How Have I Offended You? Let Me Count the Ways...

The thing about new cultures is that everything you've learned in the past about social interactions, you now have to question. Is there a correct way to eat? (Of course, the first thing I worry about.) Is there a proper way to speak to people? Is there a proper way to dress? What kind of work is expected of you? And the thing is, usually you have to figure these out by trial and error. And even then, you may still be doing it wrong and no one will tell you you're being offensive, ergo making yourself more offensive!

#1. I don't greet people in enough different ways. When greeting people in Korr, you ask how they slept/how their day has been, if they have peace, where they're going, where they're coming from, what clan they are from, etc. There's no such thing as plain "Hello." Everyone knows I'm the new girl in town and that I don't know the language yet, but I still feel as if there's an awkward pause whenever it's my turn to ask another question.

#2. Respect in this country, especially this part of the country, is HUGE. Hierarchies within Rendille culture are well protected and maintained. As a result, there are very specific titles for a warrior vs. an old man vs. a young unmarried woman, etc. Birth order is strongly part of one's identity, and there are always particular roles for women, that men would never perform, and visa versa. Both my roommate Alicia and I have been completely inappropriate in the ways we've been addressing people. We've been forgetting to call our day guard "MBOGO Bruce" (a young man), and we've accidentally been calling the church pastors merely by their first names and not with the respectful "Pastor" at the beginning.

#3. Women don't wear skirts shorter than mid shin, and they NEVER wear shorts. Oopsy daisy. I wear shorts to bed, which is perfectly reasonable considering the heat, however I shouldn't be seen outside the bedroom with such clothing (or lack there-of.) So of course, on my first morning here, I wandered out to our (safely) COVERED and GATED outhouse, and who should be standing just down the veranda, but Bruce who gave me a shocked look that almost said "Hussy." Since then, the house help has caught me at least twice running around in those same scandalous shorts.

#4. People don't "exercise" here as it's usually too hot, there's plenty of other things keeping them busy, and that precious energy should be stored and not wasted on ridiculous flailings of the body. But I'm blessed enough to be well fed, and currently on break from work. So, two days ago I started doing tiny laps in my yard and step aerobics on the back porch. It was fine the first day, as it was raining so hard outside, none of the locals were wandering about. However, yesterday as I was in minute 7 of my step routine, three little boys started loitering by my fence, mouths slightly open, watching this crazy white girl bounce up and down. I guess it's not "offensive" per say, but it's just weird enough to the Rendille that they will probably circulate this story and starting hopping on one leg whenever I come around.

And so... this is part of my life in Korr; navigating the treacherous social waters of a northern Kenyan desert tribe. But I guess I don't mind all that much, as there is much grace to be found here.
And most of the time, (and I say "most"), I'm perfectly safe from Rendille social faux paus at home with Alicia. Included are some pictures of the house. Our living room, the netted master bed where Alicia and I sleep, our resident kitty getting stuck in the attic, and the scene of a fashion crime: our outhouse.

Goings-On in Korr

I've been in Korr only since last Tuesday, and so much has already happened! I guess as it's Christmas time, there's bound to be lots of activity.

Alicia and I have more or less fully moved into our new house (pictured above.) We've un-packed most of our things, have been tidying up, and bug spraying everything. And in an attempt to be really domestic, we disastrously tried our hand at baking bread. The stupid recipe told us to boil all our liquids (butter, milk, etc), but pouring that into the dry mix killed our yeast! Being a self sufficient grown up is hard work... However, Alicia redeemed us yesterday by making several wonderful loafs of white bread. To be fair, though, it's quite an art - getting the hang of cooking in a secluded desert. We have to make sure to either freeze or eat all of our fresh produce right away as it goes bad within the first week of being here. We also have to be very careful to conserve our gas and solar power (for the freezer.) All the House-boating crew (John and Anita especially) would appreciate the delicate dish-washing methods. And a clean floor? Not an option. There's sand and dirt everywhere.

