Mzungu Mimics Maasai

Once again I seem to be lagging in my updates to the blog.  However, I had good reason this last week while I was making a return visit to the Masai Mara.  With the advent of the USB modem, internet connections have been fairly reliable and strong anywhere that you can get a cell phone signal.  I say fairly because I discovered that I strong signal does not always equate to a good internet connection.  However, I digress on the main topic.

I decided that I would take a few days in traveling back to Nairobi from Bungoma in Western Kenya.  So, on Tuesday morning I packed up my belongings and started east.  I drove south through Kisumu and then turned southeast to Kericho and then east to Narok.  Narok is the stepping off point for anyone going into the Mara by road.

Wednesday morning I got up and made the drive to the Sekenani Gate of the Mara where I met my friend Jonathan.  The whole point of the trip was not to see wildlife but to spend some time with Jonathan and getting a better understanding of life as a Maasai.  Jonathan is the guide that I met while doing my safari about a month ago.  This trip was definitely a step down in budget.  I stayed at a rustic camp owned and operated by the Maasai.  It at least had running hot water and some electricity so I wasn't completely roughing it.

The whole of Kenya is in a terrible drought.  However, the Maasai are pastoralists and are truly suffering from the lack of rain.  There entire wealth is measured in head of cattle and goats.  With the lack of water and grazing area, they are facing the loss of a significant head of livestock.  There is competition between the livestock and wildlife as they compete for the same dwindling water in the rivers and watering holes.  In fact, Jonathan's uncle lost 2 cows to elephants the day that I arrived.

Because I had the rental car, we agreed that we would spend Thursday driving the Mara to check on some areas that were said to still have some graze and water.  It was an all day task.  I was amazed at how much drier the Mara seemed to be just one month after my last visit.  The grasses all seemed to be cropped right to the ground by the grazing wildlife and livestock.  The river beds were either dry or pools of murky and stagnant water.  I saw numerous dead cattle in various states of decay.

The picture for this entry was taken at the temporary homestead for a friend of Jonathan's named Francis.  A temporary shelter sat on the crest of a hill with dust blowing all about it.  The structure was made of small branches woven to make a house.  Rather than the normal waddle of mud and manure, they had simply put some fabric across the side that received most of the wind.  There were 4 women present and 15 children.  One was Francis' wife, one was a mother to his father, and the other two were sister in laws.

The children were absolutely filthy.  Jonathan explained that with the lack of water they really hadn't been able to bath for about a month.  They typically are getting their liquid in the form of milk from the families' herds of goats.  They all looked small and thin, although not malnourished.  I know that they are nearing that point as food is scarce in this area.  They had a goat's head cooking on the fire.  I can't imagine that there is much meat on a goat's head, but it must provide some nourishment.

The children were completely enthralled with seeing an 'mzungu' up close.  I greeted each of them the typical Maasai way.  An adult lightly places his/her hand on the head of the child.  They've all seen Caucasians in safari jeeps, but had never been able to touch one.  They were enthralled with my skin and swarmed me so that they could rub the skin on my arms.  Some of the older ones noticed that I had quite a bit of arm hair and would lightly pull on it to see what it was like.  Kenyans, as a whole, do not have much hair (if any) on their arms. They stroked my arms the entire time I was with them, laughing and giggling amongst themselves.

I have to admit that I had thoughts of germs passing through my mind during this time.  As I placed my hand on some of the heads, I could not help but see the common characteristics of ringworm on some of them.  As they rubbed my arm, I looked at the dirt that seemed to have become almost a second skin on their hands and under their fingernails.  I thought about my immune system and wondered if I was putting it at any additional stress.  And yet, I also thought, who cares?  Children the world over are simply children.  They're curious, gentle and explorative.  They simple found me to be of intrigue or amusement and I was happy to be with them.

After a bit of a visit, we decided to proceed to the village "just down the hill."  Francis wanted to buy me lunch.  It was going to be nyama choma or grilled meat.  His wife came along so that she could get some vegetables and corn meal to take back to the family.  The just down the hill was probably another 20-30 minute drive at slow pace necessitated by the landscape.  The good thing was that it was also towards the Mara River and Mara Triangle where water and pasture were thought to be better.

The little village was made up of small stores (dukas), a couple of butcheries, and numerous bars.  Alcohol is such a problem in some areas and this seemed to be no different.  We bought some goat meat and had sodas while we waited for the food to be cooked.  The meal consisted of goat, potatoes, onions, and a side of ugali (the corn meal staple).  It was absolutely delicious and I ended up gorging myself.  The wife was able to buy some maize and wilted vegetables to take home.  We dropped her off as we made the 12-18 mile return trip.

Jonathan spoke to his family and they agreed that they would need to move the livestock.  Together, the family probably has close to 600 head of cattle.  The men will move the livestock to the SLIGHTLY greener area where water will be available.  They'll also continue to pray for the rains to arrive.  The meteorologists are promising El Nino rains but they've eluded this area so far.

Jonathan showed me a stretch of the river that is normally free flowing.  I looked down from a high point on the bank and saw 60+ hippos literally on top of each other trying to stay wet and cool.  The smell was incredible.  The water is not moving and so their waste floated across the top of the water.  If you think of a stagnant pond with manure instead of algae growth, then you have a good idea of the sight.  It was disgusting.

As Americans, we take water for granted.  We want our perfectly green lawns and so sometimes cheat on watering days imposed by municipalities.  We actually buy bottled water slickly marketed by companies when we have perfectly clean water running in our taps.  We throw half a load of laundry into the washing machine because we can't bear to where one of the many clean shirts in our closet, but instead want the one that is in the hamper.

The morning I left we dropped off a niece of Jonathan's at the school that is within the town of Talek.  Talek is one of the gates going into the official Masai Mara Reserve.  It is a small collection of buildings housing markets for the local population.  That are of the Talek River is also a little higher although not really a running stream.  The children near the town are fortunate in that they are able to get water from one of the two wells in the 2 mile radius of the town or from that portion of the river.  Each child had a container with water for drinking.  These containers were mainly leftover vegetable oil containers and were a half gallon or gallon.  Even through the opaque whiteness of the container, I could see that the water was not clear.  Most of the water was a tan color.  I couldn't help but think of what this would do to my system.  In fact, in another area of the country, there is a cholera outbreak because the water people are getting is stagnant and contaminated.

The lesson I am taking away from this is that conservation of our resources is absolutely vital.  There are many reasons for the situation here in Kenya and I need to write an entry on it.  However, I know that upon return to the States I will think twice before taking a long shower.

Lakes Baringo and Bogoria

After a week in Nairobi, I was more than ready to head out of the city.  Nairobi is a city of over 3 million people.  It's incredibly congested with serious traffic and air pollution problems.  It's a modern city with 24 hour grocery stores, cinemas, etc.  It's also a city of wealth and a city of poverty.  Many expatriates make their homes in some of the leafy suburbs.  However, it is also home to many slum areas.

Kibera is the most (in)famous of all of the slums.  It is the second largest slum to Soweto in South Africa.  It is home to an estimated population of up to 1.2 million people.  It is less than 1% of the total area of Nairobi yet accounts for over 25% of it's population.  To put it into perspective, consider that an average of 4 or 5 people live in an area that is 10 feet by 10 feet.

If I paint a bad picture of Nairobi, it's because it is not really one of my favorite places.  It is simply too congested, too polluted, and to noisy for my tastes.  Also, I don't like discrepancy in living situations is for the people in Nairobi.  As an mzungu, there would be only certain areas where I could 'safely' live.  These are in the wealthier areas where services are abundant and comparable to a modern city in the US.  I can go to YaYa Shopping Center and have my latte, shop in an upscale department store, get my haircut, and shop at a butcher that carries 'exotic' meat such as duck or filet mignon.  I don't dispute the fact that some people will be wealthier than others, but I sometimes look around me while in Nairobi and consider whether or not my fellow 'mzungus' comprehend the magnitude of wealth discrepancy.

Anyway, back to Lakes Baringo and Bogoria.  Rather than driving straight back to Bungoma, I decided that I would spend my birthday doing a little side expedition.  I had been wanting to go to Lake Nakuru National Park to see the flamingos, but knew that the low water levels have effected the numbers resting there.  Lake Bogoria is only about an hour and a half north of Nakuru and has an equal number of resident flamingos.  It also comes with an entrance fee of about $10 versus the $60 at Lake Nakuru.  Lake Baringo, which lies just north of Bogoria, has a large number of hippos and over 450 species of birds.

