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.

Catching Up With a Friend

Yesterday I was blessed with a surprise visit from my friend Rose. Although we had traded text messages, I hadn't had a chance to meet up with her and get caught up on news. And, believe me, she had a fair amount of news. I first met Rose at the Webuye AMPATH Clinic where I go for my checkups while here in Kenya. She was working there as a peer counselor when I first went in for my initial vist a year and a half ago. She's someone that I've come to respect for many reasons, but the main one being that she is open about her status as an HIV Positive woman here in Kenya. That's not a common trait.

But first, let's talk a little bit about what AMPATH is. The following is taken from their website.
"The Academic Model Providing Access to Healthcare (AMPATH) is Kenya's most comprehensive initiative to combat HIV. AMPATH is a working model of urban and rural HIV preventive and treatment services in the public sector. AMPATH cares for more than 55,000 HIV infected adults and children, with nearly one-half of all patients on anti-retroviral drugs, and enrollment into the program rising by 2,000 patients per month.

A robust program to prevent mother to child transmission of HIV has been initiated including an opt-out testing policy and programs fostering triple anti-retroviral therapy of pregnant woman and formula feeding of newborns. AMPATH has implemented programs that foster food and economic security for HIV infected persons and their families. AMPATH demonstrates the power of US and African academic medical centers united by common vision. (http://www.medicine.iupui.edu/kenya/hiv.aids.html)"

It's a partnership between the Indiana University School of Medicine and the Moi University School of Medicine here in Eldoret Kenya. There are 19 locations throughout Western Kenya. I visit the Webuye location which is about 30 minutes away by matatu. Although I only go for lab work and medication refills, the clinic does much more than that for Kenyans living with HIV. They help to insure that patients are receiving enough food to maintain their health and provide it when necessary. In addition, they do a lot in the way of Mother-To-Child-Transmission Education, family counseling and so forth.

I think what first struck me when I met Rose was the fact that she did not appear outwardly shocked to learn that an 'mzungu' was in the clinic receiving care for HIV. Trust me, I'm a surprise to many people here. It is not something that is really considered. I'm the anomaly when I walk into a large, crowded waiting room full of black faces. My pale skin is in stark contrast. I like to think that it helps to show that HIV/AIDS is a disease of the world and not the burden of just one country.

But, let's get back to Rose and what she does. She is a peer outreach worker for the clinic. Part of her job is to follow up with patients that don't come in for their regular checkups. She calls or visits them to see what issues and problems they are encountering. Did they simply forget or are they 'falling out of care." But, Rose is also active as a volunteer within the positive community. She helps to lead a youth support and discussion group to help reduce the spread of HIV. It is a group that is open to all youth regardless of their HIV status. They hold meetings to discuss prevention, have testing days, promote safer sex, and have support meetings for those infected. She is no different than the many activists I know back in the US.

When I left Kenya in October 2008, Rose was several months pregnant with her fourth child. This was her first child conceived as an HIV Positive woman. My parting visit with her was at the Webuye District Hospital where she had been put on bed rest. She was hopefully that she would be able to carry to term as was I. The great news is that she is now the mother to a healthy four month old boy named Joseph. This is the first son. To date, he has continued to test HIV negative.

So, with that being said, it's on to the primer about Positive mothers giving birth to babies. I have thought about it and won't go into a huge educational lecture on MTCT. If you want to learn a lot, just do a Google search. However, many babies are not born HIV+. Other babies are born and test positive only because they are still carrying the antibodies (which is what the tests look for) of the mother. Rose's son was born and tested negative. He went on a short dose of antiretrovirals immediately after birth to help protect him. There is still a risk of transmission through breastfeeding, but breast feeding is the best option for babies here in Africa. This is because the mother's milk helps to provide some natural immunity to the diseases natural to the area. In addition, a baby is more likely to die from malnutrition than become positive. Also, parents can not afford formula and have difficulty insuring that there is sanitary water and bottles. And, finally, there is still a huge stigma for not breastfeeding a child here. So, the recommendation is that a mother exclusively breastfeed for 6 months and then begin to wean as food is introduced.