I have also received my Rendille name and have been adopted into a clan. The prominent tribe here in Korr, the Rendille, have trouble saying my English name, and even more than this, a Rendille name relates my existence to their world. It puts me in a context we both can understand. I'm still Claire the American, still a Wazungu outsider, but now we have a more intimate way of connecting with each other. My name is "Waakhene" (Waa-ken-ey) which means "God has sent you/ A blessing." This makes perfect sense to me, because I really do feel like I was sent here, but that the Rendille believe that too is the amazing thing. And am I really a blessing? We'll ask the Rendille after a year. My naming came after three days of being in town and after a couple times of meeting Mamma Naryo. She's a precious woman; so stunningly beautiful, happy, caring, and although she doesn't speak any English, you know you're loved. She adopted Alicia a few months ago, and I think since I've been tagging along with Alicia, she's keeping it all in the family! So now I too am Waakhene of the Dubsahai clan and the Chawle family. Alicia and I are sisters with Mamma Naryo as our adoptive mother and a whole host of extended family running around Korr and the outlying "gobs" (villages.) It's really quite an exhilarating thing knowing that now you mean something, not only in what you do but also in who you are, to the people of a new home.

(Conversely, the name of our guard is "Bogajo." Since Alicia and I had both been blessed with Rendille names, we decided to give Bogajo a Wazungu name. So now we call him Bruce. We figured if he's going to be the one protecting us from rabid hyenas and burglars, he'll do a better job with a name like Bruce.)

The Rendille are herders. They always have been I believe, and so, for centuries, they have kept goats and camels across the northern deserts. It's the warriors who herd the camels, as they're supposedly the only guys tough enough to travel hundreds of kilometers out into the bush to find water and foraging for the animals. (Interesting fact: You're not allowed to take pictures of the camels as the warriors believe it takes away their ability to reproduce. This will become important in a minute.) This area of Kenya has been experiencing a very serious drought in recent years, and as a result, camel herds are dwindling and many people have lost their goats. So it's a big deal when the camels come back into town from pasture, not to mention with their new calves...
I literally could smell the camels coming before I could see them. It's not an absolutely revolting smell, but for you Californians, it's almost like driving past Harris Ranch on I-5. You're thought is "Oh, that's... natural." Anyways, so this small herd of camels, maybe 50 of the total thousands, went meandering past our gate yesterday! I got super excited because it was my first sighting, but knowing the rules of photos, had to find a way to go covert. First I tried to get some pictures from our windows, but the chicken wire was making it fuzzy (see above.) Then Alicia and I snuck out into the backyard to see what the view was like through the fence. It was pretty good, but then one of the young children helping herd saw us suspiciously hanging out. He yelled up ahead to one of the warriors, who had his foot long dagger tied to his waist, and for a moment I really thought we were in big trouble. These warriors have spears too... They kept walking, though, and all was fine, including the photos I snapped of the camels.

A Walk Around Korr

I've finally arrived "home." After a week and a half in bustling Nairobi, I've been deposited into the middle of the northern desert of Kenya. Yes, it's hot, and dusty, and slower-paced than anything I've ever experienced, but it's also one of the most beautiful places I've seen yet in Kenya.
Imagine this; flying into town, all you can see for the last 30 minutes of the flight is sand and small savannah trees with the occasional crop circle like thing on the ground. (These formations are the outlines of old villages. The Rendille and similar tribes are semi-nomadic so 3 times a year they pick up and move a few feet over. I'm not joking.) The 6-seater plane lands on an impossible small sand airstrip and at the end spins right around to taxi up to the tree where people are waiting. There are Rendille and Samburu people just there for the show, as well as mizungus (white people) to be picked up. The heat hits you, but without the heaviness of humidity, so this means it's easier to cope with (?). Then you drive down a road, of sorts, that is littered with sparkly quartz stones, which means it's quite pretty but makes for a bumpy ride. Goats, donkeys, and dogs wander around in the sparse brush (the camels who are still alive after this drought are out to pasture now.) You drive through town, which is a combination of corrugated sheet metal/concrete stone homes and min (dome-shaped huts made of cardboard and sticks), and find yourself in quite a social arena. There are far more people sitting and chatting or shopping than you ever really imagined for the middle of nowhere.
And then you reach your house. Built on a small hill to catch the breeze, it's whitewashed concrete with a large front porch and windows all around. There is a guard there whose job is to watch for intruders, but also to keep the plants watered, visitors informed of where you are at all times, and get rid of the rare rabid hyena. (There's also a night guard who is more likely to keep you safe from pesky carnivores.) Inside, the house is all concrete as well, as wood cracks in this heat, carpets are made useless from the dust, and it's just plain easier to clean. But it's all painted wonderful colors and there's a significant library containing even a Dickens collection. Unexpectedly, there is running water (therefore shower and sinks), electricity, a lovely outhouse, and two resident kitties who love to cuddle.
It's quite the place; that is Korr and my new house. Not what I expected, but in all the good ways.