The lakes sit down on the floor of the Rift Valley.  Because of the geographical setting, it tends to be much hotter and more humid than other areas of Kenya.  Also, Lake Baringo is unique in that it is a fresh water lake whereas most of the lakes in the Rift Valley are salt water.  I chose to stay at a camp and cottage site called Robert's Camp.  It proved to be a great choice for relaxation.  I was in a cottage that sat about 150 yards from the lake's edge.  It was a two story cottage with a second floor porch that would prove useful for hippo viewing.

The area around the lakes are inhabited by three separate tribes.  The majority are probably the Njemps sub-group of the Maasai.  They are also known as the Ilchamus, but are commonly referred to as Njemps because the early British settlers had trouble pronouncing Ilchamus.  There are also some Turkana and Pokots.  These tribes are all pastoralists and so there tends to be a fair amount of livestock rustling among them.  The Njemps differ from other Maasai in the sense that they also will fish for food.

Lake Baringo was beautiful and the hippos and birds plentiful.  However, because of the severe drought, the hippos are having difficulties getting enough grasses for nourishment.  The owners of the camp have been feeding hay to the hippos through a program with the World Wildlife Fund.  In fact, the week before I had arrived, a small baby hippo was found dead of malnourishment.  The first night there, the owners were drizzling molasses (from a 5 gallon container) over the straw in order to provide additional nourishment.

The benefit of the hippo feeding was that it guaranteed that the hippos would come up on land late in the afternoon and provide wonderful photo opportunities.  The downside of this was that the hippos would come up on land in the late afternoon and then stay in the area for the night.  Hippos are large and mean animals.  They are not to be toyed with.  The first night there, two hippos came right up next to the downstairs patio of my cottage.  I was able to watch them from the comfort of being 10 feet directly above them.  Their scent is quite strong.  The nighttime askaris (watchmen) had to shine flashlights on them from a distance which slowly forced them to move away from the cottage.

On the second day, I drove down to Lake Bogoria.  Aside from the flamingos, there are a number of geysers.  The birds, up close, do not look all that pink.  However, from a distance, the pink highlights in their feathers really shows off.  I also realized that only when they are in flight do you see the really bright pink that is on their wings.  There were literally thousands upon thousands of them in the water.

The geysers were not high shooting ones the way Old Faithful is.  However, they were constantly spewing water rather than doing it in bursts as I think of a geyser.  Other geysers were simply pools of water that looked like a giant pot on the stove.  The heat coming off of them was quite intense.

The area really helped me to see more of the beauty of nature that I think we too often take for granted.  It also showed the effects of mismanagement of natural resources combined with the normal weather cycle and global warming.  Kenya is undergoing such a sever drought that has been exasperated by deforestation of watersheds for cooking.  This saga is being repeated across the world, most notably in the Amazon.  The problem is that the critical point has really hit home in Kenya.  The cattle I did see in the area were absolutely emaciated.  One old man was down to two cattle remaining and they looked as if they were on their last legs.  In a culture where livestock represents ALL of your wealth, this is quite sad.

It is the beginning of October and the short rains should be falling.  The meteorologists have predicted that El Nino will help this year, but it hasn't begun in the Rift Valley.  I'm back in Bungoma where the rains have started up.  I just pray that the same happens soon in the rest of the country.

I was 'forced to drink blood at US varsity'

This was the headline of one of the stories I read in yesterday's issue of The Daily Nation, one of Kenya's main newspapers.  Although the story is still about allegations, rather than determined facts, I cannot help but believe that there is quite a bit of truth to it.  Here are some excerpts from the entire story:

A Kenyan has sued his former college and it athletics coach for allegedly forcing him to drink blood four years ago.

Mr. Charles Ngetich filed suit against Central Connecticut State University and retired track coach Mr. George Kawecki last Thursday alleging he was subjected to three years of racism.

Mr. Ngetich was allegedly forced to drink blood before being kicked out of the athletics team.  He lost his scholarship and was dismissed on September 4, 2009.

The lawyer, Ms. Josephine Miller, says in 2005 the coach told Mr. Ngetich he would like to see him drink blood.

Mr. Ngetich thought he was joking and declined but two weeks later, Mr. Kawecki approached him again, saying he had seen a documentary about a Kenyan group that drinks blood for rituals.

"At a track team meeting... Kawecki produced a cup of blood, told (Ngetich) he was too thin, needed calcium and demanded that he drinks it."

Why do people (allegedly) act in such a way?  People who are in positions of power abuse their position and cause pain to others.  Why do people act in such a racist and despicable manner?  Why do I have to speak out against the actions of some of my fellow Americans?  When will we learn that our actions perpetuate the feelings of dislike against us as a country?

I'd prefer not to write about this at all, but I have been involved in a couple of Facebook discussion threads on speaking out against others who are racially motivated.  I've stated that one has to speak out or he/she is condoning the action.  Those threads were about the vitriolic state of the health care debate, but the principal carries over into this specific story as well.

I cannot purport to know what documentary Coach Kawecki saw, but I have to assume that it might have been one on the Maasai tribe.  There are around 40 separate indigenous tribes in Africa and the Maasai are one of the smaller ones in terms of numbers.  However, they are probably one of the most well recognized ones due to their proximity to the Masai Mara wildlife and adherence to traditional practices and wardrobe.

So, is it a ritual to drink blood?  I wouldn't call it a ritual so much as simply common practice.  The Maasai people are herders and pastoralists.  They herd cows and goats and that is the measure of their wealth.  They do not grow crops.  Because they do not have crops, their diet is "peculiar" when compared to what we eat in the United States.  They rely almost entirely on either meat, dairy or some combination thereof.  Eating meat on a daily basis would mean diminishing their wealth through the killing of animals.  Thus, they rely on milk and blood.  They will "bleed" an animal and drink the blood as a way to get nourishment.  It's simply the way it is.

It is sadly ironic that Ngetich was forced (again, allegedly) to do something that is closely associated with the Maasai.  I did a quick Google search to find out what tribe is associated with the name "Ngetich."  It came back as part of the Kipsigis tribe, which is a sub-tribe of the Kalenjins.  The Kipsigis live mainly in the Kericho District which borders the Maasai lands.  I say, sadly ironic, because there was a lot of post-election violence in this area in January, 2008.

Wesley Ngetich, a well known Kenyan marathon runner, was killed in January 2008 during clashes with some people of the Maasai tribe.  The post-election violence is a matter that is still being dragged out without resolution.  However, the idea that an American coach would assume that ALL Kenyans partake in the same tribal practices shows his ignorance about Kenyan cultures.

I'd like to apologize to Charles for the actions of my fellow countryman.  I hope that he understands that not everyone in the United States condones the actions of the few.  I hope he is able to continue his university studies.  I hope that he can come away from this with more good memories than bad memories.

I Can Make a Difference, But I Can't Do It All

This post may end up sounding like a complaint but I don't really mean it that way.  It's just a way to point out the reality of what I've done, what I am doing, and what I can't do.  It's about the ability to do things with the backing of an organization versus on one's own.

When I first started coming to Kenya, I was volunteering with an organization that had infrastructure and the ability to pool resources.  I had a vehicle for transportation, a generator for a TV and video player, Kenyan staff support, and other volunteers to share the instructional duties.  That  support ended when I left the organization for reasons that I felt were well founded and necessary.  However, in doing so, it meant that I had a lot more responsibility to shoulder on my own.

Last August I did a 5 day Train-the-Trainers program in the village of Kimilili.  It was a class that got passed over by the organization for which I had been volunteering.  I felt that it was not their fault and that they deserved the opportunity so that they could better their community.  The organizer of that group is/was a very strong go-getter and organizer.  She gathered together 23 individuals and made sure that they were present and on time every day.

What did this mean for me.  It meant that I had to shoulder all of the expenses and logistics.  So, I printed off 24 copies of the manual.  I got a friend to accompany me each day for translation.  It meant that I paid him for his time, his transportation, and his lunch.  It meant that I traveled 3 hours each way to Kisumu in order to get "Red Ribbon" pins for each of the participants.  It meant that we spent at least an hour traveling each way to class on a matatu.  It meant that I talked for the whole time (minus the translation) rather than sharing the day with another mzungu.  Bottom line, it meant more energy than I really had to offer.

But, I have to say that it was completely worth it.  The group was incredibly attentive and welcoming.  They asked great questions which kept me on my toes.  I love it when I have to tell a class I don't know the answer but will look it up on the internet and get back to you.

