There's no better way to start a weekend than with a clean house. My friend Rose came over around 8 a.m. I had met her a few days before (she's actually a family friend that I had been introduced to many times... but I didn't actually have a conversation with her until Wednesday).
She is about my age and has had a pretty rough life.So we struck upon a deal where she would wash my laundry and help with housework and I would pay her. She does hair for a living and I told her she could do my daughters hair when she got home from school too.
We had tea on Friday morning and then I turned on the iTunes and she did laundry and I swept the house. Then she mopped the floors and collected her $3.75 (300 KSH) and left. I know it doesn't sound like a lot but her husband (when he's around) leaves her $1.25 (100 KSH) per day for food for her and her four children.
Rose's faith in God is amazing, especially considering that her husband is unfaithful and any day she could contract HIV.
After Rose left I went to Ngong to run a few errands. I also met with Kim, the houseboy of my friend Mercy in Meru. He left her employ (on good terms) and ended up here Ngong. Last week when I was coming into town on a piki piki I thought I saw someone who looked like Kim and it was him! Too funny! Anyway, he is doing fine... but of course needs a better job and do I know anybody who might employ him... of course I do... have to call her and see if she is still in need of a gardener/guard.
Then I rushed home and packed a bag quickly and was out the door to Nairobi. I met with Geoffrey and his friend Elias in Nairobi. Geoffrey works in Nkubu on the way to Meru and runs a microfinance NGO. I met him in 2006 when I was living in Chogoria. He wants me to come work for him, but the job he wants me to do is one that a Kenyan with a journalism degree could do... so I would never get a work permit to do it. He's a bit weird besides. So am taking anything and everything he says with a grain of salt.
As I was walking to Tusky's (a supermarket chain) to meet Amina (Judie's best friend Hodan's mother - hope you got all that), she walked up along side me. I said goodbye to Elias and Geoffrey and Amina and I went into Tusky's to pick some treats for Raymond who I was going to visit at Machakos Boys High School the next day.
If you think American supermarkets are crowded on Friday evenings... you should have seen this Tusky's. Now the aisles are narrow anyway... but the place was like a beehive. We fought our way through the crowd's to purchase juice, lemon cake (like bread), toilet paper and soap. Lucky Raymond!
We then headed to the Railways Matatu Stage, it's a big bus stop in front of the Kenyan Railways Depot. You need to keep your wits about you or you will definitely be run over. There are many mats that go past the development where Amina lives but she wanted a specific one that would let us off close to the development. It took us an hour to get to Amina's. We then had some tea and bathed and watched an Egyptian revolution on CNN. Amina and I slept in her room. She on a mattress on the floor and me in her bed. Somalis are nothing if not generous to a fault. We told each other our stories in the dark. Amina is a Kenyan of Somali heritage. She was born in Kenya. She told me about her divorce about the toll it had taken on her children, but mostly she told me how happy she was. I started thinking about Rose and how unhappy she was and how scared she was to be alone. And I wished I could introduce Amina to Rose.
The next morning Amina was up early making chapati for Raymond... like I said generous... and Raymond is lucky because Amina makes some mean chapatis! Amina and her friend Halima took me to the bus stage near their house. It was wicked hot at 9:30 in the morning! I had to fight a crowd to get into the mat... as there were many people waiting to go to Machakos and no matatus.
The ride took almost an hour and I had no idea how far it was or where exactly I was supposed to alight, so I had to pay attention to every road sign after the first half hour. I saw a school gate that said Machakos School and conferred with the conductor and some of the other passangers that this was in fact the school I was looking for and then walked up the 300 meter path to the school. I was half an hour late and waited another half hour for the meeting to start. The meeting was held in the assembly hall and there were rows of benches for the parents and guardians to sit on.
I had never been to a parents meeting at a Kenyan school so I had no idea what to expect. But had expected a chair with a back. Eventually, I guess after boys started getting out of there Saturday morning classes they started to bring in chairs from classrooms, so I moved to a chair. Minor relief as I was wearing a black polyester skirt and it was about 80 degrees in this room.
After two hours we were given a soda. I left after 3 1/2 hours to get some air, but the woman I struck a conversation up with outside was a doctor and had sent for her son... who happened to be in the same section of tenth grade as Raymond and went to call him for me. So instead of staying in the meeting Raymond and I got chairs from the library and sat under a tree and talked about school. Then he gave me tour of his school... when we walked past the assembly hall, the meeting was still in session - it was almost an hour later!
Raymond walked me back to the matatu stage in town and I headed back to Amina's. I had left my bag there because I had a date, yes that's what I said, a date... and I wanted to shower and change before meeting Valentine Gandhi. Yes, that's his name. Val facilitates the Nairobi branch of InterNations, which is like a networking/social website/gathering for expats. He's 32, and originally from India. He's running a huge research project for UNDP on the moneymaker pump that is made by Kickstart.
I took a mat back to town and then a taxi to Westlands. The taxi driver told me the fare was 800 KSH ($10), I talked him down to 500 KSH ($6.25) which is the actual fare. I met Val at Westgate a fancy mall in Westlands and we went to a Japanese restaurant, which was nice but the food was just so-so. We then went bar hopping and because I wasn't going to go back to Ngong at midnight I stayed at Val's. He has a huge apartment with a couple of roommates in a posh Nairobi neighborhood. As posh as it is, it doesn't have a generator so had to do without drying my hair. I know it's short... but it looks far better when it's blow dried!
Val and I got up and went to breakfast and picked up his friend Micah who goes to an evangelical church in Karen. It was a pretty diverse church, lots of interracial marriages and expats with adopted children, but Kenyans and Sudanese and Koreans. We did figure out that Val was the only Indian... anyway the message was good and I think I could be persuaded to go again.
Then we went to Que Pasa in Karen because Micah was starving. After, she and Val headed back to Nariobi and I jumped in a mat and headed for Ngong. I suddenly realized I had forgotten my bag in Val's car. So after a few missed communications we met up at a gas station and I got my bag back and got another mat.
As I got off the mat, the rain started. Drizzling at first... so I bought milk at a kiosk on the way home. Almost as soon as I walked through my front door the sky opened up and poured all it's pent up water in my backyard. NO MORE DUST! But alas I had forgotten to fix the water tank after having it cleaned so that the rainwater would actually run in it. I stripped and wrapped a leso (kanga - a triangular piece of fabric that Kenyan women use as a skirt or an apron or a towel) around me and ran out to the tank and adjusted the pipe so the water from the roof went in the tank. Then I came in took the leso off and dried myself off with it.
