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Back in the USA

I have been home from Kenya for over a couple of weeks now. I got in to CVG after a good flight from London. It is great to be home although I am missing the Masai folks big time. I called a couple friends in Kenya to see how things were going. Fred, the Masai, has malaria. He’ll be ok but said he was pretty sick and missed some school. Tall Benson is good, still looking for work - like so many people in Kenya!

I have my work cut out for me during my time here in the states. The account of the mission fund is low and I need to find some way to make some money for my next trip to Nairobi. Any help would be appreciated and can be given through the Immaculate Heart of Mary Mission Fund – Africa Project. We are working to create a new foundation, JOURNEY:The Ed Colina Foundation, which can accept donations as a tax-exempt entity. I have a terrific board that is working hard to create something great!

Since being home I have been able to see some friends, spend time with Chris, Diane and family. I have also been able to see Kathy and Karen and bore them all with my videos. Joe and Becky, Fred and others! As always, I have been able to have some quiet times, mostly later in the evenings and revisit some of my reading, writing and thoughts about this great journey we are on. Sunday, the readings at church were helpful to pull me back into a more spiritual space – nothing drastic or earth shattering, but just to remind me what I am doing and why. There were scripture passages about blood sacrifices and the Eucharist. I couldn’t help think of the Masai and their practice of drinking blood. Blood is life. As I’ve written many times, I have a simple Theology of following Jesus, giving my life away, piece by piece and allowing myself to be filled (or refilled). It somehow works for me. Jesus is being broken, shared and given away. I try to follow.
This trip to Kenya has been different. In the past, I made an effort to structure my life, my prayer, etc. as much as I could. I think part of that was a head-trip – trying to be a little monk – but I guess it was necessary. I learned from it. This trip I am more connected to people in a holistic way. I have more time to be alone but the quality is different somehow. It is not forced. One reason this trip is different is that those I am in most contact with are adults, be they young adults – instead of the kids. I can ask, share, learn and pray with/over. Benson (Tall Ben), the Turkana ex-seminarian I have written about, struggles with the church much more than I. I thought at one time that he was leaning towards Muslim religion for its “love of what is true” and he sees what he considers the hypocrisy of his old religious order. Of course he does, he’s young and with that youth comes some immaturity! Everyone usually can and will disappoint you if you are looking for perfect people. Ben even went to a Seventh Day service. Hated it. But he is on the journey. It is fun to get excited about it with him and encourage him. “The best argument against the bad is the doing of the good.” I told him – “just do things better and don’t worry about the hypocrisy of others, etc.” Benson prays four or five times throughout the day and night. I find him sitting alone sometimes or he disappears for twenty minutes or so throughout the day. I learn from that and am drawn into his schedule. He is still living in Kibera slum, looking for money, looking for food and a chance.

Fred, the young Masai man from the manyatta near me has listened to me talk about life, what I wanted and what I didn’t want. He’s heard me talk of how I want to live the second half of my life. We are “passing” each other – he coming from nothing to “build his life” and me trying to simplify. My Kamba friend Mwololo believes that the rains aren’t coming because people like me aren’t going to church. He’s Catholic. So . . .I am having a great time and trying to become even closer to God because I have the sense He wants to be closer to me. . . . maybe as close as being my food for the journey.

Sometimes I just sit and smile. (not always - but sometimes!) This life is big and I have lived longer than my best friend John, who I remember especially each Holy Thursday. That is something – a gift I have been given, not only to live these many years after he suddenly died, but to be able to live it so fully here in Africa! I can’t believe it. I tried to explain that to Masai Fred and Mwololo – why this time of living with them is so holy and such a gift. The project is doing a lot but . . . I am the one benefiting! I can never be thankful enough.

The Kamba culture (from the Village where I used to work) is simple, basic, and beautiful. But the spirituality, although I would like to think that the simplicity of lifestyle would be a help, I actually find the religion immature in a way. It works for them but does not satisfy me. In the case of the village, I blame the church for keeping the people fear-based and somewhat ignorant. At the same time though, there is the simple trust in God, faith that it will rain, believing in God for miracles etc. It is a blind faith I don’t have. But the people will stay at that place with the priest calling the shots and telling them how to live. Anyway, I guess they have a right to whatever faith life they choose. They are a simple, uneducated people. We, on the other hand, should know better and can think for ourselves. We fear everything and protect ourselves and our stuff and our way of life. It is the opposite of faith.

The Masai seem to be even more connected to the earth. The Turkana - who I traveled to visit – even more. A lot of times I get caught up in the work and the stuff to do here in Kenya. You are faced daily with some weather events that lead you to think seriously about God and what God is doing with the weather here – no rain. So the elements make you reflect on God some but I get caught up in the work. I don’t take the time I need but am doing ok feeling connected.

So what is expected of me now? I don’t know. To know would make it easier and why I think people are so easily attracted to a church of “do this, don’t do that”. You know what is expected, at least from the church. But Jesus asks me to follow him. And that leaves the door open to interpretation. I don’t think it is about doing (again that would be easier eh?) I think it is more about “being” and being here, now. And that is work! to not be living in the future or in the past but here, in this moment. That’s where prayer comes in for me – it helps me to be “here – now”. That is the only time I can know the presence of God. I can read about Him in the past and pray to him about the future but can only experience him now – here (wherever) It doesn’t need to be Africa. It can be at home or at school or wherever I can get out of my head.

Everything teaches me (the good and the bad). Everything matters but nothing matters. Everything is serious but you can’t take anything serious. What looks wrong can be right and what looks so holy and right can be so wrong. That’s why we really can’t judge. You just try to stay connected and in the Flow.

What do you want to be when you grow up, little boy?

I did some laundry, washed the floor, answered some mail and listened to some music. I didn’t go to the school today. I met with Mwololo and we discussed the cost and dimensions of a closet for the classrooms to store the supplies sent by IHM. A “fundy” or day laborer will build it for about 10,000 shillings ($125) It costs more since there is no soft wood in the town and will have to be made using better grade lumber. I feel like I am spending a lot of money these days and the funds are low. But the money does no one any good sitting in a bank. More will come, I pray. Tomorrow I head to Nairobi for school supplies and to pick up MS OFFICE from a friend. Mwololo’s computer got a nasty virus. All the letters of every page of anything are strange symbols or wingdings. I had to reinstall Windows and we lost OFFICE. So anyway, today I had some time to think. It also rained hard, which helps me think and adds to my melancholy. It always comes down to my thinking about what I am learning. As these three quick months have now passed, what has God been trying to teach me? There have been times when things were more obvious. I am still convinced that God realizes I am not that smart and things need to be made simple for me to “get”. I find consolation in Jesus’ choices of apostles, not the “sharpest tools in the shed” I am guessing, The disciples would get His point and then loose it, see what Jesus was doing and teaching and then ask questions that proved they missed the point. I can be like that. So what did I learn? One thing I learned is that there are degrees of poverty. When you feel you’ve met some truly poor people, there are those who are poorer. I thought initially that the children with AIDS in the Children’s Home in Karen were the poorest of the poor, Then I went to the Village in Kitui and thought these children who were brought from nothing were worse off. I spent time in Kibera and saw the mud and muck and wondered how people could live like this. Then I met the Masai in Athi, with their houses made of cow dung, their hygiene deplorable and water undrinkable, Then I traveled to the north – to Turkana, where people are naked and starving silently and no one knows or seems to cares. There are places I have never seen in Kenya, places in other countries like Sudan and Somalia where there is no doubt more sickness, and more violence and paralizing fear. I know these places are there. In Africa I have been able to go deeper and deeper into the pain of the world. But even in these places of pain and fear, there is somehow life and there is love. I have gotten accustomed to not having the THINGS, those nice things that make life easier. But with or without them, life is about more than the stuff. Like we already knew, life is about the relationships. Life is about Mary and Naomi, Rachel, Benerd, Daniel, Chris and Fred, Jonah, Benson, Diane and Gladys, Judy and Zach and Lomori, Joseph 1,2 and 3. It is about Erin, Mickie, Spence, my mom, Mwololo, George, Paul and Pascal, Moses, Moris, Eunice, Mwendwa, Pastor, Kathy, Karen and John and Ngumbu. It is about all the people I know and love and have let just pass by. That is what I learned and what I know and what I live on each day. These relationships are important - like food. I need them to survive and without them, I am not alive. Without them I am not human. I took/take them for granted. If you do also – stop it. And so I come to the end of another segment of my African adventure. There is sadness in leaving these people again, but yet a sense that I will return and that these relationships, that have been such a gift to me, will live on and on. My family increases, not bound by age, language, nationalities or class. They are a part of me now and when they are in pain, I am in pain. Maybe it is called the Body of Christ.