So, fast forward a year and I'll give you an update.  I made arrangements to revisit the group.  After all, I had pictures taken on our final day to hand out.  I had promised to give them a CD with some resource materials, and I wanted and update on how they were getting along.  It took a while to get the date set, but it was finalized and so off I went with my friend/translator.

We arrived in Kimilili about an hour and 15 minutes later than the set time, which was still about a half hour early based on African time.  I was a little surprised by this since Sarah, the organizer, always had people there on the true time.  Slowly people trickled in to the room.  I was becoming a bit perplexed as to why I recognized so few people.  I've trained a lot of people and may not remember names, but I normally recognize faces.  Come to find out, this was a new group of people that she was hoping to train.  Only 3 people, including Sarah, had been through the training from a year ago.

It basically meant that the program I had planned for the day was not going to be entirely relevant.  I had wanted to hear an update on their successes and trials over the year.  I had prepared two exercises that built on the knowledge of what I had taught them a year before.  Instead, I was faced with a group of people eager to learn yet not ready for what I had to teach.  However, I plugged away at what I had prepared and hoped for the best.

Now, here comes the frustration part of my blog.  That frustration is that I can't deliver what people sometimes want from me.  It's not that I wouldn't want to do it all, it's just that I can't.  In the end, Sarah wanted to know when I would be able to train the new group.  Would I be able to do it by the end of the month (September)?  That would have meant doing it this coming week.  Then when I said know, she decided that I would be able to do it by the 8th of October.  Again, I had to tell her that I could not give her an answer as my schedule was not set yet.  Plus, it caught me so off guard that I just needed to buy some time.

I will not be able to go and teach the class.  As much as I would like to do it, the logistics are simply too difficult.  I don't have the energy to do it on my own.  It's one of those answers that I don't like, but it's the answer that is necessary if I am to be of any help at all to others.  I have to recognize my limitations.  I can make a difference in the lives of others, but I can't do it universally.  I have to pick and choose my opportunities.

I will be heading for Nairobi in the morning.  I'[m meeting up with a former volunteer from Canada who is working with a small organizations on the outskirts of Nairobi.  I can help her in the short term.  I'll also do a follow up meeting with two or three of the groups I've worked with in the past.  These are the things that I have the ability to do now.

So, what is my true message in all of this.  I wholeheartedly feel that my actions make the world a better place.  I know that if each individual would "pay it forward" in the way they can, no matter how insignificant it may seem, then the world is a better place.  But, I also know that I can't solve the world's problems on my own and have to know when to say "no."  It's not the way I would like it to be but I'm only human.

Pamoja Tunaweza -- Together We Can

I thought I would take the time to feature an organization that I have trained and worked with in the past.  The group is in it's second reincarnation, but many of the group members are still active.  I say second reincarnation, because they were forced to make some difficult decisions when some of the organizing members acted in a manner that raised some concerns among the primary fundraisers in Canada.  But, I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

On my first trip to Kenya, I met a couple from Canada named Phil and Maggie.  They are/were a wonderful couple committed to the betterment of the world at large.  After they left Bungoma, they attended a large conference in Nairobi where they met a group of former workers from the Ruaraka EPZ.  This group was made up primarily of former textile workers who had tried to bring a union to the workplace.  Their efforts were broken up and they were blacklisted from working in the EPZ.

The EPZ is an export processing zone in which manufacturers receive tax breaks and other incentives.  The work tends to be long hours and difficult work conditions.  The companies have provided clothing to well known American companies such as Walmart, Target, Levi's, etc.  Many would consider the conditions to be that of a sweatshop.

A year ago, I did an HIV Train-the-Trainer class for them.  They wanted to be able to provide support and information to their fellow workers and neighbors.  The training went well and they have continued to put it to use.  Unfortunately, as I said earlier, their were some concerns about the actions of some of the organizing members.  To the credit of Maggie, Phil and their Canadian friends, they remained loyal to the members that remained and were committed.  They reformed officially as Pamoja Tunaweza which means Together We Can.

The main reason for this entry is to bring attention to the working and living conditions within the EPZ.  Here is a link to a slide show that was put together as part of a labor rights workshop.  Many of the people in the photos are individuals that came to the training.  When you go to the webpage you will see the picture to start the slide show.  Below the picture, on the right, you'll see a tiny movie screen and the word "full."  Click on that and you'll be able to view it in the full screen format.  http://www.slideshare.net/davelettinga/the-lives-of-ruaraka-workers

Bits and Pieces

I thought I would do a post of some of the miscellaneous things that I come across in my daily life.  These are things that don't seem to fit anywhere else or aren't big enough to deserve an entry of their very own.

Miriam
What can I say about Miriam other than she is one of the most adorable children you can find.  She's about 2 1/2 now and really coming into her own as a mtoto (child).  When I first met her she was so reluctant to even come near me.  However, that's all changed.  In fact, when I was coming up to the building on the boda-boda after being away for a week, Miriam saw me and started yelling out.  There were some other kids with her so they all started chanted.  The people walking in the street weren't sure what was going on.


Miriam is sitting on the only tricycle I've ever seen in my time here in Kenya.  If you look closely you may notice that it is homemade.  The dolly she has came from my grand niece Lexi.  She's an African American baby doll, but is so light skinned that Miriam thinks she's an mzungu baby.  Like all children, she love me to play airplane with her by lifting her up and swinging her around.  It's pitiful but I certainly can't do it like I used to be able to.

Noontime  Down the Street

I love walking to the store around 12:30 in the afternoon.  Just down the way are the Jamii (Neighborhood) Mosque and the Moi Primary School.  The road becomes such a beehive of activity.  It's a sea of white, gray and red as students and worshipers make their way.

The school uniforms are a fine dark gray plaid with a little bit of red running through it.  The students wear sweaters of a rich red.  They come flowing out of the school yard and into the alley to head home for lunch.  It seems to be an unending flow of children.

The street is also full of Muslims heading to the midday prayer.  Because of Ramadan, attendance seems to be a little higher and the dress a little more traditional.  Men in white flowing gowns (kanzu) with their embroidered hats (kofia).  It's enjoyable to watch the young men walking together, joking, and laughing.  Older men seem to be engrossed in conversations as well.

This amalgamation of people just seems to be soothing to me.  It's simply a wonderful visual to watch.

All Roads Are Not Created Equal

I've already written about the trip I took to visit the paternal grandmother of President Obama.  It was such a great trip in terms of showing that patronage is alive and well in Kenya.  That's not to say it doesn't happen in the US.  After all, what would any appropriations bill be without a little 'pork' thrown in.  But, back to the point at hand.

There is a section of road between Bungoma and Mumias that practically defies a good explanation.  You see, Mumias is home to a very large sugar cane processing plant.  As such, overload trailers of sugar cane ply the road on a regular basis.  Overloaded trailers and poor quality asphalt do not make a good mix.  The road has never been worked on in the three years that I've been coming to Kenya.  Several miles have been reduced to the reddish dirt that is common in these parts.  In fact the matatus spend as much time driving on the side of the road as they do on the actual 'road.'  It's truly unbelievable.

The stretch of road between Kisumu and Bondo, on the other hand, is the polar opposite.  You see, Bondo is the home of Raila Odinga, the current Prime Minister of Kenya.  My guess is he never travels the road between Nairobi and Kisumu.  I'm quite sure that he prefers to fly into Kisumu Airport.  From there, he travels the next 35 miles by road.  That stretch of road is the nicest that I have ever seen.  I don't believe there was a single pothole anywhere.  It was so beautiful.

Stoney Tangawizi

Stoney Tangawizi has got to be one of the best drinks ever invented.  It's a ginger beer that is a product of Coca Cola.  It's not a beer in the sense of being alcoholic since it isn't.  But, it's not light like ginger ale is.  It has such a strong and tangy ginger taste to it and packs a punch.  It is such a great thirst quencher and I wish they had it in the United States.

Are you lying or is it just not quite the truth?

This is something that I could write a book on but will keep it short.  This, obviously is a bit of a generalization, but it happens often enough to make me write about it.  It is difficult to sometimes get an honest answer out of people.  It's not that a person is intentionally lying to you, it's just that they aren't quite telling you the truth.

Say I'm waiting on someone.  I can call them on the phone and they will tell me they are 10 minutes away.  An hour (or two) later they may arrive.  They may say they are in Bungoma but they are really in Kimilili which is about 30 miles away.