Whirlwind weekend over, I sat down to read a book and then the lights went off... ahhh, Kenya!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Posting for the sake of posting
Fine Mike, here is a blog... I know it's been a while but nothing exceptionally fun or exciting has been happening. That's the problem with living in the same place and not moving around a lot, sooner or later life becomes routine.
I've been working on the business plan for Wezesha By Grace. They incorporated in 2006 and this is the first business plan they've ever written. It's a lot of work and I'm not usually with Grace and getting her to sit still long enough to ask her a laundry list of questions is unbelievably difficult. For example, we were supposed to meet at 1 p.m. today. I called her at 12:50 to see where she was and she asked me to give her another 40 minutes because she had something else to do. So now it's nearly 2 p.m. and we have a few hours of work to do together... and I'm betting she hasn't budgeted that kind of time for me today.
I went to get my hair cut on Thursday (the first time since a week before Christmas, so you can image how short it was as I usually get it cut every four weeks) and my hairdresser Freddie, who I was sure was gay, asked if I wanted to eat Nyama Choma with him on Sunday. (He lives in Ong'ata Rongai where Judie goes to school). So I met him in Rongai... with his cousin Newton and we went to his house where these two 20-something men proceeded to cook the best Nyama I've ever eaten! Talk about being treated like a princess. It was lovely! Then they took me to see Judie, who was overjoyed as she forgot I had planned to come that particular Sunday.
On Monday I went to Nairobi to turn in what I hope is the very last form we have to take to the Kenyan NGO Board. The board requires a name search to make sure the name you have picked for your organizations is not being used elsewhere. I arrived early around 9:30 and was told I could return around 2:30 in the afternoon to pick "the results." So I had a lot of time to kill. I went to see my friend Frances (Grace's nephew) and picked up some copies of the electric bill because Grace has been unhappily wondering why it has been increasing steadly.
I went back to pick the results at 2:30 and at 3:15 after about six rounds of questions and explaining that we had already done all the things they were asking me to do... I was successful. Our name was found to be okay and "reserved." Whatever that means. The Kenyan NGO board will meet sometime in March to decide whether we can change our name. We have jumped through all the hoops so I see no reason for them to not approve the change... but this is Kenya. So we will pray and cross our fingers and whatever else we think might be helpful.
On Wednesday, I went to get a quote to build a choo (latrine) for a Masai boy whose legs have been amputated. He also has no control of his bodily functions. GUW wants to get him prostethics but they also need to deal with his bowel control issues. He lives in a mud hut in what I loving refer to as the bush. In the many years I have been visiting him at this home there has never been a choo. His sponsor came with the most recent group of GUW volunteers and it was decided one of the most immediate ways to help him would be to build a choo. The commode was built and now sits in my living room, and as rainy season is right around the corner the choo needs to be built soon. After running around with a fundi most of Wednesday, visiting the site (Joseph's house) and my house to see the commode and the hardware store and the lumberyard and the stone/sand/ballast/truck place and telling everyone we would start promptly Thursday morning, I emailed the quote to GUW, who promptly told me that the sponsor had not left that amount of money and I would have to build it with 10,000 Kenyan shillings (KSH) less. The fundi the hardware store had found for me basically didn't speak English so I called the fundi I'd used in Ilkiloret. We knocked off about 4,000 (KSH) but we are still 6,000 KSH (that's about $90) short of the money needed to build the latrine. Now, I'm not trying to be contradictory here... but why did no one ask for the quote before the donor gave the money?
Anyway, I'll let you know if the choo is ever built. In the meantime if you want to admire a nice commode, your welcome to my living room!
I've been working on the business plan for Wezesha By Grace. They incorporated in 2006 and this is the first business plan they've ever written. It's a lot of work and I'm not usually with Grace and getting her to sit still long enough to ask her a laundry list of questions is unbelievably difficult. For example, we were supposed to meet at 1 p.m. today. I called her at 12:50 to see where she was and she asked me to give her another 40 minutes because she had something else to do. So now it's nearly 2 p.m. and we have a few hours of work to do together... and I'm betting she hasn't budgeted that kind of time for me today.
I went to get my hair cut on Thursday (the first time since a week before Christmas, so you can image how short it was as I usually get it cut every four weeks) and my hairdresser Freddie, who I was sure was gay, asked if I wanted to eat Nyama Choma with him on Sunday. (He lives in Ong'ata Rongai where Judie goes to school). So I met him in Rongai... with his cousin Newton and we went to his house where these two 20-something men proceeded to cook the best Nyama I've ever eaten! Talk about being treated like a princess. It was lovely! Then they took me to see Judie, who was overjoyed as she forgot I had planned to come that particular Sunday.
On Monday I went to Nairobi to turn in what I hope is the very last form we have to take to the Kenyan NGO Board. The board requires a name search to make sure the name you have picked for your organizations is not being used elsewhere. I arrived early around 9:30 and was told I could return around 2:30 in the afternoon to pick "the results." So I had a lot of time to kill. I went to see my friend Frances (Grace's nephew) and picked up some copies of the electric bill because Grace has been unhappily wondering why it has been increasing steadly.
I went back to pick the results at 2:30 and at 3:15 after about six rounds of questions and explaining that we had already done all the things they were asking me to do... I was successful. Our name was found to be okay and "reserved." Whatever that means. The Kenyan NGO board will meet sometime in March to decide whether we can change our name. We have jumped through all the hoops so I see no reason for them to not approve the change... but this is Kenya. So we will pray and cross our fingers and whatever else we think might be helpful.
On Wednesday, I went to get a quote to build a choo (latrine) for a Masai boy whose legs have been amputated. He also has no control of his bodily functions. GUW wants to get him prostethics but they also need to deal with his bowel control issues. He lives in a mud hut in what I loving refer to as the bush. In the many years I have been visiting him at this home there has never been a choo. His sponsor came with the most recent group of GUW volunteers and it was decided one of the most immediate ways to help him would be to build a choo. The commode was built and now sits in my living room, and as rainy season is right around the corner the choo needs to be built soon. After running around with a fundi most of Wednesday, visiting the site (Joseph's house) and my house to see the commode and the hardware store and the lumberyard and the stone/sand/ballast/truck place and telling everyone we would start promptly Thursday morning, I emailed the quote to GUW, who promptly told me that the sponsor had not left that amount of money and I would have to build it with 10,000 Kenyan shillings (KSH) less. The fundi the hardware store had found for me basically didn't speak English so I called the fundi I'd used in Ilkiloret. We knocked off about 4,000 (KSH) but we are still 6,000 KSH (that's about $90) short of the money needed to build the latrine. Now, I'm not trying to be contradictory here... but why did no one ask for the quote before the donor gave the money?
