I’m not making an opinion on the guy or not, but every Kenyan asks me about Obama. Since June 25, I get asked all the time if I’m voting for Obama or Hillary. It’s big news over here, a half-Kenyan with a shot for the President’s seat. They think that if he takes office, suddenly Kenya will be taken care of and the US and Kenya will be tight like brothers. I try to tell them that Obama hasn’t mentioned anything about taking care of his father’s country but in vain. I don’t mention the fact that Obama probably doesn’t have particularly strong ties to anything related to the father who abandoned him, but I do tell them that I’m voting for Obama…the time when McCain ain’t running.
McCain 2008. ;-)
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Friday Nights Out
What does a young missionary girl do on a Friday night? The hottest thing around: she does her food shopping.
Every Friday night, my housemates and I went food shopping at a nearby supermarket which had a plaza you could eat at, too. So this was our big plan. And remember, we looked forward to this.
Since curfew was at 6 at night the rule was that you couldn’t be out or on public transportation after 6. Being in a well known place like Prestige Plaza is okay because it’s a public place and you’re inside, so long as you don’t walk home but take a taxi instead. So we would time our walk to get us to Prestige precisely at six. Then we’d take our time and get dinner. It’s never good to go food shopping on an empty stomach, you know. After dinner, we’d go downstairs to the supermarket and do our shopping for the week. We’d get a taxi home for a small amount, and have our faces pressed to the window to see Nairobi in the dark, a sight seldom seen. Finally, we’d pull into our compound and relish the fact that we’ve been out late. Late being 8:00 pm.
Honestly, we considered this the highlight of our week. Take pity.
Every Friday night, my housemates and I went food shopping at a nearby supermarket which had a plaza you could eat at, too. So this was our big plan. And remember, we looked forward to this.
Since curfew was at 6 at night the rule was that you couldn’t be out or on public transportation after 6. Being in a well known place like Prestige Plaza is okay because it’s a public place and you’re inside, so long as you don’t walk home but take a taxi instead. So we would time our walk to get us to Prestige precisely at six. Then we’d take our time and get dinner. It’s never good to go food shopping on an empty stomach, you know. After dinner, we’d go downstairs to the supermarket and do our shopping for the week. We’d get a taxi home for a small amount, and have our faces pressed to the window to see Nairobi in the dark, a sight seldom seen. Finally, we’d pull into our compound and relish the fact that we’ve been out late. Late being 8:00 pm.
Honestly, we considered this the highlight of our week. Take pity.
Cleaning the Building
One of my fondest memories in Kenya is when my project in Kibera cleaned up before we moved into our new building. It still had a lot of work to be done, but with all the dusty mess, the workers couldn’t see what needed to be repaired or filled in. So the project got its youth members to come and clean the building one Saturday. We rolled up our trousers and began sweeping out all the rooms. This created a cloud of dust from the whole place, I tell you. After minor asthmatic attacks, we resumed our work. The real fun (and what a sight) is when they began washing the floors. Their method was to shake detergent powder all over the floor of one room, then pour water from the jugs they kept retrieving on top, and take the local broom, which looks like bundles of twigs, and mix it all up. It made so many suds that you just had to take your shoes off because soap bubbles were everywhere. Then each room poured out into the hallways, and from the hallways, the soap streamed onto the porches and into the ditches outside used for water removal. It was pouring out of every cavity, wave after wave. All the houses were out, taking their first look at their new neighbors, pushing and playing in a massive amount of suds! It may not have given them the best first impression of us, but it gave me a great first impression of the building.
Burning Boat
Of course there’s a burning boat in the middle of the road.
Of course the reason why we can’t get our bus back to Nairobi is because it can’t even get out of Busia because of the FLAMING BOAT the size of a small van.
It’s January 1, 2008, and I am in Busia, tired and hopeless, looking at this boat barrier, and waiting to hear the verdict on how much more I’ll have to pay for a taxi to take me out of here.
It’s here when Adam takes out his camera for a picture. I tell him to be careful, and he slyly takes it out, keeps the camera at his side, and snaps a photo. He doesn’t pause to check if the picture is good, but quickly returns it to his backpack. Within 20 minutes, it’s gone from his bag and our last chance at bringing home any tangible memories is gone with it.
So instead of uploading a picture of this, you’ll just have to close your eyes and imagine the flames.
Of course the reason why we can’t get our bus back to Nairobi is because it can’t even get out of Busia because of the FLAMING BOAT the size of a small van.
It’s January 1, 2008, and I am in Busia, tired and hopeless, looking at this boat barrier, and waiting to hear the verdict on how much more I’ll have to pay for a taxi to take me out of here.
It’s here when Adam takes out his camera for a picture. I tell him to be careful, and he slyly takes it out, keeps the camera at his side, and snaps a photo. He doesn’t pause to check if the picture is good, but quickly returns it to his backpack. Within 20 minutes, it’s gone from his bag and our last chance at bringing home any tangible memories is gone with it.
So instead of uploading a picture of this, you’ll just have to close your eyes and imagine the flames.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Packages and Teeth
Here in Africa, they say, “Hurry hurry gets you no blessing.”
They must have had the postal service in mind.
There are girls whose packages were sent as they were leaving on their six-month term and after they went home, still no mail. Of course, there are the people who get their package just in the knick of time to pack it up and take it home. Let me not forget those packages that had gotten sucked up into a black hole, never to be heard from again.