More on the Masai Mara

I’m back in Nairobi after three nights in the Masai Mara National Reserve. The trip was absolutely fantastic with lots of wildlife to be seen. I think already wrote an entry from the first couple days, so I’ll just tell you about the last day. We got up early so that we could do the drive to the Mara River where the wildebeest and zebra do the crossing. There was a couple from England that were catching a flight so we needed to make sure we could get them to the air strip for their flight. Anyway, the crossing is probably a good 12-15 miles from our camp and it’s not like you can go 30 miles an hour. Plus, you never know what wildlife you might see on the way. We had both a bush breakfast and lunch packed for us.

The mornings really are beautiful. It can be a bit chilly so layering is a necessity. We watched the sun break over the horizon and slowly make its way up into the sky. The Maasai boys and young men were bringing their cattle back to the homesteads after a night of grazing. Mornings can be quite chilly so you have to dress in layers. We watched 5 hot air balloons drifting over the Mara.

I should back track a bit and explain the difference between Masai and Maasai. The Masai Mara Game Reserve is often called simply "The Mara" which is the Maa word meaning "Mottled" - a reference to the patchy landscape. Both spellings "Masai" and "Maasai" are acceptable although the latter is more usual when referring to the people. The Maasai people are only 2% of the population but are widely recognized because of their proximity to the Mara and promotion within the tourism industry of Kenya.

As we slowly made our way to the river, we saw an abundance of warthogs, zebras, wildebeest, Thomson gazelles, topis (larger gazelle family) and more. We came across a lion and lioness. Because they were not with the pride, we knew that they were mating. In the distance we saw a large gathering of vehicles (8 or so) and knew that there must be something interesting there. It was in a large and very rock savanna area with lots of wildebeest. By lots, I mean thousands scattered across the horizon. These wildebeest had already made the crossing of the Mara River.

We were at the bottom of a large hill and could see the heads of three cheetahs using our binoculars. The cheetahs were at the crest of the hill. The vehicles were at a pretty far distance because the hill was really rocky making it difficult to drive up even with 4 wheel drives. Our driver, Jonathan, slowly found a path up the hill. There were only 2 other vehicles that were able to do the same thing. The reward was spectacular. We were able to get within about 15 yards of the cheetahs. Jonathan knew the trio as three brothers. They were just laying on a little mound and sunning themselves. They’re absolutely beautiful animals and so regal looking. The younger males will generally group themselves into about three or four. This was an exceptional grouping as they were brothers to begin with and had survived childhood. We watched for a good 15 minutes before deciding that we needed to pull ourselves away and continue on.

We drove down the backside of the hill and found a good tree to have our breakfast under. It’s strange to pitch a picnic blanket amidst a bunch of wildebeest and zebra. They weren’t extremely close, but still, pretty amazing. After a great breakfast we continued toward the river.

Next, we saw a lioness who appeared to be going off for a hunt. And, within 30 seconds, we saw that she left behind another lioness who was watching four cubs. They already had a fresh kill of a wildebeest. Only one cub was eating the wildebeest. I think the other cubs and lioness were already full. The youngster that was eating was so full. His tummy looked almost bloated it kept on pulling away at the meat of the hind quarter.

We only had about an hour before having to turn back towards the airstrip so we made our way over to the river which was only a few hundred yards away. There was an area on a small cliff where we were able to get out of the car again. (I guess I should mention that generally you can never get out of a vehicle. That being said, there are a few exceptions to the rule but the driver/guide will still maintain a good lookout) We could look down into the river where there were probably about 30 hippos and some crocodiles. The hippos are funny as they take turns raising their snouts out of the water and take deep breaths before sinking back down in.

We could see wildebeest and zebra gathering on the opposite side of the river but it didn’t appear that they were going to make a crossing. Reluctantly, we decided that we needed to leave to head back. No sooner had we pulled away from the bank than we saw wildebeest starting across the bank at a location about 200 yards from us. We quickly drove over and were able to watch a medium size herd starting across. It was a mixture of zebra and wildebeest. I have to say that it is a pretty aggressive movement. The animals plunge into the river and start swimming across. All of the sudden you could see one of the wildebeest struggle to swim. It’s head would suddenly drop under the water for a few seconds and then come back up. It was apparent that a crocodile had gotten it from underneath. The animal was putting up a good fight. As the herd on the other side saw this, they began to slow their entry into the water. Those already in, just seemed to swim faster. Pretty soon you could see another crocodile swimming towards the struggling wildebeest. That was the final straw. Once the crocodile reached the wildebeest, it opened its jaws and took in the whole head. The crossing had stopped for a while and we had to continue on.

After dropping of John and Wendy at the airport, we had our lunch and then slowly drove back to the camp. It was about 2:30 and most of the animals are in the trees hiding from the full force of the sun. We were back at the camp by 4PM. It was a really long day but was not over yet. The other couple was hoping to get some Maasai bracelets and Jonathan had agreed to find them outside of the curio shops. I asked if I could ride along with him and he agreed.

We went to the village where his future bride lives. She is in school and so I didn’t get to meet her. Jonathan confided that he wasn’t sure if he wanted her but she was chosen for him by his father. There were about 15 small children and I was the novelty. We were invited into a small boma. They are different from those in Western Province. They are still made of the same mud material but are much smaller (headroom) and smokier. I had to stoop to get in the door. We sat in a tiny vestibule that had a door into the main room and then a door into the corral where I could see some baby sheep.


From there we drove to Jonathan’s homestead. It’s always hard to keep track of relatives as the extended family is treated differently from the way we handle them. For instance, we met an uncle on the road who referred to Jonathan as his son. That’s the way it’s done since the extended family unit is so strong. As best as I can figure it, Jonathon’s father has 3 wives as does his grandfather. Jonathan is one of 10 children but I’m not sure if that is the total among the 3 wives or not. The family compound is a group of homes arranged in a circle. Around the perimeter is a circle of shrub limbs than from a protective barrier. Within the outer circle is another circle of shrubs. These “fences” are there to keep out the lions, hyenas, and other predators. It is dangerous to live in this area. At 20, Jonathan was attacked by a lion while out herding the cattle one night.

The Circle of Life Illustrated

The flight from Wilson Airport to the Okiombo (O-key-ohm-bow) airstrip is only 35 minutes yet the change in settings can be extraordinary. Wilson is the smaller of Nairobi's two airports and sits quite close to the city center. One fights the morning traffic and congestion to make it to the plane. Okiombo airstrip, on the other hand, sits within the the Masai Mara National Reserve. It's just a small maram, a clay and pebble mixture, strip in the open savanna.

I was met at that airport by Dee, a Maasai moran, who is one of the drivers and guides for my Tipilikwana Mara Camp where I am staying. The camp actually sits just across the Talek River which is one of the reserves official boundaries. However, animals don't respect boundaries, so sighting are possible from the camp. The drive is only about 10-12 miles, but can take 30-40 minutes.

Nature made itself known within minutes of pulling away from the airstrip. We encountered a small herd of Thomson Gazelle. A large warthog rans across the road not more than 50 yards ahead of the Range Rover. However, not too far in the distance we saw a small group of vehicles stopped. This was the tell tale sign that something good was up ahead.

As we drew near, I saw that it was a mother cheetah with her three cubs trailing her. The mother had a baby Thomson gazelle dangling from her mouth much like a mother cat would be carrying a kitten. I assumed that the gazelle had met already its end. She laid down in the grass and the cubs came up rumbling and tumbling around her.

Dee said that they had watched the gazelle be born the day before I arrived. He knew this was the same one as it was in the same spot and the mother could not have moved far with such a young baby. The cheetah cubs were still covered with a downy coat across their backs. They are about two months old and won't lose that fur for another month or two.

As we were about to pull away, the gazelle started running away, if you can actually call it running. The cheetah cubs then chased after it and one of them caught it and brought it back to the mother. Dee explained that the mother had only injured the gazelle and released it on purpose. It's one of the ways that the youngsters are taught to hunt.

We moved on to the camp but not before seeing animals such as topi, wildebeest, and elands. These are all within the antelope like family. We also saw an ostrich, numerous zebras, and hundreds of Thomson gazelles.

The camp proved to be beautiful and welcoming. Certainly a wonderful way to spend a few days. It's actually the next morning after my arrival and I've been out on two game rides. I've got great stories to tell once I find the time to get them typed up. Bear with me as I do this.

Visiting President Obama's Paternal Grandmother

Where do I begin in regards to the very surreal visit that I paid to Obama's paternal grandmother, Mama Sarah? I guess I should start at the beginning so that I can bore you with some of the minute details. Nah, I won't bore you but I will start with some minute details. [As an aside, if you have Google Earth, you can type in any of these locations and they will show up. In fact, when I put in Bondo, I can actually zoom in and see the hotel that I stayed in. Not all areas have enough resolution for zooming, but the town itself does.]