I have learned more about death. There seemed more deaths this year – at home and around me in Kenya. It happens and will happen to me – sooner than later. I better be about living these days and let go of anything that sucks the life from me.

“What do you want to be when you grow up, little boy?”

“Alive.”

8 Days and Counting Sadly

With so few days left in Kenya, I am trying to get things settled and taken care of before I go. We hired another teacher to act as model for the two already in the ECDE Centre. I am trying to leave their pay along with money for other upcoming expenses with Mwololo. I want to avoid wiring the money later from the states. On Saturday night, Fred and I walked to the manyatta, about an hour or so on foot if you go off the dirt road and use short cuts. We spent time surveying the cattle, goats and sheep. We took some good video I hope and got Fred on tape talking about the July trip the men take. We also visited the hole where the women and children dig for drinking water although it is muddy and salty. I felt more at home this time in the manyatta. The women and children knew me but this visit, the men had seen me and talked with me me at the funeral and they were more talkative this trip – welcoming me to their houses. They invited me to the July meat-a-thon. I was also able to talk to the father of the child burned by hot milk and visit a newborn baby, recently born in the manyatta, Sadly, another mother miscarried two days ago, probably from poor nutrition and lack of prenatal care. This happens often and the baby is buried in the center of the cattle pen – a Masai tradition, although no one can tell me the reasoning. On this particular night, Fred’s father was visiting at Fred’s mother’s house (one of the three or four wives) and therefore Fred (and I) cannot stay at his house. We “slept” at the home of someone I never met but the house was identical to Fred’s. They are all the same. Inside the house, the woman living here built a large fire for milk and evening porridge. Within the hour my head was throbbing from the smoke and the headache lasted through the next day. Not much sleep. The mosquitoes were worse than last time, although we put up a net over the “bed” and the hyenas were louder and closer than before. At about 5:30 a.m. as the woman began stoking the fire for morning tea, I went outside with a blanket on and sat, like an old man, against the house and breathed freely as the sun rose. I had planned to stay for church but Fred and I decided to call a motorbike for me and I headed home to sleep. Fred is a good guy – and we joke that he may be married off by the time I get back to Kenya – if his father’s arrangements work out! The rest of Sunday I slept and ate little, since there was little in the house – some oatmeal and some tomatoes. I also washed my masai blanket, mosquito net and backpack since they all smelled so strongly of smoke.

Today, Monday I finished my laundry and met with Mwololo and Pastor. We took a trip into Athi River to buy some food and some supplies for the classrooms – chalk, a clock and a bell! The rest of the time I tried to organize my pictures on the laptop and backup my videos on DVDs. I also began organizing my things to go home. Many of my shoes and clothes I have already given away so my load should be lighter going home. My returning to this particular house (room) is not clear so I will need to leave only the most important and heaviest items: bed, coffee table, shelf and gas cylinder. I’ll also leave some pots and pans and other cooking supplies in hopes of using them again when I return.

Death and Life

Tuesday May 19, 2009

As I might have mentioned earlier, the Pastor (a Masai preacher who lives in the manyatta close to me) has become a good friend. Although his English is worse than most, we have been able to communicate fairly well. He is a “pastor” and holds church services each Sunday, but he is also a boda boda, a motorbike taxi driver. I call him quite often for a ride here or there. Pastor’s father was killed recently. 88 years old, he was struck by a car on Thicka Road while moving his cattle across. He was taken to Kenyatta Hospital (hell hole) and died some days later. One of the interesting realities here in Kenya is that the hospital will not release the dead body until the bill is paid. This goes for the mortuary fees as well. For some, this means the body is never released. For Pastor, they collected money from friends and relatives for 11 days before the funeral. The bill was 80,000ksh or about $1,000. Then the body could be picked up (by pick up truck) from the mortuary located conveniently next to the hospital. So on Tuesday I was invited to attend the funeral in the rural home of pastor’s father. At about 10 a.m. a pickup truck came to the nearby manyatta. I joined 21 other Masai in the back of the truck and we started the long journey to Kiserian and beyond. The women sang and chanted along the way. The men talked endlessly to me about life, the states and explaining what Masai do. Some were relatives of Fred. They all took good care of me. I was warned not to drink any water and not to eat the food which will always be served at funerals. When we reached Kiserian town, the truck with the body of Pastor’s father was waiting on the side of the road. We joined a small convoy and traveled deeper into Ngong Hills, a beautiful area of Kenya known for wild animals in the high hills – lions, leopards, cheetah and big elephants. We passed only zebra and assorted antelope. Once at the home of Pastor’s family, the coffin was taken to the elders, the top opened and each son from the oldest to the youngest was given the difficult task of rubbing milk and oil into the body. I’ll spare you the details. Then the 8 sons carried the coffin to the top of a hill where the service began. Preaching, singing and the reading of a eulogy. As was read to us in Kimaasai, pastor’s father was born in 1920, circumcised in 1945. (Interesting that fact is included in the eulogy). He married the first wife in 1954, the second wife in 1966 and the third in 1977. His youngest child looked to be around three years old! After the formal funeral rites and the body being lowered into the ground, Fred and I sat on a beautiful hillside eating cookies and water I had brought. The food was cooked and served. Men served men. Women served women. Meat, chapatti, potatoes and rice. I ate chapatti. We then crammed back into the back of the truck and headed to Nairobi, via Kiserian town. But, as often happens, we had a puncture. The tire was changed and we repaired it in Kiserian. The ride was long, dusty and cold. We huddled together in the back of the truck, wearing the colorful clothes around our heads to keep warm and avoid the dust. Fred was to be dropped off where he stay when attending school near Nairobi but because it was dark and too dangerous to be out alone, he spent the night at my place and headed to school early the next morning. Come to find out, there was another stabbing that night – a student was stabbed, robbed of 20,000ksh school fees and sent to Kenyatta Hospital (hell hole). The trip with the crew to the funeral was good in a number of ways. I learned so much about the culture, gender issues, funeral rites but I also made an impact on the males of the manyatta. It was the most time I have been able to spend with the adult males, who are usually looking after the herds. I think they are more comfortable with me around the manyatta and I feel closer to them all after spending a long day and evening with them.

The next morning Fred headed for school and I headed to the Village in Kitui to meet little Benerd, my friend who was to be operated on at Kitui Hospital. He has had a growth of some sort behind his ear and finally there was enough concern to have it removed. I went to the hospital and waited. Eventually Ben called a few times but the last call was saying that he was not coming and the surgery was delayed. He wanted me to come to the village where he had cleaned and prepared his room for me to spend the night. I did. It worked out fine. Although Ben’s surgery was postponed, I was able to tell him goodbye and spend some quality time with him and his grandmother and extended family.

On Thursday morning I took a motorbike to the main road and headed for Kitengela to see my friend George and his cousin Paul. I have not been able to spend as much time with George as I had hoped this trip so we shared a couple beers and some food and were able to say goodbye. I’ll call him later from the airport on June 2nd. George is always my last call when heading back to states.

On Friday we met with the teachers at the ECDE (preschool) and discussed a new HIV/AIDS curriculum. Mwololo developed it and it is basically good moral values that should be modeled and taught to the kids. In turn, this is a beginning step to understanding and combating HIV and AIDS. For example, one of the values and related activities is “patience”. Standing in line for porridge and to use the latrine shows patience and is a trait that will be needed in the future to postpone sexual activity. We start learning patience at a young age. There are other values to be taught, twenty of them so far. Each one, in the long term will help with AIDS related issues. Respect, love, discipline etc. all will pay off in the future.

Fred came home from school and spent the night at my place again. He is majoring in social work. Tonight I am planning on sleeping in the manyatta and saying my goodbyes to the Masai who I will miss while I am in the states. We talked last night about going out with the men in July. I’ll miss this big Masai event but it goes like this. 11 men go into the bush country where there are lions, cheetah and leopards. They will spend one month there doing nothing but eating meat. They will eat 11 animals, a mix of goats and cows. They will get very big. July is a cold month and they need the weight to stay warm and it will take the next 11 months to loose it as they begin the hard life again. July is a month of rest for the Masai men. It is not so much of a rest for the women. The men move out to the bush so as not to have to share the meet with the women or their children. There are parts of the cow designated to feed women, parts for children, parts for girls. It they go out into the bush country, they need not share it. Strange eh? Anyway, Fred was hoping I could go out with them for a while but the timing is wrong.