Anyway, I'll let you know if the choo is ever built. In the meantime if you want to admire a nice commode, your welcome to my living room!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Ruminations on the Kenyan Postal System
I had a three missions today.
1. get the Orange modem for my computer to work.
2. find the package my mother sent me in November.
3. pick up a commode from a shop on Ngong and take it to Joseph, the Maasai boy whose legs were amputated, who lives in Kibiko (translation the middle of nowhere in the bush).
Waited for a matatu going down a particular street in Nairobi and then got on one that took the scenic route through Kibera and then Hurlingham (for anyone who knows where the 111 matatus are supposed to go, this is no small detour.)
It turned out okay because I found the Orange office I was looking for fairly easily. Within 20 minutes, Walter, the techie at Orange, had gotten me straightened out. Now mind you when I tried my modem later in the day it still gave me some issues but I eventually got online. One mission accomplished.
Then I put my excellent directional skills to work and made my way to City Square where there is a massive POSTA location. POSTA is the Kenyan equivalent to USPS. I use the term, equivalent, loosely here. If you'd like to step back in time a few centuries without getting in a time machine all you have to do is enter the City Square POSTA. Stacks and stacks of paper, filed by... hmmmm... date, tracking number, color of senders hair...
I am now coveting the spy pen/camera that I saw a few weeks before I left the US. I'm seriously thinking getting one. An expose on the Kenya postal system would make a killer documentary!
Now before I go any further, let me confess that my package(s) got lost because they did not have a P.O. Box in the address. Never mind that it was supposed to be delivered to an office building. Everything mailed to Kenya must have a P.O. Box. So there was no sloppy postal work involved here.
But rescuing said box from the clutches of the POSTA was tantamount to trying to pay taxes in three states in the same year (yes, I've done that too).
The first interesting thing about the City Square POSTA is the bridge that you cross to get to it. It's a bit sci-fi, like it could be used in a Mad Max movie. On the other side of the bridge is a maze of post office boxes. Millions of them. Then you go down the other side and enter the building and take a lift to the second floor. On the second floor you go down a flight of stairs and enter a massive room (the size of a football field) with a long counter and offices in cages along the walls and in the center. Most are filled with packages.
I went to the counter and told them I was looking for a lost box. They asked if I had the tracking number. I said yes. (Mom had scanned her receipt and emailed it to me.) My instructions were to go around the end of the counter and down the hall to the records office. Kenyans aren't big on labeling things... so I had to hunt a bit, but I was eventually told to go up the stairs, first door on my right. I went in and handed my receipt to the lady who told me to wait. Ten minutes later she me back my receipt with a internal tracking number on and told me to take it to the supervisor down there... the first person I asked happened to be the supervisor. Lucky me! She gave me a small yellow piece of paper that they track packages internally with and told me to take it to the window marked "AM" (airmail) to pick up my package. By this point I'm thinking, wow this was easy. The lady at the window finds my package and tells me to take it to customs. The proceed to open it to verify the contents. And then charge me customs duty, insurance and tax. They have a nice formula. First they charge you the highest exchange rate 81 (the highest I've gotten in Kenya is 80), then the add 1.5 for insurance, then a 25% customs charge of the total value of your package plus insurance, then they charge VAT tax of 16% on that total. My total for a package valued at $75, was an additional $34. Ahhh, but there's more. You can't pay the customs fee at the POSTA, you have to pay it at the bank. But you have to go to the POSTA cashier so they can print the form that you take to the bank to pay with. The cashier types in the info and then you go back up the stairs to the next office where someone else prints out the form. To get to the bank you take the lift down and cross the bridge and walk 4 blocks down the street and queue at window 13. From there you go back to the POSTA with your receipt from the bank, you go back to the long counter where they tell you to go to the cashier who gives you a duplicate of the yellow piece of paper you were given way back when. Then you take that back to the counter, where you are then given a postal receipt, because you are charged for the time the POSTA has kept your package for you. When I got a bit hysterical about having to pay an additional $20 holding fee. I was sent to the postmasters office. A nice lady explained to me the necessity of P.O. Box numbers in the Kenyan postal system. To which I replied that I now realized that fact, but that I had no idea the package was there and that someone from the company where the package was sent had come to look for it but had been told it was lost. (Okay, so I don't think that person actually looked very hard or maybe was not nearly as tenacious as I am.) Anyway, we agreed that $5 dollars would suffice and I went back to the man with the receipt book and was given a receipt that needed to be taken to the cashier to pay. I paid and was sent to pick my box! Finally, my box is safely with it rightful owner. Two hours and countless postal-paper-pushers later, box and recipient are able to leave the POSTA. NOT! A man with a ledger motions for me to step over to his section of the counter. "We have to register all the packages that are claimed," he says. Seriously!
Okay, so a lot of people have jobs because of this antiquated, utterly un-efficient system...but seriously, two hours to pick up a box! The rant is almost over... one word of advice for POSTA ... computers... maybe you didn't hear me... COMPUTERS!!!
Mission two accomplished... and no one died, or was severely injured in the process. Nice!
Mission three should have been easy. Meet David at the bank (same bank)and go to Ngong Road (on the way home) to pick up a commode. Oh, when I went to the bank to pay customs, I met Anika from GUW to pick the money for the commode and directions as to where it was. (multi-tasking in the midst of my postal misery).
David showed up quickly and we headed to pick up some parts for his girlfriend Jackie's car (which he was driving), then we headed to Ngong road where he had new tires but on Jackie's car. That took about an hour and a half. We had lunch with our friend Paul, who had brought David's van... too complicated to explain. David and I start out again on Ngong road and eventually found HighTech Furniture and gave the carpenter the balance for the commode and put it in the back seat of the car and headed for Ngong.