(Included is a view of the desert from the plane)

Mitumba Slum

I haven't said anything up until this point about teaching in Mitumba slum because I wanted to assess the experience as a whole, beginning to end. But for the past week I've been going with a fellow short-termer, Debby, into Mitumba to tutor and mentor the students and orphans there.
There's about 23 orphans living in a small home in the slum, and just through the winding "streets" there is a slightly larger Christian school that services 400 slum kids. Pastor Shadrach founded the orphanage and the school a few years ago when he visited the slum and found many children malnourished, uneducated, orphaned, and without any sort of a community. The home came first, and is actually quite a nice structure, with bunk beds and mosquito nets for all the kids, a boys' and girls' room, as well as vital clean water and food. Natalia and Florence act as the dorm parents and are wonderfully caring towards the kids. Then came the school in response to the need for education as well as a positive community for Mitumba children. Today families vie to send their kids to REM School and burdened relatives are always asking to place their child ward in the orphanage.
This school and home are no longer just humanitarian agencies; they've become life to the slum kids.
And so, this is where I entered. The children are all on school break right now, so REM tries to keep them engaged (and out of trouble) by running tutoring sessions and mentoring groups each day. Debby and I were assigned the older grades, whose age ranges are about 13 to 20-something. And so we did spelling lessons, which were more giving the definitions than letter placement, a presentation on African dinosaurs (I found that gem in a National Geo.), math wars, and then short Bible studies. The kids were awesome, and while the Christmas tutoring schedule may have been a bit disorganized, these children were there to LEARN! They were so excited to soak up anything we threw at them. And not only that, but they wanted to share with us too! We got placed in a Swahili word spell-off, were taught Swahili songs, ate real Kenyan food (finally), and got shown around their homes and met some families. The orphans and students alike were so vibrant... so full of life... it's hard to pick up on the fact that they've most likely had more hardship in their average 15 years than we've had in our entire lives.
But these children are thriving and loving life and making plans and goals. Amo wants to be a scientist, a couple of the guys want to be preachers, Lucy loves to dance (and has even competed), Rosemary I can see being the next Mother Theresa. At the end of my time in Mitumba the children put on a talent show with awful singing, FABULOUS dancing, Swahili jokes, and some soccer ball juggling. Near the end then they presented me with "thank-you" gifts which was totally unexpected considering my short stay with them as well as their poverty. The girls wrapped my head with a scarf, placed jewelry on me, handed me a purse, and then Esther gave a goodbye speech. It was the most humbling thing ever. I had come really just to hang out and talk with them, and they honored me as if I had totally rocked their world. Maybe I did, but it's for sure that they rocked mine. Not the least reason being that the talent show ended with them teaching me some Kenyan dance moves and throwing me up in front of the congregation with Kenyan hip-hop in the background.

(Included are pictures of the girls presenting me with gifts, a precious little angel wearing my sunglasses, and Debby and I with an awesome girl Lucy.)