There have been a series of deaths and injuries lately. In Kajaido, the rural home of these Masai, a young boy was killed with a javelin while preparing for some games. A fourteen year old threw it and it pierced another young man killing him. Another young girl from our ECDE Center is in the hospital after being burned by boiled milk. There is death and hardship everywhere. It is a part of life here.

Kibera After Turkana

You would think that all poverty is one. Poverty is poverty but there is a difference, at least emotionally. The week in the dry lands of Turkana vs. the cold, wet, muddy urban poverty of Kibera – I am not sure if one is worse than the other – but they are not the same. Ben stays in Kibera. All in all, the place isn’t that bad or not as bad as other parts of Kibera. We got off the bus at Olympic, the center/business area of Kibera with its little kiosks, blaring stereos and wet sewage smells. We walked through the muddy streets passed multitudes of people coming home from work or somewhere. We head done the street to the place where Ben stays. We have to climb down a muddy, broken up ladder to a group of houses and a latrine. There are metal roofs everywhere and houses made of beat up metal drums. The train tracks are about 50 yards from the place. We will hear the trains later in the night. We enter the house, arrange our gear and get undressed to wade outside through the mud to a pit latrine/shower. Ben heated some water for us with an electric coil. The rain makes everything worse, instead of making everything fresh. We “bucket shower” in the darkness, laugh hysterically and head back into the rain to the house and off to bed. Don’t drink the water. There is no food. The rain pounds the tin roof. I feel like I am in a camp or fort I built as a boy. The train wakes me throughout the night, shaking everything. It sounds like it is coming through the door. In the morning I clean up inside the house using a bucket, not wanting to call attention to my white self. Last night I had the cover of darkness but not in the morning. We get cleaned up, pack up and head for Karen and the Children’s Orphanage of Nyumbani. We are packing up some sale items to send home. The profit will help both the slum program of Nyumbani and our Masai Project in Athi. The box we are sending weights 23KGs and will cost about $170 to send home by regular mail. After packing the box and dropping it at the Post Office in Karen (They made me put the 13,640ksh worth of stamps on the box. The stamps covered the whole side.) we traveled with Pascal to Kenyatta Hospital and then on to town for some food. We say goodbye to Pascal and head by Matatu back to Athi River. Ben will spend the weekend with me, glad to be away from Kibera, glad to be home from Turkana. It was a good trip.

Turkana Trip - In Reverse

Turkana Part 4

We walked through Lodwar town, looking for the bus station to book for the long ride to Nairobi the next day. We looked for the Guest House that had been recommended. We looked for food. But we also stopped by a bank where one of Benson’s old friends worked. We greeted him and agreed he would stop by the lodge after work. We then walked to the Bus Station, bought two tickets for the next day and headed for the lodge. It was a nice place, owned by Ethiopians. We got one room for 1300 ksh. That’s about $16.00 which was splurging for us but it was to include breakfast. (Later we found out it included breakfast for only one of us!) But the room had a shower, toilet and a ceiling fan. I bargained with the manager to allow us to stay in the room the next day until 4pm. Our bus was to leave around 7pm (TIA 8pm) and we would have had to find a place to stay/sit with our bags if we couldn't’t stay in our room. It cost us an additional 500 shillings but worth it. We met Ben’s friend for dinner. We had asked the cook to buy chicken and chips for us to eat. You order food and they go and buy and cook. It was a nice visit. The local vendors of Turkana memorabilia also visited us. It was annoying but interesting that this little town was trying to promote Turkana traditions and items. I bought a wooden pot covered with goatskin and I was given as a gift, a large chin “plug” used to adorn Turkana women’s mouths. We slept well under the ceiling fan and net. We slept in late, got our one free breakfast and went back to sleep. Ben prays periodically throughout the day. He just takes ten-twenty minutes of silent time three or four times throughout the day and evening. I ended up doing the same. I asked him what he prays for and how he prays. He says he mainly recounts the day, what he is grateful for and how he could have been more compassionate and kind. He also says some rote prayers at times, makes some up. At night as we lay in bed, he prays out loud, grateful for the day.

Our bus arrived late and we began the long journey home around 8:30pm. It was a slow but non-eventful journey home. I dozed sometimes, although it is difficult to get comfortable. We traveled with Somalis who had unbelievable loud voices. Their conversations sounded as if they were shouting. At times we were stopped for hours at a time for road construction (use term loosely) We arrived in Nairobi at around 4:00pm the next day. We looked for a bank for cash and for some food. We went to my favorite African-style restaurant, Ronalos. You order things like fried meat, ugali, chapatti etc. All eaten without utensils. After eating we looked for a bus to Kibera, the slum where I would spend the night with Benson. There was a transportation problem. There were no buses to Kibera coming so we headed toward Yaya and took a matatu to the slum. It had been dark for an hour or so – not a good thing for this white guy. It was also raining and muddy, making Kibera even worse.

Turkana Part 3

The next morning we inquired about a ride back to Lodwar. Our hope was to go to Lodwar, catch a matatu to Kalokol a town on Lake Turkana. After some discussion and bargaining we found a ride to Lodwar in an old matatu. We left town about 10:30 a.m. arriving in Lodwar by 1:00 p.m. From Lodwar we did some asking around and found a ride on a jammed matatu and headed for Kalokol. It was a long journey. We found a place in Lodwar serving chips (fries) and soda. We have been eating very little or eating junk for days now. At Kalokol we found a little Guesthouse and rested, talking to the manager. The costs of these places vary but average around 600-700ksh per night for one room for Ben and me. That is about $7.50 per night. The proprietor discouraged us from eating in town. The town had no electricity and therefore clean storage of food was a problem. Instead, he offered to cook for us if we paid for the food. We gave him some money and he prepared green grams (lentils), rice and beans. It was very good and there was plenty. He also purchased 4 liters of clean drinking water for me. We walked around the town and then settled in for the night. The next morning we were to make the long walk to Lake Turkana – about 6 km from the town. So we walked and walked, finally meeting an old man who walked with us giving us the lowdown on the local scams. The lake was unimpressive but we passed some interesting Turkana villages. Passing one homestead, similar to Ben’s home, we saw a frail old woman seated on the ground, facing the door to a tiny hut. Ben’s face fell. He said she was seated there waiting to die. She was starving, unable to eat or unable to find food. There was nothing the family could do. It reminded him of his own grandmother’s agonizing death. She knew she was dying. The family knew she was dying. There was nothing to be done but to wait. After death, the body is simply placed in a hole in the ground by the hut. Nothing more. Turkana fear death and dead bodies. This is what was done with the child who died next door to Ben’s moms hut. Anyway, back to the old woman. Ben took some little money and went to the hut of the old woman’s family. He gave her some money for the old woman, who he discovered was blind. We walked away and for some distance in silence.

We continued to the lake, which was unimpressive, but for the fact that it was water in a barren land. In the states we are used to beautiful, picturesque lakes for recreation and sport. This place was for fishing and was dying, receding at a fast rate due to drought. The old man took us back to town by a shorter route, through small village after village. Once back in town we got a soda with some locals and booked a matatu to Lodwar. It was to pick us at the Guesthouse. Three hours later, it came, jammed with people. You open the sliding door and look in, doubting if another body can be jammed into the van. But, as they say, “A matatu is never full.” So we jammed in, not to be the last ones entering though.. We picked up others. At one point we picked up a high school boy who flagged us down. There was really no more room and he climbed on the roof. After ten minutes we pulled into a secondary school, picked up a mattress and a metal box filled with his belongings. All were loaded onto the roof, with the boy. We took off down this horrible road at speeds that scared me. At one point, we were passed by a group of soldiers in a truck. They made us stop, told the boy to get inside the matatu. He climbed in the back window (which was missing the glass.)