We make it home, Grace is at the city house and is holding court with her niece, Rachael, her daughter-in-law, Gladys and her cousin's daughter-in-law, Hannah. Issues I won't go into were discussed. Then David, Gladys and Rachael left. And Hannah and Grace and I loaded a sewing machine into the back of a taxi and headed into town. I checked Grace's mail while she and Hannah went to buy some fabric.
Hannah is going to make aprons that I will bring back to the states to try to sell. We won't be shipping them!
Mission number 3 is only partially accomplished as it is now 6:45 p.m. and I'm at the cyber. Joseph's commode will have to be delivered to Kibiko tomorrow. It's pretty big, but I will see about attaching it to the back of the piki piki. There's no mission impossible here.
1. get the Orange modem for my computer to work.
2. find the package my mother sent me in November.
3. pick up a commode from a shop on Ngong and take it to Joseph, the Maasai boy whose legs were amputated, who lives in Kibiko (translation the middle of nowhere in the bush).
Waited for a matatu going down a particular street in Nairobi and then got on one that took the scenic route through Kibera and then Hurlingham (for anyone who knows where the 111 matatus are supposed to go, this is no small detour.)
It turned out okay because I found the Orange office I was looking for fairly easily. Within 20 minutes, Walter, the techie at Orange, had gotten me straightened out. Now mind you when I tried my modem later in the day it still gave me some issues but I eventually got online. One mission accomplished.
Then I put my excellent directional skills to work and made my way to City Square where there is a massive POSTA location. POSTA is the Kenyan equivalent to USPS. I use the term, equivalent, loosely here. If you'd like to step back in time a few centuries without getting in a time machine all you have to do is enter the City Square POSTA. Stacks and stacks of paper, filed by... hmmmm... date, tracking number, color of senders hair...
I am now coveting the spy pen/camera that I saw a few weeks before I left the US. I'm seriously thinking getting one. An expose on the Kenya postal system would make a killer documentary!
Now before I go any further, let me confess that my package(s) got lost because they did not have a P.O. Box in the address. Never mind that it was supposed to be delivered to an office building. Everything mailed to Kenya must have a P.O. Box. So there was no sloppy postal work involved here.
But rescuing said box from the clutches of the POSTA was tantamount to trying to pay taxes in three states in the same year (yes, I've done that too).
The first interesting thing about the City Square POSTA is the bridge that you cross to get to it. It's a bit sci-fi, like it could be used in a Mad Max movie. On the other side of the bridge is a maze of post office boxes. Millions of them. Then you go down the other side and enter the building and take a lift to the second floor. On the second floor you go down a flight of stairs and enter a massive room (the size of a football field) with a long counter and offices in cages along the walls and in the center. Most are filled with packages.
I went to the counter and told them I was looking for a lost box. They asked if I had the tracking number. I said yes. (Mom had scanned her receipt and emailed it to me.) My instructions were to go around the end of the counter and down the hall to the records office. Kenyans aren't big on labeling things... so I had to hunt a bit, but I was eventually told to go up the stairs, first door on my right. I went in and handed my receipt to the lady who told me to wait. Ten minutes later she me back my receipt with a internal tracking number on and told me to take it to the supervisor down there... the first person I asked happened to be the supervisor. Lucky me! She gave me a small yellow piece of paper that they track packages internally with and told me to take it to the window marked "AM" (airmail) to pick up my package. By this point I'm thinking, wow this was easy. The lady at the window finds my package and tells me to take it to customs. The proceed to open it to verify the contents. And then charge me customs duty, insurance and tax. They have a nice formula. First they charge you the highest exchange rate 81 (the highest I've gotten in Kenya is 80), then the add 1.5 for insurance, then a 25% customs charge of the total value of your package plus insurance, then they charge VAT tax of 16% on that total. My total for a package valued at $75, was an additional $34. Ahhh, but there's more. You can't pay the customs fee at the POSTA, you have to pay it at the bank. But you have to go to the POSTA cashier so they can print the form that you take to the bank to pay with. The cashier types in the info and then you go back up the stairs to the next office where someone else prints out the form. To get to the bank you take the lift down and cross the bridge and walk 4 blocks down the street and queue at window 13. From there you go back to the POSTA with your receipt from the bank, you go back to the long counter where they tell you to go to the cashier who gives you a duplicate of the yellow piece of paper you were given way back when. Then you take that back to the counter, where you are then given a postal receipt, because you are charged for the time the POSTA has kept your package for you. When I got a bit hysterical about having to pay an additional $20 holding fee. I was sent to the postmasters office. A nice lady explained to me the necessity of P.O. Box numbers in the Kenyan postal system. To which I replied that I now realized that fact, but that I had no idea the package was there and that someone from the company where the package was sent had come to look for it but had been told it was lost. (Okay, so I don't think that person actually looked very hard or maybe was not nearly as tenacious as I am.) Anyway, we agreed that $5 dollars would suffice and I went back to the man with the receipt book and was given a receipt that needed to be taken to the cashier to pay. I paid and was sent to pick my box! Finally, my box is safely with it rightful owner. Two hours and countless postal-paper-pushers later, box and recipient are able to leave the POSTA. NOT! A man with a ledger motions for me to step over to his section of the counter. "We have to register all the packages that are claimed," he says. Seriously!
Okay, so a lot of people have jobs because of this antiquated, utterly un-efficient system...but seriously, two hours to pick up a box! The rant is almost over... one word of advice for POSTA ... computers... maybe you didn't hear me... COMPUTERS!!!
Mission two accomplished... and no one died, or was severely injured in the process. Nice!
Mission three should have been easy. Meet David at the bank (same bank)and go to Ngong Road (on the way home) to pick up a commode. Oh, when I went to the bank to pay customs, I met Anika from GUW to pick the money for the commode and directions as to where it was. (multi-tasking in the midst of my postal misery).
David showed up quickly and we headed to pick up some parts for his girlfriend Jackie's car (which he was driving), then we headed to Ngong road where he had new tires but on Jackie's car. That took about an hour and a half. We had lunch with our friend Paul, who had brought David's van... too complicated to explain. David and I start out again on Ngong road and eventually found HighTech Furniture and gave the carpenter the balance for the commode and put it in the back seat of the car and headed for Ngong.