My packages did arrive, only two to three months after they were sent. Of course, those ugly little clashes didn’t expedite the delivery. But it was exciting to see the first manila envelope waiting for me. I had saved it because it was right before Christmas, so I didn’t open it until my house celebrated. I remembered being excited as I pulled out food of all sorts (since people love me and read my blog), especially chocolate. But I saw how some chocolate got on everything in the bag. I kept pulling more things out until my friend pointed out that the corner of the bag was ripped. Alas, it wasn’t ripped. Some rat had gnawed at the bag and ate some of the chocolate in it! We took pictures of the “evidence” so people would believe us. It was a real laugh!
So imagine how funny it was when the next package came in and had similar holes and teeth marks. But the next two?? I’m not sure if it was the Kenyan side or NJ side, but every package I got, a rat had eaten a corner off and helped itself to whatever rested there.
Welcome to missionary life.
They must have had the postal service in mind.
There are girls whose packages were sent as they were leaving on their six-month term and after they went home, still no mail. Of course, there are the people who get their package just in the knick of time to pack it up and take it home. Let me not forget those packages that had gotten sucked up into a black hole, never to be heard from again.
My packages did arrive, only two to three months after they were sent. Of course, those ugly little clashes didn’t expedite the delivery. But it was exciting to see the first manila envelope waiting for me. I had saved it because it was right before Christmas, so I didn’t open it until my house celebrated. I remembered being excited as I pulled out food of all sorts (since people love me and read my blog), especially chocolate. But I saw how some chocolate got on everything in the bag. I kept pulling more things out until my friend pointed out that the corner of the bag was ripped. Alas, it wasn’t ripped. Some rat had gnawed at the bag and ate some of the chocolate in it! We took pictures of the “evidence” so people would believe us. It was a real laugh!
So imagine how funny it was when the next package came in and had similar holes and teeth marks. But the next two?? I’m not sure if it was the Kenyan side or NJ side, but every package I got, a rat had eaten a corner off and helped itself to whatever rested there.
Welcome to missionary life.
Where?
SIM allows some days away from work where you can check out other ministries. So I used the opportunity to see another HIV/AIDS ministry across town. I was going to meet the missionary I would be staying with downtown at the Hilton Hotel. (Yes, they’re everywhere.) I knew that a couple buses went into town, but I wasn’t sure if it would pass the hotel. So I hailed a bus down, and as I was getting on, I asked the conductor in my Jersey accent, “Does this go to the Hilton?”
“What?” the man replied.
I remembered that we swallow our ‘t’s, so I said again, “Does this go to the Hilton?” this time stressing the ‘t’.
He still looked confused. “Where?”
Finally someone overhearing our conversation chimed in and said to the conductor, “The Heel-Ton.”
“Oh, the Heel-Ton. Yeah, this goes to the Heel-Ton.”
I would like to thank America for teaching me to not pronounce ‘t’s, and to Kenya for being completely phonetic and pronounce the ‘i’ as “ee”, even on an American word.
“What?” the man replied.
I remembered that we swallow our ‘t’s, so I said again, “Does this go to the Hilton?” this time stressing the ‘t’.
He still looked confused. “Where?”
Finally someone overhearing our conversation chimed in and said to the conductor, “The Heel-Ton.”
“Oh, the Heel-Ton. Yeah, this goes to the Heel-Ton.”
I would like to thank America for teaching me to not pronounce ‘t’s, and to Kenya for being completely phonetic and pronounce the ‘i’ as “ee”, even on an American word.
Keeping Their Seats
Upon arrival in Kenya, you are obviously noticed. You’re white, and everyone (for miles) sees it. Children run to get their friends to come look at the mzungu. You are invited to people’s houses on the basis of your skin, you are given the best of food, drink, transport. In fact, one time, my white friend and I were trying to leave work and it was getting late, so we were going to take transport home. A matatu (taxi van) came around the bend to stop to let a passenger out. The conductor saw us, called to the two passengers in the front, and they got out of the vehicle. The conductor told the two men to get out at the stop because we were white and he wanted to give us a ride.
I heard about the mzungu influence before I came to Africa, and the idea really bothered me. It bothered me even more once I got here, let me tell you! My first week of work clearly showed the influence. I was invited to the HIV support group where five or so people plus staff gathered in our tailoring room. Worktables and wooden benches cluttered the area. When I went in to the room, a woman got up from one of the few plastic chairs for me to sit there. A woman, who was a client, a woman, who was HIV positive, a woman, who was older, moved for me. The mzungu factor.
I told a couple long-term missionaries about this, and kept telling them, “I wish they wouldn’t move for me.” I was given hope that with time, the people I worked with and for would not see me as white, but as Melissa. Or at the very least, as white Melissa.
Some time passed, and by and by, chances occurred where people could have given me the best in sacrifice. The chances came and went. Eventually, people would make room for me not on the plastic chair, but on the wooden bench.
And I was happy to report to the missionaries that they kept their seats.
I heard about the mzungu influence before I came to Africa, and the idea really bothered me. It bothered me even more once I got here, let me tell you! My first week of work clearly showed the influence. I was invited to the HIV support group where five or so people plus staff gathered in our tailoring room. Worktables and wooden benches cluttered the area. When I went in to the room, a woman got up from one of the few plastic chairs for me to sit there. A woman, who was a client, a woman, who was HIV positive, a woman, who was older, moved for me. The mzungu factor.
I told a couple long-term missionaries about this, and kept telling them, “I wish they wouldn’t move for me.” I was given hope that with time, the people I worked with and for would not see me as white, but as Melissa. Or at the very least, as white Melissa.
Some time passed, and by and by, chances occurred where people could have given me the best in sacrifice. The chances came and went. Eventually, people would make room for me not on the plastic chair, but on the wooden bench.
And I was happy to report to the missionaries that they kept their seats.
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