After about an hour of traveling we came near the town of Lodwar. We had watched dark clouds and lightning in the distant hills but had not gotten any rain ourselves. We came upon a small cement section/bridge of road that crossed the Turkwel River. It was flooded and water was waste deep as people struggled to get across on foot. The water was powerful and I prayed the matatu would not try to drive across. I had watched those videos of cars and people being swept away in rushing currents because they did not know the depth or did not have respect for the power of the water. The matatu would not cross – thank God. But we were stuck. If we did not cross into Lodwar, we would have to sleep on the ground along the river. Groups of people banded together and walked across through the rushing water. A pregnant woman needing to get to the hospital was escorted through the water by a group of teenage men. One young girl, a small infant strapped to her back and another 3 or 4-year-old boy in hand tried to make it across. I couldn’t watch. Their footing was weak. Thankfully a young man came from the other side of the river, hoisted the young boy on his shoulders and led the young girl and baby to safety. But we were still stuck. Benson fears the water and cannot swim. He won’t walk across. Finally the truck filled with soldiers we had come across earlier, decided to actually do something and were going to try to drive across the flooded river. As they began to move, we ran to them and asked to jump in the back. They motioned to move quickly and we jumped in the back and sat on their automatic rifles and pop bottles. I pulled out the video camera to capture whatever was to come. We entered the water at full speed and you could feel the water pull the truck from right to left. A man on the other side was motioning the driver to steer towards the right. We made it across to the cheers of the crown and to our relief. I didn’t like these soldiers. They sat while the pregnant woman crossed. They sat while the young girls and babies crossed. But I liked them a little more when we were traveling across the river with them and even more when they did not ask for some “appreciation” when we were safely on the other side.

Turkana Part 2

From the village of Benson’s mom we headed to the sites of a number of refugee camps. These sites, monitored and assisted by many NGOs and the United Nations High Commission on Refugees, were homes to Sudanese, Somali, Ethiopian and Congolese refugees. They have been here for many years and I am told the inhabitants numbered around 95,000 people. The site was slum like, not the rows of white tents I had imagined. Ben took me past a very wide dry river, where Turkana women were digging in the sand to find water. In some places, young boys were skinny-dipping in the 2 x 2 hole they had dug. Some animals were drinking from the holes and you could also see men using some of the holes as a latrine. We climbed to the top of a high hill that overlooked the refugee camps. Even some of the various nations were subdivided because of tribal differences. We walked through the narrow streets but I got really dehydrated and we headed back to town, quite a distance.

We met various acquaintances of Ben, one a young boy who called Ben days earlier. He had been sent home from school because he did not have shoes. He had called to see if Ben could give him his black school shoes. His name, which I forget, means “wind.” We gave him 1000 shillings, $12.00 and he was off to buy shoes for school – so happy. He also used the cold shower outside the guesthouse, a luxury.

The night was uneventful but hot. We slept under a net, a little hungry since food was scarce in the town. The management was also having difficulties in the place where we were staying and money to buy food for the restaurant was not flowing. We ate some spaghetti noodles for lunch/dinner. The place did have an outdoor latrine and shower. Noise echoed throughout the night, coming from the bar adjacent to our room. The generator broke around 10pm gratefully and things quieted down. We did manage a walk around the outskirts of the town. Lighted only by the moon, the land was quiet and dark but for some campfires. My white body must have been somewhat visible in the night because I would hear the call to me “mazungu”!

The next morning we headed back to the village. This time, Ben’s brother was there. His name is Lomori (Lomo for short). Ben did not greet him or acknowledge his brother or anyone else but headed to the little hut where we sat waiting to be welcomed. Eventually his brother came in and talked non-stop for quite some time. Ben just listened. I know it was a story of how difficult life had been in the village and wishing Ben had not gone away. Later, Ben;s mom came in and there was a discussion on what to give me upon my departure. Lomo lamented their situation, embarrassed that they had no food to give me or goat to slaughter, as was their tradition. When we had visited for quite some time, we decided to leave and walk to a far mountain for a view of the camps and the town. We took some video and family pictures, said farewell to mom and headed off. Lomo and Ben’s sister accompanied us on the walk. His sister left us to fetch water at the river and we continued on but decided I looked unable to make the trip up the mountain and we headed for the town. My old boot sole came apart and we looked for someone to mend it. It made a sound like a flat tire as I walked through town, calling even more attention to myself. We found a group of men seated, all watching the shoemaker work. They made me sit down, removed my shoes, gave me flip-flops to wear and began mending my shoe. I was the center of attention and a small crowd gathered. Men tried to hook me up with local women, one tried to argue the employment situation with me, another asked me to speak to him in French as he warned me this was a dangerous group to be around. He insisted that we finish our business and get back to the guesthouse. We did, once the boot was not only glued but stitched.

(Click to enlarge. This is a picture of Ben's brother. Scarring and branding is common among the Turkana. It is a sign of beauty. These hundreds of scars were made with a fish hook pulling the skin up and then slicing with a razor blade. Ben has scars a well - dots in symmetrical shaped made from burning holes in the skin with reeds or hard grass.)
We met up with Ben’s brother again at the guesthouse where he had a gift for me. The Turkana men carry a stool around with them. It is small with a handle attached to carry. He had made it from one solid piece of log and was happy if I would accept it as a gift from the family. We ate a simple lunch (still a food shortage) of spaghetti noodles and Coke. Later that night we walked around the town, visited some friends before settling in for the night.

Turkana Trip - Part 1

Well I was expecting a long journey to the land of the Turkana. It was. Benson Lotiang’a is a friend I met in the kitui village a year or so ago and we had always planned to head to his homeland in the north at some point. His mother has been sick from a number of ailments, the major one, epilepsy. It is difficult to get medications and control the problem here in Kenya. Of course, as you might expect, the tribe often thought of her as possessed or carrying a demon because of the condition and her convulsions, etc. And so Ben and I decided on some dates and mode of transportation. To fly would cost the two of us about $750 total. And so we opted for the long bus ride from Nairobi to Kakoma at a cost of about $100 total. The bus was scheduled to leave at 7 am on Thursday morning (we know that actually means 9am) and so we decided to stay the night near the bus “station” in Eastleigh. We stayed in the Somali section of town in a Somali Guest House. It reminded me of movies I’d seen of Istanbul. Long cement hallways, dark figures passing silently, and the room was simple but with a toilet and hole in the floor for a shower. There was an electric heater attached to the showerhead but it sparked when Benson turned it on. We took cold showers, not wanting to be electrocuted. We boarded the bus in the morning and departed at about 9:00 a.m. It was a long journey over good roads until Eldorett. We passed IDP camps of people who were burned out of their homes during the post-election violence and were still stranded in white tents off the main roads. We made periodic stops through the night and bought cookies and soda etc. I was afraid to eat most foods although I took a mandazi and some tea at some places.

We finally reached Lodwar, in the north of Kenya, a large town in comparison. We were to head to Kakoma from there but word was out there had been violence there overnight and we should not travel at night. We stayed on the bus in Lodwar until daybreak and at about 8:30am, we headed to Kakoma. We had been traveling in a convoy of three buses for safety. There were marauders and thieves along the way. We were not too far from the borders of Ethiopia, Uganda and Sudan. Gunrunners and bandits often stopped buses and travelers at night in the lonely hills and mountainous areas. And so we left at daylight. We were told that the soldiers in Kakoma had shot and killed two protesters the night before and people were angry in the streets. The people were protesting jobs given out to outsiders from Nairobi etc instead of to locals. The demonstration had gotten violent and shots were fired. There are no warning shots; the soldiers aim to kill. And so they did. When our bus arrived, we were greeted by large crowds pounding on the side of our bus and yelling at us. I hid my white face. The UN people and those NGOs who hired out of towners were white and I didn’t want to be mistaken for a UN manager. The bus picked up pace and headed to the police station where we were taken off the bus. We got a bicycle ride to a guesthouse on the other side of town and tried to get the full story of the security in the area. Eventually we heard that things calmed, protest activities delayed until an MP came to speak to the crowds and until the funerals amped up the crowd again. We would be gone by then, thankfully. Still, I was warned to do any business in town quickly and get back to the lodge so as not to be mistaken for UN. I had people approach me in the streets to argue about hiring issues. I realized they thought I was from an NGO or the UN.