A Picnic in the Country

It's official; I'm a country girl. Or at least a suburb girl. And while I've been in Nairobi, I've found the greatest joy in getting out of Nairobi.
Within the past couple of days I've been blessed with friends who have shown me the outlying areas of this city. Don't get me wrong, I think Nairobi is a truly interesting place with all its diversity, history, and development; but I just don't handle the congestion (of people, cars, cows, and matatus) and smog very well. In the end it stresses me out more than it interests me.
So imagine my excitement at having Pastor Shadrack, the pastor of the slum church and school I've been working at, offer to take my colleagues and I out to the Nairobi game park south of the city. And that's not even the exciting part! What's truly great about this game park is the elephant orphanage! These precious little angels (Yes, they are LITTLE believe it or not. The smallest ones are the size of a great dane) are brought in from both Kenyan and Tanzanian game parks to be rehabilitated after injury or loss of their mother/family. They are not really domesticated, however, as they are let back into the game park every day to socialize with wild elephant herds, but they are given special treatment at the center. Anyways, my fellow teachers and I got a chance to watch the babies bottle fed, play soccer, play in the watering hole, and take dirt baths which consequently blew red clay all over us by-standers. I'm pretty sure I had a connection with one who kicked me the soccer ball. I'm also pretty sure that he'll have to come home with me at some point.
Moving away from the game park, I was invited by some friends I met at an AIM Christmas party up to the Africa International University/NGEST campus in Karen, a neighborhood outside Nairobi. It's absolutely stunning up in those hills. Really what I imagined when I thought of Kenya. Green everywhere with a beautifully fresh breeze blowing through trees I don't know the name of and flowers I've seen in Mom's garden (Agapanthas and some sort of Shasta Daisy.) I was able to enjoy "Kenyan BBQ" as they laughingly called it, with Linda & Ken and Lois & Mark as we all sat outside next to the banana trees listening to Christmas music. They're really great people, all working in different capacities at the University, but not too busy to have a great visit with me. After lunch I was shown around campus and got to see the location of the new student center Ken is planning.
The magnificent conclusion to this visit, though, was the revelation that KAREN BLIXEN'S HOMESTEAD is located just down the road from the Uni!!! What?! Karen Blixen's home?! Made famous by Meryl Streep and Robert Redfords landmark film "Out of Africa"?! Not to mention the inspiration for the title of my blog! Take me now, please! And so Ken and Linda put me in the SUV and drove me out to take pictures (I'm saving the tour of the house for when I'm officially a Kenyan resident and the entrance fee isn't so exorbitant.) It was totally recognizable, except for the massive wedding going on on the front lawn. So, mentally removing the extra tents and jumpy house, I know why Karen lived here for so many years; it's such a beautiful area with that distinct "home" feeling. All that was lacking was Robert Redford landing his bush plane in the yard.

(Pictures include a baby elephant and Karen Blixen's estate)

The Grand Adventure

Remember those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books we used to read as kids? The ones that allowed you to see if you would have survived the sinking of the Titanic (Yes, I did, and Jack and I got married in the end), or determine if you would have been eaten by a dinosaur in a time travel sci-fi? Yah, cool books, but there's an interesting concept behind them. And it's this: Why do we pick the adventures we do in real life? One person may choose to join the Navy, another, missions. Someone may go off to bike around Europe, and then someone else might chose to study coral off the Australian coast. What draws each of us to a specific place at a specific time with something specific to do there?

I sat with an enthusiastic couple involved in NGOs the other night for dinner, and they asked me that exact question: "Why Kenya and why now?" Umm... Good question.

Well, partly because I was divinely led here, but there's also elements of that decision that stretch way back to people, places, and connections that offer no solid reason for "why."

I don't think it was melodramatic for Conrad's character Marlow (from the novel, Heart of Darkness) to talk about the pull of Africa. There's just something intriguing about this place that no one has ever been able to define. Some might say that, as the likely geographic starting point of humanity, our own genes literally pull us back here. Then there's those who argue that as overly modernized Westerners, it's one of the last places on earth that can offer us insight into ancient cultures. Some are interested in trying to solve Africa's problems, and some come for the exotic animals. But as for me, I couldn't even give one of those reasons. Ask my momma. I told her Senior year of high school that I wanted to go to two places during and/or after college: England (check) and Africa. I hadn't even met an African at that point and knew very little of missions on the continent. I was just "drawn" there for lack of a better word. Sure, maybe for the adventure, but what if deep down I understood that revelations would be gotten in Africa that couldn't be gotten in the states.

And then there are those precious few Africans I've met over the years. Elvis, our doorman in London, who shared Ghanaian pop music with us and exemplified the friendliness of the Ghanaians. My Nigerian 5th grade teacher, various South African friends in my college days... They all had a "life" about them that was impossible to miss. So real and refreshing; perhaps it's what I'm looking for. And although all these people had a hand in introducing me to Africa, even they weren't the catalyst for my decision.

I do love that "Christian the Lion" video on You Tube, but that wasn't it either.

I wish I could say, "Oh yah, this is why Kenya and why now," but in the whole scheme of my life, I feel like even I don't understand the proverbial "bigger picture." I've come and I'm here for a while. That is all that is sure, and perhaps really all that matters is what I give to and take away from this adventure.

(The attached picture is of Mayfield Guest House in Nairobi. Home has a draw no matter where in the world.)

Just a Normal Day

Instead of my deep ponderings on subjects such as my new watch or Kenyan hospitality, I'm sure you all would like to know what on earth I'm doing with my days!

