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)