The next morning we began our walk to the Turkana village of Ben’s mom, brother and sister. Already the heat was oppressive. Along the way Ben was greeted by old friends. We passed bare-chested women carrying branches or water jugs on their heads. We passed Turkana warriors wearing only a blanket around their shoulders and carrying a carved walking stick and small stool to sit on. All were friendly enough and nodded or spoke a Turkana greeting “Ajuka”. Clothes are optional in the village. Traditionally the women and the men were uncovered and the tradition continued. One becomes used to it. When we arrived at the small plot where Ben’s mom lived, there were no adults around. We stuck our heads in the four small huts in the area. Ben’s sister appeared and finally his mother. We greeted her quickly and then went to be seated in one of the other huts to be welcomed by her. There was no affection or emotion shown. It was like we were salesmen coming to present our products. Ben’s mom was sick. She has been sick for most of Ben’s life and she was bitter and wanted to die. “Why should I live this way?” Her face was badly burned from falling into the fire during an epileptic fit. She was unaware that her face was being burned as well as her hands and legs. She suffered too from malaria and some other diseases. She was thin and week and looked to be close to death in both appearance and emotions. As Ben talked to her about her health etc. we heard wailing and screaming in the hut next to Ben’s moms. The neighbor woman’s child had just died and the woman was hysterical at the death. It was not uncommon. People die in this area from diseases and from starvation. Ben had watched his grandmother starve to death. He also, as a child himself, found a boy by the river who had died of starvation. He told me stories of people eating grass like cattle and boiling water to have something in their stomachs. There are no latrines and human feces can be seen and smelled everywhere. The drought had taken its toll on both humans and animals.

Back to our visit. I was greeted by Ben’s mom but I knew she was unhappy. Eventually Ben translated that his mom was upset. The tradition of the Turkana is such that when a special guest comes, like a white man, it is a blessing. In good days they would have slaughtered a goat or given me a goat, something to show that I was welcomed. But they had nothing to give me, nothing to share. I tried to make Ben see and translate that this experience, their welcoming me into their house was the gift and that in America, it was the visitor that brought a housewarming gift. I had brought nothing. Eventually she asked if I could take tea. Ben had told her I could take anything like water or rice for fear of typhoid or other diseases. I had brought a bottle of water. I told her I would be grateful for tea so it was made with powdered milk they found. The visit continued and I took some photos and we left to walk to the refugee camps along the river. We promised to return the next morning, hoping to see Ben’s brother.

Some background – Ben’s father died when Ben was young. His mom could do little to care for him because of her illness. The uncle and other relatives were abusive and Ben left for the streets at an early age. He was convinced that he could do better on his own, even running guns or selling drugs. Thankfully he was taken into an orphanage by some Irish sisters and lived there, begging for food and school fees. He also lived in a home for street boys as he got older and it was there that his academic education began. His mom never knew that he went to school. She never bought him anything like a pencil or trousers. She could not care for him and he remembers that fact. So he sits, sad at her lack of mothering. She sits, sad at the departure of a son that should be caring for a dying mother. They are both caught, both correct. We left for the refugee camps, talking to his sister on how we could help out both his sister and his dying mother. (More to come but here is some history, etc.)

Some Turkana History

So recapping, a 26 hour trek to the land of the Turkana in northern Kenya. Here is a some background on the history of the area and the tribe. Around 2 million–3 million years ago, the lake was larger and the area more fertile, making it a centre for early hominins. Richard Leakey has led numerous anthropological digs in the area which have led to many important discoveries of hominin remains. The two-million-year-old Skull 1470 was found in 1972. It was originally thought to be Homo habilis, but the scientific name Homo rudolfensis derived from the old name of the Lake Rudolf, was proposed in 1986 by V. P. Alexeev. In 1984, the Turkana Boy, a nearly complete skeleton of a Homo erectus boy was discovered by Kamoya Kimeu. More recently, Meave Leakey discovered a 3,500,000-year-old skull there, named Kenyanthropus platyops, which means "The Flat-Faced Man of Kenya".

The population of the Turkana tribe ranges around 350,000, and they are a part of the larger Nilotic group of tribes (along with the Samburu and the Masai). They are a very traditional tribe; with most of their people still living rural lives as they have for generations. You can find the Turkana territory near the shores of Lake Turkana in the very dry regions of northwest Kenya. They rely heavily on the rainy seasons and the 2 rivers that run through their land for water. Water can be very scarce. The harsh environment creates a great deal of tension between tribes, making the Turkana tribe a very fierce and aggressive people. Their language is called Turkana, and has a separate dialect for the northern and southern regions of their territory.

Turkana History.

Around 400 years ago, the Turkana tribes migrated into Kenya from north-eastern Uganda. During the colonial period and even after Kenyan independence, the Turkana have mostly been left alone. They are largely untouched by the influence of missionaries or other aspects of western civilization. And so their history is not marked by many modern events, and they are still the same as they have always been.

Turkana Culture and Family

Livestock are the center of Turkana economics, representing both a food supply and wealth. Camels, cows and goats are the favored animals, along with some donkeys and sheep.
As a nomadic people, the social structure is very loose and flexible. This is necessary, given the constant movement of families as they search for better grazing land and water. Each family is a self-contained social unit, with 4 or 5 families sometimes grazing together. Families can get quite large as married sons (and their wives and children) will stay with their father's family. Initiation into adulthood is a somewhat subdued affair with minor rituals marking the event for boys every 4 years. Girls are considered adults once they are married. Unlike most other tribes, there is no circumcision among the Turkana. Age sets exist but are not particularly important.
Turkana men can take as many wives as they have cattle to buy them with. A woman can cost dozens of cows, goats, camels or sheep. Men without enough livestock sometimes resort to "stealing" a bride, though it’s mainly symbolic with both sides agreeing to the theft. A marriage is only considered to be finalized after the first child has begun to walk, usually around 3 years after the initial ceremony.

Turkana Religion

Most of Kenya's native people have had their religious ways pushed aside by Christianity. The Turkana tribe is an exception, with most people still keeping to their traditional beliefs. Their god is called Akuj, who is prayed to directly or through the spirits of ancestors. He is not part of everyday life for the Turkana and is usually only turned to when rain is needed. Animal sacrifices are common during drought periods, to please Akuj.

Turkana Tribe of Kenya

Turkana tribe is the second largest pastoral community in Kenya. This nomadic community moved to Kenya from Karamojong in eastern Uganda. The Turkana tribe occupies the semi Desert Turkana District in the Rift valley province of Kenya. Like the Maasai and tribes, Turkana people keeps herds of cattle, goats and Camel. Livestock is a very important part of the Turkana people. Their animals are the main source of income and food. However, recurring drought in Turkana district adversely affect the nomadic livelihood.

Like the Maasai and Samburu, the Turkana people are very colorful. Turkana people adorn themselves with colorful necklace and bracelets. Their decorations are made of red, yellow and brown colored beads. Cattle's rustling is common in Turkana district and round its border with Uganda, Sudan and Ethiopia. Tribes inhabiting this area are often involved in tribal fights for livestock and water. Cattle's rustling has been a common phenomenon for many decades and appears to be a sort of cultural game for the nomadic communities living in parts of the Rift valley and its surroundings. With the proliferation of small arms, cattle's rustling has become more dangerous and the Kenyan government has intervened in solving the problem.

More to come regarding Ed and Ben's adventure.

A Long Walk

Sunday May 3, 2009 - Some interesting Masai cultural items came clear to me these past days. I spent some quality time with Mwololo and Fred, the Masai. We walked from 9 a.m. Saturday morning until about 4 p.m. We went up and down hills and rocky terrain, climbing to the top of some rocks called “the tooth” in Kimasai language. My legs are dead! But again, the time spent in conversations, learning about the culture was well worth it.

We began by Fred talking to me about coming to stay in the manyatta once again. We had a great time a week ago, because of or despite the torrential rains that fell while I was there. Fred says that if I stayed there tonight, we can’t sleep in the same house. His father (age - mid to late 80s) is staying at his house now. You need the full picture to understand this aspect of Masai culture. Fred’s dad has 4 wives. One of the wives is Fred’s mother. His father’s wives were “booked” by Fred’s grandfather. In other words, the marriages (Fred’s mother included) were arranged and timed for an additional wife every couple of years. The wives live in adjacent houses and the husband visits one of the four each night or for a period of nights. Now when Fred’s father visits the house of Fred’s mother, Fred sleeps with his brother Jackson at his house. Jackson is married but his wife is pregnant and when she is pregnant, she sleeps with her mother. Jackson sleeps with Fred. It’s musical beds almost every night. They are so used to it. So last night, Fred slept at my house. He laughed, a Masai sleeping in a house of luxury. Well, the electricity was out and the water has not run in five days. Not much luxury except for my iPod, which he loves. And so again, as it did the last time I slept at Fred’s – it rained hippos and elephants all night long. In fact the motorbikes weren’t running to take him home this morning. He had to walk a long way.