When I was in Kenya the last time I had done a training in Kasarani near Nairobi. It was for a group of workers from the Ruaraka EPZ. EPZ's are Export Processing Zones. They are tax protected areas where industries can manufacture products quite cheaply. It's where some of the clothing for Walmart, Target, etc. come from. Working conditions are typically very poor. Here is a link to a slide show on the Ruaraka EPZ http://www.slideshare.net/davelettinga/the-lives-of-ruaraka-workers.

One of the attendees was a young man named Kevin. His home is in Bondo which is only about 10-15 miles from the home of Mama Sarah. He is back in Bondo and had invited me down to meet an HIV+ support group to do my "meet and greet." That's not a real good name for what I do, but it's not really a training either. It's more of an opportunity for me to meet a group of people either infected or affected by HIV and hold a simple discussion. The stigma here is still quite strong and so to have a mzungu actually disclose his status is very powerful.

Since I was going to be in the area, I told Kevin that I also wanted to go and visit the birth place of Obama's father. He said that would be easily arranged. I knew that it had become a bit of a tourist stop for the few people that make it to this far corner of Kenya. The area is in the Southwest corner of Kenya and lies about 10 miles inland from Lake Victoria and 20 miles from the Ugandan border. It's people are from the Luo tribe.

One does not go to visit such an important person without taking a present. Okay, maybe one does, but not this one. Even before leaving Bungoma, I talked to my friends to decide what would be an appropriate gift. I had already thought of a chicken and sugar. A chicken because animals are always good gifts and a chicken is easily transported. The sugar because the price of sugar has almost doubled recently. So, after consultations, my list got refined a bit. The sugar definitely remained but some salt was also added. The chicken was good, but I was told that it should be a big hen and should be a white hen.

I wish I could have been a bird and flown to Bondo. It is only about 50 miles as the crow flies, but at least 110 as the matatu drives. It's probably a little longer since the road is so curvy, but that's my best estimate. One travels south to Mumias, east to Kakamega, south to Kisumu and then back west to Bondo. It also means that one changes matatus a couple of times. But, none the less, I made it to Bondo in about 6 hours. Yep, that's right... 110 miles in 6 hours. I had to change matatus 3 times which means waiting between each change for the matatu to fill up. To be fair, I spent an hour in Kisumu eating, so really it was only 5 hours.

My afternoon in Bondo meant doing a little tour and also looking for a chicken. I went to meet Kevin's family who live about 4 miles into the interior. The interior means anyplace that is not really a town. I met his mother and 4 brothers, his grandfather, some uncles, a grandmother, aunts, etc. It was a big deal to have an mzungu visit them. This is something that I've never been totally comfortable with in the sense that I'm afforded a level of distinction that is not necessarily "earned."

Kevin's grandmother had a number of chickens that she was willing to sell. However, it was decided that I should not present a hen, but that it should be a rooster. So, they pointed out one of the white roosters to me and we then agreed on a price. As the rooster strutted around the yard, it appeared really huge. I was to decide the next morning that it wasn't quite so big and scary.

I woke up Wednesday morning and had breakfast and was ready to go by 8:30. Kevin's brother had caught a ride into town with the rooster in a basket. I had the sugar and salt and was ready to go. We had already arranged for a piki-piki (motorcycle) to transport us to the homestead. it's roughly 10-15 miles by dirt road to Mama Sarah's homestead.

We arrived at the gate of the compound. Because of the popularity, a Kenyan Police officer is on duty and you must present ID and sign in to the "official" visitor's book. We were a bit early since, unbeknown to us, she does not receive visitors until 10AM. We went to the sitting area under the tree where chairs are set out for visitors. The compound is certainly well kept. Her house is a permanent structure, meaning brick covered with cement. There were a number of outbuildings. It was a beehive of activity with a woman milking a cow, some sweeping the yard, etc.

At about 10, a woman came out and introduced herself as the interpreter for Mama Sarah. Mama Sarah knows very little English and prefers to speak in her native tongue of Dholuo. Kevin had at least taught me how to say hello and how are you in Dholuo. When Mama Sarah came out and I greeted her in her tongue, she chuckled, greeted me back and then commented to the interpreter that she was surprised.

There was not a lot to ask or say to Mama Sarah. Basically, I made the simple comments about how proud she must be of her grandson. I explained what I was doing in Kenya. I asked about the two quite prominent graves near the sitting area. One, which was made of white porcelain tile is Barack Sr. and the second one is the grandfather.

It was then time to present the gifts. As luck would have it, as soon as I went to hand the rooster to Mama Sarah, it pooped in my hand. Although not pleasant to discuss, I was at least grateful to find out that a rooster's poop is firm rather than watery so I just let it drop onto the ground. I found out that she spoke to her assistant about how nice and larger the rooster was and that they had recently lost many chickens to illness and so it was a great gift. A group of nine Kenyan men had arrived at the compound to visit so I said my good byes and headed off.

It's amazing to think that one can just arrive at the compound and meet with Mama Sarah. As I said, the area is fairly remote. The nearest city is Kisumu and even it does not see a huge number of foreign visitors. Those traveling to Kisumu are usually their to do work for some organization. However, 3 days prior to my visit a group of 8 people from Portland had visited. One signed as an RN, so I'm guessing that maybe they were a medical team. I also saw signatures from a group of Japanese, someone from the Netherlands, and someone from Moscow.

All in all, it was so surreal and will be a great memory to maintain.

Greetings and Signs of Affection

This photo is probably one of my favorite photos ever taken since I began traveling to Kenya. It was taken at a celebration at a training school where we donated an embroidery machine to the sewing class. These two young men played in the local band which consisted of a traditional one-string banjo like instrument, drums made from various sizes of plastic drums, and a hand held 6 or 8 string "harp." I think that I like it so much because it shows the true warmth and camaraderie that is often displayed among people. This lead me to decide to write about how one comes to be this close and affectionate.

Many tourists coming to Kenya are taught that to say hello they simply say "jambo." And the person being greeted will reply back using jambo. To me, I think this is probably similar to putting a t-shirt on that says TOURIST in giant letters. Greetings in Kenya, are extremely important and can be much more complex than simply saying jambo.

The true form of the greeting would be to say "Hujambo" or "Hamjambo" if talking to a group. It literally means "Is nothing the matter with you?" In other words, asking the question in the negative. The proper response would be "Sijambo" or "Hatujambo" if a group. Or, in translation "Nothing." Although this is an acceptable greeting, people often will ask more detailed questions that are meant to be a bit more familiar.

So, for me, I tend to use the term "Habari ya..." This means "What is the news of..." Common things would be Habari ya asubhi or What is the news of the morning? The ending word can be nyumbani (home), watoto (children) or kazi (work). The response given to this question is technically "Nzuri" or "Nzuri sana" which means good or very good. Like in the US, even if you aren't doing well, you tend to say Nzuri none the less. Now, I said that technically, it's nzuri. You'll very seldom hear the N because everyone uses an M, making it mzuri. Don't ask me why this is so, it just is. Other responses that basically mean the same thing would be "Poa" or "Njema" or "Salama."

Now, on to handshakes. These are probably one of the most important aspects of a proper Kenyan greeting. Failure to shake hands could be interpreted as a great sign of disrespect. The only exception that I can think of would possibly be shaking the hand of a Muslim woman as that can be disrespectful in their culture. This part of Kenya is predominantly Christian, but there is still a fair sized Muslim population. So, if I am making introductions, I will wait to see if the woman extends her hand before I do. If it has been a long time since you last saw the person, you may shake hands for an extended period of time as you put your faces cheek to cheek on each side.

A note on greeting people who you need to show respect because of age, title, or something else. Addressing a respected male as Bwana or Baba would be normal and a female would be addressed as Mama. Now, I know in the US calling someone Mama could get you a strange look at the least, here it is respectful. The other thing that you do as you shake hands is take your left hand and cross it over and place it lightly somewhere above the elbow of your right arm as you are shaking.

Okay, you've come to visit Kenya and you've got the greetings all down pat. You may think you're ready to go about your visit, but you need to know a few more things so as not to offend someone or get surprised by what they might do with you. Showing affection in public is something that members of the opposite sex very seldom do. This is changing somewhat in the larger cities, but it is extremely rare to see a couple or husband and wife walking down the street hand in hand. It's just not done.

Now, seeing members of the same sex showing affection is a completely different story. I think maybe that's why I like the picture I've posted so much. It shows the ease with which friends show warmth to each other. It's take me some time to get used to a male friend grabbing my hand and walking down the street together kind of swinging or hands together in step with our walk. Or, we may sit together and he will put his arm around me as he talks to me and asks of the news. This would be common among two female friends as well.