We make it home, Grace is at the city house and is holding court with her niece, Rachael, her daughter-in-law, Gladys and her cousin's daughter-in-law, Hannah. Issues I won't go into were discussed. Then David, Gladys and Rachael left. And Hannah and Grace and I loaded a sewing machine into the back of a taxi and headed into town. I checked Grace's mail while she and Hannah went to buy some fabric.
Hannah is going to make aprons that I will bring back to the states to try to sell. We won't be shipping them!
Mission number 3 is only partially accomplished as it is now 6:45 p.m. and I'm at the cyber. Joseph's commode will have to be delivered to Kibiko tomorrow. It's pretty big, but I will see about attaching it to the back of the piki piki. There's no mission impossible here.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Doors and Windows
There's a saying, where God closes a door he will open a window. Let me tell you, God is opening some serious windows in Ngong!
We have quite a few children at Grace's who are not sponsored. Four of the children are lovingly referred to as Ann's Family. Ann is the oldest sibling. She has scars from burns over 60 percent of her body. Her mother, who was a drunk, threw boiling water on her when she was a small girl. She came to Grace first and then her three siblings, James, Peter and Sylvia followed. I think they've been with Grace and John for six years. Ann and James have graduated from high school. Peter is starting his senior year and Sylvia is entering ninth grade.
In December we found out the church in Minnesota that had been sponsoring them had withdrawn its funding. Grace called her prayer group into action and called Ann's Family and told them it was time to pray for a window to open. We prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for the church that had brought them this far and then we prayed for the path to take them forward to be made clear.
A month later Sylvia's school headmaster called and asked if Sylvia had filled out a scholarship form from Equity Bank. No, we said she hadn't, we didn't know about the program. He told us that it was the last day to apply and we had to hurry. A flurry of activity occured, Ann went to pick the application, Grace went another way and Sylvia another. Everyone convened back at the Ngong house to fill the forms and then the were rushed to the bank by the 4 pm deadline.
The scholarship pays for all four years of high school education. If the student gets a C+ average or better and chooses not to go to college they will have a job waiting for them at Equity Bank. Only 600 students from throughout the country will be chosen.
We found out two days ago that Sylvia was to be interviewed. Yesterday she and Grace spent hours waiting to be interviewed. There were more than 50 children there and they were only choosing 6 girls and 4 boys. They were told if they were chosen they would have to be ready to go to a four day orientation by 8 a.m. the following morning. And that those chosen would be called in the evening.
Syvia and I were cooking dinner and Grace was taking a nap in her room, when Grace got a phone call telling that Sylvia had been awarded a scholarship. Grace came in the kitchen and told us and we immediately began screaming and jumping and hugging one another and shouting, Amen! It was quite the celebration.
Then we went immediately to the living room to say a prayer of thanksgiving. We also prayed for Laton who we were told through email from the US, had been sponsored for at least one year in school.
Sylvia didn't have any clothes with her so we raided Judie's boxes and my supplies and then we went to the corner shop for a toothbrush, etc. We also bought black currtent soda so we could have a toast! During dinner we called EVERYONE to tell them the news.
God is truely great!!!
We have quite a few children at Grace's who are not sponsored. Four of the children are lovingly referred to as Ann's Family. Ann is the oldest sibling. She has scars from burns over 60 percent of her body. Her mother, who was a drunk, threw boiling water on her when she was a small girl. She came to Grace first and then her three siblings, James, Peter and Sylvia followed. I think they've been with Grace and John for six years. Ann and James have graduated from high school. Peter is starting his senior year and Sylvia is entering ninth grade.
In December we found out the church in Minnesota that had been sponsoring them had withdrawn its funding. Grace called her prayer group into action and called Ann's Family and told them it was time to pray for a window to open. We prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for the church that had brought them this far and then we prayed for the path to take them forward to be made clear.
A month later Sylvia's school headmaster called and asked if Sylvia had filled out a scholarship form from Equity Bank. No, we said she hadn't, we didn't know about the program. He told us that it was the last day to apply and we had to hurry. A flurry of activity occured, Ann went to pick the application, Grace went another way and Sylvia another. Everyone convened back at the Ngong house to fill the forms and then the were rushed to the bank by the 4 pm deadline.
The scholarship pays for all four years of high school education. If the student gets a C+ average or better and chooses not to go to college they will have a job waiting for them at Equity Bank. Only 600 students from throughout the country will be chosen.
We found out two days ago that Sylvia was to be interviewed. Yesterday she and Grace spent hours waiting to be interviewed. There were more than 50 children there and they were only choosing 6 girls and 4 boys. They were told if they were chosen they would have to be ready to go to a four day orientation by 8 a.m. the following morning. And that those chosen would be called in the evening.
Syvia and I were cooking dinner and Grace was taking a nap in her room, when Grace got a phone call telling that Sylvia had been awarded a scholarship. Grace came in the kitchen and told us and we immediately began screaming and jumping and hugging one another and shouting, Amen! It was quite the celebration.
Then we went immediately to the living room to say a prayer of thanksgiving. We also prayed for Laton who we were told through email from the US, had been sponsored for at least one year in school.
Sylvia didn't have any clothes with her so we raided Judie's boxes and my supplies and then we went to the corner shop for a toothbrush, etc. We also bought black currtent soda so we could have a toast! During dinner we called EVERYONE to tell them the news.
God is truely great!!!
Funeral and beyond
At 6:30 a.m. Saturday, January 15, the King'atua family piled into David's safari van (Sammy driving) and headed to Nakuru where Ann was to be buried. It's a beautiful trip!
I was supposed to be the official funeral photographer. We first went to the mortuary for the viewing. Ann looked awful - why they had a viewing I'll never understand. Fayth, Ann's niece fainted and a couple of other people almost went down. But other than that it was pretty uneventful.
The trip to the burial site was long and the last part was over VERY rough bush roads (and by roads here, I mean paths). Two of Ann's siblings live on this land and there is a plot set aside for Ann. So according to Kenyan Kikuyu tradition, Ann was buried on a piece of that belonged to her. And here I would have put a very nice picture of the grave BUT my SD card got spoiled and I couldn't get the photos off it. So now the SD card is with the computer guys that have been trying to get a modem to work on my computer. Let's hope their recovery software is successful, because thus far they have not been able to get a modem to work on my computer.
Luckily, another family member with a very nice camera was taking pictures, so they have photos if mine decide to reside for eternity on my spoiled SD card.