So, where does Joseph stand now (or lay, since a 4 month old doesn't walk). He continues to test negative. He'll have another test at 6 months, then 1 year, and a final one at 18 months. But, all things right now look very promising that he'll remain HIV negative.

Living in 208 Square Feet

Yep, that's the size of my apartment... a whopping 208 square feet. Think of it as a large master bedroom suite in the United States. The total dimension is 13 ' by 16'. It consists of my bedroom which also serves as the living room. The kitchen area doubles as my closet. And then there is a room with a toilet and another with a shower. It's a little shabby by most standards I suppose, but it's home and I really enjoy it.

My bedroom is the largest of the rooms being 7' by 10.5'. I am a little spoiled so I have what is called a 5x6 bed. Simply put, it means it is 5 feet by 6 feet, which is near to a queen size back home. I have an ample supply of pillows because it serves as a couch for other MALE guests. Females must sit in either the desk chair, or a simple arm chair such as what we would call the captain's chair at a dining room table. Usually, a woman would never enter the bedroom of a male but it's permissible as long as they can sit in one of the chairs, and preferably if there is another person present. I also have a desk with space for my laptop and TV. Storage is at a premium so there are shelves tucked up around the room.

As I said, the kitchen is also my closet. It's only 7'x7' and has a set of shelves for clothes, a set of shelves for dishes and food, and a stand for my cooktop. I don't own a refrigerator so perishables such as meat need to be bought at the time I will be cooking them. Other items, such as githeri (beans and maize) can be cooked and kept overnight as long as they are heated in the morning. I cook on a little two burner propane stove.

The bathroom... Well let's just say that you need to be good at squatting. I moved up in the ranks of luxury when I moved into town. Prior to this apartment I used a "long drop" which is basically a a whole in the floor of an outhouse. My toilet here is a flushing long drop. It's not a regular toilet that you sit down upon. It looks like a urinal put into the floor and so you squat down on your haunches and do your business.

My shower room is truly multipurpose. I do use it as a shower. There is an electrified shower head that serves as an instant hot water heater so that I do get a hot shower. Again this is a luxury in these parts. Many people in town have showers but the water is not heated. In other more rural areas, a shower is bathing from a bucket. This room is also where I do my dishes and do my laundry. I have several sets of buckets for different purposes. Two basins serve as my "double sink." One is for washing and the other rinsing. Dishes go into a drainer and then sit on a shelf in my kitchen area. Two 5 gallon buckets are for doing small loads of wash. And, then I have two huge basins that I use when doing larger amounts of wash.

Everything has to have it's place in such a small area. This is good since it helps to satisfy my burgeoning obsessive/compulsive disorder. I can spend time rearranging to get the perfect fit of things. I think most followers of my blog are also Facebook friends. There are pictures of my apartment there although I should take some new ones as I've made some changes.

Counting Your Blessings

All right, let me preface this entry by saying that I recognize some people may take offense. They may say that I’m being unfair or overly critical. To that, I might concede on a case by case basis. This post is not really meant to shame anyone into thinking they don’t deserve the luxuries they’ve acquired. Nor, does it mean that they don’t have legitimate complaints about being overworked, underpaid, underappreciated and so forth. It just means, that if you find yourself feeling stressed or sorry for yourself, then take a few minutes to put it in perspective.

The idea for this post came from the Facebook page of a friend of mine who is in the Peace Corps in Senegal. I first met her while she was student teaching here in Bungoma. The post is a little back and forth from her Status Update.

Peace Corps Volunteer “is wondering why some (not all :)) people at home find it so difficult to keep in touch!”

Friend back in the US… “Because we have kids! That keep us busy cooking and cleaning up after them all the time. Laundry...it's never ending! And my computer is slower than dirt and I don't have the $$ to buy a new one because we spend it on our kids. How are you?”

Peace Corps Volunteer… “I’m busy in a village in the middle of nowhere with no electricity or running water. eating out of a bowl with a million dirty hands and doing laundry by hand, also pulling the water out of the well by hand...email is often a two hour bike ride away and I have to pay for it by the minute after I finally get to it... but I still find time to email and write on my blog.. Excuses, excuses... but I am doing just fine!!”