I remember on my first trip when I was saying my goodbyes to one of the class organizers that I had worked with for about 6 weeks. He grabbed me by the hand and walked me over into a corner of the church yard where we were. He proceed to tell me how grateful he was that I was there, wishing me a safe journey, etc. The entire time he was doing this he was continuing to hold my hand while he softly stroked my forearm with his other hand. It was such a new and strange feeling . Doing that in public in some parts of the US could lead to getting the crap beat out of you.

So, how do I wrap up this little blog entry. I guess I wrap it up by saying that I have a copy of that photo on my bulletin board just above the desk where I am sitting. It's one of several pictures that I have posted there as a reminder of some of the simple things that make me happy here. That one in particular shows me that it is a wonderful thing to be able to show affection to a friend in a sweet yet simple way.

Common Foods and Crops

Okay, some of you that follow me on Facebook may know that I've become somewhat (okay, maybe very) addicted to the virtual growing of vegetables and livestock on Farmville. Let's just say it's one of my guilty little pleasures to take my mind away to more mundane things in life. I've currently got a nice selection of produce ripening in my lush fields. The joys of virtual farming include the guarantee of lush, bountiful harvests as long as you click your mouse within the prescribed length of time allowed within the program's algorithms. If you don't, then your crops wither and die.

If only things in Kenya were as simple as a click of the mouse. Farming here is quite labor intensive. Most people still farm by hand, quite like I do with my little hoe on Farmville. The big difference being that it takes muscles and energy here in Kenya and a push of my index finger on Farmville. I never have to worry about whether my crops will suffer from a drought the way much of Kenya is currently suffering. I don't have to worry about getting my livestock to market through lands that are void of water. It all just magically happens for me.

Food prices have been increasing steadily over the last couple years. Prices first rose after the post-election violence and have continued to increase during the current drought. It's estimated that by the end of the year, up to 10 million, or one third of the population may need food aid. There is not a day that goes by in which there is not at least one article in the paper about the crisis.

So, what does the average Kenyan eat on a daily basis? It's a diet that is heavy on starch. There's a lot of corn (maize), cornmeal, rice, potatoes and beans consumed. Certainly, there are vegetables available. Meat, poultry and seafood are available at varying degrees based on location and income. For me, one of the wonderful things of being in Kenya is the availability of good fruit. So, let me decide where to start with the descriptions.

I would have to say that ugali is probably the main staple of the Kenyan diet. It is basically Kenya's version of our grits, Italy's polenta, or Zimbabwe's sadza. It is corn meal that is cooked with salt and water until it becomes very thick. It's then turned out onto a plate and formed into a round cake-like form. It's then served with the rest of the meal and is used as the base or filler. One breaks off a piece of the ugali, scoops up something else on the plate, and then pop it into the mouth. This is finger food at it's best (or worst, depending on your tastes). Personally, I enjoy ugali but it's an acquired taste since it is pretty bland. Many people will not feel that a meal is complete unless they have had some ugali.

Apparently, one can get an idea of what part of the country you are from based on how you treat your ugali. I was having lunch at a traditional Kenyan restaurant in Nairobi with a group of friends. Within the group we had some Bukusu, Kikuyu, Luhya and Luo. These are all different tribes of Kenya. One of the people started laughing and comment that I was becoming a Luhya. Apparently, Luhya's will tend to break off their piece of ugali, roll it into a ball, and then put a small indent into one side before scooping up the other food. This to me was just natural since I had learned to eat my ugali by parroting the people I was around.

Rice is another popular dish. It's eaten in place of ugali. Sometimes, a family will make crazy rice. This is simply rice with whatever vegetables are available and maybe some small amount of meat. Often, masala spices are added. This shows the influence of the Asians. Note, that Asians in Kenya are who we, in America, would call Indians. The Asians were brought into the country years ago by the British colonizers to be used to build the railroad. They've become an important part of the economy here and are often the business owners.

Beans, beans, the magical fruit, the more you eat, the more you.... well, maybe some of you know the rest of that little childhood song. Beans are probably second to ugali in being a staple. The most common bean is basically a red bean that is sometimes cooked alone and sometimes cooked with maize. When they are cooked with maize, it's called githeri. Githeri began as a staple dish among the Kikuyu but has become a staple dish across many tribes. Other beans are green grams (lentils) and cow peas. They're a good source of protein in the Kenyan diet.

Sukuma wiki is the number one vegetable eaten here. It's our word for kale. It's very finely shredded, what a chef would call a chiffonade. It's sauteed with oil and maybe some chopped onion of tomato when available. It would not be uncommon for a family to eat just some ugali and sukuma wiki and call the meal complete. I end up bastardizing mine by added chili sauce. Face it, I eat my southern greens in the US with hot sauce so why not do the same here?

Other common vegetables eaten and grown are carrots, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, and cabbage. It's not a huge variety, but it does the job. Certainly, the Nairobi grocery stores carry a much larger selection of imported vegetables. However, even within Nairobi, most of these vegetables are out of the price range of the average Kenyan. The grocery stores of the city are meant to be used by the expatriates and the upper class Kenyans. There is a small middle class that would shop there as well.

Fruits, now they can be heaven. Pineapples, mangoes, oranges, bananas, papaya and watermelon are all readily available. A smaller size pineapple costs me about $1.20 and is so sweet and juicy. I know I will upset one Hawaiian reader, but they beat the freshest pineapple from our 50th State. Most of the bananas are what I will call finger size bananas. They are small and very sweet. I'd like to ask Sunkist what they do to make their oranges so orange. A ripe orange here is still more green than orange, but sweet none the less.

Meat and poultry is consumed but not on a routine basis. It is simply too expensive for the average family. Lake Victoria tilapia is also easily purchased. I can buy a quarter kilo (half pound) of meat with no bones for $1. Even I don't buy it too often. Chicken tends to be quite tough and something I only get occasionally in a restaurant. I just don't know how to pluck and gut a proper chicken, nor do I want to know. And, without a refrigerator, I couldn't store the left overs. People also consume goats here. Eggs are freshly laid and bought by the piece. One egg costs me 8 kenyan shillings or about 11 cents.

So, there you have it. The basic foods of the Kenyan diet. I end up sticking to a similar diet as the native Kenyan but have to supplement a little bit. I sometimes feel that I struggle to get enough protein. With my HIV medication, I have to worry about my cholesterol. As much as I know I can get protein from the eggs, I limit the amount I eat. Breakfast is often the childhood standby of peanut butter and jam on bread.

The Passing of a Friend

The old saying, "Be careful what you wish for," was all too true for me this morning. On my Facebook status, I posted "John Motter needs a another cup of coffee and then needs to write a new blog entry. Trying to decide what the topic should be. What do y'all want to hear about.?

A few minutes later, Paul responded by saying "Usually, the more mundane, the more interesting. Grocery shopping. Local news. Last evening's social interaction. It's all interesting from this far-away vantage point."

Then, I got an IM from my friend Russell who is now living in Vermont. He wanted to call me, but not knowing I was in Kenya, he had to give me the sad news via the internet. A friend of mine from my Seattle days died several weeks ago. His name was Glen McGear and he would have turned 46 on October 10th. After some tears, some typing, and some more tears, Russell and I said our goodbyes. I don't have a lot of information on the final cause of death for Glen, but am sure that it was of complications from HIV/AIDS.

You might wonder why I mention Paul saying to write about the mundane. It's certainly not because Glenn's life was mundane as it was far from that. It's not that his death is coming from a far-away vantage point. After all, Glenn was living in Seattle at the time of his death. I guess it's because deaths from HIV/AIDS continue to be all too common, all to "normal." Does anyone still become shocked by them? We should, but instead, I think we tend to mourn the death of that person and think it's just the cycle of life. And, maybe, just maybe, it is.

Everyone put on this earth will live and then will die. Some people die as babies from malnutrition, malaria, or dysentery. That's certainly a common happening here in Kenya as well as many other parts of the world. Some individuals are taken later in their childhood or youth from childhood forms of cancer, child abuse, or vehicular accidents. Some of us make it into our 30s or 40s, and then others live to a "very ripe old age." My one great grandmother made it to 103. Trust me, I'm glad I have some of her genes.

The issue for me this morning, is how do we put the memory of a person into perspective in such a way that we honor them. With Glen, I have some very fond memories of laughter and camaraderie. I have some memories of arguments as we both had strong personalities. But, I think what I will remember going forward is the activist spirit that he delivered as a result of living with HIV. He wanted to use his experience as a way to improve life for others. I don't think he did this for a pat on the back. He did it because, deep down, he was a very special person.