I actually had a very nice time at the funeral... well, minus the fact that the speeches went on forever (in Kikuyu) and the preacher man didn't even know Ann and was completely full of himself! Her church dictated that he be there... much to the disappointment of the family.
I enjoyed my usual status as token white person, which truth be told, I don't even notice much anymore.
We arrived back at the compound in Ngong at 8 p.m.
A few days later I was in the Ngong Hills Supermarket (one of many small supermarkets in town) and the cashier made small talk with me (this has never happened to me). She asked how the burial went? It was nice I answered... but as I left I thought to myself. How did this lady know I attended Ann's burial? I sometimes forget I live in a fishbowl. People are constantly telling me... I saw you walking in Ngong, or talking with so-and-so, or buying such-and-such. It's kind of like being a celebrity with none of the perks!
I live about 300 meter off the main road into Ngong down a treacherous hill and yes people drive down it. Along the first 50 meters of road and just outside my gate are small kiosks (shops). For the first two months I lived here people barely acknowledged my existence or stared or made comments under their breath. But recently something has changed... maybe their just got used to seeing me around, but all of the sudden we are friends. They smile and wave, we greet one another, it's nice. I've noticed that there are not many wazungu who live here... I don't actually know of anyone else who lives in Ngong... although their probably is.
In other news...
I got an email today that another one of our children has a sponsor - at least for this year!
So Grace Laton, a Maasai girl, who is going into Form 1, will go to school!!! I spent last Monday taking her to see two high schools in Nairobi. One was absolutely horrible. It was under construction, but it looked more like a war zone. The other one was very nice... a bit too nice, kind of stuck up... if a school can be stuck up. We won't be sending her to either one of those. The only thing I gained that day was a severe backache from hours of riding in 6 different matatus!!
Oh and I stopped by the offices of the Kenyan NGO Board and completed the last step in the process to change the name of Grace's organization from Adopt A Village in Africa/Kenya to Wezesha By Grace. Wezesha is Kiswahili for empowerment.
Judie's school was attacked by thieves. The students were all safe in their dorm. The thieves made their way through the school compound to the convent where they stole money from the nuns. The shot and killed one watchman. Scary stuff! It seems the convent was having trouble with their alarm system and didn't get it fixed by closing time on Wednesday night. So it would seem a possibility that somebody linked to the alarm fix-it guys tipped off the thieves. Hmmmm...
The rest of this week has been devoted to getting ready for our first board meeting with NEW members and working with the accountant to get the year end financials done. Those of you who know me well, know this is NOT and I repeat NOT my area of expertise. But I CAN type and make copies and bind reports! So while not fodder for blogs, it has kept me most busy!
Pray for me this week as I get ready for the BIG meeting. It's Saturday at 10 a.m. so you will all be sleeping, so Friday prayers are welcome!
I had not seen photos of all the snow in Minnesota. But my friend Terry Gydesen, that fabulous MN photog, had some great ones on her Facebook page today... so thank you Terry for showing me what I am NOT missing!
I was supposed to be the official funeral photographer. We first went to the mortuary for the viewing. Ann looked awful - why they had a viewing I'll never understand. Fayth, Ann's niece fainted and a couple of other people almost went down. But other than that it was pretty uneventful.
The trip to the burial site was long and the last part was over VERY rough bush roads (and by roads here, I mean paths). Two of Ann's siblings live on this land and there is a plot set aside for Ann. So according to Kenyan Kikuyu tradition, Ann was buried on a piece of that belonged to her. And here I would have put a very nice picture of the grave BUT my SD card got spoiled and I couldn't get the photos off it. So now the SD card is with the computer guys that have been trying to get a modem to work on my computer. Let's hope their recovery software is successful, because thus far they have not been able to get a modem to work on my computer.
Luckily, another family member with a very nice camera was taking pictures, so they have photos if mine decide to reside for eternity on my spoiled SD card.
I actually had a very nice time at the funeral... well, minus the fact that the speeches went on forever (in Kikuyu) and the preacher man didn't even know Ann and was completely full of himself! Her church dictated that he be there... much to the disappointment of the family.
I enjoyed my usual status as token white person, which truth be told, I don't even notice much anymore.
We arrived back at the compound in Ngong at 8 p.m.
A few days later I was in the Ngong Hills Supermarket (one of many small supermarkets in town) and the cashier made small talk with me (this has never happened to me). She asked how the burial went? It was nice I answered... but as I left I thought to myself. How did this lady know I attended Ann's burial? I sometimes forget I live in a fishbowl. People are constantly telling me... I saw you walking in Ngong, or talking with so-and-so, or buying such-and-such. It's kind of like being a celebrity with none of the perks!
I live about 300 meter off the main road into Ngong down a treacherous hill and yes people drive down it. Along the first 50 meters of road and just outside my gate are small kiosks (shops). For the first two months I lived here people barely acknowledged my existence or stared or made comments under their breath. But recently something has changed... maybe their just got used to seeing me around, but all of the sudden we are friends. They smile and wave, we greet one another, it's nice. I've noticed that there are not many wazungu who live here... I don't actually know of anyone else who lives in Ngong... although their probably is.
In other news...
I got an email today that another one of our children has a sponsor - at least for this year!
So Grace Laton, a Maasai girl, who is going into Form 1, will go to school!!! I spent last Monday taking her to see two high schools in Nairobi. One was absolutely horrible. It was under construction, but it looked more like a war zone. The other one was very nice... a bit too nice, kind of stuck up... if a school can be stuck up. We won't be sending her to either one of those. The only thing I gained that day was a severe backache from hours of riding in 6 different matatus!!
Oh and I stopped by the offices of the Kenyan NGO Board and completed the last step in the process to change the name of Grace's organization from Adopt A Village in Africa/Kenya to Wezesha By Grace. Wezesha is Kiswahili for empowerment.
Judie's school was attacked by thieves. The students were all safe in their dorm. The thieves made their way through the school compound to the convent where they stole money from the nuns. The shot and killed one watchman. Scary stuff! It seems the convent was having trouble with their alarm system and didn't get it fixed by closing time on Wednesday night. So it would seem a possibility that somebody linked to the alarm fix-it guys tipped off the thieves. Hmmmm...
The rest of this week has been devoted to getting ready for our first board meeting with NEW members and working with the accountant to get the year end financials done. Those of you who know me well, know this is NOT and I repeat NOT my area of expertise. But I CAN type and make copies and bind reports! So while not fodder for blogs, it has kept me most busy!