We talked about the possibility of Fred’s marriage being “arranged”. It is possible. Fred’s father has not yet “booked” Fred’s marriage(s) because Fred wants to finish school. If Fred’s father dies (a possibility) before the marriage has been arranged, it will not happen and Fred will choose his own mate. If Fred’s father arranges the marriage, Fred will abide by the decision, as did Fred’s many brothers. Fred estimates that he has about 18 brothers and sisters (many of them step)

We walked and talked some more and came upon a herd of giraffe, about a dozen zebra, some wildebeest and antelopes. It always amazes me to see these animals roaming free.

This is Fred’s fourth day of walking. Last Thursday he was summoned to an area called Thicka to help drive 300 head of family cattle back to Athi River, now that the rains have begun. That means he stays with the cattle all day and night, sleeping under the stars. Fred said that they woke up at about 5:30a.m. to see two leopards about 20 yards away, watching the cows. No cows died. In other news, when Fred was out with the cattle, he got a call from the Athi River manyatta to tell him that his cow was killed last night by a hyena. We had just heard the hyenas a few nights before. They waited until the men had gone for the cattle and then attacked. The hyenas do not fear women. The animals got some of the intestines but some of the folks from the manyatta were able to salvage some of the remaining parts to eat.

Some other bad news. The father of the pastor (preacher) who sometimes drives me on his motorbike was hit by a vehicle while crossing the road with cattle. He is in a coma and has some broken bones. He is in Kenyatta Hospital in Nairobi, not the best place in the world. (No lie – sometimes you are not alone in your hospital bed at Kenyatta. They double up there too!)

Tomorrow I hope to book a bus ticket to Turkana with “tall” Ben. I’ll let you know when I am going. Go ahead and Google “Turkana”. It may be the origin of our species. I can’t wait.

Away in a Manyatta

Smokey bed in Masai house. Click to enlarge photos.

I had a great visit at the manyatta on Sunday. I had requested to stay at least one night in the traditional Masai house. The Masai pastor (of what church I have never known) picked me up by his motorbike and we made the 20 minute ride to the manyatta and home of my friend Fred. We got there in early evening - so after saying my hellos to his mother and dad (dad is about 85 years old and cannot see unless you are up very close) we walked to a distant manyatta to greet the children there and see some of the other houses. I had never been to that manyatta before. At dusk we went into the house that was newly constructed by Fred’s mother. She is one of four wives of Fred’s dad and has been living in Kajiado – the home of many of these Masai. She is an older woman, thin and tall yet so much stronger than me. You can tell her strength by what she accomplished in building this house of logs, limbs and cow dung. Some communities use mud and cow dung. This particular Masai group leaves out the mud. The house is typical size and layout. Fred says some houses, such as one he lived in, have as many as twelve inhabitants, though some of the children are “farmed out” to other houses with a smaller number. These “farmed out” children eat and sleep in the neighbors’ or relative’s house as if they were a member. This particular house is new and not yet fully finished so it has only Fred, his mom and another girl. There are basically three rooms. The center area, with three stones forming a fire pit in the middle and there are always two “bedrooms” or shelves built into the walls on either side of the cooking area. One bedroom is for the mother and the other for the children (in this case, me and Fred.) Fred’s dad’s other wives have houses next door. All the women raise the children communally. Fred has many stepbrothers and sisters varying in age. As near as we can tell, Fred was conceived when his father was 67 and he has other children younger than Fred. As you may know, the Masai women are almost always pregnant each and every year.

So . . . once darkness fell, we went into the house and tea was prepared. We ate some of the bread and margarine I brought with me, as well as some bananas and a few oranges I put in my bag. Last time I drank water from this manyatta and ate their food I got Typhoid. Fred understood and knew I would bring some food for us to share. I also brought my mosquito net but we didn’t use it. We had visitors all through the evening. Many of the children came by to greet me as did many of the women. They didn’t stay long, just long enough to say welcome me and then they moved on. Jackson, a young friend of Fred’s stayed a little bit to listen to the iPod I brought. They sang so loud it was hysterical. There were some Lucky Dube (reggae) songs they recognized. At about 9pm Fred said it was time to sleep. The rain had begun to fall and there was a pleasant breeze coming through the little 6 inch hole in the wall. This was the only ventilation in the house that is used for cooking on an open wood fire. The smoke was almost unbearable but I got used to it and eventually stopped crying. But even Fred teared up at the smoke too. We laid on the bed/shelf and talked like a boy scout campout. We talked about culture, tradition, his parents. I used a Masai blanket I had from my house and we tried to fall asleep. It was no use. The rain pounded the roof so hard that we laughed all night. You couldn’t hear the other talk. Later that evening we heard hyenas very close and the dogs barked at them all night long. At about three we snuck out of the house for a “short call” or bathroom break. In the pouring rain, dogs barking, mud everywhere, peeing with the wind. You had to laugh. I didn’t sleep much that night but it was one of the best nights I have had in Kenya. We woke at daybreak but lay in the bed for hours since there was nothing to do in this torrential rainfall. At one time, men came yelling for us to come help lift a cow that was stuck in the mud and wouldn’t wake up. All of the cows were taken to the abandoned chicken warehouse when the rains began because they knew they were too weak to stand the mud and would die in the cold and wet. This particular cow could not be moved last night so they covered it with a piece of plastic and waited until morning to try to get it to stand. It took four tries throughout the day but it finally got its strength and was able to stand on four legs.

I’ve never seen it rain so long and hard in Kenya. It was a blessing (Many felt that I brought the blessing with my visit.) Fred’s mother gave me the flywhisk she had completed. It is a tail from a wildebeest with a beaded handle for swatting away flies. It is beautiful. I asked Fred if I could give her something for her work. He said the tradition is sometimes a grateful person gives a kilo of sugar as appreciation. That is about 100 shillings or $1.30 I love this place.

When we thought it would never stop raining, we decided I would probably stay another night since the dirt roads were impassible. We walked to a nearby little town for chapatti and some bread for me. Later, it did stop raining and the roads, although treacherous, were passable and I went home as scheduled Monday afternoon. On the way home from the store we passed a man obviously limping and in pain. He had been cutting grass for the cattle and cut his big toe badly with a scythe and was walking in a plastic flip-flop filled with blood. But he was a Masai and would show no emotion.

I can share more and talk about the goodness of the people, or the laugh the women got when I came home covered with mud from falling in the water. I told them we met up with a lion. I also met a man who said he was my age. He said he was fifty-nine. He looked seventy! But he was, I am told, the last of that manyatta to have had the experience of killing lions. He killed three in his youth. Fred’s father has a chunk taken from his side from a lion. There are still many lions in Kajiado, their ancestral home. But, I’ll share other stories later. But know it was a great night, a great time. I want to go back and have been invited to live there. Not sure about that but it is tempting and I know I could do it except for the food I would need to eat and the water I would need to drink. How happy am I!

Youth Activity Day

April 25, 2009 Today was a great day. As we rode the motorbike to the manyatta and site of the Youth Activity Day, it was so great to see kids walking from the distant manyattas. There were close to 150 children in attendance after all arrived. We held the activities in an abandoned chicken house, a hige warehouse with a cement floor and no real walls. We began with a prayer, then time for treats (candy, cookies, cheese puffs!) The children waited in line for them patiently. After the little sweet snacks, the children formed a square around a space for dancing, poems and songs. Groups had prepared songs and traditional dances, wearing some of the traditional beads. One poem was about treatment of the girlchild in an inferior way to the boys. It also talked about circumcision or female genital mutilation – something outlawed but that continues to be done. The boys did a skit about home life and how the mother is treated and the point was that the boys did not have time to read or study because of their work and herding of the cows and goats each day.