I first met Glen shortly after I moved to Seattle in January of 1996. Of course, I was still drinking then and we met while I was having cocktails in a local bar. Glen was a big person in many ways. First, he was tall, probably about 6'6" with an outgoing personality to match. He was already on disability by then. We hit it off and remained friends during my time in Seattle.

I have to say that as I hit my bottom, I let some of my friends slip to the side. Glen was one of those people. Yes, we still saw each other occasionally, but I was to wrapped up in the drama of my life. It was several years later that we were able to reconnect.

I was already involved as one of the Oregon spokespersons for HIV Stops With Me. The Seattle campaign recruited Glen to be on their campaign. We were able to joke about him being the "black" slot and I was the "former alcoholic/addict" slot. We made a great pair. Being on that campaign meant that our faces were on the internet, on bill boards, and TV ads (for Glen). We put ourselves out in the community as the "Faces of HIV." It wasn't always a popular stance. Sometimes I said things publicly or in print that got the ire of some in my community. Glen did the same thing. You see, the campaign was not about the right or wrong way to behave. It was about sharing how we behaved and what our thoughts were on that behavior.

Glen was featured in the client spotlight for Lifelong AIDS Alliance in Seattle. You can read his blurb at http://www.llaa.org/glen. He volunteered at Bailey-Boushay House. This organization served as both a residential care center and a day center for people living with HIV. Glen did a lot of other things that no one will ever know about. As Russell said to me this morning, "Glen was my sounding board."

Glen struggled in the last couple of years. He had serious bone necrosis (death) as a result of being on his medications for so long. He was having heart issues. Yes, he did complain at times. Yes, he did get depressed at times. But, he kept on fighting and struggling.

I have lost so, so many friends from this disease. It's never easy to hear the news. It always makes you look at your stage of the illness and wonder what is in the future. But today, I'm trying to look at the dignity with which Glen lived his life. He never made apologies for his illness. I'll truly miss him.

Some Good News From Zimbabwe

It's been nearly a year since my trip to Zimbabwe, but it has been on my mind quite a bit lately. This is partly due to the emails I've been reading about Veronica's son, Kudzai, traveling to Portland to attend school. It's also due to the emails about the painting over of a beautiful mural depicting the community of St. Werburgh's in Chigadora Zimunya outside of Mutare. Regardless of the impetus behind Zimbabwe being towards the forefront of my mind, I felt a need to followup with Veronica.

Veronica Nyoni is the remarkable woman responsible for getting the Mutare side of the Portland-Mutare Sister City relationship. She is Head Mistress at the school and overseas pretty much all of the other activities in one form or another. She has the help of a wonderful husband and family and a strong community. I can't say enough about her strength and faith in an environment that is not always welcoming to hope.

The picture shown here was taken on the day our delegation visit the school and clinic last October. The two young girls in the picture are Tania, age 11, and Kudakwashe, age 13. They are both living with HIV. At the time of our visit, Kuda was quite ill and I really didn't expect her to live much longer. Her belly was so swollen which I was told was a result of her system shutting down. However, this morning I had an email from Veronicah giving me the news that both girls are still living and continuing with hope and faith.

The photograph is just one of a series of photos taken as I talked to these young girls. I was down on my knees so that we could see each other eye to eye. I didn't want to be the imposing adult, making them look up to me. I wanted to be as close to their equal as possible. It was a hard time emotionally. I can remember telling them to remain strong and keep their hope alive. I didn't make the promise that things would be better as I didn't want a promise to be broken. However, I knew there can always be hope.

Their lives are not easy. Tania was already living in a child headed household having lost both of her parents. She had bounced around a bit among relatives and eventually came to be in the St. Werburgh community where teachers can help to oversee the family. Currently, she is suffering from a serious skin rash.

Kuda has had a very difficult year. She had already lost both of her parents and was living with her grandmother. As is often the case, the grandmother had become the primary caregiver to Kuda and her two brothers and her older sister. But, unfortunately, the grandmother died leaving them as a child headed household. Kuda went terribly sick after the death of her grandmother.

Being a child headed family challenges the taking of her medication. The sister and clinic staff have come up with a method of making sure the medicines are taken at school. The teachers have also been trained to counsel and are giving additional psycho-social support. They've even begun school based support groups.

What is the demand for such support groups? The school currently has 984 students enrolled. Roughly 44% have lost at least one of their parents. This means that, for many, the remaining parent is also living with HIV/AIDS. It also means that many of the students are HIV infected. From May to the 2nd of August, 3 children died and 7 remain gravely ill.

It's a constant struggle and an uphill battle. However, the people of this community have an enduring faith that times will improve. The struggle will make them stronger. It is a faith that I continue to be in awe of as I struggle through my own daily life. It provides me with a nourishment of strength that I sometime forget that I possess. I'm blessed to have experienced their warmth and comfort.

The Cacophony of Noise or the Harmony of Sound?

After being up for several hours this morning, I laid down to take a short nap. Upon awakening, I listened to the sound drifting in through my open window. I realized how at times it comes through as a wonderful melody while other times it is harsh on the ears. I decided that after several pretty sobering entries, today was the day for a little more lighthearted discussion of small town life in Bungoma.

Initially, I wanted to discuss the "cacophony" of noise. However, I thought I'd better clarify the meaning of the word in order to insure that I would be using it correctly. So often, as I type away on this blog, I know that I am creating a host of grammatical errors that would make any editor cringe. For whatever reason, correctness was important to me today.

The definition of cacophony I finally settled on was the following: harsh, inharmonious collection of sounds; dissonance. As an example, "The beautiful harmony of the symphony was well enjoyed after the cacophony coming from the stage as the orchestra warmed up." This example was perfect as it really exemplifies how I feel at different times. I don't always know when the warm up ends and the symphony begins.

I probably live about 200 yards, at most, from the Jamii (Community) Mosque. As such, the first sounds of the morning come through my closed windows at about 5AM. I don't always wake up to it, but even when I do, it usually comes as a reassuring sound to the start of a new day. I don't understand the language of the morning call to prayer, but it serves melodic sound. The imam's voice chants over the loudspeaker throughout the day, but it's that first one that I notice most often.

My apartment building is a beehive of activity every morning. It is a 2 story structure with the rooms opening onto a inner courtyard. The upper story has an open area where laundry can be done and hung out to dry. It's also the area for people to wash their dishes if they are in a room that is without it's one bathroom and shower. You see, some people share a communal bath and shower area. This open area becomes a community living room for visiting and gossiping. My bedroom window looks out directly onto this area.

By 7AM, two of the young bachelors were busy doing their laundry. They are both matatu conductors responsible for collecting the money and paying for the petrol and the driver as they ply their routes. Since they work 6 days a week, I always know I will find them doing laundry early on Sundays so that they can then head off to church. There is the sound of sloshing water, talking and laughing, and sweeping of water towards the drain.

Fast forwards a short while longer and it's the turn of people doing dishes. Are they left over from last night or this morning's sufuria (cooking vessel) used for making chai? Other folks come out brushing their teeth. It's amazing how loud that can sound at times. The small watotos (children) have woken up and are on the first level playing and laughing. Mothers call to them but they must not listen as I here them call once again.

Soon, I hear singing and praying coming over the loud speaker from the church a hundred yards behind the building. The Kiswahili is unknown to me for the most part. I know the meaning of Baba and Jehovah but the rest is lost to me. This morning's sermon seems to be a bit more fire and brimstone than what is normal. Or, at least the tenor and intonation implies such.

Off in the distance, I can hear the bleating of sheep and goats. They are tied up along the road where they can graze on the meager grass and sift through the garbage that will be collected tomorrow by the City Council wagon that serves as the garbage truck. The cat in heat has returned to the roof above me. I heard the thud of it pouncing above my head at the same time it let out that irritable cry that bothered me so much last night.

The clanking of the workers in the mechanic yard behind me has started up again. It is a slow day in the yard. Many of the workers are probably in church, but the few remaining have started to work a little later than is usual.

Is all of this, by definition, harsh or inharmonious collection of sounds? Not today. Today it is relaxing and reassuring to my ears. It lets me know that all seems normal in my little building, in my little world. It's been a wonderful welcome to the start of the day. I know that I can add my own sounds of washing dishes and sweeping my floors. It lets me know that I'm at peace.