Most days I wake up around 6 am. Girls who I've lived with before will tell you this is more or less normal, but now I've got the excuse of jet-lag. I'm 11 hours ahead of Cupertino, CA and then 8 hours ahead of NYC, so I'm still getting used to this. Anyways, breakfast with chai tea is a norm. Although, here the chai is really not the kind you get at Starbucks. It's actually a tea bag steeped in hot milk and then served with those brown sugar crystals. No cinnamon and spice and everything nice. It's great stuff, though, but I think it's a slightly different kind of milk because I sometimes feel a little woozy after drinking it.

Mornings activities have varied over the past few days. Often I have Kiswahili lessons with Bwana (Sir/Mr.) Ezikial have been great. He's got a wonderful sense of humor, really knows how to explain the roots and conjugations to my non-lingual brain, and has the "practice makes perfect" concept down. To display my talents, here is one of our common conversations:

Bibi Claire: Hodi! (Anybody at home!)
Bwana Ezekial: Karibu (Welcome)
Bibi Claire: Hujambo (Hello)
Bwana Ezekial: Sijambo. Karibu keti. (Hello back. Welcome and have a seat.)
Bibi Claire: Asante Sana. Habari gani (Thank you very much. What's up?)
Bwana Ezekial: Nzuri. Na weweje (I'm good. How about you?)
Bibi Claire: Nzuri pia (Good also.)

Then we ask each other a bunch of questions about the kids, and the home, and how each other's mornings have been... It's pretty great, and I'm really trying to use what I have learned so far. So, an application to real life for you guys would be that in the Lion King movie, when that little bird sings "Asante sana squashed banana...!) he is singing, "Thanks very much for the squashed banana." Random, I know.

I've been celebrating Christmas in Kenya with an AIM missionary Christmas party complete with a white elephant gift exchange. I brought chocolate chips which are evidently hard to find here, and got an African styled soap stone box. The hot item of the day,though, was a sage green shag toilet cover. Oh, those crazy missionaries! I also got to attend a Christmas program at AIC church this morning. The choir sang beautifully, and there were even 6 young boys playing violins, and a few members of the Nairobi Symphony. The Christians here are truly wonderful people; so dedicated to the Lord, happy, and welcoming.

While on a walk exploring my neighborhood, I picked up on the tremendously international nature of Nairobi. Of course there are the native Kenyans, but then there's the old British settler descendants, Kenyans of Indian heritage, and even more recent Asian immigrants. I don't understand yet what has drawn all these ethnic groups to this city, but it's created a truly cosmopolitan environment. Despite this, I'm pretty sure I really stick out as I was followed for a quarter mile by a boy begging for money from the supposedly rich American. I wish I could have shared part of my orange, but I'd just tossed the last of the peel... I'll talk more about giving to the poor later.

What else... Oh, I've made friends with the children of the Mayfield Guest House staff. There are some staff families who live in the Mayfield compound, and the kids get to run around wherever they want. So when they were out kicking a soccer ball around this jioni (evening), I walked out and joined a girls' team. There were these two sisters, Laura and Betz, who were actually quite fast and not afraid of the boys which made me feel better about playing harder. I should have asked the rules, though, because I thought it was fine just to hit the back wall, but evidently one must hit the 8 in. diameter basketball hoop pole in order to score. So my actual scoring stats went way down. By the time everyone had to go home for baths, we were all covered in red clay and sweat, but we had so much fun, there's a rematch scheduled for tomorrow whenever I'm home.

(I've included some photos of my walk around town today and the soccer match.)

Karibu

Someone cross stitched a piece of cloth that now hangs above my bed with "Karibu Mayfield." In Kiswahili, one of the national languages of Kenya, "Karibu" means an enthusiastic "Welcome!" (and Mayfield is the name of the missionary hotel I'm staying in for the next week). My taxi driver says it like this: "Kaarrriibbuuu Keeennnyyaaa" and one of my fellow AIM missionaries throws his hands out when he says it. Since arriving at late-thirty last night I've definitely been "karibu-ed" to Kenya. All of my fellow AIM missionaries are so friendly and willing to share their stories as well as ask mine. I've already been invited to drink chai (black tea, milk, and sugar... and more sugar), been shown around the local flea markets by Kennedy, a local University student, been introduced to riding "matatus" (overly crammed 14-seater vans), and played cars in my hall with some precious MKs. The Kenyan Nationals and other residents are a people to whom hospitality and friendship come easily. And I, a jet-lagged white girl, am thanking God for that blessing.

Ode to a Watch

I bought a new watch
To tell Africa time
No, it's not a Swatch
But it will do just fine