Pray for me this week as I get ready for the BIG meeting. It's Saturday at 10 a.m. so you will all be sleeping, so Friday prayers are welcome!
I had not seen photos of all the snow in Minnesota. But my friend Terry Gydesen, that fabulous MN photog, had some great ones on her Facebook page today... so thank you Terry for showing me what I am NOT missing!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
An Ode to Ann
Kenyatta Hospital is not a place you want to end up. Each ward has 10 beds. You might have a broken leg and be next to someone dying from AIDS. I walked into ward 7B Room 1. Auntie Ann was in the second bed on the right as you entered. At first I didn’t even recognize her. I had seen her the previous Tuesday and she had looked sick but not like this… this was what you look like when you’re dying. And I could tell immediately that Ann was in fact dying. But this being Kenya, we don’t talk about that. We ask God to heal her and yes, that would be the best of all outcomes, but looking at Ann I can see that we are beyond prayers… her body had given in and her spirit is waiting to be called home.
That was Sunday evening. When we left the hospital around 7 p.m. Ann was still alive. Kenyatta doesn’t let family stay overnight, even with critically ill patients. We: Grace, Fayth her daughter, Aunt Lois, Rachael, Ann’s daughter and I get on a matatu for the 40-minute ride back to Ngong. Aunt Lois lives in another part of Nairobi but it is unsafe to travel alone so she comes back to the compound in Ngong with the rest of us. Fayth and I have been at the hospital since about 12:30, Rachael came around 2p.m. Grace and Aunt Lois around 3 p.m. We all smell like that unmistakable stench of a hospital ward. Only worse. I’m told Kenyatta used to be worse (hygiene wise) but I have a hard time imagining worse than the bathrooms I used while there… my feet stuck to the floor of the stall and in front of the mirrors there was standing water on the floor. I find it hard to believe that anybody, even visitors leave Kenyatta healthy.
This morning I awake before 6 a.m. to Grace and Aunt Lois quickly getting ready, I crawl out of bed and make them some tea and fruit to eat before they leave for the hospital. Grace calls at around 8 a.m. to tell me that Auntie Ann has passed. I go to tell the rest of the compound the news. And then we wait for Rachael to return from taking her daughter, Gracious, to school so we can tell her that her mother has died.
So this is what it feels like to be part of a Kenyan family…to sit with my cousin while she wails at the death of her mother. We try to console her but everything we say seems so empty. We spend the morning together… Gladys, Sammy’s wife makes tea, the man who brings water to Rachael and Gladys’ homes comes, offers his condolences to Rachael and then goes back for water for me. Rachael and I go to find someone to hire to do laundry. I don’t have much, but Rachael has piles… too much for one person to do. I help Rachael take the linens off Ann’s bed. Life moves forward, even as we want it to stop just for an instant to let us absorb this tragedy… it pays no notice… life keeps moving.
I find Rachael in her room when I return from the cyber. She is holding a letter she sent her mother when she found out she was pregnant with Gracious. She shows me photos of Ann from before she was sick. One was taped on the wall. “She kept it there to remind her of what her life was like before.” Rachael says.
I think to some extent we all keep mental snapshots of what life was like before - that big event in our life that changed everything - some of us hope to go back, some of us want to forget… what we mustn’t do is cease to live and act in the present. This, right now, is all we have.
Ann lived in denial of the diseases that took her life. She died needlessly. We all have things we deny about ourselves. Some we may be barely aware of, but they inhibit our true potential. Our humanness is our greatest strength and our biggest downfall. It is our kryptonite.
Ann Nyambura died of complications to TB and AIDS at 6 a.m. on January 10, 2011. She was 47 years old, which happens to be the average life expectancy in Kenya.
Ann, I hope you are finally at peace, resting with your maker. I will think of you fondly always. With love, Jessica
That was Sunday evening. When we left the hospital around 7 p.m. Ann was still alive. Kenyatta doesn’t let family stay overnight, even with critically ill patients. We: Grace, Fayth her daughter, Aunt Lois, Rachael, Ann’s daughter and I get on a matatu for the 40-minute ride back to Ngong. Aunt Lois lives in another part of Nairobi but it is unsafe to travel alone so she comes back to the compound in Ngong with the rest of us. Fayth and I have been at the hospital since about 12:30, Rachael came around 2p.m. Grace and Aunt Lois around 3 p.m. We all smell like that unmistakable stench of a hospital ward. Only worse. I’m told Kenyatta used to be worse (hygiene wise) but I have a hard time imagining worse than the bathrooms I used while there… my feet stuck to the floor of the stall and in front of the mirrors there was standing water on the floor. I find it hard to believe that anybody, even visitors leave Kenyatta healthy.
This morning I awake before 6 a.m. to Grace and Aunt Lois quickly getting ready, I crawl out of bed and make them some tea and fruit to eat before they leave for the hospital. Grace calls at around 8 a.m. to tell me that Auntie Ann has passed. I go to tell the rest of the compound the news. And then we wait for Rachael to return from taking her daughter, Gracious, to school so we can tell her that her mother has died.
So this is what it feels like to be part of a Kenyan family…to sit with my cousin while she wails at the death of her mother. We try to console her but everything we say seems so empty. We spend the morning together… Gladys, Sammy’s wife makes tea, the man who brings water to Rachael and Gladys’ homes comes, offers his condolences to Rachael and then goes back for water for me. Rachael and I go to find someone to hire to do laundry. I don’t have much, but Rachael has piles… too much for one person to do. I help Rachael take the linens off Ann’s bed. Life moves forward, even as we want it to stop just for an instant to let us absorb this tragedy… it pays no notice… life keeps moving.
I find Rachael in her room when I return from the cyber. She is holding a letter she sent her mother when she found out she was pregnant with Gracious. She shows me photos of Ann from before she was sick. One was taped on the wall. “She kept it there to remind her of what her life was like before.” Rachael says.
I think to some extent we all keep mental snapshots of what life was like before - that big event in our life that changed everything - some of us hope to go back, some of us want to forget… what we mustn’t do is cease to live and act in the present. This, right now, is all we have.
Ann lived in denial of the diseases that took her life. She died needlessly. We all have things we deny about ourselves. Some we may be barely aware of, but they inhibit our true potential. Our humanness is our greatest strength and our biggest downfall. It is our kryptonite.
