class 2, Class 3 and Class 4. The ‘half’ is a part storage for text books and supplies along with the two Class 5 students. (For all of those teachers reading, it is pretty close to our ‘Grade’ equivalent). Some children share single-seated desks, and in the youngest classroom students sit on tables, chairs, and even the floor. At the very least we will try to cement the floor so that it is easier on the younger kids as they crawl/move around, but more furniture would be ideal.

The Village

We live about a 15 minute walk away from Mudete, where there is a small daily market that transforms into a much larger one on Mondays and Thursdays. I purposefully avoid the stalls with fish (stinky!) and always feel a bit sad for the chickens (cuckoos) in the cages. Our main targets are vegetables – cabbage/kale/tomatoes/onions/beans and lentils/rice/or maize flour to make ugale. We are slowly getting to know the local prices so that we are not given the muzungu price when we purchase our own groceries. It is a weird feeling to be a minority and to have people stare at you without shame as you pass. Our limited (though increasing) number of Kimaragoli greetings produce smiles from many, and lots of handshakes follow (thank goodness for hand-sani). Even Allison who is of Jamaican origin is identified as a muzungu (though many people assume she can speak Swahili... I think she is getting tired of explaining that she can’t...).

Accommodations

Mme Jean’s house is fairly large... we have our own room – 2 bunk beds and a single (which, somehow I scored... really, who actually chooses a bunk bed over a single??), and get this... A REAL TOILET!!! We are the only house lucky enough to have one, and as word spread to the rest of the team we became known as ‘the number 2 house’... though I am not really cool with everyone using us for that purpose... There is also a separate room to bathe with the infamous bucket showers that I am slowly becoming an expert on. The sitting room can fit 16 people comfortably for dinners (just enough space) and is equipped with a small TV that runs on a battery (and that is the first to re-boot when a power outage occurs... priorities right?) so that the ever so popular Mexican soaps can be the dinner entertainment... A separate fire kitchen area outside is where the majority of the cooking is done. Since it is currently the rainy season, the family is not conserving water too much, though the three of us are sticking to the ‘if it’s yellow let it mellow’ philosophy. I’m sure this will change throughout the summer as raining becomes less frequent and water conservation becomes a priority. At this point we may insist that we use the outdoor latrine (though we have already offered, we could try to be more persistent...)

Arrival

An arrival in Chavakali... not the safest location. One man shouting “hey idiots, want to buy some crack” repeatedly while we attempted to keep track of all of the bags we were carrying. We were very fortunate to have had another one of Chief Mangwala’s sons, Patrick, meet us on this end to help secure transport to Wasundi, where the Chief’s house is. His friend and neighbour, Martin, who also works with SID on some projects (and whose smile I am kinda in love with) also came to lend a hand. A crazy ride in the back of a truck with all of the luggage.... up a very steep hill... where Martin and another passenger had to get out to help push the poor truck up the hill... at one point we were rolling backwards... aieeeeee!

A Second Chance

Second day Nairobi. Had a well-deserved sleep-in. Challenged Dukoral vaccine by splurging on a yummy 3-fruit smoothie. Did not regret it. Frantically headed to airport via same city bus to pick up the rest of the team. An hour behind schedule, but we found them and succeeded in hiring a matatu and taxi to hotel. Took completely different route and saw ‘wealthy’ side of Nairobi. Extreme contrast. The rest of the team had a false sense of security as a result and Tricia and I attempted to drill into them the dangers of the city. So many snapping cameras. Weird to be surrounded by so many wazungus. Tricia and I left for Chavakali on a night bus after George, one of the sons of the chief in the village we will be staying in helped us carry our luggage to the station. Had a scary security stop where we were searched by police carrying AK-47s... felt strangely secure afterwards knowing that now no one on the bus was carrying a gun. No sleep though... very bumpy road. Apparently a nice drive in the day time through the Rift Valley... will experience it at some point this summer I’m sure.

Nairobi at a Glance

Safe after first day in Nairobi. Drove through very poor area of city on way in. Bus in fender-bender on way home from airport and guy beside me had phone pick-pocketed so being very careful. Lots of women balancing various things on heads or strapped to foreheads. Met friend on bus (guy who got phone stolen) who helped us find hotel and carry bags. Too much stuff. Very tired. Not a fan of the city. Saw first mosquito. Drivers are nuts. Had walk around city, got phones and internet cards. Raining now. Going to bed after very looong day. First night under the canopy of the mosquito net.

The Countdown is On!

2 weeks, 1 day and 12 hours.
It has yet to hit me. Although I've been in meeting after meeting and started (only the slightest amount) to acquire some of the items I need to take with me, I am not yet mentally prepared to abandon living comfortably for four months. I keep waiting for it to happen, as I tick things off of my 'to-do' lists, but it all seems like a dream. Perhaps tonight, when I finally start laying out my clothes, covering the kitchen table, and attempt to stuff it all into one handy-dandy knapsack, I will feel the 'butterflies' of excitement (or anxiety!) as I prepare to embark on this next adventure!

Summer Plans

This summer I will be volunteering for three months in Kenya with Students for International Development (SID), a grassroots NGO run by University of Toronto graduate students and alumni.  SID has organized projects overseas since 2007 and will be training me over the next few months to manage several initiatives in the Education sector.