After the presentations, the groups split into three. There were about 30 children around the ages of 2-4. The sat most of the time and ate. Each group did some athletic games using worn out soccer balls. During this time, some of the women prepared juice and we served about 150 chapatis Mwololo had made in town. Then it came time to cut the cake that was brought from Nairobi. It was actually very good! “Thanks, Ed Colina and Company!” Some of the Masai men were around. The women had gone with the herd so that the children could stay and enjoy the day. Fred had made that request that the children be freed for the day. Therefor the women went out – not the men. We saw a group of men slink into the woods to kill a cow and eat the meat, never thinking to bring any back for their wives or children. We met some of them cleaning the blood from their knives. When the cake was cut, Mwololo made sure it was two young ones, a boy and a girl who cut the cake together. Then he put pairs together of a boy and a girl and made each one feed the other some cake. He even made one of the Masai men feed a piece of cake to one of the women. It was a sign of more equality in gender roles. At the end of the day there was another prayer and we rode off on a bike – the day complete and good. At one point in the day, Fred and I walked to his mother’s new house that she just completed. Tomorrow night, Sunday, I will stay in that house with Fred and his mother, sleeping like a Masai. I promised Mwololo to bring my own food (bread and butter) and some clean water. I promised Fred I’d bring a blanket and my iPod. I can’t wait. We asked Fred’s mother if I could bring her something small as a gift. She couldn’t think of anything but Fred suggested bubble gum – she loves it. I am so excited about staying in the manyatta. When we talked to Fred’s mom, she was completing a gift for me – a zebra tail with a beaded handle for swishing away the flies. It is beautiful and thoughtful “for my only American friend” as Fred says.

157 Pounds

Click on picture to enlarge. Preschool Classrooms, Ben admiring walls.

Today is Friday April 24, 2009. We have done many things despite the fact that the children are on break from school. We went to the two preschool classrooms the other day and put up some of the materials (posters, ABCs, etc.) that were sent from IHM School. We also put up some of the signs we made warning about HIV and AIDS translated into Kimasai. Saturday I went into town for a haircut and met Ben from Kibera. We did some food shopping before coming back to the house.

We decided to hike the hills around my place the next day and traveled out from the apartment early in the morning. We passed by the manyattas and greeted the Masai. About 30 yards from their mud houses we came upon two more dead cows, decaying and food for the vultures. It is a sad sign of the times here in this part of Kenya. The drought continues. Today as I was on a motorbike, we past another dead cow, this one dead from no food and exhaustion. Many cows find a drinking hole, perhaps a shallow hole dug in a dry riverbed by the people. Then, I am told, after the cow drinks, it cannot move and is stuck in the mud or dirt with no strength to free itslef. Fred the Masai told me that he had spent four hours last week trying to free some of his cows. The cows have absolutely no strength and many cannot stand. Anyway, we past the dead cows and looking back from that scene to my nice apartment, it was a striking juxtaposition of lifestyles. We hiked into the kills past antelope and other animals. We came upon herds of goats and cattle, taking pictures of some of the young herdsmen.

Mwololo’s laptop brought from the States has a virus. When you start it up, ever word, every label and icon is scripted with dingbats (crazy symbols) that make it look like another language. Every file you open, ever command you give . . . .dingbats. So I called my friend Pascal, the IT guy at Nyumbani in Karen for some assistance. We decide to meet on Thursday and at the same time I would accompany Ben back home. Ben was delighted to stay another night. He does help so much and has been instrumental with acclimating me to life in Athi River – teaching me to cook with African foods, clean as is needed in this part of the world, etc. For example, I have to wipe the floor several times a day, the window sills and anything left out, because of the dust. He has taught me how to prepare foods in a way that I will remain healthy. Also on Thursday we investigated transportation possibilities for traveling to Ben’s home area, Turkana. It is located in the north near the border of Sudan, Ethiopia and Uganda. It would probably be my most remote trek. We went to Wilson Airport, a little place for small commuter planes and also relief efforts. I would compare it to a rundown Lunken. We went to two mission oriented air carriers but found that, although there are many planes headed to the area doing relief work, they only carry members of NGOs (Non-Government Organizations). The carrier who would agree to fly us there would cost about $350 for each of us. It is too much. A bus will take us for about $20.00 but will also take us about 20 hours and maybe not the safest means. There are marauders and thieves as you near the borders. Gun runners and drug dealers are found in these areas. But . .. I really want to go and see an even more primitive lifestyle. The Turkana tribe is related to the Masai and Samburu. Even Ben’s skin is scarred in a traditional decoration. So we will see if the trip materializes.

Today Mwololo and I went to Machakos to interview three teachers. We are thinking that the ECDE Center needs some experience to help the two that are teaching now. We hope to hire someone for one term (3 months) so that they can mentor the other two. So we interviewed three that were finishing up there program in Early Childhood. After that I was able to meet with a couple members of the Machakos Rotary Club. We are searching for a host club to work with the Florent Rotary in funding the Masai projects. Mwololo go back to Machakos on Thursday to meet with the president and attend a meeting. There is some hope.

Tomorrow (Saturday) we head to the project for a Youth Activity day of games, talks and food. Mwololo had a cake made in Nairobi. He picked it up by matatu and we carry it on the back of a motorbike tomorrow. The cake is decorated and inscribed “Thanks Ed Colina and Company!” Mwololo says it is a fruitcake but somehow it doesn’t look like the traditional Christmas fruitcake. Thank God.

Oh, I weigh 157 pounds. I came with 167. That's not too bad. I lost 30 last time.

From Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday - I talked to Mwololo. He called and was in Nairobi. He purchased me a seat on an express matatu to go to his hometown of Kilongu, (not really Machakos as I had thought). It is in Machakos District but a distance from Machakos town. We traveled for about two hours and two buses to get to his home. The geography is beautiful, terraced hills, plateaus like the southwest or what you would picture in Central America. But there has been no rain so there is only a little remaining green. I was happy to spend the night at Mwololo’s, cooking, talking about his home, Kamba life etc. We had stopped at the butchery and bought some meat and the market for some vegetables. We were all set for a couple meals. We also took a walk and met some of the local children digging arrowroot. We took one home with us to boil and for me to try. I can’t say that I am a fan. Not a lot of taste really paste-like. The next day we traveled by matatu back to Athi River.

Things go well in Athi River. I met Monday with the organizers of TOT training sessions. These are sessions that will run from 10am - 2pm for approximately eleven Masai who are expected to then train others in the manyatta. Tomorrow’s subjects are: Dynamic Culture and Child Rights. We will spend the day discussing Masai cultural practices that are unhealthy and detrimental, especially to kids. Those I planned with today are Kamba and Masai. We will discuss women’s roles in society, educational opportunity disparities, female genital mutilation practices, healthcare herbs and tonics vs. modern medicine and some other hot topics. It will be interesting (if we escape alive!). Past sessions dealt with building teamwork and the attributes of a good teacher as well as HIV/AIDS awareness. During tomorrow’s sessions we will also discuss plans for the Youth Activity Day coming up during this school break. We sponsored a Youth Activity day in December and got over 120 kids attending!

As you know, we were offered use of some land in Kajiado, the rural home of many of the Athi River Masai. I traveled there with Mwololo a few weeks ago to see the land and visit with some of the Masai there. The land is barren and the conditions are made worse by the drought and famine. There has been no rain for over one year. MWEP Director Mwololo returned to Kajiado on April 6th with an research assistant and an interpreter to see if there were enough children to warrant the opening of two preschool classrooms on the land offered MWEP. The simple answer is “yes” there is a need. The question is only the expense and whether MWEP can handle the additional investment of money and personnel. It is not a lot of money but knowing our current financial situation and possibilities for additional income – I question whether we can consider this?

The other survey site (Kangundo) is more complicated. It involves a possible start of a Children’s Home, street kids, orphans, social workers, etc, etc. Of the two sites, the need is probably greater for a Children’s Home in Kangundo but there are many issues to be resolved before we can even consider. The 2 preschool classrooms in Kajiado seem more doable if we think we can fund them.

The TOT training session went well. We began with an activity/drama which locked out anyone who was not a Masai man. The point was to begin discussions of the various groups and people who were locked out of discussions and participation in tribal life because they are women or children. The day went well discussing education, family, pregnancy, FGM – (Female Genital Mutilation), politics and finances. These are all areas that the Masai woman has basically no say. We also discussed Child Rights (eating, education, child labor, etc.) These were difficult discussions but the group is willing to be that 20% of the community willing to look at changes in these particular aspects of Masai culture.