Visit to Rwanda -- One Year Later

I was going through my old emails trying to find something specific when I came across an email I had written on June 17, 2008. It originally went to my friends at Cascade AIDS Project and details my thoughts on my visit to Rwanda. I've never publicly posted much about that trip. This email really captures the essence of my time in Rwanda. In the past year, I've continued to think about the genocide. I've read numerous books and accounts of the atrocities that occurred what is now 15 years ago. I still continue to struggle with comprehending it all.

Could you please forward this to all staff. I know that it is very long, but if people could be patient as they read it I would greatly appreciate it. I recently returned from a 10 day trip through Uganda and into Rwanda. So much of what I saw in Rwanda exhibits what the messaging of CAP has been over the past year. The need to stamp out discrimination, racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. has never been more present in my mind than it is now. I have to say that the images burned in my brain from Rwanda make much of what I’ve experienced... seem like nothing. Also, I have to say that I have not re-read the message as I normally do before hitting the send button. Even writing it spontaneously has brought about emotions that I don’t want to raise again at the moment.

One of the volunteers that was here with me in the fall talked me into going to Rwanda for gorilla trekking with her. She was the nurse that actually helped in the initially saving of my life when I became sick last January. Her “tour of duty” is up and she is spending her last month travelling around and visiting sites. Despite the extreme cost ($500 for one hour of viewing), we decided to go and see the Mountain Gorillas that were made famous by the movie Gorillas in the Mist. It was a long, 2 day overland trip by matatu (minivan), bus, and then a shared taxi (Toyota Corolla with 7 people in it). To visit the gorillas one must hike up through terraced farmland and then through dense jungle. The altitude is about 8,000 feet above sea level, and was no easy task for me to complete. However, in the end, it was worth every dollar and calorie spent in getting there.

We had chosen to see the Susa Group which is the largest of the habituated groups. It contains 38 gorillas, one of which is a 6 month old baby. It also contains 2 year old fraternal twins which are VERY rare as they usually do not survive. The Susa Group, of course, is also the most difficult to reach. The gorillas are a very endangered species and it is estimated that approximately 750 exist in the mountain regions that straddle Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. All I can say is that the experiences was completely awe inspiring. Although you are not permitted to be within 7 meters (yards), it was often impossible to not be closer. At one point, I could have reached out and touched a gorilla that simply sat there and looked at me with eyes and facial expressions that were all too human. We were able to see 22-24 of the 38 gorillas in this group. The privilege that I felt to be able to witness these divine creatures will forever be a highlight of my life.

I could go on and on about the gorillas, but that is not the real subject of this email. The gorilla trek simply serves as a reminder that Mary and I started our Rwandan travels at the highest point of Rwanda’s history rather than the lowest. The remaining week that we travelled throughout Rwanda only served as a constant reminder of the cruelty and inhumanity of mankind when the individuals, neighbors, or the world sit on the side and do not speak up against what is wrong.

Rwanda is roughly the size of Maryland and is referred to as the country of “Milles Collines” which means Thousand Hills. And, that is probably an understatement. The beauty of the land with its rolling hills, stepped farmland, winding roads, and greenery is spectacular. Also, because the roads and infrastructure are so advanced, it was relatively easy to travel. Rwanda’s official language is “Kinyarwanda” followed by French and then a smattering of English. There were many signs on the road that I could not read, but they all had one thing in common. Every village, regardless of size, had a sign that had two hands reaching upwards and the word “jenocide” somewhere in the writing. Also, because the genocide would have been going on during the time that we were visiting, many of the villages had special signs or flags being displayed.

I guess that I should give a brief history of the genocide in Rwanda. Although there have been genocides with more deaths, Rwanda’s is historical in the numbers that were killed in such a short period of time. Starting in April, 1994 and lasting for 100 days, somewhere between 800,000 and 1,000,000 people were killed. The majority of those killed were the minority Tutsis. Others killed were Hutus who helped to save the Tutsis. I won’t go into a long history of the Rwandans except to say that the Hutus and the Tutsis coexisted peacefully for many years. During colonization, first by the Germans, and then by the Belgians the divide was created. Rwandans were actually “assigned” to a tribe based on factors such as eye position and coloration, size of forehead, length of nose, etc. The Tutsis were said to be more intelligent and thus given better jobs and positions for work. The majority Hutus also tended to be more agrarian. This division brewed for many years before propaganda and politics led to the beginning of the massacre. Enough on that, as there are many books that you can read if you’d like more history.

While in the capital of Kigali, we visited the main Genocide Memorial. You can read more about it at http://www.aegistrust.org/index.php?option=content&task=view&id=211&Itemid=215. The rainy morning we visited set the mood for what we were to see. The center tells the history of the Rwandan genocide but also focuses on 5 other historical genocides such as the Nazi’s, Serbian, Khmer Rouge. The center of mass graves containing the remains of 250,000 people! These were human beings, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters that were shot, butchered with machetes, or thrown against walls until their skills were crushed. The center showed footage of survivors as they described how they survived or how their families were killed. I’ve been to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC but even that did not compare to what I witnessed here.

The following day we took a day trip to Butare and then out to a technical school in Gykongoro where the Murambi Memorial is located. This technical school was a place where people saught safe haven. It sits atop a hill that looks out in all directions at beautiful hillsides. It was also the sight of the butchering of 40,000 people in a matter of 48 hours. The mass graves there contain these 40,000 and an additional 10,000 bodies collected from the surrounding area. I was not sure if I would be prepared for this memorial. The guide book described it as a bit macabre and not appropriate for everyone. You see, they have taken about 1,500 of the bodies and preserved them in limestone powder. In effect, they have mummified them. The bodies are kept in 24 of the classrooms on raised platforms. Mary and I only saw about 12 of the 24 rooms as we could not take seeing any more.

The scene was so distressing to witness. Even as I type this email, I am near tears at the images burned in my brain and the strange smell that stayed with me for hours afterwards. Most of the individuals had been made to undress before they were killed. However, some were still in their clothes. Some were parents clutching their small baby or child to their chest. Others were simply toddlers killed alone. Skulls showed signs of machete blows or bullet holes. Legs or arms of other bodies showed where they had been hacked with machetes. Some still had patches of hair nearly 14 years later. What were the thoughts of these human beings as they saw the Intrawahme (sp?) coming up the hillside and through the gates of the school? How can man be so inhumane to others. Should you feel you have the stomach to view some of the pictures, then you can go to http://homepage.mac.com/stevesimonphoto/Murambi%20Memorial/index.html. Even looking at these pictures cannot begin to evoke the feeling of actually being there.

So, what were my thoughts throughout this week? The genocide is only 14 years old. I saw mass graves of 10,000, 50,000 and 250,000 people. That was something that I could not comprehend. However, what I could comprehend was how I felt every time I sat on a bus or matatu. Was the person to my right a hunter and the one to my left a hunted? Did the person in front of me help to save a Tutsi even though they were Hutu? How many family members were killed? As I walked down streets, whether in a village or in Kigali, I looked at houses and thought “Who was killed in there?” or “How many people were hidden inside a closet in that house?” I could not help but look at people in the streets who had missing hands, or arms, or large scars on their head, face or arms.

Now, how do I wrap up this email in a positive and meaningful way? Rwanda, rather successfully or not, is campaigning to be a country or Rwandans and not a country of Hutus and Tutsis. One of the woman filmed for the Kigali Memorial Center said something to the effect that “If I am unable to forgive those that killed my entire family, those that threw my 3 sisters into a pit latrine and stoned them, those same people that were friends with me before the killing began, then how can I live?” Forgiveness is such a difficult thing to actually do successfully. I’ve been in the position, many times, of having to be forgiven for my transgressions or forgiven those who have transgressed against me. However, I have never been in the position that so many of the people I saw are/were in.

I am very grateful that I was able to witness the things that I did. I was not happy to have done so, nor would I ever like to do it again. However, I think that I can continue to use what I saw and witnessed to make myself a better person. What I’m writing in this email is different even from what I wrote in my journal a week ago. I am sure that what I will write or think next week will be different once again.

Genocide is never a spontaneous act. Genocide is something that grows, slowly or more quickly, because mankind wants to discriminate or dehumanize others. Whenever we say “Never again” we have an again. We can only stop when we refuse to be quiet as we see wrong. I am grateful to know that I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut when I see something that I perceive is wrong. Even when I open my mouth and say something is wrong, I may learn more information that shows that I need to look at another perspective. Regardless, unless we can open our mouths and our ears then inhumanity against others will continue.

Thank you so much for reading this email through to the end. I know that it is quite long, but I think that it is so important in the context of our learning to be better living creatures of our planet.