My apartment building is two stories with an inner courtyard. My apartment is on the second floor and my bedroom/living room/office window looks out onto the area where people do their laundry and hang it out to dry. Laundry is typically done by the women but there are a number of single men or men whose families are “upcountry.” Despite the amount of dust and dirt that one accumulates from the unpaved roads, clothes are kept surprisingly clean and pressed.

I’ll be doing laundry in a little while today. It involves 2 large buckets of water. I have the luxury of a 2 burner propane cook top so I heat some water so that it’s at least warm when I do my wash. I use a powdered detergent whereas many people use laundry bars of soap. It takes a little soak, a lot of scrubbing, wringing out, and then rinsing. It’s not like doing a few delicates by hand in your kitchen sink. It’s doing everything from jeans to sheets while bending over a bucket. I’ve only done one round of wash since I’ve been back so my calluses aren’t quite developed yet. The nice thing is that everything is dried in the sun so it does have a nice fresh smell.

Some of you know that I love to iron and that’s a good thing here in Kenya. People dress surprisingly formal and pressing clothes is commonplace. Again, I have the luxury of a nice steam “ironbox.” Others, if they have electricity, use a less expensive ironbox which may or may not be steam. For those of you old enough to remember, think back to the days when you had the “sprinkler” cap that you put on top of a Pepsi bottle full of water so that you could dampen your clothes before ironing them. If a person doesn’t have electricity, then they use an iron that has hot coals put inside it to provide the heat. I will say that many people have some sort of synthetic blend so it’s not quite as difficult as ironing pure cotton.

Now, it’s on to the computer situation. The average Kenyan does not own a computer. On this return, I was happily surprised to find out I could buy a USB modem so that I can access the internet from home. In the past, I’ve always had to go to an internet café to either use their computers or access using my laptop. Most café’s charge 1 shilling per minute which works out to be $1 a day. In a rural area where the average daily income is $1-3 a day, internet is a luxury. Computers tend to be older and connections slow. The rooms are hot and crowded. But, the bright side is that you get to visit with people while you are there. Getting a “good” connection means that you fall somewhere between dial-up and DSL in terms of speed of upload. Printing something usually costs 10 shillings a page or about 15 cents. Photocopying is cheaper at about 3 cents per page.

So, keep in mind that what you perceive as hassles in the United States might be exorbitant luxuries in other parts of the world. Don’t take things for granted and when you do, try to recognize it and put them back into perspective.

Modes of Transportation

I thought it might be worthwhile to take the time to write about the different modes of transportation available to the average person in Kenya. Many of my posts reference transportation but people may not understand what I’m discussing. So, here’s your primer.

Walking is probably, by far, the most popular way at get from A to B. There always seems to be a steady stream of people along every road or pathway. From a plane it would look like an army of ants marching to and fro. It’s not uncommon for people to walk several miles to reach their destination.

It’s also important to understand that a human serves as a popular means for transporting goods. The head and back are indispensible. In rural areas, one will see people balancing large packages, jerry cans of water, or burlap bags full of produce on their head. This includes children of a very young age. And, by jerry cans, I’m not referring to small containers, but talking about 5 gallon containers. A common site is a family with jugs appropriate to the age and size of the child gathered around a well filling up there containers. Also, one will see women carrying bundles of firewood strapped to their back. The wood is about the size of a 55 gallon oil drum. The bundle is tied and then often strapped with a “handle” that they support either across the forehead or over the neck and shoulders and resting across the front of the chest.

Boda-boda is the local name for a bicycle taxi. They originated near the borders and were a way for people to carry their belongings across the “no man’s land” between the border posts of the two countries. The bicyclist would call out “boda boda” as a way to get customers. This transportation mode is not as popular in Nairobi. The bicycle is equipped with a padded seat that rest above the rear tire. The pad can be easily removed so that goods can be strapped on instead of a passenger. It’s not uncommon to see a mother and child or several small children sharing a bike.