Today is Thursday – a day to catch up on laundry, the blog and transferring pics and videos from my cameras. Benson should be coming to visit from Nairobi on Friday. He has been taking classes on VCT (AIDS/HIV Volunteer Counseling and Testing). Fred the Masai lead part of the TOT training yesterday and tells me that his mothers home is almost completed, which means I can stay overnight sometime in the manyatta. Can’t wait. Women build the houses in the Masai culture, another discussion point from yesterday.

Back to The Village in Kitui

Couple of the boys clowning around, feeding each other

I had a great time at the village. A neighbor saw me walking toward the matatu stage and picked me up and took me almost downtown. I was able to catch a bus to the city center and get in a matatu going to Kitui. It is always fun to ride from Nairobi to Kitui since all the passengers are usually Kamba and are freaked out when I speak Kamba to them and the driver. We made it in about three hours to KwaVonza, the little town before Kitui where I jumped out. I called one of the motorbike drivers when I was on the matatu to tell him I was on my way and to get a ride to the village – 14 km from where I jumped. Musyoka took me to the guesthouse where I was warmly greeted by friends and co-workers from the past. Then I took the walk to Cluster 4 to find Benerd and Mwendwa (who are like other sons to me). These are two of the kids I came to see especially. They were home from secondary school. We talked about life and school and the village. Ben’s 17-year-old brother Charles Darwin is asleep and that is not like him to sleep in the middle of the day. I wake him and he looks up at me “Ed, is it really you or are you a dream?” Charles has an eye infection and his only relief from the pain is sleep.

Picture of Benerd above.
I went with Ben to the clinic. Ben wouldn’t want me to share this but doubtful if he’ll read this blog – Ben has a cyst of some sort on the back of his ear. I’ve been concerned about it since I met him in ‘07. It is growing in size and he went to the clinic to get a letter from the nurse. The letter is to be taken back to his school on Monday (about four hours away!) asking that he be released from “tution” (which is like tutoring over the break.) All 2nd, 3rd and 4th year students don’t get their full break but come to school to study. Anyway the letter asks that Ben not be made to attend so he can go to Kitui Hospital to have his ear checked. If agreeable with the school, he gets back on a bus and comes back to the village. I asked – “why cant the village call the school and save the long trip and expense?” Ben’s response “I am not aware.” So anyway, Ben will call me when he finds out what is happening. My hope is that he will come to Nairobi to have it removed and I can be with him. Ben is 16. After waiting for a couple hours for the letter, we got cleaned up for Holy Thursday church. It is to start at 3pm (said one of the Brothers of St. Joseph who are stationed nearby the Village.) Ben and I get there after 4pm and we are early. TIA. The mass lasts until dark, washing feet and such. Then we head to Ben’s home to hang out with friends. The grandmother of the house has gone to her rural home so there is no adult authority in the house. Nevertheless, dinner is cooked. Clothes are washed. Water is hauled and firewood cut. Everything goes on as usual by the kids. I am given my “big chair” out of respect and a huge plate of rice and beans is served with three spoons. One spoon for me, one for Benerd and one for Mwendwa who dropped in from next door. We make plans to meet the next morning to go looking for monkeys.
At 6:30am I meet Benerd and Mutuo to look for monkeys in the main farm and woods. We almost never see monkeys. That’s not the reason we go looking for monkeys – It is to talk and walk and share stories. This time we did all that and still saw some baboons and monkeys. Later that day we met up with the rest of the village for The Way of the Cross. It was to start at 2pm outside at the main gate to the village. I got there at 3:30 thinking we’d be to the seventh station but . . .it hadn’t started yet. We finally began after Fr. Julius made me remove my cap. I kept pointing to the sun, which would burn my balding head, but he persisted. It was Good Friday. I could suffer a little sunburn. The Way of the Cross led into mass, the reading of the Passion and darkness. That afternoon I was able to talk with Mwendwa. Mwendwa is 17 and a “freshman in high school.” Since he was from the same area as Benerd, I asked him about Ben’s parents. He remembered them both, when Ben’s dad died, when Ben’s mom died, when his own father, mother and brother died. It was all so sad yet he spoke resolved to the fact that death is so much a part of life in Africa. If Mwendwa returned to his rural home (which he does sometimes) he would find it empty, even his bed is gone. It was a good talk and I promised to come visit him at school on parent visiting day. He is so smart! He missed four years of school providing for his brother and sisters when his mom and dad were so sick and after they died. But he is now always at the top of his class. He says he will be either a lawyer or an accountant, depending on how his test scores progress.

This morning I met with the kids in cluster 4, shoved some shillings to Benerd for a computer book he needed for school and took off home for Athi River on a motorbike, knowing I wont have the opportunity of seeing the village kids again this trip to Kenya. Even if I visit the village, they’ll be away at school. I’ll miss them.

Here at home I cleaned the floor AGAIN and did some laundry, trying to get out the Kitui dirt from my jeans and socks. Tomorrow I meet up with Mwololo in Machakos for Easter Sunday. Alleluia.

Herding Cattle and more

Remember to click on pictures to enlarge.

There have been many things happening these past few days. As I reported earlier, we have three Baseline Surveys or needs assessments going on almost simultaneously. There are needs in three parts of the area – in Athi River, in Kijiado and in Kangundo.

First of all, here in Athi River we are asking the question: Does your family have need of a Children’s Home where your child can get adequate care and food? This is a difficult question because although there is an obvious need for assistance, if a child goes to a boarding situation, then there is a loss of a worker to care for goats, cows, etc. So my guess is that there will only be a few.

In Kangundo, we went looking for orphans or those who, although they have one or two parents, are not cared for or fed. This is the town where we have been given use of a house for a Children’s Home. There were more children than we anticipated. There are many children whose fathers are dead or gone, some who are double orphans living with relatives or on the streets. We have collected forms on over fifty and have a list of twenty more who are extremely needy.

In Kijiado, word got out that there may be a preschool and food program for early childhood education. Over 60 adults and 70 children showed up at a make-shift church waiting for those who were coming to do the survey! Hundreds came in hopes of a new preschool!

These are all Maasai and walked from long distances to get to the top of the hill where the church was located and on which ground we would start the ECDE Center. We were surprised at the interest knowing that education has traditionally not been a priority for the Maasai. The pictures are heart-warming but the high expectations are daunting.

We now look to input the data and make some decisions that always center on finances.

On Tuesday I took the long-awaited journey with the herds and the Maasai. I went with my young friend Fred. The point was to have the experience of herding but mostly to get a full day to ask questions of Fred and the other Maasai with us. We walked from 7:30am until around noon. At that time Fred and I left the herd and headed back home via a tall hill and through some barren landscape. As we walked and talked we came upon a large herd of wildebeest. There may have been a hundred. Then we came to some zebras grazing under some trees and some antelope. Finally we traveled towards about a dozen giraffe we spotted in the distance. I felt like I was on a movie set or in the Garden of Eden. It was a wonderful experience, although my legs ache terribly this morning. We walked for almost a solid 8 hours – stopping only to drink water and eat chapatti we had brought with us. We talked about religion, politics, Maasai culture, initiation rites of passage, and circumcision. Polygamy, education, tribal wars were also discussed. Of course there were plenty of questions about life in the USA as well. Fred is a good guy, wise beyond his 18-20 years. He doesn’t know when he was born. He has older siblings and many “step” brothers and sisters. We are “lending” him a small amount of money for college classes in social work and project organizing. He is to repay us when the rains come and the cattle are saleable. Now my only other wish yet to be fulfilled is to stay in the Maasai manyatta. Fred says his mother is almost finished building a new house. Houses are made of sticks, mud and cow dung and need to be rebuilt quite often. Anyway, her house is almost complete and I am invited to stay there, if I promise to bring my iPod. It has been a great few days for which I am grateful. Alleluia.

I go to Nyumbani Village to see the children tomorrow. I can’t wait and have talked to some of the children by phone already. They are back from high school for the Easter break. The matatus hike up the prices on holidays and I was told I would probably be stranded in Machakos if I board a matatu from Athi River to Machakos and then on to the Village. A better solution is to go all the way into Nairobi and then board an “express” matatu to Kitui and the village. At Christmas I paid 600 shillings for a ride that usually costs 400. I assume the same for Easter. I’ll stay in the Village for a few nights and play it by ear as far as when to return to Athi. Mwololo is going to Machakos, his rural home. I may link up with him over the weekend and stay there for Easter. I am just not sure. Peace.