Ann Nyambura died of complications to TB and AIDS at 6 a.m. on January 10, 2011. She was 47 years old, which happens to be the average life expectancy in Kenya.
Ann, I hope you are finally at peace, resting with your maker. I will think of you fondly always. With love, Jessica
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The bush and back..
Everything that can go wrong will, but as this is Africa... usually everything comes out how it was supposed to anyway... not sure why that is... it just is.
So without going into great detail lets just say, life is never dull. I asked the safari company repeatedly (the guy is a friend of mine) to send a bigger vehicle. He sent an 8 passenger safari van for 6 people and their lugguage... which normally would be fine. But when you put the Give Us Wings rep and me and Grace in the van and all the supplies that need to go to Ilkiloret and I had to transport 7 fundies (construction workers) down also... Well it equals two trips.
The volunteers arrived in Ngong around lunch time and at my favorite Halal restaurant. The driver took them to Kimuga Farm where they would spend the night and then came back for the fundies and me and two wheelbarrows we had to have repaired. Well after much discussion it was decided that the wheelbarrows wouldn't fit in the safari van and a motorcycle should be called to transport them.
The poor man may never be able to have children after this ride! We follow him down to make sure he is able to complete the journey. With only one bad wobble he reaches his destination. Now at this point I have sms'd Janet, who is our liaison there to tell her I'm coming and to ask her to find a place for me to sleep, but I have no idea if she's gotten the message, as there is no cell coverage there. Ah, but there is a certain tree by the road where if you sit under it you can find network. I'm serious. They sprinkled a little network and it grew into a nice shade tree cum phone booth. I will take a photo of said tree the next time I'm in Ilkiloret.
So we arrive and I find out that I will be sleeping at Rebecca and James' home which is just next to where we are building our classroom. I have forgotten my watch and I turned my cell phone off to conserve the battery, so I have no idea what time it is for about 15 hours. Janet and I make a program for the volunteers for the following day. Then I head over and hang out at Rebecca's house. She speaks only a few words of English and a bit more Swahili, so we mix what little we know in common and get by just fine. She makes tea and I dig out the cashews I bought just before we left Ngong. She and I and her two children (I'm not sure even now exactly how many she has, but these two are the little ones - Ezekial and Eliza), and one of Grace's orphans Laton, enjoy them while Rebecca prepares dinner. I'm not sure what to expect for dinner. The Maasai have recently started to grow crops with drip irrigation but it is dry season and there is nothing in the fields.
While dinner is cooking, Rebecca brings me her and James' school books. They are studying in the adult education program. They study math and Kiswahili and a little bit of English. I am planning to teach English there one day a week and then Janet will help me with Kiswahili in the afternoon. I will spend the night and get the early vehicle to Kimuga where I can meet with Grace and play with the kids when they get home from school, spend the night at Kimuga and head back to Ngong. Not sure when said plan will start, but I'm actually looking forward to it.
When dinner comes it is ugali (hard porridge) and milk. And by milk I mean fresh from the cow, I mean squeezed right from the teet into my cup(kikombe). Kikombe means cup... which is one useful word that I will not forget from my time in Ilkiloret. It was delicious. The best milk I've had in a long time.
I sleep on a sleeping mat in a sleeping bag on the floor of Rebecca's home. It's seriously uncomfortable and I don't actually fall asleep until dawn. But I tell Rebecca that I slept well and thank her profusely for letting me stay in her home.
The American Give Us Wings volunteers arrive and find us in class learning math, they join us for about an hour and then we all go to a community meeting. The main thrust of this volunteer trip is to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. But they have also all fund raised to build a permanent classroom/community room in Ilkiloret. The fundies have built the foundation. The volunteers will help start the walling.
The idea is a nice one, but ridiculously expensive due to the transport costs of moving materials over such bad roads. So we had money to build through the volunteer's participation. But I haven't heard yet when construction will resume. I get calls from the fundies and material suppliers daily... "when do you need my services," but all I can tell them is that we have to wait.
So the community meeting goes well, we sing, we introduce ourselves, we give reports about the hegoat and shop projects in Ilkiloret and the volunteers talk about raising funds for the building and then we talk about how it will be used.
And then we break for a lunch of pb&j sandwichs, bananas, oranges and cookies. Then each volunteer is paired with an interpreter and a host family for a day-in-the-life experience. Which is only a few hours but it gives them some one-on-one contact with community members.
Then they come back for a traditional Maasai goat roast with ugali and sukuma (greens). The Americans barely eat anything. Okay, so I understand that they are about to climb a mountain and need there guts intact... but it still makes me a bit, I don't know... I, of course over indulge and love every bite.
We sit out under the stars (which are second to none in the Rift Valley), until it gets too windy and then climb into tents for a better but still not a good nights sleep.
The next day the volunteers build the classroom in the morning and I run around and work on logistics, clean up the area we used for cooking and storing our food, make sure fundies are paid, etc. The Maasai women bring their jewelery and have a small market before the volunteers leave to go back to Kimuga and then on to Nairobi.
Rebecca and her family have worked tirelessly to help us cook and clean. I owe her big time. I buy a small beaded basket from her and tell Janet I will bring her food when I come to stay with her.
Then we wait until 3 pm for the safari van to come back and pick us and take us to Ngong. We are dirty and tired. When I finally reach home I find out that our electricity has been shut off because we didn't pay the bill. I guess it got overlooked in all the holiday happenings. Now electricity is not so necessary when you cook on a gas cylinder. I heated water and took a bucket bath...which is how I bath everyday... and then heated up some leftover rice and beans. By 7:30 pm it was too dark to see my hand in from of my face, so I went to bed and slept for 12 hours. Guess I had some catching up to do...
On Friday I got up, did laundry and went to town to figure out how to pay the electric bill - not that this is my job... just that it happened that I was the most available person around. David, Grace's son, told me how to get the balance via SMS. Which I did. Then he said that he had a friend at the electric company who if I MPesa'd him the money (+ the reconnection fee) could pay our bill. I'll tell you about MPesa later - it's really quite awesome. Anyway, I figured out all that. Paid the bill and Saturday around 1 p.m. they finally turned our electricity back on.
That's all I have to say for now because I've spent the last almost 3 hours at the cyber and this chair was not made for marathon cyber sessions.
Peace!
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