Boda bodas are a popular way to transport goods. I’ve seen them loaded down with large bags of coal, corn, doors, upholstered chairs, and even coffins. If the load is too heavy or the hill becomes too steep then the pedaler simply gets off and pushes, sometimes with the help of another person.

Boda boda’s are relatively inexpensive. It costs 10ksh or about 13 cents to go from one end of town to the other which would be about a 10-15 minute walk. Going longer distances of about 3 miles would run you about 45 cents.

Moto Bodas are becoming much more popular throughout Kenya, but especially in the rural areas. It’s a much faster way to get from a village in the interior out to a main road where one can catch a matatu (explained next). For the most part, these are 125cc motorcycles that serve the same purpose as a boda boda. You do pay a small premium over the boda boda price but it’s not exorbitant. The only real problem is that not all drivers are equal in terms of skill in handling the bike so it is passenger beware.

Matatus are probably the backbone of transportation options. They are Nissan Minivan with a legal capacity of 14 and an average capacity of 20 plus. In addition to people, a matatu usually has some cargo of items such as produce headed to market or chickens. More than once I’ve had a chicken pecking at my ankles from under the seat. In Nairobi matatus are often pimped out with elaborate paint jobs of rappers and the music is blaring. In the rural areas, the outside is usually white and the music not quite so loud.

There are set prices for trips but if the conductor thinks he can charge you more then he will. Several times I’ve almost come to fisticuffs with a conductor trying to rip me off. Fortunately, most of the ones in Bungoma now know me and tend to be reasonable. I’m sure they think I’m a truly crazy mzungu (foreigner) and that it’s best to let me be.

It’s truly an experience to take a ride in a matatu. As stated earlier, the vans are always overflowing. People tend to sit about halfway on the lap of the person next to them. Children kind of get stacked or handed back over seats like a package. But, it’s always interesting to see how many they can get into the van. My record was 25 although I’m jealous of a friend who was in with 27.

Buses are popular for longer distances. If I am traveling to Nairobi I take the Easy Coach. Other buses are more popular with the locals as they can be a little cheaper (but a lot more crowded). Easy Coach costs me about $13 for the trip and a bus such as the Eldoret Express or Akamba would be closer to $9 or $10. I opt for the assigned seat and not overcrowded.

So, there you have it. How I get around Kenya. I guess I could have mentioned a car, but that's not something I use to often. They do have taxis but it's easier to use the other means of transportation unless I'm in a hurry or need to get a lot of luggage from to the bus station or airport.

Traveling from Nairobi to Bungoma

Well, after four days in Nairobi, it was time to head west to Bungoma. It's only a distance of 200 miles (325km) but takes between 8 and 10 hours by bus. If only they had an Interstate system the way they do in the US. The route is directly along the A104 which is the main highway running from the port city of Mombassa, across Kenya, and then on through Uganda. It is the main transportation route for all cargo going anywhere west. Read that to mean a lot of trucks on a road that, for the most part, is two lanes. One is lucky to reach a sustained speed of 35 miles an hour.

Easy Coach bus company is probably the most comfortable way to travel. There buses are modern 'Greyhound' type buses with assigned seating. The assigned seating comes in very handy as long as you are accustomed to riding them. A veteran traveler knows that you need to be towards the front of the bus so as to avoid being bounced for the duration of the trip. James Bond would want his martini to ride at the back of the bus. Also, it always helps to be on the side opposite the driver so as to avoid being baked in the sun.

The drive is actually a beautiful one. The A104 traverses the Great Rift Valley. The valley runs from the Dead Sea in Jordan south to Mozambique. The drive provides wonderful views down into the valley. Then, in Nakuru, you can look off into the distant and see a mass of pink out on the lake. Were you a bit closer, you would know that the pink was made up of the thousands of flamingos that make it their home. Once you are past Nakuru, you begin the gentle climb back up off the valley floor.

Since arriving in Nairobi, I've been almost inundated with news stories about the water shortage and drought conditions. This became quite apparent as I looked out the window at the withering maize (corn) fields. The long rains of March and April never really materialized. In many places the maize was not more than 2 feet tall and had not developed. Those that will be able to harvest a crop are expecting a yield of 33-50% of normal. I hate to think of the effect this will have on the Kenyan people. Obviously, hunger will be a greater issue. But, secondly, Kenya is very much an agrarian country. Many people rely on their crops to provide an income. With farming losses, many people will not have the money to buy other staples, pay school fees, or purchase medicine. Already, the water shortage has meant the curtailment of power because the hydroelectric dams can not operate at capacity. This is effecting the ability of industry to produce materials.

Lest, I sound all doom and gloom, it was an enjoyable ride. The road, which has been under construction for as long as I've been coming to Kenya is greatly improved. There was one 10 mile stretch that was completely unpaved. Course, that means that the bus travels on a dirt/gravel road at about 10mph. I was able to spot the occasional herd of zebra. No trip would be complete without a little nap put in for good measure.

Bungoma remains unchanged. No sooner was I off the bus, than I ran into my favorite taxi driver Ken. However, my 'taxi' to the apartment was a boda boda. I need to do a separate blog on modes of transportation, but for now, a boda boda is simply a bike with a padded seat behind the pedaler. One person loaded up my 2 bags and the second loaded up me. The ride down through town costs 10 shillings or 13 cents.

It was nice to be back in my quaint abode. If you want to see what $35 a month gets you in Bungoma then you can check out my apartment pictures if you are on Facebook. It may not look like much but it is comfortable and serves its purpose. It's in a secure building with tenants that all look out for me. I was greeted with handshakes and hugs. I should note that handshakes in Kenya are extremely important and are a ritual in and of themselves. It was indeed a warm welcome back.

Reacclimating to Life in Kenya

Well, after a surprising 9 month absence, I am back on Kenyan soil. The trip here is never an easy one. I flew from Orlando to London Gatwick. Then, I had to transfer, along with my baggage, over to Heathrow for the flight on to Nairobi. That little trip consumed about 1 1/2 of the 12 hour layover. Fortunately, Heathrow has dayrooms in the terminal. The Yotel is based on the Japanese pod concept only slightly larger. It was a neat little room with a couch that slid out to a bed and a bathroom. After a few hours of sleep and a shower I was as good as an older model used car. Trust me, it helped but didn't do wonders.

I've now been in Nairobi for 4 days and will head west to Bungoma by bus in the morning. It's been an interesting stay so far. Hillary Clinton has been making the headlines since she was here as part of a African-US Trade Conference. I had to laugh while watching a story about the level of security surrounding her. She was giving a press conference from the edge of a maize (corn) field. Once she was done and leaving the podium, close to a dozen Secret Service agents came drifting out of the corn. It looked like it could have been from a Saturday Night Live skit.

Life in Kenya is a collection of ironies. For as modern as some things are, other items are quite antiquated. For instance, I was able to buy a USB modem for my laptop. Cell phones have been available for years now, but the 3G networks are new. It's wonderful to now be able to access the internet without going to a cafe. But, on the opposite end of the spectrum are the workers near the hotel. They are digging a trench for utilities by hand. I'm not talking about a small trench. It is about 1 foot wide and 3 feet deep and currently running a block and a half. It seems like a trench digger would be much easier but instead it's a team of men shoveling all day long. It's work that an American would certainly run away from.

I've been fortunate to be within the center city of Nairobi. Once I get to Bungoma I'll be dealing with electrical brown outs for the next 2 months. Deforestation has been a significant problem in Kenya. Most of the forests have been cut down to provide fuel for cooking. It's caused severe problems to the watersheds and so now there is a shortage of water to power the hydroelectric dams. There are efforts underway to clear the Mau Forest of inhabitants so that they can restore the forest. This is a job that is proving politically divisive and difficult to carry out.

There's not much more to report at the moment. Really, I've been fairly lazy in an attempt to get rested up after the flights. I had a wonderful dinner with two friends, Lucy and Rosemary. They work for the safari company that helped me on my first trip to Kenya. They've become good friends. Tomorrow I have to be to the bus station by 7:30 so that I can catch an 8AM bus to Bungoma. After a wonderfully bumpy and jostling 9 hours I'll be back in my old territory.

Stay tune for updates.